Hell A! merry christmas.

Sin is rebellion against, or resistance to, the direction of supremacy , and enmity toward, avoidance of, or hatred of the good. ^{Originally in Spanish sin means more accurately to miss the mark; I have no following point.}


Los Angeles, HellA, city of angels, city of [broken] dreams...
so much to say...


I've been writing, please know that I have. 
It's been hard to secure consistant computer time and as a result I have neglected posting although it is a constant wish of mine to be more active.


This blog could be a really great scrapbook of my travels and I have oodles of video ready to be uploaded when I have the time.


All I can say is soon, soon...
Soon there will be more stories from Texas and Louisiana, road life, and an attempt at something accurate to describe the people of LA who have been so great to international folk, and tons of videos which may just have to wait until I am at home on my macbook pro.


And now it's Christmas...


There is no snow here... yet somehow it is Christmas.


As it has been explained to me, most people who are still in town this time of year are transplants from other places, and have decided not to return home for the holidays; thus there is always a sort of lonely Christmas vibe from those around here and the sense of love and community is strong to say the least.


It is 3 AM on Chrismas eve and we have cleaned the house on Hyperion pretty well in preperation for tomorrow's festive meal. A potluck involving the volunteers from bicycle kitchen and extended family will include: Swedish meatballs, homemade pretzels, latkes, mushroom barley soup, chicken tikki masalla, salad, potatoes and some more shit.
We'll all get pissed and entertain each other, talk aout where we're from, who knows...


And on the subject of home (a certain Edward sharpe and the magnetic zeroes song comes to mind - feel free to listen while you   read)   
           
The smell of snow
Whiskey with the boys
The Ried-Moran Brothers
Dan golden boy and Jewmass
My family, the usual shit
Ben being funny and not enjoying himself
Gaberella
Winter fixed gear riding, slipin and slidin
Sauce...


Christmas has been somewhat spirited nonetheless
We went bike caroling a few nights ago, singing classics such as "oh single speed" and hitting locations such as L Ron Hubbards Scientology headquarters and other prominent houses in Hollywood, and believe I got some video of that.


Speaking of video, I have one small one that I was able to upload.
A short little video showcasing something I can't do at home, something much more important then tradition; freedom:



Yes, I was winking at you.
Merry fucking Christmas, I love y'all.

Not that anybody reads this shit...

It's therapeutic, you know, like working out all day and stretching in the eve, or eating free Indian buffet all day with incredibly nice Hare Krishna volunteers before going home to defecate promptly and several times in a bathroom shared by a dozen or so people.

Writing that is.

Not in the hopes of winding an elaborate or interesting tale, or creating a whole imaginary world with wizards and fucking quiddich to validate your previous lifestyle choice as a crack whore- or even worse to make money- but for the sheer and simple process of recounting the days or weeks events, phrasing them as eloquently as you believe to be within your grasp and calming an overwhelming amount of feeling this writer seems to have these days.

So after six days and nights of travel we have arrived in Austin Texas.
Sam is asleep in a bed we will share, in a house which is shared by friends who seem altogether exactly the type of folk I would hope to meet in a town which has yet to manifest into everything everybody tells me it is (although the mexican food we ate for dinner was cheap and promising of things to come).


Yes Austin, home of Lance Armstrong, Sandra Bullock, a fuckload of sprawly highways and apparantly some cool artists and bike enthusiasts.

One girl who lives in this house with her boyfriend (appearing to be the foundation of this household) told us of her trip by bike to Mexico with 31 other people.
Part of a program called "bikes over boarders", which makes Toronto DIY efforts seem almost silly by comparison.
It's pretty simple really:
step 1: find a trashed bike
step 2: build
step 3: ride your bike over the boarder with an insane amount of other retarded individuals to really dangerous parts of Mexico and give your bikes away once you get there.


She (I forget her name and I'm staying in her house, I'm a fucker) also works a program she created called "bread by bikes" or someshit like that.
Again, simple: bake bread, deliver it by bikes, don't worry, be happy.

