Energy Country

The day dawned cool and overcast. On our way out to the starting point, the sun had crested the horizon, and sunbeams were cascading through the clouds and illuminating the cornfields to the north with an angelic effect not unlike some stained glass windows that I’ve seen in the past.

Dad dropped me off with a promise to meet at a park in Steamboat Rock, Iowa where he’d join me for a couple of miles if we were able to find suitable parking for the truck. As he pulled out of the gravel parking lot with a hearty wave and a shouted farewell, I headed west on a county highway and into the middle of a large wind turbine installation.

Energy Country - Wellsburg, Iowa

It didn’t take long for me to come alongside the nearest wind turbine. I was alone on the blacktop road and could see for miles to both the east and the west. There was not another human or vehicle in sight.

The wind from the west spun the wind turbine with a rhythmic whoooo, whoooo, whooo as one of the  three blades peaked at the top in the highest winds driving the other two blades in their seemingly endless circular loop.  The sound of the rotating blades had a deep bass tone that you could feel more than hear. In the background, a higher pitched whine revealed the mechanical gearing that was spinning the generator on the top of the tall, white stalk pumping out kilowatts.

I stopped for a moment and just watched as the blades whipped around.  Over and over and over again they turned, the turbine whined, and the electrons flowed.

The west wind also brought with it the scent of a hog barn in the distance. It’s a tangy sort of animal scent that I've grown accustomed to during the walk. I wouldn’t say it smells good, but I would say that it smells like the front end of the process that ends with bacon sizzling in a skillet in your kitchen. It also smells a little like money to the hog farmer, I suspect.

I glanced to my right and to my left and tried to count the white painted wind turbines standing above the forest green fields of corn and the kelly green fields of soybeans that stretched as far as the eye could see. It dawned on me that I’ve been calling this area corn country when I probably should have been calling it energy country. 

There were at least one hundred turbines delivering megawatts of electricity to the grid. The corn itself is just slow solar array, cooking away in the heat of the Iowa summer sun to be turned into ethanol after the harvest. 

The red wing blackbirds and killdeer which have been constant companions for the last several weeks screeched out their warnings as I passed through their territory. The winds spoke through the turbines, and the cornstalks rustled in their rows. I was alone, but it didn’t feel lonely.

After a few moments, I turned back to the west and stepped forward. My foot wasn’t yet one hundred percent, but it felt good. My legs felt strong, and the tension in my shoulders from the pack was starting to come back like an old friend.

Dad was at the designated meeting spot, and he’d found some good parking. We walked together for a couple of miles through energy country until he had to turn back to pick up the truck.

Some people have asked if I get bored walking through “the same” flat country covered in corn and soybeans, but it’s not like that at all. Moving at the pace of walking allows the details….the sights, the sounds, the smells….to come to my attention in a manner that just can’t be replicated while speeding past in a car. Nothing is ever the same, and, for me anyway, it’s an endlessly fascinating and every changing landscape of discovery.

Partners Back on the Road

Got back out on the road today for a test of the foot. It’s still no one hundred percent, so it ended up being a bit of a short day, but at this point, any forward progress after two zero days is quite welcome.

Together and Back on the Trail - He still walks to fast for my taste - Grundy Center, Iowa

The best part? My walking partner is back, and he was able to join me for the first several miles. HIs support over the last week has been invaluable in progressing the pilgrimage, but it was really good to be back out on the trail walking with him. 

Though short in distance, today was a good day! We’ll see what tomorrow has in store.

Rest and Recover Day #2

Today was another day of rest to let my right foot continue the recovery process. Dad and I spent most of the day reading which I thought was a pretty productive way to spend some down time.

Iowa Falls, IA seems to have a community wide focus on reading. There’s a local coffee shop called The Coffee Attic and Book Cellar which has used books in the basement (or Cellar if you will) for sale ranging in price from one to five dollars. It’s a great little coffee shop, and I really like the concept and execution of adding a used book store to the business model. Even the local Hy-Vee grocery store has a used bargain book section. Again, very affordable prices make reading accessible to just about anyone.

