The addition of a simple tube of hand cream to your arsenal of cold weather gear could be all that's needed to transform your outing from miserable to sublime.

Just before heading out, apply a generous dab of cream to your hands and feet. The action of rubbing the cream onto your skin stimulates circulation, and the layer of cream on your skin acts as a vapor barrier keeping warmth and moisture in and cold out. Any good quality hand cream (not lotion) will work just fine.

When you first head out, if you can wiggle your fingers and toes for a few minutes that will also help circulate more warming blood to your fingers and toes, keeping them nice and toasty.

After using this simple little trick, I've finished many rides in single digit temps bare handed. Try it. You might be surprised with the results. You might not end up bare handed, but your hands will be warm.

In general, the reason to use a mirror while bicycling in traffic is to maintain rearward situational awareness. Situational awareness is a cornerstone of safety.  Being aware of your surroundings is key to predicting what will happen next, and avoiding potential conflicts. By glancing in a mirror every few seconds you effectively double your awareness by extending it rearward. Rearward situational awareness is especially important to bicyclists because of our relatively slow speed.  Knowing what’s behind us enables us to predict what we will experience next to us and in front of us very soon.

It’s not possible to maintain rearward situational awareness without a mirror. You just can’t turn your head often enough or far enough to do that, and a head turn takes much more effort, time, and attention away from looking forward than a mirror glance does. With practice, you can learn to glance in an eyeglass or helmet mirror with one eye while maintaining at least peripheral vision forward with your other eye.

Beyond maintaining rearward situational awareness in general, let’s look at the many specific situations in which a mirror is especially useful to a cyclist.

To observe and learn how motorists react to various choices in lane position, in real time. Nothing convinces one of the value of full lane use more than watching motorists behave in the mirror. There is no fixed "sweet spot" where you get the best overtaking treatment as CyclingSavvy co-founder Keri Caffrey likes to show for urban riding and multilane arterials. There is such a sweet spot, but its location varies based on lane width, sight lines, road speed, road configuration, conditions, etc. Just keep adjusting left and right to a point where motorists see you well and behave optimally. A mirror greatly accelerates and enhances this process because you can observe motorist reaction to your position in real time while they’re still a ways back instead of waiting to see how much room they give you once they pass. One thing you can see in a mirror is how soon and far back they react to your presence - the sooner and further back they slow or move over for you, the more noticeable and relevant you are; the more effective is your position. Without a mirror you cannot get this information.

To know when you’re in a gap (no cars approaching from behind) so that you can freely use the full lane. Even when there is adequate space for bicycling safely at the edge (clean bike lane, striped shoulder, or margin of a wide lane), there are advantages to using the full lane. The prevalence of gaps allowing full lane use is much more frequent, and the gaps are much longer, than most cyclists who don’t use mirrors realize.  Among the advantages of using the full lane are:

Improves sight lines to potential hazards ahead.

Improves buffer safety space to potential hazards at the road edge.

Makes you more conspicuous and attention-grabbing to crossing/entering traffic ahead (reduces left-cross/pull-out risk).

Makes you more conspicuous and attention-grabbing to the traffic that will inevitably approach from behind (reduces right-hook, drift, and weave risk).

Puts you in a better position to start planning for a left turn, when applicable.

Puts you on cleaner road surface (much fewer flats; less chance of a debris-caused crash).

Allows for pleasant interactions with motorists who wave, smile and nod when you temporarily move aside for them (when safe, reasonable and necessary).

When using a full lane… A mirror while using the full lane (a.k.a. “taking the lane”, or riding near the center of a traffic lane) presents opportunities not available when riding in a bike lane, on a shoulder, near the road edge, or even in the right tire track...

To see when traffic is approaching from behind to know when to release by temporarily moving aside (if safe and reasonable to do so, after they indicate noticing you by slowing down).  Many states have laws that require drivers of slow moving vehicles to use a turnout when five or more vehicles are behind.   A mirror enables the cyclist to see this condition develop. Without a mirror a cyclist must ride by default in the road position required when faster same-direction traffic is present, when at the road edge or in a bike lane, because they have no reliable way of knowing when such traffic is arriving, or has arrived.

To not get hit from behind by seeing when someone is approaching from behind too quickly, perhaps because they are blinded by the sun, distracted, or inebriated… to know to do something to grab their attention, like look back at them, stand up, or zig-zag, and, if all that fails to grab their attention…  to know when you must get out of the way.

To eliminate most motorist harassment.  With a mirror you can see and know exactly when to acknowledge motorists approaching from behind, with a head turn look back and nod, or by using the slow/stop arm signal, right as they approach you. This conveys to them that you’re not oblivious about their presence, and nips annoyance and potential road rage in the bud. Motorist frustration often stems from the perception that the bicyclist causing the motorist to slow down is oblivious to the motorist. This is frustration that can quickly escalate to road rage. Timely acknowledgement – a timely look back and nod, or slow/stop signal – can be surprisingly effective in assuring motorists behind you that you know they are there and you know what you’re doing. It calms them. It also has the effect of knocking drivers out of “autopilot stupor”. Without a mirror a cyclist is likely to remain unaware of traffic approaching from behind until they start to get annoyed, if not already enraged and honking. By then it’s too late for acknowledgement to have much positive effect. Only with a mirror can you reliably notice them and acknowledge them in time to nip road rage in the bud.

To avoid the screened-second-driver crash. If one vehicle approaches from behind when another vehicle is behind it, the first vehicle may screen the cyclist from being seen by the second driver. If the first vehicle approaches quickly and moves over to pass in the final moments the second driver may come upon the cyclist too quickly to avoid collision. Timely acknowledgement of the first motorist prevents this situation by causing the first motorist to slow early and leave a safe following distance to the cyclist.

When preparing for a left turn or left merge, to know when not to bother looking back (you see a few more vehicles, then a good gap coming), or to know when signaling is required to initiate negotiation for right-of-way (long line of vehicles with no gap soon enough).

When in the leftmost/fast lane prior to making a left turn. On a relatively empty multi-lane road when you’ve already moved over into the far left lane in preparation for turning left, but still approaching the point where the left turn lane appears, it’s impractical to ride with your left arm extended.  But your presence there can be confusing and even appear unsafe or illegal to motorists approaching from behind.  But with a mirror you can see them coming and extend that left arm for them to see for clarity, and usually dispel any consternation over your “odd” positioning.

Prior to taking a drink or a bite to eat, to glance back and make sure you’re not about to be passed by a large vehicle requiring both hands on the bars.

To see when another bicyclist is catching up with you, so you know to speed up to keep that from happening!

To monitor a group when riding at the front, to see if gaps are developing, if everyone is riding well together, etc. It’s particularly useful on a climb, to see exactly when a gap starts to develop so as to know immediately when to back off the pace a bit.

To be the rabbit on a climb.  Your buddy is behind but catching up on that long climb, hoping to catch you.  Use your mirror to maintain a tantalizing distance so he thinks he can catch you, but don’t get so far ahead that he gives up.

On a fast twisty descent, so you can see if a motorist is about to pass you before moving from the edge towards the middle of the road following the optimal descent line.

On a blind curve or blind crest, so you know when they can see you (if you can see them; they can see you), and when you're past that point. It also shows you how much longer you're visible to them based on where you're positioned.

While I had learned about all the standard crash types and how to avoid them, this one stumped me. I thought about it a lot, and experimented, and finally came up with a practice that is counterintuitive and seems complicated for most, but I find to be engaging, simple, and extremely effective.

The technique is based on the observation that drivers are more apt to be inattentive in light traffic, particularly when there is no traffic in front of them, and that cyclists on shoulders are essentially irrelevant to motorists and are very likely to be ignored and overlooked. So a road with a cyclist on the shoulder or in a bike lane, and otherwise empty, can be effectively perceived by a motorist to be an empty road.

When the road ahead is empty, or is perceived to be empty despite the presence of a cyclist on the shoulder, the approaching motorist is much more likely to attend to a distraction long enough to lead to a drift onto the shoulder.

So it occurred to me that the key to avoiding falling victim to such a crash is riding in a manner that grabs the attention of the motorist before they choose to attend to a distraction, and you do this by using the full lane during such periods even when there is a good shoulder or bike lane adjacent to the road you're on.

Further, with the mirror you can see them coming, you can observe them noticing you, by their slowing down or changing lanes, and then as a gesture of cooperation you can move aside perhaps even all the way onto the shoulder.  It's a great way to get a nod, smile or wave from overtaking drivers, which you'd almost never get if you just were riding along on the shoulder the whole time.

I've been doing it for over 15 years now and it works really well for me.  When I explain it, people often don't get it. They usually miss the part about grabbing the motorist's attention before they attend to a distraction.  It's important to realize that it's impossible for a driver to maintain course without doing at least a brief course check every few seconds. It's during those inevitable course checks that you need to be in the lane where you'll grab their attention from continuing to attend to their distraction.

Of course in theory it's possible that somehow they'll overlook you in the lane right in front of them, but a driver doing this is blatantly obvious to a bicyclist in the lane with a mirror because unlike every other driver who is slowing down and/or changing lanes this one is just continuing to maintain course and speed, and this is obvious long before it's too late to do something about it. You can do something even more overt to grab their attention like look back or issue the slow/stop arm signal, or even zigzag a little. If all else fails you still have enough time and space to bail onto the shoulder where you would've been if you weren't using this technique, but in almost 20 years I've never had to resort to doing that.

RAID takes place in late September. The weather is cool and daylight is limited. It started getting dark around 7 PM, and by 8 PM I was riding in total darkness. Everything started looking different. I am used to riding at night and I had a great headlight, but this took a little getting used to. Eastern Iowa has quite a few Amish settlements, and I was passing or encountering the occasional Amish buggy on the road. There were quite a few hoof prints and wagon wheel tracks on the side of the road.

Around 10 PM  my legs were also cramping up badly. I ‘limped” into the next town and Saraleigh had found a convenience store that was still open. I ate a couple of overripe bananas (potassium) which provided immediate but not full relief. At least I was able to continue on. The bike I was riding only had one water bottle holder, and I made the rookie mistake of thinking that would be enough if I stopped to fill it occasionally. But I didn’t want to stop until I absolutely had to.

Around 11 PM I was approaching the small town of New Vienna (pop 400).  St. Boniface Catholic Church loomed ahead. This Gothic cathedral with its 200 foot high steeple, was beautifully lit at night. And at 11 PM the parking lot and streets around the church were full! “How devout were these people”,  I thought. Then I noticed the honky tonk bar across the street. The crowd was spilling out onto the sidewalk, and the band could be heard from blocks away. I pushed on.

I was soon in Dyersville, Iowa. Finding the Heritage Trail in Dyersville meant there was only about 30 miles to the finish in Dubuque. The heritage Trail is known for its scenic beauty. But I didn’t see any of it. In September, the walnut trees had shed their fruit and there was thousands of walnuts littering in the trail. Hit one and you are down! So instead of enjoying the natural beauty which was obscured by darkness, I concentrated on what was immediately ahead on the trail.

I also met Kary Conaway in Dyersville and we rode into Dubuque together. This insulin-dependent bicycle fanatic continues to amaze me with his exploits on his bike. Next rookie mistake upcoming;  I hadn’t bothered to even look at a map before I started this ride. So as we were approaching Dubuque still on the Heritage Trail, I was totally disoriented. It was also probably brain dead from the grueling ride. I thought we should be coming into town from the south when in fact we were coming in from the north. Seeing the Mississippi river on my left took me by surprise. We spent at least 30 minutes wandering around a deserted residential neighborhood in Dubuque, trying to find the finish line. We eventually found it about 15 minutes after my headlight died. Cold leftover pizza never tasted so good.

Saraleigh was there at the finish line and she had made friends with Marlys, Kary’s wife. It was around 2:30 AM and we checked into the nearby hotel. Saraleigh told me she had received a message from Craig Cooper, a friend of ours from Grinnell Iowa who owned Bikes to You, the bike shop in Grinnell. He was hosting a transcontinental cyclist, Franck Blanchard from France, who was riding his bicycle from New York City to San Francisco. Craig asked if we were interested in hosting Franck the following night.

When I woke at 8:30, we called Craig back and told him we would be happy to host Franck, but we wouldn’t be back in Des Moines until the late afternoon. We gave Craig the code to our garage door, which he relayed onto Franck, who was already on the road to Des Moines. When we arrived at home, we were greeted by our new house guest.

Franck Blanchard was from France, but he was currently living in Geneva, Switzerland. He had quit his job as an Apple Genius at the Apple Store in Geneva to follow his dream of riding across the US. He was a very ambitious personable young man who spoke near perfect English. He was amazed that we had just let him in to our house. He had been using Warmshowers.org to find places to stay overnight along the way.  We hadn’t heard of warmshowers.org. It is a online resource that matches long distance riders with hosts. By the time, Frank reached Des Moines his bike was in need of some serious maintenance and repairs. He spent three days getting his bike ready for the remainder of his ride. During that time, the three of us became great friends.

We were sorry to see him leave, but we were looking forward to following his journey to San Francisco. When he got to San Francisco, his plan was to fly to Japan and spend a couple of weeks wandering around Japan on his bike, before returning to Switzerland. The flight he booked to Japan included a layover in Hawaii. He spent four days in Hawaii and during that time, he met Karmen Sepetavc. She was a beautiful young woman vacationing in Hawaii from Slovenia, also traveling solo. She had booked the trip as a gift to herself, for her 30th birthday. Except for his brief trip to Japan they have been inseparable ever since. He has since then moved to Slovenia and they have three beautiful children (all boys) together. Franck and Karmen are such good  looking people. I just knew that if they had children together, those kids would be absolutely gorgeous. And they are. Nearly here later, we were camping near Jefferson Iowa when we heard the news of their first born. Now I understand the feelings proud grandparents experience.

We follow one another on Facebook and exchange occasional greetings. I noticed recently that he had resumed long distance cycling. In 2014 he did a solo trip through the Balkans, 570 miles in one week, from Montenegro to Slovenia, passing through the Serbian Republic, Bosnia, Croatia, and finally back to his home. That was to mark the 10-year anniversary of his amazing solo trip across the U.S. In 2025 he rode the Race Across Austria. A 200 mile ride with 15,000 feet of elevation gain, all in under 24 hours. He said it was a great experience, and he might continue doing similar events. I hope he does.

It was because of Franck and Craig Cooper that we first heard about warmshowers.org. We immediately checked out the Warmshowers.org website and signed up to be hosts. We were soon receiving requests from amazing transcontinental and long distance riders. Here are a few of their stories:

I was trying to think of something meaningful to get dad for his birthday. He was watching television when a big noisy flashy commercial came on for the Super Bowl of Motorsports. These were very popular events until the mid 2000s featuring muscle cars, motorcycles, and monster trucks performing daring leaps through the air, crashing into stuff and just creating general mayhem. Names of the trucks included War Wizard, Maximum Destruction, Grave Digger and The Destroyer……. I’m sure you get the drift. Him and I used to go to events at Twin City Speedway called Joie Chitwood’s Thrill Show, featuring cars, jumping off of ramps and driving around the track on two wheels. We also used to go to stock car races, sometimes several times a week.

Dad said “ You know, one of these days I would like to go to one of those”. I’m not sure if he meant it or not, but the next day in between shots, I went looking for tickets for the event, taking place that weekend at Tampa Stadium. That evening, after I took mom and dad out for dinner, I surprised him with a birthday card containing two tickets for the Super Bowl of Motorsports. He looked at the tickets with a puzzled expression on his face and said,” I don’t think mom would like this”. I replied, “ Dad, these tickets aren’t for you and mom,  they’re for you and me. It’s guys night out.”

The day of the event at Tampa Stadium, I only had a few quick shots I wanted to get done, so we left for Tampa early in the afternoon. It was about a two-hour drive to the outdoor stadium. We stopped along the way for dinner and we had plenty of time to find parking and get into the stadium and find our seats. As I was helping him up the 20 rows to our seats, something dawned on me. Here I was, helping my dad, as he had done for me most of my young life. This man had been my protector, and now I was his. This man, who every time he watched me pick up a piece of wood would warn me to be careful so I don’t get slivers. This man who taught me how to ride a bike, running beside me for most of the morning, till I got the hang of it and found my balance. Here I was now, helping him maintain his balance, as we walked up the steps to our seats.

The show we witnessed was everything I expected it to be, and dad seemed to enjoy it too. It was a solid two hours of nonstop entertainment, and thrills. On the drive home, my dad, usually not one to say much, couldn’t stop talking about the show… until he fell asleep, as I had done years before, riding home from some adventure. I’m so glad I took him to the Super Bowl of Motorsports when I did. My dad died less than a year later, on December 25, 1995

The following weekend, I was anxious to visit the Winnipeg roller rink to see if Norma was there. And she was. I divided my time between skating with her and helping other skaters who were preparing for proficiency testing I had organized for a few weeks later.   The Winnipeg rink had a resident coach who I had agreed to assist in preparing his skaters for the tests. My new Grand Forks judges would be coming up to Winnipeg to judge and test the Winnipeg skaters.

