Today: 75.8 miles - Avg Speed 12.8MPH – Top Speed 33.4MPH
Total: 1,423.7 Miles

It was a rough night in the tent. I was up sweating most of the evening and not for any of the good reasons, well, not for most of them anyway. It was terribly humid and then at 12:30am the predicted storm began in earnest and it continued for three hours straight, the violent skies were lighting up the ground a couple of times a minute and dogs were barking from county to county. It was as conducive to peaceful sleep as arguments in favour of homeopathy are to logic.

I was still up early this morning, though, I won’t let a few Edisonian clouds act as an obstacle in my pursuit of glory. Plus I knew I had to pedal back east for 6 miles to pick up my wallet and I didn’t want to be too delayed, but when I arrived at the supermarket, they couldn’t locate the thing.

“It must be here”, I pleaded. “I had a non-sensical exchange with your manager Tim last night”

“Hold on, hun” said the assistant as she sauntered off to the back room.

It turned out that the wallet had been collected by the local police department so I had to go all of 200 metres to the station to pick it up. I felt like I’d recently done something illegal. Officer Joe Davidson rocked up eventually, and 30 minutes later I was on my way. I made up the 6 miles back west in good time and after I’d passed the campsite I’d stayed at last night I could breathe easy. This was progress. I kept good pace, only stopping for an ice cream in the town of Mifflin. Here I was treated to the largest single dairy product I’ve ever consumed, and the photo doesn’t do it justice as a) half of it tumbled into my corollary spillage cup and b) I’m a terrible photographer. It was truly enormous, twice as large as you see in the image. it was blueberry and cheesecake, too, which are two of my favourite things excluding watching professional football (and this is absolute cack when trying to squeeze in to a cone, I’d recommend a telly or an actual ticket to the event) so I gobbled it up gleefully with absolutely zero guilt. I chatted to some locals for a bit and was delighted to see that both groups guessed I was English, I do hope I’m not subconsciously pronouncing everything with an RP twist to save embarrassment. I would hate to return home sounding all Joss Stone.

I arrived in Frederickstown at about 5pm and had a quick pizza, purely for the carbs, you understand, and there I talked with Dave the owner for a good 30 minutes or so. He was a really lovely chap, like everyone is around here and I was only too happy to converse with him. It was the first meaningful conversation I’d had for some time.

It was only two miles to the campsite, so here I am. The problem is that it’s due to storm again tonight, and when the lady in charge told me that a cabin was only $10 more than a tent space I nearly ripped her arm off (this is a metaphor for my excitement. I’ve little to no interest in procuring the limbs of my hosts). However, now I’m in the cabin and feel like I’m waiting for visitors. It is like a prison. The bed is made of wood with no mattress and all I have are my thoughts, and most of them revolve around rainbows and lego. It’s quite feasible that I may get some tattoos, an orange jump suit and start working out by morning. It’s also feasible I may just read for a bit and watch the rain tumble from the safety of my wooden enclave. We’ll see.

Today 60.27 - Avg Speed 12.2MPH - Top Speed 28.6MPH
Total: 1,347.9 Miles

Today was probably one of the shortest in mileage since the trip started. “What a lazy bum”, you may think. Perhaps you’re right, but the next nearest camp site was 30 miles away, and I wasn’t prepared to make that sacrifice. I’ve realised that I’ve been pushing a little too hard, often not getting to campsites until seven o’clock at night leaving me very little time to enjoy the evenings, so I have started to reign it in a tad. I hope this doesn’t make any of you think less of me, I’ll still aim for at least 60 a day. Promise.

There was a steep climb this morning, 1,100 foot over just 1.5 miles. Fortunately the cloud cover stopped me resembling a randy otter over the course of the ascent. Although there was some lactic acid eating away at my muscles I did feel pretty good. I guess those 1,300 miles combined with a dramatic decrease in self-intoxication are paying off.

I had lunch in the town of Medina today and it was a very pretty place, many of the small towns I visit are, they seem to almost have a naïve dreamlike quality about them. It was in Medina that I was yet again mistaken for an Australian, and yesterday someone thought I was South African, which we all know is definitely worse. The problem with todays mishap is that the lady in question had lived in England recently. Maybe it is me. Either way, can some of you please step forward and clear this up. I don’t have the nerve to record my own voice and play it back in case I sound like Kevin the Teenager.

