What Are Some Good Mom Doujinshi

ovvistolamadonna

ma non credo che lei abbia visto me. forse mi aspettava nella valle rossa, avevo detto che sarei passato da lì, poi miha chiamato isa dandomi indicazioni come solo lei non sa fare... è come seguire un navigatore che dà i comandi in ordine casuale, e non si sa cosa viene prima e cosa viene dopo. per fortuna le salite si riconoscono dalla fatica, e le discese dalla paura. la salita del santuario di altino è dura, durissima. e per giunta con un asfalto pessimo. buche e ghiaia a non finire. talmente ripida che a trecento metri dal santuario, a forza di tirare sul manubrio per far andare giù i pedali, la bici impennava. non mi era mai successo. scendo dall'altra parte ma mi perdo il lago di endine, forse è troppo piccolo o forse ho sbagliato strada. vado verso bergamo, chiamo per avere indicazioni e finalmente trovo tommy che mi chiama dalla finestra. senza di lui sarei tranquillamente andato oltre cercando il bosco che avevo alle spalle. mi ficcano barrette nelle tasche, cercano di convincermi a mangiare un piatto di pasta, se l'avessi accettato mi avrebbero legato e portato in montagna con loro, e magari sarebbe stata anche una buona idea.
invece riparto, torno a nembro, fatico a trovare la salita per selvino ma alla fine ce la faccio. per fortuna è molto più dolce dell'altra, salgo sciolto col mio passo, che è molto più lento di quello degli altri ciclisti (tranne quelli con la maunteinbaic, che si portano dietro peso e gomma inutile sull'asfalto, ma va di moda...).
a selvino chiedo a un signore da dove si scende per gazzaniga, lui mi dice eh no, prima deve salire! ma come... io credevo... tutta questa fatica... affronto l'erta finale come fantozzi, la guardo e non ne ho voglia, preso dalla voglia di girare la bici e rifare la strada in discesa mi volto, ma dietro di me c'è un altro ciclista. non si rinuncia davanti a un collega. stringo i denti e altro, e arrivo all'osservatorio. è un posto splendido: la strada è stretta e rovinata, ma all'ombra del bosco oltre i mille metri, con valli a strapiombo sulla destra. riesco a fare fatica anche in discesa, così ripida e con l'asfalto rovinato, ma ne vale la pena.

n embro-altino-trescore-nembro-selvino-gazzaniga-nembro
80 km
4h 06 '

average 19.51 km / h 56.23 km / h max
1,657 m altitude
154 bpm average

Kidney Stone Stuck In Your Bladder

Mostar-Sarajevo-Mostar makarska


I have no illusions on either downhill or on the cool: Mostar is only 50m altitude, and the sea is 50 km. armed with patience birth after a hearty breakfast, here are the brioche with sour cherry jam (Visnja), which are a delight, but you have to go to the baker to get it because the bar just make the coffee.
after the valley of the Neretva Mostar slips back into a groove, though larger than those of yesterday, and the wind is heard but does not bother me, it's as if he had changed and smell attracts me. finally vedo i primi gabbiani, il mare si avvicina... pedalo allegramene fino a opuzen, un paesino di pescatori nel largo estuario della neretva. mentre entro in paese vedo che sto compiendo il millesimo chilometro, esattamente nel momento in cui sono nel punto più a sud di tutto il viaggio. il vento che fino ad ora ho avuto contro mi aiuterà nella risalita verso spalato? mi fermo a mangiare a ploce, so che sono solo a metà tappa e anche se sono sul mare non è ancora finita. la costa qui è molto alta anche se poco frastagliata, e la strada non è tutta in riva al mare come la cartina farebbe pensare. a solo 100 m dalla costa ci sono montagne che passano i 1000 metri! il bello della dalmazia è questo, che ha spiagge bianchissime e acque tranquille protette dalle isole. per questo i boschi scendono fino a un paio di metri dall'acqua, il verde si rispecchia nell'acqua. sono cambiati i profumi, invece degli abeti sento il ginepro e la resina dei pini, invece dei piccioni i gabbiani. non sono ancora a spalato ma sono già felice di essere sul mare, è già un traguardo raggiunto.
la partenza da trieste sembra lontanissima, eppure sono solo due settimane. il cambio del tempo la fa sembrare ancora più lontana. per dare un'idea, avevo azzerato l'altimetro sul molo a trieste, ora che sono di nuovo sul mare dovrebbe segnare 0 ma dice che sono 361 metri sotto il livello del mare. di tanto è salita la pressione. non so cosa significhi, ma mi diverte.
decido di lasciare la statale ogni volta che c'è un paesino in basso sulla costa, per vederli (dopotutto sono anche un turista) e per stare più in basso possibile. purtroppo mi frego da solo: a Igrane non trovo la strada per tonare sulla statale, che nel frattempo si è alzata di 150 metri. per recuperarla devo scalare una rampa durissima, mi devo fermare più volte a riprendere fiato e ogni volta ripartire è una sofferenza. quando arrivo alla statale sono così esausto che per dare precedenza a una macchina in arrivo mi sbilancio, metto giù un piede ma il bagaglio tira giù la bici di lato, cerco di tenerla in piedi e mi slogo un dito. che idiota. la lezione del giorno è che se tu sei in piedi e la bici vuole cadere, lasciala cadere. tanto di graffi ne ha già in abbondanza.
makarska is small enough to be nice and big enough to find what you want to do, I'll stay here a few days, I will go only to split to catch the ferry.

