Christmas in Barcelona

Gaudi must have had a crooked pusher who sold him bad acid.  I hate to sound like a Philistine, but his stuff leaves me cold.  We stayed in a nice hotel three blocks from the Sagrada Familia Metro station and surfaced  to this view every time we went home.  There was a massive queue at all but the latest hours, one which would have dissuaded me from paying an exorbitant fee to see the interior.  

Matt, Kim and the girls did take the tour and he came away from it with some beautiful pictures of the interior lit by stained glass.  They said that it was well worth the price and the queue.  

Nick and Susan arrived on the 24th, a day after we did; their visit cut short by the threatened and later, cancelled Iberia strike.  We enjoyed two evenings with them all doing our different forays during the day.  Nick cooked a delicious paella with several varieties of chorizo for Christmas dinner.  Matt and Kim laid in a vast selection of wines and we contributed garlic peanuts, vodka, wine and detergent.  That's a long story...

Camilla and Collette entertained us with a couple of plays, dressing in their finery and new flamenco fans and hair-thingies.  On Christmas day, they led their parents/grandparents on a tour of the Gaudi-designed Guell Park.  We declined, having seen it in June and experiencing magnificent underwhelment.  It seemed to me to be a Disneyland for LSD fans.  OK, so I'm biased.

There were no crime-related incidents this trip, and Is actually managed to relax and enjoy it.  Perhaps the fact that we learned from our first trip and appeared to be hardened targets, prevented us from attracting muggers, buggers and thieves.  ("...love that dirty water...")  We found and tried a Filipino restaurant; enjoying crispy pata to the hilt.  One lunch was at an unimposing but good Indian restaurant just off La Rambla, and one afternoon I discovered a delicious tapa, Bunuelos de Bacalla.  They are a sort of puff pastry with salt cod bits mixed into the dough with unidentified herbs and spices, then deep-fried to a crisp exterior.  

The train trip up and back was shared, coincidentally with new friends, Susanne and Johannes whom we met at the American Thanksgiving lunch.  A very pleasant time, fine weather and a good reunion with family.

Happy New Year to you-all.

Paris with Dylan

On 15 Nov, I flew to Paris to join Dylan who was near the tail end of the conference he organized for Dell users.  We had a fine time, traipsing through the neighbourhoods he frequented back in his college days, dropping into bistros to sample the offerings and wandering the Rive Gauche till 0330 one morning.  I think we both felt that we were a little old for that sort of thing, but had a ball, nevertheless.

While he was working, I managed to hit the Musee D'Orsay and the Musee De Arte Moderne, both of which were well worth the trip.  I wandered the Champs Elysee, explored by Metro and foot and generally wore myself out, stopping now and then to partake of refreshment (at an exorbitant price).  
The weather was wet and foggy most of the time and that prevented me from renting one of the Velib bicycles and trying my hand at navigating Paris traffic.  Probably a good thing, though as the pandemonium I observed convinced me that cycling in Paris is not for the faint-at-heart.  I'll take L.A. or Boston traffic any day.


Four days were just not enough for "the city of light", but my feet and wallet were relieved once we boarded the jet for Alicante.  Many images were recorded both mentally and digitally, in hope of turning them into paintings at a later date.

Now I can cross Paris off the Bucket List, even though I never put it there. Thanks, Dylan for convincing me that it is a "must".

Skinny tires vs. wet clay

This is what happens when you follow the Newest Sadist into the field roads and campos of Alicante, after a heavy rain.  Richard and I decided to explore the canal roads, and eventually strayed into the field roads which, in dry weather are fine, packed clay.  On this occasion, they were a very sticky mass of goo over which he sailed merrily with his fat, knobby tires.  I, on the other hand, had skinny cyclo-cross tires which cut through, causing the mud to jam up into my brake calipers; bringing me to a complete stop.  I narrowly escaped flopping sideways and becoming a mud-puppy.  Anyway, I had to spend about ten minutes every puddle or so, cleaning the brakes off, and when I finally cleaned off the clay (which had turned into concrete), it took me three hours.  

I think I will reserve my off-road escapades to dry days.

The Mountains of La Mancha

Here is Mark heading toward the windmills to do battle right after lunch in Carcelen on  Day two of the Amigos' Fall Colours Tour.  Six of us left Benimar on Halloween and headed into strong headwinds for the mountains.   For two days we battled the wind and climbed to over 3600'; having a great time and working up some ferocious appetites.  The third day was mostly downhill, with the only significant climb being out of the Hondon Valley toward Crevillente and home.
Some of the highlights:
Day 1-We cycled the last 15 kliks in the dark, coming to a screeching halt when blinded by oncoming traffic and puckering mightily when we sensed headlights behind us.  I was appointed to be tail light, as I was the only one to have the foresight to bring a red blinker.  Probably should have brought the front light, as well, but I didn't think we'd be on the road after dark.  That's what getting lost can do to the best aid plan.
Day 2-Imagine the wingeing when we all realized that we had to ride our expensive road bikes through gravel and mud or turn back and  find the right road.  Mud and gravel won.

