The Long Way Home

We were awoken this morning at 8AM by Gav so that we could get ready and eat breakfast with he and the other students. We had made plans the previous night to catch a free ride with them to Liverpool and stay with James. The plan was to explore Glasgow as group, then get on the bus at around 4PM to head South. (Please note the last few times I used the word, ‘plan,’ it doesn’t really work that way at all. This was to be true again.)

We met up with all the students collectively, and then it happened that groups split off to do their own thing. One group headed off to have a beer at 10AM. The group we were with, wanted to go see a pipeband competition, and the rest did their own thing. We chose the pipebands because it would be an alternative to going to Edinburgh since we would be missing the Fringe Festival by taking the bus to Liverpool.

The competition turned out to be non-existant, but there was a Glasgow historical museum nearby. Feeling tired and sluggish, the last thing I wanted to do was read about the history of the city’s sewage system and see actual samples of the river before the system was implemented. Britt laid down on a couch and I wandered aimlessly.

We had some really good conversations with our new friends: Ipcus, Nik, Keerthi, Anurag, and Gav. We compared things that we saw in Glasgow to things in our own respective countries. They shared with us their dreams and aspirations. A few of them plan to come to the States after ‘Uni” to get jobs. I told each of them that they have a place to stay anytime they want.

We went into a pub after the museum to watch a soccer match, and have a beer together. We watched until halftime, then went to a local Indian restaurant. Gav was able to talk the owner into giving us student discounts if we ordered three-course meals. I’ve eaten Indian food before, but I couldn’t tell you what was in it or what it was called, so I let Gav order for us. Everything was excellent. The guys encouraged me to eat something they thought was very spicy. I did without flinching, then reminded them that we have Mexican restaurants everywhere in America, and this was nothing compared to that.

After lunch we caught a cab back to the same hostel we first met them to catch the bus. On the way, Gav received a phone call. Apparently Britt and I stood out to the driver (we were two out of six total white people) because he called the university and told them two people were trying to catch a free ride. They all apologized over and over, but we explained to them that it is better this way. Now was can still go to Edinburgh and the Lakes District. Plus we’ll be in Liverpool in a few days anyway. We exchanged hugs and information, and it felt kind of like family.

Britt and I, getting our packs off the bus, turned into that same hostel and took naps and did laundry. GTL.

Arriving in Glasgow, we head to the first hostel on our list. It’s the farthest away, but it’s the best according to Britt’s research. It’s full. The receptionist was nice enough to call ahead of us to other hostels to check availability. Nothing. We walk down the street to the party section of town where there are a few lower-grade hostels.

At the Blue Sky Hostel, the lady tells us they are full, and knows everywhere else is full as well. I’m thinking we should camp out in a nearby park, but it reminds Britt of a haunted forest at Halloween. She’s pretty accurate with that. We set our packs down on the sidewalk because my shoulders and aching and we’re getting discouraged. That’s when fate showed her beautiful face.

An Irish guy in a green, plaid kilt came busting out the front door and shouts, “Hey guys! Come on in and take a load off!” I reply, half laughing about our situation. He offers to make some calls for us to find a place for us to stay, and after a few no’s, decides we’re cool enough that we should stay with his group of 105 university students that he and a buddy are in charge of.

Said Buddy appears out the front door. Stumbling and mumbling and reeking of vodka, he seems a little annoyed with like we’re interrupting something important he has going on. Kilt, also known as James, tells this guy, Sami, our situation. Sami seems like he’s going to refuse us as he falls back into some steps, and suddenly his expression changes and he looks at me. “Man, I was just about to say no, but how could I when you have a smile like that.” I’m taken aback and confused wondering if this dude just hit on me or he’s not used to looking at teeth that have seen braces and an orthodontist more times than I would care to admit. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a room that’s on the other side of town for 50 quid.” I’m standing there with 200 euros and 45 pounds in my pocket trying to figure out what in the world a quid is. Hoping he means euros, I ask if they are okay. “No, sterrrrling man,” he says in a long Irish drawl. Still not having a clue, but by process of elimination I figure it must be pounds. I hand it over and he says that’s enough as long as I buy him a drink tonight.