The Swing Bridge - Iowa Falls, Iowa

Later in the afternoon, we got out and explored “The Swing Bridge” which is a pedestrian suspension bridge over the Iowa River. Originally built in 1897, it was rebuilt in 1909, 1925, 1956, and finally restored again in 1989. The views of the river both upstream and downstream were pretty spectacular. The sun sinking toward the western horizon provided a golden yellow light to the cliffs lining the eastern bank, and a small waterfall from a creek on the western shoreline fell into the shadow of a bend in the river. 

Purple martins live in the cliffs along the riverside, and they seem to enjoy taking a rest from their bug catching exploits along the inch and a half suspension wires that support the bridge. 

It was good to get back outside, and we’re hoping to be back out on the road very shortly.

Nothing to Report

Canadian Northern crossing the Iowa River - Iowa Falls, IA

As is typical of rest days, there’s really not a lot to report today. Spent most of the day with my right leg elevated trying to get the combination of blister and bruise on the ball of my right foot to recover. Progress as of this evening is not what I would have hoped. We’ll see what happens tomorrow.

We did get out for some dinner, and caught this train sitting on the north end of the trestle across the Iowa River in Iowa Falls, Iowa. That’s a whole lotta Iowa’s all in one sentence. 

Though forward progress was limited, it was a much needed day to recover. Anyway, hope you all had a good hump day

Expansion and Contraction

When I first started walking for distance, one of the things I was hoping to get out of the experience was a much smaller space to focus my attention. Walking seemed to couple a slow enough pace to take things in, and the meditative practice of repetitive motion.

On my first longer distance walk, I remember wondering how I would feel at the end of seventeen miles at about the time I hit the three mile point. Like many other aspects of my life at the time, I was always mentally rushing ahead to some goal or objective pretty far down the path in the future. It took a few months, but after continued practice, I finally began to shrink my world to that one meter of space around me during my time out on the trail.

A curious thing started to happen once I’d finally been able to turn my attention to the very near term during walking. Instead of my world contracting like I suspected it would, my world started to expand. The distances measured by time or space didn’t expand. Those had gotten quite a bit smaller, but my ability to pay attention to things at close range started calling my attention to things I’d been missing as I rushed right past toward the next new experience out on the horizon.

At various times during the preparation for the current walking adventure, I’ve felt the ebb and flow as “my world” expanded at times and then subsequently contracted again in time and space.

 
Walking the Path of the Deer - Grundy County, Iowa

Today, my attention was almost entirely focused on a quarter sized patch of skin on the ball of my right foot between my great toe and my index toe. I have a blister, for no apparent reason, that’s been giving me trouble for a couple of days. Today, that sucka’ was on fire.

I was on another one of Iowa’s numerous and beautiful trails, but all of my mental energy was focused on that one small patch of skin. Every step with my right foot was a searing reminder to be grateful that I still had feet. Still, it was a little distracting from my surroundings.

Eventually, I’d experienced all the fun I could stand for awhile, so I decided to stop and focus all my attention on that one little blister. I would shrink my world to that one discrete spot, and that’s where I would “be” for a moment.

I stood and looked at my feet. My world shrank. The burning fire emanating from somewhere between the insole of my shoe and the bottom of my foot calmed a little. I noticed that I’d been following in the footsteps of a deer that had travelled this same path the last time the trail was wet. My world expanded a little, and the discomfort, though still present, became a little less important.

When I stepped west again, I’d remembered the times I’ve been encouraged to breath into the areas of tightness during a yoga class. The practice of Ujjayi, or ocean, breathing came back. Four beats inhale, four beats exhale, my breathing focused into the bottom of the foot. As the heat built, the discomfort remained, but suddenly the suffering was gone.

Keeping my breath focused into the area of tension on the ball of my right foot, I was once again able to look around.  My world grew a little bit larger.

I passed the Oxbo and John Deere farm equipment dealers in Grundy Center, IA, and I was able to marvel at the complexity of the highboy sprayers and combines that would one day work the miles of cornfields around me. The ebb and flow of expansion and contraction of the walk returned, and I continued on down the road.

