Roots

As I type this I am sitting one mile from the farmhouse where my Grandpa was born and about 3 miles from where he is buried next to my Grandma.  The town, land, and people here are legends from my childhood when my family would gather and get telling stories about their younger days.  The old oak tree still stands by the El Paso School under which the town cop used to sit and wait for zealous kids to speed out of school until one school day when my grandpa snuck up behind him, wrapped a log chain around the tree and the rear axel leaving plenty of slack, then went flying by the cop in his car.  Never did hear if he ended up getting caught.

El Paso is a tiny town of 2000 people north of Bloomington, IL.  Even though it is so small, barely a mile wide, it shaped the lives of some the people I love most in my life, so in a way shaped me.  The land flourished under the hand and sweat of my grandfather and was the home where he was born, raised, and raised his children.  His final resting spot is shaded by an elm tree and cooled by a breeze coming off a nearby lake.  The house that my grandma made a home still stands on the family farm.  She used to keep a shotgun behind the stove to scare stray dogs off and keep them from chasing the livestock.  One day she saw a dog heading towards the cattle pen, went to fetch her shotgun and didn’t see the Mormons pull in.  About the time the Mormon boys rang the doorbell she threw open the door, pulled up the shotgun and yelled, “Get out of here, you S.O.B.”….  Poor boys ran back to the car and never did come back.  Grandma Stumpy got laughing so hard she forgot about the dog.  She was one hell of a lady, and not your stereotypical grandma.  My inheritance when she passed was a rifle, shotgun, 2 bottles of whiskey and a pair of snowshoes. 

Even though this was their home and where their family and roots were, my Grandparents still moved after my mom graduated high school.  In their 50^th year of life, when most people today are starting retirement plans, my grandparents sold the family farm and bought a cattle ranch out west.  One hell of an endeavor to move away from everything you know and love to start a dream, and at that age too.  Just goes to show it is never to late to do what you want.  My grandparents were married for over 50 years before my grandpa passed.  My grandma loved him for 12 more years before her heart finally gave out.  At 84 she had survived breast cancer, multiple heart attacks, a stroke, had her gall bladder removed and both knees replaced and she still was sharp as could be and drank whiskey with me until the week she died.  Like I said she was one hell of a woman.

As I sit next to their grave I wonder what they would think of this adventure I got myself into.  While the bicycling would be hard to explain, I know they would love to hear about the things I see and the people I meet.  God knows they understand what it means to work hard, stand on your own two feet, and push yourself farther than you have ever gone. 

Ended up having the longest day of the trip so far yesterday, but after almost 12 hours of biking and 140 miles in the hot Illinois June I finally made it here.  The highlight of the day was meeting Roger, an old farmer and widower who had some cool spring water and delicious cherries fresh off his trees which was a well received reprieve around mile 100.  But the long day was well worth arriving at the place where my grandparents used to call home.