Author Archives: TaminFrance

Now that we are done walking and Greg is flying home, I finally have time and energy to reflect on our walk. Whew! First, it was harder than either of us imagined. Second, if we had given ourselves more time, we could have walked fewer miles each day and had more time to enjoy the towns we visited. Third, three weeks traveling with one’s spouse (or with anyone for that matter) makes one appreciate being alone.

Our plan was to walk from Le Puy en Velay to Alès. It’s the entire modern Stevenson trail, about 267 kilometers or about 166 miles. Stevenson only walked from Le Monastier sur Gazeille (where he purchased his donkey Modestine to carry all of his things) to St. Jean du Gard (where he sold her at a loss because she was no longer fit to travel) So he never walked the first and last sections of the modern trail, but he did visit both those towns. His 12-day walk with his donkey was perhaps about 200 kilometers or about 124 miles. It’s hard to know his exact path, but the towns he stayed in are well documented in his book. After he sold his broken-down beast of burden, he took the diligence (a French stagecoach of sorts) to Alès, eager for news of his beloved Fanny.

We, on the other hand, started in Le Puy en Velay with Greg carrying 30 pounds of our camping stuff on his back. (I knew my limits & carried only 10 pounds.) Walking around here is nothing like walking around Johnston!

My donkey was done in after those first two days, when he learned that he could not carry all that weight up and down the rocky paths. (When Greg is too tired to eat, you know it’s serious.) We then used the Malle Postale (a French travel business whose motto is “hike light” or in French: “Randonnez légèrement”) Things went much better after that change and our sabbath from walking to start refreshed.

Our final statistics: 10 walking days covering about 122 miles. On average, we walked about 12 miles each walking day. We started walking on September 13 in Le Puy en Velay and stopped our walk in St Jean du Gard on the 27th. As I work to catch up on my blog, you’ll discover that we preferred short days and truly loved our rest days. (Glad we scheduled extra days to do the walk.) But we never gave up – and we had no tears or meltdowns or big fights. I’m still trying to figure out exactly what we learned by walking the Stevenson Trail in France this September, but perhaps by filling in the gaps of our journey, I’ll figure it out.

Stevenson’s original journal (only published for the first time in 1978 in conjunction with the 100th anniversary of his walk) revealed a lot of his anxiety and distress, whereas the edited and published version (which came out a few months after his walk in 1878) had a pleasant and humorous tone. Hahaha. I get it. I’m hoping to find meaning and humor in our journey (now that the pain has left my legs and feet) as I slowly look back – while relaxing in Nimes, a beautiful once-Roman city about 30 minutes by train from Alès, the terminus of the Stevenson Trail. Thanks for your patience and thanks for reading!

A new flower on a path this morning. We got off the path before reaching Florac. Still beautiful.

We loved covering only 6 miles on our 3rd walking day – from Le Bouchet-Saint-Nicolas to our campground near Rauret. So lovely, peaceful, rural and calm. Everything was about conserving resources, respecting nature, living in harmony with nature & others. The wind blew strong all night but we were cozy and safe in our new tent. No more than 20 guests are allowed per night and there were only three small cabins and several grassy tent sites overlooking the Mini mountains of the Massif Centrale to the south. We were rested & ready to advance on the Stevenson Trail.

Day 2 was hard. Greg was carrying 30 pounds on his back and walking up long hills on very rocky paths. And then we had to descend those same rocky, treacherous, narrow paths. The flat paths and views from on high were beautiful and walking along the high trails is heaven for me.

It was about 7:15 pm when we finally made it to Le Bouchet-Saint-Nicholas and La Potala, our old French guest house that was built in 1637. We had walked more than 14 miles. Greg was too tired to eat. He somehow carried himself and his bag to the third floor and crashed. We decided to take a real sabbath from walking on Sunday and stay there a second night.

More to come: we start our walk this morning after a day of rest in Le Puy.

