Cliff did some more painting on the Ford 9-N tractor this morning. When he came to a stopping-place, he decided we'd better do some riding, since the temperature had already hit 70 degrees.
There's a barbecue place in Warrensburg, about forty miles from here, that is practically famous. Cliff's boss at work has praised it no end, and also Tony, with whom Cliff rides to work. My daughter said she had heard good things about the place, too... although she'd never been there.
Well folks, this was the filthiest place Cliff and I ever patronized. Don't ask me why we didn't turn around and leave, because we should have. The floor was black with grease, and the people who worked there looked as though they hadn't washed their clothes in days.
The sandwich, which we split, would have been good in other circumstances. But I couldn't finish my half, thinking of what the kitchen must look like. One thing for sure, a place like this is good for my diet!
Then we rode to Harrisonville, just because we like to browse the aisle of The Family Center there. Everything is overpriced, so we seldom buy. We just look.
We went by Tom's house (he used to be Cliff's boss, years ago) but he wasn't there. We told his wife to tell him we'd been there.
Then past the first home we owned, our "twenty acres"; the place where we lived when my daughter was born.
141 miles later, we returned home, exhausted but happy.