Tuesday's 2-4-1 Slow Cooker Broccoli, Guinness, and Cheddar Soup

Tuesday is crockpot day.  

 

Popeye has done the Tuesday night road ride for years.  So did I. 

Until I got a job in a bike shop. 

Silly bike shop - closing at 6pm in Merritt Island - making it impossible to be all the way down in Palm Bay for a 6pm ride. 

But the bike shop did one thing right, and that was the awesome Trek discount.  With which I bought an awesome Superfly 100.  (The previously awesome road bike went to the attic, and hasn't come down yet.)

Leaving the bike shop eventually led back to Palm Bay on Tuesday nights.  Only now, Killer the Superfly and I go there for the Tuesday Night Beer Can Scramble at Turkey Creek.  

Tuesday =  Two rides.  Two riders.  Home late.  Hungry.  

Tuesday = Crockpot day.

See how the universe just falls together? 

The favorite slow cooker meal around here is Ribs According to Kurt.  2nd is chili - in just about any form. 

But when Publix has a triple BOGO and the stars align for something a little different?  Well, who am I to argue with the universe?

OK, so I've never made broccoli cheddar soup in the crockpot before.  But how hard could it be?

I check all my favorite recipe websites, and read at least five blogger versions.  None of them quite suit me.  Either they require mid day attention to the crockpot (not likely to happen) or some form of condensed soup or frozen packages of broccoli.  Not what I am looking for.

OK, so just wing it.  How hard could it be? 

Tuesday's 2-4-1 Slow Cooker Broccoli, Guinness, and Cheddar Soup

2 heads broccoli 
1 c. onion (about 1/3 of a large Vidalia)
1 1/2 c. sliced carrots
1 1/2 c. golden potatoes, cut in chunks
1 clove garlic, chopped fine
1 1/2 c. ham, diced

4 T. butter
5 T. flour
2 c. Swanson's Tuscany Chicken broth
3 c. Swanson's Chicken broth
1 c. Guinness  (or a 6th cup of broth if Guinness doesn't appeal)

2 blocks of seriously sharp cheddar, grated.  (To stir in just before eating.)

(OK, so the Guinness was an afterthought.  Not a terrible one, I hope.  And the flavored broth was something new.  No doubt why it was 2 for 1 at the store.  Swanson's Tuscany Chicken broth.  I poured in about two cups and it absolutely reeked of rosemary, so the other three cups were regular old chicken broth, thanks to other half of the BOGO.  Also why there are no other spices or herbs, like rosemary, added.)

Make a roux from the butter and flour.  On medium, melt the butter in a pan and stir in the flour to make a paste.  Cook, whisking, for a couple minutes until light brown.

Gradually pour in 2 or 3 cups of the broth and whisk.  Cook for a couple more minutes.  Keep whisking. 

Here's where the idea of Guinness popped into my head.  Suddenly a choice had to be made.  Use my new power tool, a supercool immersion blender, for a creamy-milky-cheesy soup?  Or forego the fun of blending for a chunky-vegetably-beery clear soup?  

With only a brief pang of regret over the blender, I pop the Guinness and stir a cupful into the broth.  

Put the chopped vegetables, garlic, and diced ham into the crockpot.  Pour in the broth/Guinness mixture.  Add 2 more cups broth to the pot.  Stir, then cover.

Cook on low for 8 hours. 

Grate the cheddar and store it in the fridge so it's ready when you get home hungry. 

Cross your fingers.  Go for a muddy, fun ride.

 

Hooray! 

The bridge that was under water last week has reappeared. 

 

When you walk in the door the aroma will hit you.  Wow!  That crossed fingers thing really works!

Scoop it out.  Pile on the cheese. 

Oh yeah.  Gotta love Tuesdays.

100 Days of Doing.

June 30, 2014

Do you cringe when people declare in a blog that they are embarking on a weight loss attempt?   Aren't you just afraid for them that they will have to slink off the radar in a few weeks after an epic fail?  

