There was a time when American parents exercised very little imagination in naming their children. No one called their kids "Dwezel" or "Moon Unit". Robert, Thomas and Richard were popular names for boys. For some reason these all becames Bobs, Dicks and Toms. Once I sat at a table drinking beer with six other Bobs...just a random happening.
The Bob next door has a nice RV...the guy on the other side is also a Bob...somehow he RVs around with a motorized wheelchair....
In the morning we take our bikes on the ferry to Ilseboro Island. The people next to use have bright, spiffy spandex bicycle suits and well-maintained bikes with skinny wheels...we sense they're going to be better at this than us.
John Travolta has a big vacation home somewhere on the island. Our front carrier basket engages the front brakes on either bike. It takes awhile to sort that out. The roads are all uphill and downhill. Neither of our gearshifts work anymore. I turn the bikes over and try to figure out how to get them into low gear....my fingers are filthy with old grease and dirt....the only thing we have to clean with is the map of the island....eventually I get both bikes into low gear...lunch is good...downhill is better...
In the evening we go to see Belfast. It's an arty little town on the Maine Coast.
They have a little movie theatre. It's an old one built in the thirties...definitely not a modern Cineplex...they're playing "Dark Knight" tonight at 6:40 and then an "action movie" made in Maine at 9:00 PM....we might do a double feature....Mrs. Phred wants to go out to dinner with Bob...and Bob...I've always wanted a black leather jacket with a chicken on the back....
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