Devons European Bike Tour

Paris to Amsterdam

2008-09-25T05:50:00.000-07:00

As promised: the last chapter.

I left Paris singing "time is on my side", even though it wasn't. I was unreasonably happy and wasn't quite sure why. This feeling would only intensify over the next several days as I approached the end... or the beginning, depending on how you look at it. Amsterdam is both for me.

I took a train to get out of the thick of the city and got off in the small town of Arras. I left Arras at about noon, keeping myself company with a lively conversation about the finer points of French cuisine and Parisian women. I can be quite entertaining for myself. I rode directly north, more flat French landscape whizzing by. I rode hard into a slight headwind. I sang some more as I rode. It doesn't matter if people think I'm crazy - they will never see me again!

I was still uninspired by my surrounding - I admit I had even stopped taking pictures - but the freedom of the open road filled me up like nothing else can. I could feel the North Sea in the distance and I decided not to stop until I got there. By 8:00 that evening I had ridden the 130 km to the sea and got to savour my accomplishment.

I slept in the next day and then started east, into Belgium. Belgium only has about 80 km of coastline, so I could've covered it in one day but I decided to let off the gas a tad and try to enjoy my new surroundings more. The sea here is open and windy and wild. No matter which direction I ride my bike I am riding into the wind. I still haven't figured out how that's physically possible, but that's how it worked. Gulls scream, kitesurfers practice their figure 8s, kids make sand castles, old ladies walk along the boulevard. It was fall. The sun shone warm but the air was cold. Colours had suddenly altered all around me. Change was everywhere I looked.

Maybe it was the salty air, but I couldn't keep the smile off of my face while riding the coast of Belgium. My cheeks were hurting from the goofy grin I was wearing. I stopped using my maps, choosing instead to follow random pathways through the dunes, often with beautifully surprising results. And often with dead ends. Didn't matter. I felt like a kid. I stopped and set up my camera to take pictures of me posing with various statues around the towns I passed through. To escape the wind, I rode my bike behind a police van for several km along the boulevard. My first police escort. Having passed me a half hour earlier, they were surprised when I came out of nowhere and passed them. I guess they didn't realize I was back there. Some escort!

My constant smile and crazy antics earned me many looks of concern by people who obviously take life much too seriously. But they also allowed me to brighten some peoples days - many of my smiles were returned. Riding through Belgium was a very welcome respite from the mental tumult I had been feeling for too long. I could let it all go and just ride again. More than once I found myself laughing out loud for absolutely no reason at all except that it had to come out, and it felt good. Recently someone asked me if I had ever felt true happiness. Being as lucky as I am in my life, I could easily respond yes, many times. And now I have another such instance to add to the pile. In almost every case where I felt true happiness, it was connected with being free. And even with my deadline looming so close, free is what I was.

I visited the ancient city of Brugge and drank some tasty Belgian beer. It was weird being in a country where I couldn't even say hello, thank you or goodbye. But I wasn't really there long enough to make it worth while learning Belgish. So I kept going. I realized I was much closer to Amsterdam than I thought I was and would be there ahead of schedule. Everything was looking up.

Then, after riding through Belgium and into Holland, something happened. Don't worry, nothing life threatening. But I lost something. Something very precious. My swiss army knife. That may seem small to you, dear reader, but this particular knife was imbued with extreme sentimental value. It was given to me over 10 years ago by my great aunt Velma, who has since passed away. It has been with me for so long, solved so many problems and even made me many friends (everyone at a French party is your friend if your the only one with a corkscrew!).

Recently, after some events that were left out of this blog for the sake of my mothers peace of mind (tell you later mom) I prepared my First Will and Testament. It doesn't have much on it. I don't have many things that are worth giving. But one was my swiss army knife. It was supposed to be a family heirloom, something that I would pass down when I was old and grey and didn't have any teeth left. So that someone else I loved could use it to solve their problems. It has sliced papaya in Guatemala, carved soapstone in Malta, made hotdog sticks in Joshua Tree. It has been used to put my name on park benches, fix stoves, build cabins, brake locks, make cloths, cut hair and prepare every single meal I have made over the past six months. I don't know how to explain my relationship with that knife... it was such an effective tool that it made me feel like a more capable person. With that simple thing in my pocket I could solve almost every practical problem. And then it was gone.

I didn't notice until 7:30 in the evening that my knife was missing, having last used it over 2 hours before. I retraced my ride slowly until it got too dark to see. Feeling stupid and utterly dejected I set up my camp illegally beside a dyke in the middle of nowhere. I had to improvise that night while trying to cut vegetables. The next morning I got up before dawn. I watched the sun rise and I wrote a note for whoever found my knife, enlightening them on its true value. And that it needs sharpening. I came to terms with my loss and moved on. That day I rode all the way to Amsterdam - almost 150 km, my longest day ever.

Its strange the kind of lessons you learn on the road, and how you learn them. I have gained so much on this trip. I guess I also had to lose something important.

And now I'm here, in Amsterdam, happy but knifeless. Tomorrow morning my flight leaves early. My big european bike adventure is at an end. Its time to come home. I have seen all four seasons here. I have seen the fields laying fallow, watched them be seeded, tended, grow and produce fruit, then go back to dust after the harvest. I have laughed and cried with nobody around. I have come apart, and I have put myself back together again. I have felt bliss and pain, I have felt true happiness. I have moved through the world with grace and clarity, being the best I can be. I have stumbled and fallen. I have made mistakes. But I know better my bounds - what I am capable of, and not capable of. I have gotten to know me better, and have liked what I've found. I am coming home renewed. I guess all of this was worth it.

I just want you to know that you have been there with me. All those who read this: my old friends, family, colleagues, and people I have met along the way. Knowing you are there has helped make me strong. Helped me keep going when I wanted to stop. Helped me through this process of... well... healing. And the best thing is that I can't lose you like I lost my knife!

For some of you this is my goodbye: I am leaving your continent now. For most, this is the big hello: I'm coming home baby! Yah! I get to SEE you soon!

Signing off: the devomobile.

ps: if any of you find my knife, you can keep it. I guess I don't need it anymore.

Avignon to Paris

2008-09-16T12:57:00.000-07:00

Whoa. So, a bit of time has slipped by since my last entry. More importantly, so have a lot of km. Since I last spoke I have ridden my bike nearly the entire length of France. Let me take a step back...

I left Avignon by following the Rhone River north. In a surprise twist, the wind was not blowing in its usual direction for the region, resulting in a strong tailwind! I flew through the countryside. Nothing noteworthy or particularly spectacular occurred, unless you think that covering over 100 km a day with a bike falls in either of these categories. It has actually become the norm now for me to break the 100 km barrier every day, and I still never get started until after 12:00. When I started my average speed was about 18 km/hr, now its more like 23. I guess all those hours huffing and puffing up mountains has paid off now that the ground is flattening out.

So anyway, with the wind at my back I reached Lyon in 2 days - one day ahead of schedule! My couchsurfing host was a bit surprised to see me. His name is Boris and, and even though he has the name and the beard, he is not a communist. He is a fellow bikefreak and has spent much time riding through Europe. Needless to say, we didn't run out of things to talk about. He even helped me plan out a great route north. But Lyon was also the first place that I got into trouble with the cops. The standing rule for bikers in France is "don't do it if it will get you killed, otherwise we don't care" but I guess I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The wrong place was running a red light. The wrong time was when a municipal police car was passing by. They cruised up to me and said "puiaja le blu la blandui ecpescialite!" or something like that. I don't know, it was French! I explained that I didn't speak the language, and smiled nice. They said "Red. Stop." while pointing at the traffic light. I looked innocent, said I was sorry, merci, and they went away. Then I ran another red. I may be a good man, but I am a baaad boy!

With Boris' help, I decided to go and ride the banks of the Loire River, which people have been telling me I needed to see even before I left Canada. The problem was my deadline. I was finding it stifeling, knowing that I had to leave so soon and still had so far to go. I was forever unsure of what to do: "do I just b-line it to Amsterdam, or do I continue doing the scenic route"? I mean, by following the Loire I was heading in the exact opposite direction of Amsterdam. I was in inner turmoil. Then one morning I woke up and said "ah screw it". I don't want to be enslaved by a date. I intend to squeeze every last drop of life's sweet juices out of the time I have left. If I have to take a train, so be it. So I headed into to mountains to hook up with the Loire River. Boris even rode with me for about an hour to help me get out of the city. And a good thing too! That was confusing!

The route he had planned for me took me through the "golden region" of France. Here all of the old buildings are built out of the local rock, which is a dull yellow colour. During sunrise and sunset the villages glow golden. Its striking, especially because this area is very lush and the houses are surrounded by vibrant green. The lushness is aided by the large amount of rain that falls there - at least when guys named Devon are trying to ride their bikes in the area. I got drenched daily.

So I decided to couchsurf as much as possible. I stayed with people in Nevers, Orleans (the old one) and Blois, alternating a night or two of camping with a night or two of surfing. It worked out really well and I made new friends to boot. I particularly enjoyed Orleans - my CS hosts were great fun and I finally tasted good French food. For all the hype we have in Canada about French food, it is awfully hard to find in... well... France! At least not without dropping 100 euro for a little bit of food on a big plate. I was beginning to lose hope that I would ever find good French food, which I had been so excited for, but hallelujah! there it was. My mouth is watering even now...

Although I had been really stoked for this section of my trip, the landscape ended up being kinda dull. Flat. All farmland - fields of corn, dying sunflowers or just grass. Loads of white cows that just chew and stare. I kept my head down and pushed. I hate to admit it, but I was getting kinda bored with the whole thing. The shine was wearing off. The ancient villages all looked the same, and for the first time I could understand why locals take them for granted. I could've been anywhere. It was wearing me down, and my mood at times became as grey as the sky.

