Earth day, Easter and other Ease.

Greetings fellow travelers abord satellite Earth. How's it spinning?

                    As  most  none of you know, I used to indulge a reoccurring thought experiment wherein our planet abruptly comes to a full stop but everything else on Earth remains in motion and traveling at the speed we were previously, and collectively going. At those rates, because they would inevitably vary, would the concept of solid objects cease to have meaning?  Could myself and the splattered melange of fellow passengers and the bus we were riding in now be said to be two or more objects existing in the same time and place--thereby displacing matter, thereby defying the laws of physics? Would in fact the rate be so constant that we would seem to be frozen in time, or would we all be pulverized so fast that no one would have a moment to register the event?

Sometimes, when I would play in that world, I liked the idea of imagining a gazelle floating by me mid jump, maybe a palm tree and the whole half of a sky scraper as it dissolves into a harmattan of glass and steel. So yeah.. the gazelle, right, I know that's almost as illogical as the earth coming to a full stop without slowing. But as  I've already elevated this daydream to the level of "thought experiment", one should hardly be surprised that I'm basically picturing the fallout from a tornado at the LA zoo.

This is related to my life now because I observed Earth Day and I may travel to Africa.
Earth Day, well...it wasn't my most earthy. I think I left the Christmas's lights in the kitchen on for two days and I swam at a pool. Hey, I can explain that! I went to my coloc's fitness club for a free trial. I have to admit that I've never really sat on an exercise bike before, except to escape running in gym class. I actually worked up a sweat. (Mostly because it was a veritable rainforest in there.) It was cool though, we took a free water aerobics class. That was an awesome 45 minutes, if you're the sort of spectator who want to see two girls bouncing out of their bikinis.... The instructor always seem to find his way down to our side of the pool when we were adjusting our tops. Funny that. But he had amazing thighs, so I forgive him.

As for Africa, I've been invited to go to Tunisia for a wedding.  It's in the southern region of their country and I was told I would most likely be the first american they've ever met. Obviously, funds are an issue.  I may have to delay the trip until September. But I would really hate to miss the opportunity for this cultural exchange.
More on that soon, swearz.

Don't be mad, don't be mean..

I've been reading a great book about Allen Ginsberg that has got me all but scratching myself raw with want of travel. It's by Barry Miles and although it is a scholarly account (based on letters, articles, interviews as well as personnel jornal entries of Allen himself as well as other Beats,) I find it's still a joy to read. You should read it as well!

Well, only if you dont' mind being horrendously jealous that he got to hang out with Bob Dylan, meet the Dalai Lama, speak with Castro in Cuba right after the revolution and take all kinds of wild mind altering opiates in and among Inca and Aztec ruins before skipping off to India in seach of a yogi--all whilst still effecting the American literary scene on two coasts. Naw, I'm not jealous. Who would envy a guy like that?
But it's cool, like objects suddenly springing to motion or coming to a friction filled hult, we all move at our own rates. His historical romance with life is still mine to cherish, even if it may be impossible to emulate.
Don't worry Mr Abbey, I'm still outliving the bastards.

Easter was a fun time, too. Sebastien and two of our coloc undertook to color eggs. The french girls were confused when we said we wanted to hard boil them in lieu of blowing the egg goo out one end.

Masters of compromise, we endeavored to do both. Their way makes a bit of sense as one wonders why we would make something beautiful and then smash it. But no one considers that for any length of time if they've gotten a good look at human behavior. Leastwise, the breakfast quiche we had as a result of our eggdevors, was yummy in my tummy today! And event though France only has brown eggs they turned out pretty alright.

Can you spot the egg I made for yermom?

Afterwards we went had a nice picnic with some friends by the jardin de Tuillerie. We actually encountered an American on holiday and it felt strange to be the one acting as interpreter. I guess I really have improved. And speaking of picnics, I think I've already been on ten picnics this spring and let me tell you, French cuisine was MADE for picnicking!

Ok, maybe not tartar.

Oh and I almost forgot to mention the other super cool thing we did. Well, I get all gooey for science, much in the same way that Sebastien goes all gaga for history. Nevertheless, he agreed to indulge my want of science by accompanying me to the Cité des science museum this Saturday. And as luck would have it there was  an exposition on Science fiction series!

There is real poetry in the real world. Science is the poetry of reality. 

I could basically do a whole post just for this so all I'll say was that Séba was like a kid at Christmas. Every time we turned a corner he would gasp in awe. I must have kissed him about a jillion times. But that was mostly because I kept stumbling into his area-effect, cone of glee.