I arrived at my campsite at approximately 5:30pm tonight, this did indeed give me plenty of time to enjoy the evening, I lazily pitched my tent, gave Betty a quick oiling and cooked some bacon for my morning bagels. It was all very civilised, that was until I went to look for my wallet. I checked each bag twice then started to panic, I then emptied each bag. Nothing. I thought then I may have left it in the supermarket so I dropped my beer (carefully) then pedalled over to the front office as fast as I could. The assistant helped me find the number for the supermarket and I called. I couldn’t even speak properly I was so flustered.

“Hi, I was wondering if I can help me, I think you may have lost your wallet in my car park”

“Calm down sir, are you the biker? If so, we have it”

Thank God, It’ll take an hour out of my day tomorrow to retrieve the damn thing, but its preferable to the alternative. Actually, the alternative is not losing it at all, but its better than not finding it at any rate.

Well, I’ll relax now knowing all is safe in downtown Wellington, OH where my wallet is being kept in a glass plinth waiting for its rightful owner. In the meantime, I’m going to retrieve that beer and watch the sunset over the lake now I can finally relax before the predicted storms arrive, I can spot some lightening over yonder as I type. Hell, I might just do 80 again tomorrow if this is what happens when I’m trying to relax.

P.S. the picture on the top left is what happens when you don't know the gopro is taking pictures.

67.2 Miles. Avg 11.6MPH. Top Speed 32.1MPH
Total 1,282.25

I wanted to be gone by 9 today, but as so often is the case I spent the morning talking with new people. This time it was TR and Sue. I still don’t know what TR is short for, but if he ever comes on this blog perhaps he’ll enlighten us. I’m even thinking of initialising my own name now for some added flair. We‘ll see how it goes. Either way, it wasn’t a morning wasted, these brief conversations are what keep me galvanised day in and day out.

It was a hot one today, and in addition to the snacks bestowed upon me by TR and Sue, good old fashioned water would be my key to survival. Now, the heat I had thought about, what I hadn’t considered were hills. In Ohio! Loads of the bloody things. As ever, when the brain isn’t prepared it can be a shock, so this combined with the heat, head winds and a faulty pedal made for a hard day rolling on the asphalt.

I bumped into another touring cyclist today, this time it was Jim Epic (Jim, for all sorts of reasons, I hope I spelt your surname correctly) and we chatted for about 20 minutes or so. Yet again, he was headed in the opposite direction, and again, I bloody liked this Alabaman aero master. It’s a strange affinity that bike tourers have with one a other, I always like to stop with them, and I always enjoy their company. Oh well, one day I’ll be able to cajole someone into a brief spin with the Lycra Cowboy, it would probably help if I stopped calling myself Lycra Cowboy. Unlikely.

The big surprise of the day was my introduction to Amish life, not in terms of conversion, of course, but there are huge communities in upstate Ohio. I have more footage on my GoPro, which was sneakily taken without any respect at all for the talent, but on my old camera I was a little more reluctant to take obvious snaps for fear of being beaten to death by a horseshoe. Stopping in the town of Mesopotamia I saw many horse and carts and Pennsylvanian Dutch families and, despite my sexualised appearance, they were very affable and courteous. They returned waves at a higher percentage than the conformist majority so that says something. I would say this though, they’re very clean folk. You know when you’re travelling past an Amish dwelling as the lawn is full of their clothes hanging out to dry. I’ve never seen anything like it. They must smell divine. I did ask if Betty could have a whiff of one of the men’s beards, but she herself declined, stating she’d rather wait until mine hung around the front wheel for uninterrupted smelling pleasure. Good things come to those who wait, my girl.

I persevered through the heat and after stopping in the very affluent town of Hudson I arrived in Peninsula after finding the campsite of where I’m the only inhabitant. Betty needed a new rear tyre fitted so even though it was a two mile ride away and 6:30pm I decided to get down to the shop and have it fixed tonight. Also, as a total coincidence and something I hadn't heard about before hand, there was an incredible pub with a selection of beers nearby that would make a recently released Irish POW salivate with joy. I decided to kill a few thousand brain cells with one stone and have a few pints whilst Betty was being primed across the road. And don't worry, it won't harm me this drinking lark, beer is full of useful carbs.


