You Head to the Gym...I Head to the Couch

Home-Made Towel Racks

2012-01-16T15:04:00.004-05:00

We've been searching for decent, nice-looking towel racks since the previous owners only believed in hooks. Most of what we found in stores/on-line were cheese, hecho en China or expensive.

Materials: Piece of Poplar, Oak Dowel, Double-Ended Screws, Ingenuity
Total Cost: <$10

Lomeadow

2011-12-11T15:05:00.006-05:00

More Home Photos

(click on images to enlarge)

YOUR room...come visit!

Couch is waiting...

The New Home

2011-12-07T13:48:00.000-05:00

It is:
The first home I ever owned and
the first 2-story house in which I've ever lived.

(click on images to enlarge)

The important stuff first, eh?

View from the deck on a misty day.

October 30th

THE Tree House
October 30th

The way to get in.

The kitchen/island.

Dining.

Relaxing by the fire...soon.

Window views.

Driveway...tough hill to climb at the end of the day.

'Cause We're Going To High School, Rah-Rah-Rah!

2011-11-30T12:00:00.001-05:00

I've decided to collect random quotes I hear in my classroom or in the halls at the high school where I teach. Keep checking for I will be adding more as the year's progress.

"She's gonna murder me to death. I won't be looking too good tomorrow."
"DID I KNOW THIS? NO! Now hug me."
"I don't play sports with my hands."
"I think I want to live with my parents forever."
"I think I pulled a butt muscle in my sleep last night."
"I got electrocuted at Wal-Mart yesterday."
"If it can eat a bird, then maybe it could eat me in bird-sized pieces."
"I'm going to take a shower in ACID."
"I found a dead plant and wrapped it in some alive grass."
"I don't have any abilities."
"I realize how I play well. I unzip part of my shorts."
"Wow, this looks like legit chocolate...the kind you suck, not bite."
"I've created my own unreality."
"I'll be honest, I don't like being honest."
"Anyone who shoots whip cream out of their bra has a bad music video."
"Right now, I'm actually between religions."
"My bubble is permanently burst."
"What's your thing?"
"I had a pass to go to go up to the art room to do my portrait but I lost it because I changed my pants."
"If you use cough drops and you don't have a sore throat, then you get a sore throat."
"There's SO many penises around the school...I see at least one a day."
"And the thing in my thingy is poking me here and it hurts."
"You made my zipper scratch my tummy."
"I'm not a good photographer, I just want to graduate."
"I'm not gay...just a cheerleader."
"If you lick someone's elbow without them noticing, they won't feel it."
"How do you guys get your feet to not smell like funk."
"If I was good at Photoshop, and could make you look skinnier, I would."
"I have growing pains and I'm suppose to be done growing."
"You know, I just realized I'm wearing the same pants as I did yesterday."
"They're talking...it's language for them...it's burping language."
"Awwww...I wish my name was Philip."
"It's better to get a straight 'F' than a randomized 'C'."
"I've had the same cell phone since I dropped it in the toilet."
"He used to be rich...then he married my mom."
"I hate when people chew with their mouth open and talk with their mouth open."
"Look at my brain. It's tiny."
" So if I'm sleeping, I can keep one eye open and the other closed."
"Where are you going?" "Nowhere. I thought we were going somewhere."
"I only tell on people I don't like."
"Dude, I miss the smell of this room."
"I thought I had a worm in my leg." Why? "Because everybody told me I had one. I had my mom take me to the doctor and he asked me if I was under the influence of anything."
"I think I figured out something but I don't know how it works."
"My pants are in the ceiling....a large piece of my pants."
"I wanted to get chocolate but I got nuts."
"Keep walkin' little miss mini-skirt with the ass hangin' out.
"Look what I never told you."
"Wouldn't you rather have dirty hair than a dirty thirty-dollar sweater?"
“I’m a mutt. A. and I are both mutts because we’re not white.”
“If I have to cry, I’ll walk into the boy’s bathroom and cry like a man.”
"You mean he told you that the reason he wanted to go out with you was because you had a big rack?"
"My throat is all stupid."
"It all started because I lit J. on fire."

Time To Start Thinking About This Year...?

2011-02-23T15:47:00.007-05:00

Here's an animation of last year's garden.
Starts in April and ends in December:

I Love America!

2011-02-23T10:50:00.005-05:00

From The Williston Observer 2/17:

click here for more

If You Like My Pinhole Photos...Buy My Book

2010-02-22T16:45:00.000-05:00

¤ my pinhole w...

By philip raymond galiga

Book Preview

Chopped Challenge Hinesburg - Entrees

2010-02-04T19:14:00.009-05:00

So, Ann and I love to cook...and watch television. Well, certain television...like PBS, The Daily Show, The Colbert Report and, The Food Network. I am especially addicted to Chopped. The basic premise of the show has 4 up and coming chefs competing against each other to create a scrumptious 3-course meal for a panel of 3 chef judges: appetizer, entree and dessert.

After each round, one of the chefs is eliminated, or ..."chopped". What makes the competition fun is "the basket". For each round, the chefs receive a basket containing ingredients they must incorporate into their cooking. However, the ingredients are a mystery and there are always some unusual pairings. For example, ingredients for dessert: blackberries, kiwi, wonton wrappers and gummy bears. What the chefs prepare is pretty creative...and as I watch, I always think of what I would cook.

So, I asked to Ann to give me a challenge...and then I gave one to her...and we were off and running. So far, the ingredients haven't been too crazy, because we are trying to use local products, but the results have been yummy. We've decided to post our dishes to the blog:

Challenge #1 from Ann to Philip: tomatoes, broccoli, onions and apples.
The entree: plum tomatoes stuffed with hot chutney poached broccoli and onions, served over rice with curry-braised apples.
The result: not chopped.

Challenge #2 from Philip to Ann: turkey cutlets, eggs, green cabbage and beets
The entree: a breaded turkey burger with a maple-apple, cabbage-beet cole slaw, french fries and a honey mustard/cilantro dipping sauce.
The result: not chopped.

Challenge #3 from Ann to Philip: local potatoes, mushrooms, carrots and maple syrup.
The entree: Indian-spiced potato-carrot latkes, lime-curry yogurt sauce and ginger-maple applesauce.
The result: not chopped.

Challenge #4 from Philip to Ann: tempeh, chard, wild rice and beer.
The entree: a wild rice cake with braised chard and Vermont cheddar cheese and tempeh/Harpoon Red Ale chili.
The result: not chopped.

Wait A Minute...What?

2009-11-22T12:52:00.005-05:00

I ride my bike with a toothpick in my mouth. I commute on my bike 3-4, or more, times per week, and I pass a family waiting for the school bus with their kids. Turns out that this family is the aunt and uncle of a student of mine at the high school where I teach. This student tells me that her aunt and uncle call me “the toothpick guy”.

I go cross-country skiing with a toothpick in my mouth. When I first moved to Vermont, I became a member of the Camel’s Hump X-country ski center and skied there frequently before I went to work at 3. Since I was a regular skier, I got to know Dave, who owned the land and ran the ski center. The ski area closed, but years later re-opened as a cooperative. For memories, I went back to ski the trails, and deep into the woods, ran into Dave. “Still got that toothpick, I see” he said.

