Inter-city Recumbent Ramble

Not exactly a peloton, but here's the tale of a bike trip from my home in Kalamazoo to St. Louis, Missouri, the city where I was born and raised.

My participation in several endurance rides in recent years had shown me that I was capable of doing long stretches in comfort on my recumbent bike, but I was getting tired of long rides that didn't go anywhere. Plus, I generally dislike driving my car to the start of a bike ride. So in the back of my mind, I'd been looking for a bikeable destination within a radius of a few hundred miles of home, when I walked by a large poster at my university representing the topography of the continental United States. I saw that the vast Illinois prairie offered oodles of very flat terrain, and was easily accessible by heading south and west from my front door. I thought of the obstacles one might encounter on such a ride, such as rivers and interstate highways. Then I remembered that there were now two bridges over the Mississippi River near St. Louis which were open to bicycles. That clinched it: I decided I would pedal myself to St. Louis to visit my family.

I envisioned a solo ride, which would allow me to choose the ideal time of year. I thought the best time compatible with my academic work schedule would be in May, after spring classes ended and before it got too hot. As I got more comfortable with the idea, I started to think that 2005 might be the year, and even began talking about it out loud. When I mentioned it to my friend and fellow KBC member Paul Bruneau, I was surprised and delighted to hear that he might want to come along!

This was good news for so many reasons. Having a companion would obviously make the trip safer and more enjoyable. Since I was planning to travel light and stay in cheap hotels along the way, having him along would reduce my expenses. Paul and I share many interests beyond recumbent bikes, and having him to talk with might make the long, featureless roads go by a lot quicker. I knew that we were closely matched in physical ability, so that neither of us would have to slow down for the other, and because of our common racing experience, we could probably even help each other by drafting if we ran into the expected headwinds. (How unlikely is this, really? That in a medium-small Midwestern city I would know someone else who owns multiple recumbent bikes, who is willing and able to ride hundreds of miles at my pace, whose work schedule allows us to find a time we could both do it?) Being a computer geek of sorts, Paul also offered advanced wayfinding technology: portable GPS! (Garmin Etrex, for anyone interested.)

In April I sketched a route using paper road maps, and estimated the total distance at ~450 miles. Longer than I first thought, but in my dreams, it was still barely doable in 3 days, 2 nights on the road. Reality set in, however, when we did our mandatory ‘shakedown cruise' one Saturday in early May. Recumbent geeks are notorious for tinkering with their equipment, so I knew it was absolutely essential to do a longish trip with the exact setups we intended to use before starting the real thing. We learned a lot on that 80-mile round trip to the Indiana state line and back, which we completed with only minor difficulties. Our average pace and the way we felt at the end, however, made it seem wise to extend the big trip schedule to 3.5 days. It took a little work, but I managed to find three cheap hotels at close to the proper intervals along the route, and I made the reservations. Then it didn't take long for us to develop final routes with the mapping software (trusting the data are good) and load them into the portable GPS unit.

Friday, May 27, Day 1

After all the planning, discussing, packing, anticipating, etc., it was finally time to get this party rolling. I felt just a little queasy as I pedaled the two miles to Paul's house in the cool dawn air. What irreplaceable mechanical part would fail out in East Nowhere? Would strong thunderstorms or tornados block our way? Would we even be able to find our way, when every corn field looked the same? Would the hotels be creepy dumps? Would it all end like the movie Easy Rider? I found Paul in his driveway nearly ready; it just took a few minutes to initialize the Magic Box, find the orbiting satellites and make sure all the route data was loaded. We embarked only 10 minutes after our planned 7:00 am departure time, with a wave from Paul's wife Linda at the window.

Bruneau's classic blue Ryan Vanguard was lightly loaded, with a rear rack trunk incorporating a pair of small panniers. I was on my everyday bike, a dual 650 Volae with the carbon seat laid way back, sporting a seatback bag and a pair of Radical Design side bags from the Netherlands. I had more stuff packed than Paul B. did, since I planned to spend a few days in St. Louis. Paul had to change his plans slightly due to a situation at home. He would ride with me the first two days into Illinois, then ride back on day 3 to be picked up somewhere in Indiana and driven back home, so he didn't need to pack as much. That would leave me to ride solo the last 190 miles on Sunday and Monday, to arrive in St. Louis in the middle of Memorial Day.

