I rose around 7 on that fine morning. The birds were singing, the sky was blue, and
the campground was pretty quiet despite the number of campers spread-out
throughout the park. I walked to the
restrooms and admired the bat houses that were installed nearby and read the
sign telling folks about bats – seems a reminder that I need to put up another
bat house when I get home. After the
morning routine of eating, packing, and then sitting down to try to figure out
a destination for the day I pulled out Bob Robinson’s book BICYCLING GUIDE TO
THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER TRAIL to try and find some inside. So far I have been pretty disappointed in the
guide. It is light on details, the maps
are of poor quality, and I have found the phone numbers included for contacts
as out of service. But for the trail
heading south of Savanna the author mentioned a bike trail/route that takes the
traveler off Illinois unfriendly biking roads.
I decided to stop somewhere to find out more about the biking route
and if I could find it to possibly continue on down the “Great River Road” to
the “Quad Cities”. It seemed that going
from the “Twin Cities” to the “Quad Cities” would put a poetic spin to my
adventures (although later in the night when I told my wife where I ended up,
she did not find the poetry in the destination, but that may have been due to
my lack of poetic abilities at the end of a long day).
By 9 am I was packed and headed down towards
Savanna. Biking down the shoulder less
Highway 84 still sucked, and now the road was also butted up next to the
Burlington Northern railroad tracks making the ride even more annoying – which
made continuing on the mile or so past the bridge to the hopefully shoulder
paved roads of Iowa on to the town of Savanna very challenging. I got to a gas station in Savanna – purchased
some expensive small bottles of orange & grapefruit juice and a blueberry
muffin and asked the gas station attendant if she was aware of a bike trail
that led to the Quad Cities. She was and
told me it wasn’t hard to find, and then she even went in the back room and
came out with a free biking map of Northwestern Illinois. It was a treasure map to me, something I
wished I had had the day before to guide me through the back roads. But then if I had had it, I likely would not
have experienced the thrill of discovery.
I decided to attempt the Twin to Quad Cities Tour, biked
on, found the trail and a grocery store adjacent to it. With restocked supplies of granola bars,
oranges and grapefruit, some assorted trail mixes, and a large bottle of
contact solution – by 10 am I was heading down the trail into the rising
sun. The trail started off crossing the
BN tracks and followed an older rail corridor adjacent to the Mississippi
River. I passed a group of boys fishing
from a bridge and asked if they were having any luck, but they replied no. I wished them a good day and continued the
journey. It was good to see a few folks
out riding their bikes along the trail and I felt invigorated being away from
traffic.
The trail wound its way through some prairie remnants, and I
noticed much prickly pear cactus growing along the trail, giving me incentive
to stay on the trail and not add cactus thorns to my ankles already suffering
from poison ivy I had picked up at the Nelson Dewey camp site.
The trail also was routed along some of the
back roads that followed the river so it was nice to actually be able to see
the river from the Great River Trail.
Along the way there were plenty of recreational homes, boat launches,
and other parks to provide a more fitting homage to the Great River than some
of the industrial uses I had passed on my way.
As they was dry prairie country by nature despite the large flow of
water to west, the large lawns and farm
fields required irrigation to keep the cactus at bay and the lawn and crops in
full green. Another example of how we
tend to take our “large” water supply and “cheap” energy that allows us to pump
it for granted.
Passing near the town of Thomason, I noticed what appeared
to be a large prison in the distance. As
I got closer, it became clear that it was a prison, but surprisingly it looked
vacant. It also didn’t appear to be that
old. Checking out the site later on the
web http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomson_Correctional_Center , I learned it was never really used as
intended and there was a string of government fiasco’s related to the
site. The site built in 2001 now sits
empty.
A similar fate which befell the
Savanna Army Depot that I came across upriver from the prison the day before, (see
website here for more on that site http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Savanna_Army_Depot). That site was a former testing and storage
site for military munitions used from world war one until that facility was
finally closed in 2000 – leaving large infrastructure abandoned, along with a
Superfund Site to go along with the deal.
It seems amazing how politics and government can spend huge sums of
taxpayer money on prisons and military complexes that now sit abandoned. I guess that must be what the bumper stickers
mean when they say “Freedom Isn’t Free”.
As the trail passed what I believe was the City of Fulton,
it ran along the top of a flood dike that had been built to try and contain the
Mississippi River from flooding the town.
I passed a Corp of Engineers park, where the only thing on dry ground
was the outhouse that had become an island of fill that had been hauled into
the site to keep the poopers high and dry during high water events. Unfortunately users would have needed a boat
to reach it on that day. Further on down
the dike, I came to a large pump station complex that was used to pump the
river (and probably water level in general on the dry side of the dike) up and
over the dike during these high water times.
