I definitely put too much salt into the devilled eggs.
Didn't feel like fiddling with mustard powder and vinegar, so I put in a squirt of Dijon mustard. There's sugar in it, but that isn't as apparent now that the eggs are chilled.
Ow, ow, ow. My back is out again — probably because I was so tired after the party that I spent the rest of the day sitting at the computer, catching up on Usenet and reading The Beasts of New York. Haven't gotten the walker out of the closet, though.
So now I don't feel like doing anything but sitting around. I'm sitting tailor style now, which keeps my back straight, so I shouldn't irritate it much.
I forgot to pick up my garlic when we left the party. I hope somebody knows that I meant to put it on the "Free" table at the church.
The Beasts of New York is on line in separate chapters, but in frames or something that makes every chapter have the same URL, so I can't bookmark my place. I wonder why Web designers do that? There's no evidence of frames until you try to bookmark it, so there's no benefit over just putting the text on the page.
Aha! I right-clicked to see whether it was a frame that was causing the trouble, "this frame" was on the menu, I chose "open this frame in a new tab" and got a page indistinguishable from the old one — I clicked back and forth — except that now I can bookmark it!
I'm now on Chapter 44 of The Beasts of New York, when Patch finally gets back home and his troubles are just starting. I should have been watching to see whether any of the obstacles on the way correspond to the Odyssey.
Had the last of the garlic-chive dip for a snack. I put in way too much garlic chives; this didn't show much when it was fresh, but after the flavor had time to permeate, it was a bit much. And the chives got chewy after wilting.
Didn't take a walk today. Still feel the need of it, but it's dark out.
I've been working on a list of bike-safety equipment for weeks. Just this morning, I thought of lights.
I wonder what other glaring omissions I've made?
Dave had a devilled egg for breakfast. I'm frying sausage — I fried a whole skillet full (a six-inch skillet, that is) so that I'd have leftovers to make chef salad for lunch.
I woke up from my nap all stiff again, but I must be feeling better — I've lost track of where I left the walker. Seems to be a different sort of backache — balance doesn't seem to be the problem; I'm actually leaning on the walker. Or I was.
Don't feel up to walking back to the church and carrying my bag home, though. My favorite knife is in the bag, and I want to make devilled eggs tonight, so I guess I'll have to go by car.
In the middle of breakfast (one food bar here, one at the church), I put my jersey, steel, stone, and knife into my bag, jammed the bag into a pannier, and rode to the church to help get ready for the picnic. (The jersey has puffy-wrist sleeves, so I packed it and wore a short-sleeved shirt to work in.) I slept late and the others came early, so I didn't do anything significant. Except remember that we were going to slice some of the onions while there were still some onions to slice.
Then I left the bag there intending to pick it up on the way back from the farmer's market, but by the time I got back, I'd forgotten.
Ran into Kathy twice. She told me that I'd blinked and missed the spice vendor at the Center Street market, so we went back, but there was no paprika. Probably not paprika season yet. Except for paprika, I still have plenty of the herbs I bought last summer, and I've kept them frozen, so I'm no hurry to buy other stuff.
And there's still a little paprika. I hope I remember to sprinkle some on the eggs. I forgot that for the family picnic.
The church picnic has been moved to the Fellowship Hall even though we've already paid for the pavilion in the park. Now Dave says that the weather service says that it will be twenty degrees cooler tomorrow. I will be annoyed if I carry the eggs up the hill only to carry them down again. But we are all set up in the Fellowship Hall, so it's not likely that we'll move back to the pavilion.
I got back from my ride in severe need of a shower. Not too bad while I was out, though this is the first time this summer I've put water on the sleeves of my jersey. Forgot how to spit it on, but squirting with the bottle works pretty well.
Oops! When I emptied my pockets after I got home, I discovered that I still had my offering.
The kitchen committee thinks that having the picnic in the social hall was a marvelous idea.
Back much better: I'd been afraid I'd have to ask Dave to drive me to church, but I not only walked, I carried the blue cooler. And I think I benefited from the exercise. My calf is still sore, but doesn't feel as though an incautious move would send it into cramp.
