I modified my route at the last minute again this morning and here is what happened:  Up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down.  That is me riding through the old lead mining hills of southern Wisconsin and northern Illinois.  I could have continued writing the same thing a hundred times.

I hadn't shifted gears so many times since my RAGBRAI days.  I don't know who was more worn out--me or my derailleurs.

Today I found a new vent for my vitriol.  Generally I am a positive thinker.  I try to find the good in everything.  Let me just say this:  I saw nothing good about Warren, Illinois--the first town I came to in the state.  Here is a list of adjectives I came up with for Warren, based solely on my twenty-minutes there:  Stupid, hickish, uninformed, boring, ugly, unhelpful, unfriendly, depressing, worthless, unmaintained, dirty, smelly, unwelcoming, disgusting, gnat-infested, pathetic . . .  God, I wish I had a Thesaurus.

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I had planned to try to find a motel or campground near Warren since I saw some storms moving in, but absolutely NOBODY in that town could tell me if any such accommodations even existed.  I asked several people too.  I was even directed to the ice-cream/antique store by one of them.  I was told the owner of the store knew EVERYTHING about the town.  Her answer to my question was--and I remind you that this is coming from the town expert--"I think there is a B & B in town, but I don't know where it is."

I was also harassed by a loose dog.  And then there was a driver who purposely followed right behind me for two blocks even though I rode far to the right, giving him plenty of space to pass me.  When he finally passed, he purposely gunned his engine with the intent to send me a message of some kind.

I realize I run the risk of getting run over by a Warrenite tomorrow if one were to read this, but those are the facts.  After my experience there, I would rather ride another 11 miles to Stockton, dodging lightning bolts and angels bowling in heaven, than to spend another second in that pig-shit town.

I felt welcomed in Stockton and I made it to a motel before the rain set in.  Plus, the woman who checked me in was the person most interested in my trip since Day 1.  I enjoyed talking to her.  She was a great embassador for her town and I am willing to bet she isn't even the town expert.

I am going to cool off for now.  See you tomorrow, readers, unless you are a Warrenite, in which case I say "good riddance."