Megan is still in race mode. Even though we have no more deadlines, no more ferries to catch or friends to meet at picnics, we are plowing through as if we were on stationary bikes at the local Ballys. I became very familiar with the pavement - a light gray mix of tar and white gravel to lower the albedo rating, perhaps. I looked up - hey wait a minute! This is pretty! I stopped Megan. Perhaps we should take some more breaks and meet the locals? We stopped at the Walkerville tavern whose bartender hooked us up with a free campspace in the next town and told us her views on migrants and how if they didn't pick the asparagus, no one else would. Have you ever seen asparagus still in the ground? I thought it was a christmas tree farm.
The bartender's friends were the Bitely Boys, a motocycle club headquartered in an old schoolhouse. I went straight to sleep. Megan can tell you what happened next.
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