Monday, June 17, 2013

A Nursemaid's Holiday

I spent the weekend in my nursemaid's outfit helping my wife get over her bruising fall from grace at the gym Thursday. It was her back that did her in, not her limbs and I found myself stretched well beyond my comfort zone heating food and stirring sauces. I am not a cook by any means, I have no patience for stirring and mixing and studying how to time results and plate it all at once because I prefer to incinerate food, get on with it, get it done. Indeed I am far more drawn to cleaning as I go, losing myself in the pleasure of seeing a recently used saucepan come out of the sink shiny, instead of making sure the food from it isn't going black on the stove. As a result having my wife incapacitated makes home life a bit of a strain.
"I feel like something salty," said the voice from under the blanket on the couch. "What about you?"
"Well," I said, "there's shelves of potato chips not three quarters of a mile from here."
"You could take your Vespa," the evil temptress insisted.
"That would be difficult ," I temporized. "Seeing as how it's in Pennsylvania."
"You could take your wife's..."
Which was how I came to be on Middle Torch Key checking the horizon.
It was good to get out, there was no traffic on the Highway so I rode past the chips and made a half mile of progress before turning north onto the back road that leads eight miles to nowhere. Rain dripped out of a cear blue sky but it's been doing that a lot lately and the drizzle amounted to nothing more than a few blobs on the flyscreen. Water wasn't going to stop the ride.

Let's face it, speed limits tend to be a drag, designed to force distracted drivers to make like they're paying attention. Drive the limit and fiddle with your phone and no one will notice. But for me on my holiday ride the limit was perfect.

Perhaps even a little too fast as the speedometer on the ET4 reads five miles over according to the GPS in my phone.

I know the 150 cc scooter is technically a motorcycle capable of sixty miles an hour at least but I wasn't wearing anything remotely like gear unless a t-shirt and Crocs can be considered protective.

As always on these side roads there's nowhere to go except to the water's edge and I had to get back to my duties so I didn't go far down this longest of side roads, all eight miles of it.

It was enough to stop and watch the clouds scudding across the sky and the windflowers nodding in the breeze. Some days you'd like a mountain or a pasture or a winding bit of mountain lane. So would I. Those days you enjoy what you've got and not lament the absence of more.

This road will be eminently rideable with the wind in my hair and a t-shirt only on my chest come January and that's a lot for a cold weather wimp like me.

I found some jalapeƱo kettle chips as I perused the aisles of the Shell station pondering the meaning of life and the role of high fructose corn syrup. Check this out, remember all the kerfuffle about Twinkies disappearing (and good riddance!)? The competition just steps in. Ain't capitalism great?! Dreamies indeed.

Twinkies self immolation to destroy the labor union made news for a couple of cycles and then it was gone forever as the insatiable faux news machine marched on to feed enquiring minds another piece of pointless trivia. What chance does government spying have to penetrate our consciousness when starlets divorce and royalty wear hats? Hey everybody I found Twinkies! Actually my ten minute Vespa ride gave me the sugar high I needed, no corn syrup actually needed, even though those chips hit the spot...