Ride the train, berijd de trein.

As a prelude to our upcoming Dutch Mountains posting, I wanted to chat with you about train travel. Of course, as Americans, our prior experience with trains was little more than hearing freight trains in the distance on summer nights while playing kick-the-can as 7-year olds, waiting at the occasional train crossing when our handy short-cut was thwarted by loads of coal, chickens, and hobos headed for somewhere else , and watching toy trains chug through miniature landscapes ... past the depot, through the tunnel, oops the caboose just fell off and the dog just stepped on all the miniature people at the Depot. Yep, that and some flashbacks of old Western movies and of course, Blazing Saddles, represented our whole paradigm on trains until we moved to Europe.

To reach our favorite cycling destination in the Netherlands, we've been spending lots of time on trains and thus immersing ourselves in a very different transportation culture. This is quite a change from our "toss all the gear in the car and gas 'er up" mindset that we honed in the land of plenty (except for public transportation options, that is)! It requires a different preparation mindset and different expectations, but the rewards are outstanding and we get a double-bonus by being in a country with such a great cycling infrastructure. That is, we can count on never having a worry on getting to or from train stations purely by bike wherever we go in the Netherlands. There are special provisions for bikes everywhere -- on the trains, at the train stations, even on roadways fairly remote from major villages or cities.

These train trips start out as we navigate our road bikes through the streets of Amsterdam with a weekend's worth of belongings in backpacks. It's at this point that we really appreciate how well-oriented our city bikes are to uneven, cobbled road surfaces and heavy loads -- it's tough on the road bikes and we're always a bit nervous on our tiny-tired bikes as we weave our way along the canals and past the hoards of tourists to the train station! Twenty minutes later though, we're on a train with our bikes gliding through the flat countryside. It gives you a great feeling of self-reliance -- it's really liberating not to have to rely on a car and to achieve your travel objectives solely by bike and train.


We learned quickly that 1) you have to buy a separate ticket for your bike and 2) you have to board on one of the special cars with a bike sticker above the door. Now, the downside to #2 is that most people carting bikes on trains aren't carting around their fancy racing bike -- instead, they are carting around their daily driver ... their 1983 pickup truck of bikes ... their beater bike. And this is the part that makes me the most nervous and serves as fodder for the rest of this story. It always goes like this: the train pulls up. You spot the special bike sticker and as the train slows, you start walking toward it. The train keeps on moving though, so you walk and then start to run because now the special door is 100 yards away. You realize that the best bet would have been to stand still and wait for the next sticker. You finally make it to the door, carry the bikes up the steps into the train car, and place them oh, so carefully along the wall (in a special bike area). You line up the bikes for you and your traveling companions, brace them so they won't move an inch, triple-check to ensure that the cranks and skewers are aligned in such a way that no contact will be made .... no scratches on the carbon fiber surfaces, no scratches on the components, no inappropriate bike-to-bike contact. Then, you lock the bikes together just to make sure that should bandits storm the train with guns a blazin, bandanas covering their faces, and horses awaiting their getaway ... that they would have to take all the bikes together and not just one.

Seconds before the train pulls away, it always happens that someone shows up with the beater bike. You can see him coming ... it's happening in slow motion. You want to jump out of your seat and hit the button to close the door. You beg to hear the conductor's whistle signaling imminent departure, but alas, beater bike guy makes it on. You know it won't be pretty. You know that beater bike guy has no clue that instead of owning a car, you invested a car's worth of savings into a high-end bicycle. You stand up, to make your presence known and to make an awkward attempt to head-off the inappropriate bike-to-bike contact that's sure to happen. It's all happening in super slow motion, but you just can't seem to move quickly enough. You've ceased to breath because of the anxiety. Beater bike guy's basket nicks your saddle -- then, out comes the kick-stand. His jeans are making contact with your wheel -- what if something on his shoes snags my rear dérailleur and rips it off the bike?!!! Then, with the kickstand extended, you clue in on the impending lean. Mathematical calculations are whizzing trough your brain! Will it touch?!! Will it touch?!! What if the train lurches forward suddenly?

