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		<title>Jeff Lee</title>
		<link>http://jefflee.xyz/</link>
		<description>The personal blog of Jeff Lee</description>
		<copyright>2018</copyright>
		<pubDate>Sat, 13 Jan 2018 16:38:04 GMT</pubDate>
		<lastBuildDate>Sat, 13 Jan 2018 16:38:04 GMT</lastBuildDate>
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			<title>Walking in Nashville, December 2016</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/walking-in-nashville</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;We were in Nashville, Tennessee in late 2016, and I spent three or four hours one day walking around the city. I didn't have my bike with me on this trip, but I prefer walking to riding in big cities most of the time anyway.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<guid>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/walking-in-nashville</guid>
			<pubDate>Sat, 13 Jan 2018 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;We were in Nashville, Tennessee in late 2016, and I spent three or four hours one day walking around the city. I didn't have my bike with me on this trip, but I prefer walking to riding in big cities most of the time anyway.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I took some photos while I wandered at random around town, but except for a cursory inspection, I never did anything with them until today.&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;iframe height='405' width='590' frameborder='0' allowtransparency='true' scrolling='no' src='https://www.strava.com/activities/814196315/embed/5a5e0aaf6cf2efc5f73548b13570b6a6d9724cf5'&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;
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			<title>First Century Ride of 2018</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/first-century-of-2018</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;It was forecast to be the warmest day we've had the last several weeks, so I thought I'd do a long ride before it got cold again. South wind was going to be terrible, of course, so I got a reasonably early start and, after 15 minutes with an awesome tailwind - the only reasonable route out of town always requires riding north for a few miles - I turned east, and then south toward my destination, Nashville. Nashville, llinois, that is.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<guid>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/first-century-of-2018</guid>
			<pubDate>Wed, 10 Jan 2018 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;It was forecast to be the warmest day we've had the last several weeks, so I thought I'd do a long ride before it got cold again. South wind was going to be terrible, of course, so I got a reasonably early start and, after 15 minutes with an awesome tailwind - the only reasonable route out of town always requires riding north for a few miles - I turned east, and then south toward my destination, Nashville. Nashville, llinois, that is.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The road was wet, but the traces of ice I'd seen a couple of days ago were completely gone today. It felt like Spring. I've ridden these roads many, many times, and there wasn't much new to see, but it was nice to be back on the bike.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/first-century-of-2018/IMG_0410-c.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Traffic was almost nonexistent on the country roads this morning, and the only irritation (except for the wind) was a dog incident: When I turned onto Pioneer Road, three dogs ran out. One got in front of me, so I had to get off the bike. The farmer called out &amp;quot;They won't bite you&amp;quot;, but of course I've heard that before. He eventually got them to come back into the yard, and I rode away.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I made a brief stop in Germantown, where I sat in the park and ate a couple of Nature Valley Peanut Butter Biscuits. These are my latest obsession, and are presumably marginally more healthy than the Little Debbie products that I used to favor.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I crossed the Kaskaskia River at the little community of Covington. This is by far the best way to cross that river on a bike, since all the other alternatives require you to ride on fairly busy state highways. Unfortunately, the very low-traffic Covington Road floods constantly. This is the first time I've been able to ride on it in a few years.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The headwind became terrible as I got closer to Nashville, and the last ten miles were tough. The wind had taken a lot out of me, and my hands were shaking as I rode into town. I'd originally planned to eat at a really good Mexican restaurant there, but because I was now an hour behind schedule, and was bonking, I quickly ate at the Dairy Queen instead.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I looked around Nashville (population 3,109) for a little while, then headed out, enjoying the tailwind.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/first-century-of-2018/IMG_0423-c.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;p&gt;I retraced my earlier route until I got to the small town of Bartelso, then zigzagged to Beckemeyer, where I stopped at the convenience store and was unable to learn from the guy working there if the bridge on Old State Road was still closed. I decided to take my chances.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/first-century-of-2018/IMG_0438-c.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;Somebody drove their car deep into this cornfield. There were a couple of amused-looking tow-truck drivers standing around when I passed by.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/first-century-of-2018/IMG_0441-c.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Several miles later I encountered the same &amp;quot;Road Closed in 1.7 Miles&amp;quot; sign that had been there two months ago. While I stood and considered my options, a pickup truck drove up, and I flagged down the driver, who informed that the new bridge was under construction, but that I could probably &amp;quot;slip through&amp;quot; with my bike... &amp;quot;But you'll get muddy!&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Sure enough, the bridge construction site was a big muddy mess, but it allowed me to avoid a several-mile detour which would have likely resulted in me riding home the last several miles in the dark, so I didn't complain.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/first-century-of-2018/IMG_0445-c.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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&lt;p&gt;I rode the last fifteen miles in a light misting rain. When I first started riding a bike, I would do almost anything to avoid cycling in the rain, up to and including calling someone for a ride home. Now, I don't mind it so much.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/first-century-of-2018/IMG_0450-c.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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			<title>24 Hours on the Test Track</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/2017-subaru-casa-cycling-challenge-24-hours-on-the-test-track</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;The &lt;a href="http://casasforkidsfund.kintera.org/faf/home/default.asp?ievent=1170055"&gt;Subaru CASA Cycling Challenge&lt;/a&gt; takes place each year at the Subaru of Indiana Automotive two mile oval test track in Lafayette. It allows individuals and teams to test their endurance over a 24-hour period while raising funds to support the CASAs for Kids Fund. There are three categories: Solo men, solo women, and team. For the teams the ride is like a relay, with only one member of a team on the track at a time. In 2017 there were 42 teams (each with several riders), 25 solo men, and 9 solo women.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<guid>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/2017-subaru-casa-cycling-challenge-24-hours-on-the-test-track</guid>
			<pubDate>Sun, 06 Aug 2017 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;The &lt;a href='http://casasforkidsfund.kintera.org/faf/home/default.asp?ievent=1170055'&gt;Subaru CASA Cycling Challenge&lt;/a&gt; takes place each year at the Subaru of Indiana Automotive two mile oval test track in Lafayette. It allows individuals and teams to test their endurance over a 24-hour period while raising funds to support the CASAs for Kids Fund. There are three categories: Solo men, solo women, and team. For the teams the ride is like a relay, with only one member of a team on the track at a time. In 2017 there were 42 teams (each with several riders), 25 solo men, and 9 solo women.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Joy and I got to the Subaru plant and set up our tent in the infield. She would sleep there tonight, while my plan was to ride for the entire 24 hours and not sleep at all.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;There were lots of riders on the track at the start of the race at 10:00 in the morning. I stayed near the back of the pack. Most of the time I ride by myself, and I was little nervous riding with so many people.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/2017-Subaru-Casa-Challenge/IMG_0242.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;At the start.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt; 
 
The headwind was stiff as I came around the first curve, and I immediately regretted not attaching my old, rarely used pair of clip-on aero bars to the handlebars. About 75% of the participants were riding either dedicated triathlon bikes or road bikes fitted with aero bars. I didn't see any other single-speeds. (In fact, I never saw anyone riding a single-speed during the entire event, something which surprised me; I expected to see at least a few track bikes, given that this event was on a track. Wrong kind of track, I guess.)
