Iowa, Apples, Fingers & Toes

Cedar Falls – Vinton, Iowa

The US Department of Agriculture defines a food desert as a place where at least 20% of the residents are low income and where at least 500 people – or 33% of the population – lives at least a mile from the nearest grocery store. 

I don’t know about the low-income part, and I guess I don’t know if there are 500 people in Iowa – but I would guess that 97% of the population – which would be, what, at least 486 people? – lives at least 27 miles from a grocery store. That’s if you count Dollar General. And I guess Diana and I were able to make a meal from Dollar General, so there is a straight-faced argument for including it in the grocery store category.

But seriously, it is crazy how few amenities there are around here. Even when we biked through the U.P. last year there were amenities. I mean many of the businesses were closed, but at least they tried. And for sure there were plenty of dispensaries where you could buy pot if you were so disposed.  

(I can’t remember the cool word for marijuana now. My daughter told me a few weeks ago. Grass? Weed? Whatever I normally say – I think “pot” – she says that saying that marks me as an old person. So I’m trying to change my vocabulary because I’m definitely not old . . . If only I could remember the hip word of today . . .)

Let me share an exception to the lack of amenities that, I think, helps prove the rule with regard to the lack of food options in rural Iowa (is it redundant to say “rural Iowa?”). Here’s a sign we saw along the way yesterday:

I guess I’m not certain what this is referring to – since Diana and I decided not to bike an indeterminate distance out of the way to learn more – but I can only surmise that this is some kind of Iowa confectionary. I mean in Minnesota one says that one is so hungry that “I could eat my own leg” or “I could eat a horse.” We actually have grocery stores around and we still say stuff like this . . . 

The situation being much more dire down here – what with no grocery stores within 27 miles of 97% of the population – I guess it is not going that far out on a limb to think that with a little sugar – or corn syrup here in Iowa – that a finger or a toe could be a delicacy. 

Speaking of corn – and how can you avoid speaking of corn when in Iowa? – the farm stand corn we found yesterday was AMAZING. Sweet. Just the right crispness. Melts in your mouth. So good.

We finally ate our Rochester meal – potatoes, asparagus, butter, and salmon – just a few days later. We didn’t take any chances this time. With the dearth of grocery stores, we purchased everything in the morning and carried it around all day so as to avoid another Dollar General dinner. We were a little worried about things spoiling in the 85 degree heat, but we ingeniously bought vacuum-sealed frozen salmon and then buried everything in our food pack for insulation. Turned out perfect – the salmon had just thawed out when we arrived at our campsite – although my clothes were a little wet from the condensation . . .

Okay, the wind. I know I’m kind of a complainer on this topic – but it is worth a little discussion. Yesterday I decided that it would be a good idea for me to lead the whole day because of Diana’s hamstring injury. But the thing is, I have a speedometer on my bike. Maybe not a good idea. You’re going along at 11 miles per hour into the wind – and you can’t help thinking: “Oh, that’s ridiculous – I can go faster than that . . .”

Maybe so. But after 75 miles of the wind, combined with random sections of gravel road that aren’t exactly a picnic, and with our fully loaded bikes – and don’t forget the fact that the wind in Iowa is different than the wind in Minnesota because there is nothing – NOTHING – to stop the wind – I was COOKED. The little spot on the right side of my lower back that has been bothering me a little for a while was bothering me A LOT last night. 

Lesson? With these loaded bikes you just need to go 11 miles per hour if that’s the speed you should go . . .

Today? I lobbied for a shorter day and we shared the lead (Thank you Diana!). The fact that I’m writing a blog post demonstrates that I’m much better off post-ride than I was yesterday . . .

Now we’re in Vinton – a town with a cute little downtown on the Cedar River. I guess it used to be a resort town . . . 

All day, as we biked along, Diana and I kept thinking about our own Vinton story. It’s not exactly part of this journey but it does involve bikes and it’s our blog, so you get to read about it now . . .

When the girls were young we were always looking for opportunities to help them learn independence. And we kind of hated the whole “play date” thing that seemed to pervade our generation of parenting. After all, when we were young we just went out and found friends. Our parents weren’t manufacturing companions for us . . .

When Lauren was about six or seven she had a friend – Bayard Shaver – that we carpooled with. The Shavers lived about half-a-mile from our house. Go to the corner, turn left, go to Vincent, turn right, and ride down Vincent until you see their house. 

We told Lauren that she should bike over to Bayard’s house to play. So we called the Shavers so they would look for Lauren and then sent her on her way – telling her to just remember Vincent – turn on Vincent. 

My job was to follow at a distance to make sure she went the right way on this, her first trip by herself. I let Lauren get a block or two ahead of me, and then I headed out. 

I’m doing a great job of following, but then I see a neighbor I knew. We started chatting, and the next thing I know, Lauren is out of sight . . . 

“No problem,” I thought, “I’ll just pedal hard and catch up to her on Vincent . . .”

Hmm. No dice. I make it all the way to the Shavers and there is no sign of Lauren. Taylor (Bayard’s dad) and I make a plan. He’ll take the car and look for her, and I’ll continue on my bike. 

I’m getting a little panicky now. All our big talk about independent kids seems to be blowing up in our faces . . . 

Diana’s mad at me: “I thought you were following her to make sure she arrived safely!”

Not good.

Fortunately, Taylor finds her about a mile down the parkway – biking along contentedly – having no idea that she’s not actually headed toward Bayard’s house. 

When quizzed, Lauren says, “Well, I’m looking for Vinton. Vinton and Vinton.”

I guess, in addition to my obvious parenting negligence, we also neglected to take into account that our kids were in Chinese immersion. They were learning Chinese characters, but they hadn’t yet learned to read. 

So that’s our Vinton story . . .

I know I promised to talk about Kwik Star and teddy bears as well – but those topics will have to wait. Time is limited with the debate tonight . . .

But I will make one more observation on the Iowa food front. For those who have read my posts from our Toronto trip last year, you know that I love foraging for stuff – especially apples. Given that we are starting out in September, I was pretty excited to do some great apple foraging on this trip. I mean, then you get to eat apples – which I love – and, even better, Diana makes her famous baked apples.

Do you know how many apples I have found so far? One. And it is questionable whether that even counts. Normally we only forage random trees just growing along roads or in abandoned fields or whatever. Yesterday’s one apple? It came from someone’s yard in LeRoy. I mean they even had the tree strapped to a telephone pole to hold it up so the tree wouldn’t break – clear evidence that this was NOT an abandoned field or anything. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And, I mean, I was concerned for the tree and thought it would be a good idea to lighten the load a little. 

The only saving grace? It was a super good apple. 

But, really, Iowa, you need to work on your apple game. Basically no apple trees. Which probably relates to the fact that there is basically no public land and no abandoned land – I guess this farmland is too valuable. (On the flip side, I guess it’s not necessarily a great statement for the U.P. that the whole place seems to be abandoned . . .)

Signing off from Vinton (the town, not the street)