Who needs a Pooper Scooper? Well surely not our good friends in France. Dog shit on a paris sidewalk(every sidewalk) is like a star in the sky, untrampled, untouched, and perfectly formed. Like the rest of Paris, even the dog shit is romantic and ornate as if it were placed with great care by the "hand" of god, yet you know it was not. I formed constellations in my mind as I watched my step, though it was difficult with my eyes constantly distracted by some gargantuan piece of architecture at every turn. After Pamplona, I met up with a friend [View Full Entry]

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THis is Part two of my entry(see Cinque Terre, Not wheelchair accessable, sept. 1st 2006)...... Goats More Goats and Goat Herders, How we love their mustaches. How we like their cloaks and their canes. And the goat bells ring through the mountains.... The pyrenees ate my bottom bracket, the last bite that broke it. Rockies, Alps, Alpenines, all were crossed and left behind. The Pyrenees and I, we stuck together, east to west, along their southern realm. At times I was high upon their heads and then they pulled away as I slid down their rocky thighs to the bottom of [View Full Entry]

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Well, I guess this is my catchup entry, for I have not written anything in almost a month. I will do my best to give a synopsis of the whirlwind that has been the last twenty-plus overstimulating days. I left the flat and happy Po River valley in Italy, which seems to be the only flat place in the country, and embarked on my largest climb by bicycle to date. Picking a backroad off of my map, I chose my path over the Alpenines to the Mediterranean. From about sea level, I climbed 8,500 feet in 40 miles to the summit [View Full Entry]

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The days passed, cycling through the long jaw, rolling along a long tongue of grape vineyards. Nights after entering the valley in the alps, which rose on both sides of me like fangs to bite the sky, I Passed into the Dolomites, where the teeth dulled into molars. The mountains ended at the throat of Italy, where the long esophagus begins its span into the Meditterranean, the stomach of Europe. At first the lingering juices of Austria were prominnent, but they were soon absorbed into oblivion with the thick saliva and partially masticated cud of the heartland. Alps big. Italy Beautiful. [View Full Entry]

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Part One Doing circles through the Black Forest of Bavaria on nameless slug covered roads. Drops of water continually fall under the thick and leafy evergreen canopy, though I´m almost positive its not raining. The trees obscure the sky and behind what I cannot see, the clouds hide the sun. East, North, West , South; the Black Forest has no direction. My clock ticks slower here, moving as if it measured time by the change in light, here where day and night are as different as mist and drizzle. Eventually I find the strength to resist turning, passing every fork. Turning, [View Full Entry]

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Yesterday morning I was awakened by drops of water hitting my face. I was not locked in a dungeon having chinese water torture, but rather laying in my sleeping bag, on a tarp, behind some trees, near a farmfield in rural eastern France. It was about three o'clock in the morning. I delayed in setting up my tent in the dark until the rain picked up more. I was forced to use rope and rocks rocks because my stakes could not penetrate the extrememy rocky ground. I woke up again to the pouring rain and whipping wind at about 9. I [View Full Entry]

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Yup, Sasquatch was right (see comment under "the route"), the jersey is browned with sweat and forest dirt. A month delayed due to blood doping, what can I say, the tour is over now. I'm on my own. Baguettes, brie, salami, and espresso: I have found my staples. It hasn't been but three days. I'm still jet lagged and delusional, but i've managed 200 km from Paris. What I can't manage is this f***ing keyboard though, everything is misplaced. It took me five minutes to find the @ key. @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ The plqne ride wqs long and sleepless(q=a!!!!!). Neither [View Full Entry]

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Well, here I am, safe and sound back in Portland after 1800 miles. I'm a little bit skinnier and alot more hungry. I pretty much high tailed it home from east glacier, doing around a hundred miles each day. It was mostly pleasant besides the heavier traffic on the main roads. I took the shorter way home, only 800 miles, as opposed the 1000 mile path I took to get there. I now have five days to recooperate and ready myself to brave those anti americnan euro-terrorists accross the atlantic. I'll be waving my flag and hailing my dictator all the [View Full Entry]

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I finished my pot of steaming gruel, smoked a cigarette, and scratched my butt as I squinted at the stars through the pines. By the time I lay down in my tent, the six other riders staying in the bike camp were already snoring. Most people who bike the Going to the Sun Road in GLacier NP get up at the scrotum sack of dawn because the road is off limits to bikers from 11-4 everyday. Not me. I was wakened by the sound of a generator long after the sun had come over the trees. The generator, it turned out, [View Full Entry]

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Today the sun came up. I was in a tent and not an outhouse. In a very short period of time, I set my picnic table on fire, apparently stepped on a slug, and lost a vital piece to my camp stove. I seached in the mud for a long time to find the little stove valve (a tiny rubber ball), which I lost while fixinig the stove (so as not to set more things on fire). All I found was some sticks, many pine needles, small rocks, a few bbs, some bread twist-ties, and eventually the dead slug on the [View Full Entry]

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