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| Mansion House Pub east. 1836 sits in the boundaries of Centerville, a town celebrating its bicentennial this year. |
Monday, August 11, 2014
Architecture and antiquities
I haven't been snapping many pictures of houses or buildings since entering the Midwest, but now that I'm on the National Road (first federally funded highway authorized by Thomas Jefferson in 1806), I find it hard to resist. Each of these quaint east Indiana towns have so much history, as well as, amazing examples of pre Civil War architecture.
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Polis
After 63 miles I'm totally exhausted. Cars are beginning to appear fuzzy and it's getting hard to focus on anything. Buddy and I have gone straight through the centre of Indianapolis via Washington Street and now we're finally coming into more open spaces. The fire chief at Sugar Creek Township, Station 42 has allowed me to pitch the tent behind the building, and I have no doubt that I'll be comatose momentarily...but first a minute to reflect.
Navigating this urban setting hasn't been without it's memorable moments, both rewarding and bitterly sad. I've found the majority of people around here to be incredibly warm and caring. As Cameron says,
'Hoosiers are lovers.'
Indeed, it's been hard to get more than a few miles without having someone offer some sort of cheerful assistance. However, since one might allege that these journals are being written by someone wearing overly optimistic rose tinted glasses, I'll provide, notwithstanding the absence of examples (if you've spent any time on this earth, your imagination will suffice) a brief picture of objectivity.
Walk Washington Street from the far west to the east side of this urban jungle and you will hear a sorrowful song, and whether this dirge, sung on the fringes, is merely a trope mirroring the incessant exchanges made at the heart, or merely a rueful resonance born of poverty, the reality of a broken, depraved society is difficult to deny.
Now there's not a soap box strong enough to support me, so the last thing I want is to turn this entry into a finger-pointing rant. I'd much rather highlight my hope in the transforming power of grace and its ability to inspire redemption; I'm persuaded that to the extent that this city has been wounded, she can also be healed. People like Daniel, Cameron, Anna, Pops and Mike are the foundation for my belief.
Navigating this urban setting hasn't been without it's memorable moments, both rewarding and bitterly sad. I've found the majority of people around here to be incredibly warm and caring. As Cameron says,
'Hoosiers are lovers.'
Indeed, it's been hard to get more than a few miles without having someone offer some sort of cheerful assistance. However, since one might allege that these journals are being written by someone wearing overly optimistic rose tinted glasses, I'll provide, notwithstanding the absence of examples (if you've spent any time on this earth, your imagination will suffice) a brief picture of objectivity.
Walk Washington Street from the far west to the east side of this urban jungle and you will hear a sorrowful song, and whether this dirge, sung on the fringes, is merely a trope mirroring the incessant exchanges made at the heart, or merely a rueful resonance born of poverty, the reality of a broken, depraved society is difficult to deny.
Now there's not a soap box strong enough to support me, so the last thing I want is to turn this entry into a finger-pointing rant. I'd much rather highlight my hope in the transforming power of grace and its ability to inspire redemption; I'm persuaded that to the extent that this city has been wounded, she can also be healed. People like Daniel, Cameron, Anna, Pops and Mike are the foundation for my belief.
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Keep on keepin' on
We set off from the camp site at 10 but take our time exiting the park. Bud has to investigate what appear to be midget beavers, and after two poops, a final swim is definitely in order.
Down the highway, just four miles or so, a journalist from the local paper catches us for a roadside interview. Nice guy. It seems he's got a similar interest in highlighting news which is edifying rather than fixating on all the muck. It's always nice to come across positive press. I feel strongly that more messages of goodness and gratitude can help encourage others.
Anyway, not too much later, a young couple stop to say hello and contribute water as well as a couple nutritious things to snack on. They're heading south on 231 for Bloomington, which I'm told is like the New York of Indiana. Time passes slowly. It's not terribly hot, but it is quite muggy, so we take a break in the tiny town of Morton where, as far as I can tell, the only operating business is a country store; I get a tasty pickled baloney sandwich with Colby cheese.
By 22:00 we've reached Danville and since there isn't a park in which to pitch my tent or a motel anywhere in sight, I'm sat here at a gas station again, thinking about what the next move should be. Soon, a group of young men come through, and they're eager to talk. They contribute a bag of jerky and some Beggin Strips 'as a token of [their] appreciation.' Not quite sure what I've done to receive such favour, but everyone loves to be appreciated.
