The Smell of...Marijuana on the Road

St Annes:  The Cathedral in the Cornfield.
(Beaverville, Illinois.)



The road may turn; but it's going to be flat.
Somewhere in Illinois.

Kankakee River:  Great for a swim on a 100 degree day.

The picture above is taken near Aroma Park, Illinois.  One of the minor pleasures of bicycling is that you get in touch with the world through all your senses.  Sometimes it’s trucks loaded with manure, or fresh cut hay, or hot tar you smell.  In Aroma Park, as I pedaled down a neighborhood street, it was barbeque on the grill... ah... I wanted to stop and ask for a plate... and what’s that special aroma??? 

Marijuana smoke!  

Well, someone was going to need seconds!

Riding out a long storm near Kankakee, Illinois.

If you would like to donate to help find a cure for type-1 diabetes please click HERE!

(This single click takes you to my fund-raising page. There, click again on "donate to this event." Then click "Biking and Painting for Diabetes."

Kind Acts

I don't know if I can make this computer work (I'm in Peru, Illinois).  So I'm just going to say, quickly, that I have been receiving a lot of kind assistance.  I was telling you about Ralph Kruger and his family when the Computer Gods suddenly erased about an hour's work.

As mentioned, Ralph was celebrating his 82 birthday when I met him and his family in Trece's Restaurant.  They told me I'd be seeing plenty of wind farms up on Indiana 18, and Don Yost, his son-in-law, mentioned that a farmer earned $7,000 for every turbine on his land.  Ralph fumed a little and said "it's all poltics" and explained how one big land owner with connections got 30 turbines and "the small farmer" got none.  Don's wife, Joyce, kind of "shushed" her father, but I expect he was right.  Anyway, when they heard I was riding for JDRF, Joyce asked if she could donate.

Of course, the answer is yes.  So she gave $10.  Then Ralph pulled out a $5.  I said thanks, headed outside to unlock my bike, and another fellow named Jeff Holeman followed.  "I overheard you say you were riding to California, and just think it's a great cause."  So he also gave me a $10.

It's these kinds of acts that make riding even in blistering heat seem fun.

Yes, we have no bananas.
The cash crop today is electricity

I'm going to try to add more to this post, if the Computer Gods don't smite me again.  Sunday the 24th turned out to be a great day to ride.  I rose early, did 2.7 miles, and a guy in a pickup truck slowed down as he passed to say, "They're predicting violent weather."  So I pulled over and hid under a park shelter nearby.  Sure enough the heavens soon opened and poured out moisture for the next three hours and I sat and read a book.

Once the skies cleared, however, it was only about 80 degrees the rest of the day, and overcast, too, and I did 80 miles without suffering a bit.  In fact, I even took time off to watch the parade for the Catfish Day's Festival in Wilmington, Illinois.  I'll try to upload a picture now if this computer doesn't defeat me.



What can I say:  it's small town America.

I spent last night at Starved Rock State Park, near LaSalle, Illinois, and had a good conversation this morning with the camp hosts, Bonnie and Phil Lyerla.  Next you know, Bonnie is bringing me breakfast, (I'd show you the picture; but this computer won't allow me to rotate it), always much appreciated when you are burning 5,000 calories a day--or something that feels like it. 

So, until next time, I'll just have to show you Phil, feeding a wild turkey.  More later when my luck with computers improves.

If you would like to donate to help find a cure for type-1 diabetes please click HERE!

(This single click takes you to my fund-raising page. There, click again on "donate to this event." Then click "Biking and Painting for Diabetes."

Hot, Hotter, Hottest

It's hot; but it's flat!

Here's the short version of the first four days out of Cincinnati (20th-23rd):  hot, cornfields, hot, sweat, confields, holy s#@%, it's hot.

Otherwise, the ride has been going well. First, I've been meeting nice people. On the 23rd, for example, I started feeling woozy in the heat and took cover from the punishing sun under a park shelter in Papineau, Illinois.

I drained one water bottle and tried to eat a bite of lunch. The ham I was carrying in my saddle bags went down fine, but when I tried to eat a Triscuit it felt like a lump of wet sawdust on my tongue. I spat it out and figured I probably needed to conserve the water in my other bottle, then took a brief nap, hoping to rally a little. Luckily, a church in town was having a memorial dinner and when I went looking for their hose after I awoke two of the ladies coaxed me inside and gave me a huge bag of ice. I filled both bottles, poured in water, and drained both twice.