&lt;p&gt;In the first few laps I recognized Molly Birt, last year's solo female winner, rode up beside her, and jokingly asked if I could purchase her aero bars. She seemed unamused, and I felt kind of dumb.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;A few laps later, though, Stephen Strayer, last year's solo male winner (he did better by himself than all but two relay teams!) briefly slowed down and said hello. That was nice of him. He asked what my longest ride ever was, I told him 160 miles, and he assured that I'd shatter that record today. He also said that the night-time would determine the winner of the race. Stephen was prescient.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After ten laps (20 miles) I stopped briefly, rode into the infield, and looked at the electronic scoreboard with Joy. &amp;quot;You're in the middle of the pack,&amp;quot; she informed me. I'd been riding as fast as I could, and was a little disappointed to be that far back in the solo male category.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After that, Joy left and went to visit her friend April, who lived in town, and I got back on the bike.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Temperatures were mild, but it was sunny, and I sweated as I maintained a decent pace, averaging over 19 mph for the first 50 laps. I took a handful of  quick breaks to drink and eat snacks, and then at 100 miles I stopped and went back to our tent site. I cleaned all the salt off my face, reapplied sunblock, and chugged two bottles of coconut water from our cooler. I love coconut water, but that might have been a mistake, and I briefly thought I was going to throw up. I'd brought two other sets of bike clothes, but I decided not to change, since what I was wearing was working well so far.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I'd stopped longer than I planned. I checked the standings to find that my position had improved a little, then got back on the bike a little after 4:00.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;My average speed started dropping during the second hundred miles. I attempted drafting a few times, but couldn't hold on to the lines of the fast relay team riders. I started making more frequent stops at the event's support tent, eating many cookies and an occasional banana. Joy came back before dusk, and we talked a while. My original &amp;quot;race plan&amp;quot; was to get off the bike for no more than one hour of the 24 hour event. Obviously that wasn't happening.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;img src="/posts/images/2017-Subaru-Casa-Challenge/IMG_0262-c.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
&lt;p&gt;As it grew dark, I put the lights on the bike, and changed from my sunglasses to clear lenses. This would be the first time I'd done any extended riding in the dark. Bugs came out for a few laps, and coated my arms. Ugh.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;There were a few lights around the track, but they weren't very bright, so everyone was required to have headlights and tail lights on their bikes. Even so, I started hugging the inside of the track, because I didn't want to be out in the middle and get hit from behind.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Our tent was in the infield close to the far-side of the track, and Joy cheered me on from there until she went to bed about 11:00.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Some time in the late evening I reached 200 miles. After 100 laps, I was intimately familiar with every bump and crack on the two miles of oval track. I now recognized almost all of the solo riders. One of them was a young guy in his 20's named Tom Bruecker, and I would occasionally ride alongside and chat with him. He'd previously done this race as part of a relay team, so it was interesting to hear his perspectives on those very different experiences.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The wind finally died down very early in the morning, it was cool (although not so cool that I needed a jacket), and the bugs weren't too bothersome. One of the event volunteers, an indefatigable older lady, cheered me on virtually every time I made it around the track. By now she knew the names of the all the solo riders who hadn't give up yet, and she called out our names as we passed where she was standing.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I was startled once when I encountered an ambulance on the dark track. One of the fast relay riders had crashed while drafting another rider. I don't like riding an inch or two behind another rider's wheel even in broad daylight, and I can't imagine trying it at night with only a weak headlight. I heard later that he broke his collarbone.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Tom Bruecker started riding faster, and I couldn't keep up - I felt that if I pushed myself any harder I'd throw up. He moved into second place behind the leader, Stephen Strayer, who, according to the scoreboard, hadn't ridden in a couple of hours. (After the race Stephen told me that once he realized he couldn't beat his own course record, he decided to sleep for a few hours.)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;At 230 miles, around 3:30 in the morning, I found it difficult to continue. I started taking increasingly frequent, longer breaks at the support tent, eating bananas, sipping Diet Coke, watching the standings on the scoreboard, and trying not to vomit. I was now in fourth place, behind Stephen Strayer the leader, then Tom B., then someone named Tom Mueller. WHO WAS HE? I asked every man who came into the support tent, but none of them was the elusive Tom Mueller.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I began bargaining with myself - &amp;quot;Just 10 more laps, and then you can stop at the tent again.&amp;quot; My butt was hurting, and I was afraid to see what it looked like.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;On the bike, I was, perhaps unreasonably, very annoyed with the fresh relay team riders who kept zooming past me. I was especially irritated with the guy who called out &amp;quot;WHERE ARE YOUR GEARS!?&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;About an hour before dawn I stopped for yet another break and talked to Tom B.'s wife, who had woken up. She was cheering him on from the sidelines. But she also said she was going to suggest to him that he stop once he got to 300 miles, which earlier he had told me was his personal goal.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;A couple of times I visited the men's restroom, which was was horrific, with pools of pee everywhere. Fortunately I was so dehydrated that I didn't need to stop there very often, or for very long.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;When dawn broke I felt a little burst of energy. Joy was up now. Tom B., who had been several laps ahead of me, appeared to have stopped riding at 300 miles... was he asleep? I was still in fourth place, but was gaining on him. I told Joy I was going to make a final push to the end, and go for third place. I was five or six laps behind 2nd place rider Tom Mueller, the closest I'd gotten to him.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;img src="/posts/images/2017-Subaru-Casa-Challenge/IMG_0278-c.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The sun was up when I finally met Tom Mueller, riding on the track. I rode with him for seven laps, which went much more quickly, now that the sun was out and I had someone to talk to while riding.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Back at the tent for a break I looked at the standings, and Tom Bruecker walked up, not in bike clothes. He'd quit the race at 300 miles, and my third place result was secure.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/2017-Subaru-Casa-Challenge/IMG_0295.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;Just over one hour to go.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Just before 10:00 in the morning, 24 hours after the start of the race, I made my 155th lap around the two mile oval track. I was very tired of riding my bike now.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/2017-Subaru-Casa-Challenge/IMG_0322-cropped.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;The end.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;There was a brief awards ceremony, where I accepted my third-place solo male plaque, then we (well, Joy) packed everything up, and we headed to our friend April's house where I tried not to fall asleep while I took a shower.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;img src="/posts/images/2017-Subaru-Casa-Challenge/IMG_0331.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/2017-Subaru-Casa-Challenge/IMG_0333.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;The nice volunteer who stayed up all night cheering us on.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Everything hurt, and after spending 20 of the last 24 hours perched on a small, hard saddle, my butt especially was... not so good.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Still, I had a great time doing this. I'll never be very fast on the bike, but I feel good that I never quit, even in the middle of the night when it was extremely difficult to force myself to make yet another lap around the track.&lt;/p&gt;
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			<title>A First Attempt at Touring on a Single-Speed, Day Five</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/a-first-attempt-at-touring-on-a-single-speed-day-five</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;The Redbud Ride was the Wet Butt ride. The organizers canceled the 100 mile option, with its infamous, steep hills that I'd been looking forward to trying on the single speed.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<guid>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/a-first-attempt-at-touring-on-a-single-speed-day-five</guid>
			<pubDate>Sat, 22 Apr 2017 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;The Redbud Ride was the Wet Butt ride. The organizers canceled the 100 mile option, with its infamous, steep hills that I'd been looking forward to trying on the single speed.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Peter, who had never before intentionally ridden his bicycle in the rain, gamely agreed to do the shortest option, 24 miles, with me. We actually got out early and rode the first three miles before the rain started, but after that it poured on us.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I was fortunate to have four days of mostly great weather on my &amp;quot;ride to the ride.&amp;quot; I was happy with the performance of the Wabi single speed, with the exception of the wimpy 23 mm tires. I will be replacing those before I try any more touring on the bike.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-five-1.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-five-2.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;The guy holding the umbrella was a volunteer at the event, and was impressed that I was riding a single speed: "I like the purity of it."&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-five-3.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-five-4.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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			<title>A First Attempt at Touring on a Single-Speed, Day Four</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/a-first-attempt-at-touring-on-a-single-speed-day-four</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;Breakfast at the inn was a couple of bananas and approximately half a bag of Krispy Kreme glazed crullers. Charlie had emerged, shirtless, as I walked into the kitchen, and mentioned that I should have "a cruller or two." After he went back upstairs to his quarters I decided not to interpret "a cruller or two" literally, and quickly ate most of the bag instead.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<guid>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/a-first-attempt-at-touring-on-a-single-speed-day-four</guid>
