October 31st 2007
Prague, CZ

Today I woke up at six with no alarm, but with a small soreness in my head from drinking beer after beer with my new friends last night, and I walked across the St. Charles Bridge where the statues are tormented and slaying and the black of the stone makes the gold in the sunrise compete like greedy pigeons for attention of the light and the workmen were setting upon their dented metal wheel barrows wearing jumpsuits in blue or orange depending upon their trade, and I continued to walk up to the castle that sits high above the Vltava River and the blue mist that sits in the valley was slowly being burned away by dawn rising in the East and I thought to myself that Paris is a grand and vivacious city but the soul of this city, this beleaguered soul of Prague, rich with the dark matter of Eastern European turbulence has held the greatest masters of eloquence, held poems, and held stories the way mother Magdalene holds the child of redemption; of course that idea my not have been mine because I think Seifert said something like it once and I may have read that and let it ferment in my head until I came to believe that it was my own idea, or maybe it was my idea, and with that I passed a headless statue with a small man sitting at the top and there was the monument to Kafka, a startling vision of this century coming from the last one and you see that Hitler had his place here and he never had a place here and the fortunes from the past are told in the architecture and the celestial clock, and of course there is the statue of the Jewish magician who created Golem—in stone he is depicted struggling with the torment of his Frankenstein, and so I went and rented a bike because, I know that the revolution of the wheel will tell me more about this city than any one monument, and rode high above the Vltava river on the west bank and followed it down river, north like the Nile, and I came upon a bridge that led to a small island called Ostrov Stvanice that had three miles of mountain biking trails and though it was not difficult it was very beautiful and I came across on the other side of the river and there is a new complex "built to meet the needs of the business community" with glass tubes a story high that take in air and purify it for the people who are trying to conduct business inside and need purified environmentally sound air to think with and so I tasted the petrol in the air I was breathing and decided that I was just fine and continued on my way wondering if that is why I am poor and always will be poor; and the more I thought about the more this feeling of poverty wouldn't leave me so I decided to rent a room in the nicest three star hotel I could find and found one that was only a little more than twice the price of an over priced youth hostel, the kind of hotel where Czech business people go but tourists avoid because no one speaks fluent English and the televisions only have 12 stations and two of them are CNN and who would want that when the world is full of havoc and mayhem, and after biking the entire city on my own I went on a bicycle tour with a man named Matthew who works for Prague Bikes and a group of Dutch high school students who were about as good a bikers as I've ever seen because they kept up as Matt led us the wrong way down narrow one way corridors and into on-coming traffic and trams and all of my years of riding bikes had prepared me for this adventure in tourism very well and I wondered why I had stopped for so many red lights in Paris with groups of twenty six people behind me and then I looked back and only saw eight people behind me and that was how many we had when we started the tour, more or less, and so after seeing the sights I shook hands with my faithful guide and headed to the Golden Tiger (U zlatého tygra) on Husova Street to meet the spirit of the great Hrabal; upon entering I saw a picture of him shaking Bill Clinton's hand over the lap of the president of CZ and I went to take a seat and found that each table had a "reserved" sign on it and that the brutish local Czech men were very much into doing their local Czech thing and so I stood at the bar and stood at the bar and stood at the bar until the barman finally looked at me and then I said, Dober din, in my best Bulgarian accent so he would be more apt to take me in as a lost Eastern European instead of a tourist and he handed me a big handle of light beer with a three inch head topping it off and I put my nose in it and in my heart toasted this man who had introduced himself to me on a bookshelf in River Falls with the line, Too Loud a Solitude, and now I was in his bar, a loud bar with no one to talk to, and I wanted to tell the barman that I loved the experience so I drank my pint down and put it in front of me and looked quietly at the bust of Hrabal and thought about how I met Clinton at the Arc de Triumph and how I should have asked him what it was like to meet my hero but that's not the sort of question you can ask a president because you're supposed to ask presidents about themselves or about the pressing matters of the day in their country and you can't just talk to a president about some writer he met at the Golden Tiger but then the bar man put another saucy beer in front of me and I drank that down too just to show I still loved the experience even though I'd seen other tourists come in and be refused a seat and leave as if they'd made it to the Mona Lisa in the maze of