            Here the Pauls are contemplating leaving us dirt-bikers behind when they get on the black road.

           Dave pointed us toward the mountain passes and we set off into 30+kph winds.  The climb into them was bad enough, but the insult came when we had to pedal downhill to make any significant progress.  I found myself struggling to make 26 kph (16 mph) on a descent that should easily have been a 50+ freewheel.

          One of the best scenes was the descent into Ayora, with the castle and valley ahead of us.  Dave took this shot of me as I fantasized about doing a ride across Spain as he did.
           Paul and Paul disappeared up the hill in front of us and we never saw them again until that night when they hailed us from the bar, as we limped in.
Day 3-Homeward bound out of Yecla, we were on a long, slighly downhill straightaway with the wind behind us , finally, and I was cruising at 52 k, when Norman blew by, using his frame like a spinnaker.  I never caught  him til the next set of hills.
            Mark redefined saddle-sore when he mumbled something about his nipples bleeding.      

It was a great trip and we're all looking forward to the next one-maybe a little earlier than November, though.

Falling in among Sadists and Masochists

It seems as though I attract that personality type.  Or, at least, it seems that way when I think about the guys I cycle with.  Dave plans our overnight tours.  His latest one is a three-day jaunt up into La Mancha and is reputed to be a very scenic, colorful ride through wine country (and now the kicker) including some "steep" and later "long, steady" climbs.  One of the highlights is going to be a cruise (my misnomer) through "one of  the jewels of La Mancha set in a deep river gorge."  Sounds great until you think it through.  "Gorge" is a low spot-usually cut by water, low is only reached from high, and can only be escaped by going lower (not a good idea) or higher-meaning climbing.  
Then there's Peter who lives for climbing and drools in a Pavlovian cascade when he hears Rebate, Hondon Valley or Guadalest.  Whenever he's not thrashing about in his sailboat, he's wagging his rear wheel at us mere mortals waaaay downhill.
We won't elaborate on Gary other than to mention that he breaks chains going uphill using the big ring.  Why he even bothers to weigh himself down with the small ring(s), I don't know.

And the latest is Richard, who on a supposedly tranquil trail cruise along the Segura River, announces that we are going up "that street".  An intown Orihuela lane that turns into a brutal climb up to the monastery.  I say brutal, because I was riding my ancient, steel,10-speed Colnago  and not the new carbon, 20-speed  Cannondale.  I watched him disappear uphill on his triple-ringed mountain bike as I dismounted at the halfway point and started pushing.  I joined him in a celebratory beer at the top, once I quit gasping for air. No complaints from the resident clergy as, after all, "It would just be rude, not to have a beer at the top."

Back Home in Algorfa

Well, the whole London/Wedding trip is done and over,  It ended not without another airline insult-a three hour delay in London.  Guess it wasn't their fault.  Our pane had flown to Algeria earlier in the day and the ground personnel there decided to start some sort of industrial action.  No comment!

The pic is of Canary Wharf viewed across Surrey Quay, taken as we were walking back to Tim's apartment after a fun dinner with Matt, Kim and the girls.  Had a pint with Matt at the Union Pub near Paddington Station and then went to their flat in the "Little Venice" neighborhood.  Very cool place in an old brownstone, with lots of room, high ceilings and a spare flush that operates with a chain.  I haven't seen one of those since I worked Dodge City with Wyatt.   Prominently posted on one wall was a poster that proves that the "crap" derived from Mr. Crapper's invention....interesting....

 

Now to clean up and spruce up the BH for sale.  Don't need three bikes here, and space is at a premium.  Gotta set up the "studio" again and get to work on some more painting projects.  Is is off to Vietnam in about five days for Tim & Ngoc's Buddhist wedding.  I'm hoping someone has cooked up an overnighter for the Amigos-timing would be perfect, but my fitness might not be.  So I'm the last one over the hill, at least I'll make it.

Trio enroute to Maine

Here is the happy trio wandering the streets of Murcia heading for Bistro Zaher to try the fabled Pastel de Murcia.  It is my favorite reason for going to the city, other than the art supply store and gallery Angie Meca.  We were happy to see that the store hadn't been badly affected by the recent flood, though the waters were probably only inches from their front door.  Sad to say, my favorite painting was not there-no mean feat to buy since it had a tag of Eu.650.  Anyway, the pasteles were fine, as expected and Jordan was delighted by the merengues and eclairs she chose.  The proprietor showed his gratitude by giving John and me a "secret" drink that was delicious and powerful, mixed with two shades of firewater.  One was clear and quite tequila-like on its own.  A small amount of that was mixed with about a jigger of some sort of Jerez brandy.  I'll have to check it out further when I have more time.  

