From Veeduber@aol.com  Wed Aug 30 01:17:16 1995
msgnum: msg14724
Date: Wed, 30 Aug 1995 02:13:14 -0400
From: Veeduber_at_aol_dot_com
Subject: Bob's Ride



To All,

Please accept my heartfelt thanks for the many ingenious
suggestions for getting home from Seattle.  For such a diverse
group your kindness was remarkable in its consistency.  And a
little fey.  I enjoyed the fun you had with 'Bob, Professional
House Guest,' wandering the country like Charlie on the MTA, but it
convinced me some of you were crazier than hoot owls in heat.

Your efforts on my behalf have been successful in finding me a few
flowers in Washington.  These particular flowers happen to be on a
bus whose colors are described as 'mostly blue, white and rust.' 
The price is within my budget and the work is within my means. 
Providing an engine and installing it will be my part of the chore. 
And while I could not have found the bus without your help, I owe
a special thanks to Mr. Eric Oster of Kent, Washington, and his
understanding wife.

Eric was Our Man in Havana.  Where others saw a hippie bus
moldering in a field, Eric saw a possible solution to my dilemma
and checked it out by performed a Laying-on of Hands with tools in
them, after which he sent me a cautious message, to which I replied "Yeah! Go
for it!" knowing the real chore would be to get the thing out of
the field.  With the help of his brother Earl, the bus -- a 1967
walk-thru Kinda-kamper (bed but unpopable top; no shower or
satellite dish) -- was coaxed fifteen miles from the field, where
its shade had produced a luxuriant crop of toadstools, to a
parking spot near Earl's house.  

Eric called tonight with a laconic, "Well, you got a bus... if you
want it."  I want it. The plan is to stop at Eric's to drop off my
duffle, tools and a spare engine then to deliver the car I've
contracted to drive to Seattle and collect my pay.  I've some
personal business in Seattle but I expect it will take only a day
or two.  When not seeing the sights, I'll plug in the engine and be
ready to roll as soon as I get a good tail-wind.  I can tinker my
way south, sleeping in the bus on the way home.  Once home, I
should be able to sell the bus, making the dollar-cost of the trip
virtually nil.

All thanks to Eric Oster, his patient wife and loyal brother, and
to an electronic community which despite our lack of proximity has
not forgotten the meaning of the open hand.

-Bob