The publications that carried my printed columns have been merged with a healthier weekly paper the publishing company bought. That paper had its own local celebrity columnists for biking and cross-country skiing. Its editor has not answered the email I sent, to ask if the paper still had a place for me. So it looks like I'm back on the outside looking in.
Well, you don't get taxed on money you don't get paid. And telling tourists how and where to ride isn't exactly telling truth to power. I was glad to have the gig, but it had already lasted longer than I ever expected. What I write has more to do with the day to day than with vacation fun. I can't afford vacation. I don't speak that language.
On the other hand, my life's experiment has been to come up with a game at which any number truly could play. I have tried to inject a little bit of vacation into every day. You never know which one might be your last, and all that.
I cut my dependence on foreign oil back in the 1970s, when the first warning shot came across the bow. All that bit of foresighted defiance has gotten me is ostracized by the rampantly consuming society living in denial for the last 30 years. Oh well.
On here, I can say whatever I like for the half-dozen people who read it. Okay, maybe I flatter myself, it's probably four people, but I keep two slots open for people who stumble in by accident and scan a few words before their browser whisks them safely out again.
See you in the funny papers. Just not in the tourist papers.
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