I’m sure I checked my suitcase a hundred times before leaving the house. I wasn’t bringing much in the way of clothes, but I didn’t want to leave any of my camera equipment at home. There wasn’t one minute of this trip that I wouldn’t want to capture on film (or digitally, as the case may be).

Of course, I had been planning and packing for this trip from the very moment I got the brief note inviting me to “house-sit” for my friend.

I’m going away for a couple of weeks next month. Can you come over and keep an eye on things for me while I’m away?

How could I say no?

I couldn’t sleep at all the night before I left. I actually spent about an hour tossing and turning in bed before I gave up on it completely. It was only a few hours after midnight when I got up and checked my luggage once more. The rest of the night was spent sending email and surfing the net.

Even thought the cab showed up fairly quickly after I called, it seemed I had been waiting outside for him forever. After loading my stuff in the trunk, we headed out to the airport. The drive from my place to the airport usually takes at least an hour, sometimes two. It never dawned on me that there is no traffic at five in the morning. I was standing at the ticket counter, getting my boarding pass by 5:45 AM. I had three hours to kill before they would even start boarding my flight.

My first stop was at the Airport McDonalds; the only place open that early in Terminal B. The greasy McBreakfast only took thirty minutes off my wait. Since I didn’t bring a book to read and I wasn’t interested in two and half hours of people watching, I walked four gates down to the little newsstand. I could only peruse for so long, so I grabbed a couple of magazines and pack of gum.

“Research material,” I said as I paid for my purchase.

I walked back to gate B-14, and began leafing through the magazines. I got a couple of funny looks sitting there all alone, but I didn’t care. I had nothing else to do until the plane boarded.

The airport seemed to wake up with the sun. More and more people filtered into the terminal. Most were in their own little word. Some had a cell phone attached to their ear while others seemed frantically lost as they rushed along the passageway. Although I was bored, I was glad I beat the rush. Finally, my flight began boarding.

I belted into my seat rather quickly and waited patiently as the rest of the mob pushed their way down the aisle. The flight would be full and that usually meant a short delay pulling away from the gate. As I waited, the lack of sleep started to catch up with me. The last thing I remember was the stewardess welcoming us aboard our flight to Los Angeles.

Even as anxious as I was to get to California, I’m thankful that I was able to finally drift off. My time would be action packed and sleep was not high on my agenda. The three hour flight passed quickly.

The wheels touching down woke me from my slumber. I realized I was almost to my destination. The normal chaos ensued getting the herd to exit the plane, but my mind was filled with the excitement of my trip to pay much attention to that.

The worst part of any trip, either leaving or coming home, is the wait for the luggage at baggage claim. LAX was no exception. We got to the gate around 9:30 local time, but I didn’t get my stuff off the carousel until after ten. I was on my way to ask about a cab when I saw the man standing there holding a piece of paper with my name on it.

“That’s me.” I said. “I wasn’t expecting a ride.”

The chauffer seemed a little shocked by my statement. But he quickly said “follow me” and grabbed my bags.

We fought the Los Angeles traffic for an hour. As we pulled up to the palatial estate, my jaw dropped. I was amazed at the beauty around me. The limo pulled up to the front door and the driver let me out.

As I walked up the steps, the door opened wide.

My friend met me at top of the stairs. “Thanks for staying here while I’m gone.”

“Not a problem, Mr. Hefner.” I replied.

“How many times do I have to tell you,” he scolded. “Call me Hugh!”

It might be a working vacation, but I was in paradise!

“Come on honey, it’s time to wake up!” Mom was silhouetted in my bedroom doorway. “Dad’s already loaded the car. Aunt Janie’s here now. We’ll be heading out soon!”

I’d been looking forward to that moment for weeks! I didn’t remember going to sleep the night before, excitement and anticipation kept me wide awake. We were going to Disney World!

I threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. My clothes were all laid out for me and I was dressed in a flash.

Outside, the dark morning air was cool and damp. Aunt Janie knelt down with a big smile and opened her arms. I ran and leapt into her and we hugged. “Hey big boy,” she greeted as she tussled my hair, “let’s get in, which side do you want to sit on?” I always wanted to sit behind mom, that way I could watch dad drive.

