Refueling

Yesterday was epic.

I rode my bike 153 miles -- from Sioux City to Algona. From 7:30 am to 9:00 pm, on the first day of RAGBRAI XXXVIII, I managed to do the entire distance of the first two RAGBRAI days and covered over a third of the mileage for the week.

I started the day in Sioux City with my buddy Clint, his girlfriend and a bunch of their friends, and really wasn't sure how far I was going to ride.

The plan for me was to go at least 100 miles but I wasn't sure if I could do over 150.

I had a blast riding with Clint, Abbey, Bill D, Megan, John, Mike, Dan, Micky and Betsy. Team Groucho is a fun group and I'm really looking forward to riding with them again a couple times this week.

After about 40 miles with the group, I had to take off on my own so I could keep moving along for the day.

I ended up in Storm Lake at around 2:00 pm, fueled up with a gyro and lemonade and was ready to take off on my own, down the empty county roads --- when I got a flat tire.

My CO2 cartridge over-inflated my spare tube and I was forced to carry my bike for a 1/2 mile to get a new tube and find a pump.

Finally, at around 3:30 pm I was leaving Storm Lake and pedaling toward Varina, Pocahontas, Plover, West Bend, Whittemore and Algona.

The country roads that would be so busy in less than a day were empty. Just a few cars driving into Storm Lake but none of the hullabaloo of RAGBRAI -- just me, my bike and the open road.

I stopped at a four-way intersection to call my dad with an update, take in some energy gel and have a drink of Gatorade.

A truck drove by and the farmer yelled out to me, "Problems?"

"Nope," I replied, "just refueling."

As I looked at the route ahead, I kind of felt like Tom Hanks character at the end of Cast Away.

Four directions that I could turn but only one of them was laid for me. The route clearly marked.

I'm not sure why but I suddenly thought the farmer's question seemed like a bigger deal.

Like he was a character in a movie asking me if I had problems with life, not just a problem on the side of the road.

What direction was I going to take? Turn left? Turn right? Follow the path?

Of course, on this day the plan was to follow the marked route and I would do so all the way to Algona.

But part of me wondered when I was going to choose to not follow the route.

Maybe the problem has been that I've been following the route too closely.

I guess you could argue that riding 153 miles in one day isn't really following the path but when the guys you're riding with teach English in Poland and set up Ironman triathlons, you start to wonder if your life is a bit, well....blah.

I pushed on toward Algona and made short stops at a Casey's in Pocahontas for pizza and a Red Bull and just before Plover for a beer and to see the 100-foot slip n slide.

The last 33 miles were really tough but I got into Algona at 9 pm and met my dad at the McDonalds (we had arranged a meeting place at 7:30 pm).

I felt such a sense of accomplishment as we drove home. I had pushed myself to the limits and had come through the other end of the ride with one of those endorphin highs.

I might have had "problems" the day before but on this day I was refueling my body, my mind and my spirit with the invigorating, powerful, high-dosage version of life.

Any problems I had just vanished away for a while.

Enjoy the ride,
Damm

Pictures Worth a Thousand Smiles

I wrote this for a FCHS alumni newsletter -- thought I'd share it:

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I have absolutely no recollection of Dave Draheim taking pictures when I was in high school. I never had a class with him. To be honest, I never really knew what classes he taught – to me he was a friendly teacher who I occasionally passed by in the hallways of FCHS.

In the summer, I would see him playing golf with his good friend Mr. Benda. Seeing them on the golf course was a weekday ritual at Forest City Country Club. Benda would pull up with his Notre Dame-clad license plate. Draheim would throw his clubs on Benda’s golf cart, and they were off to enjoy another round of golf together.
Sadly, a few years after high school, I remember walking by Dave in Forest City and noticing how thin he was becoming. He would walk past Cooper Apartments with his groceries or some other items he had picked up from downtown Forest City and I’d always stop to say a quick hello if I was walking, or wave out the window if I was in my car.

I soon found out that Dave had been diagnosed with ALS and was no longer able to play golf.

Before long he needed to live at the Good Samaritan Center in order to receive the necessary care that his unfortunate disease required.

Maggie Tillman (FCHS Class of 2005) posted on her wall that Dave would love to have visitors so I decided to stop by the Good Sam to visit with Dave for a little while.
We sat in his room and watched “Everyday Italian” on the Food Network – we both agreed that Giada was the main reason we enjoyed the show so much! He had received some candy in the mail from a relative and offered to share it with me.

