On this narrow road south of Iowa City, where there is no shoulder and the cars fly past at 60 mph, I heard a vehicle coming up behind me but slowing down. Seeing no driveway or road intersection ahead, I instinctively hunched down and pulled over as far to the right as I could in case I was about to be pelted with a half-empty milkshake or similarly shaped words. It happens. Instead, a white-haired grandma in a two-toned mini van slid up and matched my pace. Leaning toward me, she hollered across through the passenger's window, "Is this the road to the casino?" Dead-panned, from under my sparky-blue helmet, and from behind my clip-on sunglasses, I nodded a distinct affirmation. She nodded a firm thank you back, stomped on the accelerator, and sped off to her appointed destiny leaving me hanging on the edge of the road doubting who was more cool.
See location on a map: Facing north.
Self portrait.
