Bah Humbug and the Rule of "Duh"

A humbug: implying an element of unjustified publicity and spectacle.


Ok, so maybe wearing new shorts on the Century ride last Sunday wasn't so smart.

A painful result could have been easily predicted.

As well as the painful result of happening to have a gynecologist check up scheduled bright and early Monday morning.

Oh gosh - the disappointment of the doctor when I told him no, I don't have herpes, I have new shorts.

New shorts, long ride. Wouldn't you think that'd explain it?

Oh no, oh dear, it looks like herpes to me, says the doc, scrape scrape scraping a tissue sample - OW! And attempting to charge me for it to boot. Excuse me?

The Rule of Duh.

I knew I should have postponed that appointment!

New shorts aside, the century ride fell on an incredible day - bright, beautiful, sleeveless temps, no wind. Blue sky, sparkling river, with the Space Coast Freewheelers serving all the Ryan's pizza you could hold at the finish.

Northstar and Star-Man took it easy on me. They were even ok with the metric distance. Considering my choice of shorts, it would have been an unhappy hundred!

Monday morning. Gyno visit behind. Chores ahead.

On to Publix.

The Halloween decorations are down.

The bins of bite size Snickers have vanished.

The Giant Gingerbread House is going up.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

Tuesday morning. Bike shop.

Even though Publix fired the first warning shot, it's still a shock to be face to face with giant red stockings hanging on the doors of the bike shop on Tuesday.

Oh no. 

Then again, duh.

Why expect anything else?

The newest-new-guy, Josh, has been released from his fluorescent-lit cave in the back of the shop where he has been building the deluge of new 2011 bikes.  He gets to come out front today and dress our bike-riding "knot-man" in the store Santa suit.  At least the employees aren't made to wear it any more!  (The suit, not the knot-man.)  

It's a week of bleak. The weather intensifies the bah humbug mood among us employees.

Halloween is supposed to be scary.

So, why is it that the day after Halloween gives me the shivers?

Don’t you just feel as if The Season leaped straight out of your trick or treat bag and devoured Thanksgiving before the time even got changed?

Club Humbug.  Meeting daily at Adventure Cycle from the day after Halloween until you-know-when. Come on in and see us. We’ll sign you up.

Thankfully, the century wasn't the next weekend. What a contrast! From perfect and pleasant to cold-front frozen. Danny Treanor said there'd be days like this! 

Up at Santos for the planned 3 day camping trip, the temps went down into the thirties every night. 

Uhh... maybe we'll come up and stay in a hotel. 

Or just go for a day. 

By the time we got up there on Sunday morning, none of our friends were still around.

"Do you think they ALL bailed?" I ask.

"After the first night." replies Popeye.

It was chilly riding, even for the mid-day hours. Not Felasco cold. Not deep-seated, bone-rattling, shiver away all your energy cold. 

Not even close. 

There was even a half hour or so, along about 1 pm, that I forgot all about being cold. 

The trail was not new. Just that I'd never ventured out onto it before. 

It begins as a single track ledge along the edge of the vortex.

(I have a bad personal history with cliffs, so if there is any shaking going on, it probably isn't the cold.)

OK, so I walked.  Me on the inside, bike sliding off the edge to the outside.  Sorry Killer, but I take longer to heal than you do to fix.

I hear a human generated "oooffh!" up ahead. By the time I mount up and wind carefully around the last of the curves to reach the series of ingenious wooden bridge-to-rock combinations, the fallen rider has rolled on. (Turns out Krafty has a few scrapes to show later.)

At least there is a series of easy bypasses for us folks of lesser confidence. Thank you, OMBA!

Still, no time to think about cold. Or photos.

Until I come out to level ground where Krafty and Popeye are waiting, and chatting...

...with a unicyclist?

By the time I fumble my phone out of it's ziploc, the guy is well along the doubletrack back toward the vortex. 

 There he goes...

Darn.  You can barely see him.  Nobody is going to believe me.

But hey, it's OK.

I get a good picture of the NEXT unicyclist we run into!

This fat tire unicycle is equipped with a V-brake, to help keep the downhills under control.  (Yipes.  I have state-of-the-art disc brakes, front and back.  I still do not keep the downhills under control!)  

