Visiting Chicago with Jeremy

I am very grateful that my son, Jeremy, was able to join me for a few days in Chicago.

Days 70-75 Cycling across Illinois to Chicago

 

Days 70-75 Cycling across Illinois to Chicago

       I spent the night in Davenport on the banks of the Mississippi River.  It was a wonderful experience to big boats again.  There is a large series of canals connecting the Mississippi River to the great lakes. Along the canals are the tow paths which have been re-purposed to bicycle trails.  They are beautiful with a bicycle friendly surface. 

     At the end of my first day I found myself absolutely exhausted after 25 miles.  I decided to stop 20 miles short of my planned destination and get a motel room.  I collapsed into bed and slept for 10 hours.  When I awoke, I discovered that one of the tires in my bicycle cart was flat and I had been dragging it for a considerable difference.  The sound of the crunching surface had prevented me from hearing anything unusual.  I felt foolish as I changed the inner tube and re-inflated it.

      At one of the many rest stops along the trail met a cyclist who was cycling from Chicago to Los Angeles along the old Route 66.   He introduced himself as Jim Franklin who was taking a leave of absence from his work as an epidemiologist for the Illinois office of public health.  When I described the events of the previous day and the exhaustion I felt at the end of the day, he pondered this for a moment.  He then explained that this describes precisely the plight of many of the persons of color in Chicago’s poorer neighborhoods.  He went on to say “this is why blacks have a maternal mortality rate twice as high as that of whites in the same city.  It is why black men die of heart attacks at three times the rate as white men.  It is why the many more blacks live in impaired immune systems and are much likely to die of Covid.  They are pulling a weight which of which the affluent are unaware and become pre-maturely exhausted.” 

     I thought about this as I peddled towards Chicago.  Many kind and conscientious persons are pulling a load which is unnecessarily burdensome.   It made me think of the comment by the Jewish philosopher, Philo “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

     It also serves as a reminder that I should check my cart tires more frequently.

Along the bike trail in Iowa

 

Day 69 Ames to Des Moines

 

Day 69 Ames to Des Moines

 

     There is an extensive network of bike trails throughout Iowa and Illinois.  It is very soothing to cycle away from cars and to have few stop signs.  It enables one to look out over the landscape and to aware of one’s sense of sight and smell.  The constant attention one pays to the dangers while riding on the road has a cumulative effect on one’s stress level.  This allows me to sing while I pedal:

 

The light of passion in dreamy eyes

The Page of truth well read

The glorious thrill in a heart gone cold

Of a spirit once thought dead

The song that goes to a comrade’s heart

The tear of pride let fall

My heart grows brave

And the world to me

Is a good world after all

 

Rest for your eyes are weary love

We drove the worst away

The ghost of the man I might have been

Is gone from my heart today

We’ll live for life and the best it brings

Till our twilight shadows fall

My heart grows brave

And the world to me

Is a good world after all.

 

   I was cycling from Ames to Des Moines to see Sam Greer, whom I had not seen in 45 years.  I worked with him in Oregon Caves National Monument when I was just out of high school.  It was an experience although this was a very long time ago, our friendship has transformed and nourished at various times in my life.  I discovered, among other things, the truth and power of Hamlet’s words to Horatio “There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” 

 

    In the intervening years he became an anesthesiologist and I became a priest and both became respectable members of society.  When we met again, I was reminded of the curious and excitable teenager who still remains within me.  When I got off my bike we hugged and I asked “how’s the surgery business?”  He replied “a bloody mess!” 

 

    It was a joy to meet his wife, Kim and to tell him about my wife and children.  I spoke of the grown up I am pretending to be.  He was getting ready to fly up to the arctic to hunt musk ox the next week.   I then discovered that there is a joie de vivre lurking in the heart of the most respectable of persons.  I am grateful that Kim drove me to Davenport the next day where I spent the night Dustin and Jodi in his printing shop.

