Next stop, Japan!

Well, not really.

But I was practicing patterns with cones in parking lots today and must say it really improves my confidence and ability on the road. It would be cool to be able to do pattern runs like these fellows. I told my boyfriend we have to get more cones and set up our own course.

Follow the Red Brick Road

Sometimes short trips can be bigger fun than long ones. I certainly found that out recently.

We'd been putting off traveling because, for some strange reason, both my honey and I are busiest in the summer than any other time of year. Don't know why, just the nature of the beast.

So we settled on October for our latest adventures. We wanted to try to drive across northern Pa. on Route 6, which used to take people across the northeastern states to Chicago.

Yeah, I know. What the hell is up in northern Pa. worth seeing you may think. It is a harbor for hunters and mountain men, but it is also beautiful. It rivaled anything I've seen in Shenandoah National Park, one of the most visited parks in the national park system, and it has very few suburban hell towns in its vicinity. Actually none.

It truly is remote and beautiful. We just didn't bank on the weather being so drastically different from good ol' Ptown.

It didn't feel like fall but winter.

The leaves had yet to turn much. We got there a little early in the season for that.

Towns north of here are rather sad. Small, with 50 percent of the houses boarded up or falling into disrepair. No industry or much business to be seen. Most towns only boasted a small general store and a bar or gas station. Though there are also plenty of beautiful big houses obviously occupied by the retired.

It's a strange land, on the very of the past and the future. Sleepy, and beautiful.

Our first stop was actually in a lovely old town that was a county seat, Towanda, and its downtown much worse off than downtown Pottstown, though it had no "bad" section as I could see. Just beautiful old Victorians heralding back to the lumber days. (The whole are was once known for its lumber, oil and coal barons, but the only remnants of that are trucks barreling by stacked with tree trunks and stacks of wood and trees in everyone's yards as they still heat their homes in winter with wood furnaces.)

The downtown looked like it could've really been beautiful. It had a few old rail stations on the tracks, one of them a bar and artisan's gift shop where I bought awesome wild berry jam that we opened today and made me wish I'd chosen a larger jar.

We stopped at the Red Rose Diner, a real old-fashioned diner that reminded me of Fegely's diner that was recently put inside the Boyertown Museum of Historic Vehicles.

It was tiny and had the original menus and wooden bar and bar stools. A little old lady ran the place and cooked our meals. They just serve sandwhiches, short-order stuff, but it was cute with it's two-person wooden booths to the original tiny bathroom in the back and books about diners.

I learned there that dining cars started from dining carts which a print man started cause he saw a good business in feeding hungry newspaper workers, who couldn't get a meal as most towns' main streets closed up shop about 8 p.m.

That was back in the 1800s. The novel idea eventually turned into dining cars which mimicked rail cars.

Apparently ladies weren't always welcomed in the diners, since the Red Rose made an exception with its sign above the door that clearly stated it was different: "Ladies Invited"

I had a tuna melt, my boyfriend had a ham sandwhich and we got our drinks in original Coke glasses, not the larger imitation ones you see nowadays.

I highly recommend it and a trip along the Susquehannah River Trail, which runs along the waterfront.

Our goal on day one was to make Wellsboro, near the Pa. Grand Canyon, which is more like the Shenandoah Valley. It does have some amazing red rock cliff faces, but they are hidden by the trees most of the year.

We overnighted in a campground near the Pa. Grand Canyon (also known as Pine Creek Gorge, which lies at its heart) called Canyon Country Campground. We were the only campers, and soon found out why. I was just glad I bivouaced the tent. The rain really came down.

I felt bad for a little outside cat that was hanging around our campsite, and for whom we left out our leftover baked beans. (Though I don't really advise doing that in bear country. Something I forgot since it didn't seem like a campground that had that problem. There were a lot of houses and farms around.)

We survived the freezing night, enjoyed our free coffee from the absolutely lovely camp site (though the ground is ROCKY) to stop in at Animalland on our way out.

Animalland, like so many little zoos, is basically run by a couple who enjoy owning exotic animals, though this one seems mostly to house sheep from all over the world. They had a cute bunny and some interesting birds from Russia with amazing fire colored plummage.

I recommend buying corn before you go in and bring quarters cause those sheep are hungry critters. One of them grabbed the whole bag out of my boyfriend's hand and ate it bag and all. I was horrified. I hope the poor thing doesn't have problems because of it, but he was a greedy sucker.

The highlights of the park are the pygmy goats that seemed to have escaped their cage and were wandering around and started following us everywhere. There were three babies and a mama. I'm guessing she was tired at being near the end of the park and not getting corn.

They would jump at our knees to get at the little corn I had left in my pockets.

They also had cats there. A Siberian tiger, a lynx, a mountain lion (you could run into those just hiking in the area), a jaguar who was gorgeous, and of course some of the many wild kitties who just wander around eating the rats and other critters that try to nest in the cages to get at the corn.

They also had siberian fox and some bears, who looked really depressed.

I feel bad seeing animals in cages. They are meant to roam and despite how well they are taken care of, that isn't the life for them.

My boyfriend asked the owner (who sells you tickets at the door) what it was like dealing with the big cats.

The fellow said they were actually very friendly, for wild animals, and that the Siberian tiger would often try to play with him as he cleaned her cage, pushing him into the pool in her cage.

Apparently all the animals he had were bred in captivity. You can hear the sheep in the morning as you wake up at Canyon Country campground. At first I thought they were monkeys because they have such odd calls.

Next stop was the Grand Canyon itself. We could've hiked down along a waterfall from our campground to the creek at the bottom, which has a lovely, wide, gravel trail for biking and hiking following its length. But the freezing cold, winds, and intermittent rain made us reconsider and we drove to a parking spot at a nice lookout point on the Western side.

The road we took is the one that heads into Colton Point State Park. There are lookouts along the road and a 1.5 mile trail around the parking and group camping area that has lovely views. But we couldn't see the waterfall from there. You can probably see it from Leonard Harrison State Park on the eastern side of the canyon, which also has short, easy trails if you don't have much time to spend there but want to get some of the park in.

We decided to check out the view from the tower on the eastern side which, it turns out, used to be in Valley Forge Park near where I live. It was the strangest thing. It's old, but looks like it was from a carnival ride. It has obvious repairs in the steps, which can make you reconsider its safety. It's owned by Animalland's folks and you can buy tickets there, or you can pay by credit card through a rather unusual machine that controls the gate into the tower.

It was a cold, long walk up and at the top it has quite a view that really does rival the Blue Mountains in color and contrast. We couldn't really see far thanks to the precipitation.

Cost is only $3 a person.

Our lunch stop was a bar called the Smoking Barrel at the foot of Colton State Park's access road. It's a strange place. Has a gun on its sign and you'd think it was tough, especially since its attached to an old house that is missing siding and obviously falling apart. But when you walk inside, you are presented with a gorgeous obviously redone bar that is huge. They also had a new modern kitchen that turns out some pretty awesome food.

Strangely enough we were presented with it by a very pregnant bar tender who was not backwoods in the least.

I get the impression there are two types of people in the area: old school residents who remember the area's gradual decline and young folk who purposefully move out there because they either love hunting, skiing, hiking or mother nature.

But they aren't crunchy hippies.

I wouldn't even want to suggest such a thing to their faces. They certainly aren't 'soft' people. Not living out where they all must have to use snowmobiles to get around in winter.

We next headed west toward the Kinzua Bridge State Park. My boyfriend wanted to see it. It's a former railroad bridge built in the 1800s to accomodate the lumber, coal and brick industries that occupied the area. It was considered an engineering marvel that spanned a valley between two major lumber towns at the time. In the valley was another railroad track that served a brick making factory, many remnants of which are left, including old brick roads that have been uprooted over the decades by plant life.