See that, occasionally compromise gets you more than you bargained for! I would show you photos of the orignal BTTF hoverboard and an actual full-scale Viper from Battlestar Galactica, Greedo's mask or one those evil Terminator robots, but I'm all photoed out for the time being. (I'll be back)

Anyway I'd prefer to get outside while there is still enough sunlight to work on my sunburn. Just kidding...ok, no I'm not. Hope you have a super swell week. And all my folks who still have snow on the ground, the thaw will be that much sweeter when it comes. You'll feel it in your chlorenchyma. Fret not, dreadnaught, as I always like to say. But geez, I mean, who doesn't say that, right?

You have read this article Africa / Allen Ginsberg / Castro / chlorenchyma / Dalai Lama / dreadnaught / earth / easter eggs / Edward Abbey / picnic / Richard Dawkins / The Post Modern Talk-o with the title April 2011. You can bookmark this page URL https://trendcelebrity2014.blogspot.com/2011/04/earth-day-easter-and-other-ease.html. Thanks!

Leaving New England (Part 1)

"Willow's asleep. She's laying across your mum's bed."
"Wake her."
"She has to drive in like 4 hours, let her sleep."
"I need cigarettes."
"Well then, let's go."
Neither Stevie nor I has a license. In just four hours Willow will be driving us both to my new university in south west Ohio. If we don't get lost it should take us 15 hours.
"Where's her keys?"
"Check her pockets, I think she's wearing her coat and everything."
Stevie slinks in to lift the keys. Willow mews in her sleep.  I look around the darkened apartment her mom has been fixing up for the past 6 or so years.
They rent from their Grandma. I basically lived here all through high school. It was easy to never go home when you wear the same stupid plaid skirt every day.
I trace my finger along the new wood trim. How long till my clothes smell like this place again? 


"Got'em." Stevie dangles a shiny set of keys up to eyes, impishly. Willow just leased the Focus about a week ago. Driving me to Ohio had seemed fun, at the time, and was talked about for the second half of the summer, once she knew which car she wanted.
Stevie and I walk across the creaky porch where our madness and repose held court all throughout those long sophomoric summer nights that always seemed to stretch on into fall,  holding back the cold breath of winter until at last came the first snap of spring, on and on again like a great song on repeat.
"Which key does the lock?"
"Uh, use the button."
"Eureka!"
"s'Castle."
We fumble aboard. Stevie adjusts the driver's seat and mirror. I tap the dash,  breathing in the new car smells of plastics and foam. The stereo still doesn't have presets yet, so I fiddle with it trying to find our station. Once a good song is playing, Stevie lights her last cigarette and makes the tip glow orange so I can see her eyes behind her horn rimmed glasses.
The streets of West Medford are newly paved and vacant, orderly in a way that demands an inner quiet. As we pass,  every third or forth house has a statue of Mary and babe staring out at me from behind a white washed chain linked fence. They they might as well be pink flamingos, what with how tacky they are.

"Who leaves Jesus in a bathtub?"
"What?"
"Nothin. Just nothing."
The song is different now. It's pulling a sadness out of me that doesn't exist in its chords. The trash is on every curb. This is my yesterday.

"What's open?"
"Only Store 24."
The blinker taps out a march as we turn.
"But it's so close," I say as I jerk my head to the right.
"To the police station? Yeah."
We pull right up to the door. There are no other cars in the lot. I get out and check my zipper. Furtively I glace back.  Nestled under the bridge behind us is the Medford City Municipal Precinct.
I press in on my pocket, checking it's contents. The warped rectangle of my passport is still there. It's my only ID: scribbled with lyrics, covered in propaganda stickers, signed by my favorite rock group and been through the wash twice. Guess, I haven't really had the same rights of passage as other kids my age. Stevie either.
Her  only ID is a paper permit that says she can drive if someone over 25 is in the car.  If pressed I could always say I left my licence at home. But I just turned 19 and I usually test younger. She stubbs out her Marlboro and I follow her inside.
The new thing right  now is energy drinks. Supposedly they have cow testicles in them or something.
I don't know which ones are good so I take five different kinds off the shelf. They all have hyper masculine labels and aggressive fonts.
I nod judiciously, bull testicles indeed.
Next, we'll want Slim Jims, jerky--road foods: peanuts, salts and chocolates, packs of gum, two kinds of chips, diet sodas for Willow and just 821 miles between now and my next life. I start to get romantic, but I push the future from my head and waddle up in line behind a brick wall of a cop.  He's got neck fat, the number one indicator that I could outrun him. I smirk at the back of his ugly puckered skull.
"Thirsty?"
"Easy, you'll make me drop these things, sneaking up like that."
"Sore-y, Alistair."
"What kind of m and m's do you like?" I ask, glancing back at her as she shifts through her wallet looking for her permit. Four cops are in line behind her. I look down at my arm load of treats. Two more cops come in. Stevie suddenly notices all the blue suits and her eyes go wide. I look back down at the supplies.
I can hear her thinking, if the cops see me use this permit to buy my butts and then see me driving away....She looks down at everything I'm carrying, appalled.
"It's too much."
"Yes."
"I'll put some back."
"Put it all back."
"Yes."
"Cigarretts can wait?"
"Yes."
We all but run from the store.


