One frosty beer sent from heaven

People are great! People do not suck! The people we meet on this trip never cease to amaze me. Their generosity, their encouragement, the stories they tell of their own lives, how they genuinely express their well wishes to us on their trip . . . and I could keep going. I have never connected to complete and total strangers in this way before, so forgive me for my sentimental mushiness. Also, I’m exhausted, which tends to make me weepy.

Today we started off just fine. We’re getting good at this, finally. Ok, “good” is too strong of a word, but we both see a glimmer of hope that we can and will do this, and that is a great feeling!We woke up early and did the usual; tent breakdown, stuff away our sleeping bags, fire up the camp stove to make coffee and oatmeal, and then hit the road.

Don’t get me wrong, we are still dealing with the chronic miseries that are the Kentucky hills. These are hills of an alternate universe. I’m not exaggerating, they are tough like they have a secret form of gravity unknown to the rest of the entire planet. But, the good news is that it is getting easier simply because I’ve gotten used to the fact that I’m going to go 4.5 miles per hour up these hills, and that the way it is. I’ve gotten out of road bike racer mentality, and evolved into bike tourist mentality.

On the Terrifying Dog Chase front-the dogs have gotten smaller, cuter, and lazier. Fortunately, it is becoming less and less of an issue, as we make our way west.

And, on the the highlights of the day! First one on my list is my free beer! We pulled into this little country general store about two miles out from where we thought we might camp for the night. We ordered a grilled cheese sandwich, and then I promptly blurted out, “is there anywhere I can buy beer around here?” to which I received a deadpan look, and the woman sadly said, “honey, your in a dry county.” Bummer, I thought.

But, like an angel from heaven, when she brought out our sandwich, she also brought two frosty cold mugs of perfect delicious beer. It brought tears to my eyes. Greedily, I thought, Brooke has never drank a beer in her life, so more for me! Not so. Brooke actually chugged that beer, and loved it. Now, that is a transformation if there ever was one.

The lady also asked us if we’ve ever had fried green tomatoes. We hadn’t. She fried us up some, and they were amazing. Semi beer buzzed, and full of greasy food, we took off for our campground.In typical Melissa and Brooke fashion, we felt lost and decided to pull in to a little corner store and ask for directions. The man we asked, (Dave) actually invited us back to his place to stay. He said he was also hosting seven young guys from Eastern Kentucky University who were cycling West to East. We declined at first, but luckily he passed us on the road again, and practically insisted we come to his place. So, we did.

Dave hooked us up. First, he has a beautiful summer home on a lake. We immediately changed into our bathing suits and dove in to the water. When we got out, we were offered showers, which as a self contained bike tourists, a warm shower is something you never decline. I’m guessing we were offered the shower for Dave and his wife, Sherry’s, comfort just as much as our own. We weren’t smelling too great at that point.

When the other cyclist arrived, they told us all about their trip, and what parts were hardest for them. These guys are doing their bike tour to raise money for Alzheimer's disease, and they were pretty amazing. They have a SAG wagon, which makes doing this trip much easier. They are cruising along at 80-miles a day. And, as if all of this wasn’t perfect enough, his wife offered to let us do our laundry. Dave cooked dinner, we ate tons, and we slept in his living room.

Melissa

43 miles to Hodgenville, KY

Racing the rain to Bardstown, KY

Last night I woke up to the sound of Melissa’s frustrated and whimpering sounds. She was half way out the tent and half asleep, trying in vein to zip the fly closed. It was storming. Bad. The wind was ripping through the shelter we had pitched our tent in. Ripping though so much so, that the sides of the tent were lifting off the ground.

“The tent’s going to blow away,” she cried when I asked her what she was doing.

I told her that I highly doubted the wind could lift the tent, with a 150-pound woman inside, off the ground and down the road. I finally got her back in the tent. But I kept waking up. Because, it was a really bad storm. I was scared. I think we were both scared that a tornado was on the way.

We had checked the weather the day before, and saw that it was supposed to rain all day. When we woke up, the sky was fairly clear. We packed up the tent as quickly as possible and hit the road.

We didn’t want to get stuck in Springfield another day. We had been advised and told by too many people in that small town that, ‘we’d better be packing’. And, on top of that, whenever we asked a local if there was anything in the town to do, they would all reply, “uhhhh, there’s fast food . . . .”

