Altered Route-From Rexford, Idaho to Spearfish, South Dakota

 Surprises (technical and otherwise) have caused me to alter my route. Here is the route I will be taking from Rexburg to Spearfish, South Dakota. If any among you know folks along this way, please let me know.

Day 16 View along the trail entering the Mountains.

 

Day 15 and 16 (Memorial Day) Harrison, Idaho to Cataldo, Idaho

 

Note-I am sorry for the strange formatting and font color in my previous posts.  I have tried to correct them with little success.  My technical incompetence is a source of not a little  self-loathing which I struggle to transcend.  I am relying on your kind patience.

 

Day 15 and 16 (Memorial Day) Harrison, Idaho to Cataldo, Idaho

“If we are to love our neighbors, before doing anything else we must see our neighbors.  With our imagination as well as our eyes, that is to say like artists, we must see not just their faces bot the life behind and within their faces. Here it is love that is the frame we them in.

-Frederick Buechner

    I remained in Harrison well into the afternoon.  I am grateful to the Harrison Community church for the space and internet access which allowed me to write and to plan the next few weeks.  The afternoon gave me an opportunity to chat with several people who have been attracted to Idaho.  There is a rugged individualism which defines this beautiful place.  Most of the people with whom I have spoken value an independence from commercial and political interests which would like to capitalize on their lives.  I have witnessed great kindness and support for those who in need of assistance (including me).  

     Before leaving the East Coast I re-read Reinhold Neibuhr’s book The Irony of American History. Though the book was written 70 years ago it describes beautifully many of the forces which define our current century.  Neihbuhr maintains (and here I summarize much) that those who define themselves as “conservative” have a high view of human nature.  Such persons believe that if you remove external behavioral constraints most of us will be ruled by our better angels.  The invisible hand, which Adam Smith governs a healthy economy, is consistent with Neihbuhr. 

     On the other hand, self described  “liberals” have a very low view of human nature.  Such persons believe that in the absence of behavioral constraints we will destroy ourselves.  One’s life experience and historical context will shape how we view the human condition.  My formative years were shaped by segregation, Viet Nam, and Watergate.  It has become hard for many in my generation to trust those in authority.  Over and against this, I have enjoyed the support and encouragement of loving parents and an economically stable childhood.  I have received an excellent education (paid for by others) and have been edified by the praise and encouragement of educators.  Several times in my life authoritative persons have told me “Well done, good and faithful servant” (though I always question their analysis).  It is also clear to me that I am a beneficiary of historic injustices.  My belief in the fundamental goodness of human nature is tempered by the many dear people in my life who have scarred by the cruelty of others and the indifference of society in general.

    I sense that a polarizing force at work through our media and social movements is that people are made to feel ashamed for trying to articulate their hopes and their values.  The anger many conservative persons have with “political correctness” is that we now live in an environment where we are expelled from the conversation if we utter views which make others feel uncomfortable.   We now live in an environment where it is dangerous to articulate your deep held values for fear of being judged and rejected from public conversation.  Many of us feel like we are walking on eggs and dare not speak the concerns of our heart lest we are expelled from the conversation.  This tragedy often causes us to seek the safety of ideological echo chambers where we find emotional support through our confirmation bias.  It requires courage to publicly state our convictions and our doubts with both honesty and humility.

   I rode along the Trail of the Coeur d’Alene from Harrison heading east.  The bike trail is paved (which is good for my spokes and my back) and beautiful.  I rode the Coeur D’Alene River and beyond the sound of traffic.  I spotted a moose cooling off in the in the river indifferent to my gawking.   There was still snow on the mountain peaks which gave the warm air a unique kind of beauty.

    I camped in Cataldo (there are no other housing options).  The mosquitoes were fierce, so I dove into my tent as the sun was setting and had an early night.  When I struggled out early the next morning there were two gentlemen sipping on coffee.  They invited me to join me in a cup of local coffee enhanced with shitake mushrooms.  They introduced themselves as Ron and Shane and they spend a large portion of the year in this campground.  I discovered there was a community of folks who call the campground home.

     They were welcoming of me and seemed impressed with my bike pilgrimage.  We spoke of the state of the country and the breakdown of civility.  We shared our frustration over “news” sh which programs presented solely the purpose of making people feel anger and fear.  We discussed how much of what passes for news is an attempt to make the audience feel virtuous about hating someone.

