Against The Wind

May 2006 - Posts

• Against the Wind, day 40: A bike trip across America - Colorado and a town called Joes

  Colorado   Day 40, July 14               I remember waking up with a good feeling about St. Francis.  It was a welcoming town, and we had survived a very difficult day, perhaps the most difficult day yet.  Over the coming weeks, we would have good memories, perhaps idealized memories, of St. Francis.  It was named after a particularly loving saint. We later began to fantasize finding a movie theater showing Brother Sun, Sister Moon, the Franco Zifferelli version of St. Francis’ life.                  I do know we stopped to fix a flat on my bike as we left St. Francis.  We were quiet and somber.  We rode the twelve miles to the Colorado border, due west.  We had lunch in Idalia, Colorado.  We sat on a bench at a small high school looking at the photos of the graduating seniors—about four or five in each class.  It was a very small town.  I began to feel sick as we left Idalia—needing to go to the bathroom.   On the way out of Idalia we came to an archeological excavation.  There was a sign up that identified the National Geographical Society and seemed to invite tourists, but we were the only tourists around.  A large area had been roped off and several people were painstakingly going over the earth with fine-tooth combs.  Heavy twine staked one area from another, and different sections had been dug to precise levels.  The people were friendly but didn’t talk much about their activities.  We were told that they were looking for camel bones.  They had an outhouse that I used, and felt a little better.  After a few minutes watching, we moved on.               Now the mystery was on the map ahead of us.  The next town, perhaps 12 miles ahead, was labeled “Joes” on the map.  Was it a misprint?  It must have meant Joe’s, or maybe Jose.  We wondered aloud as we approached it.  There were trees, a few houses, a bar, and a sign identifying the town: “Joes”—just like the map said.  We went into the bar seeking an answer to the strange name.               The bartender was friendly.  “Years ago, when this area was first settled, the first three families were headed by men named Joe.  When people came to visit, they came to visit one or more of the Joes.  Eventually, the area became known as “Joes”—it seems simple to us,” he said.  We laughed at the story, thanked him, and moved on.  I was glad to have had this little diversion, because I was still feeling somewhat sick.    We pedaled another 10 miles into Cope and stopped to consider the situation. We were about 20 miles behind where we wanted to be if we were going to arrive at Inanna’s friends’ house in Greeley at a convenient time.  I was not feeling well, and we were both tired and demoralized.  There was a restaurant in Cope and we went in and had dinner.   Although the meal wasn’t wonderful, we made the most of the comfortable setting and air conditioning.  We chatted, and rested, and had a relaxing time together.  By the end of that hour and a half, we had gotten ourselves back to feeling well.  We had used up some time that could have been spent riding, and used up some scarce money, but it was worth it.  Now we had to go find a place to spend the night.   We found a city park with tennis courts just as it began to get dark.  There was a nice patch of grass next to the courts so we pitched the tent there.  We were asleep by 9 PM.  Suddenly a bright light that shone through the tent awakened us.  It was midnight, and somebody was going to play tennis!  We tried to ignore them, but they were loud, and they called the score out in a silly manner: the one who was winning would shout out the score and say “my flavor!”  It was impossible for me to sleep.  From inside the tent, I began following their game, following every point, pulling for the one who was ahead to finish off his opponent, so they would quit and go home.  Finally it was 5-1 in the second set, and we almost had a winner—and the underdog began a rally!  He fought his way back to 5-4 before he was put out of his misery and the tournament was over—or so I thought.  They then began just hitting it back and forth.   I finally got out of the tent and asked them to turn out the lights and let us sleep—and they did!  We finally got to sleep. Posted May 26 2006, 02:56 AM by BillButler with no comments

• Against the Wind, Day 39: A bike trip across America - 101 degrees with a headwind

