The Long Way Home

August 22, 2012

The first day after a long tour always feels rather odd. No need for a balanced breakfast. No required application of sun lotion. No concern about having adequate food and water on the bikes. Just the anticipation of a relaxing day!

One thing does continue…the tendency to eat like you are still on the bike. After weeks of consuming many more calories than normal each day, I need to slam on the brakes and taper down.

We begin with a light breakfast at the motel and then drive downtown to a bakery we found on an earlier scouting trip. The Cottage Inn is housed in a nicely-renovated waterfront building that contains several small businesses and offers sweeping views of the Mississippi. The enticing aromas draw us to the baked goods, and we select several items for future consumption.

This is too pleasant a morning to miss a walk in the waterside park where we view the bridge we crossed yesterday. Several cyclists wave their greetings as they roll north and south on the bike path at the river’s edge.

Reluctantly, Anne, Wanda and I turn our backs on the Mighty Mississippi and start toward Kansas. By mid-morning, I am too drowsy to drive, so move to the back seat and aimlessly watch the landscape move by. At some point, I notice that we are on highway 163, not a number I expected to see. A quick check of the Iowa map reveals that we are driving toward Des Moines rather than Kansas City. Oops!!

We are past the point of retracing our steps, so continue toward Iowa’s capitol with a plan to skirt the south side of the city. Hunger pangs clamor for attention, leading us to a bar & grill in tiny Monroe for lunch and a chance to re-check our route.

Our lunch spot is an interesting place, operated by one fellow who tends bar, takes lunch orders and does the cooking. He is also the owner, so probably does the bookkeeping too! His interesting story includes work that took him to many locations in the United States. When his family’s restaurant needed someone to run it, he ended his career and returned to small-town Iowa. “No regrets,” he says as he hustles from table to table.

Well fed, we continue west to very-familiar Interstate 35 and then south toward home. Anne and I are now on our oft-traveled route between Kansas City and St. Paul which gets us to our grandchildren. It will be difficult to get lost from here.

Turning down 100th Terrace, we always reflect on how blessed we are to live in a comfortable home in a lovely neighborhood. This day’s added blessing is our safe return from a challenging and most enjoyable journey.

Thanks be to God!!

Muscatine? Why Muscatine?

August 21, 2012

That question has been posed several times, both before and during this ride. The practical response is that Muscatine is the western terminus of Section 8 of Adventure Cycling’s Northern Tier Route. However, the more lyrical response is the accurate one. I felt that a ride from Rockport, Maine to Muscatine, Iowa, or, from the Atlantic to the Mississippi had a certain symmetry to it. It has a raison d’être all its own.

When one begins a long bicycle tour, you always consider how it will feel when you finish. The truth is that you cannot imagine it. The ride creates its own set of feelings; the people, the terrain, the weather, even the dogs impart a unique flavor that cannot be anticipated. Our family gathering at Moose Camp; my bonk in Middlebury; folks who took us to church at Racquette Lake; beautiful riding around Old Forge; dogs chasing me in Junction; a violent storm in Buffalo; the hot, dry day in Illinois; a welcoming church in Orion; all create “the ride” that will be remembered.

Our first memory of this final day is made at the Victorian Manor, a charming residence now part restaurant. We know from the open Bible at the register that this is a Christian business. It turns out that there are 19 Bible study groups that meet here each week!

The owner is very engaging as he discusses his “mission” while good food is ordered, prepared and consumed. It is a special blessing to begin our day on such an uplifting note.

We drive south the dozen miles to Cambridge and resume riding right where we left off yesterday. The weather is pleasantly cool, with the promised breeze out of the northeast.

You will recall that cyclists especially appreciate smooth roads, tailwinds, churches and libraries; the first two for obvious reasons, the latter two for clean restrooms, air conditioning and water. Approaching Orion on a smooth track with the wind at our backs, one of our party has an urgent need for “facilities.” Watching for a library sign, we also scan the horizon for a steeple. A few blocks to our right the St. Paul Lutheran Church steeple beckons us. The doors are open, the people very friendly and we are soon refreshed. There are even baskets of fresh tomatoes, from which we take a couple for a mid-day snack!

With 12 miles behind us, the next 9 to Sherrard roll easily by. After a quick stop for a drink and a light snack, we pedal another 9 to Reynolds and what we hope will be lunch. Apparently, a population of 500 does not quite get us a restaurant, but we do find a very pleasant convenience store. There is adequate food in our cooler to keep us fueled, and we make sure to buy some healthy snacks while we use what are probably the last rest rooms between here and Muscatine.

Anne and I are all smiles as we re-mount our bikes and continue westward. On such a beautiful cycling day, and with the end of this long ride almost in sight, we are feeling a bit giddy. I remind myself to focus on my riding and the very occasional traffic. Don’t want to get careless with our goal so near.