When the skating session ended at 10 PM, Norma and I went out for a late snack, and I found out a little bit more about her. She told me she had grown up in an orphanage operated by Catholic nuns from age 6 to 18, with brief stays in foster homes.  Her biological parents were indigenous alcoholics, and she had been made a ward of the state at age 6. Shortly after she turned 18, the Province of Manitoba, as well as quite a few US states, changed the age of majority from 21 to 18. While this change had many benefits for most young people, including the right to vote, it was catastrophic for Norma. Overnight, she was not able to live legally with her foster parents who operated a group home in a house owned by the Province of Manitoba. This explained why she was living with a girlfriend at the girlfriend’s parent’s home.

The province was paying for her technical school education and giving her a small stipend for living expenses. She was just getting by. After we finished eating, I took her home, but not before getting her phone number. We agreed that we would spend the day together the following Sunday before going to the rink in the late afternoon.

I was living in a small town just over the North Dakota/Manitoba border and working six days a week. I would spend most Sundays in Winnipeg. After meeting Norma, this became the routine. I would call her from a payphone when I got to Winnipeg late in the morning. We would usually go to a movie then out to eat and then go to the roller rink.

When she finished her classes, she had to find another place to live. She found a residence for young women operated by the Sisters of Service. She stayed there for several months and seemed quite comfortable. But she was having difficulty finding work. About the best she could find was a front office position at a company that provided commercial cleaning services. She continued working there for several months and we continued dating.

We soon became “serious” and discussed getting married. I had already decided to attend photography school in Santa Barbara, California. It was a three year program, and the school had a 18 month waitlist. That was fine with me. The large construction job I was working, paid well and I was saving money for school and was making arrangements to receive VA benefits for tuition.

When Norma’s employer found out that she was planning to move with me to California they laid her off; they didn’t want to train her any further. About the only logical thing for her to do was to move in with me in North Dakota. I was afraid she would get bored during the day while I was at work, but she seemed OK with that. We still spent weekends in Winnipeg going to movies, skating, and visiting with her former foster parents. We were young, happy and deeply in love.

But we faced a dilemma; I wasn’t certain how well my parents would accept our living arrangements. This was a topic that dominated our conversations for several weeks. We decided that honesty would be the best policy. We also agreed that we would get married in Minnesota several weeks before we were scheduled to move to California. Norma’s foster parents as well as her foster sister would attend the wedding.  I thought the best approach was to tell my dad first that we had been living together and let him decide how to break the news to my mom.

We moved in with my parents about a month before the wedding, and it was just a few days after that that we had “the talk” with my dad. At first, he thought we should keep it as our secret. But I felt that it was a secret too hard and important to keep. One slip up, and the cat would be out of the bag. Dad finally agreed.

We had less than a month to pull the details of a semi-formal church wedding together. The following day, Norma and I were out interviewing wedding photographers. When we got back home, dad was there, but mom was not. He told her that we had been living together and she went “ballistic”. He didn’t know where she was or when she would return. But it wasn’t good!

She didn’t return until the next morning and the war was on. We came very close to leaving for California that day, but my dad insisted that we stick it out. There were no kind words exchanged for weeks. My mom accused Norma of being a freeloader and insisted that she could’ve found another job. I felt so sorry for Norma. She was caught in the middle of an unwinable situation. I never saw my mother so angry. We weren’t allowed to be alone in the same room together. One morning my mother woke me up very early and she told me I was making a big mistake. That move by my mother only straightened my resolve.

We made the best of the bad situation and the actual wedding went off without much drama… except for the pictures. My mom looked so angry in any picture she was in that they weren’t usable. We certainly didn’t want pictures to remind us of just how angry and mean she was.

We spent our two-day mini-honeymoon trying to relax in a hotel in Minneapolis and planned to leave for California in about 10 days. We arrived back home to a very tense situation. That night we overheard a telephone conversation mom was having with her sister who lived in Colorado. Mom was still angry and she told her sister that she was going to leave my dad. Norma and I left the house immediately and didn’t return until the next day with a U-Haul trailer hitched to my car. It took us about two hours to load our belongings and wedding gifts into the trailer and we just left.

We stopped at White Castle on our way out of town and got a bag of burgers and drinks for the road. We spent about two hours in silence when it was finally time to comment about how much land there was. That finally broke the ice and the drive to our first overnight stop in Omaha was pleasant and uneventful. I apologized to Norma and we agreed to try to put all the drama behind us.

We didn’t talk much about the situation with my mom, but when we did, I expressed bewilderment about the whole turn of events. It took me almost 30 years to figure it out. Mom died in 2003. By then I was married and divorced twice. I was cleaning out her house in Florida and came across a neatly organized bin of papers. In those papers, I found my parents marriage license. I always knew the date of their wedding, but I was never certain of the year. As a little kid, I didn’t think much of that. Turns out they were married in August of 1947, and I was born in February 1948. I was not born prematurely. That would also explain my grandmother‘s ambivalence towards my dad and his mother. Not once while I was growing up did my maternal grandmother ever refer to my dad or his mother by their given names, always, and only “you”. This eye popping revelation also brought up another question, which I can only speculate as to an answer. Both my parents lived at home until they got married, which was quite common in the post war era. Where in the hack was I conceived?

When my dad was serving in China, he would send money back to his parents as a down payment for new a car. But instead of saving the money for him, my grandparents used his money to buy the lot next to their home, without telling my dad. Instead of being able to buy a new car (which were in short supply) my dad had to buy a used car, a 1932 Ford roadster. He kept that car till I was about four years old. I remember it had a rumble seat. Is it possible that is where I was conceived? If that’s the case, kudos to both of them for pulling that off. It would certainly explain my ongoing fascination with cars, Fords in particular.

Our next stop was on our westward odyssey was Wheatridge Colorado, a western suburb of Denver, where mom’s sister lived with her husband, John. They had been at the wedding and they too were unable to explain mom’s behavior. We stayed there for a few days acting like tourists. Norma had traveled very little, so everywhere we went was a new experience for her. We both enjoyed the beauty and serenity of Colorado, but soon it was time to move on. Next stop, Salt Lake City. We took our time on the drive to Salt Lake City and didn’t arrive until after dark. I had skating friends who lived in the area and I wanted Norma to meet them, so we planned on staying there for a few days.

The further we got from Minnesota, the more relaxed we felt. I think we both sighed a sigh of relief when we crossed over into California. We spent a few days in San Francisco and from there drove south through Monterey and Big Sur. I had only been in this area one time before; we both marveled at the natural beauty, and I promised Norma we would return.

We pulled into Santa Barbara late in the afternoon and found a place to stay for about a week. The car needed some service so the next day I took care of that and Norma explored the area by the beach. The following day we set about the task of finding a permanent place to live.  The plan was to use the money I saved to make a down payment on a mobile home and live in it, but we quickly realized that was not possible. There was a strong, no growth vibe in the area. Buying the mobile home wasn’t a problem finding a place to park it was.

So we shifted gears and started apartment hunting. We found a place that catered to students of the school I was going to go to. Along with laundry facilities in the common area it also had a couple of well equipped dark rooms. It was also close to the school campus.

We signed the lease and moved in the next day. The real Odyssey was about to begin.

My classes were scheduled to start about a week later, so we took our time settling in to our new digs.  First item on the agenda; grocery shopping. Norma had never been to a real grocery store so she wanted to go with me. She seemed pleasantly overwhelmed and surprised with the nearby Safeway. In the produce section, I tasked her with picking out a few onions and told her to remove all the loose skins from the onions while I looked for a head of lettuce. In a few seconds I looked back at her, studiously cleaning the onions before putting them in a bag. She looked up and saw me chuckling and quickly realized she was being pranked.

Other pranks proceeded as opportunities presented them. Norma was highly intelligent, but also extremely naïve. Her less than normal up bringing just didn’t prepare her well for life in the real world. I saw this as an opportunity to help her grow as a person, but I couldn’t resist playing the occasional prank. Everything,  even the pranks were learning opportunities. One late afternoon we were at beach about 60 miles north of Santa Barbara for a school photo assignment. It was getting dark on the drive back to Santa Barbara and we were on a long winding road. When it was totally dark, I told Norma I wish we had “around the corner” headlights on the car. She asked about them and I told her they were lights where the beam of the light bent around curves. She asked if they were expensive and I told her that is why we didn’t have them and we didn’t need them all that much. She pondered this in silence for some time, and I changed the subject. A few days later, I brought up the subject of around the corner headlights, and she quickly realized she had again been pranked.

We were window shopping in downtown Santa Barbara one afternoon and passed a small furniture store. There was a large bedstead in the display window. Instead of having full length side rails, the headboard and footboard were displayed with shortened side rails. I made sure Norma saw this bed. She took the bait and asked why the bed was so short. I explained that it was for small rooms and people slept in the bed sideways. We quickly moved onto the next display window. It was several days before I fessed up.

But like the boy who cried wolf, it was sometimes difficult to explain to her something that was in fact true. Like the time we were driving somewhere, and I explained that we were traveling 60 miles an hour, which was the same as a mile/minute. I tried every way I could think of to convince her that this was true and I wasn’t trying to prank her. But she made up her mind that she was being pranked and would have nothing to do with believing me.

Norma spent a better part of the first year we lived in Santa Barbara not working. She barely left the apartment without me. I urged  her to find a job and she said she would, but she didn’t. She eventually found a job that suited her sensibilities perfectly. She worked for a company that manufactured magnetic heads, that read floppy disc drives. (Remember those?) She worked alone in a room where she finished polishing the heads. We also purchased new 10-speed bicycles and she started commuting to from work on her bicycle, a one-way distance of about 10 miles. Her confidence grew as she progressed with the company and continued to commute by bike. By the time I graduated from school, she was ready to move on with her career.

Besides going to school I also worked a part-time job as a cook in a pizza restaurant. It was the hardest job I ever had and paid the least, but it helped pay the bills. I kept looking for better jobs, but in small-town Santa Barbara they were difficult to find. I eventually found a job at a downtown Santa Barbara law firm, converting their paper files to microfilm. I worked there over a year and fed over 1.3 million pieces of paper into their microfilm camera. In their files, I read the history of the firm, and got to know all the details of how the law works. At this time, all the named partners of the firm were still actively practicing law and I got to know most of them well. When I got near the 1 million pieces of paper mark, I sent a note to one of the managing partners asking if anyone would be interested in seeing what 1 million pieces of paper looked like. In the wooden cabinets made for storing old files, the 1 million pieces of paper took up about 33 linear feet… quite impressive he agreed. Over the next several weeks most of the partners and associates as well as the paralegals and  secretaries, came down to the basement where the files resided. Most agreed that they had no idea what 1 million pieces of paper looked like.

I also became “friends” with one of the named partners who owned a Citroen SM automobile. I asked him if I could borrow the car for a day or two for a school photo assignment. Without hesitation he gave me the keys to his car and said I should keep it for a week since he was going to be out of town the following week. How cool!

School was challenging, but not impossible, the learning curve was steep. Reflecting back on the time spent in school. I realized that the lessons I learned which I thought were most worthless eventually became the most valuable. I felt that learning portraiture and how to photograph hands were two of the biggest wastes of time possible.  But once I graduated from school and became employed, portraiture and photographing hands became valuable tools to know, and I used that knowledge virtually daily. Norma and I moved from beautiful Santa Barbara to a very greasy and chaotic neighborhood in Hollywood. The school had arranged for me to take a work study program with a glamour photographer in Hollywood. At the time he was earning  most of his income from assignments for Playboy magazine.

On one occasion, we were building a set for a photo shoot in Hugh Hefner’s abandoned 10th floor apartment in the Playboy building on Sunset Boulevard. This former luxury apartment which took up the entire 10th floor of the building showed signs of the former life style of it’s occupant. There was a platform for a round bed in what I assumed was the bedroom, and a wet bar in a corner of the room. There were cases of spent soda bottles strewn about everywhere. The whole apartment look like it has been vacated in haste. The panoramic view out of the 10th floor windows was stunning. On the north side of the apartment the view was of the Hollywood Hills, on the south side it overlooked West Hollywood with miles of Los Angeles beyond. Just below the building there were two and three story apartment buildings for several blocks. On the sun deck roof of one of the buildings, there was a girl sunbathing topless. Ken, the photographer I was working for, was going crazy trying to catch a better view of the girl. He was running around like a crazy person, trying to find a camera with a telephoto lens, none to be found. He made Bob, his full-time assistant drive back to his studio, about 30 minutes away in traffic, to get a camera with a long lens. He paced like a caged animal, waiting for Bob to bring the camera, checking about every five minutes that the girl was still on the sun deck. He even had me positioned so I could tell him if the girl was still there. Just about the time Bob arrived with the camera, the door leading to the sun deck closed. The girl was gone! Ken threw a major fit, and didn’t talk to anybody for the rest of the day. Now this is a guy who had probably seen more beautiful, topless women than just about anybody. Why did this one sunbather matter? I’ll never understand.

Several months after that, I was invited to the Playboy studio Christmas party. The main West Coast studio was located on the ninth floor of the Playboy building. It and several supporting offices, took up the entire ninth floor. The resident photographer at the time was named Mario. Everybody knew Mario and Mario knew everybody. He invited about 200 of his friends to the party, including playmates, other Playboy models, several recognizable movie stars in a little ol’ me. There was an abundance of food, drink, and drugs to go around. It became quite a sight to behold. I left the party after midnight (stone cold sober) encountered a playful little scuffle going out in the parking garage. Mario was attempting to leave in his Mercedes and Grant the studio’s full-time assistant was giving Mario a hard time, taunting him, calling him a greasy wop and reaching through the open window of Mario’s car to mess up his hair. They were both extremely high. Mario gunned his car while rolling up the window, dragging Grant through the garage. He could have killed him. Grant wasn’t released until Mario had to stop for the guard to let him out out of the garage.

I worked assisting Ken and other contributing Playboy photographers for about six more months. It took another six months for me to become gainfully employed as in-house photographer at Starcrest of California, a mail-order catalogue company in Costa Mesa, California. It was a career trajectory I had not anticipated, but I enjoyed the challenge. Norma and I moved from Hollywood to Buena Park and a much nicer apartment in a nicer neighborhood.

The “studio” at Starcrest was shockingly small. It consisted of two former adjoining offices with the common wall that had been crudely removed, less than 500 square feet, about 1/10th the size of the Playboy studio, with an 8 foot ceiling. If my assistant was setting up one shot while I worked on finishing another, we were quite literally working on top of one another. It took a couple of months to convince the bosses that we needed more studio space. We were able to carve out about 1500 square feet of unused warehouse space for a new larger studio. Still not ideal, but better than the two offices.

The product line at Starcrest of California ranged from household accessories to low-end women’s clothing and pantyhose. The former name of the company was Pantyhose Club of America. I like to think at this time that my photos showed up at the White House. Susan Ford daughter of President Gerald Ford was was on the Pantyhose Club/Starcrest mailing list so it is very likely that some of their mailings made it to her in the White House. I was in charge of making cheap merchandise look about twice as valuable. I must’ve been successful, because returns started to spike. One day, the operations manager came into the studio and asked me to not make the products look so good. He thought they were getting too many returns.

The company also carried a line of women’s basic lingerie. The company had relationships with mid-level modeling agencies in Los Angeles. With a minimum of eight setups, we were able to book a model for a 2 to 3 hour session. It wasn’t unusual for an attractive young model to be standing in front of my camera dressed only in underwear within 15 to 20 minutes of her arrival. My work study program with Playboy magazine prepared me well. Most of the models we booked were aspiring actresses, including an actress who did a nude scene in the movie Animal House, several Rose Bowl Parade Queens and Rita Wilson, who was in Sleepless in Seattle and My Big Fat Greek Wedding and became Tom Hanks’ wife.

I also photographed quite a few pieces of costume jewelry. The close-up detail was challenging and fun to accomplish. We had this one nice looking jewelry ensemble;  matching necklace, bracelet, and earrings. We booked a model to display the jewelry and my assistant found a handsome young guy who worked in the warehouse to play the part of her boyfriend, as though he had just gifted her the jewelry. It took me about 20 minutes to get the shots I wanted and the model/actress played her part perfectly, acting very affectionate to her new generous “boyfriend”. When I announced that we had the shot, the model immediately made a break for the dressing room to prepare for the next shot, followed by my assistant and I went to reload the cameras for the next set up, but not before I glanced back where the young warehouse worker was still seated on a stool with a smitten gob-smacked look on his face. Instant love!

A 20-piece microwave cookware set became a major production. We planned to finish the shot right about lunchtime, when we hosted the warehouse workers to eat the prop food. When we got the processed film back from the lab the next day, right in the middle of the chili-mac was a big ol’ fluorescent blue green fly. The bosses decided it would be more expensive to retouch the fly then to stage a reshoot, so we reshot the   set up two days later with new food and we again fed the warehouse crew.

