Damned auto-spell feature on the phone.  My phone changed the spelling before I hit “submit.”  So, it was the cavalry who came to fetch me — my good buddy Kathy came to my rescue — not Calvary.  (Though I do believe I uttered a few “Thank God!”‘s.)

Though four days on a bicycle would demonstrate that I indeed do not have a lick of sense, one smart thing I did in advance was to realize having my keys with me was an invitation to lose them.  Wouldn’t that be a bitch?  Ride 300 miles and then realize you can’t get back in your house because your keys are in the shower facility in Sandusky, Ohio?  Oh, nertz, now I have to ride back to get the keys . . .

No, my one and only brilliant thought process before I went was hiding my keys outside of the house where I could direct someone to them.  Which is exactly what had to happen.  I told Kathy where the keys were.  She liberated my car — complete with bike rack — and (as she put it) played “Where’s Waldo?” with me.  Turns out I was between Ashley and Marengo.  Sounds almost like I was in a strip joint instead of stranded in a cow field.  (Then again, I’ve been to some strip joints that were pretty much full of cows, but that’s a topic for another day.)

I’ll wrap all of this up over the next day or two, complete with more pictures, my thoughts on the ride, and a bunch of odds and ends.  (George Carlin said, “If you have a bunch of odds and ends on a shelf, and one falls off, is it an odd or an end?”)

For those of you who asked, yes, I really did have a good time doing this ride.  I doubt I’d do the exact same type of ride in the future, but I have lots of stories to tell.  (Hell, I’ve been rambling on about the 2008 RAGBRAI for three years.  You don’t think I can get a half decade’s worth of stories out of this little adventure?  By itself, the dead raccoon story will be told until I’m 90 . . . )