The Lincoln Clan

The Lincoln museum is smack in the middle of downtown Springfield. We were there at 10 after riding the bus from our hotel on the west side. Three hours later we came out into the heat thoroughly impressed with the museum and thought it well worth the $10 admission charge. There are wax figures, holographic movies, artifacts, and many pictures and recordings covering everything Lincoln. We had lunch, then went over to his Springfield house, which took another 2 hours. We ran over to another tourist attraction, the Dana-Thomas house, which is a Frank Lloyd Wright creation. Finished in 1904, it features what they call prairie architecture, and it's one of his earliest, but best projects. No biking today, just tourists trying to rest our legs for the last third of the trip. We've been Lincolnized for 2 days now, yesterday was New Salem, his home as a youth before he was a lawyer. Supposedly he taught himself to read by the fire, and won a big wrestling match with some bullies. The town is rebuilt to be as it was when Abe lived there. The hatters shop was one stop, and we saw the iron kettle where the wool was boiled, then the felt scraped off the sides to make a hat. Mercury was used to wash pelts, because it would separate the fur from the skin. The fur could then be matted smoothly into a hat. In the 1830's, everyone wore a hat, it could indicate gender, occupation, status, interests, or just your personality. Lincoln liked his stovepipe hats. But the mercury causes humans to be nervous, drool, lose their hair, twitch, have difficulty talking, and lurch like a drunk. Hence the term mad hatter. Mercury has been banned in hatmaking since 1943, but watch out if you wear an old hat. We plan to leave here at 6:30 tomorrow to beat what we can of the heat and humidity, and we'd like to ride about 50 or 60 miles. I'll lube up the bike, it has some squeaks from riding in the rain yesterday. I installed a new computer with Joe's help in Moline, it's nice to have that. If I have my dates correct tomorrow is the first of Aug, summer is passing by.

Fried

After only 5hrs in Springfield, I've decided that it should be renamed Springfried. The chamber of commerce says that this city is noted for it's food. But when the signature meal is something called a horseshoe, and it would kill a horse, they need a new claim to fame. The horseshoe is a giant plate full of two patties of pork or beef, surrounded by fries, covered with cheese. Then there is the toaster biscuit,, which is a biscuit with bacon, ham, or sausage, with potatoes covering it, smothered in cheese and gravy. It is said that the corn dog on a stick became famous here, it's now called a cozy dog here in town. I'm not surprised that Michelle moved from here to Denver, being a vegetarian in Springfield would be like being an Eskimo that doesn't eat fish.

We stopped in at New Salem today on the way from Petersburg to Springfield. New Salem is the village that Abe lived in before he dabbled in politics. After 3 hrs there we have heard all about Lincoln's youth. It was only 23 mile ride to Springfield, but highway 97 was nerve wracking, with no shoulder and plenty of traffic, some of it highly obnoxious. Then we had to turn south on highway 4 to get to the Marriott, and it was even more nerve wracking. It started raining about 3 miles from the hotel, which added to the ambiance. It doesn't look like Springfield will be the next Amsterdam, there are no concessions for bikes, like maybe a shoulder, path, walk light, crosswalk, or courtesy. What they have lots of here is cars and calories.

There was a major race riot here in 1908, resulting in the murder of a couple of people and the forming of the NAACP. It was started on Lincoln's birthday in 1909, then on that day in 2007 Barack announced his presidential bid here in Springfield. It's the state capitol, so many of the jobs in town are associated with the state government. It's also the place where the Donner party started their journey toward California. I do believe they probably left for better food, choosing human meat over a horseshoe sandwich or a cozy dog. I thought it was interesting to learn that up until 1800, when Philadelphia surpassed 40,000 people, the largest city ever in North America was in this vicinity. It was called Cahokia, and began in 650 a.d. and lasted until 1400. All through the middle ages in Europe these Indian type people were doing their thing here next to Springfield. It's now a UNESCO world heritage site, with the burial mounds the main attraction.

We are going to stay here in Springfield tomorrow and not touch big O, just to give the legs and, yes, the butt, a rest. The food here is not the only thing fried, our legs are too. We plan to go downtown and visit the Lincoln library and museum, as well as the Dana-Thomas house, a perfectly preserved 18th century house. We will try to find something green to eat, because scurvy is becoming a real possibility.

