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.

This old house has gotta go!

We did it.  We are finally moved out.

Whoa, the old place looks even worse empty.

Here's a quick trip through.  Featuring the walls I hate, the kitchen I hate, and the waterfront lot that everyone loves.

Sometime in the next couple weeks, hopefully there will be a video with a lot more action. 

Featuring a bulldozer.

Here's a few still shots if the video is still being cantankerous. 

Even the dock and seawall need repair after last months's no-name storm.  It's supposed to be easier once the house is out of the way.

So.  It's quiet now, but that's about to change.  Hopefully sometime in the next couple weeks.

Can't be too soon for us.

Just so you know...

I'm not the only one distracted by old treasures...

Ready for launch.

One Day at a Time

One day at a time, and today it's coconut cake.  

Only it's not.  Because I don't even like coconut cake.  But it is a line worth repeating, since it seems to sum up my life right now.  


Here's the blog from which I stole the line.  Looks like a spectacular recipe!  If you like that sort of thing.

http://lifeinrecipes.com/2011/09/15/one-day-at-a-time-and-today-its-coconut-cake/



Nope, don't like coconut cake. 

What I do like is knowing that even a quick little segment of time-out can offer salvation when you're stuck at home having a bad day. 

When the going gets tough, the tough bake cake. 

It's so nice to know I'm not the only one.

I realized yesterday as I stole 20 minutes to stir together a new cookie recipe, that cookies were not the point.  Not the point at all.

Play.  That is the point.  

Everyone needs a reset button, a few minutes to be creative.  Especially if your day is turning out say, a tad less than rewarding.  

It doesn't have to be cookies, of course.  An exercise break works too. 

But yet another ride from home.  Yawn. 

How to find the reset button when you only have so much time and the same old roads?  Just have confidence that somewhere along the way, there will be a chance to veer off the usual route.  To find something new in the same old neighborhood.

Saturday morning.  Trusty the Timex goes off, bleeping and blinking in the dark on my bedstand.  5AM.  Huh? 

Oh yeah, last week's KSC ride.  (Forgot to reset my watch.)

Although I wasn't happy to be lying awake in the dark on a Saturday morning, I was glad to be reminded that we had made the effort to get up and go last Saturday.

3rd annual Tour of KSC

My three amigos for the ride:

Popeye, Inspector Gadget, and our host, Northstar.

After riding the runway, we head to the VAB.

Inside the VAB.

Endevour is being dismantled and cleaned up for the museum.

If we ever want to see her again, we will have to go to the California Science Center in Los Angeles.

They told us to smile, and we did. 

But it wasn't easy.

Inside the VAB.

(Look.  It's one of the space center's biggest fans.)

Parting shot.

After the early-up last Saturday, we took Sunday at a more liesurely pace.

At first I resisted the idea of Sugarmill.  It's a long drive for a short loop.  But we go so seldom that the trail seems new, at least until the third or fourth time around.  

Overlook at Sugarmill..

What a difference 60 miles makes. 

At home, it poured rain.

Officially the Doris Leeper Spruce Creek Preserve,

Sugarmill is super well maintained.

Downed trees from the previous week's storm

were already cut and moved out of the way.

The Kaye Paul Trail is my favorite section.

The trees are big and the roots are small.

After the weekend, sorting and packing resumes.  How could it possibly be so much trouble?   It's only one small house! 

On my own again, it seems as if every corner, every closet, is a mine field from the past.  Physically, it's no big deal.  Mentally, it's exhausting.  And it makes me feel old.

For Wednesday's moment of escape, I decide to try a run in Wickham Park.  Haven't run since before the surgery.  

Even in good old Wickham Park

there can be the unexpected.

I think I woke this little guy up.

 

By the weekend of the 22nd, we know the Gainesville centuries are a no go.  There just isn't time to blow off 2 more days, not with the demolition coming up who-knows-how-soon.

On Saturday the north wind packs a wallop, and a quick cruise to Cocoa Beach turns into a real workout. 

The Paragon with slicks. 

 A1A to Cocoa Beach is a mixed bikepath/road/sidewalk sort of ride.

Cocoa Beach

 By the time I get there, my average speed is something like 11 mph.  But it's worth it to see some undeveloped dunes for a change.  And the ride back to the Pineda is a non-stop sleigh ride, not a moment under 20 mph. 

The wind is still kicking on Sunday.  Just Plain Mike meets me at Front Street for an early tour of Melbourne. 

