(Smitty Smith)
"It’s a long trip alone, over sand and stone. That lie along the road,
that we all must travel down. So, maybe you could walk with me a while, maybe
I could rest beneath your smile. Everybody stumbles sometimes and needs a hand
to hold. Cause it’s a long trip alone. (Dierks Bentley)
So, what do the lyrics from a country and western song and an Ironman in
Germany have to do with one another? Well, take off your shoes and have a
seat, because this like all of my stories is going to take some time to pore
through (toilet reading). On one of our training rides, we stopped in Kaplan
at a store to refuel and that song was blaring on the loudspeakers at the gas
pumps. It really stuck in my head and I sang it the rest of our long ride that
day. I thought about how Ironman is a long trip alone. Well, in the weeks that
followed, on our trip to Germany to race the Quelle Challenge Roth, I was
about to learn that Ironman is anything but, a long trip alone.
Mark Miller, owner of Precision Bikes in Lafayette, approached me last year
about doing an Ironman in Germany. More specifically, the Quelle Challenge
Roth, an Ironman held in a small town south of Nuremburg. At one time it was
Ironman Germany, but it has since broken off from Ironman North America to do
it’s own thing. This was going to be the 20th running of this
race and it is supposedly the most exciting Ironman in the world in regards to
the number of spectators and the beauty of the course. Well, I had been Marks
wingman for three ironmans the previous year. As the old adage goes, if it
ain’t broke don’t fix it.
So, after months of preparation and training, on June 19th, we
boarded a plane from New Orleans to Philadelphia and then on to Zurich, and
finally Nuremburg Germany. We had booked this race through a group called The
Triathlon Experience (TTE). They have been doing this race and others in
Europe for years. They handle the hotel, ground transportation, and all the
other tidbit things that can bite you on the butt doing an ironman overseas.
They are actually a husband and wife team, Christine and Tanner, who switch
off from year to year. One year, one of the spouse’s race and the other
handles the business end of the tour group. This year was Tanner's year to
race and Christine was under the bus taking care of us.
Well, as fate would have it, Mark and I missed our connection in Zurich. No
problems, as we sat in Zurich ate sushi and drank beer on the airlines dime.
Upon finally arriving in Nuremburg, we met up with Christine. We loaded up our
bike boxes and gear and headed south down the autobahn towards the village we
were staying in, Hilpoltstein. I love the autobahn, it is like I-10 on
steroids. If your clunker can’t go over 100mph, don’t even think about it.
We would be staying at Hotel Schwarzes Ross. The town resembled a gingerbread
town, with cobblestone streets, a huge church, and looked like it was right
out of a storybook. We had a bakery next door and a bistro across the street
that served cold beer from breakfast to midnight. Damn the bad luck.
The first night, we were taken to a BBQ at Hans’ house in Hilpoltstein. Hans
was a local and a friend of Christine and Tanners. There was so much meat it
was unreal. In fact, there was more sausage than 6am in the mens locker room
at Reds. The beer was flowing too. Hans’ wife even gave us lessons on how to
properly pour a German beer. You are supposed to pour it gently then roll the
bottle and pour the "head" out on top of the beer. Marks attempt
went awry as his head spewed out all over the table. Not to be outdone, I
shattered my beer glass and was relegated to drinking out of the bottle. They
were sure impressed with the two Cajun boys.
The next morning we awoke to a breakfast that would have me contemplating a
gastric bypass by the time we would leave Germany. There were fresh breads,
croissants, pastries, meats, and cheeses all fresh from the bakery next door.
Then there was some sort of concoction that the devil himself created….NUTELLA!
Holy Maria Placer, this stuff is awesome and you can gain weight just by
looking at it. This breakfast spread was available every morning and included
in our package deal with TTE. They even had this elaborate layout ready at 4
am race morning.
After breakfast, Mark and I reconstructed our bikes and decided to go to the
expo to pick up our race swag and register. We rode the train from
Hilpoltstein to Roth. In case I failed to mention, Mark and I know about three
or four German words and some would say even less English. We had no idea
about the train, tickets, or what to do. We wandered aimlessly onto the train
and in my best Cajun German, asked a couple with Ironman hats on, "Sprechen
sie Englisch?" (do you speak Cajun?). They smiled and said that they were
from Canada. We asked them about train protocol. The man was nice enough to
walk us outside and back to the ticket kiosk and show the two Cajun idiots how
to operate the machine. All I know was it ate Euros and spit out tickets that
no one ever asked for.
