From acadaa0b38d4aed747e3a1120f447fdce1c995d3 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001
From: Evan Savage <evan.savage@lego.com>
Date: Sun, 3 Sep 2023 17:20:29 +0200
Subject: [PATCH] Update to fix CSS, post links, HTTPS error

---
 .github/workflows/build-deploy.yml            |  17 ++
 .gitignore                                    |   1 +
 extract.py                                    |   1 -
 post.py                                       |  10 +-
 posts.json                                    | 197 ++++++++++++++++++
 render.py                                     |   2 +-
 webroot/CNAME                                 |   1 +
 webroot/biketotheearth/index.html             |   1 -
 .../posts/2010/03/22/training-begins.html     |   7 -
 .../03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html   |  11 -
 .../2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html     |   5 -
 .../2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html    |   5 -
 .../05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html  |   4 -
 ...pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html |   3 -
 .../2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html   |   8 -
 .../posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html            |   3 -
 .../posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html    |   8 -
 .../2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html     |   3 -
 .../2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html  |   3 -
 .../07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html |   4 -
 .../2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html    |   3 -
 .../no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html   |   6 -
 .../posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html  |   3 -
 .../2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html    |   3 -
 .../posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html    |   3 -
 .../posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html |   3 -
 .../posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html              |   1 -
 .../2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html      |   4 -
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/al.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/ba.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/be.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/ca.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/ch.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/de.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/dk.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/es.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/fr.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/gb.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/gr.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/hr.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/it.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/ma.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/mc.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/me.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/nl.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/pt.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/si.png     | Bin
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/tr.png     | Bin
 webroot/index.html                            |   1 +
 webroot/posts/2010/03/22/training-begins.html |   7 +
 .../03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html   |  11 +
 .../posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html     |   4 +-
 .../2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html     |   5 +
 .../2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/04/12/welcome.html             |   4 +-
 .../2010/04/15/its-about-time-toronto.html    |   4 +-
 .../21/radio-killed-the-telegraph-star.html   |   4 +-
 .../2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html    |   5 +
 .../05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html  |   4 +
 .../posts/2010/05/05/copenhagen-wheel.html    |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/05/16/and-so-it-begins.html    |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/05/17/on-the-road.html         |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/05/18/odin-s-temple.html       |   4 +-
 ...pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html |   3 +
 .../05/20/birthdays-beer-and-borders.html     |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/05/21/lost-and-found.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/05/22/finding-our-centre.html  |   4 +-
 .../2010/05/23/drinking-and-paddling.html     |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/05/24/zeven-and-eleven.html    |   4 +-
 .../2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html   |   8 +
 .../2010/05/26/sheep-poop-and-sunsets.html    |   4 +-
 .../27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food.html   |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/05/28/all-weather-cycling.html |   4 +-
 .../2010/05/29/when-the-going-gets-weird.html |   4 +-
 ...st-in-amsterdam-where-nothing-happens.html |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/05/31/life-on-tv.html          |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/01/barts-bathtub.html       |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/02/a-hands-toss-away.html   |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/03/in-bruges.html           |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/04/grave-lines.html         |   4 +-
 .../06/05/without-a-car-in-the-world.html     |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/06/requiescat-in-pace.html  |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/07/omaha-beach.html         |   4 +-
 webroot/posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html        |   3 +
 .../posts/2010/06/09/shopping-for-moms.html   |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/10/rain.html                |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/11/monks-u.html             |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html    |   8 +
 .../2010/06/13/freedom-for-cyclists.html      |   4 +-
 .../2010/06/14/brighton-now-with-clothes.html |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/15/and-back-again.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/16/clean-sleeping-bags.html |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/17/canallery.html           |   4 +-
 .../2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html     |   3 +
 .../posts/2010/06/19/when-in-nantes.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/20/hellfest.html            |   4 +-
 .../2010/06/21/chaussures-de-ciclisme.html    |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/22/french-biking-paths.html |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/23/slow-day.html            |   4 +-
 .../2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html  |   3 +
 .../posts/2010/06/25/peninsular.html          |   4 +-
 .../2010/06/26/bordeaux-fetes-the-vin.html    |   4 +-
 .../06/27/oil-be-glad-to-get-outta-here.html  |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/28/natural-logs.html        |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/06/29/daxing-my-patience.html  |   4 +-
 ...amping-in-the-shadow-of-the-mountains.html |   4 +-
 .../2010/07/01/real-cyclists-at-last.html     |   4 +-
 .../07/02/its-all-downhill-from-here.html     |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/03/iberian-showdown.html    |   4 +-
 .../07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html    |   4 +-
 .../2010/07/05/and-then-there-were-three.html |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/06/chupinazo.html           |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/07/encierro-d.html          |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/08/falling-flat.html        |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/09/off-the-map.html         |   4 +-
 .../07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html |   4 +
 .../posts/2010/07/11/esp-1-0-ned.html         |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/12/mountains-1.html         |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/13/mountains-2.html         |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/14/in-flagrante-camino.html |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/15/oldering.html            |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/16/paella.html              |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/17/vigo-rous-hobosity.html  |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/18/statutory-holidays.html  |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/19/port.html                |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/20/dire-straits.html        |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/21/morning-gymnastics.html  |   4 +-
 .../2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html    |   3 +
 .../posts/2010/07/23/hott.html                |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/24/copout.html              |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/25/the-road-to-nowhere.html |   4 +-
 .../07/26/aggressive-business-practices.html  |   4 +-
 .../2010/07/27/cyclists-in-training.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/28/alhambraaaaaaaaa.html    |   4 +-
 .../no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html   |   6 +
 .../posts/2010/07/30/olive-oil.html           |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/07/31/age-plus-plus.html       |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/01/desert-sort.html         |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html  |   3 +
 .../2010/08/03/camping-with-carnies.html      |   4 +-
 .../2010/08/04/i-think-i-ali-can-te.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/05/three-become-two.html    |   4 +-
 .../you-derailleured-my-chain-of-thought.html |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/07/orange-you-glad.html     |   4 +-
 .../2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html    |   3 +
 .../posts/2010/08/09/cram-n-exam.html         |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html    |   3 +
 .../posts/2010/08/11/back-to-basics.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/12/down-hoem.html           |   4 +-
 .../2010/08/13/a-night-on-the-ground.html     |   4 +-
 .../08/14/explosions-in-the-night-sky.html    |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/15/carob-cognac.html        |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html |   3 +
 .../extremely-hot-and-incredibly-drunk.html   |   4 +-
 .../2010/08/18/onwards-and-outwards.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/19/halfway-tent.html        |   4 +-
 .../our-house-in-the-middle-of-the-park.html  |   4 +-
 .../2010/08/21/catal-n-music-tourist.html     |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/22/gaudi-falafel.html       |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/23/ordained-cyclists.html   |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/24/dilly-dali-ing.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/25/mozzarella-driveway.html |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/26/pleasantly-ominous.html  |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/27/bamboozled.html          |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/28/winding-around.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/29/cezannes-scene.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/30/calanquerous.html        |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/08/31/smoke-on-the-water.html  |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/01/er-warm-showers.html     |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/02/bella-italia.html        |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/03/swimming-in-the-sea.html |   4 +-
 .../09/04/famous-lost-people-of-history.html  |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/05/escape-hobosity.html     |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/06/a-pisa-my-mind.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/07/f-oiled-again.html       |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/08/our-compliments.html     |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/09/beni-bidi-bici.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/10/when-in-rome.html        |   4 +-
 .../2010/09/11/a-river-runs-through-it.html   |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/12/a-weighty-mass.html      |   4 +-
 .../09/13/we-got-to-sleep-in-two-places.html  |   4 +-
 .../2010/09/14/karmic-rebalance-day.html      |   4 +-
 .../15/in-the-hall-of-the-mountain-king.html  |   4 +-
 .../2010/09/16/the-good-kind-of-flat.html     |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/17/a-good-event.html        |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/18/wtr-bfflo.html           |   4 +-
 .../2010/09/19/a-switchback-to-nowhere.html   |   4 +-
 .../09/20/a-long-day-and-a-bum-night.html     |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/21/wpg.html                 |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/22/rituals.html             |   4 +-
 .../2010/09/23/recipes-and-wanderers.html     |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/24/the-wrath-of-grapes.html |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/25/when-it-rains.html       |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/26/sailing.html             |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/27/century-the-second.html  |   4 +-
 .../2010/09/28/the-untrained-cyclists.html    |   4 +-
 .../2010/09/29/my-kingdom-for-a-bag.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/09/30/city-in-the-sea.html     |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/01/octobrrrrrr.html         |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/02/corn-haul.html           |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/03/wine-ding-road.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/04/hello-hrvatska.html      |   4 +-
 .../2010/10/05/reading-riting-and-rain.html   |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/06/i-recommend-croatia.html |   4 +-
 .../10/07/croatian-road-service-says-no.html  |   4 +-
 .../croatian-is-the-language-of-trogdor.html  |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/09/burninate.html           |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/10/10-10-10.html            |   4 +-
 webroot/posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html          |   1 +
 .../2010/10/11/token-coastline-grab.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/12/dudebrovnik.html         |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/13/crna-gora.html           |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/14/local-wisdom.html        |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/15/50-euro-a-night.html     |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/16/its-still-raining.html   |   4 +-
 .../2010/10/17/albanian-history-lesson.html   |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/18/you-fools.html           |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/19/hellbania.html           |   4 +-
 .../2010/10/20/a-short-ride-to-rest.html      |   4 +-
 .../2010/10/21/lazing-around-igoumenitsa.html |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/22/ionian-coastline.html    |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/23/racked.html              |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/24/impending-illness.html   |   4 +-
 .../2010/10/25/the-fun-and-the-games.html     |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/26/kalamata-at-last.html    |   4 +-
 ...d-food-and-food-and-food-and-children.html |   4 +-
 .../2010/10/28/halloween-away-from-home.html  |   4 +-
 .../2010/10/29/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaa.html    |   4 +-
 .../2010/10/30/cops-and-cleanliness.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/10/31/ten-thousand.html        |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/11/01/off-the-record.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/11/02/inertial-laziness.html   |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/11/03/piano-bar.html           |   4 +-
 .../2010/11/04/oracular-spectacular.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/11/05/some-like-it-hot.html    |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/11/06/kitchen-in-the-park.html |   4 +-
 .../2010/11/07/sunday-is-the-new-sunday.html  |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/11/08/the-obstacle-within.html |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/11/09/rest-stop.html           |   4 +-
 .../2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html      |   4 +
 .../posts/2010/11/11/intense-training.html    |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/11/12/last-country.html        |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/11/13/tuna-palas.html          |   4 +-
 .../2010/11/14/the-penultimate-ride.html      |   4 +-
 .../posts/2010/11/15/the-end.html             |   4 +-
 webroot/{biketotheearth => }/style.css        |   0
 247 files changed, 667 insertions(+), 452 deletions(-)
 create mode 100644 .github/workflows/build-deploy.yml
 create mode 100644 .gitignore
 create mode 100644 posts.json
 create mode 100644 webroot/CNAME
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/index.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/22/training-begins.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/29/no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html
 delete mode 100644 webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/al.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/ba.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/be.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/ca.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/ch.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/de.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/dk.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/es.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/fr.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/gb.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/gr.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/hr.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/it.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/ma.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/mc.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/me.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/nl.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/pt.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/si.png (100%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/icons/tr.png (100%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/index.html
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/03/22/training-begins.html
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html (86%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html (61%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/04/12/welcome.html (70%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/04/15/its-about-time-toronto.html (63%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/04/21/radio-killed-the-telegraph-star.html (60%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/05/copenhagen-wheel.html (61%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/16/and-so-it-begins.html (75%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/17/on-the-road.html (80%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/18/odin-s-temple.html (71%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/20/birthdays-beer-and-borders.html (70%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/21/lost-and-found.html (63%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/22/finding-our-centre.html (72%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/23/drinking-and-paddling.html (54%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/24/zeven-and-eleven.html (73%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/26/sheep-poop-and-sunsets.html (80%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food.html (64%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/28/all-weather-cycling.html (81%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/29/when-the-going-gets-weird.html (57%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/30/the-post-in-amsterdam-where-nothing-happens.html (63%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/05/31/life-on-tv.html (56%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/01/barts-bathtub.html (67%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/02/a-hands-toss-away.html (50%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/03/in-bruges.html (73%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/04/grave-lines.html (53%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/05/without-a-car-in-the-world.html (77%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/06/requiescat-in-pace.html (57%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/07/omaha-beach.html (58%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/09/shopping-for-moms.html (63%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/10/rain.html (57%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/11/monks-u.html (66%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/13/freedom-for-cyclists.html (75%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/14/brighton-now-with-clothes.html (73%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/15/and-back-again.html (56%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/16/clean-sleeping-bags.html (52%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/17/canallery.html (67%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/19/when-in-nantes.html (68%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/20/hellfest.html (76%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/21/chaussures-de-ciclisme.html (53%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/22/french-biking-paths.html (74%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/23/slow-day.html (60%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/25/peninsular.html (65%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/26/bordeaux-fetes-the-vin.html (67%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/27/oil-be-glad-to-get-outta-here.html (68%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/28/natural-logs.html (65%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/29/daxing-my-patience.html (67%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/06/30/camping-in-the-shadow-of-the-mountains.html (59%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/01/real-cyclists-at-last.html (77%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/02/its-all-downhill-from-here.html (65%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/03/iberian-showdown.html (65%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html (68%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/05/and-then-there-were-three.html (62%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/06/chupinazo.html (72%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/07/encierro-d.html (79%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/08/falling-flat.html (51%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/09/off-the-map.html (66%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/11/esp-1-0-ned.html (64%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/12/mountains-1.html (65%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/13/mountains-2.html (62%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/14/in-flagrante-camino.html (73%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/15/oldering.html (78%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/16/paella.html (74%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/17/vigo-rous-hobosity.html (68%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/18/statutory-holidays.html (70%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/19/port.html (55%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/20/dire-straits.html (64%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/21/morning-gymnastics.html (64%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/23/hott.html (61%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/24/copout.html (76%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/25/the-road-to-nowhere.html (70%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/26/aggressive-business-practices.html (75%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/27/cyclists-in-training.html (73%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/28/alhambraaaaaaaaa.html (54%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/07/29/no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/30/olive-oil.html (65%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/07/31/age-plus-plus.html (59%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/01/desert-sort.html (71%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/03/camping-with-carnies.html (75%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/04/i-think-i-ali-can-te.html (66%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/05/three-become-two.html (74%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/06/you-derailleured-my-chain-of-thought.html (66%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/07/orange-you-glad.html (69%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/09/cram-n-exam.html (67%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/11/back-to-basics.html (67%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/12/down-hoem.html (50%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/13/a-night-on-the-ground.html (71%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/14/explosions-in-the-night-sky.html (50%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/15/carob-cognac.html (59%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/17/extremely-hot-and-incredibly-drunk.html (64%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/18/onwards-and-outwards.html (55%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/19/halfway-tent.html (68%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/20/our-house-in-the-middle-of-the-park.html (54%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/21/catal-n-music-tourist.html (75%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/22/gaudi-falafel.html (70%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/23/ordained-cyclists.html (66%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/24/dilly-dali-ing.html (58%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/25/mozzarella-driveway.html (68%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/26/pleasantly-ominous.html (59%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/27/bamboozled.html (78%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/28/winding-around.html (65%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/29/cezannes-scene.html (67%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/30/calanquerous.html (75%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/08/31/smoke-on-the-water.html (74%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/01/er-warm-showers.html (74%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/02/bella-italia.html (58%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html (70%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/03/swimming-in-the-sea.html (76%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/04/famous-lost-people-of-history.html (80%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/05/escape-hobosity.html (71%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/06/a-pisa-my-mind.html (70%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/07/f-oiled-again.html (65%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/08/our-compliments.html (81%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/09/beni-bidi-bici.html (52%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/10/when-in-rome.html (90%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/11/a-river-runs-through-it.html (70%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/12/a-weighty-mass.html (72%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/13/we-got-to-sleep-in-two-places.html (66%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/14/karmic-rebalance-day.html (82%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/15/in-the-hall-of-the-mountain-king.html (70%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/16/the-good-kind-of-flat.html (79%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/17/a-good-event.html (71%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/18/wtr-bfflo.html (85%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/19/a-switchback-to-nowhere.html (58%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/20/a-long-day-and-a-bum-night.html (84%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/21/wpg.html (75%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/22/rituals.html (77%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/23/recipes-and-wanderers.html (64%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/24/the-wrath-of-grapes.html (71%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/25/when-it-rains.html (61%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/26/sailing.html (75%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/27/century-the-second.html (80%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/28/the-untrained-cyclists.html (82%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/29/my-kingdom-for-a-bag.html (83%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/09/30/city-in-the-sea.html (86%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/01/octobrrrrrr.html (73%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/02/corn-haul.html (71%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/03/wine-ding-road.html (83%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/04/hello-hrvatska.html (75%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/05/reading-riting-and-rain.html (63%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/06/i-recommend-croatia.html (79%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/07/croatian-road-service-says-no.html (71%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/08/croatian-is-the-language-of-trogdor.html (83%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/09/burninate.html (75%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/10/10-10-10.html (71%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/11/token-coastline-grab.html (82%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/12/dudebrovnik.html (79%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/13/crna-gora.html (77%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/14/local-wisdom.html (85%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/15/50-euro-a-night.html (77%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/16/its-still-raining.html (83%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/17/albanian-history-lesson.html (81%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/18/you-fools.html (83%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/19/hellbania.html (88%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/20/a-short-ride-to-rest.html (76%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/21/lazing-around-igoumenitsa.html (64%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/22/ionian-coastline.html (67%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/23/racked.html (71%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/24/impending-illness.html (78%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/25/the-fun-and-the-games.html (86%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/26/kalamata-at-last.html (83%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food-and-children.html (73%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/28/halloween-away-from-home.html (83%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/29/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaa.html (73%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/30/cops-and-cleanliness.html (80%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/10/31/ten-thousand.html (76%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/11/01/off-the-record.html (89%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/11/02/inertial-laziness.html (74%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/11/03/piano-bar.html (73%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/11/04/oracular-spectacular.html (85%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/11/05/some-like-it-hot.html (78%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/11/06/kitchen-in-the-park.html (75%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/11/07/sunday-is-the-new-sunday.html (79%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/11/08/the-obstacle-within.html (55%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/11/09/rest-stop.html (77%)
 create mode 100644 webroot/posts/2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/11/11/intense-training.html (73%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/11/12/last-country.html (76%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/11/13/tuna-palas.html (69%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/11/14/the-penultimate-ride.html (73%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/posts/2010/11/15/the-end.html (87%)
 rename webroot/{biketotheearth => }/style.css (100%)

diff --git a/.github/workflows/build-deploy.yml b/.github/workflows/build-deploy.yml
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..df22039
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.github/workflows/build-deploy.yml
@@ -0,0 +1,17 @@
+name: Build and Deploy
+
+on:
+  push:
+    branches:
+      - master
+
+jobs:
+  deploy:
+    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
+    steps:
+      - uses: actions/checkout@v3
+      - name: Deploy site
+        uses: peaceiris/actions-gh-pages@v3
+        with:
+          github_token: ${{ secrets.GITHUB_TOKEN }}
+          publish_dir: ./webroot
diff --git a/.gitignore b/.gitignore
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7e99e36
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitignore
@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+*.pyc
\ No newline at end of file
diff --git a/extract.py b/extract.py
index 61eb352..e6aea58 100644
--- a/extract.py
+++ b/extract.py
@@ -12,7 +12,6 @@ def _parse_post(line):
   date_format = '%Y-%m-%dT%H:%M:%SZ'
   post_date = now.strptime(post['at'], date_format)
   path = os.path.join(
-    'biketotheearth',
     'posts',
     post_date.strftime('%Y'),
     post_date.strftime('%m'),
diff --git a/post.py b/post.py
index 815545f..37b795f 100644
--- a/post.py
+++ b/post.py
@@ -32,8 +32,8 @@ def render(self):
         <head>
           <meta charset="UTF-8" />
           <title>{self.getAttribute('title')}</title>
-          <link href='http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css' />
-          <link href='/biketotheearth/style.css' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css' />
+          <link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css' />
+          <link href='/style.css' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css' />
         </head>
         <body>
           {self.getChildren()}
@@ -57,7 +57,7 @@ def render(self):
     return \
     <div class="country" id={country}>
       <div class="country-icon">
-        <img src={'/biketotheearth/icons/{0}.png'.format(country)} />
+        <img src={'/icons/{0}.png'.format(country)} />
       </div>
       <div class="country-name">
         {country_names[country]}
@@ -116,7 +116,7 @@ def render_post(data):
       {_link(data['next'].get('href'), 'next')}
     </div>
     <div class="post-link">
-      {_link('/biketotheearth/index.html', 'index')}
+      {_link('/index.html', 'index')}
     </div>
   </div>
   post = \
@@ -129,7 +129,7 @@ def render_post(data):
       <div id="country">
         <div class="country-icon">
           <a href={country_href}>
-            <img src={'/biketotheearth/icons/{0}.png'.format(data['country'])} />
+            <img src={'/icons/{0}.png'.format(data['country'])} />
           </a>
         </div>
         <div class="country-name">
diff --git a/posts.json b/posts.json
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8690645
--- /dev/null
+++ b/posts.json
@@ -0,0 +1,197 @@
+{"content": "<p>Rotten luck with the hosting game: upon stopping for morning coffee in Preveza, we check our email and discover that our would-be host messaged us at 2200, a full two hours after we gave up on waiting. Such is life; we can hardly complain, not when our seaside park perch is passably comfortable - enough so that we wake up at 0730 without any prompting from our alarm, which is still set for 0830 from our hotel stay in Igoumenitsa. The fig trees have been barren for some time, enough that the shock at seeing their branches empty has at last worn off. Our plan is simple, unambitious even: get out of Preveza, pass through Lefkada, traverse the island to Vasiliki, take the ferry to Sami and thence to Killini on the mainland. This plan is complicated by my illness, which has chosen today of all days to reach a head. It is not exactly pleasant to be forced to, er, relieve oneself by the roadside every 5 km, but there is no alternative - for this reason, toilet paper makes the list of crucial items to bring on any sort of extended trip. But enough of such lurid details...</p>\n<p>...Preveza is separated from Aktio (on the opposite side of the bay) by a 1600 m stretch of tunnel. Simple enough for us, except that the end at Preveza is strictly guarded by a cluster of police cruisers, and the tunnel itself seems to be patrolled by a road maintenance vehicle with two road workers inside who politely but firmly inform us that no, we may not cycle the length of the tunnel. Never mind that we've done worse - longer tunnels, less well-lit tunnels, highways and back roads and all manner of pavement by the feeble light of our headlamp. The alternate route is daunting: 100 km around the bay through Arta. Although it would undoubtedly be quite scenic, everywhere around here is scenic - and we have designs on getting to Kalamata, where a friend of a friend has offered to host us. Faced with this, we instead try the police; in broken English, they tell us what we already know - that the only other way is the long circumnavigation of the bay - but we put enough worry, disgust, and weariness into our resulting expressions that they offer to let us wait with them until a sufficiently large vehicle drives by. When several such vehicles pass by without stopping, they instead have us load our bikes on the road maintenance vehicle...</p>\n<p>...and we are soon bolting down the tunnel way faster than we could ever hope to bike it, bursting back into the light just before the toll booths. We reach into our pockets, but no money is needed - we are travelling courtesy of the road service, and road service vehicles are understandably granted free passage even when carrying two semi-sketchy-looking travellers. We offload the bikes, remarking to ourselves that we seem to be doing less cycling than hitchhiking (hitchbiking?) these days...</p>\n<p>...the road to Lefkada is not particularly notable: flatter than most, though not without hills; usual set of large hills and mountains at one side, sea at the other. There is an amusing sign by the military base halfway down the road informing passersby that photography is strictly \"forbitten\" - though exactly what information such photographs would reveal that is not already available through Google Maps satellite images or other such expedients, we are not sure. Just before Lefkada, the road flattens out through the marsh area; it is set lower than the Albanian roads, and we wonder if perhaps it would have flooded over during the recent storms, disconnecting Lefkada entirely from the mainland. Not unthinkable, not with what we saw of the sea further north...</p>\n<p>...and we are soon along the side of the island down towards Vasiliki. This road starts out with rolling hills, but the last leg into Vasiliki starts off with a long and tiring uphill. To make matters worse, calamity strikes just before we head up into the mountains by Vasiliki: during a now-routine \"stomach relief\" stop, my bike falls over. This is not in itself of note - but this time it exposes a latent structural weakness in my pannier rack, which shears just above the mount point on the right side. I don't even notice this until I start to ride. There is an unsettling wobbling to the bike that I at first attribute to poor weight distribution - but then I look down and see that the rack itself is wobbling. We stop, pull everything off, set the two parts of the hollow metal rod in place with a thin stick, duct-tape the area as much as possible, and apply the top half of a broken spork as a splint. This is just enough to hold it together until...</p>\n<p>...on the beginning of the descent into Vasiliki, we come across a petrol station and decide to stop for more, er, relief. There is a woman sitting outside, so we decide to see if she knows anything about the ferries in Vasiliki - but she is actually a Greek-Canadian from Montreal visiting her original home for a couple of weeks, and she does not have occasion to use the ferry there. Strange to find so many Canadians in Greece, although it is evident to anyone who walks through the Danforth in Toronto that there is a fairly large Greek-Canadian community. We explain our trip to her; like most people we talk to about this, she thinks we are quite crazy but is willing to extend her best wishes for our continued safety and success. But there is more to achieve here than conversation - given the instability of the rack, it seems best to remove the side panniers. These we construct knapsacks out of using the rope; one pannier apiece carried on the back, at least until we reach Kalamata and hopefully locate a decent bike shop. If not, we may even be in this sorry state for the rest of the trip...</p>\n<p>...and we roll into Vasiliki in time to read the schedule and find that the ferry left at 0900. There is little for it but to wait; we scope out a reasonable campsite against a caf\u00e9 that is closed for the off-season, then head back into town to grab drinks and charge the laptop and write blog posts. It is getting dark earlier each day, so we download more movies and resort even to downloading some old adventure game classics for DOS and SCUMM - something in keeping with the adventurous spirit of the trip. We grab a quick bite from the supermarket, decide this is not enough, and follow it up with souvlaki and tzatziki from a local snack bar before retiring to our chosen site to set up the tent and sleep. Nothing else to do; perhaps tomorrow will bring better luck in getting to Killini...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/23/racked.html", "title": "racked", "date": "2010-10-23T11:52:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/23/racked.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101023", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p>Final day into Tarifa - after a long and trying five-day 600 km sprint from Lisboa, we're finally within reach of Tarifa, the ferry across to Morocco, and the Strait of Gibraltar! The heat, though still ever-present, lessens perceptibly as we near the coast, and the salt-tinged breeze fills our lungs...still, this day proves to be no shorter than the others, maybe even somewhat harder; we ride through the hilltop villages and rolling hills and, as the day wears on into evening, up around the rocky capes that characterize the last curve of the Atlantic below Cad\u00edz.</p>\n<p>The early rising has become routine, but today that routine is marred by an unexpected occurrence - the hotel where we were forced to take up residence last night is protected by solid gates that are closed overnight as a matter of Important Security, and the Spanish do not rise at this hour to open gates for such as ourselves...so, after some failed consideration of less brute-force approaches, we resort to shoving them aside. We then promptly lose ourselves in the cliffside meanderings of Arcos de la Frontera - but only for a short time; as usual, we succeed in leaving town in roughly the correct direction, and are soon on an unmarked (on our map, at least) road towards the coast. Exhaustion is catching up with us; it will take everything we've got left to reach our destination.</p>\n<p>And the next bit is not promising; the road stays within sight of the mountains off to the left, threatening to veer off and climb into them if we should be foolish enough to turn off the path...but we mercifully stay clear of them, heading instead into the surrounding foothills and around a massive dam that tenuously holds back the fresh mountain lake water from crushing the villages below. We head on around the lake, panting in the heat of the rising sun, inching forward against a nasty headwind that promises to thwart our every move.</p>\n<p>And the next bit is no more promising. We reach another of the hilltop towns up in the foothills of the mountains, and find we have no choice but to go up. We are passed by cyclists who zoom down the hill on unladen racing bikes, out enjoying their Sunday rides. Their faces do not wear our tiredness, our grime. It is hard work sometimes, this bike trip; it is hard, hard work, and it is utterly crucial that any aspiring bike tourist understand this. The day will arrive when you must go on despite all the odds, and you will be hard-pressed to maintain morale...</p>\n<p>...and yet we do it, day after day, working and sweating and squinting in the sunlight for the next beautiful view...like that which awaits us on the hilltop, the plains far below stretching out to the ancient city of Cad\u00edz, that bastion of Phoenicians and Egyptians and Romans and Moors and Catholic kings who, long before us, arrived in ships and saw fit to civilize this land by whatever brutal means necessary - and yet we will not pass through Cad\u00edz; our lot, instead, is to head down to Barbate on the coast, for otherwise we have no chance of making it to Tarifa in any reasonable time frame. That is another lesson from the last few days: a single act of planning, committed far in advance, can completely change things. What is the reason for all this rushing? For us, this mad dash to Tarifa is the result of our desire to see the Alhambra, for which one must reserve tickets months in advance. Since we were new to this game, we overestimated our daily distance by a good margin and left ourselves with a drastic shortage of time between Pamplona and Granada.</p>\n<p>And so here we are. After the requisite siesta in Barbate, we prepare to travel along the coast to Tarifa, following the road which, counter to the ardent beliefs of our map, does not exist...so instead, we must walk our bikes along a 1.5 km stretch of footpath up by the lighthouse, a hike that is followed by a long and steady climb against yet more wind to circumvent an impassable stretch of rock...</p>\n<p>...and this is why we continue on; for the elation we get on reaching the top, that impossibly sweet knowledge that our trials are over - even if only for the day - that it is merely an easy ride downhill and along the beach to the next campsite or beach inlet or wherever we manage to find shelter...that feeling makes it all worth it. If it didn't, I expect each of us would have packed up a long time ago, thrown in the towel.</p>\n<p>But we haven't done that yet, and so I can say proudly: we have reached the Strait of Gibraltar, and are now officially next to the Mediterranean Sea! Tomorrow we will leave the continent, even if only briefly, to visit Morocco - although we will only hop across to Tanger, it should provide for exciting times!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/25/the-road-to-nowhere.html", "title": "the road to nowhere", "date": "2010-07-25T15:27:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/25/the-road-to-nowhere.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100725", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Childhood arrested<br />\nFlows free, properly prompted,<br />\nFrom those such as we.</i></p>\n<p>We finally got to work today!  It's exciting to feel like we're no longer freeloading off these nice people.  Their food is delicioustastic, and we've felt bad for all the time we've just been hanging out and enjoying their hospitality without holding up our end of the deal.</p>\n<p>As I mentioned, we're stuck with gardening for the week.  Today we cleared a lot of brush (which we added to their burn pile; it now towers higher than some of their trees) and softened the ground in their unplanted garden patch.  It sounds like not that much, but they were delighted to have it done.  It wasn't easy work, either; it's hot all the time, and the sun here at midday chases everyone inside.  Fortunately, these people are well-stocked with reading material.  The titles on their bookshelf range from <i>5 Great Novels: Philip K. Dick</i> to <i>Storming Heaven: LSD and the American Dream</i> to <i>Capoeira 100</i> to <i>Fast Food Nation</i>, and going through them during our electricity-free downtime is going to be a lot of fun.</p>\n<p>In the evening, after a delicious dinner, we headed out on our bicycles with Joseph towards Pedralba, the town nearby where he goes to school and the family takes care of much of their shopping and socialising.  Casinos, the other town, is a bit larger, but not as homey.  Anyway, we headed out with him, and he showed us around the library (where we can find internet!) and the church, and eventually led us down to the river.</p>\n<p>We tossed our bikes together at the base of a bridge, and Joseph informed us that we'd be jumping off of it.  There's a video that should be going up sometime of him and Evan jumping off the first time.  :)  It's a really nice little place to swim, actually, and there were a lot of townfolk out at dusk there.  Then he decided to lead us upriver for the \"rapids ride,\" which was basically a mad rush where we had to work our tails off to keep afloat high enough to stay off the sharp rocks underwater.  JOYOUS FUN, I CAN TELL YOU.</p>\n<p>Anyway, that was our day: hoeing and river-jumping.  Life is slower out here.  It'll be a nice break.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/11/back-to-basics.html", "title": "back to basics", "date": "2010-08-11T15:48:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/11/back-to-basics.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100811", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p></i>'Easy' may not mean<br />\nWhat you expect.  France hates peo-<br />\nPle who feel lucky.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>France hates us.</p>\n<p>Today we woke up in Gravelines after our night of camping on the beach, excited that today would be a short day to Calais by bike and then a train ride to Caen.  The train ride would be long (5-6 hours, we guessed), but it should be fun.  It would also be a good chance to, for example, catch up on blog posts.</p>\n<p>We didn't count on how hot it would be.  Even the 30km haul to Calais was murderous, and it was only 27 degrees or so.  Spain will be interesting, we mused.</p>\n<p>We also didn't count on France hating cyclists.  After tolerating honks from drivers passing us all the way to Calais, we stepped into the train station to get some train tickets.  Oh, shoot, it looks like the only way to take a train from Calais to Caen is via the Paris main station.  Oh, and it looks like we have to transfer across town in Paris.  Well, that kind of sucks, but okay.</p>\n<p>But, wait!  Evan stepped up to order our tickets, and we were informed that we couldn't get as far as Caen, or even Paris, with our bicycles.  There was no train that would carry bicycles beyond a town called Amies, which was a mere 60km away.  Caen is about 600km away.</p>\n<p>Uh, okay, so what now?  We step across the street into a bar with wifi and do our research.  It looks like renting a car is going to be the best option, and, although it sucks, we really want to see the landing beaches for D-Day, so whatever.  Oh, and Hertz is having deals renting cars from 27\u20ac per day!  Where are they located?  The port, okay, we can find that.</p>\n<p>We hop on our bicycles and head to the port, which is pretty poorly signed, and wind up getting lost in a freight area with some Polish truck drivers.  After fishtailing our heavily-weighted bicycles through some rather large piles of sand, we managed to escape that area and head towards the car port, which was a non-neglible distance away through some not-apparently-navegable fence complexes.</p>\n<p>Anyway, we made it!  It was about 12h30 at the time, and we discovered that the car rental desks didn't open until 14h.  Apparently, everyone in France takes a lunch break from 12h to 14h.  Everyone.</p>\n<p>After we wasted an hour and a half doing photo curation, etc., we stepped up to the Hertz desk to be informed that they didn't have any cars left to rent.  Well, okay, we'll try Europcar.  They <i>do</i> have cars to rent, but it's going to be... 260\u20ac plus gas.  ARGH.  FINE WE'LL GET THE CAR.</p>\n<p>Bicycles in tow, we walk out to the lot to examine our newly-rented car.  It is... small.  You may note in the photos that through some creative packing and strategic disassembly we managed to get bikes and bags and panniers and racks and cables and us all inside, though, and got on the road to Caen.</p>\n<p>Driving is so much more stressful than bicycling.  Once you're moving too quickly to properly see the countryside, and once you're closed in a box that prevents you from feeling the wind in your hair, and especially once you're paying 7\u20ac tolls to go a few dozen kilometres, you're simply not relaxing very much.  We paid 5\u20ac to cross a bridge once.  One bridge.</p>\n<p>We soon realised that to preserve our sanity we would need to seek some coastal routes.  We headed off the motorway to Dieppe, where there had been some Canadian battles fought during the first Great War.  It helped a lot to get out of the car and stroll along the beach for a bit.</p>\n<p>From Dieppe, we headed on to Caen, at which we arrived around 22h.  Predictably, most hotel desks were closed at this time, and those that were not closed informed us, also predictably, that they were full.  Well, fine.  We headed out of town again towards Lion sur Mer, where we found a farm-camping place to set up our tent for the night.  Around 1 in the morning, we collapsed into our sleeping bag, defeated by France.</p>\n<p>Ugh.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/05/without-a-car-in-the-world.html", "title": "without a car in the world", "date": "2010-06-05T15:37:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/05/without-a-car-in-the-world.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100605", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>A day in Benevento. We're in the mountains now, far from the chaos and cobblestones of Napoli, and it seems prudent to enjoy it - so we take our gracious host up on his offer and decide to stay an extra day. No sleeping in, though; Massimo works for the local transit agency as a publicist, and he prefers to start early...so we leap out of bed at the sprightly (though by now hardly unusual) hour of 0630, don the only clean clothes we have, and head into town, grabbing breakfast at a local bar near the terminus that even at this hour is crammed full of students on their way to the secondary school across the street. Yes, school has started again - another reminder that our journey is separate from the schedules of real life, from work and school and all manner of daily obligations; and yet we have our own schedule, one which pushes us to rise early, eat constantly, and bike ever harder. November 23. A fixed date, marking the end of our trip in still-faraway Istanbul. A date that is fast approaching...</p>\n<p>...but, for now, there is time enough to poke around Benevento a little. Massimo speaks to one of the bus drivers, who allows us to ride into town free of charge. Once there, we complete our breakfast (though tasty, caff\u00e9 e cornetto is not nearly enough!) with pomodoro and provolone sandwiches, a variation on the bocadillos tomate that we enjoyed so well during our travels through Spain. We eat in the shadow of the Arco Traiano, a Roman triumphal arch - Benevento was originally one of the larger Roman towns in the area, a sort of waypoint along the Via Appia. Aside from the arch, we also visit an ancient district only recently unearthed (in 2004 - before that, it was covered with plant growth), a Roman theatre, and a couple of old cathedrals in the centre of town.</p>\n<p>Later on, after taking care of mundane tasks such as laundry and blogkeeping and such, we head out to the offices of the cycling club that Massimo heads, Sannio in Bici (Sannio being the mountainous area around Benevento, in size somewhere between the province of Benevento and the region of Campania) which is fittingly located right next to an old rail line that has since been converted into a bike path. The offices are part of this smallish recreation and sport complex; it has its own bar, caf\u00e9, and football pitch, and therefore is furnished with all the necessities of Italian life...</p>\n<p>...and we walk along the backroads near the bike path. These wind up into the surrounding hills, offering magnificent views of the mountains whose tips glow with yellow and red and orange in the setting sun - beautiful, a sort of beauty that is appreciated even more at walking speed. We walk out to where the roads join the bike path again, some 5 km out from the office, and take the path back through the valley - it is getting dark as we walk back, and we fear that we are late, so we make haste while discussing our crazy plans to take part in National Novel Writing Month during the final stretch of our trip. Perhaps we can write a story based off one of the local legends we have heard, or off some part of our travels that particularly struck us...there is enough material here for an entire series, and not nearly enough time to write it in...</p>\n<p>...to our surprise, we get back at 2005 - not too late, and certainly earlier than we imagine it to be. Spring has become summer, which will soon give way to fall; the solstice has long passed, the equinox is in sight. At the beginning of our trip, it was not uncommon to have light until 2230 or even later. Now, the sun sets before 2000. The day is noticeably shorter, so that we must finish biking much sooner. Nevertheless, we are fortunately not biking now; instead, we are drinking beer and eating delicious pastries at the bar in the sport complex. There is some sort of birthday party taking place, and leftover food is already available in abundance.</p>\n<p>In town, we make a stop by this libreria (book store, essentially) owned by one of Massimo's friends, who offers the space inside for groups and organizations in the community to give presentations. Tonight, some people from the Slow Food Association in these parts have come by to present Terra Madre, a documentary about the global Slow Food gathering in 2006 and the deleterious effects of industrial agriculture on our planet. While there, we have one important task to take care of: unfortunately, we lost our regional map of Campania and Basilicata today while walking about town, so we purchase another. Since we keep track of our daily routes on the map, we must redraw these later when we get the chance...</p>\n<p>...but the Slow Food presentation is entirely in Italian - so to spare us from the ensuing linguistic confusion, made no better by the fact that Italian is typically spoken at the frenetic speed of a hardened espresso addict, Massimo takes us down to the old centre of town where a music and art festival is taking place. There is a concert in the old Roman district, part of which has been converted into a stage for precisely this purpose - but they only admit a certain number of people, so we must wait until other members of the audience leave. With nowhere else to go, we wait patiently and listen through the bars - and are soon inside once a large family leaves, absorbed in music as the near-full moon rises overhead...</p>\n<p>...and we head back to the bookshop at the end of the night to partake in some of the food offered by the Slow Food Association. There is local wine and local prosciutto and pizza made from local ingredients - all delicious and, happily for our light pockets, free. The owner even leaves us with a copy of this guide to the history and culture of the province of Benevento; it is in Italian, but we can decipher most of it by calling upon our experience with French and Spanish...</p>\n<p>A long and reasonably eventful day, and another reminder that the best places are often found outside the main cities. Of note, this is also our second successful foray into the world of WarmShowers, adding further to the karmic debt that we will have to repay upon establishing more permanent residence in San Francisco. So: if you are travelling through that part of California after we arrive in December, drop us a line and perhaps we will be able to find space for you!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/17/a-good-event.html", "title": "a good event", "date": "2010-09-17T15:00:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/17/a-good-event.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100917", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Sun, sea, and heat test<br />\nThe valour of cyclists twain....<br />\nPedal wrench ordains.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>The bustle on the beach, already stuffed with fishermen and sunbathers at 0800, roused us from Barcelona dreams.  We packed up our sleeping bag and gathered the items we had prepared for our ceremony: wine, pedal wrench, and cyclist clothes.</p>\n<p>Standing in our underclothes in the surf, we intoned some words to each other intended to convey the incredibleness of our accomplishment: we finished 5000 kilometres of our journey.  Pedal wrench touched to the shoulders meant that we had been accepted into the Brotherhood of Cyclists.  We washed away each other's doubts and fears and na\u00efvet\u00e9 with a dousing of wine over the head, then stepped into the Mediterranean and washed ourselves five times (one for each thousand kilometres).  We stepped over to the showers to cleanse ourselves and prepare for the application of our robes.  With our cycling outfits donned, we stepped to our bikes to prepare.</p>\n<p>But we didn't get very far.  Standing just next to our things was a man.  Next to the man was a bicycle.  Attached to the bicycle was a trailer.  Behind the trailer was a dog.  He was travelling.</p>\n<p>We stopped to talk to him for some time.  His name is Mariano Sch\u00e4rer, and he's findable on Facebook.  He's Swiss, and in May he decided that he was done with taking the same train to work every day and seeing the same people and working for the same boss.  So he packed up all his things and his dog and set out on a world tour that he expects to stay on for 5 years.  Evan and I thought we were going for a long time... anyway, his bike weighs 67kg, and he goes 20-50km per day.  That's a different trip from ours, and we briefly thought about how far we could go if we kept up our pace for 5 years.  All of Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia...!</p>\n<p>We did eventually get going.  He was heading to Barcelona, so we had to part ways.  I think he'll have a good time, though.  :)</p>\n<p>The ride out was lovely; part of it was along some seaside mountains that were positively breathtaking.  It was not a long ride day (only about 100km), but we got to see some amazing things, and we really liked meeting Mariano.  Tonight, we are sleeping off to the side of a fallow field near the highway.  It's actually quite nice and quiet.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/23/ordained-cyclists.html", "title": "ordained cyclists", "date": "2010-08-23T11:34:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/23/ordained-cyclists.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100823", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>Another relatively long day today from the wonderful town of Zeven (which serves as a halfway point for those travelling between Hamburg and Bremen) to Oldenburg. We had actually intended to stop just past Bremen in Hude, but were refused at the Hostelling International hostel there for arriving roughly 20 minutes past the office closing time. Oh well. Much profanity, cold air, and lactic acid buildup later, we finally made it into Oldenburg. As per usual, this was not the end of our daily adventure; given only a compass and large-scale map, we had to find a place to stay for the night. Being more than a little tired and sore, we opted for the local hostel towards the north of town; setting out in what we thought was the right direction, we instead succeeded in finding the pedestrian centrum. After some amount of aimless perambulation, we were almost ready to give up - 120 km is a long way to bike in a single day, and it was getting rather late - when a friendly older couple noticed our predicament and offered to walk with us to the hostel. This was fortunate indeed, as I strongly doubt that we would have found it without assistance!</p>\n<p>They explained a number of things about Oldenburg:</p>\n<ul>\n<li>Oldenburg had the first pedestrian area in Germany - with the advent of the horseless carriage, the roads in that area of town proved too narrow for vehicles...so they converted into a pedestrian district instead.</li>\n<li>The town is roughly 600 years old, with around 160 000 inhabitants.</li>\n<li>Oldenburg is rather large compared to other towns of its size; many residences in the centre of town have sizeable yards, which is unusual in Europe.</li>\n</ul>\n<p>Anyways, we managed to get ourselves checked into the hostel, whereupon we promptly lifted our spirits with Bier and D\u00f6ner before collapsing in an exhausted heap on the bed. Aside from that: we are now furnished with new maps courtesy of some German cycling association in Bremen, which should last us to Amsterdam. The second half of the Hamburg-Bremen cycling route (indicated with HH/HB signs, corresponding to the regional codes for each city) is no less circuitous than the first - the Germans seem determined to ensure that cyclists visit every town on the map! We're almost out of Germany at this point; hopefully we can make it across the border into the Netherlands tomorrow!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html", "title": "nay, ich spreche deutsch!", "date": "2010-05-25T15:07:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100525", "country": "de"}
+{"content": "<p>There are few experiences more bizarre than waking up in the car of a near-complete stranger who doesn't even speak your language - but such are the circumstances, and it behooves one to roll with the circumstances when, dead tired from a 190 km sprint the previous day, one finds oneself in a small remote town up in the hills of Puglia at the mercy of a cadre of well-meaning middle-aged Italian men. Nothing to be done but accept it; we have assumed all the trappings of hobosity, save perhaps for the part about begging for money - and hopefully it will not come to that. We have at some points floated about the idea of setting up a roadside kitchen, selling portions of caprese salad or fresh-cooked pasta to anyone who cares to place their gastrointestinal destiny in the hands of two weary-looking travellers, one sporting an ever more unruly beard...</p>\n<p>...but enough of such diversions; back to the garage in Ceglie Messapica where, at approximately 0740, a well-meaning middle-aged Italian man named Nicolas creaks open the door, the rays from the by-now-long-since-risen sun ending our surprisingly good sleep. We are ejected (politely, of course) into the streets of Ceglie, left to our own devices to make sense of an increasingly tangled web of facts that we hope will lead us to the World Peace Garden:</p>\n<p>0) It is called the World Peace Garden.\n1) It is on Trattoria Alfieri on Contrada Alfieri.\n2) It is run by someone named Greg.\n3) Contrada Alfieri is some 6 km out of town along the highway SP 23, which we think (but are not certain) we know the way to.\n4) The number we have is actually for the office in town, which is at 17-19 Via Francesco Baracca.</p>\n<p>We come up with a plan of attack:</p>\n<p>0) Leave a note on the door telling them that we'll be in the main square.\n1) Wait in the main square until 1300.\n2) If nothing happens, find SP 23, ride out to Contrada Alfieri, and start asking around.\n3) If that fails, ride on.</p>\n<p>It is a last-ditch effort, to be sure - but we're not getting very far here, whereas we certainly have a host in Barletta...but, for now, our stubbornness exceeds our impatience, so here we are...</p>\n<p>...but, before we can execute our master plan, there are some important matters of biochemistry to attend to. The plan itself we concoct over caff\u00e9 e cornetto at a local bar - which is evidently nowhere near enough food to bridge the vast energy gap blown in our stomachs over yesterday's monstrously long ride, so we grab some pasta and vegetables and cook up a quick brunch in the nearby park. On the way, we run into yet another well-meaning middle-aged Italian man upon asking where we can find a decent map of Puglia; he points us down the road to this press/journal stand, which is in the direction of the park anyways...all that done, we head back to post the note and sit in the square - and are waylaid by the same man, who invites us into this caf\u00e9 for cappucini. We spend some time attempting to explain our trip to him, along with why exactly we should find ourselves all the way out here on a Tuesday morning, in a mash of broken Italian sprinkled with English...but he rapidly loses interest in struggling through the language barrier and joins his friends outside, leaving us to strive for ever more hyperactive levels of caffeination...</p>\n<p>...and we finally get to the office door about 1030, worried that perhaps we missed them already - but there is no evidence that anyone has been here, for our note from last night remains firmly affixed to the door. We shrug, head over to the square to wash dishes, and entrench ourselves in a position conducive to writing these massive blog posts...</p>\n<p>...1245. We are getting restless. No sign of Greg or anyone else with any connection whatsoever to this World Peace Garden thing. Almost ready to throw in the towel on 1) and move on to 2), despite frequent warnings to the effect that the backroads around here are difficult to navigate - and then, out of nowhere, a woman comes bounding towards us exclaiming something in Italian that we mistranslate as \"It's my house\". Through the mess of syllables and frantic hand motions, we understand that we are to follow her, so we get up and move our bikes - and are quickly at the office, where we look around in confusion for a second. The same woman is still making gestures at us, but she is standing down the road - and then someone at last comes down from the office to greet us with the by-now welcome news that, yes, this is the office of the World Peace Garden and no, Greg is not in right now, but he will be within the next few days and yes, we can come up and sit down for a bit...</p>\n<p>Success at last! Fiorella attends to some last-minute work as we take in the aesthetic of the World Peace Garden office: there are bookshelves full of tomes on ancient rituals and healing practices and herbs, a good number of multicoloured cloth-based items, a scent of incense wafting in from the main room, a series of hastily-scrawled words and glyphs drawn in crayon on the living room wall. Not the sort of space you often find yourself in as a technophile student of Computer Science...</p>\n<p>...and we are off towards the farm, following Fiorella's car along the SP 23 (so we did have the rough direction down!) on bike to Contrada Alfieri, where we make a series of turns down increasingly smaller roads until at last we come to this deadbolted wooden gate. As we bike up the driveway, we come to something that looks like a hybrid between a standard house and the cone-topped trulli structures used for storage in these parts. We stow away our bikes, setting up our tent underneath a walnut tree down in the lower terrace of the garden...</p>\n<p>...the rest of the afternoon passes slowly; Fiorella is back to the office to continue her work, while we are left to explore the garden on our own. There are walnuts and figs and almonds, a small patch of root vegetables, and some potted herbs near the main kitchen and house complex - but most of the lower terrace is consumed by rows of vines bearing juicy red and white grapes, grapes that we hope to harvest later this week. As the evening wears on, we decide to try our hand at cooking on the stove - but it is not what we are used to. When camping, we cook pasta first and store it in our airtight plastic container until the sauce is ready. This makes plenty of sense when limited to one burner - pasta dirties the pan far less than sauce - but no sense whatsoever in these circumstances. We also make the mistake of grabbing too many onions from the pantry; these are from a very limited stock of onions grown on premises, and are therefore intended to be used sparingly for flavour. Despite these mishaps, the pasta dish is delicious...</p>\n<p>...and now it is time for bed, here among the dogs and walnuts and vines of the World Peace Garden. What strange and exciting things will the next week bring? What exactly is the 13 Moon Galactic Synchronometer? Questions, so many questions...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/21/wpg.html", "title": "wpg", "date": "2010-09-21T07:30:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/21/wpg.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100921", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>Out of our campsite paradise at dawn to head over the low-lying mountains in the surrounding countryside to Marseille - and then on to the famed calanques south of the city, a series of Mediterranean fjords whose rocky folds hide picture-perfect fishing villages with their boat-filled harbours...</p>\n<p>...but first, disaster! As we exit Aix-en-Provence, it quickly becomes apparent that Valkyrie's derailleur is not going to cooperate. We pull over, get in a daily stretch, pull the bags off, grab the tools, and set to work...only to be forcibly relocated a few minutes later when a road maintenance van on its morning rounds joins us on the road shoulder. Its two occupants climb down to tell us that this is a dangerous curve - but cut themselves short upon seeing that our derailleur troubles have rendered us immobile. They jump in, attempting to adjust the derailleur limiting screws to fix the problem, testing the adjustments by rotating the pedals...but they give up quickly, deciding that this sort of problem is best left to professional bike mechanics...</p>\n<p>...which are in understandably short supply 5 km out of Aix-en-Provence along the minor highway, so they make an offer we can't refuse: they will drive us and our bikes to the nearest open bike repair shop, making use of their spacious rear cabin to carry our voluminous equipment! We are soon on our way; in passable French, I explain our journey to them with its peculiar ups and downs. We have long since reached the point where most anyone we discuss our trip with is positively floored by its sheer magnitude (well, everyone except crazy bike mechanics who have left the working world to travel for five years with their dogs and 67 kg of their dearest personal possessions...) They wish us good luck for the rest of our travels, leaving us at Decathlon - this being Monday, smaller shops are closed - with a bright yellow reflective vest courtesy of the French road service (so we can ride later at night without dying, you see.)</p>\n<p>We spend some time at Decathlon due to the pitiful state our bikes are in. Valkyrie's derailleur needs tuning; our brake pads (yes, all eight!) are worn down to the metal in several places and must be replaced (and readjusted!); the tires are under-inflated and slightly out of true...a daunting set of repairs! Nevertheless, we purchase the necessary parts, deferring any procedures we aren't familiar with to the in-store mechanics. Once that is done, we have to reorient ourselves on the map; we are now in a peripheral district of Aix-en-Provence by the name of les Milles, which puts us off our original intended route to Marseille...</p>\n<p>...but we find our way back onto it soon enough, the distance made significantly easier by our firmly-inflated inner tubes. The ride to Marseille is short, and we are soon taking a d\u00e9gustation of pastis (the local anise-flavoured liqueur) by the Vieux Port and riding up around the cathedrals near Le Panier; we then cross the harbour and head for the calanques, our passage aided by blustery tailwinds.</p>\n<p>We reach the foot of the road into Morgiou about 1700 - and find the calanque closed; there is an extreme fire warning on for the day, so that remote forested areas must close their gates to protect the foolish tourists. We sit around for a bit and try to hitch a ride up the road, but no one stops to pick us up. At one point in our frustrated waiting, we even climb up into the hills around the security post, evaluating the likelihood that we could evade notice (next to zero, sadly...) Finally, we decide to talk to the security guards one more time...</p>\n<p>...and find them unusually receptive; they are a pair of expat Algerians who, upon learning that we are North American, regale us with their special Obama dance. They invite us into the booth away from the high winds, and let us lean our bikes against the outside wall; they show us pictures of the calanque at Morgiou and surrounding coastline; we share stories of our travels (again in my passable French) and read articles out of the daily papers about deranged mothers and political scandals, whatever the particular panic is today...seeing that we are completely determined to see this calanque No Matter What, they inform us that they will leave their post at 1900, at which time no one will be around to stop us from continuing on. (We don't make the rules, they assure us; it is our job to stop people, etc.) They even write out their official blessing on a sheet of paper: \"Au part des agents de s\u00e9curit\u00e9 Momo et Sofiane\"...</p>\n<p>We head up the steep road - which is steep enough in some parts that we must walk, for the first time since that dreadful headwind between Tarifa and Algeciras - and soon find ourselves in Morgiou, whereupon we lock our bikes by the harbour and quickly locate a beach suitable for cooking and camping and all such things. A long yet eventful day, and what a place to finish it in!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/30/calanquerous.html", "title": "calanquerous", "date": "2010-08-30T09:51:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/30/calanquerous.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100830", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Nobility is<br />\nNot to be forgotten.  Strive<br />\nTo remember theirs.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>I woke up this morning with a serious stomach problem that wouldn't allow me to eat properly.  I wanted, however, to see the American Military Cemetery we had been thwarted by yesterday evening, so we set out.  The going was slow.  But I am so happy we went.</p>\n<p>The cemetery is staggering.  There are more than 10,000 American soldiers at rest there, and the site is at the top of Omaha beach, which is where they stormed for D-Day.  Looking at how the land lays and imagining fighting up the bluffs there is sobering, and the fields of neatly-spaced white crosses and stars of David standing over neatly-manicured emerald lawns are more than a bit heart-wrenching.  There simply isn't much I can say about going there.  There was a pile of flowers left by those who had been by, and a few couples and single people old enough to remember for themselves wandered through the rows.  I couldn't understand the man talking on his cellphone as he strolled around, or the gaggle of high school children laughing and punching each other's arms.  Although we couldn't make it for D-Day proper, tribute to this sort of thing shouldn't really have to have a day, and I'm glad I had the chance to see it for myself.</p>\n<p>After the cemetery, I wasn't in shape to make it much further.  After about 20km, we had to call it quits, and I slept in the tent while Evan attempted to use our stove to prepare food for himself, only to discover that the pump was broken.  Some mechanically handy British people a couple campsites over helped him out, and I guess he wound up with a pretty tasty meal.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/07/omaha-beach.html", "title": "omaha beach", "date": "2010-06-07T15:41:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/07/omaha-beach.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100607", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>24 years. That is how long - give or take a few hours - I have had the fortune to live on this planet, not counting the months idled away in a giant fleshy fluid-filled sac inside my mother's body. This is one of the more eclectic birthdays I've had, wholly unlike any other. For a while in secondary school, and even in university, I forwent celebrating this day; being right in the middle of summer, it often clashed with summer jobs, summer vacations, and summer indolence. Today both continued and broke this tradition. It was less celebration than reflection upon time, a reflection spent in the company of peaceful Mediterranean waters at a beachside campground some 5 km out of Almer\u00eda. One year older - and yet I have unwavering faith that these next years will prove very exciting indeed, for life is what you make of it...</p>\n<p>...but back to the real point. How was the day? How was the ride? What did you see? What happened? And so on...if you must know, the riding part of the day started around 0700 and ended around 1500, during which time we travelled up and over long hills along some beautiful though uneventful coastline before cutting across a wide peninsula in the midday heat; we had all the usual necessary stoppages for breakfast and pastry and juice and snacks and water; navigation brought some challenges, though not too many. Most of these days, as it turns out, are minor variations on this theme: wake, eat, ride, eat, ride, camp, sleep. You get used to the rhythm, eventually become lost in it; even the effort of biking mostly disappears, so that you are able to enjoy anything you might see.</p>\n<p>So maybe that is not the real point here; the real point, if there is one, is that time is definitely passing here. The symbolic act of passing from one year to the next, incrementing the great counter of life, is proof enough. And every day is one day closer to Istanbul, that far-off promised land where, having biked somewhat more than 10 000 km (we drew straight lines on the map to estimate distance, and not even our slight compensations fully account for the twists and turns in your average coastal road) we will cross into Asia, lay down our bikes with a contented sigh, and consider the trip formally completed. It still seems far away, but we'll make it in that tireless, stubborn, journey-of-ten-thousand-li manner.</p>\n<p>What else? Almer\u00eda is not exactly a remarkable city; it boasts the by-now-usual contingent of old fortifications and religious icons, has the usual pedestrian older town with quaint caf\u00e9s and bars...having spent our afternoon swimming over by the campground beach, we headed into town to cook up a birthday feast of ceviche and seared tuna in an abandoned lot, where we were joined by a friendly vagrant who offered half-coherent tales of his upbringing in Algeria along with a smattering of drunken and therefore mostly incomprehensible French. At one point, as we were packing everything up, the Red Cross drove by to give the man some food; we offered him leftovers, which were gently but firmly refused. It is one thing to accept help, quite another to accept it twice...</p>\n<p>...and then we head into the old town, where we down a bottle of cheap wine and drink horchata before setting out among the bars for overpriced drinks and tapas. Even the nightlife here seems muted; there are people enough, yet the bars are tucked away in narrow streets as if to keep them out of sight - and the young professionals have mostly left, following the lure of nearby Granada and Valencia. Still, it is a pleasant night out, and we ride back along the now dark coastal highway to the campground, contented in our peculiar evening.</p>\n<p>So. 24 years. One more down the hatch, one more to remember...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/31/age-plus-plus.html", "title": "age++", "date": "2010-07-31T15:35:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/31/age-plus-plus.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100731", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Navigation is<br />\nMade difficult by a large<br />\nBeard on one's face.  Hm.</i></p>\n<p>This morning was lovely.  We slept in a little bit (it's not so far to Benevento... only about 80km and mostly flat) and watched Robot Chicken, then the hotel's dalmatian greeted us with friendly lickings as we prepared our bikes for takeoff.  We coasted down the hill to a caf\u00e9 for espresso, and we drew in our lines from yesterday.  If you've looked at our maps (my mom has uploaded them to her Picasa for now (found at <a href=\"http://picasaweb.google.com/102231068694776133792/Maps\">http://picasaweb.google.com/102231068694776133792/Maps</a>), but we'll put them on ours when we get around to it), you'll notice that we like drawing little pictures of ourselves encountering various amusing things along our trip.  For instance, we have a little picture of the scooter man who offered us brioche con crema (buen\u00edssima, buen\u00edssima!) on our map of Liguria.  Anyway, I drew in a little picture of our reaching the top of Vesuvius only to find that it was closed.  I forgot that we still needed part of the map to get to Benevento today... so Evan's beard--rather amusing in comparison to the size of the stick figure representing Evan--covered a mass of roads that we needed to examine.  Oops.</p>\n<p>Anyway, the part of the map leading us to Pompeii was uncluttered, so we had no difficulty in reaching same, at least navigationally.  We did, however, experience our second car accident in three days when a man opened his door immediately in front of me.  It wasn't so bad, actually; I managed to dodge mostly out of the way and clip my handlebar on the edge.  It did give me a pair of nasty blood blisters on my finger, though, and it tore my handlebar tape.  Sigh.</p>\n<p>Anyway, Pompeii!  It was much larger than we expected, and we didn't get the chance to walk through all of it.  We did, however, receive a super-helpful guide to the entire site.</p>\n<p>Pompeii was really unfortunate.  The eruption of Vesuvius that buried it was in 79AD, and they were still recovering from an earthquake that destroyed most of the city about 15 years previously.  I guess they didn't learn.</p>\n<p>It was also a really old and really rich city; there were loads of houses on the periphery that had elaborate mosaics done in styles that spanned centuries.  Due to the volcano cover, many of these were nearly-perfectly preserved.  Pompeii actually wasn't rediscovered until the 17th century, and it wasn't excavated in earnest until about 100 years later, so they have had minimal exposure to the elements since the time of Ancient Rome.  One colour was really prevalent: scholars call it \"Pompeii Red,\" and it's rich and beautiful as a wall-covering.</p>\n<p>Well, we have a guide that we will try to scan in about it.  Our meandering lasted a few hours, and we weren't close to seeing the whole city.  If we had it to do again, we agreed that we would like to take the Pompeii bike trail that leads along the rear of the city.  It's a few kilometres, and it's essentially the only place in Pompeii with useful signs that have information.  The rest of the city is navegable only by the guidebooks.</p>\n<p>Out of Pompeii, we spent some time getting lost due to the aforementioned beard on our map, but we eventually made it to the No. 7, which heads directly to Benevento.  A curious man along the way spoke to us about our trip (in French, thankfully, rather than just Italian) and informed us of a couple Germans travelling by bike in the region.  Maybe we'll run into them sometime.  :)</p>\n<p>Keeping with our tradition, we stopped at a supermarket near our host's house to get a bottle of wine to thank him in advance.  As we were choosing the wine, we got a call from him asking us where we were.  We explained that we would be to his house in a few minutes, and that we had stopped to pick up some things at the supermarket in town.  We stepped outside and were just packing the wine when a man strode up to us and said, \"My name is Massimo, welcome!\"  Our host!</p>\n<p>We stashed our bikes in his parents' garage (they own a bus touring company and had sufficient extra space for a few tiny bikes) and rode with him up to his flat, which was actually in a different town.  By some amazing stroke of luck, he actually had an <i>extra</i> flat where we could sleep.  So... we got our own apartment for the night.</p>\n<p>We stayed up for a while with him, talking and discussing maps and plans for tomorrow.  I think we'll stay another day here to rest up--Vesuvius was a beast to climb, and we have some extra time anyway.  He's a pretty awesome guy, and he's the president of the Benevento cycling club, so he promised to show us a good route out of the city when we are ready to leave.</p>\n<p>Goodnight, flat!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/16/the-good-kind-of-flat.html", "title": "the good kind of flat", "date": "2010-09-16T14:57:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/16/the-good-kind-of-flat.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100916", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p><i>A haze of drizzle<br />\nCan't keep us out of bike shops!<br />\nClosing hours can.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>The timing of things in France just becomes more and more unfortunate every new place we go.  Today we arrived to Nantes (after a freezing drizzle followed us for the 30km or so from our campsite to the city centre) at around noon, only to find that the youth hostel here closes from 10 to 15:30.  What??  So we had to kill some time in a botanical garden nearby, then spend some time wandering around in search of food and WiFi and whatever it is that makes the town tick.</p>\n<p>We didn't find much of note, so we headed back and checked in to the hostel a bit after they reopened.  We puttered around, exploring the space and showering and the like, then headed out in search of a bike shop.  We've been wanting to get cycling shoes and toe clips for our bikes for some time now, but it seems that French people don't really care for sports of this variety, so the only store we've been able to find that sells anything similar to what we want is Decathlon.  And let me just comment that their customer service has been... lacking... at every location we've visited.</p>\n<p>We arrived to said bike shop at 17h10.  And wouldn't you know that it had closed for the evening.  Lovely.  Thanks, Nantes.</p>\n<p>So we touristed around instead.  I guess Nantes was a haunt of Jules Verne at some point in his life, so there's a museum (which was closed, figures) to him, and also a really striking statue of him in his childhood looking at a statue of Captain Nemo.  Man, I would love to be Captain Nemo.  I'm afraid people simply don't get funded to adventure in this day and age, though.</p>\n<p>There's a pretty nifty school of architecture in Nantes, too.  This means that they have several rather interesting buildings around town, and also that there are a lot of people wandering around pretending that they find the buildings interesting.  They claim that no resident in Nantes is more than 500m from a public park of some variety, so the town layout is really green and quite pleasant for strolling.  We were pointed at a gourmet caf\u00e9 during our search for WiFi that served amazing tea and Incan hot chocolate.  Mmmmmmmm.......</p>\n<p>We also sat around in a pub for a bit in the evening, electing to watch the Danmark/Cameroon game instead of wandering around in the increasing chill of the evening.  It was a pretty good game, but I'm super excited for the France/South Africa game coming up.  :D</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/19/when-in-nantes.html", "title": "when in nantes", "date": "2010-06-19T13:39:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/19/when-in-nantes.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100619", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>I didn't even<br />\nKnow where Bruges was.  It's in Bel-<br />\nGium.  Oh, the movies.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>Today's ride was a little sad; packing up to leave Bart's apartment was made more unpleasant by the thought that we don't have another host planned for several, several days (none until Ken in the UK, if I recall correctly... sigh.), but we're pretty used to the tent now.  Since it and the sleeping bags had a chance to air out over the last couple days, they smell much pleasanter.</p>\n<p>Equipped with proper maps and some advice from Niels about bicycling in Belgium, we were actually quite comfortably set to make it to Brugge today via Gent.  It was around 100km, and I don't think we got lost even once.  It was sort of... boring.  We discussed that we need to find a better balance between getting lost and getting bored.  Following minor highways that go direct presents a nicely-paved and straightforward way of getting from place to place, but \"ribbon building\" (as Niels called it) means lots of similar-looking buildings crowd along these routes, even when one is outside of cities.</p>\n<p>Gent was unremarkable.  We had lunch on a bridge in the old town and enjoyed a view of their fort.  It was an important turning-point in bike roads, though, as on the east side of it they seemed limited to gravelly shoulders on the side of the main road, and on the west side we got to go along routes that paralleled train lines and passed through fields and the like.  We even passed through a town whose name I don't recall that had bicycles and tricycles along the median in the centre of town, each one painted a lively green and with a handlebar basket functioning as a planter.</p>\n<p>Our own Evan Stratford took a rather remarkable fall off his bicycle around Gent.  Hooking his handlebars through the lock dangling from my top pannier, he threw himself headfirst into the ground, then turned that throw into an impressively-styled roll directly into a sewage drainage ditch.  His scent was unparalelled for the rest of the day, and he now has a wicked-looking scratch on his knee to commemorate the incident.</p>\n<p>Brugge, though, is great.  As Europe's best-preserved medieval city, it is naturally a huge tourist spot.  It's got some old windmills, but it's just packed with fantastic old structures.  There aren't yards in Brugge; all the space is filled by intricate buildings.  The absurd picturesqueness of the city actually began to annoy us after a while.  Oh, look, <i>another</i> perfect cathedral.  Guess I have to take a $#(@&amp; photo.</p>\n<p>We took a pause to enjoy Belgium's contribution to world cuisine: the fry.  The shop we found offered a variety of delicious sauces, and the one we selected was gravy with whole peppercorns.  Mmmmmm...</p>\n<p>Our curiosity about the city (and our rumbling tummies) satisfied, we headed back to our campground, where we sat up in the tent and watched a film called \"In Bruges\" (from which the haiku at the beginning of this post is taken).  It's quite a film.  We found it amusing that the main character had the same sort of \"I am annoyed by how pretty all this is\" attitude that we found ourselves with.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/03/in-bruges.html", "title": "in bruges", "date": "2010-06-03T15:35:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/03/in-bruges.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100603", "country": "be"}
+{"content": "<p>As is our custom upon reaching an oasis of non-campground-itude, we slept soundly until about 0900, waking only to fix ourselves a gargantuan breakfast of m\u00fcesli and yogourt and cheese and bread. Bart's friend Niels treated us to breakfast and a quick tour of Antwerpen's more historic districts - the train station has recently completed nearly a decade of renovations, and the old part boasts a number of beautiful cathedrals...but you'll want to check our <a href=\"http://picasaweb.google.ca/biketotheearth\">Picasa comments</a> for more details on that!</p>\n<p>We spent most of the afternoon walking around Antwerp; it seems the city has become a sort of mecca for the nouveau riche, as evidenced by the preponderance of high-end boutiques in certain parts. At the same time, it is large enough to be far more cosmopolitan than most of the villages and towns we've visited so far; Bart's apartment is situated in a district with large Turkish and Muslim populations.</p>\n<p>We still haven't tested the camping stove; several of the campgrounds we've encountered so far have kitchens, and we've been busy enough getting into the whole cycling routine that working out the minutiae of different petrol types and single-burner stove fuel pumps has been shoved way down the priority list. That said, we couldn't pass up the opportunity to use Bart's stove, which we dutifully employed to concoct a delicious repast of pasta with asparagus, lemon, and ch\u00e8vre - yum! Given Bart's open invitation to use his liquor stash as we saw fit, we generously supplemented this with Guinness and wine. (Eventually, I suppose we'll have to suck it up and try out the stove.)</p>\n<p>Later on, we headed over to meet some of Bart's friends at the local bar; we shared some stories from our trip so far over half-pints of De Koninck and other such beer tastiness. (Did we mention that? They don't seem to believe in full pints here - as they put it: Belgians don't drink a lot of beer, but they drink good beer.) We were supposed to meet up with Niels, but just missed him due to the slightly overextended nap we took beforehand.</p>\n<p>Not an overly jam-packed day, but we need the rest - it's off to Brugge tomorrow!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/02/a-hands-toss-away.html", "title": "a hand's toss away", "date": "2010-06-02T15:33:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/02/a-hands-toss-away.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100602", "country": "be"}
+{"content": "<p><i>The good, the bad, and<br />\nThe ugly prowl these hot lands<br />\nLike lost souls.  Searching.</i></p>\n<p>I'm not sure which of us matches which of those characterisations (wink wink, nudge nudge), but we three headed out from Almer\u00eda rather late today.  Sleeping in is a luxury we don't often have, but staying in a real campsite and now having a bit of time to spare made it possible.</p>\n<p>Our siesta in Almer\u00eda was wholly uneventful.  We scoured the city, looking for Wi-fi (gaah!  Northern Spain got it so right!!) in innumerable caf\u00e9s only to happen upon an unprotected network in a random residential park.  Strange how these things work.  Anyway, we did our internets quickly and cooked a fine meal of lentils.  Cooking in parks is so exciting: every time we do it I can feel my hobosity increasing, and the food is always so much better (and just so much more, really) than what we could find in a restaurant.  We've all-but-given up going to restaurants because the price to food-amount to deliciousness ratio doesn't satisfy us in the least.</p>\n<p>Heading out after napping shifts--useful when three all want to use the internet and to sleep, and time is limited--, we took our final routing choice.  The mountains were a better route.  The coast from Almer\u00eda was much longer and headed through a mountain park anyway, not to mention that the roads dwindled off into paths that didn't connect in any sensible way.  It would be hot and hard, but it was better.  We headed north.</p>\n<p>Immediately, desert.  Mountains.  I was carrying the knapsack, which I am not particularly accustomed to but generally do alright with, and I nearly passed out from overheating.  But the sweeping dryland was breathtaking.  The wind stirred up dust devils that chased us along the unused road paralleling the motorway.  No animals greeted us.  No surprise.</p>\n<p>A fair piece to the north our map indicated a place of interest labeled \"Mini Hollywood.\"  What?  We arrived at it without really intending to.  Did you know that the Old West of Clint Eastwood movies (and other films from that era) is actually the south of Spain?  Well, you do now.  I super like that photo.  Look through our Picasa albums for one of me and my sister posing with \"lassos\" and \"cowboy hats.\"  :)</p>\n<p>Even as the sun began to think about sleeping for the night, there was no chill in the air.  The heat here does not magically go away at sunset as it does in other places.  It seems to permeate what little vegetation there is and leak from it for hours afterward.  We settled into an olive field, our camping stove-and-tent setup hidden from the road by a giant stone welcome sign and gate, for the evening.  Lordy, it's hot.  I'm so glad we're not biking this in the middle of the day... probably we'll be able to make it to the coast before it genuinely turns warm tomorrow morning.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/01/desert-sort.html", "title": "desert sort", "date": "2010-08-01T15:38:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/01/desert-sort.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100801", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Red, liquid glory,<br />\nSpurting out from all around<br />\nStain the ground brighter.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>San Ferm\u00edn!  The official beginning of this festival was today at 12 noon, and it was heralded by the chupinazo, a firework bang set off from the town hall.</p>\n<p>So, first, a few things about San Ferm\u00edn.  San Ferm\u00edn is the patron saint of Pamplona, and they are rather fond of him.  He was supposedly dragged to death behind some bulls, which is part of the reason that the famed Running of the Bulls (called the Encierro in Spanish) and the bullfights are a part of the festival in his honour.  The festival lasts from the 6th to the 14th of July each year, and there is an Encierro each morning from the 7th to the 14th.  Each evening, there are bullfights.  Everyone wears white and red.  Everyone.  The traditional uniform is a white shirt and white pants with a red bandanna and red sash, but some people do it differently.</p>\n<p>This wardrobe choice makes the day of the Chupinazo extra fun!  After the explosion, everyone in the Plaza del Castillo (the main square in the old town) unleashes boxes and jugs and bottles of sangr\u00eda, containers of mustard and ketchup, bags of flour, and any other solid-or-liquid-messy-thing they can think of onto their friends' outfits.  After a few days, you may be able to imagine that the sea of bright red and pristine white tends to become somewhat... well, the colours mix a little, you know.</p>\n<p>After we were thoroughly stained and covered in sticky sangr\u00eda-and-who-knows-what-else mess, we headed out to see what sorts of events were happening for the festival.  A handy programme informed us that there was a concert at 13h... well, we missed that.  The next event wasn't until 5, so we decided to take a nap (our campsite is full of riotous tourists who make noise well into the mornings) and eat some food in the Citadel park.  We woke up to a rather amusing sound test emanating from the stage set up across the street, which sound test turned out to be better than the actual concert.</p>\n<p>We strolled through the Bosquecillo (little forest) in Pamplona to see the market stalls and food vendors, as well as to listen to a really lovely orchestral concert.  In Pamplona, we saw the building for their rather large music school during our wanderings, and we assume that this is where the people came from.  They played a number of local pieces that got us into the rowdy spirit of the festival.  :)</p>\n<p>After that, it was starting to get late, but there was one more event that we desperately wanted to see: all it said in our programme was \"Toro de Fuego\" (Bull of Fire) with a location listed... so we went there.  And, what do you know?  There was a giant plaster of Paris bull mounted on a man's shoulders that was spraying fireworks and chasing people around the streets.  We played with it for a while (the whole 'event' only lasted a few minutes), checked ourselves for burns, and headed home for the night.  Big day!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/06/chupinazo.html", "title": "\u00a1chupinazo!", "date": "2010-07-06T11:27:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/06/chupinazo.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100706", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Kindness springs freely<br />\nOccasionally unex-<br />\npectedly from all.</i></p>\n<p>We spent a long time this morning brushing the dirt off all our possessions and hacking it up from our lungs.  This part of Spain is <em>dry.</em></p>\n<p>As we wound once more towards the coast (sheesh, for a \"trip 'round the coast of Europe\" we sure have to find our way back to the water frequently..), we saw few signs of life.  Morning is a wonderful time to ride.. it's lovely and cool, and few motorists arise before dawn to come out and honk and harass the poor cyclists.  Keep this in mind, dear readers, that any cyclist you see is doing more work than you, and you should give him some consideration.  He pays taxes, too, and has as much right to use the road as you!</p>\n<p>Upon hitting the first coastal town, we were again faced with a choice: the N-road, which class of roads are generally trustable to be flat-ish, headed up around a mountain range which was bisected by a smaller and more direct road.  It would be hard... but it was so much shorter and held so much more promise of being lovely that we elected to take it, anyway.  After all, if we were going to take larger routes all the way, why shouldn't we just take a car?  This is a bike trip, after all, and we should enjoy the journey as much as we can.</p>\n<p>The road was deathly steep for some kilometres, enough so that we had to stop for a break in the middle.  But it was worth it.  The sky was an agitated mosaic of grays that wove and spun above our heads, clearly pondering the possibility of raining on us.  Fortunately, they decided not to, but we were grateful for the cloud cover's shadow from Spain's sun.</p>\n<p>Siesta was taken in a town called Cartagena, a place along the water which our map marked as \"of touristic interest.\"  It sure was: in the few hours we were there, we saw a rampart from the Punic wars, an ancient Roman theatre, a sweet old castle, and (in the distance, out at sea) a foreboding fortress.  We ate ice cream and drank orange juice and wandered the streets; we enjoyed lunch and naps in a shady park.  Cartagena was pretty great.</p>\n<p>We packed up and headed off around 17h, and the stretch of road that we encountered was strange.  Thus far, we have come across mostly mountainous coasts with mostly lots of hills and crazy awesome scenery.  This coast was far removed from the sort of wild beauty of what we've passed: it was tamed and crawling with tourists.  English and German were as present on signs as Spanish, and the flat, white beaches were thick with multicoloured umbrellas and towels.  Ugh.</p>\n<p>The main problem, though, was that we had no idea where to camp in such a place during touristic high season.  The Guardia Civil were nearly as numerous as the visitors, and they were vigilant.  No place along the N-120 through this section would be suitable for camping.  Darkness started creeping over the road, and we passed something... strange.  A big red and white tent.  With RVs parked all around.  The carnival was setting up.</p>\n<p>Hmm.. this is an opportunity.  I asked first Evan and then Venus if each would be comfortable spending the night with the sort of folk who are famous for rigging games and the like.  With the \"why not?\" mentality firmly in mind, we rolled over to the first RV in the carvan and asked very politely if we might make use of a few square metres of space.  The man didn't mind, and even showed us where he thought it might be the softest and nicest.</p>\n<p>So here we sit.  We're munching squid rice for dinner and watching the children of the carnival folk cavort around in the falling dark.  Our flashlight is nice, but I'm enjoying gazing at the lit stars atop the big red and white tent.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/03/camping-with-carnies.html", "title": "camping with carnies", "date": "2010-08-03T15:40:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/03/camping-with-carnies.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100803", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Ah, human again,<br />\nA feeling one can forget<br />\nWhen lost on the road...</i></p>\n<p>We had another giant thunderstorm last night, which we were fortunately protected from thanks to the olive trees we set our tent under.  We actually made a vlog (with no video, only sound due to the darkness) during one of the lesser parts of the storm so that you can appreciate a little the sound of the rain on the tent... it didn't turn out very well, but whatevs.</p>\n<p>We hopped backwards into town for coffee and water, since this stretch of coast seems to be fairly deserted as things go.  It seemed interminable riding down towards Kyparissia... the road was just far enough from the ocean and behind hills and boringly flat... bleh.</p>\n<p>We finally turned, though, up into the mountains, following the route of a train line.  That little black-and-white dashed line on our map always gives us some hope for roads: if a train can follow the grade, it's probably reasonable.  If we see a road that is twisty and neither major-ish nor accompanied by a train line, we suspect we're in for something fairly tough.  This road was actually really pleasant to ride, though; there was fairly little traffic, and the sun was shining down enough to keep us warm while not overheating us to death.  We finished up our rice stuff for lunch as we wound slowly through sheep and goat and fig and olive fields.  The concentration of this last astonished us as we neared Kalamata.</p>\n<p>We turned at the highest point of the mountains to take the road to Kalamata and away from Tripoli (which we'll be passing through in a few days on the way to Athens, anyway), and we had the most unsatisfying downhill of our entire trip.  I guess we had climbed about three- or four hundred metres, but the downhill also seemed to go up.  That portion of road was also excessively dangerous and scary for cyclists -- some construction work on a new road connecting Kalamata and Tripoli meant an extreme concentration of large trucks and heavy machinery and also dust thick in the air.  It was altogether a rather unpleasant trip.</p>\n<p>We finally arrived in Kalamata, though!  It was fairly early, just about 14h or 15h, and we paused in a caf\u00e9 to consider what to do.  We had a phone number for Andriana, our host-to-be, but of course we still haven't found a way to get additional credit on our damnable French phone, so we were hoping to find a kindly Greek person who might lend us a phone for a short call.  We were utterly unsuccessful in this endeavour, and we settled for buying a 4\u20ac phone card usable in the pay phones.  4\u20ac on one of these things is actually quite a lot of talk time; it's something like .07\u20ac/min or so.</p>\n<p>We went to the most obvious location we could find: a large square with fancy caf\u00e9s.  Kalamata seems to be rather decentralised and strange as far as European cities go.  Andriana explained later to us that this is due mainly to a large earthquake that hit some years ago and destroyed things enough that they could be almost entirely rebuilt in the block/square style of North American cities.  It loses some of its charm this way... but anyway we placed a call from the pay phone and were forced to leave a message... we resolved to call back in a half hour or so after a short stint watching Robot Chicken.</p>\n<p>Andriana answered this time and explained that she was in class and could we please meet her at 17:15 or so in front of Goody's, the Greek answer to McDonald's.  We shuffled our feet around and chatted while we waited, watching various people go by and noting that around 17h a lot of school-aged children seemed to appear.  We spent time trying to guess which one of the people was our host, and I knew immediately once I saw her.  She was excited-looking and also seemed to be partially unsure of what she was doing, but she saw us at about the same time and suddenly got a lot happier.</p>\n<p>After all the pleasantries of meeting, we hopped on our bikes to follow her home.  Nana (the nickname she goes by) said in some previous e-mails that the house she and her family live in is sort of outside the main city and that it would be hard for us to find since it's on a street that they named themselves.  Well.  It was hard enough to get to by following her, what with all the turns and uphills and twists and goats, so we're happy we didn't try to find it ourselves.  :)</p>\n<p>We were relieved to stop.  We stripped off our cycling clothes and took hot baths (not even just a shower!  a BATH), and everything we had was taken from us for immediate laundering.  The tent was set out on the terrace to dry (packing it after rain always leaves it wet... and we're starting to get problems with mould when we can't properly dry it).  We were told that we were cordially invited to school tomorrow to talk to some of the kids there about our trip and to give an interview to a travel magazine owned by one of the students' parents.  We were also fed.  My goodness, were we fed.</p>\n<p>After some time to relax and meet the family (Nana, Nikos, and their mom and dad) and family pets (two dogs, two cats, and two birds), Nana bundled us into the car and we headed out for a whirlwind tour of Kalamata.  The waterfront at night is lovely, and it's sad that it's getting to be the cold time of year or I guess we'd be beaching it up here.</p>\n<p>Our tour included a smattering of Kalamata food, too.  Nana knows a lot about the restaurants in the area, or at least she knows several really fabulous ones.  We had dinner at a tavern at a time too early for Greek people.  We sat at a table on the side, and in fact she ordered us so much food that an additional side-table had to be brought to hold all of it for us.  We were ashamed that we were unable, actually, to finish all of it.  The three pieces we'd each eaten of what was essentially carbonara lasagna only hours before had sort of spoiled our appetites, but we consumed with alacrity everything that we could possibly fit into our bellies.</p>\n<p>We agreed to talk to the children tomorrow, so we made an early night back to Nana's house after having some quick drinks at a cool bar near the old centre of Kalamata (which, fortunately, remained intact after the earthquake).  Some good rest in a bed will do wonders for us... ahh... ^<strong>_</strong>^</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/26/kalamata-at-last.html", "title": "kalamata at last", "date": "2010-10-26T11:55:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/26/kalamata-at-last.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101026", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p>And we're off once more! Today we leave the laid-back pace of homestead life in the Valencian foothills to continue on our circuitous path for Istanbul - which, by some quick Google Maps-aided calculations undertaken out of curiosity, is still some 7000 km away. So much for our distance estimates: the trip is actually about 12 000 km long. Nevertheless, we are confident we can make it in time. We have improved immeasurably since those first few days out of Copenhagen, and are now solidly proficient at climbing all sorts of hills in all kinds of weather...</p>\n<p>We start off the morning by rising early, gathering our personal effects, packing everything up, and loading the bikes. With that done, we cook a spot of breakfast - scrambled eggs with a side of eggplant-chickpea mash, the latter resulting from a culinary experiment that turned out not quite as expected. Lesson learned: olive oil does not heat as well as lighter oils and is thus unsuitable for deep-frying. After the meal, we set to painting over the first coat in Joseph's room, finishing a job that we had started a couple of days ago. Finally, we exchange our farewells about 1100 and head off for the train station in Ll\u00edria, where we grab the metro into Valencia - we could bike this, but it is already quite late and the mercury is steadily rising...and besides, the inland jaunt from Valencia to Ll\u00edria is not strictly part of our route.</p>\n<p>In Valencia, we decide to pass the midday hours drinking orange juice and tea in a caf\u00e9 off one of the main squares; this is a prime opportunity to catch up on any Internets we may have missed in our atavistic rural paradise over the last couple of days - for although it was possible to get a connection in Pedralba, it was not exactly reliable. We make our way out of the city later in the afternoon, managing to locate the northern exit and smaller highways without the undue effort that has characterized many of our city-leaving attempts. Valencia is not very large, it seems...</p>\n<p>...and the path takes us up along the coast, along bike paths past fields and dirt roads by RENFE lines, even dumping us into an orchard at one point - but we make it a fair way out of Valencia before calling it a night, stopping with enough time to find an open supermarket and grab the ingredients for a lentil-fish curry-stew concoction (which, despite the unappetizing description, is tasty indeed!) We had spotted an orange grove behind what we thought was an abandoned farm building; however, when we go to check it out, we are subjected to a barrage of barking dogs from within...so we instead camp in a play fort underneath the play structure in this playground just out of the small town we stopped in. Our hobosity augments itself yet again...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/18/onwards-and-outwards.html", "title": "onwards and outwards", "date": "2010-08-18T13:46:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/18/onwards-and-outwards.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100818", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>First, a word about hobo camping. It isn't regular camping, nor is it stealth camping; stealth is secondary to a balls-to-the-wall nonchalance about where exactly you camp - whether it's in proximity to heavily or even moderately trafficked roads, on private property, in city limits...and so it is with this terrace campsite. As we wake up, we realize for the first time the monumental hobosity of our chosen campsite. We are next to a road - and not just any road, but The Major Road through these parts. Granted, these parts happen to be mountainous and so not really conducive to roads of any real size, but there it is anyways. We are behind a pile of olive branches that looks to have been made within the last two days - this land is used, and frequently so. We are underneath a fig tree whose plump juicy figs we pick shortly after packing up...</p>\n<p>...but sometimes these gestures, crude though they seem in retrospect, are necessary. What is a fig? To the owners of this tree, just one among many that they might eat with a breakfast at the table or at the end of the day (perhaps accompanied by a nighttime espresso, the surefire remedy for our unfortunate though natural tendency to sleep) - but for us, it is a significant component of a meagre breakfast that might be just enough to get us over this mountain. For we start our day by continuing the long uphill; we are roughly halfway finished when a scooter passes us, slows to a halt, and doubles back...at first we suspect mischief, but the riders instead point to their rear storage and yell \"Brioche con crema! Buenissimo! Buenissimo!\" They then pull up alongside our path, open the hatch, and pass us a creme-filled croissant as we pass by. Since a breakfast of dry granola and two fresh figs is not exactly equal to the metabolic demands of hardened cyclists, we devour it with reckless abandon...</p>\n<p>...this is a day of hills - uphills, downhills, hills by the coast, hills slightly inland, hills through passes, hills through towns...hills. This process is interminable. It started with that large hill - though we climbed it without much effort, it was then followed by another, and another, and...at one point, we try to head down to the coast and take some coastal roads marked on our map. Unfortunately, our venture is unsuccessful; this route is dotted with long tunnels, and the first such tunnel is very clearly marked with a sign prohibiting passage by bicycle. We try anyways, but shy away when we see the entrance - it maintains alternate circulation by means of a traffic light at each end, which means that we would have to keep pace with the cars to avoid being run over by opposing vehicles once the light switches.</p>\n<p>This bit of news means we must instead take the high route over the pass, which at 600 m elevation is roughly as high up as some of our morning ascents during the Camino de Santiago in the north of Spain - so we are, of course, perfectly able to do this; but it is nonetheless hard work, and we grunt our way slowly up the steeper parts. As we near the top, there are wild blackberries growing on vines. A perfect snack! We pull over, cautiously rub some on our skin, taste a small part of the berry - in these circumstances, it is prudent to make sure first - before digging in, grabbing bunches off the vine. We then continue up and are soon at the pass, our progress buoyed by the influx of natural sugars...</p>\n<p>...and the road drops into a village, after which there is one more serious climb before the road at last levels off and slowly winds down through the river valleys into La Spezia. Once there, we stop to ask for a supermarket - but this is no longer as simple as it was in Spain or France, for our mastery of foreign languages does not extend to Italian. In broken psuedo-Italian, we inquire in a bookshop; the lady at the desk points us in the general direction, but we are unable to grasp the finer points of her instructions...so we head up that way a few blocks, look around, satisfy ourselves that we are not going to find this thing on our own, and ask again - some man, seeing that we appear quite lost, asks us if we are looking for the station - I respond that we are looking for a supermercatto, and he gives us further directions. We start off in what we think is the direction he indicated - but this is apparently incorrect, for he grabs us again and leads us through La Spezia to the nearby D\u00ed per D\u00ed.</p>\n<p>Food! We have started to cook the next day's lunch at dinner, a task made easier by the preponderance of pasta in Italia. Pasta cooks faster than rice or lentils; with fresh rather than dry pasta, such as is available in most of the supermarkets here, it is even faster...and it is still relatively cheap to boot. This time, however, we have a good deal of couscous purchased earlier on, so we decide to spring for some butter - the first time we've used butter on our trip! - and cook a delicious meal up the road by our campsite of couscous with pearl onions and whole mushrooms cooked in butter and balsamic...</p>\n<p>...and the campsite. We head out by Lerici, passing through a town where the residents inform us that no, we may not set our tent in the park next to their apartment buildings; we are all set to slog out to the end of the peninsula when we spot a steep road heading up past some housing with what looks to be an empty field at the end...and it is! We cook our couscous in the parking lot opposite; several people notice, but no one seems to care. After all, what would you do when confronted with two haggard-looking cyclists cooking a gourmet meal and exchanging banter about tech geek stuff in a foreign language...in your parking lot? Next time this happens, we counsel you to be kind to them - for they may be in our situation...</p>\n<p>...time for sleep. The ground here is passably soft, the tent far enough back to evade the worst of the penetrating streetlamp light - goodnight!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/05/escape-hobosity.html", "title": "escape hobosity", "date": "2010-09-05T11:03:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/05/escape-hobosity.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100905", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>Another day of relaxation, this time in the sprawling port city of Hamburg. We elected to catch up on some sleep in the morning - bike touring is exhausting, especially when you've got to set up a tent at the end of each day! This is especially noticeable after three solid days of cycling with a seat that's just a touch too low; with a poorly adjusted seat, each rotation of the pedals puts unnecessary pushing strain on the knees. Perhaps this stay in Hamburg will be enough to recuperate...anyways, we awoke late to the sound of rain belting out of the sky and hurtling into our window, this courtesy of a nasty thunderstorm currently making the rounds in uncharacteristically cold northern Europe. Good thing we're not biking today.</p>\n<p>Wolfgang was kind enough to extend an invitation to brunch with some of his colleagues from DESY over at a local caf\u00e9 in Ottensen, part of the Altona area of Hamburg. Despite Wolfgang's protestations that this was not the best caf\u00e9 in town, we found the brunch (this consisting of a variety of breads and pastries laid out with cheeses, meats, salads, m\u00fcesli, juices, and so on) to be absolutely delicious. There is something uniquely pleasurable about the European pace of life that has been all but lost back in North America, even though mounting evidence suggests that long \"death march\" work hours and frequent overtime weekends are counterproductive. (At Facebook, I somehow managed to complete my projects without resorting to all-nighters and weekend coding stints like some of the other interns. As a result, I retained a modicum of sanity throughout the whole internship.)</p>\n<p>After brunch, we headed over to the canals just off the lake near the centre of Hamburg. There's a number of boat rental shops along the waterways where you can rent out canoes and paddle boats by the hour, and so we felt compelled to do exactly that! During our explorations, we came across a canalside caf\u00e9; a waitress stood in the window overlooking the canal, taking orders from boats that approached below. There was even a rope bolted into the wall so that those in the boats could form a queue. After roughly a quarter-hour's wait, we headed off down the canal freshly stocked with enough Hefeweizen to complete our little circuit. We followed this up with a multi-hour stroll back along the lake, through the downtown core, past the infamous St. Pauli district, and on to the Elbe where to our great relief a bus ferry was available to bring us back to Ottensen.</p>\n<p>When taking an extended bike trip, don't forget to take a day off once in a while! As we've mentioned before, cycling turns you into a ravenous food-vacuuming machine - you need an incredible amount of energy to sustain cardiovascular activity for most of the day. With this rest stop drawing to a close, we now feel ready to tackle the next stretch: 4-5 days from here to Amsterdam. This will be the longest continuous stretch so far, so hopefully we'll find the time to get some more posts up along the way!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/23/drinking-and-paddling.html", "title": "drinking and paddling", "date": "2010-05-23T15:50:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/23/drinking-and-paddling.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100523", "country": "de"}
+{"content": "<p>No rest for the cyclists: we rise at 0645 for breakfast, take a short walk along the beach to pass time until the sun begins to warm the still-frigid coastline, snap the requisite campsite photos, pack everything, hoist our bikes up onto our shoulders for the mighty walk back up to road level, and head off. Today's itinerary: down the coast through Plo\u010de, on past the agricultural lowlands, up and across to the border crossing into Bosnia, 10 km of Bosnia, cross back into Hrvatska, and bike some 30 km more to a wild camping site recommended to us by Aleksander and Azra - about 120 km in all, not inconsiderable along this rolling coastline...</p>\n<p>...and we start off with the morning coffee in a small town some 5 km after starting out, making sure to wash dishes, brush teeth, and perform other, er, washroom-related duties during our stop. The first two are best done at fountains, as that way both of us can split the washing duties and brush simultaneously; sadly, those seem to be in short supply since we left Venezia a week and a half ago. We leave the caf\u00e9, heading up around the back of the town to meet the main road in a manner that seems most circuitous - we wind around, switchbacking slightly up the mountain slopes behind the town before dropping again slightly - but we make it there nonetheless, and are again on our way...</p>\n<p>...whereupon, not a couple of kilometres further on, we meet up with an Australian cyclist on an even more ambitious journey than our own: starting from Barcelona, he plans to cross the whole of Eurasia via Istanbul, the Middle East, and China before hopping along the island chain to Australia and thence home to Melbourne - a year-long trip that promises to be quite the adventure! We swap stories of our travels, trading observations about respective choices in gear; this is standard protocol for travelling cyclists, among whom the only truism is that no two groups are exactly alike. Unlike our panniers with their increasingly tattered rain covers, his sport an integrated waterproof exterior; he remarks upon how much lighter our load seems, since we don't even have front panniers; we note the dual handlebars - a common sight among serious touring cyclists, as they permit easy attachment of additional gadgets such as cycling computers or handlebar bags - which remind us of the Swiss bike mechanic we met back in Barcelona. Of additional note: he is a chemical engineer by trade. This may seem unusual - after all, why should a highly educated person give up career prospects to bum around on two wheels? - until you hit the road and find that most touring cyclists fall into one of two categories. The first consists of career travellers, people who take odd jobs wherever they find work to save up for the next big trip. Bored professionals make up much of the other category - recent graduates, programmers, engineers, financial advisors, anyone with enough book learning behind them both to land a decent-paying job and to realize that they would much rather be doing just about anything else...</p>\n<p>...and we bike alongside him for a while to the road overlooking a few lakes just above Plo\u010de, where he decides to leave us and wait for two Canadians behind him; he has been travelling with them for a few days, but they keep a slightly slower pace. Touring cyclists, it seems, form highly ad-hoc groups. They will join up for a short stretch, perhaps even for a few days - and yet everyone involved knows that they are still on their own trip, that they are free to stop without the others or continue on past them, that the group may be broken without malice or hurt feelings at any point. And so it is that we leave him above the lakes by Plo\u010de, continuing on down into the town for a spot of lunch...</p>\n<p>...which we eat with gusto, attempting to warm ourselves in the cold October weather. The sky is more and more threatening, its uniform grey giving way to ominously raincloud-shaped formations, and we hope the cold will not be compounded by wet. As we finish our lunch over on the far side of the parking lot, we notice in our peripheral vision two odd characters checking out our bikes. Those being our only form of transport and, next to our cash and passports, most prized possessions, this understandably makes us a bit nervous. Some paranoia can be a good thing...</p>\n<p>...but in this case it is unfounded, for no sooner do we approach our bikes than we see two heavily-laden mountain rigs perched against the far end of the shopping cart rack - yet more touring cyclists! We wait patiently for them to finish lunchtime shopping - she is from Denmark, he from the southwest of England; they are on a yet more ambitious trip even than the Australian, an around-the-world adventure that after nearly two years is finally drawing to a close with the last jaunt up through Europe to England; they are solidly in the odd jobs set of touring cyclists, and have already planned the next great adventure; they do indeed take advantage of the larger mountain tires to go off-road whenever possible; their bikes are adorned with stickers from China and Turkey and somewhere in the former Soviet Union...</p>\n<p>...and, unfortunately, they are travelling the opposite way - so we ride on towards Bosnia, up past the orange groves in the swampland near the border, past countless stands that sell oil and fruit and nuts and all manner of tasty things. As with most borders, this one is up and over a mountain range - nothing onerous by our standards, but definitely noticeable. We are soon at the border crossing post, where they take a cursory look at our passports before returning them and waving us on through; there is none of the pointed questioning and overt suspicion that awaits travellers foolish enough to enter the US - a reminder that for most of the world borders are merely arbitrary, and that these borders mean little in a region that with Schengen has largely left the bureaucratic overhead of crossing them behind...</p>\n<p>...we stop in a caf\u00e9 for drinks and a plate of fries - though really we do this to warm up a bit, shake the cold and wet out of our bones, dry our soggy cyclist clothing out. Anything to get refuge from the rain, for few things make riding more generally unpleasant than the knowledge that there is no dry place at the end of the day, that if your clothing and tent and sleeping bag soak through there is nothing left to turn to. Fortunately for us, our tent and sleeping bag are very much secure in dry bags whose thick yellow rubber exteriors protect them from all manner of inclement weather. As we prepare to leave, we are surprised to find our Australian friend again - he saw our bikes from the road and decided to drop in on us! We show him the location of the place we plan to camp tonight, and he agrees to join us...</p>\n<p>...so we bike on - and are glad that we stopped when we did, for it is the last food joint for some time - up to the crossing back into Croatia. There is a short segment of no-man's-land before we hit the border post; we unclip one foot each, but the customs agents laugh and wave us on through. From there, it is 30 rainy kilometres to our site, most of it uphill. We find a market along the way, stock up on food and wine for supper, and make our way around the bay to the site: as we near the end of the bay, there is a dirt and rock path leading up around the back of this rock. We follow it, dragging the bikes up with us - space enough for several tents with a splendid view across to the bay and surrounding islands...</p>\n<p>...but no other cyclists join us; perhaps they misunderstood when we pointed to the map and headed instead for the nearby campground. It is possible that we were not quite clear enough - for we wild camp whenever we can, pausing in beds and official campgrounds only when necessary or when the cumulative jankth of neglected hygiene wears on us. We cook in solitude atop the rock, warming ourselves by the feeble warmth of our one-burner stove as the light fades and the rain mercifully stops, giving way to a night that seems uncommonly warm by the standard of the past few days. Further south now. The days get minutely longer as we head south, the climate warmer, the mountain faces turning slowly from barren to brush-punctuated gravel to relatively lush greenery here at the bottom of Croatia.</p>\n<p>So, no joiners for the site - but our spirits are high, and we are but 30 km out of the medieval port empire of Dubrovnik where we will rest for a day before continuing on to Crna Gora, Albania, and eventually into Greece. So close! We hope to reach Athens by Halloween, albeit without any expectation that the pagan festival will be taken seriously there; this will leave us with plenty of time to cycle the final leg into Istanbul. 2500 km to go: the same distance we cycled from the cold pallor of Denmark to the frightening heat over the Pyrenees, and a mere fraction of our distance covered to date. What will real life bring to those who have spent so long away from it? Only time will tell...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/11/token-coastline-grab.html", "title": "token coastline grab", "date": "2010-10-11T17:37:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/11/token-coastline-grab.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101011", "country": "hr"}
+{"content": "<ol>\n<li>\n<p>What an odd time to wake up. Where's that barking coming from? I peek my head out the tent flap wearily and make out the shape of a dog standing ground some 20 m away - maybe it was confused by the foreign bright orange object, or perhaps it has a personal vendetta against cyclists. Whatever the reason, I curse these loud animals under my breath and chase them away from our place of rest; this takes some time, as they start again towards the tent as soon as my back is turned. I finally prevail upon our canine pests to clear out with much noise and gesturing, hoping that this will not anger any of our human neighbours, and storm back to the tent in an ill temper from all this thoroughly unnecessary traipsing about...</p>\n</li>\n<li>\n<p>That's better. The sun splays across the horizon, bright streaks of red and orange painting the sky for that brief dawn moment before all the colours slowly wash out and the majesty of the whole thing fades for another day; the red ferry connecting Poros and Killini sits in the harbour, preparing for its morning run back to the island. We pack everything up, noting the heavy dew that has collected overnight between the fly and tent proper - we must take more caution to keep everything dry, for we have learned firsthand the terrible cost of failing to do so - and hit the road again, this time aiming south towards Archaeia Olympia and Kalamata. Usual morning stops for coffee, pastries, and filling our water bottles at the town fountain...</p>\n</li>\n</ol>\n<p>...and then we are off towards Pyrgos and Archaeia Olympia; the latter is the site of the ancient Olympic Games, a vast athletic complex constructed in honour of the gods. On the way, the sky grows more and more threatening, starting with a slight drizzle that grows into a steady rain so that we must pull out our rainjackets. This makes for slow going, especially given our temporarily compromised health - we are still not exactly over our respective bouts of stomach flu; I've passed through the worst, but Valkyrie seems to be hitting the peak just now. At least we are not both suffering greatly at the same time, so that one person remains able to keep the both of us going forward. Forward, yes, forward towards Kalamata and the promise of a warm bed. There are few things we would not do for that, and we have even half-jokingly discussed the possibility of trading our less crucial internal organs for such a luxury...</p>\n<p>...well, perhaps not. Still, it is slow going to Archaeia Olympia, slow enough that we decide a treat is in order once we get there: a restaurant meal of moussaka and Greek salad. The moussaka is delicious enough, what with its delicately spiced eggplant. Not quite up to home cooking standards, though - we look forward to staying in Kalamata, where according to the standards of Mediterranean hospitality we will almost certainly be bombarded with more food than anyone, cyclist or not, could possibly eat! Lunch finished, we head down to the archaeological site itself. At 3\u20ac a head (for students, at least) entrance is refreshingly cheap, a far cry from some of the sites in France and Italy...</p>\n<p>...the complex itself is large almost beyond belief, considering the immense effort that must have been required to move stone, remove earth, level ground, shape blocks, etch inscriptions, erect pillars - all with little more than simple machines and manpower. There are gymnasia for practice and preparation, bath-houses, temples and altars of every description, stoa (covered walkways) to permit faster crossing of the complex; most impressive, however, is the centrepiece of the ancient Games, the stadium. Here at Archaeia Olympia, archaeologists have evidence to suggest that the stadium did not provide stone seating except for judges and other persons of considerable rank. Instead, the ground is sloped towards the field, and the spectators - numbering often in the tens of thousands - would sit or stand, such as is most convenient for viewing the athletes below. The field itself is in dimension roughly that of a modern regulation football pitch. Of peculiar note: athletes caught cheating during the Games were punished by fines, and the funds raised were used to inscribe their names on statues of Olympian Zeus standing directly outside the monumental entrance for all to see.</p>\n<p>Our tour of Archaeia Olympia concluded, we set back towards the main coastal road. Rather than backtrack all the way to Pyrgos, we ask at the ticket booth for a more direct and convenient route. They suggest we take the smaller roads across, which meet the coastal highway some 20 km north of Zacharo; we are soon on our way up and over the hills out of Olympia, down the river valley, along roads lined with tall grass reeds that fortunately block out a slight headwind. We reach the main road in short order, but are again met with headwinds on our way to Zacharo - and, to boot, a menacing set of grey clouds overhead threatening at the slightest provocation to dump unwelcome amounts of water on our heads. And we had hoped to leave the rain behind in Albania...</p>\n<p>...but we manage to reach Zacharo ahead of the storm. We pick up ingredients for our evening meal from the markets and produce stands, and replenish our nearly-finished stocks of Maalox. The light is waning - faster than usual, we note, for the storm is certainly gathering. We must find a spot to camp before it arrives! Alas, darkness falls just out of Zacharo, and the unlit road ahead is too dangerous to continue on. The only other option is to head down towards the beach. With no choices left, we grab the beachward road, flashes of lightning illuminating the sky in the distance. Count seconds to the thunder, the old gradeschool trick - three kilometres off? four? - not much time, and the beach will provide scant cover from the storm. This area is lined with olive groves, fortunately; we stop in an especially dense section on the right side, walk far enough in that the leaves shield us from the streetlamps, and pitch the tent to let it air out as we cook supper. It is a waiting game now. Will we finish cooking before it rains? Will the owner - or, worse, the police - find us and force us to move? Nothing to do but wait...</p>\n<p>...panic! Valkyrie steps out to the road to relieve herself, and at this precise moment a car rolls down the sideroad. I hear her speaking to someone from over in the olive grove, so I head over to check it out - it is a police cruiser, out on its nightly rounds, and the sight of a somewhat ragged-looking woman alone by the side of the road is suspicious enough for them to pull over and make inquiries. Taking care not to look back at our olive grove campsite, I step over to the cruiser and prepare to concoct some kind of explanation...</p>\n<p>...but this turns out to be unnecessary; they are primarily concerned with making sure she is accompanied. Having been satisfied that this is the case, they head off towards the beach - so now there is no choice indeed; the beach is obviously well-patrolled, making it impossible to camp there unnoticed. We must sleep here, hoping that the police do not return for a closer look at what exactly has brought two similarly-dressed and somewhat unkempt cyclists to the relative middle of nowhere on a stormy night. We finish cooking, eat in silence, climb into the tent, and nod off...</p>\n<p>...2300. The storm has broken, unleashing flash after flash overhead - often as many as five or six per second, all followed immediately by fierce cracking and rumbling thunder like drums beating just outside our tent. The rain pelts down, but we are safe inside the tent, safe with our well-pegged fly. The ground here is easy to peg in, and our tent is more securely fastened to the ground than ever. Nothing for it but to sleep the storm out, wait for morning, and continue on our way across the mountains to Kalamata. Ever closer to our goal...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/25/the-fun-and-the-games.html", "title": "the fun and the games", "date": "2010-10-25T11:53:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/25/the-fun-and-the-games.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101025", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Receding seaside,<br />\nChasing history through stone,<br />\nRevere the churches.</i></p>\n<p>We awoke and stretched.  It was a wonderful night's sleep... our first night in beds since we stayed with Gerardo some time ago, and it felt especially nice after biking so far.  Today we're still a bit tired, but the sleep definitely helped.</p>\n<p>Gianna served us a delicious Italian breakfast to start our day.  Italian breakfasts consist of bread and jam and espresso and cookies and pastries and warm fresh milk.  She told us about how her family gets all its food from local farmers that they are on friendly terms with, so the milk is really, really fresh.  It was fabulous.</p>\n<p>Gianna and her brother were kind enough to take us around Barletta all day!  We took the car and hopped around from place to place, and thus we were able to see much more than would have been possible just walking.</p>\n<p>Anyway, our first stop was the train station to make sure that we would be able to board the train tonight with our bicycles.  Gianna worked as a translator, and she told us that the ticket window man said that the most important thing was that our bikes weren't bothering anyone.  We didn't need to take them apart, maybe just the front wheel, and to just set them someplace out of the way once we got on.  We probably would need to take the bags off, though, and put them someplace else.  No extra charge!</p>\n<p>Well, that's good.  We bought the tickets for the night train (just 44\u00e2\u201a\u00ac each for a 9 hour train ride, which is pretty good) leaving Barletta at 22h11 and arriving in Venice at 6h45.  We were pretty stoked.  :)</p>\n<p>From there, we went to see the old post office in Barletta, which had been the site of the execution of several Italians at the beginning of WWII.  There are still bullets lodged in the walls there, and a little memorial is engraved in the stone of the building.  We headed from the post office to the more downtown area, where we stepped inside the castle for a peek.</p>\n<p>Gianna told us that the castle of Barletta is very famous, and also that her brother Peter used to work there.  He was with us, and he managed to get us in for free by chatting with the woman at the ticket desk.  It's good to know people who know people.  Anyhoo, we strolled in and perused a painting and artifact gallery that lined the second floor.  It contained things from the collection of just one man who had evidently been a huge fan of things from the olden days, and he had collected everything from suits of armor to invitations for fancy dress parties in Roma.</p>\n<p>From there, we stepped onto the roof, where we got a fantastic view of all of Barletta.  Gianna explained that the sea has receded from the castle, and that it used to lap at the foundations of the great fortress.  She also explained that there were once puppet shows performed atop the parapets for eager children, and she was sad to see that they had ceased since her childhood.</p>\n<p>Our wandering through the castle finished with a quick jaunt into the library.  Gianna pulled out a book of Venetian art for us to look at as inspiration.  The halls were jammed with students studying for upcoming exams, so we kept our voices down as we mused over the book.</p>\n<p>Not far from the castle lay a pair of churches that Gianna wanted to show us: one the most famous in Barletta and the other her favourite.  They are done in the Roman style, which is very muted and simple compared to the flambouyant Baroque style of cathedrals that we generally have seen along this trip.  It was... nice, actually.  The clean lines gave the entire church a sort of monastic quality, but it wasn't oppressively silent, either, since the sweeping arches still carried sound in beautiful ways.</p>\n<p>After a stroll through the oldest part of the old town, we drove over to Trani to see their cathedral, which is more famous than any in Barletta.  We unfortunately arrived too late, and it was closed (although the Internet had told us that it would be open for another hour...).  We headed back into Barletta for some delicious gelato.  The man who owned the shop was thrilled that a couple of people from North America had shown up in his store, and he thrust upon us sample after sample of delicious creaminess.  We munched the flavours we had settled on as Gianna told us about a sculpture that had been rescued from the sea \"back in the day.\"  It was a nice piece, but I guess no one knew who it was...</p>\n<p>After that, we went back to her apartment, packed our things, and headed to the train station.  We said our good-byes and thank-yous to her family and set out.  Gianna walked us to the platform, where we partially disassembled our bikes and removed all their bags.  We wrapped a few things in garbage bags to make transportation onto the train easier whenever it should arrive, and we settled down to wait for the half hour or so that remained.</p>\n<p>During that time, we chatted with several people on the platform who spoke varying amounts of English, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, and German.  Language mixes are such fun!</p>\n<p>The train arrived just on time, and we scrambled to load our things on as quickly as possible while it waited.  An angry man in an official uniform scrambled down from a car behind and yelled at us in Italian that we could not go with the bikes on the train.  He blocked our entrance to the car as he hurried everyone else to board, and we stood, dumbfounded.  We shouted angry curses after the train as it left the station.</p>\n<p>Some of the people we had met during the wait came up to us to see what was the matter and why were we not on the train.  We explained what had happened, and they let us use their phone to call Gianna.  She more-than-kindly agreed to have us stay at her home one additional night, and she even promised to help us sort this nonsense out in the morning.  So, here we are.  Man, trains are frustrating.  I'd rather be biking.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/28/the-untrained-cyclists.html", "title": "the untrained cyclists", "date": "2010-09-28T15:55:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/28/the-untrained-cyclists.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100928", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>HELLFEST.</p>\n<p>That really says it all. That's it. No more. Go home.</p>\n<p>But never mind that - you want details, right? We woke up in our cramped hostel beds at roughly 08h00, quickly downed a breakfast of buttered bread with jam, and loaded up our bikes for the short haul to Clisson (making sure to get in the daily stretch on the \u00cele de Nantes - we had originally wanted to head over to a park bearing the unfortunate acronym of CRAPA, but were effectively blocked by the massive construction sites that were blossoming across the island in time for summer.) We searched for a place to pick up lunch foodstuffs; however, this being Sunday, nearly everything was closed - we didn't find anything until about halfway to Clisson.</p>\n<p>Although we lucked out with the canal path, French cycling routes (as you might have ascertained from our previous posts) rapidly decline in both quality and quantity once you leave the cities. So it was with the surroundings of Nantes; having left the city, we were left with little more than a terrible large-scale map of the entirety of France and equally terrible signs to find our way by. As a result, we quickly found ourselves squeezed against the side of the major ring highway, where a bevy of motorists angrily honked at us. (Not that we cared; we wanted to get off the highway as much as they wanted us off it, but were obviously unable to do so until we found an offramp pointing in a reasonable direction.) So that made for less than comfortable cycling.</p>\n<p>Anyways, we did manage to fight our way down the main highway and find some backroads leading to Clisson. As we finally rolled into town, we were greeted by a sign indicating the direction to Hellfest parking; we had found the right place - but where was the music? We followed the signs, passing increasingly large concentrations of parked cars and - once we got a bit closer - groups of black-clad metalheads. No bike parking here; we had to chain our bikes to some vines in this field-vineyard-area that doubled as a parking lot, after which we set up our tent along the fringe of the vineyard sections. (As it turns out, this fringe was commonly used as a makeshift urinal by pretty much everyone who walked by, especially at night.)</p>\n<p>With our gear finally unpacked and the tent set up for the night, we finally headed over to the main entrance. Since we hadn't managed to get a hold of Valkyrie's friend Piotr, we didn't have print copies of the tickets...but we had our laptop with JPEG versions of the tickets, which was enough to get in! We promptly headed over to the tents, where they were selling Hellfest-brand beer and wine (Seriously? Wine? At a rock/metal festival? (Although, to be fair, we did partake...and it was pretty decent, as the stuff was locally produced.))</p>\n<p>Later on, we found our way over to the main stages, jostling our way through the gathering crowds in hopes of getting a decent spot to view the KISS show from. Quite a few people had set up entrenched positions further towards the stage, making it impossible to get to the front without resorting to extreme violence...but we did get far enough forward to be thoroughly impressed by the sensory extravaganza that is KISS. (Seriously - if you get the chance, go. KISS combines the best and worst of American rock-culture excess in one excessively makeup-covered tongue-fuelled spectacle.) They played a mix of classics and more recent songs from Sonic Boom, closing the show with profuse showers of confetti (check the pics!) followed by fireworks.</p>\n<p>Well, we're heading on the road towards Bordeaux tomorrow - keep posted!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/20/hellfest.html", "title": "HELLFEST", "date": "2010-06-20T13:39:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/20/hellfest.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100620", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Bells ring out clearly,<br />\nCalling the faithful to mass,<br />\nThe unfaithful, too.</i></p>\n<p>This morning found us awake early again, and we were dressed for church.  Well, not precisely, but we were wearing our nicest things (which, on this trip, aren't particularly nice) and were ready to <i>go</i> to church.  24-hour transit passes in hand, we hopped on a bus to Saint Peter's Basilica.</p>\n<p>One simply walks in.  There is a board in the front of the Basilica indicating mass times, and we decided to go for the 10:30 mass in Latin.  Latin, my friends.  So we strode past the barricades and guards and sat down.</p>\n<p>It was much nicer than the mass we attended in Spain... St. Peter's is really bright and golden (why don't they use some of their gilding money to feed the poor they claim to care so much about?  sigh) in stark contrast to the dark and almost scary church in Roncesvalles where we attended our first mass (see the blog post from 1 July).  Also, the priests--here at St. Peter's, there were also bishops and cardinals and who-knows-what-else--had better outfits.  Most had bright green robes and bright pink hats, but some had long white robes and Pope-esque hats.  These hats ranged in decoration from absolutely plain white to excessively intricate and jeweled.  We noted that it looked like some of the fellows had missed the weekly arts and crafts hour.</p>\n<p>Although we didn't understand all the things said, we managed to follow along and stand and sit and kneel when appropriate, offering a \"peace be with you\" to our neighbours and shaking their hands when required.  We even decided to take communion, lining up for a short exchange of \"corpus christi\"-\"amen\"-wafer.  The wafers weren't very tasty.</p>\n<p>That completed, we had resolved to visit the Sistine Chapel, which is part of the Vatican Museum.  Alas, a board informed us that the Museum is closed on Sundays.  :(  So... no Sistine Chapel for us.  I guess it's not a huge loss; we discussed that we both seem to wind up in Europe on occasion, so we will likely have a chance to see it at a later date.</p>\n<p>Sigh.  Anyway, it was only about 11:30 by this time, so we decided to wander past a castle we hadn't seen yet (it was fairly unremarkable, and we weren't willing to pay the 5\u20ac each to see more of it) and head back to the hostel to do some Internets and get our bikes.  After accidentally crashing their router while talking to my mom and dad on Skype, we left.</p>\n<p>Our route out of Rome was designed to follow the Via Appia Antica, another old Roman road which led past some catacombs and other interesting sights.  This plan was changed abruptly once we actually started biking the road, which still had some of its original paving.  By that I mean to say that it was covered in rocks that were semi-flat and semi-connected and perfectly designed for bike destroying.  A kilometre or so was enough to convince us to take the next road away, so we headed out on the Via Laurentina (yet another old Roman road) towards the sea.</p>\n<p>The sun started setting, and we picked up some things for dinner.  We're having pasta and eggplant-porcini mushroom-hot pepper sauce.  Right now, we're set up in a pine grove that looks abandoned.  It's strange, though... from nearby, in the middle of cooking dinner, we heard an exerted human grunt followed by the hee-hawing of an animal in excruciating pain... what is going on?</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/12/a-weighty-mass.html", "title": "a weighty mass", "date": "2010-09-12T09:10:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/12/a-weighty-mass.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100912", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>Leaving the Ebro delta and its straight-line paths etched into swampy river deposit soil in early dawn to beat the morning rush. We rise to the sun, rays gleaming off dew-streaked tent fabric, the anti-camouflage orange beaming in its barely-hidden roadside refuge. 12 km into the next town, where we find ourselves dancing around the autop\u00edsta bridge over the river to find another less car-centric crossing further down - good opportunity for a morning stretch and petrol station bakery pastry. Petrol stations and bakeries: and never the twain shall meet...but this is Europe, where nothing is so sacred that it cannot support an overpriced caf\u00e9. Valkyrie quips that she should make it her mission to take coffee at every UNESCO World Heritage Site, and I agree. Why not? Coffee is the fruit of colonialism's worst excesses, that quaint precursor of our modern predilection for stripping the earth bare, packing it up in neat containers, and shipping the whole mess halfway around the globe to be reconstituted into food additives or something equally banal.</p>\n<p>Digressions are easy out here - mental, navigational, whatever. The terrain invites it, perhaps; in this part at least, it is flat...except that is wishful thinking, for no sooner have we put some meagre distance between ourselves and the delta croplands than the N-340 (which, as we learn later, is simply an Automobile Age take on the Via Augusta that connected these lands millenia ago, and which Emperor Augustus himself ordered renovated from 8 to 2 BC) climbs around an impassable stretch of coastal mountains. We ride on. Hills and mountains mean very little by now. The work is not even really hard; it is long, protracted, incremental, all of these things - but not difficult, not strenuous. The topographical peculiarities bring magnificent views at the cost of distance and effort, a worthy tradeoff...</p>\n<p>...and we reach Tarragona for midday, riding through its exurbs past Universal Mediterranea and a multi-stenched bank of chemical plants (one of which, we wryly note, specializes in animal food products) to reach a lackluster downtown where we pause for local beers in the restaurant-caf\u00e9 of this hotel, this being the first place we locate with wifi. After that, we head out along the coast towards a pair of ancient Roman landmarks. The first is a Roman funereal pylon, the second a triumphal arch at Bar\u00e1, both ostensibly placed here to ensure that travellers and merchants properly remembered the glory of Rome on their way...</p>\n<p>...the road drops away from the N-340 along the coast. We are glad to leave the busy highway behind, since we vastly prefer the boardwalks and beachside trails out this way. We have entered a veritable tourist mecca here, a zone far enough from hectic Barcelona to provide the illusion of peaceful privacy yet close enough that one is never without the necessities of life; for what is life without surfboard shops, late-night supermarkets, and caf\u00e9s that line the beaches piercing star-speckled darkness with garish neon signs? This is not the place for stealth camping; it is far too upscale and pristine, a place with that familiar touristic varnish...and yet, against all odds, we happen upon this abandoned building in a park surrounded by apartments, an anachronism somehow spared the increasingly rapid march of progress - and we eat a sumptuous camping-stove meal of tortilla patata, mel\u00f3n y jam\u00f3n, and bocadillo con queso y champi\u00f1on, our hacked-together take on tapas in cyclist-portion format. A quick hop down to the beach where we exchange the car exhaust that by now coats every last surface of our lungs for the relatively clean sea breeze, then off to bed on the terrace of an old house that is ours for a night, graffiti and all...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/20/our-house-in-the-middle-of-the-park.html", "title": "our house - in the middle of the park", "date": "2010-08-20T16:36:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/20/our-house-in-the-middle-of-the-park.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100820", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>Downhill jaunt from Roncesvalles to Pamplona today, which is refreshing after the death march across los Pireneos yesterday. We awaken at the sprightly hour of 0545, our newly reddened hair bristling with antici</p>\n<p>pation as we set off on our first full day of biking in Spain. Despite the early rise, the camp is abuzz with activity; it seems many pilgrims get up as early as possible to get in a solid morning's hike before the midday heat. A trio of bicyclists ask us if we're following the camino - we say yes, not quite understanding their question; it turns out that, being equipped with mountain bikes, they are taking the hiking trail! We try this trail ourselves for an hour before deciding that it is permissible to preserve sanity and take the nearby roads. After all, these roads are marked as part of the Camino de Santiago as well, and are intended for use by cyclists; the hiking trails are decidedly off-road, and are therefore not conducive to travel by fully-loaded road bike. Despite our decision to take the road and a 15 minute headstart on the other cyclists, they promptly catch up to us...we're still learning, I suppose.</p>\n<p>We ride in astonishment as most of our 1200 m vertical climb is undone over half an hour. At the bottom, we stop briefly to take tea in a small caf\u00e9-albergue down one of the side streets in some town. The walls inside are covered with pilgrimage paraphernalia of every description - books, shells, pictures, and the like - and the tables outside have a number of heavy packs beside them. (As we would find upon asking, many skip the mountain crossing and start their pilgrimage in Roncesvalles, so that most pilgrims still look relatively fresh and well-rested by this point.) As we set out along the road towards Pamplona, a number of drivers honk at us. After our experiences in France, we instantly assume the worst - but no! No, these drivers wave and shout \"Buen camino!\" out their windows and cheer us on, rather than treating us as second-class beings for daring to cycle on their roads. There is a spirit of camaraderie along the Camino, one that can only come from shared suffering.</p>\n<p>Ah, but the jaunt is not exactly downhill; as we find out, mountains have foothills too - and those must also be navigated. There are a couple of nasty hills in our way. Setting our bikes to lowest gear, we trodge up the curving slopes with a depressing lack of velocity...and yet it is somehow worth it, for every hill climbed provides another panoramic view to delight in. The trip has taken a definite turning point; already we feel so far from France and everything that came before it, already so distant from the land of rude drivers and snooty caf\u00e9-restaurant owners - and even more so from the Northern hospitality we had enjoyed just a month ago.</p>\n<p>Yet the Camino has just started, and we are resolved to follow it through to its end. Sin dolor, no hay gloria.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/02/its-all-downhill-from-here.html", "title": "it's all downhill from here", "date": "2010-07-02T11:23:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/02/its-all-downhill-from-here.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100702", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Time to share, to chat,<br />\nCan be hard to find, but find<br />\nWe must!  Or go mad!</i></p>\n<p>Waking up next to the road in France was not entirely pleasant, but I have to say that I slept better than I have the past couple nights.  It was just... noisy and rocky.  Ugh.</p>\n<p>The ride down the mountains, at least, was quite easy.  We coasted nearly all the way to Perpignan, where we became lost due to some poorly-marked roads that are evidently not intended for cyclists.  Silly French people, closing off perfectly good roads to people on bikes.  Needless.</p>\n<p>We did find a bike path, actually, that led down to the ocean, so that was alright.  We stopped at a supermarket by the sea and got ingredients for caprese salad (tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil).  As we stepped back out into the daylight, there were some strange men by our bikes.  And they had bikes, too!</p>\n<p>We chatted with them for a while.  They had just met in Strasbourg (it's in France, in the Alsace region just next to Germany), and they were both on their way to Barcelona.  One of them was using a recumbent bike, which evidently loved.  He went on and on about the wind resistance being so low and all, and his friend said that, indeed, he was hard-pressed to keep up when the other was going 35 km/h.  Yikes!</p>\n<p>They were nice fellows, but we all had to get moving.  We wrapped up lunch and parted ways.  Evan and I took off up the coast, which we could unfortunately only follow for a short while.  The road system here is designed to get from place to place, rather than to meander as one chooses along coastal routes.  For this reason, it looks like much of our time in France will be spent hopping from city to city along generally the most direct path.  Sigh.</p>\n<p>So we were heading towards Narbonne.  We didn't make it quite there, and elected to stop instead in a town called Sigean (which according to our map, has a large African animals preserve nearby).  We bought some groceries and decided it was time to try out what we'd been wanting to try for some time: asking people where to find a good place to stay (and possibly getting hosted!).  So we found a likely area just on the border of town and stepped up to ask a couple guys on their driveway where nearby might be reasonable to set up the tent.  They advised us to go to an abandoned lot just down the street, and it was perfect!  We weren't hosted, but maybe that will come in time.</p>\n<p>For now, we'll eat our lentils with sauce and fried plantains.  Then, we'll watch Repo Men until the battery on our computer runs out.  Yes!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/25/mozzarella-driveway.html", "title": "mozzarella driveway", "date": "2010-08-25T11:45:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/25/mozzarella-driveway.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100825", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>Enough amazing Kalamata hospitality; it's time to bike! We rise early but not too early to pack our clean clothes, sleeping bag, and tent. Our packs are stuffed courtesy of three most delectable gifts from our hosts: Kalamata olives, 1.5L of Kalamata olive oil straight from their tap downstairs - Nana's uncle makes the oil, and he lives not 500m down the road - and the largest quarter-loaf of dense freshly baked bread. Perfect for the ride to Sparti, which promises to be arduous indeed. A quick look at the elevation profiles of this route on Google Earth confirms the many warnings from our hosts and the schoolteachers at Nana's school: the road climbs up nearly 1400m into the mountains over 35km before snaking down into Sparti. Not a steep grade, but 1400m is nothing to scoff at; in fact, it makes for our largest continuous ascent thus far, a dubious title previously held by the 1200m climb up the Pyrenees...</p>\n<p>...but we have found that there is no particular secret to climbing mountains. First you start, then you keep going; once you have strength and endurance enough to bike for a few hours, the rest comes down to persistence. On the way up from Kalamata, we pass several stretches of concrete wall alongside the highway with environmentally-themed graffiti, all of it done by this one artist who goes by the moniker \"Skitsofrenis\". There was a massive forest fire in these mountains a couple of years ago, and many locals bemoan the irrevocable loss of the beautiful mountainside forests between Kalamata and Sparti - and, for this reason, many of the graffiti murals make reference to this fire.</p>\n<p>The road switchbacks again and again, dropping shortly around the back of the first hill before climbing up into this magnificent valley through cold stretches of shadow created by the sheer cliffs that block out the still-rising sun. It winds around the cliff faces, climbing yet more into a small town where we purchase two apples from a roadside vendor - only to find, shortly up the hill, that one is overripe and the other rotten; not a particularly great use of 1\u20ac, but there is nothing we can do about that now. It climbs yet more, and we now have an uninterrupted view of the mountains opposite. Some of the faces lie still barren, the rock punctuated only by the charred remains of trees; others have begun the slow regeneration process...</p>\n<p>...and we wind around the scenery for some time, our bodies kept improbably warm by the effort of ascending. As we said before, there is no secret; you keep working until you reach the top, in which we succeed around 1300. This being Europe, the top is adorned with a caf\u00e9-restaurant-hotel complex overlooking the descent below and the valley into Sparti. As picturesque as the climb was, it has nothing on this view - and yet it is not something you can accurately convey in photographs. The view is made inestimably better by the effort it requires to earn it, by the knowledge that you have arrived at the vantage point by nothing other than the force and strength of your own two legs...</p>\n<p>...we stop in the restaurant for a delicious taverna meal of feta and salad and fried fish and bean soup and other such delicacies, which we gobble down heartily. Nothing builds hunger quite like a continuous 1400m climb, and we are starving! Afterwards, we retire to the caf\u00e9 to warm up over cappucino; much to our delight, the bartender (who also happened to be our waiter from the restaurant) draws a happy face and heart on our respective drinks. He inquires as to how two cyclists came to be on this mountaintop, which is remote enough that even cars do not frequent it with any regularity. As we have done countless times before, we explain the general route of our trip; it is strange to speak of it now that we are nearing the end, for the distance left to cover hardly seems impressive when compared with the long journey down from Copenhagen and around the Iberian peninsula. Athletic spirit is inscribed deep in the Greek culture, and most people bear at least a slight reverence for those who carry forth the torch...</p>\n<p>...stepping out of the caf\u00e9, we note that the only other restaurant patrons - a family group of roughly eight or so - are all wearing winter jackets, and at this point we finally realize exactly how cold it is. The heat of physical effort has worn off, and there is only the cooling effect of wind wicking away sweat. We quickly throw on our long underwear and jackets for the descent, but even this is not really enough; we shiver the whole way down, our fingers and toes numbing in the icy mountain wind - and yet, even as we cower in our multiple layers of clothing, we cannot suppress our admiration for the surroundings. The road winds underneath rock outcroppings, through small sections of cave, turning around the contours of the cliff face down into the lower valleys into Sparti. Teeth chattering, we wind our way down, down, down into the small towns that dot the mountainside - and finally, after roughly half an hour of coasting downhill, we rest our bikes against a tree in Sparti and head into the nearest market for some food and much-needed warmth. This is a reminder that we cannot take the weather for granted anymore. We have seen both extremes on this trip: first the blistering heat of Spain and Portugal, and now the bone-slicing mountain cold. This sort of cold is unknown to me, having come from the land of uniformly cold winters; most days are passably warm still, but the nights are another story...</p>\n<p>...and we start on our way out of Sparti - the city itself is nothing spectacular, so we decide to keep going. About 5km up the road the way forward is proscribed by a host of signs warning vehicles to take the detour up along the smaller peripheral roads, but we are stubborn and inquisitive enough to barge through this makeshift blockade and try our luck. This turns out to be a fortunate decision; the signs keep most vehicles from taking this stretch of road, so we are relatively unmolested by the usual harrowing stream of traffic. We start to wonder if perhaps the signs are not needed at all - but the reason for them soon becomes apparent, for another 5km up the way an entire section of road has been destroyed by a landslide. Perhaps another result of the massive storm we were caught in not two weeks earlier? Whatever the reason, the destroyed section has not disappeared but has rather subsided about 2m, and a gravel ramp has been laid down to it so the road service can begin repairs. The road service being noticeably absent, we realize that this would make a perfect campsite - protected from the road, which in any event is sparsely used in its current condition, and with some nice flat blacktop to set our stove on. A long day; we have earned this sleep, and will certainly need it for our continued path to Athens...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/29/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaa.html", "title": "THIS. IS. SPARTAAAAAAAAA", "date": "2010-10-29T11:57:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/29/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaa.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101029", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p>(That's proper French, right?)</p>\n<p>We roll out of bed today at 0900 to blazing heat and the unfortunate realization that the campsite bakery (well, they have a small stand that sells bread from bakeries in town) is devoid of tasty things. While getting ourselves ready in the reception area at the campsite, we notice a listing for guided tours of the city centre; since Bordeaux has recently been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site, we set aside our general disdain of guided tours long enough to book it to the tourism office for 1000.</p>\n<p>What follows is a monotonous spewing of centuries and kings from an almost completely disinterested balding middle-age dude aboard a bus that whizzes past nearly everything of interest. So much for guided tours. We do come across the old German submarine bays (see the photos!) and a number of older religious edifices of various description. All in all, though, not worth the 8\u20ac a head - Bordeaux is best enjoyed on foot or bike!</p>\n<p>We then promptly head out to lift our spirits after the lackluster tour - and what better than wine? For 15\u20ac per person, you get a wine glass complete with its own holder pouch and 12 d\u00e9gustations from the different regional and vintage stands set up along the riverside. Since it's still incredibly hot - it seems we crossed the magic latitude line a few days ago, and are now into blazing midday heat territory - we limit ourselves to one tasting each and seek refuge from the sun in a nice (but, as you might expect, wildly overpriced) tea house under Passage Sarget before heading to a local cybercaf\u00e9 to catch up on our respective emails. (Yes, it is still hard to find decent wifi! This is apparently not something that impeccably cultured France believes in.)</p>\n<p>After our siesta, we drop the bikes back at the campsite and head back in to seriously check out the wine-based festivities. What follows is about 9000 deliciousness units of wine (and wine cocktails! (and mushroom omelettes!)); I even get to help make a white wine cocktail at the \u00c9cole du Vin tent. Yum!</p>\n<p>The festival is enormous; several hundred thousand people visit the Bordeaux river promenade during the four-day-long shindig, which is more than enough to thoroughly pack the area with nearly unnavigable crowds.</p>\n<p>Bordeaux is our last major stop before the Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9es and the crossing into Spain. According to the Camino de Santiago map we picked up on the ferry, it's a pretty serious climb over the mountains. Are we ready? I suppose we had better be...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/26/bordeaux-fetes-the-vin.html", "title": "bordeaux f\u00eates the vin", "date": "2010-06-26T11:13:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/26/bordeaux-fetes-the-vin.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100626", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>0730 wake-up call. We're trying to wake up earlier as we go further south - this becomes absolutely essential when you want to beat peak sun. (Ideally, we'd be waking up before 0600. That hasn't really happened yet; the closest we've come is the first day out of Copenhagen, when we were freezing and massively jet-lagged and generally confused about time.) We grab breakfast in the local p\u00e2tisserie, then head out through more intensively logged forest on our way to Dax.</p>\n<p>The most striking thing is the extent to which logging operations have changed the landscape here. At some point, this would all have been forest; now, some parts remain as fields with lone trees sparsely dotted about the landscape, whereas other parts have young trees planted in perfect rows. We see logging roads and their piles of freshly-cut shipping-ready logs at regular intervals. At one point, we pass an enormous logging terminus of sorts - there are logs as far as we can see, all constantly being watered to prevent the whole mess from going up in flames in this heat. Other than that, the ride is uneventful - although we are getting ever closer to the Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9es, as evidenced by the increasingly hilly terrain. (Bear in mind that, by the standards of our route so far, even a modest hill counts for something.)</p>\n<p>We end the day early in Dax, allowing ourselves time to rest - given that we still have until 7.4 to make it to Pamplona, we might as well take an extra day here! Some of the signs into towns advertise this as Dax-les-Thermes; apparently they have a number of hot springs here, giving us something to do with all this time...also, we find another four-star campsite to stay at. This one doesn't have a waterpark, but it does come equipped with an outdoor pool, electricity, toilet paper in the stalls, its own bakery and food market...</p>\n<p>Which brings me to the next point: as we've said before, Europe doesn't really get camping. Since every last square metre of land is occupied by something manmade, their idea of \"nature\" is a patch of grass with a couple of trees overhead. North Americans have the luxury of living in large expanses of land, so that we can afford to section off enormous parts of it as provincial/state or national parks. In Europe, on the other hand, civilization took hold long before it became fashionable to do so; for this reason, most European cities have significantly more green space (large gardens being a symbol of opulence and prosperity) but the countryside is tessellated with agricultural fields and small towns and ancient Roman ruins and...well, you get the point. So, Europe: \"camping\" beside a waterpark or pool is NOT camping. Camping in an RV or temporary home installment or out of your car is NOT camping. (It is kinda fun, though - when showers and toilet paper are anything but guaranteed, it's hard to pass these up!)</p>\n<p>Alright, that's enough ranting about camping and nature and blah blah blah for now. I'll close with a strange observation: there are a lot of abandoned hotels in Dax. Although the recession hasn't devastated everything so much as the worst reports would have you believe, there is clear evidence of its effect everywhere. Nowhere is this effect more apparent than in small towns; although there has always (well, for this last century, at least) been an exodus of rural farmers to the larger cities, this seems to be accelerating now. Several of these hotels definitely look recently closed...spooky.</p>\n<p>Well, we rest up tomorrow before the leg into Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, from where we will launch our heroic efforts to conquer the Camino de Santiago. According to the elevation profiles in our map, it promises to be arduous in a very mountainous way...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/28/natural-logs.html", "title": "natural logs", "date": "2010-06-28T11:18:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/28/natural-logs.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100628", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>Back on the bike trip beat: 300km left into Istanbul. A few more nights in a tent, a few more cracks at stove cooking - and one last border crossing, the last on this wild rambling pan-European tour. We've crossed into more countries than you can fit on that damn \"Countries visited prior to entering the U.S.\" line on those bloody customs forms they make you complete every time you want to pop over to Fortress America. In order: Denmark to Germany to Holland to Belgium to France to the UK back to France to Spain through Portugal and back into Spain across to Morocco and again into Spain then back in France to Monaco to the last tiny stretch of France to Italy to visiting the Vatican and back into Italy to Slovenia to Croatia to 10km of Bosnia to more Croatia to Montenegro to Albania to Greece - and now into Turkey, and that doesn't even count the in-flight border crossings taking us into Canada, Iceland, Switzerland...thanks to Schengen, we have precious few entry stamps to show for it; nevertheless, like faithful unpaid photojournalists, we maintain a separate album on Picasa for each stretch through a country.</p>\n<p>Ah, but this is not the same trip anymore. We can slow down a bit now - flight leaves on the 23rd, some 11 days hence, and that's more than enough time to slug across 300km, especially for two battle-hardened cyclists used to blazing through 100+ kilometres a day. Longest day: 190km. Highest point: 1500m or so along the Camino de Santiago. Slowest day: 26km over 10 hours to cross the Pyrenees via the hiking trails from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port to Roncesvalles. We think about these things on occasion - just numbers, meaningless by themselves. How do you convey the magnitude of 11 000km, as we estimate our cumulative distance will be to Istanbul? You don't, except maybe in passing, some kind of Powers-of-Ten overview. 10 km from the airport to Copenhagen, 100 km to the end of the first part of Denmark, 1000 km to Amsterdam or so - and 10 000 km to Athens.</p>\n<p>Enough of that: we start off with the ritual caf\u00e9 stop, this time in a super-posh downtown Alexandropouli joint with red pleather-quilted walls, for a couple of frapp\u00e9s. These iced coffee drinks are all the rage here, but our morning stop merely serves to demonstrate our ignorance in this important cultural matter - for they are served in highly concentrated form, and are meant to be diluted before consumption. The waitress is appalled that we fail to grasp this, and insists on making - gratis, mind you - two new ones so that we may properly appreciate the wonders of frapp\u00e9.</p>\n<p>Our knowledge of frapp\u00e9s thereby expanded, we lurch out of Alexandropouli around 1100 to spend our last Euro - the last Euro of the trip! everything is down-to-the-wire ultimate this-or-that for us now - at the Carrefour on the periphery, grabbing such staples as snack and starch and breakfast yoghurt. We then ride for some 20km or so before starting to feel the midday hunger. Not so severe as usual, what with our lazier-than-usual morning schedule, but still there; sadly, the town we stop at barely has a schoolyard, let alone so much as a bakery or market to grab food in. For that, we have to ride up over a smallish hill into the next town 5km off, where we at last find a bakery and spend the dregs of our Euro, whatever change we had left over from the Carrefour stop. Now we really are out of Euro - well, almost; we count maybe 3\u20ac among all our change. Another souvenir of the trip...</p>\n<p>...and the highway connects with a motorway some 10km before the border. The only alternative is to slog up along the Greek-Turkish border for some 80 km to the other crossing by Edirne, so we grit our teeth and barge along the motorway despite the near-certainty that, like before, some policemen with zeal to match their boredom will stop us. That mercifully doesn't happen; as it turns out, this stretch is seldom travelled, and so we are treated to two lanes with a massive shoulder to ride in and maybe three vehicles to contend with the whole time. Last 2km now: so flat that we can see the first border post, the post for exiting Greece, down the road as we pick up speed in our last-border-crossing-on-bike-of-the-trip excitement. We reach it in short order, hand over our passports to the Greek officials, get stamped out of Greece, Schengen, the Eurozone, and the EU...</p>\n<p>...and enter the largest no-man's-land we've seen, a 2km stretch of road crossing a river patrolled by a friendly joint Turkish and Greek military detail - at least as friendly as a bunch of tense youth cradling assault rifles can be. The river marks the border - there is a car bridge over it, and the railing is painted to mark the country: blue and white on the Greek side, red and white on the Turkish. More guards at the end of the bridge - and then we finally see the Turkish entry post, this massive complex with a duty-free market and several lanes to service demand at peak hours. The first customs post we pass through is staffed by a guard who evidently has never seen cyclists come through here, for he greets us with \"Are you crazy?\" \"Yes.\" \"I knew it! Go through.\" Then we enter the multi-lane madness between the customs and passport control booths. First we stop to grab Turkish lira at the duty-free market, which is equipped with an ATM for exactly this purpose - and are glad that we did, for the passport control kiosk immediately informs us that we must purchase a visa from the visa kiosk. We round up our bikes, head over to the visa kiosk, fork over 90 lira (about 45\u20ac) apiece, and receive some fancy stamps together with a small sack of mint-flavoured candies that the man staffing the visa desk generously gives us. Surely these are the most expensive mints in the world! It is more than a slight burn to shell out so much cash for our last border crossing, quite ridiculous given that borders are more or less completely open throughout Schengen, but there's no turning back now...</p>\n<p>...and we are now in the flat agricultural part of Turkey, surrounded by more farmland than we've seen since - well, since the flatlands near Larisa, which we suppose is not so long ago; but before that, the last flatlands we saw were back before Trieste in Italy. Non-mountainous road has been a luxury for this last part, a luxury indeed, and we are immensely glad to have it in our general built-up exhaustion from which there is no escape save safe arrival in Istanbul. Farmland means another thing, too: scant land to camp on. You don't want to be sitting in your tent on some cropfield when the mechanical tillers come knocking. We find one piece of land that might be suitable, a sort of grassy patch overlooking some impassable washed-out ditches not far off the road, and pause there to cook dinner - but soon think better of it, recalling some advice from Asterix in Thessaloniki: he never camps between towns, for it is far more dangerous than the cities. No one is around to see anything, no one to hear - and even though there is a petrol station just up the hill, we fear that this close to the border we might run into vagrant border-dodgers looking to work over anyone they can find for anything they can get. We pack up the stove, let out a sigh - it was a decent site, after all, at least slightly protected from the noise of the road - and head on towards the next town...</p>\n<p>...and, in a throwback to our Albanian days, see that the next petrol station we run into comes equipped with a smallish hotel. Why not? Might as well have some minor luxuries in this last part. We haven't really had a vacation - cycling is hard work, even more so when you're hell-bent on covering 11 000 km in six months, and we deserve the rest our bodies crave. We check in, pull our gear upstairs, and sink into a nice warm bed. Maybe we will attempt to make Tekirdag tomorrow; although we have enough time to take it slowly, we find that we are incapable this close to the end. We want to get there - to hit Istanbul running, to roll in and pack it all up and spend our time drinking tea and eating as much kebap as we can cram down our throats before hauling it all somehow to Atat\u00fcrk International for the flight home. Good night!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/12/last-country.html", "title": "last country!", "date": "2010-11-12T12:32:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/12/last-country.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101112", "country": "tr"}
+{"content": "<p>Refreshed after our evening pastry and ensuing good sleep, we started out for Royan - this is a medium-sized city just across from Le Verdon, which is at the top of the peninsula above...Bordeaux! (Yeah, we're getting close now...according to the map, there's only about 100 km to go, and then another 300 km or so to Pamplona! (Of course, that latter stretch contains a sizeable mountain range, so we'll see how that goes...))</p>\n<p>...and that's as far as we got. As chronicled in our Picasa albums, our arrival in Royan happens to coincide with a national day of solidarity against proposed measures to raise the retirement age from 60 to 62...by 2018. Don't get me wrong; I think that our drop-until-you-work mentality back in North America is highly flawed, but this is way at the other extreme of the laziness spectrum. Anyways, we learned this upon reaching the ferry terminal, where a number of printed signs affixed to the firmly-barred gates informed us that, no, we would not be able to travel today. (As we learned later, all forms of transport were similarly closed; I pity the other poor travellers trying to get around France!) Since the coast opposite the peninsula looks both more hilly and less scenic, we've decided to wait it out in Royan...and so we're set up in the only caf\u00e9 with wifi that we came across while cycling to the docks, catching up on our photo captioning and video uploading and blog posting...all those things necessary to ensure that you can continue to hear about our travels!</p>\n<p>One other thing: camping in Royan is unnecessarily expensive - 21\u20ac for two people and a tent per night, whereas the average cost so far has been closer to 12-15\u20ac. Maybe we'll find more reasonable pricing further south...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html", "title": "a royan pain in the arse", "date": "2010-06-24T13:45:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100624", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>Late start from Clisson. We navigated our way out through crowds of festival-goers to the nearby supermarket, where we enjoyed a characteristically large breakfast. Seeing as how there was an InterSport directly opposite this supermarket - sports stores being apparently a rare commodity in France, and in many places the only place to get cycling gear - we headed over there afterwards to cross one more item off our to-get list: cycling shoes! We had to rush out of the store, as they were closing for lunch break (yes, the start we got was THAT late...) and so we sat outside in the parking lot installing a new set of combined clip/regular pedals on the Trek 520. We then attached the shoe brackets to our cycling shoes; although the shoes came with a giant sheet of decalingual instructions with fancy stick-figure arrow-pointing numbered diagrams, we found it far easier to just apply common sense.</p>\n<p>Roughly a quarter-hour later, we had two sets of cycling shoes ready for testing. Valkyrie tried hers out first, repeatedly jamming her shoe at the bracket until a satisfying click sound indicated that she had finally succeeded. I followed suit - the right shoe seemed rather easy, but the left took a good deal more effort to get into the bracket; nevertheless, another quarter-hour later we were riding circles around the parking lot (which, courtesy of the aforementioned lunch break, was thankfully empty!) We allowed ourselves a few minutes of solid practice before heading out on the road. Once you get used to the shoes and the fact that, yes, you have to click out during every stop (or stop with your face!) they're fairly easy to use. We made one more stop for tea at a caf\u00e9 in the centre of town; this took longer than expected, owing to the unusually high concentration of people in town.</p>\n<p>As you might imagine, it ended up being a fairly short day - we made it to La-Roche-sur-Yon by 19h00. As luck would have it, the town was holding a music festival! First things first, though; we decided to inquire at a local hotel about nearby campgrounds, only to be informed that the nearest was 10 km out of town. This seemed like a long distance to cover on an empty stomach, so we instead circulated about town, listening to the festival while searching for an ideal place to set up the stove. We had picked up the ingredients for quiche on our way into La-Roche-sur-Yon - an ambitious thing to try on a camping stove! This attracted the attention of numerous passers-by, who asked us all the usual questions: where are you going? where did you start? how far do you go each day? As we cooked, we were regaled by a local band that specialized in passable rock-grunge covers - they seemed to have a particular affinity for Nirvana's discography, a strange thing to find in the middle of France.</p>\n<p>After that, it was getting late; we started biking out of town towards the campsite, but the sunlight quickly waned until it was too dark to continue without lights. The campsite they had pointed us at was out of the way, so rather than push on we less-than-clandestinely set up the tent (did I mention that it's bright orange?) on the grounds of the municipal hippodrome. I guess we'll have to head out tomorrow before anyone catches us here...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/21/chaussures-de-ciclisme.html", "title": "chaussures de ciclisme", "date": "2010-06-21T13:40:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/21/chaussures-de-ciclisme.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100621", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>So. Second full day in Thessaloniki. This is necessary, we believe; exhaustion both mental and physical has taken its toll, and we feel the irrepressible desire whenever we get the chance to do absolutely nothing whatsoever of importance. Not a problem in less-touristy Thessaloniki! The sites of importance are easily visited within the span of several hours, and we happened upon most of them yesterday purely by accident. We start off the day nice and slow with a lengthy coffee break in Dada Caf\u00e9 where we write up more of these damnable blog posts. Well, not damnable precisely - we like writing them enough, but it is plenty of work. We remember back at the beginning of the trip when, bursting with youthful ambition, we imagined we would keep videos and GPS logs and attempt to get sponsorship and try to speak at schools about our travels and everything else under the sun. And then we actually got on the road, started biking; we understood fully what it means to ride 100km or more a day only to arrive wherever we can late-evening with depleted energy reserves and a pressing need to make camp and cook and write up the daily post and...and...well, it's not exactly surprising, given all this, that we routinely fall behind on writing and uploading these things. Hard work indeed!</p>\n<p>None of that today, though; we sit in Dada Caf\u00e9 for some time before sauntering back to The Guy for some more delicious Greek food, and then we pass several hours in blissful oblivion back at Stelios' apartment. He returns from his classes, and I ask him for the use of his printer. What for? Real life is fast approaching, as much as we would love to ignore it - and the US is notoriously strict in matters of work visas. I've got a number of forms to be sent off; we print them out, walk down to the nearest post office still open at this hour, and mail them out via regular post.</p>\n<p>Time for dinner! On our way back from the post office we head through the covered food market downtown to pick up some fish, which we oven-bake with our oranges and almonds and a generous heaping of Kalamata olive oil. The result is delicious and well appreciated by our host, whom we engage in conversation about Cypriot politics and the Turkish occupation and war and the shortcomings of human nature and anything else of philosophical importance that comes to mind.</p>\n<p>The train we plan to take leaves early - too early for Stelios' schedule; we say our goodbyes, invite him to visit us in San Francisco (an invitation we make to all our hosts, naturally, as well as anyone who should happen upon our CouchSurfing or WarmShowers listings once we make them), and grab another night of sleep. Last night of sleep on a mattress for a few days at least, for however long it takes to reach Istanbul, and it seems prudent to thoroughly enjoy it...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html", "title": "rest stop the second", "date": "2010-11-10T12:31:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101110", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Winding down sure does<br />\nSatisfy in a very<br />\nParticular way.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>Granada is ringed with mountains.  This is probably a good part of the reason that long-lost kings chose to build incredible palaces there.  It sort of sucks for biking.</p>\n<p>The mostly good news is that it's mostly downhill, and the N-road mostly avoids the mountains.  Mostly.  We spent the morning on a non-neglible climb, made more tolerable by the gorgeous wastelands around us.  Barren areas are somehow so appealing to bike through... super populous areas are so civilised and settled, and by this point in the trip we're far from being civilised any longer.  I wonder when we'll find a place to wash our clothes..</p>\n<p>Anyway, we meandered through the mountains: a task which was made more complicated by the fact that road work not indicated on our map had turned parts of the N-road (which roads are usually suitable for cycling) into an autoroute (where cyclists are not permitted).  The Guardia Civil were out in force today, though, so we got by on asking them for directions to roads that we would be able to take.</p>\n<p>The N-road followed a series of rivers through the mountains, and so managed to stay rather flat.  The rivers had also carved out fabulous gorges for us to gaze at in wonderment on the trip through.  About halfway down to the coast, we happened upon an olive oil museum.  An <em>olive oil museum.</em>  We stopped to check it out, and the building housed displays about making olive oil through history, as well as a collection of \"vintage\" olive oils for sale.  We elected to buy some fresh olive oil and some fresh sherry (a particular type of sweeter wine that this region is famous for) and a delicious fig cake.  THE OLIVE OIL IS TREMENDOUS.</p>\n<p>Riding along the coast was a breeze; it's mostly flat in this area, and we were lucky enough to have a tailwind during much of the ride.  As we sped towards rockier areas of coast, the road began to meander up and down on its way, and we found a fabulous spot to camp on one of these meanderings.  We're stopped tonight at the foot of an ancient tower overlooking the sea; tomorrow we'll watch the sun come up over the water.  Tomorrow is Evan's birthday!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/30/olive-oil.html", "title": "olive oil", "date": "2010-07-30T15:33:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/30/olive-oil.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100730", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>\nRain comes and rain goes,<br />\nTea fills the cup and empties.<br />\nGiant chairs rule all.<br />\n</i></p>\n<p>This morning saw us gathering our stuff to leave Hamburg.  Wolfgang was a delightful host.  I'll miss his palatial apartment on the 5th floor.  And his super awesome shower.  And the delicious Br\u00f6tchen we had for breakfast and late-night snacks.  :(</p>\n<p>At any rate, we got our requisite cyclists-and-host photo and rolled out of town as the bells chimed twelve.  We hopped on a boat bus that took us across the river Elbe.</p>\n<p>Everything was closed, since this was Pfingstensmontag (Pentecost Monday).  Germans take their holidays very seriously, which was a problem for us as we had no map of the area south or west of Hamburg.  No shops were open to supply us with one.  The best idea we had was from a few maps we had glanced over at Wolfgang's apartment, so we basically worked off our collectively poor memory and the compass.  A reasonable plan... it eventually brought us to a gas station where we found a map that suited our needs but was far too bulky to fit in any of our bags.  Solution?  Digital camera!  We took photos of the route we expected to take and headed out again.</p>\n<p>By this time it was getting cold and dark, and not too far down the road of our anticipated path we ran into trouble.  Evan got his first flat tyre, too.  We looked helplessly at the sky as we realised that we only had about 3 minutes before we would be drenched.  Note: patching a tyre tube is nigh impossible in pouring rain.</p>\n<p>So Evan crouched under me as I held my raincoat out for a shield, and he successfully patched the tube.  We shivered for the next 10 km or so until we rolled into the next town and sat down to eat at the only place that was open: China Palace!  We drank a couple pots of wonderful, hot jasmine tea between us (honestly, I think I did most of the tea-drinking, but.....) and shared a dish which was called the DYNASTY FIRE PLATE.  It was pretty epic, and the piles of rice and veggies did us some good, I think.  Also, the woman who seemed to own the place has a niece from Toronto, and she seemed excited to practise her English.  :D</p>\n<p>The day got colder and windier and darker as we headed south towards Zeven, where we had decided we would make camp.  We followed some series of increasingly impossible German bicycle paths in that direction, which led us through forests and along wooden bridges and through dirt and mud and past a circus.  Several times we had to stop and walk our bikes along because the wind was too vicious to cut through at a riding speed.  Eventually, Zeven!</p>\n<p>The campsite that we stayed at was decorated by a pair of comically oversized deck chairs, which we of course had to sit in.  It was headed by a super-kind hippieish fellow who gave us a ride into town (about 2km) so we could get dinner after we cleaned ourselves up a bit.  We had house-made beer and liquor and ice cream at a restaurant caled Klostersch\u00e4nke (pronounced similar to \"Cluster Shank,\" haha), then wandered through the town's parks and back to camp.</p>\n<p>Zeven is basically adorable.  If we hadn't wound up in such a terrific town at the end of the day, we would have to write it off as awful overall.  But with the addition of Camping Sonnenkamp Zeven, we had a nice day.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/24/zeven-and-eleven.html", "title": "zeven and eleven", "date": "2010-05-24T17:15:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/24/zeven-and-eleven.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100524", "country": "de"}
+{"content": "<p>This is it: the last day in France. How does it feel? Exhilarating, to put it mildly. France has been rather lackluster when it comes to bike touring: people are not exactly hospitable, cars honk at you everywhere, things close at 1800, roads are poorly paved...the list goes on and on, and it's all disappointing - especially since this is the country of my second language. Perhaps Espa\u00f1a will be better...</p>\n<p>This is it. The climb to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port is but a taste of what is to come. Overall, we ascend 200 m over the day; however, the actual ascent is much more, taking us over the real foothills of the Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9es and through the valleys created in their wake. It is hot; we pant our way up the hills, lugging our gear-filled racks slowly up the hills. It is slow; we must take these climbs a bit at a time, since we are not yet used to the mountainous terrain that we must confront throughout the Camino.</p>\n<p>This is it. We start to see signs for Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. We pass pilgrims who started earlier, perhaps in Denmark or France or Germany. We see their packs, loaded with dirty clothes and sleeping bags and water bottles. We are in their country now, the land of churches and cathedrals and long lonely walks in service of an unseen God. A group of children cheer France's rugby success in one of the towns we pass through; football fever has passed for France now that their terrible and brutish performance has removed them from the higher World Cup echelons.</p>\n<p>This is it. Our campsite lies within eyesight of the very mountains we will climb tomorrow - the mountains where we will rise 1200 vertical metres over 18 horizontal kilometres, where we will earn the right to call ourselves real cyclists. What does it mean? The trip so far has been relaxed by comparison; from here on in, we will try to bike at least 100 km per day. We confront now a set of hardships entirely different from those that beset us at the beginning. In place of cold, we have blistering heat; in place of wind, we have mountains; in place of rain, we have the ever-looming threat of dehydration. The mountain pass is marked as paved road except for a long stretch of footpath at the very top. What will it look like? How treacherous will it be, hiking across with fully loaded bikes that could roll away at any minute and thereby doom our trip? How will we cope with the slightly thinner air? We don't know.</p>\n<p>This is it. After all, this has been the theme of our trip thus far; we cope with the unknown, turn and twist it until it seems like a new challenge, an exciting adventure. Tomorrow promises that, at least - and perhaps an entirely new set of fantastic photos to match. As we fall asleep in the shadow of the Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9es, we dream of what is to come; we dream of a new language, a new country, a new people. May we make it across! Buen Camino!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/30/camping-in-the-shadow-of-the-mountains.html", "title": "camping in the shadow of the mountains", "date": "2010-06-30T11:20:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/30/camping-in-the-shadow-of-the-mountains.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100630", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>The air is stiller,<br />\nNot clouded by klaxons,<br />\nBella Italia!</i></p>\n<p>Out of Monaco, we rode up and down along more of the rolling seaside road.  It wasn't long thereafter that we hit the Italian border.  That's another country down!  We were excited to think that we are now done with Danmark, Deutschland, Belgium, the UK, Spain, Portugal, Morocco, and France.  All that's left are Italia, Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, Albania, Greece, and Turkey!  And, fortunately, none of those is as large as Spain.</p>\n<p>So, Italia!  The road suddenly became a lot more paved across the border.  We speculated that all that Roman heritage stuff contributes to Italian people's having a pretty good idea of how to build a nice, smooth road.  The sun was lowering, but not yet set when we found our stopping-spot for the night.</p>\n<p>It's a town called Ventimiglia, and it's cute!  It's just on the other side of a long tunnel.  A river splits it in half, running into the sea.  We stopped at a bar in the middle of town for a glass of wine to celebrate our completion of another country, and we realised that we hadn't looked at our phrase guide for Italian.  At all.  Oops.  \"Vino rosso\" was enough to get us through that interaction, but we're hoping to pull that out tomorrow morning or something...</p>\n<p>A campsite here wasn't hard to find.  Looking to the beach, we actually saw several people who had set up for the night in plain sight.  It might be easy in Italy to \"stealth camp.\"  :)  We aren't even bothering with a tent, though; a sleeping bag in the sand should do.</p>\n<p>After our dinner of zucchini and pasta, we are ready to settle down into our new country.  It's going to be beautiful.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/02/bella-italia.html", "title": "bella italia!", "date": "2010-09-02T21:54:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/02/bella-italia.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100902", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>We finally considered ourselves in good enough condition to continue on today; regardless, given that we're trying to make it to Brighton for the <a href=\"http://wiki.worldnakedbikeride.org/index.php?title=Brighton_%26_Hove\">World Naked Bike Ride</a> on the 13th, I don't think we would have had the luxury of remaining for another day! There's nudity to be had.</p>\n<p>Upon setting out, we were immediately greeted by another flat courtesy of Valkyrie's rear tire; upon inspection, the cause was an improperly applied patch from our first repair job back in Danmark. Lesson learned: apply the patch when the tube is inflated. Otherwise, it will warp when you inflate the tube again. We went through the usual routine - pull all the gear off, detach the rear wheel, pry one side of the tire out with a tire boot (or two, or three), take out the tube, find the hole, inflate, patch, deflate, put tube back in, put tire back into place, re-inflate, ride. By this time, it was roughly noon; to add to things, it had started to rain with gradually increasing ferocity. We climbed the hill out of Saint-L\u00f4 and headed on the road towards Mont-Saint-Michel.</p>\n<p>Disaster! The patch didn't take; we had just left Saint-L\u00f4 when her tire flattened out again. We knew at this point that the inner tube was irrecoverably damaged, but it was still about 2 km to the nearest town. We started walking it, but the going was too slow; as a stopgap measure, we inflated the tire and hoped this would be enough to reach town without significant damage to the wheel. (Thankfully, it was.)</p>\n<p>We stopped in a nearby caf\u00e9. The patrons - all locals, from the looks of it - watched in amusement as we set a previously punctured tube on the table; we had never found the hole in that one, and were hoping to find it now. It took some searching, but we did succeed. A few minutes later, we finally had a working tube; this one held for the day.</p>\n<p>The rain continued to get more and more miserable, drenching us so completely that we had to pull out extra layers from our bags to keep warm as it got later. Nevertheless, we reached the Baie du Mont-Saint-Michel, putting us within a long but doable 100 km of the ferry from Saint-Malo. Let's hope we can reach it tomorrow!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/10/rain.html", "title": "rain.", "date": "2010-06-10T15:46:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/10/rain.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100610", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>Hard ground last night in our abandoned building refuge. Our bodies ache, our shoulders and backs and hips most of all - but this is of no consequence, for we have a most important quest today! We seek the wisdom of the Oracle at Delphi, that ancient symbol of wisdom, and not even the scoffing of those who see our desire to climb 900m of mountain to ask questions of some slowly eroding rocks will keep us from achieving this goal. It seems there are milestones enough to reach past Athens...</p>\n<p>...so we start off the day by searching for the piano bar where we sat and took coffee and made tentative first stabs at catching up on long-overdue blog posts. Livadeia being rather sizeable, our search is unsuccessful; instead, we are brought into the downtown, where most caf\u00e9s open at 0800 - and it is 0700, as we woke up as early as possible to give ourselves additional time to cross the mountains. Fortunately, we find one caf\u00e9 that is open, and we stop for a cappuccino (Valkyrie) and hot chocolate (Evan) before heading out of town. 900m. How hard could that be? After all, we just recently completed 1400m from Kalamata to Sparti...</p>\n<p>...and, as predicted, we charge up the mountain slowly but surely to reach Arachova at the top by 1100. The view over the valleys below is spectacular. We use that word quite a bit, but every instance of it is entirely appropriate - in fact, it may even be insufficiently superlative to express the wonder of the mountainsides dipping into the olive-lined floors, their faces spotted with clusters of houses and castles that cling on for dear life against inevitable erosion and gravity. And yet this is not our goal; first, we must give up some 300m or so of elevation down a series of treacherous switchbacks before reaching the archaeological sites at Delphi. We visit the complex of Athena Pronaia first, stopping on a stone bench for a bite of leftover orzo salad and Kalamata olives - but we are soon told that this ancient site is no place to eat, so we pack up our foodstuffs and head back up to the bikes to eat. Our hunger sated for now, we bike along past the ancient gymnasium and over to the complex to Apollo, the main draw for tourists seeking a slice of history in these remote-but-not-too-remote-to-reach-by-bus-from-Athens mountains.</p>\n<p>We are not surprised to find these ruins in relatively good shape - in the days before paved roads and combustion engines, it would have been difficult indeed to march an army up here, let alone besiege a terraced mountainside complex. The stadium in particular is well-preserved, but it's quite the hike to reach it; looking down on the temples and treasuries and theatre below, we've reclaimed maybe about 200m of the elevation lost from Arachova to Delphi. On our way up, we pause to ask our questions of the Oracle - there is a temple to Apollo about halfway up the path, which we face to make our inquiries in silence. Many tourists to Greece visit two sites: the Acropolis in Athens and the complex to Apollo at Delphi. The former is of course the most widely known, but the latter is not far behind - and it shows, for the paths are clogged with tourists from Germany and England and Japan, all lumbering along with chattering tour guides. At least the density of tourists drops as we head higher...</p>\n<p>...and we walk back down the long path, taking care not to slip in our near-tractionless flip-flops on the smooth-worn stone. We pass the museum, but do not enter; although the museums at these sites often display the most interesting artifacts uncovered from the excavations, we have neither desire nor time to visit - we must get as far out of the mountains as possible before it gets very dark and very cold, and we much prefer the great outdoors to dusty indoor confines. In any event, even the landscape here falls under the UNESCO World Heritage designation...</p>\n<p>...modern Delphi is a non-event, stacked from end to end with the usual array of tourist-frequented hotels and restaurants and useless trinket shops. We do pause outside a bakery, where we purchase a loaf of bread to polish off the oil-vinegar-brine combination left in Tupperware after our post-lunch snack of Kalamata olives, and are approached by a woman from Montana who is thoroughly impressed that anyone would dare climb these mountains with fully-loaded bikes - but the conversation is short, and we are soon heading down the long winding road to Amfissa. The main road does not actually enter Amfissa, but rather sticks to the periphery before veering off to the right, around through a small valley, and back into the mountains. Our exhaustion mounting, we pause for a short nap in a gravel lookout spot before continuing on...</p>\n<p>...and on and on; this climb is as hard as the one into Arachova. To start with, it circumnavigates a midsize valley while steadily rising; once above this town opposite the spot where we took our nap, it doubles back to pass a couple of gas stations and, wonder of wonders, a fountain with cool fresh water. It then slowly climbs into the mountains above, winding back and forth along the face for what seems like an eternity. Finally, we reach the end of this valley - and are slowly climbing along the side of one yet larger. The road continues to wind up and around the mountainside, up and up and up until it finally reaches the top next to a large mine for metals of some sort. We are quite worn out by this point, and are relieved to find that the ascent is finished; we are treated to a long downhill into the small highland town of Gravia.</p>\n<p>What now? It is growing dark, and although Gravia is out of the most mountainous part it is yet elevated enough to experience cold nights this time of year. We pull out our warm jackets and mull this over; likely it will be too cold to camp comfortably, so we decide to search for warmer lodgings. Crossing the same mountain range twice in a day seems like adequate justification for seeking shelter in a nice warm hotel! Sadly, a ride through town takes all of five minutes and reveals nothing of this sort - there are a few caf\u00e9s, a taverna, and a couple of food markets. We spot a gas station just out of town, and decide to fill our fuel bottle in case we end up camping after all...</p>\n<p>...as is the case with many of our predicaments, the solution lies in asking for help. We ask the gas station attendant if they know of a hotel in the area; they do, and it is back through town and off to the left. These directions are not quite precise enough to find our way there, but they might do well enough to find someone else to ask - so we roll back through town, ignoring the locals who doubtless are sharing a laugh at the expense of two apparently lost and increasingly chilled cyclists, and take the left indicated. There is a small shop open just down this street, so we pop in and ask for directions to a hotel. As luck would have it, they have a sign out front advertising the hotel, which runs nightly live music shows (piano and guitar!) during the summer and winter high seasons; it is further down this street, roughly 3km out of town. Not too far, but still...</p>\n<p>...yet there is no other choice, and so we find ourselves riding out into the countryside. We pass a couple of houses, but nothing that looks like the hotel, and we start to wonder if perhaps this place does not in fact exist - but we reach it at last. Trudging up the steep driveway with our bikes, we see by degrees an inviting place indeed: restaurant out the back overlooking the valley, manicured lawn, outdoor patio for warmer seasons. This is orders of magnitude more opulent than our tent and sleeping bag - and priced to match, at 90\u20ac per night. Yikes! Still, we can count on one hand the number of times we've treated ourselves to a nice hotel stay on this trip, and having both reached our 10 000 km goal and climbed the mountains into Delphi, we feel it is well-earned - and the room has a fireplace to boot, so we are soon ditching our sweaty cycling attire in favour of our slightly less sweaty town clothing. The smell of burning wood is an unequalled pleasure, and not something that we've really had on this trip. Most places proscribe outdoor fires for fear that they will set the forest alight, and building the fire takes more time and energy than we usually have at the end of a long day on our bike seats.</p>\n<p>We relax in the room for a bit, chowing down on the remains of our olives and some walnuts from the snack jar to stave off hunger. With town 3km back up a very dark and cold road, the only sane option is to grab a bite downstairs at the restaurant - but Greeks seldom eat before 2000, and even that is usually considered early, so we kill time watching movies and showering and writing blog posts and playing adventure games until 2000 finally rolls around. Down in the restaurant, we order a sumptuous meal: tzatziki, special house salad, saganaki, and an enormous mixed grill plate. Although we almost always cook vegetarian meals - making exceptions on very few occasions for seafood bought at market - we have relatively few qualms about eating meat here in Europe, where the standard of care afforded livestock is far superior to the brutal treatment given by North American factory farms. We down it all with hot grog, a sort of spiced rum-water concoction that is deliciously warm. Such luxury!</p>\n<p>Significantly warmer and better fed than we were when, not two hours earlier, we staggered in from the cold and dark, we allow exhaustion to catch up with us at last. We retire to the room and collapse on the beds, sinking in underneath the warm blankets as the last embers fade in our still-smoking fireplace. A much-needed night of proper rest awaits us...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/04/oracular-spectacular.html", "title": "oracular spectacular", "date": "2010-11-04T08:22:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/04/oracular-spectacular.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20101104", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Who needs sleep to bike?<br />\nWe run on drive, desire,<br />\nAnd sometimes on wine</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>After a largely sleepless night (Spaniards celebrating f\u00fatbol are not to be trifled with!), we headed into the next set of rather-large mountains.  Maybe there are better ideas.  Anyway, we always have siesta to nap.</p>\n<p>The peaks we saw today were crested with turbines in much the way most high places seem to be in Spain.  The towns that line the one road leading over them are clearly camino towns: not many people pass here who are not peregrinos, and not many people live here other than those who run the albergues and caf\u00e9s to service them.  It's amazing what grows up around this pilgrimage!</p>\n<p>We passed two high peaks today, one of which was the highest peak on the entire camino: 1500m above sea level.  The first peak was admittedly more interesting; it was topped with a pole to which people had taped, stapled, knifed, wrapped, or otherwise attached various mementoes of their passage (I actually tied the flowers from my handlebars to it... their cr\u00eape paper was starting to look sad from the abuse of wind during riding).  The ground around it was littered with rocks covered in messages in all languages to people passing through.  Evan and I left one that noted, \"Wherever you go, there you are,\" with our signatures and hand-drawn pictures of our bikes (sans gear).</p>\n<p>Those peaks mounted, we were treated to a nice, long, twisting coast down the side of the mountain.  It led through more camino towns and not much else.  The town at the bottom, Molinaseca (dry windmill), had a stream running through it to a waterfall.  The local game seemed to be to jump in as close to the waterfall as possible and swim away before getting sucked down.  A shame we didn't have time to join...</p>\n<p>Anyway, we headed down and down into the valley, heading for Villafranca del Bierzo and a sleep at the foot of the next mountain range.  The town was in wine country, so we were again treated to drinking wine from &lt;5km away.  The albergue we slept in was clearly a pilgrim factory: there were bunked beds lining the attic, cots and mattresses where it was too low for bunkbeds, and generally a whole lot of people milling around at all hours of evening.  Hopefully a good sleep before the next climb tomorrow!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/12/mountains-1.html", "title": "mountains 1", "date": "2010-07-12T11:34:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/12/mountains-1.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100712", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>Okay. That last post of mine was far too long; fortunately, our stubborn persistence brought us to Igoumenitsa as of yesterday, where the going is non-existent and consequently far less eventful. This is our first day without any cycling of any sort since our two-day sojourn in Opatija - which was 1200 km, countless storms, a flood, and more than two weeks ago, so we feel entirely justified in kicking back and resting.</p>\n<p>We start off the morning with Greek coffees at Caf\u00e9 Corleone before asking the bookstore owner - who, as we recall, is the only person we've come across here with nearly flawless English - where we might find a laundromat; although the hotel offered to wash our clothing, the sleeping bag could use a washing after taking on a bit of damp during the flood. He gives some fairly precise directions, so Valkyrie returns to the room to pore over listings of graduate schools and research labs while I walk about looking for it: way down the waterfront past a church, a schoolyard, and a slew of caf\u00e9s and restaurants and stores to this playground area, turn right just past that, walk up past the post, and it should be on the corner - he did, however, warn us that since laundry machines have taken hold here, many of the old neighbourhood laundromats are shutting down...</p>\n<p>...as this one seems to have done; there is no evidence of said laundromat on any of the corners in a two-block radius. There is a dry cleaners, but the lady there points me down the street a few blocks. Walking over there, I find another dry cleaners where I am pointed back down the road some distance. With nothing better to do, I give it a shot - but the stretch of relative townness comes to an end back up where the waterfront road meets the main road, so I turn to walk back to the hotel. Not much use in putting even more effort into the search, not after having combed roughly the entire town...</p>\n<p>We spend some more time loafing around, pausing in this lofty pursuit only to take ouzo at a local bar. There is still the matter of the sleeping bag and slightly damp tent to attend to, so we grab our ingredients and kitchen materials and take them down to the park by the water to cook up a delicious squid-tomato-spinach rice dish. Yum! Feels good to have decent food again, something nice and warm to shove down our throats. The sleeping bag and tent we lay over a nearby railing to dry, so that the whole thing forms a nice scene of our standard hobosity - we are even complimented by a passing couple on our culinary acumen.</p>\n<p>Late afternoon rolls around. The shops reopen, allowing us to pick up some much-needed items: two polar fleece jackets (which at 37\u20ac combined are well worth it!), a second rainjacket with full hood (we've had only one so far, forcing me to wear a garbage bag when it rains), and various food items to stock our pantry containers. We now feel much better prepared for any storms down the road, and the jackets make us look almost presentable...</p>\n<p>...and that's mostly it; we spend a bit of time writing blog posts and downloading movies in Caf\u00e9 Corleone, but otherwise the night passes uneventfully. This is perfectly alright by us - for tomorrow we finally head out again! Sleep well, weary travellers...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/21/lazing-around-igoumenitsa.html", "title": "lazing around igoumenitsa", "date": "2010-10-21T11:43:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/21/lazing-around-igoumenitsa.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101021", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>The rolling hills in<br />\nRural France make for lovely<br />\nScenes and my sad legs.</i></p>\n<p>I like lakes.  They're so peaceful and calm: the water just floating around and minding its own business, people milling about and enjoying grassy or sandy lakesides (especially on a warm day like this one), ... So I jumped at the chance to go to Annecy, France, with two other coworkers, namely Hugo and Piotr.  It has a lovely lake and a gorgeous old town, and it's basically a composite built of all the things that Americans think about when they think of \"romantic Europe.\"  Except the Eiffel Tower.  It didn't have that.<br />\n</p>\n<p>But there's this funny thing about lakes.  They tend to form in low areas.  That generally means that two lakes that aren't connected are separated by something like.. well, like a high area.  In this case, it was a very high hill.  I just did a map on mapmyride.com and it informs me that we climbed a total of 740m over our 120-ish km bike ride.  That's a shitload of climbing.  The woman at the restaurant we went to in Annecy didn't believe that we had come from Geneva.<br />\n</p>\n<p>We did get a late start (about 11:30 we left from Gen\u00e8ve), but we got back shortly after sunset.  Not too shabby.  That includes an hour or so spent in Annecy touristing through the old town and stuffing our faces with as many calories as possible (in the form of pizza and pasta and ice cream).<br />\n</p>\n<p>All in all, the French countryside was really beautiful.  Unfortunately, France isn't so friendly to cyclists as Switzerland is; they don't have many bike lanes (we had to settle for the shoulder of small highways), and they lack open stops with fresh water.  We were honked at and stuff several times, but Piotr taught me some curse words in Polish, so that was okay.<br />\n</p>\n<p>Anyway, I can barely hold myself up to type this.  I think it's time for me to rest up.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html", "title": "lake to lake (aka fml)", "date": "2010-04-10T19:52:00", "path": "posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100410", "country": "ch"}
