I was sitting at a small wooden table that encircled the trunk of a 25-foot toa tree. Its graceful branches towered over the white beach and the six thatched huts that the local Maori people call are kikaus. In the distance five-foot waves pounded against the outer reef that surrounds the blue-gray lagoon of Aitutaki, one of fifteen lovely atolls that comprise the Cook Islands, a country afloat in the heart of Polynesia.
I tossed small balls of crunchy peanut butter to several waiting mynah birds who competed to catch the tasty morsels. With little warning, a downpour began slamming the beach. The birds scattered to nearby trees and I scurried a hundred feet to take shelter in my are kikau. Minutes later, the rain stopped just as suddenly as it had begun.
The Cook Islanders are more gentle and predictable than their weather. They are among the friendliest people I have met on my world travels. Wherever I rode my bicycle, many local folks greeted me with a wave and a big smile, and sometimes they said Kia orana meaning "Hello."
Even the local big shots were friendly. One day while waiting to watch the annual Flower Festival parade, I recognized the Prime Minister of the Cook Islands and a couple representing the Queen of England. They were sitting in cushy chairs under a canvas canopy where two unarmed policewomen stood guard. I approached the visiting dignitaries, introduced myself, and asked to take their picture. To my delight they posed for my camera graciously. Try meeting Bill and Hillary Clinton like that!
Unfortunately this lovely, friendly paradise is not without problems. The Cook Islanders are unhappy about widespread unemployment, heavy taxes, political corruption, and a bankrupt government. When I asked a young father of five children what the future holds for his country, he smiled and answered in an easy-going Cook Islands fashion: "Who knows?"
For the past few weeks I've been cycling down the east coast of North Island in New Zealand. My touring bike is loaded with four panniers, a tent, an air mattress, a sleeping pad and a sleeping bag. The whole rig weighs 85 pounds but it feels like a half ton, especially when I'm climbing up steep mountain roads.
The scenery is worth all my efforts. I cycled along spectacular coasts and watched huge waves roll into shore. I pedaled through vast emerald-green valleys speckled with hundreds of sheep. Occasionally, several of the white fluffy animals bellowed at me: "Baaa." I bellowed back: "Baaa." That is the most common sound heard in New Zealand, a country with 50 million sheep and only 3.6 million people. The pohutukawa trees are in full bloom now with their red spiny-like flowers. Unfortunately, the pohutukawas are endangered because there are so few young ones. In a village school yard I saw the grand daddy pohotukawa that is 600 years old.
Road traffic has been light. But the Kiwis drive very fast. Twice two tanker trucks ran me off the road. Most drivers give me a wide berth, however. The only time they honk their horn is to encourage me to keep pedaling in the 85° heat.
Generally between 1-3 pm I arrive at a motor camp, which is always a welcome sight at the end of a 50-mile ride. Kiwi motor camps offer all the amenities that a tour cyclists could want: hot showers, clean campsites, and fully equipped kitchens. Not a bad deal for about $6.00 per night! Some motor camps have a TV lounge, a swimming pool, a sauna, or a billiards room. One camp even had a small movie theater!
Usually I meet other long-distance cyclists at motor camps, and most of them are Germans. So far, I've met only one American cyclist, a tall elderly gentleman from Kansas. He was riding a small fold-up bike called a Bike Friday, and he pulled a heavy trailer loaded with his gear. Poor fellow. Like me, he is headed for South Island where there are many more mountains than here on North Island.
Finally, I have encountered low, rolling hills and flat terrain here in the southern part of North Island. The steep mountain roads that I climbed with my touring bicycle have strengthened my legs and flattened my stomach considerably. So far I have lost 12 pounds. Look out Oprah!
Nearly every morning at six o'clock I wake up in my small tent, zip open the rain fly, and peer out at a cloudy sky. When I leave the campground by 7:30, the sky has cleared and the sun begins to shine brightly.
One day, however, the weather changed drastically. As I pedaled downhill through a spectacular gorge in a rugged mountain range, the wind picked up and pushed me hard from behind. I zoomed along over 30 miles per hour. At one point I felt that I was going to take off the highway into the darkening sky above me. Just as I reached my destination for the day, it began to rain and the wind increased substantially. In a small shop I saw a frightening headline in a local newspaper: "CYCLONE DUE TONIGHT!"
