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Saturday – Arrival in Orlando. Feeling “antsy.”

By
Judy
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No chance to jump in the shot – I was busy putting out fire ants.

After 5 hours of delays, finally made it to Orlando,FL at 12:58 Friday night. Wait… make it 1:58 a.m. – – time change. Built a table fort in the corner of baggage claim and slept with a symphony orchestra – volume at level 8. Every 10 minutes there were friendly updates: ‘In accordance with Orlando law there is no smoking in the airport.’ There were also warning about the dangers of unattended luggage.
 
Got going around 5:40 a.m. Consulted with Murrell, a nice-looking TSA, with regard to directions. Murrell seemed locked on me jumping on a bus. When he left I jumped to Sidney. He was more reasonable. He shot me north out of Orlando International, over to Hwy 436, then 528 and onto Sand Lake Road and up 435 to Apopka.
 
Sidney also advised I leave on the second level, because if I went to the first they’d charge me to exit. 
Welcome to Disney.
 
Took a quick photo in the wet grass at the entrance to the aiport. 
Welcome to Orlando. 
I kept my eye peeled for alligators, although I should have been more concerned about the fire ants. Dang, they’re fast…
 
Hwy 528 turned into a four-lane toll road, so I heaved the bike anvil over a 3-foot cement median and got on a frontage road. The Jamacian clerk at a car rental business across the road was watching the show.
 
I told him it only took me three elephant-heaves to get it over the wall. I clarified my directions while knocking down those nasty fire ants. The clerk caught on right away and every time I pinched one he’d say, “Fire ant, huh?”
 
We were on the same page.
 
No wind, very humid, overcast but no rain … yet.
 

Friday – Starting out with delays….

By
Judy
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Started out with a one-hour delay in Milwaukee, and then a two-hour delay in Kansas City due to big storms.  Stay tuned…

2012 Tour begins Friday, June 8

By
Judy
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0

WEST BEND, WIS. –  A couple days and counting before I fly to Florida to begin my annual bicycle tour. I’ve dubbed this tour ‘UGRR 2012’ – it will include three weeks of biking from Orlando, FL to Wisconsin via the Underground Railroad. 
My initial plan is to head up to the panhandle and cross over into Georgia with my sights set on Monroeville, Alabama. I’ll play it by ear, talk to the locals and I’m sure they’ll point me in the right direction.  It’ll be a fantastic. 
My only other goal is to visit the Lincoln Presidential Library in Springfield, Illinois before returning home.
Early indications are the route is between 1,700 and 2,000 miles. I’ve already got my bike in a box, I’ve secured my maps from AAA and I’ve cleaned my house like my mother – I even wiped the drops out of the kitchen sink.
My flight leaves Friday afternoon from Milwaukee, I’ll land in Orlando around 10 p.m., put my bike together, catch a quick couple hours of unsettled sleep at the airport and then take off early Saturday morning. I can’t wait! Currently the 10-day forecast in Orlando is calling for rain and temps in the 80s.

Back in Wisconsin…

By
Judy
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MONROE, Wisconsin – Aging red-wood barns, fields of corn, and grocery stores named Piggly Wiggly… I must be back in Wisconsin.


Cycled across the Illinois/ Wisconsin state line this week; a little behind schedule but that’s what happens when you have a plan – Mother Nature always wins.


Rain delays have forced me to seek shelter; in those times of urgency anything will do. Normally I prefer being indoors, but crossing through Mark Twain National Forest in Missouri I cooled my heels for about two nervous hours under an open-sided pole building across from Hillbilly Park.


It was a junkyard of sorts that sold itself as antiques.


It’s these kinds of places and the people that make the tour unique.

Hospitality & History

By
Judy
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Riding a bicycle cross country makes it easy to stop or veer slightly off course and look at the sights. We’re the people that actually read the historical markers along the side of the highway.


I also find bicyclists are approachable by the locals. The bike is a common denominator, it helps break down barriers, and everybody wants to share the high points of their community.