The Photobomber is Back

So there I was. Out in the middle of a county road surveying the cornfields on my right and my left.

In spite of an exceptionally wet spring, the corn here in Iowa generally looks much better than the corn in Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. It’s clear that some of the fields have better drainage, and the crop must have been planted nearly on time.

The rule of thumb we’ve been told by multiple sources is that the corn should be “knee high by the Fourth of July,” We’re only four days past the fourth, and the deep green fields that I was seeing on each side of the road were at least head high. 

Head High Corn and a Photobomber - Hudson, Iowa

The breeze from the southwest rustled the leaves, with a unique sound that I haven’t heard during the miles of walking leading up to this point. It’s a swish and scratch as the wide corn leaves rub up against their neighboring stalks.

Suddenly, I caught myself thinking of tamales. The masa holding the delightfully tender marinated pork all wrapped up together and steamed in a corn husk. The crumbling warmth as the tamale melts in your mouth releasing the spicy meat goodness within. Wait. Stop. We were talking about corn, not tamales.

Every walking book that I’ve ever read, and I’ve read quite a number of them, eventually all boil down into two themes. Feet and food. After a little over thirteen hundred miles of ambling, I’m beginning to see why. 

Sorry for that little sidetrack. Anyway, I was looking out at the human tall corn stalks, and thinking about the best way to show their height in a photo. I was on my midday break, and Dad had met me to replenish my Powerade and deliver a sandwich.

Failing to find a good photographic strategy, I eventually just started snapping shots hoping to describe in words what wouldn’t really show up in photos without some sort of size reference. 

I finished up the photography and looked around for Dad. His truck was there, but he was nowhere to be seen. I turned back to the cornfield, and there he was exiting one of the rows like some sort of ambulatory scarecrow. I’ve seen enough horror movies related to cornfields that it made me jump just a little.

As he walked back toward his truck, I thought, “No….he didn’t.” I pulled up Google Photos to check, and sure enough, there he was photobombing my corn pictures. 

The mad photobomber is back, and it’s good to see his playful spirit return to the pilgrimage. Can you find him? Look near the corn in the foreground just a little right of the white barn in the background. It’ll give you a good idea of the height of the corn and just how creepy this particular photobomber can act.

The Green Tunnel

Cedar Valley Nature Trail - Blackhawk County, Iowa

Today was an exceptionally pleasant walking day. The heat and humidity that has been sitting on eastern Iowa like a foggy elephant finally broke with high temperatures in the low eighties instead of the low nineties that have prevailed over the last week. 

On top of the more temperate weather, the majority to today’s route took through the green tunnel that is the Cedar Valley Nature Trail. The CVNT is a very small part of the American Discovery Trail that spans the country with trailheads at Cape Henlopen, Delaware and Limontaur Beach California.

“If the walking was so pleasant today, why didn’t you cross the country on the American Discovery Trail?” you might be asking. I don’t have a really good answer for that question. It’s a little longer covering a bit over forty-four hundred miles on the shortest coast to coast path. That’s probably the best justification I can come up with on short notice.

Anyway, today’s walk was traffic free and human interactions were mostly limited to  the very occasional bicycler. Only one other pedestrian vied with me for control of the path, but we managed to pass port to port quite amicably. Finally, Dad met me at the halfway point with some much appreciated ice cold water and Powerade. I could get used to that kind of logistics support. He’s making longer distances possible, and for that, I am truly grateful.

The sunlight trickled down through the leaves and dappled the ground with shadows and spots of light. Birds and squirrels chattered away. I saw frogs, rabbits, and a fair number of bugs. On that front, the lemongrass-vanilla compound paired with DEET kept them out of my face and hovering at an acceptable distance. For that, I am grateful.

My feet made the usual rhythmic scratch on the gravel surface with the occasional hollow thump when packed clay prevailed.

It was a day of serenity and reflection on a cool winding path that seemed to meander through both the past and the future. 

Change is always afoot, and I ended the day by coming off the Cedar Valley Nature Trail at La Porte, IA. I set myself up for a straight shot westward on the shadeless asphalt tomorrow.