The Big Big Trip Journal! If you want to make the man (or woman) upstairs laugh, just tell him your plans!

[HobbesOnTour]

Dog Day Whatever.......

I have no idea if this city is a place for you if you have a deep seated fear or dread of dogs. Based on the wise but simple adage of "what doesn't kill you cures you", a visit to this doggy metropolis might just do the trick!
Dogs are everywhere! There is no escaping that! Dogs of all types, sizes and shapes. Most of them are loose, wandering freely. Coming from Europe and some pretty strict doggy rules, that may be a shock. As a rule, they are very well socialised and trained. In fact, one of my biggest gripes is that they are so well trained it is next nigh to impossible to have a one on one encounter with a dog! They will look, but they won't touch!

So, today's post is a doggy post in honour of the fantastic doggy population of this wonderful city.

For months, a high wall and a closed gate in the Colonia of San Angel teased me. I could see the top of a belltower, but nothing else. Now, on a Sunday for a few hours I can get in!​

Dogs pretty much ignore me here. They'll look, maybe wag the tail, but it's very, very unusual for a dog to engage with me. Except to bark! That wasn't my experience in the U.S.! Nor, to be fair, was it my experience in NL. Dogs regularly sought me out - in friendly ways - often to the annoyance of their bosses!

So, one day, out wandering, there's a guy in front of me with two playful, young labradors. The path is narrow so I move on to the road to pass them. One of the dogs is just finishing a poop and his boss has the plastic bag out to scoop it up.
As I'm walking past, chaos descends as the nearest one lunges for me in a completely playful way. I stop, look to his boss who nods his permission so I lower my hand down to him. Instant attack! Big slobbery gums descend on my hand! Now his buddy, poop finished, joins in on my other hand! It's amazing! You'd swear they had no teeth! It feels like some weird competition - which dog can swallow the most of my hand! Their poor boss is trying to pick up poop with one hand and hold on to the leads of two excited puppies in the other. There's an exasperated resignation to his aura, so I withdraw my hands and apologise to him. No, no, he says, it's ok, they like you.
Hands back and the two pups go again!
When I finally get my hands back they were covered in happy doggy drool. I was pretty happy too!

Downtown......​

There's a lady jogging down the pavement. She's not moving very quickly, but seems to be concentrating on posture and technique. Her back is straight, her knees rise right up with every stride. What may be unusual for some places (but not here) is the fact that she has company - two dogs on leads.
On her right is a black one, breed unknown, but the kind of dog that saw me as a tasty snack across the U.S. He's trotting beside her with a military precision, his pace perfectly matching hers, his focus dead ahead, the lead rising and falling as she swings her arms but never once tugging him.
On her left however, is a boxer. I never thought much of boxers until I got to know one and what a dog! Incredibly athletic and verging on schizophrenic - how can one body contain such a large character? I've had a soft spot for them ever since.
Anyway, this guy is nothing like Action Dan, military man, on the right. His lead is alternating between dragging on the ground and yanking his neck. His pace is erratic, his line wobbly as he spends little time looking ahead. He only has eyes for his mistress. Her eyes are focused straight ahead. Grim, serious concentration.
He pushes a little ahead, angles his body slightly towards her and then leaps up and back as if to say "Helllllloooooo! I'm down here, give me some attention".
Whack!
Her knee gets him right in the head as he rises.
His legs keep going in the right direction….ish as he hits the ground again, dazed, and he gives his head a shake. Immediately his head turns to her as if he's been asleep and needs to see her as soon as he opens his eyes. I swear you can see the happiness in his face when he sees her again!
He's happy for a stride or two, then pulls slightly ahead and leaps again.
Bonk! She's got him again!
Never once did she break stride.
And he kept doing it for as long as I could see them.

Chaos! Natural, colourful, chaos! The trick is to get the timing right and stand under there as the sun tries to blast through the greens, reds, purples, pinks and the moment when the traffic lights stop the traffic! A different, colourful, warm, enveloping world!​

There's a guy who passes by the building most days. He's normally dressed in combat trousers and t-shirt. He's got a thick braid running down to the back of his knees. You'd think that's why I'd remember him, but it's not. It's his dog.
I've no idea what it is, but it's a fine, big, healthy dog, the kind that seems to have skin rather than fur or hair. It's the colour that's hard to pin down as it seems to slide from brown to pink to almost purple depending on the sunlight and the shade.
This dog doesn't run - he lopes. Long, leisurely strides, seemingly effortless, yet swift. I think the word "lope" was created and we've all been sitting around waiting for this dog to come along so we can go "Ah! That's what lope means!"
Sometimes the man walks, but usually he jogs. He has a lead hanging around his neck which he'll use if he senses any discomfort from others on the path.
(I saw them approaching an elderly person being pushed in a wheelchair. A silent signal and the dog returns to his master. No objection to the big chain lead clicking onto his collar. Compliance as a chat is had, then Loper is introduced to the wheelchair bound person. Perfect behaviour. A pat on the head, another click and he's free again.)
But the dog? He revels in his freedom! And he makes use of every inch, bounding happily from one side to another, loping ahead, stopping for an exploratory sniff then joyfully chasing his master down.
It was horrifying the first time I saw him heading for the edge of the path and the busy road beside it. A waste of emotion. He came to the edge of the path, swerved, then loped along the edge without a care.
At a junction, ditto. He'll bound to the edge then stop and wait patiently for his boss. He'll cross the road beside his master and as soon as the front paws are on the next path he's off again. In a place where there are many wonderful connections to see between human and dog, this one is a little bit special.

A doggy enclosure! Most parks have one, usually equipped with see-saws, tunnels, climbing frames, jumps and other "amusements" for dogs. They are rarely used! Instead, there are rough holes in the ground that seem to be magnets for the dogs! One, sometimes two "take over" the hole and others try to get them out! All in the best of fun! ​

There's a couple in the building who have what I call a Dulux* dog. One evening the guy had brought the dog for his constitutional and as they were on the way back the woman came out on the street, talking on the phone, her back to the pair. From a distance of about 100 meters the dog saw her and took off! There's no doubting who the dog sees as his boss! The poor guy was pavement skiing trying to hang on for dear life as this shaggy, cuddly bear of a dog bounded down the street oblivious to the panic behind him!
Hearing a commotion behind her, the woman turned just in time to see her beloved (the dog, not the guy!) take a leap into her arms!
Chaos! Laughing and screeching as the two were reunited and the poor guy could finally catch his breath.
The dog wasn't finished though and kept trying to jump into her arms. The phone call was quickly finished and the dog got the attention he clearly felt he deserved. Happy now, he took off again in a big circle of joy, totally taking the guy by surprise who lost one, then both his shoes as he tried in vain to both control and keep up with the big ball of happiness.
*A Dulux dog, the internet tells me, is an Old English Sheepdog.

For Petrolheads this city must be close to heaven!​

In a park on the edge of the Roma neighbourhood is not one, but two mini lakes with fountains, one at least double the size of the other. For a long time these have been empty of water, but recently, the water is back and in a compact little park in a busy part of the city the sound of rushing water is quite relaxing and pleasant.
But there's more!
Sitting on a little bench, watching people move about I'm treated (because it was a treat!) to the sight of a man walking his two dogs, one Shepherd, one husky type. Neither dog is on a lead, both snuffling and exploring. It was the shepherd that first put his front paws on the low wall of the little lake, but it was the Husky that, after a quick glance to his boss, leapt over the wall and into the water.
Dogs have a range of sounds that they can emit, nothing like the shrieks of joy that kids make in the same situation (available in a different park, a different fountain!), but I'm pretty sure if his voicebox could manage it, Husky dog would have been squealing too!
He jumped out, landing cleanly on the wide wall, shook himself out, turned around and jumped back in!
Sheperd was agitated, front paws on the wall, his head spinning from buddy to boss. "Look what Husky's doing!", I'm sure he was saying. He'd turn away from the wall, drop down, run in an agitated circle then back to the wall. Yep! His buddy was still splashing around!
One last run to his boss and Shepherd mounted the wall. I'm sure it didn't happen, maybe it was me doing it, but he seemed to take a deep breath then followed his friend!
Two, biggish dogs in the water, playing, was a different, clashing noise to moments before. People looked to see, most smiled, some stopped to watch. Just another day in this great city!

The Husky/Shepherd swimming pool​

Sometimes, I'll get the chance to see someone training their dog in the park. One time I got to see someone training their son in the park!
The dog's a mongrel, I'd reckon pretty close to fully grown, but still young. At the other end of the lead is a young fella, 10 or 11 years old. It's hard to say which looks the most nervous!
The dog is standing rigid stiff right on the edge of the doggy enclosure in the park. Other dogs are coming over to say hello and this is the source of the anxiety to dog and BoyBoss. Since they're near the gate and not much is happening, the "welcoming committee" (every doggy section has one) wander off.
That's the cue for an instruction from Mama to lengthen the lead a bit. Mongrel doggy, steps gingerly away, exploring a little. More dogs come over to say hello and congratulate her on her increased freedom. BoyBoss starts to relax a little too. Another instruction from Mama and the lead is removed! Mongrel doggy is clearly nervous and Mama speaks directly to BoyBoss. BoyBoss gets down beside her, talking softly, telling her not to be afraid. He's afraid too!
More dogs are milling around now, investigating, sniffing, encouraging her to play. On instruction from Mama, BoyBoss calls her back from time to time, just to make sure she's still listening.
After a little while, BoyBoss takes the now unused lead from around his neck and throws it over the fence to Papa, standing outside the doggy park, watching it all. BoyBoss and Mongrel doggy are both ready for the crazy world of the dog enclosure.

Another doggy enclosure! What an absolutely fantastic place to bring a dog! ​

Frisbee dog is a character and one of the smartest dogs I've come across. Frisbee dog has two frisbees, a blue one and a pink one which seem to be changed according to whim, a dog of our times. Frisbee dog's boss is a lady who either knows most people in the doggy area or is just naturally sociable. I know this because she spends most of her time in the park chatting to other people. Frisbee dog's boss has one job - throw the frisbee. Once.
Once thrown, and once caught, Frisbee does one of the smartest things I've seen - he trots over to the nearest human, drops the frisbee at their feet and proceeds to bark at them until they pick it up and throw it! Occasionally, he'll have to put his foot down - literally - his right paw on that day's frisbee of choice as if to say "Hey! There's a frisbee here! Focus! It's not going to throw itself, you know!".
Due to this "any-human-will-do" attitude, the frisbee throwing varies in quality. I haven't figured out yet, if Frisbee dog has sorted out the good throwers from the bad!
Frisbee dog is not a handsome dog. Close cropped curly hair, like a real bad perm, covering a mongrel's body, legs too long for the torso, or a torso too short for the legs and a tail that looks distinctly odd yet gives no obvious reason why. However, combine a human with decent frisbee throwing skills and a decent, clear run and watch carefully because there's a heartbeat or three when you'll see a transformation from yappy, demanding, ugly dog to graceful, handsome, skilled athlete flying through the air and capturing a spinning disc. Once he lands, these days in a little explosion of reddish brown dust, he's back to his alter ego.

The "Secret Church", San Angelo, again​

I got talking to a girl the other evening! On a busy street at a junction meandering home after a day's wandering that most unusual of events occurred! A dog made eye-contact with me then bounded over to play! Right there! On a busy path!
This is so unusual for here and I was delighted!
One moment there's a glance across a crowded pavement, a splaying of the front paws, a slight dip of the shoulders and the next there's a brown blur of muscle weaving at high speed through pairs of walking legs.
I put my hand out for him to have a sniff and next moment it's in his mouth and he's teasing me with his teeth!
His boss, a girl, called out her apologies and I replied, grinning, "No hay problema". Hearing my accent she apologised in English and I replied "Está muy, muy bien".
He was a retriever of some kind, dark brown, lean, strong and big. But a big puppy dog at heart!
I got down on one knee and he jumped up trying to knock me over. We wrestled for a moment or two, his paws on my shoulders until he tickled my right ear with his teeth.
I spoke to his boss, told her who I was, where I was from, how I ended up here. I told her she had a fine dog. I told her of the time I had on my hands, that a fit, athletic dog like that needed lots of exercise and I volunteered my time to take him to parks and play.
I did all that - about 5 minutes after she'd called him back, apologised again and crossed the road with him. Walking along the street in the fading sunlight, I said all that! While trying to talk to to her my tongue swelled up to about 17 times its normal size and my mind went blank!
But there, for a moment, on a busy street, I got to play with a great dog!

Chat away!
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[HobbesOnTour]

Day Whatever.......

Apropos Absolutely Nothing! There are some absolutely magnificent views through the trees at the moment. Blue sky background, bright sun, the variety of trees and foliage....
I dream of a star filled night in the middle of nowhere, but as always it seems, this city throws up some wonderful alternatives!​

Sometimes I have to admire the ingenuity of Mother Nature and her creatures.
Here, in a sprawling metropolis, there is a healthy dose of wildlife. Birds are everywhere. I've even seen a hummingbird! I've seen a variety of lizards scurrying for cover from broken walls when my wandering disturbs their sunbathing. Even the park that I frequent to sit in the sun and do some Spanish has a healthy population of rats - surprisingly un-horrifying and rather amusing to watch! Squirrels are in abundance. One large park specifically has signs asking people not to feed them as they are destroying the fabric of the park. This is México - the locals don't pay attention with the result that when a bumbling, play-by-the-rules visitor sits down the squirrels get quite annoyed at the lack of a food offering and attempt to open the poor dumbass's backpack!

