Day 10

Meredosia, IL - Hannibal, MO

I wake up at 6:30 feeling pretty well rested, but most of all, I'm totally pumped to be getting the hell out of Illinois! After getting packed, I cruise into downtown Meredosia, stopping at the same gas station as before. As we learned last night, this place didn't have much to offer, and I still have an apple and a little package of honey roasted peanuts, so I figured I'd just wait - assuminng I would come upon something with better options(I still hadn't learned my lesson about assuming things about southern Illinois). In retrospect, I should have grabbed another pack of those tasty S'mores Poptarts, but hey, I'm trying to be healthy. I load up on water and a huge coffee(that was actually okay), and have a breakfast of an apple and ibuprofen. Definitely feeling like a champion.

It was another quiet, misty morning, and like I said, I was feeling happy about saying goodbye to the never ending monotony that is southern Illinois. Rolling through town, I realized I'd be crossing a bridge over the Illinois River. Cool! It was fun riding across this thing, with the fog cloaking the muddy water below. Cruising through more cornfields, I finally approached what was my first real climb in days, and soon the terrain became an irritating set of steeply rolling hills. On any other bike, it would have been fun, but fully loaded, the thing just loses momentum so quickly when going up hills. I had obviously been spoiled with flats for the past few days, and with only an apple in my stomach, I was getting fatigued really fast, and there wasn't a store in sight. I downed the rest of peanuts, and because they were so salty, I ended up drinking the rest of my water. Damn. I also came across the following sight that was so hysterically ironic that I had to share it with you. No comment necessary:Not far beyond this, I came across a deer carcass crumpled on the side of the road. Nothing strange there, as I see all sorts of roadkill out here all the time. This deer, however, was different. Clearly the hit was fatal, but then I noticed the head was missing! And where the neck should have connected to the body, it was obvious that somebody had taken a knife and neatly removed the trophy from the rest of the animal. I suppose if you can get it without going to the trouble of shooting it, why not.

With the sun beating down while I constantly battled the hills, I started feeling tired and dehydrated, but knowing I'd be out of Illinois by mid-day, I kept spinning. I finally came to a town with a convenience store, so I grabbed a bunch of water, and chugged a liter of that delicious Tiger Woods flavor Gatorade. Definitely helped a bit, and while my legs didn't feel much stronger, overall I felt better.

Eventually, I came to what, on the maps, looks like a 4 way intersection 7 miles before the bridge into Missouri. But, Illinois maps being the laughable garbage they are, one is required to play Magellan, and figure it out. For those of you taking this route, turn left, go about a quarter of a mile, and then turn right onto route 51 - I must note route 51 is marked on my AAA map, but not the one I got from the Illinois State tourism center. Nice.

On this road, you feel like you're going to merge into the highway, and eventually you do - but the map still marks the bridge as controlled access interstate - i.e. no bikes. On the map I saw another railroad bridge next to the other, and figuring it would be more legal than riding on the interstate, I thought, why not. I ride down the road, and roll up to the tracks next to some kind of industrial plant there. Walking the bike up to the bridge I realize there's a problem - not only are there signs very clearly stating that trespassers will be prosecuted, but more importantly, the bridge has a section which rises so that river barges can get through, and this section was up. No dice.

Back to the highway, where I figure that, being a state line, there shouldn't be any cops, but then I spot two cyclists who had passed me earlier rolling onto the highway to the bridge. I figure hell, if they're doing it, then why not. As I reach the on-ramp, I see the sign, 'Cyclists Use Right Shoulder'. Thanks for making that obvious, Illinois.

