"On the road again, goin' places that I've never been"

Thursday I woke up and proceeded to suit up for the first time since Sunday, having sipped some cough syrup and popped some non-drowsy no-pseudophedrine nasal decongestant. I also wore my new gel-padded shorts and reveled in their comfort. And so it began. Adam left that day to start his job in the city, so we were down to 16, and Keith would not only have to take him to the train station but also stop by a bike shop in Edwardsville to get everyone's stuff, so we would ride the day unsupported. Through whatever process and convoluted detouring and bridge closures, I ended up in front with Dan and neither of us had directions. And we were in East St. Louis; from my experience, the urban areas immediately east of other major urban areas are always lovely in that dilapidated, run-down and seemingly empty sense of the word. To the west I could eke out a view of the city skyline and its familiar Gateway Arch. It all turned into countryside pretty quickly, which was surprising as we were supposed to be winding along some kind of river. It turns out I was going east and about 10 miles out of the way, so we had to rendezvous on course before we could all proceed. I had done, at that point, 40 miles at the 25 mile mark.

That put me back a ways as we headed along the bluffs that line the the floodplain of the Mississippi. This was an extremely rural area, just tall stalks of corn on one side and a wall of rock and trees on the other for 40 miles. I ran out of water, which was not too great for my congestion and overall fatigue from the morning. So collectively we all suffered until we came upon a feed store/weighing station along the way to fill up. And then we suffered some more until reaching Prarie Du Rocher, IL where I basically gorged myself and downed a pitcher of lemonade. And so it went, eventually up into the bluffs and around some rivers until we reached Chester, IL, the home of Popeye, a mental institution and medium-security prison. I had yet to see the Mississippi River. We stayed in the gym of a Lutheran primary school, which meant more contiguous days with hot showers.

By Friday morning we had Alex back with us and cheerful as ever. It would be a good day to return if you like climbing. Coming down bluffs, the river presented itself and crossing the bridge into the hazy Missouri morning meant crossing into the west, going in the direction of those explorers who crossed the mountains and plains and valleys seeking whatever they sought. I don't think I had seen the river before, but having done so, it stands out in my mind as a milestone on this journey. It means that the only direction we traverse until Colorado is west and up. After a stretch of floodplain we climbed up into the Missouri-side bluffs and a world of hurt. It didn't flatten out like you think it would in Illinois, the hills and the inclines didn't stop. Keith remarked that we had entered Pennsouri, but I like to think of it as Missylvania. Either way, the state is more or less a series of hills. Outside of Farmington, MO a lady gave us tickets for free Taco Bell combos and told us they were redeemable everywhere, but I insisted to everyone that we should find the T-Bell now and read the fine print about it only being valid at one specific location. It would turn out that I was right, so if I ever want a free T-bell combo I have to go back to Farmington. Instead for lunch we ate in a state park and everyone threw rocks in my helmet. On the way to our stop, my legs got tired so I sped ahead, which if you think about it, doesn't make much sense. In Ironton, MO I spotted a deliberately vague Civil War mural painted on a building and I couldn't make out who was firing the cannon and who was being bombarded, the Confederate or Union soldiers. This question would plague me throughout my venture through the state, as well as the larger question of whether or not Missouri could be considered part of the South. At first I considered it "southern" in the way you would think southern Illinois is "south," but the Confederate flags, obsession with Civil War history, the evident antebellum leanings, and the delicious sweet tea were a dead giveaway, that yes, this part of southern Missouri could be considered the South, giving our route that much more geographic variety. We stayed at the First Church of the Nazarene in town and we were hosted not only by the pastor but a group of young locals. I started reading "On the Road" for the first time since I lost my original copy and felt good about it again. I also replaced my saddle having realized that it made no sense to use a harder saddle.