Buffalo Prairie comes into view, and we find Wanda parked in a church lot under a shade tree. She knows how to locate in a comfortable spot where we can easily see her. We pause long enough to stretch a bit and admire the small-town scenery. This is one of those moments when I wonder what people do here…to make a living, that is. With very little visible commerce, it does make me scratch my head,

A quick check of our map reveals that we are riding an east-west ridge, which drains into Copperas Creek to our north. I remember from driving this route a year ago that in a few miles our road will plunge into the Mississippi River flood plain and then turn north. I can’t recall if the ride to Muscatine will follow the edge of the flat plain or become a roller coaster along the bluffs above the plain.

The “plunge” is exhilarating, and Wanda is positioned at the turn to be sure we go the right way. Happily, the road is flat to rolling, with no serious climbing, and we soon cross Copperas Creek on its way to the Mississippi.

With Muscatine in view at 11 o’clock, and with little traffic to contend with, my thoughts turn to my friend Charlie Summers, who went to school here. Charlie is a long-time Bike Across Kansas rider who became the Executive Director of BAK. A couple of years ago, shortly after retiring, Charlie suffered a stroke, which has left him unable to ride. I know he would love to be riding into Muscatine, and I am sad that he is not here to enjoy this experience with Anne and me. Today is for you, Charlie.

A left turn onto SR 92, and a sharp increase in traffic shakes me from my reverie and re-focuses me on the task at hand. Recalling the high bridge across the Illinois River at Henry, I scan the horizon for a profile of the Mississippi River span. My hope is for an absolutely flat drawbridge but, when it comes into view, it seems to be a combination. A friend had told me that there would be metal plates over the bridge joints for bicycle safety, and sure enough there are! This bridge is wide enough to keep us comfortable, and soon we are coasting down the far side and into Muscatine.

We have made it!!

After a brief pause for the requisite pictures, we face one last climb to where our trusty support van is parked. For some reason, the uphill seems pretty insignificant. In relax mode, we take our time removing our front wheels and storing the bikes for the ride home. They have taken very good care of us!

Almost reluctantly, we drive the mile or two to the AmericInn and again find a most pleasant “home away from home.” Tomorrow evening, we will really be “HOME!”

But first things first. After warm showers, we find our way back to downtown Muscatine and Salvatore’s Ristorante for a proper celebration dinner. Salvatore’s comes recommended by our friend Monte Engelkemeier, who lives in Muscatine but is away from town tonight. The wine and food live up to their advance praise, but the atmosphere suffers when we are seated near the front door rather than farther back where all the action seems to be. Perhaps our reputation preceded us!?!

However, we don’t allow a bit of isolation to dampen our spirits or affect our profound gratitude for a grand adventure safely completed. All the way from Maine to Iowa, we have felt God’s encircling arms of love and protection, and we are grateful indeed. Amen. Amen.

High Road to Cambridge

August 20, 2012

The weather forecast for the next two days is very pleasant.  We are looking forward to warm and sunny riding, with today’s breeze out of the southwest, offering a bit of a crosswind.  Tomorrow promises a northeast breeze, a tailwind to push us into Muscatine!

Our inn offers more of a snack than a breakfast, so we ride up and out of the river plain and into town, searching for a restaurant suggested by last evening’s waitress.  Apparently she didn’t know it was closed on Monday.

Standing at the curb, we hail a group of men entering an auto parts store and ask where we might find a meal.  They are quick to recommend a diner at the west edge of town, just where we are headed.

It turns out that we spent the night on the southeast corner of Henry, and there is much more to this town than we anticipated.  Riding through attractive neighborhoods and past well-kept historic homes is a “feel good” moment.  This must be Middle America!

The restaurant is right where we expected and very quiet.  We have obviously missed the morning rush.  Nearby conversations are about crops, prices and weather.  When we are noticed, there are questions about our trip, terrain and weather along the way.  No mention is made of the interesting hill that lies dead ahead.

Breakfast is good and filling enough to carry us to Bradford, 20 miles west.  We leave Henry on a smooth, gently rolling road, aiming directly toward a heavily forested ridge 3 miles away.  A quick check of our map shows that the route will not go around, but up and over. 

As we approach, the road makes a sweeping right turn and disappears under a canopy of trees.  After riding in so much open country, it seems a bit strange to be enclosed in a quiet green tunnel.  The trees obscure somewhat the steepness of the grade while our legs and lungs file an accurate report.

