Saturday, September 18, 2010
Glow
I did a lot better at the hot air balloon fest in Gardner a few months back. Including getting to walk around in the glow.
Burn, Baby, Burn
The latest harvest from Tomatosaurus Rex was disappointing. A bunch of badly split fruit, little of it salvageable even for the sauce trust.
I did, however, find these two bright orange hellions ripe on the habanero plant.
Should come in handy in case I want to make 30 gallons of salsa with some kick.
I did, however, find these two bright orange hellions ripe on the habanero plant.
Should come in handy in case I want to make 30 gallons of salsa with some kick.
Okay, They Got Me
I've been carrying the same Nokia cell phone, buying prepaid minutes, pretty much as long as I've been divorced. It was a few months after we split up that a communication flub left one of my daughters at the door of an apartment she didn't yet have the key for with nobody home and me on the other end of town trying to figure out why she wasn't at her school where I was supposed to pick her up.
I've been ribbed for carrying an antique, one that uses smoke signals instead of cell towers and which offers Morse Code in lieu of texting. Slight exaggeration there, but it was a beat up old thing. The zero didn't work real well and the display was pretty scratched up, but I only averaged about ten to fifteen bucks a month buying minutes a thousand at a time.
It's been almost a week since I saw that old thing. I've looked high and low, tried to call it to reveal its location and it goes straight to voicemail.
So I bought a new phone, a cheapish one, though there are a few out there for even less. This was the cheapest one that came with the T-Mobile guy figuring out how to port my number to the new phone and get it to work right. It took him most of an hour, I'm sure I'd still be trying if I'd saved twenty or thirty bucks and tried to figure it out on my own.
Aside from the suck of having to buy the phone and spend an eternity in the T-Mobile store is I don't know anybody's phone numbers, they're all in the lost cell's contacts.
It's hardly a 'smart phone,' but the new phone has a camera, and I took a picture of Em taking a picture of me with her camera phone, but I can't seem to get the pic from the camera to my iMac. There's no cable connect as far as I can tell, it has a USB power chord but that doesn't fit my camera USB cable. I can send the pic as a message, but only to another cell number, not to my email address, and when I tried the 'Web2go' option to see if there was a way to do it there, I was told I had an unavailable network.
Em will no doubt roll her eyes and exasperatedly explain how I go about finding the network and uploading to Facebook Mobile or something like that. To hear her tell it, I'm a true Luddite.
I've been ribbed for carrying an antique, one that uses smoke signals instead of cell towers and which offers Morse Code in lieu of texting. Slight exaggeration there, but it was a beat up old thing. The zero didn't work real well and the display was pretty scratched up, but I only averaged about ten to fifteen bucks a month buying minutes a thousand at a time.
It's been almost a week since I saw that old thing. I've looked high and low, tried to call it to reveal its location and it goes straight to voicemail.
So I bought a new phone, a cheapish one, though there are a few out there for even less. This was the cheapest one that came with the T-Mobile guy figuring out how to port my number to the new phone and get it to work right. It took him most of an hour, I'm sure I'd still be trying if I'd saved twenty or thirty bucks and tried to figure it out on my own.
Aside from the suck of having to buy the phone and spend an eternity in the T-Mobile store is I don't know anybody's phone numbers, they're all in the lost cell's contacts.
It's hardly a 'smart phone,' but the new phone has a camera, and I took a picture of Em taking a picture of me with her camera phone, but I can't seem to get the pic from the camera to my iMac. There's no cable connect as far as I can tell, it has a USB power chord but that doesn't fit my camera USB cable. I can send the pic as a message, but only to another cell number, not to my email address, and when I tried the 'Web2go' option to see if there was a way to do it there, I was told I had an unavailable network.
Em will no doubt roll her eyes and exasperatedly explain how I go about finding the network and uploading to Facebook Mobile or something like that. To hear her tell it, I'm a true Luddite.
Friday, September 17, 2010
State of the Bike
Meghan asked me on Facebook to post current pics of my bike after my Blue Moose Review. Here it is, maybe a bit on the ugly side, the Foolkiller Express.
The Race Lite tire Trek warrantied me out on (the tire it replaced was a 'Hard-dcase' but with more tread). I prefer the new tire, it's what I was really trying to buy when the tire that failed was sold to me. I notice some tread separation on the front tire now, and I'm hoping Trek will likewise swap it out gratis.
My bike is ugly, I guess. It doesn't look serious, at least not to judge by the 'serious' cyclists I see turning out for group rides. But, as the bumper sticker might read, it's paid for.
Actually, people often tell me I'd be much faster on a 'road bike.' By this, they mean a bike that ways 12-15 pounds less and has a different sort of handlebar and shifters.
Maybe so, but if I can get to averaging 18 mph on this bike, get to where I can keep up with the Prairie Village Yacht Club types on my hybrid, then I'll get a road bike and they can worry about keeping up with me.
As far as when that happens, I wouldn't wait under water if that's what you had in mind.
Meghan has also flipped me some shit about my pie plate. Which I was going to take off until I found out it might be useful on an old, cheapie hybrid that drops its chain every other ride. Then she flipped me more shit about my reflectors, and no, I'm not giving those up. I want more lights, maybe a siren, anything to make my presence known on the road, especially now that it's getting dark by eight.
The Race Lite tire Trek warrantied me out on (the tire it replaced was a 'Hard-dcase' but with more tread). I prefer the new tire, it's what I was really trying to buy when the tire that failed was sold to me. I notice some tread separation on the front tire now, and I'm hoping Trek will likewise swap it out gratis.
My bike is ugly, I guess. It doesn't look serious, at least not to judge by the 'serious' cyclists I see turning out for group rides. But, as the bumper sticker might read, it's paid for.
Actually, people often tell me I'd be much faster on a 'road bike.' By this, they mean a bike that ways 12-15 pounds less and has a different sort of handlebar and shifters.
Maybe so, but if I can get to averaging 18 mph on this bike, get to where I can keep up with the Prairie Village Yacht Club types on my hybrid, then I'll get a road bike and they can worry about keeping up with me.
As far as when that happens, I wouldn't wait under water if that's what you had in mind.
Meghan has also flipped me some shit about my pie plate. Which I was going to take off until I found out it might be useful on an old, cheapie hybrid that drops its chain every other ride. Then she flipped me more shit about my reflectors, and no, I'm not giving those up. I want more lights, maybe a siren, anything to make my presence known on the road, especially now that it's getting dark by eight.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Not Quite Rockin' the Moose
I rode the Blue Moose ride this evening, perfect weather, my slick new back tire, I felt ready to set another personal best.
