ABB Day 18 – Fort Smith to Conway

Today was mostly about dogs. Bloody great slavering hounds. Alsatians. Pitbulls. Mongrels…All of them with sharp teeth and bad attitude. The ones that were chained up were almost amusing. They’d come bounding towards us at full tilt and then get yanked to a halt so quickly they’d do a triple salco with toe loop and land in an undignified heap of yelps and saliva. The ones that weren’t chained up were not at all amusing. One hid in the long grass of the verge and pounced as we passed. Another – a grey pitbull with shoulders as wide as the Arkansas River – we saw from a long way off but had an amazing turn of speed for 120 pounds of muscle on four short legs. Rose wasn’t going to hang around to make it’s acquaintance. In just three revolutions of her pedals she’d overtaken Jim the mechanic with a turn of speed that would have left Victoria Pendleton in her wake. Only down side was she swerved instinctively as the cur homed in on her haunches and out from the shoulder into the carriageway. Fortunately there was nothing coming. Apparently there’s worse to come in the next state where every other property has an unleashed yard dog drooling for a slice of bike pant. Not so Sweet Home Alabama.

Talking of swerving Randy and Monique were almost sideswiped by a car that ran a stop sign and careered from a side road on their right slap bang into their path. I was two lengths back and saw it all. Boy it was close. Randy’s bike handling skills kept him safe with a swerve that Beckham would have been proud of. Best not dwell on what could have been…

On the whole the drivers we share the road with have been polite and given us a wide berth. One or two have hurled abuse (I’ve no idea why) and a few others have passed by uncomfortably close.  We should, of course, be more worried about 40 tons of semi trailer hurtling by just three feet away but somehow the sight and sound of a dog closing in on you is more frightening. It’s a primeval fear that makes the hackles stand up on your neck. Just like the dogs.

Woof woof.

ABB Day 16 – McAlester, Oklahoma to Fort Smith, Arkansas

Ray is still very much in our minds. Especially when we’re riding alone and there’s plenty of time for quiet contemplation. Maybe it’s because we’re sensitised to it but this last few days there seems to be a cemetery every mile or so. I mentioned this to one of the other riders, Randy from Nebraska, and he told me that when the pioneers made their journey west from Mississippi to California one person was buried on average every 100 yards of the way. Carrying a literal dead weight wasn’t practical or, when the person had succumbed to disease, advisable so an impromptu service would be held there and then before the inexorable push westwards continued. Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, grandparents…all left behind. For those early settlers the collective goal was more important than any individual. I guess to that extent nothing much has changed. We’ve cycled 1700 or so miles from Costa Mesa on the Pacific coast so our collective goal  – the Atlantic coast at Tybee Island in Georgia – is now only 1100 miles away.

Rest day tomorrow. Maybe a bit of work on the tan lines – brown from mid- thigh down and from upper arms down but white everywhere else. More blue skies forecast plus temperatures in the mid to high nineties Fahrenheit (35c).

Ft Smith 43309

ABB Day 15 – Chickasha to McAlester (with a little break in the middle)

Ray is still cycling alongside us so a lot of contemplative silence on today’s ride. Black ribbon has been tied to our bikes which we’ll keep with us until the end and release into the Atlantic (although given Ray’s penchant for brightly-coloured cycle wear it should probably have been yellow ribbon).

On paper today’s ride – at 143 miles – was supposed to be the longest and, combined with 5,100 feet of climbing, one of the toughest. The “signature ride” as tour leader, Mike Munk had described it the evening before at the regular briefing meeting.  But in practice it turned into a slightly less challenging 119 miles because we had to be bussed around a collapsed bridge.

A clear sign of how exhausted we are is that pretty much everyone fell asleep in the back of the support vehicle within a few minutes of climbing aboard. And now a sirloin steak, mashed potato and steamed broccoli later (not to mention the world’s hugest chocolate pudding) I can barely summon the energy to write this.

We’ve fallen into a cycle (if you’ll forgive the tired pun): ride, eat, sleep, ride, eat, sleep…A trip like this is very self indulgent. Cycling to the exclusion of almost everything else. And now, at only 8.30pm, I’m ready for the third part of the routine. Tomorrow we ride from McAlester to Fort Smith and then a rest day beckons. A massage might be in order I think.