Hey, Dumbass! Feed me!​

Right outside my building there are three tall trees, overlapping near their tops. As well as a tangle of small, presumably internet, cables, there are three, thick, heavy electrical lines running through the trees. It was here I saw my first ever hummingbird, a small pair of birds that seem to spend all their non-eating time either flirting or fighting and an intrepid squirrel using the electric cables to move along the street.

I was amazed at this sight! What a brave little guy! (Or girl!) What a fantastic way to get around! Above all the craziness!
At first, I was sure he was the Magellan of his species, but as winter has rolled in and the sun has changed, I've found myself wandering around with my head looking up through the trees more often than not. Magellan is not alone!

The Metro for Squirrels!​

The electric lines are like the metro for the squirrel population! It's perfectly normal, even boring, to the locals, but I'm captivated by the aerial shenanigans. Especially at the junctions! Leaping from one line to another, crossing over the crazy queues of weaving, honking traffic and then continuing along another street. I've actually tried to follow one or two to see where they're going, but they move so swiftly, so surely, that I can't keep up!

Not the greatest pic in the world, but it demonstrates a couple of things; The sheer wonder of the shapes of trees and the proximity of cables to trees​

And then there was yesterday.
A squirrel dancing along the electric line in front of my building caught my eye. I had a peep outside and noticed an unnatural waving higher up one of the trees. Another squirrel. Then another!
This tree that has withstood God-knows-what in terms of storms, flooding, traffic, dog business and earthquakes is waving wildly near the top. With the bright sun and the pretty dense leaf cover, I can only catch glimpses of leaping squirrels, so I grab my coffee to watch them playing.
My mind draws me back to early mornings in some of the campgrounds along my way and the amusement of watching a couple of squirrels chasing each other around.

The only photo from a cemetery.....​

* Google auto-enhanced the colours

Every now and then, there seems to be an exodus from one tree to the other, one falling still while the other comes to explosive life behind the leaves.
Eventually, I went back to my Spanish but had a little look every now and then.
There's a famous, overly long bridge on The Way of St. James (Camino in Spain) that was a scene of many Knight challenges and duels. I've been on that bridge, astride a loaded bike, and I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't imagined myself riding along with a lance, ready to unseat some Lance Armstrong wannabe. Winning Sheryl Crowe would have been a bonus!

Trees & Cables..... Perfect for squirrel Magellans​

Well, a little later, two squirrels faced each other down, with a thick, black cable in place of a stone bridge.
I watched them face each other down, then on some animal signal unseen by myself, charge the three or four feet towards each other. If there were any battle-cries they were drowned out by the flowing traffic about 10 or 12 meters below them.
Bam! Pow! It was over in seconds! The battleground shifted backwards about 6 feet and the retreating squirrel was despatched to the ground at the base of a tree.
He landed on his feet, gathered himself for all of half a second, scurried along the path, unusually dog free, then climbed up another tree.
The victor, full of disdain, turned around and re-entered the "main"tree and was soon lost in all the activity up top.
Vanquished squirrel seemed to take a bit of time in the far tree, then out of nowhere he bombed out of its leaves, sprinted along the cable to the second tree, seemed to fly upwards through the branches then launched himself across into the first tree, no doubt looking to avenge himself.

I'd love to describe what happened next but it would all be in the realms of fantasy! It was impossible to tell what was going on!
Like Tom & Jerry going at it in a cloud with bolts of lighting and exclamation marks and little explosions, the tree was a swirling mass of hidden activity. I'd catch a glimpse of a squirrel dropping from the end of one branch, catching another, then vanishing back into the foliage. I'd witness a strategic retreat onto a cable, a pause then a full blooded return to the fray! What I'd mistaken as play seemed to be war!
Occasionally, all would fall quiet. I reckoned there were at least 5 individual warriors, and on some cue, they became ninjas. Just when I'd go to return to my Spanish the tree would explode again!

This went on, on and off, for most of the morning. I went off for a walk and after I returned, all was quiet.

I have no idea what started the War of the Squirrels. Was there a store of nuts in one of the trees? Was there a "Helen of Squirrels" that started the war? Where did they go? Were some of them still in the tree? So many questions!

Of course, sometimes a squirrel doesn't need any wires at all.......

I love to imagine a squirrel passing through this beauty on his "commute"​

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[HobbesOnTour]

Monday December 21, 2020

If you want to make the big man upstairs laugh, tell him your plans.

Dumbass that I am, I'd started making a few plans for the Christmas period.
I'd a few day trips picked out. One to an area that points back to the time before the Spaniards arrived and drained the lakes in this area. A kind of Mexican Venice. I visited earlier and it was desperately sad, all these brightly coloured boats tied up, weeds taking over the waterways. Really narrow streets that normally are filled with bike taxis all empty.
It would be good to see this area over the holidays - bright and alive!
I had decided to treat myself to an open-top bus tour of the city.
I was also going to sleep in the tent! Damn but I miss the tent! It would only be an overnighter, but loading up the bike again and heading off suddenly became really important once the idea had formed in my head. I'd take advantage of quieter city roads over the holidays, have a bit of an adventure and start the New Year on a high!

Then Friday rolled around.

Lockdown.

All non essential businesses to close. Effective immediately.

Lockdown. Tables & chairs locked up​

Alex, my taco guy, was angry when I called around for my last sit down meal. Not with the Government, but with the "people" (he used a different term!) who don't treat the virus seriously. It's infuriating how much of an effect these people have on so many others. He'll still be open, but for takeaway only.
You know the way they say you only miss something when it's gone? Well, the walk home after another simple but tasty meal was really when I started to feel the loss of something that has become quite important. It's not the food.

The rest of the weekend was feeling quite sorry for myself, really. Selfish, I know.
I'm blessed, really, it just didn't feel like it. I've enough cop on to know that feelings aren't real things and I've enough experience of this wonderful city to know that it will calm me, charm me, wrap me up in its CrazyBeauty if I give it a chance.
I walked a lot over the weekend and it was starting to work.

Then, today was D-day.

I'd studied the website, filled in the forms online, downloaded them, had them printed out, gone to the bank to make the necessary payments. All I had to do was go down to the immigration office, present everything, possibly do an interview and all going well, I'd have legal permission to stay for a while longer.

Up before the sun, I had coffee but skipped breakfast. I was nervous. Headed off on the bike in plenty of time. The city was quieter than it has been in months. A very pleasant cycle it was, but it barely registered with me.

I arrived at the offices, locked the bike up and joined the usual queue of people, like myself, hoping for the benefit of the doubt from the Government.

This time was different though, since the queue didn't seem to be going anywhere. Then a man came out to address the people waiting.
He was probably in his fifties, but a lean, fit man with surprisingly well styled grey hair. He was dressed casually and sporting a green, Government issue bodywarmer. It was his face and his voice though that was the real mark of the man. He had a friendly, patient and relaxed face and when he spoke his voice mirrored that appearance.

The offices were closed and would remain closed until January 10, at least. He pointed to a large banner (that I'd totally missed) that carried the same message. Except, that when he said it, he added "No preocuparse" to every sentence.

Don't worry.

Of course he was bombarded with questions, often the same ones over and over. The only time his voice wasn't patient or friendly was when he asked people to keep their distance. When they did, the smile, the friendliness returned.
"No preocuparse" he started every answer and continued with a confidence and calmness that was infectious.
He was especially kind to two black guys without a word of Spanish, breaking into English to tell them to return in January. There would be no problems. And that smile.

Had Santa Claus himself pulled up in his sleigh, hopped out and wrapped me up in a big bear hug I could not have felt better.

On my way home I found a new park and stopped off to explore. A poodle pup and an old, old beagle came over to say hello. Their boss, a tiny old lady was perfectly happy for the poodle to chew my hand, wrap its lead around my leg and when the old beagle tried to get in on the games and jump up on me, his old hind legs wouldn't cooperate. I got down to his level and I think that delighted his boss more than him.

Lincoln Park. Doggy Therapy.​

It's amazing how this city always seems to look after me so well.

No preocuparse. Words to live by.

*Spanish uses a lot of reflexive verbs like preocuparse. To translate it correctly, no preocuparse is actually don't worry yourself, to my way of thinking a much more accurate reflection of the process.

On the way home......​

A group of teenagers were working on this all last week

CDMX, A magical place

​

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[HobbesOnTour]

Day Whatever........

Coyocán has my poor heart broken!
I've been bursting to write about this area, one of the oldest Hispanic parts of this great Metropolis.

This is where the Spaniards set up shop as they destroyed a city and a civilisation, then set about creating a new one. Cortez built his house here. They built a fabulous church here.
The modern world borders this area - big, busy roads sweeping in and out of the city, but within those borders is a world of beauty, wonder, architecture, history, fable, art, religion, poverty and the most amazing combination of CrazyBeautifulCalm.

With great wide streets named for major European cities - Berlin, Paris, Vienna, Madrid, London it nods its head to elegance. With twisty, turny, narrow, cobbled streets it betrays its very foundation.
An old town of architectural wonder, with a Church so beautiful inside, yet falling apart outside, balances with an area of trendy, international stores that is hideously attractive.
I can walk down streets where only the very rich can live, yet in the same area are shacks hidden behind walls, their corrugated roofs no taller than me.
An enclosed market sells everything from attractively displayed fruit and veg to electronics and books, clothing both international and indigenous as well as all the usual tourist knick knacks. Oh, and fish, chicken and all kinds of meats. A riot of colours and aromas, and that's before you consider all the food stalls in the middle of it! It's a stimulating assault on all the senses!
There's the Blue House, Frida Kahlo's home and monument to an inspirational artist and there's a simple but outstanding Cultural Museum, free to enter (when open) full of charming, bright, colourful "people's art".
I can't possibly describe how helpful Coyocán has been to me. If you ever find yourself in the middle of a global pandemic I hope you can find your Coyocán. My experience would have been very different without it.
It never fails to calm me, entertain me, charm me, soothe me, inspire me. Sometimes I'll be found standing on a junction taking in the view in every direction, giving each cardinal point several minutes attention and I still can't absorb it all. Months after I first found this jewel, I can still discover something new on a street I've travelled so many times before.

A sweeping, broad street, lush, vital, full of nature's noise and colour. ​

An atmospheric, cobbled gateway to the past......
​

Bruised, battered and lived history everywhere.........

Yet daily life goes on, adding its own character......

​

However, Coyocán deserves better than to be described and photographed now.

Warning: A metaphor is about to be murdered!

In my (very active!) imagination it's like I met Marissa Tomei, but Marissa is a bit under the weather. She wouldn't thank me for posting photographs of her clammy features, her runny, red nose. She wouldn't like to read a description of her coughing, sweating and sneezing. So I won't. I'll wait until I can give her the proper attention she deserves.

Unfortunately, Coyocán is the epicentre of this damn virus so that the wonderful park is closed off, plazas are closed off and good sense dictates that I don't stop in certain areas.
To write more about this enchanting place under those circumstances would be grossly unfair. To publish photos of benches covered in plastic or tape, of armed police "guarding" plazas would be a disservice.

An area of this vitality deserves a proper description.......​

There's a sad irony that such a "lived in" place is under a pall of death

I've visited some of the great museums of this city, seen some wonderful architecture, yet this "free" museum in Coyocán is my favourite

Homemade banners for religious parades, a blending of ancient mythology and Catholic ritual. My poor skills cannot get close to representing the vividness of the colours

However, I've discovered that one of Marissa's toes is in perfect health!
It could be any toe, but it'll be represented by La Avenida Francisco Sosa.

Over the next few days I'll be posting about this magical street.

La Avenida Francisco Sosa​

(

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[HobbesOnTour]

La Avenida Francisco Sosa Part II

La Avenida Francisco Sosa is 1.6 km long, running from the junction of Avenida Universidad at the wonderful Capilla de San Padua to the centre of the old town.

It's horrible to walk on. The footpaths can be narrow, broken, often destroyed by the roots of trees. The street is cobbled in sections, big, lumpy, uneven stones and incredibly uncomfortable. Don't try it on a bike!
Throw in some rain or darkness and it's less like a gentle stroll and more like a survival hike!
However, there's a magnet on that street that pulls me back again and again and again. Horrible it may be to walk on, but magical too!

I can't count the times I've gone over on an ankle in this city! Yet, I wouldn't change it for anything! The trees are Kings! Us mere humans have to work around them!​

This is fun..in the dry! In the rain? A nightmare! Don't even try using an umbrella!​

It was on this street that, lost in the moment of trying to photograph one of many wonderful doors and gates, a car patiently pulled up behind me, waited and waved and smiled at me when I finally got off the road. That was the first time it happened. That same incident has been replayed many times in different parts of the city. Truthfully, it's a feckin' miracle I haven't been flattened!
It was on this street that I had my first proper, human-to-hound contact (actually two for the price of one!) in months.
It was on this street that I saw and met "Catarina".
It was on this street that I bought flowers for el Día de Muertos and had a wonderful, heart-warming conversation with a flower seller.
It was sitting on the bridge on this street that my first lizard came to say hello! I think it may be the broken pavements, but I never fail to spot at least one of these cold blooded creatures on every visit.