We set off due south, on the route familiar to us from our practice run, in high spirits. Traffic was light, and we didn't have much trouble with the few areas of road construction. At Three Rivers we began a very nice section along the St. Joseph River, and we were soon in Indiana without incident. Although my partner had been in charge of the Amazing Device on our shakedown cruise, I took over on this day, so that I could get some on-the-job navigational training for the solo part of my journey. Despite some minor issues with the data, it was clearly going to be a lot easier to navigate this way than messing with paper maps or cue sheets.

Shortly after our first snack stop in Bristol, Indiana, about 45 miles into our planned 123-mile day, I hit a small, sharp rock at speed. The result was a pinch flat of my front tire. I had figured that my skinny lightweight wheels were the weak link in my equipment for a trip like this. I had searched and mounted the toughest tires I could find, but there seems to be nothing wider than 23 mm available for these 650c rims. I had decided against packing a spare tire, but was carrying two inner tubes and a mini pump, so it only took about ten minutes to get underway again.

It seemed my fears were to be realized when only ~7 miles later, my rear tire went flat! We were almost through Elkhart, IN, in a very industrial area, when it happened. Inspection quickly revealed a small piece of metal wire had worked its way through the tread. Another tube swap and we were ready to roll again, but now both of my spare tubes had holes in them. I pumped as much as I could, but even without consulting my pressure gauge I was pretty sure that neither wheel was up to my customary 120 psi, so I tried to be extra careful about road hazards.

We finally left the industrial corridor and entered residential Mishawaka. By Michigan time, it was just about noon when we rolled into a Mancino's restaurant for lunch. Since Indiana won't participate in daylight savings time until next year, local time was only 11:00 am. 67 miles to go, and even with all our stops, our rolling average was still almost 14 mph. So we enjoyed a leisurely lunch of grinders and chips.

After lunch we had to turn south again and were immediately faced with a steep half-mile climb out of the St. Joseph River valley. We still had enough juice in the legs to spin up that hill without much trouble. Most of our trip so far had been urban or semi-urban, with relatively short rural intervals between towns. Now as we crossed US 20, we entered a more rural region of northern Indiana, and Paul started to have trouble steering. Some part of his indirect steering system was gradually binding up. Although he tried valiantly to keep moving, we finally had to pull over and fix it. Fortunately, it was not a headset problem. It took a little improvisation with the available tools, but we were able to free it up and get rolling again.

Somewhere around Potato Creek State Park something appeared in our rear-view mirrors that we hadn't seen much yet: another cyclist. She was riding a nice upright road bike, and the minivan trailing her seemed to be her crew. She blew by us without a word and with little apparent effort, so I hope she was a pro on a hard training ride. The blue sky started to get some clouds by 1:00 pm local time, and we had a few sprinkles mid-afternoon. Not enough to slow us down, however, and with less frequent stops, we made good progress.

After a short detour when the Astrogator tried to put us on a gravel road, and one last snack stop at Koontz Lake, we got onto Highway 10 for the final 8.5 mile pull due west to our hotel in North Judson, Indiana. It was tough going into a steady headwind, but we made it to the Oak View Motel & Suites just before 5:00 pm local time. The woman at the desk was apparently filling in; she mentioned that the person in charge hadn't told her that someone might be checking in. Paul Bruneau, still apparently suffering the effects of the exertion, felt it necessary to point out that when working the front desk at a hotel, one might expect the occasional person would want to check in.

North Judson is a quiet town, at least on the Friday evening before the Memorial Day weekend. Paul's cellular phone was unable to make contact with a starbase, so we took turns on the payphone across from the drive-in restaurant checking in with the Misses. After an excellent meal and chocolate malts, we returned to our very satisfactory room, and I gave Paul a demo on patching inner tubes. Not much need for the cable TV, as we had no difficulty falling asleep early.