"Holy Fuck."
"No, calm down."
"No,  holy fuck,  Launny. Fuck."
"You'll be fine. You can do it. Just get in."
"They fuckin' boxed us in. I won't be able to do it."
I take a hot, dry swallow of air. So close that we can barely open the doors on both sides of us are cop cars.
"We're fucked." Stevie states definitively. "Really, actually fucked."
"Fuck you. Drive." I point across the roof of the car at her. She takes my dare and gets in.
I talk her out of keeping her eyes closed to back up. We arrive at her mom's place without incident. I'm mad at us both for taking Willow's car. I slam the door and stomp up the steps. We're suppost to be on the road in just under three hours now.
"Why'd you slam it?"
"Just cuz. Get some rest."
"I need a cigarette."
"Do as you like."
I squeak open the front door, leaving her on the porch. The four stroke tattoo of dog nails on parquet greet me as Stevie's ancient border collie shoves her damp nose into the palm of a hand accustomed to fending her off. "Go to sleep, Louise," I say as I scrape my own tired feet across the room to the body pillow on the floor. I would prefer the couch, but that would mean waking up someone, or a bed, but that would mean sharing, and I only want a few hours rest before it's time to carry on.  "Go to sleep." I say to no one in particular. If Stevie comes in, she does not rouse me.


