Borders - Day 85: Geneva, OH to Chautauqua, NY

Ever since I neared Lake Erie, Ohio's roads had gotten a lot less friendly with more traffic and extremely narrow shoulders despite the constant signs reminding me that I was on an approved bike route. Crossing into Pennsylvania improved that situation significantly and even brought me to an excellent peach stand. I bought four. Crossing into New York improved road conditions farther, providing enough room for two cyclists to ride side by side if desired.

Speaking of two cyclists: thanks to my lack of social energy, ironically, I was getting kind of lonely. At the New York state line I met another cross-country rider for the first time since Illinois. I was a little anxious about talking, but I didn't need to be, as Takahashi didn't speak much English. I knew he was going cross-country because he had written "LA -> NY" in sharpie on a white cloth hanging from his bike. He introduced himself by pointing to himself, saying his name, thinking a bit, and then announcing "I like beer." I knew we would be good friends. We worked out that he was aiming to end in the same place I was today, so I called my next Warm Showers host and confirmed that Takahashi could stay there instead of camping out.

Then came the part where I tried to explain the Warm Showers host via charades while he politely tried to express that he not in need of help. Eventually he understood that he would be able to sleep in a house and get free food, after which he got excited. Understanding thus achieved, we took off. I enjoyed that conversation with Takahashi was an intellectual puzzle instead of a typical social interaction -- an intelligence roll instead of a charisma roll, to use gaming terms. I always have the energy for puzzles. Not jigsaw puzzles, but real problems, and in this case I had the added motivation of actually being able to help someone. That might be the best way to put depression aside for a little while.

It turned out that our host lived about 800 feet above the actual town, which was the first real test my knees had faced in a long time. They didn't like it. It seems inappropriate to call this a good thing, but perhaps luckily for me, Takahashi had a spoke break on the way up the hill. I had a spoke wrench, so I lent that to him and gave my knees a rest while he worked on it. I was glad to have a way to help, because I assumed that I'd probably just get in his way if we couldn't actually communicate. He indicated that I could go ahead and he'd catch up, but I stayed in case he needed a translator. We stayed on the side of the road until it got dark, but he finally got it to be at least somewhat functional. I lent him one of my lights and we carried on up the hill.

I let our host know what was going on, and he actually drove out and found us a few miles from his place. Knowing how cyclists are, he went on ahead and said he'd see us there. We headed deeper and deeper into the forest, eventually discovering that his house was really a large cabin in the middle of the woods, completely off-grid. We met his dogs, he showed us a bunk bed in his basement shop, and brought us large plates of pork chops, mashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables, along with a few cans of Bud Light. Takahashi was very excited about this, and I went ahead and dug into the porkchops. I was very happy to see food and didn't think I had much to gain from rejecting meat that was already made. After the fact, I realized that I could have packaged up some of it and stuck it in his icebox to delay whenever he would next have to buy meat, and would have possibly felt better about sticking to my newfound principles.

Takahashi and I had managed to make some conversation while he worked on his bike, so I tried to relay what I learned about him to our host, who seemed a little weirded out to host someone he couldn't talk to. Takahashi and I filled out our host's log book, he in Japanese and I in English. There were only maybe six entries in there, as this place was pretty far out of the way.

Looking through the logbook revealed that, amazingly, Hamish and Angus, the Brits I had met in Yellowstone, had actually been here a few weeks before we arrived! I tried to express to Takahashi how crazy this was, but I don't think I was successful. I couldn't contact them about it, of course, because there was no cell service. That also means I couldn't translate it. Takahashi and I tried to talk about what we like to do in normal life and discovered that we're both bass players. It was a little difficult to go too in-depth about anything, but we both kept trying whenever we thought up a concept that we thought we could express. We had some success and talked for longer than I thought we would before finally going to sleep.

Lots of images today. Apparently I take more pictures when I don't talk to people as much: a turkey family in Geneva; one of the few sandy beaches on Lake Erie; a drawbridge outside of Erie, PA; obligatory state line photo; an old Mountain Dew ad; a vineyard on a hill; the peach stand; Takahashi at the next state line; sunset climbing the mountain (my phone isn't great dealing with varying light levels); our accommodations for the night; and our dinner.

Urban life - Day 84: Oberlin to Geneva, OH

Most of today was spent dealing with Cleveland. My knees had repaired themselves enough that I was able deal with frequent starts and stops relatively effectively, which was convenient. Partway into the city, a deafening roar overhead signaled that the Blue Angels were practicing, which that all drivers would be constantly distracted. Some were, but Google did an admirable job of finding bikeable streets all the way to the city center, so I didn't have to worry about it too much.

I stopped at the waterfront to eat my lunch and watch the Blue Angels fly. This was actually my first real view of Lake Eerie, too, even though I hadn't been far from the waterfront for a while. I spent a while in a park further on, but mostly just spent the day grinding my knees away after the city riding caused them to flare up again.