He then points over to Gav, and Indian-born Liverpudlian, who is going to be in charge of us for the night. And because he’s the only one with a room key, we have to hang with him and leave the clubs when he does.

By now there are around ten people standing around the stoop of this hostel trying to figure out who we are. They encourage us to get a shower and get ready because, “She looks like a runner, and he looks like the homeless person she’s running from.” I’m out of clean shirts, so I put on a fresh coat of deo, and one of Britt’s black v-necks. This is perfect because apparently everyone over here where’s baby-sized shirts.

Looking a little more fresh, we store our packs in their room. Back out on the stoop, we have a couple drinks, then we’re off to the clubs down the street in a group of twelve people. The first couple clubs turn us down because one of us is too drunk to get in. We come to the conclusion that the only way we’re going to get in anywhere is to go to a place where this type of behavior is welcomed and encouraged. An Irish bar.

People are packed shoulder to shoulder in this place and adding twelve more isn’t helping. I’m able to get in at a discounted student price when I flash my Skyline Middle School faculty badge. Suckers. The music is blaring, and it’s the most random assortment of tunes we’ve heard to date. We heard everything from MGMT, to R-E-S-P-E-C-T, to Galway Girl. When something like Eminem or Rhianna would come on, the place went nuts like it was something new. It was a standing joke I had with James that Fresh Prince and Britney Spears are just now getting popular over here because they’re so far behind the US in terms of pop culture.

Gav and I were at the bar buying a round when Gavin, a student from Malaysia in our group, comes up and hands me a £20 note. “What’s this?” I ask him. He’s feeling saucy and yells, “All of it!” Trying to hold back laughter, I inquire, “All of what?” “Use all of it!” I order enough shots of Jameson for the whole crew and get £6 back. I hand it to him with his shot, and he yells back louder than ever, “I SAID ALL OF IT!!” We down our shots, and I about choke on mine because I’m laughing so hard, then head back to our group on the dance floor.

After several rounds and a lot of dancing, we head out to the street and walk back to the hostel. We get our packs, then take a cab with Gav to our hostel on the other side of town. 

We got into our hostel fairly early last night. After walking twenty minutes through Belfast at 11:00PM, we arrived at The Linen House Hostel. Sitting up late at night, we watch Happy Gilmore with some German kids. They would laugh at the most random times in the movie. We surfed the web afterward through my ipod for the best deals concerning our plans for today.

These included taking a train up to Portrush, hiking to Giant’s Causeway, and taking a train to Larne to catch a 5:30PM ferry to Troon, Scotland. We considered flying from Belfast to Glasgow, but the fees for our bags made it a poor deal. It was after midnight at this time, and I was running a scenario to get a plane ticket. I was asked to chose a date for departure, and I wanted to put the 12th, but it was only allowing me to pick the 13th. After asking around the common room, I found out it was actually Saturday, and we had been looking up train timetables for Friday. We lost track of the day; awesome.

Late last night after we went to bed, a group of five or so French students arrived in our room and were being very loud. I gave them time to get settled, but they were still talking and laughing when they got into bed. There were 20 beds in the room, and it seemed like they thought they were the only ones. When it sounded like one of them was wrapping presents in his bed and another was telling a joke to which the rest bursted out laughing to, I let out a low and angry, “Shut uuuup…” There were a couple more whispers then silence. Once you understand the language, everything falls into place.

We awoke this morning at 5:45AM in order to fit in everything on our itinerary and still make the ferry. I wanted to beat some pots and pans next to the Frenchies’ beds, but decided against it. We arrived at the train station at 6:22AM to make a 6:38 train. When asked where ou train was, the inspector reminded us that it was Saturday and our train departs at 7:20.