the Louvre but not been able to take a picture of it; I was having my picture and for good measure I placed my empty glass down in front of me and ordered one more with out so much as a glance, but it was rapidly occurring to me that I was drunk because I'd been biking all day and had not eaten at all since breakfast and so the beer began to fill me with deep ideas about how I could thank the spirit of Hrabal by first, drinking one more pint, and then maybe educating a tourist about how important he was besides meeting Bill Clinton; how, he'd made me want to live in a way I'd never thought to live though the eyes of a wise fool, a waiter, a book presser, a beer drinker, a writer, a politician serving the king of England by shaking hands will Bill Clinton—with a sense of sad humor and humors of tragedy and farce where the unbelievable comes to be, and I recalled telling people on my tours this summer about the scene in Closely Watched Trains where the boy's grandfather tried to stop the German tanks from rolling in by standing before them and trying to hypnotize the driver – where upon they ran him over and the boy ran to get his father and how the father had to beg the tank driver to stop so he could pry his father's head out of the tread of the tank; and I told a few people on my tour this story as a point of humor but maybe it wasn't funny after all was said and done, and the beer was telling me things about myself at this point that I'd never known before, it was telling me I had tried to stop America rolling into Madison by running for Sheriff and my good friend named Cricket had to try and pull my head out of the treads because that's how friends have to help each other out when an invading army comes to occupy your land or the space of your ideas; but I didn't do any of these things and gently packed my solitude away with a wet cardboard coaster into my pocket, and with a bow to Hrabal I gave the barman twice what I owed and waited for no change as I pushed by a Japanese couple that were pointing to his bust with a map and left the clamor of that bar behind and fell back onto my bike to find a restaurant but ended up going on a walking ghost tour of Prague led by a Czech girl with a witches outfit and a mole on her lip the size of Cindy Crawford's knee and she told a lot of stories that mentioned someone dying, some out of a five story window feeding pigeons, others in some other way- for which I also tipped her and made a large show of it to encourage others to do the same but they just walked away and I was in disbelief that no one would want to hand money to a story teller who can't properly conjugate the verb death, die, dead, suicide—but I'm just joking now as it was very good and helped me to even the keel of the booze with my need for food and I ended up at a Latin American Steak place with imported Argentine beef which sounded like a restaurant I read about in I Served the King Of England and so I went there and ordered a spiced Capharina a steak tartre and a 14 oz steak all for me and it felt good to say steak twice in one sentence and before long I was talking with a hockey player from Montreal who was on his way back from a hockey tournament in Bangkok and I tried not to raise my eyebrows because I knew if I did we were going to have to talk about how crazy it is to play hockey in Bangkok but the beer from the Golden Tiger betrayed me, or maybe I didn't raise my eyes and he talked about it anyways, in any case, tout de meme, I listened and he had some huge scars on his face, like razor cuts off of his lips in odd directions like he'd had four hair lips but he was fun to talk with once we got onto the subject of what ever else we talked about and then we parted ways and I found myself thinking about Hrabal again and so I ordered two glasses of wine at the next bar, one for me and the other for the check, which at this point I should have known I was doing it all wrong because in I Served The King of England a couple having an affair gets a third setting and a third meal served so they can prove on paper that they were not alone at the restaurant together but dining with a third so their husbands/wives would not look at the receipt and consider infidelity and here I was by myself ordering a second glass of wine to show, in a receipt, my fidelity to my love when in fact on a receipt it looks the other way around but you see I was still thinking about how I'm always betting on three legged horses with beautiful names or how young poets think of death and old restaurateurs think of young girls or ground chuck, and so eventually because I had two glasses of wine I met someone and they were traveling and said something about traveling and after a full summer of saying, Where are you from, How long are you traveling, What did you think of Berlin, I could probably drink both glasses of wine by myself but once I'd admitted that no, I wasn't meeting anyone, the glass of wine became an open invitation to meet everyone in the bar and when we closed it we were all friends dressed as goblins, wearing feather boas or as my costume came to be-- barman, I filled everyone's glasses with cheap beer until the closest star, our sun, started to come though the window and I made my way back to my bike, back to my three star hotel, back to the safety of CNN where a rich breakfast of four different hams and ten different breads would await my waking accompanied by watered down orange juice and black spires.