Coppertop

Six am came early this morning. I couldn't help think of all the Tuesday mornings I was at work at this time, sleepwalking into a briefing with a giant thermos sized mug of coffee. The honorable Bill Copp was usually there, and being here in his home territory makes me think of him. This morning there wasn't time to dwell, Laura and I wanted to leave early to beat the heat so we began our "pre launch sequence". Our routine begins with stumbling around the room to find the clothes we have rinsed and dried out from the day before. After putting these back on, we stuff the one clean alternative outfit into the mesh bag that substitutes for a suitcase. We gather the electronic chargers and electronics, put them in a bag, and make sure we have the I-phone and camera put together and in our ditty we carry in front of Laura. Laura is the packer, so she gets the dop kit ready with the mini brush and our traveling pharmacy together, and puts all our earthly possessions into the yellow carrier. With books, laptop, clothes, flip flops, and rain suits, it must weigh at least 30 lbs. I check the bike just to make sure the wheels turn, we attach the yellow lead to the back, and roll it out of the room. It all takes about 5 minutes. We get on, thrilled to feel the seat again(right). She pedals first to get started, then I raise up into the birthing position. We are off, looking for coffee. We had to ride 50 miles today, from Canton to Petersburg. It was 75 when we started, 85 when we left the diner after breakfast. Within an hour it was 95, and steam was rising from the beanfields. We rode along the Spoon river valley, then the Sangamon river valley after crossing the Illinois river on a steep bridge. Sangamon is a Pottowatomie word for plenty to eat. If you like corn, there is plenty. As we rode through the land of Lincoln today, Bill was on my mind. Comparisons to Abe came to mind. Lincoln was 6 feet 4 inches tall, Bill is about 5-6. Abe is thin, Bill is built like a fire hydrant with legs like the columns on the parthenon. One of them is on the $5 bill, the other still has the first $5 he ever earned. Abe has a beard, Bill can't grow one. Lincoln had a crazy wife, Bill's wife was crazy to marry him. Honest Abe has no middle name, Bill's is "the screamer". Lincoln laid stakes as a surveyor when he was young, Copp laid toilets. Finally, one wears a stovepipe hat, the other is a copper top. I'm thinking of you Bill. Here in Petersburg we are in a bed and breakfast up on a bluff above town. It looks like a haunted house. Built in 1875, the inside is still authentic, making you feel like you're in the Adams family. Tomorrow we are only riding 20 miles, stopping in at New Salem state park, the boyhood home of Bill, I mean Abe. We will end up in Springfield, home of the Lincoln museum and library. A local resident in a town called Kilbourne gave us a tip today that took us back on country roads instead of the highway. We're a little gun shy, but it worked out. At times we felt like we were in a tunnel of corn. Oh yeah, Abe was shot, Bill, take care of yourself so you don't die of a heart attack. Hope you didn't mind all the kidding Bill, like they say, "I love you man!"

Buzzing

Being retired makes you feel a little funny. Most of the time it feels like a big relief, some of the time it makes you feel a little old and out of touch. Tonight it's feeling a little like both. But when we were walking back from dinner I was just appreciating being around for a nice summer evening. We're in Illinois now in a town called Canton, and it's warm and balmy and green turning to dark green as the sun goes down. The fireflies are out en masse, doing their thing as they light up and then disappear. When you get east of the Missouri river the cicadas start up every night, for awhile going strong, then like Hitler's parade marchers, they all stop at once like they've been ordered to. Cicadas are called locusts by some, but they are not related to them, as a locust is a form of grasshopper. The name comes from the exact Latin word cicada meaning buzzer. Those Italians could really come up with a good description. Canton is a 40 mile ride from Galesburg, on easy country roads that are full of 10ft. corn and 3ft. high soybeans. All is green, except for the occasional helmet sized mushroom, the riding is superb. We are next to the Illinois river, which looks brown for a reason. Peoria is upriver and dumps raw sewage into it 25 times a year! We didn't swim. It only took us about 3hrs to ride the 40 miles, and we had the scare of our lives along the way. Coming up on an intersection out in the country, we were minding our own business and did not have a stop sign. The intersecting road did, but little could we tell that a utility truck was blocking the sign from the view of a car from the left. He blew through the intersection at about 60mph, and I only saw him in time to slam on our brakes and turn right as hard as I could. We differ some on how much he missed us by, Laura says 5ft. I say about 6. The adrenaline kicked in about 30 seconds later, and we just about fainted. He didn't stop, just tapped his brakes like he thought he had seen something unusual. So I can't help appreciating how the cicadas sound and how nice the evening is. You never really know when it will be your last. I just retired, I want to be around for awhile. Canton was named by it's founder because he thought it was the antipode for Canton, China. He was mistaken, the antipode for this town is in the Indian ocean. An antipode is the point opposite you on the globe if you draw a straight line through the center of the earth. If you dug a deep hole here, you wouldn't be in China. But in 1825 when this town was founded, they didn't have GPS. We stopped at a museum today in Knoxville, and looked at a buggy Lincoln used, as well as other things from the era. There will be much more on further blogs about him I'm sure, he's big down here. Tomorrow we will ride about 60 miles to Petersburg, leaving early to try to beat the heat and humidity. Our legs are fairly used up, but the terrain is flat here in Illinois and it is really good riding. The bike is working well, although the load in the yellow box on the back seems to get heavier and heavier all the time. Sometime during the 6 hours of riding tomorrow I am going to try to hum like a cicada.