He asked about my mom and her plans for retirement. And he asked how my golf game was – I fibbed and said it was pretty good even though it’s really gone downhill.
After about 20 minutes, one of the caretakers came into the room and said Dave had dinner or social hour to get to. So I said my goodbye to Dave and told him I’d make sure my mom visited him in the next week or so.

I was shocked to hear that only days after my mom visited Dave he passed away. ALS is a cruel disease and it was tough to see him losing the ability to swallow and lacking much energy at all – in some ways, I was glad to know that he wasn’t suffering any longer.

Fast forward to the alumni basketball tournament this spring -- I heard that hundreds of photos were being posted in the high school for anyone to take. I was surprised to hear it, but Dave Draheim had taken hundreds, probably even thousands, of photographs during his tenure at Forest City High School.

I didn’t think too much of it until I walked into the high school on Sunday morning to play our first game there (our previous games had been at Waldorf).

I walked by picture after picture of smiling students. Some I knew and some I had no clue who they were. I searched for pictures of myself and my friends. I took a couple down from the wall in order to show all my classmates how young and skinny we had once been.

As I looked at more pictures, I couldn’t help but laugh as I began to remember all the classmates that I had long since forgotten. Foreign exchange students. Cute older girls. Kids who moved away during our time at FCHS.

And then I started noticing a pattern in the pictures. Almost without exception, the students in the pictures were smiling or laughing or being silly.

They didn’t look angry or mean or intimidating. They looked happy.

Dave Draheim was capturing thousands of happy moments in the hallways of Forest City High School. In some ways, I think he was capturing the true essence of all of us.

Sweethearts holding hands. Friends with arms around each other’s shoulders. Teachers laughing at a student making a goofy face. Teenagers having the time of their lives around fellow classmates.

I walked out of the high school that morning with a smile on my face.

I like to think that Dave Draheim was also smiling as he looked down at the smiles he had captured with his camera and the smiles he was still creating with all those photographs.

##

A memorial scholarship has been created in Dave Draheim’s name. The smiles will continue into the future thanks to Dave Draheim’s legacy.

70.3

In November of 2008, I struggled to swim 2 lengths of the pool at the Forest City YMCA. I owned a hybrid bike but nothing close to a road or triathlon bike. I was probably about 185 pounds -- not super-overweight but not feeling too healthy either.

Over the last year and a half, though, I've completed two Olympic distance triathlons (.9-mile swim, 24-mile bike and 6.2-mile swim), two half-marathons and a bunch of other races -- including a 105-mile century bike ride.

I did not win any of these races and to be honest, some of my times weren't all that great. But I've finished every single distance that I've attempted. And I've improved.

And so far, that's been enough for me.

Over the winter of 2009-2010, I decided to sign up for the a Half Ironman -- a 1.2 mile open water swim followed by a 56 mile bike and a 13.1 mile half marathon run. This was the next distance to try after accomplishing the distance of the olympic triathlon.

I've always been interested in going longer distances and not necessarily concerned about getting faster in the shorter races. The excitement of a new distance and a new challenge has been more thrilling for me than the competitiveness of improving my times.

So after months of training (and a few hiccups in the schedule including the trip to Europe and a poor nutrition plan), I was heading to Lawrence, Kansas, to stay with my aunt and uncle for the two nights leading up to the 70.3 Ironman Kansas race.

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Race morning began at 4:45 am and I was setting up my transition areas in complete darkness along with almost 2,000 other participants. The field included Chrissie Wellington -- the top female triathlete in the world -- and Chris Lieto, one of the top American male triathletes.

The day before had been in the mid-90s but we lucked out on Sunday and saw temps in the 70s and 80s. With my T1 set up and my bike tires freshly inflated, I put on my wetsuit and went to watch the opening heats which included the professional triathletes.

My swim in Clinton Lake almost didn't happen. I was lingering about the starting area when I realized that my heat was about to begin and I had to run to start of the swim and get in the water so I could paddle over to the in-water starting line.

Arriving at the starting area just in time, the gun went off and the race was afoot!

I had a little panic as the swim started. My full-body wetsuit kept me very warm in the 78 degree water (just barely wetsuit legal -- if the water is too warm, wetsuits aren't allowed) and my mind began thinking about getting overheated.