If I don't stop waking up to leg cramps pretty soon, I'm going to have to tell Dr. Darr. It's odd that the calf I had the cramp in this morning isn't sore. Cramps usually leave a bruise.
I did remember to paprika the eggs, using the cap off one of my cut-glass salt shakers as a sifter. Had to tap it with a spoon to make it sift. Good thing we each had an egg yesterday — there were two batches of devilled eggs, and both vanished utterly. The other one was on a pretty devilled-egg plate made of woven veneer pressed into shape, like our little triangle tables, but daintier.
I looked up "calf cramps" on Web MD. The information was pretty scattered — it was under "pregnancy" that I found the advice that one should never point the toes while stretching. I had discovered that one on my own! Also said that I should ride my bike every day, and get plenty of water and salt.
It said to put the salt in the water, but I think I'd much rather eat a few potato chips. Saying that makes me hungry, but it's only two hours until time to take my thyroid pill, and it needs four hours clearance after food. (Only half an hour before.)
After two hours in bed, my back is much improved (I'd been extremely stiff all evening.) The aspirin must have worn off by now, so I think that's real.
I've been counting the walk to church and back as a mile, but when I went for my bag, Dave's GPS said it was only 0.4. But it registered the return trip, by way of Ninth Street, as 0.5.
And I usually come back by way of Ninth Street. But today I wanted to bring home the apron I'd worn so I could wash it, and thought the easiest way to carry it would be to just not take it off. But at Chestnut and Ninth I got to feeling very self-conscious about appearing in public in a bright red chef's apron, so I walked down Sunday Lane.
And that's probably as much sitting at the computer as my back is willing to put up with, so I'd better go back to bed. 02:20
I swallowed an aspirin tablet, walked eight feet to where I left my water bottle, picked it up, took off the cap — and the visual migraine was gone!
The aspirin couldn't even have dissolved yet, let alone gotten into my bloodstream.
I might as well have eaten the chips. I opened my eyes at 03:30, remembered that I'd last eaten at eleven and it was, therefore, late enough to take the thyroid medicine, and the next thing I knew it was 8:00.
Just checked: yes, the Monday pill is gone.
I looked up "pillbox" after reading about pillbox hats in Wikipedia, and was re-directed to "pill organizer" — the article doesn't even mention the sort of single-dose pill box one carries in a pocket, let alone the kind that "pillbox hats" refer to. Perhaps I should go to the Talk page and suggest that the link from "pillbox hat" be snipped. (Looked at "hat" again — no link; either it's already been snipped, or I hand-typed the cross reference.)
A full load of whites, a full load of lights, and there are a few blacks and reds soaking now. When I went to take in the three white shirts (two of mine and one of Dave's), I thought "Oh, no, Al has somehow gotten his claws into the back of Dave's new shirt!" Then the hole flew away.
For supper last night I put the relish plate and all the stuff I brought home from the picnic on the table and said "fend for yourself". Dave got a couple of thinwich buns out of the freezer and we ate the two hamburger patties.
I was intending to make chef salad for my lunch out of the left-over salad, but ate it for breakfast instead. I added a cold sausage, a slice of provolone, and some corn-chip crumbs.
I mustn't sit here too long. My back isn't too bad when I've been walking around for a while.
No cramps this morning, so I don't have to call Dr. Dar just yet.
Still no cramps, and less backache. On the other hand, I've had two visual migraines this morning. I took an aspirin for the first one and it didn't develop; didn't take aspirin for the second and it did the same as the first.
Another chef salad for lunch — all cheese, with the last pickled egg on the side. I've laid out seven eggs to get warm for boiling, and set the can of pickled beets beside it so I will remember why.
Beaver Dam picked up the huge willow limb, and did a very neat job — nothing left but a little sawdust. The oak hanger, willow hanger, and the stump of the big limb come down tomorrow or the next day. They are still untangling Mimi's huge oak, but Mark thought that they could scratch our limb off their list in a few minutes and might as well. I suspect that it was also a consideration that the limb would have been in the way when they start work on the stump — this gives them a clean place to work when it's our turn.
I've opened up the table and laid out my salwarish kameezish, but haven't done a stitch of sewing today. I did weed the garden and harvest the rest of the garlic.
