So we are a bit behind on our blogging....

Repeated field exercises, trips to Ireland, rumors of deployments and crazy cats have been a bit of a hindrance to our regular blogging. With that said, we are now going to catch you all up on the goings on of the Millers. Firstly, Aaron Burr and Tom asked us to thank Helen for her great gift to them. They have been having a ball! Who knew that a remotely controlled mouse could entertain two cats for so long (For a super cute video, click here)! With that said, we should explain our forays into foreign lands, namely Ireland, and the Czech Republic. Both locations share great beer and a high unemployment rate, other than that , the two places have absolutely nothing in common!
Ireland: Well, it all starts with a four hour drive to the world's most ghetto airport to catch our Ryan Air flight. Keep in mind, Ryan Air is CHEAP, like 15 Euro tickets to Italy (our next adventure) cheap. Although it is no frills, and you all rush the plane, as there is no assigned seating, and the pilots fly in a manner that makes you believe that this is their first time in the cockpit, we had no complaints! We flew from a converted US Air Force base that the Germans now own, and use as a hub for Ryan Air. All in all, a bit sketchy, but it did the job. We arrived in Dublin with our friend, Katie, all in one piece. After meeting her Irish friend and conversing a bit, she volunteered to drive us to our hotel. She was undoubtedly the worst driver I have ever ridden with. In addition to almost dying under the wheels of numerous double decker buses we got a native Dubliner's (yes, like the James Joyce collection of stories) tour of the city before dropping us off near our hotel. We stumbled with our ruck sacks into our modest hotel to discover that it was merely a modest number of rooms (picture the Leaky Cauldron) above the most wonderful Irish Pub. Now I am not talking about an Irish pub in the sense of tourist ridden eatery, but a legit pub with live music and beautiful Irish beers and ciders on tap that you could have with breakfast if you wanted to (which the Irish apparently partake in quite regularly). We spent the remainder of the day exploring the lovely parks and eating fish and chips chased by pints of Guiness and Bulmer's. As much as we love Germany, you can only stand so much Schnitzel and purity law enforced bland beer varieties. We turned in early to the sounds of a great traditional irish band playing in the pub below. Waking early, we went to see the National Gallery of Ireland which houses one of my favorite Vermeer's. Miller enjoyed seeing some of the nativie Irish art, and we both detested every bit of Italian Renaissance painting that the gallery had to offer. Altogether, quite a nice place, thankfully devoid of hordes of people. Following the gallery, we walked around the city a bit more, and read in St. Stephen's Green. Following our taxing day, we went back to our home pub and had some lovely Irish cheeses with copious amounts of Guiness....what a day. Our third day, being country folk, we decided to escape the city to do a bit of hiking along the coast. After taking a half hour train ride out to Howth (pronounced like both) we found a great hiking trail around a peninsula and spent the better part of the day exploring some truly striking scenery. We walked along cliff faces and spotted seals in the Atlantic. After a truly disappointing lunch in the seaside town, we boarded a train back to Dublin to sample some of Dublin's own microbrews. Sadly, we were disappointed again in our meal selection, as the brewery we were at tried far too hard to try to distinguish themselves from commercialism, that their beers were quite lackluster, and the service poor. Oh well...so we walked back to our own pub to read and sip irish coffee. Our last day was uneventful. We declined a ride from Katie's friend, fearing for our lives, and rode on the top of a double-decker bus to the airport where we meet up with Katie and caught our flight back to Germany. It took us far too long to get home thanks to construction and a truly confused GPS. And that was the end of our Irish adventure!


