How I took my R&R - part 2, the bike ride: I see a beautiful grandma with her granddaughter and dog and many more things; I make a softball throw straight out of my old nightmares

As mentioned in my first post of this gorgeous three-post day, I had a great need to get out under the open sky and do something physical, but I did not know what. My first choice was a long, long, long, bike ride, but I knew that I was not yet in shape for such a thing. 

If I had been younger, no big deal. I could go out and pedal and pedal and pedal all day long, even if it was the first time in a long time. I might be a bit sore the next day, but so what?

It would feel good in its way.

I thought of various options but, when it came down to it, I still wanted to ride my bike. So I contemplated having Margie drive me 25 miles or so away and then drop me off so that I could pedal back. In this way, I could at least cover some ground that I had not covered by bike in awhile and it would be a decent, though not a long, long, long, ride. And if I had her drop me off as far up as we could get on the still snow-blocked road that goes over Hatcher Pass, then the first long portion of that drive would be all downhill and would not strain me at all - although there was a chance that I would gain such great speed coming down the very steep grade that I would have an accident and kill myself.

In the end, though, I decided just to hop and my bike and go, no destination in mind, and see where I wound up. So as not to overdo it, I would try to limit myself to three hours and I would not push it.

If I wanted to stop and take a picture, I would stop and take a picture.

Maybe I would find myself passing by Dairy Queen. I could then stop and buy a small strawberry shake.

So I got on my bike and went. I had gone no more than a few hundred yards when I came upon these three, walking. 

They looked too beautiful to simply pass by, plus I recognized the woman as a waitress who had served Margie and I years back at La Fiesta Mexican restaurant.

So I stopped to chat just a little bit, and to take this picture.

"Your daughter is beautiful," I told her.

"Oh, she's my granddaughter," she answered. I had forgotten her name, so she told me and she gave me the names of her granddaughter and the dog, too.

Stupid me. I was certain I would remember, so I did not bother to speak them into my iPhone.

Now I have forgotten all of the names except for one.

The dog is Maui.

It is a little bit tricky to hop on bike with the plan of not planning where to go, other than to wherever your wheels roll to, because right away you start thinking of possible destinations to go to. The first one that I thought of was the bridge over the Little Susitna River, but I rejected it right away because that would only give me about a six or seven mile ride.

I wanted to go further than that.

I then decided that when I came to an intersection and got an urge to turn one way, I would turn the other, so as to make my destination all the more unpredictable.

But how does one do such a thing? As soon as you decide to turn one way, you have actually decided to turn the other, but then if you go ahead and decide to turn in the direction you had originally decided upon, you have still blown the whole plan.

So I began to pedal and ponder this situation. Then, before I came up with an answer, I found that, without even thinking about it, I had turned right on Lucille, headed in the direction of Metro Cafe.

I pedaled on, until I heard an airplane approaching. 

I stopped my bike, picked it out in the sky, waited until it passed over the first wire and then shot.

I then pedaled on toward Metro Cafe, thinking that maybe it was just the right kind of day to try one of their frappes.

Yet, when I reached Gail Street, it suddenly dawned on me that this was entirely too predictable, so I made a sudden right turn onto Gail, away from Metro Cafe.

I cannot quite tell you how it happened, but after I made a few more unpredictable turns, I found myself at Metro Cafe, ordering a frappe, served to me by Sashanna.

I then went out and sat down at one of the patio tables, so that I could photograph any kids who might pass by on bicycles. These two soon did.

Then Carmen took a five minute break, came out, sat down and visited me for ten minutes.

We talked about many things, including her childhood in Mexico, when she lived in a house with dirt floors in a tiny inland village. 

No telephone, no refrigerator. "We had to buy our food and eat it the same day," she recalled.

I thought about mentioning how Margie was born under the open Apache sky and lived her early years in a bear-grass thatched wickiup - the Apache version of a teepee - but decided to hold that information for another time. At this moment, the focus was upon little Carmen in Mexico and that was where it should stay.