One of the women asked if I'd like a piece of custard pie but I was too hot to enjoy desert.

I asked if their area of Illinois was growing. No, they said. Papineau has a sign claiming "Population 180." One of the ladies insisted there were probably only 100 today.

St Annes:  "The Cathedral in the Cornfield"
Beaverville, Indiana

Still, I've been pedaling through wonderful farm country. The corn is high right now and fields are green, and I'm told farmers are expecting a good year. At breakfast on the 22nd I talked to an old timer who still raised mules. The day before I talked to Sam Cline, 7, who was enjoying a sundae at Wendys with his great grandparents. Sam shows hogs.

That's right. His family (both parents are college grads) raises hogs. I asked Sam if he wanted to be a farmer when he was older. He just finished kindergarten, so he kind of smiled and gave a shrug. He did tell me he likes playing outside, and he's an outfielder for his ball team. "You think you'd like to be a baseball player then?" I asked.

"My dad sure would like it if I played for the Cubs," Sam replied.  (I didn't want to tell him he'll be lucky if the Cubs ever win a World Series in his lifetime.)

When I left, I asked him, "How do you want to be described?"  Again, he shrugged, so I promised to say he was a handsome young man.

And he is.

Everyone in the Midwest knows how hot it has been.  So that's not news.  But my second day out, when it hit 100, I decided I had to find a hotel for the night. Unfortunately, I was deep into farm country and dark was coming on. I used Google Maps and found I was only 8.2 miles from the "Dog Patch Hotel." I called to see if they had room. The owner was a gravel-voiced woman named Marcia Clark and said she usually closed at 6, which seemed odd, but my phone was nearly dead, so it was a hurried conversation. Marcia said she'd wait and I pedaled hard to get there in time.

It turns out Ms. Clark owns a doggy day care. "You're not the first one to make that mistake," she said, which wasn't much consolation. But we quickly brokered a deal and I was able to sleep comfortably on the floor of her air-conditioned office.

Some hotels you worry about bedbugs. Some you worry about fleas.

Marcia was a big-hearted woman and gave me fruit to take with me in the morning and offered the capsule version of her life story. Four marriages. Four alcoholics. But she has a nice business and a trim farm now.

Meanwhile, although the heat is brutal, the country I'm crossing now is as flat as the Loveland bike trail, so I'm not sweating up any hills.

In many of these smaller towns the old cafes and restaurants still hang on and the Subways and Arby's are nowhere to be seen. I had breakfast at Nancy's Restaurant in Hagerstown, Indiana one day. A group of old retired fellows told me about the area. The old factory where two of them worked, Precision Piston gone. They listed other companies also gone and we all just shook our heads. I think we were all wondering, "Where does this all end?"

I've bicycled across a lot of states this year and in 1999 and 2007. Nebraska, Kansas, even much of New York, the little towns are dying. The waitress at Nancy's, however, did mention that 800 Amish families were soon coming into the area.

So the buggy-making industry gets a boost.

I also had a great lunch at Trece's in Rossville, Indiana. As always, I follow the rule: go where the locals are. Trece's was packed. I ended up talking to a family at a nearby table. Ralpk Kruger was celebrating his 82 birthday, along with his wife Mary of 57 years. Mary told me they would have been married even longer, but Ralph got involved in the Korean War. He told me he went way up north to set up radar stations to give U.S. pilots more warning.

TO BE CONTINUED...THIS LIBRARY COMPUTER IS ACTING UP....

If you would like to donate to help find a cure for type-1 diabetes please click HERE!

(This single click takes you to my fund-raising page. There, click again on "donate to this event." Then click "Biking and Painting for Diabetes."

CSI: Wayne County, Indiana

The scene of the crime?

Well, my ride across America is going well. Next time I decide to bicycle maybe I'll cross the Sahara Desert.

It can't be much hotter.

Then again, this is like a cheap and effective diet plan. Forget Jenny Craig. Just pedal 242 miles in three days when it's about 100 degrees.

The good news is that I've been meeting a lot of nice people. Even the deputies in Wayne County are nice. I don't hold it against them, just because they handcuffed me briefly and thought I might be a suspect in an armed robbery. I mean, how many times do we have to pick up the papers and read about another criminal bicycler making his or her getaway, pedaling like Lance Armstrong on a good day?