Bridge over the East Nishnabotna River Northwest of Griswold

My writing and my riding are both activities I put off – and yet I need them to be happy. Here’s an update on my preparation for my very first Ragbrai. I have decided that this Verve 3 Trek IS the bike I will ride across the state of Iowa, God willing, all 432 miles of it from the Missouri River to the Mississippi, this July. I’m not riding this Ragbrai for the hills – I’m riding it because it passes through so many towns where I have family, history, or friends. (My parents met on the square in Red Oak in 1955 and my brother Charly lives in Griswold right now.) Why let a few hills stop me from doing something If have always wanted to do? Greg kept telling me to buy an electric bike. I even went back to Bike World to try an electric one and several other lighter, sportier, more athletic bikes. I could have exchanged the above bike for a “better” one. But when I rode this one the next day, I knew that I had already chosen the right bike for me. Why? I want to sit up and cruise across the state seeing what I’m going by. I want to be able to step through easily. When I stop, I need to be able to just stand down right where I am, and the step-through “girls” bike makes that possible. These tires are sturdy, treaded, and wide enough for me to feel grounded and even okay on gravel. I can shift easily with my 18 gears, but I usually only use 9 of them. And it’s simple, just like me. I know I need to get a few more accessories such as some sort of rear-view mirror and a light bag, but I’m committed to making this bike work – and if necessary, walking up many of the hundreds of hills I will encounter on the hilliest Ragbrai ever, across beautiful, rolling southern Iowa. I may not be a strong bicyclist yet, but I am a strong walker.

This farm dog joined me a mile before the bridge.

So, I’m doing a 3-Day Silent Ignition Retreat at the Creighton University Retreat Center, and riding the gravel roads near the retreat center seemed like a great way to continue my silence while getting in some training miles. I left around 3:30 on Friday, and found the hills excellent for my work-out. Love the downhills! Had to be careful not to go too fast because I could easily wipe out, and the ditches are deep over here. I passed several horses and heard birds of all sorts. We are encouraged to listen to our feelings, to nature, and God as we do this retreat. I was doing all that – and listening to my heart that wanted to sing as I beheld such beauty from the high point of my ride. The song “How can I keep from singing” came out of my mouth and I wondered if God would be okay with my singing during the three days of enforced silence. I refrained from singing too much. Then on the flat, the Collie dog just ran beside me, wanting to join in the movement beside the newly-planted fields. His owner yelled at him to come back, and I slowed down to let him do that, but the dog continued with me. I did NOT encourage him or speak to him. I just noted that I had a friend along my silent way. At the bridge, I thought, he really needs to turn back. I thought he would, but no, after I remounted, he still came along. I was not going to get too close to HWY 48, for once I had a beautiful dog who would not obey who ran in front of a white van and later died. I was worried about the dog, but I also knew I was just doing a training ride, and it wasn’t my place to stop and ride him back to his home. A white pick-up passed me and parked up ahed. She yelled at the dog and lifted him into the cab. I waved at her a couple times, so happy and thankful that the dog was safe and going home, but she did not look at me and had an angry look on her face. Hmmm. Oh well. I guess she doesn’t love me as much as I love her. I tried not to let that bother me. Once I got to HWY 48, I took pictures of a pretty horse and I headed south on the flat – love flat passages. A man mowing his lawn waved at me. An older man on the north side of the road smiled, waved, and said: “You’ve got as long way to go!” And I replied, “I’m training for Ragbrai!” He said that it was going to pass right by here and I said I’ve heard that. He had a tan face and reminded me of my father who grew up just a county away.

Just North of Griswold on HWY 48

I rode on the wide shoulder south into town, not wanting to risk competing with local traffic. The sign proved true, for my pace was much slower that I usually ride in Johnston, when I go on all paved bike paths or sidewalks or streets. Luckily, there was no road work and taking a short cut through Griswold gave me a view of many nice homes with several friendly smiling folks and a couple parks. It too was flat, and I made good time. I always feel happy in this small town – maybe because brother Charly lives here.

Amazing Grace on corner west out of Griswold on HWY 92

I stopped at this corner before leaving Griswold to drink some water, check my Strava data, and look forward to traversing the flat East Nishnabotna River bottom ahead of me. It was going to be great. The wind would be behind me at last. Signs of God’s presence were all around me own my ride, but this corner with three crosses, a rock, beautiful plantings, and “Amazing Grace” was explicit. The nearest house appears to be a former church, but I don’t know that for sure. Maybe if I keep doing this 10.5 mile loop from CURC I will be able to ask the owners. I loved the flat, and crossing the same river going west this time was easy with the wind helping me – no dogs – just several fast pickups barreling by.

