Reverend Kelley

It is hot. It is so hot that if I park my bike in the sun, my computer LCD goes completely black for a few minutes after I start riding again. It is so hot that my sleeping bag is always wet in the mornings, and I'm wearing nothing but boxers and sleeping on top of it. It is so hot that the first thing everyone who stops to chat with me says is, "You sure you're alright, son?" I'm beginning to shape everything I do around the heat and the humidity: when I sleep, how long, when I eat, how I put my sunscreen on, where I camp. Two weeks ago, my Dad told me, "Brett, there's going to come the day when you'll wish for this cold, rainy Colorado weather." I thought, sure. That day has come to pass.

Regardless, this third leg has brought whole new wonders. In Chanute, KS, I stepped onto the Transam Trail, which is just the name for the established route that most cross-country cyclists take. There's a lot of oral history and tips that get passed around every night in city parks (which is where I've largely been staying.) The things most commonly talked about are 1) the Rollers: these are the supposedly soul-crushing, endless hills of Missouri. They're not so bad. 2) Sending stuff home: everyone, every single cross-country cyclist I've met or talked to has mailed extra weight home after the first few weeks. (I've karate chopped my load down to two front panniers and 4 little sacks on my rear rack: sleeping bag, tent, pad, bag of clothes.) 3) Camping: how to do it, where to go, who to ask. 4) The next town: eastbounders talk to westbounders for advice and vice-versa. There's quite a community amongst the Transam riders. And there's a confidence and warmth between the riders and the local towns. It's very nice to experience. However, I've peeled off of the Transam for the last four days, in order to get to St. Louis to catch a flight.

Yesterday was particularly difficult due to the heat. I decided to eat out, instead of cook dinner, so I could get to bed early and get the majority of my miles in today before the heat got to heavy. After dinner at Margies Kafe, I stepped outside to get on my bike and pedal over to the park to set up camp. The heat hit me hard, and I decided to make a leap and call some churches in town, to see if I could camp inside. I'd heard this was acceptable, and that was all the impetus I needed. I got some phone numbers from a gas station attendant. I called a Methodist secretary who suggested I call Reverend Kelley. He wasn't even from her church, some church across the way. But she said, "You're gonna want to talk to him," as if he was THE guy to talk to in town. I told her it was not problem, I had the number of a Baptist church I could call too. She said, "No, call Reverend Kelley." She gave me his number. I called him and told him to please feel free to turn me down, it was an odd request. I was riding across the country and staying mostly in city parks and on public land, but I was wondering if I might be able to get in somewhere out of the heat for the evening. When he said, in a grandfatherly voice, "Aw, bless your heart," I felt a sudden relief. He told me to meet him over at his place. Gave me directions. He said, "Good timing, son. I've got just the thing for you."

When I got there, he'd fired up his old Winnebago LeSharo. He'd been working on it that day, repairing something in the engine. He showed me how to turn on the air conditioning, and told me to leave that on high all night. I said, "you bet!" He opened up the basement of his church too so I could use the bathroom. I slept in bliss for 6 hrs, got up and began today's riding just as the sun was coming up. God bless you, Reverend.