America at ten miles per hour
(part 2)
To Part 1
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Trip
Itinerary
DAY 42, OTTAWA, IL.
PRESIDENTIAL
DEBATE
I biked south as far as Ottawa, Illinois to avoid
getting
close to Chicago. Near Ottawa, the Illinois State Trail can be
found.
It's a bike path along the old Michigan and
Illinois
canal. Most of the canal is not used, but the bike path
follows
its historic route for miles.
While I was riding, there was a political
debate on the
radio. A reenactment of the Lincoln/Douglas debate that debate
took
place in Ottawa back in 1858.
SOON COMING TO
BELLINGHAM ?
Convenience stores in northern Illinois put their
clerks
behind bullet proof glass. One pays for their groceries by
slipping
the money through a trough that goes under the bullet shield. In
spite of the barriers people still tried to be friendly. A friend
of mine, who owns a convenience store in Bellingham where I live,
says
bullet proof glass is a good idea for many places.
I noticed many of the doors to these bullet
proof booths
were propped open; in some cases behind high stacks of heavy pop
cases.
A lot of good that would do. Can't the robber just walk into the
booth? Things were fairly laid back during daylight, but booths
can
be shut at night.
DAY 43, JOLLIET
ILLINOIS, FIRST
IMPRESSIONS
As I passed through the edge of Jolliet, Illinois
a steady
rain fell. It didn't look like a safe
neighborhood
so I rode through quickly. Then I realized that the neighborhood
didn't look safe because most of the people were black; my own
subconscious
stereotyping. In reality, it might have been okay, but media images of
Los Angeles riots have had an effect on perceptions.
As I passed an apartment building, a man
called out saying,
"the door is open." I just kept riding and didn't look
back.
He probably was a friendly person offering shelter from the rain, but
would
you want to take that chance? Maybe.
With-in a short distance the neighborhood
appeared more
expensive. Fancier homes and joggers on the street. It
looked
safer, but again, all I was going on was first impressions. As
the
steady rain turned to a heavy down-pour, I stopped under the shelter of
a drive-in restaurant. The drive-in hadn't opened yet. Two
college
students stood under the shelter with me. It rained so hard the street
flooded in a few minutes. We watched the rain from our comfortable
perch
and talked about many things. They were thinking of moving out to
Washington State. They had the impression Washington was mostly
free
of crime and almost utopian. I mentioned that there are gangs in
Washington as well and a fairly high per capita crime rate compared to
several midwest states.
I also mentioned another form of robbery, the
high cost
of housing. They were surprised to hear that single family homes ran
around
$200,000 (1993) in the Puget Sound area. In the Midwest, homes
were
more affordable, like around $75,000 for a comparable house. They
started having 2nd thoughts about moving to the Seattle Area.
Country roads full of potholes and quiet corn
fields spanned
the short stretch between Jolliet and University Park.
DAY 44, UNIVERSITY PARK,
IL, WORLD
OF STRANGERS
When I visited a friend named Ann, in Billings
Montana,
she suggested I pay a visit to her brother Craig, in University
Park.
Craig worked as an urban planning consultant. I talked to him on
the phone before getting to the area and he said he was going to be
gone
most of the day. He was taking his son to softball practice in
Chicago's
western suburbs and would be home that evening for a visit.
Thinking I would get farther than University
Park, that
day, I didn't plan to stay.
University Park was a strange town, if one can
call it
a town. Lots of roads, going off into the weeds. There was
even a bike path, but it just went to vacant lots. I thought,
"who
ever planned this place didn't plan it very well." I kept looking
for a place to stop and eat, but there was nothing. All I saw was
big intersections with stop lights, but few buildings, just weedy
vacant
lots. Off in the distance, I saw a university campus. It
looked
like it was all under construction, all closed off behind construction
fences. Most of the people driving by me were black.
Visions
of the Los Angeles riots appeared in my mind again. Nothing bad
happened
to me. People just looked like they were commuting home from
work.
Finally I found a phone booth. It was
still fairly
early in the day, but the prospect of a guest room at Craig's place was
more enticing by now as the rain was starting again.
Since Craig was at softball practice, I
expected to leave
a message on an answering machine, but Instead, I got his wife.
He
had forgotten to tell her about me and she was afraid to invite me
over.
