Day 63: Liz likes long lunches and wants a donut (Channahon to La Porte)

After a luxurious morning of free coffee and cold Chinese, we left the hotel and booked it toward the Indiana border. Well. Leisurely rode on toward, with a long break for lunch  (PB, brown sugar, granola, leftover canned tikka masala) and an afternoon refuel Dunkin Donuts. They do not have great donut holes and no one compares to my exaggerated nostalgia for Stan's in Santa Clara anyways, pulling myself up onto a counter seat for a hot morning glaze with my dad before school. The old couple makes the donuts right there behind the counter and I could still drink milk then, cold and sweet and straight out of the carton. I'm 8, wearing a scratchy sweater and corduroys instead of the ugly checkered jumper I reviled with a loathing usually reserved for canned vegetables, or warts.

Yo can someone mail me some good donuts or something?

We finally finally got to ride the Hennepin canal trail, albeit its tail end. I left after Rachel and she said it was in decent condition so I tried to hop on it earlier. Unfortunately the park I tried to go through really had not survived the storms in any kind of riding condition, cue thick layer of sticky black nutritious mud. The trail itself was in decent condition, packed limestone, just a little puddly in places. I saw a wild ferret and a turtle. I tried to pick the turtle up and it peed.

The only thing in the world scared of me

The trail ended in Chicago heights, but a short couple of city miles and we were on the Old Plank Road trail. 22 miles of pavement, no motorized vehicles except for the maintenance golf carts and mowers. 

Sometimes you just gotta eat a long lunch and today was that day. I knew I wasn't in California anymore cause the sign next to the pond I sat by read "No ice fishing." Presumably they did not mean in June.

Met Rachel at the end of the trail and she had bought me a cake donut. What a lady.

No sign of the border, super Illinoyed

We then actually booked it for the Indiana border where we met Faith, the mother of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of Rachel's, who was taking us in for a couple of nights. There were no state signs. Get it together Illinois and Indiana. We are teaching in La Porte tomorrow, so she gave us a ride to her house, since we were running (biking) behind to schedule thanks to the dependably ever-present storms.

Rachel and I got our own rooms tonight. #separationanxiety 

JK it was the best, I'm in bed at 10:30 like the wild child that I am.

Day 62: Two-month-aversary! (Coal Hollow to Channahon)

We've been out two months. Two months on the road. Deep into this, there's no turning back now, just a thousand more miles, we've got this in the bag. 

Woah two months. 

There's not a lot to say about our ride from Brian's front yard to Channahon, but long story short, Rachel had a tire replaced, I ate a bagel with butter, and we celebrated with take-out Chinese food, Lagunitas, and a jacuzzi suite at the Manor Motel which sounds like pure $$$ but then you have to remember we are in Illinois. But it had a street lamp inside. Yup. 

For whatever reason, be it the media or my internal conviction I'm actually a hobbit reborn, the image I had of this trip before I left was a third-person view of an indistinct cyclist atop and leaning over a ridge like this. 

Or this. 

To be fair, riding out of Grand Teton was actually pretty close to this.

Anyways, before we left on this trip, there was nothing concrete to hold on to about it. Two months in the saddle of a bicycle, pedaling more miles each day than I had ever pedaled in one day, witness to a nation and to nature I'd never seen.

Our daily lives are kind of like this: wake up to the Kooks, boil water (or don't), pull on dirty spandex (or wait until after breakfast), pack up again (just like yesterday), dry everything off (it has inevitably rained), do little meaningless things that take another half an hour, head out.

And then we're pretty much on our own for eight or ten hours a day, since we ride pretty far apart. Often, I fill the space with music or podcasts or, more recently, audiobooks since I finally bought some headphones that actually stay on my ears (currently re-listening to Sarah Vowell's Partly Cloud Patriot. Her humor comes from obsession and my aspiration in life is to find people, objects, places, ideas to obsess about). 

