Saturday, September 17, 2011

A Flittering Fickle Fellow

September 15: I had gone to sleep the previous evening thinking I would head towards Exira. By this morning my mind had changed like a TV channel, pondering the twenty five miles and deciding four less to Hamlin would be the better way to go. Nine miles upon Highway 44 towards Guthrie Center and I came upon the turn for N-56 and Adair, only twelve miles away. Consulting my map, I realized I was so close to Iowa road bingo I obviously couldn't turn down a chance to travel N-56 and G-30. Therefore I headed south instead of spending a mundane day on just one road.
The longer I spend out here on my own the more prone I've become to making these sorts of split second decisions concerning my fate. There is something appealing about giving the wheel of destiny a spin and seeing where you end up and what is there. Adair was tabula rasa and I was prepared to be a piece of chalk.
The trek was definitely not a feast for the senses, unless you like the odor of poultry carcasses. The death trucks passed by with frequency and dull farmland mixed in with the fetid stench brought little joy to my heart. Rolling hills meant the going was by no means easy. I want to reiterate that whoever said Iowa is flat is a dirty, dirty liar.
I did make some sort of headway through it all, crossing the Mississippi and Missouri Divide. Now when I pee on the side of the highway the urine will drain to the Missouri River instead of the Mississippi. Information I am sure you were dying to know.
As I crested another rise late in the afternoon I got a glimpse of Adair. A yellow water tower with a smiley face painted on stood surrounded by huge windmills, their giant arms like a rotating Mercedes-Benz insignia. Were they beckoning me home? As I reached I-80 and saw the sign for Omaha, 86 miles, I thought, maybe so.

2o miles/1696 total miles

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