jack and the magic bean bus

NOTE: scroll down to read chapter 19 FIRST!!

thgir edir

. . . . .

NOTE: scroll down to read chapter 19 FIRST!!

thgir edir

. . . . .

NOTE: scroll down to read chapter 19 FIRST!!

thgir edir

. . . . .

NOTE: scroll down to read chapter 19 FIRST!!

thgir edir

. . . . .

. . . .

. . . . .

Chapter 20 - a friendly face after a ride in the country

The back of the Des Moines Register delivery truck was completely dark. Jack lifted the bicycle off of him and laid it down to one side, where he hoped it wouldn’t cause him more problems. The truck seemed to be moving along quickly now, and the bone-jarring bumps kept coming without warning. Jack couldn’t tell where the truck was headed or how long he would be locked in the back, but he had a sinking feeling that he might be on his way back to the newspaper’s headquarters in Des Moines. It would be a long, bumpy ride on the way to certain doom.
Jack felt his way toward the rear door of the truck as everything rattled and swayed back and forth around him. He reached the door and could see a thin sliver of light coming from underneath, but when Jack tried to lift up on the door, it wouldn’t budge. The door was locked tightly.

Jack made his way through the darkness back toward the other end of the truck. Beyond the boxes and packages, he felt some canvas bags that were a bit lumpy, but which provided some relief from the beating dished out by the rough roads.
As Jack settled in on top of the bags, the truck’s engine began to sound a little different, and Jack felt the truck bed begin to tilt up toward the front. At the same time, the road smoothed out and wasn’t pounding Jack as much. He could hear the shifting of gears as the engine started to labor and slow down under the load. Minute by minute the truck whined and groaned up what Jack figured must be a very steep climb.

All of this puzzled Jack because he remembered that the roads leading into Denver from the east were mostly flat with some rolling hills, but nothing like this long, steep hill.
It was difficult to judge time while sitting in the dark, but it seemed to Jack that after several more minutes the road leveled off and the truck gained speed again. There were some intermittent ups and downs for another unknown stretch of time, and then the truck pitched forward, going faster and faster.

Jack could feel the truck lean first to the right and then to the left like a runaway rollercoaster as the tires hummed louder and louder. Jack began to wonder if the driver had bailed out, sending him down a steep hill to his death. Maybe this was part of the Register’s plan to get rid of him. But the smell of burning brake pads and the sound of downshifting told Jack that a driver must still be in control, or at least attempting to be in control. Then, suddenly, the truck leveled out, and the hum of the tires gradually returned to normal.
This pattern of steep climbs and descents continued over and over again until Jack lost count. He tried to guess how much time he had spent trapped in the truck but could only estimate at least an hour or two. One thing Jack was sure of, this wasn’t the road that he had traveled with Brendan on his way into Denver.

Finally, Jack felt the truck swing to the right and slow to a stop. He could hear other vehicles passing nearby. Then the truck lurched forward and took a sharp turn to the left, traveling more slowly this time. The truck’s tires made a crunching sound, and Jack could tell that they were now on a steep gravel road.
The truck swayed to the left and right uphill until it made one last sharp turn. As it started backing up, the truck’s warning siren caught Jack completely off guard and sent him scrambling for a hiding place. The bicycle he had carefully set aside was still there in the dark somewhere and Jack managed to trip over it. He toppled into several boxes and ended up sprawled across the canvas bags. After just a few more seconds, the truck and the siren both stopped.

The engine was still running, but nothing else happened for quite a while until Jack heard a single set of footsteps approaching and a man’s voice, apparently talking to himself. “It took ‘em long enough and now I have to unload the stupid truck myself,” he muttered under his breath. The latch for the rear door of the truck clicked open, and the door rolled up most of the way to the top.
A blinding amount of light poured in through the open door and as Jack’s eyes adjusted to the light, he could barely make out the silhouette of the man climbing up into the truck. The man looked around at the scattered contents of the truck for a moment and then saw Jack amid the fallen boxes and bags.

