If you go a few miles around here in NJ, you come to a different place. I got on the tow path behind Princeton university, to Alexander St, then zipped across route 1 and explored long roads through West Windsor.
Vignette: I came across a clearing at the end of a treed suburban rd from an elementary school and looked at the children playing near the school, for the precocious unaware one like me. The sign said the field between the cul de sac and the road could be used upon permission of the principal.
I biked further eastward towards Hightstown on the flat easy terrain of Mercer County. As I hadn’t biked in a while, after the first hour I started feeling really good. I ended up at a lake, overweight Americans were commingling about and had vessels about fishing and moving. Then I tried a path among the power lines to the east of Mercer County, but the path died and had to return, then finding a road that led out to Quaker Bridge Rd, which I headed south on towards Hamilton.
Zipping through Hamilton I zipped through a park serious softball players were readying to play at. Adolescents or early teenagers, two of them zipped by me, several times as I wove in and out of the neighborhood. The people of Hamilton are consistently so nice and polite and harmonious. I found the place my friend had moved to, and hung around outside, near the other people in other backyards. By the time it was dark, I raced back to Princeton as fast as I could, it being dark without bike lanes; but U had some lights, nor am as fast as I can, by any stretch.
At home in Princeton, the burn from the ride felt great. This was to the southern sides of Mercer County, a very flat county. Along the way I passed the house of my friend and his mother who I was friends with and spent time there. But the mother was long dead, and my friend moved to western north carolina through perilous circumstance. He is one of those people who proves the adage Crime does not Pay. It may not put you in jail, but you will certainly fail to make money from it, not that he has ever hurt people, quite the oposite.
Later on this journey I based the insurance data base company my old girlfriend used to work for, and sent her a picture of it, as people tend to forget where they were looks like. She now lives in and loves Maine, and I have to agree, Maine is a superior state, and New Hampshire doesn’t seem as bad either.
As agrarian, I am always disappointed when we pass unused fields, that the people should swiftly utilize towards their sustainability with healthy fields of vegetables. The reason society doesn’t follow this logic is society doesn’t acknowledge the Kingdom of God, indeed there are deliberate designs to obscure and ignore it. As long as basic truth is not put out there, galvanizing logic is impeded.
It’s difficult to bike two days in a row, 30 some odd miles like that; without being used to it. So I waited a day and went out to the west and north evil side of Princeton. How do I know to the west and north of Princeton is evil? My rear brake got jammed after 15 miles, my mapping was wrong, a storm thundered overhead while I crouched under a small bridge on a country road.
On the good side, there were what I call five mile straightaways, by which I mean going down hill a long ways, so long you have to duck your head to avoid the friction; and any least pull or push of the body on the bike, flicks it a certain way. And as I use my bike to explore and tauten, I learn to stay within certain ranges and loops, until they are mastered and can be expanded from.
For while to get out of Princeton to the south, and east to the shore, goes very quickly you are on the other side of route one and out of Princeton’s influence; you go north and west and it is uphill, and the worst side of Princeton lingers along way; be it through the signification of ill princes and princes Marxists assign, or American politics impugn, or actually did hold back society through medieval ages.
It takes a long way just to get to Cherry Valley and The Great Rd, and from there to Carter Rd, is no picnic; but the first hour is just to warm up, and then the good feeling starts, and there was a huge downhill from Carter Rd into Hopewell, where I rested for a second.
Then I went on to the Sourland Nature Preserve, a few hills I’d climbed and enjoyed a few times, and I hoped to enter the preserve from this trail head off of Greenwood, north of 518, a mile past the Hippie Hall, a tavern, for these north west parts; and I biked down the trailhead, then walked my bike on smaller trails, till I came out unto an unused rd that led to another one, where I saw no cars, and realized the two parts of the preserve were disconnected.
From which I explored about; not without first realizing the spring action to my hand brakes failed to allow the brakes of the rear wheel to spring back to a position that didn’t rub the back wheel. So this cut back on my energy, especially standing up biking up steep hills, for out here to the north west of Princeton were both long descents, ridiculously long, as well as tiresome ascents where you have to break and keep pushing, till it becomes nothing.
