adventures


4
Aug 22

A post about tearing things down, and building things up

I’d like to tell you about a building I’ve never been in. It is a building you’ve never heard of, most probably. You won’t care at all, until you do, but that’s my job here.

This building was erected in the 1960s as an off-campus dormitory. It had an indoor pool. It wasn’t considered very attractive, even in the 1960s. (I KNOW!) Derisively, it has been called a project of Bland & Boring Architecture Inc., which is a firm that probably doesn’t exist by that name. And if someone is using that, they should change it, posthaste.

Anyway, this place failed as a residence hall, all 150,000 sq. ft. of it. And then it failed as a sorority house. All of this is odd because the only thing more under pressure in a college town than parking spaces are living arrangements. You can be sure that truism goes back generations. And yet, here’s the Poplars Building. Failing as a place to live, it became a research and conference center, and this town’s first premium hotel. We’re in the 1970s now, and the promotional material promises a bufeteria. And I know what you’re thinking.

Bufeteria? Did Elvis stay there?

Yes he did, in 1974.

Fans stood in the alley behind the hotel, after one of his two shows here, but they were once again disappointed by the Poplars, and by the rock star. He skipped out after one night, when he was apparently scheduled for two. We can’t say, here, that this is why the hotel concept fizzled, but there’s certainly a correlation.

When the hotel was on it’s last legs the university took on Poplars and turned it briefly into an academic unit, and then used it as administrative offices. The pool was filled in and became Human Resources. Some 400 people could work in Poplars.

Now, it is coming down. This is from a story from last October.

“We might be out by the end of the month or the end of November,” says Tom Morrison, vice president of capital planning and facilities. “We do intend to demolish it, probably starting before the end of the calendar year. We haven’t bid that yet but that’s coming up soon.

“Rest assured we’re not going to implode it.”

That piece goes on to discuss the aging building, how, because it was a hotel, offices became mini-suites with private restrooms. That seems like a really great perk, but it also discusses how that became a detriment, and some other details. But, now, 10 months removed from that copy I can tell you two things. They are out of the building, and Morrison was correct: Poplars isn’t being imploded.

It is, starting today, being scraped to death.

This was at 9 a.m. this morning.

And at 10 a.m., they were making a bit of progress.

This is just a block away, so I can take these pictures, like this one, at the end of the day, with ease.

Who knows how long it will take. And no one knows, yet, what will go in it’s place. The current plan seems to be a green space, which would be nice, but that might also be a placeholder until a specific need presents itself. The biggest need is the parking deck next door. That’s been closed since early summer for much-needed maintenance work, and that parking deck is much needed, because parking is always in short supply in a college town.

Residential buildings are too, here, but that’s an entirely different and less interesting town-and-gown conversation full of predictable quotes.

Rather than fill your time with that sort of thing, I’ll try to provide some daily updates on the progress of the de-Poplarization going on nearby.

And this evening, we hit the road. Maybe you know where we’re going. Probably you don’t. It really comes down to how closely you’ve been paying attention to all of the platforms. Allllll of the platforms and, probably, whether, you’ve used Google with that in mind to try to determine the answer to this mystery which you didn’t know I was springing on you until just this moment.

I really should work on building the suspense a bit more, I know. There’s only so much time in the day, though, and all of these platforms need very subtle, sly, programmatically specific content.

So here’s your hint … we passed these along the way.

If you’re good you at least have a direction now.

If you don’t have this particularly geographical frame of reference (and I didn’t until earlier this year, so no fault will be found) just keep up with a few of these other places over the next few days. Content there will help flesh out the particulars. There’s always more on Twitter and big clues will also be found on Instagram, too. Of course, this will also be resolved tomorrow, so you could just wait here and refresh this page …

I really should work on building the suspense more.


27
Jul 22

I am a spokes-person

This evening we had a one-hour training ride. I sprinted up the first little hill as I always do, and … that was it. My legs and my lungs lost interest for the next several miles. About five of them, to be precise. The Yankee got ahead of me, and I rallied over the next 15 miles. I (truly and sincerely) rode as fast as I’ve ever ridden a half-hour.

I could not catch her wheel. Could not bridge the gap. Couldn’t even keep her in sight.

This is just after a turn around point in the route. She had turned and I was approaching the turn. The timing suggested I wasn’t far behind, which was good, because I already had it figured.

#GoRenGo

There were two little sections of the return route where I would have a chance to catch back up. Two roads that suit my ride a little more than hers.

If I couldn’t do it in one of those two places my only chance was if she got caught in traffic — people here aren’t especially good at intersections and they absolutely freeze up when you add a cyclist into the mix.

Have you ever had this sensation? Your bike feels like it’s floating over everything. Not la volupté, but the sense that your tires are about a quarter inch off the road, when your bike is anticipating the bumps and cracks and turns. Ever felt that? Your legs feel like they are behind you and charging, rather than beneath you driving. Have you ever experienced that? I get it once, maybe twice a year. I assume it is because I’m having a day of nice form. The numbers supported that hypothesis a bit today, as this became one of those days. I was impressed by my splits, but I was still not fast enough.

So watch out, USA Triathlon National Championships. She’s coming for you. And she’ll be fast.

Then she did a one-mile run. (Because I am not training for the national triathlon championships, I got to stay inside.)


20
Jul 22

The show doesn’t always go on

We were going out for a frivolous experience. An adventure! Adventures are very necessary. They vary in scope and scale and, as such, grand gestures or big activities do not an adventure make. The best adventures are the smallest ones, generally speaking. And most anything is an adventure in the right company. But today’s was to be a frivolous experience. This would, by my count, be the sixth since the pandemic began. We’re on two hands now!

