H2No.

I saw this ad in a magazine and thought, shouldn't it really read: "An overly caffeinated world doesn't need caffeinated water"? We've already got chocolate, tea, coffee, soda, etc.; why the need for 'invigorated' water? Is there such thing as "sensibly caffeinated" agua? Really, I've seen enough people get bent out of shape over having fluoride flow through our taps, but an addictive substance like caffeine is okay?

I can only imagine people in the developing world seeing a product like this (as, in many places, they scoop their refreshment out of muddy puddles and polluted streams) and shaking their heads at the consumerism and overall pretentiousness of such a product. Maybe it's just me.

Hamburgler's Makeover.

No, really, whatever happened to Hamburgler? Or that bloated purple jube jube named Grimace?

I recognize I'm a little behind the times here as it has already been a couple years since McDonald's decided to overhaul its image, but as someone who very, very rarely frequents fast food establishments, I only saw for the first time today its new, grown-up look. Earth tones? Brushed steel? Leather upholstery? Flat screen televisions?

Whatever happened to the garish orange, browns and yellows that were supposed to tease your psyche into feeling hungry for greasy, mass-produced food? The moulded plastic seats that would stick to your legs on hot summer's days? The ball pits with unmentionable things crawling through them in search of wayward french fries? The plastic bibs with LSD trip-induced cartoons on them?

In some ways, I can see the company needing to adapt as demographics age, but this was one of the world's most iconic and established brands. An update, I can see, but the complete overhaul surprised me somewhat. And to make restaurateurs themselves absorb the costs of renovating ($300,000-$400,000) and destroying all that's been built up over 40 years of branding seems just criminal.

With an increased concern about issues related to obesity - and with its reputation for contributing to them - it almost looks to me as though McDonald's is trying to disguise the wolf in sheep's clothing. One thing certainly hasn't changed: I still felt nauseous when I left.

A Severed Connection.

Appropriate enough, I guess, given that the "Mix Fruit Bowl" likely consists of sliced fruit, but I got a chuckle of it being described as "Severed" with Strawberry, Orange, and Apple." Certainly, a cut above.

Yes, small things entertain me. I was also even mildly amused by the menu's inconsistent re-ordering of its ham, bacon or sausage options. In each different dish, it is as though a different pork product demanded top billing.

The fruit cup wasn't the only time the term "severed" came to mind on the weekend, either. At one point, looking across the street, I told the person I was with: "There's a homeless guy with a saw over there." "Yeah right," came the reply.

Then the scruffy man with several dark hoodies, tinted glasses and hat pulled low climbed through the broken slats in the fence, wandering along other people's backyards - with a long hand saw poking out like a pirate's hook. The only thing more jagged than the teeth on the saw were the ones in his mouth. It was a moment straight out of a cheese ball horror movie script - craziest thing I ever saw (yuck, yuck).

No Ordinary Joe.

So long to a Second Cup of Tim Horton's Starbucks, even if it is Seattle's Best?

If you find yourself around King and Sherbourne in Toronto, you may indeed find yourself having a mug of creamy caffeination that would make the street corner-hogging, hyper barista-flogging chain locales become 'has-beans'. Bisogno, now that's a coffee.

With an antique dining room table around which to sit and a couple of plush couches, this hip little spot makes for a nice place to enjoy a mighty fine cup of coffee - even if it did take nearly a half-hour to have it made (but really, when was the last time your venti, one-and-a-half shot, half-sweet, no-foam macchiatto came with a heart on top?)

What the sign said was true: with coffee and ambiance like that, it's not going to need much advertising.

Joey? Pheebs?

Hoping to rediscover some hops prior to my basketball game last night, I came to wonder if maybe, just maybe, kangaroo jerky might do the trick (after all, a "court" is one possible collective noun used for these Australian animals). Appropriately enough, the strips of 'fast food' come in a handy little pouch (though, given roos' propensity for boxing, cardboard might also have been equally suitable).

While my love for a fine jerky is long established, I cannot say I had ever set my teeth into a marsupial before. It was a little gamey, but - alas - did nothing to alter the effects of gravity on my body. Even KangaROOS, the shoes (and yes, they still make them), couldn't help there, it seems.

Odd kangaroo fact for the day: they are environmentally friendly because they don't burp or fart. Nearly a quarter of the planet's greenhouse gases come from agriculture, but, unlike cows and other herbivores, roos are missing the digestive methane releases that lead to that stench punching a hole in the ozone. Instead, their bodies undergo a series of conversion processes that eventually turn the gas into further energy. Sure beats having to blame the dingo.

