Happy Thanksgiving

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b-kqlVp-jbA&feature=PlayList&p=9F2A1D1197658CC2&index=21

Towards Nice

The wind gets you right in the ears. It's a major pain in the ass while you're on the bike and it drives you nuts. But man the the oceans are sweet, the air is lavender.

The coast is beautiful but the wind is strong. Perhaps it is easier to swim in the ocean.

When I ride fast, when the days in the hot valley grow long until they put themselves as spent embers, when water doesn't work because it's hot like tea, god has given me long roads because I have no speed. He has given me hands to change tires in the dark, legs to climb roads when the women tell me the top of the mountain is way to far away and too high. God gave me a bicycle to get to the next town, just as he gave old widows black dresses knees and lips to kiss and climb stairs to mark each day their love died from their hair, their youth, those moments they touched and felt alone, that day, in the field, off the road, the wind and sun and soil meant everything because for that one time it did not matter. On Sunday god rode with me, and in Coimbra we were lost. We stayed with the Dutch and we touched dry cobbles. We saw the sea and the cobbles and made it north to Braga. There we drank brandy with the ladies. We did not make it to Braganca or the far north east. He told me to return there and lose my bearings. The mountains are dry there, and no one is around anymore. I can lay my tent and see the west.

When you die they surround you,
when it hits you get up, you walk it off,
but they still come at you. They
mean well, they'll tell you
You look fine, a stitch here, a few on the eye, one on the nose,
after that, you'll look fine.
When people stop in their busy mornings to care for you,
there is something much more than the man who hit you.
He does not matter, but the man who gave you a towel, a granola bar,
and a bottle of water--he matters, and spit your misguided misgivings,
but he now matters more now that you can make, for he helped a traveler,
the traveler lived, and lookout, mountain, there is no sacrifice today,
my legs have seen Belgium and Portugal and I was given clearance
in the night in Braga, and I drink brandy free.
What struck you? The desert, my brother, it is dry.