Made it 102 miles on Saturday and biked from New York, through Penn to Ohio.  Got in about 6 p.m. and secured a church for the night.  The pastor was pretty cool, he said they never had a request like mine before, but he thought it would be all right.
 
The early approval gave me freedom to explore Conneaut, Ohio.  The White Turkey Drive-In came highly recommended.  The drive-in dated back to 1952 and featured sandwiches like the Large Marge, which was turkey with cheese and bacon for $3.69.  There was also the Chubby Chuck-er, which was $4.19 for a triple cheeseburger topped with bacon.  
 
After supper, while biking to the laundry I found an octagon house that had a secret passage to the Underground Railroad.  The house was a rental, with promises of being purchased by the local historical society.   It was rather rundown, but interesting with a decorative wooden porch, high ceilings and dark tunnel nobody was brave enough to explore.
 
It was starting to get dark and I returned to the church around 8 p.m. and found the pastor had locked the door.  “I changed my mind on you stayin.’  I don’t think the trustees on the church board would like it,” he said without even seeming to feel bad.
 
I was dumbfounded and a bit desperate.  I pleaded my case a little, talking about my brother-in-law who was a pastor and how I grew up in a good, German Catholic family.  He didn’t blink.  “I gotta go make an international phone call,” he said and closed the door.

I thought about camping on his front porch, but figured that wouldn’t do either of us any good.  So I spun down the street to the fire department.  Nobody home.  Made my way to the Christian Ministry.  They had a Texas Holdum’ tournament going on and one of the players told me to "try the Methodists."
 
Found the Methodist church and told the  pastor that a guy playing poker recommended him.  "If you knew your religion young lady you would know Methodists don't gamble, so I'm not sure who would have sent you here."
 
This was just turning into a bad dream that wouldn’t end, and I was getting off on wrong foot with Pastor Chuck Graham who reminded me, several times, that he was on vacation.  “Normally I’d let you throw your gear down here and stay but since I’m on vacation I’ll send you to the hotel up the road.”  Even though I had 102 miles on the day, I wasn’t ready to argue with Pastor Chuck who stood about 6’4" and tipped the scale at over 250 pounds.
 
The pastor sent me with a note to the police department and said they would help me out.   It was quickly getting dark, I was tired, and Patrolman J. Rivers took a ton of time filling out the paperwork.  I knew there wasn’t going to be a room free, not on a Saturday night and not in a small town next to the interstate.   
 
“You ever been convicted of a major felony?” he asked.  I’m not sure who would actually admit to that, especially when you’re in need.  He took my driver’s license and I waited outside on the stoop while he ran a background check.  
 
Joked around with a couple of Connecut’s finest.  They were discussing how it took five shots to finally put down a wild cat.  I asked if that was their tank parked in the lot.  “Somebody donated it,” said the one officer who claimed it ran but was used mostly in town parades.

Another officer joined the conversation and after a couple of minutes he asked, "So what ever happened to that transient?"  The word itself made me feel kind of dirty.  I was pretty happy I was wearing a good pair of biker shorts; otherwise I might really have lived up to the part.  

I raised my hand, and he gave me an uncomfortable nod.

Patrolman Rivers broke the tension as he came bounding out the front door with his spit cup for his chew in his hand and said, “Throw your rig in the trunk and get in the back and I’ll drive you out of town to a motel.”
 
Nice ride in the backseat of a squad.  Sitting behind the cage,  bars on the window, thinking I’m making my parents proud and realizing why nobody wants to come with me on my trips.   One note, don't bother trying to use the door handle to let yourself out ... there isn't one.