Yesterday I collected all the garlic bulbils, cleaned the chaff out of them — most of it; I got less picky as the job proceeded — and put them in vinegar with an over-ripe fruit off the ornamental pepper.
Rode to Owen's after my nap: took a sip of giardinera brine before leaving, drank most of my bottle, and had a glass of lemonade on return. And hey, I've been sitting here quite a while and didn't have a bit of trouble when I tried standing up.
I went to buy salad, having killed the bag for lunch, and bought a small steak too.
It's much cooler out, but I came home wet enough to make it hard to get my jersey off without spilling anything out of the pockets.
The Sunday before last, I started up Sunday Lane, turned back, and went to church by way of Chestnut. Last Sunday, I got sawdust in my sandals.
The sound of chain saws is still loud in the land. I rode to Mimi's before going to Owen's, just in time to see a section of huge trunk hit the ground, and a lot of Beaver Dam employees come out of hiding to pick stuff up. There was still a tall, tall trunk, but completely devoid of limbs, so I guess there is no risk from pop-up thunderstorms now.
They came back for the oak hanger in the afternoon, and I'm astounded to see the fellow climbing a rope to get up to where he can cut it off — his ascender has no foot sling; he's doing everything with arm muscles.
And what's more exciting than asking a doctor "Are those symptoms alarming" and being told "can you get here by three-thirty?"
I was somewhat worried when the medical-history form reminded me of macular degeneration, but it turned out to be epi-retinal membrane, which might resolve, or at least get better, on its own.
I was thinking that one harmful effect of visual migraine is that one doesn't freak out and run to an ophthalmologist upon seeing a sparkly spot, but he said that most people don't notice this early.
I have an appointment to follow up in two months, with orders to call if anything changes for the worse.
Sigh. And I was so chipper at putting the walker back into the closet this morning. On the other hand, I did a lot of sitting around at the doctor's office, and I don't seem to have harmed my back at all. Didn't ride my bike today, but might take a walk in the cool of the evening.
I got home exactly at time to set supper on the table, so Dave took me to the Oriental Buffet. Somewhat to my surprise, I kept Dave's sunglasses on all through the meal — I didn't remember to put them on at the doctor's office until I went out into the sun, and the office seemed to be as bright as the restaurant, except for the dark little hallway where I waited for the eye scanner.
I was surprised that I was able to hold my eye still while the red line went from top to bottom. It's a rather neat machine. It made clear pictures of my retinas, both cross-sections and color-coded maps. The left retina was all green, the right retina had a small green sector and the rest was red and yellow in an alarming pattern.
This house is dark enough to do without sunglasses, but there's still a halo around lights — including symbols on computer screens.
Oh, while they were there for the oak hanger, they looked for the willow hanger and decided that it had taken care of itself, then cut two broken stubs out of the willow. So we are officially cleaned up. There are twigs all over, but there are always twigs all over.
Friday: nothing going on and we both need it. I drove the truck yesterday because Dave was out in the car getting blood drawn and seeing a doctor. The doctor prescribed a new medication that made him itch, and the blood draw left a blister-shaped swelling with well-defined edges that neither of us had ever seen before.
He looked the medicine up, and itching is a known side effect — after the Lanacaine incident the thought that he might be allergic to it sprang to both minds.
Before going back to sleep he said that during the night the swelling went down and turned into a bruise, and the itching is much reduced. I imagine that he didn't sleep well — I slept like a rock.
I'm starting to feel the effects of skipping the bike ride two days in a row. Feel more like crawling back in with Dave. (Got up to find and fill my water bottle. More alert now.)
Trouble is, we don't need any more groceries, and I think that riding to Wooster to see whether I can find the moon crater would be a bit much. In the paper's letter column someone complained of a hole on Wooster Road that is "turning into a moon crater"; Dave thinks he meant the ditch where the utilities for the new dormitory cross the road, but surely someone complaining about a ditch would say "ditch". They keep putting gravel into the ditch, so it isn't much trouble for those who know it's there — and don't forget that it's possible to change speed to suit conditions.
Today is the last day for me to attend the fair. (I prefer to miss the finale on Saturday.) I'm in two or three minds about going.