Day 68 Ames, Iowa

With my new found family, Martha and Steve, at Church on Sunday

 

Day 68, Ames Iowa

   I arrived Ames and was welcome into the home of family members I had never met.   One of the wonderful things about having a large family is that many of them marry into wonderful and interesting families.  Martha Nace Johnson is the sister of my brother in law, Ted.   Due to the one child policy historically maintained in China, nobody in that country has any cousins (or aunts, uncles, nieces or nephews).  I have come to realize how much this must impoverish their social network.

     Martha and her husband, Steve, have moved to Ames to be close to their daughter, her son, and two young grandchildren.  I have discovered in my meeting with people that grandchildren have a powerful gravitational attraction (of which the children are delightfully oblivious).

      As I crossed the Missouri river and headed into Iowa, I have been pondering why we have become such a fractured people and what would be required for us to articulate and pursue common goals.  This is a conversation going on in my head while I am peddling.  Upon stopping, I am able to continue pursuing this inquiry with flesh and blood human beings.  I have found that it is a subject of near universal interest.

    Both Martha and Steve have devoted much of their professional lives pursuing the question “How can we work together towards achieving the values we all embrace”.  They have sought ways of doing this in both the public and private sector.  Martha had served as the Administrator of General Services (GSA) during the Obama Administration.  They had also both worked in engineering firms which sought to find ways to raise the quality in the production of small engines.  Among the steps which an organization needs to implement are

·         Identify a shared value

·         Identify the obstacles to achieving those things which we value

·         Call upon all persons who have a role in the production

·         Invite all such persons to be part of the resolution

   This might sound obvious, but it seems exceedingly difficult to implement.  It requires that we take seriously all those who have direct experience with organizational problems.  It is often difficult for those in management to accept this.

    Martha raised the example the desire of the U.S. military make “the perfect bereavement call” to the family of a serviceman who has been killed in action.  It requires that a concerted effort be made with those with expertise in pastoral care, as well as those in human resources.  It requires knowledge of the human response to trauma caused by the telling of horrible news.  It also requires a clear demonstration of gratitude of those in high positions.  Evidently, this is a task which has been done poorly in the past, and is now being done better.

    I asked her, “Is it possible to use such techniques in congress?”  She responded “that is above my pay grade.”  This spiritual obstacle to implementing the pursuit of quality is that we often do not believe that those with whom we disagree have anything useful to contribute to the process. 

All Saints' Church, Omaha

 

  I am particularly grateful to The Rev. Marisa Tabizon, rector of All Saints in Omaha and her congregation who extended such kind hospitality in letting me stay in their retreat center.  Theirs is a warm, prayerful, accepting, and generous community and I am grateful to them to them for letting me reflect and write while in Omaha.

Day 64-66 Omaha, Nebraska

 

Day 64-66 Omaha, Nebraska

 

      I arrived in Omaha late Tuesday afternoon and was greeted by Gary and Cathy Peterson.  They hosted me in their lovely home in a leafy section of Omaha.  Gary had retired 11 years ago from his work on developing vaccines for large animals.  They have used this time fruitfully in creating major renovations to their home, spending time with family, and bicycle touring.   Gary had biked by himself across the U.S., but claims he did this the easier way-tracing the banks of the Mississippi River from the Canadian border to New Orleans.  The kindness and hospitality he had received during his trip has inspired him to creating a space for other cyclists. 

     They were the second Mormon family to host me during this trip and encouraged me to spend a second night there.  During this time we had interesting conversations about the structure and function of the Church of Latter Day Saints.  They operate with no paid clergy and call upon their entire community to support and encourage one another.  It is intriguing to me how a large organization can thrive without benefit of paid managers.  I have always believed that when an organization reaches a certain size, it is necessary to hire people to do those tasks for which you cannot recruit volunteers.   Among the many such tasks are; creating a budget and overseeing expenditures, recruiting committed board members, and cleaning the bathrooms. 

      I am attracted to, but skeptical of, organizations which claim to be able to function and grow without clearly defined guard rails maintained by those in authority that are paid to exercise such oversight.  Is it really possible to call solely upon the good will of this entire community to seek and work for the common good? 

