Sunday, May 26, 2013

The road to a wedding?


Dearest Blog Reader

I hope this finds you doing well. I am fine. I was struck by a thought on Friday as I left work in anticipation of a glorious week of vacation preparation for Grace and Chris' wedding. Why does my employer reserve 30 spots in the parking garage nearest the door for hybrid electric cars? Wouldn't it be more environmentally friendly to have them park on the highest level at the farthest corner away from the building and reserve those close spots for the gas guzzling behemoths that wantonly burn fossil fuels as they slow grind up and up the steep incline in search of a place to park. Just think of the free energy the environmentally conscious could generate each evening as they coasted down the ramps and out of the garage. They might even be able to make it all of the way home burning no gasoline.  Just a thought.

The countdown clock now stands at 6 days. The Weather Channel watch continues. I do have a bit of an issue with the children of the weather. I had expected to start looking on Wednesday the 22nd. I woke early the 22nd went to the app and was sorely disappointed to only see that May 31 was to be bright and beautiful with almost no chance of rain. It appears that Weather Channel takes credit for "predicting" the current weather conditions. Isn't really just a story problem. St. Louis is experiencing rain. It is moving at 30 mph to the NW. How long will it be before the rain hits in Ingalls, Indiana, 277 miles away? 30 years ago a third grader could have told you 9 hours and 15 minutes. Now a first grader can google it.

May 31st predictions provided almost nothing. The rehearsal dinner and wedding kickball looked good. I am thankful. But what about the main event? What will the weather be on June 1 at 5:00 p.m. in the wedding meadow? Pushing the angst back another 24 hours, The Weather Channel informed me that a 65% chance of afternoon storms were to be our lot. Fortunately, the weather geeks are a bunch of kidders. They got their minds right the next day; 20%.

In the moments, between looking at the weather, trying to fit the to do list to time remaining calendar, and pondering differences in the to buy list to the budget, the time has been filled with the reminiscence of 28 years ago. Bev and I were married 28 years ago.

They go like this. The three weeks between school's release and the wedding were spent on the farm. The spring came late that year. Planting started in mid-May. Dad and I were on the planting team, my cousin on the tillage team. Two weeks of bright sun, doing jobs that were a huge challenge when first attempted at 14, I had a blast. Driving a 54 International one ton truck with 500 gallons of water, a ton of fertilizer and seed, being told not to stall the truck or burnout the clutch, driving down the road at 14, I had a lot on my plate. Nine years later, I had arrived. This was a job that I could do.
During this time, I milked cows for the last time. A job done nearly every evening from age 12 on, except when gone to college had imprinted a cadence to my life. The thrum of the vacuum pump broken by the 3 second pulse of the inner machinery is still a background that I feel comfort from when life's noise finds its harmony.

They were days racing against a clock. The timer of the spring planting counting down against the deadline of young love. There were lunches missed, late nights planting by tractor lights. Time spent looking at the three day forecast. Then it was done. The last field planted. I was released. I could go to North Manchester and help with the last minute preparations.

Dad gave me a hundred dollar bill to go to the terminal fruit market in Indianapolis and buy as many water melons as would be "needed" for the reception. 30 years ago wholesale watermelon prices were  about a $1 a piece. Quick logistical party planning story problem; 275 big appetited farmers going to a wedding hog roast how many $1 watermelons should you buy with a $100 bill? That's right 100.  Who cares if the paper plates would need to be made out of aluminum in order to hold 1/3 of a watermelon without collapsing.

There was butchering the hog for the hog roast. Thank you Pyles. I know for certain that not enough thank yous were said way back then for the wonderful gift you gave us.

Other memories;
Mom's themed rehearsal dinner,
 Buckets of KFC original recipe,
 Slideshow of the bride and groom's formative years,
Late night inspection of the pig in the cooker,
Riding in a convertible late on a summer's evening to best-man's apartment, Waking,
Breakfast at Waffle House,
Getting to the church too early,
Ready to go,
Sitting on the back steps,
 Talking to aunts and uncles,
Nervous? excited? petrified?,
Spelling HELP on the bottom of shoes in masking tape,
The pictures with Bev and our ring bearer Steven,
Last minute remembering and reciting of the vows,
The siren howling while Bev recited her vows flawlessly,
The reception line,
The McDonalds refrigerated orange drink dispenser in the reception hall that was procured because our people knew their people,
The square dance,
 Refilling glasses of water for parched square dancers,
Breaking traditions and proper behavior by not opening presents at the reception to the displeasure of my grandmother and her sisters,
Giving away 75 watermelons,
Driving off,
Excited,
Petrified,
Nervous;
Just married!

