June 21,
2001. Eminence to Houston, Missouri. (42 mi.) Mile 1453
More Ozarks
It rained all morning, so we killed
some time in Eminence checking out the gift shops and city library, a room
approximately 10 feet square, though it appeared smaller with the book
shelves. The gift shops were similar to those everywhere in small town
America, full of country kitsch, other dust collectors, and usually some
representation of the ubiquitous Kokopeli (the mystical figure from ancient
southwest American rock pictographs, that shows up on tourist t-shirts from
Alaska to Maine to the Ozarks). When we emerged blinking from the library at
noon, the sun was trying to shine through the clouds, so we decided to make a
run for our next destination.
Part of the
National Scenic Waterways, the area around Eminence is called the Canoe
Capital of something or other. In the background, one of many trailer loads of
canoes is being launched on the river for a flat trip through the Ozarks.
As we pedaled up and
down, up and down more of those Ozark hills, the headwind intensified and the
sky clouded up with more and more dark gray cumulus clouds. At 22 miles, we
found ourselves under the darkest cloud yet, so we pulled under the shelter of
a small diner in Summersville just as it started to rain again. The diner
turned out to be Pam's Kitchen, and Pam, who does all the cooking, had just made
peach cobbler. We each had a bowl of this, served warm, a la mode. Perhaps the
rain was some sort of divine intervention guiding us to fresh peach cobbler.
Good peach cobbler at Pam's Kitchen in Summersville
As we prepared to hit
the road again, we met Holger
Andersen, a Danish teacher and cycle tourist going our way. Holger is one
of many bicycle tourists writing an online journal too, but he is carrying an
8 lb laptop, and a cell phone/modem arrangement, which he discovered to his
dismay, does not work in the U.S. "I wouldn't want the trip to be too
easy," he said. He tries to ride 100 miles/day, and plans to end his
cross country trip in California, by riding across Nevada's Loneliest Highway
in July or August. That should make the heat and challenges we have had so far
seem minor.
We agreed to ride
together the remaining 20 miles into Houston, so we set off in a pace line,
hoping to make good time so we could get to the post office before it closed
and collect our camping gear. Drafting in a pace line did help overcome the
strongest headwind we've had so far, but even though I tried my turn at
pulling, my puny legs could not maintain the pace set by two strong male
riders, so I eventually fell off the back. Mike and Holger stoked on ahead for
a while, even though I tried to communicate nonverbally with Mike using his
rear view mirror and a universally understood gesture. Eventually they slowed
down, and I caught up.
Holger said the
countryside, once out of the mountains and into rolling farmland, was reminiscent
of Denmark. I thought it was very beautiful especially when the sun returned,
with the wind blowing through the wildflowers and tall grasses. But pace line
riding is not conducive to picture taking. We did not make it to town before
the post office closed, but we got a motel room next to Holger's, and after
dinner, he knocked on our door and presented us with a couple of beers to
share as a friendship gesture.
It is always
interesting to share stories and impressions of our country with other
cyclists. The economic depression witnessed in southern Appalachia always
comes up in discussion. The extremes of wealth and poverty witnessed in
America are unfamiliar to many Europeans from more socialistic countries.
Holger also acknowledged that when a man and woman travel by bicycle together,
there is almost always the physical discrepancy in strength and pace to deal
with, unless they are on a tandem. This is something that hasn't gone
unnoticed by me, but maybe there are advantages to my company in some other
way. I'll have to ask Mike.
