Finally heard from Rocky Brown a little while ago. He is riding from Boise to Portland. And when it
rains it pours -- I got 5 messages from him!! Seems he had the wrong address for me plugged into his
Pocket Mailer and when he sent mail it kept bouncing back to him every time he picked up his new
messages. I will share his first one with you before I then turn you on to Jim Redd's incredible
writing. Jim didn't make Boise in time as his break up with the Pocket Mail Lady left him too
despondent to continue. Feeling betrayed he picked up a new girlfriend and they headed back to Salt
Lake City together. So we begin with Rocky followed by the story of Jim's heartbreak:
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Subject: Rocky's Boise return (Rocky rode to Boise from Salt Lake City last year)
It is about 1 AM mountain time. Got the bike together good enough to ride but will need to visit a
bike shop in the morning.
A heavy set Iranian taxi driver helped me straighten the forks well enough to get the wheel on and I
missadjusted the brakes so at least I have some. In Portland where I had switched planes, I watched
them put it in the plane and was prepared then for the worse. The rear wheel release was showing
through the box. I got the little inspection note and they did not repack things nearly as good as I
did... sign of the times.
I put it together outside in the 80 degree heat and compacted the box and packing material so that
it fit into a large trash can.
Large bathrooms here at the airport with AC so I just wheeled the rebuilt bike in with me as I
cleaned up.
The Taxi driver and a couple of others came in and asked where I was from and he gave me directions
to a "Jewish owned bike shop" close to the Greenway.
Getting tired been a long day.
RockB
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Local access to PocketMail mobile e-mail now available in Europe, North America & Australia
pocketmail.compocketmail.comOpen ↗
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Salt Lake City July 12, 2003
Pocketmail Lady Cuts Me Off!
Dear Notepad,
Evanston, Wyoming is a Union Pacific rail town turned mining town and now has reinvented itself as a
tourist town. Itís got a three-block Front Street along the tracks and a Main Street with shops and
galleries, but what caught my eye, on that hot afternoon after an upwind ride across the high plains
was the Bear River Brew Pub which drew me in like a frog to a bog.
A couple of Oatmeal Stouts got me properly oriented to the town and all seemed fine until I tried to
hook up with you, Pocketmail Lady, and discovered you had cut me off with no explanation. Was it
something I said? Was it because I had ignored you the last few days? My excuse is that I was
reflecting on lakes up in the Uintas Mountains and there are no payphones in the National Forests
and no Sprint coverage for my cell phone either. So there, that's my excuse.
Unfazed, I made alternate arrangements: Surprise! A notepad and pencil from Wal*Mart, so I no longer
need you, P.L. No more changing your batteries! No more searching for payphones in out-of-the-way
places! How sensible. Why hadn't I thought of it before? I relegated you to the bottom of my right
pannier along with my cell phone charger, pedal wrench and that odd-sized crescent wrench.
But just as I was reveling in my new-found Pocketmail Liberation, becoming familiar with my low-tech
device at a table in a coffee shop/gallery/boutique on Main Street, I noticed a man at the next
table checking his email on his 17-inch laptop. Get this, P.L.: he was catching broadband from the
wind up in the high plains of Wyoming with an antenna card the size of a matchbox! I don't want to
belabor this,
P.L., but be forewarned. Despite your digitized human-like charm, you are flirting with
obsolescence. (But will that ever be cost effective? ed)
Jim Redd Bike-Writer-at-Large
Salt Lake City July 12, 2003
Jim Goes Postal Over Thirst!
Dear Notepad,
Leaving the Evanston, I took a turn down an alley of the Queen City, behind the Jubilee Market, and
passed a group of Rainbow Gatherers turned Dumpster Foragers gathering rotten veggies. At the door,
I encountered another one with a Huffy hauling a trailer with a large dog and flying a blue planet
earth flag the size of a mainsail. Dreaded and beaded, he asked me to watch his rig while he went
inside to score some day-old bread. When he returned, he told me he was working on a government
grant to study ethnomusicology in the Himalayas. I wished him well and was on my way toward
Woodruff, where I planned to re-water myself before the 3,000 ft climb to Monte Cristo Campground 20
miles west in the Wasatch Range.
Sucking air from my Camelback, imagine my surprise when I saw the faded sign creaking in the
hot wind and boarded up windows of the only store in Woodruff. And beyond lay only
Wilderness, foreboding in its lack of services. I circled the crossroads in despair. The only
other thing blowing in the wind was an American flag, one of many I had seen on the Patriotic
weekend just passed.
But wait! Below the flag, through the sweat pooling in my eyes I could make out the large numerals
84087. It was the most welcome zip code I had ever seen. Inside was a counter and behind the
counter sat the lone keeper of 84087 and behind her was a water fountain! I engaged her in small
talk first, asking her jokingly, "Any mail for me?" And while she was laughing I gestured toward
the water fountain holding up my empty water bottle. This was the decisive moment. I could only
imagine what the U.S. Postal Service Rulebook might have to say about letting private citizens
loose in the mailroom.
Never underestimate the power of humor, notepad, especially when you are dead serious. Bottles and
camelback filled to overflowing with U.S. Government water, on my way out of town I saluted the flag
for the first time since my Navy days.
Jim Redd Bike-Writer-at-Large
MARTIN KRIEG: "Awake Again" Author c/o BikeRoute.com 79 & 86 TransAms, nonprofit Nat. Bicycle
Greenway CEO Ever wanted anything so bad U were willing to die for it? Really die? By moving thru
clinical death and reversing paralysis, *I saw God* when I answered that question.