OELWEIN, IOWA: The Symbolism Of The Vulture

September 19, 2018

The plan after leaving Cedar Falls this morning was to give the city of Waterloo a second chance to show me its dangerous side. It had been almost 72 hours since I had ridden in any of America's most perilous cities and I needed one more dose of adrenaline-jolting danger.

The Reckless Mr. Bing Bong and the reckless ME rolled off into the thick air and the steely gray sky. Rain was imminent and thunderstorms were likely. SEVERE storms were only a slight possibility.

Eight days ago, when I biked the opposite way between Waterloo and Cedar Falls, I took a busy street route. At that time, Google hadn't yet informed me about the Cedar Prairie Trail which connects to the Cedar Valley Trail. It seems to me that the 7th most dangerous city for bicycle riders shouldn't have ANY bike trails, much less a NETWORK of them. But that's just my own silly thinking.

I rode the trails anyway in order to provide a little safety before the hellish fury downtown Waterloo would unleash upon me for tempting fate once again. Turns out, Waterloo was just as docile as it was the first time.

The blurry foreground demonstrates the blazing speed I had attained while taking this picture of the Cedar Prairie Trail.

A bike lane and zero traffic in dangerous downtown Waterloo.

Seems pretty tame right? Look closer. There are some potholes. And the street is wet. The former being a bent-wheel risk, the latter being a hydroplaning risk. I finally found some danger. I went looking for some more. Alas, those things were all I could come up with, so I'll just display some more scenes from the city.

I realize that I take a lot of pictures of churches. I'm not a religious man, but church architecture often interests me.

Waterloo may not be the center of bicycling safety, but it appears to be quite a railroad hub.

Thirty minutes beyond Waterloo, I was back into the Iowa countryside. The light rain turned into a steadier rain, and before long the steadier rain turned into a heavy rain accompanied by thunder and lightning.

Because they were just flashes of lightning and not BOLTS of lightning--and also because I'm a tough guy--I kept pedaling. I picked up the pace too, thinking there was a possibility I could speed ahead of the storm. Sometimes I get naive, loony thoughts like that in my head.

"Hey, dude," said the big cow behind the pole, "we're not too happy about all this rain."

While I was stopped on the shoulder, talking to the cows, I heard an approaching car. It slowed down and came to a stop beside me. It was a Blackhawk County Sheriff's Deputy and he rolled down his passenger side window.

"I just stopped to take a picture of the cows," I explained, waiting for him to chastise me for riding my bike in a storm.

"It's okay. I'm here cuz I got a call saying one of the cows was on the loose."

"Oh yeah. I saw it and that's why I stopped for a picture. But as soon as it saw me, it ran and crawled back under the fence right over there." I pointed to where the little calf got back in.

"Thanks. I'll go talk to the property owner."

The deputy didn't mention the lightning, and he never asked where I was going or if I knew what I was doing. I appreciated that.

I made it to a shelter in the Dunkerton City Park, thinking I might wait out the worst of the storm, which I was sure would pass in just a few minutes. Unfortunately, every mosquito in Blackhawk county had also sought relief under that tin roof.

Rather than digging into my panniers for the DEET, I decided to just get back out there and pedal. The rain persisted and the thunder resounded for at least another hour. It was actually quite fun.

The rain let up as I entered the area where traditional Amish people have settled to farm the rich Iowa soil. Therefore, I was able to take a few pictures of some Amish stuff.

An Amish schoolhouse (and a non-Amish finger in the lower left.)

I hope you enjoyed Amish country. As for me, I still had to ride six more miles into a headwind that had materialized after the storm passed. I'm not complaining, though, because I ALWAYS slow down to savor the last few miles of my bike tours. The difference today is that I didn't appreciate being FORCED to slow down to savor the last few miles of this bike tour.

I made it back to the city limits of Oelwein. I spotted a bunch of turkey vultures perched in a tree above. Was it the ultimate irony? The vulture is the great American symbol of impending death. Were they expecting me to arrive bloodied and barely alive after biking through "the most dangerous cities in the U.S.?"

Safe and sound, I made it back to my dad's house.

That concludes my loop tour. I know it wasn't a very exciting or exotic trip, but I'm glad I did it. As always, I met my goal of having plenty of fun. If interested, stay tuned for a couple more days when I post my GRAND SWEEPING CONCLUSION.

Today's ride: 47 miles (76 km)
Total: 649 miles (1,044 km)

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