Approaching the post office on the K75S this morning, I noticed a pickup truck with camper shell pulling into the parking lot through the exit, which is clearly marked “DO NOT ENTER.”
I parked a couple of spaces to the left as the driver opened his door and looked around like a deer in the headlights while his passenger, a grizzled looking little guy went inside to check a box.
When I emerged with my mail, the driver asked, “Whut kind of motorsickle is that?”
“It’s a BMW.”
“B and W?”
“BMW – like the cars – only they’ve been making motorcycles longer than they’ve made cars. The first was in 1923, so were coming up on 100 years,” I said, hammering home the point that he hasn’t been paying attention.
“Well, I don’t think I ever seen one before,” he offered.
So ended my first exchange of the day with one of my fellow Arkansans.
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