Kind Regards,
SP/LC/SPO’D*

*Delete as appropriate

74 Miles - Top Speed 32.1MPH  -Avg Speed 14.5MPH
Total 1,215 Miles 

I really am in nowheresville now. This is The Heartland.

I awoke on the beach this morning to the sight you see pictured below. I planned on enjoying the morning before setting off at about 12pm and it eventually ran smoothly. I waited until 2 hours into the journey until I ate as Mark had recommended I eat at the White Turkey in between Conneaut and Ashtabula. I didn’t want to be the guy who discarded the opinion of a man who knew his way around Lake Erie so I held my instincts back and waited until I arrived. It was like something from a movie, albeit an irritating one with squawking teens. The sun was shining, there were a lot of Bald Eagle and US Flag emblazoned attire and the best fast food I had had in a long time. Chilli Cheese Fries and A diced Turkey Burger all finished off with a root beer float and a smile from the All-American waitress. She probably hated my rusty face deep down, but I’m a sucker for small-town superficiality.

My hunger satisfied, I ploughed on to the next town of Ashtabula. Things started well, I stopped for an ice cream and had a chinwag with the delightful employee who worked there and chatted to a few patrons, I even turned out a few Lycra Cowboy business cards, too. You know, in case they want to read these very words. Do let me know if you do girls. But that was the last of the Ashtabulan fun, as when I went deeper into the city I began to notice – you guessed it – more desolation, but this time on a much larger urban scale. I was truly in the rust belt. Surrounding this area were plenty of industrial businesses, but many had closed as manufacturing moved abroad and as a result the depression had hit this area hard. Main Street looked like the set of a zombie apocalypse film. Weeds sprouting from crevasses in the pavement, storefront signs hanging from the hinges and a road in urgent need of some maintenance, believe me, you notice these things on a bicycle, the bumpy terrain has not helped my new saddle sores. (Here's a snap of the Main street I found online. It's accurate)

There was one sign of hope though, and that hope came in the form of Terry Coy. Just as I was leaving the city to move onto the bicycle greenway, I noticed a beautiful flower bed next to the train tracks and a sign that said “Ashtabulaful”. Terry was there mowing the lawn and we had a brief chat.

“Ashtabula’s dead, man” said Terry as he went onto explain how all the defunct businesses had left the city on its knees. He seemed resigned to his hometown’s decline, but at least he could work on this small corner of his city to improve it, at least aesthetically. He had also built a little fountain that some kids had damaged, but I couldn’t help feeling, as one does in these situations, that if everyone tried a little harder in their community then perhaps things wouldn’t seem so bad. It wouldn’t fix the economic problems, but pride and perspective are amazingly powerful things. I really wish Terry good luck for the future.

I pedalled on another 30 miles or so to tonight’s campground in Windsor, OH. I am basically nowhere, I travelled through farmland after farmland and I have that knowing feeling that this could be my environment for quite some time. Oh well, I’m glad I downloaded those French lessons to the phone now. That should give me something additional to get frustrated with when looking out into the ether.

74.6 Miles - Top Speed 30.2 MPH - AVG 13.2 MPH
Total: 1,141 Miles

I didn’t set an alarm last night as I was trusting the elements to awake me from my slumber. Instead I was awoken by a voice, and I definitely went to bed alone last night.

“Hey there, what’s going on, get the hell up”

Who on earth is that, I thought, well I unzipped my zipper (on the tent) to the sight of some neatly polished boots. A bloody police officer. Well, this was awkward. I gazed up at him from below like a stoned Alsatian and tried to explain what I was doing. He stared back at me and began to laugh.

“Ha, well that’s just great what you’re doing, you take your time in leavin’, there ain’t no rush here”.

Well, that was nice of him wasn’t it. I got going fairly soon afterwards anyway and began to battle my way through some fairly strong headwinds. It was a difficult morning for riding, this combined without showering made the first hour a little unpleasant, but after I stopped for breakfast in the town of Dunkirk, I was back to my best (and that is quite something). It was head down along the coast when I stopped in the town of Barcelona for some Gatorade - which is getting me through this trip, by the way - when I bumped in to another cyclist, his name was Chris from Knoxville, Tennessee and I liked him immediately, the problem was that he was travelling in the other direction. I thought I would’ve met some other cyclists on my route, by now, but that hasn’t been the case as yet, I’m not sure if they could keep up with Betty, what with her being the powerful juggernaut that she is, but it would be nice to give it a try.

