The Fight, The Fallout & The Phone Call That Changed Everything

A huge fight between Carl & John in downtown Kansas City greatly impacted their trip. A reconciliation resulted in a happy ending to their journey and a brotherly bond that remains strong today. John discusses the brawl in this video clip during a revisit to the KC shopping plaza where it all went down,

An article on their bike travels five days later in an Arkansas newspaper. showed John still sporting a bruised eye from the fight. Although they stuck together on the ride across the hot South, their body language shows a cool relationship.

Their neighbor and classmate, Ted Knowling, at John and Carl's house preparing to join them on the leg to the Atlantic.

John at the Delaware state line on the way to New York, the turnaround point on the cross-country ride.

John in Central Park in Manhattan after repairing a flat with his bicycle pump. They slept in a YMCA boarding house and explored New York City on day rides.

John calling home to check in from atop the Empire State Building, The phone call marked a significant turning point in the trip.

Carl and Ted on an overlook along the Blue Ridge Parkway. The route home included all 469 miles of the Blue Ridge Parkway and the 105 miles of Skyline Drive in the Shenandoah mountains.

KANSAS CITY _ A month into our cross-country bike trip and Carl and I were beginning to get on each others nerves. We'd had our squabbles. What teenage brothers don't from time to time? But a fight on July 7 that year was a turning point in our journey.

We were at the Crown Center Plaza in downtown Kansas City. We'd stopped there to cool off on our ride through KC to begin tackling the hilly Ozarks. The boring Plains were finally over - 9-days since leaving the Rockies. The monotonous Nebraska-Kansas flatlands proved to be most mentally challenging section of the entire country. Pedaling through Kansas City was an absolute nightmare with horrible traffic, confusing signage and poor road surfaces. My trip journals said we spent hours at Crown Center to escape the heat, eat lunch and purchase stove fuel. As we were sitting by the bikes in a parking garage, something triggered an argument and we got in the biggest fistfight ever. Shoppers had to pull us apart. Neither of us today can recall what it was about. A journal entry the next day opened with: "By now, I'm getting sick and tired of my little brother Snarl. He is the biggest pest and really gets on my nerves. Yesterday, in K.C. we got in a big argument and this morning, he's really being a bastard. I hope I can make it through the day without losing my temper." My vagueness suggests Carl had gotten the best of me when onlookers jumped in to break up the fight. An article about our bike trip several days later in an Arkansas newspaper included a photo that depicts me with a black eye.

That fight indirectly caused us to change course and swing through Huntsville on our way to the Atlantic. We originally were planning to cut across Illinois, Kentucky and the Virginia's and hit the east coast somewhere around Norfolk or the Outer Banks. One of our sisters was getting married July 17 and one plan, if the timing worked out, was to have our dad pick us up somewhere in Kentucky and return us to the rendezvous point after the wedding to complete the coast-to-coast journey. Carl and I re-examined our maps after the Kansas City fight and concluded we could be home a day or two before the July 17 wedding. We were tired, We needed haircuts. Our bikes needed repairs. Plus, we didn't want to miss another family event like the unexpected funeral of my grandfather while we were in Yellowstone. So Carl and I altered course and cut southeast rather than across the Midwest. Our path took us through Missouri, including the town of Mountain Grove, where an earlier blog talked about the jail we slept in. We biked through Arkansas, Memphis, Corinth, Iuka, Florence, Decatur and into Huntsville on July 15. While pedaling along U.S. 72 that last day, a lightning bolt struck as we were crossing under some high voltage lines. An electrical current jolted our hands through our metal brake levers. It startled me but Carl swerved into the path of a big freight truck. He was hit by the back edge of the trailer, throwing him and his bike into a ditch on the side of the road. Fortunately, he wasn't hurt badly and the bike was still rideable. We made the wedding , got a fresh set of clothes, new tires and replacement parts in anticipation of leaving again on July 20 for the east coast. As departure day approached, Carl dropped the bombshell that he was done. He planned to stay home to enjoy summer with friends. It was a shocker but not a trip killer for me. Fortunately, a neighborhood classmate (Ted Knowling) who originally was going to accompany us on the complete cross country trip was eager to join me. Ted had followed our travels from my parents through our letters and phone calls. He quickly got his bike and gear ready and hit the road with me on July 20 for the east coast. My relationship with Carl was so cold I made no mention of him when my trip journal entries resumed.

The route to the Atlantic went through Chattanooga, Knoxville, Winston-Salem (where we got ticket for riding bicycles on the interstate), the Chesapeake Bay area and finally Ocean City, Md. where I dipped my front wheel in the Atlantic near the Boardwalk. That was on July 29 - approximately 3,800 miles from the June 9 start in Eureka, Calif. I had a flat tire less than a mile from reaching the coast so I just walked the final stretch, Ted joined me in quick celebration but we knew we weren't done with the trip just yet, We still had a month before school started back. Ted and I, against the wishes of our parents, decided to continue our tour up the east coast through Delaware, New Jersey and into New York City. We overcame major bike breakdowns, insidious traffic congestion and a hurricane-like storm while camping in a small town along the eastern shore. The rain and wind-packed storm nearly ripped our tent to shreds, sending us for cover under an A&P store awning for a sleepless, nerve-wracking night. We camped at a fire station in NJ, entered New York City from Statten Island, and got a room at the YMCA on 23rd Street in lower Manhatten. During a site-seeing visit to the Empire State Building on Aug. 2, I called home to check in. Carl answered the phone and we had our first civil conversation since our fallout weeks earlier in Kansas City. Carl opened his heart and expressed regrets he did not resume the trip. He talked how he missed the road and the adventure, experiences and people we met along the way. We both apologized over our fight and he told me he had been talking to our parents about ways to rendezvous with Ted and me to resume the trip.

We worked out a plan to meet in Manassas, Va. where Carl would go by bus with his bike. We had a great reunion and he did not miss a beat keeping up our pace, despite a 3-week layoff from biking. He said later that was the hardest thing he ever did but he was not about to complain. In the end, Carl pedaled some 3,800 miles - enough to bridge the two oceans, Ted biked approximately 2,300 miles, and me nearly 5,200 miles.

We rolled back in to Huntsville on August 23. My final diary entry notes that I had only 9 cents left. I journaled this reflection that last day in my trip journal: ""I am reluctant to return home as I have grown a liking to the feeling of being on the road day after day. No rush. Not caring where you are, what day or what time it is. Shrugging your shoulders at a raging hail storm, continuing on through heavy thunderstorms, high winds, or blinding snow storms. Sweating up a 12,000 foot mountain pass or cursing at your bicycle after it just broke down in the middle of the desert in Idaho. These are the things that exemplify 'Life on the Road' on a long distance bicycle tour. Ahh, What an accomplishment. Seventy-seven days of seeing the country and we returned home safely. I can't describe how proud and happy I am to have achieved my goal of completing a coast-to-coast cross-country cycling tour. But let me tell you. It was one hell of a summer."

A memorable summer indeed.