The top of the station wagon was a mound of luggage tightly tied. Inside, I noticed my sleeping bag stretched out in back with some of my favorite toys in a shoe box. Mom jumped in the passenger side front seat and turned back with a smile, “I hope I brought the right toys for you!” I nodded. “Your dad’ll be right out. He’s filling his coffee thermos.”

Dad opened the driver’s door whistling. Looking at me he said, “Your sleeping bag is stretched out in case you want to sleep some more.”

Everyone laughed when I said, “No sir! I can’t sleep!”

Aunt Janie put her arm around me and said, “Look how excited he is! Times like this are so rich for a child.”

We drove out of the neighborhood and on to the interstate. The next two days were glorious times: singing, games, rest stops, greasy diners and motels.

One time, I was sitting in the back window and a big truck was right behind us. I did what my best friend Joey told me to do. I pumped my arm up and down and it worked! The big truck blew his air horn. Dad said it about scared him out of his skin and not to do that anymore. We all had a big laugh though!

The motels were also fun. I liked the fresh smell of the rooms. Dad took me to the swimming pool and we played water games. Back in the room he even let me put a quarter in the bed. I want a bed like that!

As fun as it was, the trip was no match against actually arriving at Disney World! It was a dream! I wanted to run everywhere, there was so much to see and do. Dad and I rode Space Mountain, we laughed the whole time! We rode as many rides as we could while mom and Aunt Janie went to the shows.

I didn’t want those two days to ever end. But when it was time to go, I wasn’t sad. I couldn’t wait to get home and tell Joey and all the guys about all we’d done and seen.

The trip home quickly flew by. I was so tired. I slept a lot in my sleeping bag in the back of the station wagon. The motels were fun filled swimming evenings. And I fell asleep early and slept well all night.

We stopped in our driveway in the late evening when the golden sun was low against the horizon. My friends were playing baseball in the park across the street from my house. I shouted, “Can I go play ball!”

“Yes! Just come back when it’s dark,” laughed my dad. And I ran across the street as the adults unloaded the car.

When I crossed the street, someone shouted, “Frankie’s back!” We didn’t talk: we just laughed and ran until dark.

I went home and sat on the couch--I must have fallen asleep because I woke briefly as my father gently put me in my bed. Mother smiled and said, “You’ve had a busy time! Sleep tight, we love you!”

I smiled, “I love you too!” I fell asleep.

I was roused by a gentle voice, “Welcome back Mr. Pierce!” I opened my eyes to a young lady in a light blue uniform. “How was your 'Dream Destination' Mr. Pierce?”

I paused and thought, “That’s right, it was a dream vacation. But what a dream! It seemed real, the memories were as solid as any other memory. It was much more than a dream. The experience renewed my spirit; I’d be a better person for it.”

I then reflected aloud, “I am happy right now, I am content. Thank you. I had a wonderful time. The whole trip was fulfilling. I can’t tell you how much I needed that—youth doesn’t have to be wasted on the young. I needed to relive those days of innocence.”

15,000’

The wind howls in my ears. Free fall! I fantasized about this jump for years. The plane dwindles quickly into the distance. My partners below look like awkward crabs slowly twisting against the patchwork of fields seamed by dirt roads. The rush of surrendering to gravity’s embrace never grows old. It is as exhilarating now as the first time six – no, seven – years ago.

14,000’

I checked my logbook before I boarded the plane. This is my five hundred eightieth jump. At sixty seconds of free fall and five minutes of gliding, that makes fifty-eight hours of falling. Less than four days of heart-throbbing bliss doled out six precious minutes at a time over seven years. When you are hurtling toward the earth at one hundred twenty-five miles an hour, your mind doesn’t bother you with trivia.

13,000’

This jump is different from the others, though. So much planning. So many things to get done. This jump will set me free. My fellow jumpers don’t know this. Neither does my wife. She no longer paces the floor when I go for a jump. She knows I will return. I always have. She looks forward to my jumps now. She playfully refers to the days that follow as “the glow”. Those are the good days. My mask is firmly in place.

