I can't tell you exactly where or when I misplaced my extra micro usb cable, sunglasses, or unused write in the rain journal. However, I can tell you how I did misplace two of the most used items I own.
I woke up on the pews of the baptist church in Tiptonville, TN. The rain had been coming down in a steady stream for the last few days. This southern storm doesn't look like it's dissipating anytime soon, and I'll only be riding deeper into it. After a prayer from the preachers wife for my safety, I started following the MRT book directions south.
The street signs that tell me where to go for the MRT have aged in Tennessee, and it's easy to miss their faded green arrows. I was in Ridgely when I looked down to see my tire find a groove in the poorly paved concrete- and before I knew it I was on my back cursing at the sky.
"Are you okay?" a feminine voice with a mid-south accent called to me. Besides my pride of not falling off my bike for 1500 miles, only my elbow was scraped and my thigh bruised. I was offered to dry off, but I felt it was a waste of a perfectly clean towel on an extremely wet day. After some quick maintenance on my front tire, I went to the Family Dollar and bought some AAA batteries for my headlamp. In leu of a light on my bike, I turn my headlamp to flash and strap it around my helmet for those speeding past me on grey days.
My ride down 181 was a mix of wet, bumpy, and humid. The rain kept on, and through my drop-speckled glasses I kept an eye on my mirror to wave and thank drivers who gave me as much room as they could.
Looking further south, there wasn't another town for over 40 miles. I had only gone 26 miles, but my shoes were full, my water-resistant pants and jacket had thrown in the towel, and my conscience was screaming at my pride to give up and ask for help already. I passed the I155 ramp, which I knew I wasn't legally allowed on (or insane enough to attempt on even the driest of days). I thought about waiting for a truck to stop and help me across to Missouri, where there were more towns heading south. A mile down the road, I gave in, and made my way back to the ramp.
I didn't count the amount of people that drove past my thumb and hopeful smile during those 20 minutes, but I was determined to win the help of strangers no matter how long it took. I was already soaked, what's another 5 minutes of rain going to do?
The pair that stopped for me were fumigators for the crop fields in Arkansas, Tennessee, and Missouri. I asked for help across the 155 bridge to the next small town, so I could sit, rest, and decide the fate of my day. Watching them shove my bike in the back of their truck was stressful, so I took a breath and climbed in the cab.
"We're dropping you in Osceola" Larry's thick accent slurred at me while he changed lanes around the long-haul truck drivers. I usually put up a fight about pedaling every mile I can, but with the persistent storm, I took a deep breath and accepted the 60 mile ride.
"How many days are we saving you on time?" Devon asked with a smile. He was younger than Larry by at least 30 years, and had spent some time up in Seattle. "At least two." I responded, asking for a pen to mark my directions. "Maybe I can come back and make up those miles" I told Devon, who shook his head and told me to buy a motorcycle. I asked for them to excuse me as I peeled off my wet socks, ankle brace, and thoroughly soaked rain pants. My bike shorts were far from dry, but I had no choice but to keep them on until I was stopped for the night.
After about an hour of small talk, they pulled off the road and unpacked my rig from the truck. "Did you make sure you didn't forget anything?" Devon kindly asked. I had the blatant opportunity to check, but I smiled and told him I was sure.
As I tossed my shoes in the trailer, I searched for my ankle wrap. I closed my eyes hard as I remembered taking it off in the truck. I looked up to see no one around me, and no way to get ahold of the kind men that helped me jump further south. I shook my head as I added one more thing to my mental list of lost items.
As I was securing my helmet, I gasped and felt for the little beacon of light that I use to stay safe. My headlamp, which I use nightly, was safe and warm in the back seat of Larry's work truck. I felt my shoulders sink, but had no choice. I got back on my bike, and started pedaling forward towards the signs for 61 south.
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