Well, I made it to Ross-on-Wye. It's situated right over the hill from the Shire in Middle Earth. On my first day here we drank some cider in a cellar where it'd been made for 200 years, and then we stumbled home across wheat fields in a literal steeplechase, going from 500-year-old-chapel to 500-year-old-chapel, hunking our bikes over stiles, through cemetaries and a tunnel, and past the ruins of a 400-year-old castle that was a bit of a laughingstock to the locals because it fell down all on its own without the help of seige engines. Chunkolini fared the worst with bloody knuckles, knees, elbows, and nose, M23 escaped with only bloody knees, and I (having gone easy on the booze simply because it was my first time and I wanted to gauge things a bit before embarrassing myself) didn't bleed at all but did wreck into a nettle bush. Fortunately M23 was able to find and pick the antidote which I crushed and rubbed on my welts and was cured.

The first two days were just spent talking with M23 and Chunkolini. Old friends catching up since the last time we never met. The topics ranged from intersubjectivity to Welsh Ass to parasitology, one of many interests I find I share with Chunkolini. Everyone here seems to be into firejuggling or kitefighting or whatever their grandpa did. And folk music! M23's band the River Gypsies contains a banjo-uke AND an accordion, my two favorite instruments!

Cider is water here. Heck, in the Rat Race, it was the only source of hydration. I'm really not used to being drunk all day, so I think that now that the weekend's over, I'll cut back a bit.

We went out to the orchard to camp in anticipation of the Rat Race. M23 shot us some rabbits and I was shown how to skin and dress them. I started meeting the local Rat Patrol, each one of whom is a character unto themselves. Because they have to come from all over the country to have someone to ride with, the gang is much more dense, if that makes any sense.

Some advance photos: