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verbumincarcerem · 7 years

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you were made to suffer

Prologue

Chapter 1: A New World Order

Thick inside the Cleigne region, a lone daemon hunter crouched behind a rock, sizing up her prey. Two Black Flans and a Lich, the latter’s long robes trailing silently across the grass as an orb of sickly green light bobbed around it. Not a single one of them aware of her presence. Which was good. It wouldn't do for her to get overwhelmed because their blood-chilling cries drew other daemons to her presence. All of Eos was crawling with daemons ever since darkness blotted out the sun. That had been close to a year ago.

Using her flashlight, Melody Solariis glanced at her watch, the light causing the crystals encircling the white face to gleam and the mint green band to appear richer in color than it actually was. Bright and feminine, the watch looked out of place amongst her ensemble of black clothes and sharp weapons, but it was the one thing she’d kept from her old life in Accordo. The one thing she never took off. She wondered why she still checked time with it, though. Currently, it read ten minutes past three o'clock PM, and while the time was accurate, it didn't change the fact that it was pitch dark out here. Just one more area to search, then she could finish off these daemons and hoof it to her truck. She just hoped it would still be there waiting for her in one piece. Stealthily, she crouch-walked around the rock, making sure her footfalls didn't crunch beneath the grass or snap something louder. She kept an eye on the daemons in case they still somehow became alerted to her presence. With what seemed to take forever but was only minutes, she skirted around them and finally made it to her destination. An abandoned hut amidst a series of hills. Melody searched it as quickly as she could, spotting a water canteen lying haphazardly on the ground and a few cigarette butts scattered here and there. The canteen was still close to full. This had been the place those hunters had gotten in over their heads, that's for sure. One of many places. It happened all the time now. Hunters left to deal with the daemons; not all of them came back. On this particular hunt, three had gone to kill an Iron Giant causing particular trouble near the road. It had proven too much for them, and they'd lost track of their surroundings in their panic to get away. And this little hut? It was the last place they had all been together and alive. One hunter had died for sure. One came back to deliver the news. As for the third? Well, that's why she was here. Melody cleared the hut and started descending down the hills, keeping her flashlight on its lowest setting. It wasn't a good idea to travel these lands alone much less hunt, but she didn't have anyone else to count on. Didn't really want any tag-alongs either, though she did work with other hunters when the situation called for it. Overall, though, it was better just having herself to look after. No one dragging her down. And no one butting their nose in where it didn't belong and asking questions. Her shoes slipped in the dewy grass, and she slid the rest of the way down the hill. A screech echoed to her from somewhere nearby, and she spotted a fiery Bomb weaving its merry little way through a copse of trees, thankfully not in her direction. She'd taken a few steps along the base of the hills when she heard a series of rasping whispers. "Hel-help… some… some…one…someone…please." Melody quickened her pace, flashlight in one hand and canteen in the other. At last, her feeble light landed on a muddy boot, climbed up a leg, an arm, landed on the hunter's face, his blond beard speckled with dirt and black blood. "I'm here," she told him. "Everything's going to be okay." "H….hel…please," he kept saying over and over, not moving, eyes staring off into space, barely getting the words out. Melody studied him closely. He was delirious, and while all his limbs seemed unbroken, she spotted a rip in his trousers, the ankle swollen and bloody underneath. She put the canteen to his lips, knowing he had to be dehydrated, but the water merely dribbled from his lips down his beard. He coughed suddenly, and through the spray of water was the unmistakable black mist of miasma. Shit. She knew what was wrong now. And sure as hell no potion in the world could fix it. Shining the flashlight on his body confirmed it. The blackened veins on his neck, his left hand. The hunter was infected with the Starscourge. Soon, he would become a daemon they'd have to kill. Not if I have anything to say about it. "Sorry, bud," Melody said, drawing a dagger from her boot. "But I can't have you conscious for this." Using the base of the dagger’s handle, she knocked him out with one hit, his body slumping further in the grass. Melody threw a surreptitious look over her shoulders, spying for daemons, other people, anyone who could witness what she was about to do. But there was no one, so with a shaky breath, she closed her eyes, dug deep, and prayed to her silent gods that this wouldn't be the one that finished her.

