Travels through Another Oz

Thursday, July13 and Friday, July14. Ashkum IL to Farmer City to Springfield, IL.

The last two days of riding have been remarkably similar--same mileage (about 65 miles), same state, same state highway, same corn, same headwind. Same temps--our first really hot days since riding in Georgia. I noticed the reading on the bank's marquee read 72 on Thursday morning around 9:00am, and today we passed an LCD reading of 72 at about 8:30am. The highs for each day were in the 90's, but this is the Midwest. July in Georgia means hot and humid; here in Illinois they may think it's humid but a) there's a breeze and b) it's a cool breeze. We stayed pretty comfortable, especially since we were riding pretty flat terrain and had some fair cloud cover for most of the day.

Riding in these conditions has a sort of hypnotic effect. I look at the cornfields and remember talking with Gerry at the Ashkum Park while we waited for my clothes to dry. He told me about the sex life of corn. For the record, here's the story: the corn tassel at the top of the stalk fertilizes the corn's silk, each strand a slender tube that when fertilized, creates a single kernel.

The flatness of the road and the decided lack of traffic makes it easy to think about small, unimportant and ridiculous things. At one point I was thinking that I was in Kansas. Suddenly, I've become Dorothy (which makes Matthew the Tin Man, the Lion and the Scarecrow) and we're fleeing from the wicked witch through the cornfields. She has sent her costumed monkeys after us, now re-incarnated into Japanese beetles. They are relentlessly hurling themselves at us as we pass through the countryside, sometimes sticking to our clothing and occasionally finding their way into our helmets. More than one slammed into the metal housing of Matthew's bike bell, sounding it's own death knell. Through the haze of the heat (or heatstroke?), I can see the grand spires of Emerald City (turns out it's the grain silos of Farmer City). OK, so maybe the heat in the Midwest is more intense than originally rated. . .

Lunch stops on Rt. 54 turn out to be the only games in each town, the Downtown Cafe in Gibson City and The Lite Co. in Mt. Pulaski. Even if we weren't wearing spandex and sporting helmet hair, we'd stand out because no one knows us. These towns have populations of 200 to 700, and that means that everyone can be accounted for. At the downtown cafe, John can ask the cook to save him the last of the lunch specials. He's having a Coke and a smoke with a couple of townsmen, but his lunch "dates" don't arrive for another 20 minutes. At The Lite Co., there's a game of gin going at one table; different players come and go according to their schedule. In each of these places,though, we're drawn into the conversation, peppered with questions, and then showered with wishes for good luck and safe travels.

Our stop on Thursday, Farmer City, turned out to be a sleepy little hamlet, but our hotel was near the only hubbub in town. At the truck stop next to the hotel, we found a c-store, Quiznos sub shop, showers and laundry facilities. As I sat with our laundry, an older man came in and we struck up a conversation. I was struck by the contrast to my meeting the previous night with Gerry and Vicky. Gerry had spent his 80 years in Ashkum, IL, while this man has been a long-distance trucker for 33 years. Gerry gave me a tour of his daylilies and hostas, the trucker and his wife had sold their home and were now in a townhouse in Odessa, TX. While Gerry and Vicky's children and grandchildren visit often, the trucker complained that most of his children weren't talking to him because he'd sold the family home (and, he contended, because they didn't get anything out of it). Gerry and Vicky live a peaceful and quiet life; the trucker still seemed to have a lot of stress in his life. I would guess that Gerry's got about 20 years on the trucker--maybe mellower times are waiting.

Once we got settled back into our hotel room Thursday night, the power suddenly went out. And not just the hotel power, either. I looked out the window and could see that the lights from the truck stop were out as well. The only light to be seen was lightning from the storm, lighting up the horizon. Power was restored within a few minutes, though, and about 30 minutes later the rain started. I had left my bike under the awning in front of our room, but the wind was driving the rain into the building so we quickly pulled my bike and trailer into the room. Since we wanted to get an early start in the morning, we packed it in for the night and fell asleep with serenade of the falling rain.

In the morning, we met John and Joan Odgen, who are moving from Maryland to the Salt Lake Valley. We talked about travels (theirs and ours), and about the Tour de France. Joan was actually following the American riders in the tour--she was rooting for Levi Leipheimer and George Hincapie, but hadn't been following Floyd Landis--who today is wearing the yellow jersey!

Tonight we're expecting another thunderstorm, and are comfortably ensconced in comfy hotel digs in Springfield, IL. Tomorrow's ride will take us to Carlinville, and I'm hoping for another day just like these last two. I've got a lot of day-dreaming to catch up on.