A Jew in the Bible Belt

We sighted the St. Louis arch on Wednesday as we crested a small mountain.  The day was murky, but through the haze and the sweat in our eyes, we convinced ourselves that out there, about 100 miles in the distance, that was Saint Louis.  It only occurred to me later that I've been trying to get here since we left Red River Gorge.  As our only real destination, it has been our beacon as we crossed through rural towns in Western Kentucky and Illinois.  So you see, it isn't that strange that as we stood up on that hill, that sheer joy actually came into our hearts.  And words fall short of the feelings when, as we rounded a bluff, riding through the Mississippi's flood plain, we first sighted the glimmer of the famous arch as a monolithic tower on the horizon.

Geoff stretches before the great Mississippi.  This historic site called Fort Kaskaskia overlooks what was once the capital of Illinois, before it was swallowed up by the Mississippi's when it changed its course. 

Both photos show the bluffs, which were ever present to the West as we followed the Mississippi River up to St. Louis.

But I am getting ahead of myself.  This story actually picks up in Sebree, KY.  I get this feeling as we ride that some force conspires to ensure we appreciate the progress we make and the generosity we receive.  That's how I rationalize our ride into Sebree.  We had decided to postpone our rest day and ride the final 50 miles to Sebree, fabled to have "the best bike hostel on the TransAm," according to Ernst at the bike shop in Danville and then confirmed by countless blogs on the interwebs.  But, when I woke up on Saturday morning and stepped out of my tent, it promptly blew away.  The rain from the night before left a sky of beautiful blue and a wind that cut swiftly through the air, directly into our direction of travel.  Yet despite sore legs and wind that slowed us to a crawl, we arrived in Sebree, population 1,000.  We knew our destination was a church and assumed we could just ask around to find it.  We didn't anticipate that there would be 20 churches in town.  Fortunately a conscientious citizen noticed us looking dazed on a corner and figuring that these two bearded men in lycra were probably from out of town, pointed us towards our church.

Internet lore spoke of the First Baptist Church of Sebree, KY as a modern traveler's oasis.  I will add my part to the meme.  We entered the church parking lot and moments later were ushered into the pastor's home.  I didn't realize I was cold until stepping into the warmth of that home; the chill was totally diffused when hot chocolate was served.   The church basement doubles as youth center and bicycle vagabond housing.  We were the only two cyclists there that weekend, but not the first of the season and nearly 200 more were expected before the winter.  Kitchen, bathroom (with shower), laundry, mattresses, ping-pong table, pool table, big-screen TV...it all was a bit much, but who am I to complain?

As it was Saturday night, conversation with the Violet, the pastor's wife, naturally moved to what we planned to do that night.  Violet made cursory reference to 'Curt's thing' happening that night.  It turned out that Curt, the Pastor's son, who lives in Sebree on a 100 acres hosts an annual Spring bonfire celebration.  It was happening tonight.  We were welcomed to join.  They were expecting about 50 folks and had been cooking up BBQ all day.  Oh, and they had a stage set up for a band this year.  We were warned, though, "there'll be beer there.. do you drink beer?"  Exhausted and relieved to be at our destination, it took all my power to stop from simultaneously laughing and crying as Violet listed the details of the evening's affair.  With a sort of pained, smiling expression, I agreed to go to the bonfire attempting to feign stoicism at the idea - this was a man of God after all, I probably shouldn't seem too enthused about the idea of drink and debauchery.

The Ass-Scratchin' Rodeo Band was good enough to draw folks away from the hot fire on this cold night.

What do you get when you add a 10' stack of wood and hydraulic fluid...?  Toss in some pickup trucks, moonshine, and Milwaukee's Best kegs.  That's what I call a good time.

Sunday in Sebree means one thing.  Church.  And God doesn't much care if you have a hangover or that you went to sleep at 2am.  Sure I'm not particularly religious, or Christian, but when a kind man lets you sleep in his church and then his son invites you to his party and treats you like an old friend, you figure the least you can do is go to mass.  I must have gotten extra credit for hitting the pre-mass bible study.  Despite much harping about Jesus being pretty great, no one mentioned the fact that as a non-believer I was hell-bound, so I found the whole affair to be pleasant and interesting from a social anthropologist's vantage.

The delegation was composed of a group linked from childhood by their faith and being locked in this community.  As a NYer, small-town life like this is the material of nightmares, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that these folks were not just content, but happy here.  The twenty-somethings, some of which had moved away and returned to Sebree, explained the importance of being close to their families and raising their children (most people my age had already reproduced) in a close community like they had been raised in.  While employment was limited in town to the church, coal mining and education, this didn't seem to be an issue for anyone I met, simply a fact of life.  Children smiled and greeted us warmly, without sarcasm or disrespect, which is something I've never encountered outside of a book.  I never heard a raised voice, never a word of reprimand.  Twilight zone stuff.

Geoff and I with Pastor Bob and wife Violet

A note about photography.  Back in Red River Gorge, my camera met its demise, took its last shuttering breath.  Since then, I have been photographing with a disposable camera with photos relevant to this post and which I've added to this post.  In Southern Illinois, my new camera arrived in the post.