LaGrange, Indiana

It’s been over two months since I set foot in a library, quite a disruption to my routine as when I’m Stateside visiting a library is nearly a daily occurrence.  I wasn’t expecting to find an open library quite yet when I set out to Ohio to round up the 53 of its 103 still standing Carnegies (eleven have been razed) that I have yet to get to, but I needed to expand my riding beyond the bounds of my vicinity and wanted to start adding to my Carnegie collection whether I could enter them or not.  

I had been checking on the status of some of them to see if any had possibly reopened.  None had, but some had begun offering curbside pickups, which might allow me a peek inside.  Though it would be a disappointment not to gain entry to the libraries and give them a wander and sit for a spell, I am accustomed to reaching Carnegies on Sundays or other times when they aren’t open, so that was not a reason to be deterred.  Their exteriors were their most prominent features.  I could be plenty pleased with that.  But most importantly I wanted to be biking and camping, as these quests allow.

My eagerness was more than rewarded when 150 miles into my ride across the top of Indiana to Ohio I discovered an open library in LaGrange in the heart of Amish country. It was a Carnegie that I had previously visited, and was only stopping at to renew acquaintances, not expecting anything more.  But lo and behold, it had reopened, albeit with considerable restrictions.  

Visits were limited to twenty minutes and children under twelve were not allowed in.  Patrons had to observe the six-foot social distancing protocol and were encouraged to wear masks, but not required, though staff was.  I’m not sure what filled me with the greatest joy, returning to a Carnegie or simply being in a library after having gone so long without.  I was almost giddy with glee at this unexpected pleasure being amongst stacks of books and absorbing the aura of this temple. I had no concerns about overstaying my twenty minutes as I had arrived near closing time and could only duck in and out.

All across Indiana at every gas station and grocery store I had stopped at, not a one mandated masks.  All had signs about being careful and many had added plexiglass shields at the gas register.  One store warned, “Please do not enter if you have a fever or a cough.”  A sign at the entry to a Walmart advised, “Face coverings are recommended while you shop.”  Not too many shoppers were obliging, though all employees were.  The greatest hardship was it’s pair of drinking fountains having been turned off, forcing me to fill my bottles in it’s restroom, which only dispensed hot water.  It’s was over 90 outside, so it didn’t take the bottles long to cool to the outdoor temperature.

Not a single restaurant, fast-food or otherwise, provided other than takeout service, so I was relegated to taking my rests and eating breaks outside Dollar Stores or service stations.  I saw a couple sitting at a table inside a Taco Bell and hoped it might have opened so I could take advantage of its air-conditioning, but it was a manager conducting an interview.  She was nice enough to let me fill my water bottle with ice and cold water from the self-serve soft drink dispenser.

These trying times have brought out more than usual courtesy and decency among those I have encountered.  As I sat outside a 7-11 drinking a super Big Gulp and eating a peanut butter sandwich a guy thrust a dollar bill into my hand.  At another store a scrawny young man in a singlet with two little girls in tow asked, “Could you use a couple of bucks?” He hadn’t dug them out of his pocket yet, so I could decline his offer.  A driver of an 18-wheeler who had just made a delivery at a Dollar Store saw me sitting along the side of the building in the shade reading a book. He asked what I was reading and then asked if I was okay.  I told him I was fine and was heading to Harrison Lake State Park to meet a friend.  

Though I had no new Carnegies to search out on my ride across Indiana, as there isn’t a one in the state that I haven’t visited, I did have a couple of those eight-foot tall Statue of Liberty replicas that the Boy Scouts made available to communities in 1950 to celebrate its fortieth birthday to search out.  Only about two hundred communities took advantage of the offer, but they are to be found in 39 states and  four territories.  

Ohio is one of the few states without one, but there were two across the top of Indiana for me to add to my collection.  The first was in Gary.  I had to do a little searching to find it, as Wikipedia was wrong with its location.  It wasn’t in front of the city hall, but rather across the street and on the other side of Broadway on the corner of a large empty lot gazing upon City Hall.  More prominent was a mural of the Jackson Five, who grew up in Gary, a couple blocks away more in the center of the city.

