The roads between Murphysboro and DuQuoin were not as clear as I had hoped. All you could do was pick a line, and hope for the best. I don't have my commuter today. It has studded tires that are 2.5 inches wide. My 23mm road tires will have to do.

On this stretch of road last time, Mike began a story about his stationary bicycle riding octogenarian grandfather. He said that it would be a long story, but that I'd need the background to really appreciate it. However when he started, "On a cold December day my grandfather was born in Western Kentucky..." I was glad this was a 126 mile ride. I wouldn't want to miss the ending, and I figured we'd barely be to his grandfather's retirement party by Thompsonville.

But that's the joy of riding with someone. I usually ride alone, therefore I have to tell myself stories. Besides the obvious, getting bored with the same old stories, there's the problem of embellishing. Sometimes I forget that I know the facts as I listen to myself tell the story. Often I shout out "Liar!" at myself and then I realize that I've gone too far and am properly embarrassed. I have to make a mental note to only lie to others riders, since I always catch myself in a lie.