Stinky Spoke Ride/Fancy Dinner

They tried to pick the stinkiest day of the year for this ride. Good for us it was cool and dry. Before we started, a major mechanical threatened to keep Megan off the bike. The crank would turn but it wouldn't turn the back wheel. Dave saved the day by bidding on Stinky Pinky, a flashy pink cruiser bike with a basket and flowers. We took turns on the bike throughout the ride. I was right behind Dave on a section of flowing singletrack and it took the turns like it was made for them...slick tires, pink fenders, streamers and all.


Mark, Megan, Dave, Shannon


Team Lamprecht


Stinky Pinky!



Megan and Shannon braving the steep long downhill.


The Pemco folks were out and gave us custom NW Profile photos. We even made it on their blog (I can't get it to post the link though...).


Later that afternoon we were treated to a movie (Up in the Air) and nice dinner at Jak's Grill by Seth and Lindsey.

Megan, Shannon, Lindsey


Seth, Dave, Mark

Austrian friends

Robert & Brigitte: If you happen to see this post - send us an email at: shan9800@yahoo.com. We want to keep in touch with you!

Back in the swing of things

We're home. Settled in. Glad to have a bed and don't really miss living in a tent. It already seems like so long ago that we were packing our bike bags each morning, eating peanut butter and nutella on bread and easing onto the bikes for another day on the road. At the beginning of the trip, two months seemed like so far away and then (suddenly it seemed) it was all over.

Last night we got together to BBQ in celebration of a new marriage, Dave's birthday and good friends. Still trying to get Bella and Lucy to get along.

Tottenham 2 - Liverpool 1

Yesterday started with the basic London tourist stuff. Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park, Bad Teeth, etc....

We jumped in an internet cafe with hopes of finding directions for the Shakespeare walking tour. I also wanted to look up a possible match to attend on Tuesday evening, Fulham was playing somewhere in London. I knew Liverpool was playing a home match on Sunday since the schedule noted Tottenham v. Liverpool. I'm used to reading baseball schedules where the 'v' can be replaced for 'at'. I saw 'White Hart Lane' (Tottenham's home grounds) as the location upon closer inspection which was just a bit north of the cafe - 3 hours til kickoff but sold out. What the heck. Worth checking out the atmosphere and watching in a pub.

We hop on the tube and there is one Liverpool supporter sitting near us. I ask him how much tickets go for on the street and he laughs and says, 'at least a few hundred quid for the cheap seats'. Pub it is. We get off the train and I overhear a few offers from scalpers - £250 being the cheapest ($400 per ticket). Pub it is. We walk around the stadium among the 99% male crowd. We stop and get ice cream. My stomach was a bit nervous as I brushed shoulders with the ticket holding Liverpudlians so I just had an apple cider popsicle.

Anyways, we reach the ticket office, near where we originally started circling the stadium. I was looking for a pub nearby but decided to at least ask if they had released any late tickets. I walk up to the guy at the gate and ask and he says with an ironic smile..."Tickets? Nope, this game sold out within about 20 minutes of going on sale." Pub it is.

I turn to walk away and meet back up with Shannon, not the least bit disappointed, when I hear an older man ask, "are you alone?".
I turn back and say "yes, I'm alone.".
"I'm just picking up my two season tickets, and I'm alone too," he says. "Wait right here."

The guy at the gate just starts laughing and says, "mate, today is your lucky day".

Long story short, Richard gave me his extra ticket for free and they were great seats. He's been going to Tottenham games for the last 70 years - since he was 6 years old. I couldn't thank him enough. As we entered the stadium, he informed me that it was a big climb and it may take him a bit longer in his old age and I replied that I was so excited I could probably carry him the whole way if he wanted.

I found myself cheering wholeheartedly for Tottenham, even booing Fernando Torres for a dive, as I got caught up with the amazing home crowd. Sounders game are fun, but NOTHING compared to this. There were no ignorant soccer critics or horns blowing in your ear. Just a stadium of supporters chanting in unison. Applauding every quality trap and switched ball and composed pass - the subtleties were appreciated.

The game was absolutely the highlight of my trip and Shannon enjoyed sitting in a McDonald's reading since the neighborhood is pretty run down. I've been on the receiving end of so many people following Hilda's "it's nice to do nice things" philosophy. I will definitely work to make that my mantra back home.

We'll Be Home Wednesday Night!

NO MORE SLEEPING IN A TENT FOR US!!!

