(Aug 16, con’t.) Yet another photo of the west boundary of the Mickasawbe reservation. Here I’m looking west on State Street, where one has to stop for Quincy-Grange Road. Both roads follow section lines. Governor Cass wanted the reservation boundary lines to coincide with section lines, but Mickasawbe and Ashkebe insisted that the surveyor offset it 60 rods to the west. The yellow arrows point to lines of trees on both the north and south sides of State Street. These tree rows are field boundaries that still follow the old reservation line.

It also so happens that this intersection isn’t far from Black Hawk’s old route through Michigan, now US-12.

In September 1825, shortly after John Mullett and his crew marked the reservation boundaries, other survey crews came in and subdivided the area outside the reservation into square-mile sections. This is the plat of a portion of Quincy Township that was surveyed that fall. I’ve marked the intersection shown in the above photo with a red dot, and have drawn red lines in a couple of the places where one can still see tree lines that follow the old rez boundary.

After spending quite a bit of time around the west Mickesawbe boundary, I rode west with the intention of stopping at a couple of places connected to the cholera epidemic that came with the soldiers sent west to fight Black Hawk. I was going to try a different route, one that would take me on a few roads I had not yet ridden on, but then realized that all the “Road Closed – Bridge Out” signs I had been ignoring for the last day were going to keep me from going that way.

So instead I decided to go south around the chain of lakes on the Coldwater River, and make yet another stop at the Oak Grove Cemetery. This photo stop is on the east side of the river, where the old Chicago Road dead ends because the old bridge has been replaced by a new one. The 1832 militia captain from Coldwater owned a lot of the land on this side of the river — an area once known as Masonville. I think it has been within the Coldwater city limits for some time. Back in the old days there was a hotel here. Now there’s a riverside bar and a gas station.

googlemap

Today we drove to Coldwater so I could do some work in the newspaper archives. I was trying to find more information on the man who once owned the land on the far side of the river and who now is buried there (at the location indicated by the yellow pushpin).   He’s a fascinating character, but I’ll save it for another time.

I said one of the main destinations last Sunday was to sites connected to the 1832 cholera. Tomorrow I hope to be riding to yet other places connected to that story.

Here’s another view of the Mickasawbe reservation line, from yesterday’s ride. I was riding along Quincy-Grange Road, which follows a section line. The reservation boundary was offset 60 rods to the east, right where the line of trees is at the far end of the wheat field.

googlemap

A yellow push-pin markers the spot where I took the photo. The farm buildings visible beyond the tree/reservation line in the photo can be seen near Ridge Road. Quincy-Grange Road, Newton Road, and State Street all follow section lines. Ridge Road follows a half-section line. The reservation boundary (the red line) doesn’t follow any of those lines, nor does it follow a quarter-section line. Instead, it’s offset 60 rods to the west of Quincy-Grange Road.

Margaret Pearce describes how it came about:

In the fall of 1825, however, Mullett was back to run the treaty reservation lines, bringing with him the interpreter William Knaggs. In September, they arrived at Mickesawbe’s village on the St. Joseph River to survey the reservation. Both Ashkebe and Mickesawbe were there to meet them. Over the next three days, this group of men surveyed the bounds of the reservation together. Mickesawbe and Ashkebe not only accompanied the crew, but according to Johnson’s History of Branch County, they also set the east and west bounds. Mullett’s orders were to run the reserve on section lines. Mickesawbe and Ashkebe wanted the reserve sixty rods west of those lines, and Mullett was forced to acquiesce. The offset of this survey from the township and section lines can be seen clearly in the township plat. Why did Mickesawbe and Ashkebe seek to locate the boundaries in this way? Johnson suggests that the east and west lines maximized the amount of land within the reservation and minimized the amount of water.

The above is from “The Holes in the Grid: Reservation Surveys in Lower Michigan,” by Margaret Wickens Pearce, in the Fall 2004 issue of Michigan Historical Review. I’ve omitted footnote references and parenthetical notes which give her sources and refer to illustrations in the article.

Mullett, by the way, is the same John Mullett whose survey crew was chased off the job earlier that year in the famous “battle” of Battle Creek.

