Iowa City, IA --> Geneseo, IL --> Morris, IL --> Hebron, IN

Our love for Iowa, and Iowa City in particular, started in 2011 while Ben was on his second year-long deployment to Afghanistan. The morning he deployed, we sat across from each other at breakfast talking about the big leap we would take in the year he was away. He would be leading a helicopter company overseeing operations out of Kandahar. I would pack up our apartment, say goodbye to our dear Nashville family and move, alone, to a state I had never lived in before to start law school.

It is difficult to describe the emotions that charged through that day and the weeks and months that followed. Simply put, saying goodbye to Ben, and then packing up our apartment and leaving our adopted family of neighbors and friends was the hardest thing I've ever done. Finding Sharon, along with our dear friend and self-proclaimed "#1 Fan Jenn," in Iowa City was my saving grace. The girls kept me sane, and Sharon's home was an oasis during my first year of law school.

And what an oasis it was after our ride from Oskaloosa. Sharon had cold beer waiting in the fridge and put us up in my old tree house room in the attic. The next morning we awoke to breakfast cooking; homemade bran muffins, egg casserole, bacon and fresh fruit. Yum! In hindsight, it made the next few nights through Illinois seem meager in comparison.

We left Sharon's and Iowa City and crossed the Mississippi the same day. Riding across that wide river, it felt like we somehow crossed a demarcation line dividing the western United States from its eastern half (Note: the fact that we are only riding in the north--or "Yankee" country--admittedly shapes these impressions. The distinction I noticed might have been different had we crossed further south.) I've often heard people refer to "east of the Mississippi" or "west of the Mississippi" and never gave the phrase much thought. But there seemed a tangible gulf not only in the sheer population and available space (people and cars were suddenly everywhere all of the time), but also the industries and economies. Suddenly, in addition to farming and ranching, there were distribution centers and malls and trucks upon trucks running the lines for manufacturing and various goods and service deliveries, not to mention the massive workforce, each of whom owned a car and all of which--we felt--were on the road at the same time we were.

The bright side is that this increased craziness also meant more civilization, and we were happy to take full advantage of paved (albeit underfunded and deteriorating) bike paths through Moline, Illinois to Geneseo, where we pitched our tent and made dinner out of some frozen BBQ rib sandwiches and instant microwave mashed potatoes from the campground general store, with frosted mini wheats for dessert.

Given that Indiana had our next big destination, my hometown of Plymouth, we were eager to get across Illinois. We spent the next day harnessing a rare tailwind and pedaling the straightest and most boring route we could find. The less distractions the better for covering ground. Apparently the organized rides take the same approach in Illinois; we passed 25 riders on their way west. The best part of the day was a surprise free lunch and milkshakes from Jason at Grandma's Treats, followed by a surprise donation to our organizations by a fellow patron, Ray. Thanks so much guys!!! We logged over 100 miles and put up in Morris, Illinois.

The next day was supposed to be a quick hop and skip to Indiana. We thought we had it covered by taking country roads to avoid Chicago traffic. Unfortunately we quickly found ourselves on tiny roads among all the other semi truck drivers also avoiding Chicago. So we spent a great deal of precious time finding ways to zigzag around these de facto country freeways. With some patience, stubbornness and a trusty milkshake stop (which again came with a surprise donation to our organizations from Pegan--thank you!!!), we made it across the Indiana border.

Like magic, the semis disappeared, the drivers became nicer and the roads became more country. Not as country as they were "west of the Mississippi", but calmer at least (can't you tell I'm biased?). I was grinning when we finally pulled into Hebron, Indiana where my Dad was waiting to greet us with hugs and a ride home to Plymouth for warm showers and hot plates of my favorite spaghetti.

The next day Dad drove us back to Hebron to finish the ride into town. About 10 miles in we came upon a couple and their teenage son pushing bike trailers loaded with belongings and capped with large umbrellas. At first I thought it must be lemonade stand and told Ben to stop. It turned out they were walking across the country on a religious mission. The couple left Delaware in 2013, moving at about 10 miles per day, headed for somewhere in California. They stop in the winter to find jobs. We left them with our best wishes and felt thankful we would not be moving at that pace to finish our own journey.

Dad met up with us in Knox, about 20 miles out of town, and rode with us the rest of the way. I promptly directed us to the Dairy Queen nearest home for the daily milkshake rations.