mostar-makarska
127 km
6h 4 '
20.93 km / h average 871 m altitude

138 bpm average

Canadian Driver License Generator

map it all seems simple and beautiful, Sarajevo is a city on the river stretched miljiacka , just follow it south to take the road to Mostar. and the surprise on the way out from the city: the road becomes a freeway, complete with a sign forbidding. two lanes with no hard shoulder. I go back, try an alternative, but I can not find anything. by a request from a gas station, which is straddling the street of small houses and the highway. I confirm that the only way is to go through the highway, but that ends after a couple of miles. I see that highway entering the gas station there is no ban, and I decide that it is not a highway, and if someone stops me at least I have something to appeal. I walk five miles of pure madness in motor speed, in apnea. Fortunately, there is little traffic. time seems lenient, there are clouds that threaten rain but shelter from the sun. the first fifty miles are nice, so I expect a pass at 1000m, but Sarajevo is already quite high, so the climb is also nice, to parte gli ultimi due chilometri, dove la strada si allarga ed è esposta al sole. in cima c'è una sorgente, io ho fatto buona scorta di acqua e non mi fido, anche se c'è un bosniaco che è salito con la famiglia e i bottiglioni a prendere l'acqua di sorgente, e dice che è buona. quando scopre che sono italiano vuole chiacchierare, dice che ha un fratello a senigallia, parla un po' di italiano. ci metto un po' a capire che siamo stati a konjic a mangiare cevapi vuol dire stiamo andando, e che mi sta invitando a pranzo. dice che sono ancora venti chilometri, e mi conferma che è tutta discesa. dopo il ponte a destra, dice. la cosa mi diverte, e accetto volentieri di mangiare e chiacchierare con uno del posto.
la discesa è exciting. will be that between the UN, NATO and the European community unesco Bosnia is all rebuilt, but the roads are the most beautiful I've found since I left, the pavement is perfect and are pretty broad. also the machinery is much more modern in serbia, I smoked less and I get the impression that motorists are also more educated and more I pass away. but maybe it's just an impression that I have. the mantra of the day is that the civilization of a people can be seen from as respects cyclists. however, the cartel after the passage marks a 9% drop, I'll jump without slowing, with a limit of 40 go to 65, no machine behind me and luckily did not encounter even before, I l'imbarazzo di doverle sorpassare. forse arrivo a konjic troppo presto e il tipo non mi aspettava ancora, fatto sta che faccio quattro giri del paese (insignificante, ma con un bel ponte trecentesco sulla neretva) e non lo trovo. fuori da un locale che fa cevapi vedo una macchina che potrebbe essere la sua, mi fermo a mangiare ma non si fa vivo. caro amico bosniaco, se mai leggerai queste righe sappi che io c'ero!
dopo konjic passo un colle e sono sulla discesa della neretva, che mi porta fino a mostar. la parte alte della valle è spettacolare. il paesaggio cambia completamente, sembra di essere sulle dolomiti: una stretta gola circondata da vette rocciose verticali, sono a solo 200 m di altitudine ma ci sono cartelli che indicano le piste da sci. purtroppo la strada spiana dopo una ventina di chilometri, ci si aggiunge il vento contro e nonostante la bellezza del paesaggio l'arrivo a mostar è una tortura di caldo. nonostante abbia acqua a sufficienza mi fermo tre volte in tre baretti a prendere una limonata. da queste parti si usa quella vera, limone acqua ghiaccio zucchero, ed è buonissima.