My goal soon became to return home as quickly as possible, so I turned and hid the bike by a small river, and hopped across the stones across and then ran up an angle a bank taller than me, and explored up the side of a ridge to see an old farm, then crawled halfway down the side of the ridge and chose between a few oldest and biggest trees to set beside and meditate. And this was good, but soon a storm whipped up, it could be held coming like a Doppler effect, for some time, it was evident a brief storm was coming, so I hustled down and hopped across the stones across the river, and went towards my bike chained to a tree near the other side of the river, but as the rain pellets came down, I gave up that mission and ducked over through the trees to the other side of the road where I splished down under a smallest of bridges I saw, that kept me out of the rain, only if I crouched.
It was a cement bridge the size of a king size bed, protecting this little tributary into the river. Very squishy mud underneath. I could only crouch through this quick storm, and related to billy goats and trolls.
When the rain began to let up seriously, I got on the bike and continued the journey, aware of the lagging brake, as expeditiously as possible, taking the great rd, a long great rd that divides Princeton like a boundary, viciously, quite a road, and I took it into Princeton, never having biked the whole road at once, though maybe once at 17, though I was 45 and had been around Princeton since 1975.
Now I plan out routes and trips at the mapquest.com on the computer, the goal being to increase mileage, and have several trips, in all directions I can run out on. It doesn’t matter which I choose, it matters just doing one.
I don’t know what it is about the high hill people that makes them worse, for their disposition, after the elimination of the Indians, is never up to par, but worse for those high hills.
I expected to lose weight by these calorie-consuming sojourns, but, as evidenced by pasta meals at taverns at midpoints, and my hunger upon returning, that I have had to consume so much for these jaunts, that I am putting on weight.
Apparently the point is to not be lost on vic, as he crouches under a bridge having read of ascetics.
Likewise, while on the first jaunt there was a definite isometric strain upon the chest; whereas to the hillier north west, somehow I missed that. And needless to say, I have been more tired out since these jaunts. So I am taking to an extra meal of pasta now and then, to fuel these caloric burnings.
The idea is to go in all directions. I have gone South and north west, and the former is flat friendly and easy, while the latter, uphill, hilly, forested, less populated.
To the South in my first journey, one lost the sense of Princeton swiftly for the similar trees and skies of West Windsor and Hamilton. But to the north and west, the stifling influence of Princeton was felt for many many miles, so dominant is the spell of the town in that direction, towards the wealthier parts of Hunterton County perhaps.
Now though my bike, which cost 600 and change a few years ago, is an Italian Bianca, is at the bike shop. Try as we could, the brake handle on the handle bar would not go back into what it is squeezed out of. As a healthy body, and a healthy mind, is all we want…..The bike has handle bars pivoted up, not down that duck into the downhill wind, has no front shocks that bounce along dirt evenly, its wheels are thin, but not the thinnest, its seat not the thinnest or hardest either, nor is it the lightest, and it might need to be lubed a bit; I just had some spokes straighten out a wheel last winter.
There is a biking culture in Princeton. One of the things about living in town rather than nearby suburb, is you run into far more old friends in town than on a suburban street. And they tend to get around on bicycles. There are also hard core bikers who I must practice alone and grow comfortable myself, before chasing down their hilly jaunts. I met one guy, to whom I’d have to have gone twice as far through the hills just to start the bike club biking. There’s no way I am up to biking with that element now. Besides I like to go at my own pace. I usually stop at a park along the way; for which I remind everyone about lyme ticks. They are very out there. Deet, is against them. Lyme ticks have a white dot at the center of their shoulders. You can feel them, and if you mysteriously become sick, it may be one has bitten into you. If you touch them with a just burned match, so their leg-fangs recoil and are more easily twisted out, within 18 hours I believe, you should be OK. Lyme disease today is a life long situation that may recur. Its symptoms include a bulls eye pattern bruise with alternating darkish and reddish rings around the bite.
There was pain to work through. My right lower leg was sore. 5-10 times I caught myself saying the mantra, “This is pain that must be worked through”; However it was more a harbinger of a busted brake: And the art of augury.
However the bike shopped replaced a corroded cable for 23 dollars.
Every so often i have to look at mapquest to review potential routes. Then I have to pick which route or direction. And it starts to look a little like a swastika, my traveling like a windmill so. A nice thing, is that days away from biking, I’m not hungry. Also I’m starting to need to complement biking with other behavior.
