Days 34 - 36: Epilogue

Day 34: Washington, IL to Knoxville, IL
Daily miles: 55
Miles to date: 1,431

Day 35: Knoxville, IL to Davenport, IA
Daily miles: 56
Miles to date: 1,487

Day 36: Davenport, IA to Iowa City, IA
Daily miles: 18
Miles to date: 1,505


I have the audacity to believe that I should be able to ride my bicycle alone on a country road without being harassed, kidnapped, or pillaged. The first two days riding alone were awesome. I felt free, but most importantly, I felt safe. People were friendly, accommodating, and curious.

As I was leaving Peoria, a father and son stopped to talk with me about my trip.
They asked to pray with me for my safe passage before we parted. So we stood there, holding hands, in the last busy intersection at the edge of town. The day's ride was beautiful and took me by horse pastures, sunflower fields, and through a few of the small towns that freckle the heartland. That afternoon, after seven hours of riding, I waved at an oncoming motorcycle as is the custom in rural areas: just the subtle movement of a few fingers off the wheel (or in this case, handlebars). Folks on motorcycles tend to *get* the two-wheeled travel thing. Shortly after this motorcyclist passed me, I heard his engine gear down, and I went into alert mode. A quick look over my shoulder confirmed that he was turning around.

He passed me again, this time going in the same direction. Looking back at me in his mirror, he and nodded with seeming approval. "Yes, she'll do," I imagined him saying to himself. My heart raced, and I heard his engine gear down again, the brake light coming on. He pulled over to the side of the road, about 100 yards ahead. He got off the motorcycle, took off his helmet, and waited. For me.

Shit. (And a whole bunch of new curse words humanity has never heard before.)

I've never been circled by sharks, but I suspect this is what it feels like. I frantically scanned for an escape route, but what was I going to do? It was a two-lane road lined with tall corn fifteen miles from the nearest town. Earlier in the day, I did a hard sprint on fresh legs: 22+ mph on an incline with a 90-pound load so I could get through a construction area without holding up traffic. I kept up with the semi-truck in front of me for a quarter mile. But after a long day of riding in the heat, and having just pedaled my loaded bike out of a steep river gorge, my legs were spent. I was maintaining a speed that hovered around 9-10 mph; there would be no sprinting to safety.

Fifty yards.

He was stopped in front of some sort of agricultural outbuilding. Just beyond him, two houses whose occupants I was certain weren't home -- it was 3:30 on a weekday, surely they were at work -- and beyond that, nothing but corn. What the hell was I going to do? I hadn't planned on riding alone. I didn't have pepper spray; I didn't have anything. My phone was zippered away in a handlebar bag that I had to stop my bike to access. (Weeks earlier, in Virginia, I had crashed trying to do so on the move, knocking my handlebars out of alignment under the weight of my bags and disabling my bike.) Even if I could get to it, calling 911 would probably be as effective as throwing the damned thing at him.

Twenty yards.

As I closed the distance, I tried to anticipate what he might do. If he chased me on foot, adrenaline might let me out-pedal him, but only for a short distance. He just needed to get me off my bike, which was possible by simply throwing his helmet at me.

Ten yards.

Moment of truth.

I moved away from him, toward the center of the road, and kept my eyes on him as I passed.

"Hey, you wanna stop and chat for a second?" he called out to me.

"AAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH! Not a fucking chance!" I thought. But "no, not really," is what I said, through an inexplicable, if uneasy smile. A smile! I was terrified and I was smiling! Or maybe I was baring my teeth?

And that was it. He got back on his bike and rode away.

If I had had pepper spray or a gun, I wouldn't have used either. He may have been just like the father and son I met that morning -- just wanting to talk about traveling on two wheels. I'm glad to never have found out. Before that moment, I was planning to ride all the way back to Arizona on my own. This incident made me rethink that. If he or anyone else wanted to harm me, I was helpless to stop them. I had nothing and no options. That evening in the relative security of a hotel room, I reran the scene in my mind. If I were to go all the way to Arizona, what would I need to protect myself? Pepper spray? That would suffice in town to stop an attack -- buying me time to get away and seek help. But if you've ever driven across Kansas, Colorado, and Arizona, you know there is a whole lotta nothing for miles and miles in those states. Pepper spray would not save me from someone who was intent. A gun? Absolutely not. I had never handled one and would be more likely to hurt myself than stop anyone from hurting me. Once I got back to Iowa City, I knew my trip was over. My enjoyment of the last two days on the road had been dampened by the lingering fear from the close call and knowledge that I was utterly vulnerable. As much as I would love to believe that the dude left me alone because I was giving off some sort of don't fuck with me vibe, that assumes that others who are victimized somehow brought it on themselves. The fact of the matter is, I was just really damned lucky.

It took some doing for me to get going on my last day in Illinois. Knowing that a pretty significant finish line -- crossing a state by myself -- awaited me at the end of the day helped tremendously. I cried when I finally crossed the Mississippi River into Iowa and saw the stadium where the River Bandits play -- even though I never shed a tear when I crossed my ironman finish lines. This was so much harder won.

To a state well-crossed.