Beater bike guy leaves the bike in mid-lean and starts his walk into the main train cabin. His bike is in free-fall. The kickstand has yet to make contact with the ground. The handlebars are turning -- the basket is in full motion. The rear panniers are making their move toward your aero wheels. Your bladed spokes are cowering in fear. You try to reach for the beater bike, but you're not fast enough. It's all a blur -- not just a scratch, but a full disintegration of your carbon fiber frame flashes before your eyes. You envision spikes, blades, and big fangs extending from the beater bike and ravaging your beautiful frame -- your recreational art -- your prized steed that allows you to escape to a world of bliss. You envision millions of carbon fiber particles filling the air as your bike meets its end. Oh, the humanity, you think.

The train eases from the station as beater bike comes to rest. A stillness fills the air. Tears well up in your eyes -- just preparing themselves for escape should your frame have been damaged. You survey the situation -- taking it all in. No contact. No contact. Thank you, thank you, thank you ... no contact! Sweet, glorious music fills your mind.

For the next two hours though, you watch the bikes like a hawk. Every time the tracks shift, the bikes move and sway. You hope that the kickstand doesn't fail and allow 50 pounds of steel, rubber, and plastic to violate your prized ride. Finally, it's beater bike guy's stop. One last contact with his jeans -- one last bump of the saddle by his basket and it's over. Serenity -- sweet serenity. The bikes are alone as we complete the journey. They arrive damage-free and apart from the now expected and somewhat humorous anxiety, the trip is pleasant and just plain easy.


We exit the destination train station, toss on our backpacks, and mount our bikes. We experience our typical feeling of disorientation, find a map of the town (usually on a big sign that also shows the bike routes), and ease into a bike lane headed for our hotel or camp site. Sometimes it goes super-smoothly and sometimes our journeys are filled with multiple beater bike experiences and track repair work requiring multiple train changes and just a lot of hassle. I'd still much rather worry about a scratch on my bike and some hassles than deal with rush hour traffic and road rage!

Cheers,
Jeff

The Inferno: Re-beginnings

After a seven year break from ultra-endurance racing, I made the decision this year to re-enter the sport -- and hopefully in grand style! Following the realization of a dream at the Ironman Triathlon World Championship in Hawaii in 2000, I was a bit burnt out from six years of training for Ironmans and lots of solo training miles. I turned my attention to mountain biking, Scuba, snowboarding and continued to ride my road bike, but not with the same training intensity and focus as during the racing years. For several reasons though, 2007 suddenly lit up as the right year to re-enter the sport. I'm not one for easing into pursuits, so I picked a race in Europe that included the description:

"The INFERNO Triathlon is with its 5'500 metres height difference one of the hardest in the world and is already considered one of the classics."



Yes, perfect. Even better, it's really a quadathlon -- following a swim in a mountain lake, we will road bike, then mountain bike, and then ... well, climb a mountain.

When describing what draws me to this race, I've told my work colleagues and friends "it's a quest for work-life balance." I think that the best counter-reply was "Jeff, some people find work life balance by leaving the office at 5 or grabbing a beer with friends." Well-said -- and I agree -- I want that and a crazy race to train for! Seriously though, it's an ultra distance event in a stunning, stunning mountain setting. Those who know me can see the instant attraction -- once I discovered the race and saw the alpine scenery and photos of competitors on a steep mountain trail, I just couldn't resist.

A major change I made in this pursuit though is to hire an top-notch coach, Lisa Smith-Batchen. Lisa is a champion endurance athlete with a stunning list of achievements that includes being the first and only American female to win the Marathon des Sables in its 18 year history, two first place finishes at the Badwater Ultramarathon, and a finish at the Badwater Double Ultramarathon (nearly 300 miles of running!). She also has a great reputation as an online coach, so following an intro phone call to kick things off, I was quite happy that she took me on as a client. It has been an eye-opening experience working with Lisa and I'm now wondering what potential I left untapped in years of prior training and events! I started my coaching with Lisa just over a month ago and can't say enough about how helpful she has been in structuring my training, providing guided motivation, and ensuring that I'm getting the most out of my training approach.

My training for this race unofficially started when Becky and I spent a week cycling in the region near Girona, Spain right at the tail end of winter. Girona was an awesome experience -- now we know why many professional cyclists spend much of their time with Girona as their training base. Following a week trying to regain our climbing legs and enjoy the stunning Mediterranean scenery, we returned to Holland. Next up was discovery of excellent cycling roads (with hills, yes hills!) in the southern part of the Netherlands and Belgium. Becky and I, along with our friend Scott Spaulding, had a great ride on the amateur's go at the Amstel Gold race course in April and followed it up with biweekly treks (via train) to Maastricht, where we continue to discover endless narrow and steep 1/2 mile climbs.