They stared at each other and neither one moved until the man’s words broke the silence. “Jack Piper, I presume?” he said smiling, “I’m John Karras.”

to be continued...

[a serial by little orphan dbax]

jack and the magic bean bus

chapter 19 -- from bed to verse

Jack ducked farther into the entryway of the Tattered Cover bookstore as the Des Moines Register delivery truck slowly rumbled to a stop just twenty feet from him. The rear of the truck was facing Jack, and he couldn’t see into the cab, even with the side-view mirrors. He waited, but no one got out, and the engine kept running.
Then, Jack saw an employee of the bookstore emerge from an entrance further down the block and walk to the back of the truck. The employee flipped the latch on the rear door of the truck and shoved it up to reveal several stacks of newspapers perched near the tailgate. Then he grabbed the two stacks of papers nearest the tailgate and carried them into the bookstore, leaving the back of the truck open.

Jack’s mind was racing. He was stuck in Denver with no way to get to Fort Collins to find Kelby and deliver the mysterious beans. Sister Kim had helped Jack a few days earlier by placing a secret message in a classified ad in the Des Moines Register. Now, Jack hoped for another secret message from Sister Kim in the Register. Jack only had 99¢, which was not enough to buy a copy of the paper, but maybe he could grab a copy of the paper right from the back of the Register’s delivery truck. It was risky, but Jack was ready to try.
The employee of the Tattered Cover came out of the bookstore once again and went to the back of the truck. He reached farther into the truck and picked up two more bundles of newspapers to carry inside, leaving the tailgate unattended.

As soon as the coast was clear, Jack left the entryway where he had been hiding and walked as calmly as he could up the sidewalk toward the waiting truck. When he reached the back of the truck, Jack turned as if he planned to walk across the street and stepped off of the curb, stopping behind the tailgate of the truck, out of sight of the side mirrors. Jack paused to listen for noise from the truck’s cab, or footsteps on the sidewalk but heard nothing. “So far, so good,” he thought.
Jack peered into the darkness of the back of the truck and could see large stacks of boxes and packages but couldn’t make out any details. The next two stacks of papers were farther back from the tailgate, just out of Jack’s reach. He hopped up onto the edge of the tailgate and slid himself back across the truck bed until his fingers felt the next closest bundle of newspapers in the dark. They were tied together very tightly.
In the dark, Jack worked frantically to free one corner of one newspaper in the stack. He pulled harder and tried working the paper from side to side, but it just bunched up and made the cords and knots even tighter. Try as he might, Jack couldn’t separate the newspaper from the rest of the bundle. To make matters worse, Jack heard footsteps approaching.
It was too late. Jack couldn’t make a run for it without being spotted and starting the chase of the last few days all over again. Instead, he quietly slithered between the boxes and packages, farther into the back of the dark truck. Hopefully, as soon as the bookstore employee left again, Jack could slip back out of the truck unnoticed.

The plan was not meant to be. Instead of taking more bundles of papers into the bookstore, the employee reached up and grabbed a strap, which pulled down the rear door of the truck with a loud clattering slam that pinched off any remaining light. “This is bad,” whispered Jack to himself breathlessly.
The metallic sound of the latch snapping into place echoed inside the darkened truck. “That was worse,” murmured Jack.
The sudden lurch of the truck as it pulled away from the curb was unexpected, and Jack toppled into a pile of boxes before hitting the floor of the truck bed. “It can’t get any worse than this,” muttered Jack, although his voice couldn’t be heard above the roar of the engine and the hum of the tires on the road.

It did get worse, however, when an unseen object that had been perched against one wall of the truck toppled silently through the darkness and smacked Jack squarely on the top of his head. By now, the truck was moving fast enough to completely drown out Jack’s howls of pain.
After feeling around on the top of his skull for the knot that was already forming, Jack groped in the darkness to get hold of the object that had clobbered him and was now lying on top of him. His fingers gingerly traced along the lines of metal teeth, levers, cables, and tubes. It was a bicycle.

to be continued...
[a serial by little orphan dbax]

cleaning out the in-box

how i love a parade

.....

from a book entitled "disorder in the court" come these gems:

ATTORNEY: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in voodoo?

