From this:
To THIS:
...in only 12 months!
He's still a klutz, still has an energy level that's way higher than mine and still needs constant attention and supervision, but he's starting to show signs of brilliance....and he's still all heart.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Gus Turns 1
Where the heck has the last YEAR gone?????
From this:
To THIS:
...in only 12 months!
He's still a klutz, still has an energy level that's way higher than mine and still needs constant attention and supervision, but he's starting to show signs of brilliance....and he's still all heart.
From this:
To THIS:
...in only 12 months!
He's still a klutz, still has an energy level that's way higher than mine and still needs constant attention and supervision, but he's starting to show signs of brilliance....and he's still all heart.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
What the Hell Was I Thinking?
I blame the dog - he's the reason I started running (and doing less cycling).
With only about six weeks of running under my belt, and less-than-usual mileage on the bike, I took it into my head to do a duathlon....
I even managed to con one of my co-workers into joining me in the madness
They assigned me number 102 - I think that's how old they thought I was going to feel when it was all over.
ruth be told, I held back way too much and assumed the transitions weren't super imporActing on advice not to start near the front for the first run (and get caught up in the pace of the fast guys), I started waaaaay in the back. The first run didn't go too badly. I actually enjoyed the course through the woods.
"I know - I'm a cyclist; I'll lay the smack down on all these silly-ass runners in the bike leg!"
....but it didn't work out that way. I kept waiting for some short, but really steep "rollers" that I thought were part of the course. They never materialized, and with eight miles on the odometer (out of a ten mile course) I came to the realization that it was time to defecate or get off the porcelain. It was a little too late, but I did have the satisfaction of passing quite a few other people.
My only remaining objective was to survive the last run. I did, and at least came across the finish line upright and under my own power.
So, I know y'all want to know how I did.....pretty pathetic. 62 out of 80-some-odd people and DFL in my age group.
My runs were too slow, my transitions sucked, big-time and I waited too long to make my move in the bike leg. A pro who showed up and did the "big kids" course only took ten minutes longer than I did..........to do half again as much distance as I did. Pretty sad...
All I have to show for it is my $45 T-shirt and some crappy pictures.
(Can't wait to do it again!)
With only about six weeks of running under my belt, and less-than-usual mileage on the bike, I took it into my head to do a duathlon....
I even managed to con one of my co-workers into joining me in the madness
They assigned me number 102 - I think that's how old they thought I was going to feel when it was all over.
ruth be told, I held back way too much and assumed the transitions weren't super imporActing on advice not to start near the front for the first run (and get caught up in the pace of the fast guys), I started waaaaay in the back. The first run didn't go too badly. I actually enjoyed the course through the woods.
"I know - I'm a cyclist; I'll lay the smack down on all these silly-ass runners in the bike leg!"
....but it didn't work out that way. I kept waiting for some short, but really steep "rollers" that I thought were part of the course. They never materialized, and with eight miles on the odometer (out of a ten mile course) I came to the realization that it was time to defecate or get off the porcelain. It was a little too late, but I did have the satisfaction of passing quite a few other people.
My only remaining objective was to survive the last run. I did, and at least came across the finish line upright and under my own power.
So, I know y'all want to know how I did.....pretty pathetic. 62 out of 80-some-odd people and DFL in my age group.
My runs were too slow, my transitions sucked, big-time and I waited too long to make my move in the bike leg. A pro who showed up and did the "big kids" course only took ten minutes longer than I did..........to do half again as much distance as I did. Pretty sad...
All I have to show for it is my $45 T-shirt and some crappy pictures.
(Can't wait to do it again!)
Sunday, August 26, 2007
You Truly Can't Go Home Again
"I'm going home despite
that Thomas Wolfe was right" - Josh Joplin "Who's Afraid of Thomas Wolfe?"
In the 1850's, my paternal grandmother's ancestors settled in the White Lake Corners NY area. As the timber resources petered out, they sold off their sawmill, most of their property in the area and moved on. The family scattered. In the 1960's, my grandfather retired and he and my grandmother moved back to one of the last pieces of property remaining in the family.
As a youngster, I spent my summers there on Bear Creek Road. (Or, maybe it was only a couple of weeks, but in the time scale of a child it seemed like all summer).