How they wound up having lunch in Murcia is a long sad story.  In a nutshell, I mis-interpreted the train schedule and we wound up buying tickets in Callosa for a train that wasn't coming until their Madrid train left Murcia.  So We "raced" there in a car, sometimes listening to a lying GPS and sometimes relying on gut feelings and/or my recollection of landmarks glimpsed briefly while travelling in a speeding peloton.  We arrived at the station about five minutes after their train left.  So, after buying seats on the four-something, they had seven hours to kill.  Unfortunately, Is and I had to drop them with baggage (which had been locked in the car while we lunched), as we had to go home to straighten out baggage snafus with our London flight.  

The tired trio should be checking into their hotel room across from the Palacio Real in Madrid right about now.  My error lost them an afternoon in a beautiful city, but I'll make it up next time.  The rest of their stay was hectic with lots of sightseeing, some swimming, giraffe-feeding and cycling.  Jordan's favourite site was Guadalest, a Moorish castle built on a mountain top in the mountains West of Benidorm.  I was quite impressed with the view.  Had been there before on the soaking, almost-freezing and clouded-in cycle trip last December, and hadn't seen a bit of the castle due to the clouds and rain.

High Water

Ernest whispered in my ear, "It's a good day to die!"  I stared at the wounded Cape Buffalo we had tracked to the banks of the flooded Grumeti River, deep in the Serengeti.  The buff lowered his head and lunged at us, ten paces and one short life away.  It was a bad day to be out of ammunition.

That's what my mind conjured up as I saw this sunset over the Segura River, which was in flood.  We were lucky here, with minor inconvenience; debris and gravel left on the roadways.  Further southwest was not so lucky with much damage and about ten people lost.  This scene was shot as Shan and I cycled back from the beach at Guardamar del Segura, where the trio had their first dips in the Med.  Water was balmy, and probably warmer than that in our pool.

Backing up to our last days in Maine

Saturday before take-off, I went down to Portsmouth, NH to meed Dylan, Kristin and Helena for a farewell day.  Is, unfortunately, was in the middle of a pastel painting which had to be finished before we took off, so couldn't accompany.  Had a good walk around the waterfront in the beginning throes of the Fish and Lobster Festival; helped Helena traverse quite a few curbs (apparently her latest "thing") and then had a good lunch at a place whose name I never knew, but would like to remember.

So then, on Monday I called Westbrook Taxi for a cab to pick us up at 1245, as we needed to be at the bus station at 1:00 PM.  "No problem" says the dispatcher, "we'll be there at a quarter to one."  So after two more calls, and being driven past twice by the blind cab driver at around 1:10 pm, we get in the cab and the guy tells me it's not his fault-the dispatcher gave him the call at 12:54.  I didn't care and told him to get us to the station; which he did, giving us under five minutes to wrestle four bags and a huge bicycle case to the bus.  This is the second time that Westbrook Taxi has done this to me, and they won't get a third chance.  To all you taxi-needers in Westbrook:  WESTBROOK TAXI IS NOT A FIRM I WOULD RECOMMEND IF YOU WANT TO GET ANYWHERE ON TIME.
Our next pleasant surprise was that the Virgin Atlantic plane we were to take to London was going to be about two hours behind schedule as they had to change planes before they flew our way from London.  Cool!  I don't want to fly on questionable aircraft.  Well, we get into London two hours late, but still might make it to Gatwick and our connecting flight if everything goes well.  It didn't.  The National Express bus was ten minutes late and got us to Gatwick five minutes after check-in time.  So we shell out 50 Sterling apiece and cool our heels for five hours and finally get on a plane to Alicante, arriving at 9:20 pm, tired and bedraggled.  Good ole Les Harris was there to pick us up and drag us home-bless his soul!
48 hours later, we are starting to recover, and will be able to show the Augusta trio around the area.

Three more Locsins in Alicante

After a marathon day of picking up loose ends such as getting new health cards, registering for Spanish language classes, visiting two banks, setting up doctor appointments and such, we took the train to Murcia del Carmen to meet Shannon, John and Jordan.  They had landed this morning in Madrid and were met by our good friend Celia who took them across the city after getting them discounted train tickets and put them on the train headed our way.  They were as "knackered" as we were, having spent 28 hours in transit.  We did over 26, but that is another story or rant, to be done later.

