We were in den Haag. He was sporting a Custer’s Last Stand goatee and dressed like a fur trapper in a fringed leather jacket and floppy wide-brimmed hat. He wheeled by me without so much as a two-fingered salute.
Later I imagined if I saw him in a café the conversation would go something like this. “Kit! What are you doing in den Haag?” “What do you think? The only trail-blazing worth a damn in America leads out of the country.” “Sure, but Holland?” “Searching for gold is a fool’s gambit. The true adventure is to discover a pastry that melts in your mouth but doesn’t flake.” “Well I guess it beats trying to figure out which bend of the Platte River to paddle towards.” “I just follow my nose.”