Saturday was the worst yet in terms of challenging climbs as we headed into the heart of the Ozarks and its many winding rivers and national scenic riverways, which are just fancy words for tough uphills and roller-coaster downhills. I hit 45 miles per hour one time and the second time I had a rear-tire go flat on me, and had to ride down on it until I could slow down on a flat. Fortunately it was only a pinhole leak and in my rear tire, but it was my eleventh tube-tire emergency by official count and I was stuck in the middle of scenic nowhere without a frame pump. As it would turn out, however, I was ahead of everyone by a long shot so borrowed Mark's awful pump when they passed by. I managed to get into town underinflated, but nothing ruins your momentum like a flat. I longed for a slushie, something cold and sugary. I ended up at some gas station in Eminence, MO and asked for directions for sixth street, but got directions to US 63 instead, so went along into the other part of town that wasn't full of vacationing mountain folk. It would appear that the town is like the Wisconsin Dells of the Ozarks, with tubing and swimming and canoeing and hunting and fishing and basically everything related to the Jacks Fork and Current Rivers but without hordes of midwesterners or an indoor water park. We stayed in the gym of Eminence High School, which was new as of two years ago and downright suburban if not for the fact that it was in its own building and also contained the cafeteria. We shot some hoops, played with the automatic ball return machine, and after attempting to put quarters into the Coke machine to only see them get spit out again, I had a Yoohoo for the first time in multiple years, which was delicious. I remember eating trail mix and not much else, having napped for a lot of my "free" time.

So I woke up hungry Sunday and did what I could with peanut butter and multiple slices of bread. The last of the dreadful climbs came about and it was worth the scenic overlook we stopped at with the hills far and wide below us and the green of the Missouri softwoods behind a veil of morning haze. It flattened out insomuch as the hills had shallower inclines, but were nearly as long, but merely blips on the overall feeling of the day. I picked myself up with a mountain dew slushie and didn't realize that most of it was injected air as I put it in my water bottle to drink along the ride. At 70 miles I had no water left and stopped at a church along the way to fill up. The folks there were nice enough to not only give me ice but an extra bottle of cold, Sam's choice water. I was grateful to them and for once in my life, Sam Walton for making such delicious water. My delusions ended there, but I recall seeing one incline that winded up and to the left and thinking it looked like the Great Wall of China, and climbing up it, Jerry Lee Lewis started singing "goodness gracious Great Wall of China!" before banging on the piano. I made it to Hartville, MO alive. No one could tell me where the Church of God in town was, not the folks at the gas station from where I bought a gallon of sweet tea that I would ingest over the next few hours, nor the girls at the corner Subway from where I bought two footlongs. I was a hungry fella and had to make up for yesterday's lack of alimentary relief. The manager of the Subway told me a team of cyclists had been through a couple of weeks back and had camped out in front of the courthouse across the street. She also let me use the phone to call ahead to the church, which suprisingly was just behind the courthouse. I know we had trailed along the Johns Hopkins ride back in Ohio, but it would appear that their route through MO is north of ours. It's a comforting thought to think that there are other teams doing similar work for different causes. I could imagine the camraderie or madness that would ensue if two such teams crossed paths and inhabited the same town at the same date. It started raining, so I tiptoed as fast as I could in my cycling shoes to the church. There pastor Lowell greeted us and showed us the church. And then a blur of Subway sandwiches, sweet tea, teammates arriving, a glance at the first in the "Left Behind" series, more grilled cheese sandwiches; I fell dead asleep.