Do you remember this guy? Music blaring, a female passenger and quite possibly the world's brightest smile? Last seen in a totally different part of the city on a Sunday morning! The joy radiating from that car is something to behold!​

For such an old street it constantly changes. Walking it early in the morning with the sun behind me, no traffic and just the birds for company it is a fiesta of colour. The sun on the trees is magnificent! Many flowering bushes creep over walls from private gardens to brighten my journey. Even the houses, many painted in bright colours catch the sun and seem to sparkle.
At night, the trees are the stage for an unearthly play, performed right above my head.

A fiesta of colour!​

If ever there was a reason to drag myself out of bed early.......

​

Public streetlighting is erratic in terms of height, angle and intensity and is supplemented by lights on the houses. These lights cast strange hues of filtered light onto the various trunks and branches, resulting in the occasional golden branch emerging from an underwater green trunk. Spooky!
Above, this light may reflect off the leaves of one tree, creating a pool of luminous leaves, while the tree next to it sulks in inky blackness.
(The street is quite narrow, the trees are very close together, often weaving between each other at the top. On other, wider streets, this nighttime light effect is brilliantly beautiful!)
Sometimes, the tree has swallowed the light and, up there, amongst the branches and leaves a solitary, useless light burns brightly in a small circle. An alien from another planet perhaps, watching me watching it!
In the rain, the water pools between the cobbles and distant headlights create the illusion of thousands of tiny streams gushing around my feet. The trees shield me from water up above, but their roots create little ponds of darkness or reflection depending on the light. The rain bouncing off the cobbles, the waterfalls from the roof overflow pipes make their own kinds of threatening mood music.

Night brings its own version of beauty and atmosphere.......​

I am particularly proud of this shot! No editing, no enhancing, no flash. In the interests of transparency, this was taken in another street, but this is typical of the nighttime effect.

At the weekends it has a different vibe to the rest of the week, especially near to the old town. Traffic is heavier (yet very polite and friendly), street sellers populate the section closer to the old town too.

A boot shop!​

At 1.6 km long, you'd think that traversing its length would be a straightforward task, even for someone with my distorted sense of direction. But it's not!
There are side streets to be explored, too! It was months before I actually walked the whole length of the street without being pulled off course. The street itself can only be described as straight….ish, but the side streets can curve away, around a bend, then link up with other little streets. Before I know it, I've no idea where I am!

A side street. I think I can be forgiven for wandering off course!​

Or this one........​

The time that Covid has given me, the removal of deadlines, the freedom to just be in the moment is, I hope, a change in perspective I can hold onto.

To be continued......


Chat away!
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[HobbesOnTour]

La Avenida Frincisco Sosa Ctd......

So why this street? There are lots and lots of interesting streets in this area.
To me, it speaks to history.
The old town of Coyocán was one of the first Spanish centres of power. This street linked that power centre to the main road and on to what is now México City. In a way, this street from Church to Plaza has a story to tell.

I'm no carpenter but whenever I pass this particular door I find it hard to believe that it's not an original. I mean, just look at it!​

That power centre attempted to destroy the physical, cultural and religious society that preceded it.
Ironically, the further we get from that time, the less successful it appears the Conquistadors were. New ruins are regularly being found, pre-Spanish mythical and religious imagery are prevalent in the work of artists today and aboriginal folk, in full dress, will perform ancient cleansing rituals on you - right outside the great Cathedral!

It is so easy to wander down the street, squint a little, and wait for a Don to come trotting down the street on his horse.
Look at any of the buildings - they nearly all have a big gate to accommodate horses and wagons. Yeah, these days it's likely to be a big SUV entering and exiting, but with a little imagination…..

Buildings incorporate religious imagery in the walls, over gates or doors, on the roof. "Spreading the Word" was an important motivation in the Spanish conquest.

Just one of many religious symbols the length of this street. It always has fresh flowers.​

A beautiful, vivid yellow old church, set in a green Plaza reinforces the power of religion about half way down, but in a soft, welcoming, civic way. The plaza is a popular space at weekends (partly because it's open!)
From the start of the street to the end, that makes three churches!

To add to the historical context, ceramic tiles on some buildings give the history of important people who lived in these buildings.
Important to remember too, that the bridge over the river at one end is one of the oldest bridges in the country.

Despite the history from gable to cobblestone, the street also speaks to the development through time. Some of the buildings are more modern, some have been converted into trendy coffee places or artesenal markets.

The people who lived, were born or died here were influential in the development of this city and country and are commemorated with ceramic tiles embedded in the appropriate buildings.
Beside the lady selling traditional, brightly coloured blankets is a young couple with an amazing array of customised boots for sale! Doc Martens, in style (if not content), these have traditional, vividly bright designs sewn on the boot. Traditional and modern!
I can't help but think that the Italians share my view of this street. Far, far away from the Embassies and Consulates, the Italians have a "Cultural" embassy on this street!

And back to the old......

Chat away!
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[HobbesOnTour]

La Avenida Francisco Sosa......ctd

Finally, and probably most importantly, this street speaks to Romance.
The trees are characters all of their own. Yes, some are wider than a car and make me squeeze between them and a wall. Most have roots that are intent on making a walk….interesting! But, the sunlight shining through them? Spectacular! In the rain, they're like big umbrellas. In the dark, mysterious worlds are created above my head by the streetlights. The changing seasons means different colour leaves, plants blooming in different places. And, of course, some of the trees are home to flocks of birds. At different times of the day there's a chorus above my head.

Shade on a hot day, an umbrella for rain, home to birds and creators of wonderful atmosphere. It is genuinely amazing to me how big and dominant these trees are on such a narrow street.

Helpful hint! Do not walk and look up. Your ankles will thank you! But look up! Definitely look up!

​

"The House of Sun", "The House of the Garden of Oranges", "House of the Red Lion", "The Orange Trees"; what wonderfully descriptive names for buildings!
Even the buildings themselves are seductive and romantic. More often than not, the design is of a high wall facing the street. Behind the wall there will be a building and lots of free space. Perhaps, I can catch sight of the top of the building and the tops of trees, but what's behind the wall remains a tantalising mystery - at least until I strike it lucky to be passing as the gates swing open. Then I see beautiful old buildings, cooling, calming gardens of trees and bushes, normally a fountain or other water feature too. Behind the walls there is, simply, another, secret world.

On such a narrow street a decent shot is almost impossible.

​

More than once I've been invited in to a private residence to have a look around! One remarkable morning a gate swung open as I ambled past. I caught a glimpse of flowering plants, a tree and an old car. I stopped just past the gate and leaned backwards for a longer peep. A man stepped in front of me and invited me to look around.
He had two gardeners and was busy delegating the day's work. The area in front of his golden yellow house was open and relaxing. Parked to one side was a car - from 1960 he proudly told me, and still running! - a model and brand I did not recognise. A Zenith, I believe.
He chatted happily with me and joked that I was lucky - his neighbours would charge me 10 pesos to look around!

Just look at the trees behind the wall! And the house? Where is it? What's it like?

​

Not all the buildings are grand. There is at least one roofless wreck, and another, near the Church end, is a shadow of its former glory. To me, this just emphasises that this is a living street, evolving, changing, but leaving a tantalising, solid trail to its past.

With the trees, the winter sunshine the sunlight is always playing off the trees, creating all kinds of wonderful patterns​

I haven't been able to figure out what's behind this gate. But look at it! That street to the right brings me past exclusive, gated apartment developments straight down to a busy, noisy, thumping main road and a huge, modern shopping centre. A totally different world!​

I love this building! The doorway is angled and recessed, with a religious statue beside the door. ​

Chat away!
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[HobbesOnTour]

La Avenida Francisco Sosa.......still!

Without a doubt, my favourite part of the street is the Church end, beside the busy Avenida de Universidad. The sad, neglected Church that inspired my (mistaken) trip to the Palace of Fine Arts, then the National Art Museum speaks to me in ways that I don't understand. I have taken hundreds of photos of that church and not a single one does it justice. The little river, often smelly, does not help create a positive impression and the poor bridge, with its fading engravings and traces of graffiti can be seen with regret or as a sign of weary defiance.

It really, really doesn't look like much. La Capilla de San Padua, the usual salesman set up outside, selling blankets, facemasks (Mazi's is from there) and other knick knacks. That's the start of La Avenida Francisco Sosa. The bridge to the right of the church, La Avenida Universidad in front. The picture doesn't give the sound of constant traffic, the horn honking, the sound of tyres on cobbles as soon as they turn onto the bridge. Neither does it give the smell from the almost dry river.
But look closer. The bell towers don't match (very common) and the sun is shining right on the wall of the bridge. My favourite spot to sit. The world flies around me.

The rear of the Church, the seller and his wife loading their stock into a taxi for their trip home.

The river, taken during the rainy season, so quite full. People live along the river.

I don't know what this would be called. It's one side of the bridge and it's clear to see that it appears to be neglected.
I love it! Graffiti and all!
There's a date, all but faded away on it, 02 February, 1763.

This wonderful building, impossible to photograph properly, is now a Museum of Sound, unfortunately, closed since my arrival. It was formerly the home of Nobel Laureate (Literature) of Octavio Paz. What a home to write in!

It may not look like much but this is a nice place to sit and admire Octavio Paz's house on the opposite side of the street. I love the fact that it's a bit neglected and that there's graffiti. It makes the street real, lived in, used.

Francisco Sosa. Poet and liberal thinker. It's a little sad that approximately half the western world would now dismiss someone based on that label.
I'm not a good correspondant because I've done no research on the man whatsoever. To me, it's not that important. The street named for him is another story though.

One of my favourite houses…..
#321 has "Lift Off" under its number and on the opposite pillar "Life is not walking on a red carpet, it is following the Yellow (Brick) Road. I love it!

​

The opposite end, with a view onto a park/plaza through an ancient gate is just so sad at the moment. Bright yellow tape covers the gateway and obscures the view of the grand old church in the centre of Coyocán itself.

But the walk between these two points? Something very special.

After an epic 1.6 km...... The End!

Chat away!
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[HobbesOnTour]

20 Feckin' 20!

First day on the bike in 2020 on the way to Cuatro Cienegas. I thought the sky was a sign of rain…..ha! Dumbass!

Crossing a desert!

The Devil's Backbone!

Sunset on the Pacific at Mazatlán. The Pacific! I cycled across a feckin' continent!

Sunset on Lago de Chapala.

Don't go to Michoacán, said the advice, and if you do stay off the backroads…..
This is one of my favourite photos. It simply says "adventure"

Aporo. Home in a crazy, turbulent world.

CDMX: The old and the new, the living and the dead, the rich and the poor. Not what I was expecting but damn, it's hard to imagine a kinder place to see out a pandemic.

Happy New Year!

Thanks for following along.

Chat away!
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[HobbesOnTour]

Day whatever.......

Scenes from CDMX at the start of 2021

42 is a special number for me. Anyone who's familiar with "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" knows that 42 is the answer to everything. Using that as a kind of inspiration, I took turning 42 as a target to get some control over my life. Of course, me being me, I didn't make it on time, but it was a target to aim for, a destination that once set allowed a framework of sorts, a plan, to be put into action. It could be said that 42 got me to here!
Just before Christmas, however, 42 took on a different significance. Here, in México, in November, the death rate was 42% higher in 2020 than 2019.
42.

I can count on one hand how many times I've been bored in this great city. All I have to do is drag my ass outside and before long I'll see something that excites, shocks, stimulates, saddens or just plain amuses me.
However, back in the rainy season, I was having a bad morning and feeling very meh. Then a memory floated in front of me and I started thinking about Casas Grandes.
Casas Grandes (Big Houses) is the starting point of an epic song, made famous by the incomparable Joe Ely, but written by Tom Russel.
It has (almost) everything that an epic story has - adventure, risk, betrayal, honour, but lacks a love angle.
Oh! The song is "Gallo del Cielo"!
(The Rooster of Heaven - I had to come to México to learn that!😁)

View: https://youtu.be/erolGO00ydI


Way, way, way back when this trip was a flimsy, flittering figary I decided that one of the places I wanted to visit was the hometown of the hero of this song.
Ha! Dumbass!
There are lots and lots of Casas Grandes! The one I deemed most likely, based on careful study of the lyrics, is in a pretty dodgy border area. Casas Grandes gradually floated away…..
(Such is the luck I possess, Joe played a postponed gig in San Antonio when I visited and of course, played the song!)
So, on my meh day, I fired up Google Maps and went looking for another Casas Grandes. Maybe something for when I hit the road again.
Turns out, I could walk there!