There are a lot more places where one can see tree lines and fence lines that mark the east boundary of the old Mickasawbe Reservation than I had expected from looking at the plat maps. The above is not one of them, though. My bike is parked just this side of a tree line which happens NOT to be one of those. It turns out (now that I can study my GPS trace) that I had come too far. In fact, this road is not a particularly good one on which to look for the old boundary from the public right-of-way. Maybe when the leaves are off the trees it can be seen.

A little over a mile from the point in the top photo I realized my bicycle computer was acting up again. It had suddenly gone into metric mode again, reporting my speed and distance in kilometers instead of miles. And this time I couldn’t get it to go back into English measurement mode by cleaning the contacts, so I just left it that way. When I got home I first took measurements on Google Maps and then did a little algebra (x + 0.6 (7.6-x) = 6.7 ) to determine that the point where it went bad was just about at the point where I had parked the bike in the above photo.

Whew. That meant my odometer had still been in miles mode when I had been using it to locate the place where the boundary crossed State Street. I had taken a lot of photos there (which I’ll save for another time). I was prepared to refer to any mistakes in identifying the reservation line where it crossed State Street as a Metric Rez Line, but now I see that I didn’t make any such mistake.

The Potawatomi people had refused to allow the east and west reservation boundaries to coincide with the section lines. So the government surveyor had located it 60 rods west of the section line, which was agreeable to them. 60 rods * 16.5 feet/rod / 5280 feet/mile meant I should look 0.1875 miles west of the section line. In the top photo I rode that distance, didn’t see anything, but not trusting my calculations latched onto another tree line that was nearby. But it wasn’t close enough.

googlemap

The location of the top photo is marked on the googlemap with a pushpin. Today’s route is shown in blue. The reservation boundary is shown in red.

Today’s mileage (now that I’ve done all the necessary conversions and adjustments): 70.5 . YTD mileage: 1455.

Late edit:   I see that bad handwriting almost cheated me out of 30 miles.   YTD mileage is really 1485.   I had misread 70.5 as 40.5 when adding the numbers.

(July 26, con’t.) When I visit the Oak Grove Cemetery I sometimes like to get a few photos from the old bridge across the Coldwater River, too. This bridge is now blocked off for vehicles but it’s not hard to climb over the guardrails to walk on it. And a footpath is still left open for pedestrians.

I always assumed the old bridge is pretty close to where the original Chicago Road crossed the river. Today I examined the plat maps, and determined that the crossing was at this very location at least since the early 1870s.

But what about the 1830s? And what about 1825, when Black Hawk came through on his way back from Fort Malden to do some business at Patrick Marantette’s post on the west (left) bank? Where did he and his people ford the river?

I had never before thought to check the original land surveyors’ plat maps that are online at the BLM web site. In some other townships that I have looked at they have shown exactly where the Sauk Trail was in relation to the Chicago Road that was surveyed in the mid 1820s. So I went to check the maps for Coldwater Township, Branch County.

Unfortunately, neither of the surveyors who platted Coldwater Township showed that information.

There are two surveyors, because the first survey was done before the Mickasawbe reservation was ceded to the United States. A portion of the plat of the pre-cession part is shown to the left above, partly overlaid on a part of the reservation plat, which was made a few years later.

For reference, I’ve drawn in the location of a portion of I69 (in blue) and the Chicago Road (in yellow). The location of the McCarty grave, and what I’ve often thought the most likely location of the Marantette trading post, is shown by a red dot. The Chicago Road continues on from there to the southwest, but that part has been modified a bit over the years and was too much trouble to draw in. A small bit of it is noted by the surveyor, though, where it crosses section lines. You’ll probably have to click on the map to get a larger image to see that detail.

My wildest hope in looking at these plats was to find that the surveyors not only marked the location of the Indian trail but of the trading post itself. But unfortunately, they didn’t mark either of these things.

It is interesting, though, that in section 23 the surveyor marked the location of some “Indian improvements.” Did the treaty stipulate that an extra payment would be made for such improvements? The Treaty of 1827 by which this land was ceded makes no mention of it. The Treaty of 1828 made in the following year does mention such a thing in one of its articles.

Circumstances rendering it probable that the missionary establishment now located upon the St. Joseph, may be compelled to remove west of the Mississippi, it is agreed that when they remove, the value of their buildings and other improvements shall be estimated, and the amount paid by the United States.

