One word: Eggers.

(Andree here) It's 4:15 and we're waiting to hear about the first leg of the road trip. Meanwhile, we gots ta share the note that came in from our favorite brilliant (and expatriate) cat, Mike Eggers, from his current perch in London.

Cancer? Come on man, you can do better than that.
Nearly blowing your head off after chucking a burning spear into an abandoned well filled with decades of methane-producing rotting vegetation. That shit is more your speed.
Piloting your Jeep through hairpin donkey trails haphazardly cut into the sides of 500-foot high granite cliffs. Big, ankle-slapping brass balls, that one.
Eating dicey curries in back-alley Hong Kong lucky sailor wok shops. Pure Purdom.
Sorry it took so long to get back to about your latest attempt to buck life's odds. I was just waiting for something with a bit more of an, I don't know..., "Erik edge" to it.
But then, the more I read about the specifics of what the hell this bug of yours is all about, the more I realized just how impressive it all is.
You definitely have my attention now. And Michelle's. And that of our extended tribes. Plus all the love, respect, support and requisite chin trembling and hand-wringing that comes along on a ride such as this.
Now then, and I say this to any kid who's ever grown up wishing they were the secret sixth member of the Purdom band -- it's time we all crowd the stage and rock this shit.
Erik you take lead. That's cool man, that's your spot.
But lookout behind you because we gots your back, Jack.
Eggboy