Going through Northern Ireland towards the North coast, the loudspeaker lady announces the stops in order: Antrim, Ballymena, Cullybackey, Ballymoney, Colcraine, Castlerock, Bellarina, and Londonderry. We both cracked up when she went through them all.

Feeling somewhat short of minutes in our day’s schedule with catching certain buses, trains, and a ferry, we take a open-aired double-decker through the country side to make it seem like we’re outside and not just rushing through it. We saw some amazing views of the cliffs by the sea and more picturesque landscapes. There were a couple par 3 courses along the water that played up the hills and through the tall grass. You could tell this was where a lot of people come on holiday because there were several camping, trailer, and motorhome parks.

The Causeway was, simply put, one of the coolest things I had ever seen. The pictures we took don’t do it justice, and the mental image I have of it would take books if I put it on paper.

From Brittany’s good planning, my encouragement for speed, and Northern Ireland’s excellent transportation services, we were able to make it onto our ferry. I was expecting something similar to the Outer Banks of North Carolina’s ferries. An open-aired boat that fits maybe fifty cars. Instead, this is a triple-decker luxury liner with restaurants, tables, and seats like airplanes.

Still unsure about tonight’s sleeping arrangements, our options are: hostel in Troon when we get across the Sea, camp in Troon, Hostel in Glasgow, or camp somewhere near Glasgow. Deciding against Troon, we boarded a train for Glasgow Central. If we manage to find a hostel, we plan on taking a much needed shower, making a blog post, and getting some rest to wake up in time for Church tomorrow.

Getting onto to the train to Glasgow, we sat at a table that had some trash left on it. Among the trash was two tickets to Troon from the previous stop. Britt just pushed them out of the way to set her stuff down. When the inspector came around to check tickets, I was getting out my wallet to purchase them, but she glanced down at the old stubs and says, “You guys are okay.” A nice reward for a hectic day of travel. But it wasn’t over yet.

We woke up this morning a little later than we wanted.  With the rain falling outside the window, and the old man snoring in our cave of a room, it was tough to get out of bed.  I kept looking down at Britt in her bottom bunk to see if she was stirring since she was the only one of us with a timepiece.  Finally, we were out of bed at 9:50.  The free breakfast ended at 10am, and we needed to check out by 10:30am.  Plus, we still needed showers.  Maybe going to bed on three pints wasn’t such a wise idea. 

We were able to pull it off, mostly because of the leniency of the hostel staff.  Britt got online to look up Eurail prices for the whole continent only to find that the trains don’t run on the British isles.  Still not knowing our plan for the day, we left our packs in the hostel’s common room and set out across town to sell our bikes at a local shop.  It was imperative that we make that sale otherwise we would either be stuck in Galway trying to sell them or stuck with our bikes and paying for them to be shipped everywhere we go. 

The first shop absolutely would not buy used bikes because he had a hard enough time selling what was already in his shop.  When we asked if he could point us in the direction of another shop that may buy them, he replied that he knew three that would not one maybe that was close by.  Did I mention that it was raining?  So, there we were, hiking our bikes up a steep-graded hill (my chain was busted so we couldn’t ride them), and praying to God that this next shop could take these bikes off our hands so we could have a less stressful time and we would have less desire to smother each other in the other’s sleep. 

We had decided that we’d ask for €300 for the pair, but would settle at €200.  Upon showing up, we noticed that a car looking just like Sassy was parked out front; that’s a good sign.  The shop was no bigger than an average dorm room and it was already crammed with bikes.  The owner came outside to see what we needed.  We explained that we were heading out of the country, and it would be more expensive to shop them home than to sell them there.  The guy was very sympathetic to our story, but he could buy our bikes wholesale for cheaper.  I asked him to name his price because he was letting on that he liked the condition of them.  The fresh coat of rain on them didn’t hurt either.  He replied that he couldn’t give more than €200.  We said, “Done.”  before he could finish what he was saying.  He trusted that there were no cracks in the frame without even loking at them, and I told him about the chain. 

