part the last

In which Hubert gets good and drunk with Junior, Vodka Brad, and the rest of creston.





to bed
to bed
iowa isn't getting any closer and i've got people to see on the mississippi.
set camp off in the corn, open can of beans, smile at my good fortune for such a crowd to spend such a night.
along comes brad and junior asking if i was the fella riding the bike and if i wanted a beer or a pop and wanted to share the fire and maybe some hotdogs.
yes to all.
beers, and stories and questions galore.
fires and weenies and jokes about the kids
speculations about hickdom, trashyness and no they weren't the redneckiest folks i have met- they weren't burning a railroad tyre soaked in creosote.
so wait you rode your bike here?
why here?
so wait you drove your rv here? and you live two miles from town?
yes i'll have another beer, sure i'll have another dog, oh certainly i'll have another beer.
so wait your an organic vegetable farmer?
want to buy a pig?
so you say you farm 3,ooo acres?
and its all corn?
by yourself?
well, i certainly don't want you to have to drink that vodka alone.
well, i certainly will help myself to the beers in the cooler.
so you have to do all that work by hand?
with only interns and volunteers?
so you grew up here?
and its like this every year?
oh you're going to bed,
so are you...
sure i'll make sure the fire goes out and none of these beers go bad.
and well i suppose i'll go mosey on over to that fire and see what those folks are up to as the the sky begins to turn purple...

part the third

in which creston keeps it really real,
son.





shows over.
big bangs are gone.
bed i think.
bean tacos and bed.
folks are milling about, kids are gathering in the infield, i pause to see what are those big boxes people are dragging from their pick ups.
fireworks!
boxes and boxes of fireworks.
all for the kids.
mom and dad keep drinking beers
sons and daughters
light and run light and run light and run.
hahaha that one blew up in junior's face
hahah that was a close one.
hahaha don't point that roman candle at your brother.
for hours it goes on.
hours and hours of 9 and 10 year olds lighting class b explosives and recreating scenes from war movies.
boy it sure makes you proud to be an american.
and that's not sarcasm.

part the second

in which creston breaks out the big guns.









they may not rival new york's.
may not be as glorious as dc's.
they'd be teased if they showed up in san francisco or los angeles or miami
but creston keeps it hella real.
full on DIYesthetic with everyone in tow,
the whole town,
all 251 of them,
sitting in the backs of pick ups, drinking busch, and watching.
they passed the hat for next years show,
they talked about years pasted,
they joked about the neighbors who were in charge of the pyrotechnics,
they all laughed when some blew up in place:
the outfield, right next to the fertilizer plant.

warming up the crowd

in which creston gets hyphy.

part the first.

in which the road conspires in hubert's favor.

I had been asked to ride in the 4th of july parade in erikson that morning.
tempting, very tempting,
but i couldn't turn down a tailwind so i made tracks.
heading east,
4th of july 2009.
easy riding, good tail wind, lots of little kids blowing stuff up.
fond memories abound.
late in the evening and the driving crowd had turned hostile.
the beer was beginning to soak in.
time to get off the road.
riding down a slow country road I spot a small town.
quick look around and no one about.
back on the main road,
riding on.
to the left,
past the fertilizer plant, appears to be a park, with everyone watching some game.
fireworks are sure to be next.
no campsites to be found, so i decide to dive into the neighboring cornfield after the show.
creston, nebraska.
i didn't blend in at all.
but i didn't care.
i love fireworks
i ate hot dogs.
i wished i had some beer.
i wished someone would spot my obviousness and offer me some beer and hospitality.
no luck.
the game finished, the sun began to set, everyone turned towards center field where a pickup truck had unloaded the show.

corn corn everywhere and not a drop to eat

Two thirds through nebraska and i was thinking michael pollan was a fraud.
The coastal intelligentsia peacocking around as experts of things they know nothing about.
And I was one of the many disciples who ran his foolish mouth of quoting him.
Where are the miles of corn?
Where are the fence row to fence row of soy?
Where are the abandoned small farms replaced by the archer daniels midland's controlled factory farms?
None.
Instead I found complex rotations and strip planting,
contour plowing and small farms,
diverse crops and animals.
Berkley professors spouting of about agriculture...
I should have known better.
Then i passed Albion
Then i hit the corn.
Miles and miles...
and miles...
and miles...
of corn.
Nothing but corn as far as you could see.
Some soy yes,
but nothing compared to the corn.
So much corn that i can't possibly photograph it.
So much corn that words can't explain the magnitude.
Corn corn corn.
So much corn that it was hilarious.
And none of it is food.

