Fill-Up Boxes (Day 16-17)

I woke up in my tent under the bridge without any gunshots or scary moments during the night. However, I didn't get much sleep, due to the thundering rains that came through and the loud squealing of some distant cat or lemur or emu. But by the time 9am rolled around, I figured it was time to "get up" and on the road. I stood up, somewhat crooked, and shook out the dirt from the inside of my tent, and shook off the raindrops and slugs from the outside of my tent.

The rest of the day was the usual mix of biking and filming. After passing through the medium-sized town of Norwalk (where some punk stole my unopened bottle of Mountain Dew Berry Blast off my bike rack while I was in the library) I decided to get off of the busy Highway 303 and hit a farm road for a more scenic and calmer ride. My hope was to avoid the constant din and danger of speeding traffic, but it turned out I chose to bike on the area's second favorite thoroughfare, which also happened to have zero shoulder. And it was like that for the next 18 miles or so until I could get onto Highway 20, where it was just as busy, but at least it had a small shoulder to accomodate my wobbily cycling.

By dusk, I finally reached the town of Bellevue, OH, where all the stores and restaurants seemed to be boarded up and closed forever. I managed to find a beleaguered Burger King on the outskirts of town that still had its lights on and its doors intact. Inside, I met a gang of elderly folks sitting around their own personal Algonquin table... laughing, pontificating and sipping their 50 cent cups of coffee (senior special). They all seemed quite intrigued by my biking adventure, especially one 72-year-old man, who informed me that he was a fellow cyclist that has accumulated nearly 3000 miles over the last few years. Worried about the weather, I asked him if the next town of Clyde had any decent motel choices. He recommended that I stay at the Winesburg Motel just outside of town: "locally run and much more reasonable priced than that Redroof Inn."

Taking the 72-year old, former pipe-fitter's advice, I cycled the six miles to Clyde and checked into the Winesburg for $45 (that's including tax)! The room was decorated with a late-1970's despression motif -- something out of a Roger Corman movie (one of the ones he produced, not directed). After resisting the temptation to take acid and hang myself, I slowly drifted alseep, dreaming of velvet paintings, cheap rayon shirts, and the music of Rush.


The next morning, it was out of the Winesburg and onto a railtrail that went from Clyde to the town of Fremont, some 7-8 miles away. After getting lost for about 20 minutes, I found my way to a local Kentucky Fried Chicken for an early lunch/late breakfast. I was feeling a bit weak and needed some fast, oily energy.

Inside, I stepped up to the counter and ordered one of their new 5-DOLLAR FILL-UP BOXES. (By the looks of their latest ad campaigns, it seems as though KFC is trying to compete with Subway's 5-dollar foot-long subs.) I looked up at the picture menu and eagerly pointed to photo of the 2-piece box, where, according to the menu, you get 2 pieces of chicken (leg&thigh or breast&wing) with a biscuit, a side, and a drink. But when I requested the white meat, the listless young lady behind the counter informed me that that would be a dollar more. I stared at the the picture menu again -- there was nothing there that said white meat was a dollar more -- no astericks, no footnotes, no nothin'. Like an infant child trying to communicate for the first time, I gestured towards their menu board with a strained expression, as if I was saying, "But... but... but..!" The teen gave the menu an obligatory glance before returning her expressionless gaze to me and reiterating, "Well, it's a dollar more." Not having the energy for a fight, I relinquished and paid the six bucks for a "FIVE DOLLAR BOX."



As I left the KFC, I noticed a big vinyl sign advertising that they do catering and that you should hire them to cater your next event... which seemed like the most absurd proposition. "Hey John, this wedding reception is great. The best part are these gigantic buckets of chicken! What high-class catering service prepared this fabulously greasy meal?" Your guests will never know it was KFC. (Wink!)

From there, it was another 40 miles or so of cycling through mostly farmland and into the town of Bowling Green. I ended up camping about five miles west of town under a small rusted bridge.