Weight loss attempts fail all the time.  I always root for things to be different, though.  I sincerely want everyone who diets to succeed.  I also want them to share every twist and turn of their weight loss path. Anything that might help me find my way too! 

I like overeating.  Love overeating, actually.  Not a lot.  Just a little.  A few extra bites.  A little every day.  It is a primal force from within.  Get. Yourself.  Full.  Plus a few bites more. 

There is probably some anthropological explanation for this drive to go one step beyond just-full-enough.  No doubt the habit helped cave men survive an extra crucial day of starvation or something.  OK, so I am the descendant of genetically blessed Paleolithic survivors.  At least there's an explanation for all that refrigerator gazing.   

What do you think of when you think of dieting?  Not-doing, right? 

Not eating.  Not indulging.  Not having seconds.  Not having birthday cake.  

Ugh.  Not-doing.  What a crummy way to spend the day.  And certainly a crummy way to spend your life.

I want to DO stuff.  I want to take action.  I want to get yesterday's fat off me - like yesterday.  If only!  No, time is the prime ingredient.  Nobody would be fat, if fat would come off in a day. 

Numerically well intended news segments, blogs, and books always catch my eye.  The 100 Thing Challenge.  The 30 Day Detox.  30 Days in the Zone.  Today, the news has twice mentioned 100 Days of Happy.  

100 days.  Wow.  Now that seems like a good long time.  

I add it up.  100 days.  100 days stretches from tomorrow, July 1st, until Oct 8, in fact.  That's like, forever.  Or at least an entire hurricane season.  I can lose the 5 lbs. that has crept back on since my last diet in far less time than that.  (IF I do not overeat, of course.)

But no, dammit, that's back to not-doing.  

(Uh oh.  I feel a rebellion coming on.)

I want to DO something.  Something to help myself.  Every day. And, as a bonus piece of pie-in-the-sky, I also want this doing something to be effortless.  Happy, even.

Dieting is hard.  But so is being fat.  (So pick one, right?)

The thing about diets is that they really do work.  

Sticking to a plan.  Paying attention.  Being stubborn.  If you can make that mental shift, diets work just fine.  I know this for an absolute certainty.  I spent a fair hunk of last year doing exactly that.

But maintenance.  Whew.  That's been a bear.  And to think I was looking forward to it, that I thought it would be easier than a diet. 

How does one DO maintenance?  How do you open the door of indulgence a crack without releasing the floodgate?

There's gotta be a hundred ways, right? 

100 ways.  100 Days.  Doing has to be easier than not-doing.  Especially if you are facing an endless sentence of repeating a diet of not-doing, over and over, again and again.  

I have no idea what could happen over the next 100 days.  After all, I have dedicated myself to many diets, only to fall apart at the sight of say, an Oreo cookie at a sag stop in the rain. 

So, first and foremost, this is not a diet.  (No need to cringe.)  It's a gathering of tools.  A growing of the arsenal.   A search for a hundred things to do instead of the emptiness of not-doing.

Tonight is the Beer Can Scramble, thank goodness.  It's not a lot, usually about 12 miles on sandy trails.  But it's something.  Check off Day #1. 

Oh, and take a light beer. 

Postscript:  October 7, 2014.

100 Days of Doing.  July 1 - Oct 8.  Fast forward.  Day #99.  

Wow.  For someone who thinks of herself as a persistent failure, it is weird to have it in writing.  I am not as idle or lame as I thought.  I actually did do something - found out something - wrote something - every single day.  AND I maintained my weight within the four pound range I set for myself! 

Been thinking about what the overall conclusion might be from this 100 day project.  What started out to be weight maintenance turned into a mission to accomplish that little bit of something extra each and every day.  To live a little extra.  Ride a little extra.  Enjoy a little extra.

Scribbling notes down by hand kept me involved in enriching my own life.  There was focus.  In a way that just going through each day unrecorded could never do.  And I think, after recording the highlights, that not only do I normally do more than I ever thought I did, but that to add just a little bit, some lagniappe, is easier than I ever thought as well. 

