From Holsters to Corsets: The Cycling Accessory Fetish

Entering the Brooks booth at Interbike was an experience that I can only describe as "trippy." Not only did I feel as if I'd stepped into a Skittles commercial - or at least a Brooks + Skittles "collabo" (Ride the Rainbow...), but I was seeing objects that, at first glance, distinctly resembled gun holsters - in a variety of lollypop shades.

Upon a closer look it became apparent that these were in fact tiny handbags shaped like Brooks saddles. The representative cheerfully explained that Brooks had the idea to make leather saddle covers to class up bikes that came with plastic saddles. But the project did not work, so they turned the would-be saddle covers into handbags - and thus we have the Victoria bag.

I am not sure what I have a harder time imagining - someone buying a leather cover for their plastic saddle, or someone carrying a neon leather saddle-shaped purse. And while at first I thought the gun holster comparison was just in my head, I soon heard others voice the same sentiment as they walked by the display. What do you think, would this match your work outfit?

And lest you be wearing trousers on a bike with no chaincase, a leather strap in a matching shade could be just the thing.



As long as it all matched your handlebar tape. And your apple-green saddle.



Of course if you're not a fan of colourful accessories, Brooks offers the subdued "paratrooper" look in tasteful shades of gray and beige.



Okay, I really don't mean to tease Brooks so much. They had "normal" stuff too, like their regular line of saddles, a promising rain cape and their new city leather grips (which I would buy if they didn't have those cold metal sections at the ends). But something just felt a little off about their booth - as if they were on the verge of losing perspective.



Taking the classic route to fetish-appeal, Klean Kanteen draped itself in caramel leather, for a look suggesting vintage flasks. I like it. But the one problem I see with this, is that the outside of these bottles tends to always get wet and the leather is bound to get discoloured and misshapen as a result over time - something that does not happen with shellacked twine, because the shellac waterproofs it.



This particular Klean Kanteen had a wooden inlay on the lid with a Brompton logo on it, and may have been a limited edition model made especially for Brompton bicycles.



Sculptural bicycle pumps from Lezyne in stainless steel and wood. People couldn't stop touching them, running their hands against the surface.



A bicycle pump that makes you want to use it by appealing to your sense of touch? Okay, I admit I want these. You got to me, Lezyne.



Po Campo's new "self-referetial" print is really too lighthearted to be truly fetishistic, but deserves a mention. Obsessed with bicycles? What a better way to show it than to get a bicycle bag with pictures of, well, bicycles on it. Should leave no doubt as to your love of cycling.



Alternatively, you could opt for the new Logan Tote - a pannier shaped like a dainty doctor's bag and designed to carry anything from diapers and formula bottles to camera equipment and the i-Pad. The myriad of belts and buckles that come with Po-Campo bags contribute to the visual curiosity factor, particularly when a tiny bag ends up capable of securing things like heavy jackets and yoga mats.



The Brompton "Oratory" cycling jacket has gotten both praise and slack in the press for being useful/ unnecessary (pick one), sparking debate as to whether urban cycling-specific designs overcomplicate matters and undermine the whole idea of being able to ride in regular clothing.



Not sure where I stand on that issue, but regardless - the Brompton jacket has a number of fine details that appealing regardless of whether one even needs a jacket at all.



The jacket is corduroy, with a wicking bamboo lining depicting a drawing of the Brompton Oratoryby English graffiti artist, Kid Acne (Get it? Graffiti for an urban jacket? Graffiti of a building instead of on a building? Oh the cleverness of it!..).



But no tale of accessory fetishism is complete without a visit withBerthoud. I have an odd relationship with Berthoud bags, in that I tend to lose my mind when I see them - especially several in the same place at the same time. The shades of gray fabric and caramel leather are just right, the straps are perfectly proportioned... But when it comes down to it, I cannot bring myself to actually buy one of the bags. It's not just the price, but something about the look would make me self-conscious to have it on my own bike.



A case of being too perfect? Maybe!



