The first real rain reached us on Day 22.
We had already crossed more than two-thirds of the country. There had been heat, bad roads, flats, and mechanical problems, but very little rain. Then we reached the Wabash Cannonball Bridge and got both kinds from the Forrest Gump line: little stinging rain and big drops.
The post called the bridge sketchy. That was the full review.
Two days earlier, we had reached the Mississippi River and crossed into Illinois. The Day 20 post said fewer than 1,000 miles remained. It was the first time the distance left had dropped to three digits. That felt smaller than 2,913 miles, but it was still a long way to ride.
By then, each day followed the same basic schedule. Ride, eat, handle whatever changed, reach the next stop, and get ready to do it again. The workbook listed spare parts, chains, lights, several bibs, two pairs of shoes, instant coffee, oatmeal, peanut-butter sandwiches, ramen, sunscreen, Skratch, and Nuun.
Those supplies covered a lot of ordinary problems. They did not make the road predictable.
Day 21 took us onto the Tunnel Hill State Trail in Illinois. After long exposed roads farther west, the rail trail was a clear change. The route had a tunnel, so the post used a secret-tunnel joke and corrected the record about Abraham Lincoln not being born there. It was a short caption for a real place, and that was enough.
The trail also changed the traffic around us. A rail trail is built for people walking and riding rather than interstate vehicles. After the wide open roads of the Southwest and plains, that made the day look and feel different. The tunnel was the obvious photo and caption subject.
Day 22 brought the Wabash Cannonball Bridge and the rain.
Wet weather changed the small things. Layers got soaked. Pavement needed more attention. Stopping made it easier to get cold. Bottles, bags, lights, and clothing all had to be kept together while we were trying to keep moving.
The workbook had rain gear on the equipment side of the trip. Using it for hours was different from checking it off a packing list. Wet clothing had to be managed at stops, and the bikes still needed basic attention after riding on wet roads. We had hundreds of miles left, so the equipment had to be ready for the next morning too.
One black-and-white photograph shows the bikes leaning against a building beside an ice machine. The pavement is wet. Bottles and gear are sitting nearby. Nobody is posing. It looks like a normal stop during a wet day.
Another photograph shows two riders in rain jackets. That picture gives better people context, but it requires permission from both riders and a confirmed photographer. The bike photo has fewer privacy concerns and may be enough for this article.
By Day 23, we were in Indiana. The post said it felt like autumn in the Hoosier State. The road had changed from desert and high mountains to rail trails, wet pavement, leaves, bridges, and eastern towns. New York was still hundreds of miles away, but the scenery was becoming more familiar.
The Day 23 caption did not report another large problem. It simply noted the season and the state. After the first rain, dry autumn weather was worth noticing. The daily journal often worked that way: one road problem on one day, one weather note on the next.
The rain was not a disaster. It was one more condition to manage. We changed layers, watched the road, kept track of the equipment, and continued east.
Nothing stopped the schedule that day. We got wet, crossed the bridge, handled the bikes and clothing at the next stops, and kept the route pointed toward Indiana.
Across those four days, we crossed the Mississippi, rode an Illinois rail trail, went through a tunnel, got wet on a bridge, and reached Indiana.
Ohio and the final time zone were next.