Historic Timber

After recuperating with Cathy and Jay in Whitefish for 2 days I knew I should go or I might not. I went into town and prepared for the up coming journey . I got a back up cyclometer. Directions for the race go completely off of mileage, if you don't know your mileage you do not know where you are. I sent some stuff home, got anti nausea pills so I could eat, lidocaine patches so I could pedal, and altitude meds so I could think.... and then I pried myself from town. I planned on a forty mile day to Ferndale to test the knee out. Things went well but when I got to Ferndale I got a bit confused so I stopped a truck to ask the driver for directions. The guy inside and I talked about where the hotel was and eventually he said ... "why don't you come home with my sons and me?"  I said, "okay". He told me how to get there and that I would recognize his house as the house with.... "stuff" in the front yard. I figured if I got there and felt weird I could always go to the hotel. He had stuff in the yard alright. Dozers, mowers, cars, targets, tree houses (not in the tree) and a myriad other things. His was the TOTAL man house. Tools on the kitchen table, a 350 magnum on the kitchen counter, house half finished, T.V. on but no one watching, air gun pellets everywhere, and a pair of vice grips on the bathroom shower faucet, and clothes on the floor.... everywhere and anywhere. Yet I felt comfortable. His sons where engaging and kind, and he was interesting and generous. He was a logger, but he logged off the bottom of the nearby lakes and rivers. He would dive in total darkness in any weather unless the lakes were frozen bringing up the logs that had sunk over one hundred years ago. He would feel along the bottom until he found a group of logs and then slowly extract each one using a winch on a special boat. "Historic timber". The things people do.