One never knows, there is always a chance I could have been a
criminal.
Except for her fear, she seemed friendly and
suggested
I try to find a cafe, or something, to hang out in. Craig would
get
back fairly soon and I could call back.
All I could see was vacant lots and, due to
the cloudy
day, I had lost my sense of direction. She tried to direct me to
a mall with cafes in it, but it seemed like it would be hard to
find.
I decided it would be better to go back to my original plan not to stay
in University Park. I thought, "maybe, University Park isn't that
safe if even my host's wife is afraid to have me come by." I
started
riding again.
THE ROAD
TO INDIANA
With-in minutes, I was back out in familiar
looking corn
fields headed east again.
By evening, I ask a farmer, who was walking
along the
road, how to get to Indiana from here. She said the road to
Indiana
was right around the next corner. I also ask if there was a
campground
near by. She said there was one right at the corner. Things all
fell
into place.
DIFFERENT CULTURES,
LIFESTYLES,
WE ALL TRY TO GET ALONG
At the campground, the manager was a woman with a
heavy
chinese accent. As she took my registration, she kept stopping to
yell, "QUIET!!!!" to her kid. The kid kept trying to climb
shelves
in the little camp store, a boring place for a kid to spend hours
in.
That evening, I did an exciting thing ---
laundry.
As I was waiting for my laundry, the campground manager was interested
in my trip. Everyone seems to ask how many flat tires I have
had.
When I mentioned going through Jolliet and University park she shock
her
head. With an ugly tone in her voice she said, "It's all black." "It's
all black people." Then she said, "you can leave your bike
outside
here unlocked." "Out here in country - totally safe." "We
don't
turn away black people, but when they come they only stay one
day."
"They don't like it here." "They get bored and leave." "Too
country for them."
When I looked out across the swampy lake and
dried corn
stalks I wasn't surprised if the place wasn't real popular. Then
I said, "nothing bad had happened to me anywhere on my trip."
"The
only thing that happened in Jolliet was a person calling out from an
apartment
to say that the door was open." I said, "I didn't stop, but he
could
have been a nice guy." Then she said, "he mi-e have be-a
gay."
I said, "that might not be a bad thing." Then she ask if I was
gay.
I said, "I was on the edge of the gay culture, not typically gay, if
there
is a typical for gay." When I said that, I hoped she wouldn't
throw
me out of the campground. Instead she said, "gay - that
okay."
"GOD create us all different." "We all have right to live."
"GOD create us all, gay, black, yellow, brown." "We all
different,
but try - get along."
From the campground, I tried calling Craig
again.
He was now back from the softball game and was kicking himself for not
remembering to tell his wife about me. They were both super apologetic
and hoping we could still find a way to get together. We agreed
to
meet for breakfast the next morning. He would drive out to the
campground
and take me out to a nice cafe.
DAY 45, PLANNING
BREAKFAST
Next morning we had, what some call, a "power
breakfast."
Craig showed up with his briefcases full of planning documents.
He
worked as an urban planner and knew I had a big interest there.
We discussed bike paths, urban sprawl and his
attempts
to preserve the community focus in the towns of his planning area.
While we were on the subject, I ask why
University Park
seemed to have no downtown or focal point. It just looked like a
scramble of roads and empty lots. He said, "the town was supposed
to be a model city; an experiment in urban design, but funding
was
cut before it had a chance to get off the ground." "It was a town
that didn't happen."
This was all, of course, long before he got on
the scene.
"The university is doing well, but few people live near it." "It
has become a commuter campus." I said, "all I could see of the
campus
was construction fences, but I guessed some of it was already
built."
He said, "there was a great sculpture near campus that I didn't
get
a chance to see." "It's a pile of cars with offices and living
quarters
in them." "The sculpture is about the time Americans spend in
cars."
"Americans are living in their cars."
I wondered if University Park was a high crime
area. He
shrugged and said, "not really." "It isn't particularly
dangerous,
but some people start worrying as soon as they see black faces."
"A stereotype image can skew people's thinking." I said, "being
able
to meet and actually get to know people makes a big difference in
getting
past the stereotypes." "Fear of crime can make us all
strangers."
I remembered how his wife had been worried
about me.
We all must be victims of reading the newspaper.
