Graham's Swamp

There is no swamp in Graham's Swamp.  None that I saw, anyway.

But then, it's the dry season, and I was in fast company.  For the first few minutes.

Popeye, Krafty, and Ten, waiting for me back at the trailhead.

(Yikes, helmet hair after only one loop!)

Graham's Swamp is twenty minutes past Sugarmill.  And twenty times more fun.

On this bright cold day, after a week of rain, even the sandy climbs are perfect. 

Singletrack winds through an assortment of environments.  From shady, winding, pine needle'y singletrack, to the traction of crushed shell, leading both down hill and up dale. 

A girl rips by on descent.

Wearing Jane Fonda leg warmers?

Please, don't tell me they are coming back.

Some stretches make me think of the Ponderosa.

(Yes, the Ponderosa is real.  Or it used to be. 

I haven't ridden XTerra Tahoe since '03, so can't say for certain.

Could be condos by now.)

One moment I am reminded of Tahoe, with open pine forest and fine red dirt. 

The next moment brings a plunge down a surface of what could be crushed stone. 

Except there is a young couple on the pitch with a Little Rascals' dog and a big black bag.  They are picking up.. seashells? 

I glance down.  Full size whelk shells protrude from dark gray dirt.  Later, I see one in a tree.  An ancient version of a Timucuan landfill, perhaps.

Whatever it used to be, the mountain bike trail at Graham's Swamp is now one loopy swoopy 6.5 mile playground, fashioned both for the likes of me, and my faster friends. 

Boardwalks and bypasses, bridges and bailouts, contoured trail, and rocky leaps, keep the flow both perfect, and perfectly interesting.   

Up and over, or dirt on the right.

Your choice.

Help for a sandy climb.

Although by the third time around I'm feeling pretty confident, at the very end is a pair of board swoops with a banked landing.  I may be the only one to choose the bailout every time.

Cool!  Some guy catches air just before I put the phone away.

You know?  That really does look fun. 

Might just have to come back again next week.


Graham's Swamp:  I-95 north to SR 100.  East to Colbert Road.  Take a left on Colbert, and head north for a couple miles.  Trailhead on the left.  Bring a full Camelbak.  No water fountains, no restrooms!  But there is a park a little farther east on SR 100, right before the river bridge, that has both.

The Secret Life of Gypsy

I ran alone in Wickham Park today.

I think about it sometimes, that maybe it’s not the smartest thing.  I’ve had runs go wrong before, after all.  But if I didn’t run alone, when would I run?

I take the standard precautions.  Phone in pocket. Hash whistle hanging from old flight attendant lanyard.  Should I hear voices up ahead, I know every alternate trail.  Wear a plain outfit.  Never go the same way twice, the same day, or the same time.

But, of course, there’s no such thing as a guarantee.

It's a lonelier world tonight.

The pet cemetery, so recently expanded for Tiger, has expanded yet again.

We laid Gypsy's decomposed remains to rest on Saturday afternoon, under a gray sky with a west wind blowing.  Popeye dug while  I swiped at the hair sticking to my wet face.  As best we can tell, Gypsy died weeks ago, somewhere around her second birthday.

Miss Gypsy.  The kooky stumpy-tailed fuzzball who made us laugh.  Who had the uncanny ability to become one with any blanket or pillow she sensed you wanted her to share.  Mother of eight stumpy-tailed kittens before turning a year old herself.  The little softie in the big wire cage at the vet’s office, due to be sent back to the animal shelter after her spaying.

Who would imagine such a puffball to be an intrepid explorer, to have a soul so dedicated to adventure?

Yet, there she was, at the door daily, demanding to be set free.  But only until dinnertime.  An explorer with an appreciation for home.  A kindred spirit, for sure.

Any one of us, any day, could have our adventures go horribly wrong before supper.  

I rode hard the next day on those three loops of the Swamp.  Spinning myself and Killer up and over what seemed a hundred climbs, and thinking hard about Gypsy.

Adventures can go wrong. 

