One week into the cross-country bicycle trek, I stopped near the New York-Massachusetts border by a sign pointing to a campground. It was getting late. I wondered if I should save the money and sleep in the woods. I recalled Atmananda's penchant for lodging at exclusive, expensive hotels. I realized that I did not want to follow him. I also realized that I did not want to *not* follow him. I wanted to do what was right for me. I followed the sign.

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