Redd Foxx and Licking Skillets

Friday was a biking day. I originally had thought I was scheduled for a 15 mile ride, but I was wrong; I was supposed to do a 25 mile ride. So I jumped on http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/ and mapped out my ride. If you do not know if this website, I highly recommend you check it out. It has completely revolutionized how I map/measure my runs and rides.

So I prepped up Roxanne (yah, the name really suits her), grabbed some water and nourishment(frosted strawberry Pop Tarts; they are my favorite), and hit the road. It was windy as hell, again! I am really not liking the biking in the wind stuff. About five miles into the ride I took a turn to the north for a nice long stretch down a country road. I passed a few farm houses, rolled up and down a few hills, and as I came to the top of one hill I looked ahead and there was red fox. Unfortunately, this one was not holding a Colt 45, but there were times during my ride I said to myself, "This is the big one! You hear that, Elizabeth? I'm coming to join ya, honey!"

This was the red fox I saw:

Now, I have mentioned that in central Illinois one gets to see a lot of wildlife, and for a second this one was just as scary as the skunk incident. Mr. Fox was standing right in the middle of the road. I was still a hundred yards away from him, but the idea that he was rabid and would like my pasty white legs for lunch did cross my mind. But the old adage held true; he was more afraid of me than I was of him, and he ran off across the fields for quite awhile until eventually, I passed him and he was able to go on with his day. It is amazing the things you see when riding a bike.

I continued on my ride, passed over the interstate, and eventually came to the next subject of this post, Lick Skillet Rd. I once lived near a road named Possum Trot in NC, and the rumor was that some pioneer had seen an opossum "trotting" across a trail and the name stuck. So I began to debate with myself about how this particular name of Lick Skillet came about. Was some pioneer so hungry that he was licking the last morsel beans from his skillet? Did he burn his tongue? If so, why not Swollen Tongue Road or Things-not-to-do-while-camping Road (that would be a long sign). I continued on my ride thanking God for modern conveniences and the debate of road names continued in my head. About mile 20 I thought about breaking out the Pop Tarts and thought, "Fat Guy Munching on Processed Pastry Road" would be a great name. I held off on the Pop Tarts until I got home, but the ride was awesome. 26 miles in 90 minutes, that's an average speed on 17.3 mph, not bad.