Later, a couple of city officers pull up. I immediately go on the defensive, but it's totally unnecessary. They've simply stopped to say hello. We talk a bit, and I try to explicate some of my inspiration for this journey: the amazing blessings of life in America, and the value (relative to other countries I've visited) of having the freedoms that citizenship affords. They both seem to be on the same page and offer some helpful info about where to locate accommodations further down the road. I had been hesitant to go any further at night, but Chase and Jeff inform me that there's a wide shoulder and divided highway just east of town. So, I guess I'll push on to Avon and hopefully find a good budget motel for me and the pup.
Just as I'm wrapping things up two more gentlemen approach, the first with bags of dog food and the second with another package of Beggin Strips. Buddy has a remarkable talent for evoking sympathy in people, even when he's just sleeping.
'Man,' I remark jokingly, 'we ought to spend more nights in front of gas stations.'
Guess we'd better hit the road before the cart overflows with treats.
Down the highway, just four miles or so, a journalist from the local paper catches us for a roadside interview. Nice guy. It seems he's got a similar interest in highlighting news which is edifying rather than fixating on all the muck. It's always nice to come across positive press. I feel strongly that more messages of goodness and gratitude can help encourage others.
Anyway, not too much later, a young couple stop to say hello and contribute water as well as a couple nutritious things to snack on. They're heading south on 231 for Bloomington, which I'm told is like the New York of Indiana. Time passes slowly. It's not terribly hot, but it is quite muggy, so we take a break in the tiny town of Morton where, as far as I can tell, the only operating business is a country store; I get a tasty pickled baloney sandwich with Colby cheese.
By 22:00 we've reached Danville and since there isn't a park in which to pitch my tent or a motel anywhere in sight, I'm sat here at a gas station again, thinking about what the next move should be. Soon, a group of young men come through, and they're eager to talk. They contribute a bag of jerky and some Beggin Strips 'as a token of [their] appreciation.' Not quite sure what I've done to receive such favour, but everyone loves to be appreciated.
Later, a couple of city officers pull up. I immediately go on the defensive, but it's totally unnecessary. They've simply stopped to say hello. We talk a bit, and I try to explicate some of my inspiration for this journey: the amazing blessings of life in America, and the value (relative to other countries I've visited) of having the freedoms that citizenship affords. They both seem to be on the same page and offer some helpful info about where to locate accommodations further down the road. I had been hesitant to go any further at night, but Chase and Jeff inform me that there's a wide shoulder and divided highway just east of town. So, I guess I'll push on to Avon and hopefully find a good budget motel for me and the pup.
Just as I'm wrapping things up two more gentlemen approach, the first with bags of dog food and the second with another package of Beggin Strips. Buddy has a remarkable talent for evoking sympathy in people, even when he's just sleeping.
'Man,' I remark jokingly, 'we ought to spend more nights in front of gas stations.'
Guess we'd better hit the road before the cart overflows with treats.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Night swimming deserves a quiet night
What a splendid evening to go night swimming! The lake's throwing pastel hues here and there in undulating patterns, reflecting the pallid moon above. Yep, I reckon today's trek warrants a little R&R, and the Raccoon State Recreational Area seems like the perfect place for it. It's marvelous to be amongst the trees and to feel soft soil between my toes. Catching wind of water, Bud suddenly goes head-long over a bank, and all I hear is a big SPLASH. Oh, this park has got me longing for the northwest again...Ahhhh, the conifers, the snowy mountains, the brisk clear streams. After all, one can only take so many fields of corn and soy beans--not that they're without their merits.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
Where I thought that I saw God
Just when I thought I'd experienced some of the greatest lengths of human kindness and generosity, the Almighty causes my path to intersect with a woman who takes giving to a whole new level, not merely sacrificing a tenth of her rue and mint, but willing to tithe her last two mites if need be. Should you happen to meet one of these extraordinary disciples, your response will likely be similar to mine: 'The kingdom of God is here.'
Having stayed in a picnic area on the west side of Tuscola the night before, Bud and I set out for the town of Newman well-rested and full (I got us a few breakfast burritos before heading out). The plan is to walk 16 miles to the town park where we can rest through the heat of the day, then proceed to the Indiana boarder in the cool of the night.
On our way into town we're approached by a woman named Mary Conn who empathises with, who she believes to be, a needy, homeless man walking with his three legged dog in the hot sun. Moved by compassion, she offers to prepare a gift bag if the vagabond will come into town. Mary is the owner of Restoration General Store in Newman, and although it's closed on Sunday, she's willing to open the doors so that a traveler can be well fed.
My initial impulse (totally out of pride) is to spurn the generous offer, not wishing to be equated with the average homeless riff raff. In my mind I feel it's necessary to make a distinction:
'I have money. I don't need to rely on handouts. I'm walking out here by choice.'
