Day 12 - Through the flats and over the river.... barely

Waking up in the agape room at the Pittsfield methodist church, we were already getting a slow start. We knew breakfast was coming around 10 a.m. and did we know the extra sleep was going to come in useful. We dragged ass for a while and were asked, a couple of time, to stay until Sunday to ride with our house building brethren. We needed to make space through Illinois and so around 2 p.m. we set sail and said good-bye.

We rode and rode and then we got hungry, which is always the case with three growing boys. Straddling 106 we spot a little home grown town founded sometime in the 1850's and hit a little super value mart. Thinking we are going to have to pick and choose between Corn and Pork we stride through the automatic doors and become instantly impressed. Fresh fruit and vegetables and with further inspection this local mart has become our favorite little grocer yet along the way. And of course stares like paint color us as outsiders and we feel at home.

(Below Nick lighting the fuse and walking away)

Pushing the miles, with little wind and somewhat cloudy weather an ominous thought was about... are we going to get across the Mississippi? Up and down the exiting hills of Illinois our route was meandering and hot. Yet, to jump ship and set afloat we have always had the mission to swim in every river and lake we could make time to do so, only failing miserably. Finally pushing through some brush and burs a beautiful lake was set before us. With its large horseshoe shape and no fishing signs we disembark our bikes and peel off the damn spandex. Sam and I take a bear break and leave some peanut butter nuggets strewn throughout the small patch of forest, all the while Nick tests the waters. Seeing his floating melon bob around the lake (below) the two bushwhackers join in. Swimming and floating for around 30-45 minutes we feel recuperated and get back to the bikes, lying about the high weeds. When all the sudden a silver king cab truck rolls up the highway and a somewhat perturbed yet innocent looking fella approaches us with a few questions.

"What are you boy's doing here?"

Nick - We got hot and decided to take a dip

"Where are you boy's from?"

Trio- OHIO!

"Oh, Ok I see you boy's weren't doing nothin' wrong"

Trio- Ok? Thanks, cya.

As you can see nothing came from it but as soon as he saw all our gear and that we were from Ohio we were all the sudden saints. Who knows what the man was thinking but if he would have come minutes earlier we just might be shacked up in some corn fed prison somewhere in Illinois.

The trio sets sail yet again. Pulling our weight through a few drizzles and wacky looking cloud cover we come to a small town called Hull, population 1 or 2 I am not sure but there was no one around. Mostly because the road was closed but being cyclists and somewhat rule benders we sneak through the signs and find out just how closed the road is.

The road was definitely closed. We came to a missing chunk in the middle of a corn field and a shallow creek that may have, at one point in time, shared the power of the mighty Mississippi. The bridge as you can see above was completely awash and half way to Waco, Texas (Below).

Making it across with skill and balance, the bridge has a work around but only for cyclists and walkers (Below). Spokes flashing in our new found pride ignoring road signs and blazing our path we continue to the scary Miss. river.

Below you will see the endeavors of the local towns people to hold back such a mighty force. Tons and tons of sand piled at the banks holding down the mass a black plastic sheet secured with 12lbs bags of would you guess more sand. The area looks well drenched but devastated and washed away it was not, just put back into place by mother nature. Trying to skip over the interstate at all costs we question our options of actually crossing the river.

We scope out the interstate scene and hit it, there was little reason to go miles out of our way to find out we would have to come back to the original bridge. Anyway it would have been better than our third thought about idea... Crossing the rail road bridge, yeah I know if we weren't crazy we would have turned around in Cincinnati. We were excused by a sign, allowed to be on the interstate.

*SIGN* - No Non-motorized vehicles past this point all except bicycles and all bicycles must stay all the way right.

Cool, we cross the bridge with ease and actually a little praise from passersby and now we make it into Hannibal, MO. Home of the great Mark Twain. Let me tell you they live it up too, everything here is F'ing Mark Twain. Like every decent size town we look for a watering hole and have a pint. Kurley's had a nice scene and cute bartenders so we began our Saturday night like the others, with a drink. Nick takes charge and goes to look for a motel room for cheap, possibly hotel twain or maybe we could have stayed in the Huckleberry Inn. I tell you what if they didn't have a place called that they probably will. Nick returns with some numbers and places but none strike our fancy so we finish our beers and ready ourselves for a trip to the campground down the way. Suddenly, while I was in the john*, our savior comes in the form of a wonderfully fresh faced Hannibal named Debbie she asks " Are you guys the bikers?" Since our bikes are always in view of where we are sitting they are in view of everyone else. We say why yes how could you tell as we don our brightly colored shorts and cargo pants it's pretty obvious how she knew.

*As I was in the bathroom I am inquired to give him what is up. I say not much just recovering from a long day of cycling. He looks up at me likely ignoring where he was suppose to aim and says " No shit!" my girl works in the Barry super value mart and said oh my god Orlando Bloom came into the shop today on bicycles. Presumably that reference was toward Sam since I look like Woody Harrelson and Nick looks like Conan O'Brien.

Oh, thank you Debbie we say and she gives directions to her horse ranch (above) and lets us come at our own leisure. With high spirits and luck of the fiendish we order another round. Finishing that we make our headway towards Debbie's, giving her a call and an E.T.A the trio is bunked for yet another night. And what a place beautiful spread and cultured home open kitchen and twin beds is all we could ever ask for. We get showers and freshen up then hit the hay and sleep hoping for yet another day.

Miles: 38

Morale: Stabilized

A wonderfully refreshed thank you goes out to Debbie Dougherty for; breakfast, lunch, showers and warm bed.