I left town early the next morning because the day's trip to Davenport was over seventy miles, and I was told that the terrain was hilly. I stopped at a local BBQ place to use the restroom and fill my water, but the owner told me to just grab a bottle out of the cooler, like for free. The unexpected kindness that strangers have shown me the past six weeks has convinced me that the people of this country have open hearts and whether they admit it or not, know that we are all connected to one another.
I left town on Interstate 61, which was a four lane highway that had a disappearing shoulder every few miles. I don’t know if I have ever been on a road that made me as nervous the way that this one did, only on the way to Whitefish in Montana did I feel this. I kept my cool for nearly thirty miles even though I had three semi trucks blast me with the air horn and one pass about a foot away from me. I didn’t always have access to a bike friendly route, there were times that I just had to take the Highway for a few miles to get to a country road.
I had enough of the high speed, noisy road, and I stopped at a visitors center at Huntsville. It was a nice stop, there were massive restored lime kilns on a historic estate. I ate lunch at the interpretive center, picked up a bike map of Iowa and took country roads the rest of the way to Davenport. It was refreshing to slow my pace once again, watch the corn fields sway in the wind, and daydream as the scattered clouds floated on by. For me, this was where the enlightenment existed, in the swirling clouds and never-ending GMO corn fields. That day was a success, as I only had one dog try to silently chase me, and I easily outpaced him. I pit stopped in Grand Mound , had a Diet Coke at a dark, cavernous bar, and rested for about an hour.
I called my Couchsurfing host, Eric and got directions into West Davenport where he lived. The rest of the ride was actually really comfortable, as the hills decreased in size and I was able to average a comfortable 18 mph the fifteen miles into town. I got on the bike path that meanders all the way through town and arrived at Eric’s place just as he was coming home from work.
He had tickets to a Minor League baseball game, the local team was known as the Quad Cities Bandits. I was beginning to suspect that towns in the midwest needed to ally themselves in order to be taken seriously, why not just incorporate and call it Quadtopia or Port Quad? Eric worked in insurance so he knew quite a few people around town, and was able to get us into the private party at the game with free food and beer.
What a way to land in an unfamiliar town! He told me that if I wanted to stay one more day, there was a river blues festival going on with Blue Oyster Cult headlining. That was all that he had to say to convince me, I loved music. Eric told me that he was going to be serving beer for three hours at the festival and asked if I wanted to also volunteer, sounded like another fun experience. The Bandits won the game that night. Go Bandits!
Friday, August 21. Mile 2,290 (according to the tiny electronic bike odometer that used a magnetic device on my front wheel). I wanted a cup of coffee that next morning, so Eric suggested that I go to Red Band Coffee. I took the beautiful bike path to downtown. I found the small beautiful Art deco building but there were no seats, only piles of large, heaping burlap sacks full of beans from all over the world. I ordered a black coffee and they ground my serving on the spot, using a fresh paper filter. I watched intently as the black gold dripped through the filter into a large glass beaker, then poured in to my paper cup. It was like watching a scientist distilling some special formula. It was by far the best cup of coffee that I have ever tasted, but they didn't serve food so I had to finish my cup there and look for a breakfast joint.
I found a small greasy spoon diner in the center of town, ate and then walked across the "bridge to nowhere"- a multi million dollar pedestrian bridge that spans over the mighty road right next to the Mississippi but stops just on the other side of the street where the riverboat casino was stationed in town. People in town told me about how it was the biggest waste of money, but I thought it was pretty cool. Afterall, it did have lights that changed colors, and it did take you right to another waste of money. They could have just put a light and a crosswalk in, but what's the fun in that? I ate a five dollar buffet on the casino boat and Eric called so I met him down at the River Music Festival volunteers' booth. We helped load case after case of beer and soda into huge bins then filled them with ice and started drinking, being a volunteer has its benefits. Unfortunately for the public, the sky turned dark and the rain came on down in torrents, creating large puddles instantly. The beer was free as long as we were volunteering, so we didn't care. We mingled with the other volunteers and drank, drank, drank. The rain stopped shortly after 5pm and people started to line up to buy beer; I had met Jon and Margaret in the meanwhile. They were a very loving couple who decided that they were going to buy me breakfast in the morning, and I couldn't say no. They convinced me that I needed to go to Chicago, and visit a friend of theirs. I wasn't sure about it, I was trying to stay away from big cities, but they said that If I had never been there I needed to experience it at least once in my life. I already deviated from my route a few times so what could it hurt?