Eventually, I made it out to my Warm Showers host, where I had been instructed to "just go inside" because he wouldn't be there right away. Another guest was there already, a pedicab driver from Washington D.C. We talked for a while, I shared some peanut butter and honey because he didn't have enough vegan-friendly food, and he farted a lot. Being in a socially anxious mindset, I don't remember much of what we discussed, or what we talked about once our host came back. I do remember that the other guest offered to put me in touch with his roommates so I could stay in his bed if I ended up in DC, which I definitely considered.

Since the other guest arrived first, he got the bed. I slept on the ground at the foot of it, which I really didn't mind. Indoors is plenty good enough for me.

Pictures for today: fluffy clouds, a bike lane that disappears in the middle of an intersection, a couple Blue Angels shots (two are upside down in the second image), my bike at the Cleaveland waterfront, and more fluffy clouds.

Oasis - Day 83: Bowling Green to Oberlin, OH

My cemetery hideout didn't feel very well-hidden, so I left around 5 AM which meant I didn't get much sleep. I treated some early-rising college faculty to the sight of a dirty hobo coming to life in their nearby Dunkin' Donuts and continued through Bowling Green to Fremont and the Birchard Public Library, which seemed like a good place to recharge my lights.

The trip was becoming a tour of public libraries instead of breweries, but I didn't mind. Libraries facilitate solitude and let you use internet and power without expecting you to buy anything. The Birchard library was particularly neat, as it was built on the site of an old fort and had a cannon out front, as if to blast knowledge into passersby. Perhaps it was meant to intimidate people into using their inside voices, I don't know. In any case, I really enjoy buildings that have been repurposed from a mission that I dislike -- in this case, war and colonization -- to serve a cause that I like. Usually that means that they become libraries, makerspaces, art venues, or if it's in Oregon, a McMenamin's pub.

In front of Birchard, I spoke with a woman who was herself considering riding across the country. As I always do, I encouraged her to go for it. I believe that the desire to do it is pretty much the only qualification necessary, assuming a very basic level of ability and enough time and money to achieve their desired pace and level of comfort. People walk the whole route occasionally, so really, it's cheating to be on a bike at all.

Inside the Birchard library, it occurred to me that I could go north of Lake Eerie through Canada to get to my next major waypoint, Niagara Falls. I didn't have the Northern Tier maps anyway, and not only would this take me through the exotic land of Canada, perhaps I could even talk to a doctor about my knees without risking my entire savings account! Ultimately, I decided against it for two reasons. One, there were more Warm Showers hosts on this side of the lake, and I would be depending on them a little more since it would be getting more urban shortly. Two, I didn't want to be committing minor crimes in another country while sleeping in "unapproved" areas.

A nice rail-trail took me most of the way to Norwalk, and a short hop to another rail trail brought me into Oberlin where I had contacted a Warm Showers host. The town of Oberlin had a very unexpected artsy, bohemian vibe to it, which was a major surprise in the middle of a conservative area. Turns out that everyone but me knows that Oberlin is home to a prestigious liberal arts college. My hosts Mike and Mari were both curators at an art museum on campus and decorated their home in an appropriately artistic Japanese style. They fed me and gave me a key, suggesting that I check out The Feve, a popular local bar. I did, as I still had some energy and thought it might be good to force myself to socialize.

I didn't socialize. I ordered the strongest, darkest beer I could find and hid in a corner telling myself I would work on my blog until someone looked approachable. Everyone there was tragically hip, though, and every introduction I could think of sounded pathetic and uninteresting. I consider myself an extroverted and energetic guy by nature, but that's how depression works. I didn't even work on my blog, I just kind of stared at people and hoped I wasn't creeping anyone out. I did manage to write the next episode of my short story, though, turning the character from before into a kind of hero, which was a nice distraction.

I returned to to Mike and Mari's right as Mari was returning from a Taiko drumming class (so cool!). I was just far enough behind that I couldn't catch up and say hi before she got to the door, but close enough that I thought it would look weird if I showed up immediately without having said something, like I was following her. I spent a few minutes trying to entice a nearby cat before working up the courage to enter their house again and go to sleep.

Images from today: a random creek, some rail-trail, an advertisement for the Super Gun Raffle, and an abandoned gas station.

Stowaway - Day 82: Morrowville, IN to Bowling Green, OH

I cleaned up the community center and headed out at a somewhat reasonable hour, which happens more often when I decide against the tavern visit. Even minor depression has a silver lining, I guess.

My knees finally allowed me to keep a reasonable pace, assuming I popped ibuprofen frequently and didn't have the gall to climb any hills. More farm roads took me through places with names like Independence and Defiance before taking a lunch break in Napoleon. That turned into a dinner break after I stopped in the library. I think their router had run out of internal IP addresses to assign -- that is, it wouldn't remember any new device that hadn't connected to it recently. Whatever the problem, I got around it by just by telling my computer to use an existing IP address instead of waiting to be assigned a new one. I tried to share my solution with the librarian, but all he heard was that I had ignored their prior warning that "the internet is broken". He appeared to be upset that I would defy him in this, the one domain he had control over in his life. Fine then, less competition for wifi. 