This is a noisy city. There is no getting away from that. In a former life I'd have been very wound up about that. But here? That would just be a waste of energy. (A neighbour of mine in NL reported the local church to the police for ringing their bells!)
What I notice most about the noise is not the multitude of individual components that make all that noise, but rather, what's missing.
There's no malice. At all.
(Well, maybe once or twice. The only road-rage I've witnessed was a cyclist giving a driver a good "talking to!")
I have yet to witness any anti-social behaviour or a row. It's a bizarre experience to be wandering in a big park (treese are excellent sound insulators) or a quiet street only to exit and land up in a throbbing rush hour flood of humanity and be faced with a barrage of noise - straining engines, horns, a whole cacophony of human made clamour. And it just fits.

December 24, 2020​

México gets a bad press. Today, the top Latin American story on the Guardian site is about a massacre at a wake yesterday. Maybe I'm the dumbest dumbass of all time, but I don't feel scared when I read that. Instead, I think of the number of times I have been shown nothing but kindness, honesty and generosity here.
Especially an early day when buying a coke in a little village I carefully counted out my coins to pay the 50 pesos requested. The poor man behind the counter was bemused and confused as he just as carefully counted out the 15 pesos I owed, returning the 35 I had oh-so-carefully overpaid!
And I think back to the day visiting an empty church and in a basket, sitting on a table outside the door is a fifty peso note just fluttering in the wind. What I see, read (and heard, mainly in the U.S.) does not compute with what I see.

December 26, 2020​

This city is full of entrepreneurs! It probably deserves a post all of its own because the topic is so broad and deep. Some, like the guys who operate "trains" in some of the parks at weekends have invested heavily, while others, like the dog walkers invest only their time. The guys who operate fleets of battery powered cars for kids to drive in and around the park have more on the line than the rollerblade teachers who will teach the basics using little more than a few mini traffic cones.
I've seen a bonesetter operating from a park bench (at least that's how I translated his sign), numerous "guides" official and otherwise hanging out forlornly near some of the tourist sites and one of my favourites, a "pop up" bike mechanic set up on the street, beside a bus-stop. He had a small collection of tools and spare parts spread out on a blanket and was working on an upturned bike. It seems to be his "spot", only there at weekends.

December 26, 2020​

There's no shortage of doggy stories in this place and with so many dogs it's not surprising that cats (thankfully in my book!) are a rare sight. However, one day I did see a guy cycling along with his cat comfortably perched on his shoulder!
Stranger still, was a little old lady shuffling along not with a cat, but a full-of-life-chicken, perched proudly on her shoulder.

A rare cat picture!​

I set off on Christmas Morning with no particular place to go. Just a morning walk to work up an appetite for my special, luxury, budget bustin' breakfast of sausages, bacon, mushrooms, eggs and some toast. As I walked past my local park it was unusually quiet (later it would be busier than normal - bikes, rollerblades, and various other toys had to be played with!) my destination fell into place.
I haven't visited a graveyard since El Día de Muertos but there was one grave I wanted to pay my respects to.
The orange Marigolds were replaced with the traditional Christmas plant here with vivid red flowers set off by dark green leaves (I've no idea of the name), the usual decorations had silver and gold tinsel weaved through them and the grave itself had been extended through the addition of a wooden, latted crate that now contained a crib (Nativity scene).
Since this was relatively early on Christmas day, the Baby Jesus was not yet present (a detail I approved of), but Mary, Joseph, the Three Wise Men and a crazy, eclectic menagerie of animals were all present.
The idea did cross my mind to stay, discreetly, and wait for the delivery of the newborn Jesus. I have an urge to meet the person who tends to this grave. But that just felt wrong, invasive, so I wandered off trying to figure out how such a sad scene can be so uplifting.

Christmas Morning. Note the barrier and tape keeping people away.​

The last dawn of 2020

My local park, a little later

*Slightly enhanced because the Palm tree deserves it!
​

Chat away!
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[HobbesOnTour]

Day Whatever……

I'm starting to come to the conclusion that México, and this beautiful pearl of a city especially, is actually detrimental to cycle touring. It's starting to feel like a graveyard, a place where bikes and touring dreams gather and die.

I've never been a particular fan of modern buildings. However, here, so many use glass and with the bright sun and the abundance of trees there are often fabulous reflections.​

For those not proficient in irony or who can't detect my tongue jammed firmly in a cheek it may be an idea to have a translator

A graveyard here is a place of joy, of celebration!

Johnny Cash, the Great Johnny Cash wrote a song about the "40 shades of green". He was singing about my homeland, but it applies to my new one too!​

Cycling, or maybe I should write wandering around on my bike, has one "killer app" for me - it takes up just enough of my "functional" brainpower to keep it occupied, but allows and actively encourages the creative, imaginative, dreamy side to wander where it will, a mirror image almost, of what I'm doing on the bike. Ideas, thoughts, feelings that tease, tantalise and flutter about on the edge of my consciousness have a chance to grow, become fully formed adults and less likely to fly away over the horizon of my mind when I get off the bike.

Today, one of those vague, intangible, gossamer thoughts that has been gliding around the edges of my consciousness for quite a while finally became substantial when I realised that this crazybeautiful city has just about everything I ever want on a bike tour!

I've found water!!​

What do I want on a bike tour?
Well, I suppose the first thing I want is to feel that I'm in a different place, a place other than "home". (Despite the obvious thought-tangle, I love the idea that home is wherever I land).
To support the idea of being away from home, I want to see different things. I'm a huge fan of water, so oceans, seas, rivers and lakes, hell, even a canal is a part of that. So too mountains - preferably in the distance. And forests! But in a pinch, even an unfamiliar road will do.
And, as I discovered when I started commuting by bike every day, even the slowly changing seasons and light can be different enough to blow the spark of a functional ride into a cosy, red glowing tour.
Well, this city is different all the time! It's a chameleon! The same street at different times of the day presents a different side. I can cycle past a building dozens of times and I'd only notice it if it fell on me. But one moment, with the sun shining just right…… it's a work of art!
I don't think I'll ever get used to the Palm trees. There's nothing like a Palm tree to remind me I'm not in Kansas anymore….. and to put a big smile on my face!

I love this Palm Tree!​

For me, a very big part of a tour is the sense of exploration. I don't want to know every last thing about where I'm going….. I want to find them out - for better or worse.
A city of this size, of this character? I'd never explore it all! Every road is an adventure whether it's the traffic, the potholes, the roots of trees showing their authority or the dogs - not chasing me, but travelling with their bosses. There's a bazillion places to eat and of course, all the aromas they create. There are parks, explosions of green, around so many corners so that one moment I'm battling traffic and the next, I'm sailing under birdsong.

Early morning - light, shade and if you listen…..birds!​

An aspect of touring that I cherish is the welcome a chap, carting his gear around on a bike, receives in these "strange" places. People are friendly, welcoming, approachable and approaching, curious, full of help and praise. Perhaps it's wrong to admit it, but at times their envy does give me a little tingle of satisfaction.😊
I don't think I've ever been to a place as friendly, as welcoming. It's still "El País de las Sonrisas". You don't need a bike and gear to feel welcome, you just need a pulse!
This morning, stocking up on a few bits and pieces in a local Oxxo, I dropped my change and after fumbling and fustering finally cleared the counter. I turned around to the man behind me, muscled, tatooed and a prime casting candidate for a Cartel enforcer, apologised for the delay and was rewarded with a smile that reached past the ends of his face mask and a tilt of the head to say no problem.
On the bike, slow down, let a pedestrian cross and brace myself. The guys will nod and say "gracias", but the ladies? They beam.
This has happened so many times that I've often thought that a great pick-me-up is available on a bad day. Just choose a busy street with lots of pedestrians, cycle down, apply the brakes and learn, no feel, what the word beam actually means. There's a warmth that puts the sun in the halfpenny place.

There's never a dull moment on the bike! Trust me, helmets are good!​

As a lazy bugger, I enjoy the more natural cycle that my life has on a bike. Abed with the sunset, awake with the dawn. A full day.
These days it gets cold at night so the most comfortable place for me is in bed. That means most mornings I'm up before the sun and that feeling is fabulous! A whole day stretching out in front of me, and like on the road, I never really can be sure what's going to happen.

Finally, there's that whole "away from it all" feeling. The usual humdrum of daily life gets left behind, priorities become simple, survivalist in nature, and immensely satisfying. Please don't try to tell me that paying the phone bill, getting the dishwasher fixed or finding the best car parking spot outside the supermarket on a Friday evening in winter compares to finally landing in that little campsite, setting up your tent and crawling inside just as the heavens open!
OK, I can't really recreate that rooted here as I am, but there's a simplicity to life here that I find completely charming.
The problems that I face here are pretty basic in nature. Avoid earthquakes, always have water on hand (the water in the building is delivered by truck) and wandering around on the bike can be like a primitive survival experience, although fun, and do not get caught in the rain during the rainy season!
The climate, the architecture, the abundance of nature and of course the people (and their dogs!) are all powerful reminders that I am in a different world to what I am used to. Inspiration, therefore, to reset years of habit and choose to live a simpler life than before.

Not everything is shiny and new or preserved from Colonial times. I hummed and hawed about heading down here but in the end cycled slowly down. Smiles. Nothing but smiles. The closest thing to a problem I had was when I wanted to wait to let a woman finish washing the bit of street outside her door and she just wanted me on my way.​

I could conceivably "tour" here for evermore and not miss a thing about touring!

On different bike trips there have always been a few special places, some location, where the planets just seem to line up and cast a sense of bliss. In my case there's no common link between them, other than the feeling. It might be on some big highway in Tennessee, the wind and rain buffeting me, a roadside café in Spain that serves sweets as tapas (jellybeans! Yum!) that is so relaxing it leads to an afternoon of card playing rather than cycling, sitting in a beergarden in southern Germany savouring a schnitzel, a cold beer comfortably terrified before setting off on my first ever bike adventure, how Vienna seduced me when I arrived exhausted, overheated, frustrated and starving or many dozens more. The thing is, this city is chock full of these "places". My local park, which I have visited almost daily since June is still one of these places that casts magic. Every. Single. Time.

A park bench! With trees! And look across the road - there's enough detail in that building to keep me amused for ages…..​

I've put some serious thought into staying put here. If I can be as happy as I am, barely knowing a soul, how much better could it be when I have some friends, a social life, maybe a señorita? I've even thought about what I could do to make a living and none of them involve teaching English

However, there is still a wanderlust in me. There's much more to see and experience. A bit like when I started this little adventure there's a part of me that will regret not giving it a shot.
I think the biggest problem I'll face is the habit I've developed of just following my nose. I've lost count of the times I've set off to go to A, only to be distracted, wander off course and end up at Z. Destinations have become more than a little irrelevant. Time even more so. It's amazing how many times I've plonked myself down, normally in a park, and something or someone will "happen". I just have to sit and wait.
Not being bothered to reach a destination and having been conditioned to sit and watch? That'll be a challenge on a bike tour!

A park. What you can't see is the spaghetti looping superhighway beside it. Early in the morning this one is full of pro dog walkers and their charges. They'll take a section, let the dogs loose …… and nothing bad happens! ​

*This post has been inspired by three early morning visits to the Immigration offices. Each time it's "Come back next week" and a smile. I know I could check online for updates but an early morning bike ride? Here it's feckin' fantastic! Cold, bright morning sun, dark, cold shadows, traffic barrelling down some streets, others owned by birds singing their morning joy; it's cycling,
Jim, but not as we know it!
For a bike tourist I'm a lazy sod so only an obligation will have me out that early. They can postpone their official duties for as long as they want as far as I'm concerned!

México? It's feckin' great!

Heading downtown!​

Chat away!
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[HobbesOnTour]

Sunday Whatever……..

Kris Kristofferson growls that "there's something about a Sunday that makes a body feel alone". I'd tend to hum along with him in that.
Sunday starts out as the loneliest day of the week. Sunday mornings are for sharing, for long, lazy breakfasts, for listening to the radio, reading the paper, chatting. Preferably with someone soft and cuddly.

Without a feckin' global Pandemic, Sunday mornings in México City might just be the best Sunday mornings anywhere. If we forget about the rainy season, there's no shortage of parks (with tables) to retire to after picking up a breakfast to go. For very little money, a takeaway breakfast can be picked up. Eggs, bacon, juice, coffee, bread.
Some places are take out only (non-pandemic related), others have dine in options. But when the alternative is the park and all that it offers, then the park is king!

These days, wintertime, the mornings are fresh and clear. The sun peeks over the tops of buildings at about 7am. The trick with a bit of loneliness is to confront it full on, not to sit, stew and let it fester. Throw on a fleece and go for a walk. Get out into the city and let it work it's magic.

It's nippy and at that time of the morning you'd want to move quickly to warm up. Five to ten minutes of brisk walking and that job's done. I'm warm and off the beaten track - or at least as off the beaten track as I can be in this huge, sprawling city.

At that time of the morning, the birds are waking up. And "singing". I use inverted commas because the quality of the "singing" is subjective! Sometimes it's horrendous! It's strange how the birds gather only in certain trees, most sitting silent, an odd one full of noise.

The morning sun in the trees is something to behold, though. The treetops gleaming in the glow, the branches and trunks dark shadows - a delightful and eye-catching contrast of bright and dark.

The big roads, the arteries leading in and out of this giant heart of a city are never quiet, but on a Sunday morning, as quiet as they'll ever be. A small burst of traffic when a light goes green then an empty five lane highway for me to wander across or maybe take a photo. The odd light breaker pulls well over out of my way, normally smiling or waving at the feckin' eejit in the road taking a photo.