But the 1828 treaty referred to different lands to the west, closer to Lake Michigan. So that doesn’t explain why the surveyor took the trouble to note these structures. It’s even more remarkable because they didn’t even lie on a section line.

googlemap

One reason I’m interested in any such details in this part of Coldwater township is because early settlers and travelers wrote about two trading posts, one to the west (near where McCarty’s gravestone is now), and one on the east end of the prairie. I sometimes joke about a Wal-Mart having taken the place of the 2nd trading post. IIRC, the Wal-Mart is south of the quarter-section in which the “improvements” were located. Inside that quarter-section is not a Wal-Mart, yet it still is a land of shopping stores and parking lots. I think a Cabella’s is one of the newer additions.

So I still don’t know why the surveyor noted those structures, but I’m glad he did, even if the place is not going to be high on my list of bicycling destinations. Besides, I’ve already been there. My youngest son and I stopped at one of those stores on a tour in June 2000 so we could pick up some rain clothes for him.

(July 26, con’t.) My first stop, after getting some breakfast, was at the Oak Grove cemetery. It was my 3rd stop at that cemetery this year.

• 1st trip in May – I looked for William McCarty’s grave. McCarty is the person who interceded in the dispute between James Tompkins and some Potawatomi women over apple trees in 1831. (See “William McCarty’s Language Skills.”) I spent a long time looking, but didn’t find McCarty’s grave. Found some of his in-laws, but not McCarty himself. Visited in a house his son had built, but hadn’t found McCarty’s grave near there, either.
• 2nd trip in June (not by bicycle) – I found information in the Coldwater library that led me to the grave. It was right at the entrance to the cemetery, on the highest ground. But somehow I neglected to take a photo of the face of the tombstone that had McCarty’s name. I took photos of everything but that, it seemed. (The tombstone itself is the obelisk-like structure in the left foreground.)
• 3rd trip on July 26. Finally got that photo.

googlemap

The first stop of the day shown here.

And here is his name on the tombstone.

I’ve camped at Waffle Farm Campground several times over the years. The first time was back in 1999, when I forgot my tent poles and then, after several other misadventures during the next day, lost the pannier that carried the tent. After a futile search that evening and the following day (and yet more misadventures) I bought the above tent which I’ve used ever since.

It wasn’t until after my last stay at Waffle Farm in May that I realized that the lake along which the campground lies has a Black Hawk connection. The name of the lake is Craig Lake, named after James Craig who was on the local militia roster during the 1832 war. Like some of his neighbors, he served as a private in Abram Bolton’s company, which drew its men from Coldwater and environs.

That connection meant I needed photos. I was anxious to get underway, but went down to the lake at sunup to get a few photos before packing up and taking off.

I haven’t been able to find any anecdotes about James Craig in the county histories to help me know him better. He had a few “firsts” — first log barn being one of them. And he served in some of the usual local government offices — Justice of the Peace at one point.

I see from Google Maps that I rode past his homestead on my way to the campground, and have done it many times before, so next time I’ll have to stop and get a photo of that, too, for the sake of completeness.

YTD mileage: 1279

I like watching for Michigan Centennial Farms — places that have been owned by the same family over one hundred years. Once in a while one can even find a sesquicentennial farm, like this one. But this place was extra special to me, because 1) it has been owned by the same family ever since the land was bought from the United States Government, and 2) the original owner had been on a local militia roster in 1832 at the time of the Black Hawk war.

On my May 18 ride I had an appointment to visit with the current generation of owners. But there was plenty of time beforehand, so I first went to the nearby cemetery. It didn’t take me long to find a monument for Benjamin L. Smith, the man I was looking for. It’s the tall one to the right. His wife, Content, is buried there, too. His farmstead can be seen in the background, about half a mile away.

I also found the grave of an even older generation. This gravestone, fallen down but well cared for and embedded in concrete, is that of Benjamin H. Smith. I figured it was probably Benjamin L. Smith’s father, and later learned that this was indeed the case. I learned from the gravestone that he had been born in 1729 and dired in 1843, at the remarkable age of 113. There is a marker honoring his service in the Revolutionary War.

It isn’t uncommon to find something like this, where a young man and woman came to Michigan to settle, and once they got established his or her parents came west to live with them. Sometimes I first learn about these things from a visit to a cemetery. In the case of the Smith family, the first county history didn’t say anything about it. Benjamin H. died just before that one was published, but his wife was still alive. But later, in a subsequent county history publication when the next generation got a chance to provide its family history, the son of Benjamin L. Smith told about the grandfather.

