I’ve been blabbering about Two Bikes and A Ball, my recent bike-ride-basketball odyssey with Rick Horan, who can, uhm, ride a bike. The basketball part? Well, check out the video (Google: “Two Bikes and a Ball"—use the quotations). I’ve got to recommend watching the video and closing your eyes at the same time. If you peek, you’ll see what I mean.

I posted something online that got a good amount of attention, so I figured I’d put it in the paper for those of you who don’t “go on the

I’m not arguing, I’m simply explaining why I’m right. Now, see, there’s a thing I might wear on a t-shirt this weekend but, Holy St. Patrick, you won’t be catching me in anything that says, "Kiss Me, I'm Irish." The problem with that slogan, is some people do. God forbid.

You know I can’t resist dropping a proverb on you that was dropped on me:  “If wars were fought with words, Ireland would rule the world.”

Of course, there are a couple of variations on what’s keeping Ireland from ruling the

When I last checked in, I was a night removed from the Dixie Motel, the place that scared Norman Bates away.

Our next stop was horse country in Ocala, Florida, where we had reserved a motorhome for the night. We had planned the trip (from Mount Pleasant to Clearwater) figuring we’d bike about 50 miles a day. Sometimes the best option was a fleabag, sometimes an Airbnb. And with Airbnb, sometimes your only choice is a motorhome or trailer. We had thought about bringing camping equipment and it

I woke up this morning with a five-finger imprint on my face. I’d slept on my hand, after spending the entire day before not trying to touch my face. Let’s face it, pardon the expression, it’s impossible.

I rub my chin to show others how thoughtful I am. It’s a fake out. I’m not thoughtful but a chin rub is a good stalling tactic. I read and daydream with the palm of my hand covering half my face. By noon, I’m sliding my hand all over my face to check on my 5 o’clock shadow.

I don’t know if

By Kevin Boyle

We rolled into Florida and froze our patooties off. After mid-70s, nice-as-can-be weather in Nowhere, Georgia, our blood must’ve thinned because we were not ready for 41 degrees and a frigid wind chill in the Sunshine State. Forty-one is harder in Florida than anywhere else. It makes you mad.

I’ve come all the way to Florida for this? I’ve just seen a hundred Waffle Houses, two thousand Publix, a Walgreens for every palm tree and the same Twilight Zone strip mall for the past

If you missed the last couple of weeks of Boyleing Points, I’m on some 500+-mile bike odyssey. You can get up to date at Rockawaytimes.com or on The  Rockaway Times YouTube channel. 

Anyway, you think you had it tough with 24-degree weather? Add nine to that number and that’s how much I paid for the Dixie Motel where Georgia and Florida are the same thing. And I overpaid.

The shower was like the visiting team’s locker room in a public school. If you’ve never seen one, your imagination should