Sabula, Iowa

The route from Chicago to Sabula took us on mostly two-lane country roads. Landscape alternated between flat prairie and farmland to rolling hills. Vast, really far from the Chicago stuff, and the pacifier I think we needed. Broke out the iPod and made our way through a few Fresh Air podcasts, including interviews with Woody Harelson, Lebron, Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, Doug Glanville. Great view of the gathering storm clouds off to our right; beautiful, and really interesting when juxtaposed against the sunny skies to our left.

Arrived in Sabula, a tiny “island” formed by the lakes and tributaries of the Mississippi**, after crossing over a very, very rickety two-lane bridge [Ed. note: We're posting video, but it doesn't really capture how uneasy that sucker made me feel – especially when a truck passed by and I actually had to get into my lane.] First stop: Hop-n-Shop for some water. Sharon, the patron of our B&B, the Castle, was outside to meet us.*** Tons of heavy bags and other stuff to lug in. After a quickish tour of the two-story house, an exchange of some cash, and introductions (Chuck, a guest; John, Sharon’s husband and the town lawnmower man), we took off for the Hillside Stables Grill for mildly recommended (options were scarce) German food. [Ed. note: There were no real recommendations, but the menu for this place was one of three at the B&B. The other two, one of which was named Poopy's, were back across the bridge in Illinois. Even an enticing name like Poopy's wasn't going to convince me that driving over that bridge in the dark was a good idea.]

Very pretty, two- or three-mile drive to the restaurant, set back off of the main road a bit and surrounded by horse stables and a small cow pasture. Green everywhere and beautiful at dusk. Inside, the restaurant was empty save two big-ish parties that seemed to be finishing up as we got there. The owner/waitress looked like she had spent quite a bit of time on a farm, with a deep tan and thick build. We learned later she is a local who lived in Germany as a member of the military, married a German national, and moved back to Iowa. She claimed to be happy to see us, but you couldn’t really tell. Service with a stern grunt and one-to-two word answers. Knockwurst for me, cod nuggets for Laura. Not much to say beyond that, except maybe to note the massive quantities of each. A little gross, actually.

Exhausted, we dropped in to bed shortly after getting back to the Castle.

**Apparently, the creation of Lock and Dam #13 is what caused Sabula to become the island that it is.

*** Beyond the scene at the Hop-n-Shop, Sharon may have been the first sign that in coming to Sabula we had stepped well off the beaten path an into hard-core working class territory. “Rough around the edges” was Laura’s chosen phrase to describe Sharon [Ed. note: Please let it be known, though, that I don't use that descriptor in a derogatory way. As a general rule, I love rough around the edges. She was a cool lady and I had a good time talking to her. And she's done a great job of carrying on her mother's dream of having a B&B on the Mississippi – even if she does hate the part related to the second B.], though applying it to Sabula would work well too. I’m pretty sure we were the only “tourists” in town and may have been for some time: hairy eyeballs from the locals gave it away. Further evidence: the town’s one cop (“Josh”) appeared to be following us. [Ed. note: Even if he was suspicious, he – and many others in the town – did give the small-town wave each time they passed by. I have always loved that two-finger-lift-off-the-steering-wheel gesture that occurs with regularity in the towns where I grew up visiting my relatives in Illinois and Iowa. Urban dwellers could learn a thing or two about saying "What up?" to their neighbors. Yeah, yeah. Chances are the people you pass on the street in bigger cities likely aren't technically neighbors. So what? This will come as no big shock, but I totally buy into it's a small world, be nice, and all that jazz.]

After nearly two weeks of pained regret and huge promises, we went out for our first run of the trip. Beautiful weather, lots of free time, and interesting scenery to check out: no excuse not to go. Laura was resolute. Despite some waffling, I braved my still-queasy (goddamnit) stomach and rickety limbs and decided to join her.**

Despite a beautiful off-the-beaten-path route and gorgeous scenery, maybe not the best idea. Felt ok for the first 15 minutes or so and then began to get stomach cramps and started to fear an intestinal attack. Stuck it out for about 10 or so minutes and then stopped to walk, all the while weighing the pros and cons of jumping in to the bushes and relieving myself. Certainly the indignity of that would have been preferable to the alternative. Worst passed and I started running again, figuring that the sooner I could get back to the place, the better. About the time I started looking again for a spot in the weeds, a port-o-potty appeared, almost out of nowhere. Like manna from heaven. Suffice it to say that I felt much better a few minutes later. If reading any of that made you feel ill, ruined your meal, or forced you to go take a shower, sorry.

Miraculously, I finished the run in one piece. Laura, with energy to burn after a super strong run, walked around the neighborhood taking pictures as I settled on a shaded bench in front of The Castle to recover. Pretty steady breeze and a perfect view of the Mississippi river helped me forget the recent trauma. Slipped into thoughts of the river and its role in the expansion of our country, world wars, industrial development, Huck Finn, and so on. [Ed. note: I love that I’m marrying a nerd who's nerdier than I am. I never thought of any of those things while looking at Ol' Man River. Just a lot of Paul Robeson (see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eh9WayN7R-s) going through my head (because no one needs to hear me try to sing at all, let alone that low).]

After showers, small talk with Sharon, car packing, and picture taking, we started out of town for Le Claire en route to Davenport. [Ed. note: Huge thanks to Sharon for suggesting we take the "river road" down to the Quad Cities. We might have figured out that alt route if we'd actually used any of the zillion travel books/brochures/Internet research at our fingertips, but alas, we've not really been using our non-human resources all that well.]

**The people in Sabula seem a bit less healthy than many of the other places we’ve stopped.*** Weathered, heavy, smoker’s voices/coughs. Perhaps that’s why John found it so hilarious/puzzling that Laura came to him asking for recommended scenic running routes. [Ed. note: He really did say to me more than once: Are you sure you want to run? Even after he finally advised me to take the "dump road" (for the scenery and lack of cars/trucks) and I had walked away, he called me back to suggest we use the B&B's bikes instead. Essentially, he was trying to save me from myself anyway he could. Good man.]

***Sorry, that may have come off as a little jerky. Who is smoked-German-sausage-dude to judge, anyway?