12,000’

I repacked my chute three times before the jump, a habit I acquired during training and never let go. I could do it blindfolded. I rest my hand confidently on the cord. It is all for show. I know nothing will happen when I pull it. The investigators will mutter under their breath, complaining that careless jumpers give the sport a bad reputation.

11,000’

The emergency chute will open, of course. If I don’t open it myself, the AAD will automatically fire at seven hundred fifty feet and I’ll only have a bit of a rough landing. I reach for the AAD and disconnect it. I’m not sure what they’ll think when they find that.

10,000’

If they find it. I don't know what I will do twenty-five seconds from now. Only one thing is sure: if I pull the cord, it is because I need to live, and that is something I desperately wantto know. I need to rise up from the darkness that has swallowed me. Or accept it.

9,000’

I watch the ground swelling beneath me. New details emerge by the second: a bicycle, a fence, a dog. Sixty seconds goes by so quickly. I spot a hawk circling below. I aim towards it. I wonder what it would be like to truly float in the air.

8,000’

I have dreamed of this moment for years. I’ve convinced myself that this is why I took up skydiving, but that’s probably just another lie. Everything is a lie now. Time for the lies to end.

7.000’

I try to bring my wife’s face into mind, but nothing comes. I miss holding her. I used to enjoy that so much. We barely talk anymore. I can see how that hurts her.

6,000’

I pull the ripcord on my main chute. Nothing happens. I move my hand over to my emergency chute. I expected terror, regret, joy, anticipation – something. I feel none of those things. I am weightless.

5,000’

I no longer hear the wind or feel the rush of air against my cheeks. More than anything, I am curious to find out what I will do when the moment comes, only seconds away.

4,000’

I rocket past my partners. Brilliant swaths of blue and orange nylon explode from their backs. They wave frantically and pantomime pulling their ripcords over and over.

3,000’

I can’t see my friends anymore. I am alone.

2,000’

Everything is so beautiful, so peaceful.

1000’

My hand rests easily on the ripcord.

750’

No time for thinking.

Five in the morning, the sun wasn’t even up, and I had to get bread already. I decided that it wasn’t fair, but life isn’t fair, and I had to go anyway. The keys from the van were still in the fridge where Chris wanted them.

“It’s the last place they will look.” He always said.

With one hand around a mug of coffee and the other grasping for the keys on the egg-shelf, I tried to wake myself up enough for it to be safe to drive.

I put the mug down, splashed half of the content over my hand, and walked over to the van. For a moment I thought I had gotten the wrong keys, but then I opened my eyes far enough to see that I was trying to poke the wrong key in the key hole. I opened the van and, as always, woke up the moment the engine rumbled to life.

I slowly drove out of the small lane, and onto the road. There were no other cars to be seen as I drove around the winding bends. The shimmer had not yet left entirely, and the world was still half asleep. With my head cleared of sleeping haze I was quite enjoying the bleached views of the early morning, and the mountains in this part of the country always gave me that feeling of smallness within this amazingly large and beautiful world.

The bakery was only just opening its doors, and the smell of freshly baked bread was making my mouth water. I had read somewhere that this and the smell of fresh coffee were the two most appreciated scents in the world; I wholeheartedly agreed.

The baker wished me a good morning, and since I knew my pronunciation of his language was not something to write home about, a smile was my only answer. It seemed fine with him.

With my eyes closed, and my nose spread wide open to take in the delicious smells of the bakery, I waited patiently for him to return with my order. I heard him chuckle, and opened my eyes to see him grinning widely at me. I grinned back as I paid, and walked back to my van.

The sun was starting to come up, and the sky was turning pinkish. I drove the van around a curve, and my mouth dropped open in awe. I parked on the lookout, and hopped out. My jaw dropped further as I gawked at the sky.

The sun was hugging the mountain slopes, and set them on fire. I walked to the edge, and leaned against the railing. Slowly I sat down and let my legs dangle over the ledge. There was a straight drop down for about three hundred feet, but I didn’t care. All I saw was that amazing sky.

Gold, orange, but mainly reds, pinks and purples were painted in the sky. Strikes of gold were pulled along the edges of silvery blue clouds, and a flock of birds were foiled black against the fiery sunrise.

