Day 66: Familiar Faces, Plastic Playground, Yellow Sugar

Day 66:  Sunday August 10th, 2014.
Grand Rapids, OH to Huron, OH.  83.2 miles.

I woke up with pretty sore quadricep and calf muscles, sore to the touch, and tight.  I stretched for a while, loosening things up a bit.  After 2 weeks off, then 4 consecutive days of riding, some of those days with long distance, and some with headwinds, I was ready for a break.  But, with only about 85 miles to Lake Erie, I couldn't resist riding one more day to get to a place where there's more to explore.  So, I got up and headed less than a mile into downtown Grand Rapids for breakfast.

It was already warm at 9:00 am, and the forecast called for a high of 85 degrees Fahrenheit with increased humidity, a precursor to thunderstorms tomorrow.  In addition, the East and East-Northeast winds that I had been fighting yesterday would continue today, with stronger gusts forecasted.

Riding down the main drag of Grand Rapids looking for a cafe, I noticed a big congregation of bicyclists on the sidewalk.  They were from mostly the Toledo area, and were on a group ride for the day, stopping at the restaurant they were loitering in front of for breakfast.

As I rolled up to them, one of them said, "This is the best place to eat in town."  Questions were fired at me from all diretions amongst the guys in the group.  "You've been plowing through those East winds.", one of them said.  "Yeah, and it doesn't look like it's going to let up anytime soon.", I replied.  They explained that the East winds are very common throughout this area in Spring, but not this time of year.  They suspect that the very cold winter this year, and the resultant cooler lake temperatures, has influenced the cooler-than-usual Summer and extension of Spring-like conditions.  

Then, one of the riders, with a look of contemplation on his face said, "Wait a minute - Weren't you riding East on the Glacial Drumlin Trail near Madison Wisconsin a few weeks ago?"  I was, and confirmed his hunch.  "Holy Cow - We passed you - I knew you looked familiar", he exclaimed.  What an incredible coincidence.  A portion of the riders in the group in front of me did a short tour through Wisconsin, and I passed right by them.  And, here we stood, over 400 miles away from our first brief passing, once again connected, but only for a brief moment in time before they rode off.

  I had a similar coincidence the morning I was going to leave downtown Chicago.  I was in a small cafe in The Loop, having breakfast, when a man came up to me and said, "Nice shirt - I made it".  I looked up at him and recognized his face.  He rode by me on a bicycle in downtown Fargo weeks prior, and at the time gave me directions to a bike shop, "The Great Northern Bicycle Co."  It turns out that he was the owner of that shop.  I was wearing a t-shirt that I had bought at his place.  He told me that Chicago was the furthest place from Fargo that he has ever spotted one of his tees.

Heading inside the cafe after the cyclist group left, I had a great breakfast while working on my blog for a short while.  I sat at a window table with a good view of the old buildings of downtown Grand Rapids.

I noticed a news article framed on the wall of the restaurant.  It was the same view of downtown, only during the major flood of 1959, when the Maumee River overflowed it's banks.

As I made my way out of Grand Rapids, I followed the River for only a mile or two before branching off Eastward towards Bowling Green.

Along the way, a roadside farmer's market stand was an easy distraction from the road and heat.

The fruits and veggies, mostly local, some heirloom, looked delicious.  I bought a large ripe peach for later.

I moved quickly through Bowling Green, and then navigated through several small towns 10 to 15 miles apart, each with populations of 1000 to 6000 people.  In Gibsonburg (pop. 2,408), I passed by a convenience store with a drive through.  I stopped to watch as cars drove literally into the store to shop from the comfort of the seat of their car.

Next up was Fremont (pop. 16,734).  As I rode through the old residential neighborhood, massive oak trees loomed overhead, with old restored Victorian, Craftsman, and Colonial homes all around.

My progress was slow through this neighborhood as I found myself stopping frequently to take pictures of the homes.

"Ok, that's enough, I need to move on now.", I would tell myself.  Then, I'd come upon another beauty.  "Ok, just one more."

In town, I found the beginning of the North Coast Inland bike trail.  A paved path, I would follow this for 9 miles into the town of Clyde, before branching off to the Northeast.

