The bottle of Maker’s Mark had been sitting on the shelf for months, unopened, a testament to the fact that I can have good booze in the house and not feel compelled to indulge at the drop of a hat.
But after the president spoke tonight to his administration’s alternately pathetic and misguided response to COVID-19, I broke the wax seal, opened the bottle, and poured a shot over ice.
November cannot come soon enough. In the meantime, thank G-d for good bourbon.
Exercising the democratic privilege of the sovereign franchise for his first time just a week after his eighteenth birthday, Aaron manages to make an American experience even more so by rushing straight from his baseball game to the polling place.
I could be neither more proud nor more grateful.
A 36-pack of Maruchan instant ramen, a huge can of Mountain House freeze-dried beef cubes, and a bowl of fruit.
This is what happens when you raise your kid on camping: eventually, camping food becomes the go-t0 cuisine.
I had to laugh at and share this shot, because in it I look like I textbook combination of my parents.
While this provides some assurance that my family tree is as advertised, it is also a bit frightening: I look like my parents did when I was a teenager.
Ah, well: aging beats the alternative.
Sunny dropped us at the beach at Sycamore Canyon around 9am. It was a later start than we would normally like, but as it turns out it was a good thing we were rested.
The twelve mile uphill hike wasn’t particularly strenuous, except for a portion where we gained about 600 feet in a mile, and that was only a challenge because it was after 8 miles and 2:40 of steady walking up slope without rest. What is more, Aaron keeps up a steady 3mph pace with a full day pack, so it was a bit more than a leisurely stroll up Sycamore Canyon.
In theory the last four miles should have been an easy downhill stroll to the 101, but fatigue was starting to set in, and even the kid was audibly relieved when our stopping point hive into view as we crossed the freeway.
By the end we had taken a bit over 4 hours to walk the 12 miles, but we had crossed the Santa Monica Mountains, burned 2,000 extra calories, and started our training program for the big prize: the John Muir Trail.
Today the Electronic Nomad is working form a perch above the Ashland Meat Company @ Cross Brothers Grocery. I have a brilliant view of the tracks along Railroad Avenue. My eyes and ears enjoy the sounds of each passing Amtrak and CSX train, and my stomach growls as I think about the sandwiches they are fixing downstairs, and the Baltimore & Ohio Roast Chicken they’re cooking across the street at the Iron Horse Restaurant.
The next time you’re tooling down I-95 between DC and Richmond, get off at Exit 92, head west to Railroad Avenue, turn left and park. Have a meal. Spend a few hours here. Spend a day. I guarantee you will be glad you did.
After all, I think Ms. Potts and company could use some help during the post-Tony transition.
My favorite tent ever. Retro look, seven feet long, easy up, easy down, weighs two pounds, fits into a bag the size of a 32-ounce Nalgene bottle, and set me back a whopping $52 delivered.
I should buy two.
Courtesy of the wonderful people at VirtualRailfan, this is what I am looking at outside my “office window” this morning: fresh snowfall on the tracks in La Plata, Missouri. Almost a postcard view.
While the rest of the troop curls up in their tents, our intrepid Senior Patrol Leader throws down a ground cloth, a pad, and his sleeping bag alongside his backpack, curls up, and snores contentedly. Behind him is his camp chair, to which he has tied his crutches, upon which he has neatly hung his field uniform (“Class-As”), water bottle in reach.
He’s come a very long way since our first campout together 9-1/2 years ago. Now he wants to take me backpacking along the Pacific Crest Trail. He has gone from video game couch-potato to an intrepid outdoorsman, and I give all the credit to the Boy Scouts of America and the encouragement of his teachers at school.
A little note to my friends in China and elsewhere who disparage the value of extra-academic endeavors beyond those that will polish college applications: when we slash everything out of our children’s lives but academics, we not only shortchange our offspring: we shortchange society, our nations, and the world at large.
Never in our history has it been more important to raise resilient children.