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MY BAD.. STOPPED AT THE WRONG WEST BEND

By
Judy
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WEST BEND, Iowa – Oh *!@&!…. I’ve gone to the wrong West Bend.

Stopped in West Bend, Iowa and it’s been a very ‘Back-to-the-Future’ experience touring the community of 800, located about 150 miles east of Sioux City and 180 miles northwest of Ames, Iowa.

West Bend, Iowa has one grocery – Kampen Foods, one blinking red traffic light at the intersection of Broadway and 2nd Street, and one community school, grades K-12.

The Bulldogs have since become the West Bend Wolverines after consolidating with neighboring Mallard School District; and ‘yes’ they were the Ducks.

The town diner is the Wagon Wheel (very Bonanza) and there’s also the County Line Cafe; the local tap is the Double L Saloon.

Streets are familiar, including Division, Broadway and Main. There’s also Rodman, and numbered streets that go up to 550th Avenue.

There’s a one-car dealership, West Bend Ford, a John Deere implement and West Bend International Corp., along with West Bend Elevator. The grain towers can be seen from any part of town.

Zinn’s Hair Styling has a candy dish comfort like BJ & Company with high-and-tight attitude like Thiemer’s Sip & Snip in Kewaskum.

Park View Inn & Suites is the Bonne Belle of the community.

Other businesses include Don’s Auto Repair, West Bend Golf & Country Club, West Iowa Bank, Harris Funeral Home, Wolverine Wash and the local paper is the West Bend Journal – a 65-cent weekly that’s published Thursdays and has a circulation of 900.

Mayor Marilyn Schutz was pictured on the front page of the July 8 edition, waving to the crowd during the July 4 parade.

Inside on the second page under a column called Bygone Days… The June 20, 1940 write-up included:

  • Mr. and Mrs. W.W. Stone attended the blacksmith convention at Council Bluffs and report having a fine time.
  • Elmer Banwart received a gold diploma for fresh butter exhibited at the 40th convention held in St. Paul.

The historical society In West Bend is made up of three outbuildings; a replica of a U.S. Post Office, an old school and a sod house.

West Bend, Iowa features red banners on street-side lamp posts. Welcome to… West Bend, A Rock Solid Community.

There’s also a real soda fountain called The Villager and it dates to the 1930s.

Customers can sidle up to the fiberglass counter and order simple shakes, cones, and sundaes.

Albert Banwart, 92, goes to the fountain every afternoon for a cup of coffee. “Except on Saturday’s when they close at 2 o’clock,” he said.

Dressed in blue Dickies and a long-sleeved button-down shirt, Banwart has been a fixture in West Bend, Iowa since 1947. “Came here after the service, got married and had seven kids,” he said.

A farmer, Banwart worked 160 acres and grew corn and beans. “My first tractor was an Oliver 70.”

Banwart said the tractor was used; he paid $1,000 for it and recalled it was the only choice he had because he couldn’t afford a John Deere.

These days, Banwart stays busy assembling 1,000-piece puzzles. “I like the ones with tractors or farming pictures,” he said.

Banwart’s cousin makes frames for the puzzles out of quarter-inch plywood. “Then I glue them together and hang ’em on the wall,” he said.

The other mainstay in town is the Grotto of the Redemption.

Described as ‘a miracle in stone’, the Grotto covers an entire city block and is a collection of stone, seashells, petrified wood, quartz crystals, stalactites and more.

Often referred to as the “Eighth Wonder of the World”, the Grotto is the largest in the world and was created by Father Paul Dobberstein.

He began construction in 1912 and worked the next 42 years hauling in rocks from 50 states via truck and train.

Located adjacent to Sts. Peter and Paul Catholic Church, the Grotto depicts scenes in the life of Jesus of Nazareth.

“We used to have bus-loads of people come visit every summer,” said Evelyn Lewiston, pastor at West Bend United Methodist Church.

Once a primary tourist attraction for the community, the Grotto appears to have gone the way of the old West Bend Outlet Mall; it now draws about 3,000 a year where it once pulled in that many a weekend.

One of the crazy stories located in a side museum talked about how Fr. Dobberstein used to keep bears in a cage at the Grotto of Redemption.

However, “after an unfortunate incident between one of the bears and a 4-year-old child in 1922, (she lost an arm) the bears were removed from the Grotto and put to sleep.”

A bear hide from one of the original Grotto bears is on display at the neighboring museum.

Another bit of insight into Fr. Dobberstein is that his sermons were often an hour-and-a-half long. Dobberstein was noted to be a ‘student of international affairs and considerable wit.’ “It is not that his sermons are dull, but merely that an hour-and-a-half, more or less, is too doggone long.”

Adjacent to the Grotto is The Grotto Cafe with a unique menu including Sinful Appetizers, Saintly Salads and sandwiches featuring the Bishop Burger, Cardinal Chicken, Confessional Chicken Strips, Repenting Ribeye Sandwich, Pope Tenderloin and Monsignor-rite, which is a warm bun with meat fixings and cheese for $4.75.

Fr. Dobberstein immigrated from Germany. He went to seminary in Milwaukee, Wis. and his first assignment was as a priest in West Bend, Iowa. Fr. Dobberstein died in 1954.

He built the Grotto to fulfill a promise to the Blessed Mary for curing him when he was younger and stricken with pneumonia.

While Holy Hill in Washington County draws a lot of tourism and attention for religious significance, West Bend, WI has an intimate Grotto located outside St. Mary’s Immaculate Conception in Barton.

