As usual, traffic moves at a brisk pace down 81. All I ever have to do to keep a good pace is wait several minutes and, like clockwork, someone comes by to take the lead.

On extended rides, leading requires extra energy, so I avoid that whenever I can. But that doesn't mean that I can't follow. . . :)

It's now a little past ten. My reserve light has been on for a spell and I've slowed down significantly to increase my range. Finally, I see an exit sign for fuel.

As I tour the quiet streets, nothing seems open. I look around, but this town seems to be mostly zipped up for the night.

What should have been a routine stop now becomes a more purposeful search as I have maybe 7 miles of range left and this town seems isolated.

As I scour the streets of what looks like the downtown area, I notice 2 officers standing at the far end of a big empty parking lot. They're talking to some people and seem to be taking a report of some kind. I don't waste any time and pull right up to them.

I ask one of the officers where I can find some gas. He seems to sense my urgency and answers that it depends on where I'm going. Well, hopefully not too far. My reserve light's been on for a while.

He looks at me with a grave expression and asks how much further I can ride. In a twinkling I sense something and blurt out, "Hey . . . Don't give me THAT!"

They both burst out laughing, obviously quite content with themselves. I get some simple directions. It turns out that there is an open gas station a couple of more miles up the road, just past the bridge.

As I pull in, I decide that this will be a longer stop. Chain lube, stretch, drink, munch, gas, bio-break.

I'm lubing the chain and notice that the clerk is staring at me through the window. On several occasions, I notice that she is still gawking at me with head pressed against the window and hands cupped around her squinting eyes. As if I'm some alien from outer space. Or maybe an arresting oddity. Strange. Are they not used to passing travelers stopping by?

Eventually, she quickly steals outside several times to take a few quick puffs and then goes back in.

Fueling done, I go in to pay. Looking around I see a food mart that is rather small and cramped. I decide that I have enough supplies.

The clerk behind the counter seems strikingly unanimated, as if there is an absence of an internal animating flame. She's a big girl, her waist size easily exceeding her chest by a fair margin. Probably early thirties, her light brown hair is tightly pulled back in a high pony tail. Waxy, colorless skin. I'm guessing a night shift worker.

I casually ask about the men's room. She matter-of-factly replies that they don't have any.

"You don't have restrooms?"

"No sir, we don't."

At this point, I've got the urge and need relief. Incredulously, I ask her how it's possible not to have public restrooms. I've never seen that.

She calmly responds: "Sir, we don't have public restrooms".

She says this as if it's the most normal thing in the world using a calm, even voice that juxtaposes nicely with my slightly animated tone. Hers is not to wonder why or whether this is reasonable. Hers is just to tell me what the situation is.

So I ask point blank: "Well, what do people who need to go, end up doing in this town?"

Again she answers matter-of-factly and very politely: "Sir, when people need to use public washrooms, they can go to the local hospital and use the facilities there."

"The local hospital?"

"Yes sir."

"And where is that?"

"It's just down the road," she informs me. She is very principled and seems to want to be precise in doing her job.

I'm dumbfounded.

I look at her. I realize that this situation is not her fault. She's the bearer of bad news. She's not the cause. She's just trying to do her job the best way she can.

As I gear up next to the bike, a teenager who has just paid for gas walks past on the way back to his car. He's caught the tail end of the conversation inside and seems to have understood my plight. As he plops into the car and closes the squeaky door, he quickly utters that if it were him, he would just go behind the dumpster.

The dumpster?

I look off to the side, and sure enough there is a huge dumpster next to the building. So there is a law of the land here. :)

Bruno
Montreal, Canada