Riding in the back of a police car is a quite uncomfortable
experience. “ If you deserved to get put
back there, you probably don’t deserve to be comfortable”, said officer Sullivan,
a man whose generosity was just about as large as his belly. We could not have
got any luckier, a free hotel and breakfast compliments of Guttenburg’s relief
fund. I couldn’t help but feel that maybe some domestic violence victim or family
whose house burned down could have used it, but I was not going to complain.
Officer Sullivan took us into the local police department and checked,
according to procedure, if we had any warrants. Thankfully, neither of us
did. After some paper work, he drove us
to our “hotel”, well, hotel was the word he used, in reality, it was a motel on
it’s last breath. The paint on the outside was chipping, the roof a decade in
need of repair and the “front desk” essentially an ante room of the owners
house. We only cared about the soft bed
and blankets.
There
were a few hard looking bikers outside, they were staring at me intently and it
made me nervous, then I remembered I was “That Guy”, the guy in the back of the
police car. I tried to exit but soon obviously realized the imprudence of making
back doors in police cars that can open two ways. Our much anticipated room looked like it had
not been updated since the 80’s. Drab wood paneling, the orange-brown carpeting
and pastel colored bed sheets that seemed straight from a Easter quilting
catalog. We still felt like a million
bucks. After all, all this luxury was free.
The excitement continued when we awoke, free breakfast! Sadly, we didn’t have any
cash to tip the nice waitress, so we hurriedq out and felt bad about it for the
15 minute walk back to the river. Our canoe was still there, so was our gear.
We had tied off right next to the lock and dam so the first think we needed to
do on the water was lock down. As we
were getting on the boat, we saw in the distance a rather long barge, although
it was a mile away, we wanted to make sure it get in the lock first, or else
that would mean at least a hour and a half wait. We had around 20 minutes
before the barge would arrive, so we thought it would be wise to call the lockmaster
before we got in, instead of just appearing unannounced.
This backfired.
“We are in a canoe, just around the corner of the lock, can we lock down right
now so we don’t have to wait for this barge” , the man on the other end asks
who I assumed was his boss, apologieticlly, he says, “ Yea, I’m sorry, you are
gonna have to wait..” I say quite
desperately “ we can be in the lock in literally 30 seconds”, I hear him talk off the phone, then hear some
stern yelling back, “ Ummm sorry, your’e gonna have to wait.”. We waited around a half hour for that barge
to get into the lock, bitter that we had to wait. We killed time by reading,
sitting, breathing, and fuming at the barges. We finally were on the river at
10 with 35 miles to go to the next town.
The river has been started to wear on us, it no longer is a wonder to behold, but
rather an obsiticale to over come. It has become increasingly busy with
traffic, boats, barges, sea doos and even today, a paddle boat. At least our arms are no longer sore. We can
paddle for 12 hours straight and feel fine. Our hands are calloused and now
easily conform to our paddles.
We
pulled into the town of Dubuque, IA, somewhat tired, but mostly ready to make
it to a decent place to camp. The steep banks making it a job to actually find
a camping spot. We found a busy park by
the river, the grass looks comfortable and there is a convenient boat put in.
We first sought out the ever important toilet. On a bench outsite the
bathrooms, a old man sat quietly. Toby struggled with the door and he yelled “Push
it! It’s open!”, toby got in, and I walked over to make small talk with the old
man. The man had light blue trousers, a faded white polo, hair white and parted
to the side, large nose, floppy old man ears, the epitome of a grandpa. Not sure how we got onto the subject after the
normal, “where you from, what you doing”, but he I found out he was a World War
II vet who served in the Pacific theater.
As one who hope to make a career of history this was a very interesting
conversation, along with the fact that today was the 70th anniversary
of D-Day. This man, was 19 when he went
to the Island of Pelieu. He told us a story of how when the landing craft came
to shore on the island, they had to jump over the sides into the sea because everyone
who knew how to lower the doors were shot.
They spent three days trying to take a airfield. “That Island was a
bitch”, He went on to tell us about taking Okinawa, which was also apparently a
“bitch to take”.
His wife
is in a nursing home, and apparently he has his own ideas about what care is
best for her. He tries to get her out, but the staff apparently has set certain
visiting hours for him, since he “stirs up a ruckus” sometimes when he goes. It was fascinating to think about the life
experience this man had at young age of 19, and made me quietly contemplate the
eternal sacrifice made in that very bloody and very terrible war many years
ago.
I’m
sitting here, laptop and phone plugged into the side of bathroom, the sun is
setting and I can again sense I smell like I have spent too long on a river,
even though we had just showered yesterday.
I started this ride with the goal of making it to New Orleans. I started
it without knowing I would be accepted into graduate school in Scotland, and
now knowing that I have been accepted and that my wife and I would have to move
in a few months, we have had to make a hard decision. I cannot finish this
trip. The time frame is cutting it too close. I do not want to make my wife
bear the burden of a overseas move alone while I am on the river. Although it is sad to conclude one adventure
prematurely, I know Scotland will be another one. The river will always be
here, maybe one day I will make it to that great city south, but I have bigger responsibilities. We will continue for three more days and
conclude this trip in Kalona, IA. I feel
good about spending a month on a canoe, I think that’s a new record for
me. Toby has decided to complete his journey
by bicycle, taking the river road down to New Orleans, a journey which should
take about 2 weeks, compared to the 6 more weeks by canoe. It has been a crazy
ride, so I hope to enjoy these last few days.q
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