Hard to imagine hubby and I have managed to eat ‘whole’ for a whopping 15 days. We spend a LOT more time in the kitchen prepping and cooking, and many-many dishes are used in the process, with a dishwasher constantly filled. Gone are the days of a quick sugary snack, gone are the days of mindless eating, gone are the dips in energy, and all our thoughts point to how to get creative with our next meal. Continue reading Whole30: Days 11-15
To much relief, there is a calm after the storm. The broccoli is no longer brawling with the grapefruit, the unusual body tremors have subsided, the days of blank stares & delayed responses to ‘how is it going?’ are over, and everything seems to have settled onto one big discovery. My prior Whole30 food choices weren’t as healthy as I once thought. Continue reading Whole30: Days 7 through 10
I expected to awake with the fairy godmother sprinkling more of that rose dust over my health food journey. Today, however, she was out helping other customers.
Let’s just say that the Basement Department was in an all-hands (microbe speaking) food-fight. The cherry tomatoes and cauliflower threw Ali-like punches, the melons and strawberries were no longer team players, and everyone was trying to convince the Top-Floor Penthouse that a little chocolate would bring peace to the revolt. Continue reading Whole30: Days 5&6 Civil unrest
The Hatteras Ferry…
Two lines of cars waited in formation, and we tucked our bicycles behind a Hummer and in the lee of a cement truck that partially blocked 30 knot winds from the south. A Hatteras Island Ferry official approached wearing a jacket with the words ‘Security’ and asked us for ID’s. Satisfied after comparing faces to driver licenses he then asked if we were aware of the winds. Continue reading Bike trippin’ – As good as it gets
By a leisurely 8:30 am we hit the bicycle trail that ran parallel to Route 12 and headed south from Corolla. Winds blew strong from the south – at least 25 knots, and the beauty of riding into the winds meant we would finish our loopy ride with a tailwind. The bicycle trails twist and turn among giant sand dunes that resemble small hills, and weave through crooked low-lying trees and brush — the Outer Banks version of Florida mangroves — which protect this delicate sandbar from hurricanes and storms. When the trails meandered closer to the Sound-side, we soaked in spectacular sights of a vast waterway, tall sea grass and the occasional blue heron. As we neared Kitty Hawk, we caught a glimpse of the ocean where the dunes were short, and beach access included ocean views. We rode past a street corner garnished with yellow bricks, and on top of those bricks sat two ruby slippers, and we bonded with a ‘no place like home’ vibe. Continue reading Bike tripping the yellow brick road
When camouflage is not needed
A daybreak beach jog — the pre-bike adventure — was met with a horde of humans a few decades too old to be active-duty decked in vintage war-be-gone fatigues, packing large cameras, 12 inch lenses and 2 inch straps secured around their necks. They stood at the top of wooden walkways, the dune gateway to the ocean, two dozen of ’em by random guess — half intently focused on something happening toward the ocean, and the other half focused on the movements of a potential intruder. What are you looking at, I asked hoping the answer wouldn’t be ‘me’, as I slowed my gate, inching closer to the crowd. A man wearing head-to-toe camouflage replied ‘burs and turles’ without looking away from his binoculars oblivious to a drawl with interchangeable vowels and missing consonant’s. Continue reading Bike trippin – Objects appear fuzzy
[Political Parody, in case this needed to be said.]
Rosie O’Dare, a Senior Meteorologist at the National Weather Service accidentally uncovers the agenda behind the Make Weather Great Again Initiative. Her role as a storm chaser and weather scientist is recast to one of a graphics editor — PhotoShopping radar images of epic storms into Sunny-Day PowerPoints — for storms targeting Resistance Cities. Continue reading Making The Weather
We departed downtown Charleston, with our morning ritual perfected. Drag luggage and bicycle to hotel lobby and park at the first open space making sure the other hotel guests had no access to the exits. Load water-logged (from sweat / humidity) luggage onto the U-Haul truck. Consume a Kind bar for breakfast. The same Kind of bar that will be consumed over the next 7 hours, and wonder if that is really a Kind way to treat your body. Check your bicycle lights, GPS navigation software, pump the tires and spin the wheels listening to the new whirring sounds that weren’t there before. Seek out the ECG bike mechanic and decide he’s too busy helping others. Decide to troubleshoot yourself. Or at least with select members of your riding team, those without advanced bicycle mechanic skills.
The morning ritual begins. Rummage through your bag looking for dry shoes and dry clothes. Wonder why all your clothes are wet, and realize the wet ones fused with the dry collection. Do the sniff test. Everything smells gamey. Open the hotel door to check the outside temperature, and watch the humid steamy air roll in. You feel your body temperature rise, and you instinctively wipe the steam off your forehead. Close the door, fast. Staying dry is out. It’s all about the nose. Choose the least gamey outfit and hope your bike-mates won’t draft too close.
After a long conversation with an Ocean Isle Beach native working the meat department at the town grocery, he assured me that not only are alligators good eating and taste like chicken, but they get ’em fresh from Georgia, which from my calculation was two states away.
Me: Will they chase us on bicycles?
The Butcher: Yes, ma’am.
Me: You, mean, while we’re riding our bikes, they’ll come out and chase us?
The Butcher: No ma’am. Only when you stop.