Several weeks before Halloween, Joy my assistant and several other employees organized a costume dress up for Halloween day. We didn’t expect to get much work done that day. I built a set in one corner of the studio, where employees could just come in and I would take their photo. Over the course of the day I must’ve taken 50 or 60 photos of employees dressed in all sorts of costumes. Joy and I had our costumes all planned out; we came to work dressed in our regular clothes, but we brought extra clothes that each of us would change into about mid morning. Joy, who usually wore make up, put her make up on me, and she found a wig that sort of resembled my current hairstyle that she wore. The transformation was striking! When we walked into the art production studio, our coworkers were shocked. One thing we didn’t plan or anticipate was that we each started mimicking each other‘s mannerisms and characteristics. During our morning break, Joy sat where I usually sat, and I sat in her place at the head of the table. I usually sat with my back to a wall and leaned my chair up against it. That day, that’s what Joy did. We even started speaking like one another. After our break when I went back into the photo studio, I glanced at the reflection in a mirror on the opposite wall and thought it was Joy. But it was actually me. For the rest of the day, I WAS Joy.

It was also the day that our boss, the Executive Vice President of the company  announced that he was leaving the company. His announcement came as a total shock to all of us, and soon the frog, Maid Marion and two of the Three Stooges were crying. It seemed like a scene out of a Federico Fellini movie. Why he chose that day to make his announcement is still beyond me.

Before I left Starcrest, several months later, the bosses asked me if I would participate in selecting my replacement. I called my first assistant, who had earlier left the company that, she was surprised. She said it seemed like company policy that they wouldn’t allow someone who was leaving to participate in selecting their replacement. They received about 30 applications for my job, most of whom were woefully unqualified. We quickly and easily narrowed down the applicants to three and held interviews for all three on one afternoon. I was pleased that we mutually decided to hire a graduate from Brooks Institute. He came to work several days before I was scheduled to leave.

One thing that isn’t out of date, is the impact Altra shoes have had on the running shoe industry. They are still the leaders in zero drop heel, lightweight, flexible shoes with extra wide toe space. I am amazed at how many established shoe brands have followed their lead, and how many brands have been established on this simple, basic philosophy. What follows is what my friend Sarah Cooper had to say about Altra riding shoes.

I've only been running in Altra Torin shoes for two months, but my experience has been so overwhelmingly positive that Bill asked me to share my thoughts about these shoes.

I am 42 years old and have been a consistent year round runner for eight years. I have never been a high mileage runner, usually averaging 30–45 miles a week. I am primarily a long course triathlete and ultra distance cyclist, but I absolutely love to run.

Like most runners, I have some unique needs and have tried a number of different shoes. I have a small leg length difference, with my right leg just a little shorter than my left. Years of imbalance have begun to take their toll on my right knee, and I struggled with significant pain and swelling this past summer. I also have arthritis in both feet and bunions. I've tried many shoes over the years (Nike, Asics, and Kswiss are a few that I can recall), mostly running in various models of Mizuno and most recently the Hoka One One. I've had to cut large holes in my shoes to widen them enough to accommodate my forefoot, and also cut a separate hole to open up a space for my bunion.

I went in to see Bill at Kyle's Bikes last fall out of frustration after a five-week no running layoff due to a foot injury that occurred during Ironman Canada. I could not run farther than seven miles in any of my shoes without knee pain, severe blistering, or foot pain.

I love running, and even though I'm not terribly fast I'm just not ready to give it up. He recorded me running both barefoot and with my shoes on, and I discovered that if I run faster than a 8:00 mile with shoes on, I'm heel striking, which was causing knee pain. Bill finally steered me right, and I would encourage anyone who is not happy running to stop in to Kyle's and try the Altra shoes. I suspect I heel strike when I'm tired too, no matter the pace. He had me try the zero drop Altra Torin, and I no longer heel strike at any pace or distance that I've chosen to run. It's been a truly remarkable experience for me.

Bill had me size up a full size larger for these shoes. The forefoot is wide enough to accommodate my bunion and allow my toes to spread out, yet my feet don't slide around or jam into the front of the shoe going downhill. For a lightweight shoe, the Altra Torin is surprisingly well cushioned. I've run up to 17 miles in it with no forefoot or knee pain, and it still feels light on my feet even at the tail end of a long run. After eight weeks, the large callous and chronic ugly blister that I have lived with on my right bunion for years are almost gone.

The shoes came with two insoles, one contoured and one for strengthening. I've not tried the strengthening insole yet, mostly because I've been so satisfied with the shoes right out of the box that I was afraid to mess with it.

I've seen Bill several times over the months I've been in these shoes, and all I can say is that I'm in running heaven. I am just so thankful that my knee is no longer hurting, and frankly amazed that my feet don't hurt after a run. It's been years since I could say that.

I also purchased the Altra Intuition 1.5, but have not enjoyed that shoe nearly as much for running. The Intuition has less cushioning than the Altra Torin. It is still a comfortable shoe and does not cause blistering, but I find the lack of cushioning to be a deterrent. My feet feel fairly well pounded after an hour run in the Intuition. I think if I were not also spending so much time in bike shoes, I would enjoy this shoe more, but I find that currently I end up wearing it more as a walking around shoe than a running shoe. My feet have never been so happy at Disney World than the days I spent walking around in the Intuition. So, It was definitely a good purchase for me even though I'm not using it as intended.

In summary, I think the Altra Torin is a great shoe for someone like me with bunions, or someone who heel strikes as a result of the wrong shoe choice. I had never previously considered running in a zero drop shoe; any time I had shopped at local running shoe stores I had been steered toward the heavy motion control clunkers. I'm glad Bill finally steered me right, and I would encourage anyone who is not happy running to stop in to Kyle's and try the Altra shoes.

Sarah Cooper, a 45-year-old mother of 4, quickly became a legend in the Ultra cycling community. In her very first Ultra cycling race, a 500 miler in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California, she finished overall in first position, I mean she finished ahead of everyone else, including a deep field of men. She was so far ahead of the pace that she crossed the finish line before it was even set up. That same year, she went on to finish first woman in the Silver State 508 in Nevada. This 508-mile bicycle race is revered the world over for its epic mountain climbs, stark desert scenery, desolate roads, and its reputation as one of the toughest but most gratifying endurance challenges available, bar none. Over the past twenty-five years, The 508 has become recognized as the premier 48-hour ultracycling race in the world and "The Toughest 48 hours in Sport." This vulnerable race takes place almost entirely along US Highway 50 in Nevada. U.S. Highway 50 has the nickname "The Loneliest Road in America," a title bestowed upon it by Life magazine in 1986. The name comes from the remote, desolate stretch between Ely and Fallon, which passes through the Great Basin desert with long distances between towns. Despite its reputation for being empty, this section offers stunning scenery, a sense of solitude, and a route that follows the historic Pony Express trail, with attractions like ghost towns, Great Basin National Park, and recreational areas along the way.  

Other victories included first overall at RAW, the Race Across the West, which starts in Oceanside, California and ends in Durango Colorado, a distance of over 800 miles. In that race, she was the first solo finisher, she finished ahead of ALL the solo men and women. The only riders finishing ahead of her were a few relay teams. The following year, she was the first female finisher at RAAM, the race across America, which again starts in Oceanside, but blows through Durango less than half way to its final destination of Annapolis, Maryland; total distance just over 3000 miles, in under 12 days. RAAM is one of the longest and most grueling annual endurance events in the world.

TransIowa was a quirky little bicycle race on gravel roads that took place in the vicinity of Grinnell, Iowa for about 14 years. It was directed by Mark Stevenson, who was known as “Guitar Ted. ”. Most years the race was about 340 miles long and it wasn’t unusual for there to be fewer than 10 finishers out of a starting field of 100+. In 2015 there were no finishers.  The winner from the 2014 race made it to furthest… to around mile 125 where he finally threw in the towel. That’s just how tough and unpredictable the weather can be in Iowa in the spring. Sarah Cooper was there and spent most of the night huddled in an abandoned barn on the side of the road with three other riders. She finished the TransIowa race in 2014 and, not to be deterred by the terrible conditions in 2015, again in 2016.

Each year, the course at TransIowa is different and the race is totally self supported, and outside aid, including with navigation or communication via cell phone is strictly prohibited. Turn by turn directions, in the form of cue sheets are given to the riders at the start of the race. Those directions get the rider to checkpoint 1 where they receive directions to checkpoint 2. At checkpoint 2 they receive directions that will take them to the finish line.

Guitar Ted decided to make the 2018 race the last TransIowa race. For a year or two there was a noticeable gap in the spring race calendar for ultra and gravel riders. It was thought that eventually someone would step up and take over TransIowa. But no one did and Guitar Ted didn’t seem interested in resurrecting in the race or handing it over to anyone else. So someone else had to pick up the mantle.  And that someone became Sarah Cooper, who continued to dominate the national ultra road and gravel racing scene at more races in California, Texas, Florida and the Midwest. She and a small group of dedicated volunteers organized races in Iowa, including the Spotted Horse ultra. “Spotted Horse” is the totem Sarah adopted at the start of the Silver State 508 race earlier that year. Each rider in that race adopted a name of a horse as their totem and that is how they were identified during the race. They were also photographed before the race displaying their totem on a sign they held in front of them, and the support vehicles, and everything else associated with an individual rider was adorned with the totem.

Sarah and her crew experimented with various formats, distances and other features for the races they directed. One race, bourne of their efforts was the Iowa Wind and Rock ultra. This race most closely resembled Guitar Ted’s TransIowa races; including not disclosing the route beforehand, checkpoints, cue sheets, and a ridiculously low number of finishers. Sarah seemed to revel in inflicting the pain she had endured during her active racing years. One time she was overheard saying about a finisher “ John doesn’t look so good, that makes me happy”. What follows is a race director’s report from the Iowa Wind and Rock 2023 edition. Her diabolical nature comes through in just about every sentence.

Iowa Wind and Rock 2023. 343.1 miles, 29,999 feet of elevation, 6.1 miles of level B (minimum maintenance) roads including one in Loess Hills Canyon I would have been a mud slide if wet. High temps in the 40s lows in the 20s overnight, brief periods of sleet, snow, and rain in the early a.m. winds out of the northwest at 20-25 MPH with higher gusts. Mostly fast, dry road conditions with some miles of thick, new gravel in all the worst places.  60 starters,13 finishers. This is the highest number of starters and finishers so far, but still smaller compared to the number of people who sign up. We always lose over half of our roster in the month before the start.

These routes always start for me with a place that I want to ride, and the rest falls into place as the route comes together. Very little information is given to the riders in advance about the route. Really all they can do is guess at what direction they might be riding based on the forecasted wind direction. In five years of the event, not once has there been a predominant tailwind on the way out of town. There were many jokes made about us heading to Omaha, and they were very nearly on target. The route headed towards Nebraska and back, but did not across any state borders this year.

The checkpoints by chance fell earlier than usual in the event, mile 74 and 155. In previous editions, we’ve tried to push those further out. Both to give those traveling a long way to the event a bigger bite to be satisfied with if they didn’t finish, and make sure that those folks who made it into the night past Checkpoint 2 where those riders who were prepared to be there. But after five years with a very low finisher rate, I figured people understood what they signed up for. You don’t go past Checkpoint 2 unless you’re ready for a truly difficult night. And this year, the route was next level stuff. Over half of the B road miles in this event were after Checkpoint 2, and none of them would have been an easy walk if wet. There were several opportunities to go off course due to tricky turns. Old wooden bridges with tire eating gaps. Closed bridges with barriers to climb and sketchy footing. I was optimistic we would have a good number of riders heading into the night and in my opinion, that there is were an ultra begins…when there is nothing between you and the finish line, but your own ability and drive to get there. Of the 24 riders that made Checkpoint 2 on time 20 decided to continue on into the cold  night and 13 made it to the finish line on time.

Usually, I train on the routes I create, and I’ve always wanted to ride the Loess Hills. I still haven’t. I lost part of the sight in my left eye to an autoimmune disorder in February, and was lucky enough to recover in time to step into my role as co-race director. The driving for this event, especially at night, is expert level and not something I’d be able to do with one eye. Making it to the start line was very special to me this year and only possible thanks to my husband, friends, and physicians who had my back in a pretty difficult time. I’m so grateful to my Relentless Event partners, Dori, and Steve, and to our amazing crew of volunteers who made this wild, unpredictable event run so smoothly. And to the riders, thanks for showing up, and giving it everything you had on the day.  No matter how far you made it, be proud of your attempt. It was beautiful to watch it all unfold.

Guitar Ted should be able to relax, knowing his legacy is in such capable hands.

I met Kyle in the summer of 2010. He had opened his own shop in 2008 and had already run out of space. He was leasing additional space in an adjoining building, where he located the new bike assembly, online sales and major repair area. He was also one of the first bicycle retailers to dabble in selling bicycle components online. His son Kyre was in charge of online operations and it was going well. I immediately admired Kyle for his forward progressive thinking. He already knew and predicted that online sales represented the future of bicycle retail.

By the time I met him, triathlon was also surging in the Des Moines area, brought about largely because of the Hy-Vee Triathlon. His stock of Specialized and Jamis brand bicycles expanded as he brought in triathlon specific models. He was ready to invest heavily in the future of triathlon, and was stocking several triathlon specific models of running shoes. I didn’t think limiting his shoe brands to triathlon specific models was sustainable, and I shared my thoughts with him. We were soon planning a full line running shoe department. My six years of experience at another running store made me a likely candidate to help him open that department.

Besides being a forward thinking business man, Kyle was also extremely cautious and conservative in his decisions. He took close to a year to move forward and open a running shoe department, and he hired me to manage it.

He also knew I was interested in bicycles, and he wanted me to expand my knowledge of bicycles. The first week I worked for Kyle he sent me to Morgan Hill California to attend the Specialized Bicycle Components University (SBCU), a 4-day general overview of Specialized bicycles, and how Specialized did business as one of the largest bicycle companies.

I learned about the history of the company and part of the “curriculum” included a daily bike ride, each  on a different type of bike. I saw how they tested bicycles and helmets, and went away with a great deal of respect with how the company did business.

When I got back from Morgan Hill, I was energized and ready to get to work. It took several weeks to forge relationships with the shoe companies and bring in stock. Kyle had heard about “gait analysis” and wanted to be the first running shoe store in the state to offer it as a service to our customers. We furnished the running area of the store with a treadmill, and we figured out how to use DARTFISH motion analysis software to provide our customers with never before seen biomechanical information.

We were soon up and running (pun intended). There seemed to be no such thing as getting off to a slow start at Kyles Bikes. I often thought that Kyle was born under the right stars. It seems that everything happens just right for him at the right time. The right people come along just the right time. Opportunities present themselves at just the right time.

While others might be bitter from having been run over and left for dead while on a run, Cantelope refuses to be angry toward the driver, Robert Edmonds. "I've never really gotten angry about it. It's weird, I can explain," Cantelope said Friday at Kyle's Bikes in Ankeny. "Because I'll stub my toe and scream at that chair, that chair is the devil. "I think my brain has blocked out that part (accident). I think I haven't processed it all on purpose and I don't think I ever will because that's just the way I'm dealing with it. I think if I did, I would be a mess." Cantelope has found peace with her situation and is ready to move on with her life. Her friends, family and supporters are all lining up to help her return to running.

Two friends went in together recently to buy her a baby stroller so she can jog with 2-month-old Liv. Kyle's Bikes offered her a free pair of shoes and a running analysis to jumpstart her success after a trying year and a half away from a sport she thoroughly enjoys. "I can't believe the generosity of people," Cantelope said. "Tons of people have helped out. It's restored the faith (in people). It's maybe why I've never gotten upset."

Her family, including mother Joani Meyers, felt the opposite in the days, weeks and months after the accident on Nov. 18, 2012. "He hit her and went home," Meyers said. "He couldn't speed dial 911, but he could speed dial his attorney. It was a crazy situation." Cantelope was running at about 9:30 that night on 56th Street in Des Moines just south of Douglas Avenue. She was wearing a white reflective long-sleeved shirt, her favorite black running pants and neon pink, reflective shoes. She was wearing an IPod and running on the right side of the road with traffic.

"I was running down the wrong side of the road," Cantelope said. "But the sidewalk on that road was totally screwed up. Usually not one car goes down the road. That's why I chose the street, because it wasn't busy. "I didn't see it coming. I would have remembered the headlights coming at me. I don't remember anything. I'm so glad for that." Her next memory is waking up in a hospital bed and looking up at husband Jason. She asked where she was and what happened. Her body had been black from the pavement. She found out later that Edmonds, 41, had plowed over her from behind traveling at about 35 mph. Cantelope was hurtled into the air, cracking her elbow on the windshield before she was tossed to the side. A neighbor soon noticed something in the street.

