Sunday, March 26 - Day 1 - Vincennes to Mt Carmel, IN
The first order of business was to get some breakfast and internet. It's hard to remember now why it was so important to get on the net, but we didn't find any. There were two coffee shops in Vincennes. One was closed on Sunday. The other was a Starbucks that didn't have internet.
For the day's destination, we studied the maps and picked Mount Vernon, IN, on the Ohio River downstream from Evansville. It ended up being out of the way we should have gone. I should have figured out by then that there really no places to cross the Ohio River between Evansville and Shawneetown. (Maybe that information is what I wanted the internet for.)
I was going to ride down the Illinois side of the Wabash, so needed some maps for that state. The Illinois Department of Transportation has put out an excellent set of bicycling maps, but I didn't have any of the ones for the southern part of the state, and it wasn't likely I'd find any on a Sunday. So we bought a DeLorme Atlas, which I disassembled, then selected the pages I needed for the day. These are nice maps, except that they don't distinguish paved roads from gravel.
Myra took off in one direction to visit New Harmony, the site of Robert Owen's utopian experiment. I headed for the George Rogers Clark memorial bridge. (Except that after a few blocks I recalled that I had forgotten to take any of my spare tubes with me, and I had just changed tires and tubes before leaving home. She puts up with a lot.)
We had been here once before, probably in the summer of 1971. Tecumseh had stopped here in 1811 for another encounter with Gov. Harrison before going on his mission to the Creeks in modern Alabama, which is also where we were headed. After Tecumseh left to go south, Harrison took advantage of his absence to make a pre-emptive attack on Prophetstown to the north -- north of present-day Purdue University. It led to the presidential campaign slogan, "Tippecanoe and Tyler, too." A few years before that, during the Jefferson administration, one of his appointees who had been posted here was surprised and alarmed on his arrival to find how the woods had been cut down around the Fort for a long distance in every direction, and especially along the river. But some of the trees have grown back nicely by now.
(I spent a lot of time on this trip looking at the undersides of bridges. This was the first one, and the classiest of the lot.)
I somehow had the idea that I'd go west towards Lawrenceville, but look for a place to cut south and follow the river if I could find any likely-looking paved roads, even at the risk of their turning into gravel after a few miles. It turned out there weren't any such roads. They were all gravel, and a loose gravel at that. So I rode the 13 miles to Lawrenceville, where I got a subway sandwich before turning south on Hwy 1. A woman at the subway shop was interested in my trip. Maybe my gear and I were scruffy enough to look like we had been out on the road a long time, but I had to tell her I had just barely started.
Hwy 1 is also known as the Dixie Highway. It was an old Chicago-to-Memphis route in the days before Interstates. It still carries a fair amount of truck traffic, but it wasn't too bad this Sunday afternoon, and there is enough room for both bicycles and other vehicles. But a few miles to the south I came across a quiet road that would lead me to one that followed the river more closely. If I had pulled out some of my other map sheets I would have seen it was only going to cost me a few extra miles, taking me to St Francisville, and then I'd have to return to Highway 1. But it was a pleasant diversion.
I rode along what was probably the largest hog pasture I've ever seen. There was a somewhat decrepit fence around it that was apparently sufficient to overcome any slight motivation the pigs might have had to explore the outside world. I learned that St. Francisville had been an overnight staging area for George Rogers' attack on Vincennes, and then it was back to Hwy 1.
Another fourteen miles of riding on Hwy 1 got me to Mount Carmel, where I made the snap decision that I had enough of Hwy 1 and would cross the river now rather than later, and look at the possibility of riding on the Indiana side. The bridge was long and narrow, but I waited for an opening and got almost all the way across before any truck traffic accumulated behind me.
The possibility of doing it again in the reverse direction had now lost all its appeal, so it was a matter of finding a route on the Indiana roads, even though the only map I had was those Illinois Delorme sheets which included the adjacent Indiana roads but none of the names for anything other than the major highways. So I'd have to pay careful attention to details and distances.
A sign seemed to welcome me to a scenic route along the river, which would have been just right. But a couple of miles into it the road was closed. High water, the sign said. From what I could see nearby, the high water had receded without leaving so much debris on the road that I couldn't ride it, but it was getting late enough I couldn't afford to take the chance. So I retraced those two miles and then rode more miles than I wanted to the west, and then south to Owensville. Now I needed to work my way to the southwest.