That said, at least I'm on the border of Missouri, and out of this ridiculous state. The run up to the bridge on the highway:The view as you head across the bridge:Actually entering the state of Missouri, and the turn down into Hannibal:
After making a quick stop at the tourist center in downtown Hannibal to get a map from Karen(stop and say hi if you're ever in Hannibal - she's the best), I rolled down to Kerley's, which was a friendly-looking bar/grill that had a BBQ pork special listed on the sign outside. Either way, it was air conditioned, and at 2:30, after not eating anything other than an apple and some peanuts, I was famished. The manager put a cold wheat beer in front of me(called Shock Top), and told me they had recently been awarded best BBQ in Hannibal. Well hey, I can't argue with that, so I ordered the special. It was amazing, but I'll let the photo do the talking:It was delicious, and feeling tired, I asked her if she knew of any parks/campgrounds in the area. Turns out, the Mark Twain campground, also home to the famous Mark Twain cave, was exactly 1 mile down the road. 1 mile being relative, as it's exactly .5 miles uphill, and then .5 downhill to get to the place, but hey, why not. I got a good vibe from Hannibal, so I figured I would stay the night. I thanked her, and after a couple more cups of water, headed down the road to get settled for the night. The campground was nicely taken care of, and I planted myself in a quiet spot near the shower house/laundry facility. By 5:30 though, I was once again starving, and with town only a mile away, I decided to head back in. Without seeing anything else particularly remarkable, and impressed with what I'd had before, I went back to Kerley's, and ordered a bacon cheeseburger and a couple more beers. I end up talking to Chris, one of the cooks there, and he asks me if I want to grab a few beers later. I liked the idea of having a tour guide, so I hung around until 8ish when he got off work, and we went across the street to another bar. Eventually, we end up at a place called 'Rookie's' which is a karaoke bar... the funny thing is, walking in, Chris says, "Yeah, this is the kind of place where you don't fit in too well if you have all your teeth..." Nothing like local flavor... and while I had thrown shorts on over my spandex, I was still wearing my bike shoes from riding into town, so I'm pretty sure I didn't fit in too well either. Either way, we had a hilarious time, with Chris telling me everything about everybody in the place - from the wackjob kid who in high school got caught with a gun on school grounds, to the ex stripper licking the face of her toothless girlfriend while their boyfriends looked on. Nonstop amusement. It DEFINNITELY pays to have a local tour guide. At about 12, I was a little drunk, and figured I should get on the bike and get to sleep before I wasn't capable of riding anymore, so we called it a night.

I made it back safely, and falling asleep a little tipsy was definitely an amusing contrast to all the other nights thus far. As I drifted off, I hoped I wouldn't have too much of a hangover the next day...

Day 9

Sherman, IL - Meredosia, IL

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.

Day 8

Oreana(Decatur), IL - Sherman, IL

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.

Day 7

Chrisman, IL - Decatur(Oreana), IL

Waking up at about 5:45AM behind Chrisman High School, I was ready to jet out of there as fast as I could. In the dark, I took down the tent and packed up as fast as I could, and within about 20 minutes, I was loaded up, and riding out of the parking lot and onto the main road through town. I stopped at the Casey's convenience store to replenish my Ibuprofen supply, get water, and find out where the hell to get breakfast in this redneck town. I ended up chatting with the friendly clerk behind the counter for a minute - I told her about my odd experience with the freaks down the road in Scotland, and her exact words were, "Yeah, there's nothing left there anymore - the people who stayed are all a bit off". And when she said a bit off, I think she meant a bit inbred.

Anyway, I ask where I should get breakfast, and she says, "Well, there isn't really anything in this town, but just down the road there's a bunch of stuff." Pressed for specifics, she said, "I don't get out of town very much", but then said, "There's this one great place, it's got a silver exterior, and they have really great food there... hmmm, what's it called..." She asks her co-worker who says, "Oh yeah, you mean Denny's!" She says, "Yeah, Denny's, that's it!" Denny's?! A great restaurant?! Clearly I need to reevaluate the definition of 'good food' around here. I think I managed to hide my disgust, figuring if there's a Denny's, there must be some other options too. I went outside, popped some Ibuprofen, drank some water, ate my last apple, and got going.
Keep in mind, this lady said Denny's was 'just down the road'. It was a cool misty morning, the roads were empty and flat, and at my back the sun was just beginning to rise. Even after having such a horrendous night of sleep, I was in a pretty good mood, especially with the prospect of breakfast just down the road.(the night before, with no food to be had in Chrisman, my dinner consisted of an apple and water, so I was in a slight calorie deficit)

