How Not to Eat a Muffin

(An old vine in Stanton grows around an air conditioner.)

15 March

Today the Mikes, Chris, Theresa and I made our first-of-the-year pilgrimage to Stanton to load up on giant muffins.

I deliberately wore a jersey with big pockets so I would be able to carry some muffins home and leave one on Cheryl's doorstep (a tradition whenever she misses a muffin-oriented ride).

My route put us on the entire length of (Bad)Manners Road (the hills are annoying in both directions). At the top of the highest of the hills we found the biggest alpaca farm we'd ever seen. Unfortunately I'd forgotten my camera, so I had to resort to my cell phone. I'm sorry the pictures are so small; I send cell phone pictures to my email account then download them, and when I use the full-size downloads they upload sideways no matter what I do. Mike M. and Chris also took pictures, so if they send me any I'll put them up here. Anyway, those little dots in the middle are a herd of curious alpacas that weren't sure what to do about the squeaky noises Mike B. was making to attract their attention:



This is a view looking north from across the alpaca farm. Theresa was the one who noticed it:



The route I picked to get to Stanton was running long, and even when I shortened it we still had nearly thirty miles behind us as we climbed the last hill to the general store. The air was chilly, the sky cloudy, and all of us a little cold. But the Stanton General Store has tables inside and good, hot coffee.

Chris saw the "for sale" sign first. "Uh oh," he said.



Chris climbed the stairs to the door and peered in. He turned around and started blowing taps through his mouth.

I climbed up and pressed my face to the glass door. Not just closed, but empty, too:



We sat on the curb and ate whatever we'd brought with us. A pair of motorcycles pulled in, saw us, saw the sign, and roared out.

We'd have to settle for the Wawa five miles away on our way home to get drinks and anything else to eat.

"Brr, again," Mike M. said as we started back down the hill. Poor Mike. He didn't wear quite enough today, and every time he got warm we ended up stopping for one reason or another.

Last week I told Bob P. that I'd been wanting to go to Stanton. I relayed the story to Mike M.: "He told me, 'Those muffins aren't what they used to be.' Well, he's sure right now."

Rats and phooey. "There go half my cue sheets." Chris said I'd just have to re-work a few of my routes.

It's cold comfort that Wawa is sporting a new muffin these days: chocolate. I didn't eat it there; I put it in my pocket and carried it home.

This is a doodle I drew a few weeks ago when I started thinking about going to Stanton again after a long winter away:








Let this be our paen to the Stanton General Store. May it rise again, and the muffins with it.