Is blog neglect a felony?

Wow, have I been neglecting this! Could be because of a houseful of grandkids (3 4-and-under) and their mom, and a bible study, and a choir rehearsal, and Jubilee rehearsals starting back up. I'm sorry, little blog; you deserve better.

But my son-in-law in basic training really deserves better, so I'm going to have to neglect you for a while longer.

* on average

Manipulative marketing drives me batty.

The Pringles package in my kitchen boldly proclaims:

100 crisps in every can*
*on average

Now I'm wondering why they'd bother putting the word "every" in that slogan, aside from how catchy it sounds. I'm also curious how that approach would've worked for a political slogan:

A chicken in every pot*
*on average

How's that for instilling confidence among the citizenry? Of course, the actual slogan didn't work out too well, either.

Godspeed, Nic

Our son-in-law leaves for basic training today. Well, in-processes at the MEPS center and leaves the state tomorrow, but leaves town today.

What incredible love, to take such a step for his family. Our hearts and our prayers go with him.

Out of sorts

It's hard when there's so much to blog about. I wanted to write about our great vacation, but didn't much feel like focusing on that in the aftermath of my friend Chris' death. He died unexpectedly while I was out west. I hope to get back into the swing of things here soon. With a new Bible study started up, on Eucharist, I'll have plenty to think and write about.

"I'll take the Physical Challenge"

"How ya doin?" the volunteer asked enthusiastically, as I approached the rest stop.

"Okay," I replied waveringly. Then, deciding honesty was the best policy, "But there's no way I'm going to be able to finish this ride," I concluded with far more conviction. He nodded his head sympathetically, rushing over to grab my bike from me as I dismounted, my right hamstring suddenly seized by another cramp as I raised my leg over the seat, immediately followed by my left. "Walk it out," he advised, which was easy advice to take as I'd been forced to do that very thing during part of the climb I'd just finished.

I still had 45 very hilly miles to go, and it was pretty clear why they called this the Cheat Mountain Challenge. But even if I wasn't going to be up to meeting this challenge, I was glad I'd taken it on. After all, how often do we get a chance to really test our limits? If I hadn't come - budget considerations had nearly kept me away - I'd be wondering what it was like, how my friends were doing, how much additional ground I'd lost on them because of the work they were getting in this weekend while I was either sitting at home or riding more casually. Even though I was convinced I'd be riding the bus rather than my bike up the remaining climbs, especially the 6-mile finish up to the Snowshoe resort, I was glad I'd tested myself in this way. And the scenery so far had varied from "very nice" to "breathtaking."

We don't have any mountains around my current home in Dayton. I'd trained on a few of the more popular and challenging cycling hills in the area, and thought I'd gotten in enough work to be well-prepared. Little did I know. And somehow we'd overlooked the first climb of the day, near the beginning of the course. About two-thirds up it and already in my lowest gear, I considered turning around right then and there; struggling this much so early, how was I going to handle the steeper and longer ascents to come? But I'd pressed on thus far, beginning to cramp on the climb up Cranberry Mountain, and having to walk for a while on the steepest part of Black Mountain due to stronger and more unyielding cramps. I'd been careful to drink a lot all morning, too.

I talked to the rest stop volunteers about the SAG bus, which they told me was following the last rider on the course. After downing another whole bottle of sports drink ("It's got electrolytes. It's what plants crave.") and eating a bit - well, what hadn't been put away because of the rainstorm that had passed through just before I got to the stop - and resting for about 10 minutes, I got to thinking. "Y'know," I said to myself, "if I can't go any further, I can just get off the bike and wait by the side of the road for the bus." That thought was pretty comforting; I wasn't going to be stuck in the middle of West Virginia with no way back to Snowshoe. So I refilled my water bottles and climbed back onto the saddle. There were another couple of miles left of this climb, but not nearly as steep as the section before the rest stop. I passed another rider sitting in the grass, waiting for the SAG bus. But I managed this section pretty well, stopping to rest my legs once and hitting the next rest stop in pretty good shape.