Our next big event is a ride called La Marmotte in France (early July). It's a classic, complete with climbs on several of the Tour de France's most famous mountains (Col du Glandon, Col du Galibier, and l'Alp d'huez). It'll be a long and tough ride, but when the French Alps are only an 80 minute flight away, I won't be complaining about a thing and can't pass up a chance to have a go at this hallowed cycling ground.

That's all for now! Oh yeah, there's another race on my calendar for next spring, but I think I'll make its unveiling a surprise, else you'll surely think I've lost my mind!

Cheers,
Jeff

Girona

We first heard of the town of Girona on the 'Lance Chronicles' prior to the 2005 Tour de France. Girona (in the Catalan region of northern Spain) serves as the off-season home for many pro-cyclists. For many years, this was Lance's home-away-from-home and primary training ground. At the close of our first Dutch winter, we were desperately seeking hills and sunny skies, so we decided to kick off our 2007 cycling season with a week of self-directed 'training camp' in Girona.


We took the relatively quick flight from Amsterdam to Barcelona, rented a van large enough to fit our bike cases, and headed north along the Mediterranean for a couple hours. Our first impression of Girona was honestly that of disappointment. It's not a small village, but a real city with a combination of industry, sprawl, barred-windows, and mid-evil remnants that surprised and confused us. Once we discovered the interior of the city though, our impressions quickly changed. From within the city walls, Girona is very charming: cobblestone streets, narrow alleys, and a 'feel' that's hard to describe (it just draws you in, sets you back many centuries, and encourages you to stroll for hours, even in the rain).

Aside from our time enjoying tranquil walks through Girona and local Catalan wine, we were on our bikes, exploring the foothills of the Pyrenees and the coastal mountains along the Med. Notable moments include a run-in with a sleet storm on what the locals refer to as Lance's favorite training route. We were in a fairly remote area about an hour into a climb and before we knew it, the rain turned into ice pellets that turned the road surface white. We made a painfully slow descent until we found an abandoned brick structure that we could take shelter in. We were very wet and very cold, so I cut apart an old couch to make some extra insulation to stuff in our jackets. This helped us descend in a tiny bit more comfort to the nearest village where a couple of espressos and a Cognac lit the remaining internal fire and made the final rainy descent possible. It was a near-epic ride, yet those make the best memories! Fortunately, the weather improved later in the week and we returned to finish the climb and several others in that area. Now we know why any cyclist would place this area on their list of the best-- beautiful views, no traffic, and endless climbs and descents!

Our favorite ride of the week though took us from Girona to the coast and back. We biked a section along the Mediterranean known for its 360 curves. Of course, the scenery was so stunning (and the weather so perfect) that we had to "add-on", so we made it a 540-curver with a mid-coast exit that took us up a steep, rock-strewn road further into the mountains. It's just so hard to say no to a stretch of pavement that goes up! The pay-off was breath-taking views of the Mediterranean (thanks to no guard rails!) and a long and thrilling descent back toward Girona.



Check out our photo gallery for more pictures of Girona and our rides in the surrounding area. All in all, it was a great week of cycling and absorbing the local atmosphere. We look forward to returning, but hope that we've paid our dues with enduring the ice once and will have only sunny sky visits in the future!

Ciao,
Jeff

Lotus Elise

This clip is an intro to a video I put together in June 2005. I filmed it with a 'Bullet Cam' mounted creatively on Gary's Lotus Elise as we road-tripped from Baltimore to Montreal and back. Great fun in a great car. I hope you enjoy the video!

Jeff

Ringing in 2007

Happy 2007 everyone! I hope that your year is off to a very healthy and happy start! Just a quick note to let you know that new photos are online from Amsterdam New Year's, Jim and Sandy's visit, Copenhagen, and Norway. Check the Photo Gallery link. More writing to come soon .... thanks for stopping by! Cheers, Jeff

Cycling in Amsterdam: Part 2 - My new SUV

That's right … my new Sport-Ute, a single-speed 50-pound contraption without a sliver of titanium, without a strip of carbon fiber, and without even a hint of aerodynamic design. What it doesn't have in weight-saving or go-fast properties, it makes up for in raw, unadulterated practicality. Practicality so practical and so Dutch that most Dutch would think it nuts to devote this much text, much less the rest of this posting, to describing it. "It's just a bike" they would say … "full stop."