+{"content": "<p><i>River breeze slides twixt rocks,<br />\nPromising something cooler,<br />\nWithout deliv'ring.</i></p>\n<p>This morning's ride was a <i>beast.</i>  Up the mountains immediately... where by \"up\" I mean \"further up.\"  We were already actually fairly high in Barrancos, as we discovered later in the day.  Anyway, it was sweltering as soon as the sun breached the mountaintops.  In the highlands, there isn't really a breeze.</p>\n<p>After a couple hours of murderous climb, we made it to the N-120, which led (thank heavens) along a riverbed.  That means that it was both flatter and cooler than the other roads: practically a new ecosystem judging by the suddenly lush appearance of the roadside.  It was still not a cool day, though.  We still felt like we were melting slowly into our shoes as the day wore on.</p>\n<p>Up and up and up we went, all the way to siesta.  Siesta for us usually means a fairly relaxed and cool affair of a few hours, of which we spend some eating and some computering and some napping.  It's usually too hot to bike, but usually it's alright to walk around and see a bit of whatever town we've stopped in.  Today was not like that.  Today we could barely step out of the air conditioned supermarket without gasping, could barely touch our bicycle seats when they'd been in the sun.  After sweating through lunch, we took an extremely uncomfortably warm nap under a tree in a parklet for several hours.  At 18h30, it was still too hot to bike, but we had to.</p>\n<p>Fortunately, out of town was down the hill.  Essentially our entire afternoon ride was a long coast towards Seville.  It whipped up a nice breeze to cool us down, and as the sun began to think about setting we paused in a town called El Garrobo for dinner.  We got a fabulous deal on a delicious meal involving butter-fried shrimp, chicken-something, potatoes ali-oli (with garlic and olive oil), and fabulous desserts.  Yum!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/23/hott.html", "title": "hott", "date": "2010-07-23T15:23:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/23/hott.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100723", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>We cross the Strait of Gibraltar, a short 35 minute jaunt by ferry from Tarifa into Tanger. The wind here is fierce, whipped up to frenetic speeds by the peculiar topography around the Strait, and we feel every bit of this as we stand outside on the deck looking across to the Moroccan coastline...two worlds merely 14 km away, yet completely separate. The ferry docks and we ride over to the pedestrian customs, bypassing the long car line; we are awaited by the usual contingent of customs agents and metal detectors and bomb sniffers and the like, but we pass through the security checkpoint with our fully-loaded bikes and no one bats an eye...and we are off, riding into the slowly decaying downtown core of Tanger.</p>\n<p>One thing remains constant about all places we visit: first, there is always the roving semi-lost stumble about town as we search for lodgings. The key is to appear natural in these meanderings, as though you meant to head down that road only to double back at the end and turn in an entirely different direction. At the tourism office they suggest that we find sleeping quarters in the Kasbah, the old district atop the hill out on the point that overlooks the sea and its adjoining rat-maze market alleyways - but we are tired from our sprint across the bottom corner of the Iberian peninsula, and do not make it that far before settling on a relatively cheap but decent-looking pension near the city centre.</p>\n<p>Slowly decaying. Tanger is a port town whose time has come and gone. Many of the buildings are abandoned, such as an old theatre bearing a plaque of stones inscribed: \"Gran Teatro Cervantes 1917\". The walls crumble from neglect; only the minarets appear in good condition. All cultural precepts vanish once you step outside the safety net of European influence - for although the French once laid claim here, no wine is served in the bars, no alcohol of any sort...a subtle yet persistent reminder that we have willingly breached the net to come into contact with Something New. After devouring kebab plates, we struggle to locate the Kasbah; in typical fashion, I left our only map of Tanger in the pension room where it is of least use.</p>\n<p>After our efforts take us through the Souk, past its decaying fruit piles discarded carelessly between the stalls and its cheap clothing and its spices and dates and cramped chicken cages, and up towards the imposing cathedral and mosque, we at last decide to ask someone where the hell the Kasbah is. The attendant at the gas station speaks Arabic, Spanish, and French, and so we settle on Spanish as the common tongue in which directions are given - and it turns out that, while we were meandering about the Souk, we were actually quite close...we just have to go further up, up towards the sea and the hill on the point.</p>\n<p>We reach the Kasbah just in time to find its museum closed for the day - so we wander about its streets, packed with homes that overhang the alleyways and offer space beneath to passing pedestrian traffic. We get some way into the back streets before a young man comes up to us and offers to lead us around; he is at first friendly, but slowly his style shifts to official tour-guide-ness and we suspect an elaborate ruse of some sort...and it is elaborate; for he shows us the mosque and the places where various dignitaries and persons of fame have supposedly resided and the Koranic school and other such attractions, pausing every so often for good views over the city which we snap photographs of...before finally leading us down into the Berber markets, where he leaves us in the company of a Berber man who makes increasingly insistent attempts to sell us rugs. But here the con has failed - for we have neither money to purchase rugs nor space to store them. Once this at last becomes clear to the Berber salesman, he curses us and our mothers before we rush out into the street, where our would-be guide catches up with us and asks for a tip (in Euro, not dirhams!) Of course, we have no money for him either - and fortunately it stops there; he leaves to con less impecunious tourists in the Kasbah, we scramble out of the Berber markets as quickly as possible and hit the waterfront for yet another glass of sweet mint tea - our fourth for the day, I think, for this stuff is quite possibly the tastiest liquid ever to pass through our lips, and we would not have missed much if we passed our entire stay here on a mint tea crawl...</p>\n<p>...and we retire to our room for a short while to lock the bikes and hide anything valuable that we cannot carry with us, fearing retribution from this Kasbah-Berber business alliance that never comes; only when we are satisfied that everything is as secure as we can reasonably make it do we head back down to the beaches, where the stage is set for a music festival yet no bands play; and we eat a sumptuous meal of fried seafood, tagine, and couscous, polishing it off in a nearby tea parlour with - what else? - more mint tea and massive ice cream concoctions. We eat until we are stuffed, replenishing the energy drained out of us over the long ride through heat and mountains, and then we walk along the beach, stopping to take a short ride on horseback. Valkyrie's saddle is poorly attached, and she slides off into the sand to add another to her list of battle wounds...</p>\n<p>...and finally, having had our fill of food and tea and markets and curious scams, we retire to our rooms after winding our way back up past the clothing stalls and packed squares. No real harm has come to us in Morocco, and yet there is a vague hostility about the whole place - the hostility of those for whom the better life is not an far-off promise or illusion but rather something that stares them in the face every day - across the water in the beach towns and their resorts that spew forth rich tourists who pop over to Morocco looking for something exotic. We try to sleep, but cannot in the stifling moist heat; so we instead open the windows and lie restlessly on the hard mattresses, hoping to nod off for short snatches at a time. Tomorrow we catch the ferry back; for us, there is always that escape back to the safety net. For most in this world, there is not and never will be - and so they settle for long hours of honest low-paid work or conning tourists, hoping that each bit of foreign currency will pull that escape hatch just one bit closer. That is the harsh reality...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/26/aggressive-business-practices.html", "title": "aggressive business practices", "date": "2010-07-26T15:28:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/26/aggressive-business-practices.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100726", "country": "ma"}
+{"content": "<p>No train last night - what to do? After some deliberation, we concoct the following plan:</p>\n<p>0) Go to the station and attempt to get a refund, or at least an exchange for a train ticket this evening.\n1) Pick up bike bags.\n2) Bring everything to station and pack into bags on the platform.\n3) If the whole train thing fails again, start biking.</p>\n<p>Plans, plans: they all go awry in the end - and yet when you arrive at a destination only to find yourself with few options and an increasing desire to solve whatever problem is holding you back so you can keep going, they can be crucial. The first part works without much difficulty; Gianna is able to negotiate with the ticket agents at the biglietteria, who sign the ticket to invalidate the previous stamp (you have to stamp the ticket before boarding) thereby allowing us to restamp it for tonight.</p>\n<p>Next comes the search for bike bags. Gianna helps us here as well, printing out directions to two bike shops not far from Barletta. Cycling culture is sadly underdeveloped in the south of Italy, in stark contrast to the cyclist traffic jams we navigated back in urban Denmark and Holland; even the shops that she finds have only recently opened, perhaps to service demand from touring cyclists passing through Puglia on their way out of Sardinia and the Amalfi Coast. Directions in hand, we bike off through Barletta to the first bike shop some 2 km out along the Via Trani - which is significantly easier to travel along by day than it was at night, struggling to see the edges of the road that dip precipitously into the irrigation drainage ditches by the feeble light of our headlamp...but that aside, we make it to the store without much fuss. It is actually a combination fitness and biking outlet, and the top floor is set aside for all manner of clothing and exercise gadgetry that has nothing whatsoever to do with cycling. The bike section is confined to the basement, an early warning signal that perhaps this store will not prove so useful after all - and indeed, after checking the basement and pestering any staff members we could find, we leave empty-handed...</p>\n<p>...and ride back into Barletta, stopping at the ipercoop - which, here in rural Puglia, is also somewhat of an oddity. Large chain stores are frowned upon by the agrarian Pugliese, who rightly view food as something that you purchase from your neighbour. That said, these supermarkets are primarily useful for the large variety of items on offer, everything from TVs to kitchen appliances to clothing - which is why we are here, hoping to find something that might function passably as a bike bag. However, the only bag-like items are garbage bags - which the biglietteria agents warned us would be unacceptable as bike receptacles, since they do not adequately protect the train seats from grease and damage at the hands (teeth?) of wayward gearsets - and overpriced luggage pieces, so we leave instead with a stovetop espresso maker that we intend to put to good use upon our stateside return.</p>\n<p>Off to the second bike shop. We find another shop on the way, but they try to sell us flimsy covers that will hardly meet with approval from the hardnosed conductors - and, in any event, the shop on our map doesn't carry such bags either. We return in shame to Gianna, telling her of the compound failures experienced in our quest to secure adequate storage for our bikes. There remains one source for official bags: the Decathlon outlet in Molfetta, some 30 km away. This is farther away than we wish to bike - but this objection is meaningless; in any event, the  That said, we have another trick up our sleeve: while deliberating the matter last night upon returning from the train station, we came across an online video demonstrating the construction of a train-friendly bike bag using tarp and rope. In desperation, we decide to emulate this ad-hoc baggery...but the shops are now closed until 1700, so we have little to do but wait and hope that all will work out. Gianna finds the addresses of a few ferramenta (hardware) shops in the area, again giving us clear directions courtesy of Google Maps...</p>\n<p>...and, after several hours of eating and emailing and napping, it is at last time to resume our search for bike bag materials. Since we must pack our bikes anyways, and since Gianna's family is headed to Brindisi this evening to visit her aunt, we decide that this would be a reasonable time to say our farewells again. We fish around for our items, extract our bikes from the basement garage, place everything back on the pannier racks; she wishes us luck in our second attempt to board the train, all of us knowing full well that failure here means an uneventful 700 km ride to Venezia...</p>\n<p>...and the first ferramenta store has the tarps we need, massive blue 3x4m waterproof plastic sheets with sturdy eyelets for the rope. We make an additional stop at the supermarket for snacks and sandwich materials with which to nourish ourselves during the overnight ride - but I am feeling increasingly unwell, a vague sense of bodily weakness that threatens to erupt into proper illness at any moment. We grab cappuccini in the train station caf\u0102\u00a9, sipping slowly as we vent about the trials and tribulations of these past couple of days - yet not all is lost; we have had excellent hospitality, and now have a second chance to catch the train to Venezia with no additional cost save for two large-ish tarps. After that, to the amusement of the other passengers waiting for earlier regional trains, we unpack our bikes right on the platform, lay out the tarps, remove the wheels, and wrap the whole thing up with our rope.</p>\n<p>Now begins the waiting game; it is 2000, but our train does not leave until 2211! By this time, I've broken out into shivers and am starting to feel nauseous - not even the glut of food at Gianna's can explain this, but there is nothing to do but wait...\n.\n...and the train arrives - it is time for action! Teamwork-style, Valkyrie leaps on the train to hold the door while I pass bags up. We pack everything into the entryway and board the train before worrying about exact seat placement; we are finally on board! A quick inspection of the seats indicated on our ticket shows that they are taken, but there are several empty cabins further on; rude though it may be, we take over an entire cabin with the bikes and panniers. Fever has taken hold, so I pop the armrests up and rest on the seats while taking care to drink as much water as possible...and the train rides off into the distance, carrying us on at last towards Venezia and the rest of our travels...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/29/my-kingdom-for-a-bag.html", "title": "my kingdom for a bag", "date": "2010-09-29T15:56:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/29/my-kingdom-for-a-bag.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100929", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>Well-rested after our chilled champagne festivities by the seaside, we continue up the way towards Valencia. The early morning ride winds around the cape past vacation homes and subdivisions (which in Castellano translates to urbanizaci\u00f3n, an odd term for a pattern of development that has little to do with the polyglot density of European urban development) before heading up into the hills. We stop in a small town by the mountains for breakfast, asking for directions in the only bakery we find open: \"How do we get over those mountains?\" \"With a scooter, \" they say with polite derision, before the old man scoffs with kindly wisdom at the folly of youth - but we head up there anyways, and at the top find that rifle ranges are apparently The Thing in this tourist-clogged part of the Mediterranean. Signs greet us in German, Japanese, English, as if to remind us that we are no longer really in Spain; now that the climate has at last become reasonable enough for the average foreigner, moderated by the salty sea breeze, the agricultural fields and quaint red-tiled houses have given way to developments that might not look out of place in Florida or California or wherever else human progress has seen fit to forsake culture for conformity...but maybe this waxes too negative; after all, we are still by the sea, and not even a scattering of uninspired high-rise flat complexes (complices?) can mar that...</p>\n<p>So we head up towards Parque Natural de l'Albufera, the last bastion of less-developed land before Valencia, up along the flat sandy beaches of the Spanish east coast - except we don't head along the beach, mostly; that land has long since been purchased, and is unsuitable for building roads anyways. Instead we settle for brief snatches of boardwalk punctuated by long backroad travels behind apartments and farm fields. At one point we hit some agricultural developments just out of this town alongside the canals that provide irrigation water to the farms inland. Walls and fences line the road, creating a clearly-defined path like out of a racing game; when we pass a second similar development further along, we are temporarily convinced that we've taken a wrong turn and are now forced to restart the level. We pass pharmacy signs informing us that, yes, the mercury has climbed to a staggering 41 - but we don't feel it with the breeze, which blows in from the sea and cools us off. All this is easier with the knapsack gone...</p>\n<p>We reach Cullera by midday, taking siesta in parking lots and caf\u00e9s and bars; we eat the remainders of a lentil-vegetable stew under some awnings by the supermarket, then set off to charge the computer and find Internet. Connectivity is something we can never take for granted. It is a luxury good, something we must often confront high bar prices and smoky rooms for. It is anything but omnipresent here, unlike in the Bay Area caf\u00e9s and university campuses where most of my last five years have been spent...</p>\n<p>...and we attempt to head out along the water when BAM! My rear reflector shatters, sending clear plastic across the road. I look down; the derailleur has snapped off at the frame bolt and has jackknifed its way up into the spokes, where it is bending into a variety of unusable shapes; at the top, the chain is running on its side due to the sudden deformation. The first two words out of my mouth: \"Game over.\" And it certainly seems like that - derailleurs are expensive, right? What if the impact ruined the wheel? What if the frame itself has taken damage? What if I have to purchase a new bike...but we must go on somehow; stopping here is not an option - so we unlink the chain, detach the broken derailleur, and start walking into town. Valkyrie uses my now-defunct bike as a scooter, while I slowly ride hers.</p>\n<p>We have almost reached the centre of town when we are followed by a white van. The van creeps up behind us for a while until we notice it, whereupon the driver informs us (in Spanish!) that he too is a cyclist...he loads our bikes into the back and drives off for Bicicletas Guzman in town, where he knows the owner; we learn that he has lived in this area for 30 years, an unthinkable period of time when you haven't even been alive that long - and we reach the bike shop, unload our bikes, and wait around. For this is high season, and the bike shop is backed up with repair work and customers and such for the next hour - but there is little choice when your only method of transportation has just kicked the bucket. So we wait, cleaning the grease off our hands with the pumice-soap mixture in the shop toilets...</p>\n<p>...finally, about 2015, the bike mechanic has finished all other obligations and sets to working on the bike. The frame is mostly undamaged but is slightly bent at the mount point for the derailleur, so she rights that with the help of a massive torque wrench well beyond the size of anything we could reasonably carry in our panniers. She then trues the back wheel a bit, noting that although it is mostly straight the alignment will never be perfect again (until I swap the wheel, that is.) This is followed by installation of a new Shimano Acera derailleur and accompanying chain, which must be sized for the 9-speed gearset. We watch the first stages of repair with intense interest, but realize that we are merely getting in the way and decide to instead wait outside. And then it is finished; the brakes are reattached, the bike ready to ride once more! I approach the counter to pay, expecting a nasty case of sticker shock...</p>\n<p>...but she only charges 40\u20ac for parts and labour, not nearly as bad as we had expected. It is late now; we grab a bottle of sherry and some miscellaneous food items at a supermarket just before closing, eat in front as they shutter the windows, and finally head out along through the park. Jorge (the man who drove us to the shop) had suggested that we head down into the beaches just past the lighthouse, where the police and maintenance staff rarely bother those fishing and camping at night - and indeed there are night fishers, glowsticks attached to their poles and lines. We set up the tent, drink, then attach our bikes to a sign that prominently displays an injunction against camping on the beaches - so we decide instead to tear down the tent and lie out on the sand in our sleeping bag, where we quickly drift off into sleep...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/06/you-derailleured-my-chain-of-thought.html", "title": "you derailleured my chain of thought", "date": "2010-08-06T15:43:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/06/you-derailleured-my-chain-of-thought.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100806", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Tall, proud, astride bikes,<br />\nWe step out of CPH<br />\nAnd into... something</i></p>\n<p>After a day's delay of flight (due to Eyjafjalloj\u00f6kull!  what else!), Evan and I managed to get our bikes and all our gear into Copenhagen.  We had a layover in Reykjavik for a few hours, and on the way out we even got to catch a glimpse of the giant ash cloud that's been harassing Europe for several weeks.  A multi-kilometer-high ash cloud is a sight to behold, believe me!  It was streaked across the sky towards the mainland in a menacing way; air travel won't be the same for a while.  Onboard the aircraft--they were operated by Icelandair, so there was lots of info about the country that flashed across the seatback screens during the flight--we learned some interesting things about the volcano.  I actually didn't know that it was erupting out from underneath a glacier.  I mean, I knew the eruption was named for a glacier, but the lava actually melted through a glacier and the cloud became progressively more black as it continued to rise because it was destroying the ice that had been purifying it.</p>\n<p>Anyway, we didn't really spend much time in Iceland.  A large part of our day was spent in the Copenhagen airport after landing.  It took around an hour after getting our luggage (including boxed bikes) to set everything up.  We stepped proudly out into Denmark with our bicycles.  And it was cold.  And we were lost.</p>\n<p>Fortunately, these things were easily remedied!  We piled on the heavier clothes that we had been loath to bring (\"It's May!  No way it will be that cold!\") to keep out the 5 degree (about 40F) air and the even colder wind.  We ran into an old man on a bicycle sitting outside the airport.  He didn't seem to speak much English, which was actually a big surprise as most of Northern Europe is known for its fabulous English education, but the word \"Copenhagen?\" and some pointing got the idea across, and he showed us the right way.</p>\n<p>After reveling in the fact that we were, indeed, in Europe, and would be spending much time on our bikes, we stopped near a sweet steeple to tweak them a little (fix brake line tension, adjust handlebar angle, change seat height, etc.), and we were stopped by an Italian guy who needed a screwdriver to fix his bike.  From what I understand, 40% of people in Copenhagen ride bicycles, and I'd believe it based on the number of bike shops that seem to be thriving around here.  Anyway, we helped him out, and he gave us a map and some suggestions for things to see.  He also mentioned that the Little Mermaid statue that I had so dearly wanted to visit is on loan to China for an expo at the moment.  Heartbreaking.</p>\n<p>It felt a little bit like an adventure game, we discussed.  Perhaps we can trade the map for something bigger later, and maybe we can even get a powered up sword or shield out of the deal!  :)</p>\n<p>We took his suggestion and visited a hippie hangout called Christiania.  All around were signs that this place sort of wanted to secede from Copenhagen at large, including a sign on the way out which read \"You are now entering the EU.\"  Haha, hippies.</p>\n<p>After that brief visit, we did a quick bike tour of the downtown area and Parliament, but as it was getting late by this time we mostly tried to head west out of the city towards Roskilde, the next big city on the way to Odense, where my relatives live.  We even found a place to camp with a shower building and stuff, and I am the proud owner of a Danish camping card.  Hurray!  We are on the way at last!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/16/and-so-it-begins.html", "title": "and so it begins", "date": "2010-05-16T20:48:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/16/and-so-it-begins.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100516", "country": "dk"}
+{"content": "<p>And we're off! After a five-day-long sojourn in Pamplona, we finally continue along the Camino de Santiago up over a 300 m high ridge lined with turbines and down into the next couple of valleys. Before that, however...</p>\n<p>...we wake up at 0545 to pack up everything and make it into town for the first Encierro. Nothing is open at this hour; moreover, this being the busiest day of San Ferm\u00edn, Pamplona is seized by a town-wide shop closure so that all the shopkeepers can partake in the festivities. We reach town around 0715, where we are immediately greeted by the foul odour of sangria and piss caked onto nearly every street following the Chupinazo yesterday - it is an olfactory spectacle, one full of colour and sound and untoward stenches that waft down from the old parts of town into the river basin below...we fight our way through the mess of people, some passed out in doorways after a night of partying and drinking, to the beginning of the Encierro route between the small statue of San Ferm\u00edn and Plaza Consistorial. It is already packed with runners, and the police are urgently herding them into lines so that they can pack more in. There is no special entrance into the route - to get in, you must climb the double barricades separating runners from spectators of your own free (and presumably misguided) will...and then you wait with the others, who hang back for a while but (for the most part) slowly inch as far forward as they can get. Locals and tourists watch from every balcony; apartment owners will rent out the balconies for 25-35\u20ac, a tidy sum for such a short event. And then...</p>\n<p>...they set off one firework! Five minutes to go. The atmosphere becomes tense. Alcohol-addled festival-goers wonder why exactly they are here in the first place...and a second, then a third! The corrals are open, the bulls are running; the crowd turns into a frantic torrent of arms and legs trying to get out of the way of several tons of angry bull by any means possible...they jump over the barricades, dive off to the sides - some poor sods are stuck in the middle, and must lie as flat and still as possible while the bulls trample them in a hopefully non-injurious manner...and everyone books it for the Plaza de Toros, a short dash down 800 m of road. We reach the Plaza somewhere in the middle of the pack and let out sighs of relief...</p>\n<p>...but too soon! The real Encierro begins here, where they lock you in the bullring for half an hour as they bring out each of the six bulls in turn, allowing them to rampage around the crowd of runners one at a time while a brave few attempt to grab their horns - and usually get tossed, flipped, and generally abused as a result. The rafters erupt with shouting and cheering as this happens; the greater the perceived injury, the better - though most people merely get thrown, and are alright to stand afterwards. Most crowd the exterior wall, hoping to get as far away from the thing as possible. We opt to keep a medium distance for the most part, close enough to see the bull but far enough to get the hell out of the way when it makes a mad dash through the crowd...</p>\n<p>...except when they change bulls; then we run over to the corral gates, where runners get down on all fours in several rows and let the bull run across them on its way out into the ring. This is safer than it sounds; the bull is interested in getting out of its enclosure, and will make a straight line dash out into the ring.</p>\n<p>Thirty minutes pass, and we are finally released from the ring back into the streets. We head for Plaza de Castillo, where some other people we met during the Encierro are getting together for a few post-run drinks...but we must soon head out, as the day is already starting to become uncomfortably warm. We start out on the paths near Pamplona, which turn out to be rough dirt paths in some areas - unfortunately, Venus' bike is equipped with thin road tires, which puncture easily under shocks from off-road travel in a pair of holes on opposite sides of the tube known as a \"snake bite\". We get several of these before we finally reach normal road around 1500. Each tube repair takes time and effort...her derailleur is also poorly adjusted, and needs a quick stopgap tuning to make it at least usable before we can start the ascent over our first post-Pireneos ridge.</p>\n<p>But we make it eventually with the help of free water given to us by a helpful construction worker halfway up, who extends a hose through the fence for us to fill our water bottles and parched mouths with. We slog up the hill slowly, getting her used to the pace of climbing - with gear in this heat, it is imperative to move slowly or you risk overheating like a mistreated engine...for that is what you are on a bike trip - a machine for converting food to distance covered and awesome experiences had.</p>\n<p>We stop in Estrella/Lizarra for the night. As it is late, the municipal albergue is full - but, this being the Camino, the local church is more than glad to receive us for the night. We think it wise not to mention our atheist/agnostic tendencies...before retiring to bed, we make sure to grab a meal in town and watch the semifinals; another victory for Espa\u00f1a, another great day to be in this country! Time to rest up now, for the going will be no less difficult tomorrow. Yay for having taken part in the Encierro, and all the more so for still being alive!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/07/encierro-d.html", "title": "encierro'd", "date": "2010-07-07T11:29:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/07/encierro-d.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100707", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Morning aerobics,<br />\nWaking us from sweet slumber,<br />\nCalling us to bike!</i></p>\n<p>Well, it's sort of a shame we didn't get to see anything of interest in Lisboa.  I guess.  I dunno, we just had some bad experiences when we were getting in: the bus station was really far outside the city to the north, and the bits of town that we had to ride through to get to Lisboa proper were not... very presentable.  Also the trouble that we had procuring a place to sleep didn't contribute to good feelings about it.  The place that we did wind up sleeping was charming, it's true, but this morning we unfortunately had to haul our bikes up the three flights of stairs to the exit because they wouldn't fit in the elevator and the girl working the desk didn't have the key to the back door.  She did give us some breakfast as we left, though, and was generally very sweet about it.</p>\n<p>Getting out of Lisboa was generally as complicated as getting into it.  At the advice of the hostel desk girl, we headed out to the ferry ports just to the south and took one across the water.  We managed to acquire a really large-scale map of the area (better than the nothing we had, but not good), and it turns out that we had to follow the south coast of Lisboa's bay for quite some time.  The industrial area along that coast coated our lungs with general filth, and it took some rather large amount of water to relieve us of the putrid slimy coating on our tongues.  Ugh.</p>\n<p>In time, we made it out of the city area and into the countryside, which consisted of... desert.  Apparently, the south of Portugal is vast, barren, and hot, at least at this time of year.  We had a gruelling 120km ride over the sandy stuff along highways until we reached \u00c9vora, our goal for the evening and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  It's a beautiful town, really, and we spent some time in the golden hours just before sunset appreciating its ancient ruins and old cathedrals.</p>\n<p>It's going to be a hard few days to Tarifa.  We're just getting warmed up now.. at least we've got local port wine to keep us sane.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/21/morning-gymnastics.html", "title": "morning gymnastics", "date": "2010-07-21T11:41:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/21/morning-gymnastics.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100721", "country": "pt"}
+{"content": "<p><i>\nOdin's temple shines,<br/>\nLight issuing from homes<br/>\nBright with happiness.\n</i></p>\n<p>We spent a happy, sunny day in Odense wandering around with Birthe and Ole as our tourguides.  After waking up early in the morning, we were packed full of food (bread, meat slices, cheeses, two kinds of juice, tea) and given the opportunity to do our laundry.  Although we're not far into the trip, we already recognise that this is a pretty special thing.  :)  We hung it outside on a line to dry, because Danmark is that sort of place.<br />\n</p>\n<p>The four of us piled into the car (Birthe asked if we had any requests for the day, and our only answer was \"no cycling\") and headed the 7 or so kilometres into the centre of town.  We saw old parks, cathedrals, Hans Christian Anderson's home, and the old centre of Odense.  I guess the photos will speak for themselves when we can get them uploaded--which should be soon since my mom managed to acquire a cable that I believe she will be mailing to us in Antwerp--so I'll just babble about the history and cool stuff we learned:</p>\n<p>\"Odense\" actually means \"Odin's temple,\" which is pretty awesome.  It has been around for several centuries.  It's the 3rd largest town in Danmark, and it got the country's first bike lane way back in 1898.  It's a place where Hans Christian Anderson spent a lot of his time, and there's a museum in his old house and several statues scattered around the city centre that depicted some of his more famous characters, like the one-legged tin soldier and the woman with her chicken eggs perched atop her head.  There was also a sculpture of the man himself.</p>\n<p>One of the cooler techy things that we saw was a counter along a bicycle path that kept track of the number of cyclists that had passed for the day and year and previous years.  We went by around 1430, and there already had been about 5300 cyclists.  :)</p>\n<p>After a couple hours of wandering, we returned to our hosts' lovely house for some cake and tea.  The cake was this delicious Danish thing made from folding several layers of pastry with butter and OH MY GOODNESS IT IS DELICIOUS.  Also the health of these people is amazing: we did some grocery shopping for Birthe's 100-year-old neighbour who still lives on her own.  Then we spent a half hour or so doing all the bicycle things we didn't realise that we'd needed to do, like retightening the nuts holding on Evan's toe clip and putting batteries in our taillights and the like.  Birthe, Evan, and I then went for a walk down to the creek nearby, enjoying the Golden Hour before the sun got too far down towards the horizon.  Ole prepared some dinner, which we of course stuffed ourselves with, and then afterwards we had a delicious time with sake and Gammel Dansk and trip photos (Birthe and Ole went to India recently, and they also had loads of photos of Portugal and Praha).  We closed the night with some music and dancing (did I mention that Birthe and Ole are adorable?) and piano-playing.  Lovely, really.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/18/odin-s-temple.html", "title": "odin's temple", "date": "2010-05-18T16:55:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/18/odin-s-temple.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100518", "country": "dk"}
+{"content": "<p>Rose from our grassy refuge to make three-tomato, avocado, onion, yellow pepper, and melon salad with balsamic vinaigrette (it's amazing what you can do with a few basic ingredients!) before heading out on the road to Avignon, home of the antipopes - these being self-proclaimed messengers of God who installed themselves in Avignon yet were not recognized by the Catholic Church (and thus, according to ecclesiastical wisdom, mere pretenders.) The ride was relatively slow owing to persistent headwinds on the slow climbs over the low-lying mountains - really, no more than glorified hills when compared to the majestic Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9es and innumerable sierras of topographically tortured Spain - that fill most of the areas inland from the southern coast of France. Yet our detour was worth it, as you may be able to guess from the sheer volume of pictures it generated...</p>\n<p>...on our way to Avignon, we stop in the small town of Remoulins for tea. What we get instead is a lukewarm concoction of slightly flavoured water served with skim milk - simultaneous proof that small towns are certainly not above ripping you off, and that we are solidly in coffee country now.</p>\n<p>Another 20 km to Avignon from Remoulins along highway that is relatively nondescript save for a couple of larger-than-average hills; we cover this quickly, arriving in Avignon for late morning to lock our bikes and peruse the town. It is full of old cathedrals and gardens, and is home to several UNESCO World Heritage Sites including a well-preserved Roman bridge (which sadly charges 15\u20ac for admission!) We content ourselves with walking around some of the parks; there is a wonderful view over the river towards an old fortress...</p>\n<p>...and, our touristic duties discharged, we attempt to find food. This proves more difficult than expected, especially in the old town which is predominantly consecrated to stately architecture and quaint caf\u00e9s; we ask at a hair salon (of all places!), where we are pointed (droite, gauche, droite, gauche, hop!) to the busier lanes. This brings us to a specialty food shop with high-quality wine, preserves, and the like (along with 450\u20ac/kg morels - ZOW); nevertheless, we manage to rustle up sandwiches of Coeur-de-Boeuf tomatoes, fresh Provence figs, and five-herb goat cheese on sesame baguette. Yum! We follow this up with gelato, which is served to us by a young expat Australian who moved here a couple of months back to seek a different working environment. As is the case with most people we explain our travels to, his reactions quickly run the gamut from polite disbelief to amazement...</p>\n<p>It is now 1500, and we have seen a good portion of Avignon - at least, good enough to justify continuing on our way. We roam about the surrounding countryside on a succession of increasingly smaller lanes, so that we are less and less sure of our navigational skill - until it drops out onto a more major-looking throughfare by the train line, which leads us to a confusing autoroute junction some 10-15 km out of the city...in the right direction, thankfully! We're getting good at this ad-hoc navigation stuff.</p>\n<p>From there, we proceed along La Durance, a mostly-untamed river that borders on a nature preserve to the north with a corridor of relative inhabitation along its banks; the path is picturesque, leading us past canals and old mills with fig trees whose lower branches hold many ripe juicy figs. More yum! We finish off the sequence of gastronomic delights later on when, finally stopped for our nightly camp, we test out this local garlic-egg soup recipe that we found online. We've decided to make a commitment to try out local cuisine on the camping stove - which is difficult, since the constraints placed on us by our unusual kitchen arrangement prohibit baking (no oven!), grilling (fire prevention measures still in effect for summer!), deep-frying (we have space for one type of oil, so we carry olive oil...which heats to a lower temperature than lighter oils, and is thus unsuitable for this purpose), super-large-quantity cooking (medium-size pot, one-burner stove, no way to keep perishable food for more than a day...) But we'll still give it a shot; at the very least, we'll have a compendium of such recipes and their adaptability to camping cuisine...</p>\n<p>We set up our tent in strong winds, making sure to peg it at every corner to keep it (we hope!) firmly attached to the ground. Next it's off to Aix-en-Provence, after which we'll rejoin the southern coast through Marseille, Toulon, Cannes, Nice, Monaco...and then Italy! So close to another country...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/28/winding-around.html", "title": "winding around", "date": "2010-08-28T11:49:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/28/winding-around.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100828", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Churches and churches<br />\nAnd fountains and citadels<br />\nAn old town brimming.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>Pamplona is lovely.  We spent the day basically wandering around the streets with nothing particular in mind to do.  We caught up on our internet things (well, some of them... oopsie) and checked out the route for the Encierro that's coming up during the Festival San Ferm\u00edn (it's scary to think of running that ahead of bulls... but we also looked up a video on YouTube which revealed that no one actually runs in front of the bulls that far; they basically run a little, get the hell out of the bulls' way, and then follow them much later to the bullring).  We cooked dinner in a park (delicious albondigas--Spanish meatballs--and vegetables).</p>\n<p>The old town is packed with... well, old buildings.  It's also got a lot of parks.  Within Pamplona proper there are apparently 11km\u00b2 of parks, which is shared between the just 200,000 inhabitants.  And the tourists share it, I guess.  Many of the parks even offer free wireless, which is a godsend for travellers with no 3G card.  You can tell that the whole city is getting ready for San Ferm\u00edn: shop stalls are going up in the bosquecillo park, bakery owners are pushing pa\u00f1uelicos (red bandana-shaped cookies), and the air is generally one of excitement.  I'm pretty anxious to see what this thing is about!</p>\n<p>Oh, and f\u00fatbol.</p>\n<p>The Spanish World Cup team is doing stellarly this year.  They played in the quarter finals tonight, and all of Pamplona wanted to see.  So the city put up a giant television screen in the Plaza del Castillo (one of the main squares in town) and showed it.  To thousands of people.  For free!  Evan and I sat in a caf\u00e9 for a little while during the first half to try out the local sangr\u00eda, then found ourselves a spot among the young people jostling each other at the front.  We were between some guys with painted faces and a guy with a Spanish flag draped around his shoulders.  It was gonna be good when Portugal got reamed.</p>\n<p>And get reamed they did.  The entire square jumped up at each attempt of Portugal's to score a goal, and everyone cheered and danced at Spain's score.  There was angry shouting when people felt that a yellow card or penalty kick should have been awarded.  It was suuuuuuuperrrrrrrrrrr to be there.  :D</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/03/iberian-showdown.html", "title": "iberian showdown", "date": "2010-07-03T11:24:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/03/iberian-showdown.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100703", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Cold snaps through your bones,<br />\nFinding hollows in your core,<br />\nFrigidity, all.</i></p>\n<p>We finally made it down out of the mountains today.  Yikes, it's cold up there.  Tomorrow will be unpleasant, too, but we are hoping to hop over and through to save ourselves from having to camp in it.  Last night was cold enough.</p>\n<p>Anyway, today started with some easy descent and a really long, flat path.  We paused in a small town to have some oversweet pastries with lunch and to pick up water, but really the riding was roughly uneventful.</p>\n<p>In keeping with our new goal, we stopped by around 15h in a town called Livadeia.  There are a few reasons for this: we wanted to pause tonight just before hitting the mountains; also, we have a fair amount of time left to complete this trip, and there isn't so much distance left.  If we keep it to a sane 80km or less per day, we should still do just fine and be able to make it to Istanbul on time.  So we pulled into a caf\u00e9 as we hit town.</p>\n<p>It was called Piano Bar, and, unsurprisingly, it was decorated with jazzy decor and a large, beautiful grand piano.  We sat down to use their free Wifi (which was pretty fast, as far as free Wifi goes) and to have some afternoon coffees.  As we neared the time we'd aimed to leave -- we were hoping to get out before dark so that we could get supper started and find a campsite in the light -- the proprietor of the place came up to us and we talked about our trip and her life/flight from Russia in a delightful mixture of Greek, Russian, and flecks of English.  Truly, we never get tired of this language game.  Even when we can't really communicate, it's satisfying to try.  :)</p>\n<p>From the caf\u00e9, we headed to a supermarket complex that was rather confounding.  It housed a bakery/caf\u00e9, vegetable and fruit stand, auto shop, and general food/stuff market.  It was maybe the closest thing we've seen to a North American-style supermarket since we started this trip... but each of these parts seemed rather separate despite the fact that they were housed in the same building (which was a hideous yellow and blue creature).  I think it'll be strange to come home and be able to shop for everything in one place, to be honest.  We regularly stop at two or three stores to get all the ingredients for our dinner (one for starch, one for produce, one for meat or fish if we're having it...).  Hm.</p>\n<p>From the store, we headed out of town, looking for a place to sleep.  We were shortly rewarded with a large building under construction that had a backyard and no workers wandering around.  We parked our bikes out back and set up our stove on the unfinished floor of the first story.</p>\n<p>The lack of light becomes depressing after a while... we feel like we're hidden away in the dark when we camp, and it's true to some degree.  Tonight we ventured out with our cooked food (rice with feta and vegetables, plus the Greek bread rusk-tomato-olive oil combination) to sit under a street lamp and feel like real people for a little while.  The light adds something.  Not only can we see our food and each other, but it's almost... warm.</p>\n<p>Anyway, we are rounding out the night with some episodes of MacGyver.  The theme music to that show just slays me, and the fact that MacGyver is such an all-around good guy is somewhat distressing.  It's cool that a smart guy can be a hero, but maybe they could've toned down the cheesiness.  Maybe.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/03/piano-bar.html", "title": "piano bar", "date": "2010-11-03T08:21:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/03/piano-bar.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20101103", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p>Rain and wind: these have become constants of life now, their worst nightly excesses dispelling all notion of proper and uninterrupted slumber. The former beats down on the tent fabric with such force that we fear the drops might bore holes through it, whereas the latter like a monstrous hand reaches under the fly, lifting it up and flapping it about while a fine rain mist blows in underneath it to pass unchecked through the mesh siding of the tent itself and splash upon our faces. This is our reality, has been ever since we crossed into Crna Gora - and so it is that this morning, the ferocity of the storm having reached a head overnight, we awaken to the sight of a powerful stream flowing through one corner of the tent. By fortunate and quick action, we have managed to preserve the sleeping bag from this and keep it dry. The alternative would be disastrous - out of our conviction that the tent could be sufficiently well erected each night to protect against rain and damp, we chose down sleeping bags for their superior warmth. At this hour, the rain is still so fierce that we dare not exit the tent; instead, we pass some time in the relative safety inside watching Robot Chicken...</p>\n<p>...but the rain eventually abates slightly, so we venture outside to inspect the surroundings. What we see is wholly unlike anything else we have experienced so far this trip: a gushing stream of filth-strewn brown water flows down from the mountains carrying dirt, rock, garbage, and likely not an inconsiderable amount of feces from grazing animals above to wash over the ramp down which we brought our bikes last night, making an impassable mess of it. Meanwhile, the sheer volume of water being discharged into the sea multiplies the force of the waves, causing them to crash well up the beach from where normal tides would carry them. We must move the tent immediately or risk losing it into this watery mess - and it does not escape our notice that, had we pitched the tent a mere two metres south, it would have already been swept out to sea. What to do? The ramp, as noted, is unfit for bringing the bikes back up to the road - and the road itself flows as though it were a river. Here our good luck intercedes once more...</p>\n<p>...for the torrential stream of water has thankfully left a small fringe of gravel on the side of the ramp, sufficient to carry the bikes across and up the adjoining stairs into the abandoned carcass of a half-constructed hotel. We pack everything up quickly, hardly noticing the rain when it picks up again - the need to evacuate is acute, for the waves get worse and worse with every minute. We run up the stairs with the bikes; but here I am not quite cautious enough, for the flimsy flip-flops I wear have no traction on the wet tile of the hotel and the site is strewn with leftover construction materials. In my haste I step on a board with exposed nails, and one of the nails punctures the flip-flop to injure my foot slightly; surprised, I stumble and fall with the bike, but fortunately do not discover any more sharp objects in my descent. Cursing and swearing, I right the bike and rush down to grab more of our personal effects...</p>\n<p>...and, all our stuff at last in the safety of the abandoned hotel complex, we set to improving our situation. First order of business: food, to which end we eat the last of the nuts in our snack jar - not much, but enough to provide a spot of nutrition until more can be found. This is followed by a quick drink, consuming the little water left in our bottles. Immediate needs taken care of, we fix Handlebar Bag - it came with a bracket system that is sadly incompatible with my thicker handlebars, so that we were forced to MacGyver a method to attach it with any straps and zip-ties at hand; this ad-hoc attachment weakened yesterday so that the bag was no longer kept off the front wheel, and we have been carrying it in our IF Bag (Incidental Food Bag, a drawstring and cloth bag carried on the back) ever since. This is soon taken care of, and we are off; again, our good luck holds and there is a passable stretch of road from the back of the hotel to the main road. This is still too steep and treacherous to bike up, so we must walk back up to the highway...</p>\n<p>...and the highway itself immediately starts climbing into the next town, and all the while rain pours down with ever more force. We reach the town drenched, cold, and disheartened from our efforts thus far - if this is what it takes to cover 2 km, how will we ever make it out of Albania? - but at least there is a market to purchase food. The storm has knocked out power all down the coast, and the store is operating on candlelight for now; we resolve to purchase only things that do not require refrigeration, for there is no telling in what stage of rot the rest might be. Our hunger finally satisfied to reasonable degree, we continue on despite the rain; there is no choice, no cover from it, and we must get out of here before we run out of LEK or become so mired in this storm that all our gear is ruined or, in our supreme desperation, decide that the whole thing is no longer worth it. Somehow - and we reflect upon this at length - somehow, despite the extreme hardship we are currently facing, and the remoteness of the possibility that we will manage to extract ourselves from it today, we retain a bit of good humor, and even allow ourselves a sliver of hope...</p>\n<p>...which is expanded significantly when, shortly up the road, three Albanian men in a large van stop just in front of us and inquire as to whether we need help; the answer is emphatically Yes! We load the bikes in the back and kneel there with them, shivering in our damp coldness until finally, with the relative heat of the car, our fingers regain some scant colour. We are happy indeed that these fine men showed up when they did; the stretch we cover in the van is mountainous, so much so that crossing it would easily have taken a couple of hours even in good weather, and we are in no shape to attempt such a feat in the still-torrential rain. Some 15 km up the road, they turn off the road for one of the beachside towns and ask if this is our direction; but it is not, our intended path being instead for Sarand\u00eb, and so we load our bikes back out of the van and set to riding again. By this point, it is a short downhill jaunt into the medium-sized town of Himar\u00eb - although it is nearing 1000, we are still cold enough that the prospect of continuing immediately in earnest is less than inviting. We seek refuge in a small caf\u00e9, warming up over not exactly satisfying cups of instant tea mix while we marvel at the extent of the storm: here, too, the power is out, and every stretch of sea is streaked with a line of brown filth flowing down from the mountains. These lines snake out into the water for kilometres, and the waves are no less fierce than they were this morning on the beach. Now a bit warmer, we head outside to take advantage of a brief period of sunlight, eating a loaf of bread purchased from the market with some more of our olive oil from Montenegro.</p>\n<p>The sunlight does not last long, though - and there is still much distance to cover; we have barely biked 5 km today, disregarding the van ride. We set on our way out of Himar\u00eb, willfully ignoring the gathering grey above. It is going to rain again, of that we are certain; there is no avoiding it here. On our way out of town, we are pestered by a woman standing outside her hotel...</p>\n<p>\"Do you need rooms?\"\n\"No. We're going to Sarand\u00eb.\" Actually, we are hoping to go beyond that, but surely admitting that would appear a mark of the deepest insanity...\n\"Sarand\u00eb is far. Sleep here!\"</p>\n<p>We refuse politely, knowing that we have not the cash to pay for it and no hope of finding a functioning ATM in the midst of a coastal blackout, and head out on our long ride to Sarand\u00eb. The road is tortuous; whereas the Croatian coastline was characterized by long, gradual hills that despite their length were easy to surmount, the hills here are so steep that we struggle to ride up them even on lowest gear. It is hard going, but we finally get over the first hill out of Himar\u00eb and find a relatively flat stretch of coast beyond it. This is good news; perhaps we can make some distance today after all. It doesn't help that we carry the additional weight of our thoroughly waterlogged clothes...</p>\n<p>...but the hills return in full force after another 15 km, and the going is once more incredibly slow. To make matters worse, the storm's passage inland drives a wind nearly as fierce as those encountered along the Croatian coastline - except this is a headwind, whereas in Croatia the wind mostly hit us from the side as it swept down off the mountains. It is so fierce that we must occasionally walk, but we are determined to bike as much of it as possible. This is the first time we have had to walk our bikes uphill since the calanques, and in that case we knew exactly what we were getting into; it is a different beast altogether to know that you must keep going despite everything, and to have no idea whatsoever of what awaits your exhausted body around the next corner or over the next hill. Our slow but steady travels take us through Borsh, the road ever climbing so that we are forced to inch past the trucks and vans marooned in the village...</p>\n<p>...and past one tractor. Its driver signals us with a thumbs-up, a reassuring sight even now - it does wonders to know that everyone is so kind, that if we were truly unable to keep on they would help us without hesitation, and that even as we pass through they wish us good luck in our near-impossible endeavour. We keep going through the town, our spirits buoyed ever so slightly by the signal of good faith - and we are soon met further up the hill by the same tractor, the driver making us to understand by his gestures that we may hang on to the trailer out the back for an improvised lift up the hill! This is, hands-down, the most bizarre means of travel we have resorted to in all our five months thus far - here we are, still somewhat cold, every bit of our clothing soaked and filthy beyond wearability, hanging on for dear life to a trailer out the back of a tractor with one hand while with the other we frantically keep balance. Even though we must also pedal to keep balance, it feels just a bit easier to climb the hill with help. At one point there is a sprinkling of rain, and the driver - without stopping on these treacherous and often guardrail-less mountain roads, mind you - removes both hands from the wheel to produce an umbrella. He drops this at one point, but the tractor is moving slowly enough that we are able to detach ourselves, pick it up, and pedal like madpersons back to him. In his gratitude, he offers to help us up subsequent hills if we should need it...</p>\n<p>...but we wave our potential goodbyes in the town at the top of the hill, and quickly outdistance him on the downhill ride. The next hill is steep, but we are stubborn, determined beyond belief and sanity, and we power up it so quickly that he is unable to catch up. Every minute spent waiting is wasted, and we must get to safety somehow. The road climbs and drops, climbs and drops, each cycle draining more of our energy, more of the scant energy that we have nothing more than a canister of chocolate-hazelnut-cream-filling cookies from a small market in Himar\u00eb to replenish. Although it may seem foolish, this canister is a necessary luxury in this madness, well worth spending the majority of our LEK to procure; every time we stop to eat a few, our spirits lift yet again and we are able to conceive of going forward still. Up, up, up into P\u00ebrparim and Nivic\u00eb, and then...</p>\n<p>...yes! It is unthinkable, but we have reached the last valley into Sarand\u00eb, a 20 km stretch of less tortuous road into Sarand\u00eb. This valley is an astonishing sight: sunlight splayed across the closer hills, dark storms blotting out the other side. By looking ahead, we comprehend that there is no escaping the storm - we are voluntarily biking towards it. Just before the fringe of the storm, we happen upon a fountain which according to the locals is potable. This is fortunate indeed, for we are almost out of water by this point! We fill the bottles, apply our rainjackets, press on through the inevitable rain, and finally reach Sarand\u00eb by 1530 - late, it is true, but nearly half an hour before we had projected on our slow way up the hills before the valley.</p>\n<p>Once in Sarand\u00eb, there is the matter of finding our way to Greece. By our map, it is still some 40 km to either border crossing, and making a mistake in navigation would almost certainly doom our efforts to escape while it is still daylight. We stop at a petrol station, using our map and the names of places to communicate our destination to the attendant. He asks where we are from; upon hearing that we are from America - for Canada is lumped in with the US here under this blanket term - he smiles, says \"Obama\", and wishes us best of luck on our way. We are soon on the coastal road towards Greece, which quickly takes us to a poorly-signed fork; neither way indicates Greece anywhere on the sign, and the two branches lead around opposite sides of a rather sizeable lake. After some deliberation and eating of cookies, we pick the inland fork...</p>\n<p>...which leads us to a flat stretch of road that has fortunately been laid at just the right elevation to avoid the general flooding ensuing from this massive storm. Despite the ever-fierce wind and a smattering of rain, we make decent time across this stretch.</p>\n<p>We are greeted by a rainbow on the other side, so bright that its inverted double is also visible. What a magnificent sight - a sign, perhaps, that everything will somehow work out, although we can hardly discern how...</p>\n<p>...and up, around, over, down, up, through, along 20 km more of road, past stunning scenery made even more so by the stark contrast between storm and sun, against strong wind and in frequent rain and despite growing exhaustion, powered by a dwindling stash of cookies that is finally extinguished at a petrol station where one more hotel manager, seeing our desperate and despicable state, presses us to take a room - but there is no more Albanian currency in our pockets than there was the last time someone made such an inquiry. We keep on, turning inland at last on the final 20 km to the border. Pavement becomes spotty, pockmarked, rough and, finally dropping all pretense of paving, transforms into gravel road punctuated by puddles, washed over with large rocks brought down in landslides from the surrounding mountains - and, once that is finished, the wind picks up and it starts to get dark. We ride on, up the slow long uphill, cursing in the rain that once more stymies our valiant efforts to retain heat and sanity. In the again-gathering storm, the lights in the village ahead blink out in unison - power was restored, apparently, but not with enough stability to withstand this renewed burst of bad weather...</p>\n<p>...and up, past the base of the town, around the next hill...</p>\n<p>Against all odds, the border crossing post stands before us, a symbol of our gargantuan efforts to reach this point, a beacon of hope when hope had almost disappeared. We roll up, looking pitiful with our drenched jerseys and, judging by the hair on my arms, more than a little chilled from the constant rain and wind; we extract our passports from their still-dry location in the wallet, protected by the waterproof lining of Handlebar Bag, and hand them over for inspection. The officials look them over, casting a questioning eye at these two haggard travellers showing up in the last shreds of daylight with their ratty-looking bikes and garbage-bag raincoats - but they nevertheless admit us...</p>\n<p>...at which point the rain picks up fiercely and we are forced to wait under the awning. One of the officials takes this excuse to step out and take a look at our vehicles, which he quickly notes have no lights to see by. He registers his disapproval, which we take as a sign that we cannot continue - so we duck into a less visible corner, remove our wet clothing, and grab any bits of still-dry clothing that we can find in our panniers. We each have exactly one outfit suitable for wearing, so we put these on and prepare to sleep under the awning. First, however, it would seem prudent to ask of the border guards whether this is permitted...</p>\n<p>...which it is not, as they inform us; they are not a hotel, and we will have to ride 10 km to the first town past the border. We have no Euro yet, having spent the last of it in Montenegro to avoid carrying too much cash through Albania. The guards are, however, happy to extend their clemency so far as to permit us to wait out the rain under the awning - so we head back to the bikes, more than a little dejected that we must bike yet again but resolved to finish this by any means possible. We change back into our soaking cycling clothes, shivering a little as the clammy fabric touches skin that had just begun to warm up again in our relatively dry clothing...</p>\n<p>...and here we receive a monumental bit of luck: the border guards have conferred amongst themselves. Whether out of pity for our terrible condition or impatience to see us gone from their pristine guard station, they ask the drivers of the first sufficiently large vehicle whether they might be able to load two cold, wet bikes and their cold, wet owners into their pickup truck. The drivers accept, and we are soon passing through Greek customs in the back. They speak only a few words of English, but are pleased indeed to hear that we can passably pronounce the Greek word for beer. We succeed in explaining some details of our journey, and they express astonishment using the only English words they have for it: \"Crazy hobby.\" This they repeat at every opportunity, especially when they learn that two well-educated students of computer science have voluntarily chosen to be out biking in this storm at this hour...</p>\n<p>...and they let us off in the first town, which is indeed 10 km away as the border officials had projected - but not before giving us a package of cookies and leading us to the house of their friend who is glad to rent out a room in his house for the night. Unfortunately, we have no money to pay with, so we ask this friend whether there might be a bank or ATM in this town - but there is not. Catastrophe! Have we come this far, only to be thrown out into the cold as vagrants?</p>\n<p>No. With a touch of kindly exasperation, he gives us his business card and says that, owing to some business with his family, he will be 20 km down the road in Igoumenitsa tomorrow at 1000 - exactly where we plan to go! We agree to meet him outside one of the banks along the portside strip at 1030; in our exhaustion and hunger, we do not even bother to ask the price. He even offers us the use of the shower in the other room - our room is equipped with a solar shower, but given the recent storms that have been going for some 5-6 days it is low on warm water - before leaving elsewhere. The room is basic, but more than sufficient; the blankets are comfortable, plentiful, and warm. We shower, brush our teeth, take care of any minor bits of personal hygiene that might elevate our state from filthy animals to passably clean ones - and sigh deeply, grinning from ear to ear. We made it - despite nearly insurmountable odds, we extracted ourselves from a flood and are now reasonably clean and dry. This reflection barely has time to form before exhaustion at last catches up with us. With no adrenaline left to keep us going, we sink quickly into one of the best slumbers of our trip...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/19/hellbania.html", "title": "hellbania", "date": "2010-10-19T08:01:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/19/hellbania.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101019", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>A city holds its breath,<br />\nWondering what will come to<br />\nPass in foll'wing days...</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>This morning found us being bums around the park again.  We woke up late (Venus was due in around 13h, and we figured we had some time..) and purchased a pile of food from the local supermarket: eggs, bread, pesto, cheese, and tomatoes.  We fried the eggs in delicious, delicious olive oil; added the pesto and some garlic powder to our bread; and stuffed everything together into our mouths.  It took longer than we expected, so we headed to the bus station approximately in time to see her step off the bus (we were a little early, and it gave us the chance to comment some photos for you lovely people!  :D).</p>\n<p>She seemed disoriented.  Evidently she had spent roughly 40 hours in transit, about 10 of which were spent in the Madrid bus station half sleeping while waiting to head to Pamplona.  A note for travellers: bikes and busses go together in Spain.  Bikes are only allowed on some trains--mostly the ones that follow major-ish routes.  Look carefully at the <a href=\"http://renfe.es\">renfe.es</a> website to see if your train is a medium or long distance train first!</p>\n<p>Nevermind disorientation, though; it was time to see things!  The fact that we had so long in Pamplona meant that Evan and I spent some time poking around to find interesting things.  Mainly the thing she wanted to see was the bullring and the route of the Encierro, so we did that first.  It's amazing how long a half mile can seem...</p>\n<p>She told us about her Navy cruise and all that jazz, and we settled in for a really interesting (read: way too big but rather delicious) dinner of rice, beans, corn, squash, onion, and local wine.  Venus was pretty tired out (fair enough, considering her journey!), so we headed back to the campsite fairly early and fell asleep, hoping to wake up early for the chupinazo tomorrow... SAN FERM\u00cdN!!!!!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/05/and-then-there-were-three.html", "title": "and then there were three", "date": "2010-07-05T11:27:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/05/and-then-there-were-three.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100705", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>Yeah. We were there. For half an hour. Bosnia. It's well important.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html", "title": "bosnia!", "date": "2010-10-11T05:44:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101011", "country": "ba"}
+{"content": "<p>Rain pours down over Hrvatska - the most we've seen all trip, counting even our housebound day on the farm and the storm back on our way to Baie de Mont-Saint-Michel. It cascades down the steps, snakes down the blacktop hills and concrete surfaces to wash out into the Adriatic, beating against Ivo's roof in Opatija where we await the good weather promised us tomorrow by the admittedly imperfect forecast...so, for now, we are held up from biking. No problem; there are always ways to pass the time...</p>\n<p>...so we start off with a quick trip down through the rain to the local Konzum supermarket and nearby bakery, Ivo's makeshift shoe-slippers squeaking against the drenched pavement as the rain drums down upon our umbrellas. Rain is a beautiful thing provided you are not stuck biking in it; if you are, it is difficult to appreciate - the clothes in your panniers become damp, the clothes on your back weigh you down and steal much-needed body heat, every road is a treacherous challenge against the elements. Fortunate for us that we are not stuck in that situation...</p>\n<p>...and we pick up the usual - bread, pastries, yogurt for breakfast; vegetables to cook into our bean mix for lunch and dinner; a couple of beers to pass the time - before trudging back up the hill to hide from the rain at Ivo's. There are some English-language books on the shelf - we pick out one dumb American laws and another about a doctor who treated civilians and soldiers from both sides during the Russian-Chechnyan conflict, alternately reading and writing blog posts to the ever-present sound of the rain. Eventually it nears lunchtime; we set some beans to soak, pass another couple of hours writing and reading...</p>\n<p>...day becomes afternoon, and the rain shows no signs of letting up. Hopefully it will not delay us further; we've got a destination to reach. The beans are ready to cook, but that means another 2 hours or so of boiling and simmering. We prepare the vegetables for the stew, cooking them in as much olive oil and spice as we can cram into the pot without thoroughly destroying the meal. Back to reading and writing for now, with short breaks to check email off Ivo's computer or stare outside at the incessant rain - or, on occasion, receive more of Ivo's encyclopaedic knowledge of the region, its history, its minutiae of corrupt officials and distance-obsessed racing cyclists...</p>\n<p>...afternoon slowly fades into night, and with it the rain at last drops off to a low murmur before stopping altogether. Maybe we will be able to ride out in the morning! Our blog posts are caught up, our legs well-rested from a day of near-complete inactivity. We finally tire of reading and retire to the warmth of the blanket, drifting off into sleep. Another day closer to our departure. The past couple of weeks have been uncommonly restful - save for a few bursts of all-out stop-to-stop cycling - so that we feel more and more that it is time to go, to return to the trip of multi-day wild camping stretches Out There. Next up: the stretch along the coast opposite the Dalmatians, reputed to be scenic beyond all belief, and then on down the coast of Hrvatska through Split, the token borders with Bosnia, and Dubrovnik - and then on further, further into yet more unknown territory, into Montenegro and Albania before at last arriving in Greece to tackle the final stretches into Istanbul...exciting!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/05/reading-riting-and-rain.html", "title": "reading, 'riting, and rain", "date": "2010-10-05T12:56:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/05/reading-riting-and-rain.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101005", "country": "hr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Bummery is nice:<br />\nWhen kindness finds a garage,<br />\nYou don't turn it down.</i></p>\n<p>Wake up, stretch, eat a bit, head to town, eat some more, drink some coffee, get snacks for the day, and bike.  That's the schedule of mornings, and today it was a bit rushed because of the distance we noticed we had to bike to make it to Ceglie for evening.  We got really biking around 9 or 9.30.  We had a long way to go.</p>\n<p>The first road that we tore out of Palazzo on was amazing.  It was a road that wasn't much frequented by cars (the SS 655, if you're curious), and the tailwind that we were treated to along it was astonishingly strong.  We managed to go a bit over 40 km/h (about 25 mph) for about an hour.  Yeah.  Making time.</p>\n<p>We arrived to Matera around 12 and ate lunch at a market (mushroom and cheese sandwiches, plus we picked up a new bottle of local olive oil), then noted the nifty cave dwellings on the way out.  We tried to find a map in town, but the only place that was open after lunch was the tourism office, and their map was not really what we were looking for.  The cave dwellings were pretty neat, but we only got to see them in passing.</p>\n<p>The SS 7 (Via Appia) that headed from Matera towards Taranto (we already made the \"WTF is Toronto doing here\" joke, so no need for you to) was nice and flat, but we lacked the tailwind from earlier.  We still got booking along it, and we followed it to Massafra, just 15 km or so before Taranto.  From there, we headed up into some more mountains.  Ick.</p>\n<p>The time we made into the mountains wasn't stellar, and the light was starting to turn rich, deep red and orange colours.  We arrived in Martina Franca at about 18.30, and we were crestfallen to learn that it was still another 19km to Ceglie Messapica.  It was getting dark and we were exhausted... but we could make it.</p>\n<p>Fortunately, the road into Ceglie was mostly downhill.  We coasted most of the way into town, conferencing as we went about how in the hell we would find the farm.  They don't have a postal address since they're too far out in the country; the only clues we had about them were that 0) it is called the World Peace Garden, 1) it is in Trattori Alfieri in Contrada Alfieri, 2) it is run by someone named Greg.  We scrawled these things on a paper.  We also had a mobile number for them, but after asking the man staffing the gas station to borrow his phone and ringing several times, we concluded that the phone wasn't used for some reason.  Now it was dark.</p>\n<p>We weren't sure what to do.  We grabbed beers at one of the bars in town and calculated that we'd gone 190km over the day.  By far the longest distance we've ever gone in a day.  By <i>far</i>.  It was little wonder that we were confused and hungry and weak.  We grabbed some food at a mini market (a very weird dinner of cream cheese and spicy pepper sandwiches with yogurt and m\u00fcsli) to gather our wits, then decided to ask around for the farm people.  We had hoped to look them up on the Internet, since computers were provided in the bar for customer Internet use, but it turned out that these terminals were only for online betting.  Sigh.  Anyway, Ceglie is a smallish town, so we assumed that someone would know someone who would know the Garden people.</p>\n<p>We approached a group of old men smoking in a park and asked in broken Italian if they knew the place on the paper because we were looking for it.  They began asking us questions and discussing among themselves in a flurry.  One dedicated his phone to trying the mobile number over and over, to no avail.  Eventually, we answered enough of their questions that one suggested a ride out into the countryside.  We were welcome to leave our bikes in his garage, and we two and three of them would go for a drive to Contrada Alfieri (they knew that area) to see if we could find the place.</p>\n<p>Okay, so I've talked about this in previous blogs.  Sometimes, the things that one does when travelling are kind of sketch, like going out into the countryside with three old men in a town in the middle of nowhere.  But when you can't speak the language of a country, you're really at the mercy of its people.  We had no way of getting any more information about the farm, especially not at night, and we had no place to sleep in town or out of it without that.  These men seemed kind.  You get feelings about people.  So we went for a ride with them.</p>\n<p>They didn't find the Garden, but they did stop at a friend's house in the area, where it was gotten across to us that the Garden was nearby, but that there was an office in town where we should go.  Alright.  Back into town.</p>\n<p>We checked out the office, and it was closed, closed, closed.  No one home.  Our friends, the men who had driven us out into the country (Nicolas, Gaeta, and Tome) told us that if no one appeared by 23h, we were welcome to sleep in their garage.  So we camped out in front of the office, eating cream cheese and spicy pepper sandwiches.</p>\n<p>We were about 15 minutes into our wait when a man in a window popped his head out.  He also didn't speak English, but we understood that he was a cyclist, too, and that he wanted us to come inside and wait out of the cold.  He lived right across from the office, and we could see from inside if any lights came on in there.  It was a good deal!</p>\n<p>His name was Giuseppe, and he conversed painstakingly with us about our trip and cycling and school and jobs.  We watched some Italian TV with him (it was a show about a young prince living in a monastery... we didn't get much out of it, though), and he pushed some bread and grapes and espresso on us.  He told us that the \"mobile\" number that we had just rang in the office across the street.  We chatted with him until 23h, when we made a last check for lights and headed towards the garage.  Nicolas, Tome, and Gaeta showed up minutes later, and we told them the sad news and asked if it was still okay to sleep in the garage.  Of course it was!  We even had the choice: we could set up our tent in the garage, or we could sleep in the car in the garage.  It was easier to fit everything if we just slept in the car, so here we are: sleeping in some Italian's car in his garage in Ceglie Messapica, worn to the bone from 190km of cycling over not-entirely-flat ground, and hoping, perhaps unwarrantedly, that we will find the Garden tomorrow.  Somehow.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/20/a-long-day-and-a-bum-night.html", "title": "a long day and a bum night", "date": "2010-09-20T07:29:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/20/a-long-day-and-a-bum-night.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100920", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Up and down, around<br />\nAnd through, dirt and trees and wild<br />\nAre surrounding you!</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>We began our day at our FOUR STAR CAMPSITE, heading out for something a little less... well... nice.  We stumbled around southward, largely because we still don't have a map with good enough resolution to show us roads that we'd like to take and we've no desire to hop on that highway again.  So... south it was.  We attempted to use the maps that we acquired from the lovely desk people at our campsite to orient ourselves, but we wound up heading further and further west, despite our best efforts.</p>\n<p>Eventually, we made our way to Dieppe.  On a map, it looks like nothing.  It's rather small, and there's a river that runs through it, but a map doesn't convey how durn impressive the canyon it's situated in and on and around is.  The river that runs through the middle slices the city in two, but there are structures all up and down the walls of the gorge.  A fortress perches on top.  The old town winds down along impossibly steep streets from the fortress to the river.  We didn't have much time to explore, but it was one of the first nice things that France has managed to pull out for us.</p>\n<p>It got better!  We consulted one of our shiny, new maps, and it showed a <i>bicycling</i> route that headed out of Dieppe along the canal.  We wound our way down the slope and found a not particularly promising dirt track that was signed as a bike route.  We frowned a little... but decided to follow it.  And what a good choice.</p>\n<p>Shortly after we joined the track, it opened up into a gorgeous forest with a slightly gravelly but rather firmly packed path winding along the side of the water.  Definitely the best thing France has given us.  We followed the canal track all the way to Rennes, enjoying the small towns and locks scattered along it.  Locks in France apparently keep hours (like everything else), but at least they look nice and provide good backdrops for vlogs.  :)</p>\n<p>I can't remark on anything else for the day (except that when we got to Rennes it was during the unfortunate two hour block from 17h to 19h where seemingly every food-purveying place is closed) but the loveliness of the canal path and the wonderful weather.  Tonight we're actually camping alongside the canal just outside Rennes... we'll wake up to solitude instead of RVs for the first time.  :D</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/17/canallery.html", "title": "canallery", "date": "2010-06-17T13:36:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/17/canallery.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100617", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>One more morning and afternoon in Fisterra! Whereas our arrival in Fisterra yesterday was greeted with fine mist and grey skies, we awaken this morning to clear blue skies over the Cabo. Freak closures seem to follow us everywhere; the lighthouse was closed yesterday for a changing of exhibits, so we decided to take advantage of our post-Camino break and check it out this afternoon.</p>\n<p>Of course, even on normal days it doesn't open until 1230...so we wait by taking a walk up along the trails next to the lighthouse. When we do finally get into the lighthouse, we're disappointed to find that it serves as a market for overpriced artisanal trinkets supposedly from the local area - which are admittedly cool, but of absolutely no use to us when we must carry everything that we own with us. This is one odd thing about bike tripping: as compared to regular travel, the rate with which you acquire souvenirs is greatly reduced. We've already had to send a couple of packages home, and even those contained mostly maps with lines drawn in from our travels. (It's like a lo-fi rendition of Google Maps, hipster-PDA-style. Maybe we'll stick up photos eventually - these need to be scanned in, though, and we're kinda hoping our relatives back home will take care of all that.) Everything has weight. Everything takes space. Our lives are confined to a pair of dry bags, roughly 84 litres of pannier space, 7 litres of handlebar bag space, and a knapsack (which we had hoped the handlebar bag would replace, but which we continue to drag around with us due to several deficiencies of Handlebar Bag that shall remain unspecified.) We've named the bags: we have Handlebar Bag (your guess which one), Pantry Pannier (with the pot, spices, and dry foods/grains), IF Bag (this drawstring-equipped blue sack we have for Incidental Food, i.e. stuff we buy at supermarkets and need to carry to a campsite or other location for further cooking), Gear Bag (tools, spare parts, and the like), Valkyrie's Gear Bag (stove, cooking and eating utensils, fuel bottle, water pump)...these bags are us for four more months!</p>\n<p>But back to Fisterra. After our visit to the lighthouse, we try to pick up the ingredients for paella so we can cook it on the beach...and are told that the local fish market is mostly closed by this time, and that it doesn't carry the necessary squid. By this time, though, we are already saddled with some vegetables from the outdoors market, so we take those to the beach instead and eat some vegetables over rice before dipping our feet in the still-too-cold-to-swim-in-reasonably water.</p>\n<p>After our beachside meal and foot-dipping, we take a bus ride back along the coast into Noia. We're supposed to change coaches about halfway, but the bus stops in a location where we are unable to unload the bikes from the luggage undercarriage. We prepare ourselves to take an unscheduled ride back into Santiago, but the bus driver reluctantly agrees to stop the bus down the highway a bit - whereupon he jumps down from his seat and frantically waves the other coach down so we can pit-stop-speed unload our bikes and toss them under the other bus. Further proof that things work out mostly if you a) are willing to accept them not going entirely to plan, b) are patient, and c) are insistent enough in that polite-but-effective way that gets things done.</p>\n<p>So we get back to Noia...only to find a Renaissance Fair in town! (This is listed as a Mercado Medieval - Medieval Market, in case it wasn't perfectly obvious.) We chow down on some overly expensive cheesecake (what the hell is that doing at a Ren Faire?) before hitting up a local bar, where we run into a pair of motorcyclists that we saw previously along the Camino. (Yes, we are doing this thing at high speed! It makes me feel more than a little uber-powerful to be able to keep pace with motorcyclists, even if we bike all day to match their leisurely ride along the mountain paths.) They invite us to share a round of beers with us, whereupon they share tales of their (relatively short, but nevertheless cool) travels along parts of the Camino - tomorrow they return to their hometown of Salamanca, which is known for its university.</p>\n<p>Final part of the day. Slightly beered up, we head out of town along the coast towards Porto do Son...only to be reminded that Spanish supermarkets are open at reasonable hours! We pick up the rest of the ingredients for paella, head down the road a bit to a suitable campsite, and spend a solid 90 minutes concocting the best damn paella anyone ever made on a camping stove! We actually make too much of it, but our efforts to share it with other campers are rebuffed - no problem; it merely means we have some for tomorrow!</p>\n<p>(Did I mention that this is the best meal I've ever eaten off a camp stove? Not sure that I did. Well, it is.)</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/16/paella.html", "title": "paella", "date": "2010-07-16T11:38:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/16/paella.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100716", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Time slogs or sprints.. which?<br />\nTravelling tweaks time senses,<br />\nGives fresh perspective.</i></p>\n<p>We're now halfway through the time of our trip: hurray!  It's going to be just over 6 months, from 15 May to 23 November, and this is haalfwaaaaaaaaay!!!</p>\n<p>Anyway, today's biking... let's see... we woke up on the playground and had our breakfasts (we usually stop three times for breakfast: first breakfast is m\u00fcsli, second breakfast is pastry, and third breakfast is bocadillos, yoghurt, and juice) which we had actually planned ahead for, then headed out.  It was a fairly easy ride, I suppose, punctuated by drizzle and a few large-ish hills.  It's wonderful to ride through these areas; all the time we spent in the desert makes Catalu\u00f1a positively lush by comparison.  It's also a lot more humid, which makes riding a little less pleasant, but the scenery continues to be worth it.</p>\n<p>We spent a fair amount of today along the coast.  Well, \"along the coast\" in the sense that the roads we took were very close to the water, but we generally couldn't see much due to condos and hotels and the like that had sprung up on all beachfront property.  Fortunately, there were boardwalks behind them some of the time, which we happily rode along.  We spent some time discussing the fact that it's going to be impossible for us to drive a car when we get back across the pond.  A good part of our navigation now hinges on the facts that we can a) take small dirt paths, b) go the wrong way up streets occasionally, and c) ride on sidewalks when necessary.  Those things are generally frowned upon when one conducts an automobile.</p>\n<p>As we neared our goal, a town called Santo Carlos de la R\u00e1pita, the scenery changed for the sadder.  Due to a lot of expansion of the blessed autoroutes in this area, in conjunction with the building of several large industrial plants, there are a lot of abandoned buildings around.  We stopped in a hotel along the side and poked around.  Some areas of it were collapsing, but in general it was in reasonable condition and just covered in graffiti.  Art.</p>\n<p>We took our break in Santo Carlos, and we intended to hang out in a park or something until evening fell and we could go somewhere interesting and perhaps meet people (and perhaps convince them to host us ;)), but we were chased into a caf\u00e9 rather early by a giant thunderstorm that lasted several hours.  Not the end of the world, but we didn't manage to find any hosts...</p>\n<p>Anyway, we headed out when it was dark and camped in the natural park of the Ebro river delta.  It's nice out here, but mostly flat and mostly farmland (as one might imagine a river delta to be).  Tomorrow we head further towards Barcelona!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/19/halfway-tent.html", "title": "halfway tent", "date": "2010-08-19T13:46:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/19/halfway-tent.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100819", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>After a comfortable but too-short night of sleep, the familiar phone alarm sets off at 0730. It is the Greek custom to take as light a breakfast as possible, often limited to coffee and a pastry or slice of bread, and indeed such is our fare this morning. We have - perversely, one might think, given our general exhaustion resulting from our tendency to hard work and high-endurance exercise - volunteered to rise at this hour so that we may witness a most unusual spectacle: the school Nana works at is holding a special presentation of awards, music, and theatre in honour of the national holiday tomorrow, to which we have been graciously invited...</p>\n<p>...and so, our metabolisms left to quickly consume the small breakfast, we join Nana on her daily commute. The main hall in the school is packed with chairs in neat rows, waiting to receive the students - but for now, we head into the languages office. There is a faculty of eight teachers for this purpose, all somehow crammed into this smallish office space around a central spiral staircase; we learn later that, under the Greek school system, classrooms are assigned to grades rather than subjects, so that teachers visit the students rather than the other way around. (Exceptions are made for subjects requiring special equipment, such as chemistry or computer science.) We spend some time in the office meeting the teachers before joining the students, who have assembled upstairs to await the morning proceedings.</p>\n<p>There is the usual round of award distribution; these are provided for students excelling at each subject, as well as for those receiving the best grades in each class. There is then a presentation of speeches by certain members of the senior class, these dealing with the importance of October 28 in modern Greek history and related debates on nationalism or whether the military nature of the October 28 parade should be considered commendable or offensive. In his address to the school body, the principal notes that those now considered exemplars of Greek thought were persecuted in their own age. The school band performs various traditional songs, and the proceedings are concluded with a short theatrical production portraying a scene from WW2-era Greece: following the Greek refusal to open the borders and the ensuing Axis occupation of Greece, some members of the Greek resistance have organized a meeting to discuss future actions against the invading forces. They receive a tip that the meeting has come to the attention of the German authorities, who will doubtless arrive to arrest those present; however, this being in the days before mobile phones and other such expedients of communication, it is impossible to cancel the meeting. Instead, they decide to pretend as though they are having an engagement party; when the Germans arrive, they feign astonishment that these happy festivities should be mistaken for a secret meeting, and merely sing louder - at least, this is the tale as translated for us by the English faculty, who are anxious to make sure that we derive some benefit to our historical understanding from the morning.</p>\n<p>After the conclusion of these ceremonies, we grab some food from the cafeteria and head back to the English office where we are met by several of the students; the English department has invited any students interested to interview us. Most of the questions center around superlatives. What is our best experience? The hardest/longest/highest day? The most dangerous thing that has happened? We are often at a loss to answer - how does one pick? Every part is entirely different from the last, and we feel as though the trip is not a single voyage but rather several piecemeal voyages, or perhaps a disjointed collection of daily rides. How do you compare strong headwinds to rain to language barriers or hail or navigational mishaps? What does distance mean when one kilometre here is perfectly flat and another over there is uphill? What is more dangerous: a single stretch of road without guardrails? Descending a mountain on poorly-adjusted brakes? Camping in unknown territory? Sharing the road day after day with all manner of motorized vehicles? The questions are many, and even as the students leave to catch the noon bus we sense that they have many yet to ask...</p>\n<p>...but we have other things to attend to, such as lunch; this being a half-day for the students, we have the luxury of returning home for a spot of homemade moussaka. Yum! This far exceeds the moussaka we had in Olympia in quality, and we quickly gobble down three pieces each. The afternoon is uneventful; sadly, Nana must return to the school for parent-teacher interviews, and with our lack of sleep we have little desire to head into Kalamata proper. We retire to the bedroom for a nap, but find that we are not prepared to sleep at such an early hour; instead we pull out the laptop and amuse ourselves with our stock of adventure games, which are proving to be handy entertainments indeed. Once she returns, we head out to yet another tavern for a spread of meats and salads and cheese dishes and local ham that we somehow manage to finish, much to the astonishment of the staff. There is music and wine, and the food is again quite delicious; we have not had a scrap of food in Kalamata that was anything less than thoroughly enjoyable! This is followed by a trip to another of the local bars; we discuss the daily festivities, the upcoming holiday, various North American holidays, and anything else that comes to mind - tangential or otherwise - over a couple of glasses of wine, taking in the atmosphere of Greek nightlife. Here more than most places, and especially on this night, the locals are out in droves...</p>\n<p>...but our lack of sleep finally catches up with us as we realize it is nearing 0200, and we head back home to compensate. One more day in Kalamata - just one more, and then we have resolved to press on over the daunting stretch to Sparti, which several people have warned us is an ascent of nearly 1400 m. Eek!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food-and-children.html", "title": "food and food and food and food and children", "date": "2010-10-27T11:55:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food-and-children.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101027", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Sun, merciless sun,<br />\nOn shorn rocks and unshorn sheep,<br />\nBlasting down on all.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>Today, we are over los Pireneos!</p>\n<p>Today, we are on the Camino de Santiago!</p>\n<p>Today, we are real cyclists!</p>\n<p>What began as a not-too-hot-and-actually-rather-foggy-and-cool morning in St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port turned into a hellish climb over Europe's western mountain range.  We registered ourselves as official pilgrims on the camino (there was not so much to it; basically we filled out forms with our names and addresses, how we were completing the trail (walking, biking, or on horseback), why we wanted to do it (religious, spiritual, sports, or other reasons), and how old we are) in the town, and we were explicitly told to take the highway if we are doing it on bike.  Nonsense, we say, we have a map of the walking camino, so let's stick to that route.  How hard could it be?</p>\n<p>The answer surprised us.  Although it's now been about a month and a half of solid cycling, we weren't quite ready for the 1200m climb that spanned just 18km to the top of the mountains.  It was rather (as you may imagine) steep, and many parts of it weren't even paved as such; they were simple gravel roads that wound along steep precipices.  Along the way, though, we met lots of pilgrims.</p>\n<p>The roads into Spain were lined with hot hikers.  Fortunately, they were also lined with fuentes (fountains) spouting drinkable water for pilgrims.  Everyone had a cheerful \"Buen camino!\" (\"Have a nice walk!\") ready for us as we passed, though, despite the rather adverse circumstances.  We met some amazing people, including an aging man who had been walking for several months since Holland.  There were also a few cyclists as crazy as we were that we saw, but I guess they quit a bit after we passed, as we did not see them again, and we were moving very slowly.</p>\n<p>The scenery, as you may be able to imagine, was breathtaking.  We stopped to snap photos every time we were out of breath, it seems (which was... often).  Sheeps and horses dotted the hilltops around us, and they occasionally deigned to make their silly animal noises our way.  More often, they paid us no mind.</p>\n<p>Most of the path to the peak was paved, although very steep.  We spent more time off our bikes than on them, due to the heat and our inexperience with such grades, but we had no idea what to expect at the top, where our map showed that the road turned south and the camino continued west on 'unpaved footpath.'  Turns out that this meant an even steeper climb over rocky, sheep-and-sheep-crap-covered terrain for some distance.  It was worth it, though, to haul the bikes so far.  Just over the highest point we passed unnoticed into Spain (there wasn't even a marker for the border) and completed our 2500th kilometre.</p>\n<p>Coming down the other side, we were first met with a fuente where we expected to fill our water bottles (they had been significantly drained due to heat), but we didn't know that we were going to have to wait in line behind horses.  Yup.  Four or so horses and a couple colts were busily lapping water out of the fountain, so we elected to move along with the water we already had.</p>\n<p>The path continued through some forests and more livestock fields, and we continually alternated riding and pulling due to some strange anomalies like 20cm-deep leaves for dozens of metres along the path.  Eventually, we came to a very steep and twisty (but paved!) road that led down the mountainside into Roncesvalles--the first town in Spain.  It was a fun descent: we had to stop several times to cool our bike brakes because of continual use.</p>\n<p>Roncesvalles greeted us with SPANISH.  We went to mass at 20h and were thoroughly confused by the service in another language.  We did manage to get space in a pilgrim's spot (the albergue was full, but they had a sort of camping/portables area that we were led to instead), and we found a delicious pilgrim's menu at the local restaurant (water, wine, bread, pasta, fish, fries, and yoghurt) for just 9\u20ac each.</p>\n<p>To commemorate our real-cyclist-dom, we spent some 30 minutes in the bathroom at our site dying our hair red.  It looks lovely.</p>\n<p>Spain is wonderful.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/01/real-cyclists-at-last.html", "title": "real cyclists at last!", "date": "2010-07-01T11:22:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/01/real-cyclists-at-last.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100701", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>World Cup Fever. The phenomenon is impossible to understand for those who have never left the New World for a glimpse of our cultural forebearers - a bizarre fixation on the Round of 16, a platonic orgy of nationalism over the clashes that play out on screens in homes, in bars, out in the public squares, projected on walls; the screens that are surrounded by fans and passers-by and families and tourists and locals and children and grandparents, by everyone and anyone who can pry themselves free from real life long enough to join the ruckus...the bartenders serve only during half-time, their eyes glued to the screens up in the corner; the restaurants and food joints put off kitchen work for fear of missing The Goal; and customers wait without complaint, for they are just as entranced by the athleticism and spectacle of this miniature bloodless war...</p>\n<p>...and we join the fever in Astorga where, in the minutes leading up to the starting whistle, as cheering erupts in a far-off stadium somewhere in South Africa, as the teams line up to perform the pre-game rituals and sing anthems and shake hands and take last-minute orders from the coaches who shout urgently at the sidelines, their intense eyes and open mouths and smart suits captured in fleeting television images...where, in these minutes, the last minutes before the Final Game of the 2010 World Cup is set to begin, anyone and everyone grabs a seat outside by one of the local bars. True to form, the establishment owners have wheeled out the largest screen in reach for the viewing pleasure of their patrons. An atmosphere of excitement, equal parts anticipation and apprehension, reigns throughout the Continent and beyond - but most of all in Spain and Holland; and we have the good fortune to be in the former. The crowd is quiet, eerily so; no one dares to speak too loudly, for fear that they might jinx the outcome or arouse the ire of the other spectators for ruining the experience.</p>\n<p>But this lull does not persist; the players explode in a spectacular show, making lightning passes and complex weaving plays across the field, stealing balls with slide kicks - and occasionally getting carded for it, thus whipping the crowd up into cheers of approval or streams of invective depending on the perceived justness of the referee's decision. The game wears on, one goalless half is followed by another...and now there is noise, youth chanting \"Yo soy Espa\u00f1ol\" or similar refrains while the guy in the Casillas jersey wails on an enormous drum and the cars in the nearby square use their horns with reckless abandon. Now it is overtime, and it is getting late. On any other night we would be fast asleep by now, recovering as much as possible for next morning's ride, but that is not an option. Even the albergue keeper is at the game, and the streets whip up in a furious crescendo of shouting and honking and chanting...</p>\n<p>...and then, after what seems like an eternity, just before the second half of overtime draws to an unsatisfying close and despite the visible frustration and exhaustion building on the players' battle-worn faces, Spain carves the ball through the air to land precisely in the goal, out of reach of the hapless Holland goalkeeper. The crowd cheers wildly, but is cautious to reserve judgment; after all, Holland could still sneak around to tie it again. But they do not; the three remaining minutes pass quickly. Victory for Spain! Now the noise outside reaches fantastic proportions. Every second house has set aside a stash of noisemaker fireworks for this moment, a dazzling arsenal that is deployed into the skies above Astorga while the crowd underneath yells with exquisite joy. We head back to the albergue, attempting with mixed success to sleep amidst the revelry, this climax moment of World Cup Fever...for our journey continues tomorrow, and every hour spent sleepless will only add to our own exhaustion tomorrow. It is a reminder that this is a very unusual sort of trip to take; we bike long hours each day, and must often refrain from drinking in the midday sun for fear that dehydration will rear its ugly head...we scarcely have the opportunity to go out, trading this pleasure for that of unparalleled views and the warmth of small-town hospitality. And tomorrow is not merely another day; it will bring another ascent into the mountains, another set of such views that must be earned...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/11/esp-1-0-ned.html", "title": "ESP 1-0 NED", "date": "2010-07-11T15:19:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/11/esp-1-0-ned.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100711", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Rivulets creeping<br />\nSidelong across glass, leaving<br />\nBehind trails.  Follow?</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>It's not always blue skies and sunshine, I guess, but I wish it were more than 11C (52F), or that it weren't raining quite so hard.  Or both.  Sitting at my desk during the last hour or so of work has been gradually depressing me as I think about the ride home later tonight.  Agggghhhhhhhhhh.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html", "title": "aversive conditioning", "date": "2010-03-31T15:55:00", "path": "posts/2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100331", "country": "ch"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Wind tousles my hair,\nBrings smells of earth, and impels\nMe to ride once more.</i></p>\n<p>Training began in earnest last week.</p>\n<p>http://www.mapmyride.com/route/ch/gen%e8ve/589126925161481470</p>\n<p>I am now riding to and from work each day, which is actually a pretty fair route (about 8.5 km each way with no detours, but I usually take some :)).</p>\n<p>Now that it's spring, there's no excuse not to get out... but, damn, am I out of shape.  <em>puff, puff</em></p>", "href": "/posts/2010/03/22/training-begins.html", "title": "training begins!", "date": "2010-03-22T09:55:00", "path": "posts/2010/03/22/training-begins.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100322", "country": "ch"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Monks got skillz, you know,<br />\nBuilding in places no one<br />\nWould go, like up there.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>The ride today along the sea was lovely (and hilly).  We followed the Baie de le Mont Saint Michel, which basically meant that we got to admire the structure all morning as we rounded the corner and approached it.  It looks so improbable, that big pointy thing sticking out of the large flat area that surrounds it for kilometres.  Monks are crazy.</p>\n<p>Le Mont Saint Michel was begun in the 10th century, and it has been added on to by generation after generation since then.  It withstood British attacks during the Hundred Years War and German attacks during both Great Wars.  Although it's just an abbey built on top of crypts (the only way to build something with a flat floor was to build a lot of something else underneath it, due to the amazing pointiness of this hill), it functions as a virtually impregnable fortress.</p>\n<p>The windows and decorations in the abbey were pretty impressive, too.  The stained glass formed patterns like Celtic knots, and even the stones were carefully laid into designs in the floor.  It's a UNESCO site (man, how many of those have we seen lately?), and as such it's pretty well kept up.  The lower areas are full of shops in the old building style of Europe, and although it's too expensive to really consider buying anything there, it's nice to stroll through, especially when you're exhausted from a morning and early afternoon spent biking through hills.</p>\n<p>From le Mont Saint Michel, we had to head towards the ferry listed on our map as coming out of Saint Malo.  In order to make it to the UK for the World Naked Bike Ride (we're doing the Brighton ride on 13 June), we have to take some form of transportation other than our bicycles.  ;)  Anyway, the ferry is in Saint Malo, which was another 50 km.</p>\n<p>Long story short, France tried to screw us over again with pouring rain and lashing winds, but we made it at a reasonable hour (about 22h) and learned that the next ferry to Portsmouth would leave at 10h30 tomorrow.  After a delicious dinner of chick pea/green pepper/onion/tomato/garlic/cinammon/curry/olive oil salad with local wine, we settled into a campsite for a good sleep.  ^<strong>_</strong>^</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/11/monks-u.html", "title": "monks > u", "date": "2010-06-11T15:48:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/11/monks-u.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100611", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>170 km into Barletta: another cycling day, another century. If you have followed our travels, you know well that this is not the norm for us - we usually go 80-120 km, and ever since our death marches in Spain we've been making a concerted effort to stop well before sunset. But there it is: we have now spent a week up here in Ceglie Messapica - including the mini-adventure in finding the World Peace Garden - and we feel compelled to make time, especially given the promise of a shower and bed at the end of it. There are few more powerful motivators to a pair of generally tired, hungry, and dirty cyclists...</p>\n<p>...but the day starts without cycling, oddly enough for such a long stretch; after breaking the news that we must depart, we have agreed to complete some final minor tasks around the garden before meeting Greg and Fiorella at the office in Barletta for breakfast. We quickly sweep the outside walkways, wash the dogs, and inspect the trees for any reachable walnuts - and then we finish packing our bikes, hop on, and ride off down the gravel-dirt road to the main SP 23 into Ceglie. The dogs run after us, chasing the bikes in full sprint until we finally lose them on the better-paved provincial road; hopefully they find their way back down the labyrinthine lanes safely...</p>\n<p>...and we soon find ourselves in Ceglie, walking up the staircase into the office once more. Greg and Fiorella are anxious to hear about the week from our perspective: what did we enjoy? how did we adapt to the calendar? what did we feel was missing? We trade observations and remarks for some time, then head down to a nearby caf\u0102\u00a9 - just opposite the gas station where seven long days ago we inquired of a confused yet friendly petrol station attendant whether we might use his phone to attempt calling the World Peace Garden, only to get no response - where we polish off the by now familiar Italian breakfast of caff\u0102\u00a9 and pastries. The pastries themselves are quite good; there are local almond sweetbreads and pastries with cream and sour cherry filling. Yum! We share some of our maps over breakfast, explaining our method of travelling without GPS or radio gadgets or most of that nonsense - except for the computer, which has proven invaluable in keeping records of our journey - and of drawing lines on the maps, which we annotate with cute pen diagrams at points of special interest or frustration...</p>\n<p>...but the breakfast cannot continue forever; there's biking to be done! We say our goodbyes, wishing them luck with their vision for the World Peace Garden - it is not easy to be self-sustaining, and a week spent in the garden teaches an appreciation for exactly how far modern society is from that. Water, electricity, gas, food, Internet, transportation, flush toilets: the list of conveniences we take for granted is staggering indeed, yet most people never properly reflect upon this...</p>\n<p>...we are soon on the road down through Ostuni, the White City. From there, it is down to the coast into Villanova, where we pick up some more of that delectable focaccia and load our snack container with almond cookies in all flavours. We start off towards Bari along the service road next to the autoroute, but are quickly stymied when the service road crosses the autoroute and begins doubling back towards Villanova. With no other option, we must head back and retrace our steps somewhat up the road towards Ostuni; there is a road marked as an \"Adriatic cycling route\", but even this turns out to end after some 10 km or so. Fortunately, this is enough to get us past the earlier dead end and on to a proper service road that follows the highway up through Monopoli and into Bari. Once we reach Monopoli, a stop for lunch is in order - we stop in this picture-perfect harbour, the white-beige houses up against the north side bright against the stormy background out at sea, and pull out two still-warm slices of mouthwatering focaccia.</p>\n<p>Up towards Bari. By the time we reach there, it is 1530 - not late, but not exactly early, and we must spend some time fishing around for an Internet connection so that we can notify our host Gianna of our impending arrival! We ride around the downtown for a few minutes, but no luck; caf\u0102\u00a9s with wifi are near-impossible to find in the south of Italy. At last we locate a network bearing the name of a nearby caf\u0102\u00a9, and we head over there to grab some drinks and ask for the password - but they refuse to give it to us; perhaps the network is only for employee use, or perhaps they have some unjustifiable prejudice against the bearded. Whatever the reason, we leave in exasperation and head for the tourist information bureau, where we are informed that yes, there is a caf\u0102\u00a9 with wifi here, and that it is situated immediately behind the bureau. Indeed it is, and we are able to pass on the message that we will arrive this evening...</p>\n<p>...except that of course we must get there first, and it is still another 60 km to Barletta.  After a week without cycling, our muscles complain at the renewed effort. To make things worse, it is navigationally treacherous going just out of Bari. The roads are utterly impossible to understand, and the coastal road becomes a major highway that although passable by bike is hardly conducive to cycling. We instead veer up into a nearby development, hoping to avoid the highway, and find ourselves at a dead end after following a bus into a cul-de-sac roundabout. We head the other way down the road, but are stopped by a local who speech-gestures at us in Italian. Seeing as how our comprehension of his increasingly frantic motions is less than perfect, he switches to an odd brand of broken French that consists entirely of \"gauche\", \"droite\", and hand motions to indicate anything else of potential importance. Language barrier aside, his intention is clear: we have no choice but to turn back and take the highway for a few kilometres, after which it once again becomes possible to take saner roads. Despite these setbacks, we keep going to Barletta, stopping roughly halfway for a quick roadside bite before continuing on our way...</p>\n<p>...and it starts to get dark on our way into Trani, home to an ancient cathedral that is unfortunately closed by the time we reach it. Night falls as we pass through the town, and even with the bright reflective vest and headlamp we still feel as though we might be swept off the road rather unceremoniously at any moment and mashed into a pulp by some caffeine-crazed driver. This doesn't happen, however, and we instead make it safely into Barletta. We transcribed the Google Maps directions to Gianna's place onto our notepad, but unfortunately used the state road numbering scheme to label the roads - and things just do not work that way here, since the roads lack state road signs within city limits. So much for the map; we ask for directions, and are on our way up to Via dei Pini when BAM! we run into the Church in the guise of a massive street procession with priests and families and children and enough general commotion to block the road that we intended to take...so we head over a couple of roads, get out of their way, recover sanity, and locate Gianna's place without much trouble. We are so exhausted that we try the wrong doorbell - there are two buttons marked with the same surname, and one does not appear to work - and, having concluded that they are probably out at the parade, head over to the nearby supermarket (which mercifully is still open!) for some much-needed food...</p>\n<p>...and we eat the food, wait a bit, try the button again; still no answer. At this point, we have the bright idea of trying the first button again - success! We make contact, and are soon inside - and it becomes apparent that our trip to the supermarket was superfluous, for they have prepared a full dinner for us. Full is not a word to be taken lightly in Italy; it is a standard feature of Italian hospitality that no guest leaves the table without at least some desire to call the nearest hospital at once and demand they rush over with their finest stomach pump...</p>\n<p>...but we make it through the onslaught of food and wine, and are soon passed out fully in our nice warm beds. Tomorrow, we see Barletta; hopefully we will make the train to Venezia...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/27/century-the-second.html", "title": "century the second", "date": "2010-09-27T15:54:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/27/century-the-second.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100927", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Towns of character<br />\nNeed not bow to anyone.<br />\nHidden things are best.</i></p>\n<p>Our host here in Thessaloniki informed us yesterday that his primary like of the city is that it's not so touristic as other cities.  It has a life of its own, and people are encouraged to find it.</p>\n<p>We woke up too early.  What does that mean?  Well, we fell asleep around 21h last night, and this morning we were out of bed by 9h.  Sigh.  We consumed what was left of the pepper stuffing from last night, grabbed our laptop and PIF bag, and set off to find some coffee to wake ourselves up.  We stopped in a caf\u00e9 called Dada that offered free Wifi.</p>\n<p>We've gotten a few suggestions on things to see further along the way from various hosts we've had, so we checked up on the recommendations for Thessaloniki that we've received from our Greek friends.  We were instructed to try toureki from Terkenlis, and since we love pastries this wasn't exactly a problem for us.  We noted the directions to get there and set out!</p>\n<p>It didn't take very long to get across the city, and along the way we spotted a bookshop that we'd like to poke through further later: we're still in need of a map of Turkey, and now that we're both done with \"Gulliver's Travels\" we need to find something else with which to entertain ourselves.  We passed the really touristy stretch of shops and junk salesmen (\"Want a watch, miss?\", \"Do you know the word of God?\") and arrived at Terkenlis, which is, I suppose equally as touristy as everything else around it.  For a famous bakery, it's pretty new... founded in 1948.  But we got our toureki (around here, toureki is a common thing, but the one that comes from this bakery is special because it's the first place the baker decided to add interesting fillings and absurd amounts of chocolate coating to what is usually a simple bread) and ate it, too, in the park across the street, which boasted a giant flower clock that reminded me of Geneva's.  It was delicious, if overly-sugared, and it certainly was enough to get us through breakfast.</p>\n<p>We headed back to Stelios's place.  He was going to be off to class soon (he's a chemistry student at the university), and we needed to know how to get to the food shop he recommended for lunch.  He sketched us a map on his way out.</p>\n<p>Next, we had a few errands to run.  We rummaged through the bookstore we'd passed and also stopped by a few more, but we didn't find many English books in any of them.  We did encounter a map of Turkey, though, which we're pretty excited about.  :)  It's to be the last map of our trip!  We are CLOSE.  We also found the municipal market and picked up squash, mushrooms, and wild rice to make some soup for dinner tonight.</p>\n<p>After that, we hoofed it back to the train station.  We'd heard that bikes are allowed on some trains, but not all, and we wanted to clear up what that meant.  The woman at the desk made it clear as mud: bikes are allowed on normal trains.  Um.  Anyway, we'll just show up and try to put our bikes on the train.  There's a non-InterCity train that leaves at 06:30, and we can only guess that that's a \"normal\" train.  Guess we'll see.</p>\n<p>Lunch was at a place run by \"the Guy,\" as Stelios called him.  We paid just 3\u20ac each for heaping portions of \"kitchen food,\" which is to say food that speaks for itself without being fancily dressed up on a tiny plate.  We ate it in a nearby park with yogurt for dessert, then made our way back to our host's house to drop off the horrifically heavy squash mentioned earlier.</p>\n<p>The rest of the day was spent lazily... we wrote some blogs, played some adventure games, took a nap... cooking dinner was nice, but it didn't occupy much of our time.  Stew is magical in the way it just sits around and becomes delicious.  We were happy enough just to relax.</p>\n<p>We're turning in early again.  The girls and dude who shared the room with us last night have headed out for a train to Athens, and we're contented to just fall asleep on this floor again.  It's good to be warm.  :)</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/09/rest-stop.html", "title": "rest stop", "date": "2010-11-09T12:29:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/09/rest-stop.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101109", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p>Our celebration has been premature, for although we have agreed that our distance goal is met there still remains the matter of a flight from Istanbul to attend to, and there are but three weeks left to get there. It doesn't help that, having pronounced this goal met, we feel as though the trip is over and are consequently much less thrilled about the prospect of continuing on 1200km further in mid-fall. We hear the nighttime temperature dips to 2 degrees up in Thessaloniki...</p>\n<p>...and, to add to our inertial laziness, we must pack and replace our tyres before going anywhere. We instead decide to start off the day by getting up at 0900, lumbering out to get food, and checking our various Internets; only once this is done do we gather up our things, pull out the tools, pop the wheels off, deflate the inner tubes, remove the old tyres, replace them with the new tyres, inflate the inner tubes, reattach the wheels, move our bags and bikes downstairs, reload the pannier racks, bike down for coffee and lunch (since it is now 1200!), and - finally, four slow hours after getting our trip-weary bodies out of that nice warm bed - head out on the week-long ride to Thessaloniki. And we are not altogether successful in that: after the initial climb out of Iraklio, we spend several minutes navigating the insanely tight security at a local bank - there are two doors activated only by manually paging the desk with a button next to the handle, after which you must look into a security camera and wait for permission to enter - just to unsuccessfully ask for directions. We then head up through some random suburbs, getting lost in the byzantine roads whose layout is complicated by the small matter of a sizeable ravine nearby, and eventually resign ourselves to taking the motorway service roads. Another 10km of slogging alongside the smog generation machine to our immediate left, and then we decide to take a turnoff towards a town whose name we recognize from our admittedly terrible map. We stop to get our tires pumped at the one bike shop we run into, then speed off on our newly inflated tires down the hill - only to meet a sign to Athens further down, causing much confusion. To correct this, we make a turn back towards the highway and discover that we have followed a 20km loop back to a turnoff we should have taken but previously rejected as heading in the wrong direction. We sigh, take the correct turnoff, and are immediately dropping down into the ravine before climbing the other side...</p>\n<p>...and the road continues on to climb up this mountain through some national park, pushing us temporally ever towards twilight. It is approaching sunset by the time we crest the peak, and the cold does not help; just at the start of the downhill, we succumb and pull out everything warm we can find, throwing it on to ward off the cold - and we find that here, sitting on the mountainside, we are compelled to talk about the impending threat of real life. For nearly six months now we have been travelling; we have neglected hygiene far more than modern urban life will usually permit, have slept most our nights under two flimsy (yet, thankfully, waterproof) sheets of orange fabric and a pair of down sleeping bags, have weathered heat and wind and rain and cold. Soon it will all end; we will return to family and friends, I to my Silicon Valley full-time job and Valkyrie to the rigours of graduate school applications, and we will scarcely have rest before setting out across the US for San Francisco - no time to breathe, to think over the last few months and ask the essential questions. Why did we do this? Why have we set aside six months of our lives, six months away from many luxuries and conveniences, away from promising futures in industry and academia to, as one might unceremoniously put it, bum around Europe? What have we learned that made it worthwhile? We had each expected some profound revelation, some life-changing epiphany that would clear away the mental cobwebs and light a shining clear path to follow - but instead we have these quiet realizations, little bits of wisdom and dedication and character-building suffering collected at often great cost in time and effort and morale and occasionally even hard cash, so that we must try still harder to extract and distill this wisdom into something we can apply to the challenges awaiting us back across the Atlantic...</p>\n<p>...but now it is truly getting dark, and home seems far off compared to the more immediate requirements: food, water, shelter. We descend into the towns below, stopping at the nearest market for dinner ingredients on our way to search for a campsite. The first site we check is unsuitable, full of long grass and hastily discarded trash - but the second, an abandoned lot wedged between a pair of car mechanics (or something of that sort; we cannot make out their purpose in the dim light of the streetlamps), will suffice. We set the stove, whip up a passable orzo salad, drink our ritual wine, watch MacGyver until we drift off into sleep...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/02/inertial-laziness.html", "title": "inertial laziness", "date": "2010-11-02T08:19:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/02/inertial-laziness.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20101102", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Brilliant sunset lights<br />\nGerman fields, scattered through Dutch<br />\nWindmill blades' turnings.</i></p>\n<p>Our last day in Germany!</p>\n<p>We made a push from Oldenburg to a tiny town just across the border in Holland called Nieuweschans.  It was... an interesting day, I guess.  After pushing ourselves way too hard yesterday to get that last damn 20km to Oldenburg from Hude, we were less-than-pleased to wake up early this morning and start riding.  But I guess we did it, so there is that...</p>\n<p>Logically, the path from Oldenburg to Holland is a straight west (and slightly south-west, actually, since our next goal is Amsterdam) line across the final few kilometres of Deutschland.  However, everyone we spoke to in Oldenburg encouraged us to head northward towards a town called Bad Zwischenahn.  Granted, the bike path up to it was nice.  Well, it was scenic, anyway, despite the fact that the road itself was quite gravelly and awful.  Whatever.  We take the road up there.</p>\n<p>From Bad Zwischenan, we hoped for a road that might arc to the south (especially since by this point we were dangerously near to heading off the maps we purchased yesterday, but more on those maps later), but... there was none.  We asked directions again, all the while attempting to explain that we were headed to Amsterdam after this and could we please get a route that leads to the south? but people pointed us towards a town called Apen, which was actually out of range of our maps, and which was excessively confusing to find signage for.  For instance, at one intersection in B.Z., we were pointed in a full circle around two blocks before finding a sign that pointed us out of the loop towards Apen.  At a crosswalk, there were signs on either side of the road pointing \"to Apen\" that actually pointed at each other and had wildly different distance measurements marked.  Helpful, Germany, thanks.</p>\n<p>We made it to Apen where, predictably, there were no roads south again, so we headed further north and off our maps towards another unnavegable town called Leer.  I spare the details of the horrific bike roads there, except to say that there were several bits which led through fields which were full of sheep and also sheep-leavings.  Unpleasant.</p>\n<p>After a decidedly awful circuitous route through Leer (not improved by our stop in a smoke-filled casino for internet, since those are apparently the only places one can find it here), we freed ourselves and headed, at last, towards the Netherlands.  We didn't cross the border anywhere near our goal, but it was lovely, anyway.  Just across, the sky was a rainbow of sunset silhouetting wind turbines that heralded a tailwind for us.  ...quite a contrast to the dark German sky and violent winds we had been battling all day.</p>\n<p>We rolled into our little town of Nieuweschans and pulled out our Netherlands map, which showed, thank god, a campsite nearby.  We set up our stuff and headed into town to find some food.  Unsurprisingly, all the grocery stores were closed by this time (it was slightly after 20h), so we settled into the one caf\u00e9 in town.  It's a small town.</p>\n<p>The owner of the caf\u00e9 didn't speak English, only German and Dutch.  There were no menus; he just asked what we wanted.  The walls were crowded with decorations branded with Amstel logos.  A few locals were sitting at the bar and the 6 or so tables, and they were clearly welcome: two had brought their dogs, and one had brought her children.  A number of them spoke English, so we chatted with them from across the room.</p>\n<p>After we wolfed down large portions of toast, eggs, and bacon, we were pleasantly surprised by beers at the expense of a couple sitting at the bar.  We moved over to chat with them, and learned a number of things about the town.  They lived nearby, they said, and they wouldn't mind if we wanted to come over in the morning and have them cook us some real Dutch breakfast.</p>\n<p>The conversation wore on, and Evan and I talked more about our trip and the tent that we've been staying in.  Oh, they said, you are welcome to set up your tent in our backyard, if you want, so that you don't have to pay the camping fees.</p>\n<p>Well, that's lovely.  We headed over to their house for some post-drinks drinks, and we talked with their son, who had learned a very peculiar brand of British English.  He was more than happy to offer us his bed for the night, so that we wouldn't have to sleep on the ground, and he would take the couch.</p>\n<p>What a deal!  The son even walked us over to the campsite and helped load our bikes and carry stuff back to the house.  It was... a surprising show of hospitality that I might not have expected to find many places.  The man of the family, Wubbe, had very strong feelings about our nationality.  He was not far removed from the last Great War, and it was interesting how much his gratefulness to the Canadian and American soldiers guided his actions.  They were a charming family, though, and we are grateful to have the chance to learn things from random hosts!  Would that this streak of kindness continues.  :)</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/26/sheep-poop-and-sunsets.html", "title": "sheep poop and sunsets", "date": "2010-05-26T15:14:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/26/sheep-poop-and-sunsets.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100526", "country": "nl"}
+{"content": "<p>October! Fall has set in; not the cold blustery rot-scented fall that we are used to back in North America - but the days have grown shorter, the winds colder, the rains more frequent. We are now 3000 km from our destination, with some seven weeks remaining until our flight out of Istanbul...</p>\n<p>...but who cares? That is still far away. For now, we are in Venezia for the second day, our spirits lifted by a night of good rest and recovery; my general malaise seems to have disappeared, which is welcome after the fitful sleep aboard the overnight train into Venezia Mestre. We still have half of Venezia's main island to explore, so we hop the bus into town once more and set about meandering through the alleyways and across the innumerable canal bridges. We pass by the architectural institute, returning back into the main tourist section by a convoluted canalside path; from there, it is along the promenade roughly halfway to Piazza San Marco before turning in and up past the Academy of Arts and Sciences, where they have an exhibition of Kubrick photographs. In typical Venetian fashion the admission price is out of our range, so we content ourselves with reading through various books about the exhibition; in any event, the exhibition itself merely displays the photographs without any informational context, so that we actually learn more this way than we might have shelling out 9\u20ac apiece to see slightly larger framed copies of the same images...</p>\n<p>...and we arrive at Zucca, a pumpkin-themed restaurant recommended to us by various online reviews, entirely by accident shortly after passing by the outdoor food and fish markets. It is not yet open, and so we sit in a canalside staircase opening out the back of the restaurant for a few minutes before trying again - and soon we are eating no fewer than four pumpkin-based dishes, each one thoroughly delectable: a pumpkin-lentil stew, a tortina of pumpkin and potato and grated cheese, a lasagna of pumpkin and mushrooms, and herbed chicken with pumpkin on the side. Of all, the chicken is perhaps the least remarkable - a reminder that vegetarian cuisine forces one to be inventive, whereas it is relatively easy to slap any meat together with any side and call it a meal. The soup and lasagna are especially delicious; the former is made with a greenish lentil that lacks the overpowering flavour of its darker counterparts, enabling it to blend better with the less forceful pumpkin flavour. The latter is slightly sweet, which is at first strange but quickly grows on you as your taste buds explode with sweet creaminess from the filling and sauce. It is not every day that we eat out; as the trip has worn on, we have tended to cook more and more, so that we now cook or at least self-prepare 95% of our meals. As such, our standards for restaurant food are high: if we're going to pony up the extra cash for a restaurant meal, we expect it to exceed our own steadily improving culinary skill. Fortunately, this meal does.</p>\n<p>But enough about the delicious lunch; on with the day! Rain has set in; we sneak aboard the train back into Mestre out of some desire to give the much-maligned mainland its due, and perhaps out of a parallel yearning to escape the uniform canal-apartment labyrinth of the Venetian islands. We wander around towards downtown Mestre and happen across a bookstore; since it has started to rain by this time, this is a perfect place to seek shelter until the rain subsides. We get wrapped up in The Girl Who Played With Fire (Stieg Larsson) and Eating Animals (Jonathan Safran Foer) for a couple of hours before setting out onto the streets to wander a bit more - but there is not much else of interest besides the city centre, and there is little incentive to slog back into Venezia itself in this rain under the slowly darkening sky, so we head back to the bookstore and read until closing.</p>\n<ol>\n<li>It is dark; we grab litre glasses of beer in a nearby bar (8\u20ac each, which is far less exorbitant than in beer-hating France) and take bus 10 back along SS 14 to our campsite on Via Orlanda. Time for sleep; after all, our extra day in Venezia has left us with a burning desire to get to the Slovenian highlands near Trieste, where we will be hosted by another kind soul from WarmShowers...</li>\n</ol>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/01/octobrrrrrr.html", "title": "octobrrrrrr", "date": "2010-10-01T15:58:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/01/octobrrrrrr.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101001", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>On the farm, we are at the mercy of Nature. In more cooperative weather, we sit outside and shell almonds or pick grapes down in the field - but not today, for the fields are thick with mud in the spotty rain that beats down on the trulli. There is no work to be done, save for a quick rinsing of the grape harvest buckets that takes all of five minutes. What to do? No TV, no one else around (except for Jean, but he takes off on a walk early in the morning; Greg and Fiorella are out on work) - and to top it all off, we mistakenly leave our laptop outside the tent in the morning. We leave it under the fly, of course, but the dogs run by the tent and knock the peg out...so we decide that the best thing for it is to wait for a sunny day, leave the laptop out to dry, and only then attempt to boot it up again. Not that we would care much for television or computer diversions; it cheapens the experience, breaks through that tenuous fourth wall that separates this rustic enclave from the technological onslaught of modern society...</p>\n<p>...so we poke around the kitchen a bit. As always, the first order of business is food - but the pantry is notably short on breakfast staples, so we eat a bit of cereal with latte crudo from a local masseria. You haven't truly had milk until you've had raw milk, which is impossible to find in North America without contacting a farmer directly. Supermarkets won't carry it; many regions ban its sale for health reasons, and so even smaller local markets shy away from tempting fate...</p>\n<p>...cereal finished, we are still hungry. Fortunately, the many fig trees strewn about the property provide a near-endless supply of fresh figs. We set about to pick some, and venture out behind the trulli to search for unpicked trees - but our efforts are quickly thwarted by the dense mud that clings to our flip-flops, making it ever harder to walk. Dejected, we give up on our field excursion and opt instead to seek shelter from the inclement weather in the kitchen space. Looking through the bookshelves, we find some paper and markers; we spend some time separately drawing various figures and landscapes before trying our hand at collaborative surrealist art. We take turns drawing lines, and the result is \"wild thumbumicus with grilled bacon\" - a sort of vaguely Dali-inspired face looking through a thumb with a pulley system on its head and a pair of legs at the base, all made complete with the addition of a single slice of grilled bacon.</p>\n<p>Enough drawing for now; we turn our attentions to the bookshelves scattered about the kitchen space. We find a copy of some country living compendium and learn about purchasing farmland and milking cows and growing all manner of vegetables; we find cards explaining the various identities within the 13 Moon Galactic Synchronometer, and look up the herbs corresponding to our identities in the herbal encyclopedia on the shelf; we find the first volume of the Cosmic History Chronicles, but discover that Greg's explanations of the system and its social principles are easier to follow; we find a random book called The Irish Game that we spend roughly an hour and a half reading to each other, using faux-Irish accents for all the characters (except the German ones, for which we of course employ German accents!)</p>\n<p>By this time, we are more than tired of reading - but it is still raining on and off, bursts of rain exploding from the sky without warning...and so like the less-than-sensible cyclists we are, we set out on a walk along the road. The dogs dutifully follow us through the puddle-riddled muck, running ahead as we try to dodge the puddles in our flimsy flip-flops. It is raining, yes - but it feels great to be outside, out of that kitchen, doing something even passably active. We walk up the road a bit, turning down any lanes that remain unexplored...</p>\n<p>...and our walk is cut short by an enormous puddle several metres long that completely blocks the road. Rather than soak our feet further by wading through, we opt to head back to the house to warm up over some tea. We have a small bite as well - even without real activity of any sort, our energy requirements remain closely tied to the hyper-driven cyclist metabolism. After that, we finally give in: there is nothing for it but to sleep, for we have exhausted all the diversions at our disposal and it is starting to get dark...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/25/when-it-rains.html", "title": "when it rains", "date": "2010-09-25T15:51:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/25/when-it-rains.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100925", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Cyclists prevailing<br />\nAgainst winds, against hillies,<br />\nSoaking up the view.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>After a not particularly restful sleep in that construction site last night, we headed out on the last stretch to Portugal!  It was a gorgeous ride along the rocky Atlantic coast in the morning.. the highway was positively crawling with cyclists, and we were excited to be there with them.  Everyone was super friendly.  :D  Cycling!</p>\n<p>At about noon we made it to the bottom of our peninsula; the crossing to Portugal was a hop away over a \u20ac,75 ferry that took about 15 minutes.  We had made it to our 8th country of the trip!  This time, the language barrier was going to be harder, since Portuguese is rather distinct from both Spanish and French, and the people don't tend to speak English as much as the Belgian or Dutch or Danish people in the north.  It's an adventure every day.</p>\n<p>Sunday means that shops are closed in Europe.  Especially in Spain, which is a rather traditionally Catholic place, people day their day of rest seriously.  Sundays mean that it's hard for us to eat anything, since all supermarkets are closed (in some really large towns, maybe one really large grocery store will be open for maybe a couple hours in the morning, but that's all), and restaurants simply don't serve enough food to keep our metabolisms satisfied for any reasonable kind of price.  With our new ideal of 20\u20ac per person-day, we can't afford to eat out all the time.  Sundays are hard for us.</p>\n<p><i>Not so</i> in Portugal.  It seems no one told them that everyone needs a day off on Sunday, so all their supermarkets are open!  We took a photo of the hours sign we were so excited.  Then we ate a crapload of really delicious food (all the produce seemed to be local; in lieu of perfect, bright fruits like we see in North America, the shelves were weighed down with lemons of all shapes and sizes with growths and imperfections and variations in shade) for a really good price and continued heading southward.</p>\n<p>Mostly the day was unremarkable.  Hot.  We slept for a bit by a beach.  We marveled at the nice paving of Portuguese roads--in case it interests you, French roads are the worst paved we've seen.  Danish and Spanish are the best--, and we happened across a very weird purveyor of large and interesting things.  We strolled around this shop for some time in the late afternoon, marvelling at giant gorilla fountains and wooden doors from all corners of the earth with suits of armour and a king's ransom of trinkets sprinkled between.</p>\n<p>We had intended to make it to Porto this evening, but instead we stopped in a smaller town about 40km from it called Vila do Conde.  The two hour push in the morning should be easy (and flat), and it's better to not push hard for now... we are going to need our energy to get from Lisboa to Tarifa.  A lot of energy.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/18/statutory-holidays.html", "title": "statutory holidays", "date": "2010-07-18T11:38:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/18/statutory-holidays.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100718", "country": "pt"}
+{"content": "<p>Courtesy of <a href=\"http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/toronto/vancouver-building-code-an-example-for-toronto/article1550502/?cmpid=rss1\">The Globe and Mail</a>: thanks to a unique charter that permits Vancouver to enact its own building codes, the city has reduced its building-specific carbon footprint by over 20%. According to <a href=\"http://www.vancouvereconomic.com/userfiles/file/green-building-profile.pdf\">a 2009 report from the Vancouver Economic Development Commission</a>, buildings account for roughly 30% of total emissions and energy consumption - so this is equivalent to an overall reduction of 6%.</p>\n<p>But that's not the real win. From the report:</p>\n<p><em>[In] November 2008, the international real estate think-tank, the Urban Land Institute, declared Vancouver to be the number one urban real estate market across North America, highlighting green as a key risk-mitigation strategy against tough economic tough times.</em></p>\n<p>Vancouver's status as an early adopter of environmentally conscious building bylaws has created a local boom in green construction and architecture, thus opening up more high-value jobs while reducing the strain on public utilities. Other cities struggling with energy-guzzling buildings, aging grid infrastructure, and rising unemployment would do well to follow the example set by forward-thinking West Coast politicians.</p>\n<p>One last thought: this is just one more in a long string of case studies that demonstrate the value of efficiency. Contrary to popular belief, less can be more; we saw this in an earlier feature on <a href=\"http://biketotheearth.org/#939cfbf7b91c00e79a20cb45906001f1\">bike lanes in Toronto</a>.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html", "title": "vancouver in the green", "date": "2010-04-29T00:48:00", "path": "posts/2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100429", "country": "ca"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Sizzling roads deter<br />\nCyclists not, yet in desert<br />\nWater can be scarce...</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>We awoke just before dawn.  We cleaned out our campsite and sat by the side of the N-120, eating m\u00fcsli.  The cops showed up shortly.</p>\n<p>Cops (there were three, two men and a lady, but I don't recall who was speaking always): What are you doing here?<br />\nWe: Nothing, just eating breakfast.<br />\nCops: You can't stop here; there's no shoulder!  It's dangerous for motorists.  There's a pull-off a little ways up that you should use instead.<br />\nWe: We're sorry!  We aren't from here.<br />\nCops: Where are you from?<br />\nWe: North America.<br />\nCops: By bike??<br />\nWe: No, two of us started in Copenhagen, and one started in Pamplona by bike.<br />\nCops: Copenhagen??<br />\nWe: Yeah, we're doing a big trip around Europe.  Copenhagen to Lisboa to Istanbul.<br />\nCops: You're going to Istanbul??  How the hell did you think this up, exactly??<br />\nWe: Well, we were wandering around Kyoto one night on a previous vacation, and we were... a little tipsy.<br />\nCops: Have you stayed tipsy this whole time or what??</p>\n<p>It was a pretty amusing dialogue.  That's a rough translation (my memory is rough and my Spanish is rough..sigh), but it's the essence of what happened.  :)  Cops.</p>\n<p>On the way south to Sevilla, we ran across loads of cyclists.  It was still in the early hours when biking is nice and the sun hasn't scorched everything yet.  All the cyclists were friendly and willing to offer a wave or a passing \"Buenos d\u00edas!\" to the strangers.</p>\n<p>Arrived in Seville, we set out to find a doctor for Venus's ear issue.  Turns out that on Saturdays the only place to go is to the Urgencias (Emergency Room), so there we went.  After a short wait (Evan and I ran out to get breakfast while she went to see the doctora), we had a prescription and were ready to set off.  The search for a Farmacia began!  What a search it was... it seemed that Sevilla closed for the hour we were there, but we did manage to find a place eventually.  Its obnoxious green sign informed us that it was a) hot and b) late.</p>\n<p>We continued on through the heat, towards a town suitable for siesta.  Along the way, we had the good fortune to pick up a new lunchbox (the one which Evan's parents kindly provided us had frazzled nearly beyond use over two and a half months), which we were super excited about.  We whipped up a delicious salsa fresca for lunch in a park, then sat in a caf\u00e9 to cool off and enjoy slushies.</p>\n<p>We biked through endless, hot desert, and up what seemed like interminable hills that wound into nothing.  The heat gets in your head after a while.  You feel lost.  The fields and fields of sunflowers don't present any landmarks to navigate by.  We stopped briefly at a restaurant in the middle of nowhere to fill our bottles.  It was still a long ride.</p>\n<p>Hours later, the sun was setting, but we had made it to Arcos de la Frontera, which our map indicated had a campsite.  It took three tries of asking people directions through the town before we made it, only to discover that it was... closed.  Closed down.  Not there anymore.  No camping.  Security guarded.</p>\n<p>We disheartenedly stopped at a restaurant we'd passed to get some dinner.  They had reasonable prices on exotic (though not especially well-cooked) food, like the venison steak I had and the swordfish Evan and Venus both chose.  They also had rooms upstairs, for the exorbitant price of 60\u20ac/night.  It was too much, but we were too tired from the previous exhausting days to find a campsite, and it was too dark to see one, anyway.  We couldn't go on, so we grumpily paid.</p>\n<p>Another day, as they say.  A hot, somewhat disappointing one.  But some days are like that.  We make it through.  :)</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/24/copout.html", "title": "copout", "date": "2010-07-24T15:25:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/24/copout.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100724", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>Having had our fill of picture-perfect Brugge and its innumerable cathedrals, cloisters, and impeccably manicured (and goose-dropping-covered) lawns, we knew it was time to head for the French border. After a quick overpriced tea just off one of the main squares near the periphery of town, we wound our way around the ring for a while before finally finding a picturesque path up the canal to Oostende. We passed a number of private boats (including one rather unimaginatively named \"Le Boat\") which were cruising up the canal, eliciting the occasional wave or smile from their beer-swilling passengers. Following yesterday's untimely accident (and resulting spill into the ditch), we stopped to readjust Valkyrie's rear pannier rack; it turns out that the crash pried the axle attachment out of place, causing the whole thing to bend. Fortunately, this was easily remedied, as we had preserved the parts that fell off in the process :)</p>\n<p>20 km later, the canal path opened up into Oostende and its streets clogged with pedestrians; we obstinately fought our way through the crowds, inching towards...the beach! After biking inland for some time, it was a pleasurable sight indeed. Ear-to-ear grins on our faces and a tailwind at our backs, we made impressive time along the beachfront promenades into Middelkerke, where we stopped for lunch and a glass of sangria each; we then continued on to De Panne. Of course, the promenades did not last the entire way - beachfront property is incredibly desirable, and we were not long out of Middlekerke before we were forced off the beach in behind rows of townhouses and condos that blocked our previously unfettered beach access. Oh well.</p>\n<p>As a precursor of things to come, the road from De Panne across the French border quickly degraded in quality - not terribly so, but enough that our bikes rattled visibly with the rough pavement. Then the bike lanes ended, leaving us to join the motorists streaming past us at highway speeds. Despite this, we continued on to Dunkerque in record time, where we thought it might be a good idea to check into a campsite - but alas! in France, campsites do not follow the good wisdom of their counterparts in Danmark or Holland; rather, they shutter their offices promptly at 1800, and are impenetrably closed from 1200 to 1400 for their lengthy lunch break. Dejected, we continued on our way out of town and right into the middle of an enormous industrial park full of smoke-spewing refineries and chemical plants. Gasping and wheezing our way through the heavily abused air, we emerged some time later in Loon-Plage - which was in any event too small to host a campground, so we continued on to the next available one at Gravelines. Naturally, their office was closed as well; this time, however, we had shed most of our misgivings about simply setting up and settling everything in the morning, so we barged on through the pedestrian walkway around the side of the vehicle gates. In our search for a suitable place, we came upon a path leading out onto the beach; since the beaches are, after all, public property, we saw no good reason not to lug our stuff out there and settle in amongst the accessible parts of the sand dunes.</p>\n<p>Maybe we had some setbacks - especially in the later hours, after we hit France - but the sunset made up for it!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/04/grave-lines.html", "title": "grave lines", "date": "2010-06-04T15:36:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/04/grave-lines.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100604", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Again, uninformed...<br />\nWeather takes us prisoner<br />\nWe wait out the storm.</i></p>\n<p>The trees overhead last night did a decent job of keeping our tent dryer than everything around it, anyway.  Our bikes were soaked, but we realised later in the day that it didn't matter.  Things will pretty well get soaked here.</p>\n<p>We packed up, biked out, stopped for coffee in a place with a broken bathroom.  The coffee in Montenegro is hereby declared \"just dandy.\"  I miss tea country a little (Morocco and the UK), but Evan doesn't seem to mind.  He's becoming a caffeine addict for sure.  :)</p>\n<p>The lay of the land here is silly.  That's really the best word for it, I guess.  There's a long tongue of sea that reaches inland for dozens of kilometres, fanning out at the end with little bays.  There's a ferry that crosses it at the mouth, but we figured that if we can't justify going the long (70km) way around such an inlet then we have no reason to be seeing Portugal or Italy on the way from Denmark to Turkey, so we elected to go around.  It's a good thing!</p>\n<p>There's a video up of part of this ride, actually; the towns and things adorning the shores were lovely.  After we passed the town with the ferry port, things became a lot quieter, and it was evident that most people can't be bothered to pass through here.  The mountains, capped with rainclouds, looked mysterious and beautiful reflected in the water, and near the end of the bay there was a pair of islands with an ancient monastery upon one and an ancient church upon the other.  Charming.</p>\n<p>Along the northeast edge of the inlet, we came past a great cave into a town.  The rain picked up, and we took shelter in another caf\u00e9 to pass the time and stay a bit dry.  We sipped our cappuccinos and whiled away the minutes examining our maps and tikking uselessly on the laptop.  A few other patrons were sitting in the covered terrace of the caf\u00e9, having fled there as there was a workman inside repainting all the surfaces.  Just as we were drawing blanks for anything else with which to occupy ourselves, the caf\u00e9's server approached us and asked us would we like any drinks, compliments of the gentlemen across the room.  We raised our eyebrows and asked for beer.</p>\n<p>Before the waiter returned with our drinks, we had collected our things and moved to sit with the men who had just treated us.  Only one of the pair spoke English; his name was Vladko, and he loved talking.  As our beers came and were followed by two more, he regaled us with some tidbids about Montenegro, the interesting water properties of the area, his concern over our biking in the rain, and tales of his own adventures abroad.</p>\n<p>Near the caf\u00e9 where we sat were two interesting areas; one had excessively high rainfall, but neither I nor Evan can remember the exact numbers related to it, unfortunately.  The other area had the largest number of churches per person of anyplace in Europe, which is certainly saying something.</p>\n<p>Montenegro being made nearly entirely of mountains as it is, water tends to flow in strange ways.  He mentioned the cave we had passed; no one has successfully explored it fully, and dyes put into the water for more than 100km around flowed out there.  He also told us a bit about the beer we were drinking.  It's called Nik\u0161i\u0107ko Pivo, and it is made from \"the clearest water you can find.\"  He told us some stuff about the mineral content, etc., of the water, which we didn't really appreciate, I guess, but the beer was tasty, so we didn't mind listening to him and occasionally nodding or peering into our glasses contemplatively.</p>\n<p>He gave us the somewhat disheartening news that especially around this time of year, rain in Montenegro is the rule.  We're going to get very wet during our time here, and also during our time on the Albanian coast.  He went off on a tangent about Albania for a while, telling us that it's not really ready for tourists (its border having been just recently opened after having been closed for decades), it has terrible roads (excepting one fabulous highway along the coast which we should at all costs take over the crummy paths through the interior mountains), and that the people there are very friendly.</p>\n<p>His stories of times abroad certainly did a fine job of amusing us while as we continued warming up and drying.  As the rain continued outside, he told us about a trip to the US where he endeavoured to experience the highs and lows of the country, applying for and getting a visa but electing to steal across the border concealed in a petrol tanker from Tijuana anyway, sleeping in a New Orleans penthouse and throwing airplanes made of $100 bills from his window, spending nights under bridges with bums, and eventually of his rather dramatic homecoming.  He stayed 6 months past the expiration of his visa and decided he didn't want to pay for a ticket home, so he shipped his clothes back with his friends, got in a fight with a waiter at an Italian restaurant, and was flown at the government's cost back to Europe with federal agents as his flight attendants.  He told us about the time he swam across the border between Italy and France just to see if it could be done.  We aren't sure if he was full of shit or not, but we were amused and had free beers.</p>\n<p>Vladko left for work or shenanigans around noon, and we hopped on our bicycles to ride.  The scenery around the rest of the bay was similar to that at the beginning, and there were no navigational issues until we reached the final town, where we accidentally found ourselves on a road that twisted into the mountains and shortcutted a peninsula.  Along that road, we spied a Jeep with California plates of all things, but he didn't stop to talk with us.</p>\n<p>We rode along the main Adriatic coast for some time more, stopping around 16h at an area of abandoned terraces.  Much of Montenegro seems to have shown promise for development, but Vladko also told us how the economy here went south when all the foreign investors across the ocean lost their shirts recently.  No American money means no building, so many projects have been stopped in various stages of completion.  These terraces cut into the hill have a path leading through them, but at the end of the path lies a one by two metre terrace and cliffs.  They are evidently not used.</p>\n<p>We set up our tent and cooked some dinner, fortunately during a break in the rain.  It was off-and-on all day, but we were treated to a cloudy-yet-rainless sunset over the sea with sailboats floating by far below us.  The rain picked up as we packed up, and we threw our things into the tent before hoofing it back to the gas staton nearby (about five minutes' walk) to have a couple beers and some chocolate.  What a strange sight we must have been... a couple twenty-somethings dressed in cycling clothes with no cycles evident, arriving in a rainstorm to a gas station far from anything, having only beer and chocolate before disappearing into the night...</p>\n<p>But that's us.  That's our day.  We're weird.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/14/local-wisdom.html", "title": "local wisdom", "date": "2010-10-14T17:46:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/14/local-wisdom.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101014", "country": "me"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Ancient whispers sneak<br />\nAnd hide, twixt rocks and grasses<br />\nAwait silent shade...</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>It's a good thing we waited to take the ferry out of Royan; the ride we had today made it totally worth the wait and blistering pace.  The peninsula across from Royan is essentially half forest and half vineyards, with the forest half at the top and the other spreading from Bordeaux at the bottom.</p>\n<p>Did I mention we got to ride a ferry???  Woot!</p>\n<p>Along the forest part, we saw a little spot on our map labelled as an archaeological site, so we decided to take our siesta there.  It was a series of ruins (there are photos in our <a href=\"http://picasaweb.google.com/biketotheearth/France1\">Picasa album</a>) that indicated a number of things that had been built on the site since Roman times.  There was a temple (the signboards indicated that they weren't sure whom it was built for the worship of...), a marketplace, a theatre, and a house.</p>\n<p>The house had my favourite signboard.  It discussed the story of a baron who displeased his village to the point that they exiled him and sent him to live in the middle of nowhere.  He found the abandoned theatre waiting for him on that patch of land, so he dismantled a lot of it to build his new place of residence.  It's as though he wanted to make sure everyone new he was enough of a jerk that he deserved to be exiled.  He turned one of the former entrances to the theatre into a vomitorium.</p>\n<p>Anyway, we passed siesta learning about the rocks before us and watching part of a movie called \"Videodrome.\"  I enjoyed watching it, but it is not for the faint of stomach.  For those who know what it means, this film is actually part of the Criterion Collection.</p>\n<p>Then, onward through slightly-less-blazing heat towards Bordeaux.  We passed famous ch\u00e2teaux on the way there, but apparently the only way to get tastings at most of them is to make an appointment, so we didn't manage to score one.  We did, however, manage to get to Bordeaux, where we are camping out for a couple nights.  We had a delicious dinner of \"Pizza experiment\", which turned out edibly although I would not say well.  And now we have to buy a new pot, as the cheese from this is immovably coated on ours.  But, luck of lucks, the Bordeaux F\u00eate le Vin is happening right now!  Wine for Evan and Valkyrie.  :D</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/25/peninsular.html", "title": "peninsular", "date": "2010-06-25T13:45:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/25/peninsular.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100625", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Things swing in circles,<br />\nReturning time and again<br />\nTo ev'ry locale.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>Henning drove us to work!  We had to sneak in the side door since I don't have a CERN badge any longer.  I spent the morning writing e-mails I've been meaning to write and reading some of the piles of news I've been shirking my entire time on this trip.  Evan did some final cramming for his examination, and spent an hour and a half or so writing it once Roman showed up to proctor.  He reported that it was easy, which if it's true means that he gets his degree!  He is dooooooooooone at last!  :D</p>\n<p>We sat down to lunch with all my officemates (excepting Piotr, who is sadly on vacation just now in San Francisco :() in the CERN library garden, which is really lovely in the summertime.  Postulations and theories and wild ideas about the future of technology were thrown around just as I remember.  Haha, nostalgia.</p>\n<p>After lunch, we dropped Evan's exam in the post and prepared to head out.  Roman and I had a little discussion about how I \"seem different.\"  I noted that I've had to become slightly less rambunctious just to keep the trip and everything under control.  \"Is that... responsibility?\" Roman asked, \"Does it hurt?\"</p>\n<p>For the afternoon, we public transited to Geneva proper, where we got some more food, played on the beach for a while, and wandered the town.  We've just missed the F\u00eate de Gen\u00e8ve, sadly, and the accompanying fireworks were the night before we arrived.  A shame, but oh well.  We checked out the botanical gardens, which were alright when I lived there in winter but really lovely during this visit in summer, and headed to Bart's house.  You may remember the name Bart from our posts about Antwerpen: he's the fellow who lent us his apartment for our stay there.</p>\n<p>Bart and Evan had never met, and to be honest I'd only spent about an hour with him at a party once, but the three of us got along famously.  He, too, is a cyclist (and is thinking of joining us for part of our trip!), so he was eager to hear all of our adventures and misadventures.  He also told us about a Belgian fellow who has developed good cycling routes all through Europe, and he ensured that we were well stocked with Sweet Bordeaux (delicious white wine).</p>\n<p>It was a really nice evening.  We're back at Henning's now, wrapping up Internet things and getting some new movies to watch over his deliciously fast fibre connection.  It's bedtime!  AND NO MORE EXAMS!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/09/cram-n-exam.html", "title": "cram n' exam", "date": "2010-08-09T15:47:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/09/cram-n-exam.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100809", "country": "ch"}
+{"content": "<p>Out of \u00c9vora through the oppressive heat. There aren't enough adjectives in the English language to describe this heat. In the semi-arid highlands that we head into, it is stifling and dry. Closer to the coast, it gains a humid sticky quality that coats every square centimetre of skin with thick beads of sweat. In either case, it is accompanied by relentless sun and a near-total absence of clouds. We drink water like fish and yet it is still not quite enough. Even our heavily tanned skin shows patches of red from mild sunburn. All in all, not something that a lifetime largely spent in Canada or the northern US prepares you for - just as we get used to one level of heat, we pass further southward into yet drier and hotter areas and must acclimate ourselves to another. This climate is not something to be trifled with, especially when we rely upon the exertion of cycling to get anywhere. The heat renders us short of temper - we must try harder and harder to keep the peace. The only way out is to bike, but that is sometimes too much. It has become necessary to stop altogether from 1300 to 1700 each day, and sometimes even until 1800; even with such a long siesta, we still find ourselves taking frequent breaks throughout the day when we are fortunate enough to find shade. That is another thing: the trees here have adapted to the hot and dry climate, so that they develop less bushy leaves and grow farther apart from each other. Neither characteristic is conducive to good shade, sadly. :(</p>\n<p>We had hoped to reach Encinasola just across the border into Spain today, but must settle for the border town of Barrancos. In such a remote area, you would expect cheap food and lodging; instead, Barrancos takes advantage of its remote location and picturesque hilltop view to charge multiple limbs for substandard \"duck rice\" (essentially poorly-cooked rice with small chunks of duck meat). The only hotel open in town is 50\u20ac for three people, which is outside of our budget - so we stealth-camp again, this time just out of town about a kilometre before the border into Spain. (Granted, August is high season in these parts; most shopkeepers get as far away as possible for a week before it hits.)</p>\n<p>A bit of positive news, though - even with the minor setback of falling 10 km short of our goal for today, I think we will make Tarifa by 25.7...which means we can see Morocco before our visit to the Alhambra near Granada, even if only for 24 hours! It will be a mad dash, an endurance race of nearly camino-esque calibre...but we'll make it. We always do!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html", "title": "i'll take the high road", "date": "2010-07-22T11:42:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100722", "country": "pt"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Birthday!  A day of<br />\nOldering and parties at<br />\nThe End of the World.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>Well!  I am now a ripe old 22.  :D  I've managed to survive this long, somehow, despite all the crazy stuff that's been happening along this trip, and now we can't stop!  We're officially two months in, and we have four months and ten days to get to Istanbul before we are expected home for American Thanksgiving.  130 days of endurance race!</p>\n<p>We had a good amount of fun today.  We dragged ourselves out of bed in the monastery at Santiago de Compostela after sleeping in (sleeping in!) to an unusually-extremely-late 8 o'clock.  We packed our bikes and headed out.</p>\n<p>The road we had decided to take to Fisterra led along the coast, but we had to get to the coast first.  Everything between Santiago and Noia (the closest coastal town), it seems, is hills, hills, hills, and we had to ride over them.  It took us a good, long time to make it the just 30km to Noia... so we decided to pause for lunch and make a more informed decision after food.</p>\n<p>The restaurant that we chose (via coin flip, since I was being indecisive and was yet forced to choose due to my birthday-having-ness) was decorated like a dungeon, more or less, and so we sat down beside the walls of stone and pondered the menus.  The house offered a menu of the day for 12\u20ac which included two courses, a dessert, and wine (this is a very common thing in Spain, we've learned), so we all elected to go for that.  Our starters were calamari and seafood soup, and for the main course we all chose the Parrillada, which was basically a giant plate of fried fish and fries.  The photos on Picasa show the scale of our accomplishment in finishing it.  The wine was called \"Vi\u00f1a do Val\" (wine from the valley), which seemed also to be a rather lucky thing.  :D  Anyway, it was all pretty amazingly tasty, and it gave us the thought power to make a decision about how to make it to Fisterra, which was still about 80km away over hilly coastal roads.</p>\n<p>We chose bus.  It was just 8\u20ac90 for each person + bike, so the price was right, and we essentially got to sleep for a couple hours and arrive to Fisterra feeling fresh in the afternoon instead of disgusting and worn out late at night.  This did remove our credit as pilgrims, which is rather sad... but our trip is not about just the Camino, so we mostly got over it.  There will be lots of biking ahead.</p>\n<p>One thing, though, that we did follow through with with respect to the pilgrim tradition was the burning of clothes at the end of the world.  Fisterra (or Finisterra, from the Latin for earth's end) is the \"only end of the Camino\" as far as the people there are concerned, and pilgrims come there to set themselves free from their arduous journeys.  We couldn't burn our cycling clothes... but the sangr\u00eda-soaked white outfits we had kept from Pamplona would do.  We set them aflame on the rocks by the sea and watched as they slowly became charcoal.  It was actually very cathartic..</p>\n<p>It was a drizzly day, and this sort of added to the sense that we were on the edge of anything.  There is a lighthouse on the cape at Fisterra, and beyond it to the west one can see only the sea.  There are shores to be seen to the north and south, but these, too, were invisible to us as we stood there and looked out.  We didn't wonder why Columbus had decided he needed to explore what was out there.</p>\n<p>Our pilgrim tasks completed, we headed back into town to find a place to sleep and something decent for dinner.  We were actually still quite full from our pile of fish at lunch, so we instead chose to seal up the cracks in our stomachs with local wine recommended to us by a very friendly woman working at the local supermarket.  It was too late for any pasteler\u00eda to have cakes in stock, so we did without that, too, on the thought that the paella we plan to eat on the beach tomorrow will more than make up for it.</p>\n<p>So, that was my birthday.  Burning things at the end of the world.  There's no restaurant there, for those of you who are wondering; just a bar.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/15/oldering.html", "title": "oldering", "date": "2010-07-15T11:37:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/15/oldering.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100715", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>\nEach day challenges<br />\nus in unexpected ways - <br />\nand we just started!\n</i></p>\n<p>Lesson in geography and climate: Denmark is not exactly warm this time of year. After a frigid night spent camping in the outskirts of Copenhagen, we shivered out of our sleeping bags at about 0700, made some quick handlebar and seat adjustments, and were on the road by 0800. Cycling in Denmark is a unique experience; there is a definite cycling rush hour, with cyclists crowding the bike lanes in the morning office-bound rush. It is not uncommon for people here to bike over 20 km to get to work - quite a difference from the car culture of most North American cities! In Toronto, for instance, the average commute from the suburbs is roughly 80 minutes. The similarities to normal rush hour stop there, of course: bikes are compact enough to allow dense packing of the lanes, and cycling both reduces stress and improves cardiovascular health.</p>\n<p>We hit Roskilde roughly an hour later, stopping along the way to eat a quick but delicious breakfast of pastries, oranges, bread, and garlic-herb cheese. (The mark of a <a href=\"http://www.kenkifer.com/bikepages/lifestyle/trucycle.htm\">true cyclist</a>, after all, is that they can outeat pretty much anyone in the room.) From there it was onwards past beautiful fields of green and yellow to Ringsted, where our insistence on following road signs led to an almost-complete circumnavigation of the town! (Note to selves: on a continent where most places have ring roads, riding through town is faster and more enjoyable.) Wind turbines are a common sight in the Danish countryside. (Despite our knee-jerk NIMBY reactions back in North America, these turbines are very quiet and quite pleasant to look at.) As we found out on our way across from Ringsted to Kors\u00f8r, wind power suits Denmark admirably; we fought against strong headwinds for the remaining 50 km.</p>\n<p>Once in Korsor, we headed up along the coast to the main bridge over to the island of Fyr; here we had to take the train, as bikes are not permitted on major highways here. Given that we were offered a place to stay in Odense by some of Valkyrie's relatives (and that, owing to jet lag and questionable sleeping conditions the night prior, we were incredibly exhausted) we decided to take the train across to Odense. We'll remain here for a day to rest, eat, explore, and grab any items still missing from our gear list. (We left the lube and grease at home - these are flammable items, which might have aroused the ire of overzealous airport security agents!)</p>\n<p>On a bike trip, the small things will catch up on you: don't neglect maintenance and tuning! This point was demonstrated twice - once when my foot basket came loose, and again a short time later when the front fender lost a nut and went flying off amidst a storm of profanity. (On the plus side, I'll certainly remember to check next time!) Other things you want to check frequently:</p>\n<ul>\n<li>tire pressure. A small bit of glass embedded in the tire (and there's lots of that along the bike paths here, courtesy of more liberal public drinking laws) can easily deflate your tire over time.</li>\n<li>chain. If you leave the bike outside, rust can easily build up; this needs to be cleaned away as soon as possible. Also, you want to be cleaning and re-lubricating the chain frequently.</li>\n</ul>\n<p>Given that this is likely the coldest weather we'll encounter, that we're still getting accustomed to the weight of all this camping gear, and that we're still recovering from an overnight flight and a six-hour time difference, this day is good news - it can only get easier from here! We also managed to get the webcam on the bike for the first time; it recorded just over seven hours of footage before the netbook batteries ran out. (If anyone has any suggestions on how to extend this, please pass them on! We've thought about solar chargers, but it's difficult to find one powerful enough to charge a laptop. We could alternatively pick up a second battery, but that would mean having to charge two batteries whenever possible - about seven hours of charging time, which is non-negligible.) Unfortunately, we still have to do a bit of debugging on the GPS unit; gpsd (which we're using to grab GPS readings from the USB datalogger) was recently updated in a non-backwards-compatible way, so our scripts have to be updated. We hope to figure this out by tomorrow so that we can get this part of the multimedia working!</p>\n<p>Our Internet connectivity is sporadic for the moment, so we'll have to settle for uploading these when we can. (Again - suggestions are welcome! 3G coverage appears to have improved measurably over the last few years; is anyone familiar enough with the European market here to provide advice?) We'll try to get the handlebar video compiled and uploaded soon, and we'll be writing daily posts even when we can't upload them immediately; keep posted!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/17/on-the-road.html", "title": "on the road", "date": "2010-05-17T20:55:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/17/on-the-road.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100517", "country": "dk"}
+{"content": "<p><i>To peer beyond, to<br />\nA place's shrouded hist'ry,<br />\nYou need only ask.</i></p>\n<p>The tour that we got from Javier yesterday was fabulous.  Since Evan missed it, we spent a part of today getting him up to speed on the Albayzin (the hilltop area of town which was the haunt of gypsies in the old days), the cave houses (for natural heating and cooling!), the monastery (bearing the sword cross and a part of the Order of Santiago; also they \"make really good cakes,\" according to Javier), the schools of Padre Manjon (a priest from Burgos who founded centres of learning for the poor in Granada), and all the rest.</p>\n<p>We also spent a rather frustrating few hours scouring the city looking for a self-service laundry place.  The only laundry place anyone could direct us to was full-service and charged an unfortunate 28\u20ac for our wash.  We weren't willing to pay.</p>\n<p>The good news is that Evan isn't so sick any longer.  The sort of lame news is that today was sort of lame.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/29/no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html", "title": "no laundry for young men (and women)", "date": "2010-07-29T15:32:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/29/no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100729", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>The first thing urbanites notice about farm life is the pace. Everything is slower, and urgency becomes a dirty word indeed. You rise and set with the sun, and often spend entire days completing one or two basic manual tasks - and so it is today: we pass most of the morning preparing a local delicacy called fichi maritati, or married figs. To make:</p>\n<p>0) Pick figs.\n1) Cut figs in half and leave to dry in the sun over several days, covering them overnight.\n2) Once figs are mostly dry but still somewhat sticky, pick some finocello (fennel) seeds and almonds.\n3) Shell almonds and pan-roast without salt.\n4) Take one fig. Place 3-4 finocello seeds and 1 roasted almond in each half. Repeat until you have used half of your figs.\n5) Grate some lemon zest and sprinkle over the stuffed figs.\n6) With the second half of your figs, cover each stuffed fig with another fig and press the edges together to seal the filling inside.\n7) Bake.</p>\n<p>A lot of work, to be sure...but the result is deliciously sweet! Perhaps more importantly, fichi maritati can be stored over long periods, and are thus ideal as a snack for the long winter months. (Random fact courtesy of an herbal encyclopedia we discovered on the kitchen shelves: fennel acts as a mild diuretic.)</p>\n<p>With those prepared, we switch to almond shelling in the afternoon. The pile of almonds is nearly endless, and we speculate freely as to why exactly our hunter-gatherer ancestors ever considered it worthwhile to eat nuts in the first place...while our pile of husks rapidly grows larger, the line of shelled almonds in the jar inches up near-imperceptibly - and yet it is our task to fill the jar, so we keep at it until we run into a mass of rotten husks near the bottom of the almond pail. Nevertheless, one can never judge an almond by its husk. Husks in seemingly advanced stages of rot can conceal perfectly edible nuts; the only reliable way to judge fitness for eating is to remove the decomposing organic matter slime, shell the damn thing, and check the almond for firmness (as Valkyrie explained before.)</p>\n<p>Today also marks the arrival of Jean, a wandering traveller who used to work as a painter in Paris until nearly 7 years ago when, owing to a general shortage of jobs, he decided instead to set out on the road with nothing more than a large-ish pack, some clothes and a sleeping bag...since then, he has hopped from continent to continent, often taking extended stays with WWOOF farms or other work-for-room-and-board establishments. An interesting life, to be sure - and yet he is very quiet and reserved with all the egolessness of seasoned wanderers who, having left everything behind to lose themselves in this great world, have finally lost themselves. For identity is a dangerous thing in that life, where one is dependent upon the charity and hospitality of complete strangers...another reminder that our trip, though comparatively long, is only temporary...</p>\n<p>And that is all. The sun is setting, so that we must struggle to see by candlelight - time for bed!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/23/recipes-and-wanderers.html", "title": "recipes and wanderers", "date": "2010-09-23T07:32:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/23/recipes-and-wanderers.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100923", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>We have reached a peculiar point - the point where, having overcome wind, rain, hail, mountains, heat, dry, fog, floods, storms, language barriers, and all other manner of external obstacle, we find that the greatest obstacle is within. They call it being homesick, but it is not exactly that; it is an irrepressible desire to be done with the whole thing, to cash in our chips, to ride into Istanbul and gorge on d\u00f6ner and figs until our flight rolls down the tarmac on Nov. 23, to bring a much-needed end to this life of constant moving and meeting and biking and reflecting. There is a danger to setting goals: when they have driven you for so long, their absence renders you listless. Maybe it is suitable that this is where the final obstacle lies. After all, this is what we wanted out of the whole thing, or at least a sizeable chunk of what we wanted - one last pre-life stab at the pause-and-reflect gambit, a bit more time to introspect. What centers all this? What have we learned? What do we know now, and what do we know we don't know? Questions multiply like the mosquitoes that perversely continue on into late fall, pestering us as we go through the camp-setting motions each evening.</p>\n<p>The road is just a road, the bike just a bike. 10 000 km isn't the point, no more than the cycling and the athletic prowess it brings; that will only get you a slight gut and a pair of absurdly powerful calves. 10 000 km is just a number, a round figure. Why not 6 758 km? As we arrive in Thessaloniki and poke about the Rotonda in search of our CouchSurfing host, a German nicknamed Asterix stops us - he is a fellow bike tourist; a metalworker, carpenter, and shoemaker by trade who, having completed precisely that distance, had his bike stolen by Thessaloniki junkies looking for cheap thrills. The first thing you notice about Thessaloniki is that it isn't Athens or Kalamata; it lacks both the cosmopolitan anonymity of the former and the quaint large-town-bordering-on-small-city vibe of the latter. It is somewhere in between, a land of apartments mostly ignored by the mainstream tourism industry - and for this reason exactly, it is a place preserved from the worst excesses of that industry, a place where the locals mostly go about their lives unmolested. The anarchists and punks and the like congregate at the Rotonda, the students near the university, and the rest live out their costume-and-tie subsistence in the bosom of urbanity...</p>\n<p>What about the day? Not much to say there: we leave Katerini early, try to avoid the motorway but merely end up marooned on farmland backroads dodging precariously large patches of mud, give in and opt for the smaller route up through Alexandria, hit rain for the first time in a week, ride along boring flat road for what seems like six eternities before finally hitting the periphery of Thessaloniki, fight our way along the now-routine inner-city double-carriageway madness, find the railway station, call our host, find our host, get waylaid by the friendly German, talk for some time about travel and cycling and the importance of people and his dog and various tricks for setting fire without petrol and the like, take our leave, find the building, ring several times to no effect, are admitted anyways when Stelios sees us from the balcony, park our bikes inside, drag anything we need upstairs, make our introductions, pop out to the nearest supermarket for dinner ingredients, cook, drink, eat, and sleep.</p>\n<p>But: we are nearly there. We have resolved absolutely to take the train to Alexandropouli, thereby saving ourselves 300km of cycling. The rest is simple: 300km more from Alexandropouli to Istanbul over more than a week.</p>\n<p>Wow. It's almost over. That hasn't really sunk in yet.</p>\n<p>For now, though, another relatively uneventful day in a time when we are glad to have every day less eventful than the last. Tomorrow promises more rest in Thessaloniki - we will spend one or two days here before our train out, enough to recover our strength for the last haul!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/08/the-obstacle-within.html", "title": "the obstacle within", "date": "2010-11-08T12:28:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/08/the-obstacle-within.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101108", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Scenery seen through<br />\nA glass, it seems, is not so<br />\nNice as when on bikes.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>An early start put us at the ferry terminal for sunrise.  It was too damn hot to sleep in our pension room, anyway; even with the windows open to catch the breeze and all the sheets and covers thrown at our feet, it was blistering.  Morocco tried its best to wring all our dirhams out of us before we left--the man at who pointed us where to wait with our bikes demanded a tip for his services (his job, I might add), the man who served us tea tried to shortchange us... anyway, we were all relieved to get on the boat and head back towards a culture we understand better.</p>\n<p>The area of Spain containing Tarifa is known as Costa Brava, and there are kite- and windsurfing competitions and schools all year round.  The waves whip up into a choppy foam, which lends itself well to these sorts of activities.  It does not, however, lend itself well to biking.  Due to the sail-like qualities of our panniers, we actually wound up walking our bikes up some of the hills towards the wind turbines dutifully spinning at the top.  It was a long, excessively difficult climb out of Tarifa, and even the last few kilometres downhill into Algeciras were not easy; we couldn't even coast for the blusteriness.</p>\n<p>It was a relief to finish.  Although it was quite a short (distance-wise) ride, it was actually one of our most difficult biking days.  Not quite at the level of the Pyrenees crossing, but...</p>\n<p>In Algeciras, we headed straight to the local bus station.  Thus far, we've had more luck on busses than on trains with our bikes, but that wasn't the case here.  The woman at the bus counter informed us that all the busses heading towards Granada were booked full, and that there probably wouldn't be room for our bikes if we managed to get tickets, anyway.  Unhelpful.</p>\n<p>The train station was better.  We got a train heading to Granada which was faster, cheaper, and roomier than the bus.  Plus, the train wound up into the mountains behind Algeciras, instead of taking the coastal highway.  Mo' scenery = mo' betta.</p>\n<p>We ate a circular lunch (after encountering a large, donut-shaped bread we decided that everything we ate at lunch should match it in that amusing quality), attempted to catch up on writing blog posts (I promise we get around to writing these things!!), and hopped on the train to Granada.  It was a really gorgeous 5-hour ride that passed areas we were surprised to see settled.  Life takes hold in the strangest places.</p>\n<p>Javier met us at the train station in Granada and led us to his parents' house nearby.  We found an acceptable hostel and checked in, then the four of us went out for beer and tapas.  The thing about tapas: in Spain, they come with the drinks.  Free.  You don't need to go to a \"tapas bar\" and pay 3\u20ac for a tiny plate of tiny food.  And the tapas are good: the local favourite is jam\u00f3n serrano, which is ham that has been salt-cured and buried and never cooked, served with fresh melon.  It's quite a treat, and totally not available in the US due to its obvious non-adherence to health and safety regulations.</p>\n<p>It was a good day, all except for that biking bit.  AND I AM SUPER EXCITED ABOUT SEEING THE ALHAMBRA TOMORROW DID I MENTION THAT.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/27/cyclists-in-training.html", "title": "cyclists in training", "date": "2010-07-27T15:29:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/27/cyclists-in-training.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100727", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Return to biking,<br />\nRe-learn the muscles, enjoy<br />\nFreedom, sun, and sea...</i></p>\n<p>We're back on our bikes!  And since there are no hosts (as far as we know) between here and at least Split (around 400-500km), we will be biking it for a good, long way.  It feels good to know that.  :)</p>\n<p>We woke up earlier than Ivo this morning, and he seemed surprised to see us packing our bikes as dawn broke.  He promised to come with us to the bike repair shop in Rijeka this morning, since his friend owns it, and he's been itching to get out during the past few rainy days we've seen.  Fair enough.  We in his high-tech gear and we in our slowly-getting-more-gross gear ride 11km down the road to Rijeka and stop at the bike shop.</p>\n<p>Evan's shifter cable had been fraying for some time, and he'd been cursing it liberally as the cable ends speared him in the fingers while he tried to shift.  Bike dude deftly clipped the cable out and handed it to us, and we were astonished to see that there were only a few pieces holding it together... not much longer and the whole thing would have snapped apart.  Anyway, it's now fixed...</p>\n<p>We headed a bit out of Rijeka, and Ivo bade us good-bye.  We were excited to get on the road again!  And the coast here is <em>magnificent.</em>  We could see it as soon as we headed out: the coastline is coated in mountains, and across a stripe of sea lay the long, thin islands of northern Croatia.  The wind here is insane, and nothing more than a metre tall can grow on the rocky slopes we're seeing.  The islands look like the face of the moon.</p>\n<p>There isn't much traffic along this road right now, since it's off-season for this area's tourism.  There were still a number of cars that passed us, bearing license plates from Germany, Austria, Hungary, France, Spain, Slovenia, ... but most of them are, fortunately, fairly relaxed and willing to tolerate cyclists riding side by side along the coastal route.  The angriest are the giant tankers, but whatever.  It's been strange to hear the progression of horns from country to country; the French horns were really wimpy, the Italian ones somewhat stronger, and the Croatian ones genuinely loud and angry.</p>\n<p>In addition to the traffic concerns (which are minimal) comes the much more serious concern of the road itself.  It twists precariously along the very edge of the land, sometimes high above the water and sometimes hugging it, but the Croatian road service evidently does not believe in guard rails to the extent that we do in the states, so much of it is separated from certain death over cliffs by just a few tiny cement pegs.  Some of it bears railings, but they're so high that a fully-loaded bike with a rider could easily be swept underneath, anyway.  In the wind that we're experiencing, this is terrifying.</p>\n<p>The wind here is insane!  It pours out of the mountains and down to the sea, generally present, but with severe gusts to remind us that it's there in case we get too complacent.</p>\n<p>It's hard to find food here, which might be a problem.  This stretch is clearly built almost entirely for summer tourism, and we have been hard-pressed to find much, and harder-pressed to find much open.  Senj fortunately has a supermarket, but we're forcing ourselves to stock up to avoid starvation.  Ivo and Aleksander also warned us that we need to make sure to have sufficient water at all times (especially important when we use &gt;1 bottle's worth to cook dinner each night).  Gone are the days of Italy and Spain and their fontanas.  :(</p>\n<p>Anyway, our goal today was to make it to Rab, which is one of the islands up here.  We didn't quite make it... we're stopped in a town called Senj, about 40km from where we intended.  It's okay, and we'll certainly make up the distance tomorrow.  Stopping for repairs and all that slows things down, and that's fine, plus we stopped fairly early because we found a pretty nice campsite with sea access.  For dinner we got to wander down a winding staircase to a secret beach where we attempted to take a swim before deciding that it is, in fact, too frigid and windy to do so in October.  We ate super simple olive oil and garlic pasta, so we got to try the new olive oil we bought in Slovenia.  It's Kalamata first cold press delicious stuff, and we SUPER LOVE IT.</p>\n<p>It's bedtime.  The wind is blowing everything everywhere, and this ground is impossible to peg in, so we're going to have an interesting time sleeping in our tent.  A very cold time.  Sigh.  But today was so rewarding and stunningly beautiful that we don't care!  I RECOMMEND CROATIA.  We've been discussing how we should try to convince people that Croatia is the hipsterest country around... it's new, most people haven't heard of it, and it's becoming a more and more popular tourist destination.  Plus it's name in Croatian, Hrvatska, is strange and fun-to-say enough that it could really catch on.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/06/i-recommend-croatia.html", "title": "I RECOMMEND CROATIA", "date": "2010-10-06T13:15:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/06/i-recommend-croatia.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101006", "country": "hr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Lights and sound and life<br />\nAbound in the city that<br />\nKeeps you up all night.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>So, Amsterdam.  It's an interesting place.  Sex shops and \"coffeeshops\" and the like are sprinkled through every corner of its red light district, which is, I guess, the only place most people see.  We decided that it would be a nice idea to head out of there for a while, so we packed up our laundry onto our backs (our clothes always smell like ass... it becomes too unpleasant to deal with after a while, and when we start gagging every time we put our shirts on, well, we know it's time to do laundry.  haha, just kidding.  :)) and struck out to find someplace to wash them.  Unfortunately, like many things in Europe, laundromats aren't open on Sundays, so we figured we were heading for disappointment.</p>\n<p>To the south of the city (where our random walk led us), we found a large park which had exits onto a few interesting sights, including a Van Gogh museum.  We strolled that way-ward, and were very shortly disappointed to see the length of the line stretching in front.  That in conjunction with the fact that several signs indicated that the ticket booths were closed caused us to give up our dreams of having a lofty cultural experience in this city.</p>\n<p>However, elsewhere in the park we found a chic caf\u00e9 with swings lining its periphery.  We sat in one and watched the storm blow around over our heads (carefully setting our laundry far enough away that we might not have to smell it all the time) for a while, then enjoyed our respective coffee and tea.  Eventually we realised that the booklets we'd gotten upon checking into our hostel indicated that there were washing facilities there, so we headed back to finally clean our junk.</p>\n<p>In the evening, we went for a stroll (in clean clothes!) around the city to enjoy its rather lovely lights.  One of my favourite things was a bridge lit to look like a car (see the photos).</p>\n<p>I guess that sounds like a fairly low-key day.  Maybe you can make up stories that make us sound more exciting.  Really.  Go wild.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/30/the-post-in-amsterdam-where-nothing-happens.html", "title": "the post in amsterdam where nothing happens", "date": "2010-05-30T15:23:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/30/the-post-in-amsterdam-where-nothing-happens.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100530", "country": "nl"}
+{"content": "<p>Late morning - though perhaps not too late; the night lifts later as we sink further into the rainy windy cold fall weather, so that now it get lighter around 0700. And we remember a time, two months ago in the blistering summertime heat on the Iberian peninsula, when the sun would rise promptly at 0500 and usher us out of our tent to beat the midday sun - but those days are no longer. We have started to rely more and more on our warmer clothing, and must keep one or more long-sleeved shirts at hand at all times...</p>\n<p>...but fortunately for us, today is neither rainy nor cold; it is rather quite nice out, and we have agreed to stay on in Se\u017eana an extra day so that Aleksander can take a much-needed break from work and study to show us around the surrounding countryside. It is also Sunday, that dreaded day of rest when nearly all of Europe grinds to a restful halt. Supermarkets, post offices, even some restaurants are firmly closed...</p>\n<p>...and so there is nothing for it but to join Aleksander on this, his final day before starting work a few kilometres away for a video gambling outfit, on a wonderful afternoon-evening excursion about the Kras wine region and its nearby mountain ranges. We start off with a ride over to nearby Pliskovica, where Aleksander's favourite vineyard is located; he exchanges a few words with the owners, who usher us in past an old bicycle and row upon row of slowly rusting farm tools to a room that looks as though it might double as a restaurant in more meal-appropriate hours - but for now, it is the site of their direct-from-the-producer store, and we are treated to glasses of rich red wine bearing a richly fruity yet not-too-sweet taste unlike anything else we've tasted on this trip; they say that the unique taste derives from the mineral-rich soils in these parts, tucked away in the folds of the mountains that wash their nutrient-rich deposits into the valleys year after year. Aleksander picks up three bottles: one larger bottle for drinking tonight, one smaller which we are to deliver to a couple they met on the coastal Croatian road during their previous travels down to Dubrovnik, and a bottle of liquor made from the grape remains after first fermentation for wine. The owners insist we try some of the liquor as well - which is equally fantastic - and show us down into the cellar, where they have giant 1000L tubs of freshly harvested grapes fermenting for this year's production run. The process is surprisingly simple: pick grapes, crush grapes into tubs, ferment grapes for three days, filter, transfer to large bottles for controlled fermentation, bottle once the sugar and alcohol concentrations reach desired levels, take grape remains for further fermentation and distillation into liquor. In this way, they get maximal use out of the grape harvest, enough to more than support themselves for the coming year; they sell some directly at the farm, while the rest goes to local markets in Trieste and elsewhere for sale at higher market prices. This is the lesson of true small-scale agricultural business: waste nothing, sell as high up on the value chain as possible, and above all remain honest...</p>\n<p>After that, we head next door to a 400-year-old building that has since been converted into a rather prosperous hostel. Today they are hosting an exhibition of local mushroom varieties. The kitchen is full of pots and frying pans, all being frantically employed in the manufacture of several mushroom-based delicacies: mushroom spreads, mushroom rolls, mushroom pancakes, mushroom fritters...all delicious, but the sly woman heading the kitchen disregards the menu posted outside and overcharges for the plates. As we eat a mixed plate of mushroom-based foods, an old couple from Russia starts talking to us. The wife has a most refreshing philosophy of life: she spends as much of her money as possible on travel without particular regard to saving for the future. In this way, she has avoided the fate of several of her friends, who lost substantial sums of saved money in the recent economic debacle. As a resident of the region, she speaks several languages on a daily basis: English, Italian, Slovenian, Croatian, sometimes even German or French for the tourists streaming in from the rest of Europe. They wish us good luck for the remainder of our travels, and we head down the stone path to the old stables next to the rooms where the central table is covered with labelled boxes of mushrooms. Some are edible, others poisonous, and some even deadly so; even worse, some of the edible and poisonous varieties resemble each other so closely that an expert eye is required to distinguish them. A lesson, then, for aspiring hunter-gatherers on budget travels: don't pick mushrooms you don't know! Safer by far to stick to berries, nuts, and fruit from the frequent trees and farmers' fields than to risk hospitalization or death...and speaking of figs, there is a fig tree still bearing ripe juicy figs outside the stables, so we pick a generous portion of figs to complete our meal and call it even on the price.</p>\n<p>After that, we head up along a mountain ridge towards the home of someone who helped Aleksander on a previous day cycle around the area; the terrain is arduous, and will make short work of anyone whose training is not up to snuff. Fortunately for us, we are travelling by car for the day, and are therefore able to appreciate the beautiful view without the hard climb that usually precedes it. On the way, we stop at an old cemetery with the remains of Austrian and Hungarian soldiers from WW1, interred in peaceful rows whose stones and hedges have slowly integrated back into their natural setting. An older couple are picking mushrooms in one corner of the cemetery, and they offer several of them to Aleksander who in return points them in the direction of the wine cellar and mushroom festival over in Pliskovica. Something delicious and fresh for dinner tonight! We continue down towards the border where we first crossed into Slovenia, but stop short to veer up a steep road into the aforementioned ridge; there is no one at the house, but Aleksander manages after some effort to secure a pen with which to write an explanatory note. This he attaches to the bottle - and we are off along the ridge again, driving through the afternoon to the relaxing organic lounge-house sounds of Buddha Bar V...</p>\n<p>...we arrive in this smallish town built into a hilltop, portions of the fortress and castle still overlooking the mountains beyond. There is some kind of minor festival going on, with vendors set up around the base of the hill selling books and trinkets that are hardly of use to two cyclists for whom every bit of added weight had better be justified - so we bypass the vendors and instead walk up the path around the back of the hill, stopping every so often to profit from the magnificent views across the valleys to the peaks in the distance. Once we complete a half-tour of the hill by this path, it opens up into a flatter portion with stone staircases and this old bridge across an ornamental pond that is clogged with local tourists out for some quick scenic photos of their respective Sunday drives. We then walk up into the town, passing an old-style well as we stumble along the coarse gravel and overgrown roadsides in our flip-flops - up into the town and then down the other side, back towards the car. From there, we speed off in directions unknown to us - Aleksander says merely that it is a surprise, offering no other explanation. We are hardly in a position to complain, not knowing the roads around here...</p>\n<p>...so it is a welcome surprise indeed when, roughly an hour later, we reach the coast of the Adriatic just above Trieste. There is a jogging and hiking path etched into the cliffside that affords an unparalleled view of the sunset across the bay, the golden Sun-orb sinking into the water as a host of cargo ships dotted about the harbour wait for the evening shift change, Trieste bathing in the warm fading light as, up here on the rocks, amateur climbers practice with their equipment on the out-leaning faces by the path.</p>\n<p>It has been a full day by the time we retire to Aleksander's place, where we cap off our short trip with a delicious meal of freshly-picked mushrooms in cream sauce on pasta served with fantastic Kras wine from the cellar we visited earlier. Quite the way to end our stay in Slovenia, and a fine way indeed to rejuvenate ourselves for the ride tomorrow into Croatia. The Adriatic beckons; though we are but weeks away from Istanbul, there are still the not-inconsequential stretches through Croatia to Dubrovnik, along the coasts of Montenegro and Albania, and around Greece by Athens - or perhaps Kalamata if we are feeling ambitious; who knows? On a trip like this, splitting hairs over a matter of 200 km is futile. Best to ride and see what happens, for there is no telling where those we meet might take us...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/03/wine-ding-road.html", "title": "wine-ding road", "date": "2010-10-03T16:02:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/03/wine-ding-road.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101003", "country": "si"}
+{"content": "<p>Spent the morning quickly hoeing up yet more weeds down the terraces by the house. The family was out for the day again, giving us an ideal opportunity to catch up on blog posts and continue reading - so that's what we did for a few hours, swapping the computer back and forth until we had finally spewed a month's worth of hazy recollections onto our hard drive. We also cooked up some pasta with tuna-tomato-pesto sauce, taking advantage of the rare opportunity to use a multi-burner stove; although we are fairly adept at one-burner cooking by now, it is definitely easier and faster to cook pasta in one pot while stirring sauce in the other!</p>\n<p>After typing the blog posts up, our computer was about to run out of battery; our afternoon was therefore spent recharging it in a small caf\u00e9 down in mostly closed Casinos. Weekends run into Monday here for many shopkeepers - the bodegas are closed; the bakeries are closed; many of the caf\u00e9s are closed; but we manage to find one caf\u00e9 open next to the main square, which predictably is close to full with just about everyone in town. We order a couple of the house ice cream concoctions, then wash them down with a coffee for Valkyrie and a horchata for myself - the whole while polishing off a couple of the posts, commenting photos - in general, attending to our habitual backlog of trip-recording duties.</p>\n<p>Our efforts over the last week have created a sizeable brush pile by the carob tree down at the swimming-pool-to-be, and it is finally time tonight for a blazing bonfire. The heat is enough that we must stand well back, sitting on the rim of the pool while the weeds and loose wood pieces are consumed. Once it dies down, we pull out our trusty laptop and present the photos from our travels; these number nearly 2000 by now, so we have adopted the practice of showing only our favourites. It is astounding to recount our journey to this point, even though we are still short of halfway there - the Danish countryside, ports of Hamburg, and turbine roads in Holland are far off by now, as though part of a separate trip that is somehow vaguely connected with the one unfolding every day in midsummer Spain. Darkness has fallen by the time we finish, leaving us no choice - in the absence of electricity, sunset marks the hour of sleep...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html", "title": "earth, wind, and fire", "date": "2010-08-16T13:44:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100816", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>Late start out of Odense, around 1300 - we had originally hoped to set out around 1130 or so, but ended up waking up at that time instead due to general jet-lag exhaustion, post-hospitality food overdose, and a late night of <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gammel_Dansk\">Gammel Dansk</a> and Danish music. Following advice from Valkyrie's relatives, we abandoned our plan to bike up around via Middelfart and Kolding in favour of a shorter trip over to the Synfynske ferry at B\u00f8jden. This took us across to Als; a short hour along the local scenic highway later, we rolled into S\u00f8nderborg. A shorter day, to be sure; nevertheless, we saved enough distance and time by taking the ferry to put ourselves within a couple days' ride of Hamburg - and the ferry ride was picturesque indeed.</p>\n<p>We had enough daylight left in S\u00f8nderborg to head into town for a combination stroll and grocery store run; a short Kvickly trip later, we were the proud owners of multicolour pasta, pesto, gouda with pesto, and tomatoes. We then promptly employed said ingredients to concoct a pesto-drenched pot full of pasta with pesto with gouda with pesto with tomatoes, which we ate using our titanium sporks. Yum.</p>\n<p>We're almost out of Denmark at this point; tomorrow should put us over the border into Germany. Our proximity to the Danish-German border is made clear with every trilingual (Dansk, Deutsch, and English) sign that we pass, and S\u00f8nderborg appears to be a fairly popular tourist destination for Germans seeking a quick getaway. We'll make sure to set an alarm so that we wake up at a more reasonable hour!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html", "title": "pesto with pesto with pesto and pesto", "date": "2010-05-19T17:03:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100519", "country": "dk"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Fed by the great sea,<br />\nStorms cannot rain themselves out,<br />\nWe're again beset.</i></p>\n<p>After sleeping in a real bed and managing not to suffocate from the stench of our semi-rotten still-mostly-soaked clothing hanging about the room, we threw open all the windows to fumigate the place and packed our things.  Hopefully the hotel isn't too upset about any lingering odours.</p>\n<p>This place offers breakfast!  It would be foolish of us to refuse it, so we headed into the restaurant and upstairs to have a seat.  That area was decorated in the style of a hunting lodge, as near as I can guess, and the table we sat at sported a candleabra made of ram antlers and perched on a pair of skin rugs.  The chairs were squat things with woven wicker seats and dark stain, and on all the walls around hung decorations ranging from animal heads to lutes.  We ordered cappuccinos, and as Vladko had warned us were sorely disappointed by them.  In Albania, they make cappuccino from a powder.  You're better off with espresso.</p>\n<p>The breakfast we were presented with consisted of fluffy omelettes, a basket of bread to share, a dish of fruit marmelade/chutney, some butter, and the drinks.  All in all, of course, it wasn't quite the number of calories we are accustomed to for our morning meal, but it was deliciously prepared, and we were happy to consume it.  That taken care of, we shuffled back to our room to pack the bikes, eat the rolls left over from last night, and deal with the bill.  It is a strange feeling to hand 6000 units of currency to someone for a stay in a hotel, let me tell you, but the exchange rate actually brings that price to a mere 42\u20ac.</p>\n<p>At a main intersection in Shkoder, a horse stood, blocking traffic.</p>\n<p>We headed out of the city along some highways, through many poor areas.  As we saw last night, Albania doesn't seem upset or restless, but it is rather poor and some things about us have surprised us.  Garbage is strewn about haphazardly, and pits along the road serve as dumps in some places.  In other places, its hillsides.  Truly, our solutions to \"the garbage problem\" (as Evan noted) are no better; burying it doesn't solve anything.  It's a shame to spoil the beauty of this place, though...</p>\n<p>The weather treated us to a relatively rainless day, and we happily chatted as we swept through village after village.  Our map indicates a motorway as the only means of getting from Shkoder to Durr\u00ebs, and we were nervous about that.  Typically in Europe, bicycles are not permitted on such roads, but the map didn't show an alternative.  We paused in front of the giant board warning that no bicycles, pedestrians, ox carts, horses, scooters, or motorcycles with small engines were allowed on the road.  While we were debating, several eager Albanians came up to us and asked if we were lost or needed directions, and we told them we wished to go to Durr\u00ebs.  They ushered us onto the road, and as we saw scooters and walkers pass by, we knew we'd be fine.</p>\n<p>The \"motorway\" was exquisitely paved.  Many parts of the other highway in Albania had been rather more rough, but this was smooth sailing all the way to Durr\u00ebs.  The only thing we lamented was that much of the terrain was flat, providing easy cycling but not much of interest to look at.  By afternoon, we had made all our observations on the differences in things we saw between this country and the others, and we idly chatted about nothing in particular until we reached Durr\u00ebs.</p>\n<p>Durr\u00ebs is a large port town on the northern part of the Albanian coast.  I don't know how many people live there, but it's evidently fairly trafficked by tourists from Italy, mainly.  They have been beset by all manner of Italian cultural influence, including the presence of a Conad -- we shopped at that supermarket chain a lot during our time along the boot country.  The Durr\u00ebs Conad is located in the Galaktik Shopping Centar, a new complex on the edge of town which is outfitted with its own security guard, \"luxury\" car dealership, fine caf\u00e9, suit tailor, and supermarket.  Everyone who shops there is impeccably dressed and arrives in the BMW or Mercedes model of his choice.  Even accompanying children show no evidence of dirt.  We walked in, Evan outfitted with a makeshift rainjacket fashioned from a garbage bag and both of us covered in mud.</p>\n<p>A quick shopping trip later, we realised that Italy had also exported its prices to this supermarket, and we wondered whether we'll have enough Lek to finish the trip without getting more.  We drank our import beers and pondered this point until we heard a not-so-far-off crash of thunder and looked up to see a great storm brewing over the Adriatic.</p>\n<p>We quickly hopped on our bicycles and rode southward toward the beaches; Vladko had told us that there were miles and miles of undeveloped beach in Albania, and we were hoping to capitalise on some prime camping spots there.  This was evidently not the part of Albania he was referring to; the entire coast here is jammed with run-down and off-season hotels and apartment complexes.  Half the buildings are abandoned or unfinished, and the other half are seedy, bearing names like \"Alibi Hotel.\"  There was no open place to camp.</p>\n<p>With the storm coming ever nearer and the sky growing ever darker, we became desperate for a place to camp.  We agreed to take the next access out to the beach, saying that we could set on the beach there and simply move if necessary (but certain that the Albanian authorities would not do anything to discourage foreign money coming through their country).  The beach sand was shifty and uncertain, but the access we'd taken down to it led past the pavillion of an off-season hotel, which evidently served as a restaurant eating area during summertime.</p>\n<p>Well, it was the shadiest, hoboest thing we had decided to do so far, but... with electricity cracking through the sky in bolts and the clouds threatening to burst, we set ourselves up to camp amid the solid-looking wooden tables.  There is just space enough at the back for us to lay out a sleeping bag, but first we had to cook.</p>\n<p>Dinner was delicious, and no one seems to have noticed (or cared about) our presence here, so... I guess we're laying the sleeping bag out.  After a bit of adventure gaming (thanks in no small part to the wonderful download speeds in our hotel last night), we're ready for bed.  But, damn, are the bugs bad here.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/16/its-still-raining.html", "title": "it's still raining", "date": "2010-10-16T17:48:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/16/its-still-raining.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101016", "country": "al"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Even Bacchus rests<br />\nSometimes, when wine is gone and<br />\nTime is short.  Even he.</i></p>\n<p>Except that we don't rest.  We have to get to St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port (the beginning point of the Camino de Santiago) and on to Pamplona in time for the Festival de San Ferm\u00edn and to meet my sister!</p>\n<p>We endeavoured to set out early, but it didn't really happen due to some strugglings with the fact that it's Sunday and food is hard to find, and also some directional mishaps related to the terrible tourist map of Bordeaux we were given at the tourism office.  Anyway, we finally managed to get out of Bordeaux to the south.  It's all green on the map, so we figured it would be something like the relaxing forest path we found outside Royan.</p>\n<p>Well, it is something like that, but not quite the same.  This area is huge, and it's been extensively logged.  Looking around, it's obvious that almost all the trees you can see are replants of some older trees that once stood there.  We found some bare areas that covered acres and acres and were filled with stacks of lumber.  It all comes from somewhere..</p>\n<p>We also happened across an oil well (there's a video on our YouTube channel, haha), which Evan was excited about because he'd never seen one in person before.  I guess that growing up in Texas exposes a girl to that kind of stuff.</p>\n<p>The towns that we passed through in this expansive semi-forest seemed largely accidental: small bursts of minimalist civilization required by the logging operations happening.  They also seemed largely closed, which was unfortunate for a pair of hungry and thirsty travellers.  We found a hotel that was open, though, near the end of the day when the heat was murder and our water was nearly gone, whose bartender happily filled our bottles to the brim with icy cold liquid.  Mmmmm... H2O.  My best friend.  :D</p>\n<p>I also got a call from my family today!  I guess my sister is back from her cruise in Virginia, and she's training and getting her bike ready to come out on the trip.  My parents were on the phone, too, so we had a nice family chat.  :)</p>\n<p>Tonight we're staying in a town called Ychoux.  We had a grand old time exhausting all the puns we could think of with that name (if they had a mountain here, they could call it \"Peak Ychoux\"!, <em>sneeze which sounds like \"Ychoux\"</em>, first Ychoux, then Yswallow!, etc.), but it's a nice enough town.  We're staying at a campsite run by a cyclist who apparently took a trip from Paris to Porto (in Portugal) some years ago, so he's excited about our trip.  Hurray!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/27/oil-be-glad-to-get-outta-here.html", "title": "oil be glad to get outta here", "date": "2010-06-27T13:46:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/27/oil-be-glad-to-get-outta-here.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100627", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Slowly turn the tides<br />\nRising through home and plaza<br />\nFilthying it all.</i></p>\n<p>Welcome to Venezia!  Strange that something such as this should exist... a port constructed of dirt and wood with parks and homes and shops, canals criss-crossing it at angles puzzling even to residents, roads that seldom lead from one place to another...  It's an intriguing place to walk, we'll say that.  But of course we didn't just arrive there this morning!</p>\n<p>Due to Evan's unfortunate night of fever and nausea and exhaustion (we still aren't sure what caused it... as the first symptoms showed--just slight nausea and sluggishness--we wondered if it were because we had switched from mostly vegetarian to mostly carnivorous, but there's no way that such a thing would have such grave effects as these), as well as to the strange bike-and-train organisation we had to deal with, we didn't have a very restful night.  We arrived to Mestre (the Venice mainland train station) at 06:45.  We had looked up directions to a campsite nearby while at Gianna's house, but we got a little lost on the way and needed to ask for directions...</p>\n<p>Anyway, we eventually made it to a campsite and set up.  It was reasonably cheap, I guess; 18\u00e2\u201a\u00ac for the two of us per night.  Ugh.  Camping just isn't worth that much to us.  Whatever; for a few nights in Venice, we decided that it was okay.  The one awful thing is that there are signs posted in some areas that they've been spraying the grass for mosquitoes... sigh.  We camp in that grass, you guys.</p>\n<p>So we slept for a few hours to regain some semblance of consciousness, then hopped onto a bus to Venezia to check it out.  Evan had been before, so he knew a few things that we should try to see while I was totally in the dark.  The first priority, though, was food, since we had had nothing to eat since the bocadillos on the train platform last night.  It took some time to find a supermarket on the Venice (\"the mainland\" is called \"the mainland,\" but Venice itself is never called \"the island\" or \"the islands\" or anything, so we have taken to calling it \"the Venice\"), since as prime tourist space most square feet are taken up by hotels or shops.  There aren't even proper streets; there is, in fact, only boat and foot traffic in the Venice.  All cars are relegated to a small area containing effectively a parking lot and nothing else that is on the outskirts.  It's amazing how peaceful it is to be in a place like that, actually, where pedestrians are never bothered by vehicles of any sort (rife with stairs, the Venice is also a forbidding place for bicycles, and a lot of it doesn't even have access for handicapped people).  Most of the boats puttering through the canals are the famous gondolas, and so engine noises are uncommon, too.</p>\n<p>We stumbled across a Coop after crossing several bridges and heading away from the canals.  Lunch was pitas with baked potatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, and goat cheese.  We also got some cookies and yogurt for dessert, and we were pretty well stuffed afterwards.  We headed in the direction of San Marco, the main plaza of Venice which, mercifully, is well-signed.</p>\n<p>Along the way, we paused to look in shop windows stuffed with colourful Venetian party masks and fine glasswork.  Evan told me that on the island of Murano, part of the Venice, there are glass workshops where much of this stuff is produced.  It was lovely and excessively expensive, as one might expect, so we only window-shopped.  I doubt those things would survive even a day anywhere near our panniers, anyway.</p>\n<p>We emerged onto San Marco in the shadow of the Cathedral.  It was large and imposing and beautiful, as cathedrals are wont to be, but we decided that we were cathedraled-out from our time in Italy and that we would much rather explore the back alleys and attempt to navigate the canals.  As we passed by the front of the cathedral, we saw a janitorial worker pushing his cart through a large puddle; because the Venice is actually sinking very slowly, parts of it are more and more prone to flooding.  Tiles in sidewalks are uneven, and the evidence of rising water is clear in the levels of wood-rot on gates and doorways abutting the canals.  When you think about it, that's disgusting.  The water running through the canals in Venice, although it is sea water and has free access to the Mediterranean, is not clean.  It has traditionally been the sewage dumping-place for those living on the Venice (which was constructed hundreds and hundreds of years ago), and these days it also receives runoff from the industrial areas of Mestre and the like.  It has an unnatural, opaque-green-blue colour that is not particularly inviting.  We took care not to get too close to the puddle.</p>\n<p>A spin through the back alleys led us to some dead ends, but we could see a park and the real waterfront on the other side, so we navigated around some canals and headed there to take a seat.  Along our route we encountered the city library, where it was not allowed to walk around unless you were already a member, so we had to content ourselves with looking in from outside.  In front of the doors stood a small rack of tiny, thin paperback books that were free reading for the train.  It was a nice idea.</p>\n<p>We settled onto a bench in the park and drank the Campari Soda we had intended to drink on the train ride.  Slightly buzzed, we strolled along the waterfront and spent some time playing on a rope swing we found in another park down the way.  We wandered through neighbourhoods, where we got strange looks as the only tourists who seemed to stray from the area around San Marco.  Eventually we found what we had been searching for: a boat bus dock!</p>\n<p>The boat busses are technically part of the public transit in the area around Venice, and you can buy rides on them with the same card that you use to buy rides on busses and the like.  However, the boat busses are obnoxiously expensive (it was 12\u00e2\u201a\u00ac for two roundtrip tickets to Murano, which was just a few stops away).  Still, if you want to see the other islands, it's not a bad way to do it.  We headed out to Murano.</p>\n<p>We arrived around sunset, and many shops were closing or already closed for the day.  We again took the back alleys approach, and we were treated to an open window that looked in on a glass workshop.  There's a photo in our Picasa album (<a href=\"http://picasaweb.google.com/biketotheearth/italia\">http://picasaweb.google.com/biketotheearth/italia</a>) of what we could see, and the running furnaces made a tremendous whooshing noise that was cool to hear.  From there, we explored part of an above-ground cemetery (obviously the water table in the Venice is too high to bury people properly) which held a lot of WWII victims.  One strange thing was that each headstone held a photograph of the deceased--something I had never seen before on a cemetery-wide scale.</p>\n<p>After that, we boarded a boat and then hoofed it back to the bus station to return home.  We stopped at a grocery store on the way to collect zucchini and garlic and cheese to go with the shell pasta we already had for our dinner, and we plopped down on the grass to cook it before collapsing tiredly into bed.  The few hours of sleep this morning weren't enough, and we're happy that we've decided to take an extra day in Venice.  We'll go see more tomorrow, sleep over again, and make the 160km to Trieste on the 2nd, so we'll leave Italy exactly a month after entering it.  That's cool.  :)</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/30/city-in-the-sea.html", "title": "city in the sea", "date": "2010-09-30T15:57:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/30/city-in-the-sea.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100930", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>Back onto the Camino today - another long day of biking down the N-120, the major autoroute that closely follows the Camino de Santiago for most of the Camino Franc\u00e9s portion but deviates somewhat out here in the plains above La Mancha. We had hoped to reach Le\u00f3n by dusk, but instead stop short in the small town of El Burgo Ranero about 20 km out. World Cup fever is rising to a crescendo as we enter the finals; the Germany - Uruguay losers' match ends in a resounding victory for Deutschland, giving Valkyrie's friend Julius yet one more thing to gloat over...but, even here in Spain (during a game where Spain is not playing!) the bars fill up with all the locals. An older couple from Norway cheer on Germany, and are rebuffed by a local who sides with Uruguay (as he puts it, \"I have to root for a Spanish-speaking country.\") - they are doing the Burgos-Le\u00f3n portion of the Camino again, having completed the long voyage to Santiago de Compostela three years ago.</p>\n<p>This is part of the magic of the Camino - it is followed by travellers the world over, by the young and old alike, by itinerant soul-seekers and IT professionals and monks and hiking enthusiasts, and each pilgrim carries an entirely different story. For us at this point, the story is this: we're 3000 km into our trip, having cycled down from the frigid mid-May rain and fog of Denmark along the North Sea and down the west coast of France only to meet the blistering heat and mountainous terrain here in northern Spain, and for the first time we feel like we might actually make it to Istanbul before we have to head home in late November. 3000 km - out of everyone we've spoken to, maybe two or three cyclists have attempted a trip of even that length. (One we met in Pamplona at the Ezcala campsite - he had biked down from Denmark through Iran to India several years back. The ambitious nature of this journey astonished even us; here in Europe, things are generally clean and safe and relatively wealthy except perhaps in the worst parts.)</p>\n<p>We saw a procession of roughly 20 people walking the Camino with two statues and an enormous cross - a reminder that, although many follow the Camino for secular reasons, it is still a religious pilgrimage of great importance to some. Quite the burden to bear in this heat; we wonder where they will stop, whether they will attempt crossing the mountains further to the west...</p>\n<p>So we rest again for today - an earlier stop than some of our other camino days, thankfully, and one with a proper roof over our heads thanks to the inexpensive albergues available in most every town - and continue out tomorrow towards Le\u00f3n, after which we hope to reach Astorga in time for the World Cup finals.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html", "title": "flat, hot, and less than crowded", "date": "2010-07-10T11:32:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100710", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Some stones still stand, sad,<br />\nAwaiting their turn to fall,<br />\nBut we preserve them.</i></p>\n<p>The dogs were still barking when we woke up.  Flipping them off didn't do anything.  Ignoring them didn't do anything.  Chasing them away didn't do anything.  Sigh.  We packed as quickly as we could, shoveled what we could of our remaining pasta (there was still a tupperware-full after breakfast) into our mouths, and headed out.</p>\n<p>A few kilometres from where we stayed, another set of Etruscan ruins was indicated on the map.  This one was supposed to include a necropolis and the ruins of a town, so we asked the caf\u00e9 owner for directions and started a ridiculous 500m climb up to see some history.  We arrived at the top, panting, and Evan swore he wouldn't drink coffee any more (the caffeine makes it harder for one to bike).  We joked that some Italian person would probably kill him if he ordered a tea.</p>\n<p>The sites atop the hill had a few placards telling their story; the area had been settled by the Etruscans early on, but they weren't there for very long.  There were some indications that the village had been abandoned in the Carthaginian wars.  At some point, other later civilisations used the same spot for a short time, but they, too, left after not too long.  We only poked through three of the sites: the town, the mysterious wall (someone thought it was a city wall, someone thought it was a retaining wall, and the sign relented that no one actually knew what the hell it was for), and one tomb.  There were a number of other tombs stretching down the hill, but they were along a gravel path that we decided we would rather not take on our bicycles.  Anyway, there were some other ruins we wanted to see later in the day.</p>\n<p>Down from the tombs, we headed to Gavorrano, where we were again assured that most of Europe doesn't \"get\" free Wifi.  We sat in a caf\u00e9 and paid 1\u20ac50 for 30 minutes of Internet.  Sigh.  At least we got to sip on deliciious Italian wine at the same time...</p>\n<p>From there the road systems got sort of confused.  The Via Aureliana is the road that we want to take to Rome, essentially.  We actually looked it up on Wikipedia during our half hour, and it informed us that it was built by an ancient Roman military commander.  There's actually a cool article on how the Romans built roads, with a standard width of 15 feet, which contains a map of some of the better-known roads leading from Rome elsewhere.  But anyway, the Via Aureliana is in some places a motorway-like road which does not permit bicycles.  It's hard to tell from our map where that is, but we hoped that it wasn't the bit just south of Gavorrano, since no other roads really service that area.</p>\n<p>It turned out that it was alright for bikes to be on the road there, but it was in no way pleasant.  We very quickly decided that we would be happier going a few kilometres out of our way on some country roads.  So we did.  Unfortunately, these roads did not contain many settlements, so it was hard for us to find water.  We wound up asking a random Italian woman if there was a fountain nearby, and she said that there wasn't, but she was happy to fill our bottles from her garden hose (which spouted potable water).  During this stretch, we also had to fix a flat tyre for the first time in a while.  We're not really sure what caused it, but it was a neat little puncture on my front wheel.</p>\n<p>As evening approached, we made it to the other ruins site that we had hoped to see: Cosa.  There was an amazing amount of stuff there!  It was originally a Roman colony (seemed strange to me that they would set up a colony just 150km from their centre, but whatever), and it was populated off and on into the 14th century.  There were some awesome stories related to it, including some about slaves and skeletons and massive town burnings and wars and the like, but more awesome were the structures and their amazing level of preservation.  There were multiple temples, one to Jupiter (father god) and one to Diana (goddess of hunting and the moon) and one to Dionysos (god of wine), and the forum area had baths, a voting area, a debating area, a jail, a theatrical performance area, and some other things.  I think we'll put up some photos of the guide book we got (for 1\u20ac each, we got to wander through the museum, and we were given a big packet of information about the site).</p>\n<p>When we returned to our bikes after the visit, there was a mysterious note tacked to one which said only \"Our compliments :)\" and bore signatures.  We saved it.  We like it.</p>\n<p>We headed out from Cosa down the coast, and we realised it was getting dark and was already too late to find a supermarket for foodstuffs.  Fortunately, our lunchtime meal of the remaining pasta had been rather large, so we weren't starving... but it's sad not to eat.  We found a campsite on a soft bed of pine needles just off the road.  One one side, a pine tree.  On another, the road.  On another, a beautiful open field.  On the fourth side... train tracks.  They seemed to be used a little more than we expected, but hopefully we can get some sleep.  Roma is only 130km away or so, and we're hoping to haul ass and make it there tomorrow night.  The allure of a shower and a bed is strong.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/08/our-compliments.html", "title": "our compliments", "date": "2010-09-08T07:23:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/08/our-compliments.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100908", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p><i>\"Burn fat, not oil!\" screams<br />\nThe back of one girl, bared to the<br />\nSun.  \"Nude is not rude.\"</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>The venerable World Naked Bike Ride took place in Brighton, UK, today.  We had the good fortune to make it there to participate, despite yesterday's, er, setbacks, related to the ferry and timing and whatnot.  So now we're nudists!</p>\n<p>Entirely not true.  The point of the WNBR is to show the vulnerability of cyclists and to draw attention to issues like the way car culture is getting out of hand.  It's also for the advancement of some naturalist perspectives, for instance that no one should have to cover his body or be ashamed of it.  This was Brighton's fifth year hosting an event.</p>\n<p>The local police were totally keyed in, and they escorted the bike parade and happily posed with naked people and everything.  Evan and I got a photo with one.  :)  There were loads of official photographers and unofficial photographers around, though, so probably there are more pictures of us from that event than we realise.  Anyway, note that the album for this event is NSFW due to the, er, nudeness of the ride.</p>\n<p>So the day started off at The Level, which is a park in the middle of Brighton.  There were some speeches about the ideals of the ride, a studio set up for body painting by local artists (Evan and I got painted), and then the pre-ride entertainment was a unicycle strip tease.  OMG, it was hilarious.  The performer started off in an old-school pinstriped vest and bowler hat ensemble, and eventually he stripped down to frilly red underwear and heart-shaped pasties with tassels.  On his unicycle.  Which was about 6 feet tall.</p>\n<p>Following this, the big mass of naked people (and less-naked people) mounted their bikes and headed in a circle around the park and down to the waterfront.  It took us through neighbourhoods where people live as well as through shopping districts.  I must say that I enjoyed the looks on people's faces.  As the beginning of the group passed by, it was mostly incredulity, but as more and more nudes cycled past it warped to happiness and amusement.  Some people refused to acknowledge the spectacle, but in most places people came out of shops and pubs and houses to wave at us (and take photos, haha).</p>\n<p>At the waterfront we took a pause, and people gathered around one of the bikes that had been outfitted with giant stereo sound systems for a dance party.  One girl in particular looked pretty cool with her Native American headdress.  :D</p>\n<p>From the waterfront, we headed through more of Brighton, and Evan and I got some paninis and tea at a caf\u00e9 at our next park stop (the shop owner was... surprised).  Then onward through more of Brighton and down to the naturalist beach for a swim in the ocean and a concert.  The performers' speakers were <i>bike-powered</i> for the concert!  It was fantastic!</p>\n<p>We met a lot of cool people yesterday, ranging from a guy who wanted to tell us all about Turkey to the guy who organises the WNBR in Greece who said he'd be happy to host us when we get there to artists to scientists.  I was fairly surprised at the rather diverse makeup of the participants, actually, and it was cool to learn that it's not \"just hippies and old people\" who do this sort of thing.  I'd guess that the average age of the people around was probably 32 or so.</p>\n<p>Anyway, we had a lot of fun.  I now have a rather silly-looking sunburn on my back from the body paint, but I'll get over it.  :)  We managed to find a couple girls at the end of the day who'd participated that were willing to host us for our time in Brighton, so that was pretty super.  Their roommates are really nice, and we spent the evening cooking and talking about bike trips.  We're even invited to a birthday party with them tomorrow.  :D  Nudity, ftw!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/13/freedom-for-cyclists.html", "title": "freedom for cyclists", "date": "2010-06-13T20:29:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/13/freedom-for-cyclists.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100613", "country": "gb"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Summer's fiestas:<br />\nTownie and tourist alike<br />\nDragged into good times.</i></p>\n<p>After some weird dreams prevented us from sleeping entirely properly, we packed up our tent and gear and said good-by to the house that was ours for the night.  I do wonder what it used to be, and why the land wasn't valuable enough to sell for apartment development or something...</p>\n<p>A quick trip along the coast (including a segment in a beautiful and cliff-ridden \"Natural Park\" which is Spanish for \"We can't build here, so let's just let people hike here and get over it\") got us into Barcelona.  It was fairly uneventful; we stopped for tea, rode along a beautiful boardwalk for several kilometres until it ended abruptly and forced us to take the autopista, and arrived around lunchtime.</p>\n<p>Barcelona is a tourist mecca, what with all its fabulous beaches and amazing Gaudi buildings and general Catalan cultural awesomeness.  For those who don't know, Catalunya (Catalu\u00f1a in Castellano, Catalonia in English) is an autonomous state of Spain.  They speak their own language, Catal\u00e1 (Catal\u00e1n in Castellano), and they like to distinguish themselves from the rest of Spain.  The distinction between \"Espa\u00f1ol\" and \"Castellano\" is an important one here, mainly because they don't see Castellano as the language of Spain.  Catal\u00e1 is a blend of Spanish and French, since this part of Spain is very close to the border of France, and at least in our experience the Catalonian people are very friendly and helpful.  Barcelona is the largest city, and it's actually the fourth most visited city in Europe according to Wikipedia (after London, Paris, and Rome).  Anyway, it's a bumpin' place.</p>\n<p>The first thing we had to do was, of course, find a place to sleep, so we stumbled around with our bicycles for an hour or so looking for a hostel.  We found one and ditched the bikes, eager to explore this city.</p>\n<p>Barcelona is big.  Like, not really walkably big.  It sucked to have to take public transit, but it was at least really nice public transit.  We visited a couple of the Gaudi buildings in the centre of town and meandered along the Rambla for a while, enjoying the sound of a weekend in high season.  People are buzzing around, and flurries of languages flashed past our ears.  We soaked it all in as we wandered around town.</p>\n<p>For the evening, we got some tickets to a Catalan music performance in the Palau de la M\u00fasica Catalana.  It was just 8\u20ac for 30 minutes of fabulous piano duo.  They played some Gershwin, and they also played stuff we had never heard of: for instance, a tango written by a Turkish man who spent a long time in Argentina.  Some of it was wildly experimental (they played the wires of the piano directly by reaching in through the top), and some of it was fairly classical and supremely impressive.</p>\n<p>Later we wandered the streets in an attempt to find one of the famous discotecas in town, but not much seemed to be happening.  A bartender heading to work saw how lost we looked, and recommended that we check out an area further to the north called Gracias.  There was a festival going on, and that was where everyone was tonight.</p>\n<p>Part of the festival involved a competition between streets for being designated \"the most playful.\"  People took this in different ways, ranging from a street outfitted with gigantic Lego bricks to a street with a Singstar (karaoke game) competition to a street with Dragonball art plastered on every available surface.  It was neat, and not something most tourists get to see, I'd wager.</p>\n<p>Such was the night in Barcelona.  Now we'll be lulled to sleep by the sea...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/21/catal-n-music-tourist.html", "title": "catal\u00e1n music tourist", "date": "2010-08-21T11:31:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/21/catal-n-music-tourist.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100821", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>Short primer: the <a href=\"http://senseable.mit.edu/copenhagenwheel/\">Copenhagen Wheel</a> is an innovative device from MIT's <a href=\"http://senseable.mit.edu/\">Senseable City Lab</a> that turns any bike into an electric hybrid bike by simply replacing the rear wheel. By using an array of environmental sensors embedded in the wheel hub, it also collects real-time data on pollutant concentrations, noise levels, and traffic.</p>\n<p>Of the criticisms levelled at the Copenhagen Wheel, these are the most common:</p>\n<ul>\n<li>Any speed benefits are likely to be counteracted by the added weight of the hub.</li>\n<li>Using an iPhone to control your bike is (to use a diplomatic paraphrasing of the various comments) suboptimal.</li>\n<li>Bike theft.</li>\n</ul>\n<p>Although no official figures are posted, various comments have estimated the weight at 4-6 kg based upon components and similar products. Using figures from <a href=\"http://www.kenkifer.com/bikepages/touring/campgear.htm\">Ken Kifer's Bike Pages</a>, this will slow you by roughly 5% on those arduous climbs. Will the energy stored up during braking compensate adequately? Only time (and use) will tell.</p>\n<p>As a tech geek, this is an intriguing use of Bluetooth. As a cyclist, shifters are placed out on the handlebars to keep them closer to normal hand position. On the other hand, add in a headset and voice commands and you've got hands-free gearing - provided that you have a smartphone, which still puts you in the (small yet growing) minority.</p>\n<p>Yes, this will make an attractive target for bike thieves. Then again, most bikes are <a href=\"http://www.blogto.com/city/2009/12/igor_kenk_pleads_guilty_in_unprecedented_toronto_bike_theft_case/\">attractive targets</a> in larger cities.</p>\n<p>Unfortunately, the press coverage largely ignores the real-time data gathering capacities of the Copenhagen Wheel. Remove the iPhone control, scrap the hybrid charging, pop the sensor and Bluetooth assembly out of the hub, stick it in a compact box, add a solar charger, and mount that on the frame or handlebars. What do you get? A cheap, lightweight, and self-contained data gathering device. You could even swap the Bluetooth for a simpler USB connection for data uploading. Why?</p>\n<ul>\n<li>Cities could pay cyclists to gather data on the urban environment, providing additional jobs and a gold mine of urban planning information at relatively low cost.</li>\n<li>With modular design, the sensor box would be quite powerful. Cyclists could map out popular bike routes, free wireless hotspots, nighttime light pollution, report traffic accidents, measure intersection waiting times, check ground level light in those notorious downtown office tower canyons...</li>\n<li>Why limit data gathering to cyclists? Install one in every car. Hand them out to pedestrians, skateboarders, small craft pilots, <a href=\"http://www.pkto.ca\">traceurs</a>.</li>\n</ul>\n<p>Data is king. Until we accept that, I firmly believe that our most pressing problems will remain intractable.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/05/copenhagen-wheel.html", "title": "copenhagen wheel", "date": "2010-05-05T05:23:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/05/copenhagen-wheel.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100505", "country": "ca"}
