Cinnamon Roll Perfection

There was a fair bit of fog this morning when I woke up.  The sky was looking more optimistic by 9 or so, so my plan to take Mom for a short ride was looking good.  There was a chance of scattered showers, but they were pretty slim.  A short ride indeed, up to Buchanan, Michigan, in search of cinnamon roll perfection.

Now, Mom used to say "over my dead body" when it came to motorcycles and me.  She has evolved, and I've given her short (4 mile) rides before.  Buchanan is about a 20 minute ride.  I planned a route along back roads where we could just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

I buzzed over and picked up Mom.  Being slightly claustrophobic, getting a helmet on is one of those things that sort of freaks her out.  I have to say, I am super proud of her - she didn't faint, not even once!  Here she is, all geared up and looking ready to ride.  Notice the smile.  Nothing brings out that smile in people better than a motorcycle.



After flipping the rear shock to firm, we saddled up and rolled out.  For me, this wasn't about lean angles or acceleration, iron butts or riding in the moonlight.  It was about smooth shifts, low revs, and surfing the torque of that big 1300 cc engine while enjoying the sunshine, tall corn, low beans, and absence of traffic.

A short hop later found us in Buchanan, safe and sound:



My wife told me about a place called the Coward Café, which is supposed to have amazing coffee and cinnamon rolls in the morning, with pizza available in the evening.  It seemed as reasonable a destination as any for a Sunday morning putter.

The place is pretty nondescript from the outside.  Inside, true to its spartan appearance, is a spartan menu:



Mom was surprised - she thought we were going out for breakfast and was all excited to get a waffle.  Instead, we rolled with it, ordered a pour over for her and a cold brew for me, a pair of cinnamon rolls, and sat down at the long communal table:



Oh my goodness, what a treat for the senses!  To call these cinnamon rolls is borderline insulting.  Made with croissant dough, they are flaky, caramelized, triangular points of buttery perfection.  Absolutely incredible.  So good, in fact, that I ordered a second one...



The coffee was top notch as well - my friend Blake would love this place:



After an unhurried hour or so, it was time to get on with our Sunday.  We suited up:



Saddled up:





and were ready to roll out:



We took a different route on the way home, and on the way, saw a turkey vulture wheeling and a VHF Omnidirectional Range Ground Station in a field.  There is so much to explore, even on short rides!

I must be the luckiest man in the world.  Not only do I have an amazing wife and kids, I have an amazing Mom who is willing to just get out there and experience the joys of motorcycling.  We had an absolutely great time together.  I'm so glad I suggested it, and I'm so glad she accepted!

Mom's smile of pure joy, of child-like wonder, of being alive is one I will remember for a long time.  I have to say, I have one cool Mom!

The Inevitable Journey

After an absolutely wonderful weekend, so commenced the journey home.  If you stick to the superslab, it’s a mere 520 miles or so.  That said, I was in no rush.  I know Wisconsin is worth getting lost in, and there is this incredibly important, powerful, and beautiful river that flows down to the Gulf of Mexico.  I decided to follow it.

Buzzing down from Eagan to Hastings, I wound my way along towards Red Wing, where I discovered Lake Pepin:

Which, apparently, is the birthplace of waterskiing:

I puttered along the Great River Road on the Minnesota side until I got to the crossing at La Crosse.  I went over the bridge and pulled into the rest area to recycle fluids, have a snack, and just relax for a bit.  Stopping to smell the roses, I stuck my pin on the map in the visitor’s center:

A man chatted me up in the parking lot, and we had a nice long conversation about travel, children, and life in general.  Turns out the man was Lin Thompson, who runs Affordable Adventures with his wife.  I told him next time I made it out to the Black Hills area, I would be sure to look him up.

We parted ways after at least half an hour, with Lin heading east to Chicago to visit his daughter and me picking up the Wisconsin’s interpretation of the Great River Road.  That lasted until right around Genoa, where I got inspired to leave the river behind and head east through the Wisconsin farmland.  Picking up 56, I settled into the enjoyment of the curves and hills Wisconsin has to offer.  Lightly trafficked on a sunny Monday afternoon, I was rolling along and having a great time.

I made a mental note to swing by New Glarus, specifically the New Glarus Bakery:

Why the bakery when New Glarus is also home to a most excellent brewery?  Why, to pick up an order of nut horns, of course.  What are nut horns?  Pure delight.  You can read about them or order them here, but I recommend going in person - it’s a great excuse to go riding!

