Missouri

July 13, Everton, MO

Crossed into MO early this morning and immediately felt the earth begin to tilt upwards, and then downwards, and then upwards. This will continue until I hit the Virginia Coastal Plain, I am told. Folks going west stop and say, “I can’t wait to get to the flat ahead.” You might not be singing that song when you get to Wyoming, I say to myself.

Ever since crossing the 100th Meridian in Kansas, the demarcation line between the dry West and humid East, a couple of days ago, the humidity has been steadily climbing. Paired with temperatures in the mid 90s, that makes for very uncomfortable riding. By 10 a.m. my shirt is soaked with sweat and I’ve stopped several times to drain a water bottle of Gatorade. One nice thing about MO is that there are towns about every 10-12 miles apart on our route. Couldn’t say that about Kansas, eastern Colorado and most of Wyoming. Having a cool place to slip into and down a chilled bottle of Powerade sure helps. Today I even found cool comfort and refreshment in a farm equipment store.

That was several hours after I stopped for lunch at Cooky’s Café in Golden City. It was pure happenstance that I chose it over two other restaurants in town. The place was jammed. Ordered a BLT with a side of potato salad and lots of iced tea. Then I saw they had 21 different kinds of homemade pies! Had two—blueberry Dutch and pecan chocolate. $1.75 each and superb. Total bill--$8.50. The waitress handed me a spiral-bound notebook and said that since I was a TransAm bicyclist I had to sign their register. Great reading the comments of other riders.

The day before I had a similarly delicious serendipitous lunch experience in St. Paul, KS at the St. Paul Café. I ordered a ham and cheese sandwich with two sides (pickled beets and cottage cheese), iced tea and the last piece of coconut custard pie. “I’m sorry the sandwich is so expensive,” the waitress said as I paid the bill of $6.50. “We (waitresses) don’t think the owner should charge that much for putting a piece of ham on a cheese sandwich.” “Mam, you don’t know how delighted I am to be paying $6.50 for all that I had. Back East $6.50 would have gotten me just a piece of pie,” I said.

Tonight I write in the cool confines of Running Springs Farm, Hunting Preserve & Inn. I’m the only guest. At $20 I’m living in luxury that during the Fall and Winter costs hunters a dear penny. Bill Cork, the owner, admires what we cross-country cyclists are doing so from May until the end of August he turns his inn into a hostel for cyclists. The kitchen is ours and we can use whatever is in the refrigerator or cabinets. The beer is free. “I don’t know how you folks do it,” he said. “I can’t ride my motorcycle more than 200 miles without getting a sore butt.”