Pittsburg, KS to Marshfield, MO (116 miles, holy cats)
Rode several hours before the sun today. Stopped in somewheresville for Cooky's famous pie at 7:15 am. Best. Pie. Of my life. We had several slices, respectively, and about a pot of coffee. I know, it IS the breakfast of champions.
Often times, when the map indicates that there is a gas station, which we are desperately counting on for water, in it's place we find a pile of rubble and a busted ATV. Or perhaps just a barn that has spray painted on the side, "Bubba loves Sally". Such was today. Luckily, Bev, a woman dressed in all purple, parading the streets in 100° weather just for kicks, saw our plight. She walked us up to her house and lead us in. I would like to note that Bev is the first chapter in the book of kindness that is Missouri.
She put cold wash cloths on our necks, encouraged us to "Honestly, have a cold bath." And provided us with a tupperware container of ice. Old people are weird and wonderful. After this, she promptly walked right out the front without a word, and proceeded with the parading just to leave us with her paintings of Abraham Lincoln and her very chatty husband. Abe is pretty good, actually. If the painting was of a sculpture of Abe Lincoln constructed solely of butter.
Cooled off and we were on our merry way. Stopped at a pool and had a swim and an ice cream drumstick. As I reflect, I realize now I have eaten no actual food today. I digress.
You're wondering, 'Hey, guys, how the heck do you pass the time on a 116 mile trip that takes you from 5 am to 8 pm?' Well, I'm glad you asked, and I will be happy to tell you.
We talk to cows. All damn day. In every voice you can imagine. Mogan Freeman, Dexter of Dexter's Laboratory, all the hits. Sometimes we scare them on purpose. (No animals were harmed in the taming of boredom.) "MOO!", usually works. My favorite is Conan's "Be cool, my babies" voice. Sometimes- most of the time, it's wandering nonsense. And it is these bits of nonsense that have stuck in such a weird way that we have applied them to daily bike-life.
I typically go with something like this: "Ooooh. Sweet babies. Hi my babies. Look at that nice shade you got. Big tree. Mmhmmm. Nice shade. Cow shade. Yah, yah. Shade. Alrigggght."
As of late, I have noticed that when I shout ahead, "I NEED TO PULL OVER. MY BUTT HURTS." Chris will respond with, "Good shade over there. Cow shade." No one thinks twice. This is just what it is. Cow shade. And will be henceforth.
Ate some giant subs and made it all the way to Marshlands, or where ever we are. But not before chatting up the entire inhabitants of the sub shop. People here are so nice, they make us feel famous.
Sleeping in a motel that is an exact replica of Grandma Butler's first floor guest room. 20% creepy, 80% comforting.
Last thing: the next old lady to tell me I am sunburned is getting lashed with a bunjee from my bike.