"Okay," they advised us, "you've got a smooth, 5-mile descent, followed by a 3-mile, 7% climb. Don't look up, just keep your head down and keep pedaling." Well, that strategy was not going to work for me today. My legs were going to need to rest a couple times during that three miles. But since I don't have a cyclocomputer on my bike, I thought I might deceive myself a little along the way. A mile into the ascent, I'd tell myself it had only been a half mile. I'd pick a point ahead of me at which I'd take a short break, then pedal beyond it and pick another point. I did stop on the way up, but only twice, and at no point did I think I couldn't make it up the hill. Now, the six mile climb at the end? That was sure to be another matter. But I was beginning to think I just might finish on my bike instead of on the bus.

At this rest area, they let me know I had a gradual uphill in front of me, followed by mostly downhill to the Snowshoe Welcome Center. That easily winding descent was a great break and a lot of fun, and when things flattened out to slightly uphill for the last couple miles before the ascent up Cheat Mountain, I felt I might be ready to give it a shot.

Maybe a mile into it, I was straddling my bike, resting for a moment, when I heard the SAG bus
pull up. I figured that meant there were no more riders on the course behind me. I thought I might make it up this hill using the same strategies as the previous one, but I sure didn't want an audience! I waved for the driver of the bus to pull up alongside of me.

"I'm going to make it up this hill," I told him with far more confidence than I felt, "but I may have to stop a few times along the way." He had about a dozen riders on the bus, with their bikes on the trailer behind it. He said he'd take them up and drop them off, then come back to check on me.

I probably stopped about 4 more times on the way up that hill, but was pedaling when the bus driver waved on his way back down the hill, and still going as he passed me going back up with two more bikes on the trailer. As things started leveling off, I saw another rider walking his bike in front of me. As I approached him, I saw it was one of my friends, and called his name in inquisitive surprise. He turned and replied with mine in the exact same tone of voice. Shortly after riding past him, I turned to see him back on his bike, pedaling along behind me.

We were the last two finishers. But we did it! The following morning, as I drove down the mountain to begin the journey home, I was amazed at the length of that final climb, and proud that I'd accomplished it. But my proudest moment had come while still sweaty and smelly, after stowing my bike in the car, walking back into Snowshoe Village. As I walked up alongside a couple of strangers, I heard one of them say, "Hey, there's my new hero!" At first I thought he was teasing, but he'd been on the bus at the end, and heard me tell the driver I was going to make it up the mountain, and was impressed that I'd done it.

While I'm sure he didn't mean all that might imply - I have a pretty good idea of what real heroism is and am painfully aware of my own failings - I'm really pleased with having met the Cheat Mountain Challenge!

World's greatest little present opener

Our four-year-old granddaughter's birthday is today, and yesterday was her party. It was a rather large gathering, with lots of cousins and friends invited. Usually, the present-opening at such a big party gets to be a bit of a chore, but her enthusiasm wasn't dimmed in the slightest, and seemingly every gift was just what she wanted.

My favorite moment had to be when she was pulling items out of one of the gift bags and exclaimed with a excited gasp: "Batteries!"

Avoiding the dismissive "Whatever . . . "

Warning: this post contains references to defacatory material; proceed at your own risk!

Last week, mrs tg and I arrived home to find that our dog had found one of our grandchildren's soiled Pampers and torn it up on our living room rug. In the ensuing cleanup process, I observed that it probably was a mistake for the diaper to have been left where the dog could get it (rather than thrown away in the lidded trash can).

I should share some background. Early in our marriage, mrs tg was not a good housekeeper. Actually, that is a gross understatement. Indeed, to suggest she isn't a very good housekeeper today would be true enough, but she may be among the most improved housekeepers on the planet.

So, she became rather defensive over my implication that she was partly responsible for the mess strewn across the rug. Now, it isn't as if a dog can be held accountable for acting like a dog. But in her mind, this incident was completely his fault. She accused me of treating her as if she still routinely indulges the unsanitary habits of her youth. Yes, this was now an aberration, but it still would have been nice had she been able to say, "Oh, I'm sorry, I should've taken care of that," acknowledging her role in the (fecal) matter.

I somehow managed not to vocalize my thoughts, because had I actually let out with a "What.EVER . . . ," in the course of that cleanup, well, the shit might have really hit the fan.

Yesterday, at lunch time, I found another diaper on the family room floor. I managed to indicate it to her as I calmly threw it away, again steering clear of the condescending smugness that I'd surely have indulged in our earlier life together.

The point of all this isn't that my wife needs to be more consistent in taking care of diapers. Rather: if I eschew condescension, any real issues will probably provide a better opportunity for their resolution.