2010 Tour Intro

6-2010 So Jim and I are at it again. Our tandem is primed and ready to go and we are departing for our Heartland tour. We will leave from CO and travel through the Midwest to PA. We will traverse the back roads of my grandmother and father’s farming roots into the hills of the Walsh’s PA roots. We would love to have you follow along, we never know what all the roads hold for us, but we can guarantee their will be struggles and triumphs and many, many generous people along the route.

600 Miles--Denver to Kansas City

Our tour is over. We ended near Lawrence, KS, along Hwy. 24, 600 miles from Denver. We averaged 60 miles a day and would have made it to Pa. and my parents' at that pace. As we take the bicycle apart and prepare for a baby, I feel fortunate to have had the ten glorious days of biking that we did. Eastern Colorado and Kansas provided ideal roads, friendly towns, and glorious scenery. We'll call this year's tour the Gramma Billie High Plains Tour 2010. Beautiful, humble rural people...............wheat fields waiting to be harvested............and one-cafe towns. The day we left Quinter, Gramma Billie said to me, "I want to lie down in a corn field and listen to see if I can hear the stalks growing. When I was a girl, people used to say that you could hear them grow. I'm a-gonna lie down there one day and see for myself."

Home Again, to prepare for the baby

Yesterday we arrived back in Denver after finishing biking across Kansas. It was beautiful, albeit hot and humid, biking into the Flint Hills of my childhood and visiting with dear high school friends in Manhattan. Our final biking day of 73 miles had the wind at our backs- a great reward for our joyful struggles into the wind almost the whole rest of the riding. From Manhattan (the little apple) we biked in to Perry where we were met by my cousin Troy who took us up to my Aunt Rosie's little get away with a beautiful view. We cooked a meal with veggies from Rosie’s garden and hung out with my cousins Troy and Trent. The following day the plan was to bike into Leavenworth, getting us all the way across the state of KS where we were to rent a car. But overnight gout set in to Jim's ankle and I decided that not being able to clip out of his left side was not safe. So we visited Lecompton (KS's first capitol and site of the writing to the pro-slavery KS constitution that was bloodily defeated) and then drove to the Missouri River, rented a car and drove to grandma's for our final stay with her this bicycling adventure. In the morning before returning to Denver, we ate at the Q-Inn and visited the old farmstead where my grandparents started their lives together; the farm my father and uncle Vaughn were raised on and we five grandchildren learned the ways of farming; the farm my granddad returned to a few days before dying so that he could get up in and drive in his combine one last time. I always love exploring the nooks and crannies of the old out buildings and always find something to bring home and lots to ask grandma about and in the big red barn love visiting the white owl that keeps watch over aging items that accompanied my father’s family over their many years of farming and living.
So our Heartland tour has come to close. It shrunk from three and a half weeks to ten days for a total of 600 miles due to the news of our adopted child’s arrival. As is always the case, we met many generous and warm people and learned of the lives they live and this time connected to the landscape of my childhood and father’s ancestry. We return home to a new, more challenging and rewarding ride- that of being parents in a few short days. We have much to learn and be humbled by and much beauty to experience. I think the tandem has helped prepared us for the largest journey we will take together. On the seat of a bicycle for two we work together in sync, negotiating our different approaches and styles and melding them into something new that supports and helps us grow in ways we did not even know were possible. On the seat of a bicycle for two we are faced with the elements and ups and downs of existence and join forces to lovingly make our way along the road and feel the joy and challenge of life.

(pictures forthcoming....)

Oodles-Ado in Glasco, Kansas

84 hard miles today in some intense heat with a wind that was at times in our faces and at times on our side, but never at our backs. We made it into Beloit extremely tired after a head-wind busting 26 miles. After lunch we decided that we had to make it to Clay Center tonight, and so we should cycle to Glasco at the height of the heat, leaving around 2:30 pm to make the 17 mile trip. When we arrived, we found another town that appeared deserted, only an old run-down, closed gas station greeted us as we came into the town. Turning into town, we found empty streets and an old high school. We were beginning to feel a sense of desperation with empty water bottles and 37 miles to the next real town. Then, around a corner, we came to what appeared to be main street, with businesses on each side of the street. Our spirits rose again as we looked for some kind of cafe or store where we could find cold water and some food to last us the long leg to Clay Center. Everything was closed. In fact, the "businesses" consisted of thrift stores, a liquor store and some consignment shops. Our hearts sank as we were desperate for some cool air and beverages. Then we saw it. A sign sat on the sidewalk proclaiming that this place was "OPEN." The sign on the door read, "Oodles-Ado," which raised our curiosity even more. We didn't have a choice, this was our only hope. When we walked inside, we were greeted by Jack Balog, a man in his late 60s, sitting at a table by himself.