Turns out there is an off-road unicycle club that comes to Santos to ride once a month.  This is an in-between week, and our new friend is solo. 

I mention, "So that other unicyclist over at the vortex isn't with you, then?"

Nope. 

Wow.  Two individual unicycle sightings in fifteen minutes!

Just think if we hadn't come on the in-between week!

Tempus fugit.  Another Monday.  November, a whole week in. 

Northstar sends a video.  It is a random act of culture.  And it takes place inside the very same store in Philadelphia that Popeye remembers his mom taking him and his brothers to see Santa.  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wp_RHnQ-jgU&feature=player_embedded

I may be the president of Club Humbug, but I do love this. 

For just a few moments, no one is buying. 

Everyone is singing.

Hallelujah!

Suddenly, the next few weeks don't seem all that gloomy.

The Lifestyle To Which We Are Accustomed

It's 7:22 AM and I think I've had enough of herding cats for one day.

Though my heart is in denial, my head knows that Tiger, who is nearly twenty years old, will some morning fail to show up on the doorstep for his breakfast.  I continue to let him out every night as I always have, though.  He would be worried and upset if I changed his routine on him now.  He's always been a relaxed fellow, and somehow I believe his longevity depends on him staying that way.

This particular morning, after a search of the front yard and the neighbor's bushes, I go around back and find him curled up sleeping on top of the tiny catnip plants we put in last week.

Once he is dusted off, and the baby catnips propped back up, he consumes both his breakfast and what's left of Gypsy's, and resumes napping in his usual spot on the desk, snugged up close enough to my computer to trigger the Caps Lock now and then.  

All is well in Tiger-World. 

Cats never have to think about money, which probably also contributes to longevity.  Usually I am pretty catlike, myself.  As long as my stomach is full, I don't think too much about it either.

But this morning, I woke up thinking about getting your money's worth.

Another meeting with the builder last night raised cost questions I never dreamed of.  There is roofing and flooring and windows and lighting.  Every decision, large or small, is crucial to driving the total cost.

How much will we have to cut back to do this?

Good thing we have such a cheap hobby. 

Once you have the bike, all you really need to do is get on it and go out the door.  Sure, tires wear out and chains need replacing, but for the most part, there's not a lot of expense after the initial purchase. 

A helmet lasts pretty much until you fall and break it.  Broken helmet?  Nowhere near the cost of a broken head. 

I did get new blue bike sandals this year.  They replaced the black ones I have been wearing ever since they cooled my toes for my one and only Ironman, back in 2003.

Much like my bike computer, a dashboard readout on my Honda Fit keeps me apprized of the miles per gallon on the current tankful.  Yesterday, it read 42.1. 

I figure, even on a hot day, I get about twice that on my bike.  I am not sure, but I'm guessing that Gatorade and gasoline are about the same price.  Even throwing in the occasional Clif Bar, Gu, or peanut butter sandwich, one is probably still a little better off going by bike.   

Yesterday I heard someone remark, why would I pay $40 to ride the same course I ride every Saturday? I don't know. We do it every year though, including this year, with the Intracoastal coming up.  

(I checked with the Intracoastal organizer yesterday.  This year the money will go to Breast Cancer and several smaller charities.)

  

If you look at miles per dollar, a century ride is pretty cheap. 


Last Sunday, the Horsefarm Hundred provided a one hundred and four mile tour of green and groomed countryside, hundreds of sleek thoroughbreds, 2 adorable donkeys, four different ride length choices (with both signs and pavement markings), and a phenomonal array of snacks and drinks, all for $30.  That's just under 29 cents per mile for the hundred mile group.  Killer and I only did 100k though, 63 miles, basically making my hot dog at the finish cost a bit more than Popeye's, who rolled in less than five minutes behind me. 

All those horses - and 2 donkeys.

After touring horsefarm heaven, the route finishes up with a stretch on the Hawthorn Trail.

Saturday we joined our hostess Northstar, and over 600 other riders for the 37 mile Tour de KSC (Kennedy Space Center).  It included the spectacular sight of Discovery's last stand on the pad, a tee shirt designed by our very own Northstar, and a stack of pizzas nearly as high as the VAB.  It cost $25, about 67 cents per mile.  But think of the overhead.