My destination for the day was Chicago to have dinner with my brother and sister-in-law, so I continued east/southeast.  No route, per se, just following the smallest roads possible.

My brother was still working when I got to Chicago, so I swung by.  His boss came out and congratulated me on the BBG (the Spot link was a favorite of the entire place on Friday), and said, “Man, your bike is destroyed!  Pull it in and I’ll have one of the guys wash it!”

That was about the kindest thing I’d heard all day.  The Minnesota Bug Storm had encrusted the front of the FJR with about ¼ inch of residue, and the journey east in the sun just baked them on.  I appreciatively pulled in with my disgusting bike:

I relaxed, had some water, and looked at some really cool cars:

I just have a thing for blue:

When my brother was ready to roll out, I went and got my bike.  Little did I know someone had taken away the old one and replaced it with a brand new 2006 FJR, modified just like mine!

The guys did an absolutely amazing job - the old girl still turns heads and cleans up pretty well.

We danced through traffic on the way downtown, where his wife had made an absolutely killer feast - pasta with prosciutto and leeks, cold cuts, and these insane cream cheese brownies.  Amazing.

I originally planned on riding home that night, but the conversation, company, and meal conspired against me.  I gave into temptation, accepted a beer, and just unwound completely.  Just a fantastic evening!

The next morning, I woke up and was rolling by 05:00 CST, beating the Chicago traffic and heading east.  I headed straight home, pulled into the garage I had left about 100 hours and 2700 miles ago.  Darted inside, shaved, showered, and headed to work.

The entire day seemed like it passed in slow motion.  Hard to get back into daily life after an extended weekend behind bars.

What lucky, lucky people we are to live in a time and place where we can enjoy machines like these, which transport us to unknown places, to people both familiar and unfamiliar, and home again.

Here's the trace for the journey home.  Until the next adventure...

Superior National Forest

Superior National Forest

After my ten hours of blissful slumber, I woke up to a breakfast fit for a horde of exhausted, famished Pony Express riders.  It was delicious.  Piles of cheesy scrambled eggs, sausages, and a pot of piping coffee accompanied joyous conversation, punctuated by laughter.  It was one of those blissful Saturday mornings when everyone is just content to linger around the table, chit-chatting.  Another mug of coffee?  Yes please.  I get to see my cousin and his family a couple of times a year, and I really look forward to hang out with them every chance I get.

Eventually, around noon, we decide that if we’re going riding, we might as well get on it.  We initially set a target of halfway between Duluth and Canada as a loose destination.  My cousin rides a carbed Vulcan, and we spent a bit of time wrenching to put his windshield on.

We finally rolled out, later than anticipated, heading north on a gorgeous sunny day.  Not too hot, not too cold.  We stopped for gas and conversation a couple times before rolling into Duluth, where we made lunch at Big Daddy’s Burgers our first priority:

Yes, it was delicious.  Yes, it was exactly what I was hungry for after a day eating out of my top case.  Loads of fries, delicious bacon burger with cheddar, sauteed onions, and BBQ sauce.

We lingered over lunch before heading north.  We stayed as close to the lake as possible, drinking in the aromatic lilacs and realizing how incredibly, remarkably beautiful the coastline is.  And how incredibly, remarkably cold the wind off the lake is.

The air temperature dropped by six degrees, and it felt colder than that!  I zipped up my vents, flicked on my heated grips, and raised the windshield.  We saw enormous cargo ships, ore loading stations, sailboats, and mile and after mile of lovely, curvy coastline.

At Silver Bay, we pulled into a state park with a boat launch to feel the water.  Good gracious it was cold!  So cold that I saw my cousin’s breath, and that the water dripping off boats and trailers was steaming on the asphalt, still warm from the sun.

We talked about route planning, figuring we would turn left into Finland and follow Highway 1 through Superior National Forest to Highway 53, then jog south and home.  Based on our estimates, that put us home around midnight.  Did I mention auxiliary lights are pretty much essential for late night riding?

We motored on up the road and swing west towards Finland, where we stopped for gas.  We noticed a curious thing that appeared to be normal in rural Minnesota - the local gas station (which also sold live bait, most convenience items, etc) combined with the post office.

Even though the store itself was shut tight, the pumps were on.  Where would we be without pay at the pump?

Highway 1 is proof that taxes are worth paying.  The road was simply immaculate.  Imagine a freshly paved ribbon of asphalt, draped across streams, lakes, hills, and an intensely aromatic pine forest.  Now imagine perfect weather conditions and perhaps 6 other cars in two hours of riding.  Road-going heaven, to be sure.

