Jeremiah Watt-saddlemaker

Posts by Jeremiah Watt-saddlemaker

Blog36- at the confluence of family and art

Finally free wheeled into downtown Florence, which for many folks is the hearstopping center of Italian Art. For me, it is the confluence of not only art but also the meeting point for my older brother Niel who flew over to ride with me. The road in, over those last few pulls was a wee bit of a test of my mental attitude. While not overly tall by any means, they bit my legs hard, and I guess that was because I had concluded heck we are there when indeed we weren’t quite. By 3pm I rolled in under the long shadow cast by the illustrious Duomo Cathedral. What a city, really has a good feel to it for me. This, my second visit to the fabled art city of Michelangelo and DaVinci, Florence, home to art and culture in Italy.

Brothers flight was just fine, he had so many concerns about leg room and other things, but he was just fine. You know how it is with that first international flight, all those worries and concerns seem to be an anchor halting ones ability to enjoy the moment. Once on the ground and rolling in a taxi, I could see him let down and accept mentally that he was among the survivors of yet another international travel expirience. Once again, I had rented an apartment, we put his gear away and headed out for a quick bite before calling it a day. We walked the cobbled streets of city center Florence, under a waning moon and the yellow cast light of a meager few street lamps. Vendors bjsied themselves packing thier wares into thier sidewalk hawking carts! Rolling vestibules of capitalisim in this communist leaning goverened country called Italy. Produce sellers, sorting thru spoiled produce, and a few would-be partiers were just starting thier evening, ebullient and loud, while we were ready to call it a day.

The following morningbegins our day begins afresh, we awake to the 6clarion call of Italys favorite vehicle…….the bedamned scooter, with it’s raspy, smoking breath. That weedeater on steroids, driven by some pimple faced teen, making it’s roar/whine sound combination, akin to a vocalist just a little off key and not quite as endearing……thats Italys fabled scooter. The sound of swishing brooms and shuffling feet greets our timpanic membranes, as we make our days plans sitting in a small cafe shop……….”holy crap, thats a cup of coffee”…..pretty normal sound eminating from the lips of a person out on the streets of europe for the first time. There are so many things to become accustomed to on that first visit, many of them are so different that they set us back in our effort to just enjoy that which is new. over time though, it seems we can relax and take it in stride. The tastes,the smells and sights, we can become comfortable with, if not downright enjoy the differences for that short time that we are here.

Begin the day with a walk down thru the central market, a huge venue in downtown Florence hosting sellers of every edible product known to man or grown or made in Italy. Italy markets its food-self with a great deal or pride and boast as to quality and organic freshness. A host of local catch fishmongers greet us as we walk thru the front doors. The chill of ice, the smell of fish and the loud clamour of buying and sellling begins. The onrush of senses awakens our sleepy pituitary, and arouses the “old-factory” glands lying idle at the moment. Hawkers of dried fruit and Indian spices make thier pitch as we pass, further along the famous Florentine Bisteak is being hand cut and sold by kilo as we stroll. Another local favorite I have come to love, is a good piece of Schichiatta bread with its airy texture and olive oil and salt flavor, low and flat like a house slipper and almost as chewey. We buy a few items to munch as we walk, after all, we are men on the hunt so to speak. In quest of the famous Lampredotto or what we would call a boiled tripe sandwich. Found it AHAH….. at Florences most famous shop for such a delicacy……and really wished we had taken a wrong turn somewhere along in our search. Turned out to be boiled strips of inner tube in a dry crusty bread roll……..”food writers”, what a lying bunch of dogs they are. As a group, they are about as dependable as the UN. If a food writer describes this local delicacy in more than one short paragraph and without expletives……you know danged well they never actually ate one they are just regurgitating something else they have read about it.

The Duomo, which is one of the best known cathedrals in the world I think, yes, even beyond that of St.Agathe Manitoba, was on the list of “TODO,S” while in Florence. Not ragging here, but the outside is indeed that part which is a must see. It is quite simply described as, fabulous. The art work achieved by the varied artists and designers is stunning. The interior, while it is both massive and wonderfully done is rather austere in its character when compared to most or many Cathedrals. Massive white marble octagonal pillars, some 20 feet across, support the flying buttress roof design which vaults some 75 feet above the tiled floor of this God inviting sanctuary. The Duomo’s dome, known as the “Cupola”, hosts a mural of striking beauty……Spong Bob Square Pants meets Moses as they part the river Thames. Some 7,575 steps later, or what felt like that many, after climbing up the tiny staircase which threads its way to the top of the Cupola. All at the same time that those who are coming down have to thread past you…..all a little close depending on which part of what anatomy you are left hugging, and how sweaty it is. Once we top out and take in the view, it all comes home as to how worth while the climb really was, even on a cloudy day as we had it is awesome.

From the Duomo strait in to see the great works of Italys best sculptors, Michealangelo not among the least. Thanks to hawkers on the street, we aquired tickets and pretty much walked right in past the sweltering que beside the building…..hahaha I say to myself……..it pays2pray. Now even a person who does not care a great deal about art and sculpture can walk among these pieces unaffected. Viewers are caught short of breath when they for the first time come face to face with the likes of David or The Rape of the Sabine. These and others like them, are not simply scanned like a bar code and walked past, these works will wrench emotion from rocks let alone the human, a unique combination of inspiration, art, spatial design and yes even math comes into play ( if only my highschool Math teachers could have told me this instead of….if you dont learn this you will end up digging ditchs ) turning the heads of even the dullest viewer………..something Picasso just cannot do for me…..I always like the back of his pictures better than the front, while the work of Rubens canleave you with tear filled eyes. A day well spent, and a bit of a cultural&art filled overload……if you hail from Claresholm where “paint by number” still rules the day…..but some of it is really good….just saying.

4 long years ago now, both mykids were over to Italy during the summer and ate S well as RAVED about eating at IL PORCHINO RESTUARANTE…….ya just gotta bo there to know what its is really like. So fast forward 2 years, and last Christmas we spent it over here in Europe….France, Switzerland and Italy ….to be exact. And during that trip we took in Florence for 2 reasons. Obviously to eat at the Il Porschino but also forthe art and cathederals. It was fabulous, and the cathederals were great as well. My brother arrives and I am sick, I cannot find the little restaurant anywhere, I call my kids. ?……….I call my wife?……I am panicked and distraut?……..it is gone,closed,might as well leave Florence now there isnothing to see. I leave dejected from my cafe stool and walk some 200 yards down the street……..walking rather zombie like…….excitement and life had left my limbs…..and one eye……….”what the heck, look at the size of that bike hub JimBob its hugger than yours”……….I bend over smart like and begin to feel the synapses fire again as the blood invigorates my thinking all the time burying the loss of Il Porchino further back in the rusty filing cabinets of my mind……..”Hey,you like my bike or what”? says a well dressed old guy on the sidewalk (gosh he had to be close to sixty, didnt evenknow someone that old could still throw a leg over”…….and so as JC would have it a conversation about hubs ensues and I even take his bike for a quick spin…..all while he holds onto my wallet, my dog, and my pants…….I love the whole trust your brother thing. With our bike conversation drawing to a close I decide to segway into another directkon, I ask if he is local here and if he has ever heard of the Il Porchino Restaurant………….a slow wide Italian smile erupts…….why yes, I am born in Florence it is always my home for 59 years ( my self thinking- holy crap, he’s alot older than I thought) and yes I did hear of the little Porcupine. Great I am thinking, do you know where I can find it? Certainly he says, with a smile like the Cheshire Cat, just step this way and I show you……..I move maybe 2 or 3 feet towards him and the sidewalk he stands on, all the while thinking this vantage point will allow me to see in a direction that I have not yet looked……..Now, says my host, lean right there on this post……….I feel likeI am playing Simon Says now, but I do it dutifully as he asks………..my right hand shoulder high on the black post, and I am still looking strait at a stone wall?????……..Okay says my epicurian guide, look strait up to you right hand………and voila, like that. What I am looking at,maybe 2 feet above my hand is the sign welcoming you to dine at the Il Porchino…………..now, did I feel like the village idiot…….no, not at all. The village idiot walked by me though, to rpoud orembarresed to ask and talk to those whom Christ places in your path. Was God giving me a lesson…..I think so. If we were to seek him as diligently as we would seek a simple restaurant……..I wonder what the results would be. To conclude this missive, we did indeed dine at this fabulous restaurant,and yes we again had Franco as our waiter. We had, squash blossoms deep fried, outstanding. Then we had what looked like a ravioli but much bigger and a different kind of dough, served with melted butter it was stuffed with squash with a hint of nutmeg and trecal sugar……WOW, now that I could Wrangler Founder on. Then we went on to full on Ravioli served with fungus ( for Kendra and Kate, think mushrooms ) and wild bore sauce bedded on sawdust…..haha just kidding but caught’ya didnt’eye. Our ravioli, to put it as elequently as a food writer would, were bedded on crisp arugella leaves and coaxed in between delicate slices of scallion…….or as a cowboy, my little macaroni wrapup thingy’s were jammed between skinny onions and lettuce lookin stuff. But hey, it was all good no matter how you describe it. Topped of the evening in 3 delightfull manners, we had a great 1.25ounce Espresso, followed by Tiramissu and a conversation with 2 young attractive women sitting next. The whole meal had been rather a Shakesperean comedy feel to it, we got advice from 4 people sitting behind us on what was the best entree of the day……we got advice again on which ravioli was best today………Franco, did not remember me………he only remembered my wife…..”WHO, Is that embarraseing for”……..so being red faced he offered to help out these language stunted yankees and just ordered for us. As it turned out, both gals sitting next were art major students from Sweden ( another country full of finger painters ), one a degree in Music History and round dance ( she didn’t even know who Billy Ray Sinus was…….no foolin…..King of line dance doesn,t even get mention…..go figger, thats European education fer ya. And the other, a Masters in fine art. A mere 2 hours plus after the last bite was swollowed by all in attendance, we untied our attention deprived students and bid them good night.