But my thoughts are all vanity. Mary simply wants to demonstrate what it means to follow Christ. So I tell her that I'd be grateful and agree to meet her at the store.
Once I've arrived there, she opens the doors to both me and Buddy and proceeds to fill grocery bags with all manner of food and drinks. I mean she takes donations to the utmost, even adding toilet rolls and dog treats to the mix. Every time I think she's finished, Mary has another idea about something to add. When I attempt to protest saying, 'This is taking your business into the red.' She quickly retorts, 'We're always in the red, but we get by.'
So after several bags have been filled with provisions, and I've been instructed to take a Klondike ice-cream bar, Mary and I go outside to augment an already growing conversation. And there, in front of a little store in Newman, Illinois, we take part in one of the best Church services I've been to in years. Mary extols Christ, telling many stories about how Jesus has used her and her business to help others, she talks of her family and shares the prayers of a mother for her sons, and she allows me to talk about my past: how far I'd fallen and how I'm learning to walk again.
We say goodbye and I take Bud to the park across the street to let him rest a while before the big push to Indiana. Minutes later Mary pulls up for one last gift: a cooler to keep everything in.
Jesus says, 'With the measure you use it will be given back to you pressed down, shaken together and running over.' Continue to be a blessing Mary. I doubt that you'll ever lack.
Having stayed in a picnic area on the west side of Tuscola the night before, Bud and I set out for the town of Newman well-rested and full (I got us a few breakfast burritos before heading out). The plan is to walk 16 miles to the town park where we can rest through the heat of the day, then proceed to the Indiana boarder in the cool of the night.
On our way into town we're approached by a woman named Mary Conn who empathises with, who she believes to be, a needy, homeless man walking with his three legged dog in the hot sun. Moved by compassion, she offers to prepare a gift bag if the vagabond will come into town. Mary is the owner of Restoration General Store in Newman, and although it's closed on Sunday, she's willing to open the doors so that a traveler can be well fed.
My initial impulse (totally out of pride) is to spurn the generous offer, not wishing to be equated with the average homeless riff raff. In my mind I feel it's necessary to make a distinction:
'I have money. I don't need to rely on handouts. I'm walking out here by choice.'
But my thoughts are all vanity. Mary simply wants to demonstrate what it means to follow Christ. So I tell her that I'd be grateful and agree to meet her at the store.
Once I've arrived there, she opens the doors to both me and Buddy and proceeds to fill grocery bags with all manner of food and drinks. I mean she takes donations to the utmost, even adding toilet rolls and dog treats to the mix. Every time I think she's finished, Mary has another idea about something to add. When I attempt to protest saying, 'This is taking your business into the red.' She quickly retorts, 'We're always in the red, but we get by.'
So after several bags have been filled with provisions, and I've been instructed to take a Klondike ice-cream bar, Mary and I go outside to augment an already growing conversation. And there, in front of a little store in Newman, Illinois, we take part in one of the best Church services I've been to in years. Mary extols Christ, telling many stories about how Jesus has used her and her business to help others, she talks of her family and shares the prayers of a mother for her sons, and she allows me to talk about my past: how far I'd fallen and how I'm learning to walk again.
We say goodbye and I take Bud to the park across the street to let him rest a while before the big push to Indiana. Minutes later Mary pulls up for one last gift: a cooler to keep everything in.
Jesus says, 'With the measure you use it will be given back to you pressed down, shaken together and running over.' Continue to be a blessing Mary. I doubt that you'll ever lack.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
A whole new take on pan cake
8 o'clock in the morning and my new pal Wrigley greets me at the tent with a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee. 'Does Buddy like to eat dog food?' He asks in an unassuming tone.
'Well sure.' I respond. And lickidy-split the soccer enthusiast returns with a big bowl of kibble for Bud. What service! You deserve a raise my friend.
I'm informed that we're having hootinanny pancakes for breakfast, and I've gotta confess, just hearing the name gets me fired up, and I don't usually get too excited about food in the morning.
If you've never tried a hootinanny pancake I would describe it as having the texture of a light quiche on the edges with a more substantial dough core. Just the thing to get you started for a 30 + mile walk.
After Tracy leaves for work, Ed and the kids hang out with me around the table for a bit, but we've all got things to accomplish for the day and around 10 we say goodbyes.
Me and Bud pass the hottest hours of the day at Mt. Auburn. The city park is full of energy since today kicks off the 128th annual town fair. Incredible to think that folks in this town have been gettin' together to do this since 1886. While watching the carnival hands setting up the rides, we meet an eleven year old fellow named Briar. I'm quite impressed by this young guy, and especially touched when he offers to give me some of his ride money, stating in a matter-of-fact way, 'You need it. You're homeless.'
