Travels With a
I have been asked "Please relay approved manner for tea softening of Stroopwafels". OK.
Donkey in the Cevennes Western Half-Devil Monster Face in Leftpondia - Part 3
You will need a fresh cup of really hot tea. Or coffee. Coffee is probably more Dutch anyway, and good luck with finding hot tea in USAnia, as legendary misery-guts and sometime drummer Mr P "Ginger" Baker so eloquently noted on the Masters Of Reality track "T.U.S.A.". Simply place the stroopwafel on the rim of the cup and let the rising steam soften the stroopwafel until you can't stand the sight of it sitting there begging to be eaten any more. Then eat it. Repeat until there are none left which, in my case, was about an hour ago. You can achieve the same effect by putting the packet in the cupholder of your convertible and driving top-down from Battle Mountain to Bonneville. If you have a convertible. And you happen to be going that way.
I wouldn't have enjoyed today's drive very much even if I didn't have a clod and a cough that makes me feel like someone is trying to unscrew the back of my head every time it surfaces. And a headache. And I don't think Thomas enjoyed it much either.
|"Ha ha, suxx0r!" chortled Thomas. "You can pack everything while I have an extra forty minutes in bed!"|
I-90 and I-94 mostly follow the Yellowstone River for those two hundred odd miles, which does not lead to visual excitement. The most exciting thing was actually this:
So finally we turned of I-94, or it turned off us and MT-16 took over. This is less flat than the Yellowstone Valley, but is in most other respects equally drear.
|Even the thrill of crossing the Missouri failed to wake Thomas from his slumbers|
and who can blame him. Crossing the border into Canuckistan, unsurprisingly, did not change the landscape one iota. I was expecting the Prairie Provinces of Canada™ to be how they appeared in the New Golden Encyclopedia for Tinies, viz. armies of combine harvesters patrolling fields the size of Salisbury Plain but it was all too lumpy with some kind of geological left-overs for that. At first, anyway. Nearer Regina it get much more stereotypical.
We diverted a little off the route to visit Radville, at which revelation Miss von Brandenburg is possibly nodding sagely and the rest of you are scratching your heads and muttering "Where?" into your stroopwafel-crumb-filled tea. Or coffee. Here's why:
|Hot nut machine included|
|"Typical BRITISH toilet humour!" observed Thomas.|
"It's only 88 km to Regina" replied Mr Larrington. "Would you rather walk?"