Part 7: Madison, WI, to Gettysburg, PA
July 28-August 9
13 days, 1,032 miles (3,198 total thus far)
Summary:
The tenor of the ride changed after Madison, Wisconsin, which was our last overnight stay in a dormitory. From then on, all of the accommodations were in campgrounds. Meanwhile, high heat, humidity, and voracious mosquitoes made camping unpleasant and tent sleeping difficult, causing many of us to opt for motels. The scenery went from lovely in Wisconsin to bland through Illinois and much of Indiana as the land flattened and huge corporate farms dominated the landscape. Our route kept us mainly on quiet country roads until we neared Sandusky, Ohio; from there, however, we had three days of high-volume traffic while riding through Cleveland and eastern Ohio. In Pennsylvania, the terrain went from hilly to mountainous, and the extreme humidity finally broke, giving us – finally – two lovely days of riding, the best weather of the whole trip, as we neared the ride’s finish.
Lacking computer access for much of this period, I spent my leisure time reading, writing in my journal, and hanging out with my fellow Big Riders. I also continued videotaping interviews with them, learning their stories of why they’re on the ride.
Riding for J.T.
On the morning of Saturday, July 29, day 34 of our ride, Moon Villalobos, a 25-year-old Army veteran from Savanna, Illinois, put on a special sleeveless t-shirt that he’d been carrying since Seattle. On the front of the shirt there’s a photo of a young soldier, and above it, the words “Riding for J.T.” The back reads “K.I.A. Iraq. 11/10/05.”
J.T., Moon explained, was his friend Josh Tenando. The two had met in 1999, during training in Ft. Benning, Georgia. Josh was Moon’s immediate superior officer, an E3 (private first class) while Moon was an E2. The two kept in touch over the years and, both being from Illinois, visited each other. Josh left the Army in 2001 and was working as a unionized construction worker – a welder – when Moon first told him about the Big Ride. This was in early 2005, when Moon first decided he wanted to participate. Josh sent Moon a check for $250, the first contribution that Moon received. Soon afterward, things in both of their lives went awry. Moon, who was completing second tour of duty in Iraq, tore the meniscus in his knee and needed it surgically repaired – his fifth knee operation over the years (three on the right knee, two on the left). Through the spring, he did his best to rehabilitate his knee, but as June approached, he hadn’t been able to train sufficiently, and he was forced to back out of the ride. Meanwhile Josh – an Army reservist with an eight-year commitment, was recalled to active duty in February 2005, leaving behind his live-in girlfriend and the house he’d just bought. After going through six months of training to make him battle-ready once again, he was sent to Iraq in August and served in the QRF – Quick Reaction Force – in the Baghdad area. On November 10th, his unit responded to an emergency call: a sniper had fired upon some soldiers, and two of them had been hit; one would later die from his wounds. The sniper’s location was identified, and Josh went into the building, armed with a pistol to fire at close range. As he entered the room where the sniper was hiding, Josh was shot in the face and instantly killed.
A few months later, in early 2006, Moon once again began fundraising for the Big Ride. He had to start from scratch; monies donated in 2005 couldn’t be carried over to another year. He wrote to Josh’s parents not to solicit money, merely to tell them that since Josh had contributed in 2005, he (Moon) was including them on his mailing list, updating all of his sponsors on his training progress. Immediately, however, they responded by donating $500.
Saturday, July 24, was a century ride for us – 104 miles from Belvidere to Coal City, Illinois on a very hot, humid day, the temperature reaching the mid-to-high-90s and the heat index rising well into the 100s. Nevertheless, after 80 miles Moon stopped in Morris, Illinois, to visit with Josh’s parents, Jerry and Jeanie Tenando, wearing his shirt with their son’s picture.
Over the course of seven weeks, I’ve learned what a special person Moon is. The most outgoing of all the Big Riders, Moon always seems happiest when he’s serving others, either helping them in some way or just making them laugh. In La Porte, Indiana, for instance, after arriving in camp early amid the threat of rain, Moon took the initiative to pitch seven people’s tents. And day after day he has been writing postcards, keeping all of his individual sponsors abreast of his progress. He’s not alone, however, in dedicating his ride to a loved one. In the course of my conversations with my fellow Big Riders, I’ve been struck by how many of them have been motivated by the desire to honor a family member or friend. In some cases, the riders’ raising money for the American Lung Association has particular relevance – for instance, Debbie Reynard of Hilliard, Ohio, whose mother died of lung cancer in 1999. Ellen Glasser of Jacksonville, Florida, also lost her mother to lung cancer. This trip, she said, is a way of saying goodbye to her. “I’m taking this trip with her because she didn’t get a funeral.” Ellen has been traveling with her mother’s ashes and scattering some at each of our overnight stays; then after the trip, she intends to bury the rest of the ashes in her hometown of Savannah, Georgia. Paul Jakeman of Tacoma, Washington, is riding in honor of his business partner, Ron Wemhoff, who died of lung cancer in 2004. Paul was able to raise more than $10,000, and you can read his dedication to Ron on his real estate company’s website: www.park52.com. Similarly, Mike Williamson of Seattle is riding for “Captain” Don Craft, his former mentor in the marine salvaging business, who died of emphysema. Katie Spotz of Mentor, Ohio, who at 19 is one of the youngest riders, lost both of her grandmothers to lung cancer; and the grandmother of Brian Harris of Tacoma, Washington, also died of emphysema. Both Brian and Alice Nelson of Rumson, New Jersey, have children who suffer from asthma; and Bob Bran of Bonney Lake, Washington, is riding for his 10-year-old nephew, Sean, who last year contracted Stevens-Johnson Syndrome, which has reduced his lung capacity 60 percent.
Roberta Taffee of Hastings, Michigan, is riding in honor of her friend Lupita Cowham, who is battling breast cancer. Ten years ago the two of them had set a goal of bicycling across the country together one day, but because of Lupita’s illness, Roberta has had to go without her. Still, Roberta said, she has drawn strength from thinking about Lupita throughout the ride; and the two spent time together when Lupita drove to meet Roberta when the Big Ride passed through Napoleon, Ohio.
