A few weeks ago was RAGBRAI, for which I embarked on my own unofficial tour of the state of Iowa in salute to all of the people who officially took part in this event. I couldn't afford to be in it for real, so I started half a week early on a Wednesday, specifically July 17. I would stop at Sioux City on that day, and I figured that so long as I was there I might as well organize a Bible study with some friends.

The results of that outing were actually the most interesting of all the things to happen that week, perhaps even this month, though that's an entirely different story than the one I wish to tell here.

On that first day, I biked approximately 60 miles. After that, I took a long walk throughout town. Seriously, it was a long walk, and it lasted four or five hours. I've had longer walks, though, the mother of them all being the previous Saturday when I proved that Sioux City was within walking distance.

Normally, my tux was at my friend's house, which I would pull out for church and other religious occasions, though the previous Sunday, since I had walked all the way to Sioux City and had no intention of repeating the feat, I accepted a ride straight from church without taking time to return to my friend's house and change. Very happy with how my Bible session went, part of me was determined to dress respectfully the next time I was at that church, so I went down to Goodwill and got myself a white shirt and a pair of white pants to go with it. In hindsight, that might be a bit blinding, but I want to give that look a try, especially since I anticipated getting a heckuva tan.

So when my friend was finally back home for the day, sometime late at night, I gave him a call and slept over. I thought I would wake up very early, but I actually slept into the afternoon. Goodbye to that early start I was planning. In any case, I couldn't dwell on regrets, so I moved forward.

Pressing on, I took a leap of faith and assumed that the highway would continue to take me where I wanted to go. I had a general idea of where Council Bluffs, the RAGBRAI starting point, was located and of how to get there. I actually had a pretty strong hunch that I would get lost, but I wasn't afraid of that. Things would still work out.

The highway continued for a ways and took me to downtown Sioux City, and then to South Sioux City until I left the urban area altogether. For at least six miles, I continued on until I came through the town known as Jackson, at which I stopped at their gas station and asked for directions. It turned out that I was in Nebraska, and I had to turn around and find another exit that would take me to Council Bluffs. So I backtracked, taking it like a champ.

When I reached the outskirts of South Sioux City, I stopped at another gas station and looked carefully at an Atlas. I decided to take highway 77/75 through Nebraska, since I couldn't legally bike along the interstate.

So I trudged deeper into Nebraska, land of Big Red, home of the notorious Hus -

YOU SUCK

- kers. The people were all creepy, and the only thing redder than their necks was the strange god to whom they rendered their worship. I patted myself on my back, commending myself for my bravery. I knew I was in for trouble going out on an impromptu bike trip across the state, carrying only the most basic supplies with me, but this was something else.

Now, I have to give these people credit for something. I felt considerably more comfortable when I biked through the Omaha reservation, since I have a friend who lives there. They're nice people, and things weren't so bad there. I had a good time biking through there and I enjoyed the scenery. There was also the incredible convenience of having designated biking lanes along the highway, which is something I have been considering bringing up to the Iowa Senate. I'm not going to change anyone's political opinions, so as long as I'm talking with my representatives it might be in order to share new ideas that might genuinely be productive.

That being said, the Omaha tribe and the biking lanes are the only good things about Nebraska. Otherwise, I continued to travel along highway 77, stopping only when I encountered a gas station out in the middle of nowhere. There, I encountered a pair of creepy Nebraskan people heading the gas station who looked like they hadn't showered since Christmas. I asked them for instructions, and they just sort of spat in my face and refused to be friendly.

So I carried on until I encountered Nebraska 51, where I called a relative of mine and asked for the trusty-dusty help of Google Maps. I turned east on 51 and continued on for a ways to get back on Highway 75, which I would encounter once I passed through the small town of Decatur. At this point, I realized that it was getting dark, so I put on my traffic vest, which was loose enough to fit over both my body and my backpack.

