A Horse in the Cafeteria Miles 6665-6710 August 18

A Horse in the Cafeteria Miles 6665-6710 August 18

I never met Walter Pope Binns. Guy Moore was President of William Jewell College when I joined the faculty. By the time I came, Dr. Binns was a legend, various stories about him told to newly hired faculty to impress us with the high standards, iron discipline and bold character of this good place. But I had never heard the Dr. Binns story I heard today.

It’s a little before nine in the morning when I get to Sarah’s Table. I take the table in the far corner of the main room. From here I can see and greet anyone who comes. Mel Phillips is here, having his usual bowl of oatmeal. Then comes a man I haven’t seen before. He stops to talk to Mel and another man with him. The new arrival mentions William Jewell. My ears perk up. Then he sees my HateBusters shirt. “Are you the one who started HateBusters? Do you teach at William Jewell? I answer yes to both. He takes a seat at the adjoining table where he can talk to Mel and to me.

“Your son and my son, Gary, were friends in high school,” he says. Gary’s been in the Navy for years and stationed in San Diego.” Then we get to swapping stories about William Jewell. Garret tells me that Dr. Binns had a horse. He never rode him. He kept him in a pasture on campus, near the football field. Dr. Binns warned all students to stay away from the horse.

Then Garret names a classmate from the 1950s, a good friend of his. This friend took that horse and put him in the student cafeteria overnight. The horse made a considerable mess, and Dr. Binns vowed to find the one responsible. His friend then started a rumor that Garret had put the horse in the cafeteria. “Dr. Binns was not cut out to be a detective. He never found the one who did it,” says Garret. A prank nearing 50 years old is hardly headline news, but on a hot August day in a small town these stories and ones like them remind us that our lives are made rich and full by silly and stupid little things that we share while getting on with our lives.

Patrick Bought A Bike Miles 6710-6755 August 19

Patrick Hill bought a new Trek from Biscari Brothers about three weeks ago. He called last night and wanted to join me for a ride to Kearney. Patrick and I both attend Second Baptist Church. We meet this morning at 6:30 at the church. West on Franklin to Gallitan we go. Turn right on Gallitan, which becomes Nashua as it curves to the left. Then right at the Northpoint sign and down the hill to Telford, where a left brings us past Laura, Debbie and Ed’s house. Another left, two quick rights, another left and right And we are climbing the hill on Glen Hendren Drive toward Liberty Hospital. Past the hospital to Lightburne. Right on Lightburne to the next corner, then left, past Ernest Shepherd Center. Left at the next corner and around the bend to the left. Right at the stop sign to 69 Highway. Right on 69.

Traffic on 69 is heavy and noisy this early in the morning. But the shoulder is wide and paved. Over modest hills we make our way to Summerset Road. We turn left onto this newly resurfaced and lightly traveled country road. Where Summerset bends hard left, we bend gently right and now have come to Jesse James Farm Road. Past homes on acreages where not long ago crops grew, we come over several modest hills to . . . . Street, where a left turn brings us past a recent crop of look-alike houses tightly packed in a field.

Then opposite Kearney High School we turn right onto Stonecrest and make our way over to . . . .. A left turn brings us several blocks later to Ada. We turn right and go to 12^th St. Left to Prospect. Turn right. Cross 92 Highway to Street. Left on . . . to Sarah’s Table.

Patrick and I take the table in the far corner of the main room from whence we can see all who enter and leave. We each have a half-order of biscuits and gravy. Betty and JD were both gone yesterday to visit the Omaha Zoo. They are back. Betty waits on us. JD comes to our table with the wooden model of a shark’s jaw and teeth that he has put together. He begins his eighth grade year tomorrow. He and I have a bike ride around Kearney planned for this coming Saturday after breakfast. JD and his mother, Betty, live in Holt, but JD will bring his bike with them when his mother comes to work early Saturday morning.

