Act One Comes to a Close

Today is D-Day, or David day. My uncle David, along with his son and my cousin, David Jr have come to sweep me off my feet. A group of seven of us is heading up to Canada for a six day fishing excursion. The two units of transportation known as my legs tell me this break is long-awaited and well-deserved, but they are kind of whiny.
Before I could be extracted I had to finish up a leisurely stroll from Marion to Sweetser. The plan was to complete the Greenway and move on country roads, then finish on the Sweetser Trail, which, not surprisingly, runs through the town of Sweetser, our rendezvous point.
Soon after meeting my first Puerto Rican transvestite of the journey I ran into a friendly fellow who notified me that the Greenway and Sweetser Trails were now connected. His timely advice saved me a couple of miles. Serendipity strikes again.
As a result, I stayed on the safer bike trails, soon running into Frank (picture), a former firefighter who helps maintain the Sweetser Trail. He told me things were looking bright for Sweetser thanks to the increased demand for ethanol. A facility located within sight of the Cardinal Greenway turns corn into the clean-burning fuel.
Frank and his friend P.T., who I met later on, both gave road money to help the cause as well. We split up in Sweetser and here I sit, awaiting my uncle. Hopefully this D-day is also a success - and with less casualties.

P.S.: Picked up and off trail until July 19. Sounds like a great chance to catch up on old episodes. See you soon!

5 miles/982 total miles

Waiting For the Bell to Ring

I woke this morning to the sound of Carol calling me to breakfast. She had snuck into the church and cooked me a feast while I slumbered.
As I masticated the tasty repast, Carol told me about the region. There had been a huge gas boom here, starting in 1887. Huge pockets of natural gas were found and the supply was predicted to last forever. Boomtowns such as Gas City and Gaston grew out of the sudden population influx which followed the discovery. Poor technology and wasteful use meant the estimations of an unlimited supply were off by whatever forever minus twenty equals. By 1907 the wells were dry, the bonanza was over and the companies left. Today the area surrounding Matthews is mostly used for agriculture.
Before I set out we visited the Cumberland Bridge, the last remaining covered bridge in the county. Such limited variety doesn't stop Grant County from throwing a covered bridge festival every year. Unfortunately, I missed the once and future Garfield statue which decorated the east side of the span. The image of the cartoon feline, whose creator Jim Davis is from the county, is currently undergoing repairs after having his leg peed on by Odie or something.
Once underway I resumed road walking on the Wheeling Pike. The highway here at least had the decency to curve allowing me to temporarily maintain the delusion that there was something besides corn and soybean fields around the next bend. There wasn't.
Ten miles of the Pike led to Jonesboro and the resumption of the Cardinal Greenway, which I took for the remainder of the day to Marion. The bottom of my shoes have grown paper thin and the resulting discomfort led me to believe the end was near for this pair, which has accompanied me since I left the Atlantic shore.
Luckily for me, Carol had seen the treads last night and promised to remedy the problem. She picked me up from my end point in Marion and took me to the mall, where she purchased some comfy running shoes for my use. I also learned on our short trip that she is an amazing singer. I wish I could spend longer finding the pearls within the oysters I meet.
Nine hundred and seventy seven miles into my trip the unique and generous people I meet continue to inspire me. Not what you would expect if you watch the murder and mayhem constantly on display by today's American media. Maybe folks like Carol are the ones we should be showing on television.

16 miles/977 total miles

Dog Daze

July 5: The miles have started to add up to pain. I easily finished the first part of today's journey on the Cardinal Greenway, but where the bike path ended, my troubles started.
Due to reasons I have been unable to ascertain thus far, the Greenway ends temporarily in Gaston and picks up once more fifteen miles later in Jonesboro. So too came the end of shade and an introduction to the brutal boredom of an Indiana country road. My energy level further dipped after a couple of miles - I could see straight ahead on in to eternity and there were no trees and no sign of Matthews, my destination for the evening.
As usual, just when I am at my lowest, something totally unexpected happened. A lone woman pulled over and handed me three Gatorade freezer pops. The treats cooled me down and revitalized my flagging spirits. In a matter of moments I could see the blinking red light indicating Matthews was ahead in the distance. I was still two miles away with these freaking Indiana roads, of course, but seeing the finish line put a glide back in my stride.
Once in Matthews my plan was simple - find the Methodists. At Epworth Church I did just that, bumbling into the middle of a meeting. Pastor Jan came outside to talk with me and after hearing about my walk, suggested I take shelter within the church for the night.
Congregation member Carol, whose husband Ken is a survivor of brain cancer caused by the Agent Orange he was doused with in Vietnam, was gung ho about my mission and brought over the largest air mattress I have ever seen. With two days to go until my long awaited break things are looking up again. I'm slowly understanding the appeal of roller coasters.

14 miles/961 total miles

Mac Attacks the MAC

July 4: Happy two hundred and thirty fifth birthday America. You don't look a day over two hundred. I kid, seriously, please don't send nuclear weapons towards my hotel, twas merely a joke.
If you hit me now you would be destroying Muncie, Indiana, which was not named after San Diego Charger running back Chuck Muncie, but rather the Munsee Indians. Munsee means Wolf Clan in English for those of you trying to learn a fifteenth language. Sitting on the White River Muncie is, like Oxford, a university town, home to Ball State University. Dave Letterman claims to have matriculated there, but I don't trust anyone who is too rich to get their teeth fixed.
The Ball brothers (I'm pretty sure there were two of them) made a fortune in glass manufacturing, not tea bags as I had previously surmised. They endowed a teacher's college, inspiring the playwright George Bernard Shaw to quip, "those who can't, go to Ball State." What an ass hole that guy was.
The school became an accredited university in 1965 and plays with the Miami not known as The U in the MAC, which stands for Mostly Awful Conference. Their most famous athlete is Bonzi Wells, a prolific scorer for the Portland Jail Blazers during the late 1990s.
I unfairly poke fun at the MAC, whose twelve schools can each boast at least one great professional sportsman.
Miami,Ohio: Ben Roethlisberger, two-time Super Bowl Champion
Ball State: Bonzi Wells
Bowling Green: Antonio Daniels, one NBA title
Eastern Michigan: Earl "Mary Chestnut" Boykins, the shortest player ever to do something or other
Central Michigan: Chris Kaman, the tallest player to do the very same thing
Western Michigan: Greg Jennings, current Super Bowl Champion
Akron: Jason Taylor, although I should have said Charlie Frye, he would have been amazing if he had not been drafted by the Browns
Kent State: Antonio Gates, possibly the best tight end in NFL history
Ohio: Mike Schmidt, member of the 500 home run club before the steroid era
Toledo: Bruce Gradkowski, okay maybe not all of those are superb players
Northern Illinois: Michael Turner
Buffalo: Maybe not all twelve.
If you are wondering, I did indeed hike today. I traveled from Losantville to Muncie, covering eighteen miles for a total of 947. It has been two weeks since I took a day off and I am beginning to experience some fatigue as a result. I would really like to reach the one thousand mile mark before my week long break begins on the eighth. Will my body cooperate? Stay tuned to find out.

Among the Ant People

FNRA members Steve (who joined Mike and I at lunch yesterday) and John picked me up in the morning and took me to IHOP for a big breakfast. After some great conversation involving dart and knife wounds, they left me on my own again to navigate the Cardinal Greenway running northwest from Richmond.
The day was long and hot, there is very little to report otherwise. I did capture a couple of Amish souls on my photograph machine, but that is neither here nor there.
Obtaining water was my main obstacle on this bit of trail. There were no towns worth mentioning to hit up for some liquid satisfaction. Despite having kept many of the W signs indicating water for the old trains, they failed to have any water for the current people. The first water fountain was in Losantville, twenty miles into my haul.
Losantville, the birthplace of Wilbur Wright, is also where I spent the night. The village is pronounced Los-ant-ville, Spanglish for the ant town. Cincy was originally named Losantville before someone decided that was a terrible name. The people of Losantville weren't so impressed with it either - changing their town's name to Bronson for some years until the release of "Death Wish 4" led them to return to the old standby, Losantville.
As far as shelter, my old friends the Methodists came through for me once again, on this occasion in the form of Roger, who approached me on the church steps and invited me to camp on his lawn. Roger is the patriarch of four generations living in three adjacent houses. He doesn't need Facebook to keep up with his family. I was invited to share in their Independence Day weekend celebrations. After a lovely supper and an attempt to shoot out both of my eyes with a sparkler I called it a night.

