Day 23 - From Soaked Crabapple to Cheery Houseguest
I was in a funk on Day 23. Dashie and the Weather Channel both predicting rain in the area. I had a shorter day planned, a little over 80 miles from Houston to Fair Grove, Missouri. The plan was to pick up a care package that Donny had sent (non-guaranteed overnight, aka two-night but at overnight price. He's a champ by the way for dealing with the office supply- and charm-challenged Beverly Blvd. post office. They didn't have a pen for him to use. He had to go back out to the car to get one. AND the lady balked at having to look up the zip code for Houston, MO. When did the USPS turn into the DMV?) and then stay with Tom and Gail.
Who are Tom and Gail? I didn't know either. I got their number from Sean, the west-to-easter i crossed paths with a few days before, the one who warned me about rattlesnakes in Western Kansas. I have definitely changed on this trip. Donny or Sharon or Danny J or my therapist or any agent i've ever had, any of them will tell you i hate cold-calling of any kind. So for me to call up a complete stranger and say something like: "Uh, um, hi, Tom. I'm Danny, I'm a cyclist traveling east to west. I got your number from Sean (please note: another complete stranger) and he said it was cool for me to call. Can i fucking stay at your house please?"
Of course, i didn't use profanity, but i probably did my usual over-compensating don't-worry-if-you-can't-help-me-out-it's-no-problem-i-never-should-have-called-i'm-truly-sorry... But actually, no. I didn't. I just asked. Now that's progress! Tom said yes of course, call after i'm done at the post office, gave me directions. I hung up and relaxed my clenched anus.
So at least i knew i had a bed to sleep in that night as it began to pour about 2 miles outside of Houston. Now based on the constant rain and wind in my face for 82 miles, the state of California falling apart, the issues at home, i was not a happy bicycling-camper. I actually shouted at the rain at some point during the day, a real gut-wrenching RRRRRRRRROAR! Twas a hard day.
I got to Tom and Gail's and everything changed. Well, not everything - just my spirits. They are kind of old hippies (at least that's how Sean described them), with some Grateful Dead paraphernalia accenting their comfortable and clean cedar house. A good sign (not a fan of that music having attended a couple concerts high as a psychedelic kite 20 years ago - but i am a fan of old hippies). Another cyclist, Paul, a retired guy from Newport News, VA via Philly on his way to Portland to see his son, was also staying. I volunteered to go with Gail to buy some food (ulterior motive was to control salad ingredients which i happily contributed to go with the pasta Gail was making). Gail and Tom are also cyclists and do a ton of other outdoor stuff, regaling Paul and me with stories of Missouri natural dangers including tornados, softball-sized hail, and rapidly rising rivers. I had a great time that night talking politics with like-minded people. They live in Roy Blunt's district, so they aren't having a ton of such conversations. Gail once received a community service award from Mr. Blunt: "He thinks i'm his friend, but i'm not." She also described some super-patriotic event where he was giving a speech, sometime after 9-11. There was a sheet cake in the shape of the Grand Ol' Flag with it's ruby-red stripes and hyper-blue sparkly icing of which Mr. Blunt partook dyeing his mouth blue for his fiery speech. Ha ha, your mouth is blue! Abolutely one of the best nights i've had so far, in the home of complete yet welcoming strangers.
I did laundry, including washing the new cycling bib that Donny had posted to me, and slept like a baby in a baby's room (i mean that literally; they have grandkids).
Who are Tom and Gail? I didn't know either. I got their number from Sean, the west-to-easter i crossed paths with a few days before, the one who warned me about rattlesnakes in Western Kansas. I have definitely changed on this trip. Donny or Sharon or Danny J or my therapist or any agent i've ever had, any of them will tell you i hate cold-calling of any kind. So for me to call up a complete stranger and say something like: "Uh, um, hi, Tom. I'm Danny, I'm a cyclist traveling east to west. I got your number from Sean (please note: another complete stranger) and he said it was cool for me to call. Can i fucking stay at your house please?"
Of course, i didn't use profanity, but i probably did my usual over-compensating don't-worry-if-you-can't-help-me-out-it's-no-problem-i-never-should-have-called-i'm-truly-sorry... But actually, no. I didn't. I just asked. Now that's progress! Tom said yes of course, call after i'm done at the post office, gave me directions. I hung up and relaxed my clenched anus.
So at least i knew i had a bed to sleep in that night as it began to pour about 2 miles outside of Houston. Now based on the constant rain and wind in my face for 82 miles, the state of California falling apart, the issues at home, i was not a happy bicycling-camper. I actually shouted at the rain at some point during the day, a real gut-wrenching RRRRRRRRROAR! Twas a hard day.
I got to Tom and Gail's and everything changed. Well, not everything - just my spirits. They are kind of old hippies (at least that's how Sean described them), with some Grateful Dead paraphernalia accenting their comfortable and clean cedar house. A good sign (not a fan of that music having attended a couple concerts high as a psychedelic kite 20 years ago - but i am a fan of old hippies). Another cyclist, Paul, a retired guy from Newport News, VA via Philly on his way to Portland to see his son, was also staying. I volunteered to go with Gail to buy some food (ulterior motive was to control salad ingredients which i happily contributed to go with the pasta Gail was making). Gail and Tom are also cyclists and do a ton of other outdoor stuff, regaling Paul and me with stories of Missouri natural dangers including tornados, softball-sized hail, and rapidly rising rivers. I had a great time that night talking politics with like-minded people. They live in Roy Blunt's district, so they aren't having a ton of such conversations. Gail once received a community service award from Mr. Blunt: "He thinks i'm his friend, but i'm not." She also described some super-patriotic event where he was giving a speech, sometime after 9-11. There was a sheet cake in the shape of the Grand Ol' Flag with it's ruby-red stripes and hyper-blue sparkly icing of which Mr. Blunt partook dyeing his mouth blue for his fiery speech. Ha ha, your mouth is blue! Abolutely one of the best nights i've had so far, in the home of complete yet welcoming strangers.
I did laundry, including washing the new cycling bib that Donny had posted to me, and slept like a baby in a baby's room (i mean that literally; they have grandkids).
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