Slowly the view changed. It felt as if someone had taken a brush and was now painting more gold and red into the heavens. Birds were singing, and I smelled dew covered trees and grass. Nature was making me feel small and weightless, unimportant in the grand scheme, but still part of it all; interwoven with that fire in the sky, the fresh dew on the leaves, and the birds spreading their wings in flight. I was insignificant, but felt so powerful.

At that very moment I felt as if I was granted a glimpse at the big plan behind it all, the grand reason why we were here, the reason why I existed, and why I would also have to die. Like this sunrise was now slowly dying.

The intense red bleached out, and then the stark blue sky we’d had for weeks started to battle with the gold. The clouds glimpsed a deeper purple in their last attempt to grip on to this colour, but then they turned back to their gentle white.

With the sunrise disappearing I became still inside. The fire in the sky released its grip on the clouds and trees, and for a moment it left only sadness behind; a hollow where my heart was supposed to be. Then the spot filled with understanding, and I smiled.

I got up, and sauntered back to the van. The smell of freshly baked bread pleasantly enveloped me as I got behind the wheel, and I chuckled softly when the engine purred. The smile was still on my face when I arrived back. People looked at me questioningly, but how could I possible explain that I had understood it all for those few moments?

I couldn’t take it anymore; I had to get out of Texas. Ideally, I would have headed to the beautiful desert country of New Mexico and Arizona, but unfortunately you have to drive through an awful lot of Texas to get there, and I only had a couple of days. Instead, I decided to go north to take a look at the hills and pine forests of the Oklahoma countryside, so I saddled Jules - my not-so-trusty Honda CRX - up early one Saturday morning and headed out on the highway.

A few journeys to and from Dallas notwithstanding, this was the longest trip I had yet taken with a car that had already racked up an impressive history of electrical and mechanical problems in the six months I'd owned it. I was naturally a little apprehensive about how far I would get and whether I would make it back again. Surprisingly enough, Jules behaved himself magnificently, and the two of us had a great time on the road together.

My goal for the trip was to drive up the beautiful section of U.S. Highway 259 through East Oklahoma. Planning the drive the night before, I thought I might make it to Fort Smith, Arkansas for the night, but what I wanted most of all was to drive along that lovely curvy road through the Ouichita National Forest in the glorious golden sunlight of a winter afternoon. However, in order to get there, I had to make it out of Dallas first.

Highway 75 North out of Dallas is typical Texas highway fare; wide lanes, heavy traffic, crazy drivers, dull brown scenery. Things got interesting right at the Texas-Oklahoma border. I was admiring the play of the morning sunlight on the texture of a rusty railroad bridge across the Red river, wishing I had thought to bring my camera with me, when I almost ran up the back of a truck that had inexplicably slowed down in front of me. Fortunately this was a case where almost didn’t count, and moments later I had made good my escape from the Big State.

I joined Highway 70 East at Durant, rolled down the windows to let the warm, un-wintery wind have its way with my hair, and watched the scenery change. Now there was vegetation that could be classified as something more than ambitious bushes, and terrain that was distinguishable from the curvature of the earth. There was considerably less traffic too; the road was empty enough that I felt I could get away with seeing how Jules would react to high pressure applied to the gas pedal. (I got the needle up to 100 before I chickened out… I didn’t want to push my streak of mechanical good luck too far.)

After stopping for lunch (jerky, Wheat Thins and Milk Duds) in Idabel, I turned North again on 259 and discovered that I had timed my journey perfectly. The weather had been beautiful and clear all day, and the landscape was guilded by the lovely mid-afternoon sunlight. As I mentioned, 259 meanders through Ouichita National Forest. The curves up, down and around the hills are great fun to drive (especially with a stick shift) and the (green!) trees looked gorgeous in the yellow light.

