The Last Chapter?

NOTE TO NEW VISIOTRS: This was the final post of my travel blog. If you are new here and want to follow my voyage from the beginning, you can start here: http://midnightmiles.blogspot.ca/2007_04_01_archive.html


Istanbul is, without a doubt, the biggest city I have ever visted.

I rolled upto what appeared to be the outskirts of its core at about 2:30 pm, 'we are the champions' playing in my head and feeling a bit giddy about the fact that - yes, I had actually done it.

That was two thirty. The freeway rolled on, and on. Signs continued to point forward indicating Istanbul ahead. Then any mention of Istanbul disappeared, replaced by the names of unpronouncable burroughs - no helpful bullseye symbol and corresponding 'center' direction either. I'm there - I must be there. Five lanes of traffic in either direction, moving freeway speed. It starts to rain. I pull off into burrough after burrough, to ask "istanbul?" - I'm pointed further, further every time. It takes me a full TWO HOURS to work through these layers of high density residential and industrial rings of the city, before I find the exit I am looking for (by intuition or chance - I'd like to think intuition). This is my introduction to the city.

Over the next few days I explore. Istanbul is a city of thousands of mosques. Western Europe certainly has its masterpiece churches - Notre Damme, the Segrada Familia, The Duomo... Istanbul has about five or six masterpiece cathedrals (mosques, naturally) within its central core. Stick that in your pulpit and preach it! The blue mosque was, to me, the most impressive - alas, my camera crapped out on me the day I visited; I got two pictures I think.

I rode my bike up the European side of the Bosporous - the legendary waterway that has a choke hold on the Black Sea and saw its beautiful sea wall, billion dollar houses, and the rather impressive suspension bridges that twin the straight. I spent another afternoon touring the length of the massive wall that surrounds the old center of the city (the area that was Constantinople). In some areas it is marked out as a park. In others, the inside of the wall joins seamlessly with peoples homes. In yet others, it provides an open space for farmers who grow produce and sell it right there on the side of the road.

The Markets of Istanbul are noisy, bustling, and packed with anything you could ever want. We had the good fortune to be staying with some really cool couchsurfing hosts who directed us to one of the many REAL baazaars that serve istabul's actual population (this versus the tourist-oriented 'grand bazaar' and spice market located in the old city). We ferried over to Kadikoy to check out this tuesday and friday market where Turks buy their produce, cookware, clothing, scarves, and well, pretty much anything else.

More than the water pipes and backgammon, more than the busy streets and intense, adrenaline fueling traffic, more than the tasty and cheap food, or the living markets, more, even than the overpowering sense of history that this EurAsian city has built into its architecurally diverse and eyecatching structures however, one thing struck me the most. The Turkish people themselves.

I've met friendly people in many countries, and have been the object of (at times, quite irritating) curiosity in others (primarily albania) - but in no other country have these two traits combined in the way they did in istanbul. I was approached many times and in different environments - bars, on the ferry, parks, the street - by local folks who could see I was different and just wanted to talk to me. Nothing more. Generally they were very curious about me, my country, and what I was doing with the bike. Similarly, they were generally quite passionate about communicating their view of turkey to me as an outsider, as many Turks feel that they are being badly misrepresented by the media outside of their country. It was enlightening and incredibly refreshing to meet people like this - completely unafraid of the unknown.

My days in Istanbul were also marked by my chance encounter (they were staying at my CS host's as well) of a different pair of english bikers. These two - andy and tom - are cycling around the entire planet in for aproximately four years. Their attitude to the project really reflected a lot of things that I'd found important as well and we hit it off pretty much immediately. Just when I'd made peace with returning home, I found myself reinvigorated to travel on, and a little jealous when I would watch them start to plan their next leg. It was hell of hard to turn down an offer to ride on with them. I look forward to seeing you two when you make it over to this hemisphere, guys - what you are doing is truly incredible. To anyone who has found reading this blog interesting, I reccomend you visit Tom and Andy's website at http://www.ride-earth.org.uk/. They've even got a really good independent film company producing a video podcast for them with footage they've shot.

Alas, all good things truly do come to an end. I had some fun adventures in Istanbul traffic riding my bike box home from the bike shop where I got it (one hand on the box, one on the bars, shifting gears with my feet while dodging busses. Its the little things that make life worth living). I headed out to the airport by bike and then light rail, catching the last train of the night before spending the hours of midnight until three AM packing my bike in the box and reorganizing my panniers for the plane. 5:30 AM and I said goodbye to turkey and hello to the wierd timeless nowhere zone that is airtravel with layovers.

Then it was home - I got a little misty eyed when I looked out the window and saw the coast mountains. A little more when I saw how many friends had come out to meet me at the airport. We rode back to vancouver in celebratory spirit, before I popped in the house to spend some QT with the family. My adventure was at an end.

Its bittersweet really. I love this place, and it will always be my root home. But there's a part of me that I left out there wandering the world with a bike and a map, and not much else. I know I will be doing this again, and maybe sooner than I think.

When I close my eyes I think of how I've slept in abandonned villages and army barracks, on top of a volcano and under several bridges, at the top of the pyrenees and in a hammock swinging from the deck of a boat on an island off spain.

I've climbed 1800 meter peaks fully loaded, drafted dump trucks through pitch black, unfinished freeway tunnels, portaged venice and survieved the arc de triomph, Albania , and Istanbul en velo. I've lived in a squat in Barcelona and Amsterdam, in a tent, and in a staggering variety of incredibly wonderful, friendly, and trusting peoples personal apartments.

I beat the mountains of Catalunya in July and road the vertical length and entire south coast of France.

I've had Baklava and Ouzo in Greece, pizza and gelato in italy (as well as pasta prepared by 'a real italian granny'), tried beer in belgium, tapas in spain, and the wealth of cheese france and turkey have on offer.

I've had so much sand on me that I literally clogged the drain when I finally found a shower.

And endless other experiences, some small and some life changing...

So - my voyage has reached its last chapter. But has this blog?

I dont think so. I've spent so long writing here that I've become accustomed to it. I intend to keep it as a record of the journey - a snapshot of my own mind at a particular time in my life. To all of you who've followed my adventure: thank you for your support. Thank you for putting up with my at-times-wonky spelling (I blame the foreign keyboards and time sensitive access to internet. Seriously, who has time to edit a blog when you are exploring a continent?) Thanks for riding along with me, and maybe one day we can do it again...

Now Where's That Dammned 'at' Symbol?

Another country and another frustratıng keyboard configuratıon...
They actually have TWO 'i' keys here, whıch, untıl I fıgured ıt out led to a frustratıng half hour of me thınkıng that the turkısh government was eıther blockıng certaın sıtes or that some of my passwords had been hacked. I'm feelıng rather foolısh now - honestly, these constantly changing keyboard configurations are killing me.

Woke up wıth the raın today, packed my soggy gear ın the raın, rode ın the raın and some bastardly headwınds (I have, I kid you not, actually screamed 'damn you Aeoleus!' on several occasıons durıng thıs trıp).