Recipes for Disaster?

Regular visitors to this cozy little niche of the Internerd will know I find amusement in spelling gaffes on signs, advertisements and product labels, particularly if they lead to double entendres. Sure, it's just a giant eggo (sic) stroke for a syrupy writer. What, can't anyone afford a decent copywriter editor anymore? Or at least an editor name Deloris?

It turns out that English/French expressions are particularly à propos for this post as I was rummaging through my cupboard for something other than cracker crumbs to eat and and read the instructions on the side of this box of Thai Chili Chicken. The first direction in French is to "Sauter poulet". "Jump chicken"? I hope the box at least contains a reliable set of booster cables. Or at least Van Halen, House of Pain or Kris Kross CDs. Naturally, it should have read, "sautée", which, funny enough, is how it's spelled in both languages. I guess they could have saved themselves the translation cost for one word and actually got it right. Then again, this is the same box that lists "Stir fry chicken & vegetable" in English. You know, as though we're back to wartime rations and you can only put one veg into the dish. "Hmm, a lonely carrot this evening?" "No dear, let's try the rutabaga."


There's nothing wrong with this one - I just thought the company's description of its Spicy Thai - compared to its Regular Thai - was pretty witty and to the point.

Who's the winner? Well, let's just call it a Thai.

Mon-Train-All. Day Four.

Oranges. Yes, oranges. And lots of 'em, too. Of course, we could have used the vitamin C to help make us feel better this weekend. This morning, my face felt like an acupuncture session gone awry, my sinuses like the crumbling ruins of Rome.

Sniffling away is not the most pleasant manner in which to spend eight hours on a train, which we did last night, getting back just before two in the morning. While the rain had mostly let up, it was still a grey day in la belle province. We did a lot of walking again, making it up to the Jean Talon Market, apparently the largest of its kind in North America ("Aha," he says to himself: "I knew there had to be another reason for so many pictures of fruit. That segue wasn't quite complete!")

Actually, I found the market to be patently underwhelming. Sure, there were many stalls of fruit, some particularly rancid cheese shops and the meat available at the charchuteries was no doubt top-notch. Nonetheless, there weren't really any bakeries (no Montréal-style bagels?) and frankly, no restaurants. No artisans, either. Those are just things I've come to expect from an excursion to the market. It was, however, a veritable cornucopia of colour and the produce looked great (which really is the point, isn't it?), but from a tourist's perspective, once you've seen one pile of oranges, you've seen enough. Except in this case, I guess -- I liked how differently the merchants displayed their produce. In the end, the walk was salvaged by a couple of pains au chocolat and a panini avec porc et brie. Really, it all comes down to the food, doesn't it? Speaking of which...

Mon-Très-All. Day Three.

Très all, yes. Everything. Yes, that's it -- I think Montréal has a little bit of everything. Except these days -- apparently -- sunshine. That's right, it was still wet and cold this morning. And grey. SCS's sinuses continued to stage a revolt most of the day and my back continued to do its best bed-of-nails impression.

I'd have to say that one of the funniest parts of the today's adventures, though, came tonight when we went into Chu-Chai, a high-end vegetarian restaurant. And I, of course, was carrying some greasy smoked meat sandwiches from Schwartz's. I tried to explain it away by saying that it was only smoked tofu, but the hippies weren't buying it. So we agreed I'd buy them all a round of green tea and a side of granola, and call it a day.

So, yes, I did make it to the world-famous Schwartz's tonight for some smoked meat. My arteries aren't thanking me for it, but my stomach is. We waited in the line-up for a bit (which is apparently always there, regardless of the time of day) and felt kind of foolish when we figured out that we didn't need to wait for take-out. Two smoked meat for me; a turkey for SCS and an order of fries to share. Mmm, greasy goodness.

The meat didn't quite melt in my mouth like yesterday's at Dunn's, and it was quite a bit fattier. But mighty tasty. Home cut fries. Yum. And only $4.95 for a sandwich. I've been telling my arteries that they should just suck it up and experience the local gastronomical delights. Food, it just seems to be the focus of this blog every once in a while.

It was a day of a lot of walking, and we made it down to Vieux Montréal, where I finally had my first chocolate croissant of the trip. Shocking. Considering I pretty much lived off the things when in France a half-lifetime ago. Actually, this was a croissant filled with almond paste and covered in chocolate. Yes, it was just as horrible as it sounds. The architecture was incredible and SCS and I were particularly amazed when we thought back to just how old some of these buildings are. We also passed Notre Dame, where Céline Dion got married. Thankfully, our ears have been spared. One more day to go.