Take care

Roger

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Finding out I can't save you?



Dear Blog Reader;

I hope this finds you doing well.  I am fine; better than fine. The world after a long bike ride is very good. The only problem that I can see right now is that my usual 15 mile workout seems a little anticlimactic.  I have gone to the web and found 2 or 3 organized century rides this summer and fall, that I plan on entering. I may have a problem.

We have just passed the Ides of May. This means that we are within a fortnight of Grace and Chris' wedding on June 1. Since the wedding is planned for the wedding meadow under the great oak tree on our farm, every day several sets of eyes will be glued to the tv. In four days, The Weather Channel 10 day forecast will be our oracle; the portent of dreams fulfilled or plan B. Will it be dry enough? What do scattered showers mean? Does 30% mean 30% of Indiana will get rain or that this valley just north of Ingalls has a 30% or being wet in a fortnight. What do you think?

During the bike ride, yours truly wrote about the transformative affects of a long bike ride. Not to be too melodramatic, but I had another transformative event in my life this past week. This event that showed me so much about my person was brought about thanks to Pam, or as I affectionately call her, "that crazy lady."

Pam swept into my life on Thursday evening. Dusk was nearing. I had my bike and was just mounting up out at the barn. Looking toward the house, I saw someone knock on the door. Our barn is located 100 yards from the house. I could have quietly mounted my steed and coasted down the drive to the crazy free zone. I would have finished my 15 mile ride in peace and quiet.  I would have missed a conversation that lasted 2 hours and evening turned to dusk, turned to night.

For those of you know me, I do not do 2 hour conversation. Some evidence exists that conversation is my kryptonite. 20 minutes and a graph of the lengths of conversations i have had shows the bell curve is definitely starting to flatten out. Granted, a two hour conversation is taking too much credit for my part in our inner play. Two hours is testament to the earth shifting force of Pam's convictions, and to her flat out crazy.

I hollered "can I help you?" She turned suddenly and immediately started establishing my bonafides. "Are you the organic farmer?" "I am sorry. We gave that up 6 years ago. Sorry you came out. We have nothing to sell."  It appears that the big grain farmers north of Anderson had not gotten the memo and turned this crazy woman on that weirdo organic guy down by Ingalls. Pam was not deterred by my obvious lack of credibility. She marched 99 5/6th yards to get into my personal space. It is a good thing that I was on the bike. I could keep the front tire between us; giving me a bit of cushion. Even now I am amazed at her perceptive abilities. I was standing there astride my bike in full bike kit; the shorts, the shoes, the fingerless gloves, the helmet. She spoke to me the entire two hours never acknowledging that I intended to ride my bike. I believe that she was oblivious until 2 hours later all hope of a mind clearing bike ride was gone. I finally dismounted and she said "oh, I kept you from your bike ride."
Yes, you did keep me from my ride, Pam.

I am a bit reticent about calling Pam crazy. That moniker does trivialize the obvious grief that she carried onto our farm and plopped down in front of my bike creating an insurmountable obstacle for Thursday's ride. She lives in a world consumed by grief; a father who had passed stricken with cancer, a mother who is currently surviving cancer, and a circle of fellow travelers who suffer varied maladies. In the end, grief had consumed her and left her in a delirium, searching for answers.

She had come looking for a Messiah. Looking for the person who could change the course of world-wide agriculture with his secret farming techniques. How disappointing it must have been to find me; a person who after 10 years of stealing the labor of his family had given up? For whatever reason; knowledge, fevor, ability, fertility, zone 5 weather, I could not make a living farming. I turned the farming over to a row crop operation that utilizes a cornucopia of modern farming practices. I had sold out. I had succumbed to the greedy capitalist life style. For Pam, I had become the problem.