Number 1

Gas:$4.00/gallon, Coffee:$2.00/cup, Latte:$8.00/serving, Energy bill:$300/month, Winning a National Championship: PRICELESS!!!! My niece Kelci, with only a little help from the rest of the team, beat a team from Texas this morning in Little Rock, Arkansas and won all the marbles. I did my part by sending vibes from Iowa. You go girl, the rest of us aren't qualified to hold your jock. Yesssssssss!!!!!!!
Moving Patton's army across Germany was one of the logistical miracles of the twentieth century. Moving our bike team, DLO, across Iowa, isn't much easier. It starts out every morning with people staggering out of their tents somewhere between 6 and 8 am. There are some mumbled good mornings, and instead of talking around the water cooler at work, we try to be sociable as we wait with our legs crossed at the single bathroom we are allowed to use in the morning. Number 2 is forbidden on this first pass through, it takes too long. No magazines or newspapers are allowed in, that way temptation will not get the best of anyone. The team consists of about 28 people, ranging in age from 21 to somewhere upwards of 60. We slowly get our gear packed and piled so the drivers can load it in the trailer. As we apply makeup, sunscreen, hair spray, lotion, butt butter, toothpaste, foot powder, lip balm, numbers are called to determine who is next for the bathroom. Toenails are clipped, hair arranged, bike shorts and jerseys put on, water bottles filled, tires topped off, flats fixed, contacts inserted, equipment dried out, all between sips of coffee if it's available. At some point it's determined that it's time to ride, so off we go, in waves down the road, all dressed in a colorful bike jersey making us look like we are in a peloton. To the host of the house/yard we have stayed in, it must be like a swarm of locusts that comes in with much chaos, then suddenly they are gone. The only real evidence is a wet bathroom, a bathtub ring that looks like a high water flood mark, and tramped down grass that looks kind of like a herd of cattle stopped for awhile. We ride down the road for 5 or 6 miles, and look for a food vendor that is set up along the side of the road. Pancakes are my favorite, but you can find whatever you want, with breakfast burritos being very popular. Usually a bar in the town will have bloody marys, although this year by the time we arrived many of them were out. Our team is called DLO, generally standing for da last ones, but really the initials of the founders. There are more than 10,000 riders moving each day, and we are usually in the last 100. This year Laura and I were quickly part of the last 10. Either Big O does not like hills, or we are a couple of little old ladies. The group quickly loses us and we watch them fade away like a tortoise watches a hare. Many of the riders train to ride as fast as they can, and there are pace lines where a double line of riders draft on each other and ride back wheel to front wheel, like the pros. We couldn't keep up, and consequently felt like the kid with polio who watches the game of kickball and can't join in. We rode a few times with Jane, and enjoyed it, the rest of the team we saw briefly as they passed or not at all. But there are many other people to talk to around, so we weren't exactly alone. As we brought up the rear we kept running across the party portion of the team, ladies you know who you are. Carrie and Joanne, you are great DLO representatives.
Usually the days are about 70-80 miles of riding, and one day after about 50 miles, we were flying down a hill at about 40mph,, when a part called an idler flew off the bike. As my chain came off I heard Laura say that something came off the bike. Sure enough, some dude found the pieces and brought them ahead to us. The bike won't move without this simple little part of course, so as we were figuring out what to do two of our teammates came by to help. We were drawing some attention, and two more friends stopped by to help. Thanks Buck and Joe, you saved our bacon. A farmer also helped out by bringing two washers we needed from his barn. We greatly appreciated Bob riding with us at our speed for another half hour to make sure we wouldn't break down again. Iowa has some really thoughtful people and we found some of them here.
We woke up a few days later to a drizzle, and as we started to leave, I noticed a rear flat tire. Of course I hadn't looked at it for the 2 hours I had been up, why would I want to do that? Now I had to change it, and as a result be the last one on the road. About 5 miles later it flatted again and we walked up a hill to change it. 30 minutes later we were rolling again, and 5 minutes after that we had another flat. There is a saying that flats breed flats. It's very true, the common denominator being operator error. And yes, it was me changing the flats. Being out of good tubes, we walked the half mile into town and let the bike shop mechanic change the next one and sell us some new rubber. It's probably not coincidence that we haven't had a flat since. We were so far behind by now we were riding in what's called the hippie group, a bunch of stragglers on cruiser bikes that are right out of Woodstock. The one guy we kept leapfrogging was on a unicycle. He'd pass us when we broke down, then we'd pass him down a hill as he tried to slow to a manageable speed.
There are over a hundred teams, with names like Spin, Grain Train, Whiners, Pucker, and Team Blonde. Riders wear corn cobs on their heads, loin cloths on their waist, kilts, thongs, and purple afro wigs. That's only a short list of what you'll see. Some folks ride with kids in a trailer, a disabled partner, tandems, quads, unicycles, four wheeled bikes,a bike with no seat at all, and one guy rode the entire 470 miles on roller blades, keeping up a 25mph speed in a paceline. The state cops are starting to break up the parties in the evening, and for whatever reason there don't seem to be very many street parties, which are really fun when you can find one. We found only one.
Special thanks to Bob Love, Majic, and Bob(Fez), for making it possible for all of us to have a week of vacation riding a bike. Others are too numerous to mention, but all the great people of Iowa deserve thanks too. We all wore armbands in memory of Jenna, who was expected to go with us this year and died unexpectedly at only 42. It makes us all appreciate every new day.
Yesterday we arrived in LeClaire, Iowa, and as the team scattered home, we headed south to Bettendorf to catch the Channel Cat. The small ferry boat carried us across the might Mississippi and into Illinois, where we got on big O again and rode up to Joanne and Joe's house, teammates of ours. They live in Moline, in a beautiful house back in the forest. A windstorm with 95 mph winds had broken trees 2 feet in diameter all through the neighborhood. But our hosts were fantastic, and with 3 bathrooms the line was nonexistent. Bob and Randy had dinner last night and breakfast this morning with us. Joe did the cooking,Laura made the Margaritas. Thanks a lot for being such good hosts. Today was a 40 mile ride to Galesburg, through Illinois cornfields. Galesburg is the place where the Marx brothers acquired their nicknames. There's Harpo,Chico,Groucho,Gummo, and one more. Who can guess? I have tilted the seat back down and my famous ass is feeling better. Still sore, but like steel. The bugs in Iowa seem to like warm places, and I have bites in places that stay warm, and are hard to itch. Tomorrow we plan to go to Canton possibly, or may take a day off, depending on how we feel. It feels good to be independent but we are both missing the team members and looking forward to next RAGBRAI. The other Marx brother was Zeppo.

