“Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly”

Being on a cross-country bike ride is all about organization. You organize and reorganize your organization with each day. You rearrange where you store items; you balance the items between the front and the rear of the bike for better balance distribution or access, and you become all about efficiency from packing the bike to getting on the road. Your schedule and how you go about planning and the relationship with that schedule also becomes a mirror of yourself.

And in comes Ian. I met Ian arriving at my accommodations on the last day in Kentucky before crossing into Illinois. We arrived at the state park we both were staying at about 10 minutes apart. Ian was in his 60s, and had recently retired, prompting him to take on the challenge of biking the TransAmerican trail from Oregon to North Carolina. Ian was full of energy, a more polite way of saying chaotic. His chaotic personality reflected in his communication, his organization and his interrogation of me about my past few days that were ahead of him. “How much does your bike weigh?”, “How many miles are you averaging per day?”, “What is your average speed?” ………… followed by careful calculation in his head comparing himself to my answers. He would also inquire about more relevant details like the road conditions along the flood damaged areas, driver behavior and rest stop details. I was more than happy to share that information given its usefulness.

Ian and I would run into each again at dinner, this time him uninvitingly sitting down at my table as I ate to tell me about how much useless things he was carrying, and why he couldn’t throw it away. In which, I very logically told him to stop at the next post office he would come across and ship them back home, hoping this would end the discussion. Ian and I were the complete opposites. He had printed out maps, I had all the routes programmed in my GPS. Ian had notebooks with all his notes, schedule and plans that he would frequently change by crossing them out. I had all my details neatly organized in an excel sheet by each respective day. Perhaps Ian and I were products of our generation, but more so, I believe Ian and I had a vastly different relationship with this journey.

Ian had retired recently, and he could’ve been looking for some chaos in this life given the fact his day-to-day had changed significantly. I, on the other hand, had been living in a state of emotional and mental chaos, trapped inside my head following Brynn’s passing, and needed a sense calmness and just being present with my day. I didn’t want to figure out where I was going to sleep, or not having a clear direction the next day. My organization was pre-planned to a degree – with adjustments when necessary – so I can dumb down the day to be about the day. Focus in what I was seeing, perceiving and living.

I would cross into Illinois, my 4th state, not on a bike or by foot, but on a boat. It was a charming way to enter a new state that was divided by the Ohio River. The first town off the boat would be Cave-in-Rocks, a hotspot for many of the cyclist due to its known camping grounds. The town was also very eager to let cyclist know how much it loved them. It had painted bikes as decoration throughout the small, but charming town. And this moment would be the pinnacle of my relationship with Illinois for the day that I would be with it.

As I turned left out of the town to continue heading west, the immediate shift in terrain and road conditions over the first 10 miles would give me insights into how the day might unfold. Over the past two weeks, you learn not to generalize what you’re experiencing of the day with the rest of your journey. But I only had one day with Illinois, and I was hoping that this would be just a small bump in the rest of the 100 mile long smooth and uneventful road to Carbondale.

Illinois, just across the river by a 15-minute boat ride, was significantly different. The smooth roads I left behind in Kentucky that had shade protection from the denseness of trees all of sudden became exposed and much bumpier. The lush green surroundings I came accustomed to now were turning into sun burnt fields with few trees in the distance. The rolling hills of the past few days now became steep short burst of elevation that required me to get out of my seat for leverage to haul my bike up them. And the quite roads I enjoyed for most of Kentucky gave in to biking along a busy stretch of highway with semis traveling at highway speeds. At the same time, the temperatures that were already in the 90s by mid-morning, would hover around 100F for the rest of the day. Beginning of the ride, I was not in the most positive mindset and mood. So, I don’t know if my mood was driving the incredible dislike I was having towards the ride, or the ride feeding my already foul mood that sunk it even lower. It was probably a vicious cycle that picked up steam as the day progressed.

I tried to find moments of energy boost as you seek to draw from anything that gives you an inkling of positivity. I would laugh at the Jeep passing me on an uphill with a tire cover that said “Enjoy the Ride.” In moments of quietness, I would enjoy the sounds of a woodpecker woodpeckering. I would have a moment of genuine smile flirting with the pharmacist lady – she had a movie star like unique quality to her beauty - who felt sorry at the sight of me and would gift me with two bottles of water. But in the end, my relationship with Illinois became about wanting to be done with Illinois.

I became heads down from here on out. Helmet and sunglasses covering the angry look that had formed on my face, unable to see anything around. The day became about unending and unrelenting hills; head and side winds; long stretches of nothingness on the second half of the ride that had me concerned about dehydration from the excessive heat. It seemed like the angrier I got with Illinois, the more it threw at me as if almost letting me know that if I can’t say nice things about it, it would give me plenty of more to remember it by in a not-so-fond way. Anger is an interesting emotion… not an isolated one, but something that comes up when you’re unable to resolve a different emotion. But it is also compounding, from everything that has already happened to impact how you are experiencing something now and your outlook to what is ahead.

At mile 75, I would finally take refuge from the heat in a Subway. I arrived at the store with another cross-country cyclist having the same idea. After ordering my sandwich and proceeding to sit down, he would invite me to join him at his table. He was in his 60s, retired a few years back, when one of his friends called him about this idea of biking across the country. They had set out from Oregon on their way to the east coast. He confessed they had broken apart on week 5 going through Breckenridge, CO, “4 weeks too late” as he would proclaim. Dan had a calmness to him, and this experience was about seeing and experiencing the country without a particular timetable or agenda. After some back and forth questioning about our respective experiences, I came to the realization that his friend he started the journey with was none other than Ian, the gentleman I had an encounter 2 days prior to.

After spending less than an hour with each of them individually, I could’ve told them going on this journey together would be a bad idea. For me, this journey has been so much more than about biking and my relationship with the environment. It is mostly the relationship I have with myself, as I go deeper with my hopes, dreams, desires, fears and the person that is growing from the ups and downs on the road we call life. The solo nature of this journey is about how you handle the good days, but more so the adversities. Everyone suffers and responds to suffering differently. We all have different ways of dealing with adversity. I angry pedaled for 100 miles to only find myself enjoying a beer and a burger, sitting on a bar stool in a funky gastropub listening to groovy music. The 100 miles was now behind me that I did not need to bring it to that moment. I couldn’t imagine where the day would’ve gone if there was another person in that picture.

But of course, before I could enjoy that beer, Illinois would put its final touch on the day with a thunderstorm as an encore performance with about 5 miles to go. I would end up laughing at this as I ducked under a tree for 30 minutes to see it out.

The next morning, I would start the third day of my 300-mile stretch, feeling relatively rested from a good night’s sleep. And today, Illinois and I would have bit more cordial, and somewhat pleasant three hours together as I would pass through Murphysboro, and towns with such sunny disposition and warmth like Ava and Campbell Hill. I would have lunch in Chester, home to Popeye, and the last town before crossing into my 5th state, Missouri.

Illinois and I would depart amicably, and I’ll never know if there could’ve been more to us. But not all experiences and encounters can be deep and meaningful. And Illinois would simply be the 140 miles I had left behind.

-Troy

Ride Stats (Garmin Files):

Days on the Road: 21 days (18 cycling)
Distance Covered: 1456 miles
Climbed: 85095ft
Flats: 2
Bike Traveler Sightings: 14

Illinois: One Day in Illinois