Eventually I just told myself to "Shut up!" and I continued along with the swim. I'm not the greatest swimmer and probably under-trained for the swim. The 47-minute time for 1.2 miles was disappointing to me but pacing was important and I felt good as the bike portion of the race began.

My transition time was quick and my legs felt fresh when I got on the bike. The 56-mile bike seemed really fast as I stayed in the aero position and kept my head down and pedaled hard. I took in a good amount of gatorade, water and gels during my 3-hour bike ride (18 plus mph average).

As the bike concluded, my back ached and I was actually looking forward to running. The first mile of the run was tough because my legs were so stiff from the bike but I loosened them up after 10 minutes of running and after a quick #2 in the porta-potty following the first mile, I felt much better and was ready to roll!

I kept a nice 9 - 9.5 minute per mile pace for the first 6-7 miles. It really did start to get hot and I pushed lots of water at the frequent water/aid stations and also used the cold sponges to cool down.

I was really glad to see Hunter Callanan during the race (even though she was kicking my ass!) because it's nice to have some encouragement from a familiar face -- plus I ran past my mom, aunt, uncle and cousins and they gave me a loud cheer!

The final few miles were very difficult but I kept pushing along and finished the run portion in 2:16 -- concluding the race in just over 6:15.

I was hoping to break 6 hours but my main goal was to finish and I was very proud to complete such a long distance.

Lieto won the men's race in under 4 hours and Wellington won the women's race in just over 4. Amazing!

I was probably 10-15 pounds over my ideal racing weight, my swimming could improve and my running speed is still lacking -- but crossing the finish line was one of the more fulfilling feelings I've had in my life.

I stuffed my face with Chinese food and a couple of beers when I got back to my aunt and uncle's house -- after taking a shower, of course, and scrubbing all the salt off that was literally caked on my legs.

Only fours after the race, I was in my car heading back to Forest City so I could get to work on Monday.

I hope to finish a complete Ironman by the time that I'm 30 but the amount of training time will take a serious commitment from me and I'm not quite ready to make that commitment yet.

However, doing 70.3 miles was the highlight of my 2010 and I'm making some lifestyle changes that will allow me to continue to do these types of races at a faster speed.

I hope to do a marathon still in 2010 -- I haven't done a full marathon since 2005 (my first). I'm doing my first bike races this upcoming weekend. And many more fun days of running, biking and swimming lay ahead this summer and fall.

In the back of my head, I always know if I've worked hard for something or not. If I slack off, I don't achieve a true sense of fulfillment.

But if I work hard and dedicate myself to a task, I achieve a true sense of fulfillment and happiness.

Although I didn't win or even do my first Half Ironman very quickly, I truly feel like I achieved something special.

I pushed myself to a physical limit that was unforeseeable 18 months ago.

70.3 miles is now in the books. 140.6 is now in my sights.

Enjoy the ride (and the swim and the run),
Damm

Where you going? Barcelona.

Tapas meal with gazpacho and a nice glass of rioja.
The Magic Fountains of Barcelona.
A beach very close to my hostel on the north side of Barcelona in an area called Badelona.
The most popular beer in Spain is called Esperanza Damm -- this was a Limon version.
Barcelona won the Spanish soccer league my last night in the city -- crazy parties in the streets and a great atmosphere!

I arrived in Barcelona at 10:30 pm without a place to stay and with no idea how to get downtown.

Luckily, I've become pretty comfortable with the uncertainty of travel and I figured out how to get downtown for only 5 Euro and then managed to find a cheap hotel in the center of the city using an internet cafe as my guidebook.

After a very long day of traveling in a hungover state, I was extremely happy to be in my hotel room and to take a long, hot shower. After my shower, I went just outside the hotel to find a quick bite to eat and ended up at a Pakistani kabab stand where a transvestite hooker and his.....her.....friend were waiting for their food. I later heard that I was in one of the more dangerous parts of the city but it turned out that the Pakistani guys at the kebab stand were very nice and they hooked me up with a ton of food!

---

The next morning I checked out of the hotel and made reservations at a hostel just outside the main center of Barcelona -- about a 15 minute ride via metro. I purchased a 15 Euro, 3-day metro pass and went out to the hostel.

The hostel was a great place to stay and for only 20 Euro per night (for a 4-bed mixed dorm-style room) was a really good deal. Comparatively, my room in downtown Barcelona was 65 Euro and that was considered cheap!

