Doug doesn't wear a watch. He'd been known to get up and walk in the moonlight taking desert sunrise photos.

Doug's Sunrise Shot

He often didn't join us at the Tollbooth Restaurant for breakfast either despite having claimed that at home he must have breakfast upon rising.

This morning he had decided to join us with the caveat, "If she's there, I'm not staying."

"She" meant Doug's waitress, a dishwater blonde, who as Doug knew was always there.

To tell the truth, since leaving Idaho, clerks and service staff had looked askance at us. It became difficult to get anything more than a yes or no.

An inquiry at one convenience store about a building on the hill got no response.

In Beatty I ordered whole wheat toast which other than in thickness resembled the sour dough Scott had ordered. The blonde middle aged waitress had trouble telling one from the other.

When I asked about a grocery store at a Food Mart in Beatty, the first clerk said "No" and kept bagging. The second did stop me to give directions to two places where I might find some groceries.

The desk clerk at the Motel 6 seemed a bit haggard when we arrived at 2:30. We thought we'd check in and then go for a ride. But when we asked if we could check in she said, "No, check in is at 2 . . er, 3." That was okay buy us since we wanted to go for a ride. We changed in the RV and wrote off oddness.

In Stove Pipe Wells where we'd arrived at dusk after 7 hours on the road, tired, hungry and thirsty, the Tollbooth restaurant didn't seem anxious for our business. Seating by invitation only is one thing but they took one look at us, granted we hadn't showered yet, held a tete-a-tete and told us we'd have to wait in the lounge--about 30 minutes. We could see many empty tables.

The lounge was pleasant enough but had no waitress. One had to belly up to the bar which Scott promptly did. Sometime later I joined him. He's far more patient than I and took it all good naturedly. I'm sure another fellow came engaged teh bar keep in conversation, order a drink and got it. But I can't prove.

We finally did get our drinks (Save Steve who wanted only water but hadn't bellied up to the bar). Another group were playing pool when their reservation was called. Scott happily volunteered that we were ready and would go to dinner, but the pool players were encouraged to finish their game.

Waiters and waitresses alike seemed unable to distinguish one of us from another often miss-delivering orders wildly with no seeming clue to what went where. We didn't really mind that but it did begin to seem that all cyclists looked the same.

Scott and Jen said they were on one check. The rest of us--three men--assumed we'd get separate checks. I don't think we made that clear enough. We got one check. I was tired and didn't want to fool with the math. I took the check and asked for separate checks. "You'll have to deal with your waitress," the manager told me.

They didn't like it and the manager told Scott on the way out that we'd have to ask for separate checks in the future which we were always certain to do. It probably didn't help that Doug and I had split a piece of key lime pie. We told the blonde to put it on my check. She didn't. Instead she brought me Doug's Check. We just paid it. We had clearly over-taxed her skills.

Tollbooth is the only game in town unless you are satisfied with a muffin and juice at the General Store which is what Doug did the next morning. But at dinner we were told "Your waitress will be right with you, or, your waiter." The tall slender man got clear instructions about the checks but had as much trouble telling us apart as the blonde. At the third dinner, however, the place was busy and the manager seated us in the blonde's area. She asked us if we were the cyclists who had sat up front. We said we were. She immediately left us to consult with the manager. No, go, honey. That's your table. Sullen service with your coffee, anyone?

The manager always met us with a cheery greeting and convivial bonhomme that I don't like. "How are you kids?" he'd ask. But we never had to wait again and the checks were always right. Because we had skipped Panamint Springs, we took about six meals at the Tollbooth.

To be fair, it must be difficult to get good help in the middle of the desert. We were at breakfast at 7 each morning and at dinner until 8. The same three people were on duty every time we were there. Long hours. Short staff. No wonder we had to wait on Sunday during there busiest weekend. Wonder what the pay's like? Apparently tips might be tough to come by if you ask Doug.

Oh, yeah, and there was the matter of Doug's bike shorts that first evening. We had finished dinner and were waiting for the check when Doug grabbed a fork, pushed back from the table, looked both ways, and promptly used a tine to release the knot in the string. "Ah," he sighed. "That's been bugging me all day."

Cyclists got no couth.

Doug's Pics on Flikr If he puts up more shots, you'll have to page through to find them but on 2/25/08 they are first in the list.

Corrie's pics on Flikr These point to a folder and should always stay available.

Steve's pics at that Emporium of all things, Wal-Mart