KAY KELLY….

SIOUX RAPIDS, Iowa – Kay Kelly is my new 81-year-old B-F-F in Sioux Rapids, Iowa.

I was directed to stop at Kay’s house and she would be able to give me the green light on whether I could stay at St. Joseph’s Church for the night.

Kay lived across the street from the parish. With her children grown, her husband lost in a farming accident – Kay was a good servant to the church and a great caretaker.

“You can come over to my house for dinner tonight,” said Kay. “I’m going to put out what I’ve got and that’s what you’re going to get, see.”

Kay talked in rapid fashion; she also ended every sentence like Jimmy Cagney – “see.”

She was adorable and her latest fixation was the Internet.

“My son got me this computer and if I break it, Fr. Al comes over to fix it and I give him homemade peanut butter cookies, see,” said Kay.

Hard to believe Kay was in her 80s. She had spunk and was active in her church and community. Everybody knew Kay.

“My granddaughters saw I had this computer and they said ‘Grandma, you have to get on facebook

.'”

“I said, ‘Why do I need that?’ and they told me I had to write on their wall.”

“Write on their wall…..” said Kay, laughing at how ridiculous that sounded.

When Kay laughed, her whole body reacted. She’d drop her head almost entirely into her lap and then come up all rosey cheeked and still chuckling.

We had tuna salad sandwiches for dinner. Kay also made coleslaw and opened a can of peaches. There was a small tray of peanut butter cookies for dessert.

“I asked Fr. Al to join us so he could meet you and he said he was too tired,” said Kay, inviting me to breakfast the next morning as well.

The next day at 7 a.m. Kay already had coffee brewing, the table set for two and a couple glasses of orange juice already poured.

“I found you on the Internet last night,” said Kay, admitting she was more of a night owl than a morning person.

“I usually don’t have company, but I have my computer sitting over there and when I take a break from that I have my TV or my crossword puzzle..

“It’s like my little entertainment center, see,” she said.

MOTHER NATURE THROWS A TANTRUM….

WEST BEND, Iowa – Mother Nature must be going through ‘the change’ because she sure was throwing a tantrum today.

Temps soared to 92 degrees with a heat index of 112.

Headwinds were also strong at 25 miles per hour. It was the type of wind where flags stood at attention, fellas hung onto their hats, and birds opted to walk.

Made it 78 miles from West Bend to Rockwell.

Odds and Ends from the Road

By
Judy
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Additional bits and pieces from the road trip that didn’t make it into previous posts:

BURWELL, Neb. – Saw some real cowboys in the small town of Burwell, Nebraska. Some wore the typical cowboy hat while others had on baseball caps with a seed-factory logo.

A couple cowboys wore spurs on their boots – most, had belt buckles bigger than a toaster.

Stopped at a rodeo museum in Burwell, which was really a tavern with the best collection of rodeo posters and programs hung in frames on the wall.

The oldest rodeo program dated to August 1949 and featured a pink cartoon bucking bronco with a cowboy hanging on for dear life.

Other programs from the 1950s, 60s, and 70s featured black and white action photos of bull riding, and bronco busting.

Scattered between the programs were signs including ‘Don’t throw your cigarette butts in the urinal… it makes them soggy and hard to light.

“You might be a redneck if… you’ve bandaged a wound with duct tape.”

Most of the cowboys drank what they called ‘red beer.’ It was a 10 ounce tap glass of beer mixed with half a glass of tomato juice.

If it sounds gross, it was.

*****************************************************************

NELIGH, Neb. – Had breakfast at the Neligh cafe; conversation among the local board of directors was mostly about farming equipment, John Deere and the roads.

“They’re milling on Highway 20,” said one farmer talking in my direction.

“But you take the side road about five miles north, that’s an oil road and that’ll take you around the construction.”

Another coffee drinker in bib overalls mentioned a second possibility and then a third farmer touted several other options.

The group had as much consensus as a teenage drug deal.

Within 10 minutes I was ready to leave and a fella said, he was leaving too and did I want a ride because he was going exactly the same way…. only faster.

Tempting… but no.

What started as a casual day off – turned into nice sun, a good highway, soft tail-wind and 98 miles to Jackson, Nebraska – just six miles shy of the Iowa state line.

Stopped for some food and asked a local if my bike was safe outside the tavern. He tilted back on his bar chair, took a look around the room and said, “Yeah it’s safe. Nobody in here knows how to ride a bike.”

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SIOUX CITY, Iowa – Found my boyfriends Lewis & Clark again on this trip. I fell in love with the pair last year during my bike tour from Seattle to West Bend.

The Lewis & Clark Interpretive Center was fantastic with mechanical displays, detailed hand-painted murals, and a lot of interactive educational stations for kids.

The Interpretive Center focused on Sergeant Charles Floyd, the only member of the Lewis & Clark team who died during the expedition in 1804.

The 21-year-old Floyd suffered from a severe stomachache. The standard treatment was a strong laxative and bloodletting, the universal cure.

Doctors believed bloodletting was the best way to combat disease, fever, broken bone or depression. And if a patient didn’t recover, they were bled again.

There was also a display of medical tools used for bloodletting and tooth-pulling. A huge rolling-pin piece of machinery was actually used to help with constipation.

All of it made for a good excuse to suffer in silence.

Some of the hands-on displays featured a mini keel boat where kids would have to stack blocks and balance them so as not to tip the boat.

