Man of LaMancha
My Heart in My Throat Miles 9150-9250 November 3
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- I Hope You Win the Lottery Miles 9250-9360 November 4
My Heart in My Throat Miles 9150-9250 November 3If I turn right off Highway 69 when I come to the Mosby exit, I will come in half a mile to this tiny town tucked along the banks of Fishing River. I have done so many times before. But today I turn left off 69 onto Cameron Road. For a hundred yards or so the road is pock marked with jagged holes and crudely filled holes, making biking hazardous and challenging. Then a small white sign on the left side of the road announces: Clay County Maintenance Begins. Beginning at this spot the road is smooth and freshly paved. Bright yellow stripes divide the lanes, a convenience to drivers not given where the road is holey. About half a mile beyond, Cameron Road sweeps left in a gentle curve. The pavement and the yellow line disappear. No holes. Small loose gravel. The road runs straight for a short distance and comes under a railroad bridge, making an abrupt right turn as it does so. Straight and fairly flat for the next mile, Cameron crosses Highway 92 and again acquires a fresh smooth surface and yellow center lines. Cameron ends a mile or so later at 164th Street. A right turn would take me to Watkins Mill; a left, to the James Farm. I turn left. Then right on Old BB and snake my way over hills and around curves, past New Hope Baptist Camp, to Holt. A quick stop at the Busy Bee for a muffin and milk. Then out 33 Highway to CC to C. Turn right and head for Plattsburg, eight miles ahead. I didn’t realize I had never come to Plattsburg at noon on a weekday. As I pull to a stop at the intersection of C and 116 on the east edge of the town, I hear the siren. I remember the town in Texas where I lived as a boy. At noon everyday the siren sounded to announce lunchtime (called dinnertime back then. We ate supper at night). I look at my watch: 12 o’clock—High Noon. I head for JJ’s. My heart is in my throat for a few seconds as I come into Kearney on 33 Highway from the north. I routinely give cars and trucks a wide berth as they come from behind and pass me. I hug the far right side of the road. Passing traffic does not come as close to me this way, but riding the edge of the road requires that I hold steady, lest I veer off into the rough. Ordinarily I can do this. Not this time. Suddenly I am off the road. The narrow shoulder is rocky and rutted. I fight to hold the wheel straight. If it turns, the bike will up-end and throw me head first over the handlebars. The downhill momentum is working against me. I’m afraid to reposition my hands on the bars in order to reach the brakes. It’s all I can do to hold on. Steering is impossible. Hold it steady and hope. And ride it out. When the bike comes to a stop I’m amazed to be still upright. But thankful beyond words. I stand for a few minutes to collect myself. A cinnamon roll at Sarah’s Table completes the process. As I circle our town square to end my ride, I spot TV news vans form channels 4, 5 and 9, their remote antennas rising high in the sky. It’s 4:15. I hurry home to catch the 5 o’clock news and discover what has made out town newsworthy. Good news seldom generates such interest. So though Halloween is just past, a sense of foreboding overtakes me. I was right. The news is of a convicted rapist released from prison now on trial in our town for another rape and murder. I Hope You Win the Lottery Miles 9250-9360 November 4If it had not been raining, I would have stopped. I almost never bypass Mill Inn. It started raining on me a few miles back. The temperature is in the low forties. My rain suit is keeping the rain off me. It’s dripping off my helmet and spotting my glasses. I would like to be warm and dry. I cast a longing eye toward the light in the window as I come to Mill Inn. But should I go in, I know from experience how hard it will be to make myself leave and step back into the rain and climb aboard my bike. Better to stay wet and cold than to dry off and do it all over again. I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. I keep on pedalin’. The rain has stopped by the time I get to Catrick’s. So do I. I tell Jenny I need something sweet. “We have pie, if it’s not too early.” She says. “Any with meringue?” I ask. She goes to look. She recites a long list of cream and berry pies. But no meringue today. I ask for a baby cake with an egg on top, sunny side up. I pedal out of Lawson on D and turn right on M three miles out. I spot a man standing off the left side of the road, his car parked behind him. He’s looking my way. “Marvin!” I shout when I’m near enough to make out who it is. “I saw you back on Salem Road. I went to Catrick’s to wait for you. But you didn’t come. Then I saw you on D.” Marvin says. “I had to go by Dollar General to get a notebook. And I rode around Lawson before stopping at Catrick’s.” I say. Marvin Wright and I have been friends since that October Sunday afternoon in 1986 when he stopped for gas at a service station on Highway 69 between Lawson and Excelsior Springs. I was riding my very first century that day and had just stopped to get a drink and rest for a minute. Marvin saw my bike and asked, “Where you going?” Back between Plattsburg and Stewartsville, an impossible idea had come to me. An idea so insistent it was almost audible. “Ride your bike across America.” That was too crazy even to consider. I forgot it. Then Marvin asks, “Where you going?’ And before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “I’m gonna ride across the country.” He will think I’m nuts. He will jump in his pickup and hurry away. I’ll know I’m crazy. Instead, Marvin’s face lights up. “That’s marvelous!” he says. “I’ll help you.” He pulls his pickup off the driveway and we stand for a long time to discuss my ride. Seven months later on a Monday morning I pedal away from Disney World in Florida bound for Disneyland in California, by way of Seattle. Marvin helped. Big time. He has been a dear friend ever since. Marvin and Sharon live a few miles up M, near the left turn onto U that I will make to get to Rayville. “I’ll call one day soon so we can have breakfast or lunch at Catrick’s.” I say. “Call me anytime. I’ll meet you anywhere.” Marvin says. Jamie sells me a cheddar cheese and pastrami sandwich when I get to the Rayville Baking Company. In warmer weather I sit to eat on their porch and greet passersby. Today I put the sandwich in the bag behind my seat and head for Richmond. Through town on Business 10, I come to Highway 13 and turn right toward Henrietta. I get lemonade at McDonald’s on the edge of town, just across the street from the new high school. I eat my sandwich. The young girl cleaning tables asks me if I get cold riding. I tell her I’m riding for charity. She says she would like to run for charity. “If I had a bunch of money I would take care of my family. Then myself. Put some in the bank. Then buy a bunch of food to give to people.” “I hope you win the lottery,” I say. A man about my age has driven down with his wife from North Dakota. “It’s snowing there. We thought it would be warmer here.” He says. They are headed for Branson. “Our eighth time,” he says. Download 0.51 Mb. Share with your friends:
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