26 September 2018
Last week sucked. All of it. In glassblowing class I unintentionally upset another artist by blogging and had to redact a fair amount of my post. I didn't progress beyond making lumpy hamster bowls either. The lab partner who had been so excited about our semester had to bail at the last minute. At work a zombie project rose from the dead to haunt me and taunt me, yet another new post-doc had his first day, and I spent the week putting out cascading fires that I hadn't started. To get to class in time I had to bike home in the rain on Monday. Rain forced me into spinning class later in the week. I didn't get enough weight lifting sessions in. I didn't get enough sleep either.
As I drove home from work into my neighborhood on Friday evening I knew I needed to be on my bike as soon as possible. It didn't matter that the bridge over the Shipetaukin Creek on Bakers Basin Road was out. I was going to ride to the PFW Fall Picnic even if I had to double the distance or ride on Route 1 to get there.
I rode on Route 1, just a little bit, between Darrah and Carnegie, taking Basin Road. I hadn't been there in years.
Tom had hatched the plan that he, Jack H, and I would go on Jim's C ride for the first ten miles then peel off at our own pace.
Jim had a big group. I was glad to see Lou and talk to him in real life instead of online. This was probably only the second or third time I'd ridden with TEW. Pete R was in the group too, taking it easy ahead of a big race.
After grousing about my foul mood to Jim I felt better. He's had weeks like this.
We split off near Millstone. Racer Pete went with us. We had a stiff wind coming at us from the east. There was a dramatic layer of clouds rolling in. More than once I considered stopping for a picture but I didn't.
Somewhere in there my bad mood went away. I decided that all the stuff from last week was little stuff and I could let it go.
We had our rest stop at Phil's in Allentown. I remembered Tru posting pictures of goats from the farm next door. I looked over and there they were.
Three black ones nearest the fence saw me and walked over. One of them put his front hooves on the fence. Two others followed suit. I decided to use my cell phone for a photo so I could send it to Tru right away. That was a stupid move; by the time I got it out the goats had realized I wasn't about to hand them any grass and had climbed down again. I felt bad about that and fed them some long stems from my side of the fence. They weren't interested in climbing up again. Oh well. Maybe next time.
We were cruising along outside of Allentown when I saw a cyclist approaching from behind us. He slowed as he passed and looked over at us.
"Hey, Shaun!" It was Wednesday morning's spin instructor.
He recognized me and let me catch up. "We're not as fast as you," I told him.
Racer Pete heard me. "One of us is," he said.
Shaun decided to ride with us. Every time he got a little ahead Pete would chase him. Pete was trying to keep his urge to race on a leash. It was a long leash for sure, but he did show some restraint. Shaun stayed with us all the way back to the park, where, as a Free Wheeler, he was entitled to help himself to the catered spread at the picnic.
I hung out for a while, talking to Winter Larry, Statler, Waldorf, Ira, and a few others. Jim held an instructional session on how to change a tube.
To get home again I stayed on Old Trenton to Flock Road, somehow not getting run over at the intersection with Quaker Bridge nor on the I-295 overpass, nor on Sweetbriar. Navigating through the new roundabout on Whitehead at Route 1 was more dicey than any of the rest of the way.
As I rounded the corner to my street I had a metric century under my belt and a clear head on my shoulders.
On the deck behind the house had been a selection of spiders that I had been watching for weeks. The biggest orb weaver had disappeared early in the week. A medium-sized one had taken up residence on the opposite end by the steps. Earlier I'd gotten a good picture of its underside; it was a beauty. [11 October 2022: This is the top, not the underside, of a Neoscona crucifera.]
This one would skitter away every time I got close enough to get a picture of its back. The best I could do was catch it hiding under a post, casting a formidable shadow.
It eventually disappeared too, replaced by a teensy weensy orb weaver: [11 October 2022: Perhaps Cyclosa conica]
It never moved from its center spot, never flinched when I blew on it, didn't stir when, thinking it dead, I gently prodded it with a leaf. Only when I decided to clear the web did the little thing spring to life. I hoped it would rebuild on the deck, but it, too, disappeared.
Only one spider remained, the
I don't know how much longer she's going to be around. I need to scrub the deck but I won't until she and her brood are gone.
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