Winds were favorable, so I decided to ride most of the way across Indiana. There was a chance of pop-up thunderstorms, but that
never happened. It was hot. And I only had to pepper-spray one dog!

65 miles later I was in Fairmount--famous as the home of James Dean (and Jim Davis--the Garfield guy). I had a long conversation at the convenience store with
an old guy about Dean and his memories of the local boy who made it big. He didn't really know him, but he did see him around town, and at the high school when
Dean came back after he hit the big time. This is the high school. Much of the roof is missing. Educational decay.

I almost didn't go to the James Dean Museum, but I'm glad I did. I must have spent half an hour there talking to one of the volunteers
about everything from James Dean to bicycling to whiskey to retirement. By the way, this was James Dean's first motorcycle.
It's Czechoslovakian.

And this Triumph was James Dean's last motorcycle. Some guy in California had converted it to a dirt bike, but he still
had all the parts, so they were able to restore it.

And this is James Dean. It took me a while to find him until I noticed the big hand-lettered sign that somebody had posted
in the cemetery. Otherwise you could look for a long time.

This is a rock that is next to the grave. I guess people sign it.
After this I rode to Gas City, checked in, and walked a half mile to a Mexican Restaurant. After I ordered I realized I'd left my wallet in the room.
I called Linda to get my credit card number, I remembered the expiration date, but I didn't have was any form of ID. The guy
said he couldn't run the number without seeing something with my name on it. Amazingly, I had unintentionally jammed the receipt from last night's
hotel in my packet, and it had my name on it. That was good enough. The lesson: don't forget your wallet--but if you do, jam a bunch of paper in your pocket.
You never know what will save you from an evening of washing dishes in a Mexican restaurant.