There was also a Visitor’s Journal to fill out questions during the tour such as “The expedition arrived back in St. Louis in 1806, what had explorers accomplished?”

Where’s a fifth grader when you need one.

TIDBITS…

– Took advantage of Albrecht Cycle Shop in Sioux City. The rim of my rear wheel had five cracks and needed to be replaced. Otto Albrecht II was a third generation owner; his grandfather started the business in 1924. Back in the day they not only sold Trek bicycles but Harley motorcycles and Cushman scooters. Otto, 86, took me for a tour of the basement of the shop. “She had a tetanus shot,” said one employee as we made our way down the uneven wooden stairs.

Downstairs was a graveyard of old bicycles. “We use them for parts,” said Otto. “And over here are all the new bikes people have brought in from the chain stores, like Wal-Mart.”

Otto said customers usually need a new tire or want a tune-up, but then when they’re told it’s $40 or $50 they delay returning to the shop and in many instances just forget the bike altogether. “I guess they can’t justify putting more money into the bike after they’ve bought it,” he said.

I left with a new rear wheel. Cost – $171. Value = Priceless, considering the adventures I’ve had and people I’ve met touring the states and Europe.

– Johnny Mars is the ‘famous’ restaurant in Sioux City. When I stopped, a big man in his 50s met me at the door. “Sit here, sit here,” he said guiding me by the arm and then dusting off a stool by the counter with a couple slaps of a towel.

Manuel bussed tables at Johnny Mars and treated me like a queen. He said he was originally from L.A., but moved to Sioux City because he liked the slower lifestyle.

I told him stories about the bicycle tour and Rattlesnake Kate. After I explained in detail how she killed 140 snakes and made a dress out of the skins, I mentioned that she was also married six times and struck by lightning and lived to tell about it.

“Almost makes you feel sorry for the snakes,” said Manuel.

We talked about the safety of being on the road alone, and I said ‘people just adopt me’ like in Nebraska when a family had me sit at their table for breakfast.

I had a grandma on one side and another on my right. The one old lady leaned over and said, “You’ll find we’re the friendliest in Nebraska.” The other grandma tugged at my sleeve and said, “Actually, we’re the loneliest.”

Manuel laughed so hard I thought he was going to wet his pants. Instead, he bought me breakfast.

KINGSLEY, Iowa – Kingsley, Iowa is a town that time forgot.

People park up the middle of the street, Chet’s Grocery doesn’t open until 10 a.m. on Sunday and there’s a blue phone booth sitting on the south end of town on Hwy 140.

“That’s a prank, set up by the millionaire in town,” said a customer at Ed’s Cafe. “While you were taking a picture of it… we were taking a picture of you.”

Ed’s Cafe is the happening place. It’s the diner with all the pickup trucks out front and the cardboard cutout of John McCain in the window.

“I don’t remember where I got it,” said Ed. “It’s been over a year.”

Ed was a man of few words. He went about his business behind the counter; he’d collect money from customers and put it next to the till and he was always putting water and fresh dark grounds in a big silver Hamilton Beach coffee maker.

The cafe was a serve yourself kinda place. Customers knew to take a white coffee cup off the tray and tap their own.

If you wanted a glass of water, a series of jewel red cups were next to the plastic pitcher full of ice water.

The cups were similar to what your grandma would use to give you orange Hi-C in the morning.

“We’re known for our hash browns,” said Ed’s wife, a plain woman who walked with a seesaw motion, had meek shoulders and carried heavy forearms like Popeye. “We also have homemade donuts.”

An orange cafeteria tray lined with paper towels was sitting on the front counter. Even rows of fresh warm donuts covered in a glaze of chocolate or vanilla icing sat in the open-air cafe, tempting all who walked by.

Ed made more coffee. He was an extremely thin man; his blue pants looked like they had been pulled up on a yardstick and cinched tight with a leather belt that had his name stamped in black letters and fastened with a large round Indian-head buckle.

The interior of the diner was dated as well with dark wood panel walls, sherbet orange booths and eight small circle stools at the counter that were set about two feet off the ground. It was as comfortable as sitting at a parent-teacher conference in kindergarten.

The staff went about their business – focused.

Their personality and humor was on the wall with small signs:

“Today’s Menu – Two choices – take it or leave it.”

“Milk sucks! Got Margaritas?”

And the clock was a two-inch section of tree trunk. All the numbers were jumbled at the bottom and at the top the message: “WHO CARES.”

I had the best breakfast ever of two eggs, sunny side up, a piece of wheat toast, hash browns and coffee. Total = $5.26.

Day 9 July 4, 2010 Wisconsin Connection; Raymer, CO

By
Judy
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RAYMER – One of the most amazing things on this tour has been the Wisconsin connection – the number of people I’ve met who are from Wisconsin.

Bob in Bishop ran the Tree Motel. He was originally from Columbus, Wisconsin.

“I miss the change in seasons,” he said, as a drop of sweat slid down the side of his nose and hung on his upper lip.

While bicycling in a state of confusion trying to get out of Greeley, another biker turned around and helped guide me in the right direction; it was Mike from Wauwatosa.

He returned to Colorado because he had graduated from college in Denver.

Just outside Briggsdale there was the small Crow Valley Diner. Helen made buttermilk pie and a customer ordered a hamburger with a clucker berry on top.

“It’s an egg,” said waitress Judy.