So we raced the rain to Bardstown, about 24 miles away. Thankfully we beat it by about two hours.

Brooke

Riding out the storm in Springfield, KY

Happy Anniversary

I met Melissa at Roll:, a bike shop in Columbus, Ohio. I was an employee; she had stopped in on a chilly fall morning to buy leg warmers before a long bike ride.

I was smitten. I remember everything about the interaction -- her voice, her hair, her stance, the way she contemplated which brand of leg warmer to buy, her arms moving like a scale. I sold them to her and I watched her drive away.

Months later, by chance, she started working at Roll:, too. We worked together on Saturdays. Saturdays quickly became my favorite day of the week. I completely fell for her during a bike ride, our first ever bike ride together.

Yesterday, while pushing our bikes up a hill, somewhere between Kirksville and Bryantsville, Kentucky, we realized that today was our two-year anniversary. So we are spending the day not sweating, not getting chased by dogs, not cursing endless uphills.

We’re taking it easy at The Harrodsburg Festival of Books & Arts, listening to book readings and acoustic guitar playing. We’ve stored our bags at a hotel and we’re acting like civilized human beings, without bike shorts or bike cleats. We’ve spent most of the day chatting to local authors and eating ice cream at an old drugstore turned fudge shoppe.

Or relationship began on a bike ride and is still going strong as we pedal our way across the country. So, here’s to Melissa, the most wonderful person I have ever met. The girl who I once sold leg warmers to, without ever knowing her name. And I’m sure those leg warmers are packed very nicely somewhere in those panniers.

Brooke

An awesome little girl let us crash her private pool party. The perfect end to the perfect day.

Kentucky rotts know how to eat

Rottweilers in Kentucky eat well. These random dog chases have me on high alert and the hills are bringing me to my knees. In terms of my list of worries, the skirmishes with the dogs are the at the top, the hills are a distant second.

I knew it would be like this in Kentucky, and at the start of the trip I ridiculously hoped that after the first few dog encounters maybe I’d relax a little about it. That’s not what happened, instead i’m constantly revved up waiting for an attack. And you never know when it is going to happen. So, in the absence of a crystal ball, I’m forever listening for the slight jingle their collars make when they lift their ears at the sound of us coming.

From the moment I hear the jingle of the collar, the scene escalates into rapid fire round of ferocious barks and then it’s all a blur. Usually, Brooke is ahead of me. She’s tipped them off, but it’s me they see as the sitting duck. I pedal, my heart explodes, I scream at them. Someone recommended yelling, “get off the couch” at them, like that would throw them into a tailspin and they would slink away. These dogs probably growl their owners off the couch.

These dogs do whatever they want to. In my absolute panic, I haven’t been able to get that particular command out, I just scream “No”, and I curse and I plead “don’t make me mace you.” They come at you full throttle, and they are big. I view them as fast linebackers that could knock you and your bike over in one tackle, and then tear your leg off. I just brace myself and accept the inevitable. Thankfully, they do loose steam. They peter out, after about 200 feet. So far, we’ve outrun them.

On another note, the road we were riding crumbled a few days ago, and a colossal chunk of it fell off down the side of a cliff. Jagged parts of the double yellow line were suspended above the other half of the road lying twenty feet below. We pedaled up to the washout, and pushed our bikes carefully between the edge of the cliff and the various backhoes.

This road was on a enormous hill, so once we got off the bikes, we couldn’t really get the momentum to get back on, so we pushed up the rest of the way, which likely took 15 minutes. After a bike push up a hill that steep, your thirst is unquenchable. Thank god for camelbaks and electrolyte pills!

Melissa

Vacation Bible School in Kirksville

Headline: We made it out of Berea!

Twelve miles out of Berea (with no turning back), we saw a water tower in the distance. Another town! That does not go by the name of Berea!

We pedaled straight into Kirksville, KY, a small town that was nearly devastated by a tornado last year, and stopped at the Baptist church to fill up on water.

Feeling good about ourselves and our supreme map reading ability and good-fortune to be out of Berea, we continued on. Around curves, up and down hills, following the highway as it turned into a narrow country blacktop, all while maintaining a pace of about 14 miles-per-hour.

I was in the lead, Melissa behind, passing a house where I could hear dogs barking -- which wasn’t unusual, almost every home that we pass has a barking dog. Then I hear Melissa shouting, “Pedal! Pedal!” and I see her fly past in a blaze of light. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the largest german shepherd I have ever seen chasing after her, with FOUR other german shepards in tow.