ABB Day 14 – Elk City to Chickasha

One of our riders, Ray Rickard from Carson City, Nevada, died last night in his sleep. From a heart attack we suspect. Peacefully we hope. And after a day of happy cycling we know (because he told us).

Ray Rickard at the Oklahoma state line yesterday
Ray Rickard at the Oklahoma state line yesterday.

What can I say about a man I met for the first time at the start line in California just a fortnight ago? My knowledge of him is necessarily scratchy, built up of breathy conversations on the open road and chats over dinner. A couple of things stand out. Firstly that he loved his wife. I know this because each day he would pause to take pictures of the wildflowers he saw along the way and every evening send them to her. He showed me one such image he was particularly proud of – blue sky, orange mesa and purple flower heads. We’d taken virtually the same picture.

Say it with flowers...Ray sent a "bunch" to his wife at the end of each day
Say it with flowers…Ray sent a “bunch” to his wife at the end of each day.

Secondly that he was a retired psychologist with the prison service. We talked about this as we cleaned our bikes – me with a perfunctory wipe over with the proverbial oily rag, Ray with much more care and concern. He was a meticulous man who wanted his wheels to turn smoothly. I like to think the work he did with people who fell into the US criminal justice system will have had a similar effect –  smoothed their journey through life.

Life is like a bicycle. Carrying us not from Pacific to Atlantic coasts but on a fantastical journey from cradle to grave. We know that like all good rides it’s going to come to an end. Just not exactly when. Last night the big wheel stopped turning for Ray. We’ll miss him terribly. Already do. His bright orange/yellow cycling gear and upright but efficient stance made him stand out on the road ahead (and he often was ahead). We’re going keep riding to the end in his memory. Today we passed the half way point with heavy hearts.  Tomorrow we have our longest slog – 143 miles from Chickasha to Mcalester. He’ll be with us every inch of the way.

Half way with heavy hearts
Half way with heavy hearts.

 

Day 12 – Dalhart to Pampa

I’ll get the light and fluffy stuff out of the way first. That’s light and fluffy as in cream-covered sponge cake. Chatting on the open road, as you do, the good people at America by Bike learned that Rose was missing today’s graduation ceremony at Sydney University. So they arranged a graduation cake big enough to slice twenty or so ways so we all got a mouthful or two at the end of our ride from Dalhart to Pampa. Thanks to Mike, Karen, Barbara and, in particular, Jim for such a touching gesture. He’s one hell of a mechanic fixing bikes AND cakes.

On a more serious note I don’t want any of you ever again saying what Rose and I are doing is amazing. What Ron and Barry are doing is amazing and puts our efforts into the Texas shade. Ron is seventy six years old and gets in before us pretty much every single day.  Less than six months ago he was being treated for cancer. The chemo sapped his strength, he says. But it clearly hasn’t sapped his endurance. We call him “Iron” Ron because he’s competed in no fewer than 17 Hawaiian Ironman triathlons. He’ll be doing a half Ironman in August. Never too old is his motto. I have decided to do this event again or a similar distance in my 77th year as a tribute to the man.

And now a bit about Barry. Barry is doing the event for charity to raise money and awareness of those, like him, who are living with haemophilia (a disorder that stops the blood clotting which, on the face of it, isn’t too good if you fall of your bike). He also has the HIV virus because he was given contaminated blood products. This is his second trans-American ride in two years proving there should be no excuses for the rest of us.

As Dylan Thomas put it: “Do not go gentle into that good night but rage rage against the dying of the light.”

 

Day 11 – Tucamcari, New Mexico to Dalhart, Texas

Not many pics today because today was mostly about wind. An energy sapping headwind. A wind of about 30mph. A wind gusting to nearly twice that. A wind full of red Texas dust. A wind that told your legs you’d cycled 190 miles not just 95. A wind that made taking pictures a chore. A wind constantly slapping your face and screaming in your ears “why are you doing this?”

But that said a wind that at the end of the day put even more colour in our weather beaten cheeks and made us all shake one another’s hands and say “job well done.” We slept soundly. We slept quietly satisfied. We slept knowing that it we managed this day then there was a good chance we might reach the Atlantic coast in a fortnight.