I've been catching up with the Creative Machine mailing list. In the thread on wrist pincushions, one member pointed out a risk of getting into the habit of using them: forgetting that you are not wearing one!
I walked too much and sat too little at the fair. My right leg started hurting up the outside, but I don't seem to have made it sore. My back, on the other hand, has noticed.
I wanted a vegetable gyros, but settled for french fries because a seat at a table came with them. Usually, one can snitch a seat at the far end of the fairgrounds, but the animals — except for a few chickens and rabbits, and one panting duck — had been taken home, and the animal handlers took their chairs with them. There was a picnic table beside one of the abandoned tents, but in full sun, so I didn't even consider walking toward it. (I did have a brief fantasy about dragging it inside the tent.)
There were chairs all over the place in the 4-H building, but nothing to look at while sitting, so I didn't sit long — and what one needs is several short sits, not one long one.
A 1939 mobile home was on exhibit — built inside a redwood log. There was an old two-burner hot plate on the kitchen counter, but I didn't see any way to plug it in. If the home was actually lived in, I suspect a kerosene stove — or an outdoor stove. I didn't look to see where they kept the water bucket and slop bucket. May not have been a slop bucket, since it would have been easy to throw the contents of a wash basin out the door. There was a bedroom at one end, a kitchen at the other, and a sitting/dining room in the middle.
A salesman in the merchant's tent tried to jolly me by saying I was too young to need the seat in his step-in shower. I was annoyed enough to tell him that I spent last week using a walker. Looked like a good product, but I couldn't pay much attention to it with somebody trying to sell it to me. Doesn't matter — the carpet cleaning was enough house disruption for at least a year, so he had zero chance of making the sale.
In retrospect, it seems to me that the shower and the seat were at opposite ends of the tub-size space. Probably was a shower head on a hose; you'd want that anyway.
Little sore in the back — partly from too much walking without rest, partly from playing computer games while sitting in Dave's chair. (I wonder whether he'd get a back-ache from sitting in mine?)
Couldn't find my linen pantalettes this morning; much puzzled because I distinctly remembered taking them off the line and deciding not to iron them. So I wore the cotton pair. After church, when not in a hurry, I instantly spotted them on the floor where they'd fallen off the hook. So now they're on the hanger the cotton pantalettes were on.
Dave's watering his azaleas.
He also put the solar lights on the beach, hoping to charge them up. A while back he stepped on a fern while turning the hose off after dark; I said we needed a solar light next to the water faucet; yesterday he bought a pair, but last night they barely gave off enough light to reveal their own location and soon went out.
I volunteered to bring fruit salad for seven to the church by 4:30 on July 24, to be served at the homeless dinner. Didn't have time to wonder: SEVEN? Why not eight or half a dozen, and why not enough that one could make a good fruit salad? I speculate that they intend to pour all the salads into one bowl.
Aren't boring Banner entries nice?
Charging the lights on the beach seems to have worked. They were bright when I went to bed at midnight, and still bright when Dave got up at three. Now to see whether once working, they can recharge in their shaded location.
Unfortunately, they are designed to show their own location, not the location of nearby objects. What light they do shed is in streaks forming an "X marks the spot" sunburst on the ground. We put them close to ferns.
One load of whites, half a load of everything else. The sweat stain didn't come out of my white linen do-rag — I wonder whether it would help to machine-wash my helmet pads?
So I floated the forehead pad in a bucket of water and worked a little Tandil in. Doubt that it does any good. Hope I remember to rinse it after my nap.
And when I put it back, I realized that I'd washed the back-of-the-head pad.
Dave says the solar fern lights were almost out when he got up at four.
I've often joked that we should buy a Roomba just to give Al something to do. When Dave carried the solar lights through the house after charging them up, Al went nuts chasing the patches of light, and I decided that what we really need is a disco ball.
The laser pointer has stopped working.
Yesterday evening, I rode to Kroger for a jar of sweet relish. I bought some other stuff we need. I don't think I got anything but thread the time I rode to Clifton Park for a spool of thread.
That was back when I was training for the September Century.