I turned right (north) on Contrail Avenue, the winding gravel road that leads up many hills to the plateau from which one turns right to regain the Retreat Center. I’ve learned that it was an old Indian path and I’ve also learned that many other Native people lived here and that the Pottawattamie often camped along the East Nishnabotna banks. That was in the 1800s, before they were asked, nay required, to leave this beautiful area. I rode up the winding gravel road and saw a yellow cat on the left near an abandoned farmstead and many colorful chickens on the very steep right bank near an active farm. I finally gave up shifting pedaling and walked my trusty steed up and around a few more curves before reaching a high flat again. Cows, gardens, old farm buildings, beautiful views, and finally the entrance to the Retreat Center. I was almost home! I love the views from up there. West to the sunset toward Council Bluffs over so many farm fields, East over the river valley, to Griswold, to Lyman, and all the way to the Cumberland water tower, I think. A dream I have is to ride from CURC to Cumberland (my mother’s birthplace) – but it may not happen before Ragbrai, when I will get to roll into Cumberland anyway. I rode 10.50 miles on this first loop. I had to go to my silent supper at five. After supper, I got back on my bike and did the same thing again. No dog followed me and not so many people were out working or waving. The two loops made 21 miles. My training goal for that day was 20. Wow. I’m happy whenever I can set a goal do it – not to mention exceed it. By the way, Griswold is located in Cass County, and the CURC is located in Pottawattamie County. How cool to train in two counties! I hope you are doing things that make you happy. If you can connect with something I’ve mentioned here, please let me know!

I’ve always loved Easter Sunday, almost as much as Palm Sunday, my all-time favorite thanks to the palm branch procession. But back to Easter. In my family, church was never missed. I loved the wonderful hymns like “Christ the Lord is Risen Today,” the Easter lilies, the pastors’ white robes and the newly-changed white altar coverings, the candles, the cross being carried in, and robed choirs and the trumpets and all the other children in their Easter best. I would usually get a new Easter dress, and for sure I would wear yellow or pink and my best white shoes – no matter that it was before Memorial Day. Early in the morning, we had our in-house Easter egg hunt. A special meal of ham and scalloped potatoes and deviled eggs and carrot cake and more was ready after church. I think I took all of that for granted. Now I know that not all children had those traditions. Of course I should have appreciated my parents more than I did before they passed on.

But yesterday, March 31, 2024, I had another special Easter Sunday. I had not planned to even be at home or to worship at my home church. We had a Colorado week away planned and no family gathering to rush home to. I thought maybe we would be in Nebraska still, worshipping in some random church and eating in a Cracker Barrel or something. I knew I wasn’t going to be making any meal and there were no children at home for me to hide eggs from. But an old friend had invited us to share Easter lunch with them. How nice. Wow. If we got home on Saturday evening from our Colorado trip, we could worship at Grace and have lunch with our friends. So we did.

I wish I had photos from church at Grace, but just being there with several other families in the balcony listening to the hymns, hearing our Iowa Annual Conference United Methodist Bishop Kennetha Bigham-Tsai preach was a special blessing. And our choir and bells and our children who decorated a plain cross with flowers, and then to have it lifted high – very high almost to the ceiling of the huge Grace sanctuary – it was mystical, even as a few flowers fell from the cross. Later, the large congregation filed up front in four lines to be served communion. How good it was to see so many at Grace again. To see the sunlight streaming through the western red window. From lament to hope, a community of love filled that huge worship space once again. Would that each Sunday could be that filled, that joyful. Coffee afterward in the basement meant connecting with church friends. All of this before driving to our friends’ home twenty-five minutes away.

The table was set. They had La Mie pastries cut into small pieces.

Two egg casseroles and a bright fruit salad made our table cheerful and inviting. Their high school daughter said grace and we enjoyed conversation and laughter and delicious food. And homemade chocolate cookies. And coffee. I realized how very fortunate I was to have friends who would make room for me at their table. How often do I do the same for others? We could have declined and enjoyed another day of our “getaway.” And yet how much better was this Easter, the Easter that was waiting for us all along at home. May you have adventures, wonderful worship wherever you go, and many shared tables in your life. I will try to be more grateful for what I have and be more willing to invite others to my humble table, knowing that the invitation and the sharing is what it is all about.