The bridge was knocked over by a tornado in 2003. Before that, it had tourist trains cross it and pedestrians were allowed to walk over it. Everyone that we met had a story about going out on the trains or walking across the bridge in hairy, scary weather.

Only one man had inside information on what really happened.

We settled the night in a motel, not certain if we wanted to freeze to death in a tent as the clouds were lowering and spitting at us as it got darker and darker. We stayed at a hotel in Lantz Corners and walked to the nearby bar which, it turns out, was owned by the hotel owner.

Our bartender, a young guy formerly from Pittsburgh was the only person in there, besides us.

I warn you, if you stop there (it's the only hotel for miles), they stop serving food super early on weeknights. We got there about 8:30 and they were already shutting down the kitchen, but they luckily have a bar menu.

We got to talking with the fellow, and he told us that originally they didn't want to admit that it was a tornado that knocked the bridge down. They said it was high winds. But that wouldn't make sense with a steel bridge.

They had shut it down to pedestrians and trains a while back and where trying to reinforce it at the time of the collapse.

We asked how to get out to it, and he told us a secret way the locals used to get down into the valley using the Red Brick Road. (Turns out this was the old brick factory road).

He also told us how he survived a tornado destroying his house at the age of 9. It was one of the few tornadoes that ever hit Pittsburgh and they survived it only because lightning had hit the house before the tornado did, causing them to all run downstairs.

He was a pretty cool bartender.

The next day we stopped at an awesome coffee shop that looks completely out of place in Mount Jewitt. Called Kaffe Sol, it is a send up to the area's strong Swedish heritage and is run by a former queen of the annual Swedish festival in the area. She was absolutely charming. They had the best coffee and amazing home made baked goods.

The owner introduced us to the area's specialty: Swedish Rye Bread, which they sell by the loaf and the slice there. It doesn't taste like rye bread. It actually has very little rye in it. It's slightly sweet and very hearty. Toasted with butter it's almost like French toast. Wonderful.

I wish I had bought a loaf to take with me because I've never heard of it before and didn't see it anywhere else on our travels in the area.

The owner is also a wealth of information on local lore and sights to see that you might not notice. And you can get books and novelty kitsch highlighting the local swedish culture.

One of the things I noticed was the hex signs that are completely different from the Pa. Dutch ones you find in the Reading and Lancaster areas. They had their own tole style out there.

Apparently in the harsh winters, the settlers would turn to toy making and one of their most iconic images is the red swedish horse, of which you can buy little ones in the coffee shop.

Sitting right on Route 6 next to the Mount Jewitt Mural (which you only see driving east, not west), it offers breakfast, lunch and dinner and has its own Facebook page.

We set off, determined to find a way into the valley to look at the wreck of the bridge. You can view it from above on a lookout terrace they've built in the park but the trails that formerly led down into the valley are blocked off in the park because people were stealing bits of the bridge and selling it on eBay. The only way to get there is the way we took and I don't recommend it since you'll be trespassing, and possibly shot.

We didn't know what we were getting into, but we found the road we were told about and parked our car in a sleepy, barely there neighborhood and decided to hike in. The road had a "no trespassing" sign posted in the beginning and a ramshackle house sat along the side with two big dogs in the yard.

It looked like hill billy heaven and I feared I might get dragged off into the woods by some half breed. But we saw no one and walked slowly down along the former road into the woods. Surprisingly, as we walked, we saw old posts from former factory roads and we eventually came into a clearing with several options to take. There was a former brick road (you could only tell because of the bricks lying randomly about in the path) going one way, and another going in another direction .. and no sign of the bridge from where we stood. There was a little, rather well-kept bridge over a creek and obviously people came through there on four-wheelers, but it was dead quiet and creepy.

We tried one path, only to find it blocked by a tree. We could've gone around, but the underbrush was high and very soggy. It was almost marshland out there.

So we went back to the clearing and tried the other road, which was really broken up, only to have huge puddles block our path.

We decided against going any further since we weren't sure where we were and didn't want to get lost. So we hiked back to the car, but as we approached the hillbilly house, we heard guys in the yard, and I started to slow down.

I didn't want to get shot in the middle of nowhere.

But my boyfriend walked right up and the fellows said the dogs were friendly and they got to talking.

One of the old fellows asked "So you want to see the bridge?" Then offered to ride us out there in his jeep, which looked like it was in serious disrepair. B
ut it started up right away, despite being from the 60s. It had no windshield and no back seat. I sat on a box in the back and had to hold on for dear life and make sure my skull didn't collide with the winch on the roll over bar. We would've been dead if we had rolled, there were no seat belts in this old thing.

But before we left, our guide had to get his trusty Derringer because he ran into a mountain lion in the valley the other day. No joke. My boyfriend got a picture, but I'm not posting it out of respect for the fellow, who could've just shot us with it but was awfully hospital in everything he did.

We headed off into the wild of the valley, trundling along. And glad we did because hiking would've taken hours, and been quite dangerous. These roads are not for cars. Luckily this was a real Jeep. We were climbing at 90 degree angles over humps in the road and fallen trees. Literally trees, not branches.

Several times I had to hang on for dear life or fall out the back, and I must say, I understand why someone could get hooked on this. But I'm still against four-wheeling for the damage it does to the environment for a few seconds of thrill.

As we drove we could see old railroad equipment rotting in the valley, rusty and overgrown from centuries of neglect. Fascinating.

When we got to the bridge, it was more amazing than I could imagine, the twisted steel looked like it had been taffy.

Our guide said he remembered when it fell. Could hear it from his house. He said he knew the fellows restoring it had taken the steel pins out of the concrete bases before the tornado came through and that was the real reason it fell. Claimed the park service was covering its tracks by saying the pins weren't strong enough to hold the bridge up anymore.

Perhaps he is right, but we couldn't exactly walk around the structure since everything was overgrown and there was water everywhere in the valley.

An amazing sight, but such a shame it came down.

As we stood there getting pictures. The caretakers of the land, which isn't owned by the park service where we were, came riding up in a rather fancy four-wheeler. Our guide got to talking with them.

On our way back, he told us how the caretakers were looking after the land for an Ohio resident who had purchased it. The claim was they were going to turn it into a wildlife preserve, but he believed the real reason was prospecting for natural gas.

We'd seen roads being built into pristine woodlands everywhere and our guide said that streams had already been polluted by the fracking process and many companies weren't getting the proper permits from the town. So the town was screwed when the pollution occurred.

On top of that, he said, the companies that were coming in from out of state were bringing in people, not employing those who lived in the area. He said it was bad enough that they lost their only factory to shut downs and now to have outside companies burden the town and disrespect the people living there in that way was awful. He was hoping to run for town council and fight them.

I hope he wins.

We asked him about the tourist train that used to run through Mount Jewitt that our coffee shop hostess had lamented about.

He shook his head and said, "We're losing everything."

It was so sad. And it's such a shame the state is more interested in making money off the land regardless of the negative affect it has on the people there whom it should be more interested in. They may be poor and there may be only a few of them, but they should be given more consideration than some rotten outside company that takes the profits and runs. These towns are getting nothing and the damage that will be left behind is irreversable, and something these little, poor towns will be able to do nothing about.

It's godawful.

A little bit sorrower and wiser, we headed toward Keene, and had lunch at an old saloon turned into a restaurant. Keene could be nicer, too, if only there were money. It also had a train depot, formerly owned and used by the tourist train that used to run over the Kinzua bridge, but which now hosts a viable local arts shop that unfortunately wasn't open.

There isn't much more there, besides some sorry looking stores. Shame, at one time all the buildings must have been grand. There was some truly interesting stone work there, and the former saloon had the original bar, with ornate carvings and a huge mirror. Fabulous to look at. And the food was pretty good too.