So, we dragged them onto another train (to Callosa) where we loaded their substantial baggage and drove to Algorfa.  They crashed, I changed four bike tires and set up a bike for Shan, then we went out for dinner at the hotel up on La Finca hill, as it's called.
Thank you, Celia, for guiding them through the pitfalls of traversing Madrid while in a sleep-deprived stupor.  We are all in your debt!

Flagstaff Lake Trip

Nick and I canoed in to the camp that Shannon and I built back in the late 80s.  It was a memorable trip, made even more so when I read the scratchings on my old coffee pot and realized that it was with me on my first trip there in 1981, 31 years ago!  The place is still as beautiful as it was back then.  You might notice the wind-power turbines on distant ridges, but then you'd excuse them if you really want your world to stay clean and green.  This is a shot just after sunrise, taken from on top of the cliff on "our" island.  I wish the lake had stayed that calm, but it was not to be.  The wind picked up from the West, and that caused the rollers to form; adding about an hour and a half to the trip out.  Intermittent rain and constant spray from the waves kept us pretty damp.

The wind kept up, but clouds and rain dissipated, leaving a dramatic sky with a full range of blues spread from horizon to horizon.  This shot was taken as we were loading up after taking out at Meyer's Landing.  The lake looks peaceful, but don't be deceived-there were actually whitecaps out there.  I had told Bones that we would try to go to the other campsite that he and I had built in '82, and take some pictures of the remains, but the weather prevented that.  Towing two kayaks with a following sea and wind directly astern was very tricky and I didn't want to put us in a spot where we would have to take it all broadside.  Next year...






Yesterday we had great weather.  Lots of sunshine and mild breezes all day, and the fish were biting.Nick and I caught so many, I lost count.  All except two were released, and they became lunch.  Pickerel and Perch fried up in bacon fat and served with refried macaroni and cheese; washed down with Ballantine's Ale in honor of Milton Trott, our grandfather, who was the inspiration for all of my wilderness adventures, and who was quite fond of the brew.

Perfect day to cruise Casco Bay

Took a 3-hour cruise on one of the Casco Bay Lines' mailboats today, and visited five of the larger islands as it delivered mail, produce and passengers.  The weather was perfect, if a little hot while we were out of the Atlantic breeze.  Packed a lunch and had a great time basking in the sun as we sailed and docked in picturesque harbors.  Saw lots of dollars floating in harbors and sucking up fuel as they motored by.  I was a little envious until I considered the nine various boats I've owned, and remembered the adage that a boat is a hole in the water into which you pour money.  I think I'll stick with my kayak or ride in others' boats.

This actually happened before the trip to the County.  I just forgot to hit the "Publish" button

Trip to the Black Forest

Last Thursday I took off for the County (Aroostook, for the uninitiated) on Sahib, to go visit my woodlot and camp in the "Black Forest" before it's all thinned.  The logging operation has started and will last for a month or so.  I walked the lot with Bob the forester working with the Martin Forest Products crew and explained that my objective is to harvest with recreation and wildlife as secondary goals to forest health and income.  At first it was rather dismaying to see what I had wrought on what had seemed to me to be a "pristine" location, but upon reflection I realized that it was going to produce a better forest.  Bob cut me a slice off the butt of a spruce and determined that the plantation was about fifty years old, and that assuaged the guilt...the plantation was man-made and meant for harvest.

Above is a shot of the harvester as it undoes in ten seconds, what nature took fifty years to do.  I'm trying not to feel bad.

The trip was a lot of fun, despite the initial period of rain, which is an issue when you are on a motorcycle and sleeping in a tent.  Sahib did well despite the hot supper I fed him on the way up.  Trying to stay ahead of the weather and set up the tent dry; I pushed him to 75 mph (legal between Houlton and Bangor).  The manual cautioned about "...running the motorcycle at high speeds for long periods of time."  Well, they didn't specify how fast or for how long, but I have an idea.  When I stopped, I found him foaming at the mouth-frothy oil being blown out the air cleaner.  The rest of the trip was as mellow as the rest stop by the side of Madawaska Stream.  I enjoyed several great meals from Rita and Doug Anderson's kitchen and helped Doug with the new horse barn he is building.

Back in Westbrook, I hopped on another set of wheels and cycled out to see some motor-cross races with Bruce from Ernie's Cycle Shop.  One of the riders, Donnie, had worked at the shop when I did and was switching from downhill MTB racing to dirt racing.  That's Donnie leading here, on his way to a fourth place finish.

Is has flown off to L.A. to visit with her neice and new baby, and then is heading for a nephew's wedding in Virginia.  I am preparing for a trip to Flagstaff Lake with Nick.  More adventures to follow.  Cheers!