GOING ON EAST
As I got well east of Chicago's metropolitan
area, people
seemed real friendly. At just about every cafe, campground, post
office and store, people came out of the woodwork to ask me how many
tires
I had gone through.
There were many stories from people's
lives. They
would often start with the preface, "back when I was a kid and we had
the
big balloon tires." Another common start was, "I remember
Washington
State." "It was Bremerton Navel Ship Yard during the war."
DAY 46, BIKE SHOP TEAPOT
The owner of the bike shop in Warsaw, Indiana
kept pouring
me more cups of tea and giving suggestions about good ways to avoid the
ugly sprawl around Fort Waighn, Indiana. He kept saying, "you
don't
have to go quite yet, have a seat." As he replaced my back tire,
a kid in the shop ask if I had met President Clinton yet. I
explained
that very few people get a chance to meet the president.
The thought of visiting former vice president
Dan Quayle's
boyhood home came up. We both decided it wouldn't be worth the
side
trip.
I ask if Warsaw had much of a counter culture.
He said,
"not really." "Around here it's pretty much just production
agriculture."
"Pump the ground full of chemicals and get as much money as you can
get."
"there is some counterculture in places like Lafyette; around Purdue
University."
He went on to say, "even with out much counter culture, Indiana people
are basically good people, friendly people."
When I ask how much I owed him for replacing
the tire,
he said, "$20 is fine." I said, "really" since I knew the cost of
the tire, alone, was more than that. I ask, "are you sure you
don't
want to charge for labor?" He said, "it is fine." "You are
fun to visit with." "We are glad to meet you." "Not
everyone
rides a bicycle across America." "Welcome to Warsaw,
Indiana."
DAY 48, NAPOLEON, OHIO,
SCARIEST
PART OF THE TRIP
I crouched near a barn as a big thunderstorm
hit.
Soon I realized I was crouching beside the ground wire for the
lightning
rod; not a good place to be so I dashed around into the other
side
of the barn. Thunderstorms are normally fun to watch, but from a
safe vantage point.
DAY 49, BELLVUE, OHIO,
BIKE SHOP?
With a broken spoke, my wheel was going out of
true.
The phone book pointed to a bike shop in Bellvue, Ohio. As I rode
up to the shop, it looked like a farm house. An old woman greeted
me at the door. She said, "you need repairs?" "He was going
to come by today, but I don't know where he is at." Then she
said,
"I hate to call him, we just start fighting." When I thought I
should
go on to another town, she launched into a long story about her son and
his dad. They had a bike shop for many years. Then tragedy
hit. The father died from a heart attack and the son found his body in
the shop. She said, "sometimes my son still tinkers around out
there,
but most of the time he's too depressed."
"I keep telling him the sign is still up and
there is
an ad in the yellow pages." "Maybe he should take down the sign
and
cancel the ad, since people keep coming by looking for the shop."
You know how it is, we just keep arguing." "He doesn't know what
he wants."
Then she said, "maybe I should call since he
did say he
was coming by, taking me grocery shopping." "No I had better
not."
"It's hard to know what to do." She mentioned that he sometimes
disappears
for days, but she still had a few groceries in the house to last a
while.
I felt that my wheel problem was trivial by
comparison.
She hoped I could make it to the next town. My wheel was still
ride
able so I headed off. As I rode off she wished me good luck.
DAY 50, THIS MIGHT BE
FAR ENOUGH?
Band music from a college football team played
out from
the radio as I entered a bike shop in Norwalk, Ohio. A confidant
man said he could fix the spoke. As the music played, he put my
bike
up on the stand.
Then he discovered something I hadn't
known. The
axle was broken. The wheel was riding on my quick release
pins.
I didn't know how far it had gone that way, but it would soon be
unusable.
He looked around the shop, but couldn't find a
replacement
axle the right size. I said, "maybe I should just give up the
trip
here and find a train back." "I thought about all the rainstorms,
I had ridden through, bumpy ground I had slept on and tomato --- I mean
tornado warnings. My bed at home seemed inviting.
He said, "if I wanted to continue the trip we
could find
a way." He looked around the shop and found an axle that he could
fit to the right size. The price was very reasonable. He
gave
me his address and said, 'be sure and write." "Let me know how the rest
of your trip turned out." I was back on the road again.