It's just past 23:00 when we come into the south end of Decatur. I've been trying to catch up on my journaling for a few hours in front of Super Pantry, and now I see that there's only about 1 1/2 hours left to dawn.
'Well sure.' I respond. And lickidy-split the soccer enthusiast returns with a big bowl of kibble for Bud. What service! You deserve a raise my friend.
I'm informed that we're having hootinanny pancakes for breakfast, and I've gotta confess, just hearing the name gets me fired up, and I don't usually get too excited about food in the morning.
If you've never tried a hootinanny pancake I would describe it as having the texture of a light quiche on the edges with a more substantial dough core. Just the thing to get you started for a 30 + mile walk.
After Tracy leaves for work, Ed and the kids hang out with me around the table for a bit, but we've all got things to accomplish for the day and around 10 we say goodbyes.
Me and Bud pass the hottest hours of the day at Mt. Auburn. The city park is full of energy since today kicks off the 128th annual town fair. Incredible to think that folks in this town have been gettin' together to do this since 1886. While watching the carnival hands setting up the rides, we meet an eleven year old fellow named Briar. I'm quite impressed by this young guy, and especially touched when he offers to give me some of his ride money, stating in a matter-of-fact way, 'You need it. You're homeless.'
It's just past 23:00 when we come into the south end of Decatur. I've been trying to catch up on my journaling for a few hours in front of Super Pantry, and now I see that there's only about 1 1/2 hours left to dawn.
Friday, August 1, 2014
Goodies
Reason 101: Life is the most valuable treasure that one can ever hope to possess; its medium of exchange is time. As Mr Tuxhorn puts it, 'You can buy stuff, amass wealth, and use money, but they're all really just a reflection of how you spend time.' That being the case, I've chosen to spend my time building relationships and experiencing as much goodness as life can afford.
Having spent a comfortable night camped out at the city park in New Berlin, Buddy and I embark on the next 14 miles which sees us safely into a McDonald's on the outskirts of Springfield. I'm not particularly keen to stay in this city, but I do fancy a visit to the Lincoln home and museum. So heading east on Wabash Ave--I wonder if it's related to the old train line in Iowa--we meander with little sense of urgency through the fairly standard commercial side of town. Then, upon connecting with Ash, we make it through the older residential part. Talk about cramped living spaces! All the while I can't help thinking about The Simpson's and wonder if somewhere nearby there's a Quicky Mart with a cashier named Apu.
Sadly, I get my directions all wrong and by the time I figure out where I'd gone wrong, we're already several miles southeast of the former President's home.
'Oh well. Too late now. Guess I should decide where to go from here.'
I park Buddy outside of a restaurant called Abe's Hideout and go inside for a drink. While consulting Google map about possible ways to go, one of the severs (I'd already spoken to her about the trip) comes over and says that a couple would like to buy me dinner. Well, that's a marvelous proposition. It seems good that I should go meet this generous pair; so, putting my planning on hold, I proceed to the other side of the room where I have the distinct joy of becoming acquainted with John and Barb Foster.
We share our frustrations: theirs at not having their vehicle repaired on time and mine at having missed the turn to the presidential landmark; then, over a delicious meal, we regale one another with tales from our lives. Bud isn't left out of the good stuff. As it happens, Barb had spotted the patient pooch waiting calmly on his blanket and decided to order two beef patties to add to his doggy bag. Few things thrill Buddy as much as raw hamburger patties.
We part ways and Bud and I cross the street to get on The Old Bridge trail, a four mile nature route that crosses the river and ends in Rochester. Yes, there's a Rochester Illinois too, and although much smaller than the city in New York, it's home to (as I would later learn) a chocolatería which makes some of the most delectably dark treats I've tasted. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Back up, once the trail had ended...so Bud and I are stood there at the junction of Main and 29, me scratching my head in a daze, and Bud looking at me as if I know where I'm going. And it's at that magical moment that the word "Chocolate" on the sign opposite us becomes prominently pronounced in my field of vision. As a rule, I've learnt to follow my stomach when I'm feeling ambivalent about directions, so off to Cocoa Blue we go.
I order an espresso over ice and a conversation quickly ensues with the girls working there. They're full of questions and soon have others from town intrigued and asking about our journey. One of the ladies at the shop, a Mrs Tracy Tuxhorn, invites me and Buddy to come visit. She graciously suggests that we can make use of their yard for the night and mentions that her husband would be glad for the company, and with that, providence has once again solved the problem of where to sleep.
