I tell her I feel I would be avoiding responsibility if I suppressed my desire to articulate fantasy speeches I've been making in my head. I feel a responsibility to express plans for public policies that will improve the lives of American citizens. She listens carefully and tells me I've helped her get a deeper understanding of my reasoning.

Tuesday, July 30. I walk with others on a a black sidewalk that shoots out ahead of us across a vast flat plain into the dawning sun. I awake from the dream to my fouth day of campaigning in New Hampshire for the Democratic Party's nomination for President of the United States.

I head out to Antioch Graduate School, a branch of my alma mater. The grad school is located in the New Hampshire city of Keene. On the way I stop off at New England College in Henniker, where I meet with summer students in the campus general store. I also talk with an Assistant Dean about getting myself on the speaking schedule for the fall. I wind up my stop in Henniker talking with a porch full of bicycle trip coordinators on their lunch break.

In Keene I stop and post fliers at Keene State College without running into anyone, then head to Antioch, where I find a conversation waiting with every person I meet. First stop, the bookstore where I talk with the manager and the school's maintenance man, then to the library where I talk for fifteen minutes with a group of five people. One lady has just finished a paper on sustainable agriculture. I ask her to send it to me.

As I move through Antioch, meeting more and more friendly, interested students and faculty, I'm aware of gaining another level of confidence in myself, in my ability to articulate thoughtful action plans to address a vast array of problems.

In the office of Environmental Studies, the director of the program, her assistant and two students talk with me for a half-hour. The program director asks me if I have sought Sierra Club endorsement yet. I tell her no. She says she's on the board, along with former Democratic candidate for governor Arnie Arneson who I had talked with on the Harkin boat.

My trip to Antioch ends with me introducing myself to the head of the business school, then I move on to the Keene Sentinel newspaper. I walk into the managing editor's second floor office. We share fifteen minutes together. He types up the number of his assignment editor and hands it to me, advising that I call the guy. The editor says of himself, "I'm just a working stiff."

Wednesday, July 31. Marci, Rodney and I fly like the wind down the slopes of the White Mountains, riding sleds on wheels down fiberglass bobsled runs.

Thursday, August 1. In the morning I get on the road early to Dartmouth up on the border of New Hampshire and Vermont. Have nice short conversations with several students on the footpaths and with the secretary to the department of religion and philosophy, as she does needlepoint. She tells me everyone's at a department meeting. Downstairs I come across the department meeting. The door is open and fifteen people sit around a big conference table. I previsualize myself standing at the door until someone asks, "May I help you?" then introducing myself. Instead of action on this front, I turn and head out the front door.

South to Canaan, where I have a 10:00A meeting with Roger Easton who ran against John Sununu to be the Republican Party's candidate for governor of New Hampshire. How did this meeting get on my schedule? I had met Roger Easton's son Roger Jr. while I was campaigning in the Imaging Sciences Building at Rochester Institute of Technology. He had advised me to call his parents, so I did. I got in touch with his dad and his mother Barbara yesterday. Now we share an orange juice together and talk.

Roger shows me his design for a wind train, which he estimates will provide the power of four nuclear plants. He designed it during the Carter years while in the last phase of his Navy research career. The concept behind the wind train is to put computer controlled sails on a few hundred sleek railroad cars running round a huge windy track, dragging magnetized aluminum centerboards through electromagnetic coils to generate electricity.

Roger tells me he was one of the early designers of the Global Positioning System. I share with him that I animated a film about GPS satellites while at Hughes Aircraft Company. The satellites beam down to Earth precise time signals generated by onboard atomic clocks. GPS receivers on Earth, in cars, planes and military weapons, acquire time signals from three GPS satellites and calculate how much time has elapsed since the signals left their satellites. The elapsed time allows GPS receivers to determine the distance they are from three points, giving them the info they need to triangulate exact positions on Earth, at sea, or in the sky.

There's more. Roger was on the design team for Vanguard, America's Sputnik. He shows me a design model of Vanguard the size of a softball. "We'd had this on the boards for two years, then they snuck one up ahead of us," he says.

Barbara makes bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches and follows them up with a dream desert of shortcake topped with both vanilla and strawberry ice cream, then further topped with fresh raspberries and blueberries from their garden. Life can be a dream.

After lunch we take a walk. In the garden we pop a few more raspberries into our mouths. "Your memories will probably be all you get from this," Roger says about my campaign for president. He bases his statement on his experience running for governor. "They'll be good memories," I tell him.

We walk into the back forty acres, where Roger has hardwood Locust tree saplings growing. You see, Roger in his retirement helps people rebuild covered bridges around New England. In this capacity he encourages communities with covered bridges to plant the hardwood Locust trees that can be used in the future to provide replacement beams for bridges with rotten ones.

Our walk takes us down a wooded path toward a lake. The film "On Golden Pond" was shot in New Hampshire on a lake much like the one we approach. Roger and I walk out onto a short dock. We stand silent together, looking out over hypnotically placid Clark Pond. Barbara comes down in her bathing suit and goes for a swim.