Some riders are bicycling because their lives are in transition. Liz Gragnolati of Windsor Locks, Connecticut, lost both of her parents in the last five years: first her mother died of cancer and then her father, who had a long-term illness, died a year and a half ago. Signing up for the Big Ride was a way of giving herself some direction after years of caretaking, she said, and the ride itself has helped her come to terms with her loss. Several others, such as Ellen Glasser, are recently retired and preparing to embark on another phase of their lives. Alice Nelson, 41, is recently divorced and just sold her yoga studio. Many of the older riders said they wanted to ride across the country both for the cause and for the challenge, while they still could do it. And then there are the many young riders, either in school or soon to finish, who also had the goal of riding across the country and wanted to do it while they had the chance.
Overall I’ve found these stories inspiring, and I’ve been proud to be part of such an impressive group of people. The Big Ride is ultimately as much of a mental as a physical challenge, and the camaraderie and morale we’ve maintained throughout these seven weeks says a lot about the group’s character.
Here is the daily report of the past two weeks:
Day 33: Friday, July 28 – Madison, WI, to Belvidere, IL – 83 miles.
A good day of riding despite the high humidity, the temperature reaching the low-90s. Getting out of Madison was much easier than getting in: after a few downtown blocks, we rode on a bike path along the lake, then after only a mile or so, we were on country roads with the traffic heading in the opposite direction. After passing through Oregon and Brooklyn, Wisconsin, both nondescript towns with interesting names, we then started traveling on some beautiful back roads for a 20-mile stretch between Evansville and Benoit. The roads rolled through farmland and were virtually un-trafficked, allowing us to relax and ride in bunches. At one point a pack of ten of us rode together, two or even three abreast – a rare occurrence on the ride. Usually we were much more spread out or else riding in pace lines, and nearly always single-file.
The ride became dreary as we crossed into Illinois through South Benoit, which felt urban and impoverished, with fast cars driving along a four-lane boulevard that featured a liquor store with a drive-up window. After the town of Roscoe, though, the vibe along the road improved. We terrain flattened, returned to farmland, and the day became hotter. At a convenience store in Belvidere I drank a large Powerade and ate my pb&j, lingering in the air conditioning. Then I rode on to Outdoor World, the private campground where we stayed, which presented us with a number of challenges. The best parts of Outdoor World were the swimming pool and the large air-conditioned lounge area that Steve Rubenstein dubbed “Indoor World.” The problem was that “Indoor World” closed at 10:00 p.m., and the humidity outside made sleeping difficult. Also, “Indoor World” didn’t reopen until 8:00 a.m., so while we were preparing to depart in the morning, the men had access to only one toilet. Dinner was also sub-par: we were allowed to order anything from the “Indoor World” grill, but except for French fries, the menu was vegetable-free. Fortunately I was bailed out by my friend Deb Young, who drove to town in her rental car and brought me back a Quizno’s sandwich. Sadly, it was Deb’s last night with us. Off the bike, she had injured her leg while in her dorm room in New Ulm, Minnesota, and after getting an MRI test in Madison, she learned that she had fractured her tibia and would have to wear a leg brace. She was considering staying with us to the end, but after the night in Outdoor World, tenting far from the one bathroom (at least 200 yards), she realized that it would be too difficult.
Day 34: Saturday, July 29 –Belvidere to Coal City, IL – 104 miles.
For some reason, despite the humidity, I slept well in my tent and woke feeling rested. Thanks to the one toilet, I left camp late and headed out in the back of the field of riders, but after riding slowly to the first rest stop, I suddenly picked up my pace and found myself passing people. Between Kirkland and Malta, I flew by eight riders, then joined a pace line of three people all of whom were normally much faster than me. Later I joined another line, again overachieving, and I wound up being one of the first to finish. The riding itself was my excitement this day. After warming up my legs over those first miles, I felt as if my conditioning had reached a higher level, and I enjoyed the strength I felt and the speeds I was reaching, staying over 20 mph for several long stretches. Meanwhile the roads were quiet and, after the morning mist had dissipated, the scenery became monotonous, so there was little to distract me. The terrain was very flat and seemingly devoid of people. I saw almost no farmers working, and there weren’t even grazing animals, just vast fields of corn and soybeans stretching nearly as far as the eye could see. In the distance a water tower and a cluster of trees would mark where a town was, but the towns themselves were nondescript, and the few people I saw there were mostly men riding power mowers. At other times while riding, it felt like being in a tunnel, as the road was walled in by cornfields on either side, the stalks eight-to-ten feet high and all perfectly uniform, marvels of genetic engineering.
By the time I’d finished the 104 miles, the heat and humidity had become oppressive, with the temperature nearing 100 degrees. The camping conditions proved the worst of the trip, as the washroom was so muggy that a shower offered no relief: by the time you’d dried yourself and put clothes on, you were just as hot as before. I should have gone to the lake, which was a half-mile away, for a swim, but instead I stayed busy videotaping interviews. When I finally I tried to swim after dinner, I arrived just too late: it was just 8:00 p.m., and the lifeguards forced everyone out of the water. Meanwhile the facility – a private club of sorts, where local rednecks pay dues to camp in R.V.s – was having a big shindig halfway between us and the lake that included a cookout, kegs of beer, and karaoke. As we settled in our tents to escape the mosquitoes and try to sleep, the music was still blaring, and the hired singers were giving way to the drunken amateurs: I heard a memorably awful version of the Jefferson Airplane’s “Go Ask Alice.” The worst came later, however, when the official party broke up. The music stopped around midnight, only for the revelers to return to their campsites and keep up the hilarity. I slept only fitfully as several women kept talking and cackling past 2:00 a.m. They chattered and laughed uninhibitedly, at full volume, even yelling between campsites, getting into arguments and then making up – “Aw, you know I love ya!” – unconcerned with the 45 people sleeping directly across the road from them. Oh, yes, and there were also the freight trains, the whistles of which blew loudly every hour, all night long.
Day 35: Sunday, July 30 – Coal City, IL, to La Porte, IN – 103 miles.