Arriving in Clyde (pop. 6,325), I exited the bike trail and came upon the Whirlpool plant.

It was massive, semmingly the size of a small town itself, spanning multiple blocks, with it's own water tower.  I recalled from my days of selling refrigerators, washers, and dryers at Sears, that Whirlpool had a plant in Ohio, while their main operations were in Canada.  

I then navigated through the downtown area of Clyde, complete with a fountain, brick buildings, and colorful hanging flower pots.

On the East side of Clyde, a major plastic bottle recycling facility, Evergreen Plastics, sat with gargantuan bundles of crushed plastic bottles ready for meltdown.  It was hard to comprehend not only the massive size of each bundle, but the incredible number of bundles, some stacked 10 high, taking up an area comparable to several football fields.

From Clyde, I turned the page of my map to see the last 24 miles to Huron.  I was anxious to arrive at my destination, looking forward to a day of rest, and to foregoing the soybean/corn scenery for some water views.

About 8 miles further, I came to a stop as a train loaded with coal crossed my path.  I could see on my map that it was headed straight for Sandusky on the shore of Erie.  Maybe from there, it is loaded onto barges, used in a coal fired power plant on the shore, or transported by rail across to Canada.  I wasn't sure.  But, the cars were loaded to the brim and beyond.

As I reached the crossing, I looked to my left to see a cloud of black coal soot being blown off the train by the East winds.  I tried to hold my breath until the train passed and I crossed over the tracks.

I was headed for the Huron River Valley Resort campground, the closest camping option to the town of Huron, about 3.5 miles out of town alongside the Huron River.  About two miles from reaching the destination, I came upon "Doug's Tomato Stand", featuring organic tomatoes grown in the fields right behind the roadside stop.

I decided to check it out, and I'm glad I did.  I bought a tub of the Yellow Sugar organic tomatoes.  They were outstanding, sweet, and I was eating them like one would eat popcorn.

Arriving at the campground exhausted, I setup my tent, took a cool shower, and then made dinner back in my tent.  My culinary creation for the evening: almond butter sandwiches with blueberries, bananas, local honey, and crushed corn chips. Different, but delicious!

Looking forward to my planned day off tomorrow, I checked the forecast before going to bed.  Yikes!  Looks like it's going to rain, with thunderstorms likely.

Day 65: Hi-Ho-Ohio, Factory Farms, I Want My Maumee

Day 65: Saturday August 9th, 2014.
Monroeville, IN to Grand Rapids, OH. 77.4 miles.

Waking up at 7:00 am, I was in a hurry to check out of the community center before the nervous wedding party and family arrived to finish setting up the reception area, and to re-tape the plastic table skirts that had been periodically sluffing off throughout the night.

In town, I went to the Blueberry Pancake House for a hearty breakfast.  From there, I started out, heading about 3 miles East to the state line between Indiana and Ohio.  I turned left (North) onto "State Line" road.  To my right, rows of corn in Ohio.  To my left, a house and trees in Indiana.  I would follow State Line Road for several miles, skirting the border in a no-man's-land.

Eventually, my route turned right, and immediately into Ohio.

I navigated through several small towns.  I could tell that I was approaching one, as the expanse of corn and or soybean was interrupted by a grouping of trees in the distance.

While traversing through them, I noticed on several occasions a sign displayed in the front yard of homes.  It read, "No More Factory Farms".  

I found this pushback from the corporate influence on American farmland to be interesting, especially when observed right in the heart of where it is all happening.  Certainly, the massive soybean and corn fields, sometimes going on for as far as the eye could see, were not ajoined to a small farmhouse.  Rather, big industrial warehouses could be found here and there.  These were big operations.

It made me wonder just how many of the farmhouses that you see in small towns are now separate parcels from the fields surrounding them.

As I made my way toward the small city of Defiance Ohio (pop. 16,622), I traversed along the Auglaize River for 8 or so miles.  It was a wide river, flowing in the same direction I was headed - Northeast, and the water surface was abuzz with boaters, waterskiiers, and the like on this fine sunny Saturday.

On the map, Defiance looked like the hub of a bicycle wheel, the spokes of many creeks and rivers, roads, and rail lines converging at the city center.  One of the spokes, gathering all the water from this convergence zone, the Maumee River (the locals pronounce it "Mommy"), would flow out of the city toward it's ultimate destination of Lake Erie.