I sat on a balcony in a remote enough corner of the library to avoid the surly librarian. It was far enough from anyone else that I felt it wouldn't present a public health danger to take off my shoes, which led to the discovery of a large cricket that had somehow managed to survive the trip snuggled up next to my foot, apparently unharmed. I tried to catch it to set it free outside, but it escaped with a dramatic leap over the balcony and plunged into the stacks below. Sorry, surly librarian guy. Godspeed, horribly traumatized shoe-cricket.

I killed time on things like Facebook conversations, failed attempts to update my blog, and writing a silly short story in order to explain why someone hadn't been able to respond to my messages in a while. I hoped that I could wait around to make sure I had cell service to call my girlfriend when I said I would, but I forgot to account for timezones and the library closed before phone-call time. I hung out on the library steps with a local cat and listened to a heated conversation about why it wasn't this kid's fault that he had been absent from school that day.

The cat tired of me, so I tired of that place. I got a snack and headed to the edge of town before phone call time, which of course meant that phone call time occurred in a place with no shelter, in the rain, across from a foul smelling and strangely-high-security Campbell's Soup factory. The humidity meant that the rain wasn't terrible, at least, and a guy driving his riding lawnmower on the highway (???) stopped to give me a water bottle.

I thought about camping soon after that somewhere along the Maumee River, but everything was damp and I was kind of eager to keep my mind occupied anyway (due to the depression, not the phone call), so I just put on my reflective vest and lights and kept going. I made it all the way to the outskirts of Bowling Green before I finally decided to turn in, and slept between two pine trees in the back of a cemetery, leaving what I hoped was a respectful distance from any actual graves.

Took a few pictures today, surprisingly. Here's Scooter the derby car on the way out of Morrowville; an obligatory state line photo (apparently with flash, oops); a lonely bench on a massive levi overlooking a resrvoir; and, of course, the cat I hung out with for about an hour in front of the Napoleon library.

One small step - Day 81: Yoder to Morrowville, IN

As it turns out, it's really nice being able to shift with a flick of the wrist instead of having to get my entire body involved to convince it to move, especially when my knees, though somewhat better, still required me to constantly shift to ensure minimal effort. I only made it 20 miles from the McCombs', but only because Morrowville was a surprisingly hospitable place. Morrowville, Indiana, population 1280 (about the same as it was in 1991, according to Google) shows up in Google search results behind Morrowville, Kansas, population 151, so I assumed not much goes on there.

When going inside any building, I tend to disguise myself by putting normal shorts over my Lance pants to avoid discouraging normal human interaction. Also to avoid stares, or getting called a grape or banana "smuggler" (think about it). Morrowville has a very nice public library, so I suited (shorted?) up and checked it out. I left my smelly bike gloves on, though, so the librarian saw through my disguise and suggested that I stay in town, as the community center was open to all passing cyclists. I forgot I was back on a mapped Adventure Cycling route, in this case the Northern Tier!

I called the phone number provided by the librarian and an older man directed me to the community center, where he met me, showed me around, gave me the key, and chatted for a while. He gave me the same advice he gives all passing cyclists: that, out on the road, I've "got the world by the ass". I can go where I want, do whatever I want, with no time constraints or bosses to obey, and I should appreciate that and make the most of it. I assured him that I intended to do exactly that and shared a few stories. He shared (many) more stories about adventures with his car club in his '40s-era convertible. He also spoke at length about how inconsiderate it was that the previous community center users had left a projector screen in the middle of the building, as if I would be somehow inconvenienced having access to only 1,995 square feet in this gigantic building instead of the whole ~2,000.

I locked my stuff in the community room and headed out for a night on the town, which in Morrowville meant hitting the world-famous Whippy Dip. It's really a fairly typical fries-and-shake stand, but I'm making sure to indicate its fame here because the proprietor (?) of the community center was "absolutely tickled" that a passing cyclist from France had already learned of it through trail gossip before getting to town. It was good, but everything is good when you're burning >4,000 calories per day. Maybe not on this particular day, of course, but the appetite remained.

I thought of hitting the Toadstool Tavern, if I remember the name correctly, but headed back to the community center instead. As I mentioned in my last aside, I was having a little trouble being social, though I also didn't expect that alcohol would do any favors for my knees. Or my wallet, for that matter. Back in the community center, I inspected some bike route maps helpfully posted on the wall, as I hadn't yet bothered to get any maps of my own. Posted nearby were some letters of appreciation from the Adventure Cycling Association and the Indiana state legislature recognizing the community's hospitality to passing cyclists. I filled out the cyclists' logbook and found that Deanna, Sonia, and Mike had all stayed here. The restroom had a medicine cabinet with various leftover toiletries including a sample pack of Buttonhole Cream, a chamois (pronounced "shammy", or crotch) paste that served a function similar to Butt Ice or Butt'r. I believe that all chamois creams are required by law to include the word "butt". Not that I'm complaining, I'm 12 years old and I giggle at farts.

Finally, I turned off the AC to save on the energy bills the proprietor complained about, unfolded a collapsible cot (they really thought of everything!), and went to sleep.