Another example of how we take
advantage of cheap energy to save us from
our poor decisions to locate communities in flood plains. Instead of letting water follow its natural gravity
driven course, we use human technology (and the huge price tag that comes with
it) to keep control at all costs. But in
the end, our technology usually fails, and we try the same foolish techniques
all over again.
Coming into Albany, I noticed a large domed structure off on
the horizon, and as the road came back down along the river I found out the
doom was one of three huge what must have been grain storage silos. The complex was likely a grain barge, train,
and truck loading and unloading facility.
As it was after lunch and I was hungry, and getting hot from the rising
sun and climbing a few hills, I decided to stop in the park in the small river
town of Albany. I noticed a family
having fun in the park and the mother and her young son came over to me (while
I was eating some extremely hot in a spicy way trail mix that cleaned my
sinuses out well) to ask me about my adventure.
Becky, as she introduced herself, and her husband Chris, moved
to Albany a few years ago to get out of the Chicago area. They liked living in the smaller town along
the river, but were heading back to the City to celebrate her son’s four year
birthday with the grandparents who still lived in the City. Becky and her husband worked at a small
Christian School in town, she as a part time first grade teacher, and her
husband Chris as a teacher/principal.
Becky told me that they would pray for me on my travels and then as the
rest of the family gathered round she told them of my travels all the way from
Minneapolis to large quad cities where they go to shop. Then she asked me if it would be ok for her
husband to lead them in a pray for my journeys.
Despite my initial nervousness about what I was getting myself in for, I
agreed and was actually quite honored by the very nice prayer he said for my
safe journeys while out enjoying God’s Creation. I thanked them for their prayers and told
them I would keep them in my prayers as well as they traveled back to Chicago. Despite my negativity towards Christians (lately I have given up on my christian ways and become a follower of doubt, which I didn't get into with the Christians) I felt honored by the family coming together and honoring me with their prayer (even if the kids didn't seem to interested).
With good prayers behind me, a full stomach, but running low
of water, I headed up the hill out of Albany and entered a park that had been
set aside to protect the Indian mounds located on the hills south of the
town. There was a water fountain at the
park that I filled my bottles with and I watched a mother and her two young
sons who lived next to the park pull the dandy line flowers that had gone to
seed on the boundary between the park and their weed free lawn. The boys were shirtless and the mother wore
shorts and a wrap to try and keep cool as the afternoon heat set in. I debated hiking back along the path to honor
the mounds and view, but decide to keep moving on as I wasn’t sure how far I
had to go to make to the Quads.
The trail than veered back out to a path that ran parallel
to the main highway 84 and the river began taking on a much more industrial
look again. I passed a couple on touring
bikes and gear, and wanted to stop and ask them where they were off too, but we
just smiled and said hello in passing. 3M
had a huge factory nestled along the river near Cordova, and there were more
barge unloading terminals loading and offloading huge quantities of assorted materials.
Power lines began to parallel the highway,
and soon the Quad Cities Nuclear Generating Facility appeared next the
river. And not too far from the power
plant, loud racing engines could be heard tearing down the road and a drag
strip appeared along with an announcer filling the audience with admiration for
the speed and power being displayed by the drivers and their awesome dragsters
on that early summer day.
And then some smaller towns and recreational areas and parks
as the trail diverted back to the back roads.
The town of Cordova had invested in putting some fitness equipment in
their river side park, so I parked my bike between the stair stepper and
ab-machine and debated getting a workout in.
But instead used their porta-potty, admired the river views, and young
adults fishing off the rocks. I didn’t
want to work up a sweat, and since there weren’t showers at the outdoor fitness
center, I would have had to jump in the river (and I wasn’t too sure I would
come out cleaner than before), so I decided to continue using the mobile cycle
I brought along and then headed back across their pretty streets.
Across from the City Library, pastel sidewalk
chalk type pictures had been painted on the road – a courteous biker passed me
by and said excuse me as I had stopped to take some pictures of the street art.
Back on the road through the limited
country side I passed another touring biker with a full load of gear that might
have even excited mine own in volume.
Again I felt like stopping to ask him about his travels but we just
passed and smiled and said hello.
I took another break at the lock and dam on the way into the
quad Cities as I was getting hungry and hot again. Pelicans and Hispanic folks were plying the
waters below the dam for fish. As it was
5 pm, I started thinking I should figure out where to stay for the night. A previous biker lady had told me that there
were no motels or hotels directly along the path as it ran through half the
quad cities of Moline and Rock Island, so I reluctantly pulled out the sketchy
BICYCLING GUIDE again and tried to find a motel for the night. The guide only listed 3 places in Rock
Island, so I called the one were I thought I might be able to figure out how to
get to, the American Motor Inn located at 4300 11th Street, asked if
they had a room, would take bikes, and had WIFI, and received an answer of yes
to all three all for only $46 per night, plus tax. So I made my reservation and paddled on
feeling content that I at least had a place to stay for the night.