And on that note!


We have lost our Amtrak tickets taking us from here to El Paso, TX, and Amtrak refuses to refund us although if we buy them again, and mail in our stubs, I am told I will get a voucher for $150.00 for travel on Amtrak anywhere in USA.
Further more, the destination (El Paso) is currently irrelevant!
Our plan of biking north from El Paso, through New Mexico to Albuquerque before heading across the top of Arizona into Flagstaff to see the grand canyon, has been mutually abandoned. 

Instead a train to LA seems in order, a decision I own a tumult of emotions over.
What and who lies in LA? Do I even want to be in such a superficial wasteland of concrete avoiding even further contact with those I love to, what, spend Christmas alone, see the ocean?
It all just seems so ridiculous, really.


Sam and I have different ideas of what will happen when we get there and I believe we will bike up the coast independently.
San Fran, Portland, Seattle, Vancouver? Home?
I am broke and  lonely (despite Sam's inherently good natured company) , and fixed in the cadence of my own momentum, unable (or unwilling) to dismount.


I have encountered great moments of personal triumph, and overcome surprising obstacles, yet, it is the deeper I go, the more humans I meet, the further I feel isolated.

This is not exciting, it is happening.
This is not an adventure, it's a ritual, it's fucking religion.
It's not rewarding, it's humbling.
It does not give, it displays...
and takes, so much.

At the end of the day this, what some might consider despair, is what this journey is all about.
Not the bringing of joy and happiness, n'or the removal of it, but the fucking momentum.




So not that anybody reads this shit, but that's what happened today.

Highway 61 North and the Emancipation of Bumpis Millss

Bob Dylan may just be the best songwriter to ever live, maybe, but he sure as shit never road a bicycle down route 61 or he may have included- amongst his vast repertoire- a song about it's lack of maintenance lighting or signage.


And if he did, ride a bike along the shoulder, he might have included a lyric (now I'm no song writer here) or two about bringing protections against flats, cuz if you ever attempt the same, you will get one.
If not on the incredibly rocky shoulder littered with debris ( I think I saw an alligator carcass, definitely exploded a possum like a pizza pocket) then by accident when you inevitably, roll onto the caution strip of grooves dug two inches deep into the asphalt to protect Louisiana's frequently drunk motorists from veering into the bordering swamp.


Did I mention there are no lights?


So in the pitch black changing a flat was relatively effortless and a nice man driving with his daughter stopped to let us borrow the light from his high beams.
A former cyclist, Dave offered to take us to Baton Rouge (about thirty miles out) in his pickup or to come and have some food at his abode, less than 8 miles up the road.
Too focused on completing the days goal on our own two legs, We politely declined.
He gave us his card and informed us that the address we were going to in Baton Rouge was about 15 miles west of where the town began, totaling our travel at around 45 miles.


It got damn cold  damn quick, and being stopped we could feel it.


Biking, singing songs, good to have company.


A monstrous skyline in the distance so bright and wide it looked like El Derodo, made fools of us both as we attempted to explain its meaning.


Sam said it looked odd, and I agreed, Partial, somehow the buildings looked destroyed or decaying.
They weren't buildings at all, but part of a gigantic industrial mess of towers and smoke stacks, not quite El Derodo. Damn it was depressing.


I should point out that the real bogs and swamps of Louisiana are beautiful and despite the undesirable condition of the roads and other slight un-pleasantries, the ride itself was enjoyable and I worked off that hangover good.


Sam went from "Hero to Zero" near the last twenty miles and we inched a mile or so  into Baton Rouge when we decided to call our sponsor.


Jovial Alex, a friend of a very good friend we met n New Orleans, lived n Baton Rouge and was more than happy to give us a ride to his house from the edge of town where we waited patiently in the Parking lot of a 'Jack in the box' Gnarsing on peanut butter and bread.


