I pedaled through the Bunny Breakfast Buffet this morning, the usually deserted section of bike path east of town, hemmed in by Route 50 and the Hocking River. Perhaps two dozen rabbits were feeding in the mowed shoulders of the paved path, and every one bolted into the adjacent tall grass and brush upon my approach. All rabbits are cute, but the little juveniles are just adorable. If I could stop my bike for a moment and scoop up one of the little rabbits for a cuddle, I would. Alas, the rabbits are uninterested in my affection. I turned off the bike path and was soon going north on State Route 690, what must be one of Ohio's shortest state routes, at only 5 miles. 690 lacks length, but it cuts through lush forest, verdant fields, and packs in twisty bits of smooth pavement. In a wooded section I saw a large owl land high in a roadside tree, turn its flat face in my direction and decide against staying at the perch, continuing deeper into the forest, out of sight. Soon after, I heard thunder and saw the sky immediately west had become a deep grey. Luckily, after just of few minutes of riding through gentle rain, the Dutch Creek Winery came into view. Though the winery was closed, I rolled directly into their covered outdoor seating area for shelter. A proper storm came through with downpours and a purple bolt of lightning, but I remained dry for 20 or 30 minutes, until the rain passed, and then resumed riding on the freshly rinsed road, immediately soaking my socks in road spray and renewing my membership in the Soggy Bottom Club. Turning east on State Route 550, I was chasing the storm. Sky behind me was getting a lighter grey, the passing storm still carrying the heavy dark clouds ahead of me toward Marietta. Passing through Amesville I see the owners of a building at the corner of the junction of 550 and 329 are angling for new restaurant tenants. They have erected a large sign reading "Have You Ever Dreamed Of Owning Your Own Restaurant?" It goes on with a sales pitch that neglects mentioning the area's lack of population, very little traffic passing through, the frequent flooding courtesy of nearby Federal Creek, the fact that no restaurant at that location has ever lasted long, with long stretched of vacancy in between the failed ventures. The big sign in front may as well read "COMING SOON! GOING OUT OF BUSINESS!" At Sharpsburg I got on State Route 377, the direct way to Chesterhill's Triple Nickel Diner, my goal for the morning. A sign reads "Chesterhill 5 Miles" but this sign also neglects telling you the full story. It's only 5 miles, but these are the toughest miles out of the 22 miles from Athens. An aside. Having ridden the hills of southeast Ohio for over 3 decades, I have noticed a habit of the surveyors that laid out the counties back in the late 1700s; many county lines are at the base of ridges. Surely, these men in the early days of Ohio were making their way through roadless and likely largely trail-less forest on foot or horseback. Why waste energy by climbing the ridge to survey boundaries when one can get the job done at the bottom of the hill? The ripple effect of this sensible efficiency is that on 377 North, the moment you cross into Morgan County, you are greeted with the hardest climb of the ride. After this winding county line climb, there are still two more ascents, one with a collection of red barns in view, and then the final push up to the village of Chesterhill and food at the hopefully still open restaurant. The "only" 5 miles on 377 is where you earn your bacon at the Triple Nickel Diner.