Saturday, May 28, second day

Since he was not planning to spend much time in the Central time zone, Paul saw no need to change his watch or his sleeping routine. Thus he suggested that we start again at 7:00 am, EDT, which would be 6:00 am local time. Starting early was a good idea, since this was to be our longest day, estimated at 149 miles, due to the location of the hotels I was able to find. We had to ride through the rest of Indiana and a good part of Illinois to reach our lodgings in Urbana.

This morning, we awoke to a cloudy sky, although even at 6:00 am it was light enough for a few photos and safe riding. Following our pattern, we actually started rolling about 10 minutes after our planned departure time. We rode through light rain on our way out of town, but again nothing of consequence. The temperature on the first day had been close to ideal, relatively cool all day, and this day looked to be about the same. The clouds burned off in about an hour and we experienced the delayed dawn.

We had selected back roads for this part of the route, based on a maps database which was not designed with bicycles in mind. I had turned the Guidance Unit back over to the other Paul, since he would have to backtrack part of this route after we split up the next day. As it turned out, we had unwittingly programmed in some gravel roads, so we had to do a bit of improvising. The county roads were laid out in a pretty regular grid, so it was not a big problem. Once in the morning we went six tenths of a mile down a road with no paved outlet, costing us an extra 1.2 miles. We took our morning snack stop in Rensselaer, IN, where Paul was scheduled to be picked up the next day.

On reaching Goodland, we were supposed to go west for about a mile on US 24. To our chagrin, this road had just been milled in preparation for repaving. We couldn't see any other choice, so we went ahead and rode the very rough surface for about a mile. I was grateful that before setting out this morning, I had used my CO2 cartridge to bring both of my tires up to full pressure. All our tires survived. At 69 miles we took an early lunch in the town of Fowler, at a sort of convenience center with lots of tasty hot food choices.

After lunch our long afternoon fell into a regular pattern. Although our objective lay 60 miles (as the crow flies) to the southwest, the only roads were oriented along the cardinal points of the compass. The wind was strong and steady out of the west, maybe 15 mph, so our westbound stretches were very tough, periodically relieved by a southbound segment. We took turns drafting on the upwind legs. We crossed into Illinois on a grueling 25 mile run westward through Hoopeston. We didn't find a convenience store in Hoopeston before we thought we were leaving it, so we stopped to rest on a shady lawn, and talked with a nice gentleman who took a break from his grass mowing.

On US 136 west of Potomac, Paul's front tire went flat. Since his two wheels are different sizes, he used his only spare tube of the proper size to get going again. Adding that to his steering system repair, I felt that we were now even on bike problems.

After that pause, and with our pace slowing, we had to push in order to make Urbana by nightfall. We had a nice 7.5 mile southbound leg, followed by a slow14.5 mile grind west before arriving at US 45 north of Urbana. The sun was low when we finally turned south on 45, but at that point I knew we would make it. It was still a tricky leg, so late in the day, with lots of car traffic but a wide paved shoulder. It was here that I got kind of a RAAM vibe, as if I were pedaling into a checkpoint at sundown, physically and mentally tired, trying to stay safe and obey traffic laws. My normally fine-tuned urban instincts were distinctly rusty after all that farmland, as my trailing companion observed me mistiming the traffic signals.

We got across I-74, and found the Courtesy Motel right where it was supposed to be, a welcome sight indeed at just after 8:00 pm CDT. The room was again quite adequate for our needs, with sufficient space for us and both of our bikes. We asked the fellow at the desk for restaurant recommendations, and he directed us to the “Jolly Roger”. To our surprise, this turned out to be a casual Italian restaurant with really delicious food and a huge collection of fish mounted on the walls. After dinner, Paul got the chance to demonstrate his inner tube patching skills. He also spent some time writing a cue sheet for his return trip the next day, and arranging by phone the time and place for his wife to pick him up in the minivan. He had generously offered to let me keep the Amazing Device for the remainder of my trip, so he would have to navigate by memory and with the aid of his notes. For my part, I would be without a cell phone the rest of the way.

Sunday, May 29, day 3, I strike out alone

On our third day we got going a bit later than usual. After a few photos and a conversation with the East Indian chap who had checked us in the night before, we set off in opposite directions at about 6:45 am local time. Paul B. would head NE for almost 120 miles, retracing our day 2 route to a rendezvous with motorized transportation somewhere in Indiana. I was to continue SW for a similar distance and one more night in Illinois.