Or I don't fill it and I just let the sounds be what they are. It feels like my brain's only just begun to be able to cope with stretches unfilled by anything but road sans external stimulation. I talk to myself by having conversations in my head with the people I've met, the only way I can get around the weirdness of internal debate. Anyone else do that? Oh and one of my favorite continuous transitions on this trip that requires me to cut the noise is the birds, watching and hearing them change from one species to another. Their calls become common for a week or longer, then rarer and rarer and new distinct chirps take their place. The first place I remember matching a bird to its call, it was sitting on a power line in the bucolic high desert of northeastern California. They seem more colorful here as we move east, some with bright orange breasts, and the dark red cardinals, which I can only name because Naomi mentioned it.

Other indulgent reflections:

I think this is true for Rachel too but I can only speak for myself - though we spend most of our days on blacktop and indeed seek out the best roads - we've deacclimated to the concrete of the cities, which are loud and hard and grey and busy. Before this trip, the constant busy of the city was a source of comfort and creativity, the bustling helping along my mind too. But for 95% of our trip, we've been bordered by nature (preserves) or farms, and the ground around is soft and the dirt's right there and wet and you can grab a clump of it and you can stop to pee in the grass and eat lunch watching some sheep and there's not so much in-your-face stimulation that's ever present in urbana.

Not that we won't learn to love cities again or don't love cities anymore but they are so overwhelming right now, even the small ones, even the 50-minute-commute Chicago suburbs we passed through the other day. 

And:

One of the most finally-put-into-words moments of podcast.. from an episode of Strangers.. told the story of a Alfred Corchado, a journalist who immigrated from Mexico in the 50s or 60s. And when he was in high school, his biggest dream was to be a crew leader at the farm he worked at and buy a car. 

And not to imply there is anything small there - Corchado had ambition - but his ability to apply that drive was limited to the world he knew. His family had different dreams for him, so his mother convinced him to go to college by promising the car. He talked to an adviser there for the first time, and Corchado told him he wanted to be a hairdresser. The counselor has him take an aptitude test - whether those are any good isn't the point, the point is the adviser suggested he try to be a foreign correspondent. He became the editor of the student paper, took an internship at a paper in Utah (over NYT), and started working on a story about migrants there. 

"That's when I understood how powerful this profession could be... being able to find people who took me back to when I arrived in California and suddenly you're giving them a voice."

I usually don't like commentary on stories, but I love host Lea's conclusion:

"When a kid grows up .. and can't see much a future for themselves, let's not write that off as a failure of imagination on their part."

You know best what you grow up knowing. And while some find a way to face a world of unknowns and find a path that is big and bold and fulfilling, others can't do it on their own because that outside world doesn't really exist for them. Maybe. I don't know, my parents have made sure my world of opportunity has been petty big. I'm lucky. 

But my idea of what a futur can hold has grown a lot on this trip. Like you'd expect, we have met so many people on this trip whose normal is substantially different than ours. Whose expectations, habits, childhoods, and futures dreams really do seem otherworldly. We live in the same country, speak the same language, and more often than not, really like each other. But our paths never would have crossed save for the happenstance required by a journey like this one and that's been exhausting and worth remembering - that people dream of different paradises largely dependent on what they already know. 

Enough for now I need some coffee. 

Day 61: Uh where was that park? (Rock Island to Coal Hollow)

We awoke to weather straight out of a Disney movie, little bird squawking on our window sill to cerulean skies dotted with puffs of white. It was also five AM so I shut the window on the little bigger, closed the blinds, and went back sleep for a few hours. 

Steve made us giant, thick pancakes with fresh fruit, syrup (yes Log Cabin and yes I do still love it's divinely manufactured sweetness), and a side of farm fresh eggs. Our bikes stayed at the shop last night so we hopped in the truck to go pick'em up (this ain't no walk for science after all). 

Steve loaded us up with some free hats, socks and shorts, so freshly attired, we set off for.. somewhere between the Mississippi and the Indiana state border. 

You can't see the ducks swimming down the trail but they're there. Also leeches and dead worms.  

