Fremont, Ohio - There's a sort of vaguely defined line where the Midwest begins its inevitable transformation into the East. I'm pretty sure I passed it sometime yesterday.
You barely notice it, but the fields of corn and soybeans seem to become smaller. The scrawny rows of trees separating them grow larger and appear closer together. The farmhouses give way to tract houses, the roads get better, and there are more and more lawns. Towns come at you every hour, instead of twice a day.
That's where I am now, climbing up (or, depending on your point of view, sliding down) that long and steady slope into civilization. I blew through Indiana in about a day and a half - it's not very wide, after all - and pulled into Ohio midday yesterday. The wind has suddenly turned in my favor, and I'm about 50 miles away from my uncle's house outside of Cleveland, where I'll spend 2 or 3 days visiting - or, I hope, being visited by - my various relatives in the area. (Chmuras, Boumans, et al take note.)
It's been a strange sensation being back in Ohio; we used to go here every year or so growing up. Even though I've never been to this particular area, for the first time in this trip the terrain feels familiar to me. The towns, the roads, even the little ranch homes all bring back memories of the 13-hour drives to Cleveland we'd ritually take every summer. It's a lot more fun on a bike, though.
Aside from the memory-stirring, however, Ohio has proven pretty unspectacular. In fact, so did Indiana. But both places benefitted substantially from not being Illinois, which has probably set the standard for drabness on this trip. There have been moments of beauty in both the latter states, times when I pulled to a stop on an isolated road and watched the corn sway in the breeze and a hawk sail through a shining blue sky. I can't really say that about Illinois.
I should note that, unfortunately, I did not make it to the Circus Hall of Fame in Indiana, due to bad timing. I even more unfortunately missed the Dan Quayle Museum, only because I just learned of its existence 10 minutes ago. This is all my fault for not doing more research.
I had planned to spend this afternoon in Fremont at the Rutherford B. Hayes Presidential Library and Museum, commemorating the president who ... um, you know, courageously led the nation through tumultuous times. And stuff. Then I got to the door and saw the prices: $6 to see the Museum. Another $6 to see the Hayes home. Or the bargain price of $10.50 for both. Ten-fifty! This wasn't Lincoln, people! It wasn't Roosevelt! It wasn't even Wilson, or Monroe! Ten-fifty for Rutherford B. Hayes!
So I skipped it, instead walking the grounds and visiting the Hayes' tomb, which fortunately was free. I'm all about seeing semi-obscure slices of Americana, but I do have an objection to paying through the nose for them.
On to Cleveland!