Mike McQuaide

LUXEMBOURG MTB RIDE FROM NORTH TO SOUTH

2013-05-11T08:04:00.002-07:00

Growing up in the U.S., one of my cycling dreams has been to ride my bike across the country. That’ll likely never happen which, truthfully, I’m fine with. (I imagine that riding from the West Coast to the Rockies would be pretty spectacular but after that, it’d be sorta boring—cornfields, cowfields, cities and strip malls. For 2,000 miles.)

That’s why living in a country that’s only 30 miles wide by 50 miles long is great. Starting in the morning, you can ride the length of it in a few hours and be back home that same evening to watch highlights of the Giro d’Italia on TV and sleep in your own bed. That’s basically what I did last Sunday.

With eight other riders, I caught the 7:15 train from Luxembourg City and after placing our bikes in the dedicated bike carriers (laid them in the aisle of the nearly empty car), paid a hefty fee (2 Euros), and enjoyed a scenic hour-long ride to Troivierges, the northernmost stop in Luxembourg. Ferdy Adam and Gilbert Jacobs put the ride together and assembled a terrific group of folks, but unfortunately, I don’t remember everyone’s name. (Already lousy at remembering names, I’m even worse when I can’t speak their languages.)
All were Luxembourgers except for myself and Axel Molinero, who’s from Spain but lives in Germany where he runs Atracktive mountainbiking, a mountain bike guiding company. Axel is a fun, enthusiastic kid, whom I took to immediately. As often seems to happen since I’ve been in Luxembourg, we talked languages—he, like seemingly everyone else in this country except for me, speaks about five different ones—and I attempted to entertain him with various English accents: British (Austin Powers, Beatles, Month Python), New York, Boston and U.S. Southern. He seemed amused or was just being polite.

From Troivierges, a small village seemingly right out of a storybook (like so many places in Luxembourg), we began our journey south. This is the hilly Ardennes country where we rolled up and down big hills via a mix of unbelievably smooth roads, fun swirling singletrack, farm fields, and forest dirt roads, always trending south back toward Luxembourg City. Ardennes hills are short but steep and some of them hurt like hell. Tiniest gear, up on the nose of the saddle, just trying to keep from falling over, type climbs. At times, the open views were breathtaking—rolling hill upon rolling hill in all directions, a lineup of giant white wind turbines not spinning at all on this windless day, a pointy church steeple from a village down in the valley over there. And another one over there! And over there too! Back home, there’s a climb where I’m always extremely moved when I pass this particular ridge of pointy North Cascade Mountain peaks. Just happy, lucky-as-hell-to-be-healthy-and-alive-type moved. I had similar moments on this ride as well.

A fun, funny, enlightening moment:

-About three hours into the ride we stopped for lunch (spaghetti, Cokes, Apfelschorle and espresso) at a café in tiny Kehmen. It was yummy and energizing. As we were about to leave, I asked Ferdy if he knew where the restrooms were.

“They’re inside on the right, by the bowling,” he says.

“By the what?”

“The bowling,” he says. “Right before the bowling. ... Here, I show you,” he says, seeing my confused look.

As he leads me inside, I’m thinking ‘bowling’ must some little game of chance played while sitting at the bar, like pull tabs. But no, it’s real bowling. This small café has a single lane for European bowling (jeu de quills), something I’d never seen or even heard of before. Looking at the café from the outside, you would never think there’s a bowling alley inside. It was like something out of Harry Potter where they cross a portal revealing a whole other elaborate world inside. Perhaps that’s an exaggeration but still, it took me a moment to get my head around it.

The lane looks to be as long as a bowling lane that I’m familiar with from the U.S., but is really narrow and flares out down near the pins. The balls are smaller, not much larger than a softball, but heavy and have no holes. They seem to be of varying size too. Ferdy tells me that there’s much strategy involved in spinning the ball as you roll it in order to make it curve. (Who knew?)

Ferdy and I take a couple turns which was fun and funny and I feel pretty safe in saying that I might be the only American who has ridden his bike the length of Luxembourg and played jeu de quills in the same day. That’s something to be proud of.

I took no notes and after a while, the riding all kind of blended together in my mind. Sorry, for not many details. We saw some stunning castles. The north part of Luxembourg is much hillier than the south. From Mersch on down, much of the riding seemed to be a fair amount of what I would call gravel-grinding: dirt roads through fields and forest, interspersed from time to time with fun singletrack.

We lucked out in myriad ways. The weather was perfect—sunny, high 60s (F) with no wind—not a single flat tire or mechanical for any of the nine riders. Everyone finished strong.

Strava has my distance at 60.7 miles with 7,012 feet of elevation gain. Ride time was 6 hours and 25 minutes, 8:53 total time. An absolutely incredible day and a huge shout-out of thanks to Ferdy Gilbert (and Franz Schneider who wasn't with us but who helped create this route) for putting it together!

LUXEMBOURG RANDONNEES

2013-05-02T01:51:00.000-07:00

In the 2-1/2 months I’ve been in Luxembourg, I’ve ridden four mountain bike randonnees of between 30K and 70K. They’re not races, more like road bike century rides in the U.S. and are a great way to learn the landscape. Lots and lots of forests, bizarrely beautiful rock formations in the north, windswept open fields and farmland that call to mind the springtime pro bicycle races I love to watch on Eurosport.

Randonnees—and mountain biking in general--have been a great way to meet people too. My entry key into the Luxembourg mountain bike scene has been Fränz Schneider, who runs the Biker.lu site and club. (I think it’s a club; I’m still not sure how Luxembourg bike clubs, associations and the like work.) He’s the Grandmaster of all Connectors (Google Malcolm Gladwell and Connectors and that’s Fränz) who’s been a terrific friend and guide and has allowed me to follow him around like a new puppy ever since I arrived here.

Apropos of nothing, here are a couple tidbits that only marginally have anything to do with the randonnees I’ve ridden.

-After a 36K randonnee in Beaufort, not far from the amazing Château de Beaufort there, dozens of us tired, muddied riders gathered in some sort of community center for a spaghetti feed. Just before we dig in, Fränz says to me: “Gudden Appetit!” (Pronounced appe-teet).

