Starting From the Wrong Side

I'm drafting this entry while on the flight to San Fransisco, (San Jose to be precise). I'm not a good flier. The first leg of the flight, Hartford to DC, was awful: a tiny shuttle plane with a ton of turbulence. This flight has been much better thus far.

The trip from Nebraska to New England was a blur. While in Nebraska my parents celebrated their 33rd wedding anniversary. That seemed like a pretty big number to me. Otherwise, I did yard work with my mom, while dad rode around on his lawn mower acting as though it were some kind of chariot. I left my parents' homestead in Lincoln – which, by the way, was experiencing wonderful weather without the usual attendant bugs – around 1:00 p.m. on Sunday. The next thing I knew I was watching the sun rise east of Cleveland. I figure I'll be taking in my surroundings on a much more intimate level by the beginning of next week, so the hasty travel was no big loss.

I made it into southern Vermont on Monday afternoon. I stopped by the home of a couple of friends in Marlboro, VT, Megan and Mark, but they weren't home. I wound up heading to Brattleboro, and running into them at the food co-op while I was staring at my feet and hoping the ground would quit feeling as though it was moving. They had me come up to their place, fed me great food, a few beers and gave me their couch to sleep on. I don't remember too much. I know I enjoyed myself and probably said a lot of strange sleep-deprived things to them.

I went up to the booming metropolis of Waterville, Vermont, pop. nil, to drop my belongings off at another friend's, Marshall, home, about 30 miles south the Canadian border. When I had originally bought my plane ticket, I was assuming that Marshall would accompany me to the airport in Hartford and then drive my car back up to his place. That assumption turned out to be erroneous. Marshall had, after finishing his first year of law school, taken his wife and two daughters to the shores of sunny North Carolina on little more than a whim a few days before I go there. I got into his house, stashed my stuff and started trying to figure out ways to get to Hartford the next day (today). Luckilly, Megan was kind enough to take time off from work, and a picnic she had put together for her co-workers, and take me to the airport AND let me stash my car in Southern Vermont until Marshall can pick it up at some later date. So I haven't even ridden a mile on this trip yet and I'm indebted to a couple of friends already. Thanks again Megan, Mark, & Marshall. I'd really be behind the 8-Ball without your help.

While I was at Marshall's last going through a bunch of gear, I finally confirmed a bonehead move I had been suspecting ever since I got to Nebraska. I bought a bike rack that fit on the trunk of my car, and loaded my track bike, (which I am not taking on the ride), and a wheelset onto the rack. The bike had the pair of pedals that I was going to take on the ride mounted on it. When I was leaving Minneapolis, I noticed that the bike was swaying a bit from the wind. I pulled over and also noticed that one of the pedals was rubbing against one of the wheels I also had on the rack. I got my multi-tool, took the pedal in question off, promptly put the pedal and multi-tool on the road, got in my car, and drove off. Stellar. Now I'm out a set of pedals and a multi-tool that I love. Both will be replaced quickly, but it certainly doesn't instill confidence.....

I'm looking forward to landing in San Fran. I've never been there, and have heard nothing but good things about the place. There's a ton to do before we leave, but I'm lookingforward to seeing some old Marlboro College friends and Sam the Ospovat who all live in the bay area now, (although I'm pretty sure Sam is moving to Paris soon. That must be rough). Now I'm going to tap into the whiskey the stewardess placed in front of me.