WITNESS: We both do.

ATTORNEY: Voodoo?

WITNESS: We do.

ATTORNEY: You do?

WITNESS: Yes, voodoo.

.....

ATTORNEY: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to?

WITNESS: Oral.

.....

ATTORNEY: What was the first thing your husband said to you that morning?

WITNESS: He said, "Where am I, Cathy?"

ATTORNEY: And why did that upset you?

WITNESS: My name is Susan!

.....

ATTORNEY: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?

WITNESS: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.

.....

ATTORNEY: Are you sexually active?

WITNESS: No, I just lie there.

.....

in the category of "you worry about the legal profession, yet i worry about those who DIDN'T get admitted" comes these:

.....

ATTORNEY: The youngest son, the twenty-year-old, how old is he?

WITNESS: Uh, he's twenty.

.....

ATTORNEY: Were you present when your picture was taken?

WITNESS: Are you shitt'in me?

.....

ATTORNEY: She had three children, right?

WITNESS: Yes.

ATTORNEY: How many were boys?

WITNESS: None.

ATTORNEY: Were there any girls?

WITNESS: Are you shitt'in me? Your Honor, I think I need a different attorney. Can I get a new attorney?

.....

ATTORNEY: How was your first marriage terminated?

WITNESS: By death.

ATTORNEY: And by whose death was it terminated?

WITNESS: Now whose death do you suppose terminated it?

.....

in the category of "my lawyer is dumber than your doctor, these:

ATTORNEY: Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?

WITNESS: All my autopsies are performed on dead people. Would you like to rephrase that?

.....
ATTORNEY: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?

WITNESS: Did you actually pass the bar exam?
.....

ATTORNEY: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?

WITNESS: The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m.

ATTORNEY: And Mr. Denton was dead at the time?

WITNESS: No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy on him!

.....

ATTORNEY: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?

WITNESS: Huh....are you qualified to ask that question?

.....

ATTORNEY: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?

WITNESS: No.

ATTORNEY: Did you check for blood pressure?

WITNESS: No.

ATTORNEY: Did you check for breathing?

WITNESS: No.

ATTORNEY: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?

WITNESS: No.

ATTORNEY: How can you be so sure, Doctor?

WITNESS: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.

ATTORNEY: I see, but could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?

WITNESS: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law.

bicycling in print today...

the bad news: despite their efforts to "improve and update" their website, the des moines register online sucks more than the headON commercials.

the really really GOOD news: that this year's ragbrai promises to be one of the best EVER, and i say this having done nearly fifty ragbies. in fact, to honor my golden ragby, the register honored me by following the beautiful lincoln highway for much of its 2008 edition. now, many people know that back in the early 70s, i used to work for the highway commission, where i was on a survey crew helping to lay out and set stakes to rape the countryside for what is now i-35 [north of boondocks] and u.s. 20 [from i-35 to webster city]. while there, i worked with a couple of old boys who were able to tell me much about the lincoln highway, which went through my home town of nevada, and which ribbons through, and up and down, some of the most beautiful and friendly parts of iowa. its gentle 90-degree turns, designed to respect farmsteads, and its meandering swaths through and around once gentle little creeks and rills carrying you over artfully designed and built bridges [a prime example of which still stands in tama] and shading you through patches of gracefully aging stands of oaks and maples, and alongside wonderful old barns of both round and traditional design, its milemarkers featuring honest abe's profile like so many over-sized pennies every mile telling you that you're that much closer to your destination ["are we there yet?"], highly-valued and long since disappeared...suffice it to say, if you miss this ragby, you be sorry.
i might even bust out the old springer for the journey.

in other cycling news appearing in print today, is this story about the rise and fall of alleycats, in light of the recent death of a participant in a february stage of the tour of chicago. and while looking for an illustration to accompany this blurb, i found the above photo, which was in this article, which might be the best read of the day.

but however your choose to do it, plan to celebrate my golden anniversary ragby, the "hometown ragby" and see the birthplaces of my buddy roger, in mo valley, along with proof that i really DID come from the wrong side of the tracks, and, well, who else has a hometown on this ragby?

t-shirts! get your red hot t-shirts here!