I wasn't fully recovered from Tuesday, but I wasn't very sore, I'd call it 97%. Nowhere near as sore as I was a week ago Tuesday when I set that new Personal Record 15.9 mph on the Mission Farms ride.
The Moose is a more challenging route. Especially Rosedale coming up from Mill Street. It's not the steepest road, but it's a long climb and it does seem to get steeper at the end. Roe Lane isn't steep at all, but it goes on forever and then does get kinda steep when it hooks over to cross Roe. Belinder, near the end, it's sort of a climb, too, I guess, though it pays huge dividends when you're flying down Cherokee to the finish.
For that matter, descending Puckett in KCK is worth the price of admission. That is a scary motherfucker of a hill to go down, winding, narrow, wooded, with some dodgy pavement and maybe a little gravel at the turn where it T's with Rosedale (the road the heads up to the arch). Oh, and two sharp turns at the bottom, a left followed by a right. I have made it down Puckett with no brakes precisely once in the probably ten or twelve times I've taken it, and tonight was not one of those nights.
And even being cautious, I still managed 38.7 miles per hour going down it. On a freakin' hybrid.
My finishing average, though, was a lowly 12.8 mph. Time was, I'd have been proud of that pace, but we have passed was.
Part of that is I managed to keep up with the main group for about four miles, and then I was lost except for a smaller group that was taking a shortcut that eliminates that glorious descent down Puckett. So when I parted ways with them, it was a solo flight. Roj is apparently doing weird tricks with his sleep to make it natural to get up three hours before Bike MS. I saw Sarah and Aaron coming the other way on Lamar, but they were obviously just out as a couple riding. Cute kids, Aaron totally outkicked his coverage when he married that girl.
With nobody to try and keep up with, I probably acquitted myself well doing a bit under 13.
I wasn't fully recovered from Tuesday, but I wasn't very sore, I'd call it 97%. Nowhere near as sore as I was a week ago Tuesday when I set that new Personal Record 15.9 mph on the Mission Farms ride.
The Moose is a more challenging route. Especially Rosedale coming up from Mill Street. It's not the steepest road, but it's a long climb and it does seem to get steeper at the end. Roe Lane isn't steep at all, but it goes on forever and then does get kinda steep when it hooks over to cross Roe. Belinder, near the end, it's sort of a climb, too, I guess, though it pays huge dividends when you're flying down Cherokee to the finish.
For that matter, descending Puckett in KCK is worth the price of admission. That is a scary motherfucker of a hill to go down, winding, narrow, wooded, with some dodgy pavement and maybe a little gravel at the turn where it T's with Rosedale (the road the heads up to the arch). Oh, and two sharp turns at the bottom, a left followed by a right. I have made it down Puckett with no brakes precisely once in the probably ten or twelve times I've taken it, and tonight was not one of those nights.
And even being cautious, I still managed 38.7 miles per hour going down it. On a freakin' hybrid.
My finishing average, though, was a lowly 12.8 mph. Time was, I'd have been proud of that pace, but we have passed was.
Part of that is I managed to keep up with the main group for about four miles, and then I was lost except for a smaller group that was taking a shortcut that eliminates that glorious descent down Puckett. So when I parted ways with them, it was a solo flight. Roj is apparently doing weird tricks with his sleep to make it natural to get up three hours before Bike MS. I saw Sarah and Aaron coming the other way on Lamar, but they were obviously just out as a couple riding. Cute kids, Aaron totally outkicked his coverage when he married that girl.
With nobody to try and keep up with, I probably acquitted myself well doing a bit under 13.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Mission Farms
This is definitely my new Tuesday ride. I kept up with the lead group, barely, until I missed a light near the end. Even Dr. Jill, who is accustomed to waiting for me at the tops of hills admitted she was feeling it.
There was me breathing hard but still able to speak intelligible sentences. Then there was me only able to rasp out, 'I see spots.'
I finished with an average pace of 15.9 mph, tying my PB from the week before.
According to the forecast, it shouldn't rain Thursday, so we'll see what kind of pace I can make trying to keep up with the slower riders on the Blue Moose.
Afterward, I guy named Vance who I've met before came over to talk to me about me trying to pass him on the right on Tomahawk. 'In the beginning?' I asked.
No, he said, at the end, and at that point I just knew I wasn't the fuckup. I'm prone to fucking up, don't get me wrong, but that ending stretch, I passed one rider on the left and thought I'd do another, and when I stood up to crank for momentum it was not there. The guy I wanted to pass on my misguided path to glory was safe, I had nothing left in the tank.
There was me breathing hard but still able to speak intelligible sentences. Then there was me only able to rasp out, 'I see spots.'
I finished with an average pace of 15.9 mph, tying my PB from the week before.
According to the forecast, it shouldn't rain Thursday, so we'll see what kind of pace I can make trying to keep up with the slower riders on the Blue Moose.
Afterward, I guy named Vance who I've met before came over to talk to me about me trying to pass him on the right on Tomahawk. 'In the beginning?' I asked.
No, he said, at the end, and at that point I just knew I wasn't the fuckup. I'm prone to fucking up, don't get me wrong, but that ending stretch, I passed one rider on the left and thought I'd do another, and when I stood up to crank for momentum it was not there. The guy I wanted to pass on my misguided path to glory was safe, I had nothing left in the tank.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Happy Birthday to Me
It took forever to get Mo to sleep last night, she was so apoplectic at losing the computer over destroying the pics. This morning, getting ready for school, I noticed one of the pictures was upside down. Another had a cracked pane.
But the stickers she'd put on them were gone. Or mostly gone. It appears it was genuine remorse I heard in those tears last night, and apparently she got up in the night and not having YouTube to occupy her, she tried to make it right.
Granted, the last thing I said to her before she went to bed, when she'd reached for one of the frames after her second time-out for trying to break into the lock-up for the keyboard and mouse, was 'No! Do not even touch the pictures on the wall ever. New rule!'
But I couldn't pile on more negative consequences. The effort was too genuine and too sweet, even if she left holes in a couple of the prints.
So that was a little bit of a birthday treat, if slightly belated. Usually when I have one of these stressful episodes with Mo, I can't tell that I've gotten through to her. Witness my clocks: none of them are ever quite right, no matter how many times she's been busted for poking them (which is to say setting them ahead just to push the button).
