Meep:

To Ahna “Kreegs” MacDonald and Roberta “Squeaky” Maize, Okanagon Level contributors to this trek.  They have kept me in bananas and carrots.  They have sustained me with their goodwill, light-hearts, and generosity.  The Okanagon  does not begin to describe the valleys through which Squeaks and Kreegs have carried me.  They are vast canyons of erosion beneath my wings.  They are the fruit orchards of my tented dreams.  They are the undocumented workers who keep my legs churning at 8 to 12 mph over any terrain.

Ladies, I apologize whole-heartedly that this here blog has not been filled with the kind of salacious debauchery which I know you wantonly desire.  The craven depravity which lurks in your dimly illuminated (but one tepid shaft of sunlight) office/den/lair knows no bounds.  Alas, the risque truths of the road are too hard for the timid ears of your peers.  And too, we must keep it clean for the kiddos.

To Warren Gilles, an Erie Canal Level contributor.  I don’t know if I ever crossed the Erie Canal, but I did pass some sort of canals or canal-like geographical features.  I thank you for your generous gift.  I immediately blew most of the dough on new tires in Saskatoon.  (This is why people *shouldn’t* give me money.  I spend it.)  Although harried on all sides by the demands of his job, his wife, and his teenager, Warren is a great boss, a gentle human being, and an excellent poker player.  I hope he is able to use the last of these traits to extract his contribution from Joe Jones (assuming Joe has enough foolish courage to invite Warren to another poker game).  Warren, it was a pleasure working for and with you, and one way or another I’ll see you again soon.  And, hey, be assured, the secret of your and Sean’s embezzling is safe with me.








Speaking of secrets, to my secret girlfriend, Megan Sykes, a two time West Quody Head Level donor.  This is a crazy amount of generosity and it has completely tainted our relationship.  With some remorse, I opted not to head to West Quody Head.  My legs, more akin to the ivory prosthetic of the captain of the Pequod; my heart, unwilling to chase that white whale, especially with the white winter squalls threatening.  I turned back and down the coast of Maine at Acadia National Park.  And I would be thoroughly satisified with this decision had it not been for the influence of the next, and last, group of donors.  Wherever the vestiges of our relationship lead, it has been fun and I appreciate your support.

To my parents, Roger and Joan Gerdes, six time West Quody Head Level donors. It is my suspicion that you mean well. You supplied me with money when I didn’t need it; you supplied me with second-guessing when I didn’t want it. The former kept me in the warm comfort of motels on many of the cold nights at the end of the trip when I realized I would come in under my budget. The latter kept me inspired to continue when I probably shouldn’t or wouldn’t have, for no better reason than to establish that it is my life to live and my decisions and conclusions alone which give it meaning. To you both, I will undoubtedly forever be obliged.