Discovery on Pad A for the last time.

A football field wide, and 15,000 feet long.

Riding to the end and back on one of the world's longest landing strips adds some mileage.

If I remember correctly, in 2003, Florida Ironman cost $300 to enter.  $2.13 per mile.  A bargain considering the hundreds and hundreds of training miles I got out of it.  (And bragging rights are forever, don't forget.  Priceless!)  

I see that the 2010 Ironman Florida cost $575.  At 140.7 miles, that's close to $4/mile.  With the race next week, I hope this year's entrants got in an inflated amount of mileage too.

Sprint-tri's have become trendiest road tri's of all, and the most expensive.  Our local sprint triathlon, Pineapple Man, seemed prohibitive this year at $90.  18.5 total miles = 4.86/mile!  Did you win a pineapple?  You saved a "mile" of  your cost!

Then again, if you simply go by the hour, some of us get a LOT more for our money than others.

By the hour, for example, Miami XTerra turned out to be much more cost effective for my age group than Popeye's.  $24 per hour for me, $36 for him.  What can I say?  I have hours more fun than he does whenever we race!  (Actually, I often have hours more fun than ANYone else, in any race that I enter.)

Of course THE most cost effective race anywhere, ever, by any standard, miles, hours, or just plain fun, is the Wickham Park Marathon, 50, 100, and 200 mile fun run.  200 miles.  4 days long.  Absolutely free.  Although you do have to provide your own Gatorade and food, some folks economize more than others and run it barefoot, saving a bundle on footwear.

But for my money, the best bargain anywhere is a bike hash.

For $5 hash-cash, you usually get a 15 mile trail (and sometimes more, depending how badly you "#^%$"  it up).  You also get all the beer you care to drink.  On a hot summer day, needless to say, every hasher gets more than his money's worth.  As a bonus, if you ride to the ride, you can save not only gas, but double your mileage for you money!  

So, after a little thought, it's pretty clear that we won't have to stay home on the couch just because of a new mortgage.  Whew!  

And Tiger?  With zero miles per day on 35 cents worth of catfood, he  won't have to stay home on the couch either. 

Unless, of course, he wants to.  

Ya think?

Wherever You Go - There You Are.

 

I am just not used to wearing all these clothes. Off again, on again, the sweater routine is getting old after three days. It’s good to see family, but bad to be a house guest with the flu or food poisoning or whatever it was. Yuck. For all concerned.

Just got back from SYR.  In 4 days, that one paragraph is all I managed to write.

First 2 days - good.  

Big Sister #1 has a new house to see. Visiting.  Eating.  My neice Lori, is an excellent cook.  Then, a rare day of sunshine for sightseeing with Big Brother and his Best Betty.  No time for writing!

I get a chuckle out of chubby Chole in her favorite box.
Obviously offended, a second later she was off like a shot.

Tug Hill Plateau - On the way to Big Brother's
I want a windmill!

The leaves are mostly gone, but the rare day of sunshine makes up for it. 

Old Forge Hardware, the Adirondack version of a tourist trap.

Mickey, eat your heart out!

But the last 2 days?  Less than good. 

Writing is way down the list.  My poor brain is completely immersed in the questions of minute to minute survival.  If I try to stand up, will I fall down?  Do I dare sip some water?  When is this going to be over?

SYR is a good place to fly in to, though.  Centrally located for visiting family.  And, upstate New York, on the autumnal verge of it's yearly free-fall into winter is, of course, a very good place to be from.  But, there's no place like home.  Especially when home is Florida.

We heard on the news Monday morning that Delta Airlines is hiring 1000 flight attendants.

For about twelve seconds, I consider going back to flying.  Probably would have been less than twelve seconds, but I hadn't had my coffee yet. My brain was still at half power.

The brief hours aloft between MCO and SYR this week did remind me though, that I do love flying.  Not the expense, the delays, or all the bag check baloney, but the actual flight; that precious 2 or 3 hours of release from all the tedious little details of life that I find so difficult to keep track of.

When I walk down that jetway, the barricade of routine is far removed.  No sinkful of dishes, no laundry, no unmade bed, stands between me and where I need to be.  

I am barely aware of the courteous fat guy shifting around carefully so as not to spill over into my seat, or the girl with the sniffles between me and the aisle.  

