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He upholstered his saddle thoroughly. Pride of ownership was a big part. He loved bikes. Bikes hated him. Three wives later driving from Nevada in driving sleet, he'd talked of going down to the floor and up to the "Twin taverns" bar. Joe Elf drank like a madman. Some said psychotically 'he's angry' but ... sacre-bleu! ... I ... pulled myself together, saddled my bike" he'd said. Ohio slipped by quickly, Kansas dragged on. Montana was like a tall cool orange mocha frappachino; I'd found home.
