2019 Summer Road Trip Pt I: Getting There

This blog post is being published as part of the Birthday Series to my grandmother, Marie Babb, who turned 91 on May 14, 2020. She has been the most devoted reader a grandson could ask for. Owing to the express -- and of course very polite -- observation that I "hadn't written in a while," I have written accounts of my past adventures for her birthday. Happy Birthday, Grandma!

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The beginning to graduate school was creeping closer, and after having worked for the better part of May and June in Washington, DC, I wanted to take a trip to celebrate my birthday in early July. It's a tradition I've aimed to uphold ever since I turned 18 in Cimarron, New Mexico with my Boy Scout troop, backpacking Philmont for two weeks. Now with a little money in my pocket, the old family Camry with me in DC, and a flexible arrangement with my work (babysitter and odd-jobs man for members of the church), I set course to decide on what it was I could do. Vague ideas of rock climbing, bike touring, road tripping, backpacking -- anything outdoorsy in a new locale interested me. I didn't want to fly, I wanted to drive. I didn't want to spend a lot of money, I hadn't earned a whole lot of money. I wanted to visit old friends but also make new ones. It all became a kaleidoscopic lens, and I needed to bring something into focus.

I was re-hashing a conversation with my friend Matt backwards in my mind. A few months prior I abruptly stayed with him and his wife in Fort Lauderdale for a few nights. They were so hospitable: my flight from Bogota to Baltimore was delayed and one thing led to another and I was sleeping on their couch by night and biking around the beach by day. In between, we spoke on our desire to rock climb somewhere this summer with each other. Puerto Rico? You know it's a quick flight from here. Yeah, but the trouble is the heat at this time of year makes climbing a lot less salient, but the beaches quite nice. Hm.

I knew the South, some of the Southwest, but didn't know hardly anything about the West, Midwest, or Northeast of the US. Provided that graduate school would make the Northeast only more accessible, I scratched it off the list. The West was far too long of a drive, and I didn't want to have to leave my newly acquired, albeit 20 year old Camry on the side of some highway. Death by exhaustion. So Midwest it was. But where?

I had once floated the idea of Mt. Rushmore to my folks the summer before when I stayed at the house after returning from Tanzania. I offered to do all the driving if it meant we could do a family vacation together ("C'mon, when's the next time we're all going to be together like this and you have a chauffeur?!"). Now that I thought about it, South Dakota sounded pretty good. I hadn't seen much of any of the states in-between, and maybe I could visit my friend Miranda in Chicago on the way there. It'd be a helluva drive, but with the right music, stops for gas, it could shape up to be just what I had in mind.

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On June 29th I set off. Destination: Archbold, OH. It's on the other side of Toledo. It's pretty much Indiana. I'm driving to Archbold because of a friend and volunteer from church, Jane, is from there. She phoned her brother Pete who lives in the old family house built a hundred years ago. Pete is a dairy farmer with 200 head of cattle. He also grows all the feed for the cows, mostly by himself but sometimes with the help of his brother Dave. Archbold's a farmer's town, but there is an open bedroom at Pete's house and Jane insisted I should visit her old town and meet her brothers, so to Archbold I drive.

The drive out from Washington, DC was mostly uneventful. I take a loop to hit the Pennsylvania turnpike. As I drive west the hills become more substantial and I'm getting somewhere. A pit stop here, a stretching break there, and 500 miles later I'm driving down County Road 19 looking for the house in between the cross-cutting Roads C and D.

I've arrived to the homestead

The clouds were spectacular in Archbold

Pete was a nice guy. After a day out on the tractor, he retreated to the rocking chair on his front porch to wait for me. When I pulled up in the driveway, he ambled over, a hiccup in his step, in his smudged white t-shirt and loose jeans and offered me a glass of water. His eyes were large and oversized by way of his glasses, he was a quiet guy with snow white hair, and immediately upon meeting him I felt at ease. There was no air of putting-on about him; no need to small-talk and tell him where I went to university or my whole life's story. There was a serenity in the silence of the farm. And Pete was neither rude nor dismissive. He seemed to blend into the environment, not try to stand apart from it. He drove me into town to the Pizza Hut where we sat down and got table service. Pete said he's a simple man and he'd eat anything, so I could choose the toppings. Afterwards we went to Tiny's Ice Cream Shop off the main road where Pete got the biggest banana split I'd ever seen and I, full from gorging myself on pizza, ordered a pithy single scoop of mint chocolate chip. We left and went to Dave's house to say hey and Dave said "Are you gonna take him to the Thresher Expo at the Fulton County Fairgrounds?" It already being nearly 10:30pm, he shrugged his shoulders, but Dave energetically chimed in, "You should! I bet he'd love it. They're still there now." To the Thresher Expo we went.

