Mississippi River Crossing

Today was a milestone day as Dad completed his seventh state on the journey and crossed the Mississippi River from Fulton, Illinois to Clinton, Iowa. He covered just over seventeen miles putting his total since departing Yorkville, IL at just over one hundred miles walked in seven days. That’s an average of a half-marathon plus a mile every day for the last week. He’s got some old man toughness for sure!

Onward to Iowa

He’s also pretty smart. When I made the Mississippi River Crossing, I chose the bridge on US Highway 30 and didn’t make the trek north to Fulton. With about a twenty inch shoulder and nothing separating me from oncoming traffic but a chipped white painted line, I didn’t really enjoy that crossing very much. At the time, I didn’t want to add the extra distance it would have cost to cross on the more northern route from Fulton to Clinton. It turns out, that extra distance added up to a grand total of one point three miles. This crossing….well, it was a mixed use pedestrian and bike lane that kept the traffic at bay with a Jersey barrier and a handrail.

On the west side of the bridge, he even managed to find a diner for lunch. 

So basically he’s tough and smart, and still loves his diners.

I’m grateful that I was able to walk with him as he accomplished this milestone. It was also quite nice to be able to enjoy the scenery without worrying about being smashed by a car.

Barge Traffic on the Mississippi River - Clinton, IA

We’re taking a rest day tomorrow, and he tells me he has his own story to tell about this milestone, so I’ll leave the rest to him. Today was a very good day!

Nachos Beware

We woke up at around five this morning, and Dad was out on the road for an early start. The temperatures were down in the high fifties, and there was the faintest hint of a fall like crispness in the air. It’s the kind of morning that makes me glad that I’m a morning person and a whole lot different then when I made my way through this area about five weeks ago on my own.

Dad pounded out another sixteen miles today, and he had things wrapped up by just before three pm. He’s holding up amazingly well, and if things come off as planned, he should be crossing the Mississippi River tomorrow on the bridge between Fulton, Illinois and Clinton, Iowa.

I should probably let him speak for himself, but by all appearances, he’s getting back into the groove of putting away miles and actually finding enjoyment in the experience. His foot has healed, and it doesn’t seem to be giving him more than the ordinary trouble associated with pounding away on it day after day. He also appears to be settling into the mental mindset that makes the long distance amble not only endurable but enjoyable. 

I’m also enjoying the opportunity to revisit old miles. Driving the water wagon makes it a different experience for sure, but the last time I was in this area, I was operating under the assumption that I would not see the land and the scenery again anytime soon. It’s good to see some of the same people and catch up on what’s happened in the last several weeks. I enjoy seeing a convenience store and knowing that they are one of the few in this area that carry grapefruit Bubly. Crossing a bridge over the railroad and remembering that I watched a train rumble through heading west in the early morning before the sun got too hot brings a flood of memories back to the surface of all that we’ve been allowed to see and experience along the path.

It’s also good to have the opportunity to experience new things in largely the same environment. Today, we ate dinner at an outstanding barbeque restaurant named Smoked on 3rd in Sterling, IL. I believe it’s one of the best meals we’ve had in the hundreds of places we’ve visited. 

Nachos Beware - Sterling, IL

I guess Dad thought so too because he tackled a big plate of pulled pork nachos in a way that was both awe inspiring and a little bit frightening. Hey….he’s gotta fuel up for tomorrow because if things go to plan he’ll be crossing the Mississippi River and heading into Iowa.

Sunrise Reflections

Sunrise Reflections - Dixon, IL

Uneventful Day

Yesterday, Dad banged out the most difficult section of the route from Yorkville, Illinois to Cedar Rapids, Iowa. He put in twenty miles, and instead of falling asleep, he’s reading some John Sanford fiction right now. Pretty amazing.

Other than that it was a pretty uneventful day. During one of his rest stops, a lady named Margie stopped beside us on a country road near Brooklyn, IL and asked us if we were there to clean out the forest. It wasn’t quite as unusual as being asked if we were prospectors on the outskirts of Cleveland, but it was close. If I’d been thinking more quickly, I would have asked what it paid. I’m pretty sure she thought it needed to be done, and it is entirely possible we were being offered a job.

Little Horse and a Donkey - Lee Center, IL

Other than that, the day was filled with corn, soybeans, two horses, a gravel road, a misplaced wallet (subsequently located, thankfully), a handful of goats, and a couple of donkeys. I did learn that the only real difference between a donkey and a burro is the domestication status of the animal. Donkeys are domestic animals and burros are wild.

It was a good day. Dad will be back out on the road tomorrow, and I’ll be struggling with the A/C, cold drinks, speedy travel, and the other burdens of driving the water wagon. 