It's a two-wheeled crime wave.

Here's the story, ripped from the police files. After riding about 70 miles, out of Cincinnati, the first day, I got caught in a thunderous downpour. Normally, I hate getting drenched; but since I had been broiling all day, I was glad to cool down. Still, it was a deluge. So I pulled in behind one of those fenced electrical transfer stations and threw up my tent as fast as I could. Even then rain poured through the opening in the top before I could get the flap attached and poured in the door as I threw gear inside.

At this point I had to use my shirt to mop up all the water inside my tent and then ride out the storm. Fifteen minutes and it passed. So I crawled out from cover like a sopping wet Punxatawnie Phil and surveyed the situation. As I was calling my wife to tell her where I was a cop car came skidding to a halt on the road in front of the fence.

I admit I do "stealth" camping whenever I can (camping for free in isolated spots). So I was planning on staying where I was. Now the deputy jumped out of his cruiser, gun drawn, and shouted, "Hands up!"

"Huh?" I responded, like Clyde (with no Bonnie).

"Hands up!" the officer yelled again, and shook his pistol at me.

I reached for the sky.

The deputy called me out from behind the fence, told me to turn around so he could see if I had a gun in my waist band, and then cuffed me.

I must say it seemed like a bit of an over-reaction to, at worst, a victimless case of trespassing.

Keep in mind, I'm in shorts and bicycling shoes...so I explain I'm riding for JDRF. (By now a second officer has arrived.) They can't arrest me can they? I'm doing a good deed.

Not impressed. The cuffs stay on.

They explain that there has just been an armed robbery, ten minutes ago, in Richmond. I want to point out that's six miles south. I don't quibble with armed men. I start laughing, though, adding quickly, "I'm not laughing at you. You're just doing your job. But this will make a good story later."

They checked my ID and then called in for a description of the suspect. White male...

...in his 20s.

Well, close. Now I can see why they thought I was their man.

Really, the four officers (two more had now come flying up) were all friendly and they simply told me I'd have to camp elsewhere.

I pedaled five miles down the road, with darkness coming on fast, and threw up my tent in some woods where NO ONE could see me.

Somewhere an armed robber is still loose. He may be riding a green bicycle.

I will post again soon to tell you about some of the cool people I've been meeting, like Sam Cline, 7, who likes baseball, and Ralph Kruger, who was celebrating his 82nd birthday with his family when I met them eating lunch.

I'll even explain how I spent a night sleeping in a dog kennel.

If you would like to donate to help find a cure for type-1 diabetes please click HERE!

(This single click takes you to my fund-raising page. There, click again on "donate to this event." Then click "Biking and Painting for Diabetes."

Nineteen Good Reasons to Ride

Want to know why I'm willing to pedal across the United States, even today, when it's supposed to hit 95 degrees?  It's because every day 82 more young Americans turn up with type-1 diabetes.

And those people are young men and women and elementary kids and even toddlers, individuals like these:

Nicole Ayers,
planning to study nursing
in college.

Ben Wilson, aspiring photography and film major.



Alyssa Heal, type-1 diabetic since age 11.



Audrey Lake,
beating diabetes for 49 years
and without a complaint.

Joel McElfrish never let being diabetic
ruin his great sense of humor.

That's my Emily Viall.
She wasn't diabetic yet.
She could eat what she liked.



Katy Rogers: 
she's an artist and a good one.



Kyle Williams:  scuba diving into the future.



Noelle Fletcher.
She turned up type-1 at age 26.
Her brother, Matt, helped her
get over being a baby
and take her shots.

Matt Westendorf. 
His mom found him asleep and worn out
on the kitchen floor at age 3.
That's when he got diabetes.

Lauren Lemmon.
The young lady never gets down
about being diabetic.
She does admit she isn't fond
of Brussels sprouts.

Tom Youkilis
is much better looking than this.
He just never sent me his picture.
He never complains about his long
battle with insulin, shots, needles
and pumps.

 

Adam Kavka.
When he was in seventh grade
he gave me advice about diabetes
when Emiy was first diagnosed.
Now at Ohio State.

Sydney Mahon.
Someday she wants to be in theater.