Mont-rain-al. Day Two.

Okay, to this point anyway, that might be a bit of a stretch. It's wet, it's cold and it's grey. Add to that the fact that SCS and I are both sick (her moreso than I) and that the vertebrae in my back have decided to go all Ralph Macchio on each other, and the first whole day in Montréal hasn't been all sunshine. Did I mention that it's wet?

Actually, it looks like a pretty cool city, and that's not just because I'm seeing most of it refracted several times over in the raindrops plummeting earthward. The spirit of John Bonham using my noggin as a bongo drum.

SCS had her presentation today, so I had a couple of hours to swim through the streets and take in some of the sights for myself. Being that fatty meat products don't do for her what they do for me, it also gave me the chance to gleefully gorge on some Montréal smoked meat at Dunn's. My goal is to make it to Schwartz's -- widely regarded as the best smoked meat in Montréal, if not anywhere outside the Big Apple -- but the hike would have been redundant today considering it's up near where we're staying (and not right downtown, where we were). Still, artery-clogging goodness. Such a boy. Melt-in-your-mouth like chocolate. Okay, not like chocolate, but melt-in-your-mouth, nonetheless. The waitress asked if I wanted the lean meat. Such audacity. Are you kidding? Fries, sure! Swiss cheese? Um, yeah. Coleslaw and a pickle? Is there any other way? (I do need my healthy option, too, you know -- duh!)

Lunch for me was late, and dinner, early, so I wasn't overly hungry when it came time to have a chicken breast, roasted red pepper and brie sandwich on a ciabatta bun at Boccacinos. And yes, more fries. All this after a great breakfast this morning at the B&B, which was comprised of little soufflés, toast with homemade peach preserves and chocolate banana bread. Yeah, it's been a tough day for that stomach of mine.

With the aching back, I had thought a massage might provide some nice relief. I think it was the "body-to-body" part advertised at the place to the right that I thought might get me into a bit of a trouble. Thought the loophole of filling out a job application might help me get away with it, but, well, um, no, apparently not.

The French? Well, it has come back just nicely, thanks. Neat how the human mind works sometimes.

Day Three. Home Sweet Home.

And, he's back. Good golly, we return to Michigan today, where they like them some churches, mighty fine. Halleluiah!

The day started off well, with a complete – and most importantly – included, hot breakfast, Super 8-style. Make-your-own waffles, cereal, doughnuts, some sort of chopped sausage grits/porridge concoction I didn’t touch. And coffee. The orange juice was skunky, so it got tossed. Not a bad start, particularly after the lack of real food yesterday. Up at 6:54, I am still completely knackered. My throat is scratchy. And not in the sexy way. The trip started to catch up with me last night, but I really didn’t want to ply myself from the covers this morning. Well, I should have crawled under them earlier. Sigh. Such a dummy. Having started at the crack of darkness on Tuesday didn’t help either. Really.

On the road at 7:34 – not too bad a turnaround time despite the fog in my brain. One sign that it’s going to be a good day, though: the warning at the entrance to the highway states that it is not to be used by “farm implements”. Brings back fond memories of one of my former history professors who would always sprinkle his lectures with the term because he knew it would make us all laugh. Absurd, really. Another good sign: it’s clear and 20 degrees. Starting at 2,078.7 kms. today.

7:44: Big Bone Lick State Park. No comment. It’s too early, dammit. And I’m dumb today. Just past this, and outside Cincinnati, though, a giant traffic snarl lights up like an LED board. Signs warn of 10-15 minute delays. I remind myself of the perils of cat naps during that stretch. Then stretch and yawn. Where’s that coffee again? Gone. Damn my inability to drink more slowly. Sigh (number two).
What’s Playing: The Organ, Grab that Gun

8:13: Cincinnati! Finally, free from the clutches of the hordes. Traffic jam, be gone.

