A lot of throaty noises......

I have written for a year, haven't done a push up in weeks. Intention. Once again sitting in front of the computer, and finally a few words gouge away.

How to describe this trip to Urmia. The place of my family, my fathers family....and so often forgotten

My family, they are my family as well.  

They have been so accommodating, I haven't cooked a meal since I got here (not necessarily how I prefer it). It has also been difficult to find oneself, but then again not, such is the duality. I treasure my alone time, and have been catching up on some books from the queue, and some books graciously donated to me by friends before I left. 

I burned through the fiction quite quickly, and now I am once again stuck with the depressing non-fiction history of the murderous greed of the human race. Thanks Howard Zinn and David Dorado Romo.

But despite this depressing history of oppression in the United States, I am currently in a more oppressed country. Iran. The Islamic fucking republic of Iran. 

IF you didn't know, everyone drives like a total asshole, take every Jersey d'bag driving a BMW, and that is little old women driving a Paykan running you off the road.

this shit is Chaos.

If you know me, I can go on a tirade about the complete lack of discipline of drivers in this country. Your screen would be hot to the touch if I went down that road. You know my cousin actually got a seat belt ticket?    I am not sure what blows my mind more, that they actually have a seatbelt law. Or that as the cop has us pulled over, drivers are blowing past us at ungodly speeds, on the wrong side of the road, which requires the other driver to head into the shoulder, all in front of a cop. Fucking chaos. 

I had hoped to stay here for two months, or at least my father wanted me to do so. But reality is, this country is no place for young people. The most fun one can have is drinking moonshine at your parents place, with nothing but your cousins of the same sex. 

 Dance clubs, forget about that, holding your partners hand in public, you might end up in jail. You might get away with going to the Kurd town of Band and drinking a tasty melon drink, or some fermented yogurt (shits real good man). 

Urmia

Recovery

So I just spent three days typing away, uploading pictures, and it was posted for about an hour. I went back to edit, fix a few spelling mistakes, and add the word Existential Crisis at the bottom.

Then it went away suddenly, and blogspot auto saved. Maybe it was a great blog entry, maybe it was just a terrible rant. I wanted to punch blogspot in the face, but I realized that it was just another loss.

Here is the short and skinny, I was out in California on another adventure: festival going, cycling the coast, hiking, and of course women chasing.

But it all came to an end last Friday when someone stole my touring bike, camping gear, clothing, camera, all of it. Well, minus my phone, a small backpack, a shirt and kilt. I wasn't angry, mostly sad, but felt empty and betrayed. Mostly because this happened two years ago when a sailing vessel I was on went down and along with it most of my personal possessions.

The previous entry was mostly about the guilt I felt about letting down my friends, every piece of gear in those bike panniers was intentional. Many had been with me for years of backpacking, keeping me alive from the elements. I feel so much regret for not being able to protect them from some faceless thief.

I feel guilty because I am healthy, I can acquire a new bicycle, another backpack. But I am heartbroken, those possessions and I had history. Nothing is permanent, but I had hoped we had more time.

So I have been having an existenial crisis, was it as simple as bad luck matched with some bad decision making?

Or was there a lesson to be learned two years ago that I did not catch, or did Professor TakeYourShit decide I need a refresher course on impermanence?

Well, here are some fucking pictures if that is all you were looking for >:o

Short Shorts

"The worst part is that they stole my short shorts, and that makes me sad. Yet if I think of everything else they stole as short shorts, then it makes all personal possessions seem ridiculous and unnecessary :)"

Location:Bay Area

July 23rd 9:21 am,

Day 5 of my California coastal bike trip. I stayed at Stillwater regional campsite, which was a pleasant alternative to Salt Point State Park (warm shower). As soon as I was rode in I made friends with a group from Philly. We made plabs for sunset on the cliffs and I made haste to the showers...
I had some real chaffe going on in some not so pleasant areas. I have done several bike tours, and nothing compares to the anguish I felt yesterday. So I was walking with a bit of a waddle out to the Pacific with two philly boys and another french/swiss couple. We toasted the sun and spoke of Aussie bogens, and where we were headed next. This conversation was continued by the camp fire, and to make the mood just right, some acoustic versions of Rage Against the Machine.

More to come, but I must ride. Bolinas bound.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Its raining in Baltimore...

So I have been back in Maryland for a few weeks now, and as always it has been a trying time. I came home with hopes of a 'soft' entry back into my 'life'. It did not happen.

Mold, everything covered in fucking mold. Where shall I start? Well, I go into the room/storage unit at my parents house and my bed, clothes, books, bike, camping gear, the few things that hold worth in my life, covered in mold. Why? While I was away, I had someone offer to buy my arcade game collection, and in this economy I jumped. I had my father show them the machines, but they had to remove a sliding door to get RoboCop out. It is a fairly simple procedure, gorilla grab the door, lift up, removed door. The fucking apes were able to do that much (including my father), but the funny thing about putting it back on... come in close, this is a valuable secret. IT IS THE REVERSE OF REMOVAL. Who would have thought? So they just left the door off, and being a wet year the concrete in the garage made it a very moist environment.

Awesome

So onto the car, my Subaru, my daily driver. It stopped running several weeks before my return. My father didn't know how to fix it, as he has only been working in the car business for 35 years. I told him to leave it, so he leaves his McDonalds cup of coffee, and one of the windows down at some point, but doesn't dry it out. Leave those doors shut for a few weeks and what do we have class? Anyone, that's right more fucking mold. And all this because my incompetent mechanic (Beware: Carmel Auto on Harford Road) didn't put my ground cable on the starter, in fact they didn't put the bracket that the ground cable connects to back on either).

It has been raining quite a bit here in Baltimore, loving it. I have been considering getting the touring bike together and just riding south, I am not sure I am ready for the cold. Which leads to why I decided to write a blog entry:

Today is the one year anniversary of the Ha Ha.  Time is just passing by, I am not sure where it all went.

Easy to Grin.. Rest in peace, thanks for a great adventure. Actually thanks to the whole crew:

The Captain (I still have that rainbow sail tie by the way)

Our most experience member, and such a lovable (but strangely Homophobic) Douchebag

 And who could forget Jessica!

It had hopes of being on the Ha Ha this year, but it didn't happen. Its such a duality, wanting to travel, but really needing stability and time to myself. I have not been motivated to write, which is obvious from my blog. But it is my hopes to stay on top of the things over the next few week. But do excuse me, I have a date with some mold and some tea tree oil. Dirty Dirty Mold, spank it. 

Black mold- fuck ebay!