Once she opened her eyes, she caught the faintest hint of pure white light lingering on her hands before it faded away. Her arms and legs felt leaden, like she'd run a marathon without stopping, and her head felt light and aching. Nausea bubbled up in her stomach, but she pushed it down, swigging water from her own canteen.

Standing, she looked at the man again. Throat and hands clean, his breath normal and clear of miasma. Thank Bahamut, her divine magic still worked, though it was clearly getting weaker, and she was getting weaker trying to force it. She checked her watch again. Ten minutes had passed while she'd healed him. Shit. Standing, she administered a Phoenix Down on him, watching with impatience as his minor wounds vanished and his eyes fluttered open. He tried to sit up. "What's—?" "You're"—her mind jumped, trying to remember what the other hunter had called him—"Fat Belly, I presume?" The man's face went a little pink under his beard, and as he stood, she could tell the nickname was an apt one. "Yeah?" "I'm Mel. The Hunter Association sent me out here to find you. Mission accomplished. Let's go home." She started the trek up the hill, and he wisely followed, his ankle no longer a problem. "They sent a little girl to find me?" he said in disbelief. Melody glared at him over her shoulder. "This little girl can leave you to find your own way back to Lestallum if you want, big boy." Not to mention kept your sorry ass from becoming a daemon. Melody clenched her teeth to keep that admission from slipping. She didn't want anyone knowing about that. And he seemed not to remember how close to damnation and extermination he had been, and that was fine with her. They crested the hill, and Melody was almost happy to find that the Flans and Lich were still right where she'd left them. Clearing them would give them a direct line toward the truck. She could still see it perched on the side of the road under a street lamp, right where she'd left it. She handed Fat Belly the extra canteen, not looking at him as she repined her flashlight to her shirt and drew her sword. "Sip your water, and stay out of my way." Without waiting for a response, she dove into the fray.