But maybe not as wrong as never having any.

We will never know for sure. 

Gypsy kept her secret life secret, all the way to the end.

Gypsy

December 2008 - December 2010

Bad Hair Day

Monday was predicted to be a Bad Hair Day.

It sure had the look when I went for a run.  (Poor old Wickham Park.  Burned one year, bulldozed the next.  But it keeps growing back.)  And a dismal day makes for good running. 

And boy, was it.  A bad hair day, I mean.  

Pounding, pelting, icy rain.  Wind gusting to 30 something.  Let loose before I could get all the way back to the car.  Took 2 days for the driver's seat to dry.  

So Pie Man and Scout were right in postponing their camping trip!

The POD for Sunday was to ride 25 miles down to Sebastian Inlet with Pie Man and Scout.  There, the plan was for them to set up their bike-camp for overnight, those lucky retirees.  We would have ridden back on our own for 50, and they would have ridden back on Monday after their overnight.

Would have.  Except for the Bad Hair Day prediction for Monday.  See, that's the thing about being retired.  They don't have to do everything on weekends, they can postpone until a good hair day comes along - say a Tuesday.  Or a Wednesday.

Look who I ran in to on my way back from the bank this (Wednesday) morning.  It's Pie-Man and Scout on their way to the inlet at last.  This is an equipment test for future long trips.  Panniers front and back.  45 lbs of stuff on board for him, 32 lbs for her.  Tent, sleeping bags, cook stove, food, and a variety of clothing for 2 days riding, and one overnight.  Pretty much the same stuff as for a week, just keep rinsing out clothes and replenishing food. 

Popeye doesn't get those weekday weather choices.  If we want a long ride, it has to be a weekend.

We still rode on Sunday, just not to the inlet.  The mountain bikes were ready to go.  Why not ride down and check out the Grapefruit Trails since we were on our own at the last minute? 

The Grapefruit Trails.  You never know what you're going to find down there.

Last time I was there, I was on foot, witnessing the ever so happy "Ed" and his bulldozer crew doing what they do best - "protecting" us bikers from ourselves.

http://bikeeatsleeprepeat.blogspot.com/2010/03/lagniappe-word-worth-travelling-to-new.html

Time to see what footholds have been regained by the bikers after the last deluge of destruction.

Sure enough, the BMX kids are there with bikes and shovels.  Tenacious!  We like that!

A good third of previously swoopy, shady trail has been bulldozed flat and left for dead.

Rebuilding resumed immediately.

There are still plenty of sweet spots left.

Long live the Grapefruit Trails!

Tally:  34 fat tire miles on-road.  Plus 6 off-road "playground" miles for Popeye, and 4 off-road for me.

SO worth the trip.

Yesterday's Soup - Slow Cooker Split Pea with Ham

What do you call those days when you aren't going to arrive home until well after dinner hour?  Take out days?  Fast food days?

Nooooo... 
Slow cooker days!

A few years ago we made a chilly October trip to the homeland and stopped by Auburn, N.Y. to visit Big Sister #1, and my niece, Lori. 

While we were there, Popeye and I took the opportunity to ride the mountain bikes down through Auburn and around Owasco Lake. 

Lori, with no clue how long we might be gone, popped a beef stew into the slow cooker. 

After a chilly, hilly, 40 miles, we walked in that door to the warm, luscious scent of simmering carrots, potatoes, and roast beef.  I can't remember a better smell in my life.  (Lori, you are my hero!)   That Christmas, I asked for a slow cooker of my own.


This is Yesterday's Soup because, as good as Split Pea with Ham is the first day, it's even better the next day.  (If there's any left over, that is.)

*Note:  Check your package of split peas a day ahead.  See if they need to be soaked overnight.  I was surprised to find that my store brand (Publix) 16 oz. bag of split green peas did not require soaking.  But if they do, it's best to know beforehand!  There's a basic recipe on the bag, but of course, tweaking is always desirable.

Some like it hot.  Some like it cold.

