mud spa

out there in missouri, right along the mississippi river, is highway 61north. leaving hannibal, there is a super highway lane-wide shoulder (we are always on the prowl for good shoulders). made of asphalt, the shoulder makes even a bike klutz like me look like a candidate for the tour de france.

there i was, buzzing along, in a zone, feeling pretty cocky. eleven miles later, the shoulder ended, leaving me with a bumpy, weather-beaten shoulder unfit for human use. i slugged along on it for 12 miles, cussing every mile.

soon, i spied a sign that told me about new construction. the only bad thing about the construction was that now four lanes had turned into two--two lanes full of eighteen-wheelers, behemoth campers, huge trucks pulling trailers with equipment, and other assorted vehicles which could prove certain annahilation for me.

what could i do? it was sure death to follow the highway. i didn't want to live there, or i would have quit riding. suddenly, i saw the new highway ahead of me--the missing two lanes i was looking for. it was, for sure, unfinished, but what did i care--there were no vehicles of destruction on it, either.

how to get to it? a clay-looking road that looked a little wet from last evening's shower. "oh, i won't let a little mud stop me," i said to myself, starting trudging through the terra cotta-colored mud.

soon, i discovered the error of my ways. i was bogged down to my ankles in mud. my tires wouldn't turn because they were caked in red mud. my gears were covered in gunk. i was in a mess. then the phone rang.

"stephany, do you see that roadside park about a half-mile down the road on the other side?" ann asked. ann was our sag driver du jour.

"i see it," i replied.

"i'll meet you there. you can't ride on 61 north. it's too dangerous," she warned. "i'll pick you up and take you past the construction."

"i'm IN the construction," i said, "but i'll slug through the mud to the roadside park."

i picked up my bike, which had gone from weighing five pounds to weighing twenty-five pounds. i used my nails to remove about ten pounds of clay from various parts. i walked through red mud puddles, trying to remove some of the mud from my bike shoes.

finally, i made it to the roadside park, which had brown mud puddles. i sloshed around until ann arrived, knowing she wouldn't want me in the car with five pounds of mud on each foot.

three other riders were awaiting ann. we put the bikes on the car-top and ann drove us to the flying j truck stop. i found a water pump on the gas island, borrowed a gallon jug from the car, and proceeded to spend 30 minutes washing both my bike and myself--kind of like taking a public shower.

finally, i finished; the three of us mounted our bikes, with nine more miles to go, NOT on 61 north, as forbidden by the highway patrol. we arrived in keokuk unscathed, although i don't know how.

that evening, i had lots of laundry to do. the water had a red tinge to it. i had experienced a mud spa on route 61 north.