A Saturday bike ride, chilly and damp, made lovely by the utter dearth of people on the Keystone and Big Papio trails.
I don't usually ride trails, but I needed brainless pedaling, free from traffic, free from decisions any more complex than "North first? Or south?" And the prevailing winds decide that anyway.
Hawks swooped startled from nearby branches, only to reperch and regard me without concern. Gaggles and gaggles of Canada geese declined to move from where they sqatted alongside the trail, between the trail and the ravine, in the fields across miles of scrub grass or fallow fields. Though it was overcast, gloomy, and wet, it was still about 45-50 degrees with a stiff wind out of the south. With the trails almost compass-straight north and south, I alternated between 17 mph and 12-13, with about the same amount of effort. Actually, I alternated between "I AM FLEET AND FAIR AND STRONG!" and "I am the fattestlaziestlousiest rider of bikes in the world."
I rode 35 miles on flat paved trails, pshaw, nothing. Used to be nothing. Now that I'm so long between rides of any kind, much less good long ones, it's something and I'm proud. I claimed my hot tub time like a weary boxing champ, chanting, "I am still a contendah!" Until the lightning began, when I climbed back out, dripping and muttering, "I am still not stupid."
During a commute or even a long social ride, my brain is focused on traffic, cadence, performance, form, ohshitabighill, or -- sometimes just as challenging -- making clever conversation.
Saturday's ride was completely in my head. #SoZen. I had a lot of time to think, and some of that thinking was about how I might write about the ride I was on. #SoMeta.
But I wasn't thinking about the blog. I still have to remind myself I've rekindled the blog.
So I guess it shouldn't surprise me that my thoughts about Saturday's ride came to me in 140-or-fewer-character bursts.
Time to untrain the Twitter brain.
Monday, December 14, 2015
Friday, December 11, 2015
Monetize !
Whereas
I have long neglected the blog and long dithered over adding store links or banners.
And
I spend enough time and money on Amazon that I feel confident recommending their services and allowing their ads on my site.
And
I spend enough time and money hiking, biking, camping, and otherwise traveling that I do desire a more public forum for writing about those jaunts than my little paperback journals.
Therefore!
I hereby commit to reigniting this blog and driving readers to share in the Gentle family adventures as we hike, bike, and camp across these United States and, who knows? We might venture further afield in 2016.
Welcome back, me-as-blogger. Glad to have you.
I have long neglected the blog and long dithered over adding store links or banners.
And
I spend enough time and money on Amazon that I feel confident recommending their services and allowing their ads on my site.
And
I spend enough time and money hiking, biking, camping, and otherwise traveling that I do desire a more public forum for writing about those jaunts than my little paperback journals.
Therefore!
I hereby commit to reigniting this blog and driving readers to share in the Gentle family adventures as we hike, bike, and camp across these United States and, who knows? We might venture further afield in 2016.
Welcome back, me-as-blogger. Glad to have you.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Capped
As of this afternoon, the leak has been stopped. So celebrate, right? Well. It's a only a temporary measure, so a bit premature for celebration.
According to the AP article I just read, it has been "85 days and up to 184 million gallons."
184 million gallons!
At the very least, if the cap holds and the next steps work (new wells), the engineers can focus on the failure analysis, and by that I mean prevention of the next failure, not finger-pointing. And perhaps those cleaning up might start to feel that they're making progress instead of just stop-gapping.
And we are all assuming, hoping, and praying that capping this tube doesn't just force the oil to find another outlet, rupturing the seabed for example.
Still watching and waiting, then. Not celebrating. Not yet.
According to the AP article I just read, it has been "85 days and up to 184 million gallons."
184 million gallons!
At the very least, if the cap holds and the next steps work (new wells), the engineers can focus on the failure analysis, and by that I mean prevention of the next failure, not finger-pointing. And perhaps those cleaning up might start to feel that they're making progress instead of just stop-gapping.
And we are all assuming, hoping, and praying that capping this tube doesn't just force the oil to find another outlet, rupturing the seabed for example.
Still watching and waiting, then. Not celebrating. Not yet.
Photos Group 2
Stormy sky, lonely parking lot
Henry loving the beach.
Jack loving the beach.
After a dunking, Noah prefers the sand to the water.
Henry loving the beach.
Jack loving the beach.
After a dunking, Noah prefers the sand to the water.
You can just see the stain of oil on the sand above the seaweed.
Noah and Jack back in the water. Noah is watching that wave verrrry carefully.
Noah and Jack back in the water. Noah is watching that wave verrrry carefully.
Warning sign on Santa Rosa Beach
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Mobile
I'll try to add the pictures later.
We stopped in Mobile, Alabama to tour the battleship USS Alabama. The ‘Bama is a big girl, she supported operations in the Pacific with about 2500 crew members during wartime. Quoting from the Battleship Park’s official website, she is about half as long as the Empire State building is tall. Also in the park is a WWII submarine, the USS Drum, which the kids enjoyed exploring. Before entering the ship/sub area, we visited Vietnam and Korean War Memorials and passed several old helicopters and planes, including a B-29, which, according to Mom, is one that my grandpa flew during his WWII service in the USAF.