A good guitar player and lover of soul music, Alex graciously shared his warm apartment with us and with his roommate suddenly removed from the equation there was even an extra room.
We talked about motorcycles (he plans to buy an 53 Indian and travel the country with it)and his future tattoos; a full sleeve Marvel vs. DC comic in the works coming soon.
Thanks Alex!

It accidentally became 2 in the AM and I was left remembering Ben and the triumphant goodbye we shared this afternoon. Possibly the worst morning person I have ever shared close quarters with, "Bumpiss Benjamn Bunny Hills", arose at 8AM after a hefty night filled with Admiral Horatio Nelson's finest rum or rum flavored alcoholic beverage, and accompanied us two hours along the levy path to our bridging street on to highway 61 before returning, most likely to a warm Kamp Katrina bed.


The occasion was all together warm and it was agreeable to watch him go, back to New Orleans to do what he please.
I know Ill see that mother-fucker, one way or the other. A perfect goodbye has no tears, only smiles... and shameless brotherly singing.
Travel well friend, let the gnars find you and the big blessin's pop.

New Orleans in my dreams

It's been beautiful, to collapse into a lull, float down stream in that louisanna bayou, but like all good things I must leave behind this city I have come to love so deeply.
Ninty miles to Baton Rouge where we will stay at a friend of a friends before continuing along the long road to Austin Texas, about 550 Miles from here.
I've garnished Sam to accompany me and we might go all the way to California together.

Leaving New Orleans  minus one special pen, my cycling gloves, $75.00 that was stole from me, Many pairs of socks and my water bottle, plus a whole lot of new friends, contact info for folk all along the road ahead and two shirts and a bunch of footage.


In the kind words of many before me," I love ya baby, but I can't stomach the chicken no mo." 

What a town! N'awlins I shall return, but for now, the road...

Romp in the Swamp

So, New York was great, Brooklyn killed it and I partied like a fiend.
You can watch AlexBG's video of his trip to NYC for a mostly accurate snapshot of it all, as we were together most of the time.
THEN, it got cold, and I was afraid of going broke so I hopped on a train down to New Orleans, although not before making a few friends that deserve a shout out.


Mingchi is from China and lives in Brooklyn in a glorious penthouse which he graciously let me stay in with his Italian roommate and their friend Jenny.
Mingchi is from the same province where Sacha lives and is organizing a trip for aprx. 6-8 youths to go to china and stay in his "hometel". ( his six story house where we can all stay) If anyone is interested FB me about it and I can put you in contact with Ming, what a cool guy!
In the morning he took me out for Dim-sum and insisted on paying, then he went to class.


I had a Holdin Caulfield day touring the city all by my lonesome, walking around, lookin up, fun times.
The train was thirty hours and I rode coach, FUCK A SLEEPING CAR, that shits for pussy's or richer people then I... it kind of sucked.


Now I'm in N'awlins and have neglected my internetting.


I love it down here, it's profoundly beautiful underneath a layer of grit, words do no justice here,
Thus, I am deciding to put this blog on Hiatus.


I don't really care about writing on the internet anymore, I'll try n provide little updates here and there on FB or to individuals, and when I get somewhere new I'll probably make a post, but until then just assume I'm soakin in some swampy weather, eating fried chicken and craw fish from Hanks, and drinkin miller.
just a romp in the swamp.
Safe and sound.
Total distance traveled: aprx. 2,100, Mi
Friends made: 10000000000
Money spent: ....

Day 4 & 5: Albany, NY and Troy Bike Rescue

After three days without talking to a soul, except a few country folk, it felt really good to reside comfortably at the home of a fellow builder and bike enthusiast named Dakota.
He represents the TBR crew in Troy and has built some of the coolest bikes I've ever seen.
We went dumpster diving on a bike he built which is two bikes tall and almost three long, with a trailer and balanced metal triangles extended horizontally towards the ground s the bike can stand on it's own.
We got tons of bagels and then spent a few dollars on groceries and I cooked some pasta for him and his friend Erica, although I think I made it too spicy.