A couple of interesting things happened on Highway 75. The first was a special sighting of mine. I encountered a church, right out in the middle of nowhere. Actually, after meticulously using Google Maps, I can tell you that I stopped and knelt down at the exact coordinates of "41.915699,-96.22761," and prayed for somewhere between five and ten minutes, my thoughts directed toward my various friends who are going through tough phases in their lives and had things worse off than I did. A big part of me was tempted to stay there, but I decided that I was pretty sure that I wanted to make it all the way to Council Bluffs before getting any sleep, so I remained on the move.

The second thing that happened cemented my eternal prejudice against those Heaven-forsaken Nebraskans. I was biking, on my way to Tekamah, going along the lane of opposing traffic, as I often do during the late hours of night. My reasoning for this is pretty simple, since that is what my grandmother would often do so that she could see traffic coming her way. Past midnight, there are hardly any cars along the highway, and when one comes, due to the blinders I can see them coming from a full mile away, especially when I'm facing them. Therefore, I generally stay in the left lane.

Well, I noticed a car coming up from behind me, and that wasn't a big deal. They were in the right lane, so they weren't my problem. However, just as they came up to me, they swerved into the left lane, honked their horn, and drove me off the road.

Less than a minute later, I saw a car coming up on me. I thought that was odd, since I should have seen it much sooner, but I just shrugged it off and moved into the right lane. Just as the car passed me by, something hit me in the groin and got some fluid all over me.

Almost immediately after that, I felt headlights coming up from behind me, and I realized that this was the same car turning around to continually harass me. At this point, I pulled over to the side of the road and got a little ways into the ditch. I looked straight at the car. Honestly, I was afraid because they could have very well pulled over and harassed me directly, or worse. Fortunately, the worst didn't happen, and all that I had to endure was one last bout of disrespect when someone opened up the window, threw a McDonald's cup filled with pop at me, and shouted "wheee!"

Yeah, guys, I'm sure you got quite the thrill.

Huskers.

I decided right then and there that I would use this later as propaganda. Sure, this was an isolated incident, but part of me is tempted to press charges. Perhaps because the perpetrators are presumably Nebraskan and I am a humble Iowan, it could break national headlines and be the next biggest scandal.

Honestly, I never understood why certain court cases dominated the news. I never saw what made one case more interesting or worth paying attention to than another, since there are a lot out there.

My real fantasy was that I could suddenly develop Wolverine's powers, or have Batman's gadgets. Well, I guess it's hard to be Batman when you're wearing a reflective traffic vest and a chartreuse sweartshirt, but I still wanted to somehow scare them out of their wits and show them who was boss.

For the record, everyone, you had all better be writing this down. I have actually admitted to fantasizing about being Batman for once. Okay, perhaps that's because Superman would never get back at those guys and would exercise some restraint.

Anyway, I continued on, and by the end of the day I probably filled myself with at least two gallons of liquid refreshment, from water to Gatorade to (when it wasn't as hot out) chocolate milk. Mmmm. Chocolate.

Unfortunately, that night I could only make it as far as Blair, and I slept on a park bench.

Vagrancy!

No, I did not feel ashamed of myself. I anticipated that I would be doing a lot of this. Meanwhile, I am glad to report that their downtown, Washington Street, had a lot of gas stations and restaurants. And a Goodwill. I had plenty of places to go to replenish myself the next morning.

Well, I really only gave myself three hours of sleep, because I woke up at around seven or so, when the sun was just barely rising. I got myself some chocolate milk, since the day wasn't burning yet, a pair of Gatorades, and I set out on my way in a hurry, returning back to the veritable utopia of Iowa.

Iowa! Great Iowa! Of your perfections I sing! Like Sola Saloo, it has no problems, no problems at all, save for just one, and it is indeed very small. Of this perfect golden land, I can only critique its state anthem, which I hold to be weak. Don't worry, however, for that's subject to change, and one day when I'm governor, I'll make it more strange. Behold the "Raider's March," a tune most first rate, which I shall attain respectfully from the John Williams estate. We will add our own lyrics, be merry and joyous, and rub it in to those Huskers when they try to annoy us.