But, as the philosopher Lidell states in his composition "Whats The Use (of figuring it all out)": "Life may sometimes be sad, but its always beautiful." So I didn't let myself lose the will to continue. And then one day I turned a corner of the Loire and was greeted by a towering stone edifice surrounded by a moat. My first view of one of the famous castles along this section of the river. If you knew me as a kid, you might understand my reaction to the sight. I abandoned my bike on the side of the road and dashed across the street, piratically taking pictures as I ran.

So from then on I didn't just follow the course of the river. As I rode I took the time to swing by as many castles as I could. The most impressive was certainly Chambois, which is a huge and impressive monument to the opulence of the old French kings. Towers upon towers, big moat, a drawbridge, people riding horses in the courtyard, the works. So cool. But there were many other smaller castles that I tried to see as well. Sadly, in every case the capitalists had arrived before me and were trying to charge me my daily allowance for entrance, or sometimes even to get onto the grounds. In Blois I finally splurged and got to look around the innards of one of the chateaus. It was worth it, but only once.

The weather was changing, and so was my mood. I made another big tactical decision: I would take a train to Paris. This would not only allow me to avoid more flat French countryside, but also see the City of Love. I have wondered, and often asked people in France, why the City of Love also has a reputation for being dirty, smelly and full of rude people. Is that what love is like? Well, maybe, but I didn't think so. So I was interested to return and see if the memories of my youth would hold up. They didn't. I really enjoyed myself and people, even some of the waiters, were really nice. Ok, so parts of the underground still smell like pee, so what? And its much easier to find affordable French food. I stayed with Constance, a friend that Dad and I made in Malta, and had a really lovely time. It is also not true that all Parisian women are stuck up, although the bit about there being a lot of beautiful ones is certainly true. Whoa.

I could only afford (time and money) to spend the weekend there, but I found myself really falling for this huge city with its twisting little streets and countless shops and cafes. I had fully expected not to like it, but instead I was sorry to leave on Monday morning. I guess I kinda fell in love with the City of Love. I guess I like it dirty, smelly and rude huh? Interesting...

In the same composition noted earlier, Lidell also states "I guess a man alone always talks to much." On that note... I will only be posting one more entry for the European leg of my adventure. My flight is on the 26th. I am currently closing in on Amsterdam. Stay tuned for the last chapter.

The Devomobile Approacheth

2008-08-29T08:19:00.000-07:00

Climbing a hill in the Verdon Canyon.

Photo Album 10: Nice to Avignon

2008-08-29T08:18:00.000-07:00

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Nice to Avignon

2008-08-29T07:04:00.000-07:00

I figured I better do this now since I only have 28 days left and might not get another chance. Lets see if I can remember what Ive done in the past several weeks...

Ok, first, I got pleasantly stuck in Nice for quite some time. It is a great town, not too big and not to small, with loads of beaches and climbing areas. My time there was a blur of rock climbing, good food and great people. But I didn't just stay in Nice. I borrowed a backpack and took off into The Alps for 4 days with a good friend of mine. We spent our days hiking through the mountains and then camping wherever we found ourselves at dinnertime. It was quite a change of pace from biking, and I have to say I prefer it when my loyal steed is carrying the weight, and not me. Food is heavy.

Aside from some inclement weather (read: strong wind, hail, cold and wet) the trek was spectacular. The mountains remind me of the high alpine in BC, except that whenever you turn a corner you have to navigate through a group of 20 other hikers that have driven up for the day. Cheaters. On our last night in the mountains we had a rather scary and unusual experience. We both woke up to the pounding of hooves outside the tent. Nothing unusual - there are loads of little deer-like creatures called Chamois in them thar hills. I went back to sleep. But was woken again by something banging up against the tent (right by my head) followed by what sounded a good deal like a dog sniffing. Dogs aren't allowed in this area. All of a sudden there was a loud noise at the front of our tent and I realized that something was trying to make off with our bag of food! I hissed and it stopped for a second, but then it started again, louder and more aggressive. Something was definitely trying to rob us of our provisions. Not realizing I could sound so big and mean, I bellowed at our unwelcome guest, my voice echoing off the steep mountainsides all around us. The attempted robbery stopped as quickly as it started and our assailant disappeared without a sound.

It could only have been a wolf. They are rare in The Alps, and I guess we should count ourselves lucky to have been so close to one, but it didn't really feel that way. It took a long time for my heart to slow down enough to go back to sleep. The next morning, one of our boots was missing. Apparently our nocturnal visitor had found the smell of the hiker good enough to eat and had decided to make off with it. Luckily I found the shoe several metres from the tent, because it would've been hard to hike out of the mountains without footwear. Later in the week we would discover that it had been a full moon that night. Not only that, but it was a full eclipse of the full moon. No wonder the wolf was feeling so feisty! Unless it was a werewolf, in which case the theft of fine footwear would start to make a lot more sense!

We hitched a ride all the way into Cannes with the very first car we showed our thumbs to, and spent the afternoon in the film-crazy town before returning to the much more relaxed city of Nice. Several more days of relaxation and good company followed before I again loaded up my bike and, with heavy heart, headed west. I spent the next 4 days riding towards the city of Apt, where I had another place to stay. I was following small inland roads and the heat was nearly unbearable. Going downhill or on the flat ground is ok because the wind of my movement keeps me cool, but going uphill is torture. It gets up to almost 40 degrees and there I am pushing a combined weight of about 150 kg (me+gear+bike) up 11 percent slopes in the hottest part of the day. Whenever it gets to the point where I am about to throw up or pass out I stop in the shade and drink loads of water, also pouring some over my head. Luckily the route I had planned took me past many lakes, so I could occasionally stop and swim.

I have developed an uncanny ability to create routes that take me past the most incredible places. Well, either that or everywhere in southern France is incredible. On the second day out I came to the Verdon Canyon, sold loosely as the grand Canyon of France. I had never been told about this place, I just saw some interesting looking features on my map and decided to go by there, since it was kind of on my way. I was happy I did. It was fantastic and the views were worth every vertical metre it took for me to get there. The valley is extremely steep and high, but narrow, with a silty blue river twisting along its bottom. I made sure to take the scenic route through the canyon, even though it added several hours and many steep roads to my trip. Yet another place to climb. Next time I'm bringing my shoes and a rope, damn the extra weight.

I kept on meandering through the French countryside, sticking to back roads and small villages. Eventually I arrived in Apt: my destination. Well, nearly. Not far from the city is the old farm house belonging to Will and Bea Rae-Smith, who are relatives of my high school friend Dave. Dave and I haven't seen each other in years but, when he saw on the net that I was in France, he gave me their details and I contacted them. Even though they had family visiting, they were happy to host me in their beautiful house in the hills, built before Canada was discovered. As the house was full of relatives, I got to sleep in the treefort, which I haven't done since I was 7 or so. It was fantastic! I stayed on for several days, taking it very easy and getting to know this wonderful family from England. I helped Will in the back yard, made pancakes for everyone, went for a bike ride around the hills, and even accompanied the family on a river walk through a fantastic canyon. And when I say river walk I actually mean walking in a river. Its a great way to keep cool!

However, as my time was running short I had to leave. Packing up my bike once again I headed in the direction of the setting sun, all the way to Avignon, where I am currently couchsurfing. Tomorrow I will change direction and head north, following the Rhone River to Lyon. My date of homeward departure is on the horizon, and fills me with both excitement and apprehension. My adventure is coming to an end, a chapter of challenge and discovery coming to a close. I don't know what I will find upon my return. Have I really changed? Have you? Time will tell, and I am happy to wait. After all, I still have several hundred km to cover. A lot can happen with that much road ahead.

I will see you all soon. Big French love to all of you until then!

Devo

Descent From The Alps

2008-08-29T04:28:00.000-07:00

just a few seconds of my way down The Alps into France. Switchback city!

Photo Album 9: Torino to Nice

2008-08-12T08:35:00.000-07:00

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Torino to Nice

2008-08-12T07:23:00.000-07:00

I did it! I survived the tour of the Alps!

I switched my plans around at the last minute in Torino and decided to head south towards Nice. I arranged couchsurfing for several nights along my path and then headed off towards the mountains. After riding through the Italian countryside, my first stop was the eensy-weensy town of Dronero. I was the first foreign couchsurfer to visit Dronero, and everyone asked me: "why?" but I was happy to be there. It is a beautiful small town, and I rode around it on my bike. On my second day there I woke up feeling kinda crumby and low. I oozed around the apartment for a while before realizing I had to do something to kick my mood. So I begrudgingly put on my riding shoes and headed out into the village. I rode around in circles, deliberately getting lost to see what I might find. I ended up finding a small winding road up a mountainside. I thought I would take it only far enough to obtain a picture of the town from above, but I kind of ended up going all the way to the top. On a sopping little dirt track. In the rain. And a lighting storm. There is nothing quite like reaching the top of a soggy mountain on your touring bike in a lightning storm to kick a crappy mood. After ascending for an hour and a half, I descended in about 10 minutes.

