September 2—Destination Fowler, and Beyond

My European friends sometimes tease me about the relative youth of American history, but this region has a history that goes back thousands of years to the Mississippian culture of the Native Americans. Of course they left no written records, but they certainly left artifacts.

There’s an interesting historical marker at the junction of Illinois Route 96 and U.S. 24, north of Quincy. There’s a nice, large triangle where I considered parking my pickup for the night, but the state has erected a no parking sign. Much as I yearn to sleep in a bed, I’m not at all interested in spending a night in the Adams County Jail.

Here are some notes from the marker. The first exploration of this area (that’s by the paleface, of course) was in 1673, when Louis Joliet and Pére Jacques Marquette came down the Mississippi River from Canada. Many of the French names of creeks and towns in this area (La Harpe, La Salle, and so forth) derive from the names of men in that exploring party.

The French claimed the entire part along the Mississippi River of what would later become Illinois until the Treaty of Paris ceded it to the British. During the American Revolution, George Rogers Clark and his army won the area for the Commonwealth of Virginia. Illinois became part of the Northwest Territory in 1784, and joined the Union as the 21st state in 1918.

East of here was the Military Tract, where veterans of the War of 1812 were granted land for their service. Farther east (beyond Peoria) was the Grand Prairie, where the first large-scale cattle ranching in the world took place (1840–1890). During that same era, barbed wire was invented, right here in Illinois, and improved dent corn was also developed here. (That previous sentence is not from the historical marker, by the way.)

I ended up sleeping in front of the old parts store, right on U.S. 24, after talking with some neighbors, including Tony, who’s across the street in the old bank building. That’s also a parking place for some car-pooling school teachers. I was under a shelter with the pickup, so that was a positive (there’s an overhang built onto the building).

Fowler is a small, unincorporated town. It’s on U.S. Route 24 and on the main east-west line of the Burlington-Northern Railroad. In about 1980, Pastor Robert Schubert, a long-time family friend, drove from his home in Mount Carroll, Illinois, to my little farm near Carthage to ask me to take over the pastorate of the little Fowler Church of the United Brethren in Christ.

I was, in due course, examined and granted a quarterly conference license to preach. My first pastorate ended some years later, when the little church closed its doors. Among the highlights of my ministry there were the wedding of the daughter of one of our parishioners and the fact that a number of former members resumed their attendance at the church. Among the lowlights of that period was the funeral of an inactive member, who had left the church after being publicly embarrassed when a former pastor asked his son to behave during a worship service. I say it was a lowlight because, among other things, the widow requested that very former pastor to conduct the funeral service, but he refused to do so unless I agreed (which I did).

When I offered to pick up the widow and take her to the funeral and grave site, she said, “Pardon me. I won’t be going. I don’t do funerals.” I have not heard whether she attended her own.

One fun event happened in this way. I usually rang the church bell half an hour before the service began. Some local teenagers climbed up into the belfry, wrapped the clapper in an old pair of pants, and attempted to otherwise disable the bell. Their primary social activities took place very late on Saturday night, and they weren’t particularly interested in being called to worship, though their grandmother did attend services.

One tug of the bell rope told me something was wrong with the bell.  I climbed up to the belfry, diagnosed and fixed the problem, and returned, ringing the bell only about a minute later than usual. The young men were so curious about why the bell rang that morning that they attended the service and asked me afterward about the bell. When they saw that I thought the entire matter was funny, they were surprised. Of course I already knew who had done the deed because I recognized their grandfather’s trousers, which I returned to them after our discussion. Thereafter they did attend services a number of times, but they never because regular attenders.

Fowler was founded in 1857. Probably the most comprehensive history of the town was written by Kevin Ahern, who has thoroughly researched the town’s past. Ahern puts the population at about 200.

After our interview in the park, Tegan Orpet of KHQA TV said I had to visit the Paloma Diner, so I drove over there at 6:00 for a delicious breakfast. I walked in and headed for the restroom. When I came back to the dining area, someone asked me where I had slept the night before. I asked whether they had recognized me from the news, and they said yes, from just five minutes earlier. When I told him where I had spent the night, he told me his trailer was just about 100 feet from there.

The group I spoke with are the morning coffee regulars, showing up faithfully at 6:00 every morning. They included Glen, retired from the Air Force, and Ace Shippendecker, an 84 World War II veteran. Amy, the waitress, treated me very well. I would not learn until later that her sister had been killed by a drunk driver on her way to work at the café not too long before. Later in the day I parked my pickup right across the highway from the small memorial put their in her memory.

I drove back to Fowler and headed west along 24 on my bicycle, after receiving assurances from Ace Shippendecker that it wouldn’t rain before noon, but I got rained on during both my bike ride and my walk, though not enough to do any damage.

On my way back into Fowler, I noticed that my front bike brake was dragging, so I took an hour to take it apart and repair it. It worked well for several hours after that. I had just finished my bike repair and was wondering what to do with the rest of my day when a vehicle pulled up. The driver was Ron Powell, Camp Point resident, who had served in the Illinois Army National Guard at the same time as I did. We hadn’t known each other, but we both reached the rank of First Sergeant, and we had some adventures to discuss. He had seen me on the news and come looking for me.

It wasn’t even noon yet, so I decided to ride on at least to Paloma.

