Day 64: Death by Corn, The Tin Woman?, Whippy Dip

Day 64:  Friday August 8th, 2014.
Salamonie River State Forest, IN to Monroeville, IN.  54.6 miles.

Arriving after dark last night, I couldn't see what was all around me.  I knew I was in a forest, but the beauty of the oak-hickory canopy above me was not revealed until I opened my eyes this morning.  The photo below is the view from my tent looking straight up.

The state forest is along the slow-moving Salamonie River, and also near the Salamonie Dam and associated reservoir.  As I rode out of the campground through the forest, I emerged along a road that crossed over the dam.

From there, I had a short incline out of the Salamonie River channel, and I was back into fields of GMO corn and soybean.  Yesterday, and for the rest of the day today, the landscape would be almost exclusively those two crops, with an occasional small field of alfalfa here and there.  The mono-culture landscape was monotonous, and expansive, with tall "walls" of corn sometimes lining the road, I felt like I was riding with blinders on, and I had to keep my mind busy to avoid "death by corn".

The dark-colored soil here is extremely fertile.  Once overlooked by initial settlers to the area, thinking that the natural grasslands of the region (the "Grand Prairie") that lacked trees needed for fuel and building materials would not be suitable for agriculture, this area was not cultivated as early as other regions in the North.  "If it doesn't support a forest, it won't support crops.", settlers thought.  

This initially-overlooked region turned out to be some of the best soil in the Nation, with the thick growth of seasonal natural grasses on top of the glacial drift, each year dying and leaving behind organic matter that would decompose, enhancing the soil quality over thousands of years.  Also undesirable by settlers, the slow-moving, sometimes shallow and muddy rivers were not navigable, thus making the transport of goods and the products of harvest difficult.

When the Erie Canal was completed in 1825, New York City, and it's harbor, was essentially linked with Lake Erie, opening the floodgates of homesteaders coming into the region by way of the Great Lakes.  As the quality of the soil was discovered, homesteading and agriculture replaced almost completely the native grasslands overnight.

As railroad spurs were developed off the main line, like tentacles spreading out into the region, the spurs then developed nodes of civilization, commerce, and trade around the small towns throughout the region.  Homesteaders, with their small farms, lived and worked on their land.  In Indiana, I have passed a few farms that have a sign out front indicating that the current owners are part of the same family of settlers that arrived and homesteaded the farm.  But, by far, this is not the norm today.

As the modern road surfaces were developed and implemented, and trucks replaced trains as modes of transport, the small town nodes were slowly usurped by big urban cities.  The draw to urban living resulted in many of the homesteads, small landholdings, being sold or leased to large land companies, now mostly a few global corporations not only owning the land, but now also owning the seed banks.  This explains why many of the small towns I ride through are economically depressed, with much of the mainstreet storefronts boarded up, unless they have managed to turn into cute, nostalgic weekend tourist destinations.

Entering the town of Hoagland (pop. 821), I came upon a cool mailbox stand, made of mostly repurposed household items that reminded me of the tin man, only with a skirt.

As I rode through Hoagland on the East side of town, I heard a dog bark.  On the right, about 2 houses up, the german shepherd was guarding his front yard.  He anticipated my trajectory down the road, and started running diagonally across his yard so as to catch up with me as I passed, barking all the while.  I didn't slow down, nor veer away from him, I just kept a straight, steady path down the road.  I was trying to assess his behavior as he was coming at me, wondering if I need to grab the pepper spray canister I carry with me.  He wasn't growling, just barking as he approached.  I eventually passed him and he stopped in the street, watching me continue on.

I had been warned before starting this trip that sometimes dogs can be a problem.  And, I was even encouraged by a few to take some sort of defense, like pepper spray with me.  But, I was never too concerned about it, and only wound up with pepper spray when Victoria came to visit me and discovered that she had accidentally left it in her purse as she traveled through security at the airport.  While it went undiscovered, she didn't want to take the chance of transporting it home.  So, I took it off her hands.

It turns out that this was not the first time I was chased by a dog on this trip.  Although, I had not once had a dog unleashed, chase me for the first 2,500 miles.  In fact, the first time it happened was right here in the state of Indiana just 2 days ago.  And, since that first occurance, the dog that just chased after me was the 8th dog to do so!  I don't know what it is about the state of Indiana, but unleashed dogs in the front yard is commonplace.

About 9 miles East of Hoagland, I came to my destination for the day, the town of Monroeville Indiana, situated about 3 miles from the state line with Ohio.  My map indicated a free "cyclist-only" lodging option, with a "special" indoor shelter that includes as shower and washer/dryer.  To stay, the listing instructed me to "call Warren".  So, a few miles out of town, I did.  Warren, in his late 60's, gave me instructions to meet him at the city park, where the community center would be my respit for the night.

It was a fabulous multi-use facility, owned by the people of Monroeville.  When I arrived, a wedding rehearsal was happening in the covered veranda and gazebo.  The adjacent hall, where I would be sleeping, was all decorated for the wedding reception to take place tomorrow.  Warren gave me a tour of the facility, including where I could find a cot to use, and handed me the key.  

Before he left, he asked me to sign his guest book.  The town of Monroeville has been providing this free service to travelling cyclists since 1990.  In the photo below, the book on the right is completely full of the names and notes of those cyclists that have stayed since the beginning.  The book on the left had a good 20-30 pages filled up.

It was fun to look at the messages from others, where they were going, etc., including those that had come just a day or two before me.

The efforts of this town and volunteers like Warren are remarkable.

After the wedding rehearsal party left for the evening, I took a shower, started a load of laundry, and locked up, heading down the street to the much-talked-about "Whippy Dip".

The blackberry shake, made with real ice cream (they call it "hand-dipped", vs. soft serve, around here) and real blackberries was awesome.

I then took a walk down the main part of town.  A mural on one of the brick buildings depicted an old trolley, with a plaque titled, "Remembering our Interurban".

The electric railroad, developed in the early 1900's, put Monroeville on the thoroughfare of passenger and freight traffic.  It was the Fort Wayne, Van Wert, and Lima connection, run by the Indiana Railroad System.  It ran from 1905 to 1936.  

Retiring to my cot surrounded by wedding favors, the bride and groom's table, centerpieces, and tropical-themed decorations, I fell asleep quickly in the comfort of the air-conditioned hall.