"Howdy"

"Hi, the sign said Open, we're looking for some cold water and maybe something to eat."

"Well, you have come to the right place."

This is the kind of town that we would only have come across on a bicycle. Jack is the kind of person whom we would only have met on a bicycle tour. Jack's place was a kind of coffeeshop, a kind of consignment store, with shelves and shelves of stuff that locals were trying to sell, and a kind of internet cafe--consisting of one desktop computer that anyone can use for a small fee. We sat down with some cold drinks, savoring the cold air, and began to talk to Jack. The next two hours were a great testament to the energy of a bicycle tour, the hidden corners in lost towns in this country.

Jack told us that the town was established by Scottish immigrants but that the name morphed from Glasgow to Glasco simply because people couldn't spell it right, and the shortened name stuck. Today, about 400 people call Glasco home. Jack talked about the town's "heyday" during the WWII era when it had 3 gas stations, 3 restaurants, and twice the population. Today, according to Jack, the average age of the residents is 66. Young people leave as soon as they can find a place to land.

"We have a big problem in Glasco today," Jack tells me.

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"We have a town dog here. About 15 years ago, somebody dropped him off here and left him. Locals started to feed him and we all just fell in love with him. He hangs around main street and we all look after him. When the shade is right, he lies in the middle of main street and refuses to move. We have all learned to drive around him. But last week, a state policeman drove through town and when he saw the dog, he turned on his siren, but the dog wouldn't move. He asked us who the dog belongs to and we all said that he was the town dog. Now the judge is saying that the dog needs to be chained up, registered, and maybe even put down because he is so old and can hardly walk."

"What's the dog's name?"

"Dog.....D-O-G.....that's his name."

Before we left for Clay Center, as we walked out to our bicycle, there he was, lying in the shade on the other side of the street. Jack called to him and he wobbled across the street. This dog has found his place in this world in the funniest of ways, but in the most noble of ways. The story of the communities connection to Dog touched both of us, and we rode away admiring how a dog's spirit can touch a whole town.

Jack shared his spirit with us, including his love for Roman history. He shared with us his collection of old Roman coins, his collection of meteorites which he has purchased online, and his own amazing story. He worked for years in Kalamazoo, Michigan in a GM plant. He was eventually hired by Lockheed and moved out to California. During the Y2K scare, an evangelical preacher told his sister in law and mother in law that everything was going to crash and that they should sell everything and move to a small town. They did, buying a house in Glasco. When Jack and his wife visited them later, they both admired the slow pace of the place. During a walk, Jack's wife saw a house that she liked and jokingly mentioned that they should buy the place if it were for sale. As they turned the corner, they saw a for sale sign and decided to buy it. They sold their Calif. house for $270,000 and bought their Kansas house for $15,000, and have been there ever since.

We took a wonderful dip in the Glasco pool and had pizza there at the pool to fill us up before our ride to Clay Center. Jack waived the price on everthing, several drinks, food and internet use. The people at the pool refused to charge us the entry fee. Thank you Glasco.

We had an incredible 37 mile ride to Clay Center through the Flint Hills of Kansas and Gabriela's childhood territory.

Watering Holes

On Hwy. 36 in Colorado we had our largest stretches between towns and water sources, but now that we don't have our trailer where we can put extra water bottles, the stops between convenience stores often aren't enough to keep us hydrated. On our first day back on the bikes, the spigot in the Nicodemus, KS park replenished our supply. Nicodemus, was founded in 1877 by former slaves migrating north during reconstruction. While the town only has 20 or so folks living in it now, it is a State Historical site and every year late in July, descendent of the founders come from across the country to celebrate the significance of their ancestors’ migration to the Midwest.

While resting in the park, we met Don Moore, one of the residents who remain in the town. His great-grandparents were former slaves and migrated from Lexington, KY. Don helped build Webster Dam, part of I-70 and did some farming. He says there's not much work for young folks in the area, but his family will be returning for this year's celebration as they do every year.

