Yesterday was our 'easy' day. That was the plan as we started out from our perch in Le Claire, Iowa. Real life had other intentions for us. It turned out to be 11 hours of groundhog day riding.Most of it interstate, which has all the charm of a boil. Cornfield after cornfield rolled by, uninterrupted through Illinois, Iowa and the portion of Nebraska that is now in our past. As the terrain grew more interesting, we were forced to detour around Route 6-- which added another hour to our trip. Through more cornfields.
Sometimes, the monotony of the cornfields is tempered by a colony of windmills. They stand in their immense whiteness, majestic, imposing, menacing and graceful, twirling their great wings in a choreographed display. I wish I could say that it is nature that makes the largest impression in the vastness of this terrain, but it is the man-made elements that stay with me most.
The windmills, the perfect row of miniature, painted carousel horses sprouting amongst the rows of young corn plants-- a wonderful surprise under grey skies and pelting rain along U.S 24 in Illinois, the imposing metal sculptures guarding either side of a bridge on our entry into Omaha that urged us on to our intended address, for these man-made offerings, I am unapologetically grateful.
I know, I know, I'm talking about Iowa as if it were our geographical reality but the fact is, we are in Nebraska. Iowa, However, is a never-ending state of mind. Iowa will still be in us when we get to San Francisco, I suspect.
Now, here's my take on Nebraska. Nebraska somehow brings home the enormity of our adventure. Its name sounds like another country, as if we really have gone on a long, exciting trip. This is the point of no return. We have done a little less than 1,800 miles over the last 6 days and it seems that there is more behind us than lies ahead of us. Riding across Nebraska is exactly like that moment in labour when a woman realizes that no matter what, things are forging ahead. There is no negotiating the process, no time left to ponder the merits of pain-relief. That window of opportunity has passed and whatever is coming next will be here...probably not soon enough.
We are on the threshold of scenery devoid of flat land and grain silos and cute stalks of corn. Once we can get out of Iowa ...er, sorry, Nebraska.
Sometimes, the monotony of the cornfields is tempered by a colony of windmills. They stand in their immense whiteness, majestic, imposing, menacing and graceful, twirling their great wings in a choreographed display. I wish I could say that it is nature that makes the largest impression in the vastness of this terrain, but it is the man-made elements that stay with me most.
The windmills, the perfect row of miniature, painted carousel horses sprouting amongst the rows of young corn plants-- a wonderful surprise under grey skies and pelting rain along U.S 24 in Illinois, the imposing metal sculptures guarding either side of a bridge on our entry into Omaha that urged us on to our intended address, for these man-made offerings, I am unapologetically grateful.
I know, I know, I'm talking about Iowa as if it were our geographical reality but the fact is, we are in Nebraska. Iowa, However, is a never-ending state of mind. Iowa will still be in us when we get to San Francisco, I suspect.
Now, here's my take on Nebraska. Nebraska somehow brings home the enormity of our adventure. Its name sounds like another country, as if we really have gone on a long, exciting trip. This is the point of no return. We have done a little less than 1,800 miles over the last 6 days and it seems that there is more behind us than lies ahead of us. Riding across Nebraska is exactly like that moment in labour when a woman realizes that no matter what, things are forging ahead. There is no negotiating the process, no time left to ponder the merits of pain-relief. That window of opportunity has passed and whatever is coming next will be here...probably not soon enough.
We are on the threshold of scenery devoid of flat land and grain silos and cute stalks of corn. Once we can get out of Iowa ...er, sorry, Nebraska.
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