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buy Lyrica 75 mg online The ferryman.

http://venturearchitecture.com/copy-of-roth-condos I was in one hell of a good mood about riding the ferry. Both the other riders were in their cars, however, and there were no workmen on the deck; so I had my excitement all to myself. I sent a few text messages because I couldn’t help myself: this was my first Mississippi crossing on the trip. And I was beginning to make some kind of progress: I had started in one place, biked somewhere else, camped overnight, and now was continuing to progress. I had made it to something I had only read about before: a Mississippi River ferry. I was at a place called West Pointe a la Hache.  It was all fabulous.  I felt that my back was starting to feel a bit better as well: it had not felt good when I first woke up, but the warmth and exercise were loosening it a bit.

When a workman came out to lash the boat to the eastbank dock, I couldn’t help talking to him. “This is a big river!” I said.

“Yup.”

“I’m biking all the way to Minnesota! Gonna do the whole river!”

“The ho rivuh? You crazy? That’s a long way.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Where you start?”

The River at Pointe a la Hache.

“Venice.”

He thought about it. “How much time you givin’ it?”

“Six weeks.”

He thought some more. “Six weeks, yeah, that’s bout right.” He looked at me, as if evaluating me.

I liked what he said next. “I think you gonna make it.”