The next day I headed out to attack the real hill in my way: the Alps. I hooked onto a road that went to the town of Limone, which is famous for its skiing. The grade was good and the going wasn't too tough. This was to be my first time actually crossing the Alps, but I had actually been riding through them since Vicenza. I guess that's what all those hills were. Anyway, my legs were prepared. Except for one thing: at the top of the road was a 3 km long single lane tunnel, impossible for bikes to go through. To attempt it would have been to ask to get smooshed under a really big truck. So instead I opted for Door #2: over the top. I rode right into the ski village and then started to ascend the service road. I counted 15 switchbacks, each of them steep and almost 1 km long. It was stupid hot out and I got many looks of wonder from people passing in their cars. But I made it, after many stops for water in the shade. At the top was a little restaurant. You can buy good coffee even on top of a mountain in Europe. All in all I ascended about 1.5 vertical km in a day. My ears popped.

And then I was in France. Just like that. A winding dirt track wound its way down the other side of the mountain like a very well done spaghetti noodle stuck to the fridge. I went back and forth, back and forth, my breaks squealing at every 359 degree corner. As always, going down took a fraction of the time of going up. Then I got onto the main road and really turned on the juice, riding in the lane of traffic to maintain my status as a legitimate vehicle. That night I found respite in the home of a lovely french family deep in the Alps. They fed my, gave me a comfy bed, and even provided me with maps for all of France to help me on my way. Couchsurfing strikes again!

Then something surprising happened. A friend from couchsurfing sent me an email and told me that she was traveling close by with her Slovenian family. They were on a vacation through the south of France to celebrate the dads birthday, and they decided to come and pick me up! So the next day I rode my bike to meet them and the next thing I knew I was packed into a rented caravan traveling with a new family! Life never ceases to take me in new and unexpected directions!

Travel by car is... surprise, surprise... much faster than by bike and we covered hundreds of km in a matter of hours. Wow. We stopped in Cannes for a look around before heading on to Aix-en-Provence for the evening. Beautiful towns with an adopted family! We spent the night in a truckstop on the side of the highway. The next day we drove down to the small town of Cassis, near Marseilles. I have realized many advantages to traveling by bike, the best of which is not having to find parking. And being able to travel anywhere. And not stopping at gas stations or paying at the tolls. Amongst many others.

I decided to get left behind in Cassis as the others took the caravan to Marseilles. I went for another ride up the biggest hill I could find, which afforded me some amazing views. The next day I headed East, towards Nice. Its funny how things work out, I thought I would be riding west along this road, but east was just as good. Right away I chose the road less traveled and found myself heading through the forests away from the coast. I turned off onto a paved forestry road. Half way up the steep hill I came to a gate, notifying travelers that the road was closed to reduce the risk of forest fires in the dry heat. If they had put the gate at the bottom of the hill I might have obeyed the sign, but since I had already invested so much in the ascent I ignored it completely and pushed my bike around the barrier. And then I found myself completely alone. It was wonderful, riding in complete silence and stillness except for birds, crickets and the wind. Of course I was careful not to start any forest fires.

I eventually came back into civilization and, while trying to stop for a picture, fell over sideways with my foot still in the clip and swore loudly in French. I got up and made my way through the cities of Southern France. After being in real wilderness, it was a shock to all of a sudden find myself in what looked very much like Hollywood. I kept going, moving again with the traffic. I eventually turned off again onto another secondary road and found myself in wine country on a peninsula tipped with a castle encrusted island. I made dinner on the beach and went for a swim. Then I rode around until I found a silent place in a farmers field and set up my tent. I am a travel ninja.

The following day was my longest ever (136), but I couldnt stop - there was too much to see around every corner. I passed through St Tropez and Cannes, following an abandoned railroad that I came across accidentally. The track was rough, but there were no cars and it followed the cliffs above the Cote d'Azur. I kept on and on, eating breakfast, lunch (twice) and dinner on the road. It would take another entry to describe what I saw and did, how it felt, but I dont have time for that. Check the pictures for some of the views.

I made it almost all of the way to Nice that night, finally stopping exactly 12 hours after I had left that morning. The 5th campsite I checked wasnt full and I finally laid down to sleep. But by early the next morning I was in Nice, finding my way to my CS host. Ever since I have been "stuck" here, not really wanting to move. They have roughly 340 days of sun here, so that doesnt leave a lot of room for rain. Every day is a beach day. My CS host showed me some climbing rocks above deep water and lent me a pair of shoes. Every day I go to my playground, along with other CSers staying here, and boulder until I fall off while others jump off the rocks or just soak up sun. Gab, the Québécois guy staying at the same place as me keeps saying "Pas facile, la vie!", roughly translating to "life is hard". And it sure is.

But in a few minutes I am leaving the hard life and heading back into the mountains. I didnt get quite enough of them on my first pass through, and I need to go back for more. I am borrowing a backpack and leaving my bike behind in favour of plain old feet. I will hike through the mountains and camp in the trees. And then I will come back to my trusted steed and head west, as I had originally intended. But for every plan there is a detour, and you will just have to wait until my next entry to see what I really do!

Bonne chance mon ami!

d

Arriving at the top of the mountain...

2008-07-27T10:30:00.000-07:00

Photo Album 8: Treviso to Torino

2008-07-27T08:20:00.000-07:00

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Treviso to Torino

2008-07-27T06:41:00.001-07:00

Ok, so I know I said at the end of my last post that I was leaving Treviso the next day. Well, I didn't. Not the day after that either. Actually, after having intended to stay for 4 days, I finally managed to tear myself away after 14. There was just so much to do! After my bike ride to Venice another CS friend of Chiara's came for a visit. Alessandro stayed for 4 days, and I'm pretty sure that the amount of fun we all had together was bordering on illegal. I also got to spend more time with my first CS host from Treviso, Thitiana, and her brother Ferdy. Ferdy is a career musician, and we ended up spending several days recording some of my songs in the attic studio at his parents house. They turned out great. One thing I have realized in my time here, especially while in Treviso, is that I need to explore my music more. I am not sure how I will do this, but when I get home it will be a bigger part of my life: something to share. And I thank all those who helped me realize this, because I couldn't have done it on my own.

So I finally did ride out of Treviso in the middle of a storm, leaving yet another new family behind. Of course, I got lost right away. But I got back on track (after an hour of riding in wrong directions) and eventually made it to Vicenza. The following day I arrived in Verona, where I crashed a CouchSurfing party being held in a kiwi orchard. Guess what I had for breakfast? That's right: Nectarines! I also got some info on a free camping site on Lago di Garda, where I was heading next.

I spent three nights in the anarchist campsite on Lago di Garda. It reminded me of powerlines beach back in the Kootenays: cloths were optional, dreadlocks were mandatory, and you had to dig a hole in the ground when you needed to... you know. I spent my days riding, unencumbered, around different sections of the lake, and my nights swimming and then trying to sleep through competing drumbeats and dogs barking. But the campsite was beautiful, contained in an old olive grove beside a manor house, right on the clear water of the lake. I could've stayed there for months... but I had to keep going. After so many days spent in one place, it felt wonderful to be on the move.

And move I did... through the mountains to Lago d'Iseo, through the town of Bergamo to Lago di Como, and then into Switzerland, along Lago di Lugano on my way to Lago di Maggiore. But, while trying to get back into Italy, I ran into some problems at the border. I had only been in Switzerland for a matter of hours and had only entered the country as a shortcut. When I arrived at the border, the guard asked to see my passport. "No problem!" I said. Actually, yes. Problem. BIG problem. Without English, the guard explained to me that he could not allow me back into the EU. I thought he was joking, but he showed me an English version of the rules, and there it was. You see, there is a stipulation that a foreigner who has been in certain EU states for more than 3 months consecutively cannot reenter these states if he has left the EU. Well Switzerland, always proud of its neutrality, has not joined the EU.

So there I was: having been in Italy for weeks and weeks, having only left that same afternoon, I was now not allowed to return. In a lighthearted way that only succeeded in making me yearn to engage in violent behaviour, the guard suggested: "Tour Switzerland". With the language barrier, I couldn't even talk about what alternate courses of action I had. Utterly dejected, I rode back the way I had come. I didn't know what I was going to do.

After some thought I decided to sleep the night through and then try again in the morning, hoping for a different guard that might not check me out. But I also remembered seeing another border crossing, and I passed it on the way back. I turned down the road, slowly. As I approached, I saw no guard at the gate. I sped up. Still no one. I sped up some more... I blew through that crossing, not looking to the right or the left, just kept going and didn't look back. No one came after me. I laughed and laughed! As I rode I told the border guard exactly what I thought of him, hoping he could hear me on the other side of the river. If you don't ask, they cant say no! But now I'm a fugitive! If I were to be stopped again in the EU, they could instantly deport me and I wouldn't be allowed to return to the country in which I was caught for 10 years! Isn't that exciting?

The funny thing was that the road I had tried to take across the border was the wrong one... ie: not the one I had meant to take. It was all up hill, windy, narrow and busy. The road I ended up on was the one I had originally marked out on my map. It was all down hill, silent, following the course of a mountain stream, shaded by trees, birds singing. Sometimes things just work out.

So that's how I made it to Lago di Maggiore! Now, while in Meteora with Dad, we met a group of lively Italians at a campsite, and ended up making some friends. It turned out that one couple lives on Lago di Maggiore and, when they found out I would be coming by that way, offered to put me up for a while. So I called them when I arrived and they came to pick me up! For three nights I staying with the Frigo family: two Italian folks who speak very little English, and their two kids (both my age) that acted as translators. The son, Garcia, is a climber and he took me out for a day of climbing in the Italian Alps. I also went for a bike ride around this new lake, making sure not to cross the Swiss border. It was so lovely to stay with these generous and happy people. I would've like to have stayed longer - and they offered - but I still felt something pulling me forward.