As near as I can make out from the League Against Bicycling website, there are no more National Century Rides. I presume that local clubs still do it without League sanction, not necessarily in September. Haven't heard of our local club having Century Weekends, but they are probably pretty tired after the Fat and Skinny Festival. And I wouldn't necessarily hear about it since they don't have a newsletter and I don't go to the meetings.
Feeding "September Century" (no quotes) into DuckDuckGo turned up lots of local rides.
Adding "League" to the list turned up football pages and bike clubs with "League" in their names.
So I searched for GEAR, and found that the last one was held in 1992 and was a great success, and that the National Rally also no longer happens.
Dave said it's already 81F out. Yesterday was supposed to be a hundred, but barely made it into the nineties. I don't know what the temperature was when I rode to Martin's after supper. Fiddled around before leaving, but got back by eight.
As I was rolling out, I recalled that I really hate* the first bit of Argonne, that the intersection at the other end of Argonne is the best that could be done with what the engineers had to work with, and that I'm not all that fond of the middle.
* I usually miss a shift and there isn't any way to get off the road when I do, the traffic is bumper to bumper because of the light, and I don't like that steep a climb when it isn't scorching hot.
So I decided to go by way of the hospital, made a U turn, and went back for the magazines we've saved up for the emergency room.
Then, once on McKinley, I realized that I could just stay on that street until I'd bypassed Argonne, then cross over to Parker. And though I thought that Martin was open day and night, I know that the ER never closes, so it made sense to go to Martin first. (Aldi is almost certainly the only supermarket that closes at eight, but I haven't checked.)
Bought cat food in addition to the smoked salt (which I had on my egg this morning), but didn't look at my list and forgot that I meant to get some Spartan vegetable cocktail. So I've got a place to go tonight, if I want one.
Came back from the hospital by way of the Greenway. Didn't write a letter to the editor about it.
My letter about my previous trip was in yesterday's paper. Dave was pleased that for a change I wasn't complaining about anything. In fact, I was complaining about bike lanes, the lies the paper printed about the Farmer's Market, and the way the repaving job made Harrison hazardous for cyclists.
I suppose I should put the letter somewhere you guys can read it; the copy on the newspaper Web site is by no means permanent. http://joybeeson.livejournal.com/6237.html
Cascading chores again: I want to sew in the sleeve that I pinned before naptime, but first I've got to bring the typing chair to the treadle sewing machine in the bedroom, but first I've got to get all these pillows out of the way, but first I've got to finish changing the sheets on the bed, but first I've got to sweep the floor, but first I've got to pick up all these wires that have fallen, but first I've got to dust the shelf they fell off of.
That was as far as it went. Now it's time to get off this chair and move it, and there's still time enough to sew a sleeve in.
The fingertip I sliced on Mother's Day has begun to bother me when I type. It feels like the pins and needles you get when a foot has fallen asleep, so I think that it's regenerating. Always felt as though there were a lump in there, which must have been a numb spot.
Chickened out of riding my bike this evening when a severe-storm warning came up just as I decided it was time to wash my feet and put on shoes. The storm missed us, as the warning predicted, but I looked out the window at the edge of it and was glad I was inside. Later on Dave and I walked the point seven counter-clockwise, and it wasn't all that hot.
Ferns are shriveling even though we water them every day. Potatoes are flourishing, and it's been really easy to keep ahead of the weeds.
And I did set in the sleeve.
I told Dave that putting a sheet in to soak would bring on the rain.
We got over two inches during the night, and it's still coming down. I'd have liked it better in two installments — and I rather suspect that it came too late for the local corn fields. I haven't once been out of town to look at them, but descriptions have been alarming.
Now I'm going to have to Culta-Eze the garden, if only to break the wick so as to keep the water in. Weather Bureau says tomorrow will be a good time.
I hung the carpet samples we never brought in after the carpet-cleaning on the line, after dunking them in a clean puddle. If it rains on them again, I'll bring them in when they are dry.
Then I took out the one in the bathroom. It came clean when I whapped it on the picnic-table bench, but I hosed it off and hung it on the line anyway.
Radar says it's safe to leave the sheet on the line while I take a nap. And if it gets rained on, I can spin it out again.
