So it was that the three of us abandoned Sarah and tried to repeat the experiment: that is -- taxi-beer-taxi-crash. Conscious that the two of us had to drive many miles the next morning we did intend to take it a bit easier. First off was a bar on 3rd that Gary wrote on a bit of paper: The Ginger Man (can't imagine where he got the idea from). Hundreds of draught beers lined up on a wall. Linda asked if they had anything else? The barman answered; they had wines and proceeded to list them. Linda gamefully picked one when he crumpled, admitting: "Actually, I'm a wine fan, and they're all rubbish." Linda cheerfully had a local brew. A couple of bars later and we plodded upstairs to a dubious "saloon" down a corridor to find the best establishment of the week: a bar with an interesting barman, great music, fun food for sharing and some quality alcohol. As the sun set on the street outside he pointed us in the direction of the bridge across the central river on Congress St. Already, the regular crowds were gathering on the eastern side of the bridge awaiting the batswarm. Yes, it was like someone let off tens of hoses underneath the bridge spewing hundreds of thousands of bats into the river. And it never ended! They swarmed and swarmed at phenomenal speeds out of the underside. God knows what they found to eat (although I noticed that there wasn't as many homeless in the vicinity as usual, although that may have had something to do with the guano smell). Culturally and zoologically satiated we were driven home by a Ugandan taxi driver who regaled us with stories of his cousin who got the short straw and emigrated to Alaska . . .
Sarah was greeted with a round of applause at breakfast before we made our separate ways again. Not that each car of intrepid travellers knew where they were going in the next few hours, or even in which direction . . .