Within a half hour the owner of the cafe introduced herself – Ruth Harding from Green Bay. “I lived in Green Bay seven years and left when it was Lombardi’s last year with the Packers,” she said.

Up the street about 20 miles I found another Wisconsin connection, Doris Williams. “Most people will remember me as Doris Webster. Just tell them I was in parades in West Bend with Ernst Frankenberg,” she said.

Doris, 81, was born in West Bend and lived there until her senior year in high school when her family then moved to Beaver Dam.

“My dad ran Decorah Farms Dairy and we lived at the bottom of the hill at Decorah and Main,” said Doris, trying to recall stories from her past.

“The blacksmith shop – was it Schloemer Brothers…. I used to take my pony in to get shoes.

“I was five or six years old and always been into animals and my dad showed cattle at the Washington County Fair when the fair grounds were off Highway 33 up behind the West Bend Aluminum Company.”

Doris currently lives on a 900-acre ranch with 15 horses, cows and about 30 farm cats.

She’s a spitfire and says what’s on her mind. A woman with an opinion, “I’ve been called a meddler,” she said with conviction.

Doris is well known across Colorado having served on just about every state and county committee, school board, highway commission and council in the area.

Doris pulled down the Dorothy E. Williams book ‘The Spirit of West Bend’ and recalled familiar names including Barb Kenney, history teacher Edith Heidner, the Pick family, Reuben Schmahl, Eugene Wendleborn, Bob Yahr, Marilyn Laufer, and family friend B.C. Ziegler.

“Dad had the first home delivery of milk and he started Golden Guernsey for Ben Ziegler.”

“I grew up with the dairy in the basement of the house and in the 1940s the dairy farm was built.”

At 15, Doris went to work for Bob Rolfs and was a special sewer at Amity. “They used to come in with raw leather and they’d cut pieces for us. I really didn’t like that job,” she said.

Doris remembered the Dewey Drug Store and the Cooley Box Factory which “made round cheese boxes.”

“One day at Sheldon Grocery there was a skunk on the landing and they came over and said ‘could Mister Webster do something’.”

“So dad left with a butter box and took it, closed in on the skunk and got it and put that box in the milk truck and brought it to the country.”

Doris laughed about the old-time drama of West Bend.

The Geib Hotel, Merrimac Theatre, the Masonic building and McLane grade school were all mentioned as points of reference.

“There were more taverns in that town when I grew up,” said Doris, recalling Gonrings tavern.

“I remember an ice cream shop and grocery by the south edge of downtown and east, across the bridge by Cooley’s and Enger Kress.

“There was a dance hall that was also a roller skating rink and Montgomery Wards – or was that Sears? Boldt’s Drug Store… and they used to have a big Christmas tree downtown on that triangle with Santa,” she said.

In 1996, Doris was named Colorado Cattlewoman of the year. In 1968 she lost her husband to a drunk driver.

With spunk, Doris told the story about how her horse saved her life. “We were in the field trying to get this heifer bull back home and he turned and charged the horse, pushing us backwards up a hill.”

Doris was thrown when the horse fell and that’s when the bull came at her. “His horns were spread wide enough they pierced the ground on either side of me and the bull pushed into me with his head.”

Doris remembers little after that; she said her horse came around and kicked the bull, chasing it away. Her horse then stood over her, waiting to go back to the ranch.

That was 30 years ago, when Doris was 51. “I didn’t break any bones – just got the wind knocked outta me and fuffed up this knee a bit,” she said.

“If I would have had my gun I would have killed that animal.”

Asked what she missed about West Bend, “The fish fries on Friday night. We’d go to Port Washington,” she said.

Saturday, July 10, “Around the Bend” Column

By
Judy
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Read my column “Around the Bend” in Saturday’s West Bend News – HERE

Day 10 Thursday, July 6, 2010 ARNOLD, NEBRASKA

By
Judy
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ARNOLD, Nebraska – Since leaving Denver, Col. I feel like I’ve finally got my groove on.

Biking from Sterling to Holyoke and crossing into Nebraska – experiencing towns like Grant, Ogallala and Paxton.

Ogallala had a lot of American Indian history; even the name meant something like ‘scattered one’s own.’ To me, it sounded like something the doctor would make you say while checking your tonsils. “Open wide and say Ogallala…..”

Logged about 78 miles from Paxton, Neb. to Arnold, all the while weather warnings were on the radio about approaching storms.

Coasted into the small community of Arnold and rolled to a stop alongside a gas station.

Out from behind a farm tractor walked the poster boy for Arnold – sandy blonde hair, perfect smile and a disarming drawl. He called himself Bryce and I pinched myself in the Ogallala to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

“Now what are you doing,” he asked, coming out of the garage and into the sunlight, which totally did him justice. I relayed the Reader’s Digest version of the bicycle tour and Bryce said, “My legs can barely get me across town… and I’M YOUNG!” I decided to let that one go.

Dreamy Bryce, as I called him, was 22; he put me at 32 and we’ll let it stand at that.

Bryce graduated Arnold High School and went to work in his grandfather’s repair shop where he started his own welding business. Dressed in a dirty black baseball hat with a Rolling Stones logo, plaid shirt, and black jeans, Bryce talked – all the while twisting something greasy and metal in his hands.

“You should be here this weekend for the big Blues concert,” he said.

“We bring in a couple semis and park them end-to-end and build a stage and it’s really a big deal. We get about 2,000 people in town.”

It was a big deal for Arnold; a community of about 685.

“Otherwise, you should come back for the big street race,” said Bryce. “We really know how to keep things poppin.”

