Stick A Fork In It

Brave. That's what the guy said as he passed me. Brave. No, I'm tempted to say stupid, but it wasn't my idea. Although it was fun. But I like hills. And I like them even more on 29 inches. Felt like riding a StairMaster up a hill, outside, on the road. I guess that's what it felt like, has anyone ever rode a StairMaster up a hill on the road outside?

Here's the thing...never, ever bail on a trail. I know I sound like a broken record, but she never believes me. Has her own agenda. Thinks I'm out to get her. But you know, it never ends well. Usually you end up lost. Riding fatties on concrete. Nobody likes that.

 

This time I knew where I was. I just didn't love it. And I knew she wouldn't either. Earlier she said she didn't like riding that road, with no shoulder. And here we were back on it. With a 49% grade. Give or take a percentage point. Depending on if you ask her or me.

In her defense, she broke her bike. Her new classic amazing race machine. Broke. Yes, that's what I was afraid of when we stole it from that guy at the swap. And when I lifted it ever so carefully and put it on the rack of the car I questioned the watery oil concoction seeping down my forearm.

 

I don't know very much about shocks, even less about oil based shocks, but I'm thinking oil running from the fork is bad. Very bad. But that explains the bargain bike. Still worth it even if we need to buy a new fork, but what a drag to find out mid ride at technical Patapsco.

 

So I don't blame her, she should want to bail on the trail. She is after all riding it on an oversized underwheeled road bike. While I take a sabbatical on my oversized overwheeled comfort style mountain bike.

Don't tell the kids but these 29ers might be the off roader for the elderly. Seriously they are super comfy and easy to ride. No pulling through a rock garden. No header after your crank sticks in a log. No aching back as you hover over the flat bar cranking out the miles. This baby feels like a comfort bike built for the woods. How cute that the youngsters find them trendy. And I didn't even mention the extra three inches. Ladies, size DOES matter.

Sew Me

None of this is my fault. First, look at me. I'm not built for home ec. I got dressed today, but I can't remember the last time I combed my hair.

Second I'm more of an idea man. And not always a good one. I throw them out there like Mr Mom in Night Shift. Most should be left by the curbside. If I'm not saying, "hey this would be a good idea" I should really just be pushing the buttons.

I'm no engineer, no matter what the project is. I'm not great a planning things out. I don't want to measure and check and recheck. I want to go. I want to do. I get an idea and I want to roll with it. NOW.

Third, you see what I'm working with here right? The calico is PARKED on what I am TRYING to sew. And she is staring at me like, WHAT? Sorry, to have disturbed your catnap, but do you mind IF I FINISH THE QUILT FIRST BEFORE YOU START FURRING THE THING UP??!!

As a short aside, Cats, listen up: the women who love you most are crafty. They like to sew, knit, cross stitch...they use needles, thread, and yarn. We understand you like those things too, and we might think it's cute the first or second time you experiment with them. But it ends there. It gets 'uncute' FAST. And Parker, that little circus trick you do swallowing pins...was NEVER entertaining.

Oh, and then there's the whole reason I need a new blanket, also NOT my fault. I'd love to keep using my warm fluffy down blanket and feather filled poofy pillows. But it's not really fair to my snotty girlfriend. See what I did there sweety, snotty, cute right?

Through all this stress, she puts me under further duress by contributing to the quilt with her precious stash. Then proceeds to tell me, Don't MESS IT UP! Breathe, breathe, breathe, you can do this.

Turns out I cannot. I got my first flesh wound whilst sewing today. I haven't even started the quilting process yet. She's on her way, I warned her of my ills, and I could hear disappointment in her voice. She told herself, "it's only material" and I'm sure that was more for her than me.

Well, it's warm. It's not overly pretty. It bunches. Some key things were covered in the making of the quilt. But Parker likes it!

Here's Mud On Your Thigh

Thems my pants. This My Dear, is why I need to buy new pants. So the other day the girl gives me grief, says "don't you already have a brown pair of pants?"

I'm sorry, aren't you the one who wanted to go to Gabe's, absolutely knowing neither one of us needed a single thing from there?? But really, who can pass up a trip to Gabe's?

Skipping Gabe's. It's like eating one Pringle, who the hell can do that? Come to think of it I'm not even sure that's a word. Pringle. I'm quite certain the correct use of that word would always require plurality, Pringles. Anyway...

Then, she wants an inventory of my brown pants selection.

THEN, she puts on my brown pants to go biking. Mountain biking. In the mud. And of course she falls. Repeatedly. In my brown pants. Yes, thank god they were already brown. But I repeat, this is why I need to buy new pants. ANOTHER pair of brown pants.

That's What You Get For A Dollar

Today I took my bike for a ride. In a car. I took my bike for a drive. And I wasn't happy about it. But it rained so I guess it doesn't matter anyway.

So instead of a nice leisurely, flat ride on the laid back Eastern Shore...cuz let's be honest the only place you can get a nice, leisurely ride on the Eastern Shore is in the woods, deep in the thickly populated dense forest, protected from the harsh flatland winds...I digress...

So anyway I got some sketchy directions. And let's be completely frank, I only blame myself because clearly I wasn't paying close enough attention. I remember something about a Y. But the girl does talk to me like I sprouted from a local country field, trolled the beaches since I was knee high to a praying mantis, was perfectly pooped from a purdue chicken butt. "You head toward Pocomoke..." I mean really, I have a 50-50% chance I guess and I know it ain't north. She's right I ought to know...But I never found the forest.