I had resolved that I would not pedal by the park, but then I realized that I needed to make a restroom stop and they had one there, so I headed for the park.

As I pedaled by the skateboard area, I saw a kid come down one ramp and shoot toward another. I knew he would catch some air so I raised my pocket camera and shot this frame from the bike trail as I coasted by.

Just a little further down the bike trail that passes through the park, I saw these two boys pushing their bikes up this hill. I figured that they would then turn around, shoot down the hill as fast as they could and then commit some dare-devil act, but I did not hang around to see what.

I pedaled on to the restroom.

After that, I found myself drawing near to the Charlie Bumpus ball fields, named for the former mayor who, before he was buried at too young of an age in the Wasilla cemetery, built the Raven View subdivision, named a street within it for his daughter Sarah and then sold us our house on her street.

All three of my boys used to play American Legion Baseball at this field with the Wasilla Road Warriors. I decided to pull over and see if the current Road Warriors might be practicing or playing.

They weren't. But this baseball was lying in the parking lot. 

No baseball players were in sight on any field. I figured the ball must have fallen there when the parking lot was full, rolled under a car and so nobody found it.

There were some adult men doing batting practice at one of the softball fields adjacent to the baseball field.

I stopped to see if I could get a shot of Chris, whacking the ball.

Before I did, a pitch went a little wild and rolled to the backstop behind me.

I did what anyone would do and picked the ball up so I could toss it back. Then a horrible feeling hit me.

Have any of you out there ever had a bad dream, a nightmare, where you are trying to throw a baseball but you can't do it? You throw, but instead of flying the ball weakly leaves your hand and falls to the ground?

Remember how, last summer, for the first time after I broke my shoulder and got it replaced, I tried to toss an apple core and it just tumbled to the ground?

At that time, I resolved to build up my strength by tossing rocks every day until I could throw again.

I did for awhile, too. But now it has been a long while since I last tossed a rock.

The pitcher raised his glove as a signal for me to throw the ball to him.

"I broke my shoulder," I said, "I can't throw so good now." I then tried to throw the ball, but instead of going to the pitcher, it went to the left, hit the ground about ten feet away from me and then rolled a little ways away.

"Sorry," I said.

"It's okay," the pitcher said.

How the hell am I ever going to go surfing at Yakutak on July 14, my birthday, like I committed myself to doing?

Why the hell did I ever stand on that stupid rolling chair to take that worthless picture and then when I fell, why did I protect my camera instead of myself?

Dumbass!

After I got the picture, I pedaled away, carrying the baseball with me. Maybe I can't throw so good right now, but a baseball is just not something that a person such as me would ever leave behind in an empty parking lot.

A ways down the road, I dropped the baseball. I decided to see if I could stuff it into my pocket. It fit. So that is how I brought it home.

Next, I found myself going down the bike trail that follows Church Road. 

When I got to Seldon, I could have turned towards Sarah's Way, toward our house, but I didn't. I kept going. And soon I came upon these four.

Soon after that, I found myself on the bridge that crosses the Little Su. Despite my best anti-planning, I had wound up here anyway - but by a rather convoluted route, one that greatly increased the distance. My camera battery died right after I took this picture.

I headed home, but I took the long way to get here.

My journey lasted about three hours. When I stepped into the house through the front door, I saw Margie standing on the porch outside the back door.

So I went out to join her. Royce came through the door with me.

It was his first excursion outside since October.

So that was good to see.

I will leave this as the lead post probably until about noon on Mother's Day.

Then I will put up a special post - a Mother's Day tribute. 

So if you come here Mother's Day morning and see this, be sure to come back Mother's Day afternoon. 

And remember - it is four hours earlier in Alaska than on the East Coast.

How I took my R&R - part 1, the car ride: two walkers; the angry good humor man four-wheeler and mountain; the motorcyclist

Today will be a three-post day. In post one, I mentioned my great need to take a little break, to do something physical under the open sky. I lamented that whatever it was, Margie would not be able to do it with me, as physical activities remain beyond her as a result of the two falls she took in 2009.