Maybe it was the miles, the heat, the fatigue…. but for a second I must have stopped listening to Bryce. He broke my slack-jawed stare with an uncharacteristic four-letter word. “Ma am,” he said. “You need some water or something.” Bryce was coming darn close to losing his poster boy status.

“Jim’s Bar up the street has good food,” he said. “Between Jim’s and Susie’s, you stand a better chance at Jim’s because Susie only cooks weekends.”

At Jim’s I was greeted with a warm welcome by Frosty, who introduced himself by kissing me… on the mouth.

Forrest, or Frosty to his friends, was 80-something. He wore black Oshkosh B’gosh bib overalls, tennis shoes, plaid shirt and he quickly sized me up. “You’re tough as a boot,” he said holding my arm.

Frosty was retired, but ran the elevator in town for years. Married in 1949, he and his wife had six kids. Frosty’s wife died recently, but he refused to sit around and mope – he also rarely went home alone from the tavern, often leaving with his arm wrapped around a paper bag and bottle of Ancient Age Bourbon.

Across the room three women pulled Frosty into their conversation. They grilled him about his new girlfriend at the bar. I voluntarily walked over.

“We were keeping an eye on you – just in case you needed savin,” said Nancy who was joined by friends, Diane and Carolyn. The threesome were the Golden Girls with Charlie’s Angels flare.

They gossiped about Frosty and his jokes at Rotary called “Frosty’s fabrications.” The ladies were waiting for their husbands who had spent the day golfing. “You can stay with me,” said Nancy.

After a bit more conversation we loaded my bike into Carolyn’s pickup and they took me for a tour of the canyon.

Fantastic hills of sand, and since it had been a wet summer the mounds were green with grass.

Nancy’s house was about 9,000 square feet of the best view in Arnold. Outside every window was a picturesque setting. “This has to be better than sleeping at a church,” she said.

Got on the road at 6:45 the next morning and had breakfast at the Colonial Inn. Owner Mary made homemade raisin toast. She also sent a couple pieces along with me, wrapping them in a baggie with a yellow twist tie.

TIDBITS…

– Got turned around a bit in Merna, Nebraska and stopped three kids on bikes. Reece, Blaine, and Cody were busy spending their summer pulling a plastic circle sled through the puddles around the gravel streets of Merna. “You go down that road and turn left and cross the railroad tracks and that’ll get you straight to Victoria Springs,” said Blaine… the youngest in the group. Blaine had blonde hair, a sturdy build and early confidence. I took a picture of the trio, gave them my card, and told them they could look for themselves on-line in a day or two. “I’m going to keep this in my pocket with my fishin’ worm, so then I’ll remember,” said Blaine. (I feel I’ve reached a new pinnacle in my career; my business card stored in an 8-year-old’s pocket next to his fishin’ worm.)

– Watched the July 4th fireworks in Holyoke with my two new friends, Kevin and Terry. I met them outside the Holyoke Motel. They had been out with their dogs. “This is a nice town,” said Kevin,, who lived about three blocks from the motel. We chatted, had a couple beers and then jumped in Terry’s pickup to go to a field in Kevin’s backyard and watch fireworks with a fresh mosquito population. “These are the best fireworks,’ slurred Kevin.

The next morning I stopped at the diner and my new friends were already at a table for three. Kevin picked up the tab. “Well, since you drank all our beer last night I might as well buy your breakfast.”

Saying goodbye for the third time, Kevin waved and said, “Just 1,500 more miles and you’ll be home!”

– Met Evelyn while looking for the pastor’s house in Holyoke. She was in a wheelchair and making a pork chop for one on the grill for the Fourth of July holiday. Evelyn invited me into the house where she rang the pastor on his cell phone. We talked about her grandchildren and her 17 great-grandchildren. I thanked Evelyn and left to find the pastor and my accommodations for the evening.

The next morning, I ran into Evelyn. “Can I pray for you,” she said taking my hand. Evelyn asked the Lord to protect me during my journey. Her faith and generosity made me cry.

GREELY, CO (CONT.)

By
Judy
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CRABTREE BREWING…

Crabtree Brewery is an independent craft brewery in Greeley run by Jeff and Stephanie Crabtree. Jeff left the corporate world four years ago to follow his dream. “The only thing I regret is that I didn’t start this sooner,” he said

Some of his creations include Boxcar Brown, Jeff’s Pale Ale, and a fantastic beer with a ginger base.

Although Crabtree Brewing has grown 40 percent over the last four years, Jeff’s biggest challenge is nudging further into a market dominated by Colorado brewing giants Coors and Budweiser.

TALL BIKES IN GREELEY…

Headed out of Greeley around 8 a.m. during the July 4th weekend and caught up to Darin who was riding a tall bike.

“I know how to weld, so over the last three days I built this bike for today’s parade,” said the 24-year-old dressed in a tie-dye t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and reddish-brown Vans tennis shoes.

Darin had a full Paul Bunyan beard, plugs in his ears the size of spools of thread and big sunglasses that screamed 1976.

His 5-and-a-half-foot-tall bicycle featured a red Volkcycle on top of his mom’s green bike. He had a cloth Rolling Stone bag with a photo of Sean Penn hanging from the handlebars, and about a dozen medium-size flags he was taking to sell at the parade.

Darin also had his Jamaican tunes on board with 6-inch speakers mounted to the front stem; he was jamming to Toots and the Mayfals.