It was pretty easy to guess my way to a one-gas-station town called Poseyville. But by then it was getting close to sundown, and I had already ridden about 65 miles. I would have accepted a rescue mission at that point. A disadvantage of going on a long tour in spring rather than fall is that I haven't spent the summer building myself up to it. The longest rides I had had so far this year were only 30 miles. It couldn't be helped, thanks to work schedule and the weather. I had figured maybe I'd just have to take it easy and ride myself into shape the first few days, and 65 miles seemed like enough.
But as has happened on these occasions so many times before, our Tracfone service wasn't working. I wasn't able to reach Myra on my Nextel either. And even if I did, how would I explain to her where Poseyville was, when I didn't have any map from which to describe how to get here, and all she had was a state highway map? So I pulled on an extra shirt and my reflective vest and prepared for some nighttime riding.
I knew I had to work my way west to State Highway 65, but it looked like it would require some guesswork. I don't mind a few gravel roads now and then, but not at night. As it turned out, I needn't have worried. The path of least resistance from a place called Wadesville led to one called Solitude. Solitude was on Hwy 65 -- back in civilization, so to speak.
This segment from Wadesville to Solitude was good -- a possible candidate for my list of favorite bike roads. Or maybe I was just relieved that my apprehensions were unfounded. It's too bad I don't have any photos. When I started there was still enough light to read the map on my handlebar bag without a flashlight. By the time I got to Solitude, it was very dark. The roads had twists and intersections, but no difficult decisions about which turn to take. The easy way was the right one. Traffic was light. The country was a bit hillier than further north, just enough to make the ride interesting. If I ever get a chance, I'd like to do this segment (about 10 miles) in the daylight.
But it was still several miles to Mount Vernon. When I finally got there, there was no sign of a motel. I stopped to ask at a gas station. (I still couldn't reach Myra on my cell phones.) The woman at the counter told me there was one out of town to the east. There might also be one somewhere in the downtown direction. But to get to the first one I needed to go past at least three stoplights, and it would seem I was way out of town before I got there. I'm glad she said that, or I would have turned back a mile or two short of reaching it. But I found it, and our car was in the parking lot. The clerk let me roll my bike inside, and after several knocks on the door Myra even let me in. (She decided some time ago not to worry about whether or when I'll get to my destination on these occasions.) It was not yet 9 pm even though it seemed I had been riding in the dark a long time, and I had done 93 miles. That was more than I had intended for the first day.
But the wind had not been much of a factor. If anything, it had been in my favor. That would change.
For the day's destination, we studied the maps and picked Mount Vernon, IN, on the Ohio River downstream from Evansville. It ended up being out of the way we should have gone. I should have figured out by then that there really no places to cross the Ohio River between Evansville and Shawneetown. (Maybe that information is what I wanted the internet for.)
I was going to ride down the Illinois side of the Wabash, so needed some maps for that state. The Illinois Department of Transportation has put out an excellent set of bicycling maps, but I didn't have any of the ones for the southern part of the state, and it wasn't likely I'd find any on a Sunday. So we bought a DeLorme Atlas, which I disassembled, then selected the pages I needed for the day. These are nice maps, except that they don't distinguish paved roads from gravel.
Myra took off in one direction to visit New Harmony, the site of Robert Owen's utopian experiment. I headed for the George Rogers Clark memorial bridge. (Except that after a few blocks I recalled that I had forgotten to take any of my spare tubes with me, and I had just changed tires and tubes before leaving home. She puts up with a lot.)
We had been here once before, probably in the summer of 1971. Tecumseh had stopped here in 1811 for another encounter with Gov. Harrison before going on his mission to the Creeks in modern Alabama, which is also where we were headed. After Tecumseh left to go south, Harrison took advantage of his absence to make a pre-emptive attack on Prophetstown to the north -- north of present-day Purdue University. It led to the presidential campaign slogan, "Tippecanoe and Tyler, too." A few years before that, during the Jefferson administration, one of his appointees who had been posted here was surprised and alarmed on his arrival to find how the woods had been cut down around the Fort for a long distance in every direction, and especially along the river. But some of the trees have grown back nicely by now.
(I spent a lot of time on this trip looking at the undersides of bridges. This was the first one, and the classiest of the lot.)
I somehow had the idea that I'd go west towards Lawrenceville, but look for a place to cut south and follow the river if I could find any likely-looking paved roads, even at the risk of their turning into gravel after a few miles. It turned out there weren't any such roads. They were all gravel, and a loose gravel at that. So I rode the 13 miles to Lawrenceville, where I got a subway sandwich before turning south on Hwy 1. A woman at the subway shop was interested in my trip. Maybe my gear and I were scruffy enough to look like we had been out on the road a long time, but I had to tell her I had just barely started.
