A Table for One

I spent about an hour trying to figure out what to do for dinner. I had settled on a burger. And then thought I would splurge and go to the Gastropub for a ridiculously good burger. Then I remembered that they had a fried chicken special, and that sounded just perfect.

So I took a shower, got dressed up, and walked to the Gastropub. I was happy to see there was plenty of outdoor seating. It was also Happy Hour all night, so I had a few beers. And I ordered that fried chicken.

Wow. The potatoes were good, the cole slaw was good, the chicken was amazing. It was tender, succulent. The breading was firm, with hints of maple syrup, and just a bit of spice. A fantastic meal.

Earning Your Lunch

This morning I got up and tinkered with my bike. Since the wind blew it over the other day the shifting has been problematic. It’s heartbreaking to see the damage a fall does to a pretty bike. I made it road-worthy and quickly packed some things.

I left for the Troy Farmers Market just before 11am. I was at the boat launch at 1121, and at the other end of the trail at 1142. I wasn’t hauling but I wasn’t dawdling either. I had my bike locked up outside the market at 1157.

I bought tomatoes, onions, bread, granola. Fox’s Fancy. The guy who makes the stuff told me about the salad recipe on the back, so I took a quick look at that. It has chèvre in it, and I like chèvre, so I bought some. Rolled in black pepper. Oh boy. For lunch I had green enchiladas. They were a little tough but everything else was good so I was happy. Really when you’ve spent an hour on a bike, everything tastes good. And you feel like you earned it.

On the ride back I saw a boy, maybe 3 or 4, on a bike with training wheels. His helmet was askew, and he had a basket on the front of his bike, with a stuffed monkey. He had a big smile on his face. I thought about a pet monkey of my own. I would name him Jack, of course, and we’d drink rum and ride bikes. I have some other thoughts about what Jack would do but they aren’t nice thoughts. *smirk*

By the time I was back in Albany I was out of water and very thirsty. I really wanted a lemonade and started trying to think of where to go. Then I had to climb Morton Avenue. Half way up that I saw the Stewart’s, but then realized that Delaware was just up there. So I took a left at the light and went to Ultraviolet Café. I parked my orange bike next to a hot little orange Motobecane. They gave me a large strawberry mango smoothie and I sat in the shade for a bit.

Then I went home and took a nap on the porch. I’d earned that too.

Carry

I’m kind of interested in this “new trend” in bags. The idea is that whatever the bag, whether it’s a messenger or a backpack or a satchel or a duffel, it must have space alloted for a laptop/iPad and a DSLR camera. It’s as if these are the only things anyone actually carries, and nothing else is worth mentioning.

I don’t own either, so a lot of this kind of thing is lost on me.

Here are some of my criteria. Can I put my lunch in it? When I get where I’m going, will I still be able to eat my lunch? Is it waterproof? How waterproof? Does it have stupid straps that will blow around in the wind and get caught in the spokes of my bike, or hit me in the eye while I’m standing on a cliff?

Can I put a book in it? I am currently reading Neal Stephenson’s The System of the World, which clocks* in around 900 pages. This sort of thing is not uncommon for me. If I put a book in it, will there be room for anything else? Like a thermos?

So, yeah, that classy little rucksack with the clever pockets looks nice. But to me? Useless.**

* Clocks. Get it? Ha ha.

** This is not entirely true. If I had to, I could fill it with clothes, or newspaper, or leaves, and use it as a pillow. I suppose I could fill it with rocks and fend off at least one zombie. But as far as it’s intended purpose? Useless.

Eleven Hundreths

I like running. I am not very good at it, which may be why I like it. It’s a challenge, and no one is going to give me any crap if I’m not good enough. Showing up is good enough.

But I digress. I like running because I am not very good at it. It doesn’t matter what my day was like, after a quarter of a mile I cannot talk any more. Shortly after that, I cannot think anymore. And that’s how it should be.

I am forced into the here and now. Not with mental exercises or by repeating mantras, but by physical exertion. It becomes my meditation. It ceases to be about my parents, or work, or how our front “lawn” has gone to seed already; it becomes about breathing, moving my feet, keeping my back straight, breathing, hands low, breathing, head up, abs tight, breathing, breathing, breathing.

A “Samaritan” is a run along Hackett that begins at Forest and goes to St. James, where I stop and do 20 pushups, continues to Samaritan, where I turn around, stop again at St. James for another 20 pushups, and ends on Forest again. It is a smidge over 2.5km. I can usually do this in less than 14 minutes. I consider it a pretty good run if I can do it in under 13:30 and don’t feel like I’m going to die at the end.

Today I did it in 12:59:89.