The Donna Tree

the Donna tree

My mom advised that she wanted her ashes to be placed where children play so yesterday Bird and I ventured downstate to the D to help do that with my sister and her family. The Greening of Detroit organization was doing a tree planting near a recreation center (lot of trees planted) so we had a tree planted in my mom's name with her ashes helping fill in the soil.  

Even in death my mom is helping others.

Trail Head

Bird was morale dog for the diggers

Names - John and Michael have left the building

While attending the local high school's football game Friday, I was perusing the rosters for the two teams. Very small rosters at that; the visiting team had 19 players listed and it looked like less than that dressed, the home team not many more. My pea brain glanced at the names and one thing jumped out at me, the common names I grew up with (John, Mike, Jim, Jeff, Tom, Dan, Steve, Eric, Al, etc...) seem to be slowly becoming extinct. There is a Tim listed below but he goes by 'Timmy' so he must get his ass kicked quite a bit.

The home team of funky first names took the victory for those keeping score at home.

Trail Head

Salmon Camp - blind squirrel catches one (and gets caught in the battery console)

Al and Gus ventured north this week to join me in the fall tradition of attempting to catch the salmon heading upstream. The streams/rivers themselves had fish to see but none caught by our posse. The lakes/bays, however, gave up the attached. The king salmon was taken out of Betsie Bay just minutes after we had the trolling rods out. Gus got the second fish, a coho salmon, out of Crystal Lake. 

On a funny/sad note, while fishing, we discovered what we thought was a (singular) squirrel/chipmunk making a home in Al's boat, specifically in the battery console area. Our thoughts were correct, however, it wasn't just one squirrel/chipmunk, it was three of them. We believe they made the entire trip from downstate. We tried our best to get them to flee, leaving the console door open with a trail of nuts. When Al and Gus left, I saw one below where the boat was that unfortunately didn't make it. Hoping the best for the other two furry travelers.

Trail Head

Striving to be Grand Poobah

While it might not be the equivalent of the secret handshake/men's only Water Buffalo club that Fred and Barney partook in back in the day (the episode where Wilma and Betty dressed as men to investigate the club was a classic), I recently became of member of the local Eagle chapter. Instead of the Grand Poobah, there is the Worthy President. Women are allowed. The pledge/initiation is more or less "be cool to others and don't be a dick." The benefits are a nice place to grab a beverage/meal when the tourist season kicks in high gear. The Worthy President who was reciting the pledge for me to repeat I thought was going to pass out as he had some serious cotton mouth while talking. Get that man some water.

Worthy Tim out.

Trail Head

Bird's Designated Belly Rubber

The town where I reside has quite a few retirees walking the streets in the morning. My dog Bird will normally just watch them all walk by except for one; her designated belly rubber. One walker who comes past the house pretty much at 8 AM each morning, give or take a few minutes, approached me and asked if she could pet Bird. Said belly rubber and her husband live a few blocks from Lake Michigan I learned so pet away, just leave that sweet house you have to me when you leave this funky planet we live in. 

So every morning at around 7:50 AM or so, you'll see Bird sitting right next to the curb waiting for her belly rubber, wagging her stump tail like a Pavlovian dog drooling as the belly rubber approaches with treats, some dog talk and about a five minute rub. 

If Bird could smoke, she would as she always looks like she just made woopee after the belly rubber leaves.

Trail Head

 

Frontier Rider

The tour headed west this past week to pedal Curt Gowdy State Park outside of Cheyenne, Wyoming and get a glimpse of southeast Wyoming. 

Home base was Cheyenne which tops Denver's "Mile High City" designation by about 1,000 feet in elevation. The "Mile High and some change City!!" The lungs were feeling all 6,000 feet on the trails but a beautiful park Mr. Gowdy has named after him. The visitor center has a bunch of pictures of the legendary broadcaster fishing and hunting with sports legends, celebrities and presidents from the old "The American Sportsman" show back in my youth. He was a sportsman for sure; kind of reminds me of my friend Rob with the many hunting/fishing expeditions he's been on. I attached a short clip of my pedal at the bottom of this post. Take note of baby rider at about the 1:37 mark. Hold on tight son!

The city of Cheyenne has some good people. It must be the cowboy thing but local establishments allow customers to "get one for the road" so out came the paper cups (big gulp size), in went some jungle juice booze or whatever and off went a happy customer. Yee-ha and heads up drivers! And no, I did not partake.

As far as airport fun, with my new hip I was able to get my crotch grabbed going to and coming from Cheyenne; so I had that going for me.

Trail Head

Looking for Gold in the (dune) Hills

My Monday morning trot around the beach has one constant, the two fellas pictured, searching for anything and everything that may have dropped out of the pockets of the many beach-goers over the weekend. Not many people are bringing priceless jewelry to the beach (and leaving said priceless jewelry) so guessing the two bring home a couple bucks in change each Monday. My theory is their wives bought the metal detectors for them to get them out of the house.

Laugh as I may, I'll probably join them in a few years after I pack up my belongings and stop working full time.

Trail Head