We walked down the street thanking God, with €200 in our pockets, and feeling an instant burden lifted off our shoulders.  “Now what do we do?” was Brittany’s observation to our present situation.  We thought for a couple of minutes if there was anything else we needed to do in Galway.  All the while, we’re getting more soaked by the increasing downpour.  It may have been our eagerness to travel bike-free, or just tired of getting rained on, but the vote was cast that we get on a bus back to Dublin, then hop on a train to Belfast in Northern Ireland.  Britt put her extra two tubes on a random bike on the way to the station. 

The bus was pulling out in fifteen minutes, by the way.  The ride took three and a half hours as oppposed to 2-3 days, and we were even able to catch a little nap when the small Italian child named Luca next to us wasn’t screaming at his mom and grandma.  We did have some fun making faces at him and playing peek-a-boo between the seats.  We passed through good ol’ Enfield, and calculated that it only took 35 minutes on the bus to get from there to Dublin.  Geez.  When we got off, we needed to jump on the Dublin tram to get to Connelly station.  We found out that instead of buying a ticket at the station, it’s nearly half the price if you are able to buy it on your phone and just pick up the ticket at the station.  So, then we sat in the station, waiting two and a half hours until our train arrived.  We played cards and wrote in our journals. 

I hadn’t ridden a train since I was three.  My mom reminds me of that every time a train is mentioned.  We were going from Buffalo to Denver to see Mom’s side of the family, and apparently I was running around the whole time with a pack of lifesavers in my velcro Reeboks without anyone knowing it.  Myself included. 

While standing on the platform waiting for our train to arrive, a hear a muffled Irish voice over the loudspeaker say something about the 19:00 train to Belfast.  I’m at a loss, but apparently everyone around us was able to decipher what was said because they’re milling off to a different platform.  From what the platform engineer said, our train was broken down in Enfield on its way to Dublin. That same Enfield that we broke down in yesterday. 

So, now we’re sitting on a completely different train, looking out at the lush, green Irish countryside and the patchwork fields separated by tall hedges and rockwalls.  It got sunny for a little while and I spotted a rainbow.  I mentioned that if there was anywhere on earth that we’d spot a leprechaun at the end of one of those things, it’d be here.  In the words of the Avett Brothers, “We are headed North.”

Just after we got through Dundalk, a frazzled-looking middle-aged woman came bursting into our car to announce that we need to get off at Newry station to get onto another train to Belfast.  While standing on the platform, I glance down the line to see at least 200 people standing around looking confused and another 50 on the platform across the tracks with similar looks, when a small gentle voice comes over the speaker following a sonorous “ding-dong.”  “Ladies and Gentlemen, please make sure you are on the right platform.  Passengers traveling to Belfast need to be on Platform 1, passengers traveling to Dublin need to be on Platform 2.”  We were on #2.  So, we grab our packs and head down the line to the crossing with the rest of the people standing there.  I see the folks on the opposite side doing the same.  The ol’ switch-a-roo.  After walking maybe twenty-five yards, another “ding-dong.”  “We apologize ladies and gentlemen.  Belfast is Platform 2 and Dublin is Platform 1”  The two crowds instantly let out a low drone/laughter in sync and turned to head back to their original standing positions.  Sheep for the slaughter.  We are at your mercy microphone man.  A minute later, “ding-dong.” “Ladies and Gentlemen, we want to apologize.  It’s raining.”  Everyone laughs and collectively forgives him because of his humor. 

J

1. JFK airport sucks.

2. How to attach a bag on a bike.

3. How to ride on the left and conquer traffic-circles.

4. Be patient with each other. Compromise.

5. Every Irish girl is beautiful.

6. Every Irish guy wears the same cologne.

7. We are not physically capable of biking 100km in a day.

8. The Irish are generally helpful, and seek out those that look like they need it.

[The title of today’s post is in reference to dad’s trip to China, and when bartering with the vendors, you say Teg Wei when the asking price is too much.]

I set my alarm for 7:00AM this morning, and was out of bed at 7:03. We had to pack out in the hall because the six other people in our room were still sleeping. After this, we had breakfast and checked out.

