What's for lunch?

It's been a week since I've had a decent ride. The weather has been poor; my body wants to sleep - nothing more. And I ran over a nail, requiring a tow and a new tire.

But this morning, I felt pretty good, the weather was great, and I said to myself: "I think I'l pack a lunch and ride to New Hampshire."

"Good idea," I replied. (When my father was caught talking to himself, he'd say that the only way he could have an intelligent conversation was to talk to himself. Sometimes I do that, but I'm not as smart as my Dad was.)

"What's for lunch," I asked.

"Chicken Salad, fresh cukes and tomatoes from Kathy's garden, and Diet Moxie."

"Perfect," I said. "Just make sure you secure the lunch bag to the scooter."

I looked angrily at myself, and said, huffily, "Don't worry - this isn't the first time I've done this!"

After a marvelous 74-mile ride on uncrowded back roads, including a short jaunt into New Hampshire, I entered the cozy park at Woods Pond in Bridgton. A single picnic table was left, and I parked right in front of it and raised my GTS on its center stand and took a picture.

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"Beautiful!" I exclaimed.

"What's for lunch," I asked.

Back home, I'd securely tied down my lunch bag on the seat, right in front of my top case.

"I don't see the bag," I cried

Sure enough, there was no bag! The bungee cord net with which I'd tied down the bag was in place, but the lunch was gone.

A delightful aroma floated from another picnic area. "That smells good," I said. "Burgers!"

"I guess somebody over there knew the right way to pack a lunch!" I said, as my stomach growled.

Hopping back on the Vespa, I headed south. At Naples, I stopped to see the Songo River Queen II. Next to her berth were several picnic tables.

Named for its great length, 11 eleven miles, Long Lake is rarely wider than half a mile.

Here sits the Songo River Queen II, ready for its famous fall foliage cruises on the Lake.

"Oh, look - picnic tables, right by the boat. Too bad someone didn't take an extra second to completely secure my lunch."

"Shut up," I replied.

Just down the road a piece is Raymond Beach on Jordan Bay, a part of Sebago Lake. "Wow," I said. "Another great place for a  pic ... Oh, I forgot ..."

"Are you going to do this all the way home," I asked. (Arguing with oneself has a big advantage - no one gets hurt!)

"Really? What am I - chopped liver? Just one more thing for you to not tie down - weren't you a Boy Scout?")