Three times, during our 2 hours together she broke down in tears and said "I am so disappointed. I had hoped so much that you had the answers and you don't." She was right. I do not have the answers she was looking for. I often find myself to be a disappointment to others. In my brief snippets of conversation, I tried to explain economics, yields, what society actually values, what she values. I wasn't very successful. I was most disappointed to find out that public schools were a failure 30 years ago. She had no framework to understand Genetically Modified Organizms. The idea of genes and how they control the functions and production of our cells were completely beyond her, and 30 years later education continues to provide a framework to understand the societal complexities.

Our topics were widely varied and confusing.  She spoke of GMO's, Bt, DDT, cow poop, people poop, prostate cancer, lung cancer, liver cancer, thyroid cancer, iodine, nuclear medicine and morality. I further confused her with atrazine, anhydrous ammonia, gene splicing, Roger's theory on economic and societal stability, Roger's theories of risk analysis by those living in nursing homes.

I tried all of my persuasive skills; active listening, sarcasm, hyperbole, logic, emotion, apology. Finally, after wearing down and watching her cry in despair from my lack of messianic attribute, I listened to Pam try to make one more emotional plea. "Did your father die of cancer?"

"No he died from injuries suffered in a farming accident." "My father-in-law passed from a cancer probably attributed to chemical exposure."
"Really, what did you wife do about it?"

"Actually, it was quite beautiful. Bev spent a lot of the time left with her dad getting to know him more deeply; making connections before it was too late."

"No!  What did she do after he died? Did she advocate against farm chemicals?"

Hoping that I could salvage a ride, I snapped with sarcasm. "No, she did none of that. She simply grieved and let him go. Obviously from you tone, you are morally superior to her. That must be a disappointment also." It was.

Even that didn't make her mad. I had another half an hour before I could detach from Pam. Why was she here? How could she live with the grief that consumed her? How myopic had that grief made her?

In the end? In the end, I have no idea what just happened. She came looking for answers that I could not provide, or answers she didn't want. I am not a guru. I could not help. I am not her messiah.

Take care

Roger




Friday, May 10, 2013

Peace and quiet?


Dearest blog reader

I hope that this finds you doing well. I am near the end. We are at a camp ground  in Plainfield gathering our reserves for the final twenty mile push into Indianapolis. I must admit I feel a little ambivalent about staying in Plainfield for the last night. Why couldn't we have stayed in Eureka; a much more appropriate name for the accomplishments of the week? Eureka! I can ride 360 miles without my bum falling off. Eureka! I can make it up and down those hills. Well up those hills was an accomplishment. Down was no problem. Though, I am pretty proud that I stayed upright going 40 mph. That is flying and caused a fair amount of pucker.

Speaking of hills, I am buying a bulldozer. I am planning on finishing what God started and did not finish with that whole iceage thing. I know that you probably think that is too big a task. I disagree. Who would have thought that I could ride 360 miles in a week just 3 years ago? One mile at a time; one hill at a time, it is the same concept.

Most bizarre sight today? Coming up on the last 2 miles of the ride, I am overtaken by a funeral procession. That did cause me to pause for a minute. It took a little bit of the oomph out of the complaining that I felt like I was dying at from mile 30 to mile 40.

We had a great time tonight at supper; sitting talking, discussing other rides that we could do. Even more fun was sitting around the table with the veterans listening to their exploits and telling about the bikes that they have ridden 30,000 miles.

Tomorrow is the end. We will all go into Indianapolis in a group which is a bit disingenuous. The thing that has struck me most is that a bike ride is a very amebic. We all start as a group. Bike rider independence soon asserts itself and we all expand and contract based on each rider's abilities. The challenge quickly becomes remembering what conversation you were having with who as you come up upon your the next "dance" partner. The other challenge of group riding is you have to learn three different "faces"; helmet on, helmet off, and from behind on the bike. As a person who is name impaired, this has been a pretty big challenge.

