Alright, I’m about to wolf down my second McDUH meal in a row – I’m that hungry and I don’t have a clue about the next time I’m going to eat and I’m probably going to try to do about 50km more on the machine (Say it with me, in the style of Kraftwerk: Machine, machine, machine, machine, machine, machine, machine, maaaachine!)
What do people think of when they think France, *and* when they think of people who ride a lot of miles on le machine – the bicycle?
Food! Lots of food. Lots of good food. Yum yum yum. If anyone knows me, I can put it down and Mezcal back home has a special place in my heart for their dollar taco after ten and after a 100 mile ride: the looks on the waiters is one – not of surprise or amazement, but of seaching, searching to see if I’m drunk – if what I’m ordering is some heroic feat, put on by the gratuitous tasting of
But, no no no – it’s more that I don’t want myself to eat… myself and the price of the tacos is a price I can stomach.
There’s a bastardized quote, filtered through a few generations of people that says something like, “You only own what you carry on your back at a good pace”. It was first attributed (the idea at least) basically to Hobbes. I think.
I hope you gals/guys like silly ride stories accompanied with GIGANTIC pictures about going in a really big circle, because this is one of those really silly ride stories, about how I managed to get up Mt. Evans on a Fixed Geared Bicycle.