After a steady one-mile climb, we emerge into a more familiar environment of corn and soybean fields.  The smooth, lightly-traveled road encourages us to raise our pace, and we are soon in Bradford.  Wanda has gone ahead to find a snack stop and we choose a combination bar-diner over the local senior center.  A sturdy looking fellow asks about our trip and seems to know the right questions to ask.  He turns out to be a former county sheriff and an occasional cyclist.

The snack wears off about half way to Kewanee, and I am one hungry pedaler when we arrive at our lunch stop.  Kewanee, with a population of 13,000, has many dining choices.  Anne’s Droid helps us find the Lagondola Spaghetti House, which has excellent reviews and can be seen just off our route.  While I am not fond of spaghetti in mid-day, the menu has many options to fuel us for the last 18 miles.  The good food and relaxing atmosphere are just what we need!

Back on the road, we can see many windmills looming ahead.  This is a good sign, as these giant generators are best placed along an uninterrupted ridge line.  This wind farm is under construction and is quite large, a significant bet on the future of wind energy.

Even with the mild crosswind, the 13 miles to our next turn roll easily by.  Our ride is more pleasant as we anticipate the final 5 miles into Cambridge with the breeze on our backs.  What we don’t expect is the rough pavement, narrow shoulder and heavy truck traffic on SR 82.  We enjoy a long downhill into the Edwards River valley, but then labor up three steep climbs into Cambridge.  While today’s ride has been terrific, we are definitely ready to call it a day.

We stop briefly at a convenience store to stow the bikes and refuel the van.  Cambridge has no overnight options, so we motor 10 miles north to Geneseo where a room awaits at the Super 8.  Finding it proves difficult until we call and find they have changed ownership…it is now “America’s Best.”  We shall see.

Our rooms are predictably pleasant but, after a 60-mile day, look like the Ritz.  Long showers, quick cat-naps and a snack or two return us to what Calvin Coolidge called “Normalcy.” 

We are carrying an assortment of leftovers in our cooler, so Wanda opts to scavenge dinner.  Anne and I find the closest food vendor and enjoy a pizza.  The prospect of a nice final day’s ride puts smiles on our hearts as we drift off to sleep.

Oh, Henry!

August 19, 2012

Not the author, not the candy bar, but the name of our destination on the Illinois River.  When you have studied these maps for months, you look forward to seeing how each town actually looks.  And often your expectation is dead wrong!

After a “no services” ride yesterday, I am cheered to find two towns on today’s route that will probably offer food and drink.  Even better, they are spaced at 15 and 40 miles, just right for a mid-morning snack and early-afternoon lunch.

There is a special feeling this morning as Anne and I ride north out of Pontiac.  This is the first time in our 3-week journey that we have been able to ride together without having to also move our van.  Thank you Wanda, for making it possible!

From Pontiac, we ride north 8 miles to get back on the Northern Tier route, then 7 miles west to Cornell.  Along the way, we observe corn and soybeans that look very vigorous.  Apparently, this summer’s drought has been less severe in central Illinois than farther south and west.

In Cornell, we are pleased to find a Casey’s convenience store and enjoy a refreshing stop.  While there, we visit with two young men who are cycling across America.  They are recent college graduates from New Hampshire, and are giving themselves the gift of a transcontinental bike ride before starting their careers.

We continue on, enjoying the cool temperatures, smooth pavement and very light traffic.  Ten miles out, we pause for food and drink, and are not surprised to see our New Hampshire friends buzz by.  Noting their speed, I am confident we will not see them again!

Entering Wenona, we turn off-route and into town in search of a restaurant.  There are two bar and grills, but both are closed.  I am learning again that although the Adventure Cycling map says there are restaurants, they may not be open or even still in business.

A couple of passersby mention a new restaurant on the south edge of town at the Interstate exit.  We find our way there and discover an attractive diner with immediate seating and, as it turns out, very good food. 

Rested and refreshed, we rocket out of the parking lot and across the Interstate.  Slightly south of our route, we are tempted by the state highway in front of us.  It doesn’t take much of the busy road and minimal shoulder to encourage a turn north and resumption of our planned route.    

With only 19 miles to go, we roll easily through the countryside, keeping mostly to high ground.  A couple of streams cross our path and provide nice downhills and steep uphills.  Approaching the Illinois River, we start a steep descent and I wonder when we will pay for this with an equally sharp climb. 

The answer comes sooner than I expect, as the bridge over the river looms ahead.  Constructed to permit tall boats to pass underneath, the two-lane bridge presents an impressive incline.  This is a scene that normally would freak Anne out and not bother me.  It has the opposite effect.  As we climb, Anne says, “Look at the beautiful view.”  I am thinking that if a truck brushes me off the bridge I am not wearing a life vest and reply, “I’m staring at the road.” 