Paloma, Illinois
Paloma is named after a small, local tribe of Indians. I have been unable to find any information about this tribe, which may have been associated with the Peoria Tribe. A tribe on Native Americans with flattened foreheads lived in the area at one time, but were apparently annihilated by invading tribes. There doesn’t seem to be much available on that group, though there used to be information about them at Dickson Mounds.
Local pickle producers had a rail platform about a mile west of Paloma’s location. Daniel Gooding negotiated with the Wabash Railroad to build a depot on his land if the railroad would move the Pickleville platform there. According to local tradition, the wife of a railroad conductor renamed the town Paloma. There is also a tradition that the town was named for the Spanish word for dove, Paloma, though that would contradict the local Native American tribe version.
As with many communities of the 1800s, Paloma thrived with the railroad running through it. A playhouse called Euterpe Hall hosted shows and plays well into the 20th century, before moving to nearby Fowler, and eventually closing altogether.
I walked to the Paloma Diner and arrived by 11:00 a.m. or so. Amy treated me to about 5 glasses of ice water, which was a real treat. Her grandpa died in World War II, and her son-in-law just returned from a year in Iraq.
During that visit to the diner, I also met Bobbie and Kendall, who had ridden motorcycles (Hondas) for many years, including a special trip to Canada. I met Ann Veyle, a widowed and retired schoolteacher, who worked for the Army Map Service (forerunner of the Defense Mapping Agency), all during World War II. Her late husband Joe had fought in the Pacific. When his unit got lost, he wrote his wife that it was because they had been using one of her maps. Joe also played the electric guitar. Ann had 3 sons in the Vietnam War, all in Vietnam at the same time.
She and Joe had ridden their motorcycle (also a Honda) to Anchorage, Alaska, a round trip of 93199 miles. They went with a United Methodist tour group, led by a retired pastor. They had a great time. Waitress Amy called Ann and Bobbie the “Harley Mamas,” though they hadn’t ridden Harleys.
As I was leaving, two ladies actually handed me donations for my walk, though that is not something I am soliciting. I was deeply touched. One lady said, “This is for your supper, though it won’t be as good as if you had eaten it here.”
I also met Bill and his wife. He was a POW in Germany during World War II. The Germans put a group of him and his fellow prisoners to work making little rocks out of big rocks. He said that because he had grown up on the farm, he knew how to break the sledge hammer handles. Each time he broke one, he had to walk to the shop to have a new one fitted, and that bought him an hour or so away from breaking rocks. He also specialized in breaking the handles of the 6-tine pitchforks they issued for handling smaller rocks.
I made sure to thank each veteran for his service before I left. I toured Paloma by bicycle (it doesn’t take long, really), and ran into Sergeant Ron Walton, U.S. Air Force, retired. He is a real Santa lookalike, affable, and a great conversationalist. We swapped stories for a few minutes, and I thanked him for his service. Then I road back west to retrieve my pickup.
I decided that I could do the two miles to Coatsburg without difficulty, so I walked there and back. Then I drove to the home of some friends I hadn’t seen in about 30 years. They graciously fed be (and plied me with numerous glasses of ice water, my new favorite beverage). We caught up on old times, and, as I left, Mel told me he’d be praying for my left knee, which has been my biggest limiting factor so far on this walk.

Coatsburg, Illinois

When I was farming east of Carthage, Illinois, in the seventies and eighties, I often took goats to the Coatsburg sales barn to sell. In those days, town signs were white with black lettering. Some local youth periodically used black electrical tape to change the spelling of the town’s name to “Goatsburg.” The sign would read that way for a few weeks, until a road worker removed the tape. Though I eventually moved from the area, I never saw that intentional misspelling again after the state adopted the white-on-green town name signs.

Coatsburg still has a nearby sale barn, where livestock is sold. The 2000 census counted 226 inhabitants.

Golden, Illinois
It was far from dark, and I wasn’t sure I could handle another walk, so I drove north to Golden, home to a restored grain windmill. Our generation is not the first to be wind energy enthusiasts after all. Built in 1872, and functional in 1873, the mill is completely restored. It’s well worth a trip to see, if you haven’t seen it. Next door is the Emminga House, which was the residence of H.R. Emminga, an immigrant from East Frisia, who founded and operated the mill. Because East and West Frisia were politically part of Germany, these folks are known as Germans, but the North, East, and West Frisians spoke a language much closer to Dutch and English than to German. There’s an old ditty that says, “Milk, bread, cheese—good English and good Fries.” That is to say that the two languages share those exact words. The Frisian word for “word,” is “uurd,” and that use of the double u would eventually lead to formation of the English letter w.

So Let It Begin

August 31, 2010—leave home about 12:30 p.m.
It took longer to load and get away from home that I had expected, but the reward for my late departure was to sit down and eat a delicious chicken burrito that Mary fixed. I decided to take I-72 to Quincy for several reasons, but the main consideration was the time saving.

A Very Naïve and Smiling Rob Setting out for Quincy

I chose to start my walk in Quincy for several reasons. Quincy has historical significance. It’s also at about the latitude at which I want to do the walk, and, of course, it’s on the western side of Illinois. I chose to walk from west to east in part because of the prevailing westerlies. Central Illinois can be a windy place, and I’d just as soon have that wind at my back. Of course that’s means I’m walking into the early morning sun, but one can’t have everything.
The Bayview bridge leads into Quincy from Missouri, carrying U.S. Route 24 traffic. Quincy is in Adams County, Illinois, and both county and city were named after President John Quincy Adams. Some historians say that the town square was unofficially dubbed “John Square” to complete the use of President Quincy’s names. I haven’t been able to confirm that idea.

