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cycling / memories / photo / site / Wednesday — Comments Off
7
Aug 24

Starting year 21

Today marks the beginning of the 21st year of this website. We had a private anniversary party yesterday. A little peach crumble … a small scoop of vanilla … yes, we pulled out all the stops for kennysmith.org.

I opened this place up in August 2004, two cars, three jobs and four houses ago. I’ve been writing in this space through the advent, rise and now the fracturing of social media. I’ve been in all of those places, too, but I figured out, pretty early on, what some have only come to learn in this online cultural nadir. You post it on someone else’s site, you don’t own it. At least all the photos and other things are on my server. It has been a way to pass the time, occasionally learn new code, or, rarely, get a commission. I ramble here, all the time. Often, it seems like I should ramble more. It has been a lot of things, and I’m pleased with all of them. North of six million people have come through here. I have no idea why, but I’m grateful. Mostly, I’m glad you’re here, and that you’ve kept coming back.

Suddenly, it seems as if there should be an announcement. A big surprise. A new direction. A redesign. Something. But I don’t have anything.

Hey, next August, this place will be 21. I might think of something by then.

It has been almost relentlessly humid lately. The sort that keeps you from doing anything outside.It’s been a lot like home, actually. But, today, it wasn’t humid. It rained!

I said, How long are you going to ride?

And she explained her route.

When you drop me, just keep going, and don’t stop and wait for me, I said.

“Are you sure?”

I’ve been going slow lately. If you wait, you’ll just drop me again. Then you’ll wait and drop me, wait and drop me, and it won’t be a good ride for you.

I asked her how long she was going to ride for, she said, “I’m going for distance, and not time,” and explained the route she had in mind.

It’s always about time, so this was rare. And more fun. And this route is a new combination of familiar roads, and longer, and here I am, unfit for the ride at hand.

For the record, the types of ride, in terms of most fun are:

A vacation ride
Riding without a plan on roads you don’t know
Riding with a plan on roads you don’t know
Riding roads you know
Riding for time
Riding in severe weather

All of those are fun, to be sure, including the severe weather. I got caught in a hail storm once. It was hilarious.

Anyway, today, I was dropped quite easily and early, as I imagined. I did see this cool tractor, though. I wonder where he’s taking all that fruit.

I was in a headwind just then, and I’m usually no good in the breeze, but today wasn’t bad. And then there was the rain, which started falling about an hour into the ride.

Then, the most fun thing happened. I just kept riding. Legs felt pretty good and everything worked fairly well. Around the two-hour mark, though, I realized that the old pair of bib shorts I was wearing should really be for rides of 90 minutes or less. Something to figure out before I put on cycling kit.

Somehow, this will be easier than just throwing away the old and obviously worn shorts.

I looked down at some point in the last 10 miles or so and this little maple leaf was being pressed against the brake lever by the wind. I picked it up so I could take this photo.

When I got home I found that leaf, still stuffed in my jersey, ready for its moment. No idea why I kept it. But that changed up my routine at the end of the ride, and somehow that let me notice this daylily that I would have overlooked by the garage door.

It got plenty of rain today, so I’m sure that is one happy plant. If I thought of it at the time, I would have rung my socks out on it, too.

But I had to head over to the peach tree and get today’s haul.

Seriously, come get some peaches. We’re celebrating over here with stone fruit, and we have plenty to share.

cycling / family / memories / photo / Tuesday — Comments Off
6
Aug 24

Still not good with the seeds

Every English teacher you ever knew, every English professor you ever met, was always working on that one book. Or they would tell you about their book. Or they had it in them. It was the book of their childhood. Every autobiography was going to have long and beautifully intricate passages about the chrysanthemums in bloom, and their time romping with their friends and the little sisters and cousins of their lives.

It was always so silly because there would inevitably be a metaphor, but the metaphors were interchangeable and, often, not that good. You need a certain something to pull that off, and most people that spend a lot of time in the classroom, or grading papers, don’t have the opportunities to cultivate that certain something. So it all came down, finally, to a lament.

But those flowers were always there, and it was that loss of childhood, the flowers flaring, beautiful, and then fading, like so many bad lectures, and Moby Dick essays before them now

The only person that could write about it well, without it becoming a parody of himself, was when Willie Morris wrote about the jonquils blooming in his native Mississippi. He missed them from New York, where he was finding himself conflicted about so many things in the world changing around him, and he in it. He wrote about the smell of the jonquils, almost every year he was gone. And in most of his work after he went home, they didn’t seem to appear as much. You can use a metaphor up; Morris knew that, and that’s why it worked for him.