sarajevo-mostar
141 km
6h 27'
21,89 kmh medi
64 kmh max
803m dislivello
141 bpm medi

Materials Needed To Make A Model Theatre

Novi Sad, Belgrade-Sarajevo-Osijek-Novi Sad

sono giorni senza bici, quelli che si passano con gli amici, e la figlia degli amici e gli amici degli amici. dovevano essere quattro a novi sad e una scappata a belgrado, invece un cambio di programma improvviso, di ones that make you make things more interesting but that you can not rejoice, because they are caused by bad news.
but first things first: Novi Sad is a beautiful city, with a small center (two way) nice, too full of coffee which is only possible go drink coffee with milk or beer, but you can not eat. prime time to make ends talk to Serbs returning from Italy, Prendes around the languages \u200b\u200band do rounds of beer and cevapi. sociable, the Serbs. Who says we 'take a beer "the offers to all. Unfortunately I understand or I am being told too late, and too visitor and lose the opportunity. but the company is nice. The same scene is repeated in Belgrade, a local fantastico pieno di elegante paccottiglia, di quella che i romeni portano a vendere sulle statali del veneto con i pullman, ma alcune cose sono pregevoli, e loro nemmeno lo sanno. vecchi dagherrotipi, macchine per scrivere antiche, vecchie insegne di stazioni. un pavimento fatto di travi senza impiantito. questo è il wonder bar di belgrado, quello che non troverete su nessuna guida.
a belgrado ci arrivo in bus, perché la notizia della morte del collega di ashen ci prende impreparati, perché fa troppo caldo per fare cento chilometri di spietata campagna piattissima e deserta. nessuno si stupisce che io porti la bicicletta sul bus. paga come un normale bagaglio, 50 centesimi.
il giorno dopo mi affido a naden (il nome è di fantasia, non I managed to learn it), I scarrozza for the ups and downs of old Belgrade, for the new cycle of Belgrade, Zemun on the hill where you can see the whole city. rite chat with the bartender between loving Italian who arrived by bicycle, and again for ciganlia ada, the lake made from a branch of the Sava, with filtered water, beaches, bars and bike path, finishing at lunch in a restaurant River. a memorable day.
then I take the bike. or at least I try, I start early Temento the heat, coming in a hurry to Obrenovac pulled by a man who does not realize that I'm behind and goes to thirty per hour, when it stops to turn back was amazed to see that c ' I was that I was behind with the bags and everything. Obrenovac to do a little break and run away, absently. too casually, only ten kilometers after I realize that I am not seeing signs with the number of my state, the first country to try the name on the paper and chill me: I am completely off track, and the shortest way is to return to Obrenovac. At that point I threw out twenty kilometers an hour, it's almost noon and I am still missing 120 km, and there are the usual 36 degrees fixed: I decide to return to Belgrade, I buy a bus ticket to Sarajevo, I start at ten evening and night journey. I am waiting approached by a Norwegian teenager, probably attracted a mature man with a beer belly and a beard ... but never mind.
border Bosnia with the policewoman is nervous, perhaps because at night time, perhaps because it must be for trade. first mishandles a English girl who had switched places and was not with the friend who had his passport, then he takes my passport and says something very worrying, judging by the tone. I know that not having stayed at the hotel I should go to the police to report my movements, I also know that I did because it would be a mess for danilo, I surprised the face of the tourist with a clear conscience and does not understand, the girl mumbles something and walks away. unfortunately I do not see anything, but the crack of dawn I show a spectacular landscape, which has sinned too sleepy to enjoy it. return, maybe in the car.
Sarajevo is a city of contradictions: women veiled their faces with makeup that walking with friends in hot pants and vest. churches built next to mosques. muezzin and rock concerts on the streets, banks and modern buildings next to the ruins partially destroyed by the war. The guide says that there are almost no more roses, in Sarajevo, but in twenty-minute walk, I see dozens of them. are the marks left on the streets of mortar shrapnel during the siege of 1992-1995