I regret not getting dessert. My boyfriend said we would stop for ice cream, but couldn't stand the muzak piped in over the stereo system. We never found an ice cream stand.

We started heading south, aiming for the Elk highway through a spectacular section of state forest that may soon be subject to drilling thanks to our idiotic state government. We passed through towns that were still doing pretty well and looked pretty big and headed into old growth forest along the Susquehannah. The views were beautiful and the towns, as little as they were, obviously catered to travelers.

We enjoyed the views and hit a state park near Hyner view. It was stunning, sleeping beneath huge pine trees. We set up our tent along a babbling brook and stayed up most of the night around the fire.

We got up late and headed for Hyner View, which is supposed to be a big spot for hang gliding, but the freezing cold wind was blowing the wrong way, and the only people there were other tourists. But the view, stunning.

You must be careful, though, walking around where the hang gliders take off. One wrong step and you'll have a too close view of the valley as it comes up to meet you.

We headed home, making one last stop at the Piper Cub museum in Lock Haven. Housed in the old Piper airplane factory next to the airport, it was a rather small, unimpressive local museum, but they do have some rather funny, unique things there, including a Piper that flew around the world.

We ate dinner at the Texas Restaurant, which has been in business since the 1900s and is definitely visited by the college crowd at nearby Lock Haven University. It looks unimpressive from the outside, but inside is classic 50s diner with unusual circular counters in the back that really make use of the space.

It is known for its Texas style hot dogs, but serves up a mean burger and gyros. There is definitely a Greek air to the menu.

It was then on to home, and back to work, and wishing we had more time.

Style or substance?

It's funny how the idea of scootering tends to cause some riders, even experienced motorbikers, to throw safety out the window. I don't know why it is, but I've seen people who would think to put on proper boots, long pants and a helmet when riding a motorcycle decide to "skip all that" when getting on a scooter and head off wearing only shorts and flip-flops.

What gives?!

Just because scooters are slower than motorcycles doesn't mean riding them is any less dangerous. The roads you travel are still the same and the drivers just as poor at paying attention. Speed isn't always a factor in bad crashes.

Scooters are often smaller than motobikes, too, which means drivers are even less likely to notice you at intersections, and more likely to slam into you full force.

So why be nonchalant about what you wear?

I'm debating this because as I try to improve my riding ability, I'm wondering how to make the scooter my everyday vehicle, when the weather allows.

I live about four blocks from my job, and while it would seem to be ideal that I take the scooter daily, there is the issue of attire.

I can't go to work every day in motorcycle gear. I need to dress for my job, which can demand I go before members of the public and represent my company. Which means I must wear business attire most days.

I toyed with the idea of changing clothes once I get to the office, but then I ran into the other issue: getting to work on time.

My job (Web site management) demands that I be at my desk, bright and bushy-tailed, before everyone else even enters the building. And lately I've been so overworked that I've left about the same time as the sun is going down. So I've been rolling out of bed as late as possible before heading off to work, because I need the shut-eye.

(For those of you wondering about the time of my posting, I'm on vacation this week.)

Rolling out of bed late, packing up the proper attire, then getting dressed for scootering, getting to work, and then changing all takes up WAY more time than just rolling out of bed, throwing on my business attire and rolling into work in my car.

My boyfriend said I should just ride the scooter in high heels, like Italian women do.

I thought, 'Whoa, I don't think high heels will help me if I crash. My feet will be mangled much easier."

I have seen it, I must admit. The Italians sure do make scootering seem as safe as walking down the street, but it's not. At least not in my town where a motorcyclist is injured in a crash every day. (We have a lot of motobikers which I believe accounts for such crashes being so frequent.)

What I can't figure is why just hoping on a motor scooter, no matter how you are attired, is so "safe" and common in Italy. Is it because the number of cars is less, so severe accidents are less likely to happen? Is it because drivers are more aware of scooters and show them more respect on the road?

I'm wondering if there has ever been a widespread, governmental movement encouraging scooter riders in that country to change the way they dress when they ride to be safer.

But honestly, it would be nice if I could skip the extra step of changing my clothes. It would be great if I could ride wearing high heels and a dress and not feel that I'm taking a ridiculous risk.

But I don't think I ever could. It just doesn't feel safe.

And while it may be that the clothing really does little to save your life in a crash, I'd like to think, especially after my first spill, that it can reduce the damage.

Sure makes me feel less nervous around trucks when I'm properly attired.

And I crashed it

All during motorcycle class my boyfriend told me I should 'dump it,' meaning drop the bike. I didn't want to. I was stressed so much that if I had, I wouldn't have completed the course. I'd be too rattled.

Then I got my brand-new Vino and I was even more worried.

My boyfriend had already voiced concern that I would get seriously hurt if I bought a scooter. I think watching 10 people drive extremely poorly on a parking lot for two days squashed his past hopes of us speeding around Berks County on motobikes together.

He was worried I could die.

So when I slid out after going around a curve too wide on my first full day of riding the Vino, he almost had a heart attack.

He was riding his Honda 599 ahead of me. We'd both gone to Phoenixville, Pa.'s first ever Bike Day, and had a good time. We were heading home, and he had gone ahead of me. I had to wait for a traffic light. (Let's face it, my scooter will never go as fast as his motorcycle so I'll be spending a LOT of time stuck at lights he's raced through.)

As I went forward, I noticed a car coming out of this side road. I guess I looked at it a little too long cause when I went around the corner, I turned too wide and ended up in the opposing lane of traffic.

Bad, real bad. I panicked because I saw a car ahead. Mind you it was, like, a mile ahead of me, but I panicked and tried to turn, slow down and speed up all at the same time, and found myself sliding on my side, the whole time thinking "oh, no, my scooter."

Two very nice gentlemen came running out of the nearby gas station and helped me up and out of the road. The driver of the car, luckily stopped and also asked about my state.

Surprisingly I was just fine, but a truck driver who passed by told my boyfriend about it as he waited for me up ahead.

My boyfriend said his heart just sunk. I don't blame him. I'm shocked I didn't have more than a scraped knee, but my jeans didn't even look damaged.

Damn lucky. Think I'll stick to parking lots for a while.

My new scooter!

I'm afraid I'm going to wreck it. It's a Yamaha Vino 125 cc. Rides beautifully. Though it came out being a little more than I expected. Damn taxes.
I got it at Martin's Motorsports. Great guys. Don't pressure you to buy shit you don't want.
I'm sticking to little roads around town, though my boyfriend is pushing me to take it to Phoenixville's first Bike Day.
I'm hoping it doesn't rain. It's cloudy but the sun's coming through.

I'm certified to drive, or certifiably insane

I've never driven a motorcycle before. Scooters yes, and very badly, but never a motorcycle. So when I had to sidle up next to one for the American Motorcycle Association's basic rider course, I was quaking inside.

It was a rather nice look Kawasaki, smoke gray and a low rider.

In fact, all of the bikes were rather nice looking, especially for a course that was filled with novices of all ages, only one of whom I had any confidence in ... and that wasn't me.

There were about 40 people total in the class for the classroom sessions and they split us up for the two-day practical course, which fell on the hottiest, muggiest day of the summer. Literally so hot, that when I took off my jacket and helmet I looked like I'd jumped in a swimming pool because I was soaked in sweat.

That heat, coming off the pavement, the bike and just the air in general, made it hard to concentrate and made my fears worse. How was I going to get through this?

So many times I was frustrated and wanted to just drop the bike and walk away.

The bike scared me, mostly because it was about three times my weight and I just couldn't fathom balancing the thing. (Believe me, the scooter I ended up buying is much, much lighter, despite being a very solid Yamaha 125 cc).

