Nashua, Iowa

My last two fall rides making circuits of the other “I” states with over one hundred Carnegies the weather was so idyllic I didn’t want to stop riding. This year the weather has been abominable—day after day of cold rain and head winds. I’m not crying “Uncle” by any means, but I’ve hardly had a day of blissful, carefree cycling that more often than not have defined my years of touring. All too often this fall my day on the bike has a been a battle of some sort, early on with a rear hub that only had bearings on one side interspersed with inclement weather and now weather even nastier.

The wind has been a continual factor, often of enough intensity a sidewind has even been cause for concern. I’ve been reading “Rumble Yell” by Brian David Bruns, a book recounting the ride of a trio of guys across Iowa in the 2012 RAGBRAI and not once has he mentioned the wind, just the heat and the hills. The wind isn’t much of a factor in the summer, but it’s a different story this fall with the weather very much in turmoil.

I did have a glorious day of riding with the wind at my back a couple of days ago, but it switched from blowing out of the west to coming at me from the east the next day straight into my face. It was a chilly wind accompanied by a cloud cover that threatened rain all day continuing the pattern of murky days. And then the next day it was headwinds combined with a pelting cold rain. Even with booties, enough water penetrated my shoes that my socks absorbed so much water that I could wring them out at my library stops.  

I was resigned to another motel, but the rain stopped enough before dark to allow me to somewhat dry out other than my feet. Rather than pushing on 18 miles to where I knew there was a motel, I took advantage of a municipal campground along the Cedar River in Nashua at a wide point where it could have passed for a lake. It came with a hot shower, but in an unheated cinderblock facility with a frigid concrete floor. At least it had a hair drier allowing me to somewhat dry my soaked shoes.

The Carnegie in Nashua was the only one of my three for the day that still functioned as a library. It sat on a corner lot in a residential neighborhood and was adorned with a simple “Library” over its entrance, now closed, though not blocked off with a barrier as many are when an addition offers a new ground level entrance.

The day before the Carnegie in Cresco generously remained loyal to its original entrance despite a new entrance on its addition to the side. I arrived at Cresco at five, right at closing time, as the librarian was exiting the library from the original entrance and locking up. I had forgotten it was Friday, when libraries often close a little early, so didn’t realize what the person exiting was doing as I stood across the street with my camera. If I hadn’t been battling a headwind all day I would have arrived at least an hour earlier.

I would have been several minutes sooner too if I hadn’t been slowed by all the many captivating bronze statues around the town celebrating childhood’s simple joys, including a boy on tricycle with his sister aboard.   

They dated to 2006 when a local couple donated a handful to the town wishing to enhance its public spaces. The sculptures were such a hit that others provided funds for more and local businesses pitched in—a masonry providing the bases they all reside on, a jeweler providing the plaques on each and a hardware store the equipment necessary to install them. The visitor center offers a map of the thirty scattered around town.

If I were searching for a small town to disappear to, Cresco would be a strong contender. Besides the Carnegie and the community spirit exemplified by the sculpture project, it had a bike store and also a supermarket with unlocked dumpsters that provided a bountiful haul of yogurt, cheese and assorted dips. My two insulated water bottles were full of chocolate milk from a half gallon I’d stocked up on earlier in the day, so I was going to have a dairy-rich diet for the next couple of days.  

Cresco was also enhanced by an Amish community. I was passed on my way into town by a one-horse carriage galloping along on the wide gravel shoulder. 

I arrived shivering and soaked at the gallant Carnegie in New Hampton the next morning. It called itself the Carnegie Culture Center, a fancy name for museum. I was happy to see an “Open” sign in the window. The woman in charge was a genuine Carnegie enthusiast as well as a passionate curator of the museum.  She ambitiously mounts a new exhibit every six weeks with some connection to the region. The current exhibit related to farming. The last one was on girl’s six-person basketball. There were several glass-enclosed counters with amazing miniatures by a local artist. One replicated a photo from 1908, just before the Carnegie opened, of the circus coming to town with a parade of elephants down the town’s Main Street packed with totally enthralled locals.

She kept me spellbound for over an hour as she gave me a tour of the museum even though I was eager to get off my legs and get to the new library, which I hoped was warmer than the museum. I clutched my arms to my chest all the while she talked trying to warm up. She told me about a book on Iowa’s Carnegies by John Witt published in 2003. She called her husband and had him bring over her copy for me to look at. I’ve read books devoted to the Carnegies of Illinois, Indiana, Kansas, Nebraska, Wisconsin, Ireland and Ontario, but didn’t realize there was one on Iowa as well. The local library had a copy and I’m sure I’ll be able to consult it in more libraries before I leave the state. The three hundred page book had two to six pages on each of the 101 public Carnegie libraries in the state, though nothing on its seven university libraries.  Before I left she enlisted her intern to take a photo of us outside in the murk making sure he included the “Free Public Library” above the entry.  

She told me the New Hampton library was one of triplets, that there were two others by the same architect and of a similar design. I had visited one the day before in Osage. It was now the City Hall, and like the New Hampton library hadn’t been added on to, though it didn’t include “Free” on its facade. The third was off in the southwest corner of the state in Villisca. I visited it several years ago. The Carnegie book had a photo of each library in the state, but it surprisingly neglected to mention the relation and similarity of these three.

After an additional hour at the new library the rain had stopped when I resumed riding, but the air was thick with moisture. Cars could get away with intermittent wipers, but I still needed plastic bags over my gloves and had to occasionally wipe my glasses to see. If I wanted to eat or drink I had to stop, and I did need to fuel up every few miles.  

I was at least rewarded with a stunner in Charles City constructed of local stone. It was now the “Arts Center,” choosing not to include Carnegie in its name, as most do. After a warm-up and squeeze of my socks in the new library it was on to Nashua following the raging Cedar River.