  Day 39, July 13                          As was our habit, we had washed out some of our clothes before we went to sleep.  We both had only two T-shirts, and two pairs of shorts, two pairs of socks.  One set of clothes would dry by noon, hanging from the bikes as we rode the next day.   But when we awoke that morning the breeze was cool and dry.  Our clothes had dried during the night.               That cool breeze turned out to be a killer the next day.  We tried to get an early start and left at 8 AM.  By 9 it was hot with a 30 mile-per-hour crosswind from the south.  There was a slight headwind component that really held us back.  As the day wore on the wind shifted gradually to the southwest, becoming more of a headwind. The wind was hot—101 degrees--and it sapped our strength.  I would stop at every gas station and remove my shirt, wring it out with cold water, and feel the cold, refreshing shock as I put it back on.  Then, within five minutes, the shirt would be dry.  Any perspiration was immediately evaporated.  Although we had hoped to be in Colby by 11 AM, we didn’t get there until 1 PM.  And by then we were utterly defeated.  The wind had sapped us of our physical and psychological strength.   We found refuge in Murphy’s Café in Colby, where we had a delicious, inexpensive lunch of Broasted Chicken.  We didn’t have the heart to eat out in the wind and heat.  After our chicken, we stayed in Murphy’s for a total of 2 ½ hours, drinking ice tea, waiting for the winds to change.  Colby is the setting for John Denver’s song Matthew:   I had an uncle name of Matthew, He was his father’s only boy Born just south of Colby, Kansas, He was his mother’s pride and joy   I wrote my buddies at Outreach a postcard with a photo of the soda fountain in which we were sitting:   We are sitting in this café, waiting for a great and large meal to subside in our innards.  We covered 34 miles this AM in 30-mph cross/headwinds—took two hours extra and we are exhausted.  Also, it’s very hot.  We are about 60 miles from Colorado, on US 24.  It’s flat as a pancake here, with no topography to block the wind, so it blows wildly.  Pray that we may be becalmed!  I have a sunflower in my hatband which is as wilted as I feel.   I read the Rocky Mountain Times while Inanna read my book, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.  We decided to not fight the wind any more that day.  But a 42-mile day would be demoralizing, and we had no guarantee that the weather the next day would be any different than today.  A friendly man talked to us and suggested if we could get to a place to turn north, we could turn the wind into a tailwind.  We examined the map.  We did need to take a jog north eventually because we were headed for Greeley, Colorado.  We saw that if we could make it to Route 27, we would have a tailwind after that.  We went right out and began hitchhiking.   We were quickly 28 miles down the road and got out at Route 27.  We turned the sleeping bags and tent sideways to increase our sail area, to get as much push from the wind as we could.  We sped down the road, tormented again by flies and gnats, but happy that we were finally moving again.  We did 30 miles in 100 minutes with that tailwind, and made it to US Highway 36.  The wind was still strong, but as we turned west it was now a direct crosswind.  It made balancing on a bicycle a challenge, but at least was not a headwind.  Big trucks were zipping by, making the ride anxiety provoking.  It brought out irritation against one another.  A truck came close to Inanna and scared her.  She had to stop.  She was immobilized for a few minutes, and I stopped next to her, helpless, frustrated.  Finally we were able to finish the five miles to St. Francis, or “Sainty”, as the locals termed it.   As tired and anxious as we were, we quickly relaxed in St. Francis.  A small town, they had a nice roadside stop with free showers.  They even had free electrical hookups—of which we had no need, being completely off the power grid on our bicycles.  We found a little store and ate hot dogs and beans and Dr. Pepper with ice and rested.  We talked about the day—despite spending 2 ½ hours in a soda fountain, we had made 67 miles—and that’s not counting the 28 miles we hitch-hiked.  The difficult headwinds of the morning had been somewhat canceled by the tailwinds of the afternoon.  When we were somewhat recovered we set up the tent and rolled out the sleeping bags.   Only then did we visit those nice hot showers.  From there we could go straight to our tent and crash.   Even though I had every right to a good night’s sleep—exhaustion followed by rest, food and a nice hot shower—I didn’t sleep well.  My left hip still hurt and I remained tense from the five-mile ride into Sainty.  When I slept, I dreamt upsetting dreams.   Posted May 25 2006, 03:28 AM by BillButler with no comments