I wasn't the only one intimidated by the size of it. An older couple had decided to take the class together and neither of them seemed very confident, especially after the woman, when instructed to kick up the kickstand and mount it, dropped it sideways into a fence.

Heck, we hadn't even been told how to start the bikes and they were already getting banged up.

The class itself is built perfect for new riders. Whoever designed it recognized that motorcycling cannot be picked up easily, like driving a car. You really need to be instructed on every aspect of the bike. How it turns, how it runs, all of it, extremely important to know if you want to have any confidence or capability when you ride it.

And considering that some of my classmates had gotten ahead of themselves and already purchased bikes they had no idea how to ride, it was essential to go over everything.

They make you power walk them before you ever pick up your feet, just to get a feel for the throttle. It helped because the one thing I thought I would do (Fred Flinstone the bike) I ended up not even thinking about.

It was way easier than the old Geely which had such a rough throttle that I was constantly putting my feet down to steady myself because the throttle was so inconsistent in starting the bike.

I was actually very nervous on my last day there because one of my class members showed up with a brand-new chopper, and just like the rest of us he was still wobbling all over the parking lot on the class bike.

Riding on a parking lot is nothing like riding on the street. I knew that already, but knowing how nervous I was about turning around in a parking lot made me even more nervous thinking about how I was supposed to take the bike out on the road at some point in my motorcycling life.

Focusing on what I was doing was taking up most of my energy during class, and it was doubly hard when I had to pay attention to what my classmates were doing. I thought I was atrocious through the whole thing, but I just wasn't focusing on what others were doing, and I got to see their progress when we all lined up for testing that Sunday afternoon.

All of my class mates were really nice people: fathers, mothers, girlfriends, boyfriends, laborers, guys just wanting to see if they could do what I suppose is considered a typical guy thing.

None of them struck me as being bikers though, even the fellow who already was riding and who probably did the best out of all of us.

No hard attitudes. Just smiles, nervous laughter and all wondering "Are we cut out for this?"

I think the most embaressing thing would have been to fail that end test. I had almost lost it earlier in the day when I froze during the figure 8s. I had real trouble keeping the bike balanced cause I was going to slow and that was a result from my fears of rocketing off the course and into a car or a tree.

In fact someone in the earlier class had done just that and when I showed up that Sunday afternoon there were clumps of dirt and grass stuck to the right side of my bike and hanging off the mirror.

Later I learned that a second person had wiped out and scraped up the whole side of another bike in that first class. I theorize that it may have been the two friends who came to class because they felt if it was something they could do they should do it. (Bad way to look at this).

But even the black fellow from a foreign country who forgot to pull in the clutch while he braked and successively mashed down on the throttle (almost rocketing off) passed the class.

Though I wouldn't want to see any of them on the road.

I think I passed with flying colors, though I did have to stick out my foot on one of the loops of my figure 8, which I did really well in the test despite freaking out in practice.

Am I ready for the road? Not the highway, that's for sure. And as I watched the one over confident biker ride of and turn very sloppily in front of us (as we drove in a car), I knew not everyone who gets a permit should be using it right away.

But I know if I need to I can pick up a motorcycle and ride it. I even got used to the shifter and kind of miss it now that I've opted for a scooter.

I will likely take the class again. But as for riding an "angry chopper" on Philly's deadly highways, I doubt it. I'll stick to the streets of Pottstown.

It's hard enough minding me, but the real threat out there is other drivers.

Too good to be true?

I saw this ad on eBay and I don't know if it's heaven sending me a gift, or an offer that just shouldn't be trusted. I would drop everything here in a heartbeat and buy this place. (Though I'd have to be able to pay off all my debts too.)

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&Item=160344968985&Category=2992&_trkparms=algo%3DLVI%26its%3DI%26otn%3D2#ht_6979wt_1075

This guy says he is selling a scooter rental shop on Redington Shore, Fla.'s sandspit of land, right near the Isle of Capris, for $79,000, and that the business brings in $120,000 a year. He claims he is selling it so low and for so cheap because his wife, who has parents in Fort Lauderdale about a day's drive away on the other side of Florida, wants to move back to where her family is.

Maybe there is a health crisis and they need to be closer to the 'rents, who knows? Or maybe it is a complete and utter scam.

He claims he needs to be paid in cash or bank check and that the buyer only has to pay off the other $14,000 (out of the $79,000) to him after they've been trained on how to run the shop. He says the lease is paid in full.

Everything comes with the shop: scooters, skateboards, bicycles, a dock on the inner coastal waterway, and all the tools and parts in the repair shop, including a truck for delivery and pickup.

It's near a lot of hotels and yacht docking areas that look full on Google maps, but is this a scam?

It's listed several times on ebay by the same seller and it's only been up for 28 days the most.

As I sit here, stressed out about the idiocy of online commenters who are writing things that have lawyers call us and threaten to sue and wonder why I got into journalism (it wasn't to deal with that bullshit), I wish I had the money to just pick up and go. But I barely have anything saved and a large amount of debt, so I'm hesitant. Maybe if I'd seen this a year or two from now I'd jump on it, but I"m concerned about ending up homeless and destitute in Florida.

And it's killing me.

There is one possibility I just considered. Thinking about where this building is located, on the Gulf side of the Florida coast, maybe this business only looks good in old pictures. Maybe the whole area right now is being destroyed by Hurricane Bill (Don't know what happened there since I just woke up and haven't had time to check the news.).

Or maybe everything around it has and business has dried up.

Mad about the Moto Fino

I spotted this Moto Fino on Craigslist. Almost new and selling for only $1050. I called up the seller and arranged to come down on Thursday. I knew I'd probably buy it. It was one of the few scooters I'd seen selling for a reasonable sum and which had a title with it.
It's amazing how so many people are trying to sell titleless vehicles, and they try to convince me that it's EASY for me to get a title for them. Yeah, right. If it was so easy, I'd have one in hand for the Geely.
Not happening. Besides, if it's so easy, why don't they get a proper title before selling it?
But this scooter was different. 600 miles on it, pristine condition, and it was Green!
So we head out, I've got the cash in hand though I'm hoping I can talk him down by $100, which would put it more in line with my budget.
We hit traffic, and my boyfriend takes this roundabout way that I don't think was any faster than sitting in traffic. We get there half an hour early and the seller tells me he just sold it to someone else! Hello! Didn't I arrange to drive all the way out there!
I took a huge chunk of time out of my day. I was serious enough to come out to look at it, and this guy, who seemed very nice but daft (he was old) sold it over the phone knowing I was coming!
It might be a blessing in disguise. Maybe Moto Fino isn't a great brand of scooter, but it was waaayyy better than anything I'd seen so far. It was 150 cc, 100 cc higher than what most were selling. Perfect for me.
And now, I'm back to looking at possibly stolen Honda's and cheap Chinese crap.

Michael Jackson on a scooter? Who knew

At least this was back when he was normal.

This made me cry

The girl is deaf, if you don't figure it out right away.

A cute scooter, a good cause

So I'm trying to find a good, well-priced scooter and what do I come across but Schwinn. Who knew the venerable bicycle company that created lust and envy in the hearts of kids from the 60s for their product had broken into the realm of motor scootering? Not I.
To add kudos to their prominence, Schwinn sells the Hope 50 and Hope 150 scooters. Pink in hue, sales of the cute little transportation machines feed a fund to help with breast cancer research. How awesome.
Now I want one. Problem is, I can find no information about the cost online. Guess I'll have to start calling around. Hopefully they'll be under $800.

It's all in the name

Why must they call those electric wheelchairs people ride around in and illegally on the street scooters? They aren't. They're electric wheelchairs. A different name does not change the ride.
It's so frustrating when I'm searching for an actual scooter or information on them and I get results for the disabled. I wish they'd find another name to use for their mobility chairs and leave scooters out of it.