The other day-after bonus, I picked up my Bike MS packet at the Trek Store (a hearty thank you to everyone who sponsored me past the minimum to ride; everyone else the office is still open, no donation is too large), and before the Trek Recovery Ride, I brought my peeling, tread-separating back tire to the attention of the good people in the shop.
I'd received a gift card to the Trek store for my birthday that would more or less cover a new tire, which was a bit of a relief since the de-lamination appeared much worse than when I had fixed my flat. I said, If it's worn out and needs replaced, I'll do it. I know I ride a lot, it probably has around 2100 miles on it, but you know a car tire that lasts 80,000 or 90,000 miles takes a lot more stress.
I don't know how long I think a bicycle tire should last, but I was hoping there was some sort of pro-rated warranty. Maybe I'd only have to buy half a tire?
First I was asked if I'd leave the bike so they could take pictures to send to Trek. Then when I balked because I planned to ride tomorrow, too, the guy just decided to treat it as a warranty claim and replaced my tire with a much smoother one gratis.
The tire I got (they didn't have the one I apparently wore out in record time in stock) was the tire I wanted in the first place last year. More or less like the tire on a road bike but big enough to fit my rims.
Last year, I recall inquiring if a smoother, harder tire for my rim was available I recall being told no, but maybe I was told 'not in stock.'
The new tire is rated for 110 psi, though the guy at Trek told me I'd better not go quite that far with my rims, I might exceed their strength. In any case, not having to pay anything at all or even install the tire myself, well, that made up for the time I was pissed at Trek for charging me full price for a replacement helmet when they sold me the one that was so ill-fitted back when I was starting to ride.
Then, since I still had a Trek gift card, I bought a CO2 tire inflater so I don't have to spend an hour or more making my pecs sore next time I get a flat. Should just be able to go 'psshhht' and be up to pressure, ready to ride.
I also got new grips for my handlebars. The bullhorns may have to go, and I'm used to fanning my hand out on them when I don't anticipate the need for brakes, but the rubber on the grips I've got has grown slack and icky feeling. Time for some foam rubber made in this century.
I guess if I miss the bullhorns, I'll cut the grips I got short and put love and hate back on.
So then we had a Trek ride that couldn't be beat went and had a margarita and nachos at Dos Reales (only in America can a 265 pound active man order an appetizer and find he has more food than he can eat for supper) and all went home to watch the Chiefs win on Monday Night Football.
They're going to win, right? They're tied as of this posting...
But the stickers she'd put on them were gone. Or mostly gone. It appears it was genuine remorse I heard in those tears last night, and apparently she got up in the night and not having YouTube to occupy her, she tried to make it right.
Granted, the last thing I said to her before she went to bed, when she'd reached for one of the frames after her second time-out for trying to break into the lock-up for the keyboard and mouse, was 'No! Do not even touch the pictures on the wall ever. New rule!'
But I couldn't pile on more negative consequences. The effort was too genuine and too sweet, even if she left holes in a couple of the prints.
So that was a little bit of a birthday treat, if slightly belated. Usually when I have one of these stressful episodes with Mo, I can't tell that I've gotten through to her. Witness my clocks: none of them are ever quite right, no matter how many times she's been busted for poking them (which is to say setting them ahead just to push the button).
The other day-after bonus, I picked up my Bike MS packet at the Trek Store (a hearty thank you to everyone who sponsored me past the minimum to ride; everyone else the office is still open, no donation is too large), and before the Trek Recovery Ride, I brought my peeling, tread-separating back tire to the attention of the good people in the shop.
I'd received a gift card to the Trek store for my birthday that would more or less cover a new tire, which was a bit of a relief since the de-lamination appeared much worse than when I had fixed my flat. I said, If it's worn out and needs replaced, I'll do it. I know I ride a lot, it probably has around 2100 miles on it, but you know a car tire that lasts 80,000 or 90,000 miles takes a lot more stress.
I don't know how long I think a bicycle tire should last, but I was hoping there was some sort of pro-rated warranty. Maybe I'd only have to buy half a tire?
First I was asked if I'd leave the bike so they could take pictures to send to Trek. Then when I balked because I planned to ride tomorrow, too, the guy just decided to treat it as a warranty claim and replaced my tire with a much smoother one gratis.
The tire I got (they didn't have the one I apparently wore out in record time in stock) was the tire I wanted in the first place last year. More or less like the tire on a road bike but big enough to fit my rims.
Last year, I recall inquiring if a smoother, harder tire for my rim was available I recall being told no, but maybe I was told 'not in stock.'
The new tire is rated for 110 psi, though the guy at Trek told me I'd better not go quite that far with my rims, I might exceed their strength. In any case, not having to pay anything at all or even install the tire myself, well, that made up for the time I was pissed at Trek for charging me full price for a replacement helmet when they sold me the one that was so ill-fitted back when I was starting to ride.
Then, since I still had a Trek gift card, I bought a CO2 tire inflater so I don't have to spend an hour or more making my pecs sore next time I get a flat. Should just be able to go 'psshhht' and be up to pressure, ready to ride.
I also got new grips for my handlebars. The bullhorns may have to go, and I'm used to fanning my hand out on them when I don't anticipate the need for brakes, but the rubber on the grips I've got has grown slack and icky feeling. Time for some foam rubber made in this century.
I guess if I miss the bullhorns, I'll cut the grips I got short and put love and hate back on.
So then we had a Trek ride that couldn't be beat went and had a margarita and nachos at Dos Reales (only in America can a 265 pound active man order an appetizer and find he has more food than he can eat for supper) and all went home to watch the Chiefs win on Monday Night Football.
They're going to win, right? They're tied as of this posting...
Sunday, September 12, 2010
A Few Bumps In the Birthday Road
I turned 41 today against the advice of counsel. To celebrate, I wanted to follow last year's precedent and ride 41 miles followed by Five Guys with my kids, Mom, bro and his family.
This all went well enough at first. It was absolutely beautiful weather, perfect this morning as I loaded up the bike and got the girls out the door for church. Even got out with enough time to grab a donut and soda on the way to church and still be on time for the 11:15.*
Mo had been up in the night some, mainly on YouTube, but I could tell she was thinking about getting into trouble and loving it. I kept hearing her say her whole name followed by 'No No!' — a mock scolding. Between one of the times running her back to bed, I asked her if she was thinking about doing something that would get her in trouble and she just giggled. It was kind of cute, at the time.