			<pubDate>Fri, 21 Apr 2017 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;Breakfast at the inn was a couple of bananas and approximately half a bag of Krispy Kreme glazed crullers. Charlie had emerged, shirtless, as I walked into the kitchen, and mentioned that I should have &amp;quot;a cruller or two.&amp;quot; After he went back upstairs to his quarters I decided not to interpret &amp;quot;a cruller or two&amp;quot; literally, and quickly ate most of the bag instead.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I rode out under cloudy skies, crossed I-65, and continued on the TransAmerica Trail. The routing had changed since my circa-2006 maps were printed, and now it bypassed Bardstown entirely. That was fine with me, since I remembered it as one of the busiest of the Kentucky sections.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Since my map was  now useless for a while, I relied on a combination of the &amp;quot;US Bicycle Route 76&amp;quot; signs and the new TransAmerica Trail smartphone app. The new route was really nice - quiet country roads, the kind I choose when I'm making my own route in Kentucky.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-four-1.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-four-2.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I was looking forward to a country store breakfast when I reached the tiny community of Howardstown, but the Mini Mart, which I remembered from my 2006 coast-to-coast trip, was now closed. Judging by the headline on the yellowed newspaper in the box outside announcing the death of Muhammad Ali, it appeared to have been closed for almost a year. Bummer.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I left the TransAmerica Trail there and turned south onto State Route 84, which was curvy and tree-lined.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-four-3.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-four-4.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-four-5.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-four-6.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;By the time I reached Raywick (population 144) the few raindrops I'd been feeling turned into a steady drizzle. I sat in the town park in a picnic pavilion for a while, then put on my rain jacket, rode through town, and stopped at Blandford's store. As I walked in, a guy getting out of his truck said &amp;quot;'Bout to get wet.&amp;quot; For some reason I'm always tempted to argue with the people who seem to enjoy telling me this - I felt like responding &amp;quot;Oh no I'm not! This is a high quality Marmot jacket that will ensure that I stay dry and comfortable!&amp;quot; Instead I just grunted and walked inside.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I chugged a can of pop while I looked at Google Maps. I really had no idea where I was going today, and was literally making a route as I went along now.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Back on the road I endured about an hour of cold drizzle before the sun came out as I neared Lebanon (population 6,331.)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I rode on busy US 68 for about a mile, then made a right turn, past the Walmart into an industrial park zone, and rode past several factories and distribution center.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;This was all I saw of Lebanon. I got on State Route 49 for a while. Very little traffic, and a couple of hills to keep things interesting. The sun was beating down now, so I stopped on the side of the road to reapply my &amp;quot;baby&amp;quot; sunblock.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;There was a sign outside Bradfordsville (population 304) announcing that the town was the recipient of the &amp;quot;2006 NADO Award for America's Most Innovative Community.&amp;quot; Sounded intriguing, so I decided to be on the lookout for any signs of innovation while I was in town.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-four-7.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I walked into the Superior Food Market, where the air conditioning was definitely NOT working, and purchased a bunch of snacks and drinks and a ham and turkey sandwich, then walked to the back where the farmers and working men were having lunch. Everybody was smoking. I'm pretty sure that except for Las Vegas casinos, rural Kentucky is the only place in the USA where smoking is still so prevalent.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;All the tables were occupied, but one of the men motioned for me to sit down with him, so I ate lunch while we talked. It was a slightly awkward conversation, since the guy was a low talker, who I had to really strain to understand, and he also inserted much-longer-than-normal pauses into his replies.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I had no problem understanding his accent, though, and in fact, after hanging around all these country stores the last few days, my own Kentucky accent is now approximately 75% thicker than when I left Illinois a few days ago.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After lunch I headed back out into the bright sunshine, eavesdropped for a minute on a couple talking outside the grocery (&amp;quot;He's gotta go back to jail again!&amp;quot;), then rode out of Bradsfordville on State Route 49, never having observed any NADO Award-Winning innovation during my admittedly brief time in town.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;There was a great long, flat section on 49. I got involved in a slow-moving convoy of tractors led by a flag truck for miles, which was fun, since it was one of the rare times I was the fastest vehicle on the road. Unfortunately, I got the 1970's song &amp;quot;Convoy&amp;quot; stuck in my head for the next hour. How awful.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-four-8.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-four-9.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I turned onto another state highway, 78, which was, again, low-traffic, but hillier. I was slowly riding toward the real hills of eastern Kentucky. As I rode past a ramshackle residence, the guy outside called out &amp;quot;Pedal Haaarrder!&amp;quot; I tried to comply.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Hustonville (population 347), at the intersection of State Route 78 and US 127, was very busy, presumably with end-of-school-day traffic. Eventually I grew weary of this, and pulled over to examine Google Maps. I didn't have any cell service, and the maps were barely functional, but it appeared that I could take a network of back roads and eventually meet up somewhere with my friend Peter, who had agreed to find me on the road. Peter is game for almost anything, so I didn't feel TOO guilty about my self-indulgent zigzagging around.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The next few hours were a lot of fun. The roads were curvy, tree-lined, and hilly. I stopped at one of the friendliest little country stores yet, Elmores's Market, where the people let me use the store phone to call Peter so that I could attempt to set up a meeting place. As usual, I spent some time talking to the locals, some of whom had pretty pronounced Eastern KY accents - one guy asked his friend what he'd been up to lately, and he responded &amp;quot;I've been stayin' up in that holler - that way I stay out of trouble!&amp;quot; It was interesting how the terrain and the accents had changed over the course of just a couple of days of bike riding.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Another hour of great riding (and the longest, steepest hill of this tour) and I reached a bustling gas station/convenience store/restaurant on US 27. The road was super-busy, and I decided to call it a day at 96 miles. I phoned Peter to let him know where I was, then hung out at the place for a while eating macaroni and cheese and hush puppies (because, why not?) and chatting with the women working there. They seemed amused by my presence, although they were too polite to comment on my cycling attire, especially my little cycling cap, which probably looks pretty dumb to anyone who doesn't ride a bike.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Peter arrived in his aging mini van, whose battery was apparently dying and would require a jump start if he turned off the engine, and we loaded my bike and stuff and headed toward the town of London, site of tomorrow's Redbud Ride, which, according to the weather forecast, was going to be a rainy ride indeed.&lt;/p&gt;
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			<title>A First Attempt at Touring on a Single-Speed, Day Three</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/a-first-attempt-at-touring-on-a-single-speed-day-three</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;I was up early, got my small amount of gear loaded quickly, and was riding out of the church when it was barely light.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<guid>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/a-first-attempt-at-touring-on-a-single-speed-day-three</guid>
			<pubDate>Thu, 20 Apr 2017 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;I was up early, got my small amount of gear loaded quickly, and was riding out of the church when it was barely light.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-three-1.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-three-2.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;My bedroom in the Cyclist Room at the First Baptist Church in Sebree.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;My smug self-congratulation on this early start lasted approximately one mile, when I stopped at a convenience store for a quick breakfast that turned into an hour.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Most of that hour I was engaged in conversation with a loquacious local, who spoke of various things: The many injuries he suffered as a sheet metal worker, grisly injuries suffered by his coworkers when he worked for the railroad (&amp;quot;It split him like a wishbone... He survived, but needless to say he will never have children&amp;quot;), his love of motorcycles, that one time he rode a bicycle 16 miles, and, especially, his love of guns.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I didn't have a lot to say as he listed the many guns he owned and described their capabilities. He told me that his thirteen-year-old daughter had a gun of her own, and despite his description of the various rules he imposed on her use of the gun, notably that she wasn't allowed to chamber a round inside the house, I was slightly appalled.  It's a good thing that I was not entrusted with a gun when I was thirteen years old - I might have used it to murder my middle school tormentors.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The first several miles leaving Sebree had a little more traffic than I prefer, but the drivers were well behaved. As I turned off the busy road onto a much quieter one, a pickup truck slowed down, and the driver asked &amp;quot;Do you want a ride? That doesn't look like much fun!&amp;quot; I just laughed.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-three-3.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I stopped in tiny Beech Grove, where the only sunblock in the little country store was &amp;quot;baby&amp;quot; sunblock. The old men who always sit at tables at these kinds of places in the mornings chortled at my purchase, but I figured if the sunblock was effective on babies then it should work on me.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-three-4.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;The only sunblock available in Beech Grove, Kentucky (population 243). Now I smell like a baby. A big, hairy, sweaty, greasy baby.