Moose Turd Pie

Riding into Spokane, I’m thinking of one of Spokane’s best (well, two, actually). U. Utah Phillips, “The Golden Voice of the Great Southwest” (1935-2008) spent time here and used to tell stories of Spokane, including the free speech movement of 1909-10 here.

Phillips also had a special relationship with trains, lamenting their disappearance from the landscape with the song, “Daddy, What’s a Train?” He also sang cowboy songs. My friend Cripps had a U. Utah Phillips songbook and I recall sitting around the kitchen table late one night, Cripps playing his autoharp as we sang together “The Goodnight-Loving Trail“. I’m not sure why writing this blog keeps bringing me back to friends who have died, but Cripps has been gone since about 1980.

I really brought up The Golden Voice for his story of working as a Gandy Dancer on the railroad, and how they decided who had to cook each night:

RubyThe other Spokane friend has 4 legs. Cathy, who raises and trains horses (and trains kids and dogs) in Wisconsin, keeps talking about going back to Spokane. Here is her horse, Scarlet Spokana, AKA Ruby.

Century!

But enough about Spokane to come, what about the ride that I just finished?

I haven’t ridden a century in 25 years (BC, for the parents among you). Today came with an early climb of >7 miles. The accompanying picture is about ⅔ of the way up. Sorry, Tim, no smile again. Luckily it was about 7:30 AM for that picture, or I’d have looked much worse. The thermometer on my bike read 90 at mile 90. I can’t vouch for the accuracy.7a19d431-8eeb-45de-adeb-646f6088bbc7.jpeg

Like my 12 year old self (see the post “My Origin Story” – I’m too lazy to add the link today), I had some great ideas on the road, none of which I remember. I wrote a hilarious post that no one will read.

This ride had a couple of big climbs and descents, and mile after mile of high plains desolation, beautiful in its own way. Sometimes the road seemed to go on forever. We ended with a long descent to Grand Coulee Dam. To get to Spokane we have to climb back out.

FA8F4E33-6F01-4917-843B-49E406D28D38I won’t show you odometer shots every day; that would be boring – but today calls for it.

Somehow, I see yesterday’s red caboose photo didn’t make the final edit. I’m sitting outside today, away from all other devices, and it seems to be working better. Even the PS apologizing for the technical problems failed to make it to the version (I assume) you see. It was in my last editor’s view but gone when I looked at the post this morning.

So I’ll try to attach that photo again, with another plug for the world’s greatest day care center. You can read all about it in “The Goodbye Window” by Harriet Brown.

Tomorrow, into Idaho for the solstice.

Author: halffastcyclingclub

We are a group of friends who ride bikes. Some of us are fast, some of us are slow, all of us are half-fast. In 2018, one of us is riding coast to coast across the US. If we meet Sal Paradise, we'll let you know.

4 thoughts on “Moose Turd Pie”

  1. Oops, I posted that from the wrong account. Steve, can you delete the previous comment? Here it is again, from me:

    Why you are thinking of friends who have died: because you’re getting old and lots of them have died. I have photos on my bulletin board of friends whose memorials I’ve attended in the past few years, and they still inspire me.

    Are you writing these posts on your phone? If so I applaud your ability to type on that small keyboard. Or maybe you’re using voice recognition – that’s so much easier. Thanks for writing!

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.