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Ben and I rode our bicycles for three weeks. Between Issaquah, WA and the north side of the Golden Gate Bridge I saw three girls I would consider attractive. Three. Two were wait staff and one was a park ranger. The park ranger touched my hand; the other two served me food and beverage. Somehow it doesn’t feel proper to hit on a waitress. That’s creepy. And kissing a park ranger is just wrong. This was not a trip for kissing. If I hadn’t broken my #6-lip-lock-virginity four and half hours after arriving I would have nothing to report. Zero. It was a barren wasteland of parched lips and I was without a camel.

The lesson: people who want to kiss shouldn’t do bike tours. They should go to clubs in Paris or Amsterdam or buy themselves a kiss with a Euro or a shot glass. They should sign up for internet dating or go to carnivals. They should host spin-the-bottle parties and invite horny college students and serve free beer with blindfolds. Mine was a stupid idea. I know that now. I am a better man for it and I hope that you, in planning future trips, can learn from my near mistake.

“I’m glad you came to your senses,” Ben continued, his back to me, “I could have cut the sexual tension between the two of you with a knife, spread it on toast, fed it to a pair of pandas and had them mating in front of a group of New Yorkers taking pictures and shouting Hare Krishna while it rained.”

I chuckled.

It is worth pointing out that much of what I actually report as dialogue (and, perhaps, what I report as having been done) may or may not be as accurate as I may lead you to believe. When I use the part of my brain labeled ACTUAL GOD’S HONEST TRUTH to recall what was said between Ben and I that first morning (and subsequent mornings) I find very little. (I blame the toast someone fed me recently before they put this group of New Yorkers around my bed.) So, in lieu of the facts, I have to look at another part of my brain (which is labeled ABSOLUTE MALARKEY) and use it to fill in where ACTUAL GOD’S HONEST TRUTH has left off.

I nodded again to Ben, having already forgotten what it was he had said, and then tiptoed back into her bedroom and crawled back into her bed and tried to go back to sleep. I wasn’t quite ready to get up just yet.

This is ACTUAL GOD’S HONEST TRUTH: here is an account of the last email messages Ben and I sent to each other before we flew into the West:

DAMON: Our trip is getting so close to being a reality — I feel like a man regarding imminent coitus with his new wife.

BEN: never say or write coitus in my presence again.

DAMON: coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus coitus

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