But I thought he said, “Looks good enough to eat,” so I said “Yes, it does.”

We went back and forth like this a couple times before he cleared up the English-Luxembourgish discrepancy. By this time, however, I’d found myself distracted and a little intimidated by the beauty and skill with which this room full of Luxembourgers ate their spaghetti.

Using a knife and fork, they spin the spaghetti on the fork using the spoon as a sort of base to support said fork spinning and then, with a quick subtle move, pull out the fork so that the spun spaghetti dollop now sits in the spoon. Which they then spoon into their mouths. (Somewhere in the recesses of my brain is the knowledge that this is how one is supposed to eat spaghetti but I’ve never seen anyone actually do it.)

Looking around and seeing every single person eating this way except for me seemed a bit surreal. It reminded me of the Seinfeld episode in which Jerry and Elaine are in the diner and realize that everyone around them is eating cookies, donuts, Snicker’s bars, etc. with a knife and fork except for them. There was a balletic beauty about these Luxembourgers’ spaghetti-eating, worthy of a Vivaldi soundtrack. Meanwhile, I shoveled my spaghetti into my piehole caveman-style feeling like I was Tony Soprano crashing dinner at Downton Abbey.

-The longest randonnee I’ve ridden so far here is the Mill Man Trail, a 70K near Echternach, Luxembourg’s oldest city located across the Sauer River from Germany. This was with my friends Ferdy, a Luxembourger, and Jean-Louis who’s French. Both speak excellent English and on the drive to Echternach, we talked much of languages, etc. They said that American English is harder to understand than British English and that some of the time when I speak all they hear is “Grrrr-Grrrr-Grrrr.”

So I affected my best British accent and said, “Do you think there will be a lot of people here today?”

“Ah, that’s much easier to understand,” they both said, almost in unison. I imagined it was as if I had fine-tuned a radio station so that it came in much clearer.

Later, on the randonnee I was surprised with the freeness with which riders (albeit, all male) would take out the garden hose, when the need arose, and water the lawn as it were. On an organized ride in the U.S., there’re porta johns (usually not enough) and stern warnings of the consequences if you don’t use them. Just for shaking a little dew off the lily. Here, you’ll see whole pelotons of pee-peeing pedalers mere feet from the aid tent or wherever.

“We’d get fined for doing this in the U.S.,” I said to Ferdy as we and a dozen or so others were poised at the edge of some trees personally trying to put out a forest fire.

“Fined? Why?” asked Ferdy. “It’s natural.”

Such is true.

LUXEMBOURG HIKING - NaturWanderPark delux

2013-04-27T11:13:00.000-07:00

Vianden Castle

Just got back from spending three days hiking and dining with some European journalists and bloggers in Luxembourg’s Mullerthal and Ardennes regions. Absolutely beautifully breathtakingly stunning nice and fun! We were exploring a few of the trails in the new , a joint Deutschland-Luxembourg (de-lux, get it?) tourism project that offers hikes that loop through both countries, sometimes crossing the Our River to do so.

Here’re some quick-hit impressions:

-The Mullerthal region (oft referred to as Little Switzerland; Petite Suisse Luxembourgeoise ) has some amazing hiking trails that meander through bizarrely sculpted sandstone rock formations. For you Northwest folks, much of them are exactly like the sandstone bluffs along Chuckanut Bay—except they’re in middle of the woods in a landlocked European country! Farther north, the Ardennes hills surrounding Vianden offer sweeping views down into the Our River valley and the patchwork of forests, fields and farmland on both the Luxembourg and German sides.

Cool rock formations along the Mullerthal trail.

-Where I live in America, crossing the border from the U.S. into Canada can sometimes take an hour-and-a-half of waiting in line in your car, inhaling auto and truck exhaust, being forced to listen to krappy tunes coming from other cars, all culminating perhaps with a drug-sniffing dog rummaging through your car for drugs and/or illegal immigrants. So it’s refreshingly fun and freeing to cross back and forth between two countries as simply and easily as if you were taking the next step on your mindless saunter out to the kitchen to see if they were any croissants left over from breakfast.

It’s sort of ironic to the think about too: the U.S. and Canada have been never been at odds militarily and yet to cross from one to the other requires such effort, preparation and a following of myriad rules and regulations. However, even though Luxembourg and Germany have a history of conflict (e.g., the Nazis occupied Luxembourg during World War II) crossing from one to the other couldn’t be easier. On my Mullerthal-Ardennes visit, sometimes all it took was walking across the bridge spanning the Our River; in other spots, the border is marked by a widely-spaced row of short, cement blocks. One could--and one did quite often--stand on one of these block so he could say that he was in two countries at once.

My right arm is in Luxembourg, my left in Germany.

-Castles are my new bald eagle. What I mean is this—when I first moved from New Jersey to the Northwest, I couldn’t believe how common bald eagles were. I’d never seen one before, yet during salmon spawning it’s not uncommon in Washington State to see 30 eagles in a single tree. So I spent much of my first few years there in open-mouthed wonder. Similarly, I have no experience with castles.

“We don’t have castles in America,” I said during this trip to one of my new friends, a journalist from Germany. She appeared stunned.

So I spent much of these three days in gape-mouthed wonder, especially during our 90-minute explore of spectacular Le Château de Vianden.

Inside the chapel at Vianden Castle.

-The Mullerthal and Vianden region would be AMAZING for trail running. (Though I hiked about 25 miles during my three-day visit, I didn’t get a chance to go running.) Lots of single- and double-track, mega-ups and mega-downs, stunning vistas, terrific signage to keep from getting lost, castles (CASTLES!), Europey-looking villages and more—can’t wait to get back up there and put running-shoe tread to trail!

Trail running the Mullerthal.

-The Mullerthal and Vianden region is rollicking big-time fun for mountain biking. (See above, the only difference being that just before my hiking trip, I rode a 70K mountain bike randonnee in the Mullerthal and thus I’ve experienced its fat-tire goodness first-hand.)