If I had $15,000 ...

MSN ran a story about a new type of electric motorcycle. Not a hybrid but a real, practical motorcycle. And it looks totally old school.
I would get one of these bikes in place of a regular gas or an electric scooter in a heart beat. Mostly because it gives you control over how you use the power so you can actually ride it longer distances based upon the settings.

And it has kick! According to the article, you can go 40 to 50 miles on one charge and it reaches 30 mph in 3.8 seconds, depending on the setting you give it. It has a top speed of 50 mph, which won't satisfy those road eating sport bikers but would be great for a girl getting around the city. Only problem, like most motobikes it really has no place for me to put groceries.

Goodbye scooter??

Finally got my motorcycle permit and now there is a great dilemma — scooter or motobike?

Turns out the scooter my boyfriend picked up from his cousin is falling apart and really not worth fixing up, and I need something I can get past inspection if I want to ride around town.

I'd like a scooter, but even the used ones sell for upward of $2,000 ... way out of my price range.

So we looked at motorbikes, and there was a cool blue green one for sale near my parents in Jersey. Problem is, motorcycles aren't really meant for carrying things like grocery and video cameras (for work). So what do I do? I'd like to make some decision before my pa. motorcycle class at the end of the month but I'm not sure where else to look. So far cycletrader, eBay and craigslist have been a bust.

KYW Newsradio 1060 Philadelphia - Council Considers Bill for Scooter Parking in Philadelphia

KYW Newsradio 1060 Philadelphia - Council Considers Bill for Scooter Parking in Philadelphia

Posted using ShareThis

An up and down adventure

(This picture is not of the one in Pa. that I went to, but it gives you an idea of it.)

The dirt was flying, and my earplugs came in handy, at the annual hill climb Sunday at the White Rose Motorcycle Club in Spring Grove, Pa.
If you've never heard of a hill climb before now, you aren't the only one.
I was first introduced to this new form of competition by my boyfriend, who'd seen it once before. The object, riders on motorcycles and dirt bikes that are modified with an extended swing arm for their back wheel gas it up a hill with three "jumps", as they were called. The hill is almost at a 90 degree angle, so the possibility of flipping over backwards or sliding down the hill with your motobike on top of you is very high.
Of course things didn't get that bad, but there were some good falls as riders neared the top which made for an exciting afternoon.
The best was when many riders reached the top and the assistants and paramedics went scrambling out of the way. These bikes don't have gear shifters or brakes, so you have to hustle when one is coming at you, especially since the rider can't slow it down or he goes backwards. Mind you, this hill was about as high as a skyscraper and manmade.
The riders are judged on how quickly they get up the hill, as well as distance. Many couldn't get back the first "jump", which looked like a leveled off plateau, though by the end of the event it was so torn up you couldn't walk across it easily.
One girl was in the competition and she almost had the lead in her class but was bested by someone else, taking in second. Which isn't bad considering how many riders there were (at least 50).
If you're curious to see what this is all about (it's been around in Spring Grove since at least the 30s), the club is located off Hill Climb Road, just look up the White Rose Motorcycle Club. They have another Hill Climb competition in the fall.
Entry fee is $15 a piece for adults and the parking is free, but on the grass. So if you ride your scooter or motorcycle, either drive past the first entrance to get to the blacktop area near the concessions stand (a big white building where the paramedics and firefighters are parked) or bring along a foot for your kickstand.
I also recommend lots of sunscreen, which still didn't prevent a burn for me, but it's better than nothing. You sit on a hillside that's pretty well exposed to the sun, unless you luck out and get there early. The races usually start around noon and are held on Sundays twice a year. You can bring in beer, but no glass bottles and there is a cooler size limit. You do have to go through a security line, but they are pretty decent folk.
You can also walk around the pits and look at the bikes, which is pretty cool.
There is opportunity for an up close look at the bottom of the hill, but be warned: you'll get dirt in your face and there are nitrous fumes.
Also, for the ladies, you might want to bring toilet paper. The toilets are pit toilets in a cement block house, though the men's latrine was flooded and they had to use two portapotties with a rather long line forming. (I guess cause there were more men than women at the event. First time I'd seen that.)
Wish I had pictures, but my camera was dead. Maybe next time.

An offer you shouldn't refuse

If you've been thinking about buying a new scooter or motorcycle, or have been pondering a first-time purchase, now's the time to buy, thanks to the economic stimulus plan.

The scooter and motorcycle sectors saw a boom in interest and sales when the cost of fuel rose the last few years, but suddenly they've hit the wall, and the interested don't seem so much anymore.

According to a recent Associated Press report, "the same provision that lets taxpayers deduct sales and excise taxes on the purchase of a new car or truck also applies to a motorcycle or scooter. They also can get a 10 percent federal tax credit if they buy plug-in bikes."

Going electric seems better than ever with that option.

If you live and work in California, you are even luckier. That western state offered grants to encourage trade-ins and sales of two-wheeled electric vehicles, since they are better for the air than a traditional car. And $5 million more in grants has been approved by the state to encourage purchases.

One of the biggest bains to an increase in sales is, of course, the credit market, which is rough right now. Face it, people can't get loans for cars, and with scooters being a lot more expensive than a bicycle, they are just as hard to get loans for. Though one person in the AP story noted they are cheap enough to charge on your credit card. And with the long-term gas savings, it really might be worth it. Especially since you don't usually have to pay for parking, you can always put it on the sidewalk in most cities.

But if you've already gotten yourself a scooter this year, don't forget, you might be able to get deductions off your taxes.

And if you're interested in going on two wheels, but don't have a lot of experience, then check out Consumer Reports Auto blog, where for the first time they've tested out scooters and motorcycles that might be just right for the novice.

Oo la, la, but no scooter ride

The hardest part of traveling is the frustration and exhaustion of getting to the place you'd rather be traveling around.
It's the queues, the waiting for approval from security personnel, emigration, airline personnel.

I almost lost it in Brussels.

We made the mistake of settling for the cheapest tickets we could find on Priceline, and in hindsight realize it might have been better to pay a little more for less transfers.
We had two. We flew from Philly to Newark, Newark to Brussels, Brussels to Lyon, and I was glad we got there, even though we'd been traveling for almost two days.

We thought we'd missed our flight in Brussels. Getting off the plane, we ran through the airport to our gate, but were stopped in our tracks for over an hour by the long lines at the emigration station. I was furious because none of the lines were moving and there were obviously issues with people coming off one of the flights. My logic was screaming, 'Why can't they move all the problem people over to one line and get everyone else through?'

No one was happy and one man was able to move himself up to the front of the line and probably caught the flight we should've been on.

When it was our turn it was a quick, 'Oh, American? Have a nice vacation!'
Could've moved us through a bit faster if that was it.

But Brussels gave us the finger in more ways than one.
We ran down a flight, got through a security line, up two flights, down three halls, only to find no one at our gate.
One very kind woman working for a different airline helped us figure out where we should go to get another flight since Air France had no one inside the security area.

All the way back the way we came, across the airport, up several flights of stairs then back across the airport again, and winding our way through a poorly organized, giant check-in area, we finally managed to speak to someone about a transfer. Luckily they spoke English because I have no knowledge of Flemish.
And with that there went my hope of being a travel writer. (Just because they teach English in European schools doesn't mean everyone knows it. The lessons are likely equal to teaching high school kids Spanish: They really don't care so it doesn't sink in.) To travel well and get the skinny on an area, you need to know the language. There's no way around it.
Next time I hear someone whinefully wishing they could have such a lush, "fun" job as a travel writer, I'll ask if they want to learn foreign languages, then tell them to shut it, cause you're not serious about the idea if you don't.

