Day One. (Still)

THIS is why we didn't have a scheduled stop in Arkansas. These people are crazier than Cajuns.

To get through Arkansas, you have two choices. You can ride the entire distance North on a two-lane highway, spending most of the day stuck behind a farm truck. Or you can trace a giant chevron across the state, heading all the way to Little Rock before turning West again. We took the chevron, and just past Little Rock stopped for gas in this place called Conway.

I stay outside to pump gas, and Zim goes in to find a restroom. I'm about to follow him in myself when he comes bolting out of there and gets in the driver's seat.

"But I still gotta go," I say. "We'll stop somewhere else," he says.

 

Apparently there was this weird man in front of the sink when Zim came out of the stall. He was standing in front of the mirror in boxer shorts and chest hair, removing a bandage from his head. The trash can was full of gauze and blood. Then he gets the last bit of cloth off his forehead, and he's got this ridiculous head wound. He starts squeezing it like a pimple, and all this blood and pus sprays out onto the mirror. Blood everywhere. It was disgusting.

So Zim decides he doesn't need to wash his hands that bad. I still have to pee, though.