Day 42: Opa's Ninetieth Birthday

DaThis morning I woke up in my own bed for the first time in a very long time but I knew that it was not the end of our journey.  There is something about the sight of home that makes everyone of us get a warm feeling inside, this feeling for me had to be pushed back inside, as there was still one big day between us and the beach.  The only miles on the agenda for today were a short 12 mile run over to Steve’s home for his grandfather’s 90^th birthday party. After spending our morning picking raspberries in Peach Bottom we hit the rode with aspirations of making it to Kirkwood by 12:00 for homemade lunch from Steve’s Grandmother.  Since the very beginning of the trip Steve had lamented the fact that he was missing  Omi’s lunches down at the farm and I could see the joy in his eyes as we pulled into Lindenholf Farm, the place that he called home.  By this point in the journey I thought the unique cultural experiences would be over, but yet again I was surprised to once again be taking part in something truly special and truly American. Steve’s Grandfather or Opa as they say in German came to America in 1951 after the war and after much hard work founded the farm which would become a home to his children and a haven for his grandchildren.  At lunch we enjoyed the lively German conversation, pork and kale and a sweet treat from the fatherland butter varden.  The spelling on the previous pastry could very easily be wrong but its flavor is always right.  Not only was Karl Dieter Linde a farmer but he was also poet, and each of his grandchildren had composed a poem to be read at the party.  Jody and I thoroughly enjoyed helping Steve as he tried out his own Walt Whitman skills.  After the poem recitals we shared in  a traditional German birthday cake.  That night we really enjoyed discussing  past cross country bike trips  with Bobby Longenecker, and Cooper and Dietrich Linde.  It was so amazing to recap our routes and share memories and discuss people we had met on our trip.  After fixing a broken spoke one Bobby’s bike we bunked down for the night in the old farmhouse that had once housed many young people and once again was filled with hungry stomachs.  As dusk came we settled in for one last night before our trip would be completely finished.