On the way out the door, I realized what it was she'd been thinking about. She had found some stickers I'd made to label tomatoes, and decided to make a project out of them. The project was, she took framed photos off the wall and bookshelf, removed them from the frames, affixed stickers to the pictures, then re-framed them and put them back.
At first I thought the decals were on the glass, annoying but fixable, but no, every one was on the picture itself. Eight pictures total.
As we were trying to get out the door, I decided the computer was the punishment that fit, it's the only thing she cares to do at my house, so when we got home I'd take the mouse pad and keyboard and lock them up.
After church, we went to my Mom's and she watched the girls while I did my ride. I thought I'd be back by 4:30, leaving at 1:15. 5:00 at the latest.
There were stiff southerly winds, so I rode south first to get the tailwind coming back. I didn't really have a route mapped out, just a vague idea that I'd head down to maybe 143rd and come over to pick up the frontage roads back or maybe go further west and take on the hills of Pflumn to get back north.
Then, going down Lamar, I got a flat tire. It appeared to be a shard of fractured ceramic that did the deed. While changing it, I found another issue with the tire, which is it appears to be suffering some tread separation. It's only a year old, but I've put a couple thousand miles on it in that year. Not sure how long bike tires are supposed to last, but I'd thought surely longer than that.
I have a little hand pump my brother gave me, I keep it in the webbing on my Camelbak for just such occasions. This is the first time I've really used it for the job it's supposedly made for. Really, that little Cannondale pump is an isometric exercise device designed to give you Popeye arms.
I did find a tree that made a good third hand for holding the wheel while I jacked with the pump.
Getting it to fit on the stem was the first challenge. Then I got the tire on and partway inflated when I remembered I'd forgotten to check the liner that protects the tube from the spokes. So I had to deflate the tube again and check to find out there was nothing to worry about. Then I kept hearing hissing and feared I'd punctured the new tube, but it turned out to be the thing wasn't sealing.
I think it took me somewhere in the neighborhood of 90 minutes to change the flat and get the replacement tube up to 80 psi.
On the return ride, I hit a bump on Kansas City Road crossing one of the railroad spurs that I feared would give me another flat. I heard something clatter, which turned out to be my headlight, which came clean out of its mount.
I got my miles in, I was pretty far south when I realized how much time I'd lost, and making as direct a return as practical, I still ended up over the target mileage, call it 41 and not quite two to grow on.
Five Guys was excellent, bacon cheeseburger with mayo, grilled onions, mushrooms and jalapeños. Cajun fries, yummy. A meal that could not be spoiled even by my nephew refusing to smile at me no matter how hard I worked for it.
I haven't spent that much time with him, but he seems like one serious little dude.
After, while I was showing my brother the tire and pondering its replacement, Mo got curious about my bicycle chain and got her hand completely black with chain oil and dirt. Nice, and though I roamed Wal-Mart extensively on the way home, I could not find a can of Goop or even some Lava soap (do they not make that stuff anymore)?
Then got home and had to deal with Mo's grief over the loss of the computer. Found she'd compounded the problem by throwing the dish washing detergent from the pantry in the trash. Then, after I put her to bed, she came out and tried to get into the lockup on her own, there was another time out for that, and the wailing and crying continued unabated for another half hour until she finally went to sleep.
It gets tiresome explaining over and over, I still love you, but you did horrible, mean things, destroyed Daddy's pictures and you knew it was wrong. You made the bad choices, and you knew it would be trouble and thought that was funny. Now it doesn't seem funny, but it's all on you.
This is up there with the time Em brought me an F in Language Arts for my birthday. Maybe worse because I can never tell if I'm getting through to Mo.
Gawd but I hope she sleeps through the night. Is that too much to ask? For my birthday maybe?
*Heartland has services at 9:00 and 11:00, but we're rarely there before a quarter after the hour.
This all went well enough at first. It was absolutely beautiful weather, perfect this morning as I loaded up the bike and got the girls out the door for church. Even got out with enough time to grab a donut and soda on the way to church and still be on time for the 11:15.*
Mo had been up in the night some, mainly on YouTube, but I could tell she was thinking about getting into trouble and loving it. I kept hearing her say her whole name followed by 'No No!' — a mock scolding. Between one of the times running her back to bed, I asked her if she was thinking about doing something that would get her in trouble and she just giggled. It was kind of cute, at the time.
On the way out the door, I realized what it was she'd been thinking about. She had found some stickers I'd made to label tomatoes, and decided to make a project out of them. The project was, she took framed photos off the wall and bookshelf, removed them from the frames, affixed stickers to the pictures, then re-framed them and put them back.
At first I thought the decals were on the glass, annoying but fixable, but no, every one was on the picture itself. Eight pictures total.
As we were trying to get out the door, I decided the computer was the punishment that fit, it's the only thing she cares to do at my house, so when we got home I'd take the mouse pad and keyboard and lock them up.
After church, we went to my Mom's and she watched the girls while I did my ride. I thought I'd be back by 4:30, leaving at 1:15. 5:00 at the latest.
There were stiff southerly winds, so I rode south first to get the tailwind coming back. I didn't really have a route mapped out, just a vague idea that I'd head down to maybe 143rd and come over to pick up the frontage roads back or maybe go further west and take on the hills of Pflumn to get back north.
Then, going down Lamar, I got a flat tire. It appeared to be a shard of fractured ceramic that did the deed. While changing it, I found another issue with the tire, which is it appears to be suffering some tread separation. It's only a year old, but I've put a couple thousand miles on it in that year. Not sure how long bike tires are supposed to last, but I'd thought surely longer than that.
I have a little hand pump my brother gave me, I keep it in the webbing on my Camelbak for just such occasions. This is the first time I've really used it for the job it's supposedly made for. Really, that little Cannondale pump is an isometric exercise device designed to give you Popeye arms.
I did find a tree that made a good third hand for holding the wheel while I jacked with the pump.
Getting it to fit on the stem was the first challenge. Then I got the tire on and partway inflated when I remembered I'd forgotten to check the liner that protects the tube from the spokes. So I had to deflate the tube again and check to find out there was nothing to worry about. Then I kept hearing hissing and feared I'd punctured the new tube, but it turned out to be the thing wasn't sealing.
I think it took me somewhere in the neighborhood of 90 minutes to change the flat and get the replacement tube up to 80 psi.
On the return ride, I hit a bump on Kansas City Road crossing one of the railroad spurs that I feared would give me another flat. I heard something clatter, which turned out to be my headlight, which came clean out of its mount.