The first step in buying a Dutch bike is to make it through the advice-receiving phase. This phase starts the moment you mention to a local that you have recently moved to the Netherlands. "Are you planning to buy a bike? Don't buy a new bike as it will surely be stolen. Buy an old second-hand bike – spend no more than 20 Euros and buy 237 locks for it."

Next, you visit the local bike shops, which appear on every other street corner. You first learn though that 20 Euro second-hand bikes only exist in memories of 20-years ago OR in the alleyways beyond the train station under the cloaks of darkness and guilt as you buy someone else’s recently liberated ride. It's during the bike shopping phase that you really start to notice what other people are riding. Hand-brakes or coaster brakes? Single-speed or gears? Basket in the front? Panniers in the back? Straps, locks, saddle types, etc. After I spent a week of searching the shops and analyzing the pros and cons of my endless options, I set off to buy a model designed for commuting, hauling loads, and not looking as new or fancy as it will likely turn out to be.

"Is this going to be your only vehicle?" the shop owner asks. Absolutely, I respond. "Are you planning to use it to go shopping for food and other items?" Indeed. "Ok, you'll want heavy-duty racks, heavy-duty spokes, a reinforced top-tube, etc." As you can imagine, I've signaled to him at this point that I'll take any and every heavy-duty item that he can dream up and throw my way. "You'll also want sturdy, fat tires with extra-sturdy spokes, and of course lights in the front and back. Now, gears or single-speed?" Thinking that I have enough gears on my other bikes to power an 18-wheeler and also that Amsterdam is crazy-flat, I opt for single-speed with coaster brakes. He finds a model that meets my criteria and hands it over, saying "You really should ride it first though. Never buy a bike before you ride it."

I hop on for my test drive and set off down a busy street only a foot from a set of tram tracks. Moments into my ride, I realize that 1) this is a very large and very heavy bike and 2) the saddle height is a good 4 inches too high. Sitting on the top tube to ride back to the shop, I ride against traffic and somehow avoid being hit by the endless stream of bikes rushing my way. I ask the owner to lower the saddle. Instead of dropping it a little or actually doing some sort of measurement or even looking at me on the bike, he simply lowers it all the way until the saddle bottoms out on the frame. Take-two of my test drive and I manage to circle the block, but with my seat height much too low and my knees hitting my elbows on each pedal stroke. I ask one more time for an adjustment and he responds by … you guessed it … raising the saddle height right back to its original setting.

After determining that this bike would do the trick, we discuss theft prevention. He suggests the two-lock approach. Lock 1 is a traditional New York City bike messenger-style chain lock. It has huge links that supposedly cannot be cut with standard bolt cutters, but only with jaws-of-life type devices that are solely in the tool kits of emergency crews and professional Russian mafia-affiliated bike thieves. The chain links are covered in a sheath of blue nylon, which protects your ears from the clang of metal each time you haphazardly toss the chain around a lamp post. The chain is connected by a funky German-made locking mechanism that works flawlessly at times and requires a few minutes of key-jiggling and concrete-banging whenever it's raining or I'm running late for something. You use the chain lock by passing it through the front wheel and frame and then wrapping it around any stationary object that you can find. Lampposts work particularly well, as do rails on canal bridges, and groups of Japanese tourists huddled around guidebooks and maps in front of museums. Lock 2 is bolted onto the bike behind the saddle. It includes a hoop device that wraps around the wheel and through the spokes to make the bike impossible to ride or roll on two wheels. With this lock by itself though, the only thing that prevents a thief from carting the bike away by lifting the rear and rolling the front is the bike's heavy weight and boxy nature. Most good bike thieves seem to have strong arms and a tolerance for boxiness though. When you put a key in this lock to unlock it and ride, your key stays in the lock. That is, when you're riding your bike, your key stays put in the opened lock, dangling from the locking mechanism under your saddle. This is mildly annoying as the bike lock key is typically accompanied by the rest of your keys. Anyway, if you use both locks together, there's a good chance that your bike will be around when you need it next.

After my lesson in locks, the owner states "And you'll want insurance." Insurance? "Yes, you can insure your bike for something like 60 euros for 3 years. When, ok … IF, it's stolen, you get a full reimbursement of the purchase price." Being convinced by many locals that my bike will be stolen before I even leave the bike shop, I opt for the insurance.

