Twizzlers for Breakfast

I haven’t seen what 3 a.m. looks like in awhile, but it reminds me a lot of when I originally closed my eyes just a few hours ago.  That being said, WE’RE GOING TO JAMAICA!  But our 6:30 a.m. flight to Philadelphia (Yes, Jamaica through Philadelphia, starting in KC) gets us moving at 3.  

But what about breakfast…one of my favorite meals of the day?  Our airport doesn’t really cater to predawn travelers, so it is a good thing I picked up a gigantic bag of Twizzlers from Target.  That, with a few other snacks we had stowed away, helped the hunger urges subside when they started to twinge a bit.  On to Jamaica…

Airport anticipation giddiness.  Fueled by Twizzlers!

Downtown KC amongst the cloud cover as we leave.

This junket to Jamaica is a celebration of Drew’s completion of his undergrad time at Missouri State University.  So if I have to walk on a beautiful beach to celebrate this accomplishment, I’m there for him!  But we have to get there first.

The first leg of our flight to Philly seemed relatively quick.  Between a game on my phone, snacking, and attempts at closing my eyes, we started descending before I realized it.  What we didn’t know as we disembarked from the plane was that our next flight was already boarding, somewhere on the other side of the terminal. We quickened our pace once we got our wits about us.  If not for a guy driving one of those golf carts covered in wheelchair accessible logos that graciously picked us up, maybe due to the frantic look on our almost sweaty faces, we stood a good chance of missing our first night in the Caribbean.  But we made it to our gate, as they were making preparations to close the jetway doors…so much for grabbing some early lunch.

Following the Missouri River east.

The flight from Philadelphia to Montego Bay, Jamaica, was to be about 3 hours.  It was not a full flight and as soon as it was possible, people were up jockeying for different seats.  Unfortunately, between bordering on slap happiness and boredom, the eavesdropping and family antics began.  I will focus on the eavesdropping.  I hate to even call it that, because it was a conversation between two gentlemen directly behind us, so it is not like we had a choice on hearing them or not.  It began innocently enough as they started with polite conversation between strangers stuck on a plane for 3 hours, but it soon ramped up to an incessant drivel as if they were 12 year old girls (my apology 12 year old girls).  By the time I was able to filter out their words to just noise, I noticed their conversation started coming in waves.   Once one topic was wrung dry, there was a short lull, followed by a new senseless topic that had a growth spurt, as shown in the rise in decibels and excitement in their voices.  That was beat to death and the pattern repeated.  This continued for almost two hours, which at that time it got quiet. I felt the need to get up out of my seat, under the guise of stretching, just to see if they had talked themselves to death.  I didn’t, but I guess I missed their chatter enough to entertain the thought of seeing if they were okay, I guess.  I cannot begin to tell you what was covered in their two-hour dialog, although it might be easier to say what they didn’t.  In an odd way it helped pass the time, but if on the way home I am faced with a similar situation, I only hope the conversation coming from behind me is from real 12-year-old girls, because it just didn’t seem right coming from two grown-ass men.  Maybe I was just tired.

Family antics.

The flight got more exciting as we flew over the coastline and the variations of blue in the water below became visible.  Leaving the mainland behind meant our destination was getting close.

Leaving the US.

Jamaica!

We landed in Montego Bay on schedule and as promised, we were greeted by someone who escorted us on an expedited visit through customs and into the Mobay Club.  When we first arrived at the Mobay Club, a small area where you got to snack on alcohol and finger food, while Beth finalized our transfer to our resort.  The result of that was Drew and I got to eat and drink and Beth did not.  Before I could finish my “seconds,” we were escorted out of the terminal, to a line of short buses.  Once on board, our driver “Mac,” started our ride “home.”  Getting us out of Montego Bay and into the small hamlets dotting the countryside was a bit of a white knuckling experience, but I felt as though if we hadn’t been in an accident within the first few miles, we were good.

The Mobay Club

School kids heading home. 

One of many cemeteries.

The only way to describe our journey to the resort is a Gilligan’s Island reference…it was a 3 hour tour!  What was advertised to be an hour and a half transfer to our place, somehow doubled as we got to know two lady friends traveling from Miami to get out of the rain.

Half way rest stop

To finalize, we got checked in to our very nice accommodations, had dinner at a steakhouse restaurant, tried to stay up for some entertainment, but went to bed early. 

A room with a view!

We know how to fill a day…end of day one...