Back through the airport and to the security line, again. Three times through security and this time I get stopped. I'd forgotten a small pocket knife in my bag. After a quick pat down and OK by the security chief ("What a girlie knife," he probably thought in a thick Germanic accent.) we were on our way .. to the pub, where our first meal of the day was a beer.

As we sat in the News Cafe, which offered papers in several languages (none English), I noticed a group of students come through and they picked up a discarded newspaper with great interest. Very different from the U.S.
Wondered how I could get the American youth to give such a damn.

Bourgoin-Jallieu: Our first stop and introduction to French wine and cheese.
After a long travel time, all we wanted to do was sleep. The screaming children and restless people on our plane ride over the Atlantic had kept us awake and exhaustion had made us unable to remember a damn lick of French. So wine and cheese it was. Then sleep until late Friday morning.

The stereotypes preached to me about the French had all been dashed — a positive thing since I'd been told they hate Americans and could tell us by our jeans.

Au contraire. EVERYONE in Europe wears jeans. They are the garment of daily wear by anyone in their 30s and younger, or anyone doing a lot of traveling or laborious work.

And our host told us it's not the Americans they hate in France. Everyone wants to be in America, since you can get wealthy a lot easier. What they hate are the Brits (sorry Anglos and Saxons) because they tour France a lot more than Americans and tourists apparently have left a bad taste in the mouth of locals.

And once again, unless you are in a major city, don't assume they speak English. It's unlikely someone can speak it unless they use it in business. If you don't use it, you lose it, and their native tongue is French.
It's also better to know the language well enough to blend in. We were mistaken at one point for being German because we were trying to speak as much French as possible in public but were mixing it with English.

First observations:
Going in circles saves gas, keeps traffic flowing and makes drivers less frustrated. I think there was one solid intersection we had to stop at the entire time. Every intersection was actually a circle, regardless of large highway or small town, and it worked!
Of course it helps that they all use their turn signals over there and know how circles are supposed to work. Unlike here, where drivers have no clue what they are supposed to be doing in a circle.

As long as it's registered, you can drive it.
Two wheelers were everywhere. We saw people driving dirt bikes and ATVs on the road the moment we drove into Bourgoin. As long as they were properly registered it was A OK, and I'm sure it saved money, since even the little Euro cars aren't cheap over there. Like the one we had: The Chevy Matis.

Unavailable in the U.S., maybe because it was only automated in the front and I was stuck in the back with manual windows and was lucky to have a seat belt. This thing is shorter than my Mini Cooper. Yes, and it's four doors.

Helmets are the rule: You can't ride a motorcycle, scooter, moped, ATV without one. They can get away with riding scooters and motorcycles in closed off pedestrian areas, but you've gotta have your helmet on.

France is litter free, well almost, and the graffiti's not bad either. For some reason you can't escape the graffiti in France. It's everywhere.
The litter, on the other hand, is not, even though secular thinking will claim the two go hand in hand.
But they don't seem to mind their graffiti. Then again it's not the typical "knave toof" tag I see every weekend driving home to Jersey on a Turnpike overpass.
No, their graffiti is art. Check out what we saw in Grenoble.









And my favorite ... Cheese Attack!


Ah, only the French would grace their graffiti with cheese.
And it's more like art, appearing everywhere, on overpasses, barns in the middle of nowhere.
But never on historic structures or monuments. Don't know if that's due to pride or just strict policing and cleaning. Hopefully the first.

When we first arrived in Lyon, I thought my boyfriend might have rented a scooter, as he started walking toward a giant touring model in the parking lot. But it wouldn't have held our luggage.
The Matis served us well in the cold Alps, our first stop on the tour of the Rhone.

And the pizza was thin and scrumptious, just don't ask for three cheese unless you like Roquefort.
Our drive took us through Grenoble, Chambery and into a small town that was famous for its hot springs, accessible in a public park, that was right next to the thing my boyfriend loves the most — gliders. As we drove into a town looking for a cup o' joe, there they were, spinning in slow circles above us at the height of the alpine cliffs.
So our next stop — the airport.

It was an old airfield that might have been used in World War I, but only was used for gliders.
Despite the language barrier, we found someone to ask about a ride, but were told unless my boyfriend had an international license he'd have to take an instruction ride only, and arrange that ahead of time.
If he wanted to do more on his own, "learn French," we were told, jokingly. Let's face it, in an emergency, you'd better know what they are saying to you.


After a petite cup of cafe au lait (No mega javas in Europe. They drink in moderation.) we headed to the hills. And saw sights I'd never could imagine.

The Alps are cold and the snow was high. The roads were steep and very few guard rails protect you. And believe me, with the switchbacks the likelihood of falling off the road is very high, since there's no shoulder.
We were turning so quickly in that tiny little car, and I was in the back feeling most of the turbulence and thought I was going to lose my pizza. I was so afraid to look out and see where we were on the road because it was like looking to my death.


We saw snow covered tunnels that we had to go around, towns shut down because nothing could get through and the steeple of a buried church.
To the French Alps, it was still winter.



After realizing we couldn't reach the top of the mountain as our host hoped, we headed back, hoping we didn't fall down into the river valley on our return.

Lyon is a city of wonders, hidden in little alleys and wondrous shops. House boats cruise its two rivers, and there are ancient treasures in places you wouldn't suspect. We were searching out the ancient Roman Theater, built in 15 B.C., but after wandering for almost an hour down cool alleys and past brasseries then down the alley Croix-Rousse, which Napolean scaled with his horse on his conquests, we realized were were on the wrong side of the river.


We made our way south and found it, tucked in behind a school and hotels near the mini eiffel tower known as the Tour Metallique, built in 1893, about four years after Gustav Eiffel's successful structure was erected. It was built by E. Colonge who was asked to build a replica of the Eiffel tower on Fourviere Hill. You can't visit it, but from what I've read, there used to be a restaurant in the bottom and you could take an elevator to the top at one time. It would have an excellent view of the valley below, despite being only 80 meters high.

The Theatres Roman is one of those places where you can ramble as you like amidst the ancient homes and no one yells at you. There were few foreigners there as an astronomy club had taken over the area and was offering views of the sun. We sat down and enjoyed a rest after our wandering, pondering the view from the ancient Roman seats.

Then we headed to the nearby underground museum dedicated to the amazing finds from Lyon that documented the city's use by the Romans. It is built in a circular style, and there you can see the remnants of Emporer Augustus' appeal to the Senate to allow the Gauls representation and, basically, citizenship in the empire.

Augustus was born in the ancient city that stood where Lyon sits now, called Ludugnum. You can also walk on an ancient mosaic floor.

We wondered if we were breaking some kind of rule by doing so, but it was quite an experience, and unavoidable.


The museum has large windows looking out upon the large amphitheater, and they offer quite a view, as seen below.

If you would like less of a crowd, as this will get busy on the weekends, I recommend the smaller Odeon theater right next door to the Grand Theater. I wished we'd thought to stop over since it has a tiled floor still intact despite the years.

The Grand Theater is still used for performances and if you are lucky and plan ahead, you could get tickets to a concert or play there. In fact the British band Blur will be playing there on May 7 of this year. You can buy tickets here.
(I cannot vouch for this site or their reliability/honesty.)

All the cities we ended visiting had long connections throughout the centuries because of one thing, they were on the road to Jerusalem.
We took a step back to the ancient days of pilgrimages when we visited a tiny town on the way to Avignon (a city worth visiting). I forget the name but hopefully will be able to add it to this some day soon.
We actually had to take a very roundabout route off the turnpike to find the place, though you could see it from the highway (I believe it was the D570), so I'm not sure how to get there. We had to take an exit farther south of the castle (which you could see from the highway on the left going south) and then go north again and look for it, finding our way by sight and chance.