Had a bright spot that was definitely the epi etc. while I was taking my morning pills, but it resolved by itself while I was talking to the receptionist.
Y'know how when you close your eyes you see a whole bunch of after-images, most of which you can't remember what you were looking at to cause them? Nowadays, that bothers me, and sometimes the line on my bifocals freaks me out.
And every time I lie down, I look at the projection clock with my right eye and wonder is it or isn't it dimmer than it was before.
I can still read this screen with my right eye, but have to lean forward. Lot more comfortable with both!
Realized today that it's been so long since I used Hide Mode that I had forgotten how to get into it. And it isn't mentioned in the on-screen help. Remembered eventually, but the only result is that the F on the status line goes lower case: this file has nothing to hide. Which is proper; a hypertext file should contain no non-printing characters. Unless you put them between comment marks, as I sometimes do.
While reading the help file, I'm learning nifty tricks that I'd forgotten or never learned in the first place. For example, if you have a mess of lines that start in a bunch of wrong places, you can straighten them out by putting a K in a ruler line.
The ARRL Indiana Section Monthly News e-mail came yesterday and I'm reading it this morning. It says that the Kosciusko County Field Day did, in fact, happen. Didn't say where it happened, just that thirteen hams showed up on Friday, fourteen on Saturday, and eleven on Sunday.
My last dress is in the laundry basket. I'm going to have to iron something before next Sunday.
The bright spot has recurred three times, each time smaller and quicker to go away than the one before. The last one was no bigger than the sparkly spot, so maybe that is the last.
Josh's cherry-tomato vines have started to produce, and he gave me some before church. When I got home, there weren't quite as many tomatoes in the bag as when I started.
Technically, I had three bike rides yesterday. I came back from the Farmer's Market by way of Owen's, to pick up my prescriptions, and the rummage sale at the ambulance building, where I bought three rocks glasses. They were dirty from being machine-washed improperly. After trying baking soda, vinegar, Barkeeper's Friend, Lime-Away, and lye, we concluded that the glasses were etched. It's only on the inside, doesn't show when it's wet, and we've proven that it isn't going to come off in our food, so we're using them anyway.
On the way back, I missed the garage sale sign I'd seen somewhere along Park Avenue on Friday; wasn't until after closing time that I remembered that the sale was on the island. But when I was half undressed, I remembered that I wanted to check out the garage sale we'd walked past on Friday's point seven, so I put my jersey back on and rode around the block. Nothing interesting except a few books, and I didn't buy anything.
Then at supper, Dave ate the last of his salad, so I suited up again and went back to Owen's. Got a pannier full of frozen food as well.
I'm getting a fairly long list of stuff I prefer to buy at Aldi, but I think I'll wash tomorrow.
I bleached my white linen do-rag the last time I washed hot whites — the day we got three inches of rain — but the stain didn't come out. It was lightened. I think I'll run it through again the next time I bleach, and put the whole load's dose of detergent on the stain.
Washed my hair before my nap yesterday, and I never did get my hair combed this morning — I settled for brushing the surface — and had to try three or four times before I got it pinned up.
Managed to comb it and braid it this afternoon.
The good news is that I'm drying stuff on hangers and racks. The bad news is that we got only 0.13 inches of rain, and it looks to be over. I put the racks on the patio — under the eave.
NWS lists a chance of thundershowers every day until Thursday.
Ran my do-rag through with the whites — no bleach — and don't see the sweat stain. But the light was poor. When hanging on the brake cable to dry, it looks like an 18th-Century cap. Looks purely weird when it's on my head, so I usually take it off when I take off my helmet.
Schedule for this afternoon: iron three dresses and a shirt, and take a stitch in my new fall suit.
I designed the suit after seeing a really gorgeous tunic-and-trouser outfit in the church parking lot, but I fear that it will be like the revelation I had while listening to a report from the MHW president and plotting to ask her where she bought her turtlenecks: it wasn't the shirt, it was what she put in it.
I did stitch a couple of pocket hems and iron a shirt. No dresses ironed.