-With smooth, curvy-swervey paved roads that go up, up, and up, and sometimes culminate with an ancient castle (A CASTLE!), I simply can’t wait to head up there on my road bike! (‘Cause there’re castles ‘n’ all.)

-They have green woodpeckers in Luxembourg. (GREEN woodpeckers!) I didn’t actually see one, but I did see a picture of one in our guide Marco’s guidebook. We did see a den hole for a badger though. (Honey badger?)

-Beds in Luxembourg and Germany don’t seem to have top sheets.

-When you’re at a restaurant and you’re done eating, place your knife and fork on your plate at 4 o’clock otherwise the waiter thinks you’re still eating and won’t take your plate away.

Burg Falkenstein, Germany

LUXEMBOURG MYSTERY SOUND

2013-04-17T12:12:00.000-07:00

Please enjoy some random bike photos with this story.

This is the first time I’ve lived in a city apartment in about 20 years and I have to say, I’m really enjoying it. I like not having a car and thus, not paying for gas, insurance, maintenance, registration tabs, etc. It’s fun relying on public transportation, my bike or walking to get around.

Granted, the rental management company (agence immobiliere) seems to be run by a band of chucklehead teens up to no good. We’ll call them up to let them know there’s a problem—“Our half-melted bathroom light fixture is still shooting sparks at us whenever we turn it on; are you going to send someone out to fix it like you told us six weeks ago?—and swear we hear snickering on the other end of the line.

“Oui, oui, Monsieur, someone will get right back to you,” they say, amid barely suppressed giggle fits.

Then nothing. No one ever comes out to fix anything.

I imagine we’re the subjects of some YouTube video in which unsuspecting tenants are shown being repeatedly lied to over the phone by pranking agence immobiliere employees whose goal it is to make the tenants snap.

But other than that, everything’s fine. And I love my new rituals. My morning walks down to the bakery on the corner for croissants and muffins. My thrice-weekly runs through the historic and beautiful Petrusse Valley, which is less than a kilometer away. Our easy jaunts into the city Centre where the pretty people hang out. Also, our son’s school is right across the street from our apartment. It’s all good.

In recent days, however, I’d become intrigued by what I soon termed the Mystery Sound. A sort-of repetitive rhythmic Whoomp-Whoomp-Whoomp, which at first I took to be the upstairs couple in the throes of horizontal passion. But the Whoomping would go on for hours. And unless the guy was suffering one of the side effects I’ve heard about on the Viagra and Cialis commercials—no, not the sudden vision loss or ringing in the ears—that wasn’t likely.

Whoomp-Whoomp-Whoomp …

And then it would stop for a few hours.

And then start up again.

Whoomp-Whoomp-Whoomp …

After establishing that it wasn’t coming from anywhere inside our apartment, the next time the Whoomping started, I ventured out into the hallway and began listening outside our neighbors’ doorways. Perhaps a fellow tenant was using one of those Nordic Track indoor cross-country ski trainers? And given their multi-hour-long workouts, maybe he or she is a future Olympian. Perhaps one I could befriend and whom with gift me with tickets to next year’s Winter Games in Russia!

But, no, I heard nothing at either neighbor’s doorway.

I climbed the stairs to the floor above and the Whoomping got quieter. Aha! It’s coming from below. Now we’re getting somewhere. I sprinted down to the lobby but as soon as I got there, the Whoomping stopped. I’d have to wait to find the Whoomping source, but that was OK. I was creeping ever closer to discovering the source of the Mystery Sound.

The next day, as soon as the Whoomping started, I flew down to the lobby, where it sounded like two rhinoceroses were taking turns butting their giant horned heads against a wall down below. Opening the door to the dungeon-like basement, the sound was so loud I couldn’t help but wince with each Whoomp!

I soldiered on down the stairs, step-by-step, in a sort-of sideways, slightly crouched defensive position, fists clenched and forearms up should I need to shield my face from an attack. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I followed the sound to an unmarked door from where the Whoomping sound was definitely emanating.

I was nervous. I was scared. With the loud Whoomping now throbbing in my head, I turned the knob, thrust open the door and leapt inside, grunting threateningly with great menace! But not too great of menace. Just in case there was someone inside the room and I needed my threatening grunt to be interpreted as just a loud cough.

My eyes darted all around the empty room, which appeared to be a catch-all storage, electrical, heating, utility-type space. Over in a corner, I found my great white whale, the source of all Whoomping: a techy-looking green cube stuck to the wall amid a jumble of pipes and wires. A small light flashed with each pulsating Whoomp! It was as if the green cube had come to life and was barking at me.

I ventured a closer look; printing on the cube read: Wasseraufbereitung. I whipped out my smartphone and Google-translated Wasseraufbereitung. I suspected it meant detonator. Or Time bomb. Or possibly C4 Explosive Cube!

Instead, the translator came back with … Water Treatment.

Oh. It’s some sort of water treatment thingy. I know Luxembourg has a funky water issue wherein everything gets coated with calcium or sandstone or something. And that you buy detergent and dishwashing soap with special de-scaling agents; the Wasseraufbereitung must deal with that. It’s then that I notice a clear hose leading from the cube down to a box on the floor marked ‘Minerals.’ Ah.

But why the Whoomping, and the flashing lights? Common sense would dictate that I check with the agence immobilier. But I know that won’t get me anywhere.

‘Cept onto another YouTube prank video.

LANGUAGES OF LUXEMBOURG

2013-04-12T11:35:00.000-07:00

The multiple-language skills of the people I’ve met here in Luxembourg have been mind-boggling. However, even they are not above picking the wrong word or word form now and then. (And please know that I am in no way criticizing; they are so far beyond me in linguistic dexterity that it’s embarrassing.)

-My Luxembourgish mountain-biking friends use the word ‘funny’ for ‘fun.’

“There’re great trails above Hesperange,” they'll tell me. “They’re really cool, man. You’ll love it. They’re really funny.”

So for a moment I envision a trail strewn with jokes and pranks: banana peels to make us slip and fall, overturned buckets raining confetti down on our heads, a Monty Python-esque Ministry of Silly Riding demonstration, etc.—all to a Yackety Sax soundtrack.