Thing is, in place like southern Illinois where there really isn't anything other than corn/soybean fields, the occasional clusters of houses they ambitiously call "towns", and the odd gas station, describing a place as being "just down the road can mean 5 miles, or it can mean 50". After riding 17 miles, I came to a sign which said, 'Tuscola - 18 miles'. Super. By this point I was ravenously hungry, so I stopped at the next gas station, and downed the biggest Starbuck's Frappuccino they had. I hate Starbucks, but I just couldn't handle burnt gas station coffee, and when you're in the cornfields of southern Illinois, sometimes you just have to choose the best of the bad options.

After 18 miles, I finally reached Tuscola - remarkable only for the outlet shopping center which, luckily for me, meant there was a plethora of crappy food to choose from. As promised, there was a Denny's, then a McDonald's, Wendy's, Olive Garden, and a variety of other garbage. The one standout was 'Woody's Family Restaurant'. The parking lot was full, so figured what the hell, maybe the one non-chain in Tuscola has something good going on. I locked up the bike, and strolled in, feeling the eyes at table after table lock on to my spandex clad ass. I guess cycling isn't popular in Tuscola, IL. Shocker. I sat down at the table, and looked over at what at any other time would be a fairly gross breakfast buffet, literally 5 notches below bad college dining hall food. But this was not any day. I was tired and famished after riding 35 miles to breakfast on only an apple, a Frappucino, and Ibuprofen, so it looked better than eggs Benedict at Delmonico's.

I ordered the $6.99 buffet which included a bottomless cup of coffee, and walked up to the buffet tables. Trays of poorly scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage links, pancakes, some sorry excuse for french toast, and hashbrowns greeted me. And then I spotted the eggs Benedict! Glorious! Amazingly, they hadn't made the Hollandaise with cheese whiz, so I loaded my plate with that, scrambled eggs, sausage links, a few strips of bacon, and a couple strawberries from the elegant fruit tray. Delicious. It's amazing what hunger can do to you... and in probably 4 minutes, I had eaten it all. Round 2: More scrambled egg mess, sausage links, the pathetic french toast, and just to make sure it tasted alright, I drowned it all in maple syrup product. Just as with plate #1, it was delicious. I was slightly ashamed, but feeling my energy levels return to normal with the probably 4,000 calories I slammed into my stomach, and the 5 cups of watery coffee I chugged. And hey, with tip, the entire experience cost me $8.00. After bombing their bathroom, I headed out to my bike, where I realized my cell phone was quickly dying. Across the street was a McDonald's, so I figured I'd go over there and get slightly less awful coffee, and sit and charge my phone for a few. I also hung my damp gloves out in the sunshine to dry, and about 45 minutes of digestion, caffeination, and cell phone charging later, I was ready to rock.

The day's goal was to get to Friend's Creek State Park just outside of Decatur, IL, and with my early start, and the flat road, I thought I would get there in time to find decent food, as Decatur appeared to be a decent sized city. Once again, as a stranger to southern Illinois, one does well not to make assumptions about anything.

As I approached Decatur, I had yet another spoke give up the ghost, with a slight ping as the spoke nipple once again rattled into the rim cavity. Damnit. Fortunately, the wheel was only slightly out of true, so I loosened the rear brake, and kept going. It was only 3PM, and just outside the city I spotted a Kroger grocery store, so I stopped to get a banana, an apple, and a half gallon of soymilk. Ate the apple, chugged the soymilk, and sat for a few, looking over the map. It had become clear to me that the maps of Illinois(I had two) completely suck. Distances are off, the maps are not to scale, and landmarks are misplaced. I honestly think Blagojevitch embezzled the money earmarked for an accurate survey of the state. Bastard.