Happily, there is no truck traffic and we are soon safely over the river, sighting the Henry Harbor Inn on the river bank to our right.  After checking in, we inquire about food and our innkeeper notes that the restaurant next door is one of few dining options on a Sunday evening. 

Since it is walking distance, we take her up on it.  We are the only patrons, so enjoy good food and great service on a comfortable outdoor patio with a nice view of the river.  A most pleasant way to end a delightful day!

Riding in Empty

August 18, 2012

The first few turns in a cycling day are critical…miss one and you may spend the day making up many miles.  Worse yet, you may find yourself in less than ideal traffic or terrain.

As we leave Watseka, I take a quick glance at the McDonalds at the edge of town and consider a brief bathroom break.  However, my excitement to be back on the road trumps that thought.  It is another beautiful day and I am eager to ride.

After a series of cool mornings, this one is noticeably warmer.  A mid-90’s afternoon is forecast, and I am careful to put my arm coolers in my bike bag.  Arm coolers?  While arm warmers have been with us for years, arm coolers are somewhat new.  They are made of an SPF 40 fabric that provides sun protection and makes your skin feel cooler when air is moving over the fabric.  I usually slip them on in mid-morning and wear them the rest of the day.  

We follow the map carefully and avoid yesterday’s error.  My roadside friend is not at his post so I miss saying hello.  The winding road is very pleasant as it passes through shady groves and provides frequent glimpses of the Iroquois River.

Soon we come to the westerly turn that will head us toward Pontiac and a rendezvous with Anne and the Fronks.  Several days ago, Anne rode Amtrak to Chicago to enjoy some time with Bill and Linda.  They are driving her to Pontiac so she can cycle with me to Muscatine.  An additional motive is to swap an étagère I have hauled around the country for 3 weeks for a bed that will go nicely in our guest room.

The bicycle routes suggested by Google Maps generally avoid populated areas.  This route passes only one small town, Danforth, which we hope will offer some amenities.  Wanda drives ahead to scout the town and discovers that there is nothing open.  She visits with a woman who suggests that we try the Presbyterian Church, whose rear door is often ajar.  We are fortunate to find that open door, which leads us to clean restrooms and a supply of fresh water.

The day is warming and arm coolers are welcomed.  Riding through central Illinois, I am surprised to find farms so large that homes are few and far between.  I didn’t know mid-America could feel so empty.  My brother Bryan has done some serious open-ocean sailing, and I wonder if the sensation of vast openness is similar.

Right now, I am feeling a need for facilities that are obviously nowhere nearby.  Thankfully, there is little traffic and lots of tall corn.  Where is that McDonalds when I need it?

Google Maps sometimes has difficulty making qualitative distinctions between roads.  We come to a spot where the route swings gently left then sharply right just before a 90 degree left.  I am feeling quite proud, since these turns are exactly as indicated on our map.  Sadly, this last turn puts us on a gravel track with a grassy median, not what this traveler has in mind.  Since I know we still need to go north a bit, I ride in that direction while Wanda drives ahead to find a good road west.  This “path finding” continues for several miles until we are back on the route originally planned.

Riding in warmer weather without an occasional town means I must be more intentional about eating and drinking.  While sipping frequently on the bike, I stop every five miles to take a longer drink and have a small bite to eat.  Once into the rhythm of this, I feel quite good and turn the cranks at a higher speed than usual.

Soon the water towers and grain elevator of Pontiac are on the horizon; in terrain this flat, about 8 miles away.  One last refreshment stop and I am riding past neighborhoods and strip malls.  Google suggests a street off the main drag, but the pavement is so terrible that I decide to move back to Main and cope with more traffic on a smooth surface.

Having planned this route last evening, the street names and turns are familiar.  I move with ease through the south edge of town and out to the Super 8 next to I-55.  We look at our rooms, find them very pleasant and check in, happy to be here after 62 miles of riding through a landscape teeming with life but, from our perspective, also quite empty.

Within an hour, Anne and the Fronks arrive.  The reunion is a happy one, and gifts are exchanged (étagère and bed).  After a warm shower, we all head downtown for a good meal.  There we find streets full of antique cars and restaurants full as well.  However, a 45-minute wait doesn’t feel so long when you can walk around and through your personal automotive history.  I find a 1956 Chevy convertible, not black like mine was, but close enough.

Dinner is fun, as Wanda and I have lots of stories to share.  I can still feel the hot breath of those dogs in Ohio.  But now we are in Illinois with just three days to ride, and that feels very, very good!

Somewhat Restful

August 17, 2012

Just like my last rest day in Toledo, I am behind a weather front and the day is a beauty; blue skies, crisp temperatures and a light breeze.  Since I will ride tomorrow from a town not on the Northern Tier route (Watseka) to another not on the route (Pontiac), choosing the best path is up to me.  Last evening’s work with Google Maps resulted in what appears to be an efficient track.  The first quarter will wind a bit in order to accommodate the Iroquois River.  The balance will be mostly section line roads heading west or north.  One unusual feature; we will pass only one very small town the entire way.