+{"content": "<p><i>A coastline, though not<br />\nFlat, can stave off the scorch of<br />\nSpain's sun.  A little.</i></p>\n<p>Our dishes washed (and a tupperware full of paella for lunch), we packed up and shuttled off down the coast again.  So many of the roads here are marked green--\"Recommended Itinerary\", according to the legend on our map.  It's really a lovely coastline, and it's sort of a shame that we can't stick to it all the time.  Some of the little peninsulae that jut out are simply extra kilometres that we can't justify in this month-long race towards the Alhambra.</p>\n<p>A short break in the morning sees Venus with a re-re-re-re-readjusted derailleur and Evan with a new pair of cycling shorts.  The ones he brought on the trip initially had begun to wear out before he even loaded them on the plane, and with their ritual burning on the fifteenth, he had a keen interest in getting some new clothes with padding for his bum.  The thing to wear in Spain is apparently the bibbed shorts that function as spandex overalls, but the suspenders in addition to the cycling shirt can leave a guy pulling several kilos drowning in his own sweat.  So we picked up the only pair of just-shorts that they had.</p>\n<p>There, shockingly, was <em>another</em> cycling race that passed us by on our ride.  I simply don't understand why people do that crap in summer.  It's fecking hot over here.</p>\n<p>We rode mostly uninterrupted towards Vigo, enjoying the rolling hills along the coast and the sun sparkling off the ocean.  In trying to find our way to a smaller road, we stopped to ask a group of cyclists for directions, and it turned out they were from the States!  They were a part of an organised cycling trip given by a company (I didn't catch the name), but anyway I got all excited about the thought of being a guide on such an expedition.  I imagine that it must be trying to look out for 20 high school-aged children at times, but getting paid to cycle through Spain is a pretty sweet deal.</p>\n<p>Once we rolled into Vigo, it was already getting dark, and we were hungry and tired.  We'd made our goal for the day distance-wise, but unfortunately we found out that there was some kind of international air show the next day, and this resulted in all the campsites and hotels and hostels for kilometres around being full.  Sigh.  We cooked our meal on the beach and poked around for a suitable spot... we were pleased to find an abandoned construction site with no fences or indication of activity or ownership, and there we're crashed for the night.  Bummer about the campsite; I was looking forward to a shower.  :(</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/17/vigo-rous-hobosity.html", "title": "vigo-rous hobosity", "date": "2010-07-17T15:20:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/17/vigo-rous-hobosity.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100717", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>\nCement towers shield<br />\nLiving lakes, and people's paths<br />\nCan meet in strange ways.<br />\n</i></p>\n<p>We rolled into Hamburg after a few hours' ride today, and it confused the heck out of us.  There didn't seem to be a centre to the city, and it sprawled all over the place with no end in sight.  We tooled around for a while, being impressed by a few parks and things we saw, then we got some hamburgers (in Hamburg!  Haha, get it!?) for lunch--thanks mostly to the directions afforded us by a pair of university students that we ran into on a streetcorner (\"Hallo, sprechen Sie Englisch?\" \"Yes, of course.\" \"Hi, sorry, we're huge tourists, and we were hoping to have some hamburgers in Hamburg... can you suggest someplace?\" \"Hahahahahahaha...\")--and tried to contact our host here.  We managed to borrow a phone off of a guy hanging around the train station (he and his friend were also super nice) and showed up at Wolfgang Krechlok's house 20 minutes later.</p>\n<p>He's a super dude.  He's a friend of a friend from CERN, and he worked as a physicist at DESY (which is sort of like German CERN, but a little smaller) for many years.  He now is the chair of the Green Party in Hamburg, and he explained a lot of interesting things about the greenness of Hamburg.  I guess there are guerrilla gardeners afoot who steal public space for making flower gardens and the like.  It's illegal, but tolerated.  :)  There are also bike houses around town, especially in the part of town where Wolfgang lives (it's called Altona, but anyway more on Hamburg history in a moment).  They are basically little towers with bike racks inside that are for people whose apartment buildings don't have cellars to use.  Such a good idea!</p>\n<p>So Hamburg isn't really a town in its own right.  It's a conglomeration of towns that have come together over the years to create one big, sprawling harbour along the Elbe.  And what a harbour it is.  On one side, there are residences and gorgeous parks, and on the other there are industrial landscapes of epic proportion.  Cruise ships wander up and down the river, alongside boat busses that operate as part of the Hamburg transit system.  Wolfgang took us for a stroll and showed us the Altona fishmarket and downtown and beaches, and it was lovely!  Altona is super confusing, though; it has been built on a series of triangles rather than squares, which makes sensible navigation nigh impossible for the uninitiated.</p>\n<p>After our stroll, Evan and I headed out to see what the local nightlife had to offer (Saturday night, why not?), and we were pleased to happen upon a bar stuffed with cigarette-smoking, tattooed seamen.  Well, some of them were seamen.  Or had the muscles for it, anyway.  But the guy we wound up talking to for most of the evening was an aspiring musician from near the Dutch border.  He was hysterical, and he served as a pretty good translator for us to talk to some of the other folks in the bar, including one old woman who was drunk off her arse and babbling.</p>\n<p>All in all, I think Hamburg will be great!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/22/finding-our-centre.html", "title": "finding our centre", "date": "2010-05-22T17:13:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/22/finding-our-centre.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100522", "country": "de"}
+{"content": "<p><i>The bond of cyclists<br />\nSpans borders, languages, age,<br />\nJust help and be helped.</i></p>\n<p>This morning we awoke, refreshed, in our pension/hostel in Alicante.  Three were about to become two.  But we had to make some arrangements: Venus needed a place to stay in Madrid, a way to get there, and a place to mail her bike.  We rooted around, asking directions eventually from taxi drivers since passers-by seemed to have no idea where to find a bicycle shop.  We found one which was, mercifully, just down the street from a Correos (Spanish post) office.  The owner happened to be around and said that he'd even be receiving a bike box later that afternoon, and that he'd be happy to help Venus pack her bike and lug it down the street.</p>\n<p>She poked around the web and found some cheap accommodation in Spain's capital, and we wandered Alicante until we found a cheap hostel for her to put herself up in for the night there.  Things were working out!  We handed her the map we'd acquired of Alicante and said our goodbyes.</p>\n<p>A few days ago, we had a discussion about what we had all learned from the month that she spent with us.  She had not expected a lot of the things that we had sort of taken for granted about the trip: we're effectively hobos.  We don't do the sort of comfortable travelling that people do on their first trip abroad (we sleep in a tent, we bike hard every day, we spend most of our time in small towns rather than large cities).  We work hard for what we think is a grand payoff: getting to see the real character of a country through real people who aren't groomed to deal with tourists.  We don't go out on the town many evenings, simply because it's expensive and it makes cycling harder the next morning, not to mention that bars are really the same everywhere.  We're having our own kind of trip, I guess, and she mentioned that she had learned something new from that sort of travel.</p>\n<p>Evan and I learned what it means to really, really have to compromise on things sometimes.  We think very similarly, and we tend to enjoy the same sorts of activities.  We share a lot of opinions and interests and beliefs, and so we have a lot to chat about while riding.  We are in love with our trip and its scenery and people and pueblos, and trying to teach someone who goes to school in Los Angeles about that was a difficult task, indeed.</p>\n<p>Anyway, we managed to make it through the month, and now she's headed back off to whatever her next adventure is.  Good luck, hermanita!</p>\n<p>After leaving Alicante, we followed the coast up towards a town called Carpe.  It was situated near a point just south of a large nature park that abutted on Valencia.  That route promised a much more pleasant and verdant ride than the N-road, so we chose it.</p>\n<p>Anyway, this led us to a town called Benidorm for siesta.  It was a tourist town, full of high-rises brimming with old, overweight, English-or-German-or-generally-European-white tourists.  The beach was nice, and I guess the redeeming feature of the town was the Leche Meringada we had at a beachside caf\u00e9.  That stuff is tasty, folks.</p>\n<p>Around dinnertime we found ourselves at last in Carpe.  Incredibly, we found a shop which carried both ice and champagne (strange, yes, but it's been hard for us to find the two in a single place), so we got some of that and some persimmons.  Persimmons are a bright orange fruit that are native to Indiana (and the surrounding area) and super delicious.  You should probably go find one to try if you're not familiar.</p>\n<p>Tonight we camp along the beach in a tiny sliver of park/picnic area/hiking trail smashed between million-dollar houses.  For all that, though, it's rather peaceful.  The sound of the sea...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/05/three-become-two.html", "title": "three become two", "date": "2010-08-05T15:42:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/05/three-become-two.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100805", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>With five days to wait in Pamplona - we must await the arrival of Valkyrie's sister, Venus, who wants to see the start of San Ferm\u00edn and the Encierro on 7.7 - our legs itch to ride. We pull out a regional map that we picked up on our way into town two days ago from the Oficina de Turismo, inspect it briefly, and point to the small town of Javi\u00e9r.</p>\n<p>Of course, this is Sunday, which in Spain is taken even more seriously than in France; nothing is open, especially in the small towns that dot our route through the valleys adjoining Pamplona. We are forced to subsist upon a fantastically sugary chocolate-filled cereal called Tresor and this salty nut mix that we picked up yesterday in the supermarket - we have to learn to stock up for these so-called days of rest, since we don't often have the luxury of actually resting for them.</p>\n<p>As we start down the valley to Javi\u00e9r, we are treated to an interesting sight: part of an old Roman aqueduct (or possibly a bridge?) preserved in close to original condition. The countryside here is full of such relics, which serve as reminders that these lands have been fought over for millenia. Our path is lined with sunflower fields, where the flowers bloom in cascades of yellow petals and green stalks. The day is hot, but we need not fear dehydration; public fountains have no days of rest, and these seem to be available in even the smallest towns!</p>\n<p>The ride out is somewhat longer than planned - 30, 40, 50 kilometres pass with no sign of Javi\u00e9r, and then the valley drops out down a 250 metre-high hill into a lower valley. We check the signs, only to discover that the way to Javi\u00e9r is under construction! Disheartened, we head off to the side and stop for lunch at the one open caf\u00e9 that we can find. The pizza squares we have there are tasty but not quite filling, so we buy some bread and cheese from the adjoining shop and sit down outside. As we fill up on food, a kind old woman informs us that there is a small shaded plaza just up the road with a fountain, so we retire there to wait out the midday heat.</p>\n<p>Since we can't make it to Javi\u00e9r, we instead decide to head up another valley - the last downhill was rather steep, so we hope to avoid it by going around; there are also more points of interest, such as old Roman castles and towers, indicated on our regional map that way. A headwind picks up, making for slow travel as we laboriously pedal uphill; finally, exhausted after riding some 120 km over hilly terrain in the heat on relatively little sleep, we roll into Pamplona around 2000.</p>\n<p>Venus calls on our way into town to inform us that bikes are apparently not allowed on the trains from Madrid; after some research into the matter, we determine that buses are the more sensible mode of travel around these parts - but we do not receive a call back until later, at which time the last buses have already left. Such is the nature of travel...things can sometimes go spectacularly wrong, so that it is important to roll with the situation and attempt to get it back on track! As for our part, we're tired enough after the least relaxing day off in history that, having made sure that everything is at least somewhat alright on her end, we head over to the psuedo-campground at Ezcala for another night of heavily punctuated sleep - a group of rowdy Australians and their festival tourism group have taken over the site with a concert stage that blasts mostly terrible music into the late hours of the night, thereby obliterating any chance for peace or rest.</p>\n<p>We do have one piece of bounty from our extended day trip - a bottle of wine local to the town we took siesta in, which we expect to thoroughly enjoy once Venus arrives. Salud!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html", "title": "the least lazy day off ever", "date": "2010-07-04T11:26:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100704", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Procedural things<br />\nAre dull to do, but must be<br />\nDone for our mommies.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>Hi, Mom, we have a new phone now.</p>\n<p>We also attempted to get a 3G stick for use with our laptop, but all the ones that Orange sells are incompatible with Ubuntu.  Sad story.  :-/</p>\n<p>We also attempted to get cycling shoes (with toe clips!) and new pedals for Evan, but the people at the local sports store seemed unknowledgeable and unwilling to help.</p>\n<p>We also organised some stuff related to the WNBR in Brighton, and we posted a few updates to Facebook, blah, blah, blah, and curated some more photos.</p>\n<p>Mostly, we used today to do a lot of the things that we've been trying to do for a while, but haven't found the time for.  I guess my stomach illness was a pretty good excuse to chill out for a while.  :)</p>\n<p>This evening, we got to really cook the first meal on our stove (since it was broken the last time): gnocchi, pasta sauce, spinach, and cheese.  We had a cooking party under a bridge in town, proclaiming ourselves the classiest hobos in St. L\u00f4.  We also made a French person happy for the first time!  A couple walked by us, and the guy was basically stumbling away due to his incapacitating laughter at our admittedly-strange situation.</p>\n<p>After said delicious meal, we headed to the cinema to watch \"Prince of Persia.\"  I remember the good ol' days when I would play the 2D game, skillfully sneaking through steel chomping walls and spike pits.  The new games are alright, too, I suppose, and actually watching the movie felt a bit like playing a video game.  A lot of its angles were game angles more than cinematography angles, and some of its CG was just poor enough to be mistakable for game quality.  Oh, and it was all dubbed in French.  My little language receptors got a workout trying to follow what the heck was going on.  The image of Persian people fuming at each other in French is an amusing one.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/09/shopping-for-moms.html", "title": "shopping for moms", "date": "2010-06-09T15:44:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/09/shopping-for-moms.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100609", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>\n<i>\nmultimedia!<br/>\nat long last, something other<br/>\nthan text to look at.<br/>\n</i>\n</p>\n\n<p>More tech news from Bike to the Earth! After some long hours spent playing around with webcams duct-taped to handlebars, silly-looking yet happily functional GPS units, and Google Maps, we're proud to make three announcements:</p>\n<h3>Flickr and YouTube!</h3>\n<p>We're using our <a href=\"http://www.flickr.com/photos/biketotheearth\">Flickr photostream</a> and <a href=\"http://www.youtube.com/biketotheearth\">YouTube channel</a> to provide photos and videos along with each post.</p>\n<h3>VeloCam!</h3>\n<p>Take one $15 webcam, one laptop, one bike, some duct tape, and a metric whackload of Linux hackery and what do you get? The Bike to the Earth VeloCam! The videos at right were taken over test loops of roughly 10 and 25 km each. We'll be using a similar setup to provide day-by-day footage of the trip as we see it from our bikes.</p>\n<p>Oh, and <a href=\"http://www.google.ca/search?sourceid=chrome&amp;ie=UTF-8&amp;q=define:+velocipede\">see here</a> for a fun etymological tidbit.</p>\n<h3>GPS!</h3>\n<p>The map image at right was generated using data gathered by our GPS datalogger during a test walk around some nearby roads - not only will you have a video of each day, you'll also be able to see exactly where we went by looking at our daily map.</p>\n<p>That's it for now! For the tech/geo/media geeks in the crowd, I'll be posting special features on the webcam and GPS setup shortly. One last shameless plug: if you're not already following us via at least one of our social channels, get on that! The links are in the top toolbar. Our activity is going to increase exponentially over the next few weeks - don't miss anything!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/04/21/radio-killed-the-telegraph-star.html", "title": "radio killed the telegraph star", "date": "2010-04-21T02:01:00", "path": "posts/2010/04/21/radio-killed-the-telegraph-star.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100421", "country": "ca"}
+{"content": "<p>We wake up in our separate rooms in the Hostelling International establishment out by the Olympic Stadium. It is a peculiar feature of these hostels that, aside from the private rooms which are in perpetually short supply, they have designated male and female floors...strange, especially on a continent that is so cavalier about melon-breasted advertisement models and the like - but perhaps it is part of HI's mission to cater to all nationalities and beliefs. Whatever the reason, it is a bizarre contrast to camping in a small two-person tent, sharing a pair of sleeping bags zipped together...that said, hostels bring certain luxuries that we have long awaited: showers (which we take in both morning and night!) and fast wifi - which, this being a slow weekend morning, we take advantage of to read email and catch up on blog posts and contact potential WarmShowers/CouchSurfing hosts further down the route and upload photos and download, er, Caligula and Robot Chicken (this latter being of crucial importance to our travels!)</p>\n<p>Among the many online tasks completed: look up a recipe for mushroom risotto. It looks relatively easy, so we grab our pots and pans and trusty camping stove, walk to the nearest supermarket, grab anything we're missing (only mushrooms, onions, wine, and butter, as it turns out - we have a suspiciously well-stocked pantry, giving the lie to our frequent claims of superior hobosity) and head down to the one spot we deem most conducive to cooking up a delicious meal. Where would that be in such a tourist destination as Rome? The river Tiber (Tevere in Italian), of course! One side of the river has a makeshift bicycle path, most of which is paved with cyclist-jarring cobblestones; the other is lined with small boating and tennis clubs, with the occasional access down to the banks...we take one of these access roads, setting up in the shadow of a road bridge not far south of the hostel. We drink most of the wine as we cook our risotto - after all, the recipe only calls for a measly half-cup of white, and it would be a true shame to waste the rest...</p>\n<p>Now on to the more touristic parts of the day! We clean up our various dishes and head for the metro over to Repubblica in the more operatic-theatrical district of Rome, where we procure tickets for a production of Verdi's La Traviata that is slated to take place in a nearby church later tonight. Getting on the metro turns out to be more of an ordeal than expected; the machines only give up to 4\u20ac change, our smallest bill is 20\u20ac, the only staffed booth anywhere in the labyrinthine station emphatically refuses to make change, and no one seems able to help us beyond suggesting that we buy something small in the street-level kiosks. A stupid money-grab, to be sure...but there seems to be no way around it, so we grab the cheapest item on offer and get our tickets, cursing the tourist-trappery of the whole situation...</p>\n<p>...and soon we are holding two tickets to La Traviata at 2030. There is some time to kill; since we still have all of our dishes and pantry items with us, we book it back to the hostel to clean up and leave some of the heavier items behind before heading off to see the Vatican. The bus ride is simple and direct, except the part where it draws space-filling curves around Piazza del Risorigimento; again, however, we run into unexpected difficulties! There are two sets of checks at the Vatican. The first is a routine security check, complete with metal detectors and xray conveyor belts and the whole bit; unfortunately, clipped to our wallet is a keyring, and attached to that keyring is a small Swiss army knife. We leave the knife tucked away behind two pillars in Piazza San Pietro, hoping that it will not be taken...</p>\n<p>...and the next check is a decency check. This being one of the high sites of Catholicism, they are quite strict about covering the shoulders and other supposedly indecent parts - and so we are soon walking out past the first security check again and grabbing a cheap tacky multicoloured Picasso shawl for Valkyrie, as her dress is not up to code. We line up again, pass through the security and decency checks, and finally gain admission to the basilica...</p>\n<p>...but it is now 1730, and so we must make haste through the basilica. It is divided into a number of chapels, some of which house the remains (or, as we are shocked to discover, even the preserved and highly visible bodies) of deceased Popes. Sadly, most visitors forget to look up - for the domed ceilings host a number of spectacular frescoes, commissioned at great expense over the centuries. There are also a number of statues depicting various religious figures or events of importance, though with our secular leanings we are unable to identify them. We also visit the papal tombs, where grieving pilgrims crowd the space in front of the late Pope John Paul II - they toss rosaries and photos and all manner of religious iconography into the tomb, huddling and kneeling and crying as the loudspeakers blast eerily funereal music throughout the underground tunnels.</p>\n<p>After that, we make haste up to the metro line and over to the church - but we are still early, so we hit up the nearest supermarket for some pizza and libations. Most every supermarket here carries pizza of near-restaurant quality...and such food cannot go unaccompanied! We grab a bottle of wine, then decide to chase it with a mix of off-brand Martini, tonic, and orange slices that we cram into one of our water bottles...drinking most of this, we line up for the opera and conclude that we must be simultaneously the drunkest and most underdressed people in attendance...</p>\n<p>...and the opera is unremarkable, sadly. The confines of the church do not do it justice; these works almost invariably require a sizeable stage and a hall with the proper acoustic qualities, and the church fits neither criterion. Unfortunately, the season over at the main opera hall has just ended, and productions are on hold until October...</p>\n<p>Another busy day in Rome - and one more closer to tomorrow, when we will once more head out on our bikes and continue this business of getting to Istanbul in the most roundabout manner possible...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/11/a-river-runs-through-it.html", "title": "a river runs through it", "date": "2010-09-11T09:09:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/11/a-river-runs-through-it.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100911", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Piles of stone, once great,<br />\nLie scattered around the old<br />\nTown, cleft by metros.</i></p>\n<p>Well.  Here is the short blog post: we saw a big park and the Trevi Fountain and the Roman forum and the Colisseum today and ate some delicious food.  Here is the caution: we learned a crapload, and I'm about to write down all of it that I can remember.</p>\n<p>The park was a nice place to start the day.  We wandered around and stopped in a caf\u00e9 playing acoustic arrangements of songs like \"Smells Like Teen Spirit.\"  We had cannoli (a super delicious pastry which is filled with cream) and espresso strong enough to nearly knock us off our feet.  We looked over all of our old maps and dreamed about the things we'd done and those that we had yet to do.</p>\n<p>From the park, we attempted to head towards the old town.  Roma's streets are less-than-navigable, but the driving here is amazing.  I recall being told that drivers in Roma are insane, and Evan and I concluded long ago that Italy would be the place where we would die in a horrible traffic accident, but it turns out that because they all drive like maniacs, they all know that every other driver and pedestrian will behave predictably like a maniac, so each person is actually a very safe driver.  It's awesome, and we actually feel alright about walking blindly across traffic in busy roads.</p>\n<p>On our way to the old town, we stopped for gelato in a tiny shop, and then we spent about half an hour trying to find some way to get a bill smaller than a 50 because the man couldn't make change for us.  That was... frustrating.</p>\n<p>A lot of informational boards pepper the streets in Roma, describing everything from the history of its churches to the architects of its monuments to movies filmed in its streets.  We happened across a board that talked about \"La Dolce Vita,\" which was filmed partially in Rome.  The board described a scene that took place in the Trevi fountain, which was just down the street, wherein the leading actress lept in in her evening gown and was followed by the leading actor in his tuxedo.  \"Legend has it,\" the board read, \"that the Swedish woman had no trouble filming the scene, but that the man had to wear a scuba diving suit under his tuxedo.\"  We didn't jump in.  We decided that it probably was frowned-upon.</p>\n<p>Further on, we found the Plaza Venezia, which is the beginning of the part we intended to spend the day visiting.  Immediately across from us was a large monument with winged victories on top, columns stretching sideways for an eternity, and the Italian Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in its base.  We walked up to read about it; it was built after the wars as a symbol of national unity, and a carved woman with symbolic accessories represented each region of Italia.  We learned with some sadness that a few old palaces had to be destroyed in order to make room for such a large monument in such a populous place, but... maybe it was worth it.  The Italians (or at least the author of that learning board) seemed to think so.</p>\n<p>There was an old church just next to it, with stairs leading up to a plaza where it was not permitted to sit down.  Curious.  We went to the grocery store to pick up some lunch, which turned out to be delicious sandwiches of grilled eggplant marinated in olive oil and spicy pepper with herbed goat cheese.  We bought a 300g bag of chocolate cookies with stars on them to tide us over until we were done learning and could eat dinner.</p>\n<p>Behind all this was the old jail, which we couldn't find a board about, and behind that was the Roman forum.  It was 12\u20ac each for the ticket into the Forum and the Colosseum, and it was totally worth it.  I apologise if I don't really put things in absolute chronological order, but I'm just writing them as I remember them.  Here we go:</p>\n<p>People have lived in Roma for a very long time.  People have acted like people for a very long time.  Some boards explained the story of the AEmilia family and a basilica they built to show off how powerful they were.  There were freizes on the walls to explain all the most important events in Roman history.  One important event is the founding, of course.  Long ago a pair of twin brothers was abandoned at the foot of the Palatine (a hill in Roma) and nursed to adulthood by a wolf.  Their names were Romulus and Remus, and they both wanted to found a city.  They amassed their respective armies, and eventually Romulus killed his brother and founded his city, Rome.</p>\n<p>Another important story depicted was the rape of the Sabine women.  As Rome's power grew, they had to find more and more ways to expand it, and many of their ideas, as you may know, involved conquest.  They attacked one particular village, killed all the men, and carried off all the maiden women (one sign carefully noted that no married women were carried off) in order to procreate and expand Rome.</p>\n<p>Eventually, of course, as the empire drew to a close, the AEmilia family's power dwindled, and they allowed their basilica to fall into disrepair.</p>\n<p>Also around the forum were temples dedicated to various gods and godesses.  One of the more impressive that still had pieces standing was the temple to Jupiter.  Just a few columns jutted into the sky, a strange focal point on a background of modernish apartment buildings.</p>\n<p>Up the hill to the Palatine.  One unfortunate thing about the visit was that an audioguide was available, which meant that the curators of the site were fairly negligent with their signage.  We saw a lot of old things that had no information about them.  At the top of the Palatine, there was an antiquarium (I'm not certain what the difference is between that and a museum, but they're called antiquaria here) which had a lot of history posted on it, and the signage at the top was generally somewhat better than at the bottom.</p>\n<p>The Palatine was for the most part reserved for the rich and powerful of Rome.  At one point, the crazed emperor Nero burnt down a rather large swath of everything so that he could build a nice palace up there for himself (at the same time, he comissioned thousands of workers to dig a giant lake on the site that would become the Colisseum and asked for a statue 70 metres high of himself to be carved from stone).  Anyhow, the Palatine was the site of some pretty nice things, and the antiquarium explained that during excavations of basements, today's archaeologists (there are, in fact, still people working on excavating the forum) had found evidence of settlement in the area 300 or so years before even what we consider the ancient Romans.  It explained that something which was apparently common practise in this age was to bury dead infants around one's yard to mark it as one's own, with the bodies of older children and adults being buried in a cemetery outside of town.  That seems... strange to us.</p>\n<p>The antiquarium also discussed the generally lavish nature of the homes built on the hill, and it briefly discussed the bathhouse nearby which had not only the potential for running water (more on that in the bit about the Colisseum), but also the capacity to heat and cool both water and air for the pleasure of its patrons.  Next door to the baths were the remnants of a rather nice stadium.  Evan and I speculated as to why the Romans would need a second, smaller stadium in sight of the Colisseum, but no board told us, sadly.</p>\n<p>Down the hill towards the Colisseum, we found some signs indicating an ancient vineyard.  Cooler, though, were the signs just beyond a large fence which talked about some current excavations.  That part of the hill was rather structurally unstable, and some work had been begun to try to shore up any potential for landslides.  During that work, archaeologists discovered a mechanism that they believe was used for <i>moving pavement.</i>  It was actually a machine that could rotate large blocks of pavement (if you've been to SF, think of the thing that turns the trolleys around).  Yeah.  The Romans had that.</p>\n<p>It took us around 2 or 3 hours to see the Forum.  It was awesome.</p>\n<p>Across the street from the forum is the Colisseum.  We were immediately glad that we had already purchased our tickets, because, as you may be able to guess, the Colisseum is the thing to see in Roma.  Anyway, we got to waltz past the ticket line and head in.</p>\n<p>The Colisseum was around 50 meters high on all sides when it was constructed, and it was able to seat about 50,000 people.  For many years in the middle ages, people ransacked it for stone.  Eventually, Pope Benedict XIV put the kibosh on that.  What a reasonable guy.  Anyway, it was constructed by the emperors in the Flavian dynasty, so it is more correctly called the Flavian Amphitheatre.  Evan and I joked that we could be super-pretentious and insist upon calling it that.  I doubt we will.</p>\n<p>There were about 7 million thousand learning boards in the Colisseum.  We spent another couple hours there.  We learned about all the interesting little things that had been found during excavations and in the drains: sewing needles of various qualities indicated that the gladiator fights crossed genders and classes; ancient Roman graffiti showed up today's graffiti - they carved scenes of gladiator fights into stone in their spare time; burn marks on the walls and smaller animal bones in the crowd area imply that people would make a day of the whole thing, even going so far as cooking food beforehand and reheating it in their seats in the amphitheatre.  Drinking was permitted, of course, but to maintain order tokens were issued which allowed only one ration of wine per person.</p>\n<p>We learned a lot of things about the Colisseum itself, too.  The floor, a large sunken pit now filled with stone warehouse rooms, was once just an empty, watertight hole.  It was possible to stage <i>naval battles in the floor</i>.  There was a wooden upper floor which the Romans had designed for quick and easy removal and replacement, so gladiator fights were held in the sand on this floor, and it could be removed to bring out ships.  <i>Ships.</i>  And the engineering prowess of the ROmans went beyond that: they had <i>running water</i> coming from free public fountains up in the crowd stands.  Not only did they have enough fresh water that they could flood the entire floor of their damn Colisseum, but they gave it free to their public.  And they managed to rig it so that they could pressurise fountains 50 meters up.  That is serious business.</p>\n<p>Even the construction of the Colisseum was a huge feat.  One board indicated that 158,658 cubic metres of earth were removed for the building of the thing.  One wonders what feats mankind might have accomplished if the Church hadn't overwritten the knowledge of the ancient people.</p>\n<p>The gladiators, as many people learn, were comprised of both slaves from conquered and exotic lands and of free men trying to make money.  One board informed us that the average duration of a gladiator's career was 12 fights, with the minimum being about 3 and the maximum being over a hundred.  Gladiators were usually owned/sponsored by the rich, and gladiator battles were generally called by either the emperor himself or a politician seeking some good publicity.  In the beginnings of the Roman empire, the gladiators were not killed, as this was actually too expensive a thing for the up-and-coming empire.  Towards the end, though, the famous thumbs-down was the way of things.</p>\n<p>Today, the Colisseum is actually still used for one thing: the Pope's annual Good Friday walkthrough.  It seems almost cruel that the Church has taken over the last symbol of the empire that worked so hard to keep its power against the tide of Christianity.  Clearly, the Christians won, but...</p>\n<p>Whew.  That's all I can remember for now.  I'll have Evan look over it sometime and probably add some things that he remembers that I forgot to add in here.</p>\n<p>Our learning completed, we wandered back to the grocery store to pump some food into our starvation-mode bodies.  It's hard to go 5-6 hours without food when one is used to consuming 5-6,000 calories a day.  We had more sandwiches, this time with cheese and delicious Italian prosciutto from Parma, and then we stopped off for more gelatto from a shop that had about 60 different flavours (we chose Gran Torino, Pistachio, Spumoni, and... umm... one other one).  We headed tiredly back to the hostel, where we sleepily watched the movie \"9.\"  Now, it's dreamland time...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/10/when-in-rome.html", "title": "when in rome...", "date": "2010-09-10T09:07:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/10/when-in-rome.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100910", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Yellow mists obscure<br />\nThe road, bury it in corn.<br />\nHarvest season nears.</i></p>\n<p>Well, really, harvest season is here.  We woke up early this morning and set out for what we had been warned was an extremely boring and crop-lined stretch between Venezia and Trieste, and we weren't disappointed.  All the roads we took, even smaller roads, were jammed with late-season tourists and farm equipment hauling multiple trailer-loads of corn which spilled all over the road.  That along with the immense flat expanses recalled Indiana to me.  Ah, Indiana.</p>\n<p>This continued for about a hundred kilometres.  We couldn't see the sea; the coast was so irregular that most roads went far inland, and it would have been dozens of kilometres out of the way to actually get down to the water.  Sigh.</p>\n<p>After a long time during which we ate lunch, took coffee, blah, blah, blah, we stopped in a bike shop for our first real interactions with people for the day.  They didn't speak English, but the owners of the bike shop were thrilled to hear about our trip, and they happily aired our tyres and sold us some extra tubes, and they even adjusted our brakes for free and gave us a lesson on how to do it ourselves.  We were thankful for the pause; this stretch of road was monotonous and full of angry drivers and utterly uninteresting.</p>\n<p>It got later and later, and we finally saw the mountains of Slovenija in the distance.  We wound up some small roads and into them around sunset, crossing the border into our 11th country just as red and orange and green ripped across the horizon.</p>\n<p>The change in altitude was serious.  It was cold when the sun dropped below the horizon.  Evan's beard was soaked with the condensation of his own breath, and our meagre lights were barely enough to help us see around corners.  We were thankful to the French road workers who long ago gave us the high-visibility vest.  We slowly made our way about 30km across the country to Se\u017eana, where we knew we had hosts waiting for us.</p>\n<p>We had gotten poor directions from the Internet, but fortunately we found the local postman of Se\u0139\u013eana in a bar.  The girl who ran the bar spoke English, and she helped us to ask him for directions.  Better than that, he simply led us to our hosts' house.  :)  Some people are so kind!</p>\n<p>We arrived around 22h, and, boy, were Aleksander and Azra surprised to see us.  They even said they had forgotten that we were arriving... we really need to find a solution to the awful French phone we still carry with us.  Anyway, they welcomed us into their home and let us shower and cook dinner, then we all sat down to discuss some things about the area and the schedule for tomorrow.  It sounds like we're in for a tour, and Aleksander is really excited to show us around.  We're excited, too, and not just because we get to sleep in a bed.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/02/corn-haul.html", "title": "corn haul", "date": "2010-10-02T16:01:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/02/corn-haul.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101002", "country": "si"}
+{"content": "<p>For many, Detroit is a poster child for urban decay. Its checkered past is rife with <a href=\"http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/eleanor/peopleevents/pande10.html\">racial</a> <a href=\"http://www.67riots.rutgers.edu/d_index.htm\">tension</a>, its present plagued by <a href=\"http://www.lightrailnow.org/features/f_det_2005-01.htm\">urban sprawl</a> and <a href=\"http://www.judicialwatch.org/blog/2010/jan/detroit-corruption-keeps-piling\">corruption</a> - and yet it is exactly these conditions that have set the stage for one of the most audacious experiments in urban living.</p>\n<p>What am I talking about? <a href=\"http://www.modeldmedia.com/features/sustain60.aspx\">This.</a></p>\n<p>You read that right: enterprising activists, farmers, and entrepreneurs are banding together to transform dilapidated Detroit into the next American breadbasket. In the process, Detroit is becoming a testing ground for everything from <a href=\"http://www.modeldmedia.com/features/sustain55.aspx\">green building technologies</a> to <a href=\"http://detnews.com/article/20090507/BIZ/905070406/Wind-turbines-generate-Michigan-job-hopes\">renewable energy</a>. If even a small proportion of these ventures take off, the Motor City may very well out-green us all.</p>\n<p>Closing remarks: yes, this is old news. That said, a revolution in urban farming may be exactly what we need to craft cities that are more compact and efficient. Of course, astronomical land values make this all but impossible in, say, Manhattan - but the basic idea can be adapted to other forms, such as community rooftop gardens (or greenhouses in colder climates.) That's what this post is essentially getting at: there are several good ideas here that deserve to be tested elsewhere. Cities with control over their building codes, such as <a href=\"http://biketotheearth.org/#5fd27617e5025834d98a617c70be1b2b\">Vancouver</a>, are well positioned to do just that; in other cities, archaic bylaws must first be overturned or updated.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html", "title": "put your hands up for detroit", "date": "2010-05-02T02:22:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100502", "country": "ca"}
+{"content": "<p>Another night survived, despite our frightening proximity to a bank of bee boxes. We are soon part of the hectic rush-hour traffic around Napoli, where lane markings - on the rare occasions that they exist - are merely suggestions; at one point, four lanes of traffic weave through a section of road marked with only two. Most of the roads just north of the city have that half-paved and irreparably-potholed feel - a seat-of-your-pants experience, complete with the constant fear that your bicycle's meagre frame will lose the structural integrity game in a most catastrophic and painful manner...</p>\n<p>...but our bikes remain intact as we ride into Napoli, greeted by the scent of caff\u00e9 - there is a large Kimbo Caff\u00e9 plant on the periphery, which alongside Lavazzo and illy and sundry other marks is one of the more popular brands around these parts for nursing that hard-earned caffeine addiction. We give in to the suggestion and stop just down the road at a small caf\u00e9, where the espresso is served dark and strong in tall cups with giant plastic spoons for stirring. Continuing on towards the city centre, we quickly find ourselves on cobblestone roads that make the outlying roads seem like Danish bike paths in terms of bikeability - half are paved with small stones, the other half with large slabs that settle in wildly divergent directions. Our progress slows to a crawl through this mess of stone and traffic and garbage, this last courtesy of - we think, judging from the news reports - a local garbage workers' strike.</p>\n<p>The search for Internet is chaotic. We try first in the central train station, but there are no open networks; for our inquiries at the information desk, we are pointed at the nearby McDonalds. We manage to connect there for a brief second, but the connection is too spotty to be of use, and a quick walk around the area - laptop in hand! - does not help. We ask next at a series of hotels - but these typically offer wifi to guests in their rooms, and are therefore unwilling to help us in our search. Next up: the university, as the students will almost certainly know a place to get our Internet fix...but the one suggestion we receive is unhelpful, as we are unable to get a reliable connection to the networks around the university. By now we have spent a solid two hours in this fruitless search; thankfully, someone points us in the direction of a relatively inexpensive Internet caf\u00e9, a compromise which seems reasonable at this point.</p>\n<p>Afterwards, we head over to Antica Pizzeria da Michele, considered by many to be the best pizza joint in Campania. They serve only two kinds of pizza - margherita (sauce, basil, mozzarella) and marinara (same, but without the cheese) - and have only Coca-Cola, beer, and water to drink. The pizza is massive, with a thin crust that is mainly crunchy with a slight chewy texture that is ever so satisfying - definitely the best pizza we've had so far in Italia, although our sample size is rather small.</p>\n<p>Full of pizza, we decide to tackle the climb up Vesuvius. This is no simple matter; the roads marked on our map twist precipitously up the side of the volcano, and the elevation at the end pegs the climb at slightly over a vertical kilometre - but why not? We are in excellent shape by now, having completed several decent mountain ascents during our travels: across the Pyrenees twice, over several more mountain ridges along the Camino, up into the highlands in the southwest corner of the Iberian peninsula, through the hilly coastline near Barcelona, along the coastal mountains into La Spezia...so we find ourselves at the base, and are soon slogging our way - gear and all - up the side of Vesuvius. We stop at a restaurant in the upper foothills and ask politely in broken Italian whether it might be possible to fill our bottles; seeing the depths of our determined folly, the owners agree...</p>\n<p>...the climb takes only (!) three hours - but by this time it is late, and the paths up to the crater close at 1700! We almost decide to camp in the parking lot at the end of the road, but are warned not to by some locals; by nighttime, we are told, the area becomes a popular hangout for junkies and delinquents. It is a great disappointment, but it seems wiser to head back down before it gets dark than to risk injury to either ourselves or the bikes at the hands of strung-out kids looking for a quick and cruel laugh...</p>\n<p>...the descent is cold, and night falls quickly by now - it is dark by the time we are halfway down, and Napoli is not exactly the place to try your hand at stealth camping. We shack up in a hotel for the night, finishing the rest of our snack as we watch the disturbing spectacle that is Caligula. Tomorrow: Pompei - and then up into the mountains of Campania and Basilicata, where we have located another WarmShowers host! At this point, few things are more exciting than the prospect of warm running water washing away our accumulated filth...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/15/in-the-hall-of-the-mountain-king.html", "title": "in the hall of the mountain king", "date": "2010-09-15T14:56:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/15/in-the-hall-of-the-mountain-king.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100915", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>\n<i>\nPolitics - rife with<br/>\nFear, Uncertainty, and Doubt;<br/>\nMaybe hope remains.\n</i>\n</p>\n\n<p><a href=\"http://www.thestar.com/news/gta/transportation/article/794489--score-one-for-the-bikes\">Score one for the bikes</a> indeed! I was overjoyed to see this article staring at me on the GO Train yesterday; it appears that Toronto City Hall has finally become acquainted with common sense. To recap: one of Toronto's busiest downtown roadways will see one lane in each direction set aside for cyclists. I suspect City Hall's resident cyclist <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glenn_De_Baeremaeker\">Glenn De Baeremaeker</a> is a key proponent of this initiative. My opinion? It's about time.</p>\n<p>As usual, this plan has its share of <a href=\"http://roccorossi.com/inthenews/toronto-star-op-ed-nutty-bike-lane-idea/\">detractors</a>; predictably, they argue that lane reductions make traffic worse. What do the facts say?</p>\n<p><a href=\"http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=removing-roads-and-traffic-lights\">Wrong</a>! <a href=\"http://www.infrastructurist.com/2009/07/06/huh-4-cases-of-how-tearing-down-a-highway-can-relieve-traffic-jams-and-help-save-a-city/\">Wrong</a>! <a href=\"http://www.nyc.gov/html/dot/html/about/broadway.shtml\">Wrong</a>!</p>\n<p>The evidence is right there: <em>road closures and limitations help reduce traffic congestion.</em> Moving away from car-centric cities also has a number of positive side-effects - the urban environment becomes safer for pedestrians, healthier, more sustainable, more human. In some cases, less truly is more.</p>\n<p>I hope this pilot project is a resounding success. If you're a cyclist in Toronto, help make it one! Get out this summer, use the new bike lanes, and show Stone Age pols like Rossi exactly how wrong they are. If you're visiting from out of town, rent a bike for the day; there's no better way to see a city! Can't find a job for the summer? Start a bike tour company in the area! This could be the start of a vibrant cycling culture in Toronto - but we have to make sure it sticks.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/04/15/its-about-time-toronto.html", "title": "it's about time, toronto", "date": "2010-04-15T02:35:00", "path": "posts/2010/04/15/its-about-time-toronto.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100415", "country": "ca"}
+{"content": "<p><i>You hold in your hand<br />\nThe energy of ages,<br />\nSun becomes sugar.</i></p>\n<p>The full moon was last night, so we have now officially entered the Electric moon.  And that means two things: Greg is returning from his business trip and it's TIME TO HARVEST GRAPES.</p>\n<p>Fiorella shows us briefly how she wants the grapes harvested, then pops off to collect Greg at the train station in Ostuni.  Evan, Jean, and I set to work in the field.</p>\n<p>It's exciting, actually, to hold the grape clusters in your hand.  Crazy to think that something like that is natural, and that we've been using it for thousands of years for our own purposes.  I wonder what wild grapes used to look like... Evan comments that a grape cluster represents \"nature's ad hoc sphere packing algorithm.\"  I kiss him.</p>\n<p>We work in the field for not-so-long before we realise that between the three of us (Evan, Jean, and I) we have filled all the buckets and baskets that we know the locations of.  This is a conundrum, indeed, so we sit down to breakfast to wait for our hosts' return.  They come back eventually, and we all set to the harvesting with new alacrity.</p>\n<p>We learn about Greg!  He's in the voice acting/dubbing script-writing business.  He and Fiorella met originally at an academic conference about Mayans.  He's from Los Angeles, and he was there for work (and to visit family).  He's a much better source of information about the 13 Moon Calendar: the Cosmic History Chronicles are very long, and he can distill a lot of information into a few words, plus he can answer any questions we have directly without need for an index.</p>\n<p>After the grapes are harvested (all 250kg of them!), we marvel at them standing in the driveway for a few minutes.  After that, we sit down to a lunch of foccacias brought back by Greg and Fiorella.  They tell us that there's a bakery in Ostuni where they make the best foccacias, and we believe them after eating these.  :)  Delicious spinach, tomatoes, and olives dot the breads, and they are AMAZING.  Accompanying the foccacias is a salad made of edible herbs from around the Garden; many of which I have never seen before.  But they're tasty, too, especially with a dab of the lemon yogurt Fiorella got from the local macelleria recently.</p>\n<p>After lunch, we all relax a little and take time to shake out our joints from the picking.  Shortly, it's time to weed the garden areas so that Greg can rototill them later.  Certain weeds are too long and whippy to be chopped by such a machine; they simply jam its motors and kill it.  So we pick them first.  Unfortunately, they are full of excessively sticky sap.  Sigh.  Now we are covered in sap.</p>\n<p>Covered in sap and tired out.  It's the end of a long day of working out in the fields, and we're ready for bed.  Learning about the grape harvest was awesome, and I hope we get to learn about the other stages of winemaking sometime.  We've been drinking the wine that Greg and Fiorella made last year, and it's pretty good.  We're contributing for next year's WWOOFers!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/24/the-wrath-of-grapes.html", "title": "the wrath of grapes", "date": "2010-09-24T15:49:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/24/the-wrath-of-grapes.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100924", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>Our short sojourn in Geneva completed, Henning drives us to the airport at characteristically breakneck speed along a maze of country roads and roundabouts to challenge even our highly developed navigational acumen. We reach the airport, exchange farewells, and are left to go through the usual round of security theatre. This time we must check a bag - Valkyrie finally received a package sent to CERN on her behalf which her ex-coworkers had been holding for her in anticipation of this visit, and which contained (among sundry other items of dire importance) a jar of peanut butter, a substance recently deemed by the airport authorities to be a liquid and therefore subject to the lilliputian restrictions on liquids...</p>\n<p>...and the flight leaves 20 minutes late; and we must wait for our bag at the luggage carousels; and we must wait for the metro to Lliria, which leaves only once every half-hour; and all these delays conspire in combination to push our arrival in Lliria back from the expected 1800 to 1930, so that Cathy and Bill have long since left. We peruse the parking lot to no effect, grab some peaches, and decide to grab a taxi to the granja; the taxi leaves just before the ominous-looking clouds break into rain, heading along the backroads - the driver somewhat confused, asking occasionally just what the hell is out in the direction that we're leading him along, perhaps suspecting some sort of ruse or impending violence...but he takes us there, charges us dearly for his efforts, and drives off, leaving us to walk up to the place in the drizzling rain.</p>\n<p>As is usual for these travel-packed days, little of consequence occurs. We eat, read for a bit, set the tent up, talk with the family a bit, then head off to sleep up on the tiled terrace; whereas the first night spent up here reminded us of the less-than-comfortable nature of hard ground, our second night proves that the body is adaptable indeed...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html", "title": "just plane spain", "date": "2010-08-10T15:58:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100810", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>Another day of miscellaneous hoeing, laying rock circles around trees, and such...but there is not much to do while the Cooperativa and hardware stores are closed, so instead we hang out for a while reading, put a second coat of paint on the bedroom, clean the floor, help Bill plaster over the cracked patches in the swimming pool - which, it turns out, is an old basin that has been on the property for some 30 years - and join them in the evening on a ride into Vilamarxante, where the town is bristling with excitement for the upcoming Encierro. Streets are lined with makeshift balconies supported underneath by metal cages whose bars are wide enough to admit people but not bulls, and the sky brightens with fireworks...</p>\n<p>...the drive into Vilamarxante takes us through Pedralba, which we now know as the only place to get wireless within 10 km - and one of precisely two places to charge up our various battery-equipped gadgets, the other being the town of Casinos down the backcountry highway in the other direction. Pedralba is silent tonight, its residents almost invariably over in Vilamarxante for the festivities. Festivals are serious business in Spain, a time of utter social obligation to pack the streets and run from large dangerous animals and blast noisemaker fireworks off into the sky; when we reach Vilamarxante, the municipal parking lots are full - but only by North American standards, as newly arrived vehicles from the surrounding towns continue to cram into every last space imaginable...</p>\n<p>We sit down in one of the bars eating bocadillos and roasted almendras with our copas of cerveza while the kids run off to get ice cream over at the heladeria. Kali wastes no time in bolting off across the square as fast as her two-year-old legs will carry her, followed closely behind by her vigilant mother...but we sit here, enjoying the cold beer and the general background noise of the square and the violent explosions overhead. We grab a couple of pints, talk about the unwaveringly pitiful state of the world and the relative peace of a life in rural Spain, then we pack ourselves back into the car and carefully edge our way through the car-choked lot...the normal exit is firmly blocked, so we take a ramp up and over the sidewalk at high speed, this being the only possible means of escape...but this is all par-for-the-course in Spain, where festivals, days of rest, and siesta are law - and no one is above this law, least of all the police, and so we ride back to the granja without interruption to continue the work of rest...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/14/explosions-in-the-night-sky.html", "title": "explosions in the night sky", "date": "2010-08-14T16:04:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/14/explosions-in-the-night-sky.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100814", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Water leaks when you<br />\nAren't careful... minds and legs<br />\nBecome mushier.</i></p>\n<p>Bill and Cathy are super relaxed.  It's awesome.  Our only jobs for today were basically to run errands for them.  Well, we hoed up a patch of ground quickly, but that was fairly easy.  They needed us to get clover seed and a tyre in Ll\u00edria, and we're basically free to do as we like with the rest of our day.  We headed out on our bike ride, stopping to note an ENORMOUS fig tree along the way.  Too bad there weren't any figs ripe, but Bill brought us some yesterday, so we didn't mind.  :)</p>\n<p>It's still too hot to drink during the middle of the day... but in Casinos there is a bodega (wine cellar) with tapped casks of wine that you can use to taste or to fill your own bottles.  Well, the only bottles we have are our water bottles, so we went ahead and filled those.  The thing about the wine is that it's really really tasty, though, so we wanted to drink some and also to bring some back to share.  But if we only brought back 750mL, that's not enough to split 5 ways (me, Evan, Cathy, Bill, and their friend Natalie), so we filled two water bottles, drank them, filled them again, and, totally dehydrated, headed off on our real task.</p>\n<p>The middle of the day is somewhat fuzzy, but we made it to Ll\u00edria (despite my falling off my bike and scraping my leg once, sigh), got the stuff, and headed back.  Evan even got some painting done in Joseph's room.  Most of the afternoon, though, was dedicated to a nap that lasted roughly until dinnertime, when Joseph offered to take us to some marble caves nearby.</p>\n<p>He didn't actually have much idea where he was going; he'd been there only once before, and that time was in a car, not to mention that the look of the area we were searching in had been drastically changed by a fire recently (there was actually still a smouldering pile of garbage that we walked past).  Anyway, he couldn't find it, but a nice policeman came by and gave us directions.  When Joseph failed to follow the directions correctly, the nice policeman gave us a ride to the cave, and even walked us over to it.  The caves were pretty cool; people apparently used to live there, and they looked cut rather than carved by water.  Still, though, they were the first marble caves I've seen.  Nice!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/17/extremely-hot-and-incredibly-drunk.html", "title": "extremely hot and incredibly drunk", "date": "2010-08-17T13:44:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/17/extremely-hot-and-incredibly-drunk.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100817", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>Fairly long ride today from just outside of Flensburg, about 100 km - though in the absence of perfect navigation, missed turns and resulting backtracks brought this total to somewhere around 120 km. The day started out with a quick hop down to Schleswig, where we grabbed a generous lunch of pizza, watermelon, pretzels, and beer; as we noted before, sustaining this level of activity for several hours each day requires an enormous amount of food!</p>\n<p>After this, we had a slight detour towards Kiel - the highway signs are not always obvious, especially at multi-highway junctions. It took a bit of help from an attendant at the nearest petrol station and a closer look at the map to get back on track, but we managed to catch the error before we got too far out of Schleswig. We did have another spot of misdirection in getting onto the correct bike path for Neum\u00fcnster, and were forced to push our bikes up a set of stairs alongside the highway out of Schleswig. With those two obstacles overcome, we were now on our way to Neum\u00fcnster.</p>\n<p>We hit Rendsburg next, where we ended up missing the highway again; fortunately, we corrected this much faster than our previous misadventures out of Schleswig. (I suppose we're learning from experience, albeit slowly!) Upon asking the locals for directions, we received some cryptic advice: \"This road leads down to the bridge, where you will find a ferry hanging from a bridge.\" This seemed like utter nonsense at the time, but turned out to be accurate - for there, under the railway bridge, was a section of road suspended by four thick cables for the sole purpose of carrying pedestrians and motorists to the other side. (Why did they not simply build another bridge? This is an excellent question - perhaps they wanted some Rube Goldbergian practice.)</p>\n<p>The bike path from Rendsburg to Neum\u00fcnster was another adventure altogether; this leads through farmland and backcountry gravel roads, which are understandably unfriendly to touring bikes. We encountered loose sand at several points along this path, causing us to careen into tailspins that nearly toppled us (and our weighty gear) off our bikes. That said, the path was quite beautiful in some parts, especially where it passed by majestic groupings of wind turbines or tree-lined alleyways.</p>\n<p>Our final challenge of the day was finding the campsite around Neum\u00fcnster; it was not actually in the city proper, but rather some 5 km or so out in the surrounding countryside. Nevertheless, we mustered enough persistence and last-minute energy to arrive there and set up camp, whereupon we promptly passed out.</p>\n<p>So far, the greatest difficulty in navigation has been finding our way out of cities; the routes in between are fairly well marked, with frequent signs listing distances to nearby towns. The best remedy is usually asking for help; unless you have a decent GPS navigation unit or printed copies of every last map tile on Google Maps, chances are the locals know the area better than you could ever hope to. It might be difficult to ask, particularly if your command of the language is somewhat lacking, but you will likely ascertain enough of the intended meaning from frantic hand signals to figure it out. (At the very least, you can get going in the right direction and ask again.)</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/21/lost-and-found.html", "title": "lost and found", "date": "2010-05-21T17:12:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/21/lost-and-found.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100521", "country": "de"}
+{"content": "<p>We are getting close to the end of the Camino! Today begins with a gentle yet perceptible climb up the Valcarce followed by a much more arduous 700 m ascent through Pedrafita to O Cebreiro and on to the Alto do Poio at 1337 m above sea level - the final major peak of the Camino Franc\u00e9s! We then descend down another vertical kilometre, only to find that we must immediately inch our way across yet another hilly span of roughly 30 km to Portomar\u00edn. The total distance is 100 km, less than some of our other days but arguably the hardest yet.</p>\n<p>Climbing to O Cebreiro is slow. The hiking trail leads up on dirt paths from Vega de Valcarce, forcing us to take the nearby N-VI up the valley to Pedrafita and then around the back instead. Many parts are steep; we spend a long time crawling forward on lowest gear, every pedal revolution bringing us just slightly closer to the peak. Fortunately, our water holds out during the ascent, and our legs prove strong enough after the last few days to make it in reasonable time. We play leapfrog with a lone girl on unladen mountain bike; she is faster without gear, but we have hard-earned endurance on our side. The minimum distance required to receive a certificate of completion at Santiago de Compostela is 100 km by foot or 200 km by bike; as we discover, many hikers take advantage of this by starting in Portomar\u00edn - after the mountains - whereas cyclists following the Camino Franc\u00e9s must at least make their way over Alto do Poio. Nevertheless, the cyclists that start so close from the end need relatively little gear, and are almost invariably less tired than those who wear their long journeys on their sweat-stained sleeves.</p>\n<p>For this reason, the nature of the Camino has changed abruptly; there is a booming industry in camino tourism in these parts, offering such amenities as baggage shipment along particularly difficult sections and tourist albergues and the like. The municipal albergue in Portomar\u00edn is full, so we find sleeping quarters in the only other albergue in town; it is packed with shouting and cheering \"poser pilgrims\", who have clearly arrived here to walk the easy last section. They carry no gear, drink and blast music until quiet hours, and congregate in large groups. They do not reflect upon their journey, are not tested by it; for them, it is a short vacation, albeit in a somewhat novel form. They leave garbage strewn across the albergue, shattered bottles on the benches outside. We start seeing car signs for vehicles wishing to follow the Camino - as though it were something you could merely stay along or visit. We all agree: this cheapens the trials of those who come from far away, who are here to make real pilgrimages whether for religious or spiritual or even merely athletic reasons. For this latter group, it is something special; for the others who merely visit or saunter blissfully through this last section, it is just another walk.</p>\n<p>We make a delicious blue cheese and cream sauce for dinner off the stove, moving a bit away from the albergue for even the slightest hope of peace; some travellers have set up tents in the park. Only one day remains to Santiago and the end of the Camino. It is so close!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/13/mountains-2.html", "title": "mountains 2", "date": "2010-07-13T11:36:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/13/mountains-2.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100713", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>A night restless as the wind that whips through our tent, slicing through the cover and into our sleeping bags as though each were threadbare. We awake to find that most of the tent corners have shed their terrestrial trappings and are flapping about in the fierce gusts, leaving the pegs uselessly anchored into the ground - and yet the tent itself remains underneath us, has not blown off the cliff into the cold Adriatic as we had feared...</p>\n<p>...and our day starts with a slow ride back down the hill into Senj, where we eat breakfast and drink our morning coffee and seek refuge from the wind. The wind is everything now, equally much so as the rain was all-encompassing only two days ago. It is unpredictable, occasionally blowing with a force that threatens to sweep us off our bikes past the often non-existent guardrails; even when it dies down, it is still strong enough to wick any sweat out of our cycling jerseys and leave us shivering. We decide that it is best to wait until the sun has risen over the coastal mountains, mitigating the cold winds with its heat...</p>\n<p>...which it does by roughly 0900; we're off! The wind has not truly let up, but we cannot wait forever in Senj; we itch to ride, even more so than we desire safety from the wind, and so we inch back up the hill to pass our cliffside campsite and continue on down the coastal highway 8 towards Zadar, Split, and - eventually, after crossing through 10 km of Bosnia - Dubrovnik.</p>\n<p>This is hands-down one of the best locations of the entire trip thus far. The islands of Krk, Rab, and Pag are unlike anything we've seen; their coast-facing slopes, denuded by grazing goats and powerful winds, appear as some sort of lunar landscape - it is a shame we are unable to make it over there, for the other side of Rab is reputed to contain several magnificent beaches next to a section of rainforest. Nevertheless, the view from the mainland is an uninterrupted spectacle; settlements are scarce through this stretch of road, and it is uncommon to see even one town in 15-20 km...</p>\n<p>We continue down the coast for some time, at last reaching Karlobag after several hours and many hills' worth of cycling. This is the first town of any considerable size since Senj some 60 km or so behind - indeed, we were forced at midday to make a lunch of pasta, garlic, and olive oil, these being the only ingredients that we keep regularly stocked in our pantry. We finally restock in Karlobag, loading up on food for supper and breakfast. By now, we have assumed a regular pattern in our cooking: we cook large suppers, enough to fill our Tupperware container for the next day's lunch, and make sure to grab breakfast materials at the same time - in this way, we need only visit the markets once per day. Our breakfasts have become quite basic, consisting primarily of yogurt with whatever cereal or m\u00fcsli we have in the pantry - a good, simple, and inexpensive high-energy meal to start the day! It is at last cool enough at night to reasonably store yogurt, something that would have been unthinkable in the mold-inducing heat of Spain and Portugal...</p>\n<p>...and we continue on past Karlobag, fighting against the ever more fierce winds. At one point, the wind is so strong that we are nearly blown sideways off the road, and we consider stopping for the night on an unoccupied terrace by the roadside...but we take a short break, the wind subsides, and we keep on going right down into the pseudo-riviera - for it is the fashion here to call every potentially touristic seaside stretch a \"riviera\" - until we happen upon a small terrace of olive trees with adequate space to set a tent and a decent stone beach for cooking beneath. We cook and drink and eat away the evening hours, basking in the Adriatic sunset...</p>\n<p>...and, having had our fill of food for the night, we head back up to our bikes so that we may detach the tent from my pannier rack and set it on the soft ground beneath the olive trees - but alas! It is not to be; the Croatian Road Service happens upon our would-be campsite, the driver of their neon-orange van inquiring probingly as to what exactly we might be doing there at such a twilight hour. There is nothing else for it: the site is compromised, so we continue on yet again - this time trying valiantly to see by the light of our meagre headlamp - and manage to find a scenic lookout a few kilometres down the road that is protected enough from view to avoid attracting the repeat attentions of the Road Service. We toss the sleeping bag down on the tent footprint, not even bothering to set the tent itself - there are no bugs here, and the weather is expected to hold up for a few days yet - before catching a night of sleep under the stars...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/07/croatian-road-service-says-no.html", "title": "croatian road service says no", "date": "2010-10-07T11:00:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/07/croatian-road-service-says-no.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101007", "country": "hr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Water buffalo.<br />\nA tower of wheat.  What else<br />\nDoes one need in life?</i></p>\n<p>We rode down the hill from Appolosa one last time with Massimo on his way to work, and we had a quick conference about the route for the day.  It is supposed to be easy to get to Bari in a couple days from here: it's only mountainous for a while, and there are many places of interest along the way.  We put all our things back in order and biked to Benevento in a fairly short amount of time.</p>\n<p>We hoped to score a few extra tubes, since we haven't replenished our stock in some time, so we stopped at a bike shop in town.  Unfortunately, they didn't carry the right size (the shop specialised in racing bikes and the appropriate smaller tubes), but more important than anything we could have bought at the shop was a chance meeting with a fellow named Gerardo.  He hails from... Boston.  Hooray, a chance to speak English!</p>\n<p>We chatted with Gerardo, who is in the area for a short time before starting a bike trip around Greece (he and his family are originally from a town near Benevento called Passo di Mirabella).  He gave us an alternate route to Bari, which heads... well, further south than we thought we'd like.  Massimo was careful to point out a route that is generally fast and flat along more major-ish roads, and Gerardo's route was more meandering, with several hard, hard climbs sprinkled through it.  It looked generally longer, but we noted it down on our map, anyway.</p>\n<p>That wasn't the best part.  He told us that a festival would be happening near his hometown, and that it would involve two things: water buffalo and a tower of wheat.  Despite the fact that attending this festival meant covering only 30 or 40 kilometres for the day, we immediately determined that it was a brilliant plan.  We took his directions down and headed out of town.  We headed out, er, the wrong way, but we corrected it by climbing over an excessively steep hill unnecessarily.  Solution: cyclist legs.</p>\n<p>Some creative navigation over streets not visible on our maps eventually found us on the right road towards Mirabella, and to celebrate we stopped in a caf\u00e9 for slushies.  They also had... internet!  We decided to check for sure where the WWOOF farm was.  We had unfortunately been labouring under the impression that it was in Bari... but it turns out to be near Ceglia Messapica, which is a full 90km south of Bari.  Crap.</p>\n<p>With our goal suddenly extremely modified, we decided that it's probably better to take Gerardo's route southward through the twisting mountains.  It doesn't matter, anyway, since we can't really get anywhere until tomorrow.  Anyway!</p>\n<p>We arrived at the edge of Mirabella, and there stood a church.  Some kind of hubbub was about, and people were wearing brightly-coloured shirts and seemed to be waiting for something.  We tied our bikes up in front of the church and headed into the bar to try two Italian specialties we had been putting off trying: Campari soda and grappa.  Of note: grappa is good when you have good grappa.  I had previously tried some that was less-than-delicious, but this glass was nice and rather like whisky.</p>\n<p>Suddenly!  Water buffalo!  They were being... led up the stairs?  In pairs?  Who cares?  We care!  We followed them as they paraded through all of Mirabella, gathering a band and a large crowd of people as they went.  Along the route, someone sang Ave Maria, and someone else laid flowers on an altar of the church of Maria Dolorosa.  We took pause in another bar as the lumbering buffalo fell behind us to try the third drink we hadn't yet: limoncello.  Some of the local kids decided to strike up a conversation with us, and we learned that we'd been spotted in Naples a couple days previously.  That was a strange thing to hear.  :)</p>\n<p>Also during the walk, we were stopped or moved several times by local people trying to get photos or videos that featured us in appropriately good lighting.  That was strange, too; we were local stars for a few hours.  One man in particular even came up to us and asked, in Italian, if we speak Italian.  When we answered that it was only a little, he decided that that was enough, and he set up microphones and a video camera to interview us briefly.  We decided that he was our personal videographer.</p>\n<p>Eventually, the procession wound up at a large tower which was made of wheat.  Please look at the photos and try to understand, dear reader, because I simply don't know that I can explain this one.  It was several stories tall, and was in fact supporting the weight of several people inside.  Fireworks were set off (strangely, many of them were actual fireworks as opposed to just noise-makers, and we could see vestiges of coloured sparks coming off into the daylight), and at 15h the tower began to move.</p>\n<p>There were hundreds of people tugging on ropes at all sides of the tower, trying to stabilise the thing while it rumbled behind the hard-working water buffalo.  We helped!  One of the photos (taken by our personal videographer) is quite nice.</p>\n<p>We actually took a break in the middle of the multi-hour tower moving epic trip to move our bicycles from one end of town to the other for easier access.  En route to a new parking place, we were intercepted by some more local kids who asked about our trip.  We told them a bit, and they gifted us with pistachios for the road and a couple sips of beer in passing.  Yum!</p>\n<p>Our bikes parked, we got back to the tower-moving nonsense for a while, but gave up shortly and wandered off to find a cotton candy vendor we'd seen earlier in the day, since our stomachs were beginning to rumble.  Along one of the streets, we stumbled across our friend Gerardo!  We talked to him some more: he was there with his family to see the festival and the tower and the vendors, and we decided to walk around with them.</p>\n<p>As the night wore on, he asked if we had a place to stay yet.  We admitted that we were just planning to camp outside town after we left the festival, and he immediately said that we were cordially invited to stay with him and his family at their big house a few kilometres away.  Excited about this prospect, we continued enjoying the fair (there was some live music and a lot of stuff-vendors) with the group for the evening, talking a lot to Gerardo about his bike-tripping style and whether he had any tips for the relatively-new adventurers.  At the end of the evening, we followed their car home, arriving to the place some time after dark.</p>\n<p>Gerardo was so kind; he filled us with bread and olive oil, local mozzarella, fruit (they have fig trees!), local wine (amusingly, some land that his family owns is rented to farmers for the price of some wine), tomatoes from the garden, green tea...  Delicious pre-sleep food.  We talked more about bikes and photos and maps, and after showers we are ready for sleep.  In a bed!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/18/wtr-bfflo.html", "title": "wtr bfflo", "date": "2010-09-18T15:00:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/18/wtr-bfflo.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100918", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>Another day on the farm! We spent the morning hoein' up weeds (thanks, Valkyrie, for this particular down-home stylistic conceit :) down by the waterin' hole, er, swimming pool, er, square-ish plaster-concrete-tile basin that at some point in the future will be painted and sealed and filled with water to make a swimming pool. The brush pile down there is thick and heavy with weeds and bits of wood, enough to make an enormous bonfire in the dry summer heat of the Valencian countryside - but such fires are Strictly Prohibited this time of year for fear that the surrounding forests will go up in smoke, so such treacherous and illicit acts are best performed at dawn...out of sight of the authorities and well before the rising sun stirs up temperature gradients to make a windswept mess of the area. But we are still digging up weeds here, so the bonfire will have to wait...</p>\n<p>Once that is done, we beat a hasty retreat from the sun into the house and begin laying down a first coat of paint on one of the smaller bedrooms. This is tedious yet simple work; the one roller we have is giant and not exactly amenable to uniform paint distribution, so that it takes some time to get used to its idiosyncracies. To compound matters, the walls have recently been reworked so that there is a sizeable patch of exposed concrete by one corner. The paint must be rolled thickly and forcefully over this patch to cover over every last bit of grey - and there is no paper to cover the floor, causing us to spray round drips across the bare surface that will have to be scraped up later...but none of these setbacks matter! Painting is good fun, one of those rare sorts of work in which the result is both immediate and tangible. You can stand back at any time, survey the encroachment of your brush upon the previously barren walls. You can feel the press of the roller and brush against the drywall and concrete and boarding, sensing the texture of each. You become covered in the work, paint droplets splattering your clothes from head to toe and coating your skin. Or maybe this is all some romantic pastoral bullshit; after all, we're just painting a room, fairly mundane work for a couple used to high-flying thought-intensive Creative Class employment...but it provides time to think, to talk, to sip local bodega wine from metal cups as we work away at hiding the imperfect surfaces with bright white paint.</p>\n<p>Afterwards we relax. The pace here is relaxed, something we are not used to after the hectic dash over the last month. We constantly ask for work; Bill tells us to relax, calm down, take a breather, maybe bike into town or read or something of equivalent productive laziness...so we do so, losing ourselves in the philosophical overtures of Milan Kundera and the wry paranoiac futures of Philip K. Dick for hours, pausing only to eat, set up the tent, and enjoy the stars...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/12/down-hoem.html", "title": "down hoem", "date": "2010-08-12T16:01:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/12/down-hoem.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100812", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Wheels pass wheels pass wheels,<br />\nPeople pass people on wheels,<br />\nFrench people cycle, too?</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>We had a very strange day today, which involved several chance meetings with a pair of people who are also cycling through France just now.  We actually passed by them for the first time yesterday on the way out of some small town, and they very shortly passed by us.  It seems that the enthusiasm of youth is no match for a lifetime of fitness, and the woman certainly sported the calves and thighs that would come from the latter.</p>\n<p>She and her husband, we discovered, were cycling down to the south of France to visit a house that they recently had purchased.  What a plan, eh?  They showed us their route maps and the highlighted path they had already selected, and we balked internally, knowing that we could never plan a route like that.  We can barely keep to a route for 30km once we <i>do</i> plan it.  Hrmm.</p>\n<p>Anyway, we ran into them at a grocery store and also at a bar later, so we said our friendly hellos and tried to pretend that we weren't racing across the French countryside despite the fact that we shared a string of goals for some time.</p>\n<p>Today's ride led through the edge of a famous wine valley (the Loire) for a while (this part being hilly with spanses of river that kept it beautiful enough to be worth the effort) and then through an effective desert that spanned some 40km to the coast.  After we left Lu\u00e7on at the edge of the wine region we found ourselves in an intricate canal system that led through acres and acres with no shade or life.  There were a few fields that looked like they'd been used for food at some time in the past, but now lay fallow.  The bike track began along a canal on a gravel path, then it moved to share the deserted roads, and then it hopped up an embankment and was suddenly covered in charred plant matter.  This last part was interesting; the nonpresence of a useable bike path led us to take a road that followed along nearby, but at some point they split so we had to get back up to the path... by this time, the ashes and rubbish were gone and replaced by wild, overgrown weeds and thistle plants.  I used a knife later to extract a 1cm+ thorn that had become lodged in my pinky finger.</p>\n<p><i>Then</i> we travelled over 20km of nothingness (which I commented looked rather a lot like west Texas, for those of you who've been there) to La Rochelle, where we stopped at a seaside caf\u00e9 to watch the France/South Africa match.  If you weren't watching, let it be known that South Africa creamed France.  Towards the end, France apparently got super discouraged and started throwing the SA players around for lack of something better to do.  Once three of the SA players were out (two of whom were carried off on stretchers) and France had a red card and a yellow card under their belts, the French team scored a goal.  Hmm.</p>\n<p>The game watched, we elected to head down the beach a bit further towards Roquefort.  For some reason we always seem to forget that French cycling paths are terrible, so we excitedly followed one that purportedly went along the beach.  Well, it did go along the beach, but it was the rockiest and most horrible beach that I've ever been on.  I was super happy to have my cyclo-cross tyres at that point.  :-/</p>\n<p>That beach conquered, we headed on and found a little stand by the sea that sold moules frites (mussels and fries).  We stopped to eat our fill and end our day on a high note.  Tonight we're camping in Ch\u00e2telaillon Plage, and tomorrow we're heading down further towards Bordeaux.  :)</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/22/french-biking-paths.html", "title": "french biking paths", "date": "2010-06-22T13:42:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/22/french-biking-paths.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100622", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Interchangeable,<br />\nUniform, but still lovely:<br />\nItalian sea towns...</i></p>\n<p>Instead of riding some distance and then stopping to stretch, this morning we quickly put all our things away and threw on our swimsuits once more.  A quick dip in the sea (we swam out to a nearby cliff and back) warmed us up sufficiently for a stretch.  Good heavens, we are terrible swimmers these days.  It's hard to stay afloat when your arms are useless and you have a lot of muscle density.</p>\n<p>The coastal road leads through several towns along the sea.  They're all lined up between cliffs with stretches of perfect beach, and they all have older areas with churches and lovely Italian architecture.  Everyone wears bright colours and sits under lines of beach umbrellas to protect himself from sun.  It's sort of... boring.</p>\n<p>Between the towns is where the really neat things are, like the rock we stayed on.  There are spots full of fisherman and sea caves that you can see from the road.  Without flippers, though, I'd be hesitant to explore them..</p>\n<p>Eventually, we reached Genova, the home of Cristoforo Colombo!  We knew virtually nothing about the town except that on our map it appears to be really, really long (&gt;20km).  Oh well!  We headed in, stopping at a supermarket to pick up things for lunch.  We stopped a little thereafter in a park to cook under a bridge (we started with antipasto that included Genoa salami and Roma tomatoes and divino cheese, then we had our carrot and squash mini farfalles with squash/tomato cream sauce.  Yum!) and fill our water bottles and wash our dishes.</p>\n<p><i>Then</i> it was really time to head into Genova.  The signs for the centre led us down by the harbour, but we turned off down a random road that turned out to be a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  Also, there was a palace along the road that was another UNESCO site.  Part of Genova's university was situated there, too, and we poked around to see what a properly old university building looked like.  The answer?  It was supremely nice.  There were busts of old university presidents arranged around a courtyard with a giant chandelier and some lion sculptures, and although all the real rooms were locked, we can only assume they were ornate, too.</p>\n<p>More random riding found us at one of the churches and at the Duke's Palace, which is now the site of a large antique market and some government offices--nothing more.  Slightly disappointed by that, we again chose some random streets to ride down, and we happened across the house where Christopher Columbus was born!  It's rather unremarked, actually; we didn't see any signs pointing to it from any place in the city, and there's barely a plaque in the front.  It's as though Genova doesn't desire to claim the lostest man in history as their own.  ;)  In the same area as that house stand the old gates to the city, and the last remaining part of the old city wall.  A sign nearby informed us that all the other parts of the city wall, as well as a slew of old buildings, were torn down as late as the 1960s to make room for new office buildings.  I was disheartened.</p>\n<p>We found our way back down to the harbour again, where we arrived in time to see a tattoo convention going on as well as the actors for a movie about pirates dismounting from an awesomely-outfitted pirate ship parked in the bay.  It was clearly the place to be; some kind of festival choked the docks and people were milling about everywhere buying trinkets and fried food.  Nearby at the aquarium, we stopped to admire a biosphere containing a tropical ecosystem.</p>\n<p>Lots of people in Genova (and in Italy in General) were curious about our bike trip.  We've decided it's best not to let the bikes out of our site at least during our time here, so we walk around with them wherever we go.  We've had a few funny conversations, especially with people who don't speak English.  There were a couple old women earlier today who talked to us at the fountain where we were washing, and we didn't understand everything that they were saying, but the gist of the conversation was this:</p>\n<p><i>Where are you from?</i>  America and Canada<br />\n<i>Where do you bike?</i>  Italy, Spain, France, ... everywhere!<br />\n<i>Where do you sleep?</i>  By the sea!<br />\n<i>Lovely!  The stars are beautiful.</i>  (This was a big change from the French attitude of, \"ew, you dirty cyclists.\")</p>\n<p>The sun started setting, and we got on our bikes to ride out.  It was a long ride to this campsite, and a lot of it was uphill.  This campsite isn't even very good (it's a terrace along the side of the road that has a few square metres of grass and a couple trees that hide it from the streetlight nearby), but it was already so late when we stopped that we really had no choice.  We finished our leftover squash pasta, and now it's time for bed.  <em>yawn</em></p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/04/famous-lost-people-of-history.html", "title": "famous lost people of history", "date": "2010-09-04T09:57:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/04/famous-lost-people-of-history.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100904", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>Another night of stealth camping. We tried to find the municipal campground in Vila do Conde, but it was too far out of town and no one could give us reliable directions to it. The language barrier doesn't help, of course; although this is a beach town, it is frequented primarily by Portuguese tourists seeking escape from the hot interior - few and fortunate are those who live near water. We ask this one driver, who is convinced that we can set up our tent in the nearby parkland...so we gave that a shot, but were told around 2330 (after returning from a couple of drinks on the town) that it is illegal to camp there. What to do? The police were nice, at least, and advised us to camp \"somewhere where we can't see you\" as it was too late to check in at the municipal campground (which, as it turns out, was merely 2 km up the main road out of town towards Porto...we passed it on the way out.) Needless to say, we took their advice and found some less busy parkland on the opposite bank of the river - lacking in the usual amenities of hygiene, but sufficient for a quick sleep before today's short ride to Porto.</p>\n<p>The thing with stealth camping is that you have to maintain the stealth part. For camping near urban areas, this means an early start to the day; we get up at 0600 to beat the morning traffic, wake up with a morning stretch, and take tea (very inexpensively - under 3\u20ac for our pastries and beverages combined!) along the highway. We hit the circunvalaci\u00f3n (the ring road that surrounds most European cities) about 0730, where we are brought halfway around the city on increasingly busy motorways before we decide to make our way through the inner streets. Through a combination of bus station maps, awkward inquiries (remember we don't know the language here - although similar to Spanish, it's different enough that you cannot simply speak Spanish and be understood!) and general \"adventure navigation\" (our term for ad-hoc navigation without consulting the map) we find the city centre, passing first by the Palacio Cristal with its domed roof, four seasons statues, and gardens facing the River Douro. Another navigational feat to find the local tourism office and ask about relatively cheap accommodation - by this time, we have enough of a feel for the city that we can easily find the pensions they point us to.</p>\n<p>We spend a bit of time knocking some chores off the list - there are postcards to be sent, for instance, and other trinkets acquired that must also be posted home so that we can relieve ourselves of the additional burden. (For instance, we have these shirts we got on this pub crawl in Amsterdam. They're impossibly tacky, but we've been using them to clean chains and intend to wrap our Bordeaux F\u00eate le Vin glasses in them for added protection while in transit.) After this, we head over to the opposite side of the river, which is packed with the port wine caves that Porto is so well known for. We take a port and chocolate tasting at one place before heading over to Sandeman for a tour of their cellars. In this weather, the white port is surprisingly refreshing - like white wine, it is best served chilled. (That said, we vastly prefer the tawny ports offered, which have a fantastically delicious rich caramel taste.) It is interesting to note that most of the port companies here were established by foreigners, and that Sandeman was one of the first trademarked brands under UK trademark law.</p>\n<p>Not yet satisfied with our port enjoyment in Porto, we pick up more port at the supermarket to accompany a spread of bread, cheese, grapes, nuts, and chocolate which we consume down by the banks of the Douro. We probably eat better than any other cyclists in history :)</p>\n<p>Anyways, that's all for today - a fairly low-key day, but a welcome spot of rest before the sprint down to the Strait of Gibraltar. Until later!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/19/port.html", "title": "port", "date": "2010-07-19T11:40:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/19/port.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100719", "country": "pt"}
+{"content": "<p>Upon exiting our canalside tenterrific paradise, we were unexpectedly greeted by a pair of fishermen; although these paths along the canal are marked as cycling, pedestrian, and equestrian routes, it seems that locals occasionally use them to get in some recreational fishing or picnicking or what have you. Needless to say, we packed up in record time and were on our way along the canal once more. We continued for roughly 90 km until we reached the top point of Lake Erdre just north of Nantes. Unfortunately, the path ended abruptly there; we were just about to turn back when one of the \u00e9clusiers on his daily maintenance rounds stopped to kindly inform us that we could set up our tent on the dyke opposite. Finally, a tiny sliver of hospitality in France!</p>\n<p>Aside from that: the canalside paths are inconsistently paved - we came across occasional patches of coarse gravel, and even saw a couple of places where the path maintenance staff had dumped loads of fresh gravel on the path but had yet to smooth it out, thereby forcing us to the grass to avoid fishtailing...but, for the most part, these paths have been fairly bikeable. Another first for France! (To be fair, France is much larger than the other countries we've travelled through so far, so that it is not as easy to extend route networks to more remote rural areas. Most of the cities we pass through here do have comprehensive cycling path networks.)</p>\n<p>Although it is a bit demoralizing to be told that we'll have to backtrack, it's only a few kilometres - and we can take showers in the lock facilities, which is exciting! That's one thing about bike tripping; once you get far enough into it, the smallest luxuries seem like paradise. (Such as laundry, for instance, or a decent wifi connection. Those are near impossible to find in Europe.) We're hoping to start vlogging shortly, so that you can get a better idea of what the trip is like, how we set our gear up each night, what sorts of things we see, etc. - keep posted!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html", "title": "not all that glitters...", "date": "2010-06-18T13:36:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100618", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Key information,<br />\nLike destination and time,<br />\nBut no more!  No more!</i></p>\n<p>We learned an interesting lesson today, one which I guess we've learned at several points along this trip, but which we hadn't taken the time to discuss together until now: too much information is bad.  For instance, for the duration of our stay in Hrvatska, we have decided to purchase just one map which is a 1:500,000 scale.  That's bigger than we generally like our maps to be, but we initially thought that we would just follow the 8 down the coast anyway.  That turned out not to be the case after we spoke with Ivo; he recommended that we visit a couple of the parks further inland here, and we elected to take his advice for one.  This park is situated in a river valley which is accessible only by climbing several hundred meters first.  That's hard.  We probably wouldn't have done that if we knew it was there, especially if we'd known that we had to cross a couple other river valleys along the way.  But the park is beautiful, and we have no regrets for putting in the extra effort now.</p>\n<p>But!  We start at the beginning, as always: today we woke up at dawn in our sleeping bag, shivering a little bit because we couldn't set the tent here.  At least it didn't rain, and with our clothes we were tolerably warm, although we woke up a few times to reposition ourselves for maximum heat exchange.  In any case, the first thing that we saw as we awoke and packed our things (and ate our breakfasts) was a man herding his goats down from the mountain to the sea for a drink.  It was really charming.  We set off through town for coffee and dish-washing and all that nonsense, and we also stocked ourselves with food for the day; our plan to head into the mountains doesn't necessarily lend itself to easy food-finding, especially if the inland areas are as sparsely-populated as the coastal ones.</p>\n<p>We reached the end of the bay, and looking back at the long stretches of island-facing coastline we had biked was magnificent.  We took photos, of course.  Then we cursed our lives as we turned away from the sea and realised that we were in for a lot of climbing today.</p>\n<p>The first part of the climb wasn't so steep, but it was long and went directly into an enormous headwind that kept us busy with trying to balance and move forward at the same time.  It's not so easy!  But we finally made it around a bend to a little town called Obrovac, situated in a river valley.  It was frustrating to climb back out, but the town was so cute that we didn't mind.  We got some snack and more water and we were set to go.</p>\n<p>From there, the climb got <i>hard</i>.  Although it's October and chilly and windy, we had to remove our long underwear and long-sleeved shirts due to the immense power we were outputting from just going up.  Up and up, up onto roads that we couldn't identify positively on our map but that we figured led the right way... we just wanted to make it to Krka, the park.</p>\n<p>The mountain areas that we passed through were fantastic.  Most of it was reminiscent of the Stony Field area in Diablo II (for those of you that know it), which is to say that the grass was a slightly grayish green colour and was punctuated regularly by lowish walls built of piled gray stones.  Scrubby trees grew around, but again the wind around there had generally stunted everything.  There were a few inhabited areas, and most of those had only one or two houses still containing people; the others had collapsed roofs and clearly hadn't been touched for some time.  Ivo had told us that this area might be rife with land mines still, so we were careful to stick to the road, not even straying from it to pee.</p>\n<p>Beyond that area, we emerged onto highlands covered in golden bushes.  The leaves are beginning to change!  To anyone who lives in an area where the leaves change: we are worried that we won't get to see the transition, since here it seems that leaves go from green to yellow to dead, and we would love to see photos of the rich reds and oranges if you could e-mail them to us (biketotheearth@gmail.com).</p>\n<p>These highlands led slowly to a town perched at the edge of the Krka river park.  Some young kids pointed us at the park nearby, and they were disappointed when we stopped at the supermarket to sicken ourselves with some midday beer and gingerbread cookies before heading on.  It seemed that this town had access to just one road that went through, though, and that road led directly down into the valley to a monastery and immediately dead-ended.  We decided that that was not a good strategy, so we followed a series of roads along the top of the valley, eventually coming down it to see a lake at the end of one branch of the Krka.  Beautiful.  Even better, though, was that beyond the valley that that lake was in lies a town called Skradin which is on the river itself.  There is a large marina here, and they offer boat tours of the park.  We arrived here around 17h, and the 20km or whatever to \u0160ibenik seemed like a silly thing to bike, given that we have would then have to find a spot to camp there.  This town has a beach which seems alright for camping, but we poked around a bit further and even found an unused forest area with soft ground and protection from the mountain wind.  There are somewhat worn paths through it, so it's evident that it's not mined.  Good news for our limbs.  :)</p>\n<p>Today is apparently a holiday in Hrvatska, or at least in this region, because all the grocery stores have handwritten signs in their windows saying that they are closed for some reason or another that we can't understand through the language barrier.  We scrounged together a dinner of pasta with feta, corn, and lemon with a salad on the side, and we're happy.  We also discovered that O\u017eujsko makes a wheat beer, and we tried Slivovica for the first time (officially).  We actually discovered that it's the same stuff Nara gave us yesterday.  :)</p>\n<p>Now, to sleep!  It will be peaceful here, away from the main road and things.  Tomorrow, \u0160ibenik and Split, and probably a shower!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/08/croatian-is-the-language-of-trogdor.html", "title": "croatian is the language of trogdor", "date": "2010-10-08T11:01:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/08/croatian-is-the-language-of-trogdor.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101008", "country": "hr"}
+{"content": "<p>Up at the crack of dawn to brush the rocky dust off our sleeping bag. An army of tents and caravans has assembled itself on the beachside roads; this turns out to be a clothing market, much to our dismay - we can't carry additional clothing, much less eat it. Priorities change utterly during long bike trips. Food and sleep are paramount, while shirts may be worn until they hang off your neck from a single thread...</p>\n<p>We ride up the beach, grabbing a quick bite from a small bakery and food shop staffed by a friendly-looking generic Italian man. Purchasing food has become a minor ordeal now with the language barrier. We have definitively entered that portion of our trip where we can no longer communicate freely - granted, it was that way in the various alternate-language regions of Spain, but Castellano was at least reluctantly accepted as the common tongue - and must instead resort to a strange combination of gestures and Franspa\u00f1olglish to get our point across. Pan! Pain! Bread! That thing up there on the wall! Point! Grunt! It's like being catapulted into some broad pastiche of preliterate Stone Age stereotypes.</p>\n<p>But back to the trip. We ride up a bit further, finding a fountain back on the main route towards Genova - and quickly discover that we left our knife behind...and so we ride back to the beach, fighting the steadily thickening pedestrian traffic around the market (too much stuff, not enough things!) to park our bikes and comb the stones for any hint of glistening metal...but we come up empty-handed. We decide to at least take a different route out from our campsite this time; nothing enhances that dejected failure feeling quite like having to take the same route twice...</p>\n<p>...and this time we do something right, for we happen upon the food market. That's more like it! The aisles are full of butchers and fruit stands and - further proof that we have truly entered Italia - pasta vendors, their bins brimming with freshly-made pasta in every colour and with every filling imaginable. We eat, stop for caff\u00e9, mull over the morning's setbacks; it is now 1000, and the sun has long since climbed over the mountains. Time to head out, finally - we are soon on the road, booking it for Genova to make up for the lost morning hours. Road signs are less informative, and it takes us a while to find one that marks the distance to Genova (142 km, just a bit too far to make it with a late start along these mountainous coastal roads.)</p>\n<p>A bike path! Of all places - here, along the coast, where there is a considerable shortage of land and everything must be built on terraces hacked out of the mountain or above tunnels or in labyrinths of overpasses and stairs and hillside foundations - here, we find a beautiful flat well-paved bike path right next to the coast. Attention, France: this is how you pave a road. More evidence that, while whatever ancestors the French had were scratching their beards and beating each other over the head with sheep, the Romans were busy expropriating labour from anywhere they could conquer to build roads along some impressively steep coastline (and, as we found before, far far far into the Iberian peninsula.)</p>\n<p>We follow that for some 20 km until it dead-ends in a construction fence - apparently there are some parts of the coastline that are too space-squeezed even for a bike path...but it was nice while it lasted. We fumble around, hoping to bypass the fence somehow and join the path again - but there is no more path, and so we finally cave in and take the road.</p>\n<p>A great shadow has lifted over our trip, we note; we are at last roughly as silly as we were before - some time long before, way in the North, way up in the lands where the cycling was less strenuous and hospitality was more frequent, where we camped in campgrounds rather than bunkering down just off the road shoulder - no longer labouring in the oppressive heat (that our good friend HST even had difficulty explaining himself in, hmmm.) We sing silly songs and crack silly jokes and make up silly wordplay puns as we ride along. We inhale deep lungfuls of salty sea air, smiling those big wide stupid grins that are reserved for the truly happy. We talk about anything and everything - how excited we are for future travels, both during and after this trip; our plans to wreak havoc in San Francisco; even the Improv Everywhere-style musical we could stitch together from the songs we largely improvise as we ride along...</p>\n<p>...and, towards the end of the day, we come across a rocky outcropping along the coast between two smallish towns. It has beach access and enough flat space to pitch a tent - perfect! We pull over, pop our gear off, hoist the bikes over the guardrail, lock them firmly, and take a quick swim. As we dry off, two haggard-looking travellers jump the guardrail, their backs weighed down with packs that carry bedrolls and sleeping bags (but, as we learn, no tent...) They are German, from the southern regions near the Swiss border; they are younger than ourselves (by five years! Most travellers we meet are slightly older); they hitchhiked their way down through Milano and Genova, taking a bus out here to find a spot by the seaside...</p>\n<p>...and, as the night wears on and our meal is nearly ready, they pull out a guitar and regale us with music before we retire separately, they to their beachside sleeping bags and we to our tent up by the bikes (which, sadly, we must guard with our lives...) Perhaps we will greet the morning with another quick swim - but for now, there is sleep...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/03/swimming-in-the-sea.html", "title": "swimming in the sea", "date": "2010-09-03T09:56:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/03/swimming-in-the-sea.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100903", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>Up early from our roadside refuge, taking our now-usual breakfast of bocadillos con tomate, aceite y ajo with handfuls of dry m\u00fcsli before heading up over the hills in the direction of Figueres - we had searched for the Dal\u00ed museum in Barcelona, only to have our deep ignorance exposed upon discovering that it was in fact 150 km away in the small town of Figueres, out in the shadow of los Pireneos...but this is our trip, a trip without set paths, a trip with a very short and easily explained itinerary: get to Istanbul, preferably along as much of the Mediterranean coast as possible, by November 23. (Yes, we have an exact date now - our flights back home are booked, just in time for American Thanksgiving with Valkyrie's family!) So we looked at the map and forwent our original tentative plans to cross by Cap Cerb\u00e8re on the coast, modifying the intended route to head up through Figueres...</p>\n<p>...and we bike at record speed through the relatively flat (maybe slightly uphill; the difference is not so great out on the plains) highway stretches, aided by a fierce tailwind that makes the ride seem easy. We roll into Figueres around 1230 and join the long queue that winds down from the Museo Teatro Dal\u00ed around the square and past the tourist caf\u00e9s into town. Given our cyclist appetites, it becomes necessary to send one of us off to get food as we wait lest we turn to cannibalism or brute-force pillage in our mortal hunger...but we finally get in, and are greeted by the full bizarrity of surrealism: pencil-sketch monsters, objects in non-sequiturous juxtaposition, the famed melting clocks, portraits with grilled bacon. It is a carnival madhouse somehow tamed enough to pass itself off as a tourist attraction - and quite the attraction it is, for guided tours and families and photo-snapping shutterbugs fill every imaginable corner. There are ceiling murals and found objects, strangeness in every form and medium - and the central court is presided over by a triangle-tessellated dome, rings of gold faceless androgyne statues, and some fantastical tire-boat-umbrella contraption. Definitely worth the detour...</p>\n<p>...our surrealist pilgrimage completed, we hole up in the library to charge devices and peruse our many Internets. This brings us into early evening, whereupon we realize that a) we are ravenously hungry and b) we had better get going somewhere - anywhere except for the library, which is fast becoming tedious and anyways is not conducive to pitching a tent. We head off towards los Pireneos, their slowly-approaching peaks a reminder that these are our last hours in Spain after nearly two months of grueling climbs and vicious heat...</p>\n<p>...the highway mercifully takes a low pass through the mountains; it is not flat - that would be too much to ask for! - but is nevertheless much easier than our entrance into Spain...but it is getting dark and we have neither food to cook nor a place to sleep. We keep going up past sketchy roadside motels and their seedy sex clubs, through small towns, and - finally, once we near the border - a zone dedicated to supermarkets which unlike their French counterparts remain open past 2000. It is a truism of travel that borders are populated with those guilty pleasures denied the poor sods on the other side by some capricious peculiarity of local law. In some areas, that extends to alcohol, tobacco, gambling, or fireworks; here it is sensible opening hours at supermarkets, a pleasure absent throughout much of France.</p>\n<p>The border is a non-event, an unstaffed series of gates off to the side of the main autopista; we cross it without slowing down, climb the final hill through the border town, and quickly locate a dusty but serviceable plot of land between the road shoulder and a cliffside wall. We are now in France, thus bringing our travels through yet another country to a close...fantastic!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/24/dilly-dali-ing.html", "title": "dilly dal\u00ed-ing", "date": "2010-08-24T11:40:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/24/dilly-dali-ing.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100824", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Suns rise and suns set,<br />\nWinds blow across built islands,<br />\nHail falls in springtime.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>What a day.</p>\n<p>We woke up to a lovely breakfast with our hosts.  We learned that it's \"very Dutch\" to eat butter and chocolate sprinkles on bread.  Also, this seems to be the one place in Europe where peanut butter is popular (\"Have you tried this before?\" they asked us.  \"It's very good!\"), and in fact where a lot of peanut products are consumed.  Strange.</p>\n<p>Anyway, after some breakfast, coffee, tea, and cookies, we set off down the road.  We wound up passing Amerika, where we had intended to camp last night, and snapped the requisite photo of the sign.  :P  Our hosts were discussing yesterday the Dutch affinity for naming places they perceived as \"far away\" after other places they perceived as far away.  For instance, there are other towns in the middle of nowhere in Holland called Moskau, etc.</p>\n<p>A few kilometres into the day, I got a call from my friend Bart from Antwerp to confirm our stay there.  :D  Hurray, hosts!  It was nice to have that out of the way.  But then the weather took a turn for the worse, deciding to alternately pour rain and blast us with wind.  During one of the windy times, we stopped at a particularly confounding intersection to look at our map and were pelted with, I kid you not, <i>hail</i> for a few minutes.  In May.  What the hail.</p>\n<p>Our route for the day was to head somewhat northward, followed by taking a jaunt southward to a town called Urk.  The cycling map that we have of the northern part of the Netherlands informed us that there was a ferry from Urk that would take us across the Markermeer (the section of water between the peninsula containing Amsterdam and the larger part of northern Holland) that was a part of the national cycling network.  Urk is in the middle of what appears to be a man-made island: on the map the thing has perfectly straight edges and has been divided neatly into grids of farmland, with just a few roads leading through to towns that have been evenly spaced around its periphery.  There is also what appears to be a scenic (?) bike path around the coast, so we decided that this would be a reasonable choice, as it leads us straight to Urk.</p>\n<p>Then came the shit.  We followed some of the national cycling network trails along a canal, assuming that they would be well-kempt, but instead we were greeted with sheep milling about all over the path and some patches that were nearly unnavegable due to massive piles of poo.  We choked through the smell for several kilometres until we could get off the canal and onto another path.</p>\n<p>Along this next stretch, we faced headwinds of roughly 50km/h for around 30 kilometres.  There were parts we simply had to walk because we couldn't get enough momentum to cut through with the profiles of our giant bags attached to the backs of our bicycles.  It was a very, very slow 30 kilometres.</p>\n<p>Finally, we reached the damned island, where we fought some even stronger headwinds for a while until our route turned to the south.  At that point, we were simply being blown sideways, which was preferable to backwards, at the very least.  Note to self: do not underestimate coastal \"breezes.\"</p>\n<p>The day wore on, and we admired the wind farms (seems like a sensible place to put some, based on what we had just experienced) along the coast.  We also puzzled over herds of sheep that appeared to have been spraypainted.  The sun was beginning to set as we rolled into Urk.</p>\n<p>Urk was an adorable town with a lighthouse and a port and not too much else going on.  We pedaled around the port for several minutes, attempting to find a boat that looked like a ferry to Amsterdam, but didn't see anything.  Perhaps it only runs every hour?  Perhaps it's on the other side right now?  Best to ask.</p>\n<p>I walked into a restaurant (which was way to fancy for the way I was dressed and how I smelled after a day of cycling, but anyway) and asked one of the staff if he could please point me at the ferry to Amsterdam.  He looked at me sadly, \"Did you read about that in a book on cycling?\"  \"Yes,\" I said.  \"It's so sad.  That ferry actually only runs during July and August.\"</p>\n<p>WHAT.</p>\n<p>So we apparently have no way to get across the water from this tiny town that is nearly inaccessible by any reasonable means of transportation.  There is no train station.  Buses certainly won't accept bicycles.  What to dooooooooo??</p>\n<p>We elected to fume about it over dinner, which was a very interesting and tasty set of salmon and emmantaler cheese pancake sandwiches with fresh strawberries.  We find interesting food on this trip.  We pored over our map for a while, and it appeared that the best option was to bike to a town a bit to the south (did I mention there wasn't much going on in Urk?  Yeah, they didn't have a campsite, either.) called Lelystad, which was 1) the nearest town, 2) had a campsite, and 3) had a train station.  Unfortunately, \"a bit to the south\" meant an additional 30km when it was already getting dark.</p>\n<p>We sucked it up, though.  We rolled into Lelystad around 23:00 after admiring the sunset over the wind farms and water.  The campsite office was closed, but we stuffed a note into the mailbox explaining that we would pay in the morning and to please not bother us too early because we were exhausted from our ride.  Here we are.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/28/all-weather-cycling.html", "title": "all-weather cycling", "date": "2010-05-28T15:19:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/28/all-weather-cycling.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100528", "country": "nl"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Courage to say no<br />\nIs not oft found.  A hero<br />\nCan be any man.</i></p>\n<p>Today marks the anniversary of Greece saying \"no\" to Musolini and his forces, and it thereby also marks their entrance into the Second Great War.  To celebrate, there are parades all over the country, children don't go to school, many people don't work, and it's a generally nice day to relax.  :)</p>\n<p>We woke up \"early\" to make it to the Kalamata parade, by which I mean the parade started at 11:30 and we woke up at 11:00.  Both we and our host were slow in getting going in the morning, and after breakfast and coffee we rolled into town in time to see everyone breaking up after watching the festivities.  It's a shame, but from what we're told parades are roughly the same sort of event everywhere.</p>\n<p>After we resigned ourselves to having missed out, Nana led us for a quick tour of the Kalamata museum.  It holds artifacts and stories about all the surrounding area, which includes several ancient sites dating back six millenia or so.  Dang.</p>\n<p>That done, we sauntered into a caf\u00e9 for some freddo, a Greek specialty that consists basically of cappuccino on ice with loads of sugar.  It was <i>delicious</i>, and it was well-suited to the day, which was fortunately clearing up after the rainstorm overnight.  As we sat, many of Nana's students came up to ask if she had seen them in the parade and to see what the crazy cyclists from yesterday were up to.  Two particularly adorable incidents I recall: a very young student came up, and Nana mouthed to me that I should ask her how old she is.  I did, and she shied right up and ran away.  The other was when a group of older girls came up and were talking to Nana for a while, and one of them asked us if we knew Justin Bieber.  If you don't know who that is, look him up for a little laugh.  :)</p>\n<p>We paid for the freddos and grabbed lunch from a souvlaki stand that Nana likes (it was the best souvlaki pita we've had on the trip... yum!), then we bundled into the car for a trip to Ancient Messini.</p>\n<p>Ancient Messini is about 30 kilometres from Kalamata and up a rather sizeable mountain.  It's a good thing Nana drove us there; there's no way we'd've decided to bike it on our own.  The view up in the mountains there is pretty spectacular... and the ancient people in that area built a pretty impressive wall around their city, whose ruins still remain.  The main entrance gate stands, and it's enormous!  We drove through it, in fact.</p>\n<p>The archaeological area at Messini is free to get into, and it's large with a lot of well-preserved things.  The amphitheatre is mostly excavated -- Nana even told us that there are concerts held there on occasion.  The seats are still being reorganised and replaced.  There's a temple to Artemis (the Greek goddess of the hunt) in which most of a statue was discovered.  The artifacts found around the area are mostly housed in the museum not far from the site; unfortunately it was closed for the holiday.</p>\n<p>Another feature of Ancient Messini was something common among nearly all ancient Greek settlements of any size: the stadium!  We wandered down to it (after a few navigational snafus) and took a seat.  Evan entertained me and Nana by running across it and back and doing some parkour rolls.  He and I learned more about what it means to be Greek and not care so much: it's okay to pee outside at ancient sites.  We asked Nana if we were heading back up to the office and if she thought there were toilets there, and she responded that we were more than welcome to let ourselves go anywhere in the area.  We were a little astonished, but it seems like a reasonable response--the ancient people would certainly have done it.</p>\n<p>From Ancient Messini we took a ride down the coast to Koroni, a place Nana and her family visited when she was a girl.  The coastline there was beautiful, but again we were happy not to be biking as it was a rather narrow and twisty (and wet) road.  She told us something of the politics of the area, about the upcoming elections, and general unhappinesses with various policies in the area.  We passed some roadside vegetable vendors and bought a pumpkin and some chestnuts.</p>\n<p>Koroni (which was once five separate towns that have recently been merged into one town with one mayor... one of the topics we discussed) was a lovely place, although it was obviously geared towards tourists.  We poked around the town and shops for a bit.  There was a celebration with clowns and sweets for the grand opening of a pen and paper shop, of all things.</p>\n<p>Then we sat down for ice cream and cake.  Greek people know what's up with pastry, let's just say that.  We each got a piece of kaimeki cake with kaimeki ice cream; kaimeki being an herb that grows in the mountains near Kalamata and noplace else in the world.  It tastes like mint and basil, sort of, and it makes a fantastic ice cream- or pastry base.  :D</p>\n<p>From there we headed home again for a quick bite and a coffee, as well as to deal with that pumpkin we'd bought earlier.  Halloween is coming up, and Nana wanted to know all about it: the trick or treating, the jack-o-lantern carving, the costumes, what older kids do, what we do in school that day, ... all of it!  We gave her as much of a lesson as we could think of and taught her how to carve a jack-o-lantern.  We put the classic face on it, and she named it Sotiris, a Greek name which she said makes her think of a man living in the country with ten kids, a herd of goats, and few teeth.  :)</p>\n<p>The night was still young!  We headed out for dinner at another restaurant that Nana liked, where we actually succeeded in finishing all the food she had the waiter spread out before us.  Even though we sat at a 6-person table this time, it still wasn't enough space for everything all at once... the food had to come in waves.</p>\n<p>We went out to a cool little bar downtown for some wine, and we met one of Nana's friends there.  He wasn't impressed with our tans: he said he has the same from a summer wetsuit.  He told us about his kiteboarding habit, and he wondered if that sounded pretty extreme to us.  Haha, maybe.  We chatted as well as we could about our trip and everything, but the music inside was loud, so we shortly had to adjourn to a table outside, and shortly after that we had to head home on account of the lateness and our need to wake up tomorrow and bike!  Goodnight!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/28/halloween-away-from-home.html", "title": "halloween away from home", "date": "2010-10-28T11:56:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/28/halloween-away-from-home.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101028", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Aeons of brav'ry,<br />\nNever forgotten, valiant,<br />\nMemories in stone...</i></p>\n<p>Some places don't get it: we're cyclists.  Fortunately, this hotel <i>did</i> get it, and we were fed breakfast accordingly, and at nearly the right hour!  To be honest, we woke up around the time our alarm usually goes off (just around dawn) and wandered around in the dark of the hotel before apparently someone woke up to our noise.  We were sat down at a table and brought bread of several varieties and honey and jam and coffee and orange juice and tost with ham and cheese.  It was a portion that was actually enough to satisfy us until we needed to stop for lunch; for 90\u20ac/night, I guess it'd better be.</p>\n<p>After plunking down our cash on the desk, we headed off to our adventure of the day.  We stretched in front of a British Military Cemetery (mysteriously from WWI; neither of us could call anything to mind about the English being in Greece at that time... sigh, western-centric education) and headed over a several-hundred-metre hill that we didn't expect.  These days, it's just a routine.</p>\n<p>At the bottom of the hill on the other side, we found THERMOPLYES.  If you've seen <i>300</i>, that classic of cinema, you know that Thermpyles is the Hot Gates, the site of the Spartans' stand against the Persians.  Some boards in the area said that 300 Spartans (accompanied by 700 or so Thespians (I can't imagine anything other than their crying 'o, I am slain!' in dramatic voices)) were killed by an army of 1,700,000 Persians.  The boards also said that the bit about the goat path and the Greek traitor was true; they were surrounded by these means, and that led to their downfall.</p>\n<p>We performed the requisite yells of \"THIS. IS. SPARTAAAAAAAA.\" and \"THIS IS WHERE WE BIKE.  THIS IS WHERE THEY DRIVE.\" atop the hill (you can see them on our <a href=\"http://youtube.com/biketotheearth\">Youtube channel</a>), then walked back to where we parked our bikes.  The place where we parked our bikes was <i>very</i> important.</p>\n<p>Hot springs!  That's why it's called the hot gates, friends.  We stripped all our clothes off (this is Europe, after all) and joined some other vacationers in the sulfur-tastic water.  It stank like the dickens, but the warm water seeping through our still-chilled skin was so pleasant that we didn't mind.  :D</p>\n<p>It was a short ride to Lamia, where we planned to have lunch.  We paused at a HellaSpar (Spar is a supermarket chain in Europe, and \"Hellas\" is \"Greece\" in Greek, but it just sounds funny to English-speaking ears) to get things for a lunch of Greek salad, and we attempted to find a new tyre for me in the InterSport next door.  Alas, like many other sports stores in Europe, this was not a sports equipment store but instead a sports clothing store.  Sigh.</p>\n<p>Another unexpected hill met us after Lamia.  We climbed for around 20 straight kilometres, and at the top we were met by a fellow we'd first come into contact with at the lunch party in Athens!  He wished us luck on our trip, and cautioned us that we should be extra careful on this road due to its mountainous nature.  We learned that he was heading to his hometown up in the mountains to stay for the weekend.</p>\n<p>Down and down and down after that, til we found a plateau where much growing was done.  There were endless fields of watermelons and peppers, of all things, and we passed through them with a look of confusion.</p>\n<p>At last we reached Domokos, where we bought some yogurt for breakfast and some wine to have with dinner.  We headed out of town to find a campsite, only to find another enormous downhill ahead.  We were happy we'd bought the lights; in the fading sun we were nearly invisible to motorists down that twisting way.</p>\n<p>Off the main highway at the bottom of the hill, we found a tiny cluster of abandoned houses close around a train station.  The station seemed to belong to Domokos, confusing since that town is up a hill and many kilometres away, but we found a space of grass that we figured we could set the tent on.  We chilled around the train station, drinking our vile wine and watching the stray dogs and cats roam about while we enjoyed the artificial light.  Now, it's bedtime (early, as usual).  Maybe we'll play some adventure games first...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/05/some-like-it-hot.html", "title": "some like it hot", "date": "2010-11-05T08:23:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/05/some-like-it-hot.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20101105", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>A word to the wise:<br />\nExpectation can fail you.<br />\nUnwise: go for it.</i></p>\n<p>We are a bit unwise sometimes.  We're trapped in Valencia tonight because we assumed that trains would be running back to Ll\u00edria (the closest town to the farm which is serviced by Valencia's metro system) until midnight or so, but the last train is at... 22:34.  Oops.  We're sleeping in a park under one of our emergency blankets (yes, Dad, they did wind up coming in handy :D), hoping to get a few hours' sleep before getting on the first train at 05:30 tomorrow.</p>\n<p>Anyway, we had something of a day before this.  Our farm hosts don't have any further materials for us to do things with; the paint is used up, there's no seeds to plant, the pool-plaster is somewhere we can't find it, and the carpentry tools are gone.  All the hoeing is done, so we were invited to take the day off.  We headed to Valencia to see the science museum and the famous Oceanogr\u00e1fico (Aquarium).</p>\n<p>Much pleasanter than our previous ride up the CV-35 (an autoroute with a bicycle path tacked onto the side), the route we took this morning along a smaller road was lined with fields and trees... and we stopped for peaches!  On our previous outing to Pedralba, Joseph pointed out a few peach trees along the road that owning farmer left unharvested for the benefit of passers-by such as ourselves.  The peaches fresh from the tree can't be beat... even peaches bought in a shop 10km away aren't nearly so good.</p>\n<p>The science museum in Valencia is much like most science museums (things about climate change and chromosomes and where building and consumer-goods materials come from), except that it had a couple of exhibits I liked in particular: one was about Marvel superheroes!  I'm not exactly sure what kind of deal was cut for that one, but the displays invite you to test the strength of Spiderman's web, use your lungs to shout down enemies like..er..that superhero who shouts at things.., and see how static electricity could make lightning like Storm's.  I was never much of a comic book girl, to be honest, but I thought that was pretty cool.</p>\n<p>There was also an extensive Star Trek exhibit, with props and costumes from all the seasons and movies as well as a replica of the Starship Enterprise's bridge.  Across the hall, an exhibit about real-life space travel, including the chance for kids to ride in one of those spinning chair things that astronauts use to train for weird gravities.  More serious exhibits about famous Valencian scientists were also interesting, but unfortunately only presented in Castellano and Valenciano.</p>\n<p>The Oceanogr\u00e1fico was also fabulous.  It was fairly expensive to get in, but they had several different tanks, all underground and with tunnels leading through them, filled with animals from walruses to sharks to jellyfish to penguins to dolphins to starfish and seahorses and giant spider crabs.  I pretty desperately want to get scuba certified.  I'm pretty sure that my wonderment at things under the sea can't be satisfied otherwise.  :)</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/13/a-night-on-the-ground.html", "title": "a night on the ground", "date": "2010-08-13T16:02:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/13/a-night-on-the-ground.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100813", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>A slow morning - we wake up late, grab a round of pastries from a local bakery, and head up to the bus station to purchase tickets for Lisboa. To get the bikes on the bus, we must remove all panniers and detach the front wheels - but at least there is plenty of space for them in the undercarriage, so that we have no problems getting ourselves to Lisboa. We are somewhat sad that we have to cut off such a large section of Portugal, but there are few choices; it is either that or miss seeing Morocco and the Strait of Gibraltar, and these have great symbolic importance in our journey. When we (half-drunkenly, it is true) first imagined this trip, we wanted to circumnavigate the Mediterranean from top to bottom of the Strait. We changed our plans upon learning that much of the southern coast was dangerous to bike through, especially for North Americans; there are large concentrations of unexploded ordnance from the World Wars in some parts, and many of those countries are not on the best terms with the US. Anyways, the choice was clear - so here we are, taking the bus from Porto to Lisboa. We have still biked most of our trip, taking alternative forms of transportation only when we felt it to be absolutely necessary...and as long as we bike 10 000 km, we are happy!</p>\n<p>So we arrive in Lisboa - and immediately sense the differences from Porto. Whereas Porto is astoundingly beautiful and historic, the bus station in Lisboa faces a modernized but not particularly striking shopping mall. Beggars make the rounds on the bus platforms, asking for coin in broken English. We make our way down to the waterfront, where there is a decent path for bikes and pedestrians...that quickly drops us behind several automobile dealerships that curiously lack exits to the main road. We backtrack a bit and take that road, which is in dire need of roadwork in several stretches; it takes us past roughly 5 km of not-very-scenic port lands before we finally hit the centre of town. The first visible feature as you take this road is the merchants' plaza, which now houses an enormous statue and one of the local tourism offices.</p>\n<p>We go to the tourism office, hoping to find somewhere to stay or something interesting to see. Instead, we find that they appear to be closing up; one man is behind a desk that sells local and regional maps, but he says that we had better ask for something now before he leaves - and then promptly leaves anyways when we don't answer absolutely immediately. The other desk is more helpful, but not much; as in most places, they have connections with some of the hotels and pensions in the area, whom they call first...only to find that they are all full. After much persistent questioning, we finally manage to extract the names of some other hostels from them - one, the Old Town Hostel, looks to be not far away, so we head for it.</p>\n<p>As we leave the plaza, Lisboa gets markedly less nice; the roads are in even greater disrepair, while garbage piles up in parts of the street...the buildings are in decay, the drivers rude...the whole place gives off this has-been vibe, the acrid stench of failure in a time dominated by rising modern giants and exquisitely preserved treasures of antiquity...and Lisboa, at least here, seems to be neither. We try in vain to find the street for some time before noticing a plaza that is marked on the lackluster maps furnished by the tourism office - by doggedly following our highly developed sense of adventure navigation, we at last succeed.</p>\n<p>Or do we? The hostel is full...but the person staffing the desk looks at us with our dust-streaked bikes, and perhaps he takes pity or something...for there is a \"dirty old room\" downstairs that might fit three beds. Desperate for lodgings and certain that we will not find a suitable campsite within city limits, we check it out. Turns out that this is the storage room, an old apartment entrance serviced only by an ancient elevator and a creaky staircase...but it is enough, not too dusty even, a working light, and full use of their shower and kitchen and wifi...it is worth it, and so we snap it up for the night. Perhaps we are the only people to ever have slept in this room!</p>\n<p>By the time we get all of our things into the room - there is an entrance off another street, allowing us to bypass the maze of stuff clogging the staircase - it is nearly 1900...and we are too tired from our travels along the Camino and to Porto, so instead of hitting the town we stick around the hostel for the night. There is an oven, so we take this all-too-rare opportunity to bake a delicious lasagna that of course overflows and leaves a burnt black mess on the bottom...but we clean most of it off and eat the dish, sharing the leftovers with a guy from Aix-en-Provence (which is also along our route, but not for another month or so!) It is an uneventful night of commenting photos and writing blog posts - for this is the truth of bike travel; you work so hard to see so many amazing sights along the way that there is often no time or energy remaining for a night out on the town. And yet it is worth it to see the mountain valleys, the desert rock faces, the rivers and fields and ridges lined with wind turbines...and you can always grab a drink anywhere; there is no need to go halfway around the world for that!</p>\n<p>Tomorrow we start towards the Strait of Gibraltar. A look at our map provides the dire forecast: 600 km over 5 days, possibly through hills and mountains, definitely away from the coast and through the comparatively hot interior. Will we make it? We'll have to - it is our only chance to pass by the Strait and see Morocco and still make it to the Alhambra on 28.7!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/20/dire-straits.html", "title": "dire straits", "date": "2010-07-20T15:22:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/20/dire-straits.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100720", "country": "pt"}
+{"content": "<p>Ah, rest. Few things are more important for touring cyclists than proper sleep; it recharges the proverbial batteries, giving you that vital energy to keep going...and go we must, for our path takes us not to Bari but instead to Ceglie Messapica, some 270 km away from Passo di Mirabella towards the heel of Italy. And we plan to make it by tomorrow evening...to compound matters, our host informs us that the first 80-90 km are mountainous - but this information is superfluous, for the mountainosity becomes readily apparent as we climb up to the sideroads. These wind along the mountain ridges: elevation 800-900 metres, roughly half a vertical kilometre above our starting point.</p>\n<p>That said, the climb is eminently Worth It, as it affords us unparalleled views of the surrounding valleys and peaks and the cloudy sky with patches of blue...the wind whips up behind us, pushing us forward towards our destination. The mountain towns are too small to have supermarkets, making it impossible to find food. Fortunate it is, then, that our stays in Benevento and Mirabella have left us with much in the way of donated edibles: figs fresh from the tree, a dense loaf of pane integrale, half a canister of pistachios, and some delicious cookies.</p>\n<p>The wind is vicious on the switchbacks, especially where it turns into high-velocity sidewinds that nearly topple us off our bikes - but we remain balanced against the odds, pushing on along the ridge towards Rionero in Vulture. The town itself is unremarkable, and yet this route was recommended to us by both Massimo and Gerardo for the vomitously picturesque volcanic mountain lakes nearby. It is arduous climbing to these lakes, down the valley from Aquilonia and then up some 8-10% grades over a 600 m or so vertical ascent - and then around the lake, through the forest, and up yet more to cross over the ridge of the mountain, around the back, up more until the road mercifully begins descending into Rionero...</p>\n<p>...we are tired by this point, but we know that we must continue; if we don't make it out of the mountains today, there is no hope to reach Ceglie by tomorrow. We fight encroaching exhaustion to make it across yet another valley into Ginestra, stopping partway up the hill to replenish our stock of figs - but even that is not enough. Food! Energy! Impossible to satisfy our insatiable need...we give in and stop at a bar-pizzeria-restaurant (nearly every Italian establishment is some combination of these three.) A lady greets us in Italian, and our confused responses lead her quickly to the conclusion that our command of the language is less than stellar - so, upon learning that we speak English, she promptly switches to her other language: Russian. What ensues is an even more confused mash of Russian (on her part) and English sprinkled with random Italian (on our part) that somehow results in our getting pizza and wine as desired. Yet more proof if needed that most communication is non-verbal...</p>\n<p>...we continue on through Velosa, deciding that even that is not quite far enough. Fortunately the mountainous region is at last behind us; the remaining distance to Ceglie is long, but it should be mostly flat...and now, having spent most of the day trudging uphill, it is definitely time for some much-needed sleep. </p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/19/a-switchback-to-nowhere.html", "title": "a switchback to nowhere", "date": "2010-09-19T15:01:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/19/a-switchback-to-nowhere.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100919", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Last miles passing...<br />\nGliding under wheels, now gone...<br />\nIstanbul: the end.</i></p>\n<p>Well, here we are!  It seems silly to try to describe our emotions as we found our way into Istanbul this afternoon.  It marks the end of something big: 11,000km (more or less), 20 countries (if you count things like the Vatican), 6 months (today's the official anniversary of the start), and way more time together than either of us has really spent in the company of other people.  It marks the beginning of something bigger: Evan's transition to \"real life\" (starting a job!) and mine to... something else (work, then grad school?).  It's the end of tiredness.  It's the re-beginning of comfort.  We're not even sure what it is; everything is jumbled up in our minds from six months of adventures, and Istanbul will be the place to sort it out.</p>\n<p>Getting here wasn't easy.</p>\n<p>I'm not just talking about the mental jabber I just shared, but today's ride was not trivial.  Our intent in camping so close last night was to roll lazily into the city at 10 or so and enjoy it for the day, but the way was more harrowing than we could have imagined.  It was supposed to be about 40km, but with detours we decided it was closer to 60, and with Istanbul being a megacity (12.8 millions in the city), all the roads leading to it are arterial.  We started, after a giant climb from the sea up to a few hundred metres, on the road we took yesterday, and since it's now Monday the way was orders of magnitude busier.  But it took time to even get that far.</p>\n<p>I guess the day really started when we woke up and realised that my tyre was flat.  Last night's trip over the gravelly coastal road had taken its toll, so we decided that rather than take it further down the coast we would haul our bikes up a few flights of (outdoor) stairs to start afresh on something a bit more paved.  We had a bit of a tiff: emotions were running high as we both don't know what's going to happen after this trip concludes.  We passed randomly through residential areas in search of a major road, which we finally found after half an hour or so.  We stretched for the last time, and the song we chose to sing (we always sing a song at the conclusion of our stretching, during the knee rotations) was, appropriately and unsurprisingly, \"The Final Countdown.\"</p>\n<p>Shortly, we found a swank pastry/tea shop to pause at and gather ourselves before the rest of the ride.  Everyone but us was wearing three-piece suits to sit down for tea.  We were wearing our cycling outfits.  From there we hit the motorway-like highway discussed earlier.</p>\n<p>We sped along: the road was flat and fast, and the shoulder was wide-enough to accommodate our loaded bicycles, side-by-side at some points.  As we neared the city, the flat turned to rolling hills: terrifying for tiny bicycles who can't be seen around blind curves.  At the bottom of one such hill we were greeted with a large and invisible pothole which shook Evan's bungee cords out of alignment and caused us to stop to fix them.  We powered through a few minutes' more of traffic before we noticed that his tyre was flatted by the impact, too.  We pulled off in a spot that was once an exit to a residential street to fix it and eat lunch to calm ourselves down.  It's immensely stressful to bike so fast and barely be able to hear each other... but we were confident we were nearly there.</p>\n<p>The road became more and more major, and we were soon desperate to find a way off.  A smaller road that wrapped around the airport and came along the coast from the south looked promising, so we charged southward in hopes of finding it.  The traffic immediately calmed.</p>\n<p>We finally hit the coast again south of the main city, and there were even bike paths along the parks there!  Unfortunately, they were absolute rubbish -- populated more with fragments of broken glass and uneven cobblestones than cyclists -- and we didn't deem it necessary to stick to them for long.  The side of the road would do.</p>\n<p>Eventually, we made it to the city centre.  But that wasn't quite our goal.  We wanted to hit 4 continents with this trip: North America, Europe, Africa, and Asia.  We had to cross the bridge for that last one.</p>\n<p>Only two bridges appear on our map that cross the Bosphorous, and both are marked motorways.  That seems silly, doesn't it?  Can they possibly only allow cars across something so important?  Ridiculous!  We wanted to try our luck at crossing, so we followed the signs and found ourselves at the European end of the bridge with the end in sight...!</p>\n<p>But the police were in sight, too.  They sent us back.  When I say, \"they sent us back,\" I don't mean that they pointed us at a road going the other direction, but rather that they had us turn around and bike/walk against traffic along the same road we'd taken to get to the bridge.  That was possibly our most terrifying cycling experience on the entire trip.</p>\n<p>So, what to do?  We can't bike across the straits, so we settled for a ferry.  We had no business relaxing until we completed the route we'd set for ourselves, so we dashed back along the coast to the ferry terminals we'd seen a few kilometres back and hopped the first boat across.</p>\n<p>Despite the fact that we felt like our ride to the ferries was a \"bike of shame,\" we were still excessively animated on the ride over.  The end of the trip!  We were confident we'd done our damndest to bike as close to Asia as we could, and we were being rewarded for our efforts.  Even with all the \"shortcuts\" we took along the trip (renting that car in France, the several ferries and train rides scattered through everywhere...), we still estimate we went over 11,000km in total, and we had a damn lot of fun doing it.  As we set foot on the new continent, we clutched at each other and dropped our bikes and whooped and hollered and generally confused/concerned everyone around us.  But that was it.  It was all we could do.  It seems strange to think that there was no seismic shift in our lives by crossing that strait, but the changes came slowly over the entirety of the trip.  We're both more sure of ourselves and the limits of our capabilities.  We have ideas for \"where to go from here.\"  We feel we understand the nature of people and their interactions with each other and their environments, and we've seen the very best and very worst of human nature.  We tried to express some of our emotions to each other on the docks, but it was useless.  We'd been expressing them for 6 months.  That landing, more than a symbol of our determination, really just meant that we had to find a hostel to stay in for the night.</p>\n<p>We hit a caf\u00e9 for some tea and poked around HostelWorld enough to find arch-ist, a little place just off Taksim square (on the European side) in the central shopping district of Istanbul.  Istiklal, the heavily-touristed street, is just a few blocks over, and it's nice and quiet at night where we are.  We're staying in tonight, hoping to reminisce about our adventures and calm down.  We're playing games (still working through Wolf3D and Indiana Jones) and drinking beers and chatting with the hostel staff.  No one's really around on Monday nights, so we've pretty much got the place to ourselves.  It's a nice place to think, and we're looking forward to our \"reintegration week.\"  We're planning some excursions around the city (things like Topkapi Palace, the Hagia Sofia, the Blue Mosque, and the Bosphorous cruise are touristic musts) and some relaxing days (we want to get massages and to visit the Turkish baths), as well as some days for making ourselves presentable (we're talking beard trims, haircuts, and new clothes).  I know a couple people in the area that we're planning to hook up with for lunches or daytrips or whatever, and it's rapidly looking like our week of rest will be nearly as full as our months of biking.  So it goes.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/15/the-end.html", "title": "THE END", "date": "2010-11-15T12:34:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/15/the-end.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101115", "country": "tr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Endlessly turning<br />\nWheels and pedals, pass the road<br />\nOn to lake and sky.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>So today I am making a concerted effort not to move, as much as that's possible.  Victor and I went on a pretty fracking intensive bike ride yesterday: http://www.mapmyride.com/route/ch/gen%e8ve/141126976698724158<br />\n</p>\n<p>For those of you playing along at home, that's 166km that I made it.  He gave up, actually, sometime around 130km and called his girlfriend to come pick him up (from Gen\u00e8ve!  She was pissed.), which was great for me because he gave me a call when I was just getting most hopeless and tired and cold and wet in the dark, French countryside.  So neither of us made it the full 180km that we had been hoping for, but I'm damn proud of myself for making it 166 with so little training.<br />\n</p>\n<p>So the day started out with some clouds and coolness from my apartment in Gen\u00e8ve.  As we got down to the lake and started riding along past Versoix, the clouds broke and we were treated to a day sunny and warm enough that I stripped down to the swimsuit top I was wearing under my jacket and shirt.  As we stopped to change and apply sunscreen, the only comment we got was from an ancient woman who yelled out her window, \"Ay, ay, ay!\"<br />\n</p>\n<p>We passed wineries and heaven-sent water fountains.  Switzerland's amazing like that: practically the entire country is known for sparkling, clean water, and there are loads of random outdoor fountains that spout it.  That was basically the reasoning behind each of our stops (we elected to do 5-10 min each hour, plus an hour for lunch (agh, slow service)): we were thirsty and saw refreshment staring at us from beside the road.</p>\n<p>As the day continued to be clear, we were treated to fabulous views of the mountains across the lake, wreathed in clouds.  In Lausanne we passed the International Olympic Headquarters, which was a surprise to both of us.  I had no idea it was there.  It gave us some sort of value as athletes, though, I guess.  ;)<br />\n</p>\n<p>Some of the bike paths in the stretch between Versoix and just past Lausanne were insidious.  The highway always had a dedicated bike lane on it, but signs pointed to the \"bike path.\"  Trustingly, we decided to follow these signs, but one led us on a (fairly short, but still irksome) loop which just tied back to the main road with the additional need to climb a steep hill to join back up, and one led us far up a slope through winefields.  I spent my fair share of time cursing on that one.<br />\n</p>\n<p>For lunch we stopped at a cute pizza place by the shore that had pizzas named after famous people/things/groups.  I had a George Clooney, but also offered were Barack Obama, Silvio Berlusconi, Lady Gaga, Manchester United, the Lausanne Marathon...  Dark clouds moved in as we stuffed ourselves with calories.<br />\n</p>\n<p>After lunch, the weather sort of went downhill.  It dropped a good 5 degrees (C, so 10F or so) while we were inside, and it started drizzling.  That didn't keep us from enjoying the views in Montreux (called the Swiss Riviera by some: it has one of the few casinos in Switzerland, and a gorgeous riverwalk lined by... palm trees?), but it did certainly make Victor toy with the idea of giving up then.  There aren't trains on the south side of the lake: once you get into France, one place is just not nearly as well connected to the next.  He stuck with it, though.<br />\n</p>\n<p>Maybe my favourite part of the bike trails that we took was right after leaving Montreux.  The bike sign (the very sort that had led us astray previously!) pointed down a wooded, muddy trail, at the head of which we basically had to get up to speed, pull our feet on top of the bike as much as possible, and pray we made it to the other side of a fairly deep (10cm or so) and rather long (at least 10m) mud puddle draped all across the road.  I announced with anger and frustration that it was the worst bike path ever, but was soon showed to be wrong when the sun started breaking through the clouds again and we passed through fields and fields of gorgeous, bending grasses swaying in the wind off the lake.  We met people walking dogs, riding horses... and then we found a llama farm!  It was awesome.  :D<br />\n</p>\n<p>Shortly thereafter, we passed into France.  France is not nearly so friendly to cyclists as Switzerland is, as evinced by their decided lack of watering stations and their total ignorance of bike lanes on roads (Victor and I had several near-death experiences along the way!).<br />\n</p>\n<p>The day wore on, and Victor was wearing out.  At Evian (yes, the bottled water Mecca!), he decided to throw in the towel and handed me the backpack o' stuff.  He called his girlfriend and waited for her to show up.<br />\n</p>\n<p>It was disheartening to lose my cycling partner, but I kept on going for around 30 km more.  There's not much to say about this stretch: it was turning to dusk and, soon, night, and the shortest way around that part of the lake was to not follow the lake at all.  Losing sight of that landmark that had been with me all day was another blow to my drive.<br />\n</p>\n<p>Eventually, as true night fell and the rain picked up and the temperature dropped, I was getting more and more desperate to see anything.  Long stretches of the French highways lacked streetlights and towns, and after lots of lonely stretches like this, I made it across the border back into Switzerland.  Geneva was only another 12km or so away, but I simply couldn't do it.  Victor rang me (fortunate, since I had used up the last of my phone's credit a couple hours previously to get a pep talk from Evan) and offered me a ride back to the city with him and his girlfriend, who had finally made it to where he had stopped.<br />\n</p>\n<p>I guess the main lessons of this ride are that proper gear is essential: Victor came in just a t-shirt and was miserable as the drizzle began coating anything exposed.  He stopped to buy a jacket in the first border town.  Also, he was riding a foldable commuter bike which had a few problems.  The seat was not designed for long rides and the pedal diameter was quite small, this in conjunction with the fact that it had only 6 gears meant that I spent a lot of time waiting for him at the tops of long climbs and at the bottoms of steep hills.  My bike was better, but the brakes were rubbing and the chain was not quite correctly adjusted.  It also sports hybrid tyres instead of road tyres, and this made a pretty sizeable difference.  More contact with the road means more work on every pedalstroke.<br />\n</p>\n<p>We had the curious problem that neither of us was thirsty on the trip.  Victor took this to mean that it was cool enough that his body didn't need to sweat so much, but I took it to mean that my body was confused, and I wound up drinking about three times as much water as I usually do.  We could've brought better snacks, as well: our snacks for the whole day consisted of one chocolate bar each, two apples each, half a baguette each and half a block of gruy\u00e8re each, and a bit of salty licorice.  We also had pizzas at lunch, which actually neither of us managed to finish despite the fact that we'd spent the whole morning burning calories like nobody's business.<br />\n</p>\n<p>I think that this trip will be in reach once I get a better bike.  As a scenic tour, it was fantastic, at least until we entered France (which is significantly more run down than Switzerland due to the distribution of wealth there).  If I were to do it again, I think I would go the other way around the lake in order to have trains available as an out in the case that I find myself too tired to continue.<br />\n</p>\n<p>Still, I'm damn proud.  :)</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html", "title": "around the lake", "date": "2010-03-28T09:59:00", "path": "posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100328", "country": "ch"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Even a short ride<br />\nIs too much for our bodies...<br />\nWe'll rest tomorrow.......</i></p>\n<p>We continually put off that resting business, insisting that short hops are equivalent to rest, but the truth is that they are not.  The last day that we had without riding at all was... well, the rainy day with Ivo in Opatija.  That was a couple weeks ago.  To recover from yesterday, we're planning to move little today and none tomorrow.  Hopefully that's enough.</p>\n<p>It was really restful to sleep in that apartment.  The blankets were warm and fluffy, but they had weight that pressed us into the beds and kept us from tossing and turning in our sleeps.  The sleep was magnificent.</p>\n<p>We had to be in Igoumenitsa this morning by 10:30 to meet up with the guy and pay him.  Unfortunately, we were so out of it by the time we arrived last night that we'd completely forgotten the name of the place he wanted to meet us, but he'd left us his business card bearing a cell phone number just in case.  When we arrived in Igoumenitsa after an hour's moderate ride (during which we saw that the flooding had reached Greece, too; a dam we passed by was overflowing), we immediately sought out a bank machine (so that we could once again have Euro to spend) and a bakery.  With our spanikopita and tiropita desires satisfied, we tried to decide what to do about meeting our friend.</p>\n<p>Well, no one in the square where we'd eaten spoke English.  Might be tougher than we thought.  We headed into a bookshop in hopes that the proprietor thereof might have a better chance of it.</p>\n<p>Sure enough, he did.  We purchased a Greece map from him, then he graciously called our friend for us.  After a short discussion, we left the keys and payment with him in the bookshop and headed out to find a place to stay.</p>\n<p>We wandered for a while.  The first hotel we tried didn't have any vacancy for tomorrow night.  We attempted to find an apartment-style room to stay in -- we desperately need a washer for our clothing, and we figured we'd have a better chance in such a setup -- to no avail.  Eventually we were pointed to Hotel Acropolis, which we'd seen on our way in and promptly forgotten about.  It was along the waterfront and near the centre of town... we headed there and assumed we'd be able to find a laundromat someplace.  Just having a place to sleep would be good enough.</p>\n<p>We checked in for the reasonable rate of 45\u20ac/night, and after Evan chatted up the owner for a while, we asked whether there was a place to do laundry nearby.  He seemed surprised; laundromats are not a \"thing\" here in Greece, evidently.  He offered to do our laundry with his own laundry, for free, because he had \"such good memories of Toronto.\"  :)  He was a really sweet guy.</p>\n<p>Hotel Acropolis is one of the breed of hotels that takes your key at the desk as you leave and gives it back to you when you return.  It was really charming, actually; I don't think I've stayed in a place like that before.  I think we were the only patrons, so every person who worked the desk knew us by voice and had the key ready for us before we'd even made it up the stairs.  Additionally, the key had a keychain which fit in a slot on the wall in the room and controlled the electricity: no keychain, no electricity.  This made using the in-room refrigerator strange.</p>\n<p>But we didn't leave much.  We took a quick trip out to the grocery store, another out for gyros, and another to get ouzo at a bar downtown.  Mostly the day was spent vegging out and resting our tired bodies while poking around on the hotel's wireless network.  A few things of note, however: a real Greek gyro is something different from what we imagine in the States.  It doesn't just include meat, but also fries, and it comes with a healthy dose of chili spice on it.  Ouzo is best served in a tall, thin glass; when you receive it, it's great fun to put ice cubes in and watch them turn the liquor foggy.</p>\n<p>Anyway, a lazy day.  We biked something like 20km, but that was plenty.  Tomorrow, no biking.  Ahhhh.....  ^___^</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/20/a-short-ride-to-rest.html", "title": "a short ride to rest", "date": "2010-10-20T08:03:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/20/a-short-ride-to-rest.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101020", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Mathematicians<br />\nAppreciate a painter's<br />\nNature uniquely.</i></p>\n<p>Nary a rumble came from the train tracks all night.  We slept soundly, aside from the wind waking us up at midnight sharp (the witching hour!) by collapsing one side of our tent.  That was a sort of rude thing for it to do, but fortunately our stalwart tent popped right back up and we dreamed away the rest of the night, lulled to sleep by the raging breeze.</p>\n<p>Our breakfast sandwiches woke us up, and we continued along our verdant route to Aix-en-Provence.  A few cyclists dotted the road, but mainly it was empty entirely.  Sunday mornings in France, you know.  We did happen across a beautiful reservoir up in the mountains, ringed by some houses that appeared to belong to summer camps.</p>\n<p>It was a long downhill into Aix, and we appreciated it.  We arrived there and were totally disoriented.  We managed to find a local market for clothes and spices, a separate one for flowers, and, after we finally found a supermarket to get ingredients for dinner, a market for fruits, vegetables, and bread.  We picked up some feta pastries, anyway.  We eat a lot.</p>\n<p>One of my friends, Carmen, studied in Aix-en-Provence for school some time ago.  I asked her recently what a few cool things to do in the area might be, and she recommended three: an archaeological site north of town, calanques between Marseilles and Cassis (probably we will head that way tomorrow), and a route that the painter C\u00e9zanne walked to feel inspired.  We spent enough time lost that we could only do the first or the third one, so we decided to explore our inner painter.</p>\n<p>The route was lovely!  From our campsite, it wound up and down hills and past ch\u00e2teaux and windmills and fields and trees.  At the end is \"C\u00e9zanne's Windmill,\" where we stopped in to see a painting exhibition by some local artists.  It was quite nice.</p>\n<p>Nicer, though, was the field just outside of Le Tholonet (the town at the end of the route) was absurdly lovely in the fading light of day.  We stopped there to have a picnic and enjoy the sights.  We talked about everything and nothing and painting and math and enjoyed our pasta e fagioli (the two of us consumed an astonishing 8 servings thereof).  Now we are settled into our campsite, freshly showered and with clean dishes and clothes.  It's nice to feel civilised for once.  :)</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/29/cezannes-scene.html", "title": "c\u00e9zanne's scene", "date": "2010-08-29T09:46:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/29/cezannes-scene.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100829", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>We wish a silent farewell to the carnies, who are all still asleep at this hour, and speed off in the direction of Alicante. Roughly 10 km in, it is Valkyrie's turn to blow a tube; this means another stop, half an hour of repairs, and an unfortunate postponement of breakfast...to add the proverbial insult, the tire has suffered wall damage from having the inner tube under-inflated for so long, and has begun to sprout menacing cracks. It is now imperative that we find a shop for replacement tires and tubes; and the Marathon tire served her so well...</p>\n<p>The land outside of Alicante is flat, very flat; the highway dips down to sea level, its thin grey line of asphalt surrounded by marsh and salt pools and dykes. We wonder how long this will last, how long before it is permanently flooded with water washed off the polar ice caps. It does, however, make for fast riding, especially with the tailwind whipped up; fortunately, the until-now-ever-present heat is tempered by a veil of clouds, and we even sense a tentative but ultimately abortive spattering of rain. One and a half months now without rain, without even the slightest indication that it might rain; six weeks of solid blue sky only occasionally punctuated by a lone misguided cloud, of unmitigated sunlight, of sinister and sinuous convection swirls rising from the freshly paved road. So this is refreshing indeed, a sign that we are finally escaping the drought-stricken south and heading into less deadly climes.</p>\n<p>We reach Alicante in good time, and decide that sating our hunger is the first priority; one flan cake, some peaches, and a load of tuna-avocado salad later, we set out through the city in search of a bike shop. We find one, but are disappointed to learn that like most bike shops in this area they specialize in mountain bikes and BMX. The owner does point us in the direction of two more stores - one a newer sports chain, which sadly turns out to be merely a massive sports clothing store, and the other a Decathlon way out on the periphery of town. We make it to the Decathlon, buy new tires, and sit outside in the employee break area swapping our damaged and worn tires for them - or at least we try to; for we are shortly moved by a security guard who judges our presence unacceptable, even though the space is not currently being used. This is a mixed blessing; we had been on the point of forgetting our hatred of Decathlon, which in the absence of further dealings with them had begun to seem irrational...</p>\n<p>...and we finally get the tires fixed, this time setting up out in the parking lots beside the store. With that task finally completed, we can search for a place to stay - but alas! Here, too, our arrival coincides with local festivities. Rooms are full, prices are high, the nearest campground is 15 km out of the city, and the tourist bureau is - out of principle, you understand? - unable to recommend or even contact particular places for us; instead, we must sit outside their office and fritter away pay-as-you-go minutes calling up random pensions and hostels in the book until we find one by the name of La Milagrosa, which still has a triple room available for 55\u20ac. This is steeper than we're used to, but perhaps justifiable given the amount we've saved stealth camping over the last few days...</p>\n<p>Yes, it is justified; for we have showers to wash away the collected grime and make use of their kitchen to concoct some delicious scrambled eggs and connect to their Internet for email and blog uploading and photo syncing. We feel much better after all this, refreshed in a way that is simply not possible in the absence of freely running water. Our evening meal is enjoyed up on the patio, the citadel looming over us from its cliffside perch, and we toast to Venus' journey with us which is now drawing to a close.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/04/i-think-i-ali-can-te.html", "title": "i think i (ali)can(te)", "date": "2010-08-04T15:57:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/04/i-think-i-ali-can-te.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100804", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>Not enough sleep, not with the incessant pestering of flies and mosquitoes combined with the frightening force of lightning, thunder, and rain all night long. The evidence of our hard night is etched on our skin: clusters of bites on our cheeks, bags under our eyes, a general sheen of filth that accumulates each day that we are unable to shower. Hopefully the latter part will at least change soon - but we are resolved to make it through Albania on our initial withdrawal of 15000 LEK, which amounts to just a shade over 100\u20ac for four days, and we blew through a substantial portion of that the first day on posh quarters and maps and tasty street food. (In reality, the lion's share of that went to paying off the room; the rest was negligible, as Albanian prices are quite low in comparison to the rest of Europe.)</p>\n<p>In our exhaustion, we set off down the beachside motorway. Bikes are not exactly permitted here, but they are not yet not not permitted - if the reader can excuse the polynegative mess here, I should explain that the roads here are of recent construction. Indeed, sections of the highway are actively being built, so that we are forced to divert around unfinished overpasses and around cordoned-off unfinished lanes and over unfinished gravel portions with treacherous waterfilled potholes bored by the recent storms. The motorways even lack signs in most parts; we eventually come across the usual sign prohibiting pedestrians, cyclists, tractor-driving farmers, oxcarts, smaller scooters, and other such inferior modes of transportation from using the motorway, but even this is merely lip service to a car-driven ideal - when we stop halfway to the semi-major town of Fier to check our map, for instance, a kindly man waves with his hand to indicate that we might as well use the motorway, as the police will hardly care...</p>\n<p>...ah, the police. This must be the largest employer in Albania, for nary a five-kilometre stretch goes by without at least one police-staffed radar trap. They are out in full force, stopping motorists left and right - and yet, given the preponderance of recently erected roadside memorials to victims of careless driving, it may not be wholly excessive. Nevertheless, they do not bother us, not even when we ride in our habitual side-by-side phalanx-of-two formation down the side of the often way-wider-than-necessary blacktop.</p>\n<p>We stop for lunch just before Fier, cursing the uniformly flat path we have thus far chosen to take through Albania. This may seem perverse - after all, isn't it a beast of a time to chug up those bloody mountains? - but this alternative is boring, every kilometre exactly like the last. Saturday today; this is the Muslim day of rest. Although the Muslims are a minority in religiously polyglot Albania, their presence is large enough that many businesses - such as the gas station stores we had hoped to purchase additional snack from - are mostly closed, the petrol-pumping parts of the operation manned with a skeleton crew...</p>\n<p>...and we reach Fier, where we happily discover two markets and a bakery to purchase the necessities of continued eating. And to think we were beginning to despair that we might not eat properly tonight! The roads bring all manner of vehicles through Fier: hay-stacked carts, tractors, and the increasingly predominant automobiles. In one of the markets, the owner makes an unusual inquiry...</p>\n<p>\"Where are you living in Albania?\" - as though the thought that people could, of their own free will and faculty, come from outside the once-closed borders to pass through this fine country was unthinkable. We reply that we aren't; that we are travellers from North America on a foolhardy quest to spend a full six months of our lives biking around the coast of Europe, voluntarily foregoing the comforts of North American life to bum around in a tent and sleeping bag with little more to our name than the shirts on our backs. We laugh at her bewilderment, politely take our leave, and set off after a quick disappointing beer despite our still-mounting exhaustion.</p>\n<p>The coast at last! Endless biking to the coast; at least the roads become more interesting, pressed around hills by the coastal terrain as they take us into the small town of Panaja. Spirits are running low, tempers flaring. Exhaustion - tired, not enough food, bites from yesterday - and to add to the whole bit, in our desperation I purchase the only serviceable-looking snack item from the only open market we can find in Panaja; this turns out to be a pack of repugnantly tasteless cookies that we simply can't stomach at this point. Tired. Hungry. We decide that the cycling must end soon; turning the corner just past the town, we spot a segment of flat-looking land down between some fields and a section of olive grove. We pull off the road and onto the gravel-dirt sideroad, our bikes shuddering with the uneven surface...</p>\n<p>...and we set the tent, allowing it to air out and dry. I head off into the olive grove, hoping to find a pair of trees suitable for stringing a line that we may dry our clothes - which, unfortunately, are still soaked from our efforts to wash them in Dubrovnik, and have started to take on a musty smell...</p>\n<p>...but before I can do that, a man rides up on a scooter and begins talking to me. Catastrophe! This must be the landowner, come to turf us from the only half-reasonable camping spot we've found in this coastal agricultural stretch - but he is not; just some curious local come to see the oddballs with the bright orange tent that, upon reflection, can certainly be seen by everyone around. He speaks not a bit of English, but he has passable Italian; combining this with the meagre shreds of Italian I picked up during our time in that fair country, I manage to explain the nature, length, origin and destination of our trip, as well as sundry personal details. Impressed with our courage, ardour, and batshit insanity, he shakes my hand heartily before puttering off on his scooter. I set to stringing out the line, selecting two sturdy trees some 10 m apart...</p>\n<p>...and am stopped again, this time by a younger and taller man of solid build. This man has more the look of a landowner, being dressed for work in the grove, and I mistake his approach for an attempt to remove us from his hard-earned land. I start taking down the line, but his permissive hand gestures indicate that this is not his concern; rather, he has spotted our rather poorly camouflaged tent in the adjoining field (which, as it turns out, is also his property.) By an exchange in English, pseudo-Italian, Albanian, and copious hand gestures, I understand that he would like to offer us space to camp further inland, in the safety of the grove; I grab Valkyrie, he explains this to her via the same disjointed language mash, and we move our stuff in amongst the olive trees. He offers us water - there is no running water, but as most rural European communities they draw from the town aqueduct and store it in large plastic bottles - and a loaf of bread, which in my exhaustion I nearly drop on the ground. We set our line out and string up the clothing, making sure to lay all our wet bags out in the fading sun so that they might benefit from the last bits of daylight warmth.</p>\n<p>The weather looks increasingly dire, clouds moving in off the sea for another nightly storm. Despite the language barrier, our gracious host extends his hospitality yet again: we are invited to have the use of his couch if it rains, and may join them at 1900 for a meal. When that hour rolls around - which it does quickly, for all this setting up and striking and moving and setting up again has taken a while - we clamber inside out of the just-starting rain, and settle in for a conversation that proves equal parts rewarding and taxing. First, we start out with the pleasantries: who are we? How did we get here? Why did we embark on this ridiculously epic journey? When we find ourselves at a loss to explain our route sufficiently, we duck out in the rain to grab our maps; on the back of the Crna Gora map, there is a large-scale map of most of southern Europe, enough to display the majority of our route. This we trace with our fingers. In return, we understand from him - although he speaks primarily in Albanian, using one of the others present to translate into Italian when necessary - that he is a karate champion with an established school in Vlor\u00eb; that the others at the house come from all over Albania, and are known to him in various ways; that he spent some time in Greece. Although we speak scant Italian, our knowledge of other Romance languages is sufficient that we can usually read and listen with relative success. He then settles in for the main lesson: a discourse on Albanian history, geography, language, and culture that lasts nearly two hours, hours spent poring over the formerly Albanian sections of our maps and drawing various diagrams on a pad of paper that he produces and writing out the phonemes of the Albanian alphabet (which is capable of expressing a wide variety of sounds!) This, too, is delivered in Albanian and Italian - but, by degrees, we come to understand most of what he says. We are exhausted still, of course, but eager to learn about this unknown land that we have merely been passing through for the last couple of days. At times the electricity cuts out; much of Albania operates on a timesharing system, whereby users contract to receive a certain number of hours of electricity per day.</p>\n<p>The lesson mostly concluded, he steps out to Vlor\u00eb; we mostly nap, as we are quite tired. They return later with food: eggs, sausages, cake, and the remains of a delicious lentil stew stored away in their pantry. We gobble this up, thank them for the meal, and in our post-meal soporific state are soon well passed out on the couch, safe away from the gathering storm outside...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/17/albanian-history-lesson.html", "title": "albanian history lesson", "date": "2010-10-17T17:49:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/17/albanian-history-lesson.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101017", "country": "al"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Geothermal springs<br />\nFor health!  Not for the young nor<br />\nFor the well.  Gah!  Argh!</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>So we hung out in Dax for a day today, getting our bikes ready to go do the crazy mountain crossing and letting our legs have a rest before we ask so much of them.  I did some surgery on Evan's handlebar bag (it's now held on with some zip ties and the cords from the toe baskets on my original pedals) and spend some time reorganising our new equipment (we bought a new pot!  It replaces the old one that we coated with cheese during the pizza experiment in Bordeaux) and washing clothes and swimming in the pool at our campsite and all that good stuff.</p>\n<p>Oh, swimming was sort of strange.  I discovered that my body is now programmed for cycling, which unfortunately makes it very difficult to swim underwater.  As soon as I start pumping my legs, my lungs decide that they have to give all their oxygen down there, so I'm basically pathetic at that now.  Sigh.</p>\n<p>I'm pretty excited that we'll be leaving France soon, although I'm going to miss singing about Monsieur Bricolage.  Monsieur Bricolage (\"Mr. Construction\") is a shop that's found in a lot of places around here that purveys hardware and the like, but for some reason Evan and I have decided that he is the only reasonable French person and that he secretly builds bike paths and shopping markets and things to help us out when we're stuck.  We sing his name as the only lyrics to lots of tunes that we know, but our favourite to sing it to is the wakeup song on our phone alarm (it's Samsung's \"Get Happy\", if you can find it).  Anyway, that's about all I'll miss about France.  Oh, and maybe the delicious pastries.  :D</p>\n<p>We tried to go to some hot baths today for our day off (a number of \"Thermes\" are listed on our map of Dax), but we were told that the hot springs are only for people with medical issues and would we please go play in the pool?  We were... angry.  But it was a nice pool, I guess...</p>\n<p>Anyhow, another day in Dax!  Tomorrow, we set out for the head of the Camino de Santiago!  I read up on it some, and the terminus (Santiago de Compostela, Spain) is the third holiest city for Catholics (after the Vatican and Jerusalem) because remains which are presumed to belong to Saint James were found there.  Of course, no one can prove that it was him, but the faithful make a pilgrimage to Spain to see it, anyway.  There are a lot of paths that go there (beginning as far away as Sweden!), but the path we will be starting at St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port is the head of the best-known section of the caminos.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/29/daxing-my-patience.html", "title": "daxing my patience", "date": "2010-06-29T13:47:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/29/daxing-my-patience.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100629", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Slowly, a veil drops.<br />\nEnsconced in fog, biking's hard,<br />\nBut we still make it.</i></p>\n<p>It was a slow start from Se\u017eana this morning, but it was okay.  We only planned to go about 80km to another host's house in Opatija, Hrvatska (Croatia).  We saw Aleksander off on his first day of work, and we thanked him and Azra for all their kindness.  We took our group photo, loaded the bikes, and set off into some gloom.</p>\n<p>The gloom held off for a while; we stopped at a supermarket for breakfast, at an ATM for a little more cash, and at the post office to mail things (our giant pile of 15 maps plus all our trinkets from recently cost just 13\u20ac13 to send priority to the USA!).  Some drizzles pelted us as we biked past Lipica, which is famous for its white horses.  Aleksander's mom told us about them yesterday; they were brought by an Austrian queen some centuries ago, and they are still bred in the stables there.  We saw some wandering around the field, and they've been trained to walk in a particular way, so we laughed a little as they strode up to us for a quick pet.</p>\n<p>From there, we followed the road back into Italia and then back into Slovenija, which makes 4 separate crossings spots that we have changed between those two countries.  Sort of silly, yes.  But then it was a dead easy single-road path all the way down to Rijeka in Hrvatska.</p>\n<p>The road led us up and up, into the mountains.  Much of the day was gorgeous, if cloudy, but as we neared the Croatian border, a thick fog blanketed everything.  We pulled out all our lights and our vest, but we were still nervous as we biked slowly through the murk.  It was getting colder and colder, too, and our long-sleeved shirts were barely enough to keep us warm.  We'll definitely have to invest in some jackets or sweatshirts before fall really shows up.</p>\n<p>The border was uneventful, which we were sad about.  We had been so excited to leave Schengen and start getting passport stamps, but the woman at the desk simply laughed at our pathetic-ness and said, \"All the way from America by bike?\" before waving us on.  We did look pathetic, I guess.  The fog and our general dampness from the earlier rain did not make us a happy sight, and certainly our bags and bikes are filthy as they have been for months.  I hope we get a stamp when we go through Bosnia later, though.</p>\n<p>It was an easy downhill from the border, and the fog lifted quickly as we sped into the warm, Mediterranean air.  We passed an ATM conveniently located next to a shop, so we picked up some kuna (the local currency) and some O\u017eujsko (the local crappy beer).  I remember having O\u017eujsko when I was in Croatia this spring, and it was nothing special, but the name is so damn funny that Evan and I felt we had to make a commercial about it after purchasing the cans.  It will show up on our Youtube channel (<a href=\"http://youtube.com/biketotheearth\">http://youtube.com/biketotheearth</a>) whenever we find a wifi connection reliable- and fast enough to upload it.</p>\n<p>Down and down and down to the sea, where our host's house in Opatija is.  We successfully found our way this time, and we knocked on his door to find him at home, even.  His name is Ivo, and he's really cool.  He doesn't like crap from anybody, and he knows loads about Croatia.  We spent the evening discussing possible routes southward and the history of Croatia and Yugoslavia.  I'm not sure where we can put all the information he gave us... it might wind up as notes on our map, or it might wind up as comments on photos?  Anyway, it would be awkward to write in this blog post with no context, so we'll just save it for later.  Now, we're going to head to bed.  A bed!  Three nights in a row!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/04/hello-hrvatska.html", "title": "hello hrvatska!", "date": "2010-10-04T16:04:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/04/hello-hrvatska.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101004", "country": "hr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>The sun seeks refuge,<br />\nEnsconced in the misty dawn,<br />\nNot ready to wake.</i></p>\n<p>We weren't ready to wake, either.  Our campsite, as we were told by Aleksander and Azra, was really, really spectacular.  We slept in, unhurried because we were nowhere near people and knew we wouldn't be bothered, and we enjoyed our m\u00fcsli and yogurt breakfast.  We were sad that we didn't see our Australian friend, but we still might run into him along the way.</p>\n<p>We loaded our junk and hopped back down to the road, carefully navigating the stones and branches spread across the path.  It was about a 30km ride to Dubrovnik, during which we were treated to more and more of the lovely views of the Dalmatians found along this coast.  I ran into Evan's back wheel during our ride and pulled/strained/in some way injured my upper back, neck, and right shoulder.  Hopefully that clears up shortly.</p>\n<p>We arrived in the city and cursed the damn road, though.  Instead of being sensible and going down into the city, it winds up the mountain a good 200m and all the way around the city before presenting an exit to get down.  It's going to suck to try to leave.</p>\n<p>But we made it to town and parked ourselves in a caf\u00e9 with wifi to try to find some kind of acceptable accommodations (and to upload lovely pictures for you lovely people).  Two cappuccinos and a lot of information later, we settled on the youth hostel in town which listed its prices (on Hostelworld) as 110HRK, or about $20, per person per night.</p>\n<p>On our way there, we were intercepted by yet another cyclist, a man from London who is cycling across to Australia, maybe, or perhaps to somewhere else, depending on how he feels.  He asked us if we had any place to stay, and we said that we were going to check out the hostel, but he told us he'd tried there and they were asking 127HRK instead of the advertised 110, and also that he had found an apartment for just 90HRK for one person for one night that was nice and not far away and included a private kitchen and shower.</p>\n<p>Well, that's good.  We followed him to this place and made a deal with the owner for 160HRK for the two of us for one night.  Yay!  It was about 13h, and we were told that we should come back around 15h or 16h after the room was cleaned and ready.  We swapped information with the cyclist, whose name was Simon (you can find his blog at <a href=\"http://awheeljourney.blogspot.com\">http://awheeljourney.blogspot.com</a>), and headed to the grocery store to get some food with our last kuna.  We walked out with enough food for dinner, breakfast, and lunch for the next day, as well as a couple of Karlova\u010dkos--the beer common in the south of Croatia--to pass the time while we wait for our room to be cleaned.  We also still had around 40HRK left.  We sat outside the grocery store, watching people come and go, and another traveller walked up to us, this one bearing a backpack and no bicycle.  We chatted with him for a while and learned that he was heading in the same direction as we, except by bus and train.</p>\n<p>Our waiting done, we headed back to the apartment, where everything was ready.  We ate our lunch of leftovers, washed our clothes and hung them out to dry, were given some delicious fresh mandarin oranges from the tree growing in the apartment complex's garden, and headed into the old city for some exploring.</p>\n<p>On the way, we ran again into that backpacker.  We stopped to talk again; he's from New Orleans, now living in Colorado.  We swapped info with him, too, and went our separate ways.</p>\n<p>The old city of Dubrovnik provided many of the things that most old cities provide: a lot of cool-looking things built by people a long time ago that cost a significant amount to see.  We had gotten a map from the tourism office before that had lines indicating the paths of several tours that they offered, so we wandered along these paths, hoping to learn something without paying their exorbitant fees.  As it was, Evan invented a tour for me that was equally as informative as the regular tour, although admittedly none of the information was probably correct.  No matter.  Wikipedia will fix us up later.</p>\n<p>We returned to our apartment later, ready for some food.  It was a treat to eat a dinner with butter, and we are prepared now to go to bed satisfied.  Mmmm... plus we have food for tomorrow's lunch, which makes life even better.  :D</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/12/dudebrovnik.html", "title": "dudebrovnik", "date": "2010-10-12T17:45:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/12/dudebrovnik.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101012", "country": "hr"}
+{"content": "<p>Woke up bleary-eyed from yesterday's nocturnal wanderings in the second-floor hostel room to an already-bustling common room of travellers - food trumps sleep, it seems, and setting breakfast early in the morning is a good way to clear out the facilities for the next daily crowd...but breakfast falls short of satisfying, accustomed as we are to our four-course (bocadillo, pastry, yoghurt with m\u00fcsli, and tea or other drink) roadside repast. Oh well; it was included with the bed, which at high season prices means we had better milk the place for everything it will give us - so we grab three plates between the two of us, greedily cramming the dry toasts down our throats with all the butter and jam we can spread on them.</p>\n<p>Then it's off into the city to make up for lost time - here in Barcelona, the world's 12th most visited city (and Europe's 4th), the day of rest is merely a suggestion...we start off with a climb up past Gran Via, past Gr\u00e1cia, through the hillside neighbourhoods panting in the stifling humid Mediterranean it's-only-mid-morning-but-already-35-degrees-out heat to Parc G\u00fcell, where we are greeted with the full fantasy-sugarland force of Gaudi's imagination. Parc G\u00fcell, we later learn, was originally designed as a housing development for those wealthy enough to even consider living in the hills surrounding the city below. It has space for 60 lots, only two of which were ever purchased...but the city saw fit to purchase the land in 1923, whereupon the existing gardens, archways, and pavilions were preserved and the area was converted into a public park -which it remains to this day; entrance is blissfully gratis.</p>\n<p>We spend some time poking around Parc G\u00fcell, climbing its various hills and exploring all its corners, then head out and up (and back, due to a navigational snafu!) to the funicular up to Tibidabo, which is this sort of panoramic view-cum-telecommunications post-cum-amusement park-cum-expiatory chapel district atop one of the hills around Barcelona. The view is impressive! In keeping with standard practice, the caf\u00e9 and church are divided into two parts: one easily accessible part for the bulk of tourists, and one slightly removed part - perhaps up or down a flight of stairs hidden around the back - for the small minority of tourists un-lazy enough to search around a bit...we check out the chapel, grab a drink at the caf\u00e9, and walk down the road to the observatory...</p>\n<p>...only to find that, much like everything else we attempt to visit on this trip, it is closed for the season. Oh well; there is a beautiful path leading down the mountain, supposedly used by seasoned mountain bikers - but we only see one, and he is (perhaps wisely) walking his bike slowly down the steep rocky inclines. The path opens out onto a road that winds down the hillside some more before reaching a fork; following the path we deem most likely to lead us back to our bikes (which are firmly attached with every lock we own to a post at the funicular base station), we quickly find that we are wrong...but there is yet another path, this one less formal, leading along a fence down one of the exposed slopes and around the back of the municipal animal shelter. We finally arrive at the bikes and ride back into the city, passing several pharmacy signs that flash 42 degrees Celsius at us in menacing red digital type...</p>\n<p>...and we see some more Gaudi buildings in the city, including the Palau Gaudi which is supposedly the first of Gaudi's works in Barcelona (though, as we find out, not the first overall...) Afterwards, we follow a suggestion from one of Valkyrie's friends and head over to Montj\u00fcic with its hilltop castle, sprawling parks, and various cultural icons. The walk is long, and we consider taking the Telef\u00e9ric until we walk into the station and see the exorbitant ticket prices - and the walk, in any event, is picturesque in the extreme.</p>\n<p>Day becomes evening, which we pass part of in a caf\u00e9 off the Rambla drinking delicious batidas and using their Internet connection to catch up on that whole \"real life\" thing we hear is still going on elsewhere...we then grab some vegetarian fast food from this falafel stand that boasts a buffet lliure of toppings. Using our cyclist gastronomic instincts, we carefully chip away at the falafel to allow maximum topping load. Before long we are stuffed, though not enough so that we cannot wash it down with a bottle of horchata de chufa; with our stomachs teetering on the edge of uncomfortable fullness, we wobble down to the beach and grab a much-needed nap in the sand before heading back up to catch some live funk-blues-rock band in Jamboree just off Placa Reial. The pianist/keyboardist and lead guitar play with frenetic energy, their faces contorting into every chord...fantastic stuff!</p>\n<p>Nighttime now - just past midnight; we head out along the beaches in search of a place to camp, and finally find one just past a stretch of industrial land somewhat out of the city. We are both super-excited to hold the ordained cyclist ceremony tomorrow morning, thus formally marking the midway point of our trip - but sleep for now!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/22/gaudi-falafel.html", "title": "gaudi falafel", "date": "2010-08-22T11:33:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/22/gaudi-falafel.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100822", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Small, vulnerable,<br />\nCyclists ride alongside cars,<br />\nBlazing speeds: too much.</i></p>\n<p>Well, although we woke up at the prescribed time (Evan moaning about his hangover, I prodding him to move), we didn't make it out of Larisa before 1030.  We meandered through the town's extensive parkland to a caf\u00e9, where we sat to enjoy our morning caffeine and write some blog posts.  It's hard to catch up on these things now... since we finished our \"distance goal\" at Athens, we feel like this trip is more and more procedural.  It's unfortunate, I know, but we're getting... gasp... homesick!</p>\n<p>We managed to find our way out of town before 11h, which is good, I suppose (some cities are extremely navigationally challenging...).  Our crappy Greek map shows that there's no way along the coast to Katerini that doesn't take the motorway.  Google Maps shows that there's no way along the coast to Katerini that doesn't take the motorway.  Both seem to indicate that we should ride an additional 30km or so over mountains to make it.  But we didn't believe them, so we headed to the coast.</p>\n<p>Out of Larisa, we took a smaller highway for 20km or so, then accidentally merged onto the motorway.  Well, no problem, we've done this before; in fact, the larger shoulder on these routes makes us feel safer than the occasionally nonexistant shoulder on the smaller roads.  We went along at a good clip (it's a wonderfully-paved road, after all) for 4km and took the first exit, which required passing a toll booth.</p>\n<p>Well, there's no toll listed for bicycles.  The smallest vehicle that must pay is a scooter, so the woman behind the counter in the booth waved us through with a puzzled look on her face.  Hm.  We continued along some smaller service roads that followed the motorway closely, and we noted with interest that there were periodic signs along the larger road indicating its status: motorway, not motorway, motorway, not motorway.  What kind of road is this?</p>\n<p>We had to take it a few times, it's true.  Google Maps and our map were correct: there's no way to avoid that road-path.  There are ways to avoid the tolls, which we did with some crafty farmland dodges.  When we saw a sign indicating a toll coming up, we dodged out a couple roads and headed north on something smaller, veering back towards the main road after we felt we'd gone a sufficient distance.  It was easy going, for the most part, excepting those tedious gravel roads along the train line... oh well.</p>\n<p>We paused for lunch at the bottom of a gorgeous mountain valley.  The \"motorway\" had been following it for some time, and when it finally dumped out of the mountains and into the beach area, we found an astonishingly beautiful park where a man and his son stood fishing at the river.  We pondered them as we ate our delicious rice-mushroom-parmesan leftovers.</p>\n<p>When we made it to Katerini after some hours of riding (much of it was tedious, due to the narrowness of the shoulder and the noise of passing cars which made it difficult to keep up conversations), we noted that everything seemed closed.  A festival?  What's up?  Well, we stopped in a caf\u00e9 to use some Wifi and have a coffee.</p>\n<p>Opening the laptop revealed to us that it was, in fact, Sunday.  We'd been labouring under the assumption that it was Saturday; I guess I fudged the date on our mobile when I was changing the time for DST last week.  Well, crap.  We realised we'd have to go out for gyros: not a bad fate, considering their relative quality here.  :)</p>\n<p>While we sat around in the caf\u00e9, the thoughtful bartender sent a man to us with shots on the house.  We still aren't sure what they were, exactly, but they reminded us a lot of Gammeldansk -- that stuff we enjoyed overmuch with Birthe and Ole in Odense, Danmark.  Perhaps that's what they were.  Anyway, we wondered again about our appearance: do we look like folks who need a drink?  This was the second time in two days we'd been treated...</p>\n<p>We took just a short stop in a gyro shop to sate our hunger.  From there, we headed on in a direction we thought was sane in order to find a campsite.  We had no navigational sense by this point.. once the sun has set, we can't be sure what direction we're going (I think we left our compass back at that farm in Valencia so long ago).  We figured we'd be able to find signs in the morning.</p>\n<p>So, we're parked in another construction area for the night.  The road that comes up to the site has been torn up and is evidently slated for improvement, but for now it's entirely impassible.  We have as neighbours a partially-constructed apartment complex, a fenced grassy field containing some construction equipment, and a used car lot.  I think no one will bother us here.  I hope not: we've got to watch Legend tonight!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/07/sunday-is-the-new-sunday.html", "title": "sunday is the new sunday", "date": "2010-11-07T12:27:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/07/sunday-is-the-new-sunday.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101107", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p>With the World Naked Bike Ride out of the way and a ferry reservation to show up for, we made the 80 km haul back from Brighton to Portsmouth. We were still quite full of food from last night's delicious vegetarian birthday potluck, but nevertheless managed to work through a bit more of the chickpea salad and roll out along the coast on our bikes. Less pressed for time than we were during our previous rush into Brighton for WNBR, we opted to follow the South Coast Cycle Route, which avoids the direct but less-than-scenic A259 and A27 in favour of smaller roads closer to the coast. It was a good deal nicer, especially with the occasional slight tailwind sweeping in off the water!</p>\n<p>We made another stop by the tea house at the pick-your-own farm along the way, where we surprised ourselves by each shoving a full Ploughman's Lunch complete with Victorian Sponge Cake and tea down our respective throats. The lunch was essentially a collection of food on a plate - bread, mature cheddar, ham, chutney, salad, slaw, and a pair of delectably pickled onions. There is more than a grain of truth to the assertion that we're eating our way through Europe - but it's all justified when your energy requirements for the day top 5000 kilocalories. (We're not actually sure what the total would be, although this seems reasonable for 8 hours of moderately intense cardiovascular exercise. In any event, we've been eating about this much daily with no adverse health effects. Anyone want to do the calculations for us?)</p>\n<p>After that, we continued on through a succession of towns until shortly out of Portsmouth, where we were again forced onto the major highway for a couple of exits. This is incomparably more harrowing than the relative luxury of Danish bike paths, particularly when you're being passed by transport trucks that could crush you without stopping. We worked our way through that part to reach the final bike paths into Portsmouth, whereupon we promptly downed our last official pints of pub-poured ale before grabbing some snacks and cider for the ferry.</p>\n<p>The ferry station itself was packed, and we were shunted off to the side with a group of four cyclists who were heading over to Bretagne for a quick three-day bike trip. We shared some tales from our travels so far, thus adding to the already considerable number of people who think we're absolutely crazy for doing this...but it is refreshing to talk to cyclists about these things; there's a sort of informal kinship that develops around the trials and tribulations of sharing roads with angry motorists and inclement weather of all descriptions and signs of questionable navigational utility. And why not? Although cycling continues to become more popular as we inch away from the automobile age, we're still considered inferior to cars; in many countries, dedicated cycling roads are scarce, so that the decision to bike is at least partly a conscious undertaking of not inconsiderable personal risk.</p>\n<p>\u00d3h, we also uploaded a video of our daily stretching: <a href=\"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypd-KWYX_bI\">here it is.</a></p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/15/and-back-again.html", "title": "and back again", "date": "2010-06-15T06:26:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/15/and-back-again.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100615", "country": "gb"}
+{"content": "<p><i>A drizzly Sunday...<br />\nStill hard, even when you have<br />\nA real place to live.</i></p>\n<p>We woke up, did some hoeing, scoured the ground for carobs, and were told that since it's Sunday we need not do anything else.  (p.s. did you know that carob is used in making diabetic chocolate?  It's actually the bean itself and not the seeds inside that have a bit of the flavour of chocolate.. I know this because Evan and I decided it might be fun to bite into them and see.  Anyway, carob goes for a reasonable price at markets around here.)</p>\n<p>With not much to do work-wise, a dead computer, and an enormous backlog of blogposts to write, we decided that the best idea might be to head into town and park ourselves in a caf\u00e9 to charge the ol' laptop and get some typin' done.  It was largely uneventful and relaxing, I guess.  We had some beers, tried some cognac from Jerez (a town we passed through some time ago in Spain), paid our super-reasonable 6\u20ac for them, and hung out.</p>\n<p>We actually don't get much time to \"hang out.\" It seems strange, I guess.  We're together essentially all the time, and have been for some months now (3 today!), but when we're biking or cooking or seeing towns or whatever we tend to talk about the things going on around us more than anything else.  It was nice to just sit down (in the dark, since we got home sort of late and there's no electricity) and chat about the books we've been reading (I'm really enjoying <i>Storming Heaven</i>) and whatever else has been on our minds.</p>\n<p>Yeah... that's about all.  Things are closed around here on Sunday.  It's a good day to relaaaaaaxxxxxxxxxxxxx....</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/15/carob-cognac.html", "title": "carob cognac", "date": "2010-08-15T16:06:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/15/carob-cognac.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100815", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>Athens at last. The leg from Kalamata to Athens is not that far, but it has proven arduous: aside from 1400m climbs and bone-chilling cold snaps, the rest of the ride has ranged from rolling to outright mountainous. We've remarked that our pace has dropped considerably since entering Greece, as the topographically squished terrain is anything but easy to cycle across. Nevertheless, after camping in a small unused field just off the road near Korinthos, we manage 100km today along the motorway service roads to meet Valkyrie's friend and ex-coworker Nikos in Athens...</p>\n<p>...on Halloween! Bike touring makes it difficult to prepare costumes, so we settled for the obvious and went as battle-hardened cyclists. Extra points for realism! The road to Athens is just that - a road whose only real virtue is that it is not the motorway. Of note: just out of Korinthos lies the Korinthos Canal, completed relatively recently at extraordinary expense to spare seafarers the notoriously dangerous 700km detour around the Peloponnese. A quick Wikipedia search tells more: the canal project was undertaken and subsequently abandoned by several Roman emperors; the completed canal was blasted with the help of the same engineer who consulted on the Panama Canal project; long before the canal, there was an overground route for pulling large ships on rollers across 6km of land. The rest of the route takes us past clusters of refineries with their industrial stench and flame-belching smokestacks, past coastline and olive groves and more coastline, and finally down 20km of harrowing outer city four-lane-highway madness into the city proper. We find that the way into cities is always most dangerous; unless you know the local roads and bike routes (if such exist!) you end up taking large highways choked with heavy traffic. Here the danger is magnified by a large hill that must be overcome before we are afforded a view of the Acropolis, that famed monument of ancient Greek civilization.</p>\n<p>Following the railroad station signs, we reach Larissa Station and promptly set about to contact Nikos. Fortunately we have a phone card this time, and the rates for local and national calls are reasonable - but the first call fails, so we poke around the station a bit. Not much here, but fare to Iraklio (where Nikos lives) is just 1\u20ac, bikes included. Before trying that, though, we decide to call up Nikos again, and on our way out to the payphones are stopped by two American girls curious as to what two similarly-dressed and generally scruffy cyclists could be up to in this bike-unfriendly city. They are working up in Thessaloniki, to where they will return this afternoon after a weekend visit to Athens. Back at the phones, we succeed this time in contacting Nikos; he will meet us in 15 minutes at the station! We pass this time by taking photos of ourselves with the bikes...</p>\n<p>...because this is our 10 000 kilometre checkpoint! Granted, we have neither GPS nor cycling computers, so this is a (probable under)estimate; nevertheless, it seems as good a place as any to draw the proverbial line. 10 000 km. We have reflected many times upon this, with increasing frequency as we neared Athens. It is not a distance that we truly understand, even though we have just biked it - the distance is too far over too long a time to grasp as one whole, and the trip itself has changed character so much from those early days in the north that we feel it must properly be understood as several trips stitched together. 10 000 km. It seemed laughable for a while that we could achieve that - and yet, by continuing on and chopping away at the distance (almost) every day, we have arrived here.</p>\n<p>Nikos arrives in his trademark brown-and-navy-blue long-sleeve. We follow him to his friends' rooftop pad, where they have laid out an array of tasty foodstuffs: cabbage and sundried tomato salads, grilled meat from the local butchers, bread rusks with tomato and goat cheese, a sweet custard-filled pastry - enough food to compensate for the ride. We fill up on food, exchanging stories with some of the other guests who happen to be cyclists, drinking wine and lounging on the rooftop patio in the Athenian sunset. What a welcome...</p>\n<p>...but we are also here to see the city! Since we will likely spend much of tomorrow perusing ancient Greece, Nikos takes us around the trendier hillside districts up further from Iraklio. Much as European and Asian cuisine is trendy in North America, \"American cuisine\" - if such a thing could be said to exist - is wildly popular here, except that they have given it a peculiarly European spin. There are bistro-style Pizza Huts and TGIFriday's and Applebee's, and it is The Thing for those with money to take their friends or family out for a meal at one of these American fast-food icons. We pass luxury apartments and hotels and mansions, a far cry from our usual roadside or field lodgings. On the way down, just by the motorway, there is yet another sign of rampant American influence: The Mall, an American-style mall with supermarkets and clothing stores and a cinema and all manner of shopping conveniences. This is strange to see on a continent where most supermarkets are less than 10 years old and many still buy their produce from the local fruit and vegetable stand, or perhaps even from a neighbour or relative in the country...</p>\n<p>...after an impossibly complicated twisty path through the streets of Athens, we finally reach Iraklio and head over to Nikos' apartment. Despite his disclaimers to the effect that the place is quite basic, we find it more than suitable for a good rest - but there is one matter to attend to: Halloween! By this time it is getting late; a quick Google search turns up a Halloween party downtown, but since Halloween is practically unheard of and the trains have spotty service pending completion of a subway tunnel overhaul we opt for simpler entertainments. We head over to the nearest DVD rental shop, grab a random horror flick, and while away the pre-bed hours watching it with a bowl of popcorn by our side. Even a token celebration is enough... </p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/31/ten-thousand.html", "title": "ten thousand", "date": "2010-10-31T08:12:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/31/ten-thousand.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20101031", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>What mayn't go right<br />\nDoes always go, anyway<br />\nNo need to fight it.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>Monday afternoon, my tyre went flat, likely due to the 4+ separate construction sites between my apartment and CERN.  It took two days to fix, so in  the interim I ran or walked to and from work.  It was an important lesson, indeed, that running to work is not equivalent to biking to work.  It's a sight more difficult.<br />\n</p>\n<p>On the other hand, it gave me a chance to practise my repair skills.  I guess we'll need it.  :)<br />\n</p>\n<p>Victor (one of my coworkers) and I are planning a big ride this weekend around the lake.  I've been hoping to do this for several weekends, but invariably the week's weather is gorgeous and it just doesn't hold out to Saturday or Sunday.  Anyway, it'll be 180km in a day this Saturday.  Photos to come.  :)<br />\n</p>\n<p>In farm news, I sent messages to all the hosts we are hoping to stay with in Spain, Italy, and Greece.  I've gotten one response so far (from a farm in Italy), and it was affirmative, so we have at least one place to go this summer!  Huzzah!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html", "title": "a different sort of training", "date": "2010-03-25T09:25:00", "path": "posts/2010/03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100325", "country": "ch"}