• Against the Wind, Day 38: A bike trip across America - Pain and Freedom

  Day 38, July 12               After a leisurely breakfast we left Webster State Park at 9 AM.  As we began riding, I made sure this time to use liberal amounts of Desitin on my backside, so had less pain than the day before.  However, I began to notice soreness in my ankle again.  I began resting it by locking the ankle and using just my quadriceps muscle.  This may have been a mistake, because by the afternoon my left hip was aching.  It hurt the rest of the day, and even that evening after we stopped to camp.  It felt like it needed to be snapped back into place, but I could not figure out how to do it.  The body is clearly an inter-related system, and as we change the mechanics, everything is affected.                Even with the hard work and pain, I was aware of a feeling of freedom.  I felt more free than I had in a long time.  I realized that if my boss had granted me that leave of absence from the Outreach Clinic, it would have left me a lot less free.  I realized that I was no longer worried about having no job waiting for me.               At Hill City, after 27 miles, we had the Milk Carton Hassle.  We were hot and tired and it was almost lunchtime.  We went into a market to get a quart of 7-Up or Mountain Dew, but the store had no soft drinks cold.  I said that I wanted some milk, but Inanna didn’t.  There were no pints of milk—a pint would have been a fair one-person share—so I said I would get a quart of milk and she seemed to say OK, although I could tell she wasn’t excited about it.  By the time I had paid for it and was outside, Inanna had become quiet and withdrawn.  She sat quietly, seemingly disturbed, but denied it when I asked her about it.  Finally she walked away from me.  This was another example of how we would sometimes be, and I would feel helpless.  The quiet was impossible to get through.  I would wish she would scream at me, so I would have something to work with.                She eventually came back to me as I was drinking the cold milk and eating raisins.  She said she was feeling "unrelaxed".  We started riding again, but things were still very tense.  I insisted we stop to work it out and have lunch.  She reluctantly agreed.               We found some shade that we had to share with a farmer—I thought we needed to be alone, but he turned out to be really nice.  He was a hard working man, an expert farmer, yet ignorant about many other things (was unsure of the difference between Virginia and West Virginia, for example.)  I talked with him while Inanna wrote a letter to her parents.  I found out a lot about farming.  When he left, Inanna felt better and gave me a nice kiss.               Back on the road, we made it to Studley where we found some water and friendly conversation at the co-op.  After Studley, the hills and heat almost did us in.  Even though the hills weren’t steep, they were hard to climb, especially with the pain I was experiencing in my hip.  Finally we climbed the steepest and highest hill and could see the destination—the promised land—Hoxie, Kansas.  But it was still five miles to go and took another half-hour.  A long half-hour, reminding me of how disorienting the wide-open spaces of the west can be.  Back east, trees could prevent being able to see five miles ahead.  Anywhere we could see would be much closer.  We would never experience seeing the goal for a half-hour without attaining it.                We regained our strength at a little store in Hoxie where we bought the long-sought quart of cold Mountain Dew.  The lady gave us ice to pour it over and we drank it from coffee cups.  She gave use a lot of conversation to go with it.  She was from Salinas, California but her father came down with cancer.  She brought him home to Kansas before he died.  She didn’t like Kansas, she felt her relatives could be a “pain in the ass”, and she didn’t like Kansas swimming pools. She told us that the local pool cost 60 cents and closed at 9 PM, and she didn’t think they had hot showers.  I don’t remember if the showers were hot or cold—showers were showers, and we didn’t get them every night.   That night I dreamt again.  I was playing the trombone.  In a second dream, I was on a Midshipman cruise on a navy destroyer. Posted May 14 2006, 06:37 PM by BillButler with no comments