After yesterday’s weather-beaten ride, it feels good to get on the bike and feel the warm sun on my shoulders.  Since my almost B&B provides no morning coffee, I stop briefly at McDonalds for a caffeine fix.  Then it is a half mile in traffic before a right turn onto a quiet country road. 

The morning is so quiet that the few sounds are readily identified.  The sputtering start of a chain saw, a distant barking dog, the nearby sound of tires on gravel, water gurgling under me as I cross a small bridge.  It’s just the kind of ride that makes me sing, “This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it!”

Peering occasionally at my hand written notes, I soon arrive unexpectedly at a busy intersection.  Obviously, I wasn’t paying close enough attention.  Not to worry though.  I will make very careful notes for tomorrow’s ride.

Returning to Watseka, my unfocused mind is jarred awake by a loud “Hello!”  As I pass a gentleman on my left, he shouts “How far are you riding?  Where are you going?”  I respond over my shoulder with quick answers; “Twenty miles.  To Watseka,” and then decide he deserves better. 

Circling back, I stop and see him standing under trees on the other side of a drainage ditch.  He continues to pepper me with questions.  What kind of bike do I have?  What sort of tires?  How can I sit on that seat for 60 miles?  It turns out that he is a rider, but rarely more than 20 miles and never beyond the county line.

We continue for several minutes of pleasant conversation.  He hears my safety pitch; helmet, gloves and rear-view mirror, and confirms what I remember about tomorrow’s route.  Then a warm goodbye and I am rolling again.

At the edge of town, I re-visit Mickey D’s and order a larger coffee for a more leisurely treat.  The morning has been cool enough that the warm drink is very welcome.

Back at the Razzano House, the bike is left near the building for later inspection while I gather my cycling duds and head for the Laundromat.  In these small towns, one never knows quite what to expect, and the surprises can go either way.  In this case, the Laundromat is among the cleanest I have ever enjoyed and I am careful to express my appreciation to the owners.  They seem genuinely proud of their small business.

Back at “home,” I fold clothes, repack my bag and do a bit of bike care; replenishing food, oiling key points and cleaning and lubing the drive train.  The machine is ready for tomorrow.

The balance of the afternoon is spent checking e-mail, re-looking tomorrow’s route and with a thorough stretching session.  Today’s miles felt good.  The stretching feels even better.

Wanda and I ask around about dinner and are directed to a sports bar not far from the B&B.  The menu is diverse and the food pretty good.  Since we are in a sports bar, there are many TV screens.  Unfortunately, each time I look up from my meal I am looking at a program about snakes.  For some reason, snakes do not enhance my dining experience, so I ask if the channel could be changed.  The proprietor is obliging, and finds a new station…not ESPN, not Jeopardy, but a program where people are beating up on each other! 

By now, there are several couples and family groups eating nearby and we are all laughing.  How hard can it be to find a TV show that won’t give you indigestion?

It has been a relaxing, laid-back day, making it easy to fall asleep and dream of a great day tomorrow and Anne’s return to the journey in Pontiac.

Wild, Wooly Weather

August 16, 2012 

For some reason, my very pleasant ride on the Nickel Plate Trail did not cause my normally inquisitive self to look for other bike trails in the area.  Too bad!  The Panhandle Pathway starts just west of Logansport and crosses the route eight miles north at Royal Center…wish I had known!!

Blissfully ignorant, Wanda and I drive north to Royal Center and the Northern Tier route.  As I unpack the bike, I am looking at the sky and rapidly moving clouds.  We know there is a strong front coming toward us from the northwest, and I am anxious to get some good miles in before the weather hits.

Heading west on County Route 900N, I am hardly warmed up before there is construction ahead.  Workers are applying tar-soaked gravel to the entire width of the road.  While Wanda cannot drive the van through this, I am able to pick up the bike and walk through tall grass on the shoulder for 50 yards or so.  She reverses course and takes a 4-mile detour.

Although I am cautious, there is still some small gravel and tar on my tires as I reach smooth pavement.  Very carefully, I remove as much as possible, not wanting a sticky tire to attract sharp objects.  Fixing a flat is not fun!

A few more miles down the road, Wanda catches me just in time for a similar road repair, this one probably done yesterday.  While the surface appears rideable, I don’t want to tempt fate, so stop and walk the shoulder again.