When I arrived in Erie, I was waving harmlessly at passers-by like the wheeling spaz I am, when one of them corralled me. I got talking to a local resident named Lenny, and popped over to his place for a beer whilst he gave me some intel on his home city. He said he’d lived all over the US, but this was still his favourite place in the world. I like that sense of local pride that seems so prevalent over here. I like it more when the information is delivered over a cold Warsteiner on a hot day.

I ended up at Sara’s Campground tonight, happy to pay the $25 fee due to the time and the promise of a shower. When I arrived and pitched up on the sand I was invited over to dine with another family. I made my way over after running a few errands and had another great time around the campfire with Mark, Ben, Linda, Caitlin, Ingrid, Werner…(who did I miss out?) and I was yet again made to feel welcome as is so often the case. Mark in particular had some stories to tell about his life as a street performer in Paris and he had a marvellous knack to use expletives in the most magical, inoffensive manner, which is something I’ve been trying to manage myself for years. Anyway, I hope to meet that charming motherfucker and his family again some time. Maybe, if I’m ever in Pittsburgh.

82 Miles. Avg Speed. 14.2MPH. Top Speed 23.2MPH

Total 1,066.4 Miles

The incredible thing about this trip is that every day has the capacity to surprise. I awoke this morning in the casino destination of Niagara Falls, Canada and as I type, my tent is pitched in a secluded spot on top of a beach overlooking Lake Erie. Today was very much a solo day, I didn’t have any real interactions except from a few “Are you, or have you ever been a member of the Nazi party?” queries from US border control. Although, unlike the Canadians they did have a dedicated bike lane when passing over the border. Well done, America, well done, indeed.

The problem with some of these maps is that they can be a little intricate at times, and that combined with some confusing signage can lead to potential disasters. In this case, the potential disaster was a full on disaster for about three minutes when I unwittingly pedalled onto the Interstate. That’s a flipping fast motorway for those who don’t know. I was frozen in a state of panic on the hard shoulder waiting for a prime moment to play chicken and run over two lanes and return back up the ramp from whence I came. Well, I did make it, but I’ll be sure to be a little more diligent in my map reading next time I’m near a road that resembles race day at Silverstone, or should I say Daytona.

After a few standard wrong turns and my second puncture of the trip I arrived in my planned location of Point Breeze. I did shop around for some campgrounds, but again they were expensive, the best part of $30. I went to the nearest Indian Reservation for some supplies and it's a shame I don't smoke, because at these prices you'd be mad not to, tax free cigarettes are everywhere. That's what you get as a pay-off for years of persecution, I suppose. Well, on my return I found a police officer and asked him if I could pitch up by a beach, he said “go for it”, so that I did. As I type now I am overlooking a beautiful sunset on Lake Erie, and Dick Mauer, my neighbour in the house behind me is about to bring me a beer and some of his wife’s lasagne. The only problem is that I'm so hidden away I can hear some raunchy youths awkwardly getting jiggy with it about 15 feet from where I sit. Oh well, you get what you don't pay for, I guess.

77.2 Miles Avg. 14.6MPH Fastest Speed 22.1MPH

Total: 984 Miles

So I should have put “2 Nations” on the homepage, too. I didn’t realise until two days ago that I would be popping over to our still-technically-colonised-little-sister for a bit. If I had, I probably wouldn’t have been so rude. Not that I’m too worried, Canada punches like a girl who can't punch.

The day started fantastically. I woke at 7 with a calm sun piercing through my tent, and what a sight I had, pitched next to the canal without a cloud in the sky. I packed up my gear, had another fat boys brekkie and started along the canal. Again, I was greeted to a number of idyllic towns that looked frozen from a different era. You can see from the picture in Albion below that they look as if they could be from a prohibition era movie. As I took some snaps I thought that maybe I could become a location scout for movies. It sounds like too much hard work, though. I’ll probably just keep trekking on my bicycle taking snaps for fun.

I was moving pretty fast today and was at the border in just a few hours. I must admit I felt a little on parade as I was the only bike in a sea of cars, but I like that, as does Betty. She’s a right exhibitionist, this one. She seems to get more confident as each day goes by. Slut.