When we arrived it was mostly pitch black, save for the stadium lights that were shutting down, but we could still make out all the models of tractors, mowers, and farm equipment through the ages, lined up on either side of the walkway. Over in the main field were all the old traction engines (steam-powered engines) and a handful of volunteers and workers hanging together and drinking beer. Walking around, poking our noses around, Pete and I ran into one of the operators of one that wasn't fully cooled down. After a few questions about the moving parts he said "Hop up on here and I'll take ya around. We still have enough pressure in the tank for a ride." I forget the man's name now, but he was a younger guy, eager to show us. He first directed our attention to all the pressure gauge, showing us that we had enough steam left to go forwards and backwards. Then he showed us the transmission, the clutch, and let the engine lurch forward. When we got down, he showed us all the pipework that drove the steam to the pistons, where the fly wheel was, and then told us that the thing weighed 9 tons and generated 16 horsepower. He said that if he tied 3 diesel powered John Deere tractors right off the lot, we could still tug them away fighting against us -- this traction engine really was that strong. It was a nice way to end the day, out here in the darkness of a Thresher Expo in Fulton County, Ohio. My trip wasn't even 24 hours underway and already I felt a world away.

Because I wasn't in a hurry to leave the next morning, Pete invited me to his church service. He's a Mennonite and was on ushering duty this morning, so we arrived a little early to greet people. People were driving in from all around the area for the service, and a bit of small talk here and there until the service started. Not entirely memorable, but once we were done Pete ad I drove over to his friend's house. Each Sunday after church, their friend group gets together on the back patio with coffee and cake and shoots the breeze for a little bit. With Pete being a farmer, he doesn't get much time 'after work' to meet up with friends. So with Sunday his day off, this is when he can be in the company of some other guys and their wives to chit chat and re-live memories. I got peppered with a few questions, kindly of course, as I was the new kid in town. Everyone was nice and lighthearted. For lunch Pete took me to a diner in town for pork chops, mashed potatoes, and greens. Turns out the pastor of the church was sitting in the booth right behind us (of course he was, how else would this story play out?). When we got back to the house I packed up my things and began my drive to Chicago, where I'd be spending two nights at my friend's place. I shook Pete's hand and thanked him for his hospitality and got on my way.

Arriving into Chicago during rush-hour traffic. At least they've got some good radio stations here

The drive to Chicago wasn't bad. It was mostly flat, driving along the northern border of Indiana. I was excited to get to Chicago, a city I've enjoyed visiting a number of occasions. This trip would be great because I'd be visiting my friend Miranda and going to her comedy theater to see her perform. That, plus I'd get to visit some of her family who were also in town. Miranda is a friend that goes back to high school days -- she's even been written about here on the blog as she studied abroad in Paris while I was in Germany, so we visited one another  She is the funniest person I know and moved to Chicago after college to fulfill her dream of doing improvisational comedy at some of the big theaters there. After several years always getting the scoop over the phone, tonight I would get to see her live in action. I was quite excited.

The shows were great. I don't remember any of the punchlines at this point, but I left with the feeling, weirdly, of pride and contentment. I got to see my friend up on stage, living her best life and commanding the crowd's laughter. Anyone who knew her could tell she was in her element and it was a joy to watch. Our friend group, we always get little snippets of her performance aura, but it's only a sliver of the real thing. To be there was a joy.

The next morning, with Miranda off to the French school for the day, where she works, meant I had the town to myself for several hours. I had my bike with me, so I thought it a good use of time to ride across the city to the University of Chicago for old time's sake. UChicago was the site of my first ever solo adventure; when I was 15 I took the train up from Louisiana to Chicago for a week-long business/economic camp that took place on campus. That trip holds many memories, and it's where I first started considering college and fields of study. I hadn't been back to campus since, which made for a good excuse.

Along Lake Michigan I ride, several miles in fact. The ride was probably about an hour in length if I remember correctly, and once I turned off the Lake into Hyde Park, the neighborhood of the university, I didn't hardly need directions to find my way around. It's funny what our visual memories reveal: I didn't remember the street names of shops, but I did remember the sequence of turns to eventually get where I needed to go.

The first dormitory I ever stayed in. Getting back here was my 'homecoming' moment

I parked my bike outside of my old dorm, and from there started walking around campus, walking old paths to buildings I would spend my days in during that summer in 2010. A lot of the buildings were locked, unfortunately, but even still, spending some time outdoors and taking it in. Deep breath in - mmmmm - deep breath out -ahhhhhh-.