I think Petrolheads would like this place!​

The food places, be they restaurants, take out or little more than a folding table on the path beside a big junction are getting ready to open. It makes no difference to style or standard, every single one starts by sweeping the street. A little sprinkling of water to stop the dust rising and the brushes gather up all the debris, leaves and dust since yesterday. The brushes are usually homemade, a pole with a bunch of twigs wrapped and secured at the end. Witches' brooms! Even that early in the morning the smiles are on speed-dial. Push the right button and connection is made.

The bin men are out too. They work seven days a week, but a Sunday is a great day for observing them at their work. That's a subject that requires a post all to itself.

There's a few early dog walkers, their charges bundles of curious energy after being cooped up all night.
And a handful of early morning joggers. Saturday is the big day for early morning jogging - Sunday's for rest!

A tree! Outstanding in its field​

By now, the sun is higher and more powerful and it makes itself felt. Out of the shade, I can feel the sun on any parts of exposed skin - not a lot because of a facemask - but more noticeably I feel it's absence when I step into the shade again. A distinct chill. As the day progresses it becomes more and more powerful, the shadows less and less frequent.

It's around this time that a peculiar Sunday morning phenomenon is noticeable - dog chats!

It appears that a lot of folks share my idea of a lazy Sunday morning - get up, put the dog out on the balcony or flat roof and go back to bed. The dogs may be missing out on some exercise, but not socially. They chat with each other! Yaps, little barks fill tbe air. They don't have to see each other - they can hear each other. In fairness, it's not continuous, nor particularly loud. Nobody seems to mind. And for a guy wandering around below them? They don't even notice him! It may not be a typical Sunday choir, but it's beautiful music to my ears.

There's one group of dog owners who do get out early, though. Behind the historic Monastery of Churubusco there's a small park where every Sunday morning a group of dog owners gather, set up a table or two and share coffee and food while their dogs play together! It's a lovely sight! The Sunday before Christmas they seemed to be having presentations and some of the dogs were dressed up for the season! Photos of the dogs were impossible due to the constant moving, chasing and dust, but there was an atmosphere in the air that just said "Christmas".

I love this section of this street! The colours!​

The Churches (when they're open) are interesting. Queues can form before Mass and temperatures are taken and alcohol gel dispensed before people take their place in socially distanced pews.
Some Churches set up speakers outside, place plastic chairs and increase their occupancy. This allows people to bring their dogs with them! Really!
On the Plaza outside the Church on the Avenida Francisco Sosa a food stall is set up, a man takes over an area to display and sell jigsaws. In the corner away from the Church a group of women (usually) do a fitness program to some very danceable music - between Masses.
There's a Church on the far edge of Coyocán that has been closed due to a previous earthquake so Mass there is in a marquee beside the closed Church.

The Marquee Church. I can't put my finger on it but it always makes me sad.​

Now, at noonish the parks are really coming to life! Sunday is definitely "Family Day" and kids are at the centre.
In my local park the kids can get on a trampoline, rent a battery powered car, paint blank moulds of all kinds of figures, paint all kinds of intricate designs on glass as well as buy all kinds of cheap toys. By far and above the most popular are bubble blowers! The idea is ancient, the packaging is varied, all kinds of crazy shapes, but it's really just water, a little washing up liquid and a bit of lungpower. Kids (of all ages!) love them! Bubbles everywhere! Even fun for the dogs! The older ones might be used to them, but the pups? The looks of shock and confusion on their young faces when they "catch" one is hilarious.
The battery powered cars deserve special mention. They're old and battered, don't go terribly fast, weave around all over the place but the kids love them! There are little crashes - it's amazing how with so much space they can find a kerb - but never a problem with a dog or people. Just a part of the park.
Now that it's after Christmas, there are also lots of junior rollerbladers, roller skaters and cyclists. Most of the gear is Chinese, bright and probably not very durable. The bikes tend to be bigger than the kids - room to grow. For the smaller kids the stabilisers are already gone, the bigger kids are already flying around. Mam and Dad are normally around, as are lots of aunts, uncles and cousins. In a different park laps are easier to do so parents sit and eat, pausing to give the kids a cheer as they fly past, then back to another 5 minutes of adult time.
Every park has a playground for the kids. Unfortunately, they have all been sealed off since I arrived here as part of the Covid regulations. The only time I've seen the tape breached was on the weekend of the Día de Muertos. That weekend, every park had kids playing behind the tape. Not before and not since have I witnessed the same.

The colours!​

The kid free folks are out and about too. Shopping is a big pastime, split between the more economical markets, really just collections of stalls and the far more expensive big brand malls. In both you can get a taco or a burger, just that one place will cost five times as much as the other.

Downtown. I love the reflections!​

Paved areas around monuments and statues (there are a lot of them!) that have not been taped off are taken over by different groups. The cool kids hang out with their skateboards, someone, sometimes with a speaker, will be ranting against the Government, another area people will be doing training for boxing or kickboxing (very popular here with both sexes), often with rollerblade trainees wobbling around them. Another one will have the BMXers, pulling wheelies, doing jumps, crashing, falling but never bothering anyone else.
Everyone just gets along.

Groups meet in cafés, in parks, around benches. Food is often the central focus and why not with so many stalls to choose from. I'm not sure if public drinking is illegal (I think not) but I've yet to encounter any anti-social, drink induced behaviour. Coke (Coca Cola!) seems to be the national drink.
I have no idea what they're called - the rear axle extensions that I remember being on BMX bikes - but they're quite common here. He rides, she stands! What a great way to get around!

Another feature of a Sunday is the wandering minstrels. Musicians, either solo or as a band walking around playing, and collecting some pesos. The quality varies. Greatly! But the ability to extract money is highly developed! It may be a Brass trio, a solo trumpeter, or a guitarist, often accompanied by dedicated money collectors. On streets with people they'll do well. On deserted streets they'll ring every doorbell, bang on every gate to claim their due! On a balcony? They always have a big hat to receive dropped money!
One night I was treated to two guys who set up a speaker under a multistorey apartment block. They took turns playing and singing (one very good, one "God Bless Him, he tries") and people came out on to their balconies to listen, dance and sing along. I watched a guy several floors up come out and listen. Then he went in and got a drink. Eventually he went back inside, grabbed a chair and the bottle and settled down for the night!
What I didn't realise until later was that the building on the opposite side of the road (behind me) had full balconies too!

At this time Covid is ravaging the place. Cemeteries cannot cope with the demand, oxygen and especially oxygen tanks, are in short supply, a death wreath with a handwritten note on a door is not an uncommon sight. Yet people still smile.

When the sun is hottest, these places are so cool and calming. There are busy streets on each side but they are as nothing......​

By now the sun is sinking and the light casts its magic everywhere. The shadows return and the temperature starts to drop. Time to wander home from wherever I find myself. This fabulous city has done its job.

CrazyBeautiful​

*This post has been put together from Sunday observations over several months at varying levels of lockdown. A regular, virus free Sunday must be a thing to behold!

View: https://youtu.be/gPGuUHNT7U4



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[HobbesOnTour]

Day whatever…….

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…..

I ate German food today!*

Yes, in a city overflowing with fabulous, local food I happened across a place called "Bier & Wurst" and I wobbled, faltered and crumbled!

I'd gone off wandering, no destination in mind, just wanting to soak up the late afternoon sun. I'm getting quite good at judging windspeed and direction and using that information to avoid the tempting aromas on the wind that seem to be ever present in this metropolis, but "Bier & Wurst"? In a former life I'd drive to Cologne, get some currywurst and sit with my legs dangling over the mighty Rhine. Then drive home again.

In the run up to Christmas, Germany had been on my mind. December 2020 was the second year in a row that I'd be missing a German Christmas Market. That hadn't happened in the last 20 odd years.

If you've never been, you should! The cold, the gluhwein, the food! Oh the food!!! The decorations. The people singing! Oh the food! And the gluhwein! Have I mentioned the food? And the delicious, hot, rich wine?
And the atmosphere! That's when Christmas really starts in my world.
(Tourist tip: Try to go midweek, I find the atmosphere better).

So, there I am walking down the central island on a busy street, sun is shining, traffic is loco, palm trees around me and I find myself thinking of Germany.
As is so typical for me here, I wasn't even meant to have been there. I'd turned off the street I was on because the light was shining on a colourful tree and I wanted to get closer.

Then I saw the place and thought "Oh", and nothing else. I'd stopped, some instinctive, primitive, pavlovian response to "bier & wurst". My brain simply stopped operating on any kind of an intellectual level. I moved a couple of steps but my legs stopped again.
A scan revealed an empty restaurant with a couple of tables outside. Normally, an empty restaurant can be like a flashing warning light "there's a reason it's empty", but in Covid times, it's not a bad thing. However, outside tables are a must for me, generally, and especially these days. I'm with Julian, Dick, Anne & George (Timmy the dog never offered an opinion) - food eaten outdoors always tastes better!

Then I saw a metal advertising board for the Carolus brewery in Belgium. Those things are rarer than hen's teeth! Someone has contacts!
So, before my head had processed things fully my legs were pulling me across the road.

No menus in use - I had to go online to see the menu but I'd no hesitation in ordering a dunkel weizen while figuring out the technology.

They say that smell is a great trigger of memories. I half filled my glass with Munich's finest and took a deep, deep draft of it down into my lungs and that heady, slightly bitter, partly roasted aroma had me floating around Germany, Austria even parts of France and Italy.

I like beer! The best beers are the ones you've cycled far for or the ones with good friends. For this one I'd been wandering on foot and I was alone. With trepidation I lifted the glass to my lips.
Aaaah! That's a taste I remember!

Such an intimidating sign! Such a wonderful country!​

I ordered a Currywurst and pommes frites. I wasn't expecting much, but since I tend to be lucky in these situations the food matched the beer.
I could have been sitting in my favourite beer garden in Cologne near the chocolate factory, or at the kiosk in Koblenz sitting on a plastic chair as the whole world busies by, sitting at an outdoor restaurant looking at Lorelei's point and the barges floating up and down the Rhine. Or any of the many, many places I've savoured a currywurst and a cold beer in Germany.
The "pommes frites" were neither chips/french fries which the name suggested nor bratkartoffeln. Instead they were paper thin slices of potato, individually seasoned with thyme, slowly fried in oil and served soft, but not soggy. A surprisingly good and sophisticated accompaniment.
But the sauce? Now, this was something else! Normally, I'd expect a curry flavoured ketchup of variable quality, but this is México! The curry flavour ketchup was just a base - there was diced tomato, onion, and something else I couldn't put my finger on! Fabulous!
The sausage itself was ok. It lacked a little seasoning (or my palate is becoming more local) and a little consistency, but, hey, this is México! I cannot complain!

Truth be told, it was so good I couldn't resist ordering a bratwurst. Again I wasn't disappointed! Served simply, with a piece of baguette sandwiching the middle third and some tangy, bitter sauerkraut.

I've always got my kindle on me for when I stop, or I'll take out my phone and write up a few observations. Not today! I sat there, grinning like a loon, savouring every bite, every sip and travelling in my head.

Put me beside water, especially a river with traffic and I will stop frequently. Germany taught me to always carry an extra cup to share my coffee and I have had some wonderful encounters along the Rhine.
The barges are so interesting! Often cars hint at the origin, dogs are common.​

I love Germany! Mein Gott the bureaucracy can drive me demented at times. And the Germans do have their ways!

I remember many years ago arriving in Munich on the train after a really hard working Christmas & New Year. My girlfriend & I were exhausted and had fecked off for a few days.
On arrival, we hit the tourist office in the station and met Frau Germany!
"Hello, we'd like to book a nice hotel to relax for a few days please"
"What is the budget?"
"That really doesn't matter. We have no idea of prices, we have done no research. Can you make a suggestion or two, please?"
"What is the budget?"
"We don't mind. We just want to rest and relax"
"What is the budget?"
And on it went. And on. And on.
I couldn't take anymore, went outside, found a friendly concierge and booked one night into a hotel beside the station.
He understood when I asked him to recommend a nice place for food and a beer, sending us off wandering the back streets to a lovely little bar with friendly locals, good beer and a mighty schnitzel!
Next morning, back to the Tourist office. Different lady, same story! There was a system and it wouldn't bend! No budget? No help!
Frustrated beyond belief, I wandered up to the Deutsche Bahn (train) counter and approached the friendliest looking chap.
"If your boss gave you three days off right now, where would you go?"
He looked at me for a moment and said "Garmisch Partenkirchen".
"Two tickets, please!"
I can still see the half shocked, half amused look on his face when my next question was "where exactly is this Garmisch place? Is it far away?"
Garmisch was great! Right outside the station was a man selling gluhwein! Fortified, we hit the tourist office and got a comfy, lazy hotel.

Taken in France, that little river runs to the Rhine and Germany.​

Damn! But they can be formal!
However, arm yourself with an emotional chisel and hammer and spend a bit of time hacking at that outer shell and you'll soon find a warm, friendly person underneath.
Germans make friends for life. Through thick, thin and anything else they are there.