The Bridge at Sunset

 (double-click for full photo)

Quincy schools still offer the German language, a reflection of the city’s German heritage. Oktoberfest is still an annual celebration. Though I can’t be absolutely certain that there are no German restaurants in Quincy, I didn’t find any.

Quincy has a population of over 40,000, but it is the primate city of west-central Illinois and of east-central Missouri, areas that are home to about 112,000 residents. Built on limestone bluffs overlooking the Mississippi River, the city has a rich early history, including serving as a station on the Underground Railroad, being a major river port, and being an industrial center. The city is a marvel of business and industry. Motion Industries, Craig Industries, Ktm, H & B Quality Tooling, Harris Corporation, J.M. Huber Corporation, Titan Wheel Corporation, EnPro Industries, Quincy Compressor (owned by Colt Industries), and Can Am Industries all have facilities there. Please pardon the many omissions of company names.

Quincy is also home to Quincy University, and 4-year liberal arts school that is associated with the Roman Catholic Franciscan order. Most students are undergraduates. (http://www.quincy.edu/)

I got to Quincy at about 4:00 p.m. and did a little exploring. I located the WGEM Radio studio so I would know where to go on Wednesday morning for my 7:50 interview on the Morning Program. I explored the park at the foot of the hill, right between the bridges and eventually sat on a park bench to read the fine article in Tuesday’s Quincy Herald Whig, which appeared on pages 8A and 9A. My supper was a can of Bush’s baked beans, an apple, and some beef jerky.

Though my GPS doesn’t know it, there is a campground just a ways north of the Bayview Bridge, Driftwood Campground, and I spent the night there. At some point in the night it started raining, and it rained throughout most of the night. I was snug and dry in the topper, though I closed the screened windows when rain started coming in.

September 1, Quincy, Illinois
A Quincy landmark worth seeing is the Villa Kathrine, which houses the Quincy Tourist Information Center and the Quincy Convention Center. The sign says the house was built in Moorish/Islamic style in 1900.

Villa Kathrine Just off the Gardner Expressway in Quincy

Not only is the house handsome, the grounds are pretty and well kept, and there is a great view up and down the Mississippi River from the grounds.

View toward Hannibal Missouri and Lock and Dam #21

View from the Villa Kathrine Grounds toward Bayview Bridge

The grounds also has a lovely rose garden, cared for by the Mississippi Valley Garden Club

After a delightful hot shower (the primary reason for staying at a campground instead of in a parking lot), I headed off to the WGEM Radio studio for my interview. Bryce had called me the previous morninng to set up the interview. Greg and Rick of the Morning Program conducted the interview, which they handled with aplomb. You can hear the interview, at least for right now, by going to http://www.wgem.com/Global/category.asp?C=133159.

Kyle West of WGEM TV jogged down the hill while I drove from Washington Park. He carried his video camera and tripod, to the park where the walk was to start. He was joined in the park by photographer Phil Carlson of the Heral Whig and Tegan Orpet of KHQA News. The Herald Whig’s Web site is at http://www.whig.com/, and KHQA News has a site at http://www.connecttristates.com/news/contents.aspx?id=~\News\Lists\Local%20and%20State.

Rob’s Custom Bike Mount

It was a pretty steep climb up Hampshire Street to Washington Park, and I was puffing like a steam engine as I pushed my flag with flag up the hill, but WGEM photographer Kyle West stayed ahead of my so he could shoot some pictures, and so did the Herald Whig’s photographer Phil Carlson, who was taking still shots of the action.

I got a lot of honks and waves, and a few thumbs up gestures as I walked up Broadway. When the sidewalks gave out, so did I, and I got on my bike and started back toward my pickup. I had ridden only a few blocks, though, when I heard what sounded suspiciously like an air leak from my front tire. Once the tire went flat, there was no alternative but to get back off the bike and push it. That made my morning walk almost double the length I had expected, but, as Robert Burns wrote, “the best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley and leave us naught but grief and pain."

Though I had little grief, I did have a fairly painful left knee by the time I got back to my pickup at the park. Walmart had the right size tire and tube, and it took only about half an hour to select and buy them and mount them. A brake pad had moved just enough to wear the sidewall of the old tire, and that mechanical malfunction was sufficient to ruin that tire and tube.

As I was remounting the tire on the bike, a lady in a nearby parking place asked me for a knife so she could open the package containing her new steering wheel cover. I cut the zip tie for her, but then she had such a hard time installing the cover that she came back and asked me for help putting it on. It took about 10 minutes to stretch and worry that thing over the wheel, but at least it won’t slip.

A gentleman stopped by to offer his advice, and his presence led to a discussion of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, wars he doesn’t believe we should be involved in. Though he didn’t serve, two of his sons and many other relatives have served, and one son recently came back to the States with his unit after only a short deployment to Iraq. Dad was grateful to have his son safely back on U.S. soil.

I rewarded myself for all my hard work by stopping at Deters for a vanilla malt. The reward was wonderful. Then I drove to 12th street and followed it north past Locust Street. On the left side of the street is the entrance to the Illinois Veterans Home, a place I had heard of, but never visited. I parked under the biggest catalpa tree I had ever seen, and sought out two men sitting in a gazebo. "I want to talk to a veteran. Am I in the right place?" I asked, to break the ice.