-Last week, I visited the Luxembourg City tourist office to pick up a cycling map. I enjoyed a brief social banter with the woman behind the counter—not sure exactly which European country she was from—whose English was at least as good as mine. But when I left, she nodded her head good-bye and said, “So, Mister. Please.”

(Made me feel a little better for the countless times I’ve left some shop and said, “Bonjour.”)

Here’s another language-based tidbit:

-During one of my first days here, I went to a pizza joint around the corner to order some dinner. The pizza maker was a skinny guy in his 30s who spoke Italian and a little French, but no English. Luckily though, a woman who works in the bakery down the street and whom I see almost every day, was there just hanging around. Thing is, while she’s French and also speaks German, she speaks no English. I speak a wee, tiny, miniscule bit of 7th-grade German and so with a lot of hand gestures, nodding and head shaking, we combined forces to translate my German to her French to the pizza maker’s Italian.

I began: “Pizza … gross (large), mit uh, … käse (cheese) … und pepperoni?” I’m stumped; I have no idea what the German word is for pepperoni, but I see salami on the menu.

“Salami. Zwei (two) salami- käse pizzas. Ein (one) gross, ein … uh, nicht so gross,” and motion with my hands to get my point across that I also want a medium.

This was transformed by the bakery woman into lots of pretty sounds (French) and by the pizza maker in Fellini movie-sounding Italian which he then barked at some kid who, until this point had been folding pizza boxes in the corner.

While an overhead TV played music videos, I waited for my pizzas. I attempted to make small talk with the bakery woman who was now seated reading a book. Let’s see, what German phrases do I know? “Jochen, bist du im garten?” (Jochen, are you in the garden?) Not really applicable here.

“Mein name ist Mike,” I say.

“Ah,” she says, somewhat humoring me. “Mein name ist (something that started with a ‘V’ but that I couldn’t understand even after asking her to repeat it three times.)

She went back to reading, but I didn’t want to give up; I find it fascinating to try to communicate with others in foreign languages I can’t understand.

“Ich schreibe,” I say. “Ich schreibe buchs. (I write books.)”

She held up the book she was reading and said something that I assume was, ‘Books like this?’ It was a girly-ish novel with a French title.

I said, guidebooks, and I acted out running, hiking and biking by making exaggerated walking and pedaling motions.

“Ahh, velo?“ she said.

“Yes—oui, velo,” I said, fairly unable to control my excitement at now having switched from German to French. Am I the shiz or what? (Suis-je le shiz ou quoi?)

On my smartphone, I went to amazon.com and showed her some of the books I’d written. She nodded her head as she scrolled through the site. When she was done, out of curiosity, I looked up the book that she was reading: “Cinquante nuances de Grey.” (50 Shades of Grey.)

No, I don’t write books like that.

IN WHICH WE'RE VISITED BY A GERMAN ELECTRICIAN

2013-04-08T10:38:00.003-07:00

Last week, we had a German electrician in to fix a bathroom light fixture that’d been melted away by the previous tenant. (Only took the agence immobiliere seven weeks to get someone out here but, I digress…) The electrician wasn’t brusque exactly, maybe just all-business. As in: get in, get the job done and get out. For about an hour he was in our bathroom banging away. From time to time, I heard his harsh German voice aggressively arguing with someone via his cellphone. (Or maybe he was just having a normal German conversation; it was hard to tell.) Once or twice I heard the word, ‘Kaput!’

Eventually, he emerged from the bathroom, toolbox in hand and, in very calm clear English, declared the job done. He had me sign some papers and turned to leave, but suddenly found himself in the mood to tell me about his various trips to America.

“I was there before,” he says. “Lots of times. Florida. Uh, … Orlando. The place with all the parks.”

“Oh yeah, like Disney World?” I say.

“No, not Disney World. That’s for the little children,” he says. “I like the, uh … Harry Potter World! That was cool! They have this one ride—you feel just like you’re flying! Flying with Harry Potter—I loved that!”

He also told me that he owned some kind of race car and that he once had it shipped over to Nashville. I thought he was going to detail some sort of racing he did there. (Rally car? NASCAR?) But instead, he was practically breathless with excitement as he told me how loud and powerful the sound system was in this race car. How he’d installed this and that, and how many decibels, watts, etc. that it pumped out. He never once said anything about racing or even driving the car. I nodded as if I understood perfectly, but I was thoroughly confused.

Lastly, he told me about his upcoming trip to Las Vegas and Hawaii and Phoenix. (The mention of Phoenix often causes a knee-jerk reaction wherein I launch into the Ironman triathlon I once did there—see, I did it again!)

“Phoenix wasn’t my choice,” he says. “I wanted to go to that place where they have the bridge. The big red bridge.”

Red bridge in Arizona? Maybe he means red rocks, I wonder.

“Sedona? Or the Grand Canyon?” I offer.

“No, the big red bridge. In California, Francisco.”

“The Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he says. “But the tour wasn’t going there. I go to the red bridge next time.”

Sounds like a plan.

LUXEMBOURG SPACE AND TIME

2013-04-03T03:01:00.000-07:00

Luxembourg is a tiny country. For you Bellinghamsters, from east to west Luxembourg is about as wide as the distance from Bellingham to Glacier; north-south it’s about from Bellingham to Everett. Yet, within that 999 square miles, they have three official languages—Luxembourgish, French and German. English is not an official one but most people here speak it, or at least “a lee-tel bit,” usually said while wincing and holding up a hand to show a small space between thumb and index finger. Go to an cash machine here and you have five language options, the above four and Portuguese. (There are some 60,000 Portuguese or people of Portuguese descent in Luxembourg, about 13 percent of the total population.)

Lots of people seem to think that Luxembourg is a city in another country. When we’d tell people we were moving here, many said, “That’s in Germany, right?” When my mother went to her local post office in Florida to mail me a letter, the woman behind the counter insisted that my mother include a country. Even though my mother had properly addressed the letter.

“Don’t blame me when it doesn’t get there,” the woman said.

