Throughout my travels, I have crossed many great rivers. I crossed the Snake, the Salmon, the Colorado, and the Arkansas. Each time, I paused, reflected upon the magnitude and importance that these waterways played in the history of the west, and continued on my way. These rivers were grand, but they lacked the mystique of what I was approaching. None of those rivers pulled me towards them, none of them grabbed my soul and lead me to their banks. None of them had the lure that the Mississippi had. Without even seeing or smelling the river, I knew I was approaching it. The grandest, most storied river in America was only a few miles away, pulling me, drawing me to the unofficial dividing line between the west and the east.

When I reached the town of St. Mary, the hills of the Ozarks ended and the flood plains of the Missippi began. Ten miles in the distance, I could see the levees and highlands of Illinois. Somewhere on the horizon flowed the mighty Mississippi. The road was flat, surrounded by the most fertile farmlands in the country, and the wind was at my back. Within an hour, I had reached the Mississippi, the border of Illinois, and crossed the river to enter the eastern "half" of the United States. I had just completed 3,100 miles of my journey and stopped at the town park to gaze at the river and reflect upon the miles I had just covered. It was an extremely gratifying experience and one that I chose to savor. I had made it to this moment on my own, by my own will and by my own strength. In a couple of days, Alex is going to join me in Carbondale to finish out my trip. I am going to have a companion, someone to share in the trials and triumphs that lay ahead of me. The journey by myself was about to end. I made it. I survived and conquered the west. A new adventure is about to begin. One that I am very much looking forward to, and one that I can share with one of my oldest and closest friends. I have proven to myself that I can accomplish great things on my own, now it was time to have someone join in on the fun.

After arriving in Chester, Illinois, the birthplace of Popeye (the creator was born and raised in Chester), I decided to stop at a Hardee's for lunch. As soon as I walked in, the young guy with a lazy eye, sideburns, and something that resembled a goat tee, sitting in the booth closest to the door called out to me. "How far've you ridden?"

"Started in Oregon."

"That's great. I see you guys come riding through all the time and it's so inspirational to talk to you all. I have a buddy who's a Vietnam vet, who got injured in the war. Ever since he came back, he's been in a wheel chair. He's never left southern Illinois, never seen the country. I promised him that one day I'd take him across the country on my bicycle. I'm not sure how I'd do it, figure out some contraption that I'd push his wheel chair with my bike or something. He's real excited about it."

I just nodded my head, checking out his frail, awkward body. "That sounds pretty ambitious. When are you going to do it?"

"Next summer. We're going to go to DC to start at the Vietnam Memorial then ride to Seattle."

"Do you ride alot?"

"No. I never realized how hard it actually is to do what you guys do, until I road to Hannibal, Missouri a few months back. It's like forty miles from here and I almost died. Man, you guys must be in good shape."

"Yeah, about a month into the trip your body get's used to the riding and you stop getting sore altogether. So you're not really training for your ride next summer?"

"Not by riding my bike. I'm more of a walker. My name's Jason, but they call me the 'Sleep Walker.' Everywhere I go, I walk. I have a car, but I just like to get places on my own power. I've walked to Bremen, Wine Hill, Shiloh Hill, and Cora. My fiance's always asking me why I walk so much. I tell her I'm in training. Then she says 'you don't race, what are you training for?' Then I tell her I'm a fitness freak. I love fitness. That's why you guys are so inspirational. I just get excited by fitness."