Our second straight century ride over similar terrain, but this time I rode with considerably less energy. I made steady progress, though, thanks to a helping tailwind, and ignored the again mostly nondescript landscape by dreaming up a blues song for the upcoming Big Ride talent show. I wrote most of the lyrics down that night in La Porte and perfected it on the road the next day, then kept singing it to myself for nearly a week until the evening of the talent show on Friday, August 5th. The song, “Sqwincher Blues,” mocks the powered energy drink that we’ve been offered at rest stops throughout the Big Ride. I found the Sqwincher (sic) to be virtually undrinkable, mostly because the mix is too thin, and so reverted to buying bottles of either Gatorade or Powerade at convenience stores several times a day. I also found I preferred the air conditioning of convenience stores to standing around at roadside rest stops, even if there’s shade. In any case, the song proved a hit at the talent show, and I’ve promised to write out the lyrics for posterity. So here it is:
Sqwincher Blues
Well, they say the orange is orange;
They say the purple’s grape.
I try hard to believe them,
But that’s not how it tastes!
I’ve got the Sqwincher blues,
Yeah, the Sqwincher blues,
I’m riding with the Sqwincher blues,
And I need a Gatorade soon.
You know, I tried to drink the Sqwincher
‘Cause I need electrolytes
And I’ve got to stay hydrated,
But something wasn’t right:
It’s too diluted;
So I made a desperate plea:
Please put more powder in the Sqwincher
Because I need the energy.
Well, I tried it at every check point,
Filled my bottle and took a sip,
But it always tasted just the same;
How gullible can I git?
Refrain.
Now, some people claim they like it;
They fill up at every stop,
Especially Carol Tremble,
Who says she loves it when it’s hot!
Refrain.
Well, Moon he spiked the Sqwincher,
Made it 120 proof.
He felt sure we all would like it,
But still it was no good.
That no-good Sqwincher --
Spring summer winter fall --
No matter what you do
That Sqwincher is undrinkable!
I ride in wind, heat, and humidity
Do the whole thing EFI,
But I won’t drink no more Sqwincher;
That’s where I draw the line!
Refrain.
As for the ride itself, again the terrain was flat, the fields full of corn and soybeans, and the towns nondescript, especially in Illinois. At about 45 miles, we crossed into Indiana, and the traffic picked up through the towns of Cedar Lake and especially Valparaiso (pop. 27,248). The big story, though, was the sudden, wild shift in the weather. The sky darkened just as I was leaving Valparaiso, a line of black clouds hovering to the north. Riding east, I was suddenly battling a vicious headwind, as the wind, which had been light and southwesterly, turned 180 degrees and started blowing hard from the northeast. My speed was cut in half, and I worked hard to stay above 10 mph. Meanwhile the temperature dropped 22 degrees, from 93 to 71, within a few minutes, and the gray clouds above me seemed about to burst open. I rode ten miles before it started sprinkling, and with ten more to go I pulled into a gas station–convenience store, sensing that something dramatic was about to happen. In fact nothing did. The rain picked up a little while I drank a slush drink, which actually left me feeling chilled for the first time in a week; and by the time I resumed, both the rain and wind had died and I had an easy final ten miles into La Porte. As it turned out, I’d had it easy. To the north, it had hailed and then rained torrentially, forcing vehicles on the highway to pull over. Meanwhile riders behind me were stranded for an hour, some because of rain, others by wind, which had blown so hard that police officers declared it too hazardous.
In La Porte we were treated to an incredible feast – a pig roast hosted by Larry Noel, who rode the Big Ride in 1999. Larry saw the Big Ride come through La Porte in 1998, and the next year he arranged for a pig roast, which he has since made a tradition. About a dozen townspeople joined in, preparing a variety of dishes. In addition to the pork, there was also grilled elk meat (very tough: gamey). Corn was grilled separately, and there were salads, pasta dishes, sliced potatoes, and so on, along with tubs full of soft drinks and a keg of beer. Big electric fans were set up to keep us cool, but when they were carted off at the end, we collectively groaned: within hours the temperature had once again risen, and we slept another night in oppressive humidity.
Day 36: Monday, July 31 – La Porte to Kendallville, IN – 91 miles.
This was a day that would have been more enjoyable had it not come after back-to-back 100-mile rides in the ongoing heat and humidity. The route became more interesting than it had been. We remained on quiet, country roads and had a nice rest stop in the quaint town of Wakarusa. Most of the Big Riders frequented the Amish bakery, but hungering for a frappacino, I explored further and found Shear Adventure, a store that was a beauty parlor, tanning salon, and soda fountain all-in-one. It was also roomy inside and was well air-conditioned, and the owner made me a Heath bar mocha smoothie. In the afternoon we rode deeper into Amish country, seeing many horse-drawn carriages and passing small family farms, the houses of which were old, attractive, and well-kept, with flower beds in front yards, vegetable gardens, etc. Monday also must be wash day, because many clotheslines were full, the clothing on them all neatly arranged – a row entirely of overalls followed by one of cotton dress shirts, then one of women’s dresses – all alike – and then underwear and scarves. I saw an Amish farmer plowing a field with a team of horses. Surprisingly, though, in the Amish town of Toledo, two semi-trailers laden with newly-made motorboats drove off from a factory that also makes campers. Many of the Amish work at the factory, willing to use machinery to make a good income.
The final miles into Kendallville were harder, as traffic picked up and the Indiana drivers proved less courteous than what we’d grown used to, driving at high speeds and buzzing past us too closely. It put me in a bad mood as I reached the day’s campground. Once again we were outside of town, without access to a place where we could hole up in air conditioning. There was a lake nearby, but it was still hot and humid, and we were warned that the mosquitoes were particularly fierce. As a result, I decided that I’d had enough. Several riders were taking rooms at the Best Western, two miles away, and when John Lovell offered to share his, I took him up on it. It made for a nice, relaxing afternoon. The motel had a laundry room, and while I did a load, I alternated between soaking in the pool and the hot tub. We had dinner at the nearby Applebee’s with two other riders, Bob Bran and Paul Jakeman, and then did our best to get to sleep early.
Day 37: Tuesday, August 1 – Kendallville, IN, to Napoleon, OH – 70 miles.
Unfortunately, I didn’t sleep well that night, so another motel stay seemed the best cure. After breakfast, I made a reservation to stay that night in the Best Western in Napoleon. I wasn’t the only one: Bob and Paul did it also; and it turned out that, at the campground in Kendallville, the mosquitoes had been every bit as bad as advertised. Riders complained that they’d been bitten during dinner and had been forced to seek shelter in their tents. Larry Sullivan said that in the few minutes he’d left his tent to urinate, he’d been bitten more than a dozen times, and that when he woke up in the morning, they were lying in wait. As a result, and after all the hard riding we’d been doing – 300 miles in the last three days – more than half of the Big Riders wound up staying in the Best Western in Napoleon. It was again hot and humid, but there was a strong western breeze, so those who did sleep in the campground fared better than in Kendallville, the wind serving to make the heat more bearable and also to keep the mosquitoes at bay. The west wind also made for an easy day of riding. I was in my room in Napoleon by 1:30 p.m. after not leaving Kendallville until 8:15.