Some of my most memorable water stops this trip include Linton, CO where we snacked at a picnic table that was established in honor of the post master and owner of many of the town businesses who was murdered in his store in the 1970s. The few houses, trailers and post office that remained had no people around. So I walked down the street of the post office where I saw an upholstery repair shop in a farm shed. I knocked on the farm house door, explained the situation and was invited in by Rosella. Her husband Ray recently had heart surgery and was recovery watching old westerns in his recliner. Rosella filled our many water bottles with cold water, let me use her bathroom and sent me away with homemade cinnamon rolls she had made.

Yesterday in the heat and wind we were out of water in Alton, KS. The town which used to have a strong business center, now has a grain elevator and coop, churches and old houses. I roamed the streets until I found a house that looked like folks were home. After knocking on the door, which had a sign selling eggs for $1.55 a dozen, I was invited in while she filled the water bottles. I entered the family dining room in the middle of a father's day meal and shared some conversation before leaving with cold water.

A Graveyard of Towns

We're bedding down tonight in a small cabin in Downs, Kansas.
We awoke this morning in Stockton and rode 32 miles into a nasty headwind that beat us up good and limited us to 45 miles on the day. We are at the Wagon Wheel Motel, a series of small cabins along Hwy. 24 near the small town of Downs, with possibly 1000 people total. Around 7 pm another bad thunderstorm rolled in with high winds. There are large tree branches down all over this town from last night's storm and tonight's could be as bad. In fact, last night as we were having dinner in the VFW Hall in Stockton, a terrible hailstorm rolled through. The tornado sirens went off twice and we were told that a tornado had touched down two miles west of town. At one point, Gabriela stood up to move down to the basement, but our food hadn't arrived yet and I was terribly hungry...................and also was dying to watch the storm. There is something about the ferocity and strength of a plains storm that awes me and awakens me. When I was a young child, I used to scream for my mother during nights when bad storms passed through and now as an adult there is nothing I love more than that rare raging thunderstorm in Denver. Here in the Great Plains, it's incredible to watch the swirling clouds, some with a green tint to them, changing directions. For the last two days, the wind came out of the east strongly, only to shift around 5 pm when the storm systems begin to move in. These last two days have been a study in plains weather.

Over the last two days, we have stopped in each of the numerous small towns that are more frequent now that we are in central Kansas. These are towns with between 30-500 residents and no more functioning cafes, hotels, or restaurants. They sit silently along the main roads, in the shadows of enormous grain elevators, next to the railroad tracks where they once unloaded their bounty. The streets are empty and old businesses are boarded up. Gabriela walked the length of Alton today searching for a house where we could fill our water bottles. Each of these towns has a kind of rest stop along the road with an historical marker placed there by the state perhaps a decade ago. The markers tell the history of the town, of its once thriving businesses and bustling population. The markers also mention that the town is in decline. We have come to see these ubiquitous town markers as a kind of gravestone for the town, and the Great Plains as a cemetary for once-booming small communities. The markers tell of the towns' founder, it's main industry, some of its eccentric residents and colorful traditions. Alton used to have an annual "passion parade" around Easter, one of the largest such parades in northern Kansas. Downs once had a college. Osbourne, the birthplace of Russell Stover, still has a Chocolate Festival to honor Stover. Today, the missing feature in each community is young people, most of whom leave for surrounding urban areas.

Here in Downs, we have been received with great warmth by the owners of the Wagon Wheel. They fed us, allowed us use of their laptop for me to write this, and even picked us up in town when the weather turned bad. As we sat at their dinner table today enjoying conversation, I noticed that the family's matriarch and grandmother, who had just served us our food, was sitting in the other room by herself because there were no more chairs for her to join us around the table. This kind of selflessness and hospitality also defines this region, people bending over backwards to help others. Rural areas such as this may be lacking in access to major news sources and quality food and cultural diversity, but the people here have something important to teach us urban dwellers, who keep our neighbors at arms length and lock every door that we can.

We had a great night with Gramma Billie before leaving Quinter on Friday. We watched an old video of an interview that Gabriela's family did with Billie's mother Edna in 1996, when she was 95 years old. The video, which Natasha apparently put together, included stories about Edna's youth, her Aunt Maude, her teaching career, and the experience of losing her mother at a young age. The video also included footage of Edna's funeral, and a short piece showing Leonard showing off his vintage cars with his grandchildren. The experience was wonderful and a little emotional. Seeing Edna and hearing her stories helped me to understand how Billie became the person that she is. At her funeral, when people were standing up to share stories, rose to remind everyone that before her mother died, she said that she hoped that there wouldn't be any war, that she had seen enough of that in her life. She died just a couple of months after the 9/11 attacks. After this video ended, we watched a PBS piece on the hidden history of Kansas along I-70. We all broke into song at one point, "Oh give me a home, where the buffalo roam, where the deer and the antelope play............." Was a beautiful way to spend an evening.