Just Plain Mike

Popeye, who was still communing with coffee and cereal when I left, took the other bridge and caught up to us at the Oaks.

I probably wouldn't have thought to cut through by the junk yard after Melbourne Village if I were on my own.  But then, I never would have noticed the beautiful Memphis Belle, right?   (Ironically, both the guys went right by without noticing.) 

Then on to the airport trails, the bum trails, the beach, and home.  Home to more packing.  Ugh.

And just when I am feeling awfully sorry for myself, having 20 years of stuff to sort through, we learn that the house on the corner is also scheduled for a demolition and rebuild. 

And their trash is even more vintage than mine.

Smith Corona Electronic Typewriter? 

Wow, suddenly I'm feeling so much better. 

And younger.  Lots younger.






 

Full moon, fully appreciated.

October moon, 6 AM. 

Lights required for the commuter bike. 

Popeye rode his bike either to or from work all last week.  Some days both. 

Thursday, he rode to work, rode to the ride after work, rode the ride, hitched a ride, and rode back to work in the morning.  All completely in darkness.

Overachiever.

If last night's full moon ride were a hash, he would have done some down-downs for that. 

But it wasn't a hash.  It was just another awesome night ride.

Under a full moon.

A full moon at apogee.  The farthest point from earth this year.  Appearing 12% smaller than the "super moon" last March.

Crossing NASA Blvd.

Left to right: 

full moon,

reflective 35mph sign,

Semi photographing moon and reflective 35 mph sign. 

But don't let the apogee part fool you.  It was the brightest moon we've seen in a while.  Because finally, it appears to have cleared up and stopped all the incessent raining.

I was sure the woods, especially the airport trails, would be under water.  But they were dry, fast, and fantastic.  If a bit spidery.

We get hung up a few times, swiping the larger webs out of the way. 

Wolf spiders are reported to be able to move 2 feet per second.  That must be an average.  Semi, our fearless leader, runs into a real track star.  When the flash goes off, this one rises twenty feet straight up, almost before we can blink.  Leaving behind his five foot web for us to sever out of the way.  

He has plenty of relatives on trail.  It becomes a stop and go situation, since no one wants to wear a web or take a 2 inch spider for a helmet ride.  

Popeye and Semi finally break a couple branches to hold out from the handlebars as frontal defense and the ride pace picks back up.

Of course the regular stuff can hang you up too.

Dirty going through ahead of me.

As soon as I follow, I get strung up by my ponytail.

By the time I get untangled, the guys are waiting by the road.

Nope, not Simon Says.

Holding a hand over the light that blinds.

The full moon ride is my all time favorite.  But the coming weekend has promise.  To go with a break in the weather, we've got a list of possibilities to choose from.

We won't even need lights.  Not for the bikes anyway.  

But with a clear sky, and a 5AM wake up for the Tour de KSC on Saturday, there's sure to be one more chance to admire the moon.  

  

Molasses Bread with Apples, Walnuts, and Home Grown Bananas.

Night ride tomorrow.  Time to charge the lights.

Well, what have we here?

Oops, almost forgot about the bananas Popeye cut down before the weekend storm could blow them away. 

Winds at 30-45,  for 2 days straight.  

12 inches of rain.

On Friday he put the bananas out on the work bench, wrapped in a thick towel to speed the ripening process, with the intention of peeling them all for the freezer on Sunday. 

But I guess we got distracted.

Could have been dinner at The Professor and Merry Ann's... 

...with impromptu Octoberfest beer tasting. 

Or, it could have been Merry Ann's Plum Tart.
 

Or maybe the weather was the main distraction...

...and chasing down the loose boards that floated away when the water came up over the dock.

  
When I go out to the work bench today to plug the bike lights into the chargers, I find the bananas.  And surprise!  They are absolutely perfect.

I'm not a big fan of bananas, and these little Ice Cream Bananas are super sweet.  I eat one, but that is about all I am good for until they have been blasted in the blender with some OJ,  protein powder, and a few of the summer's frozen mangoes.   

I set aside a couple bunches for Popeye to eat and commence peeling and bagging the 60 or so that are left.

About half way through the chore, my mind rebels a bit, insisting that there must be something else that bananas are good for besides smoothies. 

Pancakes?  Too gross to think about.  

Bananas Foster?  Better, but still yucky.

Ahh, but something about the idea of Bananas Foster, the colors maybe, attracts me.  

