One small step - Day 81: Yoder to Morrowville, IN

As it turns out, it's really nice being able to shift with a flick of the wrist instead of having to get my entire body involved to convince it to move, especially when my knees, though somewhat better, still required me to constantly shift to ensure minimal effort. I only made it 20 miles from the McCombs', but only because Morrowville was a surprisingly hospitable place. Morrowville, Indiana, population 1280 (about the same as it was in 1991, according to Google) shows up in Google search results behind Morrowville, Kansas, population 151, so I assumed not much goes on there.

When going inside any building, I tend to disguise myself by putting normal shorts over my Lance pants to avoid discouraging normal human interaction. Also to avoid stares, or getting called a grape or banana "smuggler" (think about it). Morrowville has a very nice public library, so I suited (shorted?) up and checked it out. I left my smelly bike gloves on, though, so the librarian saw through my disguise and suggested that I stay in town, as the community center was open to all passing cyclists. I forgot I was back on a mapped Adventure Cycling route, in this case the Northern Tier!

I called the phone number provided by the librarian and an older man directed me to the community center, where he met me, showed me around, gave me the key, and chatted for a while. He gave me the same advice he gives all passing cyclists: that, out on the road, I've "got the world by the ass". I can go where I want, do whatever I want, with no time constraints or bosses to obey, and I should appreciate that and make the most of it. I assured him that I intended to do exactly that and shared a few stories. He shared (many) more stories about adventures with his car club in his '40s-era convertible. He also spoke at length about how inconsiderate it was that the previous community center users had left a projector screen in the middle of the building, as if I would be somehow inconvenienced having access to only 1,995 square feet in this gigantic building instead of the whole ~2,000.

I locked my stuff in the community room and headed out for a night on the town, which in Morrowville meant hitting the world-famous Whippy Dip. It's really a fairly typical fries-and-shake stand, but I'm making sure to indicate its fame here because the proprietor (?) of the community center was "absolutely tickled" that a passing cyclist from France had already learned of it through trail gossip before getting to town. It was good, but everything is good when you're burning >4,000 calories per day. Maybe not on this particular day, of course, but the appetite remained.

I thought of hitting the Toadstool Tavern, if I remember the name correctly, but headed back to the community center instead. As I mentioned in my last aside, I was having a little trouble being social, though I also didn't expect that alcohol would do any favors for my knees. Or my wallet, for that matter. Back in the community center, I inspected some bike route maps helpfully posted on the wall, as I hadn't yet bothered to get any maps of my own. Posted nearby were some letters of appreciation from the Adventure Cycling Association and the Indiana state legislature recognizing the community's hospitality to passing cyclists. I filled out the cyclists' logbook and found that Deanna, Sonia, and Mike had all stayed here. The restroom had a medicine cabinet with various leftover toiletries including a sample pack of Buttonhole Cream, a chamois (pronounced "shammy", or crotch) paste that served a function similar to Butt Ice or Butt'r. I believe that all chamois creams are required by law to include the word "butt". Not that I'm complaining, I'm 12 years old and I giggle at farts.

Finally, I turned off the AC to save on the energy bills the proprietor complained about, unfolded a collapsible cot (they really thought of everything!), and went to sleep.

Here's a very welcome sign in the community center: