Midway Through Kentucky

John Henry and I have made our way through Missouri and Illinois and a bit of Western Kentucky and we're now winding our way upward and ever deeper into Appalachia. And I'm getting nervous.

At the tail end of my Missouri ride two weeks ago, I was invited into the home of Jim and Cheryl Shollenberger. It was a really hot night, the night before I arrived in St. Louis to stay with my Aunt and Uncle, and I had knocked on a church door in Union to see about sleeping inside. After a few minutes of talking, Jim and I felt we'd each met a kindred spirit (separated by some 35 years). He's a quiet thoughtful sort of fellow. A teacher of music at a local college. A passionate student of Native American history and music. He invited me to his house that evening. Among many other things, he and Cheryl took me out for a great big pasta meal. Jim had 3 of his retired friends over for their regular Wednesday night game of Bridge. I remembered a little bit of Bridge from my time in Holland some years ago, but not much. Jim patiently explained a few hands to me, but I didn't ever risk actually playing with these fellows. They were good. I took some snacks and a cold beer downstairs and wrote in my journal and listened to a cd of tenor arias that Jim had wanted me to hear. He especially wanted me to hear Nessun Dorma, which was beautiful. I slept like a child in their guest bedroom. Early the next morning Cheryl and Jim cooked me a great big breakfast and sent me on my way.

The next day I got to Aunt Margaret's and Uncle Randy's (and Cousin Alex's) house before they had arrived home from a family reunion. They'd left a reclining chair and a fan plugged in out on their porch for me. I read for a few pleasant hours and napped for a few more.

I flew out the next morning for Kim & Jacob's 2nd wedding reception in VA. It was great to see family and friends again, and to get a little rest.

I flew back to St. Louis the following Tuesday, a week ago. The morning after, Alex drove me 100 miles around St. Louis, and dropped me off at a ferry along the Mississippi River. There was something very thrilling about crossing the mighty Mississippi on a creaking clanking ferry.

I biked that night to my Aunt Di's and Uncle Brent's in Carbondale, IL. There Uncle Brent and I sat for a while in his studio and talked about metalsmithing history and techniques. Raising, annealing, folding Damascus steel. He's an artist in the medium, a very fine artist. The pictures I found online don't compare to the experience of standing in front of one of his rustic figures. His recent sculptures are abstract, and they explore themes of spirituality, especially primitive spirituality, with simple, beautiful lines and gestures, spires, crescents, mounds. We walked around his backyard smithy which is entirely open to the air, the border between inside and outside is pretty undefined. I stumbled across a large piece of tapered, bent steel there on the ground, concealed by leafy detritus. I asked him if it was some tool of his he'd misplaced. No, he told me. It was his next piece. It was rusting and looked like it belonged there amidst the organic matter. In fact, this is what I like most about his sculptures. They're anything but modern. Their themes are very ancient. And he's made them in a very ancient way. Even the bases that he mounts his recent pieces on are handmade wooden structures fashioned by an adze he also made by hand.

Tod, their son, my cousin, who I've not seen in a decade or so, came for dinner. He is a world-traveler and a very good dog-trainer. I pressed him for some advice about mean dogs in Kentucky. He said be mean back. Get off you bike and be mean as hell. Most dogs, he said, if they've not been aggressively trained to the point of psychological breakdown, will back down, preferring their free foodbowls, to your costly calfs. I've been using that advice for the 3 or 4 mean dog encounters I've had in KY so far. It's working, but it leaves me shaking and pumped with adrenaline. I hope I don't run into multiple mean dogs at once. I've been looking for a bottle of pepper spray to replace the one that got stolen back in OR.

Aunt Di showed me the yard that was devastated by an "inland hurricane" almost 2 months ago. 100mph gusts of wind destroyed trees in a huge swath through that county. Their yard was hit bad. They've lived in that yard for over 30 years and many of the trees they planted themselves. It's a loss they're still grieving. Then we had dinner. My Aunt Di is no less of an artist than my Uncle Brent. She's practiced and perfected the art of hospitality. I ate a wonderful meal and immediately made myself at home without even thinking about it or having to be told to do so.

The next morning I pedaled out. In the following days across IL and the Western part of KY, I did a lot: I slept at the edge of the Ohio, hearing tugboats push whole continents of metal down the river all night long. I was offered and I gladly accepted a free breakfast at a bed-and-breakfast in whose lawn I pitched my tent. I was shown around a museum I stumbled across in Marion, KY by a big old lady who really didn't know much about the exhibits, but read the placcards just fine. She was very kind and gave me some cold water and talked for a while. I stayed for two nights at the famous biker's hostel in the tiny town of Sebree, KY, receiving warmth and grandparently kindness from Bob & Violet, the Baptist Preacher and his wife. I mused about all the signs I passed for "General" Baptist churches. (Somewhere else, I'm sure, there must be a bunch of "Particular" Baptist churches who split with them and who even now are bemoaning their brothers' and sisters' general gospel and general church van policies and way of singing generally on tune.) I jammed my calf unwittingly onto the teeth of my largest chainring while pretending to be mean as hell towards a very intimidating rottweiller. I didn't notice myself bleeding until the episode was over, so pumped full of adrenaline had I been. I stayed alone in a quiet little firehouse in Utica, KY. I stayed behind a convenience store near Madrid, KY, and was invited to dinner by the owners, then at dinner, they suggested driving me in to Leitchfield in the morning to see some murals at her workplace and to grab some things at Walmart.

And most of all, I've begun to get a little unnerved. Just like some of those desolate sections I pedaled through in Idaho, the countryside of Kentucky is beginning to take on an indifferent, even hostile character in my mind. This is odd, because of all of the hospitality I've received in this state. Very friendly people everywhere. But there are little symbols of hostility that I keep running across, little things that say, "you're not welcome here." The rare instance of an exceptionally mean off-leash dog. A house with several "No Trespassing" Signs on the front door of all places. An old fellow that passed me in his old car with his middle finger up and his teeth bared. A lot of stares.

A lot of this is in my head, perhaps could fall into the category of self-fulfilling prophecies. I hope to get over it.

I'll be on my way now. Need to find a place to stay.