And then there are the panniers. These are available in many sizes and use the R&K Klick-fix system, which I love. But I can't get over the "corset" look of the side expansions - which, although obviously purpose-driven, to me seem to be the ultimate symbol of our tendency to fetishise bicycle accessories. It's not a bad thing per se, if it makes us happy and makes us ride our bikes more. But we each have different comfort levels. I'll go for leather, wood and twine, but will stop short of holsters and corsetry.

Traveling from Dublin to the Antrim Coast, with Luggage and a Brompton

I am staying in a remote area on the Antrim Coast in Northern Ireland, near the town of Ballycastle. Getting here from the suburbs of Dublin was quite something, though very much worth it in the end. I had with me three pieces of luggage: A suitcase on wheels, my fully folded Brompton bicycle sheathed in a cloth cover, and a Carradice City Folder bag that can also be carried as a shoulder bag. I am an average sized female with below-average upper body strength, and lugging these 3 things around on my own through the various segments of the trip was doable. I rolled the suitcase in my left hand, carried the Carradice across my chest messenger style, and carried the Brompton by the frame in my right hand. This last part was the most difficult for me. The Brompton weighs over 20lb and I can only carry it in one hand for so long, especially if I am also dragging other things at the same time. But again, doable.




As is probably obvious by the rolling suitcase, this is not the sort of trip where I planned to ride to the train station and to my destination upon arrival. I am not touring, but rather traveling with a bike, which I intend to use once I settle in. I will be here for a while, staying in the same place the entire time, and so I wanted to be comfortable, have plenty of clothes to change into, and have all the camera equipment I wanted with me. I thoroughly researched the transportation situation in advance and determined that for the last leg of my trip, a bus could drop me off within walking distance of the place I am staying despite its remoteness. There is also a local commuter train (DART) that stops just down the road of where I stayed in Dun Laoghaire and goes directly to the train station in Dublin. I was a little nervous of course that things don't always work out in reality as they should, but I had an emergency taxi fund just in case.






The main leg of the trip was taking the train from Dublin to Belfast. These leave from Connelly Station in Dublin and they run roughly every hour on weekdays. I knew that it was supposed to be hassle-free to travel to Northern Ireland. But I didn't expect that it would be quite this nonchalant. There was nothing about the ticket purchasing or boarding experience to indicate that we would be crossing a border. I simply bought a ticket to Belfast. No one asked me to show ID. No one asked why I was traveling there.




The train station itself was a remarkably calm place compared to other train stations I have been to in large cities. No pushing, no yelling, quiet, everyone incredibly courteous. A few people tried to help me with my luggage at various stages. I wasn't struggling with it, so I think the motivation might have been a sense of fairness - that they had none and I had three pieces, so they might as well carry some of mine to even it out.






On the platform I saw a man with a folding bike and a couple of large bags. He must have been watching me also, because when the train arrived he pointed to an entrance indicating that I should use that one. I did, and it contained a nice empty luggage compartment. I easily fit both my suitcase and my bike on the middle shelf. I then sat nearby with the Carradice bag on the floor next to me.




Once the passengers settled in and the controller checked everyone's tickets, a trolley cart was brought by selling food. I bought a hot tea, and the server asked whether it was okay to give me change in pounds sterling, since he was out of change in euros. This was the first indication that anything would be different at our destination.






The train from Dublin to Belfast proceeds mostly along the coast, and the views are beautiful. The sun even came out. I relaxed and felt pleased at how well everything was going.




An hour and a half later, the train broke down. We waited inside for 15 minutes as they tried to fix it, but were finally asked to disembark. It was then announced that we would be switching to a local service commuter train for the remainder of the journey, and that this train was waiting for us on a platform a short walk away, accessible by multiple staircases. An elderly lady beside me poked me with her elbow, winked, and said "Welcome to Northern Ireland."




I braced myself for the ordeal of multiple staircase climbs with a suitcase and a Brompton, but thankfully there were lifts, so it wasn't that bad. However, the commuter train was crowded with locals and did not have luggage compartments. I stacked my things in a corner near one of the exists, found a seat from which I could keep an eye on it, and hoped for the best.



