The Thanksgiving Dance. Making Stock and Taking Stock.

The Chick, her Hubby, and Popeye all confirmed the roasting of the giblet bag inside the bird last year too.  (Huh. I don't remember that.)

Apparently weird body parts are packed into cavities both front and back. As if reaching in there and fishing out the long, scrawny neck from the front weren't enough. 

I expect this is how new Thanksgiving traditions are born.

One of our old Thanksgiving traditions is to ride before turkey. 

The trail at Ft Pierce was not my first off road ride, but it was always my favorite.  And it was the first place I ever rode clipped in to my pedals.  

Somewhere around the half way mark at Ft Pierce, there is a section of Palmetto roots called The Dance. 

Over the years The Dance has been worn down and is now pretty much sissified.  But back when those bike trails were new (and bike tails were hard), you literally had to dance your bike over the roots to get through.  Staying in the pedals was essential.

If you cleaned The Dance without putting a foot down, you were good.  Really good.   

Had a few wobbles this holiday.  Roasting the giblet bag. Missing out on the Macy’s Parade (darn!) when it didn’t record.   And one long hang-time of a night spent sleepless and stewing over all the holidays past and all the ways for screwing up the present.

That was a long night, spent hovering as if unclipped and about to let the obstacles of worry have their way with my Thanksgiving. 

But if riding The Dance has taught me anything, it is that pig-headed determination can transcend moments of imbalance. 

Make effort.
Stay clipped.
Stomp those pedals. 
Stuff that turkey.

Just.  Keep.  Going.  

It wasn’t perfect, and I had a lot of help.  A wonderful daughter and son-in-law, a wonderful husband, wonderful friends, a wonderful bike, and of course, Barefoot Contessa's wonderful Thanksgiving advice.

But darned if I didn’t do it for once!  Kept my feet in the pedals, my wheels on the trail, and got the turkey out of the oven on time. 

I did it!  I cleaned Thanksgiving!   

 

The Thanksgiving Dance 

(For those with interest in the details.)

Wednesday. 

Make ahead day.  A quick ride over the river and back to the townhouse.  1 hour.

Stuffing, gravy, squash, potatoes, black bean cake, buttercream frosting, 2 pumpkin pies, one apple pie, and two pints of whipped cream.  6 hours. 

Wash dishes.  Clean house.  Whew.  Ready as it gets. 

Let Thanksgiving begin.

Shortcut over the Pineda.

Pies are done.

I write instructions for myself so I don't get distracted on The Big Day.

Thursday. 

Ft Pierce Trail.  Vero Beach. 

A great ride, and a great dinner with TriLady and her guest Tim, from Nova Scotia.  

Trekkie, TriLady's beagle mix, pulls the sweaty bike shorts out of my bag and drags them across the living room.  Keeta used to do the same thing.  I forgot what it's like to have a dog!  Pepper isn't big on turkey or sweaty shorts but she really likes having a loft.

Ft Pierce Trail

TriLady, and her friend Tim-from-Nova-Scotia.

Friday. 

Our big at-home turkey dinner with The Chick and her Hubby, Popeye and me. 

We must have been in Gobble Mode... 

From the first round of Wild Turkey and Cider cocktails...  

All the way through the traditional meal... 

Off to see the Muppets... 

Back home for pie. 

And no one thought to take a single picture. 

Even me.



Saturday. 

Santos.  Mo's.  World of Beer.

Popeye, Blownfuse, and Josh are quickly out of sight.  After a sketchy once-through on the Jon Brown, I decide the better part of valour is to stay off the red trails when riding solo. 

I head west on the easy stuff.  Just before the Land Bridge, the oak hammocks give way to pine flats - it's like flying. 

Sadly, a couple miles beyond the Land Bridge, the 49th St trail has been denuded.  Once pine-lined single track, it is now barren, treeless gravel.  State conservation tactics - go figure.  

Time to turn around.  There's something like 25 miles of perfectly good shady singletrack behind me and no rule that you can't do it twice. 

I meet Popeye head on coming back from the Land Bridge.  I guess he wore out his friends, so now it is my turn.  At least there is Mo's and World of Beer for replenishment on the way home.
 

Flat and fast.  Trail toward the Land Bridge

Pine flats.  Just east of the Land Bridge

Land Bridge

Multi-use section of the trail.

World of Beer menu board.

Sunday.  Econ.  

We meet Northstar and Tom, TriLady and Tim, at the Econ.  The plucky Canadian tackles the rooty Econ completely without complaint on my spare hardtail, even burping all the Stan's in a near miss with a head-on rider.  Spare tube.  Co2.  Good to go.  If a bit messy.

Popeye, in the lead, comes around a low bend and scares three or four baby alligators into the river.  The Canadian wants to see, of course.  Fortunately for my nerves the babies have all disappeared under water by the time I get there.  Where there are baby alligators there is always a Mama alligator.   Let's just keep moving, ok guys?

On the way home, we four native northerners have dinner on the river at Captain Katanas.  After our day in the jungle, we sit outside in the mild night breeze, talking about, what else?  How much we love snow and ice and skiing and skating.  


Monday.  Rest Day. 

Make stock.  Freeze drippings.  Chili for an easy non-turkey dinner. 

And because the chili pot is occupied with simmering stock, I bake our chili in the oven.  

Stock - carrots, onion, celery, turkey carcass.
Simmer about 8 hours for the real deal.

Baked Chili - who knew?

Today, baked chili.

Tomorrow, turkey soup.

Damn.  I love Thanksgiving.