As I was bedding down for the night, the wind increased to over 60 miles per hour, and terrifying torrents of rain blasted the landscape. Fortunately, I was staying at the home of friends; otherwise the storm would have swept my tent away like a runaway hot air balloon.
The scenery and the weather change constantly as I pedal through this lovely country. But one thing has remained constant: Kiwi hospitality. Everywhere I travel New Zealanders take the time to point out interesting sights, and often they share fascinating travel stories with me over a "cuppa" (tea or coffee). It is no wonder that at the end of my long journeys abroad I fondly remember the wonderful people whom I've met along the way.
Currently, I am cycling down the eastern side of South Island in New Zealand. I'm very happy to be here because a terrible cyclone -- the second one in two weeks -- is blasting the North Island at this time. Fortunately, the cyclone has slowed its pace toward the Christchurch area which I will reach soon. I have been lucky to cycle in mostly sunny, warm weather for the past two weeks. The terrain here consists of green undulating hills and grassy flatlands whose roads I can pedal over quite fast. After riding more than 1,200 miles in 1‡ months, my body is in much better condition. During that short period of time, I have lost 20 pounds and have not been ill a single day.
Occasionally, I stop at interesting places along my route. In the Marlborough district I sampled various wines at several wineries. I also visited a huge saltworks operation where salt is gleaned from seawater. Farther south I stopped at Kaikoura where whale watching is the most popular tourist activity. I didn't see any whales there but I enjoyed eating codfish and French fries at a seaside takeway place. I have also visited many regional museums where I learned a great deal about Maori culture and the struggles of early settlers who immigrated here to build a new life.
I cycled past many sheep farms and stayed at several of them via a homestay program. For the first time in my life I ate mutton which tasted so-so. Although I don't eat much meat, I much prefer chicken and beef to mutton. I love New Zealand milk, however, especially nonfat chocolate variety which gives me plenty of energy to push my pedals for 6-8 hours nearly every day.
I've seen more cyclists here on South Island than on North Island. And no wonder: the terrain is flatter in this area, the road traffic is lighter, and there is more sunshine. Some people say that the people are friendlier here, but I have found Kiwis everywhere to be outgoing, very helpful in many ways, and quite hospitable. New Zealand is quickly becoming one of my favorite countries among the 71 countries that I have visited in my world travels.
I have been pedaling over very low-traffic roads toward the city of Dunedin on New Zealand's South Island. The weather continues to be sunny nearly every day, and the temperature is usually in the mid-70s. Ah, summer!
As my legs and feet spin with my pedals thousands of time each day, I often find myself in a meditative mood. I feel in harmony with Nature all around me: grazing sheep in the fields, singing magpies in the trees, forested mountains in the distance, and puffy white clouds gliding by slowly above me.
My thoughts often turn to a growing fondness for New Zealand and its people -- especially its people. I sense a kind of civility among Kiwis who name themselves after their gentle national bird. Let me list some examples of this national civility.
* I saw the following sign at a railroad crossing in a residential neighborhood: "BELLS OFF 10-30 PM TO 7 AM" In other words, the railway bells do not ring during those hours so that the neighbors can sleep in peace.
* In a village motor camp, overnighters put their modest fee into an honesty box. No civil Kiwi would think of camping there without paying.
* In most restrooms I have seen no graffiti at all.
* I hear almost no shouting at or scolding children who seem remarkably well behaved.
* I have heard very few car horns, even in large cities.
* City buses carry bicycles and baby carriages (minus the baby, of course).
Many local folks have told me that there has been a substantial increase in crime here. But I have seen almost no police cars patrolling the streets. And I seldom see any police officers who, by the way, are unarmed.
I have become quite fond of this Kiwi civility. I wish that it could be exported not only to the United States, but also to other countries where human conflict is increasingly diminishing the hope of a lasting world peace. I feel very privileged to cycle around this peaceful country and to meet so many of its civil people.
Now I am approaching the southern end of South Island. Along the way I have met so many friendly New Zealanders from whom I've learned some Kiwi English. I have also enjoyed their sense of humor. What follows are examples of both.
One woman told me that her husband was outside working on their b-a-c-h (pronounced "batch"). I thought she meant that he was working in a vegetable garden so I asked her, "What do you grow in your bach?" She laughed and explained that a bach is a small cottage. "Bach" comes from the word "bachelor."