At length we arrived in Belfast. I expected a busy station and a rush to get off the train, but there was neither. No one shoved me or even expressed annoyance at my things being piled in front of an exit. My suitcase was promptly placed on the platform for me by a huge hand whose owner I didn't even have a chance to glimpse, and I quickly grabbed the bike, worried that who-ever tried to help with it would try to pick it up by the (bottomless) bag.






The Belfast Central Rail Station is very small. There is a ticket stand, two tiny coffee shops, and two bank machines: one dispensing pounds sterling, the other dispensing euros. The one dispensing pounds was out of order. As luck would have it, I hadn't brought any cash in GBP, figuring I'd easily withdraw it here. So I bought a coffee, paid with a 20 euro note, and got the change back in pounds. A few others had the same idea and the coffee shop became the currency exchange booth.




Speaking as a visitor, it felt a little disorienting that there was nothing acknowledging a border between the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland, and yet there was suddenly a different currency system.A local radio station was playing, and in between songs the announcer said something like "the weather across the United Kingdom is beautiful today" and that too felt odd, since at no point had there been signs or announcements mentioning the United Kingdom.It's hard to explain, but the dichotomy feels confusing.







At the Belfast Central Rail Station, I bought a ticket for the local train to a place called Ballymena, which was the closest train station to my destination. These trains also ran very frequently, which impressed me given how sparsely populated County Antrim is. At the end of each train car, there was a section dedicated to bikes and baby strollers, with liftable seats. I easily stored my luggage there. The train route from Belfast to Ballymena is mostly inland, and there I saw saw some light industry and some farms. The landscape in this area looked a little stark compared to the Eastern coastline.




Up until this point it had been sunny, but as soon as the train stopped at Ballymena and I disembarked, it began pouring. Thankfully the Ulster Bus terminal was just across the road and it was covered. I carried my luggage there and found the Ballycastle bus stop. According to the schedule posted, the next bus was due to arrive in just 5 minutes. I was alone in the terminal except for a man in his 60s, who was pacing back and forth nearby. So far in Ireland, I have found it impossible to occupy the same space as someone else without ending up having a chat with them, and this was no exception. Within minutes I learned that the gentleman was a retired policeman who lived in the area and enjoyed a free bus pass on account of being a pensioner. Glancing at his watch, he gleefully announced that my bus was already late and that I was lucky if it showed up in the next half hour despite was the schedule said. "He's probably stopped for a sandwich, or having a chat with his mate," the man speculated cheerfully. However, the bus pulled up only a few minutes behind schedule.




Incredibly, it looked like I was to be the only passenger and the driver suggested that I simply toss my luggage onto the front row of seats. That is what I did, then sat down next to it.






We traveled 27 miles from the inland town of Ballymena to the coastal town of Ballycastle, as the weather alternated between glorious sunshine and dark skies with pelting rain. We passed mostly farmlands with lots and lots of baby lambs. Occasionally there was a village center, then back to lambs. They were beautiful and fluffy and I began to get sleepy counting them.




As we approached the coast, the driver asked me where I wanted him to stop. This sort of stunned me, but he assured me that he had nothing better to do and might as well take me to my door so that I didn't have to walk. As a dramatic view of the sea opened up in front of us, I told him the address and that is where he dropped me off.






And so finally there I was, with my suitcase, my Carradice bag and my Brompton, ringing the door bell of my new residence. At this point I was utterly exhausted. But all things considered I think the trip went well. I left Dublin at 7:40am and arrived at Ballycastle just past 12:30 in the afternoon. I managed fine with my luggage, and now here I am settled in and with my own bike on the Antrim Coast.




The transportation system in Northern Ireland is impressive as far as density of coverage and the frequency with which the local buses and trains run; I had not expected anything nearly this good. For anyone interested in traveling through County Antrim, you can definitely do so without the hassle of renting a car. Prices for buses and trains are reasonable, and the stops take you not only to local village centers but also to remote scenic locations along the coast such as the Giant's Causeway.Traveling with a folding bike should not be a problem, especially if it's one that folds up as small as the Brompton. For anybody considering visiting the Antrim Coast in this manner, I highly recommend it.