Crossed the border to a couple of surprıses. One was the 45 euro entrance fee (er, Vısa fee, pardon me) that ıs conspıcuously NOT mentıoned on the CDN Foreıgn Affaırs websıte. The other was seeıng Brıt bıkers Duncan and John roll through rıght after me. Frankly I was shocked to see them because I should have been mıles ahead. Indeed, I should have been but they boys had cheated a lıttle (traın, taxı) because John was on a mıssıon to see the fınal game of the rugby world cup, and wasn't above kıllıng a grandma or two ıf ıt was necessary ın order to get there. They had 230 kılometers left to Istanbulş and about fıve hours to make the game.(About 20 k on the other sıde of the border, soggıly rıdıng through puddles and a raın-haze, I heard a serıes of honks and looked up ın order to see John's arm extended ın a thumbs up, mane flappıng ın the wınd out of a taxı wındow - the bıkes were crammed and bungeed ınto the trunk). I got so wet on that hıghway that I broke down for the fırst tıme sınce Amsterdam and paıd for a room. My tent and a bunch of clothes are hangıng up ın there dryıng out rıght now - ıf I have a dry tent, I can handle campıng two more nıghts even ıf ıt keeps pıssıng on me lıke thıs.

The Turkısh-Greek border ıs the fırst REAL border that I've crossed here. There are no mıld and ınoffensıve guards wıth dorky hats and tıes and maybe a pıstol at theır sıde. There are soldıers. wıth bıg fuckıng guns. everywhere. The actual border lıne ıs ın the mıddle of a brıdge that must be a kılometer long - ıts paınted blue and whıte on the Greek sıde and red and whıte on the turkısh sıde. Both ends are manned by soldıers. Quıte the ımpressıve lıttle scene actually. As I crossed ınto turkey one of the soldıers raısed hıs and and saıd 'welcome!' to me - I felt awesome for about 10 mınutes untıl the vısa ordeal. (I neglected to mentıon that I had already changed all my money ınto turkısh cash by thıs poınt, and had to go chance ıt BACK ınto euros. redıculous.)

Anyway, I'm 200 km from the fınısh lıne and feelıng pretty good. Maybe ıt was that kebab I just ate though...

Its all Greek to me...

Good times in Thessaloniki.

After a couple of rather rainy days stomping about in the mountains of Greece (let me tell you, they have some pretty respectable mountains), we made it to Greece's second biggest city. Adventures seeking an unfinished freeway (and drafing a dumptruck through a 2km tunnel in the pitch dark). Mountain goats. Being above the cloud level. I've eaten about forty Gyros now, cumulatively that is (they seem to form the basis of my diet here), been out on the town, explored the old city, and been taken out for lunch at a legit greek restaurant for good eats and ouzo. We've lucked out on some amazing couchsurf hosts, and been talked into staying an extra day.

From here I ride east to the sea again, and then plan to take a boat over to Samothraki, the northernmost greek island in this neck of the woods, (and aparently 'quite a spiritual place'), before boating back to the coast and riding, solo, my final leg of the trip. Its been a riot riding with duncan and john (they are, i assure you, completely insane. They're carrying a living goldfish from Calais, france, to Hong Kong), but I feel like I need to finish the journey on my own power. Then a week to explore Istanbul before heading home. Its a bit surreal to be this close to my goal; The closer home gets the more real it becomes and the more i miss the little things there... at the same time, the ephemeral nature of my exotic location and freedom loom large. Ah paradox...

Fier and Loathing in Albania.

It was the worst shit hole I've ever been in.

Well, maybe that's a bit harsh, since we didn't stick around long enough to really find out, but it impacted our senses hard enough that we knew we didn't want to.

Fier is the name of the town - about halfway down the albanian road (there's only one road that runs the lenght of the country). All was going well up to that point - the road out of Tirane to Dures (where we saw an overpriced and undermaintained roman colleseum - one had the impression we were the only ones to visit it in a long time) and south was smooth and fast (of course, continuing to be full of drivers that honk at you every. time. one. passes. you., half built gas station-hotel-bar-restaurants, hand carwashes every 50 meters, and the occasional pile of burning garbage).
Then things started to get worse. the road... well, disappeared. They're in the process of building a new one (and doing a terrible job of it - the new stretches arent properly blocked off and are being ruined by impatient drivers grinding gravel into it) and the old one doesn't even bear mentioning, add to that its over congested . We jumped onto a stretch of unfinished gravel highway and stuck to it happy to be free of cars. As we got closer to Fier, things got worse - the air thickened with a sort of acrid fog and traffic got worse.
We arrived at the edge of town just in time for sunset - we were greated by a black and grey river of sludge, massive piles of burning garbage (the source of the mysterious fog) and a sort of mortal panic. This place felt like one of the gates of hell. We stopped to take a picture or two of the river (it was the worst we'd yet seen), but soon the smoke and darkening sky mingling to create a sort of ominous haze, the traffic and noise, the stench of burning plastic began to get to us. This place felt wrong. We wanted out. A quick conferenece and it was decided to get the hell out as fast as possible, never mind the ruins near the city, nevermind anything just go go go - this is one of the gates of hell.

That was sort of the low peak, but it serves as a bit of a metaphor for how bad things can actually be there. The traffic is bad. The roads are worse (where they exist) - nothing south of Fier is either built or driveable, really. Every. Single. Car. Honks. At. You. As. It. Passes. There is garbage everywhere. Everywhere. I don't think I can over-stress this point. People dump it into rivers or down the side of ravines, and set fire to it. We met a french speaking albanian in a town called Ballsh (right before we witnessed an entire lake that had been covered with a three inch layer of black oil), who rather embarrasedly explained that Albanians just haven't quite developped the culture of putting trash in the bin yet. As if to emphasize his point, moments later one of the children in the crowd who had come to surround us (a regular occurance in Albania. Cute at first, then increasingly annoying) plucked a bit of trash from Duncan's handlebar bag and threw it on the ground, seeming to say 'geez you idiot, don't you know where that goes?'.

I guess I shouldn't be so hard on the place - they are trying. They've just been so badly fucked by history and circumstance. But the ball has certainly been dropped since the conversion from dictatorial 'communism' to 'democratic' capitalism, that's for sure. Its not that there are rotating power outages or that no large supermarkets exist. I can get by in conditions like that just fine. Its more the psychological despare I felt seeing the rivers of fucking garbage, the polluted and toxic environment, the wholehearted embracing of cars (even though they can't afford them), and the fact that they dont seem to fucking care. It hurt, really.

There are advantages to the place of course - its cheap; there are very, very few tourists there; its warm; its not hard to find good food. Gjrocaster, the largest town in the south is actually quite a nice place - clean, green, and with a genuinely charming old town (in contrast to the obsession with concrete boxes that the rest of the country seems to have. Progress!) The problem is that Albania just looks like a twisted vision of the post apocalypse... Again, I'm not being fair. Had I come through on a mountain bike and put some time into getting into real, rural Albania, I'm certain I would have been pleasantly surprised. Urban albaia then - well, be warned.

I crossed the border to Greece with my british companions (Duncan and John for the record) feeling like it couldn't have come too soon. Greece has been wet, and invlolved a surprising amount of mountain climbing - but clean, green, smooth roads... a dream really.

