Far away to the north, under the miles upon miles of Douglas fir planking that hold up the world's largest wooden dome in Marquette, GWB was out on the campaign trail. As much as I've maligned him here, I do have to praise any major figure who can recognize the significance of Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Gore was there in '94, I think, to stump for himself and president-to-be Clinton, and boy do I ever wish that he'd become the first sitting President since W.H. Taft to visit. But that's a story for another time.
Another bizarro-ride last night, with a crazy pace going north that all but fell apart on the return trip, leaving 23.51 at the Charthouse. I fail to see the training benefits of riding 10 miles at 26 and change, then stopping for a few minutes, then coasting home at just over 21 - but that view left me more or less stranded by myself for much of the return journey, fighting a cross wind and sweat in the eyes.