I decided in the end that Poteau, OK was just as good a place as Fort Smith, AK to stop for the night. I picked a motel whose sign advertised waterbeds. The bed in my room was huge, but it wasn’t watery. The air conditioner was occupied by a family of birds. Only one light in the room worked. The rhythmic gasping that was transmitted through the wall suggested that my neighbors were either in the throes of passion or the grip of a nasty stomach virus- I wasn’t inclined to inquire too closely to find out which. All in all, it was an adequate place to sleep, and I’ve been in worse places; perhaps someday I'll tell you about the road trip I once took out West, where I encountered America's Most Horrific Motel in Gallup, New Mexico.

The next morning, I got going again in good time. Sunday’s weather wasn’t nearly as nice for driving in, and I took a slightly more direct route back to Dallas. As far as road trips go, this was only a little one, but it was good to get out by myself and leave Texas, if only for a little while.

I close the suitcase, put the plane tickets for tomorrow on the dresser, and am overtaken by a memory.

It was a beautiful day in Currituck Sound. I'm on a Hobie-18 catamaran with my younger brothers Jack and Bill, heading south along Whalehead Beach. There is a two- to three-foot chop on the shallow bay, and we're screaming along at fifteen knots on a beam reach, with the wind right across the boat. Jack has the jib; Bill has the mainsail; I have the tiller, and Dad is along for the ride, which makes the day that much more special. The wives are at the beach house; the children are napping. We have not a care in the world.

The Hobie wants to lift the windward hull out of the water in the fresh breeze, and it requires a steady hand on the tiller to keep her from rolling all the way over and capsizing. As the hull speed increases, the rigging starts humming in the wind, accompanied by our shouts of excitement. The bows occasionally pound into a wave, throwing salty spray over all of us and providing welcome relief from the heat on this sunny July day.

Our rented catamaran doesn't have harnesses, but we can still hang onto the toggles in the rigging! Jack is hiking his body way over the side to windward to weigh down that side of the boat to keep it flatter in the water and thus gain hull speed. We're passing most of the other boats on the bay--the windsurfers are faster, of course, but most of them are having difficulty staying upright in the choppy water. As we make our way south toward the resort town of Duck, we move away from the barrier island and into the more open waters of the bay. We make a game of trying to sail on one hull for as long as possible. We can see approaching gusts of wind in the distance, darkening the appearance of the water as they pass over. We brothers haven't sailed together in years, but we soon regain our ability to anticipate each other's actions in response to the reaction of the boat. We are having a blast.

Bill is trying to get a photograph, holding a waterproof camera in one hand, pointing it at Jack, who is showing off, hanging way over the side of the boat, grinning at Bill and making rude gestures with one hand while he holds on with the other. Alas, he isn't paying attention to the water, and the wake of a passing boat ("A monstrous rogue wave," he later called it) hits him square in the side. He disappears in cloud of spray.

Bill and I are laughing so hard that we sail on for fifty yards before we remember that we have to go back and get him.

"Jibing! Helm's to windward!" I call, and pull the tiller toward me. The cat starts to turn away from the wind, and we all duck across to the starboard side. My father, unfortunately, isn't quite as aware as he needed to be (or maybe not as fast as he used to be), and is too slow to shift his weight aft as the wind catches the sails. We dig into a wave and pitchpole, the boat trying to somersault, stern over bow. We are all thrown into the bay.

So now there are four of us in the water, laughing our heads off. Bill and I immediately begin righting the Hobie. Jack is swimming over to help, but his lifejacket is making swimming awkward. He starts to complain about how long it is taking us to come fetch him.

"So wade over here and help us!" I retort.

"Wade?" he asks.

The bay is only four feet deep here, and Jack didn't know it. We all start laughing again, so hard that we almost drown.

Later, during our much more sedate trip back to the dock, we ask Dad if he enjoyed the ride.

"Well..." he ponders, picking a stray piece of seaweed from his hair. "I'm not so sure. I always thought that 'boating' meant to sit in the stern of a cabin cruiser, with a gin and tonic in one hand and a fishing pole in the other...."

We could tell he was kidding us by the twinkle in his eye. It is one of my fondest memories of him.

My wife interrupts my reverie.

"The kids are finally asleep. You ready for tomorrow?"

I nodded. "How about you?"

"All set," she said. "Was it Garrison Keillor who said that the best part of vacation is the night before?"

"Doesn't matter," I replied. "He was wrong. The best part of a vacation lasts for years."