There is just me and my e-book.  "Leviathan" ends, and with a tap or two, the unexplainably believable, “Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter” begins. 


Decadence!  Luxury!

These are truly precious moments.

When I think about it, those few hours in the air, out of the three or four days it usually took to complete a trip, were the only hours I actually liked about flying for a living.

Time in the air was an extraction straight out of the temporal continuum (uh-oh, Trek-speak).  Encased by tin, hurtling through very thin air, completely ensures there is nothing ahead but those guaranteed hours for being exactly where you are, and doing exactly what you need to be doing.

(Besides, it was kinda cool to get up and walk around on a bucking aircraft when everyone else had to stay buckled up.)

I suddenly realize that's what I like about cycling too.  Once the bar of getting out the door is hurdled, Time belongs to you.

And you belong to the Ride.

Pedal.  Make your own breeze.  Live in the moment. 

In the words of Buckeroo Bonzai, “Wherever you go, there you are.”

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. The two local rides for Breast Cancer are back to back, or maybe I should say, side by side. One Saturday. One Sunday.

                                     

Speed Guys to Beach Cruiser Ladies, all are welcome.

I love charity rides!

(check out the pink flowered fenders)



On Saturday, we ride down to Bob's Bicycle Shop, the start of the Trek Women Breast Cancer Awareness Ride.  Sign in, write the check, no tee shirt necessary, thank you.  (Although the guy's shirts, "Save Second Base", are fun, and a dignified black instead of pink.

I steal a private chunk of the temporal continuum by letting the group go and riding solo straight to the far end of the route turn-around at 520.  

At the light, a German couple with panniers rolled up behind.  They were the only other riders I’d seen since my wild hair urged me to turn at Crooked Mile, bypassing at least a short chunk of the treacherous Courtney Parkway, along with the SAG. 

These gentle folk weren't part of the ride, but the three of us had ample time (the world’s longest red lights are on 520) to bond over the sketchy conditions of riding on Merritt Island compared to Wisconsin where they had ridden all summer.

Wow, all summer? Wouldn't that be a luxurious chunk of the temporal continuum!

State Road 520 was the official turn around point for the ride. But with the dangerous part of the route behind me, the beauty of the day was just too enticing.

So I stole a little extra piece of the continuum and kept going.

Across 520 and up North Tropical Trail.

The ride could well have lasted a couple extra hours, if it hadn’t been for the rednecks who passed me, then slammed their truck to a stop in the middle of the curve ahead. 

Suddenly, the spot seemed as good as any for a turnaround - just in case they were waiting there to hassle a lone cyclist.  

After a few moments heading back the way I had come, I heard the trunk roaring away.  Turning to look, I realized that they had only stopped to check out a washing machine someone had left out for the trash.

But sometimes Rednecks in a rusty truck are the perfect turnaround reminder.  Heading back south, I realize how much the wind has picked up.  It is good to have aerobars, a solo rider's best friends, along for the ride! 

For Sunday’s ride, I feel privileged to have a "job".  

Our friend Cheri, asks if I want to be a Bosom Buddy (a ride guide) for the 12 mile ride group.

The Ride 4 aBreast follows our too-familiar weekend route, and since pacelining is no longer my passion, especially on quirky River Road, I am practically giddy to be asked to help out.

To add to the euphoria, the plan is to ride mountain bikes instead of road bikes (yes!), and....

Diane, another of the Buddies, brings a costume for each one of us!

Joy is dressed in a pink tutu.  Diane herself is in a pink sequined skirt, and Cheri is wearing a pink feather boa. I secretly covet the boa, but I am over it quickly when I see my pink cape!

Cheri "shines" in the coveted pink boa.

With a huge bowl of tootsie rolls at the half way, and LongDoggers flapjacks at the end, this gig just got better and better.

The only thing to top that off might be a Music Night, or another stab at Oktoberfest’ing.  Coasters – 20 German biers on tap – special German menu – there all month.

Good thing.

There are plenty more rides to go.  Kinda makes a person thirsty just thinking about it!

Oct 17 - TKD's Oktoberfest Hash
Oct 23 - Tour de KSC
Oct 24 - Horsefarm Hundred
Oct 31 - Intracoastal Waterway Century

So Delta, you're just going to have to do without me.

