Training With Tim

Whoa, is that right? I’ve been biking for 10 straight days? Holy crap, it’s true.

I’m only four days away from home, and I can feel it. Actually, yesterday and today I almost felt like I was home where I grew up in the country: South Beaver Dam, Wisconsin.

The family I stayed with lived outside of town in a farmhouse on a gravel road surrounded by cornfields. They took me to see Albert, the world’s largest anatomically correct bull, and “the plow in the tree,” which is exactly what it sounds like. Entertainment, western Iowa style.

A whole lotta bull

Wisconsinites are more than familiar with huge cow public art, and my dad has his own trees growing through and enveloping several cars in the woods. Like I said, felt right at home.

Biking out of town this morning, we saw dozens and dozens of rabbits. Maybe hundreds. It was like we were in a Disney movie montage. Dan told me growing up he used to eat rabbit and squirrel all the time. My dad said they used to shoot rabbits that darted out of the crops while harvesting, and then they’d fry them up for dinner.

The couple seemed like an Iowa version of my own parents. Deeply religious, home schoolers, owned their own business, even belonged to a food co-op. The whole family sat down at the dinner table and said grace before eating.

Today, Dan took the day off from his jewelry store to bike with me. Finally, I had someone to talk to along the way. Just as important, I had someone to occasionally draft off.

We talked race relations, religion, politics, the media, the differences between city and rural folk. Basically, every topic you’re not supposed to talk about in polite company. And this went on for, oh, 50 miles or so.

It was kind of like chatting with an extremely talkative, extremely opinionated version of my father. I really loved it.

He also told me to proofread my work and to not use vulgarities in my writing. I believe I’ve heard that one or two times from my dad. Can’t argue with him, though I still think sometimes you just gotta say F-you to a hill. You just gotta.

I hope I don’t get Dan in trouble for telling this story, but I have to. Being from a “conservative Baptist background,” the family doesn’t drink beer. But he graciously took me to a liquor store and let me buy some for myself last night.

“My wife said he can have one or two beers,” he reported. “But if he gets drunk he’s out on his butt!” I made sure not to pick any high-alcohol beers.

Dan told me he didn’t like the taste of beer, but he once found a “dark lager or ale” that he could stand. Almost tasted like coffee, he said. That would be a stout, my friend.

So I picked out a few dark beers and made him promise to try a taste. He reluctantly agreed. After dinner I made him keep his promise, and he told me to pour “just a little” in a glass. He tried it and made a face. “Sorry, dude,” he said. Then added: “Don’t tell pastor,” just as his son pretended to take a photo with his cell phone.

I then preceded to drink three beers along with my watermelon, chicken stir-fry, rice, salad, and two heaping helpings of hot fudge sundaes. I did not get drunk, though I may have been a little tipsy on hot fudge.

Goat pile!

I left Dan behind about 10 miles ago when he told me to go on ahead. Dan’s a good man, and I will miss riding with him. But I was really in a groove, and started pushing. I feel great today. My body is adapting, it’s much cooler and I’m getting hungry to get home.

I just stopped in the Grimes, Iowa, library to write this update, then I have 9 more miles to stay with my mother-in-law’s retired relatives in Des Moines. They sounded extremely nice on the phone. They’re making me dinner and then taking me to the Iowa State Fair kick-off parade.

Tomorrow is by far the longest day of the trip. I have about 115 or 120 miles. Yikes. It’s ok, though. I’m almost home.