Czech:
Ever since we have arrived in Bavaria, it has been on our Czechlist to Czech out the Czech Republic. Sorry, I had to get that out of my system. We live not quite 45 minutes from the border with the Czech Republic and so a couple of weeks ago Jak and I decided to hop the fence and head to Plzen, home of the origional Pilsner beer. Crossing the border is a shock. We are used to New England, where it isn't so much a delineated border as a zone of confusion. The border with Czech is quite different. One moment you are in Bavaria, where everything is so neat and prosperous that I swear they sweap the forrests. With only a stop to pay a toll in the form of buying a bright reflective sticker for your window, you change from that ordered exsistance into a world where a black market liver is just around the corner. In reality it isnt nearly that bad, but it is quite a contrast nonetheless. Jak and I drove to Plzen, only 90 minutes away, to take the brewery tour we had heard so much about.
Reading this it may seem that we are alcholics, or more properly drunks as we do not go to meetings, but in reality it is a combination of our curiosity with only a little of our love of libations that drive us to tour brewerys the world over. The Pilsner Urquel brewery is reminiscent of Wonka's factory. In the midst of drab Plzen rise towering wrought iron gates that hold a massive cobbled court yard that is the home of Pilsner. We signed up for the English language tour, and paid our several hundred crowns to get that and a photo pass. (An aside, it is really cool to hold a 1000 crown bill in your hand, until you realize it is about 25 bucks) We were unsure what to expect, but the tour was awesome. An elderly gentleman who spoke perfect english with a Mensa vocabulary escourted our group through the new brewery and bottling line that have been recently built. It was really neat, but it was even cooler when we hopped on the largest elevator in the Czech Republic only to find it doesnt work. Following attempts to revive the elevator, we broke down and walked the 1 flight of stairs to the actual brewing room. From there we went down on the coolest (and coldest) part of the tour, part of the 19 kilometers of man made tunnels where the beer has been traditionally aged. They still brew it the old way to ensure that the modern batches match up, and we ended the tour with glasses of beer right from barrels the size of our Volkswagen.
The drive back to Deutschland was uneventful, and it ended up being an awesome forray into a totally different world that is right across our doorstep.

We Rode to a Castle!

Okay, mountain biking anywhere tends to be pretty awesome, and back home we have seen some amazing things. On the other hand, I have never ridden to the ruins of a castle. Jak and I went riding today with some fellow officers at an amazing nature park. We rode for a few hours, climbed to the top of a very high fire tower, stopped at a shrine, and even explored an ancient ruined castle. It was awesome! A less than awesome event was the impressive crash of one of our fellow riders. The only way the man could have flown through the air better, would have been with wings. Although Chris caught a stump with his face, he was fine....well, close to fine! After his near death experience, we finished our great ride with some really technical descents.
Yesterday wasn't as exciting, as we spent the day reading, with a short interruption of Jak's softball practice. Her team is tied for first place now in the league. Hopefully they will win their game on Wednesday. With that win, they will officially be hired by the Yankees as coaches....Just kidding.....kind of...we also took some time out of our reading day to play a bit of tennis. Just a good day all around. Although this weekend was a bit dull to the outside observer, we had quite a bit of fun. next weekend though will prove to be more interesting, as we are heading off to Ireland....Yay to Guinness! Yay to Leprechauns! Yay to Bono! But more on this next week!

Where to Start?