Of course, a blue-sky day would be replete without a vigorous headwind and bike trails literally flooded by a river. (Illinois please ship some of this H2O to your brethren out west, thank you). After the Cedar River Trail, we had been looking forward to the Grand Illinois Trail as respite from the traffic and pavement, but the record rains pretty much assured we'd be slogging through mud and gravel. So we hung out on hwy 6, the forever uphill of westerly winds leaving me high and dry. After two nights of minimal sleep and with our detour making the route longer than planned, I had to call it - no way was I going to make it 85 some miles to Peru. We decided to end our day 10 miles early at the Myer Woods Nature Preserve, which was a good call I think given it was already dusk when we got there.

Wait got where? The nature preserve was just that - all nature, no trails or even cut brush to allow us to pull out bikes in and set up camp. Luckily, a guy named Brian was cleaning his pool out, his the only home within 2 miles of us at that point. He offered to let us camp in his yard, and introduced us to his wife and two kids. We're really lucky, and really, really thankful. (Turns out there is another Myers Park down the road where camping is allowed, so when I'd googled places we could stay, info about that one came up. Woops.)

We made curry and actually saw some stars (!! for the second or third time on this trip? We're getting aced by the weather, always cloudy with rain on the horizon. Rain was on the horizon but we were forgiven for an hour or so). My sleeping pad is kaputt but this family had the best grass I've ever slept on, and I turned in before Rachel, and dozed. 

Day 60: Short End of the Rainstick (Wildcat Den to Rock Island)

We just can't catch a break on this weather. Since Idaho, we've been dragging thunderstorms across the U.S., heck, we even got rained on in the desert in Oregon.

The day started out sunny enough, but heavy with the humidity. Just a couple miles out of the state park, I saw the Mississippi for the first time! Magnificent. So much history flowed down that river. (Samuel Clemens' chosen name, Mark Twain, hails from his steamboat days - means the water was 12 feet deep, good enough for the boat). 

After I gaped for a while, sweating out a liter of water as my body struggled to acclimate to the might-as-well-have-been-Louisiana weather, I headed for Davenport to run some errands. We were trying to make 70 some miles to Hennepin Canal State Park, off the Grand Illinois trail. Theoretically, the trail (made of the Hennepin canal trail and the I&M canal trail) would run us almost all the way to La Porte.

Hwy 22 out of wildcat was more of the same: beat up road with no shoulder. I did stop to take a quick dip in the aforementioned river at an RV camp spot down the road. But for the most part it was industrial with heavy truck traffic. Eventually I turned down Utah Ave to get on a frontage road that took me into town on emptier roads and bike paths. Clearly, the Mississippi had overflowed the night before, the roadways were soaked, the ditches pools for fishes.

The Quad Cities straddle the river, two on the Illinois side and two on Iowa's, bridges criss-crossing every few miles. The bike-friendly bridge is this car/railroad bridge made out of blackened steel, and it rattles and squeals as you ride across it, the rushing waters of the Mississippi visible through the crosshatching below your tires. Sadly, Illinois didn't welcome us with any kind of sign, so Rachel made one up. 

Rachel's been plagued with flats, so I went to Bike n Hike for an extra tube and was subsequently adopted. The guys working the shop kept brining their customers in back and challenging them to lift my bike with all my gear. I maxed out their scales when they tried to weigh it. They kept remarking about what a "mighty small lass" I was.. And while I know they meant it as nothing but admiration, and they were nothing but good to us, it's still a little shocking that it's such a surprise to people that we are capable of this trip. Or surprise isn't really the right word, unexpected maybe, as in, this is something they rarely ever encounter. And obviously there aren't an enormous number of people cycling across the county, and Rachel and I still haven't run into any other women doing it but, what am I trying to say. Maybe that I am a little bummed it's so unexpected.

Anyways, the owner of the shop offered to let me use his truck to pick up groceries etc while they looked my bike over and wheooo pickups are fun to drive. Closest you get to feeling like Godzilla. I went to the Hyvee and it took me an hour to go shopping because the store is like half a mile long. It takes fifteen minutes just to walk down an aisle.

By the time I returned, Rachel had arrived and it began to rain. And then we opened the back door 10 minutes later and there were sheets of water pounding down at a good 45 degree angle. We weren't going anywhere.