Luxembourg is a small country so it makes sense that its postal codes are short: an ‘L’, followed by four digits. (Ours is L-2128, for anyone who’d like to send us unsolicited checks.) Phone numbers are a different story. They seem to be six, seven, sometimes eight numbers. I’m never really sure. Timewise, Luxembourg goes by the 24-hour clock, which I’m pretty good at until I get to about 17:00, which takes me a moment to realize is 5, not 7 p.m. I get better again when it gets to 22:00, which I know is 10 p.m. From there, I’m fine. 23.00 is the 11^th hour, as it were. Datewise, though I’m still pretty screwed. The day and month are switched. So a day like today, April 3 (4/3/2013), is especially confusing because here it’s 3/4/2013. But wasn’t that last month, my brain keeps asking.

LUXEMBOURG TALES

2013-03-30T04:42:00.000-07:00

About a month ago, I met and rode mountain bikes with Franz Schneider for the first time. (I’d contacted him through his terrific mountain-bike website, biker.lu.) Franz bike commutes to work and he made a plan for us to meet up on his way home in Strassen (Stroossen in Luxembourgish), a neighboring town about three miles from my Luxembourg apartment. We’d ride to his house and, after he changed clothes and bikes, spend a couple hours riding the trails and dirt roads of the Strassen Forest. Sounded good to me.

So we meet up, chitchat a little while riding and, just after pedaling into Strassen, we pass what appears to be a drunk (or dead?) guy lying in the grass next to some bushes at the side of the road. My initial thought is: “Interesting. I didn’t think Luxembourg had drunkard-slash-junky-looking folks lying around, but I guess they do.” At the time I’d been in the country for two weeks and hadn’t yet seen anyone like this. And then, truthfully, I didn’t give the guy another thought. (If I had stopped to think about every dubious-looking character I saw lying in the grass at Maritime Heritage Park on my way home back in Bellingham, I’d have never made it home.)

But Franz is clearly alarmed. He skids to a stop, gets off his bike and approaches the guy. A bus driver pulls over, jumps out of his bus to see if he can help. A passing motorist stops too. Franz tries to rouse the guy but he’s not moving at all. I’m sure he’s dead. Wow, my first dead guy, I think to myself. Welcome to Luxembourg!

Soon enough, the guy starts moving around, gives a big exhalation of breath whereupon the air all the way from Strassen to Luxembourg reeks of booze. He tries to stand, plants his feet wide apart for balance and looks right at me. He says something that has great meaning to him in Drunkenbourgish and then keels over and passes out again.

It’s cold, a damp 35 degrees that chills one to the bone, and so Franz and the bus driver are concerned that the guy will freeze to death. Franz dials 112 for an ambulance to take the guy to the hospital. Ten minutes later an efficient team of EMT folks arrive and herd the guy into the back of their vehicle. Addi, my drunken friend!

All I can think of is the two emergency room visits I had in recent years—for facial lacerations when a tree fell on me; a broken collarbone—and how they each cost me more than $1,000. And that’s with insurance and without an ambulance ride to get there.

Back on our bikes, Franz and I continue on to his house. I ask him if the drunk guy is going to have to pay for his treatment. He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think so.

LUXEMBOURG CITY RIDE VIDEO

2013-03-25T04:48:00.000-07:00

Here's a pretty cool video I shot a couple days ago of some of Luxembourg's amazing landmarks. I also happened upon a road cyclist who let me tag along and I got great footage of us riding some of the city's narrow, skinny cobbled streets.

Finally got a pic of the above place too. Always puts me in mind of Galbraith Mountain where there're trails named Bob's and Not Bob's. Then Brian Ecker tagged me on facebook with the below pic:

Speaking of facebook, I started a new page. It's called An American in Luxembourg and focuses on this American (me) who's in Luxembourg (here). Check it out and please 'Like' it if you're so inclined.

LUXEMBOURG PHOTOS; AMERICAN WOMEN'S CLUB OF L-CITY

2013-03-17T06:47:00.000-07:00

Before we left for Luxembourg, we’d read about the American Women’s Club of Luxembourg which is supposed to be a great resource for Americans living here. They publish a useful guidebook, hold meetings and outings, offer French classes, etc. Turns out, they’re located right next door to our apartment. (A lot of doctors, lawyers, dentists and various organizations have offices in apartments around here too.)

The other day, I’d just finished a run and looked out the window to see a small group of women standing around chatting outside the building next door. Somehow, I just knew they were American. So I cracked open the window and sure enough, I heard the familiar clang of American English. Not sure, how I knew they were American—something about their coats and bags, not quite as chic, more useful against the cold; the way they faced each other, smiled, laughed lots and nodded.

I ran down and introduced myself and got some basic information—they’d just come from a meeting at the American Women’s Club. I asked if the club was just for women and one of them said, “Yes, in fact there’s a room full of naked women up there right now,” and we all laughed in our American way. They also told me that a Men’s group was also starting but they didn’t have any details. I said, “It’s not just a bunch of man-cave types, is it?”

I went upstairs, met the club president (Yes, it is for women only), saw a French class going on and got some contact info for a French teacher and the men’s club. The club president showed me a room where they stock a whole bunch of American food that you can’t get in Luxembourg but that club members can buy--peanut butter, Reece’s peanut butter cups, pop tarts, Sugar Pops and other breakfast cereals, etc. Later, when I get back home, I look out my window to the building next door and there in a second-story window, I can see bags of Doritos, Lay's potato chips and Funions! The top of a Jif crunchy peanut butter jar too, which fairly makes me salivate every time I look out that window.

LUXEMBOURG RANDONNEE VIDEO

2013-03-15T01:15:00.000-07:00

Here's a 2-minute video from last Sunday's mountain bike randonnee near Kayl, Luxembourg, just a few miles from the border with France. The dude in yellow pants who shows up a lot is my friend, Franz Schneider, impresario of the way-useful biker.lu site.

I've been riding two or three times a week with Franz; he's been an excellent tour guide to the beautiful Luxembourg countryside. Here's a shot Franz took from yesterday's snow-filled ride.

