Man of LaMancha
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- When I Come to Gravel Miles 6220-6290 July 29
- Mother’s 90 th Birthday Miles 6290-6295 July 30-August 6
Way to Go Jack July 28Way to go, Jack. Jack “Miles” Ventimiglia is Editor of the Liberty Sun. I email him all the stories I write about my ride. He chooses the one to run in my Greater Liberty column each week. In the paper that came out last Thursday, Jack also wrote a glowing endorsement of my mission and my life. He urged readers to support me. Today in the mail I received a hundred-dollar check wrapped in his column. Several other checks came in other envelopes. One letter carried foreign stamps and was addressed by hand in a beautiful script with fine flowing lines. But the envelope was empty. The clerk at the counter said they had not noticed it was empty when they put it in my post office box. She offered to trace the letter if I could identify the sender. The return address was wondrously written, but neither of us could make out what it said. I thumbtacked it to my office bulletin board. I’ll admire it as a work of art and wonder what might have been inside and what unintended destination it reached. Visions of a hospital bed come as I stop to drink out on 210 just a few miles from home. I’m riding on dead legs today. It’s not fun. An ambulance picked me up off the street and took me to the emergency room the last time I ignored the signals my body was sending. It’s only two o’clock in the afternoon. Good dark won’t come for seven hours, giving me time for 70 miles or more. Instead, I turn and ride home. Being out on the road today just doesn’t feel right. When I Come to Gravel Miles 6220-6290 July 29Without warning Orrick Road coming out of Excelsior Springs turns suddenly to gravel. Small, deep, loose rocks grab at skinny tires. The bike lurches this way and that. Steering or stopping up and down these hills would challenge Evil Knievel. When finally I can manage to stop without falling over, I turn my bike around and walk it back over several hills to the pavement. I had come to Orrick Road off Seybold Road. Leaving Mill Inn either east or west brings a rider immediately to a monster hill, the reason I almost always depart north or south. This morning, though, the route planner in my head is fixed on Orrick, and I turn left (east) off Cresent Street onto Seybold Road. My intention is then to turn right (north) on N Highway and make my way over to Highway 210, where a left turn will bring me in five miles to Orrick and Fubbler’s Cove. Before I can turn on N, I notice that Seybold continues across N. I’ve never taken that road. The day is young. I can’t resist. A scenic mile or so later, Seybold ends at Orrick Road. I can’t believe my luck. I turn right, wondering where in Orrick this road comes out. But my road bike is designed for paved roads, and when I come to gravel, I turn back. And follow my original plan. A lifeless brown is stealing the green from the nine-foot corn stalks I’m passing. Soon giant machines will invade the fields and rob each stalk of its single ear. Then another machine will lay low the stalks to begin again the yearly cycle.
Such a beautiful spirit they all have. Pat is my sister. She and Dennis Klump got married while they both were in college. Dennis recently retired from the job he took just after they married. They have lived nearly all their married life in the house Dennis built on an acreage they bought in Beaumont, Texas. Their three children were born there. Now grown and with children of their own, all have lived off and on in the house Dennis built. And the house has grown to accommodate them. The lives of all have been built around their church. Dennis is a deacon and sings in the choir. Pat for years kept the nursery. Dennis raises a big garden every year and Pat canned until her knees gave out. Dennis built a house on their property for his widowed mother. Four generations of the family now live together. Bobbie and I had no idea when we left Texas in 1961 that we never again would live there. We came to Liberty in 1965 with the intention of staying a year or so and then returning to Texas to make our home among family. But Liberty worked its magic on us. And here we have stayed. Here in Greater Liberty our grown children now make their home. Life for us all is grand. Except that we seldom see our Texas kin. We all gather on the beach in Corpus Christi. Bobbie and I have driven from Liberty with our daughter, Debbie, and her daughter, Laura. Our sons, Dave and Brian, and Brian’s fiancée, LeAnne, flew here from KCI. Pat is here with her son Bruce, his wife Lynette, and their son Matthew. Pat’s daughter Denise, her husband Shannon, and their children, Courtney, Nicki and Amber. Dennis comes in the morning with son, Mike. And Mike’s son, Chris. We are all here to celebrate Mother’s 90th birthday. And what a celebration! We have rented the lodge hall where mother is a member and has a hand in most every activity that ever takes place. Some 200 people show up, drawn from all over south Texas, where Mother’s elected duties in her various lodges regularly take her. As family members greet them, Mother’s friends regale us with tales of Mother’s energy and enthusiasm and keen-minded commitment to a myriad of diverse activities and projects. Our weekend gathering begins with dinner at Catfish Charlie’s. Then to the beach. Saturday morning we decorate the hall. Then come guests in the afternoon. And back to the beach. In church on Sunday we all sit together. Mother’s name is in the bulletin and she is recognized from the pulpit. The flowers today are in her honor. Then to Pancho’s Mexican Restaurant for lunch together in a private room. When we have eaten, we all have opportunity to say a few words to each other before we scatter. Birthdays and anniversaries and funerals serve as family magnets drawing back together for a moment in time those who share a common tie. I brought my bicycle. Mounted on a carrier that stuck out behind the car. In the week we were gone, I rode once. For a total of five miles. I planned to ride more. But biking is a solitary activity. And this is a week for family.
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