100,000 Miles

     Odometer readings no longer constitute major milestones in the Cloutier household. We put 300,000 miles on the 1960 Valiant and 350,000 miles on four motorhomes. But today, we turned over 100,000 miles on our 2003 Jeep Liberty. That number is only significant because it already had an "unrecorded" 100,000 miles being towed behind those aforementioned motorhomes. Below is a picture of the dashboard that Cindy took as we were stopped for a light in Greenville, SC Friday.

     Cindy was on vacation and she talked us into a "road Trip' to Greenville. It's about three hours to the northwest of Charleston and is within visual range of the Blue Ridge Mountains of the southern Appalachians. There's a wonderful river park in the center of downtown with a large collection of boutiques and trendy restaurants. There's an ugly piece of art at one entrance to the park with stone benches. Durelle and I sat there while Cindy wandered around the park.

     The fun started almost before we had begun. We stopped to fill up he gas tank, but Cindy was having trouble with the pump. The new credit card? Nope. Bad nozzle? Nope again. She took the card and went to the office. I fussed around ineffectively for a while until I found a lever that said, "Lift to pump". 
     We were not even on I-26 when Cindy and I heard an angry yelp from the back seat. Durelle's coffee travel mug had leaked and deposited a substantial amount of coffee on the front of her shirt. We had to get her a fresh shirt or we'd be using a fast food drive-up window for lunch. It would have been ten miles to go back home, so we stopped at the Walmart in Summerville. Cindy came back with the shirt Durelle is wearing in the picture. She said that the rack said $10.95, the price tag said $5.00 and it rang up for three bucks!
     We got to Greenville around 1230. Below are a few of Cindy's pictures from the park.

     Durelle's physical therapist had recommended that we eat at "Willy Taco Feed and Seed", so we gave it a try. It was a friendly place with three different areas: sports bar, patio, and inside tables. We chose the latter. Our waitress was Jazz, short for Jasmine. We did not try any of the attractive sounding margaritas, but I had a mug of draft dark Dos Equis.  While Cindy had a burrito bowl, Durelle and I both had their Mexican Sandwich. It would remind you of a French Dip except that the "Au jous" was a spicy dipping sauce. Homemade chips covered the rest of the plate.

     The last shot won't make the cover of Vogue, but it shows Cindy's burrito bowl and me, fussing with my Leica.
     On the way home, not long after getting back on I-26, we started to see the accumulating brake lights that usually presage an accident. There were two cars on the shoulder with significant body work required and, off the road with its nose up against the trees was a nice Dutch Star with its dingy ripped loose. It was a sad scene for those folks who are fondly reminiscent of nice motorhomes.
     We got home around 1815 to an impatiently hungry cat and a waiting martini glass.