23 August 2010 -- Some miles south of the Dells an endless string of hills exists, hitherto unknown to this northern Illinois boy. The road that runs through these hills sharply rises and just as sharply falls. The road doesn’t rise that high in elevation, just gets there fast by means of the well-known principles of the inclined plane. I spent my day trudging up those planes and racing down the other side – ten, twenty, thirty miles of it. I must report that there were two hills I walked most of the way up. In one case my body just said stop pedaling and I did. In the other case == the longest hill of the day – I reached a speed that could not be faster than walking, with my muscles dull, painful and hot all at the same time, and the flies started buzzing around me and landing on my face. If I swatted them away, the bike started wobbling. I had visions of being swatted myself by a tractor trailer zipping along at 65 mph. That hill I finished on my feet. Still, Dad would stop here and there and I would pull up and rest. This was going well (except the going uphill) and we discussed the last stop during the next-to-last stop. I say “OK, stop when 23 reaches 12 and find a place to park on any of the four corners. I will find you.” “OK he says, I will stop at 12 and park.” Off he goes. Forty minutes later I reach 12 and look at all four corners. No Dad. I go a block further. No Dad. Oh am I in for it if I’ve lost my Dad. I pull my cell phone out and call him. And again. [The two-call process is standard because Dad cannot get his cell out of his pocket –(where it is kept so he feels its vibration {as his ears don’t work too well}) in time to prevent the call from going to voice mail.] “Yeah?” he says. “Where are you?” I ask. “Oh Im lost someplace, where are you?” he replies. “I am at the Kwik Trip across from MacDonalds in Dodgeville.” I muster. “OK I’ll be there in a bit. Bye.” I wait and wait and wait and now I have to go to the bathroom – It’s urgent. Another two call procedure determines he is still some ways away and so I have him park at MacDonalds, to where I scurry to finish that other business. Eventually he shows up and all is fine. Phew. Dad’s in bed early tonight because where I did forty=two miles on the bike, he did in excess of 100 on the road. Turns out he never say the 12 signs and I never told the name of the town.
Thought for the day: Simple, clear messages make for straightforward days.
Reply to Phil (and all the curious): My goal is New Orleans. I am in Mineral Point Wisconsin now. I only ride on roads that go south (East west movements are in the car). If the roads and/or weather do not support my standards for margin of safety, I move on in the car. I will not travel on highways of 4 or more lanes -- too busy and too noisy and too confusing for Dad. Using these principles have resulted in 300 miles on the bike, the rest in the car. Apologies to all bicycle purists but this trip has always been about waterballoons, the bike was just a means to an end. All in all, I am pleased with myself.
Hang in there!
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