Illinois

We woke up to a frosty morning (15 degrees..brr!) and a breakfast of some wonderful apple-cinnamon muffins in a Wheaton College apartment. After finishing off our tea and packing up our van, we set off on our journey. Our initial encounter with Route 66 was in Joliet, where we found the 'City of Spires' to be quiet and the route well-marked.

We had heard about the trouble folks can have trying to follow the old route now that the interstate has taken over the territory. Yes, there are signs, but you really have to pay attention. The drive lead us along narrow roads that twisted and turned through corridors lined with barren trees and small farms. The frosty weather certainly contributes to this sentiment, but there is something slightly eerie about the silence and stillness of the towns along the Mother Road. It is clear that these were once essential outposts along life-altering pilgrimages for so many.

In Dwight, we were ready to get out and see a historical landmark. Turns out there was a windmill, remembered as the town's pillar of strength (see photo!). These little outcroppings of homes and small businesses are silent this time of the year --we drove through many without seeing one soul! Odell has a beautifully restored 1932 gas station, whose Odell-born caretaker coincidentally showed up just as we stopped to take a look. His name was Hermie Furman, our first Route 66 aficionado. Hermie told us about when the gas attendants gave out S&H green stamps. He is very proud of the service station. He is proud of Odell. He wonders who will look after it when he is no longer able. It is important to him.

We confess with more than a trace of shame that we, too, succumbed to the efficiency of the interstate when our evening appointments made it necessary to pick up the pace. It is fascinating to watch Route 66 switch from one side of the interstate to the other, seldom more than 100 feet away from the shoulder. The skies were wide and blue, dotted with puffy white clouds. We passed countless fields, century-old grain silos silhouetted against the golden plains and blue horizon.

Perhaps the most picturesque of our stops was Funks Grove. Our GPS had never heard of it, so we "followed our gut" and wound up on a curving path through a think maple grove. Tin basins were mounted at the bottom of the trees to collect sap that would be boiled down into "sirup." The scene was reminiscent of the accounts of syrup-making in Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House in the Big Woods many of us read as children. Looks like they still do it just the same way.

After a drive through Pontiac and a few other towns, we made our next stop in Springfield. The city was oddly empty - we couldn't have seen more than five people walking on the street the whole time we were there (and why were all the stores and restaurants closed?). Springfield celebrates Abraham Lincoln and has preserved his legacy beautifully in Lincoln's Presidential Museum, the visitor's center, and the home in which Lincoln lived for many years prior to assuming the presidency. The town is celebrating with particular enthusiasm because 2009 marks the 200th anniversary of our hero's birth.

A few of us were able to squeeze in a visit to Lincoln's home in our limited time. The experience, or perhaps I should call it an encounter, has lingered. As we focus on leadership this week, the theme of our endeavor, it was particularly moving to find ourselves in the home of one of the most influential persons we have in our heritage. We sprinted up to the house to see a historical sight; I was not prepared for the gravity of the event. Lincoln was a man of unbelievable humility. He sought no glory, fame, or wealth. It seems he accepted the office almost reluctantly; why does this phenomenon seem to appear in all of our greatest heroes?

It is always arresting to realize that our heroes were folks who sat in chairs, ate meals, purchased furniture, and made choices about wallpaper. How inspiring to realize that the giants upon whose shoulders we stand were not giants at all, but carbon based, oxygen breathing, companionship seeking humans no different from you and me.

We reluctantly left Springfield and made our way to the Rabbit Ranch. I know each of us could write a novel about this meeting, and perhaps we will need to compose a collaborative account of the experience to fully do it justice. Basically, we spent an evening with an eccentric man determined to keep the passions of his heart from melting into embers. A fourth generation trucker, this man retired to run the Rabbit Ranch because he wanted to. He told us a touching story about his father, a trucker from 1937 to 1997. He was proud of his father, but confessed that he had no hobby or passion to fill in the empty hours when he quit. He sadly reported that his father passed away just two years after retiring. This sage of the route learned from his father's mistake and poured himself into the ranch, the bunnies, and especially into the people who stop by on their tours of 66. What an individual. Check out the photos.

We're headed to our school in St. Louis tomorrow! We are eager to get started with our leadership workshops and encourage high school students to "Choose to Lead."