They have started breaking up the bridge on Park Avenue — so far, they've broken off the wall along Columbia street, and replaced the drain that ran under it. Dave identified a weird object as a pile driver, so I suppose this is the start of the bridge replacement that has been scheduled for years. Odd that there was no announcement in the paper. City councils usually trumpet this sort of thing.
There are two bench marks on the bridge. I don't remember whether or not there was one on the wall.
Just back from the vet. The derecho picked up his 450-pound boat, threw it thirty feet, and left it upside down under water. Total loss, and the crew had a hard time cleaning up the mess.
The cat is fine.
I had the last piece of Darryl's cabbage with my lunch. Moved the first two of his pork patties to the fridge, intending to have them for supper tonight. I've been ignoring them in favor of using up the meat that had been in the freezer during the power outage. The delicate frost on the walls was still in perfect condition, so nothing had thawed, but using up all your meat once in a while is a good idea on general principles.
A blog I subscribed to because I don't read it — so I'd notice if someone responded to a comment I left — forwarded a post in which the blogger described a trip to Indianapolis, which he adored because of all the riverfront walking trails. Indianapolis has an exposed river? So I went to Google maps and clicked "bicycle" after calling up Indianapolis. (That marks walking trails with green lines.) He never got downtown; Indianapolis annexed the river. Map didn't give the name of the river. I know the White is around there someplace. Does the White flow through Broadripple?
At that point I remembered the Indiana atlas we carry in the car. The river with the "bike" trails is the White. Looks as though the river comes within walking distance of where I used to hang out, but I never went any farther than the statehouse in that direction. The scale isn't big enough to be sure where Monument Circle is, so I can't exactly place the river.
I started this to say that while I had the maps up, I looked at Warsaw again, and the "bike-friendly road" line has been dropped down from Old 30 to W 100 N. And they no longer neglect Crystal Lake Road and Parks-Schram.
<Ride Report>
I really need to get a portable computer so that I can take notes while on the road — but nobody makes one with a keyboard. (And it was possible thirty years ago, if prohibitively expensive.)
And no, I don't mean "I can poke letters on the touchscreen with a stylus" or even "I can actually touch type with three fingers on each hand!". By "keyboard" I mean "I think, and the idea flows out through my fingertips into the machine." If I have to think about the mechanics of the physical objects, I might as well carry a pad of paper.
And I would have, If I'd known I was going exploring.
My agenda was to get to the fairgrounds before the farmers' market closed, and stop on the way back to pick up my prescription at Owen's East.
First deviation from plan: I didn't wake up until ten-thirty. Must have been a worse night than I thought. All I remember is that at one in the morning, the cops were called out to a custody dispute over two cats, and I wondered whether replacing the bedroom scanner with one that worked was a good idea. I took my four-o'clock pill after five, so I must have slept some. And Dave said that I was snoring when he got up.
But by dint of having a protein bar for breakfast, I was on the road in time to get to the market before the corn was all gone. Next hitch: having rehearsed the path to Owen's several times this week, I hung a right at the Interurban tunnel and didn't realize my mistake until I was saying to myself, "No, I don't want to turn left here, it's more efficient to stay on McKinley until I cross Center." Ah, well, Market is still the best way through town, and I spotted the health-food store, which warned me that the next road was the place to go back across the railroad. Still don't remember the name.
Only one of the booths was packing up, and that was still open if I'd happened to want a hand towel to hang on a drawer pull.
My veggies packed up securely — tomatoes, wax peppers, and half a dozen ears of corn — so I decided to see where the "bike lane" on Smith street went. I was pleased to note that drivers did not appear to believe that the white line gave mystical magical protection, and shifted toward the center when overtaking, so that I was never in danger of getting my knuckles rapped for riding in the bike lane.
The markings ended abruptly at Detroit Street, with no clue as to where to go from here. Then I bethought me that not too long after the painting of Smith Street, KABS or someone had complained of a traffic snarl on the west side of town caused by "painting bike lanes on Winona". Well not even the League Against Bicycling could delude themselves that bike lanes on Winona Avenue are even possible, so this intrigued me considerably. I bipped into an alley for a bit, then went to Winona and walked on the side walk to Buffalo. (The stretch of Winona where it's Route 15 isn't anybody's favorite stretch of road.)