Agricultural Addendum:

The corn and the soy planted through the country is genetically modified by Monsanto to be able to resist its widely popular herbicide Round Up. This allows the farmers to make one pass through a field for planting, one for cultivating, and one last one for a blanket spraying of Round Up killing everything besides the corn or soy. Many farmers even skip the cultivating pass. Combined this allows fewer farmers to cultivate more land.

There is a cost.

Many of them.

Many of them are quite high.

As i rode through the corn and soy I noticed a number of peculiarities but most striking was volunteer corn coming up in this years soy plantings. Corn soy rotations are quite common- this years corn field was last years soy field. What has happened is last years corn replanted itself in this years soy and because last years corn was genetically modified to resist Round Up, the pass made in the late spring didn't kill it. Now it was competing with the soy, and will wreck havoc come harvest time.

ooops....

Guess no one thought about that.

Not quite.

Some Nebraska corn farmers I talked to confirmed that it is a problem, but one Monsanto gladly has a solution for: another chemical which can be sprayed during a second pass killing the volunteers.

The cost of the product? Astronomical.

Now I'm not one to say Monsanto is evil,

but Monsanto is evil.

Ninja shit right there.

PONIES!

a mommy pony and baby pony!
iwantoneiwantoneiwantone!
pleeeeease buy me a pony!
i'll be good for the rest of my life and eat all my vegetables and i'll clean my room every single day and i'll make my bed and i'll name it starshiprainbowwonderfulldaisy and i promise i'll pick up after it and walk it and love it every single day for the rest of my life.
pleeeeeeeese!
I'll be your best friend!

pra(y)rie thunderstorms...

The clouds had been forming along the northern horizon all day.
The towns were evenly spaced, thirty miles apart.
Ride into town,
hand crank the radio,
listen to the latest forecast.
Chance of severe thunderstorms 30%, mainly in areas of the Nebraska pan handle.
I was on the edge of the Nebraska pan handle.
Ride to next town...
Repeat.
Around 8 i found a beautiful spot.
With fairly clear skies I bedded down for the night.
Mosquitoes forced me inside, where i ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and read.
Occasionally I turned to check to skies.
Clear.
Clear, cloudy to the north.
Clear, cloudy to the north and west.
Cloudy.
Cloudy, lightning.
Cloudy, lots of lightning.
Shit.
Around 10 I stepped out into the night.
Lightning raced across the northern horizon, the western horizon, and the southern horizon.
I was surrounded.
Put on the rain fly,
drive the stakes as deep as they go,
cinch everything down,
buckled everything up,
get in.
Thunder begins to rumble, lightning moves closer.
Turn off the head lamp.
Wait.
So quiet...
.
.
.
BOOOOM!
Thunder cracks above me.
The tent lights up with streaks of lightning flying across the sky.
BOOOOM!
CRACK!
The ground shakes,
the tent is completely lit up by lightning so close the hair on my legs stands up.
BOOOM!CRACK!BOOM!
Blinding me as if someone quickly shut of the lights in an illuminated room.
Oh fuckkkkkk.....
What do I do?
Nearest town ten miles back...
Do i make a break for it?
Do i move camp to lower ground?
Do i move my bike away from me?
BOOM!CRACK!CRACK!
.
.
.
shhhhhhhhhhh....
It all stops.
So quiet.
Then
The
Wind
Starts
Howling.
Howling like i have never felt before.
It whips out of the north.
The tent is pushed in against the right side of my body.
Hail.
Big hail.
Hail pinging off the tent so hard i wait for it to be torn to shreds.
Rain.
Buckets of rain.
Rain pouring down so hard it's collapsing the tent.
All the while the lightning is dancing all around and the thunder is rumbling like a train roaring towards me.
i pray.
sincerely.
prayers of fear.
prayers for safety.
i wonder what people do on the sea?
i wonder what will happen when the wind rips the top off the tent?
i wonder what it feels like to be struck by lightning?
but,
it held.
It held and i fell asleep.
It held, I fell asleep, and I slept soundly.
Hell broke loose and I slept the sleep of the dead.
And the next day the sun came out.
And i said thank you.
And i got on my bike
And i rode away.
And i marvelled at the amazement of it all.

nebraska

I was hoping that when I turned east
The hills would begin to cease,
A reward would be coming my way.

A tailwind would blow at my back,
Some terrain to cut me some slack,
I'd do 100 miles a day.

Unfortunately, that isn't the case.
The wind still blows in my face.
Nebraska's not being so giving.

And now to make matters worse,
I have the additional curse:
Dodging tornadoes if i hope to continue living.