Fun on the Kennebec

Sunday last, we went fishing on the lower Kennebec with Nick & Susan.  Plenty of luck, good for the fish, bad for us.  But then, we had nothing to clean, no fish guts on the deck and fresh-smelling hands when it came to sandwiches and chips while drifting in an eddy.  After a very relaxing cruise, we stopped at their house and eventually decided to try fishing off the shore behind the house.  Nick's granddaughter, Camilla had allegedly caught a catfish there a couple of weeks ago, and I was dubious, having never heard of anyone catching catfish in the Kennebec, especially below head tide.

I learned that, not only are there catfish there, one of them is an omnivore.  Not having any traditional dough balls, dead squirrels, old sneakers or desiccated Spam to use as bait, we decided on peppered chicken breast and raw breakfast sausage.  The two-pound gastronome fell for a chunk of the latter and surprised the hell out of me.  The evidence is above (catfish is the one with the hook in its mouth).

The week has been spent cycling, painting, arranging repair for my four-year-old Frigidaire refrigerator.  I remember fondly the Whirlpool which lasted 25 years.  'nuff said.

Time here is winding down, and we've started to get the packing jitters.  Gotta weigh this, that, cull heavy stuff that we don't really need.  Unfortunately, I brought over several art books that I use frequently for reference and must travel back.  Added to that weight is the torque wrench and associated bits, adapters and sockets that are mandated by the purchase of a carbon-framed bike.  Guess I'll leave out the bottle of Mescal.  I spent about $160 to buy 15 kilos of extra weight allowance, hoping that would cover the bike.  It covers the bike box and torque wrench.  Back to the drawing board, I guess...

Amigos del Ciclismo cyclist wins award!

I can do this every year!  I didn't win the furthest-traveled award.  That went to a couple from Alaska who are riding an MS event in every state.  The six-pack of gritty McDuff's Summer Ale was the furthest-traveled-but-couldn't-drive-it award.  Shown here at presentation ceremony with daughter and Team Captain, Shannon and team member Sarah Currah-Shultz who both received 5-year trophies.

Awards

Team gathering before start

Looks like a bug to me!

Would you put that in your mouth?  Aside from eating stuff we can't get in Spain (lobsters, beef burgers with Canadian bacon, bleu cheese and pesto, refried macarni & cheese, Nick's ribs) we've been painting, cycling and driving to various appointments.
I'm having a bike sale.  Have road bike, touring bike, full-suspension MTB and (soon) my classic '70s steel frame roadie up for sale.  Trimming the stable and hoping to take some of the sting out of paying for the new bike.  I finally got the full-carbon bike I promised myself as a graduation present after the UBI course.  Didn't go for the Madone I originally wanted, but jumped on a Cannondale Synapse 3.  The long-ride comfort aspect sold me on it.  Now to prove it right with something longer than 30 miles.  Plan to do 25 out, Moody Mountain (Whaleback) and then 25 home this Sunday.  Should have a good idea how it will perform after that,
Safe cycling...

On the Airport ride

On the road again, though not on my bike.  After a very quick ride to Alicante, thanks to Dave Gartside and a good flight on EasyJet, we're in London under cloudy skies (no surprise there).  It is kind of nice to not be perspiring, and am trying to get over the novelty of seeing water standing in ditches and fields.  Paid 4.80 Sterling for a bottle of Peroni beer and am still quivering from sticker-shock.  I'm bracing myself for the onslaught of exorbitant swill that passes for wine on the moderate-price shelf back in Portland.  Already missing good ole Fidencio, the Eu.0.99 treasure.

Can't wait to get back on the old Trek and tackle Whaleback Road on Moody Mountain.  Salud!

Viva Espana!

This was the uniform of the day for Sunday, 1 July 2012.  We'd been watching the 2012 finals with our breath in our throats, wondering whether Spain would prevail.  Unable to sit still and wait for things to happen, I donned the shirt, jumped on the ancient Colnago and pedaled down the Rio Segura Trail to Formentera where I met David, Margaret, Mark and Jane in a sea of red and gold clothing spread across the plaza.  The place was packed; tables, chairs, wheelchairs, bicycles, children, grandparents, babes in arms and the rest of us-all with a glass or bottle in hand and a cheer in our lungs just waiting to explode.  And it did.  Goal #1 brought the crowd to its feet amid thundering applause, wild cheers and the hiss of skyrockets from every plaza in Spain.  And the game continued, as most of you know.  At half time, I jumped on the bike and hurried back to Algorfa and the plaza which had a television inside and in front of every bar.  The crowds were glued to the sets and the tension was palpable as Italy did its best to try and recover.  After a beer with friends there, I sped home to finish the game with Is an Tim who had decided to put their feet up and watch from the comfort of the couch.  The final two strikers' goals sealed the championship and we all exhaled and had the celebratory brew.  Viva Espana!