Somehow, we managed to pass the hours without TV or Nintendos.
We often walked the mile from the house to the corner, where there was a post office/general store and a filling station - one that still had the old soda machine that kept the bottles of soda submerged in cold water to chill them. The walk in and of itself was entertainment enough.
Once a week or so, we piled in the car and drove over to White Lake to swim at the small sand beach.
Hours were spent catching frogs and crayfish in the creek (White Lake Outlet)about fifty yards from the house.
Water rushed through the small dam that held back the coffee colored water of the White Lake Outlet and we sometimes dared to walk across the concrete top, scared of falling into the waters below.
The wooden bridge over the creek made a "thump-thump" each time a car crossed it - announcing the passage of one of the few cars a day that drove down Bear Creek Road. The road sloped from the house down to the bridge, which made for thrilling bike rides (and sled rides in the winter).
After reading author John Huther's book about life in the area: "The Erie Canal's Long Reach Into the Adirondacks" I decided to take a walk (one sees much more on foot than behind the wheel) and explore the area again with an eye toward the history of the area - a history that encompassed both his ancestors and mine.
We parked at the "new" Post Office and started on foot from the corner - Rubyor's General Store is no more. The first part of the road is pretty much the way I remember it, but I was struck by how much more traffic there was.
The little bridge now seems like barely more that a glorified culvert and it's since been paved so it no longer announces the passing cars - and maybe with all the traffic, that's a plus, but kids today will never get to sing out: "Shave and a haircut......."! and let the "thump-thump" of the bridge fill in the last two syllables. (Maybe from a parent's perspective, that's not a bad thing).
The dam, that it once seemed so daring to walk across, is now sad and collapsed. From the perspective of scale of adulthood, the top is at least eighteen inches wide and it's only about two feet to the water below, which isn't even enough to get you wet to the knees.
The "hill" that we rode our bikes down is really little more than a rise of a few feet".
What was saddest of all was the condition of my grandmother's house, sold a few years ago to someone who obviously doesn't care about it's past as a peaceful place for someone to retire and a house full of adventures for young kids.
Just as the Herricks no longer would recognize the road where they farmed and harvested timber,(heck, they wouldn't even recognize the name - it's "Woodgate" now) so the world I inhabited as a kid has slowly changed, mostly not for the better.
Times change and the world moves on. All the Herricks left was this foundation.
that Thomas Wolfe was right" - Josh Joplin "Who's Afraid of Thomas Wolfe?"
In the 1850's, my paternal grandmother's ancestors settled in the White Lake Corners NY area. As the timber resources petered out, they sold off their sawmill, most of their property in the area and moved on. The family scattered. In the 1960's, my grandfather retired and he and my grandmother moved back to one of the last pieces of property remaining in the family.
As a youngster, I spent my summers there on Bear Creek Road. (Or, maybe it was only a couple of weeks, but in the time scale of a child it seemed like all summer).
Somehow, we managed to pass the hours without TV or Nintendos.
We often walked the mile from the house to the corner, where there was a post office/general store and a filling station - one that still had the old soda machine that kept the bottles of soda submerged in cold water to chill them. The walk in and of itself was entertainment enough.
Once a week or so, we piled in the car and drove over to White Lake to swim at the small sand beach.
Hours were spent catching frogs and crayfish in the creek (White Lake Outlet)about fifty yards from the house.
Water rushed through the small dam that held back the coffee colored water of the White Lake Outlet and we sometimes dared to walk across the concrete top, scared of falling into the waters below.
The wooden bridge over the creek made a "thump-thump" each time a car crossed it - announcing the passage of one of the few cars a day that drove down Bear Creek Road. The road sloped from the house down to the bridge, which made for thrilling bike rides (and sled rides in the winter).
After reading author John Huther's book about life in the area: "The Erie Canal's Long Reach Into the Adirondacks" I decided to take a walk (one sees much more on foot than behind the wheel) and explore the area again with an eye toward the history of the area - a history that encompassed both his ancestors and mine.
We parked at the "new" Post Office and started on foot from the corner - Rubyor's General Store is no more. The first part of the road is pretty much the way I remember it, but I was struck by how much more traffic there was.
