Blow ye winds, hi-ho! Clear away your running gear and blow, boys, blow!
From a 19th century whalers’ shanty
Jeffrey met Kennedy in the quiet indoors.
Kennedy drives a shuttle bus from motels to the Mayo Clinic. He’s familiar with kangaroo courts from his native Kenya.

It wasn’t quiet outdoors. All day we faced a powerful SE headwind, and intermittent rain.
There were bright moments.

Dan, the morning desk clerk in our motel, told Jeffrey that it’s legal to bike on US 52 south of Rochester. He said the 4-lane road becomes 2-lane a mile south of a particular on-ramp.
(The “cyclist” routes are miles longer and involve unpaved roads—see yesterday’s post for our take on gravel.)
Jeffrey suspended disbelief and pedaled us to the on-ramp.
Oops! A sign prohibits bikes (and presumably trikes). But we couldn’t read the sign until we were on the ramp. What were we to do then? Ride back the wrong way?
Wrong-way riding is dangerous and illegal. Whereas continuing was only illegal.
Jeffrey took the plunge. He pedaled furiously, passing Zander (we exchanged happy hello waves), who had stopped to help a motorist change a tire.
We made it!
What a relief to be on a 2-lane road with bikeable shoulders!
Two hours later, Jeffrey stopped in Chatfield for peanut butter and jam. Outside the supermarket, he met Lorrie.

Lorrie will follow our journey. (So can you.) She intends to support Human Rights First. (So can you.) And she gave Jeffrey a handshake and a hug. (So can you.)





There was no “Welcome to Iowa”. Just a marker for Winneshiek County.
And an instant change of paved shoulder to smooth little round stones that bike tires can’t grip.

Jeffrey soon tired of testing fate with passing motor vehicles.
We took a break from US 52 on parallel side roads, one of them 3 miles (5 km) of loose gravel. The detours added miles, slowed us down, and we always were led back to US 52.


Dan: “We saw you earlier in Fountain!” (42 miles ago.)
We had a cheery talk.
Among other topics, Parker told of a former girlfriend, a Nicaraguan, who had a tattoo. According to Parker, the then-president said that no Nicaraguan with a tattoo could get a job. If that isn’t quite true, it’s in the spirit of recent times. It shows that Parker knows that most “criminal invaders” are neither.

Motel owner Rina took one look at bedraggled, shivering, wobbly Jeffrey, handed him a towel, and checked us into a warm dry room.

Jeffrey planned a long southeast journey for tomorrow.

Oy. Hope the weather and the roads improve.
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You are ‘on the road’ for Justice! – There’s a rush for justice for immigrants but not for being on the road. You two take your time and keep talking and pedaling when you can. You’re GREAT!
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I agree with you Mimi
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Jeff – you are one amazing dude. Keep on biking’, good buddy. 😊🤗
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