Sunday morning, we load our vehicles of chain driven labor and head for the extremities of Florence, to the west, its a setting sun we seek as we creak and pedal. No, the chain is oiled, as are the pedals and hubs……its hips and knees and lungs, yes even they make noise. The big guy, brother to me, tags behind as I act in Pines roll of navigator. We weave and thread our way thru low hills, olive orchards, terraced vineyards and a few steep pitchs towards our destination city of Lucca. It all happens shall we say….outt,a the blue…..when exuberance takes precedence over diligence,…….and when excitement precludes caution. We had topped a long for us series of switchbacks along the costal range, you know that point when you realize you have topped out and everything in front of you is a high speed decent……that point where you set deep in the saddle……lean over those bars……..take on that “mean as heck” look and set forth downhill on that asphalt luge to enjoy the fruits of our labor. Inside crank set high, legs stiff, we plunge into the curves………..AHHHHHH………CRIMINY………..Ahhhhhh…..my racers edge reflexes kick in and I peer into my rear facing mirror to see two huge eyes………and a tongue frantically trying to formulate an audible sound………man his face is red I think to myself?………… I wonder if hes getting to much sun?………..I can hear it, my oratorical devices snap into that lock on like radar position, both ears now pointing backwards……..my brain is computing distance to the sound of dragging metal and canvas……my emotion detectors that come on at the first sense of movement……..are trying to analyze the facial gestures and contortions in the mirror……….why doesnt he take his tonge outt,a his left eye so he can speak………DANGER WILL ROBINSON……. a red alert light goes off just milliseconds after all that information was fed into the mental computer that God designed not IBM. I apply a hefty brake and find a guardrail to lean my bike against, just in time to see big brother wheel his steed off the road way and onto a patch of grass. During our delight in bolting the bike back together…… niether of us double checked the rack bolts. As a result, the entire rack and panniers, as well as top load bag all flipped back behind the rear wheel in one unit……sure causes steering and control issues. All are fine, no one hurt, and bike shorts are easily washed out.

Our route takes us right thru the walled city of Lucca. Considered to be the best intact medium-evil city in Europe. If these guys are ranked as Medium -Evil, hate to meet to really evil ones. I really enjoyed the jibe of Lucca, with its huge walls dating back to early 1500. The walls are now lined with Sycamore trees instead of cannons, and there are more joggers than jousters. The city center sits wrapped in a cobweb of cobbled streets, more akin a labrynth than a mindful layout. Should fog shroud the streets and a moon glower over, breaking thru at brief moments, it would take on a Poe’esh ambience for sure. From Lucca, we head now more northerly than true west. After much debate and discussion about riding the fabled Cinque Terre, which I drove last year with my family and know it is indeed steep, we arrive at the conclusion that we may struggle just a tad much with soft legs and a loaded bike right out of the chutes. Our option is to skirt round the eastern flank of the Cinque Park region on minor roads. The route is simple enough, as it is the old road prior to the upgraded Autostrada which races back and forth above our route for the most part. Where cars see long tunnels and huge bridges spanning chasms 500 feet deep, we see the climbs of old that made both cars and bikers overheat. Every once in we while we would pull over and let loose the radiator cap so we could cool down, we could ponder the grand landscape spread before us……what a great gift we are given here this earth that we roam.

No climb to long, no climb to steep for men like us……as long as we have ice cream bars and Fanta we can/would/did tackle all of it in stride. Did we huff and puff, and did we smell bad, of course, but it was worse after we started cycling. Several climbs near conquered us, we took our rest stops while other cyclists rode on past. Keep in mind they were under 35, had empty 12 pound bikes. We had 150 pound bikes in the back of a truck………ah, sorry just kidding. We have ridden everything since departing the train way back in Russia. There is a point where cycling along thru the hills on the Ligurian coastline of Italy, that you fall off a ridge at a steep 12 percent pitch and can see city on coast for as far as can be seen along the azure waters that greet the eye. The mind relaxes, the muscles loose some of that natural tension that comes from many inclines, relaxation softens the spine till you resemble Sid the Sloth from Iceage. And then it hits……all along the coast there are these steep short pitches that take you up along or in some cases over the rocky headlands that dot the coast, and you realize its not over till its over and that will be in Genoa for us tonight. While stopped atone particularilybeautiful overlook, we happened to meet another fellow cycling our same route. Wheatsay, is from Holland and is cycling from Sicily to Nice for his vacation. Had a great visit and learned much from another perspective……even if he is wrong. jk

Blog35-looking ahead to Italy and the Appenines

Landscape view, headed north of Badacio.

For several reasons, we ride and spend more time thinking about Italy, than the Croatian countryside that I currently cycle thru. My wife is gone, and I have departed south along the shoreline, headed for a coastal town called Split. I’am really looking ahead to Italy and the Appenines. Mainly because in my mind this body of water that we call the Adriatic is that symbolic barrier between myself and home. odd when I think about it, I know the Atlantic is far bigger, but the Adriatic is the wall that I mentally have to get over. And second, as far as reazons to be thinking about Italy. My older brother Niel will be coming to ride with me if all goes well. And that will be a blessing. And third, I have already been to Italy and know that it has a lot to offer in the way of natural beauty and plenty of artifacts of historical significance…..and I love history.

This is very common on the back roads, between a hood ornament and a hard spot

Riding south along the azure Adriatic coastline, it reminds me to look and think about the beauty of home. I tend too lean towards thinking that home is not as beautiful in it’s own way when indeed it is. While I cant explain why a person would fly away from this sort of beauty, or the beauty of where I live…..so that they can see Los Angeles or San Franciso. Thats a hard one for a guy like me to figger. Leaving Zadar about 10am, kissed Colleen and we parted ways till Christmas if all goes well. she is back home and already shipping boxes out, I just talked to her this morning.

Right now I am in Split and waiting to board a ferry over to Ancona Italy. Rode across the Adriatic, slept out on the deck in my bag of sleep to save a few bucks, glad that I did. Arrived Ancona Italy at about 6:45am, depart the boat and pretty much head uphill from the shoreline. Had a beast of a time reading my Google maps, the darned little roads all blend right into the maps background color. I’ve had to resort to borrowing all the reading classes at the retirement home just to read the darned map. We are riding the tiniest white roads shown on Google, and POOCHY MAGGIE, do those roads get steep. Seen some real beautiful country by taking the back roads, a lot of farming on very inclined pitches.

While not tall by mountain standards, the old roads that traverse the Appenines are indeed steep. For sure when climbing up thru the Appenines, you will be required to sweat your way to the summit. This, my second visit to Italy, I had forgotten just how loud a simple conversation over a cup of coffee can be with just 2 or 3 Italians engaged.

