Chapter 23 Heat and Dogs

Hot enough to grow bananas.

Thus far the biggest surprise for me on this journey has been the heat and humidity that has persisted throughout September, at time in Minnesota that usually brings cooler temperatures. It has sapped my energy and cut my mileage. Some locals just brag this is mild compared to earlier and others tell me this is indeed unusually hot.  On Saturday, September 25 the forecast finally was for storms and a cold front headed my way. I decided to just stay in the State Park through the next day and wait out the heat in a hammock letting it to catch up with me.  Monday morning for the first time it was cool and cloudy. It made all the difference.
I was not surprised by the problem with dogs. Last spring I attended one of those adventure lectures at Midwest Mountaineering whose speakers had biked diagonally across the country from Key West to Washington State some 5,000 miles.  I asked them if they they had any problem with dogs and they said about 1,000 times.  That is one every 5 miles.  I haven't had anything near that thus far, that is until I hit Kentucky.  The people here are the most friendly but they have the meanest dogs by far.  There is something about a passing cyclist that seems to bring out the Cujo in every Benji. The difference here is the dogs are pretty much loose and just sit on the porch and lay in wait for some hapless guy on a bike to come along.  We get attacked 2 or 3 times a day.  The car chasers are pretty much weeded out through the process of natural selection leaving the smarter and more saavy ones to chase me. I did plan for this however.  One defense is to simply try to outrun them which I can tell you is impossible.  They are just too fast.  I carry a full size steel bike pump ready at hand that so far has been more useful as a club than a pump.  Prior to Kentucky, the dogs that gave chase were usually loose but with their owners in the front yards with them.   The typical scenario: Dog spots me and breaks away to give chase.  Owner vainly tries to call them back. Not once has the dog stopped or even slowed down. Dog finally stops when it sees the glint off my chrome pump ready to clobber him.  Owner sheepishly grabs dogs and drags him away.
Now in Kentucky the owner is nowhere to be seen and instead of one or two dogs they come after me in packs up to eight at a time.

Ole Betsy.

 I have escalated my arsenal to include my trusty slingshot from my boyhood days and pocket of rocks ready at hand.  A couple days ago was my first big encounter.  On a hill, a pack of six pitbull mixes emerge from the woods ahead of me.  None have collars and there is no house around so they may have been feral. They spread out across the road and break into a run towards me barking furiously. I am pretty sure they are thinking this is going to be fun.  It feels like a western movie showdown. This time I unlimber my slingshot and draw a bead on the biggest alpha dog figuring the rest will follow his lead. I aim low for his feet and the first rock ricochets off the pavement between his legs.  That startles him and confuses him not sure what just happened.  Two more rocks hit and fly through his legs stopping him in his tracks. Now he's thinking maybe this isn't such a  good idea.   His comrades see him and in turn stop and decide to circle around through the woods with some coming out behind me.  I am now surrounded. I have plenty of rocks and begin to pick each dog one at a time and let fly.  Some are playing peek a boo behind the leaves but leaves offer no protection. Eventually they all melt away into the woods and we are able to proceed on our way. Later the next day I had a similar encounter this time in a small town with several dogs coming off their porches at once.  This time I don't aim at their feet.   I have a feeling this is going to happen daily but the dogs of Kentucky will be educated in my wake.