Fire Prevention Slogan 2010

mica understand why the Serbs should use the Cyrillic alphabet, which we understand so well without them. but first things first. I can finally make a decent breakfast, even a Inglese own breakfast, con uovo pancetta salsiccette (le adoro) caffé succo di frutta pane di un sacco di tipi diversi formaggio prosciutto salame. bis di succo di frutta. è il vantaggio di stare nella pensione della dependance di un hotel a 4 stelle.
parto abbastanza presto, ma fa già caldo. 30 gradi già alle nove del mattino, e niente vento. il ciclista è una bestia strana, riesce a lamentarsi di tutto: se fa freddo perché fa freddo, se fa caldo perché fa caldo, se piove perché si bagna e se non piove perché suda. se ci son le salite perché si fa fatica, e se c'è pianura perché è monotono, e quindi faticoso. i primi quaranta chilometri sono così: una strada tirata con il righello in mezzo alla pianura più piana del mondo. vado in trance al terzo chilometro, mi sveglio a vukovar. non so a quanti dice qualcosa, ma a me il nome risveglia ricordi di telegiornali che elencavano numeri di morti come numeri al lotto. 78 giorni di assedio hanno lasciato il segno, eccome. già prima di entrare in città vedo palazzi bombardati. quello che fa impressione di un palazzo bombardato è che non è un cumulo di macerie, è un palazzo reso grigio dall'abbandono, e bucato come un gruviera. magari la struttura portante regge, ma un angolo sembra mangiato via da un'enorme bocca dentata. mancano dei pezzi qua e là, grandi pezzi circolari asportati come con precisione. intorno, palazzi abitati con ancora i segni delle schegge delle granate. per terra, un buco rattoppato, surrounded by a halo of Prick. mortar, perhaps. downtown, next to crystal palace buildings (which in the past must also have been nice) bombed and abandoned. in the central square a monument with fresh flowers, I'm closer to see and I'm surprised to see that it is a bust of Tudjman, who else is considered a war criminal almost like Milosevic. the edge of town, what looks like a huge monument to the siege: the gigantic column of water tank, high and mighty, riddled with bullets that go from side to side. you see the inside of the tank, the fifth column that are supporting Mr. Smangle by a huge monster, it seems impossible that he is still standing. I can think of that it is perfectly logical: if you besiege a city the first thing you do is remove the water. if there is a tank, the bomb. I refrain from photography to shame. After Vukovar
find another cicloviaggiatore, the first of this trip. we stop for a chat in the middle of nowhere, is a Japanese who is from Vienna and went to Belgrade. is dressed in an eccentric way, with the sunglasses worn on the contrary, eyeglass lenses and raised at that point are under the eyes. gives me his business card, I write my mail. seeks to iLok, missing a few kilometers. seems surprised when I tell him that tonight I will be in Novi Sad. I wonder if I ever hear anymore.
the Serbian border police officer greets me a beautiful smile and all martial perfect mouth, hello, welcome, stamp, thank you, goodbye.
decide to go south of the Danube, the map looks like a river. instead is a kind of plateau, occasionally swooping to pass a stream and then riarrampicarmi other side. descents and ascents diligently reported, all of 8%. the curse. in this heat arriving in Novi Sad exhausted.
luckily I know I'll spend the night and the next day with friends, just go see them all, I embrace them even if I feel sweaty and dirty, welcome me with a pizza and a shower. I have never felt better.

