Potosi, Wisconsin

I focus on my breath as I try to pull my cart up another winding hill in Wisconsin. The cornfields surrounding me have been the focus of my silly songs that I make up as I go to not count the minutes or rotations of my wheels. I look down at my hands as my nails come into focus. They are getting longer, I realise, as they dig into my palms.
I'm pulling into a bar in Potosi when an older couple asks about my bike. We have a short chat and I head to the tap. I realize as I order my second beer that I shouldn't be spending what little money I have on liquid that does little to help my progress. My new years resolution was to not purchase any alcohol for myself, or sugary sweets. I sigh as I contemplate my dinner of the remaining cherry jam Craig gave me. I have the ends of the bread to eat, which have somehow become my favorite part of the bread.
My cell service has ceased for the most part, but wifi is helpful for sending messages to those who are keeping track of me. I look at google maps to find public land to hang a hammock on. The large plots of land that were abundant in Minnesota have quickly disappeared, but I spot a graveyard. The birds-eye view gives me an idea of two trees that seem like they would be perfect to hold my hammock.
I meet the couple again in the museum of the brewhouse, learning that Curt and Kristi are both teachers. I get asked for what wont be the last time what I am going to do for school. Curt tells me that when he was going to college, northern Wisconsin was short on teachers. The schools would pay half the tuition if you were going for a teaching degree. What really hit me was the tuition the students had to cover was $150, which has greatly increased over the 40 years since then.
I took a deep breath and said "I have an odd question", which I asked if they had two trees I could hang a hammock in for two days. A heat wave with highs of 115 is sweeping through, and the last thing I need is to make myself sick pushing hard through the weather. They were very kind, and helped me fit my little rig into their car.
They offered the option of hanging my hammock, sleeping in the workshop, one of their grown daughters rooms, or the tree house. A bed is such a sweet feeling after the miles of repetitive leg movements and terrible posture.
They built the house in the early 70's, and it's consistently been called The Shire, which fits just perfectly into the feeling of the all-wood home filled with plants, hand spun wool, and pottery.
I joined Kristi to the local campus library, where I'm borrowing wifi and air conditioning to catch up on some writing.

Thank you for keeping up with my not-always-consistent posts. Who knows what the days will bring, but they have been nothing short of magical thus far. Stay safe, trust in others, keep your heart open, and trust your gut.