Right before driving out to the Oregon coast, Rachel and I began this trip at the wedding of our dear friends, Chris and Colette. It was a perfect wedding in a beautiful place a few hours north of San Francisco. For the ceremony, Chris and Colette asked some friends to write blessings on various topics; Chris asked me to write one on travel and adventure.

In the 90 days since Chris’ wedding, Rachel and I haven’t been more than 25 feet from one another. It has been 90 days of accelerated change, for me, for her. It’s been a time of intensified emotions and of navigating through roles we have taken for one another, altering them, abandoning them, trying new ones on, and altering, abandoning, and trying on again. For my part, these have been 90 of the happiest days of my life.

I re-read the blessing I gave for Chris and Colette today. It is a blessing so relevant to these recent days of my life with Rachel. I’ve posted the transcript below as a blessing for the many adventures ahead:

People often speak of travel and adventure as if it is the same as vacation, as if it takes place in exotic locations and foreign lands, as if it is separate from our daily lives. But there is no division between travel, adventure, and life. Travel is movement and adventure is the unknown. And moving into the unknown is a choice; a tug of war between fear and hope: fear of what you may encounter and hope of what you may discover.

When a relationship is young, travel and adventure are effortless. We travel far because we are surrounded by newness, we experience adventure because so much is unknown. And there are those that say that as a relationship ages, travel and adventure diminish. But this is a trick and a test. Our eyes see the same shape in front of us and they say to our mind, “This is my husband. This is my wife.” But look closer. The person you woke up next to today is not the same person as the day before. They have grown, and you have grown. To continue your adventure together, free them every day to be the new person they have become. Free them because today you have promised to always choose hope over fear and to love the person you wake up next to tomorrow, even if they are not the person you marry today.

Chris and Colette, in the tug of war that inspires travel and adventure, your hope has always pulled harder than fear. May you continue to make this choice, may you continue to travel the world, and may you continue to see the adventure in each other.

This blessing sums up this trip for me. It has been a jewel of many facets, but the undivided time with Rachel was the one that sparkled brightest. She has loved me perfectly as I’ve navigated through this condensed period of change, and I have loved all that I’ve discovered about her and love the person she has become through it.

In the days ahead, we will be back in familiar environments and it will make the changes we have been through all the more evident. I’m curious to see what feels new in the weeks ahead. I wonder if we will react to old situations in new ways. I wonder if we will relate to each other in new ways. This chapter on biking across the country ended when we stepped into the Atlantic; I’m excited to answer these questions in the next chapter of our adventure together.

Brian | Brian, General thoughts | 08 9th, 2010 | 5 Comments »

August 1: Frederick, MD to Cockeystown, MD (57 miles)
August 2: Cockeystown, MD to Chesapeake City, MD (58 miles)
August 3 & 4: Visiting Brian’s dad in Chesapeake City, MD
August 5: Chesapeake City, MD to Milford, DE (54 Miles)
August 6: Milford, DE to Rehoboth Beach, DE (29 miles)

Total trip miles: 3,886

Well folks, we made it to the Atlantic. Not sure how to express what it feels like; I think we need to let it set in a bit longer. Expect a last post from us each soon.

Brian | Brian, Delaware, Rachel | 08 6th, 2010 | 4 Comments »

We’re in a hotel in Milford, Delaware. It’s dark now, and I can hear the rhythmic pulsating chirp of crickets outside the window. The bikes sit in a corner of the room. The tires and gears are beyond well-worn and the pedals are showing specks of rust here and there. My bike in particular has been making a sort of tubercular wheezing sound of late—I swear!—and when I ride it it rattles and creaks in a geriatric manner. I think it has osteoporosis.

Well, they’ve only got to last us a few more hours—the Atlantic ocean is only 30 miles away.

We are at the very end of the road, folks. Tomorrow morning we’ll turn the bikes eastward for the last time and ride into Rehoboth Beach, DE. We’ll be taking pictures of the ride and of our arrival (complete with wheel dip) and should post those by tomorrow evening or sometime the next day. I plan to play obnoxious video arcade driving games and make myself ill obsessively riding the Paratrooper (sort of like a Ferris wheel… but loopier!).

Tomorrow.

In a couple of days we’ll each post some final thoughts on the trip. Thank you, thank you all for reading our little chronicle—it’s been a delight having you along for the ride.