“You makin’ tenderloin sandwiches for lunch?” I ask Janis as she comes through the dining room on her way to the kitchen. “Yeah, you comin’ back for lunch?” She asks. “Not today. But soon.” I say. “Today’s my first day back,” she says as she disappears into the kitchen.

Norma had been out front as Patrick and I rode up. She was lettering the new sign, transforming this house from Oma’s Kitchen to Sarah’s Table. She is still at it as we leave. “Did Janis tell you she’s been sick? Had an operation on her jaw and may have to have more. She was out three weeks.”

“No, she didn’t. She said today was her first day back. I thought she had been on vacation. Just a minute, Patrick, I going back inside to see Janis.”

“She’s out back taking a break,” Betty says when I ask for Janis. “My dentist pulled the wrong teeth,” Janis says. “He left the bad one in, and the infection got into my jaw. I’m still on antibiotics, and I may have to have another operation.” She shows me the scar on her neck. I hear no self-pity in her voice. No anger at medical malfeasance. Only steely determination to get on with her life and recover her joy in living. Making tenderloin sandwiches is only one of Janis’s minor talents.

Dave Biscari to the Rescue Miles 6755-6770 August 20

The driest July on record in our town and for miles around. Now comes the hot-box sauna named August. Five consecutive days of triple digit heat have sucked the last drop of moisture from every living thing. What breeze there is comes from a blast furnace. I can’t drink enough or rest enough to find pleasure on the road.

Early in the day just as dawn breaks, the breeze I make as I pedal is not yet the dragon’s breath it becomes by the hour, until by four o’clock no sane person is voluntarily on the road. Before the sun is up on summer mornings, light enough to see and be seen has spread across the sky. No cooler time will come this day. So from my house while my wife and most neighbors still sleep, I slip from the garage on my bike and pedal up the block-long hill to Southview Drive, where a turn either north or south brings me shortly to an array of roads going in all directions and taking me to the irresistible ambiance of small town cafes.

This morning is different. I have promised Liz that I will be at the MS Society when she comes at nine. The printer has finished the pages for our Ed’s Elite 100 book, telling the story of our May 31^st century ride. I had hoped to have the book out sooner so I could get one to every rider and every helper. I will pick them up and bring them to Ramona at RC Printing here in Liberty. RC printed the cover for our book, and as soon as I bring the pages, Ramona will staple them inside the covers.

When I am finished and all parts of the book are in one place and ready for completion, it’s nearing four o’clock. I remind myself that I am still a long way from 10,000 miles and cannot afford to let the day pass with zero miles. So with three bottles of ice water in the bag behind my seat, I set off out Old 210. By the time I come to its intersection with New 210, just over seven miles from my home, I have drained one bottle and stopped to rest more than once. Hot air does not refresh and brings no joy. Fourteen more miles I must go until I come to the service station oasis in Orrick. I turn back toward home.

I have come up Liberty Landing Road to its intersection with Highway 291. I am waiting at the stop sign for the two lanes of northbound traffic to clear so I can cross. When it does, I make it to the yield sign at the median between the northbound and southbound lanes. Just as I stop to wait on southbound traffic to pass, I hear a loud POW! I jump. Did a passing car backfire? I pinch my rear tire. No problem. As I bend forward to pinch my front tire, I see a frayed bulge where tire meets rim. My brand new tire has blown out.

I just bought a new set of tires less than a week ago. Rich and I were going to Iowa for our annual gerVillages of Van Buren Bike Ride. Getting my bike ready the day before we were to leave, I noticed some long brown patches on the bottom of my rear tire. “What does that mean, Dave?’ I asked when I wheeled my bike into Biscari Brother’s Bicycles. Dave Biscari has kept me on the road in all kinds of weather at all times of the year. “It means you need new tires,” Dave said.

When traffic clears, I walk my bike across 291 and across Southview Drive and across South Liberty Baptist Church grounds and up Magnolia one block to my house.

Any day on my bike is a good day. But some days are better than others.