National Honesty Day and Faking a (really good!) Chocolate Shake.

Honesty Day is celebrated on April 30 in the United States. It was invented by M. Hirsh Goldberg, who chose the last day of April since the first day of that month, which is April Fools' Day, celebrates falsehoods.  -Wikipedia


Did you know there was a National Honesty Day?  Since the early 90's.  April 30.  
  
One day, though.  That's just silly.  How about complete honesty all month?  Heck, maybe all year!  (Unless you have political aspirations, of course.)

I set a few goals for May.  Not too many.  Just a few.  I wrote them down.  Yes, on paper.

Once down in writing, it is easy to see that the number of goals really doesn't matter.  Or the reasons.  Or for how long.   Because every goal comes back to just one theme - honesty.  A goal is useless if you allow for fooling yourself.

OK, here's an example.  Two of my goals that might seem completely different.  But they are not, not really.

Goal #1)  Catch The Creep.  Log all food. 
Goal #2)  Wickham Park Marathon 

More about those later.  Because, as I sit with my coffee, writing about honesty, Popeye was reading and saw a recipe for a chocolate "shake".   To be honest, I've seen this one before, but avoided it.  That, and all the other fake-treat recipes floating around the Internet, promising to taste just like "the real thing".   Yuck.

Popeye reads the ingredients out loud.  OK, sure, all good stuff.  But I say again.  Yuck!  

Banana, cocoa, honey, avocado, and almond milk.  No almond milk around here but we have cow's milk.  Organic and nonfat, of course. 

I am willing to make it, if Popeye is willing to drink it.  

Although these are good nutrients, this shake is NOT going to be low in calories, so I know going in I will have to give it an honest resistance. 

I figure that won't be hard to do. 

Not bad!  I take a taste of Popeye's, which is as close to the original recipe as we can get with the ingredients in house on a Sunday morning. 

Surprise!  Very chocolaty.  More creamy than shakes made of ice cream.  Honest.

I tweak a second one because I think the first one is actually TOO rich and TOO chocolaty.

Thankfully, after a tablespoon each for taste testing, the ever-hungry Popeye drinks them both.   Saves me from writing some big numbers in my food log.


Sunday Morning Chocolate Shake 

Blend:
1 c. non fat milk 
2 T. cocoa powder
1 banana
1 T. honey
1/2 avocado

A little tweaking helps, in my opinion. 


Second Try Chocolate Shake

Blend:

1 c. nonfat milk
1 T. cocoa powder
1 banana
1 T. honey
1/4 avocado
drop of vanilla extract

Better. 

Just the same, give me ice cream any day.  

Except today.  I really don't want to have to write that down.

Caloosahatchie Regional Park. The Sampler Trail.

The first quilt I ever made was a Sampler Quilt. It seemed the logical choice for a beginner.  There's something of everything to try with a Sampler. 

I know better now, but back then, what was to know?  You bought some fabric, you grabbed your scissors, you went to work.  

It never occurred to me how much more time and effort it would take to make the patterns for 20 different blocks rather than simply manufacturing the same block over and over. 

But that is the value of a sampler.  20 individual opportunities to learn to put together what amounts to 20 different mini-quilts.  Choosing your colors, where to place them, when to blend them, and where to use contrast. 

A quilter must practice creating balance and contrast within each block.  Then comes the big picture, balancing each of those blocks among all the others.  

When it's right, the finished quilt turns out to be interesting and beautiful.  If it's not, then you've got yourself just another boring blanket. 

But there's something else you should know about a sampler quilt. 

With twenty blocks, all different, you are bound to absolutely love some of them. 

But you probably won't love them all.
 

A gift for The Chick in 1984.

A limited palette compared to what I would do now,

and faded with the years.

But still hanging together!

We didn't get out of town to ride much in April.  I look back at my photos, sorted by date.  Except for a ride at Caloosahatchie, we stuck pretty close to home in April.  

Southwest Florida sure has the weather.

Before I am half way around the 11 mile loop, it occurs to me that Alva is the perfect sampler quilt of a trail, if ever there was one. 

The Mudcutters have put in something for everyone.  The different sections of this trail are as different as the blocks of a well planned sampler quilt.  And they appear to be just as artistically deliberate, with contrast and balance in all the right places.  

Just like a sampler quilt though, some blocks you just love.  And a few you will probably never do again.

It's hard not to love warming up

on the sweeping turns of the meadow.

(That's Popeye way ahead of me, in red.)

 

 

 

Low, narrow bridges

allow for practicing sharp turns

  with low consequences.

 

 

There's some rocky stuff...

 

 

Some easy, wide open riding...

 

 

And lots of technical shade.

 

 

For those who love a challenge there are optional sections.

Where shade is deep, and climbs are steep. 

Enter the dark side, you do, when you enter The Far East.

 

 

My least favorite section is a short series of man made (mostly wooden) obstacles called Techno-ville.  I told myself I'd stop for a photo there on my next loop through.  But, as with every well thought out trail, there was a by-pass.  Thank you, Mudcutters.  And no thanks to a repeat of Techno-ville. 

(And sorry - no photos either.)

 

But my favorite section is the Ridgeline toward the end.  Some swooping, some roots, some shade, some sun.  And every blessed bit of it, swooping, whooping fun.

 

Down low on the Ridgeline.

 

 

But some of the best (and the worst) sights I saw all day weren't the cut of this trail.  It was the sight of riders cut up by this trail. 

 

Holy 29r, Batman, there are some super amazing females riding here!  Quite a few of them.  In just a little over 20 miles, I came across 3 fairly spectacular crashes.  

 

All of them girls. 

 

Which is great to see. 

 

Because if you never crash you aren't riding hard enough, right?  

  

One girl's head injury was an actual concern.  At the first drop off the Ridgeline, nearly blind in instantly deep shade, I suddenly realized there was a girl laying under a bike next to a busted up palmetto by the trail.  

 

I picked up her bike and held it while she got herself up.  Without a word, or even an ouch, she took off her bright pink jersey and wrapped it around her head to stop the blood from running into her eyes.  I thought we should walk out, but she somehow jammed her cracked helmet back on over the matted jersey, got it buckled, and rode herself to the end of the trail.  Now that's a tough cookie. 

 

On the second loop I have more confidence.  I thought I was really haulin', anyway.  But I was a snail compared to the girl who flew by toward the end of that very same Ridgeline section. 

 

Recognizing futility when I see it, I didn't even attempt to chase.  A couple dips later, there she was, rolling on the ground, next to a nasty stump.  Darn it, I miss all the good endo's!  

 

Her banged up knee, all bruised and bloody, was pretty spectacular.  Probably even more so the next day, if I know my bruises.  (And I like to think that I do.) 

 

Later, back at the picnic tables she was taking selfies and laughing at the gouges in her knee.  "Yeah, I knew I'd go down today - just feeling reckless, ya know?"   Oh yeah.  I know.  Well, sort of.

 

Popeye comes tearing back in with some new found fast friends, dirt on their shirts, and smiles all around. 

 

Next, a girl with beautiful black hair rolls in, unbruised and unblemished, having sampled mountain biking for the very first time.   I remembered her crash from my first loop through.  She had done a slow forward roll off the side of a berm and popped up laughing.

 

Caloosa.  It's rare to find such alluring contrast all in one trail.  Flat and steep.  Soft and hard.  Shade and sun.  Blood and laughter.

 

Sometimes it takes the eye of an artist or a master quilter to craft a work of art. 

 

And sometimes it just takes a dedicated bike club.