It's early and I'm waiting for my hair to dry before heading out for breakfast. Jeana called me last night and informed me that they just had six inches of snow. While it is definitely cooler here, no way could it snow. Then I look toward the mountains and I can see clouds that seem to streak down to the mountain tops. Must be snow. Before heading to Cody I'll check to see if the mountain passes are open. If not, it's the Interstate for me.
Anyway, I thought I'd add a story of an earlier event in this journey of mine:
Roger and Nancy have served me a breakfast of eggs, sausage, biscuits and gravy. I've loaded the car on this crisp, clear Easter morning and I'm feeling good. Zionsville is just a tad north of Indianapolis. In fact, the Red Roof Inn my Roger and I stay at when in Indianapolis is on the road I took to get to Zionsville. So, I'm feeling at home. I know my way around and I know how to get to Champaign-Urbana without looking at the map. I'm off.
Much of the route around Indianapolis looks familiar. I know I'm going right. And then I come upon the turn off toward Peoria. It doesn't look right and I know that Peoria is too far north for Champaign so I continue on. Next I come on Interstate 70. Familiar name and kind of familiar territory. I take it.
As I cruise along, I begin to realize that none of the scenery is familiar, none says to me that I'm heading to Champaign. I pull off for gas and finally check the map. Oops! I'm heading for St. Louis. No problem. This trip is not defined by time and the day is glorious. I'll just take a country road that connect to the right highway. I like to go off the beaten path anyway.
And it was a wonderful road. Straight, relatively empty, and routed through farmland dressed in spring. I'd pass the occasional church with it's lot full of Easter worshipers. I put on the Sons of the Pioneers, an album from my youth that seemed more than appropriate for this occasion. I was sailing along enjoying myself.
While the road ahead of me was empty, coming toward me I saw a couple of cars. Almost at the moment I zipped past, I read the word "Sheriff" at the same time I saw the flashing lights go on. In my rear view mirror I saw him do a three corner turn and come after me. Busted! And I mean it. I had no idea how fast I was going but I knew it was too fast. There was no denying it. As I got out my license and reached for the registration card, I calculated how much this might cost me and
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