I once cycled over the Dutch border into Germany wearing a ballgown and was quite fiercely stoned by small children, so this study by Ian Walker may not provide a panacea to our problems.
Showing her customary wisdom, one’s secret damsel on the hill has agreed to a temporary separation in order to allow one to tootle round Mexico in an automobile of some nature with three absolutely gorgeous women. Syndicated stuff on this site will continue to update, but posting will be light for the next few weeks,…
“Overcome with remorse at having stolen a bicycle, a thief in Germany wrote the victim a letter and fully recompensed him for the loss, police said on Monday.” If other thieves were to follow his lead, I could probably retire.
There’s little doubt now that Tyler Hamilton’s going to lose his Olympic gold. I continue to find it difficult to believe–particularly given the Mike Anderson story–that it was just close friendship and the proximity of hills and flats that brought him and Lance Armstrong together in Gerona in doping-plagued Spain. Die an honest death: stick…
The question has been asked, so no, hell, I am not going on the Marcha Ciclonudista on Saturday. It looks exactly like the Dutch Society for Sexual Reform’s sadomasochism evenings were reputed to be (I lived next door): lots of fat old guys drifting around lusting after young female flesh. Let’s keep cycling healthy.
This is an absolutely phenomenal bike photo, and I haven’t got the faintest who it’s by. (My front page displays photos from a Flickr feed using a WP plugin. Until now I thought I preferred the sheep.)
I’d love to see El verano de Andalucía or Andarushía no natsu. Having to win the Tour the same day your brother marries … your girlfriend is something so many of us have experienced. (The Japan Times credits Kosaka his pickled eggplants, but says he’s still short of cultural mulligan stews. Can’t please everyone…)
Unlike motorcars, bicycles take you through village centres and allow you to park outside at any interesting-looking drinking hole you encounter. Friday afternoon on my way up-country for a weekend engagement I stopped at a village café in the mountains between Montseny and Montserrat, where a nice but weary barmaid was serving brandy to some…
–Why don’t we do the deal Monday so we can do the transfer-of-ownership bureaucracy at the same time? –I’d really like to have it this weekend. Look, I’ve got the cash with me. –But you haven’t seen the car yet! –No, no, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Let’s go and get it, I’ll pay you,…