I stopped in a little town to gas up (and get off the bike for a minute). Two locals were in the office when I went in to buy some water ("Hydrate or Die," as Steve Skrocki says. Or is it "Cotton Kills."? Steve confuses me a lot . . .), and the one says "Can you really ride that thing (turns out he was a Harley rider) all t' way to Alaska?" "Sure," says the other, "Ever since they built that road a few years back." "Well," says I, "they built the road during the Second World War, but yeah, you can ride to and from Alaska now." "Tell me 'bout that road," says the first one, "does it have water on both sides?" I courteously explained that the road goes inland through Canada, paid for my water, and left before we got to the subject of igloos.
My second memorable event was Mr.Garmin taking me on a loop through the Missouri countryside that included miles of gravel roads. It also took me places that looked familiar but then took me the wrong way. I was frustrated. So I turned it off, rode to Excelsior Springs, found the Dari-B, and found my own way.
No visit to Excelsior Springs without visiting two places. The Wabash for ribs, and the Dari-B for dessert.
Oh that evil Mr. Garmin. I've banished him from my bike. There's these things made out of paper called "maps" I found in an antique store. Amazing innovation.
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