A Kiwi couple invited me into their home for a late afternoon "cuppa" which means a cup of tea or coffee served with some small cakes. Several hours later they asked me to stay for tea or coffee, and I accepted their kind invitation although I never drink tea at home. To my surprise they set the table and decked it out with a full meal. "Tea" means supper or dinner here. During tea I asked for a napkin. My hosts looked at me strangely and explained with a smile that what I wanted was a serviette. In New Zealand a napkin is a diaper.
I buy most of my food in a dairy which is a small grocery store. When I go to the checkout counter to pay for my food, the dairy clerks usually ask, "Is that the lot?" meaning "Is that everything you want to buy?" After the clerks calculate the cost of my purchases, they tell me the total price and thank me. For example, they say, "Ten dollars, forty, thank you."
New Zealanders have many interesting place names. For instance, I'm currently staying with friends on a large sheep farm near the town of Clinton. Twenty-five miles down the road is another town called Gore. On the North Island I pedaled near the town of Bulls. I met a man there who told me a local joke about Bulls. He smiled and said, "That's the only place in the country where you can get milk from bulls!"
After cycling over 1,500 miles from Auckland near the top of New Zealand's North Island, I have reached Invercargill at the bottom of South Island. Invercargill and the area around it remind me of Bellingham and its surroundings. Both cities have about 58,000 people, they are port cities, they have few buildings over three stories tall, and they have a cozy, small-town feeling. For these reasons I thought that Bellingham and Invercargill would make ideal sister cities.
Another similarity between these two cities is that many small islands lie off their shores. Currently, I am visiting Stewart Island located 18 miles south of Invercargill, only a one-hour ferry ride or a 20-minute flight away. The Department of Conservation here advertises Stewart Island as "one of New Zealand's best kept secrets, a virtually undiscovered paradise." Only 380 people live in the island's sole village, Oban, situated on Halfmoon Bay.
I left my bicycle and most of my gear at a friend's house in Invercargill and flew to Stewart Island on a standby flight for only $25. For another $10 per night I rented a bed in a backpacker's room in Oban. Unfortunately, I slept poorly there because my two roommates, a young fellow and girl, snored like hogs. So I took my sleeping bag and pillow to the TV lounge where I bedded down for the night in peace.
I explored a small part of Steward Island with G–ran, a 46-year old international analyst from Sweden whom I met on the plane. We went on several hikes through tall forest trees: kamahis, rimus and fuchsias. Along the way we spotted wood pigeons, bellbirds and kakas forging for food among tree ferns and broadleaf. On a small beach we watched an oyster catcher bird poking its long beak into the sand in search of succulent morsels.
It rained lightly on both days of my visit to Steward Island, but the mist did not dampen my spirits. I wish that I could have spent more time here tramping about, searching for kiwi birds at night, fishing for salmon, kayaking around the coves, and chatting with some of the friendly locals. But my bicycle and the road ahead beckon me.
On my way northward on New Zealand's South Island, I stopped to see one of this country's most spectacular natural wonders: Milford Sound. I left my bicycle and gear at my tent site in a motor camp, and took a van tour with a company called "Trips n' Tramps" (tramping means hiking in Kiwi English). There were nine other passengers aboard plus our driver-guide, Steve Norris. As we drove toward Milford Sound through the Homer Tunnel, I was glad that I had left behind my bicycle. There were no lights at all in the mile-long tunnel! Besides that, there were miles of extremely steep ascent and descents along the way. I just munched on a cheese sandwich and feasted on all the scenery: forested mountains, glacial valleys, snow-topped peaks, and finally the deep blue waters of Milford Sound.
We boarded a two-masted scow called the "Milford Wanderer" and took a three-hour cruise under full sail. We sipped tea and coffee while we marveled at the steep granite mountains that glided by slowly. In two places we saw small colonies of seals. All cameras began clicking away.
On the trip back to camp I met Murray Gunn, an elderly bachelor who lives in a ramshackle house beside a river. Murray had strung a long clothesline of toast outside his house "for what reason I don't know," he said. I paid a dollar to visit his "museum" that was filled with all sorts of old things: horse saddles, anvils, newspaper clippings, and photos. Murray loves to read, and his personal library contains hundreds of books on local history. In 1990 he nearly lost them in a fire that destroyed his original museum.