Monday it drizzled. Then it poured. I broke out the rain jacket for the first time and felt cozy but sticky inside from a lack ventilation. It was necessary to keep the legs moving for fear of cooling off or just losing that edgewise momentum, but I made the necessary stops for what little water I consumed and my usual rations of granola bars ever 20 or so miles. At a gas station in a town outside my stop, I found out my rear tire had gone flat, making it number 13 and potentially stranding me. Number 12 was Sunday, when it went flat all of a sudden at a gas station and I patched it up and managed to break one of my Park Tool levers. For this I buckled down and decided I should not only get a slew of new tubes but also a new rear tire. Back at the gas station, Anish showed up and saved me from the inevitable doom of having to wait it out at the gas station, but it started to pour like nothing else so I bought Hostess donettes and 80% of my daily values of saturated fat for a 2000 calorie diet, which is clearly below my required amount. We left and once again, I biked into our destination underinflated. Our stop had been moved closer, to a bigger town. We were originally slated to stay at the extensive city park in Ash Grove, MO, but ended up with accomadations at the First Christian Church. So we showered at the park after I tried to finagle people into racing me arond the 350-meter or so concrete oval in the middle of the park, but it was relatively unsafe for high-speed sprints. Also everyone was clearly tired. After getting settled at the church, we walked over to the local pizza place where the owner had dinner and a long table waiting for us, which was extremely generous and delicious, especially their pinapple and canadian bacon. So, if you're ever in Ash Grove, MO go to Time Out Pizza on Main St. James became the second of our ride leaders to leave the ride, but much unlike Brian, he will return with to us in Pheonix to finish off the adventure he helped to start. I mounted my new tire and hope like crazy that Schwalbe won't fail me until California, it can fall apart on the beach for all I care, I just want it to last. It became apparent to me during lunch when I had a Big Bopper (Cheeseburger and fries with a cherry Coke and other people's onion rings) that I am going to run out of money if I keep spending it like I am. Especially if my equipment keeps breaking and I keep eating out instead of drinking gallons of chocolate milk and calling it a day, I figure I'm going to run broke somewhere in Arizona, when I had previously expected to go broke just before San Diego. So I proposed to spend no more than 3 dollars a day or better yet, spend nothing at all to ensure that I won't have to eat my seat cushion on the airplane back to Chicago.

Today I managed to not spend anything yet, but I still think some chocolate milk would be delicious. Missouri never stopped having a lot of rolling hills until 30 miles to Kansas when it was finally generous enough to flatten out. That and Kansas kind of just happened, no signs, no signals that we were in another state other than changing road signs and newer asphalt and road markings, so we took a photo-op moment in front of a big, fiberglass cow outside of a radio station just over the border. We stopped for lunch in Pittsburg, KS and I napped more than I ate. I'm now in Girard, KS and have been blogging for about 2 and a half hours, it's just that long of a process. I'm hungry and there's a public pool somewhere in town that would be nice to shower at. This is also our fourth rest day stop and first one since Champaign last Monday, so I will probably put up photos tommorrow.

An end to off days already? Only time will tell.

So I spent three hours in the undergrad. THREE. It was a long time writing, that is for sure. I putzed around campus and ran into Dan Walsh again and we had a discussion about whether or not the traffic rules apply to bicyclists, and in taking opposing sides, I agree with the sentiment that bikes are vehicles and have to abide by the rules of the road, especially stop signs. I'm not going to lie, I'm pretty reckless on my fixed gear, but when it comes to octagonal red things and 4-way intersections, it's a wise idea to at least slow down. We parted ways at Green Street and I stopped at the one and original Basil Thai for some piping hot peppery Lad Nar with beef, my comfort food in times of sickness. I realized I started a trend when a lot of my teammates stopped in to eat. I ended up sitting with Geoff, Mike, and Allison and ate what they didn't. It was satisfying. I putzed further and made a pilgrimage to Allen Hall where I got nostalgic and left for Anish's before it got messy. I then half-slept and half-helped Praveen, one of the Spanish House residents, finish up his fixed gear construction. I miss my fixed gear and its grand total of one speed and no freewheel. I said time and time again that I would ride it across the country, but it would be more than awful for climbing. I'll save that for another cross-country journey.

At this point in the narrative, I was extremely fatigued and feverish, and finally having realized it, took off a few layers of clothing and took some ibuprofen. Then somewhere in there I managed to eat, sit in a meeting asking everyone to speak up, being called "grandpa" because I asked people to speak up and was speaking loudly myself due to my congested head, and watching the Eddy Merckx story.

I woke up Tuesday feeling the same, sore throat, lightheaded, and with a hint of eagerness to move on that day and sadness that I would not depart from home again on two wheels. This would be the first leg of the journey, in my mind, that takes us West, and not just in the cardinal direction. We took the same route out that we trained on endless times, and it would have been great to take it the endless-and-first time but with the intent of ending up someplace else, far away. Instead, I drove it and chalked it out for the riders behind, sometimes only seconds behind. The chalking didn't go unappreciated and I was praised for my efforts. I also got my iPod working and thus the soundtrack of my day could commence.