Some like it in the pot, nine days old.

Yesterday's Soup

1  16 oz package green split peas, sorted and rinsed

2 or 3 cups diced, cooked ham 

1/2 to 1 cup each (whatever ratio you like) chopped uniformly:

Carrots
Onions
Celery
Mushrooms

2 cloves fresh garlic, minced

bay leaf (optional)

1/2 to 1 tsp. Herbes de Provence (or whatever fresh or dried herbs you like) 

1 tsp seasoned salt (optional)

3 cups chicken broth

3 cups water

Pretty much all you have to do is layer the ingredients into the  slow cooker in the order given.  Don't stir it.  Don't lift the lid once it's cooking.  Cook on Low for 8 - 10 hours.  Or on High, 4-5.

Peas Porridge in the pot,

Nine hours old.

When you walk in the door from work, or that long cold ride, take a deep breath.   Mmm. 

Now you can lift the lid and stir it. (It won't be as thick the first day as the second.)  Take out the bay leaf.  Ladle it up.  Or mash it a bit with a fork first, if you like.  Serve with some good bread for dipping and of course, a good chilled beer.

Leftovers?  Lucky you!  Let it cool a bit.  Store it covered, in the fridge.  It thickens up nicely overnight.  Next day, it's even better.

The Tour de Felasco

Two guys ride by on hardtails, chatting.

"Dude, did you read the website?  Every Florida ecosystem is represented on this ride."

"Is sand an ecosystem?  Dude!  Sand has been duly represented!"

Sand?  What sand?

This isn't sand. 

Dude.

This is San Felasco.

A choice of 30, 50, or 65 miles.  A mix of singletrack and double.  A little climbing, a bit of descending, a lot of flat and twisty.  Deer.  Armadillos.  Quiet forest riding....  

SKREEEEEEch!

Killer on descent sounds like a goose getting run over by a tugboat.  It is a multilayered sound, several pitches of discord at once, echoing out over the quiet forest ride every time the brakes are so much as feathered.  

Ouch.  And ouch again.

I cringe.

And cringe again. 

Not being one to rush headlong into whatever treachery a turn may conceal, I brake on every curve and descent.  The brand new brakes announce to all (for miles around) that I AM BRAKING NOW.  I do my best to remember that, although the new XT's screech like hell’s own banshee, they do work.

I am counting on riding 50 miles this day, at least.


Not the type to sweat the details, it is at the Cabot Lodge happy hour the night before, that we learn the cut off time for choosing 65 miles.

The 44 mile point must be reached by 2:30.

After 2:30 you will be pulled from the 65 mile course and sent to finish on the 50 mile route.

Popeye does some quick calculating. The ride begins at 8am. An average speed of 6.7 mph will get me to the decision point by 2:30. 

I want to make that cut off, just to leave my options open.  I can start, oh 8:30’ish, and easily make an average of 8 or 9.  Piece of cake!


Rule #4 for Felasco
No matter how much you appreciate the camaraderie of your ride group, do not let them talk you into Mexican food the night before.  It's not worth the hours of lost sleep.  As a matter of fact, while thus preoccupied, I had plenty of time to think up a new race strategy for future competitive events. Mexican food can indeed help you win.  Provided you can entice your opponent into eating it.

By the time the line at the ladies room has released me, it's beyond 8:30.  I cruise the parking lot one more time looking for a familiar face.

At 8:43, I give up and start in solo.

Rule #3 for Felasco:  No matter what the weather report is for The Tour de Felasco, do not believe it. Bring every bit of bike clothing you own. Get out of the car and make your decisions standing in the parking lot. Because no matter what the prediction, Alachua weather will always go rogue.

On this particular January Saturday we have lucked out.  There is sunshine as predicted.  Miraculously, the starting temperature is 10 degrees warmer than the predicted 39.  A north wind swoops through the slot on my side of the Elephant though, as I make my layering decisions.

The first few miles, the meadow trail, is a riotous warm up.