This picture is taken in Austria, but if my sense of direction is correct (and it likely isn't!) that's Germany on the other side of the lake.​

Go to a German forest and all those Grimm tales come to life. I'd advocate to anyone to go to a forest in Germany with a copy of that book and read. You start reading the story and little by little you end up in the story. If it's an unsanitised version you may not want to stay after dark!
*It's a bugbear of mine. So many of the Grimm tales have been soaked in detergent, cleaned, washed, laundered, softened, perfumed and neatly folded that they bear little relation to the tales in their "original" peasant smock formats. Some of the stories are vividly graphic, terrifying and prove that some people are just downright nasty!

The Land of Fairytales!​

Go along a river outside any big town or city and you'll pass little groups passing an afternoon peacefully, a few beers, maybe a little fire and some food. The most disturbing thing that may happen is that some of them may be naked! And more often than not every bit of rubbish is removed.

Koblenz
I have many happy memories of Koblenz. There are cable cars, a magnificent castle and of course the Rhine! There are few things better than stopping and having a (cyclist's!) snack and watching the world roll on by. I vividly recall watching a small cruiser battle the flooding, surging, brown, churning river and make incredibly slow progress in less than optimal weather. It seemed like I was watching a battle for survival.
And a brief mention for the time I accidentally took the wrong river and instead of heading North and home to NL I was heading for France .​

And there's this embarrassing tale for a cycle traveller. On my first ever self-supported tour (in Germany) I had my first puncture as an adult. Did I have a patch kit? No! Sure I wouldn't have known what to do with one! I had loads of books, though! Because I'm bloody lucky I came across a bike sales/rental and repair place operating out of a small farm in the middle of nowhere.
The man, German, was more than a little surprised that a bike complete with heavy panniers (and a tiger!) was under the control of a complete loon. My boundless optimism was an alien concept to him, but he kindly offered me the chance to learn how to fix a puncture. Every single step was explained, demonstrated slowly and with only the smallest feelings of humiliation on my behalf.
We searched the tyre for the source (a thorn) and he was at pains to explain how important it was to seek out the source.
In the end he only wanted to charge me for a puncture repair kit (which I was now qualified to use!) We fought over a tip!

The longest stretch of rain riding I ever did was in Germany! 5 days in a row!​

Worms! (Interesting detail: My Arkel handlebar bag, a gift from dear friends has space for maps. On this particular trip it contained song lyrics)​

Munich​

So, there I was sitting at a little table on a street in México city thinking of Germany.
It was only on the way home that the thought struck me. Someday, maybe I'll be far, far away from this great city but maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to get some food, close my eyes and visit whenever I want.

*Today was actually back in October

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[HobbesOnTour]

Doggy Day Whatever.... Again!

The good news is that my doggy encounters are slowly increasing. I'm guessing I'm starting to smell less like a foreigner and more like a local! All that rice and beans I'm eating has unexpected advantages!

I saw something online about ways to "hack" our happiness chemicals and playing with a dog is in there!

Writing, recording and remembering them helps too, so here's another doggy post!

I found this helpful in these troublesome times​

I didn't notice the King of the park at first, my attention was absorbed by two usurpers. A man was struggling to control them with heavy chains for leads as they tried to show themselves as the dominant dogs of the park.
One was a Boxer, lean and young with a vibrant, healthy coat of brown glowing with just a hint of orange. His "brother" was of undetermined breed (to me), slightly smaller, but with the same type of coat. What made me think of brothers (half brothers?) was the fact that both their coats had a few randomly scattered black patches, thumbprint size, that only highlighted the glow from their coats.
These were fine specimens of dog. Unfortunately, they seemed to know it or perhaps, like some people, they had no idea, felt inferior so were throwing their weight around in every direction. That little fluffy dog over there? Let's get him! That Old English Sheepdog with the clipped coat way over there? Let's show our scorn by barking wildly! Cute dogs suck!!

And so they moved through the park, a pair of shark fins cutting through the tranquil surface of the park, their presence noted and avoided by most. It's not that boisterous dogs are a rare sight (or sound) in the park, it's that there was a coldness to this pair that was unusual. It seemed like a cold wind was blowing through the park. Dogs leap at each other all the time but with a playful intent that is clear to read. The worst that can happen is a tangling of leads! These guys were too cool to be able to read their intentions.

Then they met the King, or more appropriately, the King introduced himself to them the way I'd imagine a real King would - He stood and waited for them to see him. Then, realising that they were the naked emperors, they roared to hide their shame.

The King was in the park with his Boss, an older man who knew he had something special on his hands.
The King was a German Shepherd, huge, a typical coat, but the clear definition of his brown and black colouring seemed to suggest that he had his own team of designers and dressers. He was immaculate. His ears stood straight up, curious, but it was his paws that really marked him out - they were huge, lion paws. Thankfully he showed no sign of the hip problems that can plague the breed. He stood proud, and straight, the very definition of canine royalty.
His poor Boss was trying to entertain him by throwing sticks. The King had standards. If the stick was too small he sniffed disparagingly, looked at his boss with his large, deep eyes and wandered off. A larger stick, or more accurately, a small log, would hold his interest longer and he would chase it, striding gracefully, leaping low hedges like he had invisible wings until he had it in his mouth. But returning it to his Boss? Ha! That was beneath him! Once "caught", shown who was the King, he was happy to drop the little log and wait expectantly for his elderly boss to pick up another and play the game again.

I'm clearly not a proper cycle tourist as my load only gets larger! This is Frida, mi compañera de viaje mexicana! Mazi is too big to be lugging about all the time and Frida is petite enough to fit in my handlebar bag. ​

It was the non stop braggadocio from the terrible twins that distracted him. He paused, standing regally and looked at them. Something must have flowed out of him because without moving, without making a noise, the twins sensed him, simultaneously veered in his direction (pulling their boss with them) and roared their challenge.

The King took it all in his stride, standing, staring and taking it all in. Then he bounded down towards them, stopping on one side of a low hedge, his tail wagging cautiously but generously towards the pretenders. It was his eyes, though, that proved to me he was the King - they were placed firmly on the twins' struggling boss, ignoring the barking, explosive pair trying to pull off his arms. "Give me a sign", he was saying, "just a nod and we'll play!". His wagging tail, his head confidently held, standing as tall as he could on his side of the hedge (can dogs stand on their tippy toes?) was a picture of royalty. The respect he showed the terrible pair's boss was in clear contrast to the respect they showed him.
Like bullies they were trying to loudly intimidate the King. The only response they received was a confused tilt of the head, eyes still boring into the Boss as if to say "Why are you letting them say such things? I just want to be friends".

Folks, if you've never had a Mexican hot chocolate you are missing out!!! That little jug is full of rich, thick, slightly sweet chocolate that gets added to a big bowl of milk! If you're smarter than me, you won't need to order a second one before figuring out that your little finger will fit in the jug!​

It was a powerful scene, significant because such a scene is so rare here. It lasted only seconds but time seemed to stand still. I was aware of their Boss trying to pull them away but that only seemed to excite them more. Then the King's boss called him and despite his disdain for the poor stick selection skills of the old man he immediately turned and ran back to continue their one sided game. Not once did he look back at the troublesome two who immediately tried to cover up their humiliation by ganging up on a well groomed poodle. In fairness, they weren't vicious or mean, just rough and lacking social skills. The poodle wasn't taking it!

Getting Frida used to being on the road​

It was the first day after the Christmas lockdown that Alex (my taco guy) was able to use his tables. I'd made a point of getting take out tacos during the lockdown. Poor man, his business was devastated.
So there I am, grinning like a loon, basking in a post T-bone glow, sipping my solitary beer when a woman walks by with an adolescent bull terrier on a lead. He looks me right in the eye, sees what he wants to see and lunges at me! I'm already twisting in my chair and meet him head on. The dogs love to wrestle here and that suits me down to the ground! His boss stopped for a moment and started offering her apologies but trailed off as there was clearly a pair of us in it!
We wrestled for less than a minute but it was great fun! He gently took my hand into his mouth (whoah!! They are some very sharp teeth!) and trotted obediently away when his boss had enough, looking back as if to remember me so we can have a rematch. Fine by me!

She seems to be doing fine!​

I'm intrigued by the sheer number of dogs trotting around with bikes. They're street smart, fit and totally unphased by all that a bike trip in this glorious city throws up. What amazes me is the training process. How do you go about training a dog to trot beside you, often leadless and to follow every cue?
Well, one evening, in the doggy section of the park, there's a guy zipping around on his 29er MTB amongst all the dogs with a collie pup running beside him.
Now here's the thing. It's evening so the area is filled with dogs of all breeds, shapes and sizes and not a one of them pays the slightest attention to the biker. And here's another; Not a single human shows any sign of being bothered by the guy on the mountain bike either.
I'm standing at the fence delighted to be seeing this. The pup is working hard to keep up, isn't being distracted by all the doggy fun going on around him and is sitting consistently behind and to one side of his boss' rotating right foot. The cyclist is weaving left and right and pup is following smoothly.
Then they leave the enclosure and boss starts to pedal off. It was like he'd brought a different pup out because now the pup was uncontrollable, running hither and tither, jumping up on his leg and just generally looking to have some fun time! It seemed the doggy enclosure was for "work", the rest of the park for fun!

Pope John Paul II (a very popular figure here) gets to meet Frida​

Every now and then I notice something that stops me dead and makes me wonder just what makes this place so different.
On one of my Navigate by Park days, I ended up spying a really funny scene. An older boss lady standing beside a tree and letting the squirrels exercise one of her dogs!
He was a fine expression of a fighting dog, sleek, a brownish grey colour, young, but fully grown. But he had a bit of cat in him because he kept throwing himself at a tree! Squirrels! There was a group of five or six up there and he wanted them! (Only once before have I seen a dog chase a squirrel. Here, all the animals seem to live in peace with each other!)
He was running laps around the tree, jumping regularly. After a few laps of the tree he'd run away from the tree, do a lap of a part of the park and then fly back towards the tree, leaping up, trying to grab onto the trunk, failing, then jumping back onto the ground. More laps of the tree!
He was panting heavily, his Boss standing to one side, obviously used to this scene, his doggy buddy sitting alertly, back to the tree and ignoring all the antics going on around him.
It was very entertaining! He had no hope, but God Bless Him he never gave up! Other than his panting there wasn't a sound. No barking. No growling.
I couldn't figure out if the squirrels were teasing him or ignoring him and I wondered which was the worst?
His boss had a bottle of water and a little plastic bowl that he guzzled from regularly before returning to the fray.
So there I am, astride the bike, watching this scene when a woman pushing a little fella on a little plastic truck pulls up to watch the scene too. She's telling the little fella what's going on and pointing out the squirrels. He can't be more than 3 years old so all the world amazes him.
The world's most dedicated squirrel hunter zips past them on his regular "lull those feckin' squirrels into a false sense of security" lap and that's when it hit me. This is what I categorise in my head as a "fighting dog" and mother is not in the slightest bit perturbed as he races within touching distance, son is delighted and laughing and pretty much nobody else in the park is bothered!
What an unusual sight where I'm from!
When it was time to go, his buddy, an older dog with a bit of bloodhound in him ran a half lap of the park, presumably getting his exercise, then trotted out with BossLady. Squirrel Hunter trotted beside her too, breaking away for another couple of runs at the tree until she hit the pavement. Then he sat on her heel and never once looked back.

Squirrel Hunter is racing elsewhere in the park, his buddy is sitting patiently, the couple are practising kick boxing (and not phased by the ocassional dog zipping right past them and the squirrels are in the tree.​

At first glance I was confused. At second glance I was dumbfounded. Then I thought I was seeing something terribly selfish, humiliating and bordering on cruelty. There, dodging in and out between the legs of various people, chairs and tables, on a little terras on the side of the road was a well clipped Poodle (or Poodle-like) whose outsized, floppy ears had been dyed pink!
It took me some moments to figure out just what I was seeing, and my mind moved to judgement. Cruel, humiliating, purely for human amusement were the things going through my head.
But then I watched that little, freaky dog and things started to change. His family were large in number and young in age. They adored him, giving him lots of attention even as they ate. Other diners were charmed and as he ran around lapping up all the attention on offer I realised that he's a dog - he doesn't have a clue about the suitability or not of pink ears. And he definitely looked cute!

It may not be clear from this angle, but that magnificent building is tilting backwards and sinking into the ground!​

One day, closer to the centre, at the same little lake that I'd seen the Husky and Shepherd playing, there's a little family of Mamá, Papá, little girl unsteady on her feet, a black and white Collie and a flat-faced pug.
Mamá has a ball and a plastic ball launcher. Whoooooooosh! Into the little lake and Collie immediately leaps the low wall and into the water. Pug hops onto the wall but baulks at going further.
And again.
Next ball is along the ground to give pug a fighting chance!
Then back to the water. Except this time the ball hits the wall and flies backwards and across the road! Both dogs set off in hot pursuit until with one command they stop dead. Seizing my chance I hop across the road and grab the ball. Papá voices his thanks and reaches for the ball. Hell no! I have two dogs looking at me like I'm the centre of their world! I feint, left, then right, eventually lob the ball high into the air and savour the sight of Collie leaping the wall into the water.

