The morning started well, but slowly. I had a number of chores to take care of before heading out—answering some emails, airing up my tires, cleaning & then lubing my chain (and myself), and filling the water tank on the Rialta. Then at 9:10 I headed out on route 139 toward Bismarck. It was overcast and cool this morning, with rain predicted, and possible thunder storms throughout the area around noon.
Just five miles into the ride I encountered another rider heading west:
This is Fred Underwood, and as the lower flag would indicate, he's from New Zealand. He's following, as hundreds will this summer, the Northern Tier Route from Bar Harbor, Maine, to Anacortes, Washington. He had been looking west and was anticipating getting wet from the black clouds he could see on the horizon. We chatted for a few minutes and were both on our way.
I haven't seen many new critters in the past few days. This morning, shortly out of New Salem, I flushed a covey of quail, and a bit later a male and female pheasant. The latest members of the animal kingdom I've encountered en mass are insects. I began seeing grasshoppers a ways back as well as many other insects, and as this photo of the drivers's mirror on the Rialta shows, we've become mass murderers:
The big news today came at 17.6 miles, just barely over an hour into the ride, with everything going fine. At a farm, set back a ways from the north side of the road, two dogs began barking loudly, and running toward the road. I kept riding. The next thing I knew they were between me and the right side of the road, and one was snarling as if it was about ready to lunge and bite. I kicked out with my right foot to fend off the dog. Everything after that happened very quickly. I went down in the right lane—luckily without a car close. I was stunned, but wasn't knocked out. I haven't looked at my helmet, but I'll bet I'll never wear that one again.
There was a car a ways back and the good Samaritan driver, pulled to the side and helped me as I struggled to get my bike and the spilled contents of my handlebar bag off of the road. Dee was already in Mandan, about 10 miles up the road. Sandra, the good Samaritan, offered to get me and the bike into Mandan, so I called Dee and figured out a meeting point.
Two years ago I went down while riding in a pace line, and cracked three ribs. Once you've had broken ribs, you know the feeling. I self-diagnosed broken ribs, which the doctor at the Sanford Clinic confirmed. He showed me the X-rays with clear signs of three broken ribs—numbers 2, 3, and 4 on the left side toward the back. He also indicated that numbers 5 and 6 might be cracked as well (I got a call later after he'd had a chance to carefully review the X-rays, confirming his suspicion).
When I fell two years ago, the only road rash I had was about the size of a half dollar. Not so this time. For the squeamish, I'd suggest you fast forward. Here are some photos:
I was, of course, wearing a helmet. Which is why I'm not drooling and talking nonsense (well, I'll let others judge the later statement). In spite of that, I'll likely have a shiner for the next few days. You can see some road rash on the shoulder. That's through a bike jersey.
In addition to the abrasive damage the chip seal did, there's a pretty good sized hematoma there, from where I crashed against the road.
In addition to the strawberries here, there's another hematoma at the knee cap. Fortunately, nothing besides the ribs is broken. Ribs, as I know from experience, do heal. They take a while, and the sad news is that I won't be able to continue the ride from here. However, the doctor insists that a broken rib is worth 300 miles, so technically, that completes the ride—just counting the fully broken ones, with the cracked ones for extra measure.
I'll be in touch with all of you who pledged to let you know how to make your donations directly to the organizations. I hope you'll consider donating the full amount, as if I'd ridden the total 2400 miles. After all, this wasn't about me, it's about the great work that these three organizations do. It's also not too late to pledge. You can still go to the Village Books website and click through to the pledge page.
Oh, and a bit of serendipitous synchronicity. We''re in a motel here in Mandan for the night. I needed more than a campground shower, and we thought this might be a bit more comfortable for the night. When Dee checked us in, the guy at the desk told her that the biker from New Zealand had stayed in this same room last night. And, the desk clerk's sister-in-law has just moved to Bellingham. Small world, huh?
We'll continue our journey to Dee's reunion in Hastings, Nebraska, then to mine in Galva, Illinois, though now it will be via Rialta, not by bike. Thanks again to those of you who pledged, and who followed and commented on the blog.
Now that I've gotten in the habit of writing about this journey, I may still post some photos and comments, so stay tuned.