I decided that before I did whatever it was I was going to do, I should take Margie out, on a drive, so we could do at least one little thing together. Remember that, until last night, we had been apart for the five full days that she had stayed in town to babysit Jobe.

We started by going to lunch at Taco Del Mar, where we bought one burrito and one quesadilla and split them both in half. They make huge burritos at Taco Del Mar and half with half a quesadilla is plenty.

As we drove there, we passed these two walkers, who themselves had just passed Metro Cafe.

When we reached the stop-light at Lucille and the Parks Highway, this was the scene. No big deal, the good humor man had just exited a parking lot right on the corner and had no choice but to wait in this configuration until the light changed.

I was attracted to the ice cream illustrations on the side of his truck and hoped that I would get a chance to get a better photo of them.

Soon, the light changed and we were on our way to Taco Del Mar. This guy on a four-wheeler was traveling in the opposite direction.

As you can see, the man in the good humor van was directly in front of me. The left lane was full of cars. My only hope was if, at the next stoplight it worked out that the cars on the left all stopped ahead of him so that I could pull up alongside.

It looked like it might.

In fact, it did. He came to a stop, a gap opened up to his left, I pulled into it and then shot this snap as I rolled slowly past him. As you can see, he was talking on the phone. I then heard him shout angry and loud just after we passed, but I could not make out his words.

Apparently, it would seem, he was angry that I had taken the picture of his truck. But, hey! If you are going to drive around with pictures of ice cream, sundaes, shakes, malts and banana splits painted on the side of your truck, then you just have to understand that people are going to want to take pictures.

Here I was, giving him free advertising, and here he was, shouting at me.

Oh, well. One should not expect too much appreciation in this world for good deeds done.

After that, I steadfastly decided that I was not going to take anymore pictures - not because the good humor man had intimidated me - no, not at all - but because I have a big backlog of pictures from the last couple of days that I have yet to deal with and I just did not want to deal with anymore.

So I shoved my camera deep into my pocket, where I could not easily get at it.

I left it there while Margie I and ate. It remained there afterward, as we drove toward Palmer. I saw many potential pictures, but, what the hell. I had enough.

I can't photograph every damn thing I see.

Then, just before we reached Palmer, we saw a young man on a skateboard being pulled pulled by a sled dog.

And there was no way I could safely extract my camera in time to take the picture.

When we turned around to go back, I took my camera out of my pocket and got it ready, just in case we should again see the young man on the skateboard being pulled by the husky.

We didn't. But I did see this man in my rearview mirror.

Now he will be remembered for all time and eternity.

"That's the guy who pulled his motorcycle right up behind Bill Hess on that day that he failed to photograph the skateboarder back in 2010," a fellow by the name of Galp will say to his wife, sometime in the year of 201,424,899,212."

"Yes," Galphina will agree. "Too bad that he missed that sled dog and skateboard, but what a fortunate man this is, to have traveled behind him afterward."

As two boys pedal down Lucille bike trail a dog crosses the road; his people chase after; little kid on motor-bike nearly gets hit

It was a gorgeous, warm day - temperature 56 degrees farenheit - and as I drove down Lucille towards Metro, I felt the heat of the sun coming through the windows to toast up the interior of the loaner car. I wondered if perhaps it was time to get an icy frappe instead of a steaming Americano, but I wanted a muffin, too, so I stuck with the Americano.

Then, as I waited for a break in traffic so that I could turn out of the Metro driveway back onto Lucille, I saw these two kids coasting down the bike trail - looking oh so cool as they stood on the pegs that protrude out from their rear axles.

Traffic cleared and I pulled onto Lucille, just in time to see this dog break away from the couple who was walking it and dash across Lucille, toward the boys on the bikes. 

The couple then dashed across the road in pursuit of the dog.