“It’s amazing and one of the free-ist feelings,” he said about riding two-stories tall in traffic.

“I just really like riding and seeing how happy people are to see it.”

TIDBITS…

– The train depot in Greeley serves as headquarters for the Chamber of Commerce. Bill Sterling was on the clock and so was Bella, a 5-year-old English bulldog. “She’s the director of greeting,” said Sterling. Bella was a beast – about 80 pounds packaged into a 2-foot-long frame, she reminded me of a sack of potatoes with deep brown eyes and an extremely sad underbite. Bella would have been the last kid picked on the playground, so it was a good thing she was adopted by Greeley.

DAY 8 July 2, 2010 “RATTLESNAKE KATE” ~ GREELY, CO

By
Judy
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GREELEY – One of the gems of Greeley, Colorado is the Greeley Museum. Located off 8th Street, the museum features a tremendous collection of history, including a fragment of a noose from 1888 used in the city’s only lynching, a three-foot-tall silver trophy from 1912 awarded to Sidney and Harley Dickey for “The Best Sugar Beets Grown in the United States.” There is also a photo of Joseph “Toots” Mondt, a farm boy from Eaton who beat a carnival wrestler in record time in 1912, took his job, and later cofounded the World Wide Wrestling Foundation.

The best exhibit is Katherine McHale Slaughterback, who made a name for herself in 1925. The 31-year-old nurse and mother found herself and 3-year-old son surrounded by snakes.

Kate and Ernie had been out looking for ducks left behind by hunters, but soon were surrounded by a spaghetti-plate full of hundreds of rattlesnakes.

Using her .22 Remington rifle, Kate unloaded on the pool of snakes, but quickly ran out of ammo.

With glycerin madness in her eyes, Kate pulled a ‘No Hunting’ sign out of the ground and went Chuck Norris on the snakes, clubbing the rest of them to death. Two hours later the score was “Kate 140; snakes, 0.”

Rattlesnake Kate gained fame across the country. She also made fashion history using over 40 snakeskins and her best Betsy Ross skill set to build herself a dress. It was flapper-fashion with Crocodile-Hunter flare; accessorized by snake-skin-covered shoes, a rattlesnake “rattle” necklace, earrings and a headband that contained 37 rattles.

Kate pioneered a work-from-home business hunting snakes, collecting venom for a research lab and crafting and selling snakeskin souvenirs.

According to researchers at the museum, Kate was a handful; married six times and possibly into prostitution. Questioned whether she was ever bit by a snake, all signs point to ‘no’; however, Kate was struck by lightning… and lived to tell about it.

Another historical treat in Greeley is the Centennial Village; a 5.5-acre museum with 26 buildings.

The village is an up-close Home and Garden experience where you can examine the living quarters of immigrants and families from 1860 – 1930. The wood-frame farmhouse of Rattlesnake Kate is one of the buildings on site along with a board-and-batten one-room structure popular during the dry land homesteading era. The inside may seem roomy, but that’s because only the essentials were needed for survival, that being a bed, stove, table and chairs and a few tools and cooking utensils. Newspapers were used as wallpaper, insulation and caulking; survival depended upon resourcefulness and creativity.

Saturday, July 3, “Around the Bend” Column Today

By
Judy
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Read my column in today’s WEST BEND NEWS.

Day 7, July 2, 2010 Greeley, Colorado

By
Judy
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GREELEY, COLORADO – Pulled into Denver via Greyhound at 6:30 a.m. Had my bike unboxed and put together and was on the road within a half hour.

Found the fabulous South Platte River Trail; a wonderful paved trail just outside Denver that parallels the river as it ribbons north. Known for birds and wildlife, the Platte River puddled along in brown fashion to the east of the trail. If the water didn’t provide enough direction, the aroma (read “smell”) of the river let you know it was still right there.

On the other side of the trail is a five-foot-high wire fence. The fence is woven thinly enough that small white butterflies could easily pass through the webbing, yet feathery seeds of cottonwood could be caught in flight and delayed a day.

Forty-two miles up the road I spent the night in Brighton. A bit rundown from being on vacation a week, I needed some motel therapy and a chance to regroup.

The next morning, I made my way north on Hwy 83 to Alba; took a break in Greeley and stayed.

Don Eckhardt at George’s Bike Shop on 7th Street was a much-needed distraction. Don was third generation owner of the store. “My Grandpa George opened this in 1937 with P.C. Mann,” said Don. P.C. had a gun shop and sporting goods store in the front and Don’s grandfather ran the bike shop in back. In 1937, George bought the whole building. The shop featured well-worn hardwood floors and high 30-foot ceiling. In the 1950’s, George’s Bike Shop was all about bicycles, but in the 1980’s there was some diversification with lawnmowers and chainsaws – then locksmith work and gun-smithing.

“My grandfather drilled all the safety deposit boxes in town and taught himself how to temper metal,” said Don, as he worked in the repair shop at the back of the building with a lathe to fix a shim on a seat post. Don was 58-years-old and had a simple salt-and-pepper taste in fashion. His short-cropped white hair, mustache, and goatee were set off by a black Diamondback t-shirt, black knee-length shorts, black bicycling socks and SixSixOne bicycling shoes.

“Been working here going on 41 years now,” he said, pointing to newspaper photos of his father, who had been in the business 50 years. His grandfather – famous for riding unicycles – worked until he was 72.

