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Totals for the tour: Florida to Wisconsin

Some final totals from the past three weeks and the Florida-to-Wisconsin bicycle tour. 

1,417 total miles, which equals an average of about 70 miles a day. 
– The most miles covered in one day was 130 mi. from Bloomington, IL to about 25 miles from the Wisconsin state line.

– Three flat tires, four dog chases, and one overnight stay at a fire department in Marengo, IL.
During my final day on the road in Mukwonago the heat got to me and I laid down around 1 p.m. under an overhang outside the entrance to the local high school. Within an hour three people checked on me and one poked me with a stick, out of courtesy I suppose, to see if I was still alive.
A priest helped me find a place to stay that evening. Father Joseph Wood, dressed in full collar and black cassock, answered the door at the rectory next to St. Pius V Chapel.
 “You can come in, out of the heat,” he said. 
Fr. Joseph spoke as if he was visiting from another country; he had a slight lilt in his voice and somewhat of a British accent.
“I’m from Colorado,” he said dryly. Fr. Joseph was studying Latin at St. Pius; he took classes from a tutor that visited the parish on weekends.
“Since I’m not in charge I really can’t give you permission to stay in the church, but let me make a couple of calls,” he said.
Sitting alone in the front office was pleasantly cool. The room was sparsely decorated with dated orange brown chairs, a plain desk and bookshelves full of religious reading.
Fr. Joseph returned with his laptop computer and suggested he book a room for me online.
“I’d take you to the motel myself but,” he said dropping his head a bit and cocking it to one side, “how would that look?”
Fr. Joseph was a young 30-something with a wry sense of humor.
I tried desperately to decline the charitable offer, going so far as to suggest I’d even sleep on the carpeted floor of the office where we were sitting.
“You know, we normally don’t have the air conditioning on in here,” he said. “It’s just that the cleaning lady came and turned it on today and we haven’t found the courage to turn it off.”
Fr. Joseph was so humble; you felt he’d never be able to muster a harsh penance. 
We chatted for about 30 minutes while he surfed the net and tapped in details for a room for the night. 
He had a friend in college who made a coast-to-coast trip on a bike and was aware of the many challenges while on the road.
“Once my friend’s bike broke down and a man sold him a car for $2. They made it as far as Idaho before it finally quit; I think they got their monies worth out of that vehicle,” he said.
As Father Joseph walked me to the door he wished me well. “I’d let you stay here at the rectory, but I assume you’re head out early and, you know….  how would that look,” he said again with the head nod and grin. 
It felt very much like a Bing Crosby Fr. Chuck O’Malley – Julia Roberts scenario. 
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Note the political stickers on the sign.

Friday, June 29, 2012.

Made it home safe, happy and a bit weary. Pulled into West Bend around noon. Stopped at the store to pick up a ‘thank you’ card for the WB PD as they paid extra attention to my home while I was away.

Final total on the odometer 1417 miles in 19 days. Biggest question: Did I keep the gun? The answer ‘yes.’ Now I have to take a class and get a permit.

Best experience was the people I met, especially Juanita and all the churches and fire departments and new friends that helped along the way. I’m proud of the accomplishment but could not have done it without my friends back home.

A big thanks to my web editor. Long-distance communication is not easy and she made the stories and travel journal look wonderful! I also appreciated the assistance with locating nearby bike shops in an emergency, Googling solutions for bed bugs, and overall positive support and a calm/reassuring demeanor.

The bike is already in the shop at Mountain Outfitters in West Bend getting a complete overhaul – although owner Kevin Schultz said “give me that gun I’d like to shoot that bike and put it out of its misery.”

That’ll never happen – we’ll be ready to tour again shortly and I hope you’ll follow along.

If you enjoyed the stories please send me a note at [email protected] and tell me what you liked. Also share the web site with your friends.

Thanks for coming along.   Judy Steffes

New record – 130 miles!

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Set a new Steffes world record on Wednesday, biking 130 miles from Towanda, Illinois (just north of Bloomington) to Marengo, IL, which is about 25 miles from the Illinois/Wisconsin state line.
Much credit for the swiftness goes to a fabulous tailwind that pushed me along at about 20 mph. The telephone poles were passing by fast – like teeth on a comb. If I had waxpaper streamers on my bike you could have heard me humming right along.
I feel I’ve hit my prime at 48; I should have tried out for the Olympics, although today I feel extremely crickity.
The reason I look so grumpy in the photo is because my brain is putty and my feet hurt.
Notice the fire truck behind me – the chief at the department in Marengo, IL let me sleep in a bunk for the night. There were two calls during the night and I felt very beholden to respond, but I was resting.
Comments:
I am glad to hear that u r still on the black top cruzing home. Makes me feel good that there still r some communities still willing to help. Keep on cruzing Judy! 🙂  Cassie Holder

Jesse Clay Phillips

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Crossed the state line into Illinois on Friday and made my way north up Highway 51 to Carbondale

The best local stop for breakfast is Mary Lou’s Grill. It’s on the main drag, across from the Amtrak Station. The popular diner has one long stretch of chairs running the rail at the front counter. 