Henry and Lucy Robison

The first part of the Robison/Robinson Families of Whitley County, Indiana presented what was known about Henry Robison and his wife Ann. Census records indicate that they may have had eight children. Three children are named in Henry's will dated August 8, 1851 and the same children were also mentioned in a deed record dated August 15, 1855 where Ann and the children were selling land in Whitley County, Indiana. The children were Eliza Jane, Henry, and Emily.

According to his obituary, published in the Columbia City Commercial on December 14, 1904 Henry Robison (Jr) was the son of Henry and Ann Robison and was born in Champaign County, Ohio on January 7, 1833. "He came to Indiana at an early age and at the beginning of the civil war enlisted in Co L of the 80th Indiana regiment of volunteers for three years, and at the expiration thereof reenlisted and served until the close of the war when he was honorably discharged. During his faithful service he was hit by a piece of shell on the left shoulder causing his left arm to be helpless, but remained with his Company until the close of the war cheering by words and songs." For a number of years Henry and Lucy were the proprietors of the "Robinson House" in Lorane.

Whitley County records show that Henry enlisted in Company I of the 30th Indiana Regiment Indiana Volunteer Infantry (not Co. L 80th IVI). He was wounded on April 7, 1862 at Pittsburgh Landing.

On October 10, 1867 Henry Robison Jr. was married to Lucy Ann (Strait) Scott. Lucy had three children from her previous marriage to Charles Scott but only two were living at the time of her death in January 1907; they were Perry Scott of Marion, Indiana and Mrs. Harvey Waters of Lorane. Henry and Lucy had four children: Ella, Frank, Ida Anna, and Pearl Henry.


You can read this post to find out how the photograph above gives me my "link" to Henry and Ann Robison!

1. Ella was born about 1868 and married C. M. Kimball on February 13, 1897 in Whitley County. In the obituary notice of her father she is mentioned as Mrs. Ella Kimbal Mt. Carmel, Illinois. Her mother's obituary gives her name as Mrs. Ella Kimmel. Additional information on them can be found at Ella/Ellen Robison and C. M. Kimball. [Link added 09/18/..]

2. Frank Robison was born about 1869. He married Cora B. Beard on August 23, 1891 in Whitley County, Indiana. The obituary notices of his parents stated that Frank lived in Marion, Indiana (Grant County) and that is where he was found in the census records for 1900 through 1930. Additional information on them can be found at Frank and Cora Robison of Marion, Indiana. [Link added 09/18/..]

3. Ida Anna Robison was born January 17, 1872 and died November 22, 1899 in Whitley County, Indiana. Her obituary was found in my grandmother's papers. The clipping is not identified (no name of newspaper or date of publication). "On Friday of last week this community was called upon to pay their last tribute of respect to one that has been with us from infancy, attended our school and our social gatherings, and our pen cannot describe the sad parting. Ida A. Robison was born in Troy township, Whitley county, Indiana on January 17, 1872 and died November 22, 1899, aged 27 years, 10 months and 3 days. Anna was a patient sufferer for nearly four years of the dread disease consumption which has claimed her as its victim. Her last days were her happiest, fully realizing that the end was near she never complained but was pleased with what little could be done for her to relieve her sufferings and was submissive to the Lord's will in whose care she had placed her trust. Rejoicing in the hope of meeting kind parents, brothers and sisters in heaven she shook hands with all present and peacefully passed to the spirit world."

The photograph was identified by my grandmother as Ida Anna Robison.

4. The obituary of Pearl Henry Robinson was also found in my grandmother's papers: He "was born at Lorane, Indiana April 3rd 1880 and died December 19th 1901 aged 21 years, 3 months and 16 days. Pearl, as we best knew him came home sick from his work on the 19th day of March, just 9 months previous to his death. His illness proved to be that dreaded disease consumption, from which he was a long and patient sufferer following so closely his sister Anna, whom he so dearly loved and so frequently spoke of. In his death his parents have lost a dutiful son, the brothers and sisters a loving brother and the young people of the community, one of their number whose loss they deeply feel as their beautiful flower offerings testified. The funeral was held at the Free Methodist Church at this place on Sunday the 22nd. The house was filled with sorrowing friends who came to pay their last tribute of respect. Rev. J.M. Jolley, pastor of the church preached a very able and appropriate sermon. Interment in the Scotts cemetery."

