I started riding today than I had originally planned (around 7:30am), but this was beneficial for two reasons: I got to sleep a bit longer, and I likely avoided hazardous conditions riding directly eastward toward a blinding sunrise. As my older brother reminded me, eastbound traffic on Lost Nation and Flagg roads has to contend with the rising sun, which could complicate my visibility to motorists. Luke's commute to one of his work sites happened to be the route that I rode eastward toward Rochelle. He stopped along the route in a few spots to take photographs, something that my mother would have absolutely done if she had been in the area. County highways and a few city streets took me all the way from Rochelle to Creston, Malta, Dekalb, and east of Sycamore where I connected with the Great Western Trail. This crushed limestone bike path would be the route forall but the final ten miles of the ride. About halfway through riding along this trail, I was on one of the few paved segments that paralleled a street in West Chicago. A gentleman driving by yelled something at me, but I couldn't decipher what he said. I could tell he was genuinely attempting to tell me something, but I didn't catch it. He turned around, passed by again, and this time I heard him say "you dropped a bag a few blocks back." I turned around and noticed that the left saddle bag had come unstiched from its counterpart! I knew this was something that I would have to replace but not not this soon. This was only a minor setback, as I was confident that I could find a replacement in Chicago. During the final 10 miles, I rode through several neighborhoods on surface streets. All of these streets had bike lanes, and traffic was surprisingly light for the most part. I arrived at Garrett's place at 7:00pm, and felt relieved that I wouldn't be riding the bicycle again in Chicago until early Monday morning. Not more than one quarter of a mile before reaching Garrett's, a motorist rolled through a stop sign and came close to hitting me. Fortunately, I saw that this driver had not looked in my direction and had already begun braking. From here, I met up with Garrett and several other friends from college. This weekend was Sandblast, an annual ultimate tournament that's held on Montrose Beach. We've fielded a team of alumni for about nine years now. This has become a great way to reunite with old friends and teammates. The next two days would be a break from cycling but not from physical exertion, as ultimate is a very active game!