The soft padding of feet back from the bathroom into her brother's room is the first thing I hear. My skin is clammy, and my under arms need a rinse.
The light from the front room's window is coming in white. It's still early, but we have overslept.
I step over the dog on my way to the bathroom. Her tail thumps against the ground in greeting. If I stand in the door way, right across from both Stevie's room and her mom's I can see Willows feet hanging off the bed in the same position she fell asleep in. Her shoes are still on. It is time to go, she's known it for hours.
"Willow. Willow, wake up."
"I'm uh-mmm, hmmp."
She rolls on to her back. I go into Stevie's room.
"Time to get up, Steve."
"Fuck off."
"Cigarettes."
"Where?"
"Easy. Get up."
With her eyes still closed, she feels around for her glasses.
I go to put on coffee but there is none. Willows key's are on the table. I pocket them and head back to her bed side.
"C'mon Willow. Up." I kick the bed, once.
"Fuck you."
"Yeah. C'mon."
"I just, I..."
"Stevie said she'd buy you butts."
"We need directions."
"I'll print them. Get up."
Back in the front room I heft my trunk up by it's handle. In my other arm I grab my comforter and pillow and make for the door. The boot on this car is unusually large for a 4 door compact. I am able to stack my trunk, trash can, blow up couch, and wall hangings, no problem. I grab her atlas and toss it up into the front, and put my pillow and blanket in the back.
Stevie is up. She's wearing a Howie Day shirt and pajama pants. Her slippers have rabbit ears. When she sticks her tongue out at me in annoyance I see she has a new light blue bulb on her tongue ring that is a mirror shade to that of her eyes.
"Get Willow up, grumpy. I'll buy breakfast."
I leave her to it and head off to print off the directions. It only takes a few minutes, but the dog makes a fuss by the printer and someone from the living room's couch yells about it.
Suddenly they're being over shouted by Willow and Stevie from her mom's room. Louise rushes past me into intervene.
"Willow, you said you'd take her. Now fucking get your ass in gear and lets move it."
I walk back slowly. Willow hates doing anything, but she agrees to everything. Normally she'll say she'll pick you up at 8 or something and get there around 12.  I could have flown, if I bought the tickets a month ago, or hitched if I didn't pack a trunk, but this was suppost to be my big send off by my best friends and our first road trip, besides.
"I can only put so many miles on it a month, Stevie. That's part of the lease."
"Big fuckin deal, Willow. It has no miles on it."
"I have to do all the driving myself."
"I can do some, that's not true."
"I'm not 25, Stevie!"
"You never gave a shit with the Jimmy."
I make some noise at the door.
"You don't want to come anymore, Willow?" I ask.
"No, it's not that." She flops down on the bed, looking exhausted. "It's just that I have never driven for that long before."
"I'll be right there beside you. I'll read the map the whole way."
I hold up the directions.
"Well, neither of you can really help me."
"I'll be right beside you, Willow. It will work. I need you to do this for me, though and it needs to happen now. Orientation is already over, classes start on monday. I have to go, to-day. ...Is it cuz of gas? Cuz..."
"No, it's not gas. Never mind. I'll take you. Just shut up and get in. Where are my keys?"
"Right here."
"Everything ready?"
"Yeah, just gotta find my hoodie. I thought left it right by my trunk..."
I trail off into the front room to search out my garment, Willow and Stevie bickered more quietly as they both prepared to leave. I was 16 in these rooms. I met Stevie when I was just a freshmen at north Cambridge Catholic. I fell in love with her brother and spent many nights learning how spoons slept, both holding on to our innocence. I was alive in these rooms and in these rooms life was going to go on without me. A deep sigh filled my lungs but my eyes kept searching.
" Louise..." I to put some pretend disapproval in my voice as I pull my dog hair encrusted hoodie from her makeshift bed. Stevie, bored with arguing comes in behind me.
"Oh man, did she take one of your hoodies for her creepy love nest?"
"Bingo."
"That means she thinks of you as one of her sheep."
I pick it up and snap it against my legs, trying to get the hair off.
"I've always fancied myself among those who've fallen out out of favor with the flock."
"How is that any different from what I said?"
Willow tromps into the room. From the drawn way her face is set amidst the cascade of bed tousled blond-brown hair, you can tell she came here to fight.  So while her and Stevie go at it about the last of the cigarettes and who-smoked-who's, I bend down and pet  Louise.
"I'll be back,  Louise. I really will."
One of Stevie's brothers screams at them to shut up. The young man on the couch with his back to us wraps his arms more tightly around himself and pulls in his legs in for warmth. I drop a forgotten sheet across him.
"Come on, guys. Breakfast is on me."
Stevie slams the door loudly as we exit, but runs back in immediately to get her toothbrush and pillow.
I take up shotgun and situate myself, the atlas, and the directions. I pull on my hoodie but think better of it and drape it over my knees.
"So we're really doing it then?"
"Yeah, Willow. We really are. You are, I mean. But I'm here to help."
"The farthest I've ever driven is Maine."
"Northern Maine, or Southern?"
"Kittery."
"Ah. I wanna see the north some time. Hike that 100 miles of wilderness, way up there by Canada, no outposts. You only have what you pack in."
"You've always been the adventurer, Launny. You're the only one who ever leaves."
"It's just a dream. It's nothing, just an idea. Anyway, this is an adventure."
 "What does that make me?"
"I don't know Willow, one does not simply walk into Mordor."
"They do if they run out of gas."
"We'll get some. Honk the horn, we're gunna hit traffic."
"Meh, here she comes."
Stevie half runs, half hobbles out of the house, her hair pulled back in an oily ponytail. She's still wearing her pajamas, but traded the slippers in for chucks. Her pillow is under her arm, and upon the spindle of her pointer finger is a CD. She gets in.
"What's that?"
"A mix, I made it last night."
"Cool, I'll pop it in."
She hands up the disk.
"So where am I driving?"
"Dunkin Donuts, I guess. They have the best breakfasts."
From the back Stevie puts in, "Go to the one on Medford street, it's right by the Cumbies. We can get ciggs and gas."
That settled, we make our way on to Harvard Street and down past McCarthy Storage space. Willow bangs a right onto Mystic Avenue.
"No, Willow, left. We're not heading to the Cape."
"Fuck. fuck, fuck."
Stevie forces her arm up between the seats and points,
"Relax, you can turn down 38 and catch up with 93, but take the parkway first, so we can grab breakfast before I fall back to sleep."
I half turn to face her. I can read a map and follow instructions, but roads of New England run through her veins.
"You sure you don't want shotgun, Stevie?"
"Nah, you can have it. But remember, it's not just a right--it's a responsibility."
"Ha, fuckin' hilarious, ked!  If I ever quote you on that, I'm def gunna describe you as grave and beautiful."
"You better. In my fuckin', dead sexy pajama pants."
"Hey, don't get so fancy back there, the only reason I'm wearing clothes is cuz I slept in this."
"Yeah,  we know, Willow. "
"Jesus Christ, you know what would make this song great, some cigarettes."
"I didn't know you liked Guster, Stevie."
"Don't be a Douche-ku, you know I put this on here for you. Ya sick fuck."
I turn the music up obnoxiously loud, finally channeling all the morning's frustration.
"THEY WANNA KNOW, IF WE CAN GET AWAY, YEAH--"
"Shut up, Launny. Jesus Christ, yer gunna bust the speakers."
"What? I'm singing Stevie and lullaby."
"WHILE THE MESSAGERS, GETS THE MESSAGE, TRY TO CAPTURE US--WE'VE DONE NOTHING WRONG."
"Let's get her some breakfast. She's such a twat when she hasn't eaten."