Something about deep, rich browns and the pale glow of bananas and whipped cream....

Deep rich browns...  

Guiness could do it for sure, but we don't have any.  Molasses, maybe.  And cinnamon.

And what about the Honeycrisp apple I had set out to cut up for a snack but forgot all about after finding the bananas? 

     
Sounds like a recipe coming together to me.

Molasses Bread

with Apples, Walnuts, and Home Grown Bananas

1 c. light (no taste) olive oil

3 eggs

1 c. granulated sugar

1/2 c. molasses

1/2 c. brown sugar, packed

1 and 1/2 c. diced apples

1 and 1/2 c. firm bananas, cut into chunks

3 c. all purpose flour

(or substitute spelt flour for one third of the white flour if you like)

1 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. salt

1 c. walnuts

Butter two loaf pans.

Preheat oven to 300 degrees - if you are the patient type. 

(I am not.  I set mine on 350.)

Mix the dry ingredients in one bowl and the wet ingredients with the sugar in another.  Then combine them until you have a dense batter.

Gently mix in the apples and bananas and throw in a couple handfuls of walnuts.  (Or measure out a cup, if you must.)

Divide the batter between the loaf pans, sprinkle with a little sugar, and bake.

If using a 300 degree oven - bake about 1 hour, 20 minutes.

If using 350 - bake about 55 minutes.

Test for doneness by inserting a sharp knife to see if it comes out clean.  Just to be sure, do it in a couple spots.  If you get a massive hunk of banana on the first try, the knife will come back sticky, and you might think the bread isn't done.  Also, don't be afraid if it gets really dark around the edges.  That's a molasses thing.  It's not burned - it's just dark.  And delicious.

As soon as it's cool, I'll slice the loaves, wrap them up, and put them in the freezer out of sight.  Save them for a for a bike trip or some time when we actually need lots of calories.  

So, bananas all peeled, banana bread made... 

Now, where was I?

Oh yeah. 

Go plug in the lights!



Procrastination Mode

It doesn't take a genius to recognize procrastination mode. 

Boxing up the contents of a house is daunting.  21 years worth of daunting, in this case.  My packing commences with little bursts of humming.  Dory's song, in Finding Nemo.  "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming."  And it works.  For the most part.  

But when I do stray into a bout of packing avoidance, it's a dead heat tie between enticements. 

The computer vs. refrigerator gazing. 

Resisting the call of the refrigerator is tricky but I've done it before.  A few months ago during a bad bout of writing avoidance, I made myself do 10 pushups every time I opened the refrigerator door.  Let's just say, it made me a stronger person.

Today required something quicker and easier than dropping to the unswept floor.  How about downing a full glass of water every time that fridge door opens? 

By afternoon, the sloshing is audible, but the work is on track.  In spite of a few extra trips down the hallway.

In a momentary slip-up involving an email check, I read a note from Just Plain Mike, volunteering moving day labor in exchange for beer.  Awesome.  Thank you!

Back to work.  Just keep swimming. 

In the dining room, I pop open the door to the buffet, and a sudden memory hops out.  So this is where I stashed the excess liquor after the party last Christmas.  

 
I send Mike a quick email.  "Would you consider working for hooch instead?"

The liquor was easily dispatched.  Hey.  Into boxes - what were you thinking?  

But what was that?  There at the bottom of the liquor shelf. 

Something that didn't belong.  

Oh no.   Not that.

I am not ready to face that part of the packing yet. 

Worse than the call of facebook.  More irresistible than checking email.  Even more alluring than leftover Pad Thai...

Oh noooo.  A photo album.

And just like that, the competition for my distraction is blown away.  

Check this out.

The Chick as Annie Oakley.

Maila as...  a pilgrim with a paint palette?  Oh no, Judith Leyster.

(Yes, I had to ask.)

Erin Callan as Sacajawea.

(Montessori, can you tell?)

Sea, Breeze, and the Chick

Whatdayaknow? 

Clean feet.

It's not often you get a black belt on your birthday.

And an assistant.

The Chick, Keeta's backside, and Sea

Way too young for Faye.

Must have been Floyd?

I confess. 

I once used HapKiDo belt test money for a rock climbing trip instead.

When climbing, there are only two kinds of pictures.

From the top...

And from the bottom...

How's that for a surprise end? 

Back to the boxes now.

Just keep swimming.  Just keep swimming.  Just keep...