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-three-5.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The ride continued to be pleasant. By mid morning I'd reached Utica, yesterday's original destination, where I stopped at J.R.'s, another classic Kentucky country store. The old woman who owned the place told me that when she bought the store years ago, she moved the table where the old men sat to the back of the store, so that women would feel comfortable coming in to shop. &amp;quot;Honey, this was a MAN'S place back then!&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;We talked about the economics of running a country store and competing against the local Dollar General store, and then she walked across the road to her trailer home. Before going inside she looked at me over her shoulder and said &amp;quot;They're a hollerin' for rain!&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-three-6.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Not long after that, I stopped at Doolin's, yet ANOTHER country store. I bought a can of pop and talked to the elderly proprietress, who, oddly enough on such a hot day, was dressed in a flannel Christmas-themed outfit. Outside the store, two men walked up and started a conversation with me. One of the men was heavily tattooed, and had the look of someone who knows a lot about automobile engines. He was immediately interested in the single speed bike, and we talked about how well the 48x19 gear performed on the hills. His friend was older and neatly dressed in smoothly ironed khakis. He was one of the guys I always meet on bike tours who are interested in one thing and one thing only about what I'm doing: The tires. &amp;quot;How do those tires hold up?&amp;quot; &amp;quot;How many flats have you had?&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Is it hard to fix a flat?&amp;quot; etc. etc.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-three-7.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Midday I reached Fordsville (population 524), a busier town with a grimy gas station instead of a country store. There was a young woman chain smoking outside the store, telling all the passersby about her recent legal problems. Not a pleasant scene, so I rode for a mile until, not liking the busy traffic, I pulled over, consulted Google Maps, and quickly figured out a hillier but much less busy route on smaller roads.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-three-8.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-three-9.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;My alternate route dropped me back on to the TransAmerica Trail near Falls of Rough after about an hour of hill climbing and descending. I stopped at the store there, where the friendly woman shouted &amp;quot;My first bicyclist of the year!&amp;quot; She was still excited to see me even after I informed her that I was only doing a week or so on the route, and wasn't crossing the country. After eating a sandwich I had a conversation with an odd guy who advised me to use WD-40 on my chain, and also cautioned me that my tires were dangerously bald (they weren't.) Despite living on the most famous bicycle route in America, he seemed surprised to learn that all the cyclists he'd been seeing for years were (mostly) on long rides from coast-to-coast.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;That was the end of my interactions with people for the next several hours. I stayed on the TransAmerica Trail, which was nice and low-traffic, all the way to Sonora (population 350).&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-three-10.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Sonora is on Interstate 65. There was supposed to be some sort of bed and breakfast in town, although it had virtually no internet presence, and no one had answered the phone number when I'd called three or four times throughout the day.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I got to Sonora as dusk approached and started looking for the bed and breakfast. I couldn't find it. The address I had did not appear to exist.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I rode to the edge of town, sat on a rock fence in front of the Dollar General store, and considered my options. There appeared to be a motel four or five miles away in another town, but it had truly terrible reviews. It would be dark soon, and I thought I should call the place to make sure it was still in business before riding there. As I was calling, a minivan carrying two older couples slowed down. &amp;quot;Do you need a place to stay?&amp;quot; one of the men asked. I told them I was considering the motel in the next town, and one of the women said &amp;quot;Oh honey! You just CAIN'T stay there! They rent those rooms by the hour!&amp;quot; The other lady added &amp;quot;That's where the truck drivers go on dates with their girlfriends!&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;They offered to show me where the bed and breakfast was, so I followed them a few blocks to a big old house, where I met Charlie, the elderly proprietor. After I showered, Charlie gave me leftovers from his dinner, which proved to be delicious (Charlie had lots of cookbooks in his kitchen, and apparently had studied them carefully.)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Afterward I briefly looked over my maps, but was too tired to figure out a route, and decided to worry about it tomorrow.&lt;/p&gt;
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			<title>A First Attempt at Touring on a Single-Speed, Day Two</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/a-first-attempt-at-touring-on-a-single-speed-day-two</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;I'd been tired last night, and had gone to bed without working on a route to get from Harrisburg to Cave-In-Rock, IL, on the Ohio River. From Cave-In-Rock my plan was to take the ferry and continue onto the Kentucky portion of the Trans America Trail route, the map for which I still have from my 2006 coast-to-coast trip.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<guid>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/a-first-attempt-at-touring-on-a-single-speed-day-two</guid>
			<pubDate>Wed, 19 Apr 2017 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;I'd been tired last night, and had gone to bed without working on a route to get from Harrisburg to Cave-In-Rock, IL, on the Ohio River. From Cave-In-Rock my plan was to take the ferry and continue onto the Kentucky portion of the Trans America Trail route, the map for which I still have from my 2006 coast-to-coast trip.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;How hard could it be to get to Cave-In-Rock? Pretty hard, as it turned out.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I rode out of town on a short section of the Tunnel Hill Trail, then onto some quiet streets, then past the Walmart, and then onto some tree-shaded country roads. Nice.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-two-1.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After a few miles, though, the pavement turned to gravel. A few miles after that the gravel was bigger and rougher, and my rear tire flatted. Another pinch flat.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;This time it took me an HOUR AND A HALF, and three patches, to get it fixed. I'd used my only spare tube on the flat yesterday, and didn't want to risk another one on the gravel, so I started walking.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After a while I reached pavement, turned right at the next intersection, and rode a tailwind to an impossibly busy state highway. No way was I riding 20 miles or more on that.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-two-2.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I turned back, hoping to find a less direct, less busy, but still paved route.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Whitesville Road and Horseshoe Road were both great - smooth pavement and not too hilly. Shawnee Forest Road was probably the hilliest riding I'd ever done on the single-speed. Garden of Gods Road, and Karbers Ridge Road were good, but then I had to take a series of county roads that contained intermittent gravel sections which I, paranoid about getting another flat, walked.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-two-3.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;It was hot now, and I was down to a few inches of water. On one of the gravel roads I spotted a woman and her young grandson in the yard of a modest home. She was happy to give me water, even inviting me into her little house and filling the bottles with ice.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I alternated walking and riding the next couple of miles. During a section of rough, egg-sized gravel, I flagged down a mail man, who gave me directions and told me that I would reach pavement in half a mile or so.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The mail man's directions were accurate, and I was soon riding the bike instead of pushing it. I did miss one turn, climbed an unnecessary hill, fell down and bloodied my calf when I forgot to unclip, and then had a brief conversation with a local man sitting on a porch swing when I returned to the confusing intersection. &amp;quot;I tried to tell you that you were going the wrong way&amp;quot;, he said between puffs on his cigarette. I did remember him shouting something, but had assumed it was either encouragement or derision.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-two-4.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;By the time I reached Cave-In-Rock it was 2:00 and I'd only done 50 miles. I was way behind schedule now, and the Utica fire department, my original destination, was clearly impossible. My revised goal was now the First Baptist Church in Sebree.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After spending a few minutes in Cave-In-Rock, unsuccessfully searching for a cold soft drink, I rode the ferry across the Ohio River to Kentucky, and the state's smooth, paved roads. The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough. I met a Belgium rider doing the entire TransAmerica Trail east-to-west, and talked to him for a while. Later I dropped my chain, but that was an easy repair.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-two-5.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-two-6.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-two-7.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-two-8.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I reached Sebree (population 1,561) at dusk, checked in at the church, showered, and then encountered Violet, the retired pastor's wife, who insisted that I walk across the street for a late dinner at their house.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After dinner I walked back to the church, set up a cot in the basement, and fell into a deep sleep, despite the presence of a railroad track behind the church.&lt;/p&gt;
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			<title>A First Attempt at Touring on a Single-Speed, Day One</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/a-first-attempt-at-touring-on-a-single-speed-day-one</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;The last several years I've traveled back to my home state of Kentucky to do the Redbud Ride in London, in the eastern part of the state. Organized bike rides are not really my thing, but this one is usually fun.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<guid>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/a-first-attempt-at-touring-on-a-single-speed-day-one</guid>