In early spring this year, our group of active friends were planning or first bike polo game of the year. Since I had arranged the outing, I decided to stop at the local grocery store to pick up some post-game beers. I was dressed in my bike gear and, yes had a toothpick in my mouth. As I was in line waiting to pay, 2 women walked into the store and then immediately got in line behind me.

One of the woman looked at me and said sternly, “Take that thing out of your mouth, it’s not a good look for you.”
“Yes ma’am,” I replied sheepishly, going along with the joke.
“What does your girlfriend, er, wife think?” she shot back, looking at my ring finger.

I began to explain how I was known as “the toothpick guy” and how everybody knew that the toothpick was a part of my activities, but figured the stories were too long and wouldn’t change this woman's ideas.

The other woman chimed in, “Do you ride your bike with it in your mouth? Isn’t that dangerous? What if you fall?” I started to make a point that I try not to fall on my face when riding, and anyway after a few minutes, the toothpick is relatively harmless because it is so mushy, but stopped again…their mock scolding joke was wearing thin…because they weren’t playing along.

As I was gathering my change and my beer from the cashier, the second woman whispered something to the first woman like, “What kind?”
Then the first woman said to the cashier, “A pack of Parliament 100’s please.”
I turned to them and said, “Your giving me scrap about a toothpick in my mouth and you’re buying smokes?”…then, as I was walking away. “Have fun with that.”

Knowing that they had me going, if I were in their shoes I would have waited at lest until I had left before asking for the smokes.

Sheesh.

The Forecast Calls For . . .

2009-07-30T12:21:00.006-04:00

I always wanted to be a weatherman when I was little. I used to watch Harry Volkman on Chicago's Channel 2 News religiously. I was fascinated by the weather then and now. Oh man, am I ready for my 60’s? Weather Channel junkie, here I come. Anyhoo, I kind of pride myself on being able to read radar and weather maps. This is especially important as a bicycle commuter...and, anyone who lives in Vermont knows how challenging the weather has been this summer for outdoor activities. We’ve has a lot of rain: 5 1/4 inches in June and over 4 inches in July. There have been some lousy rainy days, but most of the precipitation has fallen via the afternoon, pop-up thunderstorms. So for cyclists, it’s been hard to find time to ride…especially the 9-5ers. Being a teacher, with 8 weeks off in the summer, and even with all the rain, I still have had the opportunity to ride often…as long as I can accurately use my weather predicting skills properly.

July 7th, after a bout of rain-rain-rain in late June, and some ‘little’ rides in between, I was itching for something more challenging. I hadn’t climbed the App Gap in a while. It was a cool day and my ‘expert’ interpretation of the future radar for the day seemed to give me a window to ride until around 2. The ride is 40-50 miles, depending on which route I decided to ride, and about 3400 feet of climbing. I figured no more than 3 1/2 hours. I left at 10…I should have plenty of time.

(click here for map)

Perfect temperature for riding, a little drizzle, but the clouds to the west didn’t look any more threatening than just drizzle. I pushed on. I got a good dose of light rain near the end of Main Road, thought about turning back, but again after looking west, made the decision to climb.

About halfway up the climb, I heard a “hiss-hiss” sound as I stood up on the pedals. I looked down at my rear tire, thinking flat, but didn’t see the tire losing air. I rode on. Near the top, at the REALLY steep section, the rear tire now was getting squishy and it obviously had lost some air. I decided to “hump” it up to the rest of the climb and change the tube at the top. In the parking area at the top, there was only one other person, a woman who had driven up and was pausing for a smoke. She mentioned something like, “it’ll be easier going down,” then drove off.

I pulled off my wheel and tire and was getting ready to install the new tube when I looked down the valley and noticed a wall of rain heading my way…a major wall of rain. I had read the radar wrong.

(click here for the radar loop for July 7th)

Well, anyone who has ever climbed “the Gap” knows that there is no to hide…the only structure is a microwave tower. I grabbed my stuff and hightailed it over to the tower to see if there was anywhere I could find to get out or the rain. The door to the tower had a 4-foot square protective overhang…I took shelter there.

Just as I got underneath, the rain rolled in, increasing it’s intensity every minute or so. I decided to work on the wheel while I waited out the storm. The rain came down harder and the wind picked up as well. I was semi-protected now…and as I was seating the last bit of tire onto the rim, I noticed that the tire was trashed…the outer casing had split and was peeling back. Perhaps it was rideable, but not safe, especially down the Gap road. It was now absolutely pouring…then lighting…with instantaneous thunder. The storm was right on top of the mountain, and there I was, under the tallest structure around.

Now I started to worry. What if lighting strikes this tower? Is it grounded? Grounded where? Inside, or outside of the building? Am I going to be toast? More rain, more wind, darker skies, more lightning and thunder…more freakin’ out. I was trying to figure out a way to get out from under the tower. A few cars passed, but it was raining so hard and I was hidden...there was no way they could hear or see me…and I wasn’t about to go out there. I put down the wheel and crouched by my bike, trying to control my breath. I knew that this was a fast moving storm and it would be over soon… I just had to wait it out.

The rain finally slowed down. I walked to the parking area and began to think of whom to call to help me out. Cell coverage was sketchy, but I got through to my buddy Rich. I explained my situation and then lost reception. A couple of cars came up the road and the passengers got out. One guy asked me if I was all right and I told him, “kind of,” and hoped that Rich had initiated the rescue plan. It started raining again, I was cold and starting to shiver, so I headed toward the tower.

I still wasn’t getting cell reception…but I could hear my voicemail -a message from Rich saying he couldn’t come get me and that we needed to make a plan and to call him back. I got through to Rich again and he said he was going to call another friend, Amiee, who lives nearby to see if she could scoop me. I had her number so I told him I’d call and call him back. Again I lost coverage. The rain stopped. I walked around the parking area trying to find a zone.

A couple of UVM college kids in a truck drove up to me and asked me if I knew where the trail to Camel’s Hump was. I said, “I can show you EXACTLY where it is,” and went on to explain my predicament. They were planning on hiking up for an overnighter and appreciated my offer. I put my bike in the back of the truck and jumped in…saved.

Unfortunately cell coverage along the Main Road in Huntington sucks and I didn’t get through to Rich until the guys had dropped me off at a store south of Hinesburg. Rich called 3 people and finally got through to Catherine who lived just down the road from the Gap...she volunteered to try to rescue me. However, we couldn’t reach her to cancel…she had already left.

I decided to try and put air in the tire and limp the 5 miles back home. The sun was out and I was happy to be within reach of my house. I made it back without a flat and immediately left a message for Catherine to thank her for her kindness. I wound up talking to her later and she said she had driven up, and when she didn’t see me, drove down to Mad River just in case I had gone there (it was my one of the options I thought of when I was huddled under the tower). No worries…glad to help…and to know how friends come through when needed.

Funny, when I tell this story to people, I mention how crazy those UVM students were to think about climbing Camel’s Hump to spend the night…especially with all the thunderstorms forecasted.

mmmmmm, bacon, pancakes & syrup

2009-03-29T20:47:00.005-04:00

Fun at Dakin Farms

Pinhole Photos

2009-03-09T22:33:00.005-04:00

Click HERE to go to a new gallery of some of my favorite pinhole photos.

Thanks for your support.

What I'll Miss Once it Gets Warmer...