Brian | Delaware, Rachel | 08 5th, 2010 | 6 Comments »

This post has been a long time in the making. Okay, since we’re two days away from the Atlantic, I suppose it’s taken the entire trip. But I needed to amass enough data, people, so as to bring to light an accurate and informative record of the gastronomic side of BratAmerica. La cuisine de la cycliste!

What I mean is that I needed to stuff my face for three months.

—Gaily I contemplate the feasting to come.—

Since May 13 we have eaten like pigs. With unrepentant disregard for health, taste and decency we have consumed greasy meat dishes, bacon, ice cream, cheese, butter, and a disturbing array of fried foods on a daily basis. Fried potatoes is the least of it; we have had fried green beans, fried mushrooms, chicken-fried steak, fried zucchini, and fried chicken gizzards among other morsels. Oh, we’ve had some nutritionally balanced meals here and there—the odd upscale restaurant meal of salad and fish (or something of the sort) when we can find it. But for the most part, we have eaten what is commonly termed the Standard American Diet (SAD), and a particularly delicious nasty version of that diet to boot. White flour, too much meat and fat, few vegetables (unless fried, see above). Too many unpronounceable additives, preservatives, and plenty of FD&C food coloring. And sugar. Oh, the sugar.

—A light appetizer to tide us over until dinnertime. I look possessed here, no?—

“But you’ve been cycling, burning off a bunch of calories,” you protest. “You can eat whatever you want, surely?” My digestive organs beg to differ. Lately I’ve felt as if my small intestine is housing a dead gopher.

And still, we have gorged on.

—Not a shred of vegetable compromises the meaty integrity of this sandwich.—

If you are going to cycle across the US, you will of necessity find yourself in the sparsely-populated countryside much of the time, especially in the Western states. Such places are great for cycling—there are fewer cars and the scenery is much more pleasant (if not outright stunning). Sadly, what you gain in scenery you lose in quality of available victuals. You might be riding through pristine forests or open, sweeping plains, but at the end of the evening it’s gonna be gas station burrito for supper, not arugula salad with grilled tofu. Simply put, you can’t eat well on a cross-country cycling trip. All the other cyclists we met, or read about online, were eating much the same way.

Maybe if you have loads of time every evening you can ride miles out of your way to find the only grocery store in the county and purchase raw ingredients which you must then cook, but then you would be losing time, precious time. Time you could be spending drinking.

Because, oh, trust me: YOU ARE GOING TO WANT TO DRINK.

—Here I am drinking bourbon out of a plastic wine reservoir. It’s cocktail time.—

—Beer and map study: a common evening activity.—

(Well, probably. If you don’t drink as a general rule you will almost certainly want to develop some soothing and nerve-numbing nightly ritual to pacify your tired limbs and frazzled mind. For most of the world that is drinking, but I suppose Valium a cup of tea would suffice for some.)

Aside from a lack of healthy food, the other defining factor in the cyclist’s diet is good old fashioned hunger. When you’re as out of shape as we were at the beginning of this trip, cycling 40 miles or so is an excuse to stop for an all-u-can-eat buffet extravaganza. In fact it is imperative that you do so, because you are starving. Hunger rules the day. And by the time you’re fit enough to do the daily cycling without the benefit of 6,000 extra calories worth of pork fat and chocolate, you’re accustomed to the gluttony and are, shall we say, disinclined to stop it.

So it is that for the last three months we’ve shoveled five times more food down our gullets than is reasonable. Sometimes our appetites led us down a perverse and deviant path:

—You would think that a watermelon soda would be tasty. You would be wrong.—

—Perfectly illustrates the adage: two wrongs do not make a right.—

—Bologna. Bread. Busch. Budweiser. Blight? Bloat?—

And sometimes our repast was merely bland and boring, Ma’s Underseasoned and Overboiled Classic American Home Cookin’.

But sometimes it was, without a doubt, just plain good.

—Fresh berry pie at the end of a day’s toil.—

—Fantastic Montana roadside barbecue. Could contend with Memphis’ best.—

Now that we’re two days from the end of the glut-fest my head is full of the nice, healthful, virtuous things I’m going to eat when we get home. No more giant double-scoop ice cream cones for snacks. No! Not one Milky Way or half rasher of bacon will pass my lips. From the day we get home it’s quinoa and greens and brown rice and tofu.