As Murray chatted with Steve and me about the good old days, a van with six Japanese men arrived. They were all deaf, yet they communicated through sign language that they had run out of diesel fuel. Steve and Murray came to their rescue by siphoning enough diesel in a shed so that the Japanese visitors could reach Milford Sound 25 miles away. Such as Kiwi ingenuity and Kiwi hospitality at its finest.
Using my lowest gears I began pedaling skyward for 11 miles up Haast Pass on the west coast of New Zealand's South Island. I seldom raised my head so that the hood of my rain jacket and bicycle helmet shielded my eyeglasses from the morning mist. I felt tired, not because of the ascent to 1,700 feet, but because I slept poorly the night before when a group of 60 young backpackers partied all night near my tent. Now they were sleeping peacefully.
I descended Haast Pass in a massive downpour. The deluge continued as I raced downhill in excess of 35 miles per hour along the twisting, narrow highway. I held onto my handlebars with my life literally in my hands. I braked so hard that my hands and fingers numbed with pain. Huge waterfalls zoomed by on my left and washed over the road in some places. On my right a valley dropped hundreds into a green oblivion. Occasionally, a car or camper van edged by me, and I prayed this hellish nightmare would end soon. I saw a sign ahead: "EXTREME CAUTION: NEXT 2 KMS." I squinted through my glasses to scan for potholes, stones and rocks on the highway. Only one of those obstacles could terminate my trip -- or even my life.
As I rounded a hairpin turn, I saw a cyclist on the other side of the road. He looked forlorn standing in his purple poncho beside his loaded bicycle on its side. But I dared not stop. Indeed, I could not stop: gravity held me in its strong grip.
Finally, the steep descent gradually lessened. The highway became more undulating, then gently rolling, then nearly flat. But the rain continued unrelentingly as I pedaled another 30 miles to the village of Haast. There I saw a wonderful sign: YOUTH HOSTEL.
And what a hostel! It had a magnificent, modern kitchen, a lounge with cozy easy chairs, a color TV, and tidy cabins that slept four people in bunk beds. I checked into a cabin immediately, showered and put on dry clothes. My hellish journey that day ended in a heavenly oasis. I slept well that night.
During this past week I have met many interesting people and renewed my friendship with others. I cycled with Don, a 50-year-old pilot from Vancouver, British Columbia. We pedaled along the Tasman Sea across flatlands, over rolling hills, and up gigantic mountains. I now feel quite fit because I have lost 32 pounds. But how will I keep off all that weight once I return home?
Near Nelson I visited Geoff and Gillian who converted their six-acre orchard into "Garden of the World," a magnificent tourist attraction. Geoff, a 61-year-old retiree, gave me a guided tour. He showed me hundreds of flowering plants and exotic trees that he had planed in various geographic groupings such as Europe and the Americas.
Close to Picton I met a Dutch family: RenČ, Leonie and their two small children, Jessica and Nico. Nine years ago RenČ and Leonie immigrated from their native Holland in search of a less hectic lifestyle. The family lives in the country in an old brick house onto which they build 2 six-sided rooms: a living room and a kitchen.
In Waikawa Bay I revisited my Kiwi friends, Craig and Sharyn, a young hard-working couple. We tramped together on a walkway that had spectacular views of the bay and the port of Picton.
In the nearby marina I met Dik and Connie, a retired couple from Bellingham. They invited me for supper aboard their 41-foot yacht. I also met their friends, Jack and Marion from Denver, and neighbor Lindsay whom Dik and Connie had befriended in Mexico.
After sharing numerous stories with all these friends, I have learned that we have more similarities than differences among us. We all have the basic physical needs of food, clothing and shelter for which we must work. We also have the emotional needs of friendship and a sense of belonging. We all have fear, prejudices, and doubts. And we all share the dream of living in a more peaceful world in spite of our individual differences.
I have now crossed back over the Cook Strait by catamaran ferry to North Island where I am pedaling up the west coast toward Auckland on my last leg in New Zealand (no pun intended).
In the city of Palmerston North I revisited Hazel and Henry, an elderly couple with whom I had celebrated New Year's Eve. The weather is pleasantly sunny, the temperature is in the 60s, and the cycling is much easier than two months ago because I'm more physically fit.
Hazel, Henry and I attended Esplanade Day, a marvelous festival that took place in a huge, gorgeous rose garden. We saw Greek and Maori dancing, listened to an operatic presentation, laughed at hilarious melodramatic skits, and ate delicious homemade ice cream.