"(He) thought I was a garbage bag in the gutter on the side of the road. 'I'd better go get that garbage bag.' Thank God. He called for the ambulance," Cantelope said. Edmonds panicked, according to his lawyer, Peter Berger, and continued on to the house where he was living. Berger said Edmonds tried to take his own life that night. Cantelope's pain was just beginning. She needed two IVs of morphine for the pain, the worst of which might have been the "road rash" all across her torso. "It felt like burns," she said. "The way my face looked, it threw everyone off. It looked like I should have had severe head trauma. I was lucky.” Her favorite black pants were ruined, as was her new Capital Pursuit shirt. EMTs found and returned her IPod to her.

Several days later, Edmonds contacted Des Moines Police through his attorney to confess. Edmonds pleaded guilty in March of 2013 to leaving the scene of a serious injury accident. Edmonds received a two-year suspended jail sentence, two years of probation and was required to perform 300 hours of community service and go through alcohol rehabilitation. Cantelope discovered later she would need surgery on both of her knees to repair her completely torn ligaments. Her medical bills began to escalate to at least $10,000.

"I wanted that back because it had pretty much made me broke," Cantelope said. "He didn't really have the money, didn't have any property. He didn't own the car. I got the money. His mother did (gave it to her). "I think I should have that car because we have a relationship," she adds with a smile. She is asked why she didn't sue Edmonds. "He tried to take his own life," Cantelope said. "Which I thought, 'That's not what I want.' Someone who is suicidal does not need to be in jail. I would have lost money going to court. "Everybody makes mistakes. It's so much harder to move on if you're bitter. You have to let it go. I was just concentrating on recovery and being done with it. I just wanted it to be over."

That recovery period was difficult. Cantelope's first daughter, 6-year-old Ava, has spina bifida. Cantelope was being taken care of by her retired father, who drove from Indianola to Des Moines nearly every day. At one point in her recovery period, both mother and daughter were using crutches. "Because she has forearm crutches, she was so excited that we both had crutches," Cantelope said. "It was a very different experience for her. I guess in the beginning when I tried to recover, I watched her struggle every day. She never gives up. She falls and gets right back up. She saw me do the same thing. So there's no way I could show any type of misery or pain. I have to be strong." She had surgery on one of her ACLs in January of 2013. She had surgery on the other knee ligament that following April. Cantelope was aggressive with her rehabilitation. "I did a lot of squats and things that I could do, things that went along with the therapy I had to do," she said. "My legs were rock hard. That was awesome. I was doing things I shouldn't have been doing. But I couldn't help it. It's not who I am."

Her impending return to running took a back seat when she became pregnant in July with Liv. Now she is ready to resume running, with the help of a lot of friends and family.

"They (Bill Lorenz and partner Saraleigh Monroe) have stood by her through this whole thing," Meyers said. "They went with us to court. It's been awesome." Cantelope and Lorenz, Kyle's Bikes' running shoe expert, decided a pair of $120 Saucony Cortana pink shoes would fit the bill. After a short jog, she was convinced. "These are awesome, these are incredible," said Cantelope, who in the past has purchased budget shoes well under $100.

Cantelope has learned a few things from this ordeal. She will never run at night again. And she shouldn't have to, with Jason starting work at noon most days. She also refuses to run in a street again. "I don't live on a busy street, but it doesn't matter anymore," she said. "The street is not really my friend. I definitely will go on the trail, even if I have to drive to the trail to run.

Still, the road back to running a 10-kilometer race will be a long one. She admits that even when she had good knees running was difficult for her. "I just got the OK to start working out. I'm excited about it," she said. "I'm trying not to put a lot of pressure on myself. "When you're a runner, you're a runner. There's nothing that can compare to it. Pushing yourself, not being able to breathe. I miss that, and I can't wait to get back to that.

I’ve tried to keep track of Kendra, but it’s been difficult. Her life although hectic, seems back to normal… about as normal as it can be raising two children, one of whom has spina bifida. That daughter is now 18 years old and graduates from high school this year, and will be going to college next year. With both their children in school she has time to herself and she admits she is a committed gym rat.

Kendra manages to keep running and she has run several races in the Des Moines area, including the Drake Relays 10K and she has been on a team that has run the Market to Market Relay. Her legs of that race have totaled about 10 miles.

She says she tries not to think about the accident or the man who hit her. She has moved on with her life. She has made a remarkable recovery, both physically and emotionally.

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The above story was written by Lance Bergeson a writer at The Des Moines Register, and first appeared in his blog for that publication. It is published here with his permission.

At one point, Rodriguez, a permanent U.S. resident, could have been sent to prison for those violations — but he remained free on probation.

The most recent incident was an April 30 arrest after a West Des Moines police officer found cocaine, marijuana and two glass pipes in Rodriguez's pockets, according to a criminal complaint. He was already serving a yearlong probation sentence after a March 23, 2014, marijuana arrest.

Rodriguez's probation officer wrote to a judge, saying he could be a danger to the community.

"In spite of all efforts of this agent to give the defendant all opportunities to stay trouble-free and to move about the community as a responsible citizen, he continues to ignore the law and continues to engage in (self)-destructing behavior that places in jeopardy the safety of the community," wrote the officer, Enrique Orrante.

The March 2014 arrest came after Des Moines police officers saw Rodriguez trying to smoke marijuana in a Grand Avenue parking lot at about 4:25 a.m., according to the criminal complaint for that charge. He was charged with possession of a controlled substance, as well as driving while barred.

At an Aug. 6, 2014, hearing, Rodriguez pleaded guilty to the marijuana charge. Prosecutors agreed to dismiss the charge of driving while barred.

District Associate Judge Mark Schlenker sentenced Rodriguez to one year of probation, under which he agreed not to use drugs or alcohol.

But on Oct. 10, his urine tested positive for THC, the chemical in marijuana that makes users high. In November, he reported to a probation officer that he drank alcohol after fighting with his girlfriend.

In late December, Rodriguez underwent a substance abuse evaluation and was recommended to enter an "extended" outpatient treatment program, according to a report from Orrante. Days later on Jan. 14, a Clive police officer stopped Rodriguez and charged him with speeding, driving without a license and possession of drug paraphernalia.

He pleaded guilty to the paraphernalia and speeding charges as part of a plea agreement.

A West Des Moines police officer charged Rodriguez on Feb. 4 with failure to obey a stop sign. He was found guilty of the violation in March. Orrante filed a formal request for Rodriguez's probation to be revoked after the April arrest for cocaine and marijuana possession.

Rodriguez was booked into the Polk County Jail on May 5, and stayed in the jail until a June 3 hearing. At the hearing, District Associate Judge James Birkenholz placed Rodriguez on another probation sentence for three years.

Birkenholz suspended a two-year prison sentence Rodriguez faced on the cocaine charge and a one-year jail sentence on the marijuana charge.

Neither Polk County Attorney John Sarcone or Fifth Judicial District Department of Correctional Services director Sally Kreamer were available to speak to a reporter Monday. A call to Orrante also was not returned.

However, it's not uncommon in Iowa courtrooms for a defendant facing low-level drug charges to have a probation sentence continued after a fresh arrest, rather than be sent to prison, said Nick Sarcone, a West Des Moines criminal defense lawyer.

"Very few people do any significant jail time for possession of marijuana, outside of trafficking offenses," he said.

In a probation violation report filed Monday, Orrante wrote that Rodriguez's wife had "recently" given birth to a boy. Rodriguez had told the probation officer in early August that his own father was absent during his childhood, and that he hoped to be a part of the child's life, the report said.

"It seems the defendant has a much bigger problem than having disregard for authorities or laws," Orrante wrote.

I met John Borthwick and his wife Diane on the first day of my second RAGBRAI in 2008. We were on the same charter, but on separate busses. The charter was organized by Craig Cooper who owned Bikes to You a bike shop in Grinnell Iowa. One of the two buses (not the one I was riding on) was having mechanical difficulties after we had stopped at a rest stop near Stewart, Iowa. It wouldn’t shift out of low gear and both buses were sidelined in Stuart awaiting resolution of the issue, something that was probably going to take some time, given that it was Saturday afternoon in rural Iowa. Craig Cooper, who had been following us some miles back, saw the buses in the parking lot at a cafe in Stewart and pulled off to find out what the problem was. I knew he was a skilled and talented bicycle mechanic, but I didn’t know that he was also capable of fixing a bus. He assessed the problem and had us back on the road in about 20 minutes. He fixed the problem with a bicycle innertube(!) The problem was with a hydraulic hose on the transmission had sprung a leak. By tightly wrapping the bicycle innertube around the leaky hose, he was able to prevent further leakage. We were back on the road within 20 minutes.

Both buses arrived together in Council Bluffs Iowa and we all went about setting up our tents for the night. As I was setting up my tent, I happened to notice a familiar looking blue shoe bag laying on the ground. It was the shoe bag that had been given out at the Hy-Vee triathlon in Des Moines just a few weeks earlier. I asked the woman (Diane), who was setting up their tent with her husband (John) if that was her shoe bag, and if she had done the Hy Vee triathlon. That was about all it took to begin a long and enduring friendship with John and Diane Borthwick. We’ve been hard and fast friends ever since. They live on 40 acres of lakefront property on Truman Lake near Clinton Missouri. They also have a home in Dillon Colorado. He is an early retiree. An engineer who still designs homes and decks for high-end clients in Missouri and Colorado. She is a freelance database administrator. I’ve spent time with them just hanging out and riding bikes in Colorado, Iowa and Missouri, and enjoying great meals together. They are great friends. I feel lucky to have them in my life.

After getting to know the Borthwicks that week, I came to regard them as ”bike royalty”.  John‘s father started building bicycle frames as a retired engineer living in Marshalltown, Iowa. The frames he built had a reputation for durability and elegance and they are well known nationwide.  Over half the frames he built were beautiful tandem bicycles. John and his father began riding RAGRAI in 1976 when John was 12 years old. By the time we met, he had ridden RAGRAI 6 times. Several years ago, John began looking for and buying back Borthwick bicycles. When he finds one, he fully restores the frame. He has it sandblasted down to bare metal and powder coated. He then builds it back up with either classic or state of the art components. Not many people are willing to part with their Borthwick bicycles, but John has a few of them.

On his 80th birthday, Gordon Borthwick, John’s father rode a bicycle 80 miles, on the Raccoon Valley Trail, west of Des Moines. I was invited to join them along with 20 of his friends on that memorable day. Unfortunately, Gordon died within the year. He will be remembered as a great   man and a great craftsman. John is also an accomplished triathlete and runner, having done one IronMan triathlon, (one and done), and a few half Iron Man’s. He also competes with college classmates in track relay events, and his team holds several national records.

Jim Reilly was a good guy. After I moved from Iowa to Nebraska, I managed to stay in touch with him. He worked part-time at Kyles Bikes and after Kyle opened the second shop in Waukee, Iowa Jim became the assistant manager. His deceased father was the first black surgeon to work in Des Moines and his entire family was very prominent in the community. They built a beautiful modern mansion in the South-of-Grand (Ave) neighborhood in Des Moines. This was Jim’s childhood home and he had fond memories of it. But after his father died, and his siblings and mother moved away, it was too much house for him to take care of. I know it broke his heart to sell the house and see it torn down. The land has sat empty for a number of years, waiting a new home to be built there.

When Jim worked at Kyles Bikes in Ankeny, we would occasionally ride back into Des Moines together after work. He was a lot of fun to ride with and wasn’t afraid to “take the lane”  in traffic like I did. It was also a challenge for me to keep up with him. He had been teaching spin classes at the Des Moines YMCA for years so was in excellent physical shape.

In the fall of 2021, Jim and I traveled to Iowa City to watch Jingle Cross, a World Cup  Cyclocross event which took place at the Johnson County Fairgrounds. It was the same week as a University of Iowa football game so hotel rooms in the area in short supply. We ended up staying in a hotel in Cedar Rapids. It had been a while since either of us had been in Cedar Rapids so we had to rely on our luck to find a place for dinner.  Looking for recommendations on the Internet I found a place called The Bohemian. It was close by and it looked interesting. When we arrived, we found an old rundown three story building. When we walked in, we were transported into another world. The walls were lined with eclectic artwork… lots of it, thousands of pieces on all three floors. We both could’ve stayed all day just examining the wonderful collection of art. The meal we had was unforgettable, and there was a musician playing soft jazz on his guitar. Jim said he knew the musician. His name was Taz and he had previously taught music in the Des Moines public schools. Jim introduced me to Taz, and we spent the next two hours enjoying his soft sounds.

Jim called me about three weeks later and told me Taz had died. Judging from his photo, the cause of death was obvious. I heard recently that The Bohemian had closed. I can’t help but wonder what happened to all that wonderful art

After I moved to Nebraska, Jim was looking for a new occupation. He had spent some years working as a financial planner, but I think he wanted something more interesting to do. On one of my visits to Des Moines when I stayed with  him, he told me he was looking at becoming an over the road truck driver. I told him I knew a number of people who had professional careers who had become truck drivers, including one guy who lives in Florida who was an Iron Man triathlete. That guy carried his bike with him in the cab of his truck and usually went for a ride after driving all day.

Jim soon completed training with TMC Trucking in Des Moines and got his CDL. I would hear from him from various parts of the country. His girlfriend had moved from Des Moines to Connecticut to be close to her daughter who was enrolled at Yale.  When he was close by, he would spend the weekend with her. I would also visit with him when he was passing through Nebraska.

In March 2025, I received a phone call from another Kyles Bikes employee. He told me Jim had passed away. He had just finished securing a load when he fell down. Another driver observed him and said Jim got back up and I was walking back to the cab of his truck when he fell again. He was pronounced dead at the scene by paramedics. Jim was 55 years old.

I come from a background of judged “sports”; competitive artistic rollerskating, but I've also raced (bicycles, inline skates and running). I even became a judge of artistic rollerskating. This was years ago, when I was in high school, and as a young adult. But the situation has not changed. The conflict between evaluating a performance and letting to a finish line or goal post determine the outcome remains.

Judges in a race or a game are there to make sure the rules are followed. If they are, the first person across the line or across the goal wins. Gymnastics, diving and figure skating are rife with politics and drama. I recall the rules for judges changing yearly in an attempt to keep up with the drama and politics. No matter how often the scoring system is changed, a subjective decision is still necessary.

So let's start calling gymnastics, figure skating and synchronize swimming what they really are; exhibitions of artistry, skill, and talent. A race is a race to the finish line…..pure sport.

Her parents lived in Concord, Massachusetts, in a beautiful colonial home within walking distance of the battlefield that marked the start of the revolutionary war and not far from Walden Pond.  The entire community exuded history

I was frequent visitor to their home and I got to meet Janet’s extended family including her brother Jay who worked a mystery job in Japan.  He claimed he was a translator. Janet suspected he worked for the CIA. Her father John was a graduate of Harvard University with a physics PhD. By the time I met him, he had retired from a career at Raytheon. He was still consulting and was considered an international expert on microwave technology. He traveled extensively attending seminars on microwave  energy. I thought he was a fascinating man.  I could have engaged in conversation with him for hours. But he seemed unwilling to give me the time of the day, But he sensed that I cared for and was good to his daughter so he at least was willing to tolerate me.

In spite of his ambivalance towards me, I was invited to attend John’s birthday celebration, which was going to take place at the Harvard Faculity Club in Boston in a few weeks. It was also a tacid signal to bring appropriate clothes with me for that evening. I was usually at their home before or after participating in an event, so typically I was dressed in casual clothes.

When we arrived at the Harvard Faculty Club, I was amazed and impressed with the ambience. The dining room exuded elegance with rich, dark paneling and an abundance of crystal chandeliers. All the tables were clad in linen tablecloths and were set with fine silverware and china. I was then appreciative of the “dress appropriately” warning.

I sat between Janet and Jay and we had their own little conversation. I was unable to get much more information from Jay so I had to be content with small talk. The meal we were served was amazing. We were there for 2+ hours. When we were about finished with dessert, I noticed a man at an adjoining table that looked familiar. It took me a while to put a name to the face. I realized it was Dr. Edward Teller, known as the father of the hydrogen bomb. I had photographed of him in Los Angeles, when a magazine assigned me to accompany a writer who was interviewing him. On that occasion we spent several hours in his presence in a two-story suite of rooms at at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. Later that evening I attended a banquet at the same hotel in Dr. Teller‘s honor continuing my photo coverage of his visit to Los Angeles

I went over to his table, introduced myself. I had doubts he would remember me (and he didn’t) but I asked him if he had ever met John (also a physicist). He said he hadn’t. I went back to our table and told John there was someone who I would like him to meet. When I introduced John to Dr. Teller John seemed impressed that I knew him. They had a brief conversation.  Later when we were leaving the faculty club, John thanked me for the introduction. I no longer a problem, engaging him in conversation.

Distance took its toll on my relationship with Janet and soon after that we lost touch with one another. Janet died on Christmas Eve 2005, she was 42 years old. John died at age 95 on Thanksgiving day 2024.