Lestallum greeted her like an old friend from school that she'd rather treasure all the memories about than ever see again. It wasn't the city's fault. In fact, it used to be one of Melody's favorite places to visit in Lucis with its food, spirited energy, nightlife, and good, old-fashioned feminism. But that had been before it had become the place most prepared to handle refugees fleeing from the daemons. Now it was less of a tourist getaway and more of a fortress town, and all the people were just squeezed in. Like sardines in a thimble. It was nice to see how the community had come together to help each other, but the warm, fuzzy feeling did nothing to assuage how suffocated Melody felt whenever she tried to live here. She parked as close to the city's lights as she could, the parking lots around always clogged with cars. Fat Belly jumped out of the truck, and together they made their way towards Hunter HQ. "Hey, uh, Mel," he said, stopping her in her tracks. She looked at him with a blank face. "What I said back there, I…" Her blank face held. He sighed. "It came out all wrong, and I didn't mean… What I mean to say is, thank you for what you did for me out there." His hands rose to his hips, and he stared at the ground before meeting her gaze. "I reckon I'd be daemon food by now if you hadn't come and gotten me out." You'd be so much worse than that. Melody held his stare for a beat longer before shrugging, a blasé smile on her face. "You're welcome. And no problem, really. Just be a lot more careful next time." She eyed his beer gut before suggesting, "And maybe work on some endurance training a bit?" Fat Belly laughed. "Thanks, but I think my hunting days are over. You crazy bastards make it look easy." "No arguments there." "Right, so I’ll leave it to the professionals from now on.” He punched a fist into his hand. “Still, wish I’d’a killed at least one of them things before I ‘retired,’ but I know when to call it quits. Anyway, there's plenty I can do just around the city to help out, so I guess I'll start there." At last, her smile became genuine. "That's a good idea." Melody dropped him off at Hunter HQ, collecting her payment while Fat Belly embraced his other ex-hunter friend, Big T, with a tearful hug. Melody saluted them both and headed over to Iris' place at the Leville hotel. Iris’ dark, cropped hair bounced above her shoulders as she gave Mel a onceover at the door. "Been a long day already?" "It's been a long year. Can I use your shower?" "You always know just what to say. But seriously, sometimes you sound just like my brother. Is it a hunter thing?" Iris rolled her eyes before grinning and letting her in. "I wouldn't know. How's he doing, by the way?" "Fine. Off with Ignis at the Hammerhead while Prompto's helping out here." "Uh-huh," Melody said, her voice echoing inside the bathroom while she deposited her bag of supplies on the tile floor and started dropping clothes left and right. "And how is he really doing?" Iris was silent for a moment. Melody heard the bed creak, the girl no doubt sitting upon it. "It's just… We all thought Noctis would be back by now. It's almost been a year since he..." Since the would-be king of Lucis disappeared without a trace, taking much of the people's hope with him. But not Melody's. She didn't put much stock in kings, not even the so-called holy line of Lucis. In the end, they were just people like anyone else. Beating this darkness wasn't something that one person could do; it would take all of them. Melody knew that this, too, would pass, someday, and she would try her damnedest to survive long enough to see it. Still, it was hard hearing the ache in Iris' voice, hard to watch her heart break bit by bit. Insomnia had been devastated once Niflheim had invaded, and though Melody had only met and befriended Iris when the girl had first fled to Lestallum, she knew how much Iris had lost. What she kept losing and risking. "It'll be alright," Melody told Iris, pulling a clean change of clothes out of her pack. "Didn't you tell me Noctis was a little lazy? He's probably just taking his sweet time right now, but when he gets back, you can clobber him one good time for making everybody wait." A small laugh came from Iris. "You know what the sad thing is? You're probably right." Melody showered and changed, emerging from the bathroom with her long, brown hair still dripping wet. "Thanks so much, again. Don't ever check out of here, okay?" "I don't understand why you just don't move in here with us. There's plenty of room. It's mostly just Dustin, Monica, Talcott, and me, with the boys coming and going." Melody eyed the room with its rich tapestries draping the windows, the lush carpet that was starting to see some wear from all the foot traffic, the plump queen sized beds, the cozy sofa. It did seem like a nice little place to hole up for a while. "Thanks, but I'm fine in my truck, promise," Melody said, making a face. "Besides, I don't really like kids." Iris rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "You would like Talcott." "I'll talk your word for it." They exchanged goodbyes, both emphasizing to the other that if they ever needed anything to please let them know. Melody wove through the alleys of Lestallum, past the people and shanty towns and food carts, and made it back out to her truck just in time. She'd barely leaned her seat back before she passed out, the exhaustion of the day—and her use of her dwindling magic—taking its toll.

Her watch read 6:13 PM.

Gravel crunched under her boots as she walked down the wide expanse of gray concrete before her. The street was cracked and in some places utterly destroyed. A steel beam from a nearby skyscraper had fallen, one end buried deep in the asphalt, the other end lodged inside the fifth floor of an apartment complex. Glass and stone everywhere. Overturned cars. A caved-in subway entrance. Buildings missing half of their floors or demolished altogether.

