I woke up, got out of my tent, and minutes later, was greeted by the campground 'host'. For every State Park campground, they employ a 'host' who is usually pleasant, and who accepts the fees, and registers you for whatever site you're on. Most of the time, they're friendly, helpful, and fun to talk to. I mean, what could be a more relaxed job? Not in southern Illinois. This crotchety old codger got all pissy with me when I seemed surprised that they didn't take Visa(most do). I assured him that when I went to get coffee, I would hit the ATM and get him the $10. Seriously, this state employee was VERY worked up about $10... I'm guessing it has something to do with the fact that 1, he lives in southern Illinois, and 2, probably hasn't been laid in at least 30 years. Just a guess.
Anyway, I went to get coffee at the gas station up the road, and surprise surprise, it was really bad. The only upside to crap coffee is that the inexpensive, nasty stuff is usually made from Robusto beans which on average have a higher caffeine content than the more refined Arabica beans. As I drank my coffee, I started contemplating how bad the previous day had been, and as I though about what could have been so different, it hit me. The only thing I had done differently was that I hadn't drunk any coffee. That's it. Could it be? Is it possible I'm a coffee addict and I just don't know it? Perhaps it's only over the course of riding 75-100 miles that my "need" for caffeine really become apparent? Either way, I'm not going to experiment if I don't have to! Really though, after drinking my gas station mud water, I began to feel MUCH better.
I got back to the campground, paid the dickhead host, and packed up my junk as fast as I could. I was just outside Springfield, IL, the home of Abraham Lincoln, so I figured I should go check it out. I spin an easy 12 into Springfield, and stop at the visitor center to get another state map, figurinng the tourist center MUST have a better map than the one I already have. Wrong. It is every bit the piece shit my AAA map is, except with more creative labeling and more confusing symbols. Nice work, Illinois. More annoying was the pencil necked little geek in the visitor center - the place is a former railroad station, so it's huge. Even so, he didn't like that I had brought my bike inside with me, so he made up a story, saying, "Security just called me and said you can't have a bicycle inside the center." Oh really, and just where is said security guard? I sure as hell didn't see one. So, I gave him a look that told him I didn't appreciate being bossed around by the middle-aged loser guy who got stuffed into lockers in high school, and headed over to the Lincoln home a few blocks away.
For about 2-3 blocks in every direction, the neighborhood has been preserved just as it was in Lincoln's time. It was amazing seeing the photos of the house as it appeared during the election parades which passed by 1860... my lowly bike in front of the house is slightly less remarkable. After that, I rode by the state capitol building which let's face it, aside from existing in Lincoln's home city, looks a lot like any number of other capitol buildings.
I had seen a farmer's market on a closed street two blocks over, so I stopped there to buy a couple of organic apples, and then had lunch at a local cafe. Surprisingly, the coffee was fantastic, and my sandwich, which consisted of roast beef, sauteed onion, lettuce, tomato, and chipotle mayo, totally hit the spot.
After another confusing look at the map, I headed out of town to route 4, which should meet up with route 8. But in Illinois, every road has approximately 3 names, and 5 number designations, so nobody knows what you're talkinng about when you ask where route 8 is. They only know it as 'Old State Highway'. So stupid. Either way, it heads directly to Jacksonville, which is due west, and the way I needed to go. As I set out, I came to a place called "Riddle Hill". There was no hill, so I figured that was part of the riddle. Or not. But idiotic any way you look at it. On the way to Jacksonville, I continued to pass through more towns that were so lacking hope, they make the worst projects in New York seem like a vibrant paradise. As you can see in the photo, all the way to the horizon, there is nothing:
Riding through scenery like this definitely hones your ability to relax, and zone out. After a few minutes of this kind of boredom, you start looking at your odometer, praying the miles will tick by faster, though they never do. The only way to get through it is to keep pedaling, and get lost in your thoughts... it sounds odd, but sometimes a song comes to me, and just plays over and over in my head. Whatever, it makes the time go by, and is less weird than when I moo at the cows in the fields.
After riding for what seemed like forever, I came to Jacksonville, a town notable only because, like most places in Illinois, Lincoln once visited. MacMurray College is also there - not that you should know it - and as I was sitting in the park looking at my pitiful maps to decide how to proceed west, I met a couple who were both seniors at the school. Initially, the most amusing aspect of the conversation was what a perfectly cliche midwestern couple they were:
Just picture a dopey, pedestrian guy who, thanks to nothing more than the laws of selection which, due to geographic limitations skewing things in his favor, had provided him a girlfriend way out of his league. Seriously, she was probably an honest 7-8: natural blonde, blue eyes, pretty face, nice body, and she had all her teeth(a serious bonus out here). Anyway, lucky for this guy(and so many other midwestern men), the same factors which brought her to him will, for at least some time, keep her from realizing that she's drawn the short straw. Brilliant.