Breathless and terrified, we stopped at the next house. There we consulted the maps trying to figure out how much longer we would be on this road.

Ummm . . . . maybe we should have been concerned when the highway turned into a blacktop. Maybe we should have glanced at the map when we saw no other people, biking or driving. Realizing we were possibly completely lost, with the GPS not working, we finally saw a passing car.

When we asked were County Road 1295 was, the road that we have been looking for, the road that we needed to turn right on, the woman driving gave us one of those I-hate-to-break-it-to-you looks and the child, yes, CHILD, in the passenger seat laughed.

“Oh, honey, you're far away from that. You’ll be gettin’ your exercise in today, that’s for sure.”

Yep, County Road 1295 was BEFORE Kirksville. We weren't even supposed to enter Kirksville. We were just so stupidly excited to reach another town that we didn’t think.

So, back to Kirksville we went. In silence. Feeling a little less then chipper. Walking as quietly as possible pass the german shepherds. We stopped at the same church to use the same water fountain. The secretary working at the church actually invited us to stay for the night so that we could attend there Vacation Bible School. But we needed to get moving. We’d lost 20 miles getting lost and we had 34 miles to cover before our next stop.

As we got ready to leave the church, we heard grumbling. In the distance the sky was dark. It hadn‘t rained on us two nights before even though the sky looked the same, so we hit the road. Anyway, the clouds seemed to be moving fast in the opposite direction.

Not five miles later, the sky opened up. It poured. We were drenched within seconds. It was only 2 p.m. but it seemed as though it was 9 p.m. And the worst part? We were on a curvy road with no shoulder. Every time I heard a car coming in the distance, my whole body tightened. I was really afraid that no one would be able to see us or even stop if they could see us.

Melissa made the executive decision to turn back. Back to Kirksville . . . again.

So we’re spending the night at the Kirksville Baptist Church. It’s amazing. Hot shower, laundry, full kitchen, air conditioning. And Bible School starts at 6 p.m. The people attending the Bible School were beyond kind to us tonight. It was such an interesting night, and we met a little boy named Aaron, who lifted our spirits because he was hilarious and as he says "I ain't been scared since I was one year old".

Brooke

Berea . . . still.

Today we rode . . . 4.27 miles! Yes, 4.27. I didn’t misplace the decimal point.

Why’d we stay in Berea another night? Because we had a really nice, donated hotel waiting for us (Comfort Inn & Suites) and we couldn’t bear the thought of giving it up. So we took today, our THIRD day, as a rest day.

We woke up to a blazing hot tent and sat in the blazing hot sun and made breakfast. After sweating gallons, we spotted the campground shelter and proceeded to move everything there. We did yoga, repacked our bags, and hit the road.

First stop, Walmart. Second stop, Berea College. We sat under a tree and read. And that’s it. Then we got on our bikes and biked 2.13 miles back to the hotel. And that’s really it.

So, tomorrow! Tomorrow, perhaps we will leave Berea!

Brooke

Sufferfest Berea

On our first day, we hilariously ended up right back where we started. Literally, you can see the glowing sign of the hotel we stayed in last night from the picnic table on which I type. It’s glow will probably keep me awake tonight while I lay in my tent, but hell this is an adventure!

We didn’t make it to Natural Bridge State Park, which is fine. We got a little turned around. Truthfully-we were crazy for thinking that we should go ahead and deviate off our trusty, easy to understand, and made especially for bicycling maps from Adventure Cycling.

But, here’s the story. Riding from the hotel, was more like plunging head on onto something like the indie 500 race track. Picture the Atari game Frogger, then substitute two bikers crossing with their loaded touring bikes. That’s what we looked like, as we walked our bikes, then paused in a clear lane, took a few more precarious steps into the turning lane, and finally got across this 4 lane highway.

The bikes were loaded down and predictably hard to control. We headed off, and rode for about an hour when I finally snapped out of denial, and acknowledged that my front derailleur was not shifting at all. I was stuck in the big ring! On hills! With 500 pounds of gear weighing me down like an anchor. So, after pulling over, sweating a lot, and staring at the unmovable derailleur, we decided to head back to Berea.

