Miles: 41.62; ~2040 calories burned (per app). give me this beer.
If you think I did not listen to that song for at least 20 minutes when I got on 66, you are wrong.
Last Monday, I was twitching in my cubicle for four hours, panicking about what the fuck am I doing and why. This Monday I did something I’ve wanted to do all my life and started down Route 66. Granted when I was younger I assumed I’d be in a car, but I think I like my way better.
Route 66 was beautiful. The first 10 miles or so out of Pontiac were a little unnerving: so very, very empty, just fields of grain, the feeling that if I were to die right now no one would know for days. But once I got onto 66 it was perfect. About half of the leg there was a bike path adjacent to the road, and the rest of it the traffic was busy enough to be reassuring but not so busy as to be scary. I listened to music or to Night Vale some of the time, but otherwise just enjoyed it.
My body seems to be starting to adjust, as I was pretty OK after 40 miles, but after I got to the motel and stripped off my sweat-sticky clothes, nope, the chafing is pretty not-delightful. But it’s getting better. And I did laundry, about which I was inordinately excited. Still am.
On the down side, there’s a small possibility I’ve maybe broken one of my left toes after I slipped getting into the motel pool and smashing it against the railing, as I now can’t move it, and every time I stand up it hurts so bad my vision gets a little white at the edges. Toes, meh. Overrated.
Also discovered that opening beer bottles on door hinges is messy but effective. And that necessity has not magically bred in me an ability to keep track of fucking anything. I’m convinced I swallowed my pocketknife because there’s nowhere else I could have put it.
Springfield, IL tomorrow; St Louis Wednesday. More later, maybe. Gonna go sulk over my foot.