After a a pair of hours on campus I decided to ride back to Miranda's neighborhood and pick up some food from the store to cook for dinner. Miranda and I always talk food and chide one another on how the other person doesn't cook real Louisiana food. Her recipe roots are in the Cajun style, which is pretty similar to mine, which are in the Creole style, except for a few ingredients here and there. We enjoy cooking with one another.

The next morning I bid Miranda bye and thanks with hugs and accept her invitation to stay over again on my drive back in several weeks after I've had my fun in South Dakota. Today I'm driving to Austin, Minnesota to stay with a family I contacted through the WarmShowers website. WarmShowers is a community group of bike tourers who offer their home or backyard to riders on their trek. In DC, I'd done a fair bit of hosting, which was always a treat. You'd meet some really amazing people with big dreams and ideas, tons of stories, and a big impression. Now, I'd become the requester-of-lodging, and kindly found a family along I-90 who would let me pitch my tent in their backyard for the night.

I head north and enter Wisconsin, then get into Minnesota. I don't know what it was, but the whole drive through the state on I-90, I never once lost reception of an NPR radio station. Nice! The family I'm staying with runs a small farm and said I can arrive anytime, just park in the driveway and pitch my tent on the side of it. In the morning I'm invited in for some breakfast and coffee and to meet everyone. Kim and husband Daniel have 4 adult daughters, the second-youngest of which, Ella, is here for the summer doing an internship not too far away. She's majoring in Nutrition at the university in St. Paul. We have some scrambled eggs and toast with jam and trade stories of past travels and other cyclists they've hosted. Which reminds me -- you may be asking yourself "Nathan, you weren't on your bike tour yet, so how did they host you?" I reached out to Kim and Daniel with the same question. I told them I wasn't on my bike tour just yet, but that I was on my road trip so I could start my bike tour in South Dakota, and that if they thought I was breaking one of the sacred rules of the WarmShowers community, then I would completely understand and look elsewhere. But Kim and Daniel being the ripe folk they are said to heck with the 'rules,' I'd be welcomed to stay anyway.

Kim and Daniel offer to let me stay on the way back through, and I think that could be a good idea. Of course, one of the cardinal rules of adventuring is never to walk the same trail twice, so between maybe staying with Kim and Daniel and definitely staying with Miranda again, I was feeling the universe push against me a little. But the trip is so much more than just following rules, it's about connecting with people along the way. I stew on it.

Either way, I'm off and headed to Spearfish, South Dakota. One more long day of driving left. It's more or less a straight shot west along I-90 to the other side of South Dakota and there isn't much scenery in between. 7 hours of driving I calculate. Kim and Daniel told me about three possible tourist sights along the way: the Corn Palace, the rest stop in Chamberlain, and the Wall Drug Store. I saw the Corn Palace profiled on CBS Sunday Morning a while back and it didn't really pique my interest, so to Chamberlain it is, the site of the Missouri River and the dividing line between "The West" and "The Midwest."

Why do we take pictures like this? It's a trail, a river, and me. That's it. But for some reason I felt compelled to take a selfie as, what, proof? Eh, it makes for good fluff for the blog post

I'm in the home stretch of the drive now, not much left to do or see until Spearfish, the northern city along the Black Hills. To my left I start to see some of the Badlands and they are wicked. The grasslands and prairie seem infinite, and then, there's this abrupt break with the landscape, It's as if someone scraped just the top 6 inches of vegetation off the surface of the land to expose these magnificent eroding multi-colored rock formations. This, I recall, is the reason I'm out here. It's the reason I've decided to put Badlands on my map and integrate it into the bike tour. I'm here to baffle myself, to see some things I've never seen before. It's also to meet new people, strangers, along the way. The excitement within me starts to build.

With about an hour left in the drive I stop off for gas. Way up ahead there seems to be a storm brewing; the sky is getting quite dark (really, quite dark, pitch black almost), the winds are picking up, and I can see some lightning strike up there. I begin to wonder whether this is how tornadoes form? I've never really looked into it, but I did think these landscapes were fertile ground for such weather. Even if that's true, it's not like there's anywhere to go out here. I don't think I've seen a tree or anything for miles.

When I get back on the road I divy my attention between the road and the storm. It doesn't look like it's going to intersect the interstate, but the rain is picking up and bits of hail are hitting my windshield, even miles off. Within 10 minutes, it seems like the damage is mostly done. I never saw a funnel or spout, or whatever you call a tornado other than a tornado. The sky lightens back up and the sun comes out. Overall, an odd, but not unique experience as I would come to learn. The winds out here rip. There's just nothing to stop them -- hardly any trees or topography to get in the way. It's just grass.

I pull up into the drive of my next generous host, Andy, who I've also sourced from the WarmShowers community. I've finally made it. No more driving for the next week: I'm switching to the bike.