Fifteen dollars later, and we were back in business but it was getting late. Thanks to the Appalachia bike store and the two very bearded young guys who pointed out that I was carrying too much stuff while they fixed my bike. I could have done without the commentary at that point, but the bike shifted great on the way out of Berea, AGAIN!

We were determined to try to get to The Natural Bridge. Natural Bridge Ahoy! And so, to that end, we pedaled out to the middle of nowhere Kentucky.

The hills were unridable and pitiless, so we pushed and pushed the bikes while walking beside them, sweat dripping off my elbows and running into my eyes. It was more of a bike push than a bike ride kind of day. There was nobody around, except cows and flies. However, we continued on, mostly because nobody wanted to be the one to call it quits. Brooke was using her most optimistic voice, meanwhile her face read “Oh F*C&&$^%!. We pedaled on.

Finally, off in the distance I spotted someone who appeared to be checking a mailbox. I pedaled like a mad woman hoping I could reach him before he disappeared into the sanity and comfort of his air conditioned home. Thankfully, he was about 95-years-old, and he was moving slow. So, I asked for some directions.

“Where Y’all headin,” he asked. To which I replied, “Natural Bridge Park” as casually as if I’d been asking for directions to the local library. His eyes smiled at me, but immediately they were overcome with fear and concern for my life. Once he knew I was serious, he laughed, and then said, “Ya’lls three counties away...” So, back to Berea again! I have to say, after all of that, I am impressed with my patience. I’m not known for my cool, calm and collected personality, so this was a good test! It eventually became funny, and we laughed and pedaled, passing the same goofy mailboxes, and the now familiar junk along the road.

We arrived at a campground, and miraculously we found it without having any problems at all. Just as we pulled up, relieved (not at all smug or cocky) that we did something right for once, I noticed the sky looking gloomy and dark. Great! So, we hiked off to the campsite in a huff trying to beat out the impending storm. “Hiked” is too strong a word, since hiking is something you generally do in the woods. We walked, and pushed our respective balls and chains.

Our “site” was astonishingly located up a big hill covered in dead brown grass beneath three crosses! I was feeling so sorry for myself because of Sufferfest Berea I thought I might as well just hop right on up there, and Brooke could use the tent stakes as nails!

Thunder was going off in the distance, and the scary clouds accompanying the thunder were rolling in! We whipped out the tent, and it’s various foreign parts and dohickies. We’d set it up that one time in our bedroom, and that went well, so we didn’t practice setting it up Ever Again. Not too smart. But, now, it was showtime and I was trying so hard to be positive! I was thinking, “forget about the past and what you should have done to make your present more bearable, live in the now!” “be present, even though it’s miserable and kind of scary!” Brooke says I was crying, I don’t think I was, but okay.

I was flinging tent stakes, and pounding them in the hard dead grass with my bike shoe, while Brooke was trying to match up the zippers and clips, when she wasn’t tripping over my tent stakes. We looked mentally deranged. We’d used up our patience stores for the day. Alas, we got the tent up and got our stuff inside it. It was still hot as hell, and by this point the layer of filth on our bodies went sweat, sunscreen, sweat, bugspray, sweat.Now it was time to fire up the camp stove and cook dinner! We were so exhausted, even trying to find the campstove and food took too much energy. Our campstove is great. It’s all the rage with the minimalist Johnny Wilderness types who like to carry gear sparingly. But, the thing shoots a soccer ball sized flame up towards your head when you light it, and the flame is white hot as the sun. So, the stove, once lit and under control heats things nicely, it boils water like nothing I’ve ever seen. But it scares us. We cringe and tip toe around it. We try to get a safe distance from all things that we would like to keep, rather then see go up in flames. We got the thing lit, and had a manageable flame, and I cooked up some black bean and rice. It tasted great, and we got to eat it as the sun was going down and the sky was turning pink.
We’re loving the challenge, and life is so unpredictable! The last thing I have to say on the subject of bike touring is that it will make you eat like you’ve never eaten. While Brooke wasn’t looking, I dug my sweaty fingers into the peanut butter jar just because I was that desperate for sustenance and didn’t have the energy to hunt for my knife, which at that point would have been like finding a needle in a haystack.

Melissa

Berea, KY!

We made it to Berea! Albeit, we were driven here in a car, WE MADE IT TO BEREA. Yes, in caps, because this was a hard fought battle. This morning we left Youngstown, Ohio, stopped by Columbus, Ohio, to clean our apartment and drop off the keys . . . and now we are here! Yeah!