My shift ended so I grabbed a few more beers and headed out to go see the opening bands. It was mostly country with a rock twist to it, so I just floated around with Eric, Jon and Margaret, enjoying the festival and all the people watching. It’s fun to see the unexpected people that show up when something is free: zitty teenagers, mullet sporting rock fans, lots of leather jacket wearing bikers, and rednecks galore. Oh Iowa, how I love you. The Blue Oyster Cult was the headlining act, so I pushed my way up to within four rows of people from the stage. They put on an impressive performance, especially for their age. I danced like a maniac and eventually left my coveted spot to go find my new friends. I slept like a log that night. In the morning, I somehow woke up just before Jon called and he was very hungover. They took me to a place called "Shed" and I ordered the Hungry Man's breakfast, which consisted of a huge slab of ham, a large sausage, bacon, two pancakes, three poached eggs, an English muffin and home-fries. I surprisingly couldn't actually finish the last couple of bites. We took a picture outside with a large phallic corn sculpture and they dropped me back at Eric's place. I packed my things and was on the road by around 11 am.
I took the bridge across the river and started to head northwest on the bike path. It was a glorious day, and I stopped at a riverfront park which had a workout station. A few more miles down the road I found a map of the area, it turns out that I had been riding in the wrong direction for about an hour. Instead of backtracking, I took the most direct route to get to the Hennepin Canal trail, I-80. It saved me tons of time and confusion, but in hindsight, it was very stupid and dangerous. It's not only illegal but very scary to have cars pass you at 70 miles per hour, even though there was a huge shoulder on the road. I finally found the Hennepin Canal and as I entered the towpath, there was a sign that read, "trail closed". My heart skipped a beat, wasn’t very happy with this, so I just went on anyway. About a mile down the road the trial was completely washed out and I had to push Bella around a muddy, steep path in the ditch on the side that the other hikers/bikers had carved out.
This canal was originally built to carry goods from the Illinois river to the Mississippi therefore connecting the interior of the country and making Illinois the most populated inland state by having the most efficient method of transporting goods. They did all of this with the use of donkeys trotting down raised “tow paths” on the side berms pulling the barges down the canals. These canals didn't last long before the railroad system was put into place, but have since become wildlife sanctuaries and hiker/ biker trails. There is a movement to save these old canal areas from being drained and destroying the habitats that these animals have come to depend on.
My day went by relatively smoothly after all the mess of the freeway and crumbling trails, and I was very happy to have the solitude back that I had come to enjoy so much. There were so many instances where I had an osprey take off a few feet in front of me as I passed by it’s stationary stance, hunting for fish with silence and speed. They were so graceful as they flew off. I had a chance to see one spear a small fish with its beak. These were the things that made me appreciate Planet Earth so much and the small miracles that I witnessed just being alive and present to the moment.
I made it to a campsite at lock 17 and set up for the night. There was a small group of locals next to me that I befriended and they offered up their alcoholic beverages. People’s generosity never ceased to stop, especially people out in the country. These were people who mostly did physical labor all day for a living, they understood the underlying principles of community, sharing and togetherness. The next day, I hopped onto route 6 because the gravel bike path was destroying the tread on my road tires and causing me to have to push harder in order to go slower than on the pavement. I made it through several small Illinois towns and eventually came to a more populated area along the Illinois River. I found the bike path of the town I was in, where it cut through town. It was getting late and I needed to find a campsite. I found a campsite off the bike path but left for another site because of the large amount of glass and trash in the area; there were also four wheeler tracks everywhere and I just didn't want to be harassed by potential local drunks.
The trail at this point was called the I&M Canal and connected to the Hennepin Canal nearby where the Illinois River turns sharply south.
I rode the I&M to its' end, which linked up with the Centennial Trail; this took me to within about 20 miles of downtown Chicago but it just ended out of nowhere. I found a road that took me to a suburb that had a library (pro tip is to use libraries and other free resources for internet if needed) and found some maps and was able to find a route into downtown Chicago taking Ogden street, then up towards Logan Square which was where my couch was waiting for me.