Rushed 2

Now the town is named Mechanicsville, Iowa. There's a big party outside with a band and dancing in the street. That's where Laura is, I'm in the library. This ride is over tomorrow, and then we get back to the lonely riding. As usual here, I'm rushed by events. My neice Kelci is now only one win away from the National Championship in club soccer, they have to play Texas on Sunday at 7:30 am for the final game. We'll be rooting against the hicks from Texas. I will have a blog on Sunday evening that sums up the week, cause we'll be back in a motel. Adios until then.

Rushed

Ok, I beleive the town we are in is named Ogden, Iowa. Tonight we will be in Ames for the night, at the house of the daughter of our driver, Magic. The riding has been good, even if much more crowded that we are used to. The storms have been all around us, but so far have only been spit on by rain. It's a different routine, we are in a group of people and have to conform to the plan. I miss the independence of just the two of us, but the people on the team are great to spend time with. When the week is over I will be able to put on info on the week, but for now I am in a library with the town party going on a people waiting and wondering where I am. Most of all they are saying to themselves what could he possibly be doing in the library. There is a Des Moines Register here and I am going to take time to read a little anyway. Big O is waiting.

DLO

Today was spent on the road in Iowa, with at least 10,000 other bikers on RAGBRAI, the Register Advocate Great Bike Ride Across Iowa. A newspaper started the ride in 1973, and it attracts bikers from every state and probably every country also. As well as bikers, there is every kind of bike that could be invented, as well as costumes that must have been thought of by costume shops. Halloween doesn't look as good as this. We are in Harlan tonight, after riding 59 miles over a hilly route. There is a farmhouse outside of town that we are staying in tonight, all 23 members of the team we ride with. Our tent is up in the front yard, drying out from the rain they've had here. The owners let us into the house for showers, we're all cleaned up. The humidity is around 90%, the temp today must have been about 90 or so.

Many of the riders have a team bus, as do we, that carries all the tents, bags, clothing, etc. Most are old school buses, repainted with team colors and logos. It's quite a party, with each town along the way having a celebration. All involve alcohol. Then you get back on the bike and ride. The bus provides lunch and drinks, then meets us at the end of the day with all our stuff. I will describe some of the debauchery when I have time but tonight I am in an all you can eat pizza buffet restaurant, the only way I could get wireless, and am running very short on time. They are packed and want me to clear out. Plus the battery on the laptop is running out. And I don't have a camera cord to put pics on, so feel very inadequate. Tomorrow is an 85 mile day they are calling the hilliest route in recent history. I put new tires on Big O, it's running fine although without a computer which I haven't been able to change yet. Here comes the manager, I'm out.

Wild Hogs

It sounded just like the soundtrack in the movie when the Harley's took off. Laura was riding on the back of one of them, even going so far as to wear the German WW2 style helmet. A bicycle helmet would have been more appropriate, but the Harley driver, which happened to be Keith, wouldn't have it. We were at a state park west of Omaha for a night of roughing it. Most of the campsites were occupied with RV's, accompanied by boats, motorcycles, canoes, fishermen, golf carts, trailers full of more motorcycles, and every other kind of thing you can find at Camping World. The only thing rough about it was keeping enough bug spray on. They've had so much rain out here there is standing water everywhere and a west nile virus outbreak is imminent.

The park is next to the location where Major Stephen Long started his expedition up the Platte river in 1820. He eventually arrived in the area around Denver and named a mountain after himself. After turning south to find the Red River he got lost and had to eat his own horses to survive in the desert of the Texas panhandle. The steakhouse we had dinner at didn't have horsemeat, so I had a locally caught catfish. Laura rode the Harley back, her legs pedaling just from habit. Sitting around the fire we couldn't help wondering about the fireflies. There aren't any in Colorado for some reason, but out here they light up like the little sparks you see when you strike a match. We googled the question, and it turns out they are looking for mates. A horny males lights it up, and the females give their best flash if they like what they see. What happens next is up to the imagination.