			<pubDate>Tue, 18 Apr 2017 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;h2 id="introduction"&gt;Introduction&lt;/h2&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The last several years I've traveled back to my home state of Kentucky to do the Redbud Ride in London, in the eastern part of the state. Organized bike rides are not really my thing, but this one is usually fun.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;This year I thought I'd &amp;quot;ride to the ride&amp;quot; from where I live in Lebanon, Illinois, about 25 miles east of St. Louis. I've wanted to try out very lightly loaded touring on my Wabi Lightning SE single-speed, and this seemed like a good opportunity.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The weather was nice this morning - cool, and not terribly windy at 7:00 when I rode out of my driveway.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-one-1.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The first 50+ miles were of course very familiar, since I ride the super-flat, rough chip seal Illinois farm roads around here all the time.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-one-2.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Last night I'd used Google Maps to work out a route that meandered south-east on lightly traveled farm roads. There would be hardly any elevation gain, so unless the wind was against me in a major way, I hoped to do a lot of miles.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I was lucky today, and I didn't experience the often brutal south winds that are much harder than any hills.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-one-3.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-one-4.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-one-5.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-one-6.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-one-7.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-one-8.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;Not shown: The graffiti artist's illustration of the late John Holmes' most famous attribute.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The route had me skirting towns all morning and early afternoon, and the first place I saw that was big enough to have any services was Tamaroa (population 740.)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-one-9.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-one-10.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I loitered at the Casey's convenience store for a while, consuming pizza, donuts, Gatorade and Pepsi. I'd been craving ice-cold coconut water, my latest obsession, all morning, but sadly, coconut water was not available in Tamaroa.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;There was some sort of remodeling under way at the Casey's, and the men's room had been temporarily removed. The woman behind the counter directed me to the lady's room, which was shockingly clean - far cleaner than any Casey's men's room I'd ever seen (And I've been in lots of Casey's men's rooms during long bike rides.)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;While I was sitting on the sidewalk in front of the Casey's, eating my pizza, a young woman rode up on a spiffy yellow bike.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-one-11.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;She was carrying fliers for a benefit to help her friend, Heather, and was angry that the lady who had made the fliers had omitted her friend's name.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&amp;quot;She can't do anything right - it's like a monkey trying to fuck a football!&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;In fact, I had noticed a different flier posted around town that did mention Heather's name, but it failed to include any info about what exactly was afflicting her.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I was mildly curious about the whole situation, but decided it was best not to ask the angry girl, and so I got back on the road.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-one-12.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;It was hot now, and I encountered some gravel roads, which caused me to regret my choice of 23 mm tires.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Later, I hit a rough railroad crossing too hard and got a pinch flat. After 40 minutes I got it changed and continued on. Now I was covered with black grease from the chain, which caused me to regret my choice of white handlebar tape and white saddle.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-one-13.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/will-i-walk/day-one-14.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;Heh.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Later in the afternoon I had my usual navigational difficulties getting in and out of the larger towns of Christopher and West Frankfort. After that, though, it was ever-so-slightly-less-flat countryside until I reached Harrisburg (population 9,031), where I stopped at the first motel I saw, a shitty Super 8 without a working pop machine.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I walked half a mile in the dark to Subway for dinner, then walked back to the motel and went to bed. I was tired after 128 miles, and slept soundly.&lt;/p&gt;
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			<title>Not Bad for January</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/not-bad-for-january</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;The forecast called for warmer-than-usual temperatures and winds out of the south. I decided to try riding my new Wabi single-speed bike to Petersburg, a town on the Sangamon river, north of the state capital of Springfield. The plan was for Joy to drive up and meet me there, where we'd stay overnight at a lodge in town.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<pubDate>Wed, 11 Jan 2017 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;The forecast called for warmer-than-usual temperatures and winds out of the south. I decided to try riding my new Wabi single-speed bike to Petersburg, a town on the Sangamon river, north of the state capital of Springfield. The plan was for Joy to drive up and meet me there, where we'd stay overnight at a lodge in town.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;It was overcast and cool when I rode out after 7:00. The first 37 miles were familiar - a mostly straight shot to Staunton. I've ridden those back roads up there many times.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After riding through Sawyersville, Benld, and Gillepsie, I was in completely unfamiliar territory, and was now relying on Google Maps, which directed me onto some messy gravel country roads that occasionally deteriorated even more and became mud. My shiny new Wabi became coated with grime. Ugh.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/not-bad-for-january/IMG_6298.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;Foggy.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Fog rolled in. There was very little to see in this part of the state, at least on these flat, remote country roads, although Carlinville (population 5,632) was big enough to have Blackburn College, small private institution. Normally I would have spent some time looking around there, but I was racing to get to Petersburg before the sun set.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/not-bad-for-january/IMG_6293.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;Typical scenery.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The wind continued to cooperate. I stopped at a gas station in Girard (population 2,021) after about 80 miles to get some snacks. A young guy walked up and asked me about my extremely attractive bike. He was visiting from California, and told me he rode a fixie back home.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;img src="/posts/images/not-bad-for-january/IMG_6301.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After Girard things got even emptier, and the rough chipseal and gravel roads were wetter and messier. At one point I stopped to look at the map, forgot to close my seatpost bag, and not long after riding away was startled by a loud bang. At the last minute I had decided to bring my iPad with me (an idea that Joy was extremely dubious about), and it had fallen out of the seatpost bag and landed on the gravel road. After a quick inspection I determined that it still worked, although one corner was gouged. Luckily I had wrapped it in two ziplock bags, or it likely would have been ruined.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;img src="/posts/images/not-bad-for-january/IMG_6303.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
&amp;nbsp;
&lt;img src="/posts/images/not-bad-for-january/IMG_6306.JPG" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
&lt;p&gt;As I approached Petersburg (population 2,199) the traffic, which had been non-existent most of the day, got heavier, and I turned on my headlight as the sun went down. The last several miles were in the dark, but I was able to find the RiverBank Lodge where Joy had already arrived. This was very much the off season there, and we were the only ones staying in the place.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After I cleaned up, we ate pizza at the nearly empty bar at our hotel and talked to the bartender, who told us stories of his side-job managing professional wrestlers in St. Louis. Then we walked to a brewpub, where Trivia Night was in progress, and sat at the bar doing our usual people-watching thing. The only people in the place not drinking beer were me and a ten-year-old boy. The barmaid seemed amused when he walked up for a refill of his soda, and I said &amp;quot;Hey, that's what I'm having!&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Later I attempted to wash my filthy bike in our room, a process that involved removing the wheels and taking the bike into the shower.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I was tired after doing a double metric century in January. That's a long ride, even if it was wind-assisted.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/829056775"&gt;Ride on Strava&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
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			<title>Never Say Never Again, Day Seven</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/never-say-never-again-day-seven</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;I was up and ready to go super-early, so I killed time watching TV, something I almost never do anymore, until 5:00, then took the elevator down to the lobby to find that I still had an hour until the hotel breakfast started.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<pubDate>Tue, 04 Oct 2016 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;I was up and ready to go super-early, so I killed time watching TV, something I almost never do anymore, until 5:00, then took the elevator down to the lobby to find that I still had an hour until the hotel breakfast started.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;From the looks of things, the “continental” breakfast wasn’t going to be exactly lavish, but it was more than an hour until sunup, and I couldn’t leave until then. I really need to get a light for my bike.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I talked to the bored night desk clerk for a while, who gave me a pre-breakfast orange juice, then sat in the darkened breakfast area until a tired-looking woman came out and got breakfast going. The sausage was gray and unappealing, so I ate nine bowls of Froot Loops instead.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;By now I’d been up for hours and was ready to go, so I rode out on city streets in the pre-dawn morning, and got on the Little Miami bike path.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I’m very familiar with this part of the Ohio bike path system, from when I lived in Kentucky, but I hadn’t ridden it in years. Not much had changed: The little towns along the path seemed as sleepy as ever, especially at this hour.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-seven-1.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-seven-2.