Pedaling Pilgrim Blog Home

Miles to date: 2,598.5

As I concluded on Monday, Cara graciously allowed us to set up camp on the patio under the awning at Kishwaukee Brewery to help shelter us from the threat of impending storms. That threat turned out to be real with wind gusts of 30-40 mph, strong enough to break one of Lecy’s tent poles and cause his shelter to sag on his attempts at slumber. I got up to water the arborvitae around 2:30am when the wind started to pick up; I captured a little video but that was at the start and not the peak of the tempest.

The torrential rain started around 3:30am and the awning did keep us nearly 100% dry. Lecy was a few feet from the southern end of the patio where the wind pushed the rain onto his saggy shelter: it was a memorable final night for our departing pilgrim.

When we rose around 6:30, the rain had subsided to a drizzle. As we started to pack up, I grabbed my Chelsea bag and took Al Roker to some bushes by the Metra tracks 1/4 mile away; my partners managed to hold out until we reached the Starbucks’ porcelain 2 miles down our route, but I have my morning routine that can’t be tamed. When Al and I returned damp but intestinally unburdened, I was ready to start the day in earnest no matter what the weather brought.

After 34 riding days of pleasant weather, we finally got our opportunity to strike out in the rain. This time, there was no debate about whether to don rain gear; jackets went on before we left the brewery – I even got the chance to put on my booties (these go over my shoes and socks; they feel like they’re part of a Halloween costume). We braved morning rush hour across the busiest roads in the area that were also under construction and littered with bumps and holes full of rain water – one of the most unpleasant 2 miles of our nearly 2,600 mile journey.

After Starbucks coffee and breakfast, we crossed the street to the path; for me it was 41 miles of path all the way to Batavia; Geeto was riding about 50 miles to his home in Chicago; Lecy was going with Geeto then another 15 miles to the Chicago lakeshore to drop his bike at the shop for much needed repairs (he had a cracked rear rim and a broken spoke that were causing a serious wobble on his back wheel that began shortly after Bismarck – somewhat miraculous he made it this far and I’m glad we didn’t know the severity of the problem).

Once we hit the path, the drizzle increased to a proper shower, shower turned to downpour, and downpour turned to deluge. We rode about 15 miles to the Short Stacks cafe in Algonquin where our paths would be separating.

From August 6 to September 15 we’ve been together, overcoming the obstacles of our environments and ourselves. There was no fanfare to mark this milestone, just three grizzled guys soaked to the bones on a quiet suburban main street kept desolate by the rain. We shared some high fives and bro hugs and went our separate ways: them back to ride in the rain, and me to a break for another coffee and English muffin while I dripped all over the bar stool and floor of the cafe.

As I reflected on some photos and memories of our journey, I was reminded of some of our similarities. Several times we were asked if we were brothers. Though this question seemed to arise less frequently, maybe due to the diversity of our beards. Geeto’s whiskers are predominantly white which gives him a real Papa Smurf look, though the other day I noticed one rebellious red hair that is a real anomaly on his left flank. My offering is a more multicultural affair with a little of everything; though the colors seem to flock with their own types in various geographic regions; my beard may be representative of the blending pot of our nation with some rebels and problem areas but generally getting along equally. Lecy’s beard is impressively reddish with a mix of grey; while a little more grey and needing a little more growth, it looks like something from Connor McGregor, or Ewan McGregor, or Rob Roy McGregor… Lecy may be of Scandinavian descent, but his beard is a McGregor.

It’s going to be different with just the two of us in the future, though we have various cling-on riders for a few days most of the way through Michigan, we’ll be on our own when we cross through Ontario and for most of the home stretch leg from Buffalo to Rhode Island. The efficiency of our three-person train has been beneficial, especially battling against wind for a week; taking a drafting break 2/3rds of the time helped tremendously. Taking every other turn across Canada, with landscape and wind threats similar to eastern North Dakota causes some anxiety. But, our durations are shorter: we averaged close to 75 miles for 35 days; for the 19 planned days remaining we average less than 64 miles. And, our fitness is much improved, and hoping two full days rest will suffice to help any minor ailments. We will miss Lecy, but we will survive (and convert any remaining doubters).

After sufficiently soaking the floorboards at Short Stacks, I pressed on alone for home (though my actual destination today is my second home: Sturdy Shelter Brewery). My wife was planning to meet me there, and I told the guys at the brewery to expect me between 11:30-12.

In 35 days of riding from the Pacific Ocean, I’ve seen a lot of beautiful country, and I’ve seen some ugly country. I guess it all just makes me appreciate what surroundings I have. The Fox River Trail is a picturesque and pleasant ride. The rain stopped and the sun was breaking through. The robins were busy bathing in the puddles from the morning downpour while squirrels were actively squirreling away fallen walnuts. I saw the occasional egret and heard a few Sandhill cranes.

I felt more observant than usual. I was watchful of bumps and occasional holes, maybe I’ve gotten better at this with experience, or maybe I was subliminally nervous about the absence of my tire-changing pit crew. Though I’ve ridden this path many times, I also seemed to notice more of the scenery: I was struck by the rusting relic of the riverboat casino in Elgin; I stopped briefly at a scenic overlook that I never realized was so idyllic; and I saw a castle-like house that I never knew was there, though it’s less than 100 feet from the path.