The Cathedral of the Virgin of Guadalupe is delighted to welcome Frida​

Finally, one evening at the edge of my local park an elderly gentleman stops to talk to a young lady. He has a Husky, leadless, who obediently stops. She has, what I refer to as a "handbag" dog, small, dainty and with something of the rat about it. This little chap (or lady) is on a lead and not as tranquil as the husky. Up on its hindlegs, it introduces itself to Husky by clamping his front two paws on the bigger, calmer dog's snout. I can see Husky flinch but the fireworks I was expecting never came. Husky took it all in its stride.

Chat away!
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[HobbesOnTour]

Day whatever….

I am reading a book about a guy who came up with a plan to pack in his job and cycle from the US to Patagonia when he turned 30.
He had a popular Instagram account and subsequently wrote a book about his travels.
His story is that of the rank outsider*, the complete newbie and I tend to like those types of stories. In my head, the inspiration is far more important than the "knowledge". Don't get me wrong, the knowledge, the experience, the gear are all important. But without the inspiration they count for naught, or at least, very little.
I have all the information in the world on a device that fits in my pocket. That same device will let me buy pretty much anything I want, pretty much anywhere.
I don't need info. I need inspiration.

Sometimes I used to cycle out the road and cross an Internatiinal Border​

*He's not quite a rank outsider. His parents wrote a famous travel book together, others separately and were regular contributors to National Geographic. I can easily imagine a lot of doors swung open easier for him than others.

So this guy is in México and starts talking about how much information he has gleaned from blogs. This is well into the book and up to this point he hasn't mentioned any prep that he's done. You'd be forgiven for thinking that he bought his bike, any bike will do, stocked up at REI (U.S. sports chain) and hit the road.
But he gives zero credit to any sources for his information. Want the address of a trendy coffee shop? No problem. Want an idea of where he got the info? Not a hope!
Not for the first time reading the book I had to fight the urge to throw my Kindle against the wall! (At one stage he compared his Instagram account to Darwin's Diaries and the writings of John Steinbeck. As a huge fan of Steinbeck that was almost a comparison too far!!).
I really, really dislike the writers of blogs and the like that don't honestly outline the preparations they undertook and reserve a special level of dislike for those that mention vague sources without giving credit. Use someone's work? Give them some credit!

So, there I was, lying on my smug bed, basking in an aura of smugness, breathing pure, smug air when I was more than just a little bit irritated at the thought that I may well fall into the latter category.

I'll try to rectify that now.

Dawn on the French Spanish border. That day I joined hundreds of walking Pilgrims, nearly all starting their journey to Santiago de Compostela.
Full of more inspiration than sense I dragged my bike along the walker's path. ​

CGOAB was the first online source of inspiration I had found. I was amazed to discover that this cycle touring thing was a big deal!
Living in NL I saw lots of bikes with Panniers but I also saw lots of joggers and vegan restaurants - none of these things spoke to me and therefore never really figured in my consciousness.
I had my first tour (supported) done, my first unsupported tour done (with Hobbes!) and I was starving for more!
The first journal I recall reading avidly was Chris Pountney's. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew people had cycled around the world, but here was a chance to read a blow by blow account "Live from the Road", so to speak, even though I was far, far behind.
I stopped reading in Turkey, I believe, when he insisted on travelling down a mountain in winter snow despite the pleas of officials to wait a day or two for the poor conditions to improve. They'd be the very people who would either have to rescue him or find his body if something went wrong.
I stopped reading again after one of the Stans after he'd thrown a hissy fit about having to take a lift across a border (he was very anti car). Imagine! A frontier between countries having rules!
Later I resumed and stopped again when, spoiler alert! his girlfriend (non-native English speaker) developed an eye infection on a ship to the States and he refused to go in a cab with her to a medical centre on an island stop. (Cars, again!) He was well finished by the time I picked it up again but by then my heart wasn't in it. It was cycle touring, yes, but not to my taste. I respect the EFI crowd (Every F****** Inch), but it's not a style I'm comfortable with.
Later he published a book (actually two) didn't credit CGOAB at all (which I found to be very rude - he got a lot of help from the owner and members) and now his journal is gone.

I read many journals, some more memorable than others. I didn't really care where they were, so long as they were interesting. I absorbed things in a type of osmosis, not even realising that ideas were forming in my head. I was scratching an itch, but I was taking lots in too!
I had no time to tour, reading about it was the next best thing.
Probably the most important thing I took away from reading a variety of different journals was the sheer variety of ways there was to tour! There were the Round the World folk, the EFI folk, the ones who set out to ride massive distances per day (and packed accordingly) and the ones who hardly seemed to make progress at all!
There were people who planned every last detail to ones who followed their noses.
Some people were flexible on using other transport, for others that was a crime!
There were those on minimum budgets and those where money wasn't a concern.
Supported, group, solo, everything was represented.

Yurts! Even in the flatlands on the far side of Nijmegen I can pitch my tent and pretend I'm far, far away!​

Then I set off on a trip to Spain to cycle the Camino and back. I had time and I had a tent! I also had a kindle and that was a boon!

Other than CGOAB I wasn't looking at any online fora. Looking back I am convinced that that was a blessing! I had the "wrong" bike, no navigation skills, I hadn't followed a training program, I was unfit, overweight, a smoker, I was departing last minute….. I may never have gone if I had seen some of the "conventional" wisdom online.
I am convinced that if someone had suggested that I needed to "train" (and I had believed it!) I'd never have set off.

I remember reading about the Kontiki voyage in the early days of that trip. What inspiration! The casual bravery of people signing up, the cooperation and goodwill from all places, just the Adventure!
That led me on to the Brendan Voyage. Absolutely fabulous! Again, nothing whatsoever to do with cycling, but fantastic inspiration! I read Paul Kimmage's Rough Ride and developed a distaste for competitive cycling. I read several books on the fall of Lance Armstrong and developed that distaste further!
It was cycling, but nothing like my cycling. No disrespect to any roadies reading this, but the idea of "measurement" appals me! I'm measured enough in normal day to day life.
I did tot up my daily mileage and I was very excited on reaching 1000km and again on arrival in Santiago and I have a photo with the cumulative kms. I can't recall it now, though. The distance was probably the least important aspect of the tour to me, afterwards, yet something that a lot of people obsess with.

In the South of France I started reading Tim Moore's "Spanish Steps", a fun, entertaining account of his Camino journey with a donkey.
(Yes, I was reading a lot! I could pull up anywhere and read for a while! Bliss!)
It is incredibly interesting to me, to read of a place and pass through at about the same time.

I read Maeve Binchy, an Irish journalist and author. She had great observational skills and her newspaper articles, especially, inspired me to pay more attention to what was going on around me. Anywhere there are people, there is drama, but especially so on the Camino. So much human emotion; hope, despair, pain, optimism, pessimism, fear and amazing bravery, incredible stupidity and wonderful intelligence shuffling towards a common goal. So many "rules", so much focus and so much distraction. Lots of judgement and lots of embracing the different. The Camino itself taught me feck all about cycle touring, but it taught me a hell of a lot about travelling. And humanity.

The Camino, where I learned the heaviest baggage isn't what we carry on the bike or on our bikes, but within us.​

I read Game of Thrones (not all of it!) and was inspired by fictitious journeys. I read of routes being "boring" and I suppose if I want to head off across Kansas I may well find it boring. My imagination is my natural defence to boredom. There's something about a long, straight road that says "Journey". A bend just says "Mystery around me". This is where inspiration plays such a huge part, for me. Having the bestest bike, the lightest gear won't take away the hard slog of some days' cycling - what's in my head does.

Honourable mention should go to Douglas Adams' "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" series, books I'd read as a kid. Now, older, not nearly as wiser as I thought I'd be, but with time and some amazing places to sit and absorb, that book opened up new worlds to my thoughts and the ways I processed them.

Yep, not a single book about bike touring!

Back at home, in a bit of a post tour funk I started playing with Google Maps and compared how far I'd cycled with various places. I could have gone to St. Petersburg! (A dream of mine). Across Canada, the States! To me these were amazing distances!! Incredible! And I had already proven I could do that distance - and enjoy it! Inspiration right there! Quite by accident, it seemed, I'd become a bike tourist.

Fired up, I dove back into CGOAB and started reading voraciously. Just for fun, for inspiration. I'd read a bit of a journal, skip to another, without a real focus.
I think it was about this time that I discovered this place and another couple of fora. I was strictly a lurker, just reading.

At various times I went on a book reading splurge. Sometimes for inspiration, other times for more specific experiences in certain areas or routes.
I loved Ann Mustoe's first book "A Bike Ride: 12,000 miles around the world"
(not so much the second). There's an incredible bravery within, that is barely acknowledged. At the risk of provoking ire, she cemented my perception of a typical English School Mistress. No nonsense, matter of fact and capable of giving a terrifying scolding! It's worth remembering that she set off without the skills to fix a puncture (about the only thing I have in common with this great lady ). Her attitude carried her as far, if not further, than her bike.

Dervla Murphy.
An Irishwoman, who set off to India in the sixties based on an idea she had as a child? On a bike?? Feck me, but it doesn't get more inspirational than that! (It's been years since I read that, a battered second hand copy. (I've bought the electronic copy now to be reread and reinspired!)

The great thing about a Kindle is the ability to read a sample and to see if the book speaks to me. If not, I can move on. And I did! Frequently!

I was annoyed by Joe Kurmaskie who had adopted my image of a bike tourist being a Cowboy and the bike a horse! His style was entertaining, but sanitised, as I recall.

I enjoyed Steven Primrose-Smith's (occasional member of this parish) "No Place Like Home" as a touring book and "Hungry for Miles" as an observation on human behaviour.

Mention to Mike Vermeulen, a member of several fora who wrote an E-book. Not the most literary of efforts, but different tours in different continents in different manners (solo, supported group, a companion from the classifieds) throw up a lot of things to contemplate.

I also discovered YouTube but touring videos rarely do it for me. Too staged. I can appreciate and respect the work, effort and time that goes into them but I rarely can get over the idea that the trip is more about the recording than the trip. On Youtube, Johann is fabulous. I'm not sure if he gives the "whole" picture, but his manner, his style is just wonderful! His videophotography is wonderful! By far and above my favourite Youtuber.

I really like this guy for his simple, "this is not complicated" style.

This guy has bike touring and tent modification videos amongst his output.

One of the first Youtubers I found.

Other early viewing.

And I really dislike the Bike Touring Pro! "Pro" implies levels, standards, measurement. Superiority. Yuck!!!! And he and his gear is nearly always so neat and ordered! I watch a video of his and I have no idea if he did this trip because he wanted to do it or if he needed to expand his library and increase clicks.

Special mention to Unicyclist Ed, discovered last year.

In terms of videos, I preferred videos not related to cycling. Camping, gear reviews etc. were more my cup of tea, although I'd find myself bombarded with ads afterwards.

I met this Dutch chap on the Camino. Despite having cycled from NL he was incredibly nervous about getting lost! I was amazed at his rigidity - X kms per day irrespective of weather, climbing or just the "feel" of a place. Equally, he couldn't comprehend my more easygoing ways.​

I started following another CGOAB journal, an Irishman on another round the world trip. William Bennett. That was fabulous! Spoiler Alert! There is a fabulous description of him completing his circumnavigation in a place I happen to know well. His emotion was palpable, but the scene throws so much light onto so many aspects of long distance solo touring.

Jeff Kruys I found interesting. Very laid back, his own man, nothing seemed to faze him and he had reasons to be fazed!

There are parts of this that spoke to me then and still do. "Wicked Cool" maybe not so much, though.

I especially wanted to read about trips heading east from Europe. The more I read of China the less I wanted to go there which was interesting, because there's always a steady line of Dutch cycle tourists heading to China. Any mention of my ideas (I was living in NL) was met with "Oh I saw X on a video going to China….". I had the idea that I was often dismissed as a fantasist if I said I had no intention of ever making China a destination.

There are journals about Syria, before it descended into its current chaos. A lesson to seize the moment.
Here And Here

There were more than a few that I read for pure car-crash horrorAnd some I read that just horrified me. Honestly! The details some people feel necessary to include in a journal! There were lots of things to learn from the tours where there was little or no enjoyment!

I didn't read for information but little details stuck in my head, nonetheless.
There was the girl who on arriving in Canada discovered the maps on her gps were corrupted and wouldn't work. After 5 days of waiting for customer support she headed off anyway.
There was the account of a guy who met two Germans in South America with a busted Rohloff - their second of the trip. They had enough and were going home.
The legal difficulties in leaving a home for an extended period of time.
There was a guy doing a ride for charity. Suffering a lot of mechanicals he was really feeling pressure to stay upbeat for people following along.
There were more than a few accounts of stoning attacks by kids in Ethiopia. Different people had different ways of dealing with it. Educational.
The difficulty of communication in China rose up again and again.
Packs of wild dogs in Greece were a problem.
But more than anything I was inspired.
The kindnesses of random strangers.
The people who had bikes stolen, bought another and continued on.
The people who had far worse happen to them and found the wherewithal to continue.
The things people saw and experienced, but most importantly the way they felt.