And so forward I went. I rode south from the lake through most of the day and then cheated by jumping on a train to Torino. A two hour train ride saved me 3 days of riding through kinda boring country, and right to a nice couch to surf. So I have been in Torino for the past couple of days, being shown around by another exceptional host, Christina, while I try and figure out my route through the Alps. I think Ive got it now, and I will be riding again tomorrow. For real this time.

The time that remains for me is now shorter than the time I have spent here. Even though I still have 2 months left it feels like I will be coming home soon. This brings up mixed feelings... I could keep doing this tour for a long time, even though I can't afford it. As it is I will not be able to ride through Spain and Portugal like I had hoped. I will be lucky to make it back to Amsterdam in time for my plane without cheating again with a train! But I am just going to keep going forward, following whatever path lays itself out before me. Its worked so far! And maybe by September I will actually be ready to come back to Canada... what do you think? Likely? Or maybe the Italian authorities will catch up with me and make my decision for me! Yeeha! I am having SO MUCH FUN!

Photo Album 7: Backpacking Spain, Italy, Greece and Austria

2008-07-06T09:22:00.000-07:00

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Petrolium Powered Travel of Greece, Italy and Austria

2008-06-26T12:29:00.001-07:00

Our original plan was to travel through the Greek islands, but after our failed attempt at flight we had to rethink our approach. After an all-night ferry ride from Italy we arrived on the north-western coast of Greece, with the plan of travelling over land to the Aegean. We were not to be disappointed. But first we first spent a few days in the small city of Ioaninna, which didn’t actually have that much to offer us. Even the lake we camped beside was unswimmable, having received an unimaginable volume of untreated you-know-what from the city over the years. The water was green with algae, although the locals had no problem serving ‘fresh lake fish’ at some tourist restaurants.

The area does have one of the most ancient sites in Greece – Dodona – which is the home to an amphitheatre, an oracle that predates Delphi, and several ruined temples. On the morning we planned to visit the site, Zeus himself woke us up. Five minutes before my alarm went off (5:30 am) an enormous storm broke above us and pulled us from sleep with hammering rain and explosions of thunder that drowned out my alarm. It was quite dramatic. Luckily the storm wore down before we had to walk into town to catch our bus. As it happened, there was only one bus coming back that day, at 3:30, so we had plenty of time to kill. We explored everything twice, and then hunkered down for a nap. Dad slept in the temple devoted to Gaia, while I napped under an oak tree in the sanctuary of Hercules.

We next made out way to a region called Meteora. This small section of Greece is characterized by massive pillars of rock which jut up from the ground to spectacular heights. A result of sediments from an inland sea having been uplifted through tectonic movement and then weathered for hundreds of thousands of years, these thrusting pinnacles are just screaming out to be climbed and/or photographed. Although I tried desperately, I couldn't find a guide to take me out, so I had to settle on the later activity, even though the former was what really drew me. And I haven't even mentioned the monasteries yet. During the occupation by the Turks, Greek Orthodox monks spend who knows how long building secret monasteries on top of these isolated rock towers. The place would be magical even without these striking examples of human ingenuity, but with them its like another world. I will let my pictures attempt to do the scene justice, since my words cannot.

We spent three days in Meteora, hiking our time away in the thick brush around the colossal spires. All I wanted to do was go up one but common sense dictated otherwise (so don't worry Mom). We found terrestrial tortoise crawling though the underbrush, dried stream beds that we used as paths, the ancient hidden ruins of abandoned monasteries, and magical viewscapes from the top of cliffs. We didn't even bother going into any of the monasteries, since we felt we had already been to church by walking through the landscape. Surprisingly, we didn't pass a single other walker in the whole time we spent out. What is wrong with people? Must they always be subject to air conditioned interiors of sports cars? Don't they understand the beauty of getting scratched up in the underbrush as you forge a new trail, getting lost and found again, navigotiating your way up a mountain?

Sad that I hadnt been able to climb the pinnacles, we headed further eastward to the Aegean city of Volos, where I had arranged couchsurfing for the night. Volos is known as the Tsipouro Capital of Greece… Tsipouro being a slightly stronger version of Ouzo. It is served at special restaurants called Tsipouria (sp?) where, every time you order a round of the strong anise-flavoured alcohol, they bring you several ‘free’ plates of seafood. We knew we needed to try this way of eating but our host, George (a true Greek name if ever I have heard one) had to study for exams that night, so couldn’t show is around. Attempting a long shot, I wrote a message to almost every couchsurfer in Volos to see if anyone wanted to join us that evening, not expecting anyone to reply with such short notice. One hour later the phone rang! A lovely local named Phaedra had received my request and was keen on taking us out to show us the town. By the end of the night we had been joined by several other CSer and had a wonderful time… eat, drink, talk, repeat.

Dad and I really hit it off with fiery Phaedra, and she volunteered to take us to the beach the next day. She came to pick us up along with her sister Electra and their friend George (told you it was a Greek name). We had a great day swimming in the crystal-clear Aegean and hurling ourselves off of the highest cliffs we could find… after I climbed up the things of course… you can take the boy out of the country, but you cant take the country out of the boy! Our new Greek friends even brought us to the campsite where we would spend the final days of Dads vacation. We ended up spending a good deal of time with the sisters, since they didn’t seem to get tired of us and they kept coming back and taking us to new beaches. I cant imagine what our trip to the Aegean would’ve been like without them!

On the 22nd, Phaedra drove us back into Volos and we bid adieu to my dear father as he boarded a bus to Athens, where he would catch his flight at 4:00 the next morning. I have since heard from him, so I guess he made it ok! That night, we again pulled together a couchsurfing party and went out for more tsipouro. Even more surfers came this time, and I admit to feeling a tidbit of pride for being the catalyst for relationships that will endure even in my absence. Once we closed the Tsipouria I insisted that we go to the local Bazouki Bar. This is another Greek tradition. Bazouki, made famous by Zorba the Greek, is a round-backed string instrument that sounds like the result of a mandolin mating with a guitar. These bars are characterized by extremely sappy live music (the lyrics of which inevitably have to do with love, drinking, or love of drinking), flashing lights, flowers hurled at the performers, inebriated patrons that regularly get up on stage and do that funny twirling Greek dance, and really expensive drinks (I found out when the bill came). It was terrible, but really quite fun. We just don’t have stuff like that in Canada.

The next day, feeling like I had maybe stuck a bottle of tsipouro into my brain through my left ear, I jumped... ok, hobbled... on a bus heading back the way I had come. It was actually kind of sad for me: leaving behind my new Greek friends, and without Dad. It felt awfully lonely. I arrived in Meteora that afternoon and, even though I was feeling down, I realized it was up to me to get myself out of my funk. So I went to see if I could find a climbing guide. This time it worked! The next morning, I met up with a local named Sakis and we headed for the pinnacles. I cannot describe how good it felt to climb one of these things… the realization of such a strong desire. It filled me up and sent me off with new vigour. Which was good because that same afternoon I began the 24 hour trip back to Pescara, Italy. Two busses, a ferry, and a train ride later I arrived at the station and was greeted by Francesco – one of the local CSers.

Before we had left Pescara the first time, I had arranged to tag along with Francesco and some of his buddies back to Vienna for the Euro Cup Final between Spain and Germany (soccer, for those that don’t know). It was such an unexpected treat to return to Vienna and see the family I had made there! Not to mention the excitement of the huge party that is always associated with such a football event. Literally, the whole city is a party, with chanting in the squares, drinking in the streets, and dancing in the fountains. Everyone has their face painted with their team colours. There is a (mostly) good-natured hatred of everyone else cheering for the opposite team. I was rooting for Germany so, inevitably, they lost. Please accept my apologies Deutschland.

After we had washed the paint from our faces the next morning, the crazy Italians and I hit the road back to their home country. The whole situation worked out well because they had to pass by Treviso, where my bike was stored, so they just dropped me off there. The crappy thing about making friends when you travel is constantly saying goodbye to them.

And now I am back in the saddle. I have been surfing here in Treviso for the past several days with a wonderful host names Chiara, doing day trips on my bike to see if my muscles still work after so many weeks without the push of the peddle. They do. Yesterday, I rode all the way to Venice, and it felt like flying. Chiara met me in Venice with her friend Daniela, and we walked through the twisting avenues, stopping occasionally for a glass of wine and food. I’m glad I had them with me, because otherwise I would still be there, walking around trying to figure out where I left my bike. And tomorrow I leave, again loaded down with everything I need to survive, but light of heart. I am excited by what comes next… the lake region of northern Italy… and apprehensive of what comes after that… The Alps. Wish me luck.

Petrolium Powered Travel of Spain and Italy

2008-06-26T07:49:00.000-07:00

The adventure continues...

Dad had his return ticket to Canada booked out of Athens, as we wanted to break up our trip a bit and spend a few weeks in Greece. Dad and I found that it was no less expensive to fly direct to Athens as it was to fly to Athens via Barcelona. Which is odd, I know, but we thought: 'why not'? My good friends Josh and Adrianna were going to be in Barcelona at this time, so we decided to make a detour and see some friends... and a bit more of the world while we were at it.

We got to The Barc just fine and, after a bit of messing around, found the apartment that we had rented with J&A. We had a really nice visit for the days that we were there. We explored the city in search of every Gaudi building ever constructed in Barcelona, and found many of them. We spent our days walking the city and absorbing the sites, sounds and smells. Our apartment was in a very interesting neighborhood, so evenings were primarily spent at home watching the street from the balcony while we enjoyed good conversation. Looking back, I'm surprised we didn't go out for a party or two, since this city is famous for its night life, but I am in no way disappointed.