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-seven-3.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I stopped in Morrow at a brand-new store adjacent to the bike path. The “Bikers Welcome / Michelob Ultra” sign outside the store actually featured a picture of a Lycra-clad roadie, instead of a motorcyclist. Unprecedented.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-seven-4.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-seven-5.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I exited the bike path at Milford, and, despite years of riding in the area, and despite my carrying the detailed Adventure Cycling maps for the Underground Railroad Route, I took a wrong turn and got lost in the small Milford downtown. Sigh.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I got back on track to find that this section of the Underground Railroad Route, which I remembered as being pleasant enough eight or nine years before, was terribly busy with fast traffic, especially on US 50. I’m sure I could have done a better job of routing through and/or around this area myself. Maybe next time.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I was frazzled from the traffic when I arrived in Owensville (population 794), which, surprisingly for a town of its size, had a Dunkin’ Donuts, where I spent twenty minutes drinking a giant strawberry-banana smoothie.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-seven-6.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After Owensville the route got better, and increasingly familiar as I neared Georgetown. I used to ride to Georgetown all the time when I lived in Kentucky, and I found that not a lot had changed there, although, as with many of the Ohio towns I’d seen recently, things looked pretty dead. The bike shop was no longer open, its eccentric (and hot-headed) owner, an acquaintance of mine, having been run out of town by the redneck good-old-boys who run the place.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-seven-7.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-seven-8.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-seven-9.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After a final stop for soda pop at the United Dairy Farmers store in town, I started the last push to my destination, Aberdeen. I was tired by now, and worried that I wouldn’t make it before dark, so I rode as hard as I could. There was a significant hill or two before I reached Ripley, right on the Ohio River. From there it was eight flatmiles to Aberdeen, on busy US 52 right along the river. The shoulder width was annoyingly variable, but I lucked out when reached a construction zone with four miles to go, and after the flagger held up the traffic behind me, I had the last several miles almost all to myself.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-seven-10.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-seven-11.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I arrived at the home of my friends Peter and Cay, who were at an event, but had left me dinner, which was delicious, especially after 113 miles and nothing but snacks all day.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Peter and Cay returned, we talked for a while, then I went to bed, where I slept much more soundly than I did at the Ramada Inn.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Except for the short, uneventful ride across the Ohio River to my dad’s place in Kentucky the next day, that was the end of this little tour. I spent a few days in Kentucky, then rented a car and drove back to Illinois.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Bike touring is still fun. One thing I’ve learned is that I prefer the long-ish, 100+ mile days while touring, and I think I’ll try to pare down the weight I carry in the future to facilitate that.&lt;/p&gt;
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			<title>Never Say Never Again, Day Six</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/never-say-never-again-day-six</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;There were no other guests at the B&amp;amp;B, so I was the only audience for the old man’s credulity-straining stories this morning as I ate my waffles, eggs, and bacon.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<pubDate>Mon, 03 Oct 2016 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;There were no other guests at the B&amp;amp;B, so I was the only audience for the old man’s credulity-straining stories this morning as I ate my waffles, eggs, and bacon.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;It was colder today. The sunshine that filtered through the leaves on the trees along the bike path wasn’t enough to provide much warmth, so I tried to maintain a brisk pace.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-six-1.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I rode 28 miles on the path, which was flat and a little boring. As soon as I exited, though, the hills started. I traveled on quiet country roads for the next several hours, as I slowly approached the outskirts of Dayton. Near Verona (population 494) a sign informed me that a bridge was out, but I decided to try it anyway, found that it really was impassable, and had to backtrack, which added three miles.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-six-2.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-six-3.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-six-4.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-six-5.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Verona was a typical faded Midwestern town. Given the large number of Trump signs, I assume Verona was populated almost exclusively by his gullible followers, who undoubtedly believed that he would Make Verona Great Again. I stopped at a store, briefly considered ordering a pizza until I learned that it would take 45 minutes to prepare(!) and settled for a bottle of pop and snacks instead. The women working at the store had some questions about my trip, and seemed slightly disappointed to learn that I was just riding my bike “for fun.”&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-six-6.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-six-7.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-six-8.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-six-9.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Verona was the northern terminus of another bike path: Wolf Creek Trail. This was another nice, flat, unexciting path that ended in Dayton (population 141,527: The sixth largest city in Ohio!).&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Then it was an hour or so of unpleasant (and occasionally harrowing) urban riding, during which I traveled through several distinct demographic areas (the poor white neighborhood, with its peeling-white-painted wood frame houses and confederate-flag-decorated pickup trucks, immediately followed by the poor black neighborhood lined with $1,000 cars with $2,000 rims, etc.)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-six-10.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-six-11.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Traffic was terrible until I finally reconnected with the bike path leaving the city, but not before I variously walked the bike, carried it up stairs, rode it on sidewalks, rode it the wrong way down one-way streets, etc. etc.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-six-12.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I’d spent too much time getting through Dayton, and by now I was running out of daylight, and I didn’t have a light on my bike, so I abandoned my original plan of staying in a cheap motel in a small town ten miles down the road, and instead stopped in Xenia (populate 25,719), where I paid too much to stay in a crappy Ramada Inn.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I’d eaten only snacks today, and was famished, so I walked a block to a Little Ceasars Pizza place, where I carefully stepped around a group of sullen, pimply-face teenagers who were sitting out front on the sidewalk for some reason. I bought a large pizza, took it back to my room, and finished it in ten minutes.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I went to bed early, but found that I couldn’t sleep, and eventually just got up for good about 3:00.&lt;/p&gt;
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			<title>Never Say Never Again, Day Five</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/never-say-never-again-day-five</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;After a breakfast of Ale-8 and chocolate milk, I made my way through West Lafayette and then Lafayette, first on quiet neighborhood streets, then a bike path, and then on what was, surprisingly for so early on a Sunday morning, a couple of miles of unpleasantly busy highway, before reaching the super-quiet country roads I favor.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<pubDate>Sun, 02 Oct 2016 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;After a breakfast of Ale-8 and chocolate milk, I made my way through West Lafayette and then Lafayette, first on quiet neighborhood streets, then a bike path, and then on what was, surprisingly for so early on a Sunday morning, a couple of miles of unpleasantly busy highway, before reaching the super-quiet country roads I favor.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-1.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I biked for several miles along Wildcat Creek, on a narrow road that alternated between gravel and chip seal. After a side trip to check out a covered bridge, there was a long, fast ride on Judson Road which took me to the northern edge of Kokomo, where I stopped in a park and ate approximately ten granola bars.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-2.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;It was noon now, and the sun had finally burned off the morning haze. It was a nice, mostly flat ride to Greentown (population, 2,415.) After lunch at Subway, I walked around the downtown, which was pleasant enough, then got back on the road. A half mile out of town I stopped to take a picture, and a friendly local woman pulled over and greeted me: “Welcome to Greentown!”&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-3.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-4.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-5.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-6.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;There were miles and miles of smooth, paved country roads after Greentown. I glimpsed a recumbent cyclist in the distance, pushed myself to catch him, and was not surprised to find that the recumbent cyclist was an older, bearded man. In my years of chasing down recumbents, I have found that approximately 90% of their riders are older men, and 90% of those older men have beards.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After several miles on Wheeling Pike, curvier than most roads on this tour, I arrived in Matthews (population 596) and stopped in a convenience store where the young male clerk was unashamedly singing along, very badly, to “Hotel California” on the radio.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-7.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-8.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-9.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-10.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Five more miles of country road later, I reached Gaston (population 871), where the only thing of interest was the northern terminus of the Cardinal Greenway, a paved bike path that would take me all the way to (and through) Muncie. The only thing worth noting on the 12 or so miles to Muncie were several jet-black squirrels that darted across the path. These were the first and only black squirrels I saw on this tour. Actually, I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen black squirrels before.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-11.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-12.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;An Olive Garden restaurant immediately adjacent to the bike path heralded my arrival in Muncie (population 70,000.) I have seldom been more happy to have a bike path on which to to ride, since it would have been a nightmarish trip through the car-clogged, ugly suburban sprawl of the city without the path.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-13.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-14.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-five-15.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I was hungry again now, but didn’t stop for food because it was getting late. My original, overly ambitious plan was to get several miles outside of the city and camp in a state park, but I didn’t have enough daylight left to do a 120 mile day, so I stopped at a bed and breakfast a mile off the path.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The B&amp;amp;B was a slightly quirky place, run by an even more quirky couple. The gray-ponytailed husband was in his 70s, and, he quickly informed me for no apparent reason, his wife was 40 years younger. They had a ten-year-old daughter who was running around the B&amp;amp;B, and although the man was something of a bullshitter, and later told me several hard-to-believe stories from his time in the military, I had to give him credit for having the gumption to be the parent of a rowdy child at his age.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I was at least five miles from any store or restaurant, and I only had a few snacks left, but the nice lady brought me a huge bowl of popcorn, chocolate pudding, plums, cheese and apples from their kitchen. That was dinner.&lt;/p&gt;