2009-03-02T08:48:00.006-05:00

Ann and I found this really sweet piece of ice for skating. The recent melt/rain/freeze has created skating rinks in the middle of pastures and fields. At this spot, we could have skated back into the woods that you see in the background.

Skating on Glass

It Must Be Jelly, 'Cause Wine Don't Shake Like That.

2008-10-25T17:14:00.005-04:00

We went over to our neighbor Ray's place today and picked a buttload of concord grapes.

Hmmmm, wine or jelly?
Ray makes wine, his cherry wine packs a punch and isn't too sweet, but I'm not a big fan of sweet grape wine...and I've never made it before. So, jelly it is, which I have made with Maysel long ago. We washed, mashed, cook and strained the buckets full.

Stained fingers and a few hours work later, we have 8+ quarts of juice.
Tune in later to see how many jars of jelly we get.

We Have A New Pet!!!!

2008-10-25T17:00:00.000-04:00

A Lizard!!!

Bisy is getting old...his daily routine has been reduced to begging for food...then finding the warmest place to sleep...a periodic chase of the laser pointer, or a run around the yard like a crazy cat...then it starts all over again.

How Much?

2008-10-21T21:26:00.006-04:00

Bike Commuting = Good

You know this to be true, but check this out...my last 3 petrol receipts:
(click on the image to see it larger)

That's around $40 per month...with fill-ups only ONCE per month.
Worth a try?

Check out my daily commuting log:
http://www.mycyclinglog.com/profile/prgvt

Before and After

2008-10-04T16:56:00.003-04:00

Harvest Time
We had a wonderful bounty

Here's one example...from start to finish.

Check Out These Melons

2008-08-23T09:32:00.003-04:00

We'll tap into our first EVER mini watermelon this weekend.
We've already eaten one of these heavenly canteloupe...and there's at least another dozen more out there.

The Fart Party

2008-08-18T15:09:00.001-04:00

You have to go to this site:

http://www.fartparty.org/

...and you have to buy the book!

Neighbor Ray Calls Them "B'tatas"

2008-08-18T15:05:00.006-04:00

Dug up our first EVER home-grown potatoes today!!!

Our neighbor Ray gave us some potato starts to plant this year. He plants 5 HUGE rows in his garden (mini farm) because he likes his "b'tatas with butter". We planted one row. The first plant we dug up relinquished the pile above...there's at least a dozen more plants left.

French fries anyone?

The Best Day of This Summer

2008-08-06T22:30:00.005-04:00

08_01_08
Janda and Galiga

It's Pickling Time!

2008-07-16T09:10:00.007-04:00

Looks like this year's cuke crop might be stellar...

even with the initial battle with cucumber beetles.

5 A Day

2008-07-15T09:56:00.003-04:00

What a berry season!!!

Kind of hard to NOT get your 5 servings of fruit per day with this kind of output everyday.

Slice o' 'za

2008-02-03T10:21:00.002-05:00

Sunday is usually 'pizza night' in our house, but since tonight we'll be watching the Super Bowl at a friend's house we won't be making/eating. Each time I mention this tradition to people, the same question pops up, "What do you use for dough?" Well, my pie-loving friends, I found an extremely easy...and good...dough recipe a while back and now use it religiously (get it? religiously...pizza on Sunday nights?). Here it is:

1 package bread yeast (almost a tablespoon)
1 teaspoon sugar
1 cup HOT water
Mix these 3 ingredients in a bowl whisk to dissolve the yeast and sugar..cover and let stand for 10 minutes...then add:
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons olive oil
2-1/2 cups flour
Stir or beat (I use the kneading attachments for my hand mixer) until combined...cover and let sit for 5 minutes...put some olive oil on your hands grab the dough and knead the dough on a floured surface until smooth...roll out dough to fit your stone or pan.

Note: this dough works well for flat or deep dish/stuffed pies. You can also let the dough rise a couple of times before you shape it. Of course this dough can be made ahead of time and be frozen, but in the time it takes to thaw out you can make it.

Junk Mail

2008-01-20T11:58:00.000-05:00

I used to watch 60 Minutes more than I do now. I still like some of their investigative reporting, but it's not like it used to be. They add their "spin" just like the Evangelical Christians, Michael Moore, and all politicians...and, I miss Ed Bradley and Dan Rather's craziness. Throughout, I've never been a big fan of Andy Rooney. Although he's funny and relevant sometimes, his whiny complaining gets to me, but there was one segment where I agreed with him.

His segment was about the large amount of junk mail he receives, and even though there are services available to help reduce the amount of junk mail we receive, some still filters through. So, his plan of attack was to use the pre-paid envelope to send back all the surveys, credit card applications, and pleas for money, that we all get in our mail. These companies get charged for the postage, and processing the envelopes must create some sort of inconvenience. This inconvenience is Rooney's justification...as these junk mailers inconvenience us, we must in turn, inconvenience them. Love it...and I do it from time to time, especially with credit card offers.

Knowing that magazines and on-line stores sell their databases, I'm always trying to figure out which magazine/store (or gift received) was responsible for some of the junk mail I get....or that schmaltzy Williams-Sonoma or Lillian Vernon catalog. I've even started to use different versions of my name when ordering on-line to see how the six-degrees of separation works. However, to send junk mail back to where it came from means using the pre-paid envelope, which requires opening junk mail, another time-consuming process, but sometimes quite humorous as well.

Recently Ann and I received a envelope addressed to the "Main Grocery Shopper in the Household". I opened it out of curiosity and looked at the survey. I've included 2 of the survey questions...the one above is unanswerable for us, and the other is just plain funny...mmm, creaming.

Book Quotes

2007-09-13T20:00:00.000-04:00

Here are some of my favorite passages from books I have read:

"I came home, and the only things people were interested in were things just beyond my comprehension. Who cared about Jennifer Lopez? How was it that I was watching CNN one morning and there was a story about freaking ducks being fished out of a sewer drain–while the story of soldiers getting killed in Iraq got relegated to this little banner across the bottom of the screen? Ducklings getting pulled out of a sewer. How was this important to our country?
I was not understanding what was going on. I was not grasping anything.
How was i willing to go and die for these f--king people who wear sweatshirts with little kittens on them? Or these people with sequins who bump into me with their carts at the supermarket and then look at me like I'm an asshole?
It's a very strange country we live in."

Kayla Williams, Love My Rifle More Than You - Young and Female in the U.S. Army

"Phil wiped his plate mournfully, while I toyed with a crust of bread, overcome with the sort of plummeting despair you feel when you're driving coast to coast and suddenly realize, in the dead of the night, that you've been going in the wrong direction for the past three hours, the oil light is flashing, you're nearly out of gas, and your dog is not curled comfortably asleep in the back seat as you'd supposed but abandoned along the strip of crapped-over grass at the last truck stop."

T. Coraghessan Boyle, Budding Prospects

"Picture, if you will, a boy of nineteen, still slumbering in the limbo of adolescence, having heard nothing but revolutionary blather about patriotism, Communism, ideology and propaganda all his life, falling headlong into a story of awakening desire, passion, impulsive action, love, of all the subjects that had, untill then, been hidden from me."

Dai Sijie, Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress

"The way to shop when you have a limit on money and you don't want to be bothered every morning picking out and matching up items in your wardrobe is to buy everything alike."