After asking them what they planned to do after graduating, I immediately regretted it simply because, minus the few fill-in-the-blank sections, I already knew the answer. So, what are the lovebirds doing? Moving to St. Louis together where she's becoming a teacher, and he's going to law school. I could have warned him that moving to a metropolitan area might mess up the scam he had going, but like Charles Darwin, I was simply there to observe. Still, I imagine they'll have a thrilling and dynamic life together, filled with weekend trips to Home Depot, and if they have time, Bed Bath and Beyond.
After that, I had but one more question... one which I legitimately wanted an answer to: "What's it like to go to school in a town like this?"
His answer: "It's a little slow, but I'm really going to miss it."
Really? Sweet jesus, get me out of Illinois.
I bid the lovebirds adieu, and map confusion continuing, went over to the ironically titled 'visitor's center'. After all, who actually visits Jacksonville, IL? As evidenced by the fact that the place was brand new in that never-used kind of way, apparently nobody. Even so, they were very helpful, and gave me a couple more maps(in Illinois, you can never have too many), directing me to a campground west of town called 'Rolling Acres' which they said was very nice. It sounded serene, and as I was tired, only having to ride 15 more miles sounded great. With only two hours of daylight left, I put the hammer down, and cranked out of town, only pausinng briefly to watch a few seconds of football practice at the school for the deaf. Remarkable, really, watching a football practice completely devoid of the noise we regard as such a fundamental part of the game. The whistles, play calling, trash talking... none of it was there. Aside from the scuffing of cleats on the dry ground, you couldn't hear a thing.
As I was in a rush to get to 'Rolling Acres', I hadn't bothered to look at the promotional pamphlet the visitor's center had provided to me. So, 5 miles to go, I pull into a gas station to grab just a bit more water, and feeling tired, chomp a Snicker's bar, and as I did so I looked at the description of 'Rolling Acres'. Only the pamphlet added a bit more to the title: Rolling Acres Christian Retreat Center. Super. I began prayinng that I wouldn't be sleeping amongst a bunch of bible beaters bent on 'saving' me.
Arriving there, I was happy to find that I was only one of two guests, and nobody was trying to convert me. The guy even offered me a sandwich, but I don't take food from religious fanatics - you just never know. Worth mentioning though, is that the other 'guest' seemed to have parked his camper trailer semi-permanently. And when I say semi-permanently, I mean the only thing indicating the possibility of movement was that he hadn't yet bothered to take the wheels off it. I also noticed, even though this camper was way back in the woods, he had affixed a flagpole holder, and stuck in an American flag - though I couldn't understand why. Perhaps he frequently forgot where he was being that far back in the sticks? Maybe he was just preparing for an invasion of foreign heathens whom, upon encountering the stars and stripes attached to the camper, would flee in fear of American Brand Holy Retribution? I suppose I'll never know... but it's funny the things people do to make a place feel like home. Here's a photo so you can see what I mean:
I began to pray again... this time that I wouldn't be accosted by banjo-wielding, bible thumpinng hillbillies, or worse, find myself caught in some kind of farm country inquisition...
Fantasies aside, I got set for the night, and racing the setting sun, rode the three miles into 'town' to get some food(that's the Meredosia town center in the distance).
When I arrived at the one open convenience storegas station, I noticed one of those rotisserie pizza cookers. Assuming I might get pizza again, I asked the Persian-looking(unremarkable, except for the fact that I was deep in cornbread country) guy how long it'd take to make a pizza. Clearly, he didn't have the best grasp of the english language, because all he did was look at me and say 'no'. Thanks buddy. Time to harken back to the episode of Top Chef where they have to use ingredients purchased at a gas station to make a gourmet meal - only I didn't have anything to cook with. What do I purchase? 1 small can of Hormel chili, a small bag of spicy peanuts, a small bag of honey roasted peanuts, and a packet of S'mores Poptarts(amazingly delicious). So there you have my appetizer, entree, and dessert. Enough hcalories that y body wouldn't start eating itself, and after a long day on the bike, it all tasted pretty good. Granted, the chili tasted pretty salty, and after a second look at the nutrition facts, I noticed they had crammed 1,010mg of sodium into it. That's neither a joke nor a typo. Good think I'm sweating a lot, and don't have a blood pressure issue!
After my feast, I showered, went to sleep, and wasn't threatened by bible-beaters.
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