I dropped my stuff off, chatted up the very friend hostel staff and ventured back to the city center to do some sightseeing.

I should explain that I had plans to meet up with a friend who was teaching English in Belgium and her boyfriend but they unfortunately weren't able to make it and that's why I ended up having a 3-day stay in Barcelona by myself.

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Now that I had my home established for the 3-day weekend I was free to see Barcelona! The number one thing on my list to do was to eat at Tapas 24.

Tapas 24 is run by a chef who used to work for Ferran Adria at el bulli -- considered by many to be the best restaurant in the world. Carles Abellan worked for Adria for years and then went off to open Tapas 24 and Comerc 24 --- Comerc being the higher-end, molecular gastronomy, restaurant and Tapas 24 obviously being that tapas joint.

For those of you who don't know, tapas style eating is very common in Spain and it involves small plates of food -- typically with strong, bold flavors that might not be as enjoyable in large servings.

As a single, I was able to skip the long line and was seated at the end of the bar. My waitress was awesome! She explained the daily menu to me in English and recommended a few things. I really wish I had my camera with me that day because the food was presented beautifully!

I had a peach-mint juice that was incredible. The common starter was toasted bread rubbed with tomato and served with olive oil and pepper. I also enjoyed a couple of ham-cheese croquetas.

Then we got into the good stuff! I got a plate of chicken tandoori skewers with an amazing spicy, yogurt sauce that was just perfect. Perfect!

And then came the piece de resistance. The long, white plate of baby octopus. Probably 10-12 of them, all lined up in a row -- waiting to be eaten by me!

I have had and even have prepared baby octopus and it tends to be a little chewy and rubbery. Tapas 24 avoided this and grilled them to perfection. A little olive oil gave them a crunchy exterior and they were served with a bit of their own ink.

After the meal, I told my waitress, "Los sepionettes son fantasticos!" (the octopus was amazing!)

She smiled back and replied in English, "I know."

Truly amazing. Thanks for the recommendation, Mercedes!

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I made countless observations over the next few days and recounting all of them wouldn't really be worth the effort. Ultimately, I was kind of down in the dumps from time to time because I wasn't able to experience these incredible moments, places and food with friends or family. Either way, here are some things I experienced over the rest of the weekend:

Picasso Museum - Got in for free because it was a special day for the Barcelona museums. Truly understood after walking through Picasso's works in chronological order how talented he was. He mastered the techniques of the masters and then took art to a new level by looking for the essence of shapes. Art didn't have to be a replication of reality -- it could evoke a greater feeling and Picasso was a master of this!

MACBA - Modern Art museum in Barcelona. First floor was just okay in my opinion. The second floor, however, featured an incredible exhibit of a Canadian artist, Rodney Graham. This dude is truly a genius. He completely took me on an intellectual exercise in what art is. How an idea like infinity can be turned into music. Or how the very idea of light can be toyed with to create a canvas and then have that canvas disappear. He did a translation of a translation and found that the meaning of the book completely changed. He threw vodka bottles at gongs. He created a piece of music that won't play the same loop for over a billion years. Ask me about this guy sometime and I'll talk your ear off!

Magic Fountains of Barcelona - This is like the Bellagio fountains being tied to the Capital Building in Washington DC. Truly an incredible evening watching the fountains, people watching and enjoying a couple beers in a fantastical place. Wish you could have been there with me!

Las Ramblas - This street is home to street performers, little shops, restaurants, theatres and much more. It's really the heart of Barcelona and I had a blast watching some of the amazing street performers. A must do if you visit Barcelona.

La Bocqueria Market - Just off Las Ramblas, is La Bocqueria. This market has incredible, fresh food. Everything from jamon to seafood to fruits. The best part is that a couple places buy up the fresh ingredients and will prepare them for you in a relatively cheap setting. I ate at a vendors grill in the back of the market and had my favorite dish of the trip -- razor clams! They were long clams, grilled to perfection and served with olive oil and just a little lemon juice. I sat next to a nice German couple and we talked for a while as we enjoyed our fresh seafood and white wine. These razor clams might have been the best food I've ever had!

The Beaches - I went for a couple runs over the weekend, preparing for my half-Ironman that would occur on June 6, and ran down the coast each time. The beaches of Barcelona were incredible. And they happened to be topless. Let's just say I ran about 4 miles before I realized that I should probably turn around and head back at some point. Beautiful, beautiful women in Spain!