Steve, the shop owners, offered us dinner and a bed at his place and we gladly took him up on the offer. We hung around the shop for the rest of the day then headed back with him.

His grandson Noah greeted us, a 6.5 year old ball of adorable precociousness. Kid has the most remarkable memory for detail. Watch out for him. 

After a delicious chicken and veggie dinner, some laundry and some conversation, we headed to bed a little too late and ready for some decent weather tomorrow. 

​

Day 59: Cedar Rapids to Wildcat Den State Park

A couple of things about Iowa: 

1. Every Iowan checks to make sure other Iowans have been nice to you like, "Hey where are you going?" <explain etc> "Well that's just great! You've liked Iowa right? The people you've met have been great, right?" Verbatim x 12. Like there is peer pressure to be a Good Samaritan because there is going to be massive collective Iowan shame if you aren't. But hey, everyone's truly been unfailingly kind so I never know what to say other than "Yes everyone here seems like they'd pull out their own kidney if I needed it, please, no need to fret about your brethren."The niceness is kind of freaky but let us all strive to more like Iowans and hold our fellow citizens accountable for immense generosity of heart and home.
2. Despite it being the most bike-enthusiastic state we've been in: no roads have paved shoulders; county roads are fabulous; city road suck.
3. There might not be sports but there is RAGBRAI.

Anyways, this morning, we ate a fabulous, nerdy pancake breakfast with our couchsurfing host Sarah, big thick pancakes browned on the griddle. Her Log Cabin syrup brought me back to my bottling days in the UCLA cafeteria. Actually I really never need to go back there again.

Post apocalypse industry in Cedar Rapids 

Going into detail about our route today since Google kept trying to put us on gravel so read on if you're interested, or feel free to skip ahead if you're not.

We didn't leave 'til late and it's hot every day now. We were able to take the Cedar River Trail out about 10 miles to Ely before ending up on some classic no-shoulder Iowa highways (Ely Road/W6E/hwy #?). Pro-tip: stay on that road and follow it to Solon. We stopped at the Big Grove Brewery for a sip and some lunch for Rachel and spent like an hour and a half there. We took 1 down to the turnoff to Morse, and then took Morse road into town. We couldn't find a way to get to West Branch without gravel but maybe you can. At least it's hard packed and short (2 miles, maybe 3). The Herbert Hoover trail is this great, overgrown crushed limestone trail that is surprisingly easy to ride. Take F40/290th to 38, then bear left and follow 38 over 80 until you get to Hwy 6 or 155th street. Google's good from there, except definitely ride down to New Era road, which is paved and pleasant, if a little hilly. 

Herbert Hoover's trail; he might get someone to mow it

We didn't get into Wildcat State Park until it was almost dark. We've just started to get into firefly territory, and they'd float up out of the grass and out of the cornfields in the hazy dusk, lighting our way to the park. The camping area was one of the strange-ish open ones where all tent sites are right next to each other on the same meadow of lawn grass. They had fresh water, though, and good picnic tables, and fees were only $9 which seems like kind of a steal when you're from California. I tried to go tootlin' off to find Pine Creek but realized I'd have to go down a big hill to get there (aka I would have to climb it on the way back) and the skeeters were out in force so I turned back. I made a really mediocre tofu stir fry for dinner and prepped the tent for the predicted thunderstorms by hooking the tarp grommets onto the tent poles and tying the rest of it up via a couple pieces of cord.

We didn't go to bed 'til late but the thunderstorm came even later and it was a heavy metal kind of rain, endlessly pounding the tent and trees around us. My Big Agnes Air Core has been leaky for a while, but it totally gave out last night, so I slept-woke on the ground (soft, muddy, grassy ground, not bad) and ate a granola bar at 3 am to reflate my deflated spirits/reality.

