The next morning, after church, Helen made me a sandwich, and I set out to find the famous Ice Cream Lady. Sunday was usually my rest day, but I decided to go just a few miles.

my journal recorded it was 104 ° and 95% humidity.

The way to the Ice Cream Inn went over 1 1/2 miles of dirt road, which turned out to be better than asphalt. The sun had baked the mud into a hard, smooth adobe, which rivaled a bowling lane for smoothness. My ride was absolutely silent.

At first, I missed the Ice Cream Inn. It looked just like any other ordinary house. As I stood outside at the end of the driveway, I debated whether I should go up and knock. Perhaps they didn’t like to be disturbed on Sundays. Well, the worst they could do was turn me away. I hated to look as if I was looking for a handout, though.

I knocked. Waited. No response. Knocked louder. Waited. No response. Rang the doorbell. It didn’t work, apparently. So I walked away. As I was almost out of the yard, a lady opened the door and screamed, “Wait! Wait!”

That bubbly, excited woman was Shirley Vogelman, the Ice Cream Lady. She had thought that it was the dog scratching at her door.

She had gone into business; no longer was her ice cream handed out freely to cyclists. It didn’t matter. In fact, I felt much better about taking the ice cream having paid for it. My 3 scoop sundae was $2.50– very reasonable for high quality homemade ice cream with homemade sauces. I had a great time talking with the Vogelmans and their two friends. I signed their guest book, and took a picture. I gave them a copy of “Wisdom.”

they said that they knew the beckhams. before i knew it, it was 4 pm, and i had to move on.

The ride to El Dorado was easy, but long. Everything was closed there, since it was Sunday. I had a burger at an Ice Cream Store, and a limeade. Limeade seemed to be big, there.

I checked into the Stardust Motel. The man in the office was just leaving as I came up. He was nice enough to turn the lights back on and give me a room. $18.