As we walked up the ramp to the ship, Jack pointed to the oil collected near the shoreline. Booms were in place, but hadn’t stopped this nasty stuff. Honestly, though, I couldn’t be sure that it was not from the old ship or possibly from local traffic & industry… Mobile is 30 miles from the Gulf and this is near a heavily industrial area. We could see the gantry cranes once we were on deck on the battleship, and we drove by a huge shipyard on our way out of the area.
If there was any doubt in our minds that this oil tragedy is real and is in Mobile, it was gone when we saw the pelicans. Henry pointed and said, “Look, they’re flying. They’re fine!”
I said, “Pelican bellies are white. Those aren’t.” During the time we were on deck, we saw several that were flying in spite of the oil on them. We only saw one struggling, its wing feathers stuck out, straggly with oil.
Another storm rolled in and we toured belowdecks. Henry’s ankle was bothering him and I was depressed, but when the rain stopped, we pushed on and toured the sub. (It was a lot smaller than the battleship.) The boys cheered up; they found it pretty cool in there. As in “interesting,” mind you. It was in no way “cool.” More like “sweltering.”
The littles got to pretend to steer and dive the sub at the direction of a retired sub operator who was on hand, and all three boys climbed up into the conning tower, which Henry proclaimed a “tight fit.”
The retired operator (sorry, kind sir, I neglected to remember your name or rank), when he got a good look at Henry descending the ladder, asked, “Holy cow, son, just how tall are you?” We told him (6’6”).
“I’m trying to imagine you assigned to a sub for 3-6 months. You’d have a permanent bruise on your forehead,” the man laughed.
We returned to the car and got Henry’s foot up. On to Biloxi. At some point during the drive, it stopped raining and a beautiful sun came out. Just in time for our rock-star treatment at the Hard Rock Hotel. It was time to shake off our malaise. It was time to play.
We stopped in Mobile, Alabama to tour the battleship USS Alabama. The ‘Bama is a big girl, she supported operations in the Pacific with about 2500 crew members during wartime. Quoting from the Battleship Park’s official website, she is about half as long as the Empire State building is tall. Also in the park is a WWII submarine, the USS Drum, which the kids enjoyed exploring. Before entering the ship/sub area, we visited Vietnam and Korean War Memorials and passed several old helicopters and planes, including a B-29, which, according to Mom, is one that my grandpa flew during his WWII service in the USAF.
As we walked up the ramp to the ship, Jack pointed to the oil collected near the shoreline. Booms were in place, but hadn’t stopped this nasty stuff. Honestly, though, I couldn’t be sure that it was not from the old ship or possibly from local traffic & industry… Mobile is 30 miles from the Gulf and this is near a heavily industrial area. We could see the gantry cranes once we were on deck on the battleship, and we drove by a huge shipyard on our way out of the area.
If there was any doubt in our minds that this oil tragedy is real and is in Mobile, it was gone when we saw the pelicans. Henry pointed and said, “Look, they’re flying. They’re fine!”
I said, “Pelican bellies are white. Those aren’t.” During the time we were on deck, we saw several that were flying in spite of the oil on them. We only saw one struggling, its wing feathers stuck out, straggly with oil.
Another storm rolled in and we toured belowdecks. Henry’s ankle was bothering him and I was depressed, but when the rain stopped, we pushed on and toured the sub. (It was a lot smaller than the battleship.) The boys cheered up; they found it pretty cool in there. As in “interesting,” mind you. It was in no way “cool.” More like “sweltering.”
The littles got to pretend to steer and dive the sub at the direction of a retired sub operator who was on hand, and all three boys climbed up into the conning tower, which Henry proclaimed a “tight fit.”
The retired operator (sorry, kind sir, I neglected to remember your name or rank), when he got a good look at Henry descending the ladder, asked, “Holy cow, son, just how tall are you?” We told him (6’6”).
“I’m trying to imagine you assigned to a sub for 3-6 months. You’d have a permanent bruise on your forehead,” the man laughed.
We returned to the car and got Henry’s foot up. On to Biloxi. At some point during the drive, it stopped raining and a beautiful sun came out. Just in time for our rock-star treatment at the Hard Rock Hotel. It was time to shake off our malaise. It was time to play.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Photos Group 1
You may not know this, but it's okay to drive your John Deere to the convenient store in Arkansas. With a kid on your lap.
You may not be able to see this, but the red button we're told to push in case of emergency? Isn't there. In fact, the whole door security system was ripped out. Seedy Ramada Inn, Bossier City, LA
You may be missing the Sacred Heart Croquet Tournament, but that's no reason to miss out on the sport. Here are Henry, Jack, and Noah playing "Highpoint Croquet," on the way up to Mt. Driskell in Louisiana.
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