A few more feature descriptions for those of you hanging onto your seats wishing to know every detail of Dutch city bikes …

The chain is completely covered by a plastic housing – which makes it much easier to ride the bike in a business suit and also virtually impossible for me to perform chain maintenance. Nice.

Then there are the lights. The front and rear lights are required by law for night-riding. In the winter here, night-riding begins at 4:30 in the afternoon and they actually have police check-points to inspect lighting. The lights are self-powered (with me being "self" in this case) by a device that you can flip down onto the front wheel. It makes a pleasant little hum and creates a little extra resistance, which you notice especially on rainy nights when you have a bag of groceries in the front basket and your rain clothing is no where nearby.

Speaking of the basket and back to the bike shop, I ask where to buy the large plastic crates I've seen on many of the other bikes buzzing by. "Oh, you mean a milk crate." Sure. He points me to a local corner market. Four euros later and I have a plastic crate, which we zip-tie to the front rack.

And so begins my city bike journey. I bought the bike and shortly thereafter I carted home a box of wine and then stocked the front basket with a kitchen full of groceries. And then there was the espresso machine ... which forms the perfect segue to a future posting on crazy things I've carted home on my bike!

Oh yeah, more bike photos here -- includes photos of Becky's new bike as well!

Cheers from a surprisingly warm November night in Amsterdam,

Jeff

And then there were two ...

And then were two, who are one again. After a month and a half of crazy mobile phone bills and conversations interrupted by passing trains, wind and rain, and other mobile phone conversations in Dutch, German, and sometimes Spanish or Russian, Team Hillseekers is on the same continent, the same page, and the same diet of cheese, tasty breads, and French wine.

Becky arrived just over a week ago and we’re well into our Dutch cultural immersion. It’s actually been a bit of a crazy week – for Becky especially. Lots of the things that I’ve adjusted to over the past two months are suddenly on Becky’s plate … all at once, like a paper plate overloaded with Thanksgiving dinner … with the sauce mixing with the potatoes and veggies, the broccoli casserole squashed by two heavy slices of ham, and a deviled-egg trying ever so subtly to work its way off the edge of the plate to make the great leap to the carpet. Her plate though is packed with a new job, new commute, new gym, new coworkers, new laptop and work email account, new closet, new bedroom furniture, new pantry, new city bike, new washing machine with Dutch labels, new paperwork involving visits to the immigration office, etc. I keep noticing things that I’ve already become accustomed to that she’s experiencing for the first time. “Oh yeah, two weeks ago that was pretty confusing, now it’s second nature.”

I was chatting with one of my expat friends (who is on his fourth year in the Netherlands) and he mentioned that with most transitions you always have a safe zone to retreat to whenever the transition gets stressful. For example, you may start a new job, but you still have the same friends, the same house, the same grocery store, etc. If you move cities (within the States), you may have to start over with just about everything, but at least you have the same Target, the same Starbuck’s, the same language and pictures on street signs, etc. With an international move though, your “safe zone” options are dramatically reduced. Everything is new … and it’s new all at once. Sometimes it’s a lot to deal with and situations can go from charming to "we just hit an ice berg and the ship is sinking!" back to charming in a matter of minutes!

Having a partner is huge help and the best safe zone of course. Having friends nearby is another great safe zone – and we’re very happy to have some friends from the States here on assignment as well. Getting our furnishings from the US was a good start as well. Our flat was furnished when we got it, but it’s feeling more like a home now with our photos, books, and decorations added. So, we have lots of mini-safe zones and that helps make up for so much being different all at once. We’re also doing all we can to go with the flow and try not to get too bent out of shape for any of the many hassles of this early transition phase. It’s not always easy though!

Speaking of our flat, we’re making great progress with unpacking and getting settled. Our cargo container arrived a few days before Becky did and I went on an all-out sprint to unpack it and screw together furniture before she arrived. We’re surprisingly unpacked at this point, with only a couple boxes to go and a dozen pictures to hang on the wall. Our flat feels like a home now – it looks much different than earlier pictures that we posted – much warmer, which is a good thing considering that winter will start soon here!

I’ll try to publish a couple more stories this week. Now that our unpacking activities are slowing, I should be able to post some back stories and make some good progress on the 12,000 part series on cycling here!