I am armed with a road map as well as full google map service, and I feel on the verge of lost every moment of the day. Several things lead me to this destitute feeling. When asking the Carabineri (police) which roads I can ride upon, I get 3 different answers. Signs, well in Italy…..signs are an issue. I swear, its the only place where you can come to a 4 way traffic circle and have signs for 9 different countries and 47 different cities/villages…..and non of them will be on your road map. I have also come to a 4 way traffic circle and found my desired town on 3 out of four of the roads that make up the traffic circle. Pretty sure that I spend darned near as much of my time double checking my google map as I do peddaling. Not complaining, just making note that going forward here is far slower than I had anticipated. Totally unlike rolling thru anything country prior to landing in Italy

Also finding that wild camping is much harder to do now that I am in Italy, as most ground has iether a house or farm product on it, so finding that just right spot has been pretty tuff do do. And yes, to answer that nagging question you have in the back of your mind……does he ever just ask permission……YES, but only when I see an adult male out in the farm yard somewhere. Never stop if its just a women or kids, to much hassle and to likely it could go south. And never stop and knock…..the home owner may not be home……but I bet the sleeping farm dog is. And we sure dont need to wake him up now do we. Tonight, I am pitched in a olive orchard, not my fav because they are usually ant infested places. This ones not bad actually. My days have been averaging just 50 miles per, a little lower than Balkans region average.

One last thing of note, fellow bikers DO NOT STOP, even if you holler and wave your arms……they are far to busy winning that imaginery time trial going on in there mind. Tried three of them now, as I needed directions…..they seen me, they made eye contact and kept right on rolling like nothing was said. That seems rather odd to my way of thinking, as back home and most other places we have been up till now, when cyclists meet they most often have a quick visit. Not sure of the whys and what fors, but it struck me as odd.

I made it Florence, not such a bad trip all in all. Finally figured out I can switch views on my Google map, and that has helped in a huge way. I find so far at least, that the drivers are quite polite and for that Iam very grateful. I was down to the last 30 miles coming into the busy city of Florence, and would’nt ya know it someone put 3 small stiff climbs in there just for fun. A little dissappointed that my route was based entirely in getting here for my brother and precluded any time for sightseeing. I missed several hill top fortifications that Italy, or better yet Tuscany are renowned for, for another day another visit. Think I will wrap this one up and say goodnight to you all, be well and be blessed. Better yet go out and be a Blessing.

Last view of a small Croatian village before leaving.

Ancona harbor entering Italy T day break.

Blog34- missing blog pictures

Here are images which did noy upload in the lzst 2 or 3 posts. This should bring everything up to speed. The next blow will be from Italy somewhere.

Visegard bridge, built by the Romans 1435

Montenegro, driving the single lane gravel backroads

Looking back on Tara River canyon

Waterfalls in stunning Komarnice valley

Komarnice valley, Montenegro

Blog33-hey, what gives with the images

Blog Posting has been a real pain, due to really bad wifi connections. Putting that aside, we recently got 2 posts up a`d as a result have had several folks ask about the changes they see within the images. Enough people asked that I feel it warrants an explanation.
#1- the same photographer is behind the camera
#2- up until very recent, I had been doing all my image editing on PS Photosop Touch and I love the app. But it took forever to go thru the basics. So, I downloaded Pixlr Express on my phone and tablet and really like it because it does the basics so quickly. In addition, it allows you to create frames around images, also antique overlays etc to add sort of a retro look to post images. Am I guity of overusing the various filters, probably…..yoou let me know if its a little much and I will make changes.
#3- I have finally got a little better at shooting in HD setting and I have used it alot at least since sunshine has been added to the travel package along with some fall color.
#4- JW has packed his phone mostly as a pocket brick and nothing more. My buddy Nemad in Belgrade gave me a quick lesson on shooting panoramas and now I love it and always have it out. Plus I have found that image clarity is amazing for such a tiny lense, some of the pics are just wow, I am so stoked. I only wish I had known and used it sooner.
So, now you know everything that I know about my shooting. I toyed with the idea of buying a cheap tripod but passed in favor of leaning on guardrails and sign posts of stone walls.
JW

Blob32 – back roads in the Balkans

We are adventuring south, and battling the backroads of the Balkans, where bumps are plentiful and wifi is almost nonexistant. Have we been having fun, without any doubt. Am I a happy man to be able to share some time with my wife, Colleen…..indeed Iam. I would prefer to have my entire family along, and maybe the good company of say Darren to round out the conversations and help fill the car properly. But, such is not the case this time around.

Where have we been you ask, well, ae traveled the coast of Croatia south as far as Split. From there we turned inland so that we could take in Krka’s Natkonal Park. We then headed still further south, all by the smallest most obscure backroads of the type that you would cycle on. These are time consuming roads to drive, average daily is maybe 40km per hour. We entered into Montenegro so we could aim our ashphalt missle at Mostar and take in the famous bridge. What you say, a famous bridge. Why yes, built in 1475 for Suliman the Magnificent. From there we headed east to Blagaj, where we took in a Dervish House which is a Muslim Holy Prayer house. The dervish house sits right beside a 1000 foot rock cliff, actually built partially into the limestone rock face. At the base there is a gaping black hole, maybe 50 feet diameter out from which spills the coldest, clearest water that you can imagine. Millions of gallons a day spue forth, to turn further east, and join yet another river.

From Mostar we head up, which is officially a direction over in this region and it is used very frequently. I mentioned that Croatia should be marketing ROCKS, and I think that Herzghovina spent alot of money before the war investing in the CROATIAN ROCK market, they have alot. Our road took us up, very long grades where you wind your way around for mile upon mile of sparcely vegetated terrain and there are limestone rocks out the “wazoo”. For those who hail from the east coast or “fouren”shores, a wazoo is a tiny orifice that god gave cowboys but nobody else…..so, if ya dont wear a hat, dont even botber lookin to see if you have one. The side of the mountain range that faces the adriatic coast is dryer than a pop-corn fart. Very little but sparce grass and short brush grow here. Once you pass over the crest or divide, then you hit a rainfall rich piece of country where trees (that they log) are abundant. Along with better grass and more livestock.

Within only a short distance you pass out of Herzeghovina and back into Bosnia, which wraps around the latter as if hugging it. As does Croatia to the greater Bosnia. Croatia wraps almost 3/4 the way around Bosnia. So, after the war, these are just the hugginest countries you have ever seen. And after another short drive and some very steep grades full of switchbacks, we find ourselves entering Montenegro. Montenegro is for sure on my bucket list to see again, and a little more in depth. It is stunningly beautiful, rich in remote natural landscapes. I have told both my kids to throw out the old worn out honeymoon favorites like Hawaii or Carlin Nevada. Instead be bold, and take in Croatia and Montenegro. We really wanted to get into Albania this trip as I have been told several times it is very beautiful. Sadly, they turned us back at the border. They told us our rental car is to ugly to steal,……aparantly car theft is the number one GDP product. Following that are prostitution and drugs, they do make some honey, olives and push-brooms.

Montenegro, we drove plenty. All on the most obscure back roads we could find. WOW, WOW, WOW, we done the Komarnice canyon as well as the Tara river gorge, and the National Park. This is a phenominal piece of Gods awesome hand at work. This is not the result of some accidental collision of gas balls 400 years ago. Pretty sure the Angels were standing akimbo, sort of half teasing God (you know how youngsters can be), asking him if he has ever made a gorge or a mountain, while another asked about making blue water rather than muddy brown water. Finally God grew tired of the Angels good natured ribbing and stuck his hand into the creation quagmire, that mirey primordial ooze, stirred it violently lifting his hand out forming both peaks and valleys, blew his soft breath over it bringing forth clear cold blue water, winked once at the nearest angel standing in disbelief as they watched trees and grass carpet his creation. It has remained that way up until the time of man’s enlightenment and Charles Darwin…….and so shall it remain till the end. Darwin is but a blip on Gods radar screen, an anomoly of no significance over the long haul. If by chance you are a hiker, mountain biker, kayaker or just plain fresh air breathing nature lover, the Montenegro would be your spot.