My final thoughts for the first day (um, although we have not even sat on our bikes yet), include the things we should have done WAY earlier:

Load the bikes. With everything. Possibly we should have done this months ago. Instead, I chose to make piles throughout the apartment -- in two different rooms no less -- of all the things to pack. I just spent the last three hours (here in Berea) attempting to close the panniers. And I’m not even sure I have everything I need.

This is a huge no-no in the bike touring world. Many people are probably wagging their tongues and pursing their lips right now. I should be unpacking and re-packing them right now. And here I sit, typing, glancing occasionally at my panniers, in disgust.

Begin sleeping in my sleeping bag much earlier. I’ve slept in it for the past three nights. It’s awful.

When I bought my sleeping bag six months ago, I must have gotten tongue-tied or misspoke or something. Because the salesman at the camping store did not sell me a sleeping bag. No, what I have in my possession is a sleeping bad.

It’s loud. And hot. And it’s a bag. In which I must sleep. Every time I move it emits a horrible noise. On the sound spectrum it is somewhere between Jet Engine Overhead and Nails On Chalk Board.

But . . . tomorrow we get to bike! Tomorrow we’re headed east for 50 miles to Natural Bridge State Park.

Brooke

Welp, I'm going on the bike tour now!

My use of the English language has deteriorated into a few words and phrases (like the time I couldn’t stop saying “No Doubt!”). Everything we have done in the past week has led me to proclaim, “Welp, I’m going on the bike tour now!” Many of the things we did entered the There’s-No-Turning-Back-Now chapter of the bike tour.

This is how it went . . .I cut my hair. OFF. “Welp, I’m going on the bike tour now!”

The length of my hair is now measured in millimeters. My hair looks like it has sustained some serious wind tunnel testing. It also looks very surprised.

When I was little, my mom once suggested I cut my hair into a bob. When I got home from the salon, I took about four showers that night, thinking I could somehow stretch my hair into a longer length. Welp, I’m also here to report that that method still does not work.
(Although the lack of hair does make packing for the bike tour much easier. I no longer need a comb, or hair product, or conditioner, or . . . a mirror.)

I canceled all the utilities and changed my address with the post office. “Welp, I’m going on the bike tour now!”

We loaded a 17-foot U-Haul and I drove it across the entire state of Ohio. “Welp, I’m going on the bike tour now!”The loading and unloading brought many pinched fingers, strained muscles and a fall down a small flight of stairs (surprisingly, the faller was not me!). But everything is now successfully in storage. Yeah!

Sssssiiiiggggghhhh. That’s one huge sigh. This past seven days has been one big ball of stress and nonstop doing. I’m happy to say that we are leaving in two short days!

Brooke

Drive U-Haul, lose hair.

You're down, then you're up

Yesterday was a roller coaster ride of emotion for me.

In the morning, I left my cat with her foster mom, Melissa Corliss. I’d have to say that this was the hardest thing I have had to do thus far in preparation for leaving. Melissa C. is one of the most amazing people I have ever met and I know Agnes will have a good home with her . . . but I’m worried that Agnes is confused and upset. If you are not a cat person, that last sentence probably has you rolling your eyes, but I am a cat person and I KNOW Agnes misses me. I really, really love cats.

Sometimes I can be the quintessential Cat Lady. When I was little I never wanted to be a doctor or teacher or princess. When I grew-up, I wanted to be a Cat Lady. Have I mentioned that I love cats? To illustrate that point, let me share with you one little known fact about me: my most favorite Christmas present ever was a subscription to Cat Fancy. Each month, I would tear the cat/kitten centerfold out and tape it on my closet door.

Yesterday was also my last day of work. As I sit here and type this post, I am unemployed. It’s both a little frightening and exhilarating. My co-workers had a Going Away Party for me last night. Their generosity and kindness blew me away. When I got home I read the card they had given me, and their kind words made me cry. The people you work with become family. To everyone at Nationwide, I will miss you more than you can believe and I am grateful to have met each and every one of you.

Brooke

Hello, anxiety!

For the past week I have looked like an insane asylum escapee. My eyes have been popping out of my head. I continuously have a look of panic smeared all over my face. I even, all of a sudden, have heartburn. And maybe hives.

