Wind crashes my mood. Doesn’t matter if I start the day as Mister Pollyanna, the lamely-handled loner superhero with an infinite quarry of positive attitude as his superpower!

Never been to Montana. When I was a kid, it was my ‘favorite’ state. For a while. I was a rather capricious child.

“Hello, butte-iful!” I am giddy. “I’m in fucking North Dakota!” How crazy is this?

Refreshed! Enlivened! Abloom with openness and curiosity! Dying to move on! That’s how three nights at the Econo Lodge and two 8-hour days toiling away at the Rawlins Municipal Library in Pierre, S-Dak affect you.

No more rabbit-hole pop-philosophizing – let’s get down to the (wet) business of riding in the not-exactly-raining rain!

I have a cursory late-20th-century public-school skim-over knowledge of the Lewis & Clark expedition. Pretty much Schoolhouse Rock’s “Elbow Room.”

It took 23 days to have that moment in the dirt. 23 days to have that moment that will NEVER be funny in retrospect. NEVER!

I follow the “Detour” signs…right onto Interstate 80!

I plug johnnygun’s blessed Across-Iowa route into the app. Bye bye, Muscatine! Hello, Iowa City!

I can’t help but open this can of worms: I am supported by my privilege as white and male. Well, I’m not opening the can. It’s already open and I’ve been eating right out of it with gusto.