How I almost killed Rebecca and Bill
If Bob Dylan had been born in International Falls, Minnesota instead of Duluth, he might have titled his 1965 Album and song Highway 71 instead of Highway 61.* But Duluth it was and 61 we got. Both highways travel north to south in the middle of America and finish up in Louisiana. 61 starts in Duluth and 71 in International Falls. Dylan had 61. Rebecca and I have 71. We live in two Iowa cities, 323 miles apart, Decorah in the northeast and Clarinda in the southwest. When we drive from Decorah to Clarinda, we know that once we hit Highway 71 we are 45 minutes or three of Dylan’s longest songs – Murder Most Foul, Highlands, and Tempest – away from our Clarinda home. This 1500 mile slab of concrete, road kill, and contoured farm land offered-up this week two more stories, on Highway 71.
The day I almost killed Rebecca and Bill, on Highway 71
My blog readers know about Rebecca’s Ragbrai rehearsals. The Des Moines Register’s 2021 454 mile bike ride across Iowa starts in western Iowa today and so we were in Clarinda this past week for final preparations. On Wednesday, Rebecca and retired physician friend Bill started out early in the morning on a 30 mile excursion on county roads around the southwest corner of Iowa. I dropped Rebecca at Bill’s and then 45 minutes later started down Highway 71 to St. Joseph, Missouri. More on why I was going to St. Joseph below.
A few miles south of Clarinda, as I was listening to Spotify’s Jimmy Buffet station, my phone navigator told me I would be arriving at Panera Bread in St. Joseph 20 minutes early. So plenty of time, mellow Buffet-music, and the upcoming Braddyville, Iowa speed trap encouraged me to slow down to 50 MPH. Yes, I know, an old guy behind the wheel of a slow moving car In Iowa, how many times has THAT GUY been in front of me over the years. I glanced up to the rear view mirror and then over to the side mirror and saw a semi truck passing me on the left of this two lane road. I then looked ahead and saw two bikers smack-dab in the semi’s road path. I thought
You’ve got to be kidding me. My negligence caused an impatient truck driver to take a reckless chance that will kill those two bikers. What will I tell the police?
Of course, the bikers quickly moved onto 71’s narrow shoulder and the truck eased into the right lane, with about 50 yards to spare. Whew! And then I saw Rebecca’s grey biking shirt and Bill’s yellow biker jersey. I waved, increased my speed to 59 MPH, and muttered
Why are Rebecca and Bill riding their bikes, on Highway 71
Two old friends, on Highway 71
Joe and I had not seen each other or talked in 35 years. We both are 71, 1971 graduates of St. Ambrose College, and our current homes are linked by Highway 71. A few college friends and I have been planning a 50 year reunion in Davenport, Iowa in August. Joe was on my list of contacts and so I called him a few months ago. “I don’t do reunions,” he said. “That’s Joe,” I thought. Since Joe lives in Fairway, KS, just south of Kansas City, about two hours from Clarinda, I suggested we meet some day about half way between our towns. Wednesday worked for both of us and we decided on Panera’s in St. Joseph, Missouri, on Interstate 29, about five miles south of 71.
Panera Bread has always been one of my favorite places. I love its Bear Claw pastry, tolerance of its customers’ long stays, and good memories. When my mom visited Decorah, I would take her to the Panera’s in Rochester, MN or LaCrosse, WI. And when I visited her in Davenport, my brother Pat would join us on Saturday and Sunday mornings at Panera’s. And Rebecca and I first met at Panera’s in Ames, Iowa, half way between Clarinda and Decorah. On that first date years ago, we talked for a couple of hours over breakfast, decided to walk around Iowa State University, and finished-up back at Panera’s for lunch. Something good had begun. So Panera’s is a special place and funny enough there was one in St. Joseph, just off 71.
We see ourselves in the mirror everyday and lose sight of how much we are aging. We are like the frog in water that does not try to get out until it is too late. Until we meet an old friend. Joe was waiting for me when I walked into Panera’s. He looked good, for being 71. Momentarily I felt like that old frog that had been thrown into boiling water. Then Joe and I shook hands, exchanged some niceties and walked to the counter to place our orders. Joe ordered a Bear Claw. And then we remembered-together for about three hours.
Can you imagine us
Years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy
Simon and Garfunkle sang those words from the song Old Friends in 1968, when Joe and me were 19. The song is about two 70 year old men reminiscing. They wonder what did we think old age would be like, when we were young. Toward the end of our remembering-time, I asked Joe, “would you want to be 19 again?” “No,” he said. “Perfect,” I thought. And “how terribly strange to again be nineteen.” Lastly,
71 is good enough.
On Highway 71
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*Bob Dylan probably titled both song and album Highway 61 for two reasons. He was born in Duluth, where 61 begins. But Highway 61 also runs down the Mississippi and is connected to the development of the Blues. See Highway 61 revisited.