Brian Albrecht left us at the first 15-mile stop, so it was a tender moment for all of us. He wrote me a nice note and I'm very grateful for his words. Wherever you are Brian, I hope you're doing well. And if you're reading these very words, then hello from Lovejoy Library at SIU-Edwardsville.

A cyclist hit me, that is to say, I was driving on the left side of the road to pass my teammates after leaving the sag stop when I registered that a cyclist was coming towards me, and slowing down as much as I could, I avoided swerving to the right and hitting a teammate, and the lady managed to get by, but I heard a metallic scrape and a thud against the car. I immediately stopped, got out, and saw that thankfully she was okay. She said she had tried to unclip from her pedals, but unsuccessful, fell onto the van. It managed to bend her left aerobar, and due to the poor ductility of aluminum, I managed to break it in an attempt to bend it back. It was sheepish moment to add to the situation, but she said not to worry. I offered her water and use of our tool kit and gave her some bandages. In the end, her and I were able to part ways with our lives and vehicles in working order, but it was still a frightening experiencing. I should have offered her my aerobars, but it only slipped my mind afterwards that I do, in fact, have aerobars. I should have also yelled at my teammates for not moving over and not making it apparent that there was a cyclist up. What bothers me is that these county lanes are less than the width of my driveway, and yes, you are legally entitled to ride two abreast, but as a courtesy to me, the support vehicle driver, and other potentially clueless drivers, ride in single file on narrow or busy roads!

45 miles out Dan joined me in the car due to his aching back. He had hoisted Sehee on his shoulders taking one of the many photo-ops in front of our sponsors' locations and torqued it somehow. Needless to say, that's a good way to end a day of hunched-over riding. So I had a co-pilot. And managed to get lost, and have to backtrack to help folks. The route was lost in translation or better yet, in the cornfields, but I went on chalking and figuring out the way. We stopped for lunch in Niantic, IL and I downed a liter and a half of Lipton Green tea and attempted to relieve my throat somehow. I also recieved my dearest sister Amy who drove down for the day. She not only visited me, but brought a pair of bike shorts, a copy of On The Road and new cycling gloves. It was really the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, so thank you Amy!

The route out of town followed along train tracks, so Dan and I chased down a freight train and nearly caught up to engine. The cool part about it was the 12-minute track in the middle of the newest Of Montreal album that made awesome pursuit music. It was a moment to remember and photograph, not to mention a few words online. We managed to traverse the busy roads of Springfield after a few choice wrong turns and end up at U of I Springfield to unload the van. Mark was there waiting, having not only gotten lost, but gotten there two or so hours ahead of time. I jumped back in the van to find the riders, give them relief, and chalk the route. I ended up not doing the first two very well, but I did the last one pretty darn well. So everyone got home and whaddya know, their stuff was waiting for them there.

We stayed at the Lincoln dorm at UIS, and their rooms are remarkably better than what I'm used to at UIUC. It has to be the furniture or the carpeting, or the spacious floor lounges, or the 2-room shared bathrooms, or the newness/sterility of the place that impressed me. I would live there if UIS weren't in the middle of nowhere. Needless to say, we had mattresses to sleep on. Jon Schlesinger was my roommate for the night, but we avoided butting heads or hating each other in the end. For dinner I ate a lot. Let's just say I had a hamburger that had fries and cheese piled on top of it. I still didn't feel to great and was reduced to hand gestures and grunts, it hurt that much to talk.

Wednesday I woke up feeling more or less the same. I woke up with my sleeping bag drenched in sweat, so I still may or may not have a fever. I got in the car for the second day in a row, and for the third day without having biked. I wished for it to end, but I was still violently forcing phlegm out of my throat and painfully gulping down copious amounts of water. During our stops, I napped and Dan, who co-piloted again in the morning, drove in the afternoon. In a big confused mess and after touring the beautiful industrial parts of Monroe county, we all got to Southern Illinois University-Edwardsville successfully. The campus is a lot like UIS, with shiny, new buildings surrounded by rings of roads and parking lots, but is a lot bigger, more bucolic, and has stuff on campus that would otherwise make you want to stay on campus, like a Sonic Burger. We're camped out on a hill next to a lake which is next to a swimming pool, so everyone took a dip before sunning off and biking out to eat somewhere. I ended up turning around because not only could I not yell at the folks to slow down, but I was in sandals, which don't do much in the way for forward motion on SPDs. I biked back to camp and broke out the mess kit for the first time, a plastic tupperware container that once contained cookies my sister donated, and my hobo tool, complete with detachable fork/corkscrew and spoon/knife/other-sharp-thing-that-can-be-used-to-gouge-things. For once, I was "roughing it," eating leftovers from a cooler sitting next to the van while listening to my iPod. I would say I could hear crickets, but I'm still rather congested in the ear/head region.

