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90/10

10/29/2017

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PictureOgden Preparatory Academy goes to University of Montana
​​“90/10…...maybe 80/20 but probably 90/10,” I told my friend Bill Davis.

Ninety percent of what one learns at college is NOT learned in the classroom.   And, for me at least, more than 90% of what I remember and use from my college education was not learned in the classroom.  There is so, so much more to a college education than academics; sitting in a classroom, studying in a dorm room, taking tests in a quiet room, even receiving a diploma in a giant room are only a small part of the college educational experience.

This weekend 21 9th grade students from Ogden Preparatory Academy (OPA) had a 90/10 college experience….and it was awesome.   AWESOME!      Traveling in four minivans, we left OPA Wednesday after school, drove to Missoula MT and stayed on the University of Montana (UM) campus for two full (VERY FULL) days, driving home Saturday.    The participating students had an incredibly rich academic experience and, in my opinion, an even richer crash course in college culture.

The 10% academic portion of the trip was amazing.  We watched a star show in UM’s planetarium, visited UM’s world famous Hell’s Gate osprey nest, and examined collections housed in the university’s natural history museum.   The students held a human brain, heart, and lung in their hands in the cadaver lab and I got to see an artificial knee.  [The man whose body we learned from had a total knee replacement. Did you know a total knee replacement does not mean they totally replace your knee?  They simply coat  the joint surfaces with plastic and metal.  Cool!]    We looked at one grad student’s CT scanned images of modern bird bones and ancient dinosaur bones and listened to another grad student tell us he has killed 250,000 trees.  [Note:  He kills only seedlings that he has personally planted, he does it in a controlled, indoor environment, and his “killings” are part of a research project to determine what causes of tree death in the natural environment.]  And that was only the first day.    On the second day we listened to a fascinating lecture on the history of rock and roll, toured campus, heard from campus departments ranging from the health center to financial aid, and the kids interviewed representatives from subject areas in which they were interested.

As rich as the academic portion was, their exposure to college culture was an even richer educational experience.  We ate four meals at the Food Zoo, UM’s cafeteria for on campus students.  With a swipe of their (temporary) student card, they had access to an all the food they could eat.  “I am definitely coming here,” Conrad said.  “You know why?  Cold cereal and ice cream!”     I did not sample the ice cream or the cold cereal but I loved, loved the Mango and Sweet Chili Pork Soup and could not get enough of the Roasted Root Vegetables.   

We experienced dorm life, including late night pizza deliveries, temperamental thermostats (the rooms were too hot even with the windows open to the chilly Montana fall), austere, almost cell-like bedrooms, and semi-public showers.   “I am taking a bath tonight,” Ian said, “even though there is not a curtain.”    Their roommates were randomly assigned and their rooms were not so randomly redesigned.   We also posed in front of the Grizzly statue, cheered at a UM vs Portland State Soccer game, saw the pumpkin that apparently makes an annual October appearance on the bell tower’s spike, watched squirrels race from tree to tree and deer walk from lawn to lawn, hiked up (and down) the Mount Sentinel “M” trail, and successfully found buildings and bathrooms on campus.    I suspect for them, like it was for me so long ago, over 90% of the knowledge they will use and retain from this college experience will be what they learned outside the classroom.

It was a fabulous trip.  FABULOUS!  Fun seeing the kids’ excitement.   Even more fun to see Sam’s excitement about the kid’s excitement.   Speaking of Sam, he was the author and executor of the trip, the one who made it happen.  Clearly (VERY clearly) he did an amazing job.  I was merely along for the ride….or the drive as it turned out.  

One of the most fun things, for me, turned out to be the driving portion.  Suprise!   

I was very surprised Wednesday afternoon when Jose indicated that he and his four buddies wanted ride in my van.  Seriously?    Jose is the only student, in over 25 years of teaching, that I have had to ban from TWO field trips; all my other knot heads learned their lesson after being left home once.  He repeatedly acted up for the sub and so repeatedly had to be left behind. Last year I had not one but TWO specially arranged conferences with Jose and his parents.  Jose is the only student to whom I have said, “I am so angry at you.  SO ANGRY!” I followed it up with “I am so angry at you because I really like you and now you have put me in a position where I cannot take you on my field trip.”  And it was true.  I did (and do) like him but I did ride him hard.  I was very pleasantly surprised when he requested to ride in my van.

