They're Going To Love This In Williamsburg

Billy's Back.

Friends and nemeses, lo how the miles have fallen off the map since the 1st of June. Something about not working for 7 weeks has made it considerably easier to neglect you, the faithful few, who continue to frequent these sites, and that's wronger than the clown porn they made me watch in that sexual sociology class i took back in "college".. No, wait. Nothing is so wrong as that. Well rest easy, for your Uncle Billy's back in California, though not precisely when he planned to be and thoroughly drained of cash-ola after a stupid few weeks in the center of universe, NYC. Yes indeedy, it's back to the golden state, where i intend to finish up the classwork, crank out the jams, and refill my wallet before the next big excuse to get back on your couches. Look out for more posting more often these days, as i hope to reward you/slowly win you back/fail out of school/shark sandwich. Let the tales begin.

Happy Birthday, Nation

Where better to celebrate the nation's 232nd b-day than real heartland, America? After nearly two weeks of meandering the Midwest post-Royals ride, i'm spending my last night in the middle, before a dastardly long and controversially stupid bus ride to the east coast. I fear for my sanity, but more for my body- I've committed to a nonrefundable, surely-packed full of hillbilly goblins, inexplicably snow-cold greyhound bus ride all the way from Indy to New York. I'm not going to say the number of hours it's going to take out loud, but the only way to go into a ride like this is to trick one's mind into thinking that life has always existed within the confines of the terrible bus, and to pretend that it might never end. That way, if i do ever survive, i might be pleasantly surprised by the time its morning and i'm stumbling out of Port Authority to be slammed by a rampant taxi. Goodbye east coast. Goodbye body. Happy birthday, nation.

Minneapolis..

Upon the suggestion of the ever-wise and occasionally within-contact Benny "Stigler" Beall, here's a map of my progress thus far. What won't be shown is the map of my bank account, which has gone from hero to zero with the help of just a few psychotic friends, who have apparently all become rabid booze-mongers, bent on ruining any and all of my hopes of doing any real writing on this trip, in favor of setting their midwestern cities ablaze. But i digress.

The Cawker City Shuffle

I'm sitting in the public library in Cawker City, Kansas, about midway through our 500+ mile ride to save the Kansas City Royals. You might know this town for its lack of a gas station, leaving me famished, but more likely, for housing the world's largest ball of sisal twine, started in 1950-something by this guy who ohmygoditdoesn'tmattermyassistired. I continue to promise extensive diaries and recollections of the endless highway, all the cool roadkill sightings, and every truck that almost blew me into a ditch. But first, i want to get there. So, farewell twine. May you unravel in a tornado and end up someplace rich in Dairy Queens. Amen.

St. Francis, Kansas

Today we're headed to St. Francis, Kansas, after riding over 100 miles through Eastern Colorado and suffering some setbacks that put us at the mercy of the great people of Last Chance and Limon, Colorado. With some miraculous luck, we're back on the open road, peddling east for Kansas City with the stadium awaiting us. There will be full diaries and accounts of our voyage, but for now i must sign off, stay the course, avoid potholes and unenthusiastic bison, and ride another 42 miles before sundown. Lil' Philly is alive and well. The sun is hot, the bike is blue. 

Steamboat, Hey-O

After three days in sunny, sunny, desert Reno, five lbs of bad buffet food at Circus Circus and a strange chinese "foot juggling" show, the prophetic Cameron Turner and i traversed 1,000 miles of highway through torrential downpours and bad fm radio to the Colorado border. I've since been shacking up at Chez Beall, where the dog eyes me cautiously and i eat Ben's bagels like the good ol' days. I'll find a way to start uploading pictures, which may or may not be possible during the ride that begins in Denver on Tuesday that carries us across the great state of Kansas on a rickety ol' Schwinn tandem dubbed "lil' philly."
Check back soon, i'm nothing short of running amok.

*Wow, i just took five seconds to look the origin of "amok" up and it turns out it's defined as "to rush about in a murderous frenzy." So, i guess i'm not quite there yet. That's a little too intense for what i'm doing. I was actually thinking about taking a walk down to the river and thinking about a poem. So, yeah, i guess murderous rage is slightly over the top.