But we still have a few more days until then, and the estimable charms of beachside boardwalk food—hot dogs, funnel cakes, popcorn, soft serve—beckon us both. We plan to savor the last few days of this unique and precious time in our lives, a time when we ate whatever the hell we wanted, knowing that it will all be over soon enough.

Thank god.

Rachel | General thoughts, Rachel | 08 4th, 2010 | 3 Comments »

As Rachel said in her most recent post, we should reach the terminus of our journey in just a week. It’s unbelievable. Until just recently, I couldn’t imagine getting off my bike and stepping into the Atlantic Ocean because I’m still trembling from when Rachel held my hand as we stepped into the Pacific.

This trip has been a turning point: a turning point in who I am and how I see the world, a turning point for who Rachel is, and a turning point in our relationship. There are so many turning points in a life—a person we meet, a project we take on, a move to a new place—yet, for me at least, these turning points are seldom visible for what they are, and I’m not aware of the magnitude of what has happened until I look back in retrospect. This trip is different. It has been clear that a big change is upon us as it is happening. We have reached our home state of Maryland, but we are in new territory in our lives.

There has been so much emotion on this trip. So much happiness, so much anxiety, so much love, so much discomfort, so much triumph, and so much inner and outer conflict. There have been tears, years worth of tears abbreviated in a few months. Most have been tears of pain, it’s true, but not exclusively. Before this trip, I only remember crying once out of joy, it was at my wedding. I’ve broken down in tears of joy three times on this trip. I’ve been surrounded by so much beauty and freedom that I found myself crying uncontrollably and being unsure why.

I hope to remain in this feeling of freedom after this trip draws to a close. It’s not a physical freedom or the freedom of being on a vacation, but a freedom of the mind. It’s a feeling that I can best describe as an absence of judgement, opinion and preference. When the rain falls, for example, it causes minor discomfort. The discomfort of the first minute of rain is the same as the one-hundredth minute, yet so often it doesn’t feel that way. In my mind, the longer it rains, the more extreme the discomfort becomes. Before long, another minute of rain seems unbearable. This mounting discomfort is a product of judgement, opinion and preference. I decide the rain is undesirable and become transfixed. The rain stays the same, but the alerts going off in my mind get louder and louder until I can’t hear anything else. It’s strange that my mind would be this way; it seems so unnecessary.

I was broken of this feeling many times on this trip. Perhaps I owe it to the monotony of the routine. Every day, we pedal six to eight hours. When it rains we pedal, through heat we pedal, in traffic we pedal, when sore we pedal. There is no perception of choice or option, there is only the pedaling. For the first month, the discomforts magnified each day—within hours the rain became a mental monsoon and the wind a mental hurricane. A small disagreement in the morning could become a huge rift in my mind within two hours. But at the end of the day, I would look around and there would be no monsoon, no hurricane, no gap in our love for each other. And this repeated for days and weeks, and then I became more accepting of the routine and occasionally forgot to judge the rain, the wind, the small disagreements. I focused on the pedaling and a light rain remained a light rain and a breeze remained a breeze and I stopped clenching when a truck passed from behind. Over this trip, so many of the anxieties I created in my mind were exposed as paper tigers.

And now that the trip is so close to an end, I look back at all the intense emotions and they are all my favorite part. The best days were the ones I felt the most, regardless whether it was intense joy or grueling discomfort. The worst days were the days of sterility and numbness, the days that I turned off and hid from both lows and highs. Perhaps my mind believed it was only hiding from the lows and was still open to the highs, but it was mistaken. In hiding, I hide from both.

So, just one week now, but I don’t see this trip as ending. My goal is to keep this trip going forever. I want to transition back into daily life as I’ve pedaled through these best of days: free. I want to let in all the feeling I can, high or low, as I pedaling through my next assignments at work, my search for a new place to live, and my lifetime adventure with Rachel.

—Crossing the Eastern Continental Divide—

—Spooky cave along the canal—

—Bathing in the Potomac—

—We score some pickled beets!—

—Picturesque Maryland—

Rachel | Brian, General thoughts, Maryland | 07 31st, 2010 | 7 Comments »

July 26: Pittsburgh, PA to Ohiopyle, PA (76 miles)
July 27: Ohiopyle, PA to Frostburg, MD (61 miles)
July 28: Frostburg, MD to near Little Orleans, MD (57 miles)
July 29: Little Orleans, MD to Shepardstown, WV (76 miles)
July 30: Shepardstown, WV to Frederick, MD (43 miles)
July 31: Rest day in Frederick

We done almost finished this thing, folks.