      In our conversation over these two days I was reminded of a committed anarchist who was the editor of an anarchist journal.  He did not see the irony of exercising control of an instrument of an organization which is ideologically opposed to external agents of control.  I asked him; How do you decide what is included and excluded from the journal? How did you come to hold this position?  Who decided how long your term of office is?  Is there any way which it can be decided that you should be replaced?  If so, who would oversee the process of your replacement? I understand the appeal of anarchy.  I cannot, however, imagine how it can insure that everyone’s voice is heard.  If there is not a structure to insure that there is room at the table for everyone, the loudest voices will exert themselves.

     I realize that I long to participate in a community which works towards a common goal, is inclusive of all those who seek to join, and relies on the good will of its members to achieve these goals.  The forms of government with which I am intimately familiar (both secular and ecclesiastical) have relied on well paid professional bureaucrats, political manipulation, byzantine legal constraints, power struggles,  and confusing jargon.  Perhaps this is simply our human condition.  It does, however, make me feel tired, lonely, and suspicious of those who aspire to positions of power.

     The Book of Common Prayer states “We like sheep have gone astray; we follow too much the devices and desires of our own hearts.”  I know this to be true and I wonder how we can best construct a loving corrective to this which respects the dignity of every human being.   I wonder as well how can remove all the planks and specks from all of our eyes.

     Although there is much about Latter Day Saints that I find profoundly problematic, I am intrigued and inspired by the way in which they hold each other mutually accountable.  In the absence of an ecclesiastical CEO, this requires the good will and trust of the individual members.  In our conversations over these two days, Gary and Cathy shared some of the horrible tragedies they have experienced as a family and the love and acceptance which has sustained them through some very dark days. 

     I was touched by their description of the pastoral care exercised in their church community.  Everyone has 3 or 4 other people that they contact frequently to see how they are doing.   In many instances, such people have not been involved in the church for some time.  They do not ask, “When are coming to church?”.  They ask “Are you okay?, how has your family been faring during these difficult times?”  These were particularly meaningful in the midst of Covid.  I wonder if we were all to call up several people every day to inquire about their welfare, what a difference our community could make.

     The care and mutual support which members of the LDS church have offered to each other has been a cause of suspicion to the outsider.  The hostility which they have experienced periodically in U.S. history is similar in quality to anti-Semitism.  They experienced violent persecution as they travelled west to find a homeland.  Along the way their common code of contact and dress has marked them as “different” and they have often found it difficult to procure building permits in parts of the country shaped by evangelical Christianity. 

     On our way to dinner, the Petersons received a call requesting that they give someone a lift to the weekly addiction recovery meeting.  This was a ministry that they have committed themselves and we delayed our dinner so that we could render this service.  Their demeanor indicated that they did not find anything exceptional about their altruism.  I believe they thought of it an act of basic human decency.

     There are many obstacles to our working cooperatively on a common enterprise without external forces exerted on us.  If we are to become the beloved community about which Martin Luther King Jr. writes, we must

·         Articulate common values and goals.

·         Communicate these values in such a way as to be attractive to others.  As Ruth Bader Ginsberg has stated, “Fight for the things that you care about.  But do it in a way that will lead others to join you.”

·         Trust others to be honest and forthright about their values and invite them to work together wherever possible.

·         Believe that our better angels will emerge if given an opportunity to do so.

·         Not care who gets credit for victories 

        I have been reading recently some essays by Albert Einstein and I was struck by his observation: “Strange is our situation upon earth.  Each of us comes for short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to a diving purpose.  From the standpoint of daily life, however, there is one thing we do know: That we are here for the sake of others-above all for those upon whose smile and well being our own happiness depends, for the countless unknown souls with whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy.  Many times a day, I realize how much my outer and inner life is built upon the labors of people, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received and am still receiving”

-Albert Einstein, Living Philosophies

 

Day 62 The Thompsons, Soy Bean Farmers near Scribner, Nebraska

 

Day 62, Fremont, Nebraska

 

Day 62, Fremont, Nebraska

    I packed my wet tent and sleeping bag onto my bike trailer and cycled towards Fremont, Nebraska.  I comforted myself with the knowledge that there was a place which served breakfast in Beemer.  It was a 10 mile ride, but I figured by the time I go there I would have earned the calories that the breakfast would entail. 