Hope you all had a great hump day. The weekend is right around the corner!

The Gift of Fog

Foggy Sunrise - Yorkville, IL

Sunrise this morning revealed a thick layer of fog that had settled down amongst the fields of soybeans and corn. We packed up the truck and headed west toward the diner that Dad, of course, had identified as our target of opportunity for breakfast.

After we’d ordered our omelets, we sat across from each other and sipped our coffees. We were the only ones in the diner, and the mood was subdued.

“What are you thinking?”

It’s the question I try to ask when I’m sitting across from someone who looks like they might be troubled. In the past I might ask what was wrong, but I’ve learned that the phrasing of that question assumes too much. Better to let folks get around to what might be troubling them in their own time.

After the question, we talked about what we’d learned and experienced over the last five months, how those things had impacted our lives and our thinking, and how we were reacting to this last part of the journey in the context of everything that’s happened so far.

One of the things that I’ve learned along the way is that Dad and I both have different ways of thinking about the various aspects of the walking experience. It seems that the actual physical act of walking is something that brings me a greater sense of fulfillment than it does for my partner.  For Dad, it seems as if the walking itself mostly provides the framework for the social interactions that have crossed our path along the way.

Walking by yourself has its own set of challenges, and you no longer have the benefit of someone around you to break into your own thoughts and feelings. You’re stuck with yourself whether you like it or not. You get used to it, but it took me a few days to really get find ease with myself when I was walking alone. It’s during these times that having a friendly stranger to talk to is particularly helpful.  For the last couple of days, those interactions have been few and far between.

We finished up breakfast and made our way to Dad’s jumping off point. The fog had taken on what I’ve heard described in the past as the characteristics of pea soup. I dropped Dad off, and as he marched westward. I took the truck and drove along his route to see just how much the visibility had been reduced.

The situation didn’t look promising. As I drove down the highway at ten miles under the posted speed limit, I started counting the seconds it took for me to overtake stationary objects like mailboxes and street signs. One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three, one-thousand-four, one-thousand-five, one-thousand-six….

I drove for about a mile.  Five to ten seconds from when I spotted the fog shrouded object on the side of the road till the time I passed it as I drove through the fog.  The shoulders were narrow, and there was no room for error.

“Too dangerous,” I thought as I made my way back to Dad. He was making his way through Paw Paw, IL on the relative safety of sidewalks.

“What do you think about this fog?”

This time, I didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“I don’t like it. Drivers can’t see you in time to react, and not everyone has their lights on so you can see them. I think we ought to wait for it to lift a little before pressing on.”

Dad agreed and we grabbed a convenience store coffee and sat down near the small granite Veterans’ Memorial at the Lion’s Park in Paw Paw, IL.  Just as we settled in, a bright and cheery woman greeted us and asked if we knew any of the names on the Memorial. We admitted our ignorance and owned up to our out of town status.

The conversation evolved, and before we knew what had happened, we’d spent the better part of an hour sharing tall tales of the ups and downs of our adventures and our lives. 

After a thoroughly enjoyable conversation, the thick fog remained. It had been joined by thunder and lightning. As we said our goodbyes, the sky opened up and a driving rain crashed down through the fog. We’d managed just over a mile worth of forward progress, but, as we called it a day, I knew for a fact that we’d all gotten just what we needed out of the trail today.

Driving the Water Wagon

Now that Dad and I have switched roles, and I’m the one driving the water wagon and he’s the one drinking the water, I’ve been asked how it feels to be in the logistics support role. 

I understand it’s bad form to quote yourself, but I’m going to do it anyway. In response to this question, I replied, “It’s a helluva lot easier than walking. I like the A/C and the cold drinks. I like the food, and if I don’t like the food I can drive until I find something I do like. My feet don’t hurt, and covering twenty miles in the truck doesn’t tire me out nearly as much as covering the same distance with bipedal locomotion.”

Still, I think I understand what the person was asking. I do miss being on the road moving slowly, but over the last couple of days it’s given me the opportunity to reflect on a few of the lessons that I’ve learned over the last several months.

When you’re walking, you really can get immersed in the environment in a way that driving just doesn’t replicate. The sounds, smells, and feel of what’s going on around you come alive in ways that I miss when I’m safely encased in my climate controlled metal bubble. On the other hand, the long distance walking has made me much more aware of many things I would have missed in the past while driving. The internal combustion engine has also given me mobility to explore that just wasn’t possible on foot.

Today, I’d parked the truck in our next designated logistics support point. Dad was still about forty minutes away, so I turned off the ignition, rolled down the windows and just sat in the relative silence for a few moments. I say relative silence because it didn’t take too long for me to notice that an airplane was buzzing overhead somewhere in the immediate area. 

