10/16/00, Marrakech, Morocco — I have finally fulfilled my life’s mission and found the Holy Grail! I can now return in triumph. Who would ever have guessed that this sacred and holy icon has been sitting and collecting dust on the back shelf of a dingy little souvenir shop in a somewhat less than desirable section of Marrakech for all these centuries?

My first thought was to deliver this priceless relic of Christianity directly to the Vatican, where it can be appreciated by all true believers in Christ. However, I am afraid that the Polish equivalent of Thunderbird wine might corrode the brass, so I have chosen an equally holy location to store it: on top of my tv set. I expect that the divine messages of Jerry Falwell and Jim & Tammy Bakker will be more inspirational and spiritual than ever when viewed shrouded by the glowing halo of this precious icon.

Having the grail in my possession also opens up new opportunities for my return trip. I should now be able to either pedal on water or ride to the beach and wave my arms to part the ocean.

I have finally realized that I am really too lazy to do a trip like this. I had thought that by the time I arrived I would be physically fit, but I was wrong about that. I didn’t think I would make it the last several hundred kilometers. The next time I feel inspired to do something like this, I think I will use a rickshaw. I’ve heard you can get some decent speed with them if properly supercharged with a cat o’ nine tails.

Talk to ya later,

Bill

10/8/00, Tangier – Death to the great satan America, and may the fleas of a thousand camels inhabit the undergarments of the godless heathen Western infidel.

I’ve finally managed to cross the treacherous European continent and have arrived safely in a holy land under the protection and blessing of our great prophet Mohammed, may the faithful sons of Islam continue to sing his praises for a thousand and one eternities.

Allah in his infinite wisdom and kindness has guided me to a hotel room directly beneath a minaret, where I am blessed with his divine wisdom and inspiration raining down upon my ears from the heavens five times a day, every day of the god-damn week, beginning at 6 AM. This happens whether I need inspiration or not. The mullahs don’t even let me sleep late on Sundays.

Needless to say, I’ve come in first place in the Amsterdam-Africa bicycle endurance race. Not only that, I’ve also gotten the awards for oldest rider, youngest rider, onliest rider, and dirtiest bicycle with baldest tires and foulest cycling shorts.

So far, Morocco seems sort of like a cross between Mexico and Thailand, with a lot of Indian weirdness thrown in. They even sell Aladdin’s lamps in the bazaars over here, and I think I’ll get a new one. The one I have from a previous Middle Eastern trip seems to have a defective genie.

There is also never a dull moment in the traffic over here. The Arab drivers are delightfully unpredictable, and every bit as entertaining as the homicidal truck drivers in India.

I have noticed one down side to life in an Islamic country, however. Sitting in a sidewalk café watching the chicks parade by just isn’t quite the invigorating experience that it is in France.

Allah Akhbar,

Bill

10/1/00, Malaga, Spain — There has been an incredible head wind for the last few days, and it took all my effort just to go 50 km a day. The wind was so strong that in several places I had to peddle in low gear just to go downhill. Malaga seems like a nice town, and I will rest here for a few days. I am really tired. If the wind hasn’t let up by the time I feel capable of moving my legs again, I am thinking of taking John Wayne’s advice: “When the going gets tough, the lazy put their bicycles on a train and get going.”

I have managed to survive a Spanish inquisition by two traffic cops. I could tell by their attitudes that they had seen all of the old “Dirty Harry” movies with Spanish subtitles. I thought I was doomed to be exiled to the New World along with all of the graffiti taggers, Protestants and heretics, but I was finally able to convince them that there really wasn’t a sign prohibiting bicycles on the freeway entrance.

Hasta luego,

Bill

9/7/00, Barcelona, Spain — I’m in Barcelona now, one mountain range and a couple of more broken spokes from the French border. I have finally managed to find a luggage rack for the front of the bicycle, and hopefully with less weight on the rear wheel I won’t have any more spoke problems.

I’m well over half of the way to Morocco now and plan to slow down and see a lot more of Spain, although Barcelona is a little expensive. I REALLY miss the good old days when Europe was cheaper than the U.S.

I should be able to find some nice unspoiled beach towns a little further south of here, and will try to send some photos back next week. At least here in Spain I won’t have to rob a bank to pay for the developing.

Even though nobody in the world can cook frogs and snails quite like the French, I’m still kind of glad to be through there. But I haven’t yet seen an authentic Taco Bell to satisfy my gourmet tastes.

Hasta luego,

Bill

8/19/00, Dijon, France—I’ve managed to go a few hundred km since my last letter. I had another broken spoke, but was able to disconnect the rear brake and wobble to the next town, only to find that the bicycle shop was closed until next week. So, I put the bike on a train here to Dijon.

It seems that you need a special tool to change spokes on the sprocket side. I hope I don’t have this problem again.

Camping au natural sees to be improving as I progress south. At least there are fewer mosquitoes, and so far no cows have wanted to snuggle up to me in the wee hours. However, I was awakened the other night by a wild animal that made a noise somewhere between a dog’s bark and a pig’s grunt. I still don’t know what it was, and people to ask who speak English are few and far between over here. I assume that the French have a more liberal attitude toward inter-species marriages.

8/22/00, Lyons, France—I was just about to leave Dijon when a hail storm suddenly appeared out of a clear blue sky and I was trapped in an almost waterproof tent with just a few meager rations of canned sardines, beans and candy bars for almost two days. The Donner Party didn’t suffer this much.