This may be the last entry from Spain til the fall.  We leave on the 15th and are just realizing that we have a lot to do in the two weeks.  Butterflies...panic...etc.  On top of all the preparations, cleaning, packing and paper-chasing I hope to do 900 kliks.  Yup, I've set another goal-10,000 kliks this year.  Sounds like a lot, but it's only about 6,250 miles, less than my previous high.  The real challenge will be to keep the pace up while in the US and then there are the down days in London during October.
Stay tuned...

20 June and looking toward September

Another scorcher and a ride into the foothills, with the Amigos, or at least a number of them.  The large group split up right at the starting point, Studz Bar in Benijofar.  About fourteen of us headed out in a faster group, heading for Abanilla.  A similar number headed of for parts unknown to me.  The hills separated our group with the Danish/Norwegian/German contingent charging ahead; the lone American holding up the middle and some Brits guarding the rear with one each from Jordan and Spain.  Not that they couldn't go faster, but they decided to stay with a slower member, while I got dropped by the faster lads.  After the coffee break, we split again, with the faster group (including me) heading off for a longer ride home through Santomera and the dreaded tunnel-climb in Oriuela.  As I anticipated, after we did the fast descent, we started climbing and flying on the flat.  I couldn't keep up with the 36-38 KPH speed, so I told them that I knew the way home and they should speed on withouot me.  Method to my madness-I avoided the climb to the tunnel and had a leisurely ride home, finishing with 95 kliks done.

  As you can see, I've been thinking of the September trip into Flagstaff Lake.  I'm looking forward to sitting on the rock, casting to pickerel and perch and sipping on a beer.  If you're interested, we can probably find another kayak or canoe.

No, it's not snowing here in Spain, but at times today I kind of longed for the cool.  The Amigos did the airport run and then toured the coast through Santa Pola, the salt flats and then through La Marina.  It was rather warm.  So why am I posting a photo of me in a snowy environment?  It's to remind you all that the MS ride is coming up, and that I'm soliciting funds again.  Please visit my page and open your wallet:
 http://main.nationalmssociety.org/site/TR/Bike/MAMBikeEvents?px=3818121&pg=personal&fr_id=17754 
Is and I are heading back to the States mid-July to whip the team, or what's left of it into a cohesive, tire-burning force-to-be-reckoned-with (if you'll pardon the dangling participle).  

Lately, I've been punishing myself on La Finca Hill, right near home.  It's three km up from one side and four up on the other side.  Reason for the penance is my poor performance on the Amigos' last foray into the Hondon Valley.  We went to Novelda last week and I wound up flaming out and walking about a km till I found my legs again.  Needless to say, the group got a nice long rest while they waited for me.  I figure that if I do La Finca at least twice a day when I'm not on a group ride, I'll not give the guys another lengthy rest period.  Maybe dropping my weight to 175 will help, but I'd rather not give up beer and bread, rice and wine...and all that.  But then, I'm not in Spain to eat twigs and grass.  C'est la vie.

Barcelona

Now to recap last month's visit to Barcelona.  It was interesting, to say the least.  An inauspicious beginning at Estacion Sants gave creedence to all the "pickpocket" warnings we'd received.  Is, her son Russell, his girlfriend Zarah, son Orrin (in stroller) and I were clustered around, discussing which metro line to take to our rented apartment, when we were approached by an excited young man waving a map and blustering in Spanish.  As I turned my attention to him, trying to decipher what he was raving about, his unseen companion snatched my shoulder bag and laptop case which I had carelessly laid at my feet by my suitcase.  Is spotted him and blurted, "your bag!".  I turned to see the thief about six feet from me, calmly walking away with my bag on his shoulder.  I grabbed him around the neck and pulled my bag away, then let him go.  As he ran off, I regretted not choking him out or breaking his fingers, or at least dropping him, but then it was in public...

The next day we covered a few galleries, had a great, though expensive lunch at Cal Pep, a jam-packed restaurant that specializes in seafood.  We arrived half an hour before they opened and were the second party in queue.  More sight-seeing for the others, while I went to a color lab to get some prints made of one of my paintings.  It took three visits, and cost lots of Euros, but I got some fine reproductions of  Banago River 7. I'll put it on display once I figure out how to do a watermark.

