My watch died last night. I know you’re really disappointed, not knowing what time I woke up. I’m not sure why I do, but every single journal entry seems to start with either “I woke up at XXX” or “I slept until XXX.”  

I’m going to try to think of new ways to mix it up, if for no other reason than my own entertainment….  “My eyes snapped open at XXX.”  or “My dreams kept me from sleeping past XXX” or  “What felt like a grizzly bear licking my ear startled me awake at XXX.” 

When I packed my gear up I was able to get everything  inside my panniers, even my spare tire (that’s tire, not tube). It’s weird how that works… I have just as much as I did yesterday when it didn't fit.

My route took me back past the $6.50 trailer park and I felt a smug smile of satisfaction drift across my face as I recollected my frugality… SIX DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS!

I passed a lonesome-looking hitchhiker on the outskirts of town and told him to “hop on!”  He laughed at my lame joke.

When I started running low on water I stopped at the weigh station. I had always wondered if they could weigh my bike and gear for me on the scales, so I asked. I got a bit of a snicker and was told that the increments aren’t that small. 

The guy also informed me that it’s illegal to ride on the interstate. “What?? Really?!?” I asked, appearing genuinely shocked. "I...  I... had no IDEA!"

I rode the next 12 miles on the “outer road” to Marshfield.  Different regions of the country describe it differently. In the Houston area where I was raised they were called “feeder roads.” Elsewhere, the nomenclature ranges from “access road” to “service road” to “parallel road,” but most regions call it a frontage road.