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I'll spill a couple sentences trying to describe Rusty's place but it will be hard to do it justice. On the west end of the island, two hours from the airport in Montego Bay and 5 miles past the last remnants of the super resorts in Negril, where only a few Americans are brave (dumb?) enough to venture, there is a Jamaica which is the roots Jamaica. It is a place of contrast. The locals live mostly in shanties and sell fresh fruit and beer on the side of the road. The few restaurants and clubs in the area are owned by Europeans and are visited by guided tours from the resorts for one main reason: the coral cliffs out by the lighthouse offer one of the most stunning places in the world to view the sun as the ocean rotates up to capture it each evening. For the most part creature comforts are minimal and the clock turns at a slower rate, but this is one very spiritual place. The ocean has a beauty and character that, I guess I should not attempt to describe other than to say it is full sensory braincandy. It is seductive in a way that almost makes you look around to see if anyone is watching. Slipping into it after a meltdown of a ride with Rusty might be illegal in the States.but this is Jamaica. And even though it's not Ohio, Rusty built his home here. Rusty's house is easy to describe. Just picture a sculpture big enough to live in. Big enough to house many friends. As you walk up the flights of stairs to the kitchen on the roof you realize that while most folks buy a house and decorate it with art, Rusty just sorta combined it all. It's not about whether form or function comes first; it's about functional form. Think of your favorite trail. Think how it's more than a collection of turns and hills. It's something more that combines a physical and mental pleasure into THE RIDE. It's all about the ride. So what about the ride, you're asking.

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