I was really fiending beer and asked Dakota if he would buy me something supremely American; big, strong, cold, since I was STUPIDLY not allowed to drink in the country.
He came back with Steel reserve and I drank it as we talked of trips and governments and bikes.
The two had made it to Toronto on thier bikes for Bikebike in august, and laughed when I told them I strayed from the valley. We then looked at topographic maps to see just what I went over. Some steep hills my friends.


I woke up too late and stayed in town too long.
My idea was to use Albany as a stop to fix any problems I may have had up until now: Navigational, mechanical, and residential. See I knew it would take two days to get to NYC from here but I had nowhere lined up to stay along the way.
Dakota not having a computer, I did what I could at the mall Kiosk to find someone on couchsurfing or Warmshowers. My options were Hudson, NY or Poughkeepsie, in terms of a place to stay and neither of them answered my emails, so I decided to just get on with it.


It was just after 4PM when I left and it would get dark around six, what a write off, I didn't get anything done, and I was hungry, luckily I had a bag of Cinnamon raisin bagels from last nights haul.
It had been raining all day and didn't look to be letting up so I just biked, stopping once in a town library to use the computer to see if anyone had responded to my emails, they hadn't.


I biked until 8:30 before getting into hudson and finding all the hotels far too expensive, one lady helped me find one about 8 miles north called Jocelyn's motel which was only 50 bucks for the night, and not too bad.
She then added that business wasn't particularly booming during the weekday and she could let me have a fancy room for 60 bucks, and I wouldn't have to go back the way I came.
DONE.


I took a hot shower and then set out on foot to explore the town.
It was quaint and inviting, the type of place couples from big cities go to for a weekend getaway, Bed and breakfasts, book shops, right along the Hudson.
I caught a bit of the "hip"scene in some bar/bookstore I can't remember the name of.
A bunch of mid-twenty somethings and older type intellectuals co-mingling around a bowl or two of gourmet pretzels and mustard, drinking Dark Ale and discussing Literature.
I wanted a beer so badly, but was mostly concerned with food, so I ate some of their pretzels and asked them for a cheap food recommendation.
They were amazed I had biked so far and invited me back to a show they were having in an hour or so, I said I might stop by, but knew I wouldn't.
This trip isn't about socializing, at least this part of it isn't, it would do me more good to sleep and eat then drink and listen to music.
I ate in my hotel room, and used the lobby computer for a little bit and fell asleep.


4:30 AM my alarm went off, and I got up. Yesterday was so unproductive that I had 125 miles to go today, and if it was possible, I had to get going early, I skipped the continental breakfast and was on the road by 5AM.


I broke the day up mentally in to two sections, One, was Hudson to Poughkeepsie about 40 something miles, and the other would be Poughkeepsie to NYC, about 85 M.


What can i say, I just biked, and pushed hard, focusing on my breathing and motion and nothing else.
The wind was against me all day and it rained at times, the wind was frustrating.
I made poughkeepsie by mid-day, around 11:00 AM and stopped at a farmers market. DAMN something smelled good.
And that's when I had the best pulled pork sandwich of my life. Made fresh on 'HawgWild's'
bbq with homemade sauce, delicious!
I could only eat half and put the rest in my bag, on I rode.


It started getting really beautiful as they highway (route 9) would connect with the parallel running Hudson River, and Poughkeepsie had some huge bridges that were really cool to look at.
You can really tell how bad suburban sprawl has hit New York because in Poughkeepsie you can take the metro- not an amtrak-  a metropolitan train to the city for 14.00 bucks! That's over 80 miles!
It was tempting, but it was still early so I rode.


I rode and rode, right along the beautiful large hudson river which hosted beautiful hills off in the distance. I would come up a slope and see three major hills in the midst, and I started looking for where the river would break into a bay and become NYC, but I couldn't see it, just hills.
I would go back down and only see road, then up again, and hills, and then down,
Until I realized that the middle hill I had been staring at wasn't a hill at all, it was a skyline.
In the distance it had looked like a mound of faraway hills, but as I got closer I could see the distiguished colours of grey and the sharper outlines.


