Indy to Richmond in IN – Bicycling in Indiana

Day 31 – Indianapolis to Richmond in Indiana - Confederate flags, Ragtime, and Red Hat Ladies

Another installment in my description of my bicycle ride across the country.

I’m sure my dreams meander through bed bugs and other worse things that might be crawling around the room as I try to sleep. I’m up and out the door well before dawn, looking for a place close by to escape the awful room and have some breakfast. Few things are as comforting as breakfast food, and I slather on a little comfort before saddling up and making my way down the road.

Today I’ll ride about 90 miles to Richmond. Dave is driving today, making his way toward Richmond too. We’ll meet up there in Richmond, and complete the ride to the east coast together. Dave isn’t able to take the long chunks of time off from work that I can, so he rode the section from Kansas to Indianapolis earlier in the summer.

I’m really looking forward to connecting with Dave again, and having companionship on the ride. I enjoy being alone, and I enjoy the company of people I care about. Alone and together – it’s always seemed like a symbiotic relationship to me. My alone time helps me appreciate the time I get to spend with friends, and my together time helps me appreciate solitude when I get it.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found myself becoming more protective of both my alone time and my together time. Both are too precious to me to waste on the company of the wrong people. Dave is the right people, and I’m really looking forward to our time together.

I make my way “through” Indy by crossing on secondary and suburban roads to the south of town. I find the going pretty easy, with few places where I feel at-risk. (Well, any more at risk than any cyclist feels any day on the road with cars and trucks…) There’s a light rain or mist falling throughout the morning, and again today I have a quartering headwind. The rain is never enough to really get me soaked – it’s very light and intermittent – just enough to keep the road damp most of the time, with a brief light shower now and then.

Once I’m SE of Indy, the road becomes increasingly rural. I’m struck by the preponderance of houses who fly the confederate flag. Many times, I see a flagpole out in front, flying the confederate flag on top and something else (maybe a state flag or something else) beneath it. No US flag…

Not that I’m a big flag person. I think flags in general can too quickly become overly nationalistic, and overt nationalism (in any flavor) always leads to nasty things in my opinion. Many years ago, we were part of a Lutheran church while we lived in Cincinnati. Most folks in the congregation probably leaned pretty far to the right politically, and it was in that era when the Republicans were working hard to establish themselves as the party that liked the American flag the most. (Is that era over yet?) There was a big push on the part of many members in the congregation to get the American flag up by the alter, and this created a power struggle between Pastor Ed and the flag folks.

Now, I can’t tell you whether Ed was a Republican or a Democrat. He and I were good friends, but he never let his political views be known to anyone in the congregation. What he did make clear was his opinion that politics and nationalism had no place in The Church. Ed’s religion was far older than the United States of America. It was older than any of the national entities that all of our ancestors emigrated from. He believed strongly that trying to let nationalism coattail with religion just whored up the religion. (My words, not his.)

So he fought that battle, and won. No American flag in church. The Republicans all wore their American flag lapel pins to church on Sunday mornings, and the Democrats all drove their Volvos. But in church, Ed made sure we were all spiritual beings seeking spiritual sustenance. He made sure nationalism didn’t creep up onto the alter.

I’m remembering Ed and his battle this morning, as I notice all the confederate flags flying. Are these folks still fighting the civil war, 150 years after it ended? Are they trying to make some political statement about states rights? Are they rabid racists looking for a way to say so without being blatant? Are they folks who hate America and want to secede?

Who knows why they do it. I suppose someone with hard nationalist leanings would be offended that they fly the stars and bars and ignore the stars and stripes, but I just don’t have those leanings. To me, all it means is that I’m skirting the northern edge of The South now, and I’ll probably be seeing more of this.

Thinking of my friend Ed, I realize that I really am a spiritual being, just seeking spiritual sustenance. What I have and what I seek has very little to do with little nationalistic things like flags or stars or bars or stripes. It’s deeper and older than that.

The road is narrow and deserted. Cresting a hill, I see a doe and two fawns playing in the road down at the bottom of the long grade. The woods encroach on the narrow road from both sides, and as was the case yesterday, the deer don’t see me as much of a threat as I stop at the top of the hill to watch them. They’re oblivious to flags and stripes and bars, just looking to enjoy the beautiful fall day.

Making my way up through Carthage and along the Carthage Pike, I’m surprised at the Quaker presence. After riding along a road with several confederate flags, I realize that I’m probably riding right along a seam of political dissonance that goes back quite a ways. There are militant folks longing for a return to the days of slavery, glorifying the American Civil War with their confederate flags, right alongside folks who won’t fight in wars, and were among the most strident abolitionists in the days of the civil war.

Arriving in Knightstown, I wander up and down the street just a bit until I find the Knightstown Diner. I’m leaning my bike up against a post out front when a young fella named Kevin says hi and starts a little conversation out front. Turns our Kevin owns the diner, along with Justin. Kevin opens the door for me, and as we walk in, he introduces me around to everyone.

I mean, really, is this small-town America at its best or what? The owner of the diner greets me on the street, holds the door for me, and introduces me around to the local folks as I come in.

At the table next to me are Rick and Marcus. They’re brothers, and Justin’s uncles. They’re probably my age, and we have great conversation over lunch. Their mom died about a year ago, and they’re in town today taking care of some final estate details. Their closeness to and love for their nephew is obvious, and I feel lucky to be welcomed into their circle so warmly.

Turns out both Rick and Marcus are from Kansas, just like me. We’re all from the same place, meeting here over the lunch counter. Will the serendipity never end…

While we’re eating and talking, the Red Hat Ladies are gathering at the big table at the front of the diner. It’s their meeting day, and they’re raucous and joyous as they gather and chat. One of them, who I had met when I came in, leans over and pulls me into their conversation. She introduces me around the table, telling me little bits about each of the ladies. One gal – who must have been over 80 – had just had liver surgery a couple weeks ago. Here she was out and about, chatting it up with her Red Hat friends, just 2 weeks after a big surgery.

I’ll have some of what she’s having…

A fella about my age walks in the front door, and over to the piano in the corner. They introduce me to him as well. Turns out he’s the husband of one of the Red Hatters, and he comes to their meetings and plays piano now and again. I listen as he pounds out some ragtime, then say my goodbyes and head for the door.

Rick and Marcus walk me out, and we say our goodbyes standing out on the sidewalk. The sound of muted ragtime drifts through the front window of the diner, birds squabble around us in the trees, a car slowly drifting past on the road now and then. This might be the friendliest place on earth.

Here I am, in the middle of nowhere America, right on the seam between strongly held political beliefs. I just had a great lunch in a diner that might (or might not) be run by a couple gay guys. I like to think they are, because that makes the love and support they get from their family and their community that much more meaningful in the context of this seam that I’m riding across. I’m a middle-aged guy in spandex, riding his bike across the country, and these folks all welcome me into their world with warmth and love and concern that overwhelms me.

Once again, I realize I must be the luckiest guy on earth.

Arriving in Richmond, I only beat Dave by a few minutes. We fall immediately and without discussion into our tried and true traveling routine, showering, washing clothes in the sink, getting ready for supper.

Routine feels good.

We throw down some calories at the Arby’s up the street, lamenting a weather forecast that talks of a good chance of rain tomorrow.

What will be will be.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat that doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me

From “Warning”, by Jenny Joseph. The “anthem” of the Red Hat Ladies