On our final day before J&A were to head off, the three of us (Dad chose to stay home) took a train out to a beach town and spent the day in the sun. It was at this point that things started to unravel. By the time we had gotten home, Josh was feeling pretty manky for unknown reasons and crashed out hard. The next day the decision was made for them to change their plans to avoid excessive travel and stay another day before heading direct to Paris to catch their flight home. Later that same day Dad and I were schedule to fly to Athens to begin our big fat Greek vacation. Sadly, it was not to be. We left J&A, with Josh still feeling a tad punky, and headed off to the train station to get to the airport. We had plenty of time. We bought our tickets, went to platform 9 and only had to wait a few minutes before a train came. If we were a bit more savvy we would've spent a bit of time checking out the train itinerary. But we didn't. I said 'Lets go!' and we hopped on the train. It trundled off with us aboard. It wasn't until the train past the beach town we had been at the previous day, without having made a single stop, that I got kind of concerned. Something was definitely wrong.

It turns out we had boarded the train prior to the one we should have. We were later informed that this was not the first time that this had happened. You'd think they would have some kind of control in place, but no dice. It turns out we got on a train that was an express right to the end of the line. No stops. Finally, after about an hour of moving away from our destination we jumped off and ran to a train going back the other way. Which was decidedly not an express. I believe we call this kind of train 'the milk run' as it stopped at every little village while Dad and I gnashed our teeth and prayed that our plane would be delayed. It wasn't. We got to the airport 15 minutes after the check in window had closed and 45 minutes before the plane actually took off, which is more frustrating than I can explain here. Adrianna was rather surprised to see us standing at the door again. At least we had somewhere to go.

Trying to make the best of a decidedly trying situation, we booked the cheapest flight we could find leaving from The Barc to somewhere relatively close to Greece. This somewhere was Pescara, in east central Italy. Neither of us had ever heard of it. We were to be pleasantly surprised. Still, we had a few days to kill and neither if us wanted to stay in Barcelona... it was leaving a bad taste in our mouth. So we said our second goodbye to J&A and disappeared ourselves. Up the seaside area of the Costa Brava. We found a campground and set up my tent for the first time. My god it looked funny amidst the hundreds of motorhomes parked all around us! The smallest, lightest two man tent I could find, parked on a huge patch of ground between two mobile castles, complete with satellite dishes and full patio sets. I couldn't help but laugh at our situation, which turned from bad to worse when it started to rain hard.

We went out for dinner in the pouring deluge. Before eating, I went to the grocery store and hid several large beers behind the pizzas in the cooler of the grocery store, since we could find no cold beer for sale and didn't travel with a fridge. We knew we would need the beer to help put us to sleep, crammed as we were going to be in my tent. By the time dinner was done the beer was cold and, even though I got a rather inquisitive look from the cash out lady, I felt proud of myself for my high degree of cleverosity. I repeated this process every day we spent there, hiding beer in the morning and purchasing it later in the day. That night, without a common area in the campground to hang out in and meet people, we ended up hiding from the rain in the TV room, drinking illegally cooled beer and watching Rambo III dubbed over in Spanish. I am laughing out loud as I write this, it was such a ridiculous scene. I'm glad it happened with my Dad, because others may not have seen the humour in it.

But I digress, and you folks probably have better stuff to do than to read about me hiding beers behind the cold pizza (although you might find yourself using that trick someday). We flew out to Pescara after a few days exploring the Costa Brava. We were happy to leave. We had arranged couchsurfing in Pescara, and a friendly looking lad named Max picked us up from the airport, as we were to stay with him and his lovely wife Lisa. The time that followed redeemed our unfortunate situation and pulled our heads out of the pallid clouds that had hung around them since missing our flight. Pescara was full of engaging Italian couchsurfers and their friends, whom they enjoyed introducing us to. We spent a few days there revelling in the local culture, laying on the beach, and even going for a day long bike ride to the neighboring town of Ortona. I will have a difficult time explaining to my loyal bike all of the affairs I have been having while it has been parked in a dark garage.

We were sad to leave Pescara but still needed to get to Greece so Dad could catch his flight. A train and an all night ferry did the trick. We made it safely to Greece, but that will have to wait for another time. It is strange how such a crumby thing as a missed flight can turn into something bigger and better than you could have planned for. For instance, as I write this, I am back in Pescara, staying with my friend Francesco who I never would have met otherwise, and we are going on a road trip to Vienna this very night. Plus, the day that we were supposed to land in Athens, there was a rather large earthquake. For all I know, a rock from a building would've fallen on my head. So who knows why stuff happens. But it does, and all you have control over is how you react to it.

Photo Album 6: Malta

2008-06-26T07:46:00.000-07:00

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Malta

2008-06-26T02:42:00.001-07:00

I apologize for my lengthy radio silence, but I did warn you. I am now only days away from retrieving my poor abandoned bicycle and getting back down to business - finishing my vacation away from my vacation. During this time I have indulged in a great deal of relaxation. I will now attempt to sum up some of the highlights for you.

I made it to sunny Malta on May 7th and met up with my Dad, Don. It was a welcome thing, seeing the friendly face of one of my best buds. We ended up spending over three weeks exploring this funny little country, seeing wonderful sights and meeting wonderful people.

Malta is composed of various shades of brown and beige. The countryside is baked by the sun - dry and crusty. We were lucky to arrive just towards the end of their spring however, and there were patches of vibrant green and vivid flowers hidden in corners. The buildings are all constructed of local limestone of a light tope colour that burns orange when the sun begins to set. I was expecting more riotous paint jobs as this is a Mediterranean country - bright reds and blues and yellows - but I guess they save these paints for their fishing boats.

We spend a great deal of our time walking through the countryside, if you can call it that. This place is so anciently populated that you get the impression that every square inch of the land has been walked on about a hundred million times. Nothing is in its natural state, and agriculture dominates the landscape between villages. Even so, it is easy to get away from people and feel alone in the 'wild'. As we walked our noses were filled with the scent of the sea and wild oregano and rosemary that grows everywhere. The air was thick with birdsong.

Birding is a popular pastime in Malta but, unlike Canada where birders just want to look at the birds, the Maltese like to net and shoot everything that flies. Traditionally, in the spring, the countryside is a dangerous place where you are more likely to see a shotgun than a songbird. However, as this is Malta's first year in the European Union, there has been a good deal of political pressure put on the government to stop the bird hunt and a moratorium has been placed on the hunting season. Thankfully. If we had travelled here a year earlier we would not have been allowed into all of the places that we spent our time exploring. Still, shotgun shells littered the ground.

We visited many of the ancient temples that are scattered about the islands of Malta. This was the real reason we decided to visit this place - Dad is an avid ancient history buff, and Malta is the site of the oldest known freestanding human built structures. The stone temples predate Stonehenge, the pyramids, everything. They were built before people had written language and, as such, we have no way of ever knowing what exactly what went on in these sacred places. Which made it quite enjoyable to visit them... there is a good deal of room for creativity in your interpretation of the sites. Although most temples were above ground, we did get to visit one, called the Hypogeum, that is completely underground. Constructed in the stone age, using only rock and bone, a giant cavern was excavated in the subterranean limestone environment to, it is thought, house the dead. It was carved to mirror the shape of the temples built above ground and, by doing so, gives us a better idea of what they may have looked like before weathering degraded them to their present state.

Aside from visiting ancient sites and exploring the countryside, our activities were pretty relaxed. We took the approach of 'one day on, one day off' - a day of discovery followed by a day of sitting around. We swam in the ocean, drank coffee in the morning and beer in the afternoon. I read more books than I have in the past three years combined, mostly spy novels that I found in the lobbies of hotels - stories of international mystery and espionage. Needless to say, I started getting paranoid. At one point, while in a public bathroom stall, someone tried to open the door and found it locked. A piece of paper fell to the floor and drifted underneath the partition. Jumping to the only logical explanation, I realized I had been mistaken for a Russian double agent, and this was the dead-drop site for some very important information indeed. Not wanting to get involved, I left the paper untouched. I waited for the mysterious man outside to leave before finishing up and getting out of there before counter-intelligence officers could come on to the scene. As I walked over it I glanced down and realized the paper looked a great deal like a receipt from a grocery store. 'Man, modern spies really know how to conceal the true nature of their information!' I thought.

Couchsurfing really came through for us during our time in Malta. Although we didn't actually surf anyones couches, we arrived just in time for the first dinner meeting of some of the local hosts, and we invited ourselves along. For those that don't know, Couchsurfing is an online network of people who are willing to take strangers into their home as they travel through their country. But for us it is really just a great way to meet people that are outgoing and interesting, a way to get right to the heart of a culture by finding the coolest locals around. And that's what we did! We instantly had a network of over 20 helpful locals and travelers who, amongst other things, helped us find good accommodation deals, took us out to interesting places we wouldn't have found otherwise, brought us to beach bbqs and house parties and even took me out scuba diving! I even got interviewed by the local TV station about my experience as they did a small feature on Couchsurfing in Malta. It aired, and now I am a celebrity there. It will eventually get posted to YouTube and I'll put the link up here.

Actually, its not entirely true that we didn't surf couch while we were there. When we visited Gozo, the second island in the country, we stayed with a very friendly local named Mario. He wasn't technically a CSer, but we found him through the network, and he agreed to put us up for a while. We ended up staying there about one week and, during the course of our stay, met two Italians, two Hungarians and a handful of locals. Mario and his friends are very interested in archeology and ancient history - have even made some important discoveries in the area - and Dad was in his element. They talked prehistory for hours, which was a relief for me since I simply cant keep up with Dad when it comes to which culture cross-pollinated with which and who conquered who. So he was entertained and learned a great deal while he was at it.