I closed on the sale of my house just before Thanksgiving. I headed east on a four-day odyssey with our two dogs in the cab of the rental truck towing my car behind it. The dogs, D’s white afghan and my dalmatian were big hits at the toll booths in Indiana, Ohio and New York and anywhere else we stopped. I pulled into our new home in Richmond, Vermont on the day before Thanksgiving. There was already snow on the ground, but as I soon found out the ground was not frozen yet. I backed the truck up as close as I could to the front door of the house where it became bogged down in deep mud. It was already getting dark so we decided to unload the truck the next day.

D had already met the across-the-road neighbors, Doug and Laura, and they offered to help us unload the truck the next day. It took us about three hours to get everything we owned into the house on Thanksgiving day. We accepted an invitation from Doug and Laura to join them for Thanksgiving dinner late that afternoon. Even when empty, the truck remained stuck in the mud in front of the house. I called for a tow truck the next day. That was a $200 expense I wasn’t expecting.

We spent the next several days setting up furniture and placing belongings in rooms. About the time we got settled in, I was suspecting that the “geographic cure” was not working as I hoped it would. As time went on, D was becoming increasingly unhappy and complaining about anything and everything without trying to offer a remedy. I always thought that a complaint without a solution or remedy was wasted emotion. D seemed long past seeking a solution to her troubles either real or imaginary.

This situation upset me so much, I didn’t know what to do. Out of desperation, I even thought about just trying to disappear. I called U-Haul to ask if one could rent a trailer without giving them a destination. Without being able to offer them an explanation, they didn’t understand the question I didn’t want to reveal more details.

I tried to stay optimistic and planning my approach to a new group of potential clients kept me engaged. I already had a list of people I wanted to call. I also looked at the possibility of setting up a small studio in the basement of the house. I thought it was going to be tight, but I also thought I could make it work. Just stay optimistic I told myself and everything will work out.

There were quite a few small and medium sized mail order companies to call on, ranging in size from mom and pop operations who operated the business out of their kitchen, to companies with several hundred employees. Sometimes it took several weeks to get to see the right person and that is what I expected. But the mortgage payments were due, and D was getting impatient. She didn’t understand the nature of the business nor the process. I felt immense pressure to come up with something. I was getting a few small test assignments, but none of them together would sustain a business.

In order to satisfy D, I started looking for a job. Something that would generate some income, but would also permit me to keep marketing myself. I considered working the night shift at a commercial bakery and a part-time cook position at a pizza restaurant.

I eventually accepted a job working on the receiving dock, of a wholesale produce distributor. The job started the following week and I quietly understood that this might be the end of my photography career. I just wouldn’t have the energy, motivation or attitude needed to persist.

The day before I was scheduled to start working at the produce warehouse I got THE call from Orvis. Orvis is a large family owned retail and mail order company with hundreds of retail dealers, specializing in fly fishing and the outdoor lifestyle. I had visited with with the company creative director several weeks earlier. They generate hundreds of catalog pages per year. I was ecstatic and had a hard time sleeping the night before I went to their headquarters in Manchester Vermont, 100 miles south. I felt like I was flying! I picked up about 15 products and the accompanying layouts (rough sketches) depicting how they wanted the products displayed as well as verbal instructions. They gave me about a week to return with photographs of the products.

Orvis became a staple in my client roster. My relationship with them lasted for over 10 years. They weren’t my biggest account, but it was steady reliable work. My biggest account became Gardner’s Supply. It seemed we grew up together. When I started working with them, the company had less than 100 employees. Twelve years later, the company was three times that size. Working for Gardener’s Supply almost felt like a full-time job, only better.

Throughout my photography career, no two days were the same, and it never actually felt like a job. The nature of the catalogue business required that we work 5 to 6 months ahead of time. This was particularly poignant at Gardener’s Supply. We were typically producing photography for summer catalogs in December and January and we were working on the Christmas and winter catalogs in May and June. This wasn’t much of a problem for studio and indoor location photography, although we sometimes had trouble sourcing holiday props. It wasn’t unusual for us to be setting up Christmas trees, and building fires in fireplaces in June. But outdoor location photography was the problem. So I spent quite a few years in Florida for a couple of weeks in January working on summer photos. My parents had relocated to Gulf Coast, Florida when they retired, so I would spend a few weeks living with them while I produced summer photos. Products would be shipped to them ahead of my arrival, and dad worked as my assistant. This arrangement worked well for a number of years until dad started slowing down as he aged. It was sort of heartbreaking having to fire my own dad.

Several other clients took advantage of my Florida connection. The most prominent being Telescope Casual Furniture Company located in Granville, New York. The most recognized Telescope product is their iconic director’s chairs. This family owned company had been in business since 1903 and manufactures an impressive line and variety of outdoor furniture. They shipped an entire semi trailer load of furniture to my parents. Dad recruited a number of his able-bodied friends to help unload the trailer and placed the contents in several rented storage bays a few weeks before we arrived.  The “photo crew” consisted of myself, my dad, the art director from Telescope, two other employees from Telescope and Tracy, a young lady who had attended my photography school in California and lived in Bradenton. Being she was from the area, she was tasked with finding a variety of locations in Sarasota, Bradenton and the surrounding area. This was probably one of the largest productions I did in my career. We spent eight days photographing 4 to 6 set-ups per day. We rented a box truck and each day started at the storage bay, where we loaded the truck with my equipment and the furniture we would photograph that day. We worked nonstop for eight days. We ate on the run and our breaks were spent driving from one location to another.

My dad died in December 1995. He was in the hospital recovering from colon cancer surgery where he had a heart attack and quickly passed away. I was working in my studio photographing products for Gardner’s Supply on Sunday afternoon when the phone rang. It was one of his friends from the retirement community where they lived. He told me very matter of factly what had happened. I quickly made flight reservations, and Doug my neighbor took me to the Burlington airport. I spent a few days with mom after the funeral, returned to Vermont and was then back in Florida within a week for a Gardener’s Supply photo shoot.

The Florida connection became a victim of its own success at Gardener’s Supply. The work load became too much for one person (me) to handle and they wanted to change the look to something less Florida-y. We ended up in Wilmington, North Carolina. Wilmington is an interesting town. Dino DeLaurentis built a large motion picture production studio there which by the time we were there had changed hands several times, and was then owned by Screen Gems and eventually became known as Cinespace. The area was known as Hollywood East for the number of motion pictures, television shows, and commercials produced there, including Iron Man 3, Dawson’s Creek, The Summer I Turned Pretty and The Longest Ride. When we were there, we saw the Dawson’s Creek crew working on location.

Back in Vermont, outdoor location photography became one of my specialties. I would arrive at a location ready for just about anything. I furnished my studio with equipment that was intentionally adaptable to outdoor location work. Every piece of equipment I owned was lightweight, portable and collapsible. The most difficult condition to cope with was the wind. Large reflectors and diffusers became virtual sails in the wind. We had to cancel more shoots because of wind than any other condition. Cloudy day; no problem. Light rain; no problem. I came prepared to create a sunlight effect with my studio lighting equipment. Location photography requires consistent quality, so I more frequently than not i had to control natural available light. I owned hundreds of feet of electrical cord and cables that connected my studio strobe lights, to powerful flash generators.

On one particular day, I was working with the usual crew for Gardner’s

Supply at a beautiful residential location in Burlington. The woman who lived in the house, had not seen a commercial photography set up before. She seemed quite interested in the whole process we were going through to get each shot. While I was lighting a shot she commented to me, “ so when God said, let there be light, you said yeah, but I can make it better”. To this day, I consider that quite the compliment.

Gardener’s Supply rarely booked professional models for photo shoots, instead relying on company employees, friends of friends, and even the owners of properties we were shooting at. I became comfortable and adaptable in giving nonprofessionals specific direction on how I wanted them to look for the photo. The lessons I learned years ago about portraiture and photography of hands, continued to be the most valuable information I took away from those years in school.

The Gardener’s Supply crew and myself we’re on a location shoot one day at a nursery in rural Williston, Vermont. The crew included Susan, the art director from Gardner’s Supply, Tracy, a freelance stylist/assistant, another employee from the company who helped schlep products and props around the nursery, and myself. The nursery was situated in a yard surrounding a 100+ year old farmhouse. We were setting up a large garden arch; the type that would form a portal to a garden path. We were all involved in the set up when I noticed a small child wondering about the grounds. She was with her mother, who was in another part of the nursery, selecting some plants for her landscaping project. The little munchkin was dressed in a cute little cotton dress, and had blonde curly hair. She was disheveled enough to look like she had been out playing most of the day. She was a perfect model for the garden arch, and I told Tracy to go talk to the girl’s mother about spending a few minutes modeling in the arch. I also told Tracy not to touch the way the girl was dressed and looked. She was just perfect. The mother seem flattered and we spent a good 40 minutes with a little munchkin in and about the arch. It was a perfect unplanned moment, and the shots turned out great!

My photography career came to a screeching halt in 2000. By then, digital photography was becoming dominant. But the early digital equipment was extremely expensive. I estimated that it would take a minimum investment of $100,000 for me to be competitive. And even with that substantial investment, the playing was not level. Because of the investment required, large pre-reproduction facilities, had moved into the digital photography space. Pre-production is the intermediate step between photography and the printing press. Pre-production firms were installing digital photography studios in their facilities and bundling photography, pre-press and printing for not much more then I was charging just for photography. I saw the writing on the wall and got out just in time.

I ran my first marathon in 1997 and by the time my photography career imploded, I was looking for a new career in the running industry. I started running in 1994 with a disastrous debut. In-line skating (rollerblading) had its first wave of popularity in the 1980s. With my rollerskating background I was interested in trying this new sport and once I did, I was hooked. I started entering the few in-line skate races the existed around New England and beyond. I did a 100 K (62 Mile) race in Central Park, New York City. One of the first skate triathlons was going to take place in Burlington, Vermont. Of course I entered. But I convinced myself there was no need to train for the 5K run… I was a fit guy from cycling and skating, so I could certainly gut out a 3 mile run. How wrong I was! Following the 10K (6.2 mile) skate and 15K bike (less than 10 miles), I took off on the 3.1 mile run. By the time I was one mile in, I was cooked! I struggled to finish the run and even got passed by a young girl as I approached the finish line (it’s called “getting girled”).  But finish I did, convinced that I needed to add running to my training routine. The next day, I was as sore as I’ve ever been from running a marathon. I started running earnestly a few days later.

I entered my first running only race a few weeks later. It was a 5K/10K out-and-back, where the 10K race went out on the course about 1.5 miles further before returning to the finish line. I ran the 5K race and made sure I didn’t get girled. Following the race I hung around near the finish line totally in awe of the 10k runners. I continued to run about every other day gradually building up how far I ran each time. In a few weeks, I was running 6 miles then 8 miles and soon 10 miles. By the time I was running 10 miles, running was becoming fun. I continued to run through the winter, each run about 10 miles.

Over the winter, I discovered an online running community called the “Dead Runners Society (DRS). DRS was built on the Listserv platform; a type of electronic mailing list which included email newsletters, announcement lists, and discussion groups. At the time, DRS had about 2000 subscribers worldwide and exchanged 20 to 60 messages per day. Besides being informative, it was also very entertaining.

The background of the subscribers ranged from casual 1 mile/day recreational runners to hard-core marathoners, ultra marathon runners, and adventure racers. Several of the subscribers became friends, and it was quite a treat to meet in person, usually at an event or race. There were a number of DRS runners coming to Burlington Vermont in the spring of the following year for the Vermont City Marathon and Relay. I expressed interest in being on a five-member relay team. I agreed to run the first leg of the relay, approximately 3 miles. The day of the race I met my teammates, many for the first time.  For me that was an interesting dynamic; meeting people I had never met before, but knew many details about their life. It was just interesting being able to put a face to a name.

I lined up for the start of the race and noticed something interesting; most of the 5000+ participants looked like average folks. There were very few people I would describe as superhuman… just average folks running a marathon…doing superhuman things! As I was running my 5K leg of the marathon, I kept looking around at the runners surrounding me. By the time I got back to the exchange point I was convinced that if they could run a marathon, I could run a marathon. I told my teammates that they should expect to see me at the marathon start line the following year.

Watching the marathon runners pass the exchange point I was a little disappointed that I wasn’t out there with them. My race ended way too soon. I didn’t know if the rules permitted it, but I jumped in and ran the next two legs of the race.

I wanted Vermont City Marathon to be my first marathon. I would be able to run each portion of the marathon before hand. I was familiar with the course. That would be a huge psychological benefit. When registration opened six months later, I had my registration ready to mail in. I put the monkey on my back… I new eye was too cheap to register for an event and then not show up. I WILL be there!

I started an in-line skate race series 2 years previous. I called it the Old Round Church skate series. The start/finish lines were adjacent to the little park in front of the church and the course went out and back on Cochrane Road. The road was a little bit hilly and the out and back was a near perfect 10K. My plan was to organize four races per season on this course with the final race being a 30K, three laps of the course. I promoted the races online and made flyers that I mailed out to anyone interested. I had to reschedule the first race due to a conflict with a race taking place in New Hampshire. 17 skaters registered for the first race. I was discouraged but not defeated.

The fourth and final race of the first season had about 50 racers. The second season was successful with the final race drawing skaters from as far away as New York City, Philadelphia and Toronto. One guy even came from California. But I was burned out from promoting and organizing four races per year. I offered to help anyone who wanted to take over the series, but I had no takers so I reluctantly suspended operations.

By then I was less interested in skate racing, and more interested in running, including snowshoeing in the winter. There were a number of snowshoe races in Vermont, New Hampshire, and upstate New York, including a snowshoe half marathon organized by the Recreation Director at Paul Smith’s College near Saranack Lake, New York. There were also several snowshoe events in the Olympic Village of Lake Placid, New York.

My in-line skate races had generated a profit of several thousand dollars, money that was just sitting in a bank account. I decided to do something worthwhile with that money. Cochran Road in Richmond, Vermont was becoming a very popular running, in-line skating and cycling route. There was very little vehicle traffic on the road, but I was hearing about dangerous drivers. I contacted the town’s highway department and offered to purchase and pay for installation of several  “Share the Road” signs. They gladly accepted my offer. I also wanted to start a running race for people with dogs. There was a trail through the woods that paralleled the stream bed behind my house which would have made a great course. A local conservation organization marginally maintained the trail. I offered to pay them to clear the trail and also provide seed money for the race. They weren’t interested explaining they weren’t a fundraising organization. Hummm?

So I looked for another organization to promote the race. Central Vermont Runners is a local running club based in Montpelier, Vermont. I met with their board of directors and they were extremely interested in my offer.  The race would take place in the spring and we decided to call it ”The Mutt Strutt”. I am pleased and proud to report that this little race (30-70 runner/dog teams per year) is still in existence and in its 27th year. Pictures of the race depict the sheer joy of the runners and their dogs. Best money I ever spent! My little legacy. I sincerely hope it continues for many more years.

Just about a month later, I’m at the starting line of Vermont City Marathon, my first attempt at the marathon distance. I am  surrounded by a bunch of ordinary people about to do  something extraordinary! I had put in the training and I was as ready as I could ever be. But sport is sport and you never know until you know. There were announcements being made in the park adjacent to the start line that a local radio station was looking for first-time marathoners to follow that day. I thought it would be fun to be one of those runners, but I just wasn’t confident enough in my ability to finish the race.

By then I had finished several shorter races, including the Mutt Strutt (a 3 mile run) several 5Ks, 10Ks and a local half marathon. But I had been reading Dead Runner reports on just how pernicious and unpredictable a marathon can be. Even several seasoned veterans reported recent difficulties at the marathon distance. You never know until you know.

My day went off without a hitch. By the time I crossed 20 miles I felt confident I could finish. My finish time of 4:15 was better than I expected. Once I could walk downstairs normally (a few days) I started thinking about my next marathon.

Over the next 21 years I ran 19 races of marathon distance or greater. My second marathon was my real hometown marathon in Minneapolis, St. Paul, Minnesota. When I was growing up in Saint Paul, if someone would’ve told me that by the time I was 50 years old, I would run from downtown Minneapolis to downtown Saint Paul even by the  most direct route I would’ve told him they had lost their mind. But here I was meandering through the beautiful neighborhoods of West Minneapolis and along the Mississippi River. My mom flew up from Florida, so we spent a few days getting reacquainted with old neighborhoods. A few weeks before the race I looked up some high school classmates on the Internet, and we arranged a small gathering over drinks and dinner the night before the marathon. One of my classmates picked the location and the address sounded familiar. When I arrived, the location turned out to be in the building where Grand Avenue Ford used to be located. The building had sat abandoned for several years and then it was rehabilitated and repurposed into several beautiful restaurants, a bakery and several shops. The entire neighborhood had undergone a beautiful revitalization. We had a wonderful time catching up on 30 years. Most of these people I had not seen since the day I graduated from high school.