    Among the topics discussed was the gun culture in Idaho.  They both carry guns regularly as do the other people in the campground.  When I inquired as to why, they shared their belief that responsible gun ownership was instrumental in becoming a more civil society.  In our conversation they stated their belief guns are the last resort in a conflict.  All citizens need to develop the discipline to effectively use proportional means of responding to adversarial situations.  They shared that it is prudent to develop constructive communication skills as the first response to adversarial overtures.  It is also necessary that one develop the ability to use non-lethal force if attacked by an unarmed person.  The universal acceptance of these rules of engagement, they maintain, adds to our civility.  They both have a very high view of goodness of the average person.

    I found no anger or fear in their explanation.  Their kindness and willingness to speak with me surprised me.  We chatted for over an hour.  Though I would never own a gun, and I feel anxious being among people who do, I did find merit in their argument.

   They shared that they would find it natural to wear a concealed weapon in church.  When I pressed them on why would someone do such a thing, they responded by asking me “why wouldn’t you?”  I was so surprised by the question that I was not able to quickly with an answer.  On my bike trip for the rest of the day and answer came to me.

    One of the names we give to a church building is “sanctuary”.  A sanctuary, by definition, is a place where no weapons are allowed.  We lay our weapons down at the door as we enter into such a space.  We can pick them up as we leave, but we are to enter a sanctuary unarmed.  This applies not only to guns and swords, but also to language of sarcasm and contempt.  There are many weapons which serve us in our lives.  The political leverage, economic pressure, social power are all weapons we also leave at the door.  We enter naked and vulnerable.  This requires great courage.  Methinks we are in great need of having more sanctuary space where we can articulate our dreams and values with hope, humility, intellectual curiosity, and love.  In the sanctuary there are no television cameras or spin doctors.  In the sanctuary we are not rendered winners or losers.  In the sanctuary, we become more human and see with frightening clarity that every human being is a child of God.

    Perhaps I express a naiveté rooted in my secure upbringing.   I have never personally experienced a dangerous situation which I would be rendered safe by the introduction of firearms.  I can understand how those scarred by unpredicted violence might respond differently.

    Shane asked if he could pray with me as I was departing Cataldo to head for Kellogg.  I gladly agreed and said that he and Ron would be reading this blog post.  I do hope that I have represented them fairly.  Today will be a shorter ride which allows me to take in the beauty of the scenery without feeling so annoyed with my bodily limitations.

Harrison Community Church and Memorial Day Concert

   Day 13 and 14

Pullman, Moscow, and Tekoa

     It appears that waiting for parts to fix my electric bike will take several weeks.  I agonized over my options and concluded that the difficulty in getting spare parts combined with the infrequency of opportunities to recharge my battery led me to conclude that it was time to exchange my beloved electric bike for a conventional bike (what the bike business call “acoustic bike”).  Scott at 3Forks Bike shop in Pullman has agreed to order the parts, fix the bike, and sell it repaired.  He will, in turn, give me send me the proceeds for the bike taking a commission for himself.

    I then went across the border to Moscow, Idaho (options in Pullman being limited) and bought a conventional bike at Paradise Creek bike shop and purchased a Specialized bike which I will use haul my stuff and my person for the remainder of the journey.

     Though I do not regret my decision, I sorely miss my electric bike.  I was able to zoom over hills and valley with ease and speed.  There was a silent force which ensured that I could reach my objectives effortlessly.  It gave me the appearance of conquering my environment without significant cost to my body or my soul.  It is a lot like white privilege. 

      I had convinced myself that the absence of an electric motor would not deter me much.  My capacity for self-deception is immense.  I left the bike shop in Moscow (you can see by my picture that I look refreshed and eager) and headed north to Tekoa, Washington (which the locals pronounce Tee-ko) which lay 42 miles to the north.  The photo at the end of the journey would not be so attractive.  This took me along beautiful, but isolated, gravel farm roads up and down significant hills.  I called upon muscle groups which have not been getting much attention lately. 

      Upon entering Tekoa, Washington (population 808) and was welcome into the home of Debbie and Jon Hall 2 hours later than I had predicted.  Such wonderful, thoughtful, and considerate people do much to restore my faith in this country.  From their back porch they could observe me puffing up the last hill.  Feeling sorry for me, Jon jumped in his truck and went to meet me offering to drive me up the final hill.  In attempt to preserve a shred of dignity, I declined and pedaled up the last half mile. 