Tomorrow we are off to Clay Center, Kansas and Manhattan after that. A few more days on the bicycle and we'll begin making our way back to Denver and parenthood. Two people today wished me a happy father's day. It felt very strange. I feel blessed to have a good 11 day tour before it all happens. We met a man today in his early 50s bicycling from San Francisco to New Jersey shore. He grew up near Philly. After talking a bit and sharing stories, I said to him, "you were a wrestler, weren't you?" His face lit up. "How did you know, do I give it away?"
"No, I can spot a Pennsylvania wrestler anywhere." They all have the same stocky, gritty look, with the firey personality, carrying their grandfathers' metal lunch pails to Colorado or California in hopes of escaping Andrew Carnegie.

We also saw some wheat fields devastated by hail today. I was imagining the owners reactions, losing their crops so close to harvest. This life is one big gamble. On the drive from Quinter to Wakeeny, where Billie dropped us off to bicycle, she was staring at the wheat crops along the side of the road.
"Gramma, did you ever lose a wheat crop to hail?" I asked her.
"Why, of course"
"What was it like?"
"Well, what do you think it would be like working all that time and losing everything?"
Wheat here is king and this time of year everyone looks at the wheat fields like a parent does a newborn, with admiration and trepidation.

We Are Back on Our Bikes

Coming at you briefly from the Quinter library. We borrowed grandma's van, retured to Denver, met the birth parents (who are wonderful), made preparations for the baby and are back in Quinter heading off for several more days on our bike before settling in to prepare for the birth.

We left the trailer and camping gear in Denver, so we are lighter and ready to hit the road for our last big ride pre-parents.

Main Street in Quinter, with grain elevator- how we spot upcoming towns on the horizon.

Before deparing grandma's for the second half of our tour with Great Uncle Bob.

Gramma Billie

We're in Denver now making some preparations for the adoption and will return to Quinter, Kansas Friday with the possibility of bicycling across Kansas before returning to Denver to await the big event. We had a good visit with Gabriela's grandmother Billie Flora in Quinter before we returned. Gramma Billie is nearly 89 now, a product of the high plains of western Kansas. In the four years I have known Billie, she has provided me with countless laughs, as well as many new ways of saying old things. Here are some of her sayings:

"Good night nurse!" This phrase is used as an exclamatory statement, usually following an important story. It's a way to emphasize the gravity of a situation or event.

"Well, my land!" This phrase comes from the biblical story of Joseph, from the story in scripture of Jacob forced by famine to come to Egypt and settle in the Land of Goshen. Billie uses this phrase in a similar way as Good Night Nurse, as a means of emphasizing her surprise or exasperation over an experience.

"I'm full as a tick" This phrase follows a long and full meal.

Gramma Billie is also full of old songs. She periodically breaks into verse. One of her favorite goes something like this: "The old gray mare just ain't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be...........the old gray mare just ain't what she used to be."

A large old map of Kansas is taped to the wall of Billie's kitchen. I like to play a kind of game with Billie. I choose towns within a 100 mile radius of Quinter and throw out the town name to Billie. Every town that I mention triggers stories about relatives or buildings or tornados; stories of floods, robberies, civil war raiders, and Indian wars. Billie paints a landscape of western Kansas with her memory, turning a standard road map into an oral history.
"My parents were in that flood up there in Atwood in '35. It was terrible."
"The Battle of the Arikaree, up there near Wray. My mother used to say that they took it out of the history books. What a shame that children no longer learn about that stuff."
"The BOD [Butterfield Overland Dispatch Trail] runs just south of here. They need to get more markers out there so that it's not lost."
"There's a famous black man, an inventor, from Minneapolis [Kansas]. I can't remember his name. He went out east and started that school [Tuskegee] with that other black man [Booker T. Washington]"

Every time we visit, we choose a town on the map, some place within 50 or 60 miles of Quinter, and drive out to visit and see what we can learn from the town. When we drive through a town that appears to be whithering up, losing population and businesses, this upsets Billie. She is pained anytime she learns of a store closing, or a school consolidating, or young people moving away. We drive to the selected town, eat at the lone cafe, and visit the historical museum. Nicodemus, Hill City, Colby, Hoxie, Gove, Dighton, Wakeeney, Ellis. This Saturday, we'll be driving to Ness City to see what we can see, to excavate the place based upon Billie's memory.

