Chapter 3

I was driving my Prius V down the main street thru town, when I asked Dad, “So what were you measuring?”

“I was marking out the spot for the games table, the dart board, and the billiards table.”

“Still planning on a pool table?” I asked.

“Maybe more than one, there’s a ton of room down there with the canning shelves and old furnace gone,” he replied.

“So when you said billiards, you meant the funny looking English version with the bumpers in the middle?”

“Yes, plenty of room for one of those, and a regular pool table.”

“Where would we even go to get something like that?”

“The capital has a place, or online, but I’d really rather examine it in person before purchasing.”

“A capital trip sounds good, I need to stock up on Trader Joe’s stuff, and the nearest one is there.”

“I know how much you love that place. It was nice when we only lived 45 minutes from the one in Omaha.”

“Now it’s just over 2 hours each way.”

“We should take your car,” Dad suggested, “We can get the tables delivered.”

“I think you miss driving my car now that you just drive your truck to Lowe’s and back when you need supplies.”

“It does get better gas mileage, and gas is scheduled to go up again,” Dad said, then continued, “I’d sell my truck for something electric, but I couldn’t get enough to make it worth it. I’ve been looking at a light electric truck for hardware runs, and keeping the gas truck just for big stuff.”

“What about a big electric truck? The E350 is expensive, but the trade-in on your truck would bring it down to about the same price as a medium truck,” I asked.

He was silent for a moment so I glanced at him, he was making a weird face. “What’s wrong? Diarrhea?” I asked him with a smile.

“No, I think it’s called range anxiety. I know I could go anywhere in the State and back on a full charge, and we aren’t planning on moving again, just a lot of years of security wrapped up in having gas stations everywhere.”

“The E350 does have a bolt-on range extender. It uses up some of the bed space, but would let you quadruple your range before needing a fill up or charge.”

He perked up, “I hadn’t heard about that. Is it gas?”

“Several choices, natural gas, gasoline, propane, or even a wickedly expensive hydrogen option,” I explained, as I pulled up to the last untried restaurant in town.

Dad got out, and looked the place over, before heading to the front door. I followed as we went thru double glass doors, then western movie style saloon double swinging doors. The interior was nicely lit, and a number of empty tables greeted us.

The red neon sign outside just said ‘Bar’ but a sign over the actual bar that extended the entire back wall said, ‘Pub & Brew.’

It had a full western theme going. I spotted a couple waitresses in western shirts and jeans, and the bartender looked like a Hollywood cowboy. A waitress bounced up, her shirt open, but tied in front, modesty protected by a tight tank top underneath. I discreetly ogled with a smile while Dad tried to not look as he asked for a booth.

We got a booth with a sticky table, that she immediately wiped down, leaving behind a strong scent of bleach. I glanced at Dad, and he gave a shrug, “It was your pick.”

The waitress slapped down a couple menus, and left without comment. I grabbed one, and started reading thru the list. Burgers, hot dogs, corn dogs, tater tots, fries, chili. I looked up at Dad and said, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“Your heartburn.”

He barked a laugh, “This is why I’m not sold on food as adventure.”

I perused the rest of the menu, the list of craft beers was four pages long, three of the pages were marked as local varieties. Wine was three items, widely spaced, on a single page. I glanced over at another table as the waitress brought out a basket of nice looking fries, and three corn dogs stacked on top.

“That’s interesting,” I said, tipping my head at our fellow diner.

“What’s that?”

“Those look hand made. The stick is round, not flat like a tongue depressor.”

“Maybe this will be all right then. I’m glad you’re driving, because this pumpkin spice IPA sounds nice,” Dad replied.

The waitress bounced over, saw we didn’t have drinks, and asked, “Can I get you gentlemen a beer? Brewers got some nice stuff on tap.”

“Just soda for him, but I’ll have the pumpkin.”

She looked at me, “Do you have draft root beer?” I asked.

“We’ve got a draft vanilla cream soda.”

“I’ll have that. Also, I was wondering, the corn dogs, are they made here?”

“Yup, everything is made to order, from the freshest ingredients by the chef. Corn dogs come in three flavors, all beef, Italian sausage, and spicy sausage.”

I put the menu down, “I’ll have the corn dogs, one of each kind, with fries.”

“Ok,” she said, “But they are better with our tater tots.”

“I’ll have the tater tots then,” I told her, the meal was suddenly looking up.

“I’ll have the burger and fries,” Dad said.

“I suggest the chipotle mayo and onion to go with your pumpkin IPA, but we will make it anyway you ask for it,” she said.

“However you suggest, just well cooked, I don’t like pink in my burger,” he told her.