        They had supper waiting for me.  They also had a warm shower, a lovely bed, and very pleasant conversation.  Several years ago, they retired from Pueblo, Colorado to live in this beautiful place and be closer to their children.  They were grateful for the reception they have received from the long-time residents of the town who comprise a very tight knit community.  They are a member of a local church community which is part of the Village Missions Churches.  This is an organization devoted to helping establish and support congregations in small and struggling communities.  I was struck by their mission statement

      “Village Missions supports and sends missionary pastors to rural communities across North Amerca…communities where the Gospel of Christ often would not be preached if it were not for the presence of the Village Missions pastor and church in that area”

     This is a wonderful organization which has been instrumental in the establishing of encouraging supportive communities in regions which are often ignored by most people in the country.

      Debbie and Jon had grown up in rigid Southern Baptist communities and found the opportunity of being in an open, rural community a pleasant change.   The past 70 years has seen a great drop in the population of Tekoa.  This was due largely to the closing of the railroads and the disappearance of small family farms.  There has, in recent years, been an increase in population from folks who enjoy the beauty of this area and relatively low housing costs.  It is a 45 minute commute to Spokane (though not by bike) and has much to commend itself. 

  This morning I will be biking to Harrison, Idaho and spending the night in Harrison Community Baptist Church.  I am grateful to Pastor Todd Moore for his kind invitation.

Day 15 Tekoa, Washington to Harrison, Idaho

Day 15 Tekoa, Washington to Harrison, Idaho

       St. Benedict felt that every stranger has an important insight to which we must listen.  He instructed his monks   

 

“The message to the stranger is clear: come right in and disturb our perfect lives. You are the Christ for us today”  

 

     I do not know if I have served that function, but it is touching to see that there are those who invite such a disturbance as a possible holy intervention.  The possibility of a disturbance in my perfect life is a source of an unhealthy anxiety.

 

     Jon and Debbie Hall drove me and my stuff in their pickup truck to Plummer Idaho where the Coeur d’Alene bike trail begins.  Before I began cycling I called the Harrison Community Baptist Church to ask if I could spend the night there.  Pastor Todd Moore replied by saying the doors for the church are always open and they welcome pilgrims wishing to stay there.  I have discovered that there are many people engaged in the same kind of journey as I. 

 

     Todd is a carpenter (like Jesus) who was called to me their pastor. He made himself available to chat with me for several hours on Saturday night and gave me an overview of the town.   Harrison has gone through many cycles over the past century and half.  It was once a contender for the Idaho state capital and boasted a population of 20,000.  Lumber was the largest industry and there were 5 saw mills in town.  It became a diverse, cosmopolitan center with immigrants from Europe and Asia coming here to make their fortunes.

 

    In 1904 there was a fire which swept through the town and destroyed all but one of the mills.  The owners decided that it would be economically advantageous to relocate the mills closer the railway lines.  The population of the town declined precipitously over the next century (with periodic reversals) and now has a population of approximately 250.  It is an area of great natural beauty and has a booming tourist season from May through September.  There was a wonderful Memorial Day concert performed in the village green overlooking the lake.  The many people wandering around create the impression that this is a much larger town.  The restaurants along the lake are not open in the winter, and it becomes very quiet.

 

     Harrison Community Baptist Church is a member of part of the Southern Baptist convention.  There are very few Southern Baptist churches in this part of the world.   Idaho is a place which attracts folks who are leery of large institutions (e.g. the federal government).  Similarly, the church does not identify with the Southern Baptist Convention.  The internal political intrigue going of these far away people is not of interest to most of the people in the community.

 

     There is a genuine concern and love demonstrated in this community.  The church open for pilgrims in one example of the human kindness demonstrated here.  A parishioner who led in music welcomed me to the church this morning.  When I told her that I was biking east toward Missoula, she informed me that she and her husband put a case of water in a cooler for cyclists going by.  When I asked how I might be able to identify here place she said that there is a large flat stating God, Guts, and Trump.  I must confess that observing and accepting kindness from folks flying such flags provides me with a growing opportunity.

 

     Today is Pentecost Sunday. This is not a day which looms large in the Baptist Church.  It celebrates the feast in which folks who spoke in heretofore incomprehensible languages could understand one another.  My day here has proven to me to be a Pentecostal experience.

