North Dakota was less of a pleasure. Years ago, my mother got me a gift ceritificate to Cracker Barrel (hereafter CB), and I decided I was going to use it on this trip to save a little money, and have a couple of easy, hot meals on the road. I was not particularly hungry yet, but I saw a CB when I passed through Bismark, and thought I could stop by to see if they could tell me where the next couple of these things were, and I could use the bathroom, and fill my water bottles. By god, the people in the Bismark CB are shades of horror. After being looked up and down twice, by everyone in there, none of whom, from staff to patron, was under fifty, I walked up to the counter, where the woman there, after looking me up and down, gave me her best impression of someone that had eaten something that tasted vaguely like feces.
This place was hostile.
I got my balance, found a sweet map of the US with all 250 or so CB's labeled everywhere, stole some of their water and indoor plumbing, and got out of there. As quickly as I could, I also got out of North Dakota.
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