Much to be thankful for

Thanksgiving Day dawned sunny and dry, a practically unheard-of occurrence here in the PNW. After several days of no rain, the yard and surroundings were lacking the usual sogginess. This allowed me to smoke the turkey outside on the deck instead of in the garage where Scott feared it would deposit greasy residue on everything. I spent a beautiful day on the river with my friend Rachael and her husband Gabe. As we loaded up the boats to return to my house for dinner, the rain began to fall, slowly at first, then more confidently. Now this was the Portland we all know and love! On the drive home, I got to thinking about all the things I had to be thankful for. Here is a short list:

• Good friends
• Beautiful rivers
• A warm, dry home
• Plentiful food
• Wonderful family
• A boyfriend who still things I'm the center of the universe after 11 years
• A very special yellow fellow (even though I caught him with his paws on the stove and face buried in the turkey)
• The ability to ride a bike, paddle a kayak, go for a run or hike

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone! May you all have much to be thankful for.

Back in the saddle

Last week I rode my bike for the first time since "the accident." Just my single-speed cruiser that keeps me fairly upright with very little weight on my wrist. It was exciting and scary at the same time. But mostly exciting! For me, a bike spells freedom. It means I can get where I want to go--exactly where I want, not a parking space or lot four blocks from where I'm going. It also means I can go when I want. Not when Tri-Met sees fit to take me and not when traffic allows me to move at normal speeds. On the bike, there are no traffic jams, no holdups, no detours. Usually I can reach a destination faster on my bike than on the bus and often in about the same time as driving after you factor in parking and walking.

I've had several short bike outings now and am feeling stronger every day. The first day, I had to walk up the hill from the post office because the single-speed makes it a standing hill and standing just put too much torque on my wrist. Two days later I made the climb. Now I'm looking forward to getting back on my 'cross bike and going for a real ride!

Squirrel stalking

This has been a week of perfect fall days for visits to the dog park. Tucker is a regular no matter what the weather, but when it's dry and relatively warm, we linger a bit longer than in the gray winter months of rain and slop. He has become a master of stalking squirrels. As we approach the park, he begins scanning the trees for signs of the taunting, twittering creatures. Ever since the day a squirrel fell from a tree and landed on his head, where he quickly and without hesitation dispatched it by vigorous shaking, he remains ever hopeful of being so lucky once again.

I release him from his harness and he lopes out into the trees and stops to scout. Spying a squirrel (or squirrels), he crouches. And waits. One front and one hind leg lift stealthily up and forward. He pauses with two paws in the air. Then steps forward again. And waits. Steps. Waits. Steps. Waits. He chooses just the right moment to surge forward in a full sprint, narrowing the gap between him and the targeted squirrel to mere feet. As he leaps forward, though, the squirrel also moves, quickly, toward the nearest tree, and scampers up it just high enough to be safe. Sometimes a brave squirrel ventures rather far from a tree, leaving herself vulnerable to being caught. So far, each squirrel has reached safety, but always there is a moment when I think Tucker might be successful in his quest. Once up the tree, the squirrel turns to face Tucker and chirps, teasing him. Tucker barks and jumps against the tree, frustrated at his inability to climb. Realizing the futility of the exercise, he abandons this hunt and gallops toward the next tree and begins the whole process over again.

Any Given Sunday

The rhythmic beating of drums pounded through my veins, gradually getting nearer and louder as I walked from the soggy grass field that passed itself off as a parking lot toward the race area at Portland International Raceway on Sunday afternoon. As I rounded a corner and threaded my way through the throngs of racers, family members and fans, I finally saw the source: the Last Regiment of Syncopated Drummers, a local band somehow finagled into drumming under a sky threatening rain for the last three races of the weekly insanity that is cyclocross.

On any given Sunday in Portland in the fall, over 1,200 people show up with their bikes to spend 45 minutes chasing each other around in approximately one-mile circles through mud and over barriers. This particular Sunday held the additional draw of hosting the SSCXWC (code for single-speed cyclocross world championships, but they can't actually call it that because there's lots of bureaucracy and hoo-ha attached to a title like that and this is really just a bunch of local crazies goofing off). Near the start/finish area, vendors sell french fries with garlic mayonnaise and maple bars topped with bacon(!!). Bob's Red Mill passes out free oatmeal and racers are treated to hot Belgian waffles after they finish. For the price of a $4 pint glass, the beer is free-flowing all day.

Even though I had to miss racing this entire season due to my broken wrist, I've discovered that I enjoy hanging out, watching my friends participate, drinking beer, and ringing my obnoxiously loud cowbell. Since this race was just minutes from home and, according to my friend Peter, "not to be missed," I figured I'd better show up, cowbell in hand. Since I actually do have a life of my own, I opted to not go early enough to watch many of my friends race at 9 and 10 a.m., but to go after lunch, in time to see the women's race, the Cat A (really fast) men, and, of course, the SSCXWC.

