Delivery day used to be my favorite day at The Outpost. Now I think it's the hardest.

For about four years, I delivered 140 stops every Tuesday. I'm slow -- about 14 stops an hour -- so it was a 10-hour day. When we were delivering the Montana Senior News or Lively Times, or had an insert, the day could run to 14 or 15 hours.

I liked it. I got some honest-to-goodness exercise -- in the car, out of the car, in the car and out -- saw the city from Lockwood to Shiloh Road and encountered the customers up close. The phone didn't ring and the computer didn't freeze up. I listened to jazz, railed at Limbaugh, cruised to "All Things Considered." When I was teaching journalism, I polished lectures while driving. When I was teaching German, I sang German songs out loud just to sharpen the tongue.

Usually somewhere around mid-afternoon, I would fall into some sort of easy groove -- pleasantly tired, my mind free from the office, caught up in the endless routine -- stop, count, load the rack, count the spoils, toss them in the back. I felt like I could go on forever. Sometimes it seemed like I did.

Best of all, when the papers were gone, I was done. A couple of tacos, beer on the front porch, dozing on the couch. The working man's reward. The office could wait until tomorrow.

Now my route is about 75 stops. With a Thursday delivery date, we can't wait until 7 or 8 p.m. to get all the papers out, so I can't deliver as many. I never hit that afternoon groove. Instead of an easy lope down the backstretch, I'm kicking for the finish line. I get done between 4 and 5 -- too early for a small businessman to head for the house. I go to the office, tired but not done in, and make a bank deposit, check the e-mail, try to return a phone call or two.

Tonight I have to get subscription renewals out and get payroll done. I'll putter around, waste some time -- what else is blogging for? -- and yearn a bit for when the days were longer but not quite so hard.