LETTER from TERRY BERKSON For Want Of A Rack… I had it all planned. We’d fly to Florida on a Saturday, settle into the motel and then head for the flea market where, if lucky, I’d find a used bike to ride for the rest of our vacation. “What are you going to do when it’s time to go home?” my wife, Alice, asked. “I don’t care,” I said, “as long as I have use of a bike while we’re…
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