OK, I’m not sure if this motel room is like minimal-artsy decor, or just hasn’t actually been redecorated in a decade or three:
So Bloomington, again. I’d be concerned about making negative progress, but who fucking cares?
I also walked out of Meijer with my head held high after buying a bottle of wine, a pair of tweezers, KY jelly and a tube of Superglue. This makes it seem like I’m having a way, way more interesting night than I’m actually having, but hey, I can live vicariously through my own supermart purchases.
Tomorrow’s 50-odd miles to Champaign/Urbana will be the first time I’ve done more than 15 miles at a stretch since Monday. But this time I will make sure my bike shorts are all lubed up, in what is probably the least erotic context I could possibly combine all those words (ladies), and hopefully I’ll be slightly less… waddley… at the end.
After that I’m maybe going to break up the trek to Indianapolis into three legs, possibly Champaign <–> Danville, IL <–> Crawfordsville, IN <–> Indianapolis. At which point I will bike around until I find the speedway and glower at it with all the spite of my Daytona Beach misspent youth. I mean there’s probably a 1% chance I’ll actually do that, if I’m being generous with probabilities, but goddammit I’ll think about it fleetingly.
Life’s weird, y’all. I still keep sort of forgetting that at no point in time am I going to pull back up to my apartment in Milwaukee and lock my bike up with a sigh, trudging up the dirty stairwell to flop at my computer desk and brood about work in the morning.
I don’t think about it very much.