La Sagrada Familia - Gaudi is the most famous Spanish architect and his unfinished La Sagrada Familia church is a truly modern approach to building a cathedral. Many people don't like it but I think it's a new attempt at creating something beautiful. The Spanish are constantly looking to create something new and La Sagrada Familia is a great attempt at new architecture!

FC Barcelona - My last night in Barcelona was the championship game for FC Barcelona -- the local soccer team. If they won the match, they were champions of La Liga. I nearly ended up with a ticket from a French group that was staying at my hostel but couldn't find them at the stadium to purchase the ticket. At least it saved me 60 Euro by not going, but it would have been fun. I ended up watching the game at a bar outside the stadium and FC Barcelona scored 4 goals and easily won the game. It was a blast wearing my FC Barcelona shirt and cheering with the locals as the home team won the Spanish premier league! As the game ended, I took the metro back to Las Ramblas and watched the youth of Barcelona go crazy! It was an amazing scene as the streets filled and everyone joined together in songs, cheering and a celebratory concert in La Plaza Catalunya.

My parting thoughts about Spain are kind of academic. I think Italians are clinging to an old world that has, in reality, passed them by. They are no longer a major player on the world stage but they were once upon a time.

The Spanish, however, feel reborn following the repressive dictatorship of Franco. From Dali to Gaudi to Ferran Adria to Pedro Almodovar to Joan Miro, the Spanish are looking to the future and asking....what's important? What does life have in store for us that can be beautiful?

I felt privileged to experience a culture that truly thinks outside the box. That questions authority and the ways of the past. That looks for truth in the simplest of foods yet analyzes the most complex ideas of the human mind in paintings and art.

As I traveled home, I looked forward to seeing friends and family and to a certain extent, getting back into the routine of daily life. But I also returned with a rebellious attitude that I continue to carry with me and hope will never leave.

Spain reminded me to live with passion and energy. To enjoy food and art and activity and travel and people. To throw "what's normal" out the window and ask myself, "What do I want in life?"

We all arrive at this place called life and we don't really have a place to stay. But we make do. We make sure we survive. And when we're at our best, we make sure we live -- and that we live and love passionately. Just like the Spanish.

Enjoy the ride,
Damm

Five Lands

1. In Cinque Terre, Italy, there are five small towns along the coast that make up one of the more beautiful places on earth.

A trail leads from town to town but unfortunately as we arrived, flooding and landslides caused the trail to be mostly closed down.

Our hotel was in the southernmost town of Riomaggiore -- a small, hilly town with wonderful locals and good food.

The night we arrived it had just finished raining and I took to the road for a run up into the hills south of Riomaggiore. Water was gushing down the road and a light rain was still falling from the sky.

The hill kept climbing and climbing as my legs ached more and more with each step. I passed a small bar that looked out at the water. I passed dozens of small cars and some bicycles that sped down the hill into the town.

My shoes became sopping wet by the time that I was able to turn around and make the quick descent down the hill back into town.

The run had literally taken my breath away. The view only figuratively did.

2. We ate at a restaurant in Riomaggiore for our first meal and as seems the custom in Cinque Terre we were warmly greeted by the restaurant owners -- a beautiful Italian family with the grandfather serving as the gracious host. I would call the food at La Lampara good but not great -- however, the wine and ambiance were incredible.

We laughed the night away drinking glass after glass of wine until we ended the evening at a bar up the road with some good, American mixed drinks. Even with a cocky (kind of a jerk really) waiter, we managed to enjoy ourselves.

3. Run number two was to become more of an adventure race than a run for me. I overcame my hangover with some late morning prosciutto and bread from a market near our hotel and filled up my Camelback bag with water. Up the hills once again but this time heading north on the paved road leading to the next town up the coast. I ran at least 5 or 6 miles to get to the town but pleasantly ran into the Waldorf group by the time I arrived.

On my way there I took time to enjoy an espresso and blood orange on that bar overlooking the coast, I found a place to swim in the ocean for a while and I meandered about the town before running into the group.

We sat to drink some schiacctera (sweet dessert wine) and eat some cheese before heading back to Riomaggiore in the late afternoon.

4. That evening was kind of a drunk-fest. Not going to lie. I bought a bottle of Chianti and we headed down to the water to do some swimming and jumping off rocks. My and 3-4 of the Waldorf girls braved the really cold water and swam around for a while in the salty, ocean water. (The wine helped us stay warm!).

