few great marathons.I tell you this to explain how I came to be standing in a cold wind which was posing as a summer morning in July, in the middle of an eight-week motorcycle tour. In this particular race, runners who needed more than five hours
of their own. Before I knew it, the saddlebags were packed, the motorbike was tuned, and, early last summer, I hit the road.The plan was to ride from Nashville, Tennessee, to Washington DC, to Portland, Oregon, to San Diego, California, and then back
There we were. Two middle-aged men in a Firebird on a summer night. The top was down, the V8 was rumbling. We were just driving around, minding our own business.And there he was. A 20-something young man in a four-cylinder sports saloon with loud