I'm in Thessaloniki now resting for the final leg of my journey - I can't believe there's only 5 or 6 hundred kilometers left...

Oh yeah, new photos up - both from my riding with Tim, and from the last little while..

Here and Here

Talking heads repreive

Really been on a 'heads kick lately.

Still thinking of Sarajevo; looks like David Byrne was too...

Phototastic

Wow I'm on the internet a lot these days.

After stopping in Schkoder, the Albanian border city to change money, eat lunch, do the internet, and buy a map (all of which, amazingly, took a fraction of the time they did in Montenegro - says a lot about which is the 'civilized country'), I hit the road again. I had planned to do another 40 k and find somewhere to crash, maybe pay for a cheap hotel for the first time since Amsterdam. Instead I blew the whole distance to Tirane, the Albanian capital, in a shocking 3.5 hours. Over 100 Km. I did, according to my maps, 137 km today - must have something to do with all that mountain riding I've been doing lately! About 20 minutes before hitting the city I stopped for a cola (caffine needed) and met two British cats who are riding london to Hong Kong. And I thought I was hardcore. We made plans to meet up tomorrow and will probably ride some of Albania together. The road from the border here, defying expectations was smooth - and, probably the reason for my incredible speed, completely flat. Inexplicably, everyone here drives Mercedes' ... and not just beat up old deisel ones either, but new looking models. They love to honk, and even more, love to pass one another. I was actually run off the road at one point by some Italian jerk driving a porshe cayanne oncomming. Other than that though, things seem good. The people are very friendly and I get a lot of honks, cheers, whistles, and waves of support - about 800% more than in any other country so far.

Anyway, while I'm waiting to get in touch with my couchsurfing host for the evening (a canadian in albania! who's bike toured the west coast! rad!) I'm finally uploading some photos of the leg from Sarajevo to Albania. Find them HERE.

And in case you are curious, here is my route from Italy to Albania:
Italia:
http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=1361991
Slovenia:
http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=1361995
Croatia:
http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=1362002
Bosnia:
http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=1362010
Montenegro:
http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=1362017
Albania:
http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=1362024

(holding somewhere around 4678km total now)

Albania, yo!

So here I am in albania.

Pretty much everyone told me not to come here, though, having crossed the border I dont know why.

I left Podgorica yesterday a bit late after running all over town trying to get basic business done after dealing with yet another frustrating sunday. I had one particularly scary episode trying to convert my Bosnian Marks (called, hillariously, the Konvertable Mark). Bank after bank sent me somewhere else - nobody wanted to touch the stuff (literally) - as if it was contagious and handling it would transmit civil war or islam or something to them. The central bank sent me to their affiliate, who's front desk man flat out lied to me (oh yeah, their man called and said that they sent you to the wrong place - yeah, it was a woman who sent me over, bucko). I was starting to sweat a bit because I still had a hundred euros worth of the stuff and that would be a pretty nasty hit to the pocketbook. Finally I found a bank who took them, without even batting an eyelash, and the emergency was off. I had similar fun finding a bike shop (spare parts to carry into supposedly 'postapocalyptic' albania), and a map of albania too. Finally suceeded on the bike parts, but not on the map. Everyone I asked looked at me like I was crazy - why would you want a map of albania?

Hit the road at about 1:30 and was making good time at first. Passed another bike tourer heading the opposite direction and stopped to chat for a bit - she was a Californian looping the former Yugoslav countries. It was nice to compare notes with someone else on the road.

Things slowed up a bit though when I hit the Skadarsko, the large lake that forms a natural border between montenegro and albania. I decided to follow the lakeside road rather than the major road that cuts all the way to the coast. Its marked as a park on my map. I should, of course, know by now that how things look on the map is 95% of the time absolutely nothing what they look like in reality but I learned once again. I was treated to an afternoon of nasty mountain climing on windy one lane roads. The view was indeed spectacular, but the going was slow. Finally, about 45 minutes before the light started to fade I hit this wierd little plateau/ valley between mountains, about 15 km long, andfilled with luch vegetation and flat terrain (versus the rock farm that the previous several hours had been). Counting my blessings I found a hidden and apparently unused farmer's field, and set my camp up just in time for the light to fade and to eat my dinner in the dark.

Up early this morning, and booked off the last few mountin km, before being treated to a long and fast descent to the albanian border.

It reminds me of some of the places I saw in southeast asia - busy, noisy, alittle crazy and not so filled with outsiders. There are lots of cars and scooters, and, yes, horses pulling carts.

This is the email that someone I was lucky enough to get in contact with who is currently doing the same route as me by motorcycle sent me, so you'll have and idea of what's next for me:

I just traveled the road you are discussing for the second time. i travel on a small 200cc motorcycle and i have seen several bicyclist doing so. The road out of montenegro is tricky to find. it is a small backroad, not much traveled and it is fine for a bicycle. the road into montenegro is quite good, as you know, but as you get closer to albania it becomes rutted and in poor repair, but you should not have a problem. From the border to Skhoder the road is acceptable, but busy. As you may know, cars were outlawed in albania by the communists, so they saw little point in investing in infrastructure, but that is now changing. The problem is that Albanians only recently learned how to drive, so you must be careful. As always, stay to the right a smuch as you can and check your mirror frequently for motorists wanting to pass. Albanians toot their horns seemingly at random, and you have to get used to that. The road from the montenegro border to Tirrane is not bad, but it is busy and there is a lot of garbage around, and they burn it and it is pretty disgusting. You wil wonder why you came, but keep the faith.... you wil be rewarded. From Durres southward the road is now excellent. they just built it last year. It is a smoth, fast road. However, as you get closer to Fier they are stil working on the road and it is pitted and rutted. often, due to cinstruction, traffic stacks up so be careful. In Fier, make a right at the traffic circle with the sign that says "Appolonia". you priobably are planningthis already, but it is a very interesting site of an old Roman city. it is about 8km outside the city. the road is pitted and ugly, as are many of the roads in albania. Try not to stop in fier for the night. it is an ugly city and locals tell me it is not very safe. Continuing to Vlore the road is also in poor shape, until you reach Vlore. I stayed at the hotel Pavaresi.. a new hotel that is a little above what I am used to but my 35 euro room was extremenly luxurious. It is at the foot of the main drag, just before you turn south to go out of town. It is next to a restaurant called the Britania. From here your ride wil be very scenic. The road is excellent, having been built last year. it is two lane and very smooth. About 20km out you will reach the tiny town of orikum. There are supposedly ruins there, and there's even a sign that points the way, but after two years of trying I never was able to find them, Now comes the hard part.... right out of Orikim you begin the climb up the Llogarosa pass... a spectacular ride, but not for the faint of heart. The road is excellent, but it is steep and there are many hairpin turns. The area near the top is a national park. At the top comes your reward.... you wil see stunning views of a 12km white sand beach. I cannot recal the name of it and i do not have my map with me right now. it starts with a "P", I think. If you like remote beaches do stop there. Now you wil have a desecent of many kilometers and it is all scenic. At the bottom you wil see a sign marked "Dhermi", 1.5km. This is a great beach area, but although i intended to stop there for a two day stay, I found most places closed. If you walk down the beach 1km through some olive groves there is another great beach. Unfortunately, the great road has only been finished to about 2km or so above Dhermi, then it goes back to the rutted unkept roads for which albania is famous. There are survey crews out there now so they are working on extending it. The next town you come to is Himare, a sleepy little port on a crescent shaped bay. this is where the Ionian meets the Adriatic. it is said that Odysseus harbored his ships here in the 5th century B,C, there is a nice litle hotel called the Hotel Joni.. about 20 euros for a room with the balcony over the sea. Continuing on the road gets worse and is rutted and pitted. there is anice beach a few km out of there called Llaman.... a small stretch of nice beach. Continuing on you come to the fortress of ali pasha, wel worth a visit. be careful not to get lost inside like i did the other day!! There is a nice cove there that is a nice place to camp if that is what you are doing. Continuing on you wil come to a town with a long stretch of undeveloped beach called Queparo. there really isnt a road to the beach... one local questioned why anyone would build such a road... there is nothing to go to but the ocean (it then dawned on me why tourism isnt doing so well here). Next you come to the town of Busho (?), also a good beach. remember.. beaches here are dirty.. no one cleans them like they do in greece and Italy. Eventually you come to sarande, wher I am now. this is worth a few days. Its a great place to rest and the ruins of Butrint are 25km south and wel worth a visit.It is a Roman city that was aresort area for wealthy Romams. the ruins are extensive. If you dont want to ride, there are frequent buses. i shoul;d say that as you get closer to sarande the road has been repaired, but not replaced and it is acceptable,and much better than the other parts, but beware of these crazy albanians who only recently learned to drive and who toot theuir horns seemingly at random.I stay at the hotel delfini.. a nice family place. My 20 euro room is super clean, has a private bath, and a balcony over the sea, only a few meters away. To eat cheaply, there is a Greek taberna on the promenade that sells gyros and meat dishes at very low prices. I am always watching my money. Next comes the road to Greece. that is really rough. if you do not want to stop in sarande, just before you get here, take the turn to the left that says "Gjorkaster".. that will eventually take you to greece. i wil be on that road toimorrow. last year I drive it and it was rutted and pitted and very bad.there is a lot of up and down climbing for you on a bike. There is also a lot of climbing involved. now here is the good news.... when you get to greece the roads are great.. nice and smoooth and very well signed.I hope this helps.
Robert Spano
redding, california USA (in Albania now)


Still cant seem to get my pictures off my memory card, though this is by far the nicest internet cafe I have been in for a while. Seems like the poorer the country the better their internet facilities... perhaps most people dont have it at home?

I'll leave you with something that's been stuck in my head for a couple of days on the road now..


(really, one of the best movies ever)

The Holy Grail of Bike Touring (continued)

France has been (easily) displaced from the top of my list for europe's most beautiful country.

I'm sitting in a computer shop in montenegro using dial-up(!) internet, so I can't get any pictures of what I saw up yet, but suffice to say southern Bosnia and Northern Montenegro was one of the most spectacular areas I have ever visted - to bike through it was truly the oportunity of a lifetime.

In Bosnia, picture the landscape of BC with desiduous forests (just beginning to change colour) of eastern canada. Massive valleys and rock faces, coated in green and gold trees. As I crossed into montenegro, things got rockier, a little barer, and the mountains rawer - I would liken it to the pyrenees a little, or the canadian sheild on steroids. I chowed down on about 100 km each of the two days it took me to get to Niksic (using american keyboards - funny accents missing), and the second day was a real leg-buster. Climbing all day long, and when not climbing battling headwinds. Next tour I am bringing a bike computer with an altimeter so I know just how many vertical meters I ate - I suspect it was a lot yesterday.

Niksic is your typical country town, one main street that the locals walk up and down and up and down all saturday night. I got drunk with some Montenegran kids who thought I was quite the novelty and fed me free drinks all evening. I've been ordering food having no idea what it is (its either written in cyrillic or is just some crazy word I don't recognize) and I can't seem to explain to anyone that I want to buy a map, and could they please tell me where I could do so. In Spain and Italy, I thought I didn't know the language and had trouble communicating. My experince here makes me feel like I am fluent in both of those languages (indeed, I find myself accidentally reverting to some wierd mixture of the two when I try to communicate). Now I REALLY dont know the language.

I still have both legs after bosnia, and plan to make my way to the sea before entering Albania. That is, assuming I can find a map!

Sarajevo

Its been a cool couple of days here in sarajevo - both in terms of the weather (I'm in the mountains now... it looks a lot like BC here), and my experience in town.

Couchsurfed with what I believe to be the only biker in Sarajevo, and spent time chilling with her and her friend Igor (another couchsurf host) who grew up 100 km from here and had lots to tell me about the area's history. Ate like a king (turns out food IS cheaper here... and often weighed for price - 1kg = 6$ cdn!)

Ate a sandwich and watched old men play on a giant chess set.

Took a lot of pictures, but started to feel almost dirty doing it - like thier pain is my tourism.

I'm going to visit the history museum, which I'm told is quite a heavy experience, then hit the road through the mountains to Montenegro. Onward and upward - hope my legs are ready for some hardass hillclimbs.

Busses and Bosnia

Somehow I got the idea in my head that I wanted to go to Sarajevo.

I don't know if it was based on romantic ideas that the name has always conjured, a need to put some true-life basis behind the stories I read and heard in my lectures on inturnational relations, or the hazy images we got on Canadian TV that I still have in my mind of snipers from soviet looking apartment blocks and guns on the hills around dropping shells on the city below that needed some kind of confirmation. Maybe it was just the thought of riding a measly twenty or so kilometers of bosnia (the miniscule leg of coastline it lays claim to on the sea where there is a small gap in Croatia).

One way or another I decided to come. Then, in an admittedly drunken portage episode on my last night chillin with Tim I managed to twist my ankle, and the idea occured to me to take the train to sarajevo and stay a night or two with a couchsurfer - that way I can rest my leg and not worry about lost KM (the dazs until homecoming are rapidlz ticking down, and the Kilometer count remains daunting).

So we go to the train station. Where we're told that the tracks are being worked on and there are no trains from Split. Rats - but not impossible. Tim books a bus to Zagreb with plans to connect to trains taking him to Budapest, I decide to grab a night bus all the waz to sarajevo.

When the bus pulls up at 10 pm, my heart sinks. Its a minibus. Holds maybe 12 people. Definitely not my bike. Unenthusiastic at the process of stealth camping solo with a twisted ankle and in the rain in a large city, I limp back to the ticket office and ask them where is the closest to bosnia I can get by bus that night. They tell me Ploče, halfwaz to dubrovnic, has connecting trains. I wait for the 1:30 bus. When it shows, I ask the driver if he indeed stops at Ploče. Yes. and he'll take my bike. He overcharges me even after I bargain him down.

Midway through the ride I realize we're well beyond Ploče. Fuck - he either didn't stop or didnt call the stop. Not to worry I tell myself, this is better. I'll stay on the bus all night and get some sleep, then take a train from Dubrovnik, better rested, and maybe paying a fraction more.