My Zen from the Caribbean: From the Travel Channel, I was expecting to see an impoverished appearance on the island and as we rode through the countryside to Negril, that is what I witnessed.  But what surprised me was the number of homes being constructed with concrete block (and maybe some poured concrete) that were unfinished.  Like the first floor was done, but there was rebar sticking up into the sky as if there were plans for a second story.  The puzzling part was the first floor seemed to have been done more than a few years ago and due to the overgrown nature of the vegetation, there seemed to be no plans to pick up where they left off. Have they just been abandoned?  So different than my little part of the world, but makes me curious.  Is it just the way it is?  I guess it's what you are use to.

Can you say Chamois Butt’r?

The last time I was in print here, I was shopping online over the winter for necessities to start my intro to bikepacking. Spring finally sprung and the warming temperatures got me feeling the need to get back on my bike.  The only issue with that was we decided to move in the meantime.  The move took precedent and saddle time was postponed.  

A few weeks ago, my friend Greg texted out an invite for a weekend bicycle trip on the KATY Trail and invited a number of fellow cyclists.  Our moving experience was winding down and Beth supported it, so I was in.  By the time plans were made and I picked Greg up that Saturday morning, our group had dwindled to the two of us and instead of two nights out, it was one.  And as fate would have it, I had logged an impressive 31 miles over 3 days, just prior to our tires hitting the Rock Island Spur of the KATY Trail in Pleasant Hill, Missouri.  One of those days I clocked 24 miles.  Other than a few stints on my trainer this winter, my preparation for my introduction to bikepacking was severely lacking.  Keep that thought fresh.

A few days before heading to P Hill, I located the storage bin that contained my new bike packs for the move, cut the tags off them, and began the puzzle it is to fit all the Velcro straps from each “pack”, that secures everything to my bike. Let’s just say I did not solve that puzzle in one attempt.  Just to give you an idea of my level of competency and forward thinking at this puzzle, at one point I had secured my “feed bags” to my handle bars in such a way that I could not turn my handle bars, but maybe a few degrees in either direction.  Now these “Rails to Trails” paths are straight, but not that straight!  So, some slight re-Velcroing and I could safely maneuver my bike again.

I finally succeeded in bag attachment, now it was time to pack my bags.  I had purchased ultralight this and teeny tiny that, but even so, I quickly filled the spaces and gaps with what I was taking for my big overnight. Tent, sleeping bag, sleeping pad (and pillow!), some snacks, rain gear, a change of clothes, some cleaning up supplies, headlight, some tech stuff (phone and charger), and a few other items. Greg had the “tools” should they be necessary.  I had a little left over room, but not much.  My mind implodes (poof) every time I think of Greg on the Tour Divide for 30 days and the stuff I didn’t have on board with me that he did…(BOOM!).  Oh well, this is my inaugural debut and I have what I need.  On to P Hill!

I picked up Greg and made the short drive to Pleasant Hill.  We worked our way to the downtown area and found a good overnight parking spot to leave the truck.  We unloaded our bikes and at this point we are about to straddle our bikes and I realized I had not applied my Chamois Butt’r.  Without getting into too much detail, I lubed any places that might need lubing to make the ride as frictionless as possible between my butt and the seat.  The scene was semi-reminiscent of pulling over to the side of the road and having to go to the bathroom, not that I have ever had to do that as a child on a family vacation.  I looked both ways up and down the main drag and standing between the two opened doors of my truck, I squeezed a generous portion of Butt’r on my hand, and proceeded to spread the joy!  What seemed to take forever (in public) was over in seconds and I was ready to ride.

Loading Greg and his bike.

That's a Chamois Butt'r smile!

As we began to push our pedals, Greg notices his rear brake is not functioning, as it should. Luckily there is a local bike shop a half a block away, so we pedal up there and Greg starts to diagnose the issue. He pops the rear tire off along with the brake pads and attempt after attempt is not making things better.  A bike mechanic from the shop comes out and gets involved.  Ultimately I’m thinking we are loading back up and heading home to try again another day, but no, Greg decides to head out with just his front brake operational and he will deal with his rear at a later date (hmmm, that sounds funny).  After thanking our new mechanic friend for his efforts, we ride to the trail head (myself and “1-brake” Goodman) and leave P Hill for Windsor, MO…47.5 miles east.

With my minimal training mileage almost forgotten, I felt strong and we rode primarily side-by-side, visiting about whatever came to mind, heading to Windsor.  The first 25 miles went by without any early warning signs of any possible issues, but as we were heading into the last half of the trip, I could tell my training regiment was not holding up.  Greg had shared with me some things to do to stretch and get off my seat occasionally, but my energy was draining exponentially as we got closer and closer to our destination.  We stopped in Chilhowee, home to a few more than 300 residents and the only place we found open was a small corner store.  Having missed their “kitchen” being open, we feasted on items from the store shelves.  A short rest and we were back at it.

The trail...not a lot of tight turns. 