There is much to write about, and as such we may have more than one post here. I will start with the most recent. As with many impressive things like Nessie or Sasquatch (who will appear herein later), there is no true photographic records of today's adventures. After a morning that involved Nathan sitting around reading and Jak going to softball practice, we met up with one of Nathan's NCO's to go mountain biking. Deciding to go outside the immediate area we followed SGT Davis' directions to Pottenstein, where the three of us went on what can only be described as an epic ride. We should have known today would be something to write about when the trail that we selected to start the ride on had a picture of a soaring eagle on it. And in the future, lack of practical German knowledge or not, I am staying the hell away from things marked with soaring eagles, because they describe not the sights to be seen but instead the only practical method of going up said trail. Alternatley ropes, hammers and pitons would have worked, and may I take a moment to point out to my bride and her sister that this is in fact the proper use of the word piton, as an implement of scaling great heights, not as a descriptor of any small object whose name is not properly known. We finally did ascend the soaring heights, I am sure with SGT Davis cursing LT's under his breath, and were treated to the sight of, you guessed it, more climbing. Eventually we did summit the ridge and took the endless trails that wind through all of the hills and dales of Pottenstein. It was possibly the most amazing ride I have ever had. We found amazing stream crossings, hidden stations of the cross, and an entire field of stinging nettles. The last took some identification as they look different from their American cousins. They also appear to have something to prove, as their is no practical reason that anything needs to sting that bad. Once our legs stopped burning, (kinda. . .Jak's are still burning) we continued our trek and found what is undoubtedly the most epic singletrack to end all singletracks. Now epic can't really describe this trail. When a trail starts between stations 9 and 10 of the cross, you know if Jesus cant keep it rubber side down you may be up for a challenge. Admittidly I would have a hard time riding anything in a loincloth, sandals and a crown of thorns carrying a great honking piece of wood. I prefer styrafoam for my headgear. I digress, and risk smiteing, so back to the trail. It was barely the width of our handlebars, and followed the contour line. While following the contour line is a good thing in terms of vertical challenges, it exposes the rider to an entirely exciting new twist of vertical drop off to the side. I really cant describe it, and have no pictures of it, but I can say that it is something that any devotee of two knobby tires should ride before they die. Beacause riding it may cause dabbing, elevated heart rate, sweatyness, and death. SGT Davis and Miller almost got to expierence the latter, while Jak was only wondering how to rescue them with her spare tube while laughing. Because no pain is too great to not laugh at. Especially other peoples. It was amazing, and we only got a little lost on the way back. And we saw gnomes in the forrest, not cool "I can sell my story to National Enquirer" but the more, shall we say, garden variety. We also ran over what had to be Sasquatch poop. We would have seen him if the horses riding in front of us hadnt scared him away. We also managed to barely avoid killing a weiner dog, but that would have been okay, because the dog violated the German Cool Dog rule. It was amazing, and we will have to ride it again, with a camera and a bit more life insurance.
PS: HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

A Column for Pigs and Cats

If it ain't broke, don't fix it, or at least that is what we are hoping will happen. While walking through the old part of Graf, we have often wondered at a really cool old pillar that is right near the town hall. Now, in a particularly ironic bit of timing, we have finally figured out what the column is there for. I know columns don't always need to have a purpose, I mean come on, who doesn't like a bit of random column action in their own town, but this one does. It was erected by the grateful villagers of Graf back in 1496 (shortly after Columbus didn't listen to his wife's advice to stop and ask for directions) in monument to their having survived the plague. Considering there are two plagues facing us, we can only hope it still works. Obviously the first plague is of the swine variety, which happens to have made its appearance not just in Germany but only 45 minutes drive away at that. We aren't that worried, but a bit of luck cant hurt anything. The second plague is much more fun, and only has two cases so far. The plague is one of kittens, and while that may not be the best description of our furry companions, it does tie in at only a slightly monumental stretch with the swine flu and column thing. The cats continue to amaze us, not only with their adorable antics and quick growth, but also with the amazingly foul array of odors that they can produce from their litter box. Tom has grown quite a bit and is beginning to show the promise of his adult characteritcs, while Aaron Burr has learned to vocalize his opinions as well as Tom does. Aaron Burr has also picked up some serious martial arts moves from his political compatriot, which should stand him in good stead (as we all know) should he encounter a feline Alexander Hamilton. It is wonderful to come home to the pounding of kitten paws as they charge us, hoping for some renewed excitement. We have continued our exploration, mountain biking and hiking the sorrounding hills and dales, and visited our first European Brewery, but that is something for another entry. Love to you all.
-The Millers

It is raining gender confused cats, but no dogs. . .

Variety is the spice of life, and so when we saw an add for more kittens, naturally we had to call. Now Tom has a brother, Aaron Burr. Tom's full name is Thomas Jefferson, so our vice kitten has thus far proved to be an adorable and good influence on Tom. But as with any good story, there is a twist. Yes, readers of our blog, we can exclusively present a little know historical fact, Thomas Jefferson may have been a girl. Or perhaps he is just cold. After seeing our obviously boy kitten Aaron Burr, and watching Tom turn over to play with him, we noticed, shall we say, a difference. We are not experts, and according to online sources, it can be hard to tell at this age, but it is entirely possible that Thomas Jefferson is a girl. Interesting. . . At this point we are waiting until they are done doing battle with catnip mouses and string to see if further discoveries can be made. This does bring into question the name Tom, I am in favor of keeping Him/Her/It as Tom, Jak is undecided. And we have discovered that while Aaron Burr is a calm sort of individual, Tom is like a heroin junkie on a bad trip when he has cat nip. I am sure that more amusing updates will follow.