From the SSCXWC registration site: While negotiations are still on going as to whether Single Speed Cyclocross racing will replace figure skating in the 2010 Winter Olympics, the promoters are confident that this 2nd running of event will be the decisive nail in the coffin.

Finally, the race was on and Peter and I stationed ourselves at the top of a steep run-up that included two barriers followed by a spinning windmill blade that racers had to duck through each time around. Prior to reaching the run-up, they rode through a giant bubble machine that left them foaming in suds as they scrambled up the hill with bikes on shoulders.

As racers appeared through the windmill, we could make out costumes and bicycle anomalies. An entire team rode in shimmery gold hot-pant shorts and cut-off t-shirts. One guy rode a kids bike with a carousel pony on it. Superman powered through while my friend Caroline inspired racers by ringing her cowbell in a red and white polka dotted bikini. Several riders pounded PBR at the top of the hill, and some begged for beer handouts from the crowd. One guy even rode the last lap naked.

At the end of the day, it was the most fun I had had in a while and I didn't even have to go to Belgium! Check out the photos at http://bikeportland.org/2008/11/10/sscxwc-and-cross-crusade-photos-and-mini-report/.

Toweling season

Here in Oregon we have two seasons: summer and toweling. In the summer, it's usually warm and dry if not sunny, but during toweling season every outing with Tucker involves cleaning and drying him off with at least one towel before he comes inside. When it gets really nasty (which it's about to -- the forecast is for 2.5 inches of rain over the next two days) we have a two-towel system. We start with a bucket of warm water and a washcloth (our yellow "lab" doesn't like to be sprayed with water) to remove the mud, then use the first towel to soak up most of the sogginess before finishing up with the second towel. Of course, Tucker prefers it if the towels are still warm from the dryer.

Overheard

In the locker room at the gym a couple days ago I overheard two women talking about Halloween. One of the women said she was a retired librarian and she passes out books to trick-or-treaters--and this year she had 345 visitors to her door! She used to offer kids a choice between candy or a book, but so many chose the book she did away with the candy altogether. The other woman apparently has small children and commented that she wished her kids would choose books over candy. The librarian said many of her trick-or-treaters have never owned a book.

She orders all the books each year through a book store in her neighborhood (North Portland) where I hope she gets a great discount, photocopies the covers, and tapes them to her door so the kids can scan them and select a book. She gets books suitable for a wide range of ages so there is something for every child.

Cool, huh?

Today I was at physical therapy and couldn't help but hear a conversation between another patient and her therapist (we were sitting at the same table). The patient is 60 and a year ago she weighed 350 pounds. She had an enlarged heart and congestive heart failure among other health issues and had gastric bypass surgery. There was no discussion of her history, as in had she tried to lose the weight without surgery, but I can only assume a long-term struggle with weight.

She went from an extremely large size that I can't even remember to a size 4. She also got divorced and remarried (after she lost all the weight, her ex-husband wanted to get back together; the new guy knew her all through her heavy days and has always been supportive) and is a foster mom to a 5-month-old.

Wow! Inspirational.

Miss Gail's Southern Cooking

Watkinsville, Georgia sports a new restaurant, recently opened by none other than my sister. What started as a seemingly hare-brained idea hatched when she found herself unemployed last spring is now a wildly popular reality.

Both of us adopted our mother's kitchen skills, but my sister has always excelled at cooking the rich, traditional southern foods: sweet potato souffle, macaroni and cheese, fried chicken and the like. Now she can share her love of cooking and all the traditional southern classics with the world (or at least the fast-growing population of Oconee County).

Just three weeks after opening, the lunchtime crowd was lined up out the door on election day, also a holiday for the schools, whose many employees had yet to have the opportunity to sample the food at this weekday-only cafeteria. With a rotating menu, each day of the week offers something new to try, and the variety of daily side dishes could keep a diner occupied for weeks trying to sample them all. I can personally vouch for the meat loaf and the macaroni and cheese (it's to die for!). Despite being a born-and-bred southerner myself, I'm no fan of collard greens, but I found Gail's to be quite edible and not too soggy (my chief complaint about most greens cooked in the south).

Lunch was so good, I had to come back for breakfast before I left town. Gail has employed a top-notch biscuit maker in Pat, a wonderful woman who turns out tender yet not-too-crumbly mounds that delightfully sandwich a crisp pork tenderloin or soak up the perfectly seasoned sausage gravy. Accompanied with sides of grits and cheese-eggs, the breakfast plate is a delicious and artery-clogging experience. For the diet conscious, never fear—fruit, oatmeal and cooked-to-order eggs are available for the asking.

Gail remains committed to serving quality, fresh food (nothing from a can, she says, except the pinto beans) with a smile. I'll admit a touch of bias (Gail is my sister after all), but was not disappointed in the food or the service and hope her little cafeteria maintains its initial popularity for years to come.

Photo courtesy of my mom, Diane Boykin