|I kid you not. This was looking toward Cheyenne.|
We were pretty much socked in until we neared the Nebraska state line,
when the fog lifted and we rode forth in intermittent rain.
|Well, whoopee! Let's have a parade!|
Her mood was improved, but that didn't mean we were going to stop for anything but fuel, still.
Naturally, I continued to stare out the window and take pictures of
the Great American Midwest Landscape
Until we passed through Des Moines and came out the other side with a full tank, heading southeast on US-65. Then I got a bonus activity…
|Des Moines, IA. Government is Golden.|
Seriously. If you have never driven the stretch of highway from Des Moines to Ottumwa, you do not know what shaking is. I don't care if you spent your career riding a jackhammer atop an out-of-balance washing machine anchored to an earthquake simulator, you have not been shaken the way US Highway 65 (and eventually US-63) will shake you. It is not safe to take babies on this road, for fear their little brains will rattle loose and Family Services will have you up on abuse charges.
|If I could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate, I'd still be too stable for this road|
Modern chemistry is my lifeline, but there were long moments when I seriously wondered if there were a lifeboat tethered at its other end, or just some a-hole shark yanking me around.
|Agribusiness. It's a beautiful thing|
|I like people who have definite plans|
It looked as though we were following on the heels of some pretty serious wetness.
I was hoping it would be just fast enough ahead of us to be done raining when it came time to unload my crap (and my poor lumbering self) from the truck.
It was about an hour after sunset that we returned to Monmouth, and, indeed, the rains had almost ceased here. In just a few short minutes, I had all my gear unloaded from the truck and brought into the house.
On the down side, my feet had swollen so greatly that I couldn't wear my loosest slippers, my head was pounding, and everything in between was in some state of revolt.
On the up side, I was hailed as conquering hero by a doggyboy,
as well as cheerfully received home by a pair of parents:
|Warmly ignored by the old M|
|and P. Such enthusiasm!|
And then there was my own bed…but I don't need to draw you a picture, there.
I slept quite a bit, for the next week. I needed every last "Z" I got. It took longer than that, between resting and riding my bike again, to get my legs back to functional (still a bit of a twinge on a regular basis, and two hours on my feet are still my max before the completely quit).
The folks left on their two-week vacation and anniversary trip before the end of the week, packed with a few things I'd prepared for them to take to my seester (cookies for her & her hubby, and also a special batch for their dog).
I had the house to myself again, with the cats as my only company, and a chance to just appreciate the quiet solitude.
And then I got hit with that nasty cough…the one that's still tickling my throat fairly regularly, three and a half months later.
The Fates obviously have a swell time twisting my thread.