I've got way too much riding to do.

Thank goodness.



Chocolate Guinness Beignet Brownies

Oktoberfest tonight?  All you can drink German beer?  Sure, we'd love to come!

Pie Man and Scout have been to the real Oktoberfest.  The one in Germany.  The one in September.

By the time I usually think about attending Oktoberfest, it is already well into October.  Every year I vow to plan a trip to Germany for the next September.  As we raised our Spatens, every one at the table vowed the very same thing.

As a guest, I didn't strictly have to bring food.  But if you've got an hour, you can make brownies.  

(I like to make brownies to take to parties.  Whatever pieces you can't cram onto a serving plate, you can keep for yourself.)

Making brownies is easy enough, but how does one make them "German"?

Chocolate, we have.  Always.  Pecans or coconut for a traditional German chocolate cake style treatment?  No, never. 

But we do have beer!  (Always.)  Irish beer, to be sure, but surely no good German would turn down a dessert made with beer? Not when there's chocolate included. 

Well, I wouldn't, anyway.  

Apologies to the anonymous blogger who posted this Chocolate Guinness Brownie recipe last year, I'd love to credit you, but I just don't see a source on the print-out. 

Double apologies, in fact.  I'm sorry.  I just didn't like these brownies very much.

Between the Guinness and a double dose of dark chocolate, these brownies are cake-like, very dark, and bittersweet. 

If dark chocolate is your thing however, you will LOVE them!  The bittersweet chocolate and the Guinness really intensify when they get together. 

Not my idea of a pleasant expenditure of precious dessert calories. 

I like sweet.  No, I like sweeter than sweet.

So I changed 'em.  Just not enough.

Chocolate Guinness Brownies

- more bitter than sweet -

Going international with my leftover pieces, I tried a beignet treatment to sweeten them up.  Surely a party-minded Oktoberfest crowd wouldn't mind a bit of New Orleans influence along with the Irish? 

I put the cut brownies into a ziploc loaded with confectioners sugar, gently making sure they were well coated.

Who's Tipsy?

Proving only that you can't make a beignet out of a beer brownie. 

(But you can make it pretty.)

After Spaten and schnitzel, nobody really seemed to mind.  Only two Guinness brownies remained on the dessert end of the pot-luck table when PieMan shooed us all home with him to watch his Gator game.  Not a hit, but not a complete miss, either. 

But what if it wasn't the all you could drink Spaten?  Maybe there are some bonafide bittersweet fans in the neighborhood? 

If so, this recipe's for you.

For me?  I am thinking a much lighter version for the next party.  Chewy.  With milk chocolate.  And toffee.  And what the heck.  Just for the sake of sweeter than sweet, a bit of the beignet treatment too.    

Chocolate Guinness Beignet Brownies

1 c. flour

¾ c. cocoa powder
¼ tsp. salt
5 Tablespoons butter, cut into cubes
8 oz. dark chocolate bar, chopped
4 large eggs
1 cup sugar
1 ¼ cup Guinness, stout or draught
1 cup semi sweet chocolate pieces

Preheat oven to 375.


Line with parchment paper, oil, or grease, a 9x13 baking dish.


Whisk flour, cocoa, and salt together.


In a sauce pan or double boiler, melt the dark chocolate and butter. Keep the temperature low and slow.  Don't cook it, just melt it.  Set aside.


In a large bowl, whisk the eggs and sugar until slightly frothy. Pour in chocolate mixture slowly. (Don’t cook the eggs!)


Whisk Guinness into egg/chocolate mixture. Fold carefully. Don’t beat!  The goal here is soft and fluffy.


Whisk flour mixture in slowly until thoroughly combined.


Pour mixture into baking dish and top with chocolate chips.


Bake for 25-30 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean.


Remove from oven, cool, and drown in a ton of powdered sugar. 


Or not.

 


The List of Possibilities

Every season a new list goes up on the refrigerator.

No, not a list of chores, or what to plant in the garden.

It's The List of Possibilities.

I threw away the summer list a couple weeks ago, and the fridge door sure seems bare.