After resting, I continued on into Decatur, which on the outside looks like a run down industrial city. Upon riding to the city center, you realize that even in the interior, it is a run down industrial city. More to the point, I simply had a bad vibe from the place. It seemed depressed, and slightly hopeless. As I rode slightly Northeast towards the opposite side of the city, and on to Oreana, where the state park and campground was located, I realized that gangs have a massive presence. In particular, the Bloods. Everywhere, people were sporting red flags, shirts, even pants. More depressing, as I passed a city park where some people were having a cookout with their kids, by any measure a normal activity, I noticed many of them wore, on some part of them, the color red. Definitely wasn't feeling too safe, so I jetted out of town as fast as I could, only to end up fighting a serious headwind the entire 12 miles to Oreana, and the additonal 3 to Friend's Creek park.

Once there, I was tired and hungry, but in my haste to get settled before dark, I hadn't gotten any food. I had three Belgian Moser Roth chocolate bars in a bag for special occasions, and decided that alleviating the sensation of my body eating itself merited chomping one down. Let me tell you, after a long day of riding, 85% cacao Belgian chocolate has a smooth, richly complex flavor profile which, if experienced by more people, would likely lead to world peace.

By this time, I was all set for the night, and walking towards the bathroom, I introduced myself to my friendly-looking neighbors settled around a campfire next to their RV, and had a good chat for a few minutes. Upon walking back from the bathroom, with darkness minutes away, I saw a couple of the guys walking past, and they asked if I needed anything. I said I didn't want to trouble them, that I was just too tired to ride the 6 miles round trip into Oreana and back. Then, in one of the moments of kindness which have added such richness to this trip, they said, "Well, just come along with us, we're getting some pizza at Casey's." Music to my ears! Pizza... even marginal pizza from a convenience store in Oreana, IL sounded incredible, as my brain is programmed at this point to focus in on things like carbs and melted cheese.

At Casey's, I order a large 'Supreme', which has sausage, pepperoni, olives, green pepper, and mushrooms on it. Oh yeah. We all get back to the campground, and sit together at the picnic tables, and begin eating our pizza. Piece by piece, I steadily demolish the entire pizza, noting that while it isn't exactly gourmet, Casey's actually makes a pretty damn decent pie. The great thing about this ride is that you can sit and eat a large pizza, and unlike at any other time, feel pleasantly full instead of contemplating forced vomiting to relieve the pressure on your digestive system.

Their wives turn in for the night, but the campfire is still burning, and providing relief from the evening chill, so Denny, Slug, and I have a good time just sitting around talking for a couple of hours until about 11, when I decide I should probably get some sleep.

*Side note: Slug, who is around 75, a former railroad engineer, and one of the nicest guys I have ever met, has one of the most interesting nicknames. Even his wife calls him Slug. He wrote his real name and address in my journal, but I can't read the name - so why is he called Slug? As he said, "I can't fight my way out of paper bag", but apparently in his younger years some big guy gave him some trouble at a bar - Slug connected with a perfect hook to the chin, knocking him out instantly. And henceforth, he was called Slug.

Once again, I fell asleep after another day closed in the company of strangers who had quickly become friends.

Day 6

Woke up at about 8 to get a good jump on the day, and aside from stiff legs, and sore ass, was feeling pretty energetic. Jim cooked up some mean blueberry pancakes and some killer sausage from a local farm - definitely some good fuel to start the day. After a little more coffee, I packed up the bike, and Jim jumped on his to lead me out of town. First, however, I had to make a stop at the Indy Speedway to check it out, and since it was close, get a little peek at the purposely nondescript Zipp world headquarters. Granted, I think Zipps are for pansies, but what the hell, still cool to see where they make the magic happen.After the sightseeing, we said goodbye, and I got headed down the road, now taking route 36 straight west, as route 40 cuts south out of Indianapolis. Not 15 minutes after that, the rain began, and was hard enough I figured it wouldn't hurt to stop for a few. I pulled into a grocery store, and grabbed some soy milk and bananas for later, then wheeled a few blocks down the street to a Barnes and Noble for some coffee while waiting for the downpour to stop. A few minutes turned into two hours, and by 1:30, I figured it was time to get on the road, rain or no rain. The Planet Bike fenders did a really nice job of keeping the spray off me and the bike, but the poncho I threw on was collecting condensation on the inside as I was sweating, so I ended up pretty damp anyway. Mercifully, the rain stopped 20 minutes after I got back on the bike, so I stowed the poncho, and kept moving.