+{"content": "<p>Rose early (well, 0800, which is early by our admittedly less-than-eager-in-the-morning standards - that will have to change before we get to Spain, as we'll have to get going well in advance of the midday heat) to catch the ferry from Saint-Malo to Portsmouth. What we had originally expected would take two or three hours took nine instead; we didn't make landfall in the UK until 1830, and were queued in Customs until roughly 1930. As a result, our plans to reach Brighton today had to be nixed - instead, we ended up riding in the dark (yes, with lights!) and following progressively more useful directions from various petrol station owners until we finally came upon a campground just out of Chichester. At least we knocked 30 km off our ride for tomorrow; it's only about another 50 km into Brighton, which we should be able to easily complete before the World Naked Bike Ride starts at noon.</p>\n<p>The ferry itself was this ten-story monstrosity with caf\u00e9s and bars and arcades and such. That said, we didn't really get a chance to partake in the onboard entertainment much - we were busy writing these blog posts so that you could know exactly what we've been doing over the last two weeks! (Yeah, I think we mentioned this before...it's not always easy to find a reliable Internet connection, and some of these days have been long enough that we barely feel like setting up the tent afterwards, let alone blogging. Oh well. We'll try to get better at this whole thing.)</p>\n<p>Two things of random importance:</p>\n<ul>\n<li>We did manage to find a detailed map of the Camino de Santiago, which we'll be following through the north of Spain; it lists elevation changes (like the 1200m climb over the first 18 km - zounds!) and pilgrims' inns and other things of general utility.</li>\n<li>We have boat entry stamps in our passports! Yay. They have cute boat icons in the top-right.</li>\n</ul>\n<p>Anyways, that's it for today; I expect tomorrow will be a good deal more exciting, what with all the nudity and such.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html", "title": "a nine-hour tour", "date": "2010-06-12T20:26:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100612", "country": "gb"}
+{"content": "<p>130 km covered in a blaze of speed down the Via Aurelia through Civitavecchia and into Roma - and all by 1500, giving us more than enough time to orient ourselves and locate a hostel before the tourist information desks close. The inner-city navigation proves more difficult than expected - the street layout in Roma is positively byzantine, and the confusion is not helped by the near-total lack of useful signage. Even the information desks are unhelpful; we ask the desk staff for directions to hostels in the city, and are instead given a free map without a street legend and a list of hostels located only by street addresses. Protesting, we exclaim that we are hardly familiar with the city - but they do not particularly care, and only grudgingly offer to point out the general area of one hostel way out by the Stadio Olimpico...fortunately, the roads around that area are few enough in number that we manage to locate the correct road on the map.</p>\n<p>But what of the route into Roma? In the parts before Civitavecchia, the Via Aurelia is a fairly standard minor highway - just small enough to bike on, but flat and a shade too busy for our liking...but there is no other way, not unless we wish to make extra-long jaunts along questionably paved sideroads into the small neighbouring towns. So we zip along the highway, making good time in the slight tailwind. Once we reach Civitavecchia, we stop at the local cycling club hall to ask for good cycling routes into Roma. Before we even get inside, a man walks up to Valkyrie's bike - he takes one look at the seat and, perhaps having seen our riding posture as we came along the road, informs her in a mash of Italian and English that it is adjusted too high...</p>\n<p>...and we enter the hall, which functions primarily as a bar; even at this time, it is full of middle-aged men knocking back Birra Moretti over chit-chat - stories of past cycling glories, maybe, but more likely mundane back-and-forths on daily life. We are clearly the only semi-lost travellers in the room, and are equally clearly not versed in Italian - so a man comes up and asks if we speak French, to which I enthusiastically reply Oui! - whereupon he laughs, explains that he does not, and proceeds instead to conduct the exchange in Spanish. The Via Aurelia, as it turns out, is the best route into Roma; past Civitavecchia, it follows the coast for some time before heading slightly inland past agricultural lands to the city limits. Upon reaching Roma, it predictably widens into a double carriageway - still passable by bike, but not exactly pleasant with trucks and such rushing past...</p>\n<p>Roma! We have biked hard to get here. In distance - and perhaps even in mountainosity - the past week has been equivalent to the Camino de Santiago in the north of Spain: 700 km over a week, roughly 100 km a day. Our kind host in Nice laughed when we said we could cover that much in a day, and warned us that the coast was anything but flat...but we are approaching a critical mass of experience, a heady feeling of accumulated strength and endurance and downright bullheaded momentum that makes us believe ourselves equal to just about anything at this point...5000 km to go in just over two months. The end is in sight!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/09/beni-bidi-bici.html", "title": "beni, bidi, bici", "date": "2010-09-09T20:08:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/09/beni-bidi-bici.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100909", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>Rain. Rain. Rain. It is inescapable here. They say Podgorica, the capital of Crna Gora, receives somewhere in the area of 1.6m of rain per year, and most of that falls from autumn through spring - and we are not so far away from there to imagine that the coast will be any less rain-blasted. It certainly was yesterday, pouring down buckets all through Vladko's discourse on the history and geology of the Land of the Black Mountain. Reality bears out this prediction, for the rain picks up over the night to belt down gushes of water on our flimsy orange tent, whose feeble walls yet remain resistant enough to protect the two terrified cyclists inside...</p>\n<p>...and continues into the morning. During a break in the rain - or, rather, a slight lessening thereof, for there are no real breaks in this rain - we seek refuge under the gas station awning once more, eating breakfast over cappuccini from the caf\u00e9 inside. This provides us with an opportunity to warm up, get dry, wash dishes, all the usual morning chores that have long since become routine. We wait for the rain to let up again, which it hesitantly does around 0900 - and we are off, running back to pack the tent and cram everything back onto the bikes and get them back up to the road, sparing no effort in attempting to beat the return of the rain.</p>\n<p>But return it does, and we are soon travelling up and down the coastal hills. With our cycling jerseys drenched, our shoes soaked through, my arm hair protruding from thousands of goosebumps, we are a sorry sight indeed; but there is no choice. We must continue; there is very little along this section of the coast, perhaps some smaller towns up ahead but nothing sizeable. We are not so far from Albania, a nervewracking thought - for although we knew nothing of Montenegro, it at least has that familiar currency and affiliation with the vague political monstrosity that is the European Union, and therefore has at least some symbolic comfort value. Albania is new, and to make matters worse second-hand reports have been wildly contradictory. According to various reports, Albania is: dangerous, dirty, only considered dangerous and dirty by those who have never been there, full of junkies and criminals, home to the nicest people you will ever meet, in the Middle Ages and utterly without decent roads, moving forward so fast that all other reports must be considered inaccurate. The only certain thing is that nothing is certain; owing perhaps to its closed-off-ness from the rest of the world until relatively recently, Albania is an informational black hole. It promises adventure - and so we must go there, even though we are admittedly more than a bit hesitant to plunge headlong into the unknown.</p>\n<p>As we approach Albania, the nature of the road changes. First, it heads away from the coast and up across into the highlands, for there are no border crossings along the river that flows out to the sea; we must head inland to enter Albania. In the highlands it is noticeably colder, and the roads are waterlogged in parts that have worn away under the repeated abuse of buses and trucks whose combined bulk has proven unamenable to decent asphalt maintenance - but we manage to pass through the highlands, and are soon descending again along less and less paved roads. Not a good sign; if we haven't even reached Albania and the roads are already pockmarked, how will we ever expect to get through Albania without a trailer out back to carry an entire store's worth of extra tubes, tires, and patches?</p>\n<p>And suddenly - BAM! We turn the corner and there it is - the Albanian border, greeting us in all its glory with newly-constructed border post offices and a backed-up line of cars that we are fortunately able to bypass. As cyclists, we can simply saunter up to the kiosk, hand over our passports, have them tossed around between various personnel, scanned, inspected, brought across the lane to the real customs and passport officials, scanned again, recorded in their computer systems, inspected once more for good measure, and stamped before we are on our way...</p>\n<p>...along road that seems suspiciously nice. Perhaps Vladko was right after all, and most reports are wildly inaccurate; after all, this appears to have been recently paved, and is in unusually good condition compared to the condition of the villages it passes through - homes hastily constructed out of spare cement blocks and corrugated metal siding, children playing with discarded bicycle tires, and now-defunct turrets that stand witness to past conflicts. And yet, despite the poverty of the rural northern regions, the children all look happy - in stark contrast to the petulant American youth who pout over receiving the wrong Christmas present. Happiness and wealth are not necessarily correlated, despite what years and billions of dollars of mass brand advertising would have you believe...</p>\n<p>...but there is evidence also of rapid modernization. The road, as noted, is obviously new; the nearby city of Shkoder hosts several hotels, a host of shops, countless makeshift internet caf\u00e9s, delicious food stands selling byrek or roasted chestnuts. We find this one hotel in an old building marked with a sign constructed out of an old bicycle. The sign is a good omen, a signal that we could do worse than to inquire here - so we do, and find that the cost for a full room with TV, shower, four beds, and hot breakfast in the morning is merely 50\u20ac. Of course, we have the good wisdom by now to deal in local currency, and they offer a price of 6000 LEK. Although the exchange rate is in fact 140 LEK to the euro, we soon find that most shops price at 120 LEK to the euro; given the commission overhead of exchanging currency, this might be fair...</p>\n<p>We peruse Shkoder for a bit, grab some food - the byreks from this one street vendor are delicious, served piping hot out of a hole-in-the-wall store that serves as a front for the massive oven behind - and head back to the hotel, but are waylaid by someone who overhears us speaking English; as fate would have it, he did some construction work in Calgary before returning to Albania upon taking some losses during the whole economic crisis shebang. He offers us a jacket to protect ourselves from the cold, seeing as how we only have the one rainjacket, and offers the sage advice that with our education we could make easy money building websites and advertising campaigns for rapidly modernizing Albanian businesses...</p>\n<p>...but we are somewhat too tired to fully appreciate this for the moment, having just made our way through a couple of very wet days. We reach the hotel, watch a couple of Robot Chicken episodes, check our email, and drift off into blissful sleep under three nice and warm blankets as the rain continues to drum on the roof above...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/15/50-euro-a-night.html", "title": "50\u20ac a night", "date": "2010-10-15T17:47:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/15/50-euro-a-night.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101015", "country": "al"}
+{"content": "<p>\n<i>\nWeb development:<br />\nA platypus strapped to an<br />\nAardvark in estrus.\n</i>\n</p>\n\n<h3>Hey there!</h3>\n<p>Welcome to the official website of Bike to the Earth. We're happy that you decided to drop by, and we're super-excited to hear more from you as we prepare for this ambitious journey. I'm <a href=\"http://evanstratford.com/\">Evan Stratford</a>, and I'm here to say a short bit about the site.</p>\n<p>A major part of this process is being able to share it with others; that's why we built this website. Take a second to check out some of the features:</p>\n<ul>\n<li>At top, we have our social media links. If you're looking for our Facebook page, Twitter feed, Flickr photostream, or YouTube channel, you'll find them up there. There's also an RSS feed.</li>\n<li>At bottom is the timeline. Drag the mouse to move the timeline or use a/d to move backwards/forwards in time; use w/s to zoom in/out; click on an icon to jump to that event.</li>\n<li>Have a really great idea for the site? Found a problem? Let us know! We've got a UserVoice forum set up; just click the feedback box at left.</li>\n<li>Want to leave a comment? For now, we're using Facebook Connect; just log in to your Facebook account through our site and you'll be able to post comments.</li>\n</ul>\n<p>As we start taking pictures and videos of the training process, we'll be moving quickly to make those available both here and on our Flickr/YouTube pages.</p>\n<p>Want to know how this site was built? Keep going!</p>\n<h3>WARNING! TECHNICAL DETAILS AHEAD!</h3>\n<p>(Don't say I didn't warn you.) If you're still reading, you probably want a peek at our technology stack. Here's a quick overview:</p>\n<ul>\n<li>jQuery on frontend, with CSS3 techniques sprinkled throughout;</li>\n<li>Pylons (a Python-based web framework) for mid-tier;</li>\n<li>CouchDB for backend, accessed from mid-tier via python-couchdb;</li>\n<li>git for source control, managed over SSH via gitosis;</li>\n<li>WebFaction for hosting.</li>\n</ul>\n<p>A few more random points:</p>\n<ul>\n<li>Sliding toolbars are incredibly easy to pull off; all it takes is jQuery animations and a bit of creative positioning.</li>\n<li>We use jGrowl for the notifications at top-right.</li>\n<li>We're using Facebook Connect for a bit more than comment posting; we also use it to identify site admins and grant them Super Cow Powers.</li>\n<li>Yes, the timeline is completely DHTML/AJAX/CSS. No, it doesn't use Flash. No, it wouldn't be better in Flash. Next question :)</li>\n</ul>\n<p>If your burning inquiry hasn't been answered here, <em>ask!</em> As we said, we're glad to share this process with you; that means everything from physical training to, well, putting in full-day hacking sessions to make this site even more awesome than it already is.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/04/12/welcome.html", "title": "welcome!", "date": "2010-04-12T20:19:00", "path": "posts/2010/04/12/welcome.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100412", "country": "ca"}
+{"content": "<p>Woke up this morning to impressively sore muscles, courtesy of the extra 30 km haul into Lelysted forced upon us by inaccurate German cycling maps. Lelysted itself is like a SimCity rendition of something out of the super-planned quasi-Soviet dystopian world of Clockwork Orange. The city is laid out on a grid with the downtown smack-dab in the centre. Upon approaching the downtown from our campsite, we crossed pedestrian bridges between square city-block park sections over roads with roundabouts at each intersection. As we came closer, the parkland gave way to housing developments constructed with geometric precision according to some mid-century neon-Technicolor aesthetic, their previously brilliant primaries slowly greying under constant abuse from weather and urban pollution. The downtown itself was packed with Saturday market-goers; to compound this, a Scouting festival had taken over one of the public squares with cacophonous percussion. The whole thing was utterly unlike any other city we've passed through so far - at once refreshing and unsettling, although we had little time to explore it.</p>\n<p>We then grabbed a train for Amsterdam, being in no shape to cycle there after yesterday's long and headwind-fraught journey. It seems that most European rail networks charge a flat fee for bicycles; as such, the bike tickets cost nearly as much as the passenger tickets! There's this 20 km-long stretch of pseudo-safari parkland just out of Lelysted - it's strangely barren, punctuated only by the occasional roaming animal herd or precariously wind-bent tree. (There's a reason they build so many wind farms here!) A short bit later, we disembarked into Amsterdam-Centraal and its throngs of drug-addled tourists. Our general philosophy during this trip has been to plan as little as possible, and so we arrived with no place to stay and little hope of finding a campground anywhere near the city centre; as such, we elected to search for a cheap hostel. The natural place to make such inquiries is the local tourist information centre, but this was backlogged with a queue of nearly 50. Instead, we dropped 1\u20ac on a map listing hotels and hostels near the downtown core, using it as a basis for our search.</p>\n<p>One hour and several unsuccessful attempts later, we found spare rooms in the Bulldog off one of the canals near the red-light district. (It was surprising to find that Amsterdam had so many canals, as the city is better known for its more notorious attributes!) They didn't allow checkins before 1500, however, so we left our gear in their locked storage room while we killed time over tea and Calvados in a nearby caf\u00e9. Bulldog owns a series of coffee shops, caf\u00e9s, and bars throughout the city. The euphemistically-named \"coffee shops\" are cannabis-smoking lounges which additionally offer a variety of snacks (but no alcoholic beverages!), whereas the other two are what you would expect. Although certain drugs (such as marijuana, psilocybin, and their various derivatives) are legal, others are not; recent amendments to the drug law have also prohibited the use of marijuana in public areas, analogous to similar limitations on the smoking of tobacco. In addition, most permanent residents take an unfavourable view of Amsterdam's reputation; most CouchSurfing hosts in the area, for instance, request that travellers refrain from bringing drugs into their homes. For this reason, Amsterdam is very much two cities in one: one part for tourists, who predominantly come to take advantage of lax drug laws, and another for everyone else. It is also an interesting case study in decriminalization: as an early adopter, Amsterdam reaps both the benefits of greatly increased tourism and the challenges of reconciling the tourist-driven drug culture with the existing local culture.</p>\n<p>Aside from its reputation as a mecca for drugs and sex, Amsterdam also boasts a world-class cycling path network with ridership rivalling that of Copenhagen. Bikes line every available railing along the canals; to deal with scarce parking space, some even hang their bikes out over the canal with longer cable locks! Even if the weather proves less than favourable tomorrow, we'll get a chance to enjoy those paths when we leave Monday morning.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/29/when-the-going-gets-weird.html", "title": "when the going gets weird", "date": "2010-05-29T15:21:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/29/when-the-going-gets-weird.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100529", "country": "nl"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Shiny science gleams<br />\nFrom towers of glass and tile<br />\nLearning straight to you.</i></p>\n<p>We awoke with sand in every crevice and fold of our skin.  The Saturday morning beach patrol were wandering the surf, picking up discarded party leftovers from the night before, and they were closely tailed by a sand-combing machine.  I never knew that beaches were regularly groomed like this to make them flat and such.</p>\n<p>The sleeping bag, also sand-laden, was packed up, and we noted happily that no one had messed with our bicycles overnight.  We brushed excess sand off the chains, hopped on, and headed north.</p>\n<p>Pretty immediately north of Cullera is the beginning of the park.  It's hard to see why it's called a park when nothing else is, considering the fact that it was still host to things like go-kart tracks and the like, but I do suppose it was generally more green and peaceful than many roads we've been along.  It was also jammed with cyclists, and a sign along the road warned motorists to be extra careful of cyclist traffic on weekends.</p>\n<p>After some 40 kilometres of park, we hit the south end of Valencia, most particularly the City of Arts and Sciences.  This is apparently one of Valencia's crown jewels: an opera house, a science museum, a dinosaur park, and Europe's largest aquarium housed in four neighbouring buildings designed by four famous architects.  It's a really astonishing sight.  North of these complices is a park several blocks long that branches off towards the old city.  We hoped to stop in the old city for some fresh orange juice, but the caf\u00e9 we chose actually didn't serve it.  :(</p>\n<p>We headed northwest out of Valencia towards Casinos and Pedralba, two small towns between which is the WWOOF farm where we're going to spend the next week or so.  We got somewhat lost due to construction along the route we planned to take, but eventually we found ourselves in Casinos, where we called Cathy.  She came to get us in an SUV that comfortably fit us, our bikes, her, and her two-year-old, Kali.</p>\n<p>The farm was not anything like what we had expected.  It wasn't a farm, really, it was a house with a bit of land, a couple gardens, and some chickens.  A few carob trees and olive trees dotted the property, and there was a swimming pool with a cracked wall that lay dry.  Construction trash lay scattered about.  Inside the house, there is no electricity; their refrigerator runs on gas.  But for all that, I think we will very much enjoy our stay here with Cathy, Bill (her partner), Joshua (her son), Ishma-al (Bill's son), Kali (Cathy and Bill's daughter), Catapila (the cat), Minnie (dog 0), Brookfield (dog 1), and Muttley (dog 2).  Unfortunately all their carpentry tools were recently stolen, so we'll be sticking to gardening, from what I understand.  Well, that is just fine.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/07/orange-you-glad.html", "title": "orange you glad...", "date": "2010-08-07T15:45:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/07/orange-you-glad.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100807", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>Night still clings to the desert when we stumble bleary-eyed out of our roadside tent refuge to beat the rising sun. Take every adjective and epithet used in connection with this damned heat over the last month and magnify it thousand-fold, and you will begin to approach the hellish inferno that awaits us should we linger too long in this desert, the same desert where - did we mention this already? - famed spaghetti western Il Buono, Il Brutto, Il Cattivo was filmed, as several kitschy pseudo-frontier tourist stops will attest to...the desert that caught Sergio Leone's directorial eye for its forbidding and desiccated scenery. So we get up at 0530 and ride out, our headlamps and handlebar-mount lights and reflectors making a valiant attempt to bring just enough light to this darkness to see where we are going. Olive fields become more and more common as we ride on, the vegetation gets just a touch more green and lush - not much, but visibly so; we take tea in a small caf\u00e9, where we are told the water in the sinks is not potable...so we purchase water down the road, much nearer to the coast.</p>\n<p>We hit the coast while it is still fairly cool out in a small yet touristy beachside town, where I promptly ride into a sewer grate whose slats are perversely both wide and long enough to easily fit my tires. We ride on through town, imagining that everything is perfectly fine; it is only once we stop at the local supermarket for real breakfast that I notice the double flat caused by this untimely accident. I spend some time swapping the tires - the rear is more roughed up than the front, so I move it to the front where the lessened weight will hopefully permit it to stay intact - and patching both tubes, then reattach the brakes and test it out; there is some wobble in the tires, so I pull out the spoke wrench and start truing the wheels as well. Despite these extensive repairs, there is an unexplained bounce in the tire on every revolution. Upon closer inspection, the tube is not uniformly inflated. Lesson learned: sewer grates are not to be trifled with - avoid them at all costs!</p>\n<p>After this epic repair session, enough damage is repaired to continue up the coast for siesta. Given the early hour of awakening, we all insist on taking a short nap after lunch, after which we secure some ice cream from a local heladeria and charge the laptop. As we leave, the road winds up into an impressive 300 m climb; the ensuing descent is made somewhat more complicated by the insufficient job I did reattaching my brakes, so that I am forced to keep both levers firmly pressed down as I take the downhill at a crawl; but better that than the precipitous and quite possibly fatal alternative! We ride on, and the sun begins to dip down to the horizon. With no town or campground in sight, we finally decide to camp by the side of a small service road into a tilled but apparently unplanted plot of cropland. With the light quickly fading, I pull out the headlamp to perform further repairs on the bike, adjusting the spokes and brakes for a better ride tomorrow...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html", "title": "this is just grate", "date": "2010-08-02T15:53:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100802", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Mountain. STOP. Sea.<br />\nNo flat coast here in North Greece<br />\nOne way to get back.</i></p>\n<p>So maybe having a hard day after spending a goodly amount of time resting isn't the best idea.  We were pretty pooped by the end of today, despite the fact that our total distance was just a shade over 100km.  These coastal mountains are killer!</p>\n<p>We let ourselves sleep in until 08:30 or so (which still feels like 09:30 to us with the time change), then puttered around Hotel Acropolis, packing our bicycles in a leisurely manner and getting ourselves ready for another day of biking.  Truly, we would not have been excited to bike yesterday morning.  This morning, though, we are ready for it again.  :D</p>\n<p>As we checked out and took a couple Turkish delight candies from the dishes on the desk, Evan got some information about the route ahead.  There are two ways to Preveza: the coast (mountainous and \"maybe or maybe not paved\") and the main route (flatter and busier).  Of course we chose the coast.</p>\n<p>It was beautiful to flow up and down the sides of dramatic hills coated in olive trees.  We can see that the harvest is near: many trees have netting spread out under them to catch the ripe olives as they fall.  The sea here is the same striking blue that it has been elsewhere, but now we're passing out of the Adriatic and into Ionian territory.  So far, at least, it seems a helluva lot less rainy.  We haven't seen rain except the night we spent in the apartment, and we didn't see any today.</p>\n<p>I can't think of anything particularly remarkable about the ride, except that it was long, and many parts -- especially along the coast -- were very challenging.  It didn't help that Evan is still at the tail end of some kind of stomach ailment that means we pause in every gas station we pass for a bathroom break.</p>\n<p>We made it to Preveza around sunset.  A friend of a friend of a friend was perhaps going to host us here, but we never succeeded in making contact, unfortunately.  So we're camping tonight in an ill-used park area with a view of the port.  It's really lovely, actually, and our dinner tonight (couscous cooked in oyster-mushroom-pepper broth) made it even better.  Preveza seems to be a nice place; the waterfront is predictably full of classy caf\u00e9s and restaurants, and we're hoping to stop at one tomorrow morning on our way out.  For now, we'll finish watching \"Short Bus.\"  It's... strange.  We discussed it in my Human Sexuality class in university, and... well... don't look it up at work.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/22/ionian-coastline.html", "title": "ionian coastline", "date": "2010-10-22T11:49:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/22/ionian-coastline.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101022", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>France is France is France,<br />\nBut the Riviera is<br />\nLovely in new ways.</i></p>\n<p>Waking up in R\u00e8gine's apartment was amazing.  We slept in until about 8, which is pretty late for us, and were treated to a delicious French breakfast including bread, honey from the man down the street, homemade orange preserves from a friend, Nutella, butter, and tea.  We could get used to this Warm Showers thing.</p>\n<p>We packed our things and headed off around 11.  It was a quick ride to the centre of town, where we saw a few of the things that R\u00e8gine had pointed out to us: first on our list was the Russian church.  It was apparently a monument to Tsar Nicholas II, and it had changed ownership among Russian royalty many times in order to keep it from being destroyed by Nice's more conservative denizens.  I had a talk with R\u00e8gine about them last night, actually; she said that she sometimes can't stand to live in Nice because of all the crazy politics.</p>\n<p>After the Russian church, we headed to see the former citadel site, which is now known as the Ch\u00e2teau Hill.  It was a beastly climb for bicycles, but the view over the city was well worth it.  There was also a mosaic of a man who had a beard slightly more massive than Evan's.  Impressive, I know.  :P</p>\n<p>We wandered a bit through the old town, which was brightly coloured and tight.  Pastry and gelato shops lined every square, and it was packed with tourists.  The end of the high season, I suppose.  Every town we've seen along this stretch has been so beautiful, though; the beaches are perfectly-groomed and endless, and the waterfront buildings are pristine.  It's almost... eerie.</p>\n<p>But we headed out!  After finishing the leftover eggplant parmaggiana, that is.  Towards... Monaco.  The first thing we saw across the border was a luxury car dealer.</p>\n<p>Monaco is a principality, which is to say that it is ruled by a prince!  It's the second smallest self-governed area in the world (after Vatican City), it is protected by France's military in times of conflict, it is required to align its diplomatic interests with France, but the most important thing about it is that it does not levy income tax on individuals.  This leads to its being rather rich.  Crews are, in fact, setting up for a yacht show right now.</p>\n<p>We're sitting in a gelato shop on top the hill across the street from the Prince's palace.  Watching people go by here isn't so different from watching people go by in other places; none of them seem to know where they are going, they all love buying t-shirts with MONACO printed on them, and there's a lot of English.  We were hoping to hit the Monte Carlo casino later, but we don't have a safe place to keep our bicycles, and this is not a good place to let them stay on their own.  We'll probably head out as soon as we can find our way back to a reasonable road, but we wanted to have a post from this tiny, tiny principality.  :)</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html", "title": "borat says: it's nice!", "date": "2010-09-02T09:54:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100902", "country": "mc"}
+{"content": "<p>Darkness. That is the game now; it rules the long nights of waning fall. 0700 to 1800 - these are the hours in which we may bike safely. The rest is darkness, especially for two cyclists with scant gear. True, we have a couple of flashlights, but these are small comfort when, huddled in the relative warmth of the sleeping bag, we clutch them in our hands and try to carve out a sanctuary of light in the middle of the night - which is why, when we can, we now try to find something public and well-lit to spend our evening hours in. Parks, busy streets, squares...</p>\n<p>...or this train station where, just last night, we spent a couple of hours drinking and eating and watching movies off the laptop before nodding off in an empty plot of land sandwiched between houses. We head over there in the morning to eat the yoghurt which has by now leaked yoghurt-flavoured water all over IF-bag, creating an unsavoury mess that we attempt to wash away in this small fountain next to the platform. Then the usual packing before we head out across the flat plains towards Larisa. Mountains have become so much a part of the tail end of our trip that we are shocked to see such a wide expanse of level ground. What luxury for two tired cyclists! We happen upon a small town with a pseudo-saloon-style caf\u00e9, so we pop in for coffee and some of the best tiropita we've had...</p>\n<p>...and, horror of horrors, realize only then that IF-bag is gone! Where to? Perhaps it fell out of our packs back along the road; in any event, we are just far enough into the day that we have no desire to retrace our steps on the off-chance that we might recover it. Onward to Larisa it is, over mostly flat ground that opens up into gently rolling hills as we near the city. The ride is short by our standards, a smallish 50km jaunt, and so we reach Larisa just after midday. Plenty of time, then, to chill out in another caf\u00e9 and continue the long work of writing blog posts. These posts just get longer as we go along; our writing voice becomes more entrenched, our memory keener, and we feel now more than ever that we must get in as much detail as possible so that we might have a reasonably accurate picture of What Exactly It Means To Abandon Everything And Bike Around Europe For Six Months. What did we see? Who did we meet? How does it feel to be lost or tired or hungry or cold? What is the euphoria you feel each time you climb a massive hill? What are these things? How can we put words to them? Most tellingly, there is a clear positive correlation between time spent travelling and blog post length...</p>\n<p>...probably because I blather on about trivial matters, like the stuffed peppers we pick up from the supermarket. Hardly home-cooked, but still good enough to sate our cyclist hunger! Next up: find a campsite, the old routine. The best strategy is usually to head just far enough away from the centre that you start to find parks and abandoned buildings - and so, after exiting the main part of the city, we find one site by the ring road that looks promising; there is a section of unused land up against the river. However, it proves difficult to get to, so we instead try our luck over by the stadium...</p>\n<p>...and find, much to our delight, that there is a sizeable arterial park right next to it with cycling and equestrian paths - and more than enough semi-hidden spots to pitch without attracting too much attention. Although the cold is not exactly welcome, it does deter most night walkers from venturing too far afield. Having decided upon our campsite, we head across to a small square opposite the stadium itself - more than enough streetlamps to provide adequate light for our evening kitchenry, and a number of nice benches to sit on. There is even a fountain, but a quick inspection reveals that, like many of the fountains around here, it no longer works.</p>\n<p>We set to our evening tasks:</p>\n<p>0) Get caught up on blog posts.\n1) Cook dinner.\n2) Fashion a replacement for IF-bag.</p>\n<p>Of these, the last is most peculiar: we looked around the supermarket for anything that might do as a bag, but the bag selection was limited to a few small knapsacks. No matter; there is always another way! We have a small sewing kit with some medium-thickness black thread and a section of rope that is now seldom used for clothes-drying, so we grab a couple of cheap pillowcases and sit in the park sewing them into a suitable replacement that we christen PIF-bag (for Purple/Pillowcase Incidental Food bag.)</p>\n<p>After that is done, we at last begin cooking the evening meal - and are soon watched by a cluster of children who think it hilarious that two vagrant-looking cyclists should be cooking by stove in the public park. Some time into our preparation, we are approached by a truck driver; the spot, as it turns out, is also a popular ad-hoc truck parking spot for the drivers who come through here on delivery routes. He asks us if we want beer or wine; Valkyrie responds that we wouldn't mind a dram of retsina, at which he starts, exclaims that her pronunciation of \"retsina\" is very Greek, and bounds off to the local drink kiosk for a couple of bottles that he forks over gratis with a smile. We attempt to explain our trip using all the Greek, general Romance language, and hand-gesturing skill we have. Perhaps he is impressed, for no sooner do we polish off the retsina than he returns with yet more. And we still have a half-finished bottle of wine from the supermarket sitting next to us. It's going to be a very inebriated night...</p>\n<p>...but we polish off the second bottle of retsina, finish most of our store-bought wine, and head down to the park to pitch our tent. There is just enough light from the streetlamps on the road above to see by, and the ground is soft enough to peg the fly easily. What more could we ask for? We watch a bit of Legend and are soon fast asleep, our meal of aubergine-onion-mushroom-walnut sauce over rice sitting contentedly in our bellies. Tomorrow we continue up towards Thessaloniki. Two more days now, and then we can finally rest for a bit...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/06/kitchen-in-the-park.html", "title": "kitchen in the park", "date": "2010-11-06T12:25:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/06/kitchen-in-the-park.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101106", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Hey!  It's cleanliness!<br />\nDon't mock us, thou fool people!<br />\nJust be envious.</i></p>\n<p>Well, no bothers at all last night!  It was, indeed, a splendid campsite.  We wondered briefly what anyone who saw us before we removed our bright orange tent from the sinking road bed.  We decided we didn't care, and we ate yogurt instead.  It seemed reasonable.</p>\n<p>Unfortunately, the road towards Tripoli was pretty solidly uphill from our campsite for several dozen kilometres.  It's miserable to start the day like that... we paused to stretch after a steeper uphill became a shallower one.  Sigh... at least the mountain scenery doesn't disappoint (it never has).</p>\n<p>For a long stretch, we had the road essentially to ourselves due to the closure.  It wasn't until about 10 that we saw anyone else about, in fact.  Shortly after trucks started roaring by us, we encountered a caf\u00e9 where we stopped for our morning coffee.  A fontana outside proved useful for the usual dishwashing and toothbrushing.  For the first time that I can recall, we looked up while flossing and brushing our teeth at a fontana to see a tableful of people in the caf\u00e9 cracking up at us.  You know what, guys, we can use this thing as a bathroom sink.  So get over it!</p>\n<p>A little more uphill, then a long coast down to Tripoli.  It looks strange situated where it is: mountains surround a small, perfectly-flat plain that is stuffed with town and highways and rail lines.  We rolled into town in search of some feta for our lunch, and we walked out with 100g of the stuff for around \u20ac.70.  We also found a bakery with some delicious cake, which we munched on in our tradition of dessert first.  The lunch was pretty Greek-tastic... the leftover Greek salad from last night plus some of our delicious Kalamata olives plus the feta and Greek cake with some Greek bread to soak up the Kalamata olive oil... I mean, yum.</p>\n<p>The way out of Tripoli wasn't obvious, unfortunately.  Two roads head out: one is marked on our map as a \"National Road.\"  We haven't encountered one of those yet in person, but Nana and others assured us that they thought it was possible for bicycles to take them.  We weren't sure, but the other option was a road (marked the same as other roads we've been permitted to take) that was roughly 50km longer.  It seemed clear that we should at least try the National Road.</p>\n<p>We got a whole 5km out of town before a police officer stopped ahead of us and turned on his lights.  We got up to the car, and he was standing outside in sunglasses, smoking a cigarette.  He asked us where we were from.</p>\n<p>The exchange boiled down to his telling us that the road wasn't safe for bicycles, and would it be alright if he called a road service truck to carry our bikes to the next city?  We of course said that it was fine, and after a twenty minute wait we packed our bikes into a road service van -- probably the most interesting pack-job we've accomplished to date: the bikes were parked vertically on their rear wheels between a tool tower and a stack of big, yellow roadsigns -- and hopped into the Greek police car for a 50km blast down beautiful motorway that had been cut into the sides of mountains and through enormously long tunnels.</p>\n<p>We thanked him and the road service man as they dropped us off.  They pointed us to Argos (in Greek mythology, Argos is a 100-eyed monster, in case you're curious) and set back to patrol the National Road.  We hopped on again and headed for Korintos, which was a goodly distance through, again, roads winding up into mountains.</p>\n<p>The coast down into town was chilly... we stopped at the top of it to apply our fleeces and long underwear to shield somewhat against the piercing wind.  It still wasn't pleasant.  On the way in, we saw piles of old stone and towers and walls perched atop an improbable-looking several-hundred-metre-tall mesa in the valley.  Probably Archaia Korintos.  Well, guess we're not going to see that on this trip.</p>\n<p>We puttered around town for a little while to get groceries from a supermarket (where we explained our trip to the keenly-interested cashier) and get our new favourite drink, hot chocolate and Metaxa, from a bar to warm up.  Now then, as to a campsite...</p>\n<p>Korintos is situated at a squeeze between the bulge that holds Tripoli and the bulge that holds Athina.  This means that it has a lot of waterfront, and that means that it has a lot of rich areas.  It's hard to find a place to camp in rich areas sometimes, but with a bit of luck someone will have abandoned a house.. well, we found a number of semi-completed construction areas that look unused now, but the site that we've settled on is a field next to the wall of a neighbourhood.  It's far enough from the road that we aren't bothered by the noise, and no one seems to come here; we cooked dinner without any incidents, anyway.  Tomorrow, our 10,000th kilometre!!!!!!!!!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/30/cops-and-cleanliness.html", "title": "cops and cleanliness", "date": "2010-10-30T08:07:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/30/cops-and-cleanliness.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20101030", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Improbable, but<br />\nThere she stands, strange and shored-up,<br />\nUseful in science!</i></p>\n<p>We waded our way back through the tall weeds from our campsite this morning, saddened that we could not take a photo of it due to our still out-of-charge camera.  Sigh.</p>\n<p>A long, flat, rather uneventful ride led us through small towns by the sea, at one of which we discovered that we had left our toothbrushes someplace... else... and at another of which where we starvingly and tooth-dirtily stopped at a Coop.  We were solidly off our Liguria map by this point (the campsite where we stayed was just barely on it), and we were navigating by best guesses based on our all-Italia map.  Not necessarily a good idea, so we decided to search the Coop for a Toscana map.  There... was no map section.  The only thing we found was a couple books on Pisa, so we looked at them for a few seconds before noticing a paper map of Tuscany (Toscana) with no barcode and which clearly didn't come from a book or anywhere.  We were puzzled, but it seemed to be lonely, and we needed exactly such a map, so we became its proud owners.  Then, we brushed our teeth with our new toothbrushes!</p>\n<p>Eventually we did make it to Pisa.  We wandered around the town centre trying to tarck down a store that would be able to repair or replace our charger or battery or camera or whatever it was that needed help (our camera hasn't been able to charge since... Nice?), but none could.  We couldn't leave Pisa without a photo, so we wandered the Plaza until we heard some English, then we asked very nicely if they might take a photo of us and e-mail it.  A group of people from Washington agreed, so we're excited to hear back from them in a couple weeks when they return home.  :)</p>\n<p>A hop, skip, and jump away was Livorno.  From what we found, it was not very happening.  A few tired squares with sad merry-go-rounds populated its downtown.  We did find a store, though, which sold us a UNIVERSAL BATTERY CHARGER.  Srsly, how cool is that?  It can charge any size of regular battery, and it has positionable terminals that allow it to charge camera batteries and the like.  The funny thing is that we'll need an adapter to use it when we get back in the States.</p>\n<p>Our camera woes solved, we stopped in a pizzeria for our first Italian pizza.  Yum!  We also purchased some pasta (squid ink pasta, ravioli filled with spinach, and tortellini filled with several cheese) and wine for dinner.</p>\n<p>Our ride out of town was fairly short; along the coast by Livorno is a park which contains a lot of hidden space and nice camping spots.  We chose ours and sat down to cook.  A few old Italian people wandered by to offer us wishes for our food, and one woman informed us that it's to rain tomorrow.  What sweet people.</p>\n<p>What a sweet campsite.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/06/a-pisa-my-mind.html", "title": "a pisa my mind", "date": "2010-09-06T07:16:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/06/a-pisa-my-mind.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100906", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>Slow start to the day - we eat a late breakfast at the WWOOF farm, then join the family on their drive into Valencia where they intend to pass the afternoon by the beach. By the time we get in, however, it is too late for us to join them; so we wish them a pleasant weekend and grab the metro to the airport, snapping photos of the lime-green chairs to amuse ourselves on the long ride through the tunnels underneath Valencia. The subway is predictably full of tourists on their way out of Valencia, full of languages and wheeled bags. We get to the airport with a decent chunk of time remaining before boarding, especially since we have no bags to check. In the typical non-American manner, security wastes your time less aggressively here; in some countries, it is even considered sane to keep your shoes on...</p>\n<p>...and we sit; travel by air is less eventful than travel by train, bike, or foot. There is no chance for scenic views, save for the brief cityscape panoramas offered during takeoff and landing - and even these are not guaranteed, as some airports lie far out in the exurbs with no line-of-sight to the cities they are nominally attached to. We board the plane, take off, and are soon in Madrid, where we have a shorter-than-expected layover (only 10 minutes!) that we use to cross the terminal, queue up, pass our documents over for more cursory inspection, and board another plane for Geneva. We land, pass quickly through the small GVA terminal, and fail to see Valkyrie's friends from CERN - so we instead head over to the other side of arrivals to use the free hotspot by one of the terminal caf\u00e9s. We get Henning's number and call him only to find that he has been waiting there the whole time...</p>\n<p>...and we go to his house to sip gin-and-tonics over chit-chat about experiences both had and missed, over pictures from our travels thus far, over discussion about anything that comes to mind; I get in some last-minute studying for a first-year legal studies examination that, due to the extraordinary inflexibility of the Canadian university system, I am now obligated to take; and we at last retire to a fold-out sofa bed - but an actual bed! This is luxury indeed on such a trip as ours...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html", "title": "flight of the cyclists", "date": "2010-08-08T15:46:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100808", "country": "ch"}
+{"content": "<p><i>A country passed is<br />\nA country seen, if you take<br />\nThe time to look 'round.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>We headed to our next country today!  That's three down, my friends.  :D</p>\n<p>Let's see, out of Rotterdam, we had no map to guide us, so we took some photos of maps in a gas station.  For some reason, in certain lands that we pass through people don't believe in reasonable-to-small-sized road maps, preferring instead to sell only the large atlas-style ones that are useful only in cars or on shelves.  So we navigate with photos.</p>\n<p>To the south of Rotterdam, there is a pair of rivers.  The first one is fairly narrow, so we were treated to a trip through a bicycles-only tunnel that ran alongside the car tunnel underneath it.  It was frigid... but we raced each other to keep ourselves warm.  ;)  Boy was I pooped upon emerging at the other end.</p>\n<p>The navigational aspects of the day were rather disappointing.  We failed to see any reasonable way to get to Antwerpen via non-motorway roads, which led to a huge amount of inefficiency.  The gray sky didn't bring any rain, but its decidedly oppressive forbearance made us less than excited to put effort into bicycling.</p>\n<p>As we rolled across the border into Belgium eventually (passing over our last drempel... sad!), we were battered and sad.  A little way across the border we knew we were pretty close to Antwerpen already, but we elected to take a train the last 10km or so due to poor spirits and tired legs.  We hopped on and bought our second class tickets and the more-expensive-than-people-tickets bicycle tickets, and the wonderful conductor took pity on us and invited us to sit in first class with him.  It was a really lovely train ride.  :)</p>\n<p>Upon arriving in Antwerpen Centraal, we borrowed a phone from a random kind stranger to call our host's neighbours to get our key.  The admittedly-strange situation for our accomodations in Antwerpen are that a friend I met in Geneva, Bart, agreed to host us from afar by lending us the keys to his apartment.  He has a few friends in town who agreed to show us around and teach us about the city if they were free, which was really nice.  Anyway, we called up his neighbours and they came to pick us up at the station and give us the keys.</p>\n<p>We settled into Bart's apartment for the night, and enjoyed the relaxation powers of his bathtub.  Mmmm.  Nothing like a warm bath to soothe aching cycle legs.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/01/barts-bathtub.html", "title": "bart's bathtub", "date": "2010-06-01T15:30:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/01/barts-bathtub.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100601", "country": "be"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Hot and flat and long<br />\nThe road winds through near-nothing...<br />\nWhere are we, again?</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>Today we had to leave the camino, sadly, at least the walking part of it.  The bikes simply can't go as quickly over unpaved paths and the like.  So we split, but not until after siesta.</p>\n<p>Before siesta, though, we made distance!  We woke up at balls o'clock and got to see the sunrise over the mountains (more hills, actually... nothing like los Pirineos!).  We also ran into some construction where we noted a rather hilarious mechanical flag man waving his flag robotically up and down (I hope you've been looking at our <a href=\"http://picasaweb.google.com/biketotheearth\">Picasa photo albums</a>... we actually even took a video of this guy because we were so amused).</p>\n<p>The road led us up a pretty substantial (400m or so) climb to a ridge rimed with wind turbines.  We learned more about what it is to Bike Harder, and hated our lives for a little while as we crept towards the top lugging our gear.  We cheered, though, rather immediately when Spanish drivers would pass by with a friendly honk and wave.  Some shouted out their windows for us to keep going and that we were almost there.  I love the camino.</p>\n<p>We made it about 80km before a siesta in Burgos, a large town with a pretty nifty cathedral and lovely parks winding along its rivers.  We paused for a few hours for lunch, a nap, some bike maintenance (chain cleaning!), and a trip to the bank.  Then it was onward, to the west!</p>\n<p>Beyond Burgos, the camino follows several unpaved footpaths and roads, so we elected to take the N-120 in the direction of Le\u00f3n.  This was an interesting choice, due mainly to the fact that the N-120 disappears from our map for a few pages.  A few kilometres out of Burgos, we had no map to tell us where we were, but we knew that we were heading to Le\u00f3n.  So... that was kinda fun.</p>\n<p>After Burgos, everything is <i>flat</i> for a long, long way: practically until Le\u00f3n.  We made another pretty good distance after our siesta, and we landed in a small town called Melgar de Fernamental.  We kept forgetting the name of this town, but it sounded something like \"Trogdor,\" so we mostly just called it that.  Teehee.  :)  Then we ate delicious food for dinner (we cooked it in a park, much to the amusement of some kids playing f\u00fatbol nearby), and it was off to sleepytime!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/09/off-the-map.html", "title": "off the map", "date": "2010-07-09T11:31:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/09/off-the-map.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100709", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Too long without sleep,<br />\nAnd bodies shut down.  Rest them!<br />\nThey can't always bike...</i></p>\n<p>Today was unpleasantly punctuated with frequent stops for vomiting and other rather gross bodily discharges, so we'll just mention that here and not bother interspersing it with descriptions of our lovely day.  We're pretty excited to get to Kalamata and take a break from this nonsense so we can get well.</p>\n<p>We woke up as early as usual, eating our now-typical breakfast of yoghurt (what a good spelling!) and being amused by our new neighbours.  I guess we're pretty good at choosing campsites now; the first thing we saw when we pulled aside the tent flap this morning was that two Bulgarian-plated RVs had chosen to camp themselves in the same spot we did.  :)</p>\n<p>One thing we're still not good at is the whole \"oh, it's Sunday\" business.  We rolled down to the ferry dock and discovered that the ticket booth wasn't open at 8, although the ferry was scheduled to leave at 9.  Then we looked more closely and realised that the ferry only leaves at 9 on weekdays, and it is, in fact, Sunday today.  So we were forced to wait an additional three hours and take the ferry at noon.  Really, it was a better ferry to take: the weekday ferry goes across to the close tip of the island while the weekend ferry touches a big city in the middle of it.  Our ferry off the island (from a town called Poros) is at the far end, so this ferry gives us a slightly shorter ride.</p>\n<p>We poked around town for some breakfast and settled on delicious sweets (they were similar to baklava, but instead of filo dough they involved a sort of pastry that is small pastry threads woven almost like a bird's nest -- called kataifi) and crepes from a stand.  We wiled away some time in a caf\u00e9 playing adventure games (we're becoming far too lazy to actually write these blog posts on any reasonable time schedule, sigh) and hopped on the ferry, tying our bikes in the basement.  We sat on top the ship and ate a snack, then headed down below for some stomach-settling tea and more games.</p>\n<p>We arrived in Sami at about 15h, then checked quickly around to see if the ferry indicated on our map, which appears to leave from Sami, actually existed.  It didn't.  As everyone had told us, we would have to bike the 34km to Poros to catch the ferry back to the mainland.  Well, okay.</p>\n<p>A glance around from the ferry dock revealed that pretty much everything around Sami was mountainous.  That sucks.  We found a sign bearing the schedule of the Poros-Killini ferry, and the last one for the day was scheduled to leave at 18h15... so we had roughly 3 hours to get across those mountains before we would have to check in to the other ferry.  We hopped on our bikes, and after being pointed in the correct direction (frustratingly, the road out of town leaves to the southwest while Poros is nearly due east) by a helpful old woman, we headed out.</p>\n<p>The ride through the mountains was lovely, as all our rides through mountains tend to be, although this one was slower than most due to circumstances mentioned previously.  Fortunately, the 34km ride proved to be nearly exactly 17km up and 17km down, so we managed to make it by 17h and even get some snacks for the ride before boarding.  This second ferry was much larger than the first, and instead of just a couple large trucks it bore more than a dozen 18-wheelers plus trailers.  It was an impressive sight, I must say.</p>\n<p>Among the other passengers on this second boat was a local football team that appeared to be celebrating a victory.  They sat near us and had paper fights for the duration of the ride, sheepishly offering apologies when they hit our laptop screen.  We played more adventure games, realising finally that we were stuck in both \"Maniac Mansion\" (how do you get through the door with no handle?) and \"Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis\" (where in the hell do you get the title of the Lost Dialogue of Plato?).  I took a nap.</p>\n<p>By the time we landed in Killini, it was pretty dark, and we were both feeling pretty ill, so we biked just a short way to get gyros for dinner and stop.  We found a site next to a house not-yet-constructed and parked ourselves against some tall reeds.  It's comfortable enough, but the traffic from the nearby road can be noisy.  We're both tired enough to sleep, though, so it should be good enough.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/24/impending-illness.html", "title": "impending illness", "date": "2010-10-24T11:52:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/24/impending-illness.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101024", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>It's laziness just<br />\nIf nothing gets done, elsewise<br />\nIt's called a 'slow day.'</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>After leaving the lovely little seaside campsite in Ch\u00e2telaillion Plage, we headed out with the ambitious plan to make it to Royan (or near to it), which would put us a small stone's throw away from our goal of Bordeaux.  That was how we started, anyway.</p>\n<p>As we are getting ready for our giant trek up the Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9es and through Spain, we realise that our water supply is somewhat smaller than it should be.  We can each carry about 1.25L of water, which isn't really enough.  So we stopped at a store and picked up some new water bottles, upping each of our capacities to around 2L, which is still not enough, but it's much better than before (an extra half litre is about what you need for cycling an extra hour).</p>\n<p>We also wanted a cutting board.  We haven't had the luxury, and have been using our tupperware container as a makeshift one.  Ugh.  So we picked up a cheap plastic placemat that will now serve.</p>\n<p>We hadn't done laundry in some days, so... that got taken care of, too.</p>\n<p>It's too hot to move in the middle of the day, so we took a couple hours' break in Rochefort's Mediatheque (it's the new word for library, since of course the library is now branding itself as a carrier of all media instead of just books).</p>\n<p>Ugh.  With this plethora of small stops and things (we also acquired a few more small items we'd been lacking), we didn't make it very far today.  We're staying in a small town called Saint Agnant.  We've actually dubbed it the Zeven of France: shops here are reasonable to the point that some of them ARE STILL OPEN AT 20H.  We went out and BOUGHT PASTRIES... AFTER DINNER.</p>\n<p>iknorite</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/23/slow-day.html", "title": "slow day", "date": "2010-06-23T13:43:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/23/slow-day.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100623", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>The final day of the Camino! Not mountains nor treacherous hiking paths through the passes nor late nights nor flat tires prevent us from our goal; after another 100 km haul, we at last roll into Santiago de Compostela - site of the remains of Apostle St. James, the third holiest site in Catholicism, the meeting point for pilgrims walking routes through Europe...routes that start in Denmark, in France, in Belgium, in Holland, in Germany, wherever people are born with feet and the will to use them. Our journey has been long and tiring, a challenge to both body and spirit...</p>\n<p>We awaken in Portomar\u00edn to the sight of trash strewn across the albergue, discarded bottles and food wrappers piled up on every table by the pilgrim-tourists who, having started their journey here, cannot comprehend the trials and tribulations that face those who follow the Camino from further back. But that rant is old hat now, already spent in yesterday's reflections: the Camino is a process of moving forwards without forgetting to look sideways. Our cycling day begins with the arduous yet by now quite manageable 350 m climb out of Portomar\u00edn to the site of an old hospital. We pass groups of pilgrims everywhere, their organized tours and souvenir trinkets clogging the roadside caf\u00e9s. At the top, the path drops off through a valley - and this too is crowded; some lack the tact or presence of mind to cede even part of the road to those travelling faster, so that we must shout ahead and break the already-tenuous peace or risk playing a very injurious game of pilgrim bowling...</p>\n<p>...and the path heads in behind fields and farms after a while along a rough track unsuitable for our poor road bikes, so we veer off to the highway - but not before, just at the fork where we must make this decision, an old stalwart waves us over with \"I thought I heard English being spoken!\" He hails from Britain and knows these parts well, having visited each year to walk part or all of the Camino Franc\u00e9s; he has also tried the Camino del Norte along the northern coast, only to find that the terrain is mountainous, the albergues are not reserved exclusively for pilgrims, and historical landmarks appear with much lower frequency. Nevertheless, he cannot be faulted for trying...</p>\n<p>...and the highway is unremarkable. The mountains have by now given way to gently rolling hills, which we travel up and over for what seems like an eternity. Some 20 km out of Santiago, our exhaustion briefly catches up with us; we take a quick nap by a bus station just down a side road to keep out of the way of passing traffic, giving us the energy to continue on - but the last part proves especially daunting, as if to mock us for letting our guard down even briefly. There is a long hill up to the city limits, which we trudge up with our hallmark persistent stubbornness. The hill mastered, we find that the carretera turns into an autov\u00eda and is thus impassable to cyclists; we must take the side road past the airport, on which we meet the hiking path again. This close to our objective, we opt to finish the last bit on this hiking path - so we find ourselves very quickly on a succession of small roads and packed dirt paths, each leading us past every church imaginable and over every hill within sight of Santiago. In our confusion, we stray from the path momentarily before our error is corrected by a helpful local who shouts and gestures until we grasp her meaning sufficiently well to right ourselves...</p>\n<p>...atop the final hill out of Santiago there is a statue to pilgrims adorned with the cross, eternal symbol of the march of Catholicism across the Iberian peninsula. We take a short pause before descending into the city proper, weaving our way over the cobblestone roads, determined to make it to the cathedral even at the cost of fighting oncoming traffic down one-way lanes - yes, we are determined, for this is not an achievement to be taken lightly! The cathedral of St. James easily dwarfs all other cathedrals along our path thus far, its exterior covered in ornate Gothic detail - but the interior is yet more magnificent, with its imposing organ and ostentatious Catholic decor. We peruse the cathedral, making sure to hug the remains of Apostle St. James - in fact, there is a statue which represents these remains, so that one is spared the full morbidity that such a gesture would imply - and then head over to the pilgrims' office with its multilingual welcome sign, where we present our stamp-filled pilgrims' passports to receive a certificate of completion. As godless atheists, Valkyrie and I receive the generic non-religious certificate; Venus receives the religious certificate, which is visibly more detailed...</p>\n<p>...the necessary gestures of finality completed, we turn to the tasks of real importance: food and sleep. For the former, we ask around until we find a restaurant serving a pilgrims' menu that is generous, delicious (swordfish, cannelloni, and shark!), and cheap (10\u20ac including wine, which although equal to prices earlier along the Camino is less than we expected to pay in such a heavily touristed city.) This is followed by the search for the latter, which brings us to this old monastery building situated atop a hill opposite the old city. In the atmosphere of quiet monastic introspection, we drift off quickly...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/14/in-flagrante-camino.html", "title": "in flagrante camino", "date": "2010-07-14T13:25:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/14/in-flagrante-camino.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100714", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p><i>A hearty breakfast<br />\nFor hard riding, mountains loom<br />\nAlong the coast here...</i></p>\n<p>First off, happy birthday, Gordon Stratford!  It is 10/10/10, and therefore the birthday of Evan's dad.  :)</p>\n<p>We woke up in beds!  We had set an alarm to ensure that we didn't sleep past 9 (since checkout time here at Hostell Nikolla is 10), and we woke up at, um, 9.  So that was a good move.  We packed our handful of things and moved into the common area of the hostel, which is covered by some wooden lattices that have vines interwoven.  What kind of vines?  <i>Kiwi.</i></p>\n<p>Anyway, we sat down to breakfast of scrambled eggs, which was something unusual for us.  In general, we're far too lazy to get the stove out in the morning for a hot breakfast, so we usually make due with the tomato bocadillos and yogurt/m\u00fcsli route.  So we bummed around the kitchen, where we met an Australian couple doing a much larger trip than ours.  They told us about their adventures all across the Continent, through trains, planes, and automobiles, and we told them about our plans.  We're not likely to meet again, based on our respective plans, but we swapped contact info, anyway, in case that they should ever come to SF or we should ever go to Melbourne.</p>\n<p>Before we headed out, we decided we owed it to ourselves to visit the substructures of Diocletian's palace, since yesterday we didn't arrive until just before closing.  It was neat to go through; they have a fair number of signs around talking about the history of the place, and an old German man even stopped us in one room to give us a story about some of the piping.  Apparently, the emperor Diocletian had rheumatism, and he had heating and saunas installed to help mitigate the discomfort related to this.  The palace also had semi-modern plumbing and sewage disposal systems.  It was neat, and for 10HRK definitely worth it.</p>\n<p>The ride from Split was strange, due mostly to the housing developments.  We haven't seen back-to-back housing for a long time (since Italy, I guess), so seeing it for 20km outside Split was rather odd.  Beyond that, though, we wound into the mountains where it was too steep to build, and anything off the roadside was again wild or shaded by olive trees.</p>\n<p>Our ride didn't last so long.  We went about 70km to Makarska, which claims to be part of a riviera.  The area was really lovely, but not quite like the French Riviera, for instance.  :)  We found a really great spot to camp just outside of To\u010depi--a stony beach away from town and protected from the mountain wind by a grove of pines.  We cooked our dinner and watched the moon come up, then we finished watching \"The Birds\" (totally silly, but worth watching if you're into campy or old-school horror), and now it's time to go to sleep.  The white noise from the sea is so peaceful...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/10/10-10-10.html", "title": "10-10-10", "date": "2010-10-10T11:07:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/10/10-10-10.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101010", "country": "hr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>The North Wind catches<br />\nYour sails, blows you along, new<br />\nPlaces call, and you drift.</i></p>\n<p>It's Sunday??  Eek!  We didn't even realise that that our week with the farm was almost up until the very day was upon us!  The only reason we figured out that it was Sunday (and, consequently, that we have to get going tomorrow) was that we went into town with Greg and Fiorella, and all the shops were closed.  I guess we're getting underway in the morning!</p>\n<p>Anyway, talking about tomorrow so soon leaves today in the dust, and today was a very good day!  We woke up not-too-early and ate a breakfast of bread and jam and cheese.  Greg joined us some time later, and he showed us how to use an espresso maker the Napolitana way (you need to push the grounds to the sides of the basin initally and fill in the middle last; this makes the water flow through better to pick up the flavours).  We enjoyed coffees, and he told us about a boat regatta that was scheduled to happen down at the harbor later today.  We were invited to come along for a ride on the sailboat!</p>\n<p>So, of course, we accepted.  Jean had left earlier, and he didn't return when the conch was blown for him, so sadly he didn't get to come with.  We all hopped in the car and headed to town to pick up Fiorella from the office where she had slept.  It was a quick ride down to Villanova on the coast, and Greg kept us entertained with stories about his job.  He was part of the team that brought <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robotech\">Robotech</a> to the US with English voices, and he also wrote the English script for My Neighbor Totoro!  I fracking love that movieeeeeeeeeeeeeee...</p>\n<p>But, anyway, this is not the blog where I am permitted to nerd out about animes as it is rather the blog where I must talk about the things we are doing on our trip.  So back to that!  We got to the port where things were, in particular Italian fashion, not very organised and instead drinking coffee.  So we waited around for everyone to finish coffees, then with an old Englishman in tow hopped onto Greg's sailboat (called 13 Moons) and headed out to sea.  It was a beautiful day for sailing with a stiff wind and loads of sunshine.  The peace flag at the back of the boat flapped in the breeze, and we raced along with our sails full.</p>\n<p>There's nothing like being at sea.  Greg and Fiorella told us that they have done several longer trips in the boat, more than two weeks long, some of them.  They are comfortable with the undulations of the waves, and Evan and I found ourselves getting comfortable with them, too.  Plus, Evan's great beard makes him look like a proper pirate captain.</p>\n<p>We spent a few hours at sea, and finally headed in around lunchtime.  Some other friends of Greg and Fiorella's joined us, and we headed to a restaurant that specialised in seafood antipasti.  I do recommend it.  It's just off the water, and everything is fresh, and they serve things like gratined mussels and plates of squid and shrimp and crab cakes.  For some reason, everyone in the area likes drinking beer (instead of the wine we were used to), but beer can accompany seafood, too.  :)</p>\n<p>We finished up there with plates of lobster tortellini.  Fiorella chided me for using my bread to clean the plate (apparently it's rude to do that in Italy, but they do it at the garden to prevent so much oil from going into the sink drain).  Oh well.  :)  We dropped Greg off in town at the office and Fiorella, Evan, and I headed back to the Garden.  We settled in for the night, and told Fiorella that we were thinking of leaving tomorrow morning.  We got invited to breakfast in Ceglie to talk about our experience at the Garden, and we spent the evening using a giant pole to knock walnuts out of trees.  Walnuts are tasty.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/26/sailing.html", "title": "sailing!", "date": "2010-09-26T15:53:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/26/sailing.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100926", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Kilometers drift<br />\nAlong rails, humming away,<br />\nOur eager eyes watch.</i></p>\n<p>We woke up at the forgotten time of 0500 today.  When we're cycling, the sun isn't out then, so we're not out then.  I don't think we've been up that early since... Spain?  Something like that.  We (quietly) packed all our things from their far-flung locations around Stelios's apartment -- somehow we always manage to fill the space we're allotted, sigh.  We hopped on our bikes for the 5-or-so minute ride to the train station to arrive there by 0630 for our train.</p>\n<p>We were actually about 45 minutes early, but it was a good thing because there were apparently some hoops to jump through WRT the bikes.  Most trains will either not allow them or permit you to take them on in a special car yourself, but the Greek train system's policy was to check them as luggage and take care of them for you from end to end.  For this they charged the extremely reasonable 3\u20ac/bike.  We handed over our tagged stallions as we boarded the train and plunked ourselves down to enjoy the ride.</p>\n<p>The train had only 6 cars, and we were riding in it for as many hours.  We explored it as extensively as we could, then settled into the dining car to play on the laptop (Indiana Jones) and to work on our scenario while munching tiropita (Evan reported that the dining car guy thought Evan was Greek due to his correct pronounciation when ordering this treat) and sipping coffee and water.  We were periodically amused when the train seemed to accidentally bypass stations and had to back up to reach them.  We got pretty far in listing ideas for things, anyway, but we were happy when the train pulled into Alexandropouli.</p>\n<p>We picked up our bikes and headed for a caf\u00e9, since it was only 13h and we weren't planning on going anywhere.  We played games and checked the Internet until our battery pooped out, then took a leisurely bike tour of the town.  Sadly, it's a fairly small town, but we popped into a few places to get food for breakfast and a snack to hold us over until dinner.  At the gyro place we stopped for our snack (we had pita, tzatziki, and feta), the owner excitedly offered us to try his eggplant dip when he found out we were travelling.  I have to admit, it was the best eggplant dip we've had, and we were sorry we didn't know how delicious it was before we'd ordered.  :)</p>\n<p>Some more wandering brought us to the beach, where we sat and watched the sunset at the foot of the lighthouse.  As the light faded totally from the sky, we realised that it was barely 18h and that we'd have to wait at least two and a half hours before going out to dinner to kill our last euro.  We explored some residential areas and settled on a place to camp (another abandoned building), then sat in a park to try this scenario thing some more.  P.S. if you are reading this and will be in the bay area in the spring and are interested in playing some D&amp;D, please send us an e-mail.</p>\n<p>Dinner was satisfying at a local taverna, and although we didn't managed to spend all our remaining Euro, it's okay.  We tried even more Greek food we hadn't had before (randomly pointing to things on a menu you can't read can lead to interesting dinners) and headed to bed.  Our last day in Greece!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/11/intense-training.html", "title": "intense training", "date": "2010-11-11T12:31:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/11/intense-training.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101111", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p>0200. More pained animal wails, punctuated by odd alarm sounds - the signal for a slaughterhouse conveyor belt, perhaps? Valkyrie awakens with a start and tries several times to rouse me from my sleep, finally succeeding amidst a torrent of groans and curse words. I can count on no hands the number of times I've welcomed being forced out of bed at this hour - but it is clear that no further rest will be possible; the situation is too standard B-movie horror, two routinely lost travellers marooned out in the woods and surrounded by odd noises that they ignore to their mortal peril...</p>\n<p>...so we pack up the tent, load the bikes, and head down the road towards the sea. Just outside of town, we find an empty field behind an abandoned gas station. The splendour of Italia stops with Roma, it seems; whereas the towns of Liguria, Toscana, and now Lazio have so far been rather picturesque - if not in the snootily pristine way of the French, who certainly have no room for tired hobo-esque cyclists on their astronomically land-valued beaches - the road out of Roma has brought us past increasing concentrations of homes for sale, boarded-up lots, and heaps of garbage casually tossed into the once-beautiful countryside. At least there is somewhat less of the latter behind this station, and so at 0300 we drift back into sleep...</p>\n<p>...and rise again some five hours later, the sun slowly ascending over the buildings. Whatever cold spell we had upon entering France has ended, especially now that we've headed more than 700 km, much of it to the south, over the last week. It is hot, though mercifully not nearly so much as it was back in southern Spain - and the presence of the Mediterranean cools things off somewhat. We head along the coastal road for some time, our view of the sea blocked by cheap hotels and bar complexes that have collectively claimed the entire beachfront. After about 20 km of chipped stucco and slowly crumbling yet still serviceable stone, we catch a rare glimpse of the water - and then the road ducks behind a vast military zone whose borders are jealously guarded by tall barbed-wire fences with menacing black-on-yellow placards: Military Zone - Armed Surveillance! Explosions possible during live fire exercises! Access strictly prohibited to non-authorized persons!</p>\n<p>Late afternoon. Valkyrie's tube goes flat as we bike along the coastal roads near Gaeta; we had the tube filled at a bike shop along the way, and the extra pressure must have caused the patch to fail. We've almost run out of our original patches, which are nice in that they do not require rubber cement...we pull into the driveway of a campground by the water, move off to the side, and get to work. Tube patching is an unpleasant reality of bike touring. You will get a flat eventually - and all you can do about it is to stock up on patches and tubes, purchase a pump that's at least half-decent, and wait for it to happen...</p>\n<p>...by this point in the trip, however, our tube patching has reached a level of rapidity - if not professionalism - and we are soon again on our way. We decide to pull off the main road and bike out to the sea, where we are greeted with a vast stretch of beach. Perfect! Over mushroom risotto and wine, we toast to the day's successes and setbacks, to its sights and surprises. This is part of the daily ritual: the toast, used at first to celebrate major milestones, has taken on a life of its own - we raise the bottle, grabbing it with one hand each, and enumerate the events of the day. We drink to moments of happiness and anger and sorrow and delight and confusion, each one succintly summarized. We drink also to moments yet to come, to cities and experiences down the road that we can only anticipate until our legs carry us further. The risotto is delicious; we wash the whole thing down with a quick dip in the sea before pitching our tent over by the bikes, which we have locked up under a pavilion that functions as a caf\u00e9 in high season but now lies dormant. There is a storm brewing. Maybe it will break tonight...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/13/we-got-to-sleep-in-two-places.html", "title": "we got to sleep in *two* places!", "date": "2010-09-13T14:51:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/13/we-got-to-sleep-in-two-places.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100913", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Stop.  Take a deep breath.<br />\nWinding down and gearing up,<br />\nWhat lies beyond this?</i></p>\n<p>We're getting nervous, guys.  What do we do when the bike trip is over?  Evan starts a job, sure, but I don't have a plan yet (grad school is likely, but in what?).  Beyond the job, we don't really have any plans, anyway; no place to live (hoping to start that search when we have some downtime in Istanbul), no idea how to get down there (drive?  train?), no clue what sort of stuff we'll pick up (we have to take up something active to keep these sexy bods, but cycling won't be it), no ability to cook for non-cyclists (the amount we cook now for 1.5 meals would feed us as regular people for 1.5 days, and I guess we'd get kind of bored of that...), no inkling what each other's friends are like (I know some people and Evan knows some people, but the intersection is approximately 2), ... EEK.</p>\n<p>But we can't worry about it yet!  I mean, we can, and we do when we bike, but it's not so constructive.  The biking has to get done first.</p>\n<p>We stepped out to pack our things this morning, and the hotel/gas station owner brought us over some Turkish tea.  It was delightful!  We're planning to pick some up before we head back.  He also presented us with a keychain bearing the logo and address and phone number of his complex.  We affixed it to our bike lock keys.  :)</p>\n<p>Mostly the riding was uneventful.  It was just <i>hard</i>.  Hills and hills and hills and hills, up and down and feeling like we weren't making any progress... but we've described this same thing a thousand times.  Eventually, we made it to Tekirdag, a pretty large city on the coast.</p>\n<p>We found a hotel (Tuna Palas) without too much trouble, and we gathered some things to make dinner and some pre-dinner snack (unfortunately we didn't get d\u00f6ner from the place using real coals to roast it; they were out of meat, so we went to another place that overcharged us for crappy tourist d\u00f6ner.  We did get some roasted salted corn, but it was Turkish corn, which ain't got nothin' on Indiana corn, let me tell you).  We parked ourselves in the park to cook and actually brought everything back to our room to eat from <i>separate dishes</i> at a <i>table</i> while sitting in <i>chairs</i>.  This luxury completed, we made one more foray into town to get tea from an adorable middle-aged woman across the street.  She was clearly running the teahouse out of her apartment, and she wandered in and out of her kitchen to get cups as people showed up.  When we went to pay her, she excitedly over-carefully pronounced the price: \"One Turkish liras!\"  We paid her and smiled.</p>\n<p>Wolfenstein, then bed.  Easy downhill from there.  :)</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/13/tuna-palas.html", "title": "tuna palas", "date": "2010-11-13T12:33:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/13/tuna-palas.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101113", "country": "tr"}
+{"content": "<p>Largely sleepless night aboard the ferry. Reclining seats are next to impossible to sleep in comfortably, so we nestled up on the floor instead; this is, after all, closer to our normal sleeping conditions while camping. (Although many people camp with pillow and inflatable air mattress - they even have self-inflating ones these days! - we're doing without. It was not exactly comfortable the first few days, but we're mostly used to it now.) This, however, proved cold; rather than pay the information desk for blankets we wouldn't have room to carry, we instead found a laundry hamper full of freshly cleaned sheets and grabbed a couple. This may seem unethical, but I'd rather be warm and slightly unethical than frozen and even more exhausted than I am currently.</p>\n<p>We arrived back in Saint-Malo at the sprightly hour of 0615. In case our previous posts haven't made this peculiarity of continental Europe clear, absolutely nothing in France is open at that hour - no bakeries, no supermarkets, often not even the petrol stations. As such, we had little choice but to head out of town towards Nantes, where we plan to be by June 19; since we were still vastly underslept, and since this is more than enough time to ride the 150 km or so to Nantes, we decided to take a rest day. In our context, of course, \"rest\" means \"let's ride only 20 km with our fully loaded bikes, set up our tent, clean some of our gear, wash the sleeping bags, head into town to mail some maps home, cook a full meal on our stove, and watch a couple of World Cup games.\" When your average day consists of all this with \"20 km\" replaced by \"100 km or more\", this is in fact more restful than it might sound :)</p>\n<p>So: another less-than-happening day. Anything else of note?</p>\n<ul>\n<li>In Europe, campgrounds follow a star system much like hotels, with different star levels denoting various combinations of facilities and conveniences. Our chosen campground for the day is designated 4-star, which means it has a heated pool with steam bath, a bar, a small restaurant...another reminder that \"real camping\" by vast-tracts-of-land North American standards of \"real\" is near-impossible to find here. We might run into it in more remote areas, hopefully...</li>\n<li>Spain lost to Switzerland 0-1, much to our dismay; after seeing one too many shoving violations committed by the Swiss brutes, we started rooting for Spain. Alas, their superior aggressiveness was no match for Switzerland's clockwork defense.</li>\n<li>Who red-cards a goalie, honestly?</li>\n<li>Did I mention that we finally have freshly cleaned sleeping quarters? Believe us, we are ecstatic about this one.</li>\n</ul>\n<p>That's about all, I think. We're hoping to get a good deal of rest tonight so we can head out early tomorrow (actually, for once!) and lop off a chunk of the ride to Nantes.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/16/clean-sleeping-bags.html", "title": "clean sleeping bags!", "date": "2010-06-16T06:30:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/16/clean-sleeping-bags.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100616", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Memories, some shared,<br />\nCan be kept to one's self, too,<br />\nAccidentally.</i></p>\n<p>After our movie-watching night, we all crashed to sleep too late and poor Nikos had to wake up at 5 or some such time to go do his service.  Yikes!  We slept until about 9, but after that we wrested ourselves from bed as we had a city to see.  :)</p>\n<p>As we left the house, we gathered up some things for the day, but we unfortunately forgot the camera... So no photos from Athens.  I have some up from when I went last year in my own Picasa (<a href=\"http://picasaweb.google.com/VASavage/ItSAllGreekToMe#\">http://picasaweb.google.com/VASavage/ItSAllGreekToMe#</a>), but they're not really as good as the photos that we usually take now... it lent a different character to the day, I suppose; we didn't have to pause to take photos of things every few minutes, and although we won't have things to show everyone back home, we absorbed more from it, I think.</p>\n<p>We shooed ourselves out of the apartment and headed out for coffee and pastries (tiropita! yum!), then hopped on the train to head downtown.  Nikos had left a few papers stuffed in the sides of our computer as notes for the day, one listed the address of a bike shop where we could buy new tyres and the other had instructions for getting to the Acropolis.  We decided to deal with the tyre problem first.</p>\n<p>Some work is being done in the Athens subway system at the moment, so large portions of the underground are closed.  This included the stop closest to the bike shop, so we rode as far as we could and then stumbled around lostly, fortunately finding Greek people who spoke English at key corners and getting directions from them.  We managed to find the place, which is called Frederik Cycles.  It's run by a guy who speaks perfect English and knows a lot of junk about bikes.  Their stuff was a little pricey, but it's a custom cycle shop and they display some interesting modified bikes in the windows.  We found exactly what we needed: two 700x32 tyres tough enough to make it to Istanbul.  We bought them, and, having no other way to convey them, I threw them over my shoulder and across my chest.</p>\n<p>The way to the Acropolis from here was obvious, and we could, in fact, see it from a fair distance away.  Almost like they built it that way.  Jeff Stuart, if you are reading this I want you to know that the balconies in Athens are just as lovely as I remember.</p>\n<p>We walked through town towards the beaming white stones on a hill, and it seems that every Acropolis-bound path in Athina very quickly becomes an upscale tourist street.  It's hardly surprising, I guess.  The shops were bustling with people, even though it's not really the season any longer, and they hawked things ranging from usual post cards to plastic Spartan helms to metal Spartan helms to leather gladiator shoes to statues of the gods.  We walked on.</p>\n<p>The sites in Athens are all visitable with one multipass that costs 12\u20ac in general or 6\u20ac for students, so we were happy we'd brought our ISIC cards.  Our first stop was the Roman agora.</p>\n<p>The Roman agora is in disrepair, as you may be able to imagine, but it's still obvious where the shop lines would have stood.  Column bases line streets that aren't very wide, and as we strolled through them we wondered at the volumes of people that must have squeezed through the space.  Another feature of this agora is the Temple of the Winds, an octagonal building with personifications of each of the winds carved on its faces.  Inside used to be a water clock, but this has since been lost.  I remember really liking it on my last visit.</p>\n<p>Inside a building there we found a statue of Nike (okay, that's one thing that really bothers me: in English she is always referred to as \"Winged Victory\" while in Greek, German, French, etc., they simply call her \"Nike\".  what's wrong with our classical education in the English-speaking world?) which was extremely well-preserved: she was missing only her wings and arms, and she was beautiful.</p>\n<p>Nearby were the ruins of an old university, and we could still see the lecture halls and some of their seats.  What a privilege it must have been to sit there!</p>\n<p>Speaking of sitting, there was an old public latrine complex that we were amused to note was called a Vespasiana as a dubious honour to the emperor Vespasian.</p>\n<p>The day was starting to get hot, which is a startling thing in November.  We pressed past the few other tourists in town to get to the ancient agora and the Temple of Hephaestos.  It's the best-preserved temple of its kind; for instance it is all still standing (though presumably it is bolstered from inside by iron bars or some such).  The friezes on the front and sides of it are still deeply cut into the stone, and the workmanship is impressive.  Hephaestos is the Greek god of metallurgy, so there were some smith scenes and the like carved there.</p>\n<p>It's amazing to consider the sheer volume of money the rich had back then.  We read plaques about enormous marble buildings that had been gifts between friends.  Really, guys?</p>\n<p>From there we climbed the hill to the Acropolis.  I had remembered that climb being longer and harder and hotter, possibly because the last time I'd done it was in May and when I was not in extreme cycling shape.  Anyway, it only took a few minutes to reach the gates of the Acropolis.</p>\n<p>Atop the hill, overlooking the whole city, sits the Parthenon.  It's a shrine to honour all the gods, the ultimate product of many years of work by many talented artists.  The UNESCO plaque about it says a lot of things about overcoming challenges and boundaries and uniting humanity, but mostly I think everyone just likes it because it looks impressive.  Again, all the things that were found inside have been evacuated to a museum, which we unfortunately found to be closed Mondays.</p>\n<p>We wandered around, drinking in the view of Athens spread out below us.  Athens is home to nearly half of Greece's population, around four million people.  It's not a tall city; it spreads for miles in all directions, but nothing is so high as the Acropolis, and although the view from on top wasn't so satisfying as some of our mountaintop views... it was really, really nice.  We looked around to find the other sites we wanted to see, and we easily spotted the temple of Olympian Zeus with its perfectly-placed and still-standing columns, the old Olympic stadium, and the presidential palace.  We trotted past the Theatre of Dionysos (the Greek god of wine and partying) on our way down the hill, and it looks like it's still equipped for productions.</p>\n<p>By the time we made it to the temple of Olympian Zeus, we both quite needed to pee, so we mostly went inside to use the toilets.  It was nice to walk around the columns, I guess, but there was nothing we got out of seeing them up close that we didn't get from seeing them as we walked past.  Oh well.  We continued past the temple to the Olympic stadium, which is also well-preserved and seems to host events occasionally still.</p>\n<p>We didn't dwell at the Presidential Palace; it's staffed by guards at all hours.  Admittedly they look a little silly in their uniforms (which include shoes with enormous pompoms at the toes), but we needed to call Nikos, so we couldn't pause to laugh.</p>\n<p>Nikos informed us over the phone that he was unfortunately still tied up at work, and that we should call him for dinner in a couple hours or so.  We headed through the crowded tourist streets until we eventually found a bit of sanity and some delicious gyros in a shop next to the municipal market.  We stocked up on some dried figs and walnuts to replenish our snack, and we bought some candied kiwi to have as dessert.  We wandered around the city for a little longer until we found a park where we took a seat to pass time.</p>\n<p>Some kind of event seemed to be going on at the church in this park; seats were lined up outside and people were bustling around.  We found out that a parade was going to start, and we watched in amusement as nearly everyone fled the area when the police arrived for parade crowd control.  A man from Morocco came over and talked to us for a while about our trip and travelling and life, then bade us have a good time in Greece as we stepped across the street to a payphone to call Nikos again.</p>\n<p>He was finally free from his duties, and he agreed to meet us at Syntagma station in a half hour.  We hopped on the subway (we tried to get change to use in the ticket machines, but instead a random man just happily paid our two tickets instead) and rode the two stops to get there.  Syntagma station, and in general all the central metro stops in Athens, was beautiful -- reworked entirely for their hosting the Olympics in 2004.  There's a museum in Syntagma that shares the history of that spot, which has been rather inconstant through the ages.  It has variously been cemeteries (of three types), smithies, and servant housing.  All this was uncovered when work was done to make it into the wonderful Syntagma we know today.</p>\n<p>In the plaza around the station we saw a cluster of cyclists, who Nikos informed us were amassing for Critical Mass.  It was pretty well dark by this time, thanks to the time change that took effect yesterday, and we sat around in front of the Hotel Gran Bretagne to wait.</p>\n<p>Nikos arrived, and he took us out for hot chocolate at a fabulous place hidden in an alley.  They seem to just melt chocolate bars into cups and OH MY GOODNESS IT IS DELICIOUS.  We eventually had to adjourn from that place, and we went to a taverna for dinner where we tried a new set of Greek food (including some supremely tasty butter-fried mushrooms... yum) and were treated to wine and dessert by the manager.  I guess he felt bad for not having the wine we wanted to order?  Maybe he liked Americans or Canadians?  Anyway, we didn't argue.</p>\n<p>It was getting late, but we made one more stop at an art bar for some German weissbeer.  The atmosphere there was really cool: they had fiber-optic trees and an interesting wide-open stone space for seating... I dunno.  I liked it.</p>\n<p>Then, home.  We paused briefly for ice cream, but then it was bedtime.  Tomorrow, it's back to cycling.  Yeah!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/01/off-the-record.html", "title": "off the record", "date": "2010-11-01T08:14:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/01/off-the-record.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20101101", "country": "gr"}
+{"content": "<p>Of course, we started this day with the car that we had reluctantly picked up back in Calais, leaving us with a duty to return it before continuing on. Despite our utter unfamiliarity with the area, we managed to find the Europcar rental office; the address was 36 Place de la Gare, which we reasonably deduced must be next to the local train station. A not inconsiderable wait in line and excessive amounts of money later, we finally had the freedom to set out on bike again! We rode into Caen, where a large Sunday market had taken over a good portion of the downtown. Sunday markets are a big deal throughout Europe, and the D-Day tourism boost had not gone unnoticed by Caen's local merchants. With everyone and their entire extended family crowding the narrow spaces between bakery stalls, paella vendors, stands covered with baskets of dried fruit, makers of cider and calvados, cheese shops, and so on, our progress through Caen was slow at best - but who cares, when everything around you smells delicious?</p>\n<p>After finally making it through the market stretch, we biked out of the city in the direction of the Normandy landing beaches against a moderate headwind. (That's one thing about bike tripping - you notice and vividly remember everything about the land, from the winds you fought against to the hills to the poorly maintained paths!) We reached Juno Beach a couple of hours later, making sure to visit the Canadian D-Day memorial. The Normandy beaches today are incredibly peaceful; the only reminders of the horrific warfare that once raged across them are rows of flags and monuments sprinkled about the coastline. Even still, it is impossible for anyone today to understand how difficult it must have been to take that strip of sand - Juno Beach is flat and without usable cover, whereas the hills of Omaha Beach would have provided a very strong defensive position to the Germans. Every town here has its share of memorials commemorating those fallen in this battle, both soldier and civilian, and we passed several remembrance ceremonies as we made our way along the beach.</p>\n<p>We decided to stop in Arromanches, about halfway between Juno and Omaha Beach; this was a fortunate decision, as the town was host to fireworks later that night at 2300 as part of the D-Day festivities. It is important to remember that, amidst the sorrow of lives lost, D-Day is also a day for great celebration. For the inhabitants of these small coastal towns, it marked the end of German occupation and the beginning of a protracted yet ultimately successfuly campaign to reclaim mainland Europe.</p>\n<p>In a bizarre sort of homage, it is popular for the French in Normandy to rent out military Jeeps on D-Day and set up camp in the area; many go so far as to rent canvas tents and full military uniform. Having set up our own decidedly less military-styled camp, we unloaded our gear and set out to make it to the American military cemetery 20 km further down the beach. As with everything else in France, however, it closes at 1800 even on D-Day; we were left to join the stragglers who had driven to the gates only to find them barred shut. With no petrol for our stove - petrol stations are near-impossible to find here, and most close on Sunday! - and a load of food to cook, we had to ask around for a stove to use. We were finally successful in this venture when a group of roughly 10 travellers (some of whom hailed from Qu\u00e9bec!) invited us to join them; they even offered us some tomatoes, terrine de campagne (a sort of pat\u00e9), and whisky. Delicious! So maybe not everything is going awry in France; amidst our continuing setbacks, we manage to find slivers of good fortune that keep us from losing it altogether. That's the important thing on a trip like this: you deal with what you have, and take pleasure in what you can get.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/06/requiescat-in-pace.html", "title": "requiescat in pace", "date": "2010-06-06T15:39:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/06/requiescat-in-pace.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100606", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Eccentric royals<br />\nBuild intricate pavillions<br />\nIn styles yet unknown.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>Brighton is a whole lot less colourful today, owing mainly to the lack of body-painted nude people on bicycles.  :)  I picked up a copy of the Argos today, though (the local newspaper), and the article that they ran about the ride was entitled \"Cheeky bike ride has carnival atmosphere.\"  Teehee.</p>\n<p>One of our lovely hosts, who altogether are a group of students who live near the University and near the centre of town, gave us a quick tour of the town this morning on her way to training for a festival she's volunteering at.  She pointed out the hippie areas of town (the North Lanes) and the touristy/yuppie parts (the South Lanes) and the eccentric parts of town (the Pavillion, which I'll get to).  She also pointed out a couple good places for lunch and coffee/tea and left us to our own devices for the day.</p>\n<p>A walk through the Pavillion was in order (especially since the Brighton Museum, which details the history of the city, was closed for the day for cleaning).  It was built in the early 1800s by a young prince who wished to have a leisure/entertainment home.  This was Prince George.</p>\n<p>He decided it would be exotic to build his home in the Oriental fashion.  The problem was that people didn't really travel the same way they do now \"back in the day,\" so no one who helped him in the design or decoration of his Pavillion had ever seen China or The East.  This means that some parts of the design are somewhat... odd.  All the design, though, is opulent and really lovely.  Most parts have been preserved in the original style (the Pavillion was used by George after he became king, too, and this led to some redecorations, and it was also lived in by Queen Victoria, which led to further changes, etc.), including a really amazing 1 tonne chandelier in the dining room.  The onion domes which cap the house were all made of wrought iron (weird, yes), so they had the strength to support this rather large piece of ridiculousness.</p>\n<p>There are a number of interesting tidbits about the Pavillion (George wanted the servants to be seen only when needed, so he built secret corridors for them; during the restoration of the structure, a giant hurricane blew one of the onion domes into another one, which had just been repaired after an arson incident; in his old age, George used a Merlin chair, which was a precursor to a wheelchair, and had his rooms moved to the first floor; there were 30 plumbed-in toilets at a time when such things were a huge luxury; etc.), but I haven't the patience to relate them all.  :)  The audio guide is really good, if you get the chance to go, and it comes free with admission.</p>\n<p>Strolling along Brighton's beach was lovely.  There was a fishing museum, an old carousel, and miles of pebbly seashore.  The old West Pier is just a shell now, burnt down some years ago after falling into disrepair.  Its skeleton looks rather cool out in the middle of the sea.</p>\n<p>In the evening, our hosts were having birthday celebrations for one of the housemates, so we were invited to the potluck.  :D  We made Evan's soon-to-be-famous chickpea/onion/pepper/tomato/olive oil/spices salad, and it was well-received.  All the dishes were vegetarian, actually, which seems more fun; people tend to work harder for tasty food when they can't fall back on the \"meat with sides\" standby.  We stuffed ourselves with delicious curries and tacos and pumpkin gnocchi.  Yummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/14/brighton-now-with-clothes.html", "title": "brighton: now with clothes!", "date": "2010-06-14T06:23:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/14/brighton-now-with-clothes.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100614", "country": "gb"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Verdant silence, soft,<br />\nFilters through triangle leaves.<br />\nThe garden sits and breathes.</i></p>\n<p>This morning's ride was not easy... we thought that we would be heading along the edge of a mountain range indicated on our map, but we actually wound up cutting through it more than we intended.  Turns out foothills are serious business.</p>\n<p>We decided to try a new sandwich today for breakfast!  For a long time (since Granada, I think) we have been breakfasting on tomato bocadillos, fashioned from a half baguette each plus two pear tomatoes each plus 4 slices cheese each plus olive oil, garlic, and salt.  In addition to those, we generally had yoghurt (haha, British spelling) and m\u00fcsli and pastries.  That is probabaly done with for at least a while, because those bocadillos can bore one's tastebuds after too long.  So today we started out with peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwiches with peaches on the side.  Oh, and pastries.  We'll almost assuredly be returning home with some kind of dietary problems from all the sugar we consume... sigh.</p>\n<p>Anyhow, the ride took us up into a really beautiful countryside of rolling hills with mountains in the distance.  It's a shame to think that most people drive past in 30 minutes what took us a few hours to get through (uphill makes us really slow).  We really liked it.</p>\n<p>We arrived to Prafrance and the Bambuseraie at about noon, just in time to make lunch.  We stopped at a supermarket and picked up some leeks, mushrooms, goat cheese, green beans, and bread.  We fried up the first two with garlic and olive oil and balsamic, then added the result and the goat cheese and raw green beans to the bread for a super delicious sandwich.  Yummmmmm...</p>\n<p>Full for the moment, we headed in.  It's 8\u20ac for adults, but it was definitely worth it.  There's a lot of lovely garden to walk around in (see the photos), but there're also information posts that give you cool stories and stuff about the gardens and the plants therein.</p>\n<p>So, first off, \"Prafrance\" comes from some old French words meaning \"land of no taxes.\"  This made it a pretty good choice of location for something like a giant garden containing thousands of Francs' worth of imported plants.  The guy who started the gardens actually spent a lifetime getting them going; he initially had to invest something like 45,000 Francs to build a crazy set of irrigation channels to divert water from the nearby river into his gardens so that they wouldn't die.</p>\n<p>All the bamboo at Prafrance is hardy to -20C.  They've actually had a number of problems with huge snowfalls in the area, and some of their older exhibits and gardens were destroyed by snow in the past.  Flooding has also been a big problem, and on one of the buildings they had markers indicating some of the several metre-high floods they've seen in the last century (including a large one in 2002).</p>\n<p>The entire complex contains a bamboo forest, a Laotian village (with houses and rice shacks and the like constructed entirely of bamboo... there were numerous displays around here describing bamboo's use as a building material), a feng shui garden with a dragon pond and torii, aquatic gardens, greenhouses, a bonsai garden, and a bamboo labyrinth.  There was a gingko tree where we learned that gingko can survive pretty much anything, including one that grew back after being partially charred by the bombing in Hiroshima.  We also learned about ferns and their age as a species, and there were even things about making textiles and paper from many of the plants contained in the gardens.</p>\n<p>Then of course there was a shop at the end for buying plants and things made from plants and things about plants.  I wish that we had room to get a souvenir... but presumably most of the items on sale there would be findeable on the internet if we so choose.  I liked the bamboo ladders.  :)</p>\n<p>So, we headed down-ish through the mountains' edge to Al\u00e8s.  We took our first hobo bath!  We didn't really make it a proper bath since we were near to town, but sometime I am sure we will.  For now, we have only washed our arms and legs in a river.  But we'll see how our hygeine progresses as the trip continues.</p>\n<p>From Al\u00e8s we hit Uz\u00e9s, where we stopped for a refreshing drink (anise-flavoured water, yum!) and some fries so that we could charge our laptop for a bit.  The waitress pointed us to a good spot to camp nearby where we wouldn't be bothered or be bothering anyone, so here we are.  Watching Repo Men (thanks, Henning!).</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/27/bamboozled.html", "title": "bamboozled", "date": "2010-08-27T11:48:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/27/bamboozled.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100827", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Fences snag box scraps,<br />\nA bag dances on the wind,<br />\nUrban tumbleweeds.</i></p>\n<p>Today was karmic rebalance day, I guess.  It started out middlingly, continued into terribly, and concluded with grossness.  Agh.</p>\n<p>Last night was actually pretty fantastic for sleeping.  We listened to a thunderstorm raging above and around our tent, and the lightning that lit us left no pause before thunder rumbled through.  Rain falling on the sides of a tiny, unfortifiable tent is beautiful sound; we can't do anything to keep it out other than trust our waterproof fly.  When we woke up, we realised the importance of pegging out the sides of the fly (not just the front and back).  The foot of our sleeping bag and a lot of our clothes that had been stashed at one end of the tent were soaked.  Sigh.</p>\n<p>Anyway, we loaded up our bikes and munched on some snack, then headed to Gaeta to pause at a caf\u00e9 for morning espresso and pastries.  My goodness, those pastries were actually quite delicious!  We also got caught up on some blog posts, charged the laptop, and watched television which showed the strange idea Italy seems to have about American music.  It played a mix of Donna Summers, Usher, and Kelly Clarkson.  Um.</p>\n<p>On the way out of Gaeta, traffic was slow.  The cool thing about riding a bike is that you can make your own lane when it's convenient, so we poked through some holes in traffic and escaped into free, open road.  Shortly after leaving city limits, an exceptionally angry driver began tailgating us and honking.  He pulled up in front of us, stopped, and went to get out of his car, but we continued on.  He angrily followed us again, and we finally pulled off to the side to see what the hell his problem was.</p>\n<p>Apparently, on the way through one of the smaller gaps, Evan's bags had hooked themselves on the man's car's mirror and pulled it askew.  He complained in Italian (in our experience, very few Italians speak a second language, so sadly our English, French, and Spanish are all useless here except for providing approximations of what Italian words might mean) that we should follow him to the mechanic in town and pay whatever the estimate was for the damage.  We tried to patch the mirror up with duct tape (it wasn't in bad shape), but this just pissed the little man off further, so we reluctantly followed him into town.  He didn't seem to realise that bikes are slower than cars, so he nearly lost us a few times.  Shame that he didn't; the mechanic's estimate was \u20ac50, and we had to pony up.  Sigh.  Lesson learned: no more tight spaces.</p>\n<p>Out of Gaeta finally, we headed along a stretch of road that was unpleasantly busy.  We had to pause, though, when we saw an Enoteca (wine shop) that offered wine on tap.  We still had our pastis bottle from Montpellier, and we knew that it was destined to hold great things.  So we grabbed a half litre of their red.</p>\n<p>That didn't go very far, though.  Outside the wine shop, I discovered that my front tyre was flat again, and my attempts to patch it went awry.  I had to install another new tube (we broke an additional tube by improperly pumping it, so we now only have one spare out of the four we usually carry), and we irritatedly continued on our way.</p>\n<p>Down the coastal road, which was actually not precisely a coastal road since it was a couple kilometres inland, we witnessed sights that were surely caused by a trash workers strike.  Garbage blew across the road in waves, towered over bins, filled every corner and fence-hole, and emitted a scent unbreatheable.  Biking was miserable.</p>\n<p>We planned to stop early, about 20 km from Napoli, at the Lago de Patria, which was marked on our map as scenic and adjoining a nature preserve.  It sounded perfect, but when we got there the lake was putrid and covered also in a layer of garbage, and its shores were rife with sand fleas and spiky weeds.  The nature preserve itself was lovely, but that's only because it was fenced off from everything else and protected from trash.  Scratch that plan.</p>\n<p>We passed through a few other towns, also sleepy and covered in garbage, when I noticed something dripping from Evan's bike.  The wine bottle had shattered in its holder, spewing its contents all through his clothing pannier and rain cover.  Now we smell even worse than usual.</p>\n<p>Down further, we hopped off the main road down one that actually followed the beach.  The beaches in this area, though, are not public.  Instead, they are entirely owned by bars and parking, and also entirely fenced off from the road.  And entirely coated in garbage.</p>\n<p>The sun began setting, and we started getting desperate for a place to camp.  Our map showed some mountains rising up behind Napoli, so we headed up there on the assumption that it would be less inhabited.  It... wasn't.  We happened across a cyclist who didn't speak English but offered to help us if we were lost.  We explained that we needed a place to put our tent, and he suggested going down to the beaches.  Sigh.</p>\n<p>We did, rather close to dark, manage to find a big open field with a space removed enough from the road that the trash doesn't reach.  There's a line of trees that will keep out lights and road-noise.  It appears that they were planted there to protect... bee boxes.  Oh, good.</p>\n<p>Well, from what I can remember, bees aren't nocturnal, and this should be close to the time they start hibernating anyway.  I explained to Evan (city boy) what those weird little wooden things were for and recommended that he not shake them around too vigorously.  We cooked some pasta a fair distance away.</p>\n<p>We're settling in for the night... at least we feel removed enough from people here that we aren't fearing for our bikes.  Napoli is pretty notorious for being a theft capital, and although we don't know how true the stereotypes are, we don't really plan to find out.  It's U-Lock time.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/14/karmic-rebalance-day.html", "title": "karmic rebalance day", "date": "2010-09-14T14:56:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/14/karmic-rebalance-day.html", "author": 6851810, "order": "20100914", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>Easier than yesterday - that about sums it up. The terrain is flatter, the hills shorter and more gradual, and although we ride slightly farther than the previous two days, we are much less exhausted once we stop some 25km out of Istanbul. Yes, we really are that close! Why stop there? Why not just barge forward, finish the whole thing, roll across into Asia and call it a day? One simple reason: having resolved to finish this trip at our typical 100 km per day pace, we've decided it would be appropriate indeed to finish exactly six months after, way back in Oakville, Ontario, Canada, we first started to seriously put things in bags for the flight over. Six months minus a day just wouldn't cut it...</p>\n<p>...so we ride out of Tekirdag relatively early, over some rolling hills, out to an even flatter stretch - and then hit Silivri about midday with enough hunger to pull off the road and set up on an old 16th-century bridge recently restored for the use of strolling pedestrians. We head out on the bridge a bit for a view of the small sea created by Turkey between the Dardanelles and Bosphorus, that ancient trade route, and pop open our Tupperware for yesterday's leftovers. That completed, we break with tradition to eat dessert <i>after</i> lunch in a local pastry shop - some kind of pistachio-nut-honey contraption and a chocolate-nut cake square, both of which we split half-and-half between us. Everything is shared, neither of us owns anything to ourselves except maybe our clothing, and even the non-gender-specific parts thereof are occasionally shared as need dictates. Water is shared: if one runs out of water, the other passes their bottle over mid-ride until we run out or find another fountain to fill up at. Pastry and food are definitely shared, particularly those foods sampled from local restaurants: we each pick something, eat our half, and swap plates, ensuring that we get to experience as many delicacies as possible. This is the best way, we think - and yet it is a way of life foreign to Americans, who view personal space and privacy and individual success as sacrosanct, not to be shared with less worthy peers. A kind of Objectivism writ large, the ultimate repudiation of the traditional lifestyle that governs much of the rest of the world. This is not a value judgment on either, for both ends of this spectrum have their peculiar benefits and flaws.</p>\n<p>Another 20km or so to the town where we stop - hit Migros for snack and evening meal foodstuffs, drink beers on the waterfront over more speculation about our nascent D&amp;D scenario, then the search for a suitable campsite somewhere in city limits. We head out along the waterfront stretch, passing several slews of caf\u00e9s and tea joints and restaurants before the whole touristy mess finally thins out. There is a park, but it seems to be a hangout for drunks and youth - far enough off the main main stretch to be hidden from suspicious officials, but not so far that it is truly out of the way - so we pass on by, keep going around the point, and soon locate an abandoned structure with enough lawn space out front to pitch safely. This part of the waterfront is apparently a favourite spot for locals to fish, chat, and cook on all manner of gas stoves with their family. When in Rome, so they say...</p>\n<p>...so we pull out our own stove and whip up the last camping meal of the trip. To be fair, we have enough petrol left over that we'll have to use it in Istanbul sometime - but this is the last time we cook on the road. We make orzo salad, making use of a package of orzo that has been sitting in the bottom of our pantry pannier for a few days, and eat it by the waterfront before dragging our bikes uphill to the building, pulling out the tent, and setting up for one last night under the cloud-covered stars. One last campsite, one last abandoned building, one last stop before Istanbul. What does it all mean? What have we learned? These last few entries are full of questions, notably short on answers - but maybe there are no answers, no grand revelations from the journey; rather, there is a conviction that it is useless to make life plans, an understanding that it is better to get anything and everything you can out of each day than it is to spend your short time here in anticipation of what might never be, in fawning adoration of the American dream, in the race for better cars or watches or whatever the hell it is the vast majority of the working world spends its 9-to-5 slaving away for. If you want something to happen, make it happen - and all that good jazz, the old clich\u00e9s reprinted in a thousand thousand self-help books sold at $20 a pop in the big chain bookstores back home. Patience, dedication, motivation, a desire to learn anything you can, keen powers of observation - and killer cyclist legs: these are the things you gain slowly, painstakingly from a trip like this, but you must work for every bit of it and never give up...</p>\n<p>...which is what we have been telling just about everyone we run into, all the hordes of people who say they could never accomplish something like this. Of course you can; you just have to do it, keep some modicum of common sense about you to prevent from dying, and keep going. Always keep going. That is how we got here, how we managed to (nearly! not in Istanbul yet...) complete this fantastic journey and do it within the time frame set for us by work and Thanksgiving and anything else we feel compelled to rush home for. This is it. Tonight, we sleep; tomorrow, the final stretch into Istanbul.</p>\n<p>This is it. We're almost there. One more day, one last day. Tomorrow.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/11/14/the-penultimate-ride.html", "title": "the penultimate ride", "date": "2010-11-14T12:34:00", "path": "posts/2010/11/14/the-penultimate-ride.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101114", "country": "tr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Fjord fingers tickle<br />\nThe Mediterranean,\nCyclists climb up them.</i><br />\n</p>\n<p>First thing: pack.  Second thing: dash out to the end of the calanque to watch sunrise.  It was amazing.</p>\n<p>Third thing: work our little tails off to get out of the calanque.  It involved some walking; I'm not gonna lie, but we did get to wave hello to our security guard friends on the way out.  We made it out by reasonable o'clock, so that we could climb some more mountains to head towards Cassis.  At least the last couple kilometres there were a sweeping downhill... it gave us a really great view of the fort by the sea.</p>\n<p>Then we started towards La Ciotat.  At the first fork in the road, traffic was stopped and a policeman was waving people to turn around.  Um.  We biked up to him, and he waved at us to turn around, too.  We panicked a little; the only road other than that one in the area is a motorway, and since we're not allowed on that our route could involve some serious backtracking.</p>\n<p>I guess he saw the crestfallen and panicked looks on our faces and/or the loads of stuff on our bikes, but anyway he said that we would be permitted to pass, provided we went on foot.  We dismounted our bikes and started hiking.</p>\n<p>On the way up the hill, we were passed by several emergency vehicles going both directions, and helicopters circled overhead.  We fantasized about what might be going on: a giant accident?  An exploded truck?</p>\n<p>It turned out to be an enormous forest fire.  As we headed further up, fire trucks lined the road and the air was choked with ash.  It was not pleasant to bike, but we didn't have time to walk that distance, so we hopped back on.  Somewhat ironically, many of the fireman were taking a smoking break.</p>\n<p>The smoking, black trees continued for kilometres along the road.  It was obvious where the fire had leapt across the road, too, and there were parts where firemen were still battling smaller blazes.  News crews were on hand in case things got interesting again.  No cars were passing through, but we did see a couple other cyclists.  The road was soaked with some magenta fluid that we speculated was fire retardant.</p>\n<p>The air eventually cleared, and the rest of our ride to Toulon was uneventful.  Toulon was also uneventful, but it marked the place where we turned to head into the mountains and off the coast once more.</p>\n<p>Our road followed the motorway for some distance, making it a less-than-scenic ride.  Eventually, it turned off at a steeper angle and found its way through small towns untouched by the four-lane road.  That was pleasant.</p>\n<p>Our last stop for the evening was at an E. LeClerc in Le Luc, where we picked up a couple vegetables for dinner and some Q-tips (hurray!) and other miscellaneous items (nice thread, etc.).  Le Luc is unfortunately at the intersection of two motorways and the smaller-but-still-sort-of-major road that we were following, so it didn't afford many good locations for stealth camping.  It seemed that no one cared, though; trucks were parked all along both sides of the road, their drivers obviously catching some sleep for the night.  We found an abandoned building next to an abandoned gas station and set up in the parking lot amid graffiti.  This ground is terrible... it's loud... sigh, another night with poor sleep.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/31/smoke-on-the-water.html", "title": "smoke on the water", "date": "2010-08-31T09:52:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/31/smoke-on-the-water.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100831", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>We decided to take our hosts up on their gracious offer of breakfast before departing; this resulted in a seemingly endless cavalcade of delicious food that lasted through lunch, filling our stomachs (and making it quite difficult to bike afterwards!) Here follows a faithful account of the gastronomic ginormosity jointly consumed by the Evan and Valkyrie Massive Food Consumption Team:</p>\n<ul>\n<li>10 eggs;</li>\n<li>most of a loaf of bread;</li>\n<li>an entire plate of Speck;</li>\n<li>several cups of tea;</li>\n<li>two portions of Bear Loaf with Sat\u00e9saus (a special of the caf\u00e9 in town);</li>\n<li>half a hamburger;</li>\n<li>roughly half of a fair-sized container of fries;</li>\n<li>a container of multivitamin fruit juice;</li>\n<li>a couple of glasses of ice tea.</li>\n</ul>\n<p>Tip for travellers: if you can't eat anymore, say so. You may find that the hospitality in certain areas exceeds even the size of a fully-stretched stomach :)</p>\n<p>They also loaded up our lunch box with a variety of cookies and juices before we exchanged goodbyes, took some group shots for the road (check the Picasa albums!) and set out further into Noord-Holland. Despite our overfilled stomachs and late-afternoon start (about 3 pm by the time we truly got going), we managed a haul of roughly 80 km! The daily route wound through near-perfectly flat farmland to Groningen, where we briefly stopped to check the map. Valkyrie found a small town about 30 km out of Groningen towards Amsterdam by the name of Amerika, whereupon she insisted against all reason and logic that we must head there to camp. 30 increasingly late, cold, and exhausted kilometres later, we found ourselves instead in the nearby town of Steenbergen. We attempted to enlist local help in locating Amerika, only to find that it was apparently so minor as to escape popular notice. Frustrated and slightly lost, we headed for a nearby campground; however, this too met in failure when a sign to the site led us to an unsigned T-intersection. Whoops. In desperation, we approached the only house in sight, knocked on the door - \"Hello? We're trying to get to the Ponderosa campground.\" \"Ah, it's just up that way - but you don't really want to go there. It's not really for tent camping; people - how do you say? People without money go there to live. There's another campground up that way, maybe five or six kilometres...although it's getting late. Perhaps you would like to camp here?\" We nod vigorously; 10 minutes later, we have our tent set up and are being treated to beer and wine over stories of our hosts' travels in Portugal, Italy, and elsewhere...so, in this part of the trip, we have been incredibly lucky!</p>\n<p>Although I have nothing to offer our hosts, I hope someday to pass this favour onto others - the warmth of hospitality has all but disappeared in some places, replaced instead by a mortal fear that everyone is a serial axe-murdering arsonist thief kidnapper. It is easy to point fingers at the media, lower moral standards, higher crime rates, or other such excuses. It is infinitely harder to change this and welcome complete strangers into your home as these people have done; it is even harder yet to find areas (such as Noord-Holland) where such a reception is the norm rather than the exception. We can only hope to meet more such people during the rest of our travels!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food.html", "title": "food and food and food and food and...", "date": "2010-05-27T15:16:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100527", "country": "nl"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Try, try, try, harder!<br />\nNo mountain is too high, not<br />\nFor cyclist legs!  Ha!</i></p>\n<p>Okay, so my haiku are wearing thin.  Plz ignore.</p>\n<p>We woke up an hour later than we intended, still crammed onto the futon in our new friends' house.  Daylight was poking through the sides of the shades, doing its best to warm the room.  We stretched, and one of the guys came through with a strange tool which he explained away with \"olive oil making.\"  We started after him as though to watch, but he said we should just sit there and wait.</p>\n<p>We soon found ourselves restless, and we went to collect our clothes from the shack where they'd hung overnight.  Despite the constant raining outside, we were pleased to note that they were completely dry and mostly free of the dank smell that had clung to them yesterday.  Mostly.  We still packed them into separate garbage bags for storing in our panniers.</p>\n<p>We unset the tent that we hadn't slept in, drying the component parts in the strong morning sun.  Everything was packed and ready by around 09:30, when we bid goodbye to our hosts and set out.  They had been curious yesterday about our route, heading as we were towards Sarand\u00eb, and we were shortly to find out why.</p>\n<p>Not far from where they lived, we passed through Vlor\u00eb and another small town where Evan happily high-fived a line of schoolchildren.  We picked up supplies (water, mainly) at the grocery store and headed towards some rather imposing-looking mountains.  For about half an hour we remarked on the apparently incredible ability of the Albanian road-planners to build roads through valleys, but as soon as we hit a road with a 30 degree slope, we were less-than-convinced by said abilities.</p>\n<p>We'd seen this on the map; the highway appeared to follow a river through a valley for some time, then it seemed to jump across a mountain range and follow along through some valleys near the coast.  Not so.  The road twisted up and down along mountainsides, the river far below, and we cursed the duplication of effort as we climbed a hundred metres, only to return to our previous elevation around the next corner.  There wasn't much habitation around there, but at least the road was new.  Evidence of the old road, which appeared to be even twistier than this one, showed in the form of fragmented pavement cast about next to precipices.  Sheep and goats grazed along steep slopes.</p>\n<p>We passed through exactly one thing that could be called a town on our way up, and we were for the first time attacked by dogs.  In our experience, dogs are not great friends of cyclists, but these two took it to the extreme.  They raced out of their yards barking, and although I frightened them from my bike with a yell, they took to chewing Evan's tyre as we crawled uphill.  He verily boomed, \"YOU FOOLS\" (which seemed to me a strange thing to pop to mind), and they dashed away.  Fortunately, there was no damage to either of us or our bicycles.</p>\n<p>Up and up and up... the hardest climb we've had, we think.  We actually had to get off the bikes and walk them multiple times, and about halfway up we paused for a short nap, owing in part to the fact that we still haven't caught up on all our sleep lost during that night in the abandoned hotel with the mosquitoes.  We reached a cruel sign which indicated a 10% downgrade, which we rejoiced to be the top, but we were sorely disappointed to realise that it was just another hiccup in the upslope of the road.</p>\n<p>Finally, we did make it.  The rain, which had been absent most of the day, picked up again, and we felt chill wind brush along our skin from the other side of the range.  Up so high (around 1000m, we estimate), it's cold anyway, and this wind wasn't helping...</p>\n<p>But we were elated to see the sea.  It had been obscured by mountains and trees for a goodly amount of time, and the coast down to it looked trivial.  The roads were slick with rain, so we held our brakes tight to our wheels for the duration of the descent, but it was hard not to enjoy the scenery.  We revelled in it, and in our ability to do such a climb; surely such a thing would not have been possible for us 5 short months ago.</p>\n<p>Finally arriving on reasonable roads, we perceived a town down by the coast.  The road we were on was situated a good 400m above sea level, but we had agreed that it was time to stop and that we should find a restaurant soon so that we could set our tent while there was still light in the sky.  Our plan was to treat ourselves to a feast: tomorrow is to be our last day in Albania, and we have a lot of Lek to burn through.</p>\n<p>Sadly, only one restaurant in the town, which is evidently a summer town, was open.  We seated ourselves inside to warm up from the rain, and we were again saddened upon being told that this restaurant only offered a third of its menu in the off-season.  We ordered hot tea to warm up, and we were quietly enraged that it seemed to be Lipton canned iced tea heated up.  Too much sugar, not enough hot.</p>\n<p>We begrudgingly ate our meals, which were overpriced and consisted of virtually every palatable thing served in the off-season, which is to say a pair of Greek salads and some chewy calamari.  We were hungry still, but with a storm again rolling in over the sea we needed to find a place to put our tent.</p>\n<p>A little way down the road, we found an abandoned building (this one genuinely abandoned; it was covered in graffiti and falling apart at its seams) with a bit of waterfront.  Part of the beach was stone, part sand, and part covered by ancient turrets probably leftover from wars with Greece.  Nevermind.  We had no wish to drag our bikes through the sand (that's never worked out for us), so we are now in our tent on the gravel.  It should have better drainage, anyway, in case the storm is serious.  Now for some Wolf3D in the rain!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/18/you-fools.html", "title": "YOU FOOLS!", "date": "2010-10-18T17:50:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/18/you-fools.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101018", "country": "al"}
+{"content": "<p>After some rapid-fire back-and-forth over Facebook, we managed to arrange an interview with <a href=\"http://www.facebook.com/pages/Zero-Distance-TV/110523662300671\">Zero Distance TV</a> in Rotterdam by the Euromast at 1800 - deadlines are rare during a bike trip, but this gave us more than enough time to make the 90 km trip from Amsterdam (even with our late start!) We loaded up on Bulldog's breakfast offerings for the last time, dragged our bags down from our top floor lockers, loaded the bikes, and meandered our way out of Amsterdam. The city is actually quite beautiful in parts, with extensive canals and some magnificent examples of modern architecture just south towards Amstelveen; they also have dedicated bike roads near the financial district, allowing us cyclists to get around without constantly fearing for our lives.</p>\n<p>We hit a navigational snafu just out of Amsterdam - hoping to find a shorter way in between towns, we decided to head down this small lane next to a farm just off the highway...only to end up at a dead-end some 500m later. Instead of turning back, as more sensible and less stubborn people might do, we walked our bikes across part of the cropfield (taking care not to trample across the rows!) to the side of the highway, whereupon we hoisted our bikes over the railings, walked back along the highway to a break in the divider, waited for a pause in the traffic, hurried across the first side, hoisted our bikes over the divider, waited again, ran across to the opposite edge, and lifted the bikes once more to get on the adjoining service road. Lesson learned: don't follow random lanes! (Unless they're prominently marked with bike route signs. In that case, it's probably okay.)</p>\n<p>The ride continued uneventfully through several more towns until we reached Alphen an der Rijn, where we realized that the woefully inaccurate maps sold to us back in Bremen stopped just north of Rotterdam. Oh well; a couple of photos snapped off a road atlas in a petrol station just past the town and we were once more cartographically equipped.</p>\n<p>We hit Rotterdam with enough time to grab a quick bite, reaching the Euromast at 1801 (one minute late! Blasphemy!) where our interviewers sat patiently waiting for us. The Euromast is this odd-looking tower with an oblong bulge about halfway up. The tower being somewhat unsightly and out of the way, and this still being slightly before high season, the surrounding tourist traffic was non-existent; they had no trouble identifying two haggard-looking brightly-clad cyclists atop heavily-loaded road bikes panting their way towards the base. We headed over to the nearby park where they set up their equipment, asked a few questions, and shot some random footage of the bikes; half an hour later, we were on our way to find food (and Internet!) in the city centre. We paused to take a picture at the base of this weird gnomish statue, only to find ourselves treated to a beer at De Witte Asp by a friendly local named Chris (who, as it turns out, was on his way to a political debate over Rotterdam's economic policies; furthermore, he had been involved in building IT systems for the energy industry over the last few decades, and was considering a solar energy venture in the Sahara!) We thanked him as he rushed off to his debate, then finally headed over to the nearby campground for a much-needed rest.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/31/life-on-tv.html", "title": "life-on-TV", "date": "2010-05-31T15:26:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/31/life-on-tv.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100531", "country": "nl"}
+{"content": "<p><i>\nLosing battles ain't<br />\nThe end, the spirit crushes<br />\nOnward.  And again!<br />\n</i></p>\n<p>Happy 20th birthday, oh dear sister of mine!  Evan and I drank a toast to you this evening with our Flensburger Pilsner (it's from Flensburg, which is the nearest large town to where we are staying tonight, about 10km to the north, and just across the Deutschland/Danmark border).  There will be a photo when my camera cable arrives.  ;)</p>\n<p>Anyway, this morning found us in S\u00f8nderborg, which is an important town in Danish history!  Nearby is a battleground where Danmark suffered some great losses in 1864.  While the US was occupied with its own thing, Germany was trying to scrawl its name across more of Europe, and they conquered 1/3 of Danish land and 2/5 of Danish peoples in a battle on a nearby hill.  The land was returned to the Danes nearly 60 years later, in 1922, and they celebrated their reunification on the same hill where they had previously lost their territory.</p>\n<p>The ride today was frustrating.  We only covered about 50km over the whole day, despite the fact that we woke up at a reasonable hour and continued cycling until rather late.  I got a flat tyre outside of S\u00f8nderborg not very far, and we tried replacing the tube only to discover that Evan and I do not, in fact, have the same size wheels.  Then we tried patching it only to discover that the glue was old and didn't stick well enough.  Then we tried another set of patches only to discover that there was suddenly another hole in the tube.  At this point, we were only 15km or so from the Deutsch border, so we elected to hoof it and not frustrate ourselves further.</p>\n<p>As we tromped defeatedly along the highway, a man named Jan came by on a bike.  He asked us where we were from, told us he lived in the next town and that there was no bicycle shop there (a fact we had been counting on.. we assumed we could buy a properly-sized replacement tube there), and gave us a lesson on tyre fixing.  He pointed out the obvious fact that we had missed: it is important to check the tyre itself to see if there is glass or stones lodged inside that might repuncture the tube when it is replaced.  There was, in fact!  So we got a proper fix-job completed and he set off for Krus\u00e5.  We took a bit longer to get going again, as we paused to oil our chains and the like, but we headed his way in a bit.</p>\n<p>When we arrived to Krus\u00e5, which is just on the Danish side of the border, we ran into Jan again!  He was still on his bicycle, cruising along.  We were near his house, so he invited us in for some tea.  He had a brood of puppies and children that wandered around the yard while we sipped our tea, and it was lovely.  After a half hour's pause there, we moved on to Germany, where we are staying just a couple dozens of kilometres from the border.  :D</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/05/20/birthdays-beer-and-borders.html", "title": "birthdays, beer, and borders", "date": "2010-05-20T17:07:00", "path": "posts/2010/05/20/birthdays-beer-and-borders.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100520", "country": "de"}
+{"content": "<p>Yum! We add to our gastronomic delights today a litre canister of olive oil and a half-litre of local vino rosso in stoppered glass bottle; much later, we learn that we were certainly stiffed on neither, for the oil is rich in taste - especially with our balsamic, cracked pepper, and sea salt - and the wine is fantastic. For all the other luxuries we must forego on this trip, we do not lack for good food...</p>\n<p>...waking up by the beach this morning, a light dusting of mostly dried rain on the tent. Exhaustion is starting to set in, that sort of multi-day pedal-to-the-metal exertion haze that creeps up on you after a few long days no matter how much sleep you get. The going has been hard - mountainous, long, even hot sometimes - and we can't wait to reach Roma...but, as of this morning, there are still 310 km to go. The Via Aurelia, less poetically known within the nomenclature of the Italian highway system as SS 1, starts of course in Roma, and thus its kilometre markings indicate the distance to that ancient centre of Empire...</p>\n<p>The coastline is sparsely populated out here in Toscana, unlike in Liguria where the cities and towns must crowd themselves between shore and mountains, their homes and shops terraced up the hillsides as tightly as possible. Most of the relatively flat land here has been given over to agriculture, this being one of the few places with enough space for sprawling croplands. The beaches, by contrast, are coated with mostly European tourists, their EU licence plates forming an alphabet soup - PL! NL! D! A! and the ubiquitous I - of country abbreviations.</p>\n<p>As for the oil and wine, we get these in a small shop in a small town along the Via Aurelia. The owner sees that we are riding in on bicycle. His eyes perk up; he asks us where we are from - I am outside at the time, so Valkyrie answers that she is American. There is another famous American who lives in this area - a cyclist, supposedly - and so his excitement is redoubled; he passes us a free juice from the store's cooler, asking about our trip and how far we are going and why exactly in God's name we would decide to go from Copenhagen to Istanbul via Portugal. It is wonderful to be in a place where people so frequently take an interest in our travels, even if only for a passing moment...</p>\n<p>...we continue on, passing by some more unremarkable road through the countryside - well, no road that offers a view of either mountains or sea can be truly unremarkable, but these roads are flat enough that the familiar hypnosis of road travel - regardless of your means of transportation - soon sets in. We lose our way briefly, crossing the highway in the wrong direction before we check the map and right ourselves with a couple of carefully-chosen turns...</p>\n<p>...and we come to stop up towards the mountains along the inland route to Grosetto; our map indicates the ruins of an Etruscan necropolis along this route, which we hope to see tomorrow - on our continued journey into Roma! Each destination is a new trip within the larger trip, another stretch of distance and time and effort and money and experience...and this one is drawing to a close, to be followed shortly by our travels into Napoli and across the boot into Bari.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/07/f-oiled-again.html", "title": "f'oiled again", "date": "2010-09-07T07:23:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/07/f-oiled-again.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100907", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>For those who have not been: the Alhambra is a singular experience, a nexus at the intersection between religion, mathematics, and staggering material wealth...it is a masterpiece of geometrical precision and architecture, a tunnel into a history populated by Moors and Catholic Kings and Romans and Arab royalty...and it deserves a place on whatever checklist governs your life. For us, it is also a unique symbol of achievement, the end of what has been the most frenetically-paced leg of our journey to date...2000 km in three weeks during which we completed the Camino and saw Fisterra and drank port in Porto and reached the Strait of Gibraltar and visited Morocco, a sheer volume of experiential awesomeness that would have been impossible to achieve if it were not punctuated by bus and train. Even still, we biked most of it - and we did so in a climate of incredible heat that has warranted frequent mention in these blog entries. It is an achievement to have reached here while seeing all that we did.</p>\n<p>And how better for my body to celebrate that achievement than by contracting a particularly nasty case of stomach flu? The pathogenic war rages on in my intestinal tract; I follow Javier as he shows us about Granada, passing by the cathedral and the markets and this one lane lined with tea lounges - but stop short of following him up into the Albayz\u00edn; instead, I must spend most of the day resting under a tree somewhat up the path that climbs the hill to the Alhambra. It is restful, and yet this is one hell of a way to spend a day in one of the most historic cities in Europe - I should be about seeing things, eating local food, grabbing drinks in local bars, learning about the rich culture of those that have invaded (and retreated from, in most cases) these parts across the millenia. I hear about the Albayz\u00edn only through the pictures Valkyrie has taken on her camera, which she shows me eagerly upon greeting my prostrate body with still-cold spicy chocolate ice cream; it is a district of cave dwellings originally inhabited by the gypsies, who set up residence here on the hillside to escape prohibitive rent in the city below. For it has been - and still remains, to some degree - a poorer district; some parts are without running water or other such necessities of modern life...though, in the usual way, this sparse way of living has attracted tenants from overseas who seek escape from their own overburdened lives. The slow march of gentrification is staved off only by the sheer difficulty of extending services to many of the dwellings...of note, the unusually low doorways reflect the smaller stature of generations past.</p>\n<p>We head up to the Alhambra to make our appointment for the Nasrid Palaces; our tickets have a precise time for entry past which the guards will refuse entry, and so we are very anxious indeed to make it on time...but we do, and are greeted with such an amazing array of intricately carved archways and patterned floors and tessellated designs that we must keep the camera on hand at all times. No words can do the beauty of this place justice; our photos do a slightly better but still inadequate job. We spend some hours strolling about the premises of the Nasrid, Generalife, and other buildings and gardens of the Alhambra before finally heading back down into the city, grabbing some food on the way...but, given the turmoil within my body, I'm hardly in any state to enjoy the town. Perhaps tomorrow...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/28/alhambraaaaaaaaa.html", "title": "ALHAMBRAAAAAAAAA", "date": "2010-07-28T15:30:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/28/alhambraaaaaaaaa.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100728", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>We awake in our peaceful grove campsite, the cold morning sending shivers through our still-half-asleep bodies. Skradin is up enough into the highlands that it does not benefit from the climate-moderating effect of the sea; it is noticeably colder here than it was by the Adriatic! Fortunately it is not yet time for frost or snow, and we manage to don several layers of clothing before heading down into Skradin itself for the ritual morning coffee.</p>\n<p>\u0160ibenik itself is some 20 km away: first we climb out of Skradin's beautiful lake valley abutting Krka, then we bike along the highlands, then we circumcycle a coastal mountain to avoid the autoroute tunnel directly into \u0160ibenik. The town itself is unremarkable; we have been informed that there is a library with free Internet connection there, but the need is not great enough to warrant stopping. There are two roads marked on our map out of \u0160ibenik towards Trogir and Split - one that heads up into the mountains, and one that takes a longer but more gradual route around the coast. Having had our fill of mountains from yesterday's excursion to Krka, we opt for the coastal route...</p>\n<p>...which does not disappoint; the road winds around bright blue bays rimmed with minor tourist destinations whose clusters of red-tile roofs are by now a familiar sight. Unlike the often cruel climbs of the Italian coastal roads - especially in Liguria, where the slivers of available space tucked between mountains and sea come always at a premium - the Croatian roads climb slowly but relentlessly, tipped slightly upwards for kilometres before offering the inevitable winding downhills that make every bit of the climb worth it. We continue in this way for 58 km; about two-thirds of the way to Trogir, the road breaks from the coast and heads inland via a mountain valley. This too is incredibly picturesque, though not quite in the same way - and it is somewhat harder to bike through, what with the wind that whips down between the ridges against us. The fig trees are barren, the juicy delicious days of fig season now behind us - and yet ripening pomegranates hang ponderously from their branches in anticipation of harvests yet to come...</p>\n<p>We reach Trogir at last! As we have been told, the mainland is unremarkable; rather, the town earns its UNESCO World Heritage designation for the old medieval city which is kept in curiously good form just across the bridge onto a small island. It has the usual assortment of ancient fortifications and cathedrals and such - and, in an anachronistic flourish, offers free wifi to visitors, a fact of which we take full advantage to catch up on our various correspondences with friends and family back home. The old city is rather small, and can be reasonably navigated within the span of an hour or two. The mainland is not completely without attractions, however; there is a sizeable food and trinket market between the bridges, a welcome sight for hungry cyclists...</p>\n<p>...and, after making sure to look up suitably cheap accommodations in Split, we ride on. Split is somewhat of a midway point for those heading down through Croatia, situated roughly 300 km down from Rijeka; it hugs the outer midriff of the peninsula opposite Trogir, so that the short-seeming distance between the two is deceptively long once you take into account the circumnavigation of the bay. Arriving from the direction of Rijeka and Zadar, the first thing that you notice is the decent-sized industrial zone next to the train yard; you then have to make a harrowing bridge crossing before braving three lanes of peripheral traffic along the highway. Finally, the main road into the old town is 4-5 km, and although the sidewalks are large enough to run touring bikes through, the paving leaves something to be desired...</p>\n<p>...as we make our way down this road, we are treated to views of burnt forest on the mountainside opposite - perhaps resulting from the unusually hot and dry summer that gripped Europe this year. On the way to our hostel, we end up taking a slight detour up a hill by the old town before realizing our error and correcting it with a slight bit of backtracking. Even at this advanced stage of our travels, we are hardly immune from navigational mishaps! Despite the unintentional delay, we make it down into the old town and to Hostell Nikolla - yet more evidence of Croatia's obsession with the mad genius - with daylight to spare. The staff are gracious, and even more so in the off-season when tourist custom is scarce...</p>\n<p>...and we are soon on our way around the old town, a 2L bottle of O\u017eujsko in hand - although the beer itself is sub-par by the standards of the German and Belgian fare we were treated to earlier on in our trip, the consonant-loaded name is so comical that we can hardly put the swill down. After wandering past the city walls, the exterior of Diocletian's Palace, the caf\u00e9-loaded waterfront, the old plaza, and the shopping district with its currently dormant fish market, we happen upon a pizzeria that Valkyrie had previously visited in her travels through Split on the way to Zagreb. They have dark beer on tap - a rarity this far south! - and a passable rendition of pizza that serves to fill us up.</p>\n<p>A long day, for even though the distance - some 110 km - does not place it among our longer days, the endless gradual climbs along the Croatian coast are enough to tire out even hardened cyclists. Some much-deserved sleep is in order!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/09/burninate.html", "title": "burninate", "date": "2010-10-09T11:05:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/09/burninate.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101009", "country": "hr"}
+{"content": "<p>Nothing is less conducive to good sleep than heat. Our room in the Estrella church had only inoperable windows, so we slept on the floor. Heat is the major obstacle here in Spain during the peak of the summer. It changes your schedule, makes you sleep late and rise early; this sleep can only be regained during the midday siesta, provided you find a spot with enough shade to nap in. If you start late, as we did today - and 0830 counts as late in this weather; 0500-0600 is desirable, whereas most pilgrims even stop short of rising earlier - then you have a very long and sweaty climb out of Estrella (provided you happen to be there, which is admittedly an unusual set of circumstances for the average person.)</p>\n<p>But we made it out of that first part and across 100 km or so of rolling hills to Az\u00f3fra - we made it, despite the heat and the swath of flats due to insufficiently wide tires we had to fix and our steadily mounting exhaustion and the usual bit of mis-navigation. We always make it. Why? Stubbornness, I suppose - we keep going despite everything, despite the challenge of bringing another person on board. Everyone brings their own mindset to a trip, and the Camino is an intense test of that mindset. It is hot in the summer, and long regardless; it has more than its fair share of gradual climbs, mountain passes, vast plain crossings...of different cultures and ancient cathedrals, of footsteps pressed into the roads and paths over millenia by all the wanderers and armies that have ever walked these lands...and here we are, just trying to move closer to the end each day, adding our names to the long list of those foolish enough to attempt this journey.</p>\n<p>And we are getting better at it. The hills seem less daunting now. The gearing gets easier; we seem to ride consistently - no stopping to walk steep parts, no panting and wheezing our way uphill...just steady climbing. We are approaching this Zen point, the exact moment where rider and bike become one in an over-clich\u00e9d fusion of intent with raw muscle power. The bikes go where we want them to. Especially with the cycling shoes and toe clips, there is very much a feeling that the bike is merely an extension of your legs...</p>\n<p>...and so here we are, at 2200, fixing yet another flat just out of Az\u00f3fra. We roll into town after nightfall to find everything closed, prepared to sleep on the bare ground if need be - but the kindness of strangers comes through again; a local leads us to the home of the albergue keeper, whom she rouses from sleep for the express purpose of making sure we have a decent place to stay. If you look desperate and lost, people will often help!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/07/08/falling-flat.html", "title": "falling flat", "date": "2010-07-08T15:04:00", "path": "posts/2010/07/08/falling-flat.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100708", "country": "es"}
+{"content": "<p>Given Valkyrie's stomach flu, we decided to make this a short day; even if we had wanted a doctor, none would be available in this remote region. The haul to Saint-L\u00f4 was about 50 km through rolling hills and the occasional spot of rain, but we made it by early afternoon. Given the obvious need for recuperation, we checked into a relatively inexpensive hotel in the area and promised ourselves to remain in town for another day if necessary.</p>\n<p>The British people who had helpfully allowed us to use their stove yesterday had also given some thought to fixing the pump, which they attempted to do by supergluing the pump cup in place. It remains to be seen whether this will hold up under use; if not, we might have to purchase another stove. Lesson learned: always test your stove before a trip. If, like us, you don't have the luxury of bringing a previously-used stove with you (airport security is quite wary of anything with petrol fumes on it), buy it on arrival and cook a couple of meals!</p>\n<p>We repaired our spirits somewhat with a meal of pizza and cider at a local pizzeria, then wandered around the town for a bit; we considered seeing a movie in the local cinema, but had to abandon this plan upon finding out that French cinemas don't screen films past 2100 or so. Oh well - perhaps tomorrow.</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html", "title": "a new l\u00f4", "date": "2010-06-08T15:42:00", "path": "posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100608", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p>Leaving Dubrovnik today. In theory at least, this was to function as a sort of rest stop, a last oasis of sanity before plunging into the complete unknown of Montenegro (Crna Gora) and Albania (Shqip\u00ebri) - but we are too eager to continue, get on the road again, push on further towards our ultimate goal of Istanbul, and so we pack everything up to hit the road...</p>\n<p>...except it rarely goes that smoothly, not when the only way to proceed is by protracted physical exertion. Our corporeal limitations force us to take it easy for the morning; it's been a long ride down the windy, rainy, windy, windy, and mostly uninhabited coast from Opatija/Rijeka, a 600 km whirlwind of seaside camping and uphill trudging over the past week to reach this point, and still we are only one-fifth of the way from Opatija to Istanbul. Even longer ride ahead - so we take our sweet time waking up, eat a sumptuous protein-packed breakfast of 3.5 eggs, 100g cheese, and a half-loaf of bread each, step outside to check the progress of our clothes (still mostly wet, unfortunately), pack everything at our leisure, write a couple of blog posts, and finally step out the door around 1000. We then head back over the hill into the old part of town to check out a potentially free wifi hotspot purported to be available in the vicinity of some shoe store - and it is, so we sit there until roughly 1300 downloading and blog-post-writing and video-uploading...</p>\n<p>...and then we finally get on the road, which as it turns out means backtracking out of the old city, up the hill, around to the side, up some more hill, up to the main road, up further to the cape just south of Dubrovnik - and then around, down, up, down, up, along some more of this infamously rolling Croatian coastline. Only 50 km to the border with Crna Gora, but that 50 km seems to drag on in our state of mounting exhaustion. We pass an airport roughly 30 km into the ride, the approach to which is marked by a series of aligned towers bearing all manner of blinking lights.</p>\n<p>One important detail remains: as it turns out, Crna Gora is in the EU and the Euro zone - and Croatia functions on HRK, which means we have some leftover currency that is soon to become obsolete. Fortunately for us, there is a market on the road just a few kilometres from the border; we stop there to eat some more, stock up on starches and snack, and generally reminisce about our nearly finished time in Croatia...</p>\n<p>...and, as with most southern European borders, this one is up a bit in the mountains - not far, but far enough that the climb is non-trivial; moreover, the switch from valley to valley is typically accompanied by a tectonic shift in climate, and this switch is no exception. Whereas our last portion of Croatia brought mostly grey skies punctuated with reassuring patches of blue, Crna Gora is mired in fog and a light dusting of rain that spits down for short periods of time before pausing to gear up for the next spitting. The customs officials stamp our passports upon exiting Croatia, an act now unheard of within the open border Schengen zone; we are excited to receive stamps, but more than a little miffed that they feature these odd four-wheeled motorized contraptions that the sensible majority of this world refer to as \"cars\". We hear people even use the things to get around, though that seems like a long-forgotten memory...</p>\n<p>...we arrive quickly in Herceg-Novi. Owing to our significantly-later-than-usual start, we have hit the sunset hour; within one more revolution of the minute hand, all will be plunged into darkness and the nightly search for shelter will become all the more difficult. It is imperative that we find a place to camp - but where? The waterfront is packed with apartments, castles, forts, hotels, and all the usual regalia of European coastal life. Yet there is still hope; the road signs indicate a park up the road, though no distance is given. We continue on, following these signs where they appear. It is a frustratingly European custom to put random subsets of the local attractions on each roadsign, so that it becomes uncertain as to whether you really are still going the right way or not...</p>\n<p>...and we locate a promising side road around the back of this restaurant pavillion overlooking the bays below, which we follow past a series of cemeteries and memorials until it turns into gravel track, whereupon it winds around behind a few houses before ending in the head of this dirt path into what looks like it might pass for a reasonably-sized park. Not much else for it at this point; it's starting to get dark, so we take the path into the forest a bit and find a spot underneath some trees. There is no space outside the path, which in any event is inadvisable territory for camping in these parts - for many of them bear the marks of previous conflicts in the form of land mines that lie hidden, waiting for unsuspecting farmers or travellers or whomsoever might have the misfortune to happen upon them...a horrible weapon, an absolutely unforgivable thing to inflict upon future generations of innocent civilians, orders of magnitude worse than the old practice of salting the earth so that nothing may grow again...</p>\n<p>...so we stick to the path, cooking in the fading light; it is infrequently enough used that we decide to set the tent up on the path itself. A light rain starts to fall, but the dense growth overhead mostly protects us and our food from the ravages of wet and damp. Another day, another country, another campsite and meal. What next? What wonders will our short jaunt through the land of the Black Mountain bring?</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/10/13/crna-gora.html", "title": "crna gora!", "date": "2010-10-13T17:46:00", "path": "posts/2010/10/13/crna-gora.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20101013", "country": "me"}
+{"content": "<p>Kudos to WarmShowers! After our previous unsuccessful attempts to track down willing hosts using the cyclist-oriented couchsurfing service, we decide to bite the bullet and ring up one of the hosts in Nice whose phone number is listed. From \"Hi, we're cyclists\" to \"Sure, we'll be there in a bit!\" the conversation lasts less than a minute; no questions are asked - such is the nature of the cycling community, where everyone wears their travels on their sleeve and must depend upon trust to get anywhere...</p>\n<p>...we wake up by our abandoned building refuge to find that we are separated from a parked truck by little more than a spotty hedgerow. Our breakfast is simple but gourmand nonetheless: baguettes with soft goat cheese and cr\u00e8me de marrons d'Ard\u00e8che. This is where the lion's share of our money goes - to food and drink; but what else? We've cut everything else possible out of our budget. We camp wherever we please (within bounds of legality, or at least of discoverability); we avoid shelling out for tourist attractions (excepting the truly singular, such as the Dal\u00ed museum in Figueres); we prepare 90% of our meals ourselves (counting, of course, the lunchtime sandwiches and salads); the only true luxuries in there are the occasional stops at pastry shops or caf\u00e9s or bars...</p>\n<p>...but that is immaterial right now; we've got a valley to get out of first! We ride off in the direction of Fr\u00e9jus for the first 30 km or so; after ascending most of the way into the mountain valley, this part is relatively easy coasting. We make a stop along the way for our morning tea, taking time for the rituals: mark maps, wash dishes, use toilets. Fr\u00e9jus is a non-event, a conglomerate of cheap hotels that we pass through quickly before veering off - missing the downtown area altogether - to take the northern route into Cannes, up through a natural park whose mostly uninhabited forests ripple down the valleys out to the sea. The signs here are stern: no smoking, a terrible privation for cigarette-bound France...</p>\n<p>We ride up, up yet more, up through about 10 km or so of steady climbing and increasing yet still moderate heat; at least that particular obstacle which dogged us all the way around the Iberian peninsula for nearly two sweat-drenched months has at last subsided. Finally we reach the mountain pass (col in French) and the riding becomes easier, taking us along flat stretches that wind around the mountains halfway up their forested slopes to the eventual downhills. Before long we are in Cannes, that centre of cinematographical fame - but there is no film festival at this time, so instead we arrive in a mostly standard strip of luxury apartments and luxury condos and luxury townhouses - enough luxury to make the head spin; here in the French Riviera, there is no room for two bedraggled tired-out filthy stinky cyclists such as ourselves...</p>\n<p>...from the various posters and banners strung up at every convenience, we discern that Cannes is also a festival town; there are festivals for Russian art, for pottery, for food and wine and everything that the impeccably cultured could want to celebrate. None of it, of course, is happening right now - so we blow by Cannes, stopping just up the way to check our email by a McDonalds. This too is part of the ritual; we are far too gone down the gourmand path to actually eat at McDonalds, but we are not above using their wifi connection...immoral, perhaps, but it is all a matter of degree...</p>\n<p>...and there are no responses from WarmShowers. What to do? This is the French Riviera; one does not simply camp here, lest the sight of dirt-streaked tents mar the luxury shopping experience for the impossibly wealthy residents and tourists - and it is equally unthinkable in Monaco! In desperation, we make last-ditch attempts to find a place to stay for the night. Fortunately, some of the hosts around Nice on WarmShowers list their phone numbers - maybe that is worth a try? We top up our credit in a local tabac and start dialling...</p>\n<p>Success - and on the first try! We reach one of the hosts on her mobile, and she says she would be glad to receive us for the night; overjoyed, we bike the last leg into Nice, stop at a supermarket to pick up food and wine to greet her with, get directions from the locals (who are insistently helpful, giving us very precise bearings up the nearby roads...) and start up to her apartment. Before long we are sharing stories of our travels once more, this time on a third-floor balcony overlooking the sea at sunset. We have purchased approximately three metric whackloads of ingredients for eggplant parmigiana - the prospect of having an oven to cook in is simply too good to pass up, so we take full advantage and bake up enough to go around.</p>\n<p>Our host is an avid rock climber - a sport well suited to the alpine surroundings! - and has travelled extensively throughout Europe and the Middle East; she has even spent four days in Istanbul, sadly not enough to gain more than a cursory familiarity with the ancient crossroads of might both military and economic. Her bathroom features a map of hiking routes through the Alps; her bookshelf is full of travel guides and classic literature...</p>\n<p>...and we share our photos into the night over the eggplant parmigiana and wine, stopping only once exhaustion sets in and beckons us to bed. This marks the first shower in a week, the first laundry stop in a few days; life is good!</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/01/er-warm-showers.html", "title": "er, warm showers", "date": "2010-09-01T09:53:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/01/er-warm-showers.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100901", "country": "fr"}
+{"content": "<p><i>Sun up and sun down:\nThe bounds for work are simple.<br />\nJust crunch, store, repeat.</i></p>\n<p>Today finds us using the 13 Moon Galactic Synchronometer.  Fiorella spends some time explaining to us what this means.  She speaks a little English, but her Spanish is better, so we find ourselves leaning on that mostly.  She tells us about the aim of the Garden experiment: to acclimatize people to this more natural calendar and to exercise the social structure of the Dreamspell Earth Families.  Every person is assigned a galactic signature by birth (Evan : white crystal wizard, I : yellow spectral star), and this influences his or her relationship with nature.  Dreamspell Earth family organisation is intended to alternate work and rest days, after a fashion, for each person.  Every day, one colour has its biosphere day (i.e. everyone with red works in the fields), a cycle which resets every four days (the four colours were red, blue, yellow, and white).  There is also the family cycle, which takes five days and determines who cooks and works in the house each day.</p>\n<p>The calendar is designed to resynchronize people with natural events like the lunar cycle.  This is a shortcoming of the Gregorian calendar, its proponents argue, because the Gregorian calendar has entirely arbitrary month structure and length.  Fiorella also pointed us at a book called <i>The Cosmic History Chronicles</i> written by the man who rediscovered all this knowledge (which is based on the Mayan calendar).  We're encouraged to read it over the week we are here.</p>\n<p>This morning we awoke with the sun and headed from our walnut-tree-side campsite to the main living complex.  Fiorella popped out of a building we didn't explore and invited us in to participate in her morning ceremony, called Agni Hutra.  We were permitted to watch as she sat in front of a tiny shrine, singing to a tiny fire and dropping rice grains into it.  The fire went out eventually, and she coaxed the smoke over her head and onto her chest, encouraging us to do the same.  She explained that the burning object was a cow dung cake soaked with ghee (clarified butter), and that the ritual was to promote healthy land and good harvest.  It is done every morning and evening.</p>\n<p>After this ceremony, Fiorella showed us her morning exercises of the 13 points of articulation.  Ankle, knee, hip, wrist, elbow, shoulder, neck, shoulder, elbow, wrise, hip, knee, ankle.  Each of these points corresponds to a moon in the cycle, and she explained the powers of each point (communication, learning, etc.).</p>\n<p>Most of today was spent learning about Fiorella and shelling almonds.  Have you ever seen a fresh almond?  So, think of an almond that you buy in the supermarket, just the amber-coloured, teardrop-esque nut.  Now, imagine a light tan shell around it with tiny holes all over.  Around that shell, there is a green (if you're lucky) or black/brown/pink/grey (if it's covered in mold, ew) fruit that's a little bit furry.  This outer thing generally comes off fairly easily, and then the inner shell must be cracked with crackers.  Then you have to judge the almond for quality (if it's soft, it's rotten; if it's got just a bit of mold on the outside but is still hard, it can be toasted and eaten; if it's barely a nut at all and has wasted away to grey fluff, you probably shouldn't try eating it).  The way of the Garden is to have minimal impact, so there are three piles that we make as we shell: one pile of good almonds for human consumption, one pile of bad almonds \"for the nature\" (they get scattered back over the land to compost or be eaten), and one pile of shells and fruits for burning.</p>\n<p>So it goes.  We spent the day sitting in the sun and chatting about the land.  Fiorella said that we shouldn't cook anymore; she would take care of it for us.  Tonight we had some delicious lentil stew.  Mmmmm...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/09/22/rituals.html", "title": "rituals", "date": "2010-09-22T07:31:00", "path": "posts/2010/09/22/rituals.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100922", "country": "it"}
+{"content": "<p>Our abandoned lot sleep was good as far as stealth camping sleep sessions are concerned - so good that we slept in until 0730, when the light beaming down into the tent finally woke us from our peaceful countryside slumber. Long ride into Montpellier through Narbonne, B\u00e9ziers, Agde, and S\u00e8te - along highway and canal paths, over paved and unpaved ground, by mountains and marsh and beaches and flat coastline and industrial portland, in morning sun and afternoon general overcastness - roughly 120 km, most of it against a steadily blowing wind that, while not exactly on the scale of our days into Lelysted or Algeciras, nevertheless made the going noticeably harder...</p>\n<p>...we reached Narbonne quickly, taking tea in a caf\u00e9 while we sorted out the usual duties: dishes, toilets, dental hygiene, email. This is our life: grabbing snatches of wifi and running water when we can, going without when there is no choice. Several days without showers now; last one was Barcelona, I think, and then our ceremonial ordainment in the Mediterranean just outside the city the following morning. This is less bothersome than it used to be - perhaps we are cleaner now that it is cooler and we need not sweat buckets in 40-degree weather; perhaps we are merely getting used to our gourmand vagrant existence...</p>\n<p>...and then on to B\u00e9ziers, where we cross into town the wrong way down an old-looking one-lane-wide bridge as bemused drivers shout at us from their cars and vans - and find ourselves along a beautiful canal path! The path turns out to roughly follow our route into Agde, so we opt to follow it rather than battle the consistently rude drivers on the highway. It is also, much to our surprise, better paved than the average French road...at least until it turns into bumpy dirt track some 10 km out. I have to stop after a while to tighten the bolts around my front wheel at the axle, which have been jostled loose by the incessant flatlessness of the path.</p>\n<p>Just past Agde the morning sun hides behind a thick veil of cloud that has accumulated over the marsh stretch to S\u00e8te. It is pleasantly cool, although it removes all visual interest from an already uneventful road. To make matters worse, a previously existing Voie Verte (pedestrian and cyclist path) has been decommissioned and fenced off for whatever reason, so that we are forced to take the road and weather the constant honking from motorists. Attention French drivers: cyclists are allowed to use the road.</p>\n<p>...and then we reach S\u00e8te, passing through it under the increasingly ominous grey overhead to reach the industrial portlands just before the muscat-producing regions out of Montpellier. This road is arguably even worse to bike than the uneventful stretch from Agde to S\u00e8te, for it is busier and less scenic still. Nevertheless, we persevere and reach Montpellier by 1800, leaving ourselves more than enough time to score a bottle of local Muscat from a specialty wine shop - which we wash down with some delicious (and enormous!) savoury pastries purchased at a Middle Eastern food market just up the street up by the Centre Historique.</p>\n<p>Fortunately, our early arrival gives us ample time to find a site; we are able to rest for a bit in town before biking out towards Prafrance (for tomorrow's visit!), and we find a spot down a small out-of-the-way road by a vineyard...</p>", "href": "/posts/2010/08/26/pleasantly-ominous.html", "title": "pleasantly ominous", "date": "2010-08-26T11:47:00", "path": "posts/2010/08/26/pleasantly-ominous.html", "author": 122601542, "order": "20100826", "country": "fr"}
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-_write_file(render_index(posts), os.path.join('biketotheearth', 'index.html'))
+_write_file(render_index(posts), os.path.join('index.html'))
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>Bike To The Earth</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div id="title"><h1>Bike to the Earth</h1></div><div id="content"><div class="country" id="ch"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ch.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-03-22</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/22/training-begins.html">training begins!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-03-25</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html">a different sort of training</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-03-28</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html">around the lake</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-03-31</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html">aversive conditioning</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-04-10</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html">lake to lake (aka fml)</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="ca"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ca.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Canada</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-04-12</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/12/welcome.html">welcome!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-04-15</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/15/its-about-time-toronto.html">it's about time, toronto</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-04-21</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/21/radio-killed-the-telegraph-star.html">radio killed the telegraph star</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-04-29</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html">vancouver in the green</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html">put your hands up for detroit</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-05</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/05/copenhagen-wheel.html">copenhagen wheel</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="dk"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/dk.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Denmark</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-16</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/16/and-so-it-begins.html">and so it begins</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-17</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/17/on-the-road.html">on the road</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-18</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/18/odin-s-temple.html">odin's temple</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-19</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html">pesto with pesto with pesto and pesto</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="de"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/de.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Germany</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-20</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/20/birthdays-beer-and-borders.html">birthdays, beer, and borders</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-21</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/21/lost-and-found.html">lost and found</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-22</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/22/finding-our-centre.html">finding our centre</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-23</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/23/drinking-and-paddling.html">drinking and paddling</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-24</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/24/zeven-and-eleven.html">zeven and eleven</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-25</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html">nay, ich spreche deutsch!</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="nl"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/nl.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Holland</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-26</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/26/sheep-poop-and-sunsets.html">sheep poop and sunsets</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-27</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food.html">food and food and food and food and...</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-28</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/28/all-weather-cycling.html">all-weather cycling</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-29</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/29/when-the-going-gets-weird.html">when the going gets weird</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-30</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/30/the-post-in-amsterdam-where-nothing-happens.html">the post in amsterdam where nothing happens</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-31</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/31/life-on-tv.html">life-on-TV</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="be"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/be.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Belgium</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-01</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/01/barts-bathtub.html">bart's bathtub</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/02/a-hands-toss-away.html">a hand's toss away</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-03</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/03/in-bruges.html">in bruges</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="fr"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></div><div class="country-name">France</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-04</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/04/grave-lines.html">grave lines</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-05</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/05/without-a-car-in-the-world.html">without a car in the world</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-06</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/06/requiescat-in-pace.html">requiescat in pace</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-07</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/07/omaha-beach.html">omaha beach</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-08</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html">a new lô</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-09</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/09/shopping-for-moms.html">shopping for moms</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-10</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/10/rain.html">rain.</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-11</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/11/monks-u.html">monks &gt; u</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="gb"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gb.png" /></div><div class="country-name">United Kingdom</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-12</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html">a nine-hour tour</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-13</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/13/freedom-for-cyclists.html">freedom for cyclists</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-14</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/14/brighton-now-with-clothes.html">brighton: now with clothes!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-15</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/15/and-back-again.html">and back again</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="fr"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></div><div class="country-name">France</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-16</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/16/clean-sleeping-bags.html">clean sleeping bags!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-17</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/17/canallery.html">canallery</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-18</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html">not all that glitters...</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-19</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/19/when-in-nantes.html">when in nantes</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-20</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/20/hellfest.html">HELLFEST</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-21</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/21/chaussures-de-ciclisme.html">chaussures de ciclisme</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-22</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/22/french-biking-paths.html">french biking paths</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-23</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/23/slow-day.html">slow day</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-24</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html">a royan pain in the arse</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-25</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/25/peninsular.html">peninsular</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-26</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/26/bordeaux-fetes-the-vin.html">bordeaux fêtes the vin</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-27</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/27/oil-be-glad-to-get-outta-here.html">oil be glad to get outta here</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-28</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/28/natural-logs.html">natural logs</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-29</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/29/daxing-my-patience.html">daxing my patience</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-30</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/30/camping-in-the-shadow-of-the-mountains.html">camping in the shadow of the mountains</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="es"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-01</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/01/real-cyclists-at-last.html">real cyclists at last!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/02/its-all-downhill-from-here.html">it's all downhill from here</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-03</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/03/iberian-showdown.html">iberian showdown</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-04</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html">the least lazy day off ever</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-05</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/05/and-then-there-were-three.html">and then there were three</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-06</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/06/chupinazo.html">¡chupinazo!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-07</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/07/encierro-d.html">encierro'd</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-08</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/08/falling-flat.html">falling flat</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-09</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/09/off-the-map.html">off the map</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-10</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html">flat, hot, and less than crowded</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-11</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/11/esp-1-0-ned.html">ESP 1-0 NED</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-12</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/12/mountains-1.html">mountains 1</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-13</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/13/mountains-2.html">mountains 2</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-14</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/14/in-flagrante-camino.html">in flagrante camino</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-15</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/15/oldering.html">oldering</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-16</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/16/paella.html">paella</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-17</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/17/vigo-rous-hobosity.html">vigo-rous hobosity</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="pt"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/pt.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Portugal</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-18</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/18/statutory-holidays.html">statutory holidays</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-19</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/19/port.html">port</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-20</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/20/dire-straits.html">dire straits</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-21</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/21/morning-gymnastics.html">morning gymnastics</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-22</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html">i'll take the high road</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="es"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-23</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/23/hott.html">hott</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-24</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/24/copout.html">copout</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-25</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/25/the-road-to-nowhere.html">the road to nowhere</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="ma"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ma.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Morocco</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-26</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/26/aggressive-business-practices.html">aggressive business practices</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="es"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-27</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/27/cyclists-in-training.html">cyclists in training</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-28</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/28/alhambraaaaaaaaa.html">ALHAMBRAAAAAAAAA</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-29</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/29/no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html">no laundry for young men (and women)</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-30</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/30/olive-oil.html">olive oil</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-31</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/31/age-plus-plus.html">age++</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-01</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/01/desert-sort.html">desert sort</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html">this is just grate</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-03</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/03/camping-with-carnies.html">camping with carnies</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-04</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/04/i-think-i-ali-can-te.html">i think i (ali)can(te)</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-05</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/05/three-become-two.html">three become two</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-06</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/06/you-derailleured-my-chain-of-thought.html">you derailleured my chain of thought</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-07</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/07/orange-you-glad.html">orange you glad...</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="ch"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ch.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-08</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html">flight of the cyclists</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-09</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/09/cram-n-exam.html">cram n' exam</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="es"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-10</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html">just plane spain</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-11</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/11/back-to-basics.html">back to basics</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-12</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/12/down-hoem.html">down hoem</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-13</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/13/a-night-on-the-ground.html">a night on the ground</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-14</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/14/explosions-in-the-night-sky.html">explosions in the night sky</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-15</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/15/carob-cognac.html">carob cognac</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-16</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html">earth, wind, and fire</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-17</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/17/extremely-hot-and-incredibly-drunk.html">extremely hot and incredibly drunk</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-18</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/18/onwards-and-outwards.html">onwards and outwards</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-19</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/19/halfway-tent.html">halfway tent</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-20</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/20/our-house-in-the-middle-of-the-park.html">our house - in the middle of the park</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-21</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/21/catal-n-music-tourist.html">catalán music tourist</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-22</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/22/gaudi-falafel.html">gaudi falafel</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-23</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/23/ordained-cyclists.html">ordained cyclists</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="fr"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></div><div class="country-name">France</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-24</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/24/dilly-dali-ing.html">dilly dalí-ing</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-25</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/25/mozzarella-driveway.html">mozzarella driveway</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-26</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/26/pleasantly-ominous.html">pleasantly ominous</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-27</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/27/bamboozled.html">bamboozled</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-28</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/28/winding-around.html">winding around</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-29</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/29/cezannes-scene.html">cézanne's scene</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-30</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/30/calanquerous.html">calanquerous</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-31</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/31/smoke-on-the-water.html">smoke on the water</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-01</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/01/er-warm-showers.html">er, warm showers</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="it"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/02/bella-italia.html">bella italia!</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="mc"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/mc.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Monaco</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html">borat says: it's nice!</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="it"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-03</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/03/swimming-in-the-sea.html">swimming in the sea</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-04</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/04/famous-lost-people-of-history.html">famous lost people of history</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-05</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/05/escape-hobosity.html">escape hobosity</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-06</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/06/a-pisa-my-mind.html">a pisa my mind</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-07</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/07/f-oiled-again.html">f'oiled again</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-08</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/08/our-compliments.html">our compliments</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-09</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/09/beni-bidi-bici.html">beni, bidi, bici</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-10</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/10/when-in-rome.html">when in rome...</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-11</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/11/a-river-runs-through-it.html">a river runs through it</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-12</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/12/a-weighty-mass.html">a weighty mass</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-13</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/13/we-got-to-sleep-in-two-places.html">we got to sleep in *two* places!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-14</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/14/karmic-rebalance-day.html">karmic rebalance day</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-15</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/15/in-the-hall-of-the-mountain-king.html">in the hall of the mountain king</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-16</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/16/the-good-kind-of-flat.html">the good kind of flat</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-17</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/17/a-good-event.html">a good event</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-18</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/18/wtr-bfflo.html">wtr bfflo</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-19</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/19/a-switchback-to-nowhere.html">a switchback to nowhere</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-20</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/20/a-long-day-and-a-bum-night.html">a long day and a bum night</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-21</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/21/wpg.html">wpg</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-22</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/22/rituals.html">rituals</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-23</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/23/recipes-and-wanderers.html">recipes and wanderers</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-24</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/24/the-wrath-of-grapes.html">the wrath of grapes</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-25</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/25/when-it-rains.html">when it rains</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-26</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/26/sailing.html">sailing!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-27</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/27/century-the-second.html">century the second</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-28</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/28/the-untrained-cyclists.html">the untrained cyclists</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-29</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/29/my-kingdom-for-a-bag.html">my kingdom for a bag</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-30</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/30/city-in-the-sea.html">city in the sea</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-01</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/01/octobrrrrrr.html">octobrrrrrr</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="si"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/si.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Slovenia</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/02/corn-haul.html">corn haul</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-03</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/03/wine-ding-road.html">wine-ding road</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="hr"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/hr.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-04</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/04/hello-hrvatska.html">hello hrvatska!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-05</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/05/reading-riting-and-rain.html">reading, 'riting, and rain</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-06</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/06/i-recommend-croatia.html">I RECOMMEND CROATIA</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-07</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/07/croatian-road-service-says-no.html">croatian road service says no</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-08</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/08/croatian-is-the-language-of-trogdor.html">croatian is the language of trogdor</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-09</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/09/burninate.html">burninate</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-10</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/10/10-10-10.html">10-10-10</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-11</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/11/token-coastline-grab.html">token coastline grab</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="ba"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ba.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Bosnia and Herzegovina</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-11</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html">bosnia!</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="hr"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/hr.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-12</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/12/dudebrovnik.html">dudebrovnik</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="me"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/me.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Montenegro</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-13</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/13/crna-gora.html">crna gora!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-14</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/14/local-wisdom.html">local wisdom</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="al"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/al.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Albania</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-15</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/15/50-euro-a-night.html">50€ a night</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-16</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/16/its-still-raining.html">it's still raining</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-17</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/17/albanian-history-lesson.html">albanian history lesson</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-18</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/18/you-fools.html">YOU FOOLS!</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="gr"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-19</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/19/hellbania.html">hellbania</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-20</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/20/a-short-ride-to-rest.html">a short ride to rest</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-21</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/21/lazing-around-igoumenitsa.html">lazing around igoumenitsa</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-22</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/22/ionian-coastline.html">ionian coastline</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-23</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/23/racked.html">racked</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-24</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/24/impending-illness.html">impending illness</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-25</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/25/the-fun-and-the-games.html">the fun and the games</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-26</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/26/kalamata-at-last.html">kalamata at last</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-27</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food-and-children.html">food and food and food and food and children</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-28</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/28/halloween-away-from-home.html">halloween away from home</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-29</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/29/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaa.html">THIS. IS. SPARTAAAAAAAAA</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-30</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/30/cops-and-cleanliness.html">cops and cleanliness</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-31</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/31/ten-thousand.html">ten thousand</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-01</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/01/off-the-record.html">off the record</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/02/inertial-laziness.html">inertial laziness</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-03</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/03/piano-bar.html">piano bar</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-04</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/04/oracular-spectacular.html">oracular spectacular</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-05</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/05/some-like-it-hot.html">some like it hot</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-06</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/06/kitchen-in-the-park.html">kitchen in the park</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-07</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/07/sunday-is-the-new-sunday.html">sunday is the new sunday</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-08</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/08/the-obstacle-within.html">the obstacle within</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-09</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/09/rest-stop.html">rest stop</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-10</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html">rest stop the second</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-11</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/11/intense-training.html">intense training</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="tr"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/tr.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Turkey</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-12</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/12/last-country.html">last country!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-13</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/13/tuna-palas.html">tuna palas</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-14</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/14/the-penultimate-ride.html">the penultimate ride</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-15</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/15/the-end.html">THE END</a></div></div></div></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>training begins!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="#" class="disabled">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>training begins!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ch"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ch.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-03-22</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Wind tousles my hair,
-Brings smells of earth, and impels
-Me to ride once more.</i></p>
-<p>Training began in earnest last week.</p>
-<p>http://www.mapmyride.com/route/ch/gen%e8ve/589126925161481470</p>
-<p>I am now riding to and from work each day, which is actually a pretty fair route (about 8.5 km each way with no detours, but I usually take some :)).</p>
-<p>Now that it's spring, there's no excuse not to get out... but, damn, am I out of shape.  <em>puff, puff</em></p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="#" class="disabled">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a different sort of training</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/22/training-begins.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a different sort of training</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ch"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ch.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-03-25</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>What mayn't go right<br />
-Does always go, anyway<br />
-No need to fight it.</i><br />
-</p>
-<p>Monday afternoon, my tyre went flat, likely due to the 4+ separate construction sites between my apartment and CERN.  It took two days to fix, so in  the interim I ran or walked to and from work.  It was an important lesson, indeed, that running to work is not equivalent to biking to work.  It's a sight more difficult.<br />
-</p>
-<p>On the other hand, it gave me a chance to practise my repair skills.  I guess we'll need it.  :)<br />
-</p>
-<p>Victor (one of my coworkers) and I are planning a big ride this weekend around the lake.  I've been hoping to do this for several weekends, but invariably the week's weather is gorgeous and it just doesn't hold out to Saturday or Sunday.  Anyway, it'll be 180km in a day this Saturday.  Photos to come.  :)<br />
-</p>
-<p>In farm news, I sent messages to all the hosts we are hoping to stay with in Spain, Italy, and Greece.  I've gotten one response so far (from a farm in Italy), and it was affirmative, so we have at least one place to go this summer!  Huzzah!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/22/training-begins.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>aversive conditioning</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>aversive conditioning</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ch"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ch.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-03-31</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Rivulets creeping<br />
-Sidelong across glass, leaving<br />
-Behind trails.  Follow?</i><br />
-</p>
-<p>It's not always blue skies and sunshine, I guess, but I wish it were more than 11C (52F), or that it weren't raining quite so hard.  Or both.  Sitting at my desk during the last hour or so of work has been gradually depressing me as I think about the ride home later tonight.  Agggghhhhhhhhhh.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>vancouver in the green</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/21/radio-killed-the-telegraph-star.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>vancouver in the green</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ca"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ca.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Canada</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-04-29</div></div><div id="content"><p>Courtesy of <a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/toronto/vancouver-building-code-an-example-for-toronto/article1550502/?cmpid=rss1">The Globe and Mail</a>: thanks to a unique charter that permits Vancouver to enact its own building codes, the city has reduced its building-specific carbon footprint by over 20%. According to <a href="http://www.vancouvereconomic.com/userfiles/file/green-building-profile.pdf">a 2009 report from the Vancouver Economic Development Commission</a>, buildings account for roughly 30% of total emissions and energy consumption - so this is equivalent to an overall reduction of 6%.</p>
-<p>But that's not the real win. From the report:</p>
-<p><em>[In] November 2008, the international real estate think-tank, the Urban Land Institute, declared Vancouver to be the number one urban real estate market across North America, highlighting green as a key risk-mitigation strategy against tough economic tough times.</em></p>
-<p>Vancouver's status as an early adopter of environmentally conscious building bylaws has created a local boom in green construction and architecture, thus opening up more high-value jobs while reducing the strain on public utilities. Other cities struggling with energy-guzzling buildings, aging grid infrastructure, and rising unemployment would do well to follow the example set by forward-thinking West Coast politicians.</p>
-<p>One last thought: this is just one more in a long string of case studies that demonstrate the value of efficiency. Contrary to popular belief, less can be more; we saw this in an earlier feature on <a href="http://biketotheearth.org/#939cfbf7b91c00e79a20cb45906001f1">bike lanes in Toronto</a>.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/21/radio-killed-the-telegraph-star.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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diff --git a/webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html b/webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>put your hands up for detroit</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/05/copenhagen-wheel.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>put your hands up for detroit</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ca"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ca.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Canada</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-02</div></div><div id="content"><p>For many, Detroit is a poster child for urban decay. Its checkered past is rife with <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/eleanor/peopleevents/pande10.html">racial</a> <a href="http://www.67riots.rutgers.edu/d_index.htm">tension</a>, its present plagued by <a href="http://www.lightrailnow.org/features/f_det_2005-01.htm">urban sprawl</a> and <a href="http://www.judicialwatch.org/blog/2010/jan/detroit-corruption-keeps-piling">corruption</a> - and yet it is exactly these conditions that have set the stage for one of the most audacious experiments in urban living.</p>
-<p>What am I talking about? <a href="http://www.modeldmedia.com/features/sustain60.aspx">This.</a></p>
-<p>You read that right: enterprising activists, farmers, and entrepreneurs are banding together to transform dilapidated Detroit into the next American breadbasket. In the process, Detroit is becoming a testing ground for everything from <a href="http://www.modeldmedia.com/features/sustain55.aspx">green building technologies</a> to <a href="http://detnews.com/article/20090507/BIZ/905070406/Wind-turbines-generate-Michigan-job-hopes">renewable energy</a>. If even a small proportion of these ventures take off, the Motor City may very well out-green us all.</p>
-<p>Closing remarks: yes, this is old news. That said, a revolution in urban farming may be exactly what we need to craft cities that are more compact and efficient. Of course, astronomical land values make this all but impossible in, say, Manhattan - but the basic idea can be adapted to other forms, such as community rooftop gardens (or greenhouses in colder climates.) That's what this post is essentially getting at: there are several good ideas here that deserve to be tested elsewhere. Cities with control over their building codes, such as <a href="http://biketotheearth.org/#5fd27617e5025834d98a617c70be1b2b">Vancouver</a>, are well positioned to do just that; in other cities, archaic bylaws must first be overturned or updated.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/05/copenhagen-wheel.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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diff --git a/webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html b/webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>pesto with pesto with pesto and pesto</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/18/odin-s-temple.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/20/birthdays-beer-and-borders.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>pesto with pesto with pesto and pesto</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#dk"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/dk.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Denmark</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-19</div></div><div id="content"><p>Late start out of Odense, around 1300 - we had originally hoped to set out around 1130 or so, but ended up waking up at that time instead due to general jet-lag exhaustion, post-hospitality food overdose, and a late night of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gammel_Dansk">Gammel Dansk</a> and Danish music. Following advice from Valkyrie's relatives, we abandoned our plan to bike up around via Middelfart and Kolding in favour of a shorter trip over to the Synfynske ferry at Bøjden. This took us across to Als; a short hour along the local scenic highway later, we rolled into Sønderborg. A shorter day, to be sure; nevertheless, we saved enough distance and time by taking the ferry to put ourselves within a couple days' ride of Hamburg - and the ferry ride was picturesque indeed.</p>
-<p>We had enough daylight left in Sønderborg to head into town for a combination stroll and grocery store run; a short Kvickly trip later, we were the proud owners of multicolour pasta, pesto, gouda with pesto, and tomatoes. We then promptly employed said ingredients to concoct a pesto-drenched pot full of pasta with pesto with gouda with pesto with tomatoes, which we ate using our titanium sporks. Yum.</p>
-<p>We're almost out of Denmark at this point; tomorrow should put us over the border into Germany. Our proximity to the Danish-German border is made clear with every trilingual (Dansk, Deutsch, and English) sign that we pass, and Sønderborg appears to be a fairly popular tourist destination for Germans seeking a quick getaway. We'll make sure to set an alarm so that we wake up at a more reasonable hour!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/18/odin-s-temple.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/20/birthdays-beer-and-borders.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>nay, ich spreche deutsch!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/24/zeven-and-eleven.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/26/sheep-poop-and-sunsets.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>nay, ich spreche deutsch!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#de"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/de.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Germany</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-25</div></div><div id="content"><p>Another relatively long day today from the wonderful town of Zeven (which serves as a halfway point for those travelling between Hamburg and Bremen) to Oldenburg. We had actually intended to stop just past Bremen in Hude, but were refused at the Hostelling International hostel there for arriving roughly 20 minutes past the office closing time. Oh well. Much profanity, cold air, and lactic acid buildup later, we finally made it into Oldenburg. As per usual, this was not the end of our daily adventure; given only a compass and large-scale map, we had to find a place to stay for the night. Being more than a little tired and sore, we opted for the local hostel towards the north of town; setting out in what we thought was the right direction, we instead succeeded in finding the pedestrian centrum. After some amount of aimless perambulation, we were almost ready to give up - 120 km is a long way to bike in a single day, and it was getting rather late - when a friendly older couple noticed our predicament and offered to walk with us to the hostel. This was fortunate indeed, as I strongly doubt that we would have found it without assistance!</p>
-<p>They explained a number of things about Oldenburg:</p>
-<ul>
-<li>Oldenburg had the first pedestrian area in Germany - with the advent of the horseless carriage, the roads in that area of town proved too narrow for vehicles...so they converted into a pedestrian district instead.</li>
-<li>The town is roughly 600 years old, with around 160 000 inhabitants.</li>
-<li>Oldenburg is rather large compared to other towns of its size; many residences in the centre of town have sizeable yards, which is unusual in Europe.</li>
-</ul>
-<p>Anyways, we managed to get ourselves checked into the hostel, whereupon we promptly lifted our spirits with Bier and Döner before collapsing in an exhausted heap on the bed. Aside from that: we are now furnished with new maps courtesy of some German cycling association in Bremen, which should last us to Amsterdam. The second half of the Hamburg-Bremen cycling route (indicated with HH/HB signs, corresponding to the regional codes for each city) is no less circuitous than the first - the Germans seem determined to ensure that cyclists visit every town on the map! We're almost out of Germany at this point; hopefully we can make it across the border into the Netherlands tomorrow!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/24/zeven-and-eleven.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/26/sheep-poop-and-sunsets.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a new lô</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/07/omaha-beach.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/09/shopping-for-moms.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a new lô</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-08</div></div><div id="content"><p>Given Valkyrie's stomach flu, we decided to make this a short day; even if we had wanted a doctor, none would be available in this remote region. The haul to Saint-Lô was about 50 km through rolling hills and the occasional spot of rain, but we made it by early afternoon. Given the obvious need for recuperation, we checked into a relatively inexpensive hotel in the area and promised ourselves to remain in town for another day if necessary.</p>
-<p>The British people who had helpfully allowed us to use their stove yesterday had also given some thought to fixing the pump, which they attempted to do by supergluing the pump cup in place. It remains to be seen whether this will hold up under use; if not, we might have to purchase another stove. Lesson learned: always test your stove before a trip. If, like us, you don't have the luxury of bringing a previously-used stove with you (airport security is quite wary of anything with petrol fumes on it), buy it on arrival and cook a couple of meals!</p>