The topic tonight is provided by Margaret Notaro (Meg to me). "Journeys! And the relationship (or lack thereof) between physical & spiritual distance traveled." This has been the biggest surprise for me. Going into the week, I thought that it was going to be a earthshaking week; church camp kind of big. Work has been hard. Ben is graduating. Grace is getting married. I thought that some great insight would occur. It didn't happen but then it did. The further I went the less spiritual I became. I did try. I intentionally did not listen to the 4 books that I downloaded. I spent time with my thoughts. I tried to be spiritual.

I did become quieter though. The further I went, the more physical the challenge the less spirituality I sensed. I just got quieter. I was becoming more focused on the next peddle turn, the shifting on the seat, the here and the now.

I want to thank all of those who sponsored me. It was a great experience. Susan, you are the only one who has yet to select a topic. Let me know. And if not, we will let the silence of the moment signify, we're done.

Take care.

Roger.

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Maslow's hierarchy?


Dearest Blog Reader

I hope that this finds you doing well. It leaves my hand today as I have clawed my way up two gigantenormous hills and a series of roller coaster hills from Bedford to Elletsville just north west of Bloomington. I don't know about you but all of the previous roller coasters that I have had the privilege to ride had a chain to pull me up the hill. I am going to speak with the management of this amusement park about a refund. All of the road work that I put in before Cover Indiana is completely gone. These fifty year old legs are completely gone. It is hard to watch twenty-one year olds circle back down and up a big hill for the challenge. Thankfully, there is sunburn so the young can suffer also.

I am very thankful for Ben, my son. I stopped in Bloomington to eat lunch with him. He looked a little shocked when he saw his scruffy father. He was able to give me a great sense of perspective. He told me that I would look back on this with great fondness. It happened to him with all of the skateboarding trips that he has taken. Fun fact, the route went right outside of the school where he did his student teaching. That's right. There was a route mark right outside the front doors of his school.  He could have altered to course of my history with a can of fluorescent green spray paint.

I do want to take a few moments to publicly say how proud I am of Ben. He has grown into a man of great compassion and insight. He is strong minded, and while still full of questions about his abilities and life path, he has the wisdom to figure it out.  More importantly he has found a community of friends who love and support him. It wasn't a just add water community like many find when they go off to college. He had to work at it, reach out to those fellow travelers and stitch them into his life. He is and will continue to be a great man.

I lift a neapolitan covered spoon in salute to Cyndy Clauss. It is imaginary Neapolitan mostly because I am slipping down Maslow's hierarchy of self actualization. I am no longer a self actualized Neapolitan eating human being. I have regressed several rungs to a eating, burping, mess of protoplasm.

Cyndy has also provided today's topic; "Jesus, not the words, the who."  That is a mouthful for someone who is in the state that I am. I have thought about it all day. In fact, I have thought about it religiously, when I wasn't thinking about how bad my butt hurts. This may come as a surprise to some of you, but I am a touch more conservative than some of my fellow riders. The other night while discussing this and that, I was surprised to find out that I would burn in hell when I stood before the judgement throne holding a certain political view that I hold. It was disconcerting on the one hand, but on the other it was a relief to find out that I wasn't going to burn in hell for cussing like a sailor going up and down this hills. However, toast is toast.

All joking aside, I have no idea who Jesus is. To label Him, to claim His this or that is to limit Him. Even more to label and claim is to remove Him from other's understanding. I think that removal is why He is so small for many; so small that he has no pertinence in people's lives. If they want to have Him in their lives, they have to go out and fight others who have claimed parts for themselves. How can that be a worthy claim for followers?

I have no intent to take the humanistic road; that there in no right or wrong Jesus. I am saying that I don't know.  His Father defined Himself as the I am that I am. It strikes me that his Son would be no less. It is pretty much up to us to come to terms with what that makes you no matter where the road takes you.

Take care

Roger



Wednesday, May 8, 2013

The transformative power of a long bike ride?


Dearest blog reader.

I hope that this finds you doing well. My wedursday has been eventful. I am completely disoriented with regards to the day of the week that I am looking at. Today's ride was 65 miles meandering from Linton to Bedford. In the midst of the bucolic scenery, three giant hills stood between me and my destination water tower hill, oh that was too close to the lunch stop hill, and oh now you're just piling on hill. In the end, they were all negotiable.