I just realized something.  I am not just some happy go lucky total loser after all.  

Then again, I am not a gainer either. 

(And, I've got that in writing.)

Kill the Enemy. 10 things I Hate(d) About Fall.

The end of summer. 

The start of fall.  

The season for sneezin'. 

Cold.  Dark.  Shoes, socks, long sleeves.

Pumpkin brews instead of summer ale.  Football instead of the Tour de France.  Negative campaign ads. 

Comfort food.  Too depressing.  Just the thought puts on a pound.  Or five.  

Am I up to ten yet?  That was easy. 

But the Autumnal Equinox will come tonight, no matter how I feel about it.  

 When the Blackfoot had to find a way to ally with enemy tribes in order to face a greater threat, they played a game called Kill the Enemy. 

The tribe would gather and each member would take a turn to say something good about the former foe.  "They are fierce warriors."   "They have fast horses."  Eventually even the most resentful braves had "killed" the enemy and gained themselves allies instead.

Worth a try...

10 things I don't hate about fall:

1)  New bike lights!  Even the most familiar trails seem exotic in the dark - like riding on another planet.  

2)  The Walking Dead.  Finally.  What the heck has been going on in that box car all summer?

3)  Our new "double".   Popeye's idea.  Instead of the two Gainesville road centuries back to back in October, we realized we could mix it up along the way.  The off road Ride of the Living Dead on Saturday, then Horsefarm Hundred on Sunday.  Half a weekend of mountain biking is (much) better than none.

4)  Tis the season to start running again.  (OK, I am still trying to embrace this one.)  But the Dirthead Du was fun last year.  And we won hats.  So there's some motivation for getting through the first couple weeks of run resumption.

Ok, that's four.  That wasn't so hard.

It's a good thing we braved the rain for The Rocky Waters Brew Fest this weekend.  There were easily six more things there to love about fall!

Because the last six items on my kill list are really tough to love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

10 days of Kitty rehab. A bike ride with a very happy ending.

 

I love riding with friends, but if I end up solo, I try not to let it bother me - and just have fun with it.

 

 

 

Once in a while, if I'm on my own, I take an eclectic ride around town.

  

Saturday before last I rode my favorite mtn bike on a Melbourne safari.  First, checked out the new bridge by the old dam, and then on to Wickham Park, and out to Lake Washington. 

 

I always have fun cutting through the alleys of Eau Gallie on the way.  Gets some dirt under my tires.

 

 

 

 

One of the alleys in Eau Gallie.

 

 

 

This is Kitty.

  

I was on my way home through the alley. 

 

There she was, right in my path - barely able to stand, bleeding, covered with bugs.

 

I didn't think she would live through the hour-long wait for Popeye to come with the car to pick us up. 

 

But she did. 

 

Kitty eats like a horse all day, even with a sore mouth.

By Sunday she is strong enough for a flea bath.

And on Monday, a trip to the vet for blood tests and shots.

 

A week later...

 

This is what eating like a horse four times a day can do for a Kitty!

 

 

 

 

In one week, Kitty is strong enough for sedation. While she is out, she gets more blood work (all normal!) and a shave.  She has gone from 5 lbs to 6 lbs, and her mouth is on the mend.

   

 

 

 

It might be a bit chilly with the matting all gone, but it has to feel good.  It sure isn't pretty, though.

 

Kind of glad for the delay on the sedation and haircut now.  How scrawny would those bones have looked if we could have seen under all those mats a week ago? 

 

 

 

 

Not liking me so much after the vet visit and the shave.

 

That's OK.  Another plate of food = Kitty forgiveness. 

 

 

 

Kitty went to her new home today.  Happy ending!  For Kitty, anyway.  Because, darn.  We are really going to miss our beautiful boarder.

 

So, how about that eclectic Saturday safari ride now?  You probably want to come next time, right? 

