FELT MOUNTAIN BIKES FOR SALE - FELT MOUNTAIN BIKES


Felt Mountain Bikes For Sale - Quad Bike Tour - 250cc Dirt Bike Engine.



Felt Mountain Bikes For Sale





felt mountain bikes for sale






    mountain bikes
  • (Mountain biking) Mountain biking is a sport which consists of riding bicycles off-road, often over rough terrain, using specially adapted mountain bikes. Mountain bikes share similarities with other bikes, but incorporate features designed to enhance durability and performance in rough terrain.

  • A bicycle with a light sturdy frame, broad deep-treaded tires, and multiple gears, originally designed for riding on mountainous terrain

  • (mountain bike) a bicycle with a sturdy frame and fat tires; originally designed for riding in mountainous country

  • (Mountain Bike) Bicycles that are made primarily for offroad use and have 24" or 26" wheels and knobby tires.





    for sale
  • purchasable: available for purchase; "purchasable goods"; "many houses in the area are for sale"

  • For Sale is a tour EP by Say Anything. It contains 3 songs from …Is a Real Boy and 2 additional b-sides that were left off the album.

  • For Sale is the fifth album by German pop band Fool's Garden, released in 2000.





    felt
  • Become matted

  • cover with felt; "felt a cap"

  • a fabric made of compressed matted animal fibers

  • mat together and make felt-like; "felt the wool"

  • Cover with felt

  • Make into felt; mat together











Bali Motorbike rider




Bali Motorbike rider





My butt is really sore now after more than 350 km on the motorbike in the last 2 days.

Yesterday I crossed Bali from south to north on a long and endlessly winding road. My highlight was a long stroll between freshly flooded rice terraces above the Saba river in the late afternoon, when coming down towards Seiririt. These rice terraces with their pleiades of forms and variations are the single most interesting cultural achievement of Indonesia, closely followed by Gamelan music. Spent the night in Lovina in a rather shabby hotel where the owner had directed me by motorbike after approaching me on the beach.

Mixed seafood for dinner in a nearby restaurant came in healthy portions. For desert I chatted with a friendly local guy who specialises in pendants from shells, corals and coconut wood which he makes from his own finds and sells to the tourists. Currently in Lovina there are hardly any and the whole infrastructure of this place runs more or less idle, so my petty purchase of 4 for 100.000 was his first sale in two weeks. Bad bad Bali bombings. He finished just 7 years at school as his parents couldn't pay for more, still lives with them and at 24 has not even been to Kuta in his life. Where is such a guy's life headed to?

Today I started at 5.30, after a much mosquito afflicted night, hot in spite of the fan and with little decent sleep. The small local fisher boat I had ordered picked me up at the beach in front of my bungalow to get me dolphin watching, about 2 km offshore. I was the only passenger but there were about 25 other boats doing the same thing for other European and a few Japanese tourists. The surprisingly small dolfins surfaced between the waves here and there in schools of about 25 to 35, difficult to make out and impossible to ban in pixels in the rough sea which was whipped up by a strong fallwind from the mountains. The little tourist armada started to move in one direction at each dolphin appearance whereupon they preferred to disappear just to resurface elsewhere after a while. Do dolphins have humour? This game continued for more than an hour until all passengers and crews where totally wet from the seawaters dashing overboard those tiny vessels. In my case the wetness included my wallet and my Rupiah million as well as my guidebook with the precious island map. Time then to take a swim upon return, to have a banana pancake for breakfast and to warm up with a stroll under clear morning skies with a fast rising sun..

Later I restarted my now familiar aged Yamaha bike, passed Singaraja and its Chinese temple and rode up and up to Mt. Batur. On the way I took a bath naked underneath a waterfall, chatting with two local mountain guides who had set the precedent and offered me shampoo. One of them at least was visibly interested in further acquaintance. We continued the chat over a coffee in a nearby street side parlour, while the sparse traffic floated by. Life is simple in the mountains if you find tourists to guide up volcanoes, but it remains complicated under a wealth of age old Hindu village requirements, especially if you live with your mother.