You have read this article American Barbaric / Eurekas Castle / Guster / New England / Short Story / The Post Modern Talk-o / Willow / You cant do that on Television with the title April 2011. You can bookmark this page URL https://trendcelebrity2014.blogspot.com/2011/04/leaving-new-england-part-1.html. Thanks!

Karaoke Ring of Wonders (one hit at a time)

Well, Spartans it's that time again. The time of the month, I mean. No, not the time of the month where I eat lots of chocolate and cry--no, I don't mean my next birthday, either. It's Karaoke time!
This installment is brought to you by that musical phenomenon, the one hit wonder.  If you want to hear what I ended up picking out last minute, like a desperate prom date, head over to One Red Wall, or over to Sara Swears A lot for the master list, which should be forthcoming.
My guest v-logger this month is D, hailing from the Chronicles of a College Girl. (Shit is trade marked, so watch your step, bro.) She's gunna marry a nice jewish boy someday, a political cartoonist I think, and if he cheats, well...
Maybe I just better let her explain. Take it away, D!

So One Hit Wonders, well we all know them and love them. We heart them because they always hold the " Oh yeah I remember that song" title and we can keep the artist in that little bubble of minimal fame. I had a hard time picking which song I wanted to do this month. There were just so many to choose from. Well I always loved this song, so I decided to do it. But I will have you know that I also recorded a video for " Bust A Move" yup, I did. But I will spare you all. 

Thanks !!!

Peace and Love,

D

You have read this article 20sb / Chronicles of a College Girl / Destiny's child / Karaoke / One hit wonders / One Red Wall / Sara Swears A lot / The Post Modern Talk-o with the title April 2011. You can bookmark this page URL https://trendcelebrity2014.blogspot.com/2011/04/karaoke-ring-of-wonders-one-hit-at-time.html. Thanks!

Fontainebleau à vélo (Give me some header)

First and first of all. My new header. It's amazing right? 
Did you see my last one that I made myself?


It looked like the local gay pride parade threw up in MS paint. But really, I was the one who threw up in MS paint. And there definitely was no parade.
But it doesn't suck now, and that is all due to my new blogging friend over at the blog you're about to read making it for me. She posts recipes, short stories, and photos so go over there and check her stuff out! If you're interested in her services, let me be the first to tell you the process was simple. I  just sent her a couple of images and she added things, changed some for angles and really and truly captured the spirt of who I am and what I want my my header to say for me. (I'm just a ball of pop culture with some arms and feet.)
You can find a permanent link to her page over on the Recommendation's page, but she'll be getting a lot of requests and traffic, so if you're looking for profesional grade work at cheep-as-free price, Dude, you saw it here first. Get to her next~!

Moving on:
You know that one flavor of romatic that has nothing to do with love? Well, Pascal told us about how he spent 6 weeks once riding from the Geman/French frontier to the Mediterranean sea, by himself on a bike.
He camped, took days off just to swim,  ate at great restaurants, and burned mad calories. Obviously, the threat of adventure had me by the scruff of my neck, and as he had his own bike and we borrowed another, only one Erin had to rent a bike for a fun over-night bike trip to occur.  Oddly enough, I ran into one of my students at the shop (the guide) due to the fact that she was giving a bike tour that day from the same shop. Freaky. The boys missed meeting her largely because they were too busy getting pretty or whatever. I was up early. Heck I barely slept. Raise you hand if you're that kid night before summer camp begins, staring up into the dark, pretending you came to bed to sleep? Same for the first day of school? Same before a flight? A move? A movie? (Ok, well maybe not a movie.)