The summer list was jam packed with rides, races, and events of the last few months. The three Florida XTerra's were on it. The Richmond XTerra and the Lake Placid XTerra were there. The Wickham Park Marathon, a Lake Okeechobee night ride, a road trip to Maine, and a week in Colorado were on it too.

The List is not a commitment, it's a guideline.  There's no way to do it all, but it's good to have the choices at hand.

Since I am in charge of the List, and I am forgetful, the List is also a timeline.

I got tired of saying things like, "Oh crap. That tri I wanted to do was last weekend!"

How does one forget a triathlon or a century ride?  I don't know, but it happens to me.  

One year, I forgot to go to the Eye of the Dragon.  

And once I stayed an extra day in Atlanta thinking I had a trip to fly, and missed a Pineapple Man.  

I am the sort to set my water bottle on top of the car and drive away, forget to leave a key for the Critter Sitter, and leave the front wheel of my bike home in the carport. 

At least I haven't left the entire bike home in the carport. Yet.  It would ruin the ride either way - just way more embarrassing.

Today the forecast for open windows goes clear into next week. The AC is off, the fans are on, and October is firmly entrenched. When you live to be outdoors, the change of seasons becomes the main event.

And so the Fall List is under construction.

A weekly sub-structure usually evolves over the first few weeks.

Basic fitness, a readiness for anything, is the goal.  If, for instance, someone says, "Hey, want to do an adventure race this weekend?" it's essential to be able to say "Sure!" without hesitation.  So the gym, weight training, night rides all get penciled in until they become the new routine.

And layered over the basics is The List of Possibilities.

First up on the new List is getting your ducks in a row for the stuff that can't be left to a last minute decision.

Like San Felasco.

Friday, October 1, 0555.  Trusty the Timex erupts, bleeping and blinking in the dark on the nightstand.

6am.  I stagger to the computer.  Me, and every other Friend of San Felasco.  

There are enough of us to crash the site in the scramble to be among the first four hundred to register for the January 50 miler.

The popularity of this ride is crazy. What's even crazier is that terrain and distance aren't that much of a challenge at the Tour de Felasco. The real challenge, for a bunch of Floridians, is figuring out how to avoid hypothermia.

OK, so the first event on the List was to register for the last event on the List.  We have our parameters.

Now, for the fun of filling in the spaces in between.

Possibilities for October round out the list nicely, especially if you're a roadie.

(Uh oh, overlap already!)  

Oct 8,9,10    Mt Dora Cycling Festival

Oct 9  Croom 50k (something to strive for next year...)
Oct 10    Ride 4 aBreast.  

Oct 23   The Tour de KSC - another ride where advance commitment (and tee-shirt size) is required.

Oct 23    So, we will miss the Santa Fe Century...

Oct 24    …but could still make the Horsefarm Hundred.

Oct 31    Intracoastal Waterway Century. 


Nov 21    Horrible Hundred  (West Orange Trail for me.)

The rest of the season has lots of slots. There's plenty of time yet to see what else comes up.  More mountain biking, for sure.

2011 is bare bones.

January: San Felasco 50.

February: Croom 50.

March: Full Moon Hash???  And a new list.

Somewhere in there, I will stubbornly pencil in Lake O again, and a vacation outside of Florida, although it's too late now for Maine or Colorado. Waking up to snow on my non-down sleeping bag is not on the list.

But what I really want to know is...

What's on your List?  

Because, you know.  Maybe it needs to be on my list too.

The Possibilities are endless!  

We need to be ready for anything!

Well, anything but snow camping.

A Day at the Beach

We had a tough week. 

So this weekend, we stayed on the beach.

OK, we live on the beach.  We just never go there. 

Around here, when you say you "live on the beach", it doesn't mean you actually live on the fifty foot sandy strip between A1A and the Atlantic Ocean.  It means you live somewhere on the hundreds of miles of long skinny barrier islands that stretch from Miami to Georgia and beyond.

So, that's still a fairly good ranging distance, even if you decide to stay "on the beach" all day long.

It's amazing how much time can be sucked away in discussion of the proposed new house and it's design details.  In order to make sure the furniture will fit in the cost conscious spaces, we had a little arts and crafts project going on Sunday morning.  Cutting out little squares to scale of the furniture, and laying them out on the architect's latest rendition, took up most of the morning.  But hey, it was kind of fun, in a 1st grade sort of way.  And what a relief to find that it all fits.