After being held prisoner by nature for two days in my waterlogged tent, I was as thin as an Ethiopian refugee. I was just contemplating whether to forge out into the rain and sleet to chase down a wolf and eat it raw or try to boil my tennis shoes to make soup for nourishment, when the rain let up long enough to pack everything onto my bicycle and rush 5 km to the train station, where I caught a train here to Lyons.

The weather seems to be clearing up down here, so I’ll spend a day or two seeing the museums and sightseeing before heading south and west again. Klaus Barbie, the infamous butcher of Lyons, once lived here, and I will try to find a Klaus Barbie doll in one of the souvenir shops.

I am now about 800 km from the Spanish border, and about halfway through the trip. I want to spend more leisure time in Spain, where the natives speak a civilized and comprehensible language.

I’ve given up trying to teach the entire French population English, and can now say “My spoke is broke” in perfect French.

Talk to ya later,

Bill

8/12/00, Verdun, France — I have now cycled across southern Belgium and am in Verdun, France. Imagine that! I have crossed two European countries without a single speeding ticket. This is because the police over here ride BMW K 75′s and are no match for a BMW P2 A/M.

I’m taking a lot of pictures over here, but it’s not possible to really capture the beautiful scenery on film. It’s just something you have to see for yourself: old medieval villages and castles, and I keep expecting to meet Don Quixote over the next hill.

Camping in Belgium was a little nicer than Holland; at least the cows didn’t try to get into the tent with me.

Most of the time I have spent in France prior to this trip has been in Paris, where the people are rude and crude even by my somewhat vulgar standards. Here, the people are quite friendly. They are probably calling me a bourgeois capitalist, but at least they smile when they say it.

Verdun is the first big city I’ve seen in awhile, population about 20,000, so I have a hotel room with a hot shower and am going to rest for two days before heading south again.

Talk to ya later,

Bill

8/8/00, Maastricht, Holland­—Well, I’ve always wanted to really see Europe, and for the next few months that’s just what I intend to do. I’ve always come over here on business before, and had unreasonable and overbearing bosses who insisted that I spend at least some of my time working.

This trip I am taking a low speed tour from Amsterdam to Morocco on a Beemer that has been specially modified for European driving. The modification consists of starting with an official BMW logo and attaching  a bicycle to it. This allows me to avoid the high cost of petrol here on the continent. I can now get 90 km per liter of espresso, this drops to 50 km with regular coffee and I develop a terrible ping with decaf.

The proper nomenclature for my custom driving machine is the BMW P2 A/M: this stands for BMW 2 pedal Amsterdam/Morocco.

So far my trip has gotten off to a slow start. I cycled for 20 km in Amsterdam following the signs to leave town, and ended up one block from where I started. I decided to have breakfast again and got off to a fresh start. Holland has excellent bicycle trails with excellent road signs written in perfect Dutch, but I still kept getting lost even though 99% of the Dutch people speak good English. The 1% that don’t speak English spend all of their time on benches by the side of the bicycle trails.

My first experience camping out and getting back to nature was probably about as comfortable as that of the GIs just after D-Day. Nobody warned me that the Dutch mosquitos are almost the size of Messerschmidts and as bloodthirsty as Count Dracula. I quickly got inside my tent and spent a somewhat comfortable night until the cows arrived. I think they came into the woods to escape the mosquitos, who were using their pasture for a runway.

On Friday evening I arrived, tired and saddle sore, in Maastricht, which is the prettiest European city I’ve seen so far. The city was founded in 50 B.C., and the waitress in the inn down the street was here to greet the first Roman legionnaires when they arrived to put up the city walls. I’ve also found one of the neatest hotels I’ve ever seen in my travels. The Hotelboot was an old river boat that is now moored at the edge of town and rents cabins.

Talk to ya later,

Bill

3/28/00 — I’m going to start backtracking back north in a few days. I want to see some more of Nicaragua and Guatemala before I come back, and besides I can get a better deal on the airplane ticket.

I’ve talked to some of the people in the various motorcycle clubs down here, and although riding here won’t be the same as riding in India, it still looks like fun. Besides, I’m not sure I really want to experience riding in India again.

I might also stop in El Salvador for some custom motorcycle boots. There are some really good buys on some items there because of their economically progressive child labor laws, and the trickle down economists pass some of their savings on to the consumer. U.S. business could learn a few things from these people. We haven’t had such a progressive business climate since before the Lincoln administration. I think I’ll write an article for Forbes magazine when I get back.

Talk to ya later,

Bill

3/20/00 — I’m still here in Costa Rica, and the place is as nice as the travel literature describes it, although a little more expensive. As you can see, so far I haven’t been having much luck in getting kidnapped by a tribe of beautiful Amazons, but I’ll keep trying.

While I’m down here I think I’ll see some more of Nicaragua and Guatemala and then fly back from either Guatemala or Mexico City. Right now I’m in Heredia, and will probably head for Arenal in a day or two.

See you in a couple of weeks,

Bill

3/6/00 — It took me a little longer than I expected, but I’ve finally arrived here in Antigua, Guatemala. This is an interesting little colonial town, the sort of place where you would expect to see witches being burnt at the stake by Spanish Inquisitors. I’ll try to round up a few Protestants and have some interesting photos when I come back.

Needless to say, buses down here are somewhat slower than airplanes, but you do get to travel with a better class of people. I’ll spend a few days here and then move on to El Salvador.

Talk to ya later,

Bill