Once again, I got off to a sluggish start into a headwind. Before long, it was time to stop for coffee and re-adjust my life and attitude. It wasn't cheap. The coffee was $2.12, and I had to pay all over again for the third refill. Like a chump. I should have declined and asked for an ice water. I was practically paying rent for my parking spot in the corner. And I typed and typed for several hours as the sun changed its position and the coffee found its way into my brain.
Roadhat! The joy of a nice clean roadhat. I'd rather find money, but I'm cheered just the same.
After typing and finding another hat, my day started to turn around. I had several long descents, and that never hurts. I got to the tiny town of Council Idaho. The sun was beating down, and I was absolutely finished for the day. I got some lame groceries and took note of how I'm beginning to look and feel more classically homeless by the day. The cashier at the grocery store took a good long look at me, and wouldn't take my nickel when I fished it out of my pocket. Charity? I wonder what I could buy with the extra nickel.
Town parks are great for sleep. You're allowed to sleep in this one, and I was told a couple times that you can pretty much put up a tent wherever you want. But the town park looked good. I leaned up my bicycle, figured I didn't need further security measures in these parts, and set out on foot. Being that the sun was hot, and I always drink beer anyway, I went to the bar. I got what was cheap: mugs of Rolling Rock. I talked to a drunk lady about cooking and pot. I tried to spend time and push the day along.
When the drink prices went up by $.25, I made an exit. Then I made an entrance. I got more beer to go. I also got a an abstract burrito with heaps of lunch meat and spinach involved.
I returned to the campground, and to my absolute delight, Kurt and Sara were there! We chatted. As my watch beeped at 7:21pm, I was setting up my tent and talking to Kurt as he filled his water bottles. I felt a little sheepish with my large bottles of beer in a paper bag. I don't know if these guys drink, but they probably don't drink huge beers like these, and especially not on a bicycle trip where you're actually trying to get somewhere. They seem smart and reasonable. I like them a lot, and I'll give an example why in the next paragraph.
Sara and Kurt asked if I could help them out. They'd gone to the store and found that the half gallon of ice cream was only slightly more expensive than a pint. They wanted to know if I would be able to help them eat some of it because they had too much. A favor, indeed. We talked some more while we ate ice cream.
"What kind of whiskey?"
Either the bartender randomly decided to give everyone a shot, or someone bought it for me. "Yukon!" I said, getting straight to the point. There was a cheerful boistrous atmosphere. The jukebox was working just fine, and everyone seemed happy to be there.
Quite often, Tara asks if I remember what I said or did last night. The answer: sometimes. I remember getting pretty tuned up and dancing, I remember when the sheriff came in and everyone pretended that he didn't put a damper on things, and I remember being charged only $5 as the bartender made up a number out of the blue. Touring cyclist discount? I gave him $10 and made my exit.
$1.60 - Orange Juice
$4.24 - Coffee (second refill is not free? Dang, dude)
$5.00 - Dinty Moore can, banana, fried chicken, notebook
$9.00 - Rolling Rock
$5.00 - Burrito
$5.20 - Olde English; Four Loko
$10.00 - Bar tab plus tip
Total = $40.04