The pleasant surprises kept coming.  The boys got in the van before me and when I got in the music was already blasting.   Blasting music does not bother me, profanity does.   I told them music was okay but swearing was not and asked that they keep it clean.   And they did.   The entire time.  Without even a hint of a reminder. “Does __________ have any swear words?” one asked another.  “Not very many,” was the response.  “But it does have some so we won’t play it.” “This one is clean. “No, it’s not.  Remember ___________.”  “What about ___________,” suggested another, “It does not have swear words.”  “No swear words but it talks about bad things so pick something else.”    The conversation and song censoring continued for hours.   They were darling.  Darling!  Also heart warming was their real regard for me.  My boys watched out for me.   I am still in a knee brace so my mobility is restricted.  “You okay Mrs. Hislop?” was a common question.   

Best of all was the comic relief.  Boys are so funny.   SO FUNNY!!  Riding with them, listening to their banter, one would think they hated each other.  “Shut up!”   “You are so stupid!”   “Ugly!”   “Look at me!  Look at me now!!”  “Don’t look at me!”  “I said DON’T look at me!!”    Ragging on each other constantly.  Jose complained about the “N” he got for citizenship in history.  [N = needs improvement].  Had it been a girl’s car, there would have been sympathy and perhaps some teacher bashing.  Not in my boy’s car.    Daniel asked him about his academic grade (a D) and then he and Ian shot down every excuse Jose offered for his poor performance.   It was fascinating to overhear.   They cut him no slack.   And the physicality--punching, poking, throwing things, grabbing, yanking, twisting.  And giggling--oh my lands the giggling!!!   (The giggling was very much like a girl’s car.)   

It was an absolutely delightful trip.   So good, in fact, that I am absolutely NOT looking forward to returning to the traditional classroom on Monday.   Maybe I just won’t go…..  Classroom experiences are only 10% of the educational experience anyway, right?  Ninety percent is still an A-.........

Love,
Teresa

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UM's famous Hell's Gate osprey nest
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UM's famous osprey scientist
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A large small bird collection
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Big bones and medium girls
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A small large bird collection
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Small birds and medium boys
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A small collection of small carnivores
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This cell phone has Windows
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Breakfast, first serving
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Breakfast, second serving
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Chilly Montana fall
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College dorm
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..semi-public bathrooms
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Austere....
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....almost cell-like
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My boys
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Genuinely Good Person

10/22/2017

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​There are genuinely good people in this world.   

About a week ago, as I was pulling out of the parking lot at work, I managed to scrape the car next to me.   I am still not sure how I did it--how does one hit the car parked at one’s side when one is pulling forward???--but I did.  The damage was minor but real.   I left a note on the car’s windshield as I did not know to whom it belonged.

Turns out it belongs to Rosa Davila, a native Colombian who has taught Spanish at Ogden Prep for over ten years.  I know Rosa but not well.   We say “Hola” as we pass in the hall but that is all.

My insurance agent said if the claim was less than $700 it will not count against me; my insurance will pay it without raising my rate.   If the claim is between $700 and $1500 then I would be better off paying it out of my own pocket.   If I made a claim it would stay on my record for four years and the increased rate over those four years would make it more economical to cough up $1500 on my own than to submit a claim.    The insurance agent instructed me to tell Rosa to get a couple estimates and see what the cost would be.

Rosa obliged.  The first estimate came in at $1145.04.  On her own, without any asking, pleading, or begging on my part, Rosa went searching for another estimate.  I have no idea how much time and effort she invested but I know for certain that she went the extra mile…..probably many extra miles.   She spoke to a friend of a friend who said he could do it for $700.

Oh my lands!!   

I am so appreciative, so grateful for her graciousness.  I hit her car.  My carelessness caused her extra work--one of the seven deadly sins in my book!   Thanks to me she had to spend time in an auto body shop getting an estimate and will have to deal with getting her car repaired.   And, instead of being irritated and annoyed, she went out of her way to make sure I did not have to pay.   Much hassle for her, much benefit for me.   I am profoundly grateful on many levels; grateful for the money I will not have to spend, grateful for Rosa’s grace in dealing with my mistake, and grateful to be in the presence of a genuinely good person.

Rosa Davila is a genuinely good person.

Gratefully,
Teresa

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The Parable of the Bum Steer

10/15/2017

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​“What happened?   WHAT HAPPENED!?!???!!”  I asked myself in dismay.   The first Saturday evening in September I’d left my bike in the barn, leaning docilely against the east wall.  September’s first Sunday morning I found it crumpled and crippled on the barn’s floor.    And it was not alone.   Of the four bikes stored in the barn, three were damaged; my bike’s back tire looked like a figure-8, Lance’s bike’s back tire looked like a taco, and Tanah’s bike’s back tire would not turn.   The bikes were not the only things left in a path of devastation.   Grain sacks were trampled, the lawnmower was in disarray, even the rototiller had been moved.   What happened?   WHAT HAPPENED?

