If you were ever concerned about the Pointer Sisters not being able to stay rich, everywhere I go, every single day, I hear one of their songs.
When I was a teenager I discover the freedom of bicycling in Mannheim, West Germany. There are no postcards.
The thing with the tourist spots in the Mosel is that they are swarmed with buses and ferries. But at night all the grandmothers go somewhere else.
For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be in Verdun, sitting under the trees, smoking my pipe with my bike. Finally, at 34, I have done this.
I am a fan of three-day boyfriends. They can be relaxingly sweet and low pressure.
The French are amazed at my petit tent. With my bike, I am getting nothing but Goodwill, BON CHANCE! and Feeling the Love.
It is an odd time to be an American in Europe. If the conversation goes beyond my bike and what the hell I am up to (and most often it has not), it turns to concern over American politics…
I should have been a bit wiser about the idea of losing weight while biking in Europe. I am a picnic whore.
France is bicycle crazy. From the start, kids, middle-aged women, and old men were yelling “Bon Chance!” and other friendly French things at me from the side of the road.