-<p>We repaired our spirits somewhat with a meal of pizza and cider at a local pizzeria, then wandered around the town for a bit; we considered seeing a movie in the local cinema, but had to abandon this plan upon finding out that French cinemas don't screen films past 2100 or so. Oh well - perhaps tomorrow.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/07/omaha-beach.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/09/shopping-for-moms.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a nine-hour tour</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/11/monks-u.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/13/freedom-for-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a nine-hour tour</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gb"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gb.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">United Kingdom</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-12</div></div><div id="content"><p>Rose early (well, 0800, which is early by our admittedly less-than-eager-in-the-morning standards - that will have to change before we get to Spain, as we'll have to get going well in advance of the midday heat) to catch the ferry from Saint-Malo to Portsmouth. What we had originally expected would take two or three hours took nine instead; we didn't make landfall in the UK until 1830, and were queued in Customs until roughly 1930. As a result, our plans to reach Brighton today had to be nixed - instead, we ended up riding in the dark (yes, with lights!) and following progressively more useful directions from various petrol station owners until we finally came upon a campground just out of Chichester. At least we knocked 30 km off our ride for tomorrow; it's only about another 50 km into Brighton, which we should be able to easily complete before the World Naked Bike Ride starts at noon.</p>
-<p>The ferry itself was this ten-story monstrosity with cafés and bars and arcades and such. That said, we didn't really get a chance to partake in the onboard entertainment much - we were busy writing these blog posts so that you could know exactly what we've been doing over the last two weeks! (Yeah, I think we mentioned this before...it's not always easy to find a reliable Internet connection, and some of these days have been long enough that we barely feel like setting up the tent afterwards, let alone blogging. Oh well. We'll try to get better at this whole thing.)</p>
-<p>Two things of random importance:</p>
-<ul>
-<li>We did manage to find a detailed map of the Camino de Santiago, which we'll be following through the north of Spain; it lists elevation changes (like the 1200m climb over the first 18 km - zounds!) and pilgrims' inns and other things of general utility.</li>
-<li>We have boat entry stamps in our passports! Yay. They have cute boat icons in the top-right.</li>
-</ul>
-<p>Anyways, that's it for today; I expect tomorrow will be a good deal more exciting, what with all the nudity and such.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/11/monks-u.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/13/freedom-for-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>not all that glitters...</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/17/canallery.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/19/when-in-nantes.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>not all that glitters...</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-18</div></div><div id="content"><p>Upon exiting our canalside tenterrific paradise, we were unexpectedly greeted by a pair of fishermen; although these paths along the canal are marked as cycling, pedestrian, and equestrian routes, it seems that locals occasionally use them to get in some recreational fishing or picnicking or what have you. Needless to say, we packed up in record time and were on our way along the canal once more. We continued for roughly 90 km until we reached the top point of Lake Erdre just north of Nantes. Unfortunately, the path ended abruptly there; we were just about to turn back when one of the éclusiers on his daily maintenance rounds stopped to kindly inform us that we could set up our tent on the dyke opposite. Finally, a tiny sliver of hospitality in France!</p>
-<p>Aside from that: the canalside paths are inconsistently paved - we came across occasional patches of coarse gravel, and even saw a couple of places where the path maintenance staff had dumped loads of fresh gravel on the path but had yet to smooth it out, thereby forcing us to the grass to avoid fishtailing...but, for the most part, these paths have been fairly bikeable. Another first for France! (To be fair, France is much larger than the other countries we've travelled through so far, so that it is not as easy to extend route networks to more remote rural areas. Most of the cities we pass through here do have comprehensive cycling path networks.)</p>
-<p>Although it is a bit demoralizing to be told that we'll have to backtrack, it's only a few kilometres - and we can take showers in the lock facilities, which is exciting! That's one thing about bike tripping; once you get far enough into it, the smallest luxuries seem like paradise. (Such as laundry, for instance, or a decent wifi connection. Those are near impossible to find in Europe.) We're hoping to start vlogging shortly, so that you can get a better idea of what the trip is like, how we set our gear up each night, what sorts of things we see, etc. - keep posted!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/17/canallery.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/19/when-in-nantes.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a royan pain in the arse</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/23/slow-day.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/25/peninsular.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a royan pain in the arse</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-24</div></div><div id="content"><p>Refreshed after our evening pastry and ensuing good sleep, we started out for Royan - this is a medium-sized city just across from Le Verdon, which is at the top of the peninsula above...Bordeaux! (Yeah, we're getting close now...according to the map, there's only about 100 km to go, and then another 300 km or so to Pamplona! (Of course, that latter stretch contains a sizeable mountain range, so we'll see how that goes...))</p>
-<p>...and that's as far as we got. As chronicled in our Picasa albums, our arrival in Royan happens to coincide with a national day of solidarity against proposed measures to raise the retirement age from 60 to 62...by 2018. Don't get me wrong; I think that our drop-until-you-work mentality back in North America is highly flawed, but this is way at the other extreme of the laziness spectrum. Anyways, we learned this upon reaching the ferry terminal, where a number of printed signs affixed to the firmly-barred gates informed us that, no, we would not be able to travel today. (As we learned later, all forms of transport were similarly closed; I pity the other poor travellers trying to get around France!) Since the coast opposite the peninsula looks both more hilly and less scenic, we've decided to wait it out in Royan...and so we're set up in the only café with wifi that we came across while cycling to the docks, catching up on our photo captioning and video uploading and blog posting...all those things necessary to ensure that you can continue to hear about our travels!</p>
-<p>One other thing: camping in Royan is unnecessarily expensive - 21€ for two people and a tent per night, whereas the average cost so far has been closer to 12-15€. Maybe we'll find more reasonable pricing further south...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/23/slow-day.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/25/peninsular.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>flat, hot, and less than crowded</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/09/off-the-map.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/11/esp-1-0-ned.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>flat, hot, and less than crowded</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-10</div></div><div id="content"><p>Back onto the Camino today - another long day of biking down the N-120, the major autoroute that closely follows the Camino de Santiago for most of the Camino Francés portion but deviates somewhat out here in the plains above La Mancha. We had hoped to reach León by dusk, but instead stop short in the small town of El Burgo Ranero about 20 km out. World Cup fever is rising to a crescendo as we enter the finals; the Germany - Uruguay losers' match ends in a resounding victory for Deutschland, giving Valkyrie's friend Julius yet one more thing to gloat over...but, even here in Spain (during a game where Spain is not playing!) the bars fill up with all the locals. An older couple from Norway cheer on Germany, and are rebuffed by a local who sides with Uruguay (as he puts it, "I have to root for a Spanish-speaking country.") - they are doing the Burgos-León portion of the Camino again, having completed the long voyage to Santiago de Compostela three years ago.</p>
-<p>This is part of the magic of the Camino - it is followed by travellers the world over, by the young and old alike, by itinerant soul-seekers and IT professionals and monks and hiking enthusiasts, and each pilgrim carries an entirely different story. For us at this point, the story is this: we're 3000 km into our trip, having cycled down from the frigid mid-May rain and fog of Denmark along the North Sea and down the west coast of France only to meet the blistering heat and mountainous terrain here in northern Spain, and for the first time we feel like we might actually make it to Istanbul before we have to head home in late November. 3000 km - out of everyone we've spoken to, maybe two or three cyclists have attempted a trip of even that length. (One we met in Pamplona at the Ezcala campsite - he had biked down from Denmark through Iran to India several years back. The ambitious nature of this journey astonished even us; here in Europe, things are generally clean and safe and relatively wealthy except perhaps in the worst parts.)</p>
-<p>We saw a procession of roughly 20 people walking the Camino with two statues and an enormous cross - a reminder that, although many follow the Camino for secular reasons, it is still a religious pilgrimage of great importance to some. Quite the burden to bear in this heat; we wonder where they will stop, whether they will attempt crossing the mountains further to the west...</p>
-<p>So we rest again for today - an earlier stop than some of our other camino days, thankfully, and one with a proper roof over our heads thanks to the inexpensive albergues available in most every town - and continue out tomorrow towards León, after which we hope to reach Astorga in time for the World Cup finals.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/09/off-the-map.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/11/esp-1-0-ned.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>i'll take the high road</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/21/morning-gymnastics.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/23/hott.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>i'll take the high road</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#pt"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/pt.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Portugal</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-22</div></div><div id="content"><p>Out of Évora through the oppressive heat. There aren't enough adjectives in the English language to describe this heat. In the semi-arid highlands that we head into, it is stifling and dry. Closer to the coast, it gains a humid sticky quality that coats every square centimetre of skin with thick beads of sweat. In either case, it is accompanied by relentless sun and a near-total absence of clouds. We drink water like fish and yet it is still not quite enough. Even our heavily tanned skin shows patches of red from mild sunburn. All in all, not something that a lifetime largely spent in Canada or the northern US prepares you for - just as we get used to one level of heat, we pass further southward into yet drier and hotter areas and must acclimate ourselves to another. This climate is not something to be trifled with, especially when we rely upon the exertion of cycling to get anywhere. The heat renders us short of temper - we must try harder and harder to keep the peace. The only way out is to bike, but that is sometimes too much. It has become necessary to stop altogether from 1300 to 1700 each day, and sometimes even until 1800; even with such a long siesta, we still find ourselves taking frequent breaks throughout the day when we are fortunate enough to find shade. That is another thing: the trees here have adapted to the hot and dry climate, so that they develop less bushy leaves and grow farther apart from each other. Neither characteristic is conducive to good shade, sadly. :(</p>
-<p>We had hoped to reach Encinasola just across the border into Spain today, but must settle for the border town of Barrancos. In such a remote area, you would expect cheap food and lodging; instead, Barrancos takes advantage of its remote location and picturesque hilltop view to charge multiple limbs for substandard "duck rice" (essentially poorly-cooked rice with small chunks of duck meat). The only hotel open in town is 50€ for three people, which is outside of our budget - so we stealth-camp again, this time just out of town about a kilometre before the border into Spain. (Granted, August is high season in these parts; most shopkeepers get as far away as possible for a week before it hits.)</p>
-<p>A bit of positive news, though - even with the minor setback of falling 10 km short of our goal for today, I think we will make Tarifa by 25.7...which means we can see Morocco before our visit to the Alhambra near Granada, even if only for 24 hours! It will be a mad dash, an endurance race of nearly camino-esque calibre...but we'll make it. We always do!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/21/morning-gymnastics.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/23/hott.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>no laundry for young men (and women)</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/28/alhambraaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/30/olive-oil.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>no laundry for young men (and women)</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-29</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>To peer beyond, to<br />
-A place's shrouded hist'ry,<br />
-You need only ask.</i></p>
-<p>The tour that we got from Javier yesterday was fabulous.  Since Evan missed it, we spent a part of today getting him up to speed on the Albayzin (the hilltop area of town which was the haunt of gypsies in the old days), the cave houses (for natural heating and cooling!), the monastery (bearing the sword cross and a part of the Order of Santiago; also they "make really good cakes," according to Javier), the schools of Padre Manjon (a priest from Burgos who founded centres of learning for the poor in Granada), and all the rest.</p>
-<p>We also spent a rather frustrating few hours scouring the city looking for a self-service laundry place.  The only laundry place anyone could direct us to was full-service and charged an unfortunate 28€ for our wash.  We weren't willing to pay.</p>
-<p>The good news is that Evan isn't so sick any longer.  The sort of lame news is that today was sort of lame.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/28/alhambraaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/30/olive-oil.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>this is just grate</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/01/desert-sort.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/03/camping-with-carnies.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>this is just grate</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-02</div></div><div id="content"><p>Night still clings to the desert when we stumble bleary-eyed out of our roadside tent refuge to beat the rising sun. Take every adjective and epithet used in connection with this damned heat over the last month and magnify it thousand-fold, and you will begin to approach the hellish inferno that awaits us should we linger too long in this desert, the same desert where - did we mention this already? - famed spaghetti western Il Buono, Il Brutto, Il Cattivo was filmed, as several kitschy pseudo-frontier tourist stops will attest to...the desert that caught Sergio Leone's directorial eye for its forbidding and desiccated scenery. So we get up at 0530 and ride out, our headlamps and handlebar-mount lights and reflectors making a valiant attempt to bring just enough light to this darkness to see where we are going. Olive fields become more and more common as we ride on, the vegetation gets just a touch more green and lush - not much, but visibly so; we take tea in a small café, where we are told the water in the sinks is not potable...so we purchase water down the road, much nearer to the coast.</p>
-<p>We hit the coast while it is still fairly cool out in a small yet touristy beachside town, where I promptly ride into a sewer grate whose slats are perversely both wide and long enough to easily fit my tires. We ride on through town, imagining that everything is perfectly fine; it is only once we stop at the local supermarket for real breakfast that I notice the double flat caused by this untimely accident. I spend some time swapping the tires - the rear is more roughed up than the front, so I move it to the front where the lessened weight will hopefully permit it to stay intact - and patching both tubes, then reattach the brakes and test it out; there is some wobble in the tires, so I pull out the spoke wrench and start truing the wheels as well. Despite these extensive repairs, there is an unexplained bounce in the tire on every revolution. Upon closer inspection, the tube is not uniformly inflated. Lesson learned: sewer grates are not to be trifled with - avoid them at all costs!</p>
-<p>After this epic repair session, enough damage is repaired to continue up the coast for siesta. Given the early hour of awakening, we all insist on taking a short nap after lunch, after which we secure some ice cream from a local heladeria and charge the laptop. As we leave, the road winds up into an impressive 300 m climb; the ensuing descent is made somewhat more complicated by the insufficient job I did reattaching my brakes, so that I am forced to keep both levers firmly pressed down as I take the downhill at a crawl; but better that than the precipitous and quite possibly fatal alternative! We ride on, and the sun begins to dip down to the horizon. With no town or campground in sight, we finally decide to camp by the side of a small service road into a tilled but apparently unplanted plot of cropland. With the light quickly fading, I pull out the headlamp to perform further repairs on the bike, adjusting the spokes and brakes for a better ride tomorrow...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/01/desert-sort.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/03/camping-with-carnies.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>flight of the cyclists</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/07/orange-you-glad.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/09/cram-n-exam.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>flight of the cyclists</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ch"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ch.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-08</div></div><div id="content"><p>Slow start to the day - we eat a late breakfast at the WWOOF farm, then join the family on their drive into Valencia where they intend to pass the afternoon by the beach. By the time we get in, however, it is too late for us to join them; so we wish them a pleasant weekend and grab the metro to the airport, snapping photos of the lime-green chairs to amuse ourselves on the long ride through the tunnels underneath Valencia. The subway is predictably full of tourists on their way out of Valencia, full of languages and wheeled bags. We get to the airport with a decent chunk of time remaining before boarding, especially since we have no bags to check. In the typical non-American manner, security wastes your time less aggressively here; in some countries, it is even considered sane to keep your shoes on...</p>
-<p>...and we sit; travel by air is less eventful than travel by train, bike, or foot. There is no chance for scenic views, save for the brief cityscape panoramas offered during takeoff and landing - and even these are not guaranteed, as some airports lie far out in the exurbs with no line-of-sight to the cities they are nominally attached to. We board the plane, take off, and are soon in Madrid, where we have a shorter-than-expected layover (only 10 minutes!) that we use to cross the terminal, queue up, pass our documents over for more cursory inspection, and board another plane for Geneva. We land, pass quickly through the small GVA terminal, and fail to see Valkyrie's friends from CERN - so we instead head over to the other side of arrivals to use the free hotspot by one of the terminal cafés. We get Henning's number and call him only to find that he has been waiting there the whole time...</p>
-<p>...and we go to his house to sip gin-and-tonics over chit-chat about experiences both had and missed, over pictures from our travels thus far, over discussion about anything that comes to mind; I get in some last-minute studying for a first-year legal studies examination that, due to the extraordinary inflexibility of the Canadian university system, I am now obligated to take; and we at last retire to a fold-out sofa bed - but an actual bed! This is luxury indeed on such a trip as ours...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/07/orange-you-glad.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/09/cram-n-exam.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>just plane spain</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/09/cram-n-exam.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/11/back-to-basics.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>just plane spain</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-10</div></div><div id="content"><p>Our short sojourn in Geneva completed, Henning drives us to the airport at characteristically breakneck speed along a maze of country roads and roundabouts to challenge even our highly developed navigational acumen. We reach the airport, exchange farewells, and are left to go through the usual round of security theatre. This time we must check a bag - Valkyrie finally received a package sent to CERN on her behalf which her ex-coworkers had been holding for her in anticipation of this visit, and which contained (among sundry other items of dire importance) a jar of peanut butter, a substance recently deemed by the airport authorities to be a liquid and therefore subject to the lilliputian restrictions on liquids...</p>
-<p>...and the flight leaves 20 minutes late; and we must wait for our bag at the luggage carousels; and we must wait for the metro to Lliria, which leaves only once every half-hour; and all these delays conspire in combination to push our arrival in Lliria back from the expected 1800 to 1930, so that Cathy and Bill have long since left. We peruse the parking lot to no effect, grab some peaches, and decide to grab a taxi to the granja; the taxi leaves just before the ominous-looking clouds break into rain, heading along the backroads - the driver somewhat confused, asking occasionally just what the hell is out in the direction that we're leading him along, perhaps suspecting some sort of ruse or impending violence...but he takes us there, charges us dearly for his efforts, and drives off, leaving us to walk up to the place in the drizzling rain.</p>
-<p>As is usual for these travel-packed days, little of consequence occurs. We eat, read for a bit, set the tent up, talk with the family a bit, then head off to sleep up on the tiled terrace; whereas the first night spent up here reminded us of the less-than-comfortable nature of hard ground, our second night proves that the body is adaptable indeed...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/09/cram-n-exam.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/11/back-to-basics.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>earth, wind, and fire</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/15/carob-cognac.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/17/extremely-hot-and-incredibly-drunk.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>earth, wind, and fire</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-16</div></div><div id="content"><p>Spent the morning quickly hoeing up yet more weeds down the terraces by the house. The family was out for the day again, giving us an ideal opportunity to catch up on blog posts and continue reading - so that's what we did for a few hours, swapping the computer back and forth until we had finally spewed a month's worth of hazy recollections onto our hard drive. We also cooked up some pasta with tuna-tomato-pesto sauce, taking advantage of the rare opportunity to use a multi-burner stove; although we are fairly adept at one-burner cooking by now, it is definitely easier and faster to cook pasta in one pot while stirring sauce in the other!</p>
-<p>After typing the blog posts up, our computer was about to run out of battery; our afternoon was therefore spent recharging it in a small café down in mostly closed Casinos. Weekends run into Monday here for many shopkeepers - the bodegas are closed; the bakeries are closed; many of the cafés are closed; but we manage to find one café open next to the main square, which predictably is close to full with just about everyone in town. We order a couple of the house ice cream concoctions, then wash them down with a coffee for Valkyrie and a horchata for myself - the whole while polishing off a couple of the posts, commenting photos - in general, attending to our habitual backlog of trip-recording duties.</p>
-<p>Our efforts over the last week have created a sizeable brush pile by the carob tree down at the swimming-pool-to-be, and it is finally time tonight for a blazing bonfire. The heat is enough that we must stand well back, sitting on the rim of the pool while the weeds and loose wood pieces are consumed. Once it dies down, we pull out our trusty laptop and present the photos from our travels; these number nearly 2000 by now, so we have adopted the practice of showing only our favourites. It is astounding to recount our journey to this point, even though we are still short of halfway there - the Danish countryside, ports of Hamburg, and turbine roads in Holland are far off by now, as though part of a separate trip that is somehow vaguely connected with the one unfolding every day in midsummer Spain. Darkness has fallen by the time we finish, leaving us no choice - in the absence of electricity, sunset marks the hour of sleep...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/15/carob-cognac.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/17/extremely-hot-and-incredibly-drunk.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>bosnia!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/11/token-coastline-grab.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/12/dudebrovnik.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>bosnia!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ba"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ba.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Bosnia and Herzegovina</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-11</div></div><div id="content"><p>Yeah. We were there. For half an hour. Bosnia. It's well important.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/11/token-coastline-grab.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/12/dudebrovnik.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>rest stop the second</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/09/rest-stop.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/11/intense-training.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>rest stop the second</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-10</div></div><div id="content"><p>So. Second full day in Thessaloniki. This is necessary, we believe; exhaustion both mental and physical has taken its toll, and we feel the irrepressible desire whenever we get the chance to do absolutely nothing whatsoever of importance. Not a problem in less-touristy Thessaloniki! The sites of importance are easily visited within the span of several hours, and we happened upon most of them yesterday purely by accident. We start off the day nice and slow with a lengthy coffee break in Dada Café where we write up more of these damnable blog posts. Well, not damnable precisely - we like writing them enough, but it is plenty of work. We remember back at the beginning of the trip when, bursting with youthful ambition, we imagined we would keep videos and GPS logs and attempt to get sponsorship and try to speak at schools about our travels and everything else under the sun. And then we actually got on the road, started biking; we understood fully what it means to ride 100km or more a day only to arrive wherever we can late-evening with depleted energy reserves and a pressing need to make camp and cook and write up the daily post and...and...well, it's not exactly surprising, given all this, that we routinely fall behind on writing and uploading these things. Hard work indeed!</p>
-<p>None of that today, though; we sit in Dada Café for some time before sauntering back to The Guy for some more delicious Greek food, and then we pass several hours in blissful oblivion back at Stelios' apartment. He returns from his classes, and I ask him for the use of his printer. What for? Real life is fast approaching, as much as we would love to ignore it - and the US is notoriously strict in matters of work visas. I've got a number of forms to be sent off; we print them out, walk down to the nearest post office still open at this hour, and mail them out via regular post.</p>
-<p>Time for dinner! On our way back from the post office we head through the covered food market downtown to pick up some fish, which we oven-bake with our oranges and almonds and a generous heaping of Kalamata olive oil. The result is delicious and well appreciated by our host, whom we engage in conversation about Cypriot politics and the Turkish occupation and war and the shortcomings of human nature and anything else of philosophical importance that comes to mind.</p>
-<p>The train we plan to take leaves early - too early for Stelios' schedule; we say our goodbyes, invite him to visit us in San Francisco (an invitation we make to all our hosts, naturally, as well as anyone who should happen upon our CouchSurfing or WarmShowers listings once we make them), and grab another night of sleep. Last night of sleep on a mattress for a few days at least, for however long it takes to reach Istanbul, and it seems prudent to thoroughly enjoy it...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/09/rest-stop.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/11/intense-training.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>Bike To The Earth</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div id="title"><h1>Bike to the Earth</h1></div><div id="content"><div class="country" id="ch"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/ch.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-03-22</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/22/training-begins.html">training begins!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-03-25</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html">a different sort of training</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-03-28</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html">around the lake</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-03-31</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html">aversive conditioning</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-04-10</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html">lake to lake (aka fml)</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="ca"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/ca.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Canada</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-04-12</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/12/welcome.html">welcome!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-04-15</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/15/its-about-time-toronto.html">it's about time, toronto</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-04-21</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/21/radio-killed-the-telegraph-star.html">radio killed the telegraph star</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-04-29</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html">vancouver in the green</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html">put your hands up for detroit</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-05</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/05/copenhagen-wheel.html">copenhagen wheel</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="dk"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/dk.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Denmark</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-16</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/16/and-so-it-begins.html">and so it begins</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-17</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/17/on-the-road.html">on the road</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-18</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/18/odin-s-temple.html">odin's temple</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-19</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html">pesto with pesto with pesto and pesto</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="de"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/de.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Germany</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-20</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/20/birthdays-beer-and-borders.html">birthdays, beer, and borders</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-21</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/21/lost-and-found.html">lost and found</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-22</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/22/finding-our-centre.html">finding our centre</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-23</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/23/drinking-and-paddling.html">drinking and paddling</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-24</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/24/zeven-and-eleven.html">zeven and eleven</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-25</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html">nay, ich spreche deutsch!</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="nl"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/nl.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Holland</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-26</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/26/sheep-poop-and-sunsets.html">sheep poop and sunsets</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-27</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food.html">food and food and food and food and...</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-28</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/28/all-weather-cycling.html">all-weather cycling</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-29</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/29/when-the-going-gets-weird.html">when the going gets weird</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-30</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/30/the-post-in-amsterdam-where-nothing-happens.html">the post in amsterdam where nothing happens</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-05-31</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/31/life-on-tv.html">life-on-TV</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="be"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/be.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Belgium</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-01</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/01/barts-bathtub.html">bart's bathtub</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/02/a-hands-toss-away.html">a hand's toss away</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-03</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/03/in-bruges.html">in bruges</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="fr"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></div><div class="country-name">France</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-04</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/04/grave-lines.html">grave lines</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-05</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/05/without-a-car-in-the-world.html">without a car in the world</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-06</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/06/requiescat-in-pace.html">requiescat in pace</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-07</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/07/omaha-beach.html">omaha beach</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-08</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html">a new lô</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-09</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/09/shopping-for-moms.html">shopping for moms</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-10</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/10/rain.html">rain.</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-11</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/11/monks-u.html">monks &gt; u</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="gb"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/gb.png" /></div><div class="country-name">United Kingdom</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-12</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html">a nine-hour tour</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-13</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/13/freedom-for-cyclists.html">freedom for cyclists</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-14</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/14/brighton-now-with-clothes.html">brighton: now with clothes!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-15</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/15/and-back-again.html">and back again</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="fr"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></div><div class="country-name">France</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-16</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/16/clean-sleeping-bags.html">clean sleeping bags!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-17</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/17/canallery.html">canallery</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-18</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html">not all that glitters...</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-19</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/19/when-in-nantes.html">when in nantes</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-20</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/20/hellfest.html">HELLFEST</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-21</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/21/chaussures-de-ciclisme.html">chaussures de ciclisme</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-22</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/22/french-biking-paths.html">french biking paths</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-23</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/23/slow-day.html">slow day</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-24</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html">a royan pain in the arse</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-25</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/25/peninsular.html">peninsular</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-26</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/26/bordeaux-fetes-the-vin.html">bordeaux fêtes the vin</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-27</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/27/oil-be-glad-to-get-outta-here.html">oil be glad to get outta here</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-28</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/28/natural-logs.html">natural logs</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-29</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/29/daxing-my-patience.html">daxing my patience</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-06-30</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/30/camping-in-the-shadow-of-the-mountains.html">camping in the shadow of the mountains</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="es"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-01</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/01/real-cyclists-at-last.html">real cyclists at last!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/02/its-all-downhill-from-here.html">it's all downhill from here</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-03</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/03/iberian-showdown.html">iberian showdown</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-04</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html">the least lazy day off ever</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-05</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/05/and-then-there-were-three.html">and then there were three</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-06</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/06/chupinazo.html">¡chupinazo!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-07</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/07/encierro-d.html">encierro'd</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-08</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/08/falling-flat.html">falling flat</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-09</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/09/off-the-map.html">off the map</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-10</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html">flat, hot, and less than crowded</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-11</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/11/esp-1-0-ned.html">ESP 1-0 NED</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-12</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/12/mountains-1.html">mountains 1</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-13</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/13/mountains-2.html">mountains 2</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-14</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/14/in-flagrante-camino.html">in flagrante camino</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-15</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/15/oldering.html">oldering</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-16</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/16/paella.html">paella</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-17</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/17/vigo-rous-hobosity.html">vigo-rous hobosity</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="pt"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/pt.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Portugal</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-18</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/18/statutory-holidays.html">statutory holidays</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-19</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/19/port.html">port</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-20</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/20/dire-straits.html">dire straits</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-21</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/21/morning-gymnastics.html">morning gymnastics</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-22</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html">i'll take the high road</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="es"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-23</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/23/hott.html">hott</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-24</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/24/copout.html">copout</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-25</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/25/the-road-to-nowhere.html">the road to nowhere</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="ma"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/ma.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Morocco</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-26</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/26/aggressive-business-practices.html">aggressive business practices</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="es"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-27</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/27/cyclists-in-training.html">cyclists in training</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-28</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/28/alhambraaaaaaaaa.html">ALHAMBRAAAAAAAAA</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-29</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/29/no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html">no laundry for young men (and women)</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-30</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/30/olive-oil.html">olive oil</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-07-31</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/31/age-plus-plus.html">age++</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-01</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/01/desert-sort.html">desert sort</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html">this is just grate</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-03</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/03/camping-with-carnies.html">camping with carnies</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-04</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/04/i-think-i-ali-can-te.html">i think i (ali)can(te)</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-05</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/05/three-become-two.html">three become two</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-06</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/06/you-derailleured-my-chain-of-thought.html">you derailleured my chain of thought</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-07</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/07/orange-you-glad.html">orange you glad...</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="ch"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/ch.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-08</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html">flight of the cyclists</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-09</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/09/cram-n-exam.html">cram n' exam</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="es"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-10</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html">just plane spain</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-11</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/11/back-to-basics.html">back to basics</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-12</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/12/down-hoem.html">down hoem</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-13</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/13/a-night-on-the-ground.html">a night on the ground</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-14</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/14/explosions-in-the-night-sky.html">explosions in the night sky</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-15</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/15/carob-cognac.html">carob cognac</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-16</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html">earth, wind, and fire</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-17</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/17/extremely-hot-and-incredibly-drunk.html">extremely hot and incredibly drunk</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-18</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/18/onwards-and-outwards.html">onwards and outwards</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-19</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/19/halfway-tent.html">halfway tent</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-20</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/20/our-house-in-the-middle-of-the-park.html">our house - in the middle of the park</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-21</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/21/catal-n-music-tourist.html">catalán music tourist</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-22</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/22/gaudi-falafel.html">gaudi falafel</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-23</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/23/ordained-cyclists.html">ordained cyclists</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="fr"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></div><div class="country-name">France</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-24</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/24/dilly-dali-ing.html">dilly dalí-ing</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-25</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/25/mozzarella-driveway.html">mozzarella driveway</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-26</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/26/pleasantly-ominous.html">pleasantly ominous</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-27</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/27/bamboozled.html">bamboozled</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-28</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/28/winding-around.html">winding around</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-29</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/29/cezannes-scene.html">cézanne's scene</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-30</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/30/calanquerous.html">calanquerous</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-08-31</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/31/smoke-on-the-water.html">smoke on the water</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-01</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/01/er-warm-showers.html">er, warm showers</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="it"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/02/bella-italia.html">bella italia!</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="mc"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/mc.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Monaco</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html">borat says: it's nice!</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="it"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-03</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/03/swimming-in-the-sea.html">swimming in the sea</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-04</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/04/famous-lost-people-of-history.html">famous lost people of history</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-05</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/05/escape-hobosity.html">escape hobosity</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-06</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/06/a-pisa-my-mind.html">a pisa my mind</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-07</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/07/f-oiled-again.html">f'oiled again</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-08</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/08/our-compliments.html">our compliments</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-09</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/09/beni-bidi-bici.html">beni, bidi, bici</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-10</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/10/when-in-rome.html">when in rome...</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-11</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/11/a-river-runs-through-it.html">a river runs through it</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-12</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/12/a-weighty-mass.html">a weighty mass</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-13</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/13/we-got-to-sleep-in-two-places.html">we got to sleep in *two* places!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-14</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/14/karmic-rebalance-day.html">karmic rebalance day</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-15</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/15/in-the-hall-of-the-mountain-king.html">in the hall of the mountain king</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-16</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/16/the-good-kind-of-flat.html">the good kind of flat</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-17</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/17/a-good-event.html">a good event</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-18</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/18/wtr-bfflo.html">wtr bfflo</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-19</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/19/a-switchback-to-nowhere.html">a switchback to nowhere</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-20</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/20/a-long-day-and-a-bum-night.html">a long day and a bum night</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-21</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/21/wpg.html">wpg</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-22</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/22/rituals.html">rituals</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-23</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/23/recipes-and-wanderers.html">recipes and wanderers</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-24</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/24/the-wrath-of-grapes.html">the wrath of grapes</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-25</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/25/when-it-rains.html">when it rains</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-26</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/26/sailing.html">sailing!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-27</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/27/century-the-second.html">century the second</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-28</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/28/the-untrained-cyclists.html">the untrained cyclists</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-29</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/29/my-kingdom-for-a-bag.html">my kingdom for a bag</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-09-30</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/30/city-in-the-sea.html">city in the sea</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-01</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/01/octobrrrrrr.html">octobrrrrrr</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="si"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/si.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Slovenia</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/02/corn-haul.html">corn haul</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-03</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/03/wine-ding-road.html">wine-ding road</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="hr"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/hr.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-04</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/04/hello-hrvatska.html">hello hrvatska!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-05</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/05/reading-riting-and-rain.html">reading, 'riting, and rain</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-06</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/06/i-recommend-croatia.html">I RECOMMEND CROATIA</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-07</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/07/croatian-road-service-says-no.html">croatian road service says no</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-08</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/08/croatian-is-the-language-of-trogdor.html">croatian is the language of trogdor</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-09</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/09/burninate.html">burninate</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-10</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/10/10-10-10.html">10-10-10</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-11</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/11/token-coastline-grab.html">token coastline grab</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="ba"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/ba.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Bosnia and Herzegovina</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-11</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html">bosnia!</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="hr"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/hr.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-12</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/12/dudebrovnik.html">dudebrovnik</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="me"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/me.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Montenegro</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-13</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/13/crna-gora.html">crna gora!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-14</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/14/local-wisdom.html">local wisdom</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="al"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/al.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Albania</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-15</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/15/50-euro-a-night.html">50€ a night</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-16</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/16/its-still-raining.html">it's still raining</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-17</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/17/albanian-history-lesson.html">albanian history lesson</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-18</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/18/you-fools.html">YOU FOOLS!</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="gr"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-19</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/19/hellbania.html">hellbania</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-20</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/20/a-short-ride-to-rest.html">a short ride to rest</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-21</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/21/lazing-around-igoumenitsa.html">lazing around igoumenitsa</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-22</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/22/ionian-coastline.html">ionian coastline</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-23</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/23/racked.html">racked</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-24</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/24/impending-illness.html">impending illness</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-25</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/25/the-fun-and-the-games.html">the fun and the games</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-26</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/26/kalamata-at-last.html">kalamata at last</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-27</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food-and-children.html">food and food and food and food and children</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-28</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/28/halloween-away-from-home.html">halloween away from home</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-29</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/29/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaa.html">THIS. IS. SPARTAAAAAAAAA</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-30</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/30/cops-and-cleanliness.html">cops and cleanliness</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-10-31</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/31/ten-thousand.html">ten thousand</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-01</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/01/off-the-record.html">off the record</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-02</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/02/inertial-laziness.html">inertial laziness</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-03</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/03/piano-bar.html">piano bar</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-04</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/04/oracular-spectacular.html">oracular spectacular</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-05</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/05/some-like-it-hot.html">some like it hot</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-06</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/06/kitchen-in-the-park.html">kitchen in the park</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-07</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/07/sunday-is-the-new-sunday.html">sunday is the new sunday</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-08</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/08/the-obstacle-within.html">the obstacle within</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-09</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/09/rest-stop.html">rest stop</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-10</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html">rest stop the second</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-11</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/11/intense-training.html">intense training</a></div></div></div></div><div class="country" id="tr"><div class="country-icon"><img src="/icons/tr.png" /></div><div class="country-name">Turkey</div><div class="country-posts"><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-12</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/12/last-country.html">last country!</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-13</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/13/tuna-palas.html">tuna palas</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-14</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/14/the-penultimate-ride.html">the penultimate ride</a></div></div><div class="post"><div class="post-date">2010-11-15</div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/15/the-end.html">THE END</a></div></div></div></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>training begins!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="#" class="disabled">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>training begins!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ch"><img src="/icons/ch.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-03-22</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Wind tousles my hair,
+Brings smells of earth, and impels
+Me to ride once more.</i></p>
+<p>Training began in earnest last week.</p>
+<p>http://www.mapmyride.com/route/ch/gen%e8ve/589126925161481470</p>
+<p>I am now riding to and from work each day, which is actually a pretty fair route (about 8.5 km each way with no detours, but I usually take some :)).</p>
+<p>Now that it's spring, there's no excuse not to get out... but, damn, am I out of shape.  <em>puff, puff</em></p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="#" class="disabled">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a different sort of training</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/22/training-begins.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a different sort of training</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ch"><img src="/icons/ch.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-03-25</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>What mayn't go right<br />
+Does always go, anyway<br />
+No need to fight it.</i><br />
+</p>
+<p>Monday afternoon, my tyre went flat, likely due to the 4+ separate construction sites between my apartment and CERN.  It took two days to fix, so in  the interim I ran or walked to and from work.  It was an important lesson, indeed, that running to work is not equivalent to biking to work.  It's a sight more difficult.<br />
+</p>
+<p>On the other hand, it gave me a chance to practise my repair skills.  I guess we'll need it.  :)<br />
+</p>
+<p>Victor (one of my coworkers) and I are planning a big ride this weekend around the lake.  I've been hoping to do this for several weekends, but invariably the week's weather is gorgeous and it just doesn't hold out to Saturday or Sunday.  Anyway, it'll be 180km in a day this Saturday.  Photos to come.  :)<br />
+</p>
+<p>In farm news, I sent messages to all the hosts we are hoping to stay with in Spain, Italy, and Greece.  I've gotten one response so far (from a farm in Italy), and it was affirmative, so we have at least one place to go this summer!  Huzzah!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/22/training-begins.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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diff --git a/webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html b/webroot/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html
similarity index 86%
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+++ b/webroot/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html
@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>around the lake</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>around the lake</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ch"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ch.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-03-28</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Endlessly turning<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>around the lake</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>around the lake</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ch"><img src="/icons/ch.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-03-28</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Endlessly turning<br />
 Wheels and pedals, pass the road<br />
 On to lake and sky.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -33,4 +33,4 @@
 </p>
 <p>I think that this trip will be in reach once I get a better bike.  As a scenic tour, it was fantastic, at least until we entered France (which is significantly more run down than Switzerland due to the distribution of wealth there).  If I were to do it again, I think I would go the other way around the lake in order to have trains available as an out in the case that I find myself too tired to continue.<br />
 </p>
-<p>Still, I'm damn proud.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
\ No newline at end of file
+<p>Still, I'm damn proud.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/25/a-different-sort-of-training.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>aversive conditioning</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>aversive conditioning</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ch"><img src="/icons/ch.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-03-31</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Rivulets creeping<br />
+Sidelong across glass, leaving<br />
+Behind trails.  Follow?</i><br />
+</p>
+<p>It's not always blue skies and sunshine, I guess, but I wish it were more than 11C (52F), or that it weren't raining quite so hard.  Or both.  Sitting at my desk during the last hour or so of work has been gradually depressing me as I think about the ride home later tonight.  Agggghhhhhhhhhh.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/28/around-the-lake.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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diff --git a/webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html b/webroot/posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html
similarity index 61%
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>lake to lake (aka fml)</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/12/welcome.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>lake to lake (aka fml)</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ch"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ch.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-04-10</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>The rolling hills in<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>lake to lake (aka fml)</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/12/welcome.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>lake to lake (aka fml)</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ch"><img src="/icons/ch.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-04-10</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>The rolling hills in<br />
 Rural France make for lovely<br />
 Scenes and my sad legs.</i></p>
 <p>I like lakes.  They're so peaceful and calm: the water just floating around and minding its own business, people milling about and enjoying grassy or sandy lakesides (especially on a warm day like this one), ... So I jumped at the chance to go to Annecy, France, with two other coworkers, namely Hugo and Piotr.  It has a lovely lake and a gorgeous old town, and it's basically a composite built of all the things that Americans think about when they think of "romantic Europe."  Except the Eiffel Tower.  It didn't have that.<br />
@@ -9,4 +9,4 @@
 </p>
 <p>All in all, the French countryside was really beautiful.  Unfortunately, France isn't so friendly to cyclists as Switzerland is; they don't have many bike lanes (we had to settle for the shoulder of small highways), and they lack open stops with fresh water.  We were honked at and stuff several times, but Piotr taught me some curse words in Polish, so that was okay.<br />
 </p>
-<p>Anyway, I can barely hold myself up to type this.  I think it's time for me to rest up.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/12/welcome.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Anyway, I can barely hold myself up to type this.  I think it's time for me to rest up.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/03/31/aversive-conditioning.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/12/welcome.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>welcome!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/15/its-about-time-toronto.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>welcome!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ca"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ca.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Canada</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-04-12</div></div><div id="content"><p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>welcome!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/15/its-about-time-toronto.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>welcome!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ca"><img src="/icons/ca.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Canada</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-04-12</div></div><div id="content"><p>
 <i>
 Web development:<br />
 A platypus strapped to an<br />
@@ -33,4 +33,4 @@ <h3>WARNING! TECHNICAL DETAILS AHEAD!</h3>
 <li>We're using Facebook Connect for a bit more than comment posting; we also use it to identify site admins and grant them Super Cow Powers.</li>
 <li>Yes, the timeline is completely DHTML/AJAX/CSS. No, it doesn't use Flash. No, it wouldn't be better in Flash. Next question :)</li>
 </ul>
-<p>If your burning inquiry hasn't been answered here, <em>ask!</em> As we said, we're glad to share this process with you; that means everything from physical training to, well, putting in full-day hacking sessions to make this site even more awesome than it already is.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/15/its-about-time-toronto.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>If your burning inquiry hasn't been answered here, <em>ask!</em> As we said, we're glad to share this process with you; that means everything from physical training to, well, putting in full-day hacking sessions to make this site even more awesome than it already is.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/10/lake-to-lake-aka-fml.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/15/its-about-time-toronto.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>it's about time, toronto</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/12/welcome.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/21/radio-killed-the-telegraph-star.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>it's about time, toronto</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ca"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ca.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Canada</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-04-15</div></div><div id="content"><p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>it's about time, toronto</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/12/welcome.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/21/radio-killed-the-telegraph-star.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>it's about time, toronto</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ca"><img src="/icons/ca.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Canada</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-04-15</div></div><div id="content"><p>
 <i>
 Politics - rife with<br/>
 Fear, Uncertainty, and Doubt;<br/>
@@ -10,4 +10,4 @@
 <p>As usual, this plan has its share of <a href="http://roccorossi.com/inthenews/toronto-star-op-ed-nutty-bike-lane-idea/">detractors</a>; predictably, they argue that lane reductions make traffic worse. What do the facts say?</p>
 <p><a href="http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=removing-roads-and-traffic-lights">Wrong</a>! <a href="http://www.infrastructurist.com/2009/07/06/huh-4-cases-of-how-tearing-down-a-highway-can-relieve-traffic-jams-and-help-save-a-city/">Wrong</a>! <a href="http://www.nyc.gov/html/dot/html/about/broadway.shtml">Wrong</a>!</p>
 <p>The evidence is right there: <em>road closures and limitations help reduce traffic congestion.</em> Moving away from car-centric cities also has a number of positive side-effects - the urban environment becomes safer for pedestrians, healthier, more sustainable, more human. In some cases, less truly is more.</p>
-<p>I hope this pilot project is a resounding success. If you're a cyclist in Toronto, help make it one! Get out this summer, use the new bike lanes, and show Stone Age pols like Rossi exactly how wrong they are. If you're visiting from out of town, rent a bike for the day; there's no better way to see a city! Can't find a job for the summer? Start a bike tour company in the area! This could be the start of a vibrant cycling culture in Toronto - but we have to make sure it sticks.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/12/welcome.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/21/radio-killed-the-telegraph-star.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>I hope this pilot project is a resounding success. If you're a cyclist in Toronto, help make it one! Get out this summer, use the new bike lanes, and show Stone Age pols like Rossi exactly how wrong they are. If you're visiting from out of town, rent a bike for the day; there's no better way to see a city! Can't find a job for the summer? Start a bike tour company in the area! This could be the start of a vibrant cycling culture in Toronto - but we have to make sure it sticks.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/12/welcome.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/21/radio-killed-the-telegraph-star.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>radio killed the telegraph star</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/15/its-about-time-toronto.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>radio killed the telegraph star</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ca"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ca.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Canada</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-04-21</div></div><div id="content"><p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>radio killed the telegraph star</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/15/its-about-time-toronto.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>radio killed the telegraph star</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ca"><img src="/icons/ca.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Canada</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-04-21</div></div><div id="content"><p>
 <i>
 multimedia!<br/>
 at long last, something other<br/>
@@ -14,4 +14,4 @@ <h3>VeloCam!</h3>
 <p>Oh, and <a href="http://www.google.ca/search?sourceid=chrome&amp;ie=UTF-8&amp;q=define:+velocipede">see here</a> for a fun etymological tidbit.</p>
 <h3>GPS!</h3>
 <p>The map image at right was generated using data gathered by our GPS datalogger during a test walk around some nearby roads - not only will you have a video of each day, you'll also be able to see exactly where we went by looking at our daily map.</p>
-<p>That's it for now! For the tech/geo/media geeks in the crowd, I'll be posting special features on the webcam and GPS setup shortly. One last shameless plug: if you're not already following us via at least one of our social channels, get on that! The links are in the top toolbar. Our activity is going to increase exponentially over the next few weeks - don't miss anything!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/15/its-about-time-toronto.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>That's it for now! For the tech/geo/media geeks in the crowd, I'll be posting special features on the webcam and GPS setup shortly. One last shameless plug: if you're not already following us via at least one of our social channels, get on that! The links are in the top toolbar. Our activity is going to increase exponentially over the next few weeks - don't miss anything!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/15/its-about-time-toronto.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>vancouver in the green</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/21/radio-killed-the-telegraph-star.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>vancouver in the green</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ca"><img src="/icons/ca.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Canada</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-04-29</div></div><div id="content"><p>Courtesy of <a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/toronto/vancouver-building-code-an-example-for-toronto/article1550502/?cmpid=rss1">The Globe and Mail</a>: thanks to a unique charter that permits Vancouver to enact its own building codes, the city has reduced its building-specific carbon footprint by over 20%. According to <a href="http://www.vancouvereconomic.com/userfiles/file/green-building-profile.pdf">a 2009 report from the Vancouver Economic Development Commission</a>, buildings account for roughly 30% of total emissions and energy consumption - so this is equivalent to an overall reduction of 6%.</p>
+<p>But that's not the real win. From the report:</p>
+<p><em>[In] November 2008, the international real estate think-tank, the Urban Land Institute, declared Vancouver to be the number one urban real estate market across North America, highlighting green as a key risk-mitigation strategy against tough economic tough times.</em></p>
+<p>Vancouver's status as an early adopter of environmentally conscious building bylaws has created a local boom in green construction and architecture, thus opening up more high-value jobs while reducing the strain on public utilities. Other cities struggling with energy-guzzling buildings, aging grid infrastructure, and rising unemployment would do well to follow the example set by forward-thinking West Coast politicians.</p>
+<p>One last thought: this is just one more in a long string of case studies that demonstrate the value of efficiency. Contrary to popular belief, less can be more; we saw this in an earlier feature on <a href="http://biketotheearth.org/#939cfbf7b91c00e79a20cb45906001f1">bike lanes in Toronto</a>.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/21/radio-killed-the-telegraph-star.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>put your hands up for detroit</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/05/copenhagen-wheel.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>put your hands up for detroit</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ca"><img src="/icons/ca.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Canada</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-02</div></div><div id="content"><p>For many, Detroit is a poster child for urban decay. Its checkered past is rife with <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/eleanor/peopleevents/pande10.html">racial</a> <a href="http://www.67riots.rutgers.edu/d_index.htm">tension</a>, its present plagued by <a href="http://www.lightrailnow.org/features/f_det_2005-01.htm">urban sprawl</a> and <a href="http://www.judicialwatch.org/blog/2010/jan/detroit-corruption-keeps-piling">corruption</a> - and yet it is exactly these conditions that have set the stage for one of the most audacious experiments in urban living.</p>
+<p>What am I talking about? <a href="http://www.modeldmedia.com/features/sustain60.aspx">This.</a></p>
+<p>You read that right: enterprising activists, farmers, and entrepreneurs are banding together to transform dilapidated Detroit into the next American breadbasket. In the process, Detroit is becoming a testing ground for everything from <a href="http://www.modeldmedia.com/features/sustain55.aspx">green building technologies</a> to <a href="http://detnews.com/article/20090507/BIZ/905070406/Wind-turbines-generate-Michigan-job-hopes">renewable energy</a>. If even a small proportion of these ventures take off, the Motor City may very well out-green us all.</p>
+<p>Closing remarks: yes, this is old news. That said, a revolution in urban farming may be exactly what we need to craft cities that are more compact and efficient. Of course, astronomical land values make this all but impossible in, say, Manhattan - but the basic idea can be adapted to other forms, such as community rooftop gardens (or greenhouses in colder climates.) That's what this post is essentially getting at: there are several good ideas here that deserve to be tested elsewhere. Cities with control over their building codes, such as <a href="http://biketotheearth.org/#5fd27617e5025834d98a617c70be1b2b">Vancouver</a>, are well positioned to do just that; in other cities, archaic bylaws must first be overturned or updated.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/04/29/vancouver-in-the-green.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/05/copenhagen-wheel.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>copenhagen wheel</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/16/and-so-it-begins.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>copenhagen wheel</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ca"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ca.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Canada</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-05</div></div><div id="content"><p>Short primer: the <a href="http://senseable.mit.edu/copenhagenwheel/">Copenhagen Wheel</a> is an innovative device from MIT's <a href="http://senseable.mit.edu/">Senseable City Lab</a> that turns any bike into an electric hybrid bike by simply replacing the rear wheel. By using an array of environmental sensors embedded in the wheel hub, it also collects real-time data on pollutant concentrations, noise levels, and traffic.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>copenhagen wheel</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/16/and-so-it-begins.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>copenhagen wheel</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ca"><img src="/icons/ca.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Canada</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-05</div></div><div id="content"><p>Short primer: the <a href="http://senseable.mit.edu/copenhagenwheel/">Copenhagen Wheel</a> is an innovative device from MIT's <a href="http://senseable.mit.edu/">Senseable City Lab</a> that turns any bike into an electric hybrid bike by simply replacing the rear wheel. By using an array of environmental sensors embedded in the wheel hub, it also collects real-time data on pollutant concentrations, noise levels, and traffic.</p>
 <p>Of the criticisms levelled at the Copenhagen Wheel, these are the most common:</p>
 <ul>
 <li>Any speed benefits are likely to be counteracted by the added weight of the hub.</li>
@@ -14,4 +14,4 @@
 <li>With modular design, the sensor box would be quite powerful. Cyclists could map out popular bike routes, free wireless hotspots, nighttime light pollution, report traffic accidents, measure intersection waiting times, check ground level light in those notorious downtown office tower canyons...</li>
 <li>Why limit data gathering to cyclists? Install one in every car. Hand them out to pedestrians, skateboarders, small craft pilots, <a href="http://www.pkto.ca">traceurs</a>.</li>
 </ul>
-<p>Data is king. Until we accept that, I firmly believe that our most pressing problems will remain intractable.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/16/and-so-it-begins.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Data is king. Until we accept that, I firmly believe that our most pressing problems will remain intractable.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/02/put-your-hands-up-for-detroit.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/16/and-so-it-begins.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>and so it begins</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/05/copenhagen-wheel.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/17/on-the-road.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>and so it begins</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#dk"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/dk.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Denmark</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-16</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Tall, proud, astride bikes,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>and so it begins</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/05/copenhagen-wheel.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/17/on-the-road.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>and so it begins</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#dk"><img src="/icons/dk.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Denmark</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-16</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Tall, proud, astride bikes,<br />
 We step out of CPH<br />
 And into... something</i></p>
 <p>After a day's delay of flight (due to Eyjafjallojökull!  what else!), Evan and I managed to get our bikes and all our gear into Copenhagen.  We had a layover in Reykjavik for a few hours, and on the way out we even got to catch a glimpse of the giant ash cloud that's been harassing Europe for several weeks.  A multi-kilometer-high ash cloud is a sight to behold, believe me!  It was streaked across the sky towards the mainland in a menacing way; air travel won't be the same for a while.  Onboard the aircraft--they were operated by Icelandair, so there was lots of info about the country that flashed across the seatback screens during the flight--we learned some interesting things about the volcano.  I actually didn't know that it was erupting out from underneath a glacier.  I mean, I knew the eruption was named for a glacier, but the lava actually melted through a glacier and the cloud became progressively more black as it continued to rise because it was destroying the ice that had been purifying it.</p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>After reveling in the fact that we were, indeed, in Europe, and would be spending much time on our bikes, we stopped near a sweet steeple to tweak them a little (fix brake line tension, adjust handlebar angle, change seat height, etc.), and we were stopped by an Italian guy who needed a screwdriver to fix his bike.  From what I understand, 40% of people in Copenhagen ride bicycles, and I'd believe it based on the number of bike shops that seem to be thriving around here.  Anyway, we helped him out, and he gave us a map and some suggestions for things to see.  He also mentioned that the Little Mermaid statue that I had so dearly wanted to visit is on loan to China for an expo at the moment.  Heartbreaking.</p>
 <p>It felt a little bit like an adventure game, we discussed.  Perhaps we can trade the map for something bigger later, and maybe we can even get a powered up sword or shield out of the deal!  :)</p>
 <p>We took his suggestion and visited a hippie hangout called Christiania.  All around were signs that this place sort of wanted to secede from Copenhagen at large, including a sign on the way out which read "You are now entering the EU."  Haha, hippies.</p>
-<p>After that brief visit, we did a quick bike tour of the downtown area and Parliament, but as it was getting late by this time we mostly tried to head west out of the city towards Roskilde, the next big city on the way to Odense, where my relatives live.  We even found a place to camp with a shower building and stuff, and I am the proud owner of a Danish camping card.  Hurray!  We are on the way at last!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/05/copenhagen-wheel.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/17/on-the-road.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>After that brief visit, we did a quick bike tour of the downtown area and Parliament, but as it was getting late by this time we mostly tried to head west out of the city towards Roskilde, the next big city on the way to Odense, where my relatives live.  We even found a place to camp with a shower building and stuff, and I am the proud owner of a Danish camping card.  Hurray!  We are on the way at last!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/05/copenhagen-wheel.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/17/on-the-road.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>on the road</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/16/and-so-it-begins.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/18/odin-s-temple.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>on the road</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#dk"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/dk.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Denmark</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-17</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>on the road</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/16/and-so-it-begins.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/18/odin-s-temple.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>on the road</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#dk"><img src="/icons/dk.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Denmark</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-17</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>
 Each day challenges<br />
 us in unexpected ways - <br />
 and we just started!
@@ -12,4 +12,4 @@
 <li>chain. If you leave the bike outside, rust can easily build up; this needs to be cleaned away as soon as possible. Also, you want to be cleaning and re-lubricating the chain frequently.</li>
 </ul>
 <p>Given that this is likely the coldest weather we'll encounter, that we're still getting accustomed to the weight of all this camping gear, and that we're still recovering from an overnight flight and a six-hour time difference, this day is good news - it can only get easier from here! We also managed to get the webcam on the bike for the first time; it recorded just over seven hours of footage before the netbook batteries ran out. (If anyone has any suggestions on how to extend this, please pass them on! We've thought about solar chargers, but it's difficult to find one powerful enough to charge a laptop. We could alternatively pick up a second battery, but that would mean having to charge two batteries whenever possible - about seven hours of charging time, which is non-negligible.) Unfortunately, we still have to do a bit of debugging on the GPS unit; gpsd (which we're using to grab GPS readings from the USB datalogger) was recently updated in a non-backwards-compatible way, so our scripts have to be updated. We hope to figure this out by tomorrow so that we can get this part of the multimedia working!</p>
-<p>Our Internet connectivity is sporadic for the moment, so we'll have to settle for uploading these when we can. (Again - suggestions are welcome! 3G coverage appears to have improved measurably over the last few years; is anyone familiar enough with the European market here to provide advice?) We'll try to get the handlebar video compiled and uploaded soon, and we'll be writing daily posts even when we can't upload them immediately; keep posted!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/16/and-so-it-begins.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/18/odin-s-temple.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Our Internet connectivity is sporadic for the moment, so we'll have to settle for uploading these when we can. (Again - suggestions are welcome! 3G coverage appears to have improved measurably over the last few years; is anyone familiar enough with the European market here to provide advice?) We'll try to get the handlebar video compiled and uploaded soon, and we'll be writing daily posts even when we can't upload them immediately; keep posted!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/16/and-so-it-begins.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/18/odin-s-temple.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>odin's temple</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/17/on-the-road.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>odin's temple</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#dk"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/dk.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Denmark</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-18</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>odin's temple</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/17/on-the-road.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>odin's temple</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#dk"><img src="/icons/dk.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Denmark</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-18</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>
 Odin's temple shines,<br/>
 Light issuing from homes<br/>
 Bright with happiness.
@@ -8,4 +8,4 @@
 <p>The four of us piled into the car (Birthe asked if we had any requests for the day, and our only answer was "no cycling") and headed the 7 or so kilometres into the centre of town.  We saw old parks, cathedrals, Hans Christian Anderson's home, and the old centre of Odense.  I guess the photos will speak for themselves when we can get them uploaded--which should be soon since my mom managed to acquire a cable that I believe she will be mailing to us in Antwerp--so I'll just babble about the history and cool stuff we learned:</p>
 <p>"Odense" actually means "Odin's temple," which is pretty awesome.  It has been around for several centuries.  It's the 3rd largest town in Danmark, and it got the country's first bike lane way back in 1898.  It's a place where Hans Christian Anderson spent a lot of his time, and there's a museum in his old house and several statues scattered around the city centre that depicted some of his more famous characters, like the one-legged tin soldier and the woman with her chicken eggs perched atop her head.  There was also a sculpture of the man himself.</p>
 <p>One of the cooler techy things that we saw was a counter along a bicycle path that kept track of the number of cyclists that had passed for the day and year and previous years.  We went by around 1430, and there already had been about 5300 cyclists.  :)</p>
-<p>After a couple hours of wandering, we returned to our hosts' lovely house for some cake and tea.  The cake was this delicious Danish thing made from folding several layers of pastry with butter and OH MY GOODNESS IT IS DELICIOUS.  Also the health of these people is amazing: we did some grocery shopping for Birthe's 100-year-old neighbour who still lives on her own.  Then we spent a half hour or so doing all the bicycle things we didn't realise that we'd needed to do, like retightening the nuts holding on Evan's toe clip and putting batteries in our taillights and the like.  Birthe, Evan, and I then went for a walk down to the creek nearby, enjoying the Golden Hour before the sun got too far down towards the horizon.  Ole prepared some dinner, which we of course stuffed ourselves with, and then afterwards we had a delicious time with sake and Gammel Dansk and trip photos (Birthe and Ole went to India recently, and they also had loads of photos of Portugal and Praha).  We closed the night with some music and dancing (did I mention that Birthe and Ole are adorable?) and piano-playing.  Lovely, really.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/17/on-the-road.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>After a couple hours of wandering, we returned to our hosts' lovely house for some cake and tea.  The cake was this delicious Danish thing made from folding several layers of pastry with butter and OH MY GOODNESS IT IS DELICIOUS.  Also the health of these people is amazing: we did some grocery shopping for Birthe's 100-year-old neighbour who still lives on her own.  Then we spent a half hour or so doing all the bicycle things we didn't realise that we'd needed to do, like retightening the nuts holding on Evan's toe clip and putting batteries in our taillights and the like.  Birthe, Evan, and I then went for a walk down to the creek nearby, enjoying the Golden Hour before the sun got too far down towards the horizon.  Ole prepared some dinner, which we of course stuffed ourselves with, and then afterwards we had a delicious time with sake and Gammel Dansk and trip photos (Birthe and Ole went to India recently, and they also had loads of photos of Portugal and Praha).  We closed the night with some music and dancing (did I mention that Birthe and Ole are adorable?) and piano-playing.  Lovely, really.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/17/on-the-road.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>pesto with pesto with pesto and pesto</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/18/odin-s-temple.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/20/birthdays-beer-and-borders.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>pesto with pesto with pesto and pesto</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#dk"><img src="/icons/dk.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Denmark</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-19</div></div><div id="content"><p>Late start out of Odense, around 1300 - we had originally hoped to set out around 1130 or so, but ended up waking up at that time instead due to general jet-lag exhaustion, post-hospitality food overdose, and a late night of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gammel_Dansk">Gammel Dansk</a> and Danish music. Following advice from Valkyrie's relatives, we abandoned our plan to bike up around via Middelfart and Kolding in favour of a shorter trip over to the Synfynske ferry at Bøjden. This took us across to Als; a short hour along the local scenic highway later, we rolled into Sønderborg. A shorter day, to be sure; nevertheless, we saved enough distance and time by taking the ferry to put ourselves within a couple days' ride of Hamburg - and the ferry ride was picturesque indeed.</p>
+<p>We had enough daylight left in Sønderborg to head into town for a combination stroll and grocery store run; a short Kvickly trip later, we were the proud owners of multicolour pasta, pesto, gouda with pesto, and tomatoes. We then promptly employed said ingredients to concoct a pesto-drenched pot full of pasta with pesto with gouda with pesto with tomatoes, which we ate using our titanium sporks. Yum.</p>
+<p>We're almost out of Denmark at this point; tomorrow should put us over the border into Germany. Our proximity to the Danish-German border is made clear with every trilingual (Dansk, Deutsch, and English) sign that we pass, and Sønderborg appears to be a fairly popular tourist destination for Germans seeking a quick getaway. We'll make sure to set an alarm so that we wake up at a more reasonable hour!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/18/odin-s-temple.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/20/birthdays-beer-and-borders.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>birthdays, beer, and borders</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/21/lost-and-found.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>birthdays, beer, and borders</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#de"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/de.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Germany</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-20</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>birthdays, beer, and borders</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/21/lost-and-found.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>birthdays, beer, and borders</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#de"><img src="/icons/de.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Germany</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-20</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>
 Losing battles ain't<br />
 The end, the spirit crushes<br />
 Onward.  And again!<br />
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>Anyway, this morning found us in Sønderborg, which is an important town in Danish history!  Nearby is a battleground where Danmark suffered some great losses in 1864.  While the US was occupied with its own thing, Germany was trying to scrawl its name across more of Europe, and they conquered 1/3 of Danish land and 2/5 of Danish peoples in a battle on a nearby hill.  The land was returned to the Danes nearly 60 years later, in 1922, and they celebrated their reunification on the same hill where they had previously lost their territory.</p>
 <p>The ride today was frustrating.  We only covered about 50km over the whole day, despite the fact that we woke up at a reasonable hour and continued cycling until rather late.  I got a flat tyre outside of Sønderborg not very far, and we tried replacing the tube only to discover that Evan and I do not, in fact, have the same size wheels.  Then we tried patching it only to discover that the glue was old and didn't stick well enough.  Then we tried another set of patches only to discover that there was suddenly another hole in the tube.  At this point, we were only 15km or so from the Deutsch border, so we elected to hoof it and not frustrate ourselves further.</p>
 <p>As we tromped defeatedly along the highway, a man named Jan came by on a bike.  He asked us where we were from, told us he lived in the next town and that there was no bicycle shop there (a fact we had been counting on.. we assumed we could buy a properly-sized replacement tube there), and gave us a lesson on tyre fixing.  He pointed out the obvious fact that we had missed: it is important to check the tyre itself to see if there is glass or stones lodged inside that might repuncture the tube when it is replaced.  There was, in fact!  So we got a proper fix-job completed and he set off for Kruså.  We took a bit longer to get going again, as we paused to oil our chains and the like, but we headed his way in a bit.</p>
-<p>When we arrived to Kruså, which is just on the Danish side of the border, we ran into Jan again!  He was still on his bicycle, cruising along.  We were near his house, so he invited us in for some tea.  He had a brood of puppies and children that wandered around the yard while we sipped our tea, and it was lovely.  After a half hour's pause there, we moved on to Germany, where we are staying just a couple dozens of kilometres from the border.  :D</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/21/lost-and-found.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>When we arrived to Kruså, which is just on the Danish side of the border, we ran into Jan again!  He was still on his bicycle, cruising along.  We were near his house, so he invited us in for some tea.  He had a brood of puppies and children that wandered around the yard while we sipped our tea, and it was lovely.  After a half hour's pause there, we moved on to Germany, where we are staying just a couple dozens of kilometres from the border.  :D</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/19/pesto-with-pesto-with-pesto-and-pesto.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/21/lost-and-found.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>lost and found</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/20/birthdays-beer-and-borders.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/22/finding-our-centre.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>lost and found</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#de"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/de.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Germany</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-21</div></div><div id="content"><p>Fairly long ride today from just outside of Flensburg, about 100 km - though in the absence of perfect navigation, missed turns and resulting backtracks brought this total to somewhere around 120 km. The day started out with a quick hop down to Schleswig, where we grabbed a generous lunch of pizza, watermelon, pretzels, and beer; as we noted before, sustaining this level of activity for several hours each day requires an enormous amount of food!</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>lost and found</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/20/birthdays-beer-and-borders.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/22/finding-our-centre.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>lost and found</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#de"><img src="/icons/de.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Germany</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-21</div></div><div id="content"><p>Fairly long ride today from just outside of Flensburg, about 100 km - though in the absence of perfect navigation, missed turns and resulting backtracks brought this total to somewhere around 120 km. The day started out with a quick hop down to Schleswig, where we grabbed a generous lunch of pizza, watermelon, pretzels, and beer; as we noted before, sustaining this level of activity for several hours each day requires an enormous amount of food!</p>
 <p>After this, we had a slight detour towards Kiel - the highway signs are not always obvious, especially at multi-highway junctions. It took a bit of help from an attendant at the nearest petrol station and a closer look at the map to get back on track, but we managed to catch the error before we got too far out of Schleswig. We did have another spot of misdirection in getting onto the correct bike path for Neumünster, and were forced to push our bikes up a set of stairs alongside the highway out of Schleswig. With those two obstacles overcome, we were now on our way to Neumünster.</p>
 <p>We hit Rendsburg next, where we ended up missing the highway again; fortunately, we corrected this much faster than our previous misadventures out of Schleswig. (I suppose we're learning from experience, albeit slowly!) Upon asking the locals for directions, we received some cryptic advice: "This road leads down to the bridge, where you will find a ferry hanging from a bridge." This seemed like utter nonsense at the time, but turned out to be accurate - for there, under the railway bridge, was a section of road suspended by four thick cables for the sole purpose of carrying pedestrians and motorists to the other side. (Why did they not simply build another bridge? This is an excellent question - perhaps they wanted some Rube Goldbergian practice.)</p>
 <p>The bike path from Rendsburg to Neumünster was another adventure altogether; this leads through farmland and backcountry gravel roads, which are understandably unfriendly to touring bikes. We encountered loose sand at several points along this path, causing us to careen into tailspins that nearly toppled us (and our weighty gear) off our bikes. That said, the path was quite beautiful in some parts, especially where it passed by majestic groupings of wind turbines or tree-lined alleyways.</p>
 <p>Our final challenge of the day was finding the campsite around Neumünster; it was not actually in the city proper, but rather some 5 km or so out in the surrounding countryside. Nevertheless, we mustered enough persistence and last-minute energy to arrive there and set up camp, whereupon we promptly passed out.</p>
-<p>So far, the greatest difficulty in navigation has been finding our way out of cities; the routes in between are fairly well marked, with frequent signs listing distances to nearby towns. The best remedy is usually asking for help; unless you have a decent GPS navigation unit or printed copies of every last map tile on Google Maps, chances are the locals know the area better than you could ever hope to. It might be difficult to ask, particularly if your command of the language is somewhat lacking, but you will likely ascertain enough of the intended meaning from frantic hand signals to figure it out. (At the very least, you can get going in the right direction and ask again.)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/20/birthdays-beer-and-borders.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/22/finding-our-centre.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>So far, the greatest difficulty in navigation has been finding our way out of cities; the routes in between are fairly well marked, with frequent signs listing distances to nearby towns. The best remedy is usually asking for help; unless you have a decent GPS navigation unit or printed copies of every last map tile on Google Maps, chances are the locals know the area better than you could ever hope to. It might be difficult to ask, particularly if your command of the language is somewhat lacking, but you will likely ascertain enough of the intended meaning from frantic hand signals to figure it out. (At the very least, you can get going in the right direction and ask again.)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/20/birthdays-beer-and-borders.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/22/finding-our-centre.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>finding our centre</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/21/lost-and-found.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/23/drinking-and-paddling.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>finding our centre</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#de"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/de.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Germany</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-22</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>finding our centre</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/21/lost-and-found.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/23/drinking-and-paddling.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>finding our centre</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#de"><img src="/icons/de.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Germany</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-22</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>
 Cement towers shield<br />
 Living lakes, and people's paths<br />
 Can meet in strange ways.<br />
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>He's a super dude.  He's a friend of a friend from CERN, and he worked as a physicist at DESY (which is sort of like German CERN, but a little smaller) for many years.  He now is the chair of the Green Party in Hamburg, and he explained a lot of interesting things about the greenness of Hamburg.  I guess there are guerrilla gardeners afoot who steal public space for making flower gardens and the like.  It's illegal, but tolerated.  :)  There are also bike houses around town, especially in the part of town where Wolfgang lives (it's called Altona, but anyway more on Hamburg history in a moment).  They are basically little towers with bike racks inside that are for people whose apartment buildings don't have cellars to use.  Such a good idea!</p>
 <p>So Hamburg isn't really a town in its own right.  It's a conglomeration of towns that have come together over the years to create one big, sprawling harbour along the Elbe.  And what a harbour it is.  On one side, there are residences and gorgeous parks, and on the other there are industrial landscapes of epic proportion.  Cruise ships wander up and down the river, alongside boat busses that operate as part of the Hamburg transit system.  Wolfgang took us for a stroll and showed us the Altona fishmarket and downtown and beaches, and it was lovely!  Altona is super confusing, though; it has been built on a series of triangles rather than squares, which makes sensible navigation nigh impossible for the uninitiated.</p>
 <p>After our stroll, Evan and I headed out to see what the local nightlife had to offer (Saturday night, why not?), and we were pleased to happen upon a bar stuffed with cigarette-smoking, tattooed seamen.  Well, some of them were seamen.  Or had the muscles for it, anyway.  But the guy we wound up talking to for most of the evening was an aspiring musician from near the Dutch border.  He was hysterical, and he served as a pretty good translator for us to talk to some of the other folks in the bar, including one old woman who was drunk off her arse and babbling.</p>
-<p>All in all, I think Hamburg will be great!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/21/lost-and-found.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/23/drinking-and-paddling.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>All in all, I think Hamburg will be great!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/21/lost-and-found.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/23/drinking-and-paddling.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>drinking and paddling</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/22/finding-our-centre.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/24/zeven-and-eleven.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>drinking and paddling</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#de"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/de.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Germany</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-23</div></div><div id="content"><p>Another day of relaxation, this time in the sprawling port city of Hamburg. We elected to catch up on some sleep in the morning - bike touring is exhausting, especially when you've got to set up a tent at the end of each day! This is especially noticeable after three solid days of cycling with a seat that's just a touch too low; with a poorly adjusted seat, each rotation of the pedals puts unnecessary pushing strain on the knees. Perhaps this stay in Hamburg will be enough to recuperate...anyways, we awoke late to the sound of rain belting out of the sky and hurtling into our window, this courtesy of a nasty thunderstorm currently making the rounds in uncharacteristically cold northern Europe. Good thing we're not biking today.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>drinking and paddling</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/22/finding-our-centre.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/24/zeven-and-eleven.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>drinking and paddling</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#de"><img src="/icons/de.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Germany</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-23</div></div><div id="content"><p>Another day of relaxation, this time in the sprawling port city of Hamburg. We elected to catch up on some sleep in the morning - bike touring is exhausting, especially when you've got to set up a tent at the end of each day! This is especially noticeable after three solid days of cycling with a seat that's just a touch too low; with a poorly adjusted seat, each rotation of the pedals puts unnecessary pushing strain on the knees. Perhaps this stay in Hamburg will be enough to recuperate...anyways, we awoke late to the sound of rain belting out of the sky and hurtling into our window, this courtesy of a nasty thunderstorm currently making the rounds in uncharacteristically cold northern Europe. Good thing we're not biking today.</p>
 <p>Wolfgang was kind enough to extend an invitation to brunch with some of his colleagues from DESY over at a local café in Ottensen, part of the Altona area of Hamburg. Despite Wolfgang's protestations that this was not the best café in town, we found the brunch (this consisting of a variety of breads and pastries laid out with cheeses, meats, salads, müesli, juices, and so on) to be absolutely delicious. There is something uniquely pleasurable about the European pace of life that has been all but lost back in North America, even though mounting evidence suggests that long "death march" work hours and frequent overtime weekends are counterproductive. (At Facebook, I somehow managed to complete my projects without resorting to all-nighters and weekend coding stints like some of the other interns. As a result, I retained a modicum of sanity throughout the whole internship.)</p>
 <p>After brunch, we headed over to the canals just off the lake near the centre of Hamburg. There's a number of boat rental shops along the waterways where you can rent out canoes and paddle boats by the hour, and so we felt compelled to do exactly that! During our explorations, we came across a canalside café; a waitress stood in the window overlooking the canal, taking orders from boats that approached below. There was even a rope bolted into the wall so that those in the boats could form a queue. After roughly a quarter-hour's wait, we headed off down the canal freshly stocked with enough Hefeweizen to complete our little circuit. We followed this up with a multi-hour stroll back along the lake, through the downtown core, past the infamous St. Pauli district, and on to the Elbe where to our great relief a bus ferry was available to bring us back to Ottensen.</p>
-<p>When taking an extended bike trip, don't forget to take a day off once in a while! As we've mentioned before, cycling turns you into a ravenous food-vacuuming machine - you need an incredible amount of energy to sustain cardiovascular activity for most of the day. With this rest stop drawing to a close, we now feel ready to tackle the next stretch: 4-5 days from here to Amsterdam. This will be the longest continuous stretch so far, so hopefully we'll find the time to get some more posts up along the way!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/22/finding-our-centre.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/24/zeven-and-eleven.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>When taking an extended bike trip, don't forget to take a day off once in a while! As we've mentioned before, cycling turns you into a ravenous food-vacuuming machine - you need an incredible amount of energy to sustain cardiovascular activity for most of the day. With this rest stop drawing to a close, we now feel ready to tackle the next stretch: 4-5 days from here to Amsterdam. This will be the longest continuous stretch so far, so hopefully we'll find the time to get some more posts up along the way!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/22/finding-our-centre.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/24/zeven-and-eleven.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>zeven and eleven</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/23/drinking-and-paddling.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>zeven and eleven</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#de"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/de.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Germany</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-24</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>zeven and eleven</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/23/drinking-and-paddling.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>zeven and eleven</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#de"><img src="/icons/de.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Germany</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-24</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>
 Rain comes and rain goes,<br />
 Tea fills the cup and empties.<br />
 Giant chairs rule all.<br />
@@ -10,4 +10,4 @@
 <p>So Evan crouched under me as I held my raincoat out for a shield, and he successfully patched the tube.  We shivered for the next 10 km or so until we rolled into the next town and sat down to eat at the only place that was open: China Palace!  We drank a couple pots of wonderful, hot jasmine tea between us (honestly, I think I did most of the tea-drinking, but.....) and shared a dish which was called the DYNASTY FIRE PLATE.  It was pretty epic, and the piles of rice and veggies did us some good, I think.  Also, the woman who seemed to own the place has a niece from Toronto, and she seemed excited to practise her English.  :D</p>
 <p>The day got colder and windier and darker as we headed south towards Zeven, where we had decided we would make camp.  We followed some series of increasingly impossible German bicycle paths in that direction, which led us through forests and along wooden bridges and through dirt and mud and past a circus.  Several times we had to stop and walk our bikes along because the wind was too vicious to cut through at a riding speed.  Eventually, Zeven!</p>
 <p>The campsite that we stayed at was decorated by a pair of comically oversized deck chairs, which we of course had to sit in.  It was headed by a super-kind hippieish fellow who gave us a ride into town (about 2km) so we could get dinner after we cleaned ourselves up a bit.  We had house-made beer and liquor and ice cream at a restaurant caled Klosterschänke (pronounced similar to "Cluster Shank," haha), then wandered through the town's parks and back to camp.</p>
-<p>Zeven is basically adorable.  If we hadn't wound up in such a terrific town at the end of the day, we would have to write it off as awful overall.  But with the addition of Camping Sonnenkamp Zeven, we had a nice day.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/23/drinking-and-paddling.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Zeven is basically adorable.  If we hadn't wound up in such a terrific town at the end of the day, we would have to write it off as awful overall.  But with the addition of Camping Sonnenkamp Zeven, we had a nice day.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/23/drinking-and-paddling.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>nay, ich spreche deutsch!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/24/zeven-and-eleven.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/26/sheep-poop-and-sunsets.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>nay, ich spreche deutsch!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#de"><img src="/icons/de.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Germany</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-25</div></div><div id="content"><p>Another relatively long day today from the wonderful town of Zeven (which serves as a halfway point for those travelling between Hamburg and Bremen) to Oldenburg. We had actually intended to stop just past Bremen in Hude, but were refused at the Hostelling International hostel there for arriving roughly 20 minutes past the office closing time. Oh well. Much profanity, cold air, and lactic acid buildup later, we finally made it into Oldenburg. As per usual, this was not the end of our daily adventure; given only a compass and large-scale map, we had to find a place to stay for the night. Being more than a little tired and sore, we opted for the local hostel towards the north of town; setting out in what we thought was the right direction, we instead succeeded in finding the pedestrian centrum. After some amount of aimless perambulation, we were almost ready to give up - 120 km is a long way to bike in a single day, and it was getting rather late - when a friendly older couple noticed our predicament and offered to walk with us to the hostel. This was fortunate indeed, as I strongly doubt that we would have found it without assistance!</p>
+<p>They explained a number of things about Oldenburg:</p>
+<ul>
+<li>Oldenburg had the first pedestrian area in Germany - with the advent of the horseless carriage, the roads in that area of town proved too narrow for vehicles...so they converted into a pedestrian district instead.</li>
+<li>The town is roughly 600 years old, with around 160 000 inhabitants.</li>
+<li>Oldenburg is rather large compared to other towns of its size; many residences in the centre of town have sizeable yards, which is unusual in Europe.</li>
+</ul>
+<p>Anyways, we managed to get ourselves checked into the hostel, whereupon we promptly lifted our spirits with Bier and Döner before collapsing in an exhausted heap on the bed. Aside from that: we are now furnished with new maps courtesy of some German cycling association in Bremen, which should last us to Amsterdam. The second half of the Hamburg-Bremen cycling route (indicated with HH/HB signs, corresponding to the regional codes for each city) is no less circuitous than the first - the Germans seem determined to ensure that cyclists visit every town on the map! We're almost out of Germany at this point; hopefully we can make it across the border into the Netherlands tomorrow!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/24/zeven-and-eleven.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/26/sheep-poop-and-sunsets.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>sheep poop and sunsets</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>sheep poop and sunsets</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#nl"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/nl.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Holland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-26</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Brilliant sunset lights<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>sheep poop and sunsets</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>sheep poop and sunsets</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#nl"><img src="/icons/nl.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Holland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-26</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Brilliant sunset lights<br />
 German fields, scattered through Dutch<br />
 Windmill blades' turnings.</i></p>
 <p>Our last day in Germany!</p>
@@ -12,4 +12,4 @@
 <p>After we wolfed down large portions of toast, eggs, and bacon, we were pleasantly surprised by beers at the expense of a couple sitting at the bar.  We moved over to chat with them, and learned a number of things about the town.  They lived nearby, they said, and they wouldn't mind if we wanted to come over in the morning and have them cook us some real Dutch breakfast.</p>
 <p>The conversation wore on, and Evan and I talked more about our trip and the tent that we've been staying in.  Oh, they said, you are welcome to set up your tent in our backyard, if you want, so that you don't have to pay the camping fees.</p>
 <p>Well, that's lovely.  We headed over to their house for some post-drinks drinks, and we talked with their son, who had learned a very peculiar brand of British English.  He was more than happy to offer us his bed for the night, so that we wouldn't have to sleep on the ground, and he would take the couch.</p>
-<p>What a deal!  The son even walked us over to the campsite and helped load our bikes and carry stuff back to the house.  It was... a surprising show of hospitality that I might not have expected to find many places.  The man of the family, Wubbe, had very strong feelings about our nationality.  He was not far removed from the last Great War, and it was interesting how much his gratefulness to the Canadian and American soldiers guided his actions.  They were a charming family, though, and we are grateful to have the chance to learn things from random hosts!  Would that this streak of kindness continues.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>What a deal!  The son even walked us over to the campsite and helped load our bikes and carry stuff back to the house.  It was... a surprising show of hospitality that I might not have expected to find many places.  The man of the family, Wubbe, had very strong feelings about our nationality.  He was not far removed from the last Great War, and it was interesting how much his gratefulness to the Canadian and American soldiers guided his actions.  They were a charming family, though, and we are grateful to have the chance to learn things from random hosts!  Would that this streak of kindness continues.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/25/nay-ich-spreche-deutsch.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>food and food and food and food and...</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/26/sheep-poop-and-sunsets.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/28/all-weather-cycling.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>food and food and food and food and...</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#nl"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/nl.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Holland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-27</div></div><div id="content"><p>We decided to take our hosts up on their gracious offer of breakfast before departing; this resulted in a seemingly endless cavalcade of delicious food that lasted through lunch, filling our stomachs (and making it quite difficult to bike afterwards!) Here follows a faithful account of the gastronomic ginormosity jointly consumed by the Evan and Valkyrie Massive Food Consumption Team:</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>food and food and food and food and...</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/26/sheep-poop-and-sunsets.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/28/all-weather-cycling.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>food and food and food and food and...</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#nl"><img src="/icons/nl.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Holland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-27</div></div><div id="content"><p>We decided to take our hosts up on their gracious offer of breakfast before departing; this resulted in a seemingly endless cavalcade of delicious food that lasted through lunch, filling our stomachs (and making it quite difficult to bike afterwards!) Here follows a faithful account of the gastronomic ginormosity jointly consumed by the Evan and Valkyrie Massive Food Consumption Team:</p>
 <ul>
 <li>10 eggs;</li>
 <li>most of a loaf of bread;</li>
@@ -12,4 +12,4 @@
 </ul>
 <p>Tip for travellers: if you can't eat anymore, say so. You may find that the hospitality in certain areas exceeds even the size of a fully-stretched stomach :)</p>
 <p>They also loaded up our lunch box with a variety of cookies and juices before we exchanged goodbyes, took some group shots for the road (check the Picasa albums!) and set out further into Noord-Holland. Despite our overfilled stomachs and late-afternoon start (about 3 pm by the time we truly got going), we managed a haul of roughly 80 km! The daily route wound through near-perfectly flat farmland to Groningen, where we briefly stopped to check the map. Valkyrie found a small town about 30 km out of Groningen towards Amsterdam by the name of Amerika, whereupon she insisted against all reason and logic that we must head there to camp. 30 increasingly late, cold, and exhausted kilometres later, we found ourselves instead in the nearby town of Steenbergen. We attempted to enlist local help in locating Amerika, only to find that it was apparently so minor as to escape popular notice. Frustrated and slightly lost, we headed for a nearby campground; however, this too met in failure when a sign to the site led us to an unsigned T-intersection. Whoops. In desperation, we approached the only house in sight, knocked on the door - "Hello? We're trying to get to the Ponderosa campground." "Ah, it's just up that way - but you don't really want to go there. It's not really for tent camping; people - how do you say? People without money go there to live. There's another campground up that way, maybe five or six kilometres...although it's getting late. Perhaps you would like to camp here?" We nod vigorously; 10 minutes later, we have our tent set up and are being treated to beer and wine over stories of our hosts' travels in Portugal, Italy, and elsewhere...so, in this part of the trip, we have been incredibly lucky!</p>
-<p>Although I have nothing to offer our hosts, I hope someday to pass this favour onto others - the warmth of hospitality has all but disappeared in some places, replaced instead by a mortal fear that everyone is a serial axe-murdering arsonist thief kidnapper. It is easy to point fingers at the media, lower moral standards, higher crime rates, or other such excuses. It is infinitely harder to change this and welcome complete strangers into your home as these people have done; it is even harder yet to find areas (such as Noord-Holland) where such a reception is the norm rather than the exception. We can only hope to meet more such people during the rest of our travels!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/26/sheep-poop-and-sunsets.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/28/all-weather-cycling.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Although I have nothing to offer our hosts, I hope someday to pass this favour onto others - the warmth of hospitality has all but disappeared in some places, replaced instead by a mortal fear that everyone is a serial axe-murdering arsonist thief kidnapper. It is easy to point fingers at the media, lower moral standards, higher crime rates, or other such excuses. It is infinitely harder to change this and welcome complete strangers into your home as these people have done; it is even harder yet to find areas (such as Noord-Holland) where such a reception is the norm rather than the exception. We can only hope to meet more such people during the rest of our travels!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/26/sheep-poop-and-sunsets.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/28/all-weather-cycling.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>all-weather cycling</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/29/when-the-going-gets-weird.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>all-weather cycling</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#nl"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/nl.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Holland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-28</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Suns rise and suns set,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>all-weather cycling</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/29/when-the-going-gets-weird.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>all-weather cycling</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#nl"><img src="/icons/nl.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Holland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-28</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Suns rise and suns set,<br />
 Winds blow across built islands,<br />
 Hail falls in springtime.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -16,4 +16,4 @@
 <p>WHAT.</p>
 <p>So we apparently have no way to get across the water from this tiny town that is nearly inaccessible by any reasonable means of transportation.  There is no train station.  Buses certainly won't accept bicycles.  What to dooooooooo??</p>
 <p>We elected to fume about it over dinner, which was a very interesting and tasty set of salmon and emmantaler cheese pancake sandwiches with fresh strawberries.  We find interesting food on this trip.  We pored over our map for a while, and it appeared that the best option was to bike to a town a bit to the south (did I mention there wasn't much going on in Urk?  Yeah, they didn't have a campsite, either.) called Lelystad, which was 1) the nearest town, 2) had a campsite, and 3) had a train station.  Unfortunately, "a bit to the south" meant an additional 30km when it was already getting dark.</p>
-<p>We sucked it up, though.  We rolled into Lelystad around 23:00 after admiring the sunset over the wind farms and water.  The campsite office was closed, but we stuffed a note into the mailbox explaining that we would pay in the morning and to please not bother us too early because we were exhausted from our ride.  Here we are.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/29/when-the-going-gets-weird.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We sucked it up, though.  We rolled into Lelystad around 23:00 after admiring the sunset over the wind farms and water.  The campsite office was closed, but we stuffed a note into the mailbox explaining that we would pay in the morning and to please not bother us too early because we were exhausted from our ride.  Here we are.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/29/when-the-going-gets-weird.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>when the going gets weird</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/28/all-weather-cycling.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/30/the-post-in-amsterdam-where-nothing-happens.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>when the going gets weird</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#nl"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/nl.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Holland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-29</div></div><div id="content"><p>Woke up this morning to impressively sore muscles, courtesy of the extra 30 km haul into Lelysted forced upon us by inaccurate German cycling maps. Lelysted itself is like a SimCity rendition of something out of the super-planned quasi-Soviet dystopian world of Clockwork Orange. The city is laid out on a grid with the downtown smack-dab in the centre. Upon approaching the downtown from our campsite, we crossed pedestrian bridges between square city-block park sections over roads with roundabouts at each intersection. As we came closer, the parkland gave way to housing developments constructed with geometric precision according to some mid-century neon-Technicolor aesthetic, their previously brilliant primaries slowly greying under constant abuse from weather and urban pollution. The downtown itself was packed with Saturday market-goers; to compound this, a Scouting festival had taken over one of the public squares with cacophonous percussion. The whole thing was utterly unlike any other city we've passed through so far - at once refreshing and unsettling, although we had little time to explore it.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>when the going gets weird</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/28/all-weather-cycling.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/30/the-post-in-amsterdam-where-nothing-happens.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>when the going gets weird</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#nl"><img src="/icons/nl.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Holland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-29</div></div><div id="content"><p>Woke up this morning to impressively sore muscles, courtesy of the extra 30 km haul into Lelysted forced upon us by inaccurate German cycling maps. Lelysted itself is like a SimCity rendition of something out of the super-planned quasi-Soviet dystopian world of Clockwork Orange. The city is laid out on a grid with the downtown smack-dab in the centre. Upon approaching the downtown from our campsite, we crossed pedestrian bridges between square city-block park sections over roads with roundabouts at each intersection. As we came closer, the parkland gave way to housing developments constructed with geometric precision according to some mid-century neon-Technicolor aesthetic, their previously brilliant primaries slowly greying under constant abuse from weather and urban pollution. The downtown itself was packed with Saturday market-goers; to compound this, a Scouting festival had taken over one of the public squares with cacophonous percussion. The whole thing was utterly unlike any other city we've passed through so far - at once refreshing and unsettling, although we had little time to explore it.</p>
 <p>We then grabbed a train for Amsterdam, being in no shape to cycle there after yesterday's long and headwind-fraught journey. It seems that most European rail networks charge a flat fee for bicycles; as such, the bike tickets cost nearly as much as the passenger tickets! There's this 20 km-long stretch of pseudo-safari parkland just out of Lelysted - it's strangely barren, punctuated only by the occasional roaming animal herd or precariously wind-bent tree. (There's a reason they build so many wind farms here!) A short bit later, we disembarked into Amsterdam-Centraal and its throngs of drug-addled tourists. Our general philosophy during this trip has been to plan as little as possible, and so we arrived with no place to stay and little hope of finding a campground anywhere near the city centre; as such, we elected to search for a cheap hostel. The natural place to make such inquiries is the local tourist information centre, but this was backlogged with a queue of nearly 50. Instead, we dropped 1€ on a map listing hotels and hostels near the downtown core, using it as a basis for our search.</p>
 <p>One hour and several unsuccessful attempts later, we found spare rooms in the Bulldog off one of the canals near the red-light district. (It was surprising to find that Amsterdam had so many canals, as the city is better known for its more notorious attributes!) They didn't allow checkins before 1500, however, so we left our gear in their locked storage room while we killed time over tea and Calvados in a nearby café. Bulldog owns a series of coffee shops, cafés, and bars throughout the city. The euphemistically-named "coffee shops" are cannabis-smoking lounges which additionally offer a variety of snacks (but no alcoholic beverages!), whereas the other two are what you would expect. Although certain drugs (such as marijuana, psilocybin, and their various derivatives) are legal, others are not; recent amendments to the drug law have also prohibited the use of marijuana in public areas, analogous to similar limitations on the smoking of tobacco. In addition, most permanent residents take an unfavourable view of Amsterdam's reputation; most CouchSurfing hosts in the area, for instance, request that travellers refrain from bringing drugs into their homes. For this reason, Amsterdam is very much two cities in one: one part for tourists, who predominantly come to take advantage of lax drug laws, and another for everyone else. It is also an interesting case study in decriminalization: as an early adopter, Amsterdam reaps both the benefits of greatly increased tourism and the challenges of reconciling the tourist-driven drug culture with the existing local culture.</p>
-<p>Aside from its reputation as a mecca for drugs and sex, Amsterdam also boasts a world-class cycling path network with ridership rivalling that of Copenhagen. Bikes line every available railing along the canals; to deal with scarce parking space, some even hang their bikes out over the canal with longer cable locks! Even if the weather proves less than favourable tomorrow, we'll get a chance to enjoy those paths when we leave Monday morning.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/28/all-weather-cycling.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/30/the-post-in-amsterdam-where-nothing-happens.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Aside from its reputation as a mecca for drugs and sex, Amsterdam also boasts a world-class cycling path network with ridership rivalling that of Copenhagen. Bikes line every available railing along the canals; to deal with scarce parking space, some even hang their bikes out over the canal with longer cable locks! Even if the weather proves less than favourable tomorrow, we'll get a chance to enjoy those paths when we leave Monday morning.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/28/all-weather-cycling.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/30/the-post-in-amsterdam-where-nothing-happens.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the post in amsterdam where nothing happens</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/29/when-the-going-gets-weird.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/31/life-on-tv.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the post in amsterdam where nothing happens</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#nl"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/nl.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Holland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-30</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Lights and sound and life<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the post in amsterdam where nothing happens</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/29/when-the-going-gets-weird.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/31/life-on-tv.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the post in amsterdam where nothing happens</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#nl"><img src="/icons/nl.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Holland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-30</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Lights and sound and life<br />
 Abound in the city that<br />
 Keeps you up all night.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>To the south of the city (where our random walk led us), we found a large park which had exits onto a few interesting sights, including a Van Gogh museum.  We strolled that way-ward, and were very shortly disappointed to see the length of the line stretching in front.  That in conjunction with the fact that several signs indicated that the ticket booths were closed caused us to give up our dreams of having a lofty cultural experience in this city.</p>
 <p>However, elsewhere in the park we found a chic café with swings lining its periphery.  We sat in one and watched the storm blow around over our heads (carefully setting our laundry far enough away that we might not have to smell it all the time) for a while, then enjoyed our respective coffee and tea.  Eventually we realised that the booklets we'd gotten upon checking into our hostel indicated that there were washing facilities there, so we headed back to finally clean our junk.</p>
 <p>In the evening, we went for a stroll (in clean clothes!) around the city to enjoy its rather lovely lights.  One of my favourite things was a bridge lit to look like a car (see the photos).</p>
-<p>I guess that sounds like a fairly low-key day.  Maybe you can make up stories that make us sound more exciting.  Really.  Go wild.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/29/when-the-going-gets-weird.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/31/life-on-tv.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>I guess that sounds like a fairly low-key day.  Maybe you can make up stories that make us sound more exciting.  Really.  Go wild.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/29/when-the-going-gets-weird.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/31/life-on-tv.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>life-on-TV</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/30/the-post-in-amsterdam-where-nothing-happens.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/01/barts-bathtub.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>life-on-TV</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#nl"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/nl.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Holland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-31</div></div><div id="content"><p>After some rapid-fire back-and-forth over Facebook, we managed to arrange an interview with <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Zero-Distance-TV/110523662300671">Zero Distance TV</a> in Rotterdam by the Euromast at 1800 - deadlines are rare during a bike trip, but this gave us more than enough time to make the 90 km trip from Amsterdam (even with our late start!) We loaded up on Bulldog's breakfast offerings for the last time, dragged our bags down from our top floor lockers, loaded the bikes, and meandered our way out of Amsterdam. The city is actually quite beautiful in parts, with extensive canals and some magnificent examples of modern architecture just south towards Amstelveen; they also have dedicated bike roads near the financial district, allowing us cyclists to get around without constantly fearing for our lives.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>life-on-TV</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/30/the-post-in-amsterdam-where-nothing-happens.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/01/barts-bathtub.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>life-on-TV</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#nl"><img src="/icons/nl.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Holland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-05-31</div></div><div id="content"><p>After some rapid-fire back-and-forth over Facebook, we managed to arrange an interview with <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Zero-Distance-TV/110523662300671">Zero Distance TV</a> in Rotterdam by the Euromast at 1800 - deadlines are rare during a bike trip, but this gave us more than enough time to make the 90 km trip from Amsterdam (even with our late start!) We loaded up on Bulldog's breakfast offerings for the last time, dragged our bags down from our top floor lockers, loaded the bikes, and meandered our way out of Amsterdam. The city is actually quite beautiful in parts, with extensive canals and some magnificent examples of modern architecture just south towards Amstelveen; they also have dedicated bike roads near the financial district, allowing us cyclists to get around without constantly fearing for our lives.</p>
 <p>We hit a navigational snafu just out of Amsterdam - hoping to find a shorter way in between towns, we decided to head down this small lane next to a farm just off the highway...only to end up at a dead-end some 500m later. Instead of turning back, as more sensible and less stubborn people might do, we walked our bikes across part of the cropfield (taking care not to trample across the rows!) to the side of the highway, whereupon we hoisted our bikes over the railings, walked back along the highway to a break in the divider, waited for a pause in the traffic, hurried across the first side, hoisted our bikes over the divider, waited again, ran across to the opposite edge, and lifted the bikes once more to get on the adjoining service road. Lesson learned: don't follow random lanes! (Unless they're prominently marked with bike route signs. In that case, it's probably okay.)</p>
 <p>The ride continued uneventfully through several more towns until we reached Alphen an der Rijn, where we realized that the woefully inaccurate maps sold to us back in Bremen stopped just north of Rotterdam. Oh well; a couple of photos snapped off a road atlas in a petrol station just past the town and we were once more cartographically equipped.</p>
-<p>We hit Rotterdam with enough time to grab a quick bite, reaching the Euromast at 1801 (one minute late! Blasphemy!) where our interviewers sat patiently waiting for us. The Euromast is this odd-looking tower with an oblong bulge about halfway up. The tower being somewhat unsightly and out of the way, and this still being slightly before high season, the surrounding tourist traffic was non-existent; they had no trouble identifying two haggard-looking brightly-clad cyclists atop heavily-loaded road bikes panting their way towards the base. We headed over to the nearby park where they set up their equipment, asked a few questions, and shot some random footage of the bikes; half an hour later, we were on our way to find food (and Internet!) in the city centre. We paused to take a picture at the base of this weird gnomish statue, only to find ourselves treated to a beer at De Witte Asp by a friendly local named Chris (who, as it turns out, was on his way to a political debate over Rotterdam's economic policies; furthermore, he had been involved in building IT systems for the energy industry over the last few decades, and was considering a solar energy venture in the Sahara!) We thanked him as he rushed off to his debate, then finally headed over to the nearby campground for a much-needed rest.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/30/the-post-in-amsterdam-where-nothing-happens.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/01/barts-bathtub.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We hit Rotterdam with enough time to grab a quick bite, reaching the Euromast at 1801 (one minute late! Blasphemy!) where our interviewers sat patiently waiting for us. The Euromast is this odd-looking tower with an oblong bulge about halfway up. The tower being somewhat unsightly and out of the way, and this still being slightly before high season, the surrounding tourist traffic was non-existent; they had no trouble identifying two haggard-looking brightly-clad cyclists atop heavily-loaded road bikes panting their way towards the base. We headed over to the nearby park where they set up their equipment, asked a few questions, and shot some random footage of the bikes; half an hour later, we were on our way to find food (and Internet!) in the city centre. We paused to take a picture at the base of this weird gnomish statue, only to find ourselves treated to a beer at De Witte Asp by a friendly local named Chris (who, as it turns out, was on his way to a political debate over Rotterdam's economic policies; furthermore, he had been involved in building IT systems for the energy industry over the last few decades, and was considering a solar energy venture in the Sahara!) We thanked him as he rushed off to his debate, then finally headed over to the nearby campground for a much-needed rest.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/30/the-post-in-amsterdam-where-nothing-happens.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/01/barts-bathtub.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>bart's bathtub</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/31/life-on-tv.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/02/a-hands-toss-away.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>bart's bathtub</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#be"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/be.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Belgium</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-01</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>A country passed is<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>bart's bathtub</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/31/life-on-tv.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/02/a-hands-toss-away.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>bart's bathtub</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#be"><img src="/icons/be.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Belgium</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-01</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>A country passed is<br />
 A country seen, if you take<br />
 The time to look 'round.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -8,4 +8,4 @@
 <p>The navigational aspects of the day were rather disappointing.  We failed to see any reasonable way to get to Antwerpen via non-motorway roads, which led to a huge amount of inefficiency.  The gray sky didn't bring any rain, but its decidedly oppressive forbearance made us less than excited to put effort into bicycling.</p>
 <p>As we rolled across the border into Belgium eventually (passing over our last drempel... sad!), we were battered and sad.  A little way across the border we knew we were pretty close to Antwerpen already, but we elected to take a train the last 10km or so due to poor spirits and tired legs.  We hopped on and bought our second class tickets and the more-expensive-than-people-tickets bicycle tickets, and the wonderful conductor took pity on us and invited us to sit in first class with him.  It was a really lovely train ride.  :)</p>
 <p>Upon arriving in Antwerpen Centraal, we borrowed a phone from a random kind stranger to call our host's neighbours to get our key.  The admittedly-strange situation for our accomodations in Antwerpen are that a friend I met in Geneva, Bart, agreed to host us from afar by lending us the keys to his apartment.  He has a few friends in town who agreed to show us around and teach us about the city if they were free, which was really nice.  Anyway, we called up his neighbours and they came to pick us up at the station and give us the keys.</p>
-<p>We settled into Bart's apartment for the night, and enjoyed the relaxation powers of his bathtub.  Mmmm.  Nothing like a warm bath to soothe aching cycle legs.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/05/31/life-on-tv.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/02/a-hands-toss-away.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We settled into Bart's apartment for the night, and enjoyed the relaxation powers of his bathtub.  Mmmm.  Nothing like a warm bath to soothe aching cycle legs.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/05/31/life-on-tv.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/02/a-hands-toss-away.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a hand's toss away</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/01/barts-bathtub.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/03/in-bruges.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a hand's toss away</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#be"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/be.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Belgium</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-02</div></div><div id="content"><p>As is our custom upon reaching an oasis of non-campground-itude, we slept soundly until about 0900, waking only to fix ourselves a gargantuan breakfast of müesli and yogourt and cheese and bread. Bart's friend Niels treated us to breakfast and a quick tour of Antwerpen's more historic districts - the train station has recently completed nearly a decade of renovations, and the old part boasts a number of beautiful cathedrals...but you'll want to check our <a href="http://picasaweb.google.ca/biketotheearth">Picasa comments</a> for more details on that!</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a hand's toss away</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/01/barts-bathtub.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/03/in-bruges.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a hand's toss away</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#be"><img src="/icons/be.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Belgium</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-02</div></div><div id="content"><p>As is our custom upon reaching an oasis of non-campground-itude, we slept soundly until about 0900, waking only to fix ourselves a gargantuan breakfast of müesli and yogourt and cheese and bread. Bart's friend Niels treated us to breakfast and a quick tour of Antwerpen's more historic districts - the train station has recently completed nearly a decade of renovations, and the old part boasts a number of beautiful cathedrals...but you'll want to check our <a href="http://picasaweb.google.ca/biketotheearth">Picasa comments</a> for more details on that!</p>
 <p>We spent most of the afternoon walking around Antwerp; it seems the city has become a sort of mecca for the nouveau riche, as evidenced by the preponderance of high-end boutiques in certain parts. At the same time, it is large enough to be far more cosmopolitan than most of the villages and towns we've visited so far; Bart's apartment is situated in a district with large Turkish and Muslim populations.</p>
 <p>We still haven't tested the camping stove; several of the campgrounds we've encountered so far have kitchens, and we've been busy enough getting into the whole cycling routine that working out the minutiae of different petrol types and single-burner stove fuel pumps has been shoved way down the priority list. That said, we couldn't pass up the opportunity to use Bart's stove, which we dutifully employed to concoct a delicious repast of pasta with asparagus, lemon, and chèvre - yum! Given Bart's open invitation to use his liquor stash as we saw fit, we generously supplemented this with Guinness and wine. (Eventually, I suppose we'll have to suck it up and try out the stove.)</p>
 <p>Later on, we headed over to meet some of Bart's friends at the local bar; we shared some stories from our trip so far over half-pints of De Koninck and other such beer tastiness. (Did we mention that? They don't seem to believe in full pints here - as they put it: Belgians don't drink a lot of beer, but they drink good beer.) We were supposed to meet up with Niels, but just missed him due to the slightly overextended nap we took beforehand.</p>
-<p>Not an overly jam-packed day, but we need the rest - it's off to Brugge tomorrow!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/01/barts-bathtub.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/03/in-bruges.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Not an overly jam-packed day, but we need the rest - it's off to Brugge tomorrow!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/01/barts-bathtub.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/03/in-bruges.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>in bruges</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/02/a-hands-toss-away.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/04/grave-lines.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>in bruges</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#be"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/be.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Belgium</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-03</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>I didn't even<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>in bruges</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/02/a-hands-toss-away.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/04/grave-lines.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>in bruges</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#be"><img src="/icons/be.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Belgium</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-03</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>I didn't even<br />
 Know where Bruges was.  It's in Bel-<br />
 Gium.  Oh, the movies.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -8,4 +8,4 @@
 <p>Our own Evan Stratford took a rather remarkable fall off his bicycle around Gent.  Hooking his handlebars through the lock dangling from my top pannier, he threw himself headfirst into the ground, then turned that throw into an impressively-styled roll directly into a sewage drainage ditch.  His scent was unparalelled for the rest of the day, and he now has a wicked-looking scratch on his knee to commemorate the incident.</p>
 <p>Brugge, though, is great.  As Europe's best-preserved medieval city, it is naturally a huge tourist spot.  It's got some old windmills, but it's just packed with fantastic old structures.  There aren't yards in Brugge; all the space is filled by intricate buildings.  The absurd picturesqueness of the city actually began to annoy us after a while.  Oh, look, <i>another</i> perfect cathedral.  Guess I have to take a $#(@&amp; photo.</p>
 <p>We took a pause to enjoy Belgium's contribution to world cuisine: the fry.  The shop we found offered a variety of delicious sauces, and the one we selected was gravy with whole peppercorns.  Mmmmmm...</p>
-<p>Our curiosity about the city (and our rumbling tummies) satisfied, we headed back to our campground, where we sat up in the tent and watched a film called "In Bruges" (from which the haiku at the beginning of this post is taken).  It's quite a film.  We found it amusing that the main character had the same sort of "I am annoyed by how pretty all this is" attitude that we found ourselves with.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/02/a-hands-toss-away.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/04/grave-lines.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Our curiosity about the city (and our rumbling tummies) satisfied, we headed back to our campground, where we sat up in the tent and watched a film called "In Bruges" (from which the haiku at the beginning of this post is taken).  It's quite a film.  We found it amusing that the main character had the same sort of "I am annoyed by how pretty all this is" attitude that we found ourselves with.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/02/a-hands-toss-away.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/04/grave-lines.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>grave lines</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/03/in-bruges.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/05/without-a-car-in-the-world.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>grave lines</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-04</div></div><div id="content"><p>Having had our fill of picture-perfect Brugge and its innumerable cathedrals, cloisters, and impeccably manicured (and goose-dropping-covered) lawns, we knew it was time to head for the French border. After a quick overpriced tea just off one of the main squares near the periphery of town, we wound our way around the ring for a while before finally finding a picturesque path up the canal to Oostende. We passed a number of private boats (including one rather unimaginatively named "Le Boat") which were cruising up the canal, eliciting the occasional wave or smile from their beer-swilling passengers. Following yesterday's untimely accident (and resulting spill into the ditch), we stopped to readjust Valkyrie's rear pannier rack; it turns out that the crash pried the axle attachment out of place, causing the whole thing to bend. Fortunately, this was easily remedied, as we had preserved the parts that fell off in the process :)</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>grave lines</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/03/in-bruges.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/05/without-a-car-in-the-world.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>grave lines</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-04</div></div><div id="content"><p>Having had our fill of picture-perfect Brugge and its innumerable cathedrals, cloisters, and impeccably manicured (and goose-dropping-covered) lawns, we knew it was time to head for the French border. After a quick overpriced tea just off one of the main squares near the periphery of town, we wound our way around the ring for a while before finally finding a picturesque path up the canal to Oostende. We passed a number of private boats (including one rather unimaginatively named "Le Boat") which were cruising up the canal, eliciting the occasional wave or smile from their beer-swilling passengers. Following yesterday's untimely accident (and resulting spill into the ditch), we stopped to readjust Valkyrie's rear pannier rack; it turns out that the crash pried the axle attachment out of place, causing the whole thing to bend. Fortunately, this was easily remedied, as we had preserved the parts that fell off in the process :)</p>
 <p>20 km later, the canal path opened up into Oostende and its streets clogged with pedestrians; we obstinately fought our way through the crowds, inching towards...the beach! After biking inland for some time, it was a pleasurable sight indeed. Ear-to-ear grins on our faces and a tailwind at our backs, we made impressive time along the beachfront promenades into Middelkerke, where we stopped for lunch and a glass of sangria each; we then continued on to De Panne. Of course, the promenades did not last the entire way - beachfront property is incredibly desirable, and we were not long out of Middlekerke before we were forced off the beach in behind rows of townhouses and condos that blocked our previously unfettered beach access. Oh well.</p>
 <p>As a precursor of things to come, the road from De Panne across the French border quickly degraded in quality - not terribly so, but enough that our bikes rattled visibly with the rough pavement. Then the bike lanes ended, leaving us to join the motorists streaming past us at highway speeds. Despite this, we continued on to Dunkerque in record time, where we thought it might be a good idea to check into a campsite - but alas! in France, campsites do not follow the good wisdom of their counterparts in Danmark or Holland; rather, they shutter their offices promptly at 1800, and are impenetrably closed from 1200 to 1400 for their lengthy lunch break. Dejected, we continued on our way out of town and right into the middle of an enormous industrial park full of smoke-spewing refineries and chemical plants. Gasping and wheezing our way through the heavily abused air, we emerged some time later in Loon-Plage - which was in any event too small to host a campground, so we continued on to the next available one at Gravelines. Naturally, their office was closed as well; this time, however, we had shed most of our misgivings about simply setting up and settling everything in the morning, so we barged on through the pedestrian walkway around the side of the vehicle gates. In our search for a suitable place, we came upon a path leading out onto the beach; since the beaches are, after all, public property, we saw no good reason not to lug our stuff out there and settle in amongst the accessible parts of the sand dunes.</p>
-<p>Maybe we had some setbacks - especially in the later hours, after we hit France - but the sunset made up for it!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/03/in-bruges.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/05/without-a-car-in-the-world.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Maybe we had some setbacks - especially in the later hours, after we hit France - but the sunset made up for it!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/03/in-bruges.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/05/without-a-car-in-the-world.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>without a car in the world</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/04/grave-lines.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/06/requiescat-in-pace.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>without a car in the world</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-05</div></div><div id="content"><p></i>'Easy' may not mean<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>without a car in the world</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/04/grave-lines.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/06/requiescat-in-pace.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>without a car in the world</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-05</div></div><div id="content"><p></i>'Easy' may not mean<br />
 What you expect.  France hates peo-<br />
 Ple who feel lucky.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -15,4 +15,4 @@
 <p>Driving is so much more stressful than bicycling.  Once you're moving too quickly to properly see the countryside, and once you're closed in a box that prevents you from feeling the wind in your hair, and especially once you're paying 7€ tolls to go a few dozen kilometres, you're simply not relaxing very much.  We paid 5€ to cross a bridge once.  One bridge.</p>
 <p>We soon realised that to preserve our sanity we would need to seek some coastal routes.  We headed off the motorway to Dieppe, where there had been some Canadian battles fought during the first Great War.  It helped a lot to get out of the car and stroll along the beach for a bit.</p>
 <p>From Dieppe, we headed on to Caen, at which we arrived around 22h.  Predictably, most hotel desks were closed at this time, and those that were not closed informed us, also predictably, that they were full.  Well, fine.  We headed out of town again towards Lion sur Mer, where we found a farm-camping place to set up our tent for the night.  Around 1 in the morning, we collapsed into our sleeping bag, defeated by France.</p>
-<p>Ugh.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/04/grave-lines.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/06/requiescat-in-pace.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Ugh.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/04/grave-lines.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/06/requiescat-in-pace.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>requiescat in pace</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/05/without-a-car-in-the-world.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/07/omaha-beach.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>requiescat in pace</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-06</div></div><div id="content"><p>Of course, we started this day with the car that we had reluctantly picked up back in Calais, leaving us with a duty to return it before continuing on. Despite our utter unfamiliarity with the area, we managed to find the Europcar rental office; the address was 36 Place de la Gare, which we reasonably deduced must be next to the local train station. A not inconsiderable wait in line and excessive amounts of money later, we finally had the freedom to set out on bike again! We rode into Caen, where a large Sunday market had taken over a good portion of the downtown. Sunday markets are a big deal throughout Europe, and the D-Day tourism boost had not gone unnoticed by Caen's local merchants. With everyone and their entire extended family crowding the narrow spaces between bakery stalls, paella vendors, stands covered with baskets of dried fruit, makers of cider and calvados, cheese shops, and so on, our progress through Caen was slow at best - but who cares, when everything around you smells delicious?</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>requiescat in pace</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/05/without-a-car-in-the-world.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/07/omaha-beach.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>requiescat in pace</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-06</div></div><div id="content"><p>Of course, we started this day with the car that we had reluctantly picked up back in Calais, leaving us with a duty to return it before continuing on. Despite our utter unfamiliarity with the area, we managed to find the Europcar rental office; the address was 36 Place de la Gare, which we reasonably deduced must be next to the local train station. A not inconsiderable wait in line and excessive amounts of money later, we finally had the freedom to set out on bike again! We rode into Caen, where a large Sunday market had taken over a good portion of the downtown. Sunday markets are a big deal throughout Europe, and the D-Day tourism boost had not gone unnoticed by Caen's local merchants. With everyone and their entire extended family crowding the narrow spaces between bakery stalls, paella vendors, stands covered with baskets of dried fruit, makers of cider and calvados, cheese shops, and so on, our progress through Caen was slow at best - but who cares, when everything around you smells delicious?</p>
 <p>After finally making it through the market stretch, we biked out of the city in the direction of the Normandy landing beaches against a moderate headwind. (That's one thing about bike tripping - you notice and vividly remember everything about the land, from the winds you fought against to the hills to the poorly maintained paths!) We reached Juno Beach a couple of hours later, making sure to visit the Canadian D-Day memorial. The Normandy beaches today are incredibly peaceful; the only reminders of the horrific warfare that once raged across them are rows of flags and monuments sprinkled about the coastline. Even still, it is impossible for anyone today to understand how difficult it must have been to take that strip of sand - Juno Beach is flat and without usable cover, whereas the hills of Omaha Beach would have provided a very strong defensive position to the Germans. Every town here has its share of memorials commemorating those fallen in this battle, both soldier and civilian, and we passed several remembrance ceremonies as we made our way along the beach.</p>
 <p>We decided to stop in Arromanches, about halfway between Juno and Omaha Beach; this was a fortunate decision, as the town was host to fireworks later that night at 2300 as part of the D-Day festivities. It is important to remember that, amidst the sorrow of lives lost, D-Day is also a day for great celebration. For the inhabitants of these small coastal towns, it marked the end of German occupation and the beginning of a protracted yet ultimately successfuly campaign to reclaim mainland Europe.</p>
-<p>In a bizarre sort of homage, it is popular for the French in Normandy to rent out military Jeeps on D-Day and set up camp in the area; many go so far as to rent canvas tents and full military uniform. Having set up our own decidedly less military-styled camp, we unloaded our gear and set out to make it to the American military cemetery 20 km further down the beach. As with everything else in France, however, it closes at 1800 even on D-Day; we were left to join the stragglers who had driven to the gates only to find them barred shut. With no petrol for our stove - petrol stations are near-impossible to find here, and most close on Sunday! - and a load of food to cook, we had to ask around for a stove to use. We were finally successful in this venture when a group of roughly 10 travellers (some of whom hailed from Québec!) invited us to join them; they even offered us some tomatoes, terrine de campagne (a sort of paté), and whisky. Delicious! So maybe not everything is going awry in France; amidst our continuing setbacks, we manage to find slivers of good fortune that keep us from losing it altogether. That's the important thing on a trip like this: you deal with what you have, and take pleasure in what you can get.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/05/without-a-car-in-the-world.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/07/omaha-beach.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>In a bizarre sort of homage, it is popular for the French in Normandy to rent out military Jeeps on D-Day and set up camp in the area; many go so far as to rent canvas tents and full military uniform. Having set up our own decidedly less military-styled camp, we unloaded our gear and set out to make it to the American military cemetery 20 km further down the beach. As with everything else in France, however, it closes at 1800 even on D-Day; we were left to join the stragglers who had driven to the gates only to find them barred shut. With no petrol for our stove - petrol stations are near-impossible to find here, and most close on Sunday! - and a load of food to cook, we had to ask around for a stove to use. We were finally successful in this venture when a group of roughly 10 travellers (some of whom hailed from Québec!) invited us to join them; they even offered us some tomatoes, terrine de campagne (a sort of paté), and whisky. Delicious! So maybe not everything is going awry in France; amidst our continuing setbacks, we manage to find slivers of good fortune that keep us from losing it altogether. That's the important thing on a trip like this: you deal with what you have, and take pleasure in what you can get.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/05/without-a-car-in-the-world.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/07/omaha-beach.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>omaha beach</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/06/requiescat-in-pace.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>omaha beach</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-07</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Nobility is<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>omaha beach</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/06/requiescat-in-pace.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>omaha beach</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-07</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Nobility is<br />
 Not to be forgotten.  Strive<br />
 To remember theirs.</i><br />
 </p>
 <p>I woke up this morning with a serious stomach problem that wouldn't allow me to eat properly.  I wanted, however, to see the American Military Cemetery we had been thwarted by yesterday evening, so we set out.  The going was slow.  But I am so happy we went.</p>
 <p>The cemetery is staggering.  There are more than 10,000 American soldiers at rest there, and the site is at the top of Omaha beach, which is where they stormed for D-Day.  Looking at how the land lays and imagining fighting up the bluffs there is sobering, and the fields of neatly-spaced white crosses and stars of David standing over neatly-manicured emerald lawns are more than a bit heart-wrenching.  There simply isn't much I can say about going there.  There was a pile of flowers left by those who had been by, and a few couples and single people old enough to remember for themselves wandered through the rows.  I couldn't understand the man talking on his cellphone as he strolled around, or the gaggle of high school children laughing and punching each other's arms.  Although we couldn't make it for D-Day proper, tribute to this sort of thing shouldn't really have to have a day, and I'm glad I had the chance to see it for myself.</p>
-<p>After the cemetery, I wasn't in shape to make it much further.  After about 20km, we had to call it quits, and I slept in the tent while Evan attempted to use our stove to prepare food for himself, only to discover that the pump was broken.  Some mechanically handy British people a couple campsites over helped him out, and I guess he wound up with a pretty tasty meal.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/06/requiescat-in-pace.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>After the cemetery, I wasn't in shape to make it much further.  After about 20km, we had to call it quits, and I slept in the tent while Evan attempted to use our stove to prepare food for himself, only to discover that the pump was broken.  Some mechanically handy British people a couple campsites over helped him out, and I guess he wound up with a pretty tasty meal.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/06/requiescat-in-pace.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a new lô</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/07/omaha-beach.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/09/shopping-for-moms.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a new lô</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-08</div></div><div id="content"><p>Given Valkyrie's stomach flu, we decided to make this a short day; even if we had wanted a doctor, none would be available in this remote region. The haul to Saint-Lô was about 50 km through rolling hills and the occasional spot of rain, but we made it by early afternoon. Given the obvious need for recuperation, we checked into a relatively inexpensive hotel in the area and promised ourselves to remain in town for another day if necessary.</p>
+<p>The British people who had helpfully allowed us to use their stove yesterday had also given some thought to fixing the pump, which they attempted to do by supergluing the pump cup in place. It remains to be seen whether this will hold up under use; if not, we might have to purchase another stove. Lesson learned: always test your stove before a trip. If, like us, you don't have the luxury of bringing a previously-used stove with you (airport security is quite wary of anything with petrol fumes on it), buy it on arrival and cook a couple of meals!</p>
+<p>We repaired our spirits somewhat with a meal of pizza and cider at a local pizzeria, then wandered around the town for a bit; we considered seeing a movie in the local cinema, but had to abandon this plan upon finding out that French cinemas don't screen films past 2100 or so. Oh well - perhaps tomorrow.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/07/omaha-beach.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/09/shopping-for-moms.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>shopping for moms</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/10/rain.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>shopping for moms</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-09</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Procedural things<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>shopping for moms</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/10/rain.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>shopping for moms</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-09</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Procedural things<br />
 Are dull to do, but must be<br />
 Done for our mommies.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -8,4 +8,4 @@
 <p>We also organised some stuff related to the WNBR in Brighton, and we posted a few updates to Facebook, blah, blah, blah, and curated some more photos.</p>
 <p>Mostly, we used today to do a lot of the things that we've been trying to do for a while, but haven't found the time for.  I guess my stomach illness was a pretty good excuse to chill out for a while.  :)</p>
 <p>This evening, we got to really cook the first meal on our stove (since it was broken the last time): gnocchi, pasta sauce, spinach, and cheese.  We had a cooking party under a bridge in town, proclaiming ourselves the classiest hobos in St. Lô.  We also made a French person happy for the first time!  A couple walked by us, and the guy was basically stumbling away due to his incapacitating laughter at our admittedly-strange situation.</p>
-<p>After said delicious meal, we headed to the cinema to watch "Prince of Persia."  I remember the good ol' days when I would play the 2D game, skillfully sneaking through steel chomping walls and spike pits.  The new games are alright, too, I suppose, and actually watching the movie felt a bit like playing a video game.  A lot of its angles were game angles more than cinematography angles, and some of its CG was just poor enough to be mistakable for game quality.  Oh, and it was all dubbed in French.  My little language receptors got a workout trying to follow what the heck was going on.  The image of Persian people fuming at each other in French is an amusing one.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/10/rain.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>After said delicious meal, we headed to the cinema to watch "Prince of Persia."  I remember the good ol' days when I would play the 2D game, skillfully sneaking through steel chomping walls and spike pits.  The new games are alright, too, I suppose, and actually watching the movie felt a bit like playing a video game.  A lot of its angles were game angles more than cinematography angles, and some of its CG was just poor enough to be mistakable for game quality.  Oh, and it was all dubbed in French.  My little language receptors got a workout trying to follow what the heck was going on.  The image of Persian people fuming at each other in French is an amusing one.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/08/a-new-lo.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/10/rain.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>rain.</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/09/shopping-for-moms.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/11/monks-u.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>rain.</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-10</div></div><div id="content"><p>We finally considered ourselves in good enough condition to continue on today; regardless, given that we're trying to make it to Brighton for the <a href="http://wiki.worldnakedbikeride.org/index.php?title=Brighton_%26_Hove">World Naked Bike Ride</a> on the 13th, I don't think we would have had the luxury of remaining for another day! There's nudity to be had.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>rain.</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/09/shopping-for-moms.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/11/monks-u.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>rain.</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-10</div></div><div id="content"><p>We finally considered ourselves in good enough condition to continue on today; regardless, given that we're trying to make it to Brighton for the <a href="http://wiki.worldnakedbikeride.org/index.php?title=Brighton_%26_Hove">World Naked Bike Ride</a> on the 13th, I don't think we would have had the luxury of remaining for another day! There's nudity to be had.</p>
 <p>Upon setting out, we were immediately greeted by another flat courtesy of Valkyrie's rear tire; upon inspection, the cause was an improperly applied patch from our first repair job back in Danmark. Lesson learned: apply the patch when the tube is inflated. Otherwise, it will warp when you inflate the tube again. We went through the usual routine - pull all the gear off, detach the rear wheel, pry one side of the tire out with a tire boot (or two, or three), take out the tube, find the hole, inflate, patch, deflate, put tube back in, put tire back into place, re-inflate, ride. By this time, it was roughly noon; to add to things, it had started to rain with gradually increasing ferocity. We climbed the hill out of Saint-Lô and headed on the road towards Mont-Saint-Michel.</p>
 <p>Disaster! The patch didn't take; we had just left Saint-Lô when her tire flattened out again. We knew at this point that the inner tube was irrecoverably damaged, but it was still about 2 km to the nearest town. We started walking it, but the going was too slow; as a stopgap measure, we inflated the tire and hoped this would be enough to reach town without significant damage to the wheel. (Thankfully, it was.)</p>
 <p>We stopped in a nearby café. The patrons - all locals, from the looks of it - watched in amusement as we set a previously punctured tube on the table; we had never found the hole in that one, and were hoping to find it now. It took some searching, but we did succeed. A few minutes later, we finally had a working tube; this one held for the day.</p>
-<p>The rain continued to get more and more miserable, drenching us so completely that we had to pull out extra layers from our bags to keep warm as it got later. Nevertheless, we reached the Baie du Mont-Saint-Michel, putting us within a long but doable 100 km of the ferry from Saint-Malo. Let's hope we can reach it tomorrow!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/09/shopping-for-moms.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/11/monks-u.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>The rain continued to get more and more miserable, drenching us so completely that we had to pull out extra layers from our bags to keep warm as it got later. Nevertheless, we reached the Baie du Mont-Saint-Michel, putting us within a long but doable 100 km of the ferry from Saint-Malo. Let's hope we can reach it tomorrow!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/09/shopping-for-moms.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/11/monks-u.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>monks &gt; u</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/10/rain.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>monks &gt; u</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-11</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Monks got skillz, you know,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>monks &gt; u</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/10/rain.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>monks &gt; u</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-11</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Monks got skillz, you know,<br />
 Building in places no one<br />
 Would go, like up there.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>Le Mont Saint Michel was begun in the 10th century, and it has been added on to by generation after generation since then.  It withstood British attacks during the Hundred Years War and German attacks during both Great Wars.  Although it's just an abbey built on top of crypts (the only way to build something with a flat floor was to build a lot of something else underneath it, due to the amazing pointiness of this hill), it functions as a virtually impregnable fortress.</p>
 <p>The windows and decorations in the abbey were pretty impressive, too.  The stained glass formed patterns like Celtic knots, and even the stones were carefully laid into designs in the floor.  It's a UNESCO site (man, how many of those have we seen lately?), and as such it's pretty well kept up.  The lower areas are full of shops in the old building style of Europe, and although it's too expensive to really consider buying anything there, it's nice to stroll through, especially when you're exhausted from a morning and early afternoon spent biking through hills.</p>
 <p>From le Mont Saint Michel, we had to head towards the ferry listed on our map as coming out of Saint Malo.  In order to make it to the UK for the World Naked Bike Ride (we're doing the Brighton ride on 13 June), we have to take some form of transportation other than our bicycles.  ;)  Anyway, the ferry is in Saint Malo, which was another 50 km.</p>
-<p>Long story short, France tried to screw us over again with pouring rain and lashing winds, but we made it at a reasonable hour (about 22h) and learned that the next ferry to Portsmouth would leave at 10h30 tomorrow.  After a delicious dinner of chick pea/green pepper/onion/tomato/garlic/cinammon/curry/olive oil salad with local wine, we settled into a campsite for a good sleep.  ^<strong>_</strong>^</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/10/rain.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Long story short, France tried to screw us over again with pouring rain and lashing winds, but we made it at a reasonable hour (about 22h) and learned that the next ferry to Portsmouth would leave at 10h30 tomorrow.  After a delicious dinner of chick pea/green pepper/onion/tomato/garlic/cinammon/curry/olive oil salad with local wine, we settled into a campsite for a good sleep.  ^<strong>_</strong>^</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/10/rain.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a nine-hour tour</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/11/monks-u.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/13/freedom-for-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a nine-hour tour</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gb"><img src="/icons/gb.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">United Kingdom</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-12</div></div><div id="content"><p>Rose early (well, 0800, which is early by our admittedly less-than-eager-in-the-morning standards - that will have to change before we get to Spain, as we'll have to get going well in advance of the midday heat) to catch the ferry from Saint-Malo to Portsmouth. What we had originally expected would take two or three hours took nine instead; we didn't make landfall in the UK until 1830, and were queued in Customs until roughly 1930. As a result, our plans to reach Brighton today had to be nixed - instead, we ended up riding in the dark (yes, with lights!) and following progressively more useful directions from various petrol station owners until we finally came upon a campground just out of Chichester. At least we knocked 30 km off our ride for tomorrow; it's only about another 50 km into Brighton, which we should be able to easily complete before the World Naked Bike Ride starts at noon.</p>
+<p>The ferry itself was this ten-story monstrosity with cafés and bars and arcades and such. That said, we didn't really get a chance to partake in the onboard entertainment much - we were busy writing these blog posts so that you could know exactly what we've been doing over the last two weeks! (Yeah, I think we mentioned this before...it's not always easy to find a reliable Internet connection, and some of these days have been long enough that we barely feel like setting up the tent afterwards, let alone blogging. Oh well. We'll try to get better at this whole thing.)</p>
+<p>Two things of random importance:</p>
+<ul>
+<li>We did manage to find a detailed map of the Camino de Santiago, which we'll be following through the north of Spain; it lists elevation changes (like the 1200m climb over the first 18 km - zounds!) and pilgrims' inns and other things of general utility.</li>
+<li>We have boat entry stamps in our passports! Yay. They have cute boat icons in the top-right.</li>
+</ul>
+<p>Anyways, that's it for today; I expect tomorrow will be a good deal more exciting, what with all the nudity and such.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/11/monks-u.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/13/freedom-for-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>freedom for cyclists</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/14/brighton-now-with-clothes.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>freedom for cyclists</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gb"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gb.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">United Kingdom</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-13</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>"Burn fat, not oil!" screams<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>freedom for cyclists</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/14/brighton-now-with-clothes.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>freedom for cyclists</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gb"><img src="/icons/gb.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">United Kingdom</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-13</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>"Burn fat, not oil!" screams<br />
 The back of one girl, bared to the<br />
 Sun.  "Nude is not rude."</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -10,4 +10,4 @@
 <p>At the waterfront we took a pause, and people gathered around one of the bikes that had been outfitted with giant stereo sound systems for a dance party.  One girl in particular looked pretty cool with her Native American headdress.  :D</p>
 <p>From the waterfront, we headed through more of Brighton, and Evan and I got some paninis and tea at a café at our next park stop (the shop owner was... surprised).  Then onward through more of Brighton and down to the naturalist beach for a swim in the ocean and a concert.  The performers' speakers were <i>bike-powered</i> for the concert!  It was fantastic!</p>
 <p>We met a lot of cool people yesterday, ranging from a guy who wanted to tell us all about Turkey to the guy who organises the WNBR in Greece who said he'd be happy to host us when we get there to artists to scientists.  I was fairly surprised at the rather diverse makeup of the participants, actually, and it was cool to learn that it's not "just hippies and old people" who do this sort of thing.  I'd guess that the average age of the people around was probably 32 or so.</p>
-<p>Anyway, we had a lot of fun.  I now have a rather silly-looking sunburn on my back from the body paint, but I'll get over it.  :)  We managed to find a couple girls at the end of the day who'd participated that were willing to host us for our time in Brighton, so that was pretty super.  Their roommates are really nice, and we spent the evening cooking and talking about bike trips.  We're even invited to a birthday party with them tomorrow.  :D  Nudity, ftw!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/14/brighton-now-with-clothes.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Anyway, we had a lot of fun.  I now have a rather silly-looking sunburn on my back from the body paint, but I'll get over it.  :)  We managed to find a couple girls at the end of the day who'd participated that were willing to host us for our time in Brighton, so that was pretty super.  Their roommates are really nice, and we spent the evening cooking and talking about bike trips.  We're even invited to a birthday party with them tomorrow.  :D  Nudity, ftw!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/12/a-nine-hour-tour.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/14/brighton-now-with-clothes.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>brighton: now with clothes!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/13/freedom-for-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/15/and-back-again.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>brighton: now with clothes!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gb"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gb.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">United Kingdom</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-14</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Eccentric royals<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>brighton: now with clothes!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/13/freedom-for-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/15/and-back-again.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>brighton: now with clothes!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gb"><img src="/icons/gb.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">United Kingdom</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-14</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Eccentric royals<br />
 Build intricate pavillions<br />
 In styles yet unknown.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -8,4 +8,4 @@
 <p>He decided it would be exotic to build his home in the Oriental fashion.  The problem was that people didn't really travel the same way they do now "back in the day," so no one who helped him in the design or decoration of his Pavillion had ever seen China or The East.  This means that some parts of the design are somewhat... odd.  All the design, though, is opulent and really lovely.  Most parts have been preserved in the original style (the Pavillion was used by George after he became king, too, and this led to some redecorations, and it was also lived in by Queen Victoria, which led to further changes, etc.), including a really amazing 1 tonne chandelier in the dining room.  The onion domes which cap the house were all made of wrought iron (weird, yes), so they had the strength to support this rather large piece of ridiculousness.</p>
 <p>There are a number of interesting tidbits about the Pavillion (George wanted the servants to be seen only when needed, so he built secret corridors for them; during the restoration of the structure, a giant hurricane blew one of the onion domes into another one, which had just been repaired after an arson incident; in his old age, George used a Merlin chair, which was a precursor to a wheelchair, and had his rooms moved to the first floor; there were 30 plumbed-in toilets at a time when such things were a huge luxury; etc.), but I haven't the patience to relate them all.  :)  The audio guide is really good, if you get the chance to go, and it comes free with admission.</p>
 <p>Strolling along Brighton's beach was lovely.  There was a fishing museum, an old carousel, and miles of pebbly seashore.  The old West Pier is just a shell now, burnt down some years ago after falling into disrepair.  Its skeleton looks rather cool out in the middle of the sea.</p>
-<p>In the evening, our hosts were having birthday celebrations for one of the housemates, so we were invited to the potluck.  :D  We made Evan's soon-to-be-famous chickpea/onion/pepper/tomato/olive oil/spices salad, and it was well-received.  All the dishes were vegetarian, actually, which seems more fun; people tend to work harder for tasty food when they can't fall back on the "meat with sides" standby.  We stuffed ourselves with delicious curries and tacos and pumpkin gnocchi.  Yummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/13/freedom-for-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/15/and-back-again.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>In the evening, our hosts were having birthday celebrations for one of the housemates, so we were invited to the potluck.  :D  We made Evan's soon-to-be-famous chickpea/onion/pepper/tomato/olive oil/spices salad, and it was well-received.  All the dishes were vegetarian, actually, which seems more fun; people tend to work harder for tasty food when they can't fall back on the "meat with sides" standby.  We stuffed ourselves with delicious curries and tacos and pumpkin gnocchi.  Yummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/13/freedom-for-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/15/and-back-again.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,5 +1,5 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>and back again</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/14/brighton-now-with-clothes.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/16/clean-sleeping-bags.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>and back again</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gb"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gb.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">United Kingdom</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-15</div></div><div id="content"><p>With the World Naked Bike Ride out of the way and a ferry reservation to show up for, we made the 80 km haul back from Brighton to Portsmouth. We were still quite full of food from last night's delicious vegetarian birthday potluck, but nevertheless managed to work through a bit more of the chickpea salad and roll out along the coast on our bikes. Less pressed for time than we were during our previous rush into Brighton for WNBR, we opted to follow the South Coast Cycle Route, which avoids the direct but less-than-scenic A259 and A27 in favour of smaller roads closer to the coast. It was a good deal nicer, especially with the occasional slight tailwind sweeping in off the water!</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>and back again</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/14/brighton-now-with-clothes.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/16/clean-sleeping-bags.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>and back again</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gb"><img src="/icons/gb.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">United Kingdom</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-15</div></div><div id="content"><p>With the World Naked Bike Ride out of the way and a ferry reservation to show up for, we made the 80 km haul back from Brighton to Portsmouth. We were still quite full of food from last night's delicious vegetarian birthday potluck, but nevertheless managed to work through a bit more of the chickpea salad and roll out along the coast on our bikes. Less pressed for time than we were during our previous rush into Brighton for WNBR, we opted to follow the South Coast Cycle Route, which avoids the direct but less-than-scenic A259 and A27 in favour of smaller roads closer to the coast. It was a good deal nicer, especially with the occasional slight tailwind sweeping in off the water!</p>
 <p>We made another stop by the tea house at the pick-your-own farm along the way, where we surprised ourselves by each shoving a full Ploughman's Lunch complete with Victorian Sponge Cake and tea down our respective throats. The lunch was essentially a collection of food on a plate - bread, mature cheddar, ham, chutney, salad, slaw, and a pair of delectably pickled onions. There is more than a grain of truth to the assertion that we're eating our way through Europe - but it's all justified when your energy requirements for the day top 5000 kilocalories. (We're not actually sure what the total would be, although this seems reasonable for 8 hours of moderately intense cardiovascular exercise. In any event, we've been eating about this much daily with no adverse health effects. Anyone want to do the calculations for us?)</p>
 <p>After that, we continued on through a succession of towns until shortly out of Portsmouth, where we were again forced onto the major highway for a couple of exits. This is incomparably more harrowing than the relative luxury of Danish bike paths, particularly when you're being passed by transport trucks that could crush you without stopping. We worked our way through that part to reach the final bike paths into Portsmouth, whereupon we promptly downed our last official pints of pub-poured ale before grabbing some snacks and cider for the ferry.</p>
 <p>The ferry station itself was packed, and we were shunted off to the side with a group of four cyclists who were heading over to Bretagne for a quick three-day bike trip. We shared some tales from our travels so far, thus adding to the already considerable number of people who think we're absolutely crazy for doing this...but it is refreshing to talk to cyclists about these things; there's a sort of informal kinship that develops around the trials and tribulations of sharing roads with angry motorists and inclement weather of all descriptions and signs of questionable navigational utility. And why not? Although cycling continues to become more popular as we inch away from the automobile age, we're still considered inferior to cars; in many countries, dedicated cycling roads are scarce, so that the decision to bike is at least partly a conscious undertaking of not inconsiderable personal risk.</p>
-<p>Óh, we also uploaded a video of our daily stretching: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypd-KWYX_bI">here it is.</a></p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/14/brighton-now-with-clothes.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/16/clean-sleeping-bags.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Óh, we also uploaded a video of our daily stretching: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ypd-KWYX_bI">here it is.</a></p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/14/brighton-now-with-clothes.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/16/clean-sleeping-bags.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>clean sleeping bags!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/15/and-back-again.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/17/canallery.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>clean sleeping bags!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-16</div></div><div id="content"><p>Largely sleepless night aboard the ferry. Reclining seats are next to impossible to sleep in comfortably, so we nestled up on the floor instead; this is, after all, closer to our normal sleeping conditions while camping. (Although many people camp with pillow and inflatable air mattress - they even have self-inflating ones these days! - we're doing without. It was not exactly comfortable the first few days, but we're mostly used to it now.) This, however, proved cold; rather than pay the information desk for blankets we wouldn't have room to carry, we instead found a laundry hamper full of freshly cleaned sheets and grabbed a couple. This may seem unethical, but I'd rather be warm and slightly unethical than frozen and even more exhausted than I am currently.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>clean sleeping bags!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/15/and-back-again.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/17/canallery.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>clean sleeping bags!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-16</div></div><div id="content"><p>Largely sleepless night aboard the ferry. Reclining seats are next to impossible to sleep in comfortably, so we nestled up on the floor instead; this is, after all, closer to our normal sleeping conditions while camping. (Although many people camp with pillow and inflatable air mattress - they even have self-inflating ones these days! - we're doing without. It was not exactly comfortable the first few days, but we're mostly used to it now.) This, however, proved cold; rather than pay the information desk for blankets we wouldn't have room to carry, we instead found a laundry hamper full of freshly cleaned sheets and grabbed a couple. This may seem unethical, but I'd rather be warm and slightly unethical than frozen and even more exhausted than I am currently.</p>
 <p>We arrived back in Saint-Malo at the sprightly hour of 0615. In case our previous posts haven't made this peculiarity of continental Europe clear, absolutely nothing in France is open at that hour - no bakeries, no supermarkets, often not even the petrol stations. As such, we had little choice but to head out of town towards Nantes, where we plan to be by June 19; since we were still vastly underslept, and since this is more than enough time to ride the 150 km or so to Nantes, we decided to take a rest day. In our context, of course, "rest" means "let's ride only 20 km with our fully loaded bikes, set up our tent, clean some of our gear, wash the sleeping bags, head into town to mail some maps home, cook a full meal on our stove, and watch a couple of World Cup games." When your average day consists of all this with "20 km" replaced by "100 km or more", this is in fact more restful than it might sound :)</p>
 <p>So: another less-than-happening day. Anything else of note?</p>
 <ul>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <li>Who red-cards a goalie, honestly?</li>
 <li>Did I mention that we finally have freshly cleaned sleeping quarters? Believe us, we are ecstatic about this one.</li>
 </ul>
-<p>That's about all, I think. We're hoping to get a good deal of rest tonight so we can head out early tomorrow (actually, for once!) and lop off a chunk of the ride to Nantes.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/15/and-back-again.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/17/canallery.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>That's about all, I think. We're hoping to get a good deal of rest tonight so we can head out early tomorrow (actually, for once!) and lop off a chunk of the ride to Nantes.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/15/and-back-again.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/17/canallery.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>canallery</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/16/clean-sleeping-bags.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>canallery</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-17</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Up and down, around<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>canallery</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/16/clean-sleeping-bags.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>canallery</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-17</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Up and down, around<br />
 And through, dirt and trees and wild<br />
 Are surrounding you!</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>Eventually, we made our way to Dieppe.  On a map, it looks like nothing.  It's rather small, and there's a river that runs through it, but a map doesn't convey how durn impressive the canyon it's situated in and on and around is.  The river that runs through the middle slices the city in two, but there are structures all up and down the walls of the gorge.  A fortress perches on top.  The old town winds down along impossibly steep streets from the fortress to the river.  We didn't have much time to explore, but it was one of the first nice things that France has managed to pull out for us.</p>
 <p>It got better!  We consulted one of our shiny, new maps, and it showed a <i>bicycling</i> route that headed out of Dieppe along the canal.  We wound our way down the slope and found a not particularly promising dirt track that was signed as a bike route.  We frowned a little... but decided to follow it.  And what a good choice.</p>
 <p>Shortly after we joined the track, it opened up into a gorgeous forest with a slightly gravelly but rather firmly packed path winding along the side of the water.  Definitely the best thing France has given us.  We followed the canal track all the way to Rennes, enjoying the small towns and locks scattered along it.  Locks in France apparently keep hours (like everything else), but at least they look nice and provide good backdrops for vlogs.  :)</p>
-<p>I can't remark on anything else for the day (except that when we got to Rennes it was during the unfortunate two hour block from 17h to 19h where seemingly every food-purveying place is closed) but the loveliness of the canal path and the wonderful weather.  Tonight we're actually camping alongside the canal just outside Rennes... we'll wake up to solitude instead of RVs for the first time.  :D</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/16/clean-sleeping-bags.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>I can't remark on anything else for the day (except that when we got to Rennes it was during the unfortunate two hour block from 17h to 19h where seemingly every food-purveying place is closed) but the loveliness of the canal path and the wonderful weather.  Tonight we're actually camping alongside the canal just outside Rennes... we'll wake up to solitude instead of RVs for the first time.  :D</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/16/clean-sleeping-bags.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>not all that glitters...</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/17/canallery.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/19/when-in-nantes.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>not all that glitters...</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-18</div></div><div id="content"><p>Upon exiting our canalside tenterrific paradise, we were unexpectedly greeted by a pair of fishermen; although these paths along the canal are marked as cycling, pedestrian, and equestrian routes, it seems that locals occasionally use them to get in some recreational fishing or picnicking or what have you. Needless to say, we packed up in record time and were on our way along the canal once more. We continued for roughly 90 km until we reached the top point of Lake Erdre just north of Nantes. Unfortunately, the path ended abruptly there; we were just about to turn back when one of the éclusiers on his daily maintenance rounds stopped to kindly inform us that we could set up our tent on the dyke opposite. Finally, a tiny sliver of hospitality in France!</p>
+<p>Aside from that: the canalside paths are inconsistently paved - we came across occasional patches of coarse gravel, and even saw a couple of places where the path maintenance staff had dumped loads of fresh gravel on the path but had yet to smooth it out, thereby forcing us to the grass to avoid fishtailing...but, for the most part, these paths have been fairly bikeable. Another first for France! (To be fair, France is much larger than the other countries we've travelled through so far, so that it is not as easy to extend route networks to more remote rural areas. Most of the cities we pass through here do have comprehensive cycling path networks.)</p>
+<p>Although it is a bit demoralizing to be told that we'll have to backtrack, it's only a few kilometres - and we can take showers in the lock facilities, which is exciting! That's one thing about bike tripping; once you get far enough into it, the smallest luxuries seem like paradise. (Such as laundry, for instance, or a decent wifi connection. Those are near impossible to find in Europe.) We're hoping to start vlogging shortly, so that you can get a better idea of what the trip is like, how we set our gear up each night, what sorts of things we see, etc. - keep posted!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/17/canallery.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/19/when-in-nantes.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>when in nantes</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/20/hellfest.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>when in nantes</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-19</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>A haze of drizzle<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>when in nantes</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/20/hellfest.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>when in nantes</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-19</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>A haze of drizzle<br />
 Can't keep us out of bike shops!<br />
 Closing hours can.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>We arrived to said bike shop at 17h10.  And wouldn't you know that it had closed for the evening.  Lovely.  Thanks, Nantes.</p>
 <p>So we touristed around instead.  I guess Nantes was a haunt of Jules Verne at some point in his life, so there's a museum (which was closed, figures) to him, and also a really striking statue of him in his childhood looking at a statue of Captain Nemo.  Man, I would love to be Captain Nemo.  I'm afraid people simply don't get funded to adventure in this day and age, though.</p>
 <p>There's a pretty nifty school of architecture in Nantes, too.  This means that they have several rather interesting buildings around town, and also that there are a lot of people wandering around pretending that they find the buildings interesting.  They claim that no resident in Nantes is more than 500m from a public park of some variety, so the town layout is really green and quite pleasant for strolling.  We were pointed at a gourmet café during our search for WiFi that served amazing tea and Incan hot chocolate.  Mmmmmmmm.......</p>
-<p>We also sat around in a pub for a bit in the evening, electing to watch the Danmark/Cameroon game instead of wandering around in the increasing chill of the evening.  It was a pretty good game, but I'm super excited for the France/South Africa game coming up.  :D</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/20/hellfest.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We also sat around in a pub for a bit in the evening, electing to watch the Danmark/Cameroon game instead of wandering around in the increasing chill of the evening.  It was a pretty good game, but I'm super excited for the France/South Africa game coming up.  :D</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/18/not_all_that_glitters.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/20/hellfest.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>HELLFEST</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/19/when-in-nantes.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/21/chaussures-de-ciclisme.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>HELLFEST</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-20</div></div><div id="content"><p>HELLFEST.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>HELLFEST</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/19/when-in-nantes.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/21/chaussures-de-ciclisme.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>HELLFEST</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-20</div></div><div id="content"><p>HELLFEST.</p>
 <p>That really says it all. That's it. No more. Go home.</p>
 <p>But never mind that - you want details, right? We woke up in our cramped hostel beds at roughly 08h00, quickly downed a breakfast of buttered bread with jam, and loaded up our bikes for the short haul to Clisson (making sure to get in the daily stretch on the Île de Nantes - we had originally wanted to head over to a park bearing the unfortunate acronym of CRAPA, but were effectively blocked by the massive construction sites that were blossoming across the island in time for summer.) We searched for a place to pick up lunch foodstuffs; however, this being Sunday, nearly everything was closed - we didn't find anything until about halfway to Clisson.</p>
 <p>Although we lucked out with the canal path, French cycling routes (as you might have ascertained from our previous posts) rapidly decline in both quality and quantity once you leave the cities. So it was with the surroundings of Nantes; having left the city, we were left with little more than a terrible large-scale map of the entirety of France and equally terrible signs to find our way by. As a result, we quickly found ourselves squeezed against the side of the major ring highway, where a bevy of motorists angrily honked at us. (Not that we cared; we wanted to get off the highway as much as they wanted us off it, but were obviously unable to do so until we found an offramp pointing in a reasonable direction.) So that made for less than comfortable cycling.</p>
 <p>Anyways, we did manage to fight our way down the main highway and find some backroads leading to Clisson. As we finally rolled into town, we were greeted by a sign indicating the direction to Hellfest parking; we had found the right place - but where was the music? We followed the signs, passing increasingly large concentrations of parked cars and - once we got a bit closer - groups of black-clad metalheads. No bike parking here; we had to chain our bikes to some vines in this field-vineyard-area that doubled as a parking lot, after which we set up our tent along the fringe of the vineyard sections. (As it turns out, this fringe was commonly used as a makeshift urinal by pretty much everyone who walked by, especially at night.)</p>
 <p>With our gear finally unpacked and the tent set up for the night, we finally headed over to the main entrance. Since we hadn't managed to get a hold of Valkyrie's friend Piotr, we didn't have print copies of the tickets...but we had our laptop with JPEG versions of the tickets, which was enough to get in! We promptly headed over to the tents, where they were selling Hellfest-brand beer and wine (Seriously? Wine? At a rock/metal festival? (Although, to be fair, we did partake...and it was pretty decent, as the stuff was locally produced.))</p>
 <p>Later on, we found our way over to the main stages, jostling our way through the gathering crowds in hopes of getting a decent spot to view the KISS show from. Quite a few people had set up entrenched positions further towards the stage, making it impossible to get to the front without resorting to extreme violence...but we did get far enough forward to be thoroughly impressed by the sensory extravaganza that is KISS. (Seriously - if you get the chance, go. KISS combines the best and worst of American rock-culture excess in one excessively makeup-covered tongue-fuelled spectacle.) They played a mix of classics and more recent songs from Sonic Boom, closing the show with profuse showers of confetti (check the pics!) followed by fireworks.</p>
-<p>Well, we're heading on the road towards Bordeaux tomorrow - keep posted!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/19/when-in-nantes.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/21/chaussures-de-ciclisme.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Well, we're heading on the road towards Bordeaux tomorrow - keep posted!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/19/when-in-nantes.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/21/chaussures-de-ciclisme.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>chaussures de ciclisme</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/20/hellfest.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/22/french-biking-paths.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>chaussures de ciclisme</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-21</div></div><div id="content"><p>Late start from Clisson. We navigated our way out through crowds of festival-goers to the nearby supermarket, where we enjoyed a characteristically large breakfast. Seeing as how there was an InterSport directly opposite this supermarket - sports stores being apparently a rare commodity in France, and in many places the only place to get cycling gear - we headed over there afterwards to cross one more item off our to-get list: cycling shoes! We had to rush out of the store, as they were closing for lunch break (yes, the start we got was THAT late...) and so we sat outside in the parking lot installing a new set of combined clip/regular pedals on the Trek 520. We then attached the shoe brackets to our cycling shoes; although the shoes came with a giant sheet of decalingual instructions with fancy stick-figure arrow-pointing numbered diagrams, we found it far easier to just apply common sense.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>chaussures de ciclisme</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/20/hellfest.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/22/french-biking-paths.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>chaussures de ciclisme</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-21</div></div><div id="content"><p>Late start from Clisson. We navigated our way out through crowds of festival-goers to the nearby supermarket, where we enjoyed a characteristically large breakfast. Seeing as how there was an InterSport directly opposite this supermarket - sports stores being apparently a rare commodity in France, and in many places the only place to get cycling gear - we headed over there afterwards to cross one more item off our to-get list: cycling shoes! We had to rush out of the store, as they were closing for lunch break (yes, the start we got was THAT late...) and so we sat outside in the parking lot installing a new set of combined clip/regular pedals on the Trek 520. We then attached the shoe brackets to our cycling shoes; although the shoes came with a giant sheet of decalingual instructions with fancy stick-figure arrow-pointing numbered diagrams, we found it far easier to just apply common sense.</p>
 <p>Roughly a quarter-hour later, we had two sets of cycling shoes ready for testing. Valkyrie tried hers out first, repeatedly jamming her shoe at the bracket until a satisfying click sound indicated that she had finally succeeded. I followed suit - the right shoe seemed rather easy, but the left took a good deal more effort to get into the bracket; nevertheless, another quarter-hour later we were riding circles around the parking lot (which, courtesy of the aforementioned lunch break, was thankfully empty!) We allowed ourselves a few minutes of solid practice before heading out on the road. Once you get used to the shoes and the fact that, yes, you have to click out during every stop (or stop with your face!) they're fairly easy to use. We made one more stop for tea at a café in the centre of town; this took longer than expected, owing to the unusually high concentration of people in town.</p>