Someone left the gate open and the steer had escaped.   Drawn to the barn’s bovine buffet, he entered therein.   My best guess is that Zorro (the dog), caught him in the act and barked aggressively.   The steer responded alarmedly and the rest is history.   Disarray.  Destruction.  Disaster.

I was devastated.  I treasure my bike.  I truly do.  My bike had been trampled and I felt like my heart had been too.   What to do?  What to do?    I woke Lance and asked him to come out and survey the scene, hoping that sharing my sorrow would lessen it.   He gave me a big hug.     My heart still hurt.

What to do?   I awoke the child who left the gate open and shared what had happened.  I was nice but I was so, so sad.    “I am so sorry Mom.   I am so sorry,” was the sincere, heartfelt response.

Still upset, frustrated, and heart-sick, I continued pondering what to do.   I estimated the repairs would cost over $500.   Should I charge the child for the bike repair?   It would be a natural consequence…  

I prayed for guidance.

Almost immediately my mind was opened to experiences I’d had with my father on the farm.  So many times my mistakes cost him time and money but never, NEVER, did he yell at me or condemn me.  He never made me pay for the damages and he never made me feel like less of a person for having made a mistake.

Multiple times I let tainted milk go into the bulk tank when I failed to catch a cow who had been treated with antibiotic.  When I did that, someone would have to drive a milk sample an hour to Idaho Falls for testing and sometimes Dad would have to dump an entire tank of milk.   When I was swathing hay more than once I hit a header on the main water line which meant he’d have to shut down the entire irrigation system and send a tractor out into the field, pulling the mobile welding unit, to repair it.   Several times I moved a wheel line against the wind stabilizers, breaking the line and necessitating another repair.    Never did he yell at me for those mistakes.  Not once.  Nor did he make me pay.  Nor did he make me feel stupid.

I knew I needed to make sure the child who left the gate open had a similar experience.   Immediately I found the child, expressed my love, and made it very clear that I knew mistakes happen and that there were no hard feelings.

“Thank you Mom.”   Preserve the relationship!!!

Later the same morning, in our Sunday services, I felt compelled to share my story as a parable with the following lessons:

  1. Prayers are answered.   “Did you think to pray?” is a very valid question and when we do think to pray we get very valid answers.
  2. Like my father, Heavenly Father loves us, accepts us, and completely forgives us when we make mistakes.   As we recognize our errors and express sorrow, we are forgiven.  Our Father in Heaven does not belittle us, condemn us, or make us feel like less of a person.   He expects us to learn from our mistakes, He even expects us to make mistakes, but His love for us is never compromised by the mistakes me make.
  3. Like my father, Christ will absorb the cost of our mistakes.  He paid the price.  We do not have to.  

I thought I’d been impressed to share my story in church because maybe someone needed to hear its message.  Turns out my sharing the story was a tender mercy to me.  Kevin Mayes, who is a member of our congregation, heard my story and volunteered to fix the bikes.   

Thank you Heavenly Father (and Kevin)!

Love,
Teresa

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Bum steer
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Lance's bike tire looked like a taco
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My bike tire had a figure 8 type twist
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How did he rip the stem from the inner tube?
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Third bike down...
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The path of destruction
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His trail of evidence....
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The Destroyer
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What Is Next?

10/8/2017

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A big CRASH....
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...a moose?
What’s next?    What IS next?

After the Salt to Saint Bike Relay, Marjorie and I vowed that our next sister adventure would not involve pain.  “What is next?” we asked as we pondered painless plans.   When we set out last Saturday for a casual bike ride along the Weber River in Riverdale, we did not anticipate that our next sister adventure would, in Marjorie’s words “go the the extreme wrong end of that plan.”

The day was overcast but beautiful, the kind of crisp, autumn afternoon one fantasizes for during July’s brutal 100 degree weather.   The trail was beautiful too, winding as it did along the river.   It has several downhills and several series of S curves and some downhills followed by S curves.   I was riding down one such hill with reckless abandon whenI made the first curve but not the second.   My back tire slid off the trail.  My left foot hit the ground and stopped but the rest of my body did not   I watched my knee bend the wrong way and thought “This is going to hurt.”   Yep.

I found myself off the trail, head slightly downhill, knee twisted, in incredible pain.  Somewhere between seeing my knee bend wrong and finding myself flat on my back, I heard a huge CRASH.  Noting the significance of the sound and knowing that nothing small makes such a BIG noise, I thought maybe my wreck had startled a moose from the underbrush.  We were beside a river….