Kaye Gibbons, Ellen Foster

"Yet the resilience of trees is something I have always counted on. It supports a certain confidence that life will go on, noticed, or unnoticed."

Stephanie Kaza, The Attentive Heart

"You’ve got to pick at it, keep it alive and in turmoil, you’ve got to pick at it and unravel it until it all comes apart and you’re compelled to start all over again. Maybe we all live life at too high a pitch, those of us who absorb emotional things all day, and as a consequence we can never feel merely content: we have to be unhappy, or ecstatically, head-over-heels happy, and those states are different to achieve within a stable, solid relationship."

Nick Hornby, High Fidelity.

"We sat there. I wanted to say something to cheer her up. I had a feeling that cheering her up might be a lot of work. I was thinking of how sometimes, trying to say the right thing to people, it’s like some kind of brain surgery, and you have to tweak exactly the right part of the lobe. Except with talking, it’s more like brain surgery with old, rusted skewers and things, maybe like those things you use to eat lobster, but brown. And you have to get exactly the right place, and you’re touching around in the brain, but the patient, she keeps jumping and saying, 'Ow'.”

M.T. Anderson, Feed

Seeds, Dirt and Love (part 2)

2007-07-24T14:19:00.000-04:00

We picked our first ripe tomato today...yippee! Along with a bunch of green beans, we can now add this fruit to the lettuce, spinach, mesclun, braising mix, kale, saucer squash, cilantro, dill, cucumber, and onion we've enjoyed so far.

I swear the cabbage, cantaloupe, cha-cha squash, peppers and pumpkin are getting bigger by the minute. Here are some more photos...tiny pepper and pumpkin.

We've got flowers too.
Check out this hibiscus blossom:

Blackberries...arg, what to do?
Mmmmm, upside-down cake.

And why is our garden so successful?

Bisy....on guard.

Seeds, Dirt and Love (part 1)

2007-07-16T09:19:00.000-04:00

Holy Summer! Our garden is kickin'! We've had our share of the leafy stuff (lettuce, spinach, mesclun, kale), enjoyed the basil, dill and cilantro, and had a few flying saucer squashes (yummy!). We are now waiting for our 20 tomato plants (each with at least 10 tomatoes attached) to start ripening. We'll be up to our necks in 'maters and will be 'putting up' pint-fulls of sauce, salsa and ketchup.

Yes, it wouldn't be a Galiga garden without cucumbers...for pickling...but the vines are being a bit sluggish right now. Perhaps they'll catch up with the cantaloupes, pumpkins and cha-cha squashes (see photo) that are sending their vines all over.

More photos.

'maters, squash flower and onions...

lettuce, mesclun, flying saucer squash...

and let us not forget Ted and Carol's beautiful berries...

Come and get it! More later....

If I Had a Vanity Plate?: JETSTRM

2007-02-14T13:06:00.001-05:00

Okay...Finally...after 12 years, I bought a new car. I sold my 1995 Honda Civic hatchback (nicknamed "the munchkin" by Carl) with 160K miles on it, and still getting 40 miles/gallon, to a mellow dude in Burlington. I splurged a bit on the new ride, a 2004 Honda Civic Si. It was more then I wanted to spend. But there was less then 10K miles on it, had all the bells and whistles (AC, CD player, sunroof, power everything), and it is F-A-S-T.

I love it. It moves. Soon, the jokes started flying from my friends,I think as a result of envy after they got a ride in it, or drove it. My old housemate commented, "Worn out the tires yet? Doing the slide?" and another friend said, "No, I couldn't own that car...it'd get me into trouble."

I was driving to see Ann. She lives in Winooski. After the exit off of I-89, the speed limit immediately drops to 25 m.p.h. My last speeding ticket in the past 20 years was issued by one of Winooski's finest. Winooski is going through a revitalization. They've added some big buildings and a rotary.

I was cruising into the downtown section when I noticed a policeman along side the road. He did one of those 'point and pull over motions'. However, I wasn't EXACTLY sure he was pointing at me. I continued on, glancing at my speedometer (40 m.p.h.), and in my rear view mirror (nothing...except a bedding truck), as I passed him. The policeman ran to his car. Hmmmm, maybe he was pointing at me.

I didn't slow down and entered the rotary without having to pause. Ann's street shoots off of the lower part of the rotary. The street is narrow, with businesses on either side, then widens as it passes parking lots and two large apartment/condo projects near the river. As I turned onto her street, I saw the cruiser, lights flashing, about to enter rotary. Once past the first stop sign, I sped up.

Ann lives in the smaller building a half mile from the rotary. The parking lot for her building is well-hidden down a short hill. After driving a quarter mile, I looked in my rear view mirror again. The cop car had not yet made it to her street, possibly getting hung up by rotary traffic. I floored it, deftly swung down the hill, into a parking spot and quickly hopped out of my car. No cop car. I walked swiftly to the entrance to the condo, not noticing Ann who had pulled into her parking spot minutes before me. "What's going on?" she questioned. She wondered why I was walking (swiftly) right past her car. I was on an escape mission. Safely inside, I told her the story.

I'm on the lamb, but I ain't no sheep.

China Part 4

2006-08-17T18:10:00.001-04:00

We're soon off to Inner Mongolia, but before our flight we had time to kill, so we went to the market and got immersed in all the morning activities. Again, nothing quite like this in the U.S. There were beautiful vegetables, bags of spices, raw and cooked meat stalls, huge winter melons 3 feet long, and piles of fruits. Live animals —eels, chickens, fish— killed, gutted, scaled and plucked right in front of you. There was entire cow carcasses being manhandled and chopped up by a kid who looked 14.

A pig stall, where every part of the pig was waiting in trays, covered in flies. Pig heads being shaved…why? Women yielding gigantic cleavers, chopping up meat inches from their fingers. Noodles galore…you name it. Oh, and peaches. A palette of smells, sounds and colors.

China Part 3

2006-08-15T22:42:00.000-04:00

Chris and I and a few others head out to the market after dinner. We discover cooked dog and donkey —all of the parts— for sale. The noodle man whacks and makes his noodles. After the others head back to the hotel, Chris and I venture down an alley and stumble into a pool hall. We laughingly try to play with sweaty hands and tiny cues (I notice later in the trip that players wear white cotton gloves so the cue slides easier). We are challenged by a local guy (who we see the next day on his motor scooter in the tourist market) and are promptly beaten, but not before he toys with us, missing shots on purpose. We head back to the market for a few beers and decide to patronize the guy who has been most diligent at hawking at us every night. We sit down at a table among all the other locals eating and drinking and the proprietor grabs us a couple of cold, tall ones and brings some winter melon as well. His wife comes over and hawks boiled soybeans and peanuts, we refuse —not in the program, but she still tosses a handful on our table for us to try. We want to try it all.

An older gentleman strolls over with an instrument in his hand and gives us a list of tunes, in Mandarin, to choose from. Of course we’re clueless and randomly pick 4 that are marked with either the + (plus) or a – (minus) Mandarin character. He beats on this dusty, cracked dulcimer thing with a thin mallet, click-clacks a rhythm with the other hand using 2 flat sticks. We discover that there are 2 categories of songs —those that cost 24 Yuan and those that cost 10. We choose one of the more expensive tunes and he begins to sing, belting out vocals past crooked teeth and spitting lips. I try to play the thing…everyone around us is captivated. More beers. The whole evening costs us $6 U.S.

