I was eventually woken from my slumbers at the luxuriously late hour of 7.30 a.m. Whitefish, the next town of any note, was a further 90 miles away. Ambitions now firmly tempered by reality, I would be more than happy if I made it that far. Fired by a vague recollection that the café opposite the motel had been recommended for breakfast, I opened the door and was immediately shocked by the brightness. I had grown unaccustomed to rising after dawn, and last night’s rain clouds had long-since dispersed, leaving a sheen of water on the car park to reflect and amplify the rays of the morning sun. I was also shocked to see Rick, dressed and ready for action, fiddling with his bike outside his room. ‘I wondered when you’d be stirring,’ he smiled. I asked what time he’d arrived. ‘Gone midnight.’ I almost apologised for having had it so easy. ‘Do you fancy breakfast?’ he asked. ‘Not really, but I’d better eat something.’ Although yesterday’s ride had inspired dreams of culinary excess, overwhelming fatigue and limited choice in the end meant dinner had consisted of no more than a tin of ravioli heated up in the microwave in the motel room.
What do You think about Two Wheels On My Wagon (2011)?