 <p>As you might imagine, it ended up being a fairly short day - we made it to La-Roche-sur-Yon by 19h00. As luck would have it, the town was holding a music festival! First things first, though; we decided to inquire at a local hotel about nearby campgrounds, only to be informed that the nearest was 10 km out of town. This seemed like a long distance to cover on an empty stomach, so we instead circulated about town, listening to the festival while searching for an ideal place to set up the stove. We had picked up the ingredients for quiche on our way into La-Roche-sur-Yon - an ambitious thing to try on a camping stove! This attracted the attention of numerous passers-by, who asked us all the usual questions: where are you going? where did you start? how far do you go each day? As we cooked, we were regaled by a local band that specialized in passable rock-grunge covers - they seemed to have a particular affinity for Nirvana's discography, a strange thing to find in the middle of France.</p>
-<p>After that, it was getting late; we started biking out of town towards the campsite, but the sunlight quickly waned until it was too dark to continue without lights. The campsite they had pointed us at was out of the way, so rather than push on we less-than-clandestinely set up the tent (did I mention that it's bright orange?) on the grounds of the municipal hippodrome. I guess we'll have to head out tomorrow before anyone catches us here...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/20/hellfest.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/22/french-biking-paths.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>After that, it was getting late; we started biking out of town towards the campsite, but the sunlight quickly waned until it was too dark to continue without lights. The campsite they had pointed us at was out of the way, so rather than push on we less-than-clandestinely set up the tent (did I mention that it's bright orange?) on the grounds of the municipal hippodrome. I guess we'll have to head out tomorrow before anyone catches us here...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/20/hellfest.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/22/french-biking-paths.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>french biking paths</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/21/chaussures-de-ciclisme.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/23/slow-day.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>french biking paths</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-22</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Wheels pass wheels pass wheels,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>french biking paths</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/21/chaussures-de-ciclisme.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/23/slow-day.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>french biking paths</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-22</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Wheels pass wheels pass wheels,<br />
 People pass people on wheels,<br />
 French people cycle, too?</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -8,4 +8,4 @@
 <p>Today's ride led through the edge of a famous wine valley (the Loire) for a while (this part being hilly with spanses of river that kept it beautiful enough to be worth the effort) and then through an effective desert that spanned some 40km to the coast.  After we left Luçon at the edge of the wine region we found ourselves in an intricate canal system that led through acres and acres with no shade or life.  There were a few fields that looked like they'd been used for food at some time in the past, but now lay fallow.  The bike track began along a canal on a gravel path, then it moved to share the deserted roads, and then it hopped up an embankment and was suddenly covered in charred plant matter.  This last part was interesting; the nonpresence of a useable bike path led us to take a road that followed along nearby, but at some point they split so we had to get back up to the path... by this time, the ashes and rubbish were gone and replaced by wild, overgrown weeds and thistle plants.  I used a knife later to extract a 1cm+ thorn that had become lodged in my pinky finger.</p>
 <p><i>Then</i> we travelled over 20km of nothingness (which I commented looked rather a lot like west Texas, for those of you who've been there) to La Rochelle, where we stopped at a seaside café to watch the France/South Africa match.  If you weren't watching, let it be known that South Africa creamed France.  Towards the end, France apparently got super discouraged and started throwing the SA players around for lack of something better to do.  Once three of the SA players were out (two of whom were carried off on stretchers) and France had a red card and a yellow card under their belts, the French team scored a goal.  Hmm.</p>
 <p>The game watched, we elected to head down the beach a bit further towards Roquefort.  For some reason we always seem to forget that French cycling paths are terrible, so we excitedly followed one that purportedly went along the beach.  Well, it did go along the beach, but it was the rockiest and most horrible beach that I've ever been on.  I was super happy to have my cyclo-cross tyres at that point.  :-/</p>
-<p>That beach conquered, we headed on and found a little stand by the sea that sold moules frites (mussels and fries).  We stopped to eat our fill and end our day on a high note.  Tonight we're camping in Châtelaillon Plage, and tomorrow we're heading down further towards Bordeaux.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/21/chaussures-de-ciclisme.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/23/slow-day.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>That beach conquered, we headed on and found a little stand by the sea that sold moules frites (mussels and fries).  We stopped to eat our fill and end our day on a high note.  Tonight we're camping in Châtelaillon Plage, and tomorrow we're heading down further towards Bordeaux.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/21/chaussures-de-ciclisme.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/23/slow-day.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>slow day</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/22/french-biking-paths.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>slow day</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-23</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>It's laziness just<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>slow day</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/22/french-biking-paths.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>slow day</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-23</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>It's laziness just<br />
 If nothing gets done, elsewise<br />
 It's called a 'slow day.'</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -8,4 +8,4 @@
 <p>We hadn't done laundry in some days, so... that got taken care of, too.</p>
 <p>It's too hot to move in the middle of the day, so we took a couple hours' break in Rochefort's Mediatheque (it's the new word for library, since of course the library is now branding itself as a carrier of all media instead of just books).</p>
 <p>Ugh.  With this plethora of small stops and things (we also acquired a few more small items we'd been lacking), we didn't make it very far today.  We're staying in a small town called Saint Agnant.  We've actually dubbed it the Zeven of France: shops here are reasonable to the point that some of them ARE STILL OPEN AT 20H.  We went out and BOUGHT PASTRIES... AFTER DINNER.</p>
-<p>iknorite</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/22/french-biking-paths.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>iknorite</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/22/french-biking-paths.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a royan pain in the arse</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/23/slow-day.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/25/peninsular.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a royan pain in the arse</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-24</div></div><div id="content"><p>Refreshed after our evening pastry and ensuing good sleep, we started out for Royan - this is a medium-sized city just across from Le Verdon, which is at the top of the peninsula above...Bordeaux! (Yeah, we're getting close now...according to the map, there's only about 100 km to go, and then another 300 km or so to Pamplona! (Of course, that latter stretch contains a sizeable mountain range, so we'll see how that goes...))</p>
+<p>...and that's as far as we got. As chronicled in our Picasa albums, our arrival in Royan happens to coincide with a national day of solidarity against proposed measures to raise the retirement age from 60 to 62...by 2018. Don't get me wrong; I think that our drop-until-you-work mentality back in North America is highly flawed, but this is way at the other extreme of the laziness spectrum. Anyways, we learned this upon reaching the ferry terminal, where a number of printed signs affixed to the firmly-barred gates informed us that, no, we would not be able to travel today. (As we learned later, all forms of transport were similarly closed; I pity the other poor travellers trying to get around France!) Since the coast opposite the peninsula looks both more hilly and less scenic, we've decided to wait it out in Royan...and so we're set up in the only café with wifi that we came across while cycling to the docks, catching up on our photo captioning and video uploading and blog posting...all those things necessary to ensure that you can continue to hear about our travels!</p>
+<p>One other thing: camping in Royan is unnecessarily expensive - 21€ for two people and a tent per night, whereas the average cost so far has been closer to 12-15€. Maybe we'll find more reasonable pricing further south...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/23/slow-day.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/25/peninsular.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>peninsular</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/26/bordeaux-fetes-the-vin.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>peninsular</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-25</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Ancient whispers sneak<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>peninsular</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/26/bordeaux-fetes-the-vin.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>peninsular</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-25</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Ancient whispers sneak<br />
 And hide, twixt rocks and grasses<br />
 Await silent shade...</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>Along the forest part, we saw a little spot on our map labelled as an archaeological site, so we decided to take our siesta there.  It was a series of ruins (there are photos in our <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/biketotheearth/France1">Picasa album</a>) that indicated a number of things that had been built on the site since Roman times.  There was a temple (the signboards indicated that they weren't sure whom it was built for the worship of...), a marketplace, a theatre, and a house.</p>
 <p>The house had my favourite signboard.  It discussed the story of a baron who displeased his village to the point that they exiled him and sent him to live in the middle of nowhere.  He found the abandoned theatre waiting for him on that patch of land, so he dismantled a lot of it to build his new place of residence.  It's as though he wanted to make sure everyone new he was enough of a jerk that he deserved to be exiled.  He turned one of the former entrances to the theatre into a vomitorium.</p>
 <p>Anyway, we passed siesta learning about the rocks before us and watching part of a movie called "Videodrome."  I enjoyed watching it, but it is not for the faint of stomach.  For those who know what it means, this film is actually part of the Criterion Collection.</p>
-<p>Then, onward through slightly-less-blazing heat towards Bordeaux.  We passed famous châteaux on the way there, but apparently the only way to get tastings at most of them is to make an appointment, so we didn't manage to score one.  We did, however, manage to get to Bordeaux, where we are camping out for a couple nights.  We had a delicious dinner of "Pizza experiment", which turned out edibly although I would not say well.  And now we have to buy a new pot, as the cheese from this is immovably coated on ours.  But, luck of lucks, the Bordeaux Fête le Vin is happening right now!  Wine for Evan and Valkyrie.  :D</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/26/bordeaux-fetes-the-vin.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Then, onward through slightly-less-blazing heat towards Bordeaux.  We passed famous châteaux on the way there, but apparently the only way to get tastings at most of them is to make an appointment, so we didn't manage to score one.  We did, however, manage to get to Bordeaux, where we are camping out for a couple nights.  We had a delicious dinner of "Pizza experiment", which turned out edibly although I would not say well.  And now we have to buy a new pot, as the cheese from this is immovably coated on ours.  But, luck of lucks, the Bordeaux Fête le Vin is happening right now!  Wine for Evan and Valkyrie.  :D</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/24/a-royan-pain-in-the-arse.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/26/bordeaux-fetes-the-vin.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>bordeaux fêtes the vin</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/25/peninsular.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/27/oil-be-glad-to-get-outta-here.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>bordeaux fêtes the vin</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-26</div></div><div id="content"><p>(That's proper French, right?)</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>bordeaux fêtes the vin</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/25/peninsular.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/27/oil-be-glad-to-get-outta-here.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>bordeaux fêtes the vin</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-26</div></div><div id="content"><p>(That's proper French, right?)</p>
 <p>We roll out of bed today at 0900 to blazing heat and the unfortunate realization that the campsite bakery (well, they have a small stand that sells bread from bakeries in town) is devoid of tasty things. While getting ourselves ready in the reception area at the campsite, we notice a listing for guided tours of the city centre; since Bordeaux has recently been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site, we set aside our general disdain of guided tours long enough to book it to the tourism office for 1000.</p>
 <p>What follows is a monotonous spewing of centuries and kings from an almost completely disinterested balding middle-age dude aboard a bus that whizzes past nearly everything of interest. So much for guided tours. We do come across the old German submarine bays (see the photos!) and a number of older religious edifices of various description. All in all, though, not worth the 8€ a head - Bordeaux is best enjoyed on foot or bike!</p>
 <p>We then promptly head out to lift our spirits after the lackluster tour - and what better than wine? For 15€ per person, you get a wine glass complete with its own holder pouch and 12 dégustations from the different regional and vintage stands set up along the riverside. Since it's still incredibly hot - it seems we crossed the magic latitude line a few days ago, and are now into blazing midday heat territory - we limit ourselves to one tasting each and seek refuge from the sun in a nice (but, as you might expect, wildly overpriced) tea house under Passage Sarget before heading to a local cybercafé to catch up on our respective emails. (Yes, it is still hard to find decent wifi! This is apparently not something that impeccably cultured France believes in.)</p>
 <p>After our siesta, we drop the bikes back at the campsite and head back in to seriously check out the wine-based festivities. What follows is about 9000 deliciousness units of wine (and wine cocktails! (and mushroom omelettes!)); I even get to help make a white wine cocktail at the École du Vin tent. Yum!</p>
 <p>The festival is enormous; several hundred thousand people visit the Bordeaux river promenade during the four-day-long shindig, which is more than enough to thoroughly pack the area with nearly unnavigable crowds.</p>
-<p>Bordeaux is our last major stop before the Pyrénées and the crossing into Spain. According to the Camino de Santiago map we picked up on the ferry, it's a pretty serious climb over the mountains. Are we ready? I suppose we had better be...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/25/peninsular.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/27/oil-be-glad-to-get-outta-here.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Bordeaux is our last major stop before the Pyrénées and the crossing into Spain. According to the Camino de Santiago map we picked up on the ferry, it's a pretty serious climb over the mountains. Are we ready? I suppose we had better be...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/25/peninsular.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/27/oil-be-glad-to-get-outta-here.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>oil be glad to get outta here</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/26/bordeaux-fetes-the-vin.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/28/natural-logs.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>oil be glad to get outta here</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-27</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Even Bacchus rests<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>oil be glad to get outta here</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/26/bordeaux-fetes-the-vin.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/28/natural-logs.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>oil be glad to get outta here</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-27</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Even Bacchus rests<br />
 Sometimes, when wine is gone and<br />
 Time is short.  Even he.</i></p>
 <p>Except that we don't rest.  We have to get to St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port (the beginning point of the Camino de Santiago) and on to Pamplona in time for the Festival de San Fermín and to meet my sister!</p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>We also happened across an oil well (there's a video on our YouTube channel, haha), which Evan was excited about because he'd never seen one in person before.  I guess that growing up in Texas exposes a girl to that kind of stuff.</p>
 <p>The towns that we passed through in this expansive semi-forest seemed largely accidental: small bursts of minimalist civilization required by the logging operations happening.  They also seemed largely closed, which was unfortunate for a pair of hungry and thirsty travellers.  We found a hotel that was open, though, near the end of the day when the heat was murder and our water was nearly gone, whose bartender happily filled our bottles to the brim with icy cold liquid.  Mmmmm... H2O.  My best friend.  :D</p>
 <p>I also got a call from my family today!  I guess my sister is back from her cruise in Virginia, and she's training and getting her bike ready to come out on the trip.  My parents were on the phone, too, so we had a nice family chat.  :)</p>
-<p>Tonight we're staying in a town called Ychoux.  We had a grand old time exhausting all the puns we could think of with that name (if they had a mountain here, they could call it "Peak Ychoux"!, <em>sneeze which sounds like "Ychoux"</em>, first Ychoux, then Yswallow!, etc.), but it's a nice enough town.  We're staying at a campsite run by a cyclist who apparently took a trip from Paris to Porto (in Portugal) some years ago, so he's excited about our trip.  Hurray!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/26/bordeaux-fetes-the-vin.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/28/natural-logs.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Tonight we're staying in a town called Ychoux.  We had a grand old time exhausting all the puns we could think of with that name (if they had a mountain here, they could call it "Peak Ychoux"!, <em>sneeze which sounds like "Ychoux"</em>, first Ychoux, then Yswallow!, etc.), but it's a nice enough town.  We're staying at a campsite run by a cyclist who apparently took a trip from Paris to Porto (in Portugal) some years ago, so he's excited about our trip.  Hurray!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/26/bordeaux-fetes-the-vin.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/28/natural-logs.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>natural logs</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/27/oil-be-glad-to-get-outta-here.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/29/daxing-my-patience.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>natural logs</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-28</div></div><div id="content"><p>0730 wake-up call. We're trying to wake up earlier as we go further south - this becomes absolutely essential when you want to beat peak sun. (Ideally, we'd be waking up before 0600. That hasn't really happened yet; the closest we've come is the first day out of Copenhagen, when we were freezing and massively jet-lagged and generally confused about time.) We grab breakfast in the local pâtisserie, then head out through more intensively logged forest on our way to Dax.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>natural logs</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/27/oil-be-glad-to-get-outta-here.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/29/daxing-my-patience.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>natural logs</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-28</div></div><div id="content"><p>0730 wake-up call. We're trying to wake up earlier as we go further south - this becomes absolutely essential when you want to beat peak sun. (Ideally, we'd be waking up before 0600. That hasn't really happened yet; the closest we've come is the first day out of Copenhagen, when we were freezing and massively jet-lagged and generally confused about time.) We grab breakfast in the local pâtisserie, then head out through more intensively logged forest on our way to Dax.</p>
 <p>The most striking thing is the extent to which logging operations have changed the landscape here. At some point, this would all have been forest; now, some parts remain as fields with lone trees sparsely dotted about the landscape, whereas other parts have young trees planted in perfect rows. We see logging roads and their piles of freshly-cut shipping-ready logs at regular intervals. At one point, we pass an enormous logging terminus of sorts - there are logs as far as we can see, all constantly being watered to prevent the whole mess from going up in flames in this heat. Other than that, the ride is uneventful - although we are getting ever closer to the Pyrénées, as evidenced by the increasingly hilly terrain. (Bear in mind that, by the standards of our route so far, even a modest hill counts for something.)</p>
 <p>We end the day early in Dax, allowing ourselves time to rest - given that we still have until 7.4 to make it to Pamplona, we might as well take an extra day here! Some of the signs into towns advertise this as Dax-les-Thermes; apparently they have a number of hot springs here, giving us something to do with all this time...also, we find another four-star campsite to stay at. This one doesn't have a waterpark, but it does come equipped with an outdoor pool, electricity, toilet paper in the stalls, its own bakery and food market...</p>
 <p>Which brings me to the next point: as we've said before, Europe doesn't really get camping. Since every last square metre of land is occupied by something manmade, their idea of "nature" is a patch of grass with a couple of trees overhead. North Americans have the luxury of living in large expanses of land, so that we can afford to section off enormous parts of it as provincial/state or national parks. In Europe, on the other hand, civilization took hold long before it became fashionable to do so; for this reason, most European cities have significantly more green space (large gardens being a symbol of opulence and prosperity) but the countryside is tessellated with agricultural fields and small towns and ancient Roman ruins and...well, you get the point. So, Europe: "camping" beside a waterpark or pool is NOT camping. Camping in an RV or temporary home installment or out of your car is NOT camping. (It is kinda fun, though - when showers and toilet paper are anything but guaranteed, it's hard to pass these up!)</p>
 <p>Alright, that's enough ranting about camping and nature and blah blah blah for now. I'll close with a strange observation: there are a lot of abandoned hotels in Dax. Although the recession hasn't devastated everything so much as the worst reports would have you believe, there is clear evidence of its effect everywhere. Nowhere is this effect more apparent than in small towns; although there has always (well, for this last century, at least) been an exodus of rural farmers to the larger cities, this seems to be accelerating now. Several of these hotels definitely look recently closed...spooky.</p>
-<p>Well, we rest up tomorrow before the leg into Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, from where we will launch our heroic efforts to conquer the Camino de Santiago. According to the elevation profiles in our map, it promises to be arduous in a very mountainous way...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/27/oil-be-glad-to-get-outta-here.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/29/daxing-my-patience.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Well, we rest up tomorrow before the leg into Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, from where we will launch our heroic efforts to conquer the Camino de Santiago. According to the elevation profiles in our map, it promises to be arduous in a very mountainous way...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/27/oil-be-glad-to-get-outta-here.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/29/daxing-my-patience.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>daxing my patience</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/28/natural-logs.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/30/camping-in-the-shadow-of-the-mountains.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>daxing my patience</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-29</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Geothermal springs<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>daxing my patience</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/28/natural-logs.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/30/camping-in-the-shadow-of-the-mountains.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>daxing my patience</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-29</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Geothermal springs<br />
 For health!  Not for the young nor<br />
 For the well.  Gah!  Argh!</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>Oh, swimming was sort of strange.  I discovered that my body is now programmed for cycling, which unfortunately makes it very difficult to swim underwater.  As soon as I start pumping my legs, my lungs decide that they have to give all their oxygen down there, so I'm basically pathetic at that now.  Sigh.</p>
 <p>I'm pretty excited that we'll be leaving France soon, although I'm going to miss singing about Monsieur Bricolage.  Monsieur Bricolage ("Mr. Construction") is a shop that's found in a lot of places around here that purveys hardware and the like, but for some reason Evan and I have decided that he is the only reasonable French person and that he secretly builds bike paths and shopping markets and things to help us out when we're stuck.  We sing his name as the only lyrics to lots of tunes that we know, but our favourite to sing it to is the wakeup song on our phone alarm (it's Samsung's "Get Happy", if you can find it).  Anyway, that's about all I'll miss about France.  Oh, and maybe the delicious pastries.  :D</p>
 <p>We tried to go to some hot baths today for our day off (a number of "Thermes" are listed on our map of Dax), but we were told that the hot springs are only for people with medical issues and would we please go play in the pool?  We were... angry.  But it was a nice pool, I guess...</p>
-<p>Anyhow, another day in Dax!  Tomorrow, we set out for the head of the Camino de Santiago!  I read up on it some, and the terminus (Santiago de Compostela, Spain) is the third holiest city for Catholics (after the Vatican and Jerusalem) because remains which are presumed to belong to Saint James were found there.  Of course, no one can prove that it was him, but the faithful make a pilgrimage to Spain to see it, anyway.  There are a lot of paths that go there (beginning as far away as Sweden!), but the path we will be starting at St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port is the head of the best-known section of the caminos.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/28/natural-logs.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/30/camping-in-the-shadow-of-the-mountains.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Anyhow, another day in Dax!  Tomorrow, we set out for the head of the Camino de Santiago!  I read up on it some, and the terminus (Santiago de Compostela, Spain) is the third holiest city for Catholics (after the Vatican and Jerusalem) because remains which are presumed to belong to Saint James were found there.  Of course, no one can prove that it was him, but the faithful make a pilgrimage to Spain to see it, anyway.  There are a lot of paths that go there (beginning as far away as Sweden!), but the path we will be starting at St.-Jean-Pied-de-Port is the head of the best-known section of the caminos.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/28/natural-logs.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/30/camping-in-the-shadow-of-the-mountains.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,5 +1,5 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>camping in the shadow of the mountains</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/29/daxing-my-patience.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/01/real-cyclists-at-last.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>camping in the shadow of the mountains</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-30</div></div><div id="content"><p>This is it: the last day in France. How does it feel? Exhilarating, to put it mildly. France has been rather lackluster when it comes to bike touring: people are not exactly hospitable, cars honk at you everywhere, things close at 1800, roads are poorly paved...the list goes on and on, and it's all disappointing - especially since this is the country of my second language. Perhaps España will be better...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>camping in the shadow of the mountains</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/29/daxing-my-patience.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/01/real-cyclists-at-last.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>camping in the shadow of the mountains</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-06-30</div></div><div id="content"><p>This is it: the last day in France. How does it feel? Exhilarating, to put it mildly. France has been rather lackluster when it comes to bike touring: people are not exactly hospitable, cars honk at you everywhere, things close at 1800, roads are poorly paved...the list goes on and on, and it's all disappointing - especially since this is the country of my second language. Perhaps España will be better...</p>
 <p>This is it. The climb to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port is but a taste of what is to come. Overall, we ascend 200 m over the day; however, the actual ascent is much more, taking us over the real foothills of the Pyrénées and through the valleys created in their wake. It is hot; we pant our way up the hills, lugging our gear-filled racks slowly up the hills. It is slow; we must take these climbs a bit at a time, since we are not yet used to the mountainous terrain that we must confront throughout the Camino.</p>
 <p>This is it. We start to see signs for Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. We pass pilgrims who started earlier, perhaps in Denmark or France or Germany. We see their packs, loaded with dirty clothes and sleeping bags and water bottles. We are in their country now, the land of churches and cathedrals and long lonely walks in service of an unseen God. A group of children cheer France's rugby success in one of the towns we pass through; football fever has passed for France now that their terrible and brutish performance has removed them from the higher World Cup echelons.</p>
 <p>This is it. Our campsite lies within eyesight of the very mountains we will climb tomorrow - the mountains where we will rise 1200 vertical metres over 18 horizontal kilometres, where we will earn the right to call ourselves real cyclists. What does it mean? The trip so far has been relaxed by comparison; from here on in, we will try to bike at least 100 km per day. We confront now a set of hardships entirely different from those that beset us at the beginning. In place of cold, we have blistering heat; in place of wind, we have mountains; in place of rain, we have the ever-looming threat of dehydration. The mountain pass is marked as paved road except for a long stretch of footpath at the very top. What will it look like? How treacherous will it be, hiking across with fully loaded bikes that could roll away at any minute and thereby doom our trip? How will we cope with the slightly thinner air? We don't know.</p>
-<p>This is it. After all, this has been the theme of our trip thus far; we cope with the unknown, turn and twist it until it seems like a new challenge, an exciting adventure. Tomorrow promises that, at least - and perhaps an entirely new set of fantastic photos to match. As we fall asleep in the shadow of the Pyrénées, we dream of what is to come; we dream of a new language, a new country, a new people. May we make it across! Buen Camino!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/29/daxing-my-patience.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/01/real-cyclists-at-last.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>This is it. After all, this has been the theme of our trip thus far; we cope with the unknown, turn and twist it until it seems like a new challenge, an exciting adventure. Tomorrow promises that, at least - and perhaps an entirely new set of fantastic photos to match. As we fall asleep in the shadow of the Pyrénées, we dream of what is to come; we dream of a new language, a new country, a new people. May we make it across! Buen Camino!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/29/daxing-my-patience.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/01/real-cyclists-at-last.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>real cyclists at last!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/30/camping-in-the-shadow-of-the-mountains.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/02/its-all-downhill-from-here.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>real cyclists at last!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-01</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Sun, merciless sun,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>real cyclists at last!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/30/camping-in-the-shadow-of-the-mountains.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/02/its-all-downhill-from-here.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>real cyclists at last!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-01</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Sun, merciless sun,<br />
 On shorn rocks and unshorn sheep,<br />
 Blasting down on all.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -14,4 +14,4 @@
 <p>The path continued through some forests and more livestock fields, and we continually alternated riding and pulling due to some strange anomalies like 20cm-deep leaves for dozens of metres along the path.  Eventually, we came to a very steep and twisty (but paved!) road that led down the mountainside into Roncesvalles--the first town in Spain.  It was a fun descent: we had to stop several times to cool our bike brakes because of continual use.</p>
 <p>Roncesvalles greeted us with SPANISH.  We went to mass at 20h and were thoroughly confused by the service in another language.  We did manage to get space in a pilgrim's spot (the albergue was full, but they had a sort of camping/portables area that we were led to instead), and we found a delicious pilgrim's menu at the local restaurant (water, wine, bread, pasta, fish, fries, and yoghurt) for just 9€ each.</p>
 <p>To commemorate our real-cyclist-dom, we spent some 30 minutes in the bathroom at our site dying our hair red.  It looks lovely.</p>
-<p>Spain is wonderful.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/06/30/camping-in-the-shadow-of-the-mountains.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/02/its-all-downhill-from-here.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Spain is wonderful.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/06/30/camping-in-the-shadow-of-the-mountains.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/02/its-all-downhill-from-here.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>it's all downhill from here</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/01/real-cyclists-at-last.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/03/iberian-showdown.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>it's all downhill from here</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-02</div></div><div id="content"><p>Downhill jaunt from Roncesvalles to Pamplona today, which is refreshing after the death march across los Pireneos yesterday. We awaken at the sprightly hour of 0545, our newly reddened hair bristling with antici</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>it's all downhill from here</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/01/real-cyclists-at-last.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/03/iberian-showdown.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>it's all downhill from here</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-02</div></div><div id="content"><p>Downhill jaunt from Roncesvalles to Pamplona today, which is refreshing after the death march across los Pireneos yesterday. We awaken at the sprightly hour of 0545, our newly reddened hair bristling with antici</p>
 <p>pation as we set off on our first full day of biking in Spain. Despite the early rise, the camp is abuzz with activity; it seems many pilgrims get up as early as possible to get in a solid morning's hike before the midday heat. A trio of bicyclists ask us if we're following the camino - we say yes, not quite understanding their question; it turns out that, being equipped with mountain bikes, they are taking the hiking trail! We try this trail ourselves for an hour before deciding that it is permissible to preserve sanity and take the nearby roads. After all, these roads are marked as part of the Camino de Santiago as well, and are intended for use by cyclists; the hiking trails are decidedly off-road, and are therefore not conducive to travel by fully-loaded road bike. Despite our decision to take the road and a 15 minute headstart on the other cyclists, they promptly catch up to us...we're still learning, I suppose.</p>
 <p>We ride in astonishment as most of our 1200 m vertical climb is undone over half an hour. At the bottom, we stop briefly to take tea in a small café-albergue down one of the side streets in some town. The walls inside are covered with pilgrimage paraphernalia of every description - books, shells, pictures, and the like - and the tables outside have a number of heavy packs beside them. (As we would find upon asking, many skip the mountain crossing and start their pilgrimage in Roncesvalles, so that most pilgrims still look relatively fresh and well-rested by this point.) As we set out along the road towards Pamplona, a number of drivers honk at us. After our experiences in France, we instantly assume the worst - but no! No, these drivers wave and shout "Buen camino!" out their windows and cheer us on, rather than treating us as second-class beings for daring to cycle on their roads. There is a spirit of camaraderie along the Camino, one that can only come from shared suffering.</p>
 <p>Ah, but the jaunt is not exactly downhill; as we find out, mountains have foothills too - and those must also be navigated. There are a couple of nasty hills in our way. Setting our bikes to lowest gear, we trodge up the curving slopes with a depressing lack of velocity...and yet it is somehow worth it, for every hill climbed provides another panoramic view to delight in. The trip has taken a definite turning point; already we feel so far from France and everything that came before it, already so distant from the land of rude drivers and snooty café-restaurant owners - and even more so from the Northern hospitality we had enjoyed just a month ago.</p>
-<p>Yet the Camino has just started, and we are resolved to follow it through to its end. Sin dolor, no hay gloria.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/01/real-cyclists-at-last.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/03/iberian-showdown.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Yet the Camino has just started, and we are resolved to follow it through to its end. Sin dolor, no hay gloria.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/01/real-cyclists-at-last.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/03/iberian-showdown.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>iberian showdown</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/02/its-all-downhill-from-here.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>iberian showdown</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-03</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Churches and churches<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>iberian showdown</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/02/its-all-downhill-from-here.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>iberian showdown</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-03</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Churches and churches<br />
 And fountains and citadels<br />
 An old town brimming.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>The old town is packed with... well, old buildings.  It's also got a lot of parks.  Within Pamplona proper there are apparently 11km² of parks, which is shared between the just 200,000 inhabitants.  And the tourists share it, I guess.  Many of the parks even offer free wireless, which is a godsend for travellers with no 3G card.  You can tell that the whole city is getting ready for San Fermín: shop stalls are going up in the bosquecillo park, bakery owners are pushing pañuelicos (red bandana-shaped cookies), and the air is generally one of excitement.  I'm pretty anxious to see what this thing is about!</p>
 <p>Oh, and fútbol.</p>
 <p>The Spanish World Cup team is doing stellarly this year.  They played in the quarter finals tonight, and all of Pamplona wanted to see.  So the city put up a giant television screen in the Plaza del Castillo (one of the main squares in town) and showed it.  To thousands of people.  For free!  Evan and I sat in a café for a little while during the first half to try out the local sangría, then found ourselves a spot among the young people jostling each other at the front.  We were between some guys with painted faces and a guy with a Spanish flag draped around his shoulders.  It was gonna be good when Portugal got reamed.</p>
-<p>And get reamed they did.  The entire square jumped up at each attempt of Portugal's to score a goal, and everyone cheered and danced at Spain's score.  There was angry shouting when people felt that a yellow card or penalty kick should have been awarded.  It was suuuuuuuperrrrrrrrrrr to be there.  :D</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/02/its-all-downhill-from-here.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>And get reamed they did.  The entire square jumped up at each attempt of Portugal's to score a goal, and everyone cheered and danced at Spain's score.  There was angry shouting when people felt that a yellow card or penalty kick should have been awarded.  It was suuuuuuuperrrrrrrrrrr to be there.  :D</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/02/its-all-downhill-from-here.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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diff --git a/webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html b/webroot/posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the least lazy day off ever</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/03/iberian-showdown.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/05/and-then-there-were-three.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the least lazy day off ever</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-04</div></div><div id="content"><p>With five days to wait in Pamplona - we must await the arrival of Valkyrie's sister, Venus, who wants to see the start of San Fermín and the Encierro on 7.7 - our legs itch to ride. We pull out a regional map that we picked up on our way into town two days ago from the Oficina de Turismo, inspect it briefly, and point to the small town of Javiér.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the least lazy day off ever</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/03/iberian-showdown.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/05/and-then-there-were-three.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the least lazy day off ever</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-04</div></div><div id="content"><p>With five days to wait in Pamplona - we must await the arrival of Valkyrie's sister, Venus, who wants to see the start of San Fermín and the Encierro on 7.7 - our legs itch to ride. We pull out a regional map that we picked up on our way into town two days ago from the Oficina de Turismo, inspect it briefly, and point to the small town of Javiér.</p>
 <p>Of course, this is Sunday, which in Spain is taken even more seriously than in France; nothing is open, especially in the small towns that dot our route through the valleys adjoining Pamplona. We are forced to subsist upon a fantastically sugary chocolate-filled cereal called Tresor and this salty nut mix that we picked up yesterday in the supermarket - we have to learn to stock up for these so-called days of rest, since we don't often have the luxury of actually resting for them.</p>
 <p>As we start down the valley to Javiér, we are treated to an interesting sight: part of an old Roman aqueduct (or possibly a bridge?) preserved in close to original condition. The countryside here is full of such relics, which serve as reminders that these lands have been fought over for millenia. Our path is lined with sunflower fields, where the flowers bloom in cascades of yellow petals and green stalks. The day is hot, but we need not fear dehydration; public fountains have no days of rest, and these seem to be available in even the smallest towns!</p>
 <p>The ride out is somewhat longer than planned - 30, 40, 50 kilometres pass with no sign of Javiér, and then the valley drops out down a 250 metre-high hill into a lower valley. We check the signs, only to discover that the way to Javiér is under construction! Disheartened, we head off to the side and stop for lunch at the one open café that we can find. The pizza squares we have there are tasty but not quite filling, so we buy some bread and cheese from the adjoining shop and sit down outside. As we fill up on food, a kind old woman informs us that there is a small shaded plaza just up the road with a fountain, so we retire there to wait out the midday heat.</p>
 <p>Since we can't make it to Javiér, we instead decide to head up another valley - the last downhill was rather steep, so we hope to avoid it by going around; there are also more points of interest, such as old Roman castles and towers, indicated on our regional map that way. A headwind picks up, making for slow travel as we laboriously pedal uphill; finally, exhausted after riding some 120 km over hilly terrain in the heat on relatively little sleep, we roll into Pamplona around 2000.</p>
 <p>Venus calls on our way into town to inform us that bikes are apparently not allowed on the trains from Madrid; after some research into the matter, we determine that buses are the more sensible mode of travel around these parts - but we do not receive a call back until later, at which time the last buses have already left. Such is the nature of travel...things can sometimes go spectacularly wrong, so that it is important to roll with the situation and attempt to get it back on track! As for our part, we're tired enough after the least relaxing day off in history that, having made sure that everything is at least somewhat alright on her end, we head over to the psuedo-campground at Ezcala for another night of heavily punctuated sleep - a group of rowdy Australians and their festival tourism group have taken over the site with a concert stage that blasts mostly terrible music into the late hours of the night, thereby obliterating any chance for peace or rest.</p>
-<p>We do have one piece of bounty from our extended day trip - a bottle of wine local to the town we took siesta in, which we expect to thoroughly enjoy once Venus arrives. Salud!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/03/iberian-showdown.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/05/and-then-there-were-three.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We do have one piece of bounty from our extended day trip - a bottle of wine local to the town we took siesta in, which we expect to thoroughly enjoy once Venus arrives. Salud!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/03/iberian-showdown.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/05/and-then-there-were-three.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>and then there were three</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/06/chupinazo.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>and then there were three</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-05</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>A city holds its breath,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>and then there were three</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/06/chupinazo.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>and then there were three</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-05</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>A city holds its breath,<br />
 Wondering what will come to<br />
 Pass in foll'wing days...</i><br />
 </p>
 <p>This morning found us being bums around the park again.  We woke up late (Venus was due in around 13h, and we figured we had some time..) and purchased a pile of food from the local supermarket: eggs, bread, pesto, cheese, and tomatoes.  We fried the eggs in delicious, delicious olive oil; added the pesto and some garlic powder to our bread; and stuffed everything together into our mouths.  It took longer than we expected, so we headed to the bus station approximately in time to see her step off the bus (we were a little early, and it gave us the chance to comment some photos for you lovely people!  :D).</p>
 <p>She seemed disoriented.  Evidently she had spent roughly 40 hours in transit, about 10 of which were spent in the Madrid bus station half sleeping while waiting to head to Pamplona.  A note for travellers: bikes and busses go together in Spain.  Bikes are only allowed on some trains--mostly the ones that follow major-ish routes.  Look carefully at the <a href="http://renfe.es">renfe.es</a> website to see if your train is a medium or long distance train first!</p>
 <p>Nevermind disorientation, though; it was time to see things!  The fact that we had so long in Pamplona meant that Evan and I spent some time poking around to find interesting things.  Mainly the thing she wanted to see was the bullring and the route of the Encierro, so we did that first.  It's amazing how long a half mile can seem...</p>
-<p>She told us about her Navy cruise and all that jazz, and we settled in for a really interesting (read: way too big but rather delicious) dinner of rice, beans, corn, squash, onion, and local wine.  Venus was pretty tired out (fair enough, considering her journey!), so we headed back to the campsite fairly early and fell asleep, hoping to wake up early for the chupinazo tomorrow... SAN FERMÍN!!!!!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/06/chupinazo.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>She told us about her Navy cruise and all that jazz, and we settled in for a really interesting (read: way too big but rather delicious) dinner of rice, beans, corn, squash, onion, and local wine.  Venus was pretty tired out (fair enough, considering her journey!), so we headed back to the campsite fairly early and fell asleep, hoping to wake up early for the chupinazo tomorrow... SAN FERMÍN!!!!!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/04/the-least-lazy-day-off-ever.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/06/chupinazo.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>¡chupinazo!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/05/and-then-there-were-three.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/07/encierro-d.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>¡chupinazo!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-06</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Red, liquid glory,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>¡chupinazo!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/05/and-then-there-were-three.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/07/encierro-d.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>¡chupinazo!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-06</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Red, liquid glory,<br />
 Spurting out from all around<br />
 Stain the ground brighter.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>This wardrobe choice makes the day of the Chupinazo extra fun!  After the explosion, everyone in the Plaza del Castillo (the main square in the old town) unleashes boxes and jugs and bottles of sangría, containers of mustard and ketchup, bags of flour, and any other solid-or-liquid-messy-thing they can think of onto their friends' outfits.  After a few days, you may be able to imagine that the sea of bright red and pristine white tends to become somewhat... well, the colours mix a little, you know.</p>
 <p>After we were thoroughly stained and covered in sticky sangría-and-who-knows-what-else mess, we headed out to see what sorts of events were happening for the festival.  A handy programme informed us that there was a concert at 13h... well, we missed that.  The next event wasn't until 5, so we decided to take a nap (our campsite is full of riotous tourists who make noise well into the mornings) and eat some food in the Citadel park.  We woke up to a rather amusing sound test emanating from the stage set up across the street, which sound test turned out to be better than the actual concert.</p>
 <p>We strolled through the Bosquecillo (little forest) in Pamplona to see the market stalls and food vendors, as well as to listen to a really lovely orchestral concert.  In Pamplona, we saw the building for their rather large music school during our wanderings, and we assume that this is where the people came from.  They played a number of local pieces that got us into the rowdy spirit of the festival.  :)</p>
-<p>After that, it was starting to get late, but there was one more event that we desperately wanted to see: all it said in our programme was "Toro de Fuego" (Bull of Fire) with a location listed... so we went there.  And, what do you know?  There was a giant plaster of Paris bull mounted on a man's shoulders that was spraying fireworks and chasing people around the streets.  We played with it for a while (the whole 'event' only lasted a few minutes), checked ourselves for burns, and headed home for the night.  Big day!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/05/and-then-there-were-three.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/07/encierro-d.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>After that, it was starting to get late, but there was one more event that we desperately wanted to see: all it said in our programme was "Toro de Fuego" (Bull of Fire) with a location listed... so we went there.  And, what do you know?  There was a giant plaster of Paris bull mounted on a man's shoulders that was spraying fireworks and chasing people around the streets.  We played with it for a while (the whole 'event' only lasted a few minutes), checked ourselves for burns, and headed home for the night.  Big day!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/05/and-then-there-were-three.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/07/encierro-d.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>encierro'd</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/06/chupinazo.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/08/falling-flat.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>encierro'd</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-07</div></div><div id="content"><p>And we're off! After a five-day-long sojourn in Pamplona, we finally continue along the Camino de Santiago up over a 300 m high ridge lined with turbines and down into the next couple of valleys. Before that, however...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>encierro'd</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/06/chupinazo.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/08/falling-flat.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>encierro'd</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-07</div></div><div id="content"><p>And we're off! After a five-day-long sojourn in Pamplona, we finally continue along the Camino de Santiago up over a 300 m high ridge lined with turbines and down into the next couple of valleys. Before that, however...</p>
 <p>...we wake up at 0545 to pack up everything and make it into town for the first Encierro. Nothing is open at this hour; moreover, this being the busiest day of San Fermín, Pamplona is seized by a town-wide shop closure so that all the shopkeepers can partake in the festivities. We reach town around 0715, where we are immediately greeted by the foul odour of sangria and piss caked onto nearly every street following the Chupinazo yesterday - it is an olfactory spectacle, one full of colour and sound and untoward stenches that waft down from the old parts of town into the river basin below...we fight our way through the mess of people, some passed out in doorways after a night of partying and drinking, to the beginning of the Encierro route between the small statue of San Fermín and Plaza Consistorial. It is already packed with runners, and the police are urgently herding them into lines so that they can pack more in. There is no special entrance into the route - to get in, you must climb the double barricades separating runners from spectators of your own free (and presumably misguided) will...and then you wait with the others, who hang back for a while but (for the most part) slowly inch as far forward as they can get. Locals and tourists watch from every balcony; apartment owners will rent out the balconies for 25-35€, a tidy sum for such a short event. And then...</p>
 <p>...they set off one firework! Five minutes to go. The atmosphere becomes tense. Alcohol-addled festival-goers wonder why exactly they are here in the first place...and a second, then a third! The corrals are open, the bulls are running; the crowd turns into a frantic torrent of arms and legs trying to get out of the way of several tons of angry bull by any means possible...they jump over the barricades, dive off to the sides - some poor sods are stuck in the middle, and must lie as flat and still as possible while the bulls trample them in a hopefully non-injurious manner...and everyone books it for the Plaza de Toros, a short dash down 800 m of road. We reach the Plaza somewhere in the middle of the pack and let out sighs of relief...</p>
 <p>...but too soon! The real Encierro begins here, where they lock you in the bullring for half an hour as they bring out each of the six bulls in turn, allowing them to rampage around the crowd of runners one at a time while a brave few attempt to grab their horns - and usually get tossed, flipped, and generally abused as a result. The rafters erupt with shouting and cheering as this happens; the greater the perceived injury, the better - though most people merely get thrown, and are alright to stand afterwards. Most crowd the exterior wall, hoping to get as far away from the thing as possible. We opt to keep a medium distance for the most part, close enough to see the bull but far enough to get the hell out of the way when it makes a mad dash through the crowd...</p>
 <p>...except when they change bulls; then we run over to the corral gates, where runners get down on all fours in several rows and let the bull run across them on its way out into the ring. This is safer than it sounds; the bull is interested in getting out of its enclosure, and will make a straight line dash out into the ring.</p>
 <p>Thirty minutes pass, and we are finally released from the ring back into the streets. We head for Plaza de Castillo, where some other people we met during the Encierro are getting together for a few post-run drinks...but we must soon head out, as the day is already starting to become uncomfortably warm. We start out on the paths near Pamplona, which turn out to be rough dirt paths in some areas - unfortunately, Venus' bike is equipped with thin road tires, which puncture easily under shocks from off-road travel in a pair of holes on opposite sides of the tube known as a "snake bite". We get several of these before we finally reach normal road around 1500. Each tube repair takes time and effort...her derailleur is also poorly adjusted, and needs a quick stopgap tuning to make it at least usable before we can start the ascent over our first post-Pireneos ridge.</p>
 <p>But we make it eventually with the help of free water given to us by a helpful construction worker halfway up, who extends a hose through the fence for us to fill our water bottles and parched mouths with. We slog up the hill slowly, getting her used to the pace of climbing - with gear in this heat, it is imperative to move slowly or you risk overheating like a mistreated engine...for that is what you are on a bike trip - a machine for converting food to distance covered and awesome experiences had.</p>
-<p>We stop in Estrella/Lizarra for the night. As it is late, the municipal albergue is full - but, this being the Camino, the local church is more than glad to receive us for the night. We think it wise not to mention our atheist/agnostic tendencies...before retiring to bed, we make sure to grab a meal in town and watch the semifinals; another victory for España, another great day to be in this country! Time to rest up now, for the going will be no less difficult tomorrow. Yay for having taken part in the Encierro, and all the more so for still being alive!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/06/chupinazo.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/08/falling-flat.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We stop in Estrella/Lizarra for the night. As it is late, the municipal albergue is full - but, this being the Camino, the local church is more than glad to receive us for the night. We think it wise not to mention our atheist/agnostic tendencies...before retiring to bed, we make sure to grab a meal in town and watch the semifinals; another victory for España, another great day to be in this country! Time to rest up now, for the going will be no less difficult tomorrow. Yay for having taken part in the Encierro, and all the more so for still being alive!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/06/chupinazo.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/08/falling-flat.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>falling flat</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/07/encierro-d.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/09/off-the-map.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>falling flat</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-08</div></div><div id="content"><p>Nothing is less conducive to good sleep than heat. Our room in the Estrella church had only inoperable windows, so we slept on the floor. Heat is the major obstacle here in Spain during the peak of the summer. It changes your schedule, makes you sleep late and rise early; this sleep can only be regained during the midday siesta, provided you find a spot with enough shade to nap in. If you start late, as we did today - and 0830 counts as late in this weather; 0500-0600 is desirable, whereas most pilgrims even stop short of rising earlier - then you have a very long and sweaty climb out of Estrella (provided you happen to be there, which is admittedly an unusual set of circumstances for the average person.)</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>falling flat</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/07/encierro-d.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/09/off-the-map.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>falling flat</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-08</div></div><div id="content"><p>Nothing is less conducive to good sleep than heat. Our room in the Estrella church had only inoperable windows, so we slept on the floor. Heat is the major obstacle here in Spain during the peak of the summer. It changes your schedule, makes you sleep late and rise early; this sleep can only be regained during the midday siesta, provided you find a spot with enough shade to nap in. If you start late, as we did today - and 0830 counts as late in this weather; 0500-0600 is desirable, whereas most pilgrims even stop short of rising earlier - then you have a very long and sweaty climb out of Estrella (provided you happen to be there, which is admittedly an unusual set of circumstances for the average person.)</p>
 <p>But we made it out of that first part and across 100 km or so of rolling hills to Azófra - we made it, despite the heat and the swath of flats due to insufficiently wide tires we had to fix and our steadily mounting exhaustion and the usual bit of mis-navigation. We always make it. Why? Stubbornness, I suppose - we keep going despite everything, despite the challenge of bringing another person on board. Everyone brings their own mindset to a trip, and the Camino is an intense test of that mindset. It is hot in the summer, and long regardless; it has more than its fair share of gradual climbs, mountain passes, vast plain crossings...of different cultures and ancient cathedrals, of footsteps pressed into the roads and paths over millenia by all the wanderers and armies that have ever walked these lands...and here we are, just trying to move closer to the end each day, adding our names to the long list of those foolish enough to attempt this journey.</p>
 <p>And we are getting better at it. The hills seem less daunting now. The gearing gets easier; we seem to ride consistently - no stopping to walk steep parts, no panting and wheezing our way uphill...just steady climbing. We are approaching this Zen point, the exact moment where rider and bike become one in an over-clichéd fusion of intent with raw muscle power. The bikes go where we want them to. Especially with the cycling shoes and toe clips, there is very much a feeling that the bike is merely an extension of your legs...</p>
-<p>...and so here we are, at 2200, fixing yet another flat just out of Azófra. We roll into town after nightfall to find everything closed, prepared to sleep on the bare ground if need be - but the kindness of strangers comes through again; a local leads us to the home of the albergue keeper, whom she rouses from sleep for the express purpose of making sure we have a decent place to stay. If you look desperate and lost, people will often help!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/07/encierro-d.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/09/off-the-map.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...and so here we are, at 2200, fixing yet another flat just out of Azófra. We roll into town after nightfall to find everything closed, prepared to sleep on the bare ground if need be - but the kindness of strangers comes through again; a local leads us to the home of the albergue keeper, whom she rouses from sleep for the express purpose of making sure we have a decent place to stay. If you look desperate and lost, people will often help!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/07/encierro-d.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/09/off-the-map.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>off the map</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/08/falling-flat.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>off the map</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-09</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Hot and flat and long<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>off the map</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/08/falling-flat.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>off the map</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-09</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Hot and flat and long<br />
 The road winds through near-nothing...<br />
 Where are we, again?</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>The road led us up a pretty substantial (400m or so) climb to a ridge rimed with wind turbines.  We learned more about what it is to Bike Harder, and hated our lives for a little while as we crept towards the top lugging our gear.  We cheered, though, rather immediately when Spanish drivers would pass by with a friendly honk and wave.  Some shouted out their windows for us to keep going and that we were almost there.  I love the camino.</p>
 <p>We made it about 80km before a siesta in Burgos, a large town with a pretty nifty cathedral and lovely parks winding along its rivers.  We paused for a few hours for lunch, a nap, some bike maintenance (chain cleaning!), and a trip to the bank.  Then it was onward, to the west!</p>
 <p>Beyond Burgos, the camino follows several unpaved footpaths and roads, so we elected to take the N-120 in the direction of León.  This was an interesting choice, due mainly to the fact that the N-120 disappears from our map for a few pages.  A few kilometres out of Burgos, we had no map to tell us where we were, but we knew that we were heading to León.  So... that was kinda fun.</p>
-<p>After Burgos, everything is <i>flat</i> for a long, long way: practically until León.  We made another pretty good distance after our siesta, and we landed in a small town called Melgar de Fernamental.  We kept forgetting the name of this town, but it sounded something like "Trogdor," so we mostly just called it that.  Teehee.  :)  Then we ate delicious food for dinner (we cooked it in a park, much to the amusement of some kids playing fútbol nearby), and it was off to sleepytime!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/08/falling-flat.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>After Burgos, everything is <i>flat</i> for a long, long way: practically until León.  We made another pretty good distance after our siesta, and we landed in a small town called Melgar de Fernamental.  We kept forgetting the name of this town, but it sounded something like "Trogdor," so we mostly just called it that.  Teehee.  :)  Then we ate delicious food for dinner (we cooked it in a park, much to the amusement of some kids playing fútbol nearby), and it was off to sleepytime!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/08/falling-flat.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>flat, hot, and less than crowded</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/09/off-the-map.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/11/esp-1-0-ned.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>flat, hot, and less than crowded</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-10</div></div><div id="content"><p>Back onto the Camino today - another long day of biking down the N-120, the major autoroute that closely follows the Camino de Santiago for most of the Camino Francés portion but deviates somewhat out here in the plains above La Mancha. We had hoped to reach León by dusk, but instead stop short in the small town of El Burgo Ranero about 20 km out. World Cup fever is rising to a crescendo as we enter the finals; the Germany - Uruguay losers' match ends in a resounding victory for Deutschland, giving Valkyrie's friend Julius yet one more thing to gloat over...but, even here in Spain (during a game where Spain is not playing!) the bars fill up with all the locals. An older couple from Norway cheer on Germany, and are rebuffed by a local who sides with Uruguay (as he puts it, "I have to root for a Spanish-speaking country.") - they are doing the Burgos-León portion of the Camino again, having completed the long voyage to Santiago de Compostela three years ago.</p>
+<p>This is part of the magic of the Camino - it is followed by travellers the world over, by the young and old alike, by itinerant soul-seekers and IT professionals and monks and hiking enthusiasts, and each pilgrim carries an entirely different story. For us at this point, the story is this: we're 3000 km into our trip, having cycled down from the frigid mid-May rain and fog of Denmark along the North Sea and down the west coast of France only to meet the blistering heat and mountainous terrain here in northern Spain, and for the first time we feel like we might actually make it to Istanbul before we have to head home in late November. 3000 km - out of everyone we've spoken to, maybe two or three cyclists have attempted a trip of even that length. (One we met in Pamplona at the Ezcala campsite - he had biked down from Denmark through Iran to India several years back. The ambitious nature of this journey astonished even us; here in Europe, things are generally clean and safe and relatively wealthy except perhaps in the worst parts.)</p>
+<p>We saw a procession of roughly 20 people walking the Camino with two statues and an enormous cross - a reminder that, although many follow the Camino for secular reasons, it is still a religious pilgrimage of great importance to some. Quite the burden to bear in this heat; we wonder where they will stop, whether they will attempt crossing the mountains further to the west...</p>
+<p>So we rest again for today - an earlier stop than some of our other camino days, thankfully, and one with a proper roof over our heads thanks to the inexpensive albergues available in most every town - and continue out tomorrow towards León, after which we hope to reach Astorga in time for the World Cup finals.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/09/off-the-map.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/11/esp-1-0-ned.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>ESP 1-0 NED</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/12/mountains-1.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>ESP 1-0 NED</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-11</div></div><div id="content"><p>World Cup Fever. The phenomenon is impossible to understand for those who have never left the New World for a glimpse of our cultural forebearers - a bizarre fixation on the Round of 16, a platonic orgy of nationalism over the clashes that play out on screens in homes, in bars, out in the public squares, projected on walls; the screens that are surrounded by fans and passers-by and families and tourists and locals and children and grandparents, by everyone and anyone who can pry themselves free from real life long enough to join the ruckus...the bartenders serve only during half-time, their eyes glued to the screens up in the corner; the restaurants and food joints put off kitchen work for fear of missing The Goal; and customers wait without complaint, for they are just as entranced by the athleticism and spectacle of this miniature bloodless war...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>ESP 1-0 NED</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/12/mountains-1.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>ESP 1-0 NED</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-11</div></div><div id="content"><p>World Cup Fever. The phenomenon is impossible to understand for those who have never left the New World for a glimpse of our cultural forebearers - a bizarre fixation on the Round of 16, a platonic orgy of nationalism over the clashes that play out on screens in homes, in bars, out in the public squares, projected on walls; the screens that are surrounded by fans and passers-by and families and tourists and locals and children and grandparents, by everyone and anyone who can pry themselves free from real life long enough to join the ruckus...the bartenders serve only during half-time, their eyes glued to the screens up in the corner; the restaurants and food joints put off kitchen work for fear of missing The Goal; and customers wait without complaint, for they are just as entranced by the athleticism and spectacle of this miniature bloodless war...</p>
 <p>...and we join the fever in Astorga where, in the minutes leading up to the starting whistle, as cheering erupts in a far-off stadium somewhere in South Africa, as the teams line up to perform the pre-game rituals and sing anthems and shake hands and take last-minute orders from the coaches who shout urgently at the sidelines, their intense eyes and open mouths and smart suits captured in fleeting television images...where, in these minutes, the last minutes before the Final Game of the 2010 World Cup is set to begin, anyone and everyone grabs a seat outside by one of the local bars. True to form, the establishment owners have wheeled out the largest screen in reach for the viewing pleasure of their patrons. An atmosphere of excitement, equal parts anticipation and apprehension, reigns throughout the Continent and beyond - but most of all in Spain and Holland; and we have the good fortune to be in the former. The crowd is quiet, eerily so; no one dares to speak too loudly, for fear that they might jinx the outcome or arouse the ire of the other spectators for ruining the experience.</p>
 <p>But this lull does not persist; the players explode in a spectacular show, making lightning passes and complex weaving plays across the field, stealing balls with slide kicks - and occasionally getting carded for it, thus whipping the crowd up into cheers of approval or streams of invective depending on the perceived justness of the referee's decision. The game wears on, one goalless half is followed by another...and now there is noise, youth chanting "Yo soy Español" or similar refrains while the guy in the Casillas jersey wails on an enormous drum and the cars in the nearby square use their horns with reckless abandon. Now it is overtime, and it is getting late. On any other night we would be fast asleep by now, recovering as much as possible for next morning's ride, but that is not an option. Even the albergue keeper is at the game, and the streets whip up in a furious crescendo of shouting and honking and chanting...</p>
-<p>...and then, after what seems like an eternity, just before the second half of overtime draws to an unsatisfying close and despite the visible frustration and exhaustion building on the players' battle-worn faces, Spain carves the ball through the air to land precisely in the goal, out of reach of the hapless Holland goalkeeper. The crowd cheers wildly, but is cautious to reserve judgment; after all, Holland could still sneak around to tie it again. But they do not; the three remaining minutes pass quickly. Victory for Spain! Now the noise outside reaches fantastic proportions. Every second house has set aside a stash of noisemaker fireworks for this moment, a dazzling arsenal that is deployed into the skies above Astorga while the crowd underneath yells with exquisite joy. We head back to the albergue, attempting with mixed success to sleep amidst the revelry, this climax moment of World Cup Fever...for our journey continues tomorrow, and every hour spent sleepless will only add to our own exhaustion tomorrow. It is a reminder that this is a very unusual sort of trip to take; we bike long hours each day, and must often refrain from drinking in the midday sun for fear that dehydration will rear its ugly head...we scarcely have the opportunity to go out, trading this pleasure for that of unparalleled views and the warmth of small-town hospitality. And tomorrow is not merely another day; it will bring another ascent into the mountains, another set of such views that must be earned...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/12/mountains-1.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...and then, after what seems like an eternity, just before the second half of overtime draws to an unsatisfying close and despite the visible frustration and exhaustion building on the players' battle-worn faces, Spain carves the ball through the air to land precisely in the goal, out of reach of the hapless Holland goalkeeper. The crowd cheers wildly, but is cautious to reserve judgment; after all, Holland could still sneak around to tie it again. But they do not; the three remaining minutes pass quickly. Victory for Spain! Now the noise outside reaches fantastic proportions. Every second house has set aside a stash of noisemaker fireworks for this moment, a dazzling arsenal that is deployed into the skies above Astorga while the crowd underneath yells with exquisite joy. We head back to the albergue, attempting with mixed success to sleep amidst the revelry, this climax moment of World Cup Fever...for our journey continues tomorrow, and every hour spent sleepless will only add to our own exhaustion tomorrow. It is a reminder that this is a very unusual sort of trip to take; we bike long hours each day, and must often refrain from drinking in the midday sun for fear that dehydration will rear its ugly head...we scarcely have the opportunity to go out, trading this pleasure for that of unparalleled views and the warmth of small-town hospitality. And tomorrow is not merely another day; it will bring another ascent into the mountains, another set of such views that must be earned...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/10/flat-hot-and-less-than-crowded.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/12/mountains-1.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>mountains 1</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/11/esp-1-0-ned.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/13/mountains-2.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>mountains 1</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-12</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Who needs sleep to bike?<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>mountains 1</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/11/esp-1-0-ned.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/13/mountains-2.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>mountains 1</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-12</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Who needs sleep to bike?<br />
 We run on drive, desire,<br />
 And sometimes on wine</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>The peaks we saw today were crested with turbines in much the way most high places seem to be in Spain.  The towns that line the one road leading over them are clearly camino towns: not many people pass here who are not peregrinos, and not many people live here other than those who run the albergues and cafés to service them.  It's amazing what grows up around this pilgrimage!</p>
 <p>We passed two high peaks today, one of which was the highest peak on the entire camino: 1500m above sea level.  The first peak was admittedly more interesting; it was topped with a pole to which people had taped, stapled, knifed, wrapped, or otherwise attached various mementoes of their passage (I actually tied the flowers from my handlebars to it... their crêpe paper was starting to look sad from the abuse of wind during riding).  The ground around it was littered with rocks covered in messages in all languages to people passing through.  Evan and I left one that noted, "Wherever you go, there you are," with our signatures and hand-drawn pictures of our bikes (sans gear).</p>
 <p>Those peaks mounted, we were treated to a nice, long, twisting coast down the side of the mountain.  It led through more camino towns and not much else.  The town at the bottom, Molinaseca (dry windmill), had a stream running through it to a waterfall.  The local game seemed to be to jump in as close to the waterfall as possible and swim away before getting sucked down.  A shame we didn't have time to join...</p>
-<p>Anyway, we headed down and down into the valley, heading for Villafranca del Bierzo and a sleep at the foot of the next mountain range.  The town was in wine country, so we were again treated to drinking wine from &lt;5km away.  The albergue we slept in was clearly a pilgrim factory: there were bunked beds lining the attic, cots and mattresses where it was too low for bunkbeds, and generally a whole lot of people milling around at all hours of evening.  Hopefully a good sleep before the next climb tomorrow!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/11/esp-1-0-ned.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/13/mountains-2.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Anyway, we headed down and down into the valley, heading for Villafranca del Bierzo and a sleep at the foot of the next mountain range.  The town was in wine country, so we were again treated to drinking wine from &lt;5km away.  The albergue we slept in was clearly a pilgrim factory: there were bunked beds lining the attic, cots and mattresses where it was too low for bunkbeds, and generally a whole lot of people milling around at all hours of evening.  Hopefully a good sleep before the next climb tomorrow!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/11/esp-1-0-ned.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/13/mountains-2.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>mountains 2</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/12/mountains-1.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/14/in-flagrante-camino.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>mountains 2</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-13</div></div><div id="content"><p>We are getting close to the end of the Camino! Today begins with a gentle yet perceptible climb up the Valcarce followed by a much more arduous 700 m ascent through Pedrafita to O Cebreiro and on to the Alto do Poio at 1337 m above sea level - the final major peak of the Camino Francés! We then descend down another vertical kilometre, only to find that we must immediately inch our way across yet another hilly span of roughly 30 km to Portomarín. The total distance is 100 km, less than some of our other days but arguably the hardest yet.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>mountains 2</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/12/mountains-1.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/14/in-flagrante-camino.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>mountains 2</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-13</div></div><div id="content"><p>We are getting close to the end of the Camino! Today begins with a gentle yet perceptible climb up the Valcarce followed by a much more arduous 700 m ascent through Pedrafita to O Cebreiro and on to the Alto do Poio at 1337 m above sea level - the final major peak of the Camino Francés! We then descend down another vertical kilometre, only to find that we must immediately inch our way across yet another hilly span of roughly 30 km to Portomarín. The total distance is 100 km, less than some of our other days but arguably the hardest yet.</p>
 <p>Climbing to O Cebreiro is slow. The hiking trail leads up on dirt paths from Vega de Valcarce, forcing us to take the nearby N-VI up the valley to Pedrafita and then around the back instead. Many parts are steep; we spend a long time crawling forward on lowest gear, every pedal revolution bringing us just slightly closer to the peak. Fortunately, our water holds out during the ascent, and our legs prove strong enough after the last few days to make it in reasonable time. We play leapfrog with a lone girl on unladen mountain bike; she is faster without gear, but we have hard-earned endurance on our side. The minimum distance required to receive a certificate of completion at Santiago de Compostela is 100 km by foot or 200 km by bike; as we discover, many hikers take advantage of this by starting in Portomarín - after the mountains - whereas cyclists following the Camino Francés must at least make their way over Alto do Poio. Nevertheless, the cyclists that start so close from the end need relatively little gear, and are almost invariably less tired than those who wear their long journeys on their sweat-stained sleeves.</p>
 <p>For this reason, the nature of the Camino has changed abruptly; there is a booming industry in camino tourism in these parts, offering such amenities as baggage shipment along particularly difficult sections and tourist albergues and the like. The municipal albergue in Portomarín is full, so we find sleeping quarters in the only other albergue in town; it is packed with shouting and cheering "poser pilgrims", who have clearly arrived here to walk the easy last section. They carry no gear, drink and blast music until quiet hours, and congregate in large groups. They do not reflect upon their journey, are not tested by it; for them, it is a short vacation, albeit in a somewhat novel form. They leave garbage strewn across the albergue, shattered bottles on the benches outside. We start seeing car signs for vehicles wishing to follow the Camino - as though it were something you could merely stay along or visit. We all agree: this cheapens the trials of those who come from far away, who are here to make real pilgrimages whether for religious or spiritual or even merely athletic reasons. For this latter group, it is something special; for the others who merely visit or saunter blissfully through this last section, it is just another walk.</p>
-<p>We make a delicious blue cheese and cream sauce for dinner off the stove, moving a bit away from the albergue for even the slightest hope of peace; some travellers have set up tents in the park. Only one day remains to Santiago and the end of the Camino. It is so close!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/12/mountains-1.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/14/in-flagrante-camino.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We make a delicious blue cheese and cream sauce for dinner off the stove, moving a bit away from the albergue for even the slightest hope of peace; some travellers have set up tents in the park. Only one day remains to Santiago and the end of the Camino. It is so close!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/12/mountains-1.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/14/in-flagrante-camino.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>in flagrante camino</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/13/mountains-2.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/15/oldering.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>in flagrante camino</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-14</div></div><div id="content"><p>The final day of the Camino! Not mountains nor treacherous hiking paths through the passes nor late nights nor flat tires prevent us from our goal; after another 100 km haul, we at last roll into Santiago de Compostela - site of the remains of Apostle St. James, the third holiest site in Catholicism, the meeting point for pilgrims walking routes through Europe...routes that start in Denmark, in France, in Belgium, in Holland, in Germany, wherever people are born with feet and the will to use them. Our journey has been long and tiring, a challenge to both body and spirit...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>in flagrante camino</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/13/mountains-2.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/15/oldering.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>in flagrante camino</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-14</div></div><div id="content"><p>The final day of the Camino! Not mountains nor treacherous hiking paths through the passes nor late nights nor flat tires prevent us from our goal; after another 100 km haul, we at last roll into Santiago de Compostela - site of the remains of Apostle St. James, the third holiest site in Catholicism, the meeting point for pilgrims walking routes through Europe...routes that start in Denmark, in France, in Belgium, in Holland, in Germany, wherever people are born with feet and the will to use them. Our journey has been long and tiring, a challenge to both body and spirit...</p>
 <p>We awaken in Portomarín to the sight of trash strewn across the albergue, discarded bottles and food wrappers piled up on every table by the pilgrim-tourists who, having started their journey here, cannot comprehend the trials and tribulations that face those who follow the Camino from further back. But that rant is old hat now, already spent in yesterday's reflections: the Camino is a process of moving forwards without forgetting to look sideways. Our cycling day begins with the arduous yet by now quite manageable 350 m climb out of Portomarín to the site of an old hospital. We pass groups of pilgrims everywhere, their organized tours and souvenir trinkets clogging the roadside cafés. At the top, the path drops off through a valley - and this too is crowded; some lack the tact or presence of mind to cede even part of the road to those travelling faster, so that we must shout ahead and break the already-tenuous peace or risk playing a very injurious game of pilgrim bowling...</p>
 <p>...and the path heads in behind fields and farms after a while along a rough track unsuitable for our poor road bikes, so we veer off to the highway - but not before, just at the fork where we must make this decision, an old stalwart waves us over with "I thought I heard English being spoken!" He hails from Britain and knows these parts well, having visited each year to walk part or all of the Camino Francés; he has also tried the Camino del Norte along the northern coast, only to find that the terrain is mountainous, the albergues are not reserved exclusively for pilgrims, and historical landmarks appear with much lower frequency. Nevertheless, he cannot be faulted for trying...</p>
 <p>...and the highway is unremarkable. The mountains have by now given way to gently rolling hills, which we travel up and over for what seems like an eternity. Some 20 km out of Santiago, our exhaustion briefly catches up with us; we take a quick nap by a bus station just down a side road to keep out of the way of passing traffic, giving us the energy to continue on - but the last part proves especially daunting, as if to mock us for letting our guard down even briefly. There is a long hill up to the city limits, which we trudge up with our hallmark persistent stubbornness. The hill mastered, we find that the carretera turns into an autovía and is thus impassable to cyclists; we must take the side road past the airport, on which we meet the hiking path again. This close to our objective, we opt to finish the last bit on this hiking path - so we find ourselves very quickly on a succession of small roads and packed dirt paths, each leading us past every church imaginable and over every hill within sight of Santiago. In our confusion, we stray from the path momentarily before our error is corrected by a helpful local who shouts and gestures until we grasp her meaning sufficiently well to right ourselves...</p>
 <p>...atop the final hill out of Santiago there is a statue to pilgrims adorned with the cross, eternal symbol of the march of Catholicism across the Iberian peninsula. We take a short pause before descending into the city proper, weaving our way over the cobblestone roads, determined to make it to the cathedral even at the cost of fighting oncoming traffic down one-way lanes - yes, we are determined, for this is not an achievement to be taken lightly! The cathedral of St. James easily dwarfs all other cathedrals along our path thus far, its exterior covered in ornate Gothic detail - but the interior is yet more magnificent, with its imposing organ and ostentatious Catholic decor. We peruse the cathedral, making sure to hug the remains of Apostle St. James - in fact, there is a statue which represents these remains, so that one is spared the full morbidity that such a gesture would imply - and then head over to the pilgrims' office with its multilingual welcome sign, where we present our stamp-filled pilgrims' passports to receive a certificate of completion. As godless atheists, Valkyrie and I receive the generic non-religious certificate; Venus receives the religious certificate, which is visibly more detailed...</p>
-<p>...the necessary gestures of finality completed, we turn to the tasks of real importance: food and sleep. For the former, we ask around until we find a restaurant serving a pilgrims' menu that is generous, delicious (swordfish, cannelloni, and shark!), and cheap (10€ including wine, which although equal to prices earlier along the Camino is less than we expected to pay in such a heavily touristed city.) This is followed by the search for the latter, which brings us to this old monastery building situated atop a hill opposite the old city. In the atmosphere of quiet monastic introspection, we drift off quickly...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/13/mountains-2.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/15/oldering.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...the necessary gestures of finality completed, we turn to the tasks of real importance: food and sleep. For the former, we ask around until we find a restaurant serving a pilgrims' menu that is generous, delicious (swordfish, cannelloni, and shark!), and cheap (10€ including wine, which although equal to prices earlier along the Camino is less than we expected to pay in such a heavily touristed city.) This is followed by the search for the latter, which brings us to this old monastery building situated atop a hill opposite the old city. In the atmosphere of quiet monastic introspection, we drift off quickly...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/13/mountains-2.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/15/oldering.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>oldering</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/14/in-flagrante-camino.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/16/paella.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>oldering</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-15</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Birthday!  A day of<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>oldering</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/14/in-flagrante-camino.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/16/paella.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>oldering</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-15</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Birthday!  A day of<br />
 Oldering and parties at<br />
 The End of the World.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -10,4 +10,4 @@
 <p>One thing, though, that we did follow through with with respect to the pilgrim tradition was the burning of clothes at the end of the world.  Fisterra (or Finisterra, from the Latin for earth's end) is the "only end of the Camino" as far as the people there are concerned, and pilgrims come there to set themselves free from their arduous journeys.  We couldn't burn our cycling clothes... but the sangría-soaked white outfits we had kept from Pamplona would do.  We set them aflame on the rocks by the sea and watched as they slowly became charcoal.  It was actually very cathartic..</p>
 <p>It was a drizzly day, and this sort of added to the sense that we were on the edge of anything.  There is a lighthouse on the cape at Fisterra, and beyond it to the west one can see only the sea.  There are shores to be seen to the north and south, but these, too, were invisible to us as we stood there and looked out.  We didn't wonder why Columbus had decided he needed to explore what was out there.</p>
 <p>Our pilgrim tasks completed, we headed back into town to find a place to sleep and something decent for dinner.  We were actually still quite full from our pile of fish at lunch, so we instead chose to seal up the cracks in our stomachs with local wine recommended to us by a very friendly woman working at the local supermarket.  It was too late for any pastelería to have cakes in stock, so we did without that, too, on the thought that the paella we plan to eat on the beach tomorrow will more than make up for it.</p>
-<p>So, that was my birthday.  Burning things at the end of the world.  There's no restaurant there, for those of you who are wondering; just a bar.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/14/in-flagrante-camino.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/16/paella.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>So, that was my birthday.  Burning things at the end of the world.  There's no restaurant there, for those of you who are wondering; just a bar.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/14/in-flagrante-camino.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/16/paella.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>paella</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/15/oldering.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/17/vigo-rous-hobosity.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>paella</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-16</div></div><div id="content"><p>One more morning and afternoon in Fisterra! Whereas our arrival in Fisterra yesterday was greeted with fine mist and grey skies, we awaken this morning to clear blue skies over the Cabo. Freak closures seem to follow us everywhere; the lighthouse was closed yesterday for a changing of exhibits, so we decided to take advantage of our post-Camino break and check it out this afternoon.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>paella</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/15/oldering.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/17/vigo-rous-hobosity.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>paella</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-16</div></div><div id="content"><p>One more morning and afternoon in Fisterra! Whereas our arrival in Fisterra yesterday was greeted with fine mist and grey skies, we awaken this morning to clear blue skies over the Cabo. Freak closures seem to follow us everywhere; the lighthouse was closed yesterday for a changing of exhibits, so we decided to take advantage of our post-Camino break and check it out this afternoon.</p>
 <p>Of course, even on normal days it doesn't open until 1230...so we wait by taking a walk up along the trails next to the lighthouse. When we do finally get into the lighthouse, we're disappointed to find that it serves as a market for overpriced artisanal trinkets supposedly from the local area - which are admittedly cool, but of absolutely no use to us when we must carry everything that we own with us. This is one odd thing about bike tripping: as compared to regular travel, the rate with which you acquire souvenirs is greatly reduced. We've already had to send a couple of packages home, and even those contained mostly maps with lines drawn in from our travels. (It's like a lo-fi rendition of Google Maps, hipster-PDA-style. Maybe we'll stick up photos eventually - these need to be scanned in, though, and we're kinda hoping our relatives back home will take care of all that.) Everything has weight. Everything takes space. Our lives are confined to a pair of dry bags, roughly 84 litres of pannier space, 7 litres of handlebar bag space, and a knapsack (which we had hoped the handlebar bag would replace, but which we continue to drag around with us due to several deficiencies of Handlebar Bag that shall remain unspecified.) We've named the bags: we have Handlebar Bag (your guess which one), Pantry Pannier (with the pot, spices, and dry foods/grains), IF Bag (this drawstring-equipped blue sack we have for Incidental Food, i.e. stuff we buy at supermarkets and need to carry to a campsite or other location for further cooking), Gear Bag (tools, spare parts, and the like), Valkyrie's Gear Bag (stove, cooking and eating utensils, fuel bottle, water pump)...these bags are us for four more months!</p>
 <p>But back to Fisterra. After our visit to the lighthouse, we try to pick up the ingredients for paella so we can cook it on the beach...and are told that the local fish market is mostly closed by this time, and that it doesn't carry the necessary squid. By this time, though, we are already saddled with some vegetables from the outdoors market, so we take those to the beach instead and eat some vegetables over rice before dipping our feet in the still-too-cold-to-swim-in-reasonably water.</p>
 <p>After our beachside meal and foot-dipping, we take a bus ride back along the coast into Noia. We're supposed to change coaches about halfway, but the bus stops in a location where we are unable to unload the bikes from the luggage undercarriage. We prepare ourselves to take an unscheduled ride back into Santiago, but the bus driver reluctantly agrees to stop the bus down the highway a bit - whereupon he jumps down from his seat and frantically waves the other coach down so we can pit-stop-speed unload our bikes and toss them under the other bus. Further proof that things work out mostly if you a) are willing to accept them not going entirely to plan, b) are patient, and c) are insistent enough in that polite-but-effective way that gets things done.</p>
 <p>So we get back to Noia...only to find a Renaissance Fair in town! (This is listed as a Mercado Medieval - Medieval Market, in case it wasn't perfectly obvious.) We chow down on some overly expensive cheesecake (what the hell is that doing at a Ren Faire?) before hitting up a local bar, where we run into a pair of motorcyclists that we saw previously along the Camino. (Yes, we are doing this thing at high speed! It makes me feel more than a little uber-powerful to be able to keep pace with motorcyclists, even if we bike all day to match their leisurely ride along the mountain paths.) They invite us to share a round of beers with us, whereupon they share tales of their (relatively short, but nevertheless cool) travels along parts of the Camino - tomorrow they return to their hometown of Salamanca, which is known for its university.</p>
 <p>Final part of the day. Slightly beered up, we head out of town along the coast towards Porto do Son...only to be reminded that Spanish supermarkets are open at reasonable hours! We pick up the rest of the ingredients for paella, head down the road a bit to a suitable campsite, and spend a solid 90 minutes concocting the best damn paella anyone ever made on a camping stove! We actually make too much of it, but our efforts to share it with other campers are rebuffed - no problem; it merely means we have some for tomorrow!</p>
-<p>(Did I mention that this is the best meal I've ever eaten off a camp stove? Not sure that I did. Well, it is.)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/15/oldering.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/17/vigo-rous-hobosity.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>(Did I mention that this is the best meal I've ever eaten off a camp stove? Not sure that I did. Well, it is.)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/15/oldering.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/17/vigo-rous-hobosity.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,8 +1,8 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>vigo-rous hobosity</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/16/paella.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/18/statutory-holidays.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>vigo-rous hobosity</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-17</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>A coastline, though not<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>vigo-rous hobosity</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/16/paella.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/18/statutory-holidays.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>vigo-rous hobosity</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-17</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>A coastline, though not<br />
 Flat, can stave off the scorch of<br />
 Spain's sun.  A little.</i></p>
 <p>Our dishes washed (and a tupperware full of paella for lunch), we packed up and shuttled off down the coast again.  So many of the roads here are marked green--"Recommended Itinerary", according to the legend on our map.  It's really a lovely coastline, and it's sort of a shame that we can't stick to it all the time.  Some of the little peninsulae that jut out are simply extra kilometres that we can't justify in this month-long race towards the Alhambra.</p>
 <p>A short break in the morning sees Venus with a re-re-re-re-readjusted derailleur and Evan with a new pair of cycling shorts.  The ones he brought on the trip initially had begun to wear out before he even loaded them on the plane, and with their ritual burning on the fifteenth, he had a keen interest in getting some new clothes with padding for his bum.  The thing to wear in Spain is apparently the bibbed shorts that function as spandex overalls, but the suspenders in addition to the cycling shirt can leave a guy pulling several kilos drowning in his own sweat.  So we picked up the only pair of just-shorts that they had.</p>
 <p>There, shockingly, was <em>another</em> cycling race that passed us by on our ride.  I simply don't understand why people do that crap in summer.  It's fecking hot over here.</p>
 <p>We rode mostly uninterrupted towards Vigo, enjoying the rolling hills along the coast and the sun sparkling off the ocean.  In trying to find our way to a smaller road, we stopped to ask a group of cyclists for directions, and it turned out they were from the States!  They were a part of an organised cycling trip given by a company (I didn't catch the name), but anyway I got all excited about the thought of being a guide on such an expedition.  I imagine that it must be trying to look out for 20 high school-aged children at times, but getting paid to cycle through Spain is a pretty sweet deal.</p>
-<p>Once we rolled into Vigo, it was already getting dark, and we were hungry and tired.  We'd made our goal for the day distance-wise, but unfortunately we found out that there was some kind of international air show the next day, and this resulted in all the campsites and hotels and hostels for kilometres around being full.  Sigh.  We cooked our meal on the beach and poked around for a suitable spot... we were pleased to find an abandoned construction site with no fences or indication of activity or ownership, and there we're crashed for the night.  Bummer about the campsite; I was looking forward to a shower.  :(</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/16/paella.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/18/statutory-holidays.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Once we rolled into Vigo, it was already getting dark, and we were hungry and tired.  We'd made our goal for the day distance-wise, but unfortunately we found out that there was some kind of international air show the next day, and this resulted in all the campsites and hotels and hostels for kilometres around being full.  Sigh.  We cooked our meal on the beach and poked around for a suitable spot... we were pleased to find an abandoned construction site with no fences or indication of activity or ownership, and there we're crashed for the night.  Bummer about the campsite; I was looking forward to a shower.  :(</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/16/paella.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/18/statutory-holidays.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>statutory holidays</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/17/vigo-rous-hobosity.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/19/port.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>statutory holidays</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#pt"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/pt.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Portugal</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-18</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Cyclists prevailing<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>statutory holidays</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/17/vigo-rous-hobosity.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/19/port.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>statutory holidays</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#pt"><img src="/icons/pt.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Portugal</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-18</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Cyclists prevailing<br />
 Against winds, against hillies,<br />
 Soaking up the view.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>Sunday means that shops are closed in Europe.  Especially in Spain, which is a rather traditionally Catholic place, people day their day of rest seriously.  Sundays mean that it's hard for us to eat anything, since all supermarkets are closed (in some really large towns, maybe one really large grocery store will be open for maybe a couple hours in the morning, but that's all), and restaurants simply don't serve enough food to keep our metabolisms satisfied for any reasonable kind of price.  With our new ideal of 20€ per person-day, we can't afford to eat out all the time.  Sundays are hard for us.</p>
 <p><i>Not so</i> in Portugal.  It seems no one told them that everyone needs a day off on Sunday, so all their supermarkets are open!  We took a photo of the hours sign we were so excited.  Then we ate a crapload of really delicious food (all the produce seemed to be local; in lieu of perfect, bright fruits like we see in North America, the shelves were weighed down with lemons of all shapes and sizes with growths and imperfections and variations in shade) for a really good price and continued heading southward.</p>
 <p>Mostly the day was unremarkable.  Hot.  We slept for a bit by a beach.  We marveled at the nice paving of Portuguese roads--in case it interests you, French roads are the worst paved we've seen.  Danish and Spanish are the best--, and we happened across a very weird purveyor of large and interesting things.  We strolled around this shop for some time in the late afternoon, marvelling at giant gorilla fountains and wooden doors from all corners of the earth with suits of armour and a king's ransom of trinkets sprinkled between.</p>
-<p>We had intended to make it to Porto this evening, but instead we stopped in a smaller town about 40km from it called Vila do Conde.  The two hour push in the morning should be easy (and flat), and it's better to not push hard for now... we are going to need our energy to get from Lisboa to Tarifa.  A lot of energy.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/17/vigo-rous-hobosity.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/19/port.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We had intended to make it to Porto this evening, but instead we stopped in a smaller town about 40km from it called Vila do Conde.  The two hour push in the morning should be easy (and flat), and it's better to not push hard for now... we are going to need our energy to get from Lisboa to Tarifa.  A lot of energy.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/17/vigo-rous-hobosity.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/19/port.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>port</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/18/statutory-holidays.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/20/dire-straits.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>port</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#pt"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/pt.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Portugal</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-19</div></div><div id="content"><p>Another night of stealth camping. We tried to find the municipal campground in Vila do Conde, but it was too far out of town and no one could give us reliable directions to it. The language barrier doesn't help, of course; although this is a beach town, it is frequented primarily by Portuguese tourists seeking escape from the hot interior - few and fortunate are those who live near water. We ask this one driver, who is convinced that we can set up our tent in the nearby parkland...so we gave that a shot, but were told around 2330 (after returning from a couple of drinks on the town) that it is illegal to camp there. What to do? The police were nice, at least, and advised us to camp "somewhere where we can't see you" as it was too late to check in at the municipal campground (which, as it turns out, was merely 2 km up the main road out of town towards Porto...we passed it on the way out.) Needless to say, we took their advice and found some less busy parkland on the opposite bank of the river - lacking in the usual amenities of hygiene, but sufficient for a quick sleep before today's short ride to Porto.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>port</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/18/statutory-holidays.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/20/dire-straits.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>port</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#pt"><img src="/icons/pt.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Portugal</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-19</div></div><div id="content"><p>Another night of stealth camping. We tried to find the municipal campground in Vila do Conde, but it was too far out of town and no one could give us reliable directions to it. The language barrier doesn't help, of course; although this is a beach town, it is frequented primarily by Portuguese tourists seeking escape from the hot interior - few and fortunate are those who live near water. We ask this one driver, who is convinced that we can set up our tent in the nearby parkland...so we gave that a shot, but were told around 2330 (after returning from a couple of drinks on the town) that it is illegal to camp there. What to do? The police were nice, at least, and advised us to camp "somewhere where we can't see you" as it was too late to check in at the municipal campground (which, as it turns out, was merely 2 km up the main road out of town towards Porto...we passed it on the way out.) Needless to say, we took their advice and found some less busy parkland on the opposite bank of the river - lacking in the usual amenities of hygiene, but sufficient for a quick sleep before today's short ride to Porto.</p>
 <p>The thing with stealth camping is that you have to maintain the stealth part. For camping near urban areas, this means an early start to the day; we get up at 0600 to beat the morning traffic, wake up with a morning stretch, and take tea (very inexpensively - under 3€ for our pastries and beverages combined!) along the highway. We hit the circunvalación (the ring road that surrounds most European cities) about 0730, where we are brought halfway around the city on increasingly busy motorways before we decide to make our way through the inner streets. Through a combination of bus station maps, awkward inquiries (remember we don't know the language here - although similar to Spanish, it's different enough that you cannot simply speak Spanish and be understood!) and general "adventure navigation" (our term for ad-hoc navigation without consulting the map) we find the city centre, passing first by the Palacio Cristal with its domed roof, four seasons statues, and gardens facing the River Douro. Another navigational feat to find the local tourism office and ask about relatively cheap accommodation - by this time, we have enough of a feel for the city that we can easily find the pensions they point us to.</p>
 <p>We spend a bit of time knocking some chores off the list - there are postcards to be sent, for instance, and other trinkets acquired that must also be posted home so that we can relieve ourselves of the additional burden. (For instance, we have these shirts we got on this pub crawl in Amsterdam. They're impossibly tacky, but we've been using them to clean chains and intend to wrap our Bordeaux Fête le Vin glasses in them for added protection while in transit.) After this, we head over to the opposite side of the river, which is packed with the port wine caves that Porto is so well known for. We take a port and chocolate tasting at one place before heading over to Sandeman for a tour of their cellars. In this weather, the white port is surprisingly refreshing - like white wine, it is best served chilled. (That said, we vastly prefer the tawny ports offered, which have a fantastically delicious rich caramel taste.) It is interesting to note that most of the port companies here were established by foreigners, and that Sandeman was one of the first trademarked brands under UK trademark law.</p>
 <p>Not yet satisfied with our port enjoyment in Porto, we pick up more port at the supermarket to accompany a spread of bread, cheese, grapes, nuts, and chocolate which we consume down by the banks of the Douro. We probably eat better than any other cyclists in history :)</p>
-<p>Anyways, that's all for today - a fairly low-key day, but a welcome spot of rest before the sprint down to the Strait of Gibraltar. Until later!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/18/statutory-holidays.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/20/dire-straits.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Anyways, that's all for today - a fairly low-key day, but a welcome spot of rest before the sprint down to the Strait of Gibraltar. Until later!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/18/statutory-holidays.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/20/dire-straits.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>dire straits</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/19/port.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/21/morning-gymnastics.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>dire straits</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#pt"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/pt.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Portugal</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-20</div></div><div id="content"><p>A slow morning - we wake up late, grab a round of pastries from a local bakery, and head up to the bus station to purchase tickets for Lisboa. To get the bikes on the bus, we must remove all panniers and detach the front wheels - but at least there is plenty of space for them in the undercarriage, so that we have no problems getting ourselves to Lisboa. We are somewhat sad that we have to cut off such a large section of Portugal, but there are few choices; it is either that or miss seeing Morocco and the Strait of Gibraltar, and these have great symbolic importance in our journey. When we (half-drunkenly, it is true) first imagined this trip, we wanted to circumnavigate the Mediterranean from top to bottom of the Strait. We changed our plans upon learning that much of the southern coast was dangerous to bike through, especially for North Americans; there are large concentrations of unexploded ordnance from the World Wars in some parts, and many of those countries are not on the best terms with the US. Anyways, the choice was clear - so here we are, taking the bus from Porto to Lisboa. We have still biked most of our trip, taking alternative forms of transportation only when we felt it to be absolutely necessary...and as long as we bike 10 000 km, we are happy!</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>dire straits</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/19/port.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/21/morning-gymnastics.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>dire straits</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#pt"><img src="/icons/pt.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Portugal</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-20</div></div><div id="content"><p>A slow morning - we wake up late, grab a round of pastries from a local bakery, and head up to the bus station to purchase tickets for Lisboa. To get the bikes on the bus, we must remove all panniers and detach the front wheels - but at least there is plenty of space for them in the undercarriage, so that we have no problems getting ourselves to Lisboa. We are somewhat sad that we have to cut off such a large section of Portugal, but there are few choices; it is either that or miss seeing Morocco and the Strait of Gibraltar, and these have great symbolic importance in our journey. When we (half-drunkenly, it is true) first imagined this trip, we wanted to circumnavigate the Mediterranean from top to bottom of the Strait. We changed our plans upon learning that much of the southern coast was dangerous to bike through, especially for North Americans; there are large concentrations of unexploded ordnance from the World Wars in some parts, and many of those countries are not on the best terms with the US. Anyways, the choice was clear - so here we are, taking the bus from Porto to Lisboa. We have still biked most of our trip, taking alternative forms of transportation only when we felt it to be absolutely necessary...and as long as we bike 10 000 km, we are happy!</p>
 <p>So we arrive in Lisboa - and immediately sense the differences from Porto. Whereas Porto is astoundingly beautiful and historic, the bus station in Lisboa faces a modernized but not particularly striking shopping mall. Beggars make the rounds on the bus platforms, asking for coin in broken English. We make our way down to the waterfront, where there is a decent path for bikes and pedestrians...that quickly drops us behind several automobile dealerships that curiously lack exits to the main road. We backtrack a bit and take that road, which is in dire need of roadwork in several stretches; it takes us past roughly 5 km of not-very-scenic port lands before we finally hit the centre of town. The first visible feature as you take this road is the merchants' plaza, which now houses an enormous statue and one of the local tourism offices.</p>
 <p>We go to the tourism office, hoping to find somewhere to stay or something interesting to see. Instead, we find that they appear to be closing up; one man is behind a desk that sells local and regional maps, but he says that we had better ask for something now before he leaves - and then promptly leaves anyways when we don't answer absolutely immediately. The other desk is more helpful, but not much; as in most places, they have connections with some of the hotels and pensions in the area, whom they call first...only to find that they are all full. After much persistent questioning, we finally manage to extract the names of some other hostels from them - one, the Old Town Hostel, looks to be not far away, so we head for it.</p>
 <p>As we leave the plaza, Lisboa gets markedly less nice; the roads are in even greater disrepair, while garbage piles up in parts of the street...the buildings are in decay, the drivers rude...the whole place gives off this has-been vibe, the acrid stench of failure in a time dominated by rising modern giants and exquisitely preserved treasures of antiquity...and Lisboa, at least here, seems to be neither. We try in vain to find the street for some time before noticing a plaza that is marked on the lackluster maps furnished by the tourism office - by doggedly following our highly developed sense of adventure navigation, we at last succeed.</p>
 <p>Or do we? The hostel is full...but the person staffing the desk looks at us with our dust-streaked bikes, and perhaps he takes pity or something...for there is a "dirty old room" downstairs that might fit three beds. Desperate for lodgings and certain that we will not find a suitable campsite within city limits, we check it out. Turns out that this is the storage room, an old apartment entrance serviced only by an ancient elevator and a creaky staircase...but it is enough, not too dusty even, a working light, and full use of their shower and kitchen and wifi...it is worth it, and so we snap it up for the night. Perhaps we are the only people to ever have slept in this room!</p>
 <p>By the time we get all of our things into the room - there is an entrance off another street, allowing us to bypass the maze of stuff clogging the staircase - it is nearly 1900...and we are too tired from our travels along the Camino and to Porto, so instead of hitting the town we stick around the hostel for the night. There is an oven, so we take this all-too-rare opportunity to bake a delicious lasagna that of course overflows and leaves a burnt black mess on the bottom...but we clean most of it off and eat the dish, sharing the leftovers with a guy from Aix-en-Provence (which is also along our route, but not for another month or so!) It is an uneventful night of commenting photos and writing blog posts - for this is the truth of bike travel; you work so hard to see so many amazing sights along the way that there is often no time or energy remaining for a night out on the town. And yet it is worth it to see the mountain valleys, the desert rock faces, the rivers and fields and ridges lined with wind turbines...and you can always grab a drink anywhere; there is no need to go halfway around the world for that!</p>
-<p>Tomorrow we start towards the Strait of Gibraltar. A look at our map provides the dire forecast: 600 km over 5 days, possibly through hills and mountains, definitely away from the coast and through the comparatively hot interior. Will we make it? We'll have to - it is our only chance to pass by the Strait and see Morocco and still make it to the Alhambra on 28.7!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/19/port.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/21/morning-gymnastics.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Tomorrow we start towards the Strait of Gibraltar. A look at our map provides the dire forecast: 600 km over 5 days, possibly through hills and mountains, definitely away from the coast and through the comparatively hot interior. Will we make it? We'll have to - it is our only chance to pass by the Strait and see Morocco and still make it to the Alhambra on 28.7!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/19/port.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/21/morning-gymnastics.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>morning gymnastics</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/20/dire-straits.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>morning gymnastics</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#pt"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/pt.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Portugal</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-21</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Morning aerobics,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>morning gymnastics</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/20/dire-straits.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>morning gymnastics</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#pt"><img src="/icons/pt.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Portugal</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-21</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Morning aerobics,<br />
 Waking us from sweet slumber,<br />
 Calling us to bike!</i></p>
 <p>Well, it's sort of a shame we didn't get to see anything of interest in Lisboa.  I guess.  I dunno, we just had some bad experiences when we were getting in: the bus station was really far outside the city to the north, and the bits of town that we had to ride through to get to Lisboa proper were not... very presentable.  Also the trouble that we had procuring a place to sleep didn't contribute to good feelings about it.  The place that we did wind up sleeping was charming, it's true, but this morning we unfortunately had to haul our bikes up the three flights of stairs to the exit because they wouldn't fit in the elevator and the girl working the desk didn't have the key to the back door.  She did give us some breakfast as we left, though, and was generally very sweet about it.</p>
 <p>Getting out of Lisboa was generally as complicated as getting into it.  At the advice of the hostel desk girl, we headed out to the ferry ports just to the south and took one across the water.  We managed to acquire a really large-scale map of the area (better than the nothing we had, but not good), and it turns out that we had to follow the south coast of Lisboa's bay for quite some time.  The industrial area along that coast coated our lungs with general filth, and it took some rather large amount of water to relieve us of the putrid slimy coating on our tongues.  Ugh.</p>
 <p>In time, we made it out of the city area and into the countryside, which consisted of... desert.  Apparently, the south of Portugal is vast, barren, and hot, at least at this time of year.  We had a gruelling 120km ride over the sandy stuff along highways until we reached Évora, our goal for the evening and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  It's a beautiful town, really, and we spent some time in the golden hours just before sunset appreciating its ancient ruins and old cathedrals.</p>
-<p>It's going to be a hard few days to Tarifa.  We're just getting warmed up now.. at least we've got local port wine to keep us sane.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/20/dire-straits.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>It's going to be a hard few days to Tarifa.  We're just getting warmed up now.. at least we've got local port wine to keep us sane.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/20/dire-straits.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>i'll take the high road</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/21/morning-gymnastics.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/23/hott.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>i'll take the high road</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#pt"><img src="/icons/pt.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Portugal</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-22</div></div><div id="content"><p>Out of Évora through the oppressive heat. There aren't enough adjectives in the English language to describe this heat. In the semi-arid highlands that we head into, it is stifling and dry. Closer to the coast, it gains a humid sticky quality that coats every square centimetre of skin with thick beads of sweat. In either case, it is accompanied by relentless sun and a near-total absence of clouds. We drink water like fish and yet it is still not quite enough. Even our heavily tanned skin shows patches of red from mild sunburn. All in all, not something that a lifetime largely spent in Canada or the northern US prepares you for - just as we get used to one level of heat, we pass further southward into yet drier and hotter areas and must acclimate ourselves to another. This climate is not something to be trifled with, especially when we rely upon the exertion of cycling to get anywhere. The heat renders us short of temper - we must try harder and harder to keep the peace. The only way out is to bike, but that is sometimes too much. It has become necessary to stop altogether from 1300 to 1700 each day, and sometimes even until 1800; even with such a long siesta, we still find ourselves taking frequent breaks throughout the day when we are fortunate enough to find shade. That is another thing: the trees here have adapted to the hot and dry climate, so that they develop less bushy leaves and grow farther apart from each other. Neither characteristic is conducive to good shade, sadly. :(</p>
+<p>We had hoped to reach Encinasola just across the border into Spain today, but must settle for the border town of Barrancos. In such a remote area, you would expect cheap food and lodging; instead, Barrancos takes advantage of its remote location and picturesque hilltop view to charge multiple limbs for substandard "duck rice" (essentially poorly-cooked rice with small chunks of duck meat). The only hotel open in town is 50€ for three people, which is outside of our budget - so we stealth-camp again, this time just out of town about a kilometre before the border into Spain. (Granted, August is high season in these parts; most shopkeepers get as far away as possible for a week before it hits.)</p>
+<p>A bit of positive news, though - even with the minor setback of falling 10 km short of our goal for today, I think we will make Tarifa by 25.7...which means we can see Morocco before our visit to the Alhambra near Granada, even if only for 24 hours! It will be a mad dash, an endurance race of nearly camino-esque calibre...but we'll make it. We always do!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/21/morning-gymnastics.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/23/hott.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>hott</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/24/copout.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>hott</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-23</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>River breeze slides twixt rocks,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>hott</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/24/copout.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>hott</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-23</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>River breeze slides twixt rocks,<br />
 Promising something cooler,<br />
 Without deliv'ring.</i></p>
 <p>This morning's ride was a <i>beast.</i>  Up the mountains immediately... where by "up" I mean "further up."  We were already actually fairly high in Barrancos, as we discovered later in the day.  Anyway, it was sweltering as soon as the sun breached the mountaintops.  In the highlands, there isn't really a breeze.</p>
 <p>After a couple hours of murderous climb, we made it to the N-120, which led (thank heavens) along a riverbed.  That means that it was both flatter and cooler than the other roads: practically a new ecosystem judging by the suddenly lush appearance of the roadside.  It was still not a cool day, though.  We still felt like we were melting slowly into our shoes as the day wore on.</p>
 <p>Up and up and up we went, all the way to siesta.  Siesta for us usually means a fairly relaxed and cool affair of a few hours, of which we spend some eating and some computering and some napping.  It's usually too hot to bike, but usually it's alright to walk around and see a bit of whatever town we've stopped in.  Today was not like that.  Today we could barely step out of the air conditioned supermarket without gasping, could barely touch our bicycle seats when they'd been in the sun.  After sweating through lunch, we took an extremely uncomfortably warm nap under a tree in a parklet for several hours.  At 18h30, it was still too hot to bike, but we had to.</p>
-<p>Fortunately, out of town was down the hill.  Essentially our entire afternoon ride was a long coast towards Seville.  It whipped up a nice breeze to cool us down, and as the sun began to think about setting we paused in a town called El Garrobo for dinner.  We got a fabulous deal on a delicious meal involving butter-fried shrimp, chicken-something, potatoes ali-oli (with garlic and olive oil), and fabulous desserts.  Yum!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/24/copout.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Fortunately, out of town was down the hill.  Essentially our entire afternoon ride was a long coast towards Seville.  It whipped up a nice breeze to cool us down, and as the sun began to think about setting we paused in a town called El Garrobo for dinner.  We got a fabulous deal on a delicious meal involving butter-fried shrimp, chicken-something, potatoes ali-oli (with garlic and olive oil), and fabulous desserts.  Yum!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/22/ill-take-the-high-road.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/24/copout.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>copout</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/23/hott.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/25/the-road-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>copout</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-24</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Sizzling roads deter<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>copout</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/23/hott.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/25/the-road-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>copout</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-24</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Sizzling roads deter<br />
 Cyclists not, yet in desert<br />
 Water can be scarce...</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -23,4 +23,4 @@
 <p>We biked through endless, hot desert, and up what seemed like interminable hills that wound into nothing.  The heat gets in your head after a while.  You feel lost.  The fields and fields of sunflowers don't present any landmarks to navigate by.  We stopped briefly at a restaurant in the middle of nowhere to fill our bottles.  It was still a long ride.</p>
 <p>Hours later, the sun was setting, but we had made it to Arcos de la Frontera, which our map indicated had a campsite.  It took three tries of asking people directions through the town before we made it, only to discover that it was... closed.  Closed down.  Not there anymore.  No camping.  Security guarded.</p>
 <p>We disheartenedly stopped at a restaurant we'd passed to get some dinner.  They had reasonable prices on exotic (though not especially well-cooked) food, like the venison steak I had and the swordfish Evan and Venus both chose.  They also had rooms upstairs, for the exorbitant price of 60€/night.  It was too much, but we were too tired from the previous exhausting days to find a campsite, and it was too dark to see one, anyway.  We couldn't go on, so we grumpily paid.</p>
-<p>Another day, as they say.  A hot, somewhat disappointing one.  But some days are like that.  We make it through.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/23/hott.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/25/the-road-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Another day, as they say.  A hot, somewhat disappointing one.  But some days are like that.  We make it through.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/23/hott.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/25/the-road-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,8 +1,8 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the road to nowhere</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/24/copout.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/26/aggressive-business-practices.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the road to nowhere</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-25</div></div><div id="content"><p>Final day into Tarifa - after a long and trying five-day 600 km sprint from Lisboa, we're finally within reach of Tarifa, the ferry across to Morocco, and the Strait of Gibraltar! The heat, though still ever-present, lessens perceptibly as we near the coast, and the salt-tinged breeze fills our lungs...still, this day proves to be no shorter than the others, maybe even somewhat harder; we ride through the hilltop villages and rolling hills and, as the day wears on into evening, up around the rocky capes that characterize the last curve of the Atlantic below Cadíz.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the road to nowhere</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/24/copout.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/26/aggressive-business-practices.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the road to nowhere</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-25</div></div><div id="content"><p>Final day into Tarifa - after a long and trying five-day 600 km sprint from Lisboa, we're finally within reach of Tarifa, the ferry across to Morocco, and the Strait of Gibraltar! The heat, though still ever-present, lessens perceptibly as we near the coast, and the salt-tinged breeze fills our lungs...still, this day proves to be no shorter than the others, maybe even somewhat harder; we ride through the hilltop villages and rolling hills and, as the day wears on into evening, up around the rocky capes that characterize the last curve of the Atlantic below Cadíz.</p>
 <p>The early rising has become routine, but today that routine is marred by an unexpected occurrence - the hotel where we were forced to take up residence last night is protected by solid gates that are closed overnight as a matter of Important Security, and the Spanish do not rise at this hour to open gates for such as ourselves...so, after some failed consideration of less brute-force approaches, we resort to shoving them aside. We then promptly lose ourselves in the cliffside meanderings of Arcos de la Frontera - but only for a short time; as usual, we succeed in leaving town in roughly the correct direction, and are soon on an unmarked (on our map, at least) road towards the coast. Exhaustion is catching up with us; it will take everything we've got left to reach our destination.</p>
 <p>And the next bit is not promising; the road stays within sight of the mountains off to the left, threatening to veer off and climb into them if we should be foolish enough to turn off the path...but we mercifully stay clear of them, heading instead into the surrounding foothills and around a massive dam that tenuously holds back the fresh mountain lake water from crushing the villages below. We head on around the lake, panting in the heat of the rising sun, inching forward against a nasty headwind that promises to thwart our every move.</p>
 <p>And the next bit is no more promising. We reach another of the hilltop towns up in the foothills of the mountains, and find we have no choice but to go up. We are passed by cyclists who zoom down the hill on unladen racing bikes, out enjoying their Sunday rides. Their faces do not wear our tiredness, our grime. It is hard work sometimes, this bike trip; it is hard, hard work, and it is utterly crucial that any aspiring bike tourist understand this. The day will arrive when you must go on despite all the odds, and you will be hard-pressed to maintain morale...</p>
 <p>...and yet we do it, day after day, working and sweating and squinting in the sunlight for the next beautiful view...like that which awaits us on the hilltop, the plains far below stretching out to the ancient city of Cadíz, that bastion of Phoenicians and Egyptians and Romans and Moors and Catholic kings who, long before us, arrived in ships and saw fit to civilize this land by whatever brutal means necessary - and yet we will not pass through Cadíz; our lot, instead, is to head down to Barbate on the coast, for otherwise we have no chance of making it to Tarifa in any reasonable time frame. That is another lesson from the last few days: a single act of planning, committed far in advance, can completely change things. What is the reason for all this rushing? For us, this mad dash to Tarifa is the result of our desire to see the Alhambra, for which one must reserve tickets months in advance. Since we were new to this game, we overestimated our daily distance by a good margin and left ourselves with a drastic shortage of time between Pamplona and Granada.</p>
 <p>And so here we are. After the requisite siesta in Barbate, we prepare to travel along the coast to Tarifa, following the road which, counter to the ardent beliefs of our map, does not exist...so instead, we must walk our bikes along a 1.5 km stretch of footpath up by the lighthouse, a hike that is followed by a long and steady climb against yet more wind to circumvent an impassable stretch of rock...</p>
 <p>...and this is why we continue on; for the elation we get on reaching the top, that impossibly sweet knowledge that our trials are over - even if only for the day - that it is merely an easy ride downhill and along the beach to the next campsite or beach inlet or wherever we manage to find shelter...that feeling makes it all worth it. If it didn't, I expect each of us would have packed up a long time ago, thrown in the towel.</p>
-<p>But we haven't done that yet, and so I can say proudly: we have reached the Strait of Gibraltar, and are now officially next to the Mediterranean Sea! Tomorrow we will leave the continent, even if only briefly, to visit Morocco - although we will only hop across to Tanger, it should provide for exciting times!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/24/copout.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/26/aggressive-business-practices.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>But we haven't done that yet, and so I can say proudly: we have reached the Strait of Gibraltar, and are now officially next to the Mediterranean Sea! Tomorrow we will leave the continent, even if only briefly, to visit Morocco - although we will only hop across to Tanger, it should provide for exciting times!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/24/copout.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/26/aggressive-business-practices.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>aggressive business practices</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/25/the-road-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/27/cyclists-in-training.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>aggressive business practices</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ma"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ma.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Morocco</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-26</div></div><div id="content"><p>We cross the Strait of Gibraltar, a short 35 minute jaunt by ferry from Tarifa into Tanger. The wind here is fierce, whipped up to frenetic speeds by the peculiar topography around the Strait, and we feel every bit of this as we stand outside on the deck looking across to the Moroccan coastline...two worlds merely 14 km away, yet completely separate. The ferry docks and we ride over to the pedestrian customs, bypassing the long car line; we are awaited by the usual contingent of customs agents and metal detectors and bomb sniffers and the like, but we pass through the security checkpoint with our fully-loaded bikes and no one bats an eye...and we are off, riding into the slowly decaying downtown core of Tanger.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>aggressive business practices</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/25/the-road-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/27/cyclists-in-training.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>aggressive business practices</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ma"><img src="/icons/ma.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Morocco</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-26</div></div><div id="content"><p>We cross the Strait of Gibraltar, a short 35 minute jaunt by ferry from Tarifa into Tanger. The wind here is fierce, whipped up to frenetic speeds by the peculiar topography around the Strait, and we feel every bit of this as we stand outside on the deck looking across to the Moroccan coastline...two worlds merely 14 km away, yet completely separate. The ferry docks and we ride over to the pedestrian customs, bypassing the long car line; we are awaited by the usual contingent of customs agents and metal detectors and bomb sniffers and the like, but we pass through the security checkpoint with our fully-loaded bikes and no one bats an eye...and we are off, riding into the slowly decaying downtown core of Tanger.</p>
 <p>One thing remains constant about all places we visit: first, there is always the roving semi-lost stumble about town as we search for lodgings. The key is to appear natural in these meanderings, as though you meant to head down that road only to double back at the end and turn in an entirely different direction. At the tourism office they suggest that we find sleeping quarters in the Kasbah, the old district atop the hill out on the point that overlooks the sea and its adjoining rat-maze market alleyways - but we are tired from our sprint across the bottom corner of the Iberian peninsula, and do not make it that far before settling on a relatively cheap but decent-looking pension near the city centre.</p>
 <p>Slowly decaying. Tanger is a port town whose time has come and gone. Many of the buildings are abandoned, such as an old theatre bearing a plaque of stones inscribed: "Gran Teatro Cervantes 1917". The walls crumble from neglect; only the minarets appear in good condition. All cultural precepts vanish once you step outside the safety net of European influence - for although the French once laid claim here, no wine is served in the bars, no alcohol of any sort...a subtle yet persistent reminder that we have willingly breached the net to come into contact with Something New. After devouring kebab plates, we struggle to locate the Kasbah; in typical fashion, I left our only map of Tanger in the pension room where it is of least use.</p>
 <p>After our efforts take us through the Souk, past its decaying fruit piles discarded carelessly between the stalls and its cheap clothing and its spices and dates and cramped chicken cages, and up towards the imposing cathedral and mosque, we at last decide to ask someone where the hell the Kasbah is. The attendant at the gas station speaks Arabic, Spanish, and French, and so we settle on Spanish as the common tongue in which directions are given - and it turns out that, while we were meandering about the Souk, we were actually quite close...we just have to go further up, up towards the sea and the hill on the point.</p>
 <p>We reach the Kasbah just in time to find its museum closed for the day - so we wander about its streets, packed with homes that overhang the alleyways and offer space beneath to passing pedestrian traffic. We get some way into the back streets before a young man comes up to us and offers to lead us around; he is at first friendly, but slowly his style shifts to official tour-guide-ness and we suspect an elaborate ruse of some sort...and it is elaborate; for he shows us the mosque and the places where various dignitaries and persons of fame have supposedly resided and the Koranic school and other such attractions, pausing every so often for good views over the city which we snap photographs of...before finally leading us down into the Berber markets, where he leaves us in the company of a Berber man who makes increasingly insistent attempts to sell us rugs. But here the con has failed - for we have neither money to purchase rugs nor space to store them. Once this at last becomes clear to the Berber salesman, he curses us and our mothers before we rush out into the street, where our would-be guide catches up with us and asks for a tip (in Euro, not dirhams!) Of course, we have no money for him either - and fortunately it stops there; he leaves to con less impecunious tourists in the Kasbah, we scramble out of the Berber markets as quickly as possible and hit the waterfront for yet another glass of sweet mint tea - our fourth for the day, I think, for this stuff is quite possibly the tastiest liquid ever to pass through our lips, and we would not have missed much if we passed our entire stay here on a mint tea crawl...</p>
 <p>...and we retire to our room for a short while to lock the bikes and hide anything valuable that we cannot carry with us, fearing retribution from this Kasbah-Berber business alliance that never comes; only when we are satisfied that everything is as secure as we can reasonably make it do we head back down to the beaches, where the stage is set for a music festival yet no bands play; and we eat a sumptuous meal of fried seafood, tagine, and couscous, polishing it off in a nearby tea parlour with - what else? - more mint tea and massive ice cream concoctions. We eat until we are stuffed, replenishing the energy drained out of us over the long ride through heat and mountains, and then we walk along the beach, stopping to take a short ride on horseback. Valkyrie's saddle is poorly attached, and she slides off into the sand to add another to her list of battle wounds...</p>
-<p>...and finally, having had our fill of food and tea and markets and curious scams, we retire to our rooms after winding our way back up past the clothing stalls and packed squares. No real harm has come to us in Morocco, and yet there is a vague hostility about the whole place - the hostility of those for whom the better life is not an far-off promise or illusion but rather something that stares them in the face every day - across the water in the beach towns and their resorts that spew forth rich tourists who pop over to Morocco looking for something exotic. We try to sleep, but cannot in the stifling moist heat; so we instead open the windows and lie restlessly on the hard mattresses, hoping to nod off for short snatches at a time. Tomorrow we catch the ferry back; for us, there is always that escape back to the safety net. For most in this world, there is not and never will be - and so they settle for long hours of honest low-paid work or conning tourists, hoping that each bit of foreign currency will pull that escape hatch just one bit closer. That is the harsh reality...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/25/the-road-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/27/cyclists-in-training.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...and finally, having had our fill of food and tea and markets and curious scams, we retire to our rooms after winding our way back up past the clothing stalls and packed squares. No real harm has come to us in Morocco, and yet there is a vague hostility about the whole place - the hostility of those for whom the better life is not an far-off promise or illusion but rather something that stares them in the face every day - across the water in the beach towns and their resorts that spew forth rich tourists who pop over to Morocco looking for something exotic. We try to sleep, but cannot in the stifling moist heat; so we instead open the windows and lie restlessly on the hard mattresses, hoping to nod off for short snatches at a time. Tomorrow we catch the ferry back; for us, there is always that escape back to the safety net. For most in this world, there is not and never will be - and so they settle for long hours of honest low-paid work or conning tourists, hoping that each bit of foreign currency will pull that escape hatch just one bit closer. That is the harsh reality...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/25/the-road-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/27/cyclists-in-training.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>cyclists in training</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/26/aggressive-business-practices.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/28/alhambraaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>cyclists in training</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-27</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Scenery seen through<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>cyclists in training</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/26/aggressive-business-practices.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/28/alhambraaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>cyclists in training</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-27</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Scenery seen through<br />
 A glass, it seems, is not so<br />
 Nice as when on bikes.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -9,4 +9,4 @@
 <p>The train station was better.  We got a train heading to Granada which was faster, cheaper, and roomier than the bus.  Plus, the train wound up into the mountains behind Algeciras, instead of taking the coastal highway.  Mo' scenery = mo' betta.</p>
 <p>We ate a circular lunch (after encountering a large, donut-shaped bread we decided that everything we ate at lunch should match it in that amusing quality), attempted to catch up on writing blog posts (I promise we get around to writing these things!!), and hopped on the train to Granada.  It was a really gorgeous 5-hour ride that passed areas we were surprised to see settled.  Life takes hold in the strangest places.</p>
 <p>Javier met us at the train station in Granada and led us to his parents' house nearby.  We found an acceptable hostel and checked in, then the four of us went out for beer and tapas.  The thing about tapas: in Spain, they come with the drinks.  Free.  You don't need to go to a "tapas bar" and pay 3€ for a tiny plate of tiny food.  And the tapas are good: the local favourite is jamón serrano, which is ham that has been salt-cured and buried and never cooked, served with fresh melon.  It's quite a treat, and totally not available in the US due to its obvious non-adherence to health and safety regulations.</p>
-<p>It was a good day, all except for that biking bit.  AND I AM SUPER EXCITED ABOUT SEEING THE ALHAMBRA TOMORROW DID I MENTION THAT.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/26/aggressive-business-practices.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/28/alhambraaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>It was a good day, all except for that biking bit.  AND I AM SUPER EXCITED ABOUT SEEING THE ALHAMBRA TOMORROW DID I MENTION THAT.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/26/aggressive-business-practices.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/28/alhambraaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>ALHAMBRAAAAAAAAA</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/27/cyclists-in-training.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/29/no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>ALHAMBRAAAAAAAAA</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-28</div></div><div id="content"><p>For those who have not been: the Alhambra is a singular experience, a nexus at the intersection between religion, mathematics, and staggering material wealth...it is a masterpiece of geometrical precision and architecture, a tunnel into a history populated by Moors and Catholic Kings and Romans and Arab royalty...and it deserves a place on whatever checklist governs your life. For us, it is also a unique symbol of achievement, the end of what has been the most frenetically-paced leg of our journey to date...2000 km in three weeks during which we completed the Camino and saw Fisterra and drank port in Porto and reached the Strait of Gibraltar and visited Morocco, a sheer volume of experiential awesomeness that would have been impossible to achieve if it were not punctuated by bus and train. Even still, we biked most of it - and we did so in a climate of incredible heat that has warranted frequent mention in these blog entries. It is an achievement to have reached here while seeing all that we did.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>ALHAMBRAAAAAAAAA</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/27/cyclists-in-training.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/29/no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>ALHAMBRAAAAAAAAA</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-28</div></div><div id="content"><p>For those who have not been: the Alhambra is a singular experience, a nexus at the intersection between religion, mathematics, and staggering material wealth...it is a masterpiece of geometrical precision and architecture, a tunnel into a history populated by Moors and Catholic Kings and Romans and Arab royalty...and it deserves a place on whatever checklist governs your life. For us, it is also a unique symbol of achievement, the end of what has been the most frenetically-paced leg of our journey to date...2000 km in three weeks during which we completed the Camino and saw Fisterra and drank port in Porto and reached the Strait of Gibraltar and visited Morocco, a sheer volume of experiential awesomeness that would have been impossible to achieve if it were not punctuated by bus and train. Even still, we biked most of it - and we did so in a climate of incredible heat that has warranted frequent mention in these blog entries. It is an achievement to have reached here while seeing all that we did.</p>
 <p>And how better for my body to celebrate that achievement than by contracting a particularly nasty case of stomach flu? The pathogenic war rages on in my intestinal tract; I follow Javier as he shows us about Granada, passing by the cathedral and the markets and this one lane lined with tea lounges - but stop short of following him up into the Albayzín; instead, I must spend most of the day resting under a tree somewhat up the path that climbs the hill to the Alhambra. It is restful, and yet this is one hell of a way to spend a day in one of the most historic cities in Europe - I should be about seeing things, eating local food, grabbing drinks in local bars, learning about the rich culture of those that have invaded (and retreated from, in most cases) these parts across the millenia. I hear about the Albayzín only through the pictures Valkyrie has taken on her camera, which she shows me eagerly upon greeting my prostrate body with still-cold spicy chocolate ice cream; it is a district of cave dwellings originally inhabited by the gypsies, who set up residence here on the hillside to escape prohibitive rent in the city below. For it has been - and still remains, to some degree - a poorer district; some parts are without running water or other such necessities of modern life...though, in the usual way, this sparse way of living has attracted tenants from overseas who seek escape from their own overburdened lives. The slow march of gentrification is staved off only by the sheer difficulty of extending services to many of the dwellings...of note, the unusually low doorways reflect the smaller stature of generations past.</p>
-<p>We head up to the Alhambra to make our appointment for the Nasrid Palaces; our tickets have a precise time for entry past which the guards will refuse entry, and so we are very anxious indeed to make it on time...but we do, and are greeted with such an amazing array of intricately carved archways and patterned floors and tessellated designs that we must keep the camera on hand at all times. No words can do the beauty of this place justice; our photos do a slightly better but still inadequate job. We spend some hours strolling about the premises of the Nasrid, Generalife, and other buildings and gardens of the Alhambra before finally heading back down into the city, grabbing some food on the way...but, given the turmoil within my body, I'm hardly in any state to enjoy the town. Perhaps tomorrow...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/27/cyclists-in-training.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/29/no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We head up to the Alhambra to make our appointment for the Nasrid Palaces; our tickets have a precise time for entry past which the guards will refuse entry, and so we are very anxious indeed to make it on time...but we do, and are greeted with such an amazing array of intricately carved archways and patterned floors and tessellated designs that we must keep the camera on hand at all times. No words can do the beauty of this place justice; our photos do a slightly better but still inadequate job. We spend some hours strolling about the premises of the Nasrid, Generalife, and other buildings and gardens of the Alhambra before finally heading back down into the city, grabbing some food on the way...but, given the turmoil within my body, I'm hardly in any state to enjoy the town. Perhaps tomorrow...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/27/cyclists-in-training.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/29/no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>no laundry for young men (and women)</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/28/alhambraaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/30/olive-oil.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>no laundry for young men (and women)</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-29</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>To peer beyond, to<br />
+A place's shrouded hist'ry,<br />
+You need only ask.</i></p>
+<p>The tour that we got from Javier yesterday was fabulous.  Since Evan missed it, we spent a part of today getting him up to speed on the Albayzin (the hilltop area of town which was the haunt of gypsies in the old days), the cave houses (for natural heating and cooling!), the monastery (bearing the sword cross and a part of the Order of Santiago; also they "make really good cakes," according to Javier), the schools of Padre Manjon (a priest from Burgos who founded centres of learning for the poor in Granada), and all the rest.</p>
+<p>We also spent a rather frustrating few hours scouring the city looking for a self-service laundry place.  The only laundry place anyone could direct us to was full-service and charged an unfortunate 28€ for our wash.  We weren't willing to pay.</p>
+<p>The good news is that Evan isn't so sick any longer.  The sort of lame news is that today was sort of lame.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/28/alhambraaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/30/olive-oil.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>olive oil</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/29/no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/31/age-plus-plus.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>olive oil</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-30</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Winding down sure does<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>olive oil</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/29/no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/31/age-plus-plus.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>olive oil</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-30</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Winding down sure does<br />
 Satisfy in a very<br />
 Particular way.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>The mostly good news is that it's mostly downhill, and the N-road mostly avoids the mountains.  Mostly.  We spent the morning on a non-neglible climb, made more tolerable by the gorgeous wastelands around us.  Barren areas are somehow so appealing to bike through... super populous areas are so civilised and settled, and by this point in the trip we're far from being civilised any longer.  I wonder when we'll find a place to wash our clothes..</p>
 <p>Anyway, we meandered through the mountains: a task which was made more complicated by the fact that road work not indicated on our map had turned parts of the N-road (which roads are usually suitable for cycling) into an autoroute (where cyclists are not permitted).  The Guardia Civil were out in force today, though, so we got by on asking them for directions to roads that we would be able to take.</p>
 <p>The N-road followed a series of rivers through the mountains, and so managed to stay rather flat.  The rivers had also carved out fabulous gorges for us to gaze at in wonderment on the trip through.  About halfway down to the coast, we happened upon an olive oil museum.  An <em>olive oil museum.</em>  We stopped to check it out, and the building housed displays about making olive oil through history, as well as a collection of "vintage" olive oils for sale.  We elected to buy some fresh olive oil and some fresh sherry (a particular type of sweeter wine that this region is famous for) and a delicious fig cake.  THE OLIVE OIL IS TREMENDOUS.</p>
-<p>Riding along the coast was a breeze; it's mostly flat in this area, and we were lucky enough to have a tailwind during much of the ride.  As we sped towards rockier areas of coast, the road began to meander up and down on its way, and we found a fabulous spot to camp on one of these meanderings.  We're stopped tonight at the foot of an ancient tower overlooking the sea; tomorrow we'll watch the sun come up over the water.  Tomorrow is Evan's birthday!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/29/no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/31/age-plus-plus.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Riding along the coast was a breeze; it's mostly flat in this area, and we were lucky enough to have a tailwind during much of the ride.  As we sped towards rockier areas of coast, the road began to meander up and down on its way, and we found a fabulous spot to camp on one of these meanderings.  We're stopped tonight at the foot of an ancient tower overlooking the sea; tomorrow we'll watch the sun come up over the water.  Tomorrow is Evan's birthday!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/29/no-laundry-for-young-men-and-women.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/31/age-plus-plus.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>age++</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/30/olive-oil.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/01/desert-sort.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>age++</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-31</div></div><div id="content"><p>24 years. That is how long - give or take a few hours - I have had the fortune to live on this planet, not counting the months idled away in a giant fleshy fluid-filled sac inside my mother's body. This is one of the more eclectic birthdays I've had, wholly unlike any other. For a while in secondary school, and even in university, I forwent celebrating this day; being right in the middle of summer, it often clashed with summer jobs, summer vacations, and summer indolence. Today both continued and broke this tradition. It was less celebration than reflection upon time, a reflection spent in the company of peaceful Mediterranean waters at a beachside campground some 5 km out of Almería. One year older - and yet I have unwavering faith that these next years will prove very exciting indeed, for life is what you make of it...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>age++</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/30/olive-oil.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/01/desert-sort.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>age++</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-07-31</div></div><div id="content"><p>24 years. That is how long - give or take a few hours - I have had the fortune to live on this planet, not counting the months idled away in a giant fleshy fluid-filled sac inside my mother's body. This is one of the more eclectic birthdays I've had, wholly unlike any other. For a while in secondary school, and even in university, I forwent celebrating this day; being right in the middle of summer, it often clashed with summer jobs, summer vacations, and summer indolence. Today both continued and broke this tradition. It was less celebration than reflection upon time, a reflection spent in the company of peaceful Mediterranean waters at a beachside campground some 5 km out of Almería. One year older - and yet I have unwavering faith that these next years will prove very exciting indeed, for life is what you make of it...</p>
 <p>...but back to the real point. How was the day? How was the ride? What did you see? What happened? And so on...if you must know, the riding part of the day started around 0700 and ended around 1500, during which time we travelled up and over long hills along some beautiful though uneventful coastline before cutting across a wide peninsula in the midday heat; we had all the usual necessary stoppages for breakfast and pastry and juice and snacks and water; navigation brought some challenges, though not too many. Most of these days, as it turns out, are minor variations on this theme: wake, eat, ride, eat, ride, camp, sleep. You get used to the rhythm, eventually become lost in it; even the effort of biking mostly disappears, so that you are able to enjoy anything you might see.</p>
 <p>So maybe that is not the real point here; the real point, if there is one, is that time is definitely passing here. The symbolic act of passing from one year to the next, incrementing the great counter of life, is proof enough. And every day is one day closer to Istanbul, that far-off promised land where, having biked somewhat more than 10 000 km (we drew straight lines on the map to estimate distance, and not even our slight compensations fully account for the twists and turns in your average coastal road) we will cross into Asia, lay down our bikes with a contented sigh, and consider the trip formally completed. It still seems far away, but we'll make it in that tireless, stubborn, journey-of-ten-thousand-li manner.</p>
 <p>What else? Almería is not exactly a remarkable city; it boasts the by-now-usual contingent of old fortifications and religious icons, has the usual pedestrian older town with quaint cafés and bars...having spent our afternoon swimming over by the campground beach, we headed into town to cook up a birthday feast of ceviche and seared tuna in an abandoned lot, where we were joined by a friendly vagrant who offered half-coherent tales of his upbringing in Algeria along with a smattering of drunken and therefore mostly incomprehensible French. At one point, as we were packing everything up, the Red Cross drove by to give the man some food; we offered him leftovers, which were gently but firmly refused. It is one thing to accept help, quite another to accept it twice...</p>
 <p>...and then we head into the old town, where we down a bottle of cheap wine and drink horchata before setting out among the bars for overpriced drinks and tapas. Even the nightlife here seems muted; there are people enough, yet the bars are tucked away in narrow streets as if to keep them out of sight - and the young professionals have mostly left, following the lure of nearby Granada and Valencia. Still, it is a pleasant night out, and we ride back along the now dark coastal highway to the campground, contented in our peculiar evening.</p>
-<p>So. 24 years. One more down the hatch, one more to remember...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/30/olive-oil.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/01/desert-sort.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>So. 24 years. One more down the hatch, one more to remember...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/30/olive-oil.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/01/desert-sort.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>desert sort</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/31/age-plus-plus.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>desert sort</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-01</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>The good, the bad, and<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>desert sort</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/31/age-plus-plus.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>desert sort</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-01</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>The good, the bad, and<br />
 The ugly prowl these hot lands<br />
 Like lost souls.  Searching.</i></p>
 <p>I'm not sure which of us matches which of those characterisations (wink wink, nudge nudge), but we three headed out from Almería rather late today.  Sleeping in is a luxury we don't often have, but staying in a real campsite and now having a bit of time to spare made it possible.</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>Heading out after napping shifts--useful when three all want to use the internet and to sleep, and time is limited--, we took our final routing choice.  The mountains were a better route.  The coast from Almería was much longer and headed through a mountain park anyway, not to mention that the roads dwindled off into paths that didn't connect in any sensible way.  It would be hot and hard, but it was better.  We headed north.</p>
 <p>Immediately, desert.  Mountains.  I was carrying the knapsack, which I am not particularly accustomed to but generally do alright with, and I nearly passed out from overheating.  But the sweeping dryland was breathtaking.  The wind stirred up dust devils that chased us along the unused road paralleling the motorway.  No animals greeted us.  No surprise.</p>
 <p>A fair piece to the north our map indicated a place of interest labeled "Mini Hollywood."  What?  We arrived at it without really intending to.  Did you know that the Old West of Clint Eastwood movies (and other films from that era) is actually the south of Spain?  Well, you do now.  I super like that photo.  Look through our Picasa albums for one of me and my sister posing with "lassos" and "cowboy hats."  :)</p>
-<p>Even as the sun began to think about sleeping for the night, there was no chill in the air.  The heat here does not magically go away at sunset as it does in other places.  It seems to permeate what little vegetation there is and leak from it for hours afterward.  We settled into an olive field, our camping stove-and-tent setup hidden from the road by a giant stone welcome sign and gate, for the evening.  Lordy, it's hot.  I'm so glad we're not biking this in the middle of the day... probably we'll be able to make it to the coast before it genuinely turns warm tomorrow morning.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/07/31/age-plus-plus.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Even as the sun began to think about sleeping for the night, there was no chill in the air.  The heat here does not magically go away at sunset as it does in other places.  It seems to permeate what little vegetation there is and leak from it for hours afterward.  We settled into an olive field, our camping stove-and-tent setup hidden from the road by a giant stone welcome sign and gate, for the evening.  Lordy, it's hot.  I'm so glad we're not biking this in the middle of the day... probably we'll be able to make it to the coast before it genuinely turns warm tomorrow morning.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/07/31/age-plus-plus.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>this is just grate</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/01/desert-sort.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/03/camping-with-carnies.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>this is just grate</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-02</div></div><div id="content"><p>Night still clings to the desert when we stumble bleary-eyed out of our roadside tent refuge to beat the rising sun. Take every adjective and epithet used in connection with this damned heat over the last month and magnify it thousand-fold, and you will begin to approach the hellish inferno that awaits us should we linger too long in this desert, the same desert where - did we mention this already? - famed spaghetti western Il Buono, Il Brutto, Il Cattivo was filmed, as several kitschy pseudo-frontier tourist stops will attest to...the desert that caught Sergio Leone's directorial eye for its forbidding and desiccated scenery. So we get up at 0530 and ride out, our headlamps and handlebar-mount lights and reflectors making a valiant attempt to bring just enough light to this darkness to see where we are going. Olive fields become more and more common as we ride on, the vegetation gets just a touch more green and lush - not much, but visibly so; we take tea in a small café, where we are told the water in the sinks is not potable...so we purchase water down the road, much nearer to the coast.</p>
+<p>We hit the coast while it is still fairly cool out in a small yet touristy beachside town, where I promptly ride into a sewer grate whose slats are perversely both wide and long enough to easily fit my tires. We ride on through town, imagining that everything is perfectly fine; it is only once we stop at the local supermarket for real breakfast that I notice the double flat caused by this untimely accident. I spend some time swapping the tires - the rear is more roughed up than the front, so I move it to the front where the lessened weight will hopefully permit it to stay intact - and patching both tubes, then reattach the brakes and test it out; there is some wobble in the tires, so I pull out the spoke wrench and start truing the wheels as well. Despite these extensive repairs, there is an unexplained bounce in the tire on every revolution. Upon closer inspection, the tube is not uniformly inflated. Lesson learned: sewer grates are not to be trifled with - avoid them at all costs!</p>
+<p>After this epic repair session, enough damage is repaired to continue up the coast for siesta. Given the early hour of awakening, we all insist on taking a short nap after lunch, after which we secure some ice cream from a local heladeria and charge the laptop. As we leave, the road winds up into an impressive 300 m climb; the ensuing descent is made somewhat more complicated by the insufficient job I did reattaching my brakes, so that I am forced to keep both levers firmly pressed down as I take the downhill at a crawl; but better that than the precipitous and quite possibly fatal alternative! We ride on, and the sun begins to dip down to the horizon. With no town or campground in sight, we finally decide to camp by the side of a small service road into a tilled but apparently unplanted plot of cropland. With the light quickly fading, I pull out the headlamp to perform further repairs on the bike, adjusting the spokes and brakes for a better ride tomorrow...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/01/desert-sort.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/03/camping-with-carnies.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>camping with carnies</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/04/i-think-i-ali-can-te.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>camping with carnies</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-03</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Kindness springs freely<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>camping with carnies</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/04/i-think-i-ali-can-te.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>camping with carnies</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-03</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Kindness springs freely<br />
 Occasionally unex-<br />
 pectedly from all.</i></p>
 <p>We spent a long time this morning brushing the dirt off all our possessions and hacking it up from our lungs.  This part of Spain is <em>dry.</em></p>
@@ -9,4 +9,4 @@
 <p>We packed up and headed off around 17h, and the stretch of road that we encountered was strange.  Thus far, we have come across mostly mountainous coasts with mostly lots of hills and crazy awesome scenery.  This coast was far removed from the sort of wild beauty of what we've passed: it was tamed and crawling with tourists.  English and German were as present on signs as Spanish, and the flat, white beaches were thick with multicoloured umbrellas and towels.  Ugh.</p>
 <p>The main problem, though, was that we had no idea where to camp in such a place during touristic high season.  The Guardia Civil were nearly as numerous as the visitors, and they were vigilant.  No place along the N-120 through this section would be suitable for camping.  Darkness started creeping over the road, and we passed something... strange.  A big red and white tent.  With RVs parked all around.  The carnival was setting up.</p>
 <p>Hmm.. this is an opportunity.  I asked first Evan and then Venus if each would be comfortable spending the night with the sort of folk who are famous for rigging games and the like.  With the "why not?" mentality firmly in mind, we rolled over to the first RV in the carvan and asked very politely if we might make use of a few square metres of space.  The man didn't mind, and even showed us where he thought it might be the softest and nicest.</p>
-<p>So here we sit.  We're munching squid rice for dinner and watching the children of the carnival folk cavort around in the falling dark.  Our flashlight is nice, but I'm enjoying gazing at the lit stars atop the big red and white tent.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/04/i-think-i-ali-can-te.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>So here we sit.  We're munching squid rice for dinner and watching the children of the carnival folk cavort around in the falling dark.  Our flashlight is nice, but I'm enjoying gazing at the lit stars atop the big red and white tent.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/02/this-is-just-grate.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/04/i-think-i-ali-can-te.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>i think i (ali)can(te)</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/03/camping-with-carnies.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/05/three-become-two.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>i think i (ali)can(te)</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-04</div></div><div id="content"><p>We wish a silent farewell to the carnies, who are all still asleep at this hour, and speed off in the direction of Alicante. Roughly 10 km in, it is Valkyrie's turn to blow a tube; this means another stop, half an hour of repairs, and an unfortunate postponement of breakfast...to add the proverbial insult, the tire has suffered wall damage from having the inner tube under-inflated for so long, and has begun to sprout menacing cracks. It is now imperative that we find a shop for replacement tires and tubes; and the Marathon tire served her so well...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>i think i (ali)can(te)</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/03/camping-with-carnies.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/05/three-become-two.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>i think i (ali)can(te)</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-04</div></div><div id="content"><p>We wish a silent farewell to the carnies, who are all still asleep at this hour, and speed off in the direction of Alicante. Roughly 10 km in, it is Valkyrie's turn to blow a tube; this means another stop, half an hour of repairs, and an unfortunate postponement of breakfast...to add the proverbial insult, the tire has suffered wall damage from having the inner tube under-inflated for so long, and has begun to sprout menacing cracks. It is now imperative that we find a shop for replacement tires and tubes; and the Marathon tire served her so well...</p>
 <p>The land outside of Alicante is flat, very flat; the highway dips down to sea level, its thin grey line of asphalt surrounded by marsh and salt pools and dykes. We wonder how long this will last, how long before it is permanently flooded with water washed off the polar ice caps. It does, however, make for fast riding, especially with the tailwind whipped up; fortunately, the until-now-ever-present heat is tempered by a veil of clouds, and we even sense a tentative but ultimately abortive spattering of rain. One and a half months now without rain, without even the slightest indication that it might rain; six weeks of solid blue sky only occasionally punctuated by a lone misguided cloud, of unmitigated sunlight, of sinister and sinuous convection swirls rising from the freshly paved road. So this is refreshing indeed, a sign that we are finally escaping the drought-stricken south and heading into less deadly climes.</p>
 <p>We reach Alicante in good time, and decide that sating our hunger is the first priority; one flan cake, some peaches, and a load of tuna-avocado salad later, we set out through the city in search of a bike shop. We find one, but are disappointed to learn that like most bike shops in this area they specialize in mountain bikes and BMX. The owner does point us in the direction of two more stores - one a newer sports chain, which sadly turns out to be merely a massive sports clothing store, and the other a Decathlon way out on the periphery of town. We make it to the Decathlon, buy new tires, and sit outside in the employee break area swapping our damaged and worn tires for them - or at least we try to; for we are shortly moved by a security guard who judges our presence unacceptable, even though the space is not currently being used. This is a mixed blessing; we had been on the point of forgetting our hatred of Decathlon, which in the absence of further dealings with them had begun to seem irrational...</p>
 <p>...and we finally get the tires fixed, this time setting up out in the parking lots beside the store. With that task finally completed, we can search for a place to stay - but alas! Here, too, our arrival coincides with local festivities. Rooms are full, prices are high, the nearest campground is 15 km out of the city, and the tourist bureau is - out of principle, you understand? - unable to recommend or even contact particular places for us; instead, we must sit outside their office and fritter away pay-as-you-go minutes calling up random pensions and hostels in the book until we find one by the name of La Milagrosa, which still has a triple room available for 55€. This is steeper than we're used to, but perhaps justifiable given the amount we've saved stealth camping over the last few days...</p>
-<p>Yes, it is justified; for we have showers to wash away the collected grime and make use of their kitchen to concoct some delicious scrambled eggs and connect to their Internet for email and blog uploading and photo syncing. We feel much better after all this, refreshed in a way that is simply not possible in the absence of freely running water. Our evening meal is enjoyed up on the patio, the citadel looming over us from its cliffside perch, and we toast to Venus' journey with us which is now drawing to a close.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/03/camping-with-carnies.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/05/three-become-two.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Yes, it is justified; for we have showers to wash away the collected grime and make use of their kitchen to concoct some delicious scrambled eggs and connect to their Internet for email and blog uploading and photo syncing. We feel much better after all this, refreshed in a way that is simply not possible in the absence of freely running water. Our evening meal is enjoyed up on the patio, the citadel looming over us from its cliffside perch, and we toast to Venus' journey with us which is now drawing to a close.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/03/camping-with-carnies.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/05/three-become-two.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>three become two</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/04/i-think-i-ali-can-te.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/06/you-derailleured-my-chain-of-thought.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>three become two</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-05</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>The bond of cyclists<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>three become two</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/04/i-think-i-ali-can-te.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/06/you-derailleured-my-chain-of-thought.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>three become two</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-05</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>The bond of cyclists<br />
 Spans borders, languages, age,<br />
 Just help and be helped.</i></p>
 <p>This morning we awoke, refreshed, in our pension/hostel in Alicante.  Three were about to become two.  But we had to make some arrangements: Venus needed a place to stay in Madrid, a way to get there, and a place to mail her bike.  We rooted around, asking directions eventually from taxi drivers since passers-by seemed to have no idea where to find a bicycle shop.  We found one which was, mercifully, just down the street from a Correos (Spanish post) office.  The owner happened to be around and said that he'd even be receiving a bike box later that afternoon, and that he'd be happy to help Venus pack her bike and lug it down the street.</p>
@@ -9,4 +9,4 @@
 <p>After leaving Alicante, we followed the coast up towards a town called Carpe.  It was situated near a point just south of a large nature park that abutted on Valencia.  That route promised a much more pleasant and verdant ride than the N-road, so we chose it.</p>
 <p>Anyway, this led us to a town called Benidorm for siesta.  It was a tourist town, full of high-rises brimming with old, overweight, English-or-German-or-generally-European-white tourists.  The beach was nice, and I guess the redeeming feature of the town was the Leche Meringada we had at a beachside café.  That stuff is tasty, folks.</p>
 <p>Around dinnertime we found ourselves at last in Carpe.  Incredibly, we found a shop which carried both ice and champagne (strange, yes, but it's been hard for us to find the two in a single place), so we got some of that and some persimmons.  Persimmons are a bright orange fruit that are native to Indiana (and the surrounding area) and super delicious.  You should probably go find one to try if you're not familiar.</p>
-<p>Tonight we camp along the beach in a tiny sliver of park/picnic area/hiking trail smashed between million-dollar houses.  For all that, though, it's rather peaceful.  The sound of the sea...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/04/i-think-i-ali-can-te.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/06/you-derailleured-my-chain-of-thought.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Tonight we camp along the beach in a tiny sliver of park/picnic area/hiking trail smashed between million-dollar houses.  For all that, though, it's rather peaceful.  The sound of the sea...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/04/i-think-i-ali-can-te.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/06/you-derailleured-my-chain-of-thought.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>you derailleured my chain of thought</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/05/three-become-two.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/07/orange-you-glad.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>you derailleured my chain of thought</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-06</div></div><div id="content"><p>Well-rested after our chilled champagne festivities by the seaside, we continue up the way towards Valencia. The early morning ride winds around the cape past vacation homes and subdivisions (which in Castellano translates to urbanización, an odd term for a pattern of development that has little to do with the polyglot density of European urban development) before heading up into the hills. We stop in a small town by the mountains for breakfast, asking for directions in the only bakery we find open: "How do we get over those mountains?" "With a scooter, " they say with polite derision, before the old man scoffs with kindly wisdom at the folly of youth - but we head up there anyways, and at the top find that rifle ranges are apparently The Thing in this tourist-clogged part of the Mediterranean. Signs greet us in German, Japanese, English, as if to remind us that we are no longer really in Spain; now that the climate has at last become reasonable enough for the average foreigner, moderated by the salty sea breeze, the agricultural fields and quaint red-tiled houses have given way to developments that might not look out of place in Florida or California or wherever else human progress has seen fit to forsake culture for conformity...but maybe this waxes too negative; after all, we are still by the sea, and not even a scattering of uninspired high-rise flat complexes (complices?) can mar that...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>you derailleured my chain of thought</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/05/three-become-two.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/07/orange-you-glad.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>you derailleured my chain of thought</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-06</div></div><div id="content"><p>Well-rested after our chilled champagne festivities by the seaside, we continue up the way towards Valencia. The early morning ride winds around the cape past vacation homes and subdivisions (which in Castellano translates to urbanización, an odd term for a pattern of development that has little to do with the polyglot density of European urban development) before heading up into the hills. We stop in a small town by the mountains for breakfast, asking for directions in the only bakery we find open: "How do we get over those mountains?" "With a scooter, " they say with polite derision, before the old man scoffs with kindly wisdom at the folly of youth - but we head up there anyways, and at the top find that rifle ranges are apparently The Thing in this tourist-clogged part of the Mediterranean. Signs greet us in German, Japanese, English, as if to remind us that we are no longer really in Spain; now that the climate has at last become reasonable enough for the average foreigner, moderated by the salty sea breeze, the agricultural fields and quaint red-tiled houses have given way to developments that might not look out of place in Florida or California or wherever else human progress has seen fit to forsake culture for conformity...but maybe this waxes too negative; after all, we are still by the sea, and not even a scattering of uninspired high-rise flat complexes (complices?) can mar that...</p>
 <p>So we head up towards Parque Natural de l'Albufera, the last bastion of less-developed land before Valencia, up along the flat sandy beaches of the Spanish east coast - except we don't head along the beach, mostly; that land has long since been purchased, and is unsuitable for building roads anyways. Instead we settle for brief snatches of boardwalk punctuated by long backroad travels behind apartments and farm fields. At one point we hit some agricultural developments just out of this town alongside the canals that provide irrigation water to the farms inland. Walls and fences line the road, creating a clearly-defined path like out of a racing game; when we pass a second similar development further along, we are temporarily convinced that we've taken a wrong turn and are now forced to restart the level. We pass pharmacy signs informing us that, yes, the mercury has climbed to a staggering 41 - but we don't feel it with the breeze, which blows in from the sea and cools us off. All this is easier with the knapsack gone...</p>
 <p>We reach Cullera by midday, taking siesta in parking lots and cafés and bars; we eat the remainders of a lentil-vegetable stew under some awnings by the supermarket, then set off to charge the computer and find Internet. Connectivity is something we can never take for granted. It is a luxury good, something we must often confront high bar prices and smoky rooms for. It is anything but omnipresent here, unlike in the Bay Area cafés and university campuses where most of my last five years have been spent...</p>
 <p>...and we attempt to head out along the water when BAM! My rear reflector shatters, sending clear plastic across the road. I look down; the derailleur has snapped off at the frame bolt and has jackknifed its way up into the spokes, where it is bending into a variety of unusable shapes; at the top, the chain is running on its side due to the sudden deformation. The first two words out of my mouth: "Game over." And it certainly seems like that - derailleurs are expensive, right? What if the impact ruined the wheel? What if the frame itself has taken damage? What if I have to purchase a new bike...but we must go on somehow; stopping here is not an option - so we unlink the chain, detach the broken derailleur, and start walking into town. Valkyrie uses my now-defunct bike as a scooter, while I slowly ride hers.</p>
 <p>We have almost reached the centre of town when we are followed by a white van. The van creeps up behind us for a while until we notice it, whereupon the driver informs us (in Spanish!) that he too is a cyclist...he loads our bikes into the back and drives off for Bicicletas Guzman in town, where he knows the owner; we learn that he has lived in this area for 30 years, an unthinkable period of time when you haven't even been alive that long - and we reach the bike shop, unload our bikes, and wait around. For this is high season, and the bike shop is backed up with repair work and customers and such for the next hour - but there is little choice when your only method of transportation has just kicked the bucket. So we wait, cleaning the grease off our hands with the pumice-soap mixture in the shop toilets...</p>
 <p>...finally, about 2015, the bike mechanic has finished all other obligations and sets to working on the bike. The frame is mostly undamaged but is slightly bent at the mount point for the derailleur, so she rights that with the help of a massive torque wrench well beyond the size of anything we could reasonably carry in our panniers. She then trues the back wheel a bit, noting that although it is mostly straight the alignment will never be perfect again (until I swap the wheel, that is.) This is followed by installation of a new Shimano Acera derailleur and accompanying chain, which must be sized for the 9-speed gearset. We watch the first stages of repair with intense interest, but realize that we are merely getting in the way and decide to instead wait outside. And then it is finished; the brakes are reattached, the bike ready to ride once more! I approach the counter to pay, expecting a nasty case of sticker shock...</p>
-<p>...but she only charges 40€ for parts and labour, not nearly as bad as we had expected. It is late now; we grab a bottle of sherry and some miscellaneous food items at a supermarket just before closing, eat in front as they shutter the windows, and finally head out along through the park. Jorge (the man who drove us to the shop) had suggested that we head down into the beaches just past the lighthouse, where the police and maintenance staff rarely bother those fishing and camping at night - and indeed there are night fishers, glowsticks attached to their poles and lines. We set up the tent, drink, then attach our bikes to a sign that prominently displays an injunction against camping on the beaches - so we decide instead to tear down the tent and lie out on the sand in our sleeping bag, where we quickly drift off into sleep...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/05/three-become-two.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/07/orange-you-glad.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...but she only charges 40€ for parts and labour, not nearly as bad as we had expected. It is late now; we grab a bottle of sherry and some miscellaneous food items at a supermarket just before closing, eat in front as they shutter the windows, and finally head out along through the park. Jorge (the man who drove us to the shop) had suggested that we head down into the beaches just past the lighthouse, where the police and maintenance staff rarely bother those fishing and camping at night - and indeed there are night fishers, glowsticks attached to their poles and lines. We set up the tent, drink, then attach our bikes to a sign that prominently displays an injunction against camping on the beaches - so we decide instead to tear down the tent and lie out on the sand in our sleeping bag, where we quickly drift off into sleep...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/05/three-become-two.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/07/orange-you-glad.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>orange you glad...</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/06/you-derailleured-my-chain-of-thought.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>orange you glad...</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-07</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Shiny science gleams<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>orange you glad...</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/06/you-derailleured-my-chain-of-thought.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>orange you glad...</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-07</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Shiny science gleams<br />
 From towers of glass and tile<br />
 Learning straight to you.</i></p>
 <p>We awoke with sand in every crevice and fold of our skin.  The Saturday morning beach patrol were wandering the surf, picking up discarded party leftovers from the night before, and they were closely tailed by a sand-combing machine.  I never knew that beaches were regularly groomed like this to make them flat and such.</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>Pretty immediately north of Cullera is the beginning of the park.  It's hard to see why it's called a park when nothing else is, considering the fact that it was still host to things like go-kart tracks and the like, but I do suppose it was generally more green and peaceful than many roads we've been along.  It was also jammed with cyclists, and a sign along the road warned motorists to be extra careful of cyclist traffic on weekends.</p>
 <p>After some 40 kilometres of park, we hit the south end of Valencia, most particularly the City of Arts and Sciences.  This is apparently one of Valencia's crown jewels: an opera house, a science museum, a dinosaur park, and Europe's largest aquarium housed in four neighbouring buildings designed by four famous architects.  It's a really astonishing sight.  North of these complices is a park several blocks long that branches off towards the old city.  We hoped to stop in the old city for some fresh orange juice, but the café we chose actually didn't serve it.  :(</p>
 <p>We headed northwest out of Valencia towards Casinos and Pedralba, two small towns between which is the WWOOF farm where we're going to spend the next week or so.  We got somewhat lost due to construction along the route we planned to take, but eventually we found ourselves in Casinos, where we called Cathy.  She came to get us in an SUV that comfortably fit us, our bikes, her, and her two-year-old, Kali.</p>
-<p>The farm was not anything like what we had expected.  It wasn't a farm, really, it was a house with a bit of land, a couple gardens, and some chickens.  A few carob trees and olive trees dotted the property, and there was a swimming pool with a cracked wall that lay dry.  Construction trash lay scattered about.  Inside the house, there is no electricity; their refrigerator runs on gas.  But for all that, I think we will very much enjoy our stay here with Cathy, Bill (her partner), Joshua (her son), Ishma-al (Bill's son), Kali (Cathy and Bill's daughter), Catapila (the cat), Minnie (dog 0), Brookfield (dog 1), and Muttley (dog 2).  Unfortunately all their carpentry tools were recently stolen, so we'll be sticking to gardening, from what I understand.  Well, that is just fine.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/06/you-derailleured-my-chain-of-thought.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>The farm was not anything like what we had expected.  It wasn't a farm, really, it was a house with a bit of land, a couple gardens, and some chickens.  A few carob trees and olive trees dotted the property, and there was a swimming pool with a cracked wall that lay dry.  Construction trash lay scattered about.  Inside the house, there is no electricity; their refrigerator runs on gas.  But for all that, I think we will very much enjoy our stay here with Cathy, Bill (her partner), Joshua (her son), Ishma-al (Bill's son), Kali (Cathy and Bill's daughter), Catapila (the cat), Minnie (dog 0), Brookfield (dog 1), and Muttley (dog 2).  Unfortunately all their carpentry tools were recently stolen, so we'll be sticking to gardening, from what I understand.  Well, that is just fine.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/06/you-derailleured-my-chain-of-thought.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>flight of the cyclists</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/07/orange-you-glad.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/09/cram-n-exam.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>flight of the cyclists</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ch"><img src="/icons/ch.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-08</div></div><div id="content"><p>Slow start to the day - we eat a late breakfast at the WWOOF farm, then join the family on their drive into Valencia where they intend to pass the afternoon by the beach. By the time we get in, however, it is too late for us to join them; so we wish them a pleasant weekend and grab the metro to the airport, snapping photos of the lime-green chairs to amuse ourselves on the long ride through the tunnels underneath Valencia. The subway is predictably full of tourists on their way out of Valencia, full of languages and wheeled bags. We get to the airport with a decent chunk of time remaining before boarding, especially since we have no bags to check. In the typical non-American manner, security wastes your time less aggressively here; in some countries, it is even considered sane to keep your shoes on...</p>
+<p>...and we sit; travel by air is less eventful than travel by train, bike, or foot. There is no chance for scenic views, save for the brief cityscape panoramas offered during takeoff and landing - and even these are not guaranteed, as some airports lie far out in the exurbs with no line-of-sight to the cities they are nominally attached to. We board the plane, take off, and are soon in Madrid, where we have a shorter-than-expected layover (only 10 minutes!) that we use to cross the terminal, queue up, pass our documents over for more cursory inspection, and board another plane for Geneva. We land, pass quickly through the small GVA terminal, and fail to see Valkyrie's friends from CERN - so we instead head over to the other side of arrivals to use the free hotspot by one of the terminal cafés. We get Henning's number and call him only to find that he has been waiting there the whole time...</p>
+<p>...and we go to his house to sip gin-and-tonics over chit-chat about experiences both had and missed, over pictures from our travels thus far, over discussion about anything that comes to mind; I get in some last-minute studying for a first-year legal studies examination that, due to the extraordinary inflexibility of the Canadian university system, I am now obligated to take; and we at last retire to a fold-out sofa bed - but an actual bed! This is luxury indeed on such a trip as ours...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/07/orange-you-glad.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/09/cram-n-exam.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>cram n' exam</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>cram n' exam</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ch"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/ch.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-09</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Things swing in circles,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>cram n' exam</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>cram n' exam</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ch"><img src="/icons/ch.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Switzerland</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-09</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Things swing in circles,<br />
 Returning time and again<br />
 To ev'ry locale.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>After lunch, we dropped Evan's exam in the post and prepared to head out.  Roman and I had a little discussion about how I "seem different."  I noted that I've had to become slightly less rambunctious just to keep the trip and everything under control.  "Is that... responsibility?" Roman asked, "Does it hurt?"</p>
 <p>For the afternoon, we public transited to Geneva proper, where we got some more food, played on the beach for a while, and wandered the town.  We've just missed the Fête de Genève, sadly, and the accompanying fireworks were the night before we arrived.  A shame, but oh well.  We checked out the botanical gardens, which were alright when I lived there in winter but really lovely during this visit in summer, and headed to Bart's house.  You may remember the name Bart from our posts about Antwerpen: he's the fellow who lent us his apartment for our stay there.</p>
 <p>Bart and Evan had never met, and to be honest I'd only spent about an hour with him at a party once, but the three of us got along famously.  He, too, is a cyclist (and is thinking of joining us for part of our trip!), so he was eager to hear all of our adventures and misadventures.  He also told us about a Belgian fellow who has developed good cycling routes all through Europe, and he ensured that we were well stocked with Sweet Bordeaux (delicious white wine).</p>
-<p>It was a really nice evening.  We're back at Henning's now, wrapping up Internet things and getting some new movies to watch over his deliciously fast fibre connection.  It's bedtime!  AND NO MORE EXAMS!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>It was a really nice evening.  We're back at Henning's now, wrapping up Internet things and getting some new movies to watch over his deliciously fast fibre connection.  It's bedtime!  AND NO MORE EXAMS!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/08/flight-of-the-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>just plane spain</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/09/cram-n-exam.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/11/back-to-basics.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>just plane spain</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-10</div></div><div id="content"><p>Our short sojourn in Geneva completed, Henning drives us to the airport at characteristically breakneck speed along a maze of country roads and roundabouts to challenge even our highly developed navigational acumen. We reach the airport, exchange farewells, and are left to go through the usual round of security theatre. This time we must check a bag - Valkyrie finally received a package sent to CERN on her behalf which her ex-coworkers had been holding for her in anticipation of this visit, and which contained (among sundry other items of dire importance) a jar of peanut butter, a substance recently deemed by the airport authorities to be a liquid and therefore subject to the lilliputian restrictions on liquids...</p>
+<p>...and the flight leaves 20 minutes late; and we must wait for our bag at the luggage carousels; and we must wait for the metro to Lliria, which leaves only once every half-hour; and all these delays conspire in combination to push our arrival in Lliria back from the expected 1800 to 1930, so that Cathy and Bill have long since left. We peruse the parking lot to no effect, grab some peaches, and decide to grab a taxi to the granja; the taxi leaves just before the ominous-looking clouds break into rain, heading along the backroads - the driver somewhat confused, asking occasionally just what the hell is out in the direction that we're leading him along, perhaps suspecting some sort of ruse or impending violence...but he takes us there, charges us dearly for his efforts, and drives off, leaving us to walk up to the place in the drizzling rain.</p>
+<p>As is usual for these travel-packed days, little of consequence occurs. We eat, read for a bit, set the tent up, talk with the family a bit, then head off to sleep up on the tiled terrace; whereas the first night spent up here reminded us of the less-than-comfortable nature of hard ground, our second night proves that the body is adaptable indeed...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/09/cram-n-exam.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/11/back-to-basics.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>back to basics</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/12/down-hoem.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>back to basics</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-11</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Childhood arrested<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>back to basics</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/12/down-hoem.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>back to basics</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-11</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Childhood arrested<br />
 Flows free, properly prompted,<br />
 From those such as we.</i></p>
 <p>We finally got to work today!  It's exciting to feel like we're no longer freeloading off these nice people.  Their food is delicioustastic, and we've felt bad for all the time we've just been hanging out and enjoying their hospitality without holding up our end of the deal.</p>
 <p>As I mentioned, we're stuck with gardening for the week.  Today we cleared a lot of brush (which we added to their burn pile; it now towers higher than some of their trees) and softened the ground in their unplanted garden patch.  It sounds like not that much, but they were delighted to have it done.  It wasn't easy work, either; it's hot all the time, and the sun here at midday chases everyone inside.  Fortunately, these people are well-stocked with reading material.  The titles on their bookshelf range from <i>5 Great Novels: Philip K. Dick</i> to <i>Storming Heaven: LSD and the American Dream</i> to <i>Capoeira 100</i> to <i>Fast Food Nation</i>, and going through them during our electricity-free downtime is going to be a lot of fun.</p>
 <p>In the evening, after a delicious dinner, we headed out on our bicycles with Joseph towards Pedralba, the town nearby where he goes to school and the family takes care of much of their shopping and socialising.  Casinos, the other town, is a bit larger, but not as homey.  Anyway, we headed out with him, and he showed us around the library (where we can find internet!) and the church, and eventually led us down to the river.</p>
 <p>We tossed our bikes together at the base of a bridge, and Joseph informed us that we'd be jumping off of it.  There's a video that should be going up sometime of him and Evan jumping off the first time.  :)  It's a really nice little place to swim, actually, and there were a lot of townfolk out at dusk there.  Then he decided to lead us upriver for the "rapids ride," which was basically a mad rush where we had to work our tails off to keep afloat high enough to stay off the sharp rocks underwater.  JOYOUS FUN, I CAN TELL YOU.</p>
-<p>Anyway, that was our day: hoeing and river-jumping.  Life is slower out here.  It'll be a nice break.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/12/down-hoem.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Anyway, that was our day: hoeing and river-jumping.  Life is slower out here.  It'll be a nice break.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/10/just-plane-spain.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/12/down-hoem.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>down hoem</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/11/back-to-basics.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/13/a-night-on-the-ground.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>down hoem</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-12</div></div><div id="content"><p>Another day on the farm! We spent the morning hoein' up weeds (thanks, Valkyrie, for this particular down-home stylistic conceit :) down by the waterin' hole, er, swimming pool, er, square-ish plaster-concrete-tile basin that at some point in the future will be painted and sealed and filled with water to make a swimming pool. The brush pile down there is thick and heavy with weeds and bits of wood, enough to make an enormous bonfire in the dry summer heat of the Valencian countryside - but such fires are Strictly Prohibited this time of year for fear that the surrounding forests will go up in smoke, so such treacherous and illicit acts are best performed at dawn...out of sight of the authorities and well before the rising sun stirs up temperature gradients to make a windswept mess of the area. But we are still digging up weeds here, so the bonfire will have to wait...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>down hoem</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/11/back-to-basics.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/13/a-night-on-the-ground.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>down hoem</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-12</div></div><div id="content"><p>Another day on the farm! We spent the morning hoein' up weeds (thanks, Valkyrie, for this particular down-home stylistic conceit :) down by the waterin' hole, er, swimming pool, er, square-ish plaster-concrete-tile basin that at some point in the future will be painted and sealed and filled with water to make a swimming pool. The brush pile down there is thick and heavy with weeds and bits of wood, enough to make an enormous bonfire in the dry summer heat of the Valencian countryside - but such fires are Strictly Prohibited this time of year for fear that the surrounding forests will go up in smoke, so such treacherous and illicit acts are best performed at dawn...out of sight of the authorities and well before the rising sun stirs up temperature gradients to make a windswept mess of the area. But we are still digging up weeds here, so the bonfire will have to wait...</p>
 <p>Once that is done, we beat a hasty retreat from the sun into the house and begin laying down a first coat of paint on one of the smaller bedrooms. This is tedious yet simple work; the one roller we have is giant and not exactly amenable to uniform paint distribution, so that it takes some time to get used to its idiosyncracies. To compound matters, the walls have recently been reworked so that there is a sizeable patch of exposed concrete by one corner. The paint must be rolled thickly and forcefully over this patch to cover over every last bit of grey - and there is no paper to cover the floor, causing us to spray round drips across the bare surface that will have to be scraped up later...but none of these setbacks matter! Painting is good fun, one of those rare sorts of work in which the result is both immediate and tangible. You can stand back at any time, survey the encroachment of your brush upon the previously barren walls. You can feel the press of the roller and brush against the drywall and concrete and boarding, sensing the texture of each. You become covered in the work, paint droplets splattering your clothes from head to toe and coating your skin. Or maybe this is all some romantic pastoral bullshit; after all, we're just painting a room, fairly mundane work for a couple used to high-flying thought-intensive Creative Class employment...but it provides time to think, to talk, to sip local bodega wine from metal cups as we work away at hiding the imperfect surfaces with bright white paint.</p>
-<p>Afterwards we relax. The pace here is relaxed, something we are not used to after the hectic dash over the last month. We constantly ask for work; Bill tells us to relax, calm down, take a breather, maybe bike into town or read or something of equivalent productive laziness...so we do so, losing ourselves in the philosophical overtures of Milan Kundera and the wry paranoiac futures of Philip K. Dick for hours, pausing only to eat, set up the tent, and enjoy the stars...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/11/back-to-basics.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/13/a-night-on-the-ground.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Afterwards we relax. The pace here is relaxed, something we are not used to after the hectic dash over the last month. We constantly ask for work; Bill tells us to relax, calm down, take a breather, maybe bike into town or read or something of equivalent productive laziness...so we do so, losing ourselves in the philosophical overtures of Milan Kundera and the wry paranoiac futures of Philip K. Dick for hours, pausing only to eat, set up the tent, and enjoy the stars...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/11/back-to-basics.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/13/a-night-on-the-ground.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a night on the ground</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/12/down-hoem.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/14/explosions-in-the-night-sky.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a night on the ground</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-13</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>A word to the wise:<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a night on the ground</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/12/down-hoem.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/14/explosions-in-the-night-sky.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a night on the ground</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-13</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>A word to the wise:<br />
 Expectation can fail you.<br />
 Unwise: go for it.</i></p>
 <p>We are a bit unwise sometimes.  We're trapped in Valencia tonight because we assumed that trains would be running back to Llíria (the closest town to the farm which is serviced by Valencia's metro system) until midnight or so, but the last train is at... 22:34.  Oops.  We're sleeping in a park under one of our emergency blankets (yes, Dad, they did wind up coming in handy :D), hoping to get a few hours' sleep before getting on the first train at 05:30 tomorrow.</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>Much pleasanter than our previous ride up the CV-35 (an autoroute with a bicycle path tacked onto the side), the route we took this morning along a smaller road was lined with fields and trees... and we stopped for peaches!  On our previous outing to Pedralba, Joseph pointed out a few peach trees along the road that owning farmer left unharvested for the benefit of passers-by such as ourselves.  The peaches fresh from the tree can't be beat... even peaches bought in a shop 10km away aren't nearly so good.</p>
 <p>The science museum in Valencia is much like most science museums (things about climate change and chromosomes and where building and consumer-goods materials come from), except that it had a couple of exhibits I liked in particular: one was about Marvel superheroes!  I'm not exactly sure what kind of deal was cut for that one, but the displays invite you to test the strength of Spiderman's web, use your lungs to shout down enemies like..er..that superhero who shouts at things.., and see how static electricity could make lightning like Storm's.  I was never much of a comic book girl, to be honest, but I thought that was pretty cool.</p>
 <p>There was also an extensive Star Trek exhibit, with props and costumes from all the seasons and movies as well as a replica of the Starship Enterprise's bridge.  Across the hall, an exhibit about real-life space travel, including the chance for kids to ride in one of those spinning chair things that astronauts use to train for weird gravities.  More serious exhibits about famous Valencian scientists were also interesting, but unfortunately only presented in Castellano and Valenciano.</p>