It would be an interesting day. Riding such a distance alone and unsupported was a new experience for me. Our smooth trip so far told me that I was well-prepared, and I took comfort in the fact that the longest and most difficult day was behind me. Unlike some of my family and friends, I didn't think that what I was doing was particularly dangerous. I was admittedly impressed by how sparsely populated much of our route area was, having spent all my life in cities of various sizes. Still, I wasn't riding through the Nevada desert; there was always a farmhouse or some sign of inhabitation in sight. I knew that if I got in real trouble, I was likely to find someone willing to help in short order.

Getting through Champaign/Urbana was the type of city riding I am most comfortable with, and at this hour on a Sunday morning, there weren't many cars around. Near the University of Illinois main campus, while stopped at a stop sign, I heard a pling from my rear wheel that sounded suspiciously like a spoke breaking. My brain could hardly entertain such a possibility at the time, but I dismounted, spun the rear wheel, and did a cursory check of a few spokes. All looked fine, so I sped off again.

I didn't want to delay because I felt great, almost euphoric. The temperature was again ideal, and to my astonishment, I seemed to have a tailwind for a change! I worried a little about how the wind might affect my comrade's ride, but mostly I just enjoyed cranking away at 18 mph without breaking a sweat.

About 10 miles west of Champaign, I again came to an intersection where the Mysterious Machine instructed me to ride on a gravel road. I stopped to choose an alternate route, and also to look more carefully at my rear wheel, which had started to make more unfamiliar noises. Sure enough, one of the non-drive-side spokes had broken at the nipple, at that stop sign back in town, and had finally worked its way loose. I removed the spoke and tried to calmly evaluate my options. I had a spoke wrench but no spare spoke. The college town I had just left surely had a bike shop or two, but what time would they open on a Sunday? The next largish city on my itinerary was Decatur, IL, about 50 miles ahead. Would I be able to get that far with only 19 spokes on the rear wheel? If I got there, would I be able to find a shop able and willing to make the repair?

The wheel itself (Velocity Spartacus) was barely out of true, and still had plenty of clearance to the caliper brake. Going back to Champaign would put my objectives in serious jeopardy, since I surely wouldn't leave again before noon. I was not equipped for any night riding, especially on unfamiliar rural roads. Since I had already ridden a fast 10 miles without even realizing the spoke was broken, I decided to risk it and go forward.

I like to go to church every week, but given all the other parameters for this adventure, I gave myself a break and had not made any plans to attend Sunday Mass. I thought I would play it by ear, and take the opportunity if it presented itself. But with everything else on my mind this morning, these thoughts were pretty far in the background as I rode past a modest country church in the middle of nowhere. The fact that cars were entering the parking lot at that very moment slowly dawned on me, and I checked my watch: 7:52 am. Maybe 8:00 Mass was about to start! I doubled back and asked the next woman exiting her car if this was a Catholic Church. She answered yes and I happily dug out my street shorts to cover my loins. My clothing was not exactly appropriate, but at least I wasn't too sweaty or road grimy yet. I figured such an early morning Mass would cost me less than an hour, so I happily went for a pew in the back.

Well it took more than an hour, being the only Mass held at St. Boniface that day, but it was a very fine service, and I was glad I stopped. When it was done I headed out again on a route which closely paralleled Interstate 72 westbound. As the sun got higher, the pain it poured on my arms and legs told me that yesterday's long exposure had given me a dandy sunburn, despite my use of sunscreen. I was glad to move under the cloud deck at about 43 miles, when I stopped for a drink at Argenta, IL. Then SW into Decatur, passing through a major industrial complex with extensive railyards. I found my way to the downtown area and had lunch at a Kentucky Fried Chicken. With all the overpasses and underpasses, Decatur provided the most radical terrain since leaving the St. Joseph River, capped by a thrilling descent down to the causeway over Lake Decatur. I didn't see any bike shops, but the ride was going so well, I didn't look very hard either.

