Hop Harvest

If you like beer that has flavor I suggest you go to Schlafly Tap Room right now and order a hop harvest. I haven't riden my bike for over a week. the end

100 milestone

Saturday morning I set off to complete my first century. Left downtown at daybreak which came at 7am on the dot and headed for chain of rocks bridge. Rolled over to g.c. to pay my respects to the good people at stop-n-go and stocked up for my trek to Edwardsville. A beautiful day riding along the levee road but the early morning warmth hinted I would suffer in the hours to come. Stopped in E-ville at a little gas station to stock up on supplies for my trek to Pochahontas via Fruit road. This road was long and straight providing miles of peddling towards more road ahead in the horizon. At this point I was also starting to realize there would be few trees in the land of corn and beans to sheild me from the southeast wind that would try and break my spirit the entire trip home. Hit pochahontas road and rode it for what seemed like an eternity until I finally saw signs proclaiming "HOME OF GRETCHEN WILSON" and I knew I had finally made it. It was afternoon now and a good fifty miles of the trip were over but I was really starting to cook and stopped at the magic funderbunks gas station/restaurant to pound fluids and gaze at the locals. I was really surprised, although I shouldn't have been, at the sheer gerth of majority. People were huge, asses like I had never seen, chins reaching the five and six count all the while huffing discount cigarettes like they were Bruce Willis in Die Hard. I even thought of buying a funderbunks t-shirt to commemerate my experience but the sign read XXL and up. WTF. You start at XXL. However, everyone was polite and courteous as endorpins were running high post feed time. I stocked up again as I was about to embark on the unkown part of my journey. The heat had really spiked and I knew the next 40 miles would decide my fate. The google map directions proved to be quite accurate and I was happy to see local teenagers had not ripped down most of the street signs and I was able to navigate my way easily. Saw many beautiful things I am keeping to myself and really enjoyed most of the ride. I finally reached shobonier blacktop and was relieved to be on familiar territory, even if I was still 20 miles out. I was getting so hot I had to remove my helmet and partially undress just to keep from suffocating. I was running extremely low on water as well and had to stop at house along the way and request a refill. This bottle carried me long enough to reach a small amish store and I went inside to find cold drink. Litte amish kids were running the store and the were all poking there heads around the aisles to take a look at the strange bicycle guy. I think the elders respected my mode of transportation and therefore refrained from punishing me for exposing their children to a fully grown man in skin tight clothing. A mountain dew tasted good but left a strange sensation in my stomach and I knew the heat was making me quesy. I headed on and finally spotted the St. Peter grain elevators and it gave me a boost of energy. I foolishly smashed on the pedals for the last couple of miles and whizzed into town and to the St. Peter market. I picked up a gatorade and a bananna. I ate the fruit in 3 bites, which was not smart. I hooked up onto the last road of the day to my final destination and then came the wall. Smash!! I was done. 98 miles in and I had cracked. I shifted into the small ring and pedaled when my body allowed, head screaming, stomach aching, muscles misfiring, I was a mess. Finally came into town and coasted most of the way home. I hit the entrance to the driveway and the loose rock gave out from under me and my bike started to slide. I hastily unclipped and managed to get a foot onto the ground just in time to save myself from a finish line crash. I had ridden 104miles with no problems and almost lost it in the last 10 feet. Went inside and mumbled something to the family as I was unable to make sentences and sat in the cold shower for about 20 minutes. I got out and was still sweating and had to sit in front of a fan for about a half of an hour. It took at least two hours before I even felt like I was going to be ok. I was really close to overdoing it, really close. I felt like shit most of the night but was able to get in some food and fluids. Slept like a rock and got up to do 20miles of recovery in the am. Man I love riding at home.

Route 666

Hooked up with the MRT yesterday for another Granite City run, this ride is starting to feel just like groundhog day. Glided along the muddy mighty effortlessly for miles as a gusty south-bred wind launched me forward. Turkeys and middle-aged women on hybrids littered the trail and all took their time getting out of my lane. On autopilot, I arrived at the Stop-n-Go for another life sustaining powerade and a bag of TGI Fridays cheese quesadilla flavored chips. This is the fuel of corporate devils. Upon exiting this mini-mart of pleasure I decided today I would Stop-n-sit. Sprawled upon the sidewalk with a powerade and processed cheese mustache I began to soak it all in. Observing my environment I noticed the Hardee's accossed the street had "Welcome Route 66 people" on the marquee, or something to that affect acknowledging the local tourism. What could these visitors possibly be thinking? Due east of the stop-n-go is a closed up building that used to be Catfish Kelley's, no more fresh mississsippi catch of the day there. East of that is the "Anal Motel". I beleive the sign used to read Canal. This is the only hotel I know of in existince that has a Busch sign located directly below its' own, proving yet again A-B has left no corner of the earth unadvertised. You may get ass-raped during the night but at least you can head for the mountains first. Scattered about are various truck-stop bars and a very interesting massage parlor/dui center duoplex, covering that small demographic looking for legal representation and a rub-n-tug in one convienient location. I know, at first it seems ridiculous but then it makes sense. Almost everytime I have visited my lawyer I could really use a good rub down and seminal storage cleansing afterword. The other strange and mysterious buildings, all with the appearance of facilities geared for an underground sex slave operation, pepper the remaider of prime real estate. Location, location, location. As I arose from my sidewalk day dream I remounted my steed and pumped full of devil juice began to spin toward the metal deck bridge. As I crested the top I could see in the distance a geo storm(the car), oh yes, a rare citing indeed. This monument of automotive engineering and cost-cutting productivity was whipping fast and furious 180's on the gravel levee road. Pulling on the E-brake and a fast heel toe. My first response was, "what a bunch of stupid faggots." However, as I started my descent I noticed the car was headed toward the entrance of the bridge and I decided to stop to see where they were going. What a pussy I was, one minute I am laughing at the contents of this aqua colored gas-powered turd. The next, I am fearing that the sight of me in spandex will trigger their deepest homoerotic fantasies and they will rectify their mutual awkwardness by beating me senseless with a lead pipe. Luckily the car turned away and stormed off in the distance. I must stop here and apologize for using the word "faggot." The gays are a good clean people and they never did nothin' to me. Actually, come to think of it, my neighbors are gay and they are filthy people. These guys look like people truck drivers would scoff at for lacking proper hygeine. What I am saying is don't buy into their sterotype of cleanliness, gays are really filthy. Well, the creativity tank was running low on fumes to begin with and I am now stalled. Rode bike rest of way to city. Got home. Very tired. Ate and slept, bed was warm. Artist Formerly Known as Midnight Rider out..

Name change

Due to the overwhelming response from my fans and in honor of their request Midnight rider will now be known as Aggro Jo Jr. I do this based on the fact that I feel a strange connection with this cyberspace fella bringin it to ya live from Freeburg, IL. His post today about the magic duo of Hall and Oates. For two years straight at South Central High School in the small farm town of Farina, IL, my friend Drew and I listened to Hall and Oates without fail. I am serious. Two years on our trek to and fro we listened to nothing else. Hall and Oates every day, no questions asked. Also, the black women at my work go wild when I perform one of these tasty morsels of pop culture. During my senoir year of high school basketball we were defeated the first round of the sectional by none other than the midgets. My only request is that at some point someone tell me what the fuck Aggro Jo means.