Osijek-Novi Sad
126.31 km
5h 51 '
21 km / h average 660 m altitude

141 bpm average

How Can I Clear My Babies Flem

Virovitica Zagreb-Virovitica-Osijek

I have never rode a step flatter than this. the highest and longest climb was a bridge over the railway. I started with the altimeter to 110, marks the arrival 113. probably a bit 'dropped the pressure ...
delivery later than expected because I want to have breakfast. Yesterday evening I saw a coffee with a semblance of a pastry counter, and let me fool you. palacinke ask, but do not do (even if there is a parchment on display from our sample). I take a tiramisu, but I leave half the mascarpone knows why ricotta, and I fear for my gut. I have not yet figured out how to do it here, to order a black coffee. not an espresso, American coffee as they do in the world, black. without milk. mljeko kava say it, and bring me a coffee stained warm. I had sent back to Zagreb this morning I do not want and drink it, because it is genuinely good.
after only seven kilometers (thankfully, the air was still cool), here it is: the first hole of the trip. I go back two hundred meters to take advantage of a convenient bus shelter with benches and shade, and dismounted. I find the hole, I can not find the cause. the lesson learned today is that it is better to keep the box of tissues detergents in one of the pockets of the bags, or after repairing the holes must ravanare hands dirty clothes washed in the middle of the night before, and it is beautiful.
the wind is against me for the entire stage. when it is not, is absent. in any case did not help me for a meter.

being Sunday, I do not rely on restaurants to open there is a lidl Virovitica, and I decide to buy enough food for lunch, afternoon snack and dinner. it's hot, very hot. I make out the two bottles, the bottle of apple juice bought at Lidl, a Coke and a huge ice cream found on the road to Donji miholiac, very good. known in these parts as they are all much more polite than by parts of Zagreb: people greet me on the street (probably talking about me for weeks, only to have seen me go), motorists do not make me the hair shops appreciate my efforts to speak Croatian (to, ne, dobrdàn, Hvala , dovidjenja) and I are meeting with gestures, or inglesco.
I decided to change course, to pass near the Drava. I was hoping to see her, instead you just guessing, funny how the great rivers have their own smell. I sense that that line of trees that runs through my left and Hungary. Valpovo step, it seems insignificant, like all villages in the area, but has a beautiful castle in the middle, but interesting Malten: surrounded by a moat, then walls, and the walls were used as a basis for a castle and a church. all have something grotesque and fascinating. in front of the castle-like part is a garden, all in all decent apart from the mosquitoes. it's hot, very hot. much water goes Coppino paid on or about the gloves, I found that it is a great way to freshen up wasting very little: take the gloves wet with a few drops of water. it is so hot that when I arrive I realize that the cheese was melted by lunch it is literally ...
last night on television gave perfume: Very bad movie from a bad book. the smell of the day is that of the carcasses of cats along the way.

Virovitica-Osijek
124.58 km
5h 44'
21,67 km/h medi
223 m dislivello
140 bpm medi (il caldo e il vento contro...)