I didn’t see a single other cyclist on the path for 25 miles. Maybe if it wasn’t raining, or a Tuesday morning, there would’ve been some others out. But when the rain comes, they run and hide their heads. I actually imagined how amazing it would be if I came into Batavia and the first person I saw was riding an old penny-farthing bicycle., like I had somehow gone back in time in my absence. As I approached Batavia, I stopped for a photo: 1.2 miles to go to downtown. As I paused here, a Batavia couple greeted me to ask about my journey. He was a fellow bike packer and was excited to hear about our triumphs and travails. It felt good to have this greeting in my final mile to home. (I got the couples names, but in my excitement to press on and the homecoming greeting after, I forgot them! If you’re following the blog, please remind me in case I run into you again!)

My extra-long unplanned stops meant I was 15 minutes later in my arrival. However, it was meant to be as my wife Christin, daughter Sarah and grandson Judah then had time after their morning commitments to rush over and cheer my final pedal strokes. it was a beautiful and happy homecoming. I had last seen my wife on August 8, and Sarah and Judah on July 30; it was a true joy to have them greet me.

Cam, Ben, Oliver and Steve (some of my favorite brewers and bartenders) were inside the taproom to accept me before their listed opening hours. We had a few recovery drinks and talked a little about my journey to date. Also, a friend of the pilgrims Rick Balon drove in from Naperville to see me. In addition to sharing bike stories, Rick also told me a story about the continuing saga of the Bontrager switch lever tool…

Original readers may remember, back in Walla Walla Washington, on August 13, Lecy took his bike to the Bike Barn to consult about the flats he’s experienced in his rear tire. The solution was to continue riding tubeless, but to replace what they consider low quality gel with the premium Stanley product. In addressing his problem, they failed to reinstall the axle lever that is a specific tool needed to remove the Trek wheels. 3 days later when we were setting up camp in Tekoa WA, Lecy’s rear tire spontaneously released its air in dramatic fashion. The gel was useless, and when we went to remove the wheel to put in a tube, we discovered that the mechanic in Walla Walla did not reinsert the axle lever – without this, we have no way to remove the wheels.

We overcame the problem as Geeto is riding the same bike and we extracted his axle lever to use on Lecy’s bike, but we remained nervous about now carrying this loose and not having a spare. When the Bike Barn failed to mail us the tool to our stopover at the Jerdee’s in Big Sky, Rick Balon took it upon himself to get involved. After some persuasive discussion, Rick got the Bike Barn to come through on their promise to deliver the tool, this time to him. While his receipt of the tool would be too late for our use, it was the principle of the matter, and the hunt of this white whale of a tool that we wanted to absolve.

As the saga continues, Rick recently received a piece of mail: a plain white envelope addressed to him from the bike barn, with a Bontrager axle lever sized hole in one end. Peeking inside, it appeared the Bike Barn wrapped the tool in a paper towel and said a little prayer as they deposited it in a flimsy paper envelope. There is now a formal USPS search opened up to find the tool at some sorting facility between Naperville and Walla Walla. I don’t know how these things work, but the white whale is still out there.

I had an Aunt Sharon who passed away several years ago. She was the kindest person I’ve ever known. I never knew her to say a bad word about a single person. Though, I know she recognized there were people out there that were too mean-spirited, unthinking, or inept to say anything really nice about; in these conversations, what she said about these people was, “Bless their heart.” For the Walla Walla Bike Barn… bless their heart. The saga goes on.

After the celebration I relaxed at home before Christin and I went out for a dinner date. I had to go to the Sidecar Supper Club that will forever be a local favorite. Owner Melissa is the Queen of River Street in Batavia and I was excited to let her know of my 2,600 miles defeated; unfortunately she wasn’t there, but her partner Ryan was. We enjoyed our meals while some live music played on the Batavia woonerf. This living street and festive atmosphere wouldn’t exist with Melissa and I’m grateful to be able to support this when I can.

I’m also happy to report that, 40 days of absence from our partners has not irreparably damaged our relationships. No locks changed on doors or bags packed for the mother-in-law’s house. The pilgrims each had wonderful receptions and are enjoying time with our supportive and loving real partners.

Tomorrow I plan to take the day off again from the blog. So here’s my ride for Friday: Day 36: Batavia to Porter. We’re riding from our homes to Lecy’s house in NW Indiana, where we’ll have a dinner with spouses. As Christin is driving out for that, I’ll be traveling light, so 95 miles doesn’t sound too bad. Additionally, my son Isaac will likely join for the first 20 miles to Villa Park, then Oliver Bulley from Sturdy Shelter will likely join from Wheaton to Oak Park, then I’ll meet Tim Dull in Oak Park and ride the 10 miles to Buckingham Fountain to meet Geeto, then we’ll ride the 50 miles to Lecy’s in familiar fashion as a triumvirate. So, it will be a long ride, but (weather permitting) not too stressful.

For song additions today…

Lecy is a fan of Bob Weir, and also as reference to the ongoing saga of the Bontrager axle lever – “…you know the one thing we need is a left-handed monkey wrench…”Greatest Story Ever Told

If I remember correctly, my friend Biscan is a fan of the Beta Band; my friend Lahey not so much. I lean more towards Biscan on this, and this song (in title anyway) is appropriate for the weather we faced and rode out of yesterday. And I love to stir the pot in disputes amongst friends: Dry the Rain

Lastly, I need to share one final observation. Remember when I mentioned an expectation of encountering a penny-farthing cyclist as I entered Batavia? Though my concentration was on conversation with Christin as we sat down for dinner on the woonerf, I was distracted by a brief vision rolling by behind her… life is sometimes strange like this.