At the Dubrovnik ticket office i get my next rude surprise. "there's no trains here" the puzzled information office woman tells me. Fuck. Again. I head into town to pick up some food (rude woman overcharges me at a fruit stand, rude girl yells at me - in between sentences in her more-important-than-the-customer phone call) and grab another bus heading, finally, to sarajevo. A couple of large, cold Karlovacos and a sleeping pill left over from when I got really sick riding in spain put me out for most of the ride, save periodic shakings into consciousness when I dutifully present my passport.

I arrive.

Sarajevo is wierd. I was warned by a friend we made in Split - "it's depressing" - and it is a little bit - but somehow still full of life. My face was glued to the window as we slid into the citz - building after building facade still pockmarked with bulletholes, scarred and maybe re-patched with mismatching bricks by shell holes. Its almost unreal. The achitecture reminds me of western-pop images of soviet russia and an arthur erikson wet dream combined. Faded billboards from the 1984 olympics still stand near the bus depot.

On the surface though, things seem normal. Traffic hums away as it does anywhere, save for a complete absence of bicycles. (complete). Boutiques line the streets in the centre, and there is a thriving tourist boutique district near the gorgeous (I would call it the most beautiful thing in the city, actuallz) mosque and courtyards. Everyone still drinks coke, and it costs the same it does in Vancouver or Torino.

Under the surface I discover things are still messed up. This is a city without trust - offering a couple of marks to make a quick local call on someone's cell (a trick that has worked everyhere else I've been) elicits suspicious looks, grunts, and flat out 'no's. I meet a bosnian girl now living in vancouver (who thankfully hooks me up with a cell phone) here to do paperworks and sort out loose ends remaining from pre-war times. She tells me that the system is corrupted enough that she can barely get anyting done. She also tells me that the area around the city is still heavily mined, and completelz unmarked. Freaking scary, because the area she points to is the very same one I'd been scoping to wild camp (hey! what a nice forrest right next to the city!) if my couchsurf plan didn't pan out.

I decide to do a bit of better research on the subject and am informed by our lovely government's website that "Landmines remain a very serious danger, especially outside of Sarajevo. The vast majority of mined areas in Bosnia and Herzegovina are not marked in any way. Visitors should keep to main roads, stay on paved surfaces, avoid abandoned houses, and travel only during daylight hours. Special care should be taken near former confrontation lines. Avoid areas with visible signs of destruction, such as numerous destroyed buildings, which may be mined. The mine threat includes large amounts of unexploded ordnance and discarded ammunition. War relics and unknown items should not be touched and should be reported to local authorities. Visitors should carry a document identifying their blood type."

Well there is a mindfuck. Looks like I'll be asking a lot of people if I can tent on their property, as that warning description pretty much rules out all of my usual haunts. I dont even KNOW my bloodtype.

trust me kids, though, I'll be careful. I love my legs and have absolutely no interest in having them blown off.

See you back home (in one piece) in just over a month!

croatia continues

We're in Split Croatia now.

Its been a couple of amazing days touring this coast, and I begin to understand why people now call this the 'holy grail of bike touring.' We'll have both of our pictures up on a new flickr (fixed.friction,) and you can see for yourself.

Highlights include:

-2 borders in one day (slovenia and croatia)
-Sleeping in an abandonned boyscout camp during a badass thunderstorm
-The Istrian peninsula, and drinking lots of istra bitter
-cheap half liter beers
-ferry ride and 3 beautiful days on the islands of Cres and Lošinj, with amaying wildcamping oportunities
-Zadar, where we couchsurfed and met some fucking cool kids, also saw the most amazing piece of public art I have ever seen, the Zadar sea organ.

Today Tim (new nickname, Barricade - story coming soon) and I split ways - he rolls back to hungary and I decide if I follow the coast down to Dubrovnik or cut inland to Sarejavo in Bosnia.

Friction touring, fucking loving it.

adresses

I'm aware that I have been incredibly negligent in the mail department with all of y'all - but I'm planning on sending some stuff out soon. I have a nice collection of postcards amassed from various european countries waiting to send. I just am lacking adresses. So if you want one, email me your addy or leave it on here. You might even get it with a bosnian or croatian stamp!

Italia a duo

So its been a wild couple of days on the road with the cowboy.

After jetting to Milano, we pushed it north to the edge of the Alps, camping one night near a lake, mounting some mountains for breakfast and lunch the next day, and camping on a second, larger lake the second night. No days under 100 km. We also dropped in on a little bike shop looking for cycle caps and were welcomed like heroes. Trulz the spirit of bikelove is international,; the folks there at Bramati Point wouldnt let us leave without giving us a full team uniform - jersy and shorts, and a discount on some sweet campagnolo hats.

We then pushed it south to Venizia.

Let me warn the bicycle traveler to venice. Don't bring your god dammned bike. Its a beautiful city, though overrun by tourists to the point of feeling like disneyland, but wandering aimlessly between the canals and the tight winding streets is an unreal experience, one magnified by the fact we arrived at night. The downside of course is that every canal is bridged by a steeply arching bridge. Made of stairs. meaning portage. If you have ever portaged a fully loaded touring bike 40 times in 2 hours, you'll understand why I say leave your bike at home. If you haven't, you dont want to. 'the rats nest' is what we started calling the place. We ended the night camping it in a clump of bushes at the farthest end of venice before catching a ferry over to a peninsula that connects to the mainland on the other side of the bay, and riding towards a bike festival that tim had seen a poster for earlier in the week.

We arived at cyclomundi knowing it was a bike festival and nothing else. It turned out to be a touring festival. We rolled in on our loaded bikes and were once again the centre of attention - many photos were taken of us all loaded up, everyone wanted to hear our story, and we were asked to give a brief summary which was translated into italian for the crowd. They fed us, housed us, and treated us like gold. Even better, we got to meet a lot of experienced tourers - cats who had circled the border of europe entirely, had ridden from finland to greece, from italz to japan - we watched a presentation by a woman who had toured the entire world in 8 years.

Even better, we met an italian framebuilder at the festival who told me that he could re-weld the crack that had recently developped in my right seatstay. Stayed an extra day to have the job done and got to check out his sweet factory/workshop full of beautiful frames. Thanks Carlo.

Then eastward once more. Through Trieste and into Slovenia. A couple of truly badass thunderstorms. Then into Croatia. Two borders in one day. We're on the island of Cres now, on the Croatian coast (apparentlz the Holy Grail of bike touring... and so beautiful you believe it) planning our route southward. More dispatches as possible.

(ps, the balkans are pretty chill. No gun toting civil war grudgers so far, just really old ladies who feed us wine when we ask if we can fill up our water bottles)

Italia, meet the east van bike revolution

Three nights in Torino, and we're off.

Tim and I greet each other as old soldiers who have not seen each other in ages, trading war stories and battle scars.

We're up at a respectable hour monday and set off in the direction of Milano. 129.99 km in the first day, 6.5 hours of riding.

Italia watch out, we're going to tear the asphalt off your roads.