Ed and Tracy are exceptional hosts, and their comfortable little house is everything you'd expect from a mid-west farm. While we're getting to know each other on the front porch, I'm given falafel to eat and made to feel right at home. Amazingly, Ed tells me that the original construction of their house started before 1860. It's been in the family for generations, and when the previous auntie and uncle grew too old, it was passed on to their family. Pretty cool!
As I blather on, one anecdote after another, the girls from the chocolate shop arrive, adding greatly to the fabulous fellowship. What's more, they've brought a small assortment of delightful delicacies to elate my pallet. *Many thanks to the owners for your kind consideration. The white semi-tart one with the drizzled swirl was, without a doubt, my favorite.
As the evening goes on the conversation develops: soccer and soil, fathers' sacrifices and grandfathers' stubborn unwillingness to relate, dogs, insects, pirates, GM produce and a whole host of other stuff that I've forgotten. By midnight, everyone's ready to hit the hay. What a wonderful day!
Having spent a comfortable night camped out at the city park in New Berlin, Buddy and I embark on the next 14 miles which sees us safely into a McDonald's on the outskirts of Springfield. I'm not particularly keen to stay in this city, but I do fancy a visit to the Lincoln home and museum. So heading east on Wabash Ave--I wonder if it's related to the old train line in Iowa--we meander with little sense of urgency through the fairly standard commercial side of town. Then, upon connecting with Ash, we make it through the older residential part. Talk about cramped living spaces! All the while I can't help thinking about The Simpson's and wonder if somewhere nearby there's a Quicky Mart with a cashier named Apu.
Sadly, I get my directions all wrong and by the time I figure out where I'd gone wrong, we're already several miles southeast of the former President's home.
'Oh well. Too late now. Guess I should decide where to go from here.'
I park Buddy outside of a restaurant called Abe's Hideout and go inside for a drink. While consulting Google map about possible ways to go, one of the severs (I'd already spoken to her about the trip) comes over and says that a couple would like to buy me dinner. Well, that's a marvelous proposition. It seems good that I should go meet this generous pair; so, putting my planning on hold, I proceed to the other side of the room where I have the distinct joy of becoming acquainted with John and Barb Foster.
We share our frustrations: theirs at not having their vehicle repaired on time and mine at having missed the turn to the presidential landmark; then, over a delicious meal, we regale one another with tales from our lives. Bud isn't left out of the good stuff. As it happens, Barb had spotted the patient pooch waiting calmly on his blanket and decided to order two beef patties to add to his doggy bag. Few things thrill Buddy as much as raw hamburger patties.
We part ways and Bud and I cross the street to get on The Old Bridge trail, a four mile nature route that crosses the river and ends in Rochester. Yes, there's a Rochester Illinois too, and although much smaller than the city in New York, it's home to (as I would later learn) a chocolatería which makes some of the most delectably dark treats I've tasted. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Back up, once the trail had ended...so Bud and I are stood there at the junction of Main and 29, me scratching my head in a daze, and Bud looking at me as if I know where I'm going. And it's at that magical moment that the word "Chocolate" on the sign opposite us becomes prominently pronounced in my field of vision. As a rule, I've learnt to follow my stomach when I'm feeling ambivalent about directions, so off to Cocoa Blue we go.
I order an espresso over ice and a conversation quickly ensues with the girls working there. They're full of questions and soon have others from town intrigued and asking about our journey. One of the ladies at the shop, a Mrs Tracy Tuxhorn, invites me and Buddy to come visit. She graciously suggests that we can make use of their yard for the night and mentions that her husband would be glad for the company, and with that, providence has once again solved the problem of where to sleep.
Ed and Tracy are exceptional hosts, and their comfortable little house is everything you'd expect from a mid-west farm. While we're getting to know each other on the front porch, I'm given falafel to eat and made to feel right at home. Amazingly, Ed tells me that the original construction of their house started before 1860. It's been in the family for generations, and when the previous auntie and uncle grew too old, it was passed on to their family. Pretty cool!
As I blather on, one anecdote after another, the girls from the chocolate shop arrive, adding greatly to the fabulous fellowship. What's more, they've brought a small assortment of delightful delicacies to elate my pallet. *Many thanks to the owners for your kind consideration. The white semi-tart one with the drizzled swirl was, without a doubt, my favorite.
As the evening goes on the conversation develops: soccer and soil, fathers' sacrifices and grandfathers' stubborn unwillingness to relate, dogs, insects, pirates, GM produce and a whole host of other stuff that I've forgotten. By midnight, everyone's ready to hit the hay. What a wonderful day!
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