The above is what I ride. I’ve always had Cannondale’s; there’re terrific bikes and handmade right here in America. I always dreamed of cycling across the country. Back when my legs were capable of making the journey, it would’ve required a six-week vacation. Now that I can afford the time, my legs would prove stubbornly uncooperative.
A sea-to-shining-sea trip by train or bus would lack dimension and diversion; one couldn’t veer from the path, thus heightening the adventure. But it would provide a good opportunity to plough through Anna Karenina or Atlas Shrugged.
By airplane, one wouldn’t know, based on the view, if they were jetting across the U.S. or South America; from such a height, the Rockies and Andes are identical. In other words, I would wave goodbye to William Penn’s ass and not recognize anything until the canyons surrounding L.A. came into view.
So that only leaves me two options. I could cross the country in this:
Or, if I really wanted to take my sweet old time, that:
For those who read the first two chapter of “The Boy Who Walked with God” (A Wayfarer’s Purgatory and In Search of Blue Skies), I just posted Book III The First Pulse of Love. Happy Monday… and St. Patrick’s Day!
Michael's Corner 
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