Soon the roads were dry again, almost as though it had never rained. I was feeling strong and making pretty decent time too. Cruising through one town, it became obvious that I was in Amish country given the number of buggies around. Now you may not know it, but the Amish have a definite competitive streak/superiority complex, especially when it comes to their transportation. Why else would they still rock those 1 horsepower buggies? Anyway, I pull up to a stoplight, and there's a black wagon in front of me, loaded down with a whole family. I get a couple glances from the two kids in back, and I see one of them tap the dad on the shoulder. The dude looks back for a second, giving me the infamous Amish Eye, letting me know that he wanted to give me an old-school ass whipping. Even with the fully loaded bike, there was no way I could back down, so as soon as the light flashed green, he cracked his whip, and the buggy was off. I clipped in, downshifted, and sprinted off after the guy. As I closed in on him, I pulled out the camera and snapped this shot - you can see how he's hanging to the left in the lane, trying to prevent me from making the pass! Who would have thought the Amish were such natural tacticians? Anyway, about 10 seconds after I took this photos, I was jamming in the big ring, and as I crossed the double yellow, taking the buggy on the left, the kids in the back looked back at me, and I swear I saw one of them scowl. Ben: 1, Amish: 0. Booyah.

About 10 miles after my drag race, I FINALLY reached the border of Illinois, and as you can see, there's not much to the southern part of the state aside from cornfields... and more cornfields. Crossing the border, I quickly realized that I was not going to be enjoying myself much out here. Sure, the roads are flat and fast, but there was a certain tangible emptiness in the air which was absent even in similar terrain through Ohio and Indiana.
That said, it wasn't until just after the state line that I saw the following sign, and it really sunk in that I was guaranteed to have a crappy time in Southern Illinios:Here I was, my panniers stuffed to bursting with untaxed indian reservation cigarettes! With the prospect of losing my wheels to the long arm of the law, I dumped the cancer sticks in a cornfield. In all seriousness though, imprisonment for 'bootlegging' cigarettes? What about the other problems in southern Illinois like incest, wife beating, child neglect, religious fanaticism, and the general lack of anything to do? Surely these are issues more demanding a road sign than cigarette bootlegging?

Anyway, I was happy to be making somewhat rapid progress, but looking at my watch, it was 7:20PM, the sun was going down, and there was nothing around for miles. No campground, no hotel, motel, or Holiday Inn. Hmmmm. I came to the town of Scotland, and figure I ought to stop and see if there's anywhere I could pitch my tent. I see a group of people outside a house, and roll over, asking if they know of anywhere I might be able to camp for the night. The toothless, inbred codger who seemed to be the king around the place gave me the sort of look that said he didn't approve of my spandex and funny shoes, and said, "Hmmmm... camping? Where?" Meanwhile, I hear one of the women in the background mutter to the other that she should let me camp in her backyard - but clearly the old man was calling the shots. Anyway, he looks contemplative, but where a simple 'No' would have sufficed, an awkward silence hung in the air. A seriously uncomfortable, unbelievably strange pause... and for a solid 10-15 seconds, I waited for an answer that never came. Sensing I had, in the course of 30 seconds, overstayed my welcome in the 1 cow town of Scotland, IL, I said 'Thanks anyway", turned around, and headed back to route 36. Incorrectly, I figured I'd find something in the town of Chrisman, 3 miles away. Dusk was falling as I rode in Chrisman - another town of maybe 300 people - and as I looked around, aside from a park with a definite 9pm closing time, there wasn't anywhere great to camp without risking an encounter with the local police. On the edge of town lay the high school, and as the next day was Labor Day, I figured nobody would be around, so I parked the bike, and pitched the tent behind an equipment barn situated behind the main building.