Greg wore his wrestling tights just in case we encountered any trouble on the trail.

Riding into Chilhowee.

A light Chilhowee snack.

Back to the trail.

I pushed myself a bit and we (I) proudly made it to Windsor in decent time (before dark!) and made our way to the campground, next to the Windsor fairgrounds.  We checked in and proceeded to get our campsite set up.  We found ourselves next to a couple of other bikepackers and a few RVer’s.  The hot shower felt somewhat soothing and that was followed up with a dinner reservation at Sonic for two.  We walked to dinner and enjoyed being off our saddles.  A great thing about riding long distances is you are burning lots of calories and those calories need to be replenished.  To me that meant a green light to a little more than usual amounts of food and combinations that wouldn’t necessarily be considered.  When finished, I had refilled my tank with calories and didn’t feel a bit bad about where the calories came from!  I was now ready for a restful nights sleep.

While checking in at the campground we saw this.  Obviously at the right place.

A celebratory swig on arrival! Thx trail boss.

Home for the night.

Windsor fairgrounds and campground check in.

Back at the campground, Greg and I got horizontal (in our own tents) and I was so ready to fall right to sleep, but a neighborhood dog saw to it that that would happen.  We were separated from a neighborhood by a narrow forest of trees.  But as nature’s acoustics were, the sound of not only the dog(s), geese, and local traffic, seemed to funnel right to the flap of my tent.  Three hours later, at around midnight, that dog that seemed to have wanted to get after whatever wild animal was taunting it, clicked off.  The local traffic had almost stopped and I am guessing I finally fell to sleep…exhausted.  Almost as quickly, it was morning, and many of the noises that kept me awake, were back to welcome me to day two.  I’ve never heard geese so actively “honking” and carrying on.  But the other birds were energized by them and joined in on the chorus that made me want to become a hunter!

This Bald Cypress and it's knobby knees
standing guard by the lake at the fairgrounds.

It was now early Sunday morning and I was laying in my tent doing a body scan searching for pain, due to my lack of preparation for this ride.  Surprisingly, I felt pretty good.  As we broke down camp, Greg and I shared our versions of the night.  My issues were pre-midnight and his were post.  I’m sure he had worse nights on The Tour.  We headed back towards town for breakfast and saluted the geese of the fairgrounds goodbye.

We scoured the town for a breakfast place, Sonic was not open, but our search lead us to Casey’s General Store.  We collected what breakfast food we could, had a picnic on the sidewalk out front, and enjoyed the cool morning air.  Two women stopped by doing the same and after a short chat, they hit the trail ahead of us. With body in tact and calories stored away, we hit the trail for our 47.5 mile return trip.  The weather had cooperated both days with a little wind picking up as each day progressed.

Like the previous day, I felt good starting out.  Greg immediately gave me something to focus on, rather than the energy drain on my legs. We were to count all the gate crossings we would encounter as we crossed every paved and gravel road on the trail we intersected with.  We made it back to the corner store in Chilhowee and came across a small house that was being repurposed as a hostel for people traveling on the trail.  The store was collecting money to help get the project further along, like other small towns along these trails, to help pump a little life back into the area.

No matter which direction you travel, the
trail looks the same!

Fake early morning smiles.

Chilhowee break!

We eventually caught and passed the women we had met that morning as they were making there way back to P Hill.  With about 15 or so miles left to go, we stopped to take a break as a couple of cyclists rode up from behind.  As they passed, a man’s voice called out Greg’s name.  They stopped, chatted, and ended up riding the rest of the way to Pleasant Hill with us.  The conversation helped the miles pass a little more quickly.  The end of the trail came at a good time, because the go in my legs was about gone.  We said goodbye to our fellow trail riders, loaded our bikes and ourselves into the truck and headed to…SONIC…one more time.

First bikepacking experience... ✔  Thanks "1-brake!"

My Zen from the Trail and Epilogue:  First, in retrospect, there are a few things I would do differently in preparation for the kind of mileage I logged in two days besides buttering my butt, but you know what, I’m glad I did what I did, the way I did it, because I learned from it.  And I do try to learn my lessons.  Sure it would have been better for me physically to have put some decent miles on my legs before such a long couple of days and I would have brought a raw steak to throw at that dog to shut him up, but it is what it is and I felt pretty good about it (after it was over and we were waiting for our order at Sonic) on the way home!  My winter purchases proved to be good choices and like everything else, this new kind of experience will be a process.  

Secondly and more importantly, I realized there is no look to a cyclist.  Many of the folks on bikes those two days were not what you would see and say, “I bet they ride a lot.”  That trail probably opened up a new way for people to be active when they converted those old "rails" to a trail.  It’s good to be doing something active!