The city was a wreck, but she pressed on, making her slow, careful way past the obstacles in her path. But why? What business did she have here? She found no other soul to speak to, no one to ask. When she got to the end of the street, she found that her progress was halted completely. An entire building had fallen across the street she traveled on, concrete, metal, and glass twisted and crumbled on top of each other in a towering heap. No way to move it or climb her way over, and no other way through. But she could not turn back, not now. Why? Instead, she swiveled, reassessing the area. There, at the end of the street and still mercifully intact, was a subway entrance. With any luck, the underground path would lead her past all this debris, and she could press on. With a bracing breath, she jogged toward the entrance, heart pounding with anticipation. Not much longer until she— WHACK! Melody jerked awake in her truck as something popped against her windshield. Of course, no sun greeted her. It was black as tar out there. Looking out her windows one by one, she couldn't spy anything wrong; her windshield wasn't cracked, and there were no daemons around. Probably just a stray rock or water bottle that got picked up by the wind. The hunter swiped a hand down her face and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, waiting for her heart to stop racing. Not the best way to wake up, but it could've been much worse. Besides, she was getting tired of the recurring dreams. Melody might like them more if they featured her home in Accordo. She hadn't been back since she'd sold her house along with most of her possessions to help pay for this monster-hunting gig. Some people might consider her decision a bad one, but it beat trying to compete for a cushy job in one of the few, clogged, sanctuary towns. Turnover rate was at an all-time low for those; meanwhile, the daemon-hunting business was booming. Instead, her dreams lately seemed to focus on one place: the Crown City of Insomnia, and for the life of her, she didn't know why. She had been to visit once with her parents when they were still alive. They'd taken her when she'd turned sixteen, a decade ago, and while she'd enjoyed the trip, she didn't exactly miss the city. Whatever. Dreams only made sense in dreams, and she tended not to dwell on them. Melody checked her watch and cursed. She'd slept for over ten hours. Twisting in her seat, she rifled through the clothes she had strewn in the backseat, looking for something clean to change into. Let's see, she had a black t-shirt and black capris she could wear, or maybe that black t-shirt with those black jeans. Oh, and she had a gray tank top if she really wanted to be daring and add a splash of color. Honestly, she loved black as much as the next person. Slimming, matched everything, easy camouflage in the dark. But couldn't the hunters' shops try for a little more variety? There were some days she missed dressing like a civilian. With an ache of longing, Melody recalled the dresses she'd bought in Altissia after she'd finally saved up enough money to go shopping there. That elegant blue dress with the flowing sleeves and the billowing skirt. That sexy, dangerous red number with the tight bodice and tighter waist. Oh, it had hurt her to sell those, but she couldn't have brought them with her. Where would she even wear them now if she had them? Altissia? Leviathan had pretty much wiped the city off the map, and wasn't that a sobering thought while she pined for material things? The Hydraean had taken the Oracle from them, too. No one would ever forget where they were and what they were doing when they'd heard Lady Lunafreya was incontrovertibly dead. Mel had been in Accordo, eating at a diner in town when the news came over the radio. There hadn't been a dry eye in the place. Now the one person who could hold back the dark and cure the people was gone. The one person who could've possibly told Melody why she possessed a sliver of divine magic without a hint of a bloodline of either Oracles or kings in her veins. Melody had no illusions about taking Lunafreya's place. If Lunafreya's magic had been a tide—powerful, assuring, and constant—then Melody's was a spark—weak, unreliable, and fleeting. And ever since the Starscourge had come, Melody could feel that magic being suppressed if not slowly vanishing altogether. Besides, Luna's reputation had been one of glowing regard, poise, and selflessness. People traveled from continents far and wide to see her, to be healed by her. If anyone came at Melody with that kind of adoration, hands reaching out to touch her, she knew she'd bolt. She wasn't a savior, not even close, and most important of all, she was no Oracle. And that suited her just fine. Better that no one knew she could heal, so they wouldn't expect too much. Better that she blessed any weapons she found with radiant magic and left them easy for hunters to find around Lucis, so no one would watch her too closely and wonder why all of hers were especially effective against daemons. Better that no one asked the impossible, so they wouldn't punish her later for failing to achieve it. Melody changed clothes in her truck in rapid, practiced movements before strolling into the city, lightly armed with a sword across her back and a dagger in her boot. The marketplace was bustling as usual, vendors rushing to and fro to keep food and medical supplies stocked. More arms dealers could be found back here, too, but Melody wasn't here for those. Instead, she made her way to the merchant stalls, checking their wares one by one.

An arm suddenly slung itself around her shoulders while a chipper voice said, “Hey, Mel, what’s the frown for?”

“Hey, Prompto,” she said, trying to match the young man’s cheerfulness while still maintaining a grim façade. “They’re out of tomatoes again.”