Speaking of negotiable, I would like to thank the Greene County Commissioners for having lovely, well paved, lineless county roads. A county road without a line down the middle is a rare thing. Somehow, it makes me think that I own the road. I was sharing this with my riding companion t the time and Tony pointed out that attitude could get you ran over on a bike. I couldn't argue with him. There were some impracticalities with my stance. However, you must admit that a lineless road leaves things open to negotiation. Negotiations that are sadly missing in southern Madison County, my neck of the woods. I salute you Greene County.

We started the morning eating breakfast with the children of Linton Elementary; bright and wonderful children. They were a little slow in the sharp wit category. Ashley, a third grader who loves science and math, was very proud of the fact that all of the third graders had laptop computers. I responded "that is amazing. When I was a kid, they had just started letting us all have pencils." Nothing; just a blank stare and then that nervous laugh like she was knew that something hilarious was just said in her presence and she didn't get it. It was a sad moment.

Final ride related story: it is about the transformative power of a week long bicycle ride. I would like to praise the city fathers and mothers of Bloomfield, Indiana for having the good sense to get in the way of all of that Carnegie library money. I was in distress this morning and was able to stop in and read a book. As I was sharing my good fortune with another of my bike riding companions, he asked, "you really stopped to read a book?" "No," I responded, "I was speaking euphemistically. Beverly has encouraged me for years not to talk about my pooping in public. This bike ride had encouraged me towards refinement, and now you have caused me to regress." Anyway, thank you Bloomfield for a quiet place to read a book.

Well there may or may not be ice cream this thurenesday. I am so confused. If the isn't then I raise my spoon in salute to you Amy Baker as I imaginarily eat this rocky road in tribute to 65 miles and three killer hills. If tonight is the night then I will lick the spoon clean of whatever flavor you provide.

Tonight's topic of flannel sheets is provided by Cover Indiana Sponsor  Big Sue. It is well know by those who have had, at times, found enjoyment in this blog, that I am a bit of a fascist regarding keeping your flannel sheets on the bed until Memorial Day. This practice has both a cultural and a scientific basis. First off, why wouldn't you want to keep your flannel on as long as possible. Everyone knows that they are the poor man's 1500 thread count Egyptian sheets. Now admit it when you put those flannels on in the fall and lay down in your true love's embrace you say "ah flannel."

Also, it is a scientifically proven fact that fannal insulates us. It traps precious body heat until the morning when in a collective release by millions of flannel users rising from their slumbers. This massive amount of stored energy release in a single burst is the only thing take keeps us from plunging into another iceage. Slowly, our devotion convinces the sun to pay a more direct attention to us so to speak, at least until the Southern Hemisphere coaxes ole Sol's attention away from us.

In an example of the transformation that I am experiencing on this trip. I say live daringly. Throw off you flannels and bring on the fine cotton.

At least until late, late September.

Take care.

Roger

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Smells like stale popcorn ?


Dearest Blog Reader

I hope that this finds you doing well.  I am fine. Pretty tired this evening. 63 miles and I learned that I made a very large mistake. I had been feeling a little cocky from Sunday and Monday; 123 miles and feeling good. Today, I decided to be a biking tourist. You can imagine my surprise when I saw a water tower welcoming me to Brazil.  I didn't even realize I had crossed the Panama Canal. Here I was. I needed to get out and explore.  Four miles out of town (I mean country) I had crossed the Atlantic Ocean and was riding by the big exotic cat rescue facility. Who knew?

I stopped at the 25 mile mark to see the rescue lion, tigers, and cougars; oh my. Who knew they needed rescued? Apparently, great need intersected with passionate desire and someone found some really tall and stout chain link fence and had themselves a sanctuary. Some facts: they take care of approximately 200 big cats at the park. It takes 1500 lbs of raw meat a day. That is at least two cows a day, or 730 cows a year, most are dead farm animals and road kill (no Brazil county does not have road killed cows) from the surrounding counties. They ask that you do not donate dead cows that have been dead for more that two days.  That's right your dead black angus cow that is sitting in the hot summer sun has a short shelf life.