 

    I will be departing for Cataldo, Idaho (population 100) tonight.  I am looking forward to seeing Family members in 10 days when I reach Jackson, Wyoming.

Debbie and Jon Hall

 Debbie and Jon Hall in Tekoa, Washington who fed me, housed me, entertained me, and tended to my weariness

Frankie searching for Fish in the Clearwater River

 

Recent plowed mountain road

 

Chris and Frankie in the Whitebird Battlefield

 

Chris and Frankie the wonderdog in the Whitebird Battlefield

Mountain Hermitage

 

   It is amazing how large a 12x16 foot cabin can appear on the inside.

Days 11 and 12 Grangeville, Idaho

 

Days 11 and 12

Grangeville, Idaho

     While minds greater than mine discern how to deal with a distorted wheel, I am grateful to be able to spend a few days with Chris Hagenbuch.  Chris is a lovely guy who works as a truck driver/priest in the beautiful region of Northern Idaho.  This is the region next to the Whitebird Battlefield and other shameful acts imposed upon the Nez Perce people who have occupied this land for over 10,000 years.  Much of the surrounding Grangeville is a part of the Nez Perce National Historical Park.  The descriptions of many of the sacred (and beautiful) sites reveal a kind of nobility in the face of defeat and death.  In the Nez Perce, who had greeted Lewis and Clark and the hundreds of white settlers following, were moved onto a reservation which comprised a small portion of the land which they had occupied for generations.  This was relatively peaceable arrangement until gold was discovered on the reservation and they were deported to Oklahoma.  This was laid out in the treaty of 1863 (written while most of the country was pre-occupied with the Civil War) and is still referred to, in the Nez Perce language as “The Steal Treaty”.  While travelling with Chris along the region, we saw the place where Chief Joseph gave his surrender speech,

“Tell General Howard I know his heart. What he told me before, I have it in my heart. I am tired of fighting. Our Chiefs are killed; Looking Glass is dead, Ta Hool Hool Shute is dead. The old men are all dead. It is the young men who say yes or no. He who led on the young men is dead. It is cold, and we have no blankets; the little children are freezing to death. My people, some of them, have run away to the hills, and have no blankets, no food. No one knows where they are - perhaps freezing to death. I want to have time to look for my children, and see how many of them I can find. Maybe I shall find them among the dead. Hear me, my Chiefs! I am tired; my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands I will fight no more forever.”

Chief Joseph - Thunder Traveling to the Loftier Mountain Heights – 1877”

    I invite you to listen to this clip of the song “Heart of the Appaloosa” which describes the strategic tactic of killing these great horses.  Please ignore whatever advertisement is imposed upon you.

    There is great beauty in this landscape which heals even in the midst of the cruelty we consider in this place.  The Nez Perce and the European settlers have made this place a welcoming place even two centuries after the horrors.

     It was great to see Chris and to drive around this varying countryside.  His wife and mother died within 6 months of each other in the midst of Covid.  He has found comfort in his family, his church, his wonderful dog (Frankie) and his great tiny cabin in the mountains.  During my brief visit I was able to see all of these things.  We watched his grandson’s baseball game on Tuesday night which was held on a beautiful evening in the shadow of snow capped mountains.  On Wednesday Chris, I, and Frankie the wonder dog visited 6 of the sites of the Nez Perce National Historical Park.  It was disconcerting to transition from biking in the searing heat to travelling driving through roads from which the snow had just been plowed. We stopped by the Clearwater river and watched Frankie hunt, in vain, for fish. 

   Along the way we discussed the unique social, cultural, and economic forces which have shaped Idaho in the past century.  80 per cent of the state is owned by the Federal Government and administered through the National Forest Service and the Bureau of Land Management.  Lumbering has been the economic backbone of the state economy for a century.  The money generated from lumbering on public land has been used, in part, to finance local education.  There have been several environmental groups who have devoted themselves to stopping all lumbering on public land.  The U.S. Court of Appeals for the 9^th circuit covers Idaho but is based in San Francisco.  The environmentalists have are able to be effective obtrusiveness in the granting of lumbering permits in Idaho.  The result has been a significant reduction in funding for public education.  This has had a profound impact on the well being of these small communities and has contributed to the resentment of “coastal elite liberals” who have been instrumental in creating hardship for the people of Idaho. 