I decided to use marathons as a reason to visit places I hadn’t been before. I had recently taken a voluntary bump on Northwest Airlines in exchange for a free trip anywhere they flew domestically. With guidance from marathonguide.com, I chose Seattle Washington for my next marathon. I also looked up a grade school friend who lived in the area. He was a year older than me and I hadn’t seen him since he graduated from grade school, almost 40 years ago. I was able to land a great deal on hotel room in downtown Seattle at the Weston Hotel. This iconic round twin towers, hotel overlooked the Pike Place Market with stunning city and waterfront views. I had a beautiful view for my 37th floor room. It was also within walking distance of the Seattle Space Needle, and Monorail.

Meeting my friend Bob was a bittersweet experience. He was virtually disabled from diabetes, and had made some poor business decisions.  He lived about 30 miles north of downtown so getting there and back by bus was an all day undertaking. I was glad we met again, but since then we have again lost contact. I doubt he is still alive.

The race itself was a low-key event with less than 2000 participants. The first half of the course was almost entirely on a bike path with few spectators. It then transitioned to average residential neighborhoods before finishing on the University of Washington campus. It also started to rain 10 miles into the race.  I just remember being cold and miserable.   

My next marathon was at Disney World in Orlando, Florida. It was also an opportunity to spend some time with my mom. I flew in a few days early and she rode with me from her home south of Sarasota to Orlando.  I took her to see Cirque de Soleil at Disney World the day before the race.

Instead of boring you with marathon details, I want to tell you about scoring free seats on airlines by taking voluntary bumps. I think the industry has changed in the intervening years, but I’ll tell you how I did it anyhow: When I was traveling quite a bit, I would hover near the gate podium and listen to the chitchat of the gate agents. If I heard the phrase “overbooked” I would move even closer. By the time they picked up the phone to ask for volunteers, I was there!  I was consistently awarded free round-trip tickets for a little effort or inconvenience on my part. From Vermont, I’ve flown to Jamaica, Seattle, and Florida on comped tickets and I’ve earned hundreds of dollars in compensation when comped tickets fell out of favor with the airlines.

On a flight back to Vermont from California for a photo shoot (paid for by the client),

I took a bump on the flight from Boston to Burlington. The next flight was in 90 minutes (no big whoop) and when I arrived in Burlington, there were passengers from the earlier flight waiting for their luggage which was on the larger aircraft I flew in on. I flew to Jamaica for 10 day vacation with that comp ticket.

While I was still promoting my inline skate races I cultivated a friendship with the director of the Vermont City Marathon. I was able to call her for advice and I was able to borrow resources that I needed for my races… things like traffic cones to mark the course and printing stop watches I used to tabulate results. We became friends and she eventually asked me if I would be interested in a paid part time staff position with the marathon. She was looking to replace the technical director and she thought I was a likely candidate. The position was responsible for the accuracy of the course and for the course being marked with mile markers and directional signs. I would be paid a  nominal yearly stipend which mattered less to me than getting the experience, of helping direct the race.

She had recently redesigned parts of the course and they needed to be accurately stitched into the existing course. It would be my responsibility to learn about course measuring, an extremely rigorous process. USA Track and Field, the governing body of the sport required that courses be accurately measured to be certified. An officially certified course made it eligible for records and for runners to qualify for certain races, such as the Boston marathon. Certified courses had to be accurate within 5 feet per mile, and extreme measures were taken to ensure that the course was not short. There were a number of methods used over the years and around the world to ensure accuracy. The current accepted method was called the Calibrated Bicycle Method”.

A bicycle fitted with a Jones Counter was the only approved method of measuring road race courses in the United States. The Jones Counter, which is mounted at the hub of the bicycle's front wheel, is named after its inventor, Alan Jones, and the original manufacturer, his son Clain Jones. To measure road-race courses, the counter is fitted to a bicycle between the left fork leg and the front wheel.The tab or tabs on the large ring gear engage with the spokes, thus providing drive to a Veeder-Root counter. Before the counter is used, the bicycle must first be calibrated by being ridden on a straight section of road between marks whose separation has been accurately measured by steel tape. A calibration can then be calculated in terms of counts per kilometer. Next, the bicycle is ridden over the race course to determine its length. Finally, the bicycle is recalibrated by riding again over the calibration distance. This is done to check for changes in bicycle-wheel diameter due to temperature changes, air leakage, and other causes.

The instruction manual for measuring courses is about 70 pages long. The application form for certifying a course is six pages long. Calculations are taken to six digits right of the decimal point. When I was out measuring a course I carried with me a map of the area, tire pressure gauge, a compass, a calculator, a thermometer, pens, and pencils and multiple sheets of paper. Measuring a marathon course could take 2 to 3 days. Filling out the application and checking and re-checking the calculations could take another day or two. It is a very rigorous process, and inserting new portions of a course into an existing course was even more difficult than measuring a totally new course.

I was first hired by Vermont City Marathon about six months before the race which took place on the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend. I rode various portions of the course that fall to familiarize myself with the new sections of the course, and continued to do that as the winter weather permitted. I waited until spring to do the actual measuring of the course with new sections inserted. The start line was in a fixed location and the finish line could be moved a few hundred feet from where it existed previously. There were a few places on the course that I could use to adjust the total distance.

Once the course is measured and all the paperwork is filled out, the application is submitted to a USA Track and Field (USATF) official responsible for issuing the actual certification, based on the location of the course. I submitted the application about two weeks before the race.

USATF publishes a list of approved course measurers, and I started getting calls from race directors in the area who wanted their courses measured for certification.

I have publicly wondered about America's response to the Massacre of the Kalamazoo 9. Returning from my failed second attempt at the National 24 Hour Challenge in Middlebury Michigan I took a side trip to Kalamazoo. I want to visit the scene of the crash. No, I don’t call it an accident. And it wasn’t just a visit, it was a pilgrimage.

I complained out loud that had this been a shooter, the networks would have been all over it. Even on some cycling forums, people were unaware about the reason for the Ride of Silence. They were totally clueless. Because there was very little news coverage.

If this had been a Mall shooter, the networks would all have stopped regularly scheduled programming immediately to report the tragedy. They would have been discussing it for days/weeks on Fox, CNN, and MSNBC. Members of Congress would be demanding action on stricter gun control. Everyone would acknowledge what a horrible thing this was. No one would look for excuses. Mental illness might be cited, but it would not be as an excuse, but as a reason and a call for better mental health care.

But it was a bunch of people on bicycles that was crashed into by a 4500 pound (2200 KG) Chevy Silverado. We heard one witness describe the sound as "the bikes hit the front of the truck."  "The bikes hit the front of the truck" Good God In Heaven! What the hell is that? "The bike hit the front of the truck?"

We are treated to every news article including details that, yes, the cyclists were all on the side of the road and they were all wearing helmets and hi-viz clothing. And then, almost every time: "Cyclists, to keep yourself safe on the roads, here's what you should do" ... and the normal list of information and misinformation is ticked off: helmets, ride as far to the right as possible, stay off of busy roads, use trails and bike paths. And there are calls for more bike infrastructure. More bike paths, more separated trail systems, etc.

Every news story included comments sections that featured such profanity as "Well, if bikes would obey the rules of the road. Why, I once saw with my very own eyes a bike run a red light. They all run red lights." And "Why don't you just use the sidewalks for your own safety and for your families?" And my particular favorite which earned a huge profanity laced response from me: "It's just an unfortunate accident. A tragedy certainly, but it was just an accident. You don't know that the driver didn't have a medical issue like diabetes or a stroke. It was just an unfortunate accident. Every one needs to chill out. There was no intent to kill anyone so we should stop talking about this like it was a murder."

It wasn't a stroke because the driver of the car, the one responsible for its actions, tried to run away. And if his diabetes was that bad, he would have known and should not have been driving.

Chill out.

And that's what the motoring world would like us all to do. Chill Out.

Don't scream bloody murder. Chill Out.

Don't demand action from the states. Chill Out.

"Because there was no intent. Think about it. This poor man will have to live out the rest of his life knowing that he killed five people. "Chill out. And sadly thats what too many of us are doing. We are chilling out. We are sad. We ride in Rides of Silence and place ghost bikes. Some of us are joining in and demanding more and better infrastructure.

But we aren't demanding better.

When we chill out and join hands with all the concerned citizens who want us to be better road users by getting us off the roads, we are putting the onus of this massacre, this mass murder, on the victims. And it's not about bicycling. If we make it about bicycling, we are victim blaming. We are chilling out.

Why have we not seen the response that a random Mall shooting would get?  Where is the 24/7 wall to wall coverage?  Where are the police informing us that Picket (the driver) was a known problem who just hadn't broken enough laws yet? Where are the Members of Congress demanding stricter licensing procedures? Tougher testing? Easier revocations? Felony penalties for driving on a revoked license? Hammer down on impaired and distracted driving? And if the states don't invoke immediate changes for retesting at renewal, Federal Highway Funds will be withheld. They can do that! Too harsh? It will hurt the economy to force drivers to be more responsible and to force the manufacturers of automobiles to take responsibility for their product, how they market it, and how it's used and misused?

Why can't we do that?

No tobacco ads. Is the tobacco industry gone?

No gun ads. Is the gun industry gone? And people are suing the gun manufacturers for their products and how they are misused.

Liquors ads are limited to certain hours and venues only. Is the liquor industry gone?

No porn ads. Is the porn industry gone?

If there are no ads for cars racing through city streets doing wheelies and skidding turns and models just oozing "Come have sex with me if you buy this car," I expect the auto industry will survive. Because there is no will to face the facts that it was the motorist's fault that the Kalamazoo 9 were wantonly run down. There is no will to hold a mirror up to the faces of the 200 million people who drive cars every day and tell them they are killing thousands of people every year.

There is no will to remind them that that is the same number of people who are killed by guns every year. Except when it’s time to demand stricter gun regulations.

There is no will to tell them they, we, are responsible for the death of five of the Kalamazoo 9 with our laughably easy to attain and easy to maintain and nearly impossible to lose driver licensing process.

There is no will because it was just a bicycle accident.

So Just Chill Out.

I arrived at the airport about an hour early to be briefed by the pilot. The helicopter was a small Robinson R-22 model. With the door removed it felt more like I was sitting on the plane then in it. I sat sideways in the seat with the harness firmly around me. It took about 40 minutes to get to the site. When we did, the pilot reduced the air speed and  banked the aircraft so we were circling around the property. I squeezed off about six rolls of 35 mm film using different focal length lenses. When I felt I had the shot, I motioned to the pilot to head back to the airport. We were in the air a little less than three hours. I couldn’t believe how much fun it was and resolved to find additional helicopter assignments. I passed the word to my ad agency accounts, that I was now providing aerial photography and was soon receiving about one additional assignment per a month.

One of my clients was Happy Trails Resort an RV resort located about 40 miles west of downtown Phoenix. Roy Rogers and Dale Evans were their spokespersons. They would make an appearance at the resort about four times per year, when there was a special event at the resort. I was on a first name basis with them. To celebrate the opening of a new road that cut about 40 miles off the trip from the interstateto the resort. They booked me to photograph the event. They wanted both on the ground photographs of the event as well as aerial photos showing the new road leading up to the resort.  I booked my regular helicopter charter for half a day. I arrived at the resort by helicopter and we landed in an adjacent harvested cornfield. About that same time Roy and Dale arrived in a stretch limousine. I realized as I walked from the landing site to the large tent set up to accommodate the celebration that there were more people watching the helicopter land then there were watching Roy and Dale arrive.

There were several hundred people in the tent and one of them was a fellow from the lab I used to process my film. They also provided graphic services, including to Happy Trails Resort. When he saw me, all he said was “nice entry!”.

Another client owned a company that manufactured modular buildings, similar to mobile homes, but typically used for commercial buildings. They had dramatically expanded their capabilities by purchasing two bankrupt mobile home manufacturers in Southern California, one in Ontario and the other in San Bernardino. He booked me to spend the day in Southern California, photographing their new newly acquired manufacturing facilities, as well as a number of projects they had completed or were under construction. The plan was for me to take an early flight from Phoenix to Ontario, California, where I would be met by Neil, the head of the company. He had chartered a four seat Bell Jet-Ranger helicopter for the day. We were soon in the air, circling his Ontario facility adjacent to the airport. I squeezed off a roll of film and we landed near the assembly building. I spent about 40 minutes, photographing the assembly line and other parts of the facility. Soon we were off to San Bernardino where we repeated the process.

It then took about an hour to get to the first installation, a golf course clubhouse that had been built in less than two months, using 15 modules as well as a stick built patio. We circled the building a few times while I photographed it and the then we landed in the parking lot still under construction. The clubhouse was quite impressive. One had to know where to look to determine that it was modular built. I spent about 90 minutes, photographing the interior and exterior of the clubhouse and patio before we left.

We landed in some unlikely locations that day. Places I had never seen a helicopter land before, including the playing field at the athletic stadium at Santa Ana Community College and a small shopping center parking lot under construction in the City of Industry, California. In between stops, we landed at Long Beach Airport to refuel.

In Santa Ana, Neil’s company had constructed a massive two-story City Hall Annex building that took up an entire block in downtown Santa Ana. In the City of Industry, they were putting the finishing touches on a new three module Taco Bell restaurant. From bare ground to open for business took just over a month. The modules were transported to the site with equipment and furnishings already installed. All that had to be done to complete the installation on the interior was to apply tile the seams of the floors and walls.

By the time we got back to Ontario Airport we had landed and taken off 10 or 12 times and been in the air for a total of seven hours. Instead of taking the scheduled airline flight back to Phoenix, Neil suggested I ride back with him in his personal plane. I was the backseat passenger and his Korean war era navy T-28 airplane. It took about three hours to fly back. He let me fly the plane for a few minutes, and I was able to spot landmarks from the air. At one point we were flying over Lake Havasu City, Arizona, and I spotted my then in-law’s home. I asked Neil if we could buzz the house. He gladly obliged. We buzzed the house twice with about 500 feet to spare at full speed… close enough I could see my father-in-law’s WTF expression on his face.

We landed at the north Scottsdale municipal airport and Neil took me to my car, parked at Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport in his Mercedes 450 SL. Once I was home, I estimated that I had been gone for a total of 22 hours, and been in the air for about 16 hours in  three totally different types of aircraft. To this day, I refer to this as “ the day Bill flew”. I delivered 75 rolls of processed film to Neil the following day and he seemed pleased with the results. I also called my father-in-law and asked if someone had buzzed his house. We had a good laugh about that.

One last helicopter story. A client called me and asked if I was capable of doing vertical photographs of property he owned about 60 miles northwest of Phoenix. These types of photos are usually accomplished with a special camera mounted to the underside of an airplane. Because of the specialized nature of the plane and the camera it is usually quite expensive; $500-$1000 per hour in 1985. He was wanting to do the photos “on the cheap”. I called the helicopter charter company, explained what I wanted to do and they said no problem. They recommended that I get a bubble level to attach to the back of my 35MM camera, which I did. Turned out to be a great investment in keeping everything aligned.

When I arrived at the airport a few days later, the helicopter was configured slightly differently from other times. They had completely removed the passenger seat, and had affixed “boots” to the skid of the helicopter directly below where I would sit on the floor after getting my feet inside the boots. The harness was also significantly heavier, and I felt more secure in it. We took off from the airport with me sitting half way out of the helicopter. It took longer to get to the site than unusual. Because I was sitting halfway out of the helicopter, the pilot didn’t want to beat me up with the faster, air speed. When we got to the site, the pilot lowered the air speed even further and I slowly stood up on the skid, and found my balance. Once I was balanced, the pilot slowly lowered me in the harness until I was standing out at a 45° angle. The pilot again waited for me to feel balanced and comfortable. He then slowly banked the helicopter at an additional 45° angle. At this point, I was looking straight down at the ground 1500 feet below me with no obstructions.

The pilot raised and lowered the altitude with each circle around the property and I paid more attention to the bubble level then I did to the image in the viewfinder. He also increased and decreased the circle.  After about 45 minutes, I thought we had the shot.   The pilot leveled of the aircraft and slowly reeled me in with the harness until I could sit comfortably on the floor of the helicopter. We slowly returned to Scottsdale Airport, where I was released from the boots and harness, and I was able to exit the helicopter.  What an adventure! The next day I delivered the processed film to the client with my bill for 35% of what it would have cost using a dedicated aircraft.

This was the same pilot I used for all of my photography assignments. We formed quite a team. He understood the assignments and did the best job he could to accommodate my needs. Ten days after my last assignment with him, he died when his helicopter crashed while hovering over a citrus orchard in Mesa, Arizona, preventing overnight frost damage to the crop. He left a wife and two small children.  He was a consummate professional.