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			<title>Never Say Never Again, Day Four</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/never-say-never-again-day-four</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;Tired after the last few days of riding, I slept soundly in the dark basement of Michael and Tammy’s house.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<guid>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/never-say-never-again-day-four</guid>
			<pubDate>Sat, 01 Oct 2016 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;Tired after the last few days of riding, I slept soundly in the dark basement of Michael and Tammy’s house.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;It was drizzly and a little chilly, but I was up for a ride with Michael, and he even convinced Joy, who hadn’t ridden at all in a few months, to come along, after assuring her that it would “only be about 20 miles.”&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The ride was nice, although a little trafficky at first, and the rain eventually slacked off.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-four-1.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;Joy.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-four-2.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;Michael.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Joy’s suspicions about the tendency of all male bike riders to underestimate the length of rides were once again confirmed when Michael’s route ended up being 50% longer than promised.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-four-3.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-four-4.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After a lazy afternoon that involved a nap for me in the dark basement, the four of us went to a great Indian restaurant for dinner.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The weather forecast looked promising for the next several days, so I decided to extend my mini-tour, and ride on to Kentucky beginning tomorrow.&lt;/p&gt;
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			<title>Never Say Never Again, Day Three</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/never-say-never-again-day-three</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;It was not a restful night in the tent. The wind blew, causing the rain fly to flap, the light from the police office shown in my eyes, and I woke up at 3:00 to find that my air mattress had deflated, leaving me lying on the hard concrete. After blowing it up I was able to sleep a few hours, but was awake for good at 5:00, when I’m ashamed to admit that I spent another hour reading news stories about the presidential election on my phone. I’m so, so sick of the entire fiasco, but I can’t stop compulsively checking the polls.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<guid>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/never-say-never-again-day-three</guid>
			<pubDate>Fri, 30 Sep 2016 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;It was not a restful night in the tent. The wind blew, causing the rain fly to flap, the light from the police office shown in my eyes, and I woke up at 3:00 to find that my air mattress had deflated, leaving me lying on the hard concrete. After blowing it up I was able to sleep a few hours, but was awake for good at 5:00, when I’m ashamed to admit that I spent another hour reading news stories about the presidential election on my phone. I’m so, so sick of the entire fiasco, but I can’t stop compulsively checking the polls.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-three-1.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;Last night’s campsite in Homer.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;It continued to drizzle as I slowly got things together and dressed. I ate a smashed “Apple Ugly” that I’d purchased yesterday, then rode in the light rain for a few blocks to a Casey’s General Store, where an annoying guy gave me a sidelong glance and smirkingly offered “Nice day for a bike ride.”&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;This Casey’s had a filthy bathroom, and of course I dropped a contact lens into the disgusting sink as I attempted to put the lens in. I hate dealing with contacts when I’m camping.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After eating one of the glue-y breakfast sandwiches at the store, I rode back into the chilly rain. Several miles down the road I stopped at another Casey’s, where a guy asked the Usual Questions about what I was doing, and then proceeded to tell me about the time several years ago (pre-wife-and-kids) that he thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail. He seemed nostalgic when he described one stretch of seventeen days in a row he had gone without showering. Just like with bike touring, I suppose the passage of time softens the memories of the hard times one experiences while backpacking.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Back into the rain, which came down harder now, and stung. I reached Kickapoo State Park, my original destination yesterday, and walked into the park office, where the lady working there was friendly, but her male coworker was kind of a dick, not only pointing out that it was raining now (as if I hadn’t noticed), but that it would probably rain all day.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I exited the park and got on some slightly busier roads for about five miles, then rode onto gravel. The rain slacked off, and after a while I entered Indiana on mushy, soggy gravel. No state sign welcomed me.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-three-2.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-three-3.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-three-4.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;For the next few hours the rain started and stopped, and the gravel alternated with pavement. I briefly stopped in a small town whose name I’ve now forgotten, and ducked into the post office to send a text to Joy, who was driving up to meet me in West Lafayette. Then it was several miles of shockingly steep hills and the roughest, loosest gravel road of the trip so far before I reached the outskirts of Attica (population 3,245.)&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-three-5.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;Attica.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;As I rode past a McDonald’s there, I realized I was famished, and went inside and quickly consumed a bunch of salty junk. I had to restrain myself, because I didn’t want to “ruin my supper”, as we used to say when I was a child growing up in Kentucky.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I had trouble finding my out of Attica and back onto my route, for some reason, and by now was feeling some pressure, because I didn’t want to keep Joy and our friends Michael and Tammy, with whom we were staying tonight, waiting. The rain stopped for good as I made my way on back roads to West Lafayette. The roads were alright, but it was rush hour, so they were busier than I’d hoped when I worked out the route several days ago. It was the fastest I’d ridden all day.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-three-6.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Crossing the Wabash River in West Lafayette required me to carry the loaded bike over multiple sets of steps on the pedestrian bridge, but then I was on a nice bike path, and a quiet residential street for the last couple of miles to Michael and Tammy’s house, where Tammy had prepared a delicious meal for us.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After dinner and enjoyable conversation, Joy and I retired for the night to the basement, where I fell asleep quickly.&lt;/p&gt;
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			<title>Never Say Never Again, Day Two</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/never-say-never-again-day-two</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;I was up before dawn. It had been a while since I’d done such a long ride, and it had been about a year since I’d ridden my aluminum Cannondale, with its relatively aggressive frame geometry. Result: I was sore this morning.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<guid>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/never-say-never-again-day-two</guid>
			<pubDate>Thu, 29 Sep 2016 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;I was up before dawn. It had been a while since I’d done such a long ride, and it had been about a year since I’d ridden my aluminum Cannondale, with its relatively aggressive frame geometry. Result: I was sore this morning.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I watched the local news on the Champaign TV stations while I waited for the sun to come up, then walked to the motel office to return my key to the large, jocular man who owns the place, then left town on the busy, rain-slick main road, which I immediately abandoned for the sidewalk until I crossed the Kaskaskia River.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-1.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-2.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-3.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After a couple of miles I turned off the state highway and onto the first of the many county roads of the day. The sky was so dark that I was sure I’d get drenched, but the expected precipitation never happened, and the fenders on the Cannondale prevented me from getting wet from riding through the puddles from last night’s rain. I love those fenders, even though they are deeply uncool.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-4.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-5.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Not longer after I saw the tour’s very first Hillary sign (not counting the “Fuck Hillary” graffiti I’d seen sprayed on the roads a few times in this heavy Trump-favoring area), some dogs came out of a farmhouse yard, and I sprayed one with my pepper spray. I should probably be saving that stuff for the more aggressive dogs I anticipate in Ohio and Kentucky.