“Ooh, that is a bummer.” Prompto released her, turning his attention to a young, brown-haired boy wearing cargo pants and a plaid shirt. “Talcott thinks so, too.”

Melody knew Talcott only vaguely through Iris. She waited politely for the boy to join in on the conversation, but when he merely smiled shyly and nodded, she asked Prompto, “Want to come tomato-pickin’ with me?”

Prompto winced, his blond hair shifting about his face as he moved from foot to foot. “Aw, Mel, I would but I can’t right now. I’m actually about to leave with a couple guys. Holly wants us to check on a pylon that’s been acting up. You’re welcome to come with if you want.”

“Thanks, but I want some tomatoes.”

Nodding wisely, Prompto said, “To each their own mission. Wait—you’re not going alone, are you?”

“Nah.” Yes.

The blond sighed in relief. “Okay, good. That bad habit of yours really stresses me out, y’know?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we gotta go,” Prompto told her. “C’mon, Talcott. Iris is waiting for you.”

“Okay!” Talcott said, waving to her. “Bye, miss!”

Melody raised a hand to wave at them both before returning to the matter at hand. She felt a little bad now for lying, but… Prompto wasn’t her keeper. She didn’t really have or want anyone worrying about her. Besides, there was a grove full of tomatoes close to Lestallum. She’d be there and back before the daemons even took notice, so there was no reason to drag someone with her when they could be doing something more exciting than food gathering.

She walked up to the first merchant she saw, saying, “Hey, I’m going grocery shopping. Got an empty crate I can use? I’ll bring it back full of Lucian tomatoes if you do.”

Several merchants spared her crates, so she’d ended up with over half a dozen stacked in the bed of her truck. She didn’t leave immediately, shopping around Lestallum to restock on curatives, antidotes, and additional supplies. Finishing up a meat skewer, Melody hopped in her truck and drove two miles to where she remembered the vegetable grove was. She’d only need to take a few short trips into the valley and back, and then she could be back in Lestallum well before dinner time.

Unfortunately, she got a nasty shock when she tugged the first stack of crates toward her, for greeting her from behind them was a small, shy face with a please-don’t-be-mad look.

“Talcott!” she exclaimed, hardly believing her eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Um, helping you get tomatoes, ma’am?”

Melody could pull her own hair out. Iris, you were wrong. I do not like this kid. “No, we’re going back. It’s too dangerous for you to be out here.” There weren’t any daemons around yet, but that could change at any second. She would not be accountable for this kid.

Talcott jumped down from the bed of her truck, following her. “No, please. I can help! Besides, Prompto’s right. No one should go out by themselves, but I could tell you were going to despite what you told him, and I was right!”

Melody stopped, her hand on the handle of the door as she studied the boy.

“Talcott, how old are you?” she said at last.

“Just turned eight, ma’am.”

The boy was eight, and he was both perceptive as hell and already came up to her shoulders?

Fucking hell.

Life pissed on her once again.

“You really want to help?” she said, fixing him with a hard look. “There’s daemons out here. You know that, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. I won’t get in the way. I promise.” Talcott looked down at his shoes, hands in his pockets. “I’m not old enough to hunt, so I just want to do something useful for a change.”

Melody sighed. Shiva’s tits, he looked so damn tragic, and she’d lose so much time taking him back to Lestallum. She couldn’t leave him behind in the truck, either. What if he decided to wander off and something happened?

“Fine, but you have to promise me something.” The hunter settled the gravest look she could muster on the kid. “You do as I say when I say it. If I tell you to run, hide, or leave me behind, you don’t argue with me. You do it. And if something happens and we do get separated,”—she gestured him toward the truck, pointing through her window—“there’s a two-way radio in the dashboard. Hole yourself up in here and call for help. Someone from Lestallum will come get you. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And drop the ma’am.” Melody smiled to lighten the mood. “We’re technically hunting buddies now, so call me Mel, okay? And take this. It’ll make me feel better.”

She handed him an extra flashlight and the dagger she kept in her boot, and he threaded the latter safely through his belt loop. To compensate, she strapped her bow and quiver set to her back and belted her sword to her waist.