Turns out the large noise was not made by a large animal after all.   It was made by a large crash though.  My sweet sister, behind me on her bike, saw my crash and, knowing she could not brake in time to avoid hitting me, rode off the path…..and into a tree.   The huge sound I heard was her head connecting solidly with a tree trunk.   OUCH!   Thank God for helmets.

And thank God for sisters!   Unaware that she had crashed and in great pain, I called for help.  “Call someone” I begged her.   Dazed by her impact she crawled toward me until her head cleared enough to stand.  “Do I call 911 or Lanae (her daughter)?” she asked.

Good question.

I prayed quickly and vocally.  Calling 911 meant helplessness--I’d be carried out, and expense--ambulance rides are very costly.   Nope.   She called Lanae.

Now aware that Marjorie had also crashed, I looked into her eyes.  Dilating normally.  Pumped with adrenaline she also seemed to be walking and talking normally.   I was talking normally but not walking normally.  In fact, not walking at all.     

The initial, grass-ripping, scream eliciting pain had subsided but seemed to be returning and I knew that lying there was not in my best interest.  Plus there was no immediate road access; we would have to move ourselves if we were ever going to get home.  

With Marjorie’s help we lifted the compromised leg and twisted my torso.  With Marjorie’s help, we scooted me onto the trail.  With Marjorie’s help I stood on one foot.   With Marjorie’s help we put my left foot on my bike pedal and, after prying Marjorie’s bike loose from the tree to which it had become lodged upon impact, we began what I affectionately call “The Long Hop”.     Using my bike as a sort of skateboard, I glided my left leg and hopped on my right leg all the way to the car…..wherever that was.

Oh that it were as simple as hopping to the car!   Car access to the river trail is very limited and communicating one’s location on the trail is tricky.  Lanae and Marjorie were on the phone, using Google maps, and dropping pins to each other trying to get us together.    Grace, Aliza, and Jacob (who’d been shopping with Lanae when she got the call) got on the trail south of us and ran north, hoping to find us.  Lanae drove north, hoping to find a way to access the trail.   Tanah brought the truck and joined the hunt.  In the meantime the gentle drizzle turned into a pouring rain.

Hop. Glide. Hop.  Glide.  Hop.  Glide.

Marjorie and I crossed under a railroad bridge, wading through mid-calf deep water, and hopped up a beaten path at its side, only to find there were railroad ties but no vehicle access.   Hop, glide, hop, glide back down.

We found a gravel road, “Kingfisher Loop Trail” and Grace, Aliza, and Jacob found us.   Hop, glide, hop, glide down Kingfisher Loop Trail.   Dead end.  Hop, glide, hop, glide back.

Jacob prayed the rain would stop.   It did.

I prayed we would find the vehicles and we did…..eventually.    Hop, glide, hop, glide up a hill, across a vacant lot, and onto the south end of A Avenue in West Ogden where the van was waiting.   I went to the Urgent Care (only a $25 co-pay!) where it was determined that no bones were broken and that the knee was too swollen for an MRI.    

Bless my sister!  In my pain, in my view, it was all about me.   She too had a significant crash, very significant, but in her view it was all about me too.   I could not have made it out without her help and she was totally selfless in helping me.   She has a sore shoulder, tender ribs, a purple knee of her own, road rash on her leg but, miraculously, no head injury.     I spent Sunday and Monday on crutches.   I have been walking, slowly--oh so slowly--since Tuesday; my knee supports weight but any lateral movement puts me on the floor in a whimpering puddle.    

At the beginning of summer  I told Lance that if he lost 30 pounds I would see a specialist about my knees in October.   He has lost 40+ pounds.   I guess it is time to see someone about my knees...specifically my left one.

In the meantime, Marjorie and I are accepting suggestions for our next sister adventure...

​
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Hop, glide, hop, glide......
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...hop, glide, hop, glide!
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Dead end!
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Gravity pulled the swelling down into the ankle and toes
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Urgent care facilities are not the greatest places for glamour shots!
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Purple knee
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Fat knee
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Sister, Salt, Saint

10/1/2017

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After the Spudman Triathlon Marjorie and I vowed that our next sister-bonding time activity would be less painful…...I am not sure if the Salt to Saint bike relay qualifies or not.

As a team of eight, we rode 429 miles in 27 hours, 20 minutes through freezing and rain but not, thankfully, freezing rain.    As always, the day before, the hour before and the minute before I questioned my judgment if not my sanity; ¨Why do I do this?¨” And, as always, at the conclusion of the adventure I said, to anyone who would listen (or read) ¨That was a fabulous experience!” And it was.

