Sancho Lennon

Let the alliteration begin. Monday in Madrid. For what seems like forever I have been getting up (well) before the sun. This out of necessity. There are classes to lead, logistics to manage and rides to be shot. You don't get shit done by sleeping till 10. Early birds of prey know this. There are worms to be had. This morning was, by all accounts, a rest day. My body was in need of recovery almost as much as my central processing unit. The return 500K trip from Malaga to Madrid last night was a real test. The tiny Renault Clio received one FM signal, a classical station. The last few clicks to Sergovia at teeth rattling volume, saved the day, with a fantastic flamenco flair.

After a series of REM traumatic events during the sleel process (I woke once after reading the Nightmare News headlines proclaiming: Seattle man dies in Madrid hotel of heart attack) the sun came through the curtains way too aggressively and way too early, despite the cotton/rayon cloth mix drawn tight. I rolled over, seizing the moment in a rare display of apathy. All I had to do today was pay for internet (hate that), send Andy's jacket back and hang. Finally, a day to call my own. I could sit by the pool and read all day if I so choose.

This dirtbag excuse for a hotel, of course, had no pool. They are barely competent enough to fit beds in these tiny rooms. After missing the free breakfast and sending the aforementioned electronic media (yesterdays news) I set out for Guadalajara. A few items from early correspondence bothered me for the first few Ks, but I soon began to enjoy, once again, the feeling of being out and on the road. And while not of Cervantes proportion, I heard a familiar refrain, "Oh that magic feeling - nowhere to go". I discovered a tiny town called Torija, whose sole claim to fame is a very well restored 14th century fortress and tower. There is nothing else in the village. Not even a place to buy a cafe solo. I looked, I tried. Nada.

Deciding to dine domestic, I navigated the series of roundabouts (they work ONCE you know where you want to go) and found a HUGE supermercato inside an EVEN HUGHER mall. One rustic loaf of bread, a small round of Gouda, a jar of artichoke hearts and a bottle of local Tempranillo, and I was on the way home, if I may bestow such an important moniker upon this temporary rent-a-tent. OK, so in case you are wondering, it is $64 a night. Compare that with Rome or Renton. Also in case you are wondering further, my boss loves it when I complain about the cheapness of my on-the-road-digs. And eating in.

(note to boss: After watching yesterdays footage you are lucky I am not drinking a hundred euro bottle at a wrap party!)

Last night in Madrid. Off tomorrow to hook up with Simon and crew in Lanzarote for five days of on-location cycling shooting at the TTC Tri Camp. Should be fun, hot and windy.

Also, for the record, I have officially gone five days without a workout.

Fitness forgotten?

Rest and recovery.

Listen: I am hearing more Beatles:

But I'll come back again someday,
and when I do you'd better hide all the girls
cause I'm gonna break their hearts all round the world
yes I gonna break em too,
show ya what a loving man can do
but till then
I'll cry instead.

Melancholy in Madrid.

Buenas noches amigos.