Sidney Staebler.
Type-1 diabetic
who gave me a
petrified rock and
a little extra
motivation.

Sam McCorkle.  Diabetic since age 4. 
A Taekwondo star ever since.

Andrew Benzinger.
He's only four and his
grandfather Sam wants to
see him grow up
strong and healthy.

Jason Durbin (with his son).
He's a good dad and a diabetic.



Nick Hopkins:  he's a pet lover
and will be a freshman at
Loveland High School this coming year.




If you would like to donate to help find a cure for type-1 diabetes please click HERE! 

(This single click takes you to my fund-raising page.  There, click again on "donate to this event."  Then click "Biking and Painting for Diabetes."

My Daughter is a Type-1 Diabetic

That's Emily at right, when she was about 4.
Sarah, her sister is at left.
Mom in the middle.

What can I say about Emily?  Well:  I love her.  We all do.

Emily has been a type-1 diabetic for six years, since she was just turning 15.  She was a scared teen when we headed for the hospital and her mother and I were more scared than she.  Now she's a camp counselor for the summer, working with handicapped children and a senior-to-be at Ohio State University.

Fittingly, she's studying nursing, a career that captured her interest when nurses at Cincinnati Children's Hospital helped her adjust to the realities of her new life as a diabetic.

What else can I tell you?  Emily doesn't complain.  I find that, as a crabby complainer myself, truly amazing. 

She's a fine student with an incredible work ethic and a runner, too, having completed half-marathons in Cincinnati and in Nashville this spring.  She's a music fan and recently attended Bonnaroo where she and her friends hung out part of the time with my friend Bill Skyllingstad and me, because Bill had us perfectly prepared for the intense heat.  (By the way:  the music was great.)  Emily is a Harry Potter fan, which is easy, a Bengals fan, which is harder, and a member of the Tri-Delt sorority.  Another reason I love her is that if she had her way, everyone who wanted to be in her sorority could be.


Emily at the music festival. 
Kelly Petersen, her good friend
and fellow nursing student at left.

That's what I like best about our youngest child.  She's kind to everyone.  She accepts people as they are and for what they are. 

She's going to be a heck of a nurse.

Anne, my wife and Emily's mom, and I hope to see a cure for diabetes in her lifetime.  Meanwhile, she'll just have to handle the shots and the needles with grace, poise and aplomb.

That's how she does it every day.


Emily ran cross-country
in high school.
It was scary one day
when she went low.



Sometimes Emily (left) looks sophisticated.

Other times she just likes to have fun.

If you would like to donate to help find a cure for type-1 diabetes please click HERE! 

(This single click takes you to my fund-raising page.  There, click again on "donate to this event."  Then click "Biking and Painting for Diabetes."

Sam McCorkle Kicks Back and Enjoys Life



Sam McCorkle:  Breaks boards and handles
diabetes with equal skill

 Sam McCorkle is your typical type-1 diabetic, which means he's your typical individual.  Sami is unique.  He doesn't let any one aspect of his life define him.

I had been calling his mom to get information and I'd miss her, and she'd call back and miss me, but we finally made connections recently.  Sam's mom reminded me of my wife when she discussed her son's condition.  Four years ago, Mrs. McCorkle, her husband Randy and sons Sam and Luke were on vacation in Aruba when she noticed the first signs that something was wrong with her oldest son.  Sam was eating a lot, but seemed to be losing weight.  During the day, however, he was fine, staying active at the pool and down at the beach.

She decided it would be okay to wait until they returned to Cincinnati before taking Sam, 7 years old at the time, to the doctor.  Meanwhile, her husband took a flight to China on business.  Laureen headed for the pediatrician, got the initial bad news that the young man was diabetic, and she and the two boys were soon headed for Children's Hospital.

Like my wife Anne, when our Emily was diagnosed in 2005, Mrs. McCorkle was stunned and frightened by the news.  "The impact, walking into the Emergency Room, you still don't believe it."  The first day at the hospital was the worst.  "You're there for hours, you're thinking about everything that's bad."  She remembers telling herself, "He'll never have a popsicle, he'll never be able to sleep over at friends" and in her worry she put together a long mental list of daily restrictions he'd now inevitably face.

