Mourning Cloak

A mourning cloak butterfly basks in the sun.

Spring has Sprung!

It was a great bike riding weekend. Sunday morning I headed to the Mall for breakfast. Panera Bread is in the middle of a move. We were talking about checking out Mickey D's. I was the only one to make it.
It was already in the 50s at 9am. Took a little nap (tired after the dirt ride yesterday). Then prepped the Super T (road bike) for a ride. Drove to Wabash Trace Trailhead Park. Gonna be a busy day on The Trace, too.
The route today was Lake Manawa Trail, Indian Creek Trail. Veteran's Memorial Trail and Western Heritage Trail to the Trails Center. Stopped in for a visit and time for a granola bar and G2.
Retraced my way back to Indian Creek Trail, turning North to S. 16th. From there the connector to S 8th and to Xtreme Wheels downtown. A little more visiting and talking bikes.
Rode down Harry Landon Blvd and South Avenue back to Wabash Trace Trailhead Park.
My day was not finished. After a quick change of clothes at home, it was off to Aksarben Village for a THOR (Trails Have Our Respect) Marketing Committee meeting.
Today's photo was taken at Lake Manawa Mountain Bike Trails (Long's Loop) on Saturday during my dirt ride - a shameless ad for THOR.

COLOURS OF MY LIFE

I felt in need of some cheery colour today, so I searched the sadly depleted pots on the patio and managed to find these lovely flowers. What I like most about this photograph is the way it looks as though a spot has fallen off the cup (below the handle) and onto the stone.





I love the colour of these too. For far too many years I thought that flowers had to be big and showy, vases stuffed full of foliage and blooms and yet I got so much enjoyment from these little odds and ends.





The bottles were found during excavation work on the house, and the lovely piece of wood at the back was carved by Peter the previous owner of our last house. He was working on carving a replacement rood screen for a church and this was a trial piece. Although it is only a rough piece of carving I really like it.









So, I have spent a quiet day just doing some sewing.





Luckily George has been rather busier and has continued to do some bricklaying, finishing the headers on the patio wall. I can report that it is looking really good, Jonny. I haven't taken any photographs, and I won't until it is completely finished. I think you will be pleased though.





The following photographs have been taken in our garden, but not by me

this little bug has not been photo-shopped in any way - isn't it beautiful? It almost looks like a cartoon character. I wish I had taken the photo but I have to thank Ian (my brother) for this one and the next one too.

So, between happy little bugs and beautiful colours who could feel dull and jaded for long?





I hope today went well for you Jonny.





Lots of love,

Mum

xxx

Spring Snow at Portage Brook

This year, spring in Northern Minnesota has been slow to arrive. This photo, captured the day after a late winter storm dropped 5 inches of snow on the Arrowhead Trail in Cook County, is proof of that fact. Most people that I've talked to recently have had more than their fill of winter. I, on the other had, welcome a late winter/early spring snow storm, especially after the rivers have opened up. The contrast of fresh snow and running water makes for some incredible imagery. This waterfall is a little-known gem not far from the Canadian border. The trail to this falls is not marked, and is a short but rugged hike. Just before you get to the falls, there is an area where blowing snow collects and drifts rather badly. I had to wallow my way through a drift that was almost waist-deep in order to get to this vantage point on the falls. By the time I got back to my vehicle, my pants and shoes were soaked from pushing my way through the wet snow. As is often the case, however, the photos that I got were worth the effort. This image was made using my Canon EF 17-40mm lens, shutter speed was 1/2 second, aperture f22, ISO 50.

Repentence

I had a complete change of plans on the weekend (as if that's unusual) and decided to undertake what ranks as one of my favourite rides in the world. The ride that I call "repentence" is basically a loop to the south-west taking in Nimbin and Mullumbimby and passing through places like Repentence Creek, The Crystal Castle and The Channon. It's a ride of spectacular scenery, magical forests and stunning views. It also has a shortage of flat ground. Yesterday I did it in reverse, and found the scenic wonders started early, first Bilambil and then Urliup.


Through Murwillumbah and Uki, into the Tweed Valley. I was watching the clouds playing games with Mt Warning.

The ride proper started at the foot of the Nightcap Range, which had to be crossed before the descent into Nimbin. Climbing it from this side it has a real early kick, before easing into a manageable gradient. The hill on the other side of Nimbin, however, is a different matter entirely.

Having ridden around Tasmania, having done the Great Alpine Road, the Grampians and numerous other climbs on the Great Dividing Range, I think I'm within my rights to boast this as one of the hardest climbs in the country. I was almost vomiting at the top, but I held on and conquered it. There was another steep climb out of The Channon, and I was glad to reach Dunoon for some much needed water (despite having already consumed several litres).

The forests on the climbs between here and Mullumbimby are magical, and the way the roads wind around the hills is a delight in itself. There were four more of them before Mullumbimby, and I got to watch a storm building up to the north (although it didn't deliver the rain I was craving). Here the scenery was about all that inspired me, oh and a little anger at being tailgated for 4km (which I took out on the next climb).

