GET OUT! Surviving February

Urban Flora

The Cruel Month

“Ya know you gotta get out!”  “Yeah, I know, but it’s so dark, dreary, and damp.”  “So?”  The voices who live in my mind–maybe you have them too–had been chattering at me for several days now. Eyeing the calendar my mouth formed a knowing smirk.  Aww..February!  Having lived in  Alaska and the Pacific Northwest for most of my adult life, I have come to dread February.  Actually, I start dreading February in June.  While most folks are reveling in the longest day of the year, I can  be found in a fetal position under a sunlamp mourning another round of declining light. The turning tide of December 21 gives a little comfort but by February, I  am depleted. Despite the mega doses of Vitamin D, all my cells are chanting: SOL! SOL! SOL!    And February is cruel–it often teases one with 7-10 days of sucker sunshine before shivering back into wintry rains.  I am not amused. Continue reading GET OUT! Surviving February

Brompton Down…

A picture of my little purple Brompton should go here.

First off, my apology Brompton for my clumsy and unauthorized alteration of your logo.  I mean not to use it for financial gain but as a lament, a comp-lament if you will, an ode even.

Rolling out in the morning rain…

A couple of days ago energized by a brisk walk with the pup, a quick water-rower Tabata session, and a Classical Stretch video, I headed out geared up against a cold, steady, wind-blown, drenching rain.  I felt powerful.   The expected spirt-lifting magic did not disappoint.  What a gift–especially on this dreary day.  My route, carefully refined, reflected what I believed was my safest path.  I peddle out with confidence paying special attention to those inevitable few areas that require particular care. Continue reading Brompton Down…

Part 3 – A Path

Inscribed on Underside of My Desk

The Adventures of a Superhero...

This last week I’ve contemplated writing about an adventurous path and how the concept is relative to individual experience.   Having  had a few experiences that truly fit the classic definition of adventure:  An unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity, I am afraid I have been  narrow in my thinking.   However, during an adventurous interlude of periodic deep cleaning, I found myself under my little desk  –dusting and looking up I saw the inscription depicted above.  The desk was purchased at a fundraising auction by my upstairs family.  It  became the anchor in my little writing nook when it turned out not to fit in their home.   Continue reading Part 3 – A Path

Part 2 – A Paddle…

Sea of Cortez


With lungs demanding attention and upside down in my kayak  I set-up for the third time.   I sweep my paddle from bow to stern trying to execute a hip-snap and recovery scull to bring myself upright.  For the third time I fail and with a slightly ferrous taste in my mouth I pop the sprayskirt and shoot to the surface.  He’s disappointed again.  To the amusement of the Canadian RVers on shore he has been trying for the better part of an hour to teach me this skill.  The last few days he has insisted that he can teach anyone a bombproof roll.  We have been on the road in Baja Mexico nearly  30 days.  Hopscotching along the west side of the Sea of Cortez taking turns:  One kayaking/camping solo, the other driving his beater van to a rendezvous point, then either switching or traveling together for a time.  I can’t get enough of star-filled, light-free night skies, deep silences, fantasy colored seas and bone warming sunshine.  The locals are  welcoming and helpful and I do not want this trip to end. Continue reading Part 2 – A Paddle…

A Pedal, A Paddle, A Path

Brompton six speed, Burley Tavoy trailer, Nutcase helmet.

Adventure in Three Parts

A Pedal – Part I

Not many among us can forget the freedom of being turned loose on our first bike.  It was a ticket to our initial adventures–both real and imagined.  I am reminded of this as I watch my four-teen year old grandson take off on an evening ride to Fencing  class a ways across town.  This stoic kid’s delight in the autonomy of it all gave me a string of gleeful giggles of remembrance. Continue reading A Pedal, A Paddle, A Path