happy birthday, honey island joe helps out, still....

October 28, 2008

Day Thirty Seven

"You can live to be a hundred if you give up all the things that make you want to live to be a hundred."
- Woody Allen -

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Happy Birthday To Me.

Today is my birthday, and this bicycle trip is my birthday present. When I first told Heather, my wife, that this is what I wanted she understandably wasn't too excited about it. She's always been very supportive of my trips, but we had just moved to a new city in a new state. A city in which we didn't really know anyone. She would be starting a new job. We’re alone, in a strange place for two weeks, then I leave.

For two months.

"Bye, Honey!"

But it's what I wanted, so she said yes.

Heather is quite an amazing person. When I met her, she was working as a forklift driver to pay her way through college (certified on every forklift except one). After we got married, she worked as a medical transcriptionist in the small town where I practiced. One day, transcribing one of the doctor's progress notes, she realized, "Huh. What they do doesn't seem that hard." She took the MCAT (medical school entrance exam) and, after scoring in the top three percent, entered medical school. She did so well in medical school that she was accepted to the world-famous Mayo Clinic for her residency, where she recently completed her training.

In addition to being smart, she's very well-read. For her sixth birthday, all she wanted was to go to the public library to get her own library card so she wouldn't have to borrow her parents' card all the time. She's like a sponge, soaking up everything she reads, and she reads everything. This includes warranties, newspapers, maps, and cereal boxes. She's even read War and Peace.

She does, however, have her standards. To her credit, she's never read any of my journals. They just don't quite the same gravitas as... I don't know, something like the nutritional information on a box of Weetabix.

I laugh about it because I honestly don't mind. I mostly write to amuse myself, and secondarily in the hopes that I'll amuse some Cycleblazers.

In addition to being smart and well-read, she's handy. Unlike me, she can do plumbing, electrical, carpentry, and some automotive work. If something needs repaired around the house, we don't hire it out... she does it. My skills are limited to handing her the tools she needs to get a job done, sometimes even the correct one.

In addition to being smart and well-read and handy and young at heart, she's fun to be around. She's always finding cool stuff to do, from seeing a bioluminescent bay in Puerto Rico, to sunrise at the Grand Canyon, to two solar eclipses, to the Northern Lights in Iceland. My world would be smaller without her, and she keeps me young.

But the best thing about her is that she's my wife. So…

EVERY day is my birthday.

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Wanda had a meeting this morning that she couldn't miss, so my parents drove me back to the Ranger Station. A Norther blew through last night so it was a little cool, and the temperature was low enough for there to be frost on the ground. Still, after Glamis, I'm not quite ready to complain about cold temperatures. Not yet.

I'm going to try to make it to Kountze (pop 1570) today. Shepherd is about forty miles away. That's too short, but the next place to stay after that isn't until Kountze. That'll make it an 88-mile day. I've had two days to rest, and am feeling pretty good.

Here are some pictures I took this morning…

a lot of shade, with very little traffic

Trust Jesus, but put bars on the doors and windows for everyone else

I noticed that even the air conditioner in the window has bars around it, presumably for those folks who know they're going to hell but want to remain cool

The name of this town is "Pumpkin," not “Punkin.” I know that because I saw it on the state-made sign, and because that's what my map says.

I stopped in Shepherd for a short lunch at Sally's Cafe. When I walked in everyone instantly stopped talking and stared at me for a full 4-5 seconds. Then, simultaneously, everyone resumed their conversations. I felt I had been judged by fifteen strangers at once, found lacking, and dismissed.... clearly an outsider.

The lighting was dim and the walls were paneled with brown wood. The ceiling tile was once white, but years of cigarette smoke had darkened it to a oily tan.

I ordered a cheeseburger and sat there in my booth, listening to snatches of conversation…

"I buried my momma two weeks ago. I tried to call you but didn't know how to get in touch with you."

"They just found out that Oh-bamma's daddy was really a commonist poet."

"The reason those Democrats don't get Sarah Palin is because she's just so brutally honest."

"Yup. Skin Cancer. They took a piece from here and folded it down to my nose."
"Huh. I thought maybe Nancy had broke your nose."
"Naw, it'd be worse'n that if she done it."

I only took one picture because I felt like a sore thumb, and I tried to take it when no one was looking. The top sign says,

"Notice: Sexual Harassment in this area will not be reported. However, it will be graded."

