Niobrara, NE

Back in early Indiana, I ran into a big, burly, tough old fireman who warned me, "Son, I know you're from the South, and you're used to southern hospitality - but you're not at home any more.  You'd better watch out."

Boy, was he ever wrong.  It seems to me the farther west I go, the friendlier folks get.  Going through Iowa, people went well out of their ways to see me along.  One family (names withheld - I don't want every one of my fellow transients stopping in!) saw me in a gas station shopping for canned vegetables, and invited me to spend the night in a real bed!  The same thing's happened in Nebraska - a couple of nights ago in Ponca State Park, folks invited me to sleep on the porch of their cabin.  Unfortunately, in that case I made the mistake of being too proud - I told them I'd be fine outside, and I was in the mood to sleep under the stars anyhow.  Well, right about the time I finished setting up camp the storms rolled in, and there were puddles inside the tent before I fell asleep (I'm still drying out from that one).  The same Nebraskans shared with me a local treat produced in Sioux City, which I'd passed through earlier that day: The King Bing.  The Bing is a chewy cherry center dipped in chopped peanuts and chocolate. Probably the most bizarre thing I've eaten yet.

Also on the dietary front, I ate this at one of my favorite diners yet - Carey's in Cherokee:

 

That's a pork tenderloin with bacon and cheese.  Bad news for everyone who had money on me coming home skinny.

So, the going's been a lot slower than I expected, largely due to the weather.  Most of the time it's pretty windy, which I'd been told was to be expected, but I blew it off.

When you can see hundreds of these guys at a time, you realize how windy it is - a headwind is consistently knocking 5+ mph off tmy speed, often more.  The turbines pictured at left (with blades as large as a semi) aren't even the biggest ones.  The whole experience is turning me into a huge proponent of wind power - maybe they can slow that breeze down a bit.

When the wind's not blowing, but I still need something to gripe about, there's always the precipitation.  The reason I say precipitation instead of rain is that sometimes it's hail.

 

But even hail won't kill you.  One particular day, I was plodding through Iowa with about 85 miles for the day under my belt and 3 hours of sunshine left - well on my way to my first 100 mile day - when the sheriff pulls up alongside me.  I'd just taken off my helmet because the road was virtually abandoned and thought "GREAT, he's going to give me a ticket for riding without a helmet after it's been off 30 seconds."  If only.  Instead he leaned over and said, "You know, there's tornado warnings out.  You should get into town and hunker down."   Ugghh...  At least I don't have any pictures of tornadoes.

Fortunately, the time's been broken up well.  In central Iowa I ran into Andrew, another cyclist on a similar adventure.  He's from Boston, headed to Eugene, OR.  We met the day of the tornadoes, and went together to the local jail to ask for a cell for the night (hey, it's better than getting caught in a tornado).  The jailer turned us down, but made some phone calls and in a few minutes we were checking into the local Super 8, courtesy of the sheriff's office.  Since we were going the same direction, we stuck together for several days.  By together, I mean we had a tortoise/hare type relationship.  Andrew, with 40 lbs less gear and bike, wouuld be miles ahead of me all day and I'd catch up in the evening.  If anything is going to make me doubt the whole homemade bucket system and lack of ultralight gear, it was those few days.  But, it was enjoyable having a travel companion, and someone to trade tips and tricks with.

I can't wrap up a post on Iowa without mentioning RAGBRAI.  Apparently, everyone in Iowa is nuts.  Every year thousands - I mean around 15,000 folks gather somewhere on the Missouri River and ride their bicycles all the way across to the Mississippi.  Some are fully loaded (like me), others are unloaded/supported- meaning they have a vehicle driven by a friend with their gear, and some are just loaded (it's a big party all the way).  Everywhere else in the country I get strange looks when I roll into town.  In Iowa, they just assume I'm training for the RAGBRAI.  It's like bikes are in their blood, or grow on trees around here or something.