How Can I Make My Hair Look Messy

voglio vivere così, col sole in fronte
finalmente il sole! ormai non ci speravo quasi più.
parto presto senza aver deciso con certezza la destinazione: vorrei arrivare a virovitica, ma non escludo di fermarmi a djurdjevac se il tempo, le gambe, il vento, le salite, la fame, gli alberghi, la voglia.
rientrando in ostello dalla colazione incontro il coreano conosciuto ieri sera che esce per andare al colloquio di lavoro per cui è venuto a zagabria. non sono riuscito a decifrare che tipo di colloquio sia, ma è nervosissimo. ieri sera ha passato an hour to rebuild the trick, he smeared the face of a pharmacy has been in bed with a kind of beauty mask. This morning he woke up at five and a half to go out at eight, because he had to repeat the operation. when the bathroom was occupied (by me) was sitting on the floor in the hallway, surrounded by a lot of bottles, and in front of a mirror smeared his face with care. when I met him dressed and polished one was chiederrmi how he was. of course I told him that was a marvel, though it was ridiculous and had a stain on the lapel of his black jacket (just a Korean or English can go to a job interview in a white shirt and black suit). We took a lot to me know that the tie he wore was Italian. I refrained from telling him that his tie was invented in Croatia.
about the meetings in the hostel in Zagreb, on the three English girls (who later turned out to be Canadian, Quebec City) do not say anything, tickled the imagination of the reader.
exit from Zagreb as bad as the entry, plus a paved road badly, in fact cement slab, hateful, with joints every twenty feet (I'm going to count the revolutions of the pedal and to calculate the evolution of relationship, to know). I except for a few miles riding on something between an emergency lane and a drain, which is always concrete, but has the advantage of being more regular, and more to keep me away from trucks. the pain lasts for about twenty miles, up to Dugo Selo. then magically all get better: smooth road, wide streets and little traffic. Unfortunately, I have a weak but steady headwind, which wearies me much more than I had reckoned. Bjelovar
to find the first signs of war: bombed a site outside the city, whose ruins, together with the charred stumps of trees around him, have been converted into a monument. the sign reads "spomen produčje barutana, Bjelovar 1991." I have to look up the meaning.
feared that the high peaks, including Bjelovar and Đurđevac, are nothing more than soft hills planted with wheat and corn. Before addressing Find a restaurant, but I find one, where they are rehearsing dell'orchestrina for a dinner of ceremony, but I say they can not even make me a sandwich because they have the power, and can not slice the ham. I smile as if I did not think badly of them, and go on.
go into a bar. Slovenia and Croatia, the bar serves coffee and beer. After a few cocktails. but ask him a toast, croissants, sandwiches, potato chips, and look at you amazed with the air of one who thinks that only an idiot would ask for a sandwich in a bar. goes on.
decided that if I find something to eat, I stop to Đurđevac. right just before the country, I see a restaurant. I try, without much conviction, and yet despite and the desert is open! I order a shnijtzel, if only because it is the only thing I know the meaning rule (which usually do not follow, I order things because I like the name, so I eat everything) and I'll get a roulade of veal and pork literally drowned in a sauce of mushrooms. good and heavy, just what it takes me. refreshed, I decide to go because now they are in the valley of the Drava river, the wind would be behind us and instead cease altogether, better than nothing.
Virovitica (pronounced virovitiza) is anything with a name from the city. I entered a written sobe, which means the rooms. three stars. I get close, it seems the entry of a garage, and closed with a strong odor urine, and a sign with a number to call. I try another, but can not find anything. I do not want to go back 15 km to the hotel **** mozart. name. I say the only word I know: sobe. in two minutes a guy comes to me that opens, do not speak Croatian, but I want more than just a room. looks clean and tidy, the room is small but it should be fine. for 200 kn (24 €) is a luxury. pay, there is also the self-service breakfast with Nescafé for tomorrow. the guy makes me compliments on how to speak Croatian. it takes no time to be in a good mood.

Zagreb-Virovitica
148.22 km
6h 49 '21.70 km / h average

600 m altitude
142 bpm average

Broken Front Tooth Cost

Novo Mesto-Zagreb-Ljubljana



we're not made of sugar
as I was saying? the bad the rain is that it rains. low sky, dark, rain from the start and stop for more than half. the beginning is a latch that would also be leisurely if dry. then absolutely flat, are in the valley of the Sava, Drava you throw in that you throw into the Danube. into practice tomorrow with a few hills, the slopes are finite up to Belgrade.
a step up in the woods, the woods here are beautiful. animals feel to pass cars on the road and if they stay away, but when passing a bicycle does not scare them, and remain close to the edge of the road until the last minute. after the deer the other day, I see a hawk up close, or an eagle, I do not know I do not mean. fattosta wonder that decides not to want to rise above the trees, and is more convenient to fly along the road through the woods, do at least two hundred yards ahead of me flying a few meters from the road. wingspan huge, occupying almost an entire lane. bottom of the hill I stop to put on, I do not mind getting wet but I'm afraid of the cold. are now well prepared for the ups and downs with the rain cape, sleeveless shut down and open up, not drenched in sweat does not freeze up and downhill.
after the border between Croatia and Slovenia, the contrast is striking: the road is old and shabby, full of potholes and patches that do nothing but worsen the situation. motorists Croatia, and Slovenia were completely right, they get into the race to pass me closer. win those with SUVs, of course. I can not complain too much after all, is exactly what I am used to in Italy (and this is why I do not travel in Italy).
zagreb is not as bad as I have said or as the guide suggests: the center is beautiful, lively and picturesque with old pedestrian streets that climb into the hills. More ... well enough not to go.

