October 10

Woke last night at 11:30, needing to pee, and opened the tent to a mystical moonlit scene. Moonlight on maple leaves. Cool as it was I stood in my shorts and looked long at all of it.

I got up at 7:00. The tent was dry, and I was riding at 8:10. Got to the outskirts of Richmond at noon. Saw a clinic and decided to have the sore on my lip looked at: it still hasn't healed up. The receptionist at the clinic said it would be a forty-five minute wait. I saw a doctor at 3:15, who looked at the lip and wanted to refer me to a dermatologist. I gave her an argument, suggesting it could be a cold sore that got infected. She got another doctor, who said that cold sores don't last that long, and neither does anything else. He was thinking squamous cell cancer, as was the first doctor, and hence the dermatologist. By this time everybody working in the place had asked me if that was my bike outside and was I really riding from Canada to Mexico. The second doctor decided that the best thing would be to get an oral surgeon to do a biopsy of the sore. His secretary phoned six before she found one who would see me that afternoon. They called a cab for me, because the surgeon's office was six mile away. It took until 3:50 to find a cab company that would take a traveler's cheque, Cab got there at 4:30. Metro Taxi, driven by one Cynthia, a lady in a gold lame blouse and black slacks, who had inch-long bright red fingernails and wore mucho junk jewelry. She drove like I did when I was a teenager and got me to the oral surgeon's at 4:45. She didn't have change for $100. She took the traveler's cheque and drove away, to get change, and told me to call when I got out of the office, she'd pick me up.

In the oral surgeon's office everybody wants to know about the bike trip, and especially to doctor himself, who is training for a triathalon. Dr. Adams, a real nice guy. He looked at the sore and said yes, it could be squamous, and if it were anybody else he'd remove it at once. But because it started when I was riding, and because I’m still riding and not treating it and licking my lips, it could also be a cut that won't heal. He told me to treat it with Bacitracin and if it's still there in two weeks see an oral surgeon. He said there was no cause for alarm, that squamous cancers are serious but don't need urgent attention. The receptionist called Cynthia's cell, and Cynthia said she was 15 min away. 25 minutes later I was waiting on the street when the office closed and the receptionist came out. "Still here?" she asked.

"I think I've been ripped off," I said.

"Oh, no," she said, "I don't think so. Want me to go fish her number out of the trash?"

"That would be great."

She went back into the office and came out in a minute. She had called Cynthia again: 3 blocks away she said. The receptionist waited with me, and, lo, Cynthia drove up.
Cynthia is one fine lady. I had told her that I had made a reservation at the Radisson, downtown. "You got to go all the way back to Patient First and then ride your bike all the way back here? How much they charge you?"

"Hundred and nine dollars."

"You can get a room for $45."

"Yeah I got a room for $45 the other night and I still have the smell on my clothes."

"No, you can get a good room for a lot less than that." Still driving like A. J. Foyt she gets on her cell and calls motels. Comes up with the Travel Lodge, $56, and drives a little out of her way to show it to me. She doesn't have the meter on because she's going to charge me the same as the first trip. She told me about all the restaurants in the area, and offered to load the bike and trailer into the cab (they couldn't have fit). God, she's a good woman.