As painful as these long days in the saddle with Herman's endless chit-chat rife with hidden agendum are, the nights really aren't much better. Father Herman piously camps and cooks his pathetic little gruel meals, while I duck in to the Motel 6 and dine like a king. In the morning he's out there waiting for me to emerge from my warm room (chilly on the coast!). Then, it's off for another long day, repeatedly interrupted by stops for prayer, stops for devotion, blah, blah, blah. I just hope that on one of the long descents (we see coming up on our maps) that Father Herman doesn't blow a tire while entering a right hand turn at speed and go straight in to a guard rail, flip over the edge of a cliff and fall a thousand feet to his death. Holy Mackerel! I really need to have a talk with him.
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