The little bridge now seems like barely more that a glorified culvert and it's since been paved so it no longer announces the passing cars - and maybe with all the traffic, that's a plus, but kids today will never get to sing out: "Shave and a haircut......."! and let the "thump-thump" of the bridge fill in the last two syllables. (Maybe from a parent's perspective, that's not a bad thing).
The dam, that it once seemed so daring to walk across, is now sad and collapsed. From the perspective of scale of adulthood, the top is at least eighteen inches wide and it's only about two feet to the water below, which isn't even enough to get you wet to the knees.
The "hill" that we rode our bikes down is really little more than a rise of a few feet".
What was saddest of all was the condition of my grandmother's house, sold a few years ago to someone who obviously doesn't care about it's past as a peaceful place for someone to retire and a house full of adventures for young kids.
Just as the Herricks no longer would recognize the road where they farmed and harvested timber,(heck, they wouldn't even recognize the name - it's "Woodgate" now) so the world I inhabited as a kid has slowly changed, mostly not for the better.
Times change and the world moves on. All the Herricks left was this foundation.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Between work, the garden and the yard, I've been busy....
.......but not quite as busy as these guys (gals).
In fact, so busy that they were on the verge of outgrowing their home. (Bad). Today's item on my "To-do" list was to build them an addition. It was also time to remove the hive-top feeder since there are enough flowers for the little insects to start earning their own keep.
Remove the top and........ hey! There's a lot of bees in here......! Removing some of the frames showed that they have capped brood (this is a good thing - it means the queen is doing her job) and a boatload of honey already put away. Out of ten frames, eight of them were full - this means it definitely is time to add on.
Just like that, we doubled their square footage! Ten more empty frames. Wouldn't it be nice if it were that simple to remodel YOUR house? This is a new colony, but at the rate they're going, we may actually be able to take some honey off this year, instead of waiting until next year.
In fact, so busy that they were on the verge of outgrowing their home. (Bad). Today's item on my "To-do" list was to build them an addition. It was also time to remove the hive-top feeder since there are enough flowers for the little insects to start earning their own keep.
Remove the top and........ hey! There's a lot of bees in here......! Removing some of the frames showed that they have capped brood (this is a good thing - it means the queen is doing her job) and a boatload of honey already put away. Out of ten frames, eight of them were full - this means it definitely is time to add on.
Just like that, we doubled their square footage! Ten more empty frames. Wouldn't it be nice if it were that simple to remodel YOUR house? This is a new colony, but at the rate they're going, we may actually be able to take some honey off this year, instead of waiting until next year.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Ah, Spring And A Young Man's Fancy Turns To Thoughts Of....
...beer????????
Well not just any beer, but my patented-once-a-year-only maple barleywine! Why only once a year? Because one of the heretofore secret ingredients is maple sap, which only runs for a couple of weeks in the spring! Here's a pictorial record of the process:
The "donor":
The raw materials:
(9 lbs of extra light dry malt extract, 16 oz of maple syrup -donated by the very same tree- 8 oz Munich malt, 8 oz caramel wheat, 16 oz crystal malt, 1 oz each of Challenger, Northdown, Kent Goldings and Bramling Cross hops)
Steeping the grains:
The maple syrup and DME has been added:
Let the boilin' begin!:
(Too bad my camera doesn't have "Smell-O-Vision" - this is aromatherapy, baby!)
The first of many hop additions:
Yeast activated and ready for action!:
Whole lotta' fermentin' goin' on!:
In two weeks or so, this should be beer..... As Tom Petty said "The waiting is the hardest part..."
Stay tuned for part two!
Well not just any beer, but my patented-once-a-year-only maple barleywine! Why only once a year? Because one of the heretofore secret ingredients is maple sap, which only runs for a couple of weeks in the spring! Here's a pictorial record of the process:
The "donor":
The raw materials:
(9 lbs of extra light dry malt extract, 16 oz of maple syrup -donated by the very same tree- 8 oz Munich malt, 8 oz caramel wheat, 16 oz crystal malt, 1 oz each of Challenger, Northdown, Kent Goldings and Bramling Cross hops)
Steeping the grains:
The maple syrup and DME has been added:
Let the boilin' begin!:
(Too bad my camera doesn't have "Smell-O-Vision" - this is aromatherapy, baby!)