Tentatively I plan on biking tommorrow. Tentatively. If you're reading, wish me luck!

Come on feel the Illinoise! and other Sufjan Stevens-related audiology

Thursday night I managed to lose my digital camera and jogging through my memory, had thought I left it at the Y in the afternoon. After much effort and scrambling, it was in my sleeping bag. Some other belongings were a different case. Packing up Friday morning, I discovered I lost both a pair of bike shorts that I had supposedly left out to dry on a stack of folding chairs and my copy of On The Road. The inconvenience in losing the shorts is now having only two pairs, which gets a little tedious having to constantly wash them, or a little smelly from reuse. The book, however, is a bigger loss to me because of its sentimental value. In a gesture of good faith, Brian lent me his copy of Life of Pi for me to read instead given his early departure. So I grumbled for the first few miles of the ride and otherwise feared for my safety given the busy, pock-marked roads we biked along. At first it was scenic with the wooded lake shore and otherwise rural charm, but quickly transformed into oil refineries, steel mills, gaming casinos, and Gary. Through the latter part of things, the definition of "rust belt" became apparent, with crumbling urban streets, boarded up storefronts, and not a single person awake or on the sidewalk. Indianapolis Blvd. through Hammond became a long tunnel with a light at the end, the Illinois state line and an instantly inviting environment, with paved bike lanes and tree-lined residential streets through some otherwise quiet south Chicago neighborhoods. It all ended up on the lakefront path and led to Jackson Park and 57th street beach where we spent some time hanging out and waiting out the time before our arrival in Millenium Park. The view was fantastic, and unseen in my eyes. I usually only see the skyline from the west or north, but from the so it all seems to open up and stretch out before you, touching upon the lake. It was really wonderful to be back in town.

We ended up biking up Michigan Avenue at a familiar, crawling pace. Apparently it was Blues Fest that kept traffic more horrendous than usual. And this is why the bike is superior on the urban streetscape. Past the fountains with the enormous faces we were greeted by the applause of friends, family, and other Illini 4000 supporters, which was wonderful. In procession we climbed up the steps to the gigantic metal bean and had hours of photo-ops and snacks provided by the Schlesinger family. Then the convoluted part of getting our bikes to Homewood ensued. After miles of confused wandering, we discovered that the van was indeed underneath Millenium Park and not in the Grant Park garage further away. So, after a badly needed shower in the bike station and a lot of hustle and bustle, the van and the Ludmer-mobile spirited away our velocipides and we were given all of an hour to hang out before riding the train back to Homewood. Brian, his girlfriend Mackenzie, Brandt and I stuck together and got confused by the Metra Electric Line and its many branches, having ended up on the wrong train which fortunately was only 30 seconds ahead of the correct one. We walked around town and spotted the hordes of cicadas which otherwise taken over the trees and the park fountain. And the buzzing, the buzzing was ethereal and non-stop. I savored the experience given the last time this happened I was 3 and the next time I'll be 37, just to put things in perspective. We ended up being the first to arrive at St. Paul's and had firstsies on the tons of food that had been donated to us by local eateries and the Albrecht family. My mom, dad, and sister came to visit me, which was nice. They are my biggest sponsors and equipment providers and I am ever grateful for their generosity in helping make my participation on this adventure possible. I would post the picture of the four of us, but my boxers were clearly showing, so I'll have to postpone it or photoshop it so it looks like a nice family portrait. My day ended when I decided to lay down, spelling death to my productivity.