I was still a good 40 Miles off when I could clearly see Manhattan, I would go down around a bend and come back up and see it a little clearer, it almost made me wheep. I couldn't help it, five days of cycling through the country and now to be approaching something so gargantuan and profound, it was shocking.
Soon I would be in the largest city in the world and meet a thousand people and find my friends and go to Bikekill, one of the coolest annual bike events world wide.


I rode until Yonkers and couldn't wait any longer, I had to go play, so I took the metro for ten bucks and rolled into grand central station around 4PM...

Day 3: hills

I woke up to discover the small hill next to my tent was no ravine, it was a small pond about fifty yards down slope from me. Beautiful. I watched the fog rise before the sun did and helped myself to an apple and a granola bar from my bag.


When the sun rose I packed my tent, wet from the heavy due ( I would remember to dry it out later), and with no trace of a human I got on the road.


Things were quiet until Bridgewater where I stopped to eat some breakfast, the second hot meal in my three days on the road, at Chef's Diner, Route 20: Ham, egg, cheese on an english muffin and a cup of coffee. $3.75.


I couldn't keep my eyes off a frame mounted on the wall, inside was a folded service hat, two badges indicating rank in the American Military, and an award of somesort, as well as a picture of a young guy all dressed up and ready for military service standing next to his two kids smiling impressively. I couldn't stop staring at the waitress' unamused expression and tendency to stare at he frame on the wall.


Much more uphill then I thought, route 20 was supposed to be relatively flat, yet I tried to keep pace, going pretty quickly up an increasingly steep route.
After the towns there would be a large,steep hill which would crescent and two or three smaller hills would follow in quick succession. Then? hilly plains, fields,blue sky, blue water.
The cycle repeated for hours, the hills getting steeper, in opposition to my hopes for a break.


A recurring natural aspect of the countryside, which I found quite rewarding, was it's large amount of small ponds everywhere. In the middle of grass fields with cows grazing; bright blue ponds, not marshes or swamps, nice water! Refreshing looking circles of blue punched into the centre of a forty mile canvas of dry wispy grass- the kind you can hear the wind through- and crops and cows and horses.


Long day.
The countryside changes from west to east state, more vast and rugged, the foliage is less thick, more farms and hills. The hills didn't stop. after an hour straight of climbing I hit one so steep I considered walking, even though it would be more difficult in the long run; anything but this, I thought.
My legs ached from yesterdays hills and my arms were getting faint and rubbery.


I focused on the top like there was a rope extended down to me- and I had been drowning in some cold ocean experiencing sufferings one thousand times worse than that of my fatigue- and all I had to do was pull myself up to be saved.
More hills, steeper, longer each time; I stopped hoping for a flat top, and climbed and breathed, and focused.
One hour, two, three hours of climbing with no break and then: Cherry Valley.


Valley's are great when you've been climbing all day cuz you get to go downhill, but by definition a valley means you also have to go back up the other side, and as I looked out ahead of this monstrous downhill slope I saw the opposing side and mistook it for a wall.


After another hour I started noticing serious aches in my fingers from gripping the bars so hard and I would push so hard I screamed out loud at times.
I later found out from a local that instead of going east through "river valley" where the bike trail was, I alternated further south and climbed the banking Adirondack mountain range.
A tactical error.


I would push so hard going up these hills that I literally decided that I couldn't put one more pedal rotation down, but whenever I was about to unclip, I recieved a small tailwind which would push me just a little bit, and I kept going.


This spawned a little moral lesson for me, I know this is corny, but hey, I did start a travel blog so here it goes: 


See, I had to get to the top, there as no other option. I couldn't walk with my clipped shoes while pushing the weight of my fully loaded bike up such a steeply pitched hill without sliding and falling.
I triumphed, not because I wanted to, but because I had to.
When I was physically unable to push any further I tried just to go a little more, and then I would get a tail wind. Almost automatically, almost as if it were possible for the direction of the wind to be reliant on my fatigue.
These subtle winds were enough to take me a few more feet and retain enough strength to take me to the top.


