2. Kirkwood: Arrival


. . . continued from 1.1.a


  • 7542 – All three pieces of my baggage, safe and sound. Here we are in St. Louis at last. Near Busch Stadium, just a few blocks from the river, adjoining the Amtrak station, where I arrived and departed in April. 
  • 7545 – One dismantled touring bicycle, boxed by Bob, and more than a bit of camping gear. Nice job, Bob. 
  • 7546 – Quite a lot of stuff to get back together, pumped up, packed and tightened down, ready to roll. I didn’t time how long it took … maybe an hour and a half. This young fellow named Chris stopped, with a smile, to chat with me. “Need any help?” He knew all about my Surly. Yeah, one hell of a bike. He was a construction worker, on his way out to a job in Colorado. Couldn’t turn it down. It was work, after all. He’d been a tour guide in Utah. More back country than what I do. Mountain bikes. I gave him my email but still haven’t heard from him. 
  • 7549 – Roadworthy, again. Almost dark now. Remember? We were late … got delayed leaving New York. Only way we could make up the time was by shortening our rest stops, which they did to some extent. We’d been scheduled to arrive at 4:35, but I think it was closer to six. Too bad. I was hoping to ride through Forest Park while it was still light. But after it got dark I stayed on the main streets – Olive to Lindell to Skinker to Clayton. And so on, taking streets I remembered from early childhood, even pausing to touch the tires of my LHT on the sod of 1141 North Drive, beneath a now magnificent tree that I can still remember my father planting sometime in the 1950s. 
  • 7553 – Mom in her jammies, late at night. Saturday, September 3rd, 420 South Kirkwood Road, Kirkwood 63122 – same zip code I grew up under. 
  • 7554 – Mom on Sunday. Dressed and ready to go out to Tommy’s. Everyone calls him Tom. Tom is correct. It’s his name, and what he wants to be called. But he will always be Tommy to me. ¶ You can see Mom’s eyes, but she can’t see you. Not very well, anyway. Macular degeneration. She’s about 80% blind, whatever that means. She’s still got all her marbles, though. Amazing lady. 
  • 7555 – Bob’s Long Haul Trucker in Mom’s living room. Unsaddled … and practically begging for a casual spin to the park. 
  • 7556 – Tom with his grandson, Nathan Hunter Lamming. At home on Royale Court, Lake Saint Louis, Missouri. Sunday, September 4th
  • 7558 – Tom’s oldest son, Fred, with his wife Lindsey. 
  • 7563. 


To be continued – on September Cruise 1.1.c



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