I hadn’t missed a day of work in 16 years, and today, it was finally going to pay off. That’s right, I was leaving for my first vacation since I started working, a two week getaway to the Bahamas.

I had just arrived to the airport. The hustle and bustle of the airport was in full force. I weaved my way through the crowd and to the check in counter for my airline.

“May I help you?” The associate began.

“Hi, I need to check my luggage for my flight to the Bahamas.”

“I’ll need to see your ticket and driver’s license.”

I handed them both to the man, who examined them, then set them aside and began to operate a computer.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson,” the associate said, “but you don’t have reservations for this flight. Your ticket is invalid.”

“That’s impossible! I booked my flight on your website!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but you obviously didn’t buy your ticket from our website. However, there are still a few openings in the flight, and if you hurry to the ticket window you could still get a spot.”

Normally, I’m not one to give up without a fight, but this time I did. I knew that I couldn’t convince the associate to let me on the plane (and besides, the police would be on his side).

I walked briskly over to the ticket window, and bought the last ticket onto the plane. I had to shell out quite a bit of cash for the ticket, but I didn’t care, I wasn’t going to miss this vacation. All I had to do was think of the golden brown sand between my toes as the sun’s rays beat down upon me, surrounded by one of the most beautiful scenes you could think of, and I was convinced. I was going, no matter what.

Now I had to walk all the way back to baggage check in, where (thankfully) my ticket was accepted and my bags were checked. Now it was time to go through security. With my luck, this might not be good.

I had to wait in line for quite a long time, but surprising I got through security okay. Maybe my bad luck was running out.

When I walked into the terminal, I immediately looked up at the arrival and departure board. I was pleasantly surprised to find that my plane was on time. I walked over to gate C12 and took a seat. After about half an hour, a voice came over the loudspeaker:

“May I have your attention please: Due to inclement weather in the immediate area, our flight may be delayed for approximately two to three hours. We apologize for any inconvenience, but we ask that you realize that this is for your safety. Thank you.”

Though it was irritating, I honestly didn’t care about the delayed departure time. I just closed my eyes, and let scenes of relaxing on the beach take me over.

The hours continued to pass as I sat. Two hours passed, then three, then three and a half, then four hours. By this time I was fully awake and I wanted to express my dissatisfaction with the airline to the company. However, it appeared that half the passengers on the plane had already done this, so I kept my seat. From there, the hours just dragged on, and on, and on.

After six hours, we were finally allowed to board the plane. I found a seat and began to relax. There was quite a bit of angry shouting from disgruntled passengers, but the associates of the airline seemed to ignore it. After a few minutes, we began moving. Just before we took off, a voice came on the loudspeaker:

“Welcome to Robertson’s Airline flight number 70061, non-stop service to Baltimore. We apologize for the delay.”

‘PLEASE,’ I thought, ‘PLEASE tell me she didn’t say Baltimore.’

But she did.

Day 1

Yay! I’m all set to go to Pargona! I’ve always wanted to go there and now I’m finally getting the chance to! There’s nothing there but majestic landscape, beaches and very friendly beautiful women to fawn all over you! I’m so looking forward to this trip, that I want to keep a record of what is going to be surely the best trip of my life!

I better get going; I don’t want to miss the plane!

Day 2

I’m here in Pargona, but I’m currently in the cab on the way to my hotel. I thought my hotel was a lot closer though. The cab driver insists that he’s going the right way and I guess he’d know, he does live here after all! For now I’m just enjoying the sights, though I must admit I wasn’t expecting to see so many street beggars and dirty shanty towns. Still it’s all very exciting!

That’s weird; we seem to be pulling into an alley.

Day 5

I’m at my hotel. I’m glad to be here too, I need the rest after escaping from those kidnappers! I sure was lucky that those drug dealers that they owed money to came by when they did and I managed to hide in the dumpster during the shoot out. Live and learn, I guess! I am pretty hungry though, I haven’t eaten for a few days. I think I’ll order the Pargona pork roast. It’s supposed to be very good.

First I better take a long bath though.