Being in such a small town, I was uneasy about explaining myself to a police officer who, much like the people I ran into in Scotland, probably wouldn't be fond of my vagrancy. Still, it was the only easy spot to stop, so I tried to sleep. Also of note is the cow pasture located directly behind Chrisman high school - almost every hour, the cattle would start mooing to each other, which would wake me from my half-sleep. Then, at 3:30am, I freaked out, hearing what sounded like a horse snorting directly next to my head. Sitting up, I looked out the tent, and there, 12 feet away on the edge of the fence were a couple horses - certainly nothing to be afraid of, but as I was on edge already, the unexpected noise had gotten the adrenaline flowing - which made it hard to get back to sleep. While I did technically 'sleep', it certainly wasn't the kind of rest I needed, but at least I wasn't woken with a spotlight and a badge in my face...

Day 5

Richmond, IN - Indianapolis, IN

Started out the day with a solid breakfast prepared by my gracious host, Chris, and by about 9:30, I was on the road, figuring I'd get a bit past Indianapolis by day's end. My butt was still pretty sore, but the legs were feeling good, and without too much wind, I was averaging a consistent 20mph.

Anyway, it was about lunchtime when I cruised into the town of Knightsbridge... I saw some little old ladies with a food cart that looked better than anything else in town, so once I reached the end of Main Street, I figured I'd turn around. Before I could, some old guy, who had to be damn near 70, rides up on a beat Scattante road bike - a generic aluminum thing from Performance that isn't known for speed. Not that the guy on the touring bike should be talking, but hey... Anyway, he says, "How far you headed?" I say, "Well, eventually San Fran, but today a bit past Indianapolis." He replies, "Well, you won't be impressed, but today I'm going to Indy and back!" I wave, and turn around to get some lunch. I had a beef tenderloin sandwich which was huge and awesome, and a "Coney Style" hot dog so bad I didn't finish it. This coming from the guy who has pretty much never said 'no' to something that once mooed or oinked... Guess hot dogs aren't an Indiana thing.

So, with lunch done, I grab water at the local convenience store, and look at my watch - it's only been about 15 minutes since old man winter passed me, so I decide, with only 30 miles to Indy, that I'll play time trial, and try to gun him down. After all, he's gotta be at least 70, how long could it take? And who says you can't go for speed when you're "touring"? I click into the big boy gears, and take off - it's flat, there's no wind, and the speedo is reading 25mph, sometimes as high as 28. Apparently so fast bugs get stuck to my speedometer sensor:
I figure, on some of the straight stretches, I should at least be able to see grandpa. I give chase for literally an hour and a half, and hit a straight stretch with at least 2-3 miles of visibility, but the guy is nowhere to be seen. I begin to hope that he had turned off onto another route, and ease up on the pace, officially giving up when a few miles outside Indy I stopped to see a sharp, mustard yellow, '72 Buick Centurion convertible parked in a car dealers lot. $4500, and only 72,000 miles - I may have to go back for that...

Anyway, as I get rolling again, I hear the rattling sound of something rolling around in my rim... hmmm, that's not good. I stop to take a look at notice a rear spoke has snapped right at the threads, and the spoke nipple was rolling around in there. Super. With a slight wobble, I keep going, and with luck clearly on my side on this day, I see Indy Cycle Specialist coming up on the right. I stop there, get the wheel fixed, and fill up on water from their cooler. Nice guys, and the service was fast and inexpensive. Anyway, one of the guys, Joe, asks me if I'm going to Ribfest in Indianapolis - given that I'm basically obsessed with barbecue, I press him for more info. Turns out it's a huge BBQ festival with live music right in downtown Indy. Score.