I had found a hostel on a map and used my sixth-sense (eyes) to locate it. I was greeted by Charlie, the giggling Quebecois proprietor, and after a quick shower and much needed trip to the Laundromat - I had one pair of socks that actually smelt like glue - I went down to The Falls themselves…

…Now, as spectacular as these 10,000 year old beauties are, no thinking person can possibly overlook the utter mess created around it. Everywhere the eye shoots there are casinos, neon, and shops selling utter crap. It’s all dreadfully disappointing that the government would sell off such a sacred sight that they should be honoured to have in search of the quick buck. And it does matter, as it severely scars what should be uninterrupted awe-inspiring viewing. It’s a bit like having “God, God, God” in angled flashing, neon letters nailed to the side of Durham cathedral. Or noticing a hairy tumour on the side of Mila Kunis’ face.

But they are spectacular, and if you can just shut the conscious part of your brain off for a minute and suspend your disbelief they are magnificent, relentless beasts of great wonder. Despite all the shit, I’d still recommend a visit.

I’ll hang around the parks here tomorrow on my day off as the forecast, or radar says it's to be a beauty, and perhaps I’ll have a tete-a-tete with Charlie back at the hostel, which of course won’t need translating.

78.5 Miles. Avg Speed 13.4MPH Top Speed 36.3MPH

Total 906.8 Miles

Asparagus picked this very morning by my wonderful host Carole was blended into my omelette for breakfast. What a way to start the day, huh. I must say I was overwhelmed by the hospitality of Jim and Carole. They said they host about 12 people a season, and the previous incumbent was in residence just 48 hours prior to me, so to show me such warmth was really considerate of them. I was on my way by 10 to head straight to the Erie Canal, but wait, what’s this I hear you say, James (Jim)? The very spot where Mormon founder Joseph Smith definitely, definitely discovered the golden plates with a words on it from the Lord himself is but two miles from the beginning of the canal path! Well, that deserves a detour. I pedalled with all the fervour of a missionary on the promise of a kiss from God when he got to the clams innards' gates.

When I arrived at the Sacred Grove (yes, Sacred Grove) I tossed Black Betty to the side like a rebound nightclub pick-up and made my way into the most sacred of sacred spots. The problem was it was like a maze in there. Meandering footpaths twisted and conjoined with no signposting to the actual point of revelation. The forest became a labyrinth with no exit. All this designed no doubt to keep the casual attendee in for as long as possible in order for them to “find God”. It nearly worked, as well, except an incredibly obese group of eight kept staring disapprovingly at my outfit, which made me feel very uncomfortable indeed. I did take off my helmet, but the cycling gear stayed on. The Lycra Cowboy doesn’t get changed for anyone. Not for Robert Mugabe, Jemima Khan and certainly not Joseph Smith Jr or a posse of Octo-chubs. I left after about 30 minutes and returned to the spurned BB. She looked at me for a moment as if to say she’d never forgive me. But my eyes told a different story, one of whimsy and a misplaced trust in golden plates and magic underwear. Never again will I be so foolish into discarding the one I love for a legend. She took it alright, to be honest. She likes the tough love aspect of our relationship.

Back to the canal path and although parts of the gravelly area were cutting my calves, it was pleasant overall. The sun came out at about 2 o’clock and it was plain sailing. I did have my first fall today, though. I slowed down behind an elderly gent and his dog and when I went to go around the mischievous wee pooch he moved in my direction causing me to rather embarrassingly crash at 3 miles per hour. The humanoid of the pair helped me up and we had some casual chat. I liked his hat. It said “UFO – Unfortunately Forgetful Octogenarian”. He still hadn’t lost his sense of humour, though, had he. Wacky old bugger.

So I continued along the towpath finishing the day in the town of Holley where I have set up camp for the night. My camping gear is a bit musty from the rainstorms, but it’s been balanced out as I’m set up for free (and with the blessing of the police) next to the canal and I have access to the showers in the morning. It’s a beautiful little town on the canal like so many are, with twee bridges and a very strong community vibe that I picked up after talking to some of the electorate outside a polling station. Plus the park here has a beautiful artificial waterfall powered by the canal.

Tomorrow I should hit the big waterfall, though. Oh yes, I mean she of the mist - Lady Niagara. Will probably pop over to Canada for some decent beer and mayonnaise, too. 

SHOT ON THE GOPRO A WEEK AGO. THIS IS REAL TIME.

