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Still waters run deep.

A person’s calm exterior often conceals great depths of character, just as the deepest streams can have the smoothest surfaces. (Dictionary of Cultural Literatcy )

"I had a lapel pin someone gave me," Jim said. "It read, 'I'm not as sweet and innocent as I seem.'"

This is how it was. I was there.

Clear blue skies promised a beautiful day in Dayton. Jim and Wanda were leading Linda, myself, Nicky, and Carol on a ride we had never done before. With temps forecast in the low 70s, light winds, and the promise of a good meal at the Weinhardt's Cafe after, we set forth in good spirits from Jim's high school parking lot.

The first stop was the Purple House, a B&B where Jim and Wanda were spending the night. They'd visit his mother later today and tomorrow, for this is the soil from which Jim sprang or was spawned.

He was full of tales. "I drove that truck," he reported pointing to a grain truck parked in a field." Nicky was at the back of the pack and complained she needed headphones to hear the tour guide.

Jim promised few significant climbs for the day. We ended up with 32 miles at a leisurely pace. Well, Linda, says from her position at the back of the pack, it hadn't felt that leisurely. Still, we regrouped frequently. I stopped to take pictures and got to stretch my legs catching up.

And there was Jim always with a story. The ladies fell into the pattern rapidly. Linda and Carol on medicine, Linda and anyone who would listen on quilts.

"The next farm house we pass will be my mother's," Jim said. We had climbed a long hill but slowed to see where he pointed.

The Old Kenyon Manse

The Kenyon home was Faulkneresque set beneathe dark hanging foliage. Seemingly innocent, I'll bet Jim knew where the bodies were buried.

Jim continued to tell tales on himself, the drinking he implied when Linda asked what his sport had been, the all night parties, the firecrackers in the kitchen. He refused to elaborate on any misadventures at the site of the Dayton Drive In Theatre. "Did Jim tell you all this before you married him," Linda wanted to know.

Cruising down a quiet country road a black dog was upon us without warning. Not a bark. I knew about the dog first when Carol came flying by. The dog turned out to be little more than a pup. Fine flppy ears, short glossy fur, and long lolling tounge. He gave friendly chase but Jim, Carol, Nicky and I outpaced him. When we stopped to regroup at the top of a hill, however, there he was running along side Linda and Wanda.

We couldn't get him to leave. He'd found friends and planned to stay. Jim held his collar while we made our get away. "I'll bring him back a ways," Jim said.

The ladies rolled on but I stopped a bit and waited. No Jim. I went on to the intersection and waited again. Finally Jim appeared, bright and chipper. Clearly relaxed and calm. "They'll be waiting at the park," he smiled.

The park was in Waitsburg. It was a beautiful florid oasis in the sea of harvested wheat fields.

The park at Waitsburg. Not a cemetery?

"Where's the dog?" Wanda asked.

"About a quarter of mile back," Jim said. "Just kidding," he added.

The restroom at the park was like none I have ever seen before.

Check out the hinges and the locks on that door. Inside set above the drinking fountain a sign ordered "No Loitering." Not likely, I thought. Wonder what those locks are keeping in or out?

Jim continued his duties as host taking us through a non-place I think he called Huntsville claiming that 100 years ago there had been a college there. We crossed the highway and climbed gradually through a valley one hill south of Dayton until turning and making the final climb of the day.

At the top we regrouped and Jim regaled us with one more story. "Did you see the piece in the paper about the Dayton man arrested for child molestation?" Turns out Jim was only a year older. Jim new this man, had partied with him. But why tell us this story now, here on this lonely road?

With a sigh of relief I headed down the hill. I was hungry. We all were. It was 12:30 though and Jim toured us a bit more about Dayton always the genial host with no hint of the dark past showing on his cheerful countenance.

Weinhardt's was a high ceilinged, hard wood floored, renovated space with food every bit as good as we had been led to believe. Everyone agreed the best part of the ride was the food.

It was so good that we all ordered a desert. Linda got hers to go but she couldn't do it. Ate that sucker right out of the box. Carol promised to bring a piece of peach blueberry pie home to Sean. But she had eaten half before we left. And Mike, who never gets to ride on Saturday, was scheduled for a piece of Bourbon Pecan Pie. That's what I had. It was wonderful. Hope yours made it home, Mike.

Nicky had skipped the wine menu saying she was driving. I had a fat tire but Wanda ordered an apricot flavored beer and two glasses. She poured just a bit into Jim's glass. Jim seemingly wanted to appear a reformed wild man.

Someone asked about the dog. "He's just hitting main street," Jim kidded again being purposely uninformative.

We never saw that dog again.

And that's my story and I'm sticking to it.