The road was delightfully curvy - I could have easily spent a day going back and forth, working on those pesky chicken strips.  A blissful place with stunning natural beauty.

We gassed up near Ely and started the journey home.  My faith in humanity was restored when I saw this sign:

Of course, there was no hose...

Rolling south, we had to pause for a photo opportunity just as the sun was starting to set:

We stopped for gas at another Post Office:

The cashier confirmed what our GPS had been trying to tell us - we didn’t need to go to Duluth in order to pick up I-35 south.  About six miles across pitch black two-lane roads would get us on a more direct path.

We brought our helmets inside so as to minimize the chance of having mosquitoes fly in as we were putting them on.  Let me tell you, getting a bug sucked in through the scoop vent on top of the helmet is not the most fun you can have, especially when you feel it crawling around on your bald head.  I wonder if hair minimizes the sensation?

Anyway, we saddled up and slowly headed west to pick up 33, which would take us to I-35.  I led the way, aux lights all fired up.

Have you ever driven in a snowstorm and flicked on the bright lights?  It’s really difficult to see, as you can see all the flakes falling.  Well, we mimicked that sensation, except there was no snow - just bugs.  Lots of bugs.  Thousands of bugs.  Enough bugs that I wondered if we would get some type of recognition from the locals for eliminating a quarter of the bug population.  I put my windshield all the way up, just so the bike would take the brunt of it and leave my face shield clear.  Wishful thinking…

That said, the bike did do it’s fair share:

The rest of our ride back to Eagan went very smoothly.  Lots of traffic on I-35, but not as many bugs, thanks to all the traffic?  There were a couple of trailers that had no lights at all - downright dangerous.  I wouldn’t have minded if the police we saw pulled them over and wrote them up.

Arriving home around 1 am, it was a little too late for a fire pit, so we took a raincheck and  just went to bed.

Here is the trace for our actual route - a nice 600+ mile loop.

The next day, we simply hung out, had an amazing salmon steak dinner, and cashed in on that raincheck:

BBG, Part Eight: So...how was it?

Part Eight:  So...how was it?

I feel good about completing the BBG.  My FJR is stock (including the seat!), with the following mods:

• Ram Bone + X-Grip + iPhone
• BatteryTender USB Charger
• Throttle lock
• Auxiliary lights
• Yamaha heated grips
• LDComfort shorts

All of the above proved beneficial and borderline necessary for the ride.  The Bone with a short arm kept my phone steady as a rock and out of my line of sight, exactly as I wanted.  Not distracting, and not in the way.  The USB charger I plugged into my Battery Tender tail, which is zip-tied to the cables running to the throttle.  I simply wrapped the charging cable around the cable loom a couple times and it was perfect.  Kept the phone charged the entire time, even with the ignition off.

The phone itself was useful for figuring out ETA to the next route waypoint and general communication needs.

Throttle lock - nothing needs to be said.  Poor man’s cruise control, and completely necessary to avoid cramping.  I did my initial SS1K/BB with a bone-stock bike - no aux lights, no throttle lock, no nothing.  That taught me that a throttle lock is a good thing.

Aux lights - to me, a safety issue.  The “light triangle” effect for traffic with just the fork-mounted lights keeps me visible, and the uppers help make a tunnel of light when there are no cars.  Towards the end of the ride, my upper-right light gave in the the constant wind pressure and aimed skyward - a reminder to myself to tighten up before departure and keep a screwdriver/tiny socket on board, possibly in my top case.

Heated grips.  It's amazing the difference a couple degrees makes.  At 3 am in the middle of nowhere, it sure is nice to be able to route some heat to the hands.  A wonderful feeling.

My Schuberth C3 worked great, except for the awful pressure on the final leg - I’m chalking that up to wind. As with my original Schuberth helmet, the integrated sun visor is simply indispensable. No need to fumble around for sunglasses, and remarkably good optics, especially at night.

LDComfort shorts - awesome!  Can’t say enough about them.  I wore a long-sleeve t-shirt, the shorts, and socks under my riding suit and was all-day comfortable.

Seat - well, I wasn’t overly uncomfortable, but I wouldn’t mind trying out a different one just to see what it’s like.

Route planning - I did the most rudimentary planning, not looking for gas stops.  I had a rough idea of the distance between cities, and beyond that, trusted to find gas as appropriate.  I can see where making this type of effort out west, where fuel can be sparse, would require a more diligent effort.