Red Gourd Birdhouse

Ponies in the Snow

This is both ponies playing in the snow. Traveler and Stormy. Stormy is the hairy beast. He took after his shetland moma and has tons of hair including the beard on his face. Traveler had the same mom but a different dad. His hair is thick but not as long.

Three O' Clock Rock Big Tree One ..

With Adam unemployed, we finally connected on a weekday outing. The original plan was to head up to Static Point, but this late in the season my inclination toward walking long distances diminishes. So we opted to go to Three O' Clock rock with its half hour approach.

Due to roadwork near my house, we got a late start. We finally got to the base of the route around Noon after taking a slight detour to check out the North Buttress side of the rock. It didn't take us too long to find the base of the route, but the beta said "wide crack" and the crack does not start until you are more than ten feet off the ground, so it was not immediately apparent. Since the third pitch was 5.8 and gear, it was decided that I would lead the odd pitches and Adam would lead the even pitches. That also meant that if we opted to, I could lead the fifth unprotected pitch.

There was a seep at the base next to a dirty corner. It was inevitable that one foot or the other would get wet/dirty. I chose the left foot putting it in the dirty corner while keeping my right foot dry on the rock between the corner and seep. There is no gear for the first eight feet or so before gaining the crack which made it a little more interesting than I was looking for. Once in the crack, I moved left to where it steepened. The first few moves on the steeper section was the crux of the pitch. There was a good fist jam, and then the crack widened to an off width that was difficult to jam. I placed a #4 cam and attempted an arm bar move only to slip off. It was barely a fall. I blame it partially on my ability to climb the crack, but also on the still wet/dirty left shoe I had. I eventually did a sort of lie back on the crack keeping my feet on the left side of it to get through the steep section. (one or two moves) The angle eases off after that, and I cruised up to a ledge below a finger crack. I climbed the slab using the crack for hand holds and gear. Once passed that I was at the belay.

Adam at the finger crack

I brought Adam up who complained about the dirt and moisture. I told him it would get better the higher he climbed. Once at the belay he we exchanged the rack and we discussed the next pitch. He headed up and placed a nut behind a flake and then started toward the slab that is the main feature of the second pitch. There are two bolts on it, and it appears quite run out. Adam's head was not into making the committing move onto the slab and continuing up the run out. So he backed off and handed me the lead.

I started up and used the gear he placed and then ran it out to the bolt. It is probably over ten feet to the bolt from that first piece of gear, but the climbing is 5.5 or under. After the bolt, the climbing gets a touch easier with knobs on the slab for feet. I was able to sling a small tree, and get a small cam into an overlap before making a committing move right to reach the second bolt. After the second bolt it is a few friction moves up the slab before gaining a flake roof. Once at the roof the climbing was really fun. I placed a piece just at the roof, and then moved right around it the surmount it. A few more pieces, combined with some friction and stemming allow you to grab a nice hold and haul yourself onto a ledge above the roof. The ledge is a horizontal crack, which I followed to the left to get to the bolted anchor. I used the crack/ledge for feet, but I'm sure it would also work for hands. Although, if I had used it for hands, I would not have been able to protect the traverse, which was about 15' long. (I had used all my big gear coming around the roof.)

Once I got to the belay I started bringing Adam up while contemplating the next pitch. The opening sequence looked hard and I was sweating it. When Adam got to the belay, we re-racked and I got prepped for the next lead. From the topo, we knew the route went up a shallow left facing corner, and would briefly cross over before gaining another shallow left facing corner. It appeared steepest in the first 12' from the belay and then appeared to ease off. So my concern was getting through an overlap about eight feet up. My moves went smoothly and while I was concerned with the climbing I found it relatively easy. But due to my concern, I placed gear often early on. (Adam counted something like seven pieces in the first 20'!) I think that shows that I was mostly comfortable in placing gear and that the climbing was not too difficult. It also shows the head space I was in when leading the pitch. After the initial overlap, the route is somewhat of a lie back or contrapressure routine.

