Dad has a fall recently & struggles with some pneumonia while in rehab. They say the place is spacious & well staffed but on the phone he keeps saying he wants to get out ASAP. Working this from a distance is aggravating; California Bound in 10 days to set up the Northern Compound. The great grand kids will do him some good, yet first he must regain his old rather astonishing strength.

Working the early season routine

Every time I return from California I have either the flu or a severe head & chest cold. It happens every damn time; can’t be a coincidence.

Going with massive doses of Muecinex (which I can’t spell) this time. Fortunately it’s been too cold for long rides. Got in a few good 31s; it’s going to be a good year.

Pop turns 85 tomorrow & we had a successful day today with suits & bean counters. He tires sooner than he wants but when he’s on he still works the entire room.

He’s nearly the last of his kind.

4 blocks away from me is a Wake (!!!) of Buzzards

At first I was certain someone had died inside but nope; they are just choosing our little slice of paradise as headquarters for a bit. Apparently this is normal behavior but I’ll admit it’s a bit creepy.

I’m fond of saying We Are All Poop (“Food for Worms” Shakespeare says in Henry IV part 2 I think). A friend recently put up a poem on her Instagram – a truly bad poem. The feeling may be genuine but the language is dead. Picking thru the detritus of her thought, which of us is the Buzzard?

Days in the teens and below make for difficult Basement work – I’ll confess I’ve fallen off my routine severely, but I remind myself daily that this happens every year.

Roads ought to be ice-free by Saturday – at least where I plan to ride. Ive lucked out over Black Ice just once, years ago. Just like the cliché says I never saw it till I was on top of it; my only chance was not to panic & touch my brakes.

I went with Bar Mitts for my hands so I’ll look very distinct to say the least

I call it the Batbike when they are attached.

I’m still terrible at keeping up with what bankers & lawyers demand of me, but I’m reading up on it & trying to figure stuff out. Planning on pulling this thing off & making everyone scratch their heads in astonishment

11,047 miles last year, which started with a 600 mile January. I plan for 50 miles a week in the cold, although I have thick socks & mountain biking gloves designed for cold, but last year was never actually sustainably cold; little patches like that prove the Cycling Muse (whom I call Bitchy – for Bicicletta) exists & is demanding. So 200 miles a month in the beginning is standard. “Chaos, source of renewal” Pound said; you use the down time to do kettles in the basement, work on legs, hit the bag – not let the bike be the only thing that matters. Yet the Muse is named Bitchy.

I’m avoiding the last of the ice patches today because in the past only luck has kept me up over ice & with only one shoulder left I am leery of depending too much on luck. Tomorrow (MLK Day) ought to be safe enough for actual riding – bundled & heavy, like the rest out here, hunting whatever.

13 days till dad’s birthday. We’ll be in California for that & to sign more endless papers, see the realtor and lawyer, complete mom’s transition. I still have the occasional dream about her but she has nearly gone completely over. Good for her; stuff here is proceeding well, according to what she laid out. No need for spectral supervision. Yet California has its own set of dangerous black ice patches.

I peeked at Koble’s blog again, and Small Stream Reflections. Hoping for something like that after time.

Least pleasant thing about Xmas is wrestling the blinkers from the box & unknotting then without breaking bulbs or wires. Then the wobbly ladder under the some kind of pepper tree outside on the lawn, up & carefully grabbing with cold hands the fallow branches. I noticed today the numerous dead sticks & the central trunk crack in the dear tree. I’ll need to rethink how I water. After dusk it’s all worth it but the beginnings & endings in January are just little fun.

Dad to hospital for some steroids to help him breathe but got up on FaceTime like an old pro. Voice sounds strong & still amused. I don’t suppose he’s the tree until the metaphor of the box grows too disquieting – certainly he’s most of the lights

Thanksgiving gatherings at the home of X always remind me that I live in a tiny town & everyone has a strong misinterpretation about everything. Still, it’s on,y an annual miscarriage of understanding & the food (gathered from around town) is always fine & flavorful; these are the times I’m both glad & sad I no longer drink. I think it was Lincoln who said booze filled – & killed that part of the soul that needed filling/killing. I used to navigate that world of petite or petty intrigue on ripples of Orvieto only.

The best of times; the worst of times.

I ate, laughed, commiserated, & gave them – former dear friends as well as new strangers – nothing to relate to anyone else with any degree of pique. I suppose I’ll get used to the New Normal.

Psychologically passing 10,000 miles both comforting & annoying. I initially set up a specific number of rides of specific distances & simply rode those distances. Total number of miles wasn’t supposed to be the point. But at the end of a season my inclination is to noodle about looking for next year’s routes. 20 miles can constitute a “ride” whereas earlier it was merely a warm-up. Plus the cold & rain factor; I’m willing to freeze an hour for a Century but not for 12 miles of exploration.

Rain today hit at mile 14 & I refused to check the app to see how long it wd last. So different from March riding. I stand by my belief tho that riding in rain on a Fixie is far easier & safer than on a single speed or 10 speeder. The unavoidable pedaling connection to the ground constantly whispers You Got This on all but wooden surfaces (Bridges are still my Bugbear). Lack of brakes makes for more intelligent approaches & responses. I can’t see myself ever riding anything else.

On the home front, my pile of California mail still offers daily problems & oopses – so far none catastrophic. How my parents stayed on top of all this so easily is beyond me. I have a plan to consolidate bills & mark up a calendar – but they are so far just plans. In managing affairs I’m still on slick bridges.

I write it confidently & the next day I drop 2 balls

that I know of

Bloody Hell