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 of a road that never should have been paved through the mountains, which were surprisingly inhabted by people living in towns that never should have been built. Lest I decended. Every turn was 180 degrees, ... read more

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, I´ve concluded, leads only to circles. On a long climb, twisting and turning past many false summits, I finallly see the one. There is glow there where the trees are thinned. The slugs on the ... read more

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 excessive wine nor sleeping pills could knock me out. 18 hours later, I assembled my bike at the airport, loaded it up, held my breath, qnd headed for the exit ramp. I managed ok through the infinite bustling ... read more

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, belonged to the campground host. When I rose from my tent, none of the six other campers were still there. No trace of them could be found, but the camp host was standing on the ... read more

This morning I woke up a 26 year old man, lying on the floor of an outhouse near the Clark Fork River in Tareko, Montana. To some people this may seem like a revolting way to begin a birthday and a low point of life, but I was actually quite thankful for my stinky, but dry little shelter. On the day prior I had climbed up from the St. Joe river in Idaho over the Bitteroot Mountains to an unknown elevation. The sky was darkening and grumbling as I reached the summit, where I met Montana at a gravel road. I decended slowly for fifteen hand-clenching-brakes miles to the valley floor into a dissipating thunderstorm. I waited for it to pass and carried on toward Missoula in the sunshisne, on frontage roads along I-90. Hours down ... read more