Over the mountain ridges we roll, where rocky gorges line our path, the stirrings and ruminations of an approaching fall have begun to make themselves visible. With golds and crimsons, along with purples and the rust brown ferns adding color to the seasons palette. Rocky white cliffs once besieged by the verdant green of summer grass and leaves, not are mantled in those colors that bedeck all falls in alpine regions of the world. Summer meadows stand golden with the last of the grass waving at the passing season, leaves of festive coloration now blow and gather in collective wreaths at tree lines and ditches. The men with scythes have been busy from valley fold on up to very near the mountains peak, as loose hay is staked high and plentiful in the tradtional beehive forms. Sheep dot the golden landscape, thier white wool Is thickening for yet another winter which will follow on the heels of a beautiful autumn. The quaintest little red roofed houses, repleat with tiny chicken coops and sheep folds, barns that lay under the house which house the cows and pigs, lay anchored to the rocky soil by faith and hardwork knowing they will see another winters gale pass, and another season of promising blossoms……just as has happened in this rugged country for several hundred years.

As we top a ridge, trees are thick and plentiful, the mountain sides so steep that each man brings along a small piece of flat ground just to relax and stand on. So steep are the sides that as you pass thru this country it seems even the trees lean back away from the edge as if they too sense the steepness of the grade that they find anchorage on. Mom and I are blazing along at nearly 20km an hour. Hey look at that……..7 guys sit under trees………….and 4 yoked pair of oxen stand idly by, while everyone takes a break. This is one of my bucket list items, to see men work oxen and do the heavy work that they had been known for. We stop and visit, take a few pictures and have simple conversation for awhile. Then work has to get started once again……so, we ask if we can join them and watch. To thier great amazement and considerable laughter, they agree and away we go some half mile deep into the bush (growing up in Canada it was always called the “bush”, and never forest, that was a term used by city kids) the slopes are steep, the ground is festooned with moss covered limestone rocks, ferns grow in tiny private forests where ever sunshine pentrates the tree canopy and warms the ground. Men talk and bellow to thier horned charges. Chain links clink out that logging song melody to the swing and sway of the heavy yoke bar that captures each steers neck. A small hand whip is whirled around the animals heads to encourage, to show direction changes and otherwise annoy flys. The talk seems loud, as steers must be inherently hard of hearing, except for the black Angus I think. Have you ever noticed how they always show up first to the supper table!. A heavy hammer adorns each yoke, and with it the handler then drives a pinch link into the bottom or first hooked log. The handler can sidepass his steers, he can back them, not real great on the piaffes but basically put his steers anywhere he wants so that all logs can be hooked up. Each pair of “OXEN” are capable of pulling 3 or 4, full length hardwood logs at one time. The forest floor looks like nobody had even been there after they are done, no tire tracks, no ruts, it was really pretty amazing too watch. We are blessed everyday in so many ways, and for me this little piece of time travel was indeed special. We hope your day was the same or better. Good night and may God Bless.

Blog31-Yup, its a lovers coast

No sooner was I talking about it being a lovers coast, than I should meet a beautiful women in Zadar. A women with long Blay hair and cowboy boots…….God does listen to Prayers folks……….I mean how or who else would know I am sucker for the color Blay and cowboy boots over stillettos……only God can know those sort of intimate details. So for those wondering just what is going on in this paragraph opener……my wife flew into Zadar to meet me and spend about 8 days with me here on the adriatic coast. We had a nice supper out in the old town center, with waves washing up against the “wave symphony”, an ingenoius musical harbor platform inwhich wave action drives musical notes from harbor horns mounted under the platform which sits out over the harbors edge. The night sky turned dark and crystal clear, with a crimson sky as our backdrop.

We were actually up pretty early so we could hit the road in very typical Watt fashion………we have some sort of inner fasinaction with gas pedals and steering wheels. We left Zadar in a spray or small rocks and gravel, we are headed south hugging the pine tree lined coast and staring at the azure colored sea in awe and amazement. The coast line color and clarity are such that I am not even going to try and describe it because you will think that its false or maybe I have added a filter to the camera to hieghten or enhance what we seen. So, get out ol,Merriam’s and just look up BEAUTIFUL BECAUSE IT ABOUT COVERS IT.

Pulled over and had our first 1/4 cup of coffee. If you haven’t been to European climes, then you may not realize that a cup of coffee here is about 2oz in volume. Somehow then mix 1.75 ounces of boiling water with 2.25 pounds of superfine Espresso grind coffee beans…….and like a Pen&Teller act, they pour that entire concoction into a cup with 2oz capacity. 3 cups of this stuff injested in succession could put and end to Califoria’s death row issues.

On down the road we blazed, we hit village after village, some we stopped and walked around in, other villages, we simply pulled a few of the pedestrians who had gotten stuck in our grill out which convieniently leaves them close to home albeit with a limp……and blazed on still further. We took a hard left off the coast line and beat a path for Krka National Park and we are so pleased that we took this detour from our very beautiful coastal route.

Krka Park, not a real common tourist stop in comparison to say Plitvice or several of the Adriatic cities that dot the coast. Krka,is even hard to put to words, but for you I will give it a try. Croatias largest export product should be ROCKS, they are literally covered in those rascals. Its so bad that folks have to stack rock walls of immense size and number……not because they want a fence but rather just so they can get to some dirt to begin growing something. Limestone is maybe the most abundant type of rock they have, and Krka is based at the fot of limestone cliffs. Water, and I mean water from every possible direction and orifice comes boiling out of the ground, over the ground and from the heavenly skies above. All waters gather and disgorge in a crystal clear fashion over the rough hewn limestone cliffs and crags that constitute what we see as Krka, an elaborate system of waterfalls and spill ways. The limestone in the region have been washed now for several thousand years, and there if very little dust and dirt washing downstream. The water works its magic by activating the calcium carbonate which forms a mild acid and now the limestone is eaten or etched into immense underground waterways as well as those we see above ground. The washing of the limestone formations is also slowly eroding the surface liemstone and depositing it onto the stream bed surface which does 2 things. It creates a crystalline structure which reflects light differently, but it also induces an algae formation, both these aspects now play a part in the coloration of the water we see spilling over the whitish limestone rock. Thats the scientific dope, or we could simly say OMG but it is so darned beautiful to see with the naked eye. Which is also wierd when ya’think about it, how many times do you head out to look at something closely when yer naked????

Water spills over the ground in stunning volume and from every direction you can imagine. I really have come to love the way that the Europeans handle the whole park and nature scenario because you feel like you are right there in the wild natural habitate. It is indeed very different and some would\will be insulted and angry at my attempt to describe what and how it is made so. For one, they are logging all over within this NAtioanal Park, just like every other National Park I have gone thru over here. And you know what, thier forests look to be very healthy as compared to ours which are in total ruin especially in California. There are no warning signs, no protective baricades, no yellow tape, no nti slip matts, no wire mesh fence to catch you……..there are not even hand railks to hold. If your that damed dumb to fall in, jump in, or push your friend in…….then adios idiot, because you are no longer in the gene pool. The Park folks have over time, beggining from as far back as 1865, built walkway completely over the fast flowing rivers surface……..no, no, not some 100 feet over with a plexi glass side and flor and constant caution signs ttype thing…..no, no. This is a walkway that skims the very water surface so that you feel as though you are simply walking the surface. Twist after turn, sharp corners and around trees that are not only alive but the walkway is built fully around them, you make your way, no handrails, nothing to impede your sensation at being right within the waters flow. At times the boiling water sprays up over the boards abd pas angrily at walkway corners. Boards are wet and slippery, and those with a solidified brain stem understand one listep and you are ina current that no one will rscue you from. Amazing to see and witness the awesome strength of flowing water. If ever you go to Croatia, which I thnk is a must for folks who love to trvel and nature, then Krka is on the must do list.

We spent 4 hours up at the falls and arrived back in the little village with not enough light left to drive to Sibenik that night. So, we got a cute little room for 20 Euro which was just fine. Walked down into the tiny stone walled town center and dined with the locals on fresh fish and sea food. Fish 2 times a year for Jeremiah is some sort of milestone………..and my Pastor on the other hand has GILLS.

Left that tiny village with empty bellies, and no coffee. To wind our way up and out of the Krka Park over some 10 miles of steep grades and switchbacks on barely 2 lane sized road. Pulled into a tiny village awash in Adriatic coastal spelndor by 8am and had a wonderful espresso and pastry from a local Pekarna along with some hand picked and unwashed locaal fruit from a rad side fruit seller. Imagine, we ate that fresh fruit and didn’t even wash it with our “organic sanitizer foam fruit and vegetable spray”………what the heck is the big deal about a little diarhea anyways.day seen us walking the cobbled streets of many small unknown and well known cities alike. Tried coffee in aqll, had pastry in each, plenty of fresh fruit and drove many miles doing it. Each turn, each steep grade and each tiny rustic village made the whole that much more enjoyable. This place is so subdued and quiet LOOKING as compared to almost anywhere in USA, it becomes a real noticeable visual treat after just a few days. The only NEON sign that we have seen is that of a Pharmacy which is a green cross, or a Hospital which is red.

