LITMIR.BIZ

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a gun in his right hand.

      “All right, ma’am. Why don’t you come on out now,” he said sternly.

      “Why? Why, because I’d much rather be shot to pieces right here in the warmth and comfort of my own tent than out there in the cold,” I muttered to myself as I cautiously climbed through the tent door. “So we’re not even going to make it across America,” I breathed. This is it—the end.

      “All right now, may I see some identification please,” I heard the man say as I looked up at him. He was a state police officer. Even so, I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or not. The gun made me nervous.

      The officer ran his eyes over our driver’s licenses and jotted down the information on a pad of paper. Then, after he studied Larry and me and our tent and bikes for a moment, and listened to us explain that we were bicycling around the world, he shoved his gun back into its holster. He gave us a slight smile and heaved a long sigh. The man didn’t appear to have any idea what he should do next.

      “Some people down the road saw you two looking in the windows here and figured you were burglars—guess they didn’t see your bikes—and they called the police,” he said, finally.

      “Now I know you’re both perfectly innocent and you’re not gonna steal anything, but I can’t allow you to stay here,” the officer continued. He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties, and seemed like the jumpy sort. His name was Mike Sweeney.

      “This is private property,” he said, “and someone has made a complaint. I can sympathize with the situation you’re in, though,” he went on after a short pause. “You’re not gonna want to take down that tent and pack up and look for another campin’ place in this weather. The nearest campground that’s open is the state park. It’s only three miles away, but the road to it’s out, so that’s no good.

      “But don’t worry, I’ve got a solution. You two are gonna stay with me tonight. My house is only a half mile from here. I’ll call Tony—that’s my wife—and let her know you’re comin’. I’ve got some paper work to finish up before I go home, but that shouldn’t take me more than an hour. What do you say?”

      “Fine,” said Larry, “except what’s your wife going to say when you call her up and tell her you’ve invited two total strangers that somebody thought were burglars to stay the night, and that they’ll be right over but you personally won’t be home until later? You sure she’ll go for that?”

      “Yep. Ya see, there aren’t many people to visit with up here in backwoods Michigan. We just moved up here from down south—Kalamazoo—and Tony’s been pretty lonely and homesick lately. We’d both be excited to have you stay the night with us. It’s not every day we get a chance to talk with someone who’s bicyclin’ ’round the world.”

      “Well, we really appreciate the offer. We’ll just pitch our tent in your backyard.”

      “Hey, no way you’re doin’ that. We got plenty of room in the house. You’re stayin’ in the spare bedroom. Besides, there’s a special reason why you wouldn’t want to camp in the yard, but we’ll talk about that later. Right now, I’ve got to get back to the station. I’ll see you at the house in an hour or so.”

      Our fear that Tony might not approve of Mike’s idea proved totally unfounded. Tony had two cups of steaming hot chocolate and a hot bath ready for us when we arrived. As Mike predicted, she was glad to have some “city types” near her age to talk with. She greeted us at the door wearing a pair of jeans and a bright green blouse.

      When Mike strolled in a half hour later, he was famished. Larry assured him that he and I had already eaten dinner, a salad and some spaghetti that we’d cooked up behind the motel. But Mike figured our stomachs could hold more.

      “I hate to eat alone, and Tony’s always on a diet, so you’re just gonna have to join me—that’s all there is to it. Besides, I always fix more than I can eat. Now that’s where you two come in. Doin’ all that bikin’, you must have huge appetites, so tonight there aren’t gonna be any leftovers, ’cause you guys are gonna eat ’em all!”

      Larry and I were already full, and I had this funny feeling that we were letting ourselves in for more than we could handle, but Mike stood his ground. He started out by baking two frozen pizzas. Of them, he consumed four small pieces; then he allowed as how Larry and I were to eat the rest. While we struggled through the cheese, pepperoni, tomato paste, onions and pasta, Mike began popping popcorn and heaps of it. Even Tony was recruited to help devour it. She and Mike polished off two medium-sized bowls, while Larry and I, making a slow rebound off our first course, were each handed a bowl which measured a foot in diameter and six inches deep. Luckily, we both love popcorn, and we set to work on our portions while Mike and Tony talked about Mike’s job, the difference between “fast city livin’” in Kalamazoo and the slow pace of the sparsely populated Upper Peninsula, and the incredibly harsh winters in Thompson. They finished talking about the time Larry and I entered the bottom quarter of our bowls.

      “OK, now you tell us all about your trip so far and about your plans from here on out,” said Mike. “And I’m goin’ to dish up some rice puddin’. Now don’t bother complainin’ that you’re full. I know two hungry bicyclers can eat a lot more than what you’ve eaten so far. Hell, I’m still goin’ strong, aren’t I? And I didn’t pedal any forty some miles this afternoon.”

      “But like I said Mike, we already ate dinner before we pitched our tent. And anyway, you’re giving us a lot more food than you’re eating yourself!” Larry protested.

      “That’s all right. Food’s good for ya. And you wouldn’t like me to be stuck eating alone after the favor I did you both not tossin’ you into the clink, would you?”

      There was a twinkle in Mike’s eyes, and I knew that arguing with him would be futile. He set the pudding next to our bowls of popcorn, and somehow we managed to plug through them both while we talked. No sooner had Larry and I finished our pudding and stories, than Mike jumped up and turned on the television.

      “Time for the late evening news! Great timin’! You finished the popcorn and puddin’ just in time for the news! That’s good.” Mike raced into the kitchen.

      I leaned back on the couch and patted my stomach and prayed that it wouldn’t explode during the night. Well, I did my duty, I said to myself. I helped keep Mike company while he ate. Think I’ll skip breakfast in the morning. I closed my eyes and took a series of long, deep breaths to help force the food farther down into my stomach. When Mike came back into the room, I nearly bolted off the couch in horror.

      “Yep, there’s nothing I like better than a couple of tuna fish sandwiches while I’m listenin’ to the news,” he grinned as he plopped the two plates of food down in front of the couch. “You bet; tuna fish and news. Now there’s a great combination for ya!”

      I took one look at the plate in front of me, and everything inside me started to rise to my throat. Larry looked as if he was about to pass out. Fortunately, Tony noticed our agony and came to the rescue. If she hadn’t, I doubt I could have survived the tuna fish.

      “Mike, a lot of people can’t stand the taste of tuna fish. Maybe Barb and Larry don’t like it either,” she commented.

      “Actually, we’re both allergic to tuna fish. We get really sick when we eat it,” Larry claimed, in an all out effort to keep from being forced to cram more food into his stomach. “And anyway, we’re pretty tired from our ride today, and we want to get an early start in the morning; so I think we’ll pitch our tent out back now and get to sleep,” he added, jumping to his feet.

      “No you’re not!” Tony insisted. “You’ll sleep in the extra bedroom. Mike, didn’t you tell them about the backyard?”

      “Well, I started to, but I had to get back to the station and I never finished,” Mike answered as he moved the plate of tuna fish closer to himself. “You see,” he said turning to us, “I’ve been baitin’ this bear back there for a week or so

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