I Am Not From South Dakota

I really should be sleeping right now. Maybe I am and I just don't know it and this is all just part of the recurring dream I have been experiencing recently. I seem to be picking up where I left off the night before.

Let's see................In this dream sequence, no matter what foolishness I get myself into, I always seem to end up on the wrong side of the law for one reason or another. The common denominators are legalities, ID cards, always ID cards of some kind whether a passport that makes me a citizen of New Zealand, a Green Card that expired twenty years ago with a picture of me at age 12 on it, or some bizarre drivers license from South Dakota. Each dream has cops, ID issues and incarceration of some kind. Weird. Really weird.

Shit, I don't know, it seems I have some hang ups about ID cards and being a legal citizen. The reality of being born in Colorado never seems to enter the picture. A bizarre mini series I have been experiencing of late while the clowns are down for the night anyway.

I guess I should be grateful to even remember my dreams again. It seems they come when I am getting decent hours of nap time. I do not seem to dream when I am in the grips of insomnia. Any sleep I get then seems to be an illusion I convince myself I experienced. Any dreams, real or imagined, lost in my rush to convince myself I actually closed my eyes for a time. Regardless, the days of mindless sleep are well behind me I guess.

Truth be told, I have enjoyed these recent brushes with real weirdness. This run of similar dreams reminds me of a brief period many years ago when I had dreams of being chased and falling great distances to escape my pursuers. I always landed on my feet no matter what I jumped off or out of. There was a whole slew of these dreams with enough variations in setting, cast and plot so that each one was enjoyable and did not seem redundant. Well except for the falling part and the chasing part. Just when I thought they would last forever, I stopped having them. I figure the same thing will happen with this run. My brain will come to grips with whatever is eating at it and the ID card/incarceration hang up will just disappear.

I thought I had a point to make when I started writing this tonight at dark thirty on Sunday morning about 2:00 AM EST. But now I am not so sure. No. I am sure now I have no point. I just woke up from a bad scene in which I had no answer for why I was traveling alone without an ID. And I figured I would write about it before I laid my head down again. They had just clamped the cuffs on me and tossed me in the back of a horse drawn wagon when my eyes popped open.

Back to Sleep......See Ya............

(514 / 1440)

My Favorite Riding Partner

I will be the first one to agree that parents can and will often go over the edge when gushing, bragging, or just mentioning their children. I often listen to them go on and on about how wonderful little Johnny is or the latest award their darling Susie just received for collecting the most pop bottle caps for some charity gig. Whatever. There is no one prouder than proud parents.

Positive I am not such a parent, I consider the pride I have in my daughter. I run through all of her accomplishments I can dredge up from the swampy goo that is my memory and I realize I am no better and if being honest counts, probably worse than those parents I often roll my eyes over. But I usually choose to put it here or in a letter. At least folks do not have to listen to me.

I won't go into the specifics of Lis' many accomplishments over the years. They are too many to mention. Many are just the normal victories, many if not most kids manage to find as they make it from child to adult. She may not be a future Nobel Laureate or future president, but she turned out better than I deserved considering the poor role model I offered up. Anything she is, she did herself. She is smart. She is kind. She has courage. Her work ethic is phenomenal. And did I mention the most important thing? She kicks serious ass on a mountain bike.

Of all my memories of her transition from child to adult, the one that sticks in my mind as my favorite is her progress on the bicycle. The one activity I can puff up my chest and say my influence was what prodded her to become the skilled rider she has become. From the first pink Schwinn single speed with tassles to the high end Jamis hardtail she favors now, Dad was the guy who put her there. There were tears. There were skinned knees and bruised egos. I even ran over her once on a ride in Pawtuckaway State Park. Rather than give up, she showed her mettle and always came back for more. Lis has serious sand. And that makes me proud.

(378 / 1304)

Free Range Holiday

Hey now. It's the 4th of July. Depending on one's time on the planet, the 4th of July will be a family day, a day to burn burgers out back on the Lanai and suck cold brew out of cans that turn blue when they are cold enough. Or for many past the oblivion inbibement age, this weekend will be grandkids and sparklers, or maybe spreadin a few small flags around the local cemetery on friend's graves who did not make it home alive.

The 4th offers up any excuse one wants to use to celebrate it anyway they want. Some folks will go camping and toss M8Os at each other in drunken stupors after burning some food on an open fire. Thankfully the majority of us, either of the age that signifies surviving the stupidity of youth or those too young to know what's coming will keep the weekend mostly sane and keep things from getting totally out of hand. Regardless we all seem to tolerate a bit more craziness than we would, say, on a Monday in March.

The common denominator is the 4th is a day to do something, anything you do not normally do any other day of the week. Or make it just another day on the planet. Go to work, work at home, or do something nice for a neighbor, the town, or a church. Bottom line - The Fourth is a day to celebrate being an American. No flag waving needed, but no one notices if you do.

