Thanksgiving day afternoon was good for riding — with clear skies, afternoon highs in the 50s, and a light wind out of the south. The day’s destination was near the Convis Township hall. A Reuben White had farmed there. The county histories said he had served in the militia in the Black Hawk war. LeRoy Barnett’s compilation of militia rosters doesn’t have him listed, but that seems to be the case with others from the Marshall area as well. (Service in the war probably would have consisted of making the 45 mile trek to Schoolcraft, only to find out that Black Hawk posed no clear and present danger to Michigan.)

I left about 1 p.m. In Bedford I stopped in the school parking lot to get out my MP3 player. A young boy, maybe of 4th or 5th grade age, rode up on his bike, asking if I was taking a break. He announced that he was going to take a break himself. He was full of questions about where I was from and where I was going. He said he lived on Bedford Road, and had been riding all day. It was good to see a young man take such enjoyment in his bike riding. We both agreed it was a good day for it.

Other than that, I didn’t make contact with any humans. Traffic was almost surrealistically light. I found a few backroads I had never before ridden, too.

The Convis Township hall is next to a huge landfill. I had ridden past it several weeks ago, and had noticed how smelly it was on the downwind side. It wasn’t any better this time.

There is a cemetery a half mile away. I had suspected Reuben White might be buried there. Sure enough, he was. I had no trouble finding the gravestone.

The late afternoon sun brought out the colors and edges of the place. But once in a while there was a slight whiff of methane from that landfill to make it less picturesque.

The last time I had ridden this way I hadn’t known about Reuben White, so hadn’t paid careful attention to the farm places. But the old farm place is still there, just across from the township hall. It’s no longer a working farm, and in fact is somewhat rundown. It doesn’t look too bad in this photo, though. It’s the house off in the distance, to the left of the township hall.

White hadn’t lived there at the time of the Black Hawk war. He started his farm a few years afterwards. But it’s a point of connection, which is all I ask for.

The township hall is about a mile from a place on an I-60 exit called Turkeyville. Usually the parking lots there are full of people who’ve come for the food, but on Thanksgiving day Turkeyville was vacant and quiet.

On the way home I called to make sure I wasn’t going to miss out on Thanksgiving dinner. Myra said it might not be ready even at 6 p.m. So I didn’t take the very shortest way home, and got to ride on a few roads close to home that I had somehow never before encountered. Even at that, I was home before 5:30.

46 miles for the day, leaving me only 131 short of the goal of 3900 for the year.