T-storms were rumored to be on their way, so I headed towards them. While zig-zagging, a corner church at a township red light rang its tardy bell as a robotic voice counted down ten nine eight seven six . . . over a seated pedestrian with a cardboard request for mercy stationed at the crosswalk. A music club advertised that evening’s band, Drink Their Blood. An outskirts Chop House next to a cemetery offered brunch.
Entertainment was relentless.
Thrift store jackpot! A tricked-out 5-speed. My imagined story of its origin is that a South Dakotan honored a new year resolution to get healthy, spent a load on a two-wheeler with all the frills . . .
. . . then moved to Wisconsin & got into beer & cheese instead.
A now-new regional tradition includes bumba sightings.
Like a wheel, all destinations in Minnesota begin at Ax-Man Surplus for touring essentials & spread from there.
Flighty harbingers have no bearing.
But, then again . . .
See you in Richmond tonight! Don’t let them confuse you with a Confederate statue!