After taking a nap on the beach and a shower in the public restroom, Piper and I pedalled into the flats of Ohio. The sun thrust its scalding rays upon my skin, which attempted to resist the wrath of ultra violet by hiding under multiple layers of sunscreen.
Stunted by a lack of sleep the night before, our saddle time fell short of its usual duration. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the flat consistency of the landscape. There is something strangely spiritual about riding alongside fields that extend out into the horizon, while my feet circle around and around, inches above an unchanging river of asphalt.
We entered the small town of Fremont, and stopped at a church to ask if it would be okay to camp out in their field. They said yes without hesitation. We cooked grilled cheese with sauteed mushrooms and onions, and tomato soup for dinner.