* A year after that trip, someone I knew
from Bellingham,
stopped in that same bike shop. When these people said they were
from Washington State, the owner showed them the trip booklet I mailed
out. It's a small world.
DAY 51, CLEVELAND
I never saw a city when I rode around Cleveland,
Ohio.
It was something called "THE METRO PARKS BYPASS;" a system of parks
that
form a green necklace around the city.
Metro Parks is full of bike paths and picnic
tables.
I kept meeting friendly cyclists on these paths. One couple, who
were out for the day, rode with me most of the way. At the end
they
invited me to their home east of Cleveland that night.
Part of Metro Parks is along the Cauyhoga
River.
That river has been cleaned up. I remember a time in the 1960s
when
it was so polluted it caught on fire.
DAY 52, PENNSYLVANIA
Clerks at the campground office near Meadville,
Pennsylvania
marveled at how far I had traveled. They were also impressed that
nothing bad had happened to me. No crime, mugging or anything.
When
I mentioned how nice people had been along the way the clerks kept
saying,
"that's reassuring to hear --- that's reassuring to hear."
Then they said, "we watch TV and see all the
crap." "Shootings,
robbing and corruption." "Bad things make news, but if you really
get out and see it, especially at the slower pace of a bicycle, really
get out and meet everyday people, you get a better picture." I
said,
"I made a point of staying out of people's way and I didn't look like I
had much money." "No one bothered me."
My sister says I keep out of trouble by
hanging dirty
socks off the back rack of my bike. No one wants it when it looks
that way.
DAY 53, CORRY, PA. I
START PLANNING
THE TRIP HOME
By the time I got to Corry, Pennsylvania, I was
getting
a clearer idea of where the trip would end. Now it was possible
to
make train reservations for home.
It helps to know when, and where, one plans to
board the
train when making reservations.
I visited a travel agency to make
reservations.
It looked like I would get as far as the Hudson River, in eastern New
York
State. The best train connection home would take me through New
York
City. I had never been to New York City. The prospect of
being
there was both scary and exciting. The travel agent showed me
many
options and said she could book a full day in the city with hotel
reservations.
On the other hand, I could just go through on the train and not see
anything.
The train goes through most of the city in a tunnel so one can't see
anything
unless one spends some time walking.
At first I didn't arrange to stay in New York
because
I thought, "a trip to the city would be a full trip in itself." I
said, "piling that experience on the top of my bike trip across America
might be too much, like a giant topple tower." As I said that,
the
travel agent started laughing. She laughed so hard that she could
barely
write up the ticket.
DAY 56, ITHACA, NEW
YORK, A FRIENDLY
PROGRESSIVE TOWN
An attractive man got out of a car and signaled
me to
the side of the road. He said he had seen my waste paper basket
panniers
and wanted to learn more about them. We talked for quite a
while.
Soon his wife came out and joined us.
They were
both avid cyclists that lived near Ithaca, New York. I was
invited to camp in their yard when I made it to Ithaca.
Ithaca was one of the better towns I
visited. Small
enough to be friendly, but, unlike many small towns, it was hardly
boring.
How could it be boring with Cornell University right there? Both
Cornell
and Ithaca colleges give the town a cosmopolitan feel.
Cornell was the home of the famous astronomer,
Carl Sagan.
I kept asking people how to get to the astronomy building on
campus.
No one knew, but several people knew where Carl Sagan's home was.
I kept saying, "I don't want to disturb him at home, but was wondered
about
an astronomy museum or something." I
never
found one.
As I was walking my bike on campus, I heard a
woman call
my name. "Who would know me at Cornell?" It was the wife of
the person I met from the day before on the road. I was thinking
of calling anyway, to take them up on their offer of over night yard
space.
Running into her was perfect timing to make the arrangement.
It was dark by the time I got to their
house. I
set up my tent. They had a little "A" frame cabin. They invited
me
to a party of Cornell graduate students that was at a house down the
road.
A pizza had been ordered. Lots of interesting people were
there.
It felt like being part of the "Cornell scene;" at least for a
day.
Deep gorges with
shear rock
walls wind their way through New York's Finger Lakes region.
Several
impressive ones cut right through the campus of Cornell
University.
