July 16, 2015
48 – It Would Take a Direct Hit from a Funnel Cloud to Phase These People
Last night we decided that we can't put Walter back in the trailer until he returns to full health. It's too much for his little body to bear when what he needs most of all is to rest. Kristen's dad lives half an hour away, and he agreed to pick up Walter and give him a place to hang out and sleep until we ride over some time in the afternoon. Just before nine John rolls into the parking lot, we place our dog on a towel in the middle of the pickup's bench seat, and then we say a quick goodbye. Even though it's the best choice for Walter, it hurts my heart that I can't explain to him why we're leaving him with someone else and that we'll see him again in a few hours. For all he knows we're never coming back.
Although so much of this trip has been wonderful, Walter's sickness has put a big emotional weight onto both of us over the last week. Handing him off to someone else just adds to that burden. I deal with this kind of thing by eating terrible food — stuff that doesn't look any different than what I eat most days on a bicycle tour but that's terrible all the same. Still, it feels weird to go to the closest gas station and drown my stress and sadness in donuts and Mountain Dew and a sausage-and-cheese breakfast croissant on foot instead of on the bike. It feels weird, but I do it anyway.
A thunderstorm charges toward Galesburg late in the morning. We stay in our room as long as we can, but after checkout time passes we have to find a new home. We ride a few blocks to the empty campus of Knox College, wander around until we find the student union building, and then drag the bikes inside and wait for the fury to pass. But in the end, there's light rain for about eight minutes and all the thunder and lightning pass north of town. And so we waste two hours of our lives for no reason at all and give ourselves one more thing to feel bad about.
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We head out of town on roads of gravel and dirt turned soft by the rains that just passed through. The smell of chicken shit floats on the breeze that pushes us toward the west at thirteen miles per hour. And soon we realize that yesterday's break from the humid air is over. Within five miles my shirt is drenched front and back and all up its sides, and no amount of wind can dry it out again.
Back in Fort Wayne, Jason and Lindsay talked about how sometimes they ride just the two of them, without their kids. They said that having the chance to ride in silence without all of the talking and questions and arguing among the kids was a good break — for about fifteen minutes. Then they couldn't help but wonder the kids were up to, and they found themselves missing all of that talking and all of those questions and those adorable faces. Today I get a sense of what that void of energy and love feels like. When I ride behind Kristen I look through the clear top of the trailer and expect to see Walter's head, but now it's not there. When she stops I expect to roll up alongside the trailer and say something to him, but that doesn't work either. I know it's only one day without a little animal who doesn't understand what we're saying and couldn't respond even if he did, but there all exists a large hole where Walter used to be.
We make one stop for snacks, but otherwise we crank hard toward the town of Oquawka where our sick little friend waits for us. I don't take many pictures, I don't write much, and we both feel happy that no one tries to talk to us because we're in a state of mind where all we'd do is answer their questions with as few words as possible and then wait for them to move on. It doesn't feel like we're on a bicycling adventure today; we're just riding bikes to get somewhere we already wish we were.
A few miles from town we shoot down a long hill and onto the broad, flat plain of the Mississippi River. If we weren't in such a rush to find Walter and see how he's feeling it'd seem like some grand milestone. Instead we give thanks for the easy flat riding and keep on moving.
When we meet up with Kristen's dad again we find a better-looking Walter than the one we left behind in the morning. After sleeping all afternoon he has more energy the last time we saw him, and maybe more energy than he's had in the last two or three days. He's still in rough shape, but it's clear we made the right choice in giving him a chance to rest instead of putting him through another day in the trailer. After collecting our happier pup we load our bags into the car that John lets us borrow and then head a few miles out into the countryside where we end up at the house of Kristen's aunt Jackie, Jackie's husband Tom, and their Bordie Collie named Mick.
Half an hour after we get there I come out of the shower to find that there's a severe thunderstorm warning, a tornado warning, and the chance for two-inch-wide hail and winds above sixty miles per hour. It takes everything the TV newscasters have to suppress their giddiness about the terrible misfortune that could be barreling toward this corner of Illinois. Huge rain begins to fall soon after. Then the tops of the trees whip back and forth on the growing wind, lightning pops and thunder rolls, and the air turns thick and warm like we're in the tropics instead of fifteen miles from the border with Iowa. I watch it all unfold from the safety of the living room with the sliding doors open. But as the fury rolls in and builds and then surrounds us, I notice how I'm the only one who's amazed by all of it. Then I realize I'm also the only one born and raised outside the Midwest. I think it would take a direct hit from a funnel cloud to phase these people.
I also seem to be the only one concerned when we walk out to the garage and find a column of flames shooting up from the surface of the grill where four ribeye steaks are most of the way through the process of going from raw meat to blocks of charcoal. It takes only a minute or two to calm the fire, but the smoke it leaves behind hangs over the living room for the next hour like we're at a rock show and the headliner's about to take the stage. Somehow the steaks still turn out okay, and together with long ears of sweet corn, fresh tomatoes from Jackie's garden, and beer in koozies it's a wonderful way to celebrate the start of the week we'll be spending in the area with Kristen's family.
We have a great time. But when I head downstairs late in the evening to check on Walter I find him half asleep in the corner, shivering. He still isn't eating or drinking on his own. He's still weak and still stumbling. As much as we want to believe that nothing serious is wrong with him and that he'll be fine once the antibiotics run their course, with the sad state he's in right we can't help but wonder if we're deluding ourselves with optimism. Yet another night comes to a close with our minds just about as far away from cycle-touring as it's possible for them to be.
Today's ride: 37 miles (60 km)
Total: 1,970 miles (3,170 km)
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