Bate and Switch, Kicks on 66, and a Crybaby

Day: 25 (Marshfield, MO to Golden City, MO)

Average Speed: 11.1 MPH

Miles Cycled Today: 83.1 

Miles Cycled Total: 1535

Mood: Amped

Stamped in Pavement throughout Springfield, MO

I had a great breakfast and did a much needed load of laundry this morning courtesy of the Holiday Inn.

Mind you, I wasn’t staying there. I was staying at the Bates Motel across the street, where Norman’s mother charges a bit less… but I’ll get to her in a second.

Here’s a traveling tip: If you’re ever hungry between the hours of 6 AM and 10 AM, and you’re near a hotel that serves breakfast as a perk, walk in like you own the place and enjoy. I’ll call this “stealth-dining.” You overly-moral types might call it stealing, but if the worst thing you’ve ever done in life is chow down on some powdered eggs which were going to be thrown out anyway at the expense of a large corporation, I’m sure there’s still a spot in heaven reserved for you. 

Hanging on a Nail in My Room. Pink Too!

The place I was staying in (The Plaza Motel) was most likely built in the 1950s and has not been given a facelift since. This motel features paper thin blankets, threadbare towels, no soap, and a crotchety old woman who watches every move a guest makes. I can’t call it no-frills though. There was a fly swatter. 

On arrival, I went to pay with my debit card, but the first two words Mrs. Bates said to me were “Cash only.” She went on to tell me her credit card machine didn't work.

It was brightly lit. 

“The Holiday Inn across the street will take your card… though it might be a bit more pricey.” Welcome to The Plaza Motel! She could’ve pointed me toward the gas station next store where I got the forty dollars cash out of an ATM (she hesitatingly gave me the “cyclist discount” advertised in my map), but that might have been too hospitable. 

“That lady and her husband own half this town. They got money comin’ outta their ears!” said a local who was trying to book a room for a town fair judge. He had heard the conversation and caught me before I hit up the ATM. “Cheapest summabitches on the planet. She just don’t wanna report the income.”

The cleaning lady echoed the sentiment the next morning when she voluntarily offered “…she takes all my tips. She gets to every room before I do and takes the money.” 

I can confirm this. Mrs. Bates told me I was to be out by 10 AM, but was there to greet me when I swung the door open at 8:30, making sure she was present before housekeeping.

 She must’ve been watching my morning routine through a peep hole. 

“Are you done yet? Most cyclists get headed out a bit earlier than you,” she said as she walked past me into the room. “You can turn off that A/C too, you don’t need it anymore.” After surveying the place to ensure I wasn’t leaving anything that cleaning lady might benefit from, she shuffled out. 

Everything about her was slow, deliberate, calculated, and unsettling. I returned the old-school key, but didn’t waste the ink on a Thank-You note. 

Instead I sipped coffee, ate like a king, and caught up on a few crossword puzzles while waiting for my laundry to finish.

 By the way, 71-Down in last Sunday’s New York Times didn’t give me pause at all (see screen shot). 

But Laundry + Sleepy Jimmy = Late Start. Again. In 97 degree heat. 

I was prepared for a slog, but unexpectedly surprised myself with one of the best rides to date. 

Here’s the route:

Today's Route

A Sign that Matches My Arm

Andy and Tracey had given me a fantastic tip back in Centerville. They told me to leave the mapped out route at Marshfield and take Old Route 66 to a bicycle trail that meets up with the main path in Ash Grove. 

This is what made the day great. 

Their suggested route offered a bit of everything: the large and diverse city of Springfield, country roads, a flat rail trail for cyclists, and the final roller coasters of the Ozarks. 

Back in late May, my inaugural trip on my Trek 520 during training, as well as my first kinda-sorta-but-not-really date with Hanna, was on a similar bicycle trail in Goshen, NY. And although the terrain of both these paths is less than thrilling (training for a cross country trip on a flat rail trail is akin to sauntering around a city block in Manhattan and stopping at every pub in preparation for a marathon), it flooded me with uplifting memories. I threw in the earbuds, found the right soundtrack, and pedaled hard, enjoying every second. 

Amazing Invention

A quick lunch at Sonic (first and last time I’ll ever go there), a delicious malted milkshake at the family owned Zott’s Creamery (where the owner, Amy, offered me hair bands to replace the ever-breaking rubber bands I use to keep my phone in place… don’t know why I didn’t think of that), and a beautiful night through the end of Missouri resulted in an unexpectedly fantastic ride.  

Seriously Steep Climb Ahead that Can't Be Depicted in a Pic

The remaining steep climbs of the Ozarks- steepness that all but conquered me even before hitting Appalachia- didn’t bother me a bit. I didn't even think about uttering One... More... Pedal... today. Not once. And again, this is tough stuff. 

Night Riding in Missouri

The night ride was stunning as the terrain leveled out and I maintained a solid 15 MPH pace.

Hospitality was on point as always when I needed to refill water during a thirty mile stretch (I thought about asking the lady who offered it if she had any extra pantyhose I could use to throw over my face in order to keep the night insects out of my eyes and mouth… but figured that’d be asking a bit too much. My Mini-Leatherman would look a helluva lot scarier if I rolled into town with a bright yellow helmet and a pair of No Nonsense stretched over my mug). 

Yesterday, a guy at a gas station asked me the Usual Questions when I stopped in for a beverage. When I told him I started at the Atlantic Ocean in Virginia, he was flabbergasted. This is a new reaction. “You’re pretty much halfway there!” he said. I hadn't thought about that. I feel like I started yesterday. 

With the right music, the setting sun, the darkness, and that phrase in mind (You're pretty much halfway there!), I'd be lying if I said I didn't cry a bit. And they weren't wind-induced tears. I know because my lip quivered.

Every ride for me is built on emotions- not physicality. And today’s ride was absolutely wonderful. I couldn't stop smiling. Every pedal felt better than the last, and I didn’t want to stop when I reached Golden City at 10 PM. I just wanted to keep on riding. I'm full of energy, and I'm not the least bit sore. I'm starting to realize how Arnold Swiss-Zenegger was able to pull off 250 miles in 29 hours. 

But we have different goals. 

I stopped tonight so I could see this country in the morning. 

You’re pretty much halfway there.

Yeah. Yeah I am. Pretty much.

And if Part Two is anything like Part One, then I don’t want it to end. 

Kansas tomorrow. 

P.S. 

 Am I missing something? Or is the intended message not being conveyed?

Not a "typo" either... said it on the other side too...