My ‘To Do List’ has suddenly become a scroll and I have become one of those people who always exclaim in a sigh, “I’m soooooooo busy.” I hate those people! And now I am in their ranks. It’s become all I say when someone asks me how the bike tour planning is coming.

And every so often (or every second of the past week) I get that feeling. My heart pounds, I find it hard to shallow past the lump in my throat, my palms get sweaty. I suddenly feel like there are steal rods running up and down the sides of my neck. The space behind my eyes feels electric and heavy . . . Ah ha! It's my old friend anxiety. Well hello!

The ridiculous part of my anxiety visits? I’m creating them! All by myself. Last night I had a meltdown about the bike boxes we need to pack up our other bikes. “We NEED bike boxes! And we HAVE to get them tonight! Like, NOW!” And the thing is, we don’t need bike boxes. I don’t even know what I am talking about most of the time.

And then I have freak-outs about underwear. Yes, un-der-wear. How many should I pack? What kind? When will I wash them? See, completely created drama.

I worry. I've always worried. When I was little I worried my teachers wouldn't like me, that my pets would run away, that I would fall in front of everyone in a movie theater if I got up and used the bathroom. Now I worry about the unknowns that come along with the bike tour. And boy, have I created some doozies in my head.

But I do have Melissa. I'm sentimental and a pack rat, which inevitably has caused me to save a lot of text messages from Melissa. I keep coming back to one in particular, reading it and re-reading it whenever worry and fear seem to envelope the place I sit. It reads: "I can't imagine my life without you. As long as we are together, we can do anything we want. I can't wait for our bike trip."

Neither can I.

Brooke

Finally, our first ride

Shakedown ride number one – done. Melissa and I rode the bikes (almost) fully loaded. We set off from Italian Village and headed for the Olentangy Bike Path, where I immediately rode into 2070 and was transported into the 90-year-old me. We had started off slow (or at least I did) and everyone who we met on the path seemed to be going a million miles per hour. Slow down! Where’s your helmet? Hmph, kids these days! I think a girl on a tricycle passed me, but it was all a blur, so I can’t be sure.

And then, miraculously, it was a piece of cake. We rode 10 miles, turned around to head home and then it stared to rain. It not only rain, it poured. It may have been one of my most favorite bike rides ever.

Before we had even started the ride, before leaving our apartment, I stopped at the door to grab a couple of bucks – just in case either one of us got a flat. You know, so that I could pay someone to do it for me. And then I remembered that in 16 short days, Melissa and I will be riding our bikes . . . across the country . . . completely self-contained . . . . Hmmm, maybe possibly I should be ready to fix my own flat should it occur. And it will.

Brooke

Three weeks to go (gulp)

Wow. Did another weekend just fly by? We're now THREE WEEKS away from our departure date. I'm restless. My nights of sleeping are gone and have been replaced by tossing and turning, powered by my reeling mind. I can't stop thinking about everything that needs to get done and everything I need to do. We've been planning for so long, but there are so many things that are packed into the last few weeks. Packing up the entire apartment, changing our address, finding health insurance, opening a joint checking account . . . . And it's hard to get organized when it looks like a bomb went off in your apartment. In addition to all the boxes laying around, stuff for the bike tour is sprawled out in just about every room. In all this chaos, for some reason I have a hard time believing that this is actually happening. This bike tour has always been so far on the horizon and now it is 20 days away!

Mixed in with all the packing and bike part installing (for the record, installing mirrors on your bike really sucks and is not easy and is way hard) I did this weekend, I actually got something huge accomplished. Melissa and I have been accepted on two WWOOFing farms! "WWOOFing", which stands for World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms, is something that I really wanted to do on the bike tour. If you don't know what it is, you should really check it out (www.wwoofusa.org). We heard about it from our friends Jill and Ryan, and for that I am forever greatful. Basically, you volunteer on organic farms and in return, WWOOF hosts offer a warm place to stay, food and the opportunity to learn about organic lifestyles and sustainable living. So, while in Missouri, we will be volunteering on a small farm that has goats (!?), calves, sheep, chickens and produce (man, I'm excited for the goats! For some reason, I view them as really cute, sweet kittens.). In Colorado, we will be staying on a 60 acre farm that has chickens, cattle, lamb and a very large vegetable production. I cannot wait to get to these farms. I'm looking forward to the hard work and being part of these people's family, even if it is for just a short time. Hopefully we will add a couple more farms to the list.

Brooke