Wrong Way to Fall Creek:
Lost, Hot, and Driving in the Wrong Direction
Corn fields For Miles
I woke at the farm to birdsong just after 5:30 a.m.—a gentle, musical reminder that I’m not in Pennsylvania anymore. Back home, the birds are tuning up their symphony by 4:30, but here on the edge of the time zone, they let you sleep in a little. I had both the sliding door and rear doors open, hoping for a breeze. To my surprise, a few curious birds landed right at the threshold, perching on the door frame and calling out as if to check on me.
Bird On Van Door
I slowly reached for my phone and fired up the Merlin Bird ID app. Within a few seconds, I had a roll call of 14 feathered visitors: House Wren, Common Yellowthroat, Chipping Sparrow, Song Sparrow, Red-Winged Blackbird, Northern Cardinal, Hairy Woodpecker, Downy Woodpecker, Bobolink, Carolina Wren, House Sparrow, American Robin, and even a Blue Grosbeak (I think this is rare in these Parts?). It was one of those small magical moments that makes this kind of travel so special. Here is the recording:
Today’s goal was Fall Creek Gorge. I had reserved a Harvest Hosts location which, in theory, was nearby. In reality, it was over an hour in the wrong direction. I only realized this when my phone cheerfully announced: “Welcome to Illinois.” That was my first clue something was off. But by that point, I had to go—Harvest Hosts works on a mutual trust system, and skipping a reservation can hurt your rating.
I arrived at the host site around 1:30 in the sweltering heat, smack in the middle of an “extreme heat warning” kind of afternoon. Still sore and dehydrated from yesterday’s Six Ravine Challenge (which might’ve been better named the Six Ravine Mistake), I wasn’t exactly in top form. Google Maps added its own twist by dropping me about 100 yards short of the actual location.
That’s where I met Bob, a neighbor who came out thinking I was delivering something. What followed was a solid 30-minute conversation that spanned working for churches, scoring a house for free, family ups and downs, union work, garage expansions, and tornadoes. His home looked brand new, and the garage next to it was big enough to host a small auto show—he was even growing tomato plants inside because of the extreme weather. He mentioned tornadoes touched down nearby last Thursday, which lined up with the alerts I’d gotten that day.
After our chat, I finally reached my actual Harvest Host—just a short turn around the corner. It was well after 2:00 p.m., and the temperature inside the van was approaching 100°F. No shade in sight.
About 20 minutes away was Forest Glen Preserve, a sprawling 1,800-acre sanctuary run by the Vermilion County Conservation District. Its mission is to protect native Illinois habitats and educate visitors about the region’s ecological diversity. The preserve is home to forests, prairies, wetlands, and a wide range of wildlife, especially birds. With over 20 miles of trails, a 72-foot observation tower, and a dedicated nature center, it’s the kind of place that invites you to slow down and pay attention to the natural world.
It sounded like the perfect escape—until I opened the van door and was reminded it felt like an oven outside. Still, I drove to the park office to get a map and some info. The preserve was clearly beautiful, but I didn’t have the energy for a hike in such oppressive heat. After cruising slowly through the grounds, I finally found one of the few shaded parking spots—ironic, considering a forest preserve has no shortage of trees, just a shortage of ones that shade the parking lot.
Back at the van, I had all the fans going full blast—Maxxair fans pulling air in and pushing it out, and a smaller fan just doing its best to keep things tolerable. It actually helped enough that I was able to get a few things done, even if productivity was sluggish.
Around 5:00, I headed to the grocery store to stock up on cooling foods. Watermelon saved the day. Refreshed, I returned to the van with the plan of going to bed early and leaving before the heat could beat me again.
Just before dark, the Harvest Host came by to say hello, shouting over the noise of the fans. It was a quick check-in—just a friendly wave, a “Let me know if you need water,” and he was gone.
By 9:30, I was stretched out and ready for sleep, with the best of intentions to rise early and finally, finally see Fall Creek Gorge in the morning. I’m still trying to complete all my stops in Indiana.