Just outside of Denver, I stopped at a rest area to eat my Subway sandwich. I needed a shower so I took off everything but my bicycle shorts and stood underneath the lawn sprinklers with shampoo as a family watched me scrub myself clean. They seemed concerned, like they wanted to call the police because they knew there was something illegal about what I was doing, but they just couldn't pin it down. When I left, to their displeasure, their children decided they wanted to try it too, and ran under the sprinklers. I think I've started something. I could hear the cries of,"No! Come back here!" from them as I drove away. Not much else to tell.

My mother had gone up Mt. Evans back in the 1960's and was so scared that she laid on the floor in the car. She often told us how scary those mountains were. When she realized I'd ridden up (and down) on a bicycle she was soooo impressed. It was a rare moment when she understood what I'd accomplished and didn't interrupt every other word with stories of her hair and her tomatoes. She told everyone in her quilting group. There were lots of pricks in her company that day.

My favorite uncle, Bushy came to visit and he talked, and talked, and talked. He talked for over three hours without taking a breath. I'd wanted to be especially nice to him this time because I wanted to make amends in my heart and let him know I loved him, but he talked so unceasingly I was falling asleep. He finally noticed I was tired and decided to leave. I walked out to his car with him, we said our goodbyes, and my beloved Uncle Bushy drove away for the last time.

On the way back to Virginia I stopped by the New River Gorge (right and below) and shot these two photos...my hair was pretty long. That's it.