They were residents Dick Boyd and Burt Weaver. Dick served 20 years in the U.S. Navy, and said he’d go back and serve 20 more if they’d let him. He spent lots of time at sea, and he did a tour in Viet Nam. Burt served in the U.S. Army during World War II (1944–1946) and then joined the Army Reserve. His unit was called up for the Korean War, and he saw action in that conflict too. We were joined by Sandy, who went into the U.S. Marine Corps the same year I entered the Army (in 1966). Before I left I thanked all of them for serving our country. There are about 437 residents (the person who told me this is also a resident) in the home at this time.

Statue of Civil War–Era Soldier with U.S. Flag at Half Staff (Half Mast) to the Left.

This monument is on the grounds of the Illinois Veterans Home.

Northwestern Illinois

My 95-year-old mom still lives in my home town of Mount Carroll, Illinois (county seat of Carroll County). Because we came to visit her, she joined us for several days and nights at the ancestral farm. Otherwise she lives at the Caroline Mark home, a retirement home established by the founder (Caroline Mark) in 1906.

The amazing arrangement of that home is that  residents of Carroll and the adjoining counties (female residents, 60 or older) do not pay a thing to stay there, and their meals are provided free too. How much longer the home can afford to provide all of that for the ladies is a matter of some conjecture, but it’s a wonderful thing. http://cmarkhome.com/index.html

Friday we visited a nearby vineyard and winery (Massbach Ridge, one of several in the area), partly because their daffodil sweet white wine won a double gold medal at the Illinois State Fair only a few days ago. http://www.massbachridge.com/ Winemaker Peggy Harmston, in addition to her other work, cheerfully waits on customers in their small wine showroom. Behind the counter there are many award-bedecked bottles of wines produced in previous years.

A lifetime as a copyeditor has made me a bit critical of poor writing, and especially of inaccurate writing. The article I originally read about Massbach Ridge said that it is located in the “glacial hills of Northwestern Illinois.” Actually it’s located in the unglaciated hills of Northwestern Illinois. Known as the “driftless area,” this part of Illinois encompasses parts of Jo Daviess, Carroll, and Whiteside Counties, and also extends well into Southern Wisconsin. I make the point because glacial as an adjective has such meanings as really cold, hostile, produced by glaciers, and really slow, like a glacier. If you haven’t visited that part of Illinois, make it a point to do so. Some time in October, the tree-covered hills of the area are really spectacular, so that would be a great time for a visit. Nearby Galena is one of the best tourist traps I've ever visited.

We decided to drive farther north and visit some friends, but once we were in sight of their farmstead, we saw that a bridge had been damaged by the recent heavy rains and was closed to traffic. We called on the cell phone and left them a message, which they later returned (after we were out of signal range again).

Instead of visiting them just then, we drove north to the Woodbine Bend golf course and restaurant. The are has many cheese plants, wineries, golf courses, and fine restaurants. It's also become a Mecca for weekend motorcycle excursions and bicycling.

On Saturday morning at the top of a high hill, where I could get a phone signal, I discovered a number of voicemails that had accrued while we were in the big valley and out of signal range. Our Jo Daviess County friends had been home after all, but they had been outside. Thus we resolved to visit them later in the day, which we did.

Henry was out bailing hay, but Susie was home with the three kids. She’s a registered nurse, who home-schools her kids, Lillie, H.D., and Joey. They’ve chosen not to watch broadcast TV, but they do watch videos and read a lot. Susie asked me to go upstairs with the kids to where they have their world and U.S. maps on the wall to point out all the places in the world where we’ve travelled, so we did that.

The kids are bright, well-mannered, and thoughtful. They are absolutely expert in all matters agricultural. We had interrupted their physical education class, which was bike riding on that particular day. They were getting their bikes out as we left. The advantage of the nearby closed bridge is that there is virtually no traffic on their road right now, so biking is relatively safe.

I asked whether they all had bikes, and Susie said everybody except her, so Mary offered her bike, which she hasn’t ridden for some time. Maybe by our next trip to that part of Illinois we can get Mary's old bike into condition and take it along. We shall see.

Their big black dog Breezer, part lab and part pit bull terrier, is immense, but very friendly. He’s so big he can just reach up and lick Mary on the chin without lifting his front feet off the ground. He’s also a house dog, so he climbed up on the sofa with Mary and me, just to be friendly.

They have beef cows, dairy cows, pigs, chickens, cats, a horse, a pony, and Breezer, and they sent us away with a dozen eggs from their very free-range flock. A big barred rock rooster lorded it over the rest of the flock. Their elegant cat Puffball has black and white tuxedo markings, but with gray stripes (a Tabby swirl) in flattened, concentric circles on each side. What a beautiful cat. Puffball just showed up there one day and adopted the family, joining their 4 other cats on the farm.

Sunday we were off to Sunday school at Mother’s church at 8:30 (you heard right) with the worship service at 9:30, then on the road to return home to Champaign. About the last thing worrying me about the walk is my fast-improving (but still somewhat painful) left knee. It has to be in shape in just a couple more days.

Route Survey, August 24

At 7:30 p.m. Monday, I left the Lincoln College Library, after spending some time looking at the enormous woolly mammoth tusk on display in the college library lobby. A Lincoln College student found it, along with a molar, on college property during an unusually dry summer (2005). The beast must have been enormous. He is thought to have lived between 12,000 and 25,000 years ago.

A Lincoln College professor found a second molar at the same site. The mammoth is believed to have been about 50 years old.

The area we now call Illinois was also home to the mammoth bison, which looked like the bison we know, but incredibly larger. Their skeletons have also been found in Illinois.