[click on image to see them bigger]

you're seeing them here first, folks, and have i got news for you! yup, that's right, you can STILL get your hands on one [or more] of these soon-to-be very cool t-shirts, hailing the arrival of the des moines bike kollective in april, 2008.

$20, folks.

and sizes? we got your sizes right here:

men's--s, m, l, xl, xxl, xxxl; women's--s, m, l, xl; kids in s, m, l

$ $ $ $ $ $ $

stumped what to get the kiddies instead of chocolate bunnies and candied eggs for easter morning?

and while you're looking for alternative goodies, for mom and dad: how about a road bike that tips the scales at 3.3 kg??

who's smiling now?

winning a stage in the tour of ireland
posing for his formal team photo, 2007

andy cornelison writes from italy...

Dear Mostly Reverend,

"I was just gonna email you but you beat me to it. Italy is amazing. The weather is shit right now, low forties and rain, but the roads are awesome. Cippolini lives 300 yards from where we are staying and he was supposed to ride with us today but he pussied out cause of the weather. Probably didn't want to mess up his hair. What is DST? Des Moines Snow Training? Just kidding. Tomorrow we're probably going to go do a six kilometer test climb. I'm gonna do my best but the climber dudes on the team will probably kick my fat ass. Anyway it's good to hear from you, stay in touch. Andy

tips for city street planners, continued

7--locate signage to maximize impact

it hadn't occurred to me...

. . . to compare styles.

back in blue, baby!

in what can only be described as a stunning, shocking, and completely unexpected courtroom development, oj simpson announced his retirement as titular head of a florida-based crime syndicate to return to his one true passion, playing for losing football teams based in buffalo, new york. appearing in a las vegas court yesterday for what what thought to be a routine preliminary hearing, oj stood up, looked at each of his attorneys, and said, "i'm sick of this shit, man, gimme the ball! i'm going back to buffalo, man, where i can be with people who really care about me, oj, the football player, and not oj, the, uh..., the ringmaster of this circus that travels with me."

he then said he'd been inspired by the blue vegas jail jumpsuits, and bolstered by touch football games in the jail courtyard that oj says "proved i still got my mojo."

the district attorney revealed that oj--without the knowledge of his team of attorneys--had negotiated a deal which exchanges his already made video testimony against his co-defendant for his immediate release from custody, the dropping of all charges against him, and their promise that he will not have to return for the trial of his two co-defendants, now set for the first week of september.

oj simpson, who won the heisman trophy in 1968, following an outstanding career at usc, retired from the nfl in 1979, after playing for the hapless buffalo bills and the then-lackluster 49ers.

oj said "i got some old bills to take take of, and it just seemed right that my old bills should be the avenue i take to pay them off. plus, i can make some brand new memorabilia that should be worth a ton of money in the future."

can't we all just get along?

what is WITH these idiots?

1--what is the proper solution?

2--what is the likely outcome?

please post your thoughts in the comments section.

i'd really like to know if i'm mainstream or "out there."

i wuz robbed!!

remember my new year's resolution? i do.

i believe she is the woman in this video; won't somebody help me?

tuesday night ride update

I wanted to send out a reminder to our team to always stay on the right side of the yellow line this year. There is no reason to be over the line on a training ride. Let's be the team that stays safe. If you're blocked in, just go for the next sprint.

Life's too short.