After Mullumbimby is was the short, sharp climbs all the way to Murwillumbah in the late afternoon sun. This is a truly lovely stretch of road on the old Pacific Highway -- it's the idiots who use the new one who have been denied here. One of the locals on a mountain bike joined me for the last few kilometres into Murwillumbah, and the last few hills. As usual I took the opportunity to impart some local knowledge of some of the back roads that even he didn't know about. I think I do that as much for vanity as anything else these days.
After Murwillumbah it was back on the Pilgrims' Road, before returning home through the darkness, and the glow worms, of John Hogan rainforest. This actually has three substantial climbs in 10km, the last of which is Bilambil - always Bilambil. Unfortunately the rainforest stretch here is a little shorter than that of Urliup, where I'd normally go, but that's part of doing the ride in reverse.
The final cruise up the coast was blissfully uneventful, and I was accompanied by a mist of ocean spray rolling across from the South Pacific. Sometimes this city isn't so bad after all. It left me to reflect on the closing stages of a ride of 260km, and 3,160 metres of climbing. I'm preparing for a 600k, and this ride did shorten me up a little. On the positive side, there are few rides in the country as hilly as that one (the ASH Dash and Alpine Classic are all I can think of). I'll be OK, but I may reconsider certain elements of my strategy after this.

School Days in D.C.

It was the fall of 1921 when my father started kindergarten at Wheatley Elementary on Neal Street NE near Gallaudet University. His sister, Catherine dragged him by the hand, and he cried all the way. The teacher kept asking him his name, and he told her “Yorgo” which must have mystified her. He wouldn’t do anything she told him because he didn’t understand her. Things did not go well that first day. School life improved, however, once it was established that he couldn’t speak English, although he soon learned. He remembers being the only Greek in the class. The only other kid he remembers then was Harry Chase -the boy up the street who did scary shows in his basement. (Isn’t there always one?)
Meanwhile, in Mount Pleasant, my mother was having her own troubles starting school at HD Cooke Elementary on Bryant Street. She didn’t like it, and vaguely remembers being locked in a closet. She was very shy all through school. Then, in 1929, the family moved to the brand new Broadmoor Apartment Building on Connecticut Avenue and Porter Streets. The children in the building were provided with a little bus that took them to John Eaton on Lowell Street every day. One of those children was John Hechinger who would grow up to be a hardware magnate. My mother’s only good memory of John Eaton was the bakery truck which came around at recess. Her biggest decision each day was choosing the eclair or a cinnamon bun.
My father’s family moved to Cleveland Park in 1927, and so Dad was at John Eaton as well. He remembers that bakery truck, and that it was from the Holmes Bakery. He also remembers that John Eaton was bigger than Wheatley and had a better playground. He and his sister walked from Macomb Street until Dad got a bike. That year the school system established a student patrol. Between owning a bike and getting a recommendation from his neighbor, Mr. Burka, of Burka’s liquors, Dad became captain of the first boy patrol in the city.
Washington Tech High school, (now McKinley) was built in 1929, and Dad’s big sister, Catherine decided she wanted to go there because it was the new, and they offered the latest in Home Economics. He remembers it was a big school on T street in Northeast. When Dad graduated from John Eaton the next year, he had to go there as well to keep an eye on his sister. Their father would drive them across the city every morning, and they’d take the street car home. When Catherine finished, Dad was allowed to go to Western (now Duke Ellington) as a sophomore.
By then he had a car since he had lied about his age to get a license. He remembers saving fuel by coasting down Macomb street, but he had to use gas to get home again so he would charge his buddies 15 cents for a ride. Amongst his friends was Carl Langmark whose family was Danish. His dad was their phys ed teacher at Western. Another friend, Malcolm Levi, was fairly well off. His dad was vice president of the Hecht Company. (Malcolm later helped Dad get that instrumental job picking up hangers.)
One of Dad’s life long friends from Western was Jerry Peake. Jerry’s dad had died, and Jerry had two jobs- one on a bakery truck and one at Sidwell Friends’ golf range. In exchange for the golf job, Dad would ride Jerry on his bike up Wisconsin Ave to the golf range where they would both pick up balls.
Dad didn’t like school very much, but he was on the track team. He remembers running against big 18 year olds since there was no age limit back then. He had a red uniform which he kept when he graduated. Later his younger brother, Nick wore it to school and was yelled at because Dad was supposed to have turned it in. (Nick ended up going on to the brand new Wilson High School in Tenleytown as soon as it was open.)
Dr Newton was the principal at Western. He was a pleasant man with a little white goatee. They called him “Fig” which tells you how old that cookie is. The vice principal was Nelson Stricter. Dad also remembers going to dances. His mother always let him go if he was home by 10 and didn’t dance with any girls.
My mother’s memories are more vague . She remembers having a scary English teacher who seemed 95 years old and made them read their pieces out loud. She stayed home from school just to avoid that, but when she came back, she still had to read her paper. She remembers students were supposed to eat in the cafeteria, but the “hep” kids would hang out during lunch at the corner stores across from the school on 35th Street.
Neither set of parents came to their graduations in the big beautiful auditorium which is still functioning as a theater for Duke Ellington School of the Arts. They were all probably working. Dad graduated in 1933 and went to GW when he wasn’t making money to keep the car going. Mom graduated in February 1935 in the same pastel blue dress which she would get married in a few months later. She got an office job on K Street and filed papers until Memorial Day-and that’s the day everything changed for them.

Epic Ride Day

After 2 days out of the saddle, I needed a ride. The place to ride (on pavement) is the River Trail. Anyway, I had to see and ride over the "Big Dam Bridge". Climbing the approach got my heart rate going.
After that, it was a relaxing ride on the N. Little Rock trails.

Stopped at some bike shops - finally found on that could tell me about mountain bike rides. Luckily, there was a C.A.R.P. ride on the Camp Robinson trails. The ride was lightly attended (It was a funeral to one of their riders). The trails area not well marked, and I was left to ride by myself. Otherwise, I had a good ride. The trails are rocky - I was able to adapt and build some rock riding ability and lots of climbing. Think I rode very well under the circumstances. After I get home there will be some helmet cam clips on my web site.
Today gonna scope out some other riding places.