81.9 Miles. Avg Speed 13.2MPH Fastest 33.6MPH
Total: 828.3
Another day, another pair of Foster Grant Sunglasses. Here’s a countdown of their lifecycles so far:

Pair 1: Purchased in Hartley Wintney Hampshire, UK on June 4th. Crushed on June 6th.

Pair 2: Purchased in Wal-Mart, Rockland, ME on June 7th. Crushed and lenses scratched by June 17th.

Pair 3: Purchased in Rite Aid, Hannibal, NY on June 17th. Probably dead by July.

I must start taking better care of these things. Still, it was an excuse to move with the fashions once more, I really don’t like to wear things after four or five outings, they become so passé and I have a reputation to uphold.

Before the big purchase of the day at 2pm things were already looking up. After my night the Port Lodge Motel I was refreshed and ready to get going. The forecast was 50/50 of some rain at some point, but I won’t let that pesky moisture get me down any longer so I enjoyed the sun whilst it lasted, and it lasted all day. My first stop was after approximately 30 miles and that was for breakfast in the city of Fulton, which was the largest city I had been in for over nine days (pop. 12,000). I was the final customer of the day at Esther’s Breakfast Place and in there, I surprisingly ran into Esther. A naturalised US citizen hailing from the Philippines, who at the time of my dramatic entrance was cleaning her grill and looking nervously at her only friend, a desert orchid. We had some accent comprehension difficulties at first, but after a while we got into things and really hit it off. I can’t do phonetic Fillipino, so for this transcript, Esther will be voiced by a Lancastrian Landlady.

‘Ay up, chuck, you look right ‘ungry, what ‘y'avin?” asked Esther.

“You’re correct, I am rather famished after this mornings prelude and could very much do with some nutrition” said I.

“Right, if th’aw want somethin’ big and tasta, I’ll rustle th’aw up churizer omlit with sausage on t’side” said Esther.

“That sounds wonderful. Majestic orchid, by the way”  I responded.

That’s pretty much how things went for a while, a tepid exchange to say the least, but as the grill heated up so did the chat. I told Esther about my ride and asked some pressing questions about her life and before long we were laughing like a pair of Llamas who had just watched Carry on up the Khyber on nitrous oxide.  I’m not one for photographing food normally, but I felt the enormity of this portion deserved pictorial referencing. It was the first meal I struggled to finish, I did finish, though just in case there’s any confusion. I always finish.

After I left Esther lonely and desolate, much like her beloved orchid, I struggled for a few minutes to get going in lieu of the stomach stretching breakfast, but on I pressed as today I would hit Lake Ontario and stay with Carole and Jim May from warmshowers. I took some time around the bays of Lake Ontario as despite some ominous looking cloud formations, the sun stayed bright and lit up the lake beautifully, I was eager to soak it up considering I had not appreciated all of New England’s beauty due to the weather. After a while I cycled on toward Jim and Carole’s place through the town of Pultneyville. The architecture here resembled the old colonial architecture I had previously seen in places like Cape Town, Massachusetts and the hit movie The Notebook. All beautiful, all bring a tear to the eye. The shore front houses had an upper veranda named a Widow’s Watch that overlooked the bay, designed so that wives could pine after their husbands who had been out on the Lake. Probably at war or something, I imagine. That’s what happened a lot back then. Poor buggers.

After some terribly deep moments musing over the fate of these nameless naval heroes I was back on the bike towards Jim and Carole’s house..

Well, what a treat I had in store. Carole and Jim had done the same trip as myself but in reverse and even written a book about it. They gave me some insights into what I could expect “out west”, and we spent a very pleasant evening eating good food and walking in their 62 acres of land. That’s right, 62 acres. The land holds their apple trees, which sprout all kinds of varieties of our favourite fruit that they sell on commercially. They’d loved and lived in this same house for 41 years and it’s some house. The pair of them have really made it a unique home. I could see why they’d never left and it had me thinking about how wonderful life would be in this part of the world. All four seasons, an incredible lake, locally grown produce, and Canada only 30 miles a way across a lake, so it is always there to be laughed at. How satisfying.

Anyway, tomorrow takes me to the Erie canal, which means I shall be on a stretch of the ride without cars for nearly 200 miles, hopefully no pedestrians get in my way. I’m becoming quite the speedster.