The expo turned out to be a typical Ironman expo. A bunch of nervous type A
assholes lining up to get their packets and swag. Everyone checking you out,
seeing how lean you are etc. It is almost comical. I do like the European way
of, to hell with dressing rooms, just get naked and try on whatever, wherever.
The main difference between this expo and one at Ironman North America is that
the tent with all the race t-shirts, etc. was about 15 by 15 feet with about 3
or 4 different choices. They haven’t caught on to the Ironman North America
way of slapping an M-dot on a 50 cent shotglass and selling it for $10.
It started to pour down at the expo and the temperature started to drop
quickly. As we made our way back into Hilpoltstein on the train and footpaths,
Mark and I looked at each other and one word came out –
"Wisconsin". Our last Ironman in Wisconsin was quite the nightmare,
50 degrees, raining, and miserable. I hadn’t felt any dread about Ironman
Roth until that instant. Didn’t let that get us down and we decided to go
carbo load at the bistro. We had some nachos and redbull and vodka. After our
loading, we decided to go to the bank to trade some of our powerful American
dollars for Euros. What a comedy act that was. It was like a couple of monkeys
trying to hump a football. A whole lot of effort and no joy. We went to two
banks before anyone would even look at us. I am sure we got screwed somehow,
but we left with a fistful of euros and a smile on our face.
Train aficionados that we were, we decided to lose our minds and ride the
train into Nuremburg for some shopping and a night on the town. Thats two
train stations and switches. Did I mention we can’t read or speak the
language? We somehow managed to make it. God protects fools and children, and
neither of us are youngsters. We shopped all around Nuremburg, it was
beautiful, with cobblestone streets, gothic looking churches, and stone
towers. After searching for a restaurant for some time, we decided to go to
the Meridien Hotel and eat at their Brasserie. This place made Ruth Chris look
like a McDonalds. We struggled through the menu, but finally ordered filets (flambee’ed).
After perusing the wine list, we ordered a bunch of redbull and vodka. We fit
right in with the rest of the clientele. After watching our wait staff burn
our steaks right in front of us, they covered them with huge silver covers
(and no I don’t know the damn name of those things). After laying these
silver contraptions in front of us, the waitress pulled off both covers at the
same time and exclaimed, "Voila!". I figured that cost us about 100
Euros right there – after all presentation is everything. Miller looked at
me and said, "the last time I was served a meal under a silver tray
cover, I was in the hospital." I almost pissed my pants as I spit redbull
and vodka all over the place – great!
After paying a house note of a tab at the Meridien, we went to the bar for
more drinks. You know, carbo loading again. By the time we decided to leave
Nuremburg to return to Hilpoltstein, it was too late to take the trains. We
needed a cab ride back down the autobahn – joy! The driver told us, I can do
it for 50 euros, "off the meter". Let me tell you something, the
translation for "off the meter" is "hold onto your balls, cause
I’m about to unleash hell, stand on this accelerator, and hit the
nitrous!" The ensuing cab ride back to our hotel saw us reach speeds of
150 mph, all of this while the cabbie was looking at us in the backseat asking
where we needed to go and punching it in on his GPS. I was never so happy to
see my Hotel as that night. I told Mark to take off his seatbelt, cause at
that speed, the belt was as useless as that extra large condom I had in my
pocket.
Friday saw us awaken to a chilly morning and another huge breakfast. Mark
decided we were going to get a swim in at the local public pool. We went and
were amazed to find a huge 50 meter long all stainless steel pool. You could
watch your stroke on the bottom, as it reflected just like a mirror. I almost
threw up after watching my beautiful stroke. After a few laps, I had seen
enough and was freezing to death. We asked for the changing room and we were
directed towards a door and a big room. I got naked and was toweling off, when
one of the many doors in that room opened and then another, and out popped two
little old ladies. Holy shit, Mark was freaking out and telling me to put my
clothes back on. I just smiled and told them "morgen" (morning),
they never even batted an eye.
After our swim, and my blatant attempts to sexually harass a couple of old
German women, we decided to head back into Nuremburg for the day. That night
when we returned to Hilpoltstein, the whole town shut down and a huge street
party broke out. They played rock-a-billy American music and the beer was
flowing again. Reminded me of a festival in Louisiana. The German people are
so friendly and accomodating. They made us feel right at home.
