It was late in the afternoon when I rode into a Michigan McDonald's. After finding an appropriate spot against the windows to lean my rig, I was approached by a three-generation family inquiring about my trip. After chatting the same chat I had come accustomed to, we made our way inside to make our orders. The kids had to decide, so I went ahead of them. I had left my wallet with the bike and so I fished through my pockets to pull out whatever change I had. Enough, as it were, for a one dollar burger.
I made my order, got my burger -- underwhelmingly sitting alone atop the large tray -- wished the family well and sat down. Within a minute of finding my place, the eldest of the family walked over to me. "We would like to help you on your trip," he said, handing me a five dollar bill. "Go get yourself a real burger. Go order a Big Mac."
