PART THREE:On day two, we split the drive. When we stop for gas everyone gets out walks around, gets a drink, pees (mandatory for those two little yippy dogs). I will take the six year old over the dogs anytime thankyouverymuch. At the least the six year old can verbalize what he wants, although he does growl on occasion.The drivers review the course and we head out. We stop on the way for the Harley dealership (Of course we do.)A hundred miles later (maybe) we stop for a second one.  We change drivers and cruise into Fort Compton where we plan to spend the night. At some point we thought about whether we wanted to push into the town of Estebrook 50 or so miles up the road. We didn’t; we’re very glad we didn’t.

Fort Compton is a nice little trucker town, and for a Saturday night it was pretty quiet. In fact, maybe a little too quiet. We drove around for awhile, looking for a restaurant (and at this point I would have taken one with formica tables). I have never had so much difficulty finding restaurants.

There was one, it looked open but when we asked the bus boy taking out the garbage, he said no, they were closed for the night. Did he know of any other restaurants we might go to? He indicated there was this one, and then he stopped himself and said, no, no. They’re closed on Saturday.Restaurant. Closed on Saturday. Serious?

So we drove around a little more and found one, which closed about 15 minutes after we walked in. I think we interrupted a domestic dispute in progress when we sat down, and then there was the all-you-can-eat club attempting to put a serious dent in the restaurant’s profit margin.

The motel had a swimming pool, and a decent AC. The kid got to swim around working off some of that energy he’d been stockpiling in the back seat.  And maybe tomorrow I won’t be listening to 101 knock-knock jokes.

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