Later I came to this conclusion for myself:
When faced with a seemingly impossible task, one must still try as hard is is possible, even knowing perhaps it is not enough.
Who know's when the wind will decide to blow? Who knows when some random event will take place which you could not have factored into your efforts and help you along?
If you were providing a minimal effort, because you thought you would fail, then this event may not be enough to help you.
BUT if you thought success was impossible, and still tried with every fiber of your ability then a small gust of wind MIGHT be just enough to get you there.


Anyways...
I made it to the top eventually and it was euphoric to reach the top of a hill and see only sky ahead of me instead of more tree-lines.
There was a general store right there run by a fellow named Lucien who let me use his phone to contact some folks in Albany who I'd be staying with. 


Lucien was an expert on local geography and informed me I was about 20 miles off from Albany, and all downhill. I nearly hugged him.


I had written a list: 'things I brought, that I wish I didn't bring'
and top of that list was my ski goggles, wasn't cold enough.
But going down 10 miles of hills,after climbing all day with the wind in my face, I was glad I brought them.

Day 2: Apples!

Lying in an apple Orchard somewhere in farm country, on top of a large mountain, wondering how I got here?
...
Lolz, East Syracuse is ghetto as fuck!


I biked out at 10AM after some brief trouble getting my bike unlocked from the side porch of the hostel.
The weather if phenomenal. Blue sky's sun and warmth with a cool breeze, perfect fall climate to enjoy a beautiful countryside.


It's really true, Americans are some of the nicest people you could meet. I
I met a women named Cindy in a place called Sheril county who told me how far my next turn was; something which had been concerning me.
she just bought some apples and insisted I have one.


"New York state apples are the best in the world" she boasted.
I tried to explain that Ontario apples were the same but she was more concerned with how much I had eaten today.


"you're gonna want a second one"
I hesitantly accepted, even though i didn't want to carry it.


The eerie canal trail was amazingly beautiful while I was on it, and I had it mostly to myself the whole day. Some fisherman fished and some riders rode horses past me which was awesome but after only a few hours the trail ended for 22M. Nature triumphs.
I navigated towards my new home: ROUTE 5 East, smooth sailing.


I will say this about America:
While they may not have the bragging rights we do about our railways, they beat us ten to one on highways and roads.
America's got broad shoulders, bike lanes on most highways and hardly any rough patches.


I never got back on the canal trail but I thought, fuck it, you see more of the country this way, more diners, stores, and women named Ed'.


I stopped at a diner in a town called " " and had my first slice of American pie. "bert and dicks homstyle diner" mmm...


Ok. then this thing happened where I climbed hills all day. What the fuck? 
I mean there are hills, but these were fucking massive, and I'd go miles without seeing a town.
II knew I was going the right direction so I stuck true.
I climbed from about 4:00 straight through to dusk.


the hills would wind going up at steep angles and I had about fifty pounds on my back end. I was screaming out loud in parts, and as soon as the top would near I could see the angle of the next one waiting for me.
I got to the top and for the first time in what felt like forever I was on flattish ground, even sloping slightly down.
I was on top of a mountain in the middle of farm country, hadn't seen a car for miles and the sun was setting. Shockingly quiet, nothing but wind pushing accross the grass, I coasted.


There was a dog at the side of the road named looked friendly so I stopped and shared an apple with (thanks Cindy) him, and thought about where i should sleep.
I decided the dog was named Jeff, don't ask me why.


As it turned out, the dogs name was actually Emily, and her owner was really nice and helped me figure out the easiest route down the hills back onto route 5, although she suggested route 20 as an easier flatter route. I thanked her and biked on until dark, then about an hour more.
Finally I was about to collapse and pulled up to a house with a huge rural property and knocked on the door.
"My name is Matt, I'm a traveling cyclist and I can't make my destination tonight. Would you be kind enough to share a corner of your property and let me camp out?"