I got my miles in, I was pretty far south when I realized how much time I'd lost, and making as direct a return as practical, I still ended up over the target mileage, call it 41 and not quite two to grow on.
Five Guys was excellent, bacon cheeseburger with mayo, grilled onions, mushrooms and jalapeños. Cajun fries, yummy. A meal that could not be spoiled even by my nephew refusing to smile at me no matter how hard I worked for it.
I haven't spent that much time with him, but he seems like one serious little dude.
After, while I was showing my brother the tire and pondering its replacement, Mo got curious about my bicycle chain and got her hand completely black with chain oil and dirt. Nice, and though I roamed Wal-Mart extensively on the way home, I could not find a can of Goop or even some Lava soap (do they not make that stuff anymore)?
Then got home and had to deal with Mo's grief over the loss of the computer. Found she'd compounded the problem by throwing the dish washing detergent from the pantry in the trash. Then, after I put her to bed, she came out and tried to get into the lockup on her own, there was another time out for that, and the wailing and crying continued unabated for another half hour until she finally went to sleep.
It gets tiresome explaining over and over, I still love you, but you did horrible, mean things, destroyed Daddy's pictures and you knew it was wrong. You made the bad choices, and you knew it would be trouble and thought that was funny. Now it doesn't seem funny, but it's all on you.
This is up there with the time Em brought me an F in Language Arts for my birthday. Maybe worse because I can never tell if I'm getting through to Mo.
Gawd but I hope she sleeps through the night. Is that too much to ask? For my birthday maybe?
*Heartland has services at 9:00 and 11:00, but we're rarely there before a quarter after the hour.
Theft!
My Chiefs magnet has been stolen. This is the second one I've had, and it really pisses me off. Besides the fact that I bought the thing, I've also paid for it with years of grief from fair weather fans who ridicule me for supporting my football team.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Wow
The past couple of years, Em's choir concerts have featured girls who sang and boys who grunted in a monotone while appearing mortified that someone might actually hear them or even see them on the stage.
So when Em enrolled in Trouble Choir, which is made up entirely of girls, I thought, What a brilliant idea.
But of course the Trouble Choir wasn't the whole show, this was the whole choral music program, what they've been able to work up after seven whole rehearsals. And, no kidding, it was the best choir concert I've ever been to.
Bar none, ever.
Including the boys. I don't know how much of it is the difference in choir teachers, the guy Em has now that she's at the high school really seems to know how to get the kids to turn loose and perform. He also seems to understand how to not pick material guaranteed to turn any teenager off. Some of it, I'm sure, is that the boys are older, but what, a year in some cases? It doesn't seem like 12 months of age could make this much difference.
Because it's shooting a bullet versus throwing one.
And then, of course, came dessert.
So when Em enrolled in Trouble Choir, which is made up entirely of girls, I thought, What a brilliant idea.
But of course the Trouble Choir wasn't the whole show, this was the whole choral music program, what they've been able to work up after seven whole rehearsals. And, no kidding, it was the best choir concert I've ever been to.
Bar none, ever.
Including the boys. I don't know how much of it is the difference in choir teachers, the guy Em has now that she's at the high school really seems to know how to get the kids to turn loose and perform. He also seems to understand how to not pick material guaranteed to turn any teenager off. Some of it, I'm sure, is that the boys are older, but what, a year in some cases? It doesn't seem like 12 months of age could make this much difference.
Because it's shooting a bullet versus throwing one.
And then, of course, came dessert.
Trouble Choir Truffles
Em has a dessert concert tonight, the high school's Trouble Choir.* I was going to try and make caramels with sea salt embedded in them. Saw Alton Brown doing that on Food Network one night and, realizing I had everything in the house to do it myself, I had to restrain myself from making a batch of caramels.
Because I know myself well enough to know that making a batch of caramels at midnight would mean having consumed most of a batch of caramels by 1:30, adding guilt and weight gain to sleeplessness when I dragged my ass to work the next morning.
Em thought they sounded gross, so I offered to make Oreo truffles instead, knowing she loves them (who doesn't?) and that I've made them before so there's less risk I'd screw it up completely and end up bringing store-bought cupcakes to the concert.
Originally, I planned to make some coated in milk chocolate, some in chocolate with orange zest and some with sea salt embedded in the top.
Then I ran out of melted chocolate halfway through the batch and had to run to the store for a second bag of chips. By the time I got home, I just wanted to finish. I did sprinkle some sea salt over a few of them. Em's pretty skeptical of those, but really, it's a great enhancement, entirely worth the extra sodium.
Oh, the reason there are candy sprinkles in the first pic but not on the truffles, Mo seems to have pulled a fast one, grabbed the candy sprinkles when I wasn't looking, downed them all and threw the empty bottle in the trash. The little butt-head.
Recipe-wise, I've made these before, though it's been awhile. The effect is very convincingly truffle: one package of Oreos, eight ounces softened cream cheese, blended into a paste; coat with melted chocolate. I added a tablespoon of vanilla to the interiors this time and a dash of salt. After I formed the cores, I stuck them in the freezer for about 45 minutes to harden them a bit before coating them; likewise the finished candies for a half hour or so and then moved them to the fridge to keep the shells hard until it was time to go. In the winter time, this last step would be unnecessary, but when it's over 80ºF in the kitchen, yeah. Not to mention there's cream cheese in there.
*It's really called Treble Choir, but really, a choir consisting entirely of teenage girls?
Because I know myself well enough to know that making a batch of caramels at midnight would mean having consumed most of a batch of caramels by 1:30, adding guilt and weight gain to sleeplessness when I dragged my ass to work the next morning.
Em thought they sounded gross, so I offered to make Oreo truffles instead, knowing she loves them (who doesn't?) and that I've made them before so there's less risk I'd screw it up completely and end up bringing store-bought cupcakes to the concert.
Originally, I planned to make some coated in milk chocolate, some in chocolate with orange zest and some with sea salt embedded in the top.
Then I ran out of melted chocolate halfway through the batch and had to run to the store for a second bag of chips. By the time I got home, I just wanted to finish. I did sprinkle some sea salt over a few of them. Em's pretty skeptical of those, but really, it's a great enhancement, entirely worth the extra sodium.
Oh, the reason there are candy sprinkles in the first pic but not on the truffles, Mo seems to have pulled a fast one, grabbed the candy sprinkles when I wasn't looking, downed them all and threw the empty bottle in the trash. The little butt-head.