Time of day - I really, really like the late evening departure.  That meant I got to ride through the night, have the sun rise at my back, and have the sun set at my back after the Fargo turn.  At no point was I riding directly into the sun.  A small point, and one I found slightly distracting when I did my original Bun Burner.  This also meant that I finished my ride while there was still a bit of daylight as opposed to having to light up the night twice on the same ride.  It makes for a mental victory.

Me - well, I did it!  I never felt exhausted to the point where I had to stop to nap, though I did have a sleep mask in my left pocket in case I was feeling overwhelmed.  I never needed to use it.  The two times I felt an energy lull, I popped in some Tic Tacs and just kept riding.  Now I know a little bit more about myself, and that I can do 1500+ in a day if I ever need to.

What does the future hold?  Unknown.  The 50CC Quest has long held a certain fascination for me. A quick Google Maps search shows that it's about 2,356 miles from the beach east of Jacksonville to the sands west of San Diego. That's about 34 hours of riding time from an available 50. That would allow for 16 hours of rest, call it 10 to have some cushion. More planning would certainly be required. Gas stops in west Texas. Time of day. When to get around/through Houston. A 23:00 departure would mean Houston around 12:30, and San Antonio around 15:30...

Follow the road.

BBG, Part Seven: The Hardest Miles

Part Seven:  The Hardest Miles

After what I thought was my final gas stop, I saddled up and headed southeast towards Minneapolis.  Suddenly, I felt like someone whacked the right side of my head with a bat and the bike jumped a third of a lane to the left.

Wind.  Unrelenting, gust, strong, powerful, disruptive wind.  The strongest sustained oblique wind I have ever ridden through.  The level of focus required went through the roof.  I became even more aware of my lane position and surrounding traffic, maximizing the buffer zone of space around my bike.

The wind was beating on me, buffeting me, tossing me around.  “Please stop pummeling me, I’m just trying to get done,” I said aloud in my helmet.  It was hard, hard riding.

Physical issues started to manifest.  I developed a helmet pressure ridge around my forehead, driving me insane.  I would tuck in behind the screen and push up on my helmet with my left hand to relieve the pressure, but I wasn’t comfortable doing that for long because of that unceasing wind.

I flicked over to instant average fuel economy and saw that it was holding pretty steady in the mid-thirties.  That meant another stop was in my future, and I made it not long after the turn for Saint Cloud.  Although I hadn’t planned on it, it felt so good to simply get off the bike and get out of the wind.

It’s amazing how refreshing it is to simply get out of the wind for 10 minutes.  Not having that constant buffeting and just walking in to use the bathroom provides full body relief.

The temptation to linger wasn’t there for me, I was looking forward to getting done.  I was feeling very good still, focused, looking forward to getting done, and wary of getting complacent at the end of a long ride, approaching a metro area notorious for a crazy highway system.

I don’t have a clear memory as to the moment when the oblique pummeling stopped.  I do remember that I was so incredibly thankful that it did.  Light was starting to fade a bit, so I slid up my sun visor and kept moving:

The ride into Eagan was uneventful, with only one navigational error.  I made the final gas stop, got the receipt, met my cousin and his wife who served as my end witnesses, and felt an elated wave of accomplishment flow through me.  The odometer said 1577, which I got done in just under 22 hours.  Thank you Yamaha for making such an amazing motorcycle which let me accomplish this!

A five minute ride transported me off the bike to my cousin’s house. Entering his neighborhood, two deer were standing in the middle of the road. I slowed and smiled, thinking of how I saw their cousin on the shoulder of I-80 way back at the beginning of my trip, just when I was beginning my journey. I'm glad that we successfully avoided contact with each other.

My goddaughter and nephew were still awake and really happy to see me.  I was still feeling great - we feasted, talked, laughed, put the kids to bed, grabbed a beer, and sat outside by the fire pit.  

A couple minutes later,  the wave of exhaustion hit me.  I said goodnight, brushed my teeth, lay down, and didn’t move for ten, blissful hours.

BBG, Part Six: North to Fargo

Part Six:  North to Fargo

Kansas City to Fargo is a bit over 600 miles.  Heading north, the sun shining, the weather was cooperating beautifully with temperatures in the low 70s.  As the second trip meter flipped to 750, I let out a little whoop of joy – halfway to 1500!  A quick pit for gas near Saint Joseph saw me eat some jerky to break the Builder Bar monotony, as well as a bit of trail mix.