Novo Mesto-Zagreb
86.96 km
4h 51 '
19.62 km / h average
381 m altitude
130 bpm average

2010 Backpack Echo Blower

or the baptism of dirt
beautiful stage. labor under the threat of rain, thunderstorms expected damage. the beauty of the time, compared to rain, is that they are small and fast moving, so it may seem to play hide and seek for a half day, and do not know if they come out completely dry or soggy. in any case, I prepare for the deluge. The important thing is to start with the dry: wet to get on it already is much more unpleasant than getting wet while you are riding is already overheated.
departure from Ljubljana is facilitated by a path that is little more than a line drawn on sidewalks, but at least there is (which is rare in Italy to say).
few kilometers leave the state, and I venture down a side street, fortunately the roads here are all reported very good, and I do not run the risk of having doubts about the path. the road goes as planned, but all of a sudden, surprise: clay. not bad, like dirt, smooth smooth and slightly uphill, but still is dirt. I am very happy I changed the tires, smooth running with those I had to go back. Instead I go on to seven kilometers thick in the woods, does not pass a car, it's raining and the dirt is wet, but I am calm. no smell of mushrooms, over the trees are beeches and larches, under There are raspberries and ferns. top of the hill at 490 meters, and the descent is not as beautiful as the climb, the road is steep and bumpy and rocky outcrops. Luckily I do not take too much speed and concentrate on avoiding the larger stones, the loose gravel and potholes, especially those filled with water: one can not know how deep, and there may be hidden inside the monster mangiagomme, not leaves no escape.
added to the asphalt just in time to take a good wash, I sheltered under the canopy of a farmer, whose dog barks twice and then I calmed down.
the route selection is judicious from there on, it's all down the river Krka in Novo Mesto up. I stop to Žužemberk to see the castle, I'm lucky: a group of Austrians is coming, and the guard gives me two minutes before closing, it is nice and we chat. whenever they feel they are Italian, the answer is always the same: ah, italijani, milenovecientoquaranta three, Kure, Fascists, boom! boom! yes, it's true. There was the eighth of September, a few years ago. then maybe some other things have happened, eh. Oh well.
Novo mesto is a disappointment: nothing to a town founded by the Austro-Hungarian Empire which was to make a mark not to be forgotten, he tried to give his name to the city, but has always remained the new city, Novo mesto. is in a fantastic location, the center of a deep bend of the river, like Ljubljana. but it is Ljubljana. is anonymous, and sad.

Ljubljana-Novo mesto
76.91 km
3h 49 '
20.10 km / h average
484m altitude
141 bpm average

Nfl Football Player In A Jockstrap

Enter Inception

"Although the Phoenix is \u200b\u200ba mythical creature born of humanity naive and superstitious, is not subject only wrong but quite rough and superficial to want to identify which antiquated vestige of crude and uneducated men. "

E 'on a Thursday afternoon and in the classrooms of the few university students and professors left gasping and oppressed by the heat from the classic post-prandial torpor in the afternoon.
You can not say the same classroom 8E. The dozens of Students who occupies it was first placed on the desks of the file and listen with great attention a young professor, jacket and jeans, known for his sure-footed and elegant, with students and colleagues renowned for its ability to trace the history for what it is the romantic, a gripping story full of twists and reversals in the face.
Too bad, today betrays an anxiety to do something in his behind, his voice warm and usually modulated vibrates undecided tired and off at the last syllable.

"Worshipped by the Egyptians believed that the original of Arabia, for their strange and mysterious land, the Phoenix comes in the illustrations that portray her as volatile di sgargiante piumaggio e insolite abitudini, ascoltate a tal proposito cosa si legge qui nelle Metamorfosi di Ovidio, elegiaco romano vissuto a cavallo del I secolo avanti Cristo:

“ma vi è un unico uccello, che si rinnova e da sé si rigenera: gli Assiri lo chiamano Fenice; non di frumento né di erbe, bensì vive di lagrime di incenso e di stille di amomo. Quand'esso ha compiuto cinque secoli di vita, con le unghie e con il puro rostro si costruisce un nido fra i rami di un leccio o nella sommità di una flessibile palma. E non appena qui vi ha cosparso spighe di delicato nardo e trito cinnamomo e fulva mirra, sopra vi si adagia e fra gli aromi conclude il suo tempo."
Ora, accostando questa descrizione alle altre delle quali siamo in possesso, scritte da diversi autori nel corso di epoche non troppo distanti tra loro, giungiamo alla parte più significativa della sua vita, la morte; e non si tratta si un banale gioco di parole: l'Araba Fenice, al termine dei 500 anni di cui consta la sua esistenza, arde in un rogo dalle cui ceneri rinasce una nuova fenice in un ciclo perpetuo.
Bene, non vi dirò che questa leggenda corrisponde alla realtà, posso soltanto constatare con voi che essa esiste ancora ed è arrivata a noi attraversando terra, mare e tempo:
raffigurazioni dell'Araba Fenice si trovano oggi ovunque, in Europa, nel Nord Africa, in Oriente, nelle chiese e all'interno di catacombe della cristianità. In the pyramids, stamped on the coins of the Emperor Hadrian. His paintings are in Gothic buildings, if they sing the deeds and even involvement in the English poems until in 1600 it became the emblem of the Rosicrucians, a secret association forerunner of French Freemasonry.
E 'clear then that the legend has in a sense given way to reality, the Phoenix is \u200b\u200btruly immortal in his own way and in fact still exists. But

