Prairie Squid

If you've been reading this blog for any amount of time, you know I've got a bizarre sense of humor. The more surreal you make it and still have a kernel of truth to it, the funnier it is. So it makes perfect sense that, when I followed an ad to teefury.com/ and saw this as the shirt of the day... I had to have it.

Yeah!

The thing that really sold me, though, was the artist's description:

I grew up in a tiny town in the middle of America, far from the coasts or any cultural epicenter. This piece is partly a reminder to the big city folks that amazing things still exist out here, despite how bleak things may look from the interstate. It is also simultaneously metaphor for me lashing out at my hayseed roots in frustration, wanting bigger and better things.

Trust me, that resonated with me. Amazing things do happen out here, despite how it looks. A statement like that, along with an amazingly cool, funny drawing that's well done — how could I resist?

And they're waving the checkered pillowcase...

They race beds in South Whitley. In fact, they're the bed racing capital of the world — you can pick up a green wedge in Trivial Pursuit for knowing that. Rules? Minimal: One bed. One passenger, four runners, no interference. Safety? Sign a waiver — no brakes or steering mechanisms allowed! The atmosphere? Good fun.

We arrived late in the afternoon, and walked over to main street just as the zero-turn mower square dance was finishing up, and staked out a spot in front of the fire station while I went off to get a few photos.

Hey, sweet mama, wanna go... bed racing?

A real racing bed. I think this is one of the ones available to teams who haven't constructed a bed of their own. Apparently steering mechanisms weren't always disallowed — I wonder what prompted that particular rule change?

Teams this year included Manchester United ...Methodist Church, Night of the Living Bed (my favorites), Team Dynamite (I think these were the sixth-graders), Big Blue (the high school track team, if I'm not mistaken), MSC (Manufactured Structures Corporation), and the TK Bed Sled Team, resplendent in Hawaiian shirts and bike shorts.

Night of the Living Bed, with their entry, the new and improved Grateful Bed II.

The TK Bed Sled Team, like most, picked the smallest member as passenger. Only the winning team actually had them lie down in the bed — presumably for better aerodynamics. When was the last time you heard "beds" and "aerodynamics" in the same sentence?

I dig the welded rebar "spiderwebs" on the Grateful Bed II. Night of the Living Bed would go on to win the "best theme" prize.

The heats were short, fast, and furious, and the cheering was genuine. Manchester United, Team Dynamite, and MSC fell in the opening rounds. The remaining three teams battled it out. Night of the Living Bed was dominating until they veered off course and had to stop to avoid a collision. TK Bed Sled Team moved on to the next round, the final showdown against Big Blue.

It was a close race, too close for me to tell from where I was standing. In the end, Big Blue got it, and were declared the 2008 Bed racing Champions.

The victors return. There's something poignant about this photo; I'm not sure I can place my finger on it, though.

For the non-bandwidth-challenged, you can see my videos on YouTube here, here, and here.

And... that's it for this year! Anyone want to put together a team with me for next?

South Whitley

The first week of fall. It's still hot — hotter than it's been all summer, actually — but the colder days won't stay away for long, and there are some things you just can't do in winter. So, Deborah and I rode down to one of our favorite getaway diners while we still could, this time to Carol's Corner down in South Whitley. We had to get this one in now, since next week it closes until Spring.

Carol's Corner is at the stoplight in South Whitley. This isn't an ambiguous direction — here's only one stoplight there. And once you get there, it's pretty obvious where you'd go to get a burger or a shake.

The fare is largely either fried or frozen, and reasonably good, but the attraction for us is that it's fun — fun to get there (Rt. 5 has nice twisty bits); fun to look at the license plates and other memorabilia tacked up...

It wasn't until I looked at this picture later that I realized that all the people inside the shack were looking out at me. I guess only the girls get to go outside!

Bed racing? Our waitress says it's an annual event. I must investigate...

...fun to check out the fake foot on the Burger Bug; it's fun to figure out how fried pickles, mozzarella sticks, and breaded mac & cheese belong in the "veggie basket." It's a date. What can I say?

South Whitley itself was decked out in the clothes of archetypal small town America, with classic cars parked along the street, and flags every few yard, flapping in the golden hour light of late evening.

Farewell until Spring, then, South Whitley.

Or, at least, until whenever that bed race is...

Impromptu Supper

We were standing around on the sidewalk with the neighbors, watching the kids play together. (The Volkers' kid likes the toys on our porch; our kids like the toys on their porch.) The conversation wandered to dinner. Deborah liked the sound of the pork chops they were having, they wanted to try the gallo pinto (black beans and rice) that we were having. So the Volkers invited us (and our supper) over to the cottage for supper.

The Volkers are, in local parlance, Lakers. It has nothing to do with the L.A. basketball team, and everything to do with the lake itself.

Chris shows off his new toy, a Sumo Tube. This is apparently a device for people who like to be dragged behind boats, without the bother of having to keep track of skis and other such unnecessary accoutrements.

Fiona cuts a somewhat less impressive figure.

So what do lakers do after dinner? Well... they go out on the lake.

On the docks. The speedboat, pontoon, and canoe are all theirs.

One of Chris's hoobies is what he calls the "Funtoon." This is, at it's most extravagant, a floating party, a pontoon boat complete with second floor (!) working water slide, tiki torches, coolers, and festival lighting and surround sound.

Reagan doesn't seem to mind that his swing goes out over the water.

Today, though, it was fresh from having the upper deck rebuilt, and outfitted mainly for a pleasant summer cruise around the lake.

The crew of the U.S.S. Funtoon.

It's not a bad way to spend an evening, actually.

'Tis the season...

...to watch where you're going on the road, lest you be impaled.

To get a sense of perspective here, consider that the vehicle directly behind this one is a full-size 18-wheeler.

Yes, he's driving half off the road, and he's still taking up one and a half lanes. And yes, I'm letting him have the right-of-way!

Fun at the Fair

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?

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.