Riders chat and call out to each other.  A group behind me serenades the hillside with a rendition of the theme song from The Brady Bunch. Another group retaliates with The Flintstones. Everyone is cheery, happy to be rolling in sunshine.

Riders pull off to the side and remove layers.  I am not tempted.  The woods are coming up and deep shade will be with us the rest of the day.

SKREEECH!

It’s a good thing the hash name Mother Goose is taken. I am relieved to be riding alone after all. If the guys heard this, they might be inspired to change my Mile High handle to something else.


The phone rings from the Ziploc bag inside my pocket. Better stop.  Too many things can go haywire when mountain biking.  People get hurt, have equipment failures.  I take off a glove and answer.

Carnival Cruise Lines tells me I have won… something!

I hang up and get under way again.

Next time, I am on the flat and hear the ring just fine.

It’s Just Plain Mike. “Where are you?”

"I just passed the 2nd SAG a few minutes ago." 

“Wow”, he says.  “You’re way ahead of us.  Mother Goose and I just got to the first SAG.”

With my late start I can’t believe I am ahead of anyone.

And I’m not.

Not too far, anyway.


Rule #2 for Felasco:  Check the course map in advance.  Because I normally ride straight through without stopping, I do not realize that just because there is a clearing where 20 people are stopped and resting, it is not necessarily a SAG.  I am really just barely past the first official SAG myself.


On a climb at Mile 17, I pass a guy as bundled up as I am.  It's ‘Sauce. He tells me that he is taking the day at his own pace in order to go the distance.  After chatting a while at his pace, I go on ahead.  I am happier than I realize to see someone I know out here.

Ring!  The phone.  Again.  This stopping is getting ridiculous. 

Out with the Ziploc.  Off with the gloves.

It is the Critter Sitter.

Oh no.

Mr. Critter Sitter, bless his heart, holds himself together long enough to give me the bad news.

Tiger is gone.

“Gone?  Like missing?” I ask, hoping just for an instant, that he might be asleep in the catnip patch again.  

But I already know the answer.

‘Sauce catches up and stops opposite me as I stand with the phone to my ear.  I don’t even think to wave him on as I listen to the story of Tiger’s passing.

I hang up and call Popeye in case he has a better suggestion than the cool back room work bench for storing Tiger’s body overnight. He doesn’t.

Hang up again. It is Mile 22. ‘Sauce has given up waiting and gone on.

I am sad.  But I do not cry.  I ride.

The rest of the day is less vivid.

‘Sauce is up ahead and out of water.  Just Plain Mike and Mother Goose catch up with both of us.  Goose is having derailleur trouble.  

We stop at the 2nd SAG.  I get cold waiting and go on alone.

I see Cross at the lunch stop.  His legs are cramping and he hasn't yet decided whether to go on.  

I spoon in a cup of chicken soup and saltines and ride out alone after ten minutes.

Just before Mile 44, there is a gnome hiding in a tree. 

For real!

I laugh.  It shakes me out of my funk.  

The 2:30 cut off is minutes away.  If I stop to take a picture, I won’t make the cut off time.  I find I don’t really care.  

HI!

At 2:37, Killer rolls up to the cut off point.  There are no cut off police.  Not a single volunteer with a clipboard. 

There is no one around at all.


Rule#1 for Felasco:  If you are riding the Tour de Felasco, and it's not blowing a gale, raining, snowing or debilitatingly cold, keep riding.  If your bike is not broken and neither are you, keep riding.  Do not count on next year being so easy. 

I am not tired.  I'm not even that cold. 

But I am bored.  Trees and trail.  Trail and trees. 

I steer Killer onto the right hand fork, blowing off the 65 mile option.

Up ahead, not so very far, there is a spot where I can lean on Popeye near the Lodge fireplace.  Raise a glass to Tiger with our friends.  

Sounds like the right choice to me.

The Passing of Tiger

This was the year I remembered to say it.  

I finally managed to say "Rabbit, Rabbit" and make a New Year's wish.