Tom Cat

No, we have not succumbed to Scientology and have no fascination with Tom Cruise or Katie Holmes, or whatever weird thing either of them is doing at the moment. In all honesty we are rather cut off from the events of the US, we get our news from the BBC, and only catch the highlights. Or lowlights as the case may be. No, the Tom Cat we are referring to is our cat, Tom. And despite some reports, it is quite an origional name. We have given him the venerable name shared by such notables as Jefferson, Bombadil, Boonen and even Riddle. But the last, we really can't talk about his name. Writing these with my bride proofreading really shows my hatred of the apostrophe, what a damned foolish piece of punctuation. She also points out that I have 18 run on sentences so far, and my grammar is that of a 4 year old. Nonetheless, I have temporary control of the keyboard, and if I wish to maintain it, I should get back to the point. We have a cat, a kitten really, he is all black and promises to have a beautiful medium length coat. He is a postal cat, insomuch as we got him from a gentleman who works at the post office. And Tom is quite adorable, and has quite a loud voice with which he occasionally voices his displeasure at being seperated from his mother and siblings. Now I think our menagiere of pets is complete for the time being with the two mice and the cat. The only thing we need now is a boxer, probably a puppy so that the cat and boxer can get along famously. I have great faith that in due course fate will present us with the perfect puppy, and that Jak will then be the happy queen of a further expanded household.
-Miller
PS: Ma and Pa can now visit in the safe knowledge that Pa's favorite animals will be present.

A return to reviews

So I originally intended this to be an outlet for our opinions on things, and have been decidedly lax on that front. Now considering I live in what could be considered the capital of beers, the very people who inspired Beer Fest, and who annually hold Octoberfest, it may be surprising that the beer I chose to review now is a bit closer to home. I bring you Samuel Adams Boston Lager! Oh and an aside, proof that they like their beer, the entire state still hasnt sobered up enough to realize that they hold Octoberfest in September.

Samuel Adams Boston Lager
4.8% ABV and 35 IBU

This is as much a review of German Beers versus American Beers as much as it is a review of Sam Adams. My annalogy is to relate them to cars. I love German cars, VW, BMW, Mercedes, they are refined, generally flawless, and a joy to behold. But anyone who saw my first car knows that I like a bit of what would be generously described as roughness. Not 120 grit sand paper rough, I mean rough around the edges. My first car was also Aaron's first car, and Ethan's first car, and it was older than me. It was a 1983 Chevrolet Crew Cab with an extended bed. It was light blue, though it spent various times in its life with us with brown doors, a mismatched rust and blue paintjob, and its final baby blue courtesy of Pa and I and a June afternoon. I digress, but you may see the difference I am hinting at. German beers are wonderful, perfectly smooth, balanced as only hundreds of years of brewing the same recepie can be. But they lack that origionality, that tail pipe about to fall off edge that I really like. This difference led me to a proclaiment last Friday night, when I looked in the fridge and said to my bride, "I need some American Beer." Now while that could have meant Coors or Miller or Budweiser, I wanted an origional car, not a 1983 Honda that belches blue smoke. Sam Adams is a readily accesable representation of what makes American beer great. It has the right blend of hops, that hint of spice, and the rich warm color that make you feel like youre back in New England again. It goes perfectly well with steak or hotdogs, as a refresher after mowing the lawn or something to enjoy after dinner while my bride quafs a Guiness. It is like Otis, my stuffed dog from when I was 4, that reminder of warm days and happy memories. It can go anywhere and still be great, even if it is the young whippersnapper compared to its neighbors in my refrigerator. And when push comes to shove, it is easier to justify 12 ounces over 1/2 a liter.

