Going into my own mind.

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Paso Robles,

31-10-2002.



By the time I wake up all the mexican neighbors in my motel have long since left in trucks and cars, back to working the fields of olive trees, the orange groves and plum orchards, the agriculture the San Joaquin Valley is famous for.

I start my day with some easy and relaxed cycling being fully aware that the total flatness of the valley is disappearing fast under the wheels of my steel lady, the cr*ppy old bicycle that I bought in a second-hand shop in San Diego.

Though my belly is protesting loudly "I need food now!" , I keep going on untill the tiny settlement of Avanal where I have breakfast in a small truck stop.

No pretty young waitress here but instead an old hag that glares at me with a mirthless smile that tells me to hurry up with my order, this fat monster hasn't got all day.

Her evil dominance seems to rule this small diner, an oppressive and omnipresence mood of forever feeling pissed-off with life that hangs like a heavy blanket across the place.

The owner of this small truck stop would do good to fire her and employ a pretty, easy-go-happy female personality instead.

Leaving the diner and mounting my bike again, I'm fully aware of the heavy work ahead of me. First the Kettlerman Hill and straight after that the Cholatme Hills with Orchard Peak at 3125 feet altitute.

Not that I really care a rat's *ss, I've come out here to do this....sit on a bicycle and cycle anywhere between 80 and 150 kilometers a day, hard and sweaty work that will sober me up from my life back home in Amsterdam....A life dedicated to booze and coffee shop runs for overpriced joints.....sitting in Westerpark with these street people drinking cheap half liter cans of Albert Heyn supermarket beer.....bringing my drug and booze tormented brain back to a semi-normal state.

Financing this crazy lifestyle with a bicycle messenger job and with my games which I sell at THE tourist hotspot numero uno in Amsterdam, the Anne Frank House, in summer.

D*rned, I'm here to recover...be away from all these mind boggling attraction of Amsterdam........................................................................................................................................................................................

..................................................All of a sudden my mind comes back to the here and now having been transported back to my native Amsterdam...somehow I cycled all day..all the way to Paso Robles hardly aware of the these dreaded Kettleman Hills, the Cholame Hills and the Orchard Peak.

I find myself a cheap motel with TV, HBO channel, a small fridge and a double bed, a spotlessly clean shower room....looks good after yet another sweaty day on my bike.

I love this life of daily exercize and freedom that comes with it!

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