     In this century, Idaho has attracted persons who are both individualistic and entrepreneurial.  It seems that they have little space in their consciousness for workings of Washington, but have a great love and commitment to their local communities.  I have personally been blessed by the welcome and kindness demonstrated towards me.  I realize that, in the eyes of many of the people I have met here, I must seem peculiar.

Day 9 Lacrosse to (almost) Pullman

 Taylor loading my bike and trailer on the back of his flatbed.

My crofter's hut.

Waving Wheat

Day 9

Lacrosse to (almost) Pullman

    It was a gorgeous beginning of the day.  The comfortable cabin I stayed in looked like a Scottish crofter’s hut, but was warm and dry.

     I strolled around the town and was still unable to find any person, so I went to the post office.  I had a lovely conversation with the post mistress (that was the title over her window) who informed me that I could get wifi at the grocery store/library on the next block.  Ira, the cashier/librarian spoke to me of the changes to the community since she moved there as a newlywed 43 years ago.  The population of Lacrosse in 1980 was nearly 700.  In the intervening years, as the number of people farming has been declining, it now contains fewer 300.  It is her hope that some other folks will see what a beautiful part of the world it is and move there.

     I loaded up my bike and pedaled through roads made of red clay through these beautiful fields of wheat.  Though it is still in mid May, it is already 18 inches tall.  There was a strong tail wind (which pedaling much easier) and the stalks were waving in the wind.  Strange thoughts emerge when you are well rested, have a full stomach, the wind is supporting you, and you are gazing over a beautiful isolated landscape.  I imagined the wheat, in their motion, was waving at me.  It was a wonderful feeling and, because no one was around to see me, I waved back.  I started humming to myself “It’s a wonderful world”.  My rear wheel made some strange noise, but I have a great ability to ignore things I find unpleasant.

      It is 45 miles to Pullman, and I could do this easily.   I decided to splurge on a hotel in this college town and I thought that I might even arrive too early for checking in.  Like a young child, the wheel began to cry out in noises that are hard to ignore.  I got off of my bike and inspected it.  While stationary, I could see no problem.  Followed the counsel of my GPS and turned on a dirt road in Colfax.  I noted a sign which stated “Klemgard County Park, 5 miles”.  I thought this is an important piece of information to store in my mind.  Two miles later, my derailleur feel off my bike and broke 3 spokes of my rear wheel.  I pulled out my phone and realized that I had no phone signal

   I could not ride my bike, but was able to push it.  Retrieving the information about Klemgard County Park from my brain, I began pushing my bike.  I was still 20 miles from Pullman.

   Walking along a country road and pushing a bike creates a good context for problem solving (arguably a bit longer that I needed).  When I arrived in the Park I discovered my phone service was restored.  A little known (though very helpful) piece of information is that AAA will pick you up on your bike and bring you wherever you want to go.  The lovely woman who answered asked was I safe and was I hydrated (very sweet of her) and told me that Taylor would be on his way shortly.  I discovered there was a bike store in town called 3Forks Bike store with the following mission statement:

3Forks Bike Shop is founded on a belief that riding a bike changes lives, and in turn, transforms communities. The simple choice to ride a bike is a global and revolutionary act, one pedal stroke at a time. We see the bicycle as a tool for change, where people become free for exploration, wellness, and joy. We are committed to creating an open space, where the people of Pullman and the Palouse have an opportunity to creatively contribute to a greater whole.

    On our 20 mile drive to Pullman, Taylor spoke to me about growing up in Lacrosse.  His high school graduating class was 5 people.  He said that every gets to know everyone more than they would like.  After we dropped off my bike at the shop and me at the motel is connected with a micro brewery and every guest is give a complimentary beer

    I called them up and Scott is one of the most pastoral persons I have ever met.  He told me to have Taylor drop the bike off at his shop enroute to my hotel.  He was teaching his Monday afternoon bike riding class for 6 year olds, but promised to look at my wheel when it was over.  He phoned me at 7 that evening and asked “How did the derailleur fall off?”  This question haunted him and tried asking it in several different ways.  He was seeking a motive.  I tried to tell him I could not think of anything strange happening at that time.  Though he was frustrated by my inability answer the question, he decided to put this aside and see if he could repair the wheel and replace the derailleur. 

    I asked him “can it be fixed?”  He replied “everything can be fixed” I know that this is not really true.  His kindness, however, brought tears to my eyes.  Not everything can be fixed.  Healing, however, can be greater than we can either ask or imagine. 