8:34: 2,170.9 kms. It’s grey out, but at least it's not raining.
What’s Playing: Man on the Moon, OST

8:57: West Carrolton, OH for more gas. Looks like a ritzier neighborhood. Whoops, maybe not the best place to choose for gas. It just struck me that I’m so used to not going to generic gas stations that I have stuck with the majors to fill the rental car. Hmm. $2.479 a gallon for a total of $26.48. According to news reports last night, fuel is cheaper across the US than it has been in a year and it is anticipated that gas prices will be down to $2.00 a gallon by Thanksgiving. Depends if their President starts another war somewhere. Sorry, my little yellow ribbon must have peeled off. I can support the troops just fine, thanks – I just don’t support that government. There is a very BIG difference. But these people carry guns, so I’ll keep my trap shut. Big trap. Big guns. Closed.
What’s Playing: Lauryn Hill, The Miseducation of

9:34: 2,272.7 kms.
What’s Playing: Alanis Morissette, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie

10:34: 2,383.7 kms.
What’s Playing: The Tragically Hip, Day for Night

11:23: Michigan!

11:29: Monroe, Michigan, here we come. Alright, one more stop for the road trip. The last hurrah. The big finale (have I built up the anticipation yet?). Jerky!

Uh, Santa lives there, right? How exactly do I get into a career in Jerky? I’m sure Guelph offers a degree in it.

Anytime a man wearing an apron -- and surrounded by various cured meats -- approaches with shears, do not fret. Smile broadly. Samples! Teriyaki Beef. Smoked Beef (sorry, drooling on the keyboard). Some other kind I cannot remember, though if I search far enough back into my molars, I might find some stringy remnants. Mmm, remnants. Jerky = yum. Especially on road trips. Too bad this one is almost over.

Anyway, paper bags full of jerky and I’m a happy man. In the absence of other exciting photo opp’s today, we’re going to embark on the journey called “Jerky over Michigan”. Replete with reviews. In depth reviews. Some might even say, “meaty”. Others stick to “dry”. Those ones are usually being jerky.

Beer flavoured beef. Spicy. Okay, I get it – tough to go too far astray with this one: Give man meat. Give man beer. Man be happy. A club, too? Over the moon.

11:34: 2,484.9 kms. Last stop? For real this time? Michigan Welcome Centre in Monroe. There’s the coffee again. And empty the car of garbage acquired in six states and one province over three days. But really, I just wanted to add to my map collection. I just got back into the car and wow, does it smell strongly of dried meats. Mmm, dried meats…Sorry, I just lost more time, opening and closing the door. Wafts are so good. But such a tease. Need more meat. Did I mention there’s jerky? Jerky, we’re close, you know.

Try the garlic beef, you say? Why, mighty nice of you to ask. Barkley was feeling left out and wanted to try some, too (I don't even want to see the cat gut after that one). This was surprisingly bland until 5-6 hours later. Just ask anyone I talked to. Except the jerky, he’s gone (hey, it was a lonely car). That conversation went like this: “Am I shaped like a state you just left?” “Not yet,” I replied. Then it became Rhode Island, which was subsequently sucked into the dark, gurgling ocean.
What’s Playing: Travis, The Man Who

12:20: Detroit! (Sorry Paul, “The D”).

12:28: Canada!*
(*Caveat: Well, we’re at the midpoint of the Ambassador Bridge, so they haven’t technically let me into the country yet. But the Russian judge ruled in my favor on this one.)

12:34: 2,555.8 kms.

My favorite jerky of the day was the honey garlic pork. Ever so slight a zip. Tender. I don’t want to pig out because I’m bac-on track to get home. It was smooth. Like butter. Very chewy butter. At least it looks like a maple leaf for going across the border (that’s what they’d say at Ruby Falls, anyway).

12:36: SCS wins the bet (she had wagered that I had a 42 per cent chance of getting stopped at the border, I had wagered 74 per cent). I whizzed through without any difficulty this time. I think the ever-so serious agent even raised the corner of her lip the slightest bit when I replied to her query about items to declare: “…right at $100 worth of apparel, including a pair of shoes…and some jerky.” A micro-smile at best, but I know she wanted some. I was just glad that she didn’t ask where I had been; I’ve had a mental block about remembering “Huntsville” all week, for whatever the reason.

Welcome to Canada! Windsor! Eek. 24 degrees and sunny. Finally make it to the good ol’ 401 eleven minutes later.
What’s Playing: Split CD: Wolf Parade, Apologies to the Queen Mary and EPs

13:34: 2,652.7 kms.
What’s Playing: Split CD: Regina Spektor: Soviet Kitsch and Begin to Hope

14:20: London! Grr. Welcome back to the city’s horribly mistimed lights. All red. And I’m so close I can taste it. Or maybe that’s just the jerky.

14:34: 2,749.4 kms.

14:38: Gas for the last time. 89.7, which is still cheaper than I’ve seen it in quite a while around here, for a total of $34.77. Drivin’ isn’t cheap.