On the other side of the river, I encountered a small town sewn to the side of Interstate 29, called Missouri Valley. There, I stopped by the first gas station and took a small break. There was a woman there, complaining to herself about the difficulties of her employment situation. Apparently, her daughter was manager over several gas stops and she had to resort to working for her, but she was working hard to get a Masters to teach special ed for elementary school kids, primarily kindergarteners. Listening to her talk, and hearing her frustrations about how so many teachers did not understand the special needs of various children and often gave them the wrong treatment, reminded me much of my mother's frustrations at work, except she deals with old people in nursing homes. It's a similar situation, though. In any case, I play therapist with my mother and let her vent all of her frustrations out with me, and I did the same here. It's different, since this was a stranger, but it allowed me to grow a bit, since I am not always the best listener.

Well, I continued onward to the other side of town until I encountered Old Lincoln Highway. I turned south there, and continued along this road. It has this interesting name because it's one of those twisty, indirect paths that's intended to be very scenic. And scenic it was. Let there be no mistake, it was still Iowan scenery and not quite Montana, but it was Iowa at its best.

If you ever get the chance to bike along Old Lincoln Highway, do it!

It was by far one of the most pleasing parts of my trip, although I went for a very long way before encountering a town. I did, however, drive by a house with a sign that said it was owned by someone named John Jerkovich. Seriously. I will always remember that name.

I reached Council Bluffs and stayed at their HyVee for an hour, recharging my phone and using my money to buy a loaf of Italian bread, and then I called various family members, including a cousin I haven't seen in a long time. It was by far my most pleasant break that entire trip, not counting the Bible study, which I have said is a different story altogether.

An hour was long enough to rest, so I picked up my backpack and broke a sweat once more. The way out of town truly did cause me to break a sweat, actually. It was hot. Blazing. It was the middle of the day, and I was travelling perpetual steep hills. I was sweating faster than I could drink, and before I knew it I was out of water and out of Gatorade. I continued on for miles and miles and miles. And wouldn't you know it, I took a wrong turn somewhere and it took far longer than it should have to reach my target destination. And as I continued to bike, I continued to sweat. It seeped down my face, and every time I used a rag to sweep it all away, the sweat came back in droves, falling like a waterfall down my brow and pouring like a faucet off the tip of my nose. And I continued to bike on, and on, and on, and the perpetual hills refused to give way to flat land.

OH MY GOD THE AGONY!

I had fears about this. This trip truly did intimidate me because I was afraid of confronting this kind of torture, this uncompromising suffering. This is exactly why I asked some of my best friends to pray for me as I embarked on this trip. I couldn't think. All I could to was weep and feel pathetic as the pain sucked me dry. I was in a truly lowly state, and there were moments where I had to stop biking and give myself a moment to have a mental breakdown.

By some miracle, I encountered a house where two kids were willing to refill all of my bottles with cold water, and I carried on, refreshed but still worn down. Soon after this I realized where I took a wrong turn, and eventually came across 340th Street, which turned to Minden, which was one of the towns along the RAGBRAI route. I took this path.

At one point, by the way, I saw a giant wrench along 340th Street and was tempted to pick it up. I really should have. That would have been an interesting souvenir. In any case, I found an interesting bent-up fork on the road the day before that. And the day before that, actually, another spoon.

Minden wasn't such a bad place, though it was so small that it didn't have any gas stations. It did, however, contain a grocery store, where I made sure to buy a pack of granola bars and pop tarts, as well as some PowerAde that was on sale.

Seriously, even though PowerAde has the exact same nutritional value at Gatorade, it's nowhere near as refreshing.

I stayed in Minden for a couple of hours and got invited by an old lady to sit with her on her porch bench. She let me stay on her bench for as long as I needed to. We talked back and forth about our lives for a bit until she went inside, whereupon I took a nap that lasted for perhaps an hour.