It's always fun riding on the weekend because of all of the activity that can be seen.  Privacy fences don't exist between houses.  Out in front of one house, the husband was on the riding mower while the wife was steering the push-mower along the white hydrangeas around the foundation of the house.  On several occasions, I saw a family, and probably neighbors too, sitting around in a circle in their yard, hanging out, chatting, enjoying the sunshine, warm weather, and breeze.  Others were out in the field, hard at work.

The breeze was steady, out of the East, making my ride a challenge.  My legs were getting tired.  But, the frequent, interesting towns kept my mind focused away from the wind, and the next thing I knew, I was in Florida!  Wow, I made more progress than I was aware of...

Established in 1834, this "corporation" has lots of character and charm.  The large steeple in the background is now home to the Florida library.  Situated on the Maumee River, a means of portage of homesteaders and goods from the East Coast by way of the Great Lakes, it's no surprise that this town has an earlier beginning than some of the other off-stream towns in the area.

The old barn in the photo below, while still standing, was missing some of the roofing, probably peeled off in severe thunderstorm winds.  I've noticed, on new and old structures, missing strips of siding and roofing here and there.

Continuing along the Maumee River, I headed to the town of Napoleon.  On the way, I stopped next to a bicycle sign, with an arrow pointing downwards at me, and waited for the reactions of the people zooming by in cars.  Apparently, I thought it was funny, but no-one else did, or they didn't get it.

As I entered Napoleon, crossing the Maumee River onto the South side, I noticed a strong odor.  It smelled of cooked vegetable/tomato, and it was somewhat familiar.  Then, I came upon the source.

With their own water tower, the Campbell's soup/V8 plant was massive.

Leaving Napoleon, I had about 14 more miles to go to reach the Mary Jane Thurston State Park and Campground, just outside Grand Rapids, Ohio.  Riding along this section of the Maumee, the riverfront property was dominated by RV resorts packed with people partying, playing games, music blasting from their radios, and relaxing after a day on the river.  The scene reminded me of being on the Colorado River at the resort near Lake Martinez, a place my family use to frequent in the Summer.

As the sun set with brilliant red colors, now a few miles from the campground, the full moon could be seen above the horizon in front of me, beyond the soybeans.

Head-butting the East winds all day, my legs were tired and I quickly settled into my tent for the night.

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.

Day 63: Short-haired Germans, Scooter-Commuter

Day 63:  Thursday August 7th, 2014.
Rensselaer, IN to Salamonie State Forest near Lagro, IN. 91.9 miles.

I woke up on the living room couch to the sound of my cell-phone alarm at 6:40 am.  Mike was in the room getting ready to leave.  Still trying to wake up, I thanked him one more time before he left.  It must have been obvious that I was  out of it, as Mike encouraged me to sleep in.  But, I was anxious to get moving.

After Mike left, I ventured out the back door into their yard to investigate the source of whining that had been occuring for several hours in the kitchen during the night.  Lucy, a beautiful German Shorthair mother of six, somehow locked herself inside, with her six puppies outside, which explains her cries in the night.  

The puppies, with their blue eyes, were painfully cute.  It's a good thing that I was on a bicycle thousands of miles from home with no way to take one off Mike's hands.

I rode a few blocks to the business district of town in search of breakfast before moving on.  The only options in front of me were fast food chains.  I avoid them like the plague for many reasons - the food is loaded with sodium, the bad oils/fats, GMO ingredients, and generally low-grade meats and meat-fillers, and they generally don't pay a liveable wage to their employees, to name a few.  But, I was ill-prepared on this morning to make my own breakfast, and I was in a hurry to get moving.  Reluctantly, I headed into one of the chains for some calories, the first fast-food chain I've visited on this trip (and hopefully the last).

I leaned my bike against the window outside.  Sitting down to eat at an inside table, after a few minutes one of the employees came up to me and said, "Here you go!", handing me a bag with 2 chocolate chip cookies inside.  "A woman that came through the drive-thru bought them for you and asked me to deliver them.", she said.  I thanked her.  I wanted to speak to the person behind this gesture of kindness.  But, they were gone.