8/17/2007
Paris.

I address you, my dear friends and family, from 14 La Chapelle Blvd., apartment 89 located to the right on the third floor. Our neighborhood is the 18th district otherwise referred to as "Montmartre" which holds a wide variety of ethnic groups and cultures. Around the corner from us is Rue de Moroc – with as many men sitting around drinking tea as you could count in a day. There are also Japanese, Thai, West Africans, Egyptians, Tunisians and more. It's a lot of fun and as odd as the heavy Muslim influence is we're getting along just fine. The other night we stumbled across a bar with three Berber guys who seemed to be doing nothing more than waiting for us. They were very impressed that I knew where the Berber people are from and a bit of their history. Christopher and I had seen the Berbers living high in the Atlas Mountains on our way to go snowboarding just south of Marrakech, Morocco so I knew that the Arabs had driven them into the places that no one else wanted to live. They taught us how to count in Berber and now I will teach all of you: wahid, ithnanee, thlatha, rabaa, jamsa, sita, sabaa, thamanya, thissaa, aashara. Their word for gold is "Sifer." So now you know everything you need to know to make a Berber friend. These particular Berbers were from Algeria and one of them had spent some time working as a farmer in North Dakota of all places – but I'm not sure I believe that. They were really nice and of course gave us free drinks.

But that's our neighborhood. Our apartment is one of the nicest places I've ever lived. It's about 500 square feet and is laid out very sensibly. We have six foot windows that open fully to a view over looking the Gare du Nord lines. It's fantastic to watch so many trains roll by. We also get an incredible view of the skyline and any storms that are coming in from the north. The place is fully furnished and I can't write all of the things I like about it or you'd be reading forever. Sonja has had the opportunity to walk around and explore quite a bit but I've been working too much to get a feel for the general area-though we have been a few places that are really hip. We shop at the local market and buy fresh bread every day and drink more bottles of 2 euro wine than I thought was possible to drink- but man are we having a great time enjoying each others company. This weekend there's going to be a mountain bike race around the cathedral and I'm hoping to surprise Sonja by taking her to the Lapin Agile (now that I've written it the chances of it being a surprise have just dropt dramatically.)

My job is about as cool a job as a person could ever have. The people I work with are young Texans who are all on their way to law school. They can't figure me out and so I just keep telling them more stories about my life that they don't believe; how I ran for sheriff, how a goat headed woman sat on my guide's chest in the dogon region, how I told a woman with a beard she couldn't sit in the turnstile of the hotel lobby at the national green party convention, how I lived in the gypsy district of Sofia Bulgaria, how I put on a fashion show with clothes made out of paper, how I write books of poetry, how my best friend and I wore white suits in Morocco until they ran us out of the country… it just goes on and on. Compared to being from Texas I'm a whole lot of weird but they seem to like me. I also spend a lot of time encouraging them to go beyond their bounds of comfort. None of them make any attempt to speak French and I seriously forget that I'm in France when I'm with them all the time or hanging out at the shop. Paris feels like Disneyland. The other night I watched this poor Parisian kid trying to find someone that spoke French on the metro but every group of people responded to him in English. Poor frustrated French kid.

The new job is going well I've been promoted to give the Versailles tour which is a 7 hour bike ride around the palace of Louis XIV-XVI. The best part is that every morning I take tourists to the best market in France to buy our picnic lunch. The meats, breads, cheeses and wines are really beyond anything I could ever dream of. Today I found some giant olives wrapped with anchovies and tuna stuffed tomatoes. Yummy. I have yet to start buying wine at lunch but have a feeling it's going to happen very soon. We eat our lunch at Marie Antoinette's favorite picnic spot which is at the far end of the water-cross looking onto the palace. It's great. The tourists are all a little more sophisticated and wealthy than the urban bike tourists and so I usually find someone to chat with who has something good to say. The other tour I give is the night bicycle tour which is the absolute best. I ride around with about 25 people – eat ice cream, tell gory French Revolution stories and then take them on a boat up and down the Seine drinking wine. Wow. Great job.

One of my favorite moments here in Paris was when I went to the Arc de Triumph (1805) and after locking up my bicycle I turned and saw Bill Clinton. I said, "Hello Bill," and he looked and I said, "Thanks." I didn't have much else to say to Bill and the security wasn't giving anyone an opportunity to chit chat. He looked pretty cool and very at ease which is what everyone says about him. It was exciting because at once I realized that even though he wasn't a very progressive president I now give him a little more credit because he had a pretty bad hand delt to him in the form of other Democrats and an American public that pretty much never gives a shit. Anyhow, I'm proud to say I'm one of the Americans who has given up and left. I seriously doubt I'm going to bother to vote which is about 180 degres away from how I felt seven years ago. If other Americans don't care about the voting machines being rigged, the problems posed by the two party system, dead troops, etc… I don't need to live amongst them. Here people are always striking or getting uppity at someone. I love that. After they killed the king and queen in 1793 I think they see government as something they can take a hold of when ever they want. Americans act like our politicians are on he moon or as the Russian proverb said of God, "He is in his country, we are in ours."

