This last Sunday, my friend Mike (www.michaelpoore.net) called me. "Let's go for a ride," he said. "Doesn't matter where." I was getting off work and had nothing to do for the rest of the day, so I said okay. So we took off, heading south, with no particular destination in mind. In my mind, I was thinking that I was Sancho Panza to Mike's Don Quixote: he proposes something kinda hairbrained, and, even though I consider myself the sane one, I go along with it. And, to be fair, it does usually turn out to be fun. It pays to know crazy people.
The moment came, however, as we were driving south of Lowell that Mike said, in an enthusiastic voice, "I know, let's go see the windmills!" Which prompted me to blurt out: "I knew it! You really are Don Quixote! I really am Sancho Panza! Holy shit!"
Well, as it turns out, there are windmill fields south of Rensselaer, and they are very beautiful all lit up at night. And Mike didn't attack any of them (although, if any were close to the road we were on, I'm sure he would have tried).
Here's the deserted road we stopped on to get a little relief:
I apologize to the people of Chalmers.
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