Reading The Grapes of Wrath in Kendallville the night before, I’d come across Steinbeck’s description of vast California farms, followed by following passage:
“It came about that owners no longer worked on their farms. They farmed on paper; and they forgot the land, the smell, the feel of it, and remembered only that they owned it.”
Riding into Ohio on this day, I noticed smaller farms that were clearly family- owned, and at one point I rode past a farmer who was just driving out of a barn on his tractor. The man, wearing worn overalls, grinned at me from ear to ear, and I sensed his happiness as he worked on his land. It was just this sight – a farmer working – that I hadn’t seen during the two century rides in Illinois and Indiana, when the scenery had seemed so much more monotonous. Starting in the Amish area the day before, the land had seemed more beautiful – the tapestry richer – including more houses and outbuildings, people and animals, and the smells of cut grass and manure. I also saw some evidence of tension between small farmers and the big mega-farms. Signs outside some houses opposed “chicken factories.” In smaller print, the signs read, “Protect our water, land, and health.” According to Sonya Lee, the front desk manager at the Best Western, the biggest objection to the chicken farms is their bad smell. She said there were a number of “megafarms” in the area -- some chicken farms and some big dairies, and that a lot of area residents are trying to restrict their growth. Sonya, by the way, also reduced the motel rate that I had booked by phone that morning. She gave all the Big Riders the lowest possible rate -- $66.00, tax included (the rate in Kendalville had been $20.00 higher). Her 11-year-old son, Mitchell, originally diagnosed with asthma, now suffers from reduced lung function. “He has the lungs of a three year old, and I do all I can to help the Lung Association,” she said.
Day 38: Wednesday, August 2 – Napoleon to Sandusky, OH – 90 miles.
Yet another hot, humid day with a strong southwesterly wind that, for the most part, proved beneficial. I had some trouble on the road, though. As I prepared to set off in the morning, I found that my back tire was flat. I replaced the tube without checking how the flat had happened, and 80 miles later, the tire was flat again. Clearly something was causing a leak, but the leak was slow enough that I was able to pump the tire up again and make it to camp. When I did check that afternoon for the source of the problem, I found a tiny metal filing stuck in the inside of the tire, so small that I needed a pair of tweezers to extract it.
The ride was mostly nondescript – once again very flat on roads with little traffic until we neared Sandusky. I didn’t feel much like dawdling, riding both through Bowling Green, where a county fair was in progress, and later the town of Fremont, skipping over home of Rutherford B. Hayes. As a result, I made good time and made it to camp by 2:00 p.m. I had time to pitch my tent, shower, and fix my tire before going off with a group of riders to Cedar Point, the big amusement park.
I’m not a big fan of rollercoasters, but going to Cedar Point seemed necessary. “When in Sandusky, do what the Sanduskians do.” There was a reduced admission price after 5:00 p.m., and a lot of us had two-for-one coupons, so we were able to sample the park’s 68 rides, including 16 rollercoasters, for only $12.50. Sean McCallum and I, however, were more interested in Soak City, Cedar Point water park, which had a separate admission. We went there first and spent an hour and a half riding on the water slides (the wait time between rides was about 20 minutes), but by then, after staring at the rollercoasters all that time, we decided that they had to be experienced. In the end, I didn’t get to try the fastest one – the Dragster; it stopped running for several hours due to mechanical failure, and at 9:15 p.m., when I again tried to ride it, the waiting time was nearly an hour. But overall I did a good job experiencing the park, riding on four different rollercoasters, the fear factor rising in manageable degrees – first riding the Gemini, an old-fashioned wooden structure (Douglas fir, chosen for strength), then, in order of their fear factor, the Raptor, the Mantis (which you ride standing up) and then Millennium Force, which reaches a top speed of 93 miles per hour. I also rode on two more water rides, Thunder Canyon and Snake River Falls, both of which left me happily soaked. I got back to camp around 10:00 p.m., having skipped dinner. A nice breeze blew all night, and I slept well.
Day 39: Thursday, August 3 – Sandusky to Cleveland, OH – 55 miles.
The day called for a 90-mile ride right through downtown Cleveland and onto Burton, Ohio, a small town in a primarily Amish farming area. We were then to have our first day off in a week, but a day off in Burton didn’t seem that appealing. We’d be camping at the fairgrounds, the first time on our ride that our day off wasn’t spent housed in a dormitory. Instead I joined with several other people to spent Thursday night in Cleveland and then ride to Burton on Friday, where we’d stay in the Red Maple Inn, an elegant bed and breakfast, the idea being that two short rides would be more fun and just as restful.
The ride into Cleveland wasn’t as bad as I expected. We stayed on U.S. 6 all the way, with Lake Erie off to the left, visible beyond private houses that held exclusive access to the beachfront. In fact, for 40 miles we saw no public beaches; a few motels had beach access, and also a boating club, but except for the one park where we had a rest stop, the whole lakefront seemed privately owned. Traffic was relatively light and the road had a decent shoulder. In a few areas, however, the road surface was so badly cracked that riding became treacherous, especially in heavy rain. Rain had been forecast, as well as a break in the heat, and although we woke to clear blue skies, both predictions proved accurate. The rain started at about mile 40 and quickly turned into a downpour, forcing me off the road for a few minutes. When it lightened, I hustled a few miles to reach the rest stop, which luckily was set up in a pavilion. The rest stop was organized by Stan Kazmarcak, who rode the Big Ride in 2005. Stan introduced himself, telling me how much he was enjoying my journal. He also had handed me (and all interested Big Riders) a free ticket to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. By the time I left the rest stop, the rain had ended; and I rode for ten miles or so – nearly all the way into the city – as part of a small peloton: another group of cross-country cyclists, 20 of them, all-male and college aged, on a ride called the Journey of Hope. I enjoyed comparing notes with them. Their group left from San Francisco, and their route seemed more interesting through the West. They were traveling further, but for a longer period, averaging fewer miles per day; and in the East their route was even more urban than ours, taking them through Milwaukee, Chicago, and Pittsburgh as well as Cleveland and Washington, D.C. They’re actually finishing in Washington on the same day as we are – August 12th – and they’re also riding for a cause – people with various disabilities. I was also impressed with their organization. As they neared Cleveland, they rode together, taking up a whole car lane, with vans driving ahead and behind them and two police cars leading the caravan. On the other hand, the group’s homogeneity made them seem less interesting than my fellow Big Riders, with our greater age range and the inclusion of women. The Journey of Hope boys seemed shocked when Big Rider Christy Schmeckebier proved as fast as they were.