China Part 2

2006-08-14T17:20:00.000-04:00

So we eat lunch…can’t even begin to tell you what it was…they’re all blending in together…a tilt-a-whirl lazy Susan spin…head spinning. Are we tired of eating yet? I mean, there is a lot of food at each meal. When we’re active, it’s okay, but sitting in buses or in a class room…my belly growls. The lecture today was about Confucius. Pretty interesting history about this “teacher,” not philosopher.

After lunch, we go to his birthplace. He was born in a cave, ya know, and then brought back to Qufu by a tiger. So, we’ve seen photos of his birthplace and it looks serene, like where he should have been born. In the woods…secluded…special. We hop on a bus to drive 45 minutes out into the country, past people in the fields everywhere, through almost ghost towns; poor-looking villages with dirty, muddy streets and building supplies —bricks and such— all over. Goat-tenders and wheat dryers. Cyclists. Everyone stares at us, or maybe the huge bus we’re in. Each house we pass in these run-down villages has a beautiful tile mural inside the main entrance. But surrounding each house is stuff. Bricks, wood, corn drying on the roof, wheat schwag, bicycles. The road is randomly good, then bad, or non-existent. The corn in the fields we pass had been flattened by last night’s storm.

There’s only one way to get to the birthplace, and it’s obviously not visited by many. There didn’t seem to be much signage, but how would I know. We park the bus and scrambled down a road toward the birth site. There’s a hug crater with construction trailers on the edge. There’s a backhoe excavating a gigantic pit and Confucius’ cave sits, perched above the crater with the scar of the dig just a foot below the entrance. An artist’s rendition hangs near the crater. The Chinese government is revamping the site. I guess it is prone to flooding. Across the road from the crater is a ramshackle house. Chickens run around. Three ducks fight for the top of a melon. A little mangy dog gnaws on a dead bird. Up the hill is a canvas beekeeper’s tent.

Above the cave sits a temple at the top of a hill. Confucius taught his students iinside the walls...they love their walls and gates here. Unbelievably serene. The courtyards are filled with old cedars and stone walkways, covered in moss, lead us to tablets, more gates and houses. Bees buzz above and centipedes crawl below.

China Part 1

2006-08-14T16:57:00.000-04:00

Whoa, it’s been some time since I’ve posted. I spent three weeks in China this summer as part of a graduate course through the University of Vermont’s Asian Studies Outreach Program. The trip was amazing…a total sensory overload. I’ve included portions of my journal, photographs and sketches. Instead of one lengthy post, I’ve broken the journey into different parts.

So, we make it to Beijing, and of course there’s cyclist by the thousands riding bikes with too low seats, under-inflated tires, wearing no helmets and pulling/carrying all types of cargo, foods and people…usually pretty slowly and in their own lane. And, of course it’s hot, smoggy and blindingly bright. These cyclists challenge buses and cars without looking, and, some of them, sport these huge visor hats that are like a human windshield. It protects their eyes from the sun (no one wears hats or sunglasses) and doubles as a total face protector…I want one.

Bikes…yes! In this car-centered country of ours, it’s a shame that we can’t somehow figure out a way to incorporate this efficient transportation mode into our everyday life. Sure, some cities are on that path, creating bike-friendly places, and there are many who revel in the joy of commuting by bike, but we are so far away from the place bicycles hold in China. I saw few drop handlebar bikes; most people use single-speed cruiser types or get around on electric rides. Still, there are so many different variations of human powered vehicles. My favorites were the 3-wheeled “cart-bikes” with long chain drive trains and a huge handle brake that not only slows the bike but also doubles as a parking brake.

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A beautiful day today as we head to the Great Wall, and the temps get cooler and the skies clearer as we head out of the city through the ‘burbs, factories and farms toward the mountains…it turns out to be a great wall…it’s amazing and confusing at the same time. Why the need to build this endless structure over these steep mountains? An army of marauders would have to be pretty motivated to scale the heights. But, I guess if you are paranoid, powerful and continually pummeled, it makes sense.

The Great Wall. Think the Long Trail, in Vermont, or better the Appalachian Trail, and then envision a wall along the whole thing, only increase the size and steepness off the mountains and then build it by hand.

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Out of my comfort zone…I love it. Our hotel in Qufu is a block away from a great market that is filled with foods —snails; live eels, fish, crawfish and bugs; satay cooked over coal, drinks…so, so much…and comes alive at night. Make-shift diners pop up, with all the ingredients —grill, light-on-a-stick, chairs, plates, tables, etc. all brought to the market by foot and back via a man-powered cart.

This market, in the hometown of Confucius, contained so many sensory stimulations. We went there each day, and never grew tired of all the sights, sounds and smells. Men manipulated a cylinder of dough into a wok-full of thin noodles; boiled peanuts and soybeans; roasted dog and donkey; stir-fried cicadas; dumplings and sausages. Café owners tempted us with cold beers. Everyone looked at us. Bikes and scooters weaved in and out of the crowd. Then there were the shops selling everything from cheap ties and shoes to bicycles and CD’s. I could have stayed there forever.

Symphony

2006-08-13T15:23:00.000-04:00

When I got back from China, the first morning I spent in my own bed was extremely special. As dawn broke, I laid in her arms, and the birds started singing. I hadn't heard anything like it in China, except for the strange sounding birds at Qufu Normal University. A Northern Cardinal couple was visiting the lilac bush right outside my window. They were scoping out a spot to build a nest. Last year, two Cardinals (the same pair?) tried the same bush, but abandoned. Their song, intermixed with all the other "early birds" was like a symphony. The "red birds" sounded so happy. I was happy. I was in heaven.

They've successfully built their nest and are busy bringing food back for their three babies. Since then, every morning I hear the male chirping proudly from the bush, or calling to his mate from the field. Soon, the whole family will serenade me in the morning. It makes me glad that I am back.

note: this is not a photo from my bedroom window's bush...got it off the internet

40:1

2006-03-28T21:29:00.001-05:00

A few years ago, on an uncharacteristically warm, late February day, a group of us went for a bicycle ride visiting sugarhouses in northern Vermont. For those of you unfamiliar with sugar houses, they are the shacks, buildings, modern structures that distill maple sap into maple syrup. Sugar season begins in late February and early March when the nights are cold and the days are warm. The houses are alive with activity, for once the sap begins to run, the process of turning 40 gallons of sap into one gallon of syrup is a 24-hour job. At night, the shacks glow and steam pours out of the vents at the top the building. It is one of the signs that the winter here will soon be over, and the rebirth and wonders of spring is just ahead.

Sugar season came later this year, and on a Saturday in late March, four of us rekindled the tradition started years ago. My landlord runs a small sugar operation at the back of his workshop. On a good year he may put up 10-15 gallons of syrup. His 60-gallon tank had filled up the day before and he and his wife had a busy day ahead boiling sap and filling jars. I stopped by and filled a small container with fresh, hot syrup, grabbed some spoons and rode to meet the crew.

Our group and their bicycles were as diverse as all the sugarhouses that dot the landscape of Vermont. Carl brought his fixed gear Centurion for the hilly ride. Melanie, who rides every month, rode her trusty Trek, James, a gear fanatic, rode his ultra-light Cannondale (I miss his Colnago), and I rode “Butter,” my 25 year-old, down tube shifting, brake cables exposed Puch. The day was crisp, almost warm, and spring clouds filled the sky.