--chad vandelune

.....

hear! hear!

coming next tuesday [spring ahead]

the 14th annual kim west

"this same god-damned tuesday route is stupid" rant.

many say they get better each year,

and this year's comes three weeks earlier than usual.

it will be interesting to see if his recent injury has thrown off

--or improved--

his usually shitty attitude.

tip for city street painters

thanks, weather dude

how do you say "thank you" in danish?

read this, and you'll know what i mean.

shhh . . . listen . . .

gather the children
wind up the wireless
don't let anybody take yours
and watch this space...

I'VE SOLD OUT!! [not really]

if you're like me, you don't have a gps-thing in your 20-year-old car, and even if you did, it would be broken, or not working because you didn't pay the monthly fees. well, the good folks at google [although some are based in boulder, they are also building a presence in iowa, too] are considering adding a "bike there" option to their map services.

want to help? go here, and follow the directions.

[i love the irony.]

jesus christ, redux

still more today...

we are the nra:

how many random shootings/mass killings can YOU list?

why isn't gun control--or gun law enforcement--being discussed?

[other than the fact that tomorrow is texas]

guitar titans

i tell ya, when they fall, the silence is deafening. it's been fun, jeff.

BLIND GUITARIST JEFF HEALY DIES AT 41_TORONTO(AP) Blind rock and jazz musician Jeff Healey has died after a lifelong battle against cancer. He was 41.Healey died Sunday evening in a Toronto hospital, said bandmate Colin Bray, who was in the room with Healey's family when the guitarist died.The Grammy-nominated Healey rose to stardom as the leader of the Jeff Healey Band, a rock-oriented trio that gained international acclaim and platinum record sales with the 1988 album "See the Light." The album included the hit single "Angel Eyes."Healey had battled cancer since age 1, when a rare form of retinal cancer known as Retinoblastoma claimed his eyesight.Due to his blindness, Healey taught himself to play guitar by laying the instrument across his lap.His unique playing style, combined with his blues-oriented vocals, earned him a reputation as a teenage musical prodigy. He shared stages with George Harrison, B.B. King and Stevie Ray Vaughan.Bray said he and many others expected the guitarist to rally from this latest illness."I don't think any of us thought this was going to happen," Bray said. "We just thought he was going to bounce back as he always does."Healey had undergone numerous operations in recent years to remove tumors from his lungs and leg.Bray and fellow bandmate Gary Scriven remembered their frontman as a musician of rare abilities with a generous nature and wicked sense of humor.Healey's true love was jazz, the genre that dominated his three most recent albums.His love of jazz led him to host radio shows in Canada where he spun long-forgotten numbers from his personal collection of over 30,000 vinyl records.

something cool for you

from jim langley's wonderfully time-consuming website.

perspectives and priorities

it's been an interesting week for the mostly reverend.

a week ago friday, i officiated at another wedding [still batting 1.000, by the way], did an actual bike ride with lippold last saturday, after playing with the grandkids [nyla envisions herself as a dynamic blend of michael jackson from "the wiz" and shawn alexander, and everything is a potential balance beam, while jabari is struggling to perfect forward movement--he has developed enough strength to get and hold his "significant" seven-month-old body up to hands and toes] during the day, i managed to feel sick again sunday night. by monday, bike collective things started rolling: a couple of very productive meetings yielded some very fortuitous developments which culminated with a workday yesterday at our home at 617 grand avenue. this is not a "kudos" post, but i do want to thank boesen's the florists, and tom boesen in particular, for making our wonderful prime downtown space available to us FOR FREE. i also want to thank dan venter and all the folks at venter-spooner, inc. for the work they will be doing this next week to help make this work space for all of us.

this is the view from the front porch of the orphanage this morning. it has looked like this for, what, six years this winter? and yet, every time i step out there in the mornings [today, i had just a couple sips of coffee outside], i think about it looking and feeling like
this, taken last summer. it won't be long, it won't be long...

