What's Your Poison?

I have some ideas for blog posts that will take some time to create/compose, but life did not permit me to work on them in time for today. As you may know, I almost always post something on Mondays, even when I've got nothing.

More and more of these Monday posts seem to be about nothing lately, and I apologize. Perhaps I will re-find my blogging stride soon; I sure hope so.

Anyway, while hanging around my house late last night wondering what kind of nothing I would write about for this Monday, I paid a visit to the fridge. Therein lay both my inspiration and my shame, because my eyes seized upon my greatest nemesis when it comes to bizarre/sickening food consumption: maraschino cherries.

image source

I had one and put them back. A few minutes later I swung by again and had three or four more. About ten minutes later I returned and ate the rest. I polished off a 2/3 full jar of maraschino cherries and then drank the sweet syrupy juice that was left in the jar.

I have a sweet tooth, but no other type of food makes me do anything this freakish. Thankfully, it is not a normal thing for the Rantwick household to stock my strange personal poison. Please feel free to go ahead and judge me for my disgusting behaviour. It is, after all, pretty gross. While you're busy wagging a mental finger at me, however, I would be curious to know if any of you have any strange and hard to resist nemesis foods, foods that cause you to deviate from what I am sure are your otherwise completely normal and non-freakish consumption patterns.

I'm almost afraid to ask, but what's the strangest thing you ever pigged out on?

Yer Pal,

R A N T W I C K

Ah, Now That's The Stuff

I have long known that I am a Weather Junkie. One of my good friends and I often half-joke about becoming storm chasers in our retirement. I love wild weather and the times I love it most are when I'm on the bike, whether it be winter or summer.

Yesterday morning's ride in to work was the kind of winter riding I live for. It was fairly cold (-10 C), snowing, very windy (like push you around windy) and the streets had just a little snow and almost no ice on them. I could enjoy the wild weather with very little fear of slipping or sliding. Anyway, here's a video:

Riding in such weather always results in strings of questions from my co-workers. In case any of my readers have similar questions, here they are, with my usual answers:

Q: Are You Insane?

A: No! Well, yes. No. Wait, wait! Stop that! Woof! Grrr! Shut up! SHUT UP! (sorry, not you...)

Q: Don't you get cold?

A: Not at all. When you're working on the bike it is easy to stay warm, in fact a little too easy.

Q: But what about your face in that wind?

A: I wear a balaclava, ski goggles and my helmet. My face, ears and eyes are all toasty warm. I don't even wear the balaclava over my face most days.

Q: What if you slip and fall?

A: Believe it or not, I am way less likely to slip on ice while riding on my studded tires than when I am on foot, or in my car for that matter. On some snow, when I am not sure of my control, I stop riding when cars are anywhere near me.

Q: But what about the cars in general?

A: I have been riding with cars in the street for years. I know how to do it safely.

Q: Yeah, but do they?

A: Part of doing it safely is accounting for the possible actions of unskilled drivers and/or morons. It is something that can be done, winter or summer, and that any cyclist can learn.

Q: well, actually TS: (for testy statement) - There should be a law against riding your bike on the street in winter. It just isn't safe.

A: When did you last ride a bike in the street, let alone in winter? Get back to me when you've ridden to work and back every single day for three (or is it four?) winters without a scratch or even a close call with a car. Until then, I think I'll decide for myself on that safety thing.

Please note that this answer only ever happens after a discussion escalates to the point that I'm really getting ticked off.

Q: Don't you feel like a goof in that stupid outfit?

A: I used to but I just don't seem to care any more. Does that mean I have gained confidence? Or am I just old and ugly and happily married enough to know that how I look doesn't really matter? Is that in itself confidence, or just the words of a man too lazy to bother trying any more? Am I telling myself...

That was starting to turn into a therapy session. More on this in a future post perhaps.

Well, that's it for now I think. As always, thanks for reading.

Wishing you your favourite riding weather, I remain:

Yer Pal,

R A N T W I C K