Saturday morning, we readied our bikes and transition bags. We went to check
our bikes and our T2 bag. T1 and T2 are in different locations at this race.
The place was electric. It is a first class race, your transition bags are
cloth and they even give you a big plastic bag to cover your bike (bike
condom) so that it doesn’t get wet as it sits in transition all night. I
then realized there was only one change tent. Unreal. Problem was, the women
would all be taking off an hour before us with the pros. So, unless one of the
women accidently thought this was a two loop swim, I was going to be at
another German sausage fest.
It was then back to the hotel, a big feast at the Italian Ristorante ( I ate
my 15th plate of spaghetti), and then off to la-la land. Race day
had finally arrived (yep only took 3 pages just to get to the cannon – told
you this was gonna be long). We arrived in transition and I watched in horror
as a European guy stripped down butt naked and began to slather himself with
an entire jar of Vaseline. Head to toe. He did this for about 10 minutes and
was really enjoying himself. The only ones to gawk were we goofy Americans. I
figured if he farted his wetsuit would shoot right off him.
Well, the time had arrived, Mark and I were in the same wave, we entered the
water, and boom the cannon fired and we were off. We were to swim down a long
barge canal to a bridge, turn and swim back to the bridge we started at and
then exit the water. There were people lining the bank cheering and huge hot
air balloons taking off. The start was awesome and just a glimpse of how great
the day was going to be. I got out of the water feeling like I had done
nothing, and the clock showed it. I figured Mark was probably getting off his
bike at T2 by the time I got out of the water.
I mounted my bike and felt good as I entered the first town, Eckersmuhlen, and
was greeted by thousands of screaming Germans. There was even a mile long area
of people sitting at tables along the road drinking beer. This is known as the
"bier mile". They were all cheering and reaching out to slap your
hand. When I got out of the town I was so stoked I felt like I had just drank
a case of redbull. After that town you go through about 21 villages where you
experience the same thing. Thousands of people screaming HOP! HOP! HOP! And
banging on everything from tables to garbage can covers. You do two loops of
all of this. The course was very hilly and I was on my 11-23 cassette. This
was gonna hurt a bit.
Somewhere out of Eckersmuhlen in the next village, I was on a descent. I saw
some cones on a curve, but no one was there to give any directions. I blew
clean through the cones at about 40 mph. The policemen on smoke break went
gonzo screaming at me in German. I almost impaled myself on a mercede benz
grocery go getter station wagon. I had to stop and struggle back up the hill.
The policemen were smiling at me shaking their heads. This was fine with me,
as I usually see the tazer, billy clubs, and the ground before I see the
police smile at me like that. I just smiled back and said "American
Idiot". Knowing looks appeared on all their faces - "Ah Yavolt -
American Idiot" (they probably listen to Green Day).
The first really big climb didn’t come until the village of Greding and what
a climb it was. It had a couple of false plateaus. Those lovely little flat
spots that fool you into thinking that the climb is over, only to have you
realize that you had better rise to the occasion again and spin spin spin your
way up the damn hill. Not far out of Greding, that which goes up must come
down and you are greeted with a descent of epic proportions. My first
"danger will robinson" alert went off when I saw some kid holding
out what looked like a caution flag as he sat drooling on the side of the
road. Then I saw a stack of hay bales about 20 feet high and lining the entire
S curve I was carving into at almost 50 mph. Visions of my Nuremburg cab ride
danced in my head. My tri bike is also possibly the most squirrely bike ever
concocted and is made to go straight for long periods of time, and not to take
hairpin curves at mach 3. Note to self - scout course next time!
The S curves continued and I was scared to death. Thought my race was going to
end in a pile of hay. Definitely not the "roll in the hay" I was
hoping for. Finally, I was out of the death zone and my heart rate came down
to vomit mode. After that it was quite a few miles of farmland and open roads.
Definitely the calm before the storm.
I knew that the best was yet to come. The Solarer Berg climb just outside of
Hilpoltstein. It is the signature climb of this race and is on all the
posters, etc. It is lined with 30,000 people, sometimes as much as 10 deep on
either side of the road. You are relegated to a single file line of bikes as
you climb. They scream in your ear, pat you on the "buttocks" and
give you high fives. It was supposed to be incredible and I couldn’t wait to
feel the rush.