The best thing here, politically speaking, is the new Velib program. The new mayor of Paris (the first gay mayor) unleashed a new bicycle plan that is unfathomably cool. Basically they made these bike racks that hold these special bikes. The racks are all out of town and with the swipe of a European credit card you can check out a bike. Bikes fit everyone and have lights and everything.The first half hour is free and the second two hours are around two euros. After two hours the rates go up dramatically at about 6 euro an hour. The idea is that it's cheap to take a bike somewhere and then check it back in but expensive to hang on to it. As a result, everywhere you go there are people on bikes cruising around and having fun. I'm told it's really changed the city and the attitude of the people. America would be wise to institute something so genius. The mayor is also working to get free Ethernet everywhere so in every new public park they're installing it.

Sonja is very happy. Even though she hasn't had sushi in a week she seems to be adjusting. Right now she's sitting next to me watching French television.

She also accidentally got a job as our land lord asked her to show some apartments for him while he's on vacation and she's getting pretty good money for the amount of time involved. Obviously she's the best. Paris is the city of love and we've definitely experienced that first hand.

I'll keep you updated. Thinking of you all – love Adam B.

Man who would be werewolf arrested in Wisconsin

Associated Press

Last update: March 05, 2007 – 9:58 AM

http://www.firstgiving.com/adambenedetto

So some more violent things happened yesterday. 160 died yesterday in a war everyone has forgot about and 31 died in Virgina because the U.S. and our president loves their guns. In the Austrailian press the university shooting was labled "another event in a long series of U.S. gun problems," but here our news writes about it as if it's a class of violence on it's own -- "school shootings", like that's different than other shootings that also happen with guns or in some way disconnected to the culture of violence that is created any time nations solve problems by going to war over natural resources, religion and greed.

The war and our kids shooting eachother are connected. It's not a mystery.

We're a sick culture showing symptoms of neurotic violence. Maybe we should all take some step to reverse this crazyness and  heal some hearts. My dad offers all sorts of opportunities and the link above is one of the many solutions he's got up his sleeve.

For me, as usual, I'm going to bike about it instead of just bitch about it and I hope you'll find it within yourself to cough up five, ten, or even twenty dollars for this bike ride. I hope you'll ride along too.

Peace, and by that I mean, peace. Adam B.

Last night I was reminded why I have basically quit trying to talk about politcs with people even though I hate these times and I hate this war.

A friend of mine brought a German Green Party person to the Restaurant I work at because she thought it would be neat for us to compare Green Party notes. This German guy came with one question and that was "How could you have run ralph nader in 2000." And my basic answer was that anyone shoud be able to run for president, I personally, wanted to vote for him... I was excited to because there were alot of issues that I ddin't feel the seperated the two major parties. And also I think that the to party system needs to be confronted at every turn because it inhibits true democracy." I didn't mind this question. We had a lot to say to one another and it was interesting. Then some dick head butted into the conversation saying that Nader actually said we should elect Bush so that things get really bad and the left unites. That may have been said but it wasn't a campaign platform.Then the dumb ass said, "What has Ralph Nader done since the 1970s and when I started to list them he got all defensive and talked over me. And he kept talking over me and kept talking over me. Basically it ruined a fun conversation I was having with this guy visiting from Germany.

The dumb ass exhibited the usual inability to make statements that aren't gradiose ill though out claims. And while I occassionally was able to make the point that left movements usually go to die in the Democratic Party he really was such a know it all that he had no time for any type of discussion or clarification of facts. I've knocked on 10,000 doors in Dane County and have had all sorts of interesting poltical conversations with people I don't agree with and this dumb fuck had to top the idiot list.

And for me it just solidified the idea that American's - particuallarly my age, are worthless when it comes to analizing poltics, because they have to be right about everything when there's a whole world of ideas, people and priorities to consider.

It's been seven years and I'm still being harassed for voting for a guy who I wanted to vote for. Fuck that, especially considering that he last two presidential elections were stolen--Greg Palast documented it well, and so why waste your energy stepping  on my shit when there's all sorts of corruption to confront---That's never confronted. 

It seems to me that people voting for who they want to vote for is much less of a problem then people not being able to vote for who they want.