DAY 58, GREENE, NY
Countryside in upstate New York is
beautiful. Rolling
mountains and good highway shoulders make it a cyclist's paradise, at
least
in the summer. After a Chinese dinner in Greene, NY, I headed up
the hill toward a campground. Before I could get very far a
farmer
got out of his truck and insisted I stop. He said, "don't go to
the
campground." "They charge a lot and you have to be a member
anyway."
"Come stay with me, I could use the company."
He led the way in his old truck. We went
up some
windy roads. I hoped I wasn't being kidnapped. When I got
to
the farm it looked fine. It wasn't some place with guns.
The farmer was in his mid 70s who's house was
built around
the time of the Jefferson presidency. I set up my tent by the
barn
as he fixed a meal.
He came out and said, "you come on in the
house." "Come
on." Stories about the other cyclists he had invited over filled
the conversation. There were several from Boston and some from
Europe.
A football game continued on TV. As he
changed the
channel he exclaimed, "I wish they would get rid of the damn ball game
and put on the news." The other channel was a ball game
also.
As he turned the channel again he stopped briefly at a public TV
channel.
It looked like they had some PBS documentary on. I said, "maybe
we
could watch that." "It sort of looks like news." He just
tuned
past and said, "Huh" like he was hard of hearing. Back to the
ball
game he went, grumbling that it wasn't the news. Soon we heard
this
rush of steam from the kitchen. He ran in there to find that the
safety valve had blown off the pressure cooker. He put it back on
exclaiming, "son of a gun." "That has never happened before."
"Son
of a gun."
We talked about how he almost rode his horses
across the
U.S. several years back. Newspaper articles from his journey were
hanging from the wall. He said he had to give up the trip when he
got to Washington State. I wondered what happened. "Nothing
for the horses to eat." "Your state is barren." I figured
he
must have gotten stuck in dry lava fields near the Columbia
River.
He said, "Columbia River Valley is not a valley." "It's more like
a gorge." "Nothing to eat along the way, no right of way."
"It's either barren or it's all built up." "It's covered
over."
Then he pointed to the area around his house and said, "now that's a
valley."
"A real valley that is lush and green."
The CBS TV documentary, called 60 MINUTES,
came on.
It had its usual reporting on high scandals. There was a report about
an
art professor who turned out to be an art thief. Commenting on
all
the bad news, my farmer host said, "that's why I am glad I am here on
the
farm." "Always lived honest." "Fair and square." "You
treat me fair, I treat you fair." "It's a fair deal out here."
DAY 60, HUDSON, NY, END
OF THE BIKE
TRIP,
START OF THE TRAIN RIDE
HOME
I got to Hudson, New York with two days to
spare before
the train, I had reservations on, left. It is good to have plenty
of time for catching a train so one can dismantle the bike and take
care
of last minute things such as laundry.
Everything went well so it looked like I would
have an
extra day. The prospect of spending that day in New York City was
tempting.
The Amtrak agent, at Hudson, made visiting the
city sound
feasible. He said it would be easy to find hotels, (expensive but
do-able.) I could take the train down to the city a day early so
I could have a day there before my train headed west. Amtrak sold
me a big box for shipping my bike back to the west coast. It only cost
$5 extra. I had my ticket ready. I also needed another box
for supplies. I thought I could buy a second bike box and cut it
to size. The agent said, "you don't want to pay for another
box."
"I'll see if I can find a smaller one for you." He went across
the
street to a paint store to see if they had any boxes. Normally
one
is on one's own finding a smaller box, but this agent was extra
helpful.
We finally found one in a storage area at the station. It was
just
the right size.
As I was boxing my bike, another person
stopped to ask
about my trip. After visiting for a while, he said, "I don't know
you, but I trust bicyclists." "You can stay in my Manhattan
apartment
for free." He lived in Hudson, but used a Manhattan Apartment for
office space. We arranged it with the building doorman. I
had
a free space for that night.
With my bike and supplies headed west, I was
able to board
next morning's train to New York City. My bike box would rejoin
me
when I got back home.
DAY 61, NEW YORK CITY
Landing in New York City,
my
clothing was almost worn out from biking 4,000 miles. A slightly
tattered garbage bag held my camera and carry-on items. People
must
have thought I was just another homeless person. It felt fairly
safe
from crime, sort of like walking in downtown Seattle. Folks were
scared of me from my tattered coat.