The workshop in the rear of the store was an organized mess of busted bikes, piles of parts and years of family memories. “Up there on the wall is the first skateboard my dad tried to kill me with,” said Don, pointing to the relic from 1959. The skateboard consisted of nothing but a slab of wood and wheels from an old roller skate. “The skate was cut in half and I could really make that baby turn,” said Don. “My dad showed me how to go down the driveway. He ended up falling and chipping his elbow,” said Don, with a little laugh. “He didn’t show me anything after that.”

Other interesting items littering the workshop included a green banana bicycle seat, a pile of inner tubes that completely rendered a chair useless, and a line shaft with a three-phase motor. “My grandfather bought that line shaft from a feed store across the street in 1925,” said Don. “I can use it to run an air compressor, drill press, lathe, grinder, anything a belt will run – I can even run an old key duplicator off it.” Don said the line shaft helped him keep his bills down. “Uses a dollars’ worth of electricity a month,” he said.

Overall, George’s Bike Shop was making it in the down economy. “If you fix stuff, they find you,” said Don. “If you repair stuff, they dig you out of the woodwork.”

Don just finished fixing a bunch of bikes for the local daycare. “It was a pile of junk is what it was,” he said.

“If I depended on sales, I might have to do something different. That’s why I got this all, because I can repair stuff.”

Remembering back to his first bike, Don said his dad gave him a Royce Union sidewalk bike with large rubber tires. “It was hard rubber, like on a tricycle – difficult to ride.” Don described the bike as “ugly red” and guessed it was already 10 years old by the time he got it.

“My dad actually built a 12-foot unicycle with a 12-inch wheel so he could show the ‘carnie’ guys how to ride.” Don’s dad grew up a block from the railroad track in Greeley. In the 1930’s, when the train came through town, it would stop and a carnival would set up. A framed yellowed newspaper clipping showed Don’s dad on a unicycle, riding down the aisle at the store.

Don, however, didn’t live for bikes; his real passion was dirt bikes. “Bikes are alright, but I’m more into throttles,” he said. “You like to ride around the world – I’d like to race around the world.”

Piled up in the back of the shop were a couple of weary Kawasaki motorcycles and a Honda or two. “Part of the fun… is getting hurt,” said Don, as he walked to the back of the shop and took a long swig from a can of Dr. Pepper. “I got 30-years-worth of injuries.” “Broke my neck, my ribs, my legs, my sternum,” he said, pulling his t-shirt tight against his chest to show me the disfigurement.

“Tore my bicep and got this elbow all cut up. I broke my toes; matter of fact I can hold a pool stick between my toes now.” And he showed me… Taking off his shoe and putting his sock foot up on the counter Don put his pointer finger to the right of his big toe. “Ya see,” he said, with proof.

I actually never had any doubt, but now I was lucky enough to see Don’s toe trauma and I was convinced he was held together by an array of pins and titanium plates, and may be able to perform a solid break should we be teamed in a pool game later that evening.

TIDBITS…

– The train depot in Greeley serves as headquarters for the Chamber of Commerce. Bill Sterling was on the clock and so was Bella, a 5-year-old English bulldog. “She’s the director of greeting,” said Sterling. Bella was a beast – about 80 pounds packaged into a 2-foot-long frame. She reminded me of a sack of potatoes with deep brown eyes and an extremely sad under-bite. Bella would have been the last kid picked on the playground, so it was a good thing she was adopted by Greeley.

– Greeley has a population of 90,000 and last week country star Keith Urban was in town at the 88th Annual Greeley Stampede. Tickets for the show topped out at $69 apiece. Cinderella and Warrant headline at the Stampede Arena tonight.

Day 6 June 29, 2010 Carson City to Salt Lake

By
Judy
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0

 

Add ImageRENO – After 62 miles in record 110-degree heat on Monday I opted to go with Plan B – catching a bus in Reno to Salt Lake City, Utah.

Bikers across Santa Clarita and Carson City agreed it would be dumb to try and take Highway 50 across the Nevada desert. Plus, considering Sherwin Summit 7,000 feet, Smokey Bear Flat 7,600 feet and Deadman Summit 8,036 feet… I knew I was in need of some public transportation therapy.

 

Not to mention… I could feel it. The next day, after the heat and the hills, it took me three elephant-heaves just to get out of bed.

And like Venus Williams at Wimbledon…. I just didn’t feel on my game.

Bicycling from Carson City to the Greyhound station in Reno I tried to make myself cooler by unzipping my jersey; I rolled up my sleeves, pushed down my socks and turned the cuff up on my biking shorts.

Not exactly Lady Gaga at New York Stadium but think: Lady Gaga Amish…

…if that’s even possible.

I took the eastern scenic route to Reno through Washoe Valley.

The highlight was the Postal Cafe – a combination restaurant/U.S. Post Office located on East Lake Blvd. just up the street from Kruse’s Feed & Hardware – the street sign read, ‘Hay, grain, vet supplies, tack, propane, electrical, kerosene, plumbing’ and ‘Get your rodeo food here.’

 

Trudy was working the counter at the one-room store. The restaurant was to the left – with a cash register, stack of newspapers and four stools.

Menu items included ‘soup of the moment’ and BLT express; “That’s a play on express mail,” said Trudy.

The postal counter was to the right – a scale, stamps under glass and a bunch of U.S. postal policy and pricing posters.

Trudy greeted everyone walking through the door with the same sign-song ‘Hello, how are you – you can sit anywhere. Can I get you some water?’