The next Statue came in South Bend  in front of its courthouse.

It bore the identical plaque as the one in South Bend, though with a different year, a year later than Gary’s, as the program went on for two years.  It is a surprise that there are only two hundred of these Statues scattered around the country. I would have thought there’d be as many as Carnegie libraries, 1,679, presuming that most Boy Scout troops would have been administered by citizens with connections to civic leaders who would have wanted to acknowledge the Boy Scouts and have such an icon of a statue.

But this was the McCarthy era and this may have been a divisive issue in some communities.  It is so long ago google doesn’t offer up much on the program.  But I will continue to seek these statues out as these iconic figures stir the emotions.  I’m just sorry I wasn’t aware of them when I was in the Philippines, as there is one there.

I had been hoping to meet up with Rick from Lansing on Saturday at Harrison Lake State Park just south of the border with Michigan.  It would have been a ninety-mile ride down for him.  But he became concerned about encountering people not as concerned about the virus as he is, and decided it best to stay home.

I don’t know whether I am brave or foolhardy or simply rational to be venturing out into the corona virus world.  Janina accuses me of being a Viking and not being risk-adverse.   I may be of Danish heritage, but I’m inclined to the Swedish approach to this virus.  I will be careful, but not paralyzed by anxiety.  I prefer to hope for the best rather than fearing the worst.

I was somewhat concerned about the feasibility of touring in these times.  I feared some dictum might have been issued to law enforcement officials to detain transients and place them in confinement as some of Chicago’s homeless have been in a motel near where I live in Countryside.  

But a report from a touring cyclist who recently completed a coast-to-coast ride without any interference removed my doubts.  A motorcyclist friend encountered the cyclist in Texas in mid-March half-way to reaching his grandfather in Florida after starting out in the Bay Area.  It was just before staying-in-place became the norm.  My friend told the cyclist he knew someone who had just bicycled the length of Brazil.  The cyclist said, “You know George?  I’ve been reading his blog for years.  This is my first tour thanks to him.”

My friend told him he ought to email me.  When he never did I emailed him to ask how it was going out there.  Here is his encouraging reply:

Dear George,

Yes! Since meeting Keller in Presidio I have had a wonderful trip across the South. My goal was my grandfather's house in Ocala, Florida, where I landed last week. Along the way I took a detour up into the Ozarks and then down through rural Mississippi and Alabama. 

For the most part, folks have been wary of the virus but the atmosphere hasn't been too tense. Campgrounds all closed, but I had already realized that a solo forest spot is a much better option. Dining in a restaurant had been an extravagant choice to begin with. The rural police have always passed me with nothing more than a friendly wave.

At the start of my trip, folks would sometimes stop and offer me water or food or even invite me to stay in their trailer; I think this has been the biggest loss. Still, in southern Alabama when a woman looking for a horse heard that I was biking from California to see my grandfather in Florida she told me that I touched her soul and got out of her car and tearfully hugged me. It is wonderful to experience not only the joy of riding a bike but what it can inspire in others.

I've decided to continue on with my tour. Today, emerging from the Everglades into the edges of the Miami urban sprawl, I had my first taste of what life has been like for my friends back in the Bay Area and, no doubt, in Chicago and all major cities. I had felt more comfortable with the panthers and black bears and invasive pythons so tonight I am back in the Glades. In a few days I will begin to head up the Atlantic to visit my uncles in Virginia.

I must mention how floored I was to receive your note. I imagine that it was how a Catholic would feel receiving an email from the Pope. I am absolutely certain that I would not be out on my bike now had I not discovered your blog well over a decade ago. It was like a thunderbolt from Zeus himself; I read every entry, agog, with a map on the other monitor as my mind reeled that this was possible.

After Virginia I hope to continue northwards and perhaps loop back towards California. If I am extraordinarily lucky, we will cross paths, but no matter what the sheer happiness of a day on the bike will shine through me. Thank you so much for achieving true bicycle enlightenment and sharing it with the world.

All the best,

Chris

If I were to have a tombstone, I might want a sentence or two of this to grace it. Such sentiments convey a semblance of assurance that the life I have chosen, or that has chosen me, has not been a futile gesture.