My Cross-Country Bike Tour

The Ozarks put up quite a fight—some of the grades I climbed were significantly steeper than anything I tackled in the Rockies—but I made it across alive. What was troublesome about crossing the Ozarks was the humidity. On some hills I’d be sweating buckets and none of the sweat would evaporate, leaving my shirt and bike shorts soaked. I’ve gotten into a bad habit of not washing my clothes regularly, so when the sweat finally dried, it would leave behind a white, salty deposit.

When I left Everton several days ago, I didn’t hit the Ozarks right away, but the terrain did get increasingly severe as I headed east. My next stop was in Marshfield, a small town next to an interstate. I had hoped to camp in the city park in Marshfield, but I pulled into town on the 4^th of July and the park was crammed with people trying to get seats for the rodeo and fireworks show that night. Marshfield isn’t a large town, but their fireworks display was very impressive nonetheless. It was such a muggy night that I didn’t even bother pitching my tent after everyone had left. I pulled two benches together in a concession stand and tried to get a few hours of sleep. Soon after I spread out on the benches, however, a group of flies arrived and started pestering me. I guess I smelled worse than I thought. At around 4 AM I had had enough. I cooked a quick breakfast, packed up, and hit the road. When I passed through the town of Houston, I stopped by the Houston Motel, where the owners offered me a few bottles of cold water before I rode on. I eventually ended up in Summersville, where I spent the night at the Family Youth Center.

The next day I pushed onwards through the heart of the Ozarks to Centerville. I had heard from some of the locals that cyclists were allowed to camp at the courthouse in town, so I rode on over. There I met the dispatcher in the attached sheriff’s office, who gave me directions to the bathrooms and places I could camp for the night. Our conversation was interrupted every now and then as she paused to run license plate checks for deputies calling in, coordinate over her radio two teams of paramedics bringing a man who had had a heart attack to the hospital, and talk on the phone to a man complaining about his neighbors. I was surprised that such a lightly populated area could have this level of demand for emergency services. I was also impressed by the dispatcher, who kept her cool and focus the entire time. Later on, things settled down and we talked briefly in between reports of an ATV accident before I left the office and fell asleep on a bench in the courthouse.

I left Centerville the morning after and headed towards Farmington. Along the way I met the Grubbs, a family running a fruit stand near St. Joe State Park. I had stopped to chat and they offered me a soda and filled me up with fresh peaches and apples. Their hospitality was just as refreshing as the cold drink and fruit they gave me. In Farmington, I stayed at the Tradition Inn for the night before pushing onwards to cross the Mississippi River into Illinois.

I’m currently staying at a middle school in Carbondale along with several other cyclists who are on a ride to Chicago. I owe tonight’s accommodations to Jon, the owner of a bike shop called The Bike Surgeon. Jon drove back from home during his dinner to reopen his shop, where he spent over two hours personally servicing and addressing my concerns about my bike. What’s more, he brought me dinner and found a place for me to stay for the night. My bike runs as good as new now and I’m all set to tackle the Appalachians.