Darlington, Wisconsin

 The first two nights of my annual fall ride have been spent in a Grant Wood painting, as I’ve camped amidst forests of gallant, towering corn stalks awaiting harvest.  Wood has firmly been entrenched in my consciousness after Janina and I visited the largest collection of his works in the Cedar Rapids Art Museum, formerly a Carnegie Library, on our drive out to Telliride a month ago.  Rural Iowa predominated his paintings with fields of corn a common theme.  As I’ve bicycled past miles and miles of cornfields in northwest Illinois on my way to Minnesota I catch one view after another that I’d have to stop and paint if I were Wood. 

I can thank the threat of a rail strike for these miles through the cornfields, as Amtrak cancelled all trains on its Empire Builder route that I’d planned to take to Minneapolis after our return from a month in Telluride, which would have deposited me beyond the corn belt up in the north woods.  I was too eager to be off on my bike to wait around for the strike to be settled or averted.   Even if it were to be settled it could be days before a seat became available, since several days worth of trains had been cancelled creating a backlog of passengers.  

I didn’t mind at all biking the four hundred miles to  Minneapolis, as it allowed me the interlude of five days of rural biking from one huge metropolis to another rather than plunging straight from one into another.  Seven Carnegies await me in the Twin Cities and then fifteen more in the northern tier of the state, then I’ll have completed another state, having already visited the twenty-six in the lower part of the state. I might even slip into Ontario for three more. 

Having completed Illinois and Wisconsin I didn’t have to alter my route for Carnegies, though I’ve been able to revisit a handful that were on my way, always a treat.  It’s surprising how vivid the memories of previous visits can be.  Rather than approaching them with anticipation of what version of grandeur and grace awaits me, I approach with the anticipation of renewing acquaintances.  I’m never disappointed.  They are as noble and stately as I recalled.  

The first in Oregon, on the wide Rock River, had added a bike locked to its bike rack with a wooden box offering free books. It is a rare Carnegie that hasn’t  been expanded, though it did have a couple of alterations—the addition of an elevator and the conversion of its fireplace from wood to gas and a plexiglass window atop its circulation desk, none of which diminished its charm.

The next in Mount Carroll, a town with historic plaques on homes and buildings throughout the small town, was undergoing renovation.  There wasn’t a chance this town with a strong sense of its past would demolish its Carnegie as have eighteen communities in Illinois, the same number as Minnesota.  The  temporary library was half a block away in the former Senior Center across from the County Courthouse, which filled an entire block in the center of the town.  Old cars were lined up on two streets for a vintage car festival with crowds of people giving them a close look.

I had a long fast descent out of Mount Carroll, explaining the town’s name, going over thirty miles per hour for the first time since leaving Chicago.  The misty rain pelted me hard at that speed.  Turning north towards Wisconsin, thirty miles away, I was finally able to take advantage of a slight tailwind after having mostly ridden west.  The forecast called for a slight southerly breeze the next three days, keeping the temperature an unseasonable eighty degrees.

The warmth has had me intent on keeping my thermal water bottles packed with ice from the self-serve fast-food ice dispensers.  The ice can keep for a couple of hours, each sip a divine pleasure.  I was thwarted at my first Taco Bell, as it’s ice-dispenser was out-of-service, and I was only offered a partially-filled small cup of ice with my burrito.  And to add insult to injury, the Taco Bell was further economizing by having done away with its WiFi, not an uncommon act these days with so many people having phone service that provides it.  At least it hadn’t covered it’s electrical outlets, as some do, so I could do some charging.

The last Carnegie in Illinois is the northernmost in the state in Warren just shy of the Wisconsin border.   As with Mount Carroll, this town of 1,500 hadn’t expanded  its Carnegie.  It was just off its Main Street, on the other side of the train tracks beside a history museum. 

After crossing into Wisconsin I was able to take advantage of its lightly traveled county roads designated by capital letters.  They provide as fine cycling as one could ask for.  And it’s only going to get better the further north I venture.  As always, it is a great pleasure  to be off on the bike with nary a concern.