Suddenly, the house is empty. Just for a small while, but still, soulless. As if all energy has been sucked out and tossed over the balcony rail.
I bike to Ed’s, losing myself in the curvy bike lane and the tall flowers of August.
Purchase photo 1970
I shed one bike and hop on the other, the motor driven one. We roar east to Cambridge. Wisconsin’s Cambridge. I haven’t been through this small town in maybe fifteen years. Has it changed? No.
Purchase photo 1969
Oh, fine. The ancient cars are just passing through. Still, people-wise, it’s an empty town. Stores say “open,” but for some, that’s just plain wrong. And, as in so many small town main streets around here, there are very very few people out and about. This may well be the bulk of the downtown crowd:
Purchase photo 1968
We go to Ripley Park, at the edge of Cambridge. The lake side is crowded. It’s very late in the afternoon, but you'd hardly know it. People are drawn to water. Even in its murky state.
Okay, at some point, you have to head home.
And we do. Past cornfields, soy fields and tobacco fields. Past silos, farmhouses and tobacco barns.
Purchase photo 1967
Purchase photo 1966
One more hill climb, one more bridge crossing a river and we're back on the main road, heading home. Sleepy quiet home.
Purchase photo 1965
Purchase photo 1964