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This.

A downward dog with a building up your butt? That's Yoga at Bryant's Park. When I travel I try to pretend I've been in the place I'm visiting for years. That is, rather than rush about seeing sights, I try to do normal things that I or anyone else would do at home. Like eat, sleep, work, buy groceries. I might take in a museum or show or two, but I don't run around with this great long list and a Fodor's duct-taped to my chest. In fact, I don't run around at all. I've been known to spend days indoors in the heart of a NYC summer, the MOMA, Met, Cooper Hewitt, and Century 21 clothing store beckoning, glued to my laptop. What's the fun in that, I hear you ask? In this way, I don't get so much of that 'gotta tear myself away' angst and 'get back to real life' letdown when my stay comes to an end. This *is* real life. Or as a friend put it, 'This is not a holiday, this is my life.' So my attending a free yoga class in the mid

THE GROUND STAFF  at all airports in Italy went on strike today, just as I was returning after reviewing a Ciclismo Classico's 10-day Bike Across Italy trip (the full montymedia on that coming soon). Apparently, as I found out by eavesdropping a convo between a couple of flight attendants, they do this quite often. Alitalia is a government run agency, and now and then they decide to strike for 8 hours. "It could be the ground crew, the hotel crew, or some other crew," she said. Nothing is ever agreed or resolved - sounds a bit like the industry suddenly deciding they deserve a day off en masse. The only problem? It leaves thousands of passengers stranded. How do they get away with it? "They're a government organization. $40,000 toilet seats and all that, think about it," said the flight attendant, somewhat cryptically. All flights between 8am and 6pm were cancelled, including my British Airways Rome-London-JFK flight. A line formed as long as

I just spent 5 hours in a $1500 seat, and it wasn't front row at U2 either. I simply flew from San Francisco to New York City, albeit a United's P.S. (Premium Service) passenger, thanks to a friend at United Airlines ... as long as I adhered to the dress rules. Now before I'm arrested by eco-police I'll admit my languish in the lap of lux burned almost 100 gallons of fossil fuel and created 1005 tons of carbon dioxide, according to TerraPass.com. To offset this carnage I will purchase $9.95 worth of carbon offsets, good for the return trip also. Now that my conscience is slightly clearer ... Traveling United First Class - A glimpse from the large padded seat (an attempt to film and be discreet at the same time). The United First Class Dress Rules No jeans, no tank tops, no gym wear and no revealing your assets, natural or otherwise. No thongs, tennis shoes, or hiking/'military style' boots. Now usually I travel in my wicked silver-plaqued, Harley D

I'm speechless - literally. I've caught some kind of strep throat infection and I've been mute for almost a week. It's a strange experience. We open our mouths to speak and expect the words to form and when they don't, it's disquietening. Gives me a sense of how a paraplegic must feel while getting aquainted to his new situation - "legs, do your stuff!" ... but someone's cut the cord. The doc looked down my throat and went Bleeeaaah! and prescribed me an antibiotic. I think I caught it at a rave, the Bassnectar show at the WOW Hall a week ago. All those heaving, sweaty bodies ... I might just digress here and tell you what WOW Hall raves are like in Eugene. They're all ages events. A handful of little 8 year olds zooming around with painted faces, dressed up in a kind of toddler's drag. A giant sign over the door, saying 'NO SMOKING, ANYTHING, ANYWHERE, ANYTIME. And until this concert, organic snacks and juices at the little concession

I'm just back from doing the Bike Friday Arizona Desert Camp (click link to read the full montymedia). The last evening was an interesting exercise in the danger of elevating your expectations. It had been a long, hot week of riding and spirited carousing with 60 customers. A great time, really. On the last evening I postponed dinner to put together and show the group footage of the week as a swansong, as well as sit through the nth screening of my movie Route 66 By Bicycle , where n is a large number. By 9pm I was ravenous. Three of us nite owls - including a NYer of course - convened with great expectations of a relatively extravagant, sit down dinner in the relatively sumptuous (relative to Appleby's) restaurant next door. A chance to decompress and pat ourselves on the back for a time well had. The restaurant next door decided to close early due to short staffing. But no matter - the hotel shuttle would take us to a local steak house. 'I don't feel like a steak hou