I stopped at Rocket Gas to fill a one gallon gas can and the Honda. Remember, this is Oregon and they have attendants. We the customer are not allowed to fill our vehicles unless they are diesel powered which the Little House on the Highway is. I learned that when I filled up last time before arriving here. This would be the second time I filled the Honda here in Sisters. I told the kid "A gallon in the can and then fill this" pointing to the tank under the seat. He filled the can and I said to be careful and not overfill the tank. I didnt want an overflow mess on the bike. He tells me "Well we are not allowed to fill motorcycle gas tanks. You have to do it." Oh well fine by me. I'd rather do it myself. I told him "Odd, the guy last time I was here filled it." The kid was shocked as if a serious crime had been committed.
Next up was to the bank and hit up the ATM on my way back home. I'm building up a supply of cash to have on hand for when the apocalypse goes into full-on mode later this year. I am riding around on the motor scooter so I am not wearing my bandanna over my face. An old guy is at the outdoor ATM machine wearing a mask. I stand six plus feet back. He finishes and I do my part. There is an old lady (I use the word “old” here but we all are around the same age) wearing a mask on the other side of the machine standing on the wood walkway about twenty feet away. She sees me coming her direction heading back to the bike. With a look of horror on her face she says "You coming this way?" and she steps off the walkway into the dirt, turns her back to me and looks down at her feet. (You can just make out a woman, not the same one, standing where the woman I am writing about stood) My goodness! It's as if we are dealing with the bubonic plague, the Black Death of the Middle Ages.