    The Beemer café was packed when I arrived and it was good to be sitting among human beings again.  The conversations around me had to do with anxieties over falling soy prices and raising the serious question if it was worth while farming at all.  The waitress, Mary, gave me a very detailed history of the community (though I had not asked her for this).   Like many of the communities I had passed along the way, she that the town might not able to hold on to the young adults who were graduating from high school. 

     Though I really enjoyed the wonderful food with high caloric content, as well as the air conditioned environment and the sociable waitress, I realized that I must be on my way.  This was the first hot day (90 degrees) I had experienced.  I am grateful that I mailed my down winter coat and winter clothes (necessary in Wyoming) back home to Denise.  They seemed very foreign to me now.

      I had reached the end of the cowboy trail and my only options were the highway or the country roads (which my GPS really wanted for me to take).  The highways were hot, smelly, and scary.  The country roads were loose gravel and very difficult for cycling.  I opted for the country road and was able to see some of the beautiful rolling hills which one can encounter in eastern Nebraska.

      After 7 miles on the gravel road, my tire went flat (again).  I wheeled my bike to shady spot and began the work of changing the inner tube.  After 8 or 10 times I have become very efficient at this task and able to do this in less than 15 minutes.

      When I was completed I decided that since I was in a very comfortable, quiet, and shady spot that it would be a good opportunity to call my mother.  When I called her number there was no one in, so I left her a message.  Upon completion of my message I heard a voice behind me announce, “You have picked a very strange spot from which to call your mother.”  I turned around and saw a couple in their 70s stroll had walked up behind me.  “Are you having trouble?” they asked with a pastoral tone in their voice.  I informed them that I had just changed a tire and I was going on my way.  They inquired as to what I was doing and I informed them that I was cycling across the country.  They asked what I did when I was not cycling, and I replied that I was a priest in Massachusetts.  They introduced themselves as Bob and Carol Thompson and added that they were Jehovah’s Witnesses, but it was too hot a day for evangelizing.

     I asked what was growing in the fields which surrounded us.  I was informed that it was soybeans which the couple had grown on this place for 60 years.  They had retired the year before and were leasing the land to someone else who they felt were doing a poor job of it.  “We live around the bend” the woman informed me. “Would you like to come in for a sandwich?”  I thanked them, and informed them that I had 35 more miles to go and someone waiting for me in Fremont.

     I cycled away a bit disappointed to not have had an opportunity to break bread with them.  The gravel road seemed too treacherous, so I decided to deal with the unpleasantness of the highway.  As I approached the village of Scribner, Nebraska I heard my phone ping indicating that I had a text message.  It was my host informing me that another violent storm was on its way.  I turned around and saw a black ominous cloud approaching us with sinister motives.  I texted him back and said that yes, this would be very nice and went into the gas station to procure a Popsicle.

   Twenty minutes later, Peter Hunt arrived in a pickup to drive me and my stuff the remaining20 miles to their lovely home in Fremont.  I am very grateful for their intervention in that the flat tire and gravel road had delayed me by two hours.  Peter and Jan Hunt were wonderful hosts.  They had a basement apartment set up for me when I arrived and it was such a delight to have shower, dry out my stuff, and chat with them over pizza.

    Both of them are health professionals (Peter is physician assistant and Jan is a registered nurse).  We spoke of the current state of health care as well as our concern for the economic stability of the next generation.  They have son who is serving in army and a daughter who is a state police officer in western Nebraska.   I am so very grateful for the kindness and encouragement they offered me as I continued on my journey.

