Let Freedom Ring!

I had a dream!

In my dream the government directed all women over 45 to lighten up for one hour every day.



I had no idea so many people watched the Today Show.  My boss, my co workers, customers, more than a couple of my email buddies, even the delivery man in brown, all couldn't wait to bring up the new govenment guidelines. 

Women over forty five years of age should get one hour of exercise a day.

Well, duh!

What I thought truly appalling about the Today Show announcement was the attitude of their resident physician, Nancy Snyderman.  The first words out of her mouth, I kid you not, were, "Oh give me a break!" 

She seemed to think of an hour of exercise as a sentence of drudgery, another mandatory chore piled on top of the already overwhelming stack of obligations women wade through every day.  Dr. Snyderman's "Get real!" was an alarming thing to hear, especially coming from someone who is supposed to be a proponent of good health.

Hello!  Could it be that for an hour a day we, god forbid, just have fun with it?

Of course there's no time to go down in the basement and plod on a treadmill while staring at the musty wall. 

There's no time to go out and drudge around and around the same old block for an hour. 

There's no time for a twenty minute drive to the gym each way. 

There's no time for the white type scrolling out news of the latest murder across the bottom of a TV screen while a rumbling treadmill takes you nowhere. 

Yikes!  Give me a break, indeed!

Last night, I had a dream. 

And in my dream the bells of freedom rang across this country. 

And Dr. Nancy Snyderman said, "What wonderful news!  Even the government supports women having fun for an hour a day!"

You can have fun with it, people.  You don't need a fancy hobby.  I have bikes and kayaks and running shoes and a passion for the outdoors.  I realize how very lucky I am. 

But c'mon, do you really need toys, classes, coaches, or a pricey gym to just put a little fun in your life?

Got a basketball hoop in your neighborhood?  Got a ball?  Got bare feet and grass?  Got kids?  Or a dog who wants a ride in your bike basket?

No?  No problem.  Maybe you've got a friend who likes to gossip.  If you can't get together for a walk, get her on the phone. I see people walking and talking all the time.

In my dream, I took off my shoes and went sliding down the hall.  I boogied like Tom Cruise, although I have no risky business to conduct.  I went into the backyard and led a big brass band with seventy six trombones.  I swayed, crooning into a wooden spoon, while the pasta boiled.  I danced with the people on the Carnival Cruise Lines commercial.  I wished I had stairs to swoop up and down like Scarlett O'Hara. I folded clothes and danced them to the basket.  For fifteen minutes, my big red handled mop was Fred Astaire. 

What a great dream!  In it, I am moving.  I am happy. Dwarves sing Heigh Ho in the background.  (And the chores are all done.)

It's a great world, folks.  It's a great life. 

Move.  Keep moving.  Why?  Because you can! 

Lighten up.  Have fun with it.  Let freedom ring!


An hour a day?  Give me a break!  Is that all we get?



 

Good Guinness! Bike. Eat. Experiment. Repeat.

Ok, just 'cuz I'm trying not to eat so much, doesn't mean I can't write about it!

It all started with this crazy idea to make a sweet syrup from Guinness and molasses...

Which led to Chocolate Walnut Guinness Cookies, Guinness Oatmeal Cookies, Guinness Pound Cake, a couple versions of Guinness Toffee Coffee Cake, even a Guinness Banana Bread (which believe it or not, was really really good!)

Time to let go of the Guinness obsession, you say?  Yes perhaps, but not without one last fling!

The in-laws are coming!  Popeye's parents and his niece and nephew are coming for Easter.

Then it's time for the out-laws.  My big brother and his best Betty are coming the week after that.

Soooo, it's time to stock the freezer with some easy meals to pull out, especially breakfast, a meal I do not like to get up early and prep!

So what'll it be?  Guinness banana bread for sure.  No. Wait.  How about a Guinness Apple Bread with those last couple Ambrosia apples rolling around the bottom of the fridge?  

This is one of Sailor's (best hostess ever) strategies.  Pull the loaf out of the freezer the night before, pair that with a tall fruity protein smoothie and everyone eats happy, while the hostess, happily, needn't rise with the sun.

Having a nice dessert on hand is easy too, maybe another Guinness pound cake - strawberries are still in season. Mmmm.

Guinness Pound Cake

Maybe a Guinness shortcake... oh yeah.

I know what you're thinking.  Guinness in no way goes with fruit!  

But weird as it sounds, somehow it just does.  What can I say?  Try it!  You'll like it!

I am betting today will be a "furlough day" at the bike shop.  I'm gonna experiment with a few things and get back to you, OK?

OK, so the first experiment wasn't food. 

It was a wetsuit. 

A wetsuit ripped neck to behind by an overzealous peeler at last year's Xterra in Miami.  And if last year's race was wetsuit legal, sure as heck, after the winter we've had, this year's race will be! 