I think the highlight of Malta for me was a day we spent on Gozo. We rented bikes in the morning and headed North. Gozo is really small... you could walk across ithe island in an afternoon, so biking is an ideal way to cover ground. We headed to a location called The Azure Window, on the Northern coast. This is an enormous and striking sea arch pitching into the water. Beside it is something the locals call The Inland Sea, which is really a pool connected to the sea by a large natural tunnel through the rock. After exploring the top of The Window, we both went for a swim in the inland sea. I climbed around a bit on the rocks inside the tunnel until I fell into the deep waters below. Ever the intrepid explorers, Dad and I swam through the tunnel, which no one else seemed willing to do. We made it to the open sea just in time to realize the water around the cliff faces was swarming with small, stinging jellyfish. I found them the hard way. Their tentacles conduct a toxin that feels like an electric shock, or a series of bee stings in rapid succession. After that, it became a new version of my old biking game, Dodge. Except it was hard to see the little critters you were trying to dodge. Dad swam back through the tunnel, but I decided to swim along the coast so I could pass beneath The Window. I did, but I paid for the experience by receiving several more painful stings, like laying in a patch of nettles for a few minutes and rolling around. The marks from the tentacles lasted for a month on my chest and back. Apparently urinating on these stings will relieve the pain, but I didn't like the idea much of the position I would have to get in to urinate on my own chest, and I wasn't about to let someone else do it, was I?

After ice cream to sooth the pain we hopped back on our bikes and headed along the coast. We found a rough trail along the top of the cliff and rode our bikes (ok, pushed them a little too) along the path. The views were astounding and I stopped for many pictures. We got kind of lost out there, but we jut kept riding on. We ran out of water and were overheated. Then we got to a dead end at a small cabin. Three Maltese hillbillies sat out front, their shotguns put away when they saw us coming. Birders. The first (and thankfully only) ones we saw. We said hi and they gave us the finger. We asked for directions and they glared at us angrily while pointing back the way we had come. We were happy to oblige. Scenes from Deliverance came to mind. You could almost hear the twang of a banjo and the haunting sound of someone playing the saw... a sharp one.

We made it back to civilization safely and found water. It was a long day of hard riding, swimming, and exploration, but this is the kind of thing I travel for. It was invigorating and renewing, knowing that we had done things this day that most people would not even consider attempting. Again, some folks have a weird idea of fun - and I'm not really sure if its us or 'them'. Dad kept complaining that I was trying to kill him by riding in the heat of the day, but he kept on keeping on. Tough old bugger. We have changed the old saying... Its actually only 'mad dogs and Canadians that go out in the mid-day sun'.

There are more stories to tell. More experiences, more people, more vivid details that make Malta come alive in my mind. But I cant put them all down here. I think I got all the main points. We left at the very end of May, saying goodbye to our new friends and this strange land full of mystery and understated beauty. Our flight was to Barcelona, but that's a different story altogether...

Photo Album 5: Vienna to Treviso

2008-05-25T11:18:00.000-07:00

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Vienna to Malta

2008-05-19T07:17:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I know I have been a bad blogger boy lately, but just take it as a sign that I have better things to do than sit around at a computer. Plus, I kind of wonder how many people bother reading this anyway. Sometimes I think I am doing this for my own future nostalgia more than anything. Still, here I go, catching up...

Vienna was awesome. I loved my time there. Heres the thing: while spending time in any large European city, I have a sneaking suspicion that everyone is having a much better time than I am. Vienna, however, was the exception to this rule. If it wasn't still at the beginning of my journey, I would've stayed here I think. I just want to take this opportunity to thank a few of the friends I made during this time, that made me quite certain I was having more fun than anybody else: Reka, who saved me from a night on the streets when I first arrived and was such wonderful company thereafter, Conny and Hanna who took such good care of me while I surfed their couch, and Nicholas who showed me a night out in the old Viennese fashion. Just to name a few.

In my journeys, there have been times when I see something so beautiful that I cannot photograph it, for fear of rendering it inadequate... less than it really is once captured by the lens. Instead I think: "this is just for me" and just hope that I can remember it forever. Just so, there are certain stories that I choose not to tell in this blog, for fear of making them less than they are. The thing is... I don't know who you are reading this. Likely you are a close friend (otherwise, why bother, right?), and I would be happy to share anything with you. And yet, some among you may feel that some of my earlier posts have already been too sappy, too sentimental, too personal. So some stories I will keep for myself, just as there are things that I have seen that will only ever be known to me. But, when you see me next, and you still want to know, ask, and I will tell you. Promise.

I had a hard time finding out any info about a bike route through Austria to Italy. Tourist info couldn't help and I ended up finding the route in an unlikely place: an employee at the outdoor store where I went to buy new camping fuel. With a route pencilled onto my map, I set out in a general southwest direction. Through the mountains. Real mountains. I huffed and I puffed and I nearly blew out a lung. But I used my mountain climbing mantra: "what goes up must come down" over and over again. And boy did I ever come down. Like, fast.

I made it through the mountains safely, and felt stronger for it. Then something wonderful happened. Just outside of Graz, I stopped for lunch. There I was: lounging in the sun wearing only my silly tight biking shorts, hair a mess, pushing food into my face as fast as I could beside a bike weighed down by an excessive amount of gear, when a friendly looking couple rode up on their bikes and engaged me in conversation. I must have been quite a sight, but it didn't seem to bother them. They are also bike tourers, and last year at this time they had ridden the whole Road to Santiago, in Spain. Thus, they were interested in a fellow bike nut, who was obviously going somewhere far away. Their names are Gerhard and Andrea, and we ended up talking for quite some time at that picnic table in the forest outside of Graz. What was meant to be a 20 minute stop turned into an hour and then, when I tried to get back on the road, they instead invited me to their house. Although it meant covering less ground than I had hoped, I have come to understand that one should never turn down the kindness of strangers, and so I accepted their gracious offer.

I have also come to understand that, if you are willing to see it, there are no mistakes in the world. No accidents. What may seem like a wrong turn or a delay is really a blessing, leading you down a new path, and you should just stay open to it, move along with the current. My time with this wonderful couple was a perfect example of this. Not only did they feed me (lots), give me a comfy bed, and take me into Graz to show me around, they also totally redirected the next section of my route. The trail I had picked out would've been terrible... all traffic and industry. Now, instead, I will follow a section of the route they took last year, and I am extremely excited about it. If I had stopped to eat somewhere else, or made any other tiny alteration in my plan that day, I would not have met these two, and my experience would be totally different. I am not a religious man, but I do believe in angels.

Although sad to leave my new found friends, I did, and rode with renewed purpose. Last year, Gerhard and Andrea were taken in by the priests of a local village on their first night out on the tour since they couldn't find a campsite. They arranged for me to stay here as well, and that night I slept in the basement of a house inhabited by priests. It was a wonderful experience. The following day was Sunday and the priests were busy with ceremonies for the blessing of the bells at all of the churches in the region (seven in all). One was on top of the mountain pass into Slovenia, which I had to crawl up. It just so happened that I arrived at the top of the Radlepass 15 minutes before the commencement of the ceremony, and I could hear a brass band playing traditional music as it drifted across the mountain tops. I decided to go. I rode my bike through the forest and came out at a church overlooking the valley. The smell of Frankincense and Myrrh drifted from the open doorways of the church, along with the singing and sermons. Every so often the bells rang. People were gathered all around in their Sunday finest, and I stood out like a sore thumb. I spent some time soaking in this experience... one that I never would have had if I hadn't stopped in that exact spot for lunch two days before. I tell you, I feel magic happening all around me these days...

I cooked through Slovenia. Pretty sure I left a trail of fire behind me as I came down the mountain. I hooked onto another river, the Drau this time, and followed it back into Austria. At a poorly marked intersection in a village called Neuhause, I stopped at a guesthouse to ask for directions. One of the patrons (a little tipsy) told me where to go and then insisted I come in for a beer. Again, it is poor form to refuse such offers, so I complied. The bar was empty except for a few local patrons, most of whom did not speak English and looked at me as someone who could've potentially come from an entirely different planet. I might as well have had two heads. Still, my abnormality interested them and one beer turned into three, a few shots of schnapps, and a plate of food. If it wasn't for the food, I wouldn't have made it out of there at all. I had to leave with a full beer on the table in front of me, because they were not going to stop until I was completely wasted. People had told me that Austrians were kind of cold in their attitudes, but I would have to disagree strongly with this assessment.

Riding bike while half sloshed is not an experience I hope to repeat, but it was kind of fun. I cant be sure, but I think I went faster than ever. Although it could've been slower... All I know for sure is I ended up somewhere other than where I wanted to be that night. Still, it was a campground and not a ditch, so that's ok. The next day I woke up early and rode hard to the border with Italy. Because I kept getting sidetracked from the road, I hadn't been making the time I had hoped. Still, I would gladly do it again for the experiences I had. Once across the border, I did some further research on the route ahead of me. To my disappointment, I found that there was absolutely no camping in the region. Plus, I was only a few days away from catching my flight to Malta, and I didn't want to mess about just to keep my pride intact. So, instead of risking missing my plane, I did what anyone would do when in this situation: I bought a pizza and caught a train.

And that is the story of how I got to Treviso, Italy. It wasn't the greatest feeling, cutting my bike trip short, but at least I rode all the way to Italy, and in a totally stress free fashion. In Treviso I met up with my new couchsurfing host, Tiziana, who took me around town and gave me a taste of Italy before I caught my plane to Malta. As I write this, my bike is lounging in her garage, probably hitting on her cute violet bike. Shameless.