A few days ago we sailed down the fabulous Great Allegheny Passage and C&O Canal bike trails into green and glorious Maryland. OUR HOME STATE. We’re currently only a 30 minute drive away from Brian’s mom’s house in Rockville, MD and a 45 minute drive from DC.

Every day the magnitude of what we’ve done hits me a bit more. It’s really quite discombobulating. I am immensely proud of myself, of Brian, and of us as a couple. Yet I can look at a map of the US and think, we really cycled through all of THAT? ME? There is the odd sense that our near-daily routine of cycling for six to eight hours cannot possibly equal crossing the continent of North America by bicycle. That the deep-orange tans (lovely, really, and you should see the idiotic tan lines), hardened but constantly aching quad muscles, and (I hope) increased endurance and focus are due to… some other weird feat. It’s hard to explain. I don’t mean to minimize what we’ve done here, only to emphasize the strangeness of being but a few days from the end of the once seemingly Giant Impossible Quest. This process of cycling cross-country has become at once familiar while still retaining an alien quality. What is it, really, that we’ve done these last three months—what is it that I have learned? Who have I become?

Only seven more days before we’re scheduled to reach the Atlantic coast, and only four of those are cycling days. So I imagine we will get there, rolling down to the boardwalk on our well-worn steeds and dipping our wheels in the ocean. There will be video game arcades and carnival rides and too much junk food and the salty tang of ocean air.

Unreal.

Rachel | Maryland, Pennsylvania, Rachel, West Virginia | 07 31st, 2010 | 2 Comments »

July 20: Ann Arbor, MI to Toledo, OH (55 miles)
July 21: Toledo, OH to Norwalk, OH (67 miles)
July 22: Norwalk, OH to Akron, OH (73 miles)
July 23: Akron, OH to North Lima, OH (51 miles)
July 24: North Lima, OH to Pittsburgh, PA (61 miles)
July 25: Rest day in Pittsburgh, PA

Total miles to date: 3,382

Believe it or not, it didn’t occur to me that we were going to actually make it across the country until sometime in the last week. It wasn’t that I thought that we wouldn’t make it all the way exactly, I just never took it as a given. There is so much surprise and so many unexpected twists and turns each day that I’ve been too busy focusing on getting to our goal for the day to think beyond the day to the remaining distance.

Yesterday was the first time I’ve been able to truly visualize the path ahead. It started when we rode through Rochester, PA and I recognized a park we passed—we had ridden the same road on a bike trip from Pittsburgh to Erie, PA last year. For the rest of the day, I recognized our route and it was a markedly different feeling than all the previous days of this trip. It felt like we were on home turf, like we were ending our exploring and beginning the travel home.

Of course, there is plenty of exploring left to do. Rachel and I may have biked around Pittsburgh before, but we haven’t before biked the rest of our route to Delaware. We’ll pass through some cities we know, but most of it is new ground.

I’m glad that we still have lots of surprises ahead. The truth is, I’m mostly ready to be done. Not entirely, but mostly. I don’t feel tired of riding, nor am I sick of the heat, or thunderstorms, or other unpleasant conditions. I’m just satisfied, that’s all. It’s been a good 73 days of riding, and my exploring itch is well scratched.

I think the remaining 13 days of this ride will be peaceful. Tomorrow we begin the Great Allegheny Passage trail followed by the C&O Canal trail. All together, it will be 300 miles without a single car. After that, it’s just a two day ride to Chesapeake City, MD where we will visit my dad for two days. After that, it’s just a two-day’s ride to the Atlantic Ocean and the end of our journey. Though I can see the remaining distance clearly in my mind, I still can’t begin to imagine how I’ll feel when we pull up to the ocean. I suppose that’s the biggest unknown of the adventure to come.

