Eureka

After years of fruitless endeavor and untold hardship our efforts have finally paid off. We have found it. Where others have failed, we have overcome. Where Cabot and Cartier floundered, we have flourished exceedingly. Where Frobisher and Hudson were led astray, we have stayed on course. Where the combined treasuries of the Europe's monarchies came up empty, we have had success overwhelming. Etcetera, etcetera; the Northwest Passage is ours!

It took three voyages and countless man hours, but on the third and final trip, in the two thousand and nineth year of our Lord, we came upon the hallowed land long last. After years of searching, a route from the Vistana downtown (star B) to Olmos Basin Park (star A) via the northwest route* was finally discovered. A bike route free from coarse winds, perilous icebergs, and large poorly driven motor vehicles does exist! The first ill-fated voyage attempted the most direct route via the southern terminus of the park but resulted only in scurvy and discord at the heavily trafficked and unpassable Hildebrand Avenue. The second venture, only a few months later, similarly ended in disaster as the expedition was set adrift chasing empty trade wind after trade wind trying to approach the basin from its eastern summit. The most recent voyage would likely itself have ended in calamity as the intrepid explorers sailed dangerously north on their attempted western approach, but steadfast spirit and a trusty sextant allowed for the charting of a new course and the safe arrival at the appointed destination. A poorly maintained mountain biking trail littered in trash.

On the safe return to harbor raucous celebrations broke out. Crates of beaver pelts were unloaded, plans were made to subjugate the local indigenous populations, and war was declared on the French. The triumphant bike was placed in dry dock in the apartment storage room while the crew retired to a triumphant dinner of burgers and shakes at Freddy's. Trade with Russia is expected to pick up shortly.

Charted route: Third Voyage

* Nevermind that the route is not actually so northwest. It certainly *felt* like I was going northwest.

Rhode Island at Speed

I visited a friend in Rhode Island this weekend. And she broke me. We took a 12-13 mile bike ride to some town starting with a B, Bicleff? Burkholderia? -- the name is not important as once we got there, about an hour and a half later, we promptly turned our bikes around and headed back the way we came. When I queried about the possibility of perhaps stopping in this town for lunch, or even, dare I say, entering it, I was instructed that there were sandwiches at home. Twelve to thirteen miles back the opposite direction. Of course this was followed by a 6 mile hike in Newport thus completing my tour of Rhode Island.

Her well intentioned sadism aside, Megan is good people, and the resulting achilles tendenitis aside, I enjoyed Providence. It seems like a nice little city. Never having been to Rhode Island, though, I was surprised that there were areas of undeveloped land. For whatever reason I was under the impression that the entire state was one giant neighborhood. I also did not realize the state was owned and governed by the Dunkin' Donuts corporation. Clearly I have only lived in this country for a short time.

The highlight of my two days in Providence, however, was my headline photograph. Isn't it beautiful? Well positioned, great balance, (almost) excellent coloring and contrast. And it was all taken while facing backwards and pedaling at a 7-8 mph clip. I believe I have developed a new Pulitzer Prize category: Action Photography Taken While Simultaneously Engaging in Action. Clearly this is a category long overdue.

Anyways, here're my other photos from Rhode Island. They're ok.

A Bit of a Cat Problem

I wade through cats when leaving the house towards work in the mornings. Cats waist high, fifty felines deep; it's a bit of a problem. Thanks to the generous daily donations of food and water by our next door neighbors the local tabby population is expanding rapidly and will likely soon blot out the sun. With cats in such tonnage also comes kitty waste, and that's also becoming something of a problem. For my roommate at least. Although I am not so fond of our not dog friends I do not terribly mind their presence all too much. Laura, on the other hand, seems to have a far more sensitive nose and far less patience. Generally speaking she's a fairly calm and collected person, but under the guidance of her parents who visited recently she has begun a war of attrition aimed at ending the scourge that is stupid, skittish, feral cats.

The solution, initially, consisted mostly of bleach. Lots of cleanser to cleanse the urine smell and burn the lungs of any animal lingering too long on the porch. Our front door briefly no longer smelled of tom cat tinkle but instead like a very heavily chlorinated pool. This was only the opening volley, however, in what was to be a bleach, moth ball, and ground black pepper triple offensive, and the very next day I arrived home from work to find a generous scattering of little white spheres throughout the front yard planters. It kind of looked like it had recently hailed had it hailed only quarter inch sized balls of ice, but the pungent smell of ammonia replaced the chlorinated pool smell making it obvious it was the moth balls. Is it working? I am not sure; I have been headed to work later the last few days and generally speaking the cats scatter to go about their cat business shortly after sunrise, but I believe the Gallos are stockpiling mustard gas just in case.

Unrelated to the current arms race, I took the USMLE Step 3 yesterday and the day before. That's all I got to say about that. If there's any secret police more feared than the HIPAA brown shirts its the Federation of State Medical Boards Stasi, and I fear I have already said to much.

Doubly unrelated, I bought myself a new mountain bike with my economic stimulus check. A 2008 Specialized Rockhopper! Yeah. Awesome. Basically it's a bike, and it's blue. The rest is all kind of muddled. There are apparently about 2100 different mountain bikes produced with varying ill-defined features, and I am pretty sure I purchased the Rockhopper mostly because I just subconsciously thought the name was outstanding. Anyways, consider the economy stimulated! I've done my part Mr. President!