The sound wasn’t the standard steady thrum of a single engine propeller driven aircraft passing overhead on a cross country flight. It was more like the sound you’d hear at an airshow where the grizzled old pilot in a biplane is pushing the aircraft into loops and rolls and low passes. As I glanced to the north and the south, I was pretty sure I was hearing the work of an Air Tractor. Yep. That’s a real thing. Air Tractor is actually the brand name of the series of the most popular “crop dusting” aircraft in service. They really do look just like the protagonis of the animated film “Planes.”

The airplane would buzz low and steady for a brief run of time, and then I could hear the engine RPMs ramp up and a doppler shift would tell me the craft was pulling some non-trivial Gs in its turn back toward the field it was working. Still, I couldn’t catch a glimpse of the plane in action.

Dad showed up, and I served up the drinks and offered some food. He dropped his pack and sat on the back of the tailgate for a while before striking off again on his walk to the west. He looked pretty sweaty and hot. We’d agreed to meet about two hours up the road, and I knew what I had to do.

Though I’d ambled past more Air Tractors on the ground than I’d care to count, I’d still not seen one in action. I was going to go find it, and the mobility of the water wagon was going to be my enabler.

I located the plane’s approximate location acoustically, and I headed a little to the west and a little to the north. The sounds grew louder as the plane continued to work the fields, and then all of a sudden it broke out low over the corn field to my left. Her wheels seemed to brush the tops of the corn tassels with the lightest of touch as she screamed down the length of the field. 

Air Tractor at Work - Rollo, IL

Guided by a steady hand and a spirit not born of fear, the pilot skirted just above the tops of the corn stalks delivering death from above to the aphids below. It was an incredible display of aviation.

I miss the long plod along the shoulder, but driving the water wagon has its own set of advantages.

Back on the Trail in Yorkville

We finally escaped the hot and steamy clutches of North Texas. Seriously, y’all. I grew up there, but I’ve been away for quite awhile in the relatively cooler climate of the mid-Atlantic. I’d forgotten what late July and early August in the Dallas area felt like. To really get a good idea what it feels like, I’m going to need you to buy one of those old olive drab army blankets, fill your bathtub with hot water, put the blanket in the tub until thoroughly soaked, and then get it out and wrap it around your upper body and head. Wrap it tightly, but not so tightly that you can’t breath. Breathing should take some effort, but it shouldn’t be strictly impossible. After you’re all wrapped up, go and find the hottest area you can and sit there for about an hour. A black car with black leather seats at about three pm on a sunny day should be ideal. Man that place is hot, and I’m grateful to finally be back in the more temperate northern latitudes.

Our detour down to Texas took fourteen days. I was hoping for a five to seven day turnaround, but sadly, that was not the case. As of this writing we’re one hundred and forty days into the pilgrimage. Thirty-eight of those days, unfortunately, entailed no forward physical progress. 

Dad and I both looked at the fifteen hundred mile stretch left to cover from where we left the trail in Newport, Nebraska, and we both agreed that making it all the way to the Oregon coast was highly unlikely. We also looked at the relative lateness of the season for crossing the Rocky Mountains, and we both agreed that an attempt, though theoretically possible, carried weather related challenges that we were unwilling to risk.

That’s the bad news. We’re not going to make it to Newport, Oregon on this particular trip. I’m disappointed. This trip has been the culmination of five years of planning, and being forced to acknowledge the obvious has been surprisingly painful. It was always a long shot that we were going to make it, but up until this last setback, I really thought we still had a chance. That is no longer the case.

Dad's Back on the Trail - Sandwich, IL

The good news is that we’re back on the trail! After some long discussions, Dad and I collectively decided that the next step on the journey would be a return to Yorkville, Illinois. The return to Yorkville will give Dad the opportunity to walk the distance between where his foot injury initially forced him off the trail to Cedar Rapids, Iowa, where he met me to provide logistic support for the westward push to Newport, Nebraska.

Today, he ambled the first ten miles of what he hopes is about a two hundred mile journey that will take him across the Mississippi River on foot from Newport, Rhode Island. We’ve traded roles, and now I’m the one providing him the logistic support that he needs to complete this leg of our adventure together.

Even though we’re not going to cover all of the ground we originally set out to cover, I can honestly say that I don’t regret any part of the attempt. It’s been an epic journey of discovery, hope, and connection. I have nothing but gratitude for everyone who has helped us along the way.

Dad’s wandering path to Cedar Rapids will result in us covering every mile from Newport, Rhode Island to Newport, Nebraska together in one capacity or another. We welcome you to stick around as we wrap up the journey.