I noticed that the vast majority of folks eating inside this place were well into their 60's and beyond.  Apparently, the senior citizen pricing is enticing, and may be the easy affordable option for many trying to survive on social security income.

A few minutes later, one of these aging beauties headed out the door by herself.  I watched her glance at my bike before stopping to stare at it, looking it over.  She then turned around, appearing to be contemplating something.  Setting her purse on the nearby concrete table, she began digging, looking for something.  "Did she misplace her car keys?", I wondered.  Then, she came back inside and headed right for me.  "You're the gentleman with the bicycle outside?", she asked.  "That's me.", I replied with a smile.  She followed up with, "I would like to buy you breakfast."  Flattered, I thanked her, but then began to tell her that her kind offer to give me money was not necessary, and that...  She interrupted me, and told me with a noticeably more-stearn voice, "No, I would really like to buy your breakfast."

She told me that there was a gal who came through Rensselaer a year ago, walking across the U.S., traveling with a walker of sorts that was equipped with a seat that she could use to rest.  "I bought her breakfast, and I want to buy you breakfast too - I think it's such a wonderful thing - what people like you are doing."  There was no way I was going to have a chance to explain to this woman who I was, or why I didn't need her money.  That would only disappoint her.  There was something about her desire to help that wasn't as much an urge to provide to someone in need as it was to support something that she believed in.  I took the five singles folded up in her hand, extended out towards me, and thanked her.  "What's your name?", I asked her.  "Mary Lou", she said.  We chatted briefly before she headed out the door.  I decided that I would give the $5 she gave me to someone in need along the way.

Heading out of town, I had 3.5 miles to go before rejoining with the Adventure Cycling Route, completing my Chicago detour since Prairie Du Chien, Wisconsin.

Just outside of town, while riding down the road, I thought I heard a high-pitched motorized puttering sound.  Sure enough, as I looked over my left shoulder, almost right alongside me, and moving at about the same pace, was a guy cruising the highway on his... well..  persimmon-colored scooter.  It may have been red - at one time.  But, it has since faded to persimmon.

"Whereya goin'?", he asked with a smile.  "Portland, Maine!", I replied.  He looked confused.  "The Atlantic Ocean!", I said in anticipation of his geographic deficiency.  Still no reaction.  Desparate to find some sense of scale in his brain, I followed up with "New York!"  "Geez! - That's far!", he exclaimed.  Then, after a bit of contemplation, he said, "I'm gonna ride my scooter to Wisconsin."  His name was Jason, pronounced, "Jaé-sun" with a hard "e".  We chatted for a bit while cruising down the road together.  With my turn approaching, I said goodbye to him, and full-throttle, he sped off with trailing clouds of white smoke behind him.

Crossing the Tippecanoe River, I reached Buffalo, IN.  

The town had a one-pump gas station with a convenience store inside.  I bought lunch here, and sat across the street at some picnic tables next to the fire station.  While dining on fried chicken strips, I perused the free August edition of the "Weekend Times".  In it, I found some fascinating content.  Under the "Home Remedies" section, a piece titled, "Duct Tape - Use it for Warts", citing a study published in the Archives of Pediatrics and Adolescent Medicine.  Further down, "Licorice: Use it for Calluses and Corns".  Other topics in the newspaper included how to select the best watermelon, NASCAR 2014 races and winners, and Humor Headlines.

Also included, a section titled, "Redneck Speak - How to Understand It", with definitions of commonly used words.  

Thinking that this section was derogatory, I then came across a schedule of area events that included a town celebration called the "Redneck Festival".  I guess it's a culture, and its acceptable in these parts.

Another interesting article in this paper, "GMO Foods - Ways to Avoid Possible Danger."  In the article, it provided tips on how to avoid consuming GMO foods.  I was surprised to find this article in a local publication, serving communities surrounded by GMO corn and soybeans.  The article quotes an estimate that 91% of soybean and 85% of corn is genetically modified.  The article concluded by providing 2 links for more information:  www.responsibletechnology.org

www.nongmoshoppingguide.com

Further down the road, I came to a large hill on my left.