I used every bungee cord and rope we had on the packs this time. We covered our packs with waterproof covers because it was already sprinkling. We had looked at googlemaps the night before to get the directions to leave town by. We had to choose the walking route because bikes are not allowed on the motorway. From Dublin to Galway, there are a total of 86 directions. We decided to try to remember 4 or 5 of these at a time so we wouldn’t have to keep stopping after each one to get them out. Needless to say, we missed our first turn.

Now, I want to set this straight before you get the impression that we’re a couple of morons. In Ireland, if there is a street sign, which there hardly is, it is posted on the side of a building facing the opposite direction it should be. Not to mention, it’s in Gaelic half the time. So, we miss the first turn, but decide it’s okay because I remember from the map that we need to stay North of the river leaving town. We followed the river through various little villages and countrysides. After an hour and a half, we figured it was time we ask for directions.

First, Britt tried a lady that works in a petshop in Lucan. Apparently, she lived in that shop and never left because she couldn’t even tell us the direction we were going. Finally, we found out by the Grace of God we were going the right way. However, our google directions were garbage. We bought a map of Ireland that turned out to be very helpful. We navigated our way through 64.915 km of dangerous and dreary Irish landscape when we decided it was time for lunch.

We chose the town of Enfield to stop at a corner cafe. We sat outside because the sun was out and we needed to keep an eye on our gear. An old farmer struck up a conversation with us by commenting on the day. He heard my response and asked if I was German. I didn’t think I sounded German, but I politely replied that we’re American. He talked about his free-range pigs, and said he didn’t know where North Carolina was. He asked if any of our family was Irish. I said my grandma’s name was Irish, but I didn’t have a clue where she was from. I liked listening to him talk. He had a simple way of reasoning and discussing things, and anyone that would have a conversation with a stranger has to be okay. He said over and over that Britt and I were “very united.”

Sitting at lunch, Britt and I discussed our first day on the road. Both of us commented on various body parts that were hurting. The navigation was challenging, but a lot of fun. Then we got to the part where we were both quiet, but we were thinking the same thing. The cafe was right next to a bus stop, and every bus we saw was heading for Galway. And then I let the truth loose.

When we started planning the trip, it was Brittany’s idea to do it by bike. I liked the idea because it sounded unique and cheaper, but neither of us knew anything about biking. Summer came around and we were gearing up our bikes to hold loads and changing tires to fit long distance travel. Our wallets and heads were in it, but our hearts weren’t. The most we rode in a day this summer was 25 km. Partly because of the heat, but mostly because of the lack of motivation to improve ourselves at this. Long story short, we asked the first bus how much it would be for two students and two bikes to Galway. €11 a piece and just €5 more for the bikes. Yes please.

Two hours later, we were in Galway looking for a place to stay. The first few places were full for the weekend. One wiseguy behind the counter was asking €40 for the pair of us, or €30 if we sleep in the same twin sized bed. We checked out some of Britt’s research pages to look for the locations of other hostels. After sweeping the city looking for the Galway Hostel, we were about to give up, when I looked down an alley right next to us. “Oh. Here it is.”

It turned out to be the cheapest and had free internet and breakfast. We asked the guy at the counter where to eat dinner and have a pint. He suggested to eat at Kettle of Fish then to The Crane for live Irish music. The restaurant was in the pedestrian section of the city. That area was by far my favorite. With all the restaurants and pubs and little shops, it felt kind of like Christmas. We shared a plate of Hake, which is like a local cod, and some chips. I noticed their Heinz ketchup here is much sweeter than in the states. I like it a lot more.

After dinner, we found our way to the pub per the directions of our friend at the hostel. It was a dark, dimly lit, old building with low tables and even lower stools. On the walls were old pictures of musicians sitting in those same stools. We started with a couple of Carlsbergs and listened to the chatter of the old locals sitting around their pints of Guinness.

