The glare of the Iowa morning was a hot misery indeed, made even more difficult by pedaling

my heavy rig through the stifling humidity. After thanking my host again heartily for her
hospitality and prepared to continue on westward. Before I left the city, however, I had a few
important errands to run, which would eat up a few hours of my day. I jetted over to the bike
shop in town to have an irritating squeak diagnosed, where I learned I was over-lubricating my
chain. Four thousand miles of bicycle touring under my belt, and I still had a lot to learn about
the simple machine upon which my life depended. Of course, the squawking noise
embarrassingly disappeared while I was attempting to demonstrate it to the mechanic, so the he
shrugged it off and said it was not a terminal ailment.
Next, I headed to the library to get some work done for my job with Evaluation Services. I tucked
Petunia under my arm and walked in confidently, and she sat quietly on my lap at a public
computer terminal, not stirring or arousing any complaints. After a couple of hours of analyzing
some web-based survey data, I was ready to cycle away from the town into the vicious July heat.
The road out was flat, passing miles of corn and soy nothingness, but the sweltering 90something degrees with high humidity wilted my spirits. When we reached the small town of
Wilton, although Id only traveled about 20 miles, my animalistic survival-brain was already
scanning the area for a shady shelter.
After acres of monotonous agriculture, an intersection of two country roads came into view. I
saw two industrial type metal warehouses, twins in unremarkability, except for two dusty
pickups parked outside, and I pulled off the road when I saw a man headed towards his vehicle.
There was a modicum of shade between the two buildings, and that was as good of a reason as
any to stop. Trying to maintain a respectful enough distance between us as to avoid sharing my
workout stank, I asked the employee if I could throw down my small tent and camp out on their
property, even though it was only about 2 oclock in the afternoon. He sized up my sweaty
countenance, his expression suggesting hed just been asked whether fish swim on Mercury, but
he said it wouldnt be a problem, so I posted up the tent in the shady crevice between the two
buildings and laid out for a little bit with Petunia, drinking water and making a few phone calls.
My dad told me Id nearly missed a tornado in Illinois, and that flooding in southern Iowa was
happening, but luckily Id remained one step ahead of any natural disasters. The last worker left,
dropping down a long metal driveway barricade behind him, preventing any vehicular access.

After a light supper of granola bars and trail mix for me, and Petunias usual dog food stew, I
went to the side of the building where the worker had informed me there was a spigot, and I had
an ersatz shower beside the cornfield at sunset. The water was surprisingly hot, and it ran warm
during my entire cleanse, and I realized just how hot it was out there all day in the scorching ag
fields. Having washed up, I threw the ball around for Tunes a while, and we tucked into the tent
early for some much needed rest. Night fell, and the stars were incredibly bright, being miles
from nowhere in what felt like a peopleless, boundless state. Despite the heat, I managed to doze
off just after dark, Suddenly, I heard the high speed of heavy metal train cars and a loud
WHOOOOOO WHOOOOOOO that shook the ground. Just across the street was an active train
track, it turned out. In both of my tours, Ive somehow had a knack for accidentally finding
camping next to these noisy monstrosities. That night was no exception, with long, loud trains
bellowing nearby at midnight and three AM. But between their late-night wake up calls,
something interrupted my slumber that made me sit up at full alert. I thought Id heard a mans
voice say the words the truck, and I held my breath, listening in the dark for voices or

footsteps. Maybe it was just a dream, I thought, releasing my grip on the can of mace a bit. But
when I permitted myself to breathe again, the acrid smell of cigarette smoke scorched my nose
and lungs. It was so strong, it was like someone had just lit up in the tent. The workers had set
up a metal do-not-enter bar barricade when they left, and so I didnt think anyone wouldve just
driven in, and I imagined I wouldve heard it if they had come through. It was about 1 oclock in
the morning, and the sense that Id heard a voice and smelled this smoke, the latter certainly
evidence of some other human presence, made me a little creeped out. I opened the tent door,
quietly stepping out and walking to the front of the building. No one, and just the pickup truck
that had been there all night anyway. I cleared my throat and said sternly, Hello? Whos there?
but only silence echoed up toward a star-covered sky. I left the tent door open, airing it out a bit,
and convinced myself that either someone had just passed by and was now gone or the alien
smoke had somehow come from a passing car. I fell asleep with my finger on the safety cap of
the mace, and caught an hour of shut-eye before the next train roared through and rattled me
out of REM sleep.
I was all too happy to get out of there when the sun and the birds woke me up, although Petunia
looked pretty sleepy. The company guys were early birds too, and they were showing up for the
job just as I was rolling out, and I thanked them for letting me crash, not mentioning the
midnight mystery.

The hour of the night

The physical effects of the fear
Desceibes your indecision, about the demorapichs

Flashlight to catch
As well, strike that twice it
Tempterature in the AM,
Temperature in the AM,
Iowa folklore, call local historian,
Strike monstrosity ,make steal beast