Friday, August 7: One Last Ride

A local goes down the line of cameras one by one, snapping the group picture onto everyone's camera. We're all fidgety like kids holding for their class picture.

We pile into breakfast and Doug says, "How late were out last night, young man?"

"Just 2:00," I replied. No headache this time. I made good choices.

As I'm eating my customary raisin bran breakfast, I discuss Forensic Accounting one more time. The whole week I've made up stuff, and the job gets more interesting as I go. I'm finding terrorists and drug dealers laundering money, corporations misrepresenting their earnings ... it's a blast! And I think for a moment, could I actually do this for a living?

Perhaps. It's right my alley - tracing problems back to their source. Some programmers are better at that than actual programming, and I think I'm one of them. There are online degrees in Forensic Accounting, but you must have a solid accounting background. Well, anyway. If you had told me 3 years ago I'd ride a bike 200 miles through California with people I don't know, I would've thought you were nuts. So in 3 years, changing my career is not out of the question.

Our last leg is 20 miles through the Russian River valley. There are more vinyards than wineries here, very agricultural and tucked away from the expensive tourists. The country is beautiful and familiar by now. I'm pretty sure I won't forget it.

The bike trip official ends at the General Store in Jimtown, California. Raleigh Andrea, Sherry and I are the first to make it in, and we grab some sandwiches and sit out on the porch. About a million bikers passed by in groups of two or three, many of them locals or up from San Francisco. They can bike this valley whenever they want, and I'm jealous.

The VBT van arrives with celebratory Root Beer floats. It is a wonderful thing. Boston Geoff is chasing his down with a beer, and I look at the bottle. Racer X. "Go easy on that stuff, my friend," I warn him.

"Why? You drank it and found $85 in your pocket!" he replied. True. But ...

We hug and say our goodbyes, and the mood is a little somber. But there's also this sense of accomplishment. It sounds contrary to the purposes of a vacation to be goal-oriented. It sounds too much like work. Yet, it feels like we earned all this good food and wine and conversation and scenery.

VBT has rented us two vehicles to bring us back to 'Frisco. I get to ride in the stretch limo - a first for me! Travellin' Tom finds the champagne flute-sized cup holders fit his butt like a glove.
I drink bottled water and watch the scenery go by. Cars pull alongside and their occupants try to peep in through the smoked glass.

Sorry, no. We're not movie stars. But it kinda feels like it.