And I am worried about the motorbikers. You know, they tend to dress scary looking…..
bike ride 3
I biked to Trenton which is on the way to Philly about 10-15 miles from here. I thought about biking to the train then taking the bike to Trenton on the train and biking around and back, but in the end decided it was way more fun to bike to Trenton; Like in Holland. The Dutch have a law, every road must have a bike path near it, so you can bike everywhere, and they have one speed bikes, like from decades ago, and you drink Heineken, smoke joints and bike from hostel to hostel; if you get tired of biking, you stop at a town with a train station and take the bike on the train to the town you se
I biked to Trenton one morning, a bit to the southwest towards ek.
Dutch is a very hard language to master, not like Italian, and not like French, despite le contraire; Like Welsh and other northern languages it is chock full on consonants; or in Dutch, “wleberchnien“. So I am not saying I understand Dutch at all; But when I was on the train in Holland, and I took commuter rails several times, no one came to take tickets. Very soon I felt foolish just buying a ticket, and ceased to do so. No conductors ever came. The railroads are very popular with the good young Dutch society. So when I consider whether to bike an errand or not, I always think how the Dutch bike everywhere they can.
The first thing you see about Trenton, in the poorer blocks, is an overly conspicuous couple of a white women, tending but not necessarily to be overweight and or gnarly looking; and a generally underfed black fellow struggling as ably as can along; sometimes with a baby or stroller, other times near the court system; but the point is, it is possible to come across this archetypal couple 3 times and still not have seen one minority couple of same race. Not that I am putting any pressure on blacks to couple; for I think we all know what a burden girls can still be; It’s just that I lived in Newark 4 months Oct-Feb this fall; and I did not see one mixed couple the whole time involving the descendants of Africa: And on a side note, I was socializing with this old black poet from the sixties who hangs out in central park, Leaf, he calls himself; Dark Mark in the Park introduced me to him, and of course I definitely had met Leaf, but not in over ten years, I’m pretty sure; And pretty soon Leaf gets to a talking and can’t stop, but not before there is a bit of harmony of conversation and Leaf assumes this attitude regarding blacks and whites, and I go, “Hey, my ancestors were black too.” And that just had everyone in stitches a while.
But to return to my point; The blacks in Newark did not stray because the black neighborhoods were strictly almost all black. Like I certainly was the only white guy on the block in two of the neighborhoods I lived in. And let me tell you, they looked out for me, a time or two I left my pick-up unlocked, and it was always there, though I’d curse for it; and I really tried to convince them the economy did not make sense, it really doesn’t make sense; therefore it is an illusion; get between the dualism, look wholesome for tourism.
For some reason there was some spirit to Newark, there really was; probably because it appealed or was promoted to tourists and because it seems the people try and there is a psychic structure to support them. Tourism is very important; because tourists want only good things to happen to your town. However, another thing I learned in Newark, was that things change; people do have spirit, people do rally, what is trash on the street yesterday is clean sidewalk today; people can hang out and just talk by liquor stores; and for whatever karma, I realized, as I was biking out of Trenton, and I really biked around Trenton’s South Side; was that blacks like biking; and I passed or was passed by old geezers whistling by on old humble touring bikes, with dignity and grace; and younger smaller blacks, doing the two on a bike cruising real fast down the street trick; which they actually do in Holland commonly, not only does everyone young bike, but there are frequently 2, even 3 on a bike at once. There is an appealing grace to the people on bicycle, slightly reminiscent of their grace on boats in the water. Bikes and boats, that’s what I would give urban areas.
Trenton also has a bar that opens at 6am; these bars appear to be what drive-in movies were. I’ve also passed 2 bars in Trenton that have the same name as two bars in Princeton. The Ivy, and Conte’s. What’s up with that? You have to be a little bit careful biking in Trenton. I did see a suspected crack dealer or two, and you don’t want those people stealing your bike in payment for exploiting their steriotypes. Really, do not buy crack from black people on the street. However I did yell and ask them where a certain street was and they gave me better directions than other blacks. They probably weren’t dealing. Point is cocaine is an actual natural mild intoxicant, historically used to deal with the stresses of what constitutes modern life.
Maybe the business of state politics has the karma. Trenton High School is beautiful.
I ended up by the Princeton towpath by lake Carnegie, lying on my backpack munching on things from the polish deli looking beyond the sky and realizing the universe sees itself, its parts view its parts, and that is reality.
I was talking to Dark Mark in the Park, about how the real hero of Huck Finn was Jim, and it is probably the ultimate role for a black actor; and somehow we’ve got to convince our friend Jeff Wright to do a movie about that. However, there is that painfully tragic feud with 14 year boys being killed, that is probably too painful for a movie ever to be made about Huck Finn. Which is why we talked about how to change that scene, because Jim, in that scene is actually taken care of by what seems to be black slaves with a degree of unity, and freedom thereof, precipitated by how likeable and respected Jim is to them, as being true to his integrity.
