You should have just told me all I had to do was send out one photo of me wiffie I got more responses from that one photo then i have for any other of my stories ever. Maybe that's a sign i should quit writing all together and take up photography, have wiffie strut her stuff and I’ll be the paparazzi.
Any who, thanks to everyone who did write back as your bits of India encouragement have motivated us to keep plugging along. Contrary to the feeling of Jubilee the statement 'HOLLY SHIT' along with the one wiffie photo may have conjured up we've been feeling so jubilious. In fact we've been feeling a bit more, "AHHHH, HAHA, AHHHHH, HAHA, AHHHHH, HAHA, AHHHHH, HAHAHAHA!!"
Hello India, hello emotional Rolla coaster! Up and down the coaster goes, up and down, up-down, updown, udpown, pownud, dopunw, lalalala. Until you can't even tell what your own emotions are telling you. Am i up or am i down? Sheizer, maybe i'm dopuwn!
Arriving at 3am there's a cheerful little man waiting to bring you to your hotel free of charge, then they want you to pay 250 bucks to store your empty bicycle boxes. Cycling through the country alongside a waterway with locals harvesting rice your thinking this is rather lovely, then wiping the gritty sun block and sweat from your eyes you realize the waterway is a rubbish filled bubbling cesspool and the locals aren't harvesting the rice they are pumping insane amounts of insecticide into the very air your breathing. Then you have a chai and the chai-guy refuses to let you pay insisting it's his treat, then your run off the road by a bus, then a principle invites you to his school and 300 children put on a presentation just for you, then you realize most of the children are so poor they sleep on a dirt floor, you see a man with a growth on the side of his neck the size of his head, you eat amazing food for almost nothing, you step in shit, you pass ladies in beautiful saris, everyone stares at you, then when you smile they smile back, the dust is consuming, your riding with a pack of cheerful local cyclists, everyone smells of BO, the air is filled with incense, the city reeks of piss, your body feels strong from riding, your saddle rash is so bad you can't sit down, you feel out of place in a temple, a local smears charcoal on your forehead so you fit in, the day of riding is good, you end up in a filthy city, you sit down in your air-conditioned peaceful hotel room to write this email, a man starts jack hammering in the next room.
HOLLY SHIT!
Maybe you'll see us home tomorrow, maybe we're never coming back!!
Love Manis and Wiffie
shit, you have your wiffie pick out some grand photos to send, the computer won't let you!!
Any who, thanks to everyone who did write back as your bits of India encouragement have motivated us to keep plugging along. Contrary to the feeling of Jubilee the statement 'HOLLY SHIT' along with the one wiffie photo may have conjured up we've been feeling so jubilious. In fact we've been feeling a bit more, "AHHHH, HAHA, AHHHHH, HAHA, AHHHHH, HAHA, AHHHHH, HAHAHAHA!!"
Hello India, hello emotional Rolla coaster! Up and down the coaster goes, up and down, up-down, updown, udpown, pownud, dopunw, lalalala. Until you can't even tell what your own emotions are telling you. Am i up or am i down? Sheizer, maybe i'm dopuwn!
Arriving at 3am there's a cheerful little man waiting to bring you to your hotel free of charge, then they want you to pay 250 bucks to store your empty bicycle boxes. Cycling through the country alongside a waterway with locals harvesting rice your thinking this is rather lovely, then wiping the gritty sun block and sweat from your eyes you realize the waterway is a rubbish filled bubbling cesspool and the locals aren't harvesting the rice they are pumping insane amounts of insecticide into the very air your breathing. Then you have a chai and the chai-guy refuses to let you pay insisting it's his treat, then your run off the road by a bus, then a principle invites you to his school and 300 children put on a presentation just for you, then you realize most of the children are so poor they sleep on a dirt floor, you see a man with a growth on the side of his neck the size of his head, you eat amazing food for almost nothing, you step in shit, you pass ladies in beautiful saris, everyone stares at you, then when you smile they smile back, the dust is consuming, your riding with a pack of cheerful local cyclists, everyone smells of BO, the air is filled with incense, the city reeks of piss, your body feels strong from riding, your saddle rash is so bad you can't sit down, you feel out of place in a temple, a local smears charcoal on your forehead so you fit in, the day of riding is good, you end up in a filthy city, you sit down in your air-conditioned peaceful hotel room to write this email, a man starts jack hammering in the next room.
HOLLY SHIT!
Maybe you'll see us home tomorrow, maybe we're never coming back!!
Love Manis and Wiffie
shit, you have your wiffie pick out some grand photos to send, the computer won't let you!!
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