What better way to start a day off than share breakfast with some new found friends, Larry and Twila. Unfortunately, as is the way of this way of travelling, breakfast was also the goodbye as we had to hit the road early in order to have a leisurely cycle down to Lincoln. A final photoshoot and a hug from Twila and we were off. Larry had offered to delay his goodbye hug by offering to give us a guided tour of Normal and Bloomington, this time on his recumbent trike.
It was a good job Larry knew his way around town as we were completely lost, taking in the old Route 66 gas station, the old cinema house, Museum Square, past Illinois University, through the cemetery to see the grave of “Old Hoss” a famous baseball player and out of the city following more of Illinois’ spectacular cycle trail network. At a point out of town when the Route 66 cycle trail merged back on to the old road, Larry turned his bike 180 degrees, said his farewells and headed back home to finish his newspaper and have a relaxing afternoon. At just after 10 am and the temperature was already up to 28oC… what happened to the 20 oC average that convinced us this was a good time to start the ride?
A this point of the ride Route 66 parallels Interstate 55, which for most the time can be heard rumbling in the distance, although not close enough to detract from the ride through a green corridor of trees and corn. As is the case with much of Route 66 encountered so far, this stretch is in need of significant repair, but with big brother taking 99% of the traffic, it is likely the road will continue to deteriorate further. The BBBs or Bike Braking Bumps as Deborah put it.
We were considering a stop at the Funks Grove maple sirup (US spelling) plant for a short break from the sun, but it seems that they had sold out so closed up shop.
A little further down the road, as we approached McClean we experienced a first for the trip, our first follow expedition cyclist coming in the opposite direction. As April and September are the recommended times of year to cycle Route 66, avoiding both the snow of winter and the excessive desert heat of the summer, we thought we would have been in a crowd. As it turned out Trevor wasn’t cycling Route 66, but was going with the flow, starting off in San Franciso, had passed through Salt City and was now heading to Chicago, before he would then point his wheels in the general direction of New York. A complete journey that would take him over three months when all done.
A brief stop off at Dixies Truckstop resulted in what was becoming a semi-regular occurrence for Deborah, another Icee induced brain freeze, before pushing on to the town of Atlanta.
Atlanta is the home of the Gemini Giant’s brother (Day 2 – Wilmington), the Bunyan Giant, another must-see attraction. As it happened, it turned out to be the must-see attraction of a familiar face, the Harley riding Texan chap that we had first encountered at the Route 66 Texaco gas station in Dwight, only this time we had the chance to talk to him, only to find that he has a name, Charles Sheffield. Charles is one of those people that you meet in life and will never forget. As his business cards put it, he is a Gentleman Adventurer, Grandfather and Part-Time Businessman. While he seems to be involved in some cool businesses and I am sure he loves his grandchildren, looking at him sitting on his gleaming Harley, it was clear where his current passion lies. We parted company after a good half an hour chatting in front of the Bunyan Giant wishing each other safe travels in the hope that our paths would cross again further down the route.
We left Atlanta under the watchful gaze of a water tower smiles, cycling the remaining 11 miles in less than an hour. There was little to see along this stretch of the road and the heat of the day was starting to take it’s toll on our energy levels, so all we would think about was getting out of the sun.
Our Warmshower hosts, Clifford and Brenda, had shared their address, which was plugged into the Garmin, which was leading us down quiet suburban streets to what we hoped would be our final destination for the night. The hope was in there as my UK phone was refusing to communicate with the US cell phone network, which would mean that our opportunities for receiving additional directions were somewhat limited.
We finally arrived outside of the house that Garmin believed was the correct one, so without any other options open, knocked on the door. Thankfully, the door was opened by a chap called Clifford and his wife Brenda, which would have been a bloody big coincidence if I had indeed landed at the wrong door. Our bikes were stabled in Clifford and Brend’s garage, next to two beautiful recumbent trikes, while we were shown to the spare bedroom, including their grandchildrens bunkbed. You can tell a home that has been filled with love for decades and we were certainly in one.
We chatted for a while before it was mentioned that tonight was Pickleball night. Not having a clue what Pickleball is, we agreed to tag along to the local sports centre to have a tryout. After a guided tour of Lincoln in the back of their car, the highlight of which was although of the Route 66 attractions, the largest covered wagon in the world, we headed to the sports hall. Pickleball appears to be table tennis, played on a badminton court, using a hard plastic ball that I have only seen used as a throw ball for a dog previously. It is amazing fun and together with another five of Clifford and Brenda’s Pickleball buddies, the night passed all to quickly.
Back to Clifford and Brenda’s home, a pizza and a couple of hours of chatting about everything and anything, plus a visit outback to Clifford’s man den containing, amongst other things a forge and full complement of blacksmith tools, the night was over and it was time to bed at the end of an amazing day in the company of two amazing and unbelievably generous people.