By the time that I am writing this, we have jumped out of Croatia and into Herzegovina, no, dont ask me too explain this tiny little piece of the world because I do not yet understand it myself. Different everything here including cultures and currency. Hardscrabble rocky ground makes farming almost non existant….I said almost.There are fruit trees and olive trees which also are known to have once grown on the moon……so, no surprise seeing them here. Sheep and some mixed beed cows. On those slopes facing southwest……..there aint anything…….no, I said nothing. On the other side of those same slopes there will often be a small loggingindustry, more grass and more sheep just due to rainfall conditions. Stopped in Mostar to see that very famous bridge built in 1450 to appease a request by grand Sultan Suliman the Magnificent……….great name to have in WWF. It spans a rock sided gorge that is at the confluence of 2 rivers. Both flow fast and clean towards the southen seas. We got to the bridge by 6:30am and took walks and pictures till about 9am.

Made our way out east to Blagaj, where we took in a 1225 Dervish House that has been built rught over a huge hole in the cliff face. Out of this gaping maw spills millions of gallons of fresh crystal blue water daily. The Dervish house is used by Muslims as a place of Prayer. On up over the rocky mountinside we go, always up it seems. Till we crest and then begin an ardous trek across the serpent like ridge on this mountain road. We stopped and ate under the roof edge of a Church built 1862, and at the very tiny tip top of a mountain peak with nothing but lush green valley surrounding it. Further down the road we would cross over into Bosnia for maybe 30 miles and then on into Montenegro. We took in a tiny Orthodox Monestary in Montenegro at Venovici. You would ner know it waas there but for an tiny plaque at rads edge. The 3km drive back in is just beautiful, thru spartan oaks, and red brambles, green grass and sheep. And the omnipresent rock walls which lay labor traces over the infertile soil as a slug lays traces over a tilled garden. Good night and God bless to all those who have Prayed for such. And blessings to those who have as of yet been afraid to Pray.

Blog30 -Dalmatian coast

The Dalmatian coast is often referred to as the “romance coast”. Due in part to the quiet tranquil waters of the Adriatic, an equal measure of modest sincere surroundings, nothing pretentious or gawdy arrainged here to overwhelm the senses. Just the pure majesty of His heavenly handi-work, fringed by a crystalline blue sea. That is the Dalmation coast.

Dalmatae: a tribe or people group associated with sheep raising culture, the origins for the final name given this eastern coast of the Adriatic Sea. Once a much larger body of land than what it comprises today, reaching further south than present day Albania, and on important region to Roman history. Milini, a tiny village located in todays southern end of Croatia, the birthplace of Constantin, the man credited with bringing Christianity to Rome and for Canonnizing the Holy Scriptures. Gently rolling and thouroughly rock strewn hills are carpeted in schlerophylis shrubs and plants. Few trees exceed 20 feet in hieght, and most are closer to 10 feet. It seems that every plant is designed to rent the flesh of passersby, by the thorny maw that festoons each limb. One brief walk into untamed while wearing cycle shorts will quickly hail a retreat…….only to get back to the roadside and then notice the “warning minefield” sign just 50 yards yonder.

Attributting to the color and clarity of the eastern shores of the Adriatic are reasons several fold. For one, these shores lie very much protected from the ravenous actions of its Atlantic ocean mother-in-law. The softened and mellowed mediterranean climes produce less storm action than in other areas around the globe. The Adriatic’s far lying geographical position within the Mediteranean, ensures that it has a lower salt content, this fact combined with huge inflows of fresh water that have been percolated and purified thru limestone on its journey towards its final destination ensures its chrystaline clarity and rich blue coloration. Like no body of water I have ever witnessed before.

The predominance of Croation soil is poor and mostly untillable, by some accounts as much as 70 percent falls into this catagory. What can be grown on this poorest of land seems to be olives and certain wine grape varietals. Though not in huge numbers, these crops are seen with regularity to be sure. Where rock strewn ground gives way to areable land, then all form of row crop and fruit tree are seen. The hardscrabble land, clotted with limestone rock, which forces grasses to grow in clumps as and where it can find room to take root. The grass is rich, and produces richer flavor yet in the dairy product produced from its yield. One such product known world wide and much sought after, is “Pag Cheese or Paski Sir locally”, considered by many to be the supreme sheeps milk cheese in the world. Thats alot of territory to take in with one block of cheese……further proof that somhewhere along the line Croates are somehow related to Texans. Another of infamy would be “Prsut or sun cured hams and backstraps”, this rich flavor-filled regional delicacy is a part of every celebration in Croatia. Traditionally made in the fall of the year when dry cool coastal temperatures allow slow curing which draws out the flavors and richness.

Currently, I sit in Zadar. A city located north within the Ilurian region of Croatia. Life within Zadar can be traced back to the stone ages by way of tools, bones, fossils remains, and some recently found concho die plates made from old washers. Gosh, and we thought we invented that stuff. Very few spurs worn here in Croatia thru days of old when horses in war ruled……no model T car axles to make spurs out’a. So, they rode into battle bare heeled, natural. The adriatic, the romance coast. Of that we shall soon findout, as my darling bride arrives tomorrow to join me for 8 days of travel and liesure, not even a fleeting thought about my trusty bike as I have found it safe harbor for it’s moorings while we take in Croatia, Montenegro, Albania and portions of Bosnia. So now you know why the wide smile, the light heartedness, the almost giddy demenour that have overtaken my rain soaked soul, the women I love and married thirty some years ago will join me on the Romance Coast.

PS- a little heads up for those traveling abroad in Europe and close proximities. On most occasions when I need a room I simply search out a motel/hotel. In Belgrade I mentioned I found a cheap but very nice apartment right in the heart of old town and was really impressed with it. So, while in Zadar, I tried my luck again, and have to say, that for less than half the price you get a very nice homey feeling and equipped apartment. The apartment that I am in now as I sit and write this taradiddle, lays but 100 meters from the Zadar harbor foot bridge, the red tiled rooves of medievil buildings and Cathedral domes decorate the view of the sky from out my living room window. Hard to beat at $41.00 per night. So, keep that inmind should you ever be traveling over this way in the future. Good night and God Bless.

Blog29- natural beauty

Many people had told Pine and myself, that Bosnia of all places, was a land of diverse natural beauty. While it is a very challenging ride for me with many stiff climbs, a traveler is rewarded with seemingly endless beauty at every bend in the road. From high mountain peaks enveloped in cloud and fog, steep valleys, tree lined slopes, terraced orchards, swift running rivers and streams and exposed rock on the mountain sides for added interest. Bosnia, you are indeed a natural beauty.

Some of the most amazing and scenic panoramas begin as you drop off the steep mountain slopes, switchback after switchback, a constant downward decent into the long narrow valley that bosoms the city of Jajce ( pronounced ;yayyeetsee ). The city, once a fortified city, and now a Unesco site. Jajce, sits at the rocky confluence of two major rivers. They meet at the foot of a ragged and time torn limestone mountain spire. The Pliva river runs thru limestone country, so it brings with it that gorgeous clear aquamarine blue color. The Pliva, meets and folds quite unwillingly into the Grannice river, which is the faster and murkier river, together they swirl and eddie under the rock face of the mountain spire to become one fast moving waterway coursing towards the ocean much further south. Confidently perched at cliffs edge, high above the torrid waters that swirl at its feet, sits the huge rock walled edifice that was first Jajce. Started by the Romans in approximately 1275, it has been in usurpers hands as often or more than it has been within Bosnian hands. The modern day city of Jajce, lay spread like a floral apron around the steep hillsides and rocky outcroppings that makeup this scenic region. Houses cling too stone hillsides like barnacles to a boat. Streets meander like worm trails up the mountainsides at pitches that would make most of us tremble. Locals pass over these roads on scooters, bikes, horse and wagon, not to mention roto-tillers. Passing each other on single lane roads with but inches to spare and hundreds of feet to fall, all with a smile and a non-chalant wave.

