Sometimes companionably close to the water’s movement, sometimes straying into hills, a plainly and can’t go wrong marked route but easy enough to improv for exploration. We ride in the balming clarity and heat alongside vineyards, through one stone church three dozen building villages, sometimes detouring through bigger towns for a beer or ice cream.
We lose count of cyclotourists making the Budapest to Prague journey, chubby rear panniers with a bar bag, sometimes mixing in with day riders on three speeds. All of us cycling without a trace of need or misery, pedesis in the carrying landscape.
Joe Cruz 