Just as I was about to reach the Solarer Berg, a bunch of police motorcycles
pass and then the car with the clock on top. I knew what that meant. Here
comes Macca! Sure enough, right at the climb, Chris McCormack came flying by
me like I was standing still. Right on his butt was the German Thomas
Hellreigel. When they hit the climb, the crowd went plum bananas. They were
still plenty lathered up as my slow butt hit the climb. It was fantastic,
having thousands of drunk people scream at you as you are up out of the saddle
climbing your brains out. By the time, you reach the top, you are spent but
happy. That just had sex for three hours feeling (OK – I wouldn’t know
about that – but I’ve read about it). It was probably the most exciting
thing I have ever been involved in. It was surreal and I felt like a pro, if
only for a moment, we felt what the tour riders probably feel as they climb
L’alpe d’huez surrounded by drunken idiots. Funny thing is I also wished I
was one of those drunken idiots. They were probably having as much fun as I
was, if not more.
Anyway, not long after that climb, I re-entered Eckersmuhlen and realized I
had half the ride in the bag. What a good feeling. I was feeling good and
happy as I realized I had averaged just over 20 mph on the hilliest course I
have ever been on in my life. Not long after Eckersmuhlen, I met up with
Melissa Carolan, one of the girls with The Triathlon Experience group. Unreal,
the crazy bitch was dressed as a fairy, wings and all. I am not making this
up. To think some of the type A monkeys I know fret for weeks and months over
what to wear in an Ironman, and heres this dizzy girl wearing a Halloween
costume. You just have to love it! I rode up on her and laughed my butt off.
She told me Mark Miller was just up the road by a few minutes.
Awesome, I had made up the couple of hours Mark had put on me in the swim. We
had started in the same wave, but I didn’t think I would see him until the
run. This was great, I hammered my butt off and sure enough, after a few
little towns and hills, there was Mark. I rode up behind him and started
singing as loud as I could. He turned and started laughing. It was awesome,
finally an American and someone who I could talk to. Quiet guy like I am, I
was finally ready to talk to someone.
We rode along for a while, flip flopping the lead. We were just screaming out
at each other how awesome the ride was – the crowds, the roads, the climbs,
everything – we were stoked. It was then that we came to a big realization.
To hell with hammering our asses off and trying to drop one another, only to
go up the road alone (remember long trip alone?), we decided we would ride
together and experience what we had experienced on the first loop together.
Awesome, I was going to be able to share the ride of a lifetime, halfway round
the world, with a good friend. No, you type A faggots, we didn’t draft.
There were quite a few times where we bent the rules and rode side by side,
grinning like we had just pumped the neighbors cat and taking it all in.
In one of the towns, they had three little boys lined up on the side, one with
his hand out for a high five. I slid over, slapped his hand and his podnuh
tossed up a perfectly placed water balloon. It burst square in my face. There
are little balls of hate all over the world. I laughed so hard I almost
wrecked. Well, Mark and I made the loop and it culminated back at the Solarer
Berg climb. Since, I am vertically challenged, we decided I should go first up
the single file climb. It was just as good as the first pass. If I would have
had a heart rate monitor on, it probably would have read – call an
ambulance.
We made our way into Eckersmuhlen and then North to Transition #2 (T2) and the
run start. What a ride? We changed up quickly and headed out, a quick glance
at my watch showed 7:20 and some change total time. Mark told me to take off.
If I dropped a good marathon, I would have a damn good race and a PR for sure.
So, after about 1K, off I went, clipping along really well and feeling
perfect. Christine and the TTE group were going to be at the 4k mark with
special needs bags. I ran up to them and stopped. She said, "what are you
doing, do you need anything, you don’t even have a special needs bag.".
I told her, "No, Mark is right behind me, I’m gonna wait for him. We
didn’t come half way around the world to race, we came here to experience
this place."
Somewhere between the 1k and 4k markers, I figured it out. What is
"IT"? "IT" is why I do Ironmans. To skew the words of the
great runner Emil Zatopek. If you want to win something race a sprint
triathlon, if you want to experience something, do an Ironman. I thought to
myself, if it weren’t for Mark Miller, I wouldn’t even have known about
this race, I wouldn’t be enjoying a race atmosphere that can only be
described as electric. He had coached me, fit me on my bike, we have ridden
inummerable miles together, run the soles off of several pairs of shoes, done
3 Ironmans in one calendar year, and we had just experienced the ride of a
lifetime in the German countryside. (No I wasn’t having my coming out the
closet party!). I was having an epiphany of sorts. Who cares what all the type
A morons think about how fast you can do an Ironman, or what your PR is. I
would much rather be remembered as a good friend than a half-ass fast age
group Ironman.