Nearing the town of Buffalo, another bit of construction sends me on a short detour.  This is a mixed blessing; the road is smooth and wide, while the trucks serving the nearby landfill are many.  Passing the Liberty Landfill, I notice two buildings that appear to be converting the methane from the landfill to electricity.  A later conversation confirms this.

Buffalo straddles the TippecanoeRiver and boasts 672 residents, one convenience store and a restaurant.  We find clean restrooms and nutritious snacks and comment to the owner that this is one of the tidiest convenience stores we have seen.  A good find!

By now, the weather is getting somewhat ominous, but I decide to press on and see what happens.  Sometimes, these fronts look very threatening but don’t produce much harsh weather.  Two miles out of town, this one is looking nasty indeed; a wall of black clouds with flashes of lightning and a quickening wind.

Wanda and I are on the same wave length.  She pulls onto the shoulder, we pack the bike into the van and beat a hasty retreat to Dotson’s restaurant in Buffalo.  We are hardly in the door before sheets of rain pummel the building and I am looking about for tornado protection.  Happily, most of the wind was on the leading edge, and the storm settles in to heavy rain with lots of crashing thunder and brilliant lightning.

Feeling safer, I take a deep breath and almost choke on the smoke!  There are six occupied tables and almost everyone is smoking!!  I haven’t been around this much tobacco smoke in many years and have forgotten how disagreeable it is.  We are fortunate to be sitting next to a door and open it frequently to assess the storm.

Our waitress is an older woman whose leathery skin suggests she has a cigarette working in the kitchen.  We aren’t hungry, but order coffee and toast to justify the table.

In 45 minutes, the storm has abated and we decide to drive through the continuing showers to see if we can find some dry weather.  While the miles roll by, the showers continue until we get to Brook, where broken clouds promise some respite.  Just as I am ready to mount the bike, there is a loud clap of thunder.  Wanda and I look at each other and decide this day’s ride is over.

Our ride to Watseka is somewhat somber, as I am disappointed to have the bike ride cut short.  Going into town, we drive the route I hope to take out of town on Saturday.  It is narrow with lots of traffic.  I will search for something better on Google Maps.

My mood lifts considerably when we arrive at the Razzano House, our home for the next two nights.  This is a historic home that was renovated into an “almost” B&B.  The owners live in an adjacent carriage house and rent guest rooms in the main home.  I say “almost” B&B because there is no breakfast served, but all the fixings are available in the kitchen for guests to prepare their own.

My room is very large and airy, with a spacious rooftop deck just outside.  Wanda is so good at finding these special places, and this is one of her best!

On the way in to Watseka, we passed an attractive restaurant and decided to return for dinner.  This is not such a good choice, with food that is just average and service that is substandard.

My day ends on the laptop perusing Google Maps for a route to Pontiac.  Most of it is straightforward.  Tomorrow I will ride the section out of Watseka to be sure we are getting a safe start.

Hoosier Hills

August 15, 2012

Job one this morning is to ride west and connect with the Northern Tier route as it comes from the south.  The Adventure Cycling route guide comments that while the Monroeville, IN to Muscatine, IA segment is flat to gently rolling, “hills are noticeable in east-central Indiana.”  And that’s exactly where we are. 

The Super 8 breakfast is underwhelming, so I fortify myself for the climbs ahead with multiple helpings of cereal.  Like most mornings, the weather is pleasantly cool.  I weave through a light industrial area and soon find myself in a broad valley with dairy farms on both sides of the road…a “moooving” experience!  A rough rail crossing snaps me out of my reverie and announces the first stiff climb.

Later Wanda will tell me that she couldn’t believe how many hills there were and that I could climb them.  While she is thinking those ugly thoughts, I am encouraging myself by remembering that hills always look steepest from across the valley.  As you get closer, they appear much less daunting.

There are a dozen or more climbs in the 14 miles to Urbana.  None are very long, but a few are lung-busting steep!  Just as the hills begin to peter out, loud barking comes from my right.  Three very large dogs are woofing across an expansive lawn, growling as they near.  A fourth, small and yappy, follows and urges them on.  The owner scurries out, assuring me that “They won’t bite.”  As I dismount and get the bike between me and the dogs, I reply, “I don’t want to take a chance.”  The situation is soon defused and we move on.

In Urbana, we pause to eat and drink on the lawn of St. Peters Presbyterian Church.  Just across the street is a Methodist Church and a sign announcing that the two are a “yoked parish,” meaning that they work together to serve God’s children and advance His Kingdom.  A productive concept.

Three miles south of Urbana, I meet the route and turn west 14 miles to Chili, where I cross the meandering and very pretty EelRiver.  Just north of Chili, a left turn leads to what we hope is our lunch stop in Denver.

