A catch all catch up

It's been a while. I'm not actually sure how long a while because

a) we've begun crossing time zones and, as much of our schedule is dictated by daylight, we have every reason to completely forego numerical time denominations as to limit our already mounting confusion

b) we generally don't know what day it is, ever

c) we seem to have entered some kind of warp in which time balloons open and a day can suddenly hold vastly more then ever before possible

So here are some highlights and updates from Bloomington, IN to St. James, MO

Indiana!

Up there on the list of hardest mile of the trip so far is an unpaved gravel hill that sprouted out of nowhere but nothing somewhere on the outskirts of Bloomington. After getting spooked by some skinny shoulders in IN46 we decided to try out the back roads and road ten miles of killer hills, hairpin turns, and winding, twisting unpaved decendence further and further into nothingness before taking the next major road we saw to the next town we could and asking advice from some locals like we should have done in the first place.

The day was redeemed by a gorgeous wide shouldered jaunt due west that took us to one of our sweetest yard-camps (when we can't find a camp site we generally just knock on a door and ask to camp in a backyard) complete with three generations of family and hot chocolate in the morning.

Overall, Indiana gets a big thumps up, high five, a cool handshake and a fraternal, sportmanlike pat on the butt. What a state!

Illinios

No idea. Didn't even see it 'cause we crossed it in TWO DAYS!

Ok, actually the Illinois story is worth telling. We did make some of our best mileage there, though, and despite the fact that it's not a particularly wide state, we are still really stoked to have crossed it in two days.

So here's the story:

Salem, IL. Birth place of William Jennings Bryant. We have just kicked out one of our highest mileage days on the trip and are absolutely spent and can't wait to get out of our spandex. The sun is well on its way to down and we know that we have to find a place to sleep and something to eat pretty quick as to avoid knocking on doors in the dark and adding extra creeper points to our "can we chill in your yard" pitch.

So as we're looking for a bar we realize that nearly everywhere in town is closed. One of us asks what day it is and are despondent when we realize that it's Sunday in a dry county. But barely can our dejection take hold before we turn a blessed corner and there in all its splendor is The Red Dog Saloon of Salem, IL.

Open just 4 Sundays a year (as we find out from our first Salem friend, Misty) The Red Dog's owner and wife were celebrating birthdays this week, and not only was the bar open, there were bowls of chili and gumbo as part of their customer appreciation. The list goes on about how great this place was, but to give you some of the unforgettables:

1. The bar owner set us up with a place to sleep, across the street from the bar, no less.

2. We signed the ceiling

3. After setting up our tent we had two visitors. First, the bar owner with T-shirts for us that you will see us wearing in pretty much every picture from here on out. Bright day-glo-if-you-don't-see-me-how-did-you-find-your-way-to-your-car yellow that stands out for a mile, and next,

4. The owner's Mom, who owns a cafe down the street and treated us to breakfast the next morning.

Salem, Illinois, if I didn't find it defacing and harmful to an astounding lifeform i would carve your name in a tree with a heart around it.

Missouri

Oh, Missouri.

Missouri has been a lot of up and down folks. Thats a cheap double meaning but my legs are tired so I don't care.

UP: Carol, a college friend of Wilkers' and her family. Super cool, super hospitable, welcomed us smelly and bedraggled into their home and fed us pork steaks. Carol took us out for frozen custard.

DOWN: Route 66 is sometimes "under a highway." Which, in fewer words, means it is a highway. This realization led to about 2 terrifying miles on I44 and appx. 1.25 days of dejection afterwards as we inched around the outer St. louis area trying to figure out how to get anywhere without getting on the highway or chartering a jet.

UP: During day of dejection appx 1.05 we met Justin (while sitting in Route 66 State Park and lamenting the fact that the Visitors Center was not located in the park, but rather, across the highway from it.) Justin had just two weeks earlier, been hit by a car while attempting to bike across the country. He was headed to New Orleans to then turn west for California when a car in a state park in Mississippi hit him and sped off. After a really long, really uncomfortable bus ride he was back home, and upon coming to the park near his home town, met us, the first cross country bikers he had encountered since he started his trip, despite his riding on frequently travelled cycling routes all the way down to Mississippi.

As of right now, Justin will be joining us in a couple weeks and crossing into California as our fourth.

DOWN: So its not really a down. But Missouri riding is certainly a more zen riding. there is no milage cranking for us these days. The West wind is so wily you've got to pump just to move downhill, and each uphill seems to be kidding as it appears in the distance. One's inner monologue learns simply to repeat the phrase "Wellp, here we go" at regular intervals.

UP: So the fantasy near the end of really tough day is that, as we sit outside a gas station cooking our couscous and drinking gatorade, some really cool local will come up, start chatting, have biked across the country loads of times, tell us exactly how to get over that river in the next town without getting on the highway,  and invite us to stay in their screened in porch, with a shower, and a hammock, and a pool, and outlets, and internets, and chairs, and a cooler full of beers and gatorade, and the promise of biscuits and gravy in the morning, then bring the mayor of the town over to say hello.

Ok, so we probably could have only imagined, in our wildest dreams, maybe, about a 1/4 of those things actually happening.

This is one fine porch.

Pro-livin' St. James, MO.