In Freeport, IL a man with a bicycling background insisted I stop at Union Dairy. “It’s a Freeport tradition since 1914,” said Tim. The Union Dairy on E. Douglas St. was a worthy break. The two-sided diner, with an extra seating in the back, was a throwback to the 1950s with a front counter full of silver fountain-drink mixers surrounded by individual mushroom-size, stools. In the middle of the seating area, waitresses scooped sundaes, ladled hot fudge and squirted a tower of whipped cream on just about everything.


The menu at Union Dairy played off the neighboring historical site that marked the location of the second Lincoln/Douglas debate; a debate between Abraham Lincoln and Stephen A. Douglas that occurred in 1858 and focused primarily on the issue of slavery.


From the grill there was the Heated Debate – a burger topped with Pepperjack cheese and homemade hot and spicy sauce.


There was also the All Feta Up burger which was made with Feta cheese, black olives, and mustard.


And, of course, the Lincoln/Douglas burger topped with fresh prepared horseradish, Havarti cheese, ketchup and a pickle.


The ice cream portion of the menu featured treats like Dirt Sundae, Mint Melt Away and Razz-A-Mack which was two scoops of Mackinac Island Fudge, red raspberries, whipped cream, pecans and a cherry.


Those gut-busters ran about $5, not counting the Original Holy Cow which featured 12 scoops of ice cream and all toppings for $24.


I think the best recommendation I received was the peppercorn sweet potato fries. Orange and crispy and seasoned with a mix of salt and shavings of sharp peppercorn.

Ties to Lincoln

By
Judy
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Every community across Illinois has a link to Lincoln.


I spent the night in Pittsfield, Ill after crossing from Hannibal, MO and traveling east on Highway 106. One historical marker in front of the Shastid family home on E. Jefferson St. said Lincoln was a frequent guest. A plaque outside the home noted Lincoln once ate all the families’ pigeons for dinner, leaving seven of the Shastid children hungry. One boy was so mad, he called Lincoln a ‘big ole hog.’


Up the block on E. Washington St. is the William Watson Hotel. (see picture HERE) Built in 1838, the hotel was a frequent Lincoln hangout; he was noted to kill time in the hotel lobby between court sessions or while waiting for a verdict from the courthouse across the street. The lobby at the Watson Hotel featured an original decorative tin ceiling, a large red-framed portrait of Lincoln on the west wall, and dark hardwood floors. “There are 14 rooms in the hotel,” said owner Jonas Perry. We chatted a bit about the hotel and the tour. He said another man on a bike passed through recently, traveling from Florida to Alaska. “You should stay here,” said Jonas. I backed away from the generous offer, explaining my limited travel finances. Jonas then moved out from behind the counter, slapped a key in my hand and said it would be a complimentary stay. “I’m the owner and you’re in room 207,” he said. “Enjoy the experience.”



Note to self, Illinois has fabulous hospitality .



I was wide-eyed as I totally snooped around the place. All of that was made easy because the hotel left the doors open to unoccupied rooms and suites. Perry, who had invested in three downtown buildings, did an amazing rehab. There were exposed red brick walls in every room. Antique furniture completed the amenities with distressed wood dressers and cabinets and old two-and-three-panel doors as bed headboards. Walls in the hallway were painted a light olive, offset by clean, white trim. Tin signs for Royal Crown Cola, King Edward Cigars and Clown Cigarettes hung in the hallway. And by the kitchen a couple of framed newspaper articles detailing Perry’s accomplishments and his selection as one of the 40-under-40 leaders in the community.

Freeport-Standard Picks Me Up

By
Judy
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Another shout out – this time to Illinois, and reporter Jane Lethlean –


Read entire article HERE.

Crossing the big steel bridge over the Illinois River, Judy Steffes of West Bend, Wis. said she wondered what it would be like to be a Green Bay Packer fan in Chicago Bear country.

She did not need to worry. The rural people of this state were just as nice and accommodating to her as the Texans were on May 18, when she embarked on a cross-country bicycle ride to create awareness of the exercise that comes with riding a bicycle.