Enough, already.  Morning's gone.  Time to get outdoors! 

Heading down to drag out the kayaks, we notice a visitor. 

Don't let anyone tell you that manatees are slow.  They may not be fast enough to escape a speedboat, but they sure can boogie once the camera comes out.  This one gave a last big tug at the vines, and in a wink, slid gracefully under the dock to munch in private.

I am sure the neighbors think it's very lazy of us, letting the dune sunflowers grow crazy, down over the seawall like that.  But truthfully, we are the only house on our watery little cul de sac that provides snacks for manatees, and I just can't see any good reason to change that.  Swirls arc from under the dock in manatee agreement.


Two hours of afternoon paddling in a stiff wind from the south is a good indicator of which way to head first when it comes to the evening bike ride.  On the hardtails, never leaving the beach all day doesn't restrict your distance, only your direction.  Today it's an easy choice. 

Head south first!  Save the downwind leg for last.

One of my favorite blogs is FatCyclist.com.  Fatty is one blogger with about a million notions to make you think.  Like - what would you rather have?  One hundred, $75 Wal-Mart bikes?  Or one, $7500 bike?  As of this morning, he had 117 comments.

My favorite response answers Fatty's follow-up question;

What is a $75 bike suitable for?

Comment by Tommy F

09.24.2010
8:37 am


"A $75 bike could be immensely fun, depending upon the situation…as in the “Hold my beer, watch this” kind of scenario as long as you are the spectator and not the performer."


Actually I thought maybe I'd send Fatty a photo. Nothing as immensely fun as "Hold my beer, watch this!",  just something we saw on the Sunday-stay-on-the-beach ride.

OK, I probably would have done something un-artistic,

 like trying to match the turquoise trim on the house.

Seeing as we are the types to let the yard go just for sake of manatee snacking, any effort at groovy, blue, Wal-Mart-yard-art probably isn't going to happen at our house.  But it's still a fine idea for that 6 month old Wal-Mart bike leaning against the neighbor's trash can, don'tcha think? 

Maybe I'll check the house plan for spare wall space.  We will likely miss our bikes hanging behind the couch once we have a garage.

Unexpectedly, right down the street, there is a second manatee sighting, this time as a blur from the bike, as we roll by the culvert east of the marina.  Again, the notion that manatees are slow movers seems ludicrous.  Rolling, gray skinned water-elephants, these two churn the surface of the ample canal.   Maybe their motions appear so captivatingly rapid because they displace about a half ton of water each with the merest undulation of those fan shaped tails?

We haven't brought lights.  It seems far too bright out to have reached the turn-around time on our upwind climb so soon!  

Pedaling east, it's only a few blocks to the boardwalk to check out the waves before the downwind descent.

The downwind sleigh ride is fast.  We get home with time for a dock drink or two. 

It's been the weekend of no intensity, and just what the doctor ordered.

Today is the second day "on the beach" for me, the first day of my once-every-two-years vacation.  I am wondering if we tied up the kayaks well enough on Sunday.  Maybe when this lets up, I'll go out and check.

Typical vacation weather!

Mother Nature sure is somethin'. 

She must have heard us mention camping.

We don't need no stinkin' mountains! Wekiwa Springs State Park

It's windy today, the first day of fall. 

Way offshore Hurricane Igor is pestering Bermuda.  Here, there is bright blue sky and big waves at the beach.

I am reminded of a tee shirt I bought on the last day we rode at Reddick.  It read:  "We don't need no stinkin' mountains!" on one side, and "Ride Florida!" on the other.  And in that time, a time before it seems we all lost so much, not the least of which was Reddick itself, it was true.

We had Reddick.  Who needed mountains?


The wind is out of the NE today.  The windows are wide open for the first time since May.  It's still warm, probably 80.  But the breeze and lack of humidity make it fine weather, both inside and out.


Today's wind is a reminder.  It's possible to invite a little oomph into flat coastal riding.  Upwind is like uphill, a hill without a top.  Go "up" as long as you can stand it.  Turn around and go "down".  Summer wind is from the East.  To go "up" from here, you'd have to paddle, not pedal.  But today it's got some north to it and it feels like fall.  Upwind opportunities are on their way.


