Biking before blogging

I finished the two Sunday papers and decided to depart from my usual routine of putting the papers neatly in a pile, grabbing my coffee cup and heading upstairs to do the blog. Having eaten that tempting piece of Second Avenue pizza after a dinner with two desserts followed by one of those huge caloric Appaloosa cookies, the gluttony guilt was getting to me. (I've noticed this is turning out to be a very alliterative morning).

Anyway, I decided a Sunday morning bike ride would take care of the guilt and infuse the brain with some fresh thoughts. Walking to the kitchen, I put down my coffee cup and picked up the Seattle Mariners fleece jacket Annie had brought me for my birthday. I love the jacket cuz it not only fits but it does so in a pleasantly slimming fashion. Besides, it's perfect for bike riding, and, of course, wearing to those Mariners games Annie's plotting out for us sometime this summer.

The bike ride sufficiently soffonsified (still haven't figured out how to spell that) my needs. What bike ride on a pleasant summer morning wouldn't. Along the route, I mentally chronicled animal tidbits---Gary Finney's highly independent Jack Russell trotting down the road, minding only his own business; the Filipowski's Border Collie Joe sporting less hair but good health at the Filipowski barn. I'd heard that Joe went through some serious medical issues last week, and that plenty of tears were shed before Joe bounced back to health. He was looking pretty sprite this morning.

Jack's Hereford herd was enjoying some early morning R and R from supplying their cuds in one of Eva Whitehead's fields. Eva's barn went down last week, by the way. A demolition crew spent several days dismantling the old, old structure which was slowly disintegrating on its own. I can't imagine the emotion that must have been for Eva to watch a symbol of her long life on that farm disappear.

Eva makes me mad. She can get a garden going faster than anyone I've ever known. She put her potatoes, peas, and petunias (more alliteration for you) in the ground about the first week in May. Those potatoes are already knee high and growing. Of course, Eva's been gardening that spot for a lot more years than most of us have been able to walk. So, I'm sure she's found the secret to composting and all the good stuff that makes gardens grow. My goal is to someday figure out just a portion of her gardening knowledge.

As I rode past Eva's, I saw one neighbor out on his deck in the morning sun, drinking coffee and reading his paper---he's the one with the Australian Shepherd that chases cars, only if the family isn't home and only if the car is headed north. Otherwise, the mutt spends its time at home acting as innocent as can be. I've learned to just keep on going when I see that dog waiting for me; to do a sudden stop could mean trouble for drivers and dogs.

As I turned around at the north end of South Center Valley Road, I took time to look closely at the makeshift memorial attached to Del Bader's fence. That's the spot where Holly Peterson died much too young a few years ago. Loose gravel, speed and no seatbelt contributed to this tragedy. Her memorial serves as a reminder to anyone going down that road to slow down and make sure the seatbelt is doing its job.

The flower wreaths are fading, but the messages are encased in plastic for passersby to read for who knows how long . A pair of tennis shoes and several stuffed animals hang from top to bottom on the monument, and one note clearly states: Holly, we love you---Always and forever. There's a barn at the fairground serving as another reminder of Holly's vibrant life cut short. She was 13.

After studying the monument, I headed south toward home, unwittingly disturbing a bunch of birds hiding in the ditch along the Watson place where just last Sunday we met Jesse and Ruth walking their goats and dogs. Jack's Hereford mamas, papa and babies were still resting and chewing on my return trip. Further on, a deer was getting its morning exercise bounding through one of Filipowski's fields. Its tall white tail was weaving back and forth like windshield wipers. The deer eventually headed up the mountain and disappeared from view.

I loved my morning ride, and it took care of all that gluttony guilt. I guess I'm gonna have to do that more often. Another little country adventure good for the Sunday morning soul.