I had thought I'd be camping somewhere near the end of the Great Western Trail by the time of nightfall. It was still light when I reached Sycamore and it wasn't in my intuition to stop riding. So I could kept going.
I went north of Route 64 to Old State Road. I mulled my situation over in my mind. At worst,
I could just keep riding! As I rode, I saw so many places to pitch my tent for the night. Places out of the way, places where nobody ought to mind. So, when the last twilight was decending to earth, I decided to knock at the next farm house with a light on.
The first house was of a tree farm, which was fun to think about camping in. But I got no response and when I turned to leave the front door I noticed an elderly woman who either didn't hear me or understandably ignored me.
The second house had a drive around driveway so I went around back and rang the bell. Once the dog inside started barking, I gave the owner a few minutes. I explained my situation, but he said something about the dog not being used to strangers. I felt he was making up an excuse, but I'm not into making people laugh uncomfortable so Imtold him it was fine. He suggested the next farm up.
When I reached the next house, there were people up, and the owner was fascinated at my venture. After some conversation, he directed me past the grain silos and I pitched my little tent inside a stand of evergreen trees. Though I could hear the night traffic on Route 64 three miles away, it was good to be out in farm land.