From there the route was simple. The next 30 miles was south along US 51 to Pana. For most of this leg, it looked like I was heading into a major rain storm, the darkest clouds I had seen yet. You can see a long way out on the prairie, and combined with my recumbent position it meant I spent a lot of time contemplating the sky. I eventually went through some showers, but the bulk of the storm seemed to slide by to the east. I stopped once for a few minutes when the water on my glasses made it hard to see, but the rest of the time it was not enough to slow me down. On the contrary, the wind at my back seemed to increase, and I was able to maintain a very good pace. From Pana, I took highway 16 along the railroad tracks on a nice diagonal directly toward my overnight destination in Hillsboro Illinois.

For the third day in a row, I managed the first 100 miles in just about 9 hours real elapsed time. Except for Decatur, the riding had been fast and easy on flat smooth roads. With about 10 miles to go, there was a barely perceptible rise and fall in the road, followed by a slightly steeper rise. With little else to occupy my thoughts, I started to wonder why the town up ahead was named “Hillsboro”. I soon found out.

Thanks mainly to the tailwind all day, I had sufficient reserves for the steep ups and downs I encountered on the way into Hillsboro, and the most challenging climb yet leading up to the town square where the Red Rooster Inn was located. It just enhanced the sense of accomplishment I felt when I rolled up to that large, old, brick building with the big wooden porch. After over 100 miles with a broken spoke, I figured these wheels would probably get me to St. Louis, and I officially stopped worrying about it.

Hillsboro was another very quiet town this evening. In fact, although the hotel was open, there was no one to be seen. I went in what I thought was the main door, and found a sort of a lobby and some halls and stairs, but couldn't find the front desk. After checking for another entrance, I returned and found what must have been the front desk shuttered closed, but with a key and a card lying on it, and my name and a room number were written on the card. So I signed the card, took the key, and found my very large room up on the second floor. Good thing I had chosen to make reservations. Since there was still no one around to ask, I lugged my loaded bike up the back stairs and parked it in the room, then showered and walked out in search of a restaurant.

I had a pleasant walk and a hearty meal at a diner several blocks south of the deserted town center. For the first time I regretted not bringing a small camera, as my quaint hotel was something to see. There was a telephone in the lobby (none in the room) so I used it to check in with the wife and with my brother, who was planning to meet me for brunch the next day when I got a little closer to St. Louis. Because of the limited memory in the Electronic Brain, I knew that tomorrow I would be leaving the zone where detailed maps were accessible. So with a Star Trek movie playing on the TV in my room, I reviewed the paper maps I had brought along for the last leg.

Monday, May 30 (Memorial Day)

This day was set up as sort of an easy ‘victory lap'. I thought that I was only about 65 miles from St. Louis (it turned out to be a bit more) and I would be entering familiar territory sooner than that. A family gathering was planned for that Memorial Day afternoon, so I timed my start in order to arrive and get cleaned up in time for it. My brother Pete had planned two additional events. He arranged for some friends to greet my ceremonial arrival at the foot of the Gateway Arch on the St. Louis riverfront, and prior to that, he and his wife would come across the river and meet me for grub at a diner in Edwardsville, IL.

Calculating back from noon at the Arch, at my expected pace, meant I should leave at 6:30 in the morning. I didn't want to keep Pete waiting and worrying at Edwardsville, so I left ten minutes early to allow for a flat tire or other unforeseen circumstance. Still didn't see a soul at the hotel as I lugged my bike down the stairs. Leaving Hillsboro, I hit my top speed of the trip, a gravity-aided 36 mph. Winds were calm with light drizzle, and I started out wearing my rain suit. It stopped raining within an hour, and when I took a wrong turn at 13 miles, I stowed the rain gear.

I used up the rest of my time cushion when I hit Livingston, IL and stopped at the gas station there. This felt like a milestone, because I had just crossed I-55, and from there would parallel (for a while) the route I often take when driving to and from St. Louis. The road SW from Livingston was old route 66, and I made it to Edwardsville a few minutes before the scheduled meeting time of 9:30. While looking for the Sunrise Diner, I was surprised to see my cousin's husband Don walking on the sidewalk. They had joined Pete and his wife, so the five of us had an excellent breakfast and I told a few of my stories.