Steffes made a stop in Freeport on Monday. Her first stop was at Cub Foods. She was looking for places to see in the “City of Lincoln.” Someone suggested she visit the Stephenson County Historical Society Museum. She was disappointed to find it closed.

The next stop was Freeport Public Library to use a computer to upload her blog to the newspaper she works at in West Bend, Wis. Her readers depend on her weekly journal of her travels.

With just a couple of hundred miles left in her trip, Steffes said her journey has been one of continued discovery of the niceties of people. Her bicycle is her common denominator to conversation. Strangers approach her to listen to her stories. The bicycle breaks down the barrier.

My New Best Friend

By
Judy
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Bicycling from Home Springs, MO to St. Charles, MO was the most challenging day on tour.

The Readers Digest version has me trying to outrun an approaching storm at 5 a.m. Within 20 minutes I lose badly to Mother Nature, hitch a ride 16 miles to the next city and with rain forecast the entire day I check into a hotel at 6 a.m. Within 20 minutes the rain stops and skies clear and I vow never to stay at Motel 6 again as the night clerk refuses a refund.

Can’t waste the day so I bicycle 37 miles to St. Charles, spend a little time on the Katy Trail before it’s back under a church overhang, waiting out a storm.

That’s where I met Lynne.

She was walking into the church office. “Are you looking for a place, I’ll take you home,” said Lynne eagerly. She was 66-years-old, married for the third time, and a whirl-wind of energy. A former event planner, Lynne was retired and spent the day running errands. Her dog, a Terrier, rode shotgun. “By the time I’m 70 I’ll have made the exact same bike tour as you,” said Lynne. She was confident and a bit wacky. Lynne flitted from flower to flower. “I’m going back to school you know. I never finished the first time because I got married at 18,” she said.

Divorced and married again in her 30s, Lynne said of husband number two, “I fell in love with his British accent.” Years later, Lynne tried her luck again with Rob. “He’s my rock,” she said, taking me home to meet husband number three. “Hon-nee,” she sang as we entered the back door. “Look what I brought home for youuuuuuu… Imagine Rob’s surprise when instead of a little, loose skinned, lop-eared puppy – in walks a big sweaty adult female in bright yellow spandex.

Shocker.

Rob and I had a brief, get-to-know-you moment and then Lynne grabbed my hand and whisked me to their lower level apartment. “My mother used to live with us,” said Lynne. “She died about a year ago, but we can get you settled down here.” We made the bed together and Lynne threw my smelly clothes in the laundry while I cleaned up. “Oh, I so envy your trip,” said Lynne, jumping topics. “I’m writing and illustrating a children’s book you know,” she said, crediting her mother for her artistic flare. “It’s just that I have so much to do with my new business I never get around to it.”

Aside from continuing her education and writing and illustrating a children’s book, Lynne was working on a company called Buttons & Bows. I gathered it had something to do with sewing. “I mean eyelets – those are as common as cotton,” said Lynne, lamenting the downturn in knowledge of mending, material, and being a good homemaker. “If my employees do well, I’ll give them jewelry as an incentive and a cut of the action,” she said. It seemed a Soprano-esque approach to business. We ran a couple errands and conversation came easy.

We were all over the board and when I say “we”, I mean “Lynne”.

She liked jewelry, admitted she was very poor at managing money, and talked extensively about her new-found love of bicycling. “If this company makes it, I’d like to travel,” she said. “Would you go with me – I mean, we’re like best friends.” Lynne had a very relaxed demeanor; a little madcap and somewhat insane – but in a nice way.

Returning home we ate dinner on the back porch – talked about my recent mission trip to Haiti, and Lynne said she wanted to pursue ministering to prisoners. Around 8 p.m. I referenced I would be retiring shortly. That’s when Lynne pulled her chair close to mine, took my hands in hers and looked at me with intent. Everything had been going so well, but I felt the bomb was about to drop. I predicted Lynne was going to tell me about another career path or I was going to have a partner on the rest of my ride.

“Honey, I have to tell you something,” she said with seriousness.

