Joey here.

We planned to pedal 95 miles to Dubuque, Iowa. Instead we pedaled 78 miles to Lancaster, Wisconsin, to take advantage of the wind shift from SE to SW.

We met Alice this morning.

Catherine and Doug—“Cat and Dog” to their friends—admired our rig and our mission.

Twenty miles down the road, we reached the destination of the first Ride.

Postville was in 2011, and still is, cosmopolitan.

The Islamic Society, Jewish Chabad House, and a Christian church are within a few feet of one another.

On this Passover Sabbath morning, Jeffrey called out greetings in Hebrew, Yiddish and English to two young men walking toward a storefront where people were praying.

The men stopped in happy surprise. One of them, born and raised in Postville, was too young in 2008 to understand much about the immigration raid that arrested a quarter of this little town. He’s studying for the rabbinate in Morristown, NJ. The other man, even younger, is learning at a Postville yeshiva.

They asked about the Ride and about our recumbent tricycle. They gave permission to Jeffrey to light his phone to show them his 2011 photo of Postville yeshiva boys.

Jeffrey sought provisions.

Tracey remembers how the 2008 Postville raid broke up families.

Tracey says Postville has big-city problems yet doesn’t get big-city support. Example: two Haitian women arrived in town, having been promised shelter and work. They found neither. Locals try to help. Resources are scant.

She mentioned another problem that resonated with us: Postville’s nursing home, in a valuable building, was bought by a conglomerate. The new owner promptly sold the building: “it’s just business.” The nursing home residents were uprooted and scattered. Within a few months, half of them died.

Flashback:

This afternoon, a wonderful tailwind sped us to 20 mph on the flats, and eased the uphills.

We chased the cloud shadows.

The passing clouds gave only momentary relief from the hot sun.

We roasted until we reached this old tree in Patch Grove. Its shade extended onto the road.

Jeffrey paused to cool off, and thought of Biblical Jonah’s gratitude for the gourd that shaded him as he waited to see Niniveh’s fate.

We’re grateful that this tree was planted by person or squirrel. We’re grateful to the landscape-altering humans who let it be.