Here's a very welcome sign in the community center:

Celebrity - Day 80: Zanesville, IN

The McCombs were nice enough to let me stay for two nights, so day 80 was also spent with them. They provided me with all sorts of things: for the bike, new pedals, shifters, brakes, and grips, plus a sleeve on my rear brake cable so it wouldn’t continue cutting a channel into the frame. For me, some excellent zucchini bread, muffins, delicious peanut butter “energy bite” balls, and some brownies, in addition to a place to sleep and some excellent dinners while I was there. I have to admit that my bike was in pretty sorry shape, since I beat the crap out of it on singletrack (minimal mountain bike trails) in the hills around Corvallis before even starting on the cross-country trip, not to mention whatever its previous history was when I got it at a bike swap. Rigid mountain bikes aren't even typically used on singletrack. It's just what I had.

That doesn't even mention what I got to see and do while there, besides just hobbling up and down the stairs on damaged knees. The McCombs have two kids and several animals, including a painted turtle and a whole bunch of gigantic hornworms retrieved from their tomato plants. I learned a new game called Sequence, at which their older son and I are currently 2-0 as a team.

I felt like some kind of minor celebrity during my time there. They even know my blog better than I do – several times, I was asked about particular stories where I’d be hazy on the details, and they’d fill me in. I feel bad that I kept them waiting this long to post this entry, actually. I had no idea I was so interesting! The kids were excited to have me around and were even sad to see me go, which was hard to comprehend in the state I was in.

I should also say that I really appreciated staying in a place that wasn’t intensely politically conservative. I’ve been trying to take that on when I can, because I feel it's pretty much the only responsible use of my privilege as someone who won't be directly harmed by the racist, sexist rhetoric that surrounds Donald Trump. More discussion, not less, is what will help bring people back together after this is over, or so I hope. Further, I want to provide an example of a real, human liberal, hopefully in contrast to the images that a lot of people in red states might have. But none of that was necessary here! It was nice to not be met with extreme suspicion, and nicer still to find others that recognize the importance of racial and gender equality in the US.

Apparently I only took one terrible picture of the painted turtle, which is a shame, because the hornworms were also magnificent.

Aside: Technical difficulties

For anyone that only has contact with me through this blog: I'm still not dead. That reassurance is extremely late, but I figure I should at least write something. Spoiler for the rest of the trip: I had a nice time recovering in Indiana, had a few more adventures, and made it to the east coast. I rode a train full of loud babies back to Urbana and am now living there, trying to figure out what's next.

I took notes on all the days that I didn't post, but I haven't been able to turn them into blog posts yet. I'm still planning on doing that, and soon, but I think I need to write about anxiety first. I suppose this is some of the personal detail that I originally thought I might include.

For whatever reason, I fell into a minor but extended depressive episode that started as far back as mid-Kansas and lasted most of the rest of this trip. It was nothing major, especially compared to earlier times in my life, and there were certainly no significant negative events that triggered it. Even unemployed, my life situation is much more comfortable than that of many people I know, thanks to savings and a lack of external pressure. But that's the problem with depression: it's not logical. Maybe it happened because I was marinating my brain in distress chemicals from the knee pain, maybe I developed some unhealthy thought patterns, maybe I have poor genetic wiring, or maybe it was a combination of all those things or more. Whatever the cause, these technical issues in my own head made it difficult to fully engage with the rest of the trip how I would have liked, and it became especially difficult to interact with other people. Instead, I focused on anxiety about weather, about covering ground, about ways I should be atoning for embarrassing actions, about emails I should be writing, about retirement savings and the growing hole in my previously-solid resume, about stalling my life while the rest of the world carries on, about being unable to perfectly control my emotions, about the lack of positive contributions I've made to the world, about lying to myself that I have value to contribute in the first place, and about anything else I could use to justify the lingering unhappiness resulting from all the thoughts above.

A lot of these ideas are still on my mind, and even while making progress on one topic, I'll get anxious about progress not being made on others. That anxiety triggers what I think of as meta-anxiety, a kind of self-hate for being anxious in the first place. Being distracted by unproductive self-hate does nothing to solve the problem, of course, which feels pretty pathetic compared to the good that could be done with the resources I have. That triggers more self-hate, which feels bad, so I avoid it by distracting myself with easy, immersive things like games, beer, or fantasies about things that could be true if I hadn't spent my time fantasizing about things that could be true. Those do nothing to solve the issue, which means I've wasted time sucking my thumb, which of course feels worse. Just snap out of it, right? But if I'm telling myself that, I must not have "snapped out" yet, which means I have one more failure to hate myself for. It goes on from there, spiraling downward until I go to sleep and my neurochemicals restore some kind of temporary balance. That's the difference between my current situation and real depression: I can still go to sleep and reset. Those self-hate thought patterns haven't been worn in thoroughly enough to become my default, even if I can tell that they're primed from past episodes.

With that out there, I feel much more hopeful about finishing the blog and moving on to more useful tasks. Acknowledging a depressive or anxious episode as a genuine "thing that happened" helps it to feel real, which validates my feelings and makes it easier to forgive myself for succumbing to it.

Base! - Day 79: Warsaw to Yoder, IN

Today was mainly just more ibuprofen-enabled crawling. Attempting to keep pressure off my knees meant putting more on my butt, which was becoming a problem of its own. This led to a lot of awkward shifting as I tried to rotate through different, uh, contact patches, attempting to keep things fresh.