My solution at this late date is to cover the ripped wetsuit with a surf shirt to make it aero (and keep it on.)  Ha, let the peelers figure that out!  Racer, peel thyself.

OK, I admit it.  I haven't swum since last October, and the race is Sunday, so "just getting in a quick half mile" might end up as an experiment as well.

It's dark and gloomy out and the water in our own pool is just about 68, so I drive to the insanely monsterous gym at Viera, where there are two pools, and lap lanes available all hours.  The first time I went into the locker room here, honest to god, I got lost.

Hospital?  No.  Library?  No. 

It's the gym.  

A white Jag rounds the corner and nearly runs over my toe as I wait to cross the street so I can get the whole building in the picture.  

The membership comes free with our health plan, and to me this is evidence that good health must pay.  How many hundred prevented coronaries does it take to pay for the most elaborate healthplex in town?  

A half mile and a few extra laps for lagniappe later, I feel I am covered (so to speak) if the water in Biscayne Bay is cold on Sunday. 

The sun is out by the time I am done.  The day just gets better and better!  Home for some baking.

Guinness Apple Bread

1 c. oil

3 eggs

1/2 c. Guinness syrup 
(For syrup, see "Chocolate Walnut Guinness Cookies", February)

1/2 c. brown sugar

1 c. sugar

1 tsp vanilla

3 c. apples, diced

3 c. flour (1/3 part spelt, or whole wheat, if you like)

1 tsp. cinnamon

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

1 c. nuts, cranberries, or whatever else you like in a breakfast bread

  

Mix the oil, sugars, syrup, eggs and vanilla.  Stir in the dry ingredients, just until mixed.  Then fold in the apples and nuts. 

Divide into two greased loaf pans, sprinkle with sugar.  (Just the batter smells fantastic!)

Bake for 1 1/2 hours at 300 degrees.  Test for doneness.

Or if you are impatient like me, and don't mind a browner crust, bake 50-55 minutes at 350 degrees.  

Guinness Apple Bread

Next up: 

Guinness Strawberry Shortcake

Slice up some beautiful Plant City Strawberries, stir in a few tablespoons sugar, and pop into the fridge until juicy.

Then make Guinness Pound Cake:

2/3 c. butter

1 c. sugar

1/2 c. Guinness Syrup

(For syrup, see "Chocolate Walnut Guinness Cookies", February)

2 eggs

2 c. flour (part spelt or whole wheat, if you like)

3/4 tsp baking powder

3/4 tsp. salt

2/3 c. milk

1 tsp. vanilla

Cream butter, sugar, eggs and vanilla.

Add dry ingredients, mix until wet.

Stir in milk.

If you like a loaf shape, use one greased loaf pan.  Bake at 325 degrees 1 1/4 to 1 1/2 hours.  Test for doneness.

Again, I am impatient.  I pour the batter into two round layer cake pans and bake for 30 minutes at 350.

Get out the berries, cut up the cake.  From here, it's just like Mom used to make.

(Only a lot more whipped cream, of course.)

And on to the day's final experiment.  The Tuesday Ride with the big dogs down in Palm Bay. 

OK so I haven't had a Tuesday off during daylight savings in about five years... but you know. 

That's why they call 'em experiments!

Oleta is all-righta!

What's green and stays out all night?

Patty O' Furniture!

OK, so I fnally remembered my favorite silly St. Patrick's Day joke. 

(Who's old?)

The corned beef is in the slow cooker. 

With... you know.

There's a stash of Guinness Chocolate Walnut Toffee Cake in the freezer, in case the corned beef, cabbage, carrots and potatoes in Guinness aren't enough.

So - all set for the St. Patty's feast later! 

Good, that leaves time for some blarney and blather!

Is it weird to give your camera a name?  I think I'll name mine Duke.  

Name this tune:

Straightnin' the curves

Flattenin' the hills

Someday the mountain might get 'em

But the law never will.

Recognize it?  (Now, who's old?)

I'm sure Waylon Jennings wasn't really talking about my camera, but that's what it does.  Flattens the hills and straightens the curves better than Bo and Luke Duke in the ole General Lee!

At Oleta State Park in North Miami, the mountains may never get ya, but the roots and the rocks will!

For all you folks who think you need to be in the mountains to ride full suspension mountain bikes, go ride Oleta.  Then get back to me. 

This is Miami.  We don't need no stinkin' mountains!

Granted I didn't stop to take pictures with Duke on any of the climbs, or any of the drops either. 

The climbs and drops are even rootier and rockier than the just plain rooty and rocky spots, where I did finally stop to attempt photos.  Photos which by no means give you even a hint of the feel of the place. 

Cuz the feel is jarring, kind of like a 20 mile lobotomy.

With chunks of coquina the size of your head, Oleta can make even the bravest bike god a little cautious.  If you go down on this stuff it is going to hurt. 

