What's In An Empty Pizza Box? Precious Memories!

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Feature Article by Frosty Wooldridge
As I cruised into Vermont on the tail-end of our coast to coast bicycle adventure, I lagged behind my friends Gerry and Don by an hour.  We pedaled over hills, hills and more hills.  Because I take a lot of pictures, I often fell back several miles.  I call it the "pleasure pace" which means I enjoy every mile. Some call it "Eudemonia", "Satori", or "The Perfect Speed."  I've discovered over the years that bicycling pertains to more of a spiritual experience than a physical one.  No, I'm not saying it's a picnic busting over a 12,000-foot pass in the Rocky Mountains, but then, the views more than compensate.

Suddenly, my rear tire suffered a flat. "Oh crap," I muttered to myself. "Those guys will be drinking beers and eating dinner by the time I catch up to them."

No matter, I stopped near a cable guardrail.  As you can see from the load on my bike "Condor&qu
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