Day 7

While it certainly tastes good, I fear that Pargona pork roast doesn’t seem to agree with me. I’ve only just now felt well enough to write again. Bad things have been coming out of me at both ends, but I’m not going to let this wreck my fun! Tomorrow, they are having tours of the ancient Xoltec ruins!

I’ve always been interested in that ancient culture, so hopefully I’ll be well enough to go.

Day 11

I just got back from the local hospital. During the tour I got separated from the rest of the group when I couldn’t help but inspect the Xoltec statue closer. I KNEW that its belt buckle looked like a button! I probably shouldn’t have pressed it though. The slide wasn’t so bad, but the spikes at the bottom hurt very badly. I also stirred up a nest of scorpions that had made their home down there too. It took awhile before their paralyzing poison wore off.

On the bright side the tour guide said I was probably the first outsider in centuries that had actually been inside a Xoltec sacrificial pit, let alone survive it! Wow, what an adventure! I’m off to the beach next!

Look out ladies, here comes the great explorer!

Day 13

The beach wasn’t what I expected. I nearly stepped on several syringes and was bitten by a hostile turtle that I mistook for a rock when I went to sit on it. There didn’t seem to be any babes around, though there was a friendly derelict lying in his own filth that pointed me in the direction of a place where there were lots of women, but he said I’d need some money to get anywhere with them. I was on my way there, but then a group of youths hanging by the pier beat me up and stole my money.

Oh well, I guess not every day can be a good one! Right now I hear a lot of noise outside, I’m going to see what it is, maybe it’s a festival!

Day 17

Looks like I might be here longer in Pargona than I expected! There seems to be some sort of revolt going on. The self proclaimed People's Democratic Army of Pargona have taken control of parts of the city, but the government is busily trying to put down the rebels. I’d try to make it to my embassy, but unfortunately it was blown up three days ago. The airports are being blocked as well. I’m pretty safe where I’m at actually. The hotel manager’s brother is the President so the protection here is excellent apart from the occasional mortar hitting the building.

I’m getting some GREAT pictures of troop movements and tanks rolling down the streets though! I can’t wait to show these to everyone back home!

Day 21

The revolution is over and I’m going home! I enjoyed my time here, but it seemed to go by too quick! I’m also disappointed that the Pargona government confiscated my camera before I could get on the plane. However, they told me it was for security reasons, so I certainly understood.

I might not have any pictures; I’ll always have my memories of the beautiful land of Pargona!

Little Jamie was nervous. She didn’t like speaking in front of people, yet there she stood before the class with a report clutched in her hands. She had no choice but to do this, she couldn’t afford a poor grade to start off her fifth year of schooling, but she couldn’t bring herself to start.

“Go ahead, Jamie;” her teacher prompted.

Jamie took one look at the many faces staring her way and then promptly held the paper up before her face, blocking her from their gazes, and began to read.

“My Trip to Hades, by Jamie Albright,” she began.

“This summer, my family went on vacation to Greece. My daddy drove us to the bank of the A…” She paused to try and sound out the word before continuing. “Ack… Acheron river,” she smiled and nodded from behind her report paper. “My daddy drove us to the bank of the Acheron river and me, my mom, my dad, and my brother Charlie waited for the ferry. A very old man with a long white beard pushed a little boat to the shore and my family got on the boat. He was very skinny. He asked my dad for some money, and my dad gave him four quarters. The old man was very grumpy, but he took us to the other side.

“When we got to the other side there was a big ugly dog sleeping on the ground. I thought it was a horse until we got close. The dog had three heads. My brother said that the heads were all ugly. Then Charlie barked at the dog and it woke up and it was mad and it tried to eat my mom so my dad took us all back to the boat but the old guy would not let us get back on.

“My dad yelled at the old guy a lot, but he would not let us get on the boat. The old man said that the boat ride was one way only, and we could not go back. My mom started crying and so did I.

“Then my dad pointed at the ceiling and said that a sta… stalac… He said that a big rock from the ceiling was falling and the old man looked up to where my father was pointing. When the ferryman looked up, my family snuck on the boat and my dad pushed him in the water. Then he pushed the boat away. The old man was a fast swimmer, but we got to the other side before he caught up to the boat.

