It’s a cool, grey, overcast day, but no rain. The ride through Tennessee is easy, and the scenery is nicer than recent days. Nothing spectacular, but nice houses and lots of trees. I stop for more health food, KFC this time. The drumsticks are the size of baseball bats, the wings must have come from an Albatross. What the hell does America feed its chickens with? I’m sure it can’t be good for you, and I’m sure I’ve put on weight in the past few weeks in America and Canada, but it’s almost impossible to find healthy food on the road. Everywhere you look there are a million different fast food chains, but even in proper restaurants the salads are drowning in mayo and everything comes with “cheese”. Seriously, America, what don’t you understand about making cheese? This molten yellow plastic vomit you have is not cheese, it’s barely even cheese flavor (that’s American for “flavour”). Although, I am getting quite adept at navigating the menus of all these different establishments, and I have to admit being quite partial to an A&W cheese and bacon Uncle Burger, hold the mustard, and a sausage, egg and cheese homestyle-biscuit breakfast sandwich from Tim Horton’s. But only because there’s nothing else. And I’m still always confused by the barrage of questions fired at me when I order something. Have here or take out? Small or large? How would like your fries? What kind of sauce? Do you want dips? Which colour bag would you like? Shall I hand it to you with my left hand or my right hand? Good grief, it’s worse than the horribly insincere and impossibly cheerful “Hi, how are you doing today?” that is the standard greeting in any American fast-food joint. How would I like my fries? Erm, I dunno, fried maybe?
I’m starting to feel like I’m into the final stages, heading for home, and starting to really focus on the bike. Will it make it? Will I make it? So close now, it just has to hold together for a few more days. But it’s lost more oil, and the chain needs another adjustment, and the headlamp bulb needs replacing.