Hanging on the wall in the cafe in Sugar City. (As far as I can tell, the name of the cafe is "Cafe.") The woman who runs the place also serves as town historian. She pulled out a big scrapbook of old photos and emphemera to show me.

She keeps a spiral notebook on hand for cyclists to record their thoughts and comments -- some of them were pretty darned whipped by headwinds and dehydration by the time they found the cafe.