The other unusual fact about these big exotic cats is they like to spray people. Not to put too fine a point on it but (pardon the crassness) they like to piss on their guests. You mean that I donated (paid) ten dollars to get peed on by lions and tigers and cougars; oh my. "Not to worry" said our tour guide. "It smells like stale popcorn." Stale popcorn? Where does she go to smell sex attractant stale popcorn? An adult movie theater? I got news for you. I was not going to ride 35 miles smelling like Peewee Herman's concession purchase. There were some close calls. These were obviously well hydrated exotic large cats.

Now don't get me wrong; going on this side trip in itself, was not the mistake that I made. The mistake was stopping in the middle of a grueling bike ride. I should have kept on keeping on. My body will do many things. It will keep up the good fight but when it is done it is done. When my muscles cool down, they have certain expectations about the length of that cool down and are not happy when called into service before their allotted time. So from now on I will either be  a tourist or a biker; no more living in both worlds.

The bike ride was difficult today.

Which is very fortunate because the LeVine's have provided today's topic.

What do you think about or draw upon when your "seat" is aching, legs cramping, shoulders/arms ache, mind numbs? Or does any of that pertain to you?
It did pertain to me today. I wish that I had had a tape recorder so that I could have recorded the last hour and a half of my ride today. It would have gone something like this.

I am guessing that they get get a lot of road kill for those big cats. I haven't seen a dead opossum in quite a while. That is good civic participation. I really wish that I had covered the top on my knee with sunscreen today. That was the coolest longest down hill stretch I have ever ridden. When will I have to go uphill for pay back?  That SAG van should be close. The person who put all of these trail marks in the road had a very boring job. It's a good thing he was careful or he could have been donated to the exotic cat rescue group. I wonder can you donate your body to the exotic cat rescue group; as Walt Disney would say "Hakuna Matata."

That was one long hill. There's the SAG van; twelve more miles to go. Another hill; argh. You can do this. I am so glad Bev is delivering ice cream tonight. Should my left leg be turning numb? Well numb except for the burning in the ball of my foot. Crimonetly that hurts. i wish that would turn numb too. Can't the county highway workers that a little bit of pride when they fill these potholes. My butt hurts. Where is the Linton water tower. We should be getting close. Oh good that must be it. I hope that isn't the West Linton water tower. Argh, we are turning right away from the West Linton water tower or whatever. Did they say 62 or 63 miles today? I wonder if the hooligans of Greene county got out with their florescent green spray paint and changed the route markers. I would have when I was growing up. I might do that later this summer. Ha!

I wouldn't mind being buried in Fairview cemetery. How's the view from up there? Except for the dead people it is fair. Alright, when they said 63 miles did they mean 63.1 or 63.9. Crud; it was 63.9. Finally.

Thanks for the topic LeVines. I give you the spoon of salute and enjoyed the chocolate and dulce de leche.

I especially enjoyed seeing Bev. You were so kind to me.

I love you

Everyone else? Take care.

Roger

Monday, May 6, 2013

Take that Graber?


Dearest blog reader.

I hope that this finds you doing well.  I am fine. I just finished day two of the Cover Indiana Tour, or as I affectionately call it The Road Kill of Indiana Tour. It appears that the opossum is the most hapless of the woodland creatures at crossing the road. Maybe the denizens of southwestern Indiana have a special antipathy against this ugly animal.  I guess that it could be that they are simply the most plentiful of the road crossers. Certainly a question that requires further study and pondering.  I guess that 73 miles wasn't enough to ponder such a difficult question.  It does appear that the people of southwestern Indiana believe in overkill. We are talking flapjack road kill out on the highways and byways between Crawfordsville and Terre Haute; multiple strikes.

Good news for the condition of young adult male hood.  Linda is surrounded by three apparently nice young men this evening. They are a little slow, but they do show potential.

I did the coolest thing today.  You may not believe it.  It is true. I have witnesses.  If you don't believe me, maybe you should buy me a helmet mounted Gopro camera. You could live vicariously through me and experience this cool thing that I did today and any future assassin deer attacks on YouTube. Wait for it. Wait for it. I passed an Amish horse and buggy today on a bike. Take that Graber. I not only passed him; I passed him like his one trick pony was moving backwards. So cool.