In Cleveland we stayed in the Radisson Hotel. I shared a room with Steve Rubenstein and Alice Nelson. We spent the afternoon at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, where I enjoyed the Dylan exhibit and a number of other features, such as the clothing worn by famous performers – Elvis’s jumpsuit and Army uniform; and outfits worn by the Jackson Five and the Mamas and the Papas. I also saw the first draft of Rick Nelson’s song “Garden Party.” He spelled the word reminisce “remanice.”
Day 40: Friday, August 4 – Cleveland to Burton, OH – 37 miles.
Although only 37 miles, the ride to Burton took nearly five hours as Steve and I stopped at Starbucks and then again for lunch. The ride itself was dreary – very slow in leaving downtown Cleveland, first on a bike path along the decrepit waterfront, then winding our way through residential neighborhoods. The array mansions were impressive in both Cleveland Heights and Shaker Heights – that is, assuming you’re not bothered by Gilded Age gaudiness. But the traffic was relentless, and it actually increased further out. Worst of all was the road in to Burton. For the final ten miles cars passed in a steady stream, and because of the narrow shoulder, they rattled my nerves. The route was also hilly – something I wasn’t used to after the flatness of the past week – and the stiff northern wind impeded our progress. I found myself in a black mood, but the Red Maple Inn was restorative. I spent the afternoon in my room reading The Grapes of Wrath, then came downstairs at 5:00 p.m. for wine and cheese. Afterward it was cool enough that I could continue reading on my room’s private balcony, which had a broad view of the countryside, with cornfields and farm houses off in the distance.
Day 41: Saturday, August 5 – Burton to New Waterford, OH – 60 miles.
My depressed mood continued for one more day. Most people enjoyed the ride to New Waterford, the wave of heat and humidity finally having broken. I enjoyed the beginning: the morning was cool, and the road was filled with Amish horse-and-buggies as we rode east from Burton, passing through Middlefield Township. Soon, though, the roads felt again much too trafficked, the area being simply too populated as we heading south, passing close to Youngstown, Ohio. Just south of Warren, Ohio, we rode by two factories, a steel mill and a coke plant, both currently functioning, built alongside the Mahoning River. The plants were both noisy – hissing and belching – and nightmarishly ugly, darkening my spirits. I felt that, as we continued east, there’d be little to look forward to. While I remained in my funk, I simply stayed clear of other riders, not wanting to infect them with my bad vibes. At the campground, I managed to finish The Grapes of Wrath, and then the cure for my blues came thanks to the Big Ride talent show, where I couldn’t help but be swept up by the good cheer. As the show began, I felt so low, I was almost nauseated, but halfway through, I felt ready to sing “The Sqwincher Blues,” with Steve Rubenstein accompanying me on harmonica. And mine was not the only blues song: both John Lovell and Debbie Reynard also sang blues songs commemorating Big Ride hardships – the heat, the wind, the hills, and even bathroom issues: John’s was called “The Transamerica Monkey Butt Blues.” David Walker and Eric Knudson performed hilarious standup routines, Eric’s stealing the show and earning him a standing ovation. But what I found most touching was Christy Schmeckebier’s presentation as she handed out awards to every Big Rider and support staffer. The awards themselves were merely paper plates with string attached so they could be worn around the neck, but the thought and effort that went into creating each made Christy’s an act of tremendous generosity. Each presentation consisted of a few choice sentences describing the person’s winning trait, and then the paper plate was decorated with the name of the award and a lot of apropos drawings in multicolored pens. Some of the awards were funny, others simply sweet. She gave me the “Inspiring Mind Award,” and she’d drawn on a lot of books and a laptop computer. It reminded me of The Wizard of Oz, when the wizard hands out gifts to the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion; and I thought about how wonderful Christy must be at her job – a truly outstanding elementary school teacher.
Day 42: Sunday, August 6 – New Waterford, OH, to Washington, PA – 62 miles.
A much better riding day as we left Ohio for the bigger, rolling hills of western Pennsylvania. The temperature was cooler, but the air still very humid making for damp ride in the intermittent sunshine. Probably because it was Sunday there were very few trucks; otherwise the experience might have been very different. The roads were quiet, and we all especially enjoyed a 10-mile section in the morning that had been recently repaved with smooth black asphalt. The wind was from the southeast, slowing us a little, but overall we made good progress on another short-mile day. I enjoyed the challenge of the hills and the variances in the landscape, although the signs of poverty at times were depressing. As with the steel mill and coke plant of the day before, I was struck by the two nuclear power plants within a mile of each other along the Ohio River. The abutting town, Midland, PA, was particularly bleak. Along the main street – PA Rt. 68 – there was a line of small, squalid houses, each front yard enclosed with silver, chain-link fencing. The reactors were visible in the distance, and the steam they generate seemingly keeps the town in the perpetual grayness of cloud cover. As I drew close to the reactors, two thoughts occurred to me. First I noted, ironically, the buzzards flying overhead, lured by the thermal updrafts created by the steam. Second, I was struck by the lack of security, as the reactor was literally a stone’s throw from the road. I was close enough both to hear and see the water cascading down the base of the giant cooling tower. Further south, Burgettstown also seemed impoverished, and the countryside, while attractively rugged, was noticeably less cultivated than the hill country in Wisconsin. The difference, I surmised, must be in the quality of the soil, much of which was likely rockier, befitting the Appalachians, thus creating the need for industrial jobs. But there were also signs of wealth: we were within 40 miles of Pittsburgh, and at one point I saw a very elegant estate, with flowers surrounding the front gate, the driveway leading up a steep hill, and the surrounding green fields enclosed in whitewashed wooden fencing. Meanwhile directly across the street was a plumbing supply company – all bare, dusty earth and piles of concrete fixtures.