Copout D'azur

Ok, I'm just going to come out and admit it right off the bat.

I copped out.

I took a train.

Reached the Italian border a few hours after writing my last post and after a careful analysys of

1) what time it was (approx 6 pm)
2) the condition of my legs and my right knee (starting to give me some regular pains)
3) a more careful examination of my real (michelin) map, not the google map (lacking in, specifically, altitudes)

I came to the realization that it would take me no less than 48-72 hours to reach Torino.

Tim was already waiting for me there, and has a deadline to be back in Budapest, and to be perfectly honest - while I absolutely loved both france and spain, I've spent far too long mucking about in this corner of europe and now have only seven weeks to blow through some of the sweetest countryside on the continent - Italy, the Balkans, Greece, and then Turkey. I wish I had an extra two months.

No regrets of course, save that I wont get to add conquering every respectable mountain range in France (got the Massif Central and Pyrenees under the belt, but alas, no Alps. GENUINELY disappointed with myself on this one) two my other two accomplishments in that country (riding the vertical length of the country, and riding the entire south coast).

I'll say this for European trains though - fast, and CHEAP! The three and a half hour 160 (?) km ride cost me a piddling nine euros. Crazy business.

So now its just to link up with Wyatt and begin our Eastward plunge.

More details as they arise!

the two minute update

I know I've been terrible on this thing of late, so I thought I'd throw down a couple of details as I stop in Nice here for a few minutes to rest my legs and gather supplies.

I'm heading North from here, through the alps to meet up with fellow East Van bike missionary Tim Wyatt (check the link bar to the right for his blog).

Spent a lovely week in Marseille exploring the city by bike (I'll flat out admit respect for any regular biker in Marseille; by far the least bike friendly and traffic mad city I've seen yet). Its large, throbbing, dirty and alive - Marseille that is. Whoever it was that described it to me as the Vancouver of France has a very dfferent picture of Van than I do. I would say that it is the L.A. of France - whether this country has a Vancouver, I've yet to find out.

Spent some time with two quite awesome and amazing couchsurfing hosts who took me out with their friends, fed me well, and made me feel like a long lost friend.

Got food poisoning from a Snack stand, and am only now recovering my appetite. 200 KM in 2.2 days on a mostly empty stomach: grueling.

Its sunny and beautiful on the Cote D'Azure - a pitty its marred, like virtually any european coastlie I've seen, by an abundance of busy highways and overfilled, over priced, pleasure boat and tourist infested beach towns. I'm looking forward to the balkan coast in the hopes that there will be less people and more natural beauty. Go go Canadian nature-snobbism!

Anyhow, gotta hi the road here again as I have 170 or so km between wyatt and me, including some litte montain range they call the alps or somehing, and I'd like to be in Tornio by tomorrow night. Guess I should hit the road!

Love y'all, and I hope to EVENTUALLY recap some of the road between barcelona and here.

PS - special notice to the B:C:Clettes - caught your LA performance on the Project B blogsite... You ladies are looking hot as ever, and MY GOD have you raised the bar with the moves! Massive respect, and congrats on your successful tour!

Mini Bike Army, rollin strong in Vancouver

So those of you back on the homefront know I love my mini bikes, and a few of you out on the road here have heard about my membership in the bone shaking heart breaking silly yet somehow still sexy miniature bicycle breakdance burlesque crew 'Brakes.'

Well if that kind of thing cranks your chain, here's some more minibike and bike/dance action comming up - an end of summer ride hosted by Vancouver's own Minibike Army, and a welcome home from their successful westcoast tour for the lovely and talented (and Brakes inspiring) B.C.Clettes!

Dispatch from Mini Bike Army Headquarters:

Monday September 3, 2007 it's the Back to School Special and the Welcome Home B:C:Clettes Mini Bike Army Ride. It may be a long title but that's half the fun.

Mini Bike Army invites you to ride mini bikes (or whatever bike you have) on a holiday Monday afternoon ride. Meet at noon at the Science World Gazebo, ride at 12:30 to downtown, to the beaches, down Robson for some exposure, probably for food since mini bike riding takes a bit of energy... and perhaps some other special treat? Yes, it's probably the last opportunity for a mini bike Monday with nice weather. Don't hesitate, just ride.

Welcome home the B:C:Clettes from their westcoast tour with some bike love. Depending on how tired/busy the B:C:Clettes are, could they surprise us with a special performance? Doubtful, but if we entice them with beer, perhaps? We'll see who shows up I suppose.

minibikearmy.blogspot.com

And Another

Batch of photos goes up...

CHECK 'EM HERE

Chipping away at the backlog

Okay so I'm here at a stable computer for a while, so I can start to chip away at all the internet stuff I have to do. As you've no doubt noticed, the promised 'what I've been up to' post never materialized 'tomorrow' as promised. Well, c'st la vie. You're not going to get it tonight either. What you will get is:

-My latest route on Gmaps

-New Photos on Flickr (only some, as I've hit my limit for the month. I'll add more in a couple of days when its September.

-Some Bonus Videos!

First, standing on a bridge that crosses an inlet connecting a massive 'etang' (don't know the english word, but a lake-like body of water with mixed salt and fresh water)


And then, the Pyrenees where they meet the sea


Just getting all that crap and a couple of emails done took me all evening though, and I spent the day riding 100 km in wind, so strong at points, that I had to shift onto the granny (easiest) ring to go DOWN hill. So I'm tired and thats all ye gets from me. Now off to drink heinekn and watch poorly dubbed french TV.

Missin' you jerks as always.;;

Roadmap

Latest Gmap route, Everything from Toulouse to Montpellier. I suggest zooming out to get an overall perspective. I did the math to subtract the distance travelled by ferries, and from Toulouse to Montpellier have put down an aditional 1307 km, give or take a few. I'll add that to the former total but I think I must be near 3000 by now.

More tomorrow- like on what I've been doing and stuff.

Solo Formentara

On Ibiza right now, paying for overpriced internet while killing time; my ferry to Barcalona is delayed and wont get me back until after midnight. In the mean time, here are some highlights of ten days on Formentara, sunning it up and sitting in on Ian's amazing project. I've got lots to say about the Halve Maan (mostly about how awesome it is) but I'll save it for Barca where net access is reasonably priced.

The Barca Triangle

I opened the door to find myself facing a squad of riot police in full combat gear. Some had sledgehammers and one had a battering ram.

I blinked a couple of times.

They blinked a couple of times.

I gather it normally doesnt go like this.

Recovering slightly from the shock, I tried to close the door, but was no match for a bunch of police. They kicked it back in and pushed me against the wall as they filed in, a real life and more ominous pack of stormtroopers fanning throught the building.

Sagrera, the four-house squat, home to about 15 people, and my temporary lodgings, was being evicted.

I was in full kit, leading my bike out the door when it happened. I'd planned on getting up early to hit the road and head south to valencia. As such I'd cracked the door just when the police were about to start bashing it in. It was july 31st, the last day they could do it before the justice system shut down for the august break (ah, spain). They lucked out and I did all the work for them. One by one they found sagrera's residents sleeping unaware (again, the luck provided by a silent entry), corralled us all towards the front of the house, took passports, and gave everyone about 2 minutes to gather their things before tossing us into the street.