It was above a beautiful, ancient town that was as old as the castle, but still inhabited. Old doorways and windows had been stoned over and replaced with new, but the houses were mostly still as they once were, and quite beautiful.







But we had one helluva long walk up a hill to get to the castle.
There were many French natives coming as tourists as well, since the castle had re-enactors. (Likely because it was a weekend.)

Built around the ninth century, it had a lord, and was also occupied by the Hospitalier, a group similar to the Knights Templar that helped those who were traveling on the road to Jerusalem. They would assist the injured or sick with herbal remedies but often had to sleep 30 to a room during the pilgrimage seasons.

They explained weaponry, torture and how people lived, but all in French, so my boyfriend and I had to wait until the end of the tour before our host, a native English speaker, could translate for us. In fact, we were the only English speaking people there, and were a bit confused when the re-enactors tried to engage with us. At one point we thought they were going to take off our host's head because they asked who hadn't "paid their taxes", ie. bought tickets, but had no idea what they were even saying. A bit frightening.
But we stayed to the back and let all the kids whose parents had dragged them their be the center of attention.

It was quite a wonderful demonstration, and the actors stayed in character and were never awkward.

I would've taken more photos, but I wasn't sure when it was allowed.


The last stop was the ramparts overlooking the town and the valley. We couldn't actually go in the towers on the outlying ridges, as they were falling apart and very dangerous. I also wanted to get down below the ancient chapel in the middle of the structure. It was one of the few intact buildings left and had two ancient ninth century icons of saints inside that had the faces marred. There were stairs down below the floor.

As my boyfriend put it, "That's where they must hide the treasure."


We did ramble around the place and found a doorway that wasn't blocked leading into one of the towers, but we could only go on the ground floor. The door to the stairway up was blocked.

So back down we went, and as we walked the steep hill, I noticed stone steps leading off over the hills, and wondered if it wasn't an ancient trail, or at least a current hiking one. Likely there was, at one time, houses all the way up to the castle, but weather and disrepair may have lead them to crumble. There were stones everywhere and it was hard to tell if they had just fallen off the cliffside (or castle), or were at once time used to build walls.

We rambled about the beautiful little streets of the sleepy town, marveling the beauty and noticing some of the houses backed up to the cliffside and the outlying ramparts of the castle, which makes me believe the houses must have caves as rooms.

We wondered just how do you get into those caves. There had to be ways. There were windows in the hillsides. We theorized about whether there really was treasure sill hidden away somewhere. Though the town itself was quite a treasure. With a sleepy little main street with its own unique, and rather modern boutiques, a great bar, and a barber.

It is the type of town I dream of retiring to. Being in the south of France proper, the weather was in the high 60s in the beginning of April, unlike Pa. which still is quite freezing until almost May.

We stopped for a couple of drinks and an Orangina (I became addicted over there since you could get them everywhere, though they are not cheap.) at the local bar, which was perfect for sitting for hours, with the bartender lounging with friends at an outside table.

We decided if we wanted to get to Avignon, we couldn't go exploring. Though it's a town worth getting back to.

Avignon was definitely a highlight of the trip and this video will give you some idea of why.
The heart of the city is taken up by the Pope's Palaces. Originally on the site was a bishop's palace that was torn down in the 1300s. Apparently the whole city was inhabited since neolithic times. Along the Rhone river, which you can see in the video, there are fortifications built out of the rock, which is also where the Pont d'Avignon (made famous in a song) begins. The rock was dug out and used as a Roman fortification, and when the Barbarians began attacking in the 700s, the people in the area lived in the confines of its walls. The fortification later housed a abbey. In 1309, Pope Clement V fled to the city because a group that supported the pope was fighting a group that supported the Holy Roman Emporer (who was NOT the pope). The emporers had trouble keeping power over their lords who would more often listen to and respect the pope.

The papacy was overseen from Avignon for about 100 years. In that time a Bishop's Palace was torn down where the Pope's Palace now stands. There are two palaces, an old and a new, built into each other over the years.

The palace itself is an amazing feat of architecture, tho rather bare inside. But you can take a tour in English using an automated tour guide and it will take you into many rooms going through severe reconstruction. You see, the palace was ransacked over the years by Revolutionaries and then other uses destroyed many of the beautiful paintings that graced its walls. There was also a great fire in the main dining hall that destroyed the roof (though that is now repaired). Most impressive was the treasure chamber where the pope's hid their treasure.
There are also two chapels with paintings on the walls, some by Giovannetti.

In the pope's room you can also still see the original paintings on the walls that look like birds in cages and wainscotting.

It is well worth a visit, and a proper tour. You can also get great souvenirs in the gift shops, such as a necklace made to look like the ancient painted tiles that graced the floor of the pope's bedroom.

Because it was the center of the papacy for so long, there is much Italian influence in Avignon, brought in along with all the artisans commissioned to build the palace. There are stunning little boutiques and gift shops everywhere. And one thing you will definitely see everywhere are locusts: Locust magnets, locust garden sculpture, locust necklaces. Apparently the locust is a symbol of good luck and a symbol of Avignon.

I highly recommend a great little shop down an alley directly across from the front gate of the palace. Here's the picture of tourists looking in the window, though I don't remember its name.
I also recommend you buy material in Avignon, as in Lyon. Both cities were considered part of the heart of textile manufacturing in France and they still may be as there are a great many independent clothiers in both cities with unique fashions. (Wish I'd had the money, I'd have bought myself some. But the American dollar is weak these days in relation to the Euro).

There are many more English speakers in Avignon than elsewhere we'd been, but to be polite try and use French as much as possible. You'll get a much better reception.

And in Avignon we did the one thing I always wanted to do: eat in an outdoor cafe. Most of our meals had been on the fly, but here we took it easy and sat for hours under the sycamore trees that lined the street, across from a park where it seemed a church had been burned out, leaving only it's window arches behind.

It was wonderful, but since the drive took so long we had to make a night of it and stayed at a cheap hotel.

The bar scene in Avignon appears to be hopping, even on a Sunday night. But it might get kind of rough if you don't know enough French to apologize and keep out of trouble.

We opted for an early night and headed out the next day for a traditional breakfast and to see the Palais. A traditional breakfast of course being croissant and really strong coffee.

Staying for the Pope's Palace was well worth it. A temporary home for the pope during the troubles between the small principalities and Roman Emporer, it was added on to for almost a hundred years. There are still two chapels with walls painted by Italian masters, though one was closed off due to restoration.

The most amazing moment, though, was when we entered the great chapel. It's a vaulted room where Mass was held by the Pope. It's bare, except for a stone alter and some benches for sitting along the walls. As we sat there a group of older women came through and decided to test the acoustics by singing a hymn, and it was the most beautiful thing in the world. They were barely whispering it yet it echoed around the room and crescendoed as it bounced off the arches above, and made everyone stop in their tracks in awe.

Then on to the Saint Benezet bridge over the Rhone.

A sheep herder from the Ardeche valley (a beautiful valley that winds along the Ardeche river and is a popular vacation spot for the French) showed up in town a couple of hundred years before the pope and told everyone God told him to build a bridge across the Rhone. The river had to be crossed by anyone wishing to go south and it was often treacherous and took many lives. He apparently convinced everyone this had to be done at God's will by moving a colossal stone that no man at the peak of strength could even move. So they built the bridge, and it successively got knocked down by flood after flood until they abandoned it and built a higher bridge upstream in the 1600s.

The shepherd was never canonized but the locals called him a saint and buried his body in a chapel in the bridge.

When the bridge was abandoned in the 1600s his body was supposedly exhumed and moved, and it was said it was in perfect condition. Odd considering the bridge was renovated several times over the years, including raising its height and adding a chapel to Saint Nicholas on top of the mausoleum in the 1300s.

