(Attached below is chapter three of my newest book, "Tales of a Cycling Nomad 1982." With Christmans coming up, it's a great gift for friends, loved ones, bicyclists, people looking to challeng themselves in life. I'd love it if you ordered a copy and shared my journey with others. You can purchase a copy on Amazon or Barnes and Noble, or by contacting me directly by email to get a signed copy at davidsimon15@hotmail.com.)
CYCLING NOMAD
Chapter 3
Leaving the Comfort Zone
Heading south from St. Louis, I leave the comfort zone. For the first week or so I’ve been able to crash on a couch or bed at friends’ houses. It’s time to hit the road, pitch a tent and find someplace safe each night. That produces anxiety.
Before leaving on the trip, multiple friends were concerned about my safety. Getting hit by a car or truck is certainly a possibility. Getting attacked by a stupid human at night could be another. Maybe a marauding bear or wild boar would annihilate my tent while I slept. I had my own fears and pushed them away. You couldn’t even start the journey otherwise. Survival requires conquering fear. You must leave your comfort zone.
I get onto Missouri Highway 67, a two-laner undergoing construction to become four lanes. To the west, dirt has been moved and graded. You can see the two new lanes taking shape.
As the sun eases down, my anxiety increases. Where to camp? There are no state parks along the route, nor city parks. It’s trees and occasional rolling farmland. Finally I decide to stop, walk my bike as far over the two dirt tracks to the west and set up my tent. I’ve been riding for 8 hours. This area seems to provide a bit of protection, far enough off the road to prevent any marauding motorists. I want to be hidden and away from the noise as much as possible and this seems the best option as the sun goes down. I looked for miles and miles, and this spot appeared to be the best choice. I can burrow a bit into the woods and get away from the traffic for safety reasons.
Cars roar by occasionally, preventing sleep. My tension being alone and sleeping by the side of the road also keeps me awake. Suddenly a car stops and a door slams. SHIT! I clamber for the tent zipper as a spotlight hits me. WTF?
wasn’t as hidden as I thought. A farmer called the police to report me camping. The officer appears as afraid of me as I am of him. He’s a young man, probably my age (26), slightly overweight, with a short blond buzz. He asks for ID and runs my driver’s license. He comes back and asks a few questions. Where you from? How long you been riding? Where you headed?
He’s probably looking at my super short hair and beard thinking I’m a punk rocker.
The conversation warms. We start sharing stories. He probably doesn’t have much to do in a sparsely populated area like this and enjoys talking as much as I enjoy connecting with him. After 15-20 minutes he has to get back to his rounds and I’m sorry to see him go. Once he leaves, I think we should have gone to the local eatery and grabbed a cup of coffee. To this day, I wonder if he remembers that meeting.
The following day is my first bathing on the road and another challenge figuring out where to safely sleep. You crave human contact when you are on a bicycle all day. There’s a natural desire to have other humans around at the end of the day.
Mid-day, I find a quiet stream by the side of the road and peel off my shirt, riding shorts and underwear. I’m not using socks. There’s a bar of Ivory soap in the saddlebags for washing myself and clothes. I change into my extra shorts, wet the dirty shirt and shorts, scrub, rinse and set them on the bike to sit in the sun while I rest for an hour. They smell clean. The air is fresh. Birds sing. Spring permeates the air.
Later in the day, I’m again faced with where to sleep. There have been no towns, only occasional houses by the side of the road, and I stop at a house where kids are playing out front as it is towards dusk to get some water. I strike up a friendly conversation and the parents suggest I sleep in their backyard. I readily agree and pitch my tent. This type of kindness occurs repeatedly over the course of the tour.
+++
The terrain grows hillier and more wooded with each passing day, though the riding is still relatively easy. Thunderstorms are in the air. You can smell them. The ability to predict the weather (and time) develop quickly.
You feel the wind currents so you know which direction a system is coming from. You notice the change in moisture, signaling humidity and rain.
The sun wakes you up in the morning, giving you an initial time gauge. As it ascends during the day, you watch it trek across the sky and accustom yourself to where it is all times of the day. Very quickly I’m able to tell time in my head accurately within 15-20 minutes.
Sensing impending storms, I seek cover for the evening. Again, no quick options emerge. I settle on a site under an overpass. BIG MISTAKE!
Almost as soon as I’m zipped in, the noises start. Something starts slapping the edge and top of the tent. My first thought is local teenagers harassing me, but no way I wouldn’t hear more noise if humans were traipsing about.
Is it a bear? Maybe a raccoon? A wild pig? Those thoughts, too, are quickly dismissed.
My body is rigid with fear, trying to figure out what the heck is going on. There are fluttering sounds, along with slapping of the tent. It comes and goes.
Finally, I need to take leak and unzip the tent quickly and let out a loud scream, flailing my arms to ward off any intruders. I hear some scuttling but don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Relieving myself, I look around and up. Sure enough, I see a bunch of pigeons. They’ve been dive-bombing me, those bastards! Amazing how your fear takes over.
Relaxed and with an empty bladder, I return to the tent and settle in for a comfortable evening. I look out at the brilliant night sky and see a light flash and dart. WHOA, a shooting star. Then there’s another one. What the heck? Then I see a light go and off in the distance. Gulp. Is there a UFO out there? Did some satellites just fall from the sky?
Having defeated the pigeon fear, I’m faced with another one, but now I’m fortified and ready to use logic. I concentrate on the light. Hmmm, it’s not up in the sky, it’s just hovering above the weeds. AH, it’s fireflies.
