No Cars, I Prefer Bars

September 5: For those of you down in my home of South Carolina, the following statement might be hard to believe right now. Last night was frigid. Temperatures fell down into the forties and a heavy dew combined with an unused tent fly meant water reached the inside of my shelter, making me crawl even deeper into the recesses of my sleeping bag as I impatiently awaited the return of the sun. As soon as a smidgen of orange indicated the star's coming I rose and got moving.
Passing through Conrad less than an hour later I encountered a phenomenon I have seen on many occasions now. I ran into a man named Steve and told him about my walk. He then offered me a ride. I've had this happen so many times now paranoia has started to creep into my mind. Are people trying to test me? Am I being followed by someone who doesn't feel I am sincere? Does anyone understand the words that are coming out of my mouth when I say I am walking?
I was sluggish for most of the day's journey. Two straight nights with little sleep and some long hikes had caught up with me. Somehow I maintained enough forward momentum to log eighteen miles and reach Albion. I did have a motivating factor: Craig and Connie, who I had met at the Reinbeck Brewery (Trevor's stepfather and mother) lived in nearby Marshalltown and had promised to host me for the evening.
They picked me up in Albion at four and took me back to their home, where Craig has set up a bar focused on highlighting his brewing skills. He allowed me to sample his latest creations: a lager, a black lager, and a wheat beer. The black lager, reminiscent of Samuel Adams, was my favorite. Craig has been at the art for a mere ten years, but his batches could easily be switched out with some of the finest microbrews in America and no one would be the wiser.
Connie helped cook a scruptious meal of chicken, potatoes, and sweet corn while also cleaning my dirty clothes. She entertained me with stories of Trevor and her other children too raw to be retold in this kid-friendly format. You're just not ready yet, trust me. Or I don't remember them, whatever.
I'm not exactly Bob Vila, so I'll keep this short, but I was very impressed by their beautiful custom-designed home, especially the bathroom. I couldn't figure out how to turn off the light. Finally I realized there was a high skylight. I gave up, realizing that if I had the power to turn off the sun I probably would have done so sometime during the middle of July.

18 miles/1547 total miles

Plaguing Central Iowa

September 4: I woke to the greasy aroma of bacon, always a great way to revive in the morning, preferable to smelling salts for certain. Trevor and Teeni cooked me and their four children a delicious breakfast of bacon, eggs, and cheese. During the meal we discussed some hot button topics in Iowa farming: subsidies, free-range vs. confinement, and the end of small farming amid the domination of massive agro-businesses like ADM and Monsanto. The couple wants their family to be able to eat natural and healthy local grown foods, but their goal is becoming harder to attain, even in an agricultural state like Iowa.
Our meal was not without some physical comedy, with the four kids showing off their ability to repeatedly injure themselves. Buster Keaton may be deceased, but his legacy lives still.
With my brain and stomach full I said goodbye. I left Highway 175, the first paved highway in the Iowa Territory, joining the Pioneer Trail thru Morrison and on to Grundy Center. I chose not to go to Dike, knowing we just aren't compatible.
As I went locusts hopped around me like numbers in a Powerball drawing. I reveled in their company for a bit, but was glad to see them finally go as I approached Grundy. Carrying a biblical plague in your wake is hardly the way to make a great first impression on the locals.
Either way Solomon Grundy is mad, so is Mike Gundy. Who is angrier? Watch the videos and decide in our interactive poll. Grundy Center itself was perfectly nice, I ate at the Pizza Hut there, visited the Dollar General, and left town.
Eleven more miles took me to Beaman, whose motto, "You're not dreamin' you're in Beaman," sounds as if it was stolen from one of the later "Nightmare on Elm Street" movies. I would have preferred "another Beaman Coke please."
Unfortunately, Beaman, which had been my intended target for the day, did not seem to have a good park to stay in or any actual residents to speak with about lodging. The only restaurant was closed, the owners on vacation.
Still having some energy, I kept the wheels turning towards Conrad, just three miles westward. A walking path called the Comet Trail connects the two villages and I had traversed half the distance before fatigue slapped me down like a Rick James palm to the face. I could go no further - a conveniently placed strip of grass along the trail became my home for the evening. I planted the tent and my butt down there and shortly was asleep.