The economy really doesn’t make sense. It’s just to whites, more groomed into something that doesn’t make sense, that is less an issue, but it can be bewildering, the economy, to those who don’t understand how it all makes sense. Of course in the old days, the city was said to have that sophisticated understanding; but today you have to act like you have a job, and if you can’t act, at least go and get along enough.
Another thing blacks and whites go through but differently, is that when you have a kid, that changes everything, your self-conception, your cool, even, what you can do, what is appropiate given that responsibility. If the world makes little sense in those years after school, it may make less sense later or around then, if you have a kid.
Bike Ride 4 northeast to the buddha
My next bit of biking exercise, (and let me interject here, that while the Dutch are known for pot, Heineken, and biking, biking is generally regarded as such a high that Heinekens should generally be used at most to celebrate at the end of a ride, and that pot is not necessary biking because biking is such a high,) involved going north east of Princeton along Rt 27.
For those of you who don’t know, Princeton is midway between Philadelphia and New York City; yet those who are Philadelphia, rarely venture to NYC, finding it intimidating; whereas those such as myself, who are New York City, find Philadelphia less familiar and therefore less compelling. And the Philadelphia people are nicer and jollier, but less funny and angular and caustic than the New York City people.
I-95, which runs from Maine to Florida, is called The Turnpike in N.J., because it collects a toll, and many people from the over 40 states that have no toll highways, are often amazed. Route 1 runs parallel to I-95 all along the eastern seaboard, and around here, parallel to Route 1 runs Route 27 that constitutes the main street of Princeton, and takes you all the way down to New Brunswick which is 3 miles from where I grew up.
If you go along route 27, past Kingston, towards Kendall Park, you pass a Hindu temple on the right , and a little letter, a house, with flags around, and in the back a giant white Buddha, for whose spirit you pray to arrive and help you. There is a asianly landscaped and decorated with flags, tile patio, and sand lawn, with appropriate meditative style. For it is so calm you can see the mind above your brain drift about slowly now and then.
The idea is to bike all the way to New Brunswick, which has really been rejuvenated from the seventies and eighties, and has quite a bit of energy and people around now; as Rutgers, which is there in the thick of it, is much more appealing to students as New Brunswick now is much more appealing to students and younger adults.
But this was just a practice run, I ended at a friends place sharing a house whose land includes over a hundred egg laying hens and rooster, and there is a little sizeable field that’s been used agriculturally, and other smaller places for tilling as well, and this could be a place to use my roto-tiller in an agrarian endeavor, as well as possibly store it, as the house it is stored at now, may be sold soon.
This year, was the first year I learned of Dominicans. There are Dominicans and Puerto Ricans, and while we have usually heard of Peurto Ricans, Dominicans are a little more in the background, group like, restaurant oriented, and orthodox in general. For instance my friend and I discussed certifiable topics, such as the proper way to treat passing, as I was an acquaintance of a late friend of his who passed away.
I also took this as an opportunity to review the Caribbean States: Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, Cuba, and then the two black ones, Haiti, and Jamaica. And then there are several or many clusters of very small islands, like the Bahamas and other ones. But we never learn that in school, and it is not nearly as simple as 50 American States.
I like to explain the difference between Dominicans and Puerto Ricans as this. Michele Bachman is like the Dominican, Sarah Palin is like the Puerto Rican. Michele is like in a pack or group of tea party people, sort of in the background, whereas Sarah stands out. Michele is obviously a better cook, but Sarah probably is more fun to be around, a little wilder maybe. Michele is very orthodox and orderly in her approach, Sarah is a little wild, innovative and spirited. A lot of people seem close to Michele, whereas Sarah’s followers are motivated by her, but not close. She is less the establishment and more the individual. Like generally speaking, in a broad bigoted generalizing way, Puerto Rican girls are a little more tuned into their looks, and probably more dramatic too.
Then biking back I stopped at the Buddhist outdoor meditation place. I had not been here since last September, when I was here at least twice, it was so peaceful, and my mother had suffered such an accident.
