Woke up early Thursday June 3 and made last minute checks to the bike. Prior communications with my brudda slugs resulted in our agreement to hookup for final leg of their journey to MITM from the Pacific Northwet at Jamey's Pub in Jefferson City, Mo some 200 miles distant from my shack. Well, after invading and sliming Ivan Gregory (and cuz change of plans is an inherent Slug quality we refer to as impetuosity), he suggested the JC regional airport. A call was received and I was launched. My wingman bailed at the last minute (whattawuss) cuz the weather looked a little 'unsettled' down in the SWMO. ETD was 9:10 am. :::mental note LOSER::::::

Hit rain around Rhineland and ~50 mi further I arrived at airport at exactly 12:45. No slugs evident! kewl, we had said 12-1. I went into the diner there to wait and have some greasy fries and coffee. Just about that time, I heard a familiar rumble outside and lo `n behold here they came. Who says Slugs can't plan a schedule heh heh. After much huggin' and backslappin', consuming of diner food we hit the road heading north east on SR94.

For the uninitiated, 94 is possibly the best muddersickle road in the entire state of Mo and we got good'ns. Parallels the Missouri river through gorgeous river bottom farmland and hilly twisty blacktop through the heart of Missouri Wine country. The pungent smell of honeysuckle in bloom all the way fer a good, oh 80 - 90 miles. Now, another Slug quality is the ability to, by gawd, ride these twisties with some mean talent. It was fuckin' awesome how we hung. Like one mind on six muddersickles. After negotiating the clusterfuck of commuters in Weldon Springs/St. Charles we backtracked to Kampsville and crossed the Mississippi on the Golden Eagle ferry, couple country roads to the Brussels Ferry and into Illinois. Off dammed helmet! Rode into Grafton and stopped for a rest at the Wild Goose Saloon.

Now this be one of my favorite watering holes, a big deck overlooking the river (the Ol Miss again, a 3 river confluence happens at Grafton) good music and a genuwine "fishing/diving labrador". Ordered up drinks and..OH MY GAWD...waitress says "Sorry, we have no food except weekends", to which one slug replied, "We don't believe you, can we look in your fridge?" She laughs and says "No, but if you want to order from the place across the street, you're welcome to eat it on our deck." Then anudder slug tries to bribe her into going after it...well fuck, it was all of 200 feet, too fur to walk. At this time we agreed to drink up and head fer the Fin Inn for fish samiches. ::::Randy slips quietly into the shitter:::::: The waitress, unaware anyone but locals were inside (pppffft EARTHLINGS) is telling a rather ribald story dealing with a case of inadequate lubrication the prior night which Randy catches snippets of. She turns beet red when she notices him and in about 2 seconds flat she's out on the deck saying "Maybe we do have some left over BBQ`d pork loin, pasta salad, slaw and potato salad" which suited us rather well heh heh. After stuffing ourselves adequately we headed south on Rt 100 (recently designated a National Scenic Highway).

This is a criminally beautiful stretch of road that I tend to "ho-hum" cuz I ride it all the time. River on the right about 25 feet away and bordered on the left with 200 foot white limestone bluffs. We blasted into Alton 12 miles away and gassed up for last shot to Mick’s Lake. Arrived ~9:30 Thursday and set up camp. Agreed it was to late to go to my shack and pick up my gear and so the Tooberdood said I could use BigRed's bag and sleep in his tent if I wouldn't molest him that night (whattagoodslug). I said I 'd try but couldn't make any rash promises. After that, the rest was history, beer consumed, lies told, Assholes and others met and much needed sleep.

`Tender a round for any that made it through this.

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MaGGie BS #18