An aunt of mine sent me a phone call. She said that the entire family was praying for my safety, which I of course appreciated. There were times when I felt unsafe. There were times where I didn't know if I had the strength to continue. But continue I did, because I was dying, almost literally, to bike a hundred and fifty miles per day to make the round trip before anyone else had finished RAGBRAI. I wanted to prove that to my friends and to myself.

"You have nothing left to prove."

Those words stuck with me. I prayed on them, asking for guidance.

My trip then took me along Tamarack Ave, through the town of Avoca. Some moron was driving along in a truck that gave off giant clouds of smoke that just lingered. Seriously, they were gaint clouds of smoke. It made it impossible to see the streets and I was coughing up a lot. And the smoke wasn't coming from his truck, but rather from some smoke machine on his truck. It was very intentional.

He must have been a Nebraskan.

Well, I picked up a half gallon of chocolate milk at a gas station and some food, and I continued on to the first stopping point in all of RAGBRAI, the noble town of Harlan. It was getting dark. I could not wait to stop for the day and get a good night's rest.

A police officer pulled me over two miles out of Harlan. Apparently, it is illegal to bike at night unless you're wearing some sort of light. He asked me where I was headed, and I told him about Harlan and what I was doing. He then asked me if I had a place to stay, and that was then I lied. He looked at my license, and it looked fishy because I attained it in Minnesota but I live in Iowa, so it looked like my stories weren't lining up. Well, I was already engaged in fishy activity. And even though I had kept a straight face, I had still lied to him about having a friend who lived in Harlan who would let me sleep there. He asked me, "just in case you're yanking my chains," to tell me more about my friend, so I made up a ton of details about him on the spot, pulling from various details about people I knew in real life. It wasn't the smoothest of lies, and there were times it was clear I had never been in Harlan, but he let me go.

It was at this point where I seriously lost the spirit to continue on this independent bike trip. I wanted to build my character, to hone it in, but things like this caused me to compromise my character. It defeated the purpose of the trip. I began feeling that the trip was causing me more spiritual decay than growth. I began wondering if it was really worth it.

"You have nothing left to prove."

That night, I slept under a semi-truck load. Later, I woke up, felt uncomfortable, and biked around for a while, and stopped by a Baptist church, where I slept by their side doorstep, hugging the remainder of my Italian bread. I figured that if anyone caught me there, they would understand.

The next day, I woke up, headed through town, and located the library, where I rested on one of their outside benches until they opened. They received me, and I found a corner where I could recharge my phone and sleep on a couch.

My father called unexpectedly, and he asked me if I would be open to having him pick me up. Less than twelve hours ago, I would have refused that offer, but I had lied to a cop. I had suffered intense agony. My ankles, constantly fighting to push my way up hills for the past three hundred or so miles, were toast. I could hardly walk, let alone bike a hundred and fifty miles that day.

I accepted.

A friend of mine, who had been praying for me long before I even started, had told me something that in that moment comforted me. All throughout this summer I had constantly thrown myself into these situations, all in the name of faith so that only by some miracle could I be delivered from such helplessness.

"You must live by faith, of course, but you cannot ignore wisdom."

Before he came for me, there was one last thing I did. Once the library closed, I strolled through town, in spite of the physical pain, and stopped by a small clothing store that was having a sale, just to have someone to talk to. The ladies there were friendly, and then they found out about what I was doing. The lady who I presume owned the shop said she would be willing to pay for me to eat at the nearby Pizza Ranch, though I really had to decline that. However, she offered to get me Gatorade. Since she was being generous, and I could only turn her down so much, I accepted that offer, especially since it spoke more directly to my needs. It was perhaps the most extraordinary event to take place on an otherwise mind-numbing trip, and it was an act of generosity that I rarely expect of people. Later, she was also willing to let me just have some things that were on sale for free, since I had expressed interest in buying one of her scarves for my sister as a souvenir. I really appreciated it, but I paid as much as I could anyway. I really hope my sister likes it and appreciates the story behind it.

See, Nebraska? Iowa is far more hospitable!

Well, my father picked me up, and though I was disappointed that my limits were closer to home than I expected, I thanked God for teaching me a lesson, and I found contentment.