Saturday, June 11th
I’ve almost stopped listening to music as I cycle. Instead i’ve started listening to podcasts. More accurately right now, just one podcast – 99% Invisible, an ‘exploration of the process and power of design and architecture’. I’ve probably gone through almost 100 episodes in the last week. Sometimes I drift in and out a bit, if I’m struggling with a hill, for example, but on the flat, uneventful stretches of farmland which have become my habitat lately these stories of design, or sometimes lack of design, have made the miles and hours pass more easily.
It also feels like a more productive use of this time I have, and they’ll often give me ideas or get me excited about creating something new.
These are a few of my favourite episodes: Mojave Phone Booth, The Sound of Sports, Holdout, and Ten Thousand Years.
Iowa. Green and hilly so far. Not too much else worth noting. Another day of tiny towns, short breaks, and wide open spaces. A very warm day, but the wind was on my side at least as I was heading directly north once I exited the state park where I camped and crossed the bridge into Muscatine, over the Mississippi River.
I was navigating using the northern tier route now which I had loaded offline into maps.me so I wasn’t reliant on Google Maps routing me for the time being. This was probably for the best since ‘no service’ began to appear in the corner of my phone screen more often than ‘3G’ did. The route was sometimes a little winding rather than direct but I trusted this was for the best, avoiding busy or poorly surfaced roads. And on the whole the roads were great.
Most of the cycling was on the Hoover Highway then the 136. The surface was deep black, in parts the yellow lines were freshly painted and led your eye to the horizon where in the longer stretches the road seemed to disappear.
It was popular with bikers, but was otherwise pretty quiet. Sometimes I’d stop, take the one earphone out I had my podcast playing through, and be struck by just how silent it was. The only noises the rustle of leaves, a bird on a telegraph wire, or a distant tractor hum.
The towns it passed through were Bennett, Lowden, Oxford Junction, and Wyoming. Each had a similar format. Usually a gas station which signalled the edge of town, one main street with a handful of shops, and a cemetery on the edge of town, often on a hill which was a good place to stop to rest and get an overview of the area.
There were certain things about the trip that had become very routine, from the stops at the gas stations to writing about each day which seems progressively harder to make interesting. It can be difficult to remain constantly interested and engaged when the landscape is so unchanging, and from state to state there are few noticeable differences. I think this is why having days to rest days is important. Not just to physically rest but to regain a bit of perspective which can be lost when you become so focused on the next 10 miles, the next stop for coffee, the next campsite etc.
Without the wind I was more aware of the heat. It was blue skies and sun for most of the day except when I approached Bennet around lunch. About 10 miles from the town the sky on the horizon turned a mix of grey and purple and I saw lightning bolts. I quickly googled what to do when cycling in lightning. Stop and go inside was the best answer but obviously not always possible. As I got closer to town I could see the clouds moving in that direction and sped up. Just as I reached the edge the first raindrops fell. I cycled around the town looking for a place I could go inside. I couldn’t find a gas station so stood under the roof of some building where it jutted out over he pavement. It gave me just enough room to stay dry. The rain got heavier and heavier and the space I had to stand in, dry, got smaller.
Over the road was a small bar. People were going in but there was no light. The widnows were blocked from the inside. It was not inviting but as the rain became too much I thought I’d try it. I ran over the road and opened the door. The inside was dark and there must have been 5 or 6 people drinking on their own in silence. They all turned and loooked at me like a cliche I’m sure i’ve seen in a film. I did not feel welcome. The bar woman asked me what I wanted. I asked if they had coffee. She said no. But gave me directions to the gas station. I left immediately. I found the gas station and waited out the rain there. It was a small family run place which home cooked everything. That didn’t make it good food but it was authentic at least.
I sat inside at one of two tables until it cleared.
At the end of the day I reached the outskirts of Cascade. I’d found the name of a campsite earlier and tracked it down off the main road. River view campsite. The name was a little misleading, it was by a river, but the view was lacking. No one was at reception and I had no service on my phone to call them. I found the tent camping area, sorted my stuff out, walked back to the main building and showered, and decided I’d try and find someone to pay in the morning. I’d done 90 miles in the heat. I had no dinner apart from nuts and melted snickers bars, but I was too tired to have much of an appetite anyway.
It was my fifth night camping in a row and I was beginning to crave some comfort. A bed and walls would be nice sometime soon.
Map