If you’re ever out camping alone and think you’re seeing UFOs off in the distance, check your eyes first to see if it’s fireflies. You’ll sleep better.
+++
CYCLING NOMAD
Chapter 3
Leaving the Comfort Zone
Heading south from St. Louis, I leave the comfort zone. For the first week or so I’ve been able to crash on a couch or bed at friends’ houses. It’s time to hit the road, pitch a tent and find someplace safe each night. That produces anxiety.
Before leaving on the trip, multiple friends were concerned about my safety. Getting hit by a car or truck is certainly a possibility. Getting attacked by a stupid human at night could be another. Maybe a marauding bear or wild boar would annihilate my tent while I slept. I had my own fears and pushed them away. You couldn’t even start the journey otherwise. Survival requires conquering fear. You must leave your comfort zone.
I get onto Missouri Highway 67, a two-laner undergoing construction to become four lanes. To the west, dirt has been moved and graded. You can see the two new lanes taking shape.
As the sun eases down, my anxiety increases. Where to camp? There are no state parks along the route, nor city parks. It’s trees and occasional rolling farmland. Finally I decide to stop, walk my bike as far over the two dirt tracks to the west and set up my tent. I’ve been riding for 8 hours. This area seems to provide a bit of protection, far enough off the road to prevent any marauding motorists. I want to be hidden and away from the noise as much as possible and this seems the best option as the sun goes down. I looked for miles and miles, and this spot appeared to be the best choice. I can burrow a bit into the woods and get away from the traffic for safety reasons.
Cars roar by occasionally, preventing sleep. My tension being alone and sleeping by the side of the road also keeps me awake. Suddenly a car stops and a door slams. SHIT! I clamber for the tent zipper as a spotlight hits me. WTF?
wasn’t as hidden as I thought. A farmer called the police to report me camping. The officer appears as afraid of me as I am of him. He’s a young man, probably my age (26), slightly overweight, with a short blond buzz. He asks for ID and runs my driver’s license. He comes back and asks a few questions. Where you from? How long you been riding? Where you headed?
He’s probably looking at my super short hair and beard thinking I’m a punk rocker.
The conversation warms. We start sharing stories. He probably doesn’t have much to do in a sparsely populated area like this and enjoys talking as much as I enjoy connecting with him. After 15-20 minutes he has to get back to his rounds and I’m sorry to see him go. Once he leaves, I think we should have gone to the local eatery and grabbed a cup of coffee. To this day, I wonder if he remembers that meeting.
The following day is my first bathing on the road and another challenge figuring out where to safely sleep. You crave human contact when you are on a bicycle all day. There’s a natural desire to have other humans around at the end of the day.
Mid-day, I find a quiet stream by the side of the road and peel off my shirt, riding shorts and underwear. I’m not using socks. There’s a bar of Ivory soap in the saddlebags for washing myself and clothes. I change into my extra shorts, wet the dirty shirt and shorts, scrub, rinse and set them on the bike to sit in the sun while I rest for an hour. They smell clean. The air is fresh. Birds sing. Spring permeates the air.
Later in the day, I’m again faced with where to sleep. There have been no towns, only occasional houses by the side of the road, and I stop at a house where kids are playing out front as it is towards dusk to get some water. I strike up a friendly conversation and the parents suggest I sleep in their backyard. I readily agree and pitch my tent. This type of kindness occurs repeatedly over the course of the tour.
+++
The terrain grows hillier and more wooded with each passing day, though the riding is still relatively easy. Thunderstorms are in the air. You can smell them. The ability to predict the weather (and time) develop quickly.
You feel the wind currents so you know which direction a system is coming from. You notice the change in moisture, signaling humidity and rain.
The sun wakes you up in the morning, giving you an initial time gauge. As it ascends during the day, you watch it trek across the sky and accustom yourself to where it is all times of the day. Very quickly I’m able to tell time in my head accurately within 15-20 minutes.
Sensing impending storms, I seek cover for the evening. Again, no quick options emerge. I settle on a site under an overpass. BIG MISTAKE!
Almost as soon as I’m zipped in, the noises start. Something starts slapping the edge and top of the tent. My first thought is local teenagers harassing me, but no way I wouldn’t hear more noise if humans were traipsing about.
Is it a bear? Maybe a raccoon? A wild pig? Those thoughts, too, are quickly dismissed.
My body is rigid with fear, trying to figure out what the heck is going on. There are fluttering sounds, along with slapping of the tent. It comes and goes.
Finally, I need to take leak and unzip the tent quickly and let out a loud scream, flailing my arms to ward off any intruders. I hear some scuttling but don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Relieving myself, I look around and up. Sure enough, I see a bunch of pigeons. They’ve been dive-bombing me, those bastards! Amazing how your fear takes over.
Relaxed and with an empty bladder, I return to the tent and settle in for a comfortable evening. I look out at the brilliant night sky and see a light flash and dart. WHOA, a shooting star. Then there’s another one. What the heck? Then I see a light go and off in the distance. Gulp. Is there a UFO out there? Did some satellites just fall from the sky?
Having defeated the pigeon fear, I’m faced with another one, but now I’m fortified and ready to use logic. I concentrate on the light. Hmmm, it’s not up in the sky, it’s just hovering above the weeds. AH, it’s fireflies.
If you’re ever out camping alone and think you’re seeing UFOs off in the distance, check your eyes first to see if it’s fireflies. You’ll sleep better.
+++