... when you stop for fuel and walk into gas station that literally stops you in your tracks. On the outside, a non-descript Amoco; on the inside, a stogie aficionado's dream. It took a while to hunt down coke and water- either because of the library shelves of tobacco products or my slight "Alice-in-Wonderland fell into a 1960s man-cave" mindset. While buying our beverages, the lovely attendant at the counter apologized for being so engrossed in her book. What new dimension did I walk into? The proprietor, rolling cigars and shooting the bull with another customer, offered to show me around the place, but we had to get on the road to beat the traffic over the bridge into Illinois.
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