LUXEMBOURG MEANDERINGS

2013-03-12T12:30:00.000-07:00

Here're some more thoughts, observations from our first three-and-a-half weeks in Luxembourg:

Things I like about Luxembourg:

- The Milka chocolate; in fact, chocolate here in general is the bomb!

- The mélange or, as the kids say, mash-up of languages that’re everywhere—this morning I went to a bakery and said "Moien" (Luxembourgish) as I entered, ordered "ein poche pomme und ein muffin chocolat, bitte" (German), said "Merci," (French) and, for good measure, "Vielen Dank" (German) when I exchanged my money for food, and "Atty" (Lux) as I bid adieu. (I’m sure it’s a mess, but I have fun trying.)

- The cobbled streets, narrow alleyways and stone arches that are everywhere.

- Turning a corner and having my breath taken away by one surprise vista after another—a stone bridge over a winding river, fortress walls built into sandstone bluffs, gonging church bells, steep-pitched Europey- rooftops, etc. History is everywhere here, it seems.

- Poking my head into a hundreds-years-old church or cathedral and being gifted with a practicing choir or someone jamming on the church organ.

- While riding my bike, finding yet another steep cobbled street that beckons me to attack it as if I were Tom Boonen pulling the peloton into a spot of bother.

- The buses and train system.

- The paved bike paths, bike lanes and signage for each.

- That people have been super nice.

- Franz Schneider and his biker.lu cronies.

- The Petrusse Valley.

- Baguettes from Fischer bakeries.

- Having Eurovision HD on my cable TV system. (Along with beaucoup cycling, they've been showing a lot of biathlon, ski jumping, women’s soccer and snooker.)

- That there appears to be no sprawl here.

Things I don’t like about Luxembourg

- There are no Starbucks.

- Everything, EVERYTHING is closed on Sundays.

- It’s crazy expensive to live here.

- The weather hasn’t been the greatest so far. Probably three excellent days, seven days of snow (it looked like a blizzard outside much of today), the rest mostly gray.

- Our apartment is great but whomever manages it, their website should be www.wedon’tgiveacrap.com

- I don’t have a guitar here.

Things I’ve found sort of odd, interesting, different from the U.S.

- That the female bathroom attendant at the gare (train station) told me that it was 60 cents “to go pee-pee”, 1.10 euro if I needed to do something else (as it were).

- No one seems to pay to ride the city buses and the drivers seem almost annoyed when you do.

- Check-out cashiers at grocery stores are seated.

- Everything, EVERYTHING is closed on Sundays.

- There are no Starbucks.

- Besides McDonalds the other American fast-food chain that’s common here is … Subway. (???)

- Watching “The Voice Italy” and “The Voice Belgium”

SEATTLE BIKE EXPO THIS WEEKEND

2013-03-08T07:47:00.000-08:00

Bummed I won't be able to make it physically to this weekend's Seattle Bike Expo, an annual rite of spring, but I'll be there in spirit (and print) at the Mountaineers Books booth. Stop by and say 'Hi' to everyone for me, maybe pick up a copy of "75 Classic Rides: Washington" while you're there.

Bon weekend, everyone, and for your visual enjoyment, here are some photos from Luxembourg City and Echternach, a lovely historic village about 20 miles northwest of L-town.

LUXEMBOURG WEEKEND RIDES

2013-03-05T00:44:00.000-08:00

About a week ago I had the great fortune of making contact with Franz (umlaut over the 'a') Schneider, who runs the way-cool, all-things-Luxembourg mountain bike website biker.lu. Along with being a great rider and knowing every square inch of where to ride in the Grand Duchy, he's a super guy with a terrific sense of humor. And, he speaks like four languages--Luxembourgish, French, German and English.

This past weekend we got in a couple really fun rides--a nighttime Tour de Luxembourg City that looped around this 1,050-year-old city, and a Sunday morning ride across the forests and fields of the central Luxembourg countryside. During the night ride, Franz tried to teach me how to count to 10 in Luxembourgish. I didn't do very well but I can say hello ("Moien") and good-bye: ("Atty")

As I hope these photos show, the riding here is very different from Bellingham and the Northwest in general. I grew up in rural New Jersey (not an oxymoron) and it reminds me of the rolling terrain there with its leafy forests, short steep hills, narrow creeks and streams. Many's the time I've thought to myself that the Luxembourg countryside is very similar to where my sister Kath used to live in Warren County, NJ.

Franz has led me on several great rides and one of the things I find interesting is that we just seem to go from field to field, forest to forest, without any demarcation of parkland or recreational forest or whatever. We ride seemingly wherever we want. And we see lots of others out hiking, running, etc. so everyone's doing it. (Quick note on the above pic of the band; on Sunday I rode to Franz's house and came across this combo marching up and down the street garnering donations door-to-door ... at 9 o'clock in the morning!)

In truth, much of what we've ridden so far is dirt road, intermingled with stretches of fun singletrack. The more technical trails are apparently in the Mullerthal, an area about 25 miles north of Luxembourg City and that's known as Little Switzerland. I'm hoping to ride there in a couple weeks in the Randonnee Mullerthal.

There seem to be lots of mountain bike randonnee events--mountain bike tours, as it were, as opposed to races. You pay 5 or 10 euros and follow various marked routes (called "tracks" over here) of 20-, 40- or 60-K, whatever. Seems like a lot of fun.

I don't think I've mentioned my new bike frame yet. Before I left Bellingham, I took my bike into Fanatik, to have a once-over and they found a crack in the chainstay. So I just had to buy a new frame and all they had lying around was this sleek, sexy Niner Air 9 (below) which I was pretty much forced to buy. Really, I was. Honest. I'm still getting used to it on these totally unfamiliar trails, but so far, I'm digging it. Funny, it's only been ridden in Luxembourg.

LUXEMBOURG RANDOMNESS

2013-02-28T02:03:00.000-08:00

Franz Schneider of www.biker.lu leads the way on a fun ride last night across the snowy, muddy, windswept fields of the Luxembourg countryside. Franz knows all the best places to ride in the Grand Duchy and I hope to tag along on many rides in the future.