"They have a big bank up there in Ness City. I hear they're doing this and that with it. We have to get up there and take a look at it."

Once we visited the Plains Museum in Colby. We wheeled Billie outside to where they had an old sod house. It had been a long day and we were all tired. We wheeled her all the way to the sod house from the museum building and walked her inside of the soddy. Her entire demeanor changed. She reached out to touch an old Iron. She smelled the earthen bricks that composed the walls. "My mother was born in a soddy," she said. We backed off, sat down, and allowed the moment.

Sometimes we visit her siblings in the area. Uncle Bob lives on a farm south of Quinter. A recent visit there turned into a two hour party with his son R. W. and R. W.'s children. Uncle Bob was a cook in the Navy in WWII and is still very active on his farm. Bob talks about enormous bobcats, wolves, and foxes in the area. Yancy, one of Bob's sons, is a one-armed welder and an amazing fisherman. Yance, as he is called, embodies the independance of this place. He welds on new oil rigs, fishes in nearby reservoirs, and tells stories of life in small town Kansas. Aunt Peg (Billie's youngest sister) lives in an assisted living facility in Dighton, the town she used to live with her husband before his death. She is an avid fan of KSU women's basketball and during the winter can usually be found watching a game. Aunt Marcheta lives on in the stone farmhouse Billie and her three siblings were raised in south of Quinter with her daughter's family living next door. She is a few years younger than Billie and still helps out on the farm, spinning stories of assisting with the birth of new calves. Marcheta always mentions how much rain her farm received from the most recent storm, reflecting the rain-worship that comes from nearly nine decades on the arid high plains.
"We got 38 hundreths last friday, it felt like more."
Each visit to Quinter ends with a meal at the Q Inn, Quinter's only real restaurant. Billie enters the diningroom at the Q, stops, looks around, before making her way to a booth. She holds court at the Q, telling us in a hushed voice who we are sitting close to, or who might be across the room. Eventually, she rises and slowly traverses the restaurant, visiting with other Quinterites. When she sees a young person whom she doesn't recognize, she pointedly drills them with this question, "now who do you belong to?"

"Jim, I need you to make me a sign. They're moving the Farm Service Agency out of Gove. We need to speak out about this. Make me a sign that says, 'Keep the Farm Service Agency in Gove!'"

When we arrived at Billie's at 9 pm on our tandem bicycle on Sunday, Gramma Billie informed us that we were wanted at the Quinter Advocate office the next morning...they were going to do a short article about our tour. This year's tour of the High Plains belongs to Gramma Billie.
Each night on our tour, we take a walk at dusk around the tiny town that we are staying in. During these walks, it has become customary to call Billie and talk with her about our day of bicycling. Putting her on speaker phone, her western Kansan dialect echoes down the streets of these tiny settlements. Billie likes to open her statements with the phrase, 'well I'll tell you.............' I have taken such a liking to this phrase that I frequently say it to Billie even though I have nothing to say after it.

"Well, I'll tell you Billie"

"You'll tell me what?"

"I'll tell you..............."

"No, I'll tell YOU"

Thanks for four years of telling me Billie. Your stories will live forever in the wide open plains and wheat fields of western Kansas.
Grandma Billie and Jim at Castle Rock (20 miles from Quinter) during a visit to grandma's this past April.

We Have Arrived in the Bosom of My Ancestry

Last night at 8:45 PM we rolled into Grandma Billie’s driveway. It was a 93 mile day- my longest ever. Some rain in the morning and at times throughout the day, but aside from the wind we really have been blessed with good weather in a time of big storms.

I am writing to you from the Quinter library, just greeted by Sharon DuBois, who runs the library and graduated from Quinter High a few years behind my father. It has been a joy to read all the congratulatory comments! We depart Quinter today in grandma’s van to go meet the birth parents. We are very excited!

By the end of the day our legs were awful sore, but the adrenaline of
reaching our destination carried us as did the spirit of my heritage. About 5:30, we pulled into Hoxie, 30 miles from Quinter. We ate at the town’s Chinese restaurant (odd to find in these parts) and three old farmers sat at a table next to us. As usually happens, they asked us where we were coming from and where we were going. “Who are your relations in Quinter?”
“Billie Flora is my grandma,” I said.

