This is for friends and relatives back east, New York and Boston, those in proximity to the Munson-Nixon line (Westchster, Worcester, you know who you are) and assorted environs. Also for a few friends in LA, but I’ll get to you in a minute…
For those back east, I recall how on those hazy, hot . . . → Read More: Midsummer Baseball
I can never remember the season when deer are supposedly more active — spring, fall, the rut? — and, by extension, more of a threat to drivers. But I do know that hardly a few days pass that I don’t see one or two on or near a road.
Driving my daughter home from evening . . . → Read More: Oh, Deer
Played the trifecta in Berkeley last weekend. How often do you have a chance to do that? You line up three events — say, dinner, concert and single-night stay in a boutique hotel — purchase your tickets, make your reservations, outsource your children, and the thoroubreds come across the line just like that: one, two, . . . → Read More: Couple’s Therapy in Berkeley
Broke out the golf clubs for a quick nine late last Sunday afternoon. Nine holes is vastly underrated as a sporting experience and, who knew, if the course was wide open, I might get in as many as 12 or 13, strategically counterscheduled as it was against live 49ers’ football.
Well, it wasn’t going to . . . → Read More: Sunset at Cinnabar Hills: Stuck Behind Flip-Flop and Doughboy
On the road to rediscovering the past, I’ve been listening to a lot of John Fogerty and Creedence Clearwater Revival.
“Up Around the Bend” is sort of a classic road-as-metaphor-for-life composition but it’s speaking to me on an entirely different level. It’s hitting me in my nascent road-cyclist core. As inspiration. As anthem. The opening . . . → Read More: Inspiration (and a possible anthem) for cyclists
I’m finding new virtues in skate kids these days. I’m practically ready to champion their cause.
And by “their cause,” I’m refering to their apparent aimlessness, their venial vagrancy, their trifling trespassing.
Yes, skate kids are if not my new best friends my occasional savior. They are those mostly shaggy teens who you see bumping . . . → Read More: Sk8er Boi, the electric car-charging app
Full appreciation and mild fascination with John Fogerty’s music are, admittedly, destinations to which I’ve arrived late in life. Not entirely sure what to attribute this to, or why I waited so long.
It could possibly be the “fundamentalist effect,” which certainly explains why, despite always enjoying The Grateful Dead, I could never classify myself . . . → Read More: The Old Man Down the Road
I’m a nervous road cyclist. I worry about motorists — distracted, texting, impaired, old, young, all kinds — who drive the roads while I negotiate non-existent shoulders on two too-thin tires.
I’m nervous that the treadless skinny wheels beneath two frames — mine and the bicycle’s — won’t hold the curves and resist the G-forces. . . . → Read More: Missing Fat Tires
So cooking for one is kinda fun. You don’t worry about anyone but yourself. No issues with pickiness or tender tastebuds. Just serve it up: good and hearty.
Grilled chicken, sauteed spinach with caramelized onions, and grilled zucchini.
With the family still on the tail end of a mid-summer East Coast swing, this is . . . → Read More: Batching It
When we were recently invited to the rugged and remote corner of northeastern California for five days of hiking and alpine-lake swimming, I found myself pinned down by an avalanche of seasonal freelance and part-time work. Yet I still hoped my family could take advantage of the invitation.
So my wife and I packed the . . . → Read More: Electric car blues