At the campground, which was far from town, I concentrated on work, using the afternoon to conduct more of my videotaped interviews. After dinner I started a new book, The Kite Runner. The humidity was oppressive, but motels were far away. Luckily, though, after a brief rain, the sky cleared, and I was able to sleep in my tent without my rain fly, allowing for better air circulation, and thus better sleep.
Day 43: Monday, August 7 – Washington to Confluence, PA – 95 miles.
A hard day of riding featuring great extremes in terrain, riding conditions, and the attractiveness of the surroundings. The first 40 miles included some tough hills. First there were several steep roads right in the town of Washington; then, after lovely stretch in a state park along Mingo Creek, a wrong turn took five of us up a steep climb – a 10 percent grade that we rode about a mile and a half until we reached the top and realized we had to turn around. Three miles later we rode through Monongohela, a town that epitomized industrial western Pennsylvania with its beautiful, broad river and small, squalid brick houses, some multiple-family dwellings featuring wooden, external staircases. The scene was reminiscent of the mill towns shown in movies such as The Deer Hunter and All the Right Moves. Outside of Monongahela, the road hugged the river for several miles, lined with tiny, decrepit houses, facades pressed against the shoulder; and then another turn took us into the surrounding mountains – two long, steep climbs to the town of West Newton, on the outskirts of which was a huge auto graveyard, where wrecked cars were piled four on top of each other back into the thick, surrounding woods. And then suddenly, once again, the tenor of the day changed as we left behind the squalor for the Youghiogheny River Trail, which we followed for 52 miles to Confluence. Running alongside the river, the YRT is unpaved but rideable even on a racing bike with its surface of very smooth hard-packed crushed limestone. It’s also extremely flat, the overall gradient rising only about 2 percent over the 50 miles. I found the river trail an interesting change of pace although a bit monotonous in its flatness and its scenery. While gaps in trees offered frequent glimpses of the river, the trail, surrounded by deep woods, offered limited depth of vision. Certainly it was beautiful, and I took a lot of pictures, but ultimately the pictures were all similar to each other.
Once again the air was thick with humidity. The sky was hazy and the air damp, as it had been for several days. In this climate, I’d given up on hand-washing my biking clothes, and since the campground near Confluence lacked laundry facilities, I spent the time before dinner in a laundromat in town.
Day 44: Tuesday, August 8 – Confluence to Bedford, PA – 79 miles.
The hardest day of climbing on the trip as for the whole 80 miles, virtually nothing was flat; the roads rising and falling amid the Allegheny Mountains. The riding in the morning was especially beautiful. It rained briefly just before dawn, as we were rising, but I managed to stay dry while packing up in my tent. As we set off, the air was typically damp, but the temperature had dropped and I was actually cool for six and a half miles, until we started climbing. A number of us had chosen to forego 30 more limes of the YRT to instead ride up Mt. Davis, the highest point in Pennsylvania. The mileage on the mountain route was a few miles shorter, but I wanted to do it both for the joy of climbing and to give me more confidence for the next day’s ride to Gettysburg. The first mile or so up Mt. Davis Road was the steepest gradient that we faced on the trip, but I felt strong and wasn’t straining, using my granny gear, whereas several other riders’ racing bikes lacked a small, third front ring. As we rose into the mountains, we saw several lovely vistas – farms sitting up on the highlands and mist clinging to the valleys. We climbed and descended over a 12-mile stretch, finally reaching the high point – 3,213 feet – before working our way back down, passing through another Amish area, to reunite with the other Big Riders in the town of Meyersdale. It had turned into a lovely day, the humidity finally dissipating and the temperature never rising above 80.
From Meyersdale, we climbed steadily for thirteen miles to Berlin and then rolled along more country roads to Shanksville. All of these towns were quainter than further west in Pennsylvania, this being strictly a farming area, lacking signs of heavy industry. The one reminder of the “real world” that I’m used to in New York was the side-trip we then took to visit the Flight 93 Memorial – the location near Shanksville where United Flight 93 crashed on 9/11 when the passengers attacked the terrorists. Reaching the memorial required a climb up another steep gradient, and ultimately the experience left me feeling cynical. The land, it turned out, is owned by a coal company, and a strip mine lies less than a quarter mile away. According to a guide, negotiations for the federal government to purchase the land “are under way” and should be completed by the year 2009, in time for the permanent memorial to be finished by the tenth anniversary in 2011. Meanwhile, the temporary memorial is a motley collection of plaques, flags, and writings by anyone who felt the urge. There is a stone plaque, for instance, from “America’s 9/11 Ride Foundation”; the writing on the plaque is bordered by motorcycles, and the text states, “Motorcyclists from all over the free world leave this memorial as a tribute to you.” Another stone plaque was presented by a private citizen: Herbert Erdmenger of Guatemala City, Guatemala. Some people found this moving; I found it shoddy, given that the passengers are true American heroes.
The final 25 miles were more of a grind, as we turned onto a busy road – U.S. 30, the Lincoln Highway – and continued climbing to the summit of the Allegheny Range, elevation 2,906 feet. There was then a long, fast, winding, six-mile descent over an 8 percent gradient, and then, with ten miles still to go, several more steep climbs to finally reach Bedford. I made it to camp around 3:00 p.m. and was one of the early arrivers. The campground facilities were better than they had been in many days. It was called Friendship Village, was privately owned, and included clean restrooms, a pool, and a mini-golf course. I played with Steve Rubenstein and Lucas Nardella, who at 16 is the youngest Big Rider. After a hotly contested match, Steve and I wound up tied, and Lucas rallied to finish a mere two strokes back.
Day 45: Wednesday, August 9 –Bedford to Gettysburg, PA – 103 miles.
The Big Ride calls this “the Final Exam,” a century ride through tough hills almost all the way. I’d felt apprehensive about this day for a week. In the end, though, it proved much ado about nothing: I was in great shape and I like climbing, so 100 miles wasn’t difficult, given that the weather finally cooperated. For the second-straight day, the temperature stayed in the 70s and the humidity had dropped to reasonable levels. It was the type of summer weather that, growing up, had seemed normal. This summer, however, while riding across country, virtually every day grew uncomfortably hot, and the humidity had been relentless since New Ulm, Minnesota.
