Riding

Lafayette, IN -- Stopping places and talking to people has been fun and interesting, but most of the time, I'm riding my bike.

I do plenty of looking around while I'm pedaling (Recently, I look at corn, soybeans, and the signs telling me what brand of genetically modified corn or soybeans I'm looking at.) but I also do a lot of listening. More than I had expected. The tires make noise on the road, and the chain moving the gears while I pedal does, too. The shifters click when I shift and then the derailleurs make a different click when they respond and move the chain onto the right cog. Other clicks, especially repeating ones, can mean something on the bike isn't running quite right. A funny noise that doesn't stop when I stop pedaling is something on one of the wheels. If it does stop when I stop pedaling, it might be something like it was today -- the end of the front derailleur cable hitting the crank arm and needing to be tucked back into place. Off the bike, cars make different noises depending on their age, type, and their distance from me. There are birds from time to time. When I go under high tension wires the sound reminds me of hearing light rain from inside a house. After the sun's been up long enough, tar on the road starts to form bubbles that crackle when my tires pop them. Rocks make a kind of snap when I run over them and bugs make a quiet crunch when they're flattened, but buzz and then tap when they hit my helmet or bike in mid-air. Sometimes people honk, but not too often.

The wind is the most constant noise, though, and it can keep me from hearing most other things. Today, when I was heading west, straight into it, I could barely hear my tires on the pavement or myself singing. I sing from time to time, usually a song that I hear in a store when I stop or that I have stuck in my head because of its lyrics. While I crossed Massachusetts, James Taylor's "Sweet Baby James," ran through my head with its line about "the Turnpike from Stockbridge to Boston." There's a song about Ohio that hasn't quite left me even though I'm in Indiana now. I whistle, too, and I talk to myself sometimes.

I take breaks as they seem necessary or interesting, or mostly, when I get hungry. Out here, I've been riding through a lot of fields so enough shade to sit under is also a good reason to stop. Most of the time I just eat something and move on, but sometimes it takes me a while to get back on the bike. Today I stopped to buy bread and was sitting there eating it when 75 people on Harleys parked across the street. That turned into a longer break. They had planned their ride as a fundraiser for a man running for Sheriff, but their candidate was killed two days ago in a motorcycle accident, so they turned it into a memorial ride. Later in the afternoon, what was going to be a food stop in Frankfort lasted almost two hours when it turned out to be the site of the county fair. And my stop here in Lafayette is going to last a day longer than I expected as my friend's cousins show me around town. ("Hoosier Hospitality," they're calling it. Great by any name.)

There'll be more riding tomorrow. Out here, I'm riding 80 miles a day without any trouble because it's so flat. My hosts tell me that I'm going to hit the Great Plains soon, so then it will be even flatter. That would speed me on to my next destination, except that I don't really have one. Anyone have family or friends in Illinois, Iowa or Nebraska?