Luckily, the people at Children's Hospital know what they're doing and the second day, a nurse counselor came into the room and started explaining what a diagnosis of type-1 diabetes really means.  First of all, it's not the end of the world in any way; and once you know that you start feeling a little better.  "I love them," Mrs. McCorkle said when I asked if her experience with Children's had been as great as ours.  "I do believe Dottie [the nurse counselor] saved my life...I was out of my mind."

Slowly but surely, the McCorkles came to grips with a new reality.  Dad flew back from Shanghai as soon as he could.  Luke decided, at age 4, to support his brother when he got home by "measuring" all the food he ate, just as Sam was doing.  The first day out of the hospital, Sam went to the pool for a swim like always and then headed for Taekwondo practice.

If you have a chance to talk to Sam, as I did, you find out quickly that he has never let being a diabetic interfere with what he sets his mind on doing.  He has Taekwondo practice every Saturday morning for two hours, and for several more hours on different weekday nights, and all the exerecise helps him keep good control of his blood sugar.  He's studing and practicing now for a spring 2012 test to become a black belt in his chosen form of martial arts.  When I asked him what he liked best about Taekwondo, he responded honestly, "It's fun to kick people."  Then he added that his teachers emphasized that you "don't abuse it when you're out."  Sam said, in a modest fashion, that he could already break a one-inch board in half with his foot or his fist.  Not bad for a guy who is only 11, I thought to myself.

He has won several awards and gone to the National Tournament three years in a row.  (Luke is pretty good, too, from what mom tells me, and although Sam admits he and his brother sometimes fight, they never use any of their martial arts techniques on each other.)  Meanwhile, Sam has racked up some very impressive grades, too.  He's a straight-A student, heading into sixth grade next year in the Loveland City Schools.  He likes to read, especially Percy Jackson's books about Greek mythology and now he's trying a little Egyptian mythology for variety.  His favorite movie is Avatar and he likes the Harry Potter series.

There are times when Mom still worries--and she has even tested Luke once or twice when he showed a hint of the syptoms of type-1 diabetes.  But these are the days, where if you have to be diabetic, at least the care has improved.  Sam has an advanced pump, so small he can wear it while fighting, weighing only an ounce even filled with insulin.

Mom gives the Loveland Schools high marks for the way nurses and health aides have taken care of her son.  Connie Smith, who handled Sam in second grade, was wonderful.  Then Cindy Fackler took over, and Judy Leamy and now Stephanie Schumaker, all of them doing a great job.  "You have no idea how wonderful these women are until you need them," mom says.  "I feel like my son is safe at school...they don't coddle him, but they take care of him."

So a round of applause to the Loveland nurses and aides is in order.

There was a time, when Sam was young, that when teachers asked him to write about himself, he always mentioned something to do with diabetes.  Now, he's past that.  He's working toward a black belt.  He's working hard in school when school is in session.  He's even working on learning how to play the violin.

I get the impression--very strongly--in talking with Sam, that he's very mature for his age.  He doesn't let diabetes get him down.  "I'm going to deal with it and go on with my life.  I don't really worry about it at all," is how he puts it.  He admits there are some activities he has to avoid.  He can't go scuba diving at any great depths because his pump couldn't take it.  And he's a little bit bummed because he can't have as much birthday cake to eat as he sometimes wants.

I like Sam's mature answers so much I finally asked, "What would you say to another kid if they had just received a type-1 diagnosis?" "Always listen to the doctor," he responded immediately.  Then he added, "It's okay to be afraid the first two years.  But it gets better."

At this point, I was thinking to myself, "This guy is eleven and he has a better prespective on life than I do." 

I put this final question to him:  "What would you do if you woke up one day and they had a cure?"

Sam doesn't let diabetes drag him down, but his answer shows you how much we need to keep looking for a cure.  "Yippee, I'd be saying in my head.  I'd rip off my pump, smash it with a hammer and eat everything there is in the pantry."

So, yeah:  someday, when there's a cure, Sam is going to go wild on his birthday and probably eat a whole cake.

Until then, Sam McCorkle is your typical type-1 diabetic. 

He wears a pump, he deals with a still-dangerous disease, and he's his own man.
If you would like to donate to help find a cure for type-1 diabetes please click HERE! 

(This single click takes you to my fund-raising page.  There, click again on "donate to this event."  Then click "Biking and Painting for Diabetes."