Day three found Is and me wandering around Barceloneta and crime-fighting again.  While we were seated on a park bench, I noticed a man on a bike approaching us and studying us more than casually. He realized I was watching him, and switched his attention to a fellow dozing on a bench to our right.  As we watched, he glided up behind the guy and reached over the back of the bench and was about to lift the dozer's pack, when I shouted, "Hey!", waking the intended victim.  The thief made a lame excuse about looking for a light for his cigarette.  No mention of the fact that it was someone else's pack and he didn't know the guy or have permission.  Thief cycled over to us and started cussing me out, insulting my mother and asking if I spoke Spanish.  I said I did, called him a thief and told him to  do bad things to his own mother.

This is a street scene I shot while sitting on a different bench, waiting (again) for another one of Nick's recommended restaurants to open.  We weren't disappointed and left fat and happy again.  We had wandered around much of the port area, and saw just about everything the average tourist sees.  The Picasso Museum was anti-climactic.  I had no interest in Sagrada Familia and found the Gaudi-designed park to be less than stimulating.  His style does nothing for me-go ahead, call me a Philistine.

My favorite piece of sculpture is the one that says, "Madrid?  That way!"

Our overall impression was that Barcelona is over-crowded with tourists, noisy and busy and not a place for the inattentive.  Not a relaxing city, though the metro/transit system is super and the cuisine very good, priced accordingly.  We were happy to head back to Comunidad Valenciana.

Happy Birthday (yesterday), Dylan.  Tried you on Skype, but figured you were out galavanting.  We're off to Barcelona tomorrow, plunder in our sights.  You'll have to wait till July for delivery.  We plan to go to the Picasso museum, and possibly Joan Miro's, hit some eateries that Nick recommended and I have to go to a printing firm to get digital files of a painting and then contract for a small run of prints.  


The citrus trees are in full bloom and the air is perfumed beyond my experience.  Cycling around with Is this afternoon, it was almost an olfactory overload.  Great day, except for high winds picking up a lot of dust from the newly-harrowed orchards and blowing pollen everywhere.  Allergies took a hit.  

I'm starting to find/recover a few of my images from various sources, cloud, flash drives and this machine.  The old laptop is resting (clean) in Westbrook, awaiting further tweaking and twitching.  I finally got the drivers for my camera loaded on this and should be able to post future pictures.  Fingers crossed.  Here's one of Dyl and H.

Monday the 16^th of April, 1500 hr: Sitting here, killing time at Logan Airport, wondering what is going to go wrong next.  It’s been an inauspicious start to a long, potentially error-fraught trip.  First thing-my taxi was late.  They had forgotten my call of last night, so at 1100, my 1030 cab rolled in.  No apology, but a quick trip to catch my 1130 bus.  The cabbie’s “No tip?” gave me the opening I’d been waiting for years to fill.  “I’ll give you a tip.  If you’re in a hurry, don’t call Westbrook Taxi.”

Next, my large bag was taken off at the wrong terminal.  I saw it sitting on the curb, all lonely and unclaimed as the driver boarded the bus.  When he asked what airlines we were all using, and I replied ” United-that’s my bag out there.”  He stated that somebody had put the wrong tag on my bags.  I replied that I’d used the tags the ticket desk had given me.  He told me that I needed to get off at Terminal C, not A. 

At the United desk I disturbed three chatting McJobbers by asking a couple of questions.  Turns out, I had been at the right terminal, the mix-up being that United had just eaten up Continental and nobody was sure what was going on.  So they checked in my bag, assuring me that it would be checked through to Madrid.  I don’t expect to ever see it again.  While checking myself in, using the machine that the loquacious three were irritated at helping me with, I kept seeing messages that one or more of my (two) flights may have been overbooked and offering me $150 funny money if I wanted to take a later flight.  N.F.W.

I then had my first golf cart ride to Terminal A, where the TSA was waiting to sink its teeth into me.  Apparently there is an alert about terrorists beating cabin crew with bicycle chains, and I had to explain why I had one in my carry-on.  Simple, it would have made my checked bag overweight and it was the heaviest small item that could be switched.

With one hour in between flights in Newark, I think I can guess what the next horror-show will be.  I think I’ll go get a beer…or two…

Algorfa 18/04 at 1950 hr. 

Rolled into Callosa yesterday about 1700.  I had all my luggage and was essentially on schedule by the optimistic timetable I had worked out ahead.  Nearly missed the train in Madrid as I was catching up on some Zs and didn’t hear the announcement.  Nodded off several times on the train, waking myself by snoring.  Fortunately it wasn’t by drooling on myself as I used to do in Economic Geography 101.  Pulled into Alicante with ten minutes to buy a ticket and catch the 1605 to Callosa.  The warning lights were flashing as I dragged my suitcases at speed to the train; and was seated for a minute when it pulled out.

