I must be a homebody. A homer. A slug-a-bed. But, after a six hour drive from the east of Lake Ontario to beyond Lake Champlain, the last thing I want most times is a beer. Driving around Burlington at 9:30 pm last night trying to find a grocery store to lay in some breakfast, I passed any number of great bars and places to grab a local craft beer but was just too tired to imagine stopping. I'd be nose first in the stein or, worse, pulled over for weaving as I drove away after half a pint. And right now all I need to find is a big coffee. Hours to go before the sea.