After that we headed to dinner in Moterrosso (and I managed to get a 50 euro ticket for not having a train ticket on the way there -- by the way, Italian train police are absolute douschebags and are the main reason that I am cheering against Italy in the World Cup -- a bunch of dramatic babies!).

Dinner was fun and we enjoyed great service and quality food (and more wine!).

When we got back to Riomaggiore, guess what!, more wine!

The night ended at the spot we had been swimming earlier in the day with that "jerk" of a waiter from the night before, a bunch of Norweigan women who loved my blond hair and a couple of the Waldorf kids. We drank more wine. We drank Limoncello. We drank beer.

The former "jerk" Italian waiter was now our friendly guitarist for the evening and he sang Bob Marley songs as we drank the night away.

As 4 AM rolled around, I decided to stumble up the hill to our hotel. No running for me on this jaunt -- heck, I could barely walk.

5. Leaving Italy the next day with a severe (and I mean severe) hangover in tow, I realized that my romance with Italy was falling apart.

My first trip to Italy had been a punch-drunk love affair. The museums, churches, food and wine, the culture......they had made me fall in love with an ancient remnant -- a life lived in the past but a life not lived by me.

This second trip to Italy was an open-eyed balancing act. Teetering on the edge of affection for the beauty that the country provides while nearly slipping into the frustration and anger that came from a boastful people clinging to old ways without accepting the new.

I realize now, looking back on the trip, that Italy doesn't have to be a singular idea in my head. It can actually be a place that changes for me -- from good to bad, a love-hate relationship of sorts.

A place of variety. Not just one or two places, really.

Something more like five lands -- or as the Italians would say "Cinque Terre."

Enjoy the ride,
Damm

The World of Venice

"Today it is too old a story. The world has forgotten the mighty fleets of Venice, her formidable commanders and her pitiless inquisitions. The dungeons of the Doge's Palace have lost their horror, to the generation of Belsen and Hiroshima; and even power itself seems too frail and fickle a commodity to waste our lyrics on. The Venetians may still half-mourn their vanished empire, but to the foreigner the sadness of Venice is a much more nebulous abstraction, a wistful sense of wasted purpose and lost nobility, a suspicion of degradation, a whiff of hollow snobbery, the clang of the turnstile and the sing-song banalities of the guides, knit together with crumbling masonries, suffused in winter twilight."
Excerpt from "The World of Venice" by Jan Morris.

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On a rainy night in Venice, we sat outside and listened to popular classical music by a quintet of musicians in St. Mark's square. The lead violinist was a virtuoso. She played so lightly, so easily, that one could easily have fallen in love with her musicianship alone. But upon looking at her face, it was much easier to fall in love with her arrogant beauty.

She knew she was good at the violin and even though this was neither the grand concert hall of Paris nor the orchestra of a major city, she acted as if Issac Stern himself had something to learn about playing the violin.

I sat mesmerized for that hour. And then promptly, at midnight, the music ended and she rushed off with her cell phone -- surely texting her husband or a boyfriend.

I didn't even get to say goodbye.

---

I have no desire to visit Venice again. None at all.

Venice, for me, is like an ex-girlfriend whose beauty no longer holds the same place as it once did.

The churches and monuments are stained with graffiti. The waiters and bartenders seem tired of the tourists even though we keep the city afloat. The daily way of life is completely absurd for Venetians.

Small boats navigate the canals to deliver cans of Coca-Cola, bottles of Peroni and cheap, trinkets for the tourists to buy. Rough-looking men unload these goods and seem to move as slowly as possible. I imagine their day doesn't involve a great deal of work -- just enough to keep us tourists happy.

Venice was once a great nation but now it is a Disneyland of sorts.

"A city with canals for streets and hundreds of little bridges?" the tourist says with a sense of wonder. "How truly interesting."

No wonder then, that upon my second visit to Venice, the facade of winged lion's and Doge's names in the buildings had started to turn to ruin for me.

Being treated as a tourist isn't why I travel to Europe and Venice treats you like a tourist, whether you like it or not.

Venice is a city that lives in the past and it's as if the world still clings to her dying breath -- finding beauty in the melancholy of it all.

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Our hotel in Venice was nice enough. I enjoyed the Peggy Guggenheim museum and had a couple of decent (but by no means great) meals.