My 0700 alarm wasn’t set, but I did crawl out of the sack at 0830 and proceeded to fix two bikes, cycle to Cyclogical for a seat post, cut it and re-assemble it for Russell, then hit the road again with him and Is for a total of 28 kliks.  San Miguel time now.  It’s good to be back-wish you were all here.

About to leave Rochester, N.Y. after a three-day visit with Andre and Brooke.  In celebration of Passover/Easter, we reluctantly forced ourselves to eat and drink too much; stay up too late and get little exercise.

One memorable moment was my first Garbage Plate, a local "delicacy"(?), which consisted of piled macaroni salad, cole slaw, cheeesburger sans bun and split hot dog covered with mustard and chopped onions.  I declined on what was offered as "meat sauce".  After my failed effort to clean my plate, I was informed that the meal was invented as a late-night effort to soak up alcohol.  Having got the order wrong, we then went to LUX to try and set our systems right.  Our morning after photo tells the whole story.

Today's ride

Mid-March in Maine

This is the bike I rode today. Although I have gotten both the Trek roadie and the Diamondback commuter fit and ready, I was seduced by the warm weather and the fact that the Enfield started on the first kick. After eight months of disuse, the critter fired up with a slight coughing fit and then settled into its usual rumbling idle. So I donned the necessary gear and meandered the back roads up to Nick and Susan's to retrieve the shaving kit I'd forgotten after spending last night with them. Once back in Westbrook I started dinner and began reading the inordinate pile of (crap) reading material and advertising that has arrived to herald my becoming eligible for Medicare. After one glass of excrable wine (nowhere near as good as Fidencio which costs a third) and seventeen pages I decided to do something meaningful. I washed dishes and came to play on thee 'puter. Am missing the cycling in Spain, but I hear that the weather over there has been quite wet. Glad I missed it. We're setting record highs here, with summer-like weather on the first day of Spring. Forecast is for 27C or 80F inland, tomorrow. Think I'll go take an Aleve for a splitting headache. Don't know whether it was caused by reading government brochures, money-grubbing adverts or the vinaigrette mis-labled as Merlot. Buenas Noches!

Early March in Alicante

Second of March and we've had some t-shirt days mixed in with sweater days. Got my first sunburn on a ride with the Amigos, and last Friday's trip to Guardamar Light. It is a small lighthouse on the end of a breakwater which protects the mouth of the Segura River. The breakwater is home to a tribe of fearless feral felines who relentlessly stalk a ham sandwich but merely turn their noses up at olives. Must not be martini drinkers. I like to set out on the hard-packed gravel trail around 11 and cruise along the south bank of the Segura, through citrus orchards, artichoke fields and a couple of towns; listening to my iPod and setting my cadence to the various tunes. Anyone trying to keep pace behind me would be befuddled as my tempo changes from Brubeck's "Take Five" to Morrison's "L.A. Woman" and then to Piaf's "Je Ne Regrette Rien".

If you look closely at the foot of the lighthouse, you will see the miscreant that made a pass at my sandwich while I was turned in the other direction to take the next shot. It shows the fishermen who patiently fling dough-balls at tiny fish, without much success, I might add. But then, fishing is not really about catching, is it? Anyway, I watched the closest fellow concoct his bait. He took a couple of handfuls of flour, mixed in some water and added what looked like decomposing shrimp before kneading it into a grapefruit-sized ball. He then tore off a chunk and placed it into a plastic jar and stirred in some more water (I presume) until it reached the consistency of chewing gum on a sidewalk in August. Then, winding some on a stick, he transferred a gob onto two small hooks, about the size of that which one would use for sunfish, on a drop-rig and cast out into the current. While I ate lunch and fended off marauding cats, he rebaited four times without threatening a fish. Beats mowing the lawn.

At the Orihuela Medieval Market Festival

Last weekend we went to Orihuela, a city near Algorfa, and a very historic spot. It was here that Ferdinand and Isabella joined their kingdoms (by marriage) and started the alliance which eventually became Spain as we know it. It is also where Ferdinand's friend and banker convinced the royal pair to fund an expedition by Cristobal Colon, leading to the America as we know it.

One shot is of a Quasimodo-like jester who was walking a large ball through the crowd. The other is of a baker with some massive loaves of bread. This was not a place to be when hungry, or broke. Orihuela hosts what is alleged to be the largest medieval festival, and it did not disappoint. We spent about four hours there walking through narrow booth-clogged streets; viewing all sorts of food, drink, baubles, leatherware, ironware, pottery-you name it. Lots of fun, but unfortunately it is held during the first weekend in February and not a warm time. Sitting in a sidewalk cafe quaffing mead and chewing on a shank of lamb would be much more pleasant in a t-shirt than a leather coat.