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| Short and sweet, like I like my men! |
It was fun to be on roads that curved around stands of trees and over little creeks and in front of little ramshackle houses and farms. This is not a wealthy part of the state by any stretch of the imagination.
The vodka has finally burned out of me and I was running on pure CL, a much cleaner and happier burning fuel.
Too Much and I were riding side-by-side, just chatting and enjoying the scenery when we noticed something. We had company.
Two shirtless baggers were tagged on. One behind Too Much and one behind me. Too Much whispered to me, "we're pulling the bagger train," and he gave me a delighted grin.
We took our responsibilities seriously. We kept the pace steady, slowing a bit if they fell off and tossing jokes over our shoulder. I suggested that they should probably hook us up with some beer, since that is what baggers are for, but they didn't really say much. Just sort of rode along back there keeping their own company.
Soon enough we were arriving on the outskirts of Independence. We crossed some tracks and pulled into a bar to beaver-regroup. I saw the baggers and tried to make a joke about how they should buy us a beer, for the free ride, but they were just kind of awkward, so I let it go.
Baggers. You gotta love them.
We rode our bikes into Independence and did our nightly beaver-shuffle of trying to figure out where the hell we were and how the heck we would find the Deb and the beaver-Ark. There was some confusion and consideration of going downtown, but soon enough, we rode through the mess of ragby and found our way up the hill to the east side of town.
The beaver ark was parked in front of a modest house with a big garage and all the tents were set up in soft grass of the back yard, dry as a bone. Thanks Deb!
It was our last night on the ragby, but we didn't forsee where the night would actually take us.
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