Day 62, Camping in Wisner, Nebraska

 

Day 61 Spending the night in Wisner, Nebraska

    Nearly all of the small towns through which I have cycled have small parks in which cyclists are welcome to camp.  A short-lived community blooms in these lovely spots and it was joy to meet folks who have gravitated towards that place.  There were cyclists from the U.K. who pitched their tent on the river.  I had the opportunity to chat with an extended family which gathers at the park from around the country for that particular weekend.  Their grandfather had owned a local farm which was sold years ago, yet this spot still holds a place in their hearts.

    I noticed that the grass was particularly green and lush around the building housing the showers.  It seemed to be a good place to pitch my tent, and I was grateful for the cushion which the grass provided.  As I crawled into my tent I saw hundreds of fire-flies flying around the top of the blades of grass which created a mystical atmosphere.

     I fell asleep immediately.  I was, however, awakened at 6 a.m. by the automatic sprinklers which had been installed to insure the health of the green grass upon which I slept.  If I had all of my faculties, I would have concluded that insofar as the sprinklers were only on for a brief period of time and my tent was waterproof, the best course of action is to remain in my sleeping bag until the watering was complete.  However, at dawn, I am not at my creative best and jumped out of my tent dragging all of my sleeping gear with me.  This insured that I, my clothes, and my sleeping bag became instantaneously soaked. It also insured that I would be getting on the road at a reasonable hour and, for once, would be arriving at my destination that day on schedule.

Lunch with The Rev. Peter Jark-Swain

 

Day 61 Norfolk, Nebraska

 

Day 60 Norfolk, Nebraska

    After 4 days on the Cowboy Trail, I arrived in the city of Norfolk, Nebraska (population 25,000).  It boasts, among other things, of being the birth place of Johnny Carson who had visited many times during his years as the host of the tonight show.  One can find murals around the city and his ghost looms large.

    It is a beautiful and thriving city with beautiful parks and bike paths.  It is strange to see traffic lights and neon signs for the first time in a very long time.  I am grateful for the hospitality of the Natalie and John Garden who welcomed me into their home and gave me a sumptuous feast of blackened snapper.  It was such a relief to break bread with folks in their homes after three days of peanut butter and apple in my hotel room.

     Natalie is one of the wardens at Trinity Episcopal Church, and I enjoyed the opportunity to chat with her and John about the joys and anxieties of church leadership.  We spoke of the importance of creating a space where estranged people can feel welcome, supported, encouraged, and loved.  I am grateful that they came with me to the worship service on Sunday morning during which time the rector, Peter Jark-Swain blessed me for my journey.  Later he took me out to lunch at a wonderful local Mexican restaurant during which time we chatted about both the joy and the cruelty which can be experienced within a church community.  I am grateful for his words of comfort and encouragement.  I stayed in Norfolk until the threat of rain ended and continued my journey eastward.

O'Neill, Nebraska

  I stopped for lunch in O’Neill, Nebraska (population 4,000) which is the largest town I have encountered since I left Rapid City, South Dakota.  Upon entering the town, I was struck by the historical marker containing a biography  of John O’Neill, for whom the town was named.  It is confusing to me, after reading the plaque and looking him up on Wikipedia, why they chose his name for the town. 

     The plaque does little to give a positive impression of his accomplishments.  He arrived in the U.S. from Ireland as a teenager during the potato famine.  He joined the U.S. army to fight in the Utah Wars but became bored of the enterprise and deserted.  When the Civil War started he was commissioned as an officer for the Indiana Calvary but did not get the credit he felt he deserved so he deserted again.

    He became famous through his work with the Fenian Brotherhood  (an Irish independence group based in the U.S.) through which he enlisted the assistance of fellow Irishmen in Nashville Tennessee to attack Fort Erie, Canada in 1866 for reasons which remain somewhat mysterious.  The brotherhood had been battle hardened by Civil War and conquered Fort Erie for 3 days much to the consternation of the U.S. government who pointed out that they were not allowed invade sovereign countries without permission of the war department.  Below is a quote from the Wikipedia Article

“To get the Fenians out of the area, the U.S. government purchased rail tickets for them to return to their homes if the individuals would promise not to invade any more countries from the U.S.” 

