Peddling down a rain-soaked highway in northeast Nebraska or southeast South Dakota - it all

kind of blurred together as the rain continued for hours - I glanced into an open field on my left.

Standing out in the pouring rain were dozens of turkeys, not moving or gobbling, but just

hanging out like nothing was wrong with the situation.

At the next stop, a fellow rider noted that turkeys are not very smart, hence why they were

standing out in the rain. I didn’t point out the irony of the situation that we had just peddled for

more than two hours in pouring rain ourselves.

Later after a bit of research on “Field & Stream,” I learned that turkeys often wander into wide-

open spaces, such as hayfields or meadows. Thick, wet vegetation makes their feathers heavy

and limits their hearing, making them more vulnerable to predators. By standing in the open,

they can use their sharp eyesight to spot approaching threats easily.

That actually sounds pretty smart to me. So why are these turkeys suddenly relevant to me?

For starters, I understood them. Having been in the rain for hours, of our own choice, I felt a

kinship with them.

More importantly - and maybe I’m reading too much into this - I felt a bond because there is

never a perfect time to do something; there is only now - whether it is raining or not - to scan the

horizon and take it all in.

I had just left the small town of Wakonda, S.D., after visiting a small coffee shop and used

bookstore. As the rain continued to drench everything outside, three young boys sat dry and

warm inside, slurping on their smoothies, watching me as I perused books I had no way of

carrying on my bike. I was still covered head to toe in a low-dollar rain poncho, mud splatters

covered my legs and I was starting to shiver as the cold and dampness in an air-conditioned

building caught up to me so I wasn’t surprised when I piqued their interest.

The boy in the middle, probably around 10 years old, asked, “Can we ask you a question?” as I

neared their table.

“Sure, what’s up?” I responded.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Do you mean riding in the rain? Doesn’t seem very smart, does it?” I answered, suddenly

remembering the turkeys I had passed earlier.

That’s when boy #2 chipped in, as the group had obviously been discussing our situation, “No,

why are you riding your bike? Why are you here?”

Initially, I was caught off guard because how do you explain to someone why you chose to visit

a town of less than 400 people, where you don’t know anyone, are far from your own home -

and do it in the rain. Again, it doesn’t sound very smart.

But I quickly gave them my honest answer, “Because I get to meet people like you and visit

towns like this. I get to explore places I have never been. And I get to see things up close since

I’m on my bike.”

I’m not sure if they were impressed or just nodded their heads so I would go away, but either

way it got me thinking.

I felt blessed to do things that opened my eyes to new experiences like stumbling across a

coffee shop in a small town that sold stickers I didn’t need but still bought because they were so

funny. I became inspired as I explored various breweries, looked at murals, and visited

museums in different communities, wondering what ideas I can bring back to McCook and

Southwest Nebraska. And I was thankful for all the people I went on the ride with as well as

those I met along the way, including new and old friends.

Despite the rain, regardless of the wind, in spite of volunteer fire department alarms going off at

1:11 a.m. across the street from our campsite in Crofton, Nebraska, it is all worth it to take it all

in. It is worth it to try a new experience. It is worth it to venture out of your comfort zone. And it is

worth it to learn about others - near and far.

And if you are wondering about Boy #3, he never said anything inside the bookstore. But with

the trio leaving as we rode away on our bicycles, he pulled up next to me on his little motorized

scooter to show it off, proud of riding down the middle of mainstreet. The rain didn’t matter. The

mud didn’t make a difference. He was simply enjoying the experience and taking it all in. Seems

pretty smart to me.