Earlier in this chapter, I mentioned my father-in-law. Yes, I had gotten married again. I had met D through an introduction by a mutual friend. For reasons that should become obvious, she will remain anonymous. Sometimes for various reasons, people make bad choices in their life. This was one of mine. D was an attorney and I think that fact clouded my judgment. Shit happens! At first, she seemed like a happy go lucky person, with tons of good personality traits. There were signals though that I chose to ignore. She’d gone to one of the best law schools in the country but professed said she hated studying law and she hated her fellow students, her professors and everything about the profession. I asked her why she had chosen to become a lawyer, and she said that the only professions she knew about were doctors, lawyers, and teachers, and she didn’t want to be a teacher or doctor. I pondered this statement for a while and asked if she had received career counseling before she graduated from undergraduate school. She said she didn’t want to talk about it. Case closed! When we met, she was working for a small Phoenix law firm that seemed to be treating her extraordinarily well. When they hired her, she was given a virtual blank check to furnish her office. The firm’s primary focus was on insurance defense. D seemed miserable doing that kind of work. But they paid her quite well. So naturally I urged her to look for a better situation. Eventually and reluctantly she took my advice. But instead of just looking for another position, she flat out just quit. Then she felt under pressure to find a new job which she eventually did.

D was hired by another insurance defense firm with offices in Scottsdale. I asked her why she would go from one insurance defense firm to another, and she just told me I wouldn’t understand. She was almost immediately unhappy with a new firm for no particular reason.

She was becoming increasingly and chronically unhappy, but I thought I could fix her. I had little successes, which made me feel encouraged. My career also shifted into high gear about this time so I tried to ignore the downsides. She said she had difficulty understanding how I could be so satisfied working in what she thought was a menial job. All the signs were there. I chose to ignore them.

We decided to get married and planning that event created a pleasant diversion for her. We created a spectacular and unique event  On our first date, I had taken her to a chamber ensemble concert at a concert hall in Scottsdale that had once been a private concert hall owned by a rich heiress. After she died, she bequeathed the property which included her home to Arizona State University. It was a beautiful facility that blended into the natural desert landscape. We reserved the concert hall and the same ensemble to provide music for the wedding. It would be a small intimate affair with about 150 people in attendance. The catering company we booked provided beer on tap and a hot dog cart.

She was very happy planning the wedding and it was a spectacular and memorable success.  She should have been a wedding planner. After the wedding, I suggested that to her. She ignored my suggestion. A few weeks later, she was back working for the insurance defense firm and was miserable.

I felt I had to look and feel successful to succeed in my profession. It was part of my job description to drive a late model car and have a positive attitude. I had no choice, but to ignore all the negativity she brought to the relationship. She continued to resent my attitude and repeatedly questioned how I maintained my positive attitude.

She finally had enough working for “the man” and I encouraged her to go into private practice. The studio space I was leasing included about 400 square feet of office space I wasn’t using, so we spent a few weeks getting it ready to function as her law office. Finding clients didn’t seem to be a problem, but getting most of them to pay for her services was. She kept a few good clients and started doing court appointed legal guardianship work for the state, representing minor dependents. The work didn’t pay well, but the pay was reliable. She was the happiest I had ever seen her, working with those kids.  Both D and myself were under the microscope for months.

After it was determined that we were suitable adopters, we began the trial phase of the adoption. This seemed more disruptive to C than us. She could only live with us part time, which means she was shuttled between our comfortable stable home, and the chaos of a group home, and the even more chaotic home of her biological mother, who was dealing with substance abuse issues, and one of many abusive relationships.

In the meantime D and I were making plans for C’s education, and enrichment. C had expressed interest in a modeling career. I knew that she was probably too short to be a successful model, but we enrolled her in a modeling class nonetheless, if for no other reason than to develop her poise and demeanor.  I had also taken her rollerskating with me several times and I recognized her innate talent and lack of fear. I enrolled her in a class that taught jumping and spinning skills. I may have been biased in my observation, but she seemed to be a natural. It would have been interesting to see what she could have done in the sport.

Months went by before we were finally approved to adopt C. We had a party for her and introduced her to some of our friends. She seemed to fit in nicely and it wasn’t long before the three of us felt like a family.

With all that C had been through, we thought we were prepared for the hiccups that would occur. C really had self-directed to her life since she had been about 11 years old. She had made some mistakes, but we thought we could overcome those. When D first met her, C was addicted to cigarettes. She understood that we forbid her from smoking, and she seems to be coping with it just fine. D had planned to visit her sister in Seattle who is nearing graduation from dental school. This was going to be C’s first real test, how she would react to not having her role model close by. All three of us went to the airport to see D off. C seemed nervous, but i thought we could bond over the weekend. I had plenty of activities planned for us, including another group rollerskating lesson. C seemed to be looking forward to it. I took her to her favorite fast food restaurant for lunch. She still ate most of her food with her fingers. That was a habit that would take some time to break. When we got home, we went for a swim in the pool and she said she was ready for a nap. I washed my car and then read for a while.

By then it was time to start preparing dinner. C said she would help me in a few minutes. After about 15 minutes, I went to her room to tell her I was ready for her help. The little shit was smoking a cigarette in her room, something she knew was against the rules. I tried to come down hard on her, but she was most upset when I told her I would be calling D to tell her what had happened. I told her I didn’t want her help cooking. I would just tell her when dinner was ready. I called her to tell her dinner was ready and she didn’t respond. So I went to her room to find she was gone, she had crawled out the window and climbed the fence. I called D again to tell her what had happened and she told me not to do anything until she got home the next day.

That was the last time either of us saw or heard from C.

About 10 years before we met, D’s family had moved to Lake Havasu City Arizona from a farm in eastern Washington state. D resented that decision made primarily by her father and increasingly showed him disrespect. She also hated living in Arizona claiming it was one of the most inhospitable places she had ever been. On a vacation we took to New York, Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont we were both very impressed with the area. D insisted that if we moved to Vermont, all our problems would be over. I understood the concept of a “geographic cure” as justification for a new adventure. It would not be easy for me to pick up and start over in a new location on the other side of the continent, but I was up to the challenge… anything to help her find happiness in contentment.

Planning for the big move, began almost immediately after we returned from the East Coast. We spent close to a year planning for the move and her bouts of depression and anger lessoned as the move came closer. My research revealed that Vermont had a strong community of mail-order catalogue entrepreneurs. D moved there ahead of me to get a head start on her bar admission requirements and find a place where we could live. I set about the task of selling my house.

In order to be admitted to the Vermont bar, she had to intern with a licensed Vermont attorney for six months which meant she would be working for virtually minimum wage. She found a firm with two likable young partners who were pleased to have the help. They appeared to be a good match for her, but by the time the internship was over, they were on a very contentious basis. The two partners both told D that she had a bad attitude towards the law. I concluded that it wasn’t just me.

It took me about two months to find a buyer for my house. It became a very stressful time. I would call D with progress reports every few days and D couldn’t understand why I was taking so long. I tried to explain the process to her, but she just wouldn’t understand. One night she became very angry on the phone and hung up on me. I immediately called her back and told her that if she ever did that again, she would never see me again.

My client list included two large retail department store chains with very similar lines of merchandise. It wasn’t unusual for me to have the same product in the studio for photography at the same time. I didn’t just disclose to them that the other chain was also my client nor was I required to do so. I felt as long as I provided each of them with the best photography I could it shouldn’t be a problem.

The photography I was doing included “Rotos”, ads that appeared in the magazine supplement of sunday newspapers. Rotos was short for “rotogravure”, the high quality high speed printing process that was used to produce these supplements. I always took extra care in producing the photography for rotos, since the quality of the printing made them excellent portfolio pieces. One of these two competitors consistently appeared on the coveted back cover of the magazine.

I eventually found a buyer for the house and closed on the sale just before Thanksgiving. I headed east on a four-day odyssey with our two dogs in the cab of the rental truck towing my car behind it. The dogs, D’s white afghan and my Dalmatian were big hits at the toll booths in Indiana, Ohio and New York and anywhere else we stopped. I pulled into our new home in Richmond, Vermont on the day before Thanksgiving. There was already snow on the ground, but I soon found out the ground was not frozen yet. I backed the truck up as close as I could to the front door of the house where it became bogged down in deep mud. It was already getting dark so we decided to unload the truck the next day.

D had already met the across-the-road neighbors, Doug and Laura, and they offered to help us unload the truck the next day. It took us about three hours to get everything we owned into the house on Thanksgiving day. We accepted an invitation from Doug and Laura to join them for Thanksgiving dinner late that afternoon. Even when empty, the truck remained stuck in the mud in front of the house. I called for a tow truck the next day. That was a $200 expense I wasn’t expecting.

We spent the next several days setting up furniture and placing belongings in rooms. About the time we got settled in, I was suspecting that the “geographic cure” was not working as I hoped it would. As time went on, D was becoming increasingly unhappy and complaining about anything and everything without trying to offer a remedy. I always thought that a complaint without a solution or remedy was wasted emotion. D seemed long past seeking a solution to her troubles either real or imaginary.

This situation upset me so much, I didn’t know what to do. Out of desperation, I even thought about just trying to disappear. I called U-Haul to ask if one could rent a trailer without giving them a destination. Without being able to offer them an explanation, they didn’t understand the question and I didn’t want to reveal more details.

I tried to stay optimistic and planning my approach to a new group of potential clients kept me engaged. I already had a list of people I wanted to call. I also looked at the possibility of setting up a small studio in the basement of the house. I thought it was going to be tight, but I also thought I could make it work. Just stay optimistic I told myself and everything will work out.

There were quite a few small and medium sized mail order companies to call on, ranging in size from mom and pop operations who operated the business on their kitchen table, to companies with several hundred employees. Sometimes it took several weeks to get to see the right person and that is what I expected. But the mortgage payments were due, and D was getting impatient. She didn’t understand the nature of the business nor the process. I felt immense pressure to come up with something. I was getting a few small test assignments, but none of them together would sustain a business.

In order to satisfy D, I started looking for a job. Something that would generate some income, but would also permit me to keep marketing myself. I considered working the night shift at a commercial bakery and a part-time cook position at a pizza restaurant.

I eventually accepted a job working on the receiving dock of a wholesale produce distributor. The job started the following week and I quietly and relucently understood that this might be the end of my photography career. I just wouldn’t have the energy, motivation or attitude needed to persist.

The day before I was scheduled to start working at the produce warehouse I got THE call from Orvis. Orvis is a large family owned retail and mail order company with hundreds of retail dealers, specializing in fly fishing and the outdoor lifestyle. I had visited with with the company creative director several weeks earlier. They generate hundreds of catalog pages per year. I was ecstatic and had a hard time sleeping the night before I went to their headquarters in Manchester Vermont, 100 miles south. I felt like I was flying! I picked up about 15 products and the accompanying layouts (rough sketches) depicting how they wanted the products displayed as well as verbal instructions. They gave me about a week to return with photographs of the products.

Orvis became a staple in my client roster. My relationship with them lasted for over 10 years. They weren’t my biggest account, but it was steady reliable work. My biggest account became Gardner’s Supply Company. It seemed we grew up together. When I started working with them, the company had less than 100 employees. Twelve years later, the company was three times that size. The reliability of assignments coming from Gardener’s Supply made it almost feel like a full-time job.

I never thought I could ride a bike this far or for this long. The first time I signed up for a 24 hour race; the National 24-Hour Challenge in Michigan), I set a very conservative goal: 200 miles and I’d be happy. Once I reached 200, I took an extended break, almost 2 hours. In hindsight, I should have just kept going. But nonetheless, I finished with 231.5 miles and I was elated. A few months later found me riding from Williams to Dubuque, Iowa. What should have been 170 miles, ended up being 200 miles with a few wrong turns and I did that in under 15 hours. So when Sarah Cooper twisted my arm enough to get me to sign up for the 24-hour race in Sebring Florida, I thought I had a chance to ride 280 miles.

My training consisted primarily of my daily 27-mile commute to/from home in Des Moines and Kyle’s Bikes in Ankeny. In late January, I passed the 20,000 mile mark since I started working at Kyle’s in May of 2011. I did get in a nice 90 miler on an unseasonably mlld Saturday in January.

I thought I had 280 miles in me at the start of the race. I still thought I had 280 in me at the end of the 110 mile first loop. I still thought I had 280 in me at the start of the night loop. Why is sport called sport? Because you never know until you know.

I was in awe being on the venerable old Sebring International Raceway for the night laps. I felt the presence of Andretti, Fangio, Cunningham, and Rahal. I could almost hear the Ferraris, Porsches and Ford GTs scream by me (it was, in fact, Sarah Cooper). But “the awe” would only take me so far. In the history of the track, there had been many accounts of drivers retiring due to accidents at night, quite simply because they got lost on the expansive runway sections and couldn't find the track again. Some drivers got lost even during the day, mostly because the track was poorly marked. Sebring is renowned for its rough surface. The course still runs on old sections of a World War II-era landing field that were constructed of concrete sections with large seams. The transitions between sections were quite rough and, often, sparks would fly from the undercarriages of the cars as they traversed them.

I “hit the grass” once coming out of turn one and that scared the bejesus out of me. I kept hitting the same damn bumps lap after lap. Riding in aero on 100 psi tires slowly took its toll. The track beat me up. Nineteen laps on “old venerable” and I was done at 2:00 a.m. Sunday morning. I was a little disappointed. My computer put me at 221 miles. Official results put me at 235.4 miles—a PR by four miles. I’ll take it, I earned it!

I still think I have 280 in me. The good news is that I LOVED the night loop at N24HC and I plan on being back there in a few months, perhaps with a little more consistent training. And it’s smooth.

On just about all of my previous 100+ mile rides, I have suffered from near debilitating inner thigh cramps. During a 200 miler in Iowa they reduced me to a puddle; I forced myself to maintain 8 mph for 20+ miles. A couple of bananas reduced the pain, but the cramps never totally went away. I decided to try SportLegs, and those little capsules are a miracle. I took two caps the night before the race, three more the morning of the race, two after I finished the big loop, and two more about every two hours. I rode all 235.4 miles totally cramp free. I could not endorse a product more enthusiastically. The encouragement from other teams in the pits helped as well. The bruises on my forearms from riding the aero bars will heal, but the glow of riding 235.4 miles will remain with me forever.

On the flight from Iowa to Fort Lauderdale, I noticed a slight twitch in my left thumb. It wasn’t annoying, it was just there. I only noticed it when I was idle, so I don’t think it occurred while I was riding. I noticed it again on the flight back to Iowa. The twitch persisted and increased in intensity and frequency. Within a few months, my whole hand was twitching at first intermittently and eventually almost constantly. I made an appointment to see my primary care provider and he diagnosed it as “essential tremor”. He told me there were no specific medications for essential tremor, but he prescribed a medication to relieve the symptoms. Over the course of several months the twitching got worse, and I was having difficulty eating with utensils because my hand was shaking so intensely.

I made an appointment to see a neurologist, and with a few manual tests,she immediately diagnosed it as Parkinson’s Disease (PD). I was actually relieved to receive that diagnosis since there were specific medications to treat PD. She started me on a small dose of Leavadopa/Corbidopa, and increased the dosage weekly. The medication had little impact on the twitching as it continued and intensified. I also noticed cramping and curling of the toes on my left foot. I also started having some difficulty cycling. I frequently couldn’t complete smooth regular circles of the pedals. I continued to ride with increasing difficulty. My riding was becoming less enjoyable and more of a chore.

The deadline to enter the 2015 National 24 Hour Challenge was fast approaching and with a leap of faith, I entered the race. The difficulty I was having peddling smoothly wasn’t constant and I just hoped for the best. The race started at 5 AM with one lap of the 7-mile “night loop”. By the time I completed that 7 mile loop I was in last place and made the difficult decision to abandon the race.

The drive back to Des Moines seemed longer than normal and more arduous as I pondered my future in ultra cycling.

I took a couple of pedal assist e-bikes we had at the shop for short test rides. Each e-bike made riding significantly easier so I bought one. I started walking with a limp caused by the curling of my toes, which only got worse and more pronounced as time went on. I was totally enjoying the e-bike, as it made cycling seem more normal. One busy Friday at the bike shop I missed taking my noon medications. I also didn’t take my medications that evening.

When I woke the following morning, the cramping in my foot and the toe curling was gone.  Totally gone! I decided to try riding my road bike, and ended up riding an effortless 40 miles. I returned home jubilant and relieved. Later that day, I rode out to a small town about 15 miles south of Des Moines to hang out with friends who were participating in a long distance gravel race. The ride out and back were effortless. All along I thought that my difficulty cycling was caused by the PD, it never even occurred to me that it was the medication. That was the last time I took those medications for about two years.

What I found out that day, didn’t surprise me, but it did make a lasting impression. I was recognized as soon as I walked into the rink, by the rink’s resident coach, who recognized me from nationals just a few weeks earlier. He soon pressed me into service, partnering with three young girls who shared a 45 minute dance lesson. Rotating between the three girls on a pair of the rink’s rental skates left me dripping in sweat after the 45 minute lesson. This pattern would repeat itself several times during the next few years as I brought my “fame” along with me.