I stopped in Columbia City at a farmer's market and planted myself on a bench. This was apparently right where some Jehovah's Witnesses were setting up. Instead of hearing about Jesus, though, I told them all about where I'd been. The conversation was actually pretty pleasant. They just gave me a pamphlet and asked questions. Even though they're known for being pushy about their beliefs, I can understand why. When I considered myself Christian, I was never comfortable with the fact that no one seemed particularly upset by the idea that billions of people were going to be tortured for eternity. It seems like being a little pushy is the only reasonable response to that belief.

As I finished my third peanut butter and honey wrap-thing, one of them pointed over my shoulder and asked "What do you do when THAT happens? Just hole up somewhere?" I turned to see an unbroken front of dark clouds rushing in from that direction while people rapidly disassembled the farmer's market below. One of them helpfully informed me that the front was approaching at forty miles per hour, and that they had had six tornadoes in a bigger storm last week. He said there wasn't a tornado warning for this one, though, so I dug out my reflective vest, said "I just put this on and keep going", and then did just that.

The front was coming from the west, and I rode the tailwind for a bit before turning south. I got pretty thoroughly soaked and dealt with some small hail, but saw no funnel clouds or anything seriously threatening. Eventually I found calmer weather. The only remaining obstacle was a bridge closure across a major freeway. Luckily, the foundation for the road across was still intact, so I was able to wind through dormant construction equipment and the whole thing was only a mild inconvenience.

On the other side of the bridge, a van pulled up alongside me and the driver waved. I recognized Dave, who Jon and I met in Yellowstone. I had contacted him about staying with them on my way through Indiana. He waved and drove on, and I followed him the last mile or so to their house, glad to be out of the elements before the rest of the storm came through.

Approaching stormclouds were the only picture I took today, shortly before getting drenched:

Tortoise race - Day 78: Crown Point to Warsaw, IN

I went sort of far today. It took 15 hours.

Watching me ride a bike would probably have been a lot like waiting for an ailing grandparent while you're holding the door: slow, awkward, and kind of pitiful. It hurt, but morale-wise, I wasn't doing too bad. In a way, it was nice to have an explicit physical challenge with no complications. Either I ride, or I don't. Unlike challenges in the default world, I don't have to worry that I'm missing a smarter approach that would solve everything in five minutes. I don't have to wonder how I'll present this difficulty to my superiors, mentally rehearsing arguments and counters. I will never have to justify this experience using presentation slides. Most importantly, there's very little to feed negative self-criticism. It's just pure, physical pain that will pass with no social complications.

More ibuprofen kept me functional, but barely. Very slight inclines forced me off the bike to walk, and even that required keeping one knee straight. This was the entire day, but I did manage to cover a reasonable amount of ground, setting myself up for a shorter day tomorrow. The one notable event from the ride was that I finally got to see some wild Sandhill Cranes, which I had hoped to run into at some point on my trip. I'm not much of a birdwatcher, but it was neat to see what I believe is the largest bird species in North America.

As it was getting dark, I found a nice hidden spot behind a CenturyLink service box. Unfortunately it had an extremely loud AC unit that cycled every five minutes, provided no cover, and was surrounded by pavement so I couldn't set up my tarp. The forecast predicted rain, so I relocated to a gazebo in a nearby corporate-owned park, hoping that they weren't planning on hosting any team-building events between 9 PM Friday and 6 AM Saturday. Conveniently, the outside of the gazebo was lit but the inside wasn't, meaning that I could see out but no one could see in. That didn't stop me from panicking when someone parked in the nearby lot, but apparently they just wanted to park farther from the corporate office than necessary to drop something off.

Around 1 AM, a group of five boys approached the gazebo. My finely tuned hobo-sense woke me up, and I quietly got into a position where I wouldn't be completely helpless if they decided to punk the homeless guy, which is the kind of thing I would have expected in Sacramento. I watched them approach until they were actually partially inside the structure with me, at which point I figured it was inevitable that they'd discover my stuff. Attempting to sound as friendly as possible, I said "Hi!" out of the shadows. Unfortunately, I don't think it's possible to "sound friendly" as a disembodied voice coming from somewhere nearby in a dark structure that none of us were allowed to be in. Worse, all the lights around the building gave the impression that one was aware of their surroundings. My greeting shattered that impression and all five took off running without more than half a four-letter word. Pro tip: the dark is a lot less scary when you are the scary thing in it.

Stealth camping wisdom would have had me leave that spot immediately, in case they regrouped or reported me to someone. They were young enough that they were breaking some rules themselves, though, and I didn't want to deal with rain, so I rearranged my stuff a bit and went back to sleep without a problem.

My phone wasn't able to capture the cranes at a distance, so here's a house with some chickens instead.

Being old sucks - Day 77 or something: Chicago, IL to Crown Point, IN

Every year, there is an event called RAIN. RAIN stands for the Ride Across INdiana. Most people do this in one day, all 140-some miles. I did not, because my knees are approximately 100 years old. Also, I'm carrying things, and they're not.