And now I'm here in Malta, hanging out in the sun with my dad. Coffee in the morning, beer in the afternoon, and a pile of mystery novels at my side. I look at this as my vacation from my vacation. A chance to do nothing but hang out and explore this exceptionally strange little country. Through couchsurfing I have made several friends on the islands and, even though small, there is much to do here. Still, my lack of movement feels strange. Some days are hard because I lack distraction. Homesickness creeps in at the edges. I wonder if I am doing the right thing. I wonder who I am... how I became this way, who I am becoming. Sometimes I feel like I have left little pieces of myself behind on the road, that I am emptying out, unravelling. I think this is a good thing... that this is what I was trying to do. But now that its happening... I don't know, I guess its just difficult. I feel distant, and I want some of you people around to help me sort out my thoughts, some of you who know me well. I am glad to be here with dad, since I can talk about this with him, and he can relate.

I wont be posting here again for a while. Still, dear reader, if you have the inclination, drop me a line and I will respond to you directly. Thanks to those who have let me know what they are up to, I love so much to hear from you.

Now I must go and rid this country of a few pesky beers. Lord knows there are too many of them in the world, and something must be done. I think I'm the man to do it. Wish me luck...

Photo Album 4.5: Feiburg to Vienna - the missed photos

2008-04-27T09:35:00.000-07:00

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Its a good thing I was an only child and had to learn to entertain myself...

2008-04-24T05:26:00.000-07:00

I spend a great deal of time on my own, obviously. Luckily I am very good at keeping myself entertained. One game is to make up catch phrases for German signs, pretending that they are in English. Let me see if I can explain… For instance, 'Exit' is 'Ausfahrt' - which is the type of flatulence experienced by Austrians. 'Entrance' is 'Einfahrt', which I assume is special gas only passed by Einstein. There is a German bank called Sparkasse (shparkaasay). Which I can gather is only for people with hot bottoms. I could go on, but I have a feeling its only fun for me…

I think very interesting things. Oh yes, very interesting… such as the witty banter that I would have had onstage with Ani DeFranco had I been on tour with her as a burgeoning young solo artist in the mid '90's. We would’ve been great pals. I have developed a new video game that pits the cast of Star Wars against those of Star Trek. I have special moves figured out for all my favourite characters and everything. Star Wars would win every time of course, although the Borg would be hard to beat. You cannot steal this idea.

My favourite game is simply called `Dodge`. It, obviously, involves dodging things. With my bike. Usually it is a simple version called `Dot Dodge` where I dodge either the light spots in the pavement, or sometimes the dark ones, or sometimes both, depending on the challenge I am looking for. The stakes are higher if there is a lot of goose poop or glass on the trail. When it rains, snails crawl out onto the bike paths and then there are actually lives on the line. Its very intense and should only be attempted by those confident on a bicycle.

Also, due to my lack of actual human companionship, I have developed very close personal relationships with inanimate objects such as my tent and sleeping mat. In fact, I learned a very important lesson from my mattress the other day. I will try to be brief, because I am sure you don’t care. It used to be that you bought your thermarest with a bag. Nowadays you have to buy the bag separately (marketing genius at work). I bought the bag that the thermarest fit in most closely, hoping to conserve space in my kit. The problem is, of course, that you can never ever pack the thermarest as small as it comes from the manufacturer. Thus, every morning I have the same argument with my thermarest. “Why don’t you just FIT” I say. “Every morning we go through this and you eventually fit in this bag. So just get on with it and quit wasting my time”. Then one day I realized: this is not the fault of the thermarest. The thermarest is what it is, and cannot change. I am the one who chose the bag that it is supposed to fit in. It was my idea of what the mattress was supposed to be that was causing the problem, not the mattress itself. If more people applied this lesson to their interactions with others, the world would be a better place. I now refer to this as the thermarest rule. You can steal this idea.

So there you go. A window into what goes on in my head while on the road. Anyone wondering about the state of my sanity need not worry any longer. It is completely gone.

Photo Album 4: Feiburg to Vienna

2008-04-24T05:24:00.000-07:00

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Feiburg to Vienna

2008-04-24T04:57:00.000-07:00

Oh yah! I'm getting good at this game!

According to my calculations, I landed on foreign soil 36 days ago, have been actually covering ground on my bike for 24 of those days, and have peddled 2,113 km so far. For those of you interested in such things, my maximum distance in a day has been 132 km, the minimum is 52 km, and the average is just under 90 km. My average speed is roughly 18 km/hr. I have replaced one inertube and one set of break pads. I have fallen over three times, but never hard enough to break the eggs in my saddle bag.

I have completed the first two phases of my journey: the Rhine River to Freiburg and the Danube River to Vienna. The third phase is to get myself to Malta, but I haven’t quite figured out how I will do that yet. I have roughly two weeks to get there, so riding my bike the whole way may not be an option. I will let you know what I am doing next as soon as I have figured it out.

The Danube (or Donau as it is known locally) flows through some exceedingly beautiful country. The landscape alternates between wide, lush valleys full of freshly seeded fields and small villages with red roofed houses to narrow corridors created by steep sided mountains which are speckled with cliff faces (should have brought my climbing shoes) and covered in forests. Even in the mountainous areas the bike path is flat, following the shore of this impressive river. I feel much like a proud parent as I have watched it grow from a trickling little stream in Donaueschengen into a huge behemoth at Vienna, flowing quickly by on its way to the Black Sea. Part of me wants to keep riding with this river all the way to its end, but that’s kind of the wrong direction. As a side note, I don’t know who wrote that famous old song “The Blue Danube” but they were obviously one of the 7% of the male population that suffers from colour blindness. Its more browny green than anything.

Since Freiburg my movement has been more or less continuous. Aside from spending a few lovely days in Regensburg, I covered ground every day. It is getting warm now, and I have experienced the flavour of what it will be like to ride in the heat of the summer. So far the only weather that can put a cramp in my style is a strong headwind. I spent one day riding into one, and it slowed me down to less than 15 km/hr, which was frustrating. I should note that the next day the wind decided to change directions, and it pushed me all the way to my destination. I didn’t even have to peddle and I went 15 km/hr!

I miss everyone at home, but am so grateful for the comfort I find inside myself. There have been times on the trail when I am overwhelmed by my experience. Sometimes the combination of the scenery, the secret life of the local people around me, the music of nature, my thoughts and feelings (and maybe also the music I am listening to) combine to make some of the most potent experiences of my entire life. My throat clenches and tears well in my eyes. It is these times that I wish for your company. But that is the nature of my journey… the paradox that I am living in now. To experience the things that I wish I could share, I must be alone. Life is a mysterious and wonderful thing… I am happy I will never fully understand it, because I love so much to uncover its secrets as I grow.

Thank you for reading this, I carry you all with me as I go. Right on the front of my handlebars where you can get the best view.

With much love from Vienna: Devon

Photo Album 3: Oppenheim to Freiburg

2008-04-08T08:20:00.000-07:00

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A note to lovers

2008-04-08T08:00:00.000-07:00

Just in case any of you lovebirds out there are searching for a romantic getaway, may I make a suggestion? Fly to Frankfurt, take a train to the city of Mainz, rent a couple bikes, and head north along the Rhine (this way you will be heading downhill and will have the wind at your back). You dont have to be as intense as I have been... two bags will suffice: one for a few changes of cloths and the other for your picnic and several bottles of wine. You needent camp as hostels are generously distributed along the route. There are also several castles that have been converted to fancy hotels if you want to splurge for a special occasion.

Two weeks would easily be enough to ride all the way to Koln without overexerting yourself (it is roughly 140 km, which would mean you only have to travel 10 km a day. To give you an idea, I travel at an average of 20 km/hour fully loaded). And if you get tired of the back of a bike, there are river cruises as an alternate form of transportation. Visit some castles, taste some wines, explore cathedrals and villages, take plenty or rests in the countryside. You will not be dissapointed. Just thinking about it is so romantic... excuse me while I go and seduce myself.

Photo Album 2: Dusseldorf to Oppenheim

2008-04-08T07:58:00.000-07:00

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Dusseldorf to Freiburg

2008-04-08T07:50:00.000-07:00

Guten Tag!

Well, I have been on the road for a couple weeks now, and am loving my time. I have many stories that I want to tell you. Like these ones:

I left the luxury of Reiner and Gitta Luttgens on March the 27th and almost immediately got lost. Making my way back to the Rhine River proved to be difficult, but I made it. I am so grateful for the kindness of strangers. Many are free with directional information (which seems to be accurate about 75% of the time), and one nice fellow even rode with me for several km on my way to Koln (Cologne). Koln is a beautiful city, with a really fun hostel. This is where they invented perfume (I might be making that up…). The chapel in Koln is absolutely fantastic. And only took about 600 years to build. No big deal.

I kind of got stuck in Koln for a few days. I just rode my bike around during the day exploring and gathering information and supplies (including camp fuel). The weather changed from snow to rain and then to sun, which made everything a bit easier. You can buy big bottles of beer here for roughly 50 cents at the grocery store and drink them while you walk home. Canada could learn a few things… I met lots of nice travelers in the hostel and generally had a great stay. But the time came to leave, and I did so with a vengeance, a strong wind at my bike. What ensued were some of the most spectacular days ever.