While I was in basic training, I was tested with a special aptitude test for foreign language skills. The Air Force was looking for translators to serve in the diplomatic corps. The test was fascinating, and I had fun taking it. To avoid any bias the testers devised a totally new language, with an extensive vocabulary, rules of grammar, even slang and expressions. I missed qualifying by .5 of a point. It would have been interesting to see where that career path would have taken me.

Basic training was soon over and I transferred to Lowry Air Force Base in Denver, Colorado for training as munitions technician. I soon found skating friends, including a nationally known married dance team couple who conveniently lived within walking distance of the base. It took several weeks for me to gain my freedom where I could come and go pretty much as I pleased.

They would spend all day Saturday skating and taking lessons at the rink in Greeley, Colorado and they agreed as long as I made it to their house before they left for Greeley, I could go with them. I was soon spending most Saturdays with them and other friends in Greeley.

The resident coach and owner of the rink was a former national champion, and he attracted skaters from all over the region. As was and is the case, girls and women, outnumber men and boys in most competitive skating clubs, so if I wanted a partner I could take my pick. I took my time “auditioning” several potential partners. With no agenda or competitive goals I chose a girl who I could work with and develop into a decent skater. I also started to casually work on the school figures in the senior division which I had qualified for by virtue of two successful competitive seasons. They were very difficult and I knew it would be several years before I would be prepared to seriously compete in the senior figure division.

My new partner and I competed in several novice dance competitions in Colorado and Wyoming with mixed results over the following six months. I enjoyed competing without any pressure, just for fun.

My training course at Lowry Air Force Base was put on hold awaiting a top-secret security clearance. I literally had nothing to do for five months. I continued tripping to Greeley with my friends on Saturdays and skated at small local rink in Aurora Colorado several nights per week.

A couple of funny things happened during this time. I would leave the base very early on Saturday morning to get to my friends house for the trip to Greeley. I would leave with my skates and a change of clothes. When I would return 18+ hours later, my barracks roommates would ask where I had been. I just told them I had “been skating”… FOR 18 HOURS????? While waiting for my security clearance, two guys who flashed badges were snooping around the rink and my high school in Minnesota, asking about me. To this day, I have no idea who they were or what they were looking for, but it made quite an impression on friends at the rink and school.

I also bought a bike (a used Schwinn 10-speed $50.00) and rode it around Denver and vicinity during the week to relieve the boredom and stay in shape. One Sunday morning I left the base early and headed west on the old Schwinn. With no actual plan or destination in mind, I just kept riding west as I approached the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. And I kept going. I rode up into the mountains to Idaho Springs where I stopped to find some food. I had been on the road for about six hours.

After fueling up, I headed back towards Denver, all downhill. I was flying. By the time I got back to Lowry it was starting to get dark. I had been out on the road for 10+ hours and had probably ridden 70-80 miles…. All without padded shorts, gloves, or even a water bottle. I didn’t even know such things existed. A quite auspicious beginning to my long-distance cycling career; a career that would remain dormant for several decades.

My security clearance was finally approved after five months and I was able to complete my training course. I then transferred to Nellis Air Force Base near Las Vegas for on-the-job training. The rink in North Las Vegas didn’t have a competitive club, so I skated casually for about 6 months while I was at Nellis.

After about six months of on-the-job in Nevada I was scheduled to transfer to Takhli Royal Thai Air Force Base in Thailand for a 12 month rotation. Before leaving for Thailand, I took a 30 day leave at home in Minnesota. I spent quite a bit of my time at the rink and skating with my old partner it various rinks around the Twin Cities. It was great to be home for a while, but I was ready to get on with my new adventure.

I was in transit to Thailand for about 30 hours. Embarking from Travis Air Force Base in California, stopping to refuel in Anchorage and Japan, with an overnight stay in Bangkok before flying up-country to Takhli. I was assigned to the ammunition storage area where we worked six days per week, 10 to 12 hour shifts. My job was supervising several lower ranking airmen and about 10-15 Thai nationals, receiving, storing and preparing munitions for aircraft deployment. After about 6 months, I received a promotion in rank, and was eligible for a less rigorous job.

At first I worked the night shift, sitting in a non air-conditioned office waiting for the phone to ring, which rarely did. I was back on the dayshift shortly afterwards, and took the place of my friend Sgt. Warren Rubin maintaining a card file inventory system of the entire ammunition storage area. Sargent Rubin and I met at Lowry Air Force Base in Denver and again at Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada and we became almost constant companions in Thailand until he rotated back to the US. Little did I know then that he would become my dearest lifelong friend.

The base in Takhli was a sprawling giant, that required 24-hour shuttle buses to get personnel from one end of the base to the other. The ammunition storage area was even further out from the main base. We had to meet at designated locations for rides to and from work. One day I was riding the shuttle bus after work and a casual acquaintance came on board and sat down next to me. I knew little about him other than his name. The trip from one end of the base to the other took 10 to 12 minutes. During that time, I heard his sob story about how his life was unraveling. He told me how he tricked the Air Force into believing that his mother was dying and he travelled back to his home in New York for several weeks. He had already developed a drug habit before he left Thailand and borrowed and stole money in New York to support his  habit. He even stole money from his not dying mother. The guy was in desperate need of money. About the only other thing I knew about him was that he had already acquired an impressive collection of camera equipment. It was quite customary for single Air Force personnel to buy cheap camera or stereo equipment while married guys bought dishes. I just hadn’t decided which direction to go.

Within those precious minutes it took to get from one end of the base to the other, I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse and made a smoking deal for his camera gear. Within the hour, I was in possession of thousands of dollars worth of photography equipment, not for pennies on the dollar, but close. At this point, I had no idea what an effect this simple transaction would have on my life, but it literally defined who and what I was to become.

On the first day of a three day R&R to Bangkok, I met four young Thais enjoying their day together in Lumpini Park. They were all about my age. The three girls and one boy all lived together and supported one another. We all became fast friends, and they spent the rest of the three days with me and took me around to see the sites of Bangkok. That first evening they took me to an authentic Chinese restaurant. We seem to be in a cab for 40 minutes or more getting to the restaurant. When we got to the restaurant, it was a bare bones room, sparsely furnished and lit with fluorescent bulbs. We passed through the room and a doorway and entered the most beautiful outdoor patio I had ever seen. The patio was surrounded by lush vegetation, and lit with tourches and little lights, strung together. The 40 or so tables were all covered with linen tablecloths. There must have been 200 or more people seated at tables enjoying dinner. As we were seated, I noticed I was the only westerner in the place. There were no menus and my new Thai/Chinese friends spent several minutes talking to members of the waitstaff. I assumed they were ordering our meal. Numerous communal plates of food started arriving at our table within minutes and just never seemed to stop. At one point I started counting the number of serving pieces on the table. There was close to eighty pieces, including about six or eight small bowls in front of each of us containing a variety of dipping sauces.

Everything I ate was delicious. Some dishes were extremely spicy. My friends were dipping fried shrimp into sauces and eating them like candy. I did the same and  immediately felt like I was going to die. I had never tasted anything so spicy. I love spicy food and always have, but some of those sauces were out of this world hot.

We spent almost three hours eating dinner. It is a convenient Thai custom for the guest to pay for the meal. I had no idea how much the food they ordered was going to cost. When we finished dessert, I was presented with the check. The total for all that food came to less than $10 (฿200) each. It was truly the most memorable and amazing meal I have ever had. I was so full!

We spent the next day visiting the floating market and numerous shrines and temples. I saw parts of Bangkok I would never have found on my own. That evening, my new friends took me to a Thai nightclub. We again took a cab ride for about 45 minutes. When we got out of the cab, we were in a dark and dingy residential neighborhood. I was almost certain I was going to get mugged. We entered the dingiest of the dingy buildings surrounding us, and went up a dark and dirty and rickety stairway to the second floor of the building. At the top of the stairway was a doorway covered with a cheap red velvet curtain and I could hear music through the curtain.

When we entered the room on the other side of the curtain, we’re in a huge ornate ballroom. The air was thick with smoke and the lighting was low and atmospheric. There must have been over 100 tables with middle aged men seated with beautiful young women all wearing blue numbered badges. There was a huge elevated stage along one wall with an orchestra playing Thai, Chinese and western music. The stage was lit with powerful spotlights along the opposite wall. In front of the stage was a small dance floor with a few couples dancing. The real business of this nightclub was taking place at the tables, between the middle aged Thai and Chinese men and the girls seated next to them.

The next day, I left Bangkok late in the morning and bid farewell to my new friends. One of the girls worked that day, so the four of us arrived at the train station with about 20 minutes to spare. I visited Bangkok several times after that and searched the neighborhood where I believed they lived but I never could find them. I often wonder what happened to them.

I also found out that there were several rollerskating rinks in Bangkok. I had my parents ship my skates to me by APO mail and they arrived in about 10 days. On another three day R&R to Bangkok I went looking for one of the rinks. I asked a taxi driver to take me to a “skating” rink, and he didn’t understand what I was saying. I soon found out that the correct way to say skate so that Thai people would understand was to say “saa-kate”. I finally made it to the saa-kate rink about 9 PM and the place was packed with young Thais, but only a handful of them actually skated. It turned out that the saa-kate rink was THE place for young Thais to hang out and drink Thai soda (a lime green concoction that tasted like liquid JUICY FRUIT gum) and dance. The place was still packed when I left about two hours later. Admission was about ฿10 ($.50) to saa-kate, but ฿30 ($1.50) to dance. It was quite the experience!

I was also privileged to be invited to a Thai wedding by my friends. The entire ceremony lasts for three days with just a portion of the second day open to the general public. When I arrived at the temple where the ceremony took place, I realized I was just one of several westerners attending. There were several hundred people there, and the soon to be wedded couple looked, dazed and exhausted. They had another day to go before they were officially wedded. There was an abundance of food and drink, and I sampled just about everything, having no idea what I was eating. Everything was delicious.

There was also a band of about 12 musicians playing loud and ruckus Thai music. At one point an adolescent troup of Thai dancers took over a space in the middle of the temple. The dance performance lasted over half an hour and was like nothing I’ve ever seen or seen sense. By the time the dancers finished their routine they were all bathed in sweat.

I chose to extend my stay in Thailand for an extra six months. Had I not, I would have had enough time remained in my four year enlistment, to be sent back to Southeast Asia for a second 12 month rotation. By extending my stay for six months, I only had a little over a year of my enlistment remaining.

With 14 months left in my enlistment, my final posting was at Grand Forks Air Force Base in North Dakota. There was little demand for munitions assemblers in North Dakota, so I was, as expected, reassigned to a security police squadron. This was a put-out-to-pasture assignment, with lots of war-game playing and chicken-shit, military discipline. I just couldn’t and didn’t take it too seriously.  I was assigned to a Minuteman missile squadron with a 3-day on, 3-day off work schedule. Before I left Thailand, I found out that security police personnel were generally bottom of the barrel persons. I was in a three week training class with individuals in possession of second and third grade reading and comprehension levels and supervisors and instructors not much better.

But the good news was that the 3-day on, 3-day off schedule permitted plenty of time to travel home (400 miles) on my days off, which I did on a regular basis. There was also a roller rink in Grand Forks, which became my home away from home away from home.

The owners of the rink, a retired couple who knew of me from my years in competition became good friends. Instead of reentering the competitive arena, I decided to coach a group of about 20 skaters ranging in age from grade schoolers to young adults. I also began teaching four or five young adults how to judge. Once again, I was in possession of a key to a roller rink.

Within months, we were conducting skating proficiency tests with my newly minted judges in Grand Forks in Minot North Dakota and I was coaching skaters for an upcoming competition I organized between skaters from Grand Forks and Minot North Dakota and Winnipeg Manitoba.

My Air Force enlistment ended not too soon and I was having a great time learning to use my recently acquired camera gear. Within this time, I decided to pursue photography as a career. It’s amazing how it worked out. How serendipitous was that 10 minute shuttle bus ride in Thailand. I enlisted in the Air Force without a clue what my future would be like. Now my career path was set. Not by any means etched in stone, but at least I had a viable plan.

My best memory of him was the time his wife Annamae and my parents and I went out to eat. He chose a very upscale steakhouse and everything was on him. He started out by tipping our waitress before she even brought us menus. He also drank a lot. The service was extraordinary. He may have been a boomer, a very clever boomer.

Legend has it that he attended a technical training school instead of a regular high school. He nearly flunked out because he needed to complete a project. He had taken on the task of building a cannon from scratch. Every part of the cannon was fashioned by hand, even the screws. And it had to work. Competing the cannon just in time, left little time to test. But he was able to fire it off just once, thankfully successfully. I believe it fires 12 gauge shotgun shells.

When I was preschool age, he gave me his cannon. By then he was already middle aged. He died when I was about 12. That will give you some idea of its age. He gave it to me because I was his favorite boy (of three) on my mother’s side of the family. While I was in the military, the cannon was kept by my parents. It has been in my possession ever since. I cherish it as much today as I ever have.

Once I was in the water, I knew there was a problem: the wetsuit was too tight around my chest, which prevented me from taking full deep breaths. I tried the wetsuit on several times before the race, but didn’t take into account the compressive nature of the water. And I had made the serious rookie mistake of not trying to swim in the wetsuit before the race. I swam to the nearest rescue kayak and hung on to the boat while he paddled towards the shore. My first attempt at triathlon ended in abject failure.  Here I was once again watching from the sidelines.

As soon as I got home, I went looking for a larger wetsuit and ordered it. When it arrived about a week later, I took it to a nearby lake, put it on and went swimming in it. Much better! I signed up for another sprint triathlon, this time in Albert Lea, Minnesota, scheduled for two weeks later. This race had a unique beginner friendly feature. The swim course ran parallel to the edge of the water, making self rescue very easy. The quarter mile turn around a bouey was crowded and chaotic, and I got kicked in the face by a swimmer in front of me dislodging my goggles allowing water to get into my eyes. Note to self; LASIK surgery. It took me a few moments to adjust the goggles back on my eyes, while treading water, and they never felt quite right. The rest of the race was under cloudy, rainy conditions, and I was happy just to finish the 20 mile bike and  4 mile run.  But finish I did. I had finished my first real triathlon… something I’d been waiting to say for 20+ years.

The upcoming Hy-Vee triathlon was my goal race, and it was going to be my first Olympic distance race. Wide spread flooding in the area forced the event into alternative venues just days before the race. I was impressed with the race directors agility, and ability to change virtually all his plans. He must’ve had these alternate plans, tucked away in his back pocket, just in case. With only slightly diminished production values the race went off without a hitch. Part of the alternative plan made it necessary for age group competitors like myself to take a shuttle bus from a nearby shopping center to the swim venue. When I was getting out of my car at the shopping center, I dropped my socks on the ground and didn’t realize it until I was setting up my transition area. It was too late to go back and retrieve my socks. One of the unwritten rules of endurance sports is to never try anything on race day you haven’t tried during practice. This would include going sockless on the bike and run. Riding and running sockless is a time saving strategy employed by anyone wanting to shave a few seconds off their overall time. I certainly didn’t fit in that category. Additional precautions would be taken to ensure shoes would go on come off effortlessly, typically dumping a bunch of foot powder in each cycling and running shoe. Also not an option for me that day. So I was going to ride and run sockless. What could go wrong?

As luck would have it nothing went wrong. No one kicked me in the face during the 1500 meter swim and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the swim exit arch on the beach. Barring a mechanical issue on the bike, I knew I would finish my first Olympic distance triathlon. And finish I did.

I had been wearing contact lenses for 20+ years. Now, as I was aging, my eyes were producing less liquid and I could only wear contacts about 4 to 6 hours per day. After that, my eyes would be dry and scratchy. If I was going to continue in triathlon, it made perfect sense to look into getting my eyes lasered. I made an appointment with a highly recommended eye doctor in Iowa City who specialized in LASIK surgery. Her evaluation indicated that I was an ideal candidate for the surgery so I decided to go for it.

The day of the procedure I was given a mild sedative and fitted with a device that kept my eyelid open. I felt sort of like Malcome McDowell’s character in the Stanley Kubrick film Clockwork Orange. The actual procedure took about 30 seconds. I could smell the laser burning my retina. That was all there was to it. Scary but effective! I was seated in a chair, looking straight up at the ceiling. Immediately the texture of the ceiling came into focus. Second eye, same thing.

I left the doctors office with clear plastic shields over my eyes to prevent foreign objects from getting in them. I was able to sleep for a couple of hours that afternoon and got a full night’s sleep. The next morning, I returned to the doctors office where she tested my eyesight.  My distant vision was 20/15 but as expected, I would have to wear reading glasses for the rest of my life. The procedure was a phenomenal success. I was so pleased! No more scratchy contact lenses or worry about them getting contaminated while swimming.

In four seasons of triathlon, I completed twelve events;  six sprint distance triathlons, and six Olympic distance triathlons, including three Hy-Vees and the LifeTime Fitness triathlon in Minneapolis.