The first of many hop additions:
Yeast activated and ready for action!:
Whole lotta' fermentin' goin' on!:
In two weeks or so, this should be beer..... As Tom Petty said "The waiting is the hardest part..."
Stay tuned for part two!
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Life is......good.
Got outside for the first ride of the year today and the first outdoor miles in about three months. Felt (har har) pretty good for the first four or five miles and managed to hold 20MPH+, but faded pretty quickly. Didn't do much climbing but again, started strong and faded a little early. Looks like I've got my work cut out for me, but at least I didn't go completely down the toilet.
Rode a sort of circular route around the scene of yesterday's train wreck. Apparently they were still burning off stuff because I could see a plume of black smoke for most of my ride.
By the numbers:
7,31,316,46,5,13, 31, 7 (Route numbers of the roads I took!)
29.57 miles (give me credit for 30!)
1702 calories burned
1:41 time
Avg speed of 17.4 (not stellar, but not bad!
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Forget what Lance said - It IS about the bike...
I rode the wheels off my tricycle - literally. There were huge chunks of the hard rubber "tires" missing by the time I outgrew it. Despite my father's best efforts, I wasn't ready to move up to two wheels yet. (If memory serves me correctly, I tried, crashed and wanted nothing further to do with it, no matter how he cajoled).
Finally, at eight years old, Dad managed to browbeat me into trying again. My maiden voyage was less-than-auspicious. I soloed - right out of the yard, across the street and into a "No Parking" sign. Still, I was hooked.
My first two bikes were hand-me-downs from my sister. I had to endure crap from my friends because I was riding a girls bike, but I was riding and that meant more than being ragged on.
Since we didn't have much money, all my bikes were cobbed-together from whatever parts I could scrounge, either from the dump, bikes put out at the curb or friends' parts stashes. It was sort of an evolutionary process - the parts were selected by Dawin's law of bike parts: Whatever parts survived endless wheelies, jumping, bunnyhopping and other abuse, made it to the next incarnation of my bike. Through trial and error (mostly error) I learned how to work on bikes.
More than anything else, I wanted a Honda Elsinore dirt bike.
Since my parents didn't have the money for such things, and since they despised dirt bikes, there was no way in hell I was getting one, I did the next best thing - I rode my bicycle on the dirt bike trails. ("Mountain biking" YEARS before Gary Fisher and company, thank you very much).
As I entered my difficult teen years, I found that my bike was freedom- freedom from the confines of a small town, where I didn't fit in and freedom from the ever-escalating conflicts with my mother. During the summer months, I rode all day, every day. As soon as I was up and my chores were done, I was gone. My bike was my best friend and escape pod.
As my parents became more tolerant and I became less of a....teen.... the conflicts lessened, but my love of riding didn't. I read books and magazines and dreamed of touring the country by bike.
With the acqusition of the coveted driver's license and a newly found social life, my riding lessened, but it still didn't drop off my radar completely. Through actual, gainful, employment, I was able to buy my first new bike. This was followed fairly quickly by the purchase of my first "good" new bike. (The Lotus mentioned in a previous blog entry).
One day,I was out and about and ran into a friend who told me that my dad had just been taken to the hospital. I hurried there, thinking he'd had another accident in the kitchen. (He'd cut himself badly a few weeks before). Nothing that benign had taken place. Years of smoking, high stress jobs, no exercise and more than a few extra pounds had taken their toll. He was in the cardiac ICU.
During his recovery, he started exercising - and what better way than by bike? I loaned him one of mine and rode (slowly) along with him. I was probably more proud of him when he made it the full length of our street than he was, when I did, all those years before! Riding with my dad ! Too cool! Think of the possibilities!
It wasn't to be.
During his treatment, some ominous black spots had been found on his lungs. It was also found to have spread to his brain. They gave him 6 months.
On the day his pack-a-day habit took him out of the picture for good, I rode. I rode long and hard. It just seemed like the thing to do. He was 53, I was 23.
As I merged into adulthood, I was finally able to get the long longed-for motorcycle. Between the motorcycle and not having anyone to ride with -my wife wanted no part of riding - the bike slid further and further to the periphery of my life. Once a year or so, I'd drag the Lotus out and go for a ride. I'd suffer and think "God, am I THAT far out of shape?" and vow to get back into it.
