Idiot tackles car culture single-nosedly
Day three of the new, blue me. My morning after look:
Jumped on the road bike to accompany Charlie on our spring Hunt For Violets ride along Bo-Fax road.
Confident he’d catch me, I left while he was helmet & jacket faffing. Alone on the climb, my nares opened for the first time and I caught a whiff of the white roses growing along someone’s fence.
Now, if the nose can stay open until I get home, I’ll have an appetite.
CC rode further, to the Bolinas ridgetop. I was running on fumes since I don’t eat when I can’t taste food. But I zipped back, tore open some of the dumpster creams I’d been hoarding, with the purchased gelatin (Knox product probably never gets tossed, or so rarely I’ve never found it, so I have fallen off the Never Buy Food Wagon–the last time I did it was for lovely, rare Wasa flatbread, which I’m almost sure is to be discontinued. It’s just too damn healthy to be a true snack food. I wrote them and said I’d like them to consider sponsoring my singlespeed obsession. Hah).
Digressions, my forte.
And after I made some nice panna cotta with the aforementioned Knox gel and cream and grated palm sugar and uh, I guess this should be in “Salivation Army”, huh? I have never figured out how to transfer a written thing, maybe now’s the time, eh?
Here’s me after my ride:
Oh, and lovely neighbor Sheila S. dropped off a weeks supply (well, for me a couple days) supply of homemade chicken and rice soup. Hot. I guzzled. I could taste it. Heaven.