In the Bluegrass.

Current Town: Sebree Kentucky.
Total Miles: almost 3/4 of the way...
Miles to go: about 1,000 to DC. about 1,300 to NYC!
Number of Angels on the Trail: Infinite

I came down from the Ozarks to find myself in Illinois, the state with the smallest amount of miles to tackle, but somehow felt like a bazillion. Spent the night in Chester, to celebrate the crossing of the MISSISSIPPI river, something I never ever thought I would do on bicycle. Felt pretty epic to be riding over that great big massive sludge of a river, listening to Jay Z, and wobbling by the speeding cars.

From Chester I biked a few more miles to Carbondale where I was graciously rescued by Joe at the local bike shop. He must have immediately known I was a worn out cycle tourist (its pretty easy to spot us) because we instantly started talking all about biking. He toured the Transam earlier this summer, so was very helpful with tips and commiseration. Joe graciously let me crash at his place for the night and took me out on the town for a giant bowl of spaghetti and much needed beer. I always get very excited to be in an actual city sized town, so it was great to cruise around the college campus, luggage free, on our bikes and get a taste for Southern Illinois. We rode out the next morning, my first riding buddy in WEEKS, and Joe showed me some of the great back roads through his beautiful state. What a treat to ride next to someone, but it also made me realize one thing: life on the road is SO much better when you have good company next to you. So thank you, thank you, thank you, Joe for being a wonderful host on this long journey.

Right now, I am writing you all from Sebree, Kentucky. I crossed over the border from Illinois, by a small Tug boat like ferry, yesterday morning and cruised through the Blue Grass hills to this charming little town, Sebree.

Okay, it might have gone a little bit more like this: I slept in a sketch ball campsite the night before-which was closed due to storm damage - mosquito infested swamp land that it was, I managed to catch a few winks. Finding motivation for another 80 mile day the next morning though was a bit difficult. For some reason sleeping in a marsh, alone, and illegally might I add, does not always elicit the urge to power through big miles in the early morning. Luckily, I had heard news of a Baptist Church, in Sebree, that allows cyclists to sleep over, and sometimes provides a home cooked meal. Well, I had no idea what I was even in for.

I rolled up to Sebree early in the day to find a huge banner outside stating, "Cyclist's Welcome." Even on the Transam trail, these signs seem to be few and far between, and the closest thing is Bikers Welcome: that one gets me every time, until I realize it is really meant for those hard core leather bound, Sturgis, motorcyclists.

Needless to say, as I was trying to decide if I should knock on the Church neighbors door, up rolls a white car, and Violet pokes her head out, "You must be looking for someone to let you in, honey!" I could only shake my head up and down, hopeful that things were about to turn around.

Well, turn around they did. I have never met more hospitable, kind, and generous hosts in my life, and that must mean a lot because they seem to be in abundance these days. I'm not sure if its the fact that I always look super haggard, I'm alone, I'm a chick, or all of the above...but something about lugging around my life on the back of a bicycle seems to bring out the best in people.

It turns out, Violet and her husband Pastor Bob, are true legends along the Transamerica trail. They have hosted hundreds, probably thousands of cyclists over the past thirty years; opening their doors and hearts to sweat stained, semi-homeless, vagabonds of the trail. Not something everyone will jump at the chance to do.

Last night I enjoyed one of my first home cooked meals in a long time, a hot shower, and clean laundry, as well as a mountain of ice cream that Bob prepared for me. Let's just say I couldn't decide what flavor to eat, so I chose all five. Delicious.

After a long heart to heart with Violet over our heaping bowls of ice cream, it must have been apparent that I have been without company, or a hug, for a long, long time. It only took about three minutes for both of us to be completely in tears, just Violet and I, sitting in her linoleum kitchen, wiping our eyes with the table napkins. What a sight.

I'm not sure if it was from the sheer happiness of being in a home again, or the crazy winding tale of her life that really got me, but I'm starting to notice how completely vulnerable and open us cyclists must appear, because I sure do get to hear a lot of wonderful and sometimes traumatic life stories. It must be the spandex. There is just something non threatening about a person walking around in day light wearing bike shorts. It clearly tells you immediately: this person has no shame, none at all. I'll take that as a good thing, because obviously, when you're willing to wear unflattering, tight in all the wrong places, padding in the butt, spandex, every day all day in public; you must be a pretty chill, laid back kinda gal. No frills necessary, and while I don't have a choice at this point, I'll take it.

Back to the Trail Angels of the moment, I think I might go take a nap, again, after all that ice cream it feels like its a good time to hibernate for a minute. I was planning to leave this morning, but then I just had to ask myself, why? Why would I ever leave this oasis? Okay I might have to sooner or later, but for now, I'm just going to relax and enjoy this wonderful Southern hospitality.

So much more to come.

-s