Well, well, well… today didn’t go the way I’d planned it to go…
We had a great night in Ash Grove and woke up at 5:00 for an early start. We were headed to Hartville 76 miles away. It’s a small town which allows cyclists to camp on the courthouse lawn. I’d tried to get ahold of the churches in the area to see if we could find a place to worship on Sunday and housing for Sat & Sun PM, but as of yet I’d gotten no response. So I figured if I didn’t hear back in time we’d camp on the lawn, go to church, and hopefully find a family that would take us in for Sunday night and send us on our way.
We left the bike hostel in Ash Grove around 6:30 after a meagre breakfast. I figured we stop in town if we passed something. If not, we’d head on to Walnut Grove and get something there. Well we didn’t pass anything; so Walnut Grove it was––an 8 mile ride.
hills, HILLS, HILLS!!! It’s crazy how hilly it is out here–and we’re not even in the Ozarks yet! You get going so fast on the downhill you think, “Whoohoo! I’ve got that next hill licked!” But it’s so steep that all your momentum comes suddenly to a 5 mph crawl with all the grind you can crank out. And no sooner do you crest that hill and there’s another, and another, and yet another. There doesn’t seem to be any rest between them; just one after the other. You’re totally puttin out on the downhill to get up all the speed you can and then you’re totally puttin out on the uphill just to get over it. It’s exhausting. And you’re constantly running through your gears. Hi. Low. Hi again. Low again. Click, click, click. Click. Click. Click. I don’t know whose more whipped, us or the bikes…
We got to the small town of Walnut Grove and there was a gas station open. We stopped to use the bathroom and I saw that they sold breakfast sandwiches as well as biscuits and gravy. Forrest and I ordered the biscuits but Rocky wanted pizza. We sat down next to 3 old guys. You know, the sorta small-town guys that meet every day at the gas station for a cup a joe and a chat. They knew exactly who we were and what we were doing. I think they’ve been sitting there a lotta years watching cyclists go through. One guy even made mention of the original 1976 ride running through there! They said they see guys every day biking through Walnut Grove, most going East like us. They started off with a battery of questions and we enjoyed telling them our story.
We left there tanked up and ready for the hilly ride to Fair Grove. Up and down we went. Down and back up again. It was early enough that there was very little traffic on the road so we had much of it to ourselves.
During one of the climbs I reached for the right-hand bar-end shifter to move my chain to my granny gear. I lifted the shifter up to its highest position and suddenly a sharp wire poked into my index finger. Not good. That’s a loose wire frayed from my shifting cable. I yelled to the boys that I needed to pull over–yes they were ahead of me––but I was in third place! Oh wait; that’s last place…
I pulled over and took out my fingernail clippers to clip the wire. Done. We pedaled off. A little further down the road I reached to shift and was poked by a bundle of about 8 wires. Not good. Thankfully (on this shoulder less road) there was a driveway directly next to me. I pulled into it and called to the boys to stop. “I gotta pull over boys; I’m done. My rear derailleur cable is about to snap.” Now what!? I prayed for help and started running over our options in my mind. I took the shifter off to assess the cable. It was down to a few strands and since the fray was at the top there was no way of pulling any slack up from the bottom–of which there was hardly any anyway. I put the shifter back on and as I tried to run through the gears it wouldn’t budge out of the granny gear. I was dead in the water. No way around it. Whatever we did from here the first thing we needed was a ride. The next bike shop on the trail was in Farmington–on the other side of the state. I told the boys to put out their thumbs for a truck and see if they could get us a ride to Fair Grove, the next town. Meanwhile I called the Davises for prayer. I called Johnny but he didn’t pick up so I left a message. Then I called Mark in Wichita. When he answered I told him where we were and what happened. He said if I called the Bicycle Pedaler in Wichita to order what I needed Debbie would go pick it up and they’d bring it to us first thing in the morning. A four hour ride! Are you kidding me? “That’s too far brother.” “Well you need it don’t you?” I love that guy. “Ok brother. I’ll call the Pedaler.” I called the Pedaler. “I’m broke down on the TransAm in the middle of nowhere and I need a rear derailleur cable.” “I’m so sorry to hear that. So where are you?” “Ten miles west of Fair Grove, MO.” “Ok, well there’s a bike shop in Springfield 18 miles to your south.” You have to understand that on our bike maps we’re zeroed in on our own trail and have no idea what’s around us. We could be a mile from the Taj Mahal and not even know it. So I had no idea I was north of Springfield. All I knew was that there was a bike shop in Pittsburgh with which I was not entirely happy–and you never ever go backwards–and the next shop was in Farmington. “That’s great!” “Ok. I’ll text you the address and I’ll call ahead and let them know you’re coming.”
