So, on the second day of the trip, we wake early in Wheelersburg and get everything ready. After an awesome breakfast, it's on the road we go. Rechecking weather reports, it shows there's a storm moving across the midwest, but no city we check shows there being any storms. I've already had the weather channel app screw me over once before, but I try and remain optimistic.
We made our way into Kentucky and it wasn't anything like I had pictured. It smelled better than Ohio, but the wind was ridiculous. Turns out, this part of Kentucky wasn't gently rolling hills: it was rocky, mountainous, and did I mention windy? Turns out, Kentucky is a long state. We follow the northern Kentucky border and continuously make our way west. Our speed was quick, but sure as hell felt like we weren't making any progress. The sun was up and the temperatures weren't all that bad. The more west we got, the smellier it once again became. Lexington and Louisville were a lot bigger than I realized.
Upon entering Indiana and Illinois, the song from Jason Aldean, Flyover States brought sight to sound. These were some backwood areas that smelled even worse. I had no idea that the breadbasket of America smelled so bad, but I suppose that makes sense since I saw thousands of cattle. It would be even worse the next day.
While getting more westerly in our travels for the day, the sky got progressively darker and cloudy. Upon looking at the weather channel app, the maps showed a line of storms moving our way and it appeared pretty slow. This was kind of hard to update at times due to poor cell reception but I knew it meant rain. Moving at a rapid speed on I-64, we kept trying to push closer and closer to St. Louis before being overtaken by rain. While continuously checking the app, I decide not to gamble any further and we stop in Burnt Prairie, IL. There is a gas station by the name of, "Chuckwagon Charlies." We decide to stop in, have lunch, fill the bikes, put rain gear on and hope that the storm passes over. Well, their lunch menu wasn't much, but they did have some seating, so we sit and wait. Go figure that we sit there for 30 minutes and no rain comes. With the terrible cell service, the map was unreliable, so we decide to put the rain gear on and go for it. Well...Kyle said let's go for it, I was very, very hesitant. I rode in driving rain once, I definitely didn't want to do it again.
So, we put rain gear on and Kyle lead the way. We pull out of the gas station and head toward the interstate and already the rain the bare parts of my face was stinging and my visibility was terrible. As I'm wiping my face I watch Kyle lay his bike down as he went to get onto the ramp to get on the interstate. I watch him try to keep it up, but it ends up on it's right side and drags him about 20 feet. I quickly pull up and get my bike out of the street and go to see if he's ok. At this point he's cussing at his bike and incredibly pissed. We pick the bike up and damage is found all along the right side on his fairing, engine guard and rear saddlebag. Not a good sign for getting on the interstate and having to deal with cars and tractor trailers moving at 70+ mph speeds and kicking up all sorts of wind and water. At this point we head back to the gas station to regroup our thoughts. Upon pulling into the gas station which was only 1000 feet away, Kyle's bike almost comes out from under him again.
After assessing damage, Kyle suggests that we go into the town of Mill Shoals, IL and find something to do to pass time. We head that way and discover that there is absolutely NOTHING to do in this town. We pull onto the front ramp of the local firehouse and discuss our options. We decide to press on toward Fairfield, IL and see if the weather improves. Well, we get there, riding through rain, completely rain-geared up and it's still raining so we press on westbound state road 15. Finally, upon getting to Mount Vernon, IL, the rain subsides and the decision is made to get back onto the interstate and get to St. Louis as quickly as possible.
Of course, we arrive to St. Louis during rush hour and it still looked as if the sky were going to open up any moment, but we wanted to get the hell away from it. As much as I wanted to stop at the St. Louis arch and look around, I knew we wouldn't make our goal of Joplin, MO by that night if we stopped. Somewhere west of St. Louis we stopped for fuel and decided that it was getting really, really cold outside. Turns out, the Harley Davidson rain gear that Kyle bought (the most expensive model) didn't keep his pants dry. He was soaked. Me? Well, not to brag, but my Frogg Toggs that a buddy of mine suggested actually worked very, very well. He was actually shivering, so I told him he really should change into a dry pair of jeans, but words were something along the lines of, "FUCK! I just want to get a move on! Fuck this!" I got the chaps, long sleeved shirt, snake skin hood and even put the rain gear on for added wind resistance (don't think it helped) and gloves and we started moving.
Moving once again at high speeds, we covered a lot of ground very quickly, but the sky kept getting darker, but this time it was from the sun setting. The ONE good thing was that we could actually see the sun; problem was, it was setting. We made a last stop in Springfield, MO and decided it was on to Joplin. Upon getting back onto the interstate, I could hear Kyle loudly exclaim, "Holy Shit! Is that an armadillo! It's a dead armadillo! Holy shit!" It was evident that he'd never seen one before.
Finally, as the sun had set and it got really, really cold, we made it to Joplin. I pull into the first Best Western I see and make sure they have a room available. The girls at the front dest were looking at me fully decked out in rain gear and leathers with a disheveled head of hair and were definitely not sure of what to think. In short, I got the room and upon getting to it, Kyle was shivering violently. "Dumbass," was the first words out of my mouth, but oh well, not my issue.
After dinner, I immediately passed out because after 770 miles on a bike, I knew the next day was going to be worse since it would be ANOTHER 770 miles. Remember, this is a cross county motorcycle adventure, not a vacation, right?
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