The Red Roof Inn breakfast lived down to my expectations. Three rounds of Cherrios, mini muffin, and coffee fueled my first 36 miles. I grabbed two plastic wrapped apples for the road.

After spending 10 minutes wandering around I consulted The Google for directions and was soon back on the rail trail. I fell into my riding trance and was spinning along pushed by a tailwind when I nearly hit a bollard. It was hinged at the base and laying flat. I just managed to avoid hitting the hinge. It would have been a disaster. My front wheel wouldn’t have survived and I would have been a hurting unit.

Pay attention moron!

I came to the town of Converse and wondered how it was pronounced. Incidentally Peru is pronounced PeeRoo not PayRoo.

After 25 miles I passed three campgrounds in a row. Life’s not fair.

I met a cycle tourist going the opposite way. He was riding the length of the Wabash River. He told me of a good breakfast place in Peru. “They’ll fix you up.” And they did.

Outside of Peru I stopped at the International Circus Hall of Fame. It was sadly downtrodden and deserted but for a caretaker. He let me wander about then told me stories of seeing the circus as s kid, probably in the 50s. After the show they’d take the two elephants down to the river to play. He said the canoers didn’t much care for that.

Back on the rail trail to Deedsville. I tried to contact my in-laws who live 60 miles northwest of here but my calls rolled to voicemail. So I turned west, for the first time on the Northern Tier Route that I will follow all the way to Montana.

The wind was at my back and I had perfect, straight country roads to ride. There were gentle hills that allowed for easy hill hopping, speeding downhill and practically gliding up the next.

I was down to my last Apple and diverted about six miles to Royal Center where I picked up some fine vittles for camp.

Following the map, and not the detailed instructions on the back, I ended up at what looked like a camp. It was instead a former camp that had been converted to a retirement place by two brothers. One brother rolled up in a golf cart and told me the camp I was looking for was on the far side of the river about six miles away. Ugh.

He was shirtless and filled his golf cart with his mass. His left shoulder had a tattoo like the one Mike Tyson has. And his belly was immense, but hard as a giant’s bowling ball. I tried to imagine how much beer went into its construction.

He told me to stay for free but I had already told the campground I was coming so I declined.

Just before the turn off to camp I passed a store that was stocked with everything I needed had I not already ridden six miles out of my way to buy it.

On the last mile to the camp I passed a buffalo farm. I kid you not. Which reminds me that I saw numerous vultures today. Hmmmm.

I set up my tent on the banks of the Tippecanoe River. Other campers told me that a tree near my tent held two baby raccoons. They had been abandoned. Unfortunately they didn’t come out to chat.

There was good eating for dinner.

93 miles

870.5 so far