Eventually, my marriage collapsed under it's own weight - bicycling was just one of many things we didn't have in common. We went our separate ways.
One day, early in my new, "Life V 2.0", we stopped in a bike shop, on a whim. I was stunned at the changes that had taken place while I was "gone". A new mountain bike soon entered my stable, followed by a new road bike, followed by a newer, cooler road bike.... a newer, cooler, full -suspension mountain bike.... and a part time job at bike shop to pay for all this stuff.
I'd like to say that things have come full circle - that my son shares my love of riding - but the jury's still out. Maybe some day.
Finally, at eight years old, Dad managed to browbeat me into trying again. My maiden voyage was less-than-auspicious. I soloed - right out of the yard, across the street and into a "No Parking" sign. Still, I was hooked.
My first two bikes were hand-me-downs from my sister. I had to endure crap from my friends because I was riding a girls bike, but I was riding and that meant more than being ragged on.
Since we didn't have much money, all my bikes were cobbed-together from whatever parts I could scrounge, either from the dump, bikes put out at the curb or friends' parts stashes. It was sort of an evolutionary process - the parts were selected by Dawin's law of bike parts: Whatever parts survived endless wheelies, jumping, bunnyhopping and other abuse, made it to the next incarnation of my bike. Through trial and error (mostly error) I learned how to work on bikes.
More than anything else, I wanted a Honda Elsinore dirt bike.
Since my parents didn't have the money for such things, and since they despised dirt bikes, there was no way in hell I was getting one, I did the next best thing - I rode my bicycle on the dirt bike trails. ("Mountain biking" YEARS before Gary Fisher and company, thank you very much).As I entered my difficult teen years, I found that my bike was freedom- freedom from the confines of a small town, where I didn't fit in and freedom from the ever-escalating conflicts with my mother. During the summer months, I rode all day, every day. As soon as I was up and my chores were done, I was gone. My bike was my best friend and escape pod.
As my parents became more tolerant and I became less of a....teen.... the conflicts lessened, but my love of riding didn't. I read books and magazines and dreamed of touring the country by bike.
With the acqusition of the coveted driver's license and a newly found social life, my riding lessened, but it still didn't drop off my radar completely. Through actual, gainful, employment, I was able to buy my first new bike. This was followed fairly quickly by the purchase of my first "good" new bike. (The Lotus mentioned in a previous blog entry).
One day,I was out and about and ran into a friend who told me that my dad had just been taken to the hospital. I hurried there, thinking he'd had another accident in the kitchen. (He'd cut himself badly a few weeks before). Nothing that benign had taken place. Years of smoking, high stress jobs, no exercise and more than a few extra pounds had taken their toll. He was in the cardiac ICU.
During his recovery, he started exercising - and what better way than by bike? I loaned him one of mine and rode (slowly) along with him. I was probably more proud of him when he made it the full length of our street than he was, when I did, all those years before! Riding with my dad ! Too cool! Think of the possibilities!
It wasn't to be.
During his treatment, some ominous black spots had been found on his lungs. It was also found to have spread to his brain. They gave him 6 months.
On the day his pack-a-day habit took him out of the picture for good, I rode. I rode long and hard. It just seemed like the thing to do. He was 53, I was 23.
As I merged into adulthood, I was finally able to get the long longed-for motorcycle. Between the motorcycle and not having anyone to ride with -my wife wanted no part of riding - the bike slid further and further to the periphery of my life. Once a year or so, I'd drag the Lotus out and go for a ride. I'd suffer and think "God, am I THAT far out of shape?" and vow to get back into it.
Eventually, my marriage collapsed under it's own weight - bicycling was just one of many things we didn't have in common. We went our separate ways.
One day, early in my new, "Life V 2.0", we stopped in a bike shop, on a whim. I was stunned at the changes that had taken place while I was "gone". A new mountain bike soon entered my stable, followed by a new road bike, followed by a newer, cooler road bike.... a newer, cooler, full -suspension mountain bike.... and a part time job at bike shop to pay for all this stuff.
I'd like to say that things have come full circle - that my son shares my love of riding - but the jury's still out. Maybe some day.
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