Onward.

As I approached the Council Bluffs/Omaha metro area, I once again gave thought to crossing the Missouri River to put wheels into Nebraska.  The GPS was giving me an arrival time in Fargo just after 16:00 CST, maintaining a cushion of two hours for my arrival in Eagan.  Even though it was a Friday and people typically escape the Twin Cities on the weekend to head for lake country, I didn’t want to risk it and decided to keep rolling north.

The road led me on, and the miles evaporated as I was in the zone:

Dust would blow across the road in Iowa.  Ah yes, I had forgotten how many of the county and frontage roads are gravel.  I got into the habit of flipping my chin vent closed to limit the amount that would get into my helmet.

On this stretch, my thoughts wandered to the smells of the trip.  My travels through Indiana smelled of horse, followed by cow in Illinois, with overtones of corn in Iowa.  It brought back memories of detasseling corn as a teenager.  Now that is some good, hard work.

I rolled past Sioux Falls, determined not to pit for gas until I had rolled through passed 1,000 miles.  Fuel light flashing, I fueled up just outside Vermillion.  The wind was wicked fierce, to the point I thought about not leaving my helmet on the saddle so it wouldn't blow off.  It didn't occur to me that this was a sign of things to come.  I was simply feeling good, with an SS1K in the bag:

But my goal wasn't an SS1K, it was a BBG, so back to work, heading north, as the view of the world around expanded to the horizon.  The land became taut, like a freshly made bed.  Fields stretching on forever in all directions.  I looked off to the east, and saw a guy riding an ATV across a field.  No buildings in sight - where did he come from?  Where was he going?  No idea.

Time and space took on different dimensions.  The air temperature rose into the 80s, and the wind made beautiful, swirling patterns in the tall grasses.  It must have been an incredible sight when it was all unsettled, grasses over 6 feet tall, as far as the eye can see.  I could only imagine what it’s like to see a storm come rolling across the prairie, or even more terrifying - a fire.

Seemingly infinite sight lines combined with the knowledge I would have to stop and document the turn at Fargo, so I put the FJR into supercruise without worrying about the commensurate impact on fuel economy, settled in, and headed for Fargo.

Mentally, this was the most difficult part of the trip thus far.  Progress seemed slow due to the expansive sightlines, despite a good pace.  I was getting to the point of “ready to be done.”

After an uneventful run, I pitted for gas to document the turn.  240 miles to the barn - an easy tank of gas.  Or so I thought - I had no idea that I was entering the most difficult, demanding portion of the ride.

BBG, Part Five: A Pair of Mistakes

Part Five:  A Pair of Mistakes

The receipt in and of itself is fine - it’s just that it shows no location data.  The rules for the BBG, and every Iron Butt event, stipulate that the receipt must indicate the location as well as the date/time. Rats!  This is something I only came to realize after my ride was over, as I was reviewing paperwork this past Sunday.  I do have location information from my credit card statement:

And the associated SpotWalla trace.

I am hoping that this is sufficient proof and that the IBA Powers That Be prove understanding when I submit my paperwork, and that my chances for this attempt are not scuppered on account of this lapse in execution - only time will tell.

Blissfully unaware of my mistake, I punched Kansas City into Waze and forged on to the west.  Missouri was really lovely to ride through as the sun came up and returned heat to my body.  Humming along, getting closer to Kansas City, traffic starts to build as I start to realize that I am going to get caught in rush hour traffic.

Double Rats!

Given the limited amount of planning associated with this ride, I hadn’t given any thought to when I would be transiting population centers.  Traffic was building and I couldn't even see the city yet.  Originally, I thought I would ride through KC to put wheels in Kansas before jogging north, back into Missouri, and on up to Iowa.’

I pulled to the side of the road and thought quickly.  I didn’t have the technical ability to forecast an end time, and had yet to get to the halfway point in my ride.  I did some quick mental math, and concluded I had built up a bit of a time cushion, but the road ahead was still long.  Physically, I was feeling great.  Mentally?  Great.  But what would the morning bring?  I simply did not know - this was the great unknown, and part of my initial uncertainty at the start.

Concluding that it was not worth jeapordizing my ride in order to put wheels in another state, I decided to take 435 around KC in order to pick up I-29 heading north.  So I punched Fargo into Waze, dropped into first gear, and headed north.

