Kewanee to Peru, IL
Packed up my kit this morning and then headed for the motel lobby bathroom to brush my teeth. A stone-faced manager was standing in the doorway:
“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.
“To the lobby bathroom,” I said.
“I oughta call the cops on you,” she replied.
I told her, truthfully, that the night desk employee had called the motel manager and had gotten permission for me to tent. She would have none of it. I went into the lobby under her glaring scrutiny, used the lobby restroom, and then headed for a nearby McD’s for coffee and a little breakfast.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.
“To the lobby bathroom,” I said.
“I oughta call the cops on you,” she replied.
I told her, truthfully, that the night desk employee had called the motel manager and had gotten permission for me to tent. She would have none of it. I went into the lobby under her glaring scrutiny, used the lobby restroom, and then headed for a nearby McD’s for coffee and a little breakfast.
Before that, Kevin had seen the woman confront me. Trying to be diplomatic after all of our skirmishes, he remarked that “we” should have done that a little differently, i.e., I should have erected my tent out of sight behind the motel. Yes, in hindsight I should have. I told him where I would be when the group took to the road that morning and left.
We rode 57 miles today from Kewanee to a Super 8 in Peru. We had a tailwind, little traffic and, for the most part, an undemanding route . . . with a couple of what they call "gullies" in this area. That meant a couple of big downs followed by big ups. The tailwinds helped, though the group always seemed to stop in the glaring sun for a rest break.
[At first I took breaks within sight of them in shaded spots, but then, when Kevin yelled at me in front of the others once more when I was stopped apart from the group in the shade, I just rode on ahead at my own pace and stopped in shady spots.]
Eventually, I waited for the group at the top of one of the dips I described earlier, and we took a detour off of Hwy 29 to find lunch at a little cafe in De Pue. While there, we met another touring cyclist heading for Indiana. He, too, was looking for food. We had ridden 40-some miles with nuttin' but corn and soybeans and pretty farms along the way.
[It was here in DePue that I decided to ride the rest of the route solo once we got to Ottawa. Kevin’s constant hazing and displeasure is too wearing and he has successfully alienated me from the rest of the group. When, after another skirmish at lunch, I blurted out that I was not having fun anymore and was leaving the ride in Ottawa, he said, “Fine, I’ll buy you your bus ticket.” I don’t think he realized that I was not giving up the ride, but definitely giving up on him and his ride. I really wasn’t having fun with the group and had become a real damper on their fun as well. They were needlessly tiptoeing around me, and I never felt welcome or a part of the group in their presence. Think I will feel a lot better solo.
I stopped at the top of a hill with Bill—who tried to talk me out of quitting the group—and had a good cry. I really cannot understand why Kevin is being so mean spirited and making me the punching bag. Half the time I think he attributes his own motives to me when I have no guile or underlying motive at all, merely a preference. I know that with my unintended bluntness I’m not the easiest person to live with, but Kevin has made little or no effort to be accommodating. And dreadfully, I somehow cannot let his yelling at me in front of the others pass, so I yell back in return, which does nothing but stir the pot and upset the group more. Wish I could hold my tongue and weather these storms silently. I really thought our RAGBRAI separation would bring us together again as a solidified group, but it has not. Now both Bill and I are on the fringes. My leaving will be better for Bill also as it will not be guilt by association and he will get to ride with the guys and have guilt-free sips of sipping whiskey.]
After I set up and dried my tent—this time behind the motel—we did a group wash, and then walked about a mile to a bowling alley that also served beer and pizza. I'm having trouble with my tendonitis again, and limped along behind the fast-walking group, unfortunately well aware that it looked like I was sulking.
Kevin, Tim, Sylvia, and I bowled a game. I, who haven't touched a bowling ball since high school, bowled the worst score. Tim did best with three strikes.
Tomorrow we are planning on riding the I&M Canal towpath out of LaSalle. This is something Sylvia has wanted to do from the first day I met her in Williston and she showed me a magazine clipping describing the trail. I’m not sure where the group plans to end its day tomorrow. The route has not been discussed.