Recipe-wise, I've made these before, though it's been awhile. The effect is very convincingly truffle: one package of Oreos, eight ounces softened cream cheese, blended into a paste; coat with melted chocolate. I added a tablespoon of vanilla to the interiors this time and a dash of salt. After I formed the cores, I stuck them in the freezer for about 45 minutes to harden them a bit before coating them; likewise the finished candies for a half hour or so and then moved them to the fridge to keep the shells hard until it was time to go. In the winter time, this last step would be unnecessary, but when it's over 80ºF in the kitchen, yeah. Not to mention there's cream cheese in there.
*It's really called Treble Choir, but really, a choir consisting entirely of teenage girls?
Friday, September 10, 2010
Zen Pizza (Sorta)
I made a black olive with Alfredo for the girls, then couldn't decide what to do for my pie. I had leftover hamburger from making cheeseburgers, not much, but a little nugget of ground beef that wasn't quite thawed and thus didn't become patties on the grill.
I'm not much for hamburger as a pizza topping, but mix in a jar of pesto and it's not bad. Then I had some jalapeños, Paul Robeson and Limmony tomatoes and three kinds of basil from my garden (Sweet Italian, Thai Magic and Purple Stem), so there was that. Some olives left over from the girls' pizza. Half a red onion which I caramelized with some dried fenugreek and minced garlic.
What the hell, why not throw a tin of anchovies in as long as we're breaking two of my cardinal rules of pizza making:
I make a thin crust, and generally you want it lightly topped to ensure the slice has some structural stability. Plus, cooking at extremely high temperatures, (550ºF for about four minutes), a thick pie threatens to not really cook through before the crust starts to scorch. And some of the most delicious combinations are utterly simple: bacon, fig and gorgonzola with caramelized onions is about as complicated as I normally get. Pizza Margherita, shrimp scampi, chicken carbonara, these are simple things.
On the plus side, this complicated supreme type thing is colorful. And managed to be pretty stable despite being overloaded. And since the pesto meat sauce and caramelized onions went on hot, all the cooking that was really required was to cook the dough and melt the cheese.
It's good. It'd be better with hot Italian sausage instead of hamburger, but I worked with what I had.
And the combination reminds me of that bad joke about the Buddhist monk and the hot dog vendor, the monk saying, 'Make me one with everything.
Which reminds me, in terms of complicated food, I keep meaning to try an Indian pizza, say my Goan shrimp curry made into a pie...
I'm not much for hamburger as a pizza topping, but mix in a jar of pesto and it's not bad. Then I had some jalapeños, Paul Robeson and Limmony tomatoes and three kinds of basil from my garden (Sweet Italian, Thai Magic and Purple Stem), so there was that. Some olives left over from the girls' pizza. Half a red onion which I caramelized with some dried fenugreek and minced garlic.
What the hell, why not throw a tin of anchovies in as long as we're breaking two of my cardinal rules of pizza making:
1) Keep it simple, stupid.
2) Go easy on the toppings.
I make a thin crust, and generally you want it lightly topped to ensure the slice has some structural stability. Plus, cooking at extremely high temperatures, (550ºF for about four minutes), a thick pie threatens to not really cook through before the crust starts to scorch. And some of the most delicious combinations are utterly simple: bacon, fig and gorgonzola with caramelized onions is about as complicated as I normally get. Pizza Margherita, shrimp scampi, chicken carbonara, these are simple things.
On the plus side, this complicated supreme type thing is colorful. And managed to be pretty stable despite being overloaded. And since the pesto meat sauce and caramelized onions went on hot, all the cooking that was really required was to cook the dough and melt the cheese.
It's good. It'd be better with hot Italian sausage instead of hamburger, but I worked with what I had.
And the combination reminds me of that bad joke about the Buddhist monk and the hot dog vendor, the monk saying, 'Make me one with everything.
Which reminds me, in terms of complicated food, I keep meaning to try an Indian pizza, say my Goan shrimp curry made into a pie...
Thursday, September 09, 2010
I'm Cold and Wet, Please SPONSOR ME!
For real, people, will ya sponsor me for Bike MS? It's coming up in a couple weeks here (September 25/26), and I'm still shy of the minimum fundraising to even ride. I'll do the hard part, around 182 miles in two days on a bicycle, sleeping in a tent that Saturday night. You do the easy part, pony up a little loot.
Those of you who have already ponied up, thank you a million times over. Especially (and you know who you are) the one who wanted to give something even though she's been out of work for over a year and threw five bucks in the kitty.
For the rest of you, I hope this will inspire you to give:
Tonight's 'training ride' (last season, I called all my rides 'training rides,' though I've gotten to be enough of a cycling enthusiast I just want to ride every chance I get) was the Blue Moose ride, and me and Roj did it in the rain. Around 19 miles, it's normally a situation where I struggle to keep up with the herd and get dropped about, oh, a quarter of a mile into it. Tonight, the five or six other riders who showed up asked us if we wanted them to wait (I was still jacking with my bike bag and whatnot when 6:30 came), and I told them I was too slow to keep up with them anyway, and they rolled out.
My thinking wasn't that I could go for a 20 mile ride in the rain. My thinking was weather.com claimed only a 10% chance of rain for the window the ride would occur in and Roj looked at radar and said it looked like shit was breaking up.
So I imagined that by the time we crossed into KCK, it would be overcast, mid-60s and dry.
Two out of three? It drizzled, misted and rained pretty much the whole ride. The temperature was warm enough that it wasn't unpleasant; ten degrees cooler and we'd have frozen our asses off. But no blazing fast descents down Puckett or anything like that. Actually, I coasted down that hill breathing the fumes of a UPS van who would have been difficult to pass if the road had been dry and I was wanting to fly.
Anyway, I reasoned that it could rain on Bike MS and I'll still have to ride, so I might as well get the practice riding on wet roads with water beading on my glasses. It could have been much worse, it could have rained harder or been cold to boot, so ride carefully and call it 'training.'
The rain slowed us down, no personal records for speed tonight, meaning we finished in the dark as well as the wet. And coming down Cherokee at the end, I almost got hit by an asshead in a car. A Ford Focus, I think. He was turning left, and seemed to have stopped, realizing I was coming and had the right of way. Then right when I got there, he turned in front of me and I barely had enough brake to avoid the collision.
I shouted some choice words in his direction, so if you live in Prairie Village around 71st and Mission, sorry if your kids learned some new words this evening. This was by far the closest call I've ever had on the bike, and it was so mind-bogglingly, inexcusably stupid it didn't so much frighten me as make me mad enough to fight.
