David offered to accompany me to Max's place, a cave just outside town where an older fellow had set up house. When I offered to drive myself over, he shook his head.

"Oh, you don't wanna go alone," he said.

I looked to his wife Marie for an explanation.

"Max is an old lecher,"  she said as she winked.

"And I know how you Yankee women are!" David said. "You'll probably pop him one if he pats your bum!" 

Outside the cave, other travelers stuffed their SUV with packs and swags. I thought that with so many people around, the old guy wouldn't try anything.

I was wrong. 

Max shuffled around the car at top speed, reaching out with his splayed hands held exactly at the level of my breasts. When David called out from behind me, the hands dropped to his sides where they twitched disconsolately.

A mere dollar bought the privilege of touring his cave. Road Warrior had been filmed nearby, and old props salvaged from the set were displayed in the cave.

A clothesline strung across the hallway dangled knickers of every conceivable size and color, presumably gifts from grateful young women. In the bedroom, names and dates painted on the ceiling were outlined in black.

"All these names," David whispered, "are people who lost their virginity here."  I rolled my eyes and snorted.   

It turns out that PBS had also visited Max's cave. The film crew had neglected to memorialize the knickers. They also explained the ceiling collage as a record of travelers who had passed through.

PBS always has had impeccable taste.