The key to finding a good place to camp in the cities I pass through is local information. I always stop by a town store or gas station toward the end of my riding day to feel an area out before setting up. Mostly I'm directed toward the city park without hesitation from the clerk or fellow patron. Sometime I get a bad vibe about a place or hear too much talk about asking the police for permission. In those cases I may move on or just find a spot unseen. Humansville last Saturday night was a case in point.
The city park was tiny and right in the middle of town. The locals only told me to talk to the local cops which I didn't feel like going out of my way to do. Riding on, I passed a great place to set up. Upon a hill to the highway's east rested a sizable piece of property mostly unoccupied. In truth it was heavily populated but none of the residents were going to complain. So with a full moon shining on a clear Saturday night before Halloween I erected up my tent in the back corner of a cemetery. There was a mound of lawn rubbish that concealed my tent from sight--not that it would protect me from evil spirits or mischievous teenagers. None to worry. Except for the cold, phoning friends and a couple of wandering cows on the other side of the fence I rested quite soundly through the night. But that's an example more to the contrary of my general stay in Missouri. The night before my plan of action worked to a T.
Pulling into the town of Butler on Friday night I decided to kill a second bird while gathering local information. Instead of asking about where to camp I had sun enough to ask about the local watering hole first. Walking into the town beer joint with helmet and gloves still on and carrying my basket full of bike shit got me instantly looked at by all sixteen of the older patrons sitting inside. Well, my butt not ten minutes on a barstool and I had my second beer paid for, the manager was making me dinner on the house and the owner directed me to his property around the corner to set up my tent and build a fire. I had the whole place glued to my story and was fielding questions from every direction. These guys loved me and I had a great time in that place after I set up my things and came back to the bar on a much lighter bike. It wasn't a late night but was a refreshing bit of company with some really nice people in a place I was able to learn much more about. Thanks Butler. I needed that.
Much unlike Kansas, these roads here in Missouri are a mess. I'm in some beautiful, hilly terrain covered with colorful trees. But the irregularity of the roads here are tough on my body and my bike. Though the elevation hasn't varied more than two hundred feet, the inclines and declines are windy and steep. My speed has been greatly reduced and I'm spending more time attentive to the (thankfully light) traffic that I share the street with. I get a little tense at times in light of the "thundering assholes" as I call them that occasionally disturb the peace of the woods and my mind. Most drivers slow on my approach and even wave or honk a hello. But some trucks and cars are just too busy to obey the speed limit let alone pay me the typical courtesy of a polite and safe pass. Though I've uttered some unclaimed curses, I've yet to issue my first. No one has yet forced me off the road or really caused me to worry. At least, none of the humans I've been passed by.
"The Show me State" needs a new motto. Missouri should really be the "We Don't Lock up our Dogs" state. Damn, I counted four different dogs that have chased me down along my entire trip to and through Kansas. But in one instance in Missouri I almost doubled that mark as a pack of three left their front porch in pursuit of yours truly. Since then, I've friggin lost count of the total out here. I must have been running from a dog an hour over some stretches yesterday and the day before. None of them ever get me. All but one, they're too stupid not to give away their position before they race off in pursuit. I finally found a smart one, either that or he was mute. It was only after he was right behind me that I heard his feet on the pavement and turned on the juice to get away.
Except for the wind, the weather has been good to me out here. Not too cold at night and mildly warm by day, I'm riding under clear skies. Too clear. Four days without a shower (six without cleaning my shorts) and I finally succumbed to my desire to get a hotel on Monday night. Usually I'd wait for wet weather to take shelter but I needed a break. I think I've recently hit my wall. I've just been feeling tired all over of late. Not that I'm going to quit but this is getting a little tedious. And, as I've said, the road has been hard on the body and the bike.
Yesterday was a breaking point. I was having some trouble with my rear rim. It wasn't bent at any point but was rolling out of alignment when I'd put extra force behind my peddling. I couldn't figure it out having never experienced the like but after the problem got too severe to ignore I pulled off the road and took the hub apart. Turns out I'd snapped my axle sleeve in two. The thin quick-release rod held everything in pace but was pretty bent out of shape. Not dead but crippled in a very rural part of Missouri, I chose to try and flag down some help. And just as in other times of need on the road I had a ride show up on the spot.
Headed my way was a construction worker named Mike who lived in the small town that was my aimed destination for the day. Still quite rural, at least his place was much closer to a bike-shop sized city than I was broke down in at the time. I asked Mike if since late in the day he wouldn't mind if I set up camp on his property. He and wife wouldn't have it. They had their little girl sleep in their room and I had a warm dinner and place to sleep for the night.
This morning, Mike drove me almost an hour to the closest bike shop we could find. And though it wasn't the exact part, my bike is again fully operational and now has (sans quick-release) a much stronger axle.
It's funny. Maybe it's just putting my mind on the concrete problem right in front of me that I needed. Though tired and troubled by a new and disastrously unfathomable break, I didn't think about turning my sights toward the nearest bus station. Dial the phone, stick out the thumb; just get it fixed. And here I am and here it is with some pleasant help had to make it so. I don't think it's necessary or even possible to understand the road. So far as everything has been concerned, it just always seems to work. That’s life. In all reality it is no easy feat to suffer any of the ultimate defeats. We just fool ourselves into thinking otherwise and let our passions seep away little by little via fear and doubt.
Well, that’s it. It's time to go put some miles under my belt on the remainder of today. Let's see how it feels. My hotel stay two nights ago didn't seem to do the trick. We'll see if yesterday's break was the break I needed to get me fresh and fixed.
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