“Don’t know her, but is she related to Henry Flora,” Bill Minium, on of the old farmers said.
“Yes, that’s was my great-grandfather. Did you know him?” (He died when I was a few years old.)
“No, I just knew of him.”
The conversation continued and Bill, who mentioned my great-grandfather said, “I served in the marine corps with Duane Flora.”
This was my grandfather Leonard’s brother who was killed in a truck accident before I was born. Duane had had a childhood disease and was slightly disabled. He was drafted during the Korean War. When Jim asked Bill what kind of a person Duane was, Bill said, "He was a good, kind man." Bill later told us how his military superiors would damand that Duane march, but that because of his disbility he had major difficulty doing this and how he was harassed because of this. When I asked my grandma about it, she told of a time the family went to visit him while he was in the milirary and he had been beaten up by his superiors. They filed a complaint and had him transfered.
Yes, I am in the land of my father’s people.

We left Hoxie and headed south on Hwy. 23, which as the locals had explained each dip and crevasse, was a ribbon of hills. But it was a glorious ride with the skies shifting from storm patterns to dusk clearness. Before we crested the final big hill, Jim said I bet we’ll see Grainfield, Park and maybe even Quinter at the top. And yes we did. Grainfield, where my grandparents held their wedding reception at the opera house after they eloped; Park where my aunt and uncle were married in the Catholic Church; and Quinter where my parents were married in the Brethren Church. Then we left Hwy. 23 and headed east on old Hwy. 40 that was paved for two miles, then turned into a dirt road with some mud from the rain. Farther east, this was the road my father used to take to college, from Quinter to Manhattan (KSU) and then to Lawerence (KU) where he graduated as I-70 did not exist then.

As Jim says, quoting my grandma, “Time’s a wasting” and we’re off to eat at the Q-Inn before departing for Denver to meet our future. So I'll sign off for now.
Approaching Quinter on Hwy. 40- our only flat of the trip occurred after arriving at Grandma's.

73 Miles in Wind and Cold

We're in Atwood, KS after a long day of biking. We set out this morning with temps around 50 and it didn't improve much. Winds from the north today at 20 mph, pretty brutal. We crossed into KS and kept on riding putting us into position to make it to hoxie, grainfield, or all the way to quinter tomorrow,the last day of our tour before we return to denver to meet birth parents. although cold and windy, the terrain today was beautiful, with stunning vallies and larger towns. In 1935 a terrible flood devastated this area, 24 in. of rain in one storm. We stopped at a small town called Bird City. The streets were deserted as we biked thru, a bit surreal. Then as we turned the corner, a lone man stood on the sidewalk playing a fiddle. The empty Kansas streets ecoed the sweet melody. We learned that it was the 125th anniv. of the town's founding and everyone was at the park. We were invited to stay for free bbq but we had many miles to cover so we politely said our goodbyes. I have been thing about how people in these small towns view their lives in relation to the young folks who leave these towns and move to cities like Denver. There is an inertia here that keeps many from leaving.......it comes through in comments that are sometimes self_depricating, or when friends politely remind each other of their limitations, discouraging dreaming. We have noticed small Latino populations in each city. Gabriela engages them much to their delight, and we learn that they have been sent here to do one job or another. They live very separated from the locals, who seem to do their best to simply ignore them. Tonight, I watched a store clerk viewing two young latino men in his store with great vigilance. These kinds of relationships would be a fascinating case study.
Friends we met at dinner at My Place in Atwood.

Life and Riding around the Prairie Vista Motel

Our tent has yet to be used- threats of Tornado and rain storms have meant we have sought indoor sleeping. Last night it was the Prairie Vista Motel- $45 a night- in Adalia, CO. Yesterday we completed 53 miles- with an average speed of 10.3 (yes, that headwind slows us down). After our early dinner, we were actually up for a dozen or so more miles, but the next town was 30 miles and we weren’t going to make that so we stayed put and enjoyed exploring the town- about 4 blocks by four blocks.

The town has a Latino population, about 30 folks.
Chatting with some of these newcomers, we learned they work in feed lots, on ranches and road construction. Interesting, Adalia, was the most thriving town since Bennett, CO.
We are not early on the road tourers so our 8:45 AM start this morning was unique, but given the rain last night and cold, clouds and wind, we figured, we had best hit the road.

A few miles into the ride the conversation went something like this.

“Jimmy, if this wind keeps up like this all day, I’m not sure I can make it.”

“Are you cold, love, I’ve got an extra shirt you can wear. We’re heading straight into the wind, so the next three miles will be brutal.”