In the interest of keeping this walk on a low budget, and following the advice of many friends, I sought out the local Walmart parking lot as a potential place to park and sleep. As I parked, a very full moon was rising. Some teenagers were talking and messing around near an old pickup truck, and shoppers were still coming and going.

It got down pretty cold in the night (if the 50s can be called cold), and numerous nighthawks plied the sky and landed nearby from time to time. After less sleep than I would have liked, I got up at about 6:45 a.m. After a hearty breakfast of yogurt, milk, and an apple, I set off toward the west on Route 10.

078 Burton View
A grain elevator is the business most in evidence. It's the Burton View Coop, right next to Brandt Professional Agriculture, a seed company.

083 New Holland, establiished in 1875
This town, as is typical out here on the Central Illinois Prairie, also has an elevator, The Taloma Farmers Grain Company.

090 Mason City
This town is a bit bigger than those I'd been driving through.It has a Horizon Seeds plant and a Monsanto Soybean plant.

096.7 Teheran
The Farmers Grain and Coal Company is undergoing some equipment updating, and new components are scattered around the grounds. All these little towns had people already at work early in the morning 

098.5 Easton
An American flag was flying from every utility pole on both sides of the highway. I spoke to two men who were cleaning the bricks left from a demolished building. A man driving by slowed to tease them, rural style, about being idle because they had paused in their work  to talk to me.

103 U.S. Route 136, with lots of road construction in progress
Yesterday I was interested to see a fair amount of corn being picked. Though the stalks and leaves in those fields were dry enough that some leaves were shattering, I don't see how the moisture content of the corn could have been very low yet. It's a good bet the farmer had sold some corn futures and decided to deliver the real deal.

Driving west on Route 136, one sees what look like sand dunes on both sides of the road. There are also lots of center-pivot irrigation systems in use, though some of them describe only a half circle because they are interrupted by the highway. The end sprinkler on one unit was spraying water high up into some nearby trees as I drove past. Down in a low area, there's Valley brand irrigation system dealership, which has been there for many years.

107 The Evening Star Camping Resort has been spruced up since I last came this way. It's on the south side of the highway.

114 Havana
This small city is the county seat of Mason County, Il, linois. Havana has a historic water tower, which I photographed. It's next to a lovely Lutthern Church building.


Just west of Havana is a creek called "Lazy Ditch." In that area is also Dickson Mounds, with a museum that is open to the public.


120 Illinois Route 100


130 Otter Creek, with some turtles crossing the creek on the bridge, a very hazardous thing to do with all the big grain trucks rolling.


126.4 Marbletown
After studying the history of the area, I decided to spend some time in Marbletown. There are two houses there, so that might not be the best plan after all.


129.2 Anderson Lake
There's an Illinois recreational area right on the lake that might serve as a reasonable substitute for an overnight spot.


131.2 Bluff City
These towns were important river ports in their day, but there's not very much there now. The entire area boasts dozens of purple martin homes, raised up on poles.


135 Sheldon's Grove, home to the Hickory Township town hall


138.5 entrance to the Sanganois Conservation Area.


139.6 Browning


145 Frederick


I departed from my planned route and crossed the bridge over the Illinois River to Beardstown, where I found a Hardees that offers a 10% discount to veterans. I took advantage of that courtesy to observe a custom hobbits call "second breakfast" with an egg sandwich.


I drove to U.S. Route 24 and on through Ripley, Mt. Sterling, Timewell (Mound Station), which I somehow didn't see as I went through, and Clayton, home of an Illinois Department of Corrections work camp.


188.8 On to Camp Point, originally known as Indian Camp Point.

194.7 Coatsburg
At the Casey's station I borrowed a phone book and looked up the number and address of some old friends. They had a new address (different from the one I'd known 30 years ago. I drove south to their new place, but no one was home. I hope to renew acquaintance on the walk.


205 I-172
It was 11:50 a.m., and it was already more miles from home than I thought it was going to be. At 6:00 Mary I and were to be at the home of a young married couple we are meeting with every week for some marriage mentoring.


Though the GPS predicted a 200-mile trip home along the Interstate system, it turned out to be about the same distance back to Champaign as I had already driven. An now to bed, perchance to sleep, and maybe to dream.

Route Survey, Monday, August 23

At the risk of spoiling things for the walk itself, I'll share some notes from this afternoon's route survey (by motor vehicle). The three-digit numbers along the left-hand margin are odometer readings along the survey of the route, measured from my house, which I named "Four Oaks" when we moved in 7 or 8 years ago.

There are three mature oak trees, a white oak, a black oak, and a mossy-cup, or burr, oak, but I also have a 4-inch high seedling at the edge of the garden, so some day there will be four oaks there if all goes as planned.

I left home at about 1:30 p.m. to drive some of the route and to poke around in general in the small towns along the way.

000 leave Four Oaks

004.2 Staley Road and Springfield Avenue (Illinois Route 10), just west of Champaign.

007 Bondville.
We once looked at a three-story brick house, with basement, near the east edge of Bondville. That was in about 2002. I thought the house was overpriced at $105,000, but in retrospect, it would have been a bargain. Think of all the house guests we could have entertained! Mary was very disappointed when I decided we shouldn’t pursue that particular house.