Leaving Jajce, by way of a tiny backroad with good surface, we make our way towards Sipovo. We are traversing the valley floor and following the Pliva River, so the ride is a perfect basket, bottle of wine and your favorite sweetie with you type ride. The road seldom climbs, it undulates as if alive under your bike tires. Twists and turns that keep you awake are punctuated with brilliant blue water splashing over a rock strewn waterfall. The next bend in the river reveals a vibrant green hillside being reflected in a tranquil blue surface, no rush, no harried pace here for the moment. Justrelaxandtakein the beautythat only a “CREATOR” could have imagined as a place for us to enjoy and see his.great works firsthand. Wild flowers enjoy thier day in the sun, along side thier more pampered urbane brothers. Whitish limestone spires and crags festoon the steep mountain sides, when the sun shines, adding a dazzle of light to the uppermost peaks. This is the Pliva expierience, and worth any bucket list inclusion.

Tiny back roads escort me both up and away from the tranquil and serene ride I have had for last day or so. Its time to cross the Cerenmica mountain range, so strap your climbing shoes on, cast off all extra wieght unrequired (like sin, we dont need to bring anything extra on an already difficult passage). We settle into a rocking swaying type motion, each leg, each muscle in its turn adding power to the stroke and transmitted thru that tiny metallic chain…..and up up we go. No dizzying hieghts, not leg breaking pitches. Just steady climbing, breathing measured as if by metronome……….these are the disciplined and autonomous responces of a well trained athl………what the heck, where did he come from!!!! Huge, whitish, fur covered….and more teeth than six citizens from Arkansas…….the road is looping back to my left, the cars are few, the dog likes human flesh……Hannibal Lecter without a collar. My feet are both atop my cross bar, Iam squirting water from my water bottle at him (secretly wishing it was gas and I had a match…..I will pray about those thoughts later, right now I am looking for a match). I barely have enough speed to stay upright and moving forward……its uphill. Feet are down and grab another few strokes as he rounds my bike to the other side. Dang he is big…….oh crap ( confession, I actually said worse), here comes his compatriate. The second dog, much older, but no wiser. Fortunatley for me, was to deaf and crippled to place much effort in his territorial defense……he laid down on the road and barked. It strikes me that the younger far more aggressive dog took notice realizing that I was niether tasty nor a mortal enemy and his own effort may well have been a little over the top……..decided to stop the chase and just bark and growl at me. Which is fine as I was busy praying…… first Mike……with just a few curse words slipping out incase they may be the only words he understood. Just around the next bend, which now places me directly above those dogs……I started throwing rocks down at them……lol, na, just kidding. What I found was thier summer job, about 6 sheep and 2 simmental looking milk cows.

The Cerenmica’s, once topped, wander and meander for quite a few miles. Up here, bare rock escarpments give little ground to plants desiring to grow. Its a hard fought battle for what ground will sustain life is decidely occupied by tree or scrub brush, what grass does grow is in hummock form, and tall as if struggling to find room to do so. This peaceful meander comes to an abrubt end, as you near tbewesgern edge of therange, and here God has decided tojust throw you off theedge in near roller coaster fashion, pell mell we go with shirt tails flapping in the breeze as wecorkscrew our waydown into a surprise. Somewhat of a geographical annomoly in this Bosnia that I have come to know……..a huge valley vista waits me at the bottom. This is a valley of some actual size, very Montanaish in scope and perspective. Mostly farming, but in a very small scale fashion. No big tractors,nor combines rolling. Rather for the most part it is very small hands on, labour intensive farming. But its good to see non-the-less that Bosnia has valleys of this size and type. Sheep dot the lanscape, like puffy clouds that fell from a sky scene at a highschool play. Cattle, mostly a crossbreed milking variety, while not as abundant they are scattered across the rolling valley floor.

A military base sits right in the center of the valley floor, right along side thestraitestflattest widest piece of paved road I have seen in Bosnia to date……looks alot like a runway to me folks…….just sayin is all. I pass fenced in dense stands of thick pine trees, cement poles, razor wire……these as are unruly trees I can tell. There are about 3 of theses huge fenced tree compounds, stillnot sure of thier purpose. Downthevalley I go, nice and flat, bike is wbizzing along and its late afternoon, about time I buy some grub for the evening. A con ersation enzues as I exit the little grocer, just a curious passerby asking or gesturing questions mydirection. I tell him my direction, show him my paper map……..he smiles and makes the sign of a bomb going off. Whiskeytangofoxtrot I thought. Down the road I go, and stop in the next small village to talk to some folks digging the potatoes that will sustain them thru the co ing winter. In not so many words, these folks, 3 of them. Tell me much thesame thing…….be ware of bombs. On we go, its getting late afternoon already. Rode the next 10miles looking strait up……I ain’t the village idiot……I know which direction bombs come from. We are climbing, a little stiffer climb this time around, and as these Bosinian mountain roads are inclined to do, we are meanandering all over and still climbing……..dang mother nature calls and as only God can do it…..all Igotta do is take a leak. TMI here- there I stand with my water spigot out and staring strait ahead………and it dawns on me all at once…….I am staring right at a red sign tnat says DANGER MINE FIELD and a skull and cross bones acompanies the warning. Duh,now I get it!

What I find myself in the middle of, is the largest active field left in Bosnia. Not the only one, as I will find out as well. Roughly 40 miles long and 20 miles wide. It takes up quite a swath of ground, which is now rendered useless for anything. And, that is also why I have been seeing so many abandoned houses and farmesteads. It all makes sense now why the folks in the last few villages were concerned for me…….they were worried that I would dig up thier potatoes early by stepping on a mine. The meandering mountaintop road finally draws to its conclusion, we put closed behind us the largest mine field, we begin our descent in earnest. Its late enough to be well into dusk, I am dogged it has been a long day. Spotting a tiny side road the meanders off behind a hand stacked rock wall, I take refuge in amongst some struggling fruit trees to settle in for the night. I cook with one tent flap open as the rain arrived almost the same time that I did.

What happens over the next 3 days convincesmethere isa hell, and if we are pahing attention, we get to catch glimpses of it here on earth as a warning. This is nought for the faint of heart or weak kneed. So, if you fall into one of those 6 cattlegories then you should head for the kitchen and make quiche or something. Just warning you, have tissue at hand if you stay with me on this…….I went thru plenty of it.

I awoke to brilliant light piercing my tent, the sound of birds thrilled to have clear skies thru which to fly, the noise of sheep eating, a dog walking thru tall grass, and a shepard lighting a cigarette. This was one of the brightest sunny mornings I had seen in quite sometime. Ate my breakfast, packed my camp and was early to the blacktop. Sunshine, its makes somany things look so very different from cloud covered skies. What a treat to see the vibrant colors, unmasked, unchecked. Stopped in Livno, just todouble checkNd buy. Few supplies I was very low on. Doulble checked on borders, and where to cross. All good. Arrive zt base of the Graninca climb about 11am. Long, steady, switchback infested climb of about 7 miles at posted 8 percent. When you top the climb you pass thru Bosnian customes…..he passes me thru after looking at my passport. We wind around for. Few miles then plunge off the Croatian side for almost 10 miles at 9 percent. What a glorious ride down, cant quite see the Adriatic from here. The Croatian fellow checks my passport, tnen says no…..you cannot cross here……this is for Bosnian and or Croates only. YOU HAD BETTER BE JOKING. No, no joke. You must go back up you cannot stay here. I am ticked…..I would have fought the ear biting boxer I was so mad. Back up I go, thinking the worst possible things a grown man can think. This side is a longbrute of a climb on a loaded tourer. I was dangerously low on water…..like about 4 sips was it. As I pass the Bosnian border shack, he simply smiles and waves……..oh, dont you know how many ways I wanted to torture his cat……..as I rode by smiling……..thanking Jesus for a civil tongue and humility at this moment. Down we go, 56.7 miles per hour……I totally thru caution to the wind.

Somewhere along in here, I am stopped trying to figure out how to take a picture of myself planking on a tank……when a truck with Mason driving, pulls over. Observant you are thinking, that I spotted that tattoo of the eye inside a triangle/pyramid on his left shoulder…….but not the case. I. knew by instinct and training that he was a Mason, because the back of his truck was full of bricks. He offered to take the pictures for me. Then a conversation began about my direction of travel, very dangerous, and he made that internationally recognized sign language symbol for BOMB. You know, make the noise, throw both hands high over your head…..that symbol. Yes,another mine field lay in my path. He was so concerened for me that he called his daughter of about 15, so she could explain to me what lay ahead. Small new gravel road, do not step off the road it is not safe. Maybe 15 miles and you will be thru the mine field. By the ten mile mark, I was done and camped in a tiny hay field that had been freshly raked. Slept like a baby.

