Hard right rudder and we are back to the freeway I-75, we spot a rest area for morning rituals. "Let's stop" she says with batting eyes and a sense of urgency.
I am not fond of rest areas, for stories of highway pirates and teenage fugitive druglords proceed us. The sign boasts nighttime security, screw that, I am not comforted by this thought as the guy in the orange vest and a severe case of fabric abuse (56" waistline) seems to be our first line of defense. We press forward as the need for a bathroom takes precedence over safety.
I follow Boo towards restrooms, my first thought, her safety; never mind that I left the keys in the jeep and $800 in cash with a come get me sign attached. Marissa makes her way in and I return to the jeep; crap...damn gawkers.
If you travel with a decked canoe the size of a school bus on top of your vehicle, you get gawkers. "What the heck sort a boat is this", he says with the faint smell of BO only dwarfed by his horrid breath. I return banter, "A "F"ing canoe, dumb ass!!" OK I recant, I made pleasantries and talked of legends and lore, what this craft is made for etc etc... Damn I need to use the rest room.
Back on the road without incident, we push forward warming sun to the east, nar' a cloud in the sky. Not two minutes down the road, Wait for it.... "What's for breakfast?", she chirps. Pouncing on the food bag and cooler, our bird of prey sort through the options.
to be continued...
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