14:43: HOME!!! (Yes, that one deserves triple exclamation marks). Total trip kilometers: 2,751.7. 35 hours and 28 minutes of tooling around time. Two bags of Crispers. Two Granny Smith Apples. A bag of Licorice. Most of two boxes of granola bars. Two 2L bottles of pop and a litre of water. A bag of Skor bites. And jerky, sweet jerky. Where would I be without you? Um, here.
And yes thanks, I am as tired as I look. But it was worth it.

Day One, p.m.

12:01: 640.6 kms.

12:11: Nice little welcome centre in Kentucky. Free maps! And literature. Whoo hoo, paraphernalia! Oh, did I mention maps? It’s a little muggier, having climbed to 26 degrees.
What’s Playing: Led Zeppelin, Box set, disc two.

12:59: Gas stop number two in Carrollton, Ky. The terrain has become much hillier and is very green. Gas is $2.519 a gallon and came to $17.77. Lucky sevens! Where’s Vegas? There seems to be a big business in the “flag car” industry out here. There are so many trailers with “Oversized Loads” (and this has nothing to do with the obesity rates in this country) as people seem to be moving their houses on large trucks quite a bit. Not quite trailer homes, but…

13:01: 718.8 kms.

13:30: Louisville!

14:01: 827.8 kms. The rock at the side of the road is red and it has climbed to 30 degrees for the first time today.

14:20: Hodgenville, KY, birthplace of Abraham Lincoln. I had no idea he was born here.
What’s Playing: Pet Shop Boys, Discography


14:46: Oh goodie, the rain has returned. And we have now apparently entered the Central Time Zone. So it’s now really 13:46, but I’m going to stick to EST for consistency. A lot of caves in this area, but it is pouring too hard to really see the road, so no spelunking for me today. Driving rain? Not quite the rain for driving. It is, in fact, blinding, particularly when passed by a large truck. It’s actually quite harrowing. The car in front of me actually just surfed off the road and I have felt myself lift onto the top of the water a couple of times. There has to be a good inch to two inches of water on the highway and it is blowing hard. At times, I’m having to drive by shadows of trucks in front – I cannot even see their lights. There are no shoulders to speak of here, so it’s not safe to pull off. Wouldn’t be safe anyway because nobody would be able to see me. So much for seeing the country.

15:01: 915.7 kms.

15:28: National Corvette Museum.

15:47: 1,000 kms! at Scottsville/Franklin, KY

15:55: Tennessee!







Really nice welcome centre in Tennessee. And yes, more maps. Everything’s bigger…in the south? Yay, normal-sized urinals. Yes, these are the things that amuse me.
What’s Playing: Rogue Wave, Split CD: Descended Like Vultures and Out of the Shadow

16:01: 1,012.6 kms. Today has been a fine, full palette of gouaches in a stunning array of greys. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to describe it as watercolours, all blended together instead. Grey either way. Oh, and wet.

17:01: 1,084 kms. Traffic has been really heavy around Nashville and its Batman-like Bell South tower. Grey, but not raining too much at this point. Woo hoo, though, everyone seems to be going to Knoxville or Chattanooga, so the road’s actually clearing up in my direction. A way down the road though, still more end-of-day traffic.
What’s Playing: Killers, Hot Fuss (though I just heard Nickelback on local radio. Hurriedly changed it. Phew.).

17:24: Misty rain still, but could that be – wait a second, brace yourself, no – yes! It is the sun!

17:31: Yes, this is juvenile. Yes, he’s a former President. But the Polk Motel? Good thing his first name wasn’t ‘Quick’. Or “Harry”. Or definitely, Richard.

17:38: First sighting of a confederate flag of the day. Would not be the last. Also saw a quail or pheasant along the side of the road, pecking away at the tarmac. Tasty. The surroundings have been pretty green most of the way down, but there has not been very much water. Apart from the rain, smart ass.

18:01: 1,189.1 kms. Just passed a place called “Boobie Bungalow”. I kid you not. Yikes.
What’s Playing: Sam Roberts, We Were Born in a Flame

18:10: Second directional blunder of the day (not too bad all things considered). I missed the exit I was supposed to take for Huntsville, thinking I didn’t have to exit while still in Tennessee. Oh well, not a major miscue, just need to circle back. A couple of times. Seems to be the way. Once back on track, it’s a neat drive through the country. And the sun is out and – get this – finally, blue sky. The clay at the side of the road is really red.

18:59: Huntsville!