I wished that Tiger would have it easy when his time came.

Tiger

1990-2011

Nobody owned more human hearts than Tiger and his sister Spooky.

Spooky

1990-2009

Litter mates born to a feral mom, as different as day and night, the two of them charmed everyone they met.  Even hardcore cat haters.

Tiger and Spooky lucked into the household of Pie Man and Scout, and their two little girls, the Chick's best friends. 

The first time I ever saw Tiger he was fast asleep in a basket of clean laundry.  He stubbornly hunkered more deeply into the folded shirts and towels when I stopped to pat him, but the fierce purring let me know he appreciated a good scratch under the chin.

We inherited the pair for what was to be one year, when their family moved to Korea and couldn't take them along. 

Spooky and Tiger took instant possession of our household.  The Captain, a confirmed cat hater, was quickly converted.  The Chick, of course, was delighted.  Keeta the Aussie, a little wary to find such strange creatures sharing her house, quickly became both cat lover and willing servant, cleaning up their dishes after each and every meal.

By the time Pie Man and Scout extended their contract in Korea for a second year, no way were we giving them back.

Tiger and Spooky saw the Chick to adulthood with a household of her own.  They were company and comfort for us humans when Keeta, their agemate, died at 14. They provided their own brand of soft furry comfort as I transitioned to a second marriage. 

They kneadingly insisted that I get up in the morning.  They welcomed me at the door.  Spooky brought me gifts.  They both posed in funny positions to make me laugh when it seemed as if laughing again was years away.  And when Popeye showed up, they accepted him unconditionally into their collection of pet humans.

Spooky, the silky black huntress, the polite one, the loudest purrer of all time, had a stroke in October a year ago.  Two weeks later, sobbing and shaking, I stroked her shiny black fur over and over, as she closed her eyes for the last time on the veterinary table.  It was the first time I ever had to put a pet down. 

Tiger, ever the mellow fellow, died in his sleep this weekend while we were at Felasco.  The Critter Sitters found him Saturday morning.  He was curled up in his favorite spot on the couch, exactly where they had left him, alive and happy, well brushed and purring loudly, the night before. 

We buried Tiger on Sunday, next to Keeta and Spooky, just a few yards from his catnip patch.

So it seems that a Rabbit-Rabbit wish really can come true.

Pantry Challenge. Simple Soup? Or Super Soup?

OK, seeing it's January, and most of us are in "improvement mode"...

How many superfoods do you have in your pantry/fridge right now?  A little?  A lot?  No matter.  There's always something to make.  Just line it all up and see what you've got to work with.

Sailor is about the most health conscious cook I know.  She is big on whole grains and beans.  Popeye and I are more of the lean meat and veggie school.  I know I'm "right", but I know she is "right" too!

Here's some of the stuff I had in the fridge:

An onion,
a red pepper,
mushrooms,
celery,
garlic,
2 bags of spinich,
a butternut squash,
a slice of (pre-NewYear) leftover ham,
and a package of Greenwise chicken breasts.

And some of the stuff I had in the pantry:

Organic barley,
brown rice,
red lentils,
a box of organic chicken broth,
cans of tomatoes.

And in the spice rack:

Turmeric,
thyme,
sage,
cumin,
rosemary.

I still don't know what I'm going to make, but here's my start.

Onion, peppers, mushrooms, celery, garlic, and ham...  Chop em up and saute in olive oil.  Throw in a pat of butter for a little extra flavor.

Mix a cup of the lentils, and a half cup each of barley and brown rice, into the onion mixture and saute it all together.

Then put it all into a big pot with at least twice as much liquid (chicken stock and water) as grains and lentils.

Add a can of tomatoes.

And some spices.

Put it on medium and bring up til bubbling, then turn down to low.

Time for the "super" additives!

Dice the chicken and brown it in the same pan as the onions.  Don't have to cook it all the way through, just brown the pieces and plop them into the pot with the veggies and grains.