The things we had in resevers were oddly suited for a hard day's work--eggs, sausage, a stub of bread and cut veggies left over from our thursday night dinner together. Stuff that really stuck with me.  Once we all met up and had our heads safely packed inside helmets, we made a short but nerve wracking warm up ride, navigating the Parisian streets. Next, we three kings took the train from Paris to Melun. Now, the romance in me had wanted to ride all the way from home to our final destination and Pascal sort of put it in my head that it would be cathartic to leave Pairs behind on bike but when google says 60km they mean by car, and then if you use the main autoroutes. By bike, or as the French call them, vélo, it's more like 100 plus--especially if you don't want to die.
I can count on my hand the number of times Sebastien and I have been on bikes in the last five years and this was certainly the first time in France. So we set off by train and started our ride in Melun. We passed through some industrialish aspects of France down by the Seine, which a part of me found rather quaint.

This trip was so good for me. I was so caught up in the realness of nature. I may have been imbibing too freely of Flora and Fauna's good looks. Such pretty girls, I was made drunk by their closeness. Perched atop my bike like the accident of evolution that I am, sucking it all in with my eyes they way I do in a good museum, I found myself thinking, "Paris is such a piss hole."

Poetic, I know.

We sped on through rich areas with these immense villas set back from the road and the river, the kind of places you rent for exorbitant fees or keep for yourself like a luscious little secret. People always say you should see Europe by train. But the romance in me was saying, no you fool--by bike! That was soon to change.

We had gone about 30 or so easy kilometers, (you do the math) when Pascal gets all involved with this idea about visiting what his downloaded map calls a 'curiosity'. I was more than happy to skip it, but I didn't want to be a downer. I saw just how important it was to him however when he appealed to Sebastien's truest loves by saying it would be very Middle Earthien to visit a tower...

I immediately regretted being impartial when I started the climb. My butt burned, my thighs burned, my neck burned, and I was porting over a liter of water that Sebastien refused to drink on grounds of not liking to suck on a hose. smh.
Bike is no way to travel, I told myself and the hill. Bike is a way to die.

We had to ask for directions twice, cut through a logging trail and climb about two more hills, Sebastien even dropped his chain switching gears... but we made it. 

And that's when I taught Pascal the idiomatic expression "curiosity kills the cat." But I guess it just wasn't our time. We rode on until we came to a beach where we stopped to watch the children play and swim a little bit. Someone asked to borrow our bike pump and obliging we waited, forcing our senses to take in the scene. 

We kept on riding until we hit a proper picnic ground with a free bench and a great view of the river. We had a nice little snack but were determined to put off eating a full meal until we made it to Avon, at least 40 km off by any modest estimation.

The day was stretching right on on to lovely and in repose we rested and watched the people live their quaint Saturday lives in the sort of little town I can only bear to stop and stretch in. 

Even when the view is just the right shade of desirable. 

When we finally hit Fontainebleau, we were all in the mood for ice cream. Sitting at all hurt by this point. The boys had large Sundaes and I contented myself with the best milkshake I have ever had in my life. A lot of times, milk shakes are just too difficult to suck through the straw, this throws the flavor balance all off because not everything will melt at the same rate. Why not just call it sloppy ice cream in a cup if that's what your standards are?  

To be fair, I asked them to make that face. 

Moving on...

See my milkshake? It was made with hand churned, Ferrero Rocher chocolate truffle ice cream. Those gold foil goddesses! It was glory in a glass.
I learned a lot about when to shift on the next leg of our ride. One uses their speed when  going down hill by cranking on a larger gear and using that momentum to climb the next hill. As the gradient gets tougher you can systematically shift to smaller gears thereby making it it a little easier on yourself. Also, don't worry, your butt will give up and go numb...eventually.

The little town we stayed in was great and the hotel price at the Formule 1 can't be beat. 33 euros to house three adults. Amazing.  Ok, so there was the fact that Pascal was relegated to the top-bunk, but lots of kids half his size would kill for an opportunity like that!

I took a bunch of pictures inside le chateau de Foutainebleau and apparently Napolen the First spent a lot of time there. We saw his hat! You can see a ton more photos by heading over here. I would keep on writing. But I feel like going for a jog.

Final thoughts:
Romance is all well and good but a great story takes effort in the execution--not so much in the telling and retelling, mayhaps, because a good story tells itself. Its the journey, the inertia needed to get it rolling--it's in the triles. Without them--there is no romance. Without them, there is no story. 

Sorry I haven't been keeping up with everyone's blog lately. I plan to make it more of a priority in the coming week.  Have a great one. Make it shine.

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