19:01: 1,271 kms. Stopped to wander downtown Huntsville until 20:00. What an absolutely gorgeous city. The highlight by far of the trip. It’s old and every building seems to be historical. And historical in the real sense of the word, rather than just being old. All of the buildings seem to have been converted into spaces for lawyers. They are everywhere. Pretty much every second building. Lots of money. Oh that’s right, lots of lawyers.

Details, big and small, not overlooked in Huntsville.


It’s dead downtown at night though, with only a couple of restaurants open and nobody milling about. Lots of great architecture to look at. The frescos are stunning.


Above: Entrance to a private club. Below, yes that does mean the sun was around for a bit today to be able to set. Sunset over Huntsville. Ah, good sigh.

The homes, too: something else.


I found a Super 8 hotel and decided to stay in the room that time forgot. Not the best room I’ve ever stayed in, but with the amount of time I’ve spent on the road today, it’s welcome nonetheless. Free Internet and a King-Sized Bed. Good news. Went for southern bbq for dinner after looking a number of places. Dreamland Bar-B-Que Ribs, just up the street. Styrofoam plates and plastic utensils. The paper towel roll rests on the table. And they bring you white bread and a (Styrofoam) bowl of bbq sauce to dip it in as a warm-up. Not environmentally friendly, but okay. Pulled pork sandwich (with pickles on it) and coleslaw for dinner. Spicy. The place smells like smoking meat. And I mean that in the very best of ways. Tax and tip: $10.

Final kilometre tally for the day: 1,286.1. On the go for more than 15 hours. The car was wheezing, wanting to protest when it came time to drive back to the hotel.

Um, Where's Waldo?

Whatever is left of my sanity has obviously been checked at the door as, a mere eight hours from now, I embark on the big road trip of 2006 to Alabama (needs a catchier name than that, methinks). 2006: Gone south? 2006: States of Mind?

Why go? No great explanation beside the desire to explore and because I haven't previously really spent much time in the south. With a three day road trip, which includes a destination almost thirteen hours away, it doesn't look like I'll be spending much time in the south, still. Lewis and/or Clark I am not, but if I'm able to survive this solo voyage with no APBs being called, it will be a success. Well, that and I hope nobody asks me to kiss their grits, but, um, well, you know.

Likely end destination: Huntsville, Alabama. Originally, the thought had been to go the extra hour-and-a-half to Birmingham (site of Martin Luther King's writing 'Letter from a Birmingham Jail', but I think I'll take the time savings to cut through Georgia on the way home and go through Chattanooga, Tennessee. Six states. Three days. A little saner than the original proposition to hit nine states by going a little farther west.

Rental car today: the oh-so sporty Chevrolet Cobalt. Black so that I can bake in the southern heat. Or blend into the thunderstorms that are poised ominously over the little radar screens on the weather channel. At least it has a multi-CD changer. And is surprisingly roomy. Tiny, I am not. I had been excited when it looked like I was going to be upgraded to a larger car, then -- egads! -- remembered the price of gas. When I got in, I found it comfortable enough, but then found that the seats actually went farther back. Good news. Stretching room. And, if necessary, sleeping room.

And Barkley, Trip Mascot makes his return, poised with the maps as co-pilote (oui, c'est en francais). As long as he checks to ensure that the driver has crammed his maw with enough of the requisite road trip junk, we'll be fine, if not lost. And junk, we have. Licorice. Granola bars. Chocolate (Um, I hadn't mentioned that in the sales pitch, had I, SCS?). Pop. Crispers. Oh, and the good boy that I am: apples. Alas, no jerky yet, though. And I think the jerky outlet outside of Detroit will still be closed at the time I pass by (lest you think I jest,visit The Jerky Outlet. I'm particularly fond of this customer's testimonial:

This is one tasty jerky. I swear, one night I had so much I think I went into a food coma. My wife keeps telling me "pace yourself already." And for those that like to pair up food and beverage, this goes particularly well with Dogfish Head 90 Minute India Pale Ale. Leaves a nice dry aftertaste. Oh, and porkrinds make a difference in the mix too. Sometimes I put blueberries in the ale to give it a fruity taste. All this talk has made me want to stuff my
face with some jerky. Be back shortly...

And my hankering for jerky seems now to have abated somewhat. For now. But I'll have an eye out for you, my spicy, shriveled and wrinkled meat friends.

Sleep first, then "hi" way. Have I mentioned that I'm geographically inept? What am I doing? What? Where's the paper bag? Thanks for the maps, SCS. Might be handy.