Oops!  Construction ahead brings me to an abrupt halt.  The road appears to be freshly oiled, with a thin overlay of what might be dirt.  There is no one to ask about road conditions ahead, so Wanda and I decide to go north a mile and take a county road west to a point north of Denver.  This leaves us with a nice ride to town.

For lunch, there is not much choice so we seat ourselves in the “Hot Spot.”  This turns out to be the  center of activity in Denver, owned and run by a 40-ish woman who seems to never stop moving.  She takes our orders, cooks great burgers and tops them off with a super milk shake!  Obviously a proud mom, she has lined the walls with news articles about local sports teams and athletes she knows well.

Topped off with good food and water, I head west to the road construction flagger.  He discourages me from continuing and points out a bike trail that runs south to Peru and US 24.  From there, I can ride west to my destination of Logansport.         

The “Nickel Plate Trail” is wide and nicely paved, and passes through a variety of landscapes.  Open fields, dense woodlands and a swamp traversed via a trestle are just three.  The 8 miles pass too quickly, and I am soon back on 4-lane US 24 with all of its traffic and noise. 

Just west of Peru, 4-lane US 31 and US 24 intersect; no problem if you are in a car but an interesting exercise on a bicycle.  Crossing first an exit ramp with an eye on my mirror, then an entrance ramp with a long look over my shoulder, and then doing both again take time and attention.  One entrance ramp is busy enough that I stop to be sure I am seeing all the traffic before crossing.

There are still a few hills enroute to Logansport, but US highway grades are always gentler than county roads.  Just east of town there is an “old US 24” option, which I am happy to take.  The 2-lane road has a decent shoulder and the reduced traffic makes for a pleasant ride to our motel.

The motel, which we later discover is for sale, has a dark and unattractive lobby area, so we ask to see a room before checking in.  The rooms are a nice surprise; clean, spacious and inviting.  The desk clerk is as bright and bubbly as the lobby is not, and has lots of food suggestions.

Our desire for a good pasta meal leads us to Amelio’s & Ikes, where I celebrate the day with a Sam Adams October Draft and an overflowing plate of spaghetti and meat sauce.  Delicious!  A most filling end to one of our more interesting days.

Buckeye Flats

August 14, 2012

A night of sporadic rain yields to a cool, foggy morning.  The fog and profound quiet bring to mind Carl Sandberg’s evocative line, “The fog comes on little cat feet.”  Since poor visibility is a least favorite cycling condition, we decide to find breakfast in Paulding and hope the delay will bring brighter skies.

The cafe that was closed last evening is open and bustling this morning.  As Wanda and I walk in and find a table, I notice that almost all of the diners are men, and each is wearing an Ohio State shirt, sweatshirt, cap, jacket or all of the above.  My Biking Across Kansas jersey is noticed, and I recall that the Kansas Jayhawks beat the OSU Buckeyes last basketball season not once but twice…the second time in the Final Four.  Ordering breakfast to go crosses my mind.

The men closest to us are friendly, observing that while Kansas may be mighty in basketball, the Jayhawks are “not all that much” in football.  No argument there.  We continue our pleasant conversation and learn that Paulding County is the flattest agricultural county in America.  Gotta like that!

The fog has lifted somewhat, but skies are still overcast.  With head and taillights turned on, I start west on a smooth road edged with a nice shoulder.  The 10 miles to Payne pass quickly, and we are soon looking for that café.  Two very nice women in a convenience store break the news that there is no café.  However, they do have a bathroom and offer us space in their “break room” for a snack.

One of the things I like best about cycling is these “make do” situations.  Perfect strangers reach out in less than ideal circumstances and somehow good things happen.  People really have generous spirits.

Five miles west of Payne, I turn left onto Stateline Rd. and enter Indiana.  The smooth roads enjoyed in Ohio yield to much rougher pavement in the Hoosier state.  Knowing that the area between Monroeville and Huntington has few towns or major crossroads, we pause at a Dollar General in Monroeville to fill water bottles and eat a serious snack. 

After a short jog south, I turn into a long westerly leg through a typical Midwest farmscape…nicely maintained homes and barns set amidst endless fields of soybeans and corn.  Even the roadside grass is in better shape than my lawn at home!

Soon Interstate 69 passes beneath me and I stop to take a picture of the “hurry-up” world.  Moving on, reflections on the quiet and calm of this road less traveled occupy my mind until loud barking on the left alerts me.  Two large dogs approach, one laying back a bit while the other is much more threatening.  The closer one, a German Shepherd, growls with bared teeth, but stops when I shout.  I dismount and keep the bicycle between me and the dog.  A bit of calm conversation ensues and the dog retreats to his friend.  I walk the bike 50 feet or so to be sure they will not pursue, then ride on.