They got through two trips and six crates together, Melody carrying two crates at a time and keeping a watchful eye on the dark while Talcott managed one and stayed mercifully quiet. The kid was tactful and could read cues well, Melody would give him that.

By the third trip, Melody was convinced they were being watched. Her arms pricked as she scanned the sloping plains in between the trees and boulders scattered around, all of them dark shadows blending into darker night, her visible perception miniscule beyond the reach of her flashlight. But there was nothing around, no daemons, wildlife, or people, and the trees didn't so much as rustle with a breeze. She knew she was being paranoid on Talcott’s behalf, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. "I'm not seeing a lot of red ones left, Mel," said Talcott, crouching among the tomato plants, his small light darting to and fro. “Should I pick some of the green ones, too?”

“Hmm, yeah, people like eating those. Just a few, though. We need to leave most of them to ripen—”

A burst of black and purple miasma rippled all around them, and ten Goblins emerged with out-of-sync screeches.

“Get back to the truck!” Melody ordered, dropping the crate and tossing the keys to Talcott. She spared enough of a glance to see Talcott take off running before she drew her bow.

A Goblin leapt for her, but she shot it out of the air with an arrow infused with radiant light. She killed four more Goblins just as quickly, moving so she kept them from surrounding her.

But the Goblins were quick, and soon she was littered with scratches across her arms, her face. One tried to climb onto her back, but she blasted it into nothing, her divine magic reacting to her panic. Another Goblin was caught in the crossfire, and it died with a shriek.

Using magic cost her, and soon she was breathing hard, fighting to keep up. When she ran out of arrows, she drew her sword, hacking and slashing until the last Goblin crumpled, dissolving into the miasma from whence it came.

Only to be replaced by two Wraiths and a Ronin. Fuck. Melody leapt back to avoid the Ronin’s quick draw, barely missing getting her stomach sliced open. But the Wraiths were drifting toward her fast. Any one of them she could handle on her own, but all three together? She was dead, unless she ran. Her back hit a tree, and she realized they had trapped her. “When did you lot get so smart?” she asked, bringing her sword up. The roar of an engine was the only warning she had before two blinding lights appeared over the hill to her right, her truck blazing a trail over the bumpy terrain. The daemons cried out with pain as the light hit them, the Wraiths immediately scattering. The Ronin wasn’t so quick, and before Melody realized what had happened, her truck had slammed straight into it, miasma exploding at the point of impact. Melody watched, stunned, as her truck braked to a hard, jerky stop. She opened the driver's side door to reveal Talcott, hands gripped on the steering wheel, feet reaching the brake pedal while his head couldn't see over the hood. "Did I get it?" he asked her, voice shaking. Melody's face split into a grin. "Kid, you didn't just get it. You wasted it!" Okay, Iris, I was wrong. I love this kid. She surged into the driver's seat and put the truck in park as Talcott scrambled back into the passenger's seat. Spotting the Wraiths drifting closer again, Melody threw the truck into reverse, cutting the wheel to spin the truck one-hundred eighty degrees. Branches scraped against the paint, her windshield cracked to hell, but she paid no mind, focusing on getting them both out of there and back on the road. They made it in one piece, no airbags deployed, tires still inflated. Six out of seven crates of tomatoes wasn't that bad, either, considering. "Talcott," Melody said sharply before laughing at the panicked look on his face. "That was amazing! You saved my ass back there." "You're not mad?" "No, I mean, yes! You could've gotten hurt! And what were you thinking, getting behind the wheel?" "Grandpa used to let me drive his car up and down the driveway," the boy explained. "I figured I could maybe do it and just go a little bit faster?" "Well, thank you, Grandpa." She smiled and ruffled Talcott's hair. "And thank you, even though you scared me to death doing it." She propped her head up on her hand, arm braced against the door. "Oh, that could've been really bad. Please don’t ever do that again." "I killed that daemon, though, right?” Talcott was practically bouncing in his seat, a big, cheesy grin on his face. “Does that mean I'm ready to be a hunter now?" "Ha! Don't you know, kid? It takes at least ten years of training to become an expert in daemonic vehicular homicide.” She flicked his nose. “So don't get cocky. You've got a long way to go." "Ten years is way too long! What about when I get taller than you instead?" "That's not hard to do, so no." Talcott flopped back in his seat with a comedic frown, but a glance up at the windshield made it become genuine. "I'm sorry about wrecking your truck, though. I just didn't know what else to do." Melody studied the damage. She spotted that the hood of the truck had a nice Ronin-sized dent in it, too. "Eh, don't worry about it too much." She grinned. "I know a good mechanic."

