It's finally spring

Yesterday morning was pretty cool, but by 11 o'clock it was around sixty degrees:  Time for a motorcycle ride.  
Now you need to keep in mind that when Cliff and I are gone for several hours with the motorcycle, there's a lot more that goes on than just riding.  Picnicking, for instance.  I threw a couple of cans of sardines and some crackers in a lunch box, along with one package of Little Debbie snacks (there are two in a pack and I found out if we split a pack, it's less than 90 calories), a little peanut butter, and an apple and an orange.  Of course we took a hydration bottle of water and a thermos of coffee, as always.  
So we went to Lake Jacomo and found a deserted picnic area after being on the road for no more than forty-five minutes.
Our destination was our nephew's place at Peculiar, Missouri.  If you go to the entry to which that link leads, you'll see me holding a baby: we saw her yesterday and she's now three-and-a-half years old, but of course I didn't take a picture.  Duh.  
Cliff heard last weekend that Scotty's two brothers were going to be riding their motorcycles up from Kansas, so it sounded like it would be a nice get-together.  
We got as far as Belton when we realized we didn't remember how to get the rest of the way to Scotty's house, so Cliff called him.  Turns out he didn't know anything about his brothers coming to visit, and he was working.  
"That's OK," Cliff told him.  "We'll visit with your mom."  
That would be Bev, one of Cliff's brother's several ex-wives.   
Scotty has fixed up some fantastic living quarters for his mother on his property.  Right now I could kick myself for not taking a few pictures, but I didn't think of it.   
Now perhaps you think it's strange that we could find something to talk about with a lady who hasn't been married to Cliff's brother since back around 1980.  But her oldest two kids are the same age as my children, and we all spent a lot of time together back then; so we do have quite a bit of history with Beverly.  We still see all three of her boys (Cliff's brother's sons) at least once a year.  Yes, we had plenty to talk about, and we chatted for over an hour.  
On the way there, we had passed a Dairy Queen, and a seed was planted in my mind:  For years, I couldn't pass a Dairy Queen without making Cliff stop for a turtlette Blizzard.  Then the time came when I had to starting thinking about the bazillian calories involved in this guilty pleasure, especially with my husband having heart (and weight) issues.  So we swore off Blizzards for life.
Then God spoke to Dairy Queen and said, "Let there be life," and the Mini-Blizzard was born.
Unfortunately, we were taking a different route home, but Cliff was pretty sure there was another Dairy Queen in Blue Springs.  Indeed, he was right, and God had prepared the way ahead of us by telling Dairy Queen to have the Mini-Blizzards on sale for $1.98.  Lest you think we indulge in these smaller portions too often, this is only the second time we've treated ourselves to a blizzard since they came up with the "mini" concept.    
Oh, but we didn't return home yet:  While we were at Beverly's place, Cliff had received a phone call from the son-in-law, Kevin, who was planning to barbecue; supper would be ready at six o'clock.  We arrived at their house at 5, helped them erect a gazebo (darn it, why didn't I use my camera?), visited and ate heartily, and finally came home around 7 P.M.  
So you see, we were gone for eight hours, but time spent riding was probably more like three hours.  
That's how we ride.