Every circular stool is taken; once someone gets up, another person is immediately in that spot. Mary Lou’s is famous for its biscuits and gravy; when you get a waitress, make friends with her quick.

Just outside Carbondale I veered west up Highway 13; the locals say it’s less traveled and a much better road.
About 15 miles into the ride I was searching for water at the lonesome intersection in the town of Vergennes (pop. 298). A sign points down the street to the business district; a tumbleweed rolls across the road in the distance.
There’s a small rickety, white building off to the side of the road with a pickup in front and a big metal can of Primex sitting on a table. A hand-painted sign with thin black letters on the side of the building reads ‘Antiques and Furniture.’
There are a couple of lazy wicker chairs at the entrance.  Ducking my head I walk in hoping to find directions, water, or the distance to the next town.
Inside it’s like stepping into another world. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I found the place packed with fine antiques. There were two primary paths and it’s eerily quiet with the only sound being my bike cleats clacking against the hardwood floor.
The place is amazing with old oak headboards, small dolls with their heads wrapped in scarves, Dad’s Root Beer soda bottles, and a Roy Acuff collector plate.

The man sitting quietly in the corner is Jesse Clay Phillips.
He creeped me out, like the guys at Halloween that sit in costume on their porch and don’t move until you get too close to turn back.
Jesse
Jesse, 73, managed a slow smile when I told him he scared me. 
“Most people that come through are stopping for conversation,” he said.  Jesse had an accent but I couldn’t pin it down. I half-expected him to say something like “you have a ‘purdy’ mouth.”
Jesse was dressed in a light-weight blue and black plaid shirt. He had white mad-scientist hair and a bit of a paper napkin stuffed in his right ear. I didn’t ask, and just assumed it was a lack of insurance combined with a home remedy.
Jesse had been there since the 1980s. He said his selection of antiques changed often and he only displayed the best.  He had an old pitchfork made from a tree branch; the tines on the farm implement were sanded and polished to a fine point.  “Take a look there at that shovel,” he said pointing to a completely wooden handmade shovel.
Jesse made some comment about my legs and fitness level; being alone in his den and wondering where his eyes were going I worked my way back to the light.  Once outside I retrieved my camera and went back inside, this was too good of a photo opportunity to miss.
And with that I learned about the real Jesse Clay Phillips.

He was an artist, and showed me several books he self-published. Out of a thin cardboard box he retrieved a coffee table book ‘The Beauty of Southern Illinois, a pictorial tribute.’  “Took all these shots with a one-step camera,” he said.   

Jesse had documented the landscape in a four-county area with photographs of trees, plants, and the ski hill during the seasons.

The photos were magnificent with crisp color, and an artist’s eye and patience. “Most people walk into a shot and wait; I think some of the best pictures are right there in front of you,” said Jesse.
Although we were far from rushing through the books, Jesse acted with hurried urgency trying to show me as much as he could while he had my attention.  “Just a couple more, ah know you gotta go,” he kept saying.
And with that, I holstered my hurry and stayed and talked to Jesse all the while thinking that if I had been in a car I would have driven right by.

Rain and Rest, but no Rodents

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Check out the classic hotel sign – 
note the Disney promotion at the bottom. 
Just north of Greenville, IL.
Tanked Sunday. Rain was ahead and feeling punk so I laid down outside a Casey’s General Store and fell asleep for an hour. Got up – no mice had run across my face and no bears ate my toes… and I felt better. Made it 77 miles and landed just outside Springfield. 

Bike Fix – Illinois

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Finally found a bicycle shop in Carbondale, Illinois. My front derailleur had been giving me fits the past two states as the chain refused to respond and jump in the big ring up front.

Dave McDonald owns Phoenix Cycles“I haven’t seen one of these in years,” he said about my Centurion. “I think it’s one of the first bikes I sold when I bought the shop in the 1980s.” Dave reviewed the situation and made a head-shaking diagnosis. “You know, I can put some lube in here and tighten your cable a bit… but there’s a lot going on here and once I change one thing that’ll open up a whole new series of issues,” he said.
As we studied our weary situation another employee came through the door. “A Centurion RS; man it’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of those,” he said.

