Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Gatorade to the back of my bike in Saint John), focused on gearing carefully and ped-
aling with a steady rhythm, resisting strain when possible, and generally proceeded not
with desperation to arrive somewhere but with diligent attention to riding a bicycle as
productively as possible. I parceled out my physical and mental resources thoughtfully
and efficiently. The result was an exhaustion that left me more satisfied than unnerved.
To celebrate I wanted a good dinner, and the clerk—much nicer to me after I'd
showered and pronounced the name of her town correctly—suggested Lenny's, an Itali-
an joint about a mile away, back in the direction I'd come. I walked it, giving my tailbone
a rest, had a substantial and tasty lasagna on Lenny's outside porch, and walked back.
On the way I phoned Danny Lubin in Los Angeles, an old friend whom Billy and I had
grown up with and whom I'd seen at the funeral. Years ago, when we were all in college,
Danny's roommate at Macalester in Saint Paul, Minnesota, had been a guy named Barney
Brewton; I'd met him then, and several times afterward, and liked him, but hadn't seen
him in decades. Didn't Barney live in Spokane? I asked Danny. He did. He and his wife,
Patti, worked in schools in the area.
Back at the Holiday Inn, I sent Barney an email. Within minutes he called me.
Spokane is maybe fifteen miles from here, and he invited me to spend the night tomor-
row. I can look forward to an easy morning in the saddle, a pleasant evening around a
friendly dinner table. I'm beginning to recognize a theme: that a solo journey—this one,
anyway—is not so solo after all. That on a trip like this you're never as alone as you
think; you're propelled by one helping hand after another.
Friday, August 5, Spokane, Washington
A very short day, less than twenty miles along a flat bike path, mostly wooded, into the
city limits of Spokane. This is maybe the country's most isolated city of any size, by all
accounts a peaceful, outdoors-oriented, conservative place and an exceedingly pleasant
one to visit. Barney picked me up as I emerged from the woods onto an overpass above
some railroad tracks and into a parking lot; we loaded my bike into his SUV and drove
to his spacious and comfortable home on another leafy street. He and Patti invited some
friends for dinner and we had a heartily amiable evening, characteristic of the kind of
weekend in the country I'd have enjoyed this summer from time to time in the Hamptons
if I'd stayed home. Tomorrow I'm off into the wilderness again. Well, maybe not the wil-
derness—Idaho.
I've been putting of recounting the day of the funeral, I know, but naturally I've been
thinking about it, and about the long string of events in my memory that has attached
itself to that day. Two hundred people showed up, and both of Billy's kids spoke, leaving
everybody in emotional tatters.