At a small cafe Hazel pointed to our waitress and said, "That woman has Maori features." Hazel whispered the words "Maori features" so quietly that I had understood the words "Maori feet." So every time I looked at the waitress, I glanced down at her feet. Later, when I explained to Hazel and Henry that I didn't notice anything different about the woman's feet from anybody else's feet, Hazel clarified what she had said, and we all had a hearty laugh.
From Palmerston North I turned west and pedaled to Wanganui. There I stayed with a Maori elementary school principal and Helen, his pakeha (Caucasian) wife who is a teacher at the same school. Henry stood six and one-half feet tall, had dark skin, and a voice that bellowed so loudly that I could easily hear him anywhere in his large suburban house. Henry, who loved to eat meat, prepared a succulent chicken barbecue that we all washed down with chilled white wine. Afterwards, Helen brought out some of her fascinating travel adventure books whose titles and authors I copied down for future reference. If I am not on an adventurous journey myself, I really enjoy reading about other people's brave escapades.
After pedaling around New Zealand for 3,200 miles these past three months, my bicycle journey in this country has nearly come to an end. During that time I have made many friends of both genders and of all ages, numerous professions, various socio-economic stata, and different philosophies of life. Many people shared with me their daily activities as well as their problems, feelings and dreams. This has been a trip of a lifetime, filled with abundant memories which will always remain with me. The following descriptions reveal what I most in New Zealand. PEOPLE. In all my travels I have met no friendlier nor more civil people than the Kiwis. They accepted me as I was and helped me in numerous ways. I also enjoyed swapping travel information and stories with many visitors from other countries. PLACES. I loved the New Zealand countryside which is highly varied with gigantic mountains, deep green valleys, rolling hills dotted with sheep and cows, sparkling lakes and streams, and miles of coastlines. I favored the small towns with lovely houses and shops built in the old colonial style. I relished the motor camps with their clean kitchens, cozy TV lounges, and reasonable prices. THINGS. I loved the delicious hot pies (e.g., mince, steak and cheese, chicken and apricot), the tasty chocolate milk, and the soft licorice sticks -- all of which gave me the enormous energy I needed to cycle 6-8 hours daily. ACTIVITIES. I enjoyed making new friends who often invited me to spend a night or two in their home. I appreciated visiting regional museums where I learned a great deal about the natural and human history of New Zealand. I especially favored the exhibits on Maori culture. I also liked bicycling alone, lost in my own thoughts, particularly on Sunday mornings where there was little traffic on the road.
Soon I will be visiting my 72nd country: Tonga. I'm looking forward to meeting new people, visiting different places, tasting foods unfamiliar to me, and engaging additional adventurous activities.
I'm sitting at a brown wooden table in the shade of a long verandah that faces the blue-gray sea. Beneath my chair sits a thin mother cat complacently suckling her two kittens. Six-foot waves, white and frothy, break in rhythmic thunder against an invisible reef a hundred feet offshore. A balmy breeze cools my body and soothes my soul.
I'm staying at the Good Samaritan Inn, an enchanting beach resort hidden in a secluded corner on the island of Tongatapu in the Kingdom of Tonga. Here I will rest for the final two weeks of my four-month bicycle odyssey in the South Pacific.
I'm renting a one-room fale, a 9' x 12' wooden bungalow with a green tin roof. Several tall coconut palms and a variety of other tropical plants grace the fale which faces the open sea. My fale is simply furnished with a single and a double bed, a night stand, an electric fan and a telephone. The floor is partially covered with mats woven from banana palms. Hand-painted tapas, cloth pounded by hand from mulberry bark, decorate the walls. Screened windows on all four sides allow cool breezes to flow easily through the fale, assuring me a comfortable night's sleep. These delights, including a hearty breakfast, cost $19 dollars per day. I have found paradise!
In this island paradise I have met many friendly Tongans including all the employees where I am staying. As I pedal through the villages of Tongatapu, people often greet me by saying "Hi!" or "Bye!" I answer the same and wave. In one village I stopped to chat with two young Tongan men who were Mormon missionaries. They were dressed in the traditional ta'ovala, a skirt-like garment wrapped with a waist mat.
The most influential Tongan whom I met was Edwin who is the personal secretary of His Majesty, King Taufa'ahau Tupou IV. I visited Edwin at the Royal Palace office and requested an audience with the King. I mentioned that I was staying at the Good Samaritan Inn, which Edwin owns. He smiled and said, "Oh, you're staying at the Good Samaritan? I'll see what I can do."
