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    Sour Dough Waffles

    October 13, 2016

    On Thursday morning, I woke up around 9 a.m.

     

    Andrea made some delicious sour dough waffles from a starter that she had had stored for months.

     

    She told me about a bakery in San Francisco which had 100-year-old plus starters:  the key base in making the most decadent breads and pie crusts and anything else carbohydrate-related.  

     

    I tell you these were the most delicious waffles I have ever had in my life.  

     

    Crispy and crunchy on the outside; moist on the inside.

     

    I had two of those waffles and had to stop myself from having a third.  

     

    They were amazing plain; no syrup needed.

     

    In fact, syrup ruined the flavor of these gems.    

    Jim had been up for hours -- torching away at his glassworks orders.  

     

    After breakfast, Andrea and I joined him in the workshop.  

     

    They torched and manipulated glass while I blogged.

     

    They also had the television going in the background, so I was able to see a few episodes of a series called The Profit with Marcus Lemonis (my new celebrity crush).  

     

    Watching them work as I typed is an experience I will never forget.

     

    That was our Thursday.

     

    We worked; Marcus changed lives on television; adorable Rudy barked.

     

    As 3 p.m. approached, Jim helped a Kingdom Hall sister move after her place had been deemed uninhabitable.

     

    Andrea and I started preparations for dinner which translates into me grocery shopping, her taking a short nap, and us slicing and dicing.

     

    A few hours later, Jim returned and started the grill.

     

    While we waited for the coals, our discussion centered around religious beliefs, family dynamics, and personal growth.  It was one of the more intimate conversations I had during this 3 1/2 month journey.  

     

    Unfortunately, Jim overcooked the carnivorous protein; he blamed the charcoal; then, he blamed himself.  We all laughed as we shoved triple-creme brie, honey, and baguette slices into our mouths.  

     

    The meat was edible.  The real stars were the vegetables and Andrea's thick-cut potato fries.  

     

    We stayed up long enough for the two of them to demystify Jehovah Witnesses.

     

    Now, if I ever receive a knock on my door and see two people with bibles in their hands, I will welcome them.  

     

    Close to midnight we ended the evening.  

     

    Tomorrow, I would be getting an early start on my ride.

    When I awoke around 8 a.m., I took a photo of my lodging because of its timing and because of its sparsity.  

     

    Jim and Andrea's home would be one of the last places I stay as I close out this memorable 2016 motorcycle journey, yet their room also serves as a reminder to how little I need to feel free in the world.  

     

    Andrea offered me breakfast.  

     

    No brainer on that one:  I had another delicious waffle and a cup of tea.  

     

    She left early for yoga, so I gave her a tight, bear hug goodbye.

     

    Jim and I spoke for another half hour before bidding each other farewell. 

     

    Unlike other departures, I felt excited rather than gloomy, for Jim and I have a solid friendship.  Plus, now, I have a new friend:  his wife!

     

    Spending two-days with them was a gift.  

     

     

    When I got back on US 1, I had a little pep talk with my bike. 

     

    I made it a promise.

     

    I promised that I would change its oil upon our return to the Treasure Coast.

    Until we meet again, my friend.

     

     

     

     

     

      

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

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