"Oh.''

"I was happy to see them again. They tie things together, thoughts and such. You know?''

She thinks for a while and then, with the trees behind her a deep green, she smiles. She understands a peculiar language which has nothing to do with what you are saying. A daughter.

"Yes,'' she says. "They're beautiful.''

"Watch for them,'' I say.

"All right.''

John appears and checks the gear on the cycle. He adjusts some of the ropes and then opens the saddlebag and starts rummaging through. He sets some things on the ground. "If you ever need any rope, don't hesitate,'' he says. "God, I think I've got about five times what I need here.''

"Not yet,'' I answer.

"Matches?'' he says, still rummaging. "Sunburn lotion, combs, shoelaces -- shoelaces? What do we need shoelaces for?''

"Let's not start that,'' Sylvia says. They look at each other deadpan and then both look over at me.

"Shoelaces can break anytime,'' I say solemnly. They smile, but not at each other.

Chris soon appears and it is time to go. While he gets ready and climbs on, they pull out and Sylvia waves. We are on the highway again, and I watch them gain distance up ahead.

The Chautauqua that is in mind for this trip was inspired by these two many months ago and perhaps, although I don't know, is related to a certain undercurrent of disharmony between them.

Disharmony I suppose is common enough in any marriage, but in their case it seems more tragic. To me, anyway.

It's not a personality clash between them; it's something else, for which neither is to blame, but for which neither has any solution, and for which I'm not sure I have any solution either, just ideas.

The ideas began with what seemed to be a minor difference of opinion between John and me on a matter of small importance: how much one should maintain one's own motorcycle. It seems natural and normal to me to make use of the small tool kits and instruction booklets supplied with each machine, and keep it tuned and adjusted myself.