23 miles/1529 total miles

The Mirage

September 3: My sudden decision to halt early at the HoJo turned out to be fortuitous. Thunder, rain, and wind struck ferociously in the early morning hours. Instead of being kept awake as I would have in the tent I fell right back into slumber.
I would not, however, avoid getting wet on the day's walk. I was beset throughout the eighteen miles by a steady sprinkle and sometimes more. I was miserable, but on the upside a desire not to stop in those conditions drove me to Reinbeck early in the afternoon.
I went into town merely to grab grub and escape the weather. As I turned onto Broad Street my eyes found a sight my brain would not believe. Sure I had seen a mirage I wandered in a befuddled state around the business district, which took all of about three minutes. Suddenly I stood in front of the mirage once more. There staring back at me with a come-hither look was the Broad Street Brewery. I went inside.
What I found there was equally amazing. The owner, Trevor, a young father of four was trying his hand at the micro-brewing game. He had just opened the place on Independence Day of this year. Did he hear the voices? If you brew it they will come....
Craig, Trevor's stepfather, had helped manufacture the rye and sorghum beers on tap (the sorghum is for Coeliacs) and was working on an ale for Oktoberfest. Teeni, Trevor's wife, is a substance abuse counselor who helps out on weekends in order to build up her clientele. Connie, Trevor's mother, showed up later to lend a hand. Connie and Craig promised to put me up in Marshalltown where they live.
I felt at home immediately and the delicious rye beer certainly didn't hurt. A brigade of interesting people trooped in and out the door while I sat and enjoyed their company. I exchanged toasts with a pastor, the mother of a NHL prospect, a baker/musician (Dan, who along with his wife Meggan we may see in a later episode), and a descendant of Quanah Parker, the famous Comanche leader, just to name a few. All had great stories to tell, which, along with the great music provided by DJ Trevor, made for an unforgettable evening.
Everyone was gung ho about my journey - a music festival the next day, Jackfest, had in fact been organized to benefit the Wounded Warrior Project. Most, therefore, were already familiar with the charity. Not since I stumbled into Wildcat Hollow in June had I met such an eclectic group.
I am so thankful to Trevor and Teeni, who offered me a place to sleep for the evening, allowing me the luxury of staying at the brewery. This oasis is real and if you're ever in the area I suggest you go out of your way to find it.

Check out the Broad Street Brewery's site at broadstreetbrewing.com
18 miles/1506 total miles

Skip Through Waterloo

September 2: I'm not really a color inside the lines sort of person. Confining myself to the rigid structure of the American Discovery Trail turn-by-turn (the godlike manual which determines my route) has been hard in the past.
Those of you following the journey via atlas may have noticed that lately I seem to be heading on a line more consistent with the North Pole than San Francisco. I enjoyed the Cedar Valley Nature Trail the last few days, but now we have parted and the moment has come to head towards the Pacific once more. Therefore I am skipping the scheduled jaunt into Cedar Falls, the far northern reach of the ADT, and cutting across Waterloo before turning back to the southwest.
From my morning base in Evansdale I had only three miles to Waterloo. A thunderstorm shortly before dawn got me going extra early. By eight thirty I was in the center of the city named after the battle which ended the Napoleonic nightmare in Europe. Never again would a short man curse his inadequacy and slash out angrily at the rest of the world in compensation.
Waterloo has a population of 68,000, many of whom work for John Deere. Their corporate offices may be located in Moline, but the tractor the company is known for is made here. So is Wonder Bread and other Hostess delicacies. Hogs are sent to their delicious fate within the city's boundaries. Waterloo is missing an opportunity here - there should be a chapel where you can come give thanks to the pigs for their gift of crispy bacon and sausages.
The United States Wrestling Hall-of-Fame is also located in the heart of downtown. Iowa is a natural spot for the museum as the two main state colleges have won 57 of the last 56 national championships. Those numbers may seem to be statistically misleading, but they just go to show how dominating the Iowa boys have been.
My favorite part of the day as an amateur history dork was seeing the monuments to the Sullivan brothers. For those of you who don't know there were five (seen above) and they all joined the Navy together during the second great war, insisting when they signed on that they be able to serve together. For such a haul of recruits the rules were waived and the boys ended up on the USS Juneau.
In 1942 at the battle of Guadalcanal the ship was sunk by a Japanese submarine. None of the lads survived, one of the great Shakespearian tragedies of the World War II. Whether their girlfriends back home threw themselves off balconies after delivering a long soliloquy is unknown.
I left Waterloo's main streets and headed southwest towards my intended goal of Hudson. A Howard Johnson's intervened along the way. I heard the siren song of fresh laundry and a shower, neither of which I have had for some days. The feet were exhausted and in need of a break, rain was scheduled for much of the rest of the afternoon. I gave into temptation.

8 miles/1488 total miles

Iowa Uncovered

September 1: Many of my friends I have talked to lately think they know Iowa. Flat, boring, full of nothing but corn are descriptions I have heard thus far. Cousin Al even told me Iowas stands for "idiots out wandering around." As a self-proclaimed wandering idiot his statement hit close to home. I feel honor-bound to defend the state against such filth.
First off, Iowa is not flat. There a quite a few rolling hills particularly near the rivers. Compared to Indiana these might as well be the Himalayas. Hoosier roads allowed me to see for an eternity into the distance. Here there is an occasional sense of anticipation for what might be around the bend.
I have rarely been bored by the scenery here either. Sure there is a lot of corn, but the picture of a treeless plain I have been painted is inaccurate. There are forests, prairies, and rivers to spice up the surroundings. The Cedar Valley Nature Trail follows the eponymous waterway on occasion and the views have been outstanding.
Wild life is also common. I've been told foxes, coyotes, deer, and raccoons are everywhere. Some even claim to have seen panthers, but they may have just spotted the Northern Iowa mascot after a few too many pints.
There are otters too as I discovered when I came upon a family of the critters frolicking playfully in a creek. Of course, they just may have been swimming frantically to escape the encroaching human. Animal behaviors can befuddle the inexperienced naturalist.
There is, however, still much to see of Iowa. I served the last of my time on the CVNT today, reaching Evansdale. I would hate to pass judgment on a state too soon. You're doing well so far Iowa, try not to (expletive deleted) it up.

