Oh, the weather (Day 6)
, 5 min, 861 words
Tags: biking transamerica-2021
This is Zeph, checking in from a small campsite north of Dyersville, Iowa. It has been a heck of a few days, and as expected, the emotional difficulties of distance touring are far more challenging than the physical.
[read the next bit with your best radio newscaster voice]
But first, this update is (not really) sponsored by
- Roadside butterflies. Roadside butterflies: somehow almost as fast as a slow biker, but much cuter.
- In-depth farm equipment tours. Learn the difference between a tractor and a combine, and see just how much work goes into maintaining them. In-depth farm equipment tours: your glimpse into farm life.
- Dry sleeping socks: a little slice of heaven, right in your tent.
- And finally, this is brought to you by comfy bike gloves: offering traction and sun protection in one day-glo package.
Now that I've got my sponsors out of the way, back to the weather. [okay, you can use your normal reading voice from here on out]
A bit of context, first. My first two days on the road, the biggest environmental hazard was heat. It was in the eighties for long chunks of the day, and so early starts and aggressively staying on top of hydration were my priorities. Day three got a bit wet, but it was so hot that the occasional drenching was a relief more than a hassle. On day four, I felt strong and confident, entered Iowa, and started to encounter my first hills of the trip. (So much for Iowa being flat and windy.)
That all changed yesterday, on day five of my trip, with forecasted afternoon thunderstorms and wind.
Hope
So I got an early start, and pounded out almost thirty miles before the rain started to really threaten. Then the rain didn't just threaten, but dump. In buckets. Continuously. With no end in sight. I'm not gonna sugar coat this; it was a real slog. After about an hour of this, something strange happened in my brain. It ceased to be productive to suffer through it, so my brain just...stopped suffering it and just embraced it. If you're gonna be wet and cold, you might as well be cheerfully wet and cold. To be clear, I had very little conscious control over that process – it kind of just happened. But I started belting out showtunes, enjoying the descents (did I mention this part of Iowa is hilly?), and I just kept pedaling.
Don't get me wrong, I was very grateful to reach my home for the night, a heated and roof-covered lovely house with delightful and welcoming hosts (and a long hot shower). But in the meantime, I got along okay and stopped for snacks and drinks almost as often as I probably should have.
Despair
Then today dawned. I knew going in that there would be a high in the forties and rain most of the day. Worse, I'd have a 15 mph headwind pretty much all day.
And as it promised, so it went. It was cold, and wet, and windy, and far hillier than I thought Iowa should be. Between the headwind and my tired, cold legs, I was averaging 4.5 mph on the uphills, and I struggled to manage my temperature. I'd zip my raincoat all the way up to protect myself from the cold and wet, then start sweating and unzip a bit, then get cold and rezip, and so on. I stopped in a small town to warm up a bit in the library, though I'm still not convinced that was a good idea – my hands certainly warmed up, but the rest of me cooled off from biking and then had to ease back into it again afterwards. I rapidly reset my sights, from Colesburg (a 65 mile day) to Dyersville (a 45 mile one), to "just one more mile".
It's the worst I've felt on this trip so far, and I confess that I had many moments of thinking "why am I doing this?! I could be home and warm and dry right now". Heck, some part of me is still thinking that. I'm really not sure how many days like that I can take. Really, the idea of biking across the country is appealing when it's fun, or at least fun-ish. It's much less appealing when it's sheer misery.
I don't have any conclusions or answers from this. Just that I'm at a low point. We'll see what tomorrow brings – it is at least supposed to stop raining, and the wind should die down a bit; I may even see glimpses of the sun. May it bring higher morale and dry socks.
Damply yours,
Zeph