Sunday Mornin’ Comin’ Down My Tale of the 2005 MS-150 By Ed Chasteen
I go for years with never a thought of Johnny Cash. But his mournful face and plaintiff lyrics ride with me this Sunday morning. Bill wakes me at 5 AM. Mark and Joshua are soon up and Bill has us back at the Fairgrounds before six.
In our United We Ride team jerseys, Mark, Joshua and I had joined the other 217 of our MS-150 teammates for picture taking at the starting line in Lee’s Summit. We bumped into each other here and there at rest stops along the way. I pulled off my jersey after the picture to ride in my yellow HateBusters shirt. Former students and old friends know me by that shirt. And it leads to interesting questions as we ride.
Bill Chapman was a student of mine at William Jewell College in the 1970s. For years now he has been a prosecuting attorney in Sedalia. His wife, Beverly, is a social worker. They live on acreage at the edge of town and keep horses. Bill loves to cook. And does it beautifully. Spending the night with them is a perfect ending to an always glorious first day of the MS-150.
The Lewis and Clark Cookbook is Bill’s inspiration tonight. He substitutes beef brisket for bear meat, but if those explorers ate like this, they were not eager to see their expedition end. Thirteen-year old Joshua has never ridden a horse. After dinner he does. But he can’t coax his grandpa, Mark, aboard. “I’ve ridden a horse,” Mark says.
Hot showers, a grand meal and stories of crime in Sedalia, children abused by parents, WWII landing cruisers, their cat’s hunting exploits, community theater, their Sicilian donkey, our day on a bike, Mark’s upcoming Salvation Army assignment in New Orleans. We talk past the time tired bodies cry for rest. We surrender before we want to. Already talking about next year.
Bill has orange juice and coffee for us when he wakes us Sunday morning. We step out of his pickup a few minutes later into a still dark Fairgrounds. The noise and excitement of our arrival yesterday afternoon has given way to a quiet gliding of shadowy figures. We say a reluctant farewell to Bill. At dinner last night, Bill mentioned that he had begun riding his bike to work. Coworkers had started calling him “Lance,” and he was thinking he might buy a jersey. So I gave him mine. The one I’d worn for the picture.
Joshua made friends his age on yesterday’s ride and goes to sit with them for breakfast. Mark goes to find the place to get his luggage on the truck. I get my pancakes and join some folks at table. We swap a few stories. Then on the road again.
But it’s not Willie Nelson on my mind. It’s Johnny Cash. I can’t find my rhythm this morning. I’m a zombie. Sleepy and tired. No enthusiasm for anything. Everything mechanical. Grind it out. One hill. Then another. I don’t want to be doing this. A soft bed. A cool, dark room. That’s what I want. Sunday mornin’ is comin’ down on me hard.
“In all the years you’ve ridden the MS-150, you have never sagged or walked up a hill.” A little voice keeps whispering that in my ear. I want to right now! But everytime I almost do, that voice comes again. And I don’t.
Finally it’s noon! I’m at the Centerview rest stop. I see a sign: 49.8 miles to go. I call my son in Lee’s Summit and ask him what he’s doing for dinner. “Nothing,” he says. “I’ll be there by five. Let’s have dinner.” “Okay,” he says.
I catch snatches of the Chief’s game at the next three rest stops. We’re winning. Big! At one rest stop I find bunches of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches made with heels. “I love heels, I say to the woman making them.” “I remembered from last year. I made them for you,” she says. I’m able to pick up the pace a little coming out of Lone Jack. Enough that someone asks me how I ride so fast. Maybe he doesn’t realize we’re both still riding long after most have finished.
Right at five I cross the finish line. Not the best day I ever had on my bike. But haven’t I said everywhere and to everybody that people and places are not to be compared. Each is special. Unique! Meant to be enjoyed and valued. Maybe that applies also to events.
Bill, Beverly, set a place for us. Mark, Joshua and I will be back next year for the glorious night sandwiched between two exhausting, exhilarating days.
HateBusters
Box 442
Liberty, MO 64069
Phone: 816-803-8371
e-mail: hatebuster@aol.com
No Boundaries On Our Soul!