"sure, would you like to camp in the backyard? or the apple orchard?" 


"uhm... Apple orchard?"
"Yea, you can eat as many as you like."
And that brings me to where we started, lying in a tent about 75M west of Albany eating apples and hoping this good weather lasts.
Day 2:
money spent: $30.00 
Distance Traveled: ?? 60M?

Friends made: 3
I amsomewhere

DAY 1: "Who's friggin bike is that?"

Man I don't want to be on this bus.


The bus was on time at least, the driver assured me that was rare for a boarder crossiing trip. It had cost $80.00 to bring my bike along.
The boarder guards were all joking around, giving me a hard time, pretending everything I had in my bag was dope.
If you ever want to smuggle drugs into Buffalo, I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard.


I biked for a while, shit was... just like Ontario.
 Fat people, oversized fifteen year old t-shirts, huge square glasses... nice trees, the colours were all nice.
Yadda yadda...


The first time I really got off the beaten trail was in a town calle Pitsford, which is a pretty upscale suburb of Rochester. I had been going hard all day so i stopped and drank two five alives and talked to the shopkeep: a twenty something who was bored and lonely.


I set out and saw a bike shop in town where I stopped and bought two cliff bars.
The guys who worked there started raggin on my wierd looking bike outside while I sat and ate a bar, then they started asking me questions.


when I told them I was trying to bike to NYC and had come from Toronto they were mad excited.
Apparantly nothing good ever happens for youth in Pitsford.
One of the guys, Chris, lived two miles up the road and insisted I come for dinner, even though it was only 3:30, I did.


We had Salmon and Ravioli, and played Call of duty. there was a lifesize cutout of John McCain in the living room dressed up in football gear and I asked him who he voted for in the elections.
He said Obama, but his roomates hated him for it.


I eneded up going to wrong way about twenty mile, later on, and tossed a guy some bucks to drive me to syracuse.
He took me most of the way and I stayed in a Hostel on Oak St. Syracuse.
The weather had been perfect all day and going to sleep it started to rain.
I enjoyed the sound and cracked the window a bit as I fell asleep, thinking about the boarder guard saying with such shock and surprise: "Who's friggin bike is this?"
Day 1:
Money Spent:  $125.00
Distance Travelled: 148KM
Friends Made: 3
I am here:



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I (heart) NY... State Day 1

Okay, so
this is the first computer I've been able to use for more than five minutes in the last four days so TA-DA!
Shit is swell and New York state is fucking gorgeous. I could not have picked a more beautiful week to go. My first two days were sunny and warm with cool breezes and blue sky's.
It rained allot on Thursday night and through the whole day today but its still nice!
I've been writing in my book allot so ill write here about some of the trip so far.

I'm gonna break this up into a post per day...
later, sleep now.

Leaving...

Goodbye Toronto, I am leaving.

Rob Ford is the mayor and I'm a day behind schedule due to a last minute sleeping bag crisis.
My bike looks like a retarded Donkey but fuck it I can't wait any longer.
I don't have a digital camera so photo updates are less than likely.
I do have a digital video camera and will upload as many videos as I can.

Official Itinerary:

Tomorrow I get on a bus to buffalo at 7AM

I will then bike accross NY state going East twoards Albany, stopping twice along the way.
I will try to stay in Syracuse the first night using a connection found on warmshowers.
and most likely camp the second night, unless by some act of miracle I travel 245 KM with 50 pounds of gear.

By Thursday I should hopefully have reached Albany safe and sound and will stay with the folks from TBR, thus visiting my first bike co-op in America.

From there it's a straight forward two day ride down alongside the Hudson to NYC where who knows what shit I'll get up to!

No sleep till Brooklyn... Let's go! Bon Voyage Toronto

PS. if you want my route info you can view it here:

Syracuse to Albany


Albany/Troy to NYC