Hwy 1 is also known as the Dixie Highway. It was an old Chicago-to-Memphis route in the days before Interstates. It still carries a fair amount of truck traffic, but it wasn't too bad this Sunday afternoon, and there is enough room for both bicycles and other vehicles. But a few miles to the south I came across a quiet road that would lead me to one that followed the river more closely. If I had pulled out some of my other map sheets I would have seen it was only going to cost me a few extra miles, taking me to St Francisville, and then I'd have to return to Highway 1. But it was a pleasant diversion.
I rode along what was probably the largest hog pasture I've ever seen. There was a somewhat decrepit fence around it that was apparently sufficient to overcome any slight motivation the pigs might have had to explore the outside world. I learned that St. Francisville had been an overnight staging area for George Rogers' attack on Vincennes, and then it was back to Hwy 1.
Another fourteen miles of riding on Hwy 1 got me to Mount Carmel, where I made the snap decision that I had enough of Hwy 1 and would cross the river now rather than later, and look at the possibility of riding on the Indiana side. The bridge was long and narrow, but I waited for an opening and got almost all the way across before any truck traffic accumulated behind me.
The possibility of doing it again in the reverse direction had now lost all its appeal, so it was a matter of finding a route on the Indiana roads, even though the only map I had was those Illinois Delorme sheets which included the adjacent Indiana roads but none of the names for anything other than the major highways. So I'd have to pay careful attention to details and distances.
A sign seemed to welcome me to a scenic route along the river, which would have been just right. But a couple of miles into it the road was closed. High water, the sign said. From what I could see nearby, the high water had receded without leaving so much debris on the road that I couldn't ride it, but it was getting late enough I couldn't afford to take the chance. So I retraced those two miles and then rode more miles than I wanted to the west, and then south to Owensville. Now I needed to work my way to the southwest.
It was pretty easy to guess my way to a one-gas-station town called Poseyville. But by then it was getting close to sundown, and I had already ridden about 65 miles. I would have accepted a rescue mission at that point. A disadvantage of going on a long tour in spring rather than fall is that I haven't spent the summer building myself up to it. The longest rides I had had so far this year were only 30 miles. It couldn't be helped, thanks to work schedule and the weather. I had figured maybe I'd just have to take it easy and ride myself into shape the first few days, and 65 miles seemed like enough.
But as has happened on these occasions so many times before, our Tracfone service wasn't working. I wasn't able to reach Myra on my Nextel either. And even if I did, how would I explain to her where Poseyville was, when I didn't have any map from which to describe how to get here, and all she had was a state highway map? So I pulled on an extra shirt and my reflective vest and prepared for some nighttime riding.
I knew I had to work my way west to State Highway 65, but it looked like it would require some guesswork. I don't mind a few gravel roads now and then, but not at night. As it turned out, I needn't have worried. The path of least resistance from a place called Wadesville led to one called Solitude. Solitude was on Hwy 65 -- back in civilization, so to speak.
This segment from Wadesville to Solitude was good -- a possible candidate for my list of favorite bike roads. Or maybe I was just relieved that my apprehensions were unfounded. It's too bad I don't have any photos. When I started there was still enough light to read the map on my handlebar bag without a flashlight. By the time I got to Solitude, it was very dark. The roads had twists and intersections, but no difficult decisions about which turn to take. The easy way was the right one. Traffic was light. The country was a bit hillier than further north, just enough to make the ride interesting. If I ever get a chance, I'd like to do this segment (about 10 miles) in the daylight.
But it was still several miles to Mount Vernon. When I finally got there, there was no sign of a motel. I stopped to ask at a gas station. (I still couldn't reach Myra on my cell phones.) The woman at the counter told me there was one out of town to the east. There might also be one somewhere in the downtown direction. But to get to the first one I needed to go past at least three stoplights, and it would seem I was way out of town before I got there. I'm glad she said that, or I would have turned back a mile or two short of reaching it. But I found it, and our car was in the parking lot. The clerk let me roll my bike inside, and after several knocks on the door Myra even let me in. (She decided some time ago not to worry about whether or when I'll get to my destination on these occasions.) It was not yet 9 pm even though it seemed I had been riding in the dark a long time, and I had done 93 miles. That was more than I had intended for the first day.
But the wind had not been much of a factor. If anything, it had been in my favor. That would change.