The man then chased the dog past the next church down.

The dog dashed pass one of the biking boys who, apparently startled by the yelling and shouting, had stopped his bike.

The dog raced happily on. And I drove on. I saw the dog, the couple, and the kids on the bikes no more. 

And then I saw two little boys to the left of me, driving their little motor bikes where the bike trail goes. Motor vehicles are prohibited on the bike trail, so, apparently not wanting to break the law the boy in the lead, this boy, gunned his engine and shot across the road to the dirt trail on the other side.

By his nervous glance and body language, I could see the second boy did not want to be left behind and, even though it was too dangerous to do, was trying to decide to cross as well.

I moved my right foot off the gas pedal and brought it lightly to the brake. Sure enough, the second boy decided to go for it. I had to hit my brake, hard, to keep from hitting him.

I then drove on. I ate my cranberry muffin and sipped my Americano.

I then cut across to Church Road, where I saw this couple walking.

As readers returning in great anticipation from yesterday's post have undoubtedly noted, I had planned something else for today, but this just popped up, it was quick and easy to do, I have been going like crazy and just got a huge project, the budget for which I depleted about two months ago - to press last night, the day is beautiful, I am burned out, and I just want to find some way to get out and enjoy that beauty.

I wish Margie could join me, but she still cannot do anything physical and I must get out under the open sky today and do something physical.

I still have not decided what. A long, long, bike ride would be good, but I am still not in shape for a long, long, bike ride.

The places that I like to hike will be a slushy mess, so I am ruling that out.

I must do something, though.

What?

Budding artist in school bus; Wasilla's quiet condos on the edge of the Alaska wilderness; four kids walking

This is one of those days when I had a fairly extensive post planned, but I can find no time to post it. So I will hold off on that material and post it tomorrow, by which time I may or may not have my car back from the shop, and do short, quick, simple post.

Who knows when I can get my car back?

For those of you who fear the economic impact I will face by having my car in the shop for major repairs - don't worry. It is all under warranty.

Anyway, yesterday, as I waited in the Kendall Ford temporary replacement car at the left-turn lane at stoplight, this kid rolled past in a school bus and looked right at me.

I am quite certain that this kid is an artist with latent talent of the highest calibre. I am equally certain that, one day in the not terribly distant future, he will be enrolled at the nationally prestigious Girdwood School of the Highest Kind of Hiigh Art and, as instructed, he will open up his electronic textbook to page 32 and there, he will see this photo highlighted as the supreme example and the highest Highest Kind of High Art.

He will look at it and say,

"I find something oddly familiar about this picture - almost like I was there when it was taken."

He will get a large print of it, hang it on his wall and it will inspire him to endure the trials of a long and tormented life in pursuit of art and to go on to create the second-greatest Highest Kind of High Art ever produced.

Wasilla's most exclusive, quiet condos, built on the edge of the Alaska wilderness, directly across the Parks Highway from Dairy Queen, McDonald's, Pizza Hut and Wasilla Lake.

If only I could afford to join them, I would live here, too!

Four kids walking, as seen in passing from my Kendall Ford temporary replacement car. More on this tomorrow. It is an exciting and earth-shaking story - one you will not want to miss.

A raven, military jets and an airplane fly over the place where the moose crossed the road

Before I came upon the place where the moose crossed the road, Caleb pulled up to the window of Metro Cafe so that I could buy a coffee to go with my oatmeal. The reason I was in Caleb's car and not my own is because I had just taken it into the shop at Kendall Ford to get the solenoid camshaft replaced. I had originally made the appointment for 1:00 PM, but then I got an email from Kendall to remind me that the appointment was at 8:00 AM. 

This did not make me happy, but, what the hell. I drove the car over. "We have you down for 1:00 o'clock," Mark told me after I drove into the garage, "but we'll get right on it."

Caleb then picked me up and that is why is driving.

It was Caleb's first time at Metro.

"Oh, you're cute!" Carmen teased him. "Do you have anybody?"

