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I gave up, realizing he had traveled out of range, which in a way, so had I.
     
    The rest of the drive to Cincinnati was uneventful, and uncharacteristically quiet. I didn’t even want the radio interrupting my thoughts. The background hum of the road and the white noise of the wind flowing over the top of my car, heard through the open sunroof was enough. I tried to remember how I got my name. Could my grandfather in 1933 or before, decided his first grandson would be named "Richard?" No, I decided. I was named after my mother’s grandfather, a man I’m sure my grandfather never met. Were there any other Richards in our family? I couldn’t think of a single one. Sherlock Holmes, one of my literary heroes, said, “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth,” so I put my mind to work eliminating the impossible.
    I hadn’t talked to my wife since I had been on my way to Starbucks that morning for my coffee, so I gave her a quick call from the road, catching her and our teen-aged daughter on their way home after the weekly catch-up dinner at Soup Plantation. I told her about my sudden road trip, but only mentioned the letter and its mystery as "kind of a cool thing the lady who owns my grandparents’ old house gave me" and promised to fill her in later. Being occupied driving, that satisfied her so we caught up on the day’s happenings in San Diego and hung up with "I love you" spoken into each cell phone, neither of use aware that from my perspective, it would be the last time we would talk for a long time.
    I pulled into Cincinnati and my rented corporate apartment’s parking lot just after 10pm. Exhausted, I wasted no time in turning in for the night, exhausted from all the driving, having had enough of the mystery banging around in my head. Sleep came within seconds.
     
    Morning seemed to come instantly, as if I hadn’t slept at all. The dull, early morning light had started glowing through the blinds in the apartment’s bedroom and despite the day I’d had before my head hit the pillow, I felt really well rested. Given the events of the previous day, that was pretty surprising. But, I slid out of bed, pulled on some running shorts, a t-shirt and Nikes and went for a  run. Still early summer in the Midwest, the mornings had a bit of crispness left in them, perfect for running. Saturday’s odd adventure was still puzzling, but sleep had apparently done its job sorting the situation out, and things didn’t seem so overwhelming on Sunday morning. I did a little under three miles in good time and still had the energy to take the stairs up to the second floor of the apartment building two at a time. A hot shower followed, and I dressed, retraced my path down the steps to the car and headed toward Starbucks, grabbing my laptop bag and Cincinnati Reds baseball cap on the way out. 
    When I arrived at my favorite Starbucks, I ordered and received my Venti Vanilla Latte, sat down and opened the Powerbook. BoingBoing popped open with Cory Doctrow going on about chocolate (which I’d given up after realizing headaches would often trail consumption of the stuff), Dave Winer at Scripting News blogging about Steve Jobs’ reality distortion field (one of my favorite topics) and a host of other web writers writing about things interesting to them, and me. The drama of the previous day slid into the background as I got back to more familiar territory.
    Thirty minutes later, my daily blogs and latte exhausted, I cracked open the bottle of water I’d bought with the coffee and entered the URL "amazon.com," then "fred wolf yoga of time travel," and was rewarded with the first result: “Yoga of Time Travel: How the Mind Can Defeat Time”. I clicked on the cover of the book and saw Gary had wasted no time in reading this one, since the first edition date was just a few months ago. Two reviewers, both lavish in their praise, wrote admiringly and  I only hesitated a few