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Hubby and I went for a motorcycle ride tonight. Beautiful evening for it – clear, sunny, but a little cool, so the leathers and helmet were comfortable. We took back country rodes, which are always fun for the scenery, but not so much fun from the manure smell aspect. Must be the season for it because we went through several areas featuring the fragrance of animal waste.

As we drive along roads I’m not familiar with, one thing I do is try to keep track of what road we’re on and which compass direction we’re going. I have a macabre reason for doing this. If we crash and I can get to the cellphone in the saddlebag, I’ll be able to tell emergency responders where we are located. Provided I’m not unconscious, of course. The troublesome part of this, however, is that most of our country roads have at least two names. There’s the highway road number, be it state or county, plus a street name based on the 911 system that was put into place quite some years ago. There are some roads that even have three names. I’m assuming that any one of these will do in an emergency. At least I hope so.