And for those of us who are downright chicken, the first loop is slow going. 

There is a lot of stopping and peering over the edge to see what the heck I am getting into here.  

When I work up the courage, I back up and try again.  I hate to think of finishing last at the XTerra here in a couple weeks!  But it's a possibility!

Fortunately, the local bike race is nearly over by the time we complete our three hour drive south down I-95.  Even better luck, the race course is still marked.  Excellent!  It's likely they will use the same course for the Oleta XTerra on the 28th. 

Check out XTerraPlanet.com for the coolest triathlon ever invented.  It's the race that Nissan named the car after.

Tri-Lady, Popeye, and I all step out of the car and get ready to ride.  Once everyone is sans sweatshirt, we realize that all three of us are wearing the same jersey! 

Team XTerra has arrived!

There's a reason for that.  It's "cold" for Miami, probably not quite 70 degrees.  Except for the few chilly weeks around Christmas, normal for Florida means sleeveless.  There just aren't many choices in the short sleeve arsenol. The XTerra regional champion jerseys fit the rare clothing requirement perfectly on this bright cool Sunday.

The local riders are really nice in Miami.  Two volunteered to take a photo of us, and almost everyone asks if you need help when they see you stopped, eyeballing a hairy drop.

As I pulled to the side of the trail for one photo attempt, this guy in the white and red shirt blew by, asking "You ok?" 

"Oh yeah," I reply.  "I'm just trying to get a picture for my friends who think you don't need full suspension in Florida."

His staccato laugh was synchronized perfectly to the machine gun rhythm of his bike tires, as they stuttered over chunks of coquina the size of grapefruits.

From around the jagged bend he called back, "Of course! Cuz this is only Miami, right?"

Easy on the Mud, Heavy on the Flood, and just this once, Not a Bit of Blood!

Mobs, mud, flood, no blood.  Gotta love a successful weekend! 

The rain started late Thursday and didn't let up until late Friday. About four inches worth - kind of a mini Tropical Storm Fay.  It's no wonder the quilt show was mobbed.  Friday was certainly no beach day! 

Photography was tough, there were so many people meandering every which way - especially between my camera and the quilts.  But I finally got a few shots without too many curly heads in the way.

Best of Show

Best of Show - detail

(a detail of my personal favorite - into triangles this month)

My apologies.  Just ran a search of the desk (and the wastebaskets) and cannot find the program with the names of the quilters and the titles of their entries.  (Try Seaside Piecemakers Quilt Guild for specifics.)

One name I do recognize, because I've seen this one on her wall!

"Buttons" by Irene Watson

Detail of "Buttons"

Irene is the genius (savior) who does machine quilting for so many of us piecers who aren't patient enough to quilt our own tops.  She is an amazingly talented artist.  Buttons won a first place ribbon and she also won a "judges choice" award for another piece.

(whose title I can't remember)

I have been saving old earrings and interesting buttons ever since I saw "Buttons" hanging in the entry of her home.  I like to think my own Lizard Quilt, which Irene quilted last year, would have gotten an honorable mention. 

Maybe. 

Nah, probably not.  Talent at this show runs deep!

Speaking of deep, how about that Little Big Econ?

The deluge turned Saturday's ride into an adventure.

Mike-G, hope you are feeling better.  You missed the flood!

Check out the Econ.  Remember this little water crossing from January?  There's usually a few inches of water here, seldom over the bottom bracket.  You can ride through if you don't mind a little mud, or teeter over on your choice of two log crossings.

January 2010

Same spot after Mini-Fay:

The water is wide.

And deep.

Flagler Trail Bridge

January 2010

Flagler Trail Bridge

March 13, 2010

We estimate the river is up ten feet from last weekend.  Some parts of the trail look to be under water about chest deep. 

Between backtracking, doubletrack, and lots of bushwhacking, we manage fourteen miles before deciding to head back.  On our way out, we meet Inspector Gadget riding in, so we go back in with him for a little more mileage.

Whoa!  The river is still rising!  In less than an hour, the crossings we had just made when bushwhacking, were now also under water.  Yikes!  Time to turn around!  23 miles though, not bad for a flood day. 

After all the rain, the mud, the flood, and the free "bike wash", sunny southern Oleta on Sunday is looking pretty attractive!

Lagniappe and the Grapefruit Trails.

"Lagniappe, a word worth travelling to New Orleans to get."

Mark Twain 

                   

The State University of New York may sound citified, but a 23 year old graduate hailing from the North Country is less educated than a Tulane water boy when it comes to anything New Orleans.


It was a year of wonder. The first time I ever saw a newspaper "machine" was on St Charles Avenue in the garden district. I stood at the Walgreens with a street car trundling by behind me, figuring out that one must deposit the quarter, pull the lid straight up, and grab the paper, all in one smooth motion. And if you don’t get it just right, the lid slams shut.  Again. 