A couple of coffee customers sat at the front counter and consistent post office traffic filtered in and out.

“I’m pretty good at handling it myself,” she said, while making change for five postcard stamps.

Trudy, dressed in a black apron and tribal-patterned black beret, considered herself a chef with a postal habit; she made it clear she wasn’t a federal employee. “This is a real lucrative deal for the post office because I don’t get benefits.”

 

“They just contract out for this spot and simple mailing service.”

 

Christmas, she said, is when it REALLY got busy.

 

“We have packages lining this wall all the way to the back of the room and packages all along that far wall,” she said, sweeping her arm across the interior of the store.

 

“We have a lot of people with eBay businesses out of their home and we’re the closest post office with normally very little wait.”

RENO’s BONNIE..

Checked with two more bicycle shops in Reno and both said I was better off taking the bus across the desert.

Got to the Greyhound station downtown and had my Bonnie-experience.

 

“One body – one bike,” she said as I rolled up to the ticket counter.

 

“The bike’s an extra $30 and you’ll need a box. You need a box? You know what you’re doing – got the tools?”

 

Within a minute Bonnie was dragging a flat piece of cardboard the size of a refrigerator out of the back room.

 

“Flag me when you get that taken care of and we’ll tag it and get you a ticket,” she said running back behind the counter to get the phone and help another customer.

Bonnie had long black hair with bangs; 30-something, cheery, a great multi-tasker with a very dry, deadpan sense of humor.

She’d be somebody you’d want on your team, whether it be a cat fight, a bar fight or an argument.

“Listen guy, ” she said to a young man in a white wife-beater filling out a Western Union money transfer. “I need an address. Anything, just put down anything because the computer’s not taking it.” “I’m gone for one day and they install this thing and I come back and now I’m the one in charge of all things Western Union,” she complained.

 

Bonnie used to be a bartender. She took the job at Greyhound because the hours were better.

“No more working until 2 a.m. and no more weekends, although I have to work this weekend and no more nights… although I have to work tonight.”

“But I told my boss, I’m drinking at 5 o’clock so if you want me to work tonight – I’m just letting you know.”

A man in camouflage pants and dreadlocks to his knees walked up to the counter. “That little bag of chips just enough to piss you off,” she said to the guy as she picked up the phone and reached in her drawer for more change for him to feed the vending machine.

Bonnie was experience in action and she knew well enough not to make a big deal out of things. Like, how I was only able to box my bike with the seat hanging out the top.

“I’ll just hide this in back for you and the rest of your gear if you want so you can go walk around.”

In this day of 9-11 security, that was unheard of.

I took off around Reno. The free entertainment rolling through the middle of town was the river. Tons of people, teenagers, moms and kids, families floating two-and-a-half miles down stream on black inner tubes or just body-surfing and riding the current.

Back at the bus depot I walked in about an hour before departure. Sat in front of the TV and watched Larry King announce his retirement when I heard ‘Judy come to the desk.’

The traffic at the Reno depot had kicked up 10-fold. “Judy, Judy, Judy… get over here.” It was Bonnie, my wingman, over the loud speaker.

“Hun, you’ll want to get your luggage and set it over by door number five so you’re not fighting for a seat in an hour,” she said, while processing another Western Union form and cradling the phone against her shoulder.

I feel I’m living the dream, as strangers from all over step up and take care of me.

 

TIDBITS….

 

– A grade-school teacher named Heidi helped pull me across some mountains in California all the way to Lake Tahoe. “You’d never make it on a bike and as long as you’re here you might as well see it,” she said. As we began the long ascent, Heidi talked about how school was changing, her adventuresome father who acted in westerns with Ronald Reagan, and her grandfather who was a famous radio newscaster named Sam Hayes. While Heidi talked… I felt myself leaning toward the center of the vehicle. The mountain to get to Lake Tahoe was HUGE and we… were along the outside guardrail.

After witnessing the beautiful lake, Heidi dropped me at the intersection to ride down the mountain. Nothing like a 12-mile descent at 43 miles an hour. Really… I couldn’t wait for it to end and it was exhausting! Again, riding close to the guardrail, no possibility of looking at the great view because of the concentration needed to stay in my lane, read the road and avoid the sewer grates which could easily throw my bike.

 

– I met George as I was leaving Carson City. He was an old guy with a beard, heavy square glasses with a line for bifocals, and a red running suit with matching jacket and pants. George was watering the plants up against the brick wall by the parking lot of the low-budget motel. He sprayed the plants like he was trying to peel paint off; the plants didn’t stand a chance. For 10 minutes George tried to pretend he knew how to get me from here to there. I, pretended to listen; playing along and exercising my skills to strengthen patience. When George finally took a breath, I thanked him and made obvious motions that I was soldiering on.

 

George had one final bit of wisdom. “I hear bikers and dogs are alike,” he said. “They like to check out each others rear.”

 

I look up and here’s George, bent over and looking extremely closely at …um, well, um – err my rear wheel.

 

No slang or double entendre…. my bike tire.

 

I shrugged and told him “I hope he liked what he saw.”

 

– Tattoos are all the rage in Carson City and in Reno. Not just like one or two, but an entire sleeve on both arms of tattoos. Met a guy named Eric, he ran a place called Sober Santa Fe which was a shelter/rehab facility. Eric was finally out of prison and staying clean. His entire skull was tattooed, as were his arms and neck. He said a lot of the work was done for free, by his buddies. “If I could take it all off, I would,” he said.

 

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