This area of the Rhine is famous for its beauty, and it didn’t disappoint. This is the wine growing region, with castles on every other hilltop and quaint villages nestled in the valley bottoms. My pictures will have to testify to the true nature of the place, because I don’t have the words to describe it. Also, spring has sprung. Just like that. Green on the trees, blossoms, birds singing, the works. The spring had sprung in me too, and I rode hard all day. Which is good, because I had to make it to Koblenz, over 100 km away and I hadn’t gotten started until noon. I made it there just as dusk was falling and slept in a hostel located on the grounds of an old German castle on a hilltop. It was okay.

The next day I took it a lot more slowly, stopping for many breaks. I passed one of the few German castles that hasn’t been bombed or otherwise altered since its construction in the Middle Ages. I stopped there for lunch and, since you had to splurge for a tour of the inside, I chose to scramble my way around its walls looking at its outside. It feels a lot like a dream now.That night I stayed in a campground right on the water. The son of the owners is scheduled to head to Canada with three of his friends in May, so they bought me a beer and we talked about cultural differences (ie: beer prices and drinking on the street). The next day I got into more industrial areas that weren’t nearly as exciting. And, again, got badly lost. Also, the only campground around was closed, so I had to squat there. Thankfully I found a local grill where I ate half a deep fried chicken and pomme frits and a really big beer. That made me feel better.

I’ve started to meet other bike tourers now. Well, three. On April 2nd, just south of a place called Spayer, I crossed paths with a German fellow named Thorston and we ended up riding together for a few days, into France and on to Strasbourg. It was really nice to have the company, and his grasp of the German language got us through a difficult section of trail full of detours due to construction.

Strasbourg was okay, but I have determined that you need two of three things to have a good time there: the ability to speak French, disposable income, or friends. All of which I am in short supply of at the moment. So I left after a day of exploration. What I found in front of me was the most quiet low-maintenance stretch of trail so far. I barely saw anyone, and even though there was a strong headwind all day, I enjoyed the solitude and freedom. My pace is easy now, and I am not rushing anywhere. I have aches and pains, but movement cures all.

And now I am in Frieburg, my transition point between the Rhine and Danube Rivers. I have been fortunate enough to line up a couchsurfing host named Cathie, and it has been such a wonderful experience. So much cooler than a hostel. I will spend a few days here getting mentally prepared and then head into the Black Forest to find the headwaters of my next river companion.

For those of you who read this far: I bit you adieu.

The Devomobile

PS: For the purposes of historical accuracy, I need to correct a mistake in my last missive. Romans did indeed pave their roads. But I guess somewhere along the way their empire fell apart and subsequent authorities did not keep up a proper maintenance schedule. Thus, the nice Roman pavement turned to dust. Likely the same dust which covered my tires and wore my brake pads down to little nubs.

Photo Album 1: Amsterdam to Dusseldorf

2008-04-08T07:09:00.001-07:00

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Germany is lovely at this time of year.

2008-03-27T00:57:00.000-07:00

Amsterdam to Dussledorf

2008-03-27T00:04:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody! I made it!

Well, I tried to keep this succinct, but it didnt really work. I tend towards the long-winded anyway, and I have a lot to say.

So, I landed on March 19th in Amsterdam in a warm, sunny morning. The airline I flew with didn't require me to take my bike apart, so I was able to ride right out of the airport on a well marked trail into the City centre. I made it in and found a hostel without difficulty. A great start! Amsterdam is a zoo. But the animals on display are human ones. I thought it would be fun, but I got tired of it pretty quickly. Just a bunch of foreigners out to get wasted. The only locals I met ran the hostel, and they were great. Amsterdam is the kind of place where you need to know somebody to get it done right. I stayed only two full days - just long enough to get over the jetlag.

On my last full day there, I spend my time riding around the city getting supplies and information. What a beautiful city! Canals everywhere, and amazing architecture. I could live there, easy! Although the tourists would get on my nerves... Did I mentioned that it snowed? And not like a little skiff either - it Snowed with a capital S. Even by Canadian standards, it was a blizzard. This is the coldest easter they have had in over 50 years or something. It has snowed every day since Amsterdam - to varying degrees... What a time I chose for a bike trip!

I headed east from 'The Dam' on the 22nd. I hooked into a bike trail that follows a canal to the Rhine River. It is flat, straight, paved, and completely traffic free. I had a strong wind at my back and I sailed through the countryside. And what country side it is! I made the right choice starting in The Netherlands... Canals, windmills, wild tulips, bikes, castles, just like in the postcards. Well worth the visit everybody.

I got to Utrecht - my first destination - to find the hostel booked. Luckily the tourist info lady was able to find me a campground (most campgrounds here don't open until April as Europeans are not dumb enough to camp at this time of year). However, the campsite was still a ways off so I hit the road. Then it started to snow. Then it started to get dark. Then I got lost. Then I realized I had forgotten to buy fuel for my camp stove so I couldn't even cook all the food I had been dragging around in my saddlebag all day. Aint life grand? I did manage to find my spot before dark and, thankfully, they had hot showers there. I ate a raw dinner and froze my butt off all night, but woke up feeling ready to go.

Day two was slower. I took the scenic route to Arnhem, where I new there was a hostel for me to stay at. The countryside is dotted with castles and 'forests' which make for great riding. I made good time and had a good nights sleep. The only problem was that it was Easter, so everything was closed. I couldn't buy groceries, let alone camp fuel. I would've eaten the darn bunny if he had come within grabbing distance... Happy easter, by the way.I woke up to snow. Aside from the blizzard in Amsterdam, the snow had been... well... cute by Canadian standards. But this time it was more determined and actually stuck to the ground. Not to be discouraged, I rode on anyway. Its a good thing I'm so tough!

As soon as I hit the road the clouds broke open to let the sunlight through. Freshly invigorated I rode towards the German border like I was running from the law (I wasn't, just for the record). There wasn't even a signpost to mark that I had entered a different country. The only way I could tell was that the beer being advertised on the signs of the pubs were different. The method used to mark trails is different in Germany than in Holland (ie: poorly, and different from what's on the map) so I promptly got lost. Actually, come to think of it, every day in Germany has been like that. My method of navigation seems to be as follows: follow the map until I realize I no longer know where I am, ride in a circle looking for a landmark and/or ask a stranger, engage my spidey-sense, add all this info together, divide it by the angle of the sun, multiply by 3.14159 and head off in whatever direction seems right. Its worked for me so far.

I made it to the Rhine River by afternoon. My plan is to follow the Rhine all the way into southern Germany, where I will be able to hook up with the Danube River, which will take me all the way to Vienna. Rivers are good to follow because they are more or less flat, and make a good landmark, making it harder to get lost. Although I still manage somehow... I was pulling into Xanten when another storm hit. Again, this one had something to prove. Huge wet flakes dumped from the sky. I had to take refuge under a gas station awning because I could only see a few metres ahead of myself. Luckily the hostel wasn't far off, so I got to take a hot shower in a heated room forthwith. I had the whole place to myself. I washed my laundry in the sink, like the vagabond that I am, and hung it all around the room. So ghetto... I love it! That night I went into town and ate a true German meal at a real live Schnitzelhause... meat, meat and also some more meat. Oh, and pomme frits. Damn fine.

Day four was yesterday. It was a long one. Although a good section of my ride was well marked and paved, there was a big section of it that was an old dirt track built by the Romans. ALthough slower, this was amazing. I could practically feel the history seeping up from the ground. I thought of the things that had happened there before me, on this road. The hardship, the people who had fallen in love, the food grown and harvested, the men killed in countless battles, the children who had grown up here. This is why I came here. If you allow yourself, you can sense the history that has soaked into the ground, saturating it. It makes you feel so small, and yet somehow infinetly important, because now my tracks are a part of that road. I am a part of that history.

Mostly because I'm the only dumbass on a bike riding around in the snow. Sorry, I was getting too reflective and had to break the mood. It snowed and re-snowed throughout the day (can you spot the theme?) like clockwork. Every three and a half hours it would snow for half an hour. But I rode on. And on and on. 92 km of on and on. My goal was Hiligenhause, where Maija has family that she said would put me up. I made it as dusk was falling and these gentle, kind people drove down to pick me up. Their names are Reine and Gutta and I am forever endebted to them. They have been so gracious - putting up with a dirty, smelly, bike rider guy such as myself. And in a beautiful house! I got showered and fed and beered. Reine even gave me a tour of his factory, where they make car door lock latch doohickies. I got to see real live German factory workers! Cool!

Today is day 5, and I have been here all day, relaxing for a change. I cleaned up my bike and gave it a good tune after yesterdays Roman road ride. Darn Romans shouldve learned how to pave. I even got to do laundry. I am so thankful, and now I am ready for the road again. This layover coudnt have come at a better time. Besides (no suprise here) it snowed all day long. Tomorrow I head for Dusseldorf proper (about 10 mins away by car) to see the oldest bar in the world and then to Köln, where I will shack up for the night.

My friends: this is amazing. I have never been so challenged, or so in myself. The days are filled by my movement through the world and the simple tasks of keeping myself alive (food, drink, shelter). The compications of 'real' life have been stripped away, leaving room for only the fundamentals. And with every challenge comes success. Accomplishment. This is what I needed. I sacrificed so much to be here, and although I feel completely alone, I am at peace. I have done the hard thing, but I have done the right thing. I miss you all. Whenever I see something beautiful, I wish you could be there with me, to see what I see. They say hapiness is only full when shared, and I beleive that. But I had to do this alone. Beleive me, you would not want to get lost with me as many times as I have!

I may not write like this again for some time, as internet is expensive everywhere that it isnt free. Please do drop me a line though, and let me know howz things! I'll push a peddle in your honour.

The Devomobile.