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Miracles never cease... I got to work on time, today. Monday, no less. Usually, something conspires to delay... not even the squalling snow slowed the progress. Would that the destination warranted such punctuality. The drive was actually quite pleasant, regardless. No terrible gluts of traffic, road construction, or mobile buttcracks with which to contend. Plus, T-Rex on the stereo added an extra hitch to my get-along. "Metal Guru, is it you? Yeah-Yeah-Yeah...." Arriving to the usual crises of templates and such... people slam-dancing requests and conflicts as soon as I entered the room. Hilarious, if it weren't so irritating, the assumptions that I have a clue what the hell they're talking about... as If I'd had all day to ponder the panic du jour. Like everyone's walking around with blinders, like Clydesdales. It is to laugh. Eventually, �berSalesman gave me a call, to horsetrade on the Miata. Hemming... and Hawing. Playing the penny-pinching game... this won't be a No-Haggle sale, if at all. Really, I don't care that much... if it all transpires, fine. If not, I've still got a freezer full of peppers to contend with, as well as a road to build... and itchy travelling feet. And still, flurries swirl around the halogen-lit parking lot. ......................................................................... Pam instigated me to relate more about my bike trip... the one that carried me from Astoria, Oregon, to Yorktown, Virginia, several years ago. Before most of the occupants of Diaryland were spawned... as if the passage of time has diminished any of the feeling. Which it has not. To do this right, I'll have to scan some transparencies as illustrations... but I can set the stage, all the same. Inspired by the Bicentennial, some biking enthusiasts from Missoula, Montana, charted trails across the country that roughly paralleled the Lewis and Clark expedition, with emphasis on roads that suited the pace and grace of pedalling. Cheekily, they called their organization "BikeCentennial." I caught onto the concept a couple of years later, when a serious affliction of doing something with my life bit me on the ass. Consequently, I managed to wangle a three-month leave-of-absence to do it in, and set about training. I sold my year-old VW Rabbit, and pedalled to work... twenty miles, each way. After 1 AM on the way home. Singing loudly whenever skunks smelled to be in the vicinity. Along with twelve other people from all over (PA-RI-ILL-TX-CA-OR-WI, including Holland and China), I was scheduled to depart from Portland... to arrive home, three months and 4,280 miles later. Getting there, to be sure, was All the fun. And then some. Considering I'd never been in a plane with more than four seats, the flight was going to be a revelation, all by itself. As we shall see, soon enough. |
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