Those of you who have already ponied up, thank you a million times over. Especially (and you know who you are) the one who wanted to give something even though she's been out of work for over a year and threw five bucks in the kitty.
For the rest of you, I hope this will inspire you to give:
Tonight's 'training ride' (last season, I called all my rides 'training rides,' though I've gotten to be enough of a cycling enthusiast I just want to ride every chance I get) was the Blue Moose ride, and me and Roj did it in the rain. Around 19 miles, it's normally a situation where I struggle to keep up with the herd and get dropped about, oh, a quarter of a mile into it. Tonight, the five or six other riders who showed up asked us if we wanted them to wait (I was still jacking with my bike bag and whatnot when 6:30 came), and I told them I was too slow to keep up with them anyway, and they rolled out.
My thinking wasn't that I could go for a 20 mile ride in the rain. My thinking was weather.com claimed only a 10% chance of rain for the window the ride would occur in and Roj looked at radar and said it looked like shit was breaking up.
So I imagined that by the time we crossed into KCK, it would be overcast, mid-60s and dry.
Two out of three? It drizzled, misted and rained pretty much the whole ride. The temperature was warm enough that it wasn't unpleasant; ten degrees cooler and we'd have frozen our asses off. But no blazing fast descents down Puckett or anything like that. Actually, I coasted down that hill breathing the fumes of a UPS van who would have been difficult to pass if the road had been dry and I was wanting to fly.
Anyway, I reasoned that it could rain on Bike MS and I'll still have to ride, so I might as well get the practice riding on wet roads with water beading on my glasses. It could have been much worse, it could have rained harder or been cold to boot, so ride carefully and call it 'training.'
The rain slowed us down, no personal records for speed tonight, meaning we finished in the dark as well as the wet. And coming down Cherokee at the end, I almost got hit by an asshead in a car. A Ford Focus, I think. He was turning left, and seemed to have stopped, realizing I was coming and had the right of way. Then right when I got there, he turned in front of me and I barely had enough brake to avoid the collision.
I shouted some choice words in his direction, so if you live in Prairie Village around 71st and Mission, sorry if your kids learned some new words this evening. This was by far the closest call I've ever had on the bike, and it was so mind-bogglingly, inexcusably stupid it didn't so much frighten me as make me mad enough to fight.
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
No, It's Not A Race! ;)
Mission Farms ride tonight, 17 miles and this is one well organized ride. Caroline hands out turn lists, designates sweepers and leaders, and stresses safety and the rules of the road.
Everyone seemed to be complaining about being tired and/or sore, most of them from yesterdays Brain ride, me from the Giro d'Hell with Roj, 45 miles of hills, headwinds and rain.
Everyone was taking it easy, it seems, except me. I decided to see how long I could stay with the main group, which turned out to be pretty much all the way so long as I changed colors and saw spots.
My lungs burned, I huffed and puffed and every time I was sure I wouldn't make a light the group made, I did. Which meant I was still keeping up, but also meant a breather lost.
Then, as we got to the downhill/return part of the trip, I saw my average speed was 15.4 mph.
That's faster than my average speed outside the airport pretty much ever. I did 15.4 on 8/17 in Gardner on a relatively flat course, and I've occasionally done better than 14, but except for the downtown airport on June 12 of this year, when I did 16.0 on a nearly flat course for 22 miles, I've never gone anywhere near that fast for any distance.
So I poured it on. I huffed and puffed and stood on it and called out 'on your left' to the occasional rider, and absolutely killed myself trying to get 16.0 to show up on my average speed. Managed to get it to a mere 15.9 mph, at which point the spots I was seeing did that warp speed jump thing and turned into lines as I came into the Mission Farms parking lot.
People always tell me to get a road bike, it'll make the difference. But my goal is to get to 17 or 18 miles an hour average on my hybrid first. Then, when I can afford a road bike, I'll be able to keep up with anyone.
Everyone seemed to be complaining about being tired and/or sore, most of them from yesterdays Brain ride, me from the Giro d'Hell with Roj, 45 miles of hills, headwinds and rain.
Everyone was taking it easy, it seems, except me. I decided to see how long I could stay with the main group, which turned out to be pretty much all the way so long as I changed colors and saw spots.
My lungs burned, I huffed and puffed and every time I was sure I wouldn't make a light the group made, I did. Which meant I was still keeping up, but also meant a breather lost.
Then, as we got to the downhill/return part of the trip, I saw my average speed was 15.4 mph.
That's faster than my average speed outside the airport pretty much ever. I did 15.4 on 8/17 in Gardner on a relatively flat course, and I've occasionally done better than 14, but except for the downtown airport on June 12 of this year, when I did 16.0 on a nearly flat course for 22 miles, I've never gone anywhere near that fast for any distance.
So I poured it on. I huffed and puffed and stood on it and called out 'on your left' to the occasional rider, and absolutely killed myself trying to get 16.0 to show up on my average speed. Managed to get it to a mere 15.9 mph, at which point the spots I was seeing did that warp speed jump thing and turned into lines as I came into the Mission Farms parking lot.
People always tell me to get a road bike, it'll make the difference. But my goal is to get to 17 or 18 miles an hour average on my hybrid first. Then, when I can afford a road bike, I'll be able to keep up with anyone.
Monday, September 06, 2010
Giro d'Hell
Most folks seem to just intuit that I'm not the piper to follow. I map out rides and invite people and generally, I'm the whole group that shows up.
This promised to be a little different, Dr. Jill expressed interest, Kitty RSVP'd that she was probably game, and Roj, well, a guy that does RAGBRAI on a BMX, it's hard to propose something too crazy for that guy.
I didn't think I was too crazy, I thought we'd leave at four and in four hours we'd be able to cover the 42-ish miles my map outlined. Back before dark and all that.
Everyone but Roj ended up in the Regrets column, and I guess Roj ended up there in a way. As in, I bet he regrets showing up. His sister called, while I waited, and said he'd just gotten to her place and was worried I'd leave without him, but really, without him I was the whole group.
She sent some awesome smelling Cascade hops she grew in her back yard, so Roj showed up looking every bit the bicycle messenger for the pot distributor, with the little baggie of herb clutched in his hand.
We didn't get rolling until 4:20, and what with the gnarly hills, the headwinds, and stopping, we kinda ran out of daylight and, as it happens, weather. The way I'd planned it, given the forecast, we should have finished with a strong tailwind. But those southerly gusts only held up long enough to thwart our progress south in western Shawnee.
