Today was probably LESS typical of how the Trek will go – at least I sure hope so.
Jerry and Denny drug the RV over to Council Bluffs and wheedled the service manager to take on our “emergency” project. They got it half done – power to the AC, lights in half the unit and the fridge is running – but still not very cool. Hummmm.
For Allyson and I, we had an early start like yesterday and made good time. She drove the support truck while I hiked. It wasn’t too hot, the breeze was helpful and an all round pleasant day to hike. If only we had only to hike.
WARNING! SPOILER STORIES FOLLOW!
For those of you who want to hold me in high regard for the entire Trek, you need to skip the remainder of this blog post.
Battle of the Cows (Almost)
OK, I admit a particularly fond place in my heart for Gary Larson’s “Far Side” cartoons, especially any dealing with cows.
Iowa has lots of cows – LOTS! And, without much to entertain myself with during the hike (no, I’m not using a “pod” music player) I find that I sometimes amuse myself by talking to the animals (See – I warned you that reading this would destroy your high opinion of me). Specifically, I like to “moo” at the cows and try to imitate bird calls in hopes of getting a response. A regular Doctor Doolittle, I am.
So, about 10 AM while walking along, I start “mooing” at a herd of cows on a hillside.
Now, cows are naturally curious beasts and the entire herd all turn to look at me – even the calves.
The whole herd starts slowly advancing towards this two-legged faux-cow who is obviously full of bull.
Thoroughly enjoying the novelty of having someone/something pay attention to me and being oblivious to the impending confrontation, I “moo” some more. Out of the herd, about six particularly large cows take the lead in checking me out.
Delighted at the obvious “connection” I’ve made with my bovine cousins (and being not too bright), I “moo” one more time and then the LARGEST cow takes a 50 yard long, full blown charge towards me and ONLY the itty-bitty, teeny-weenie, yellow insulator electric fence twenty-five feet away stops the Big Bad Momma Cow from making a hamburger of me.
May I report that I had an epiphany of how Lt. Frost felt during the 1846 Battle of the Bulls – only I didn’t have a loaded .69 musket with which to defend myself.
How Mean Is That Doggie In the Window?
Having been a missionary, I know the importance of staying on the good side of barking dogs – especially ones that still retain their teeth.
So, in the early afternoon a LARGE “chow-chow” looking rust colored dog decides it’s HIS road and I’m NOT entitled to walk past HIS territory – even if I’ve taken the precaution of moving to the far side of the road. After the Almost Battle of the Cows, I decide to be circumspect and avoid a confrontation; so, no, I didn’t bark at the dog.
The chow-dog charges anyway, however this time there isn’t even an itty-bitty “invisible fence” kind of thing to stop Chowie from becoming Chewie. I keep facing him without looking him in the eyes (some say that’s a direct challenge and only aggravates the animal) and carefully pull out our 2-miler walkie-talkie.
Allyson, bless her heart, answers quickly and comes charging with the support truck/trailer, gunning it in between Chowie and your humbled servant.
Performing a Harrison Ford style jump onto a moving vehicle (Scouts – don’t try this at home OR scout camp), I grab hold of the outhouse, then blow a raspberry at Chowie as we leave him in a cloud of Iowa dust.
Thanks Allyson for saving my bacon.
Of course, that quarter mile wasn’t actually hiked, but please don’t ask me to go back and challenge Chowie for the honor of doing so.
Iowa Mud Bloggin’
Did I mention Allyson was driving the support truck/trailer combo for the first time today? No? Well, it’s true. Despite all her pleading and weeping, we explained that since Denny had to go help get the RV fixed, Allyson was the ONLY person available to drive the support truck/trailer combo.
She did fine, I’m happy to report. Really. No tree branches impaled into the box truck. The port-a-potty contents didn’t slosh out of the tank. Nothing thrown from the shelves. Perfect driving for a first time combo driver.
To fully appreciate today’s entry, you need to know that Iowa county roads are divided into three general classes. First – concrete or asphalt hard surface, all weather roads. Second – gravel or limestone covered roads that are generally passable in all weather. Third – dirt roads marked with the sign “Class B Service Road – Proceed At Your Own Risk” – and they mean that. Really.
During the day I’d had to hike down a couple of those Class B roads. Yesterday evening’s rain had fairly well dried up and the roads were good enough for the truck to follow along. No problems.
About 4 PM, I finish the day’s 19 miles and I jumped into the truck with Allyson and we started following tomorrow’s route to check it out on our way to camp. That is, until we get to a downhill “T” intersection, BOTH sides of which are Class B roads (remember, “Enter At Your Own Risk”?) and both going uphill with a slight angle on the road surface.
So, I have Allyson turn right onto the shorter hill and we get all of 50 feet past the intersection when the road turns to Iowa gumbo mud. THIS area had been blessed by a shower earlier in the afternoon and the top two inches were pretty slick.
It’s obvious we are NOT going UP the hill, so I take the drivers seat and attempt a delicate backing job – to no avail. The trailer is stuck in the right ruts and the front cab wheels drift down slope into the left ruts - leading to a beautiful jack-knifed configuration of our little combo unit forming a nice “V” across the entire width of the muddy road.
At 4:30 PM I start hiking out (with 20 pounds of Iowa gumbo mud on my shoes) to the nearest farmhouse about half a mile away. Nobody home and since it’s at least another mile and a half to the NEXT farmhouse, I decide to wait a little past 5 PM in case they get home soon after work.
To add insult to injury, a thunderstorm blows up with HARD rain lasting 20 minutes, right where poor Allyson is sitting alone in the truck. Allyson’s CB radio goes dead and of course, we’re so far out in rural Iowa that my cell phone doesn’t work to inform Denny & Jerry what’s going on. I have visions of Allyson, the truck and trailer sinking out of sight into the deepening mud.
After the weather calms down (about 5:45) and deciding the house I was at wasn’t going to see its owner anytime soon, I hike to the next visible home. Mrs. Erickson calls her son Rex who drives over and asks if his “little tractor” will be able to pull us out.
Being a “city kid” I offer the opinion that bigger will probably be better in our case. He takes the hint and goes home to get his “big tractor.” When he comes back, it is a BIG, blue, eight-wheeled, independently steered front/rear wheel tractor.
Even with that beast, it still took us 45 minutes to extract us from the mire. Rex had to pull us downhill past the “T” intersection, pull us around the right hand turn, then uphill onto the limestone road about 100 yards while we’re throwing mud off the tires.
There’s mud all over, under and in the truck – on the steering wheel, pedals, seat and all the controls I had to touch. What a hoot! But all’s well that ends well and we’re all safely at Cold Springs county park for the night – laughing. Really.