So, wait I did, and not long after, Mark arrived. I told him what I had in
mind. We were going to do this thing together and cross the line together.
Christine was freaking out. She said, "You guys have the best attitudes,
that is awesome".
So, off we went and we were clipping along at a great pace. I was feeling
perfect. This whole game is mental, and I was in a good good place. I was
singing and harassing all the German people. About 6 or 7 miles in, (hard to
tell everything is in Kilometers. I knew I should have paid attention when we
did the metric system back in 1974 or so) we arrived at a little town and the
turnaround point for that section of the run. As we entered we crossed some
timing mats and our names/bib numbers appeared on a screen for an announcer.
He exclaimed, "Mark Miller – American Superstar". (If you see me,
ask me to say it like he did – the German inflection made it hilarious). I
almost fell on the ground I was laughing so hard. Needless to say, they never
said peep about Smitty Smith – American Idiot!. After having run a couple of
Ironmans and marathons with Mark, I have become accustomed to being relegated
to sidekick status. Even in the picture at the shop he is batman and I’m
robin. You won’t ever hear me complain. OK, buy me a beer and I’ll cry
about it for hours. At least, I’m still the tall good looking one!
After the mats, we turned into town and once again were greeted by people all
along the street, sitting at tables drinking beer. I sped up and approached a
table of older people. I gestured for an older mans beer glass (half liter –
plenty full). He handed it up to me. I couldn’t resist and slammed it down.
The crowd went completely ape shit! They were cheering, screaming, and will
probably name children after me in that town. So much for the American
Superstar I was running with. FWT!
On the path back to the halfway point, an old German man ran by us and told
me, "The bier is gut, no?" I told him that I was probably defecting
to Germany next week. At the halfway point, we were back with Christine and
the TTE group again. She had a status report on all the racers. They run a
tight ship and I highly recommend them if you do this race. They all laughed
pretty hard when Mark told them I was downing beers. We were still moving
along fairly well, but Marks gut was starting to shut down. He hit the only
port – a –let on the marathon. I am not exaggerating. I saw only a handful
of port-a-poops over the 26 miles.
As we progressed over the second half of the marathon so did Marks belly
problems. He was really starting to suffer and couldn’t clear (that would
include up and out or down and out). He peeled off into the woods several
times. The fact that he continued on is a testament to how tough he is. With
14 Ironmans under his belt, he knew what he had to do and was doing it. He
probably wanted to kill me, as I would sing and dance with all the spectators
along the way. They were playing 80’s music and drinking all along the
course. I even got into some sponge fights with the kids handing them out at
the aid stations.
I managed to eat everything at least twice from the aid station tables on the
second half. The food was strange but good, they even had pickles. I went into
this race at about 125 pounds and came home over 134 pounds. There were German
sayings all over the road and I quit attempting to read them at about the 1k
mark. Late in the run, Mark stopped me and told me to look down. They say the
words of the prophets are written on the subway walls, I think there may be
one prophet loose in Germany. In big letters in English was written – SEX IS
SPEED, DISTANCE IS LOVE!
At the 35 or 36 kilometer mark, or about 21 miles into the marathon, we came
across a wild party in someone’s front yard. They were listening to AC/DC
and drinking copious amounts of beer. I did what any self respecting boy from
the village of New Iberia would have done. I stopped and grabbed the biggest,
darkest German beer I could find. Held it up and the crowd was lathered. It
disappeared faster than dollar bills at a strip club. The people in the yard
had that oh shit look on their faces for a second and then they went crazy.
You would swear that I had just torn down the Berlin wall. I exclaimed in my
loudest Cajun dialect, "America Thanks You!!"
Off we went. Miller was suffering plenty, but stoically moved forward.
Finally, we arrived at the stadium and our pace picked up. We could smell the
barn. We ran into the stadium side by side and crossed the same way. What a
day and what a race. Mark had just completed his 15th Ironman and I
had 4 in the bag. This was definitely my best race ever. No, not on the clock,
and no one is going to be patting me on the back for kicking butt in Germany
by slamming down a sub 12 or sub 11 hour race. But, in my mind, I am pleased
beyond belief. By backing off just a bit, I was able to enjoy the ride, run,
and share it with my good friend Mark Miller.