The biggest climbs were in the morning, over the first 45 miles, and our route kept us on country roads, avoiding U.S. 30. First the first 20 miles, to Breezewood, I wore my long-sleeved Coolmax jersey for the first time since Montana, while in the Rockies. Again, like the day before, the road was seemingly never flat; for 45 miles, we were either climbing or descending. The landscape shifted between farmland and more residential areas, but the traffic was light and the high country scenic. The most spectacular section came at midday, when our route took us uphill from the town of Burnt Cabins (the name derived from an incident back in pioneer days) through Buchanan State Forest to Cowans Gap State Park. The road through the state forest rolled and twisted through deep woods – a thick canopy of hardwood trees – with banks of the road lined with lime–green moss. At Cowans Gap there was a bright blue lake, and I kicked myself for not bringing along my swimming shorts and taking a dip.
The second half of the ride was decidedly less interesting, the route cutting through the busy town of Ft. Loudon and then returning us to U.S. 30 for two long sections – 13 miles beginning just east of town and then the final 17 miles to Gettysburg. But the shoulder was good and the highway made for faster riding, especially once we crested a ridge and descended 1,000 feet over the final ten miles. Arriving in the campground at Gettysburg at around 3:00 p.m., I felt a sense of relief knowing that the last hard day was over. All that remains are two 50-mile days to reach the finish in Washington, D.C.!
Finale: Gettysburg, PA, to Washington, D.C.
August 11-12
2 days, 103 miles (3,301 total)
The Big Ride ended with two easy days to reach the finish on Constitution Avenue in Washington, D.C. Here are the details:
Day 47: Friday, August 11 –Gettysburg, PA, to Clarksburg, MD – 50 miles.
After having spent the off-day writing this journal – a mammoth session from 7:00 a.m. until 11:30 p.m., with only a few short breaks, holed up in my motel room – I woke tired and rode slowly, but everyone was taking it easy this day. The weather was lovely – cool in the morning and only reaching the high-70s, with the humidity level comfortably low. After more than six weeks of consistently high temperatures and oppressive humidity throughout the Midwest, we finally were in a streak of perfect summer weather; and with only 50 miles to travel, many of us chose to dawdle along the way, in no hurry for the riding to end and wanting to savor this penultimate day.
Actually, the beauty of the morning made the ride out of Gettysburg affecting. As the sun rose above the lines of trees, grassy sections of the preserved battlefield, and the quaint old, wooden houses and quiet yards along the road, it was heartbreaking to think of the soldiers rising on a similar summer morning, 143 years earlier, forced to spoil the tranquility with gunshots and cannon blasts that were loud enough to be heard on the streets of Baltimore.
After only nine miles, we crossed into Maryland, the twelfth and final state of our trip. The riding was easy, as a northerly tailwind aided us and we descended more than climbed through the rolling landscape, passing through an affluent area of attractive homes and large dairy and horse farms. Traffic grew heavy in Taneytown but then again eased until we neared the larger town of Frederick, Maryland, and worked our way through the historic downtown area of old brick homes lining narrow streets. Passing through Frederick was sadly nostalgic for me, as it was one of the last stops on my cross-country trip in 2002, a 4,500 mile self-contained ride that I never wanted to end. After Frederick, I rode alone to New York City; and being there again reminded me that another trip was nearly over.
Just beyond downtown Frederick was the Monocacy National Battlefield, and – again, in no hurry – a bunch of us took the time to stop in at the Visitor Center for a history lesson. The one-day “Battle that Saved Washington” took place on July 9, 1864; and although the Union forces lost, being outnumbered nearly 3:1, they managed to delay the Confederates’ progress across the Monocacy River, allowing the Union to shift troops and protect Washington, D.C. from invasion. It was the Confederates’ last attempt to shift the fighting of the war to the North and a key event in their eventual defeat. Again it was sad to imagine the fighting. The Monocacy River, which empties into the Potomac, was tree-lined and looked almost golden as the sun shined on its clear water and beige river bed; and the surrounding hay and corn fields looked equally peaceful.
The final miles were hillier and the traffic heavier, but after ten miles we arrived in Little Bennett Park, surprisingly one of the nicest campgrounds we stayed in the whole trip, with good showers, a clean restroom, and a wooded camping area out of range of traffic noises and train whistles. We had several hours to hang out – I conducted the last of my videotaped interviews – and then we were shuttled to an Applebee’s for our final dinner together. Afterward we stood and sat around a campfire feeling the emotions of the end of our journey.
Day 48: Saturday, August 12 – Clarksburg, MD, to Washington, D.C. – 53 miles.
For the fourth straight riding day, we enjoyed beautiful summer weather, allowing us to end on a high note. We had to hustle along, though; our schedule called us to ride into Washington in less than four hours, leaving us little time for breaks along the way. Nevertheless, the morning ride was beautiful, taking us on back roads through rolling farmland, dense woods, and past large estates – brick mansions with gleaming white trim sitting alone on hilltops, surrounded by arbors and sprawling, well-kept lawns. The traffic was light for the first 30 miles; then for 10 miles, River Road became progressively more and more urban, leading us to the edge of the city. We reached downtown by riding on the Capital Crescent Trail, which proved stressful in itself, being laden with recreating Washingtonians. We crossed the C&O Towpath and paralleled the Potomac, then rode our final miles on city streets – Virginia Avenue, past the Watergate Hotel, and then along Constitution Avenue with views of the Washington Monument and the White House. A final lunch was provided by Costas Pappas, a Big Rider in ’98 who owns a Greek restaurant in the food court of the renovated U.S. Postal Pavilion. Then we rode in twos and threes down the National Mall to a small closing ceremony where Big Riders reunited with family and friends.
Final Thoughts:
First, some corrections to my last entry (part 7):
- In writing about Christy Schmeckebier’s award presentations during the Big Ride talent show (day 41), I tried to describe her artwork from memory, without my award in front of me. In fact it was more elaborate than I depicted. Around the award’s title – “Inspiring Mind Award” – there is a drawing not only of a computer and video camera, but then, in concentric circles, a series of eyes, noses, and ears, surrounded by the words “See Hear Smell Taste Reflect Feel Touch Observe Articulate.” The awards were drawn with four different-colored felt tip pens; and again, both the awards themselves and the short speeches Christy made in presenting each reflected her thoughtfulness and generosity of spirit. She has returned home to Indiana to begin her new job as a 6th grade Special Education teacher.
