Rhode Island tried to kill me, y'all!

Seriously. It was like western Wisconsin all up in here! I cycled through every gear I had every five minutes or so. Luckily for me, I was rescued by Allan, the touring cyclist I met outside of that ice cream shop in Ohio. He swooped in with his newfangled horseless carriage and picked me up at the border of Connecticut and my physical limits, and whisked me away to his home, his wife, her brownies and the dog.

Monday, 22 September: I packed up, careful to remove my own trash, but none of the pre-existing trash, from the vacant lot. It's like I was never there. I headed south through Rhode Island, and its monstrous hills. At least it was pretty out there, though road conditions were spotty, and it was cloudy all day. I was headed for Allan's place, and he offered to ride out a ways to meet me and guide me back, because there were some tricky spots, but I was dragging, so when he offered to come get me in his car, I was all over that. I insisted on riding to Connecticut on my own power, but after that I was all about the internal combustion. Sadly, once again I either missed the sign at the border, or there wasn't one.

I got a nice tour of the route we would have ridden, then a shower, dinner, beer and brownies. And, of course, much conversation and dog petting.