I always laughed at the cliché, but now I get it.

One of my lasting memories, he wrote in his best Robert Redford voice, is walking out back to the garden my grandfather kept. He would hold an old dull kitchen knife in his hand. It had a silver handle. Solid but light. It was, I think, the boning knife, that long thin one. He carried a salt shaker in his back pocket. It was a dull white plastic. A little beaten up. Probably it had been around for forever. I followed him as he stepped confidently over ground he’d trodden for decades. And out there, in the hot, bright summer sun, he’d find a great, big, ripe watermelon. He’d pull it from the vine and walk with me over to the edge of his row crops and, there, he delivered to me the secret indulgence of sun-warmed watermelon.

For a long time after he died, I wouldn’t eat watermelon. And then, for a while, I only did when someone brought it out, and only a little, to be polite, and I felt bad about the whole thing. It felt disrespectful.

But now, I do eat some watermelon. It comes with a weird mixture of that same great regret.

And there is also a maudlin nostalgia beneath the rind, the sadly sweet memory in the sweet flesh. I can’t not think about all of that. I thought about it when I cut this one up yesterday. It was a small melon, we got it from a local farm as part of a weekly produce box. I thought about it when I ate part of it yesterday, and again when I had some more today. I will think of it when I finish the thing off tomorrow.

I’ve always thought I was learning the incredibly valuable lesson that fruit was the best when it was still warm from the sun. Putting watermelon in the fridge is an awful act. I thought about setting it outside for a while and eating it the proper way, I thought I’ve never had before, but that really would have been stepping out. This is the thing I have difficulty reconciling. Maybe that’s what grandparents are trying to pass to us. Maybe, a grandparent’s lesson is really about what we can prize about what we had. Maybe it was something about those little yellow flowers on the vine, and the metaphor they hold, briefly, within. Or that salt shaker.

On today’s ride, I set out alone and, ultimately, turned in another slow one. I went through some of the nearby pasture lands and some of the row crops. I pedaled by the winery, turned left toward the gas station and then left again toward the park.

Past some sheep, on a beautifully paved road that has some nice curves into an old neighborhood that leads into the town. Through the town, and out the other side, I wound my way down to the inconvenience center and beyond.

It was that time of day, on a dramatically cloudy day, when you have to plan your route, and be ready to adjust it, based on the light. So I rode on two new roads out that way, watching the light, confident in my bike’s lights — one on the seat post and one blinking through my jersey pocket — and in the three mile downhill back to town. After that, it’s easy, through the town in just under a mile, and then four miles of open roads, and a reasonable bike lane, back to the house.

There’s one spot, in between two hills, and under a dense canopy of trees, that felt dark. But after that, it all opened back up to the same, even, gray light we’d had most of the day. It was 8:30, and I still had time to pick up the day’s peaches.

So many peaches. We’ve only just begun.

Please come get some peaches. If you do, I’ll promise to not torture you with literary allusions.

cycling / Monday / photo — Comments Off
5
Aug 24

On Monday

The time has come upon us. Or it is very nearly upon us. Any day now. Any moment now. We’ll be drowned in peaches. I picked these off the ground on Saturday. We’d had some rain and a bit of wind and so a few landed on the ground a bit early. They aren’t all ripe yet, but there are plenty of things you can do with almost-there peaches.

My goal, this year, is to not be overwhelmed by the sheer volume of peaches the tree produces. And the happy thought is I will not get scurvy this month or next. I’ll also get more vitamin A than any reasonable person should.

Seriously, come by and get some peaches. There will be plenty to share. Our neighbors can enjoy only so many. Our freezer has a limit. There’s ice cream and bread to work around in there.

It says here on the ol’ Garmin that I’d ridden two hours and five minutes when I took this photograph on Saturday.

I shot that in the neighborhood next to ours, so I was almost home. My overall ride was about two hours and 15 minutes. All of which is to say, I am riding slow.

That’s not a problem, but it is annoying. And, if you’re slow, you have a lot of time to ponder the situation. A lot of time.