"No, not right now," Caleb answered.

"I'll look and see if I can find someone for you."

The folks at Kendall Ford had told me the repair job would take two-and-a-half to three hours.

This is the direction that the moose had come from, before it crossed the road. I had huge workday ahead of me, but I couldn't do anything until I took a walk. 

So I walked by the pond that the kids had named, "Little Lake," when they were small.

I think it was Caleb who gave it that name. Even in dry years when the water was low, there was a lot more water in Little Lake then.

These are the tracks that the moose left as it crossed the road. I figure the moose must have walked right through Little Lake.

These are the tracks it made as it went down the other side of the road.

These are the same three ducks from the opposite side of the pond. It goes without saying that I could have gotten a much better photo of them if I had been carrying a high-resolution dslr and a big lens, but I was only carrying my pocket camera.

It's okay, though. The world is full of great pictures of ducks taken with bigger cameras and big telephoto lenses. So it's alright that I didn't add one more.

A seagull then came flying by, looking for something to eat. I had nothing to give it.

After I photographed the ducks, I set out walking towards home through the marsh. Dodd Shay, the property owner, doesn't like me to call it a marsh - or a swamp. He calls it a meadow. Although he was initially wrong, I fear that he has become correct.

When the kids were growing up, I would have been at least ankle deep in water here, maybe knee deep, even thigh deep - seeing as how our snow has just melted and you don't have to go far to get to places where it is still melting.

But the marsh is pretty dry now and has been for several years now.

No cranes hang out here anymore.

Ducks and geese still stop to visit the pond, but the nests and eggs which once abounded in this meadow through which I walk have been moved elsewhere.

As I walked, a raven flew over me, beneath the disintegrating trails of three jets that had obviously passed over a while back.

I had not gone far before I heard the distant, high, rising-in-crecendo shriek of jets coming. If you look to the place where you hear the high flying jets, you will never see them because by the time you hear them, they have long left that place behind.

So I studied the sky ahead of the sound.

Then I spotted these two military jets, flying together.

Three, actually. Perhaps these are the same three that left the trails that the raven flew beneath. Perhaps the pilots wanted to get another look at that raven, so they came back to see if they could spot it.

Next, I heard the pleasant drone of an airplane - it up there, me down here.

For lunch, I ate a bowl of Campbell's split-pea and ham soup. As he has been doing lately, Jimmy came out with me and wandered around while I ate. It wasn't warm on the porch like it had been, though. It was chilly. 

Chicago and Royce came to the window to observe. Chicago is strickly a house cat, but Royce has always been an indoor/outdoor kind of guy. So far this spring, when I have taken Jimmy out, Royce has stopped at the threshold and has then remained inside. He has studied me from there.

At 4:00 PM, I pedaled my bike to Metro. The air had turned too cool now to enjoy a sit on the patio, so I took my coffee inside.

As I drank and listened to All Things Considered through my iPhone ear-set, this lady pulled up to the window. It was just about closing time. She and Carmen visited for maybe ten minutes. Then it was time for me to go, so I shot:

Through the Metro Window in Reverse, Study # 47: Carmen and Ann.

Carmen says Ann comes every day. "Just like you," she adds, "but even more, because you travel."

Due to the series of injuries suffered by myself and Margie, I have done much less traveling these past two years than normal.

I think this may be about to change.

Eight hours had now passed since I had dropped the car off to get repaired. After ten hours passed, I was informed that it had turned into a much more complicated job than had originally been anticipated. They would need to keep the car overnight.

A cold, light, rain fell upon me as I pedaled my bike home, but stopped just before I reached the place where the moose had earlier crossed the road. Now, there was a rainbow. A faint rainbow, but a rainbow none-the-less - the first rainbow I have seen this year.

I then buckled down and worked very hard at my computer until 2:00 AM.

I thoroughly enjoyed it, too, because I listened to Creedence Clearwater Revival and Hank Williams on iTunes.