And that's another thing this dumb ass last night was saying that it was Buchanan voters who tipped the scale to Bush in Florida. Talk about just getting it wrong. John Nichols wrote a book about it called "Jews for Buchannan" that tracked those strange voting trends in the predominately jewish districts of Florida.  But dumb fuck just kept talking over me with half truths and contempt for my having a differing opinion. What a fuck. I guess that's all I really wanted to say; what a fuck. I wish I would have got his name so I could write it here.

It lasted a little over three months. It was a great three months with no bad days. But then I came home to a letter from the IRS saying that they not only were taking my return for this year but that I also still owed more for 2003 and 2005. Sad clown. That was a good four days ago now. I've recovered from the crash but still the year is not longer perfect, it has been marred by the trials and tribulations of the every day. I still give this year a nine out of ten but it's just not perfect anymore. Damn. Feel me?

Is anyone still having a perfect year?

Today I'm particularly proud of my dad because he's turning 59 on sunday and still doing what he does best---helping kids.  Check out the article below and read "Adam's dad" anytime children's services society is mentioned.

happy birthday dad and congrats

CUNA Mutual gift aids preschoolers

ANDY HALL
..:NAMESPACE PREFIX = SKYPE />              608-252-6136       
February 22, 2007

A big check, 3 feet long, displaying a big number -- $218,000 -- launched an effort Thursday to prepare more children for kindergarten.

The gift from CUNA Mutual Foundation will create a program to support parents and boost children's skills in such areas as recognizing letters of the alphabet and knowing how to open and use books.

KinderReady will operate out of two Dane County Joining Forces for Families social-services offices on Madison's South and West sides. The program is funded for a year, but CUNA Mutual plans to continue supporting it if it shows results.

"I guess the first response is, thank you. What else do a you say to a big check?" said Kenneth Munson, chief executive officer of Children's Service Society of Wisconsin, the Milwaukee-based nonprofit agency that will operate KinderReady.

Munson predicted KinderReady, which will include visits to families' homes to head off problems, "will help make Madison stronger and serve as a model for the state."

At a Madison news conference, Dane County Executive Kathleen Falk, Madison Mayor Dave Cieslewicz and leaders from United Way of Dane County and other social-service agencies applauded Steve Goldberg, executive director of the foundation, and CUNA Mutual employees for investing time and money in children's futures.

KinderReady could be expanded countywide if additional private donors surface.

Kindergarten readiness is a key indicator of children's chances of success in school and beyond, research shows.

John Luton

Special to the Times Colonist

Rolling into Madison along one of the many bike trails through the city, I glanced down a cross street to see shops and lights. It was late and my cell-phone, tied to its Canadian network, wasn't co-operating south of the border. This was as good a place as any to find a phone and call my home stay hostess for directions.

Turning the corner I found something better -- Revolution Cycles. Jeff, the owner, was chatting on the sidewalk to Adam, Benedetto, another cyclist. I said I was in town for a bike conference, had little idea where I was going and needed to find a phone. Adam offered the use of his cell.

 

"Thanks, eh," I said. "My friend is someone you might know, Madison city councillor Robbie Webber."

"Sure," said Adam. "Tell her you are calling from Adam Benedetto's phone.

Robbie was surprised, to say the least, and retold the story several times during conference week.

Jeff invited me in for a beer and Adam related a story about his bike, bought on EBay from Tour de France titan Lance Armstrong's teammate. Armstrong had been in Madison the week before and recognized the bike parked outside a bar, and headed inside to introduce himself to Adam.

Robbie tried directing me to the burger joint she and some other newly arrived delegates were at for dinner. Adam and Jeff listened in and, deciding that the route was a little convoluted, gave me a two-bike escort to the bar.

It wasn't the last time I felt at home in Madison.

* From Page B1

Riding into a city that boasts one of the highest per capita mode shares for cycling of any in the country, I found myself in biketown U.S.A.

For someone accustomed to a growing web of bike facilities at home in Victoria, Madison was a revelation. Fifteen years of U.S. federal gas tax funding helped Madison build an impressive network of trails and on-road bike lanes, with more bike racks than the Amsterdam train station.

I'd come to Madison for the Pro Walk - Pro Bike conference last held in Victoria in September 2004. We boast that we're the cycling capital of Canada, with proportionally more people riding than in any other city in the country. U.S. cities, typically, are far behind. Not so Madison, where more than three per cent of commuter traffic is bicyclists, about half that of Victoria but better than most other Canadian cities.

From the airport in Milwaukee, I'd covered almost 160 km on off-road trails and for the first 50 km, the route is paved, too. Rail trails reach another 70 km past Madison to Dodgeville, more than half way across the state.

