Hark! House of Waffles, or Foolishness Across America, Day Six

   A song of praise for the Waffle House. See the yellow, windowed boxes, scattered by the thousands along the highways of these southern states. Thanks be to your three-dollar-omelets, so vivid in the mind, and your grits (sans butter), a rare, healthy find. Thanks to the windows that wrap your perimeters, offering views of our bikes to soothe security jitters. Grateful for the coffee, surprisingly strong, and your sweet southern waitresses, conversationally drawn. Missed exits? No problem, for lack there is none, of square yellow Waffle Houses, towards which we run.

* * *

   It is still chilly on the road, but I the sun appears with greater regularity, and the smell of the Spring grows. I can even hear the tink-tink-tink of frogs by the creek tonight, one hundred miles from Mobile, Alabama. One goes through many shifts in emotion during a long motorbike ride. Often there is the haziness of morning, before the mind sets into the ride. It takes only five or ten miles before the highway strips away the sluggishness. I can almost feel each strand as it peels off into the wind. Soon, there is again the feeling of life and you are weightless. This is the best time to stand on the passenger pegs, high enough that you can no longer see the bike below you and there is only the sensation of flight.

   On and on and on to New 'Awlins.


  1. Hi there!
    I really like discovering new blogs. Yours is one that has made me smile as soon as I read less than three lines into your post!

    The rhyme is creative and I am impressed with your creative musings about the road! Excellent!!!I'll do my part to tell others of your blog, thanks for coming over to mine, if you hadn't left your message...I'd have missed your up lifting stories!

  2. Thanks so much, it means a lot to know people are reading and enjoying it!