• Against the Wind, Day 37: A bike trip across America - exhaustion in Kansas

  Day 37, July 11               This day started warmer than the past two, and got hotter by the hour.  We again had a slight tailwind, but now with some humidity.  We almost wished for less tailwind, because the flies and gnats stayed right with us—we were cycling in still air, as if standing still—and the bugs had a feast.  The combination of exertion, heat, and no cooling breeze made this a difficult ride.               Fifteen miles out of Glen Elder, we came to a T in the road at US 281 and had to turn south.  Suddenly our tailwind became more a headwind, and for about five minutes we appreciated it—no bugs, some cooling effect of the breeze.  But then we realized we were struggling to make headway at all.  We were now looking forward to the turn west again, which was only 4 miles down the road, according to the map.  It took us well over a half-hour to make that turn, and we appreciated it.  We decided to stop complaining about tailwinds, even on humid days.  We were tired from the extra exertion, and it had been only four miles!                This was a limitation of our riding style.  Inanna set a slow pace, and the only way we could cooperate and coexist on the road was if I followed her.  I had tried several times to ride in front and spur her to a faster pace, and had given up.  Certainly, her steadiness was making sure we could actually complete this trip.  But we lost the ability to draft.  At a little faster pace, the leader, called the pull, can reduce the wind resistance for the following rider.  Years later I would begin riding in the MS 150, a 150-mile fund-raiser for the National MS Society.  I learned how exhilarating it is to be in a line of ten or so riders.  If the leader can maintain 20 miles per hour, all the followers can maintain that speed at a much-reduced effort.  When the leader tires, he or she drops back and the number two becomes the pull.  Just like the geese, flying south for the winter, the riders work together and all benefit.  But at ten miles per hour, the benefit is negligible.               Now I was also getting those diaper rash symptoms which had not appeared since Illinois.  The humidity kept everything wet, and I was very uncomfortable.  Wearing only cotton underwear and cut-off Levis, the moisture was held against my skin.  Today riders wear “technical” materials designed to wick moisture away from the skin and reduce such problems.  In addition to this discomfort, my right ankle began hurting.               We stopped at Alton to have lunch, rested a bit, and continued.  We were now on the north bank of the South Fork of the Solomon River.  Having a river nearby was a nice break from the unending flatness and farms.  It wasn’t an impressive river, however—we didn’t consider going for a swim.  We wanted to get to our next stopping point, which was Webster State Park.               We shopped in Stockton and balanced our food into Webster State Park with difficulty.  We were exhausted.  Entering the park Inanna had a flat.  We walked the bikes to a picnic area and I fixed the flat while Inanna made dinner.  Because it was a front tire, it was easier to repair. On the rear you have to get the chain off the freewheel, then get the wheel past the chain.  I never figured out how to do it without getting grease all over my hands.               Dinner was delicious, and in our exhaustion, we sat at the picnic table for 2 ½ hours, cooking, cleaning up, resting, chatting.  Finally we were rejuvenated enough to shower and set up the tent.  The State Park had nice showers and it was wonderful to be able to stand under the hot water and get clean.  We set up the tent at the edge of Webster Reservoir and fell asleep quickly.                I had another dream about the Naval Academy.  I was dreaming quite a lot—or perhaps remembering them more because the hard ground on which we slept would awaken me often.  Many of the dreams were about the Academy, and many were about the Outreach Clinic. Certainly the Academy and Outreach were two intense periods—two past phases of my life.  What would be the next phase? Posted May 13 2006, 01:57 PM by BillButler with 4 comment(s)

• Against the Wind, Day 36: a bike trip across America - a tailwind; a bad wind for sleeping

