Cheryl drove me just across the bridge spanning the Mississippi river, then dropped me off in Illinois on the frontage road of Interstate 64. I was a bit sad for a minute, then started whistling a Paul Simon song: 

“Well I’m on my way
I don’t know where I’m going
I’m on my way
I’m taking my time
But I don’t know where
Goodbye to Rosie, the queen of Corona
Seein’ me and Julio
Down by the schoolyard”

My bike has never had a cool name (e.g. Greg Garceau's "The Reckless Mr. Bing Bong") but at one time I called it Julio because I thought the lyrics of that song ended in "down by the roadside" instead of "down by the schoolyard."  When I realized I was misremembering I stopped using it because, of course, hanging out by the schoolyard on my bike sounds kinda creepy.

I got off the interstate as soon as I could and rode through Nashville (pop 3,186), then Ashley (pop 658), along roads which parallel the busier routes.

In Ashley I met a couple of motorcyclists, riding their Harleys across the country. Mike and Evan, both of whom appeared to be in their 50s, told me horror stories about traveling through Kentucky.

“You wouldn’t believe the hillbillies there.”

“It’s like Deliverance, man.”

In Mt. Vernon (pop 17,193) I ate at an all-you-can-eat salad bar for $1.99, then rode to the Methodist church where I rested, my back against the locked front door. While I was there a young couple pulled up in their car.

“I need to talk to someone inside.”

“It’s all locked up tight.”

“Dammit. We need some gas money.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone inside.”

“Awright.”

He started to turn away, then stopped.

“Hey, what kinda church is this?”

“Methodist.”

He mumbled as he turned away,

“Huh. Never heard of it.” 

I walked across the street and bought a banana split. They messed up my order but I ate it anyway. 

I learned that the Baptist Church had a pavilion with some covered picnic tables so I decided to stay there tonight since there was a 60% chance of rain. I put my sleeping bag on top of one of the tables, then climbed in and was asleep by 9:00. I woke up an hour and fifteen minutes later, drenched in sweat. I didn’t feel bad, and suspect it was just a result of a too-warm bag on a warm, humid night.

I remember there being an inordinate number of churches in Mt. Vernon. I’m not sure about how many there were in 1982, but there are currently 17 Baptist churches. The 2020 census shows a population of 14,600. That means there is one BAPTIST church for every 858 people. Just doing a quick count (which could be off a little), it appears that there are 71 churches total in town. That’s one church for every 20 people. I think my math must be wrong, or I miscounted the number of churches. Or, people flock from the smaller communities to go to church there.  Or, maybe it has something to do with the amount of sin. Or the lack thereof. . . who knows?