-<p>The Oceanográfico was also fabulous.  It was fairly expensive to get in, but they had several different tanks, all underground and with tunnels leading through them, filled with animals from walruses to sharks to jellyfish to penguins to dolphins to starfish and seahorses and giant spider crabs.  I pretty desperately want to get scuba certified.  I'm pretty sure that my wonderment at things under the sea can't be satisfied otherwise.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/12/down-hoem.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/14/explosions-in-the-night-sky.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>The Oceanográfico was also fabulous.  It was fairly expensive to get in, but they had several different tanks, all underground and with tunnels leading through them, filled with animals from walruses to sharks to jellyfish to penguins to dolphins to starfish and seahorses and giant spider crabs.  I pretty desperately want to get scuba certified.  I'm pretty sure that my wonderment at things under the sea can't be satisfied otherwise.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/12/down-hoem.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/14/explosions-in-the-night-sky.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>explosions in the night sky</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/13/a-night-on-the-ground.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/15/carob-cognac.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>explosions in the night sky</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-14</div></div><div id="content"><p>Another day of miscellaneous hoeing, laying rock circles around trees, and such...but there is not much to do while the Cooperativa and hardware stores are closed, so instead we hang out for a while reading, put a second coat of paint on the bedroom, clean the floor, help Bill plaster over the cracked patches in the swimming pool - which, it turns out, is an old basin that has been on the property for some 30 years - and join them in the evening on a ride into Vilamarxante, where the town is bristling with excitement for the upcoming Encierro. Streets are lined with makeshift balconies supported underneath by metal cages whose bars are wide enough to admit people but not bulls, and the sky brightens with fireworks...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>explosions in the night sky</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/13/a-night-on-the-ground.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/15/carob-cognac.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>explosions in the night sky</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-14</div></div><div id="content"><p>Another day of miscellaneous hoeing, laying rock circles around trees, and such...but there is not much to do while the Cooperativa and hardware stores are closed, so instead we hang out for a while reading, put a second coat of paint on the bedroom, clean the floor, help Bill plaster over the cracked patches in the swimming pool - which, it turns out, is an old basin that has been on the property for some 30 years - and join them in the evening on a ride into Vilamarxante, where the town is bristling with excitement for the upcoming Encierro. Streets are lined with makeshift balconies supported underneath by metal cages whose bars are wide enough to admit people but not bulls, and the sky brightens with fireworks...</p>
 <p>...the drive into Vilamarxante takes us through Pedralba, which we now know as the only place to get wireless within 10 km - and one of precisely two places to charge up our various battery-equipped gadgets, the other being the town of Casinos down the backcountry highway in the other direction. Pedralba is silent tonight, its residents almost invariably over in Vilamarxante for the festivities. Festivals are serious business in Spain, a time of utter social obligation to pack the streets and run from large dangerous animals and blast noisemaker fireworks off into the sky; when we reach Vilamarxante, the municipal parking lots are full - but only by North American standards, as newly arrived vehicles from the surrounding towns continue to cram into every last space imaginable...</p>
-<p>We sit down in one of the bars eating bocadillos and roasted almendras with our copas of cerveza while the kids run off to get ice cream over at the heladeria. Kali wastes no time in bolting off across the square as fast as her two-year-old legs will carry her, followed closely behind by her vigilant mother...but we sit here, enjoying the cold beer and the general background noise of the square and the violent explosions overhead. We grab a couple of pints, talk about the unwaveringly pitiful state of the world and the relative peace of a life in rural Spain, then we pack ourselves back into the car and carefully edge our way through the car-choked lot...the normal exit is firmly blocked, so we take a ramp up and over the sidewalk at high speed, this being the only possible means of escape...but this is all par-for-the-course in Spain, where festivals, days of rest, and siesta are law - and no one is above this law, least of all the police, and so we ride back to the granja without interruption to continue the work of rest...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/13/a-night-on-the-ground.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/15/carob-cognac.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We sit down in one of the bars eating bocadillos and roasted almendras with our copas of cerveza while the kids run off to get ice cream over at the heladeria. Kali wastes no time in bolting off across the square as fast as her two-year-old legs will carry her, followed closely behind by her vigilant mother...but we sit here, enjoying the cold beer and the general background noise of the square and the violent explosions overhead. We grab a couple of pints, talk about the unwaveringly pitiful state of the world and the relative peace of a life in rural Spain, then we pack ourselves back into the car and carefully edge our way through the car-choked lot...the normal exit is firmly blocked, so we take a ramp up and over the sidewalk at high speed, this being the only possible means of escape...but this is all par-for-the-course in Spain, where festivals, days of rest, and siesta are law - and no one is above this law, least of all the police, and so we ride back to the granja without interruption to continue the work of rest...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/13/a-night-on-the-ground.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/15/carob-cognac.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>carob cognac</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/14/explosions-in-the-night-sky.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>carob cognac</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-15</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>A drizzly Sunday...<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>carob cognac</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/14/explosions-in-the-night-sky.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>carob cognac</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-15</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>A drizzly Sunday...<br />
 Still hard, even when you have<br />
 A real place to live.</i></p>
 <p>We woke up, did some hoeing, scoured the ground for carobs, and were told that since it's Sunday we need not do anything else.  (p.s. did you know that carob is used in making diabetic chocolate?  It's actually the bean itself and not the seeds inside that have a bit of the flavour of chocolate.. I know this because Evan and I decided it might be fun to bite into them and see.  Anyway, carob goes for a reasonable price at markets around here.)</p>
 <p>With not much to do work-wise, a dead computer, and an enormous backlog of blogposts to write, we decided that the best idea might be to head into town and park ourselves in a café to charge the ol' laptop and get some typin' done.  It was largely uneventful and relaxing, I guess.  We had some beers, tried some cognac from Jerez (a town we passed through some time ago in Spain), paid our super-reasonable 6€ for them, and hung out.</p>
 <p>We actually don't get much time to "hang out." It seems strange, I guess.  We're together essentially all the time, and have been for some months now (3 today!), but when we're biking or cooking or seeing towns or whatever we tend to talk about the things going on around us more than anything else.  It was nice to just sit down (in the dark, since we got home sort of late and there's no electricity) and chat about the books we've been reading (I'm really enjoying <i>Storming Heaven</i>) and whatever else has been on our minds.</p>
-<p>Yeah... that's about all.  Things are closed around here on Sunday.  It's a good day to relaaaaaaxxxxxxxxxxxxx....</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/14/explosions-in-the-night-sky.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Yeah... that's about all.  Things are closed around here on Sunday.  It's a good day to relaaaaaaxxxxxxxxxxxxx....</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/14/explosions-in-the-night-sky.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>earth, wind, and fire</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/15/carob-cognac.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/17/extremely-hot-and-incredibly-drunk.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>earth, wind, and fire</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-16</div></div><div id="content"><p>Spent the morning quickly hoeing up yet more weeds down the terraces by the house. The family was out for the day again, giving us an ideal opportunity to catch up on blog posts and continue reading - so that's what we did for a few hours, swapping the computer back and forth until we had finally spewed a month's worth of hazy recollections onto our hard drive. We also cooked up some pasta with tuna-tomato-pesto sauce, taking advantage of the rare opportunity to use a multi-burner stove; although we are fairly adept at one-burner cooking by now, it is definitely easier and faster to cook pasta in one pot while stirring sauce in the other!</p>
+<p>After typing the blog posts up, our computer was about to run out of battery; our afternoon was therefore spent recharging it in a small café down in mostly closed Casinos. Weekends run into Monday here for many shopkeepers - the bodegas are closed; the bakeries are closed; many of the cafés are closed; but we manage to find one café open next to the main square, which predictably is close to full with just about everyone in town. We order a couple of the house ice cream concoctions, then wash them down with a coffee for Valkyrie and a horchata for myself - the whole while polishing off a couple of the posts, commenting photos - in general, attending to our habitual backlog of trip-recording duties.</p>
+<p>Our efforts over the last week have created a sizeable brush pile by the carob tree down at the swimming-pool-to-be, and it is finally time tonight for a blazing bonfire. The heat is enough that we must stand well back, sitting on the rim of the pool while the weeds and loose wood pieces are consumed. Once it dies down, we pull out our trusty laptop and present the photos from our travels; these number nearly 2000 by now, so we have adopted the practice of showing only our favourites. It is astounding to recount our journey to this point, even though we are still short of halfway there - the Danish countryside, ports of Hamburg, and turbine roads in Holland are far off by now, as though part of a separate trip that is somehow vaguely connected with the one unfolding every day in midsummer Spain. Darkness has fallen by the time we finish, leaving us no choice - in the absence of electricity, sunset marks the hour of sleep...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/15/carob-cognac.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/17/extremely-hot-and-incredibly-drunk.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>extremely hot and incredibly drunk</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/18/onwards-and-outwards.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>extremely hot and incredibly drunk</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-17</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Water leaks when you<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>extremely hot and incredibly drunk</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/18/onwards-and-outwards.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>extremely hot and incredibly drunk</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-17</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Water leaks when you<br />
 Aren't careful... minds and legs<br />
 Become mushier.</i></p>
 <p>Bill and Cathy are super relaxed.  It's awesome.  Our only jobs for today were basically to run errands for them.  Well, we hoed up a patch of ground quickly, but that was fairly easy.  They needed us to get clover seed and a tyre in Llíria, and we're basically free to do as we like with the rest of our day.  We headed out on our bike ride, stopping to note an ENORMOUS fig tree along the way.  Too bad there weren't any figs ripe, but Bill brought us some yesterday, so we didn't mind.  :)</p>
 <p>It's still too hot to drink during the middle of the day... but in Casinos there is a bodega (wine cellar) with tapped casks of wine that you can use to taste or to fill your own bottles.  Well, the only bottles we have are our water bottles, so we went ahead and filled those.  The thing about the wine is that it's really really tasty, though, so we wanted to drink some and also to bring some back to share.  But if we only brought back 750mL, that's not enough to split 5 ways (me, Evan, Cathy, Bill, and their friend Natalie), so we filled two water bottles, drank them, filled them again, and, totally dehydrated, headed off on our real task.</p>
 <p>The middle of the day is somewhat fuzzy, but we made it to Llíria (despite my falling off my bike and scraping my leg once, sigh), got the stuff, and headed back.  Evan even got some painting done in Joseph's room.  Most of the afternoon, though, was dedicated to a nap that lasted roughly until dinnertime, when Joseph offered to take us to some marble caves nearby.</p>
-<p>He didn't actually have much idea where he was going; he'd been there only once before, and that time was in a car, not to mention that the look of the area we were searching in had been drastically changed by a fire recently (there was actually still a smouldering pile of garbage that we walked past).  Anyway, he couldn't find it, but a nice policeman came by and gave us directions.  When Joseph failed to follow the directions correctly, the nice policeman gave us a ride to the cave, and even walked us over to it.  The caves were pretty cool; people apparently used to live there, and they looked cut rather than carved by water.  Still, though, they were the first marble caves I've seen.  Nice!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/18/onwards-and-outwards.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>He didn't actually have much idea where he was going; he'd been there only once before, and that time was in a car, not to mention that the look of the area we were searching in had been drastically changed by a fire recently (there was actually still a smouldering pile of garbage that we walked past).  Anyway, he couldn't find it, but a nice policeman came by and gave us directions.  When Joseph failed to follow the directions correctly, the nice policeman gave us a ride to the cave, and even walked us over to it.  The caves were pretty cool; people apparently used to live there, and they looked cut rather than carved by water.  Still, though, they were the first marble caves I've seen.  Nice!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/16/earth-wind-and-fire.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/18/onwards-and-outwards.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>onwards and outwards</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/17/extremely-hot-and-incredibly-drunk.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/19/halfway-tent.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>onwards and outwards</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-18</div></div><div id="content"><p>And we're off once more! Today we leave the laid-back pace of homestead life in the Valencian foothills to continue on our circuitous path for Istanbul - which, by some quick Google Maps-aided calculations undertaken out of curiosity, is still some 7000 km away. So much for our distance estimates: the trip is actually about 12 000 km long. Nevertheless, we are confident we can make it in time. We have improved immeasurably since those first few days out of Copenhagen, and are now solidly proficient at climbing all sorts of hills in all kinds of weather...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>onwards and outwards</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/17/extremely-hot-and-incredibly-drunk.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/19/halfway-tent.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>onwards and outwards</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-18</div></div><div id="content"><p>And we're off once more! Today we leave the laid-back pace of homestead life in the Valencian foothills to continue on our circuitous path for Istanbul - which, by some quick Google Maps-aided calculations undertaken out of curiosity, is still some 7000 km away. So much for our distance estimates: the trip is actually about 12 000 km long. Nevertheless, we are confident we can make it in time. We have improved immeasurably since those first few days out of Copenhagen, and are now solidly proficient at climbing all sorts of hills in all kinds of weather...</p>
 <p>We start off the morning by rising early, gathering our personal effects, packing everything up, and loading the bikes. With that done, we cook a spot of breakfast - scrambled eggs with a side of eggplant-chickpea mash, the latter resulting from a culinary experiment that turned out not quite as expected. Lesson learned: olive oil does not heat as well as lighter oils and is thus unsuitable for deep-frying. After the meal, we set to painting over the first coat in Joseph's room, finishing a job that we had started a couple of days ago. Finally, we exchange our farewells about 1100 and head off for the train station in Llíria, where we grab the metro into Valencia - we could bike this, but it is already quite late and the mercury is steadily rising...and besides, the inland jaunt from Valencia to Llíria is not strictly part of our route.</p>
 <p>In Valencia, we decide to pass the midday hours drinking orange juice and tea in a café off one of the main squares; this is a prime opportunity to catch up on any Internets we may have missed in our atavistic rural paradise over the last couple of days - for although it was possible to get a connection in Pedralba, it was not exactly reliable. We make our way out of the city later in the afternoon, managing to locate the northern exit and smaller highways without the undue effort that has characterized many of our city-leaving attempts. Valencia is not very large, it seems...</p>
-<p>...and the path takes us up along the coast, along bike paths past fields and dirt roads by RENFE lines, even dumping us into an orchard at one point - but we make it a fair way out of Valencia before calling it a night, stopping with enough time to find an open supermarket and grab the ingredients for a lentil-fish curry-stew concoction (which, despite the unappetizing description, is tasty indeed!) We had spotted an orange grove behind what we thought was an abandoned farm building; however, when we go to check it out, we are subjected to a barrage of barking dogs from within...so we instead camp in a play fort underneath the play structure in this playground just out of the small town we stopped in. Our hobosity augments itself yet again...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/17/extremely-hot-and-incredibly-drunk.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/19/halfway-tent.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...and the path takes us up along the coast, along bike paths past fields and dirt roads by RENFE lines, even dumping us into an orchard at one point - but we make it a fair way out of Valencia before calling it a night, stopping with enough time to find an open supermarket and grab the ingredients for a lentil-fish curry-stew concoction (which, despite the unappetizing description, is tasty indeed!) We had spotted an orange grove behind what we thought was an abandoned farm building; however, when we go to check it out, we are subjected to a barrage of barking dogs from within...so we instead camp in a play fort underneath the play structure in this playground just out of the small town we stopped in. Our hobosity augments itself yet again...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/17/extremely-hot-and-incredibly-drunk.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/19/halfway-tent.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>halfway tent</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/18/onwards-and-outwards.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/20/our-house-in-the-middle-of-the-park.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>halfway tent</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-19</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Time slogs or sprints.. which?<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>halfway tent</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/18/onwards-and-outwards.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/20/our-house-in-the-middle-of-the-park.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>halfway tent</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-19</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Time slogs or sprints.. which?<br />
 Travelling tweaks time senses,<br />
 Gives fresh perspective.</i></p>
 <p>We're now halfway through the time of our trip: hurray!  It's going to be just over 6 months, from 15 May to 23 November, and this is haalfwaaaaaaaaay!!!</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>We spent a fair amount of today along the coast.  Well, "along the coast" in the sense that the roads we took were very close to the water, but we generally couldn't see much due to condos and hotels and the like that had sprung up on all beachfront property.  Fortunately, there were boardwalks behind them some of the time, which we happily rode along.  We spent some time discussing the fact that it's going to be impossible for us to drive a car when we get back across the pond.  A good part of our navigation now hinges on the facts that we can a) take small dirt paths, b) go the wrong way up streets occasionally, and c) ride on sidewalks when necessary.  Those things are generally frowned upon when one conducts an automobile.</p>
 <p>As we neared our goal, a town called Santo Carlos de la Rápita, the scenery changed for the sadder.  Due to a lot of expansion of the blessed autoroutes in this area, in conjunction with the building of several large industrial plants, there are a lot of abandoned buildings around.  We stopped in a hotel along the side and poked around.  Some areas of it were collapsing, but in general it was in reasonable condition and just covered in graffiti.  Art.</p>
 <p>We took our break in Santo Carlos, and we intended to hang out in a park or something until evening fell and we could go somewhere interesting and perhaps meet people (and perhaps convince them to host us ;)), but we were chased into a café rather early by a giant thunderstorm that lasted several hours.  Not the end of the world, but we didn't manage to find any hosts...</p>
-<p>Anyway, we headed out when it was dark and camped in the natural park of the Ebro river delta.  It's nice out here, but mostly flat and mostly farmland (as one might imagine a river delta to be).  Tomorrow we head further towards Barcelona!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/18/onwards-and-outwards.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/20/our-house-in-the-middle-of-the-park.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Anyway, we headed out when it was dark and camped in the natural park of the Ebro river delta.  It's nice out here, but mostly flat and mostly farmland (as one might imagine a river delta to be).  Tomorrow we head further towards Barcelona!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/18/onwards-and-outwards.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/20/our-house-in-the-middle-of-the-park.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>our house - in the middle of the park</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/19/halfway-tent.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/21/catal-n-music-tourist.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>our house - in the middle of the park</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-20</div></div><div id="content"><p>Leaving the Ebro delta and its straight-line paths etched into swampy river deposit soil in early dawn to beat the morning rush. We rise to the sun, rays gleaming off dew-streaked tent fabric, the anti-camouflage orange beaming in its barely-hidden roadside refuge. 12 km into the next town, where we find ourselves dancing around the autopísta bridge over the river to find another less car-centric crossing further down - good opportunity for a morning stretch and petrol station bakery pastry. Petrol stations and bakeries: and never the twain shall meet...but this is Europe, where nothing is so sacred that it cannot support an overpriced café. Valkyrie quips that she should make it her mission to take coffee at every UNESCO World Heritage Site, and I agree. Why not? Coffee is the fruit of colonialism's worst excesses, that quaint precursor of our modern predilection for stripping the earth bare, packing it up in neat containers, and shipping the whole mess halfway around the globe to be reconstituted into food additives or something equally banal.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>our house - in the middle of the park</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/19/halfway-tent.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/21/catal-n-music-tourist.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>our house - in the middle of the park</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-20</div></div><div id="content"><p>Leaving the Ebro delta and its straight-line paths etched into swampy river deposit soil in early dawn to beat the morning rush. We rise to the sun, rays gleaming off dew-streaked tent fabric, the anti-camouflage orange beaming in its barely-hidden roadside refuge. 12 km into the next town, where we find ourselves dancing around the autopísta bridge over the river to find another less car-centric crossing further down - good opportunity for a morning stretch and petrol station bakery pastry. Petrol stations and bakeries: and never the twain shall meet...but this is Europe, where nothing is so sacred that it cannot support an overpriced café. Valkyrie quips that she should make it her mission to take coffee at every UNESCO World Heritage Site, and I agree. Why not? Coffee is the fruit of colonialism's worst excesses, that quaint precursor of our modern predilection for stripping the earth bare, packing it up in neat containers, and shipping the whole mess halfway around the globe to be reconstituted into food additives or something equally banal.</p>
 <p>Digressions are easy out here - mental, navigational, whatever. The terrain invites it, perhaps; in this part at least, it is flat...except that is wishful thinking, for no sooner have we put some meagre distance between ourselves and the delta croplands than the N-340 (which, as we learn later, is simply an Automobile Age take on the Via Augusta that connected these lands millenia ago, and which Emperor Augustus himself ordered renovated from 8 to 2 BC) climbs around an impassable stretch of coastal mountains. We ride on. Hills and mountains mean very little by now. The work is not even really hard; it is long, protracted, incremental, all of these things - but not difficult, not strenuous. The topographical peculiarities bring magnificent views at the cost of distance and effort, a worthy tradeoff...</p>
 <p>...and we reach Tarragona for midday, riding through its exurbs past Universal Mediterranea and a multi-stenched bank of chemical plants (one of which, we wryly note, specializes in animal food products) to reach a lackluster downtown where we pause for local beers in the restaurant-café of this hotel, this being the first place we locate with wifi. After that, we head out along the coast towards a pair of ancient Roman landmarks. The first is a Roman funereal pylon, the second a triumphal arch at Bará, both ostensibly placed here to ensure that travellers and merchants properly remembered the glory of Rome on their way...</p>
-<p>...the road drops away from the N-340 along the coast. We are glad to leave the busy highway behind, since we vastly prefer the boardwalks and beachside trails out this way. We have entered a veritable tourist mecca here, a zone far enough from hectic Barcelona to provide the illusion of peaceful privacy yet close enough that one is never without the necessities of life; for what is life without surfboard shops, late-night supermarkets, and cafés that line the beaches piercing star-speckled darkness with garish neon signs? This is not the place for stealth camping; it is far too upscale and pristine, a place with that familiar touristic varnish...and yet, against all odds, we happen upon this abandoned building in a park surrounded by apartments, an anachronism somehow spared the increasingly rapid march of progress - and we eat a sumptuous camping-stove meal of tortilla patata, melón y jamón, and bocadillo con queso y champiñon, our hacked-together take on tapas in cyclist-portion format. A quick hop down to the beach where we exchange the car exhaust that by now coats every last surface of our lungs for the relatively clean sea breeze, then off to bed on the terrace of an old house that is ours for a night, graffiti and all...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/19/halfway-tent.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/21/catal-n-music-tourist.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...the road drops away from the N-340 along the coast. We are glad to leave the busy highway behind, since we vastly prefer the boardwalks and beachside trails out this way. We have entered a veritable tourist mecca here, a zone far enough from hectic Barcelona to provide the illusion of peaceful privacy yet close enough that one is never without the necessities of life; for what is life without surfboard shops, late-night supermarkets, and cafés that line the beaches piercing star-speckled darkness with garish neon signs? This is not the place for stealth camping; it is far too upscale and pristine, a place with that familiar touristic varnish...and yet, against all odds, we happen upon this abandoned building in a park surrounded by apartments, an anachronism somehow spared the increasingly rapid march of progress - and we eat a sumptuous camping-stove meal of tortilla patata, melón y jamón, and bocadillo con queso y champiñon, our hacked-together take on tapas in cyclist-portion format. A quick hop down to the beach where we exchange the car exhaust that by now coats every last surface of our lungs for the relatively clean sea breeze, then off to bed on the terrace of an old house that is ours for a night, graffiti and all...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/19/halfway-tent.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/21/catal-n-music-tourist.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>catalán music tourist</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/20/our-house-in-the-middle-of-the-park.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/22/gaudi-falafel.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>catalán music tourist</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-21</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Summer's fiestas:<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>catalán music tourist</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/20/our-house-in-the-middle-of-the-park.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/22/gaudi-falafel.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>catalán music tourist</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-21</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Summer's fiestas:<br />
 Townie and tourist alike<br />
 Dragged into good times.</i></p>
 <p>After some weird dreams prevented us from sleeping entirely properly, we packed up our tent and gear and said good-by to the house that was ours for the night.  I do wonder what it used to be, and why the land wasn't valuable enough to sell for apartment development or something...</p>
@@ -9,4 +9,4 @@
 <p>For the evening, we got some tickets to a Catalan music performance in the Palau de la Música Catalana.  It was just 8€ for 30 minutes of fabulous piano duo.  They played some Gershwin, and they also played stuff we had never heard of: for instance, a tango written by a Turkish man who spent a long time in Argentina.  Some of it was wildly experimental (they played the wires of the piano directly by reaching in through the top), and some of it was fairly classical and supremely impressive.</p>
 <p>Later we wandered the streets in an attempt to find one of the famous discotecas in town, but not much seemed to be happening.  A bartender heading to work saw how lost we looked, and recommended that we check out an area further to the north called Gracias.  There was a festival going on, and that was where everyone was tonight.</p>
 <p>Part of the festival involved a competition between streets for being designated "the most playful."  People took this in different ways, ranging from a street outfitted with gigantic Lego bricks to a street with a Singstar (karaoke game) competition to a street with Dragonball art plastered on every available surface.  It was neat, and not something most tourists get to see, I'd wager.</p>
-<p>Such was the night in Barcelona.  Now we'll be lulled to sleep by the sea...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/20/our-house-in-the-middle-of-the-park.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/22/gaudi-falafel.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Such was the night in Barcelona.  Now we'll be lulled to sleep by the sea...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/20/our-house-in-the-middle-of-the-park.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/22/gaudi-falafel.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>gaudi falafel</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/21/catal-n-music-tourist.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/23/ordained-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>gaudi falafel</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-22</div></div><div id="content"><p>Woke up bleary-eyed from yesterday's nocturnal wanderings in the second-floor hostel room to an already-bustling common room of travellers - food trumps sleep, it seems, and setting breakfast early in the morning is a good way to clear out the facilities for the next daily crowd...but breakfast falls short of satisfying, accustomed as we are to our four-course (bocadillo, pastry, yoghurt with müsli, and tea or other drink) roadside repast. Oh well; it was included with the bed, which at high season prices means we had better milk the place for everything it will give us - so we grab three plates between the two of us, greedily cramming the dry toasts down our throats with all the butter and jam we can spread on them.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>gaudi falafel</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/21/catal-n-music-tourist.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/23/ordained-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>gaudi falafel</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-22</div></div><div id="content"><p>Woke up bleary-eyed from yesterday's nocturnal wanderings in the second-floor hostel room to an already-bustling common room of travellers - food trumps sleep, it seems, and setting breakfast early in the morning is a good way to clear out the facilities for the next daily crowd...but breakfast falls short of satisfying, accustomed as we are to our four-course (bocadillo, pastry, yoghurt with müsli, and tea or other drink) roadside repast. Oh well; it was included with the bed, which at high season prices means we had better milk the place for everything it will give us - so we grab three plates between the two of us, greedily cramming the dry toasts down our throats with all the butter and jam we can spread on them.</p>
 <p>Then it's off into the city to make up for lost time - here in Barcelona, the world's 12th most visited city (and Europe's 4th), the day of rest is merely a suggestion...we start off with a climb up past Gran Via, past Grácia, through the hillside neighbourhoods panting in the stifling humid Mediterranean it's-only-mid-morning-but-already-35-degrees-out heat to Parc Güell, where we are greeted with the full fantasy-sugarland force of Gaudi's imagination. Parc Güell, we later learn, was originally designed as a housing development for those wealthy enough to even consider living in the hills surrounding the city below. It has space for 60 lots, only two of which were ever purchased...but the city saw fit to purchase the land in 1923, whereupon the existing gardens, archways, and pavilions were preserved and the area was converted into a public park -which it remains to this day; entrance is blissfully gratis.</p>
 <p>We spend some time poking around Parc Güell, climbing its various hills and exploring all its corners, then head out and up (and back, due to a navigational snafu!) to the funicular up to Tibidabo, which is this sort of panoramic view-cum-telecommunications post-cum-amusement park-cum-expiatory chapel district atop one of the hills around Barcelona. The view is impressive! In keeping with standard practice, the café and church are divided into two parts: one easily accessible part for the bulk of tourists, and one slightly removed part - perhaps up or down a flight of stairs hidden around the back - for the small minority of tourists un-lazy enough to search around a bit...we check out the chapel, grab a drink at the café, and walk down the road to the observatory...</p>
 <p>...only to find that, much like everything else we attempt to visit on this trip, it is closed for the season. Oh well; there is a beautiful path leading down the mountain, supposedly used by seasoned mountain bikers - but we only see one, and he is (perhaps wisely) walking his bike slowly down the steep rocky inclines. The path opens out onto a road that winds down the hillside some more before reaching a fork; following the path we deem most likely to lead us back to our bikes (which are firmly attached with every lock we own to a post at the funicular base station), we quickly find that we are wrong...but there is yet another path, this one less formal, leading along a fence down one of the exposed slopes and around the back of the municipal animal shelter. We finally arrive at the bikes and ride back into the city, passing several pharmacy signs that flash 42 degrees Celsius at us in menacing red digital type...</p>
 <p>...and we see some more Gaudi buildings in the city, including the Palau Gaudi which is supposedly the first of Gaudi's works in Barcelona (though, as we find out, not the first overall...) Afterwards, we follow a suggestion from one of Valkyrie's friends and head over to Montjüic with its hilltop castle, sprawling parks, and various cultural icons. The walk is long, and we consider taking the Teleféric until we walk into the station and see the exorbitant ticket prices - and the walk, in any event, is picturesque in the extreme.</p>
 <p>Day becomes evening, which we pass part of in a café off the Rambla drinking delicious batidas and using their Internet connection to catch up on that whole "real life" thing we hear is still going on elsewhere...we then grab some vegetarian fast food from this falafel stand that boasts a buffet lliure of toppings. Using our cyclist gastronomic instincts, we carefully chip away at the falafel to allow maximum topping load. Before long we are stuffed, though not enough so that we cannot wash it down with a bottle of horchata de chufa; with our stomachs teetering on the edge of uncomfortable fullness, we wobble down to the beach and grab a much-needed nap in the sand before heading back up to catch some live funk-blues-rock band in Jamboree just off Placa Reial. The pianist/keyboardist and lead guitar play with frenetic energy, their faces contorting into every chord...fantastic stuff!</p>
-<p>Nighttime now - just past midnight; we head out along the beaches in search of a place to camp, and finally find one just past a stretch of industrial land somewhat out of the city. We are both super-excited to hold the ordained cyclist ceremony tomorrow morning, thus formally marking the midway point of our trip - but sleep for now!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/21/catal-n-music-tourist.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/23/ordained-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Nighttime now - just past midnight; we head out along the beaches in search of a place to camp, and finally find one just past a stretch of industrial land somewhat out of the city. We are both super-excited to hold the ordained cyclist ceremony tomorrow morning, thus formally marking the midway point of our trip - but sleep for now!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/21/catal-n-music-tourist.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/23/ordained-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>ordained cyclists</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/22/gaudi-falafel.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/24/dilly-dali-ing.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>ordained cyclists</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-23</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Sun, sea, and heat test<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>ordained cyclists</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/22/gaudi-falafel.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/24/dilly-dali-ing.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>ordained cyclists</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#es"><img src="/icons/es.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Spain</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-23</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Sun, sea, and heat test<br />
 The valour of cyclists twain....<br />
 Pedal wrench ordains.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>But we didn't get very far.  Standing just next to our things was a man.  Next to the man was a bicycle.  Attached to the bicycle was a trailer.  Behind the trailer was a dog.  He was travelling.</p>
 <p>We stopped to talk to him for some time.  His name is Mariano Schärer, and he's findable on Facebook.  He's Swiss, and in May he decided that he was done with taking the same train to work every day and seeing the same people and working for the same boss.  So he packed up all his things and his dog and set out on a world tour that he expects to stay on for 5 years.  Evan and I thought we were going for a long time... anyway, his bike weighs 67kg, and he goes 20-50km per day.  That's a different trip from ours, and we briefly thought about how far we could go if we kept up our pace for 5 years.  All of Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia...!</p>
 <p>We did eventually get going.  He was heading to Barcelona, so we had to part ways.  I think he'll have a good time, though.  :)</p>
-<p>The ride out was lovely; part of it was along some seaside mountains that were positively breathtaking.  It was not a long ride day (only about 100km), but we got to see some amazing things, and we really liked meeting Mariano.  Tonight, we are sleeping off to the side of a fallow field near the highway.  It's actually quite nice and quiet.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/22/gaudi-falafel.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/24/dilly-dali-ing.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>The ride out was lovely; part of it was along some seaside mountains that were positively breathtaking.  It was not a long ride day (only about 100km), but we got to see some amazing things, and we really liked meeting Mariano.  Tonight, we are sleeping off to the side of a fallow field near the highway.  It's actually quite nice and quiet.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/22/gaudi-falafel.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/24/dilly-dali-ing.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>dilly dalí-ing</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/23/ordained-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/25/mozzarella-driveway.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>dilly dalí-ing</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-24</div></div><div id="content"><p>Up early from our roadside refuge, taking our now-usual breakfast of bocadillos con tomate, aceite y ajo with handfuls of dry müsli before heading up over the hills in the direction of Figueres - we had searched for the Dalí museum in Barcelona, only to have our deep ignorance exposed upon discovering that it was in fact 150 km away in the small town of Figueres, out in the shadow of los Pireneos...but this is our trip, a trip without set paths, a trip with a very short and easily explained itinerary: get to Istanbul, preferably along as much of the Mediterranean coast as possible, by November 23. (Yes, we have an exact date now - our flights back home are booked, just in time for American Thanksgiving with Valkyrie's family!) So we looked at the map and forwent our original tentative plans to cross by Cap Cerbère on the coast, modifying the intended route to head up through Figueres...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>dilly dalí-ing</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/23/ordained-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/25/mozzarella-driveway.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>dilly dalí-ing</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-24</div></div><div id="content"><p>Up early from our roadside refuge, taking our now-usual breakfast of bocadillos con tomate, aceite y ajo with handfuls of dry müsli before heading up over the hills in the direction of Figueres - we had searched for the Dalí museum in Barcelona, only to have our deep ignorance exposed upon discovering that it was in fact 150 km away in the small town of Figueres, out in the shadow of los Pireneos...but this is our trip, a trip without set paths, a trip with a very short and easily explained itinerary: get to Istanbul, preferably along as much of the Mediterranean coast as possible, by November 23. (Yes, we have an exact date now - our flights back home are booked, just in time for American Thanksgiving with Valkyrie's family!) So we looked at the map and forwent our original tentative plans to cross by Cap Cerbère on the coast, modifying the intended route to head up through Figueres...</p>
 <p>...and we bike at record speed through the relatively flat (maybe slightly uphill; the difference is not so great out on the plains) highway stretches, aided by a fierce tailwind that makes the ride seem easy. We roll into Figueres around 1230 and join the long queue that winds down from the Museo Teatro Dalí around the square and past the tourist cafés into town. Given our cyclist appetites, it becomes necessary to send one of us off to get food as we wait lest we turn to cannibalism or brute-force pillage in our mortal hunger...but we finally get in, and are greeted by the full bizarrity of surrealism: pencil-sketch monsters, objects in non-sequiturous juxtaposition, the famed melting clocks, portraits with grilled bacon. It is a carnival madhouse somehow tamed enough to pass itself off as a tourist attraction - and quite the attraction it is, for guided tours and families and photo-snapping shutterbugs fill every imaginable corner. There are ceiling murals and found objects, strangeness in every form and medium - and the central court is presided over by a triangle-tessellated dome, rings of gold faceless androgyne statues, and some fantastical tire-boat-umbrella contraption. Definitely worth the detour...</p>
 <p>...our surrealist pilgrimage completed, we hole up in the library to charge devices and peruse our many Internets. This brings us into early evening, whereupon we realize that a) we are ravenously hungry and b) we had better get going somewhere - anywhere except for the library, which is fast becoming tedious and anyways is not conducive to pitching a tent. We head off towards los Pireneos, their slowly-approaching peaks a reminder that these are our last hours in Spain after nearly two months of grueling climbs and vicious heat...</p>
 <p>...the highway mercifully takes a low pass through the mountains; it is not flat - that would be too much to ask for! - but is nevertheless much easier than our entrance into Spain...but it is getting dark and we have neither food to cook nor a place to sleep. We keep going up past sketchy roadside motels and their seedy sex clubs, through small towns, and - finally, once we near the border - a zone dedicated to supermarkets which unlike their French counterparts remain open past 2000. It is a truism of travel that borders are populated with those guilty pleasures denied the poor sods on the other side by some capricious peculiarity of local law. In some areas, that extends to alcohol, tobacco, gambling, or fireworks; here it is sensible opening hours at supermarkets, a pleasure absent throughout much of France.</p>
-<p>The border is a non-event, an unstaffed series of gates off to the side of the main autopista; we cross it without slowing down, climb the final hill through the border town, and quickly locate a dusty but serviceable plot of land between the road shoulder and a cliffside wall. We are now in France, thus bringing our travels through yet another country to a close...fantastic!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/23/ordained-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/25/mozzarella-driveway.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>The border is a non-event, an unstaffed series of gates off to the side of the main autopista; we cross it without slowing down, climb the final hill through the border town, and quickly locate a dusty but serviceable plot of land between the road shoulder and a cliffside wall. We are now in France, thus bringing our travels through yet another country to a close...fantastic!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/23/ordained-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/25/mozzarella-driveway.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>mozzarella driveway</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/24/dilly-dali-ing.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/26/pleasantly-ominous.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>mozzarella driveway</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-25</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Time to share, to chat,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>mozzarella driveway</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/24/dilly-dali-ing.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/26/pleasantly-ominous.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>mozzarella driveway</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-25</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Time to share, to chat,<br />
 Can be hard to find, but find<br />
 We must!  Or go mad!</i></p>
 <p>Waking up next to the road in France was not entirely pleasant, but I have to say that I slept better than I have the past couple nights.  It was just... noisy and rocky.  Ugh.</p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>We chatted with them for a while.  They had just met in Strasbourg (it's in France, in the Alsace region just next to Germany), and they were both on their way to Barcelona.  One of them was using a recumbent bike, which evidently loved.  He went on and on about the wind resistance being so low and all, and his friend said that, indeed, he was hard-pressed to keep up when the other was going 35 km/h.  Yikes!</p>
 <p>They were nice fellows, but we all had to get moving.  We wrapped up lunch and parted ways.  Evan and I took off up the coast, which we could unfortunately only follow for a short while.  The road system here is designed to get from place to place, rather than to meander as one chooses along coastal routes.  For this reason, it looks like much of our time in France will be spent hopping from city to city along generally the most direct path.  Sigh.</p>
 <p>So we were heading towards Narbonne.  We didn't make it quite there, and elected to stop instead in a town called Sigean (which according to our map, has a large African animals preserve nearby).  We bought some groceries and decided it was time to try out what we'd been wanting to try for some time: asking people where to find a good place to stay (and possibly getting hosted!).  So we found a likely area just on the border of town and stepped up to ask a couple guys on their driveway where nearby might be reasonable to set up the tent.  They advised us to go to an abandoned lot just down the street, and it was perfect!  We weren't hosted, but maybe that will come in time.</p>
-<p>For now, we'll eat our lentils with sauce and fried plantains.  Then, we'll watch Repo Men until the battery on our computer runs out.  Yes!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/24/dilly-dali-ing.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/26/pleasantly-ominous.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>For now, we'll eat our lentils with sauce and fried plantains.  Then, we'll watch Repo Men until the battery on our computer runs out.  Yes!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/24/dilly-dali-ing.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/26/pleasantly-ominous.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,6 +1,6 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>pleasantly ominous</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/25/mozzarella-driveway.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/27/bamboozled.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>pleasantly ominous</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-26</div></div><div id="content"><p>Our abandoned lot sleep was good as far as stealth camping sleep sessions are concerned - so good that we slept in until 0730, when the light beaming down into the tent finally woke us from our peaceful countryside slumber. Long ride into Montpellier through Narbonne, Béziers, Agde, and Sète - along highway and canal paths, over paved and unpaved ground, by mountains and marsh and beaches and flat coastline and industrial portland, in morning sun and afternoon general overcastness - roughly 120 km, most of it against a steadily blowing wind that, while not exactly on the scale of our days into Lelysted or Algeciras, nevertheless made the going noticeably harder...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>pleasantly ominous</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/25/mozzarella-driveway.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/27/bamboozled.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>pleasantly ominous</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-26</div></div><div id="content"><p>Our abandoned lot sleep was good as far as stealth camping sleep sessions are concerned - so good that we slept in until 0730, when the light beaming down into the tent finally woke us from our peaceful countryside slumber. Long ride into Montpellier through Narbonne, Béziers, Agde, and Sète - along highway and canal paths, over paved and unpaved ground, by mountains and marsh and beaches and flat coastline and industrial portland, in morning sun and afternoon general overcastness - roughly 120 km, most of it against a steadily blowing wind that, while not exactly on the scale of our days into Lelysted or Algeciras, nevertheless made the going noticeably harder...</p>
 <p>...we reached Narbonne quickly, taking tea in a café while we sorted out the usual duties: dishes, toilets, dental hygiene, email. This is our life: grabbing snatches of wifi and running water when we can, going without when there is no choice. Several days without showers now; last one was Barcelona, I think, and then our ceremonial ordainment in the Mediterranean just outside the city the following morning. This is less bothersome than it used to be - perhaps we are cleaner now that it is cooler and we need not sweat buckets in 40-degree weather; perhaps we are merely getting used to our gourmand vagrant existence...</p>
 <p>...and then on to Béziers, where we cross into town the wrong way down an old-looking one-lane-wide bridge as bemused drivers shout at us from their cars and vans - and find ourselves along a beautiful canal path! The path turns out to roughly follow our route into Agde, so we opt to follow it rather than battle the consistently rude drivers on the highway. It is also, much to our surprise, better paved than the average French road...at least until it turns into bumpy dirt track some 10 km out. I have to stop after a while to tighten the bolts around my front wheel at the axle, which have been jostled loose by the incessant flatlessness of the path.</p>
 <p>Just past Agde the morning sun hides behind a thick veil of cloud that has accumulated over the marsh stretch to Sète. It is pleasantly cool, although it removes all visual interest from an already uneventful road. To make matters worse, a previously existing Voie Verte (pedestrian and cyclist path) has been decommissioned and fenced off for whatever reason, so that we are forced to take the road and weather the constant honking from motorists. Attention French drivers: cyclists are allowed to use the road.</p>
 <p>...and then we reach Sète, passing through it under the increasingly ominous grey overhead to reach the industrial portlands just before the muscat-producing regions out of Montpellier. This road is arguably even worse to bike than the uneventful stretch from Agde to Sète, for it is busier and less scenic still. Nevertheless, we persevere and reach Montpellier by 1800, leaving ourselves more than enough time to score a bottle of local Muscat from a specialty wine shop - which we wash down with some delicious (and enormous!) savoury pastries purchased at a Middle Eastern food market just up the street up by the Centre Historique.</p>
-<p>Fortunately, our early arrival gives us ample time to find a site; we are able to rest for a bit in town before biking out towards Prafrance (for tomorrow's visit!), and we find a spot down a small out-of-the-way road by a vineyard...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/25/mozzarella-driveway.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/27/bamboozled.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Fortunately, our early arrival gives us ample time to find a site; we are able to rest for a bit in town before biking out towards Prafrance (for tomorrow's visit!), and we find a spot down a small out-of-the-way road by a vineyard...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/25/mozzarella-driveway.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/27/bamboozled.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>bamboozled</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/26/pleasantly-ominous.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/28/winding-around.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>bamboozled</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-27</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Verdant silence, soft,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>bamboozled</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/26/pleasantly-ominous.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/28/winding-around.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>bamboozled</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-27</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Verdant silence, soft,<br />
 Filters through triangle leaves.<br />
 The garden sits and breathes.</i></p>
 <p>This morning's ride was not easy... we thought that we would be heading along the edge of a mountain range indicated on our map, but we actually wound up cutting through it more than we intended.  Turns out foothills are serious business.</p>
@@ -11,4 +11,4 @@
 <p>The entire complex contains a bamboo forest, a Laotian village (with houses and rice shacks and the like constructed entirely of bamboo... there were numerous displays around here describing bamboo's use as a building material), a feng shui garden with a dragon pond and torii, aquatic gardens, greenhouses, a bonsai garden, and a bamboo labyrinth.  There was a gingko tree where we learned that gingko can survive pretty much anything, including one that grew back after being partially charred by the bombing in Hiroshima.  We also learned about ferns and their age as a species, and there were even things about making textiles and paper from many of the plants contained in the gardens.</p>
 <p>Then of course there was a shop at the end for buying plants and things made from plants and things about plants.  I wish that we had room to get a souvenir... but presumably most of the items on sale there would be findeable on the internet if we so choose.  I liked the bamboo ladders.  :)</p>
 <p>So, we headed down-ish through the mountains' edge to Alès.  We took our first hobo bath!  We didn't really make it a proper bath since we were near to town, but sometime I am sure we will.  For now, we have only washed our arms and legs in a river.  But we'll see how our hygeine progresses as the trip continues.</p>
-<p>From Alès we hit Uzés, where we stopped for a refreshing drink (anise-flavoured water, yum!) and some fries so that we could charge our laptop for a bit.  The waitress pointed us to a good spot to camp nearby where we wouldn't be bothered or be bothering anyone, so here we are.  Watching Repo Men (thanks, Henning!).</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/26/pleasantly-ominous.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/28/winding-around.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>From Alès we hit Uzés, where we stopped for a refreshing drink (anise-flavoured water, yum!) and some fries so that we could charge our laptop for a bit.  The waitress pointed us to a good spot to camp nearby where we wouldn't be bothered or be bothering anyone, so here we are.  Watching Repo Men (thanks, Henning!).</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/26/pleasantly-ominous.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/28/winding-around.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>winding around</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/27/bamboozled.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/29/cezannes-scene.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>winding around</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-28</div></div><div id="content"><p>Rose from our grassy refuge to make three-tomato, avocado, onion, yellow pepper, and melon salad with balsamic vinaigrette (it's amazing what you can do with a few basic ingredients!) before heading out on the road to Avignon, home of the antipopes - these being self-proclaimed messengers of God who installed themselves in Avignon yet were not recognized by the Catholic Church (and thus, according to ecclesiastical wisdom, mere pretenders.) The ride was relatively slow owing to persistent headwinds on the slow climbs over the low-lying mountains - really, no more than glorified hills when compared to the majestic Pyrénées and innumerable sierras of topographically tortured Spain - that fill most of the areas inland from the southern coast of France. Yet our detour was worth it, as you may be able to guess from the sheer volume of pictures it generated...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>winding around</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/27/bamboozled.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/29/cezannes-scene.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>winding around</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-28</div></div><div id="content"><p>Rose from our grassy refuge to make three-tomato, avocado, onion, yellow pepper, and melon salad with balsamic vinaigrette (it's amazing what you can do with a few basic ingredients!) before heading out on the road to Avignon, home of the antipopes - these being self-proclaimed messengers of God who installed themselves in Avignon yet were not recognized by the Catholic Church (and thus, according to ecclesiastical wisdom, mere pretenders.) The ride was relatively slow owing to persistent headwinds on the slow climbs over the low-lying mountains - really, no more than glorified hills when compared to the majestic Pyrénées and innumerable sierras of topographically tortured Spain - that fill most of the areas inland from the southern coast of France. Yet our detour was worth it, as you may be able to guess from the sheer volume of pictures it generated...</p>
 <p>...on our way to Avignon, we stop in the small town of Remoulins for tea. What we get instead is a lukewarm concoction of slightly flavoured water served with skim milk - simultaneous proof that small towns are certainly not above ripping you off, and that we are solidly in coffee country now.</p>
 <p>Another 20 km to Avignon from Remoulins along highway that is relatively nondescript save for a couple of larger-than-average hills; we cover this quickly, arriving in Avignon for late morning to lock our bikes and peruse the town. It is full of old cathedrals and gardens, and is home to several UNESCO World Heritage Sites including a well-preserved Roman bridge (which sadly charges 15€ for admission!) We content ourselves with walking around some of the parks; there is a wonderful view over the river towards an old fortress...</p>
 <p>...and, our touristic duties discharged, we attempt to find food. This proves more difficult than expected, especially in the old town which is predominantly consecrated to stately architecture and quaint cafés; we ask at a hair salon (of all places!), where we are pointed (droite, gauche, droite, gauche, hop!) to the busier lanes. This brings us to a specialty food shop with high-quality wine, preserves, and the like (along with 450€/kg morels - ZOW); nevertheless, we manage to rustle up sandwiches of Coeur-de-Boeuf tomatoes, fresh Provence figs, and five-herb goat cheese on sesame baguette. Yum! We follow this up with gelato, which is served to us by a young expat Australian who moved here a couple of months back to seek a different working environment. As is the case with most people we explain our travels to, his reactions quickly run the gamut from polite disbelief to amazement...</p>
 <p>It is now 1500, and we have seen a good portion of Avignon - at least, good enough to justify continuing on our way. We roam about the surrounding countryside on a succession of increasingly smaller lanes, so that we are less and less sure of our navigational skill - until it drops out onto a more major-looking throughfare by the train line, which leads us to a confusing autoroute junction some 10-15 km out of the city...in the right direction, thankfully! We're getting good at this ad-hoc navigation stuff.</p>
 <p>From there, we proceed along La Durance, a mostly-untamed river that borders on a nature preserve to the north with a corridor of relative inhabitation along its banks; the path is picturesque, leading us past canals and old mills with fig trees whose lower branches hold many ripe juicy figs. More yum! We finish off the sequence of gastronomic delights later on when, finally stopped for our nightly camp, we test out this local garlic-egg soup recipe that we found online. We've decided to make a commitment to try out local cuisine on the camping stove - which is difficult, since the constraints placed on us by our unusual kitchen arrangement prohibit baking (no oven!), grilling (fire prevention measures still in effect for summer!), deep-frying (we have space for one type of oil, so we carry olive oil...which heats to a lower temperature than lighter oils, and is thus unsuitable for this purpose), super-large-quantity cooking (medium-size pot, one-burner stove, no way to keep perishable food for more than a day...) But we'll still give it a shot; at the very least, we'll have a compendium of such recipes and their adaptability to camping cuisine...</p>
-<p>We set up our tent in strong winds, making sure to peg it at every corner to keep it (we hope!) firmly attached to the ground. Next it's off to Aix-en-Provence, after which we'll rejoin the southern coast through Marseille, Toulon, Cannes, Nice, Monaco...and then Italy! So close to another country...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/27/bamboozled.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/29/cezannes-scene.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We set up our tent in strong winds, making sure to peg it at every corner to keep it (we hope!) firmly attached to the ground. Next it's off to Aix-en-Provence, after which we'll rejoin the southern coast through Marseille, Toulon, Cannes, Nice, Monaco...and then Italy! So close to another country...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/27/bamboozled.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/29/cezannes-scene.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>cézanne's scene</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/28/winding-around.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/30/calanquerous.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>cézanne's scene</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-29</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Mathematicians<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>cézanne's scene</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/28/winding-around.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/30/calanquerous.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>cézanne's scene</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-29</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Mathematicians<br />
 Appreciate a painter's<br />
 Nature uniquely.</i></p>
 <p>Nary a rumble came from the train tracks all night.  We slept soundly, aside from the wind waking us up at midnight sharp (the witching hour!) by collapsing one side of our tent.  That was a sort of rude thing for it to do, but fortunately our stalwart tent popped right back up and we dreamed away the rest of the night, lulled to sleep by the raging breeze.</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>It was a long downhill into Aix, and we appreciated it.  We arrived there and were totally disoriented.  We managed to find a local market for clothes and spices, a separate one for flowers, and, after we finally found a supermarket to get ingredients for dinner, a market for fruits, vegetables, and bread.  We picked up some feta pastries, anyway.  We eat a lot.</p>
 <p>One of my friends, Carmen, studied in Aix-en-Provence for school some time ago.  I asked her recently what a few cool things to do in the area might be, and she recommended three: an archaeological site north of town, calanques between Marseilles and Cassis (probably we will head that way tomorrow), and a route that the painter Cézanne walked to feel inspired.  We spent enough time lost that we could only do the first or the third one, so we decided to explore our inner painter.</p>
 <p>The route was lovely!  From our campsite, it wound up and down hills and past châteaux and windmills and fields and trees.  At the end is "Cézanne's Windmill," where we stopped in to see a painting exhibition by some local artists.  It was quite nice.</p>
-<p>Nicer, though, was the field just outside of Le Tholonet (the town at the end of the route) was absurdly lovely in the fading light of day.  We stopped there to have a picnic and enjoy the sights.  We talked about everything and nothing and painting and math and enjoyed our pasta e fagioli (the two of us consumed an astonishing 8 servings thereof).  Now we are settled into our campsite, freshly showered and with clean dishes and clothes.  It's nice to feel civilised for once.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/28/winding-around.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/30/calanquerous.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Nicer, though, was the field just outside of Le Tholonet (the town at the end of the route) was absurdly lovely in the fading light of day.  We stopped there to have a picnic and enjoy the sights.  We talked about everything and nothing and painting and math and enjoyed our pasta e fagioli (the two of us consumed an astonishing 8 servings thereof).  Now we are settled into our campsite, freshly showered and with clean dishes and clothes.  It's nice to feel civilised for once.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/28/winding-around.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/30/calanquerous.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>calanquerous</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/29/cezannes-scene.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/31/smoke-on-the-water.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>calanquerous</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-30</div></div><div id="content"><p>Out of our campsite paradise at dawn to head over the low-lying mountains in the surrounding countryside to Marseille - and then on to the famed calanques south of the city, a series of Mediterranean fjords whose rocky folds hide picture-perfect fishing villages with their boat-filled harbours...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>calanquerous</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/29/cezannes-scene.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/31/smoke-on-the-water.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>calanquerous</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-30</div></div><div id="content"><p>Out of our campsite paradise at dawn to head over the low-lying mountains in the surrounding countryside to Marseille - and then on to the famed calanques south of the city, a series of Mediterranean fjords whose rocky folds hide picture-perfect fishing villages with their boat-filled harbours...</p>
 <p>...but first, disaster! As we exit Aix-en-Provence, it quickly becomes apparent that Valkyrie's derailleur is not going to cooperate. We pull over, get in a daily stretch, pull the bags off, grab the tools, and set to work...only to be forcibly relocated a few minutes later when a road maintenance van on its morning rounds joins us on the road shoulder. Its two occupants climb down to tell us that this is a dangerous curve - but cut themselves short upon seeing that our derailleur troubles have rendered us immobile. They jump in, attempting to adjust the derailleur limiting screws to fix the problem, testing the adjustments by rotating the pedals...but they give up quickly, deciding that this sort of problem is best left to professional bike mechanics...</p>
 <p>...which are in understandably short supply 5 km out of Aix-en-Provence along the minor highway, so they make an offer we can't refuse: they will drive us and our bikes to the nearest open bike repair shop, making use of their spacious rear cabin to carry our voluminous equipment! We are soon on our way; in passable French, I explain our journey to them with its peculiar ups and downs. We have long since reached the point where most anyone we discuss our trip with is positively floored by its sheer magnitude (well, everyone except crazy bike mechanics who have left the working world to travel for five years with their dogs and 67 kg of their dearest personal possessions...) They wish us good luck for the rest of our travels, leaving us at Decathlon - this being Monday, smaller shops are closed - with a bright yellow reflective vest courtesy of the French road service (so we can ride later at night without dying, you see.)</p>
 <p>We spend some time at Decathlon due to the pitiful state our bikes are in. Valkyrie's derailleur needs tuning; our brake pads (yes, all eight!) are worn down to the metal in several places and must be replaced (and readjusted!); the tires are under-inflated and slightly out of true...a daunting set of repairs! Nevertheless, we purchase the necessary parts, deferring any procedures we aren't familiar with to the in-store mechanics. Once that is done, we have to reorient ourselves on the map; we are now in a peripheral district of Aix-en-Provence by the name of les Milles, which puts us off our original intended route to Marseille...</p>
 <p>...but we find our way back onto it soon enough, the distance made significantly easier by our firmly-inflated inner tubes. The ride to Marseille is short, and we are soon taking a dégustation of pastis (the local anise-flavoured liqueur) by the Vieux Port and riding up around the cathedrals near Le Panier; we then cross the harbour and head for the calanques, our passage aided by blustery tailwinds.</p>
 <p>We reach the foot of the road into Morgiou about 1700 - and find the calanque closed; there is an extreme fire warning on for the day, so that remote forested areas must close their gates to protect the foolish tourists. We sit around for a bit and try to hitch a ride up the road, but no one stops to pick us up. At one point in our frustrated waiting, we even climb up into the hills around the security post, evaluating the likelihood that we could evade notice (next to zero, sadly...) Finally, we decide to talk to the security guards one more time...</p>
 <p>...and find them unusually receptive; they are a pair of expat Algerians who, upon learning that we are North American, regale us with their special Obama dance. They invite us into the booth away from the high winds, and let us lean our bikes against the outside wall; they show us pictures of the calanque at Morgiou and surrounding coastline; we share stories of our travels (again in my passable French) and read articles out of the daily papers about deranged mothers and political scandals, whatever the particular panic is today...seeing that we are completely determined to see this calanque No Matter What, they inform us that they will leave their post at 1900, at which time no one will be around to stop us from continuing on. (We don't make the rules, they assure us; it is our job to stop people, etc.) They even write out their official blessing on a sheet of paper: "Au part des agents de sécurité Momo et Sofiane"...</p>
-<p>We head up the steep road - which is steep enough in some parts that we must walk, for the first time since that dreadful headwind between Tarifa and Algeciras - and soon find ourselves in Morgiou, whereupon we lock our bikes by the harbour and quickly locate a beach suitable for cooking and camping and all such things. A long yet eventful day, and what a place to finish it in!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/29/cezannes-scene.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/31/smoke-on-the-water.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We head up the steep road - which is steep enough in some parts that we must walk, for the first time since that dreadful headwind between Tarifa and Algeciras - and soon find ourselves in Morgiou, whereupon we lock our bikes by the harbour and quickly locate a beach suitable for cooking and camping and all such things. A long yet eventful day, and what a place to finish it in!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/29/cezannes-scene.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/31/smoke-on-the-water.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>smoke on the water</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/30/calanquerous.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/01/er-warm-showers.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>smoke on the water</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-31</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Fjord fingers tickle<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>smoke on the water</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/30/calanquerous.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/01/er-warm-showers.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>smoke on the water</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-08-31</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Fjord fingers tickle<br />
 The Mediterranean,
 Cyclists climb up them.</i><br />
 </p>
@@ -11,4 +11,4 @@
 <p>The smoking, black trees continued for kilometres along the road.  It was obvious where the fire had leapt across the road, too, and there were parts where firemen were still battling smaller blazes.  News crews were on hand in case things got interesting again.  No cars were passing through, but we did see a couple other cyclists.  The road was soaked with some magenta fluid that we speculated was fire retardant.</p>
 <p>The air eventually cleared, and the rest of our ride to Toulon was uneventful.  Toulon was also uneventful, but it marked the place where we turned to head into the mountains and off the coast once more.</p>
 <p>Our road followed the motorway for some distance, making it a less-than-scenic ride.  Eventually, it turned off at a steeper angle and found its way through small towns untouched by the four-lane road.  That was pleasant.</p>
-<p>Our last stop for the evening was at an E. LeClerc in Le Luc, where we picked up a couple vegetables for dinner and some Q-tips (hurray!) and other miscellaneous items (nice thread, etc.).  Le Luc is unfortunately at the intersection of two motorways and the smaller-but-still-sort-of-major road that we were following, so it didn't afford many good locations for stealth camping.  It seemed that no one cared, though; trucks were parked all along both sides of the road, their drivers obviously catching some sleep for the night.  We found an abandoned building next to an abandoned gas station and set up in the parking lot amid graffiti.  This ground is terrible... it's loud... sigh, another night with poor sleep.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/30/calanquerous.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/01/er-warm-showers.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Our last stop for the evening was at an E. LeClerc in Le Luc, where we picked up a couple vegetables for dinner and some Q-tips (hurray!) and other miscellaneous items (nice thread, etc.).  Le Luc is unfortunately at the intersection of two motorways and the smaller-but-still-sort-of-major road that we were following, so it didn't afford many good locations for stealth camping.  It seemed that no one cared, though; trucks were parked all along both sides of the road, their drivers obviously catching some sleep for the night.  We found an abandoned building next to an abandoned gas station and set up in the parking lot amid graffiti.  This ground is terrible... it's loud... sigh, another night with poor sleep.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/30/calanquerous.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/01/er-warm-showers.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>er, warm showers</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/31/smoke-on-the-water.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/02/bella-italia.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>er, warm showers</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-01</div></div><div id="content"><p>Kudos to WarmShowers! After our previous unsuccessful attempts to track down willing hosts using the cyclist-oriented couchsurfing service, we decide to bite the bullet and ring up one of the hosts in Nice whose phone number is listed. From "Hi, we're cyclists" to "Sure, we'll be there in a bit!" the conversation lasts less than a minute; no questions are asked - such is the nature of the cycling community, where everyone wears their travels on their sleeve and must depend upon trust to get anywhere...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>er, warm showers</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/31/smoke-on-the-water.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/02/bella-italia.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>er, warm showers</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#fr"><img src="/icons/fr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">France</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-01</div></div><div id="content"><p>Kudos to WarmShowers! After our previous unsuccessful attempts to track down willing hosts using the cyclist-oriented couchsurfing service, we decide to bite the bullet and ring up one of the hosts in Nice whose phone number is listed. From "Hi, we're cyclists" to "Sure, we'll be there in a bit!" the conversation lasts less than a minute; no questions are asked - such is the nature of the cycling community, where everyone wears their travels on their sleeve and must depend upon trust to get anywhere...</p>
 <p>...we wake up by our abandoned building refuge to find that we are separated from a parked truck by little more than a spotty hedgerow. Our breakfast is simple but gourmand nonetheless: baguettes with soft goat cheese and crème de marrons d'Ardèche. This is where the lion's share of our money goes - to food and drink; but what else? We've cut everything else possible out of our budget. We camp wherever we please (within bounds of legality, or at least of discoverability); we avoid shelling out for tourist attractions (excepting the truly singular, such as the Dalí museum in Figueres); we prepare 90% of our meals ourselves (counting, of course, the lunchtime sandwiches and salads); the only true luxuries in there are the occasional stops at pastry shops or cafés or bars...</p>
 <p>...but that is immaterial right now; we've got a valley to get out of first! We ride off in the direction of Fréjus for the first 30 km or so; after ascending most of the way into the mountain valley, this part is relatively easy coasting. We make a stop along the way for our morning tea, taking time for the rituals: mark maps, wash dishes, use toilets. Fréjus is a non-event, a conglomerate of cheap hotels that we pass through quickly before veering off - missing the downtown area altogether - to take the northern route into Cannes, up through a natural park whose mostly uninhabited forests ripple down the valleys out to the sea. The signs here are stern: no smoking, a terrible privation for cigarette-bound France...</p>
 <p>We ride up, up yet more, up through about 10 km or so of steady climbing and increasing yet still moderate heat; at least that particular obstacle which dogged us all the way around the Iberian peninsula for nearly two sweat-drenched months has at last subsided. Finally we reach the mountain pass (col in French) and the riding becomes easier, taking us along flat stretches that wind around the mountains halfway up their forested slopes to the eventual downhills. Before long we are in Cannes, that centre of cinematographical fame - but there is no film festival at this time, so instead we arrive in a mostly standard strip of luxury apartments and luxury condos and luxury townhouses - enough luxury to make the head spin; here in the French Riviera, there is no room for two bedraggled tired-out filthy stinky cyclists such as ourselves...</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>...and there are no responses from WarmShowers. What to do? This is the French Riviera; one does not simply camp here, lest the sight of dirt-streaked tents mar the luxury shopping experience for the impossibly wealthy residents and tourists - and it is equally unthinkable in Monaco! In desperation, we make last-ditch attempts to find a place to stay for the night. Fortunately, some of the hosts around Nice on WarmShowers list their phone numbers - maybe that is worth a try? We top up our credit in a local tabac and start dialling...</p>
 <p>Success - and on the first try! We reach one of the hosts on her mobile, and she says she would be glad to receive us for the night; overjoyed, we bike the last leg into Nice, stop at a supermarket to pick up food and wine to greet her with, get directions from the locals (who are insistently helpful, giving us very precise bearings up the nearby roads...) and start up to her apartment. Before long we are sharing stories of our travels once more, this time on a third-floor balcony overlooking the sea at sunset. We have purchased approximately three metric whackloads of ingredients for eggplant parmigiana - the prospect of having an oven to cook in is simply too good to pass up, so we take full advantage and bake up enough to go around.</p>
 <p>Our host is an avid rock climber - a sport well suited to the alpine surroundings! - and has travelled extensively throughout Europe and the Middle East; she has even spent four days in Istanbul, sadly not enough to gain more than a cursory familiarity with the ancient crossroads of might both military and economic. Her bathroom features a map of hiking routes through the Alps; her bookshelf is full of travel guides and classic literature...</p>
-<p>...and we share our photos into the night over the eggplant parmigiana and wine, stopping only once exhaustion sets in and beckons us to bed. This marks the first shower in a week, the first laundry stop in a few days; life is good!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/08/31/smoke-on-the-water.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/02/bella-italia.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...and we share our photos into the night over the eggplant parmigiana and wine, stopping only once exhaustion sets in and beckons us to bed. This marks the first shower in a week, the first laundry stop in a few days; life is good!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/08/31/smoke-on-the-water.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/02/bella-italia.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>bella italia!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/01/er-warm-showers.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>bella italia!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-02</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>The air is stiller,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>bella italia!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/01/er-warm-showers.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>bella italia!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-02</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>The air is stiller,<br />
 Not clouded by klaxons,<br />
 Bella Italia!</i></p>
 <p>Out of Monaco, we rode up and down along more of the rolling seaside road.  It wasn't long thereafter that we hit the Italian border.  That's another country down!  We were excited to think that we are now done with Danmark, Deutschland, Belgium, the UK, Spain, Portugal, Morocco, and France.  All that's left are Italia, Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, Albania, Greece, and Turkey!  And, fortunately, none of those is as large as Spain.</p>
 <p>So, Italia!  The road suddenly became a lot more paved across the border.  We speculated that all that Roman heritage stuff contributes to Italian people's having a pretty good idea of how to build a nice, smooth road.  The sun was lowering, but not yet set when we found our stopping-spot for the night.</p>
 <p>It's a town called Ventimiglia, and it's cute!  It's just on the other side of a long tunnel.  A river splits it in half, running into the sea.  We stopped at a bar in the middle of town for a glass of wine to celebrate our completion of another country, and we realised that we hadn't looked at our phrase guide for Italian.  At all.  Oops.  "Vino rosso" was enough to get us through that interaction, but we're hoping to pull that out tomorrow morning or something...</p>
 <p>A campsite here wasn't hard to find.  Looking to the beach, we actually saw several people who had set up for the night in plain sight.  It might be easy in Italy to "stealth camp."  :)  We aren't even bothering with a tent, though; a sleeping bag in the sand should do.</p>
-<p>After our dinner of zucchini and pasta, we are ready to settle down into our new country.  It's going to be beautiful.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/01/er-warm-showers.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>After our dinner of zucchini and pasta, we are ready to settle down into our new country.  It's going to be beautiful.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/01/er-warm-showers.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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diff --git a/webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html b/webroot/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html
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--- a/webroot/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>borat says: it's nice!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/02/bella-italia.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/03/swimming-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>borat says: it's nice!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#mc"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/mc.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Monaco</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-02</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>France is France is France,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>borat says: it's nice!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/02/bella-italia.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/03/swimming-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>borat says: it's nice!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#mc"><img src="/icons/mc.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Monaco</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-02</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>France is France is France,<br />
 But the Riviera is<br />
 Lovely in new ways.</i></p>
 <p>Waking up in Règine's apartment was amazing.  We slept in until about 8, which is pretty late for us, and were treated to a delicious French breakfast including bread, honey from the man down the street, homemade orange preserves from a friend, Nutella, butter, and tea.  We could get used to this Warm Showers thing.</p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>We wandered a bit through the old town, which was brightly coloured and tight.  Pastry and gelato shops lined every square, and it was packed with tourists.  The end of the high season, I suppose.  Every town we've seen along this stretch has been so beautiful, though; the beaches are perfectly-groomed and endless, and the waterfront buildings are pristine.  It's almost... eerie.</p>
 <p>But we headed out!  After finishing the leftover eggplant parmaggiana, that is.  Towards... Monaco.  The first thing we saw across the border was a luxury car dealer.</p>
 <p>Monaco is a principality, which is to say that it is ruled by a prince!  It's the second smallest self-governed area in the world (after Vatican City), it is protected by France's military in times of conflict, it is required to align its diplomatic interests with France, but the most important thing about it is that it does not levy income tax on individuals.  This leads to its being rather rich.  Crews are, in fact, setting up for a yacht show right now.</p>
-<p>We're sitting in a gelato shop on top the hill across the street from the Prince's palace.  Watching people go by here isn't so different from watching people go by in other places; none of them seem to know where they are going, they all love buying t-shirts with MONACO printed on them, and there's a lot of English.  We were hoping to hit the Monte Carlo casino later, but we don't have a safe place to keep our bicycles, and this is not a good place to let them stay on their own.  We'll probably head out as soon as we can find our way back to a reasonable road, but we wanted to have a post from this tiny, tiny principality.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/02/bella-italia.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/03/swimming-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We're sitting in a gelato shop on top the hill across the street from the Prince's palace.  Watching people go by here isn't so different from watching people go by in other places; none of them seem to know where they are going, they all love buying t-shirts with MONACO printed on them, and there's a lot of English.  We were hoping to hit the Monte Carlo casino later, but we don't have a safe place to keep our bicycles, and this is not a good place to let them stay on their own.  We'll probably head out as soon as we can find our way back to a reasonable road, but we wanted to have a post from this tiny, tiny principality.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/02/bella-italia.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/03/swimming-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>swimming in the sea</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/04/famous-lost-people-of-history.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>swimming in the sea</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-03</div></div><div id="content"><p>Up at the crack of dawn to brush the rocky dust off our sleeping bag. An army of tents and caravans has assembled itself on the beachside roads; this turns out to be a clothing market, much to our dismay - we can't carry additional clothing, much less eat it. Priorities change utterly during long bike trips. Food and sleep are paramount, while shirts may be worn until they hang off your neck from a single thread...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>swimming in the sea</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/04/famous-lost-people-of-history.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>swimming in the sea</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-03</div></div><div id="content"><p>Up at the crack of dawn to brush the rocky dust off our sleeping bag. An army of tents and caravans has assembled itself on the beachside roads; this turns out to be a clothing market, much to our dismay - we can't carry additional clothing, much less eat it. Priorities change utterly during long bike trips. Food and sleep are paramount, while shirts may be worn until they hang off your neck from a single thread...</p>
 <p>We ride up the beach, grabbing a quick bite from a small bakery and food shop staffed by a friendly-looking generic Italian man. Purchasing food has become a minor ordeal now with the language barrier. We have definitively entered that portion of our trip where we can no longer communicate freely - granted, it was that way in the various alternate-language regions of Spain, but Castellano was at least reluctantly accepted as the common tongue - and must instead resort to a strange combination of gestures and Franspañolglish to get our point across. Pan! Pain! Bread! That thing up there on the wall! Point! Grunt! It's like being catapulted into some broad pastiche of preliterate Stone Age stereotypes.</p>
 <p>But back to the trip. We ride up a bit further, finding a fountain back on the main route towards Genova - and quickly discover that we left our knife behind...and so we ride back to the beach, fighting the steadily thickening pedestrian traffic around the market (too much stuff, not enough things!) to park our bikes and comb the stones for any hint of glistening metal...but we come up empty-handed. We decide to at least take a different route out from our campsite this time; nothing enhances that dejected failure feeling quite like having to take the same route twice...</p>
 <p>...and this time we do something right, for we happen upon the food market. That's more like it! The aisles are full of butchers and fruit stands and - further proof that we have truly entered Italia - pasta vendors, their bins brimming with freshly-made pasta in every colour and with every filling imaginable. We eat, stop for caffé, mull over the morning's setbacks; it is now 1000, and the sun has long since climbed over the mountains. Time to head out, finally - we are soon on the road, booking it for Genova to make up for the lost morning hours. Road signs are less informative, and it takes us a while to find one that marks the distance to Genova (142 km, just a bit too far to make it with a late start along these mountainous coastal roads.)</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>We follow that for some 20 km until it dead-ends in a construction fence - apparently there are some parts of the coastline that are too space-squeezed even for a bike path...but it was nice while it lasted. We fumble around, hoping to bypass the fence somehow and join the path again - but there is no more path, and so we finally cave in and take the road.</p>
 <p>A great shadow has lifted over our trip, we note; we are at last roughly as silly as we were before - some time long before, way in the North, way up in the lands where the cycling was less strenuous and hospitality was more frequent, where we camped in campgrounds rather than bunkering down just off the road shoulder - no longer labouring in the oppressive heat (that our good friend HST even had difficulty explaining himself in, hmmm.) We sing silly songs and crack silly jokes and make up silly wordplay puns as we ride along. We inhale deep lungfuls of salty sea air, smiling those big wide stupid grins that are reserved for the truly happy. We talk about anything and everything - how excited we are for future travels, both during and after this trip; our plans to wreak havoc in San Francisco; even the Improv Everywhere-style musical we could stitch together from the songs we largely improvise as we ride along...</p>
 <p>...and, towards the end of the day, we come across a rocky outcropping along the coast between two smallish towns. It has beach access and enough flat space to pitch a tent - perfect! We pull over, pop our gear off, hoist the bikes over the guardrail, lock them firmly, and take a quick swim. As we dry off, two haggard-looking travellers jump the guardrail, their backs weighed down with packs that carry bedrolls and sleeping bags (but, as we learn, no tent...) They are German, from the southern regions near the Swiss border; they are younger than ourselves (by five years! Most travellers we meet are slightly older); they hitchhiked their way down through Milano and Genova, taking a bus out here to find a spot by the seaside...</p>
-<p>...and, as the night wears on and our meal is nearly ready, they pull out a guitar and regale us with music before we retire separately, they to their beachside sleeping bags and we to our tent up by the bikes (which, sadly, we must guard with our lives...) Perhaps we will greet the morning with another quick swim - but for now, there is sleep...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/04/famous-lost-people-of-history.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...and, as the night wears on and our meal is nearly ready, they pull out a guitar and regale us with music before we retire separately, they to their beachside sleeping bags and we to our tent up by the bikes (which, sadly, we must guard with our lives...) Perhaps we will greet the morning with another quick swim - but for now, there is sleep...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/02/borat-says-its-nice.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/04/famous-lost-people-of-history.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>famous lost people of history</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/03/swimming-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/05/escape-hobosity.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>famous lost people of history</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-04</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Interchangeable,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>famous lost people of history</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/03/swimming-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/05/escape-hobosity.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>famous lost people of history</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-04</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Interchangeable,<br />
 Uniform, but still lovely:<br />
 Italian sea towns...</i></p>
 <p>Instead of riding some distance and then stopping to stretch, this morning we quickly put all our things away and threw on our swimsuits once more.  A quick dip in the sea (we swam out to a nearby cliff and back) warmed us up sufficiently for a stretch.  Good heavens, we are terrible swimmers these days.  It's hard to stay afloat when your arms are useless and you have a lot of muscle density.</p>
@@ -13,4 +13,4 @@
 <i>Where do you bike?</i>  Italy, Spain, France, ... everywhere!<br />
 <i>Where do you sleep?</i>  By the sea!<br />
 <i>Lovely!  The stars are beautiful.</i>  (This was a big change from the French attitude of, "ew, you dirty cyclists.")</p>
-<p>The sun started setting, and we got on our bikes to ride out.  It was a long ride to this campsite, and a lot of it was uphill.  This campsite isn't even very good (it's a terrace along the side of the road that has a few square metres of grass and a couple trees that hide it from the streetlight nearby), but it was already so late when we stopped that we really had no choice.  We finished our leftover squash pasta, and now it's time for bed.  <em>yawn</em></p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/03/swimming-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/05/escape-hobosity.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>The sun started setting, and we got on our bikes to ride out.  It was a long ride to this campsite, and a lot of it was uphill.  This campsite isn't even very good (it's a terrace along the side of the road that has a few square metres of grass and a couple trees that hide it from the streetlight nearby), but it was already so late when we stopped that we really had no choice.  We finished our leftover squash pasta, and now it's time for bed.  <em>yawn</em></p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/03/swimming-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/05/escape-hobosity.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>escape hobosity</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/04/famous-lost-people-of-history.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/06/a-pisa-my-mind.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>escape hobosity</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-05</div></div><div id="content"><p>First, a word about hobo camping. It isn't regular camping, nor is it stealth camping; stealth is secondary to a balls-to-the-wall nonchalance about where exactly you camp - whether it's in proximity to heavily or even moderately trafficked roads, on private property, in city limits...and so it is with this terrace campsite. As we wake up, we realize for the first time the monumental hobosity of our chosen campsite. We are next to a road - and not just any road, but The Major Road through these parts. Granted, these parts happen to be mountainous and so not really conducive to roads of any real size, but there it is anyways. We are behind a pile of olive branches that looks to have been made within the last two days - this land is used, and frequently so. We are underneath a fig tree whose plump juicy figs we pick shortly after packing up...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>escape hobosity</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/04/famous-lost-people-of-history.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/06/a-pisa-my-mind.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>escape hobosity</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-05</div></div><div id="content"><p>First, a word about hobo camping. It isn't regular camping, nor is it stealth camping; stealth is secondary to a balls-to-the-wall nonchalance about where exactly you camp - whether it's in proximity to heavily or even moderately trafficked roads, on private property, in city limits...and so it is with this terrace campsite. As we wake up, we realize for the first time the monumental hobosity of our chosen campsite. We are next to a road - and not just any road, but The Major Road through these parts. Granted, these parts happen to be mountainous and so not really conducive to roads of any real size, but there it is anyways. We are behind a pile of olive branches that looks to have been made within the last two days - this land is used, and frequently so. We are underneath a fig tree whose plump juicy figs we pick shortly after packing up...</p>
 <p>...but sometimes these gestures, crude though they seem in retrospect, are necessary. What is a fig? To the owners of this tree, just one among many that they might eat with a breakfast at the table or at the end of the day (perhaps accompanied by a nighttime espresso, the surefire remedy for our unfortunate though natural tendency to sleep) - but for us, it is a significant component of a meagre breakfast that might be just enough to get us over this mountain. For we start our day by continuing the long uphill; we are roughly halfway finished when a scooter passes us, slows to a halt, and doubles back...at first we suspect mischief, but the riders instead point to their rear storage and yell "Brioche con crema! Buenissimo! Buenissimo!" They then pull up alongside our path, open the hatch, and pass us a creme-filled croissant as we pass by. Since a breakfast of dry granola and two fresh figs is not exactly equal to the metabolic demands of hardened cyclists, we devour it with reckless abandon...</p>
 <p>...this is a day of hills - uphills, downhills, hills by the coast, hills slightly inland, hills through passes, hills through towns...hills. This process is interminable. It started with that large hill - though we climbed it without much effort, it was then followed by another, and another, and...at one point, we try to head down to the coast and take some coastal roads marked on our map. Unfortunately, our venture is unsuccessful; this route is dotted with long tunnels, and the first such tunnel is very clearly marked with a sign prohibiting passage by bicycle. We try anyways, but shy away when we see the entrance - it maintains alternate circulation by means of a traffic light at each end, which means that we would have to keep pace with the cars to avoid being run over by opposing vehicles once the light switches.</p>
 <p>This bit of news means we must instead take the high route over the pass, which at 600 m elevation is roughly as high up as some of our morning ascents during the Camino de Santiago in the north of Spain - so we are, of course, perfectly able to do this; but it is nonetheless hard work, and we grunt our way slowly up the steeper parts. As we near the top, there are wild blackberries growing on vines. A perfect snack! We pull over, cautiously rub some on our skin, taste a small part of the berry - in these circumstances, it is prudent to make sure first - before digging in, grabbing bunches off the vine. We then continue up and are soon at the pass, our progress buoyed by the influx of natural sugars...</p>
 <p>...and the road drops into a village, after which there is one more serious climb before the road at last levels off and slowly winds down through the river valleys into La Spezia. Once there, we stop to ask for a supermarket - but this is no longer as simple as it was in Spain or France, for our mastery of foreign languages does not extend to Italian. In broken psuedo-Italian, we inquire in a bookshop; the lady at the desk points us in the general direction, but we are unable to grasp the finer points of her instructions...so we head up that way a few blocks, look around, satisfy ourselves that we are not going to find this thing on our own, and ask again - some man, seeing that we appear quite lost, asks us if we are looking for the station - I respond that we are looking for a supermercatto, and he gives us further directions. We start off in what we think is the direction he indicated - but this is apparently incorrect, for he grabs us again and leads us through La Spezia to the nearby Dí per Dí.</p>
 <p>Food! We have started to cook the next day's lunch at dinner, a task made easier by the preponderance of pasta in Italia. Pasta cooks faster than rice or lentils; with fresh rather than dry pasta, such as is available in most of the supermarkets here, it is even faster...and it is still relatively cheap to boot. This time, however, we have a good deal of couscous purchased earlier on, so we decide to spring for some butter - the first time we've used butter on our trip! - and cook a delicious meal up the road by our campsite of couscous with pearl onions and whole mushrooms cooked in butter and balsamic...</p>
 <p>...and the campsite. We head out by Lerici, passing through a town where the residents inform us that no, we may not set our tent in the park next to their apartment buildings; we are all set to slog out to the end of the peninsula when we spot a steep road heading up past some housing with what looks to be an empty field at the end...and it is! We cook our couscous in the parking lot opposite; several people notice, but no one seems to care. After all, what would you do when confronted with two haggard-looking cyclists cooking a gourmet meal and exchanging banter about tech geek stuff in a foreign language...in your parking lot? Next time this happens, we counsel you to be kind to them - for they may be in our situation...</p>
-<p>...time for sleep. The ground here is passably soft, the tent far enough back to evade the worst of the penetrating streetlamp light - goodnight!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/04/famous-lost-people-of-history.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/06/a-pisa-my-mind.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...time for sleep. The ground here is passably soft, the tent far enough back to evade the worst of the penetrating streetlamp light - goodnight!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/04/famous-lost-people-of-history.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/06/a-pisa-my-mind.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a pisa my mind</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/05/escape-hobosity.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/07/f-oiled-again.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a pisa my mind</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-06</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Improbable, but<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a pisa my mind</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/05/escape-hobosity.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/07/f-oiled-again.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a pisa my mind</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-06</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Improbable, but<br />
 There she stands, strange and shored-up,<br />
 Useful in science!</i></p>
 <p>We waded our way back through the tall weeds from our campsite this morning, saddened that we could not take a photo of it due to our still out-of-charge camera.  Sigh.</p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>A hop, skip, and jump away was Livorno.  From what we found, it was not very happening.  A few tired squares with sad merry-go-rounds populated its downtown.  We did find a store, though, which sold us a UNIVERSAL BATTERY CHARGER.  Srsly, how cool is that?  It can charge any size of regular battery, and it has positionable terminals that allow it to charge camera batteries and the like.  The funny thing is that we'll need an adapter to use it when we get back in the States.</p>
 <p>Our camera woes solved, we stopped in a pizzeria for our first Italian pizza.  Yum!  We also purchased some pasta (squid ink pasta, ravioli filled with spinach, and tortellini filled with several cheese) and wine for dinner.</p>
 <p>Our ride out of town was fairly short; along the coast by Livorno is a park which contains a lot of hidden space and nice camping spots.  We chose ours and sat down to cook.  A few old Italian people wandered by to offer us wishes for our food, and one woman informed us that it's to rain tomorrow.  What sweet people.</p>
-<p>What a sweet campsite.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/05/escape-hobosity.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/07/f-oiled-again.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>What a sweet campsite.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/05/escape-hobosity.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/07/f-oiled-again.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>f'oiled again</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/06/a-pisa-my-mind.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/08/our-compliments.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>f'oiled again</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-07</div></div><div id="content"><p>Yum! We add to our gastronomic delights today a litre canister of olive oil and a half-litre of local vino rosso in stoppered glass bottle; much later, we learn that we were certainly stiffed on neither, for the oil is rich in taste - especially with our balsamic, cracked pepper, and sea salt - and the wine is fantastic. For all the other luxuries we must forego on this trip, we do not lack for good food...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>f'oiled again</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/06/a-pisa-my-mind.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/08/our-compliments.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>f'oiled again</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-07</div></div><div id="content"><p>Yum! We add to our gastronomic delights today a litre canister of olive oil and a half-litre of local vino rosso in stoppered glass bottle; much later, we learn that we were certainly stiffed on neither, for the oil is rich in taste - especially with our balsamic, cracked pepper, and sea salt - and the wine is fantastic. For all the other luxuries we must forego on this trip, we do not lack for good food...</p>
 <p>...waking up by the beach this morning, a light dusting of mostly dried rain on the tent. Exhaustion is starting to set in, that sort of multi-day pedal-to-the-metal exertion haze that creeps up on you after a few long days no matter how much sleep you get. The going has been hard - mountainous, long, even hot sometimes - and we can't wait to reach Roma...but, as of this morning, there are still 310 km to go. The Via Aurelia, less poetically known within the nomenclature of the Italian highway system as SS 1, starts of course in Roma, and thus its kilometre markings indicate the distance to that ancient centre of Empire...</p>
 <p>The coastline is sparsely populated out here in Toscana, unlike in Liguria where the cities and towns must crowd themselves between shore and mountains, their homes and shops terraced up the hillsides as tightly as possible. Most of the relatively flat land here has been given over to agriculture, this being one of the few places with enough space for sprawling croplands. The beaches, by contrast, are coated with mostly European tourists, their EU licence plates forming an alphabet soup - PL! NL! D! A! and the ubiquitous I - of country abbreviations.</p>
 <p>As for the oil and wine, we get these in a small shop in a small town along the Via Aurelia. The owner sees that we are riding in on bicycle. His eyes perk up; he asks us where we are from - I am outside at the time, so Valkyrie answers that she is American. There is another famous American who lives in this area - a cyclist, supposedly - and so his excitement is redoubled; he passes us a free juice from the store's cooler, asking about our trip and how far we are going and why exactly in God's name we would decide to go from Copenhagen to Istanbul via Portugal. It is wonderful to be in a place where people so frequently take an interest in our travels, even if only for a passing moment...</p>
 <p>...we continue on, passing by some more unremarkable road through the countryside - well, no road that offers a view of either mountains or sea can be truly unremarkable, but these roads are flat enough that the familiar hypnosis of road travel - regardless of your means of transportation - soon sets in. We lose our way briefly, crossing the highway in the wrong direction before we check the map and right ourselves with a couple of carefully-chosen turns...</p>
-<p>...and we come to stop up towards the mountains along the inland route to Grosetto; our map indicates the ruins of an Etruscan necropolis along this route, which we hope to see tomorrow - on our continued journey into Roma! Each destination is a new trip within the larger trip, another stretch of distance and time and effort and money and experience...and this one is drawing to a close, to be followed shortly by our travels into Napoli and across the boot into Bari.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/06/a-pisa-my-mind.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/08/our-compliments.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...and we come to stop up towards the mountains along the inland route to Grosetto; our map indicates the ruins of an Etruscan necropolis along this route, which we hope to see tomorrow - on our continued journey into Roma! Each destination is a new trip within the larger trip, another stretch of distance and time and effort and money and experience...and this one is drawing to a close, to be followed shortly by our travels into Napoli and across the boot into Bari.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/06/a-pisa-my-mind.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/08/our-compliments.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>our compliments</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/07/f-oiled-again.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/09/beni-bidi-bici.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>our compliments</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-08</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Some stones still stand, sad,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>our compliments</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/07/f-oiled-again.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/09/beni-bidi-bici.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>our compliments</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-08</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Some stones still stand, sad,<br />
 Awaiting their turn to fall,<br />
 But we preserve them.</i></p>
 <p>The dogs were still barking when we woke up.  Flipping them off didn't do anything.  Ignoring them didn't do anything.  Chasing them away didn't do anything.  Sigh.  We packed as quickly as we could, shoveled what we could of our remaining pasta (there was still a tupperware-full after breakfast) into our mouths, and headed out.</p>
@@ -9,4 +9,4 @@
 <p>It turned out that it was alright for bikes to be on the road there, but it was in no way pleasant.  We very quickly decided that we would be happier going a few kilometres out of our way on some country roads.  So we did.  Unfortunately, these roads did not contain many settlements, so it was hard for us to find water.  We wound up asking a random Italian woman if there was a fountain nearby, and she said that there wasn't, but she was happy to fill our bottles from her garden hose (which spouted potable water).  During this stretch, we also had to fix a flat tyre for the first time in a while.  We're not really sure what caused it, but it was a neat little puncture on my front wheel.</p>
 <p>As evening approached, we made it to the other ruins site that we had hoped to see: Cosa.  There was an amazing amount of stuff there!  It was originally a Roman colony (seemed strange to me that they would set up a colony just 150km from their centre, but whatever), and it was populated off and on into the 14th century.  There were some awesome stories related to it, including some about slaves and skeletons and massive town burnings and wars and the like, but more awesome were the structures and their amazing level of preservation.  There were multiple temples, one to Jupiter (father god) and one to Diana (goddess of hunting and the moon) and one to Dionysos (god of wine), and the forum area had baths, a voting area, a debating area, a jail, a theatrical performance area, and some other things.  I think we'll put up some photos of the guide book we got (for 1€ each, we got to wander through the museum, and we were given a big packet of information about the site).</p>
 <p>When we returned to our bikes after the visit, there was a mysterious note tacked to one which said only "Our compliments :)" and bore signatures.  We saved it.  We like it.</p>
-<p>We headed out from Cosa down the coast, and we realised it was getting dark and was already too late to find a supermarket for foodstuffs.  Fortunately, our lunchtime meal of the remaining pasta had been rather large, so we weren't starving... but it's sad not to eat.  We found a campsite on a soft bed of pine needles just off the road.  One one side, a pine tree.  On another, the road.  On another, a beautiful open field.  On the fourth side... train tracks.  They seemed to be used a little more than we expected, but hopefully we can get some sleep.  Roma is only 130km away or so, and we're hoping to haul ass and make it there tomorrow night.  The allure of a shower and a bed is strong.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/07/f-oiled-again.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/09/beni-bidi-bici.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We headed out from Cosa down the coast, and we realised it was getting dark and was already too late to find a supermarket for foodstuffs.  Fortunately, our lunchtime meal of the remaining pasta had been rather large, so we weren't starving... but it's sad not to eat.  We found a campsite on a soft bed of pine needles just off the road.  One one side, a pine tree.  On another, the road.  On another, a beautiful open field.  On the fourth side... train tracks.  They seemed to be used a little more than we expected, but hopefully we can get some sleep.  Roma is only 130km away or so, and we're hoping to haul ass and make it there tomorrow night.  The allure of a shower and a bed is strong.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/07/f-oiled-again.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/09/beni-bidi-bici.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>beni, bidi, bici</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/08/our-compliments.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/10/when-in-rome.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>beni, bidi, bici</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-09</div></div><div id="content"><p>130 km covered in a blaze of speed down the Via Aurelia through Civitavecchia and into Roma - and all by 1500, giving us more than enough time to orient ourselves and locate a hostel before the tourist information desks close. The inner-city navigation proves more difficult than expected - the street layout in Roma is positively byzantine, and the confusion is not helped by the near-total lack of useful signage. Even the information desks are unhelpful; we ask the desk staff for directions to hostels in the city, and are instead given a free map without a street legend and a list of hostels located only by street addresses. Protesting, we exclaim that we are hardly familiar with the city - but they do not particularly care, and only grudgingly offer to point out the general area of one hostel way out by the Stadio Olimpico...fortunately, the roads around that area are few enough in number that we manage to locate the correct road on the map.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>beni, bidi, bici</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/08/our-compliments.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/10/when-in-rome.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>beni, bidi, bici</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-09</div></div><div id="content"><p>130 km covered in a blaze of speed down the Via Aurelia through Civitavecchia and into Roma - and all by 1500, giving us more than enough time to orient ourselves and locate a hostel before the tourist information desks close. The inner-city navigation proves more difficult than expected - the street layout in Roma is positively byzantine, and the confusion is not helped by the near-total lack of useful signage. Even the information desks are unhelpful; we ask the desk staff for directions to hostels in the city, and are instead given a free map without a street legend and a list of hostels located only by street addresses. Protesting, we exclaim that we are hardly familiar with the city - but they do not particularly care, and only grudgingly offer to point out the general area of one hostel way out by the Stadio Olimpico...fortunately, the roads around that area are few enough in number that we manage to locate the correct road on the map.</p>
 <p>But what of the route into Roma? In the parts before Civitavecchia, the Via Aurelia is a fairly standard minor highway - just small enough to bike on, but flat and a shade too busy for our liking...but there is no other way, not unless we wish to make extra-long jaunts along questionably paved sideroads into the small neighbouring towns. So we zip along the highway, making good time in the slight tailwind. Once we reach Civitavecchia, we stop at the local cycling club hall to ask for good cycling routes into Roma. Before we even get inside, a man walks up to Valkyrie's bike - he takes one look at the seat and, perhaps having seen our riding posture as we came along the road, informs her in a mash of Italian and English that it is adjusted too high...</p>
 <p>...and we enter the hall, which functions primarily as a bar; even at this time, it is full of middle-aged men knocking back Birra Moretti over chit-chat - stories of past cycling glories, maybe, but more likely mundane back-and-forths on daily life. We are clearly the only semi-lost travellers in the room, and are equally clearly not versed in Italian - so a man comes up and asks if we speak French, to which I enthusiastically reply Oui! - whereupon he laughs, explains that he does not, and proceeds instead to conduct the exchange in Spanish. The Via Aurelia, as it turns out, is the best route into Roma; past Civitavecchia, it follows the coast for some time before heading slightly inland past agricultural lands to the city limits. Upon reaching Roma, it predictably widens into a double carriageway - still passable by bike, but not exactly pleasant with trucks and such rushing past...</p>
-<p>Roma! We have biked hard to get here. In distance - and perhaps even in mountainosity - the past week has been equivalent to the Camino de Santiago in the north of Spain: 700 km over a week, roughly 100 km a day. Our kind host in Nice laughed when we said we could cover that much in a day, and warned us that the coast was anything but flat...but we are approaching a critical mass of experience, a heady feeling of accumulated strength and endurance and downright bullheaded momentum that makes us believe ourselves equal to just about anything at this point...5000 km to go in just over two months. The end is in sight!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/08/our-compliments.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/10/when-in-rome.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Roma! We have biked hard to get here. In distance - and perhaps even in mountainosity - the past week has been equivalent to the Camino de Santiago in the north of Spain: 700 km over a week, roughly 100 km a day. Our kind host in Nice laughed when we said we could cover that much in a day, and warned us that the coast was anything but flat...but we are approaching a critical mass of experience, a heady feeling of accumulated strength and endurance and downright bullheaded momentum that makes us believe ourselves equal to just about anything at this point...5000 km to go in just over two months. The end is in sight!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/08/our-compliments.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/10/when-in-rome.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>when in rome...</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/09/beni-bidi-bici.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/11/a-river-runs-through-it.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>when in rome...</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-10</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Piles of stone, once great,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>when in rome...</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/09/beni-bidi-bici.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/11/a-river-runs-through-it.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>when in rome...</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-10</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Piles of stone, once great,<br />
 Lie scattered around the old<br />
 Town, cleft by metros.</i></p>
 <p>Well.  Here is the short blog post: we saw a big park and the Trevi Fountain and the Roman forum and the Colisseum today and ate some delicious food.  Here is the caution: we learned a crapload, and I'm about to write down all of it that I can remember.</p>
@@ -26,4 +26,4 @@
 <p>The gladiators, as many people learn, were comprised of both slaves from conquered and exotic lands and of free men trying to make money.  One board informed us that the average duration of a gladiator's career was 12 fights, with the minimum being about 3 and the maximum being over a hundred.  Gladiators were usually owned/sponsored by the rich, and gladiator battles were generally called by either the emperor himself or a politician seeking some good publicity.  In the beginnings of the Roman empire, the gladiators were not killed, as this was actually too expensive a thing for the up-and-coming empire.  Towards the end, though, the famous thumbs-down was the way of things.</p>
 <p>Today, the Colisseum is actually still used for one thing: the Pope's annual Good Friday walkthrough.  It seems almost cruel that the Church has taken over the last symbol of the empire that worked so hard to keep its power against the tide of Christianity.  Clearly, the Christians won, but...</p>
 <p>Whew.  That's all I can remember for now.  I'll have Evan look over it sometime and probably add some things that he remembers that I forgot to add in here.</p>
-<p>Our learning completed, we wandered back to the grocery store to pump some food into our starvation-mode bodies.  It's hard to go 5-6 hours without food when one is used to consuming 5-6,000 calories a day.  We had more sandwiches, this time with cheese and delicious Italian prosciutto from Parma, and then we stopped off for more gelatto from a shop that had about 60 different flavours (we chose Gran Torino, Pistachio, Spumoni, and... umm... one other one).  We headed tiredly back to the hostel, where we sleepily watched the movie "9."  Now, it's dreamland time...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/09/beni-bidi-bici.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/11/a-river-runs-through-it.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Our learning completed, we wandered back to the grocery store to pump some food into our starvation-mode bodies.  It's hard to go 5-6 hours without food when one is used to consuming 5-6,000 calories a day.  We had more sandwiches, this time with cheese and delicious Italian prosciutto from Parma, and then we stopped off for more gelatto from a shop that had about 60 different flavours (we chose Gran Torino, Pistachio, Spumoni, and... umm... one other one).  We headed tiredly back to the hostel, where we sleepily watched the movie "9."  Now, it's dreamland time...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/09/beni-bidi-bici.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/11/a-river-runs-through-it.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a river runs through it</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/10/when-in-rome.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/12/a-weighty-mass.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a river runs through it</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-11</div></div><div id="content"><p>We wake up in our separate rooms in the Hostelling International establishment out by the Olympic Stadium. It is a peculiar feature of these hostels that, aside from the private rooms which are in perpetually short supply, they have designated male and female floors...strange, especially on a continent that is so cavalier about melon-breasted advertisement models and the like - but perhaps it is part of HI's mission to cater to all nationalities and beliefs. Whatever the reason, it is a bizarre contrast to camping in a small two-person tent, sharing a pair of sleeping bags zipped together...that said, hostels bring certain luxuries that we have long awaited: showers (which we take in both morning and night!) and fast wifi - which, this being a slow weekend morning, we take advantage of to read email and catch up on blog posts and contact potential WarmShowers/CouchSurfing hosts further down the route and upload photos and download, er, Caligula and Robot Chicken (this latter being of crucial importance to our travels!)</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a river runs through it</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/10/when-in-rome.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/12/a-weighty-mass.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a river runs through it</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-11</div></div><div id="content"><p>We wake up in our separate rooms in the Hostelling International establishment out by the Olympic Stadium. It is a peculiar feature of these hostels that, aside from the private rooms which are in perpetually short supply, they have designated male and female floors...strange, especially on a continent that is so cavalier about melon-breasted advertisement models and the like - but perhaps it is part of HI's mission to cater to all nationalities and beliefs. Whatever the reason, it is a bizarre contrast to camping in a small two-person tent, sharing a pair of sleeping bags zipped together...that said, hostels bring certain luxuries that we have long awaited: showers (which we take in both morning and night!) and fast wifi - which, this being a slow weekend morning, we take advantage of to read email and catch up on blog posts and contact potential WarmShowers/CouchSurfing hosts further down the route and upload photos and download, er, Caligula and Robot Chicken (this latter being of crucial importance to our travels!)</p>
 <p>Among the many online tasks completed: look up a recipe for mushroom risotto. It looks relatively easy, so we grab our pots and pans and trusty camping stove, walk to the nearest supermarket, grab anything we're missing (only mushrooms, onions, wine, and butter, as it turns out - we have a suspiciously well-stocked pantry, giving the lie to our frequent claims of superior hobosity) and head down to the one spot we deem most conducive to cooking up a delicious meal. Where would that be in such a tourist destination as Rome? The river Tiber (Tevere in Italian), of course! One side of the river has a makeshift bicycle path, most of which is paved with cyclist-jarring cobblestones; the other is lined with small boating and tennis clubs, with the occasional access down to the banks...we take one of these access roads, setting up in the shadow of a road bridge not far south of the hostel. We drink most of the wine as we cook our risotto - after all, the recipe only calls for a measly half-cup of white, and it would be a true shame to waste the rest...</p>
 <p>Now on to the more touristic parts of the day! We clean up our various dishes and head for the metro over to Repubblica in the more operatic-theatrical district of Rome, where we procure tickets for a production of Verdi's La Traviata that is slated to take place in a nearby church later tonight. Getting on the metro turns out to be more of an ordeal than expected; the machines only give up to 4€ change, our smallest bill is 20€, the only staffed booth anywhere in the labyrinthine station emphatically refuses to make change, and no one seems able to help us beyond suggesting that we buy something small in the street-level kiosks. A stupid money-grab, to be sure...but there seems to be no way around it, so we grab the cheapest item on offer and get our tickets, cursing the tourist-trappery of the whole situation...</p>
 <p>...and soon we are holding two tickets to La Traviata at 2030. There is some time to kill; since we still have all of our dishes and pantry items with us, we book it back to the hostel to clean up and leave some of the heavier items behind before heading off to see the Vatican. The bus ride is simple and direct, except the part where it draws space-filling curves around Piazza del Risorigimento; again, however, we run into unexpected difficulties! There are two sets of checks at the Vatican. The first is a routine security check, complete with metal detectors and xray conveyor belts and the whole bit; unfortunately, clipped to our wallet is a keyring, and attached to that keyring is a small Swiss army knife. We leave the knife tucked away behind two pillars in Piazza San Pietro, hoping that it will not be taken...</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>...but it is now 1730, and so we must make haste through the basilica. It is divided into a number of chapels, some of which house the remains (or, as we are shocked to discover, even the preserved and highly visible bodies) of deceased Popes. Sadly, most visitors forget to look up - for the domed ceilings host a number of spectacular frescoes, commissioned at great expense over the centuries. There are also a number of statues depicting various religious figures or events of importance, though with our secular leanings we are unable to identify them. We also visit the papal tombs, where grieving pilgrims crowd the space in front of the late Pope John Paul II - they toss rosaries and photos and all manner of religious iconography into the tomb, huddling and kneeling and crying as the loudspeakers blast eerily funereal music throughout the underground tunnels.</p>
 <p>After that, we make haste up to the metro line and over to the church - but we are still early, so we hit up the nearest supermarket for some pizza and libations. Most every supermarket here carries pizza of near-restaurant quality...and such food cannot go unaccompanied! We grab a bottle of wine, then decide to chase it with a mix of off-brand Martini, tonic, and orange slices that we cram into one of our water bottles...drinking most of this, we line up for the opera and conclude that we must be simultaneously the drunkest and most underdressed people in attendance...</p>
 <p>...and the opera is unremarkable, sadly. The confines of the church do not do it justice; these works almost invariably require a sizeable stage and a hall with the proper acoustic qualities, and the church fits neither criterion. Unfortunately, the season over at the main opera hall has just ended, and productions are on hold until October...</p>
-<p>Another busy day in Rome - and one more closer to tomorrow, when we will once more head out on our bikes and continue this business of getting to Istanbul in the most roundabout manner possible...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/10/when-in-rome.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/12/a-weighty-mass.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Another busy day in Rome - and one more closer to tomorrow, when we will once more head out on our bikes and continue this business of getting to Istanbul in the most roundabout manner possible...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/10/when-in-rome.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/12/a-weighty-mass.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a weighty mass</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/11/a-river-runs-through-it.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/13/we-got-to-sleep-in-two-places.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a weighty mass</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-12</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Bells ring out clearly,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a weighty mass</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/11/a-river-runs-through-it.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/13/we-got-to-sleep-in-two-places.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a weighty mass</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-12</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Bells ring out clearly,<br />
 Calling the faithful to mass,<br />
 The unfaithful, too.</i></p>
 <p>This morning found us awake early again, and we were dressed for church.  Well, not precisely, but we were wearing our nicest things (which, on this trip, aren't particularly nice) and were ready to <i>go</i> to church.  24-hour transit passes in hand, we hopped on a bus to Saint Peter's Basilica.</p>
@@ -8,4 +8,4 @@
 <p>That completed, we had resolved to visit the Sistine Chapel, which is part of the Vatican Museum.  Alas, a board informed us that the Museum is closed on Sundays.  :(  So... no Sistine Chapel for us.  I guess it's not a huge loss; we discussed that we both seem to wind up in Europe on occasion, so we will likely have a chance to see it at a later date.</p>
 <p>Sigh.  Anyway, it was only about 11:30 by this time, so we decided to wander past a castle we hadn't seen yet (it was fairly unremarkable, and we weren't willing to pay the 5€ each to see more of it) and head back to the hostel to do some Internets and get our bikes.  After accidentally crashing their router while talking to my mom and dad on Skype, we left.</p>
 <p>Our route out of Rome was designed to follow the Via Appia Antica, another old Roman road which led past some catacombs and other interesting sights.  This plan was changed abruptly once we actually started biking the road, which still had some of its original paving.  By that I mean to say that it was covered in rocks that were semi-flat and semi-connected and perfectly designed for bike destroying.  A kilometre or so was enough to convince us to take the next road away, so we headed out on the Via Laurentina (yet another old Roman road) towards the sea.</p>
-<p>The sun started setting, and we picked up some things for dinner.  We're having pasta and eggplant-porcini mushroom-hot pepper sauce.  Right now, we're set up in a pine grove that looks abandoned.  It's strange, though... from nearby, in the middle of cooking dinner, we heard an exerted human grunt followed by the hee-hawing of an animal in excruciating pain... what is going on?</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/11/a-river-runs-through-it.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/13/we-got-to-sleep-in-two-places.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>The sun started setting, and we picked up some things for dinner.  We're having pasta and eggplant-porcini mushroom-hot pepper sauce.  Right now, we're set up in a pine grove that looks abandoned.  It's strange, though... from nearby, in the middle of cooking dinner, we heard an exerted human grunt followed by the hee-hawing of an animal in excruciating pain... what is going on?</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/11/a-river-runs-through-it.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/13/we-got-to-sleep-in-two-places.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>we got to sleep in *two* places!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/12/a-weighty-mass.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/14/karmic-rebalance-day.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>we got to sleep in *two* places!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-13</div></div><div id="content"><p>0200. More pained animal wails, punctuated by odd alarm sounds - the signal for a slaughterhouse conveyor belt, perhaps? Valkyrie awakens with a start and tries several times to rouse me from my sleep, finally succeeding amidst a torrent of groans and curse words. I can count on no hands the number of times I've welcomed being forced out of bed at this hour - but it is clear that no further rest will be possible; the situation is too standard B-movie horror, two routinely lost travellers marooned out in the woods and surrounded by odd noises that they ignore to their mortal peril...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>we got to sleep in *two* places!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/12/a-weighty-mass.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/14/karmic-rebalance-day.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>we got to sleep in *two* places!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-13</div></div><div id="content"><p>0200. More pained animal wails, punctuated by odd alarm sounds - the signal for a slaughterhouse conveyor belt, perhaps? Valkyrie awakens with a start and tries several times to rouse me from my sleep, finally succeeding amidst a torrent of groans and curse words. I can count on no hands the number of times I've welcomed being forced out of bed at this hour - but it is clear that no further rest will be possible; the situation is too standard B-movie horror, two routinely lost travellers marooned out in the woods and surrounded by odd noises that they ignore to their mortal peril...</p>
 <p>...so we pack up the tent, load the bikes, and head down the road towards the sea. Just outside of town, we find an empty field behind an abandoned gas station. The splendour of Italia stops with Roma, it seems; whereas the towns of Liguria, Toscana, and now Lazio have so far been rather picturesque - if not in the snootily pristine way of the French, who certainly have no room for tired hobo-esque cyclists on their astronomically land-valued beaches - the road out of Roma has brought us past increasing concentrations of homes for sale, boarded-up lots, and heaps of garbage casually tossed into the once-beautiful countryside. At least there is somewhat less of the latter behind this station, and so at 0300 we drift back into sleep...</p>
 <p>...and rise again some five hours later, the sun slowly ascending over the buildings. Whatever cold spell we had upon entering France has ended, especially now that we've headed more than 700 km, much of it to the south, over the last week. It is hot, though mercifully not nearly so much as it was back in southern Spain - and the presence of the Mediterranean cools things off somewhat. We head along the coastal road for some time, our view of the sea blocked by cheap hotels and bar complexes that have collectively claimed the entire beachfront. After about 20 km of chipped stucco and slowly crumbling yet still serviceable stone, we catch a rare glimpse of the water - and then the road ducks behind a vast military zone whose borders are jealously guarded by tall barbed-wire fences with menacing black-on-yellow placards: Military Zone - Armed Surveillance! Explosions possible during live fire exercises! Access strictly prohibited to non-authorized persons!</p>
 <p>Late afternoon. Valkyrie's tube goes flat as we bike along the coastal roads near Gaeta; we had the tube filled at a bike shop along the way, and the extra pressure must have caused the patch to fail. We've almost run out of our original patches, which are nice in that they do not require rubber cement...we pull into the driveway of a campground by the water, move off to the side, and get to work. Tube patching is an unpleasant reality of bike touring. You will get a flat eventually - and all you can do about it is to stock up on patches and tubes, purchase a pump that's at least half-decent, and wait for it to happen...</p>
-<p>...by this point in the trip, however, our tube patching has reached a level of rapidity - if not professionalism - and we are soon again on our way. We decide to pull off the main road and bike out to the sea, where we are greeted with a vast stretch of beach. Perfect! Over mushroom risotto and wine, we toast to the day's successes and setbacks, to its sights and surprises. This is part of the daily ritual: the toast, used at first to celebrate major milestones, has taken on a life of its own - we raise the bottle, grabbing it with one hand each, and enumerate the events of the day. We drink to moments of happiness and anger and sorrow and delight and confusion, each one succintly summarized. We drink also to moments yet to come, to cities and experiences down the road that we can only anticipate until our legs carry us further. The risotto is delicious; we wash the whole thing down with a quick dip in the sea before pitching our tent over by the bikes, which we have locked up under a pavilion that functions as a café in high season but now lies dormant. There is a storm brewing. Maybe it will break tonight...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/12/a-weighty-mass.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/14/karmic-rebalance-day.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...by this point in the trip, however, our tube patching has reached a level of rapidity - if not professionalism - and we are soon again on our way. We decide to pull off the main road and bike out to the sea, where we are greeted with a vast stretch of beach. Perfect! Over mushroom risotto and wine, we toast to the day's successes and setbacks, to its sights and surprises. This is part of the daily ritual: the toast, used at first to celebrate major milestones, has taken on a life of its own - we raise the bottle, grabbing it with one hand each, and enumerate the events of the day. We drink to moments of happiness and anger and sorrow and delight and confusion, each one succintly summarized. We drink also to moments yet to come, to cities and experiences down the road that we can only anticipate until our legs carry us further. The risotto is delicious; we wash the whole thing down with a quick dip in the sea before pitching our tent over by the bikes, which we have locked up under a pavilion that functions as a café in high season but now lies dormant. There is a storm brewing. Maybe it will break tonight...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/12/a-weighty-mass.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/14/karmic-rebalance-day.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>karmic rebalance day</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/13/we-got-to-sleep-in-two-places.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/15/in-the-hall-of-the-mountain-king.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>karmic rebalance day</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-14</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Fences snag box scraps,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>karmic rebalance day</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/13/we-got-to-sleep-in-two-places.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/15/in-the-hall-of-the-mountain-king.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>karmic rebalance day</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-14</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Fences snag box scraps,<br />
 A bag dances on the wind,<br />
 Urban tumbleweeds.</i></p>
 <p>Today was karmic rebalance day, I guess.  It started out middlingly, continued into terribly, and concluded with grossness.  Agh.</p>
@@ -15,4 +15,4 @@
 <p>The sun began setting, and we started getting desperate for a place to camp.  Our map showed some mountains rising up behind Napoli, so we headed up there on the assumption that it would be less inhabited.  It... wasn't.  We happened across a cyclist who didn't speak English but offered to help us if we were lost.  We explained that we needed a place to put our tent, and he suggested going down to the beaches.  Sigh.</p>
 <p>We did, rather close to dark, manage to find a big open field with a space removed enough from the road that the trash doesn't reach.  There's a line of trees that will keep out lights and road-noise.  It appears that they were planted there to protect... bee boxes.  Oh, good.</p>
 <p>Well, from what I can remember, bees aren't nocturnal, and this should be close to the time they start hibernating anyway.  I explained to Evan (city boy) what those weird little wooden things were for and recommended that he not shake them around too vigorously.  We cooked some pasta a fair distance away.</p>
-<p>We're settling in for the night... at least we feel removed enough from people here that we aren't fearing for our bikes.  Napoli is pretty notorious for being a theft capital, and although we don't know how true the stereotypes are, we don't really plan to find out.  It's U-Lock time.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/13/we-got-to-sleep-in-two-places.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/15/in-the-hall-of-the-mountain-king.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We're settling in for the night... at least we feel removed enough from people here that we aren't fearing for our bikes.  Napoli is pretty notorious for being a theft capital, and although we don't know how true the stereotypes are, we don't really plan to find out.  It's U-Lock time.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/13/we-got-to-sleep-in-two-places.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/15/in-the-hall-of-the-mountain-king.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>in the hall of the mountain king</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/14/karmic-rebalance-day.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/16/the-good-kind-of-flat.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>in the hall of the mountain king</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-15</div></div><div id="content"><p>Another night survived, despite our frightening proximity to a bank of bee boxes. We are soon part of the hectic rush-hour traffic around Napoli, where lane markings - on the rare occasions that they exist - are merely suggestions; at one point, four lanes of traffic weave through a section of road marked with only two. Most of the roads just north of the city have that half-paved and irreparably-potholed feel - a seat-of-your-pants experience, complete with the constant fear that your bicycle's meagre frame will lose the structural integrity game in a most catastrophic and painful manner...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>in the hall of the mountain king</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/14/karmic-rebalance-day.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/16/the-good-kind-of-flat.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>in the hall of the mountain king</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-15</div></div><div id="content"><p>Another night survived, despite our frightening proximity to a bank of bee boxes. We are soon part of the hectic rush-hour traffic around Napoli, where lane markings - on the rare occasions that they exist - are merely suggestions; at one point, four lanes of traffic weave through a section of road marked with only two. Most of the roads just north of the city have that half-paved and irreparably-potholed feel - a seat-of-your-pants experience, complete with the constant fear that your bicycle's meagre frame will lose the structural integrity game in a most catastrophic and painful manner...</p>
 <p>...but our bikes remain intact as we ride into Napoli, greeted by the scent of caffé - there is a large Kimbo Caffé plant on the periphery, which alongside Lavazzo and illy and sundry other marks is one of the more popular brands around these parts for nursing that hard-earned caffeine addiction. We give in to the suggestion and stop just down the road at a small café, where the espresso is served dark and strong in tall cups with giant plastic spoons for stirring. Continuing on towards the city centre, we quickly find ourselves on cobblestone roads that make the outlying roads seem like Danish bike paths in terms of bikeability - half are paved with small stones, the other half with large slabs that settle in wildly divergent directions. Our progress slows to a crawl through this mess of stone and traffic and garbage, this last courtesy of - we think, judging from the news reports - a local garbage workers' strike.</p>
 <p>The search for Internet is chaotic. We try first in the central train station, but there are no open networks; for our inquiries at the information desk, we are pointed at the nearby McDonalds. We manage to connect there for a brief second, but the connection is too spotty to be of use, and a quick walk around the area - laptop in hand! - does not help. We ask next at a series of hotels - but these typically offer wifi to guests in their rooms, and are therefore unwilling to help us in our search. Next up: the university, as the students will almost certainly know a place to get our Internet fix...but the one suggestion we receive is unhelpful, as we are unable to get a reliable connection to the networks around the university. By now we have spent a solid two hours in this fruitless search; thankfully, someone points us in the direction of a relatively inexpensive Internet café, a compromise which seems reasonable at this point.</p>
 <p>Afterwards, we head over to Antica Pizzeria da Michele, considered by many to be the best pizza joint in Campania. They serve only two kinds of pizza - margherita (sauce, basil, mozzarella) and marinara (same, but without the cheese) - and have only Coca-Cola, beer, and water to drink. The pizza is massive, with a thin crust that is mainly crunchy with a slight chewy texture that is ever so satisfying - definitely the best pizza we've had so far in Italia, although our sample size is rather small.</p>
 <p>Full of pizza, we decide to tackle the climb up Vesuvius. This is no simple matter; the roads marked on our map twist precipitously up the side of the volcano, and the elevation at the end pegs the climb at slightly over a vertical kilometre - but why not? We are in excellent shape by now, having completed several decent mountain ascents during our travels: across the Pyrenees twice, over several more mountain ridges along the Camino, up into the highlands in the southwest corner of the Iberian peninsula, through the hilly coastline near Barcelona, along the coastal mountains into La Spezia...so we find ourselves at the base, and are soon slogging our way - gear and all - up the side of Vesuvius. We stop at a restaurant in the upper foothills and ask politely in broken Italian whether it might be possible to fill our bottles; seeing the depths of our determined folly, the owners agree...</p>
 <p>...the climb takes only (!) three hours - but by this time it is late, and the paths up to the crater close at 1700! We almost decide to camp in the parking lot at the end of the road, but are warned not to by some locals; by nighttime, we are told, the area becomes a popular hangout for junkies and delinquents. It is a great disappointment, but it seems wiser to head back down before it gets dark than to risk injury to either ourselves or the bikes at the hands of strung-out kids looking for a quick and cruel laugh...</p>
-<p>...the descent is cold, and night falls quickly by now - it is dark by the time we are halfway down, and Napoli is not exactly the place to try your hand at stealth camping. We shack up in a hotel for the night, finishing the rest of our snack as we watch the disturbing spectacle that is Caligula. Tomorrow: Pompei - and then up into the mountains of Campania and Basilicata, where we have located another WarmShowers host! At this point, few things are more exciting than the prospect of warm running water washing away our accumulated filth...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/14/karmic-rebalance-day.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/16/the-good-kind-of-flat.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...the descent is cold, and night falls quickly by now - it is dark by the time we are halfway down, and Napoli is not exactly the place to try your hand at stealth camping. We shack up in a hotel for the night, finishing the rest of our snack as we watch the disturbing spectacle that is Caligula. Tomorrow: Pompei - and then up into the mountains of Campania and Basilicata, where we have located another WarmShowers host! At this point, few things are more exciting than the prospect of warm running water washing away our accumulated filth...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/14/karmic-rebalance-day.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/16/the-good-kind-of-flat.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the good kind of flat</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/15/in-the-hall-of-the-mountain-king.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/17/a-good-event.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the good kind of flat</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-16</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Navigation is<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the good kind of flat</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/15/in-the-hall-of-the-mountain-king.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/17/a-good-event.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the good kind of flat</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-16</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Navigation is<br />
 Made difficult by a large<br />
 Beard on one's face.  Hm.</i></p>
 <p>This morning was lovely.  We slept in a little bit (it's not so far to Benevento... only about 80km and mostly flat) and watched Robot Chicken, then the hotel's dalmatian greeted us with friendly lickings as we prepared our bikes for takeoff.  We coasted down the hill to a café for espresso, and we drew in our lines from yesterday.  If you've looked at our maps (my mom has uploaded them to her Picasa for now (found at <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/102231068694776133792/Maps">http://picasaweb.google.com/102231068694776133792/Maps</a>), but we'll put them on ours when we get around to it), you'll notice that we like drawing little pictures of ourselves encountering various amusing things along our trip.  For instance, we have a little picture of the scooter man who offered us brioche con crema (bueníssima, bueníssima!) on our map of Liguria.  Anyway, I drew in a little picture of our reaching the top of Vesuvius only to find that it was closed.  I forgot that we still needed part of the map to get to Benevento today... so Evan's beard--rather amusing in comparison to the size of the stick figure representing Evan--covered a mass of roads that we needed to examine.  Oops.</p>
@@ -11,4 +11,4 @@
 <p>Keeping with our tradition, we stopped at a supermarket near our host's house to get a bottle of wine to thank him in advance.  As we were choosing the wine, we got a call from him asking us where we were.  We explained that we would be to his house in a few minutes, and that we had stopped to pick up some things at the supermarket in town.  We stepped outside and were just packing the wine when a man strode up to us and said, "My name is Massimo, welcome!"  Our host!</p>
 <p>We stashed our bikes in his parents' garage (they own a bus touring company and had sufficient extra space for a few tiny bikes) and rode with him up to his flat, which was actually in a different town.  By some amazing stroke of luck, he actually had an <i>extra</i> flat where we could sleep.  So... we got our own apartment for the night.</p>
 <p>We stayed up for a while with him, talking and discussing maps and plans for tomorrow.  I think we'll stay another day here to rest up--Vesuvius was a beast to climb, and we have some extra time anyway.  He's a pretty awesome guy, and he's the president of the Benevento cycling club, so he promised to show us a good route out of the city when we are ready to leave.</p>
-<p>Goodnight, flat!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/15/in-the-hall-of-the-mountain-king.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/17/a-good-event.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Goodnight, flat!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/15/in-the-hall-of-the-mountain-king.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/17/a-good-event.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a good event</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/16/the-good-kind-of-flat.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/18/wtr-bfflo.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a good event</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-17</div></div><div id="content"><p>A day in Benevento. We're in the mountains now, far from the chaos and cobblestones of Napoli, and it seems prudent to enjoy it - so we take our gracious host up on his offer and decide to stay an extra day. No sleeping in, though; Massimo works for the local transit agency as a publicist, and he prefers to start early...so we leap out of bed at the sprightly (though by now hardly unusual) hour of 0630, don the only clean clothes we have, and head into town, grabbing breakfast at a local bar near the terminus that even at this hour is crammed full of students on their way to the secondary school across the street. Yes, school has started again - another reminder that our journey is separate from the schedules of real life, from work and school and all manner of daily obligations; and yet we have our own schedule, one which pushes us to rise early, eat constantly, and bike ever harder. November 23. A fixed date, marking the end of our trip in still-faraway Istanbul. A date that is fast approaching...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a good event</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/16/the-good-kind-of-flat.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/18/wtr-bfflo.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a good event</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-17</div></div><div id="content"><p>A day in Benevento. We're in the mountains now, far from the chaos and cobblestones of Napoli, and it seems prudent to enjoy it - so we take our gracious host up on his offer and decide to stay an extra day. No sleeping in, though; Massimo works for the local transit agency as a publicist, and he prefers to start early...so we leap out of bed at the sprightly (though by now hardly unusual) hour of 0630, don the only clean clothes we have, and head into town, grabbing breakfast at a local bar near the terminus that even at this hour is crammed full of students on their way to the secondary school across the street. Yes, school has started again - another reminder that our journey is separate from the schedules of real life, from work and school and all manner of daily obligations; and yet we have our own schedule, one which pushes us to rise early, eat constantly, and bike ever harder. November 23. A fixed date, marking the end of our trip in still-faraway Istanbul. A date that is fast approaching...</p>
 <p>...but, for now, there is time enough to poke around Benevento a little. Massimo speaks to one of the bus drivers, who allows us to ride into town free of charge. Once there, we complete our breakfast (though tasty, caffé e cornetto is not nearly enough!) with pomodoro and provolone sandwiches, a variation on the bocadillos tomate that we enjoyed so well during our travels through Spain. We eat in the shadow of the Arco Traiano, a Roman triumphal arch - Benevento was originally one of the larger Roman towns in the area, a sort of waypoint along the Via Appia. Aside from the arch, we also visit an ancient district only recently unearthed (in 2004 - before that, it was covered with plant growth), a Roman theatre, and a couple of old cathedrals in the centre of town.</p>
 <p>Later on, after taking care of mundane tasks such as laundry and blogkeeping and such, we head out to the offices of the cycling club that Massimo heads, Sannio in Bici (Sannio being the mountainous area around Benevento, in size somewhere between the province of Benevento and the region of Campania) which is fittingly located right next to an old rail line that has since been converted into a bike path. The offices are part of this smallish recreation and sport complex; it has its own bar, café, and football pitch, and therefore is furnished with all the necessities of Italian life...</p>
 <p>...and we walk along the backroads near the bike path. These wind up into the surrounding hills, offering magnificent views of the mountains whose tips glow with yellow and red and orange in the setting sun - beautiful, a sort of beauty that is appreciated even more at walking speed. We walk out to where the roads join the bike path again, some 5 km out from the office, and take the path back through the valley - it is getting dark as we walk back, and we fear that we are late, so we make haste while discussing our crazy plans to take part in National Novel Writing Month during the final stretch of our trip. Perhaps we can write a story based off one of the local legends we have heard, or off some part of our travels that particularly struck us...there is enough material here for an entire series, and not nearly enough time to write it in...</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>In town, we make a stop by this libreria (book store, essentially) owned by one of Massimo's friends, who offers the space inside for groups and organizations in the community to give presentations. Tonight, some people from the Slow Food Association in these parts have come by to present Terra Madre, a documentary about the global Slow Food gathering in 2006 and the deleterious effects of industrial agriculture on our planet. While there, we have one important task to take care of: unfortunately, we lost our regional map of Campania and Basilicata today while walking about town, so we purchase another. Since we keep track of our daily routes on the map, we must redraw these later when we get the chance...</p>
 <p>...but the Slow Food presentation is entirely in Italian - so to spare us from the ensuing linguistic confusion, made no better by the fact that Italian is typically spoken at the frenetic speed of a hardened espresso addict, Massimo takes us down to the old centre of town where a music and art festival is taking place. There is a concert in the old Roman district, part of which has been converted into a stage for precisely this purpose - but they only admit a certain number of people, so we must wait until other members of the audience leave. With nowhere else to go, we wait patiently and listen through the bars - and are soon inside once a large family leaves, absorbed in music as the near-full moon rises overhead...</p>
 <p>...and we head back to the bookshop at the end of the night to partake in some of the food offered by the Slow Food Association. There is local wine and local prosciutto and pizza made from local ingredients - all delicious and, happily for our light pockets, free. The owner even leaves us with a copy of this guide to the history and culture of the province of Benevento; it is in Italian, but we can decipher most of it by calling upon our experience with French and Spanish...</p>
-<p>A long and reasonably eventful day, and another reminder that the best places are often found outside the main cities. Of note, this is also our second successful foray into the world of WarmShowers, adding further to the karmic debt that we will have to repay upon establishing more permanent residence in San Francisco. So: if you are travelling through that part of California after we arrive in December, drop us a line and perhaps we will be able to find space for you!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/16/the-good-kind-of-flat.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/18/wtr-bfflo.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>A long and reasonably eventful day, and another reminder that the best places are often found outside the main cities. Of note, this is also our second successful foray into the world of WarmShowers, adding further to the karmic debt that we will have to repay upon establishing more permanent residence in San Francisco. So: if you are travelling through that part of California after we arrive in December, drop us a line and perhaps we will be able to find space for you!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/16/the-good-kind-of-flat.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/18/wtr-bfflo.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>wtr bfflo</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/17/a-good-event.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/19/a-switchback-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>wtr bfflo</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-18</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Water buffalo.<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>wtr bfflo</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/17/a-good-event.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/19/a-switchback-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>wtr bfflo</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-18</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Water buffalo.<br />
 A tower of wheat.  What else<br />
 Does one need in life?</i></p>
 <p>We rode down the hill from Appolosa one last time with Massimo on his way to work, and we had a quick conference about the route for the day.  It is supposed to be easy to get to Bari in a couple days from here: it's only mountainous for a while, and there are many places of interest along the way.  We put all our things back in order and biked to Benevento in a fairly short amount of time.</p>
@@ -15,4 +15,4 @@
 <p>We actually took a break in the middle of the multi-hour tower moving epic trip to move our bicycles from one end of town to the other for easier access.  En route to a new parking place, we were intercepted by some more local kids who asked about our trip.  We told them a bit, and they gifted us with pistachios for the road and a couple sips of beer in passing.  Yum!</p>
 <p>Our bikes parked, we got back to the tower-moving nonsense for a while, but gave up shortly and wandered off to find a cotton candy vendor we'd seen earlier in the day, since our stomachs were beginning to rumble.  Along one of the streets, we stumbled across our friend Gerardo!  We talked to him some more: he was there with his family to see the festival and the tower and the vendors, and we decided to walk around with them.</p>
 <p>As the night wore on, he asked if we had a place to stay yet.  We admitted that we were just planning to camp outside town after we left the festival, and he immediately said that we were cordially invited to stay with him and his family at their big house a few kilometres away.  Excited about this prospect, we continued enjoying the fair (there was some live music and a lot of stuff-vendors) with the group for the evening, talking a lot to Gerardo about his bike-tripping style and whether he had any tips for the relatively-new adventurers.  At the end of the evening, we followed their car home, arriving to the place some time after dark.</p>
-<p>Gerardo was so kind; he filled us with bread and olive oil, local mozzarella, fruit (they have fig trees!), local wine (amusingly, some land that his family owns is rented to farmers for the price of some wine), tomatoes from the garden, green tea...  Delicious pre-sleep food.  We talked more about bikes and photos and maps, and after showers we are ready for sleep.  In a bed!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/17/a-good-event.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/19/a-switchback-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Gerardo was so kind; he filled us with bread and olive oil, local mozzarella, fruit (they have fig trees!), local wine (amusingly, some land that his family owns is rented to farmers for the price of some wine), tomatoes from the garden, green tea...  Delicious pre-sleep food.  We talked more about bikes and photos and maps, and after showers we are ready for sleep.  In a bed!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/17/a-good-event.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/19/a-switchback-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a switchback to nowhere</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/18/wtr-bfflo.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/20/a-long-day-and-a-bum-night.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a switchback to nowhere</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-19</div></div><div id="content"><p>Ah, rest. Few things are more important for touring cyclists than proper sleep; it recharges the proverbial batteries, giving you that vital energy to keep going...and go we must, for our path takes us not to Bari but instead to Ceglie Messapica, some 270 km away from Passo di Mirabella towards the heel of Italy. And we plan to make it by tomorrow evening...to compound matters, our host informs us that the first 80-90 km are mountainous - but this information is superfluous, for the mountainosity becomes readily apparent as we climb up to the sideroads. These wind along the mountain ridges: elevation 800-900 metres, roughly half a vertical kilometre above our starting point.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a switchback to nowhere</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/18/wtr-bfflo.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/20/a-long-day-and-a-bum-night.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a switchback to nowhere</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-19</div></div><div id="content"><p>Ah, rest. Few things are more important for touring cyclists than proper sleep; it recharges the proverbial batteries, giving you that vital energy to keep going...and go we must, for our path takes us not to Bari but instead to Ceglie Messapica, some 270 km away from Passo di Mirabella towards the heel of Italy. And we plan to make it by tomorrow evening...to compound matters, our host informs us that the first 80-90 km are mountainous - but this information is superfluous, for the mountainosity becomes readily apparent as we climb up to the sideroads. These wind along the mountain ridges: elevation 800-900 metres, roughly half a vertical kilometre above our starting point.</p>
 <p>That said, the climb is eminently Worth It, as it affords us unparalleled views of the surrounding valleys and peaks and the cloudy sky with patches of blue...the wind whips up behind us, pushing us forward towards our destination. The mountain towns are too small to have supermarkets, making it impossible to find food. Fortunate it is, then, that our stays in Benevento and Mirabella have left us with much in the way of donated edibles: figs fresh from the tree, a dense loaf of pane integrale, half a canister of pistachios, and some delicious cookies.</p>
 <p>The wind is vicious on the switchbacks, especially where it turns into high-velocity sidewinds that nearly topple us off our bikes - but we remain balanced against the odds, pushing on along the ridge towards Rionero in Vulture. The town itself is unremarkable, and yet this route was recommended to us by both Massimo and Gerardo for the vomitously picturesque volcanic mountain lakes nearby. It is arduous climbing to these lakes, down the valley from Aquilonia and then up some 8-10% grades over a 600 m or so vertical ascent - and then around the lake, through the forest, and up yet more to cross over the ridge of the mountain, around the back, up more until the road mercifully begins descending into Rionero...</p>
 <p>...we are tired by this point, but we know that we must continue; if we don't make it out of the mountains today, there is no hope to reach Ceglie by tomorrow. We fight encroaching exhaustion to make it across yet another valley into Ginestra, stopping partway up the hill to replenish our stock of figs - but even that is not enough. Food! Energy! Impossible to satisfy our insatiable need...we give in and stop at a bar-pizzeria-restaurant (nearly every Italian establishment is some combination of these three.) A lady greets us in Italian, and our confused responses lead her quickly to the conclusion that our command of the language is less than stellar - so, upon learning that we speak English, she promptly switches to her other language: Russian. What ensues is an even more confused mash of Russian (on her part) and English sprinkled with random Italian (on our part) that somehow results in our getting pizza and wine as desired. Yet more proof if needed that most communication is non-verbal...</p>
-<p>...we continue on through Velosa, deciding that even that is not quite far enough. Fortunately the mountainous region is at last behind us; the remaining distance to Ceglie is long, but it should be mostly flat...and now, having spent most of the day trudging uphill, it is definitely time for some much-needed sleep. </p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/18/wtr-bfflo.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/20/a-long-day-and-a-bum-night.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...we continue on through Velosa, deciding that even that is not quite far enough. Fortunately the mountainous region is at last behind us; the remaining distance to Ceglie is long, but it should be mostly flat...and now, having spent most of the day trudging uphill, it is definitely time for some much-needed sleep. </p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/18/wtr-bfflo.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/20/a-long-day-and-a-bum-night.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a long day and a bum night</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/19/a-switchback-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/21/wpg.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a long day and a bum night</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-20</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Bummery is nice:<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a long day and a bum night</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/19/a-switchback-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/21/wpg.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a long day and a bum night</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-20</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Bummery is nice:<br />
 When kindness finds a garage,<br />
 You don't turn it down.</i></p>
 <p>Wake up, stretch, eat a bit, head to town, eat some more, drink some coffee, get snacks for the day, and bike.  That's the schedule of mornings, and today it was a bit rushed because of the distance we noticed we had to bike to make it to Ceglie for evening.  We got really biking around 9 or 9.30.  We had a long way to go.</p>
@@ -13,4 +13,4 @@
 <p>They didn't find the Garden, but they did stop at a friend's house in the area, where it was gotten across to us that the Garden was nearby, but that there was an office in town where we should go.  Alright.  Back into town.</p>
 <p>We checked out the office, and it was closed, closed, closed.  No one home.  Our friends, the men who had driven us out into the country (Nicolas, Gaeta, and Tome) told us that if no one appeared by 23h, we were welcome to sleep in their garage.  So we camped out in front of the office, eating cream cheese and spicy pepper sandwiches.</p>
 <p>We were about 15 minutes into our wait when a man in a window popped his head out.  He also didn't speak English, but we understood that he was a cyclist, too, and that he wanted us to come inside and wait out of the cold.  He lived right across from the office, and we could see from inside if any lights came on in there.  It was a good deal!</p>
-<p>His name was Giuseppe, and he conversed painstakingly with us about our trip and cycling and school and jobs.  We watched some Italian TV with him (it was a show about a young prince living in a monastery... we didn't get much out of it, though), and he pushed some bread and grapes and espresso on us.  He told us that the "mobile" number that we had just rang in the office across the street.  We chatted with him until 23h, when we made a last check for lights and headed towards the garage.  Nicolas, Tome, and Gaeta showed up minutes later, and we told them the sad news and asked if it was still okay to sleep in the garage.  Of course it was!  We even had the choice: we could set up our tent in the garage, or we could sleep in the car in the garage.  It was easier to fit everything if we just slept in the car, so here we are: sleeping in some Italian's car in his garage in Ceglie Messapica, worn to the bone from 190km of cycling over not-entirely-flat ground, and hoping, perhaps unwarrantedly, that we will find the Garden tomorrow.  Somehow.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/19/a-switchback-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/21/wpg.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>His name was Giuseppe, and he conversed painstakingly with us about our trip and cycling and school and jobs.  We watched some Italian TV with him (it was a show about a young prince living in a monastery... we didn't get much out of it, though), and he pushed some bread and grapes and espresso on us.  He told us that the "mobile" number that we had just rang in the office across the street.  We chatted with him until 23h, when we made a last check for lights and headed towards the garage.  Nicolas, Tome, and Gaeta showed up minutes later, and we told them the sad news and asked if it was still okay to sleep in the garage.  Of course it was!  We even had the choice: we could set up our tent in the garage, or we could sleep in the car in the garage.  It was easier to fit everything if we just slept in the car, so here we are: sleeping in some Italian's car in his garage in Ceglie Messapica, worn to the bone from 190km of cycling over not-entirely-flat ground, and hoping, perhaps unwarrantedly, that we will find the Garden tomorrow.  Somehow.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/19/a-switchback-to-nowhere.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/21/wpg.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>wpg</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/20/a-long-day-and-a-bum-night.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/22/rituals.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>wpg</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-21</div></div><div id="content"><p>There are few experiences more bizarre than waking up in the car of a near-complete stranger who doesn't even speak your language - but such are the circumstances, and it behooves one to roll with the circumstances when, dead tired from a 190 km sprint the previous day, one finds oneself in a small remote town up in the hills of Puglia at the mercy of a cadre of well-meaning middle-aged Italian men. Nothing to be done but accept it; we have assumed all the trappings of hobosity, save perhaps for the part about begging for money - and hopefully it will not come to that. We have at some points floated about the idea of setting up a roadside kitchen, selling portions of caprese salad or fresh-cooked pasta to anyone who cares to place their gastrointestinal destiny in the hands of two weary-looking travellers, one sporting an ever more unruly beard...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>wpg</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/20/a-long-day-and-a-bum-night.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/22/rituals.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>wpg</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-21</div></div><div id="content"><p>There are few experiences more bizarre than waking up in the car of a near-complete stranger who doesn't even speak your language - but such are the circumstances, and it behooves one to roll with the circumstances when, dead tired from a 190 km sprint the previous day, one finds oneself in a small remote town up in the hills of Puglia at the mercy of a cadre of well-meaning middle-aged Italian men. Nothing to be done but accept it; we have assumed all the trappings of hobosity, save perhaps for the part about begging for money - and hopefully it will not come to that. We have at some points floated about the idea of setting up a roadside kitchen, selling portions of caprese salad or fresh-cooked pasta to anyone who cares to place their gastrointestinal destiny in the hands of two weary-looking travellers, one sporting an ever more unruly beard...</p>
 <p>...but enough of such diversions; back to the garage in Ceglie Messapica where, at approximately 0740, a well-meaning middle-aged Italian man named Nicolas creaks open the door, the rays from the by-now-long-since-risen sun ending our surprisingly good sleep. We are ejected (politely, of course) into the streets of Ceglie, left to our own devices to make sense of an increasingly tangled web of facts that we hope will lead us to the World Peace Garden:</p>
 <p>0) It is called the World Peace Garden.
 1) It is on Trattoria Alfieri on Contrada Alfieri.
@@ -17,4 +17,4 @@
 <p>Success at last! Fiorella attends to some last-minute work as we take in the aesthetic of the World Peace Garden office: there are bookshelves full of tomes on ancient rituals and healing practices and herbs, a good number of multicoloured cloth-based items, a scent of incense wafting in from the main room, a series of hastily-scrawled words and glyphs drawn in crayon on the living room wall. Not the sort of space you often find yourself in as a technophile student of Computer Science...</p>
 <p>...and we are off towards the farm, following Fiorella's car along the SP 23 (so we did have the rough direction down!) on bike to Contrada Alfieri, where we make a series of turns down increasingly smaller roads until at last we come to this deadbolted wooden gate. As we bike up the driveway, we come to something that looks like a hybrid between a standard house and the cone-topped trulli structures used for storage in these parts. We stow away our bikes, setting up our tent underneath a walnut tree down in the lower terrace of the garden...</p>
 <p>...the rest of the afternoon passes slowly; Fiorella is back to the office to continue her work, while we are left to explore the garden on our own. There are walnuts and figs and almonds, a small patch of root vegetables, and some potted herbs near the main kitchen and house complex - but most of the lower terrace is consumed by rows of vines bearing juicy red and white grapes, grapes that we hope to harvest later this week. As the evening wears on, we decide to try our hand at cooking on the stove - but it is not what we are used to. When camping, we cook pasta first and store it in our airtight plastic container until the sauce is ready. This makes plenty of sense when limited to one burner - pasta dirties the pan far less than sauce - but no sense whatsoever in these circumstances. We also make the mistake of grabbing too many onions from the pantry; these are from a very limited stock of onions grown on premises, and are therefore intended to be used sparingly for flavour. Despite these mishaps, the pasta dish is delicious...</p>
-<p>...and now it is time for bed, here among the dogs and walnuts and vines of the World Peace Garden. What strange and exciting things will the next week bring? What exactly is the 13 Moon Galactic Synchronometer? Questions, so many questions...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/20/a-long-day-and-a-bum-night.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/22/rituals.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...and now it is time for bed, here among the dogs and walnuts and vines of the World Peace Garden. What strange and exciting things will the next week bring? What exactly is the 13 Moon Galactic Synchronometer? Questions, so many questions...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/20/a-long-day-and-a-bum-night.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/22/rituals.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>rituals</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/21/wpg.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/23/recipes-and-wanderers.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>rituals</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-22</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Sun up and sun down:
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>rituals</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/21/wpg.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/23/recipes-and-wanderers.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>rituals</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-22</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Sun up and sun down:
 The bounds for work are simple.<br />
 Just crunch, store, repeat.</i></p>
 <p>Today finds us using the 13 Moon Galactic Synchronometer.  Fiorella spends some time explaining to us what this means.  She speaks a little English, but her Spanish is better, so we find ourselves leaning on that mostly.  She tells us about the aim of the Garden experiment: to acclimatize people to this more natural calendar and to exercise the social structure of the Dreamspell Earth Families.  Every person is assigned a galactic signature by birth (Evan : white crystal wizard, I : yellow spectral star), and this influences his or her relationship with nature.  Dreamspell Earth family organisation is intended to alternate work and rest days, after a fashion, for each person.  Every day, one colour has its biosphere day (i.e. everyone with red works in the fields), a cycle which resets every four days (the four colours were red, blue, yellow, and white).  There is also the family cycle, which takes five days and determines who cooks and works in the house each day.</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>This morning we awoke with the sun and headed from our walnut-tree-side campsite to the main living complex.  Fiorella popped out of a building we didn't explore and invited us in to participate in her morning ceremony, called Agni Hutra.  We were permitted to watch as she sat in front of a tiny shrine, singing to a tiny fire and dropping rice grains into it.  The fire went out eventually, and she coaxed the smoke over her head and onto her chest, encouraging us to do the same.  She explained that the burning object was a cow dung cake soaked with ghee (clarified butter), and that the ritual was to promote healthy land and good harvest.  It is done every morning and evening.</p>
 <p>After this ceremony, Fiorella showed us her morning exercises of the 13 points of articulation.  Ankle, knee, hip, wrist, elbow, shoulder, neck, shoulder, elbow, wrise, hip, knee, ankle.  Each of these points corresponds to a moon in the cycle, and she explained the powers of each point (communication, learning, etc.).</p>
 <p>Most of today was spent learning about Fiorella and shelling almonds.  Have you ever seen a fresh almond?  So, think of an almond that you buy in the supermarket, just the amber-coloured, teardrop-esque nut.  Now, imagine a light tan shell around it with tiny holes all over.  Around that shell, there is a green (if you're lucky) or black/brown/pink/grey (if it's covered in mold, ew) fruit that's a little bit furry.  This outer thing generally comes off fairly easily, and then the inner shell must be cracked with crackers.  Then you have to judge the almond for quality (if it's soft, it's rotten; if it's got just a bit of mold on the outside but is still hard, it can be toasted and eaten; if it's barely a nut at all and has wasted away to grey fluff, you probably shouldn't try eating it).  The way of the Garden is to have minimal impact, so there are three piles that we make as we shell: one pile of good almonds for human consumption, one pile of bad almonds "for the nature" (they get scattered back over the land to compost or be eaten), and one pile of shells and fruits for burning.</p>
-<p>So it goes.  We spent the day sitting in the sun and chatting about the land.  Fiorella said that we shouldn't cook anymore; she would take care of it for us.  Tonight we had some delicious lentil stew.  Mmmmm...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/21/wpg.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/23/recipes-and-wanderers.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>So it goes.  We spent the day sitting in the sun and chatting about the land.  Fiorella said that we shouldn't cook anymore; she would take care of it for us.  Tonight we had some delicious lentil stew.  Mmmmm...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/21/wpg.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/23/recipes-and-wanderers.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>recipes and wanderers</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/22/rituals.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/24/the-wrath-of-grapes.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>recipes and wanderers</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-23</div></div><div id="content"><p>The first thing urbanites notice about farm life is the pace. Everything is slower, and urgency becomes a dirty word indeed. You rise and set with the sun, and often spend entire days completing one or two basic manual tasks - and so it is today: we pass most of the morning preparing a local delicacy called fichi maritati, or married figs. To make:</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>recipes and wanderers</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/22/rituals.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/24/the-wrath-of-grapes.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>recipes and wanderers</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-23</div></div><div id="content"><p>The first thing urbanites notice about farm life is the pace. Everything is slower, and urgency becomes a dirty word indeed. You rise and set with the sun, and often spend entire days completing one or two basic manual tasks - and so it is today: we pass most of the morning preparing a local delicacy called fichi maritati, or married figs. To make:</p>
 <p>0) Pick figs.
 1) Cut figs in half and leave to dry in the sun over several days, covering them overnight.
 2) Once figs are mostly dry but still somewhat sticky, pick some finocello (fennel) seeds and almonds.
@@ -10,4 +10,4 @@
 <p>A lot of work, to be sure...but the result is deliciously sweet! Perhaps more importantly, fichi maritati can be stored over long periods, and are thus ideal as a snack for the long winter months. (Random fact courtesy of an herbal encyclopedia we discovered on the kitchen shelves: fennel acts as a mild diuretic.)</p>
 <p>With those prepared, we switch to almond shelling in the afternoon. The pile of almonds is nearly endless, and we speculate freely as to why exactly our hunter-gatherer ancestors ever considered it worthwhile to eat nuts in the first place...while our pile of husks rapidly grows larger, the line of shelled almonds in the jar inches up near-imperceptibly - and yet it is our task to fill the jar, so we keep at it until we run into a mass of rotten husks near the bottom of the almond pail. Nevertheless, one can never judge an almond by its husk. Husks in seemingly advanced stages of rot can conceal perfectly edible nuts; the only reliable way to judge fitness for eating is to remove the decomposing organic matter slime, shell the damn thing, and check the almond for firmness (as Valkyrie explained before.)</p>
 <p>Today also marks the arrival of Jean, a wandering traveller who used to work as a painter in Paris until nearly 7 years ago when, owing to a general shortage of jobs, he decided instead to set out on the road with nothing more than a large-ish pack, some clothes and a sleeping bag...since then, he has hopped from continent to continent, often taking extended stays with WWOOF farms or other work-for-room-and-board establishments. An interesting life, to be sure - and yet he is very quiet and reserved with all the egolessness of seasoned wanderers who, having left everything behind to lose themselves in this great world, have finally lost themselves. For identity is a dangerous thing in that life, where one is dependent upon the charity and hospitality of complete strangers...another reminder that our trip, though comparatively long, is only temporary...</p>
-<p>And that is all. The sun is setting, so that we must struggle to see by candlelight - time for bed!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/22/rituals.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/24/the-wrath-of-grapes.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>And that is all. The sun is setting, so that we must struggle to see by candlelight - time for bed!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/22/rituals.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/24/the-wrath-of-grapes.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the wrath of grapes</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/23/recipes-and-wanderers.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/25/when-it-rains.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the wrath of grapes</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-24</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>You hold in your hand<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the wrath of grapes</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/23/recipes-and-wanderers.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/25/when-it-rains.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the wrath of grapes</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-24</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>You hold in your hand<br />
 The energy of ages,<br />
 Sun becomes sugar.</i></p>
 <p>The full moon was last night, so we have now officially entered the Electric moon.  And that means two things: Greg is returning from his business trip and it's TIME TO HARVEST GRAPES.</p>
@@ -8,4 +8,4 @@
 <p>We learn about Greg!  He's in the voice acting/dubbing script-writing business.  He and Fiorella met originally at an academic conference about Mayans.  He's from Los Angeles, and he was there for work (and to visit family).  He's a much better source of information about the 13 Moon Calendar: the Cosmic History Chronicles are very long, and he can distill a lot of information into a few words, plus he can answer any questions we have directly without need for an index.</p>
 <p>After the grapes are harvested (all 250kg of them!), we marvel at them standing in the driveway for a few minutes.  After that, we sit down to a lunch of foccacias brought back by Greg and Fiorella.  They tell us that there's a bakery in Ostuni where they make the best foccacias, and we believe them after eating these.  :)  Delicious spinach, tomatoes, and olives dot the breads, and they are AMAZING.  Accompanying the foccacias is a salad made of edible herbs from around the Garden; many of which I have never seen before.  But they're tasty, too, especially with a dab of the lemon yogurt Fiorella got from the local macelleria recently.</p>
 <p>After lunch, we all relax a little and take time to shake out our joints from the picking.  Shortly, it's time to weed the garden areas so that Greg can rototill them later.  Certain weeds are too long and whippy to be chopped by such a machine; they simply jam its motors and kill it.  So we pick them first.  Unfortunately, they are full of excessively sticky sap.  Sigh.  Now we are covered in sap.</p>
-<p>Covered in sap and tired out.  It's the end of a long day of working out in the fields, and we're ready for bed.  Learning about the grape harvest was awesome, and I hope we get to learn about the other stages of winemaking sometime.  We've been drinking the wine that Greg and Fiorella made last year, and it's pretty good.  We're contributing for next year's WWOOFers!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/23/recipes-and-wanderers.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/25/when-it-rains.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Covered in sap and tired out.  It's the end of a long day of working out in the fields, and we're ready for bed.  Learning about the grape harvest was awesome, and I hope we get to learn about the other stages of winemaking sometime.  We've been drinking the wine that Greg and Fiorella made last year, and it's pretty good.  We're contributing for next year's WWOOFers!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/23/recipes-and-wanderers.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/25/when-it-rains.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>when it rains</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/24/the-wrath-of-grapes.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/26/sailing.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>when it rains</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-25</div></div><div id="content"><p>On the farm, we are at the mercy of Nature. In more cooperative weather, we sit outside and shell almonds or pick grapes down in the field - but not today, for the fields are thick with mud in the spotty rain that beats down on the trulli. There is no work to be done, save for a quick rinsing of the grape harvest buckets that takes all of five minutes. What to do? No TV, no one else around (except for Jean, but he takes off on a walk early in the morning; Greg and Fiorella are out on work) - and to top it all off, we mistakenly leave our laptop outside the tent in the morning. We leave it under the fly, of course, but the dogs run by the tent and knock the peg out...so we decide that the best thing for it is to wait for a sunny day, leave the laptop out to dry, and only then attempt to boot it up again. Not that we would care much for television or computer diversions; it cheapens the experience, breaks through that tenuous fourth wall that separates this rustic enclave from the technological onslaught of modern society...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>when it rains</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/24/the-wrath-of-grapes.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/26/sailing.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>when it rains</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-25</div></div><div id="content"><p>On the farm, we are at the mercy of Nature. In more cooperative weather, we sit outside and shell almonds or pick grapes down in the field - but not today, for the fields are thick with mud in the spotty rain that beats down on the trulli. There is no work to be done, save for a quick rinsing of the grape harvest buckets that takes all of five minutes. What to do? No TV, no one else around (except for Jean, but he takes off on a walk early in the morning; Greg and Fiorella are out on work) - and to top it all off, we mistakenly leave our laptop outside the tent in the morning. We leave it under the fly, of course, but the dogs run by the tent and knock the peg out...so we decide that the best thing for it is to wait for a sunny day, leave the laptop out to dry, and only then attempt to boot it up again. Not that we would care much for television or computer diversions; it cheapens the experience, breaks through that tenuous fourth wall that separates this rustic enclave from the technological onslaught of modern society...</p>
 <p>...so we poke around the kitchen a bit. As always, the first order of business is food - but the pantry is notably short on breakfast staples, so we eat a bit of cereal with latte crudo from a local masseria. You haven't truly had milk until you've had raw milk, which is impossible to find in North America without contacting a farmer directly. Supermarkets won't carry it; many regions ban its sale for health reasons, and so even smaller local markets shy away from tempting fate...</p>
 <p>...cereal finished, we are still hungry. Fortunately, the many fig trees strewn about the property provide a near-endless supply of fresh figs. We set about to pick some, and venture out behind the trulli to search for unpicked trees - but our efforts are quickly thwarted by the dense mud that clings to our flip-flops, making it ever harder to walk. Dejected, we give up on our field excursion and opt instead to seek shelter from the inclement weather in the kitchen space. Looking through the bookshelves, we find some paper and markers; we spend some time separately drawing various figures and landscapes before trying our hand at collaborative surrealist art. We take turns drawing lines, and the result is "wild thumbumicus with grilled bacon" - a sort of vaguely Dali-inspired face looking through a thumb with a pulley system on its head and a pair of legs at the base, all made complete with the addition of a single slice of grilled bacon.</p>
 <p>Enough drawing for now; we turn our attentions to the bookshelves scattered about the kitchen space. We find a copy of some country living compendium and learn about purchasing farmland and milking cows and growing all manner of vegetables; we find cards explaining the various identities within the 13 Moon Galactic Synchronometer, and look up the herbs corresponding to our identities in the herbal encyclopedia on the shelf; we find the first volume of the Cosmic History Chronicles, but discover that Greg's explanations of the system and its social principles are easier to follow; we find a random book called The Irish Game that we spend roughly an hour and a half reading to each other, using faux-Irish accents for all the characters (except the German ones, for which we of course employ German accents!)</p>
 <p>By this time, we are more than tired of reading - but it is still raining on and off, bursts of rain exploding from the sky without warning...and so like the less-than-sensible cyclists we are, we set out on a walk along the road. The dogs dutifully follow us through the puddle-riddled muck, running ahead as we try to dodge the puddles in our flimsy flip-flops. It is raining, yes - but it feels great to be outside, out of that kitchen, doing something even passably active. We walk up the road a bit, turning down any lanes that remain unexplored...</p>
-<p>...and our walk is cut short by an enormous puddle several metres long that completely blocks the road. Rather than soak our feet further by wading through, we opt to head back to the house to warm up over some tea. We have a small bite as well - even without real activity of any sort, our energy requirements remain closely tied to the hyper-driven cyclist metabolism. After that, we finally give in: there is nothing for it but to sleep, for we have exhausted all the diversions at our disposal and it is starting to get dark...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/24/the-wrath-of-grapes.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/26/sailing.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...and our walk is cut short by an enormous puddle several metres long that completely blocks the road. Rather than soak our feet further by wading through, we opt to head back to the house to warm up over some tea. We have a small bite as well - even without real activity of any sort, our energy requirements remain closely tied to the hyper-driven cyclist metabolism. After that, we finally give in: there is nothing for it but to sleep, for we have exhausted all the diversions at our disposal and it is starting to get dark...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/24/the-wrath-of-grapes.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/26/sailing.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>sailing!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/25/when-it-rains.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/27/century-the-second.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>sailing!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-26</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>The North Wind catches<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>sailing!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/25/when-it-rains.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/27/century-the-second.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>sailing!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-26</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>The North Wind catches<br />
 Your sails, blows you along, new<br />
 Places call, and you drift.</i></p>
 <p>It's Sunday??  Eek!  We didn't even realise that that our week with the farm was almost up until the very day was upon us!  The only reason we figured out that it was Sunday (and, consequently, that we have to get going tomorrow) was that we went into town with Greg and Fiorella, and all the shops were closed.  I guess we're getting underway in the morning!</p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>But, anyway, this is not the blog where I am permitted to nerd out about animes as it is rather the blog where I must talk about the things we are doing on our trip.  So back to that!  We got to the port where things were, in particular Italian fashion, not very organised and instead drinking coffee.  So we waited around for everyone to finish coffees, then with an old Englishman in tow hopped onto Greg's sailboat (called 13 Moons) and headed out to sea.  It was a beautiful day for sailing with a stiff wind and loads of sunshine.  The peace flag at the back of the boat flapped in the breeze, and we raced along with our sails full.</p>
 <p>There's nothing like being at sea.  Greg and Fiorella told us that they have done several longer trips in the boat, more than two weeks long, some of them.  They are comfortable with the undulations of the waves, and Evan and I found ourselves getting comfortable with them, too.  Plus, Evan's great beard makes him look like a proper pirate captain.</p>
 <p>We spent a few hours at sea, and finally headed in around lunchtime.  Some other friends of Greg and Fiorella's joined us, and we headed to a restaurant that specialised in seafood antipasti.  I do recommend it.  It's just off the water, and everything is fresh, and they serve things like gratined mussels and plates of squid and shrimp and crab cakes.  For some reason, everyone in the area likes drinking beer (instead of the wine we were used to), but beer can accompany seafood, too.  :)</p>
-<p>We finished up there with plates of lobster tortellini.  Fiorella chided me for using my bread to clean the plate (apparently it's rude to do that in Italy, but they do it at the garden to prevent so much oil from going into the sink drain).  Oh well.  :)  We dropped Greg off in town at the office and Fiorella, Evan, and I headed back to the Garden.  We settled in for the night, and told Fiorella that we were thinking of leaving tomorrow morning.  We got invited to breakfast in Ceglie to talk about our experience at the Garden, and we spent the evening using a giant pole to knock walnuts out of trees.  Walnuts are tasty.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/25/when-it-rains.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/27/century-the-second.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We finished up there with plates of lobster tortellini.  Fiorella chided me for using my bread to clean the plate (apparently it's rude to do that in Italy, but they do it at the garden to prevent so much oil from going into the sink drain).  Oh well.  :)  We dropped Greg off in town at the office and Fiorella, Evan, and I headed back to the Garden.  We settled in for the night, and told Fiorella that we were thinking of leaving tomorrow morning.  We got invited to breakfast in Ceglie to talk about our experience at the Garden, and we spent the evening using a giant pole to knock walnuts out of trees.  Walnuts are tasty.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/25/when-it-rains.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/27/century-the-second.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>century the second</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/26/sailing.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/28/the-untrained-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>century the second</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-27</div></div><div id="content"><p>170 km into Barletta: another cycling day, another century. If you have followed our travels, you know well that this is not the norm for us - we usually go 80-120 km, and ever since our death marches in Spain we've been making a concerted effort to stop well before sunset. But there it is: we have now spent a week up here in Ceglie Messapica - including the mini-adventure in finding the World Peace Garden - and we feel compelled to make time, especially given the promise of a shower and bed at the end of it. There are few more powerful motivators to a pair of generally tired, hungry, and dirty cyclists...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>century the second</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/26/sailing.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/28/the-untrained-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>century the second</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-27</div></div><div id="content"><p>170 km into Barletta: another cycling day, another century. If you have followed our travels, you know well that this is not the norm for us - we usually go 80-120 km, and ever since our death marches in Spain we've been making a concerted effort to stop well before sunset. But there it is: we have now spent a week up here in Ceglie Messapica - including the mini-adventure in finding the World Peace Garden - and we feel compelled to make time, especially given the promise of a shower and bed at the end of it. There are few more powerful motivators to a pair of generally tired, hungry, and dirty cyclists...</p>
 <p>...but the day starts without cycling, oddly enough for such a long stretch; after breaking the news that we must depart, we have agreed to complete some final minor tasks around the garden before meeting Greg and Fiorella at the office in Barletta for breakfast. We quickly sweep the outside walkways, wash the dogs, and inspect the trees for any reachable walnuts - and then we finish packing our bikes, hop on, and ride off down the gravel-dirt road to the main SP 23 into Ceglie. The dogs run after us, chasing the bikes in full sprint until we finally lose them on the better-paved provincial road; hopefully they find their way back down the labyrinthine lanes safely...</p>
 <p>...and we soon find ourselves in Ceglie, walking up the staircase into the office once more. Greg and Fiorella are anxious to hear about the week from our perspective: what did we enjoy? how did we adapt to the calendar? what did we feel was missing? We trade observations and remarks for some time, then head down to a nearby café - just opposite the gas station where seven long days ago we inquired of a confused yet friendly petrol station attendant whether we might use his phone to attempt calling the World Peace Garden, only to get no response - where we polish off the by now familiar Italian breakfast of caffé and pastries. The pastries themselves are quite good; there are local almond sweetbreads and pastries with cream and sour cherry filling. Yum! We share some of our maps over breakfast, explaining our method of travelling without GPS or radio gadgets or most of that nonsense - except for the computer, which has proven invaluable in keeping records of our journey - and of drawing lines on the maps, which we annotate with cute pen diagrams at points of special interest or frustration...</p>
 <p>...but the breakfast cannot continue forever; there's biking to be done! We say our goodbyes, wishing them luck with their vision for the World Peace Garden - it is not easy to be self-sustaining, and a week spent in the garden teaches an appreciation for exactly how far modern society is from that. Water, electricity, gas, food, Internet, transportation, flush toilets: the list of conveniences we take for granted is staggering indeed, yet most people never properly reflect upon this...</p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>...except that of course we must get there first, and it is still another 60 km to Barletta.  After a week without cycling, our muscles complain at the renewed effort. To make things worse, it is navigationally treacherous going just out of Bari. The roads are utterly impossible to understand, and the coastal road becomes a major highway that although passable by bike is hardly conducive to cycling. We instead veer up into a nearby development, hoping to avoid the highway, and find ourselves at a dead end after following a bus into a cul-de-sac roundabout. We head the other way down the road, but are stopped by a local who speech-gestures at us in Italian. Seeing as how our comprehension of his increasingly frantic motions is less than perfect, he switches to an odd brand of broken French that consists entirely of "gauche", "droite", and hand motions to indicate anything else of potential importance. Language barrier aside, his intention is clear: we have no choice but to turn back and take the highway for a few kilometres, after which it once again becomes possible to take saner roads. Despite these setbacks, we keep going to Barletta, stopping roughly halfway for a quick roadside bite before continuing on our way...</p>
 <p>...and it starts to get dark on our way into Trani, home to an ancient cathedral that is unfortunately closed by the time we reach it. Night falls as we pass through the town, and even with the bright reflective vest and headlamp we still feel as though we might be swept off the road rather unceremoniously at any moment and mashed into a pulp by some caffeine-crazed driver. This doesn't happen, however, and we instead make it safely into Barletta. We transcribed the Google Maps directions to Gianna's place onto our notepad, but unfortunately used the state road numbering scheme to label the roads - and things just do not work that way here, since the roads lack state road signs within city limits. So much for the map; we ask for directions, and are on our way up to Via dei Pini when BAM! we run into the Church in the guise of a massive street procession with priests and families and children and enough general commotion to block the road that we intended to take...so we head over a couple of roads, get out of their way, recover sanity, and locate Gianna's place without much trouble. We are so exhausted that we try the wrong doorbell - there are two buttons marked with the same surname, and one does not appear to work - and, having concluded that they are probably out at the parade, head over to the nearby supermarket (which mercifully is still open!) for some much-needed food...</p>
 <p>...and we eat the food, wait a bit, try the button again; still no answer. At this point, we have the bright idea of trying the first button again - success! We make contact, and are soon inside - and it becomes apparent that our trip to the supermarket was superfluous, for they have prepared a full dinner for us. Full is not a word to be taken lightly in Italy; it is a standard feature of Italian hospitality that no guest leaves the table without at least some desire to call the nearest hospital at once and demand they rush over with their finest stomach pump...</p>
-<p>...but we make it through the onslaught of food and wine, and are soon passed out fully in our nice warm beds. Tomorrow, we see Barletta; hopefully we will make the train to Venezia...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/26/sailing.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/28/the-untrained-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...but we make it through the onslaught of food and wine, and are soon passed out fully in our nice warm beds. Tomorrow, we see Barletta; hopefully we will make the train to Venezia...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/26/sailing.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/28/the-untrained-cyclists.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the untrained cyclists</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/27/century-the-second.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/29/my-kingdom-for-a-bag.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the untrained cyclists</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-28</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Receding seaside,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the untrained cyclists</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/27/century-the-second.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/29/my-kingdom-for-a-bag.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the untrained cyclists</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-28</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Receding seaside,<br />
 Chasing history through stone,<br />
 Revere the churches.</i></p>
 <p>We awoke and stretched.  It was a wonderful night's sleep... our first night in beds since we stayed with Gerardo some time ago, and it felt especially nice after biking so far.  Today we're still a bit tired, but the sleep definitely helped.</p>
@@ -15,4 +15,4 @@
 <p>After that, we went back to her apartment, packed our things, and headed to the train station.  We said our good-byes and thank-yous to her family and set out.  Gianna walked us to the platform, where we partially disassembled our bikes and removed all their bags.  We wrapped a few things in garbage bags to make transportation onto the train easier whenever it should arrive, and we settled down to wait for the half hour or so that remained.</p>
 <p>During that time, we chatted with several people on the platform who spoke varying amounts of English, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, and German.  Language mixes are such fun!</p>
 <p>The train arrived just on time, and we scrambled to load our things on as quickly as possible while it waited.  An angry man in an official uniform scrambled down from a car behind and yelled at us in Italian that we could not go with the bikes on the train.  He blocked our entrance to the car as he hurried everyone else to board, and we stood, dumbfounded.  We shouted angry curses after the train as it left the station.</p>
-<p>Some of the people we had met during the wait came up to us to see what was the matter and why were we not on the train.  We explained what had happened, and they let us use their phone to call Gianna.  She more-than-kindly agreed to have us stay at her home one additional night, and she even promised to help us sort this nonsense out in the morning.  So, here we are.  Man, trains are frustrating.  I'd rather be biking.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/27/century-the-second.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/29/my-kingdom-for-a-bag.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Some of the people we had met during the wait came up to us to see what was the matter and why were we not on the train.  We explained what had happened, and they let us use their phone to call Gianna.  She more-than-kindly agreed to have us stay at her home one additional night, and she even promised to help us sort this nonsense out in the morning.  So, here we are.  Man, trains are frustrating.  I'd rather be biking.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/27/century-the-second.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/29/my-kingdom-for-a-bag.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>my kingdom for a bag</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/28/the-untrained-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/30/city-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>my kingdom for a bag</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-29</div></div><div id="content"><p>No train last night - what to do? After some deliberation, we concoct the following plan:</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>my kingdom for a bag</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/28/the-untrained-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/30/city-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>my kingdom for a bag</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-29</div></div><div id="content"><p>No train last night - what to do? After some deliberation, we concoct the following plan:</p>
 <p>0) Go to the station and attempt to get a refund, or at least an exchange for a train ticket this evening.
 1) Pick up bike bags.
 2) Bring everything to station and pack into bags on the platform.
@@ -11,4 +11,4 @@
 <p>...and the first ferramenta store has the tarps we need, massive blue 3x4m waterproof plastic sheets with sturdy eyelets for the rope. We make an additional stop at the supermarket for snacks and sandwich materials with which to nourish ourselves during the overnight ride - but I am feeling increasingly unwell, a vague sense of bodily weakness that threatens to erupt into proper illness at any moment. We grab cappuccini in the train station café, sipping slowly as we vent about the trials and tribulations of these past couple of days - yet not all is lost; we have had excellent hospitality, and now have a second chance to catch the train to Venezia with no additional cost save for two large-ish tarps. After that, to the amusement of the other passengers waiting for earlier regional trains, we unpack our bikes right on the platform, lay out the tarps, remove the wheels, and wrap the whole thing up with our rope.</p>
 <p>Now begins the waiting game; it is 2000, but our train does not leave until 2211! By this time, I've broken out into shivers and am starting to feel nauseous - not even the glut of food at Gianna's can explain this, but there is nothing to do but wait...
 .