The trail then entered East Moline and Moline Proper. Along the way I passed paddle boats, power
plants, poop plants, and many people.
The parks were scattered with people all dressed up and taking pictures
for weddings, graduations, and perhaps proms.
Traffic on the trails began to pick up as well, and I passed more folks
out for some day peddles, or even strolls along the dike that protected
Moline. Industry activity also picked up
– acres and acres of parking lots where filled with John Deer green harvesters
and associated implements waiting to be shipped out.
I also had to do my fist bicycle portage as a pipe had been
routed across the trail coming from one of the industrial plants. I assumed it must have been a temporary
bypass of some sort due to high river water causing some kind of back up from
one of the industrial plants located behind the dike. Fortunately a couple of bikes had just
finished portaging their own bikes over the 4 foot high pipe. The woman, who was on the other side of the
pipe, boasted that she was strong and to simply hand her my bike and she would
be able to carry it over the pipe. I
told her that I could not pick the likely 100 lb. plus load up myself and her
biking partner gave me a hand lifting the load up and over the pipe. I shared some answer to questions about my
adventure, and wished them well on their upstream journey where they intended
to hit the bars and consume some beers on their way up river.
Moving downstream I passed more parks with signs reminding
me to continue to play; one lone woman jogging who I had passed earlier, but who
then re-passed me at the portage site; another bridge or two and then passed
through downtown section and the Cities drinking water plant which was downstream
from the wastewater treatment plant. I
suppose with all our high technology treatment – putting the water plant downstream
from the sewer plant doesn’t really pose any technical challenges. I stopped to check out my map again to try and
figure out how much further before I had to exit the trail and find the road to
my motel. I was having a difficult time
relating to the one dimensional scaled down paper map I had, after spending a
number of days in the full-scale, multi- dimensional world. A passing biker stopped by to offer some guidance,
and I think he was challenged by the map as well, but told me to just keep
following the river.
As I did, Rock Island the island and source of the City’s
name came into view, along with the military arsenal for which the island is
now named. Apparently the arsenal has
been around since world war one and has been and still is used for manufacturing
munitions for the military. I wondered
how many cleanup sites would be found on that island when it too became abandoned. Near the downtown of Rock Island, I began to
think that I should have held off making a hotel reservation at the American
Motor Inn as there were several hotels located in the downtown area close to
the river, that would have allowed for some interesting exploration once I
settled in for the night. While stopped at
a stop light, I talked with a woman about 55 to 60 years old who informed me
that her and her husband were bike tourists.
They were on their way from Columbus Ohio to Alaska, but were driving
their bikes there strapped to the top of their SUV. They also brought along their small white dog
who some of her hair had dyed red. She
asked about my biking adventures, what the roads were like, and wished me
well.
So I headed South from the river trying to find 11th
Street. The route took me through some
of the poorer neighborhoods I had been through so far, and I began to get a bit
nervous about where I would be staying.
I was also getting really tired of biking and wondered how much further
the motel would be. Finally, as the
homes looked a bit nicer, I saw the sign for the motel, parked my bike, and
walked into the office. Behind the
bullet proof glass (maybe it wasn’t bullet proof, but that adds more drama to
the story) the motel attendant had me fill the registration card after having
me slide my credit card and ID through the small slot below the glass. After filling out the card, I read the warning
sign taped to the glass window that if I had an overnight guest, they would
need to pay an additional fee for using the room. I had a difficult time hearing young man talk
from behind his safe glass, as the ice machine in the small closet of a lobby
was making a lot of gurgling sounds as it grinded out the ice. I asked him if there were any good pizza
places that delivered nearby, and he pointed to the Domino’s Pizza place advertised
on my room key card, but said I would have to look the number up in the phone
book, as the number of the card was incorrect.
After having to walk back to the office to have
him reset the Dominoes Key Card, I was able to enter the room, pushed my bike
in, and admired the king sized bed next to the full wall mirror, and wondered
what had happened in this room before and if I would be better off to pull out
my sleeping bag and spend the night on the floor. But after cranking the air conditioner,
figuring out how to operate the shower, I felt somewhat better about the
place. But my concerns returned when I
called the Domino’s Pizza place and when I told them that I wanted the pizza delivered
to the American Motor Inn was told they don’t deliver their, despite the fact that
it was only a few blocks away. Fortunately I found another pizza place and
they were afraid to come to my Inn, and the pizza they brought and my tired
state made my stay ok, despite what my fears told me I was in the bed shortly
after 10.
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