I don�??t mean to sound 700 Club here, but in observing the children here in this library as they share a blue snow cone and ask friendly questions of those of us cyclists using the computers, it�??s dawning on me how imperative it is that America�??s youth learn small-town values. When Griswold and I rolled up to the door on our bikes this afternoon, a kid named Chris immediately recognized who we were; Texas 4000 made front-page news in the local paper a week ago, and the whole population (1200) has been invited to our presentation this evening at the high school gym. A sixth-grader, Chris was more than inquisitive regarding our journey to Alaska. (He also feels that �??if ya don�??t like chocolate, baseball or cheesecake, you�??re just not an American.�?� Adorable.) The kindness, integrity and sincerity of the folks here in these Mayberry-like communities touch me so. When I have kids of my own, I have my heart set on raising them NEAR a large city but IN a small-sized town.

Today was a beautiful ride from Woodward to Buffalo, OK: burnt red gorges and sagebrush flanking the desolate highway, eagles calling out greetings overhead, sporadic tumbleweeds dancing across the horizon, and pickup drivers smiling, nodding or waving along the way. An easy 42-mile jaunt, departing from Boiling Springs State Park (a surprising jewel in Oklahoma�??s outdoor recreation crown), we cruised 183N and ran smack-dab in the middle of the Home of the Bisons.

My aches and pains are gradually diminishing, or perhaps I�??m just getting used to them. Sores here and there but nothing a cancer patient would find unfamiliar or foreign.

Who knew showers could be so gosh darn glorious? And I ain�??t no Miss Priss, but my nail file has been a Godsend; we all look like a brigade of ragamuffins by the end of each day, so a mini-manicure before bed is a luxury I feel doesn�??t cross the line of overindulgence. Gear grease tattoos on our legs by Mile 10, scrapes from the chains, dry sunkissed skin and full, chapped lips: our bodies are transforming as we become machines. I am now one with my bike.

Well, I have teammates in line behind me for the Mac, so it�??s off to the snow cone stand for me... How very American.