The hardest thing about life in New York City
was finding
a place to go to the bathroom. There were no public bathrooms and
small restaurant owners seem suspicious of anyone who walks through the
door, even when one buys a meal. I stopped in a lot of McDonnelds
just to order and drink for an excuse to use the bathroom. Then
the
drink would make me need to find another bathroom.
WHAT FEAR CAN DO
One store, I went to, gave me a New York City
welcome.
The clerk just froze up and kept saying, "no no no no no" as I kept
pointing
to the film I needed from behind the counter. She must have
thought
I was trying to rob her. Finally the manager came over and
explained
to the clerk that I had money to buy the film. No one could speak
English
very clearly. After all that, she rang up the film and wished me a nice
day.
A POLICE STATE ? NOT THE
FAULT OF
THE POLICE.
I got a big smile and friendly wave from many
police
officers on my trip. Even in New York City, two police officers,
on horseback, smiled and greeted people. Of course I wasn't ever
a threat to them. On a bicycle, one can hardly violate the speed
limit.
As I try to tread lightly on this world, I usually get good vibes in
return.
I sort of have a soft spot in my heart for police officers who face a
difficult
job. If we are becoming a police state, it is not the police that
are bringing us there. It is the ordinary citizens, of this
country,
that will make it into a police state. Citizens who fear
strangers
and lock their doors. It is also the virtual army of private
security
guards, in the buildings of major cities, that could make us into a
police
state.
I can't blame people for being scared, but it
is, to a
large part, the people who determine the mood of the country.
I WAS THERE FOR
BUILDINGS INSTEAD
OF THE PEOPLE
One can sure see the influence of crime on a
city. It
can make society into a prison colony. Every large building had
its
own force of security guards. Quite a contrast to the farm towns,
I bicycled through, where doors were often left unlocked and people
invited
you in.
In New York City, I did what others do;
avoided people.
My energy went to looking at buildings. I had a long "check list"
of buildings to be seen from the curb side. It was sort of like
this
--- "there's the UN Building, check --- there's the Chrysler Building,
check --- there's the Flat Iron Building, check --- there's Rockefeller
Center, check, and so on."
NOT AS BAD AS YOU MIGHT
THINK
The door guard at the apartment building, I
stayed at,
was fairly nice, but, as to be expected, there was a small snag.
The regular doorman, was on coffee break. This person didn't know
who I was, but he invited me in anyway. He let me wait in the
foyer
until the regular guard got back. That was friendly compared to a
lot of places in the city where the guard will just lock a door in your
face and try talking to you through 1/4th inch glass.
When the regular guy came back, he said, "oh
my bicycling
friend" and greeted me warmly. Then he said, "welcome to New York
City." "It's not as bad as you might think."
A high point of the trip was walking across
the Brooklyn
Bridge while looking back on Manhattan.
DOWN IN THE FINANCIAL
DISTRICT
The tattered sack with my things was getting
dirtier
as I got to Wall Street, but I was still taking pictures, left and
right.
At one point, I over heard some men in business suites saying, "ah the
boy is taking pictures, how nice, how nice."
At the World Trade Towers Plaza I felt small
town friendliness
for a brief moment. The 1993 truck bombing at World Trade Center
parking garage was still fresh in people's minds having happened a few
months past. Someone still noticed my camera and started visiting
with me about where the best pictures can be taken. I didn't make
it to the top of any sky scrapers as their tops were in thick cloud
cover.
DAY 62-65 THE TRAIN RIDE
BACK
Riding the train back home, across the country,
was like
going on a bunch of blind dates. When you sit in the dining car,
the train staff randomly seat other passengers at the table with
you.
The passengers could be from another race, another part of this country
or another country. Each time I sat down to a meal, the
passengers,
across the table, would introduce themselves. Eventually, I would
be telling them about my trip. There was a lot of good meal time
discussions. The opportunity to actually get to know people makes
a big difference.
Cookie plates (like at Bike Centennial), hot
tubs, sitting
across from what was formerly strangers at a dining table can make a
big
difference.
By the end of the three day ride, I had made
many friends
--- possibly too many. As I was talking and saying good-by, I
missed
my stop in Everett. I had to get off in Edmonds and take city
busses
back to Everett to pick up my bike. After that small snag, I
reassembled
my bike and rode back home to Bellingham.
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