We are going to cross the Missouri today and ride to Missouri Valley, Iowa, where we hope to meet our DLO bike team. We're staying with the team at a house there arranged by the team. Our tent and sleeping bags are coming from Denver. Showers may be by garden hose, as cold as the Super 8. By the end of the week we will be in the Davenport, Iowa area on the border of Illinois.

On the Farm

The dogs started barking furiously when they saw us turn into the long driveway leading up to the Ahrens house. It was a 20 mile ride through cornfields to get here from Fremont. Along the way we stopped at a fruit stand to buy a couple of peaches, which were from Missouri and couldn't compare with the Palisade peaches we get every year from Steve. Laura and I were just talking about going into the small gears for a big hill coming up when all of a sudden we noticed the sign for Rosemary Lane, which leads up the rock driveway to the house. Debbie heard the commotion and led us to the garage where we put big O to bed. Keith is a long distance trucker and happened to be out driving in western Nebraska, where we have spent the last week. It's been two years since we've been here, this being the girlhood home of Nic's friend Rachael, who now lives in Washington DC. There are pictures of a young (and beautiful) Rachael around reminding us that we will stop in to see her when we arrive on the east coast. I have been craving Mexican, so the three of us went out to lunch at Fernando's for food and margaritas. Then on to a wine tasting establishment for the rest of the afternoon.

Keith returned in time for Debbie's specialty, a delicious spaghetti dinner, and that was followed by a tequila tasting session. Tonight we are going down to Omaha to look around at some of the history and then camp out. We'll drive back tomorrow and get back on the bike to ride into Iowa for the start of RAGBRAI. Keith and Debbie have been so great-what Nebraska hospitality! The animals are fun to be around too. Laura is loving all the cats.

Looks like we are somewhat over halfway across the country now. After all the miles on Big O, about 2000, it is working perfectly. The computer is still broken, but Angletech has sent us a new one in exchange which will be delivered to us in Iowa. The tires are wearing out, which is no surprise, so we will change both in Iowa. We have had 10 or 11 flats. They seem to come in bunches, like every other bad break. We carry three extra tubes, all of which have numerous patches. When we have a flat on the road, we just put on a good tube and go, patching the puncture later where I can find a pool of water to locate the hole. I usually put as much air as I can into the tire, then CO2 the rest of the way to try to get 90lbs of pressure. If there is low air pressure the bike feels really mushy with so much weight, and it's much harder to keep up any kind of speed. Up the hills we keep about 6-9 mph, then we hit the crest and I start changing gears immediately so we can still pedal. Usually we hit 26-30mph on the way down a hill, coasting the last 2/3 of it, before starting up the next one, changing gears rapidly. I take much pleasure in resting the buns of steel on the way down.

Laura has not had any nagging issues since the back pain was resolved back in Idaho. She just pedals away, able to read, talk on the phone, check the map, mess with the I-pods, even once weaving a corn bracelet as we roll. I can feel every twitch from the back, and it messes with the steering just a little or sometimes a lot, so I hardly dare let go of the handlebars. She doesn't squirm around much, but when she does Big O squirms with her. My left knee was sore for awhile, and it makes you think that it could really ruin the trip if you can't pedal right. Overall the bike is really comfortable, and when we get to our daily destination we are not sore at all. I get off and immediately forget about my sore ass. Walking does not use my behind like pushing that bike, but sitting down sometimes feels like my weight is on the ends of a couple of two by fours. I'm not sure why, but pulling that big yellow box and the bike around challenges my cheeks. We haven't weighed the bike plus box yet, estimates are around 70lbs. As a weight loss program, I can recommend our lifestyle. I have legs like Foghorn Leghorn and six pack abs like you see on tv ads for the ab master. You could actually grate cheese on my stomach. Laura has gone to doing pushups in the morning for upper body work, I just steer for my workout. We eat like mad whenever we get a chance, usually following the meal with pie or ice cream. Salad bars are a treat when we can find them, especially the all you can eat variety.

So much for conditions on the road, as I sit here all activity is aimed at our camping excursion tonight in Omaha, so I had better wrap up. Then I can offer assistance as the others wrap up all the preparation. Probably no blog for a day or two as internet access may be a problem, and for the next week on RAGBRAI I foresee some issues also. But since this is a kind of log for the trip I'll do what I can. Oh yeah, we forgot two animals we've seen-donkeys and mules.

Dead Meat

Fremont Nebraska seems like a suburb of Omaha, so for now we've lost the small town atmosphere. We rode 50 miles today in the heat from Columbus to Fremont, and we're staged now for our visit to friends on the farm in Blair. Nebraska is a name made from the Indian words for flat water, and even though we haven't actually seen the Platte since Ogallala, we've been alongside it, and can verify that the last 100 miles are flat. With plenty of time to think on the bike, and plenty of road kill to look at, questions come to mind. Like-----that last smell, was it a raccoon, a rabbit, or a skunk? We've seen a lot of live animals also, and are trying to figure out what they could be named.