I stopped in the small community of Windsor, where not much was happening, and then, after riding north for a while, turned right for a really nice, low-traffic section going straight east, during which time the sun came out for the rest of the day.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Mattoon (population 18,555) was one of the more prosperous-looking downstate Illinois towns I’ve seen. I was overwhelmed by the aroma of delicious baked goods as I rode into town, but unfortunately was never able to discover the source.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I spent some time in Mattoon looking around and taking photos, then rode onto the Lincoln Prairie Grass Trail for the twelve miles to the next town, Charleston (population 21,838.) The Lincoln Prairie Grass Trail is a mostly unpaved path along an old railroad right-of-way between Mattoon and Charleston. The trail was nothing special in terms of scenery (unless you enjoy the view of electric pylons), but I was glad the trail was there.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-6.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-7.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-8.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-9.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-10.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-11.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The trail led me into Charleston past some old factories, which I always find interesting, so I investigated the area for a while, then rode out of town on a county road. My noisy chain had been annoying me, so just out of town I pulled off the road into the gravel parking lot of “Bubba’s Garage”, where I applied some chain lube, checked my maps, and then walked over to the garage office, in search of soft drinks for sale.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-12.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Bubba, a large, friendly man, sold me a couple of cans of pop from the office refrigerator, asked the Usual Questions about what I was doing, then told me that “I wish I had your energy.”&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Bubba’s friend showed up and the three of us talked for a while. The friend said “I want to ask you a question.” After a meaningful pause, he asked “How do you sit on that little seat all day long?” Ironically, given that Bubba’s Garage specializes in tire repair, neither of the men asked me about how my bike tires have been holding up. That was odd.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I’d already spent too much time hanging around the garage, so, after declining the lunch invitation extended by Bubba and Friend, I hit the road. The next few hours were on flat country roads, where the only traffic I encountered was harvest-related. After about 25 miles I realized I was extremely hungry, so I rode off my route to Hindsboro (population 312) and stopped at a store called “Quick Gits.”&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I’d originally planned to quickly “git” a few snacks there and get back on the road, but I ended up staying at the store longer than expected, mostly due to the availability of Hunt Brothers Pizza, fountain pop, a table at which to sit and eat, and some locals whose conversation I found amusing.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;As I ate my pizza, I eavesdropped on the people at the table next to mine, as they discussed the questionable edibility of sushi, and “that new Japanese place” in Mattoon, a restaurant that I had in fact noticed when I’d been in Mattoon this morning. One guy had been there, and his review was positive, although another said “I might be able to eat their stuff, but I don’t think I could eat Korean food.” I briefly joined the conversation to tell them that I had eaten Korean food a few times, and found it very tasty, although extremely spicy.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I got back on the road, fortified by the Hunt Brothers and Grandma’s cookies. I was now way behind schedule, and it was clear I would not make to it my original destination, Kickapoo State Park, before dark. I decided to ride until it was near dark, and find some place to put my tent.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-13.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-14.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The roads continued to be flat and empty of traffic for the next few hours. The only signs of activity were the huge machines harvesting the corn in the large fields. I didn’t see many farmhouses.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-15.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-16.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-17.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;figure&gt;
  &lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-two-18.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"/&gt;
  &lt;figcaption&gt;Surprisingly new-looking “No Outlet” sign, considering that no trace of the road exists, and has in fact been plowed under and planted for quite some time, apparently. And yes, Google Maps did show a road here.&lt;/figcaption&gt;
&lt;/figure&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Around 5:30 I started looking for a place to “stealth” camp. After a while I found a possible site: I rode my bike into a corn field on a grassy section among the corn. The grass curved away from the road, so after a few hundred feet the tent wouldn’t be visible from the road. As I contemplated this potential camping spot, though, I could hear the corn harvesting machinery running in another field, and I realized that I didn’t know if the farmers ran these machines at night. What if the gigantic machine ran over my tent while I slept? I left the field and got back on the road.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I decided to ride a few miles off my route to Homer (population 1,193), and see if I could find a camping spot in town. Google Maps showed a town park, so I headed there, and found the city/community building where the library was still open. Angie, the friendly librarian, made some calls on my behalf, and told me that I could set up my tent behind the building. As I walked back outside, a local cop pulled up and asked me my name and date of birth. He seemed satisfied by my answers, and told me I could set up under the awning of a storage building behind the community center. As I was getting the tent out, the wind picked up and the rain poured down. Perfect timing.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;After getting set up I walked back into the library, which was closing in fifteen minutes, cleaned up in the restroom, thanked Angie, and retired for the evening to my tent, where the light from the police office in the community center shown directly in my eyes, unfortunately.&lt;/p&gt;
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			<title>Never Say Never Again, Day One</title>
			<link>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/never-say-never-again-day-one</link>
			<description>&lt;p&gt;Joy and I had planned a weekend visit with our friends Michael and Tammy, who live in West Lafayette, Indiana, and I thought it might be fun - despite my insistence just a few months earlier that I’d &lt;strong&gt;never&lt;/strong&gt; do another bike tour - to ride my bike there. I estimated it would take three days to cover the 280-ish miles, so I left early on Wednesday morning, following a back roads route that I had hurriedly made using Google Maps.&lt;/p&gt;</description>
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			<guid>http://jefflee.xyz/posts/never-say-never-again-day-one</guid>
			<pubDate>Wed, 28 Sep 2016 00:00:00 GMT</pubDate>
			<content:encoded>&lt;p&gt;Joy and I had planned a weekend visit with our friends Michael and Tammy, who live in West Lafayette, Indiana, and I thought it might be fun - despite my insistence just a few months earlier that I’d &lt;strong&gt;never&lt;/strong&gt; do another bike tour - to ride my bike there. I estimated it would take three days to cover the 280-ish miles, so I left early on Wednesday morning, following a back roads route that I had hurriedly made using Google Maps.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;It was cool and overcast as I rode out of our driveway on my vintage Cannondale T400 touring bike, which had been in the basement collecting dust for about a year. I was carrying two small panniers and a tent strapped on the rear rack, and despite the dampening effect of the extra weight on the bike, I was immediately reminded that the stiff, aluminum frame of the Cannondale is much less comfortable than the steel frame bikes I’ve been riding, especially on the rough Illinois chipseal roads.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-one-1.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;East of our town of Lebanon, Illinois is a maze of super-quiet farm roads, and despite the many miles I’ve biked on them the last four years, within fifteen miles of my ride today I was already on roads that I’d never seen. That’s how many country roads there are here; the terrain is flat, and the corn-and-soybean scenery is nothing special, but there are many, many miles of pleasant, traffic-free riding.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-one-2.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-one-3.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;If anything, today’s roads were a little TOO empty; I didn’t pass through a town large enough to support a convenience store until afternoon, when I was happy to encounter a Casey’s and bought a slice of pizza and ate it while sitting on the sidewalk in front of the place. My lunch coincided with the break time of a couple of the employees, who stood nearby, smoking and complaining about their jobs at Casey’s. I listened for a while, but it wasn’t especially interesting, so I tuned them out.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-one-4.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-one-5.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-one-6.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Later, after a half mile of riding through weeds on one of the abandoned downstate Illinois roads that I sometimes encounter, I emerged back onto rough chipseal, stopped to consult my directions, and then had a conversation with an old man in a pickup truck who slowed down, leaned out his window, and observed “That bike doesn’t have a motor!”&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-one-8.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-one-7.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The sky grew dark in the late afternoon, and I felt a few drops of rain as I rode within ten miles of Shelbyville, my destination for the day. A local man riding a Walmart mountain bike caught up with me as I cycled through his small village, and asked the Usual Questions about what I was doing, where I was going, etc. After listening to his advice about the best way to enter Shelbyville, and declining his offer of a Clif Bar, I continued on to Shelbyville (population 4,700) in the spitting rain.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;img src="/posts/images/never-say-never-again/day-one-9.jpeg" class="img-responsive center-block"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;It was dark by the time I reached downtown, and since the campground that was my original destination was another two miles away, I stopped at the Shelby Inn, a nice-enough motel, checked in, then walked a few blocks to McDonald’s, where I felt very fortunate to place my order just seconds before a school bus disgorged about 25 teenage girls. I would have hated the long wait in the line behind them.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I ate my fish sandwich and fries, and then walked back to the motel, where I had no difficulty going to sleep after a long day of riding.&lt;/p&gt;
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