Fuck St. Louis.

01. The bars close early on Sunday nights. Or maybe never even open at all?
02. Nothing is open, anywhere, all over the city. This goes for Monday too.
03. Just when you think you found a neighborhood worth hanging out in, well, you decide to keep looking for something better. This goes on for hours.

504. “PJ navigating Grand Street, looking for lunch.”
505. “Downtown St. Louis.”
506. “Bike lane graphics.”
507. “Good type on the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.”

We managed to find a little I-talian place on Grand street. A big surprise. They had a nice little buffet with noodles and pizza and salad and garlic bread. We chowed down.

After nourishment, I walked across the street to get a haircut and a hot shave. Old time barber shop, with a young guy wielding the blades. I plopped down and he went to work. Well, the end result’s “success” is still debatable. The fucker gave me a mini mullet of sorts, trying to get that “shaggy” look. He trimmed up my wild goatee into a “way-too-clean-for-the-DDC” trim job. Damn. If I’m learning anything in my travels, its: “Never trust a barber in the greater St. Louis area.” Damn.

Last time I sat down for a real haircut was in Belleville, Illinois, just across the river from St. Louis, on the first annual DDC Fall Tour. And that old fuck murdered me. Bad news. “One size fits all” haircut. Harsh.

We tried to go to this “adult jungle gym” place called the “City Museum” that offers up large-scale mousetraps and doohickies and ball pits, all for grownups. That was closed too, and looked wild and fun from outside, through the bars. Lots of sharp shit to get hurt on.

Ryno fished a couple balls out of the pit and nailed me with one of them. Thanks, you dick.

Not long after, bummed, we decided to part ways and Ryno headed north back to Minneapolis.

508. “Ryno, moments before departure.”

PJ and I headed over into Illinois to find a cheap box of shelter for the night. Nine miles out, into the Illinois wilderness, we located a Quality Inn and bedded down for the night. Once again, a half ass internet connection making life hard to live. All I need is a roof and wireless, and life is good. Take one away, and things get rough.

509. “The Hotel Life.”

I worked all night and PJ updated his scooter odyssey site. Caught up on laundry and cleaned out the cockpit in Big S. Much-needed regrouping, all around. All good stuff.

510. “A sketchy strip club out in a cornfield. Real bright.”