We lucked out on the rest stop situation. As we rode out 47th to Old K-7, Roj was saying we needed to find some grub or he'd bonk.
I wasn't sure what was out there, really, I've ridden almost all of this (except 63rd to Mize to 83rd) before, but convenience stores are few and far between. But there was a Shell with detour signs to steer us around construction that was 23 miles in, right around the half way mark. We probably loitered too long when it comes to the daylight situation, but it was a place where you could get water, Diet Dew, Peanut M&Ms and other anti-bonking agents.
I swear, Peanut M&Ms are nature's perfect food for a long ride: the candy shell is simple sugar for immediate energy; the milk chocolate has some slightly more complex sugars along with a bit of caffeine and whatnot, and then the peanut has salt and fat with complex carbohydrates for later. If Adam and Eve hadn't blown it, I'm pretty sure we'd all be living on Peanut M&Ms and Rooster Booster Lite.
By the time we were headed west, the winds had come around and the sky had blackened. It wasn't all bad, the temperature dropped by almost twenty degrees in fifteen minutes, which made up for the persistent headwind no matter which way we seemed to go.
It also wasn't all good, because it started raining before we got done.
Roj started to fall behind by margins I couldn't account for, and after waiting longer than I thought probable at a light, I said, 'I didn't think I was riding that fast.'
'You're not,' he said. 'My knees, I had to walk it up that one.'
Crap. A well planned route, we'd have some sort of shortcut/chicken exit plan. This route, though, you are kind of boxed in by where you can get through on a bicycle. The only real choice, at 95th and Renner was whether to take Renner to Midland (which means some hills) and then climb back up out of the Mill Creek Valley, or go east into the darkest sky of all and take the relatively flat frontage roads. About the same distance, I think, and Roj's knees told him, 'Well the flat one.'
Which was only relatively flat. This whole ride was basically a hill ride once you get past that first leg on Merriam Lane. At the top of the ramp to Quivira near 87th, he said, 'I thought you said no more hills.'
My cycling 'puter said 45.2 miles when I finished, but Roj had ridden from Westport to begin with. I put his bike on my rack and gave him a ride home, as much pain as I could tell he was in on the climbs, no way I could let him ride another eight or ten miles in the dark to get home.
We should have left an hour earlier (or more). Eventually I'll learn, and if I don't, I better find a way to lay my hands on a Magic Shine.
This promised to be a little different, Dr. Jill expressed interest, Kitty RSVP'd that she was probably game, and Roj, well, a guy that does RAGBRAI on a BMX, it's hard to propose something too crazy for that guy.
I didn't think I was too crazy, I thought we'd leave at four and in four hours we'd be able to cover the 42-ish miles my map outlined. Back before dark and all that.
Everyone but Roj ended up in the Regrets column, and I guess Roj ended up there in a way. As in, I bet he regrets showing up. His sister called, while I waited, and said he'd just gotten to her place and was worried I'd leave without him, but really, without him I was the whole group.
She sent some awesome smelling Cascade hops she grew in her back yard, so Roj showed up looking every bit the bicycle messenger for the pot distributor, with the little baggie of herb clutched in his hand.
We didn't get rolling until 4:20, and what with the gnarly hills, the headwinds, and stopping, we kinda ran out of daylight and, as it happens, weather. The way I'd planned it, given the forecast, we should have finished with a strong tailwind. But those southerly gusts only held up long enough to thwart our progress south in western Shawnee.
We lucked out on the rest stop situation. As we rode out 47th to Old K-7, Roj was saying we needed to find some grub or he'd bonk.
I wasn't sure what was out there, really, I've ridden almost all of this (except 63rd to Mize to 83rd) before, but convenience stores are few and far between. But there was a Shell with detour signs to steer us around construction that was 23 miles in, right around the half way mark. We probably loitered too long when it comes to the daylight situation, but it was a place where you could get water, Diet Dew, Peanut M&Ms and other anti-bonking agents.
I swear, Peanut M&Ms are nature's perfect food for a long ride: the candy shell is simple sugar for immediate energy; the milk chocolate has some slightly more complex sugars along with a bit of caffeine and whatnot, and then the peanut has salt and fat with complex carbohydrates for later. If Adam and Eve hadn't blown it, I'm pretty sure we'd all be living on Peanut M&Ms and Rooster Booster Lite.
By the time we were headed west, the winds had come around and the sky had blackened. It wasn't all bad, the temperature dropped by almost twenty degrees in fifteen minutes, which made up for the persistent headwind no matter which way we seemed to go.
It also wasn't all good, because it started raining before we got done.
Roj started to fall behind by margins I couldn't account for, and after waiting longer than I thought probable at a light, I said, 'I didn't think I was riding that fast.'
'You're not,' he said. 'My knees, I had to walk it up that one.'
Crap. A well planned route, we'd have some sort of shortcut/chicken exit plan. This route, though, you are kind of boxed in by where you can get through on a bicycle. The only real choice, at 95th and Renner was whether to take Renner to Midland (which means some hills) and then climb back up out of the Mill Creek Valley, or go east into the darkest sky of all and take the relatively flat frontage roads. About the same distance, I think, and Roj's knees told him, 'Well the flat one.'
Which was only relatively flat. This whole ride was basically a hill ride once you get past that first leg on Merriam Lane. At the top of the ramp to Quivira near 87th, he said, 'I thought you said no more hills.'
My cycling 'puter said 45.2 miles when I finished, but Roj had ridden from Westport to begin with. I put his bike on my rack and gave him a ride home, as much pain as I could tell he was in on the climbs, no way I could let him ride another eight or ten miles in the dark to get home.
We should have left an hour earlier (or more). Eventually I'll learn, and if I don't, I better find a way to lay my hands on a Magic Shine.
Sunday, September 05, 2010
Dinos & Trains
Took the girls to Union Station with my Dad, step-mother, step-brother and about a hundred and fifty of my loudest nephews.
It's sometimes hard to tell what Mo is really connecting with, but she definitely dug the dinosaurs.
Em is often too cool to enjoy such things, but having dozens of little cousins to interact with through the exhibits flipped her switches and she had a great time, too.
Some of the dinos are motion activated, but there's also plenty the kids can push buttons to activate. Of course, it says 'push one button at a time,' but who are they kidding?
I was also impressed that Mo dug the trains so much. I even heard the words (well, word, it ran together) 'Trainawesomeyesokay.'
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