I'm not good at leaving at a reasonable time, unless I'm under threat of discovery and... stern talking-to, I guess. Since I'm white and well-spoken, that's the extent of what I expect if I'm found stealth camping. Side note: "stealth camping" is not a term I created. I'm not trying to sound cool, someone else was. Don't judge the messenger.

Anyway, I started riding east from Pete's place around the crack of noon. I rode directly to the nearest train station intending to ask if they dealt with Amtrak tickets, because my knees wouldn't allow me to climb the smallest hill even in my lowest gear. I got off at every slight incline and pushed the bike while keeping my right knee locked and my left knee moving only up and down, because each knee was complaining about different things. I remembered I had some ibuprofen and took some on the way, and for once in my life, it worked. It probably never worked before because I always refused to take it. By the time I got to the train station I was able to actually ride, if not well. I rode past the train station because I am not secure enough in myself to say "I quit" and simply be satisfied with what I had done.

I could have gone home to move on with my life, but instead I kept heading east because I'm stubborn and it's a challenge now. A rail-trail took me out of Chicago and to the Indiana state line. I didn't make it much farther before I spotted a convenient trail into a secluded area. I still had time to kill, so I sprayed myself heavily with insect repellent and sat on a rock for an unknown amount of time. I'd like to say I was meditating on mysteries of the universe, but I was alternately fighting to keep songs out of my head, thinking about people I met recently, and creating backstory for a sci-fi video game. I may have fallen asleep for a while, too. Eventually the bug spray wore off and it started to rain, so I crawled into my bag to hide from all the nature.

No pictures today, too much hurt. I should have taken a picture of the first "Fire Pence" sign, though. I'm really curious what Indiana thinks of Trump when they lean Republican but also hate Trump's VP, Mike Pence, who is their current unpopular governor.

Chi-town - Days 73-77ish: Chicago, IL

I stayed in Chicago a while, hoping to let my knees heal up. The highlights were as follows:

First, the bad. Some kind of rash appeared on my face, reminiscent of chicken pox. Combined with the fever and joint pains, I think this was just a really mild instance of shingles, otherwise known as "revenge of the chicken pox" where the dormant virus decides to become active again. Unfortunately, ever since I got Chikungunya in Puerto Rico, joint pains and body aches from any infection are magnified, which might have contributed to the knee pain. Once my knees were inflamed, I think I caused actual damage by using them anyway, especially going from relaxing in Urbana to an all-day ride. My time in Chicago was not enough for a full recovery, but I was anxious about getting on with my trip and left anyway.

Second, the mediocre. Pete tried to take me on a tour of Chicago foods, which I was a little conflicted about. I've been eating vegetarian when reasonable options were available, but I don't think vegetables appear in the Chicago diet. I had a slice of Chicago deep-dish pizza, realized that the significance of the dish was just that it contained more cheese and meat than normal pizza, and felt reaffirmed that vegetarianism was going to be better for me in the long run. Apparently you can get gluten-free crust, though, if you're into that. They just make the pizza on a giant meat patty instead of pizza dough. It's like a gigantic, poorly-layered lasagna undiluted by something so boring as pasta. I didn't actually get to the other pieces of the Chicago trifecta, the Chicago hot dog and the Italian beef sandwich, because I felt like I understood the goal of Chicago cuisine pretty well already.

Finally, the good. I tried several flights of beer with Pete, but I think I'll need a few more before I can start pretending to have sophisticated opinions about local beer again. I met Pete's sister and her family and tried to run a game of Mysterium with them, only realizing halfway through that the set they had was "inspired by" the original Polish version that I knew. Pete had little sympathy for my struggles with the game until he ran the next instance.

My favorite scene from Chicago occurred here. Some background: Amazon makes a cylindrical device named Alexa. Alexa has no buttons. Once Alexa is plugged in and set up, you can yell at it (her?) from anywhere and ask it to do things, like Siri or Google. I notice that every device made to be yelled at is personified as female, but that's beside the point for now. Pete asked Alexa to play some Red Hot Chili Peppers, and it complied. I was surprised at how loud it could get, so Pete asked it to turn up to 10. It complied. Unfortunately, this also meant it was now jamming the one communication channel we had with it, and it couldn't hear us asking it to turn down. Pete's a big guy and can yell pretty loud, so it was really entertaining for me to watch him holding a futuristic black cylinder, yelling as loud as possible directly at it while it kept obliviously blasting away, happily complying with the last command it understood. The future is now.

I intended to meet up with a few other friends while in town, but I spent most of my time convalescing at Pete's place. I did manage to meet up with a woman I met on RAGBRAI and attend an improv show at the IO Theater together, which was great. We had tickets to a show-and-tell event, where periodically the players accepted questions from the audience, all eight of us, about what was going on behind the scenes like how they decided when to cut or where certain ideas came from. This was really interesting and apparently we asked good questions, because the owner of the theater rewarded us all with free VIP tickets. I guess that means I have to go back sometime. We spent the rest of that night talking to a couple other guests and some of the players before getting drinks elsewhere. We discussed things from social anxiety to feminism to her mom's chickens. She had to rescue a rooster the next day, which would definitely have made the blog if I got to participate. Oh, and she had a concert ukulele that I got to play, which made me very happy.