We're staying at a nice B&B in London's Putney neighborhood on the 17th & 18th.

Be sure to check back after we get home as we have many pictures and video ready for uploading.

A Note on Scotish Mums

I heard a joke today as I was struggling up a ridiculously steep hill in the welcome sunshine:

'What's the difference between a priest who steals from the collection plate and a Scotish mum?'

'A corrupt priest doesn't yell so much.'

It didn't make sense to me then and it doesn't make sense to me now. I'm pretty sure a cow whispered it to me as I cursed the ungranniness of my granny gear.

Still, every Scotish mum has a certain edge to her voice. In your best Scotish accent, say 'Quit yer yelling or I'll smack you one.' Now, in the exact same voice, say 'Duncan...Thomas, supper's ready. C'mon laddies.' Delicious mince & tatties with a side of fear.

About 40 miles prior to my chat with the cow, we had a run-in with a Scotish mum, possibly a grandmum:

I was leading as we made our way up a small hill in a small town. Carrying a decent amount of speed - maybe 10mph. We rode to the far left like a good Brit should do. Suddenly, an oncoming car crosses the center line, driving straight at me hugging the curb. The car, less than ten feet away continues rolling forward directly in our line of travel. It stops sharply about 5 feet in front of my tire just as I slam on my brakes. Shannon crashes into me and falls to the side as she struggles to get her foot out of the pedal.

I throw my arms up in a 'What are you thinking' gesture as Shannon groans behind me.

The driver opens the door and before her foot touches the curb, I hear: 'Oh, now don't you go blamin' that on me mister. That there's your own doin'. You saw me signal clear as day. You knew I was parking right from the get go.'

'Ma'am' I replied calmly, 'bicycles are required to follow the same traffic laws as cars. Would you have drove your car 5 feet in front of an oncoming truck? I think you would have waited under those circumstances. Unfortunately, with our heavy bags, it takes us a bit longer to stop and we are not as nimble as you may assume. Had you hit me, your car may have been slightly scratched or dented, but I would be in the hospital. Just putting your turn signal on does not give you the right to drive directly in to oncoming traffic. It does give you the right to wait until the road is clear and then park on the wrong side of the street. Please take more care around cyclist in the future like the other 99.9% of your countrymen.' I then dismounted from my bicycle, leaned it up against her car as she walked in to the market and I shopped alongside her during her entire stay. Never letting more than 5 feet fall between us.

No....I actually thought all that out over the next 40 miles. Right before my hallucinagenic cow encounter.

What actually came out of my mouth was a string of explatives with little logic holding them together. I remember clever phrases like, 'We're in the $£%^ UK now' and '$£€* on your &*£$ turning signal &"%*%. I don't remember what my hands were doing.

Nor can I recall what she was yelling back at me, but I know her eyes were in full spanking mode. I think she had already begun loosening her belt by the time I remembered to check if Shannon was OK. She was fine. And wisely not joining in. But she didn't stop me either.

We rode away and attacked the hills with the left over adrenaline only to arrive at a campground filled with a dozen more Scotish mums and sulking children. Each joyful shout met with a louder and deeper 'Quit yer yellin' before I smack you. Sit down and shut it.'

Silly cow.

Dave's Favorite Scot

Hilda smelled like dirty laundry doused in vinegar.

Between rounds she would give a quick undulating dance. Someone always joined her or slapped a passing high five.

Drunken locals were constantly trying to protect the tourists from her large personality.

'Let the poor kids eat ferchris' sake.'
'Aye, number one in the charts he is...now drink yer beer 'n quit yer annoyin' ways. Decent kids they is'
'Hilda - you've done gone too far now you have. Leave 'em peace now.'

But, struggling to get out of her chair, Hilda was in her element.
'Every day is a blessing' she yelled over the band. 'Numba 1 in the charts you is. Simply brilliant. Aye.'

'You...you gonna get up 'n sing!' she addresses me with a knowing wink and brown toothed grin. 'I'll dance, you sing!?'

She buys a round simply because 'it's nice to do nice things'. I wink back to toast her generosity. I know she just wants me to drink enough so I'll agree to visit or stay the night at her house just outside of Nairn.

She's already guessed my age and profession. Definitely not on the first try. She's one of twelve, 49 and a retired cooking instructor for vegetarians, diabetics and folks who don't eat meat. Her address is free for the taking but she reserves her phone number for not just anyone.

Score.