The Hospitality of Strangers

In every guest log we read along our way, almost every person expresses astonishment, gratitude, or near disbelief over the hospitality they have experienced when they spend the night at a fire department, a church, someone's home.  It seems a pity this comes to us as a surprise.  And yet the way our world works, we would never think of asking to stay over at a stranger's house unless something truly untoward happened, like a broken down car miles from the nearest town, at night.  I know that I would hesitate to go to the neighbors' to ask for a stick of butter. 

Before we could discover the generosity of strangers we had to leave our hearth and home and live with only what we could hold in our panniers.  We have learned to ask for water and sometimes shelter, and it is as if the people we meet were just waiting to be able to talk, give, and share.  When I stopped at one random house to ask if I could fill my bottles from the spigot, the lady who answered the door invited me in, filled my bottles with water, gave me two fudgsicles, and hugged me as I left.  Perhaps it is because we look ragged and worn, but whether that plays a role or not would mean nothing if there wasn't a part of the stranger that wants to become host, helper, friend.

Corn to the left of me, soybeans to the right/ Here I am, stuck in the middle with you

Playing pool in the youth center in the Sebree First Baptist

Teeny Turtle

Awesome cyclist hostel in Farminton, MO, all to ourselves

I don't have any specific stories recently that aren't more wonders of hospitality, so here is a general update.

We are getting into our groove now.  For those of you who know your geography, we fought free of Kentucky and the vestiges of the Appalachians, and had several smooth days heading towards the Mississippi.  We crossed to Illinois on a ferry over the Ohio, and crossed the actual Mississippi River on a narrow bridge into Missouri.  Now we are in the midst of the Ozarks, and once those are overcome we will coast into the flatness of Kansas.

While we see Westbound cyclists almost everyday, we have only run into one other Eastbound cyclist, and she only went as far as Illinois.  Despite this we have seen a Michael and a Chelsea in the logbooks, one or two days ahead of us, and we hope to catch up and meet them someday.

Watching the Hobbit at the church in Marion, KY

First sight of the Mississippi

Crossing the Ohio by ferry

I am writing this at a hostel called Al's Place in Farmington, MO, having traveled 2238 miles.

Highlights of the last few days:

• Ma's Bakery in Fordsville, KY reopening for us after we looked through the windows plaintively, and giving us a free baked pie with our paninis.
• Staying in a fairground, a fire department, two churches, behind a bar and in a town hostel.
• The pastor and his wife, Bob and Violet, of the First Baptist Church in Sebree, KY inviting us for a huge southern dinner
• Watching the Hobbit and eating pizza at a church in Marion, KY