  Day 36, July 10               Next morning, we continued in our time-honored fashion: I started the stove and then packed the sleeping bags and tent, while Inanna got breakfast going—starting with coffee, then boiling eggs.  We had tried frying eggs, but we had no frying pan, and the two pots that came with our Svea stove yielded broken fried eggs and were difficult to clean afterward.  Boiled eggs and bread, or toast if we had some shortening, plus coffee was the standard breakfast.  We had become adept at buying a half-dozen eggs.  We couldn’t carry a dozen, but could boil six at breakfast, eat four, and save two for lunch.  We sometimes had to tear a dozen-egg carton in half. The stores always let us do that—I guess there must be other people out there wanting six, not twelve eggs.               The ride that morning was similar to the previous morning.  Starting cool, warming up, nice southeast tail wind.  US 24 was mostly flat, with little traffic, mostly headed due west.  We stopped for lunch at some picnic tables at the intersection of US 81, which runs due north and south, and continued.   At Glasco, Kansas the road began a slight bend to the northwest, following the Solomon River.  This made our ride a little easier, making the southeast wind an almost direct tailwind.  Outside of Beloit, we were advised to camp at the State Park at Glen Elder.               On the last 12 mile leg to Glen Elder we were both in pain.  Inanna had a headache, and my backside hurt.  Anyone who has spent much time on a bicycle has experienced the “sore-ass” syndrome, along with its companion among male riders, “numb-nuts”.  Most of your body weight is concentrated onto about two square inches of the anatomy, making contact with the bicycle seat.  Only the hands and feet help.  The feet are used to that much weight, but are not allowed to really pitch in.  The hands handle much more than they are used too, as the rider bends low to reduce wind resistance and conform to the dropped handlebars of the bike.  The rear end hurts, but gradually gets “broken in” and the pain isn’t so great.  At the end of long rides, however, we are reminded of our limits and everything starts to hurt—even the neck, which is forced to hold the head up at an odd angle.  I would stand on one pedal, coasting, trying to take the weight off my fanny and hands as I stretched my neck down, the opposite of the day’s posture.  That position couldn’t be held for long, however, especially if we were fighting a headwind.  But today the southeast wind gave me a little push as I extended myself into a kind of a sail.               I gave thanks, also, for the aridity of the west.  Before we crossed the Mississippi River, the humidity was much higher.  Not only were we fighting the painful posture and weight distribution of the bicycle, we were constantly wet.  This caused the equivalent of diaper rash on that intimate area which made constant contact with the bicycle seat.  At one point, I had actually purchased Desitin, the remedy I had used to contain Cathy’s diaper rash when she was a baby.  But here in the west, all was dry, and the rash had gone away as if by magic.               By the end of the day, we had made 70 miles—the best day, mileage-wise, so far, of the trip.               We found the State Park at Glen Elder, but the wind had whipped up drastically.  It had become a crosswind and for the last couple miles it was even difficult maintaining our balance.  The Park was on Woconda Lake, and there was a grove of tall, thin trees.  They were bending and swaying in the wind.  The sound of the wind in the trees was magnifying the sense of action, and anxiety.  Where would we shower, eat, camp?  The camping area was unprotected from the wind, the picnic area was too far from the showers.  Our exhaustion contributed to our confusion and indecision.  As we looked around, I was approached by a young woman, obviously drunk, took one look at my tan (I wasn’t wearing a shirt) and pronounced me a “nigger.”  I think she was actually trying to compliment me, and I took it as a compliment.  Finally we went to the picnic area.  We ate in fear of imminent thunderstorms—watching tremendous clouds churning up with energy and force above us.  But it didn’t rain while we ate.  We finally showered, then looked for a protected place to pitch the tent.  We found a low spot among the trees, away from the campground.  It seemed sheltered.                The wind was reduced by the trees, but seemed even louder as it roared through the tops of them.  We set up the tent with difficulty—it kept trying to fly out of our hands.  We decided to not set up the rain fly, because we were convinced the wind would rip it or worse.  We had to hope it wouldn’t rain.               Finally we were in our sleeping bags.  Exhausted as I was, I didn’t sleep well.  I was afraid of the wind, afraid that one of those long, slender trees would snap and come crashing down on us.  The wind seemed ready to tear our tent asunder.  After a couple hours of worrying, the wind really became ferocious.  We were reduced to holding the tent up from inside, pushing back with our arms and legs on the sides being blown in by the wind.  We had visions of flying away with the tent.  Finally we slept.               Later, I awoke to a strange silence—no wind!  There was much thunder in the distance, so I got up and set the rain fly.  Soon the wind came back, but from another direction, and again seemed about to blow us away—the rain fly made it worse.  I fell back asleep and had troubling dreams. Posted May 08 2006, 02:15 AM by BillButler with no comments

• Against the Wind, Day 35: A bike trip across America - Coming down from a high meditation

