The not-so-short cut.

I biked to work on Sunday. I work 16 miles in the suburbs, and the distance doesn’t bother me, but I hate going up the hill near the office.

The hill is on a street named “Yankee Doodle” which makes the whole situation seem even more ridiculous. But do not be fooled! Yankee Doodle has a massive, half-mile long hill that hurts. The hill is so large that I expect a Buddhist monk or a mountain goat at the top.

So I decide to get cute, take a short cut, and promptly get lost in this Ozarky town named Mendota:

Trust me, there are houses down there.
Mendota is in a tiny valley and has about 200 people, a restaurant, a bar, and no real through-streets.

I eventually got out of Mendota, went the wrong way along the Mississippi, and of course, came to an even STEEPER hill than the one I wanted to avoid in the first place.

Flippin’ fail.

I ended up where I started, and my 32-mile bike ride became a 47-mile ride.

Yes, my bum is sore.