I'm reading a book titled Cold Beer and Crocodiles: A Bicycle Journey Into Australia, by Roff Smith. The book details Roff's experiences riding his bicycle counterclockwise around the entire Australian continent.

Having finished only half the book, I'm amazed at the experiences he has. I'm at a loss to understand just how he went about getting into the situations he did. And yet, being a cycle-tourist myself, I can understand.

Let me explain a bit. While Smith was riding inland, in central Queensland, he decided he wanted to visit a sheep station (ranch) and see how it operated. Somehow he got in contact with the MacIntoshes of Fairfield Station. He stayed for days, helping out on the ranch.

Later, while pedaling through hot plains of Northern Queensland in the dry season, a couple of guys pulled up behind him in a Land Rover and offered him a beer. They got to talking, and again Smith spent days with newfound friends in the outback. They camped, fished, and in the end Smith was invited to a wedding.

And time after time, the author was invited to stay over for dinner or to sleep in the spare bedroom at various homes along the way.

During my everyday comings and goings in North Dakota, it's hard to imagine that one could so easily make new friends and have such adventures. People are not so trusting, so willing to share their lives. I thought to myself, this isn't the way things work. And then I remembered what it was like to pedal from Phoenix, Arizona to El Paso, Texas. And then Smith's adventure seemed plausible - even made sense.

While on our bike ride through the Southwestern US, Jesse McCormack and I experienced quite a few gestures of goodwill. A woman drove twenty miles to offer Jesse a ride when his spokes snapped. A man opened his home to me and offered up his computer, refrigerator, and even his shower. Three families on holiday in the mountains shared their meal with us and were more than willing to give us a ride down the mountain to a New Year's party the community was putting on at the community center.

When I think back, people are anxious to share and offer a helping hand, sometimes. But why isn't every day life like this?

Perhaps it's something to do with being a cyclist on the road. Maybe it's because being a cyclist in the middle of a desert is a good icebreaker. Or perhaps people feel inclined to help someone so vulnerable to the elements. Or maybe they're just curious.

Whatever the case, I both identify with Smith's experiences and am baffled by them. It's a book I can hardly put down.

First there was the "Banana Van," though that wasn't really mine. I had to share that with my step-sister. And she didn't really share.

Then there was Tweety, the 1976 Datsun pickup, painted solid yellow. The chicks loved Tweety. Lots of "personality," or something.

When Tweety started to let me down, I upgraded to my first Chevy S-10 - a 1983 model. It was a decent little truck. A little rusted and full of eccentricities. For example, sometimes when it was really cold it would start to drive slower. That turned out to be a vacuum hose leak. And the ignition switch in the steering column wouldn't engage if it was too cold. A hair dryer blowing on the steering column fixed this a few times.

Then, late in my college career, I upgraded to a 1998 Chevy S-10 pickup. This one was a little underpowered. But it ran perfectly and had no problems. That was a first for me. I considered this one a gift from dad. After all, the insurance money I got when he passed away paid for it. As he used to wrench away on my old, failing pickups he would always say "If I could I'd buy you a brand new one." Close enough, Dad. And at the time, I really needed a different vehicle. Crossing the state to come home from college during the winter was a real risk in that '83 S10.

And that's why I was a little sad to see the S10 go. I traded it off on Monday, and I got decent money for it. There was nothing wrong with the S10. I didn't need a new vehicle, really. But I can afford one, and I've been shopping around for quite some time.

It happened like this. Knowing full well the snow and ice is overdue, I drove the little S10 up to the dealership to have my snow tires put on. While waiting, I wandered the lot and looked at what they had. One in particular caught my eye, and just like that I'm driving a 2005 Chevy Colorado.

A while ago, I test drove a full size Dodge pickup. I loved it, but it's probably bigger than I need. And the mileage is worse than the small-to-mid sized pickups I'm used to.

And I didn't compromise. I ended up with a fully-loaded, four wheel drive vehicle. I never thought I'd own a new vehicle. Too expensive when compared to a slightly used one, I told myself. But here I am. The deal is done, and I really like my new wheels.

Sorry for the poor picture, but it's always dark when I get home and it's tough to get a good snapshot from inside the garage.

Happy Holidays, folks. Lately in Bismarck, it hasn't seemed particularly
holiday-like. It's been warm. And the forecasted winter-like
temperatures that always seem to be in the forecast never arrive.

But it's snowing right now. If I had my camera, I'd take a picture for
you. It's a pathetically light dusting of snow, but it's really the
first I've seen in Bismarck since it snowed back in October. Whatever
happened to the epic blizzards that used to close down our schools and
send us scrambling to the supermarket? Perhaps it's too early in the
winter. After all, it technically is fall. But it's been about ten
degrees above normal lately.

I've got a few things I want to blog about - such as the death of a
family member, a trip to Maine, and the end of summer in general (I have
pictures). But these things are all hard to write about, so I've been
silent.

The flakes are still falling, and it's beginning to look a lot like
Christmas.

The holiday season is in full swing. Cash registers are ringing, women
are beating each other in a scramble for the best parking spots, and
images of Santa are everywhere.

Despite the barrage of holiday imagery and sound since Thanksgiving,
I've only heard Jesus or God mentioned once that I can recall. And that
was on television during an advertisement for the Mormon church. This
is quite shocking, because I live in a town that has an insane number of
churches for a town of its size. The 2000 census indicated there were
about 55,000 people here. The exact number escapes me, but the number
of churches is over 100.

The churches in Bismarck are bursting at the seams, and congregations
are opening franchises on the fringes of the city just as fast as the
Wal-Marts and shopping malls.

I think it's hilarious. Because in such a holy city, God is not
visible. The people don't seem to exude any sort of Christian
philosophy. Maybe an individual will have a Jesus fish on the back of
their gigantic SUV. But that's really about it. In Bismarck, you don't
see God unless you go looking for Him.

The church simply is not attractive or inspiring unless you're already
in the thick of it. It seems rather clique-like, closed, and definitely
artificial. Do all these people really believe?

I just don't know. Do you?