“Well, I guess it could be worse- it’s not hailing or raining…. There’s not a super cell cloud 8 miles away….

“…And there’s not the threat of a monsoon.”

We made it across the KS border and reached the speed of 23 (the last two days we hadn’t cleared 15!- our top speed, 33 mph, was our second day coming down a hill). The temperature has actually risen a bit and we descended and then ascended into the beautiful little valley of St. Francis, KS. We are at the Cheyenne County History Museum and will explore the town briefly after having lunch and then change course a bit, breaking away from Hwy. 36 and veering south on 27 to hopefully, for the first time have the wind at our backs.

The Land that Time Forgot

Here we are in Joes, Colorado....a place that once had three gas stations, three restaurants, and hundreds of people. It's now a virtual ghost town. When I asked a store clerk about its claim to fame, she thought for a minute and said, "well, back in '29, they had a great basketball team, 3rd in the nation." that's it. You see, this used to be the main road to Denver from Kansas. When I-70 was built in the 70s, this area slowly withered away, schools began to consolidate, people drifted south and north, and today it's just shadows of former towns with an occasional store.
"Six man football," an old farmer at the Cope store told us, "that's all we got." With so few high school aged children here now, the local schools can barely field a six man team.
The right set of eyes can travel through these towns and see them in their old glory, with busy main streets and 12 man football teams. The ghost structures of old hotels and cafes and drive-ins still remain, along with the wisdom of the people. Here are a few doses of this wisdom:
"Do you see any snakes on the roads in the morning," the man asks.
"Snakes?"
"Yeah, rattlers like the cool roads in the early morning."
"Well, we're not early morning people."
"You know, they're shedding now. It makes them blind. They'll strike at anything when they're blind."

Another man, Richard, in Anton watching the storm cloud.......
"I used to work on the road crews for years. A tornado cloud looks like a huge anvil. It travels from the southwest to the northeast. The tornado comes from the southwest part of the cloud. When you stop hearing birds and animals and it gets real still, then you need to find some shelter." Richard, about 65 y.o., was wearing a gun strapped to his side. He had just come from a golfing outing where the whole course is sand and they use all wedges. "We don't have any fancy courses out here."

Just before the tornado hit, an SUV pulled up to the small church. We were sitting on the steps enjoying some dinner and watching the clouds.
"A tornado just touched down 20 miles east of here. It's moving at 25 mph. You should get inside!" And then she sped away, leaving us feeling a small part of an ancient great plains ritual, feeling the adrenaline of the clouds.

A pickup pulled up beside us as we biked into the wind again today. The voice of an old man yelled out, "hey, wanted to let you know that she's not peddlin!"

Today, we once again have a head wind. I'm finding some peace with this, learning to embrace the headwind, to love the headwind, to slow down and honor the headwind. I have given up thinking that tomorrow the wind will turn around. It won't. I see this country at 12 mph, every bug, every fence post, every bird, every dog's bark. Tomorrow, we cross into Kansas and make our way to Quinter on Sunday.

Our storm watching companions Richard (the golfer) and Vi in Anton, CO.

Tour Interuptus- with the most precious of gifts

Greetings the Grassroots Community Center in Joes, CO. We had lunch in the grocery store in Cope and learned from the farmer and his son that sat with us that Joes was named for three men with the first name Joe that founded the town. When Jim asked the grocery store attendant what Cope was known for, she couldn't think of anything, but told us that in 1929 Joes’ high school basketball team came in third in the nation. Needless to say, the pace of life is slower and the people have time to sit and chat.

A head wind is still pushing against us, but we have actually reached the mainly flat part of the plains. Flat is a relative term, compared to Appalachia, what we encountered yesterday were just rolling hills. But with our 50 lbs. trailer and the head wind, it was a bit brutal, but still enjoyable. Growing up in the Flint Hills of KS, I actually know that the plains have many nooks and crannies and are far from flat or mundane (although it took leaving and returning to really see the innate beauty). And the skies, oh my goodness, the skies. The skies that were deeply embedded in my grandfather's DNA that was linked to the western KS plains. He loved to travel, but missed seeing as far as the eye can see when he was surrounded by trees or mountains.

