Keep The Lights On, New Orleans

Keep the lights on, New Orleans. I'll be along another time.

The short version is that I'm done. As I mentioned in a previous note, about my response to my friend Dan when he asked me to run with him, I said I would as long as I was not injured or was no longer enjoying myself.

At 9:49 AM this morning, slugging up yet another long hill, with many more for the day in prospect, I decided I did not need to see any more back road hills, any more beautiful quiet pastures, any more foxes, snakes, deer, buffalo nor cows. The prospect of seeing more of those creatures of God was likely but the prospect of seeing much more of the Mississippi River was dim for at least another 450 miles, or until I reached Baton Rouge, LA.

The fun was done.

Yes, if I stayed the course, I would pass through the south of colonial anti-bellum homes, but really only after about 400 more miles on the Natchez Trace Parkway. It would have been grand to see the burial place of Captain Merriwether Lewis to be sure. It would have been ego lifting to come home to cheering crowds, all wondering how an old guy like me could possibly do such a thing. It would have been fun to cross over the last bridge and enter New Orleans. Yes, it would! And because I'll miss those experiences and several more, I am saddened. And especially I am so because I set out with such enthusiasm and confidence in my ability to make the entire 1500 miles. Yes, I am saddened as I write this.

But lest we dwell in the morass of self pity, lets take a look at what we did accomplish together. In the 18 days I was gone, 2 of which were rest days, I cycled 668 miles from Muscatine to Dover. I did so, not always with relative ease, but did so anyway, making it up most of the steeper hills, and when unable to do so on the bike, I got off and pushed it up to the crest and over, hopping on for the long exhilarating ride down, increasing my daily mileage total to just about 50 per day. And by the way, with the racks and panniers loaded with all I needed on the trip, it was an extra 40 pounds of weight I was pumping around.

I did so cycling on what is called the Great River Ride South, through the Ozark mountains, for a brief time along the Mississippi River crossing it twice, through the flat farmland of southern Illinois and on into the rolling hills of Kentucky and finally into the steeper hills of Tennessee. I rode over the Ohio, Tennessee and God only knows how many lesser rivers, creeks and tributaries.

I was privileged to meet some wonderful people, citizens of the rural countryside of Illinois, Missouri, Kentucky and finally Tennessee. I was never once turned away when I asked for assistance. I was always treated with at least deference, if not respect in every circumstance. I rode through country where American flags flew on flagpoles in front of a majority of farm houses, and in a few, the Stars and Bars.

This is the land of pickup trucks, most without, but some with gun racks behind the driver. It is the land of farm machinery, some of which looks like it could eat a small car, and certainly a cyclist. It is the land of struggling small towns that will make it in the face of changing economic circumstances, and some of them won't.

It is where eagles soar, cows listen to speeches with interest and on a Sunday afternoon, a family is gathered outside around a picnic table piled high with food, cars parked out on the dirt drive. And they wave to a stranger who they must think is out of his mind as he cycles by. It is Madison County, with or without the bridges. It is the land of two good old boys sitting silent, strong and imposing on a bench in front of a general store. Imposing, until you ask a question and then full of information and local color with a big smile minus some teeth. "You 'ain't lost, you just don't know where you are"!

It is a land of high fluffy-like cotton candy clouds which can turn dark and violent quickly, showering a rider with God's electric show, pounding the ground with rain as though water out of a fire hose, and within minutes, turn the sunshine and heat back on.

It was a magnificent almost 3 weeks. No, I did not get to New Orleans. I'll make that another time by car or plane, so Meg Brossy, keep the names of those places handy. I want to hear the music, taste that great food and drink and cheer with all the others on Bourbon Street.

Keep the lights on New Orleans, I'll be along another time.