   I decided that this would be a good time to visit Chris Hagenbush in Grangeville Idaho for a few days while my wheel is being repaired.  He is an acquaintance of mine I had met some years ago and had promised I would one day visit.  I phoned him up and he would be happy for me to visit.  He then mentioned that his wife had died during Covid.  I was embarrassed for not knowing this.  For understandable reasons, he did not want to post this on Facebook.  He added that he would love to show me around that historic part of the world and show me the mountain cabin he had built for him and his wife.  Today I will rent a car and get a bottle of good whiskey, and spend some time with him.

    Scott, the bike guy, called at 7:30 this morning.  He said that, if I would like, he could order a new derailleur to be sent express and that he will be bringing the wheel to someone in Moscow, Idaho, who is a master wheel fixer (who knew there were such people?).  He will report back to me later tonight with the verdict.   I now take off for Grangeville.

Day 8 Washtucna to Lacrosse

Day 8

Washtucna to Lacrosse

    The heat has finally broken.  The monotonous landscape has changed into beautiful rolling hills with meandering rivers.  Psychologists have studied for years how threatening and oppressive environments render it impossible for people to exercise any creative thoughts about their future.  All mental energy is used to get through the difficulty.  The change in geography have led to more creative and constructive thoughts.

      The cool weather and relief in the topography allowed me to process much of what I have observed during the previous day.  I enjoyed my conversation with Grant miller, a wheat farmer.  Every year he welcomed Hasidic Rabbis to observe and bless the planting of kosher grain.  I conjured up the disconcerting mental image of combine operator wearing a baseball hat sitting next to a man with side locks donned in conservative Hasidic attire.  Both had a reverence for the process grain production.  Both were painfully aware that food products do not miraculously appear on the shelves of grocery stores.  Most people I know are blissfully unaware of how their food is produced.  They would prefer not to know either how the sausage is made or the how the grain is grown. 

To find out more about Kosher Wheat in Washington State, see the link.

Kosher Wheat in Washington State 

      As mentioned earlier, the town of Lind has a world famous annual combine demolition derby.  Every year farmers from miles spruce up the decrepit combine that is nearing the end of the days and smash them into each other.   I smile when I consider how cathartic this could be.

    Although the farming towns have been shrinking, there are still those who are moving in.  I met with family from southern California who were attracted by the relative peace of a village school.  The Washtucna high school has 23 students and, until recently, had been steadily declining.  Three local high schools had to combine forces to produce one football team.  They are too small to have either cliques or gangs. 

     On Sunday afternoon I had an easy cycle (25 miles) to Lacrosse, Washington (population 313).  I literally have not seen a single human being on the streets of town as I arrived on Sunday night.  Through Airbnb I booked a modest cabin described as (The Bunk House).  It is the only lodging (camping, motel, or private home) to be found for many miles.   It was very reasonably priced, but the reservation confirmation contained no street address for it.  I had to ride up and down the 6 streets in town to locate a building which resembled the one in the photograph.   I was told it would be unlocked and that the key would be inside on the dresser.  Recent news reports of folks accidentally approaching the wrong front door loomed in my mind.  With trepidation I knocked on the door, announced my existence, and slowly turned the handle.  It is lovely small (200 square feet) cottage air conditioned.  It is made from, what appear to be, local stones.  I have no idea why it is here, but I am grateful for it.  I will shortly leave the place and likely not see another human being as I depart.

Sunday Lunch at the Washtucna Community Church

 

Joining Bible Study in Wachucna

 

Day Eight, Sunday in Washtucna

 

Washtucna, Washington

     The nice lady who told me I could shower at her place was called out of town, so I had to lower my standards of personal hygiene.  After biking all day in the baking sun, I pitched my tent just in time to experience a torrential thunder storm. 

      I was blessed with the opportunity of attending the Wachtucna community church this morning.  I joined in their Bible Study before the service and we were studying the Davidic covenant.  They had in attendance a large portion of the town’s population (though not quite filling the church).  They were a wonder group of people who did not seem to notice that I was rather raggedy from camping out without benefit of shower.  They were such warm and welcoming folks who did not find my intrusion at all peculiar.  It was graduation Sunday and we were celebrating the folks who are about to graduate from high school.  There was a wonderful lunch afterwards which was a welcome meal.