The topography has been flat throughout Indiana, and this seemed out of place.  It turns out that the large semi-trucks reeking of garbage that have been passing me for the past hour at 3-5 minute intervals were headed straight for this man-made mountain.  It is the Liberty Landfill.  I was curious to know where all of the trucks were coming from.  Is it trash from Chicago?

I was heading for a campgound in the small community of Fletcher.  But, when I got there, the campground, and the town, didn't have much to offer.  I was tired, my legs sore from jumping back into riding after 2 weeks off.  And, today was a battle with steady East winds blowing in my face all day long.  But, I didn't want to stay in Fletcher.  So, I continued on to the next campground that was over 30 miles away.  I knew the sun would set before I got there, but the quiet farm roads I was on were smooth, and quiet.

I ate Dinner in Denver, IN, then road on to the small town of Lagro.  Just across the Wabash River from Lagro is the Salamonie River State Forest.  I pitched my tent in the primitive campground within the park.  It was here that I realized I had crossed into the Eastern Time Zone at some point today, and lost an hour.  So, I retired quickly, hoping for a good nights sleep.

Day 62: Mowing Mania, Burns, Vietnam Vet, Indiana Hospitality

Day 62: Wednesday August 6th, 2014.

Chicago, IL to Rensselaer, IN.  85.1 miles.

I stayed the night in a 4-bunk hostel room at Hostelling International on Congress Street in the Loop.  The facilities were very nice and clean, and I was generally impressed, thinking that I would recommend and or use the company's other locations in big cities around the U.S.

But, in bed, I was reminded of the downside of sleeping in a room with seven other dudes.  Of course, snoring was expected, and occurred.  But, other unnecessary noise and arrivals at any time of night added to my inability to get to sleep for a few hours.  I should have used my earplugs from the start and I would have been fine.  Lesson learned.  Hostels can be great if you are equipped with, at a minimum, ear plugs and an eye mask.

I hit up Cafe Intelligentsia one more time, and finished catching up on my writing before checking out.  I then followed my GPS riding East into the park, past the museums, and to Lake Michigan to join up with the Lakeshore Trail.  The trail followed the shore of the lake all the way out of the city and to the South end of the lake.  A few miles out of the city center, I stopped to look back at the city skyline one more time.

The paved route was beautiful, weaving through trees and fields of green, past beaches, sailboats, and marinas.

The neighborhood transitioned as I headed South to less affluence.  Eventually, nearing the South end of the lake, the residential buildings and neighborhoods gave way to an intensely industrial landscape.  As I approached the bridge to cross the Calumet River, the barricades lowered right in front of me.

That was followed by loud creaks and groans as the massive metal bridge began to raise up, sidewalk and all, providing the necessary clearance to allow the barge below to pass.

It wasn't long before I crossed the state line into Indiana.  I continued through Hammond, a mix of poor areas, affluence, and industrial.  Next came Highland and more affluence, with an impressive smoothly paved bike path and surrounding landscaping.

Continuing to head Southeast, I came to the town of Crown Point  The Lake County Courthouse sits near the city center of this town.  The old architectural style is beautiful.

In Crown Point, I spotted a man on a riding lawnmower making sweeping passes back and forth on his expansive front lawn.  I've observed that, in just about every single town that I have pased through East of Bismarck North Dakota, I have seen at least one person mowing a lawn.  It hasn't mattered what day of the week, or what time of day, or whether the town has a population of 200 or 2,000.  The grass grows fast here, and mowing is a weekly obsession, occupying a huge chunk of America's Summer free time in the Midwest.

In Crown Point, I saw a billboard for a funeral home and Crematory.  The name of the business was unfortunate.

And, I found their slogan, "Your Loved One Never Leaves Our Care" to be a bit peculiar, imagining the competition, other funeral homes in the area, that have struggled to keep their deceased customers from sticking around, as if they had been sneaking out the door late at night or something.

Leaving Crown Point,  narrow and quiet farm roads lined with corn and soybeans defined my path.

Riding diagonally to the Southeast by way of roads to the East, then South, then East, and so on, I worked my way to the town of Rensselaer, planning to grab dinner before completing the last 12 miles of the day to the East to reach Acorn Oaks Campground.  