Towards the end of our first one, we were wondering when the music would start. One by one people started grabbing their glasses and milling off to a backroom. Taking our queue, we followed them upstairs to another barroom to find a quartet of haggard looking people sitting around a table on a raised platform, each holding a different instrument. I got us each a Guinness, then got a table right in front of the stage, immediately behind the fiddler. After tuning for a couple of minutes, the banjo player started strumming some chords, and the rest joined in. In perfect harmony.

Then, he began to sing a ballad about a soldier in a war writing a letter to Syracuse that’s filled with lies so that his lover wouldn’t know the truth about how bad the war really was, and how blood-stained the land is. We sat there in silence taking in those melodies, and every once in a while, a newcomer would pull up their chair, get out their instrument, and join in. By the time we left, there were nine different musicians on the stage of all ages. From the old bald man on the accordion that would play his own songs whenever there was a lull, to the young Irish girl with the fiddle that played songs that none of them knew nor keep up with.

Walking back downstairs, we decided to make an adventure out of getting back to the hostel. No maps no directions. Just go which way feels natural. We made it back without one wrong turn. Maybe I just need a few pints before I start navigating from now on. We got back into our room and jumped in our beds. Most of our other twelve bunkmates were already asleep and sawing logs.

see jordy’s post below for reference to the first picture.  the second was a reward to ourselves.  also a reference to the post below.  (we haven’t figured out how to rotate pictures yet.  (elly… help.)

tonight we went to the brazen-head pub, the oldest pub in ireland, for dinner and a guinness of course.  jordy ordered the “meat of the day” and i got chicken fingers and chips.  his was supposed to be turkey, but came out dark brown.  irish turkey?  now, we’re planning tomorrow’s journey out of dublin, heading west to galway.  our goal is to make it half-way, which is about 100km.  the lady at the hostel questioned if we were walking to galway because the directions we printed off didn’t include any motorways.  we’ll be off the beaten-path, hopefully going through some less commercialized irish towns.  stay tuned for our first long journey/camping adventure! 

b

We arrived in Dublin at 5:00AM this morning. The flight was good (not according to Brittany), but I was happy to get my feet on solid ground. We received our disassembled bikes at baggage claim. Despite our best efforts to get on the road before the morning traffic; our patience was to be tested. Time and time again.

While trying to inflate my tires, I noticed that when it got to a certain pressure, the air would leak out. So I checked the tube to find a hole just beneath the nozzle. No big deal. I’ve changed one flat before, and I did have one spare tube. It took me about a half an hour to change. No big deal. I’m not on any schedule. Brittany called me over to help her put on her front tire and brakes, and I noticed something was a little off. She had installed her front fork completely turned around. That took another ten minutes. No big deal.

So we got all the parts put back on our bikes and we’re feeling pretty pumped. And then comes the part we were most unprepared for… It was time to load our bikes with our packs, which frankly and very sadly, we had yet to test out. It was like trying to balance a hippo on a pedestal, and it looked just as awkward. It was obvious we were not ready for this. So we wheel these top-heavy clunkers outside past the non-existent customs booth to find the sun up and the cars driving on the left. Didn’t see that coming.

We knew we had to go West, and the road we just so happened to be standing next to was going away from the rising sun. So, why not just start pedaling down an unknown, unnamed street on a bike carrying more weight than it ever has? A couple kilometers down this mystery road proved to be the wrong way, and my mountain of stuff had decided to ride on the side of my bike rather than upon it. It came as a bit of a shock when I was suddenly jerked over into traffic because of it. We asked a nice lady that was walking what would be the best way to get into downtown Dublin by bike. From the way this morning was going, her answer didn’t surprise me. “Make an about-face, and keep going in that direction for a long time.”

At my first traffic-circle, I panicked and made the first exit. Now that I think about it, I didn’t even make it to the actual circle. I freaked. We ended up having to walk backwards toward on-coming traffic and cross four lanes of motorway to get to the part where we should be riding. While on this road, I was riding on what I thought was a bike lane/sidewalk. It turned out this was not the case because suddenly the sidewalk gave way in front of me, and became a sort of ramp. I made a loud “Whoa!” in hopes that Brittany would hear/see me before she hit it. Of course she hit it with a head full of steam and piled up in the grass, almost hitting a billboard.