No Cows in Moos

Sorry for our extended absence from these pages, the last several weeks have been rather hectic, and a stressed Miller is one who does not really have a desire to write. So, to update on the last several weeks, Ethan and his girlfriend, Chris, and her kids came down our neck of the woods for Easter. It was a blast, we had dinner prepared by my lovely bride, and hiked up to the tower on a clear day this time and saw what there was to see. It was beautiful, the only hitch was that I am now apparently a pedophile, as Jak paid the kids rate going up the tower, while Ethan, Chris and I paid the adult rate. The gentleman collecting the money would not let Jak pay the adult rate. Funny and economical all in one!
We no longer have the dog, last week a call came from his old owners asking for him back, and while he was happy, we decided that although we were happy with him, it was unfair to pull, the "he's mine and too bad" act. There will be other dogs for us, and we will be in the market for a boxer. You can't really top Helen, but we will try to come close with our next dog. If anyone is looking to sell a preferably white boxer puppy, we have a dogless home that needs one!
Although work has been truly stressful for both of us, we are at least finding a bit of time to take some great bike rides! Jak made a crazy suggestion on Saturday, that had the full potential for disaster, but worked out gloriously....fixed gear cyclocross! If you have no idea what this entails, ask Alli and she can tell you how crazy we are. Well, needless to say, we loved it, and will be riding tons more cross, minus the free wheel. The only snafu to a great ride was our ending up in a cow farmer's yard. We had accidentally ridden down a cow path that lead to great big cow barns. When we had realized that we were in fact right in front of his house/ barn area, it was too late to escape as his jack russell terrier had already sounded the alarm. Both farmer and wife came out to check out why in heck two spandex clad bikers were in thier yard. At that point, Jak, being Jak thought it best to act as the silly girl she is. Instead of explaining that we were lost, she simply asked "Where is the road?" although it was in plain sight on the other side of an irrigation ditch. Both farmers looked at us like idiots, and simply pointed to the road. We thanked them and asked if we could traipse over thier lawn to the road. Thankfully they allowed us to do so, more to get rid of us than anything. Ironically enough, the cows were not in the Town of Moos that we often ride by, but in the neighboring town Grub. Go figute. I am sure they will be talking about us over thier Sunday dinner!
Anyway, we miss you all and love you.

The Two Towers

Okay, same tower, second visit. No Ents. No Dark Riders, in fact very little similarity with the above literary reference. But what are bad puns if not tenuous at best. Jak and I decided to return to the scene of our earlier adventure in Neustadt am Kulm and the really cool tower. This time we were dressed somewhat more appropriately for adventuring, namely there was no spandex, we were wearing practical shoes, and we had a huge black dog. I suppose if Jak didnt wear her glasses and it was really dark and misty out and she was in the mood to be imaginative, we could mistake him for a dark rider. Minus the rider, so more of the dark rider's horse. Now my reference is less tenative.
Anyway, the tower is even cooler than we could have hoped for. After using our phones to free translate the parking signs, we figured out where to leave the car and went for a hike up the hill to the tower. It reminds me so much of Connecticut it isn't even funny. It has the same rock scree slope as the ridge back home, which was really fun to negotiate while trying to keep up with Rocco. On our way up we saw numerous bronze age archeological sites, but we didn't manage to find any pieces for ourselves, which was dissapointing. All dissapointment was banished when we got to the top and found that the tower is open to the public all the time. 82 Stairs later (I think) we reached the top and despite the hazy day we were treated to quite a view. Rocco was unimpressed, he mainly wanted water, as we have discovered that we own the most hydration obsessed dog in the world. After a quick lunch and nap at home, we went to Obi (wan Kenobi), which is the cooler German brother of Home Depot. They even have the same orange clothes for the employees, but their logo is a Beaver. Which did spark a question for Jak and I as to whether or not they have Beavers over here. I am inclined to think they don't, as in "Buffalo Girls," they have beavers in a Zoo only, but they may have proliferated and become plentiful again. (Note: Pretty much that whole sentence will only be fully understood by the Weidner-Miller side of the family) And now the long awaited answer, thanks to wikipedia. . . . (drum roll) there are beavers here!! They were hunted nearly to extintion, but have been reintroduced in such awesome areas as Bavaria, Austria, and SERBIA!!!!! And I also discovered that there was a pre-historic Giant Beaver in North America that was the size of a Black Bear. I want one to go with a giant german rabbit. The Beaver will be named Tiny and the Rabbit will be named Gigantor. Jak says that the big dog is enough, but I firmly believe that Rocco should be the beginning of a menagere of giant animals. At Obi (wow that was a long side track) we got plants and gardening tools so that we can begin to make our yard look less like Peyton Place. Don't ask me what Peyton Place looks like exactly, but apparently we look like that. Which is a bad thing I think, as mention of it drives my wife into a cleaning and gardening frenzy. Pretty much, I don't want to go to this Peyton Place place. Apparently it is Guilmonton Iron Works, so sorry Guilmonton, I will not visit. All in all a successful day, and a tired Jak, Miller, and Hund. Goodnight and all our love!

