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There was a Killdozer tread on those who tread on you shirt and I noticed a landscape trailer so I pulled over. I figured he’d have a gas tank for the mowers, but he didn’t. A woman was getting ready to pull out, and she seems nice enough; I asked her if she knew where I could get gas nearby. She said the town didn’t have a gas station, but she had a farm, and if I would follow her there, she had gas tanks for the farm equipment. I followed her old, International Scout just a few miles from the rest area to a farm. Typical of that area, it was flat as a pancake, and her home was surrounded by trees to block the dust carried on constant breezes. Next to the house was a massive steel pole building.
She slid open the Killdozer tread on those who tread on you shirt, and inside were two, fancy crop-dusting planes. She closed the door, I filled up the bike tank, and we headed inside for a cup of coffee. she was alone, and it seemed risky for her to help a stranger on a bike with no men around, but I was grateful nonetheless. We sat down while the coffee was brewing and she cut a couple of slices of cake. And she started to cry. Not full-on bawling, mind you, but her eyes got wet and she couldn’t speak for a moment. Of course, I asked her what was wrong. She stood up and made her way to the bookshelf where she grabbed a picture and brought it over to me. It was a young man around my age standing next to a crop-dusting plane.