I stopped off for gas on the way back from the not-very-famous Marengo Caves in Indiana. Out here on ol’ Route 64, the technology is not particularly modern. It’s the first gas station I’ve seen in years that I couldn’t swipe my credit card. I had to prepay.
I am clearly soft, because I was overly annoyed by this. You mean I have to wait in line? And I can’t just say “fill ‘er up”, I have to guess? Fine, let’s go with $20.
The pump didn’t stop at $20, it kept going to $25. So I had to go back in to pay the difference. I had to wait in line again. (The woman in front of me was buying groceries and cigarettes. At gas station prices. Over $100 for a few days worth of food). The cashier couldn’t understand why the pump had kept going, and told me all the details of the troubles they were having with the pump. Finally I nodded politley, dropped my fiver on the desk and walked out.
So how did they get me? They had arranged the choices in reverse order. I automatically punched the button on the left, which is always the 87 octane. Here it was not. They tricked me into buying premium gas.
Well done, Shell station of Route 64 in Indiana, conveniently located a few miles south of Marengo Caves. Now, with twice the flies!
I saw Faygo at the store last week and started cracking up. 3 liters of Faygo orange soda for 89 cents at the VC! Ya just can’t beat that!
And just think … that’s a marathon mostly at all-out sprinting pace! I once thought that soccer was the best exercise among sports, but then I changed my thought to ultimate. In soccer, you do a lot of sprinting, but at least you get to jog now and again. In ultimate, you’re either tearing around on offense trying to get open, or sprinting after your man on defense — no rest. Unless you get to cover Glumph, that is…
Man, did we have fun? I have a fond memory of us all coming back from a game, all limping and trudging up the hill, scrounging together a few quarters for a bottle of orange Faygo for some energy to get home. Ah, the good ol’ days.
I have a good high school friend who did ultimate at the national level. He said in one tournament day you ran a little over a marthon worth. I believe it, the good players never stop. We were so far below their level… but we had a lot more fun!
I think it’s still the only time I’ve ever been in Indiana. Ah yes, the shorts. What a bunch of ragamuffins we were. I can just see these organized teams looking at us thinking “Who the hell are these clowns? Nice tiger shorts!”
I’ve run marathons, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired as after that day. Something about the mix of blazing hot sun, a day’s worth of frantic sprints around the field (remember we had next to no subs), and a dab of humiliation.
I don’t recall the car ride down — I guess I’m glad I don’t.
Inlaws are in Kentucky, we decided to go see Merengo caves for a daytrip.
It was the thumb that broke. I’m embarassed to remember that excursion. You left out five or six of us riding in Cjzaka’s car, which really held four, through 90 degree temperatures for 4 hours. And the hotel with no A/C, and those awesome shorts!… We really thought we were pretty good.
Can I ask why you were driving through Indiana? Is that the first time you’ve been in Indiana since breaking your arm there, or whatever the injury was? Ah, good times — sunburn, broken bones, exhaustion, getting our butts kicked…
You probably could have bartered with them. She would have taken $12, a pouch of Red Man and a cassette copy of Mellencamp’s Scarecrow.