But, unless you want to believe the legend and say as a fact its existence-not-ever, we must ask what this emblem was immortalized in the definition simple and yet profound in terms of meaning .
said at the beginning, we are talking about a symbol that represents this as an aspiration, an object of faith and reflection for all people regardless of era in which they live: rising from its ashes, back together from scratch which has slipped again, and float in the air , adorned with bright colors and energetic image is motivating, an ambition that accompanies any way ennobling human.

Here this is the Phoenix, the design of an idea, hope to raise our status as desperate the situation in which to pay, in essence it represents something that no man can do without , especially now that two dangerous extremes, shame and glory, confuse us in equal measure ... er sorry, for now we conclude here. Pages 172 to 179 of the textbook. "

Silence. Gazes that follow teacher who reconciles the chair visibly upset. Then the trill of the bell that marks the end of lessons, some discreet hint of welcome by the students after what remains is the empty classroom teacher.
thoughtfully Examined the phone screen, his fingers sliding on keyboard composing a short text message: 'It is true, most of us is born and dies only once. But if you decide to rebel against your mistakes, if you think you aspire to something better, if you really want to be reborn, then you need to be courageous and essere disposto a morire. Tutte le volte che sarà necessario." Invio .

Taking Entocort With Motrin

Novo Mesto Postojna-Ljubljana-Postojna

decide that the stage is quite short and quite down to take it easy, and I go to see the caves. after all, it makes no sense to stay in a place where there is no other, and do not see the only thing there is to see. effects are impressive, but rendered ridiculous by the train and the concrete poured on the forests of stalagmites to make us walk the tourists. otherwise let them breathe in a aseptic environment. pollute him with the fat their calcareous concretions old hands of hundreds of millions of years. masta swipe a finger to turn back years of history, fifty per millimeter, the guide says.
look at the human fish, pet absurd whose story reminds me of Chirocefalo: blind, with a pair of lungs fossils and funny external gills, with the body of the snake, the tail of a fish and lizard legs, like a pale pink man. eat once every five years, poor thing. that one time and eat worms.
the way up to Logatec is still up and down, against the wind, to make hide and seek with the sinkholes. but the fresh air and the smell of resin and pine forests of raspberry make it enjoyable. then finally a descent. long larga, liscia, una picchiata a sessanta all'ora fregandomene dei pochi camion, perché c'è spazio per tutti.
poi a vrhnika (bel nome, eh) succede l'incredibile. sto pedalando sulla ciclabile accanto alla statale, a poche decine di metri c'è l'autostrada, in mezzo capannoni industriale da sobborgo. insomma, situazione da arrivo imminente della capitale, quando un capriolo si imbizzarrisce e mi taglia la strada! tanto vicino che freno per non andargli addosso, scivola tra un salto e l'altro sulle unghie, balza in mezzo alla strada e si infila nel giardino di una villetta, sull'altro lato della statale. mi fermo, guardo una signora ferma in macchina, anche lei ha inchiodato. ci sorridiamo, e si riparte. tutto troppo veloce anche per pensare, ma era grosso, visto saltare così, e bellissimo.
lubiana è molto bella, il centro accarezza un'ansa del fiume, sotto lo sguardo del castello. palazzi bianchi e rosa ben tenuti, centinaia di bar aperti, gente tranquilla. domani sto fermo un giro, non per riposarmi ma perché se non mi fermo nei posti che mi piacciono, quando lo faccio?

postumia-lubiana
55,70 km
2h 31'
22,12 km/h medi
329 m dislivello
139 bpm medi