#yay backstory #otp: more than you bargained for #even though ardyn's not in this chapter oops #a decade of darkness au #you were made to suffer

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annamcnuff · 7 years

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Wisconsin: Trek and DreamBikes

This week has truly been one of my faves. I’ve felt (more than usual) like a naughty little scamp. Hopping from town to town, indulging three of my greatest passions - bike geekery, meeting adventurous people and learning about community projects. I even managed to find some beautiful countryside to cycle through too …

HEY THERE, BIG RIVER

The Mississippi is synonymous with adventure. Even trying to spell it can transport you to the most far flung corners of your brain (I can finally now do this without assistance). At the mere mention of this mighty river, my mind floods with childhood follies, thoughts of Huckleberry Finn and Mark Twain’s colourful depiction of the characters that line it’s shores. Entering Wisconsin via the town of Prarie du Chien, I crossed the river for the first time, and it was pure magic. At this time of year, the river bluffs are just dripping with colour. The most spectacular Golds, Oranges, Yellows and Reds - tripping over one another, scrambling and tumbling down cliff edges into the waters below.

Fall colours at The Mississippi

WISCONSIN - A CRITIQUE

I’m frequently asked “What’s your favourite state so far?”, and I struggle to answer. That said, I usually begin my (long winded) critique by splitting them into ‘states that made me go wow’ and 'states where I would really want to live’. Wisconsin has parked itself firmly in the latter. Until this week, it was simply the place that Love Actually’s Colin (“and he’s got a big knooob”) went to pick up babes. But the rolling hills, forests and network of bike paths through not-too-big-not-too-small cities are bang on the money. Wisconsin, Colin or no Colin, is my kind of place.

THE TREK EFFECT

The state is dominated by one bike brand, and one alone - Trek. America’s only bicycle factory is located just East of Madison, in Waterloo. I concluded it’d be downright ridiculous for me to ride thorough the 50 states and not make a pedal pilgrimage to this cycle mecca. So as a birthday treat to myself (and Boudica) I dropped in for a tour.

Trek HQ is reminiscent of Willy Wonker and his factory du choc. Instead of being greeted by Gene Wilder doing a roly poly on a red carpet, my Golden ticket had earned me a tour with the Head of advocacy, Brandon. We began with a display of the Trek’s of yesteryear (some seriously beautiful bikes, full of character), before being catapulted into the the 21st century. I watched carbon frames being formed, hand-sanded, custom sprayed, checked and boxed. By far the coolest introduction was to the new ’Project One’ robot. This little fella (yet to be officially named) will spray a frame with a bespoke design in the blink of an eye. It’s Nike’s ID concept, but for bikes. And it’s super sweet.

Trekin’ it up

Over the course of the morning spent at the factory, I got to understand that Trek really is a family company. Originally started in a small barn by Dick Burke, it later passed to his son and current CEO, John. And it seems that John really does care. The employees at Trek HQ are happy campers. As would you be if you had mountain bike trails in your office garden. Seriously. Many employees spend their lunch hours throwing themselves around in the mud on two wheels. There’s even a full time engineer who’s sole responsibility is to build and maintain the trails. It’s a clever move. Not only does it let employees live and breathe the brand, it also serves to provide designers and engineers with immediate product feedback. Design it, get it made in the factory, casually test it in the garden. And Bob’s your uncle (Fanny may be your aunt) - you can move forward with the design the next day. Genius.