-...and the train arrives - it is time for action! Teamwork-style, Valkyrie leaps on the train to hold the door while I pass bags up. We pack everything into the entryway and board the train before worrying about exact seat placement; we are finally on board! A quick inspection of the seats indicated on our ticket shows that they are taken, but there are several empty cabins further on; rude though it may be, we take over an entire cabin with the bikes and panniers. Fever has taken hold, so I pop the armrests up and rest on the seats while taking care to drink as much water as possible...and the train rides off into the distance, carrying us on at last towards Venezia and the rest of our travels...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/28/the-untrained-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/30/city-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+...and the train arrives - it is time for action! Teamwork-style, Valkyrie leaps on the train to hold the door while I pass bags up. We pack everything into the entryway and board the train before worrying about exact seat placement; we are finally on board! A quick inspection of the seats indicated on our ticket shows that they are taken, but there are several empty cabins further on; rude though it may be, we take over an entire cabin with the bikes and panniers. Fever has taken hold, so I pop the armrests up and rest on the seats while taking care to drink as much water as possible...and the train rides off into the distance, carrying us on at last towards Venezia and the rest of our travels...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/28/the-untrained-cyclists.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/30/city-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>city in the sea</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/29/my-kingdom-for-a-bag.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/01/octobrrrrrr.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>city in the sea</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-30</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Slowly turn the tides<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>city in the sea</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/29/my-kingdom-for-a-bag.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/01/octobrrrrrr.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>city in the sea</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-09-30</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Slowly turn the tides<br />
 Rising through home and plaza<br />
 Filthying it all.</i></p>
 <p>Welcome to Venezia!  Strange that something such as this should exist... a port constructed of dirt and wood with parks and homes and shops, canals criss-crossing it at angles puzzling even to residents, roads that seldom lead from one place to another...  It's an intriguing place to walk, we'll say that.  But of course we didn't just arrive there this morning!</p>
@@ -12,4 +12,4 @@
 <p>We settled onto a bench in the park and drank the Campari Soda we had intended to drink on the train ride.  Slightly buzzed, we strolled along the waterfront and spent some time playing on a rope swing we found in another park down the way.  We wandered through neighbourhoods, where we got strange looks as the only tourists who seemed to stray from the area around San Marco.  Eventually we found what we had been searching for: a boat bus dock!</p>
 <p>The boat busses are technically part of the public transit in the area around Venice, and you can buy rides on them with the same card that you use to buy rides on busses and the like.  However, the boat busses are obnoxiously expensive (it was 12€ for two roundtrip tickets to Murano, which was just a few stops away).  Still, if you want to see the other islands, it's not a bad way to do it.  We headed out to Murano.</p>
 <p>We arrived around sunset, and many shops were closing or already closed for the day.  We again took the back alleys approach, and we were treated to an open window that looked in on a glass workshop.  There's a photo in our Picasa album (<a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/biketotheearth/italia">http://picasaweb.google.com/biketotheearth/italia</a>) of what we could see, and the running furnaces made a tremendous whooshing noise that was cool to hear.  From there, we explored part of an above-ground cemetery (obviously the water table in the Venice is too high to bury people properly) which held a lot of WWII victims.  One strange thing was that each headstone held a photograph of the deceased--something I had never seen before on a cemetery-wide scale.</p>
-<p>After that, we boarded a boat and then hoofed it back to the bus station to return home.  We stopped at a grocery store on the way to collect zucchini and garlic and cheese to go with the shell pasta we already had for our dinner, and we plopped down on the grass to cook it before collapsing tiredly into bed.  The few hours of sleep this morning weren't enough, and we're happy that we've decided to take an extra day in Venice.  We'll go see more tomorrow, sleep over again, and make the 160km to Trieste on the 2nd, so we'll leave Italy exactly a month after entering it.  That's cool.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/29/my-kingdom-for-a-bag.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/01/octobrrrrrr.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>After that, we boarded a boat and then hoofed it back to the bus station to return home.  We stopped at a grocery store on the way to collect zucchini and garlic and cheese to go with the shell pasta we already had for our dinner, and we plopped down on the grass to cook it before collapsing tiredly into bed.  The few hours of sleep this morning weren't enough, and we're happy that we've decided to take an extra day in Venice.  We'll go see more tomorrow, sleep over again, and make the 160km to Trieste on the 2nd, so we'll leave Italy exactly a month after entering it.  That's cool.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/29/my-kingdom-for-a-bag.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/01/octobrrrrrr.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>octobrrrrrr</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/30/city-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/02/corn-haul.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>octobrrrrrr</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-01</div></div><div id="content"><p>October! Fall has set in; not the cold blustery rot-scented fall that we are used to back in North America - but the days have grown shorter, the winds colder, the rains more frequent. We are now 3000 km from our destination, with some seven weeks remaining until our flight out of Istanbul...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>octobrrrrrr</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/30/city-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/02/corn-haul.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>octobrrrrrr</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#it"><img src="/icons/it.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Italy</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-01</div></div><div id="content"><p>October! Fall has set in; not the cold blustery rot-scented fall that we are used to back in North America - but the days have grown shorter, the winds colder, the rains more frequent. We are now 3000 km from our destination, with some seven weeks remaining until our flight out of Istanbul...</p>
 <p>...but who cares? That is still far away. For now, we are in Venezia for the second day, our spirits lifted by a night of good rest and recovery; my general malaise seems to have disappeared, which is welcome after the fitful sleep aboard the overnight train into Venezia Mestre. We still have half of Venezia's main island to explore, so we hop the bus into town once more and set about meandering through the alleyways and across the innumerable canal bridges. We pass by the architectural institute, returning back into the main tourist section by a convoluted canalside path; from there, it is along the promenade roughly halfway to Piazza San Marco before turning in and up past the Academy of Arts and Sciences, where they have an exhibition of Kubrick photographs. In typical Venetian fashion the admission price is out of our range, so we content ourselves with reading through various books about the exhibition; in any event, the exhibition itself merely displays the photographs without any informational context, so that we actually learn more this way than we might have shelling out 9€ apiece to see slightly larger framed copies of the same images...</p>
 <p>...and we arrive at Zucca, a pumpkin-themed restaurant recommended to us by various online reviews, entirely by accident shortly after passing by the outdoor food and fish markets. It is not yet open, and so we sit in a canalside staircase opening out the back of the restaurant for a few minutes before trying again - and soon we are eating no fewer than four pumpkin-based dishes, each one thoroughly delectable: a pumpkin-lentil stew, a tortina of pumpkin and potato and grated cheese, a lasagna of pumpkin and mushrooms, and herbed chicken with pumpkin on the side. Of all, the chicken is perhaps the least remarkable - a reminder that vegetarian cuisine forces one to be inventive, whereas it is relatively easy to slap any meat together with any side and call it a meal. The soup and lasagna are especially delicious; the former is made with a greenish lentil that lacks the overpowering flavour of its darker counterparts, enabling it to blend better with the less forceful pumpkin flavour. The latter is slightly sweet, which is at first strange but quickly grows on you as your taste buds explode with sweet creaminess from the filling and sauce. It is not every day that we eat out; as the trip has worn on, we have tended to cook more and more, so that we now cook or at least self-prepare 95% of our meals. As such, our standards for restaurant food are high: if we're going to pony up the extra cash for a restaurant meal, we expect it to exceed our own steadily improving culinary skill. Fortunately, this meal does.</p>
 <p>But enough about the delicious lunch; on with the day! Rain has set in; we sneak aboard the train back into Mestre out of some desire to give the much-maligned mainland its due, and perhaps out of a parallel yearning to escape the uniform canal-apartment labyrinth of the Venetian islands. We wander around towards downtown Mestre and happen across a bookstore; since it has started to rain by this time, this is a perfect place to seek shelter until the rain subsides. We get wrapped up in The Girl Who Played With Fire (Stieg Larsson) and Eating Animals (Jonathan Safran Foer) for a couple of hours before setting out onto the streets to wander a bit more - but there is not much else of interest besides the city centre, and there is little incentive to slog back into Venezia itself in this rain under the slowly darkening sky, so we head back to the bookstore and read until closing.</p>
 <ol>
 <li>It is dark; we grab litre glasses of beer in a nearby bar (8€ each, which is far less exorbitant than in beer-hating France) and take bus 10 back along SS 14 to our campsite on Via Orlanda. Time for sleep; after all, our extra day in Venezia has left us with a burning desire to get to the Slovenian highlands near Trieste, where we will be hosted by another kind soul from WarmShowers...</li>
-</ol></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/09/30/city-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/02/corn-haul.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+</ol></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/09/30/city-in-the-sea.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/02/corn-haul.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>corn haul</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/01/octobrrrrrr.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/03/wine-ding-road.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>corn haul</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#si"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/si.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Slovenia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-02</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Yellow mists obscure<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>corn haul</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/01/octobrrrrrr.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/03/wine-ding-road.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>corn haul</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#si"><img src="/icons/si.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Slovenia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-02</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Yellow mists obscure<br />
 The road, bury it in corn.<br />
 Harvest season nears.</i></p>
 <p>Well, really, harvest season is here.  We woke up early this morning and set out for what we had been warned was an extremely boring and crop-lined stretch between Venezia and Trieste, and we weren't disappointed.  All the roads we took, even smaller roads, were jammed with late-season tourists and farm equipment hauling multiple trailer-loads of corn which spilled all over the road.  That along with the immense flat expanses recalled Indiana to me.  Ah, Indiana.</p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>It got later and later, and we finally saw the mountains of Slovenija in the distance.  We wound up some small roads and into them around sunset, crossing the border into our 11th country just as red and orange and green ripped across the horizon.</p>
 <p>The change in altitude was serious.  It was cold when the sun dropped below the horizon.  Evan's beard was soaked with the condensation of his own breath, and our meagre lights were barely enough to help us see around corners.  We were thankful to the French road workers who long ago gave us the high-visibility vest.  We slowly made our way about 30km across the country to Sežana, where we knew we had hosts waiting for us.</p>
 <p>We had gotten poor directions from the Internet, but fortunately we found the local postman of SeĹľana in a bar.  The girl who ran the bar spoke English, and she helped us to ask him for directions.  Better than that, he simply led us to our hosts' house.  :)  Some people are so kind!</p>
-<p>We arrived around 22h, and, boy, were Aleksander and Azra surprised to see us.  They even said they had forgotten that we were arriving... we really need to find a solution to the awful French phone we still carry with us.  Anyway, they welcomed us into their home and let us shower and cook dinner, then we all sat down to discuss some things about the area and the schedule for tomorrow.  It sounds like we're in for a tour, and Aleksander is really excited to show us around.  We're excited, too, and not just because we get to sleep in a bed.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/01/octobrrrrrr.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/03/wine-ding-road.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We arrived around 22h, and, boy, were Aleksander and Azra surprised to see us.  They even said they had forgotten that we were arriving... we really need to find a solution to the awful French phone we still carry with us.  Anyway, they welcomed us into their home and let us shower and cook dinner, then we all sat down to discuss some things about the area and the schedule for tomorrow.  It sounds like we're in for a tour, and Aleksander is really excited to show us around.  We're excited, too, and not just because we get to sleep in a bed.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/01/octobrrrrrr.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/03/wine-ding-road.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>wine-ding road</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/02/corn-haul.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/04/hello-hrvatska.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>wine-ding road</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#si"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/si.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Slovenia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-03</div></div><div id="content"><p>Late morning - though perhaps not too late; the night lifts later as we sink further into the rainy windy cold fall weather, so that now it get lighter around 0700. And we remember a time, two months ago in the blistering summertime heat on the Iberian peninsula, when the sun would rise promptly at 0500 and usher us out of our tent to beat the midday sun - but those days are no longer. We have started to rely more and more on our warmer clothing, and must keep one or more long-sleeved shirts at hand at all times...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>wine-ding road</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/02/corn-haul.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/04/hello-hrvatska.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>wine-ding road</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#si"><img src="/icons/si.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Slovenia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-03</div></div><div id="content"><p>Late morning - though perhaps not too late; the night lifts later as we sink further into the rainy windy cold fall weather, so that now it get lighter around 0700. And we remember a time, two months ago in the blistering summertime heat on the Iberian peninsula, when the sun would rise promptly at 0500 and usher us out of our tent to beat the midday sun - but those days are no longer. We have started to rely more and more on our warmer clothing, and must keep one or more long-sleeved shirts at hand at all times...</p>
 <p>...but fortunately for us, today is neither rainy nor cold; it is rather quite nice out, and we have agreed to stay on in Sežana an extra day so that Aleksander can take a much-needed break from work and study to show us around the surrounding countryside. It is also Sunday, that dreaded day of rest when nearly all of Europe grinds to a restful halt. Supermarkets, post offices, even some restaurants are firmly closed...</p>
 <p>...and so there is nothing for it but to join Aleksander on this, his final day before starting work a few kilometres away for a video gambling outfit, on a wonderful afternoon-evening excursion about the Kras wine region and its nearby mountain ranges. We start off with a ride over to nearby Pliskovica, where Aleksander's favourite vineyard is located; he exchanges a few words with the owners, who usher us in past an old bicycle and row upon row of slowly rusting farm tools to a room that looks as though it might double as a restaurant in more meal-appropriate hours - but for now, it is the site of their direct-from-the-producer store, and we are treated to glasses of rich red wine bearing a richly fruity yet not-too-sweet taste unlike anything else we've tasted on this trip; they say that the unique taste derives from the mineral-rich soils in these parts, tucked away in the folds of the mountains that wash their nutrient-rich deposits into the valleys year after year. Aleksander picks up three bottles: one larger bottle for drinking tonight, one smaller which we are to deliver to a couple they met on the coastal Croatian road during their previous travels down to Dubrovnik, and a bottle of liquor made from the grape remains after first fermentation for wine. The owners insist we try some of the liquor as well - which is equally fantastic - and show us down into the cellar, where they have giant 1000L tubs of freshly harvested grapes fermenting for this year's production run. The process is surprisingly simple: pick grapes, crush grapes into tubs, ferment grapes for three days, filter, transfer to large bottles for controlled fermentation, bottle once the sugar and alcohol concentrations reach desired levels, take grape remains for further fermentation and distillation into liquor. In this way, they get maximal use out of the grape harvest, enough to more than support themselves for the coming year; they sell some directly at the farm, while the rest goes to local markets in Trieste and elsewhere for sale at higher market prices. This is the lesson of true small-scale agricultural business: waste nothing, sell as high up on the value chain as possible, and above all remain honest...</p>
 <p>After that, we head next door to a 400-year-old building that has since been converted into a rather prosperous hostel. Today they are hosting an exhibition of local mushroom varieties. The kitchen is full of pots and frying pans, all being frantically employed in the manufacture of several mushroom-based delicacies: mushroom spreads, mushroom rolls, mushroom pancakes, mushroom fritters...all delicious, but the sly woman heading the kitchen disregards the menu posted outside and overcharges for the plates. As we eat a mixed plate of mushroom-based foods, an old couple from Russia starts talking to us. The wife has a most refreshing philosophy of life: she spends as much of her money as possible on travel without particular regard to saving for the future. In this way, she has avoided the fate of several of her friends, who lost substantial sums of saved money in the recent economic debacle. As a resident of the region, she speaks several languages on a daily basis: English, Italian, Slovenian, Croatian, sometimes even German or French for the tourists streaming in from the rest of Europe. They wish us good luck for the remainder of our travels, and we head down the stone path to the old stables next to the rooms where the central table is covered with labelled boxes of mushrooms. Some are edible, others poisonous, and some even deadly so; even worse, some of the edible and poisonous varieties resemble each other so closely that an expert eye is required to distinguish them. A lesson, then, for aspiring hunter-gatherers on budget travels: don't pick mushrooms you don't know! Safer by far to stick to berries, nuts, and fruit from the frequent trees and farmers' fields than to risk hospitalization or death...and speaking of figs, there is a fig tree still bearing ripe juicy figs outside the stables, so we pick a generous portion of figs to complete our meal and call it even on the price.</p>
 <p>After that, we head up along a mountain ridge towards the home of someone who helped Aleksander on a previous day cycle around the area; the terrain is arduous, and will make short work of anyone whose training is not up to snuff. Fortunately for us, we are travelling by car for the day, and are therefore able to appreciate the beautiful view without the hard climb that usually precedes it. On the way, we stop at an old cemetery with the remains of Austrian and Hungarian soldiers from WW1, interred in peaceful rows whose stones and hedges have slowly integrated back into their natural setting. An older couple are picking mushrooms in one corner of the cemetery, and they offer several of them to Aleksander who in return points them in the direction of the wine cellar and mushroom festival over in Pliskovica. Something delicious and fresh for dinner tonight! We continue down towards the border where we first crossed into Slovenia, but stop short to veer up a steep road into the aforementioned ridge; there is no one at the house, but Aleksander manages after some effort to secure a pen with which to write an explanatory note. This he attaches to the bottle - and we are off along the ridge again, driving through the afternoon to the relaxing organic lounge-house sounds of Buddha Bar V...</p>
 <p>...we arrive in this smallish town built into a hilltop, portions of the fortress and castle still overlooking the mountains beyond. There is some kind of minor festival going on, with vendors set up around the base of the hill selling books and trinkets that are hardly of use to two cyclists for whom every bit of added weight had better be justified - so we bypass the vendors and instead walk up the path around the back of the hill, stopping every so often to profit from the magnificent views across the valleys to the peaks in the distance. Once we complete a half-tour of the hill by this path, it opens up into a flatter portion with stone staircases and this old bridge across an ornamental pond that is clogged with local tourists out for some quick scenic photos of their respective Sunday drives. We then walk up into the town, passing an old-style well as we stumble along the coarse gravel and overgrown roadsides in our flip-flops - up into the town and then down the other side, back towards the car. From there, we speed off in directions unknown to us - Aleksander says merely that it is a surprise, offering no other explanation. We are hardly in a position to complain, not knowing the roads around here...</p>
 <p>...so it is a welcome surprise indeed when, roughly an hour later, we reach the coast of the Adriatic just above Trieste. There is a jogging and hiking path etched into the cliffside that affords an unparalleled view of the sunset across the bay, the golden Sun-orb sinking into the water as a host of cargo ships dotted about the harbour wait for the evening shift change, Trieste bathing in the warm fading light as, up here on the rocks, amateur climbers practice with their equipment on the out-leaning faces by the path.</p>
-<p>It has been a full day by the time we retire to Aleksander's place, where we cap off our short trip with a delicious meal of freshly-picked mushrooms in cream sauce on pasta served with fantastic Kras wine from the cellar we visited earlier. Quite the way to end our stay in Slovenia, and a fine way indeed to rejuvenate ourselves for the ride tomorrow into Croatia. The Adriatic beckons; though we are but weeks away from Istanbul, there are still the not-inconsequential stretches through Croatia to Dubrovnik, along the coasts of Montenegro and Albania, and around Greece by Athens - or perhaps Kalamata if we are feeling ambitious; who knows? On a trip like this, splitting hairs over a matter of 200 km is futile. Best to ride and see what happens, for there is no telling where those we meet might take us...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/02/corn-haul.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/04/hello-hrvatska.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>It has been a full day by the time we retire to Aleksander's place, where we cap off our short trip with a delicious meal of freshly-picked mushrooms in cream sauce on pasta served with fantastic Kras wine from the cellar we visited earlier. Quite the way to end our stay in Slovenia, and a fine way indeed to rejuvenate ourselves for the ride tomorrow into Croatia. The Adriatic beckons; though we are but weeks away from Istanbul, there are still the not-inconsequential stretches through Croatia to Dubrovnik, along the coasts of Montenegro and Albania, and around Greece by Athens - or perhaps Kalamata if we are feeling ambitious; who knows? On a trip like this, splitting hairs over a matter of 200 km is futile. Best to ride and see what happens, for there is no telling where those we meet might take us...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/02/corn-haul.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/04/hello-hrvatska.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>hello hrvatska!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/03/wine-ding-road.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/05/reading-riting-and-rain.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>hello hrvatska!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-04</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Slowly, a veil drops.<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>hello hrvatska!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/03/wine-ding-road.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/05/reading-riting-and-rain.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>hello hrvatska!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-04</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Slowly, a veil drops.<br />
 Ensconced in fog, biking's hard,<br />
 But we still make it.</i></p>
 <p>It was a slow start from Sežana this morning, but it was okay.  We only planned to go about 80km to another host's house in Opatija, Hrvatska (Croatia).  We saw Aleksander off on his first day of work, and we thanked him and Azra for all their kindness.  We took our group photo, loaded the bikes, and set off into some gloom.</p>
@@ -7,4 +7,4 @@
 <p>The road led us up and up, into the mountains.  Much of the day was gorgeous, if cloudy, but as we neared the Croatian border, a thick fog blanketed everything.  We pulled out all our lights and our vest, but we were still nervous as we biked slowly through the murk.  It was getting colder and colder, too, and our long-sleeved shirts were barely enough to keep us warm.  We'll definitely have to invest in some jackets or sweatshirts before fall really shows up.</p>
 <p>The border was uneventful, which we were sad about.  We had been so excited to leave Schengen and start getting passport stamps, but the woman at the desk simply laughed at our pathetic-ness and said, "All the way from America by bike?" before waving us on.  We did look pathetic, I guess.  The fog and our general dampness from the earlier rain did not make us a happy sight, and certainly our bags and bikes are filthy as they have been for months.  I hope we get a stamp when we go through Bosnia later, though.</p>
 <p>It was an easy downhill from the border, and the fog lifted quickly as we sped into the warm, Mediterranean air.  We passed an ATM conveniently located next to a shop, so we picked up some kuna (the local currency) and some Ožujsko (the local crappy beer).  I remember having Ožujsko when I was in Croatia this spring, and it was nothing special, but the name is so damn funny that Evan and I felt we had to make a commercial about it after purchasing the cans.  It will show up on our Youtube channel (<a href="http://youtube.com/biketotheearth">http://youtube.com/biketotheearth</a>) whenever we find a wifi connection reliable- and fast enough to upload it.</p>
-<p>Down and down and down to the sea, where our host's house in Opatija is.  We successfully found our way this time, and we knocked on his door to find him at home, even.  His name is Ivo, and he's really cool.  He doesn't like crap from anybody, and he knows loads about Croatia.  We spent the evening discussing possible routes southward and the history of Croatia and Yugoslavia.  I'm not sure where we can put all the information he gave us... it might wind up as notes on our map, or it might wind up as comments on photos?  Anyway, it would be awkward to write in this blog post with no context, so we'll just save it for later.  Now, we're going to head to bed.  A bed!  Three nights in a row!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/03/wine-ding-road.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/05/reading-riting-and-rain.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Down and down and down to the sea, where our host's house in Opatija is.  We successfully found our way this time, and we knocked on his door to find him at home, even.  His name is Ivo, and he's really cool.  He doesn't like crap from anybody, and he knows loads about Croatia.  We spent the evening discussing possible routes southward and the history of Croatia and Yugoslavia.  I'm not sure where we can put all the information he gave us... it might wind up as notes on our map, or it might wind up as comments on photos?  Anyway, it would be awkward to write in this blog post with no context, so we'll just save it for later.  Now, we're going to head to bed.  A bed!  Three nights in a row!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/03/wine-ding-road.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/05/reading-riting-and-rain.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>reading, 'riting, and rain</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/04/hello-hrvatska.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/06/i-recommend-croatia.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>reading, 'riting, and rain</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-05</div></div><div id="content"><p>Rain pours down over Hrvatska - the most we've seen all trip, counting even our housebound day on the farm and the storm back on our way to Baie de Mont-Saint-Michel. It cascades down the steps, snakes down the blacktop hills and concrete surfaces to wash out into the Adriatic, beating against Ivo's roof in Opatija where we await the good weather promised us tomorrow by the admittedly imperfect forecast...so, for now, we are held up from biking. No problem; there are always ways to pass the time...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>reading, 'riting, and rain</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/04/hello-hrvatska.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/06/i-recommend-croatia.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>reading, 'riting, and rain</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-05</div></div><div id="content"><p>Rain pours down over Hrvatska - the most we've seen all trip, counting even our housebound day on the farm and the storm back on our way to Baie de Mont-Saint-Michel. It cascades down the steps, snakes down the blacktop hills and concrete surfaces to wash out into the Adriatic, beating against Ivo's roof in Opatija where we await the good weather promised us tomorrow by the admittedly imperfect forecast...so, for now, we are held up from biking. No problem; there are always ways to pass the time...</p>
 <p>...so we start off with a quick trip down through the rain to the local Konzum supermarket and nearby bakery, Ivo's makeshift shoe-slippers squeaking against the drenched pavement as the rain drums down upon our umbrellas. Rain is a beautiful thing provided you are not stuck biking in it; if you are, it is difficult to appreciate - the clothes in your panniers become damp, the clothes on your back weigh you down and steal much-needed body heat, every road is a treacherous challenge against the elements. Fortunate for us that we are not stuck in that situation...</p>
 <p>...and we pick up the usual - bread, pastries, yogurt for breakfast; vegetables to cook into our bean mix for lunch and dinner; a couple of beers to pass the time - before trudging back up the hill to hide from the rain at Ivo's. There are some English-language books on the shelf - we pick out one dumb American laws and another about a doctor who treated civilians and soldiers from both sides during the Russian-Chechnyan conflict, alternately reading and writing blog posts to the ever-present sound of the rain. Eventually it nears lunchtime; we set some beans to soak, pass another couple of hours writing and reading...</p>
 <p>...day becomes afternoon, and the rain shows no signs of letting up. Hopefully it will not delay us further; we've got a destination to reach. The beans are ready to cook, but that means another 2 hours or so of boiling and simmering. We prepare the vegetables for the stew, cooking them in as much olive oil and spice as we can cram into the pot without thoroughly destroying the meal. Back to reading and writing for now, with short breaks to check email off Ivo's computer or stare outside at the incessant rain - or, on occasion, receive more of Ivo's encyclopaedic knowledge of the region, its history, its minutiae of corrupt officials and distance-obsessed racing cyclists...</p>
-<p>...afternoon slowly fades into night, and with it the rain at last drops off to a low murmur before stopping altogether. Maybe we will be able to ride out in the morning! Our blog posts are caught up, our legs well-rested from a day of near-complete inactivity. We finally tire of reading and retire to the warmth of the blanket, drifting off into sleep. Another day closer to our departure. The past couple of weeks have been uncommonly restful - save for a few bursts of all-out stop-to-stop cycling - so that we feel more and more that it is time to go, to return to the trip of multi-day wild camping stretches Out There. Next up: the stretch along the coast opposite the Dalmatians, reputed to be scenic beyond all belief, and then on down the coast of Hrvatska through Split, the token borders with Bosnia, and Dubrovnik - and then on further, further into yet more unknown territory, into Montenegro and Albania before at last arriving in Greece to tackle the final stretches into Istanbul...exciting!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/04/hello-hrvatska.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/06/i-recommend-croatia.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...afternoon slowly fades into night, and with it the rain at last drops off to a low murmur before stopping altogether. Maybe we will be able to ride out in the morning! Our blog posts are caught up, our legs well-rested from a day of near-complete inactivity. We finally tire of reading and retire to the warmth of the blanket, drifting off into sleep. Another day closer to our departure. The past couple of weeks have been uncommonly restful - save for a few bursts of all-out stop-to-stop cycling - so that we feel more and more that it is time to go, to return to the trip of multi-day wild camping stretches Out There. Next up: the stretch along the coast opposite the Dalmatians, reputed to be scenic beyond all belief, and then on down the coast of Hrvatska through Split, the token borders with Bosnia, and Dubrovnik - and then on further, further into yet more unknown territory, into Montenegro and Albania before at last arriving in Greece to tackle the final stretches into Istanbul...exciting!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/04/hello-hrvatska.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/06/i-recommend-croatia.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>I RECOMMEND CROATIA</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/05/reading-riting-and-rain.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/07/croatian-road-service-says-no.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>I RECOMMEND CROATIA</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-06</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Return to biking,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>I RECOMMEND CROATIA</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/05/reading-riting-and-rain.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/07/croatian-road-service-says-no.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>I RECOMMEND CROATIA</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-06</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Return to biking,<br />
 Re-learn the muscles, enjoy<br />
 Freedom, sun, and sea...</i></p>
 <p>We're back on our bikes!  And since there are no hosts (as far as we know) between here and at least Split (around 400-500km), we will be biking it for a good, long way.  It feels good to know that.  :)</p>
@@ -10,4 +10,4 @@
 <p>The wind here is insane!  It pours out of the mountains and down to the sea, generally present, but with severe gusts to remind us that it's there in case we get too complacent.</p>
 <p>It's hard to find food here, which might be a problem.  This stretch is clearly built almost entirely for summer tourism, and we have been hard-pressed to find much, and harder-pressed to find much open.  Senj fortunately has a supermarket, but we're forcing ourselves to stock up to avoid starvation.  Ivo and Aleksander also warned us that we need to make sure to have sufficient water at all times (especially important when we use &gt;1 bottle's worth to cook dinner each night).  Gone are the days of Italy and Spain and their fontanas.  :(</p>
 <p>Anyway, our goal today was to make it to Rab, which is one of the islands up here.  We didn't quite make it... we're stopped in a town called Senj, about 40km from where we intended.  It's okay, and we'll certainly make up the distance tomorrow.  Stopping for repairs and all that slows things down, and that's fine, plus we stopped fairly early because we found a pretty nice campsite with sea access.  For dinner we got to wander down a winding staircase to a secret beach where we attempted to take a swim before deciding that it is, in fact, too frigid and windy to do so in October.  We ate super simple olive oil and garlic pasta, so we got to try the new olive oil we bought in Slovenia.  It's Kalamata first cold press delicious stuff, and we SUPER LOVE IT.</p>
-<p>It's bedtime.  The wind is blowing everything everywhere, and this ground is impossible to peg in, so we're going to have an interesting time sleeping in our tent.  A very cold time.  Sigh.  But today was so rewarding and stunningly beautiful that we don't care!  I RECOMMEND CROATIA.  We've been discussing how we should try to convince people that Croatia is the hipsterest country around... it's new, most people haven't heard of it, and it's becoming a more and more popular tourist destination.  Plus it's name in Croatian, Hrvatska, is strange and fun-to-say enough that it could really catch on.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/05/reading-riting-and-rain.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/07/croatian-road-service-says-no.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>It's bedtime.  The wind is blowing everything everywhere, and this ground is impossible to peg in, so we're going to have an interesting time sleeping in our tent.  A very cold time.  Sigh.  But today was so rewarding and stunningly beautiful that we don't care!  I RECOMMEND CROATIA.  We've been discussing how we should try to convince people that Croatia is the hipsterest country around... it's new, most people haven't heard of it, and it's becoming a more and more popular tourist destination.  Plus it's name in Croatian, Hrvatska, is strange and fun-to-say enough that it could really catch on.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/05/reading-riting-and-rain.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/07/croatian-road-service-says-no.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>croatian road service says no</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/06/i-recommend-croatia.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/08/croatian-is-the-language-of-trogdor.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>croatian road service says no</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-07</div></div><div id="content"><p>A night restless as the wind that whips through our tent, slicing through the cover and into our sleeping bags as though each were threadbare. We awake to find that most of the tent corners have shed their terrestrial trappings and are flapping about in the fierce gusts, leaving the pegs uselessly anchored into the ground - and yet the tent itself remains underneath us, has not blown off the cliff into the cold Adriatic as we had feared...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>croatian road service says no</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/06/i-recommend-croatia.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/08/croatian-is-the-language-of-trogdor.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>croatian road service says no</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-07</div></div><div id="content"><p>A night restless as the wind that whips through our tent, slicing through the cover and into our sleeping bags as though each were threadbare. We awake to find that most of the tent corners have shed their terrestrial trappings and are flapping about in the fierce gusts, leaving the pegs uselessly anchored into the ground - and yet the tent itself remains underneath us, has not blown off the cliff into the cold Adriatic as we had feared...</p>
 <p>...and our day starts with a slow ride back down the hill into Senj, where we eat breakfast and drink our morning coffee and seek refuge from the wind. The wind is everything now, equally much so as the rain was all-encompassing only two days ago. It is unpredictable, occasionally blowing with a force that threatens to sweep us off our bikes past the often non-existent guardrails; even when it dies down, it is still strong enough to wick any sweat out of our cycling jerseys and leave us shivering. We decide that it is best to wait until the sun has risen over the coastal mountains, mitigating the cold winds with its heat...</p>
 <p>...which it does by roughly 0900; we're off! The wind has not truly let up, but we cannot wait forever in Senj; we itch to ride, even more so than we desire safety from the wind, and so we inch back up the hill to pass our cliffside campsite and continue on down the coastal highway 8 towards Zadar, Split, and - eventually, after crossing through 10 km of Bosnia - Dubrovnik.</p>
 <p>This is hands-down one of the best locations of the entire trip thus far. The islands of Krk, Rab, and Pag are unlike anything we've seen; their coast-facing slopes, denuded by grazing goats and powerful winds, appear as some sort of lunar landscape - it is a shame we are unable to make it over there, for the other side of Rab is reputed to contain several magnificent beaches next to a section of rainforest. Nevertheless, the view from the mainland is an uninterrupted spectacle; settlements are scarce through this stretch of road, and it is uncommon to see even one town in 15-20 km...</p>
 <p>We continue down the coast for some time, at last reaching Karlobag after several hours and many hills' worth of cycling. This is the first town of any considerable size since Senj some 60 km or so behind - indeed, we were forced at midday to make a lunch of pasta, garlic, and olive oil, these being the only ingredients that we keep regularly stocked in our pantry. We finally restock in Karlobag, loading up on food for supper and breakfast. By now, we have assumed a regular pattern in our cooking: we cook large suppers, enough to fill our Tupperware container for the next day's lunch, and make sure to grab breakfast materials at the same time - in this way, we need only visit the markets once per day. Our breakfasts have become quite basic, consisting primarily of yogurt with whatever cereal or müsli we have in the pantry - a good, simple, and inexpensive high-energy meal to start the day! It is at last cool enough at night to reasonably store yogurt, something that would have been unthinkable in the mold-inducing heat of Spain and Portugal...</p>
 <p>...and we continue on past Karlobag, fighting against the ever more fierce winds. At one point, the wind is so strong that we are nearly blown sideways off the road, and we consider stopping for the night on an unoccupied terrace by the roadside...but we take a short break, the wind subsides, and we keep on going right down into the pseudo-riviera - for it is the fashion here to call every potentially touristic seaside stretch a "riviera" - until we happen upon a small terrace of olive trees with adequate space to set a tent and a decent stone beach for cooking beneath. We cook and drink and eat away the evening hours, basking in the Adriatic sunset...</p>
-<p>...and, having had our fill of food for the night, we head back up to our bikes so that we may detach the tent from my pannier rack and set it on the soft ground beneath the olive trees - but alas! It is not to be; the Croatian Road Service happens upon our would-be campsite, the driver of their neon-orange van inquiring probingly as to what exactly we might be doing there at such a twilight hour. There is nothing else for it: the site is compromised, so we continue on yet again - this time trying valiantly to see by the light of our meagre headlamp - and manage to find a scenic lookout a few kilometres down the road that is protected enough from view to avoid attracting the repeat attentions of the Road Service. We toss the sleeping bag down on the tent footprint, not even bothering to set the tent itself - there are no bugs here, and the weather is expected to hold up for a few days yet - before catching a night of sleep under the stars...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/06/i-recommend-croatia.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/08/croatian-is-the-language-of-trogdor.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...and, having had our fill of food for the night, we head back up to our bikes so that we may detach the tent from my pannier rack and set it on the soft ground beneath the olive trees - but alas! It is not to be; the Croatian Road Service happens upon our would-be campsite, the driver of their neon-orange van inquiring probingly as to what exactly we might be doing there at such a twilight hour. There is nothing else for it: the site is compromised, so we continue on yet again - this time trying valiantly to see by the light of our meagre headlamp - and manage to find a scenic lookout a few kilometres down the road that is protected enough from view to avoid attracting the repeat attentions of the Road Service. We toss the sleeping bag down on the tent footprint, not even bothering to set the tent itself - there are no bugs here, and the weather is expected to hold up for a few days yet - before catching a night of sleep under the stars...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/06/i-recommend-croatia.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/08/croatian-is-the-language-of-trogdor.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>croatian is the language of trogdor</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/07/croatian-road-service-says-no.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/09/burninate.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>croatian is the language of trogdor</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-08</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Key information,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>croatian is the language of trogdor</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/07/croatian-road-service-says-no.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/09/burninate.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>croatian is the language of trogdor</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-08</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Key information,<br />
 Like destination and time,<br />
 But no more!  No more!</i></p>
 <p>We learned an interesting lesson today, one which I guess we've learned at several points along this trip, but which we hadn't taken the time to discuss together until now: too much information is bad.  For instance, for the duration of our stay in Hrvatska, we have decided to purchase just one map which is a 1:500,000 scale.  That's bigger than we generally like our maps to be, but we initially thought that we would just follow the 8 down the coast anyway.  That turned out not to be the case after we spoke with Ivo; he recommended that we visit a couple of the parks further inland here, and we elected to take his advice for one.  This park is situated in a river valley which is accessible only by climbing several hundred meters first.  That's hard.  We probably wouldn't have done that if we knew it was there, especially if we'd known that we had to cross a couple other river valleys along the way.  But the park is beautiful, and we have no regrets for putting in the extra effort now.</p>
@@ -10,4 +10,4 @@
 <p>Beyond that area, we emerged onto highlands covered in golden bushes.  The leaves are beginning to change!  To anyone who lives in an area where the leaves change: we are worried that we won't get to see the transition, since here it seems that leaves go from green to yellow to dead, and we would love to see photos of the rich reds and oranges if you could e-mail them to us (biketotheearth@gmail.com).</p>
 <p>These highlands led slowly to a town perched at the edge of the Krka river park.  Some young kids pointed us at the park nearby, and they were disappointed when we stopped at the supermarket to sicken ourselves with some midday beer and gingerbread cookies before heading on.  It seemed that this town had access to just one road that went through, though, and that road led directly down into the valley to a monastery and immediately dead-ended.  We decided that that was not a good strategy, so we followed a series of roads along the top of the valley, eventually coming down it to see a lake at the end of one branch of the Krka.  Beautiful.  Even better, though, was that beyond the valley that that lake was in lies a town called Skradin which is on the river itself.  There is a large marina here, and they offer boat tours of the park.  We arrived here around 17h, and the 20km or whatever to Šibenik seemed like a silly thing to bike, given that we have would then have to find a spot to camp there.  This town has a beach which seems alright for camping, but we poked around a bit further and even found an unused forest area with soft ground and protection from the mountain wind.  There are somewhat worn paths through it, so it's evident that it's not mined.  Good news for our limbs.  :)</p>
 <p>Today is apparently a holiday in Hrvatska, or at least in this region, because all the grocery stores have handwritten signs in their windows saying that they are closed for some reason or another that we can't understand through the language barrier.  We scrounged together a dinner of pasta with feta, corn, and lemon with a salad on the side, and we're happy.  We also discovered that Ožujsko makes a wheat beer, and we tried Slivovica for the first time (officially).  We actually discovered that it's the same stuff Nara gave us yesterday.  :)</p>
-<p>Now, to sleep!  It will be peaceful here, away from the main road and things.  Tomorrow, Šibenik and Split, and probably a shower!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/07/croatian-road-service-says-no.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/09/burninate.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Now, to sleep!  It will be peaceful here, away from the main road and things.  Tomorrow, Šibenik and Split, and probably a shower!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/07/croatian-road-service-says-no.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/09/burninate.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>burninate</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/08/croatian-is-the-language-of-trogdor.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/10/10-10-10.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>burninate</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-09</div></div><div id="content"><p>We awake in our peaceful grove campsite, the cold morning sending shivers through our still-half-asleep bodies. Skradin is up enough into the highlands that it does not benefit from the climate-moderating effect of the sea; it is noticeably colder here than it was by the Adriatic! Fortunately it is not yet time for frost or snow, and we manage to don several layers of clothing before heading down into Skradin itself for the ritual morning coffee.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>burninate</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/08/croatian-is-the-language-of-trogdor.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/10/10-10-10.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>burninate</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-09</div></div><div id="content"><p>We awake in our peaceful grove campsite, the cold morning sending shivers through our still-half-asleep bodies. Skradin is up enough into the highlands that it does not benefit from the climate-moderating effect of the sea; it is noticeably colder here than it was by the Adriatic! Fortunately it is not yet time for frost or snow, and we manage to don several layers of clothing before heading down into Skradin itself for the ritual morning coffee.</p>
 <p>Šibenik itself is some 20 km away: first we climb out of Skradin's beautiful lake valley abutting Krka, then we bike along the highlands, then we circumcycle a coastal mountain to avoid the autoroute tunnel directly into Šibenik. The town itself is unremarkable; we have been informed that there is a library with free Internet connection there, but the need is not great enough to warrant stopping. There are two roads marked on our map out of Šibenik towards Trogir and Split - one that heads up into the mountains, and one that takes a longer but more gradual route around the coast. Having had our fill of mountains from yesterday's excursion to Krka, we opt for the coastal route...</p>
 <p>...which does not disappoint; the road winds around bright blue bays rimmed with minor tourist destinations whose clusters of red-tile roofs are by now a familiar sight. Unlike the often cruel climbs of the Italian coastal roads - especially in Liguria, where the slivers of available space tucked between mountains and sea come always at a premium - the Croatian roads climb slowly but relentlessly, tipped slightly upwards for kilometres before offering the inevitable winding downhills that make every bit of the climb worth it. We continue in this way for 58 km; about two-thirds of the way to Trogir, the road breaks from the coast and heads inland via a mountain valley. This too is incredibly picturesque, though not quite in the same way - and it is somewhat harder to bike through, what with the wind that whips down between the ridges against us. The fig trees are barren, the juicy delicious days of fig season now behind us - and yet ripening pomegranates hang ponderously from their branches in anticipation of harvests yet to come...</p>
 <p>We reach Trogir at last! As we have been told, the mainland is unremarkable; rather, the town earns its UNESCO World Heritage designation for the old medieval city which is kept in curiously good form just across the bridge onto a small island. It has the usual assortment of ancient fortifications and cathedrals and such - and, in an anachronistic flourish, offers free wifi to visitors, a fact of which we take full advantage to catch up on our various correspondences with friends and family back home. The old city is rather small, and can be reasonably navigated within the span of an hour or two. The mainland is not completely without attractions, however; there is a sizeable food and trinket market between the bridges, a welcome sight for hungry cyclists...</p>
 <p>...and, after making sure to look up suitably cheap accommodations in Split, we ride on. Split is somewhat of a midway point for those heading down through Croatia, situated roughly 300 km down from Rijeka; it hugs the outer midriff of the peninsula opposite Trogir, so that the short-seeming distance between the two is deceptively long once you take into account the circumnavigation of the bay. Arriving from the direction of Rijeka and Zadar, the first thing that you notice is the decent-sized industrial zone next to the train yard; you then have to make a harrowing bridge crossing before braving three lanes of peripheral traffic along the highway. Finally, the main road into the old town is 4-5 km, and although the sidewalks are large enough to run touring bikes through, the paving leaves something to be desired...</p>
 <p>...as we make our way down this road, we are treated to views of burnt forest on the mountainside opposite - perhaps resulting from the unusually hot and dry summer that gripped Europe this year. On the way to our hostel, we end up taking a slight detour up a hill by the old town before realizing our error and correcting it with a slight bit of backtracking. Even at this advanced stage of our travels, we are hardly immune from navigational mishaps! Despite the unintentional delay, we make it down into the old town and to Hostell Nikolla - yet more evidence of Croatia's obsession with the mad genius - with daylight to spare. The staff are gracious, and even more so in the off-season when tourist custom is scarce...</p>
 <p>...and we are soon on our way around the old town, a 2L bottle of Ožujsko in hand - although the beer itself is sub-par by the standards of the German and Belgian fare we were treated to earlier on in our trip, the consonant-loaded name is so comical that we can hardly put the swill down. After wandering past the city walls, the exterior of Diocletian's Palace, the café-loaded waterfront, the old plaza, and the shopping district with its currently dormant fish market, we happen upon a pizzeria that Valkyrie had previously visited in her travels through Split on the way to Zagreb. They have dark beer on tap - a rarity this far south! - and a passable rendition of pizza that serves to fill us up.</p>
-<p>A long day, for even though the distance - some 110 km - does not place it among our longer days, the endless gradual climbs along the Croatian coast are enough to tire out even hardened cyclists. Some much-deserved sleep is in order!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/08/croatian-is-the-language-of-trogdor.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/10/10-10-10.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>A long day, for even though the distance - some 110 km - does not place it among our longer days, the endless gradual climbs along the Croatian coast are enough to tire out even hardened cyclists. Some much-deserved sleep is in order!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/08/croatian-is-the-language-of-trogdor.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/10/10-10-10.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>10-10-10</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/09/burninate.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/11/token-coastline-grab.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>10-10-10</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-10</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>A hearty breakfast<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>10-10-10</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/09/burninate.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/11/token-coastline-grab.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>10-10-10</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-10</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>A hearty breakfast<br />
 For hard riding, mountains loom<br />
 Along the coast here...</i></p>
 <p>First off, happy birthday, Gordon Stratford!  It is 10/10/10, and therefore the birthday of Evan's dad.  :)</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>Anyway, we sat down to breakfast of scrambled eggs, which was something unusual for us.  In general, we're far too lazy to get the stove out in the morning for a hot breakfast, so we usually make due with the tomato bocadillos and yogurt/müsli route.  So we bummed around the kitchen, where we met an Australian couple doing a much larger trip than ours.  They told us about their adventures all across the Continent, through trains, planes, and automobiles, and we told them about our plans.  We're not likely to meet again, based on our respective plans, but we swapped contact info, anyway, in case that they should ever come to SF or we should ever go to Melbourne.</p>
 <p>Before we headed out, we decided we owed it to ourselves to visit the substructures of Diocletian's palace, since yesterday we didn't arrive until just before closing.  It was neat to go through; they have a fair number of signs around talking about the history of the place, and an old German man even stopped us in one room to give us a story about some of the piping.  Apparently, the emperor Diocletian had rheumatism, and he had heating and saunas installed to help mitigate the discomfort related to this.  The palace also had semi-modern plumbing and sewage disposal systems.  It was neat, and for 10HRK definitely worth it.</p>
 <p>The ride from Split was strange, due mostly to the housing developments.  We haven't seen back-to-back housing for a long time (since Italy, I guess), so seeing it for 20km outside Split was rather odd.  Beyond that, though, we wound into the mountains where it was too steep to build, and anything off the roadside was again wild or shaded by olive trees.</p>
-<p>Our ride didn't last so long.  We went about 70km to Makarska, which claims to be part of a riviera.  The area was really lovely, but not quite like the French Riviera, for instance.  :)  We found a really great spot to camp just outside of Točepi--a stony beach away from town and protected from the mountain wind by a grove of pines.  We cooked our dinner and watched the moon come up, then we finished watching "The Birds" (totally silly, but worth watching if you're into campy or old-school horror), and now it's time to go to sleep.  The white noise from the sea is so peaceful...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/09/burninate.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/11/token-coastline-grab.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Our ride didn't last so long.  We went about 70km to Makarska, which claims to be part of a riviera.  The area was really lovely, but not quite like the French Riviera, for instance.  :)  We found a really great spot to camp just outside of Točepi--a stony beach away from town and protected from the mountain wind by a grove of pines.  We cooked our dinner and watched the moon come up, then we finished watching "The Birds" (totally silly, but worth watching if you're into campy or old-school horror), and now it's time to go to sleep.  The white noise from the sea is so peaceful...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/09/burninate.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/11/token-coastline-grab.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>bosnia!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/11/token-coastline-grab.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/12/dudebrovnik.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>bosnia!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#ba"><img src="/icons/ba.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Bosnia and Herzegovina</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-11</div></div><div id="content"><p>Yeah. We were there. For half an hour. Bosnia. It's well important.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/11/token-coastline-grab.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/12/dudebrovnik.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>token coastline grab</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/10/10-10-10.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>token coastline grab</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-11</div></div><div id="content"><p>No rest for the cyclists: we rise at 0645 for breakfast, take a short walk along the beach to pass time until the sun begins to warm the still-frigid coastline, snap the requisite campsite photos, pack everything, hoist our bikes up onto our shoulders for the mighty walk back up to road level, and head off. Today's itinerary: down the coast through Ploče, on past the agricultural lowlands, up and across to the border crossing into Bosnia, 10 km of Bosnia, cross back into Hrvatska, and bike some 30 km more to a wild camping site recommended to us by Aleksander and Azra - about 120 km in all, not inconsiderable along this rolling coastline...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>token coastline grab</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/10/10-10-10.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>token coastline grab</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-11</div></div><div id="content"><p>No rest for the cyclists: we rise at 0645 for breakfast, take a short walk along the beach to pass time until the sun begins to warm the still-frigid coastline, snap the requisite campsite photos, pack everything, hoist our bikes up onto our shoulders for the mighty walk back up to road level, and head off. Today's itinerary: down the coast through Ploče, on past the agricultural lowlands, up and across to the border crossing into Bosnia, 10 km of Bosnia, cross back into Hrvatska, and bike some 30 km more to a wild camping site recommended to us by Aleksander and Azra - about 120 km in all, not inconsiderable along this rolling coastline...</p>
 <p>...and we start off with the morning coffee in a small town some 5 km after starting out, making sure to wash dishes, brush teeth, and perform other, er, washroom-related duties during our stop. The first two are best done at fountains, as that way both of us can split the washing duties and brush simultaneously; sadly, those seem to be in short supply since we left Venezia a week and a half ago. We leave the café, heading up around the back of the town to meet the main road in a manner that seems most circuitous - we wind around, switchbacking slightly up the mountain slopes behind the town before dropping again slightly - but we make it there nonetheless, and are again on our way...</p>
 <p>...whereupon, not a couple of kilometres further on, we meet up with an Australian cyclist on an even more ambitious journey than our own: starting from Barcelona, he plans to cross the whole of Eurasia via Istanbul, the Middle East, and China before hopping along the island chain to Australia and thence home to Melbourne - a year-long trip that promises to be quite the adventure! We swap stories of our travels, trading observations about respective choices in gear; this is standard protocol for travelling cyclists, among whom the only truism is that no two groups are exactly alike. Unlike our panniers with their increasingly tattered rain covers, his sport an integrated waterproof exterior; he remarks upon how much lighter our load seems, since we don't even have front panniers; we note the dual handlebars - a common sight among serious touring cyclists, as they permit easy attachment of additional gadgets such as cycling computers or handlebar bags - which remind us of the Swiss bike mechanic we met back in Barcelona. Of additional note: he is a chemical engineer by trade. This may seem unusual - after all, why should a highly educated person give up career prospects to bum around on two wheels? - until you hit the road and find that most touring cyclists fall into one of two categories. The first consists of career travellers, people who take odd jobs wherever they find work to save up for the next big trip. Bored professionals make up much of the other category - recent graduates, programmers, engineers, financial advisors, anyone with enough book learning behind them both to land a decent-paying job and to realize that they would much rather be doing just about anything else...</p>
 <p>...and we bike alongside him for a while to the road overlooking a few lakes just above Ploče, where he decides to leave us and wait for two Canadians behind him; he has been travelling with them for a few days, but they keep a slightly slower pace. Touring cyclists, it seems, form highly ad-hoc groups. They will join up for a short stretch, perhaps even for a few days - and yet everyone involved knows that they are still on their own trip, that they are free to stop without the others or continue on past them, that the group may be broken without malice or hurt feelings at any point. And so it is that we leave him above the lakes by Ploče, continuing on down into the town for a spot of lunch...</p>
@@ -8,4 +8,4 @@
 <p>...we stop in a café for drinks and a plate of fries - though really we do this to warm up a bit, shake the cold and wet out of our bones, dry our soggy cyclist clothing out. Anything to get refuge from the rain, for few things make riding more generally unpleasant than the knowledge that there is no dry place at the end of the day, that if your clothing and tent and sleeping bag soak through there is nothing left to turn to. Fortunately for us, our tent and sleeping bag are very much secure in dry bags whose thick yellow rubber exteriors protect them from all manner of inclement weather. As we prepare to leave, we are surprised to find our Australian friend again - he saw our bikes from the road and decided to drop in on us! We show him the location of the place we plan to camp tonight, and he agrees to join us...</p>
 <p>...so we bike on - and are glad that we stopped when we did, for it is the last food joint for some time - up to the crossing back into Croatia. There is a short segment of no-man's-land before we hit the border post; we unclip one foot each, but the customs agents laugh and wave us on through. From there, it is 30 rainy kilometres to our site, most of it uphill. We find a market along the way, stock up on food and wine for supper, and make our way around the bay to the site: as we near the end of the bay, there is a dirt and rock path leading up around the back of this rock. We follow it, dragging the bikes up with us - space enough for several tents with a splendid view across to the bay and surrounding islands...</p>
 <p>...but no other cyclists join us; perhaps they misunderstood when we pointed to the map and headed instead for the nearby campground. It is possible that we were not quite clear enough - for we wild camp whenever we can, pausing in beds and official campgrounds only when necessary or when the cumulative jankth of neglected hygiene wears on us. We cook in solitude atop the rock, warming ourselves by the feeble warmth of our one-burner stove as the light fades and the rain mercifully stops, giving way to a night that seems uncommonly warm by the standard of the past few days. Further south now. The days get minutely longer as we head south, the climate warmer, the mountain faces turning slowly from barren to brush-punctuated gravel to relatively lush greenery here at the bottom of Croatia.</p>
-<p>So, no joiners for the site - but our spirits are high, and we are but 30 km out of the medieval port empire of Dubrovnik where we will rest for a day before continuing on to Crna Gora, Albania, and eventually into Greece. So close! We hope to reach Athens by Halloween, albeit without any expectation that the pagan festival will be taken seriously there; this will leave us with plenty of time to cycle the final leg into Istanbul. 2500 km to go: the same distance we cycled from the cold pallor of Denmark to the frightening heat over the Pyrenees, and a mere fraction of our distance covered to date. What will real life bring to those who have spent so long away from it? Only time will tell...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/10/10-10-10.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>So, no joiners for the site - but our spirits are high, and we are but 30 km out of the medieval port empire of Dubrovnik where we will rest for a day before continuing on to Crna Gora, Albania, and eventually into Greece. So close! We hope to reach Athens by Halloween, albeit without any expectation that the pagan festival will be taken seriously there; this will leave us with plenty of time to cycle the final leg into Istanbul. 2500 km to go: the same distance we cycled from the cold pallor of Denmark to the frightening heat over the Pyrenees, and a mere fraction of our distance covered to date. What will real life bring to those who have spent so long away from it? Only time will tell...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/10/10-10-10.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>dudebrovnik</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/13/crna-gora.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>dudebrovnik</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-12</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>The sun seeks refuge,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>dudebrovnik</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/13/crna-gora.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>dudebrovnik</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#hr"><img src="/icons/hr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Croatia</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-12</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>The sun seeks refuge,<br />
 Ensconced in the misty dawn,<br />
 Not ready to wake.</i></p>
 <p>We weren't ready to wake, either.  Our campsite, as we were told by Aleksander and Azra, was really, really spectacular.  We slept in, unhurried because we were nowhere near people and knew we wouldn't be bothered, and we enjoyed our müsli and yogurt breakfast.  We were sad that we didn't see our Australian friend, but we still might run into him along the way.</p>
@@ -10,4 +10,4 @@
 <p>Our waiting done, we headed back to the apartment, where everything was ready.  We ate our lunch of leftovers, washed our clothes and hung them out to dry, were given some delicious fresh mandarin oranges from the tree growing in the apartment complex's garden, and headed into the old city for some exploring.</p>
 <p>On the way, we ran again into that backpacker.  We stopped to talk again; he's from New Orleans, now living in Colorado.  We swapped info with him, too, and went our separate ways.</p>
 <p>The old city of Dubrovnik provided many of the things that most old cities provide: a lot of cool-looking things built by people a long time ago that cost a significant amount to see.  We had gotten a map from the tourism office before that had lines indicating the paths of several tours that they offered, so we wandered along these paths, hoping to learn something without paying their exorbitant fees.  As it was, Evan invented a tour for me that was equally as informative as the regular tour, although admittedly none of the information was probably correct.  No matter.  Wikipedia will fix us up later.</p>
-<p>We returned to our apartment later, ready for some food.  It was a treat to eat a dinner with butter, and we are prepared now to go to bed satisfied.  Mmmm... plus we have food for tomorrow's lunch, which makes life even better.  :D</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/13/crna-gora.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We returned to our apartment later, ready for some food.  It was a treat to eat a dinner with butter, and we are prepared now to go to bed satisfied.  Mmmm... plus we have food for tomorrow's lunch, which makes life even better.  :D</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/11/bosnia.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/13/crna-gora.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>crna gora!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/12/dudebrovnik.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/14/local-wisdom.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>crna gora!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#me"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/me.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Montenegro</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-13</div></div><div id="content"><p>Leaving Dubrovnik today. In theory at least, this was to function as a sort of rest stop, a last oasis of sanity before plunging into the complete unknown of Montenegro (Crna Gora) and Albania (Shqipëri) - but we are too eager to continue, get on the road again, push on further towards our ultimate goal of Istanbul, and so we pack everything up to hit the road...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>crna gora!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/12/dudebrovnik.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/14/local-wisdom.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>crna gora!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#me"><img src="/icons/me.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Montenegro</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-13</div></div><div id="content"><p>Leaving Dubrovnik today. In theory at least, this was to function as a sort of rest stop, a last oasis of sanity before plunging into the complete unknown of Montenegro (Crna Gora) and Albania (Shqipëri) - but we are too eager to continue, get on the road again, push on further towards our ultimate goal of Istanbul, and so we pack everything up to hit the road...</p>
 <p>...except it rarely goes that smoothly, not when the only way to proceed is by protracted physical exertion. Our corporeal limitations force us to take it easy for the morning; it's been a long ride down the windy, rainy, windy, windy, and mostly uninhabited coast from Opatija/Rijeka, a 600 km whirlwind of seaside camping and uphill trudging over the past week to reach this point, and still we are only one-fifth of the way from Opatija to Istanbul. Even longer ride ahead - so we take our sweet time waking up, eat a sumptuous protein-packed breakfast of 3.5 eggs, 100g cheese, and a half-loaf of bread each, step outside to check the progress of our clothes (still mostly wet, unfortunately), pack everything at our leisure, write a couple of blog posts, and finally step out the door around 1000. We then head back over the hill into the old part of town to check out a potentially free wifi hotspot purported to be available in the vicinity of some shoe store - and it is, so we sit there until roughly 1300 downloading and blog-post-writing and video-uploading...</p>
 <p>...and then we finally get on the road, which as it turns out means backtracking out of the old city, up the hill, around to the side, up some more hill, up to the main road, up further to the cape just south of Dubrovnik - and then around, down, up, down, up, along some more of this infamously rolling Croatian coastline. Only 50 km to the border with Crna Gora, but that 50 km seems to drag on in our state of mounting exhaustion. We pass an airport roughly 30 km into the ride, the approach to which is marked by a series of aligned towers bearing all manner of blinking lights.</p>
 <p>One important detail remains: as it turns out, Crna Gora is in the EU and the Euro zone - and Croatia functions on HRK, which means we have some leftover currency that is soon to become obsolete. Fortunately for us, there is a market on the road just a few kilometres from the border; we stop there to eat some more, stock up on starches and snack, and generally reminisce about our nearly finished time in Croatia...</p>
 <p>...and, as with most southern European borders, this one is up a bit in the mountains - not far, but far enough that the climb is non-trivial; moreover, the switch from valley to valley is typically accompanied by a tectonic shift in climate, and this switch is no exception. Whereas our last portion of Croatia brought mostly grey skies punctuated with reassuring patches of blue, Crna Gora is mired in fog and a light dusting of rain that spits down for short periods of time before pausing to gear up for the next spitting. The customs officials stamp our passports upon exiting Croatia, an act now unheard of within the open border Schengen zone; we are excited to receive stamps, but more than a little miffed that they feature these odd four-wheeled motorized contraptions that the sensible majority of this world refer to as "cars". We hear people even use the things to get around, though that seems like a long-forgotten memory...</p>
 <p>...we arrive quickly in Herceg-Novi. Owing to our significantly-later-than-usual start, we have hit the sunset hour; within one more revolution of the minute hand, all will be plunged into darkness and the nightly search for shelter will become all the more difficult. It is imperative that we find a place to camp - but where? The waterfront is packed with apartments, castles, forts, hotels, and all the usual regalia of European coastal life. Yet there is still hope; the road signs indicate a park up the road, though no distance is given. We continue on, following these signs where they appear. It is a frustratingly European custom to put random subsets of the local attractions on each roadsign, so that it becomes uncertain as to whether you really are still going the right way or not...</p>
 <p>...and we locate a promising side road around the back of this restaurant pavillion overlooking the bays below, which we follow past a series of cemeteries and memorials until it turns into gravel track, whereupon it winds around behind a few houses before ending in the head of this dirt path into what looks like it might pass for a reasonably-sized park. Not much else for it at this point; it's starting to get dark, so we take the path into the forest a bit and find a spot underneath some trees. There is no space outside the path, which in any event is inadvisable territory for camping in these parts - for many of them bear the marks of previous conflicts in the form of land mines that lie hidden, waiting for unsuspecting farmers or travellers or whomsoever might have the misfortune to happen upon them...a horrible weapon, an absolutely unforgivable thing to inflict upon future generations of innocent civilians, orders of magnitude worse than the old practice of salting the earth so that nothing may grow again...</p>
-<p>...so we stick to the path, cooking in the fading light; it is infrequently enough used that we decide to set the tent up on the path itself. A light rain starts to fall, but the dense growth overhead mostly protects us and our food from the ravages of wet and damp. Another day, another country, another campsite and meal. What next? What wonders will our short jaunt through the land of the Black Mountain bring?</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/12/dudebrovnik.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/14/local-wisdom.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...so we stick to the path, cooking in the fading light; it is infrequently enough used that we decide to set the tent up on the path itself. A light rain starts to fall, but the dense growth overhead mostly protects us and our food from the ravages of wet and damp. Another day, another country, another campsite and meal. What next? What wonders will our short jaunt through the land of the Black Mountain bring?</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/12/dudebrovnik.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/14/local-wisdom.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>local wisdom</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/13/crna-gora.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/15/50-euro-a-night.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>local wisdom</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#me"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/me.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Montenegro</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-14</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Again, uninformed...<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>local wisdom</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/13/crna-gora.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/15/50-euro-a-night.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>local wisdom</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#me"><img src="/icons/me.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Montenegro</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-14</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Again, uninformed...<br />
 Weather takes us prisoner<br />
 We wait out the storm.</i></p>
 <p>The trees overhead last night did a decent job of keeping our tent dryer than everything around it, anyway.  Our bikes were soaked, but we realised later in the day that it didn't matter.  Things will pretty well get soaked here.</p>
@@ -14,4 +14,4 @@
 <p>Vladko left for work or shenanigans around noon, and we hopped on our bicycles to ride.  The scenery around the rest of the bay was similar to that at the beginning, and there were no navigational issues until we reached the final town, where we accidentally found ourselves on a road that twisted into the mountains and shortcutted a peninsula.  Along that road, we spied a Jeep with California plates of all things, but he didn't stop to talk with us.</p>
 <p>We rode along the main Adriatic coast for some time more, stopping around 16h at an area of abandoned terraces.  Much of Montenegro seems to have shown promise for development, but Vladko also told us how the economy here went south when all the foreign investors across the ocean lost their shirts recently.  No American money means no building, so many projects have been stopped in various stages of completion.  These terraces cut into the hill have a path leading through them, but at the end of the path lies a one by two metre terrace and cliffs.  They are evidently not used.</p>
 <p>We set up our tent and cooked some dinner, fortunately during a break in the rain.  It was off-and-on all day, but we were treated to a cloudy-yet-rainless sunset over the sea with sailboats floating by far below us.  The rain picked up as we packed up, and we threw our things into the tent before hoofing it back to the gas staton nearby (about five minutes' walk) to have a couple beers and some chocolate.  What a strange sight we must have been... a couple twenty-somethings dressed in cycling clothes with no cycles evident, arriving in a rainstorm to a gas station far from anything, having only beer and chocolate before disappearing into the night...</p>
-<p>But that's us.  That's our day.  We're weird.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/13/crna-gora.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/15/50-euro-a-night.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>But that's us.  That's our day.  We're weird.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/13/crna-gora.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/15/50-euro-a-night.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>50€ a night</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/14/local-wisdom.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/16/its-still-raining.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>50€ a night</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#al"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/al.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Albania</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-15</div></div><div id="content"><p>Rain. Rain. Rain. It is inescapable here. They say Podgorica, the capital of Crna Gora, receives somewhere in the area of 1.6m of rain per year, and most of that falls from autumn through spring - and we are not so far away from there to imagine that the coast will be any less rain-blasted. It certainly was yesterday, pouring down buckets all through Vladko's discourse on the history and geology of the Land of the Black Mountain. Reality bears out this prediction, for the rain picks up over the night to belt down gushes of water on our flimsy orange tent, whose feeble walls yet remain resistant enough to protect the two terrified cyclists inside...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>50€ a night</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/14/local-wisdom.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/16/its-still-raining.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>50€ a night</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#al"><img src="/icons/al.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Albania</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-15</div></div><div id="content"><p>Rain. Rain. Rain. It is inescapable here. They say Podgorica, the capital of Crna Gora, receives somewhere in the area of 1.6m of rain per year, and most of that falls from autumn through spring - and we are not so far away from there to imagine that the coast will be any less rain-blasted. It certainly was yesterday, pouring down buckets all through Vladko's discourse on the history and geology of the Land of the Black Mountain. Reality bears out this prediction, for the rain picks up over the night to belt down gushes of water on our flimsy orange tent, whose feeble walls yet remain resistant enough to protect the two terrified cyclists inside...</p>
 <p>...and continues into the morning. During a break in the rain - or, rather, a slight lessening thereof, for there are no real breaks in this rain - we seek refuge under the gas station awning once more, eating breakfast over cappuccini from the café inside. This provides us with an opportunity to warm up, get dry, wash dishes, all the usual morning chores that have long since become routine. We wait for the rain to let up again, which it hesitantly does around 0900 - and we are off, running back to pack the tent and cram everything back onto the bikes and get them back up to the road, sparing no effort in attempting to beat the return of the rain.</p>
 <p>But return it does, and we are soon travelling up and down the coastal hills. With our cycling jerseys drenched, our shoes soaked through, my arm hair protruding from thousands of goosebumps, we are a sorry sight indeed; but there is no choice. We must continue; there is very little along this section of the coast, perhaps some smaller towns up ahead but nothing sizeable. We are not so far from Albania, a nervewracking thought - for although we knew nothing of Montenegro, it at least has that familiar currency and affiliation with the vague political monstrosity that is the European Union, and therefore has at least some symbolic comfort value. Albania is new, and to make matters worse second-hand reports have been wildly contradictory. According to various reports, Albania is: dangerous, dirty, only considered dangerous and dirty by those who have never been there, full of junkies and criminals, home to the nicest people you will ever meet, in the Middle Ages and utterly without decent roads, moving forward so fast that all other reports must be considered inaccurate. The only certain thing is that nothing is certain; owing perhaps to its closed-off-ness from the rest of the world until relatively recently, Albania is an informational black hole. It promises adventure - and so we must go there, even though we are admittedly more than a bit hesitant to plunge headlong into the unknown.</p>
 <p>As we approach Albania, the nature of the road changes. First, it heads away from the coast and up across into the highlands, for there are no border crossings along the river that flows out to the sea; we must head inland to enter Albania. In the highlands it is noticeably colder, and the roads are waterlogged in parts that have worn away under the repeated abuse of buses and trucks whose combined bulk has proven unamenable to decent asphalt maintenance - but we manage to pass through the highlands, and are soon descending again along less and less paved roads. Not a good sign; if we haven't even reached Albania and the roads are already pockmarked, how will we ever expect to get through Albania without a trailer out back to carry an entire store's worth of extra tubes, tires, and patches?</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>...along road that seems suspiciously nice. Perhaps Vladko was right after all, and most reports are wildly inaccurate; after all, this appears to have been recently paved, and is in unusually good condition compared to the condition of the villages it passes through - homes hastily constructed out of spare cement blocks and corrugated metal siding, children playing with discarded bicycle tires, and now-defunct turrets that stand witness to past conflicts. And yet, despite the poverty of the rural northern regions, the children all look happy - in stark contrast to the petulant American youth who pout over receiving the wrong Christmas present. Happiness and wealth are not necessarily correlated, despite what years and billions of dollars of mass brand advertising would have you believe...</p>
 <p>...but there is evidence also of rapid modernization. The road, as noted, is obviously new; the nearby city of Shkoder hosts several hotels, a host of shops, countless makeshift internet cafés, delicious food stands selling byrek or roasted chestnuts. We find this one hotel in an old building marked with a sign constructed out of an old bicycle. The sign is a good omen, a signal that we could do worse than to inquire here - so we do, and find that the cost for a full room with TV, shower, four beds, and hot breakfast in the morning is merely 50€. Of course, we have the good wisdom by now to deal in local currency, and they offer a price of 6000 LEK. Although the exchange rate is in fact 140 LEK to the euro, we soon find that most shops price at 120 LEK to the euro; given the commission overhead of exchanging currency, this might be fair...</p>
 <p>We peruse Shkoder for a bit, grab some food - the byreks from this one street vendor are delicious, served piping hot out of a hole-in-the-wall store that serves as a front for the massive oven behind - and head back to the hotel, but are waylaid by someone who overhears us speaking English; as fate would have it, he did some construction work in Calgary before returning to Albania upon taking some losses during the whole economic crisis shebang. He offers us a jacket to protect ourselves from the cold, seeing as how we only have the one rainjacket, and offers the sage advice that with our education we could make easy money building websites and advertising campaigns for rapidly modernizing Albanian businesses...</p>
-<p>...but we are somewhat too tired to fully appreciate this for the moment, having just made our way through a couple of very wet days. We reach the hotel, watch a couple of Robot Chicken episodes, check our email, and drift off into blissful sleep under three nice and warm blankets as the rain continues to drum on the roof above...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/14/local-wisdom.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/16/its-still-raining.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...but we are somewhat too tired to fully appreciate this for the moment, having just made our way through a couple of very wet days. We reach the hotel, watch a couple of Robot Chicken episodes, check our email, and drift off into blissful sleep under three nice and warm blankets as the rain continues to drum on the roof above...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/14/local-wisdom.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/16/its-still-raining.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>it's still raining</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/15/50-euro-a-night.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/17/albanian-history-lesson.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>it's still raining</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#al"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/al.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Albania</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-16</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Fed by the great sea,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>it's still raining</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/15/50-euro-a-night.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/17/albanian-history-lesson.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>it's still raining</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#al"><img src="/icons/al.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Albania</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-16</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Fed by the great sea,<br />
 Storms cannot rain themselves out,<br />
 We're again beset.</i></p>
 <p>After sleeping in a real bed and managing not to suffocate from the stench of our semi-rotten still-mostly-soaked clothing hanging about the room, we threw open all the windows to fumigate the place and packed our things.  Hopefully the hotel isn't too upset about any lingering odours.</p>
@@ -13,4 +13,4 @@
 <p>We quickly hopped on our bicycles and rode southward toward the beaches; Vladko had told us that there were miles and miles of undeveloped beach in Albania, and we were hoping to capitalise on some prime camping spots there.  This was evidently not the part of Albania he was referring to; the entire coast here is jammed with run-down and off-season hotels and apartment complexes.  Half the buildings are abandoned or unfinished, and the other half are seedy, bearing names like "Alibi Hotel."  There was no open place to camp.</p>
 <p>With the storm coming ever nearer and the sky growing ever darker, we became desperate for a place to camp.  We agreed to take the next access out to the beach, saying that we could set on the beach there and simply move if necessary (but certain that the Albanian authorities would not do anything to discourage foreign money coming through their country).  The beach sand was shifty and uncertain, but the access we'd taken down to it led past the pavillion of an off-season hotel, which evidently served as a restaurant eating area during summertime.</p>
 <p>Well, it was the shadiest, hoboest thing we had decided to do so far, but... with electricity cracking through the sky in bolts and the clouds threatening to burst, we set ourselves up to camp amid the solid-looking wooden tables.  There is just space enough at the back for us to lay out a sleeping bag, but first we had to cook.</p>
-<p>Dinner was delicious, and no one seems to have noticed (or cared about) our presence here, so... I guess we're laying the sleeping bag out.  After a bit of adventure gaming (thanks in no small part to the wonderful download speeds in our hotel last night), we're ready for bed.  But, damn, are the bugs bad here.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/15/50-euro-a-night.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/17/albanian-history-lesson.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Dinner was delicious, and no one seems to have noticed (or cared about) our presence here, so... I guess we're laying the sleeping bag out.  After a bit of adventure gaming (thanks in no small part to the wonderful download speeds in our hotel last night), we're ready for bed.  But, damn, are the bugs bad here.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/15/50-euro-a-night.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/17/albanian-history-lesson.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>albanian history lesson</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/16/its-still-raining.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/18/you-fools.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>albanian history lesson</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#al"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/al.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Albania</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-17</div></div><div id="content"><p>Not enough sleep, not with the incessant pestering of flies and mosquitoes combined with the frightening force of lightning, thunder, and rain all night long. The evidence of our hard night is etched on our skin: clusters of bites on our cheeks, bags under our eyes, a general sheen of filth that accumulates each day that we are unable to shower. Hopefully the latter part will at least change soon - but we are resolved to make it through Albania on our initial withdrawal of 15000 LEK, which amounts to just a shade over 100€ for four days, and we blew through a substantial portion of that the first day on posh quarters and maps and tasty street food. (In reality, the lion's share of that went to paying off the room; the rest was negligible, as Albanian prices are quite low in comparison to the rest of Europe.)</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>albanian history lesson</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/16/its-still-raining.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/18/you-fools.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>albanian history lesson</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#al"><img src="/icons/al.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Albania</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-17</div></div><div id="content"><p>Not enough sleep, not with the incessant pestering of flies and mosquitoes combined with the frightening force of lightning, thunder, and rain all night long. The evidence of our hard night is etched on our skin: clusters of bites on our cheeks, bags under our eyes, a general sheen of filth that accumulates each day that we are unable to shower. Hopefully the latter part will at least change soon - but we are resolved to make it through Albania on our initial withdrawal of 15000 LEK, which amounts to just a shade over 100€ for four days, and we blew through a substantial portion of that the first day on posh quarters and maps and tasty street food. (In reality, the lion's share of that went to paying off the room; the rest was negligible, as Albanian prices are quite low in comparison to the rest of Europe.)</p>
 <p>In our exhaustion, we set off down the beachside motorway. Bikes are not exactly permitted here, but they are not yet not not permitted - if the reader can excuse the polynegative mess here, I should explain that the roads here are of recent construction. Indeed, sections of the highway are actively being built, so that we are forced to divert around unfinished overpasses and around cordoned-off unfinished lanes and over unfinished gravel portions with treacherous waterfilled potholes bored by the recent storms. The motorways even lack signs in most parts; we eventually come across the usual sign prohibiting pedestrians, cyclists, tractor-driving farmers, oxcarts, smaller scooters, and other such inferior modes of transportation from using the motorway, but even this is merely lip service to a car-driven ideal - when we stop halfway to the semi-major town of Fier to check our map, for instance, a kindly man waves with his hand to indicate that we might as well use the motorway, as the police will hardly care...</p>
 <p>...ah, the police. This must be the largest employer in Albania, for nary a five-kilometre stretch goes by without at least one police-staffed radar trap. They are out in full force, stopping motorists left and right - and yet, given the preponderance of recently erected roadside memorials to victims of careless driving, it may not be wholly excessive. Nevertheless, they do not bother us, not even when we ride in our habitual side-by-side phalanx-of-two formation down the side of the often way-wider-than-necessary blacktop.</p>
 <p>We stop for lunch just before Fier, cursing the uniformly flat path we have thus far chosen to take through Albania. This may seem perverse - after all, isn't it a beast of a time to chug up those bloody mountains? - but this alternative is boring, every kilometre exactly like the last. Saturday today; this is the Muslim day of rest. Although the Muslims are a minority in religiously polyglot Albania, their presence is large enough that many businesses - such as the gas station stores we had hoped to purchase additional snack from - are mostly closed, the petrol-pumping parts of the operation manned with a skeleton crew...</p>
@@ -9,4 +9,4 @@
 <p>...but before I can do that, a man rides up on a scooter and begins talking to me. Catastrophe! This must be the landowner, come to turf us from the only half-reasonable camping spot we've found in this coastal agricultural stretch - but he is not; just some curious local come to see the oddballs with the bright orange tent that, upon reflection, can certainly be seen by everyone around. He speaks not a bit of English, but he has passable Italian; combining this with the meagre shreds of Italian I picked up during our time in that fair country, I manage to explain the nature, length, origin and destination of our trip, as well as sundry personal details. Impressed with our courage, ardour, and batshit insanity, he shakes my hand heartily before puttering off on his scooter. I set to stringing out the line, selecting two sturdy trees some 10 m apart...</p>
 <p>...and am stopped again, this time by a younger and taller man of solid build. This man has more the look of a landowner, being dressed for work in the grove, and I mistake his approach for an attempt to remove us from his hard-earned land. I start taking down the line, but his permissive hand gestures indicate that this is not his concern; rather, he has spotted our rather poorly camouflaged tent in the adjoining field (which, as it turns out, is also his property.) By an exchange in English, pseudo-Italian, Albanian, and copious hand gestures, I understand that he would like to offer us space to camp further inland, in the safety of the grove; I grab Valkyrie, he explains this to her via the same disjointed language mash, and we move our stuff in amongst the olive trees. He offers us water - there is no running water, but as most rural European communities they draw from the town aqueduct and store it in large plastic bottles - and a loaf of bread, which in my exhaustion I nearly drop on the ground. We set our line out and string up the clothing, making sure to lay all our wet bags out in the fading sun so that they might benefit from the last bits of daylight warmth.</p>
 <p>The weather looks increasingly dire, clouds moving in off the sea for another nightly storm. Despite the language barrier, our gracious host extends his hospitality yet again: we are invited to have the use of his couch if it rains, and may join them at 1900 for a meal. When that hour rolls around - which it does quickly, for all this setting up and striking and moving and setting up again has taken a while - we clamber inside out of the just-starting rain, and settle in for a conversation that proves equal parts rewarding and taxing. First, we start out with the pleasantries: who are we? How did we get here? Why did we embark on this ridiculously epic journey? When we find ourselves at a loss to explain our route sufficiently, we duck out in the rain to grab our maps; on the back of the Crna Gora map, there is a large-scale map of most of southern Europe, enough to display the majority of our route. This we trace with our fingers. In return, we understand from him - although he speaks primarily in Albanian, using one of the others present to translate into Italian when necessary - that he is a karate champion with an established school in Vlorë; that the others at the house come from all over Albania, and are known to him in various ways; that he spent some time in Greece. Although we speak scant Italian, our knowledge of other Romance languages is sufficient that we can usually read and listen with relative success. He then settles in for the main lesson: a discourse on Albanian history, geography, language, and culture that lasts nearly two hours, hours spent poring over the formerly Albanian sections of our maps and drawing various diagrams on a pad of paper that he produces and writing out the phonemes of the Albanian alphabet (which is capable of expressing a wide variety of sounds!) This, too, is delivered in Albanian and Italian - but, by degrees, we come to understand most of what he says. We are exhausted still, of course, but eager to learn about this unknown land that we have merely been passing through for the last couple of days. At times the electricity cuts out; much of Albania operates on a timesharing system, whereby users contract to receive a certain number of hours of electricity per day.</p>
-<p>The lesson mostly concluded, he steps out to Vlorë; we mostly nap, as we are quite tired. They return later with food: eggs, sausages, cake, and the remains of a delicious lentil stew stored away in their pantry. We gobble this up, thank them for the meal, and in our post-meal soporific state are soon well passed out on the couch, safe away from the gathering storm outside...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/16/its-still-raining.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/18/you-fools.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>The lesson mostly concluded, he steps out to Vlorë; we mostly nap, as we are quite tired. They return later with food: eggs, sausages, cake, and the remains of a delicious lentil stew stored away in their pantry. We gobble this up, thank them for the meal, and in our post-meal soporific state are soon well passed out on the couch, safe away from the gathering storm outside...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/16/its-still-raining.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/18/you-fools.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>YOU FOOLS!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/17/albanian-history-lesson.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/19/hellbania.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>YOU FOOLS!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#al"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/al.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Albania</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-18</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Try, try, try, harder!<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>YOU FOOLS!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/17/albanian-history-lesson.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/19/hellbania.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>YOU FOOLS!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#al"><img src="/icons/al.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Albania</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-18</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Try, try, try, harder!<br />
 No mountain is too high, not<br />
 For cyclist legs!  Ha!</i></p>
 <p>Okay, so my haiku are wearing thin.  Plz ignore.</p>
@@ -14,4 +14,4 @@
 <p>Finally arriving on reasonable roads, we perceived a town down by the coast.  The road we were on was situated a good 400m above sea level, but we had agreed that it was time to stop and that we should find a restaurant soon so that we could set our tent while there was still light in the sky.  Our plan was to treat ourselves to a feast: tomorrow is to be our last day in Albania, and we have a lot of Lek to burn through.</p>
 <p>Sadly, only one restaurant in the town, which is evidently a summer town, was open.  We seated ourselves inside to warm up from the rain, and we were again saddened upon being told that this restaurant only offered a third of its menu in the off-season.  We ordered hot tea to warm up, and we were quietly enraged that it seemed to be Lipton canned iced tea heated up.  Too much sugar, not enough hot.</p>
 <p>We begrudgingly ate our meals, which were overpriced and consisted of virtually every palatable thing served in the off-season, which is to say a pair of Greek salads and some chewy calamari.  We were hungry still, but with a storm again rolling in over the sea we needed to find a place to put our tent.</p>
-<p>A little way down the road, we found an abandoned building (this one genuinely abandoned; it was covered in graffiti and falling apart at its seams) with a bit of waterfront.  Part of the beach was stone, part sand, and part covered by ancient turrets probably leftover from wars with Greece.  Nevermind.  We had no wish to drag our bikes through the sand (that's never worked out for us), so we are now in our tent on the gravel.  It should have better drainage, anyway, in case the storm is serious.  Now for some Wolf3D in the rain!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/17/albanian-history-lesson.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/19/hellbania.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>A little way down the road, we found an abandoned building (this one genuinely abandoned; it was covered in graffiti and falling apart at its seams) with a bit of waterfront.  Part of the beach was stone, part sand, and part covered by ancient turrets probably leftover from wars with Greece.  Nevermind.  We had no wish to drag our bikes through the sand (that's never worked out for us), so we are now in our tent on the gravel.  It should have better drainage, anyway, in case the storm is serious.  Now for some Wolf3D in the rain!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/17/albanian-history-lesson.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/19/hellbania.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>hellbania</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/18/you-fools.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/20/a-short-ride-to-rest.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>hellbania</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-19</div></div><div id="content"><p>Rain and wind: these have become constants of life now, their worst nightly excesses dispelling all notion of proper and uninterrupted slumber. The former beats down on the tent fabric with such force that we fear the drops might bore holes through it, whereas the latter like a monstrous hand reaches under the fly, lifting it up and flapping it about while a fine rain mist blows in underneath it to pass unchecked through the mesh siding of the tent itself and splash upon our faces. This is our reality, has been ever since we crossed into Crna Gora - and so it is that this morning, the ferocity of the storm having reached a head overnight, we awaken to the sight of a powerful stream flowing through one corner of the tent. By fortunate and quick action, we have managed to preserve the sleeping bag from this and keep it dry. The alternative would be disastrous - out of our conviction that the tent could be sufficiently well erected each night to protect against rain and damp, we chose down sleeping bags for their superior warmth. At this hour, the rain is still so fierce that we dare not exit the tent; instead, we pass some time in the relative safety inside watching Robot Chicken...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>hellbania</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/18/you-fools.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/20/a-short-ride-to-rest.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>hellbania</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-19</div></div><div id="content"><p>Rain and wind: these have become constants of life now, their worst nightly excesses dispelling all notion of proper and uninterrupted slumber. The former beats down on the tent fabric with such force that we fear the drops might bore holes through it, whereas the latter like a monstrous hand reaches under the fly, lifting it up and flapping it about while a fine rain mist blows in underneath it to pass unchecked through the mesh siding of the tent itself and splash upon our faces. This is our reality, has been ever since we crossed into Crna Gora - and so it is that this morning, the ferocity of the storm having reached a head overnight, we awaken to the sight of a powerful stream flowing through one corner of the tent. By fortunate and quick action, we have managed to preserve the sleeping bag from this and keep it dry. The alternative would be disastrous - out of our conviction that the tent could be sufficiently well erected each night to protect against rain and damp, we chose down sleeping bags for their superior warmth. At this hour, the rain is still so fierce that we dare not exit the tent; instead, we pass some time in the relative safety inside watching Robot Chicken...</p>
 <p>...but the rain eventually abates slightly, so we venture outside to inspect the surroundings. What we see is wholly unlike anything else we have experienced so far this trip: a gushing stream of filth-strewn brown water flows down from the mountains carrying dirt, rock, garbage, and likely not an inconsiderable amount of feces from grazing animals above to wash over the ramp down which we brought our bikes last night, making an impassable mess of it. Meanwhile, the sheer volume of water being discharged into the sea multiplies the force of the waves, causing them to crash well up the beach from where normal tides would carry them. We must move the tent immediately or risk losing it into this watery mess - and it does not escape our notice that, had we pitched the tent a mere two metres south, it would have already been swept out to sea. What to do? The ramp, as noted, is unfit for bringing the bikes back up to the road - and the road itself flows as though it were a river. Here our good luck intercedes once more...</p>
 <p>...for the torrential stream of water has thankfully left a small fringe of gravel on the side of the ramp, sufficient to carry the bikes across and up the adjoining stairs into the abandoned carcass of a half-constructed hotel. We pack everything up quickly, hardly noticing the rain when it picks up again - the need to evacuate is acute, for the waves get worse and worse with every minute. We run up the stairs with the bikes; but here I am not quite cautious enough, for the flimsy flip-flops I wear have no traction on the wet tile of the hotel and the site is strewn with leftover construction materials. In my haste I step on a board with exposed nails, and one of the nails punctures the flip-flop to injure my foot slightly; surprised, I stumble and fall with the bike, but fortunately do not discover any more sharp objects in my descent. Cursing and swearing, I right the bike and rush down to grab more of our personal effects...</p>
 <p>...and, all our stuff at last in the safety of the abandoned hotel complex, we set to improving our situation. First order of business: food, to which end we eat the last of the nuts in our snack jar - not much, but enough to provide a spot of nutrition until more can be found. This is followed by a quick drink, consuming the little water left in our bottles. Immediate needs taken care of, we fix Handlebar Bag - it came with a bracket system that is sadly incompatible with my thicker handlebars, so that we were forced to MacGyver a method to attach it with any straps and zip-ties at hand; this ad-hoc attachment weakened yesterday so that the bag was no longer kept off the front wheel, and we have been carrying it in our IF Bag (Incidental Food Bag, a drawstring and cloth bag carried on the back) ever since. This is soon taken care of, and we are off; again, our good luck holds and there is a passable stretch of road from the back of the hotel to the main road. This is still too steep and treacherous to bike up, so we must walk back up to the highway...</p>
@@ -23,4 +23,4 @@
 <p>...which it is not, as they inform us; they are not a hotel, and we will have to ride 10 km to the first town past the border. We have no Euro yet, having spent the last of it in Montenegro to avoid carrying too much cash through Albania. The guards are, however, happy to extend their clemency so far as to permit us to wait out the rain under the awning - so we head back to the bikes, more than a little dejected that we must bike yet again but resolved to finish this by any means possible. We change back into our soaking cycling clothes, shivering a little as the clammy fabric touches skin that had just begun to warm up again in our relatively dry clothing...</p>
 <p>...and here we receive a monumental bit of luck: the border guards have conferred amongst themselves. Whether out of pity for our terrible condition or impatience to see us gone from their pristine guard station, they ask the drivers of the first sufficiently large vehicle whether they might be able to load two cold, wet bikes and their cold, wet owners into their pickup truck. The drivers accept, and we are soon passing through Greek customs in the back. They speak only a few words of English, but are pleased indeed to hear that we can passably pronounce the Greek word for beer. We succeed in explaining some details of our journey, and they express astonishment using the only English words they have for it: "Crazy hobby." This they repeat at every opportunity, especially when they learn that two well-educated students of computer science have voluntarily chosen to be out biking in this storm at this hour...</p>
 <p>...and they let us off in the first town, which is indeed 10 km away as the border officials had projected - but not before giving us a package of cookies and leading us to the house of their friend who is glad to rent out a room in his house for the night. Unfortunately, we have no money to pay with, so we ask this friend whether there might be a bank or ATM in this town - but there is not. Catastrophe! Have we come this far, only to be thrown out into the cold as vagrants?</p>
-<p>No. With a touch of kindly exasperation, he gives us his business card and says that, owing to some business with his family, he will be 20 km down the road in Igoumenitsa tomorrow at 1000 - exactly where we plan to go! We agree to meet him outside one of the banks along the portside strip at 1030; in our exhaustion and hunger, we do not even bother to ask the price. He even offers us the use of the shower in the other room - our room is equipped with a solar shower, but given the recent storms that have been going for some 5-6 days it is low on warm water - before leaving elsewhere. The room is basic, but more than sufficient; the blankets are comfortable, plentiful, and warm. We shower, brush our teeth, take care of any minor bits of personal hygiene that might elevate our state from filthy animals to passably clean ones - and sigh deeply, grinning from ear to ear. We made it - despite nearly insurmountable odds, we extracted ourselves from a flood and are now reasonably clean and dry. This reflection barely has time to form before exhaustion at last catches up with us. With no adrenaline left to keep us going, we sink quickly into one of the best slumbers of our trip...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/18/you-fools.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/20/a-short-ride-to-rest.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>No. With a touch of kindly exasperation, he gives us his business card and says that, owing to some business with his family, he will be 20 km down the road in Igoumenitsa tomorrow at 1000 - exactly where we plan to go! We agree to meet him outside one of the banks along the portside strip at 1030; in our exhaustion and hunger, we do not even bother to ask the price. He even offers us the use of the shower in the other room - our room is equipped with a solar shower, but given the recent storms that have been going for some 5-6 days it is low on warm water - before leaving elsewhere. The room is basic, but more than sufficient; the blankets are comfortable, plentiful, and warm. We shower, brush our teeth, take care of any minor bits of personal hygiene that might elevate our state from filthy animals to passably clean ones - and sigh deeply, grinning from ear to ear. We made it - despite nearly insurmountable odds, we extracted ourselves from a flood and are now reasonably clean and dry. This reflection barely has time to form before exhaustion at last catches up with us. With no adrenaline left to keep us going, we sink quickly into one of the best slumbers of our trip...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/18/you-fools.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/20/a-short-ride-to-rest.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a short ride to rest</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/19/hellbania.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/21/lazing-around-igoumenitsa.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a short ride to rest</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-20</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Even a short ride<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>a short ride to rest</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/19/hellbania.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/21/lazing-around-igoumenitsa.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>a short ride to rest</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-20</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Even a short ride<br />
 Is too much for our bodies...<br />
 We'll rest tomorrow.......</i></p>
 <p>We continually put off that resting business, insisting that short hops are equivalent to rest, but the truth is that they are not.  The last day that we had without riding at all was... well, the rainy day with Ivo in Opatija.  That was a couple weeks ago.  To recover from yesterday, we're planning to move little today and none tomorrow.  Hopefully that's enough.</p>
@@ -10,4 +10,4 @@
 <p>We checked in for the reasonable rate of 45€/night, and after Evan chatted up the owner for a while, we asked whether there was a place to do laundry nearby.  He seemed surprised; laundromats are not a "thing" here in Greece, evidently.  He offered to do our laundry with his own laundry, for free, because he had "such good memories of Toronto."  :)  He was a really sweet guy.</p>
 <p>Hotel Acropolis is one of the breed of hotels that takes your key at the desk as you leave and gives it back to you when you return.  It was really charming, actually; I don't think I've stayed in a place like that before.  I think we were the only patrons, so every person who worked the desk knew us by voice and had the key ready for us before we'd even made it up the stairs.  Additionally, the key had a keychain which fit in a slot on the wall in the room and controlled the electricity: no keychain, no electricity.  This made using the in-room refrigerator strange.</p>
 <p>But we didn't leave much.  We took a quick trip out to the grocery store, another out for gyros, and another to get ouzo at a bar downtown.  Mostly the day was spent vegging out and resting our tired bodies while poking around on the hotel's wireless network.  A few things of note, however: a real Greek gyro is something different from what we imagine in the States.  It doesn't just include meat, but also fries, and it comes with a healthy dose of chili spice on it.  Ouzo is best served in a tall, thin glass; when you receive it, it's great fun to put ice cubes in and watch them turn the liquor foggy.</p>
-<p>Anyway, a lazy day.  We biked something like 20km, but that was plenty.  Tomorrow, no biking.  Ahhhh.....  ^___^</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/19/hellbania.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/21/lazing-around-igoumenitsa.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Anyway, a lazy day.  We biked something like 20km, but that was plenty.  Tomorrow, no biking.  Ahhhh.....  ^___^</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/19/hellbania.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/21/lazing-around-igoumenitsa.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>lazing around igoumenitsa</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/20/a-short-ride-to-rest.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/22/ionian-coastline.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>lazing around igoumenitsa</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-21</div></div><div id="content"><p>Okay. That last post of mine was far too long; fortunately, our stubborn persistence brought us to Igoumenitsa as of yesterday, where the going is non-existent and consequently far less eventful. This is our first day without any cycling of any sort since our two-day sojourn in Opatija - which was 1200 km, countless storms, a flood, and more than two weeks ago, so we feel entirely justified in kicking back and resting.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>lazing around igoumenitsa</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/20/a-short-ride-to-rest.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/22/ionian-coastline.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>lazing around igoumenitsa</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-21</div></div><div id="content"><p>Okay. That last post of mine was far too long; fortunately, our stubborn persistence brought us to Igoumenitsa as of yesterday, where the going is non-existent and consequently far less eventful. This is our first day without any cycling of any sort since our two-day sojourn in Opatija - which was 1200 km, countless storms, a flood, and more than two weeks ago, so we feel entirely justified in kicking back and resting.</p>
 <p>We start off the morning with Greek coffees at Café Corleone before asking the bookstore owner - who, as we recall, is the only person we've come across here with nearly flawless English - where we might find a laundromat; although the hotel offered to wash our clothing, the sleeping bag could use a washing after taking on a bit of damp during the flood. He gives some fairly precise directions, so Valkyrie returns to the room to pore over listings of graduate schools and research labs while I walk about looking for it: way down the waterfront past a church, a schoolyard, and a slew of cafés and restaurants and stores to this playground area, turn right just past that, walk up past the post, and it should be on the corner - he did, however, warn us that since laundry machines have taken hold here, many of the old neighbourhood laundromats are shutting down...</p>
 <p>...as this one seems to have done; there is no evidence of said laundromat on any of the corners in a two-block radius. There is a dry cleaners, but the lady there points me down the street a few blocks. Walking over there, I find another dry cleaners where I am pointed back down the road some distance. With nothing better to do, I give it a shot - but the stretch of relative townness comes to an end back up where the waterfront road meets the main road, so I turn to walk back to the hotel. Not much use in putting even more effort into the search, not after having combed roughly the entire town...</p>
 <p>We spend some more time loafing around, pausing in this lofty pursuit only to take ouzo at a local bar. There is still the matter of the sleeping bag and slightly damp tent to attend to, so we grab our ingredients and kitchen materials and take them down to the park by the water to cook up a delicious squid-tomato-spinach rice dish. Yum! Feels good to have decent food again, something nice and warm to shove down our throats. The sleeping bag and tent we lay over a nearby railing to dry, so that the whole thing forms a nice scene of our standard hobosity - we are even complimented by a passing couple on our culinary acumen.</p>
 <p>Late afternoon rolls around. The shops reopen, allowing us to pick up some much-needed items: two polar fleece jackets (which at 37€ combined are well worth it!), a second rainjacket with full hood (we've had only one so far, forcing me to wear a garbage bag when it rains), and various food items to stock our pantry containers. We now feel much better prepared for any storms down the road, and the jackets make us look almost presentable...</p>
-<p>...and that's mostly it; we spend a bit of time writing blog posts and downloading movies in Café Corleone, but otherwise the night passes uneventfully. This is perfectly alright by us - for tomorrow we finally head out again! Sleep well, weary travellers...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/20/a-short-ride-to-rest.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/22/ionian-coastline.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...and that's mostly it; we spend a bit of time writing blog posts and downloading movies in Café Corleone, but otherwise the night passes uneventfully. This is perfectly alright by us - for tomorrow we finally head out again! Sleep well, weary travellers...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/20/a-short-ride-to-rest.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/22/ionian-coastline.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>ionian coastline</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/21/lazing-around-igoumenitsa.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/23/racked.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>ionian coastline</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-22</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Mountain. STOP. Sea.<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>ionian coastline</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/21/lazing-around-igoumenitsa.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/23/racked.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>ionian coastline</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-22</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Mountain. STOP. Sea.<br />
 No flat coast here in North Greece<br />
 One way to get back.</i></p>
 <p>So maybe having a hard day after spending a goodly amount of time resting isn't the best idea.  We were pretty pooped by the end of today, despite the fact that our total distance was just a shade over 100km.  These coastal mountains are killer!</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>As we checked out and took a couple Turkish delight candies from the dishes on the desk, Evan got some information about the route ahead.  There are two ways to Preveza: the coast (mountainous and "maybe or maybe not paved") and the main route (flatter and busier).  Of course we chose the coast.</p>
 <p>It was beautiful to flow up and down the sides of dramatic hills coated in olive trees.  We can see that the harvest is near: many trees have netting spread out under them to catch the ripe olives as they fall.  The sea here is the same striking blue that it has been elsewhere, but now we're passing out of the Adriatic and into Ionian territory.  So far, at least, it seems a helluva lot less rainy.  We haven't seen rain except the night we spent in the apartment, and we didn't see any today.</p>
 <p>I can't think of anything particularly remarkable about the ride, except that it was long, and many parts -- especially along the coast -- were very challenging.  It didn't help that Evan is still at the tail end of some kind of stomach ailment that means we pause in every gas station we pass for a bathroom break.</p>
-<p>We made it to Preveza around sunset.  A friend of a friend of a friend was perhaps going to host us here, but we never succeeded in making contact, unfortunately.  So we're camping tonight in an ill-used park area with a view of the port.  It's really lovely, actually, and our dinner tonight (couscous cooked in oyster-mushroom-pepper broth) made it even better.  Preveza seems to be a nice place; the waterfront is predictably full of classy cafés and restaurants, and we're hoping to stop at one tomorrow morning on our way out.  For now, we'll finish watching "Short Bus."  It's... strange.  We discussed it in my Human Sexuality class in university, and... well... don't look it up at work.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/21/lazing-around-igoumenitsa.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/23/racked.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We made it to Preveza around sunset.  A friend of a friend of a friend was perhaps going to host us here, but we never succeeded in making contact, unfortunately.  So we're camping tonight in an ill-used park area with a view of the port.  It's really lovely, actually, and our dinner tonight (couscous cooked in oyster-mushroom-pepper broth) made it even better.  Preveza seems to be a nice place; the waterfront is predictably full of classy cafés and restaurants, and we're hoping to stop at one tomorrow morning on our way out.  For now, we'll finish watching "Short Bus."  It's... strange.  We discussed it in my Human Sexuality class in university, and... well... don't look it up at work.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/21/lazing-around-igoumenitsa.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/23/racked.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>racked</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/22/ionian-coastline.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/24/impending-illness.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>racked</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-23</div></div><div id="content"><p>Rotten luck with the hosting game: upon stopping for morning coffee in Preveza, we check our email and discover that our would-be host messaged us at 2200, a full two hours after we gave up on waiting. Such is life; we can hardly complain, not when our seaside park perch is passably comfortable - enough so that we wake up at 0730 without any prompting from our alarm, which is still set for 0830 from our hotel stay in Igoumenitsa. The fig trees have been barren for some time, enough that the shock at seeing their branches empty has at last worn off. Our plan is simple, unambitious even: get out of Preveza, pass through Lefkada, traverse the island to Vasiliki, take the ferry to Sami and thence to Killini on the mainland. This plan is complicated by my illness, which has chosen today of all days to reach a head. It is not exactly pleasant to be forced to, er, relieve oneself by the roadside every 5 km, but there is no alternative - for this reason, toilet paper makes the list of crucial items to bring on any sort of extended trip. But enough of such lurid details...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>racked</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/22/ionian-coastline.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/24/impending-illness.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>racked</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-23</div></div><div id="content"><p>Rotten luck with the hosting game: upon stopping for morning coffee in Preveza, we check our email and discover that our would-be host messaged us at 2200, a full two hours after we gave up on waiting. Such is life; we can hardly complain, not when our seaside park perch is passably comfortable - enough so that we wake up at 0730 without any prompting from our alarm, which is still set for 0830 from our hotel stay in Igoumenitsa. The fig trees have been barren for some time, enough that the shock at seeing their branches empty has at last worn off. Our plan is simple, unambitious even: get out of Preveza, pass through Lefkada, traverse the island to Vasiliki, take the ferry to Sami and thence to Killini on the mainland. This plan is complicated by my illness, which has chosen today of all days to reach a head. It is not exactly pleasant to be forced to, er, relieve oneself by the roadside every 5 km, but there is no alternative - for this reason, toilet paper makes the list of crucial items to bring on any sort of extended trip. But enough of such lurid details...</p>
 <p>...Preveza is separated from Aktio (on the opposite side of the bay) by a 1600 m stretch of tunnel. Simple enough for us, except that the end at Preveza is strictly guarded by a cluster of police cruisers, and the tunnel itself seems to be patrolled by a road maintenance vehicle with two road workers inside who politely but firmly inform us that no, we may not cycle the length of the tunnel. Never mind that we've done worse - longer tunnels, less well-lit tunnels, highways and back roads and all manner of pavement by the feeble light of our headlamp. The alternate route is daunting: 100 km around the bay through Arta. Although it would undoubtedly be quite scenic, everywhere around here is scenic - and we have designs on getting to Kalamata, where a friend of a friend has offered to host us. Faced with this, we instead try the police; in broken English, they tell us what we already know - that the only other way is the long circumnavigation of the bay - but we put enough worry, disgust, and weariness into our resulting expressions that they offer to let us wait with them until a sufficiently large vehicle drives by. When several such vehicles pass by without stopping, they instead have us load our bikes on the road maintenance vehicle...</p>
 <p>...and we are soon bolting down the tunnel way faster than we could ever hope to bike it, bursting back into the light just before the toll booths. We reach into our pockets, but no money is needed - we are travelling courtesy of the road service, and road service vehicles are understandably granted free passage even when carrying two semi-sketchy-looking travellers. We offload the bikes, remarking to ourselves that we seem to be doing less cycling than hitchhiking (hitchbiking?) these days...</p>
 <p>...the road to Lefkada is not particularly notable: flatter than most, though not without hills; usual set of large hills and mountains at one side, sea at the other. There is an amusing sign by the military base halfway down the road informing passersby that photography is strictly "forbitten" - though exactly what information such photographs would reveal that is not already available through Google Maps satellite images or other such expedients, we are not sure. Just before Lefkada, the road flattens out through the marsh area; it is set lower than the Albanian roads, and we wonder if perhaps it would have flooded over during the recent storms, disconnecting Lefkada entirely from the mainland. Not unthinkable, not with what we saw of the sea further north...</p>
 <p>...and we are soon along the side of the island down towards Vasiliki. This road starts out with rolling hills, but the last leg into Vasiliki starts off with a long and tiring uphill. To make matters worse, calamity strikes just before we head up into the mountains by Vasiliki: during a now-routine "stomach relief" stop, my bike falls over. This is not in itself of note - but this time it exposes a latent structural weakness in my pannier rack, which shears just above the mount point on the right side. I don't even notice this until I start to ride. There is an unsettling wobbling to the bike that I at first attribute to poor weight distribution - but then I look down and see that the rack itself is wobbling. We stop, pull everything off, set the two parts of the hollow metal rod in place with a thin stick, duct-tape the area as much as possible, and apply the top half of a broken spork as a splint. This is just enough to hold it together until...</p>
 <p>...on the beginning of the descent into Vasiliki, we come across a petrol station and decide to stop for more, er, relief. There is a woman sitting outside, so we decide to see if she knows anything about the ferries in Vasiliki - but she is actually a Greek-Canadian from Montreal visiting her original home for a couple of weeks, and she does not have occasion to use the ferry there. Strange to find so many Canadians in Greece, although it is evident to anyone who walks through the Danforth in Toronto that there is a fairly large Greek-Canadian community. We explain our trip to her; like most people we talk to about this, she thinks we are quite crazy but is willing to extend her best wishes for our continued safety and success. But there is more to achieve here than conversation - given the instability of the rack, it seems best to remove the side panniers. These we construct knapsacks out of using the rope; one pannier apiece carried on the back, at least until we reach Kalamata and hopefully locate a decent bike shop. If not, we may even be in this sorry state for the rest of the trip...</p>
-<p>...and we roll into Vasiliki in time to read the schedule and find that the ferry left at 0900. There is little for it but to wait; we scope out a reasonable campsite against a café that is closed for the off-season, then head back into town to grab drinks and charge the laptop and write blog posts. It is getting dark earlier each day, so we download more movies and resort even to downloading some old adventure game classics for DOS and SCUMM - something in keeping with the adventurous spirit of the trip. We grab a quick bite from the supermarket, decide this is not enough, and follow it up with souvlaki and tzatziki from a local snack bar before retiring to our chosen site to set up the tent and sleep. Nothing else to do; perhaps tomorrow will bring better luck in getting to Killini...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/22/ionian-coastline.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/24/impending-illness.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...and we roll into Vasiliki in time to read the schedule and find that the ferry left at 0900. There is little for it but to wait; we scope out a reasonable campsite against a café that is closed for the off-season, then head back into town to grab drinks and charge the laptop and write blog posts. It is getting dark earlier each day, so we download more movies and resort even to downloading some old adventure game classics for DOS and SCUMM - something in keeping with the adventurous spirit of the trip. We grab a quick bite from the supermarket, decide this is not enough, and follow it up with souvlaki and tzatziki from a local snack bar before retiring to our chosen site to set up the tent and sleep. Nothing else to do; perhaps tomorrow will bring better luck in getting to Killini...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/22/ionian-coastline.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/24/impending-illness.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>impending illness</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/23/racked.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/25/the-fun-and-the-games.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>impending illness</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-24</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Too long without sleep,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>impending illness</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/23/racked.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/25/the-fun-and-the-games.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>impending illness</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-24</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Too long without sleep,<br />
 And bodies shut down.  Rest them!<br />
 They can't always bike...</i></p>
 <p>Today was unpleasantly punctuated with frequent stops for vomiting and other rather gross bodily discharges, so we'll just mention that here and not bother interspersing it with descriptions of our lovely day.  We're pretty excited to get to Kalamata and take a break from this nonsense so we can get well.</p>
@@ -9,4 +9,4 @@
 <p>A glance around from the ferry dock revealed that pretty much everything around Sami was mountainous.  That sucks.  We found a sign bearing the schedule of the Poros-Killini ferry, and the last one for the day was scheduled to leave at 18h15... so we had roughly 3 hours to get across those mountains before we would have to check in to the other ferry.  We hopped on our bikes, and after being pointed in the correct direction (frustratingly, the road out of town leaves to the southwest while Poros is nearly due east) by a helpful old woman, we headed out.</p>
 <p>The ride through the mountains was lovely, as all our rides through mountains tend to be, although this one was slower than most due to circumstances mentioned previously.  Fortunately, the 34km ride proved to be nearly exactly 17km up and 17km down, so we managed to make it by 17h and even get some snacks for the ride before boarding.  This second ferry was much larger than the first, and instead of just a couple large trucks it bore more than a dozen 18-wheelers plus trailers.  It was an impressive sight, I must say.</p>
 <p>Among the other passengers on this second boat was a local football team that appeared to be celebrating a victory.  They sat near us and had paper fights for the duration of the ride, sheepishly offering apologies when they hit our laptop screen.  We played more adventure games, realising finally that we were stuck in both "Maniac Mansion" (how do you get through the door with no handle?) and "Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis" (where in the hell do you get the title of the Lost Dialogue of Plato?).  I took a nap.</p>
-<p>By the time we landed in Killini, it was pretty dark, and we were both feeling pretty ill, so we biked just a short way to get gyros for dinner and stop.  We found a site next to a house not-yet-constructed and parked ourselves against some tall reeds.  It's comfortable enough, but the traffic from the nearby road can be noisy.  We're both tired enough to sleep, though, so it should be good enough.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/23/racked.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/25/the-fun-and-the-games.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>By the time we landed in Killini, it was pretty dark, and we were both feeling pretty ill, so we biked just a short way to get gyros for dinner and stop.  We found a site next to a house not-yet-constructed and parked ourselves against some tall reeds.  It's comfortable enough, but the traffic from the nearby road can be noisy.  We're both tired enough to sleep, though, so it should be good enough.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/23/racked.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/25/the-fun-and-the-games.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the fun and the games</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/24/impending-illness.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/26/kalamata-at-last.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the fun and the games</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-25</div></div><div id="content"><ol>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the fun and the games</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/24/impending-illness.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/26/kalamata-at-last.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the fun and the games</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-25</div></div><div id="content"><ol>
 <li>
 <p>What an odd time to wake up. Where's that barking coming from? I peek my head out the tent flap wearily and make out the shape of a dog standing ground some 20 m away - maybe it was confused by the foreign bright orange object, or perhaps it has a personal vendetta against cyclists. Whatever the reason, I curse these loud animals under my breath and chase them away from our place of rest; this takes some time, as they start again towards the tent as soon as my back is turned. I finally prevail upon our canine pests to clear out with much noise and gesturing, hoping that this will not anger any of our human neighbours, and storm back to the tent in an ill temper from all this thoroughly unnecessary traipsing about...</p>
 </li>
@@ -13,4 +13,4 @@
 <p>...but we manage to reach Zacharo ahead of the storm. We pick up ingredients for our evening meal from the markets and produce stands, and replenish our nearly-finished stocks of Maalox. The light is waning - faster than usual, we note, for the storm is certainly gathering. We must find a spot to camp before it arrives! Alas, darkness falls just out of Zacharo, and the unlit road ahead is too dangerous to continue on. The only other option is to head down towards the beach. With no choices left, we grab the beachward road, flashes of lightning illuminating the sky in the distance. Count seconds to the thunder, the old gradeschool trick - three kilometres off? four? - not much time, and the beach will provide scant cover from the storm. This area is lined with olive groves, fortunately; we stop in an especially dense section on the right side, walk far enough in that the leaves shield us from the streetlamps, and pitch the tent to let it air out as we cook supper. It is a waiting game now. Will we finish cooking before it rains? Will the owner - or, worse, the police - find us and force us to move? Nothing to do but wait...</p>
 <p>...panic! Valkyrie steps out to the road to relieve herself, and at this precise moment a car rolls down the sideroad. I hear her speaking to someone from over in the olive grove, so I head over to check it out - it is a police cruiser, out on its nightly rounds, and the sight of a somewhat ragged-looking woman alone by the side of the road is suspicious enough for them to pull over and make inquiries. Taking care not to look back at our olive grove campsite, I step over to the cruiser and prepare to concoct some kind of explanation...</p>
 <p>...but this turns out to be unnecessary; they are primarily concerned with making sure she is accompanied. Having been satisfied that this is the case, they head off towards the beach - so now there is no choice indeed; the beach is obviously well-patrolled, making it impossible to camp there unnoticed. We must sleep here, hoping that the police do not return for a closer look at what exactly has brought two similarly-dressed and somewhat unkempt cyclists to the relative middle of nowhere on a stormy night. We finish cooking, eat in silence, climb into the tent, and nod off...</p>
-<p>...2300. The storm has broken, unleashing flash after flash overhead - often as many as five or six per second, all followed immediately by fierce cracking and rumbling thunder like drums beating just outside our tent. The rain pelts down, but we are safe inside the tent, safe with our well-pegged fly. The ground here is easy to peg in, and our tent is more securely fastened to the ground than ever. Nothing for it but to sleep the storm out, wait for morning, and continue on our way across the mountains to Kalamata. Ever closer to our goal...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/24/impending-illness.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/26/kalamata-at-last.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...2300. The storm has broken, unleashing flash after flash overhead - often as many as five or six per second, all followed immediately by fierce cracking and rumbling thunder like drums beating just outside our tent. The rain pelts down, but we are safe inside the tent, safe with our well-pegged fly. The ground here is easy to peg in, and our tent is more securely fastened to the ground than ever. Nothing for it but to sleep the storm out, wait for morning, and continue on our way across the mountains to Kalamata. Ever closer to our goal...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/24/impending-illness.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/26/kalamata-at-last.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>kalamata at last</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/25/the-fun-and-the-games.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food-and-children.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>kalamata at last</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-26</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Ah, human again,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>kalamata at last</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/25/the-fun-and-the-games.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food-and-children.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>kalamata at last</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-26</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Ah, human again,<br />
 A feeling one can forget<br />
 When lost on the road...</i></p>
 <p>We had another giant thunderstorm last night, which we were fortunately protected from thanks to the olive trees we set our tent under.  We actually made a vlog (with no video, only sound due to the darkness) during one of the lesser parts of the storm so that you can appreciate a little the sound of the rain on the tent... it didn't turn out very well, but whatevs.</p>
@@ -12,4 +12,4 @@
 <p>We were relieved to stop.  We stripped off our cycling clothes and took hot baths (not even just a shower!  a BATH), and everything we had was taken from us for immediate laundering.  The tent was set out on the terrace to dry (packing it after rain always leaves it wet... and we're starting to get problems with mould when we can't properly dry it).  We were told that we were cordially invited to school tomorrow to talk to some of the kids there about our trip and to give an interview to a travel magazine owned by one of the students' parents.  We were also fed.  My goodness, were we fed.</p>
 <p>After some time to relax and meet the family (Nana, Nikos, and their mom and dad) and family pets (two dogs, two cats, and two birds), Nana bundled us into the car and we headed out for a whirlwind tour of Kalamata.  The waterfront at night is lovely, and it's sad that it's getting to be the cold time of year or I guess we'd be beaching it up here.</p>
 <p>Our tour included a smattering of Kalamata food, too.  Nana knows a lot about the restaurants in the area, or at least she knows several really fabulous ones.  We had dinner at a tavern at a time too early for Greek people.  We sat at a table on the side, and in fact she ordered us so much food that an additional side-table had to be brought to hold all of it for us.  We were ashamed that we were unable, actually, to finish all of it.  The three pieces we'd each eaten of what was essentially carbonara lasagna only hours before had sort of spoiled our appetites, but we consumed with alacrity everything that we could possibly fit into our bellies.</p>
-<p>We agreed to talk to the children tomorrow, so we made an early night back to Nana's house after having some quick drinks at a cool bar near the old centre of Kalamata (which, fortunately, remained intact after the earthquake).  Some good rest in a bed will do wonders for us... ahh... ^<strong>_</strong>^</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/25/the-fun-and-the-games.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food-and-children.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We agreed to talk to the children tomorrow, so we made an early night back to Nana's house after having some quick drinks at a cool bar near the old centre of Kalamata (which, fortunately, remained intact after the earthquake).  Some good rest in a bed will do wonders for us... ahh... ^<strong>_</strong>^</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/25/the-fun-and-the-games.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food-and-children.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,6 +1,6 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>food and food and food and food and children</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/26/kalamata-at-last.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/28/halloween-away-from-home.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>food and food and food and food and children</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-27</div></div><div id="content"><p>After a comfortable but too-short night of sleep, the familiar phone alarm sets off at 0730. It is the Greek custom to take as light a breakfast as possible, often limited to coffee and a pastry or slice of bread, and indeed such is our fare this morning. We have - perversely, one might think, given our general exhaustion resulting from our tendency to hard work and high-endurance exercise - volunteered to rise at this hour so that we may witness a most unusual spectacle: the school Nana works at is holding a special presentation of awards, music, and theatre in honour of the national holiday tomorrow, to which we have been graciously invited...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>food and food and food and food and children</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/26/kalamata-at-last.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/28/halloween-away-from-home.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>food and food and food and food and children</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-27</div></div><div id="content"><p>After a comfortable but too-short night of sleep, the familiar phone alarm sets off at 0730. It is the Greek custom to take as light a breakfast as possible, often limited to coffee and a pastry or slice of bread, and indeed such is our fare this morning. We have - perversely, one might think, given our general exhaustion resulting from our tendency to hard work and high-endurance exercise - volunteered to rise at this hour so that we may witness a most unusual spectacle: the school Nana works at is holding a special presentation of awards, music, and theatre in honour of the national holiday tomorrow, to which we have been graciously invited...</p>
 <p>...and so, our metabolisms left to quickly consume the small breakfast, we join Nana on her daily commute. The main hall in the school is packed with chairs in neat rows, waiting to receive the students - but for now, we head into the languages office. There is a faculty of eight teachers for this purpose, all somehow crammed into this smallish office space around a central spiral staircase; we learn later that, under the Greek school system, classrooms are assigned to grades rather than subjects, so that teachers visit the students rather than the other way around. (Exceptions are made for subjects requiring special equipment, such as chemistry or computer science.) We spend some time in the office meeting the teachers before joining the students, who have assembled upstairs to await the morning proceedings.</p>
 <p>There is the usual round of award distribution; these are provided for students excelling at each subject, as well as for those receiving the best grades in each class. There is then a presentation of speeches by certain members of the senior class, these dealing with the importance of October 28 in modern Greek history and related debates on nationalism or whether the military nature of the October 28 parade should be considered commendable or offensive. In his address to the school body, the principal notes that those now considered exemplars of Greek thought were persecuted in their own age. The school band performs various traditional songs, and the proceedings are concluded with a short theatrical production portraying a scene from WW2-era Greece: following the Greek refusal to open the borders and the ensuing Axis occupation of Greece, some members of the Greek resistance have organized a meeting to discuss future actions against the invading forces. They receive a tip that the meeting has come to the attention of the German authorities, who will doubtless arrive to arrest those present; however, this being in the days before mobile phones and other such expedients of communication, it is impossible to cancel the meeting. Instead, they decide to pretend as though they are having an engagement party; when the Germans arrive, they feign astonishment that these happy festivities should be mistaken for a secret meeting, and merely sing louder - at least, this is the tale as translated for us by the English faculty, who are anxious to make sure that we derive some benefit to our historical understanding from the morning.</p>
 <p>After the conclusion of these ceremonies, we grab some food from the cafeteria and head back to the English office where we are met by several of the students; the English department has invited any students interested to interview us. Most of the questions center around superlatives. What is our best experience? The hardest/longest/highest day? The most dangerous thing that has happened? We are often at a loss to answer - how does one pick? Every part is entirely different from the last, and we feel as though the trip is not a single voyage but rather several piecemeal voyages, or perhaps a disjointed collection of daily rides. How do you compare strong headwinds to rain to language barriers or hail or navigational mishaps? What does distance mean when one kilometre here is perfectly flat and another over there is uphill? What is more dangerous: a single stretch of road without guardrails? Descending a mountain on poorly-adjusted brakes? Camping in unknown territory? Sharing the road day after day with all manner of motorized vehicles? The questions are many, and even as the students leave to catch the noon bus we sense that they have many yet to ask...</p>
 <p>...but we have other things to attend to, such as lunch; this being a half-day for the students, we have the luxury of returning home for a spot of homemade moussaka. Yum! This far exceeds the moussaka we had in Olympia in quality, and we quickly gobble down three pieces each. The afternoon is uneventful; sadly, Nana must return to the school for parent-teacher interviews, and with our lack of sleep we have little desire to head into Kalamata proper. We retire to the bedroom for a nap, but find that we are not prepared to sleep at such an early hour; instead we pull out the laptop and amuse ourselves with our stock of adventure games, which are proving to be handy entertainments indeed. Once she returns, we head out to yet another tavern for a spread of meats and salads and cheese dishes and local ham that we somehow manage to finish, much to the astonishment of the staff. There is music and wine, and the food is again quite delicious; we have not had a scrap of food in Kalamata that was anything less than thoroughly enjoyable! This is followed by a trip to another of the local bars; we discuss the daily festivities, the upcoming holiday, various North American holidays, and anything else that comes to mind - tangential or otherwise - over a couple of glasses of wine, taking in the atmosphere of Greek nightlife. Here more than most places, and especially on this night, the locals are out in droves...</p>
-<p>...but our lack of sleep finally catches up with us as we realize it is nearing 0200, and we head back home to compensate. One more day in Kalamata - just one more, and then we have resolved to press on over the daunting stretch to Sparti, which several people have warned us is an ascent of nearly 1400 m. Eek!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/26/kalamata-at-last.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/28/halloween-away-from-home.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...but our lack of sleep finally catches up with us as we realize it is nearing 0200, and we head back home to compensate. One more day in Kalamata - just one more, and then we have resolved to press on over the daunting stretch to Sparti, which several people have warned us is an ascent of nearly 1400 m. Eek!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/26/kalamata-at-last.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/28/halloween-away-from-home.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>halloween away from home</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food-and-children.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/29/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>halloween away from home</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-28</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Courage to say no<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>halloween away from home</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food-and-children.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/29/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>halloween away from home</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-28</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Courage to say no<br />
 Is not oft found.  A hero<br />
 Can be any man.</i></p>
 <p>Today marks the anniversary of Greece saying "no" to Musolini and his forces, and it thereby also marks their entrance into the Second Great War.  To celebrate, there are parades all over the country, children don't go to school, many people don't work, and it's a generally nice day to relax.  :)</p>
@@ -14,4 +14,4 @@
 <p>Then we sat down for ice cream and cake.  Greek people know what's up with pastry, let's just say that.  We each got a piece of kaimeki cake with kaimeki ice cream; kaimeki being an herb that grows in the mountains near Kalamata and noplace else in the world.  It tastes like mint and basil, sort of, and it makes a fantastic ice cream- or pastry base.  :D</p>
 <p>From there we headed home again for a quick bite and a coffee, as well as to deal with that pumpkin we'd bought earlier.  Halloween is coming up, and Nana wanted to know all about it: the trick or treating, the jack-o-lantern carving, the costumes, what older kids do, what we do in school that day, ... all of it!  We gave her as much of a lesson as we could think of and taught her how to carve a jack-o-lantern.  We put the classic face on it, and she named it Sotiris, a Greek name which she said makes her think of a man living in the country with ten kids, a herd of goats, and few teeth.  :)</p>
 <p>The night was still young!  We headed out for dinner at another restaurant that Nana liked, where we actually succeeded in finishing all the food she had the waiter spread out before us.  Even though we sat at a 6-person table this time, it still wasn't enough space for everything all at once... the food had to come in waves.</p>
-<p>We went out to a cool little bar downtown for some wine, and we met one of Nana's friends there.  He wasn't impressed with our tans: he said he has the same from a summer wetsuit.  He told us about his kiteboarding habit, and he wondered if that sounded pretty extreme to us.  Haha, maybe.  We chatted as well as we could about our trip and everything, but the music inside was loud, so we shortly had to adjourn to a table outside, and shortly after that we had to head home on account of the lateness and our need to wake up tomorrow and bike!  Goodnight!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food-and-children.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/29/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We went out to a cool little bar downtown for some wine, and we met one of Nana's friends there.  He wasn't impressed with our tans: he said he has the same from a summer wetsuit.  He told us about his kiteboarding habit, and he wondered if that sounded pretty extreme to us.  Haha, maybe.  We chatted as well as we could about our trip and everything, but the music inside was loud, so we shortly had to adjourn to a table outside, and shortly after that we had to head home on account of the lateness and our need to wake up tomorrow and bike!  Goodnight!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/27/food-and-food-and-food-and-food-and-children.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/29/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,7 +1,7 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>THIS. IS. SPARTAAAAAAAAA</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/28/halloween-away-from-home.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/30/cops-and-cleanliness.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>THIS. IS. SPARTAAAAAAAAA</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-29</div></div><div id="content"><p>Enough amazing Kalamata hospitality; it's time to bike! We rise early but not too early to pack our clean clothes, sleeping bag, and tent. Our packs are stuffed courtesy of three most delectable gifts from our hosts: Kalamata olives, 1.5L of Kalamata olive oil straight from their tap downstairs - Nana's uncle makes the oil, and he lives not 500m down the road - and the largest quarter-loaf of dense freshly baked bread. Perfect for the ride to Sparti, which promises to be arduous indeed. A quick look at the elevation profiles of this route on Google Earth confirms the many warnings from our hosts and the schoolteachers at Nana's school: the road climbs up nearly 1400m into the mountains over 35km before snaking down into Sparti. Not a steep grade, but 1400m is nothing to scoff at; in fact, it makes for our largest continuous ascent thus far, a dubious title previously held by the 1200m climb up the Pyrenees...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>THIS. IS. SPARTAAAAAAAAA</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/28/halloween-away-from-home.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/30/cops-and-cleanliness.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>THIS. IS. SPARTAAAAAAAAA</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-29</div></div><div id="content"><p>Enough amazing Kalamata hospitality; it's time to bike! We rise early but not too early to pack our clean clothes, sleeping bag, and tent. Our packs are stuffed courtesy of three most delectable gifts from our hosts: Kalamata olives, 1.5L of Kalamata olive oil straight from their tap downstairs - Nana's uncle makes the oil, and he lives not 500m down the road - and the largest quarter-loaf of dense freshly baked bread. Perfect for the ride to Sparti, which promises to be arduous indeed. A quick look at the elevation profiles of this route on Google Earth confirms the many warnings from our hosts and the schoolteachers at Nana's school: the road climbs up nearly 1400m into the mountains over 35km before snaking down into Sparti. Not a steep grade, but 1400m is nothing to scoff at; in fact, it makes for our largest continuous ascent thus far, a dubious title previously held by the 1200m climb up the Pyrenees...</p>
 <p>...but we have found that there is no particular secret to climbing mountains. First you start, then you keep going; once you have strength and endurance enough to bike for a few hours, the rest comes down to persistence. On the way up from Kalamata, we pass several stretches of concrete wall alongside the highway with environmentally-themed graffiti, all of it done by this one artist who goes by the moniker "Skitsofrenis". There was a massive forest fire in these mountains a couple of years ago, and many locals bemoan the irrevocable loss of the beautiful mountainside forests between Kalamata and Sparti - and, for this reason, many of the graffiti murals make reference to this fire.</p>
 <p>The road switchbacks again and again, dropping shortly around the back of the first hill before climbing up into this magnificent valley through cold stretches of shadow created by the sheer cliffs that block out the still-rising sun. It winds around the cliff faces, climbing yet more into a small town where we purchase two apples from a roadside vendor - only to find, shortly up the hill, that one is overripe and the other rotten; not a particularly great use of 1€, but there is nothing we can do about that now. It climbs yet more, and we now have an uninterrupted view of the mountains opposite. Some of the faces lie still barren, the rock punctuated only by the charred remains of trees; others have begun the slow regeneration process...</p>
 <p>...and we wind around the scenery for some time, our bodies kept improbably warm by the effort of ascending. As we said before, there is no secret; you keep working until you reach the top, in which we succeed around 1300. This being Europe, the top is adorned with a café-restaurant-hotel complex overlooking the descent below and the valley into Sparti. As picturesque as the climb was, it has nothing on this view - and yet it is not something you can accurately convey in photographs. The view is made inestimably better by the effort it requires to earn it, by the knowledge that you have arrived at the vantage point by nothing other than the force and strength of your own two legs...</p>
 <p>...we stop in the restaurant for a delicious taverna meal of feta and salad and fried fish and bean soup and other such delicacies, which we gobble down heartily. Nothing builds hunger quite like a continuous 1400m climb, and we are starving! Afterwards, we retire to the café to warm up over cappucino; much to our delight, the bartender (who also happened to be our waiter from the restaurant) draws a happy face and heart on our respective drinks. He inquires as to how two cyclists came to be on this mountaintop, which is remote enough that even cars do not frequent it with any regularity. As we have done countless times before, we explain the general route of our trip; it is strange to speak of it now that we are nearing the end, for the distance left to cover hardly seems impressive when compared with the long journey down from Copenhagen and around the Iberian peninsula. Athletic spirit is inscribed deep in the Greek culture, and most people bear at least a slight reverence for those who carry forth the torch...</p>
 <p>...stepping out of the café, we note that the only other restaurant patrons - a family group of roughly eight or so - are all wearing winter jackets, and at this point we finally realize exactly how cold it is. The heat of physical effort has worn off, and there is only the cooling effect of wind wicking away sweat. We quickly throw on our long underwear and jackets for the descent, but even this is not really enough; we shiver the whole way down, our fingers and toes numbing in the icy mountain wind - and yet, even as we cower in our multiple layers of clothing, we cannot suppress our admiration for the surroundings. The road winds underneath rock outcroppings, through small sections of cave, turning around the contours of the cliff face down into the lower valleys into Sparti. Teeth chattering, we wind our way down, down, down into the small towns that dot the mountainside - and finally, after roughly half an hour of coasting downhill, we rest our bikes against a tree in Sparti and head into the nearest market for some food and much-needed warmth. This is a reminder that we cannot take the weather for granted anymore. We have seen both extremes on this trip: first the blistering heat of Spain and Portugal, and now the bone-slicing mountain cold. This sort of cold is unknown to me, having come from the land of uniformly cold winters; most days are passably warm still, but the nights are another story...</p>
-<p>...and we start on our way out of Sparti - the city itself is nothing spectacular, so we decide to keep going. About 5km up the road the way forward is proscribed by a host of signs warning vehicles to take the detour up along the smaller peripheral roads, but we are stubborn and inquisitive enough to barge through this makeshift blockade and try our luck. This turns out to be a fortunate decision; the signs keep most vehicles from taking this stretch of road, so we are relatively unmolested by the usual harrowing stream of traffic. We start to wonder if perhaps the signs are not needed at all - but the reason for them soon becomes apparent, for another 5km up the way an entire section of road has been destroyed by a landslide. Perhaps another result of the massive storm we were caught in not two weeks earlier? Whatever the reason, the destroyed section has not disappeared but has rather subsided about 2m, and a gravel ramp has been laid down to it so the road service can begin repairs. The road service being noticeably absent, we realize that this would make a perfect campsite - protected from the road, which in any event is sparsely used in its current condition, and with some nice flat blacktop to set our stove on. A long day; we have earned this sleep, and will certainly need it for our continued path to Athens...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/28/halloween-away-from-home.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/30/cops-and-cleanliness.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...and we start on our way out of Sparti - the city itself is nothing spectacular, so we decide to keep going. About 5km up the road the way forward is proscribed by a host of signs warning vehicles to take the detour up along the smaller peripheral roads, but we are stubborn and inquisitive enough to barge through this makeshift blockade and try our luck. This turns out to be a fortunate decision; the signs keep most vehicles from taking this stretch of road, so we are relatively unmolested by the usual harrowing stream of traffic. We start to wonder if perhaps the signs are not needed at all - but the reason for them soon becomes apparent, for another 5km up the way an entire section of road has been destroyed by a landslide. Perhaps another result of the massive storm we were caught in not two weeks earlier? Whatever the reason, the destroyed section has not disappeared but has rather subsided about 2m, and a gravel ramp has been laid down to it so the road service can begin repairs. The road service being noticeably absent, we realize that this would make a perfect campsite - protected from the road, which in any event is sparsely used in its current condition, and with some nice flat blacktop to set our stove on. A long day; we have earned this sleep, and will certainly need it for our continued path to Athens...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/28/halloween-away-from-home.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/30/cops-and-cleanliness.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>cops and cleanliness</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/29/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/31/ten-thousand.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>cops and cleanliness</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-30</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Hey!  It's cleanliness!<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>cops and cleanliness</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/29/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/31/ten-thousand.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>cops and cleanliness</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-30</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Hey!  It's cleanliness!<br />
 Don't mock us, thou fool people!<br />
 Just be envious.</i></p>
 <p>Well, no bothers at all last night!  It was, indeed, a splendid campsite.  We wondered briefly what anyone who saw us before we removed our bright orange tent from the sinking road bed.  We decided we didn't care, and we ate yogurt instead.  It seemed reasonable.</p>
@@ -11,4 +11,4 @@
 <p>We thanked him and the road service man as they dropped us off.  They pointed us to Argos (in Greek mythology, Argos is a 100-eyed monster, in case you're curious) and set back to patrol the National Road.  We hopped on again and headed for Korintos, which was a goodly distance through, again, roads winding up into mountains.</p>
 <p>The coast down into town was chilly... we stopped at the top of it to apply our fleeces and long underwear to shield somewhat against the piercing wind.  It still wasn't pleasant.  On the way in, we saw piles of old stone and towers and walls perched atop an improbable-looking several-hundred-metre-tall mesa in the valley.  Probably Archaia Korintos.  Well, guess we're not going to see that on this trip.</p>
 <p>We puttered around town for a little while to get groceries from a supermarket (where we explained our trip to the keenly-interested cashier) and get our new favourite drink, hot chocolate and Metaxa, from a bar to warm up.  Now then, as to a campsite...</p>
-<p>Korintos is situated at a squeeze between the bulge that holds Tripoli and the bulge that holds Athina.  This means that it has a lot of waterfront, and that means that it has a lot of rich areas.  It's hard to find a place to camp in rich areas sometimes, but with a bit of luck someone will have abandoned a house.. well, we found a number of semi-completed construction areas that look unused now, but the site that we've settled on is a field next to the wall of a neighbourhood.  It's far enough from the road that we aren't bothered by the noise, and no one seems to come here; we cooked dinner without any incidents, anyway.  Tomorrow, our 10,000th kilometre!!!!!!!!!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/29/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/31/ten-thousand.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Korintos is situated at a squeeze between the bulge that holds Tripoli and the bulge that holds Athina.  This means that it has a lot of waterfront, and that means that it has a lot of rich areas.  It's hard to find a place to camp in rich areas sometimes, but with a bit of luck someone will have abandoned a house.. well, we found a number of semi-completed construction areas that look unused now, but the site that we've settled on is a field next to the wall of a neighbourhood.  It's far enough from the road that we aren't bothered by the noise, and no one seems to come here; we cooked dinner without any incidents, anyway.  Tomorrow, our 10,000th kilometre!!!!!!!!!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/29/this-is-spartaaaaaaaaa.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/31/ten-thousand.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>ten thousand</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/30/cops-and-cleanliness.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/01/off-the-record.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>ten thousand</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-31</div></div><div id="content"><p>Athens at last. The leg from Kalamata to Athens is not that far, but it has proven arduous: aside from 1400m climbs and bone-chilling cold snaps, the rest of the ride has ranged from rolling to outright mountainous. We've remarked that our pace has dropped considerably since entering Greece, as the topographically squished terrain is anything but easy to cycle across. Nevertheless, after camping in a small unused field just off the road near Korinthos, we manage 100km today along the motorway service roads to meet Valkyrie's friend and ex-coworker Nikos in Athens...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>ten thousand</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/30/cops-and-cleanliness.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/01/off-the-record.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>ten thousand</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-10-31</div></div><div id="content"><p>Athens at last. The leg from Kalamata to Athens is not that far, but it has proven arduous: aside from 1400m climbs and bone-chilling cold snaps, the rest of the ride has ranged from rolling to outright mountainous. We've remarked that our pace has dropped considerably since entering Greece, as the topographically squished terrain is anything but easy to cycle across. Nevertheless, after camping in a small unused field just off the road near Korinthos, we manage 100km today along the motorway service roads to meet Valkyrie's friend and ex-coworker Nikos in Athens...</p>
 <p>...on Halloween! Bike touring makes it difficult to prepare costumes, so we settled for the obvious and went as battle-hardened cyclists. Extra points for realism! The road to Athens is just that - a road whose only real virtue is that it is not the motorway. Of note: just out of Korinthos lies the Korinthos Canal, completed relatively recently at extraordinary expense to spare seafarers the notoriously dangerous 700km detour around the Peloponnese. A quick Wikipedia search tells more: the canal project was undertaken and subsequently abandoned by several Roman emperors; the completed canal was blasted with the help of the same engineer who consulted on the Panama Canal project; long before the canal, there was an overground route for pulling large ships on rollers across 6km of land. The rest of the route takes us past clusters of refineries with their industrial stench and flame-belching smokestacks, past coastline and olive groves and more coastline, and finally down 20km of harrowing outer city four-lane-highway madness into the city proper. We find that the way into cities is always most dangerous; unless you know the local roads and bike routes (if such exist!) you end up taking large highways choked with heavy traffic. Here the danger is magnified by a large hill that must be overcome before we are afforded a view of the Acropolis, that famed monument of ancient Greek civilization.</p>
 <p>Following the railroad station signs, we reach Larissa Station and promptly set about to contact Nikos. Fortunately we have a phone card this time, and the rates for local and national calls are reasonable - but the first call fails, so we poke around the station a bit. Not much here, but fare to Iraklio (where Nikos lives) is just 1€, bikes included. Before trying that, though, we decide to call up Nikos again, and on our way out to the payphones are stopped by two American girls curious as to what two similarly-dressed and generally scruffy cyclists could be up to in this bike-unfriendly city. They are working up in Thessaloniki, to where they will return this afternoon after a weekend visit to Athens. Back at the phones, we succeed this time in contacting Nikos; he will meet us in 15 minutes at the station! We pass this time by taking photos of ourselves with the bikes...</p>
 <p>...because this is our 10 000 kilometre checkpoint! Granted, we have neither GPS nor cycling computers, so this is a (probable under)estimate; nevertheless, it seems as good a place as any to draw the proverbial line. 10 000 km. We have reflected many times upon this, with increasing frequency as we neared Athens. It is not a distance that we truly understand, even though we have just biked it - the distance is too far over too long a time to grasp as one whole, and the trip itself has changed character so much from those early days in the north that we feel it must properly be understood as several trips stitched together. 10 000 km. It seemed laughable for a while that we could achieve that - and yet, by continuing on and chopping away at the distance (almost) every day, we have arrived here.</p>
 <p>Nikos arrives in his trademark brown-and-navy-blue long-sleeve. We follow him to his friends' rooftop pad, where they have laid out an array of tasty foodstuffs: cabbage and sundried tomato salads, grilled meat from the local butchers, bread rusks with tomato and goat cheese, a sweet custard-filled pastry - enough food to compensate for the ride. We fill up on food, exchanging stories with some of the other guests who happen to be cyclists, drinking wine and lounging on the rooftop patio in the Athenian sunset. What a welcome...</p>
 <p>...but we are also here to see the city! Since we will likely spend much of tomorrow perusing ancient Greece, Nikos takes us around the trendier hillside districts up further from Iraklio. Much as European and Asian cuisine is trendy in North America, "American cuisine" - if such a thing could be said to exist - is wildly popular here, except that they have given it a peculiarly European spin. There are bistro-style Pizza Huts and TGIFriday's and Applebee's, and it is The Thing for those with money to take their friends or family out for a meal at one of these American fast-food icons. We pass luxury apartments and hotels and mansions, a far cry from our usual roadside or field lodgings. On the way down, just by the motorway, there is yet another sign of rampant American influence: The Mall, an American-style mall with supermarkets and clothing stores and a cinema and all manner of shopping conveniences. This is strange to see on a continent where most supermarkets are less than 10 years old and many still buy their produce from the local fruit and vegetable stand, or perhaps even from a neighbour or relative in the country...</p>
-<p>...after an impossibly complicated twisty path through the streets of Athens, we finally reach Iraklio and head over to Nikos' apartment. Despite his disclaimers to the effect that the place is quite basic, we find it more than suitable for a good rest - but there is one matter to attend to: Halloween! By this time it is getting late; a quick Google search turns up a Halloween party downtown, but since Halloween is practically unheard of and the trains have spotty service pending completion of a subway tunnel overhaul we opt for simpler entertainments. We head over to the nearest DVD rental shop, grab a random horror flick, and while away the pre-bed hours watching it with a bowl of popcorn by our side. Even a token celebration is enough... </p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/30/cops-and-cleanliness.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/01/off-the-record.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...after an impossibly complicated twisty path through the streets of Athens, we finally reach Iraklio and head over to Nikos' apartment. Despite his disclaimers to the effect that the place is quite basic, we find it more than suitable for a good rest - but there is one matter to attend to: Halloween! By this time it is getting late; a quick Google search turns up a Halloween party downtown, but since Halloween is practically unheard of and the trains have spotty service pending completion of a subway tunnel overhaul we opt for simpler entertainments. We head over to the nearest DVD rental shop, grab a random horror flick, and while away the pre-bed hours watching it with a bowl of popcorn by our side. Even a token celebration is enough... </p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/30/cops-and-cleanliness.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/01/off-the-record.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>off the record</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/31/ten-thousand.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/02/inertial-laziness.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>off the record</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-01</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Memories, some shared,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>off the record</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/31/ten-thousand.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/02/inertial-laziness.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>off the record</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-01</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Memories, some shared,<br />
 Can be kept to one's self, too,<br />
 Accidentally.</i></p>
 <p>After our movie-watching night, we all crashed to sleep too late and poor Nikos had to wake up at 5 or some such time to go do his service.  Yikes!  We slept until about 9, but after that we wrested ourselves from bed as we had a city to see.  :)</p>
@@ -25,4 +25,4 @@
 <p>In the plaza around the station we saw a cluster of cyclists, who Nikos informed us were amassing for Critical Mass.  It was pretty well dark by this time, thanks to the time change that took effect yesterday, and we sat around in front of the Hotel Gran Bretagne to wait.</p>
 <p>Nikos arrived, and he took us out for hot chocolate at a fabulous place hidden in an alley.  They seem to just melt chocolate bars into cups and OH MY GOODNESS IT IS DELICIOUS.  We eventually had to adjourn from that place, and we went to a taverna for dinner where we tried a new set of Greek food (including some supremely tasty butter-fried mushrooms... yum) and were treated to wine and dessert by the manager.  I guess he felt bad for not having the wine we wanted to order?  Maybe he liked Americans or Canadians?  Anyway, we didn't argue.</p>
 <p>It was getting late, but we made one more stop at an art bar for some German weissbeer.  The atmosphere there was really cool: they had fiber-optic trees and an interesting wide-open stone space for seating... I dunno.  I liked it.</p>
-<p>Then, home.  We paused briefly for ice cream, but then it was bedtime.  Tomorrow, it's back to cycling.  Yeah!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/10/31/ten-thousand.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/02/inertial-laziness.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Then, home.  We paused briefly for ice cream, but then it was bedtime.  Tomorrow, it's back to cycling.  Yeah!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/10/31/ten-thousand.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/02/inertial-laziness.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>inertial laziness</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/01/off-the-record.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/03/piano-bar.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>inertial laziness</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-02</div></div><div id="content"><p>Our celebration has been premature, for although we have agreed that our distance goal is met there still remains the matter of a flight from Istanbul to attend to, and there are but three weeks left to get there. It doesn't help that, having pronounced this goal met, we feel as though the trip is over and are consequently much less thrilled about the prospect of continuing on 1200km further in mid-fall. We hear the nighttime temperature dips to 2 degrees up in Thessaloniki...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>inertial laziness</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/01/off-the-record.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/03/piano-bar.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>inertial laziness</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-02</div></div><div id="content"><p>Our celebration has been premature, for although we have agreed that our distance goal is met there still remains the matter of a flight from Istanbul to attend to, and there are but three weeks left to get there. It doesn't help that, having pronounced this goal met, we feel as though the trip is over and are consequently much less thrilled about the prospect of continuing on 1200km further in mid-fall. We hear the nighttime temperature dips to 2 degrees up in Thessaloniki...</p>
 <p>...and, to add to our inertial laziness, we must pack and replace our tyres before going anywhere. We instead decide to start off the day by getting up at 0900, lumbering out to get food, and checking our various Internets; only once this is done do we gather up our things, pull out the tools, pop the wheels off, deflate the inner tubes, remove the old tyres, replace them with the new tyres, inflate the inner tubes, reattach the wheels, move our bags and bikes downstairs, reload the pannier racks, bike down for coffee and lunch (since it is now 1200!), and - finally, four slow hours after getting our trip-weary bodies out of that nice warm bed - head out on the week-long ride to Thessaloniki. And we are not altogether successful in that: after the initial climb out of Iraklio, we spend several minutes navigating the insanely tight security at a local bank - there are two doors activated only by manually paging the desk with a button next to the handle, after which you must look into a security camera and wait for permission to enter - just to unsuccessfully ask for directions. We then head up through some random suburbs, getting lost in the byzantine roads whose layout is complicated by the small matter of a sizeable ravine nearby, and eventually resign ourselves to taking the motorway service roads. Another 10km of slogging alongside the smog generation machine to our immediate left, and then we decide to take a turnoff towards a town whose name we recognize from our admittedly terrible map. We stop to get our tires pumped at the one bike shop we run into, then speed off on our newly inflated tires down the hill - only to meet a sign to Athens further down, causing much confusion. To correct this, we make a turn back towards the highway and discover that we have followed a 20km loop back to a turnoff we should have taken but previously rejected as heading in the wrong direction. We sigh, take the correct turnoff, and are immediately dropping down into the ravine before climbing the other side...</p>
 <p>...and the road continues on to climb up this mountain through some national park, pushing us temporally ever towards twilight. It is approaching sunset by the time we crest the peak, and the cold does not help; just at the start of the downhill, we succumb and pull out everything warm we can find, throwing it on to ward off the cold - and we find that here, sitting on the mountainside, we are compelled to talk about the impending threat of real life. For nearly six months now we have been travelling; we have neglected hygiene far more than modern urban life will usually permit, have slept most our nights under two flimsy (yet, thankfully, waterproof) sheets of orange fabric and a pair of down sleeping bags, have weathered heat and wind and rain and cold. Soon it will all end; we will return to family and friends, I to my Silicon Valley full-time job and Valkyrie to the rigours of graduate school applications, and we will scarcely have rest before setting out across the US for San Francisco - no time to breathe, to think over the last few months and ask the essential questions. Why did we do this? Why have we set aside six months of our lives, six months away from many luxuries and conveniences, away from promising futures in industry and academia to, as one might unceremoniously put it, bum around Europe? What have we learned that made it worthwhile? We had each expected some profound revelation, some life-changing epiphany that would clear away the mental cobwebs and light a shining clear path to follow - but instead we have these quiet realizations, little bits of wisdom and dedication and character-building suffering collected at often great cost in time and effort and morale and occasionally even hard cash, so that we must try still harder to extract and distill this wisdom into something we can apply to the challenges awaiting us back across the Atlantic...</p>
-<p>...but now it is truly getting dark, and home seems far off compared to the more immediate requirements: food, water, shelter. We descend into the towns below, stopping at the nearest market for dinner ingredients on our way to search for a campsite. The first site we check is unsuitable, full of long grass and hastily discarded trash - but the second, an abandoned lot wedged between a pair of car mechanics (or something of that sort; we cannot make out their purpose in the dim light of the streetlamps), will suffice. We set the stove, whip up a passable orzo salad, drink our ritual wine, watch MacGyver until we drift off into sleep...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/01/off-the-record.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/03/piano-bar.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...but now it is truly getting dark, and home seems far off compared to the more immediate requirements: food, water, shelter. We descend into the towns below, stopping at the nearest market for dinner ingredients on our way to search for a campsite. The first site we check is unsuitable, full of long grass and hastily discarded trash - but the second, an abandoned lot wedged between a pair of car mechanics (or something of that sort; we cannot make out their purpose in the dim light of the streetlamps), will suffice. We set the stove, whip up a passable orzo salad, drink our ritual wine, watch MacGyver until we drift off into sleep...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/01/off-the-record.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/03/piano-bar.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>piano bar</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/02/inertial-laziness.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/04/oracular-spectacular.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>piano bar</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-03</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Cold snaps through your bones,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>piano bar</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/02/inertial-laziness.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/04/oracular-spectacular.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>piano bar</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-03</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Cold snaps through your bones,<br />
 Finding hollows in your core,<br />
 Frigidity, all.</i></p>
 <p>We finally made it down out of the mountains today.  Yikes, it's cold up there.  Tomorrow will be unpleasant, too, but we are hoping to hop over and through to save ourselves from having to camp in it.  Last night was cold enough.</p>
@@ -8,4 +8,4 @@
 <p>From the café, we headed to a supermarket complex that was rather confounding.  It housed a bakery/café, vegetable and fruit stand, auto shop, and general food/stuff market.  It was maybe the closest thing we've seen to a North American-style supermarket since we started this trip... but each of these parts seemed rather separate despite the fact that they were housed in the same building (which was a hideous yellow and blue creature).  I think it'll be strange to come home and be able to shop for everything in one place, to be honest.  We regularly stop at two or three stores to get all the ingredients for our dinner (one for starch, one for produce, one for meat or fish if we're having it...).  Hm.</p>
 <p>From the store, we headed out of town, looking for a place to sleep.  We were shortly rewarded with a large building under construction that had a backyard and no workers wandering around.  We parked our bikes out back and set up our stove on the unfinished floor of the first story.</p>
 <p>The lack of light becomes depressing after a while... we feel like we're hidden away in the dark when we camp, and it's true to some degree.  Tonight we ventured out with our cooked food (rice with feta and vegetables, plus the Greek bread rusk-tomato-olive oil combination) to sit under a street lamp and feel like real people for a little while.  The light adds something.  Not only can we see our food and each other, but it's almost... warm.</p>
-<p>Anyway, we are rounding out the night with some episodes of MacGyver.  The theme music to that show just slays me, and the fact that MacGyver is such an all-around good guy is somewhat distressing.  It's cool that a smart guy can be a hero, but maybe they could've toned down the cheesiness.  Maybe.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/02/inertial-laziness.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/04/oracular-spectacular.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Anyway, we are rounding out the night with some episodes of MacGyver.  The theme music to that show just slays me, and the fact that MacGyver is such an all-around good guy is somewhat distressing.  It's cool that a smart guy can be a hero, but maybe they could've toned down the cheesiness.  Maybe.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/02/inertial-laziness.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/04/oracular-spectacular.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>oracular spectacular</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/03/piano-bar.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/05/some-like-it-hot.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>oracular spectacular</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-04</div></div><div id="content"><p>Hard ground last night in our abandoned building refuge. Our bodies ache, our shoulders and backs and hips most of all - but this is of no consequence, for we have a most important quest today! We seek the wisdom of the Oracle at Delphi, that ancient symbol of wisdom, and not even the scoffing of those who see our desire to climb 900m of mountain to ask questions of some slowly eroding rocks will keep us from achieving this goal. It seems there are milestones enough to reach past Athens...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>oracular spectacular</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/03/piano-bar.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/05/some-like-it-hot.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>oracular spectacular</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-04</div></div><div id="content"><p>Hard ground last night in our abandoned building refuge. Our bodies ache, our shoulders and backs and hips most of all - but this is of no consequence, for we have a most important quest today! We seek the wisdom of the Oracle at Delphi, that ancient symbol of wisdom, and not even the scoffing of those who see our desire to climb 900m of mountain to ask questions of some slowly eroding rocks will keep us from achieving this goal. It seems there are milestones enough to reach past Athens...</p>
 <p>...so we start off the day by searching for the piano bar where we sat and took coffee and made tentative first stabs at catching up on long-overdue blog posts. Livadeia being rather sizeable, our search is unsuccessful; instead, we are brought into the downtown, where most cafés open at 0800 - and it is 0700, as we woke up as early as possible to give ourselves additional time to cross the mountains. Fortunately, we find one café that is open, and we stop for a cappuccino (Valkyrie) and hot chocolate (Evan) before heading out of town. 900m. How hard could that be? After all, we just recently completed 1400m from Kalamata to Sparti...</p>
 <p>...and, as predicted, we charge up the mountain slowly but surely to reach Arachova at the top by 1100. The view over the valleys below is spectacular. We use that word quite a bit, but every instance of it is entirely appropriate - in fact, it may even be insufficiently superlative to express the wonder of the mountainsides dipping into the olive-lined floors, their faces spotted with clusters of houses and castles that cling on for dear life against inevitable erosion and gravity. And yet this is not our goal; first, we must give up some 300m or so of elevation down a series of treacherous switchbacks before reaching the archaeological sites at Delphi. We visit the complex of Athena Pronaia first, stopping on a stone bench for a bite of leftover orzo salad and Kalamata olives - but we are soon told that this ancient site is no place to eat, so we pack up our foodstuffs and head back up to the bikes to eat. Our hunger sated for now, we bike along past the ancient gymnasium and over to the complex to Apollo, the main draw for tourists seeking a slice of history in these remote-but-not-too-remote-to-reach-by-bus-from-Athens mountains.</p>
 <p>We are not surprised to find these ruins in relatively good shape - in the days before paved roads and combustion engines, it would have been difficult indeed to march an army up here, let alone besiege a terraced mountainside complex. The stadium in particular is well-preserved, but it's quite the hike to reach it; looking down on the temples and treasuries and theatre below, we've reclaimed maybe about 200m of the elevation lost from Arachova to Delphi. On our way up, we pause to ask our questions of the Oracle - there is a temple to Apollo about halfway up the path, which we face to make our inquiries in silence. Many tourists to Greece visit two sites: the Acropolis in Athens and the complex to Apollo at Delphi. The former is of course the most widely known, but the latter is not far behind - and it shows, for the paths are clogged with tourists from Germany and England and Japan, all lumbering along with chattering tour guides. At least the density of tourists drops as we head higher...</p>
@@ -9,4 +9,4 @@
 <p>...as is the case with many of our predicaments, the solution lies in asking for help. We ask the gas station attendant if they know of a hotel in the area; they do, and it is back through town and off to the left. These directions are not quite precise enough to find our way there, but they might do well enough to find someone else to ask - so we roll back through town, ignoring the locals who doubtless are sharing a laugh at the expense of two apparently lost and increasingly chilled cyclists, and take the left indicated. There is a small shop open just down this street, so we pop in and ask for directions to a hotel. As luck would have it, they have a sign out front advertising the hotel, which runs nightly live music shows (piano and guitar!) during the summer and winter high seasons; it is further down this street, roughly 3km out of town. Not too far, but still...</p>
 <p>...yet there is no other choice, and so we find ourselves riding out into the countryside. We pass a couple of houses, but nothing that looks like the hotel, and we start to wonder if perhaps this place does not in fact exist - but we reach it at last. Trudging up the steep driveway with our bikes, we see by degrees an inviting place indeed: restaurant out the back overlooking the valley, manicured lawn, outdoor patio for warmer seasons. This is orders of magnitude more opulent than our tent and sleeping bag - and priced to match, at 90€ per night. Yikes! Still, we can count on one hand the number of times we've treated ourselves to a nice hotel stay on this trip, and having both reached our 10 000 km goal and climbed the mountains into Delphi, we feel it is well-earned - and the room has a fireplace to boot, so we are soon ditching our sweaty cycling attire in favour of our slightly less sweaty town clothing. The smell of burning wood is an unequalled pleasure, and not something that we've really had on this trip. Most places proscribe outdoor fires for fear that they will set the forest alight, and building the fire takes more time and energy than we usually have at the end of a long day on our bike seats.</p>
 <p>We relax in the room for a bit, chowing down on the remains of our olives and some walnuts from the snack jar to stave off hunger. With town 3km back up a very dark and cold road, the only sane option is to grab a bite downstairs at the restaurant - but Greeks seldom eat before 2000, and even that is usually considered early, so we kill time watching movies and showering and writing blog posts and playing adventure games until 2000 finally rolls around. Down in the restaurant, we order a sumptuous meal: tzatziki, special house salad, saganaki, and an enormous mixed grill plate. Although we almost always cook vegetarian meals - making exceptions on very few occasions for seafood bought at market - we have relatively few qualms about eating meat here in Europe, where the standard of care afforded livestock is far superior to the brutal treatment given by North American factory farms. We down it all with hot grog, a sort of spiced rum-water concoction that is deliciously warm. Such luxury!</p>
-<p>Significantly warmer and better fed than we were when, not two hours earlier, we staggered in from the cold and dark, we allow exhaustion to catch up with us at last. We retire to the room and collapse on the beds, sinking in underneath the warm blankets as the last embers fade in our still-smoking fireplace. A much-needed night of proper rest awaits us...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/03/piano-bar.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/05/some-like-it-hot.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Significantly warmer and better fed than we were when, not two hours earlier, we staggered in from the cold and dark, we allow exhaustion to catch up with us at last. We retire to the room and collapse on the beds, sinking in underneath the warm blankets as the last embers fade in our still-smoking fireplace. A much-needed night of proper rest awaits us...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/03/piano-bar.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/05/some-like-it-hot.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>some like it hot</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/04/oracular-spectacular.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/06/kitchen-in-the-park.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>some like it hot</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-05</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Aeons of brav'ry,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>some like it hot</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/04/oracular-spectacular.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/06/kitchen-in-the-park.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>some like it hot</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-05</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Aeons of brav'ry,<br />
 Never forgotten, valiant,<br />
 Memories in stone...</i></p>
 <p>Some places don't get it: we're cyclists.  Fortunately, this hotel <i>did</i> get it, and we were fed breakfast accordingly, and at nearly the right hour!  To be honest, we woke up around the time our alarm usually goes off (just around dawn) and wandered around in the dark of the hotel before apparently someone woke up to our noise.  We were sat down at a table and brought bread of several varieties and honey and jam and coffee and orange juice and tost with ham and cheese.  It was a portion that was actually enough to satisfy us until we needed to stop for lunch; for 90€/night, I guess it'd better be.</p>
@@ -10,4 +10,4 @@
 <p>Another unexpected hill met us after Lamia.  We climbed for around 20 straight kilometres, and at the top we were met by a fellow we'd first come into contact with at the lunch party in Athens!  He wished us luck on our trip, and cautioned us that we should be extra careful on this road due to its mountainous nature.  We learned that he was heading to his hometown up in the mountains to stay for the weekend.</p>
 <p>Down and down and down after that, til we found a plateau where much growing was done.  There were endless fields of watermelons and peppers, of all things, and we passed through them with a look of confusion.</p>
 <p>At last we reached Domokos, where we bought some yogurt for breakfast and some wine to have with dinner.  We headed out of town to find a campsite, only to find another enormous downhill ahead.  We were happy we'd bought the lights; in the fading sun we were nearly invisible to motorists down that twisting way.</p>
-<p>Off the main highway at the bottom of the hill, we found a tiny cluster of abandoned houses close around a train station.  The station seemed to belong to Domokos, confusing since that town is up a hill and many kilometres away, but we found a space of grass that we figured we could set the tent on.  We chilled around the train station, drinking our vile wine and watching the stray dogs and cats roam about while we enjoyed the artificial light.  Now, it's bedtime (early, as usual).  Maybe we'll play some adventure games first...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/04/oracular-spectacular.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/06/kitchen-in-the-park.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Off the main highway at the bottom of the hill, we found a tiny cluster of abandoned houses close around a train station.  The station seemed to belong to Domokos, confusing since that town is up a hill and many kilometres away, but we found a space of grass that we figured we could set the tent on.  We chilled around the train station, drinking our vile wine and watching the stray dogs and cats roam about while we enjoyed the artificial light.  Now, it's bedtime (early, as usual).  Maybe we'll play some adventure games first...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/04/oracular-spectacular.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/06/kitchen-in-the-park.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>kitchen in the park</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/05/some-like-it-hot.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/07/sunday-is-the-new-sunday.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>kitchen in the park</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-06</div></div><div id="content"><p>Darkness. That is the game now; it rules the long nights of waning fall. 0700 to 1800 - these are the hours in which we may bike safely. The rest is darkness, especially for two cyclists with scant gear. True, we have a couple of flashlights, but these are small comfort when, huddled in the relative warmth of the sleeping bag, we clutch them in our hands and try to carve out a sanctuary of light in the middle of the night - which is why, when we can, we now try to find something public and well-lit to spend our evening hours in. Parks, busy streets, squares...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>kitchen in the park</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/05/some-like-it-hot.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/07/sunday-is-the-new-sunday.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>kitchen in the park</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-06</div></div><div id="content"><p>Darkness. That is the game now; it rules the long nights of waning fall. 0700 to 1800 - these are the hours in which we may bike safely. The rest is darkness, especially for two cyclists with scant gear. True, we have a couple of flashlights, but these are small comfort when, huddled in the relative warmth of the sleeping bag, we clutch them in our hands and try to carve out a sanctuary of light in the middle of the night - which is why, when we can, we now try to find something public and well-lit to spend our evening hours in. Parks, busy streets, squares...</p>
 <p>...or this train station where, just last night, we spent a couple of hours drinking and eating and watching movies off the laptop before nodding off in an empty plot of land sandwiched between houses. We head over there in the morning to eat the yoghurt which has by now leaked yoghurt-flavoured water all over IF-bag, creating an unsavoury mess that we attempt to wash away in this small fountain next to the platform. Then the usual packing before we head out across the flat plains towards Larisa. Mountains have become so much a part of the tail end of our trip that we are shocked to see such a wide expanse of level ground. What luxury for two tired cyclists! We happen upon a small town with a pseudo-saloon-style café, so we pop in for coffee and some of the best tiropita we've had...</p>
 <p>...and, horror of horrors, realize only then that IF-bag is gone! Where to? Perhaps it fell out of our packs back along the road; in any event, we are just far enough into the day that we have no desire to retrace our steps on the off-chance that we might recover it. Onward to Larisa it is, over mostly flat ground that opens up into gently rolling hills as we near the city. The ride is short by our standards, a smallish 50km jaunt, and so we reach Larisa just after midday. Plenty of time, then, to chill out in another café and continue the long work of writing blog posts. These posts just get longer as we go along; our writing voice becomes more entrenched, our memory keener, and we feel now more than ever that we must get in as much detail as possible so that we might have a reasonably accurate picture of What Exactly It Means To Abandon Everything And Bike Around Europe For Six Months. What did we see? Who did we meet? How does it feel to be lost or tired or hungry or cold? What is the euphoria you feel each time you climb a massive hill? What are these things? How can we put words to them? Most tellingly, there is a clear positive correlation between time spent travelling and blog post length...</p>
 <p>...probably because I blather on about trivial matters, like the stuffed peppers we pick up from the supermarket. Hardly home-cooked, but still good enough to sate our cyclist hunger! Next up: find a campsite, the old routine. The best strategy is usually to head just far enough away from the centre that you start to find parks and abandoned buildings - and so, after exiting the main part of the city, we find one site by the ring road that looks promising; there is a section of unused land up against the river. However, it proves difficult to get to, so we instead try our luck over by the stadium...</p>
@@ -9,4 +9,4 @@
 2) Fashion a replacement for IF-bag.</p>
 <p>Of these, the last is most peculiar: we looked around the supermarket for anything that might do as a bag, but the bag selection was limited to a few small knapsacks. No matter; there is always another way! We have a small sewing kit with some medium-thickness black thread and a section of rope that is now seldom used for clothes-drying, so we grab a couple of cheap pillowcases and sit in the park sewing them into a suitable replacement that we christen PIF-bag (for Purple/Pillowcase Incidental Food bag.)</p>
 <p>After that is done, we at last begin cooking the evening meal - and are soon watched by a cluster of children who think it hilarious that two vagrant-looking cyclists should be cooking by stove in the public park. Some time into our preparation, we are approached by a truck driver; the spot, as it turns out, is also a popular ad-hoc truck parking spot for the drivers who come through here on delivery routes. He asks us if we want beer or wine; Valkyrie responds that we wouldn't mind a dram of retsina, at which he starts, exclaims that her pronunciation of "retsina" is very Greek, and bounds off to the local drink kiosk for a couple of bottles that he forks over gratis with a smile. We attempt to explain our trip using all the Greek, general Romance language, and hand-gesturing skill we have. Perhaps he is impressed, for no sooner do we polish off the retsina than he returns with yet more. And we still have a half-finished bottle of wine from the supermarket sitting next to us. It's going to be a very inebriated night...</p>
-<p>...but we polish off the second bottle of retsina, finish most of our store-bought wine, and head down to the park to pitch our tent. There is just enough light from the streetlamps on the road above to see by, and the ground is soft enough to peg the fly easily. What more could we ask for? We watch a bit of Legend and are soon fast asleep, our meal of aubergine-onion-mushroom-walnut sauce over rice sitting contentedly in our bellies. Tomorrow we continue up towards Thessaloniki. Two more days now, and then we can finally rest for a bit...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/05/some-like-it-hot.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/07/sunday-is-the-new-sunday.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...but we polish off the second bottle of retsina, finish most of our store-bought wine, and head down to the park to pitch our tent. There is just enough light from the streetlamps on the road above to see by, and the ground is soft enough to peg the fly easily. What more could we ask for? We watch a bit of Legend and are soon fast asleep, our meal of aubergine-onion-mushroom-walnut sauce over rice sitting contentedly in our bellies. Tomorrow we continue up towards Thessaloniki. Two more days now, and then we can finally rest for a bit...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/05/some-like-it-hot.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/07/sunday-is-the-new-sunday.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>sunday is the new sunday</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/06/kitchen-in-the-park.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/08/the-obstacle-within.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>sunday is the new sunday</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-07</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Small, vulnerable,<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>sunday is the new sunday</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/06/kitchen-in-the-park.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/08/the-obstacle-within.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>sunday is the new sunday</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-07</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Small, vulnerable,<br />
 Cyclists ride alongside cars,<br />
 Blazing speeds: too much.</i></p>
 <p>Well, although we woke up at the prescribed time (Evan moaning about his hangover, I prodding him to move), we didn't make it out of Larisa before 1030.  We meandered through the town's extensive parkland to a café, where we sat to enjoy our morning caffeine and write some blog posts.  It's hard to catch up on these things now... since we finished our "distance goal" at Athens, we feel like this trip is more and more procedural.  It's unfortunate, I know, but we're getting... gasp... homesick!</p>
@@ -11,4 +11,4 @@
 <p>Opening the laptop revealed to us that it was, in fact, Sunday.  We'd been labouring under the assumption that it was Saturday; I guess I fudged the date on our mobile when I was changing the time for DST last week.  Well, crap.  We realised we'd have to go out for gyros: not a bad fate, considering their relative quality here.  :)</p>
 <p>While we sat around in the café, the thoughtful bartender sent a man to us with shots on the house.  We still aren't sure what they were, exactly, but they reminded us a lot of Gammeldansk -- that stuff we enjoyed overmuch with Birthe and Ole in Odense, Danmark.  Perhaps that's what they were.  Anyway, we wondered again about our appearance: do we look like folks who need a drink?  This was the second time in two days we'd been treated...</p>
 <p>We took just a short stop in a gyro shop to sate our hunger.  From there, we headed on in a direction we thought was sane in order to find a campsite.  We had no navigational sense by this point.. once the sun has set, we can't be sure what direction we're going (I think we left our compass back at that farm in Valencia so long ago).  We figured we'd be able to find signs in the morning.</p>
-<p>So, we're parked in another construction area for the night.  The road that comes up to the site has been torn up and is evidently slated for improvement, but for now it's entirely impassible.  We have as neighbours a partially-constructed apartment complex, a fenced grassy field containing some construction equipment, and a used car lot.  I think no one will bother us here.  I hope not: we've got to watch Legend tonight!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/06/kitchen-in-the-park.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/08/the-obstacle-within.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>So, we're parked in another construction area for the night.  The road that comes up to the site has been torn up and is evidently slated for improvement, but for now it's entirely impassible.  We have as neighbours a partially-constructed apartment complex, a fenced grassy field containing some construction equipment, and a used car lot.  I think no one will bother us here.  I hope not: we've got to watch Legend tonight!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/06/kitchen-in-the-park.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/08/the-obstacle-within.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the obstacle within</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/07/sunday-is-the-new-sunday.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/09/rest-stop.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the obstacle within</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-08</div></div><div id="content"><p>We have reached a peculiar point - the point where, having overcome wind, rain, hail, mountains, heat, dry, fog, floods, storms, language barriers, and all other manner of external obstacle, we find that the greatest obstacle is within. They call it being homesick, but it is not exactly that; it is an irrepressible desire to be done with the whole thing, to cash in our chips, to ride into Istanbul and gorge on döner and figs until our flight rolls down the tarmac on Nov. 23, to bring a much-needed end to this life of constant moving and meeting and biking and reflecting. There is a danger to setting goals: when they have driven you for so long, their absence renders you listless. Maybe it is suitable that this is where the final obstacle lies. After all, this is what we wanted out of the whole thing, or at least a sizeable chunk of what we wanted - one last pre-life stab at the pause-and-reflect gambit, a bit more time to introspect. What centers all this? What have we learned? What do we know now, and what do we know we don't know? Questions multiply like the mosquitoes that perversely continue on into late fall, pestering us as we go through the camp-setting motions each evening.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the obstacle within</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/07/sunday-is-the-new-sunday.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/09/rest-stop.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the obstacle within</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-08</div></div><div id="content"><p>We have reached a peculiar point - the point where, having overcome wind, rain, hail, mountains, heat, dry, fog, floods, storms, language barriers, and all other manner of external obstacle, we find that the greatest obstacle is within. They call it being homesick, but it is not exactly that; it is an irrepressible desire to be done with the whole thing, to cash in our chips, to ride into Istanbul and gorge on döner and figs until our flight rolls down the tarmac on Nov. 23, to bring a much-needed end to this life of constant moving and meeting and biking and reflecting. There is a danger to setting goals: when they have driven you for so long, their absence renders you listless. Maybe it is suitable that this is where the final obstacle lies. After all, this is what we wanted out of the whole thing, or at least a sizeable chunk of what we wanted - one last pre-life stab at the pause-and-reflect gambit, a bit more time to introspect. What centers all this? What have we learned? What do we know now, and what do we know we don't know? Questions multiply like the mosquitoes that perversely continue on into late fall, pestering us as we go through the camp-setting motions each evening.</p>
 <p>The road is just a road, the bike just a bike. 10 000 km isn't the point, no more than the cycling and the athletic prowess it brings; that will only get you a slight gut and a pair of absurdly powerful calves. 10 000 km is just a number, a round figure. Why not 6 758 km? As we arrive in Thessaloniki and poke about the Rotonda in search of our CouchSurfing host, a German nicknamed Asterix stops us - he is a fellow bike tourist; a metalworker, carpenter, and shoemaker by trade who, having completed precisely that distance, had his bike stolen by Thessaloniki junkies looking for cheap thrills. The first thing you notice about Thessaloniki is that it isn't Athens or Kalamata; it lacks both the cosmopolitan anonymity of the former and the quaint large-town-bordering-on-small-city vibe of the latter. It is somewhere in between, a land of apartments mostly ignored by the mainstream tourism industry - and for this reason exactly, it is a place preserved from the worst excesses of that industry, a place where the locals mostly go about their lives unmolested. The anarchists and punks and the like congregate at the Rotonda, the students near the university, and the rest live out their costume-and-tie subsistence in the bosom of urbanity...</p>
 <p>What about the day? Not much to say there: we leave Katerini early, try to avoid the motorway but merely end up marooned on farmland backroads dodging precariously large patches of mud, give in and opt for the smaller route up through Alexandria, hit rain for the first time in a week, ride along boring flat road for what seems like six eternities before finally hitting the periphery of Thessaloniki, fight our way along the now-routine inner-city double-carriageway madness, find the railway station, call our host, find our host, get waylaid by the friendly German, talk for some time about travel and cycling and the importance of people and his dog and various tricks for setting fire without petrol and the like, take our leave, find the building, ring several times to no effect, are admitted anyways when Stelios sees us from the balcony, park our bikes inside, drag anything we need upstairs, make our introductions, pop out to the nearest supermarket for dinner ingredients, cook, drink, eat, and sleep.</p>
 <p>But: we are nearly there. We have resolved absolutely to take the train to Alexandropouli, thereby saving ourselves 300km of cycling. The rest is simple: 300km more from Alexandropouli to Istanbul over more than a week.</p>
 <p>Wow. It's almost over. That hasn't really sunk in yet.</p>
-<p>For now, though, another relatively uneventful day in a time when we are glad to have every day less eventful than the last. Tomorrow promises more rest in Thessaloniki - we will spend one or two days here before our train out, enough to recover our strength for the last haul!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/07/sunday-is-the-new-sunday.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/09/rest-stop.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>For now, though, another relatively uneventful day in a time when we are glad to have every day less eventful than the last. Tomorrow promises more rest in Thessaloniki - we will spend one or two days here before our train out, enough to recover our strength for the last haul!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/07/sunday-is-the-new-sunday.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/09/rest-stop.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>rest stop</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/08/the-obstacle-within.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>rest stop</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-09</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Towns of character<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>rest stop</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/08/the-obstacle-within.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>rest stop</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-09</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Towns of character<br />
 Need not bow to anyone.<br />
 Hidden things are best.</i></p>
 <p>Our host here in Thessaloniki informed us yesterday that his primary like of the city is that it's not so touristic as other cities.  It has a life of its own, and people are encouraged to find it.</p>
@@ -10,4 +10,4 @@
 <p>After that, we hoofed it back to the train station.  We'd heard that bikes are allowed on some trains, but not all, and we wanted to clear up what that meant.  The woman at the desk made it clear as mud: bikes are allowed on normal trains.  Um.  Anyway, we'll just show up and try to put our bikes on the train.  There's a non-InterCity train that leaves at 06:30, and we can only guess that that's a "normal" train.  Guess we'll see.</p>
 <p>Lunch was at a place run by "the Guy," as Stelios called him.  We paid just 3€ each for heaping portions of "kitchen food," which is to say food that speaks for itself without being fancily dressed up on a tiny plate.  We ate it in a nearby park with yogurt for dessert, then made our way back to our host's house to drop off the horrifically heavy squash mentioned earlier.</p>
 <p>The rest of the day was spent lazily... we wrote some blogs, played some adventure games, took a nap... cooking dinner was nice, but it didn't occupy much of our time.  Stew is magical in the way it just sits around and becomes delicious.  We were happy enough just to relax.</p>
-<p>We're turning in early again.  The girls and dude who shared the room with us last night have headed out for a train to Athens, and we're contented to just fall asleep on this floor again.  It's good to be warm.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/08/the-obstacle-within.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We're turning in early again.  The girls and dude who shared the room with us last night have headed out for a train to Athens, and we're contented to just fall asleep on this floor again.  It's good to be warm.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/08/the-obstacle-within.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>rest stop the second</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/09/rest-stop.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/11/intense-training.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>rest stop the second</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-10</div></div><div id="content"><p>So. Second full day in Thessaloniki. This is necessary, we believe; exhaustion both mental and physical has taken its toll, and we feel the irrepressible desire whenever we get the chance to do absolutely nothing whatsoever of importance. Not a problem in less-touristy Thessaloniki! The sites of importance are easily visited within the span of several hours, and we happened upon most of them yesterday purely by accident. We start off the day nice and slow with a lengthy coffee break in Dada Café where we write up more of these damnable blog posts. Well, not damnable precisely - we like writing them enough, but it is plenty of work. We remember back at the beginning of the trip when, bursting with youthful ambition, we imagined we would keep videos and GPS logs and attempt to get sponsorship and try to speak at schools about our travels and everything else under the sun. And then we actually got on the road, started biking; we understood fully what it means to ride 100km or more a day only to arrive wherever we can late-evening with depleted energy reserves and a pressing need to make camp and cook and write up the daily post and...and...well, it's not exactly surprising, given all this, that we routinely fall behind on writing and uploading these things. Hard work indeed!</p>
+<p>None of that today, though; we sit in Dada Café for some time before sauntering back to The Guy for some more delicious Greek food, and then we pass several hours in blissful oblivion back at Stelios' apartment. He returns from his classes, and I ask him for the use of his printer. What for? Real life is fast approaching, as much as we would love to ignore it - and the US is notoriously strict in matters of work visas. I've got a number of forms to be sent off; we print them out, walk down to the nearest post office still open at this hour, and mail them out via regular post.</p>
+<p>Time for dinner! On our way back from the post office we head through the covered food market downtown to pick up some fish, which we oven-bake with our oranges and almonds and a generous heaping of Kalamata olive oil. The result is delicious and well appreciated by our host, whom we engage in conversation about Cypriot politics and the Turkish occupation and war and the shortcomings of human nature and anything else of philosophical importance that comes to mind.</p>
+<p>The train we plan to take leaves early - too early for Stelios' schedule; we say our goodbyes, invite him to visit us in San Francisco (an invitation we make to all our hosts, naturally, as well as anyone who should happen upon our CouchSurfing or WarmShowers listings once we make them), and grab another night of sleep. Last night of sleep on a mattress for a few days at least, for however long it takes to reach Istanbul, and it seems prudent to thoroughly enjoy it...</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/09/rest-stop.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/11/intense-training.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>intense training</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/12/last-country.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>intense training</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-11</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Kilometers drift<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>intense training</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/12/last-country.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>intense training</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#gr"><img src="/icons/gr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Greece</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-11</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Kilometers drift<br />
 Along rails, humming away,<br />
 Our eager eyes watch.</i></p>
 <p>We woke up at the forgotten time of 0500 today.  When we're cycling, the sun isn't out then, so we're not out then.  I don't think we've been up that early since... Spain?  Something like that.  We (quietly) packed all our things from their far-flung locations around Stelios's apartment -- somehow we always manage to fill the space we're allotted, sigh.  We hopped on our bikes for the 5-or-so minute ride to the train station to arrive there by 0630 for our train.</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>The train had only 6 cars, and we were riding in it for as many hours.  We explored it as extensively as we could, then settled into the dining car to play on the laptop (Indiana Jones) and to work on our scenario while munching tiropita (Evan reported that the dining car guy thought Evan was Greek due to his correct pronounciation when ordering this treat) and sipping coffee and water.  We were periodically amused when the train seemed to accidentally bypass stations and had to back up to reach them.  We got pretty far in listing ideas for things, anyway, but we were happy when the train pulled into Alexandropouli.</p>
 <p>We picked up our bikes and headed for a café, since it was only 13h and we weren't planning on going anywhere.  We played games and checked the Internet until our battery pooped out, then took a leisurely bike tour of the town.  Sadly, it's a fairly small town, but we popped into a few places to get food for breakfast and a snack to hold us over until dinner.  At the gyro place we stopped for our snack (we had pita, tzatziki, and feta), the owner excitedly offered us to try his eggplant dip when he found out we were travelling.  I have to admit, it was the best eggplant dip we've had, and we were sorry we didn't know how delicious it was before we'd ordered.  :)</p>
 <p>Some more wandering brought us to the beach, where we sat and watched the sunset at the foot of the lighthouse.  As the light faded totally from the sky, we realised that it was barely 18h and that we'd have to wait at least two and a half hours before going out to dinner to kill our last euro.  We explored some residential areas and settled on a place to camp (another abandoned building), then sat in a park to try this scenario thing some more.  P.S. if you are reading this and will be in the bay area in the spring and are interested in playing some D&amp;D, please send us an e-mail.</p>
-<p>Dinner was satisfying at a local taverna, and although we didn't managed to spend all our remaining Euro, it's okay.  We tried even more Greek food we hadn't had before (randomly pointing to things on a menu you can't read can lead to interesting dinners) and headed to bed.  Our last day in Greece!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/12/last-country.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Dinner was satisfying at a local taverna, and although we didn't managed to spend all our remaining Euro, it's okay.  We tried even more Greek food we hadn't had before (randomly pointing to things on a menu you can't read can lead to interesting dinners) and headed to bed.  Our last day in Greece!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/10/rest-stop-the-second.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/12/last-country.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>last country!</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/11/intense-training.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/13/tuna-palas.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>last country!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#tr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/tr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Turkey</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-12</div></div><div id="content"><p>Back on the bike trip beat: 300km left into Istanbul. A few more nights in a tent, a few more cracks at stove cooking - and one last border crossing, the last on this wild rambling pan-European tour. We've crossed into more countries than you can fit on that damn "Countries visited prior to entering the U.S." line on those bloody customs forms they make you complete every time you want to pop over to Fortress America. In order: Denmark to Germany to Holland to Belgium to France to the UK back to France to Spain through Portugal and back into Spain across to Morocco and again into Spain then back in France to Monaco to the last tiny stretch of France to Italy to visiting the Vatican and back into Italy to Slovenia to Croatia to 10km of Bosnia to more Croatia to Montenegro to Albania to Greece - and now into Turkey, and that doesn't even count the in-flight border crossings taking us into Canada, Iceland, Switzerland...thanks to Schengen, we have precious few entry stamps to show for it; nevertheless, like faithful unpaid photojournalists, we maintain a separate album on Picasa for each stretch through a country.</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>last country!</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/11/intense-training.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/13/tuna-palas.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>last country!</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#tr"><img src="/icons/tr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Turkey</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-12</div></div><div id="content"><p>Back on the bike trip beat: 300km left into Istanbul. A few more nights in a tent, a few more cracks at stove cooking - and one last border crossing, the last on this wild rambling pan-European tour. We've crossed into more countries than you can fit on that damn "Countries visited prior to entering the U.S." line on those bloody customs forms they make you complete every time you want to pop over to Fortress America. In order: Denmark to Germany to Holland to Belgium to France to the UK back to France to Spain through Portugal and back into Spain across to Morocco and again into Spain then back in France to Monaco to the last tiny stretch of France to Italy to visiting the Vatican and back into Italy to Slovenia to Croatia to 10km of Bosnia to more Croatia to Montenegro to Albania to Greece - and now into Turkey, and that doesn't even count the in-flight border crossings taking us into Canada, Iceland, Switzerland...thanks to Schengen, we have precious few entry stamps to show for it; nevertheless, like faithful unpaid photojournalists, we maintain a separate album on Picasa for each stretch through a country.</p>
 <p>Ah, but this is not the same trip anymore. We can slow down a bit now - flight leaves on the 23rd, some 11 days hence, and that's more than enough time to slug across 300km, especially for two battle-hardened cyclists used to blazing through 100+ kilometres a day. Longest day: 190km. Highest point: 1500m or so along the Camino de Santiago. Slowest day: 26km over 10 hours to cross the Pyrenees via the hiking trails from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port to Roncesvalles. We think about these things on occasion - just numbers, meaningless by themselves. How do you convey the magnitude of 11 000km, as we estimate our cumulative distance will be to Istanbul? You don't, except maybe in passing, some kind of Powers-of-Ten overview. 10 km from the airport to Copenhagen, 100 km to the end of the first part of Denmark, 1000 km to Amsterdam or so - and 10 000 km to Athens.</p>
 <p>Enough of that: we start off with the ritual café stop, this time in a super-posh downtown Alexandropouli joint with red pleather-quilted walls, for a couple of frappés. These iced coffee drinks are all the rage here, but our morning stop merely serves to demonstrate our ignorance in this important cultural matter - for they are served in highly concentrated form, and are meant to be diluted before consumption. The waitress is appalled that we fail to grasp this, and insists on making - gratis, mind you - two new ones so that we may properly appreciate the wonders of frappé.</p>
 <p>Our knowledge of frappés thereby expanded, we lurch out of Alexandropouli around 1100 to spend our last Euro - the last Euro of the trip! everything is down-to-the-wire ultimate this-or-that for us now - at the Carrefour on the periphery, grabbing such staples as snack and starch and breakfast yoghurt. We then ride for some 20km or so before starting to feel the midday hunger. Not so severe as usual, what with our lazier-than-usual morning schedule, but still there; sadly, the town we stop at barely has a schoolyard, let alone so much as a bakery or market to grab food in. For that, we have to ride up over a smallish hill into the next town 5km off, where we at last find a bakery and spend the dregs of our Euro, whatever change we had left over from the Carrefour stop. Now we really are out of Euro - well, almost; we count maybe 3€ among all our change. Another souvenir of the trip...</p>
 <p>...and the highway connects with a motorway some 10km before the border. The only alternative is to slog up along the Greek-Turkish border for some 80 km to the other crossing by Edirne, so we grit our teeth and barge along the motorway despite the near-certainty that, like before, some policemen with zeal to match their boredom will stop us. That mercifully doesn't happen; as it turns out, this stretch is seldom travelled, and so we are treated to two lanes with a massive shoulder to ride in and maybe three vehicles to contend with the whole time. Last 2km now: so flat that we can see the first border post, the post for exiting Greece, down the road as we pick up speed in our last-border-crossing-on-bike-of-the-trip excitement. We reach it in short order, hand over our passports to the Greek officials, get stamped out of Greece, Schengen, the Eurozone, and the EU...</p>
 <p>...and enter the largest no-man's-land we've seen, a 2km stretch of road crossing a river patrolled by a friendly joint Turkish and Greek military detail - at least as friendly as a bunch of tense youth cradling assault rifles can be. The river marks the border - there is a car bridge over it, and the railing is painted to mark the country: blue and white on the Greek side, red and white on the Turkish. More guards at the end of the bridge - and then we finally see the Turkish entry post, this massive complex with a duty-free market and several lanes to service demand at peak hours. The first customs post we pass through is staffed by a guard who evidently has never seen cyclists come through here, for he greets us with "Are you crazy?" "Yes." "I knew it! Go through." Then we enter the multi-lane madness between the customs and passport control booths. First we stop to grab Turkish lira at the duty-free market, which is equipped with an ATM for exactly this purpose - and are glad that we did, for the passport control kiosk immediately informs us that we must purchase a visa from the visa kiosk. We round up our bikes, head over to the visa kiosk, fork over 90 lira (about 45€) apiece, and receive some fancy stamps together with a small sack of mint-flavoured candies that the man staffing the visa desk generously gives us. Surely these are the most expensive mints in the world! It is more than a slight burn to shell out so much cash for our last border crossing, quite ridiculous given that borders are more or less completely open throughout Schengen, but there's no turning back now...</p>
 <p>...and we are now in the flat agricultural part of Turkey, surrounded by more farmland than we've seen since - well, since the flatlands near Larisa, which we suppose is not so long ago; but before that, the last flatlands we saw were back before Trieste in Italy. Non-mountainous road has been a luxury for this last part, a luxury indeed, and we are immensely glad to have it in our general built-up exhaustion from which there is no escape save safe arrival in Istanbul. Farmland means another thing, too: scant land to camp on. You don't want to be sitting in your tent on some cropfield when the mechanical tillers come knocking. We find one piece of land that might be suitable, a sort of grassy patch overlooking some impassable washed-out ditches not far off the road, and pause there to cook dinner - but soon think better of it, recalling some advice from Asterix in Thessaloniki: he never camps between towns, for it is far more dangerous than the cities. No one is around to see anything, no one to hear - and even though there is a petrol station just up the hill, we fear that this close to the border we might run into vagrant border-dodgers looking to work over anyone they can find for anything they can get. We pack up the stove, let out a sigh - it was a decent site, after all, at least slightly protected from the noise of the road - and head on towards the next town...</p>
-<p>...and, in a throwback to our Albanian days, see that the next petrol station we run into comes equipped with a smallish hotel. Why not? Might as well have some minor luxuries in this last part. We haven't really had a vacation - cycling is hard work, even more so when you're hell-bent on covering 11 000 km in six months, and we deserve the rest our bodies crave. We check in, pull our gear upstairs, and sink into a nice warm bed. Maybe we will attempt to make Tekirdag tomorrow; although we have enough time to take it slowly, we find that we are incapable this close to the end. We want to get there - to hit Istanbul running, to roll in and pack it all up and spend our time drinking tea and eating as much kebap as we can cram down our throats before hauling it all somehow to Atatürk International for the flight home. Good night!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/11/intense-training.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/13/tuna-palas.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>...and, in a throwback to our Albanian days, see that the next petrol station we run into comes equipped with a smallish hotel. Why not? Might as well have some minor luxuries in this last part. We haven't really had a vacation - cycling is hard work, even more so when you're hell-bent on covering 11 000 km in six months, and we deserve the rest our bodies crave. We check in, pull our gear upstairs, and sink into a nice warm bed. Maybe we will attempt to make Tekirdag tomorrow; although we have enough time to take it slowly, we find that we are incapable this close to the end. We want to get there - to hit Istanbul running, to roll in and pack it all up and spend our time drinking tea and eating as much kebap as we can cram down our throats before hauling it all somehow to Atatürk International for the flight home. Good night!</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/11/intense-training.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/13/tuna-palas.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>tuna palas</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/12/last-country.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/14/the-penultimate-ride.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>tuna palas</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#tr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/tr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Turkey</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-13</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Stop.  Take a deep breath.<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>tuna palas</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/12/last-country.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/14/the-penultimate-ride.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>tuna palas</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#tr"><img src="/icons/tr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Turkey</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-13</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Stop.  Take a deep breath.<br />
 Winding down and gearing up,<br />
 What lies beyond this?</i></p>
 <p>We're getting nervous, guys.  What do we do when the bike trip is over?  Evan starts a job, sure, but I don't have a plan yet (grad school is likely, but in what?).  Beyond the job, we don't really have any plans, anyway; no place to live (hoping to start that search when we have some downtime in Istanbul), no idea how to get down there (drive?  train?), no clue what sort of stuff we'll pick up (we have to take up something active to keep these sexy bods, but cycling won't be it), no ability to cook for non-cyclists (the amount we cook now for 1.5 meals would feed us as regular people for 1.5 days, and I guess we'd get kind of bored of that...), no inkling what each other's friends are like (I know some people and Evan knows some people, but the intersection is approximately 2), ... EEK.</p>
@@ -6,4 +6,4 @@
 <p>We stepped out to pack our things this morning, and the hotel/gas station owner brought us over some Turkish tea.  It was delightful!  We're planning to pick some up before we head back.  He also presented us with a keychain bearing the logo and address and phone number of his complex.  We affixed it to our bike lock keys.  :)</p>
 <p>Mostly the riding was uneventful.  It was just <i>hard</i>.  Hills and hills and hills and hills, up and down and feeling like we weren't making any progress... but we've described this same thing a thousand times.  Eventually, we made it to Tekirdag, a pretty large city on the coast.</p>
 <p>We found a hotel (Tuna Palas) without too much trouble, and we gathered some things to make dinner and some pre-dinner snack (unfortunately we didn't get döner from the place using real coals to roast it; they were out of meat, so we went to another place that overcharged us for crappy tourist döner.  We did get some roasted salted corn, but it was Turkish corn, which ain't got nothin' on Indiana corn, let me tell you).  We parked ourselves in the park to cook and actually brought everything back to our room to eat from <i>separate dishes</i> at a <i>table</i> while sitting in <i>chairs</i>.  This luxury completed, we made one more foray into town to get tea from an adorable middle-aged woman across the street.  She was clearly running the teahouse out of her apartment, and she wandered in and out of her kitchen to get cups as people showed up.  When we went to pay her, she excitedly over-carefully pronounced the price: "One Turkish liras!"  We paid her and smiled.</p>
-<p>Wolfenstein, then bed.  Easy downhill from there.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/12/last-country.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/14/the-penultimate-ride.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>Wolfenstein, then bed.  Easy downhill from there.  :)</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/12/last-country.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/14/the-penultimate-ride.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the penultimate ride</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/13/tuna-palas.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/15/the-end.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the penultimate ride</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#tr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/tr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Turkey</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-14</div></div><div id="content"><p>Easier than yesterday - that about sums it up. The terrain is flatter, the hills shorter and more gradual, and although we ride slightly farther than the previous two days, we are much less exhausted once we stop some 25km out of Istanbul. Yes, we really are that close! Why stop there? Why not just barge forward, finish the whole thing, roll across into Asia and call it a day? One simple reason: having resolved to finish this trip at our typical 100 km per day pace, we've decided it would be appropriate indeed to finish exactly six months after, way back in Oakville, Ontario, Canada, we first started to seriously put things in bags for the flight over. Six months minus a day just wouldn't cut it...</p>
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>the penultimate ride</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/13/tuna-palas.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/15/the-end.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>the penultimate ride</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#tr"><img src="/icons/tr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Turkey</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-14</div></div><div id="content"><p>Easier than yesterday - that about sums it up. The terrain is flatter, the hills shorter and more gradual, and although we ride slightly farther than the previous two days, we are much less exhausted once we stop some 25km out of Istanbul. Yes, we really are that close! Why stop there? Why not just barge forward, finish the whole thing, roll across into Asia and call it a day? One simple reason: having resolved to finish this trip at our typical 100 km per day pace, we've decided it would be appropriate indeed to finish exactly six months after, way back in Oakville, Ontario, Canada, we first started to seriously put things in bags for the flight over. Six months minus a day just wouldn't cut it...</p>
 <p>...so we ride out of Tekirdag relatively early, over some rolling hills, out to an even flatter stretch - and then hit Silivri about midday with enough hunger to pull off the road and set up on an old 16th-century bridge recently restored for the use of strolling pedestrians. We head out on the bridge a bit for a view of the small sea created by Turkey between the Dardanelles and Bosphorus, that ancient trade route, and pop open our Tupperware for yesterday's leftovers. That completed, we break with tradition to eat dessert <i>after</i> lunch in a local pastry shop - some kind of pistachio-nut-honey contraption and a chocolate-nut cake square, both of which we split half-and-half between us. Everything is shared, neither of us owns anything to ourselves except maybe our clothing, and even the non-gender-specific parts thereof are occasionally shared as need dictates. Water is shared: if one runs out of water, the other passes their bottle over mid-ride until we run out or find another fountain to fill up at. Pastry and food are definitely shared, particularly those foods sampled from local restaurants: we each pick something, eat our half, and swap plates, ensuring that we get to experience as many delicacies as possible. This is the best way, we think - and yet it is a way of life foreign to Americans, who view personal space and privacy and individual success as sacrosanct, not to be shared with less worthy peers. A kind of Objectivism writ large, the ultimate repudiation of the traditional lifestyle that governs much of the rest of the world. This is not a value judgment on either, for both ends of this spectrum have their peculiar benefits and flaws.</p>
 <p>Another 20km or so to the town where we stop - hit Migros for snack and evening meal foodstuffs, drink beers on the waterfront over more speculation about our nascent D&amp;D scenario, then the search for a suitable campsite somewhere in city limits. We head out along the waterfront stretch, passing several slews of cafés and tea joints and restaurants before the whole touristy mess finally thins out. There is a park, but it seems to be a hangout for drunks and youth - far enough off the main main stretch to be hidden from suspicious officials, but not so far that it is truly out of the way - so we pass on by, keep going around the point, and soon locate an abandoned structure with enough lawn space out front to pitch safely. This part of the waterfront is apparently a favourite spot for locals to fish, chat, and cook on all manner of gas stoves with their family. When in Rome, so they say...</p>
 <p>...so we pull out our own stove and whip up the last camping meal of the trip. To be fair, we have enough petrol left over that we'll have to use it in Istanbul sometime - but this is the last time we cook on the road. We make orzo salad, making use of a package of orzo that has been sitting in the bottom of our pantry pannier for a few days, and eat it by the waterfront before dragging our bikes uphill to the building, pulling out the tent, and setting up for one last night under the cloud-covered stars. One last campsite, one last abandoned building, one last stop before Istanbul. What does it all mean? What have we learned? These last few entries are full of questions, notably short on answers - but maybe there are no answers, no grand revelations from the journey; rather, there is a conviction that it is useless to make life plans, an understanding that it is better to get anything and everything you can out of each day than it is to spend your short time here in anticipation of what might never be, in fawning adoration of the American dream, in the race for better cars or watches or whatever the hell it is the vast majority of the working world spends its 9-to-5 slaving away for. If you want something to happen, make it happen - and all that good jazz, the old clichés reprinted in a thousand thousand self-help books sold at $20 a pop in the big chain bookstores back home. Patience, dedication, motivation, a desire to learn anything you can, keen powers of observation - and killer cyclist legs: these are the things you gain slowly, painstakingly from a trip like this, but you must work for every bit of it and never give up...</p>
 <p>...which is what we have been telling just about everyone we run into, all the hordes of people who say they could never accomplish something like this. Of course you can; you just have to do it, keep some modicum of common sense about you to prevent from dying, and keep going. Always keep going. That is how we got here, how we managed to (nearly! not in Istanbul yet...) complete this fantastic journey and do it within the time frame set for us by work and Thanksgiving and anything else we feel compelled to rush home for. This is it. Tonight, we sleep; tomorrow, the final stretch into Istanbul.</p>
-<p>This is it. We're almost there. One more day, one last day. Tomorrow.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/13/tuna-palas.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/15/the-end.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>This is it. We're almost there. One more day, one last day. Tomorrow.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/13/tuna-palas.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/15/the-end.html" class="nav">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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-<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>THE END</title><link href="http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/biketotheearth/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/14/the-penultimate-ride.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="#" class="disabled">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>THE END</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#tr"><img src="/biketotheearth/icons/tr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Turkey</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-15</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Last miles passing...<br />
+<!DOCTYPE html><html><head><meta charset="UTF-8" /><title>THE END</title><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lusitana:400,700" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /><link href="/style.css" type="text/css" rel="stylesheet" /></head><body><div id="root"><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/14/the-penultimate-ride.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="#" class="disabled">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div><div id="title"><h1>THE END</h1></div><div id="info"><div id="country"><div class="country-icon"><a href="/index.html#tr"><img src="/icons/tr.png" /></a></div><div class="country-name">Turkey</div></div><div class="post-date">2010-11-15</div></div><div id="content"><p><i>Last miles passing...<br />
 Gliding under wheels, now gone...<br />
 Istanbul: the end.</i></p>
 <p>Well, here we are!  It seems silly to try to describe our emotions as we found our way into Istanbul this afternoon.  It marks the end of something big: 11,000km (more or less), 20 countries (if you count things like the Vatican), 6 months (today's the official anniversary of the start), and way more time together than either of us has really spent in the company of other people.  It marks the beginning of something bigger: Evan's transition to "real life" (starting a job!) and mine to... something else (work, then grad school?).  It's the end of tiredness.  It's the re-beginning of comfort.  We're not even sure what it is; everything is jumbled up in our minds from six months of adventures, and Istanbul will be the place to sort it out.</p>
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 <p>But the police were in sight, too.  They sent us back.  When I say, "they sent us back," I don't mean that they pointed us at a road going the other direction, but rather that they had us turn around and bike/walk against traffic along the same road we'd taken to get to the bridge.  That was possibly our most terrifying cycling experience on the entire trip.</p>
 <p>So, what to do?  We can't bike across the straits, so we settled for a ferry.  We had no business relaxing until we completed the route we'd set for ourselves, so we dashed back along the coast to the ferry terminals we'd seen a few kilometres back and hopped the first boat across.</p>
 <p>Despite the fact that we felt like our ride to the ferries was a "bike of shame," we were still excessively animated on the ride over.  The end of the trip!  We were confident we'd done our damndest to bike as close to Asia as we could, and we were being rewarded for our efforts.  Even with all the "shortcuts" we took along the trip (renting that car in France, the several ferries and train rides scattered through everywhere...), we still estimate we went over 11,000km in total, and we had a damn lot of fun doing it.  As we set foot on the new continent, we clutched at each other and dropped our bikes and whooped and hollered and generally confused/concerned everyone around us.  But that was it.  It was all we could do.  It seems strange to think that there was no seismic shift in our lives by crossing that strait, but the changes came slowly over the entirety of the trip.  We're both more sure of ourselves and the limits of our capabilities.  We have ideas for "where to go from here."  We feel we understand the nature of people and their interactions with each other and their environments, and we've seen the very best and very worst of human nature.  We tried to express some of our emotions to each other on the docks, but it was useless.  We'd been expressing them for 6 months.  That landing, more than a symbol of our determination, really just meant that we had to find a hostel to stay in for the night.</p>
-<p>We hit a café for some tea and poked around HostelWorld enough to find arch-ist, a little place just off Taksim square (on the European side) in the central shopping district of Istanbul.  Istiklal, the heavily-touristed street, is just a few blocks over, and it's nice and quiet at night where we are.  We're staying in tonight, hoping to reminisce about our adventures and calm down.  We're playing games (still working through Wolf3D and Indiana Jones) and drinking beers and chatting with the hostel staff.  No one's really around on Monday nights, so we've pretty much got the place to ourselves.  It's a nice place to think, and we're looking forward to our "reintegration week."  We're planning some excursions around the city (things like Topkapi Palace, the Hagia Sofia, the Blue Mosque, and the Bosphorous cruise are touristic musts) and some relaxing days (we want to get massages and to visit the Turkish baths), as well as some days for making ourselves presentable (we're talking beard trims, haircuts, and new clothes).  I know a couple people in the area that we're planning to hook up with for lunches or daytrips or whatever, and it's rapidly looking like our week of rest will be nearly as full as our months of biking.  So it goes.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/posts/2010/11/14/the-penultimate-ride.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="#" class="disabled">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/biketotheearth/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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+<p>We hit a café for some tea and poked around HostelWorld enough to find arch-ist, a little place just off Taksim square (on the European side) in the central shopping district of Istanbul.  Istiklal, the heavily-touristed street, is just a few blocks over, and it's nice and quiet at night where we are.  We're staying in tonight, hoping to reminisce about our adventures and calm down.  We're playing games (still working through Wolf3D and Indiana Jones) and drinking beers and chatting with the hostel staff.  No one's really around on Monday nights, so we've pretty much got the place to ourselves.  It's a nice place to think, and we're looking forward to our "reintegration week."  We're planning some excursions around the city (things like Topkapi Palace, the Hagia Sofia, the Blue Mosque, and the Bosphorous cruise are touristic musts) and some relaxing days (we want to get massages and to visit the Turkish baths), as well as some days for making ourselves presentable (we're talking beard trims, haircuts, and new clothes).  I know a couple people in the area that we're planning to hook up with for lunches or daytrips or whatever, and it's rapidly looking like our week of rest will be nearly as full as our months of biking.  So it goes.</p></div><div class="nav"><div class="post-link"><a href="/posts/2010/11/14/the-penultimate-ride.html" class="nav">prev</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="#" class="disabled">next</a></div><div class="post-link"><a href="/index.html" class="nav">index</a></div></div></div></body></html>
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