—Always great to find a bike path—

—This country is full of great signs—

—The town hall in Wellington, OH—

Brian | Brian, Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania | 07 25th, 2010 | 4 Comments »

July 15: Milwaukee, WI to Grand Rapids, MI (52 miles)
July 16: Grand Rapids, MI to Lansing, MI (64 miles)
July 17: Lansing, MI to Ann Arbor, MI (69 miles)
July 18: rest day in Ann Arbor
July 19: yet another rest day in Ann Arbor

Total miles to date: 3,075

We’re being sloths at the moment, taking two rest days in Ann Arbor, MI. I’m not sure our bodies really need so much rest, especially since we just had a day in Milwaukee five days ago, but we’d heard good things about Ann Arbor, MI and wanted to have a look. Very worth it, in my opinion—Ann Arbor is easily one of my favorite larger cities of the trip. It is, of course, a college town, home to the colossal University of Michigan, which I think has around 45,000 students. There are abundant coffee houses, interesting shops, charming old neighborhoods, and plenty of places to walk and hang out. We’ve had some wonderful meals and lounged around in bed to my heart’s content.

I think we’ve both needed a bit of lounging, to be honest. It’s not that our cycling labors are so physically exhausting, at this stage in the game, that our bodies are demanding a lot of down time. We’re plenty conditioned. Of late we’ve been riding 70 or 80 miles a day for multiple days in a row without stopping or feeling (too) much fatigue. But mentally… I, at least, am beginning to feel sort of thin and stretched, if you will. We’ve been riding since May 13, and both of us agreed yesterday that we’re kinda… ready to be… done with cycling. Shocker! Lately I find my thoughts eagerly projecting into the future, to the job I would like to find and the home I’d like to create (we want to find a new place to live in DC). As I pedal I’m focusing less on my immediate surroundings and more on what happens after August 6th or 7th, when we plan to Finish This Thing.

It’s fairly incomprehensible to me, when I remember all that we were thinking and feeling back in May, in Oregon… but we are nearing the end of the road. The landscape has slowly morphed into one we recognize, and the rolling hills of Pennsylvania and Maryland are only days away.

Not long now.

But, for the next few weeks, we must—and shall!—cycle the hell out of Ohio, Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Delaware. I leave you with some snapshots of Ann Arbor. I think my favorite is the one of the most monstrous (and monstrously adorable) leviathan of a dog I have EVER seen. His name is Buddy.

—This place deals in coffee, ice cream, and chocolate…the holy trinity?—

—Why. Were we not. IN TOWN FOR THIS BRILLIANCE?—

—Why don’t I have a fleet of cyber-servants to serve me morning toast? Must remedy that.—

—180 pounds and still growing. CUTE. OVERLOAD.—

—A rare occurrence of late: the eating of a Salad.—

Buddy again. I just cannot help myself. Shmunchy scrunchy lumpkins squeeee.

Rachel | General thoughts, Michigan, Rachel | 07 19th, 2010 | 4 Comments »

July 10: Muscatine, IA to Fulton, IL (72 miles)
July 11: Fulton, IL to Byron, IL (66 miles)
July 12: Byron, IL to Elkhorn, WI (82 miles)
July 13: Elkhorn, WI to New Berlin, WI (Milwaukee suburb) (34 miles)
July 14: Rest day touring Milwaukee

Total miles to date: 2,890

It has been a busy five days. We’ve crossed the mighty Mississippi (and followed a bike path along it for 50 miles); Iowa has passed into Illinois and Illinois has passed into Wisconsin. Tomorrow we board a ferry from Milwaukee, WI to Muskegon, MI and cross into the eleventh state of our trip. Just five to go now.

These last five days have been marked by hot days, long rides, endless corn fields, and kind folks. We ran into a whole family of such people in Byron, IL. It was pouring out and we pulled up under an awning for shelter. Moments later a man named Kevin ran through the rain, introduced himself as a cyclist, and offered us a hot meal, shower, and bed. Turns out that Kevin crossed the country by bike two years ago with his wife, Susan. Years back, Kevin and Susan used to bike-tour a lot with their two kids on two tandem bikes. Hearing their stories got me excited to tour with our future kids.

The next morning, Kevin rode the first twenty miles of our day with us. Kevin has lived in Byron a long time and, as we rode, he greeted about every fourth person we passed by name, sometimes promising to stop for a longer chat on his way back.