]]> http://www.spokesrider.com/2009/06/12/benjamin-l-smith/feed/ 0 http://www.spokesrider.com/2009/06/07/district-no-3-school/ http://www.spokesrider.com/2009/06/07/district-no-3-school/#comments Sun, 07 Jun 2009 22:09:13 +0000 Spokesrider http://www.spokesrider.com/?p=2534

A few posts back (Snow of Snow Prairie), A.J. asked if I knew about a school on Snow Prairie Road that might be about 16 miles from Coldwater. After a little head-scratching and map-searching, I wondered if it couldn’t be this one. It’s in Gilead Township to the southwest of Coldwater, about 2 miles from the Indiana border, at the intersection with Southern Road.

I took these photos in September 2003. That was my third ride to the location, and unfortunately I haven’t been back since. What I really came to see then was the site of Bishop Philander Chase’s seminary, which is less than a mile away on the same road. The attempt to establish that institution was a failure — there is no seminary there now — but Chase had come during the Black Hawk war scare and had a few things to say about it in letters to his wife. And some of the oldtimers who were still alive when the 1879 county history was published remembered him very well.

On this ride in 2003 I was on my way to Kenyon College in Ohio to spend a day looking through Philander Chase’s papers in the archives. Chase had founded that college in the previous decade, but had left in a dispute over control of the institution. He left his wife behind in Ohio while he tried to get a new start in Michigan. Parts of some of his letters back to her had been published, but I wanted to see what else he might have had to say about Branch County people. I didn’t find much about particular people, but the day at Kenyon College turned out to be worthwhile and the bike riding was good.

After Chase left Michigan he went to Illinois and founded Jubilee College near Peoria. That college folded in the 1860s, after Chase died. The place is now a state historic site. Now that I’m dredging up information on Bishop Chase, I’m reminding myself that I had marked the location on my maps. I should go there for a visit on my upcoming excursion to the Illinois prairies.

My first ride to this location might have been in 1999. On that first ride, I didn’t find anything noteworthy to photograph other than this school. I had better luck the 2nd time, but still, I like to stop and take a look at the school.

Above the keystone arch it proclaims itself to be “1908 District School No. 3.” I have a fondness for District No. 3, because I attended a District No. 3 school in northeast Nebraska back in the late 50s and early 60s. That one was a two-room wooden structure built in 1884 and was not in as good a shape as this building.

A.J. was interested in this place on two counts. 1) He is pretty sure this is a school that was attended by his great-grandfather. 2) It was a scene in a murder mystery back in 1990. He sent me these YouTube links about it, from the TV show Unsolved Mysteries:

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

In the first part, the vehicles approach the school from the north, which is also the direction of Chase’s seminary. I’ve re-watched it to see if the farmplace that is the site of the old seminary is shown in passing, so to speak. I don’t think it is.   The big tank to the left of the school  in the YouTube clip was still there in 2003.

I had to confess to A.J. that I don’t  recall hearing anything at all about this incident back in 1990. I’ve heard of this television program but have never watched it. I hardly watch any television at all.

I am not completely oblivious to news of local murder cases, though I suppose some could argue that point. Back in 1996 I was seated on a jury for a murder trial after a long, difficult selection process that took several days. I was one of the few people who hadn’t known anything about the case. The first trial had ended in a hung jury and the case was being retried. Part of the reason I didn’t know anything about it was that we had been away on a travel vacation when it was in the news.

Another reason I don’t remember this one is that it took place in Branch County. It’s a neighboring county, but this school is 60 miles from home. It wasn’t until 1994, when I took up long-distance bicycle riding, that I got to know my own backyard of southwest Michigan. Now, whenever I hear of some news in the region, I try to figure out exactly where the place is and whether I’ve been there. Back in 1990 I was still oblivious to most of the towns, streets, roads, prairies, streams, townships, and just about anything one can link to a particular place in rural, southern Michigan. Bicycle riding has changed all of that. So when I heard of a murder in Girard township this February, I immediately tried to place it in relation to other places I’ve known in that township. Back in 1990 I would not have given it much thought, because I didn’t know anything about these places.