Meanwhile, if you happen to have one around, cut a butternut squash in half, put it on an oiled cookie sheet in a 350 degree oven.

Whew.  So.  I have the forty five minutes it takes for grains to simmer and the squash to bake to figure out how to incorporate them into a meal somehow!

Then there's the matter of buying that second bag of spinich the other day, when I already had one in the fridge.  Oops.  Chop up at least half a bagful, and toward the end of the cook time, into the simmering pot it goes.

OK.  So.  To stir the squash into the soup?  Or not to stir the squash into the soup?

I take a sample bowlful from the soup pot and stir in a spoonful of soft, baked squash. 

With squash.  And without.

The squash changes everything.  Suddenly it's no longer a savory soup, but more of a sweet, almost creamy, lentil stew.   The always famished Popeye will eat it either way, I'm sure, but I decide to leave him the option and keep them separate.

I am not so sure for myself...

I usually keep my sweets and savories separate.  But I really like the idea of all the nutrition of green veggies, orange veggies, whole grains, lentils, and lean meat all in one bowl... 

Might have to have a little more of that sample.

Appetite makes the best sauce.

Squash on the side, stirred in, or plopped on top, by a 9pm dinnertime, it hardly matters! 

Vitamins, whole grains, protein, oo.  Served in one bowl, or two.  We're good.

And so is the soup.

January - The Month We've Been Weighting For

http://www.fatcyclist.com/2011/01/04/massive-motivation/

OMG. Let me just say this about that.

Fatty, you are the man. A masochistic, insane, crazy, self-denying guy. If you can deny yourself this bike, then what are a few bags of chips? Saying no to this bike and not say no to chocolate truffles??? The power of truffles are nothing compared to this sweet ride.

Even had I thought of such horrendous self torture, I could not have left my Superfly 100 in it's box.  Self denial is not my strong suit.

I needed to drop ten then.  I need to drop ten now.

How on earth can it be so difficult?

I have no explanation for that.  None.  It just is.

I am going to go out on a limb here. 

Exercise has nothing to do with it.  Exercise is a given - like breathing.   Fat, thin, or in between, if you don't exercise, then get going.  Period.  

Now, about the food....

Eat lean proteins, monounsaturated fats, lots of veggies and fruit.  Hydrate.

Why on Earth is that so difficult?

I don't know.  It just is.



  

Christmas Vacation 2010. The Week in Pictures.

 

Christmas Eve

 Making biscotti for Pie-Man

Christmas Eve Day
Popeye getting my new Paragon ready to ride.

Trimming 2" off each end of the crazy wide 27" bars

All the bells and whistles. 

And bows.  And pedals.  And Bento...

The Paragon of Gifts!

Christmas Morning - Ready to Roll

Tree on Trail -Wickham Park - Elves?

Crossroads - Tuesday

Krafty and Popeye by The Dip

Just Plain Mike

Exit or Re-Dip?
Re-Dip!

Same spot - different outfits

(August 2010.  Just seeing if you were paying attention.)

Crossroads

Good reason to trim handlebars!

En route home from Ft.  Pierce

If it's Wednesday, it must be the Econ.

Blownfuse 

Look Ma!  No sleeves!

Thursday - Balm Boyette

Northstar, Krafty, Tom, Popeye

 SWAMP mtn bike club - Awesome work!
Best roller coaster in Florida!

Do not skid!  

Killer's rear brakes go out again - suddenly - right at the end of Ridgeline.

No more black diamond trails today.  Grrr...

To Plunge?  Or not to Plunge?

(uh, not.  But that's just me.)

Photos flatten, remember?

Back to Wickham for a New Year's Eve run.

Resolved - Wickham Park Marathon 2011!

Resolved - Find an offroad "Ironman".
Or just do my own.

Resolved for 2011: 

Keep Moving. 

Have the best time possible.  

Live to run another day.  And another and another...

(Pheidppides might not have become famous if he hadn't run til he died, but really, wouldn't the King have been just as happy to hear the good news an hour later?)