Of all the holidays I have celebrated over the years, the 4th always seems to end up being my Free Range Holiday. The central theme of Independence manifests itself in infinite ways. I have played marathon games of softball. I have been in the outback with nothing on but some sandals and a smile. Once I floated around the Chesapeake on a boat that had no gas. Got towed to shore by Marine cops and had to eat a ticket for being drunk at the wheel of a boat. Didn't matter that it was dead in the water. And I wasn't even the pilot. One Fourth I spent in a lockup in Mississippi after getting too much of an early jump on the holiday the night before. Camping outside Dallas, Texas in 1977 with 6 other whacked truck drivers, we touched off some booming rockets and they touched down in the campsite across the lake and burned it to the ground. Mix some bone dry knee high grass with tents, coolers and sleeping bags and let me tell you Mr. Man, it makes a for a pretty good blaze. Yeah, I have found many ways to celebrate the Fourth over the years.

Here's hoping your Fourth leaves you smiling as you pass out from too much food, spirits, or fun.

Later...............

(475 / 926)

Sump Wars Revisited

With almost a month of rain under our belts, it would seem even thick skinned Mainers have their limits. I certainly have reached mine. It's one thing to have the weather add insult to an already injured bike shop. It is another to have to deal with yet another flooded basement at a time of the year when we are normally whining about the 80 degree heat and the sump hole tosses dust up when the occasional salamander ventures through it.

I was dutifully staying late at work last night trying to act like the responsible business owner I should be when I get a call from my wonderful wife. "How do you get this F*#^king sump pump to work? It's ankle deep down there."

As I listened to her, all I could think about is how I finally knew for certain the notion of sump pumps and their dependable failure when I need them the most will one day, maybe not this time but at some point in my diminishing future - one day I will die from a blown blood vessel when they fail once too often. It appears the "Sump Wars" are not over. The 28 year struggle continues. And I seem to always be on the losing end. Sigh.

I know other folks nestled next to the rivers, lakes and streams are anguishing over much more serious issues like losing everything they own and not just concerned over the kind of junk we all put in unreliable storage areas. Anything of real value, not counting the furnace, the water heater, and the coffin freezer are safely up and out of harm's way. It is just the psychological toll of that yearly wet reminder and the occasional extra inning tossed in that Mother Nature proves she rules and the rest of us drool. She will take her pound of flesh. All at once or a piece at a time. Suffering the slow agony of a death by a thousand floods seems worse than having her smite me down in one fell swoop.

So now I have learned a new lesson. A sump pump that runs continuously for days on end probably ought to have it's own electrical circuit. It certainly is not a good idea to have it plugged into the same circuit as the furnace, the washer, and a variety pack of lights and other fixtures. Loew's here I come. I have an unused 30Amp circuit I can tap into and by the end of this holiday weekend while others cavort and recreate, I will have wired up this unused 30 Amp circuit with 12/2 wire and a GFI plug receptacle. Happy Fourth of July! ................Yeah right.

See Ya........

(451)

Screw All This Rain

The Black Eyed Susans that have made a home on the banking next to the lower drive have decided, "Screw all this rain, we have to bloom."

It is not raining at the moment. I only make note of this because a day without rain is a rare thing recently here in my part of the World. Life will normalize later when the new front and trough move our way and settle in for another week of lousy weather. And what's this I see? Blue sky? My eyes have become so used to the dark over the last 25 days, I will need sunglasses if I hope to not go blind when I step out of my door.

Whew! That was close. Blue Skies only visited briefly. Like a ship passing in the night, they have moved on to make a beautiful day over the Atlantic. Guess the ocean needs the blue shining love of clear skies more than we do. I now am safe to head outside without doffing serious UV protective gels, lotions and lenses to keep the unfamiliar Sunshine from touching my pasty rotund white boy body. Besides, I have begun to accept and almost even embrace the fancy new kinds of molds and fungi that are beginning to appear on anything made of living or previously living material. I guess there is an upside to rain 24/7 for three weeks.

To point out that this weather is affecting my bike shop would be an obvious understatement. But this post is not to whine about lack of business, but rather to whine about all the GD water that has been falling out of the sky in recent weeks. Damn that Jet Stream! All I ask is a shift of about 100 miles to the east or west for a few days. My lawn could use a good trimming.

See Ya............
(311 / 2106)

The Orchid

I was walking with Stub across the road from the house In Mary's Woods a couple of weeks ago. I know this small parcel of land very well. I have been stomping around there going on 40 years. So I notice when something is out of place, or some new change has happened.

Near the intersection of Trail #1 and Trail #2, I noticed about 50 yards off the trail some stakes had been driven into the ground. I walked over and inside the border of wooden stakes marked with orange surveyors tape, I found several small patches of an unusual plant I had never seen before. The stewards of this small nature preserve had obviously found a special plant. A plant they felt was worthy enough to identify for future perusal.

It is nothing special in the scheme of cool plants that grow everywhere up here. But the fact that I have been screwing around in the woods of Maine and New Hampshire for most of my life now, I had never seen this particular plant. So I went home and tried to look it up........Right. With over 400 plants on Maine's rare plant list, I knew it would be like finding a needle in a haystack. After several lengthy sessions of Internet searching, I gave up. I ended up asking Carl, one of the stewards of Mary's Preserve, what was up with the stakes. Rattlesnake plant was his answer. And yes, it is fairly rare here in Maine, especially this far south.