Got up the next day to verydense fog, unbelievable. I stuck my left hand out and it was immediatly gone…..I feared forever. I sat and thought awhile about what I should do next. Throwing caution, and my right hand to the winds of chance, I sent the right in search of the left. For but a moment I thought I may have acted a little to quickly. Finally they met up, you should have seen that left hand. Talk about happy to be found, he couldn’t stop wringing the right out of pure gratitude. From that point on, we done everything in teams and pairs. Both hands, both arms, then both legs etc…..the last outwas my butt, he usually works alone. Down the road we go, fog lifts slowly like a bad act in Vegas, taking to long to let us see whzt is taking place. Mountain tops poke thier heads out thru cloud and fog for but brief moments. Trees whiz past, actually I whiz past trees, and they attempt to show thier true colors. POOF, like thatand I am flat.the sidewall ripped right out on my beautiful Schwalbe rear tire. Bad news gets real bad, the mistakes of confidence can be fatal. There was nomorespare hanging on my back rack, gone home with Pine. My spare tub, went the same place. Foolish as it sounds, I made those choices myself.

Two options lay infront of me. I could head back to Livno and look for tire and tube. Having already been thru the place I didn’t like that too much. Or, I could start walking and hitch a ride to the next town Grihovo some 15 miles ahead. Started walking, pushing the bike, big rolling country not too bad really. No one would stop. Made it to Grihovo and asked around about a back tire and tube, even offered twice to buy a well used one…..no go. Had a coffee, asked who was headed to Strmice…….no one. Would anyone like to hire out and drive me to the top……no one. Ta heck with it, I will just start walking, and its up,up, up we go. Its marked at 9 percent, and rolls on for about 11 miles to the crest. It was indeed a majestic piece of mountain range with an awesome view, but my knees and hips wefe on fire……..still no one offered a ride, not one. The rain began just after the crest and stayed with me till well after bedtime. Its almost 12 miles down off the Adriatic side, and steeper than the initial side. Hsnds were more tired than the legs, from squeezing the brakes on the way down. Crossed the CroatianBorder, rain dripping off every place on my body. Begzn mywalk down into the valley below. Carried on, walking alo gside a clear blue stream…..and boy howdy did I stink. So, I stripped off right there and bailed into that stream. Colder than blazes, buck naked with nobody around to witness it. I didnt want a bath as bad as I wanted to be picked up for indescent exposure……and a free ride to Knin. It was not to be, God was at work on me. We walked about 10miles and had to call it quits. Too pooped, too wet, too frustrated…..and not yet thankful enough…..I realize now.

Bad meal of what little I had…..after all, I was easily going to be in Croatia by now, at least in my mind. Got a pot of river watdr boiled for tea, made some coucous with lemon and raisins and called it quits for tne day. Up early the next day, packed in more heavy pouring rain. Everything I own is totally soaked now and we only have 10-12 miles toget to Knin Croatia. Walked every step of it, no one would stop no matter what I did. Stopped infront of a local vulcanizer, he sent his son downthe street for a new tire and tube for me. I, in the meantime went nextdoor in a cafe and exchanged what money I had from Bosnia, then came back out to find he had both tire and tube………and the price matched exactley that which I had just exchanged. He literraly handed me the tire and tube, loaded his son and a freind in an old car, after locking all his doors…..he turns to me and says “the rest is yours, fix it yourself”. And so I did. While sitting there wondering what it was that I should learn from all this…….for me, I realize its humility. I could probably use that lesson doubled. Knin, we had spit roasted pig, and a motel room where we began drying things out again. It has raied hard most of the time I have been here.

Blog28-oh brutal Bosnia

I was warned, my cycling friend from Belgrade warned me, that crossing Bosnia by “velocipede” is not for the faint of heart. And from what I witnessed all day today and most of yesterday, he is certainly correct in his assesment. “Oh, brutal Bosnia, lay thy hills flat and valleys wide for but a weaker soul may pass you by!”, from a poem by Sadar Vericioni. And the way my hips and knees feel, I am all in on the laying low the hills.

In most parts of the world, mountains seem to have a direction or rythm that makes geological sense. This feels like God accidentally dropped a handful of those “proverbial mountain seeds”. The mountain ranges here, run in every direction you can imagine. No matter which way you head there is a climb facing you, heck, I think even the water runs uphill!! Funny , as I sit here in my tent, in what feels like the middle of “NOWHERE”, I can here the call to prayer at a Mosque somewhere not far away, the loudspeaker sounds as if its right beside me. Bosnia it divided up into many regions, non of which make any sense to me, but they divide Muslim and Orthodox Christian as well as Bosnian Serbs, Bosnian Croates and I guess plain old vanilla wrapper Bosnians. So go figger cause I sure can’t.

Bosnia, as a piece of country goes, lands in what I would call the rugged column. Much more so than Mongolia which I would place in the vast column but not rugged. Something that I am becoming aware of when riding these back roads is that there is most often nothing to be bought in the whole place. So, I now carry not only water but also a full days food……dang it, now my bike is heavier again. I am currently SW of Tuzla on small roads, rode for 3 hours up hill the whole time and felt like I was back in Rauraului all over. The whole country has been having flooding and mudslides, of which I have seen and felt much of it. The back roads are severely washed out, rutted, and many places there huge sections of road missing……oh, and did I forget to mention bridges are gone as well. They sure are.

Oh brutal Bosnia, lets pray you are not my undoing. JW, IS OFFICIALLY SICK AND TIRED OF THE DANGED RAIN. Folks, it has rained hard everynight since I left Belgrade, and I am sick of it. If I wanted to grow gills and moss on my person then become a coffee snob…….I would have moved to Seattle. Sometime during the day, I have to pull things out of the panniers, hang gear along a fence and dry it. If I don’t, we will have to deal with smells and mold again. Generally, I just pick some random spot along the side of the road which has a fence or guardrail that I can borrow as a makeshift clothesline. Hang my gear and sit back letting Mr.Sunshine does his part. On this day I strung my gear out on a bridge railing, and right beside the road was a small store. It took about 3 minutes for a crowd to gather. Anthony, sort of the most curious and spokesman for the growing crowd, suggested he buy me a beer. Of course I declined the beer and took a juice instead, which the gathered men thought was quite funny. Questions were asked, and as best I could I answered. It wasn’t until the teenagers began to show up, that the event got lively. Most of the kids in school take iether English or German as a second language. They were able to ask and then interpret the reply back to the men who were sitting having a beer or six. I finally dug my tablet out to help explain what it is that I do for work. It has been so long, heck, even I found it interesting to see what I do. It was a great hour respite, drying gear. But it was also the 3rd rain stop of the day. Twice I holed up to avoid a deluge of rain that managed to cross paths with my own chosen route.

I have learned a new trick with my cell phone, showed to me by my Serbian cycling friend, Nenad. And it involves taking panorama images on the cell phone. Now that i know how to do it, youguys will most likely get sick of pan shots as a result. So, I will post a few, then we will see how they display on computers and the blog and pass judgement after that to see if we should post more or not. But, if thats to work then I will need enough of you to give feedback to make it worthwhile so that decisions can be made.

omg, its 7.30pm and I am stark raving mad and lonesome and even bored. Its pouring rain so I cant even sit outside and swat bugs. If I work on the tablet getting pictures edited to size etc, it eats the battery very quickly. I most often leave photo work to those times that I have a hotel. I no longer have my solar panel unit and it wouldn’t do much good here with so little sunshine anyways. Today, I pulled into 3 little roadside cafes in order to use WIFI, I keep getting the notice that due to poor signal I should try again. Yet when i search for the Cafe’s router it shows usually 4-5 arcs/bars of signal strength……QUESTION FOR SOME TECH-TYPE, is this because of a setting issue on my Samsung Galaxy 2 , 10.2 size tablet, or is there another way around the constant WIFI issues I am having. Second question, and it also feminds me to openly apologise to the WORDPRESS folks. I had been blaming them for some photo issues I am having, but, I have come to find out it is a tablet issue. Somehow internally, the tablet strips the usual photo-orientation information away when you try to send or share an image…….hence, everything gets displayed as horizontal….no matter what. To my young friend Steven Butler……yes you Steven, these questions are for a guy like you if you can help. Send a note to jwatt@inreach.com……it would be appreciated much.