“We got back in our car and drove back to the hotel. Dad was mad. He said he had tickets to see Jim Morrison down there, but now he couldn’t see him because we could not get in past the big dog. My dad said he was never buying tickets from zombie scalpers again.”

Jamie took the paper away from her face and stared out at her fourth grade audience to find several of them dazing out the window and the rest staring at her with bored expressions on their faces.

“The end,” Jamie said.

As one, the class gave the courtesy claps that all students got when they were done reading their papers and Jamie returned to her seat.

“Thank you Jamie for that… interesting report,” her teacher said. “Now who will be next?”

Six hundred miles from AA coverage and the twenty-year-old Bedford RV was going nowhere. During the drive from our kayaking paradise to Le-Puy the temperature gauge had suddenly started working, reading normal instead of the "cold" it had registered since I purchased it on Ebay. It was only when we stopped and the radiator urinated across the parking lot that I realized that it had always worked but had been reading low. Once the temperature read "normal", meltdown was imminent. As to what had caused this overheating, I was no mechanic but I was prepared to hazard a guess that it might have a little to do with the gearbox sounding like it was trying to chew up a large nut.

The French mechanics were less than helpful, or even diplomatic. My French was good enough to ask what was wrong with my gearbox but this proved a fruitless exercise since the reply was invariably far more complex than the question. The gist was simple enough to understand though, ranging from that hackneyed indrawn whistle to the jaw-clenchingly rude manager who actually laughed. We were on our own, forced to rely on our own resources and in deep trouble.

The rack-mounted motorbike which had proved so useful for shuttling between kayak points now proved a lifesaver. After several trips to the hardware store and with the help of the Haynes manual, we managed to get the gearbox open. The sad trickle of oil in the bottom had me cursing English mechanics who were supposed to top up all of the fluids. Turning the engine over in neutral while lying underneath the exposed gearbox pinpointed the problem. There were loud clangs as something struck what the manual assured me was the third gear synchromesh. This was good - we still had three other gears so maybe we could make it back without it.

We re-sealed the gearbox with instant-gasket and a cornflake box. The gearbox was filled through a small hole in the side and so another trip to the hardware store was in order for plastic tubing. Unfortunately, although they had kits for just about everything they did not have a section for "generically useful stuff". The closest I could find was narrow-gauge copper pipe for central heating and requests for "quelque-chose même ça mais en plastique" elicited the now-familiar response "Non!".

Some radical thinking and some puzzled looks in the vetinary section solved the problem and we artificially inseminated the gearbox with oil, 55cc at a time.

The next day dawned grey and cloudy as we rattled and clanked our way out of the camp site. The owner, wincing at the mechanical torture going on in our engine, said he'd keep our spot open for us as we limped down the road.

Working in the principal that vehicles fail to start more often than they stop while running, we made a straight run for the coast either avoiding or grinding our way into third gear. We stopped after two hundred miles for fuel and as we set out again, the loud clanking ceased. It was another two hours before either of us dared mention the ominous silence.

Early afternoon found us on the southern edge of Paris trying to find one of three routes or six landmarks which would take us around the congested city. None of these were signposted and we suddenly found ourselves in the cramped, narrow streets driving from the wrong side of the vehicle. An unseen car forced us to swerve into a bus lane (something which not even the most anarchic Parisian seemed to do) and sent my cigarette down the open collar of my shirt until a crouching jig sent it scurrying into the depths of the, hopefully non-combustible, foot-well.

The streets became narrower and narrower, nowhere was signposted except for tourist sites and the temperature gauge began to climb again as we inched across the Seine. I found myself muttering under my breath "get us back to AA coverage and there's a new gearbox in it for you."

Finally a freeway appeared across a vast seven-way junction. It was heading in the wrong direction but anywhere was better than here. I cut across two lanes ignoring the cacophony of protests and we managed to work our way back to the northbound route.

We caught the 4am ferry to Dover passing through the politest customs officials in the world as they clambered over our kayaks and adventure gear looking for illegal immigrants and after a few hours rest in a parking lot the RV managed to valiantly limp us home.

I sold it before I returned to the United States but not before giving it the promised new gearbox.