Two hours later, after visiting two important pura temples on the roadside and giving in to the purchase of another tenaciously touted Bali T-shirt for an afternoon 'moarning priece', I took the third swim of the day in the pleasant green waters of Lake Batur below Batour volcano whose surroundings are still scarred by the lava of recent eruptions. Yes, it is worth all the fuzz, although it gets pretty cold to ride a motorbike up there at more than 1700 meters altitude and although in the vicinity of all highlights and viewpoints you are constantly molested by flying souvenir vendors and their kin who appear out of nowhere. whenever you think of banning something with a blackberry camera.

Heading down in the late afternoon the difficulty lay in finding the shortest way, first south then east around the gigantic neighbouring Mt. Agung with its perfect volcano form, which gracefully peeled itself out of the clouds to present its glorious 3142 meters. This is when the butt got sore, in spite of all the excitement of 10.000 curves and beautiful mountain scenery in golden afternoon light.

I had to take gas from lokal 'bottle stations' three times, due to lack of official stations on the way. Twice the official stations were out of supply. Those are the moments when you start to praise the spirit of free enterprise, in spite of prices of up to 10.000 Rupiah per litre, against the regular price of 5500.

I was happy to reach Amed on the north east cost of Bali shortly before sunset, where I checked in at Jogi Lodge which boasts spacious clean rooms, a good bed with a mosquito net and even a small pool. A swim first in the warm sea, then in the pool feels like a massage after such a day. And Amed is a place to fall in love with instantly. There are about 200 of those local fisher boats lined up the black beach., Mt. Agung against the s











Snowy River National Park, September 2011




Snowy River National Park, September 2011





By Wilhelmina Streckfuss

When my son decided to join the circus, I decided to join the bushwalking club.

Several times a month, our group, The Ben Cruachan Walking Club ventures to different Gippsland locations; to the alpine areas, the wetlands, the beach and my favourite place in the whole world, Wilsons Promontory. At 82 years of age, I am usually the oldest in the group. Our walks can last from a few hours to a whole day and I often lead our Sale U3A group on expeditions.

I became interested in bush walking as a teenager in Holland and would often go camping with the youth hostel association. We would go camping in France, Belgium and in Germany. My husband was also a keen camper and throughout our married life and when we moved to Australia, we would take our children camping regularly.

On this particular day in Buchan, we ventured up to the Snowy River National Park for a two hour trek along the Tulloch Ard Walk. There were 11 people on the trip that day, as we talked and walked our way up the mountain. As we travelled through the rainforest towards the summit, we saw beautiful orchids, two hundred year old trees, some patches of hail stones that looked like snow and inhaled the beautiful fresh mountain air.

To look at myself in this picture, I would describe myself as a survivor. I don't make excuses, I just get on with the task at hand, one step at a time, as the path unfolds. I see the blue sky in the distance.

When I was a young girl during the 2nd World War, Holland was occupied by the Germans and we lived in constant fear of fighter plane attacks and bombings. In 1944 things became very tough, the schools closed, there was no food, no public transport and no fuel to heat the house. My dad became seriously ill and could not look after us, my brother had to work in Germany, so I was the one who had to try to get food for the family. I had a bike with no tyres and would ride to farms to beg for food. I would come home with a heavy load of wheat, potatoes and onions in the dark, often after curfew, and would have German soldiers shining their torches on me. They were always very nice to me and would let me go home, but it was still very scary.

I guess as a consequence of my early life in Holland, I have become quite resilient. I don't fear walking in the bush, I don't find it is uncomfortable.

Of course I get tired when I go bushwalking, but it is a great feeling of tiredness. You feel like you have achieved something, that you have `earnt' being tired. You also don't know what is coming next, whether you have 50 meters or 500 metres to the top, so there is a certain poetry in not knowing what is coming next. You have to have faith that it will be good.

When you go walking all your worries, whatever they are, become unimportant. When my husband was very sick, I would walk to the shops, as I found walking very calming and cathartic. You notice that despite the challenges and the changes that may be occurring in your life, everything goes on as normal; the blossoms bloom on the trees, grass and leaves grow and the cycles of life and nature continue, regardless of how you may be feeling. There will always be blue sky ahead.










felt mountain bikes for sale







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