John returned to Nebraska and they named the town after him.

Route of the Cowboy Trail

View of the Niobara River from the Cowboy Trail Bridge

 

Day 56-60 The Cowboy Trail

 

Day 56-60 The Cowboy Trail

     Valentine, Nebraska also marks the current western terminus of the Cowboy trail; a 160 mile rail line which has been transformed in the bike trail.  It attracts folks from all over the world and allows the rider to experience the beauty of the Nebraska landscape without competing with cars.  It is planned that this trail will connect with other trails to create a trans-continental bike route.

     However, the current surface renders biking very difficult.  It is hard packed sand which offers much resistance while peddling.  Insofar as the road which runs parallel, Route 20, has little traffic for the first 50 miles and has a relatively wide shoulder, most bicyclists prefer to stick to the road.  Cyclists from all over the world travel this route and are disappointed that the surface is so uninviting. 

     While stopping for a coffee break in Ainsworth, Nebraska I spied another cyclist at a table.   In our conversation he mentioned that he was from Poland and was cycling along the same route in the opposite direction.  We chatted for an hour comparing notes on places to see and places to avoid.  We could both offer insights into the places through which the other will travel.  He mentioned that the traffic density increases considerable as one travels east and that the calculus used to determine the preferable surface changes.  I found it interesting that we met at what is almost exactly the mid-point of our respective journeys. 

     His observations were accurate and when I reached the eastern outskirts of Ainsworth I discovered that there was a massive construction project to make create a divided highway to travel the increase traffic flow.  There is a cumulative stress which comes from biking 20 miles with large trucks speeding by at 80 miles an hour.  I looked over at the two lanes under construction to my right and observed that the concrete bedding had been laid and had not yet been covered with asphalt.  I decided to ignore the warning sign and cycled alone on this beautiful stretch of empty road bed.  After 10 miles I encountered a group of 8 Mexican road workers who were surprised to see another human being in this restricted area.  They did not reprimand me for my trespassing and took a break to chat with me about the magnitude of this project and their families in Mexico City.  I said farewell and they informed me there was another work crew 15 miles further along and radioed ahead to tell them to give me some cold water.  They shared the fact that this was hard, tedious, hot, and boring work and rarely have an opportunity for human interaction.  I am grateful for their kindness and for the fact that they did try to have me arrested for violating the no entry sign.

    For these three days there were few towns and thunderstorms every evening.  I therefore decided to treat myself with three consecutive nights in hotel which allowed me to invest in sleep and relaxation.  As I approached the more populated eastern part of the state the towns became larger and closer together and I once again enjoyed the hospitality of generous persons.

Historians on the Run

 

Historians on the Run

     A famous Canadian journalist once described his vocation as being “An Historian on the Run”.   This reference alludes to the fact that publication deadlines prevent him from constructing a complete and meaningful narrative of the events he is observing.  It is the role of the historians, with the luxury of time, to assess the implications and significance of the journalist’s observations.  The journalist seeks to answer the questions “who? what?, where?, and when?”.  It is generally left to others to articulate the answer to the question “Why?”.  Both time and reflection are required before one can begin to articulate a true and satisfying description of what has been observed and experienced.

    The discipline of intentional thoughtful contemplation of what we observe is described by Frederick Buechner in his memoir “Now and Then”

     “…Listen to your life.  See it for the fathomless mystery it is.  In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.”

     The hours I spend cycling alone give me an opportunity to discern a cohesive narrative of my conversations and observations on this journey.  The time spent in solitude, accompanied by a slightly elevated heart rate, allows me to make some sense of the zeitgeist (definition: the defining spirit or mood of a particular period of history as shown by the ideas and beliefs of the time).