BBG, Part Four: Into the Light

Part Four:  Into the Light

Over six hours of riding in the dark had me ready for the warmth of the sun.  When I gassed up near Indianapolis, I switched from my summer to winter gloves and fired up my heated grips.  Saint Louis brought not only a gorgeous bridge to look at, but a bit of warmth I associate with urban areas, confirmed by an uptick in displayed air temperature.  Leaving Saint Louis behind also left those couple degrees of warmth in the mirror, and I found myself saying out loud, “Come on up sun, I need a little bit of your warmth.”

Darkness was starting to yield to Earth’s inexorable revolution, with woods and fields starting to appear as smudges in a monochromatically gray landscape.  As dawn overtook me despite my best efforts at outrunning it, color returned to my world.  I had no idea how beautiful and rolling Missouri is.

Descending the towards the bridge that spans the Missouri River, fog rolled up from below.  Mist hung from the trees, clung to fields.  It is for moments like this that I ride.  This is why the same section of road holds untold mysteries, for temperature, time, mist, fog, clouds, rain, sunlight, and moonlight combine in a variety of ways to create an untold number of visions.

Just west of Columbia, I pull it and go through my routine, which has been modified to include “Send Gas Stop message in SWConnect” with one hand while fueling with the other.  It is here that I made the most grave error of my ride - the collection of the receipt.  For some reason, I have no idea why, I tuned out the details of the receipt, focusing on writing mileage, marking the spot, and getting on down the road.  So, I did get a receipt:

Anyone notice anything wrong?

BBG, Part Three: Joys of the Night

Part Three:  Joys of the Night

Few things compare to the joy of driving along the road tunnel created by your lights at night.  The horizon and peripheral distractions simply fade to black, and I feel incredibly energized and alive.  Rising over my shoulder was a half moon, and it made me smile.  I’ve given each of my kids a phase of the moon corresponding to the moon’s state on the day of their birth.  Turns out the rising moon was my oldest daughter’s, and I thought of her watching over my shoulder.  I loved the idea that she was sleeping peacefully as I explored the midwest on this adventure.

Do you sing in your helmet?  I do.  This time of introspection gets me to a state of what I call passive thinking.  The daily concerns fade like the scenery into blackness, and thoughts flow in and out as I focus on operating the motorcycle.  A thought that drifted in was the recent exhibit I was fortunate enough to take in with the family at the Smithsonian Museum of American History: The Star-Spangled Banner: The Flag That Inspired the National Anthem.  It’s an amazing exhibit, with the actual flag that flew over Fort McHenry after the Battle of Baltimore.  This led me to our national anthem...which led to, you guessed it, singing in my helmet.

It started softly.  With each iteration, the volume grew.  And grew.  And grew - until I was belting out the Star-Spangled Banner at full volume, drowning out the persistent wind noise and hum of that amazing inline 4, spinning along between 4 and 5,000 rpm.  I deafened myself as belted it out, time after time.  It was a stirring sensation, filling me with joy and amazement at this country that we are so incredibly fortunate to live in, and all of the events that have gone into its creation.

It also served to stave off the yawns and the hint of sleepiness which had started to roll in around the edges of my brain.  It’s always darkest just before dawn, so the saying goes.  For times like this, I keep a couple Tic Tac boxes in my glove box.  I raised up the stock windshield to full height, ducked behind it, flipped up the Schuberth, and loaded up on a mouthful of Tic Tacs.

The explosion of mint in my mouth brightened my brain as well as my breath.  It also gave my tongue something to roll around, and made every sip from the Hydrapak that much more invigorating.  Feeling refreshed, I pressed on across Illinois.

One of the most beautiful things I saw was Saint Louis - not the Arch, but the Stan Musial Veterans Memorial Bridge (not my photo - I was riding!):

It is simply gorgeous, lit up at night, brilliantly white, with no traffic as I crossed it around 04:00 CST.  In contrast with the eeriness of the blinking wind turbine farm, the magnificence of the bridge is magnified at night.  Just another reason why I love the darker hours - they cloak the distractions and irrelevance in darkness, allowing new perspectives into the beauty of the world around us.

As I rolled west of Saint Louis, I was now on an unfamiliar road - a place where I had yet to put wheels.  These are my favorite moments, filling me with delight, a sense of discovery and exploration, and heightening the flame of wanderlust.  I glanced over my shoulder - yes, my daughter’s moon was still there, much higher in the sky, still watching over me.  West into Missouri, with darkness’ time and my fuel state running out.