I'd hoped to leave early to beat the heat a little and run some errands in Davenport but it poured like hell from 7 til 9 am, so much so it didn't make sense to leave. Eventually, though, the rain let up enough for it to get hot and sticky inside the tent and I couldn't take the claustrophobia anymore. I talked to Vince for a while, who's doing his own east-to-west trek (Chefs Fore Vets). He's averaging 35 miles a day and has 'til December and is trying to get on Jimmy Kimmel Live on December 7, so go forth, and tweet about and for(e) him.

Day 58: Pave America with bike trails (Cedar Falls to Cedar Rapids)

Woke up feeling fresh this morning, stomach seems to be all healed up. John made us Scottish oatmeal with raisins and vanilla almond milk with a touch of honey. Plus the best coffee we've had this trip. Well. I've had. Rachel's cutting her addiction loose and reverting to tea.

Goodbye goodbye!

Goodbye's are always bittersweet and this one especially so. Naomi and John took such good care of us, so that while this could have been an extraordinarily low couple of days, it wasn't. Instead it was a treat to spend an extra day in a house full of art, adventure, clean sheets and generous meals. But pedal on we must so off we went.

We rode bike trails along the Iowa river almost the whole way to Cedar Rapids. The first segment, to Waterloo, was all paved, green light filtering through the veil of cedars (I assume, I don't know trees) that bowed over the path. Every so often we caught a glimpse of the river, of an old man with a cap and his fishing rod, of a couple of happy kids out on boats. 

Construction blocked the bit of trail from Waterloo to Evanston, where we caught back up with it and rode an easy 20-something miles on a blacktop path through the riparian forest. The pavement gave way to gravel, then to dirt, sometimes totally grown over with grass, until 10 or 15 miles out from Cedar Rapids. Sometimes the mud got real sticky, catching the tires and making each pedal a slog. But for the most part, it was incredible to be off the road. One of the pieces of this trip I didn't really think through was that the best roads are often the most traveled.. or at least well traveled. So on a bike, we can only really access places you can access by car - until now. It looks like we're going to have trails almost clear to La Porte, Indiana, our next teaching spot. 

Day 56-57: In sickness and in health (Cedar Falls)

Again, we are so spoiled by the kind folks who take us in. Naomi and John whipped up some bacon and French toast (with real maple syrup) before we headed out to our sixth lesson at the Waterloo YWCA. 

The bike paths here are something else. Paved, but through forests and along rivers, we road 10 miles to the summer camp without cars for 9 of 'em. The kids at camp were restless but deeply curious. It was so fun to see them wake up and focus a little, as we started to talk about ourselves, our trip and our careers. It was raining (of course, we can't seem to catch a break with these lessons), but  the motors spun, and the back wheels spin weakly in the dimmed light outside. 

Favorite questions: does it hurt to eat GU packets; has anyone in your family been to space. Also it was really something to realize how small the world was to most of the kids. We asked them how far California was, and they responded with estimate between 5 and 30 miles. That's what really far away is for them.

After the class, we went back to Naomi and John's to try to get the ID thing sorted out. Took a break in the evening to check out the bike shop and Single Speed brewery (10/10, their IPA and their dark were both top notch). We went to their favorite Thai restaurant for dinner, then toured the university, where John teaches computer science. 

We packed up and were pretty much ready to go for the next morning. I was working on the blog in bed at 10 and had been feeling a little queasy. All of a sudden, it was like ten thousand little bugs trying to rip their way out of my stomach. Rachel had just told our hosts the story about what happened in the Alps: Rachel and I were backpacking around Mont Blanc and the one night we decided to camp, I woke up and threw up all over and in this pretty little French lodge. The next day we tried to go on but we ended up having to hitchhike to the nearest English-speaking doctor, two hours away. I was dehydrated and had a kidney infection, and it took another two days before I could hold down some noodles. That ended the trip quick. 

Anyways, Rachel had just told this story and I come out white as a sheet and then run to the bathroom. It was an ugly night, compounded by how scared I was I'd have an Alpian repeat. But I finally drifted off, and slept until 9 this morning, awoken by an appetite. We took it easy on food today, but so far I've kept everything down. Rachel kept on the hunt to replace her ID. We'll try for Cedar Rapids tomorrow.