Jimmy sprawled over the railing at the end of the coach. He was pretending to be shot by the bad guys on the next coach. He looked down at the ground, fascinated by the railroad ties flying below him between the two cars. The coupling banged and slammed as the train eased up and down the gentle terrain between Portbou and Barcelona. Continue reading
This week, I have posted a guest article on The Freewheeling Freelancer.
Maeva Cifuentes is a blogger and consultant, as well as a translator (like me). She has things to teach us about using LinkedIn. Check it out. Enjoy!
Until next time,
Smooth roads and tailwinds,
Jonathan.
When I was four and five, Mom was the buyer for a national toy company. As you can imagine, we had obscene Christmases, because she could get the latest toys and games for wholesale or less. 
I remember having a pedal-powered Austin car identical to that of Prince Charles (his was green; mine was cream-coloured), and such luxuries. Continue reading
Now that I have two blogs covering the different aspects of the original one, I will make some changes to both. The Freewheeling Freelancer will continue to carry non-fiction about living and working on the road, and about my bicycle travels. Meanwhile, this site will host fiction and memoir. Each Saturday, I will post to one site and publish a link on the other.
This week, I report on my ride from Charlottesville to Annapolis and Philadelphia for my Class Reunion and the Philadelphia Bicycle Exposition. Click here. Enjoy!
Until next time,
Smooth roads and tailwinds,
Jonathan.
“What are you going to do now, Tom?” Major Ricardo Sanchez asked his old friend. They stood in the sunshine on the lawn, holding their champagne flutes. Beyond the tent and its tables of canapes and heavier foods, the guests’ children had organized an enthusiastic game of tag with much squealing and more than a few grass stains on dresses and pants. Continue reading
Joe Mather felt and heard a heavy thump up ahead as he coasted downhill. It pushed the hot September air into his face like a gust of wind. He sped past the heavy traffic that choked downtown Rome during the lunch hour, even on the weekend. Ahead on his left stood the American Embassy, still called Palazzo Margherita by the locals. Wondering about the noise, he decided not to stop at the Embassy Annex to his right, where he had been going. Continue reading
Hilda stepped out of the blowing cold into the bar. The sign in the window boasted Deschutes beer on tap. She had fond memories of Bend, Oregon, a couple of months back, when she toured the brewery on her way across the High Desert. Chicago was a long way from Bend, but she was glad to visit the Windy City again. She paused at the door. Continue reading