There's a theory that in communication, people rarely remember what is said, they remember how it made them feel. The best accounts of journeys had me feeling. The ups, the downs. I celebrated their successes and suffered their failures.

Gradually the idea for this trip started to form. Initially a round the world trip.
Now I was reading for information and copying random notes and links into barely organised documents. Things like visa information, borders that don't allow bikes to cross. Vaccinations.
Things changed and I settled on the Americas.
Then things changed again and I settled on this trip.
For most of the nine months before departure I was laid up, flat on my back. Lots of time for reading.
I didn't really concentrate on the US at all, focusing instead on México, Central & South America. I would be able to get the ACA maps for the U.S.- what could go wrong?

Andy Peat & The Shaws were good reads. Andy's girlfriend, a non-cyclist, was recovering from a broken foot - if she could do it, I could do it too!
The Shaws are a couple, she did most of the writing and was a relative newcomer to cycle-touring. Her thoughts came across as "live", genuine and I found them inspiring.

Timothy Tower is an interesting read! His level of detail is outstanding and must take a huge amount of discipline, time and effort to record it all.

The Kepinskis were interesting too.

I made a conscious effort not to prepare too much. I didn't want everything to be preordained.
I noted comments such as that the rail tracks at Guadalajara were dangerous, noting that the people who mentioned it all cross referenced each other! Perhaps, one person once had a bad experience and now no long distance cyclist will ever dally at those train tracks!
I noted that people had found places to camp along certain roads, or that the coast south of Mazatlán was humid and hot with very few options to turn off for higher, cooler country.
I noted enough to give me a bit of confidence but not enough to remove all elements of surprise. The first leg in México was straightforward - I could find no-one who had done it!
(I've since found someone who did a similar route in reverse).

I did sometimes look at other sources too. I'd a suspicious view of many monetised blogs (perhaps unfairly) and really disliked the format that is so common of latest post first. It makes it difficult to navigate.
I followed an Irish guy on a sponsored ride to China. (Can't find a link now) and again, riding a bike in China didn't sound too good. Also, the demands of social media seemed to encroach everywhere.

There was an interesting blog from a (former?) member of these boards. Steve/John Peel set off to Asia as a complete newbie, his strength of body and mind powering through issues.
I really, really enjoyed his blog for its honesty and fresh approach (as a non cyclist). His blog has pretty much disappeared and is used to sell supplements. I understand he has a book out.

Notable mention to Tom Allen. An interesting story. Set off with two friends, split up, meet girl early in trip. Leave, then return! Make a living from cycle touring.
He has some good information, not all of which I agree, but his style is persuasive and educational and not too evangelical and I find his story inspirational in the sense of a plan is an outline, good to get us off our asses, but the slavish following of one? Well, that's a bit restrictive.
To my way of thinking, for a plan made at home to be really useful, every last detail has to be researched, anticipated and understood. If that's the case, a trip based on that plan just becomes an exercise in checking pre-conceived ideas off the list.

I'm not a fan of Facebook and it's really not a decent research resource in my opinion. On CGOAB I have a fair idea of what someone has done and what weight to attach to their contribution. Not so much on Facebook. There's a whole lot of "look at me", "look at my bestest gear" and "cool" answers to serious questions. Also, there's a heavy dependence on videos on the platform. And some groups are just downright exclusionary!

I did listen to some podcasts, but they don't really speak to me. (Ha!)

One thing that I was sure would be different for me was human contact. The "best" journals often had a lot of human contact and I tend towards timid, especially with strangers.
However, I found that on trips long and short a guy on a bike draws attention from (normally) pretty decent souls. I'm convinced that a guy (or a gal!) on a bike comes across as non-threatening and I think that for a lot of people a bike is a throwback to a simpler, childlike time. People respond to that.There's a romance to it that attracts a lot of people and can break down "conventional" communication barriers. I could walk around any town in NL and I may as well be invisible. Throw a couple of panniers on a bike and people looked at me differently and were more likely to initiate contact.
In parts of the world a bike is simply a method of transportation, not a sport, not a leisure activity. It's "normal". Rolling into a strange town, loaded, immediately connects the bike tourist with Normal Joe or Joanne.
There's a flip side too. A bike tour (even a weekender) can be as different from day to day life as you want to make it. It may be that forgetting schedules, a simpler life can also free us of "usual" pressures we're not aware of. That change may make some of us a little less timid or a bit more open.

As all that reading was going on though, the biggest source of inspiration and information were my own little adventures.

I had a new job that gave me five weeks holiday!! I didn't know myself! On top of that I had a three day weekend every three weeks! All of a sudden I had loads of time! Previously, I could work up to 6 months with one day off!
Twice, I was called into the office and given a bollocking for not taking enough holidays! I did two tours pretty much at the drop of a hat with minimal planning because of that! One was to be the source of the Rhine to the Dutch coast, but the source was still snowed in! The train driver radioed ahead for the most up to date forecast and still on the train, I changed my destination. It may seem crazy, but it encourages a certain flexibility when you land in a different city than originally planned!

Practising my culinary skills! In one of those pictures I made bread!​

Every ride was a learning experience. I did a lot of things "wrong" or as I like to think of them, I learned stuff.
I started commuting and figured out the best way to cycle in the rain, snow and temperatures well below zero. Then I sold my car and used the bike for everything. That was a phenomenal confidence boost.
As a lazy bugger I had no option but to ride the bike. Rain or shine. Errands in the city were a lot less stressful on the bike. I'd already started to slow down when I had the car, but using the bike for everything had me almost Zen-like. The journey was often more satisfying than ticking off whatever errand.

I had no gps device, used Osmand for "emergency" navigation having tested it out. I learned to change my outlook and not to think in terms of being "lost", but "exploring". Lost is stressful. Exploring is fun. I think that these mental states are really important.

I camped in winter! -8 celcius! And lived! And enjoyed it!

I talked to everyone along the way when I took trips. I bought a Trangia after the Camino trip and packed an extra cup. On some routes, there are always other cycle tourers and most of them appreciate a free cup of coffee!
I recall meeting a chap cycling to Nordkaap - for the second time. His first attempt left him in a Scandinavian hospital after ignoring saddle sores, developing blood poisoning and passing out. All he could focus on was his schedule.
I met a retired man in a Belgian campsite. He told me of his trip to Spain as a young man with a friend. His friend pared weight everywhere, including the proverbial cutting half the handle off his toothbrush! His friend was cold a lot, developed skin issues from wearing dirty/damp clothing and kept simultaneously poking his gum and stabbing the palm of his hand with his toothbrush!

I also had photos. In the old days, we had to ration our photos - processing was expensive! Today we take unlimited photos! But do we look at them?
I made photobooks for a couple of tours and after moving from Apple discovered Google Photos. Always there.
Above my bed, I placed a poster of "road views" from my Spanish trip.
Similarly, I hung three large maps in my hall (the only place with a large enough surface). Several times a day I had a physical representation of where I wanted to go.
When my first attempt at this trip crashed and burned, they were invaluable in slowly being able to pull something out of the ashes.

Fear is a funny thing…...
When I started camping and thinking further afield, I realised that I'd have to wild camp / stealth camp. The thought was terrifying to me! As is my way, I thought I'd better get it over with. I know I set off one day with the intention of camping off grid - but I'm damned if I can recall it now!! I've thought back the last few days and can't for the life of me recall it! I think it was in Germany, but possibly not! At the time it was huge! Now? Not so much.

Wild/Stealth camping. Germany & Scotland​

I also signed up to Warmshowers and looked forward to meeting interesting, inspiring people. Ha! Dumbass!
The most inspiring was a non-cyling Polish woman who flew into Maastricht, bought a bike, cycled to Rotterdam, then back a different way, sold the bike back to the shop and flew home. I thought she was great!

About this time I started to feel "qualified" to contribute to online fora. Some are better than others. Some are just regulars settling old scores. (Over the years I've pretty much stopped posting on any other ones).

I always feel a pang of sympathy when someone comes along looking for information for an idea to tour. Oftentimes I think they're actually looking for inspiration and support. I can vividly recall the fear I felt before my first ever tour - And that was with a van carrying my gear and a nice hotel waiting for me! I also recall the intense satisfaction of discovering I was already at my destination on day one.
Fear 0 Hobbes 1!
Everyone should feel that!

My first tour, along the Donau/Danube. I was scared of that!​

I always get a knot in my gut when the question is focused on distance or weight or something measurable. If that's your thing that's great for you. However, if you're starting off and you think that's your thing, you may never get to find the real freedom of a cycle tour - even if it's only out the road to a friend's farm to pitch your tent. It's very hard to move away from "measurement" once you've gone down that road.

I hadn't read anything online when I went on my first tour and I often think how lucky I am that that was the case. Other than a large dose of fear I was carrying no preconceptions. Things happened and I responded not based on what conventional "bike touring" wisdom said was correct or incorrect, but on what I thought. Liberating!

I joined a Dutch group and looked forward to a group weekend tour. The Dutch go everywhere! On bikes! Themselves and the Germans are probably the greatest cycle tourists of all.
Group touring is not for me and it had nothing to do with cycling.

Finally, there was other inspiration building up over decades.
My father had enrolled me into the local library at a very young age, opening a door that sometimes has swung ajar, but never closed. The Librarian, Mrs Caffrey did the rest.
I'm Irish, so emigration is a fact of life. I saw my siblings head away for lands far and wide when I was still quite young. Other families were the same. Christmas in my hometown is full of returned travellers.
When my turn came, I travelled too. Packing up and hitting a strange country was more exciting than scary.
And music. As an almost lifelong Springsteen fan I couldn't be anything but inspired by the open road. Ok, I don't have a muscle car but Roccado does fine.
Later, American music, especially the more country style, painted scenes of country, of place and of people, generally good and kind.
Who wouldn't want to visit?

Then, in practical terms, I set about acquiring the things I thought I'd need.
My time loading up and heading off on the "wrong" bike gave me more than enough time to figure out what I was looking for in a "new" bike.
Roccado fitted the bill.
I tested out the concept of a hub dynamo relatively cheaply, then upgraded to a SON and glad I did!
Winter touring and especially commuting had me buying my first ever cycling clothes - Gorewear jacket & rainpants.
I researched heavily and bought the wrong tent.
I got a gps unit, returned it and got a different one. Research!!!
I tested out everything I could think of - route planners, cameras, charging, maintenance, pitching the tent in high winds, I went to Belgium to test a trailer and bought it.
I was putting together the bike that I wanted bit by bit. Every trip, whether an overnighter or a 3 week trip to Ireland and back was a testing and learning experience. To my mind, nothing beats that.

Every one of these pictures is taken within about an hour from my front door in NL​

I also started compiling my "Dummy List" - a whole load of resources for worst case scenarios. I'm not a mechanic, nor mechanically minded, but I've ridden my bike to the woods with my toolkit and stripped and rebuilt it. (That taught me a tool roll is very useful when working in less than perfect conditions). I have a pile of videos on my phone for when I'm stuck.
I've a bike maintenance book on my Kindle, another document with bike parts in various languages, as well as numerous articles and diagrams on my Kindle. I've a small picture book for communicating with zero language in case I get really lost and end up in China!
In other words, I've given myself the tools I think I need to do what I want to do.
I was ready.

When I gingerly mounted Roccado and rolled out of T-town, I had:

• Maps
• The gear I thought I'd need
• Multiple GPX files created for different versions of the same routes
• A kindle, filled with those disorganised files, my Dummy List and lots and lots of reading!
• Saved Google Maps with campgrounds highlighted (to work offline)
• Osmand with all the initial maps saved (to work offline)
• A bit of experience under my belt
• A head full of inspiration and dreams.

I don't have a comprehensive list of all the best journals I read. Ditto for other blogs/youtubers.
Most links I have on my laptop, sitting in a friend's attic in NL. Some that I can recall are no longer hosted on CGOAB. There is a very effective search function on the site and checking the guestbook is often a good way to get more info or more sources.
Anyone reading this, and thinking "Someday I'll start checking out Journals", I'd encourage you to start sooner than later. CGOAB isn't going to be around forever and is losing contributors regularly.

Other links to consider that I've become aware of since I started

https://humancyclist.wordpress.com/2013/11/16/cycleur/.

"Lands of Lost Borders: A Journey on the Silk Road" by Kate Harris.


And some other Bike Touring books I read:
"Dividing the Great" by John Metcalfe.
https://a.co/ajb43UF

"The Road Headed West: A Cycling Adventure Through North America" by Leon McCarron.
https://a.co/aUOpFuW

"North To South: A man, a bear and a bicycle" by James Brooman, David Brooman.
https://a.co/fgl1edg

"Squeaky Wheels: the Non-friction Adventure from Sea to Shining Sea" by Scott Hippe.
https://a.co/cu9jCKQ

"To Shake the Sleeping Self: A Journey from Oregon to Patagonia, and a Quest for a Life with No Regret" by Jedidiah Jenkins.
https://a.co/5OChgPT

My first self supported tour in Germany. That forest wasn't on my "route" and I fought (and lost) the urge to go into it. When I turned off my carefully plotted route I learned a valuable lesson - ride what's in front of you (or to one side in this case). ​

Chat away!
https://www.cyclechat.net/threads/chat-zone-for-the-big-big-trip-journal.254098