The house had an interesting story. It had been moved into town from a farm several miles to the south. Given the size of the house, the fact that it was a true masonry brick building, and the tremendous weight, that’s no small feat. I couldn’t see any cracks or other signs of the house’s having been moved.
An interesting Bondville story occurred a few years ago. A friend of mine, Louise, ran a phone repair service and a two-way radio service in the former Bondville schoolhouse, which she had converted into their company headquarters. One Saturday morning the place was suddenly swarming with SWAT officers, who held her at gunpoint, while she explained that the building was her business.
It turned out that some years earlier, when the building had still been vacant, a police training facility had secured permission to use the building as a SWAT training area. No one had bothered to check whether the building was still vacant, or whether the permission to train there was still valid. From this perspective, this could be a funny story, but I can just imagine Louise being held at gunpoint, sputtering to the officers that they had no business being there.

010.2 Seymore

017.3 Lodge
Just south of Lodge is the Pontious Berry Farm, where a person can still go to pick berries. The father of the present owner visited the appropriate authorities (on raising berries) at the nearby University of Illinois, one of the country’s land-grant universities. The agronomists told Mr. Pontius that blueberries just would not grow in that part of Illinois. Undaunted, he researched the topic on his own, treated the soil for the right pH, and began to successfully raise blueberries on the Illinois prairie. The blueberries are still flourishing there.
Route 10 skirts Lodge on the north side, and there is a rail crossing for a north-south line. When I was surveying my route of march, a railroad repair team was there fixing a broken crossing gate (the red-and-white-striped wooden bar than comes down to block a lane of road traffic while a train is passing). I just happened to be stopped waiting for a northbound train to pass so I could continue my trip. The train was a local, comprising mainly tank cars.

022.3 Deland
Deland and Seymore have a consolidated school district. They have built a large facility north of Route 10 out in the country. Fortunately there seemed to be no signs of vandalism, such an isolated building in a city might suffer. Abraham Lincoln said, “Let him who hath not an house not pull down the house of him who has one.” Whatever you may think of the late president, I agree with that quotation.

027.7 Weldon
What I knew about the town of Weldon before my visit was that our friend Jan, for many years a missionary with Youth with a Mission, grew up in the country with a Weldon address. The family’s lower pastures are now at the bottom of Clinton Lake, and the little farm house sits on a road that is otherwise lined with more luxurious homes of more recent construction.

When Route 10 was rebuilt some years ago, it was rerouted to bypass many smaller towns. That speeds things up for those driving right past, but for my investigative purposes, it meant that I had to leave the highway and go some distance to visit several of these little towns.

I thought I’d visit the town library, but it was closed. A mother and daughter sat in the shade out front on a park bench, a laptop computer open on a fold-out table in front of them. I asked, “I guess this means the library has free wi-fi, right?”
“That’s exactly what it means, the mom answered.” Out on Route 10, a blue sign listed one tourist attraction, Mamma D’s Smokehouse Restaurant. Though the restaurant is open only on Friday and Saturday afternoons (from 5–9 p.m.), I walked up to it and found the door unlocked. Sharon, who is also Mamma D, was there to let in a refrigerator repairman. She made me a gift of a cold Coke and told me a little about her business.

She grew up in Oklahoma. Though she works full time as a medical laboratory technician at a nearby hospital (and her husband also works full-time), they started this business as a hobby. In addition to gourmet bratwurst (they’re much more heart-healthful than regular brats because they are much lower in fat), she offers several other specialties, including onion hamburgers (she fries the thin-sliced onion right with the meat).

Sharon suggested that I visit the Weldon Bank, staffed by Jean Lawrence and Becky Farris, and I did. Jean humbly denied any great knowledge of the town’s history, but did tell me about the terrible fire that destroyed nearly the entire downtown. The bank, being of solid brick, survived the fire, and the face of the building looks much as it did in the old days.

Jean and Becky also said that the Weldon Bank was one of the few Central Illinois banks that John Dillinger didn’t rob. Doug Edwards’s Facebook page has some great Weldon pictures.

About 5 miles west of Weldon there is a beautiful white farmhouse on the north side of the road. There’s almost always an American flag flying near the house, and I had noticed that on previous journeys past the place. I decided to stop and see what I could learn about the place.

I saw a tractor with a blade on the three-point hitch, with a pickup truck parked beside it. That was near a machine shed behind the house. The house itself was under construction, with a crew busy adding on to the original structure.
A man emerged from an office in the machine shed and greeted me courteously. I said, “It looks as if this is not only your home, but also your business.”
“Yes,” he said. “I farm.”

The man was tall, lean, and clean-cut. He had a direct gaze, with piercing eyes, and his handshake was firm, when I introduced myself. I told him I was walking across Illinois, a veteran in support of veterans. He said he really appreciated what veterans have done for this nation.

I asked him about the farm and house. The family just received the State of Illinois official designation as a sesquicentennial farm. If you’re not familiar with that program, that means the farm has been in the same family for at least 150 years. It belonged to a Union Army captain named John D. Graham. He built the main part of the house when he returned home from the Civil War 143 years ago (in 1867).
The family recently had all but the original part of the house torn down. The new addition is being built to look like an 1800s carriage house, and there will be two widow’s walks on the roof, when all is complete.

David Newberg, the farmer I met, is the kind of man who has built America. These folks are honest, hardworking, and friendly. David told me that his wife is the fourth generation of that family to live on the farm, and that his grandkids will be the sixth generation of the family, if they decide to live there. Refreshed in spirit by my encounter with this fine gentleman, I continued down the road.

