47: pollen pond, still living for danger, energy elementary, convenience site, not virginia, thank you jesus, elementary prohibitions, tar river, memory lane memories, happy times, dachshund sprayer, woodmen of the world, ed, mecca, steel flame - My Midlife Crisis - CycleBlaze
47: pollen pond, still living for danger, energy elementary, convenience site, not virginia, thank you jesus, elementary prohibitions, tar river, memory lane memories, happy times, dachshund sprayer, woodmen of the world, ed, mecca, steel flame
Creedmoor to Henderson
I stopped at McDonald's this morning, something I haven't voluntarily done in years, but decided an Egg McMuffin was in order. They aren't the old Golden Arches of yesteryear, and this one had enough tech in it to be a starship. The staff appeared to be emotionless cyborgs, but if I worked there I might have the same affect they do.
Once outside, I talked with the Bullock family for a few minutes.... some nice people who were curious about my bike trip and wished me safe travels.
Riding on the road or facing the risks inherent in riding on the Cross City Trail? As you know, I live for danger and chose the trail, risky though you see it is.
I've seen this sign for the past hundred miles or more. Interestingly, each region has their own version of it. The specifics of the message and the sign change every 200-300 miles or so.
Larry FrahmYou must have great eyesight (super human) or the sign is than much larger appears in the photo. A hundred miles? Really, Mark? Reply to this comment 1 month ago
Mark BinghamTo Larry FrahmThe sign is actually much larger than it appears in the photo. In reality, it's about 58 stories tall. :-) Reply to this comment 1 month ago
For those of you who aren't familiar with American culture, North Carolinians are called "Tarheels." The origin of the term is debated, but it probably emerged from the state's early role as a major producer of tar, pitch, and turpentine, which were used for shipbuilding, and it's certainly possible that the workers accumulated tar on their heels.
I have to admit, there isn't a farmer I know who would call what he does "Happy Times." Waking up before dawn, working all day, no vacation because there's no one to take over for you, putting all your earnings back into the farm, hoping the heat, the cold, the rain, the insects, and your health all line up perfectly so you can make juuuust enough to do it all over again next year.
marilyn swettThey also sold headstones in the past and if you were a member, they helped with funeral costs but I don't know if they still do that. If you visit an older cemetery, look for the markers that look like tree stumps. Reply to this comment 1 month ago
George (Buddy) HallSo then - I come from humble origins. Our home on the outskirts of Little Rock, AR was built on rocks like that. My dad later replaced some, but not all of them, with concrete blocks. The wood floor was never level. The windows were single pane, and there was no insulation in the walls or ceiling. Winters were cold - no heat in the bedrooms, I slept under several quilts to stay warm - summers were hot, we slept with the windows open. Oh, I almost forgot - even in grade school, I walked uphill to and from school each way. Reply to this comment 1 month ago
Mark BinghamTo George (Buddy) HallI do, too, but was wondering if I've been posting too many of them. Thanks for the input. Reply to this comment 1 month ago
Unlike most people, this gentleman didn't ask about my trip (granted, my bike wasn't visible from where we were seated, although I was wearing those funny looking shorts). Instead, he asked if my enchilada was any good. When I confirmed that it was especially good, he said he'd have to go check it out. I thought he meant at some point in time, and I guess he did, but that point in time was right after he and his family finished their meals. After our conversation, he went back out and bought one.
We talked a while about the town and how there used to be a lot of industry until everything closed down, hitting the population hard. He retired recently after thirty years of working for the city. "I started in the ditches and I ended in the ditches," he laughed, meaning that when he retired as the Head Supervisor of his department he was in a different kind of ditch than when he started. Randomly, and seemingly out of context, he said, "People need to give Trump some time. What he's doing ain't gonna change things overnight." There was no follow up comment.
This was parked outside my hotel. At first I thought is said "Steel Frame Straightening." I'm still trying to figure what a steel flame is, and why it needs straightening.
Checking into the hotel took a long time, as it usually does. I'm always amazed at the number of keystrokes it takes to give someone a room rental, somewhere in the vicinity of 826,000 I'd venture, but that's only part of the reason for the lengthy check in. I get asked for my driver's license, then get asked for my name (I always want to squint my eyes like I'm concentrating and say, "I can't remember, but if you hand that license back to me I'll be able to tell you.") I get questioned about whether I have any pets and, inevitably, they look at my bike and nod. Two questions later I get asked what kind of car I'm driving.
The pet question is inevitable. At every other hotel I've stayed in (including Port Orange), pets weren't allowed. Here they're permitted, as long as they're never left in the room alone.
One of the reasons for that, as you might guess, is that they could start barking while the owners are gone. It's possible that this could go on for, oh I don't know, let's say, 42 minutes in, for example, Room 206 if I happened to be in 208 next door. What could happen is that other guests might bang on the door in order to see if anyone is in there, which would prompt the dog to bark even louder, and, when the owners returned could potentially result in a yelling match in the hallway.
Lyle McLeodI had to travel a lot when I worked and often stayed at the same hotel in certain cities. Your check-in person sounded like Roz in KL. I must have dealt with her over 30 times. I think it was on visit 29 that I peered over the desk, and started counting. 825,990 of the keystrokes were the delete key, the other 10 spelled my name.
BTW, good thing my travelling mate and spell checker had a look at this before I hit ‘post new comment’, otherwise you may have actually thought that I peed over the desk. Reply to this comment 1 month ago
Lyle McLeodTo Lyle McLeodI woke up in a bit of a panic this morning. I got my math completely wrong. Roz only hit the delete key 412,995 times, thus deleting the 412,995 incorrect letters she typed, leaving the 10 correct ones she managed.
I’m a bit OCD with numbers. Reply to this comment 1 month ago