Here's a sort-of mixed bag assortment. Some random thoughts, impressions and occurrences from my first few days in Luxembourg.

(Feb. 16, a few hours after we arrive.)

It’s 4 .m. but to me feels like 7 p.m. and given that I’m deep in the throes of a jet-lag funk, I can’t sleep worth a damn. So I go out for a walk in this city I’ve never been to before.
I walk through a nice park which has signs that appear to say no ball-playing, kids with helmets, or apple cores among other things. It also has the most amazing clipper-ship playground which, whale-and-clipper-ship lover that I was as a child would’ve been absolutely heaven for me. (An admitted Aubrey-Maturin series nerd--"Master and Commander," etc.--it still knocks my socks off!)

Even though it’s getting to be 4:30 in the morning, I begin seeing singles, lovey-dovey couples and drunk folk walking down the streets around me. I follow to where they appear to be coming from and find We Own the Night, a hopping nightclub with pulsating lights and music and and dozens of young Eurohipsters hanging about. I watch the spectacle for a bit—it’s as if I’m invisible, a function I take it, of me no longer being young and pretty— then head down into a pedestrian area very similar to Rue Claire in Paris.

Yeah, baby!

Pretty soon I hear two guys and a woman—all French—walking behind me. She’s singing, is quite pretty, and holding a full glass of wine. It’s like something out of a movie.
Eurohipters themselves, they say “Bonjour,” “Hallo!,” “Wei geht’s,” to me and when I don’t really react—like I say, I’m jetlagged like crazy and not really sure what I’m seeing--one of them finally says “What’s Up?” in a phony American accent.
Then, “Weed … do you know where we can find some weed?” they ask.
They tell me they’re from just over the border in France, and seem disappointed that I can’t help them. I tell them I’m from America, near Seattle, which seems to somewhat impress, but also confuse them.
“You moved from Seattle to Luxembourg?” one of the Euroboys asks. “You’re going to be very depressed. There’s nothing to do here; you’re going to need Xanax to live here.” (Since Xanax is for panic attacks, that’s probably not what he meant, but I got the idea.)
As they stumble away down the cobbled street, the woman calls back over her shoulder, “Good luck, Seattle Boy!”

Just one of the countless cool, Europey buildings here in Luxembourg.

(Feb 16 - later that same day.)
Our first full day in the city we rent a van, an Opel not much bigger than our Versa and head to an IKEA just across the border in Belgium, known here as Belgique. (It’s less than 10 miles from our apartment.) We pick up a couple beds, a desk, some chairs and more during an exhaustive 5-hour shopping marathon. We note that the cafeteria offers IKEA-brand beer. Bake and I are so tired that a couple times we sit down on chairs in the store and nod off for 20 minutes.

(Feb 17)
Got out for a 90-minute ride to a forested area south of Bertrange (I think). Fun, pretty mellow. Though dirt and mud, there was nothing narrower than a city street. Still, amazing to get out in the Luxembourg countryside. Early in the ride, met a Danish rider named Jesper who let me follow him for a bit and pointed the way to this forest. He rode a Cannondale MTB with 26-inch tires and a rigid carbon fork.
Ornithological observation: There are magpies here the way we have Stellars Jays back in Western Washington state.
Later, Jen and I rode bikes downtown (Centre) to a McDonalds. It was Sunday and no grocery stores, or really anything was open. We notice that everything that’s extra-large or extra-meaty is the “American” this or that. (Same thing in grocery and retail stores; 'American-size' seems to be code for XL or XXL.)

A couple blocks from our apartment I came across this mural of Krusty the Clown, my spiritual leader and adviser.

(Feb 18)
After-dinner exploratory night ride down into the gorge (Petrusse Valley). Incredible. Spooky cool. Expected to see homeless or nefarious types down there but it was empty. Lots of birds (crows?) in the trees, seemed upset by my presence.

(Feb 19)
Stopped in at a bike shop. (I don’t know the name.) It’s a combination high-end (Pinarello/Cannondale, etc.) bike shop and Shuck’s auto-supply store. You pay for stuff at the store's only check-out counter near the front exit whether you’re getting Mavic Cross Max rims or windshield wiper blades.

Later, at one point during a short exploratory ride, wherein I'm pedaling cobbled streets past the ducal palace while contemplating the city's thousand-plus-year history, I say aloud to myself: “I loooove this city!” (I may have thrown a "frickin'" in there for effect.)

Later, later, during a run, I stopped in to check out Luxembourg’s Notre Dame Cathedral, which dates back to 1613. It’s stunningly ornate and beautiful. I love big old European cathedrals and the art within—were religion not involved, I would so be Catholic.

(Feb 20)
With the potential for four different languages—French, German, Luxembourgish, English—combined with my eagerness to throw myself into it, I get confused. Yesterday at a bakery, I said “Si” for thank-you. In general, if people don’t speak English, they speak German and I can sorta try that. “Was ist das?” goes a long way as does “Wei geht’s?” “Danke” and “Auf Weidersehn.” Plus, if they want me to, I can count to 20 in German, but that hasn’t come up yet.

Lots of bike lanes here in Villa de Luxembourg!

(Feb 24)
Saturday, along with another trip to Belgique and IKEA (15 minutes away) we went to Cactus, a huge grocery store Strassen, a neighbring town of L'bourg. As soon as you walk in, you’re greeted by a bar and a sort-of food court area. Also, some retail stores like a mall.
Yesterday, I rode down into the Petrusse Valley to take pics of the snow. (We’ve been having the oddest snowfall I’ve ever seen—non-stop snow for going on 48 hours and yet total accumulation is an inch, maybe two.) Hooked up with another mountain biker and he took me riding east of the city, to a nice forested area with some fun mellow trails. Getting there and back was cool too—up and down various narrow cobbled streets, along the river, past an ancient monastery, etc.
It was a Sunday morning and hearing church bells gonging through the valley of an historic European city makes you feel, yet again, like you’re in a movie. It’s incredibly moving.

