s we rode down a lonely rural road, I nodded off and missed a turn that I needed to take toward the Wabash River and the Indiana border. Brad had left us about an hour’s ride from the bridge and was going to meet us there as we crossed into Indiana. When we didn’t arrive, he backtracked until he finally found us heading north up Highway 1.

He pulled up alongside us and said matter-of-factly: “How is the ride going today?” “Fine,” I said, “Only thing is, I thought I should have crossed the Wabash by now, maybe it's up around the next corner.”

“Yeah maybe if you're riding around the world, because that is the only way you are going to reach the Wabash by riding in this direction.” Brad said.

I felt miserable. It was hard enough riding across country without getting lost and adding unnecessary miles onto an already exhaustingly long trip. Anyway, September 13, was the day we crossed into Indiana.