A bad day

l was looking forward (not) to day four of our cycle trip along the Rhine - 60kms and a feisty headwind.  We are leaving Koblenz to ride to Bad Godesberg. 

 

In Koblenz

Koblenz is lovely.  Sitting at the confluence of the Mosel and the Rhine it has lots of walking and cycling paths through parks and along the water. The old town is charming and beautiful.

 

Koblenz

 

I start the day well, genteelly falling off my bike as I put my foot down to the kerb, but miss.  Ankle, knee, thigh, hip - bruises will ensue.  The day only gets better when I inadvertently brush against stinging nettle and my leg suffers death by 1,000 cuts - or stings in this case.

 

After 40 ass burning kms we stop for the requisite beer and Germany sausage for lunch: Currywurst in this instance.  It turns out currywurst is not, as we expect, a spicy curry sausage but a regular pork sausage drenched in tomato sauce and sprinkled with the merest hint of curry powder.  Huh?  Actually this turns out to be the highlight of my day.  

 

The fries were really good - currywurst, not so much

We get to our accommodation 20 kms further on, after a series of strong discussions about directions adds another five kilometres to an already too long day.  My high moral ground (I was right about the directions, but overruled by the h-g) was immediately cut from under me as I open my saddlebag and realise I've left my bag -with passports, phone, credit cards, and several hundred Euro in cash - at the restaurant.  Do we remember the name of the place?  Most certainly not, we only remember the currywurst, against our will. 

 

What luck, in an historic first, I kept the receipt for the sausage fest so we can call the restaurant.  Yes, they have my bag.  Cue €55 taxi to restaurant and back to collect said bag, and €10 thank you to lovely waitress.  

 

Could the day get any better?  Only with alcohol.

 

 

Baseball. Not as boring as cricket

 

I've now had the quintessential American experience: I've been to a baseball game at Yankee stadium.  Woohoo!

 

We arrive at Yankee Stadium!

A native New Yorker friend took us to the game.  Bill knows everything there is to know about baseball, but has a healthy cynicism when it comes to the "hokey-ness" of the overall experience. He was the perfect guide.

 

It's the game crowd and the going-home-from-work crowd on the number  4 train uptown.  It takes about an hour and as we finally spill out at 161st street, the legions of cops heavily armed with military style assault rifles make me suddenly think: aaargghhh 40,000 people in a stadium - perfect terrorist target.  Yikes!

 

 

Inside Yankee Stadium

 

Who's on first?

 

But it's not our night to die for either terrorism or American sports.  

 

And what's more, we have fun,  although the cheese could not be laid on any thicker.  Stand and sing the national anthem, hand over heart, before play commences.  At the top of the 7th inning we recognise and applaud tonight's chosen one - not a sports hero, a combat veteran.  Yes, two tours in the Middle East  and we thank you for your service.  All stand and sing God Bless America, hand on heart again. It strikes me that Vietnam vets must be sooooo pissed off at the glory and gratitude bestowed on current servicemen and women after the way they've been treated.

 

Tonight's American hero

The game recommences with a rousing chorus of Take Me Out to The Ballgame, a song that's been on my mind all day - even though I don't know the words.   All the while we eat Nathan's famous hot dogs with mustard and ketchup, drink appallingly bad American beer, have a round of Nathan's fried chicken, drink more beer and lap up the atmosphere.  

 

 

Hot dogs, French fries and chicken

 

Hundreds of people, kids and adults alike, are sporting catcher's mitts, believing they'll be the one lucky enough to catch a fly ball or boundary breaking strike.  Anyway, there are balls to spare.  As soon as a ball touches the ground it is replaced.  Doesn't matter if it was dropped, hit, or used for practice.  Into the crowd it goes and a brand spanking new ball takes its place. The umpire, crouching behind the catcher, has an endless supply in his pouch - it's like Santa dispensing gifts from his sack.

 

The Yankees beat the Red Sox eight runs to zero so it's a good night for New Yorkers. The crush on the subway home is worse, if that's possible, than the way there.  But it's a good natured crowd - after all, we're winners!  Thank God it was only three or so hours, not five days

 

Batter up