BUSTED. Leaving Diamondville, Wyoming after refuelling at Shufflin’ Chappie’s World’s Slowest Service Station, Jenkin was clocked at a neck-snapping 48 mph by patrolman Curtis something or other. $76 cash and a brief lecture by a guy in leather pants later, our heroes were back on the road, but Derek, who had been at the wheel (and who is probably the most conservative driver of the three of us), nursed a bitter grudge against all Wyoming for the rest of the day. Dinner at a vile little Hardee’s squatting off the interstate–the only thing open in Cheyenne on a Sunday night–gave Pete and I good reason to join him.
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