The cuddlefish in ink at Al Conte Pescaor was actually very good and I enjoyed the octopus-celery salad even though it was ridiculously overpriced. Two glasses of Prosecco and my bill for lunch was soon 35 Euro ($50 or so). A very good meal but not worth $50 in my book.

I think the best time I had in Venice was sitting on the edge of the city with a friend drinking a Coca-Cola Light and eating some prosciutto and cheese. A cruise ship passed by and we waved to the people aboard the ship.

"Ha," I thought. "Look at those silly tourists."

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We made our parting trip to the Venice train station during the morning rush hour for the water taxis of the city. As we traveled from the Salute stop to the station stop, I moved to the front of the water taxi and sat by myself.

I watched the gruff men unloading their goods for the day from the various boats. A worker stood in a plaza filling a hole with dirt -- looking around after each scoop to see who was passing by on the Grand Canal.

Somewhere in the city, Timothy Dalton (who my sister took a picture of during a water taxi ride the day before) was filming a movie called "The Tourist" (appropriately enough) with Angelina Jolie.

More tourists were coming into the city as we were being taxied out.

We got off the water taxi and headed toward the train station. A girl in our group came running up to me as we walked up the steps.

"You'll never guess who I just sat by on the taxi," she said.

"It was that violin player you were so in love with the other night. She was taking her daughter to school, I think."

Twice I had been so close to her but each time I wasn't even able to say goodbye.

So with a tip of the hat and a smirk on my face, I turned to the Grand Canal and told Venice, for what was probably the last time, "Goodbye."

This is Life

"This is life," Eva said to me as we looked up at the town of Lamole.

The house of Mona Lisa in the distance. Her vineyards in the foreground. A glass of Chianti Classico in my hand. Mud on my legs from the dirt road leading up to the house. My bicycle leaning against the ancient Tuscan home.

My life has stories before that moment and it will have more in the future.

But on a Saturday afternoon in the valley below Lamole, Italy, there was life.

And it was beautiful.

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My second trip to Europe began on a Thursday and as if to prepare me for my adventures ahead, I ended up at a sushi bar in the Philadelphia airport talking to a Coast Guard officer who had just returned from a two-month trip to Europe. Over a couple Sapporos and a bento box for myself, we shared itineraries and he gave me some great tips about what to check out in Barcelona.

His trip to Barcelona with a buddy allowed them to meet a French girl who would take them to her home on the French Riviera where they would spend a few days enjoying the good life.

In some ways, I wasn't as fortunate during my trip but in other ways I was about to have a great vacation. Thanks Will, for the great advice regarding Barcelona.

Next time I'll remember to ask where to find the rich French girls.

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I had a long layover in the Philly airport so I went to have another drink at Vino Volo (a really nice little wine, food shop) and enjoyed a class of Spanish wine.

On the 7 plus hour flight to Europe, I watched "Invictus" and it was really good. In Frankfurt, I missed my connecting flight but the ladies at the transfer desk in Germany were very nice and I took a nap in the airport while I waited for the next flight 4 hours later. Lufthansa is now my favorite airline. My flight from Frankfurt (where I did indeed have a Frankfurter!) to Florence included a sandwich, free wine and a nice selection of newspapers. The pilot exclaimed "Andiamo" and we were off.

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Getting into Florence I realize how excited I am to be in Europe. I chat with the young, attractive female cab driver on the way to the hotel in Florence and discover that the restaurant I've picked out for the night is indeed a really good local restaurant -- Osteria del Cinghiale Bianco.

In Florence, I'm meeting my dad and the group of Waldorf students on the Communication Dept. trip. They aren't at the hotel when I get in, so I go out for a 4-mile run through Florence. It's raining but I could care less.

How amazing is it to turn a corner and just happen upon the Great Duomo of Florence?

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I meet my dad and some of the group at the hotel. We take off for the restaurant. The meal was fantastic! Even though we have reservations, we have to wait for a few minutes but the owner brings out white wine for us while we wait.

My meal includes house Chianti wine, Lardo di Colonatta (indescribably tasty!), carpaccio with arugula and parmesan, cinghiale con polenta (wild boar in an amazing, rustic tomato sauce) and then dessert. For dessert we all shared tiramisu, grappe and panna cotta with caramel sauce. A beer at a British pub next to the Duomo and then it was bedtime. I slept hard. Really hard. I fell asleep thinking about how awesome it feels to be in a foreign country on the first day of the trip. Such adventure ahead. So many people to meet. So many new foods to try.