Today’s ride wasn’t any faster, but I did enjoy a new road. Quite a few, in fact, but this was the one I’d wanted to try, the whole point of this particular ride. Through the trees until it teed, and, then, turn right into you get back into town and then head on in.

I saw five deer. Or I saw one or two twice, it’s difficult to say.

This evening I looked and it seems I’ve been slow since May, so there’s that.

But, my ride on Saturday did offer me a consolation. On Saturday, 2024 moved into second place in terms of miles ridden. Still four months to go! I might need them all to put 2024 atop the ledger. Especially after July, which was no good. Sick, heat, travel, and when you mix them all together it turned into a bit of apathy. Maybe the break will help in the long run, but as you can see from the graph, it put me behind.

I’ll get back on track. Staying above those trend lines is an important part of the goal.

What’s more important is the site’s most popular weekly feature, checking in on the kitties. (I think it’s been a few weeks now.)

The most important thing, though, might be Phoebe’s milk. I’ll eat a bowl of granola and she’ll wait impatiently. Lately, she has become more impatient, and has chosen to express this through biting. That was fun for about a week, but then the bites got a bit sharper. A bit more adamant. More … pointed. Everything on this beautiful cat is sharp and pointy.

Apparently, she’s trained herself to know when I am almost through with my bowl. Apparently I have a pattern, because when I pick up the bowl, she knows I’m wiping it out, and so there’s more stamping and head butting and biting.

At first I counted the bites, and recounted them later to my lovely bride, because it was cute. Now, I’m actively defending myself from this beautiful, sharp, pointy cat.

She gets insistent because when I’m done, it’s her turn.

When she has her fill, she doesn’t drink much, she takes a few steps away, stops, and then does the full-body shake. I put away the bowl and find out where she’s chosen to enjoy her milk coma.

Poseidon does not get milk. He can’t handle the hard stuff. He’s catose intolerant. The Yankee gives him almond milk. Bougie cat.

He’s presently sitting on a box. We tell them not to get on the counters, which they ignore. But they are also jailhouse lawyers, and take pride in sitting on papers, bags or boxes that are on the kitchen bar, as if to say, “Not on the counter!”

It is working against him though because, this is his food. And if he’s sitting there, I can’t open it, and feed him.

He’s smart. He’ll figure it out.

I caught him emerging from his cabinet above the refrigerator. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before.

Recently, The Yankee took exception to my calling it “his” cabinet in her kitchen. But, I reminded her, she was the one that put a blanket in the cabinet for him.

The kitties, as you can see, are doing well. And I hope you are, too. Have a great week!

cycling / Monday / photo — Comments Off
29
Jul 24

Silently whirring on roads

I am trying, trying, to get back in the swing of things. A few inches at a time, one step at a time, whatever it is. The word lethargy comes to mind. So does the word apathy. I wanted to say it’s a combination, an intersection of the two, except they are the same.

I turned down a party invite and a day trip because it just didn’t feel like I would be the best company this weekend. Pretending takes energy, and there’s lethargy. It seemed a rare moment of self awareness, a moment that make no sense.

I took an easy little bike ride on Saturday evening. It seems like I’m always taking these breaks from the bike and there’s always a reset. Maybe it isn’t really necessary. Maybe the point is just being on a road somewhere.

This requires no pretending. This I have energy for. The mental sort, anyway. Still takes fuel and rest to pedal yourself around, even if only a little bit. Even if you can coast by a winery and try to line up a sunset.

Sometime later, though it doesn’t like it should be, I decided to show off my new glasses. In the evening you don’t need shades, but it’s good to protect the eyes.

I’m wearing actual safety glasses. Hardware store specials. The cheapest thing possible. And they’re also incredibly lightweight. So lightweight that the arms are basically all a very flimsy rubber. This is fine, except for when you need to take the glasses off and then put them back on.

Also, I thought that maybe I could catch the sun behind me. Took a few tries, but good east-west roads are worthy of the effort.

One last sun photo …

And then immediately opposite, my favorite, nicely lit, hay shed.

I’ve been waiting a while to take that shot.

I have no recollection of the next five or six miles. I was deep into imagining a speech I’ll never give. (It happens, but usually in the car.) I got back to the house and wasn’t even sure if I’d taken the route I wanted. (I did.) It was a good speech, though.

Last night I took a a 30-mile ride. New roads!