We toasted the ride with spoonfuls of syrup and rode toward the lake. We headed west, as the sun tried to break through the clouds, and tried to keep up with Carl, his legs moving as fast as his “fixie” would go. Melanie hung back, her usual place early in the ride. I got my obligatory gear chat with James out of the way early and then took my place in the back with Melanie.

Almost to the lake, we turned north onto a quiet, Vermont back road and into the wind. It is spring, but the remnants of winter still hang on. We rode through a covered bridge and past an apple orchard, the harvest long gone last fall, but the trees wait. Soon, when the warmth exceeds the coolness, the apple blossoms will flower and fill the landscape with color and sweetness. We head east, toward home and Irish Hill. Irish Hill is never a really easy climb, especially in the early cycling season. However, today, we each remarked that the climb didn’t hurt as much we all expected. Maybe it was the short stop for fuel at the country store, or maybe it was the lure of the next stop, Palmer’s sugarhouse.

Rounding a corner we caught a glimpse of Palmer’s classic wood sugar house, steam pouring from the vents. The driveway was filled with cars, and folks of all ages streamed in and out. Inside, the place was toasty from the evaporator filled to the brim with sap boiling away. We ate sugar on snow (syrup on crushed ice served with cider donuts and pickles); maple steamed hot dogs, drank hot chocolate and coffee, and tested this year’s still warm syrup from paper cups.

We timed the sugar stop so it was less than 4 miles from our starting point, and although the sugar high helped us sprint partially up the last hill, we all doubted that we could have ridden many more miles. Our stop also allowed us to avoid a short rain shower that wet the road and caused our bikes to become dirty. Peddling the last few miles, we were tempted by 2 more syrup operations, but we all had had our fill….for the time being. Maybe pancakes tomorrow.

Chic-Chocs

2006-03-13T18:55:00.001-05:00

My friend Bill and I recently embarked on a trip to the Gaspe Pennisula in Canada to ski in the Chic Chocs. Instead of boring y'all with the daily journal, I've decided to post a random list of sights and thoughts:

Chic-Chocs Shorts:

Endless roads. Hondas. Snow plows. Through windows, glimpses of life in these towns as we drive through. Snow sculptures. Strange road signs. A huge river choked with ice, just feet from us…the tundra. No guardrails. Snow drifts cut by mega-snow blowers 8 feet high. All the people walking in frigid temps. No trees and hideously painted, non-descript houses. Ordering double cheeseburgers in French. Sisters. No moose (yet). Pushing girls out of the snow. Cold and wind! Constant snow…lots of snow. Life-saving salmon and ham sandwiches. The BHV!!!, and it’s luxury, warmth and amenities. The best ski on Wednesday, with sunshine and top of the world views. Feeling good about 10 hours of traveling to find beauty and snow. Comfort with Flack again…ez. Top-bunking it. Lots of thoughts about her, and it’s okay. Pooping. Monsieur Pizza and Ms. Pizza maker. Crazy, silly, singing, French-Canadian snowboarders. Old men checking out the BHV. Helpful, local skiers. How cold it is…and we’re out in it. These unbelievable mountains. Endless snow plowing. Concerned truckers. Helpful park girls. Hot chocolate. Fluffers and leftover pizza. Jerky. Morning cereal in the BHV. Finding the trail. Views. Crazy skiing. Stiffness. The ease of sleep. The roar of the BHV. Remote starting. Heat! Chantal and Marie, our bartenders. Dry clothes. Buying it numerous times on the way to the toilet…damn shoes! Satellite radio. Bill’s French. My watched stopped because it was so cold. Seeing Mark and Sharon and their crew. Huge, tin-roofed churches. Dinner at the 5-star gite. Tunnel vision. Inability to communicate. Feeling like a tremendous minority. Negative temperatures feeling comfortable. Avalanche films and being re-buffed for not speaking French. Double martinis and beers with the bros. Canadian quarters for hot showers. Good voltage. –14 degrees. Dialing in the heat. The piano player in the gite…“Make it stop”. Sledding. The hostel breakfast.

Can You Hear Me Now?

2006-03-12T12:34:00.001-05:00

Okay, so I’ve finally done it. I got my first cell phone. My friends have been bugging me for quite some time, and since I’ve had one, it has come in handy. Also, I must confess that I have caught myself weaving on the road driving and trying to send a text message. However, I recently saw a guy driving, or trying to drive, while talking on his cell phone and holding one of those big Arizona ice teas in his other hand. I now pull over to talk or text message. Welcome me to the cellular age.

The Housemate

2005-11-27T21:11:00.001-05:00

He takes a 'nutitious' meal out of the 'fridge to cook...a Marie Callender Turkey Pot Pie. You know those things just don't cook right away. It's a break from his usual dinner of a can of clam chowder or re-fried bean burritos. So, he puts the pie on the bottom rack of the oven, and being a good boy, on top of a piece of aluminum foil. You know those things drip.

It's done and he's ready to chow down. I decide to watch thinking he'd dig in too soon and burn his mouth. You know how those things are molten. He grabs the foil and pulls it toward the front of the oven, his plan to transfer it to the oven door and then go from there. As he yanks, the pie heads for the space between the oven cavity and the door and flips over. "Oh shit," he cries. Trying to scoop the pie up with a fork to save it. It begins to break apart.

I can't help but comment, "Oooo, that's not good for the big Russian," as I hand him a spatula and suggest a spoon instead of the fork. He manages to save a big chunk of it and he grabs a sponge to clean up the slop before it burns to the bottom of the oven. He then checks the drawer beneath the oven where the crack leads. The slop found it's way there and coats a few pots and pans and the bottom of the drawer. It looks pretty gross...almost like vomit. I walk out of the room as he pulls the drawer out to tackle the mess.

The pot pie is lying face down on the foil and he puts it on the small counter above the oven. Another piece is in a bowl. He laments, "I waited an hour." He grabs a fork and quickly digs in, not worrying about the still steaming contents of the pie. He stands next to the oven, it's door is wide open, the drawer sits on the floor. Pot pie remnants are in the sink. The empty Marie Callender box is on the counter. The pancake griddle still has some pie guts on it. "Damn," he says. "I might have to make another one."

Chance for Snow

2005-11-10T22:05:00.001-05:00

It’s November 10th and I’m still cycling to work. This may not seem to be that big of a deal for some, but ‘round here November can be an ugly month. November is it’s own season, for it falls between the exquisiteness of fall’s foliage and the beauty of winter’s snow. November is “twig season,” one of the 2 extra seasons we have in Vermont. It’s cold, damp and precipitation is usually a mixed bag of misery: horizontal rain, ice pellets, wet snow or a mixture of all three.

I hoped that the weather forecast was right. No, not the chance of snow, but for one of those magical bike commuting days when the wind comes from the SSW in the morning, pushing me into work, then switches to NNW in the afternoon, helping me home. Heading north through Hinesburg, the NRG windmill was pointing due south. Smiling, I passed car after car waiting for the stoplight. I was toasty. I put on some extra stuff for the ride, specifically my neoprene booties, just in case the snow came. The sun was shining through dark, broken clouds. The skyscape was wonderful, deep and purple.