 

Because, who knows? 

 

You might just find yourself a real treasure. 

 

As long as you don't mind a little dirt.

 

 

 

 

Prepping for 8 Hours of Labor at San Felasco, 2014.

"An eating contest disguised as a bike race."

OK, so Fat Cyclist's friend, Kenny, was referring to Leadville. 

But hey.  It's true of our little, low altitude, 8 Hours of Labor as well.  Actually it's probably true of any long'ish bike race.  If you want to do well you better get the food right.  If I look back at anything I've ever written about the 8 Hours of Labor, it pretty much centers on food.  Even the fastest riders can be laid low by poor food choices.  For those of us at bare-survival level, it's crucial.   

Having a disorganized mind can make your life interesting.  Like every day - a surprise!  Of some sort, anyway. 

One of my surprises last week was the realization that the 8 Hour is not in September at all this year, but rather in August.  August 31st to be exact.  Like, in a week.  

Kind of a relaxing notion in it's own way.  It is certainly way too late now to worry about building distance or speed.

Which really only leaves logistics and food.  Popeye is pretty good with the logistics, so that leaves me with just one category to prep - the food.  Cake, right? 

(Only not cake.  I wish.)

The old rule is the best rule.  Never try anything for race day that you have never tried before.  This goes for equipment too, but especially food. 

So, I have a pretty short list.

Stock up : V-8 and green olives. Gatorade and Perpetuum.  Gu and Endurolyte capsules.  Gallons of water for mixing.  Coke (for the end lap). 

Make ahead:  Sushi rice bars.  Sandwiches, in case of a craving for "real food". (Skipping the protein balls - we never used them last year.)

That's about it.  Then just show up. 

Find a pace you can live with.  Keep going til they tell you to stop. 

Eat.  Drink.  Ride.  Repeat.

How easy is that?

 

 

 

2 recipes for sushi rice bars:
http://bikeeatsleeprepeat.blogspot.com/search/label/sushi%20rice%20bars

Red and the Rocket Ride

This is Red.   

Is he handsome, or what?  I was going to call him Rusty, but he just isn't that bad.  He cost $20.

 

This is our beach.  It's a mile away.  (For crows, a little less than a mile.)

When Jason introduced me to Red at Village Cycle last Friday, my inner matchmaker instantly kicked in.  It was obvious that this bike and this beach belonged together.  

Popeye is not especially happy that I have brought home a trash bike.  He is quick to point out that there is no room in the garage.  So Red stays outside by the garbage cans, out of the way, and out of sight. 

Red and the beach.  First date at last!  Monday, 3:30pm, low tide. 

In the giddy free spirit of beach cruising, I set out barefoot and helmet free.    

Ride without a helmet?  

What was I thinking?  That there wouldn't be any cars on the sidewalk?  OK, there weren't. 

But there are much more dangerous things for a mountain biker going from Shimano XTR pedals to flat footed beach cruiser. 

Two words:  Coaster brakes! 

Make that three words:  Coaster brakes! Yikes! 

As for no shoes, well, that seemed a fine idea.  Until the light turned just as I got to the crossing at A1A. 

Putting a foot down on hot pavement turned into an agonizing, two minute, tippy-toe dance.  No wonder all the beach cruiser kids ride in flip flops. 

OK, so finally.  The beach and Red, together at last!  Perfect! 

We start out toward the south, obeying the sailor's (and biker's) rule.  When there's a choice?  Upwind first!  

Except...  less than a mile, and kaBOOM!  Afternoon thunderstorms sneaking in from the north.  Holy cow!  Where did that come from?  Here's something else.  Old Red can be pretty fast when properly motivated.

On the way home, I am already plotting our next excursion.  Sadly, since I am committed to real rides most days, it could be awhile before there's time for any more frivolous low tide cruising. 

The thunderstorms of Florida are fickle creatures.  Back at home, one mile from the beach, it is bright and sunny. 