Instead I ended up making a circle and wound up right back in town. Otherwise known as, Route 13. Here, for miles and miles and miles, one can embark on the Dollar Tour. Dollar Tree, Dollar General, Family Dollar, Dollar Store, there's even one called Family Dollar Store. And this is in no way to be confused with Big Lots or Ollies Bargain Outlet.

So instead of doing ride bys of deciduous trees we were doing bargain buys at Dollar Trees. Not quite the same. It wasn't a good day on the Eastern Shore. I'm not sure if the rain made it better or worse. wah, wah, wah.

Back In Time

Like a trip in a time machine. A broken time machine. Today I went back to where it all began. When I first started mountain biking. When I was riding dirt along Naylor, no trails or trail heads. Back on my black High Plains.

Traversing Salisbury without touching pavement...well, sort of.  On some of my old routes...almost. Cutting back by the ball field...you can still launch off the old sand pile. That's where the fun started. Twenty years ago.

It's also where the fun stops. Jump forward to 2013. Well it was fun back in the day. Drop down by the zoo, weave through the trees just beyond the park. Cross the street and go at it some more. By the lake, pause on the dock, go all out weaving trunks and foliage.

Not so much any more. You can ride by the zoo, on gravel, no bobbing, no weaving. Unless you count the meandering dog walkers who have complete disdain for sharing the trail. Makes me have a new found appreciation for the city.

And I've spent many a year accepting the fact that I AM a vehicle. Here all the paths are marked Official City Vehicles Only..is that me? Is it not? Am I a vehicle? Can I use this trail? I have no freaking idea.

By the pond...it's completely unmarked. I guess? I can ride there? Back there where the magic started. Back where I actually helped blaze the trail a couple decades ago. But it's hard to say. Now it's Salisbury University's. Some kind of Frisbee playground. For adults. Where adults throw discs free of dogs...and probably bikes, but I couldn't be sure. There were no signs, but I was in constant danger of getting whacked in the head by a flying disc. And I'm not overly sure they cared for me ramping off their tee pads. Tee pads? Really? Whatever.

I had more fun riding over the curbs in the EVO parking lot really. Even if I did eat gravel on one of them. Just goes to show the riding is more technical in a parking lot than the actual single track of the big city. Truly, I'm not sure why I went with a 29er...really a niner would have been sufficient!

A Toast

Dating beneath you. I've heard it. And I'm not talking about being on top...really? Where is your mind? GUTTER. What has that got to do with King's syrup and peanut butter...wait, strike that. This is NOT about bowling, I SWEAR! She gets me, I mean it.

Yes, I admit it, I am dating beneath me...and I felt the effects of it today. When I was having breakfast. And I couldn't find the necessary ingredients for my toast. I had to look here and there...waay UP there.

Why? Because she can't see over there. Or reach up here. Oh, I tried to fix it and I made it worse. Because I don't live down there. And I have no clue what makes sense...in her world. And that's what it's all about.

I'm not making this up. That's what she says. When I try to move something. Or find something that no longer lives there. Welcome to together. I don't mind so much. I can, after all, see things she can't. That gives me a slight advantage. I mean if you've ever seen us heel to heel. Slight. Right.

This is where the beneath me ends. She is perfect. But you know that. Or we wouldn't have celebrated the first full year of bliss this week. It's true. And I couldn't be happier. Even if I can't find my toast condiments all in one place.

Ithacat

Yes, that is poop on my blog. Poop. I've blurred it in an attempt to make it less offensive. Have I succeeded? That's Parker. Perhaps you've met.

She doesn't care much for the litter box.  She used to be able to stand on the corner so that none of her precious feet had to touch such a gross and disgusting event. I'm not sure if she can still manage that or not. Clearly she can't manage actually hitting the box, so NO I won't be teaching her to use the toilet any time soon.  I'd settle for her covering it up when she is done.

The good news is she is a relatively clean cat. Now that I've met country cats I can say that with some form of authority. I do not love poop on the outside of the litter box. I have a part-time dog I get to bend over and pick up poop for...I do not need a cat. Parker, this is one of your selling points, don't muck it up.

I mean if it's particularly offensive when it comes to odor, you can scold her. If she agrees, she will actually go over and try to cover it up with litter. You can see her vain effort above. It's not always effective. I am not convinced she does not do this out of spite to let me know she doesn't approve of my irregularity in cleaning said box.

All things being equal, which they are not, I do much prefer Parker's poop slightly missing the litter box to say Gus's inability to clean his toes after using his litter condo. The girl excuses his poor hygiene to his polydactylism, which would be much cooler if it were pterodactyl RAH RAH!

I've got nothing against the liberal-toed, I just don't love litter in the bed, for example. It's days like that where I'd rather pick up doggie poo in a bio-degradable bag, yes we just bought those! Right!? Here's a girl that doesn't want to pay for a bag for her groceries, and I just bought bags for poo. (can you see my eyes rolling?!) I'm quite certain  it would be cheaper to buy bags with groceries and use them twice rather than....oh never mind.

Anyway, when did my blog become about this? Oh right, when the only exercise I got was picking up poo. Right, right. For shits (pun intended) and giggles, have you seen this yet? (yes, I was thinner then, I did more than pick up poo. Oh, and that is not the aforementioned Gus...does that toe thing grow on trees??) sheesh.