Tovio's Hitchhiking Misadventure

Thou shouldst not attempt hitchhiking from Metz, France. I slept two nights there. One in a glade of wood on the shoulder of the Autoroute. The other under a bridge next to a pizza villa. I ate forest fare and stale bread and asked hitching advice from the police who spake english naught.

When I didst finally arrive at Le Tanneries in Dijon and I took off my jacket, I didst discover a cockroach I had crushed in my sleep the night before.

My first ride, from Liége to Luxembourg was with a classical violinist who practices her instrument for 8 hours a day. She says that her conductor will tell her if her 3rd harmonic is weak.

My ride from Luxembourg to Metz was with a German family who lives 6 months of their year in Florida, the other 6 traveling. They were incorrigibly rich but supported the plight of tree dwellers.

My first ride from Metz to... Metz was with a rasta from Metz who drove me to the place I had just walked 2 hours from in search of a better place to plant my weary feet and hold a sign. Communications had apparently failed.

My second ride from Metz to... Metz was a 5 minute jaunt with a woman who decided to plant me in a more favorible position, where I didst wait for hours before an unemployed man going to an employment office in Nancy picked me up.

In Nancy, I found a ride with a father and daughter who fed me chocolate and gave my life meaning again, though we could speak for naught for failure of language.

Thank you, Metz, for teaching me how to say "bitch" in French from the teenagers driving by and throwing trash at me. And, thank you Metz for reminding me that life is good because I got away.

Liège-ure

Dearest readers, the absence of journal entries may be attributed to a great many things, things great and many indeed which will scarcely be writ over in this hallowed blog. However, pray hear my tale of woe and redemption in the fair city of Liège, or is it Liége. I never can recall.

The Calliope of the Future travelled for some time amidst a family of somewhat filthy Velocipedists until I, Tovio by name, accordionographer by trade, didst feel a pinch, nay a searing burning pain in such a joint commonly referred to as a knee. A friendly Englishman was apt to do me the favor of pulling me by cord some 5000 cubits before I was in dire need of walking. Oh tall bike, why hast though forsaken me with tendonitis??

After a 30 kilometer walk (near 30000 cubits, if thou canst imagine) I found myself in the Chauve Souris, a delightful house upon a hill in the fair, dare I use this word again...Citadel of Lièége, Belgium. Kayne continued on the with the Velocipedists from here and I stayed to recuperate and build an herb spiral in the garden.

I have played too much Starcraft, as that is the pasttime of fair Lisa and Jerome. I have eaten much bread and slept oft.

I expected to rest only a matter of days before returning to the 123 Rue Royale in Brussels to help Reginald with his political party entitled Velorution (there is an accent in there somewhere, but as we all know, truly gentile personnages know inherently the accents of words without the need for an errant apostraphe). But somehow I have overstayed not my welcome but my schedule and I must now by foot traverse the path to Dijon to meet again withst Kayne and finally rescue my beloved from the cruel grasp of the great Inquisitor De Gaulle, who byst his very strange winged contraptions hast captured dear Sarah.

Fare thee well readers of ramblings, shall we again traverseth the fair fields together upon steeds of pedalled metal, after my fucking knees heal.