Elk,Rudolf-Deer,Bambi-Rabbit,Peter-Moose,Bullwinkle-Cat,Felix-Dog,Underdog-
Cow,Ferdinand-Horse,Mr. Ed-Sheep,Lamb Chop-Pig,Porky-Rat,Ratatouie-Squirrel,Rocky-Snake,Kaa-Skunk,Pepe la Peu-Coyote,Wile E-Chicken,Foghorn Leghorn-Bear,Yogi-Raccoon,Rocky-Duck,Daffy

As of yet we haven't figured out the names for a llama,goat,opossum,badger,turtle, or a turkey. Need some help.

I'll update bike and body performance tomorrow. It's funny how you start to feel after riding every day for hours, and what adjusts to what. Already we are a little nostalgic about crossing Nebraska now that we are on the shores of the Missouri river. It's been a great week really, with some good old fashioned farmers.

Buffalo Bill

The temperature is climbing on the bank sign, it's 75 now but forecast to get up to 92. We're sitting in the Columbus library, the only place in town that I can get internet. Most of the morning was spent trying any other wireless connection, but none worked, so I had to wait until the library opened at 10. We've got 50 miles to ride today to Fremont. The roads have been so flat and nice that the miles seem to go by pretty easy. That's why we are lingering this morning, which we may regret later today as we ride, feeling the sweat in the heat, when even the wind won't dry it off quick enough to prevent the drip, drip, drip.

Yesterday's ride was uneventful, 43 miles of corn and soybean fields. We did ride 5 miles or so with another rider on his way to RAGBRAI, who we had met the day before. He had come up from Alamagordo, NM. Arriving in Columbus, we ate at the Pickett Fence cafe, feeling like we were in an assisted living home. There are a lot of elderly/old folks in these Nebraska towns. The youngsters leave for the big cities and come back to push the wheelchairs when they visit. After lunch we headed for the B&B up the street, which was as nice as it could be. I headed for the library as usual, to look into local history, and found a mural on the wall depicting a massacre in 1720. Seems the Spanish in Sante Fe had heard that the French were encroaching on this part of their colony, and sent a military force to investigate. There were 45 Spanish soldiers, 60 Pueblo Indians and some guides. When they arrived here the Pawnees were hostile, having been provoked by the French, and after a couple of days of failed negotiation, the Pawnees attacked, along with French tri-cornered soldiers, and killed almost all of the Spanish, including the leader, Pedro de Viiiasur. The original painting of the massacre is on buffalo skins, and is now in Switzerland, but they have a mural here which is an exact copy.

Glurs Tavern is the oldest continuously operating bar west of the Missouri River. We had dinner there last night. It was burger night, so the homemade burgers were $1.50, or 1.75 for a cheeseburger. We also made it for happy hour, with the on tap beer $1.50. For $20 we spent 2 hours there and had dinner. Glurs was built when McKinley was president, in 1876. It's operated ever since as a bar, but the whorehouse on top floor closed down long ago. The hookers are gone, but you can imagine them in their hoop dresses walking the floor. Buffalo Bill Cody was a regular customer, because he spent a lot of time in this town back in the day. Now there are Nebraska Cornhusker banners and national championship ceiling tiles. The big game heads on the wall are 130 years old, there is a table 100 years old, and the floor creaks like the boards are ancient. They have standard Whirlpool refrigerators full of beer and soda. The grill is behind bar for all to see. The year Glurs was built is the same year Custer met his demise, and it feels like it.

Colorado became a state in 1876, while they were building Glurs. It's named Glurs because the second owner was Louis Glur, and it was in his family until the 1960's, when the last daughter had to sell. The train still goes by, but now it's not steam. There was a 30 year high school reunion in there last night. 30 years doesn't seem all that long when you think about Custer and the Indians. The weather had been threatening most of the afternoon, but we had no idea that when we were in Glurs it would form into black tornado formations. It wasn't easy to walk against the wind, and then the rain started. Then it intensified. Laura was scared of getting hit by lightning, I was worried about Big O. We were soaked when we got back. Big O was drenched but at least it was sill in the yard. If it was any smaller it would have blown into Iowa.

The temp is probably about 85 by now so we had better get going. Thanks again to all who read, and comment on the blog, it makes is seem like we're in touch a little and makes looking around and noticing things easier. Sharing the trip is part of the fun. Anyone reading this going on RAGBRAI, please get in touch and we will look for you in Iowa.

Silk

I was at the Sweet Shop, the one and only place open at 6am, when they opened. We wanted to beat the heat, and start early, but first you've got to feed the popcorn popper. There's a kernel of truth to the saying, I was Nebraska born, so I love corn. We looked on the menu, and saw corn grits, cornpone, cornbread, hominy, and cornmeal hotcakes. We had oatmeal, eggs, hashbrowns, and coffee, and were out of town at 7:30. Our average speed has increased a little, and we only had about 40 miles to go to Central City. Thank you Cornelia for recommending the bike, it has been smoother than corn syrup. My ass is real tender though, I have heard corn oil will help.

As soon as you leave town, cornfields begin, with grain silos, corn stalks everywhere, with tassels starting. The shoulders are nice on these roads, but the gravel feels like corn snow. A few hills and corners later, we were in St. Paul, where we stopped for a second breakfast. It was 10:30, so I ordered pancakes with strawberries, and Laura had a tuna sandwich. And coffee. Our ears were burning from sun, so we applied more sunscreen and left an hour later. It was too late to have corn chex or corn flakes, but it seemed like there was corn starch in the hotcakes.
The wind was at our backs, and we arrived in Central City at 1:30, only to find that the only motel in town was the Super 8, which brought back memories of no hot water. There was a seed of mistrust in my mind, but we had no choice. I watched the Tour de France on tv, Laura napped, no doubt dreaming of corn.

The Cornhusker cheerleaders and footall players are cornfed, and it's easy to see why. Corn is everywhere, and as we walked to dinner, I was thinking of the corny cheerleader jokes we like to tell Julie. This town is a maize, so by the time we arrived at the restaurant, I could have eaten a corn cob. The menu was a cornucopia of food choices, including Cornish Hen and corn dogs. Laura had a cornfed beef steak, which she could not eat and sent back. There was candy corn for dessert, but we went to Dairy Queen for ice cream. The dishes we ate off of were Corning ware, and the teenage clerk at the counter had corn rows in her hair. After a stop at a local tavern for corn whiskey, we walked back to the Super 8, where they have popcorn in the lobby for snacking. We passed, and plan on riding about 50 miles tomorrow to Columbus and stay in a bed and breakfast we have reserved. You don't have to be a Cornell graduate to get the theme of this, but if anyone can think of any more corn words, let me know. It can't be done.

Wolf

Nebraska highway 92 more or less rolls through the corn and soybean fields of days gone by. It's easy to imagine herds of buffalo out here, when there wasn't anything planted, just grass and hills. Once in a while there is a little town, most of them started by homesteaders that came out here for free land and a new start back in the late 1800's. Broken Bow has grown big, and so it was we had lunch at a Pizza Hut before leaving town at 1 pm. As soon as we left the outskirts we were back to corn country, and back to the feeling of blue sky and green earth, About 25 hills later, we rolled into Loup City, only 38 miles away from Broken Bow, but about 100 years behind.

Since it's Sunday, nothing in town is open,and we had to call ahead to meet the hotel owner. The streets look like all living things have left in a hurry. Everything is in perfect order, but no one is around. It's quiet, peaceful, and a little eerie at the same time. The streets are laid out in right angles, huge trees planted years ago follow the sidewalks in front of the houses. The yards are well kept, many being watered by the back and forth sprayer we used to use in the sixties. There are baseball fields next to the grain silos. The high school is on Main Street. It was built in 1917, and looks haunted. The average income for a single person is $21,000, a family $32,000. You don't need much money to live here, but like one guy told us, "I was born broke, and I'll die broke, it don't matter much to me." The park is called Jenner Park, and is at one end of the street at the east end of town. It's easy to imagine the Pawnee Indians having a pow wow and smoking a peace pipe under the massive trees, with their ponies grazing alongside. Now there is a swimming pool, a frisbee golf course, swings, teeter totters, and a slide. Where the zoo and the carnival once stood, there is only open space with plenty of shade. The leaves rustle overhead, and when you look around you see houses in the distance, most with American flags on poles outside. All the cars are American made, and the drivers wave at you. Loup City is named for a tribe of Pawnee Indians that inhabited this valley and were found by the French. Loup is the French word for wolf, which is what the tribe was called. We haven't seen a Pawnee in town yet.
The hotel we're in was built in 1912, is on the national historic register, and has been remodeled but not totally modernized. The tv's work off an antenna, the shower is plastic and has been placed over the bathtub spot, and the stairway to the second floor creaks like a rusty gate. When we arrived and talked to the owner, he mentioned that there was only one restaurant, it was 7 miles out of town, and he would take us there with his family and his mom, whom he was picking up at the nursing home. We passed, and reached a new low for dinner, eating at the Whoa and Go, a Sinclair station on the edge of town. So this is home for the night, and a nice one it is. We have seen fireflies tonight. You can hear the crickets chirp just like the Pawnees could, and there isn't a Pizza Hut in town.

Temporary

This is just a fill in to let everyone know we are still alive. I'm at a library in Arthur Neb. and they are closing and kicking me off. Lot's of adventure here, and very nice people. Look for more when I can post on the internet, maybe tomorrow. Or maybe not, we're deep in corn country.

Vacas

Uno, dos, tres. Laura had the I-pod out today, so there was mucho Spanish talk from the back as she listened to the language tapes. We had the continental breakfast at the Microtel in Brush, and left town at 8 am for the 95 mile ride to Julesburg esta dia. Dos bagels with peanut butter weren't enough, so we stopped in Sterling for food. After talking to a local, the solo place we could find was the Village Inn pancake casa. So we had brunch, and left at 11:30 for the next part of the day, which was 65 miles.

The road is flatter than the girls gymnastic team we are sending to Bejing, but even so it was hot and we had a cabeza viento. Both of us were feeling pretty used up when we arrived in Crook, about 20 miles later. There was a sign for a museo, so I turned down the camino and we looked. Crook is a one caballo town, unfortunately the horse is dead. We talked to some locals about how to get into the museum, one of which had a verde shirt on that said "stop looking at my shirt." There was a reason no one could stop looking at it, those were dos of the mas grande breasts ever made. We never did get into the museum, but we did find out that Crook is named for the famous general that chased Loco Horse all over Arizona back in the 1880's.