In any event, holding my eyes and mind, unable to raise them to see fully the two story white Buddha, I prayed for my troubles to resolve themselves, for my heart is heavy with woe. Cream does not rise to the top; it either has to be allowed to, or it has to prove itself; and that is what I rapidly felt, that nothing comes easily, nothing is given, goods must be obtained, because the universe is weighted against earths.
And righting the ship, and generating what’s due, in an across the board way, requires God, a higher power. For the eyes to confess, the half-man half-god eyes of individuals to confess, those eyes must be near God, and those eyes must feel higher power near them, for then confessions are reasonable, forward-looking and constructive, and less urgent and dramatic, but reasonable and of reason and serious. People that are atheists, don’t confess so well, all this pressure from a perceived uncaring world, stultifies the faith confession requires. Yet what puzzles me, is I glance around and see the world and humanity in many people about me, and instantly I feel a sympathy that takes me to godliness. So how is it Atheists don’t gaze upon the world and give in to God, and their hatred, over, because the world is obviously suffering, with each person in it; the world is no picnic, so why get constricted from faith; it’s too hard to take seriously. People seek reasonableness, why do atheists not view people and realize God? Are they too in competition with others? Is Atheism so dysfunctional zing that they fail to gaze beyond it to the images of today?
Because by the Buddha, I could see my heart lit up in nature, beyond the trees to the woods surrounded the backyard, like little wires of blood, formed for atheism; for the very lie of man is grounded in Atheism, and it all comes from the assertion than man is like Christ, when Christ is really substantively greater than man. So how does this misperception of man come about? But in the heart itself the mind exacts its false statement of something not true, in the form of that man, being like Christ; and he is not like Christ, that much at all. But that is the lie and the appearance, and it is designed to fool the Christ and Christian into thinking something is, which is not, and it goes through the heart, and is what atheism is, being overwhelmed by lie, ignorant of truth.
Reason comes to the guilty, whose atheism causes the false acts, as they realize, of free will, they could not have done what they did; it’s not logical, or desirable; They have to realize a higher power controlled them, through atheism, to do what they did. And when they realize things are controlled, they realize God and reasonable; so confession is predicated upon an awareness that wrongs are not easily willed, and that the control therein indicative of God, especially as God is responsible, so God is needed to apologize and redemption.
Atheism, Atheism in the heart, as Jimmy Carter once said, causes most of the problems in the world. Society, which is designed for bad things to happen, and complete the contract with the universe, is guided with atheism. And Atheism, I believe, can not deal. Atheism is dysfunctional zing. Atheism is friend depriving. I do not know Atheists who are social and have many friends, nor do I know atheists who apologize and make amends; because if you can do that, you usually have worked through the atheism and are godly. Atheists can be angry, godly people are much less prone to raising voices and anger. Atheists are angry because their ignorance is gnawed at by the natural humanity that wants and deserves to know what is vital to know. And Buddhism knows well the battle against Atheism and Atheisms primordial place in the heart that constructs society. I want to ask you if you think atheists have a conscience? If an atheist has ever apologized to you? Because as I said, “I’m sorry is equal to a knowledge of God”. The absence and relief, the good apology is creates, makes the mind more apparent and dominant.
This bike ride, along one small highway, was fast and straightforward.
As I said before, Atheism, meditating in front of the Buddha, on a large log, with my feet in the sand contouring the tile patio that leads to the statue, I realized Atheism is a statement that says, “I do not know”. It is a statement by the mind, and not true, but said. How do you say something that is not true, and link it so the lie is grounded to the fiber of man? You say something is like me, that is in my heart, that is you. Atheism is a lie in the heart from the mind. It starts with your parents. Your parents are like you. The heaven-mind starts touching the heart, to include all, but some know. Atheism is not about getting along. The brother and sister, may tend to be like you, whereas your social acquaintances are not. The more it is realized one is not like me, but themselves, in apprehension of ideas; that difference generates an autarky and autonomy, essential towards improving as a person, because one can not be, like someone else. That that deceptive form exists, primordially, indicates a whole slew of absent autonomy from the people who most are of the lie of man and acting like Christ without having any of the ideas or apprehensions of Christ. These people are journalists. Journalists seem innately invested with the lie, and false assumption, they are the ones who must separate themselves as lacking sophistication and perception of the kingdom of god, they are the ones who must separate themselves and create a new identity, that is honest, effective and closer to truth, rather than misrepresentation.