Pedaling west I looked south to take in the scene. I caught my first views of the Adirondacks. No doubt it was snowing over there. And there was no doubt that I would not outrun the rain that was falling from the clouds boiling up in the wind. Sprinkles. Big drops. Horizontal rain. Still smiling.

I’m halfway out going north. No use turning around. The wind will help me I think. It doesn’t. The rain ceases and the wind blows stronger and from due west. I lean into the gusts. Those once exquisite leaves, now brown, blow and stick in my spokes. Two dairy cows use each other’s noggin to scratch their itchy heads. Cars pass me now in both directions. The drivers just look at me. I love it!

Things Happen in Threes…East Burke Sketch-Fest

2005-10-16T22:05:00.001-04:00

The tribe goes to East Burke, VT to ride the spectacular Kingdom Trails (www.kingdomtrails.org) each October. The trip has become an annual pilgrimage for the mountain biking arm of our tribe and has been going on for five years. For me, it is also a symbolic end to the cycling season. By no means is cycling over for me, but the Burke trip usually coincides with peak fall foliage. In October, once the final leaves tumble and float off the trees “twig season”, the transition season between autumn and winter, begins.

So, as one could guess, the weather before the transition can vary. For the most part, the weather is acceptable, if not perfect. We usually are fortunate to have sunny skies highlighting the foliage and tolerable temperatures. This year, following a rainy weekend that flooded New Hampshire and closed the Kingdom Tails, we felt our chances were pretty good for having another great weekend. We were flying high off of this year’s amazing summer. However, this year our luck ran out.

One third of the intended participants took the chance to drive the 2 hours to Burke Friday night. As tradition dictates we meet at the Trout River Brewery (http://www.troutriverbrewing.com/mozilla/index.phtml) and then head to the official campground for more beers, a fire and endless insults and stories. As MC Hammer and I rolled into the brewery’s parking lot, the rain began…then continued for 48 hours.

Sketch Encounter #1
MC and I took a break from the brewery’s interior heat for some fresh air outside. As we chatted, a few other patrons exited. One bearded, wide-eyed, headband-wearing guy greeted us by mentioning the rain. I’m not one who shies away from any interesting conversation, so, I replied.

Well what followed was a detailed description of the damage caused by the recent floods in New Hampshire. Turns out that D’s home was down there and making it back home for him became a challenge and an opportunity to create a fish tale. For the most part, he wasn’t really that sketchy, although he was “on something.” And, I haven’t seen the news coverage about the floods but his stories of a 70 foot-wide and 35-foot deep gully running through Keene, NH seemed a bit exaggerated. But this only added to his animated personality as he acted out climbing down a 25-foot washout to look at the “guardrails hanging in mid-air like a snake.”

We actually got a pretty good lesson. “It doesn’t make sense to re-build where the river went through…build on the land that the river didn’t touch. They’re trying to fill these big holes with little shit. You need to put big shit in big holes!” I unsuccessfully tried to break in to add more fodder by saying, “Yeah, and you can bet that those folks in New Hampshire aren’t getting a $2000 debit card like the Katrina victims.” Uh-uh. D responds, “I tell you, they say that Katrina wasn’t a man-made disaster. But if they didn’t destroy all the marshes the damage would’ve been less. If you build a city under sea level, it’s gonna flood. Tell me that’s not man-made. Alstead, New Hampshire is at 1200 feet. Floods don’t happen at 1200 feet. And it’s gone. Alstead is gone.”

MC and I nodded and kept nodding until a friend of D’s, dressed in camo pants, a Planter’s Peanut racing jacket and a baseball cap, saved us. D bid us good night. MC and I went back inside looking at each other. Yup, were in the North East Kingdom.

Back to the tribe…we were the only campers in the usually packed campground and the rained forced the nine of us to take shelter under BF’s big honkin’ van’s roll-away awning. The crowded conditions and dismal weather forecast subdued the festivities. Campers drifted away to bed with hopes of dryer skies in their heads.

Sketch Encounter #2
With everyone in his or her respected tents, cars, mega-vans, or lean-tos, the campground turned silent. MC and I shared a lean-to facing out toward the campground’s entrance. I’m a pretty light sleeper and usually bring earplugs to help me blot out all the twigs snapping and owls hooting that tend to start the mind into thinking boogieman thoughts. But, with the rain falling and the cool fall air, I fell asleep with ease. Sometime during the night, something woke me. Couldn’t figure it out at first, but then the sound broke the silence. What I heard was the growl of a man, an unhappy man. MC didn’t stir. Again the growl, this time louder, longer and closer. MC woke. Again, the growl.

“Did you hear that?” I asked. “Yeah,” replied MC. “Pretty sketchy…You’ll protect me.” She lay back down. I sat in silence. Now, I’ve never thought of myself as a ‘protector’ and to tell you the truth, if there’s one woman I’d want on my team, it’d be MC…she’s muscle-hard…I was hoping for some mutual protection. As she found a way to get back to sleep, I grabbed my glasses to see better, my tiny little 2-inch bladed knife, cocooned into my sleeping bag, and lay there staring out into the night. A few more growls prevented me from sleeping, then I heard a cowboy-style “woo-hoo” and figured that this boogieman was just another camper who had had one too many at the Pub Outback and couldn’t find his toothbrush. I drifted back to sleep.

The tribe stirs around 8:30 a.m., it’s still raining and no one except MC and myself heard the sketch. The optimistic riders who had driven up Friday night were joined for breakfast by one more hopeful and brave soul who got up early and drove over. Again tradition dictates that before ride breakfast on Saturday is at the Burke Country Store where they make a decent bagel sandwich and have great energy bars and mini-loaves of pumpkin bread.

The Kingdom Association had closed some of the best trails and I had already decided the night before that if it was still raining in the morning, I wouldn’t ride. I’m an adult; I can make that decision now. 4 more agreed. As the other 5 dressed to ride, MC, Diesel, BF, KK and I headed to Newport to the Louis Garneau Outlet Store. The goal: buy cheap bike stuff and hope that the rain stops so we might ride in the afternoon.

MC and I drove together and as the rain sheeted down, I said, “We’re going home today.” MC: “Yeah we are.” I scored at LG’s getting 3 pieces of fine cycling wear for <$100. We told the others we were out of there and ask them if they could collect gear we had left at the campsite. The rain would not stop.

Sketch Encounter #3
Burke is not far from MC’s stomping grounds, so she knows all the great places along the drive to eat. We stopped for gas at one of her favs, picked up some soup and ate on one of the rain-protected picnic tables out front. An older man wearing a long yellow slicker and a Gilligan’s Island first mate’s hat asked us where the Boy Scouts were? We were in and out of the store pretty quickly and saw no Boy Scouts before or after. ???? “I was going to give them some money,” he said. “Oh, I’m a Boy Scout, er, troop leader. You can give me the money,” joked I. “No, I’m a GIRL scout,” he said. Red flag. Ooops, didn’t notice it.

Somehow we…he…got talking about teaching and how he had once been a teacher and hit one of his students and how he also threw him down the stairs. Red flag. Too late. He proceeds to embellish the heck out of the story including a meeting with the boy’s mother… “I’ve never hit a woman, but I thought if she was angry…” Red flag. Way too late. MC and I, “Mm-hmm. Soup’s good.” He headed to his car. MC and I munched and watched him, nonchalantly commenting about his sketchiness between bites. He won the prize: most sketchy. We made the pledge to not get out of the car anymore.

