New Horse In Town: Bound For Colorado, cont'd
A brief stop on the road out of town.
NEW HORSE IN TOWN:
Bound For Colorado, continued
The lush hills of Pennsylvania blended smoothly, almost imperceptibly into those of West Virginia as Claymore began his trip that Friday morning. It had dawned a perfect late spring day, and the old horse had gotten under way without stopping first for breakfast, or even coffee. For a stallion who wasn't used to traveling, Clay seemed to be enthusiastically beginning his road trip. Of course, the broken CD player in his old truck meant he was forced to listen to local radio tunes while driving; even though they leaned heavily toward the country end of the musical spectrum, this was only a minor drawback.
By mid-morning, the stallion's belly had begun growling and got Clay started scanning the highway for a place to stop. Spotting a "Lock 'n Load Roadhouse" ahead on the right, he turned into the crowded parking lot and found a spot around the side of the building. Looked like there was a crowded diner inside, and those truckers probably knew a good place for biscuits and gravy.
Half expecting Shirley to bellow her signature welcome as he stepped inside the truck stop, Clay was met with a startled hush instead. "We don't let ANIMALS in here," someone at last yelled out from the back of the room.
"What the hell are YOU doin' in here then?" Clay yelled back, not quite thinking first. In retrospect, he realized that taunting a room full of redneck truckdrivers might not have been the brightest thing he could have done that morning, but the room erupted into laughter. "Shut you down, didn't he, George!" someone else yelled from the counter, and the room's buzz turned back to friendly chatter again.
"Don't mind them, mister," a young redheaded waitress said, approaching Clay with a menu. "Counter seat okay, or do you need a booth?"
"Counter's fine, miss, thanks, but I won't need a menu. Biggest cup of coffee you got, please, and if you have a biscuits and gravy special?"
"One '18 Wheeler' it is, 5 biscuits, 4 eggs, 4 sausage patties, and grits for $9.95, hon. Now, how do you like your eggs? And NO, I'm not askin' whether you want 'em cooked!"
Grunting slightly as he settled on the stool, Clay didn't have to think long at all about the answer. "Over easy's fine, miss... ."
"It's Tiffany, hon, and I'll get that order as soon as it's up. Let me know if you need anything else." Pouring his coffee in a practiced, seemingly effortless motion, she smiled in a way that was both sincere and too cute to stiff on a tip after the meal. She then moved on to serve another customer, stepping away as fluidly as the coffee she'd just poured for Clay.
"Don't go gettin' any ideas, pardner!" A large, rough-looking human on the stallion's left advised in a gruff voice. He was, however, smiling as he continued, "She's taken, just thought I'd save ya trouble of hitting on her!"
"Ah, well, thanks, bud. I'm probably old enough to be her pappy, and," Clay rubbed his muzzle stubble as he aprised his dining companion. "You know, the missus would not approve anyhow."
"Boy, ain't that the truth," the big man laughed, his plaid-covered belly shaking. He nodded, noticing that Clay wore no ring on his left hand but quickly turned back to his breakfast and his newspaper. Which, Clay thought, was just as well. Judging from the man's reading material, he was unlikely to have anything to talk about beyond ballgame scores.
"You're a married ...uh, 'man' there, buddy?" a quiet voice on Clay's right side inquired. It belonged to an older, bearded man having coffee and a slice of pie, and the tone of voice was one very familiar to the old Clydesdale.
"Yes sir, 22 years now. You seem surprised!" Clay lied, though his slight smile was sincere enough. He figured the human was merely curious but, as usual, Clay was playing close to the vest. Telling folks he was married was close enough to the truth, and often set them at ease or prevented further prying, depending on the situation.
"Well, I figured you'd have enough 'horse sense' not to get hitched, I suppose" the man continued with a chuckle. "I've seen you, what are you guys called? 'Anthros,' I think? I've seen you around, I just never, you know, had a chance to chat with them."
"Nah, no worries, man, prob'ly more like you than you suspect. I mean, except for the tail, and the hooves, and the fact that I sleep in a stall filled with straw out in a barn... ." Clay smirked slightly as the man's eyes widened in surprise. "Nah, I'm teasin' ya. I sleep in a bed!"
The brief small talk was interrupted by Tiffany's return with a massive white platter. "Here ya go, hon, you need some salsa or hot sauce?"
"Yes, both thanks," Clay nodded, his eyes now widening a bit. The breakfast he'd ordered was big, even for him.
"Here's the hot sauce," Tiffany chirped, pulling a bottle from her apron pocket. "I'll be right back with some salsa and fresh coffee. Enjoy!"
Clay began dousing his food with the vinegary pepper sauce, adding a bit of black pepper as well. The pungent tang of the sauce on the hot gravy perked his hunger, and he began shoveling food into his muzzle without waiting for the salsa. And no wonder. He'd already been driving nearly five hours on an empty belly. The miles had simply disappeared under Clay's little pickup truck, and he'd lost track of time. The journey to Colorado was beginning to feel more like a road trip, and less like an escape.
Tiffany came back with a bowl of salsa and topped off Clay's coffee before dropping a check on the counter. "You take your time with breakfast, I'll just leave that for when you're ready." Clay nodded, his muzzle too full to make a spoken response. Being a Clydesdale with priorities, homemade biscuits were always more important than conversation.