In Princeton, The university is planning a major building project for a corner of the town, and a senior housing development approved to be built in Princeton’s remaining woods on a ridge with possible negative environmental effects. I sued the town and state, over five years ago in federal court, costing Princeton tax dollars, saying the state constitutions incorporation of towns with local officials, who approve these projects, violate the first amendments protection of peaceful assembly, peaceful assembly understood as a natural local form of decision-making by all present with ayes and nays, practiced in Princeton into the 1900’s and in New England towns that require quorums of 236 people for a decision to be made. And that this is a quintessional civil rights issue, for privileges and immunities of the constitution are abridged. And yet I do not blame the officials for not making public the tax dollars on this case and merits of the issue—I blame the local papers, the packet and the town topics, for refusing to cover this lawsuit—were there coverage, these proceedings would not be so able to will the way they go at all.
So how do deserving events get coverage, when a free press would, and doesn’t. Can the press imagine itself as distinct enough from me, to see me and this issue as separate enough to have its own life and natural needs. Pressure may be applied on the conventional press through social networks. And journalists must realize, who they are not; in that they are so representative of you, they can not conceive of you. In other words, if they were autonomous, nor you, but seeing you as distinct, they would be more able to cover an obvious story as this, as well as demonstrate the morality the press professes, but rarely shows, and is occluded often.
One similiar thing about New Jersey, and Holland and Belgium, is well, Holland and Belgium have frequent sculpture on corners and squares of their towns and cities, and these make for most interesting things for tourists to see. And it seems N.J. is doing the same thing. Princeton University is dotted with abstract sculpture, and there is a large Sculpture grounds in Hamilton, towards Trenton, from Princeton, which is where I think a lot of the sculptures come from. Even a few homes around Princeton have sculptures in their front yard.
So as I biked 17 miles to my father’s in Yardville, practically on the other side of Trenton, requiring biking through West Windsor, I noticed several abstract sculptures I hadn’t noticed before, and I believe the tourist agency wisely behind it, and tourism good, for tourists want only the best for the places they visit, understanding something is everyone’s in a wise way. I also noticed ocassional brick sidewalks, which look beautiful, in contrast to the cement, or asphalt sidewalks, and I noticed several memorial parks or memorial spaces to veterans in the mercer county I drove through. These memorials are if not an anti-war statement, a necessary recognition of the cost of war; a sentiment N.J. is prone to, as being a small state, small states are not warlike states.
Biking back, one can not help noticing Princeton University’s lands, and the long slight incline into Princeton from the south. Yet higher education masks and not covers the kingdom of god, or even peaceful assembly as a noted form of local decision-making. N.J. has many towns whose council is all democratic, and it is the abridgement of local decision-making, that karmically holds back the party of the people at a state and national level.
Coming back, on a four lane section of road, a car was stopped, and something being engineered, holding back some traffic. I biked by, as the car’s occupant, who was out of the car, I saw the large turtle in the road, probably already run over, but protected by his shell, the large crew-cutted kid was trying to save by getting out of the road. The crew cut was already giving up and popped off my bike to pick up where he left off, a bit like the secondary in football, swooping in. And yelled to him at his car where he had reparked, seeing my interest and not taking off, and he grabbed a football, and tossed it to me, and I nudged and hit the mean large snapping turtle across the road to the honks and cheers of slowly passing motorists, at the end, lifting it by its tail to toss it over the curb, per advice yelled by a passing motorist. In hindsight, we should have tried to get it to nearby memorial park where there are waterways, but it was a nasty unhappy turtle with little sense of the peace I was aiming for for it.
I was going to help my father. My father is a hoarder, and an atheist, too things which go well together. I filled out the application for the Hoarder, cable TV show and looked at the discussion of this new found problematic mental illness, and noticed, whereas A.A. promotes a higher power as necessary to take responsibility for ones misbehavior, Hoarders, to not recognize the inherent atheism to evil, because there is a clear symmettry between the two I note. It is so easy to see or imagine consciousness near your consciousness, quiet and looking and influencing and governed, just like the material world.
On my way there, I had the help of another one of these little known somewhat heroic figures of N.J.. My back tire blew and went flat in a second or two, half way to Yardville. Dejected angry and hot, I wheeled the bike to a fine deli at the corner past the eastern side of Mercer County Community Park, calling my trusty Sanchez for a pick-up. However, upon eating a banana, I came across a very professional biker, known as The Pedaling Professor, who has biked from SanFranscico to Maine, keeping a blog on the travels. http://pedalingprof.blogspot.com/
Tags: biking in N.J.