Turns out that everyone else packed up and left for home that afternoon. The forecast for Sunday was more rain, snow in the mountains, and 30-40 mph winds. I heard the riding was wet, sloppy fun. However, I’m sure I could have ridden in the mud and rain closer to home as well. The Kingdom Trails demand good weather and long hours in the saddle. Maybe next year….without the sketchies.

Oo-oo-oo That Smell

2005-09-25T12:15:00.001-04:00

My cat Bisy got skunked for the second time this week. Being 11-years old and full of wisdom, you think he would've learned from the first time when he got it full force, right in the face. The first time was in May a few years ago, just after my current housemate moved in. A faint whiff of an odor became stronger and stronger and somehow I knew that Bisy was involved. I remember my housemate admitting that he didn't always find the smell offensive, but then changed his tune, and facial expression, as it grew sharper.

First a mournful cry, then a drool covered, matted face appeared at the patio doors. I opened the door a crack and grabbed Bisy by the nape of the neck to test him. The smell was intense, so oil-like, that I thought he had gotten into something in the garage. I carried him to the garage to check to see if there were any spilled liquids, and even called the vet who assured me that the smell was skunk and a full on hit can smell pretty oily.

Needless to say the de-odorizing wasn't pretty. It was 11 o'clock at night (and a day before I was leaving on vacation) with no nearby store open. I remembered the tomato juice method and searched the cupboards. No TJ. The closest thing I had (thinking that acid neutralizes the stink) was pineapple juice…so I used that. For those of you who have never tried to clean or bathe a cat, it isn’t an easy chore, especially one who is already freaked out.

I manage to get Bisy in an old dog crate and covered him with the juice. He wasn’t happy at all and became even more agitated when I dumped warm water on him to rinse him off. Even confined to a crate, a pissed-off cat covered in a combination of pineapple juice and skunk oil is no match for a man. He fought his way out and bolted into the woods looking like a wet rat.

After an hour or so, he appeared on the deck. My rinse job had not been too thorough and the pineapple juice caused every leaf and twig to stick to him. He was quite the sight in his new, camouflaged state. I had to chuckle. I managed to get a better rinse on him, but he bolted again, eventually came back and over time, with the help from store-bought wonder remedy, the smell went away.

For his most recent skunking, in the fall, I was better prepared. Again, a faint odor became more piquant and I feared the worst. Then, that cry, and that face at the patio doors....This time the coverage wasn’t as intense. But I had lent my Skunk-Off to a friend and had to drive over to retrieve it. This time donning work gloves, I put Bisy in a big box and sprayed and wiped him with the stuff. He bolted.

A friend told me about a skunk smell diminisher recipe he had seen on a television show so I went on-line and found it. What seems to work best is a combination of hydrogen peroxide, dish soap and baking soda…and my household lacks those ingredients. No worries, the Skunk-Off works well. However, the recipe seems to be dog centered and calls for a complete rinsing. Good luck rinsing a cat.

Why I added this story to my blog is that the day after Bisy's most recent skunking, on my way to work, I noticed an unusual amount of skunk road kill on the road. I’m talking a lot. Plus, my school's principal sent out an email relating how a skunk had let go outside the window of his basement office and the stench was stronger than his hockey gear bag smell. Ouch. Enough said.

My friend’s male answer syndrome (MAS) response to the high skunk activity was that they are all out doing some last minute foraging before the winter. For those of you unfamiliar with MAS, it's a male's habit of concocting an answer to a question he really can't answer. Instead of merely saying, "I don't know," they make up a plausible answer. C’mon!? It’s early fall and the beast have fur coats…fur coats that NYC women wear on cold evenings out to dinner and a show. I’m not buying it. So....Where do skunks go in the winter?

Why I Love Vermont

2005-08-14T22:17:00.002-04:00

Over the past 5 summers I have been leading bicycle tours for Peace of Mind Guaranteed Bike Tours of Vermont (www.pomgbike.com). The work is difficult and rewarding because I get to interact with all levels of bicyclists. I have had guests on my tours who haven't ridden a bike since they were 5 and those who have extensive biking backgrounds.

What I like most about this job is that it reminds me of the beauty and uniqueness of Vermont. This past weekend I lead a tour for 8 guests. At the end of the first day I shuttled six of the guests up a hill to the Calvin Coolidge Historical site in Plymouth, Vermont. I unloaded the bikes and set them on their way back to the inn via a beautiful 7 mile stretch of road. I sat on the porch of the general store in a rocking chair just as Calvin Coolidge did when he was alive. The place has changed little since he lived there. In the other rocking chair was a man named Kevin. He had a old baseball cap on, a great smile and the hands of a hard-working man and was drinking a Moxie. We started talking about the weather, biking and eventually what he did for a living. He said he had got up at 4 a.m. to milk 100 or so water buffalo at a local farm that makes wonderful mozzarella cheese and yogurt (http://www.vtcheese.com/vtcheese/woodstock/woodstock.html). I had met one of the cheesemakers, who also leads bike tours, at a Thanksgiving party.

I asked Kevin if their was any difference milking a water buffalo over a cow and he said that you have to more careful with the water buffalo because you never know when they were going to kick. He also told me that he sheared sheep and has been doing it for 40+ years. He was heading to a local fair to partake in a demonstration of non-machine shearing. I asked him if he also sheared the alpacas and llamas that are on some farms in Vermont. "Yup," he said, adding that the alpacas were okay but the llamas were ornery, grunted, kicked and spit. I wondered if he had been to New Zealand or Australia to visit. He admitted, "I don't fly." He mentioned about the time he went to Toronto for a competition and beat out many Kiwis and Aussies. He was happy and proud and I was enthralled with his chosen profession. Our whole conversation lasted 10 minutes. I hope that this part of Americana never vanishes.

'Round Here We Call It Blacktop

2005-08-12T11:00:00.001-04:00

This summer I have noticed a huge influx of road cyclists ('round here we call it blacktop) on the roads of Vermont. There seems to have been a ten-fold increase in the amount of cyclists riding on the road. I live in Hinesburg, VT and I am convinced that my town is becoming one of the road riding meccas of Vermont. Rides of 10 to 100 miles are available from your driveway.

I've been riding around these parts for over ten years now and have accumulated enough knowledge to draft a 'blacktop creed' regarding cycling etiquette. My thoughts are as follows:

1) Wave to as many people as possible...farmers on tractors, people sitting on their front porches, people mowing lawns, motorists, kids on buses, but most especially other cyclists that pass you going the opposite directions. I mean c'mon, we're riding, maybe not together or as fast as the other girl/guy, but we're sharing a love...acknowledge it.

2) Always stop or ask another cyclist who has flatted or broken down if she/he needs anything. You may be a mile from your home and the other cyclist is twenty. Give him/her your spare tube if they need it. Help a 'newbie' change a flat. Give an out-of-towner directions. Karma will reward you later.

3) Let other cyclists know that you are behind them or passing, especially if you've just spent the last few minutes drafting off their butt in silence.

4) Smile often when you are on your bike, even if the headwind's a bitch or that hill kicked your ass.