Woke up late, and got a slow start to the day, most likely due to the rotten night's sleep before. Anyhow, here's a photo of camp at Friend's Creek State Park - pretty typical for most days:
Anyhow, I said goodbye to Denny and Slug, and started the 15 mile ride back into Decatur which, due to my broken spoke, was a necessity before I could continue any further. My legs were feeling pretty shot, and with every increase in tempo or uphill, the lactic burn would set in almost instantaneously - I'm guessing my legs simply hadn't really recovered due to the bad night's sleep the night before, but regardless, it wasn't fun, and put me in a bad mood pretty quickly. I also felt somewhat dehydrated, which surely didn't help anything. Battling yet another cross/headwind, I finally made it to the bike shop on Persian Road, and the guy set about fixing the wheel. About 30 minutes later, I was ready to go, but it wouldn't be until 20 miles later when I'd realize that in putting my bike on the stand, and then taking it off, he'd forgotten to reattach my Planet Bike tail light. Not that I use it that much, but annoying just the same, and added to my already pissy mood.
I stopped at a grocery store for water, apples, banana, and soy milk, and drank the better part of the gallon of water before getting going, and it seemed to help, but not enough. Getting out of Decatur was annoying as well, because as I've discussed previously, the Illinois maps are complete crap. The trip to Sherman, quite frankly, sucked. The scenery was typical - corn/soybean fields as far as the eye could see, but the thing that really got me was how hopelessly desolate the towns were. On route 36 I went through Illiopolis, Lanesville, Buffalo, etc... It was total emptiness in these dried up little farm towns where there might be 1 market or gas station, a post office, and usually a barber shop, but that's it. A complete lack of energy and vitality is how I'd describe the feel of these places, and when you're already feeling tired and having a bad day on the bike, it certainly doesn't motivate you. The general feeling of dislike towards southern Illinois was certainly reinforced today.
Things only got more annoying as I tried to cut through Spaulding, IL to get off route 36 and take another road to Sherman - but the trend of Illinnois maps being inaccurate continued. I really don't know what the deal is, but I can tell you, I was pretty pissed off. It was hot, I was tired, and it's annoying as hell having to turn around and retrace your route, which I had to do twice, adding at least 10 miles to my day. Furthermore, as I passed through Spaulding, I saw a sub division which caught my interest. You know those developments with names of great promise: The Breakers, Sonoma Hill, The Falls, etc. I don't think anybody takes them seriously, but this was the worst I've ever seen. Silent Rain. Look, I understand that not every real estate developer can be Donald Trump(good, since he's a total douche). But you know that you've reached the bottom when you're developing midwestern subdivisions, and the best name you can think of is Silent Rain. I have to wonder who the hell at Riverton Real Estate in Illinois APPROVED that shit?! Have you ever heard of rain that was silent?! What does that even mean? More specifically, why is that in any way appealing? Maybe if your house has a tin roof? I'll now let it be known that I prefer my rain slightly staccato, and even if I take this name seriously, I can see no advantage to silent precipitation. But hey, maybe that shit is what's required to chuck lots in a mundane subdivison outside a horrifically boring town in southern Illinois. I know this has nothing to do with cycling, but can you imagine the conversation that took place over this thing?
A: So, what are your thoughts on the name for the project?
B: Well, after pouring over a number of great ideas, I got blazed on a combination of weed, peyote, and opium, and it came to me: The best name to capture the essence of the place is Silent Rain.
A: Silent Rain, eh?
B: Think about it - there's nothing out here - it's so peaceful. And what could be more tranquil than Silent Rain?
A: You know, that's good - I had never thought of it that way. Silent Rain it is. And if you keep up the good work, I'm putting you up for promotion! Say, have you got any more of that shit you were smoking? I've got a meeting on a project south of Decatur, and I need some inspiration.
Just so you know I'm serious, here's the photo I pulled from Riverton Real Estate's website:
Can you imagine what the people making that sign were thinking? They must have laughed for weeks. And hey, if you're the dunce at Riverton who thought of this, no offense, but it's time for a career change.
I finally made it to Sherman, and in my pissed off state, I didn't pay attention, and completely missed the incredibly obvious 'State Park Campground' sign. In doing so, I added another 4 or 5 miles to the already arduous day. Thankfully, I came upon a couple of cyclists who turned me around and pointed me in the right direction, and sure enough, there was the sign. I rolled into the campground, and set up my tent as fast as possible so that I could go get some food before the sun went down.
Earlier, I had spotted a Mexican restaurant a couple miles up the road, and given how hunngry I was, I felt like it would hit the spot. It's amazing how light the bike felt, as I had unloaded it before going to get food. When I got to the restaurant, there was nowhere outside to lock it, so I took it inside and left it next to the take-out window. Asking if it was okay, the little midwestern hipster/punk brat working the window said, "Um, okay" with disdain. Good luck getting a date to the prom you little wretch.
I sat down, and was surprised that the salsa they served with the chips was actally pretty damn good. Between that and the Negro Modelo, I assumed I was in for a good meal. Once again, never make assumptions in southern Illinois - you're bound to be disappointed. As I'm sure you can guess, my food was crap. The burrito was unremarkable, the tamale was barely edible, and the enchilada was a joke. When in southern Illinois, don't order the combo platter - at least then you'll only eat one crappy thing instead of three. Disgruntled, but full, I left, pleased that I was one day closer to being done with Illinois.
With that thought in mind, I went back to the campground, got in my tent, and passed out.
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