I used to pay attention to locations far from home.  When traveling by car or by book I have always liked doing so with a map handy.  But it wasn’t until I started long-distance riding in the mid 1990s  that I started learning the places close to home.

It’s not just murders that get my attention. Lots of things do. When I hear of a big new construction projects, I immediately try to determine whether any my favorite riding places are being destroyed or transformed for it. When I meet someone from a rural area or small town, I ask questions to find out if I know some of the nearby places that they know.

I like getting to know these places, and extending this type of familiarity to places in Indiana, Ohio, Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin, and elsewhere. Looking for sites connected to the Black Hawk story gives some direction and purpose to what I’m doing, but there’s more to be gained than just that.

This view is from the east, on Southern Road. The school can just barely be seen in the distance. Bishop Chase’s seminary site is to the north of it, probably just off of the photo to the right of the trees in the distance.

I got to the Waffle Farm campground with plenty of daylight to spare on May 17.

The tent is a Walrus hoop tent. I don’t even remember the model name any more. I bought this one ten years ago to replace a similar one that I lost that year, the day after my first overnight campout at Waffle Farm campground. I still have the tent poles for the old one, because I had forgotten my poles at home and ended up using the tent as a sort of bivy sack.

I thought I had already told that story in this blog, but now I can’t find it. So here is what I wrote back at the time at the phred bike touring list:

I’ll have to remember that. In between swatting mosquitos and looking for
the hole, I usually get mixed up on which way the tire was oriented, so am
never sure if I’ve got it oriented the same way or not and if the same
foreign object is going to give me another flat a few minutes later.

Here was my experience while a couple weekends ago, on my first bike
campout of the year.

1. Get to campground Thursday night. Realize I forgot the tent poles for
my hoop tent. Call my wife to ask if she can bring them to Friday night’s
campground where we’ll get together. For now, use the tent as a sort of
bivy sack.

2. Late Friday afternoon: Front tire goes flat

3. Walk the bike back to a mowed section of ditch so I can work without
losing parts in the tall grass.

4. Take off front panniers. My low-rider rack somehow makes it difficult
to turn the quick release, so I unscrew the other end of the skewer thing,
and promptly lose the spring in the low grass.

5. Give up looking for the spring. Get to work on the tube.

6. I can’t locate the leak. It’s windy, and the
pump-it-up-and-put-the-tube-close-to-your-cheek method doesn’t work. The
hole is big enough that the tube keeps losing pressure fast.

7. Give up and get out my spare tube. I’ll fix the punctured one later,
in camp.

8. Install tube. Put tire on rim. Pump it up, let out air, etc. to let
it seat itself properly.

9. Put enough air in to ride on. Panic. Notice the tire is not seated
properly, and is being pushed way off the rim. Notice this about 1/2
second before I can reach for the valve and relieve the pressure. Big
bang.

10. The cilia in my ears gradually unflatten, and I can hear again.

11. My spare tube is shot. Now I HAVE to repair the old one. Sacrifice
my remaining drinking water so I can find the leak via the bubble method in
my stove pot.

12. Finish the repair, taking care not to blow it this time.

13. As I ride towards the campground (20 miles yet), think about where to
buy a tube tomorrow so I’ll have a spare again. Grumble about the time
that will be wasted.

14. Almost to campground. Look down and see that my right front pannier
is missing. Where did I lose it? It was there a few miles back when I
stopped to put more air in my front tire (I think). A few years ago it
once came lose and was flung fifty feet down an embankment where it was
hard to find, but that time it had made a loud twang as the hook caught in
the spokes. This time I didn’t hear a thing.

15. Ride to campground to enlist the use of our car to go back and search
for it. Think about the replacement cost of pannier, tools, jacket, camp
shoes, AC adapter for my new HP Jornada computer, etc etc. I’ll be cold in
camp without my jacket, and I don’t dare go riding tomorrow without tools.

16. While waiting in long lines at campground, grumble about having to pay
a vehicle fee to ride my bike into the park, when it could have gone for
free if on the car. While waiting, my wife finds me. Dump all my gear in
the car and take off to look for the pannier.

17. We look until dark. No luck.

18. Get a fast-food dinner and go back to the campground to set up tent in
the dark. Suddenly realize that the pannier I lost was not the one
containing tools. It was the one containing our tent.

19. Abandon our tent site ($10) and two vehicle fees ($5 for bike and $5
for car). Go stay in a cheap motel instead ($47). At least I have my
tools and can ride tomorrow.

