This morning I've been sitting in a Starbucks in Winnepeg while my bike gets an oil change and service. I'm reading Seven Summits by Dick Bass:
http://www.amazon.com/Seven-Summits-Dick-Bass/dp/0446385166/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1342625472&sr=8-1&keywords=seven+summits+dick+bass
And in the book, I came across this passage, a poem by Robert Service. Apparently, back in the 1980's, before every human being owned an iPod, people would memorize poetry (!) to entertain themselves on long journeys. How quaint! But it's a cool poem anyways:
"There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest."
http://www.amazon.com/Seven-Summits-Dick-Bass/dp/0446385166/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1342625472&sr=8-1&keywords=seven+summits+dick+bass
And in the book, I came across this passage, a poem by Robert Service. Apparently, back in the 1980's, before every human being owned an iPod, people would memorize poetry (!) to entertain themselves on long journeys. How quaint! But it's a cool poem anyways:
"There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest."
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