Wheel fixed, and BBQ on the brain, I cruise into Indianapolis, which immediately strikes me a place with good vibes. Happy looking people, lots going on in the downtown, etc... I was particularly interested by the amazing soldiers and sailors memorial in the middle of the city:
Scattered through the park there's also a variety of sculpture, and these cool canals right in the city where you can hop in a kayak or paddleboat(kegs in canoes, anyone?):Anyway, I cruised around the city to White River Park, where 'Ribfest' was being help - as the park is rather large, I didn't find it right away. Continuing through the park, on a grassy portion of land overlooking the river, I spotted a few tents, and what looked like serious grills going - my first thought was, okay, maybe this is ribfest. A little smaller than I thought, but hey, BBQ is BBQ. In what proved to be another serendipitous moment, I met Jim Lingenfelter and his wife, Georgia Cravey. It turns out that Jim has himself ridden across the country, and has an excellent collection of bikes, including a new custom tandem he and Georgia are going to use for an adventure in the near future...

Anyway, Jim and I discussed bikes, travel, etc, for a few minutes, but as I still hadn't seen the actual Ribfest and darkness was coming in a couple hours, I said goodbye, and cruised over to the festivities. Once there, I got a decent pulled pork sandwich, and checked out the music venue. Fun, but the food and music would have been better with 5 or 6 beers in me - but I think they designed the event that way on purpose.

Leaving ribfest, I decide to swing back by where Jim and his group of friends had set up their spread overlooking the river to say goodbye. Of course, we end up talking a bit more, and after a couple minutes, I have a beer in my hand, and after a few more, a pulled pork sandwich, and some jerk chicken made by one of Jim's friends. Definitely superior to the supposedly "professional" BBQ I had just a few minutes prior at Ribfest.Before you know it, we're all having a good time, the sun is going down, and suddenly I realize I need to figure out where the hell I'm going to sleep. Fortunately, Jim,
being a fellow cyclist, and well-versed in the random experiences inherent to touring, offers me a place to stay. With beer and BBQ in hand, it was easy to say yes! What Jim won't tell you, is that's he's actually a hell of an arcitecht as well a cyclist - in addition to a number of projects across the country, he oversaw the impressive restoration and re-design of the historic home he and Georgia live in.

After a good day of riding accompanied by some good fortune, and the company and hospitality of kind people, I fell soundly to sleep.

Downtown Indy at night:

Day 4

West Carrollton, OH - Richmond, IN

After resting for a couple days, and making a few adjustments to the bike, had an easy spin over the flat, winding roads of western Ohio. Upon leaving civilization in West Carrollton, was mostly surrounded by cornfields, and, well, more cornfields. Only ended up being about 50 miles, and the most notable town I went through was Farmersville, the name of which pretty much gives away the primary form of employment in the town... but even more humorously, it seems the Farmersville cops are too busy eating donuts, tipping cows,
or investigating crop circles to actually patrol. So instead they stick a dummy in the patrol car.
I saw that, and started laughing immediately, so I rolled up to the car and took a picture of the "cop". Some guy in a truck across the street started laughing too and said, "So, what do you think of that?" I said, "Looks like your tax dollars are hard at work".

Continuing on, I didn't see too much, aside from a truck at a convenience store emblazoned with the logo of my old friend, PBR.
Eventually, I crossed the border into Richmond, IN, and rolled up to Chris Hardy's house, whom I met through warmshowers.org, the site for touring cyclists. Chris was kind enough to offer me a place to crash for the night at his awesome house. A few of his friends came over, and we all rode over to local sandwich place where I had some giant creation called "Jimmy's Big Idiot" or something like that - no joke. That and a Sam Adams totally hit the spot, but afterwards, Chris decided we ought to grab dessert at the local french restaurant/patisserie, and I sure wasn't going to argue. French food in the industrial city of Richmond, IL? Yup. I had a hazelnut cake of some sort that was excellent by any standard... nice to see a place like that doing well in such an unexpected location.After dessert, we cruised over to the local park which has a spring of some sort which people who don't fear Giardia apparently water from... but we were just there to watch the Beatles cover band. Not band, and after an hour or so, we called it a night.