Jersey was a blip. Then came the litany of burgs and villes in southern Pennsylvania.
They reached the Mason-Dixon line around noon, their stomachs grumbling at the dearth of food. But they persisted, eager to earn more mileage toward their first day’s goal.
As the late December day waned, they decided to stop in Cumberland, Maryland at the Crabby Pig. Chris, who always ordered the weirdest item on the menu, chose the soft shell crab sandwich. Darren opted for the burger.
They departed the restaurant at dusk with Chris driving. As they wound through the West Virginian hills Chris announced, “My stomach’s not great. It feels like it did in Vietnam.”
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