20. Go to buffet breakfast–all we can eat. Indulge. Don’t worry about
putting on excess pounds. I’ll ride it all off today, anyway.

21. Go to bike shop in Angola, IN. It’s located on the corner of the
worst traffic circle I’ve ever seen (and won’t open until 10 am). I’ve
seen traffic circles, but this one is something else. It’s in an old
public square, with a big monument in the center, and shops and parking in
each of the four corners. What with cars entering and leaving the circle
from the road and from each of the parking lots, it’s terrible. And it’s
right on US-20, which means this is a traffic circle with heavy
semi-trailer truck traffic. Buy tubes and get out of there.

22. Spend the rest of the morning looking for pannier. No luck.

23. 1 p.m. I get ready to take off riding. I notice my back tire showing
signs of tread separation. I’ll have to replace it soon. No, it’s worse
than that. It already has an aneurism and I have no spare tire. Give it
up and drive home, mow lawn, work around the house, buy tires, feel bloated
all day from that big breakfast.

(I got a good long ride on Sunday afternoon, though.)

>I don’t use “glueless” patches I’ve heard rumors that they are for
>”temporary” use only and may come loose after a time.

I’ve used glueless the last few years with no apparent problems. But after
reading the above, you may not find me to be the sort of person to take
advice from.

No history content in this post. I’m busy finding bicycling destinations for an upcoming vacation where Myra will accompany me by car. In looking at the weather forecast, I see there is a possibility of rain every single day. We were going to try camping again. Last year Myra was not up to camping, so we stayed in hotels. This year we wanted to try camping again. But ever since a 2003 campout when we got rained out by the effects of a distant hurricane we’ve called ourselves fair weather campers, so I don’t know if there will be any fair weather for it.

(May 18, cont.) A mile after turning south on Snow Prairie Road, I came to a sign for Barnhart Road. It caught my attention because I was pretty sure a Barnhart was in my list of people who had served in the 1832 militia. This part of the county didn’t have the prairies that drew the first settlers prior to that year, but maybe there was a connection anyway.

At the intersection I stopped to take photos of an old school and church that are falling into ruin. I got this one photo taken when a woman came in her ATV to a point across the street and ordered me to get off the private property. So I didn’t get any more photos from this angle.

Getting yelled at is not so uncommon. Some of my best visits have come about when somebody has yelled at me, asking what I’m doing with my camera. I then have a chance to explain my interest and leave my card. I’ve met some interesting people that way. One thing I usually do is explain that I generally stick to photos taken from the public roads. I don’t want to encourage trespassing. I especially don’t want to encourage trespassing by artifact hunters.

However, this time I actually was trespassing. And I didn’t bother to go and introduce myself and try to make peace, either.

My excuse for going on the property? I suppose one factor was that this was once a public school, which made me more willing to invite myself onto the place. Most such schools have reverted to private property by now, but this one didn’t have any indication of having been turned into a residence. Nor was there a No Trespassing sign.

Or maybe I was trying out my newfound interest in such concepts as “Everyman’s Right” in Sweden, by which people have a certain amount of freedom to camp on private property. Rightly implemented, perhaps it could be a way of defending freedom of movement in a way that authoritarian governments with their passport laws for restriction of travel don’t usually like. Wrongly implemented it could be a way of taking other peoples’ property via a rationale much like that used by the Americans to take land from the Indians. Anyhow, those were some of my preliminary thoughts upon learning about it.

I didn’t take any more photos until I got back on the public right-of-way. And I didn’t go over to introduce myself to the woman on the ATV who seemed to be continuing to keep an eye on me. I now wish I had done so.

It turns out that the Barnhart who settled around here was Martin B Barnhart. He once owned some of the land right at this intersection. Perhaps he was a relative of the Martin Barnhart who served in the militia and who settled just a few miles away in Girard Township. The county histories don’t say, but then they often neglect to explain things like that. But in looking at plat maps, I see that some of the property in the area (though not right at this intersection) was still owned by a Barnhart as recently as 10 years ago, which is the date of the most recent plat map available to me. So maybe there are still people in the area that could tell me about the Barnharts. Maybe some time I’ll have an opportunity to go back and try to introduce myself after all: “Remember that guy on a bicycle who was taking photos of the school?”