The next 45 miles were a blur, with no landmarks except the grain silos and negro vacas, which seemed to be everywhere. One poor cow looked like the "black sheep", but really it was the only brown vaca. Arriving in Julesburg was somewhat of a disappointment. We rode around looking for a room, or a diner, and couldn't find either. So we are out at the interstate junction, getting some real culture at the truck alto. As I write,it is raining gatos and dogs. I've got a cerveza that John and Ann Marie kindly brought, They are staying here tonight and John is riding with us to the lake. It's forty miles, we plan to leave at 7am. I am pretty sure there is no internet where we are going, so it looks like I will have blog withdrawals for the next couple of dias. Manana is another dia of riding, my butt is already sore from thinking about it. Sunburn is hard to stop, I've gone to wearing a bandana for my forehead and mucho sunscreen for the rest. My nose looks like bozo's. Adios amigos.

Headfirst

The 1st 5 pics are from Sunday leaving Denver. One is at breakfast at the golf course, the other post meal ready to leave. I do believe one pic has been mixed up with a Tour de France stage. Those riders look serious. The pic of me with the elderly ladies was my George Clooney moment. Obviously, their eyes are not all they could be. Laura has done up the back of the carryall with some art. Last but not least, I decided rather than call the divorce lawyer I would just plow into a hay bale.

The window air conditioner was so noisy I had to get up in the middle of the night to stop the madness, but then we could hear the eighteen wheelers roaring by on I-70. We were only half asleep when the I-phone went off at 6:30 and started our day. We've determined it's best to leave as early as possible to avoid the thunderstorms that seem to come every afternoon. As I walked into the breakfast diner 6,yes 6, twentysomethings climbed out of their car after sleeping in it for the night. They stretched and told us they felt like circus performers that did the unfolding trick from the little box.

We were on the road at 8:30 after getting a lunch we could carry, which was snack bar, apples, a banana, and beef jerky. There isn't much east of Byers except prarie, with rolling hills. The town of Last Chance is 30 miles away, nothing but a church and an intersection, so we blew through and turned north on our way to Brush. There's a spot they've named Woodrow, for the president. Not a speck of wood around, just hay and some corn. Forty five miles later we were in Brush, at 2:30. The computer is fubar again, but otherwise the bike is great. Laura feels great, my ass hurts again. These cheeks just aren't used to being abused like this.

Brush is named for a cattle baron, nothing more interesting than that. I went to the library to check. It's a nice little town, very pretty with trees and lawns and flowers all over. We had dinner at a diner with mexican food owned by a fellow from Detroit that is trying to buy up alot of the town. Tomorrow it's on to Julesburg, 85 miles away. It is nice to hear of and from all the people who will meet us at the Kite ranch. Bonecrusher, don't let that Harley break anything else.

Willie

On the road again, just can't wait to get on the road again. We actually left our place downtown on Sat. night, spent the night at Lisa and Chris' house, then woke up to a beautiful morning and left for breakfast at Saddle Rock golf course before riding out of town. John, Ann Marie, and Ian, along with the Williams family and Doug ate with us. Lisa, Doug, John and the two of us rode out of town at 10am, heading east on Quincy for parts unknown.

Goin' places that I've never been. We got lost once using Larry directions, and after asking a farmer we turned around and made for Byers. The bike computer is down once more, so I'm relying on reports from the others that we made about 44 miles or so today. Big O was like the mother ship part of the way and we made good time in a caravan, with only one flat tire, mercifully not on the big orange machine.

Seein' things I may never see again. We stopped in Strasburg for ice cream at about 1:30, and had malts and sundaes and one of us had a banana split, just for the health benefits. I have to get my potassium. The maitre'd/waiter at the diner wanted to get Laura and my autogtaph on an article that came out in the Denver Post today that mentioned our ride. It's in section A, page 19, if anyone can get on line or otherwise find it. Our 15 minutes of fame. I felt kind of like George Clooney when I signed that paper. Brian the waiter was kind enough to put it up on the wall for future visitors, like they did the declaration of independence at the National Archives.

Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway. Dinner was at the Longhorn Motel in Byers, where most people had fried chicken and mashed potatoes. The salad bar was about the size of a small desk, and there's a sign on the wall that says No Dancing on the Tables with Spurs. It was nice to dine with friends, and after dinner the other riders left with Anne Marie, who picked them up for a trip back to Denver. Now we are on our own until Wed, when we reach Ogallala and the lake for a party.

Just can't wait to get on the road again. It's been a long wait, but seems a little like we're on the road again with the room bringing back memories of the first part of the trip. I can't put any pics on tonight because I'm on the motel owner's computer, who by the way is Korean, and has a Korean keyboard which is throwing me off. Thanks to all who are following us along, we go to Brush tomorrow which is about 80 miles of prarie away. I'll do pics tomorrow if possible. The semi trucks idling in the parking lot are noisy, I've got to go to bed. Willie Nelson might be in one of those big RV's out there.