AnalPhilosopher

Two days ago, I did my sixth bike rally of the year—in Pilot Point. I rode 44.6 miles in windy, overcast conditions with my friend Butch Moldenhauer, who pulled his two-year old son Lance in a Burley trailer. I could see Lance as we rode. He slept a lot, but when he was awake he seemed to be enjoying the ride. We saw a train (in fact, we had to stop for it); we stopped at a rest stop about halfway through so he could stretch his legs; and when we got back, we took pictures in front of the emergency helicopter. I was tickled that Lance walked with me, holding my index finger in his little hand. He seems to like me, or at least to put up with me. Here is Lance (named after Lance Armstrong) and Uncle Keith.