040.1 miles Weldon Springs Road
Just south of Route 10 is the Weldon Springs State Recreation Area, including camping areas. One can make a reservation for a camping spot by going online at reserveamerica.com. Pads with electricity are $20 per night, and tent campsites are $8.00 per night. That means I can’t sleep in my pickup without paying $20, but I can pitch two shelter halves to make a tent, and that is only $8.00.

The campground runs using a system that’s widely used at state and federal parks. The fee-takers, in this case known as hosts, were off duty, as the sign plainly stated, but the hostess came out and graciously answered my many questions. As we conversed, I discovered that she and her husband were doing this (being hosts) for the second summer, that they were permitted to have a small garden next to their camper, a pop-up trailer-tent, and that they hailed from the great state of Oklahoma. During the summer of 2009, she had gotten to know a second cousin whom she didn’t know existed. They had spent lots of time getting acquainted and catching up on their respective branches of the family.

045 Clinton, Illinois
Clinton seems to be thriving. There are many small industries, lots of them clustered along the south side of Route 10 on the east end of town. Clinton also boasts a Case-International implement dealership, a very large Chrysler and GM dealership, and a very special Ford dealership.

The Chrysler dealership offers some spectacular savings on what nowadays are called program cars. (Back in the day, they were known as demonstrators.) Douglas does not do floor planning, which is a euphemism for borrowing all the money for all the cars in the showroom and on the lot. Douglas buys the cars outright, which saves lots on interest, and translates to a better price for the buyer.

The Ford dealership, almost right across Route 10, is the only dealership for many miles that carries special production Ford Mustangs. The car comes off the assembly line and then goes directly to another company, where a super high-performance engine, heavy-duty suspension, and other expensive components are built into the vehicle. Then the care comes to this particular dealership to be sold.

About five and a half miles west of Clinton, there is a Y that introduces a road that heads off to the north. The road name is Y-End Road.

Hallsville, Illinois
About 6 miles west of Y-End Road is Hallsville.

055 Midland City, Illinois
Midland City boasts some very interesting street names, such as Rejected Rock Street (there has to be a story there!). There were also some goats in a pen on Rejected Rock Street.

059.6 Beason
Lots of houses in Beason had American flags flying. The old downtown district was completely boarded up except for the Post Office. There’s a really nice park, with kid’s playground equipment and horseshoe pits that my late dad would really have appreciated. There’s also a beautiful Methodist Church building [[photo]], and the East Lincoln Farmers Grain Company has the Beason Elevator in the northwest part of town.

While I was photographing the church building, two small boys came down the middle of the street, one pulling the other in a plastic wagon. They greeted me enthusiastically, though of course they couldn’t have known why this stranger was taking pictures of an old church building. On the west side of town there is a College Avenue, which ends in a cornfield. Try as I might, I could not find a college. Again I saw some really nice campers in front of many homes, and again there was a pasture with horses grazing just at the south end of town.

064.6 There is a bridge that is down to one lane because of construction work. I hope that work is done by September 17 or so. Otherwise I might have to wait a while to walk across the bridge because there is certainly no shoulder or walkway.

068.9 NOAA National Weather Service Station.
This facility, just off Route 10 to the north, is where our weather radio signals originate for most of East-Central Illinois. There’s a bubble on a tower, probably covering a pretty serious radar dish, and there is all manner of weather station paraphernalia and radio transmission gear. I’m very grateful for this state-of-the-art facility in our area.

Just east of the NOAA facility, but south of the highway, is the Lincoln Christian University campus. I’ve known many students who have attended this school through the years, but I had never actually seen the campus. A friendly lady who was heading to her car kindly directed me to the library, but it was about to close for the day at 5:00 p.m. I was a bit surprised by that, because university libraries are often open in the evening. Nevertheless I asked when the name had been changed from College to University, and the librarian told me that the change had taken place the previous year (2009).

I briefly interviewed three bright-looking young people who were still standing where they had been several minutes earlier, deep in a conversation. Daniel is from Morris, Illinois. He just completed a BA in Preaching in May, and has now begun work on his Master of Divinity Degree at the seminary. I asked whether he might know my friend Jonathan Harrison, and he said, “yes, I lived right next door to him.” Their respective time at the university had one year in common. Daniel served as a part-time preacher for a couple of years before embarking on his educational journey. He seemed mature and focused.

Megan is from Bloomington, Illinois, and she’s also pursuing a Master of Divinity Degree at the seminary, majoring in New Testament, and possibly in New Testament Languages. She’s also a recent grad from a baccalaureate program, and she hopes to do Bible translation with Pioneer Bible Translators in Papua, New Guinea, where she has already done a missions internship.

Sarah is from Cerro Gordo, Illinois, and seemed surprised that I had heard of her home town. She’s an undergrad in Teacher Education and English Secondary Teaching. She is planning to earn a TESOL (teaching of English as a second language) certificate, and she hopes one day to teach English in China. I asked whether she was familiar with ELIC (English Language Institute in China), and she was. Because Christian missionaries are not, per se, permitted into China, Christians go there with other primary purposes, with the full knowledge of the government that they have ulterior motives. Though they don’t go around the streets preaching the gospel, they do have a great opportunity to live a Christian life in front of their Chinese students.

My hat is off to these other-directed young people who have high goals and a willingness to invest their lives in other people.