The Epic Poo

So Miller was right, big dogs take big poos. Yesterday we had to take the car to get a new spring-thingy put in. While the car was being fixed we decided to walk around the surrounding countryside. We had to cross through town to get to some walking trails, and while doing so, mother nature called on Rocco. Seeing what he was doing, I quickly pulled out a bag. He had to have chosen the narrowest cobbled sidewalk to conduct his business. One preface to this next part of the narrative: Germans will tell you if they don't like what your are doing, and expect others to do the same. So some guy in this crappy little Fiat decides to yell out his window while driving way too fast (as is the German way) something about how he hates poo.....whatever. So I attempt to pick up this cow plop sized mound....well, it was just too much for the bag. Admitting defeat, I tied up the bag with a good portion of poo in it, and we quickly made an exit to the farms on the outskirts of town....where Rocco could crap to his hearts delight, I mean, the cows do!
Following his pooing adventure, we walked for almost four hours, covering about twenty kilometers before the car was ready. During that time, we were able to solidify some old obedience training (sitz and platz) and teach him some new ones (fus and give paw). He is a very quick learner, so the rest won't be much of a problem, I just have to keep my supply of cut up hot-dogs and cheese on me until he gets the hang of them all. The poor boy does have an ear infection though, which we are treating with drops, but I don't think are doing very well, as it is tough to get him not to shake them out, so I think very little medicine is getting in. We will discuss this with the vet when he goes in next week for a check up and to schedule for him to be neutered. Just like Zack always did, even though Rocco is very much a boy, he still pees like a girl....oh, and did I mention he is afraid of the dark and small dogs....so much for a big manly dog! Anyway, we are going to spend another day gallivanting around the Bavarian countryside, as is our habit!

Family- Rocco, Rocco- Family

Well, Jak and I have a new addition to our family. Rocco. He is beautiful, big, and every bit of the dog we wanted.

WE ARE GETTING A DOG!

Tomorrow (Thursday) we are getting our dog!! We are adopting him from an Army family whose small son has developed a really bad allergy. His name is Rocket, though that is going to change. Possibly to Werner, but we will see what he thinks. Oh, one more thing.
HE IS HUGE!!
As in bigger than Jak.
No Joke.
I'm getting a saddle.
Western, maybe English for Jak
Maybe a tandem Saddle
He is that Big.
I am not even joking.
He is big and beautiful. He is a Lab/German Shepherd/Rottweiler mix, and I think his feet are the size of mine.

Positives: Huge Dog
Negatives: Epic Poops
More to follow
-Miller
PS: Jak got the fire department called while cooking dinner. I have the pictures of the 2 firetrucks and 2 MP vehicles that showed up. German sirens sound really cool. And German firemen are nice. And dinner wasn't even burnt. I am now fully confident that we will not die in a fire. Or even get a nasty wax burn from an errant candle. Or even light a match in peace. Because they don't have those nice move the smoke away from it and it stops sounding the air-raid siren type alarms. Nope, none of this backing out or exit strategies. Once you're on fire here, you are committed. Screw stop, drop, and roll, they will be there in a minute at most to save you.

High on A Hill. . .