Thanks to the LeVine family for your new financial support for the ride. You're the tops. As such your shingle money will go a long way.  Thanks also to Beverly Sharritt, today's sponsor. I tried to find Godess of Love ice cream as a fitting tribute. So I lift my spoon to you, Beverly, in salute as I eat raspberry ripple ice cream.

Bev has stumped me. She asked that I write a song about the ride; which technically, is a type not a topic. What do I know about writing songs? Very little. I did dabble at one time. I had a guitar during our courtship and I whipped up a couple of songs for her. Thankfully the haze of new love has provided her with memories of me being a better lyricist than I believe that I am.

Enough procrastination,

There are paths of road kill, a spring of rain
I just passed Graber. My butt's in pain
It is time we're aware
Riding a bike is a bear
Its a big world after all


CHORUS
Its a big world after all
Its a big world after all
Its a big world after all
Its a big, big world

There is just one Bev, the lovely one
Goddess of love ice cream would set the sun
There was none it's too bad
Yes, it does make me sad
Its a big world after all

Chorus

The last stanza could use a little work, but it is time for bed.

Take care

Roger



Sunday, May 5, 2013

Elisha said that?


Dearest blog reader

I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine.  I have just finished day one of the big bike ride. It sprinkled just a little as we neared Crawfordsville. It wasn't bad.

Just a quick reminder, you can still donate to habitat at the website. You can link to it on last week's blog.

 I have met Jim, Kevin, Robert, and Linda.  Meeting Linda has  forced me to question all of maledom.

 There is a lovely young junior woman on this ride who is apparently fearless, riding a bike that shouldn't be on a 20 mile bike ride let alone a 350 mile bike ride. She broke down and all of these young men (read idiots) didn't stop to help her. So if you are a young man with half a brain, Linda is a soon to be industrial engineer, who studies Ancient Greek because it is interesting.

I hate to use the phrase, "back when I was a kid", but this situation was made for it. Back when I was a kid, I glanced the lovely miss Beverly on a canoe trip and camp out.  Being a handsome young man with average social skills, I flirted with her shamelessly; talking big about tipping her canoe over, suggesting that she rent a submarine for the day.  She was rightfully smitten by my social graces and took off with a friend as fast as she could. Their plan was to sprint ahead of the danger zone. They were successful.  They sprinted a head so far and so fast that they out ran the support team and went an extra 8 miles.

So being an intelligent young man, I capitalized on her exhaustion. Unable to flee further, I was able to show Bev my astounding potential. You guys blew it today. Tomorrow is another day. Take a lesson from your uncle Rog.

Today's leg from Lafayette to Crawfordsville, was sponsored by Becky Heck. Thanks Becky. The ice cream for tonight will be strawberry. I lift my spoon in salute.  Becky's request for the blog today was "what bible story does this experience bring to mind."  This is a very appropriate. It is Sunday.

I must admit that the exodus came to mind as we left the parkinglot fleeing from our oppressors; a motely crew. Everyone was bright eyed and bushy tailed. This evening we all look as if Moses has abandoned us up on mt. Sinai at God's custom engraving; kind of hollow eyed and a bit feverish. If you look at the forecast tomorrow, the trip could be reminicent of Noah.  Thinking about it more, I get drawn back to Moses again watching people walk around as if a plague of boils had visited their backside.

In the end it is an Elisha story; that crusty old prophet.  Here is the story.
2 Kings 2:23-24Another time, Elisha was on his way to Bethel and some little kids came out from the town and taunted him, "What's up, old baldhead! Out of our way, skinhead!"Elisha turned, took one look at them, and cursed them in the name of God. Two bears charged out of the underbrush and knocked them about, ripping them limb from limb-- forty- two children in all!

Obviously, Elisha had been riding his bike to cover Israel; out doing good deeds. His saddle didn't fit quite right.  The wind had been in his face. He was just heading for the cave to get out of his bearskin tights and these impudent young motor scooter riding brats started calling the man of God old baldy.  Was calling down curses on their heads a bit harsh? Maybe. Could he have asked them to use their kind words instead? Absolutely. But the story would have been a lot longer and he needed his sleep before day two.

Take care

Roger