069.4 Lincoln
Lincoln has an Amtrak depot. It also has yet another college, Lincoln College. I was familiar with the college because they built an attendance center in Normal, Illinois, where they have a four-year program. The programs here in Lincoln are all two-year programs. I’m sitting typing this at Lincoln College’s McKinstry Library (collocated with the Heritage Museum), just off Route 10. The staff have graciously given me access to their wireless broadband, and if this makes it into the blog, it’s thanks to them.

Project America Run

Soon after I decided to walk across Illinois, I heard about a group of wounded veterans who were riding their bikes across the United States to show support for our troops. I had visions of a group of slim, fit veterans flying down the road past an old, bent, somewhat chubby guy who is trudging down the roadside. These guys had wonderful sponsorship from State Farm Insurance, and a local State Farm agent was along for the ride. These guys passed through Champaign a few weeks ago.
Kudos to the Convoy of Heroes, who are riding on the Sea to Shining Sea bike ride from Oakland, California, to Virginia Beach, Virginia, about 92 days for sea to sea.
Tonight when I called my 95-year-old mom, she read me an article from a northwestern Illinois newspaper, the Prairie Advocate. Mike Ehredt, a former Illinois resident and veteran, is running across the United States, planting a flag each mile of the way in honor of a fallen U.S. service member. He’s apparently pushing a jogger-stroller, and he’s staying each night with a different host family. [I’m staying one night with a host family.] Donations go to support the fund for Honoring Our Veterans, an organization that works to better the lives of wounded warriors.
He’s ending his walk at Rockland, Maine. You can read Mike’s blog at http://projectamericarun.wordpress.com/, or you can read more about the walk at http://www.projectamericarun.com/Donate3.htm. I salute Mike for his creative and very meaningful run across the United States.
An acquaintance of mine of Army days in Germany told me that, when he was in Colorado recently, he read about a man who was walking across Colorado with a big dog. His mission was to highlight certain conditions our soldiers are enduring.
In short, my walk is neither sponsored, nor sanctioned by anyone. If I get tired walking, I just might hop on my bicycle and make up a few miles. It’s my walk, and, do or die, I’ll likely do it my way. Of course my idea is not at all an original idea. But I’m sure I’ll meet some fascinating fellow Americans and have some interesting adventures (and probably smell fairly badly by noon most days).

Georgia on My Mind

This post is about yet another detour, this one to the state of Georgia. I decided to investigate a topper for the pickup, and I found one advertised on Craigslist. The price was right, but the topper was at Winston, Georgia, some 640 miles south of Champaign, Illinois.

Undaunted, I set off for Georgia on a very hot Sunday (two days ago), arriving without incident (except that following the GPS took me to the neighbor's house first) at 8:00 p.m. Jason, owner of the topper welcomed me and helped me install the topper and clamp it down.

A small amount of money ($150) changed hands (as opposed to 1200 to 1400 for a new topper), and I was back on the road, despite Jason's offer of a place to crash for the night. I really wanted to get through Atlanta when the traffic volume was less than I had seen there during some rush hours over the years, when I either had to drive through Atlanta, or drive from or to the airport.

Jason and his little family fulfilled all the best traditions of southern hospitality, and left me with a great impression of Georgia. I do want to mention one incident when I had first entered Georgia on Sunday afternoon, though. There was a welcome center sign along the Interstate. Though the sign clearly said the welcome center closed at 5:00 p.m., I thought there would at least be restroom facilities available. I was not alone. Literally hundreds of others were pulling in to the parking lot, getting out of their cars, and searching for a restroom. Alas, everything was locked up tight.

Thus hundreds of people were walking around the building hoping for a way in. At least we all got some much-needed exercise. I challenge the great state of Georgia to come up with a more clearly worded sign at such welcome centers, or to set up separate restroom facilities that are open all the time.

I made it through Atlanta without problems and later spent a couple of hours under the new topper on top of an air mattress and a sleeping bag (despite the high altitude of Monteagle, Georgia, it was still in the very high 80s).

The nearby drive-through, the sound of big trucks passing on the not-too-distant Interstate, and the lullaby of tree frogs (thousands of them in the trees behind the gas station parking lot) lulled me into a kind of stupor that stopped short of sleep, but that gave my eyes some much-needed rest.


At 1:30 a.m. I gave up on sleeping and hit the road again. There are several advantages to traveling through the night: It wasn't nearly as hot as the day before had been. The traffic kept thinning out until about 5:00 a.m., when it started to pick up again. The cities were really easy to navigate, with only a modest amount of traffic (the GPS gave ample warning of coming turns and complications).

With only requisite gas and restroom stops, I kept rolling until I came to a rest area north of Marion, Illinois. By that time the sun was well up. This time I didn't open the topper's side windows, thinking to block out the diesel engine noise (the sleeping truckers were using their ACs, so the engines had to run). The increasing warmth and the sound of a multitude of diesel engines woke me. I might have fared better (i.e., slept longer) at a different rest area, because that particular one had the trucks right next to the cars. There was a big rig idling about 20 feet behind my pickup.

I arrived safely at home at 11:30 a.m., having driven 1280 miles in 26 and a half hours, not bad for an old geezer. I'm thankful that I had no near misses (at least of which I'm aware), and that I saw no serious accidents.

Despite the rains in southern Wisconsin and northern Illinois, my trip was dry. Despite the high winds in Iowa and northern Illinois, I experienced nothing of the sort on my trip.

Add caption

  Here's the topper. Mission accomplished. (double-click to see entire photo)

Here's a rest area (cell phone photo) at Rend Lake, Kentucky.