Day 19, Thursday, September 26

Needless to say I didn't get any photos today since the weather was so wet, so here are some people photos. This is trusty lunch workers Judith and Sharon.

Another trusty lunch worker Nancy on one of her riding days

Crew member Jim from Wisconsin in a vest with a dog on it

Woody riding into the hotel someplace near the end of the trip

Doreen demostrating the proper gearbag retrieval technique

Richard from Baltimore (not to be confused with Richard from Iowa)

Crew member Jim from Wisconsin enjoying a refreshing beverage while rolling into the hotel one afternoon

Crew member Bill with Brian and James behind him

Rick from Woodside, California, with Troy and Lon behind him

Alan from Connecticut

Landon from Iowa

Nancy and Mike Meyers with their tandem

Bisti eagarly awaiting another toss of a pinecone from Reed

A random rest stop near the end of the trip

A random paceline at some point on the trip

Bill from Texas and Richard from Baltimore

The weather was "character building" again today. We continued to ride in the middle of Isadore, got soaked after about ten minutes, and stayed that way for the full 130 miles into Lawrenceburg as the rain dumped down on us for most of the day. We even had lightning and thunder for a short while. The trees along the Natchez Trace Parkway did help shelter us from the head winds, though they felt bad enough as it was. There were times when so much water was coming down, and the wind was slowing me down so much and blowing so much water in my face -- making it difficult to get enough oxygen to breathe -- that I felt like I was pedaling at the bottom of a swimming pool. Later at the hotel, the news on television said that some areas got three inches of rain in the last two days, which is about as much as rain Santa Cruz gets all winter.

I rode at a fat-burning pace today, which -- for those of you who've never read a heart-rate-monitor manual before -- means s l o w. The miles seemed to drag on. I'd think things like, "Only ten more miles until I have only 100 left," "Only ten more miles until I'm half-way there," or "Only five miles until lunch, where I'll have only forty-five miles to go," throughout the day. Sometimes I did manage to get myself to think about something other than my slow progress, which made the time go by a little faster.

For example, I decided that if I couldn't figure out the meaning of life in the middle of a 130-mile ride in the middle of a 3,000-mile cross-country trip in the middle of nowhere in the middle of a down-graded hurricane, I'd probably never figure it out. I may not know the meaning of life, but I can say that on a day like today, it's the simple pleasures that give life meaning. Like hot food, encouraging crew members at the rest stops, a hot shower, dry clothes, a heated hotel room, a warm bed, and news from home..

Even Lon seemed a little sheepish about the rain at lunch yesterday. So far on the trip, whenever we've hit difficult conditions, like the head winds for 160 miles coming into Socorro or the twelve miles of torn-up road a few days later, Lon has always had some anecdote about a similar situation that was far worse. This is the first time that I haven't heard Lon respond to a complaint about the conditions with, "This is nothing compared to the time we passed through here in '98..." and launch into some story that made us all look like a bunch of wet-behind-the-ear sissies. Susan said that this is as bad as conditions get with riders still being able keep moving down the road.

Back at the hotel a couple of riders were saying that this is average PAC Tour weather, but I still feel proud of myself for making it through the day. I figure that this should earn me bragging rights for the rest of my life: "Back in Ought Two, well I rode 270 miles in two days, through Mis'ippi, 'Bama, and Tennessee, straight through a hurricane that poured rain down on us something fierce. The water was nearly coming in at us horizontal the wind was blowing so hard..."

This morning the news said that there was even a slight chance of tornados, although that was mostly further south. I asked other riders at breakfast what to do if a tornado hits, and they said, "Nothing, except get blown away." I made note of small overpasses throughout the day that could probably provide some shelter, if needed. At breakfast, Jeff started to say, "One time, a tornado blew the side off of the hog shed..." I had to interrupt him to ask him where he was from. No one in California ever starts a sentence with the words, "One time, a tornado blew the side off of the hog shed..." Maybe, "Once an earthquake knocked the espresso machine off the counter and cracked the spa," but never, "One time, a tornado blew the side off of the hog shed..." Jeff is from Iowa.

The storm even had its advantages. It kept the chain gangs and "Deliverance"-type characters off of the road so that we passed through Alabama unmolested, contrary to John's prediction.

I haven't turned on the TV yet this evening, but at this point I'm assuming more rain for tomorrow. If I expect that this weather will hold for the rest of the trip, then I can be pleasantly surprised if it changes.