The new Ritchey Cross Breakaway had survived the international flight and an inspection by the TSA just fine, despite my worries otherwise. Having come down with a bad cold the day prior, I was determined to stick with the plan to ride with Shane up to Caron’s in Bounds Green Friday afternoon, stopping along the way to pick out Shane’s new ‘cross bike. As I followed him through the traffic, I must admit I was having a hard time remembering why I had previously enjoyed this type of riding...<< MORE >>

After a proper lie-in on Saturday and a ride back to the flat from Bounds Green, there wasn’t much of the day left. I finally ate at Story, the groovy pizza place on Dray’s Walk, that I had walked by countless times two years ago, but never ate at. Business has done well, as they had just moved next door into a space twice the size. The simple, charming décor remained the same, though: worn wood communal tables with cardboard stools, white walls, and white candles for a soft light...<< MORE >>

In spite of coming down with a nasty cold and laying low in the East End for all of Thursday, I rallied today for one grand task – a trip to Borough Market, by way of a gander around the Royal Exchange building and a short climb to the top of Christopher Wren’s Monument to the start of the 1666 fire. I even have a certificate to prove that I ascended the 311 steps required to take in a spectacular view ...<< MORE >>

You always hear about rainy England and foggy London, but today was a day that looked those stereotypes clear in the eye and gave them the proverbial middle finger. To say it was a beautiful day would be trite, but it simply was. You also often hear about the depressingly short days of winter in the far northern latitudes. The upshot of low angled sunlight is a mesmerizing glow, even at midday. I managed to make it to Trafalgar Square in time for a lunch-time free concert at St. Martin-in-the-fields ...<< MORE >>

Two years felt more like two weeks, as I made my way from airport to tube to cab to the flat, navigating with the comfort of familiarity. As I waited for Shane outside the flat building, school children sprinkled out with hovering and scarved mothers close by. The richly moist morning air and brilliant green grass revived my travel-weary eyes and lungs, if only temporarily...<< MORE >>

I’m not quite sure who Murphy was of the infamous Murphy’s Law, but I’m not particularly fond of this character right now. As witnessed by the lack of posts on this travel blog (as it has so evolved), I have not been doing much of that activity. In fact, the only time I’ve left Boulder since our East Coast trip of August, was to Moab for a wedding in October and one night in the mountains a month ago. To say that I am antsy to get out of town would be an understatement ...<< MORE >>

After such an ambitious tour the day prior, I was a bit slow going and not quite as motivated to cover as much ground. We sauntered down Canal Street, browsing all the cheap knock-offs and walked through SoHo and back to the Village ...<< MORE >>

After some much-needed sleep, we appropriately fueled up on bagels before strolling through Central Park towards the Metropolitan Museum of Art, thus fulfilling Ira’s goal to have visited the National Gallery, the Louvre, and the Met within the same year. Somehow I never managed to go to the Met despite its proximity to my childhood home, which is shameful to admit. We spent several hours there and seemed to cover only a fraction of the possibilities, including the voluminous collection of impressionists ...<< MORE >>

Riding along Route 36 in the waning hours of the day, I realized that winter and spring had given way to the dog-days of summer. While I focused on memorizing inane legal rules for the bar exam, the foothills had bleached from the hopeful pale green of spring to the burnt ochre of August. It was now just over seven months since returning from London, but in many ways I still felt as though I had just gotten back. Those seven months were filled with stress and very little of the exploration, travel or self-reflection that ...<< MORE >>

Nine of us headed for the desert for our annual spring break weekend mountain biking retreat. For several years prior, we have camped and ridden the White Rim trail in Canyonlands National Park near Moab, Utah. This year, for a change we traded tents for the Super 8 Motel and the isolation of the desert for the small town of Fruita, Colorado. Now, for those readers who are non-Coloradoans, you need to know that Moab and Fruita have a bit of a rivalry over which is the grander mountain biking hotspot ...