Get this! I’m in the middle of my conversation with Aaron at the Pedaler who’s telling me I need to go to Springfield and I turn to see a woman pulled over on the other side of the road in a small white truck with a canopy yelling at the boys, “I’m going to go home and get my trailer and I’ll come back in 5 mins and you can put your bikes in the trailer and I’ll take you to Fair Grove. Just 5 mins! I’ll be back!” “That would be great!” I yelled back. “Thank you so much!” “Sorry Aaron, I’m back…” As soon as I knew where we neeeded to go God sent the means to get there. Amazing. Absolutely amazing.
Mitzi Gordon pulled up in a big dually truck towing a huge horse trailer, opened the back, and told us to load up the bikes. “Thank you so much!” “No problem. I’m just paying it forward. But there’s not a bike shop in Fair Grove is there?” “No there’s not,” I said.” “But there is one is Springfield. I’ll just take you there and then I’ll bring you back and drop you off in Fair Grove.” “If you could that’s be great!”
She took us to A&B Cycles in Springfield and they got my right in. My bike was up in the stand in no time. I watched the mechanic replace the cable. “Did you know you’ve got a broken spoke on your rear tire?” “No I didn’t!” There was more than one reason for this stop. In fact there were 4. Forrest broke one of my bottle cages on Thursday when he hit it with a basketball. And my bar tape was breaking and thinning badly. “While you have the bike up can you install this new cage and put on this new bar tape?” Might as well get ‘er done–$150 later.
Given the time we’d lost I was thinking about our proposed destination: Hartville. I hadn’t heard from any of the churches I’d called. It was a really small town. If we didn’t find any hospitality how would we spend the Lord’s Day? I texted Pastor Terry in Golden City to see if he could help. He said he didn’t know anyone there. Maybe we should stop in Marshfield. It’s a much bigger city. We’re sure to find a good church and more than likely hospitable brethren. “Do you know any of the churches in Marshfield Terry?” “Yes! There’s two great churches there.” Terry gave me their information and reached out to one of them himself. When Mitzi offered to drop us off in Marshfield I was happy to accept. It seemed the Lord was directing us there. I left a message with the two pastors. Thank you Mitzi! You were a blessing from the Lord to us. May He bless you in return.
When Mitzi dropped us off we headed to Dairy Queen for lunch. Just as we finished lunch Pastor Dan of Son-rise Christian Church returned my call. I explained our need and he said he was an avid cyclist and would be glad to have us stay at his house and worship with him tomorrow. Thank you God.
After we pulled into Dan’s driveway and got settled in I was feeling bummed that we cycled so few miles this week. They’ve nearly all been short days and we lost a whole day in Girard when we were waiting on parts. I was thinking we might finish early and get home early. Now I’m not so sure. And whatever edge we gained in Kansas with those long days and three century rides has now been swallowed up by these short bursts. … But when I forget the destination and just think about our journey, it’s so very clear to me that we’ve been in the right places at the right time. Without the shorter days we’ve had this week we’d never have met Mitzi. We were in the right place at the right time to meet the one lady God had chosen to give us a ride to Springfield and back. If my cable had not broken there where would it have broken? On a downhill at 30 mph? In traffic? At the end of the day it’s not my show. It’s my Lord’s. He’s in control. He’s at the helm. It’s His glory to direct and guide and it’s my duty to trust Him and not complain. So that’s what I’m trying to do. He knows the end from the beginning and He’ll see to it that we finish this bike trip exactly when we’re supposed to. So we might as well enjoy the journey and trust Him with each day’s destination. ––You’d think we had that figured out by now.
Pastor Dan Raymond and his wife and daughter have welcomed us warmly into their home. We’re set up in their guest room. They did our laundry. The boys got to swim in the pool before dinner and shoot a crossbow after dinner. Tomorrow the church is celebrating its 10 yr anniversary so they’ll have several testimonies during the service and a catfish fry afterwards. We’re looking forward to meeting the saints and seeing what God’s doing here in Marshfield, MO. Lord willing we’ll be back on the road early Monday morning. I’ll let you know where we end up but I’m thinking Houston, if not Summersville.
Thanks for praying and thank for following.
Until next time… 🙂