So, we have really big news that Jim mentioned in last night's post ride stupor blog. As many of you know we have been going through the process of approval for domestic open adoption. Well, we turned in our book, the last step in the process this Monday, and got a call yesterday (Thursday), that we have been selected by birth parents. I couldn’t stop crying after we got the news and we are still integrating it. The birth mom is due July 7. Needless to say this changes our plans in the most beautiful of ways. Instead of doing the 1500 miles to Pittsburgh, we will stop at my grandmothers in Quinter, KS. Monday, we will borrow her car and return to Denver to meet the birth parents.

The conversation on the tandem has shifted, everything is seen through a new lens; we are soon to be parents! Thus, the generosity of the roads has proven itself again, in the most beautiful of gifts!

We know this may be our last ride for a while, so we are soaking it in and enjoying the beauty, freedom and connection we feel on the seat of a bicycle. Our next big ride will need to be on a bicycle for three.
The restaurant in Byers, where we got the call...

A tornado and a baby in our lives

We're in Anton lutheran church basement. Tornado passed 15 miles north of here tonight. the locals opened the church for us. now i'm blogging on my phone. 55 miles today into another headwind that ate us up. also surprisingly nasty hills. no towns to speak of, just clumps of houses. we're beat up a bit. we watched the super cell cloud tear through at dusk with couple who live next door while dozens of storm chaser cars speeded through town after the tornado. surreal. cheese sandwiches and watermellon for dessert. we are going to be the parents of a baby girl due july 7th! jus t got this great news this morning. life is a gift.

The Bliss of Wandering, Two Colorado's and Birthers in Strasburg

Jim Here. We are getting ready to bed down in Byers, Colorado. We didn't start biking today until 5:30 after a day of scrambling to finish last-minute chores before we left town. Our dear friend Therese dropped us off at Watkins and we biked 23 miles to Byers, had a good dinner at a burger joint here, and scored a room at the Budget Hotel. Tomorrow we head into a very isolated stretch of HWY 36 through places such as Last Chance and Joes, and hopefully into Cope. It all depends upon the wind how far we make it. Tonight we fought the wind most of the way and 23 miles felt like 40. Tomorrow, we're hoping that the wind turns around. We're also expecting heat tomorrow, well into the 90s, so we're hoping for an early start. If all goes well, we'll camp somewhere in Cope. If the wind or heat gets us, then we'll camp somewhere in between. There are no stores for 100 miles so we're loading up on food in the morning, and water. We are finally leaving behind Denver's orbit and entering this new rural Colorado mileau..........the slow pace of baseball games in isolated parks, the contrasted colors of green fields and dark storms sliding along the horizon...........and the looks from the passing cars at our folding tandem lets us know that we have crossed the divide. The people on this side have something beautiful, a hesitation in their conversations, a downward glance, all of this is built into the language and vocabulary of the body.
The politics are also very different. As we crested a hilltop between Strasburg and Byers, a large sign in the field to our left screamed out, "Don't blame me, I voted for the American!" How long would such a sign last in our urban, cosmopolitan setting? Another piece of grafitti on a railroad bridge welcomed visitors to Strasburg, proclaiming, "Welcome to trashburg."
As we said our goodbyes to Therese today and headed east on HWY 36, with a large black storm rolling across the horizon to our south, I felt great joy as I settled into the freedom of discovery of a bicycle tour. Gabriela and I were euphoric, after such a busy stretch of months, to feel nothing but the open road, and the transformative bliss of wandering on two wheels propelled by inquisitive minds alive with possibility.

Reconnecting to the rhythm of peddling and breathing together

It has been a very intense, busy year for us culminating in Jim finishing his PhD after a 12 year process. Go Jimmy, uh, I mean Dr. Jimmy! This will be our 6th tour and while the mountains of Appalachian coal country were amazing, I am very excited about the flatness of the plains (no more over heating our rims and melting tubes as we scream down three mile windy descents).

This tour touches both our roots. Starting in Denver to the plains of KS (my dad's family roots and where I spent most of my formative years), through the Midwest to the edge of the Eastern US, western Pennsylvania where Jim’s family has been settled for generations. There is a caveat. We have a lot of miles to cover and not quite enough time to get there at the pace one of us (e.g. me) likes to go. So Jim has agreed to something that goes against his nature, to take a bus the final miles to reach Jim’s parents’ house in Cranberry, PA on July 4 for Jim’s 24th High School reunion.

As our garden in Denver expands into the bounty that will feed us for the months to com, the two of us will be on the seat of a bicycle built for two. We will reconnect to the rhythm of peddling and breathing together and experience the beauty of everyday living and generosity of those we encounter.

Below- Jim putting our Bike Friday tandem together on our patio with cousin Richie's help.