What's With The Blondes?

*** continued from previous post ***


We collapse on the bed for awhile, each of us lost in our thoughts.

It felt great to be still and better to enjoy the quiet. It takes a while to shake the ride, much like a sailor getting his sea legs back. I begin to drift off to sleep when your Mom utters the fateful words: "Hey sweetie, you want to go grab something to eat? I'm getting hungry."

We saddle up. Gah! There's one problem to traveling by motorcycle, when the day is done the LAST thing you want to do is climb back on the bike. It's like an evil, evil carnival where you've spent a fantastic day riding the Tilt-O-Whirl and you're ready to go home but the Carny-folk won't let you because you were pitching the ride-operator crap due to the fact that you may have consumed enough tequila to anesthetize Connecticut and the semi-insulted dude at the button was now going to make you suffer by not letting you off the ride until you spin in the Tilt-O-Whirl for another three straight hours.

No, you may not ask how I know this. Grrrrrrr. Don't get me started on Carny-folk. They cost our family the Presidency back in 1916.

Back to the story.

We cruise down the road. Lots of people out and about. I notice that they are all unusually tall and blond. For some reason this unnerves me. I detect something sinister afoot. They all look related somehow – sharing the same facial features. I make a mental note to study on this further. Anyway, we see the Pub. It's close to the Motel, and that for now is one of my main criteria.

"Want to try there?", I ask innocently.

"Sure," mom replies.

We pull into the access road that parallels the highway, and cautiously roll into the parking area of the gray, blockish building. I'm confused immediately. It seems that one side is a family restaurant, (with a parking lot that is nearly empty), and the other side is the Pub with a few more vehicles in the parking lot, but not what I would call crowded by any stretch of the imagination. So I wheel the bike around, pull in next to a car and a couple of motorcycles, and proceed to back into a space next to the other bikes by the front door.

Before we can get our gear off, two guys come running up to us. Literally running. They want to talk about the Vision. That's fine, we are used to the bike attracting attention, but we're very weary. We spend the next 15 minutes discussing the Vision, and motorcycling in general, with the "boys". At last, the conversation begins to wind down. They may have gotten the hint when I started to claw my own eyes out of their sockets and your mother began to weep softly. We wrap up the conversation, say our good-bye's and venture inside the Pub for a hearty meal and some tasty, tasty cool drinks. As you know, no alcohol, but an iced tea would certainly hit the spot.


*** the journey continues tomorrow ***