Saturday I woke up at 6 in the morning, despite an irregular 8:30 wakeup. I changed out saddles, thinking a harder one without the gel cut-out would be slightly less uncomfortable. We got a late start due to the ride-along. That day we would have three extra riders who would be joining us from the train station. And so we began the trip to Champaign, which normally would take me 2 and a half hours, but would take so much longer but be so much more worthwhile and fulfill a desire to get back to school on two wheels. We stopped in or went through all the little towns that the I-57 exit signs list that you would otherwise forget about or just use as markers towards a bigger destination. I joined the head paceline for a good, fast ride through that familiarly flat Illinois corn- and soy-scape. I flatted out almost imperceptibly despite the apparent lack of road hazards, which was strange. In Chebanse, IL we were greeted again by Jon Schlesinger's family at the Zion Lutheran Church. They had arranged a dinner to end all dinners by firing up the grill and satisfying our taste for Italian sausage or soy burgers. I made the mistake of lying down afterwards, which ended my night quickly.

Sunday we snaked along the I-57 overpasses and through more small towns, which would turn out to be death for our schedule. Geoff, one of our sponsors and biggest supporters joined us on his titanium Merckx and made good company. Again, it was strange to stop at all the gas stations and see all the exit ramps from the Frontage roads that you would stop at or just drive by. My delight in the landscape ended when I went into neuromuscular fatigue and we had to get into Rantoul by a certain time that would necessitate a fast pace. Someone remarked that my saddle was too high, which it was, but hadn't bothered me since. It was also then that I realized my new saddle was just as uncomfortable as my old one, so there is little use in keeping both. In Rantoul, we were greeted by the Alumni association with Gatorade and by the Dustheimers with snacks, which were sweet relief for my sore legs. We would also be escorted into town by the Prairie Cycling Club and other supporters. It was great to see some familiar roads again, the same ones we had taken months before on long training rides, except now we would be much more fit and hardened by consecutive days of cycling. Riding down Lincoln Avenue reminded me of the many Critical Masses I had ridden with and I knew I was home again in that place where I spend a significant portion of my year, even for just a small part of my life thus far.

At the Alumni Center, we had a warm welcome from supporters, alumni, and the press, and I instantly commenced with the eating and the photo-ops. I spoke to a reporter from the News-Gazette and related to her my take on the Illini 4000 and the stories of the day, like when Nick Ludmer passed over 1000 miles on his odometer, he threw out M&Ms from his bike to the adoring masses, or the rest of the group as we stopped for a rest somewhere along the way. I passed over 1000 miles the same afternoon but to little notice and celebration as we were rushing to meet a time schedule. I asked the WPGU folks to play a Sufjan Stevens song in honor of one of my teammates, Alex, who couldn't make it out to Champaign with us due to her grandfather's passing. It was "Decatur, or Round of Applause for Your Stepmother!" which I had been singing since Ohio for some reason, and won't stop until we pass through Decatur itself. My friend Kim visited me and I road her full suspension mountain bike, which was fun. Then my other cyclist friend Henry showed up looking for Keith who had gone back to the Illini 4000 Orbital HQ, where I ended up in need of a shower and change of clothes. I ended up going to Dorca's, the other Korean restaurant in town I hadn't been to, with Drew, Keith, and Adam and managed to use the little Korean phrases that Sehee had taught me. At this point, my throat began to hurt and I was phlegmatic, if that's the right word for being phlegmy. On the walk back, I ran into four of my friends in the short stretch between Starbucks and Cold Stone and remarked how despite the surreal emptiness of town, I had managed to run into a lot of people I knew. Back at HQ, I felt progressively
worse until I fell asleep.

Today I woke up at 9 with a worse sore throat and took the only thing I had in my possession that would help me, Cepacol throat lozenges. It seemed to do about 50% of the trick as I still feel awful. I went into campus to pay off my student bill and now find myself in the Undergrad. Library where there is, again, this surreal emptiness. It's otherwise bright and the trees are fully green, something I wouldn't appreciate by not being here in the summertime. It's taken me a couple of hours to do this and keep updated among other things, so I best end now. Thank you for reading up to this point.