I felt shitty for being the doorman.

The Sagrerans, no doubt, felt shittier. Their home was gone.

This was my exit from Barcelona. I'd tried to leave the day before but was tempted by offeres of a cava bar that serves tasty sandwiches and cheap bubbly by the bottle, as well as an afternoon of box wine in the ocean. Couldn't leave. The kids laughed at me joking about how it was funny to witness yet another get stuck in barcelona. Its rather easy I gather, and I wouldn't have been the first soul swallowed.

It really is a city that doesn't sleep. Dinner really does start around 10 oclock, and everything else follows that. Revellers - locals and the tourist swarm that continues to grow unabated every year - gather in the streets until the sun comes up, only broken up when the city crews come through with their trucks and spray the streets down nightly, wetting the decent places to sit and (thankfully) washing the ubiquitous streams of urine away in anticipation of tomorrows scorching heat.

Its hot - really hot - and the daily siesta (2-5 pm) makes getting practical things done difficult. Moreso, however, the laidback lifestyle and the way that the spanish days seem to slip into darkness before you notice makes getting practical things done difficult. I failed at my two main missions - shortening the stem on my bike (starting to get really nervous about carpal tunnel), and finding white gas for my stove. Not that I didn't try, but neither product seems to available in BCN. The language barrier was probably holding me back too.

I lucked out in hooking Sagrera up as a place to stay. A friend I'd met in Amsterdam had given me the name of a couple of her friends and slightly sketchty directions to their squat. Look them up if you're in Barca she told me. After a couple of nights of couchsurfing, and the failure to find another couch, and a night on a Barca Bench I went searching.

I'm a friend of Amanda's I said, to a couple of skeptical looks. Apparently when they heard 'Simon' was there asking for a place to stay, they'd thought I was someone else, a less welcome guest. I was told I could stay, and after a couple of days had made a house full of friends.

Connecting with the sagrera clan made BCN come alive for me. I talked a lot of political theory and refined some of my ideas and ideals; I lived in an alternative social space with a high degree of political awareness and came a step closer to harmonizing those ideals with actions, towards praxis.

Stopped for one week and stayed for three. Hitting the beach. Hooning it up in Barca's steady but rather laid back traffic. Taking a four day camping trip with new friends up near the french border - waterfall, swimming hole, campfire, wandering cows, and all. drinking box wine on the terrace till late in the warm summer air.

I'm sitting in an internet cafe on the Island of Formentara right now visiting one of my oldest and best friends - Its a wierd place, an Italian vaction colony and the refuge of the super rich yachtees who want somewhere more exclusive than Ibiza to park their floating hotels. But more on that later.

Next stop is a quick tour back through Barca, then up the Costa Brava, across the French border and eastwards. More from the road.

invisible

Well now - I realize I've dropped off the face of the earth for a while now; don't worry, it just means I'm having fun. Barcelona has a way of swallowing you up whole, and I have met a lot of people living here who 'just stopped for a week or two' - a few months or years ago.

I'm out of here tomorrow to start heading south to Valencia. From there I'm taking a ferry over to Ibiza (where I plan to spend as absolutely little time as possible) and a connecting boat to Formentara where my long time friend Ian lives on a pirate ship. Beaches and bbqs anticipated.

Expect more details when the fever of barca wears off and I get back into road mentality.

Aqui Bici

Fiets
Velo
Bici

New words at every stop for the bike. I love particularly how Bici sounds, being a BC boy myself.

Anyhow, not lots of net time here, but I managed to squeeze a few new photos up onto flickr (check the link under the map to the right). Slow to upload so maybe I can find a faster connection elsewhere and put some new ones up? Also maxed out my flickr space for the month so I'm going to start putting photos on the old midnight mass flickr site, www.flickr.com/

oh yeah, barca rocks.

Homage to Catalonia

I'm sitting here in Barcelona, dirty, smelly, and hands completely black from patching the flat tire I got about 20 minutes out of town. I'm swearing inwardly at having to learn yet ANOTHER keyboard. Feeling pretty super about the last couple of days though.

Where to start. I left Toulouse late, waiting for rain to subside and enjoying the company of the couchsurfers I visted so much that it was hard to leave. Eventually I loaded leuze up and hit the road after buying some new sunglasses and gloves, both of which items Toulouse had eaten. It was warm and sunny, and my brakes worked PROPERLY (and I mean, damn good!) for the first time since Rex died (a good thing it turned out). I stopped for dinner and caught myself smiling - I realized I was having realy fun again.

The trip from Toulouse to Saint Gaudin was nothing special - more rural farmland and pretty pastoral countryside. Anticipating scarcity in the days ahead I stopped at a supermarket and loaded up with food for the next couple of days, and then turned in towards, and then past Bagniers de Luchon, the town at the mouth of the Col de Portillon and Catalonia beyond. Think whistler village; expensive, touristy and boring. I spent my second night out camped half way up the mountain next to a bubbling brook and sleeping uneasily because I hadn´t bothered to hang my food and word on the street is that there are still bears in the pyrenees. I mean word on the street literally, as there seems to be a local debate over culling the bears going on in the area - spraypainted on the road at various intervals were 'non a l'ours' and 'oui a l'ours!'

So the pyrenees. These are some fucking mountains. The Massif central region of france was beautiful, and I'd never seen anything like those volcanos - but even there at the highest peak (higher, incedentally than I ended up climbing in the pyrenees) was a part of gentle rolling mountains. The Pyrenees don't fuck around. They are steep, jagged things - the bare bones of the world exposed for all to see. One of the rawest peieces of natur Í've ever seen, and you're hearing that from a BC boy here.

I woke up early the next morning and finished the climb to the col de Portillon (yeah, I cheated and did it over 2 days. Partly it was just the way things worked out, me rolling up at 6 pm the first night and all, needing somewhere natural to camp - but also, hey, that road was HELL OF STEEP). Altitude: 1293M. And then the decent. Oh my, oh my. Pretty much a half an hour of breakneck speed down switchback after switchback. The grin was plastered to my face. REALLY having fun now. Glad those brakes work like new.

Suddenly I'm in Spain. Painfully aware that the facility that I had in France, as a french speaker (however awkward my phrasing at times) had now evaporated. I was for all intents and purposes now a mute.

That wasn't the only sudden change - the pyrenees really are a natural border; as soon as you cross, you KNOW you are in a different country. The climate is completely different. Gone the wet lushness of france (even southern france seems 'wet and lush' compared to Spain), and thankfully with it that species of orange french slug that found a way to get in all my shit every night. Suddenly everything is arrid, dry pine trees and brown landscapes. I realize why the spanish took so well to Mexico and California - it must have been just like an extension of home.