Here came the Hallmark moment.

“We’re putting you up in a hotel tonight,” said Lynne. “Rob just thinks you’re a terrorist and I’m worried about my mother’s jewelry downstairs. You understand,” she said. I felt as welcome as beans on a bus. “You’ll still be my best friend though, right,” said Lynne. The news made my head loll over to the side. We regrouped; Lynne jumped in her vehicle and I followed on my bike, two miles to downtown St. Charles. Rolling into the lobby of the Country Inn, the clerk said they were full for the night. I felt like laying my head on the front counter, only I’d have to shove Lynne over to make space. Loading my bike in her vehicle, we crossed town in 15 minutes, found another hotel and checked me in. I mustered a fatigued thanks, grabbed my room key and turned to head upstairs.

“Oh Judy…..” It was Lynne; she was whispering from across the room and talking through cupped hands. “I’ll be back at 5 a.m. and we’ll go out to breakfast together,” she said with a little wave…. to the thief terrorist. I felt I should get a medal, just for shear effort that day. As promised, Lynne arrived bright and early. “I only need about three hours sleep a night,” she said. Lynne was chipper and carrying on a conversation with me and a group of men at the next table. I was half paying attention and half watching the weather update on TV when Lynne grabbed my hands.

“Let’s pray,” she said, bowing her head.

It was a sermon-length prayer; Lynne thanked God for me, my bike, a safe tour for me, a safe upcoming tour for herself, and she closed by asking Jesus to be her best friend.

Price Chopper

By
Judy
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A fond memory-

So far my favorite store is the Price Chopper in Pocahontas, Arkansas. The girl running the register at the checkout is Brooke.


“My day is going just awful, how’s yours,” said Brooke. Her greeting seemed more out of habit than genuine concern. She looked 17, round face, and an all-about-me attitude.


“Is this community named Pocahontas after the Indian Pocahontas,” I asked.


“No,” said Brooke confidently, then…. “Who’s Pocahontas?”


It kind of cracked me up.


“Where are you from,” questioned Brooke.


I told her the Milwaukee area, and was met with a blank stare. “Wisconsin,” I said.


More meaningless wide-eyed, gum chewing.


“I biked here from Dallas and I’m headed home to Milwaukee,” I said.


“On a bike? No, you’re not,” said Brooke with a very matter-of-fact tone.

I bit my lower lip so I wouldn’t laugh.


Brooke tipped up on her toes and glanced over the checkout counter to look at my legs. Like I’d have ‘On Wisconsin’ stamped on my knees. I left Brooke and went to consult another clerk about the park by the river.


“Hey, what’s the name of that park by the river,” said the clerk who turned the question back on Brooke. “Blackfoot River Overlook,” said Brooke. Who followed quickly with, “I just made that up, I have no idea,” she said.


Brooke was fast on her feet, but probably not the best resource for increasing tourism in Pocahontas, Ark.

This and that

By
Judy
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0

A few more bits and pieces from the trek through Arkansas….


– Had an awful dog chase the other day midway through Arkansas.. The two dogs were big and I thought they’d give up quickly. Sadly, the chase was a pretty good one and the experience, unnerving. I relayed the story to friends who asked why I didn’t just give them a shot of pepper spray. I explained that the spray is in a pocket in the back of my jersey. It’s not like you’re making out on the couch and you can just reach over and pick up your watermelon Lipsmacker. The situation is a bit more tense involving speed, balance and protecting meaty leg flesh.


– There are some classic small-towns in Arkansas; Bald Knob and Possum Grape – that was back when they spelled it with a ‘P.’


– Rescued a 15-pound snapping turtle the other day as I was on a back road leaving Fredericktown. First of all, let me say I didn’t know turtles could jump. Second, a very bad tactic is to put your hand on the turtle’s back – even that is too close to its mouth. Since Missouri is the ‘show me’ state, I had to show the turtle how to get off the road. That meant pushing a stick in its face, and then he locked on it, it took a couple elephant heaves, but I managed to lift him to safety.

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