After leaving Byron, we biked a long day to Elkhorn followed by a short day into New Berlin, a suburb of Milwaukee, where we’re staying with a friend of my dad’s, Maggie and her fiancée, Scott. Last night, we BBQed at Maggie and Scott’s house, drank Shandys (a mix of beer and lemonade that I think might have originated in Milwaukee), and had a great time chatting, swapping stories, and hearing about their upcoming wedding, acting classes, improv comedy classes, and countless other fun local adventures. We later retired to their rec room where Scott’s twelve year-old daughter, Frankie, trounced me in ping-pong.

We took today off to wander around downtown Milwaukee and the historic third ward. Looking around it seems that there are a good number of people enjoying the Milwaukee River, Lake Michigan, and the parks we’ve walked through. Seems like a fun city.

At this point in the trip, we’ve passed through over a hundred cities and towns. They have all had their own unique feeling, but my mind classifies them into the following unscientific and random categories:

Towns that seem like a safe and cozy place to raise a family, that are about the same population they were 30 years ago.
Towns that are dying, where the young move out and no one moves back in.
Cities born around and industry, now gone, where work appears scarce and people appear stuck.
Cities where you move to live, and look for a way to support yourself when you get there.
Cities where you move to work, and look for a way to live when you get there.

Washington D.C. feels like the last type to me. Not to say that their aren’t a lot of people in D.C. focused on making the city more vibrant and livable. But, in general, it seems like people are focused more on building their career than building a lifestyle. Portland, Missoula, Denver, and Milwaukee feel more like the fourth type (Milwaukee also feels a bit like the third type in parts). I’m not sure where I want to live, I haven’t found a place that feels quite right yet. Though I was born in D.C. and have spent over twenty years of my life living there, I still feel like a visitor. Strangely, I recall feeling more like a local in Beijing than I do in D.C. I’d like to find a way to get past that feeling or find somewhere where I don’t feel that way. I think this trip will give me a better idea of what kind of place I’m looking for.

—Along the Mississippi trail—

—This was our scenery for two days—

—Susan and Kevin, superhosts!—

—Scott grilled the chicken standing up on a full beer can-it was delicious—

—Patriotic lawn—

—Milwaukee art museum—

Brian | Brian, Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin | 07 15th, 2010 | 3 Comments »

I feel like the broiling sun and long days have addled my brain of late, making it difficult to produce much pithy commentary, or any commentary for that matter. Sorry about that. But I am so inspired by the stately pleasure dome we discovered here in the shitty industrial river town… er… charming hamlet of Muscatine, IA (on the Illinois border) that lo, the words burst forth.

It seems that the good people at the Econo Lodge took over a fine olde inn, the Canterbury, and decided to preserve its collection of themed rooms, known as “PhantaSuites.” There’s the Geisha Garden, the Arabian Nights, the Sherwood Forest, the Space Ship, and the Igloo, among others. I imagine these rooms are designed to cater to what are clearly the most deep-rooted fantasies of… ah… many people? I assure you that I am finding the paintings of ice floes and Northern Lights, the concrete wall made of “ice blocks” in the domed igloo bedroom, and the octagonal bed with mirrors on five sides very compelling. What’s so erotic about the Arctic tundra, I ask you? I mean, whale blubber? Hearty fur-covered Eskimo lads? Ice-fishing? Maybe the designers had some kind of Nanook of the North thing going on. (Robert Flaherty is turning over in his grave at that thought, I’m sure. Sorry, Robert.)

Oh, yeah, we’re staying in the Igloo. We just couldn’t help ourselves.

As the previous post indicated, the last bunch of days have basically been hills, heat, lovely farm countryside, preposterously charming Norman Rockwell-esque towns, and more hills and heat. Overall, Iowa has been a pretty cool state to explore. If it had a more racially/culturally/politically diverse population and less troubling, government-subsidized agribusiness ventures of the Monsanto and Cargill sort, it would be quite the place. Oh, and I wish to hell they would pave the shoulders on the roads. We have no interest in playing Death Race 2000 with the cars and semi trucks.

Never mind about that, though, because tomorrow’s Illinois. Now if you will excuse me, I must go and take a bath in the Arctic ice hole and anoint myself with seal fat in preparation for an Inuit courtship ritual.

—Here I lounge in our romantic igloo—

—A lurid ice-blue gleam—

Rachel | Iowa, Rachel | 07 10th, 2010 | 4 Comments »