I very nearly left Chicago by taking a train back to Urbana and calling it quits, but I decided to stick it out through the pain and left for Indiana after a few days at Pete's. I would've stayed longer, but I could only stand so much reality TV.

Matter over mind - Day 72: Custer Park to Chicago, IL

The trip today was short, but also slow and painful. I woke up drenched in sweat and with angry, rigid knees. I managed to pack up and roll out anyway, squeaking along in a low gear, then stopped on a bridge over the Kankakee to collect myself.

The view was nice, and I considered it a mindfulness challenge to appreciate the sunrise on the water instead of focusing on my old-man aches and pains. The reframing helped me get going again, but it didn't stop me from cursing and complaining to no one in particular. I have a ways to go if I want to be a Zen master. Instead, I found a gas station convenience store and ate half a box of Reese's Puffs with milk. This powered me through some wealthy suburbs, past an alarming amount of Trump signs, and into Orland Park.

My friend Pete gave me the garage code, so I let myself inside. His mother introduced me to the place, repeatedly said I should take whatever I want and that I could stay as long as I want, and then went back to watching reality TV.

I'll describe my time in Chicago in another post. For now, here's sunrise on the Kankakee and a nice little stream that somehow survived in the suburbs. Maybe it'll grow up to be a real river like the Kankakee someday.

Overachieving - Day 71: Urbana to Custer Park, IL

I finally convinced myself to leave again about two full weeks after I arrived in Urbana. I've come to really appreciate consistent access to air conditioning and protection from biting insects, hence the delay. It was tempting to just call it done. I hit all the major points I wanted to hit already, so the desire to finish the trip from here is mainly about completionism. I decided to leave, though, because I've learned that just being on the road invites interesting and unexpected stories. So, into the unexpected I went. After going north to Chicago to visit some friends, that is. The unexpected would come after that.

It was about 142 miles from Urbana to my destination in Chicago, which I considered attempting in one sprint. I wasn't that motivated, though, and I wanted to arrive at a reasonable hour, so I aimed instead to find a place to camp along the Kankakee river. This turned out to be a very good decision for a couple reasons. First, I spent about 10 miles grinding into a headwind while going the wrong way, and second, my knees started hurting pretty severely while I was still at least thirty miles from the river.

The ride itself would have been quite pleasant if it weren't for my knee issues. I rode through a town that was very proud of some decommissioned WWII-era planes, met a group of ten children and one dog trying to get a truck out of the mud with no adults in sight (they succeeded), and bothered a Spanish-speaking family for some water when three towns in a row had no services. At one point, I sat and ate a peanut butter and honey roll (wrap?) directly beneath a neighborhood watch sign. Sure enough, I think the whole neighborhood watched me do it. No one said anything. It was awkward.

My knee problems got worse throughout the day, and I was really struggling by the time I found a place to camp in a little secluded nook behind a cemetery. I had a lot of trouble sleeping due to temperature regulation issues, and I was pretty certain I had a mild fever. After getting in and out of my sleeping setup multiple times, I finally drifted off to sleep.

Here's one of the planes I mentioned, as well as a row of cloned corn just in case that freaks anyone out.

Mission complete - Lounging in Urbana, IL

The only important event in the past two weeks was finding a baby bunny. I held it for a bit. Now that that's accomplished, I'm not sure what's left to do in life.

New home - Day 70, Peoria to Urbana, IL

Our host led us through the early part of today's ride to show us the best way out of town. He was riding an unloaded, superlight road bike, so he set a brisk pace for us. Pack mentality kicked in and we put in a quick 20 miles first thing that morning.

After the quick start, Mike and I took a break by raiding a local grocery's discount, about-to-expire section. In addition to whatever I had eaten before leaving, I ate 1.2 pounds of potato salad, 2 bagels with generous helpings of cream cheese, a pint of whole milk, 5 molasses cookies, a bunch of grapes, a banana, some samples of Mike's haul, and possibly some things I've forgotten.

It was a little while before we got back on the road, but we eventually did. We had more farm roads in store, but nearly all were paved. We followed the Constitution Trail into Bloomington and saw a grain elevator with some strange specks on the side. On closer inspection, the specks turned out to be a climbing wall. Someone had the genius idea of turning disused grain elevators into climbing gyms once they had been surrounded by urban sprawl, and this was apparently the 4th such gym they had set up.

We left Bloomington on Highway 150, which meant dealing with moderate traffic even though it paralleled a much more modern 4-lane highway. We were doing well on time, so we stopped in a small town named Le Roy and, somewhat unintentionally, fell asleep in their central park. I awoke to discover that we were no longer doing well on time. We continued on Highway 150 for most the way to Urbana, but as 5 PM and rush hour approached, we abandoned the straight-shot highway in favor of more protected farm roads. We saw a few local road cyclists among the corn and soy, which we took to be a good sign.

Eventually, we made it to Champaign, which is part of the same urban area as Urbana as indicated in the name of the local university: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. Having basically completed the day's journey, we again napped on a firehouse lawn. Eventually they came to see what we were up to, so we made the last 3 miles to the place that will be my home for the next year.

