This super 8 breakfast is rather meek. The coffee machine provides a pretty solid brew, though. Apples, bananas, common muffins, etc. Oh, look biscuits and sausage gravy. It’s actually warm food, score. I am easy like Sunday morning, Lionel.

Chugging along various versions of Route 66. The history of it here in this area helps pass the time. Kickapoo tribes first used this route. The Kickapoo are an Algonquian-speaking Indigenous people originwhose name translates to “he moves about” or “those who walk the earth”. Can I kick a poo? Yes you can. It becomes The Pontiac Trail. Then Illinois makes State Road 4. Then the US dons it Main Street of America. Then because of Steinbeck it’s The Mother Road. Eventually, the military industrial complex gets its grubby hands on it and destroys the ability to enjoy it outside of a motor vehicle going 60 mph.

All that said, it turns out a whole lotta separated bike path has been put in that neither I nor my navigating R2D2-of-a-bike-computer are aware of. 35 of my first 50 are all vehicular traffic free. Another score.

I see you Money Creek. Back to you in the future. First up, it’s Funk’s Grove Gazebo coming in after a brisk three miles. This is a funky gazebo as far as gazebos go. Still no water, still no electric. I can take my jacket off though. Sun is shining. It isn’t too shabby. The gazebo, not the sun. Normally it would make a great spot to remote sleep. Again, not the sun.

The area is known for its maple syrup. Which they spell sirrup. So now I’m on this separated bike path, next to an historic old route road, on the other side of me is a rail track, and then there is the whole interstate highway. Four different things and I’m not mad.

I cruise right through Bloomington and Normal on the Constitution Trail. The rail trail keeps me on it, there’s water and I have enough provisions. Not sure about the name though. Illini’s just tries to take stuff. Nowadays I’m much more of a just the bill of rights kinda guy tbh. I do like all the union halls though.

I see sections of 66 where guardrails have been just cut off right at the surface. These things kept the land pretty narrow. Worked fine back when you went out for a cruise at 20mph. Today they unknowingly reveal how shitty Americans’ driving has become.

I roll over section of paved concrete road that are 100 years old. Still in good shape, though a lot of the edges are crumbling down into a ditch alongside the road. A ditch I have to maneuver expertly to avoid crashing into whenever traffic pics up and I have to ride over the roughest and crumbliest of edges with little choice otherwise. I don’t like this. Worst section so far and a long ways form the glories of Katy. Valar Morghulis. If this is it, I pray to the spoke gawds for a quick death. And tbh why is death by dragon fire always portrayed to be all screaming and painful. Like maybe being burned alive tied to a stake would be like that, slowly feeling and seeing your body burn. But with a dragon, it’s all hot all flame all at once and I feel like it would be instant instantaneous incineration. Like “thanks little winged flying homie you just saved my people money on cremation.”

Money Creek. What?! No paddle needed. You’re so money and you don’t even know it baby. Pink Floyd and the O’Jays are mashing up in my head right it and sounds baller. I am fairly certain that my eyes have cartoon dollar signs in them.

I don’t think of much. I just pedal. Some miles are easy. Some are tough. Most times I push aside the pain. Knees. Hands. Hamstrings. Knocking these miles out and being outside breathing air is enough for today. Simplicity. There’s a $20 campground in Pontiac and it’s got showers. The overnight lows are up and the moon is full tonight.

Quick reboot still starring Jack Black and Mos Def aka Yasiin Bey and Be Kind Rewind to last night. Right after giving me my cash change back, Priya lets me know I’m getting the last ground room floor. And she goes out of her way to express that they usually reserve it for seniors. In the slowest and most deliberate manner. Like I should offer to move upstairs if someone with mobility issues shows up at 8pm. It almost doesn’t feel real. The shower and the bed did though.

This campground is a hybrid County Fairgrounds and 4H campground. The campsite, hostess Leslie hooks me up with the form and points to the dropbox. I find a nice patch of grass and even an outlet. I’ve stayed at these 4H spots for a while starting back in 2006 taking high school kids on a rolling summer camp from Seattle up to Vancouver to Victoria and back around the Puget Sound. This is more like an RV park with some tent, camping and shower facilities. I shower. I do a little research on 4H, figuring it’s only a matter of time until someone offers me, free pancakes and exchange for listening to them about Jesus. Or tea and Muhammad. Curry and Buddha. Scientologists and whatever they got. Whatever. I want none of it. Turns out, 4H is secular as fuck. Most importantly, the Hs stand for Head Heart Hands Health. Word. Enough for me. I’m team 4H.