Sunday, December 2, 2007
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9:05 am. As I write this here in the Wal-Mart parking lot I just looked up and noticed smoke coming from the chimney of a restaurant next door - they must be stoking up the fires for a barbeque. Yep, Uncle Sam's Barbecue "try our slab & two sides - $18.95."
11:08 am. Time to hit the road. Church is out - my boradband connection just slowed to a crawl. Everyone must be on their cell phones catching up on all they missed while at services and making plans to get some of that barbecue. I'm off to the Barber Motorsports Museum.
Later. The Barber was well worth the visit. I spent the afternoon and skimmed a lot of it. Fifteen hundred is a lot of motorcycles to take in!
Night camp: Wal-Mart in Leeds AL
It's No Use Arguing Tastes with a Cow
By what appears, furthermore, to be the compensating justice of Nature, the treasures of the earth are always hidden in the most unattractive, dismal, and dreary spots. At least all the mining places I ever visited are so located, and Bisbee is no exception. To get away from the cramped little village and its unsavoury restaurant, I established my first camp four miles south of it on a commodious and pleasant opening, where we could do our own cooking. But here a new annoyance, and rather a curious one, was met with. The cattle of the region evinced a peculiar predilection for our wearing apparel. Especially at night, the cows would come wandering in among our tents, like the party who goes about seeking what he may devour, and on getting hold of some such choice morsel as a sock, shirt, or blanket, Mrs. Bossie would chew and chew, “gradually,” to quote Mark Twain, “taking it in, all the while opening and closing her eyes in a kind of religious ecstasy, as if she had never tasted anything quite as good as an overcoat before in her life.” It is no use arguing about tastes, not even with a cow.