After lunch, I rode hard through Dolen, Romayor, and Thicket with my ever-present headwind to keep me company. This part of Texas is called “The Big Thicket.” The reason for the name is that the forests have so much growth that they're impenetrable. The side of the road was like a giant wall of trees and brush.

I stopped for a break and a drink in Honey Island. It's just 7 miles short of Kountze - I'm almost there. It's a good thing, too, since the shadows are stretching out before me.

The owner of the store, Joe, was busy with customers and phone calls. He did, however, come outside for a couple of minutes to sit with me at the picnic table. After his usual questions, he said he sees quite a number of bikers every year. I explained about the ACA maps and he nodded and said, "Ahhhh, so THAT'S it."

Then he asked me where I was planning on staying tonight. When I said a motel in Kountze he said,

"You ain't gonna get one."

He went on to explain that all of the motels are full because of Hurricane Ike. There are a lot of displaced people who no longer have homes to live in. There are also FEMA workers swarming all over the place.

Then he grabbed a phone and a phone book and called all of the motels in Kountze. All of them said they were booked up so he started calling the ones in Silsbee, which is just on the other side of Kountze. After about the third one, he said,

"You do? Hang on a sec. Lemme let you talk to a friend of mine."

I explained my situation and asked the the guy to PLEASE don't give it to anyone else. I'm on my way.

I didn't even ask how much it costs.

Joe was already back to work while I was talking to the motel manager. He was always on the phone, and more frequently than not he was on two phones, the store phone and his cell phone.

"Well, I wasn't planning on selling it. I don't know what it's worth, but I give four fifty for it."

This is the best picture I have of him. Of course, he's on the phone.

I waited a few minutes to thank him, but he was too busy so I caught his eye and mouthed "Thank you." He gave me a thumbs up sign and I took off.

I had ridden a little more than 80 miles and was already tired, but I dug into my reserves and found the strength somewhere as I practically sprinted toward Kountze, then Silsbee. I passed a motel in Kountze and stopped to ask about a room, just on the off chance... but there were no vacancies.

It was getting darker and darker. Before leaving Kountze and pedaling the final ten miles I pulled out my flashing red light and attached it to the back of my bike.

When I finally reached Silsbee (pop 4,915) I followed the ACA route through town looking for the motel. By the time I got to the other end of town I still hadn't seen it so I asked a couple who were closing up their shop. The woman told me how to get there, and a back way to do it.

When I arrived at the motel, my odometer read 99.82, so I pedaled another hundred feet beyond and turned around.

I checked in and was surprised at the cost of a room. I was wondering if the area's motels inflated their prices shortly after the hurricane hit. As I was thinking it, the guy who was checking in before me actually asked the manager, who replied, laughing, that,

"No, we went up right BEFORE the hurricane."

I showered, then rode my bike to Pizza Hut for supper because, you know, I just don't get out and ride enough.

I remember seeing Jack LaLanne on TV as I was growing up. As he got older, he continued to preach physical fitness. Each year for his birthday he performed some amazing feat. For his 70th birthday, he fought strong winds and currents as he swam 1.5 miles while towing 70 boats with 70 people from the Queen's Way Bridge in the Long Beach Harbor to the Queen Mary. Oh, and he was handcuffed and shackled when he did it.

I'm no Jack LaLanne...

still, 100 miles...

I’m pretty happy with what feels like quite an accomplishment for me.

And also, happy birthday to me.

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distance: 100.8 miles
average speed: 13.3 mph
maximum speed: 26.9 mph
time on bike: 7:33:39
cumulative: 1780 miles

Today's ride: 101 miles (163 km)
Total: 1,781 miles (2,866 km)

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Gregory GarceauNice tribute to the wives in our lives who have higher reading standards than our bike touring journals. I remember when I told you none of my friends or relatives read my journals. "Not even your wife?" you asked. With some embarrassment, I replied, "Nope." I was relieved when you said, "my wife doesn't read mine either." Maybe that's not as uncommon as one might think. I'd like to think Bill Bryson's wife didn't read any of his excellent travel books either.
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2 weeks ago

Mark BinghamTo Gregory GarceauI'm SURE she doesn't read his books. :-). And, by the way, Bryson is a home-grown Iowan, raised in Des Moines.
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1 week ago