- In chronicling day 39, I misspelled the name of Stan Kasmarcak, the 2005 Big Rider who provided us with a well-stocked rest stop and free tickets to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Sorry, Stan; your efforts were much appreciated.
Mentioning Stan as well as Costas Pappas in this entry brings to mind a larger topic: one of the most impressive aspects about the Big Ride was the generosity shown toward us by Big Ride alumni – the many Big Riders from 2005 who rode with us on day 1 and then prepared our first dinner; Larry Noel, who arranged the elaborate pig roast in La Porte, Indiana (day 35); and a few others I forgot to mention previously: Fred Husak, a Big Rider in 2000, provided lunch for us in Connellsville, Pennsylvania, along the Youghiogheny River Trail (day 43); and Ann Standish, Lisa Hobbes, Lynn Package and Tonja Pecik, all alumna of the 2005 Big Ride, feted us in Gettysburg (day 45) with wine and cheese and an array of other snacks and drinks, celebrating our passing “the Final Exam”; and they also prepared our breakfast before we left Gettysburg (day 47). In all, I was amazed at how much these former Big Riders were willing to do for us. Their efforts demonstrated both their devotion to the American Lung Association and the effect that the Big Ride had on their lives.
In the videotaped interviews I conducted, as well as in conversation, many of the Big Riders of 2006 have expressed such sentiments. I listed in my last journal entry many of the riders who rode in honor or in memory of loved ones. Since then I learned of others, including Eric Knudson, whose father died of lung cancer six years ago. Eric has also ridden the American Lung Association’s Pacific Coast ride, and he said that his involvement with the charity will continue. Many Big Riders emphasized the importance of the cause. In my interviews, I asked the question, “Why are you on the Big Ride?” and I was particularly struck by the answers of Larry Sullivan and Sean McCallum, both of whom are hospital nurses. Both expressed how terrible the effects of lung disease can be and the tragedy that so much of it is preventable. Larry told a story of a man in the advanced stages of lung disease who came into the hospital suffering respiratory arrest and, the moment that his condition had been stabilized, asked where he could go to smoke a cigarette. The American Lung Association combats asthma, lung cancer, and emphysema and other lung diseases in a variety of ways – funding medical research, advocating clean air, supporting legislative opposition to corporate polluters and the tobacco industry, and publicizing the deleterious effects of smoking. The Big Ride served not only to make money (at last count $280,000) but also to spread the word as we drew newspaper and television coverage in many of the towns and cities we visited. And while I’m on the subject I’ll make a last pitch to those of you reading this journal who haven’t yet contributed: you can make a contribution online on my behalf by going to the American Lung Association of Washington’s website (www.alaw.org) (under “Events” in the left-hand column, click on “Big Ride,” then “Across America,” then “Sponsor a Big Rider 2006”) or simply www.alaw.org/big2006/CharlesShuttleworth.
Many Big Riders also crowed about how wonderful the trip was and how much they enjoyed it. For most of them, crossing the country by bicycle was a major accomplishment and the fulfillment of a dream, and people of all ages, including Steve Rubenstein, the 53-year-old columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle, as well as Justin Bergeron, a 27-year-old teacher’s aide in Massachusetts, proclaimed it the greatest thing they’d ever done. For me, given that it was my fourth ride across the country and my sixth bike trip of five weeks or more, it wasn’t as big a deal; but still it was a great experience. Bicycle touring is one of the things that I most love to do for the adventure of it as well as the physical and mental challenge. Over the years it has come to define me, and I hope to continue touring throughout my life. I’ve returned home once again in great physical shape, having lost nearly 30 pounds since I began training. And while I learned that ultimately I prefer riding self-contained when on multi-week tours, the group experience of the Big Ride redeemed all of its hardships, both avoidable (the route, which in the interest of expedience took us through major urban areas and on far too many high-trafficked roads) and unavoidable (high winds, heat, and humidity).
The Big Riders of 2006 were a great group to travel with. From the beginning I was impressed with their physical abilities, realizing that in their company I was merely mediocre. What impressed me the most, though, in the course of the ride was the group’s mental toughness and firmness of purpose. Three riders – David Frankel, Larry Sullivan, and Moon Villalobos – had rehabilitated from recent knee operations. Lucas Nardella was only 16 years old; Norm Boice turned 71 in Ohio. Roberta Taffee, Ronnie Lindsay, Eric Chessler, and James Kleparek all suffered bad crashes on the ride, yet there were all riding again within days. Ronnie was the most courageous of all: having had shoulder surgery before the trip, Ronnie again tore the shoulder and then, because of his loss of strength, fell from his bicycle, breaking his wrist. He rode with the broken wrist in a cast until he had to leave the ride because of work in Minnesota. And beyond these examples, everyone showed great fortitude. Near dawn each morning, usually within an hour, we had to wake, break down our tents, load our gear in the truck, eat breakfast standing up, and then ride off from camp. We rode as many as miles 107 miles a day regardless of the weather conditions, the distances fixed, requiring me up to 10 hours to accomplish it, more than eight hours of which was spent in the saddle. Yet through it all there was a lack of complaining and a tremendous amount of mutual support – good humor, joking, commiseration, consolation, and effort and sacrifice on behalf of others. When one person had a problem, he or she was not alone.
From the introspection of Ellen Glasser to the good-time ethos Larry Sullivan; from the broad humor David Walker, Justin, and Moon to the sharp wits of John Lovell, Steve Rubenstein, and Eric Knudson; from Carol Tremble’s hitchhiking, Deb Young’s manic blogging, and Alice Nelson’s assistance when food-preparers were overwhelmed, to Steve and James’s harmonica playing and all of the performances at the Big Ride talent show – the Big Riders of 2006 were a rich tapestry of characters who filled the 48 days with a trove of memorable moments. Thanks also to the support staff: Paula Graham, our ride director (“Woo-hoo!”), assisted by her husband, Dennis Graham; Alan Fitton, our mechanic; Anna-Marie Mazzone, our masseuse; and Mark Webbert, a Big Rider in 2000 who showed his great love for the ride and all the riders
I really enjoyed the time shared with all of my fellow travelers, and do hope we see each other again, down the road.
-Charles Shuttleworth