In Rensselaer, about 50 miles Northwest of Lafayette, I found the City Office and Pub, a bar and grill in the center of town. I leaned my bike on the window so that I could keep an eye on it from inside. As I walked in, at least two cows-worth of leather was being worn by the 15 or so motocyclists sitting at the large table up front.

A linear bar running the length of the back half of this establishment had a few empty seats at the far end, with one gal by herself at the very end smoking a cigarette.  Apparently, Indiana allows smoking indoors.  I didn't want to sit too close, avoiding the eye-irritating cloud of gray enshrouding her.  So, I chose the first available seat.  It apparently didn't matter though, because by the time I was served my order, the bartender was smoking along with the people to my left and the new arrivals sitting next to me.

One of the Harley-riders came up to me while I was eating.  He stood in front of me and said, "Hi. - My name is Jim."  I shook his hand, introduced myself, and waited for a follow-up statement that would clue me in to why he had decided to approach me.  It took a few seconds, then he told me that he was a Vietnam Veteran, rolling up his sleeve to proudly show me the tatoo of the helicopter he was assigned to, displayed on his forearm.  I thanked him for his service, and hoped that there was something else to follow.  He then told me that he and a few of his buddies were outside checking out my bike.  He couldn't believe that I was really riding across America, and shook my hand several times.  It was neat.  Before departing, he gave me a keychain that he made.  The two strands of beads strung onto a shoe-string, attached to a key ring, displayed the red, yellow, and green colors associated with Vietnam Vets on one and the colors of the American Flag on the other.

Knowing that it would be getting dark soon, I wasted no time.  Back outside, I geared up, attaching my front lights to the bike, and switching out the lenses of my sunglasses to the non-tinted ones.

Just then, a car pulled up front, and a couple got out, headed into the pub.  They stopped to chat with me.  "Wow, Are you really riding across the U.S.?", the guy asked.  Mike and Monica were their names, and they were headed into the Pub for a beer after a long day.  I asked them if they knew anything about the campground I was headed to.  They said it was nice, and confirmed the distance for me.  Then, Mike said, "I would love to sit and chat with you more about your adventure.  Will you join us for a beer?"

I thanked him for the offer, and declined, explaining that I needed to get on the road before the sun sets.  He then said, "You know, I've got a couch you can crash on right here in town if you want." He followed up with, "And that way you can hang out and I can buy you a beer."  

I thanked him for his generous offer, looking over at Monica to see her reaction to Mike's offer to welcome a stranger into their home.  And, I wasn't sure if it was a nice gesture, or a genuine offer.  Mike must have sensed my hesitation, as he continued by reassuring me that he really wanted to help me out, and was genuinely fascinated to learn more about my trip.  I warned him that I could be willing to accept his offer, and he persisted.  "Great - that would be awesome.", I replied as I joined them back in the pub for a beer.  

Both school teachers and long-time residents of Rensselaer, they have two kids and are very involved in the community and with their church.  Mike coaches basketball, including a Summer basketball camp each year in Scotland.  And, he also helps out coaching the golf team in town, of which his daughter was on, earning a scholarship to play golf at the University she had been recently accepted to for the Fall.

I followed Mike back to his house a few blocks away, and chatted with him while watching City Slickers.  The couch they provided me was comfortable, and I was very grateful, happy that I didn't have to unload all of my gear and pitch a tent.

Day 61: Moving Through The City

Day 61:  Tuesday August 5th, 2014.
Chicago, IL.  4.4 miles.

After the BBQ last night, Josh threw my bike in the back of his truck and gave us a ride back to the hotel.  Reluctant to depart this morning, Victoria and I packed up and loaded my bike, checking out of the hotel.  We walked the bike over to Cafe Intelligentsia for one more delicious espresso, before heading to the EL station.  She would take the EL to the Midway airport in preparation for her return flight.  It was really tough to say goodbye.

After she left, I rode back up to Josh's apartment, where I officially ended my last ride before Victoria arrived.  I started my ride there, went to a lunch spot, then to a coffee shop, planning to hang out in Chicago for one more day to get mentally prepared for resuming the bicycle riding.  I ended up a few miles South at a hostel in the loop, where I would stay for the night.  From here, tomorrow I plan to ride South into Indiana to reconnect with the Adventure Cycling bicycle route.