Point of Interest

On the way up to Shipshewana — more on that later — you pass through North Webster, a small, lake-based town. For years, I rode past this sign, and couldn't figure out where the point of interest was.

The only thing I found within half a mile that looked at all out of the usual was this well of sorts. I guess other people wondered about it, too, because they finally put up a sign:

So I feel a little vindicated for figuring out that it was this little thing beside the road, but I've stopped and looked at this thing many times now, and one nagging question remains in my mind.

...What's so interesting about it?

A taste of Koscuisko County

Last week, we all went down to the County Fairgrounds for the annual "Taste of Agriculture in Koscuisko County." (You know you've been living here for a while when you can spell "Koscuisko" without looking it up...) We've been before, so some of these might look a little familiar to some of you, except that the kids are a year older.

Right when you get there, there's a tractor blocking the way. And it's huge. I dread coming across one of these things on a backroad in fall, because it takes up both lanes, even with one of the wheels off in the ditch, going 15 miles an hour...

Aiden, inside the hub of one of the wheels of an enormous tractor. The whole thing was about as wide as our house, and probably cost about four times as much.

What? I need a caption?

One of the reasons we enjoy going every year is the free samples. It is, indeed, a taste of Koscuisko. They're handing out popcorn as you walk in (corn) and really, really good hand-made ice cream (dairy) as well as getting samples of things you can't eat, like soy candles.

Let's see, there's an egg, barbecued buffalo (small cup at the top), buffalo sausage, roast duck (at bottom), lamburger (far right), and I don't recall what's in the cup on the far left, although it was tasty.

Mentone, IN, just to the southwest of us, purports to be the "Egg basket of the Midwest" and includes such attractions as the World's Largest Concrete Egg. They also bring along warm fuzzies...

Two chicks.

I love the expression here. This is obviously one of those "Don't call me a chick" chicks.

While we were there, we got to see guys handling livestock... hey, wait a minute... how'd that photo get in here...?

There were, of course, other things to see an touch, like pigs (pre-inked with cut lines) and sheep (who being sheared every half-hour or so) as well as demonstrations of horseshoing and the like.

"I'm not too sure about this human..."

If only I had thought to have my goatee on the outside of the board.

Urbana

Every few years, I hear about this enormous Christian conference in Urbana, Illinois. Thousands upon thousands of people attend. And whenever I ride south on Rt. 13, I can't help thinking, What if they got their states mixed up? What if, instead of Urbana, IL, they go to Urbana, IN?

I rode through Urbana a few weeks ago, on my way down to pick up Deborah's sewing machine. Out here, they'd call Urbana a blink'n'missit; out East, it would be a poke'n'plumb — poke your nose in, and you're plumb through. It's a rural farming community, with a short row of houses, a gas station, and... Pam's Cafe.

I've always admired the paint on this place. If they'd pained it a solid white, I probably wouldn't have given it a second look.

This place has always intrigued me as I've ridden past it, partly because of the paint, and partly because of the fact that I had never seen it open. This day, however, open it was. So I parked amidst the dozen or so heavy-duty pickups, and poked my head in.

"WELL, YOU LOOK COMFORTABLE." The two waitresses — one of whom I suspected to be Pam herself — were on break, smoke curling up from their mirrored cigarettes. Comfortable? I had to laugh in spite of myself — I'd obviously been riding in the rain, every inch of my riding gear dripping. "I'm OK," I chuckled, "at least I'm dressed for it." "WHAT CAN WE GETCHA?" I wanted to get something — breakfast sounded good — but I hadn't seen any credit card stickers on anything, and I knew I didn't have the cash, but I asked anyway. Pam's raspy, pack-a-day, small-cap voice took on a hounded note. "NO HON, NOT YET, WE'RE GETTIN' IN ONE OF THEM MACHINES NEXT WEEK. YOU CAN GO TO ONE OF THEM MACHINES UP AT THE MINI-MART, OR WE CAN TAKE CHECKS. WE'RE OPEN UNTIL TWO." I needed to get down to Marion before the sewing machine shop closed anyway, so I said I'd be back.

Open until two, I mused. No wonder it was never open when I went past. As I motored on, I realized that I actually had my checkbook inside my coat pocket. D'oh!

An hour and a half later, sewing machine retrieved and firmly strapped to by passenger seat, I was back, and hungry for lunch.

Fortunately, Deborah has a nice, small sewing machine, and the gals at the shop down in Marion gave me a few bags to wrap the case in. The top bag hides the heavy-duty tie-downs that are actually holding the case to the bike.

I hadn't relized it on my first glance, but Pam's Cafe was... a farmer hangout. The scenes on the outside walls hadn't tipped me off. The John Deere wall plaques, toy tractors, and the seed-company mug did, though. A group of farmers sat in the other room, swapping stories. "He took his Case out into the fields last week, rutted 'em up something bad." I and my city-boy self felt like we'd stepped into an alternate universe. "Say, how do you get yer innernet service? I've got a satellite hookup, but I've been thinkin; one of them DSL lines might be better, can you get that through the REMC?" My alternate universe took an odd twist. I started to gather that things worked a whole different way out here. Phone companies I'd never heard of. Prices for corn and soybeans checked every morning. Satellites and GPS. No one mentioned the rain. Clearly, my view of farmers needed an update.

It was fascinating to just sit and listen to the world go by here. These guys seemed like they hd all the time in the world. It was like I was transported into an episode of Prarie Home Companion.

There were customer photos all over the walls. Well, all over the walls that didn't have farming motifs all over them.

Lunch arrived. My waitress had said the tenderloin sandwich was pretty good, so I got that — although it took me a minute to realize that it was, indeed, a sandwich — the breaded meat hid both halves of the bun and hung over the edge of the plate. It wasn't until I'd eaten a four inches of it that I discovered the lettuce.

Yum.

After my second cup of hot chocolate, it was getting on towards 2:00, and things were shutting down. I discovered my check underneath my plate, and went to pay. I resisted the temptation to play with the toy tractors on the counter while my waitress added up the bill. I left that afternoon, my hunger sated, and my mind satisfied that I'd finally gotten to experience this place after riding past it so many times.

One more

I've been seeing these little booths out on the backroads for years, but it wasn't until recently that I learned what they were for. They're for schoolkids, waiting outside for the bus to come. Most of them are little more than a few walls to keep the wind off in the middle of winter, and scarcely larger than the chilren they're built to protect, but reportedly, some of them are pretty fancy, with windows, TVs, space heaters, and microwaves.

The subtlety of Indiana

When I first arrived here from Spain, I thought Indiana was terribly dull, gray, and monochromatic. After nearly 13 years, I've come to appreciate the subtlety — soft, earthy tones, punctuated by a bit of man-made color.

It took me quite a while to get where I was going the day I took these. I kept making U-turns to go back and get another shot of something I saw.