This is a cornfield we passed today.

Our frivolous experience was canceled. Covid.

Fortunately not us, but someone in the show. We went to Cincinnati to see Barenaked Ladies again. You’ll recall we saw them a few weeks ago in Indianapolis, it was a fine show, had a great time. (I sprinkled video here over the next week, if you’d like to scroll back in time.) Soon after that, The Yankee found some re-sell tickets for cheap. We drove over to Ohio. Guy working in the parking booth at the venue told us the news.

And sure enough, there it was. The word had come down, it just had not caught up to us.

So we spent the evening down by the river, near the baseball stadium, enjoying the warm weather and the park. Got a bite to eat and headed back to Bloomington around 9 p.m. Some of the clouds we saw on the drive back.

It was not the adventure we planned, but it was a great adventure nevertheless.

Saw this at the rest stop. Anyone have any idea what this is meant to do?

Also at the rest stop … Do you ever read rules, or signs, and think, This is about a specific incident? This is about a specific incident. Surely.

We didn’t get the concert, but there’ll be another, at another time. The one we just saw was a 2020 date, twice-rescheduled. This one, I guess, is a 2020 date that will eventually be thrice-rescheduled.

They named this, in at least 2019, the Last Summer on Earth Tour. I wonder if they’ve rethought that at any point.

Since we didn’t see it tonight, here’s the encore from July 1st. Barenaked Ladies closing the show with Toad the Wet Sprocket and Gin Blossoms.

We’ll see them again. Soon, hopefully. Because the 90s will never end, I guess.


19
Jul 22

The turf and surf menagerie

Last evening, during a walk, we saw a deer.

We saw two deer, in fact. Who knows how many more were just out of sight, watching us.

We also spotted three rabbits and two squirrels.

The highlight was surely the stray cat that came into our back yard. Poseidon noticed it, and was most emphatic that the interloper be removed. After a time The Yankee went out to check on the cat, and decided it looked like one posted on the local Next Door community. She called the number. We kept the kitty — spooked but healthy and hungry — in our yard until they arrived.

They were nice people. The woman is desperate to find their pet. Last weekend they drove 80 miles one-way to see if a cat was theirs. It was not their cat, but they adopted it anyway. So they are nice and passionate people, and perhaps cat thieves. Who can tell with these things?

And then they … wouldn’t leave. So they were nice, passionate, perhaps cat thieves who did not pick up on the social cues. Who can tell with these things? But they’d come over from a few miles away and it was a break from yard work or research or whatever they were doing. They also offered to take this other cat.

So definitely cat thieves, then.

Somewhere during all of this our neighbors came out to visit and we found ourselves having a party in the side yard.

None of this sounds like much, but they stayed on the porch for a good long while, and it was otherwise a evening, so take this elderberry and be happy with it.

If that’s not enough, congratulate me on completing the Cozumel diving social media project. Since March, I have been uploading daily clips of our diving to Twitter, Instagram and Facebook. Tens of people, perhaps, have seen them. But if you missed all of that somehow, just click the Twitter link and you can see them all threaded together.

Or revisit with me those videos in the longer form on YouTube, where dozens of people have watched. I edited them each day of the dives.

I am very popular on the world wide web.


18
Jul 22

Catching up from the weekend

We enjoyed a little bike ride on Saturday morning, trying to beat the heat before the heat beat us. We stopped about 10 miles in to stretch the legs and let the sweat drip, drip, drip onto the cement under a church awning. A man walked by with his dog on a leash. He told the dog, “Do not bark. Do not bark.” And the dog did as he was instructed. He did as he was instructed for as long as he could, and finally he let loose with a deep woof-woof-woof that intimidated me into action. I told the dog I had learned my lesson, and would be on my way. He had saved the day, protected his neighborhood from the outsiders in funny clothes.

The Yankee had already set out to continue her ride, but somehow the dog positioned himself in my route of travel. So I had to wait until the nice gentleman was able to reel him in. He was a very good boy, that dog, and made me leave as soon as possible. I am sure he told everyone about it the rest of the day, for treats and pets and to reassure his people that he was on the job. The sweaty guy dressed funny won’t be back anytime soon. Woof.

Anyway, since she got off ahead of me I had to catch up, which changed the video I was going to make for that ride. But this one is still fun.

I hit 43.7 miles per hour somewhere in here. That’s 70 kilometers, which sounds more impressive — and we’re presently watching the Tour, where everything is in kilometers anyway. So it was a 56 kilometer ride, and I topped out at 70 km. Not bad for a Saturday morning.

Time for the weekly kitty check in. The cats are, happily, doing just fine. And they are, of course, pleased to provide the site’s most popular feature.

Here’s Phoebe hanging out on top of the cat tree.

And here she is, yesterday, sitting in the duffel where we store the massage boots. A little compression therapy for me, a little bag time for her.

Such a character.

And here’s the occasional proof that they do, sometimes get along.

Poseidon is sometimes pretty aggressive and she doesn’t tolerate it very well and it carries over into many of their interactions. This morning she walked up to him and hissed at him for just sitting there. Usually it is the other way around. But sibling rivalries

Poseidon, meantime, works extra hard to be cute and charming, when he’s not being a pill.

He’s just an adventurer at heart. Here he is in the laundry room.

I measured all of this, after I climbed up there and dragged him out. That’s a four-and-a-half foot jump from the top of the washing machine to the top of the cabinet. And the space between that molding and the ceiling is about four inches.

I thought that was pretty agile, even for a cat. Showed that picture to The Yankee and she was not surprised. I complained about having to pull him down from there.

Oh, she said, I just leave him.

So it isn’t the first time he’s made that leap.