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Until only the day prior, I had been growing a red beard (to go with my shockingly dark hair and eyebrows) until Ben pulled me aside, grabbed my collar, and said that if I didn’t shave we couldn’t go into public places together anymore. He held the razor to my red throat and shoved the organic shaving lotion at me. I hadn’t actually seen the red beard yet because we hadn’t been anywhere with a mirror but Ben had and he claimed it was creepy. Pedophile, porn star, make-you-want-to-pray-for-salvation creepy. The free locker room shower offered by the Adventure Cycling group was more like a painful spitting mist than a real cleansing but it was enough to lather my face and shave off my alter identity. As I removed the red hairs I knew then that #6 was a very special (if not slightly disturbed) woman. She had claimed to like the red beard, saying it was very cute and rugged, and, to this day, still does. I believe that anyone who can lie directly to my face for the sake of our relationship is right up my alley. And: anyone who can be around me having only showered once in six days — well, we know what that means.

Frog Lake had no showers or Laundromat so we were back in the pond, washing our balls, butt-cracks, and bike shorts in the water with biodegradable soap and very high-pitched voices and lots of dancing around. There is always much jumping and squirming when one bathes in an icy stream or lake. That is an important part of the cleaning process whenever the water temperature is below eighty degrees (which it always is). There were people around the lake enjoying its scenic offering and fishing out of little row boats but we didn’t care enough to limit our public displays of nudity. We were camping for goodness sake. We’re supposed to get naked and pee on the side of the road and dig little holes to go poo in. And if that meant exposing ourselves to unsuspecting visitors to this high-mountain lagoon, well so be it. We had to take a bath. Not because we were dirty or stinky (though we were) but because a lady was coming to take us out to dinner at a very nice restaurant. And this was a pretty special event for a couple of desperately hungry wandering nomads such as ourselves.

When Jody pulled into our campsite the only part of our bodies exposed to the cold were our white noses and our closed eyelids. Everything else was wrapped carefully in a sleeping bag, where we had lain silently waiting for her arrival. The warm engine-heated interior and the effortless forward momentum of the car were enjoyed second only to the conversation that began the minute we entered the vehicle and continued, without pause or respite, until we were dropped off hours later.

It began with an account of my childhood by Jody, who informed us that I had been to Mount Hood before and, even better, to the Timberline Lodge. She drew attention to a photo that my parents kept in the playroom of us standing in the shadow of Mount Hood.

“That was just behind the Timberline Lodge,” she said.

Ben, who had seen the photo, remembered it at once and suddenly seemed more familiar with my previous trip than I was. The conversation moved from the deep past to more recent events and Jody and Ben related running stories and racing tales. We toured the lodge while waiting for a table; it was ornate and majestic and a little obnoxious. Obnoxious mostly because there was still snow around and it was almost July. People were skiing somewhere nearby; chairlifts were still in operation. This bothered me deeply.

Ben and I were then treated to the fanciest and nicest meal of our trip and we were not required to put forth one bent penny. Our waiter moved with the air of a man that knew his job was better paying and more worthwhile than anyone else’s in the building and brought us small dishes of various items prepared by the chef apparently just for us. Jody was charming. All we had to offer, however, was our company and I am afraid it was a fairly weak offering. It was amusing for Jody, no doubt, but also slightly horrifying. A snippet of one of our many conversations went something like this:

“So Ben,” Jody might say, “you are going to be a doctor, I hear, what do you think about the healthcare system in the United States?”

“Well Jody,” Ben would reply, carefully separating the flesh from the bone of his rack of lamb, “there are a lot of things I would change about the healthcare system, but I think it is important to build on the foundation of excellent research and unmatched physicians that have graced our fair country; of course, it is easy to criticize and we still have a long way to go before we are capable of providing fair and available healthcare to all Americans, but we will get there one day, I have no doubt. A healthy America is a more productive America and our tax dollars are well spent in keeping America well. At the same time, of course, we can’t jeopardize the quality of the services available here. It is a difficult conundrum, but I believe that, slowly and with much concerted effort, we can work towards a better, healthier tomorrow.”

There was scattered applause throughout the restaurant.

“That is fascinating, Ben. And how about you, Damon, what do you think?”

“Well Jody,” I say, between a large bite of vegetables that only make it half-way into my mouth before tumbling down my chin, over my shirt, off the table cloth and onto the floor, “I think health care is downright idiotic. Anyone over thirty shouldn’t be allowed to see a doctor. It is much too expensive and I, for one, don’t think I should have to pay for someone’s inability to care for themselves. Keep premiums low — that should be the policy. No one gets sick by accident; it’s all about lifestyle and choice. Of course we should care for the children but that’s only until they are old enough to know better. If you get sick and your over thirty, your time has come. Get yourself ready to die.”

“But Damon,” says Jody, “I am over thirty.”

“Sorry babe,” I say, taking another bite of vegetables she has paid for, “I hope you don’t catch a cold.”

DAMON: June 29th sometime after our meal at Ridgeline —

BEN: TIMBERLINE!

DAMON: Timberline. At timberline which, first and foremost, was excellent, awesome food, and we didn’t have to pay for it. It was amazing. It was like a twelve star restaurant, they brought out things on plates and they had other things that came between the plates and I don’t know what I ate but it was excellent. Secondly, Ben and I both horrified Jody because we actually spoke what was on our mind the entire time I think. And we censored absolutely nothing. Which is unlike us. And what I was thinking is the most amazing thing is that I learned more about Ben talking to other people than I ever do talking to him. Like, I know very little about Ben until I talk to someone else with Ben.

BEN: Likewise, I’m sure.

DAMON: I was just amazed at this. I was learning all kinds of things and we were looking at each like: “You think that? How? What? Who are you?” It’s actually quite startling and I don’t know if I ever want to experience it again.

BEN: By the way, this Jody woman is very, very cool, she has a sense of humor that will, pretty much, make you weep.

DAMON: She does, great laugh. And I actually like her more and more, because I never liked her in the very beginning [laughter] so I liked her a lot now. And not just to make up for lost time.

BEN: And, of course, you know, it’s hard to like someone who spontaneously drives eighty miles out into the wilderness to pick you up and take you out to a five star restaurant, nonetheless, she’s not bad I guess.

DAMON: Yea, it was a lot of fun and we got to talk about a lot of neat things, which is great because Ben and I usually don’t talk about anything that’s of any importance most of the time — which is why we’re such good friends. Because I think if we did we would realize what a giant gap exists between us. Over and out.

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