  Day 35, July 9, 1977   The morning was cool and we wore our sweaters as we broke camp.  The local store was still closed, so while we waited we had time to sip coffee and wash out our dirty clothes at a pump in the park.  The washing routine was always simple: rinse, ring out, attach lightly to the bungee cord that held the sleeping bag and tent to the rack on the rear wheel.  Then the laundry would dry as we pedaled.  By lunch, it would be dry, and could be stowed away.  We rarely used soap on our clothes or utensils.   We finally left Wheaton late because the store opened late, and we had nothing for breakfast.  Then we had to eat, and relax a little more while the food settled.  Quite different from the usual routine: eat breakfast and drink coffee first, the pack while the food has a chance to begin digestion.  When we did leave, a little boy followed us on his bike for a half-mile.   This day started out clear and cool, then warmed up, but never become too hot.  We were having a nice ride with some hills but very little traffic.  The scenery was beautiful.  At Tuttle Creek State Park we stopped to have lunch.  We were beside a long lake, which stretched 10 miles both north and south.  Since we were on a hill, we could see both ends of the lake from our vantage point.  Deep green pines dotted the grassy hillside down to the lake.  A strong easterly wind kept us cool—and reminded us of one reason we were having such a nice ride: a tailwind!  It made all the difference.  It made cycling like coasting down a gentle hill.  It also provided energy for the sailboat we could see below us.   We relaxed atop this hill, with our 360-degree view.  There was no topography in view taller than our promontory.  Inanna was beautiful and loving in the sunlight.  We laughed through lunch about the signs that led us to this spot in Kansas: The Dove, Harborfest, Dick’s resignation, my angel, the trip to Mammoth Cave, which showed us how much more fun it was to be off the Trans-American Trail, the ad we saw at Topeka which diverted us 30 miles north to visit the Potawatamis.  This seemed like a great trip.  We were happy.  I lay back in the grass and let myself float.   ***   Yes, Inanna was the third angel.   My ex was a responsible person, as I have said.  Honest to her bones.  But it wasn’t honesty I needed.  It was passion.  Locked in the all-male environment of the Academy, I and most of my comrades had become sex-obsessed.  She was to be the object of my passion.  But she wasn’t at all from that world.  And when we argued, I would withdraw, as she attacked.  I was miserable, and so was she.   But I was the one to call it quits, and it hurt her deeply.  Cathy was caught in the middle, but finally I couldn’t deny myself.  I began dating other women, still obsessed with sex, but also feeling totally inadequate about it.  None of the relationships could last as I treated each woman as a moth treats a light-bulb in the summer night: drawn in, slapped down, again and again.   The first time I kissed Inanna I knew there was something special.  I told her so, and she agreed, in a matter-of-fact way.  Sex was her gift, and she knew it.  She was outwardly shy, and never pursued sex, yet was able to respond whenever she wanted to.  She was patient with a confused, conflicted soul like me.  When just the two of us were together, she was always calm and peaceful.  And she was warm and accepting of Cathy, who lived with me that year.   She had been an English teacher, but hated teaching in the public schools.  She had gone back to school and received her masters in guidance and counseling.  She wanted to be a school counselor, but such positions were highly desirable, and many teachers had the training and competed for them.  That summer, we began living together in my house near the beach.  She was dreading going back to school.  Each day her dread grew, as the school year neared.  Then, she went in for the week of teacher preparation.  By that Friday, she was sick.  She couldn’t function over the weekend.  On the first day of school, she called in sick.  On the second day, she quit.   She knew it was the kiss of death in the school system.  You don’t quit on the first day of school and ever expect to be hired back.  She was depressed, but still thankful that I was offering her a safe home base.  She took a part time job working with retarded children, and another part time job waiting tables.   All that fall and winter, we stayed close.  I was her stability.  And she was showing me sex, for the first time.   ***   I rose from my reverie and we got back aboard our bikes and pushed on.  On the other side of Tuttle Creek Lake we came to a herd of cattle on the other side of a fence along the road. I resisted my normal impulse when I see cows, which is to say “moo” to them.  Instead I raised my hand and hollered, “hello cows!”  They stampeded.  I had never seen a cattle stampede before. Perhaps “moo” is a better greeting.   We arrived in Clay Center, Kansas and had a moment of indecision.  Should we stop here, where we could easily buy food, but there was no obvious place to camp?  Or should we buy food and ride on two miles to camp by the Republican River?  It was always our pattern to purchase food for dinner and breakfast at this time of the evening, but it would overload our panniers and any further riding would be a balancing act.  As we tried to decide, we absently watched some baseball players in a field.  Inanna mentioned that a cold beer would taste good right now.  One of the ball players came over, opened an ice chest, and offered us each ice-cold Coors beers!  He also gave us each a piece of cold fried chicken.  Inanna remarked, “God is good to me.”   Our decision no longer seemed to matter so much.  We bought our provisions and found a grassy area near a swimming pool in Clay Center.  We set up our tent, had dinner (delicious hamburger, but with bad cheese on it), and relaxed.  We climbed the fence when it got dark and became “midnight swimmers” to get clean.  We thought again about Fred and Alma back in Holden, MO.   I sent another letter back to my friends at the Outreach Clinic:  “…this trip is having a slowing effect on me, mellowing out my speediness.  Now I seem to be slow to make conversations with local people.  Last night I went into a gas station and couldn’t think of anything to say—like it was taking me a few minutes to come down from a high meditation.  And that’s what cycling is, after all—a kind of mantra-yoga—repeating the motion over and over ad infinitum.    “We are deeply tanned but look the same otherwise. My legs are no bigger, just a lot stronger.  Above the waist I still look like an undernourished Buddha.  We’re in the best cardio-vascular shape of our lives, however, I’m sure.  Eating a whole lot, maybe twice normal consumption.   “We’re right on schedule, should arrive at Greeley, Colorado by night of the 16th.  You can write us there c/o Jim & Ruth Sharon…Hope to be in San Fran. by mid August…” Posted May 07 2006, 06:05 PM by BillButler with 2 comment(s)