I rode across the country on a bicycle—I set no speed records, and it took more than 10 trips. Many of my most vivid memories are attached to convenience stores. Perhaps my favorite came in Des Allemandes, LA, a name that means “Belongs to the Germans,” in French. This non-chain convenience store had three small tables one of which was o…
I rode across the country on a bicycle—I set no speed records, and it took more than 10 trips. Many of my most vivid memories are attached to convenience stores. Perhaps my favorite came in Des Allemandes, LA, a name that means “Belongs to the Germans,” in French. This non-chain convenience store had three small tables one of which was occupied by a gentleman speaking Cajun French (definitely not Parisian). Apparently, all the Allemands had moved on. During my whole ride across Louisiana, I saw exactly 4-foot alligator. I don't know what I did wrong.
Another vivid memory came on Jan 2. I was in rice paddy country, absolutely devoid of trees and the wind was ferocious. It looked like a grim night ahead. I found a steel building and thought there might be something of a windbreak on its lee side. There was a door, and I tried it. Turns out it was a clubhouse, and they had had their New Year's Eve party 24 hours previous, and no one had cleaned up. Flush toilet and plenty of snacks.
Finally, following route 90 through New Orleans I came at the exact spot where Rte 11 begins northbound. Like Addison, I have done many miles on Rte 11, and my father's front door house sat on Rte 11 for 20 years in Scranton, PA.
All you need to do to REALLLY appreciate a convenience store is to be really hungry or thirsty. When my friend and I went hiking looking for civil war forts surrounding Washington DC, our nickname for convenience stores was “civilization as we know it." "Hunger ist die beste Soße."
I rode across the country on a bicycle—I set no speed records, and it took more than 10 trips. Many of my most vivid memories are attached to convenience stores. Perhaps my favorite came in Des Allemandes, LA, a name that means “Belongs to the Germans,” in French. This non-chain convenience store had three small tables one of which was occupied by a gentleman speaking Cajun French (definitely not Parisian). Apparently, all the Allemands had moved on. During my whole ride across Louisiana, I saw exactly 4-foot alligator. I don't know what I did wrong.
Another vivid memory came on Jan 2. I was in rice paddy country, absolutely devoid of trees and the wind was ferocious. It looked like a grim night ahead. I found a steel building and thought there might be something of a windbreak on its lee side. There was a door, and I tried it. Turns out it was a clubhouse, and they had had their New Year's Eve party 24 hours previous, and no one had cleaned up. Flush toilet and plenty of snacks.
Finally, following route 90 through New Orleans I came at the exact spot where Rte 11 begins northbound. Like Addison, I have done many miles on Rte 11, and my father's front door house sat on Rte 11 for 20 years in Scranton, PA.
All you need to do to REALLLY appreciate a convenience store is to be really hungry or thirsty. When my friend and I went hiking looking for civil war forts surrounding Washington DC, our nickname for convenience stores was “civilization as we know it." "Hunger ist die beste Soße."