My fave - A Paul Smith special

DREAM BIKES

Yet more impressive than the factory are the two unique, Trek run, community DreamBikes stores. These are situated either side of the HQ - One in Madison and one in Milwaukee. Dreambikes take good old fashioned community principles - exchanges of kindness, knowledge and trust, and shape them into something that works for the modern world. How? Oh I’m so glad you asked:

Affordability - DreamBikes accept bike donations from the general public, sometimes via other bike shops, and then restore them (as best they can) to the bike’s pre shed-storage glory days. They then sell them on at a price those in the local neighbourhood can afford - as low as $75 in Milwaukee. If this is still beyond budget, they offer a micro-finance payment option to those who live locally. What a host of ruddy sensible ideas.

Youth - The mechanics and shop assistants aren’t just any old Tom, Dick or Harriet. The stores are directly linked with the local ’Boys and Girls Club’. In Milwaukee kids do 6 week mechanics courses before joining the DreamBikes team. In Madison some work at DreamBikes as part of their class credits for High School. But for most, DreamBikes is a first job, and a stepping stone to a solid career.

With the Kids at The Madison store

Education - I’ll leave it to Madison store manager Erik to explain this one: “When John Burke decided to devise a community initiative, he asked the question 'what does this neighbourhood really need?’ The answer was more people on bikes …. so we’re trying to educate the community that cycling isn’t just a leisure activity. It’s an economic mode of transport.” With the investment in, and quality of bike trails around Madison, this isn’t an off the wall idea. Cycling is a realistic alternative to driving around town.

Non-profit - Trek makes no money whatsoever from the two stores. Both locations support one another and, after 5 years in operation, are just about breaking even. Any sales go to paying the kids who work there and covering overheads of the store space. They’re not short of bike donations, far from it. Each store gets in excess of 20 a week. In Milwaukee donated bikes are piled high in the basement, just waiting to be fixed up. There’s simply not enough funds, space and employees to get through the backlog. Grants are sought and used where possible, and should the stores start to make a profit it would go directly back into the local community via the Boys and Girls Club. Does that make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, or what?

No shortage of donations in Milwaukee

THE DREAM FACTOR

When people go and eat at fancy restaurants, they talk about 'ambience’ and I’m always fascinated - because it’s an X-Factor kind of thing. There’s no cut and dry formula for it. When you go into a great place, it just feels… great. DreamBikes, Madison especially, has that feel. For me to describe it to you - it’s like watching the Church fundraising montage in Sister Act I (for those of you looking blankly, use the link). The place just oozes goodness. I wanted to hang out. I wanted to paint things. I wanted to stay and chat.

Compare this vibe to many of the cold, clinical bike shops you’ve been in over the years, and the contrast is stark. It’s not about whether a big brand owns a store, DreamBikes is evidence of that, it’s simply a shift in attitude. To the belief that a bike shop has the potential to be so much more than a place you go to buy aluminium and wheels. It’s the jumping off point for a new adventure. It’s a coffee lounge. A destination. A centre for learning. It’s a central force for good in a community, and something that makes the world a better place.

Milwaukee manager (and all round cool dude) Aris, outside the store

EASTWARDS FOR THE SECOND HALF

With all the commotion this week, I bizarrely no longer feel like I’m riding my bike across a country. Instead I ride it from one appointment to the next - like a mega-commute. And so it strikes me that this is going to be a trip of two halves. The first half was about vast spaces, incredible geology, small towns and … strange weather. From here, it’ll be more about the people, the hustle and bustle and the cities.

I’m now hanging out in Chicago. Exploring downtown and doing my best to be a 'normal’ tourist. Come the weekend I’ll be back on the road - headed East and making inroads into the 1,100 miles to Maine. It’s getting a wee bit nippy, down to just about freezing, but I’ve got a hunk of extra gear on its way to see me through.

Until next week - massive High Fives to you all McNuff out :)

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