      It is an agricultural community.  As the farms have been growing, the number of people living on them has been shrinking.  This can be seen reflected in the rapidly shrinking population.  It appears that every store on Main Street is closed and has been for some time.  It is necessary for folks to drive an hour to pick up basic groceries.

    The Church building was beautiful, and one can see the love people have for this place which appears the only gathering place in town.  There was a joyous spirit filled worship service with folks from a wide age range. 

    At lunch I had the opportunity to chat with Grant Miller who owns a local wheat farm.  Among his many interesting claims is that they grow kosher grain.  Rabbis from New York come out to his farm and ride as passengers in their combine and tractor, blessing the grain as it is planted and watered.  This is a fascinating inter-cultural experience.  His farm is in the neighboring town of Lind which is famous for its annual Combine Demolition Derby in which folks gather from all over the region to smash their combines into each other.  Sadly, my schedule does not allow me to attend.  I am backing up now and heading for Lacrosse, Washington to a place which has a roof and a shower.  I shall feel much cleaner then.

Day 7 Othello to Washtucna

 Biking along a shade less road for 40 miles

Othello to Washtucna

    I left Othello after breakfast on a day even hotter than the previous day.  The weather report projected that it would reach 97 degrees Fahrenheit, though I will be a few days without internet and cannot verify this.  I can tell you that it was very HOT.  I biked 45 miles without seeing a building or finding any respite from the blaring sun.  There was no resting place which would give me respite from the blaring sun.  I was glad to bring lots of water.   I covered myself completely with sunscreen, but I evidently neglected the tips of my fingers which extend beyond my bike gloves, my right wrist, and the tops of my ears all of which hurt.  I am grateful that tomorrow promises to be cooler and that my ride will be much shorter. 

    Washtucna, population 210 and falling rapidly, has no motels or campgrounds.  I spoke with a lovely lady who administers the trailer park who pointed me to the city park frequented by cyclists.  I pitched my tent and was grateful that the temperature is dropping.  She has invited me to shower at her place and I am very much looking forward to this.

Day 7-finally able to use my camping gear in Washtucna, Washington where there is no other lodging

 

Lutheran's Men's breakfast on Othello

 

Lutheran Pastor Don Short in his elegant pastoral attire

 

Day 6 Bike from Vantage to Othello

 

Day 6 Bike from Vantage to Othello

 

Othello, Washington

 

     I arrived in Othello after biking 50 miles in 95 degree heat.  There is only one town (named Royal City for some reason I much research) which offered me an hour respite in an air conditioned pub. When I told the waitress that I was biking across the country, the kitchen staff all came out to wish me well. I did not want to leave, but I had an appointment in Othello 2 hours later and I did not want to miss it.  The land has flattened out entirely and one can see great expanses of wheat.

   Othello is the only town of any size for a hundred miles.  I met with Don Short, the lovely Lutheran Pastor, who gave me an overview the town and his congregation.  He informed me that the city is over 90 percent Mexican.  This means that it has a much larger percentage of Latino people than Miami.   It is an agricultural region and they have relied on Mexican farm workers for nearly a century.  Many of them have become U.S. citizens and some have purchased the farms on which they once labored.  Don told me that although some of the town Anglo population is saddened by the fact that they are a rapidly shrinking minority, there does not seem to be hostility over this fact.  One complaint has been that it is now necessary to drive 20 miles to get a hamburger.  Nearly every restaurant in town serves Mexican food.  One can see colorful murals in town which are a testimony to their cultural contribution.

    Although a very red congressional district, there is much anger over the reduction of guest worker visas allowed under the previous administration.  A local orchard went unpicked a few years ago because of their inability to get workers.  Don and I discussed the urgency of us establishing a functional immigration policy.   Evidently, the crisis at the Mexican border is not a pressing issue for the Mexicans trying to make a living in Othello.  I was able to see the complex diversity of Latino persons in the U.S.

    He invited me to breakfast with the Lutheran Men’s group on Saturday, which was wonderful.  We were given a huge menu containing Spanish words I had never seen before.  On the back page was a list Americano options. 

    We discussed the book  Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again by Rachel Held Evans which spoke of the urgency of equipping all persons of tell the story of their lives.   Don also shared that preaching in our contemporary age is a rather simple affair- Jesus commanded his disciples to love one another.   It is a clear and obvious proclamation, but embodying it in social policy is often complex.

View from Beverly Bridge