I made the trip there for another series of meetings with leaders of America's bicycle advocacy movement. The Thunderhead Alliance is the voice of more than 100 state and local bike and alternative transportation organizations. We've been mixing rides with conferences for nearly 10 years, and exploring some great American destinations at the same time. Wisconsin is one of the best.

Maine's Jeff Miller, who trained riding around the world, set the pace on the return to Madison. We chugged on like the trains that had long ago abandoned the corridor, the clickety-clack of wheels on rails replaced by the purr of spinning freewheels. Cornfields spread out for miles in all directions, interrupted by small groves of forest. Once we were lucky enough to glimpse a flock of wild turkeys skitter off into the brush.

Closer to Madison, we hit pavement again and began seeing more traffic. Gravel surfaces are adequate for rural recreational routes, but Madison's commuters expect something quicker and cleaner for their daily ride.

Back in the city, I took a detour on my own to get a better look at the city's trails with rails -- corridors where cycling and walking trails have been paired with still active rail lines. Tracks packing coal to a central power plant run through downtown and the University of Wisconsin campus that spreads over the city's west side.

Where space is tight, the trail nudges up against the tracks. Elsewhere, landscaping or fencing separates the trails from the rails and crossings are channelled to safe locations. It's busy with students and hundreds of other bike commuters.

Madison trails are more transportation routes that linear parks. Street signs are posted at major intersections. In Victoria, intersections along the regional trails are often anonymous. Where signs do exist, it is often inconsistent and too understated. For cycling tourists like me, effective design made navigating through Madison a breeze.

Trails aren't impaired by bollards in Madison, either, even at railroad crossings. "Bollards" are posts planted at road intersections to keep cars off the trails or to slow approaching cyclists. For commuters they are at best, an irritant and at worst, a hazard.

Madison's trail managers treat cyclists like responsible adults and use signs to control traffic. Arthur Ross, Madison's pedestrian/bicycle coordinator, told us that they don't have problems with motorists driving onto the trails and I didn't observe many errant cyclists.

The city also has a growing network of bike lanes and special road features like the "contra-flow" bike lane along University Avenue. The road is one-way heading west, but a concrete curb splits out a bicycle lane that runs counter to the vehicle flow. Bike traffic was steady and it's a convenient shortcut into downtown from western neighbourhoods around the university.

I also liked State Street, which runs from the university to Capitol Square, where the legislature dominates the city centre. In between, there are no cars -- just bikes and buses. Like Government Street at home, State Street has its jewelry stores and coffee shops but the lack of car traffic makes it more appealing.

My last day was spent with Robbie and Adam Fukushima, from San Luis Obispo County in southern California. He, too, was impressed by Madison's bicycle culture. I toured the Capitol while Adam and Robbie headed for the museum.

Outside, Saturday's farmers' market was bustling despite the arrival of cooler fall weather. Tradition dictates that people circle the Capitol counterclockwise. Only local Wisconsin products are sold and Robbie steered me to some nice Wisconsin cheese to take home, about all I had space for in my bike bags.

The next day I hit the trail back to Milwaukee and my flight home, reflecting on what I had seen. By the time I hit the tarmac in Victoria I'd pedalled nearly 700 km and collected a smorgasbord of new ideas to sell in Victoria.

John Luton is the executive director of the Capital Bike and Walk Society.

IF YOU GO

For cycling Madison, you can find a downloadable map at the city's website: www.cityofmadison.com

I had a homestay, but many of the other cyclists attending the Pro Walk - Pro Bike conference took advantage of the hospitality of hotels and B&Bs. In Madison, they are very bike-friendly and will often let you take your bike into your room.

..end story text-->

http://www.alsopreview.com/thecollections/stanford/Poetry/fsfield.html

This is one of my favorite poets, he's relatively unknown but I found him randomly in 1998 surfing the web. My favorite is the lullaby to a child who won't live though the night.

Who is your favoite poet, or do you have any small time favorites?????

Adam

Yesterday I bought a speedo and went swimming at the princeton club. It felt good but I got really tired after 15 minutes... which definately didn't warrent me buying a speedo.

Then I went tanning afterwards. It was really great to be in such a pool of light. I felt like I was in the great source of energy that is life.

Then the timer went off and light pool turned into a coffin. It was dark, and suddenly cold and I was trapped in a fold down light bed. I felt like I had died.
So I got up and put on my clothes and followed a bright light and saw thousands of people on arobic machines.

make of it what you will