I mentioned to Carl he may want to remove the stakes. Some flounder is likely to dig them up and try and replant them in their dooryard. He agreed and will remove the stakes and replace them with a simple marker only seen once one is almost on top of them.

Okay, I had a name now. There are plants all over the World with "rattlesnake" in their name. I guess that diamond pattern is a popular go to pattern for plants as well as snakes. Sifting through them took some time, but eventually I found a picture and a real name for the plant.

Goodyera Repens is an orchid that has to have just the right combination of conditions to make a stand in the wild. They seem to only be found in cooler northern climes in boreal forests at least 95 years old. They do not tolerate being disturbed. Logging, soil changes, etc will wipe them out in a heartbeat. It takes about 7 years for a plant to mature enough to flower. With the single stalk in bloom, they stand a stately 30cm or so. For you metrically challenged folks out there, that translates to around a foot tall.

What is really interesting I guess is that while finding this rare plant not more than a 5 minute walk from my dooryard is cool and all, what really fascinates me is how much information can be deduced from it's discovery. I knew Mary's Woods had once been farm land. There are old pictures taken from our hill back in the late 1800s. In every direction were fields. North, South, East, West - fields as far as the eye could see. Now there are nothing but huge trees and dense pucker. Mary's Woods is one of the few areas that has never had serious pucker. Just big white pines as a canopy and short undergrowth at ground level. This plant taking up residence in those woods tells me it has been at least a century since that land was tilled. Another mystery I sometimes wondered about has been patially solved.

Later........................

(604 / 1795)

Motorcycle Week

This past week was motorcycle week over to Weir's Beach in Laconia, New Hampshire. Umpteen thousands of crazed bikers gather on the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee to drink beer, show off their tits and fondle chromed encrusted machinery that has no other purpose but to look good and feel good at 2500 rpms through those favorite jeans only pulled out for special occasions like this.

I live just 35 miles or so as the crow flies from the normally staid and conservative Weir's Beach. Living on the major conduit there from southern Maine, I have had the pleasure, no - strike that - I have had to endure thousands of Bikers cruising through my small town either going to get drunk for a week or coming home after being drunk for a week. Convoys of Harley's, Choppers, rice rockets, and even mopeds numbering in the hundreds have passed by my bike shop. Exhausts so loud, conversations indoors became shouting matches until the numerous processions had passed by.

Don't get me wrong. I understand the draw. I can relate to the need to let it all hang out. I can, or could party as hard as the next guy. And all that stuff is fine. What I don't get is, why are straight pipes with not one iota of muffling considered cool? About the dumbest upgrade I can think of would be to turn an already noisy machine into an ear splitting, brain numbing stupidly louder machine. And then to ride with 50 other stupidly loud machines hundreds of miles in a group. I just do not get it. Didn't get it even back in the day when I owned motorcycles and enjoyed the taste of an occasional fat June bug between my teeth. No more blatant and obnoxious example of in your face pollution than a Harley running a too lean fuel mixture through straight pipes at 50 mph. It's just painful to experience. Physically painful.

The motorcycle rally at Laconia (Weir's Beach) is the oldest continuous event of it's kind in the nation. The first rally was held in 1917. Back then the cool biker dudes and dudettes called themselves "The Gypsies". I wonder if that first crowd had mullets also? Seems they are required doo's now if you are going to play with the big dogs. Also required is that every biker chick must wear a bikini top for those "show us your tits" moments that crowd seems to get off on. You know they are feeling no pain when they cruise around town by foot or on their bikes with a 16 ounce Bud Long Neck stuffed deep in their cleavage while sporting Bud bottle cap pasties. Ouch.

So let's flip this around some. I have imparted my low opinion of loud motorcycles and how I just don't understand the attraction. I have shown extreme condescension for the hairstyles of choice and the over the top need to expose body parts to anyone whether they are interested or not. I have lifted my nose and sniffed as only one trying to be snobbish can sniff.

And then I looked at myself in the mirror. Let's see. I still have mud all over my legs from riding my mountain bike in the woods 10 hours ago in the rain with 7 other crazed riders. I consider the leg burning pain of a steep hill climb as almost a sensual experience. I like nothing better than cresting a hill out of breath with eyes bulging wondering if I will puke this time or not. I often go into stores wearing skin tight lycra and spandex outerwear stretched to it's limit around a body no would care to look at. Instead of picking bugs out of my teeth, I often pick leaves and other forest flotsam out of my mouth. And my sport of choice is populated primarily by males. No biker chicks hanging off my rig wearing Bud caps as pasties. So who is cool and who is not? Hmm. At least I am quiet. Nothing but the sound of bike parts rattling over the roots and rocks and the raspy sound of an aging set of lungs forcing themselves to limits past what many would consider sane. That alone makes it worth it.

I am sure the bikers have similar feelings. Their chosen recreational release may seem foreign and make no sense to me, but I would guess that when they see me pop out of the woods onto the shoulder of Rte 109, they think, "Dumbass - get a motor for that thing! And while you are at it, make it a loud motor."

Keep it 'tween the Ditches...................

(777 / 1191)