The trips are never what you expect but they are always full of expectations. My expectations were high for Saturday but they were about to be surpassed!

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On Saturday I woke up at about 9:30 am and headed down the street to rent my road bike for the day. It was an older road bike but nice. Only cost me 35 Euro to rent it for the whole day and that included helmet and lock as well (I just had to bring my own bike shoes). I also bought a Camelback pack that holds 2L of water and allowed me to bring my camera along for the day -- it was expensive but worth it -- I'll definitely use it a lot in the future.

The guys at the bike shop were great and gave me a route for the day of about 60 miles.

Maps in hand. My camera and water in my backpack. Shades and helmet on. "Andiamo!"

After navigating through the tiny streets of Florence (more than once I had to place my hand on the car to my side in order to avoid running my bike into the vehicle!) and crossing the bridge to the west of Ponte Vecchio, I was climbing up a steep hill and leaving the city of Florence.

I had so much energy that I just zipped up the hill. I ended up taking a different turn than I had planned on but ended up in the tiny little town of Impruneta within a few kilometers. I picked up a Red Bull and banana, and got some good directions from the shop owner. On a side note, cycling is huge in Italy and everyone gives you a lot more respect when you have a bike jersey on -- it's like you've joined their culture for a day!

As I ride south on the hilly, winding streets, I started to notice a few Lamborghinis and Ferraris traveling north. A few became a dozen and pretty soon I noticed that people were on the sides of the road watching the cars go by. I stopped and asked what was going on.

A nice Italian gentleman and his kid told me that the day was part of a 4-day tour from Southern to Northern Italy for Italian sports cars -- known as Mille Miglia.

My casual bike ride through Tuscany suddenly had become a nerve-wracking ride with hundreds of Italian sports cars.

Mille Miglia used to be a race but has been a "tour" ever since 1957. Too many deaths in the race turned the race into a tour. But many of the drivers still go over 100 mph and pass up steep hills and around corners.

I had trouble deciding when I should stop and get a class of Chianti Classico wine -- this wine can only be bottled in the area between Florence and Siena.

For some reason I just kept riding and riding, not wanting to stop. I got rained on a little and was starting to get a little tired of the craziness on the road with all the sports cars -- so I took a turn onto a dirt road that looked interesting and rode for a few miles in solitude.

Mud was splattering my legs and the quiet was deafening but I soon came across a sign for a Chianti Classico winery and decided to check it out.

I climbed up a small hill to the old stone house and looked around for the owner or people. At first I couldn't find anyone, just two scrubby looking dogs taking a nap. Too lazy to get up for the visitor in the cycling jersey.

Eventually Eva came out of her office and introduced herself. She and her husband had purchased the small winery a few years ago -- they were preparing a meal for a group of cyclists coming to stay a few hours later.

Eva is Swedish but has been living in Italy for 20 years with her husband. She was awesome and the winery was beautiful. She poured me a glass of the 2006 Chianti Classico and gave me a cold bottle of water. I walked around the winery with her and got a tour of their home, which is a small bed and breakfast.

Poggio Asciutto is a place I will certainly visit again!

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Eva encouraged me to ride 7km to the town of Lamole. So I did.

Holy shit! It was a really tough climb with grades up to 9% and just a non-stop climb. By the time I reached Ristoro di Lamole, I was exhausted. I took a seat outside and the very friendly Italian waitress brought me a glass of Chianti, some water and a great cheese and prosciutto sandwich. She even paired a mild cheese with a tasty prosciutto that worked perfectly with the fresh bread.

I had an espresso for a little caffeine jolt and I was heading back to Florence after the 30 minute rest in Lamole.

The descent from Lamole was the most fun I've ever had on a bicycle. I was going anywhere from 25 to 40 mph and flying around narrow corners -- nearly passing the few cars in front of me at times.

I couldn't stop smiling. I couldn't stop thinking that surely this day had been one of the best days in my life.

I had yet to speak to an American all day. It had just been myself and the kind people of Tuscany. The wine and food had been outstanding. The climb to Lamole exhausting. The scenery gorgeous.

At one point in the descent, overtaken with emotion and happiness, I just let out a loud "Wooooooo!" -- like a kid going down a slide.

This was life.

.....to be continued.....