.....

but what i realized this week, in very short order, is that there are LOTS of folks--individuals, groups, organizations, kids, adults, older folks, crazy people like me, people with money and people with more energy and time than money, and people who love to ride bikes and already know it, along with people who are GOING to love to ride bikes but haven't had the chance to fall in love for the first time or again with our two-wheeled buddies.

as i said yesterday a couple times, an old bike is a good friend.

and in that sense, i see myself as a match-maker. one friend and co-helper said yesterday that this bike collective is allowing people to feel good and do good things. i was actually thrilled yesterday as i realized the incredible street notice we generated. folks who slowed as they walked by, people who came up and stuck their noses in...we are going to have an amazing presence and impact on the attitudes of people--motorists, pedestrians, visitors, legislators, and more.

i can't recall the number of groups who have stepped up and offered to join us, to either help us, or to have us help them, to achieve their group's goals. and, in brief, the thing all of us have in common is that we want more people to ride bikes, safely, for whatever reasons or purposes [recreation, commuting, racing or training, family fun, shopping, trail riding, street riding, in des moines, the out-lying suburbs, the surrounding counties, mountain biking, bmx-ing, stunt riding, whatever], we all share some level of passion and interest in increasing the viability and visibility of bikes and the people who ride them.

.....

the little mishap i had in january has been well-timed, as it has given me, yet again, a chance to reflect on just how important cycling is to me. i can't live well without riding a bike. starting when i was in junior high, i was a member of a group, "future teachers of america." pretty noble name, eh? basically, it got me out of my classes to go be a teacher's aide. i continued my involvement through high school. it allowed me to ride my bike during the day to my classroom assignment, which was always cool. my undergrad degree was in elementary education. living in iowa city, i rode my bike to my classroom assignments on the west side at ernest horn, and to a few other schools scattered around the city. when i was student teaching, i rode my bike to my first placement in north liberty. this was up 218, back before there were bike trails or lanes. rain, sleet, whatever, that's what i did. when i did my student teaching overseas, in the lake district of england, i took my bike. i rode it to my school some 20 km down the coast of the irish sea, and all over england.

i've had the opportunity to reflect, this past few weeks, on how important it is that i share this love, this infectious passion, with my grandkids, and with other folks. the collective is helping me do this. the job i used to have was rewarding because of how it made me feel to help the people i worked with. i'm getting the same warm and fuzzy right now, too. i've encountered very few skeptics thus far; i'm bound to, i know it. but with the growing numbers of people who have enthusiastically jumped on board, it will be increasingly difficult for the public and "the powers that be" to ignore the rights of bicyclists to safely enjoy and use the streets and byways of iowa. i'm delighted and excited to have the chance to continue to educate people, young and old, about the joys of bikes.

p.s.--steel is real.

jack and the magic bean bus

Chapter 17 -- you can't go home again [but you CAN go to someone else's home]