After the first corner peters out is where I found the crux of the pitch and therefore the route. There was a nice stance above a small bush with a small left facing overlap that offered more contrapressure climbing. The move from contrapressure to on top of the slab was a difficult transition. I initially went up to make the move and couldn't figure it out. I down climbed the move or two back to a good stance and surveyed my options. I also wiped the slab where I was going to be putting my feet as it seemed a bit dirty when I initially went for the move. I went back up and made the first move with my right foot on top of the slab. I felt in melting down the hold until it stopped, and I was in a good stance to continue on a few friction moves before regaining hand holds on the other side of the slab and into the next corner. With only one cam left that would fit the crack, I had to be creative, and run it out. This was really no issue as it is usually not too wise to maintain a lie back for long periods while placing gear. I headed up the final corner which was a perfect lie back while slinging a small bush, and placing a cam and nut. At the top of the corner, I slung another bush before moving right onto the slab to the anchor.

Adam about to go into the last stretch of lie back.

Adam came up and said he found it to be quite strenuous. Especially toward the end. For me, that was where I felt I was getting in the groove and was almost sad that it ended.

On the fourth pitch the topo shows three bolts before reaching the belay. I could see one bolt about 25' straight up, but there was a line of two bolts heading rightward. Adam agreed to lead this one which put him out of his comfort zone. He quickly got to the second bolt, but instead of heading to the other bolt in sight, (Which neither of us, especially me, thought was on route,) he headed to a depression and climbed straight up about 20' above the last protection. He found a decent set of bolts with old rap slings on it. He set up a belay, and I followed. Shortly after the second bolt I noticed the real top anchor and headed toward it. This is when we realized that the other bolt we could see was on route and about halfway between the second bolt Adam clipped and the chains. I got to the true anchor and belayed Adam over. We looked at the fifth unprotected pitch ending at a tree and decided it was not worth it. From the chains we made three raps to the base. There was no issues rapping and we were back to our packs in no time. We relaxed a bit and checked out more of the crag before hiking out to the car.

Adam heading into the unknown.

This was a great outing. I don't know if it is because I hadn't climbed in three weeks, but I found the climbing really enjoyable. The guidebooks have this route as two stars, but I would say it is perhaps a three star route. While not particularly difficult the climbing on the first and second pitches is interesting and fun. (While surmounting the roof on the second pitch, I couldn't stop yelling down to Adam how much fun it was!) The third pitch was really nice too and for a brief while mimicked Diedre in Squamish. (Although it was facing the opposite way.) This was a nice outing, and one that can easily be combined with some other shorter routes at Three O' Clock Rock. While the air temps were warm (60°s) we were in the shade from the second pitch up, and subsequently wore poofys the rest of the route.

Fall Produce

We've been in fresh produce heaven since we arrived in Holley. I can walk across the street to the above produce stand and that's just one of many in this area. I'm taking advantage of the bounty and trying to do some batch cooking to make some home cooked goodness that we can eat now and freeze some for later.



Normally I take time each morning to have some quiet time. I do many different things during this time. It doesn't matter so much what I do, just that I have some quiet time that is good for me and gets me to be a bit more centered before I face the day. The part that is consistent is that I take this time to stop and be mindful of things I am grateful for so I call it my Gratitude Walk, even if I'm not walking while doing it.



With all the prepping I've been doing for the cooking, I've used this as my quiet time. Interestingly enough, it has also been easy for me to do some pondering of things I'm grateful for too while handling all the fresh fruits and veggies. While cooking is not one of my favorite things to do, I do find that I like it so much more when I am using whole foods. It is something that I am in awe of each time I do handle them. I can't help but be aware of the fact that the earth gives us these precious gifts and that whole process is just spectacular in its own way. I think of all of the parts that go into the process in order for food to grow from seed to maturity. Food that nourishes us with its life giving properties and tastes so wonderful to boot. Yesterday I was chopping tomatoes and realized it just feels as if each time I do come in contact with this kind of food in this way, I am literally pulling up a chair to God's table to eat.