I´ll let you in on a little secret - Catalonia, for all intents and purposes, is really just an extensio/ the foothills of the Pyrenees. On the french side there is one slope up to the top, and thats it for the mountains. In Catalonia they extend for kilometers and kilometers. I hitched a ride through a five KM tunnel (took almost 2 hrs to get picked up) that bored right through a mountain that must have a 2500 M peak. All downhill on the other side too, until I found a abandonned town on a penisnula overlooking a beautiful but artificial lake. The town had been cleared out and the land now belongs to the hydro company; the lake is catchment for their dam. Picturesque ruins. I stopped and made use of the lake to swim, wash some clothes, and cook. Then set my tent up on a cliff part overlooking the lake. Thankfully hidden away a bit as a suspicious hydro employee turned up (must have seen me poking about, taking pictures and whatnot) but was too lazy to get out of his jeep and really look around.

The next couple of days involved me challenging myself by taking on mountain after mountain. Like BC, this region is pretty much nothing but mountains and valleys. For some reason, rather than follow logic and trace the valleys with their highways, the Catalonians have opted to paint their roads up and down the spines of these beasts. Lesson: the harder, hotter, more brutally painful the climb, the longer, more winding, more thrilling the descent. I think I had one drop that went for 19 km and lost 7 or 800 meters. My maps are maked with a > symbol designating Hard Climb - usually averaging 8-15 km, often with a grade over 6 percent. Coming from a snowboard background I call them black diamonds. >> are double black diamonds, though I only ever tackled one of those at the Puy de Mary. I´ve been averaging two black diamonds a day. My legs hate me.

The murderous murderous sun.

Potable water is scarce.

The landscape is beautiful though, the skies are constantly blue and the roads sparkle.

Did I mention the murderous sun?

Unlike in France where there are cute little departmental roads that take you from small town to small town, catalonia seems to be connected by a limited network of highways (probably because of all the dammned mountains), so I am confined to car country a lot of the time. I get occasional and encouraging honks from passing motorists, along with a lot of incredulous stares.

Who would be stupid enough to bike through Spain in July?

The motorcyclists seem to like me particularly, and I think we share a kinship as to perspective on the road. I admit to being jelous of them, as that effortless power would make the flats, and moreover, the ascents on these delicious winding blacktops just as thrilling as the descents. Must get hot under all of that leather though.

I rolled into Barcelona around 1 oclock here and now need to get in touch with the couchsurfer I'll be staying with. My friend Earl (met about this time last year though bike love in portland - the movement never ceases to provide) emailed me from amsterdam and said he knows some squatters here too, so mayhap I'll luck out there too - I'd like to spend some time exploring the city and resting my brutalized body. I now have absolute confidence in my body and my ability to be self sufficient. Its nice.

Miss you guys and miss the sea - perhaps next task is getting down to the med and kissing the sand; its been forever since I´ve seen ocean.

Pics, as always, to come when they can. More spectacular than usual I think.

What exactly IS that thing attached to your bike?

I get this question pretty much more than any other (sometimes more than 'where are you from').

Its a mallet. For bike polo. Thats right, I'm wandering Europe looking for bike polo (amongst other things, of course). I got to play with some pros in paris, but I'll leave that story till I get around to my 'Paris post.'

Theres recently been lots of good press and info popping up on the web about the hometown club I helped found and am getting a little despondent about leaving behind. I know they're all going to thrash me when I get back after a summer of slack, while they have all been playing thrice a week.

Anyway, if you are reading this blog and are curious about what that mallet is for, I give you East Van Bike Polo!

Watch it in video Here
or read about it in the Globe and Mail

I'mm finally about to leave Toulouse after an unexpectedly long, but quite pleasant stay. Three couches surfed and some good new people met. My body and bike are both thanking me for stopping. Next stop, Espania - anyone reading have any kind of spanish bike vocabulary they'd care to pass along?

Comments

I've changed the settings on this blog so that anyone can comment (eg, those without a google account) - I hadn't realized it was set up so that comments were locked.

Anyway, feel free to comment away - but please attach a name so I know who I'm reading!

Still in Toulouse for a THIRD night (thanks to the awesomeness of France and its 'why on earth would we open our shops on Monday' mentality) - I did find a mechanic who seemed both friendly AND trustworthy (surely a first over here. I miss OCB really, really bad. I also miss having LCBs where you personally know the Wrench) to sort my brakes out tomorrow though.

While I'm itching to get moving, I think both my legs and my numb hand, after 10 straight days of hard KM are thanking me for the break...

Nothing Toulose

I showed up in Tolouse last night dusty and grimy from an aproximately 100km ride in on a 'piste cyclable' along the canal that turned out to only be moderately cyclable. The girl from Couchsurfing.com who I was going to stay with's cel phone had run out of juice, and I was stuck, wanting a bed and shower pretty bad. Thankfully my account on warmshowers.net (like couchsurfing, but specifically for touring cyclists) had started to work again, and so I took a chance and phoned someone (rather rudly) at 9:30 asking for a place to stay - I had nothing to lose.

Thankfully Remi turned out to be a really cool guy. He was just about to go out with some friends but came and met me and gave me a few minutes to shower before taking me out with them to see a bit of the town. He's off to Ireland for a 3 week bike trip this thursday and i wish him good luck.

So what have I been up to for the last week or so? Riding through easily the most beautiful part of France I've yet seen. Cantal and Le Lot, two departments that are within the massive central were my running ground, and they reminded me (to the point of homesickness at times) of British Columbia. Rushing rivers, raw rock faces, lonely traintracks along the side of empty, winding, tree lined highways; it was like the BC of my youth and imagination. There are a lot of hours for thinking when you alone on the bike and riding through this area reminded me very strongly that I need to explore my home province in detail some more when I get back. I began to feel very nostalgic for the place that I remember and that I fear won't exist in the sqme way for much longer. 80s era brown painted log ranger cabins and BC parks: home. Ah nostalgia. Of course, there were some things in this region I've never seen befgore - like the volcanic peaks of the regional Parc Des Volcans. I made it my goal to conquer one of these beasts, and so I spent a morning huffing it up one of the most beautiful roads I've ever seen surrounded by green rolling ridges and valleys to a 1588 M pass, 200meters shy of the Puy de Mary, which was only accessible by foot. I don't really knoz how to describe what I saw save to say that it was like the photos I've seen of Hawaii, but stretching for miles in every direction and with cattle and cute little European villages scattered about. Perhaps a little like I imagine Argentina to be. I sat there listening to american tourist girls complain about how they didn't like thier sandwiches before piling back into their tourbus. Had a shot of whiskey while feeling superior for earning my view, then dropping back down to a reasonable altiude to make a 95 km day. If I ever come back to france it will be to this region to spend some serious time looking around; to anyone coming this way by bike, look at my Gmap for day 2/3, and ENSURE that you hit those routes. Its non negotiable.

I'm going to stay an extra day in Tolouse here to look around a bit and because all the bike shops are closed (yay sunday) - I need a shorter stem (persistant hand numbness is worrying me) and while my brakes have improved enough to be safe in normal conditions, I think I'm willing to pay a bit more to try and get them tip-top before taking on the pyrenees. Tomorrow I'll ride south to try and pass through the Col de Portillion, and then down through catalonia to Barcelona. Probably no email until then, so you'll have to wait for more updates.

Oh yeay, PS - NEW PHOTOS UP!
(like this one of the Brakes 2007 world tour)