Because the road dips here, I could see purt'near to Union Street, and I didn't think much of what I saw, so I cut through the Marsh parking lot to Prairie, which I followed to its end on Union, then took Union to Winona.
On the way through the parking lot, I remembered that I want a bottle of Food Club Vegetable Juice. I hadn't brought any spare bungees, but the one that steadies my cable lock isn't essential and I could use that to lash the bottle on top of my emergency kit. But when I went to the checkout bottle in hand, there were lines at both checkouts, so I put it back.
On the other hand Marsh has an un-official bicycle parking spot in the shade, well removed from traffic, and convenient to the door.
So I followed Winona to where it angled to the left away from the Master Plan and most everybody still on it was thinking of it as Route 25, then figured that as long as I was that close, I'd take a look at the end of the Chinworth Trail, so I took Hand over to Center and followed Center into the Zimmer compound, then realized that the parking lots on my left were those that I'd seen from the other side when I followed the Chinworth Trail to Zimmer Road, so I cut through the parking lot to the driveway along the railroad, and that brought me right close to where the path ends by crossing a driveway and not coming out on the other side. I saw that I'd have had a clue that this was a "turn around and go back" trail if I'd looked back to see that the 1.9 milepost said "0" on this side.
Being on Zimmer Road, I went to look at the new roundabout. Everyone had gone home for the weekend and they'd left the ground pounded nice and flat, so it would have been easy to walk to Old 30, and doing so would have given me a better look at the construction, but I chickened out and went around the construction on Rosemont. Old 30 was much improved when I got into the tails of the earlier roundabout. Stopped at Penguin point for some barbecue chicken on a squishy bun (I'm spoiled by always eating firm bread at home); ignored the shops across the parking lot because it's no fun shopping when your panniers are full.
It isn't quite true that the roundabout doesn't exist in this direction; cars that have slowed to roundabout speed take disconcertingly long to overtake. If I'd been fresher or closer to home, I'd have matched them.
Stopped at a thrift shop and Avila's Supermarket; didn't see anything I wanted badly enough to re-arrange my panniers. (There was a usable amount of space under the tomatoes that I had suspended on bungee cords.) I did want the ice lollies — "panettas", I think they were called — and one wouldn't have taken any space in the pannier. But by good luck there were several flavors tied for first place, so I was able to resist. Having just come from Penguin Point helped.
During the second half of the ride, I was plotting to write a report for the letters column, but without notes, I can't comment on the conditions of the streets. Fort Wayne had stretches of bumpity-bumpity cracks, and the west end is infested with stop signs. And on the east end, you have to go around Lincoln School.
Then I got to Owens and discovered that the e-mail I got yesterday was a hiccup. I don't have a bottle of levothyroxine to pick up. Checked out the Reduced for Quick Sale meats, and a sirloin steak was about all that was suitable for two people — especially when one would prefer not to use the oven — and I don't like sirloin; it cooks up dry, particularly when as thin as this one.
So I came home, put away my veggies, and spent about an hour writing this boring report.
</Ride Report>
Everything was all wet this morning. Dave said we got half an inch in the night.
I guess this means I have to Culta-Eze the garden again, but that takes less than five minutes. Small garden, great wheel-hoe.
Good timing: I planted garlic yesterday. Two bulbs of giant garlic, then I filled out the row with wild garlic. Only half a row; I plowed the furrow in line with two of the volunteer potato plants.
While digging, I noticed a potato plant in the lawn — I don't think I'll get any potatoes off that one.
I'd better fetch some lake weed today; I've decided that next spring I'll plant the potatoes in that bed of sand on the east side so that I can scrabble out new potatoes without digging up the vines. (Tried this year, but the "cow manure" I put on them sets up like concrete, and the fill dirt under it isn't much better.) Growing potatoes in sand is going to require lots and lots of compost.
I'm on chapter 63 of The Beasts of New York
Just re-read the entry for July 12 — what alarmed me was noticing that the numerals our clock projects onto the ceiling looked dimmer and had less resolution when viewed with my right eye.
I'm planning to iron, and maybe sew, today.
The wall's duty is now being done by a pile of sand backed up with steel plates braced with two- by-fours against the piles they drove.