By the way, thanks so much for your emails lately! I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to respond more quickly. I announced our new web site to a couple hundred people, many of whom I haven’t chatted with in some time. So, I’ve been getting these great emails that I’m really enjoying reading and will soon be responding to. I couldn’t be happier hearing from you, so please keep in touch.

All the best,

Jeff

Lesson 1: Bags (a.k.a: “What do I do now?")

Come along with me on my first grocery store experience in Amsterdam … told as it unfolded. This occurred within a couple days of my move. The local grocery chain is called Albert Heijn (Heijn is pronounced like ‘hine” in Heineken, which incidentally is brewed two blocks from our apartment). There is a small Albert Heijn a 10 minute walk away. Here’s what happened once I entered the store for the first time.

This can’t be too tough – food is food, right? Ok, walk through this funky turnstile thing. Wait, where are the carts? Hmm, no carts … ok, how about baskets? Ah, yes … outside the turnstile thing. Ok, reach over, grab basket. So far, so good.

Let’s see, I’ll start with a bottle of olive oil. There it is … and oh, the label is only in Dutch. Well, I’m pretty sure that this is olive oil. It sure looks like it … and that word looks close enough to olive, so I’ll just drop it in my basket.

And here’s the pasta section – no problem: pasta is pasta. Looks like penne to me – drop it in.

Now, for some protein. Hmm … I don’t have a clue what any of this is. Not surprisingly -- well, surprisingly to me at this moment, all the meat names are in Dutch. I can’t tell if this package contains pork, lamb, or zebra tongue. I think I’ll pass on the meat.

Now for some milk. Hmm, I have no idea what I’m looking at. Looks of milk cartons here. What’s whole, what’s 2%, what’s skim, what’s that awful buttermilk stuff they like here? Ok … I see a word that looks like ‘half’ on this one, so I’ll assume that it’s 2%-ish … good enough, I’ll take it.

Beer – ok, I can handle beer shopping. Beer-wise, it’s nice to be so close to Belgium. Grab a six … easy. How about some wine? Whoah – huge selection & cheap, I love it.

Just a few more items to go. Shampoo… not a clue what any of this is. Oh good, this bottle has a description in Dutch, French, and Spanish. Yep, looks close enough. And finally, just need some detergent for the dishwasher. This box looks close. It’s either dishwashing detergent or spackle … or cake icing. I’ll take my chances. On to the checkout lane.

I heft the basket up to the conveyer belt and watch it ride down to the cashier. She utters “Chewbacca hhgrazinshayfer by-flup carburetor” (or something quite similar. I offer a blank stare and say “English, please”. She says “please take the items out of the basket. A line has formed behind me. This little store is packed tonight. Hurriedly (and already embarrassed) I start pulling items out of the basket. She scans the first few items and asks me if I have a bonus card. I say ‘no, but how do I get one?’ She stops the ringing-up process and hands me a form to fill out. I fill it out quickly – she continues to ring – the queue continues to grow. She finishes and I pay.

I walk to the end of the check-out table, where all of my new purchases are strewn. I suppose they’re short-staffed today. I decide that I’ll just bag the groceries myself – no worries, I loved bagging my own items in the States. Seems that they’re out of bags … ah, here’s a dispenser. I pull from the dispenser and a tiny, tiny clear vegetable bag pops out. I briefly consider trying to stuff groceries into these tiny bags and wisely realize that it would take 140 of these bags to fit all of my items. The cashier moves a divider and starts shoving the next person’s items down the lane. Everyone but the cashier looks at me.

“Excuse me … umm … what do I do now?”

Yes, that’s the smartest thing I could come up with at that moment. And it was that moment that I learned that you either bring or buy your bags! She informs me of this and I ask to please buy some bags. She’s out though, so she has to stop ringing up items, while the queue grows and grows. She walks to another counter and turns to ask “How many do you need?” I say “umm…. Enough to fit my groceries.” Apparently, that logic isn’t clear enough … so I say 3.

She finishes with the next person and I’m still cramming items into bags. Shove in the beer bottles, shove in the wine, shove in the egg carton (oops!), shove in the bread. Hurry, hurry, hurry – you look like a moron. Shove in the stuff that’s either laundry detergent or candy … shove it the carton that is either butter-milk and pepper yogurt or drain cleaner. Grab three over-stuff bags and bolt for the door. Whew!

Yes, I survived my first grocery shopping experience … the first of many occasions where laughing at my self and my ignorance was the best medicine!