21 kilometers/2382 total kilometers

Foiled Again

August 31: The free place in Urbana sort of worked out. If you don't mind being rousted in the middle of the night by the police. A local cop, the second to run my license for warrants in Iowa thus far, had been called out by a concerned citizen who thought a drunk was sleeping at the pavilion. In their defense, my stumbling end of the day gait could easily be confused with intoxication.
On a positive note, I ended up befriending the officer and he called ahead to my next two counties so I will not be bothered again for a few days at least.
I fell back into a fitful sleep then rose early with another twenty mile day ahead. The trail kept me entertained with some interesting signs. Tractor crossings, for example seemed a bit out of place on a hiking/biking path. One would have to be both blind and deaf to not hear or see them coming. The loud growl of a John Deere will hardly be confused with the soft purr of a Porsche 911 and the former has rarely been used as a drag racer outside of county fairs.
Cow crossings caused me to daydream about being stuck at one. I'd feel like a driver waiting for a train to pass as Molly and the girls were lazily herded onto new pasture.
Neither earth-shaking event materialized and in ten miles I hit Brandon. That's the name of a town so don't worry about an assault and battery charge. There were two restaurants to choose from and sadly Phat Albert's wasn't open yet so I visited the Homestyle Cafe. Inside I dined on braut and kraut and chatted with the locals, learning about celebrities such as President HW Bush, Loretta Lynn, and Roz from "Night Court" who had once stopped by the cafe. I also discovered the Nature Trail's bridge over the Cedar River was currently functioning more as a jetty.
As a result, I was forced to take back roads to reach another span. Yet again I will fail to complete every step of one of the major trails within the ADT. Here is the tragic history to date:
1) C&O Canal: left at mile 168 of 184 to head into West Virginia.
2) North Bend: exited with one mile to go. Seriously.
3) Buckeye Trail: got off that disaster ASAP.
4) Cardinal Greenway: hopped on in the middle.
5) I&M Canal: gun shots forced a detour to Starved Rock.
6) Hennepin Canal: started just a mile and a half into trail.
The second half of the day was oppressively hot out on the open road. I never saw a sign for McFarlane Park, my original intended destination, so I continued on to LaPorte. In town I found a small park which looked to be a good place to crash. I interrogated the natives at the Getaway Bar and Grill to see if I would be okay there. They said yes. I'm not holding my breath.

21 miles/1467 total miles

Ragbrai and I Survive

August 30: Thursday is named after the Norwegian deity Thor, the God of kicking ass. Tuesday must have been named for the Iowa rain God because the clouds seem to darken that day of the week consistently of late. Having seen the doom and gloom forecast in the morning I was well-prepared. I rigged my poncho to cover the pack in addition to myself, preventing another soaking of my gear.
Despite the precipitation a good deal of forward progress was made today. I had gone thirteen miles already before the weather soured. Once the rain started I sheltered at the Center Point museum until there was a break.
Only thirty minutes later another band of showers struck and I was forced into seclusion under the Highway 380 underpass. A fellow hobo had been there recently and had marked his territory. The stench combined with the rain water slowly entering the culvert convinced me not to dally further. Less than a mile on I found a less noxious shelter on a roofed bench where I delayed another hour until only a drizzle still fell.
I finished the last bit of trail to Urbana late in the afternoon. I've noticed a penchant in this part of the Midwest for naming towns by taking a word and adding an "a" to the end. Tonica, Colona, Urbana, and Vagina are just some recent examples I have come across of late.
Moving on...I've noticed Iowans have a great love for bicycling. The many trails, including the Cedar Valley Nature Trail I'm currently frolicking about upon prove their ardor.
The greatest expression of their love, however, is a yearly ride around the state known as Ragbrai, which traverses Hawkeyeland, visiting different hamlets and villages along the way each year. I learned from one source how the event always takes place during the hottest week of the year, meaning the ride was going on while I was broiling on Indiana pavement around July 20th.
I also discovered that some Ragbrai bikers train year-round, often sleeping at town pavilions. Therefore, I could do so as well without being bothered. A free place to stay is as good as gold right now. Well, maybe not gold, I could probably use that to pay for a motel room.

19 miles/1446 total miles