This was an exciting week in Tonga, my paradise home away from home. The most excitement was caused by the worst hurricane here in 15 years. At five o'clock in the afternoon Kata, a female employee at the inn where I'm staying, came by my fale. "Jim," she said, "We're serving dinner early tonight because the wind is picking up." Tactfully, she didn't mention the word "hurricane."
As I ate supper under a thatched-roof verandah facing the ocean, the wind increased rapidly and it began to rain. By now the sky was pitch black. Lightening flashed over the sea, exposing ten-foot waves. Suddenly, I remembered that I had left all the windows of my fale wide open. I felt uneasy.
I took out my small flashlight and stepped outside. Heavy sheets of rain drenched me instantly. In the dark I heard the howling wind. I ducked back under the verandah.
When I related my dilemma to a male employee of the inn, he said, "I'll close your windows. Give me your key." He took my key, grabbed a large flashlight, opened a strong umbrella, and dashed to my fale in the maelstrom. He closed all the windows and dashed back. He was completely soaked. "Your fale is very wet inside," he said sadly. Luckily, all my belongings were packed either in plastic bags or in waterproof bicycle panniers.
Gradually, the wind and rain stopped, resulting in an eerie silence. The eye of the hurricane was directly above the inn. I ran to my fale with flashlight in hand. The floor and bed were wet, but my bicycle and gear were undamaged. I flipped over the mattress and laid my dry sleeping bag on it. I locked the door, undressed and hit the sack. About an hour later, the awful wind and rain returned, threatening to blow down my fale. I laid awake in the dark, listening to the harangue outside. Slowly, I fell asleep.
At seven o'clock the following morning I awoke to light winds and crashing waves offshore. But it was no longer raining. The hurricane had vanished.
After breakfast I toured Tongatapu on my bicycle. There was little damage on the west side where I was staying, but tremendous devastation plagued other areas. Concrete telephone poles that had snapped like giant matchsticks, laid on their side, black cables strewn everywhere. Pieces of tin roofs from houses and stores were scattered beside their buildings. Fortunately, only one person was killed and several others were injured. I promised myself that I would return to Tonga one day, but not during the hurricane season.
One of the most exciting events of my four-month bicycle journey occurred the day before I returned home. I was granted an interview with His Majesty, King Taufa'ahau Tupou IV. His secretary told me to report to a gymnasium in the capital city of Nuka'lofa where the King exercises frequently.
I took a shower, then put on my best bicycle shorts, my Mt. Baker Bike Club jersey, clean white socks, and bicycle shoes. I pedaled to the gymnasium where I identified myself to several soldiers who were expecting my arrival.
Ten minutes later the King arrived in a dark green armored truck, built especially for him in Germany by Mercedes Benz. Two motorcycle policemen and ten bodyguards in a van escorted the truck to the entrance of the gym. When a sergeant opened the door of the truck, I gasped. His Majesty stood up from a huge cushy chair and stepped out among his bodyguards. This 78-year-old gentleman was a giant at 6 feet, five inches and he weighed over 300 pounds. He wore a white T-shirt, baggy shorts, and size 20 Puma sneakers. "Now that's a king!" I thought.
After speaking for an hour with two diplomats, His Majesty began working out on thirteen different exercise machines. He rested frequently, and during one of his rest periods he noticed that I was taking pictures of him. He whispered something in Tongan to his Minister of Health who walked over to me. "The King would like to speak with you," he said.
I never had spoken with a king in my life. I walked slowly over to His Majesty, knelt on one knee and, extending my hand, humbly said, "Hello, your Majesty. I'm Jim Hendrickson from America. I'm so honored and pleased to meet you." The King shook my hand and smiled. As I continued to kneel at the foot of his chair, we spoke for about ten minutes. "I've been to Bellingham," the King said to my astonishment. "I stopped there on the way to Vancouver, British Columbia." After our conversation, the King continued exercising and I took more pictures of him. I will cherish them forever.
Copyright 1997 James M. Hendrickson All Rights ReservedNote: In his newest book, CYCLING THE NORTH STAR, Jim describes his 3,200-mile self-contained bicycle expedition from Montana to Alaska. If you would like more information about this fascinating book, please send an e-mail message to: cyclopath43@hotmail.com