I will preface this by saying that we never did see the lonely goat herder. Perhaps societal expectations of a lonely goat herder demand that they shun outsiders, as otherwise they probably would not be all that lonely.
Okay, a bit of explanation is probably required. On Sunday, Jak and I drove to Pottenstein, which is better known to my troops as the place where steak-on-a-stone is. While we did not visit this gustatory Xanadu, I do have to put forth Jak and my opinion. At this particular restaurant, which fascinates all of our battalion, they bring out a really hot stone to you that you then cook your dinner on. It is reminiscent of taking out a pan, putting it on a stove, and cooking in it. Wait a moment, it is pretty much the same thing. Except you pay for it. I have to give the owner credit, that is a work of genius. Get the silly patrons to cook their own meals and sit back and watch the deutschmarks (now euros) roll in.
Moving on, Pottenstein is in fact a startlingly beautiful ancient resort town, complete with hot mineral springs, and cold ponds full of fish. Where there is no fishing allowed. Very German. The immediate surrounding area has more than 450 Kilometers of hiking and biking trails, so we decided to park and avail ourselves of some of that length, cameras in hand. Or bag. We hiked past an absolutley beautiful house that is perched on top of a pilar of dolomite. We didn't go inside, but from the looks of the place you can stand off an army. Even an army that would have to storm its heights in order to go to steak-on-a-stone. While the house was cool, Jak and I tend to run to more simple tastes, namely the goats we encountered further down the trail. Now you understand the Julie Andrews references above. As evidenced by the more than 100 pictures we took of them, they were quite cool. If you look at our flickr, you can see some of the more choice selections, with such gems as Goat Looking Angry, Goat Standing, Goat Doing Goat Things, and my favorite, Goat So Bored It Is Chewing One Leg. Did I mention we like goats? We were also able to see the locals enjoying the mountains, and a real live boar. . .Kinda. Fortunatley, we were able to escape the viscious local ducks, and bring these pictures back to you. It was a great day out, we cant wait to go back.
-Miller
PS. We saw the Pope!!

In the land of Benedict...not quite the German shepherd we were looking for...

So today Miller and I went Pope hunting. Not really! As we live very near the birth place of our dear Pope, we often think of him. At least I think of him, as far as I know, Miller has passing appreciation for the man he refers to as "Benny". We decided to take a Sunday drive , as is quite in fashion here, but as we are in farm country, most residents' drives include farm equipment. We strolled through the green countryside our Pope grew up in and the Russians ravaged during World War Two. This place has just so much history! On our drive, we encountered many churches and shrines. It is astonishing that most of these structures were erected long before the United States separated from England. Although spring, it was quite chilly and started to flurry. The pictures came out alright (including one of a three legged cat), yet the sky made for a very difficult time in trying to not make each photo look washed out. The relative humidity also gave us a bothersome haze to work around, or that may have been simply from the sheer amount of cow dung each farmer uses to fertilize his fields! It has been a nice relaxing Sunday, as Miller is now reading a book on the couch. I have been taking a bit of time to refresh my mind on German history. I love the weekends....

All Around the Watch Tower

There must be some kind of way up there
Said the husband to the wife. . .

Jak and I went wandering yesterday on our bikes. That is a nice way of saying we spent the day mildly lost. Though I suppose we could contest the lost thing, because if you really don't have a destination, I do not think you can really be lost on the way to nowhere. Nonetheless, we were faced with the most difficult of decisions that shall face us many times, namely left, right and sometimes even straight. We started from Grafenwoehr towards Pressath and wandered our way from there along the beautiful bike paths and perfect one lane roads that are all over this area. The roads are actually one lane in size only, they are used for occasional two way traffic at 100K an hour both ways. It is exciting to drive them, but for riding they are absolutley amazing. They go through gently rolling farm land, populated with the most picturesque little villages and buildings. I love seeing the village signs when riding in or out, one that we rode through yesterday has been there since 1291. Even the young villages are older than the US. We eventually started to guide our wanderings towards a watch tower that stands above the whole plain near Neustadt am Kulm. It turns out that the watchtower is located on top of an actual basalt volcano cone. We ended up riding the dirt roads to try to reach the tower on top, but in the end we would have needed to walk up some serious hiking trails, which in bike shoes would not have been fun. Our ride back took us past what appears to be a really beautiful monastary. I realize that my narration of the ride is rather linear, and lacking in any sort of good descriptive words or onamotapetic phrases. But pictures really do speak much better for our ride than I can. It is the sort of riding that makes you not want to stop, except when you begin to bonk so hard that your wife laughs as she blows by you on slight hills.