So what goodies have I managed to cook up this week? Two batches of bolognese sauce, (Mira gave me her recipe for the Bolognese Sauce which is similar to Pastor Ryan's), two batches of marinara sauce, two batches of chunky vegetable spaghetti sauce, pizza sauce, a huge batch of chili, fried apples like Cracker Barrel makes, apple dumplings, apple crisp, apple butter, applesauce and coleslaw. Nathan has made his oh so good salsa and still wants to make another huge batch. I still have butternut squash and pumpkins to use. I'm guessing we'll get some extras to take with us before we leave. I'm going to miss it when we do leave, but we'll soon be back in Florida where we can get year round fresh produce again.



Now if I could just find a way to get someone else to clean up the mess after I cook, I might not mind this cooking stuff at all!



Living the life in New York!

Excursion to Park City

Yesterday turned out to be another beautiful day for a break from research. Carol's husband, aka Man, keeps an eye on the weather for us and if a “good” day appears on the horizon we take advantage of it. He picked another winner. Even though high winds were forecast (up to 60 mph, which never developed – at least not in Park City) we ventured forth.



Park City is a beautiful town nestled in a valley high up in the mountains (about 7,000 feet in elevation, I think). We walked and we talked and we visited shops and had a very good time.





I have no idea of the story behind them, but Park City has shoe trees. Not quite as full as the one in Nevada that is no more, but lots of shoes all the same.







A wide variety of wearing apparel in these trees.



And the city has sculptures everywhere. Carol with a friend.



He was a big fella.



Man found a friend too. Man was very patient while waiting for Carol and me when we were stopping very frequently to take pictures.





I loved the Moose. All decked out in jeans, a straw hat and cowboy boots!



And those eyes! Simply Precious.



We drove up to the top of the mountain, as far as the road was open. Beautiful houses and lots of condominiums.





Narrow, winding roads and snow. Some drifts looked to be at least six feet deep.



As beautiful as it is, I don't think I'd want to live there.



Oh, and did I mention that it is “spring time” in Park City? And they have flowers? And they were absolutely gorgeous!

Bluebells

Virginia bluebells (Mertensia virginica).

We have an area that floods whenever it rains a lot in the spring. It was pretty grown up, so Hubby cut a couple of paths through it with the tractor.

Look what popped up on one of the paths!

The 45 Minute Mystery

The furthest I typically travel for transportation is about 10 miles from home, and over time I've noticed something kind of funny: It takes me around 45 minutes to get there pretty much every time, no matter what bike I am riding. I have done the ride on several upright bikes, road and touring bikes, mixtes, single speeds - and it's always the same. If I happen to be a little slower or faster on any given day, it seems to depend more on traffic patterns than on the bike I am riding.

This is not to say that some bikes are not faster than others; clearly there are enormous differences. But when riding for transportation through densely populated areas, I find that more often than not these differences simply do not matter. Because I follow traffic laws and stop for red lights and stop signs, being on a fast bike just means that I am riding faster between those enforced stops. Maybe once in a while I'll make a green light that a slower cyclist would not, but somehow it averages out and in the end I don't really "win" any time.

Of course there are other benefits to being on a faster bike. Hills are easier. Accelerating is easier when going around obstacles or starting from a stop. All things considered, I prefer to commute on a bike that is fast - as long as it's also upright, comfortable, and fully equipped for transportation. But the faster bike does not deliver me to my destination any sooner; the 45 minute rule always applies.

By request

Quoting FC:

I was thinking about you the other day...in Walmart. I saw the game cameras and it made me wonder about your sneaky game camera. Are y'all still using it?
Since it's triggered by body heat, it doesn't work so well in the summer. Not in Alabama, anyway. We have taken pictures mostly of ourselves going to check the camera. The only other thing was this, in late April:


Chupacabra, maybe?

...and what has Jasmine been up to?
In this time of fireworks, she's been hiding most thoroughly. Deer nibbled the garden last night.

...and how are those baby catfish doing?



Happy 4th!