Like I said earlier, I learned something about Ironman while in Germany. It is
anything but a long trip alone. I respect those who race Ironman, and for them
it may be a long trip alone. But, as for me, give me a bike, my running shoes,
a couple of beers, a quarter million screaming Germans, and one good friend.
That’s all I need to have a perfect race.
After the race, we enjoyed more beer and plenty of food. The next day, Mark
and I went to the awards ceremony. We met Chris McCormack and took a picture
with him. He even signed our finishers photos. He was really nice and asked
about our race. I guess with only a dozen or so Americans in the race, and
only a few English speaking people, he was probably happy to have a bit of
easy conversation. Besides, I had the American Superstar Mark Miller with me -
Macca couldn’t help but be friendly - HA!
Later that night, we were able to go to the Volunteer appreciation party. The
race puts this on for all the volunteers. The beer and food was flowing hard.
Chris McCormack "Macca", was there again. He came over and started
talking to us. Unreal! He asked where we were going after, and we told him
Vunder Bar. A little bar in Roth. He said he and his crew were headed there
too and he would see us there. Mark really had to twist my arm to get me to
go, but I gave in. It was my first time in a night club!
When we walked in, he and a bunch of his friends were sitting in the corner.
He invited us to sit with them, but we declined and sat at the bar. I sent
over some drinks later and he did the same back to us and then came over to
talk. We talked with him for quite some time. He was a funny down to earth
guy. Needless to say, when you put an Australian and some Cajuns in a bar,
things are going to happen. We ended up doing quite a few shots that I would
regret on our long trip home the next day. What a way to end our trip,
drinking with Macca. He had only missed the world record by 3 minutes.
Hopefully he smokes some butt in Kona. I know a couple of guys that will be
pulling for him and one German that won’t.
The next morning came early and hard. If I had known what was about to happen,
I would have really defected. Without crushing you all with more long winded
crap, suffice it to say, it took us 3 days to get home. We missed flights in
Frankfurt, lost a boarding pass in Frankfurt, got sent to London and had a 20
plus hour layover. By the way, don’t get stuck in London when Wimbledon is
going on. We had to go about 60 miles to find one hotel room and pay them in
blood for it. The fire alarm went off the next morning and we sat outside
thinking we were never going to get our passports or tickets and fly home. We
stood in line after line for 2 days. The one consolation was that we were able
to fly first class on the upper deck of a 747 across the pond from London to
Newark. I guess the airline was having mercy on our poor souls. I was opening
my cheese with my teeth and it flew out, hit the roof and landed in Marks lap,
the stewardess, Mark, and myself were rolling. He told her, "You can take
the boy out the country, but you can’t take the country out the boy"
Truer words were never spoken. Finally we arrived in Newark and back on
American soil. However, we were delayed again and ended up waiting 6 plus
hours to board our final flight to New Orleans.
We finally arrived in New Orleans at 4 in the morning some three days after
leaving Hilpoltstein. Needless to say, our bikes were lost in Western Europe.
Please don’t ask if we insured them - remember - American Idiot. They
finally arrived a week after. I was thinking about how I would look on my
little girls pink 20" specialized with some clip on’s at my next race.
Well, there are plenty more stories, but my hands are cramping. So, if you
want to hear all about the rest, buy me a beer and pack a lunch. In the end,
we met a bunch of wonderful people and had a great time traveling halfway
round the world. There are many people to thank for making our trip special.
From Doug "super danke" Smith, Andrew "the drunk"
Ratcliffe, Christine "Scout Leader" Des Enfants, Tanner "Big
Nasty", Melissa "the fairy", MFP, to Ollie (our
bartender/driver) who took great care of us. A special thanks goes out to all
the nice people in the town of Hilpoltstein and the surrounding area that made
not only Mark Miller but this little "American Idiot" feel like an
American Superstar.
Of course Mark and I were well behaved young men and nothing ill could be said
about us and our travels abroad. Just don’t ask the American consulates in
Switzerland, Germany, or England! Thanks for reading and thanks for joining me
on my trip – definitely a long trip – but never alone! In the words of the
great Doug Smith, "SUPER DANKE!!"
