Bike-riding Vienna
Posted: October 3, 2007
We rented bikes yesterday and today. We rode so much and ripped around the city in the past two days like our asses were on fire and our ears were catching. Cars honked at us. We bombed bike parks. Polizei stopped, pulled us over and bitched us out for blowing a red light. "You can not ride through a red light!" he spat from a blond scruffed square jaw.
A well spoken, "Sorry, man. I didn't quite understand that intersection. It's kinda weird," in a California accent will get you off the hook when you blow a red in Vienna. Not understanding an intersection may strike you as odd. Apparently, you've never been to Vienna. A square intersection exists in the realm of fantasy. The intersections come in oblong, round, quadrangular, and tesseract. They vary from six roads ending at a brick road to a thousand roads, all leading into the fourth dimension, and every configuration between.
I'm in that slow mode now, half tired and lounging with a sore butt on a big leather couch in our hostel, Wombat Hostel, in Vienna, Austria.
The hostel comes complemented out with kids between half and three-quarters of my age. The bars are also stocked with lil' shavers. Drinking age is 16. The bars aren't my favorite part of Vienna.
The bike riding is excellent. If Amsterdam is the mecca of weed smoking, Vienna should be the equivalent to the city bike-riding community.
Going to get some dinner and a beer. Peace.
Ollie has chosen Vienna as the first stop on his trip to fulfill his longtime dream of visiting Falco's grave, where he plans to sit in quiet appreciation.
"Thank you for rocking me forever, Amadeus. Sein war ein superstar"
I don't even get that reference, that's how old you are.
Then you just tell it to Ron. He'll get it even more clearly than I.