Friday and Saturday of last week (September 22-23) my sister Marjorie and I joined Kevin, Laurie, Brenda, Chuck, Tom, and Henry as part of the Tour de Friends team.    We took turns riding bikes from Salt Lake City to St. George UT.   This time the method of torture/sister bonding experience was selected by Marjorie.   Within 65 minutes of completing our 65 mile Mesquite Madness bike ride in March, Marjorie had committed both of us to ride in the Salt to Saint Relay with her friend Brenda  Good times!

The good times started with a note from my friend Heidi saying that our mutual friends,  Kevin and Laurie Smedley, had ridden in the Salt to Saint in 2016.    Kevin. Laurie, Heidi and I worked Pioneer Trek together back in the day, 30+ years ago and I have not spent much time with  them since.   Cool that they rode last year.  Maybe they would ride again this year and maybe, just maybe, I would see them this year.    Chances seemed pretty slim….the course is 429 miles long and riders begin the race in shifts, starting at 7 a.m. and continuing every hour until noon.     

Turns out the chances I would see them were about as slim as I am.  Much to my surprise and delight, I found their names on my team roster when I registered for the race.    WHAAA-WHOO!   We spent over 27 hours riding  together (in a van and on a bike) and it was just like old times.   Laurie still speaks her mind, is very perceptive to other´s needs and feelings and still has a beautiful singing voice.   Kevin is still publically quiet, privately funny, and super competent all the time.

There were 24 legs in the relay; each of us were assigned to bike three legs.   My assignments were legs #2, 10, and 18.  My first leg (#2) was 14,2  miles from Draper to Saratoga Springs which I did in 46 minutes, 45 degree (fahrenheit), and Chacos. My second leg (#10) was 19.5 miles from Salina to Richfield.   The course had a very slight incline but I also had a slightly more than slight tail wind.   I completed it in 60 minutes, 54 degree temperatures and Chacos.   

My third leg (#18) was slightly more than slightly uphill and slightly more than slightly cold.   I biked 17.3 miles from the Mount Carmel Junction into Kanab.    I did it from about 3:00 a.m. to 4:30 a.m., in 27 degree temperatures, and closed toed shoes.  I pedaled slowly up 1073 feet the first six miles and zoomed quickly down 1372 feet the next 11.   Except for my headlamp and the tail light of the man half mile ahead of me  the course was pitch black.  The term ¨no end in sight¨” gained a whole new meaning; I could not see more than 15 feet.   I knew I was going up hill both because my legs and butt were burning and because the tail light in front of me was also above me but I could not see the top and began to question whether or not I ever would.   I was thrilled, in an exhausted sort of way, when his tail light dropped out of sight, knowing that meant the summit was up there in fact, not just in theory.

Almost too soon the Salt to Saint was also a fact, a finished fact, rather than an upcoming experience.   Most of us rode the last leg (#24, 13 miles) in together and all of us crossed the finish line together,    Together is a great feeling.   Tom, Henry, Chuck and Brenda are truly great people; riding with them was a privilege.  Reconnecting with Kevin and Laurie was an unanticipated but totally appreciated blessing.   And spending time with my sister Marjorie was worth every ache, pain and deep muscle burn of that early morning, energy sapping, seemingly eternal uphill ride.   

Marjorie and the rest of the team returned to their homes in Las Vegas while I waited on a lawn outside the St. George temple grounds for Tanah to pick me up.     She unexpectedly got in an accident on the way down (...I guess almost all accidents are unexpected…) so my wait was much longer than expected.    Unashamed and exhausted, I curled up in my sleeping bag next to my parked bike, and napped.   ¨There are services for homeless people,¨ I was told.   Yep, I totally looked like a vagabond and I was totally okay with that.

My sweet daughters claimed me about 6:15 p.m. and drove me home.  And that is the end of this story.

What is next sister, my sister?

Love,
Teresa



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Starting Line, Salt to Saint 2017
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Starting line, Tour de Friends
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Sisters and friends at the start.
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Sisters and friends at the finish
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Team captain Brenda and her husband Chuck.
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Kevin is VERY competent.....
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...and very funny!
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Laurie in her glory!
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As a fabulous trip bonus, I got to spend some time with my brother-in-law Chris Hislop as well. He and three buddies also did Salt to Saint 2017.
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Chris on camera!
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Starting leg 2...
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Exchange between legs 3 and 4...
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Kevin...with a smile!
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Tour de Friends, Team #848
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Sweet sister time!
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Chuck, Brenda, Tom, Henry
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And she's off....
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On the road again.
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Finished!!
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    Author

    Teresa Hislop
    thislop@msn.com

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