The Midwest

Hello! To those of you who took my promise to update this blog more often seriously, I apologize. I really have been trying, but I've had infrequent access to internet and blogging energy this past week. I do have some stories to tell, though. I am writing this while sitting in a Mexican restaurant with free Wi-Fi in the small town of Atlantic, IA. Yesterday the team crossed over the Nebraskan border into Iowa, and today we continued our journey to Atlantic. Today’s ride was a rather arduous one, as we all woke up to humidity, heat, and a 50-mile ride up and down the rolling hills (which of course felt like mountains)of Southern Iowa. As an Oregonian, I find myself suffering in the extreme humidity—I’m from a place where the only moisture in the air is in the form of raindrops. The hills, however, do lend a certain charm to the farming landscape of Iowa when compared with the flatness of Nebraska scenery west of Lincoln. I rode with Sydney earlier this week for most of the century from Lake Johnson, NE to Grand Island. That afternoon Sydney and I, melting under the extreme heat, stopped at a gas station in every small town we went through to fill our Camelbaks with free ice and water (which were spaced out about every 7-10 miles). The irony of the convenience of the locations of those towns was that the path to every town along Highway appeared the EXACT SAME—grain silo barely visible straight ahead, train tracks 10 yards to the right with a train going by every 15 minutes, corn fields to the left and right (although sometimes soybeans varied the picture a bit) . . . and bumps in the shoulder of the road every ten feet. Needless to say, the similarity in scenery for an entire 90-mile stretch drove us crazy.

Despite all the flaws causing me discomfort that I could point out about the Midwest, this region’s reputation of hospitality and friendliness has lived up to my expectations. Cashiers and customers at every gas station I’ve stopped at in Nebraska and Illinois with my friends express interest and support in the Ride. Today, a kind stranger bought me Gatorade, trail mix, and donated to the Ride after we chatted about FACE AIDS, the Ride, and how hot it was outside. Just before entering this restaurant I stopped by a Salvation Army thrift shop a half mile from our campground in Atlantic, found myself a sundress, and then met  two employees there who were enthusiastic about the Ride, one of whom told me that her friend had AIDS and then surprised me with an impromptu half-off discount. Earlier this week at the Lake Johnson State Recreation Area, I walked the wrong way back to our campsite after swimming in the lake and ended up detouring through a series of RV sites. While holding my wet and dirty clothes, I met and talked at length with Nancy, Deb, and Tom about the Ride and FACE AIDS. They expressed interest in making a donation, and after a while the conversation turned to other topics. They later invited me to join them for dinner, dessert, a walk to see the sunset over the lake, and finally a few rounds a card game called Shanghai by the light of a camping lantern. Their familial presence comforted me and uplifted me.

America is a strange place—the same chain restaurants and stores are in almost every single sizeable town we roll through. And while some of my country’s residents may be incompetent drivers around bicyclists or may foolishly reside in an area where I feel like I’m swimming through the air because it’s so humid, I am currently convinced that Americans are good people on the whole. My recent encounters with Americans occupying restaurants, rest stops, gas stations, and campgrounds have given me a good impression. It helps to have so many positive interactions with strangers while on the road, because the process of sleeping in a different place every single night can be tiring and draining.

General notes about America:
1) Outside of every town we went through in Nevada there was a sign posted with a list of all the service clubs and churches in the town.
2) City limit signs in Colorado display the name of the city and its elevation.
3) City limit signs in Nebraska display the name of the city and its population.
4) Iowa is not completely flat as I was led to believe while growing up.

I'm sorry for the lack of pictures--I haven't seen my camera since Lake Johnson, and so for the near future I wont' be able to upload any to the blog. I'll do my best to provide vivid descriptions of the hot and humid American landscape for the foreseeable future to help your imagination get a sense of what I'm seeing as the team pedals along. The team bikes to Des Moines tomorrow. Cheers!