 

     Among the things I have observed is a longing for meaningful human contact.  I have discovered an almost universal desire for people to express the longing of their hearts.  There is so much contempt, fear, and suspicion in the very air we breathe that people are afraid to speak with honesty and vulnerability.  I have also found that the many acts of generous kindness I have experienced express a desire to be altruistic.  In the past two weeks ten different strangers in ten different towns have welcomed me into their homes, made wonderful meals, gave me a warm bed, told me their stories, and allowed me to tell something of mine.   The defensive part of my brain whispers that they do this because I am a pathetic and incompetent man who needs looking after.  There is another part of my brain which remembers the poem by Sydney Carter:

 

I come like a beggar with a gift in my hand

By the hungry I will feed you

By the poor I’ll make you rich

By the broken I will mend you

Tell me, which one is which?

Valentine Nebraska

Valentine Nebraska

     Valentine is a lovely town (population 2,700) located in the center of Nebraska.  After Pat Miller dropped me off, I had an opportunity to walk around the town and to strike up conversations in the local diner.  A group of retired farmers invited me to join their table conversation and gave me an overview of dividing line which runs through Valentine.

     Until recently, the line separating Mountain Time from Central Time ran right through the center of town.  In the interest in reducing confusion, they decided several years ago to move it to the town’s western border.  This time zone dividing Nebraska in half is a significant social and economic dividing line.  On the west, the economy is based predominately on cattle, whereas the east it is primarily agricultural.  On the west, cowboy hats are the preferred head gear, to the east people wear baseball caps.  Ranching promotes a social system which encourages a type of rugged individualism which eschews governmental intervention.  Agriculture requires a much more cooperative social structure to enable the production and distribution of produce. 

    The farmers also shared over coffee that successful farming means to always be mindful of the common good.  It is not competitive in the way ranching can be.  Cattle rustling has been a capital offence, whereas no one is terribly worried about the theft of corn.  The fortunes of the farmers rise and fall together. 

     The political leanings of Nebraskans reflect these two different cultures.  The west becomes hostile to any governmental intervention whereas in the east there is an understanding of the importance of having guard rails to insure the prosperity of the region. 

      I have been pondering these two political worldviews and wondering if how we might effectively communicate across this ideological divide.

Being Welcomed into Nebraska

 

Day 54 Martin, South Dakota to Cody, Nebraska

 

Day 54 Martin, South Dakota to Cody, Nebraska

     I have decided to head south and to make my eastward journey through the state of Nebraska.  I was saddened to have missed the reservation and the kind people I had met there, but the distance between communities made cycling concerning.  I said farewell to the Daytons and headed south to cross the border.

     There are still rolling fields, though the change in vegetation makes for a very different sort of landscape. There are easily 20 shades of green which give testimony to the powerful life forces at work in this place.   The first town I hit as I crossed the border was Merriman, Nebraska (which made me think of Robin Hood’s band).  Like many of the towns along this stretch, it was named after a railroad official in the late 19^th century.  Even the smallest towns in this part of the world have an historical museum.  In these museums, the creation story of the town is retold (i.e. the story of the Europeans who have settled in that place).  The railroad looms large in these creation story and many of these small towns were growing cities in the early part of the 20^th century.  The Chicago and Northwest Railroad was abandoned 40 years ago and made into a bike trail (which is one of the reasons I chose this route).  Merriman (population 87) has lost 80 percent of its population since the closure of the rail line.  When a town shrinks below a critical mass of people necessary to maintain a municipal infrastructure, things become difficult.  The surrounding towns all realized that they could not each maintain a public school.  The town which wins the fight to have a school has the best chance of surviving.  Once the school closes, the banks, churches, libraries, and grocery stores soon follow.  Merriman lost the fight to retain a school and now the 20 children (25 per cent of the population) have significant bus rides.