That first issue of "Lagniappe" cost more quarters than my first go at Pong.

A fat little weekly, with a complete calendar of happenings about town, Lagniappe was a necessity for the New Orleans newbee. But what was with this name, Lag-knee-appy? What the heck could that mean? Fortunately I worked with some natives, always happy to set a naive New Yorker straight.


Lagniappe (pronounced lan-yap) is a little something extra. It's the something thrown in, the 13th donut in a baker's dozen.  It can be the bonus for a servant, or a free cookie for your child at the grocery store. 

Many years later, when I started triathlon training, lagniappe became my extra mile.

(Or the extra ten yards, or ten feet, depending on levels of exhaustion.) 

I do a little lagniappe whenever I can. 

After workouts, I always try to give myself the gift of something extra.  It might be a quick trip up an available flight of stairs or an extra lap in the pool.  Lagniappe makes me feel good about myself.   

Always strive for some lagniappe. It will make you happy. 

Popeye’s new bike arrived. With a few adjustments, a change of tires and a little Stan’s, it was ready to fly.  And although we were getting a late start for a Saturday, we couldn't wait to hit dirt.

Turkey Creek, our closest off road trail, has evolved with the years. Trees fall to hurricanes, fires burn and blacken, and forest service employees bulldoze. We barely recognize the new regrowth along the old twisting, rooty trails. We swoop along without retracing too many loops, or at least without being aware if we did.

An hour and a half passes quickly.

When we get back to the car, there’s a little time left before heading home to dress for Northstar’s birthday dinner.

Extra time means Lagniappe! And lagniappe from Turkey Creek means a quick dash to the Grapefruit Trails.

Hidden in the trees along a bank of the Melbourne Tillman Canal, the Grapefruit Trails have been constructed into a mountain biker's dream playground. 

Talk about lagniappe!  The guys who work on the Grapefruit Trails have definitely gone the extra mile.  Where once the trail was a sandy bank of eroded roots, there are now well groomed loops and swoops and dips and drops. 

Only a couple miles long, it's the perfect test ride with a new bike and only forty minutes.

Now from this point, I was planning to go on and yak a bit more about the Grapefruit Trails, and then write about Sunday's lagniappe, a double loop of the Econ. 

Maybe later. 

Something came up.

I forgot the camera.

Although I had taken plenty of pics at the Econ, I had completely forgotten to take pictures of the Turkey Creek ride and the Grapefruit Trails.  

So today I drive on over to the GF Trails, thinking I can take some pictures and get in my trail run there instead of Wickham Park.

I had a bad feeling.

Something less than good was going to happen.  I access my safety options before getting out of the car. 

The second biggest gator I have ever seen was in the Melbourne Tillman Canal, and a gator was the second biggest danger I could think of. 

A lot more likely scenario was a bum or a pervert camped out in the woods. 

I figure, what are the chances?  And what were the chances that I couldn't avoid, talk, or fight my way out of a confrontation? 

(Another day for martial arts stories.)

Briskly, warily, I hoof it south across the bridge and onto the path to the drop in.

Five bikers pop 2, then 3 at a time, out of the trail.  Two more travelling alone pass me on the singletrack.  I am surprised to see it getting so much use on a Monday lunch hour. 

Although the trail turns out to be every bit as crowded as a weekend, my bad feeling sticks with me, an unseen shadow hanging over my run.  I watch the bank closely for gators.

I hear it before I see it.    

A mountain biker's worst nightmare.

Worse than a gator.

Far worse than a bum.

Bulldozer.

I work up my courage and flag down one of the workers to question. 

Ed ain't no shy guy.  He tells me, "The bikers keep making trails in here and somebody's going to get hurt.  Every time we take out the jumps and trails, those mountain bike guys keep coming in and building them all over again." 

Yeah.  I know.  Crazy mountain bike guys.

"Who are you with again?" I ask.  

As I snap the picture, and chat with "Ed", two riders come face to face with the little Bobcat bulldozer gunning to the top of what used to be a well groomed drop. 

"Holy *&$#!", one of them yells, "Are you trying to kill us?"

"Not me," says Ed, "it's the lawyers.  They're out to get everyone."

It's the cycle of life.  The cycling life in Florida.

Bike people know that if we build it, they will come. 

With their lawyers and their bulldozers, they will come.

And if they come with their lawyers and their bulldozers, some crazy bike guy will rebuild. 

And every Ed knows it.

So to the bakers, the triathletes, the mountain bike trail builders, give yourself the gift of something extra.

Feel good about yourself.

Make yourself happy.

Go the extra mile.

Build it bigger.  Build it better.  Never give up.

And end it with a little Lagniappe.

Long live mountain biking.

Long live the Grapefruit Trails.