“In a quarter-mile take the next left fork, then in twenty-two miles take the right fork on to I-70 West. Take the left fork now. No, not the right fork that’s the dinner fork. Doesn’t that look like the Caesar dinner salad that you just ordered in front of you? Take the salad fork. Take the left fork NOW, you stupid human! I can’t wait until the robot revolution begins or I get my learners permit, whichever one comes first, it won’t be soon enough.” – Siri.

First flight of the Wright Flyer I, December 17, 1903, Orville piloting, Wilbur running at wingtip.

We left Rochester on Monday morning, giving Nink a ride to the airport so that she could retrieve the car that Bob had left there earlier in the morning, for his uh-oh dark-thirty flight, beginning another one of his marathon road trips. Anne had some harrowing moments, driving through Columbus, during rush-hour, in a rainstorm, but we made it to Dayton fine. In Columbus, we slow-rolled pass an empty, bashed-in car, with both front doors wide and both airbags deployed.

The Wright Cycle Company

We are home now, having had our fill of semis and orange barrels, but this morning, we visited the Wright Brother’s old bicycle shop, in downtown Dayton. This one is now a national monument. It was their fourth of five bike shops that they had run. Henry Ford took their final one to his Greenfield Village in Michigan, every last brick of it. Still four out of five isn’t too bad. Wilbur and Orville did it all. They were mechanics, engineers, cyclists and aviators. They were true 20th century renaissance men.