Last week Bake and I had to get physicals in order to prove our fitness for living in Luxembourg. Next up, we get chest X-rays and are tested for TB which, from what Jen said, is a sort of creepy experience. Lookin’ forward to it!

MORE LUXEMBOURG PHOTS

2013-02-24T12:23:00.003-08:00

Busy as heck getting settled into our Luxembourg apartment so I've not had to time to write. But words will eventually follow. For now, please enjoy some photos of this beautiful city.

LUXEMBOURG PHOTOS

2013-02-19T13:54:00.000-08:00

I've got spotty, circa 1996-esque Internet service right now and probably will have for the next few days. Please enjoy some early pics though until we get Innerweb matters cleared up.

First outdoor ride on the Air 9, to a forested park just outside Luxembourg.

Beautiful Europey-looking building ... with a McDonald's next door.

Coolest play structure ever!

First ride on the Air 9!

PACKIN' UP!

2013-02-08T16:45:00.000-08:00

Sorry I've not been posting lately. I've been feverishly packing up the house ahead of our move next week to Luxembourg. (That still sounds surreal to me.) Please bear with me; I'm sure I'll soon be posting some cool pics from the Grand Duchy!

Have a great weekend, everyone!

SNOW-BIKING STORY HITS SEATTLE TIMES (OUCH!)

2013-01-31T09:42:00.000-08:00

My upcoming story on snow-biking in the Methow is no longer upcoming; it's right here.

SNOW BIKING IN THE METHOW VALLEY

2013-01-29T19:21:00.000-08:00

Here's a video I shot a couple weeks ago of Joe Brown and I snow biking in Winthrop. (He owns Methow Cycle & Sport there.) The video is for an upcoming Seattle Times story and they wanted me to do an accompanying voice-over. Thus, the abundance of "Um's" and "Uh's". (Please excuse.)

BROKEN COLLARBONE UPDATE, ALMOST 3 YEARS LATER

2013-01-23T23:37:00.000-08:00

For a little collarbone-related peace of mind before I leave for Luxembourg, I saw Dr. Bergman yesterday. He's the surgeon who plated my collarbone in May 2010 when I Supermanned over my bike handlebars on the Boulevard Trail in Bellingham.

I'd been wondering if I should have the titanium centipede removed (see above X-ray shot yesterday) because a screw, or something, visibly protrudes. (See here and other posts throughout this blog.) And while it doesn't hamper or limit my mobility in any way, sometimes my collarbone aches and with such a protuberance (that's an upsetting word), I wondered if it was time to have it taken out.

But Dr. Bergman says no. The X-ray shows that the clavicle has healed well and there's no sign of a screw working its way out, which had been my concern. He prodded around a bit, said everything felt good and that the protuberance (there's that word) might just be bone growth atop one of the nine screw heads. "Whew!," say I. I was loathe to have more surgery.

In the above photo, please also take a moment to admire my first-ever Fu Manchu mustache. Or maybe it's a biker mustache. (What's the difference?)

UPCOMING LUXEMBOURG ADVENTURE AND OPEN HOUSE

2013-01-19T14:27:00.004-08:00

Sorry I've not been writing much in the way of words lately, but I am frantically packing up the house in anticipation of our family's grand relocation to Luxembourg. We leave Valentine's Day, a little less than a month! Pretty darn excited though I will certainly miss Bellingham, the Northwest and the terrific friends I've made here. And of course, we'll be back at some point in the future so there's no point in me getting all weepy-sad.

See the bottom of this post for details about next Sunday's open-house kinda sorta good-bye thang that my good friends John and Nancy Clark are hosting. All are welcome!

Glenn and John (who's laughing, not having some sort of fit) on Saturday, above the clouds on Burnout Road at the southern flank of Chuckanut Mountain. That's Lummi Island in the foreground with Orcas behind it.

Last Wednesday, I rode the snow bikes with Joe Brown of Methow Cycle and Sport. Lots of fun! I'll be writing a story about it for The Seattle Times.

Today, John and Scott try to figure out what the heck this solar-powered, beeping, toilet-looking thing is. It's up at Galby just east, and a little below Whoopsie Woodle.

Glenn and John yesterday climbing Fragrance Lake Road.

Partially frozen Lake Padden, today.

Hey y'all, I am deeply humbled by my good friends John and Nancy Clark who are hosting a "So Long for Now" Open House for Mike McQuaide (that's me) on Sunday, January 27 from 2 - 5ish (or whenever). Everyone is welcome and should feel free to pass the word on to whomever the heck you want to. (I mean, John Clark'll be there so you know it's pretty much open to anyone.)

Here are deets from the Clarks themselves:

"We are hosting an Open House to wish Mike (and Jen) McQuaide a wonderful new adventure in Luxenbourg. They came to Whatcom County and jumped right into the community many years ago, making us laugh along the way and showing us things us "Nativies" had ever seen or experienced! Hope you will join us! Jen has already started her new chapter in Luxenbourg with Mike and Baker joining her in the next few weeks.

Feel free to BYOB and bring an appetizer if you choose!

At John & Nancy Clark's, 2133 Walnut Street, Bellingham (671-5953)

Please pass the word on to anyone you know that might like to attend!"

CHILLER CROSS PHOTOS

2013-01-13T08:58:00.001-08:00

Words to follow. Thanks to John Clark for the running pics and the pre-race shot of Glenn and I. ...

Here's the video I put together. (Sorry it's shaky.)

"BIKING WHATCOM COUNTY" BOOK ON THE WAY!

2013-01-10T12:52:00.000-08:00

Had another great meeting last week with Village Books’ Chuck Robinson. Looks like we’re going to move forward on my next book, tentatively titled “Biking Whatcom County.” Plans are for Chuck to publish is as part of their Chuckanut Editions publishing arm.

Super-duper psyched, am I! It’ll be for ALL riders, from ultra-casual to ultra-Ecker, that is, ultra-hardcore. For roadies AND mountainees. Look for it (hopefully) by Ski to Sea at the end of May!

TORNADO TOM

2013-01-09T17:52:00.001-08:00

Full dislosure: McQ gots hiself a man crush on Tommeke.