     One can still see the gracious buildings which have housed the commercial life of community.  They are abandoned and people are trying to find creative uses for them.   There is a gas station which, like all rural gas station, has a room with microwave sandwiches and a table and chairs.  While there, a local man came up and chatted with me.  He shared with me the sadness he had felt about the close of the local school.  My bike and cart and intrigued him, so he asked about my trip.  He seemed a bit incredulous when I described it to him.  “You are not a young man, you know!”  This stung more that I thought it would.  “How are you going to be able get all the way to Boston?”  I answered “’tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.”  He smiled, uttered an expletive, shook my hand, and wished me well.

      The cowboy trail goes through beautiful countryside.  Unfortunately, the surface is coarse sand which makes peddling difficult.  I made the calculation that insofar as the parallel highway has very sparse traffic and a wide shoulder, it would be preferable to stick on the road.  The scenery is lovely and Nebraska is not the flat place I thought it would be.  The gentle rolling hills are very soothing to the eyes.

      There are towns every 20 miles along the rail line.  In an attempt to bolster tourism in the region, every town has a lovely park and cyclists are invited to camp there at night.  There were no hotels along this stretch, so I thought this would be my best option.  Upon arrival in Cody, Nebraska (population 168) looked for the campground.  The town, like many of the towns along the line, was named after a railroad foreman).  Cody won the competition for the high school, so its future is more secure than that of the surrounding communities.  The grocery store, however, had closed several years before.  Someone had the creative idea of having a grocery store run by the local high school students.  Under teacher supervision, the students order the food, stock the shelves, clean the store, and perform all the tasks required to have a functional place of business.  They also get paid for the time they work there.  Not everyone in town decides to be a rancher, and this teaches a skill set which gives the students some life options.

     When I arrived at the campground there was sign containing the phone number to call to register.  The call went directly to voicemail.  I looked and saw that the toilet and shower were out of order.  This was problematic.  I climbed on my bike looking for some office (or some sign of life) which might offer some counsel on what options were available.  There was not a soul in town.  After a few minutes, a pickup truck stopped and the woman driving rolled down the window and asked if I needed some help.  When I told her that the bathrooms were out of order and I was seeking options for the night she said “I’m on the village council, and we have been arguing about this for months.  The money has been set aside, and we just need to get this done.”  This was interesting, but helpful.  She continued “I have several apartments overlooking the park, one of which is currently vacant; you are more than welcome to use the bathroom there.” 

    I asked her if she would be willing to rent it out for the night, she replied, “Fifty dollars, but I don’t want to push you into renting it.  It is close to the park.”  I said, “I’ll take it!”  She tried once again to dissuade me; she did not want to be pushy. She introduced herself as Pat Miller and had a wonderful conversation about the history of the town.

    The place was wonderful.  It was a newly renovated 3 room flat with two large beds, a kitchen, and large living room with a huge television.  I purchased some food from the high school grocery store and settled in for the night.  As I read my book a violent thunder storm shook the ground and the rain pelted against the wall gratitude for Pat welled up in my heart.

     The rain had slowed down by morning, but scattered thunder storms were predicted for the entire day.   I was packing up preparing to weather the elements to bicycle 40 miles to Valentine, Nebraska (also named after a railway worker who later became a state representative) when Pat stopped by.  She informed me that she was driving to Valentine and would be happy to bring me, my bike, and my stuff.  I was exceedingly grateful and we had a wonderful conversation along the way.

     She had always lived in the area and, in addition to having full time jobs; she and her husband had 500 head of cattle and 250 bulls.  They also renovated local houses and sold them.  They also served on town council and had in interest in the long term prosperity of the town.  We spoke of the difficulty of maintaining some of the smaller communities in the state and of the resilient spirit which became evident in difficult times.  We spoke about the importance of kindness and how this has become a rare commodity. 

     Later that night, after she had returned to her home, she called me up and told me that I had left some items in the room I had rented from her.  I told her that I could live without them, but she said she would drive them to me the following day.  She laughed as she recalled a time when she and her husband had been away in Omaha, and she had left all of their clothes in the hotel room when they returned home.  I am grateful for her kindness, humor, and infectious hope.

The Dayton's of Martin, South Dakota