Pretty sure this is day 12 of rain, it is pouring rain right now and I am camped in a cemetary tonight………I hate chosing campsites late and without my glasses on. Dang near fell in an open hole, ya think God is trying to tell me something? Even though I got a good start this am, I did not burn up the back roads. Too many climbs, the ol knees, hips ade really sore tonight. But I was also taken aback by how sore the leg muscles were, I had no horsepower today, I felt like a pooped scooter all day. Apart from the road being a little tricky with the silt and mud that have washed across it, I pulled over to attempt uploading to the blog as well as found shelter from 4 very heavy downpours…….all great, but got nailed by the fifth. To say we are good and wet is an understatement. As I lay here in my drenched tent, rain got me during setup before I got the fly thrown over, I am all tucked in and have already eaten poorly yet again. Got a seriuos rash going on under my chin and just above my belly button…….I think its from the edges of my life jacket, but I will keep an eye on it.

Good night and may God bless you all, as he has myself. Thanyou to Ted and Tracy, withojt you this would never have happened. Thanks Mom, for doing all that you do, Thanks big Rob, for having me reading thru James……now, what comes next. Pastor Mike, thanks for having the Saints praying for me continually. Thanks Auntie Fawn and Pete, I know your palms are worn thin worrying and praying. And to the many of you who follow along silently, we are thankful to have you along for the journey……..and lastly, I want to thank the Coalinga Curling Club for thier support……sorry I mixsed that labor day weekend outdoor Bonspiel.

Blog27- Bullet holes, landmines and a history of conflict

At this moment, I am basking in sunshine. I have very smelly clothes hanging on a close by fence to air out. Heck, I even took a full on 1.5 litre shower this day to celebrate. My tent is dry, my bag of sleep is getting close to dry, my bike reads 87 degrees at 5.25pm. My camp, is high on a ridge over Palanka, Serbia. My son convinced me to take in Belgrade while I was here, since JW was going to skip it. I told him it was nothing but bullet holes and landmines in an area of constant historical conflict. And his reply, was, thats exactly why you need to take it in Dad. So by tomorrow evening I should be in Belgrade for supper, I’am praying about entering big cities without Pine.

The last blog page had us further south in Sajecar, and I left there on a very tiny back road in pouring rain. The road was a very difficult one for me as the surface was full of cracks and gaps, so that forward speed was very slow. I have no idea how difficult it would have been for a regular mortal, scares me to think. Old roads get very steep grades and this one had plenty of 15 plus grades on it. Big, rolling hill country with narrow verdant valleys snaking thier way between hills and ridges. The villages were few and far between. Not one village had sort of product for sale, so no supplies gathered on this first leg. Supper that night was spartan and simple. 1 cup of very sweet tea, and several cookies along with a handfull of raisins. Please be sure to download this days recipe at the end of the post.

It’s about 2pm, and I am climbing het another hillon my way, I feel like I am threading a needle so too speak as I make my way one tiny backroad after another. There is a bar slash cafe type store and out front it has a cooler full of ice teas. Being that the bike is reading about 90, I think a tea would be pretty good right now…….HELLO…….and I turn to see a fellow all clad in pure racing attire for a cyclist. Hello, I said back and the conversation thus began. He, being Nenad, a Serbian businessman who speaks very good english. We visit for half an hour and I begin to excuse myself so I can get into Belgrade before dark. Well, that will not take long if you allow me to lead you he suggests. And so the journey begins, he on his sub 12 pound total carbon fiber racing frame. And I, on what he affectionaly called a tractor, even suggested I paint it green and put a John Deere label on the head tube. There are a lot of hills and grades on the way and he would have to wait at the top of almost all of them for me, but wait he did. Right into the city we went, me following him, as he scurried between cars and rode out into intersections at red lights…… things I would never do, but I had to keep up. By 4pm, I was in front of the huge apartment that I had rented rather than get a hotel room which was more than double the price. $34.00 us dollars a night, it was great and very clean right on the primary oldtown street. Can’t get better than that.

Go, have a shower because you need one, said my guide. How about 8pm, I will come back and pick you up for supper, he asks. Fine with me, but only if you PAY…….oops, sorry, only if you allow me to buy. Sorry he says, but in Serbia, when you are a guest, we treat you to the very best of everything and thats the only way it can be. So, I asked him if he preffered to dine alone or with company……..too which he emphatically stated be would prefer to dine with company. Good I said, that is my preferance as well. So, if you want to dine with me……I BUY……. and you get to pick the restaurant. Which will it be, with me, or by yourself? Okay, fine, we will do it as you wish. But tomorrow you have too allow me to give you a cycling tour of Belgrade.

We dined at a very small Serbian restaurant, known for its excellent Serbian pasta dishes. We had a huge salad, fresh made bread cooked in a stone oven on ashes……wow, I am bread lover and this was good. The main course was lamb and proscuitto baked with home made pasta bows and a heavy mushroom sauce, then topped with something called kymika (think a sharpish cheese ). I love Serbia, great people,beautiful scenery, interesting city and culture……but what I love the most……these folks are carvivores. By golly, when they serve you meat, they serve you meat, no messing around. Didn’t have to hunt around for the meat in this great meal. The next day, we took off on the bikes and began a 30 mile trip seeing the sights of Belgrade. Yes, to answer that lingering question that maybe all of us from the west have……there are still bullet holes, and torn apart buildings from both rocket and mortar fire. For the most part, these fragments of war evidence have been left as a reminder to all, that this is not what they want to return too. I found the city, Belgrade to be vibrant and intersting, even more so than Bucharest for instance. Would I come back to Belgrade and greater Serbia, in a heartbeat and bring my sweetie with me without any worry or concern. And not to beat the drum too loud, but the country of Serbia has a very interesting and enticing business inducements in place that should make any Corporation give them a seriuos second look. That afternoon was spent dining on the best lamb I have ever had, and yes, even you Pine would have enjoyed this lamb. Its cooked whole on a spit, slow cooked and basted for 8 hours. At this restaurant you buy it by half kilo per person or more……none of this 6oz servings of red meat crap. Here if you can’t eat 1/2 kilo, then go put your man pants on and come back. We had a full kilo order and non left over. All good things do come to an end, and my host had to leave. We said our goodbyes and went our own ways. But, I know we will talk and see each other again somewhere, sometime.

Up the next morning and headed out of Belgrade. Not one problem getting out with the gps folks. I took the smallest back roads that I could find. Put in an admirable day for an old fart. About 115 miles at 85 degrees, pretty nice riding weather. Mostly flat or gentle rolling coutryside. I was wanting to gain some distance and time, because everyone warns me that I will be punished when I get to Bosnia. Bosnia is surely living up to that expectation in spades.

Crossed the border into Bosnia, and interestingly, you cant get gps service here if you are from USA. So, I spent about 3 hours hunting for a road map,,,,,hard to do if you dont speak the language. Back a few months, we met a great couple from Amsterdam ( we met in Bayan Olgii at the Blue Wolf yurts, and you guys drove the white Land Rover ) who really swore by “open street maps”, they felt it was the best thing going. I on the other hand have a tough time with it…….so my Amsterdam friends if you read this……… contact me by email jwatt@inreach.com and maybe you can aid me in better understanding and using the program. Now I am navigating thru Bosnia by paper map and cyrillic……pray for me as I will be lucky to make it out the other side. I am cycling thru, over and around all that God created during that amazing first week of life on this earth. And in case you are wondering, NO, he didn’t put an outpost on Mars just incase this one didn’t work out, contrary to what the whiz kids on Discovery channel have come up with as an excuse for life here. As gorgeous as the mountains, roads, lakes, rivers and streams have been, they pale in comparison to that which was made good in God’s eyes on the 6th day of creation, thanks big Rob for making me aware of that very important fact. I may have been a “pantheist” forever had you not pointed that out. Its up to you to reread the creation story if you want to know what he made the 6th day. Hey, uncle Bill, start with looking in the first book, Genesis.

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Jeremiah Watt Cycling around God's Creation

long distance bicycle touring

Posts by Jeremiah Watt-saddlemaker

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Blog29- natural beauty

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Blog28-oh brutal Bosnia

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Blog27- Bullet holes, landmines and a history of conflict

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