I called my (grand)uncle—the one who was at Guadalcanal—to thank him, as it is my tradition to do. By this time, he has become so accustomed to my calling on Memorial Day, Veterans' Day, etc. that we don't spend a lot of time talking about his contribution any more.

Yesterday, my aunt picked up the phone when I called.

"Oh, he's out doing something or other in the yard," she said. "You know, he's always got to be doing something, and the squirrels have been giving him fits this year."

To many, this might sound like a job for a mental health professional, but I happen to know that my uncle has had a long-running battle with the squirrels. His neighbor feeds them, so the little varmints are always spilling into my uncle's yard and stealing all the seed meant for the birds he feeds.

My uncle came to the phone, turned up the volume on his special phone, and reminded me to speak loudly.

"GOT YOU COVERED, UNC," my wife heard me say from the opposite end of the house. "JUST WANTED TO CALL TO THANK Y—"

"Yeah, yeah... you're welcome," he said, quickly brushing aside the formalities. "So tell me more about this new bike of yours."

A couple of weeks ago, I had printed off a few of my recumbent bike-related blog postings and mailed them to him. You see, though deteriorating eyesight and age have cut into his cycling time, my uncle was an avid cyclist for many years and one of my inspirations when I started trying to increase my distances.

That, in addition to our common interests in antique clocks, history, and home-made beer, always make me a little sad that I live 1200 miles away from him.

We would have had a blast.

Great story. I'm always intrigued by "avid cyclists" who come from a generation or two removed, especially when they're American. You'd think nothing out of the ordinary if you were, say, Italian, and your uncle or grandfather was a cyclist, but that pursuit didn't seem to be common at all in the States.