According to a visitor's guidebook available at the Pope's Palace, there is a belief that a Roman bridge once stood at the site of the Saint Benezet bridge and perhaps Benezet really just raised money and support to have it rebuilt, but it is still speculation as there is no proof of an earlier bridge.

The most famous thing about the Saint Benezet bridge, though, is not its origins but a song, that probably isn't quite right. At some point in the bridge's history there used to be a cafe of sorts underneath one of the arches and there would be bands playing. From this came the song, 'L'pont d'Avignon'. But the words to the song say on top of the bridge when it should be underneath it.

It goes like this ...

Sur le pont d'Avignon
L'on y danse, L'on y danse
Sur le pont d'Avignon
L'on y danse tous en rond

Les beaux messieurs font comm 'ca
Et puis encore comm 'ca

Sur le pont d'Avignon
L'on y danse, L'on y danse
Sur le pont d'Avignon
L'on y danse tous en rond

Les Belle dames font comm 'ca
Et puis encore comm 'ca



We left Avignon and decided to stop in a little country town for lunch. It was a beautiful area and the lunch was huge.

They have set lunches in most small restaurants in France, which means they have one main course with the option of having a starter and a dessert, one or the other of those, or just the main course.

You also get two carafes, one of wine and one of water. You're supposed to mix the water and wine to make it less strong (it is lunch after all), but my fellow travelers drank it straight. I think the bartender was a little surprised he had to refill it.

My fellow travelers had charcuterie, which is a plate of different kinds of meat, either pate, or sohsees (sausage) and some cheese.

The lunch was immense! A huge plate of pasta and a giant pork chop that was melt in your mouth delicious. I couldn't finish it all, especially after the salad. I wanted desert anyway. But the waitress thought I didn't like it. I would've taken it back to the apt., but our host had no fridge.

The dessert was amazing. It's called fromage blanche (I incorrectly identified it earlier as creme fraiche, which is is not), and it is a type of cheese that has the texture of yogurt but is whipped and creamy. They serve it with either fruit on top or sugar on the side.

We drove through the Ardeche region, which is dry and sunny and in the midst of mountains there is a canyon that carries the Ardeche river, which was very dry for springtime.

I'd heard there were caves, but we had no luck in finding any. Though the scenery was as beautiful as the Alps with towering mountains, their gold, red and brown sides covered in scrub and small vineyards everywhere.

There are some lovely little city-towns along the road we took and one was set out on an island, the only access a one-lane bridge that looked like it was from the middle ages. We couldn't even figure out how to get to the top where a small church was. It was amazing that people were even living there. I'm sure in the U.S. they would have evicted them for some code violations, but they seemed to managing fine .. and I envied them.

Our final day was a toss up: What do we see? For staying so close to Lyon we certainly had plenty of options. We could have seen Vienne, gone back to Lyon, or even just traveled to wineries in the immediate countryside. We decided to try and find a castle my host had trouble getting to. It was visible from the highway but there was no exit there. We ended up wandering instead into the most amazing of cities: Cremieu.

You get to Cremieu off the D24. We were on the A432, a toll road, and you take exit 3 toward Charvieu-Chavagneux. Then the D302 at the circle to the D517, and from there follow the signs.

It is an amazingly large town that formed around an abbey on the hillside, which has fallen over the years. Many tourists come to the town, as attested by the tourist's office in the old Augustinian monastery that is now the town hall.

There are public bathrooms, but I warn you, they are the ones where you stand over a hole in the floor ... basically pit toilets.

The tourism office is open most days and offers maps of the area. And there is a lot to see, but since it was such a rainy day we opted for a couple of drinks and then a hike up to the ancient abbey along the old streets, which have grafitti and signs from WWII.

If you are lucky enough to go on a Saturday, all the small farmers and artisan food makers sell their wares in the medieval market that sprung up in the middle of the city.

Across from this, if you are desperate and failed to get to town in time for the short lunch hour, is a Casino, a type of mini market that offers sandwhiches, drinks, snacks and household goods. We had to opt for that after our hike.

And a good hike it was. It was no easy hill to climb, and a hard entrance to find since the road leading up to it is hidden between two buildings, and houses still back up to the crumbling walls that once housed a nonexistent village around the base of the abbey.

Like many fortified structures in France, it was carved into the rock. Someone at some point keeps goats up there as we stumbled onto a small stable constructed into one of the old towers. The grass is green and lush, and you could probably camp out up there, though someone lives in the remaining stable tower. We tried to find a doorway we could knock on but every time we tried to walk up to it we ended up at a cliff face. The only thing we could determine is that one of the house down below in the valley backed up to it and had an inner doorway to go in.
Literally right in front of me, where those trees are growing, is a sheer cliff that runs several hundred feet down.

At the very top, a conservation group is trying to reconstruct the medicinal herb garden that once would have been planted on the crown of the hill inside the abbey walls. It was ripped up and a cement slab for a gun was put in likely around World War II. The clock tower for the abbey still stands and is still working as well.

Down the other side of the hill there are roads leading to private residences and another way out of town.
I wished we'd stayed for dinner, or at least visited the chocolatier, my one regret on this trip. I didn't go into any of them, despite the amazing displays of crafted chocolate items. One shop had a chicken sitting atop a nest, and all these eggs and little chicks around it, all designed exclusively out of chocolate.

True food artistry. I wanted to snap a photo but was afraid I might cause it to collapse.


I'd have to say, each town there is worth a full day's exploration and I'm not sure how it is you can ever see all of France. The amount of history readily available at each step is stunning.

I guess there's only one thing to do: go back.

Traveler's Tips:

Know your French. Unless you are going to Paris it is unlikely anyone will understand what you are saying in English. Think about what you will be doing and what questions or needs you are likely to have and make sure you know those phrases. Let's face it, knowing how to ask where the telephone is isn't really helpful in the age of cell phones. Know how to ask what is in your food, how much something costs, how to say "Just looking", and how to introduce yourself and those in your party. Our biggest faux pas was not speaking enough to get a better deal at the car rental agency or asking where the check-in counter for our airline was at the airport. Much more complex than you'd think since they do not understand our terms for things.

Dress appropriately. They don't wear sweats in France, so unless you want to stick out like a tourist, don't wear them. Jeans are fine, everyone wears them, old and young. But they are never sloppy. Even at the Carre Four, their version of Wal-Mart, all the women looked like they were ready for a dinner out.

Don't drink to excess. The French don't and you'll be considered an idiot.

Changing money. We considered travelers checks and special check cards, but the easiest thing turned out to be just using our ATM cards for our banks. Be sure to ask what the charge is and take out a lot of money at once. If you are worried about having your wallet stolen, then take some back up cash. Also be sure to have the phone numbers to report your lost or stolen cards written down somewhere else than in your wallet. There are pick pockets in France!

Rental cars: You get the best rate if you reserve one ahead of time. You should also check to see if your auto insurance in America will apply overseas. Many times it doesn't and you should buy a temporary insurance policy on the car just in case. You don't need an EU or international license. Your U.S. driver's license is fine. They also drive on the same side of the road as in the U.S., but know how to use a circle and USE YOUR TURN SIGNALS. This is very important over there since drivers depend on them. And the French actually do use theirs.

Bringing wine home. I learned after the fact that if you take a U.S. airline to and from, or have transfers, you will have trouble getting your wine through security. You could hide it in your bag or ship it back, but unless you know enough French at the post office, you'll have trouble.
The best thing to do is to take a European carrier. They don't have the same security protocal as the American airlines and do allow you to take wine on board in your carry on or duty free bag. You also won't go through the third degree like you do with U.S. carriers when you get on your return flight. The best airlines are Lufthansa and Air France for this.