This time, I rode from Millerton, while Steve and the kids drove to Amenia and got on their bikes at that end.
I rode from Kuwait into Iraq aboard a Blackhawk helicopter that skirted no more than 20 feet above the ground, moving well over 100 miles an hour, with gunners at each door.
Where would you rather say you're from?" The next day, I rode from Bismarck to Grand Forks, completing a traverse of the state, in the genial company of Katherine Satrom's husband, Joe, who works for Ducks Unlimited, a conservation organization that protects ducks so that folks wearing camouflage gear and carrying shotguns can wait for them to fly by.
IF there is such a thing as tourist hell, it might look something like the view from my taxi as I rode from Tenerife Sur airport in the Canary Islands to the ferry dock: a wall of anonymous concrete-box condos along a beach covered with a thousand blue deck chairs, lined up like parading soldiers.
And my quads could never propel me the 50 miles a day I ride to and from work.
I ride up from the coast with a Roy Hill employee named Adrian Mudronja.
I ride my bike from my house to Pier Six at the foot of Atlantic Avenue and Brooklyn Bridge Park.
Then I take the bus or I ride my bike from my home in the Wudaokou area to Wudaoying.
At 74 years of age, I ride a bicycle from 50 to 70 miles a week, mostly in the hills and up Griffith Park Mountain to the Observatory.
Later, with the matter undecided, I rode with Fayyad from Gaza back to Ramallah, in the West Bank, where the Palestinian Authority is headquartered.
My 11-year-old son and I ride bikes to and from his school every day.