Yesterday, our original plan was to drive to Lake Okeechobee and check out just how rough the "rough section" actually is.  We got up late and I went though my mental list of what else might be a different sort of workout.  Or at least a workout with different scenery.  And closer.  


So, instead of another Sunday at the Econ, we loaded up the bikes and headed for Wekiwa Springs, an oasis of clear, cold water in the midst of Orlando's suburban sprawl.  

Wekiwa Springs State Park is less than 5 miles from I-4 and the Altamonte Mall. The neighborhoods are pretty, with big trees that we don't see on the beach.  The river is pristine looking and so is the spring, in spite of being filled with humans of all shapes and sizes.


The line is long at the canoe rental.  Duh.  Beautiful Sunday afternoon.  A State Park literally surrounded by a major city.


So once again saved by the bikes, we change to bike shorts, fill camelbaks, and set out to find the trails. 


At pavement's end there is a kiosk with trail maps.  Even though Popeye has one, I take another for myself.  When separated, we often make totally different choices.  He is a straight line sort of guy.  I am a road less travelled type, frequently sidetracked into exploring shady winding paths to nowhere.

The trails weren't much.  At least they didn't start out that way.  The first couple miles of multi-use double track, riddled with horseshoe digs, didn't impress me much. 


Suddenly, a buck with a full rack of antlers careens around a bend and straight at Popeye.  At the very last moment the buck turns, leaping over the bushes to one side.  We hear him crashing through the brush, as he disappears toward the woods. 

Later Popeye said that, just for a second, it was as if the buck were charging him.  But moments later some hikers come ambling around the same bend, proving that the panicked deer was fleeing not charging.  Whew, no rabid deer at Wekiwa! 


We ride on the grassy edges whenever we can to avoid the sandy track.  I was ready to go wait in the canoe line.  But Popeye wasn't willing to turn back just yet. 


We cut over to check out the hiking trails, maybe find the river.  Huge eroded tree roots and alligator dung tell us we are close.  A low tunnel of shade leads to a 20 foot expanse of lily pads and a ten foot wide swath of clear beautiful slow flowing river. 


Even here, five miles from the pavement, there are people.  A towel hangs from a tree.  A minute later, a couple wades, waist deep, into view from upstream.  I wonder if they noticed the alligator dung, as I step over it on the way back out to the bike trail.


Now, an expert blogger/biker would have taken pictures.  I did have the means - right in my jersey pocket - but I was busy just trying to pedal. 


At the north end of the park, the trail turns back west and south.


Suddenly the bike trail veers off the doubletrack.  Red blaze marks lead through stands of tall pines.  Two sinkholes, a mile apart, and old enough to have half size trees growing in them, add depth, and character, to the forest. The sand is gone.  Single track, hard packed and covered with pine needles, changes the grinding laborious character of the ride to pure pleasure. 

I feel like I am flying.


The trail takes a turn into open meadows with deep green woodsy edges.  The view is unexpected, almost Appalachian; deer, a tiny brook.  A white farm house (or so I imagine it to be) graces the far side of a sloping meadow; a meadow in a green so pale, it appears misty.


It is beautiful.


The springs call to us as we ride up to the car with fourteen miles, and we head to the bath house to change.  So anxious am I to get into the water, I forget about the camera yet again. 


It's late afternoon.  The crowd has thinned out.  I get down the stairs stepping carefully over the one huddled child hanging onto the rail at the waterline.  The water is pale glass blue, clear, inviting.  Every pebble on the bottom looks close, about as far away as my arm is long.  I step off.  It's deep!  And COLD!!!! 


And yes, the cold is refreshing - for about 90 seconds.  

Then it is just plain COLD.  My teeth haven't chattered this much since...  Ok, since the Tour de Felasco, almost 3 years ago.


Only after we are dressed and nearly to the top of the hill and the parking lot, do I remember. 

I have a camera.

Wekiwa Springs 

So, next time you are stuck in the heat on I-4, pull off one exit after the mall, and dive into an oasis of old time Florida right there in the suburbs.

Watch out for gators in the river, and bucks on the trails. 

And mall sprawl on the way home. 

You could end up with a new blu-ray player from Best Buy.  

You know.  Since you're right there in town...