So early morning, we crossed the Mississippi.
Through Illinois farmland.
And then Indiana, stopping only for some
premium gasoline.
And then on to Jack Fry's restaurant for lunch. It used to be a bootlegger haven, and is a Louisville establishment.
Tom had shrimp and grits, which he for some reason seemed to fear a little.
And I had the best meal of the trip and really the best meal in recent memory.
Following the 'when in Rome' mentality, we discovered a little Bourbon tasting shop, and tried a flight of local wares. Paul the owner, was extremely nice - in my experience thus far, I find southerners to be as friendly as midwesterners, and in even less of a hurry. But the Bourbon was great, so we stocked up and set out once again.
Clarisse may have gotten upset by our extended Bourbon stop, as when we went to head to Churchill Downs and then out of town, we noticed the cigarette lighter outlet and the radio weren't working. Pulling into a gas station, she seemed to kind of die. Alternator? No idea. But we made it here.
And waited for the prognosis. Things seemed to have taken a turn south, and Tom's only comfort was his helmet.
750 miles outside of New York.
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