Bicycle Touring Bazine
Fell on loose gravel and almost got hit by a car. I'm good though.

Bazine

I woke up at the city park in Larned, Kansas to a chilly breeze and people walking around all over the place. I did not sleep well at all and woke up several times during the night to people rustling around the bushes and just being plain unusual.  I spoke with Josh later that morning via email and he mentioned he spoke with law enforcement the previous night about sleeping in that park.  Apparently it was not a great idea.  Problems occurred there recently and he suggested Josh go to a motel.

I left around 8:30 AM for Bazine.  The wind blew in my face most of the day again, but at least the smoothly paved road on Route 183 made the trek a bit easier.  I coasted down the highway and for once the wind ceased.  I hit speeds of over 20 mph and neared the bottom of the hill where Route 96 picked up the trail.  A gust of wind pushed me towards the shoulder and I jerked my handle bars back to stabilize my position, but I didn’t see the terrain ahead.  My front tire slid out from under me.  The bike skid against the sand and gravel on the road dragging me with it.  I braced my fall with my eight hand which scuffed against the ground along with my left knee.  Blood squirted out of my kneecap and dripped down my hand.  I popped up in the matter of seconds, stunned as to what just happened.  A driver yelled out his window, “Hey, kid ya alright.” I nodded and gave him a thumbs up sign.  I moved my bike to the side of the road and grabbed my pannier, which slid down the road towards the telephone pole.  Everything appeared to be working still, which amazed me. I fell going pretty fast and thought for sure my bike met it’s last day.

I hopped back on my ride and continued down Route 96. I took a rest at Alexander for an hour or two and replenished my liquids and charged my phone.  Josh was still a few hours away.  I continued on to Bazine where I set up camp at the local campground.  The sky turned gray with huge clouds engulfing the city while the wind picked up its intensity.  They called for potential hailing and rain.  I met up with Josh who advised me to stay at the Cyclists only lodging right down the road.  Of course, I pedaled three feet and ran over a thorn.  I put off the flat for tomorrow.

I paid ten dollars to stay there and got a shower, did my laundry, and stuffed my face full of delicious food.  I devoured four platters of steamed brown rice, with creamy mushrooms and tender chicken, feasted on cucumber salad, crunchy bread, steamed spinach and finished the night off with a sweet vegetarian jello desert consisting of pineapple and carrots.  I winced in pain and held my stomach.  I gorged way too much, but that put me into a peaceful slumber.

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Brian Cray is not a cyclist. He’s not a hitchhiker. He’s not a train hopper or an adrenaline junkie. He’s just an ordinary man with gypsy blood in his veins, who can’t seem to settle down. Nothing defines him. He goes wherever this world takes him on this journey we call life, roaming the world, at will, by any means. He aspires for a life of indefinite travel, a tiny home in the woods for him and his wife, and any work that keeps him wanderin’. Brian Cray is a travel writer at heart, sharing his stories with the world one keystroke at a time.

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