Nearing Huntington, we leave the Northern Tier route and take US 24 into town.  The “official” route would take us south of town and through a State Park with serious climbing on dirt roads and leave us with no convenient accommodations.  While US 24 is quite busy, it is 4 lanes with a wide shoulder and delivers us to a welcoming room at the Super 8!

After a relaxing shower and some light bike maintenance, we ask the desk clerk for a meal suggestion.  She directs us to Richards, which looks new and is definitely busy.  The menu looks great, but service is slow and apologetic and the food just ok.  But calories are calories, and they will serve us well tomorrow.

Three Dog Flight

August 13, 2012

Another beautiful day dawns; sunny, crisp and cool.  Wanda and I bid Gary adieu and drive back to the route in Tontogany.  Recalling yesterday’s rough road into town, I don’t look forward to starting out on that pavement.  So I am pleasantly surprised when a smooth road begins at the edge of town and continues 7 miles to Grand Rapids.

This town of 1,000 has a nicely restored main street and lots of charm.  Wanda says that “Anne would love this town.”  Freely translated, that means that there are lots of shopping opportunities.  However, it would make a nice day trip from Toledo.

It is a little less charming this morning, as there is no cafe for a light meal.  I turn west toward Napoleon, 14 miles away, knowing that the food and water on the bike will keep me fueled.  The road is smooth and relatively flat as it follows the meandering Maumee River.  An advancing cloud deck keeps me cool and comfortable.   

Entering Napoleon, I ride a bridge over the Maumee and look for a quick left turn to continue along the river.  Spotting instead a handsome county courthouse, I continue straight to get a better view and perhaps a picture or two.  This causes concern and a toot on the horn from Wanda, as she knows my tendency to escape the route.

After shooting a couple of pictures, we rejoin the route and start looking for a food stop.  There is nothing obvious, so we coast into a pretty riverside park and prepare a picnic snack of a peanut butter sandwich, trail mix and fruit.  Until we begin eating, I don’t realize how hungry I am.  This will keep me going until we get to Defiance, a town of 16,000 that will surely have a good restaurant.

The route passes through the tiny town of Florida, where we stop for a bit of food and a long drink.  Then it is on to Defiance, a major crossroads of US 24 and several state routes.  There is real traffic here! 

The busy streets encourage us to “inquire locally,” and I ask a woman to recommend a restaurant that is ahead of us and on our route.  She obliges by suggesting Kissner’s, a historic grill that turns out to have terrific food and great service.  A delicious choice!

Full of food and in very pleasant weather, I roll on toward the tiny town of Junction.  On the map, it appears as no more than an “S” curve and, as I swing left to begin the turn, the curve comes to life!  At eleven o’clock, three medium size dogs, white with black and brown patches on their coats, are barreling toward me and barking madly!! 

Shouting and swerving at the same time, I somehow manage to avoid them.  Looking back, I see them regroup and renew the chase, quickly closing the gap.  Watching their bared teeth and determined pursuit, I realize that they won’t be “shouted off” and I need to try to outrun them.  And somehow I do, although any cyclist will tell you, “Never try to outrun a dog.”

I don’t remember the road.  Was it smooth or bumpy, wide or narrow?  I don’t remember the houses I flew past or the stop sign I may have run.  I do know that I was fortunate to be in just the right gear for an all-out sprint.  And in the minute or two after the dogs gave up, I do remember a fellow leaning out the window of his pickup and saying, “Those dogs were really out to get you, buddy.”

Indeed they were.  And why?  Was it my outfit? As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “There is one other reason for dressing well, namely that dogs respect it, and will not attack you in good clothes.”

Leaving town on rubbery legs, I find my way through flat countryside, looking for several obscure turns.  Wanda and I are pretty confident of our path but flag down a woman and ask just to be sure.  Soon we enter the outskirts of Paulding, a county seat with 3,500 residents.  Just when we are wondering where the “city” is, we emerge into a real downtown and then look for the Bittersweet Inn on the west edge of town.

Lief Carlsen, in his book “The Northern Tier,” describes the Bittersweet Inn as the best accommodation at the best price on his ride from Washington to Maine.  It is essentially a B&B without the breakfast, wonderfully renovated and with beautiful rooms.  A great place to stay!  Thank you Lief!!

One of my rules of bicycle travel is to avoid the franchises and eat locally as much as possible.  Unfortunately, the local eateries are closed this evening, so we end up at Subway for dinner and DQ for dessert.  Planning ahead, we ask about a restaurant in Payne, 10 miles west of Paulding, for tomorrow’s breakfast and are assured there is a café there.

Falling asleep is a bit more difficult tonight, as the memory of my dog encounter keeps bubbling to the surface.  Without the energy to outrun the dogs, this day might have ended much differently.  Thank you, Lord.