Jack peered over the dashboard of Brendan’s car and watched the two men who had been arguing in the gas station get into their car and pull away. Their car was a rental, splattered with mud and covered in dust,
and Jack could see the men arguing with each other about turning left or right out of the parking lot. Thankfully, there were no signs of any raccoons.
The parking lot was quiet again as Brendan returned to the car with two cans of soda pop
and a couple of big sandwiches in plastic wrap. “Here, take your pick,” said Brendan, and he handed it all to Jack as he got back in the car.
“All I have is 99¢ and I should help pay for gas,” said Jack as he stared at the feast.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Brendan. “I was making this trip anyway, so I’ll take care of gas. As far as the food, you can pay me back later or buy me a meal sometime.” Then, with a wink he added, “I love barbeque ribs.”
Jack mumbled a thank you and handed Brendan a can of soda pop and one of the sandwiches as they pulled back onto the interstate. The miles passed by quickly and before lunch was over they had passed from Iowa into Nebraska.
Hour after hour Brendan and Jack cruised over flat roads that curved gently along the Platte River. Brendan’s Chrysler 300 raced the sun to the west, but even though the sun seemed to hang motionless in the sky, it somehow managed to gradually pull ahead of them. They finally had to use the sun visors, and Brendan put on his sunglasses to cut the glare. Nebraska seemed to go on forever.
A brief stop at a gas station in the little town of Cozad broke the monotony, especially for Jack, who was on high alert because he still wasn’t sure that he was safe. But thankfully, no raccoons appeared and they were soon on their way again, with more sandwiches and drinks, compliments of Brendan.
The sun was hanging low in the sky when Brendan and Jack finally crossed into Colorado. The scenery hadn’t changed much, but it seemed to Jack that the uphills outnumbered the downhills as they drove along. The land felt like it was tilted up toward the mountains just over the horizon. The sun may have won the race to the west, but it was now sinking lower as Brendan’s car climbed above it over the top of each hill.
A sign by the side of the road showed that Denver was 180 miles away, and Jack realized that he hadn’t yet followed up on asking Brendan about Kelby. Just two days ago, Sister Kim had told Jack to find Kelby in the great mountains to the west, but Jack didn’t know who Kelby was or where to find him. Then earlier this afternoon, Brendan had mentioned knowing Kelby when they stopped for gas in the town of Shelby, Iowa.
Jack tried to ask in a casual way, “So, what’s Kelby been up to these days?”
It turned out to be the perfect opening. Brendan answered, “He’s a doctor out in Fort Collins now. Riding and racing his bike, same as ever.”
“That’s cool,” said Jack, as he considered his next move. The bike comments were a sure sign that this was the Kelby he was supposed to find. “Have you seen him lately?”
“Not in Fort Collins,” said Brendan, “But we’ve met up in Boulder a few times. We’ve done a few rides and had a few beers.”
“Are you headed there this time?” asked Jack hopefully.
“Nope,” said Brendan, shaking his head. “I’m going to see my parents this weekend, and I’ve got to take care of a few things downtown, but then I have to get back to Iowa City by Monday for classes.”
“Oh,” said Jack. He dropped the subject. It was enough to know that Kelby was a doctor in Fort Collins, but Jack would have to find his own way there.
They stopped once more for gas just before sunset and reached the outskirts of Denver before continuing on to Brendan’s parents in the nearby city of Arvada. They pulled into the driveway just before ten o’clock that night, nearly a thousand miles away from Jack’s troubles of the last few days.
Brendan’s parents welcomed them both, and they were soon sitting down to a late-night meal of leftover spaghetti and homemade sauce, garlic bread and a big pile of chocolate chip cookies. After supper, Jack was shown to the guest room. It didn’t take long for him to fall fast asleep, partly because of the exhausting last two days and partly due to the food-induced coma brought on by eating too much.
to be continued...
[a serial by little orphan dbax]

creative funding sources

here at the orphanage, in the face of recession-like economic conditions not seen since the 1930s, we have had to rely on a variety of means to generate the cash-flow necessary to keep this tiny ship of state afloat, or at least from going completely under. thank goodness for the tight presidential campaigns on both sides of the aisle, AND for the addition of the independent candidacy of perennial loser ralph nader!! we have dusted off our vintage switchboard equipment, and have been working 'round the clock sending out what many recipients think are computer-generated calls on behalf of all the major candidates for president. it's not much, but it helps. want to read transcripts of our calls? read here.

the collective: before

our first clean-up day begins in less than three hours at 617 grand avenue. i'm getting ready to head to zanzibar's to brew some coffee [kenya aa dark, maybe? french roast? we'll see], and will meet kent about 845, and be ready to start hauling this stuff out, and start spiffing it up.

above is the front room, complete with a couple of very nice built-in counters, and great tile floors. plus other big items that have to go.
here is the work room. lots of elbow grease is required here.
another work room and storage space. this carpet MUST go.
a nice, large clean-uproom. more tidying and cleaning required here, too. i look forward to meeting our friends here soon. thanks to all who come, and to those who can't but have indicated their support just the same. we appreciate ya!