21 miles/929 total miles

Thanks to all my recent donors and sponsors:
Dawn Crone
Sherrie Dwyer
Gwen Harmon
Michael Jaye
Scott and Rhonda Mough
Dick Norwood
Mike Vernon
Rob and Kimmy Wilson
FNRA Steve
Dan in Mariemont

An Alliance is Formed

July 2: As I threatened yesterday, I quickly made my way out of Ohio early this morning. Or maybe I didn't. Three miles into the journey I came upon State Line Road. Which side of the border I stood on was a mystery. As a result, I spent the next five miles in limbo before taking a left turn which definitively put me in the Hoosier State. I spent the next few minutes on the side of the highway jamming out to "Escape From Ohio" by Electric Six.
Things are certainly looking up for me in Indiana. Thanks to the tireless efforts of Dawn I have formed an alliance with Friends of the NRA or FRNA as I will refer to them from now on because I am now the laziest man ever to complete a long distance walk of 900 miles (a mark I passed later in the day). Dawn's husband John is a state representative within the organization.
I know it seems strange for a man who has never fired a gun to team up with the FNRA, but that is the beauty of the Wounded Warrior Project and why I am so glad to be representing them. The WWP brings Americans of all persuasions together in common cause. Among their biggest supporters are conservative pundit Bill O'Reilly and liberal cartoonist Gary Trudeau. George W. Bush participated in a charity bike event for the WWP earlier this year. Jon Stewart payed a personal visit to Ken during his convalescence at Walter Reed. I think you see my point.
My FNRA contact for the day was Mike Vernon, who picked me up when I reached Richmond and took me to lunch, along with a fellow member, Steve. Mike dropped me back on the trail later, picked me up upon completion of the days hike, took me to replenish my food stores, bought me supper, and purchased me a hotel room for the night. All from a man who works sixty hours or so on week (plus many more on his farm) and by all rights shouldn't have the time to help someone like me. Clearly I've met some good people who are enthusiastic about my quest.
As far as the hike, I have reached the area north of Richmond, Indiana. Richmond was once home to Gennett Recording Studio, the ruins of which I passed by on the walk. Jelly Roll Morton, Louis Armstrong, Bix Beiderbecke and many others made some of their best records here and the studio is considered by many to be the place where modern jazz music was born.
I will spend the next days on the Cardinal Greenway, which stretches all the way to Marion, Indiana (I catch it in the middle, the starting point is Indianapolis). The Greenway is a rail trail, formed on the site of an old CSX line known as the Chesapeake and Ohio. Just like old times, back on the C&O - I'm expecting Swagman to round the next bend in front of me at any moment. He may not show, but I'm very pleased to have a another new group of friends along for the ride.

20 miles/908 total miles

Thanks to my new friends in Ohio:
Michael and Sabina Koehler and the rest of their family and friends met at Wildcat Hollow
Mike and Connie
Dave and Betty Jarvis
Tom and Jan
Harold and the rest of the crew at Dilly Deli
Gwen Harmon
Debora Jones
Tom Barnet

The Pawn Advances

I flowed between archaic spans today, passing by the Black Covered Bridge in Oxford (see picture) early in the morning and finishing just beyond the Harshman Covered Bridge in the late afternoon. In the interim I spent more time on the phone than I had all trip, a welcome escape from the lonely drudgery of the road. I placed the most important call myself, to my mother, who is celebrating her thirty ninth birthday. She was very young when I was born, tis true.
Later on the phone nearly got me killed when I absent-mindedly wandered from my seat on the safety railing and dropped my cel on the highway mid-conversation. Morpheus would have been impressed by how quickly I retrieved the phone from the ground, avoiding the death blow of a large truck by mere milliseconds. Sadly, that brings my longest streak of not trying to die to an end at twenty five days.
The highlight of the trek was running into my first long distance biker, a young man named Sam. He is currently riding a loop from Texas to New York and then down the Atlantic Coast and over to Texas again in order to support cancer research. For some reason he seems to cover miles faster than me. There should be some actual action on his blog - the hare always gets more chicks than the tortoise. Not that I am trying to get chicks.
Shortly after meeting Sam I encountered my daily history lesson in Fairhaven, Ohio. I have discussed canals, highways, and railroads in detail over the past two months, but have said little about the old turnpikes. The Bunker Hill House in Fairhaven was once an important stop on those nineteenth century roads as well as a more hidden byway, the Underground Railroad. Gabe Smith, a free black resident there, used the servants' quarters to help ferry escaped slaves up and down nearby Four Mile Creek.
The Underground Railroad was no longer necessary after the Civil War and neither was the Bunker Hill House. The above ground railroad and its powerful steam engines made the turnpike obsolete and without the road to bring commerce the way station faded into obscurity.
The day ended peacefully at the Concord Church along the Ohio and Indiana border. There is a family reunion going on here this weekend and they were so kind as to give me a nice meal with plenty of fruit to prevent the scurvy.
The wise Mongo once said "Mongo only pawn in game of life." Well this pawn has made it to the end of what seems in retrospect a very large state. I have only one thing to say to Ohio now. Checkmate (long string of expletives deleted)!

15 miles/888 total miles