Alex had short cropped hair and was dressed in a bike tech apron. He had a thin face and when he smiled his eye-teeth reminded me of Robert Pattison in Twilight.
The men looked at each other, their heads shaking. 
Dave pointed out the U-brackets in back which held my bike rack to the frame. He also brought out his chain-o-meter. “You see here how we have some play in the chain – you’ve really stretched this and if you look here by the ring you can see light as I rotate the pedal.” During an even slower rotation Dave indicated how the chain links did not even sit between the teeth in the sprocket. “It’s just riding on top; you see that?,” he asked.
I nodded, like it was normal. “When I get into the big gears it sounds like the rhythm of a train.”
Dave
Dave let out a lot of big sighs. “You sure do get your monies worth out of your gear,” he said. My dad would be proud.

While Dave wrenched I told him about my father and his baby-seat bike. How he put four child seats on an old Schwinn. One in front of the handlebars, another wedged behind and then two more seats perched on the fender in back.
“No helmets I bet,” said Dave.

“Nope, only ponytails for protection.” My dad would take me and my sisters out for rides when we were growing up. Later, when my brothers entered the picture, my dad spliced together three tandems. We had seen a show about the Wallendas and another on Evel Knievel and got all inspired.
The triple bike never worked too well, but we tried and that’s where I give my dad the credit for getting me into biking.
It’s all the adventure you care to have; just get on and ride.

Comments:  Good Morning Judy,  Just wanted to let you know we really enjoyed chatting with you last Saturday at Mary Lou’s.  Got on your web page and saw where you did take 51 north.  Hope all worked out for you.  We enjoyed reading your blog.   Judy & Bernie  RV’ers

Heaping Helping of Kentucky Hospitality

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Mike and Cara

Crossed the state line Thursday from Tennessee into Kentucky with little fanfare.
I was on Highway 45E. There were no signs like, ‘Welcome to Kentucky – the Bluegrass State’ or ‘Thanks for visiting Tennessee.’ The most I happened upon at a triple intersection was a ‘Welcome to South Fulton’ sign buried under a wooden cut-out of a locomotive shoved into a dry bed of flowers.
“Need some help with your map?” said a voice from a white van that pulled up alongside. It was Mike Lynch; local businessman, community servant and all around good guy.

We mapped for a bit, debated my options down the road and then Mike came up with a game plan. “Why don’t you come home with me and stay the night,” he said, quickly following up with “I’m not a pervert, let me call my wife.”

Mike was forever upbeat, a skinny guy with loads of energy. “Honey, I met this great woman and I’m bringing her home,” he said on the phone. If the conversation didn’t sound good on my end, I can imagine what his wife, to whom he was united in marriage, was thinking.

Mike owned the local funeral home and his wife, Cara, was a nurse who spent eight years in the emergency room and now worked in home healthcare. Both were tied to the phone in case of emergency.

Mike went to work and swapped vehicles. We put my bike in the back of his pickup and he let me ride up front. We drove three miles out of South Fulton to his wonderful home on 10 acres. There was a cornfield surrounding the brick home, a little dog named Bullet in the driveway and red Corvette in the garage. A 1969 Norton sat across the yard in the man garage.

The Lynch’s spoiled me with a barbeque chicken dinner complete with a squash-potato salad, and sliced cucumbers in vinegar spooned out of an old crock on the kitchen counter.
Their home had high 9-foot ceilings, crown molding, and a lot of antiques and art.  In the evening they set me up in a high antique bed with sheets so soft I felt like I was floating in my dreams.

The next morning, the Lynch’s drove me to the outskirts of town, dropping me off in the driveway of a cemetery. Fitting, considering Mike’s line of work.
“Goodbye Little Daniel Boone,” said Mike waiving; it was a name he had given me during our conversations as he appreciated my adventuresome spirit.

Land of Lincoln and…

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…home  of Dick Van Dyke.

“I grew up in Danville, Illinois, 
right in the middle of the state.”
Crossed the state line into Illinois on Friday afternoon.  Not too bad – Orlando, FL to Illinois in 13 days. Stayed in Anna, IL last night at First Christian Church. 77 mi on Friday. Hoping to make it to Springfield, IL by Monday or Tuesday…

Oh, The People You Meet

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A quick pic from the road —-

Little boy Conrad, 7, at a rest stop in Clinton, KY. 
I asked him what he was doing this summer and he said, “Nuthin.”

Green Bay Packer Love —in Martin, Tennessee

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Are you ready for some football?