|Keokuk: Old Indian word for, “Don’t order the salad bar.”|
I left some of Mama here, as I plan to do in all the major stops on the ride over the next week. If you’re interested, here’s what I wrote about my mom when I rode to Chicago last year.
Whenever I go out of town, I try my best to avoid chain restaurants. I’d rather go somewhere that we don’t have “at home.” I’m a big fan of “hole in the walls” (holes in the wall?) type restaurants. That show called “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives” pretty much sums up the places I like to eat at.
I drove all the way down US 61 serendipitously looking through town. (Yeah, that’s a word even if the dictionary doesn’t recognize it.) Before I knew it, I was crossing the Crooked Letter Crooked Letter Eye Crooked Letter Crooked Letter Eye Humpback Humpback Eye River back into Obama-land . . . err, Illinois. Turned around to arrive at the River City Restaurant:
|Obviously they need to make the handicapped signs into flashing neon signs, too. Maybe with a warning: “No Dumbasses”|
In continuing my acting like I don’t have the sense God gave a head of lettuce, I didn’t notice until after I was done eating that I’d parked in a handicapped spot. Arrgggh! I suppose if we could stretch the definition to being mentally handicapped, I had every right to park there. If there is any consolation, I was the only customer in the place, handicapped or not, so I wasn’t taking up someone’s space. Doesn’t excuse me for being a dumbass, though.
The waitress was either exhausted or thinking about a hot date or it was her first day or . . . well, pick your excuse. Took her three minutes to get to me (again, I was the only customer in the place). She arrived and asked if I wanted something to drink. Gave her my drink order and she disappeared . . . for five minutes. When she came back she, “Did you need a menu?” Ay yi yi. Another 2 minutes for her to get the menu.
I’d kind of had my heart set on a salad. My heart skipped a beat or two when I saw on the menu they featured a salad bar. I strolled over to it, grimaced, and ordered the Bacon Pepper Jack Burger instead:
|It wasn’t bad. I mean, how could you screw up a burger? (Wait. Don’t answer that.)|
On the way back to the hotel, I snapped a picture of the time / temperature display:
|Let’s have no smart-ass comments on how dirty my windshield is, shall we?|
89 degrees . . . at 9PM. At 9PM tomorrow night I’m going to be sleeping outside in a tent. 89 degrees is going to suck. Mama Nature, let’s see about dropping that so, oh, I don’t know . . . 50 degrees? (Guess I should be careful what I wish for. Liable to get a snow storm or something . . . )
Another traveling day tomorrow. This one by bus from Fort Madison to Council Bluffs. 500 more miles on the road. At least I’m not driving.