Someone in a bar on the western side of Iowa told me I'd think I was in the Rockies when I got to the eastern part of the state. I wouldn't go that far by any means, but there were some good hills that burned in the legs more so than anywhere since western Wyoming. The road seemed to stay high on a ridge and drop down to cross the small creeks and rivers that carved through the land. At the small town of Canton I stopped in a '50's themed diner on the Maquoketa River before climbing the hill that took me back up the spine.
Throughout the run the C-clamps that held the front wheel steady would fall off. I soon realized they were a neccessity as without them the frame would bend enough so the bottom of the cart would high-center. It was not looking good and I was hoping against hope that I wouldn't have a more severe breakdown that stranded me. It's pretty hard to see this cart making it all of the way to the ocean.
When I got to the main street of Maquoketa I gave my host for the night, Sara, a call. Sara is the niece of the Onnen's next door neighbor, Carole, in Grundy Center. She is also the XC coach of the high school and they were having a team dinner for their meet tomorrow in Cascade. Sara wanted me to tell my story to the team of five girls and 13 boys.
After dinner, we watched football with her boyfriend, Matt, who is a teacher in the nearby town of Preston. He played college baseball and we got to talking about a documentary he had just seen on the Portland Mavericks-a team from my hometown in the 70's that I had never even heard of before. We put it on Netflix after Sara went to bed and I learned all about the independent team that Kurt Russell played for and his father managed. It's pretty crazy you can learn something new about where you're from 2,000 miles away from home.
Running on the ridgeline
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