But the window has been blown for a repeat excursion today.  Best get going on the regular chores.  

Later, around 7pm, the laundry is folded and dinner prepped.  The sky is blue and the house is quiet.  No more Tour to run on TV in the background.  And no call yet from Popeye. 

Opportunity!  I hop on Red one more time (just say yes to shoes and helmet) and head again for the beach.   It's high tide, but I can check out the waves and get right back for dinnertime.

Whoa!  Look at the crowd.  What's going on?  Suddenly I remember.  A launch!  What luck!

There is the usual circus atmosphere.  Families line the railing, eating from sacks of Taco Bell, and passing out drinks from brown cardboard trays.   High tide or not, I walk Red down the ramp to the beach, threading through the crowd and onto the sand. 

The sand is soft, but rideable with a bit of effort.  Toward the north the crowd thins with the absence of condos. 

 

OK.  It's a picture perfect launch, if not the perfect picture.  (There's always someone who's missing it, right?)  

Speaking of missing out, I definitely need to get Popeye on board with this redneck beach cruiser thing!

Because the only other thing missing from this picture, is a coozie on the handlebars and a PBR.   

And that, at least, can be fixed.

Wickham Park Marathon

3 weeks later...

Wickham Park Marathon

personal results:

DNF @ 15 miles

 

WPM is no ordinary marathon.  And although I have never taken on an ultra-run, the 50, 100, and 200 Mile Fun Runs don't look too ordinary either.

At Wickham, there is no support.  There are no race packets, age groups, T-shirts, or medals. The timing is you - writing your time for each loop down on a clipboard.  

Just the same, you really do get your money's worth for this one.  Because there's no fee either. 

But absolutely best of all?  There is absolutely no pavement. 

OK.  So we have a 200 mile, off-road foot race of fifty miles a day, over four consecutive, 12.5 hour days.  All on a 3.75 mile, flat, sandy loop.  In bright, sunny Florida at the beginning of our bright, sunny summer.  With some stretches of shade and roots, for a little variety.  Probably no one would be surprised to find a fallen body or two, to step over later in the day, either. 

An ultra run, like weight maintenance, takes a certain lifestyle.  You have to walk the walk (or run the run) to get it done. 

It would be nice to be in the kind of shape it would take to qualify for days 2-4, wouldn't it?  

My longest run this year had been about 8 miles.    

But it's all in your head, right?

Two loops - 7.5 miles - totally confident.  

Three loops - 11.25 miles - probably doable.  The 7:30 start is much earlier - and cooler - than I would ever do on my own. 

Four is the number, then!  You can always do more than you think you can.  Although, to still be running at the end of 15 miles, I would have to be having a really, really good day.  

Since the goal setting comes too late for any actual distance training, there was only time for one last thing. 

And that is, show up.    

I love the start time.  Pretty much whenever you want.  But to be in with the in-crowd, and to get a good parking spot under my favorite shady oak, we arrive at 7:21.  No hurry, no worry.  By 7:24, the camp is set, and we walk over and sign our names on a clipboard, with plenty of time for the 7:30 start.

Camp Pop-High, Wickham rendition.

Lawn chairs and cooler.

Shoes.

We are ready!

 

 

7:29am

To the starting line.

 

7:30.  Go!

Popeye's point of view,

looking over my shoulder at the start.

A moment later, I am looking at the back of his head,

getting smaller in the distance.

 

The Fake Rock for first place in the 200.

You even get to carry it back on the last lap.

No expense is spared for the prizes. 

Or the signage.

3 runners made the entire 4 days and 200 mile.  One girl and two guys - Wow!  

Not me, that's for sure!  But I did give it my honest best.  

Somewhere along the fourth loop, as predicted, my run ran out. 

Heading for the clipboard to sign in my time, I look over at the lake and decide that's really where I'd rather be.

15 miles and a sit in the lake.  Wickham is truly my favorite marathon, ever.  Even for a DNF.