Somewhere something happened to my mind...

Night of the Angry Beaver Exploring rural winding roads southeast of Jefferson City did not disappoint. Well-kept hobby farms and wooded farmland were followed by less traffic and farms hit harder by the recession. Many homes seemed abandoned with useless junk scattered about as owners jumped ship for opportunities elsewhere. The remaining people waved in a strange way like, "Did I see a fella just ride by on a bike, must be that Lance fella heading to Texas." I arrived at Rinquelin Trail Lake Conservation Area just before sundown. Picked out a perfect place on a dam overlooking the lake for the night. Watched the shoot stars and marveled at how many more satellites are floating around now compared to 15 years ago.

Sleep was easy until an angry beaver woke me up. The beaver would slap its tail on the water, come to shore and chatter, then repeat. The beaver wanted to play or fight and normally I do not mind a little beaver interaction, but I wanted some rest. Chased off my first beaver by throwing rocks.

Night of the Angry Armadillo The morning came and I had to deal with the realization that I chased off a beaver. Mind cloudy, I continued down deserted rural roads to Hooker Storage. Give them a call if you need to store your hookers, but please note the sign stating the hours was changed from "Dust" to "Dusk." I continued to roll through Swedeborg, Richland and finally to the John Ala Fusion Conservation Area. Hit some long gravel rollers. I enjoy rollercoaster gravel roads, but when 25 kg of gear is strapped to your bike, letting go on the downhills is not an option. This robs momentum, then grinding up the following hill with said gear is demoralizing compared to pedaling a 12 kg state-of-the art cross bike from 10 years ago. Finally made it and found a sweet little bluff by a pool in a clear rock-bottom stream and settled in for the night. Rustling in the leaves startled me awake while I sipped hot tang close to the fire. An armadillo wanted some cookies. Little bugger was not scared of light or small rocks. He retreated from larger rocks and cursing his kind with "I should of ate your cousin when I had the chance in Guatemala." (Note: Grilled armadillo is another story.). But he returned in the middle of the night and scared the crap out of me, causing me to bring my tent down around me.

Rain Clouds Rain clouds were building as my third day progressed so I called Chula for a lift home after rolling through Grovesprings, Marshfield, Crown, and ultimately landing in Springfield to catch up with old friends. (Thanks for letting me chill, Burchfield, I always owe you one. Huffy send me your email and cookies are on the way for the cocoa beans.) My main mission was to see MacDaddy's new son. Well worth the trip; he can roll over.

Overall - BoCoMo to Springfield unsupported, filtering water and not buying any food was fun. I had enough food to ride home but wanted to stay dry. On the ride home Chula asked what I thought about all day when riding alone. I do not remember and maybe that was the point. I asked what she did. "Got some hooker boots and shoes." I know where you can store them hooker boots, honey.