In the early 80's I was living in Lancaster Pa and working in Clarksburg WV. A 5 hour ride. I left on a Sunday night at dark in December in pouring rain heading to Clarksburg. I was on my wife's Yamaha 650, my wing safe in the garage. Got down to Cumberland Md and headed west on I 68. I should of known better as 68 heads straight up a mountain. Two miles west it turns to snow, ten more miles at Frostburg it is 4" deep. Here is my chance to get smart but no I keep on. Another 30 miles and I realize I am all alone, no cars no plows nothing. The snow is over my boots but I am chugging along in third gear at 10 mph. Now I'm scared. Fall down break my leg and I'll be dead. At the Grantsville exit was a building that from the highway I always thought was an abandoned garage. So the plan was to break in start a fire and wait for daylight. So I come down the exit and around the front of the building and there in blazing neon are the most beautiful words I ever saw. PABST BLUE RIBBON BEER, and there are people inside! When I went in wearing my riding suit they asked how the snowmobile was running in this soft snow. I said I don't know as I'm on a bike. Everyone had to go out to see. Well they started buying me shots and beer, and as I watched the sun come up in a drunken blur I realized that this was probably the best ride I had ever had.