Thinking I needed 2 hours to get to the Arch, I left the diner promptly at 10:00. Passed through a nice neighborhood of historic homes on the way out of Edwardsville, then onto New Poag Road all the way to the eastern bank of the Mississippi River. I had clearly left the prairie behind before entering Edwardsville; the terrain was rolling noticeably. At the end of New Poag Rd. was the Lewis & Clark State Historic Site, near the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi rivers. From here, I had to travel 3.5 miles south to where the bridges would take me across the mighty river. The maps indicated that I had a choice of routes, the busy Rt. 3 or the Confluence bike trail. The trail was a relatively recent addition that I was unfamiliar with, but it looked promising, so I took it. It started out smooth asphalt, but after a mile and a half, it rose to join the old levee road, and the surface became fine gravel, which got coarser as I went further south. It was very frustrating, as the river bridges were in sight by the time I had to turn around for the sake of my skinny tires. I had to backtrack to Route 3, losing about 12 minutes to that detour.

Illinois 3 was the direct route to the bridge approach, and the traffic was not too bad. There were actually two bridges on my route, first a smaller one to take me over the navigation canal, and then the big one over the main channel of the Mississippi. These were right next to similar bridges for the Interstate highway loop, an unusual case where the old bridges were not demolished after their replacements were built.

Even more unusual, the main bridge that I would take, called the Chain of Rocks bridge, is a mile-long span that is closed to motorized traffic. Located on the northern edge of the city of St. Louis, it has a small park at the west end and the desolate Chouteau Island on the east. It was built in 1929 to carry the famous route 66 over the Mississippi, closed in 1967, and reopened for bicycles and pedestrians only in 1999. I had ridden across it once before, and I knew it would be a highlight of the trip. It has a classic steel superstructure, a 2-lane concrete deck, and a 22? right turn in the middle. The pavement is in remarkably good shape, but it seems narrow even on a bike, so high above the Father of Waters. Now that it was around 11:00 am on a beautiful Memorial Day, I had to carefully weave my way through many adults and children on foot, and limit my gawking at the scenery.

On the other side, I joined the Riverfront bike trail for the 12 miles south to the Arch, the focal point of downtown St. Louis at the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial. (It was kinda cool that I was able to have this adventure near the bicentennial of Lewis & Clark's famous excursion.) The trail is an off road facility, asphalt paved, first through the northside's Riverview Park, then weaving amid industrial installations, floodwalls and levees. Scenic in a different way, I would say, and the cycling was very unlike the rest of the trip. It was also getting good use from other cyclists on this fine day. My detour on the east side had put me a little behind schedule, so I pushed the pace not to be too late for my grand arrival. Rising up to a high point with about five miles left to go, I got my first good view of the Arch, and started to feel giddy. The trail ends in a parking lot on Laclede's Landing, and I had to go a few more blocks on Wharf St. I looked for the welcoming party on the right, where the steps lead up to the base of the Arch, but then saw them on the left, so I carefully crossed over and coasted up onto the sidewalk, at 12:10 pm CDT.

It's hard to describe my feelings as several family members and friends, and even a few strangers, let out a cheer. They carried a big sign with my name and picture on it, along with my origin and distance traveled. Pete immediately gave me a tall glass of IBC root beer on ice, which tasted fabulous. I dismounted and walked around, talked to everyone, thanked them for coming, told them I felt fantastic. Some had not seen my bike before, so I proudly showed off my wheels. Many photos were taken. This was not yet the end of my trip, so I only stayed about 10 minutes before mounting up and continuing south along the river. I had another four miles to go down Broadway to my old house in South St. Louis where my mother and youngest sister still live. It was a familiar route on city streets past the famous Anheuser-Busch brewery complex. I pulled up at Mom's at 12:40, and my journey was finally ended.

And so it was accomplished. The careful preparations paid off, and there were no disasters. I got a good taste of cross-country cycling, both alone and with a companion. I challenged myself a little and had fun succeeding. I had a nice visit with family and friends in my home town, and now have another story to tell. And best of all, I got to eat a lot of food without any guilt.