Meet me in St. Louis.

So this morning I left for St. Louis Missouri at approximately 7:30. That was it, no turning back now. I caught up with highway 61 somewhere north of 494. Instantly it provided incredible views, gentle turns, and was often four lanes, so I wasn't held up by traffic. It took two hours to hit red wing, and let me add that I have never been to any of these places on this trip, so it's all exciting. After that somewhere I crossed into Wisconsin, and no surprise the first town there stank like beer, thumbs up. I stopped twice for gas through there, both towns had zilch for cell reception. In one town, filenstinershire or something, one lady thought I looked like a parachuter, and some dude thought that after I put my helmet on was a good time to ask me about my gear for his nephew or something, oh I also saw an old mad driving around on a lawnmower.

Roll out! To Iowa, which is where I found out that was seriously fucked on scheduling, as it was 2 or 3, and i had only reached davenport which is only half way through the state bordering Illinois. That's where the real fun began. It rained there right before I showed up, or I went around it, or whatever. I filled up on gas and said screw 61, it would take me four years to get anywhere! So I headed to the freeway towards Peoria Illinois. And then instantly (15 miles or so...) took the wrong damn road and wound back up in Iowa. Frustrated, I stopped thinking and almost binned the bike by hitting a painted damp white line on an off ramp. If you have never ridden a motorcycle, those painted spots on on the road can be the most slippery things ever. When the front tire slides three or four inches it feels like a foot. Thanks to Michelin for a tire that is ultra grippy on the black stuff. I stopped for fifteen minutes being angry at myself for losing time and nearly the whole trip. Whatever, I had to move on and get over it. So the next stop was to be Peoria, 80 miles away and the start for the trip to Missouri, and the freeway I55 that I would become very acquainted to. About 20 minutes from Peoria I ran into rain, rain unlike an other. I was alright with only being able to see 100ft in front, as I was cruising at 70, and not being able to see if a semi was charging up my exhaust, but lightning is an ol' sumbitch, and I don't care for being high speed Bar-B-Q. After following a hunch off the freeway for a chance to find a gas station to hide at, I went the wrong way again. I made it to a gas station thanks to the waterproof phone case I invested in. I was done. Just so sick of everything, I wanted to dump the plan down the drain just like the water I poured out of my boots. But of course, it is good to have friends on your side to remind you that at the end it will be worth it, and not to be such a sissy. That brings me to this hotel I'm at in St. Louis. The last thirty miles were hell, hand cramps, back aches, water sloshing through the boots. My feet still aren't quite dry, and the boots probably won't be for a month. I didn't make it here early enough to party, so I'll have to make it extra worth it in Memphis tomorrow, TCB! Oh also when I came into the hotel lobby and pulled out my wallet from my jacket pocket one of the guys behind the counter thought I was about to pull out a gun and he was about to tackle me.

First pic is of my hand after sitting in wet gloves from Peoria to Springfield. 

Second pic is of lake Phalen, outside of Lake City: the birthplace of water skiing

Third pic is of the odometer after filling up before leaving. I did 700 miles. My butt hurts.