Ken spends a night in a trailer – a caravan – in Langtry…
Dryden wasn’t quite a ghost town. Yet. Boarded up cafes. Closed gas station. What might once have been a small motel. Just two stores, of sorts, remaining. The first reminded me of Eastern Europe. Shelves with just a few tins. A man huddling besides a portable stove. Small hungry looking dog for company. Behind the counter a camp bed. There’d once been a cafe inside.
Across the street another shop. Sweet smell of hay bales stacked up outside. Inside stock on the shelves. Hesitated for a while. Wanted a decent lunch but didn’t want the expense of lots of ingredients that might go to waste. Settling eventually for a tin of Spam and some Ritz crackers. Eating half contents, the remainder for dinner that evening. Mixed with some instant mash. Culinary splendor.
Small cafe in Marathon. I’d been invited to pop some comments in a spiral bound visitors book. I’d obliged. But first intrigued as to who else had come this way. Plenty of Germans. Quite a few Finns. And a smattering of cyclists. Relatively straightforward to spot. It’s the invariably enthusiastic references to food. "Amazing Breakfast!". "Lovely breakfast – good coffee". The latter had "Grilled cheese" scribbled over the top.
Of course, I might be wrong. But I doubt it. That’s the joy of the Internet Age. Quick spot of Googling. Reckon one of the British riders works for UK cycling charity Sustrans. Another a "part-time baker" in Weston-super-Mare.