By this point, small gusts of wind are pushing my pack off my bike despite my best efforts to bungee it anyway I can. After fifteen kilometers, asking seven different people for directions, and picking my pack off the side of my bike another sixteen times, we finally make it into downtown Dublin. Oh I forgot it started pouring rain halfway there. A little old lady, looking waringly at my short-sleeved t-shirt, warned me saying, “Don’t you see those clouds? It’s going to rain soon.” Then turning to Brittany, already clad in raingear, “If it rains, your relationship is going to be in trouble.” I don’t stand a chance at picking up girls out here if people keep thinking we’re a couple.

We get to the hostel around 10:30AM. Let me point out, we landed at 5, and the trip should not have taken more than an hour. Fittingly, we cannot check-in until 2PM. Perfect. I want nothing more than to throw away a backpack’s worth of stuff at this point, and now I have to wait to get my room. It did work out that we could store our things in the luggage room so that we could go explore.

We walked a little ways to get to a small cafe to eat as big a breakfast that we could. We learned what black and white pudding look like, but I still couldn’t tell you what they are. And I had a delicious and needed cup of coffee. We walked in the direction of some old and gothic looking cathedrals. We saw Christchurch and St. Patrick’s Cathedral. We didn’t go in because it costs, but the outside was nice enough. Close by St. Patty’s is a bike shop. I debated on buying a couple spare tubes, but chose instead to ask how much we could get for a couple American-made bikes. The lady asked if they were “al-u-min-i-um.” I answered that they were, but I didn’t know the other specs. Britt and I were/are seriously considering only doing Eurail and walking the rest of the way. If we have too many more experiences like today, then that will be a reality.

We took a picture in front of St. James’ Gate, and I thought I saw a Banksy. We decided to head back to take a nap since we had been up for thirty hours at this point. But before that, we took a tour and tasted at Jameson Distillery. The tour was kind of informative, and it made me want to distill my own whiskey. Brittany was selected to participate in a taste test at the end to compare Jameson, Johnny Walker, and Jack Daniels. I took some pictures of her face after tasting. Whiskey girl? Yeah right.

So now I’m sitting here writing, wearing the same clothes I left Raleigh in, feeling very hungry, waiting on Britt to wake up, and culturing a bit of slime on my teeth since I can’t find our toothpaste. Maybe it’s not just my sibling that’s repelling these girls.

J

Stuff to be packed. Britt has twice as much. So much for minimalism. Looking forward to throwing half of this away a couple miles in.

J

with two weeks left until we leave (yahooooooo!), here are some fun facts from an organization called 1 world, 2 wheels…

the solution to some of the world’s biggest problems is in your garage.

for your health:

*the average person loses 13 pounds their first year of commuting by bike

*just three hours of bicycling per week can reduce your risk of heart disease and stroke by 50%

*a 140-pound cyclist burns 508 calories while pedaling 14 miles in an hour

for the world:

*the u.s. could save 462 million gallons of gasoline a year by increasing cycling from 1% to 1.5% of all trips

*each u.s. rush-hour auto commuter spends an average of 50 hours a year stuck in traffic

*in 2003, cars stalled in traffic wasted 5 billion gallons of fuel

*60% of the pollution created by cars happens in the first few minutes of operation, before pollution control devices work

for the future:

*in 1964, 50% of kids rode to school & the obesity rate was 12%… in 2004, 3% rode to school & the obesity rate was 45%

*between 1960 and today the average weight of a 6-11 year old has increased 11 pounds

25% of all trips are made within a mile of the home, 40% of all trips are within two miles of the home, and 50% of the working population commutes five miles or less to work.  go by bike.

it may be hot outside, but by driving your car instead of biking this summer… next summer is only going to be hotter.