Editors Note: our “publisher”, WordPress, contacted us regarding concerns that the nature of our discussion around fecal activities “could border on vulgarity, a clear violation of our user terms of service.” I must be crystal clear: humans have been noting, analyzing, and — most importantly— enjoying, the making of the fecal waste since the beginning of the times. Once a one no longer dueces, that one is dead or soon to be dead, and thus every crap should be celebrated. A celebration of love while we’re still alive to celebrate. Living plants and other aminals die, I put some of them into my mouth and soon thereafter they come out my bootyhole, I live. Eventually I may even become something’s turd. Hard facts. Moreover, on long bike rides, where every ounce kinds counts, taking a dookie — especially those which are descended from the food we are carrying — is legitimately lightening your load. Lightning, even. Vulgarity my ass, your honor.

Now that all that shit’s behind us, let’s go back to me tossing and turning all night. Warm in my tent, but windy and cold as fuck outside; the second time I get up to pee the stars aren’t there anymore. Two or three more of those and I submit to the restless first night always being the toughest, regardless of the climate. Sleeping on the ground and all. I’ve gone from four pillows to my cube of clothes as a pillow.

Finally, I pull myself out of the tent. Damn. My neck hurts. My back hurts. My neck and my back. Yikes, my shoulders hurt, my knees, my feet… everything. Todo, Toto. The shower still doesn’t function here at Pleasant Hill City Lake. That would be the luxury I need rn rn. I push out asap mostly bc I need to warm up and the actual Pleasant Hill “City” is a few miles down the trail. They have a cafe I intend to warm up in.

It’s indeed quite a warm and cozy space that I’m enjoying eggs, bacon, and potatoes in. There’s quilts hanging on the walls. It’s busy; quite jumping in here; lit, even. I have to do the European thing and share an 8 person table with 3 other people seated at the other end. They give me glances. I give them back. We don’t talk they know I’m listening. Everyone’s happy. The guy is wearing a Deutchland sweatshirt. It’s rather baller. Definitely cool. The large person cashing out across the room has on an even larger shirt, and on the back of it that massive Missouri Mobile tapestry it says:

It’s OK To Not Be OK, Just Don’t Give Up.

I have no idea what it says on front; that’s probably for the better. Outside of this while being seated inside and eating hot food served to me, I am really not OK. I’m cold. My whole body hurts. Aches.cJust really hurts… deeply… and just one 35 mile day in. Yet. Though. And. Butt. Also I’m not gonna give up 40 miles. Conjunction Junction on rail trails. I spend the entire day on this one: the Rock Island Trail. Pass me my culture cipher, gawd. No navigating. No steep inclines. It’s quiet and windy and just fucking cold. 18 mph sustained, sort of broad siding me. The gusts are much more but seem to be from behind. Going down to 33° tonight supposedly. Frost coming. Glad to not be a dead plant. Trying to not end up like Jackie on Yellow Jackets. I’m still wearing all of my clothing, which at least makes my bike bags lighter. Three shirts have become one. Butt. Again. Also. It’s quiet. No cars. It’s an island for sure. No other cyclists either. I see and hear no one for most of it. The weathers shit, nobody else wants to be out here.

I get tired so I try to take a break. If I stop longer than 10 minutes I get too cold — after about 10 miles I start to sweat. hot cold hot cold. That again?

I don’t think much about writing and so I’m not gonna write much more about this. I am going to go ahead and try to do a lot of not thinking. It’s 50 grueling and brutal miles for me. I say again though — it’s quiet, and all mine. The surface is soft and mushy and slow as fuck. The wind both gust and sustained, toss me around. And it’s too cold to rest. When I’m not in pain it feels like my body just doesn’t respond fully. 6-8 mph max it is. I focus only on the sound of the wind in the trees, getting comfortable being uncomfortable.

Also, my writing is straight shit lately, so I’m looking for a new editor to replace myself with.