I love new roads. There’s something romantic about being lost on a bike. Lost is a relative term here, I’d mapped this route on an app beforehand, but a good portion of my plan was all new.

And then, of course, I missed a turn on my route. For a time, I was actually lost, which is also great. I wasn’t that far from home, just two towns away, and there was still plenty of light, and before you long I ran across a road I knew. That took me to another road, which allowed me to double back, because there was light, and get back on my original course. Along the way I ran across a farm I remember from a ride last November.

And then I breezed by what is, I think, a new-to-me barn.

It can be awfully pretty out here. And, at that time in the evening, when everyone is already where they needed to be, it can be wonderfully peaceful, too.

Here are some more sunset photos, this one through the cornfields on the way back to our neighborhood.

And after those cornfields, you go through a few more cornfields.

There is a great deal of corn just now.

And close to home, and just in time for a nice glimpse of the sun retiring into the distance.

After that I made myself a giant peach smoothie dinner. But that’s an uninteresting topic I’ll share with you later this week — when I have time to make it more interesting. Now, we have to head out for another pastime.

adventures / cycling / Monday / photo / swimming — Comments Off
8
Jul 24

A mere mortal, birds and a frog

I’m beginning to feel better, thanks for asking. It is now later in the day before I feel sapped. It takes a bit more exertion to feel weary. These are important progressions, signs and portents of recovery summer. Don’t think I’m not frustrated by having been laid semi-low for three weeks and change from a sinus infection. We’ll see how I hold up this week.

I will demand refunds. I will not get them, but I will demand them.

But I am improving!

Here’s a bit of proof. I had a nice long swim on Saturday. It was ugly. I think I wrote, in my tracking app, that it wa ragged. Or raggedy. It was at least one of those things, if not both.

But I got in 2,000 yards. I jumped in the pool fully expecting I would soon be frustrated, but about a third of the way through I began to wonder if, instead of dying in the water, my shoulders would ever warm up. And then, finally they did. About two-thirds of the way through it finally turned into an acceptable swim.

That usually lasts about 500 yards for me, even on a normal day.

Tried a bike ride, just my second ride of the month and my third ride in … a while. (That’s how you know I’ve not been goldbricking, I suppose.) I had a little ride last Monday and it turned into one of the weirdest, hardest experiences I’ve had in years. So waiting was the new plan, and I did that until Friday.

My lovely bride invited me on a 25-mile ride. Then she told me the route she planned, and I knew this was not a 25-mile ride. I didn’t say anything, because some things have to be learned, and re-learned, for yourself. This is how it went.

Started out great! Tailwind! Much fast, many pedals, happy mood.

Then, for an inexplicable reason, I saw this guy in a corn field.

I rode well for the first hour, and then struggled for 20 minutes or so. And then, at exactly 25 miles, my legs had a talk with my mind and soon after I was left to sweat and struggle my way through a humid half hour.

When I got back, I received a cute little apology that the 25-mile route was, in fact, a 34-mile ride.

We’ve done that route, a combination of our two default rides, several times before, but some things insist on being learned in their own time. I’m sure, in time, we’ll have that same experience again. I’ll just fuel better.

In the meantime, I have to get back in better shape.

I sat outside the other night and listened to the noisy, noisy birds. Usually they blend in, but they were adamant at being noticed at midnight, when good birds should be sleeping. And then I remembered I have this app on my phone that listens to bird song and tells me who is violating noise ordinances.

These were our Friday night birds.

On Saturday morning, we had another visitor. He’s been by before. This, I assure you, is a sturdy, thick, frog.

No idea where he comes to us from. I always try to make sure he’s got good coverage. I wish I knew his pond or stream, so I could help him get back there. The closest water is about 900 yards away. That would have been quite a few hops, even for a frog of this size.

Sunday afternoon posing.

And speaking of posing, as we check in on the kitties, it’s the return of … Super Phoebe!

When she’s done taking a nap like that, she will push off with her back legs and spin herself down to the floor. Super Phoebe is a hopefully, an excellent nap.

Here she is in her secret identity, Posing Phoebe.

Every now and again Poseidon rediscovers the exhaust installation over the stove.

Thankfully, he leaves the spice cabinets alone. Perhaps surprisingly so. That’d be his sort of chaos, really.

As I often say about him, it is a good thing he can be charming.

But that’s not fooling anyone.