Part of what spurred this trip was the fact that my girlfriend Halley needed to move to Urbana-Champaign to complete an internship so she can become Dr. Halley. She had only recently arrived, but was nice enough to cook dinner for Mike and I once we showed up. It felt kind of surreal, but nice, to see her out here.

Mike and I didn't spend too much more time awake. I don't know how people like Laura Wilcox, winner of this year's Trans-America race, manage to average 240 miles a day; I end up pretty wiped after 100 miles. It's not my energy levels as much as it other parts of me, specifically my butt, which had chafed to the point of actually tearing a little when I sat down to use a toilet at the firehouse (sorry). Suffice it to say that I will be happy to spend a week or two here before continuing on.

Home stretch - Day 69: Moline to Peoria, IL

Finally, a day without too much to write about!

By the time I woke up and showered, our host had come back to life. I assumed he had no recollection of locking us out. He seemed happy to see us, so we didn't remind him.

We left Moline and followed the Hennepin Canal Trail east. Most of it was very poorly maintained, but it made for an interesting ride, if not an efficient one. It turns out that Mike has an eye for photography, so my current Facebook photo is now my silhouette emerging from one of many underpass tunnels on the route. This one was made of corrugated pipe, with light reflecting off of each corrugated ridge to make a cool glowing effect.

The poor condition of the trail made it seem to last forever. Eventually we ended up on farm roads, some paved and some not, and connected with a rail-trail that promised to bring us into Peoria to meet up with a host that we had met on RAGBRAI. He advised that we should try to avoid Peoria traffic and said he'd pick us up outside of town, so he gave us a ride for a few miles into Peoria proper. I felt the same conflict that I had with prior ride offers, but there was no point in fighting it if I had accepted the others. We already had something to be proud of having done ~100 miles mostly through dirt that day. If needed, I can do penance by doing a few penalty laps once I get to the end.

Our host was, again, very kind. They had two daughters who had moved out and left behind vacant bedrooms, so they were well-equipped to handle us. They did our laundry, prepared dinner for us, and brought us beer from their basement collection, further increasing my already-unrepayable karmic debt. They reviewed our planned route to Urbana, also, and confirmed that Google's suggestion seemed best.

Though I enjoy camping, I have to admit that it was nice to sleep in an actual bed, especially given the density of things that want to bite me out here.

Breaking and Entering - Day 68.5: Muscatine, IA to Moline, IL

While RAGBRAI officially ended in Muscatine, IA, Mike and I only stayed there long enough to treat ourselves to Thai food. We extended the day another ~33 miles to Moline, IL, where I had arranged a WarmShowers host.

Originally, I had contacted a woman about our age who had made a profile on Warm Showers. She said she was at a party and wouldn't be coming home that night, but gave us her roommate's number instead. He seemed confused by the whole situation, but gave us his address and said he had no problem with us staying there. There was a metal show going on outside, and he'd be the guy in the "Hillary for Prison" shirt.

The address he gave us turned out to be a bar. It was a little while before I realized that his apartment was above the bar. Still in my bike shorts and reflective vest, I wheeled my bike through a mob of thrashing metalheads and carried it up to what I hoped was his balcony, then locked it up and went looking for his shirt. I finally found him inside and significantly drunk. He bought me a beer and we talked for a while while Mike went to grab pizza. Our host apparently assumed that the woman I originally contacted had only signed up for WarmShowers to find hookups, so he wasn't sure why she sent us to him, and unsubtly tried to ask about our sexualities. I wasn't sure what to do with that. He said we should sleep in her bed in case she came home. We didn't. He also said she left for the party after getting mad at him for drunkenly peeing on the floor, but he described how the truth was that someone removed the screen on their window and broke in to, apparently, pass out on their carpet, piss themselves, and then leave without being detected. I just nodded.

Mike showed up later with pizza. Our host showed us around his apartment and introduced us to his very lovable German Shepard, and we headed back to the bar. An 18-year-old that worked at the pizza shop showed up later, and explained that he was homeless and recognized Mike as homeless or a traveler, and wanted to show us one of his favorite sleeping spots. I told our host that we'd be back. He looked like he was pretty well entrenched at the bar at that point, anyway. The spot turned out to be the roof of an eleveator shaft for a parking garage that required a full muscle-up to scale -- not just climbing a wall, but a ledge with no assistance from one's legs. Neither Mike nor I had that kind of upper-body strength, though I think I made a valiant effort. Instead, we stood below the ledge and chatted up at the kid, discussing what it was like being homeless in Molin, and what strategies he had developed to get by.

We returned to the bar to find that our host had, unsurprisingly, disappeared. He had also locked us out of his apartment. We saw him stumble around in his kitchen, but he was too focused on maintaining his own balance to notice us. His theory about someone breaking in to wet the carpet seemed even less plausible at this point. He did tell me exactly how to break in to his apartment without leaving a trace, though. So I did that. Mike and I made ourselves at home while the dog excitedly greeted us. Thankfully, the dog was not a very good guard despite her breed. Mike, the dog, and I all slept in the living room.