Vi are you not varing zee Lycra?

I know they say love is the best feeling in the entire world, but I'd have to say a close second is that of laughing until you cry. Now, I'm not talking just a wet spot in the corner of the eyes. I'm talking genuine tears. Snorting. Hyperventilating for lack of air in the lungs. A better abdominal workout in four minutes than you can get in an hour of yoga.

And it's even better when it takes you by surprise.

The other night, I was sitting on the floor of my bathroom, brushing my teeth and reading a book--just my usual bedtime ritual. The book had been entertaining already, but that night's passage had me rolling.

As an author, I know how challenging it is to write truly funny prose. It takes skill. And so, I'm going to share the excerpt in full. If you like it a lot, go buy the book. It's a good read. If you don't like it enough to buy the book, I hope it at least brings you a smile (and a snort or two.) 

The book: The Hungry Cyclist: Pedalling the Americas in Search of the Perfect Meal
The author: British writer, cyclist, and food lover, Tom Kevill-Davies
Tom's website: http://www.thehungrycyclist.com/

Thank you, Mr. Davies, for the laughs and for making me want to ride off on an adventure of my own. (By the way, if you happen to find this you should know a few things: I really enjoyed your videos and photos from your trek along the Mekong in Laos, as I've been there myself; I love your book; we're about the same age; and my mom thinks we should go on a date.)

Please enjoy this snippet from pages 255-257 in, "The Hungry Cyclist":

It was as I was taking a bite from a bunuelo that the unmistakable outline of another cycle tourist became recognisable on the crest of the hill. Running from the shade of the trees, shouting and waving my arms like a crazed groupie, crumbs of breakfast spewing from my mouth, I gestured towards him and towards my bicycle as if to say, 'Look, look, I'm one of your lot.' But it became very clear, very quickly that, as cycle tourists go, Torsten, a middle-aged German, and myself had come from very different moulds.

'Desayuno?' I suggested, handing Torsten a delightfully warm arepa wrapped in a grease-stained paper napkin. 'No,' he replied unequivocally, pulling a plastic sack of what appeared to be birdseed and a bruised banana from the bag between his handlebars.

'Cafe?'

'No!' came another stern negative, and I watched his prominent Adam's apple bounce up and down as he emptied what remained of a bottle of fluorescent-pink energy drink into his mouth.

Cycle tourists are like dogs, and with our brief introduction over we began sniffing each other's bottoms. How much weight are you carrying? What pedals are you using? Caliper or disk brakes? Drop handlebars or flat? Slick tyres or knobbly ones? A derailleur or internal gear system? Sniff, sniff.

Torsten's bicycle was brilliantly clean. Every dirt-free component glistened in the sun as though it had just come out of the box. His minimal equipment was meticulously packed in four clean Ortlieb panniers. His entire setup was as spotless and streamlined as he was, and together Torsten and his bicycle were a testament to German efficiency. I was not. As he ran his questioning eyes over my untidy rig, I could hear the white-coated technicians in his mind tutting in baffled disbelief at the dirty, overloaded, scruffy excuse for a cyclist and bicycle that stood before him.

'Vas is das?' I heard them say as he took in my colourful collection of souvenir stickers, which must have added a few grams of extra weight. 'Vas is dis?' they proclaimed at the chunky plastic hamburger bell, leather dream catcher, rosary beads and the various other lucky charms and trinkets that hung from my handlebars, weighing me down further.

'And vi are you not varing zee Lycra. Nein nein nein, Zis is very inefficient.'

This silent ritual over with, Torsten unclipped his multi-buttoned digital cycle computer and thrust it towards my face. 'Alaska!' he barked proudly, displaying his total distance. A figure close to 12,000 miles. 'Six meses,' he then broadcast in Spanglish. I hung my head in shame. In six months Torsten had cycled the same distance it had taken me over a year to cover. And it showed. We could not have looked any more different. Short, overweight, unshaven and clad in baggy shorts and a crusty, sweat-stained T-shirt, I was the antithesis of the man who towered over me. All elbows and knees, his tall, gangly frame of bones and sinew was tightly packed in a figure-hugging fluorescent Lycra outfit that accentuated every one of his lumps and bumps in disturbing detail. An oversized helmet dwarfed his long, thin face. He gave the impression of a man ready to be fired from a cannon in a circus.

We were an odd couple, but with Torsten's tortured Spanglish and my small anthology of German picked up from old war films, we established that we were heading the same way and would ride on together. 'Schnell! Schnell!' I cried, climbing back into the saddle. Leaving behind a bemused crowd of breakfasting locals, who had witnessed this bizarre roadside union, we rode together into the foothills of the Andes and towards Colombia's second city. Medellin.

Thankful for...

Kiwis at 3 for $1.00
hummus cause it's yummus

Seeing a friend I haven't seen in a long time and having it feel like we had lunch together last week.

paper towels for wiping up the dribbles from those juicy kiwis
(3 for one dollar!)

My job.
My house.
My Tevas.

Shampoo.

A mom and dad who exceed my expectations every day

My NIECE, my beautiful, beautiful Maria.
My brother who makes being a new dad look like the most joyful experience ever.

Scheming for road trips...more on that at a later date...

Friends whom I miss dearly.
Friends who fill my heart with joy just by thinking about them.

Coffee mugs.
Wait for it.............
Yeah, coffee, too.

Pandora.

Ice cream at Kendrik Park...one dollar per scoop of deliciousness.

Rhythm.
Dancing in the office.

Bridges.

Life!!!!!

and last but certainly not least...tiny cutting boards.

Green is good

I have made it no secret how much I dislike rain and gray skies. They make me feel cold and depressed. They make me not want to be outside...even though I know I should just get out there anyway.

Like much of the rest of the world, Wyoming has been getting dumped on recently. Our dry, desert lands are flooding.

BUT, I am happy to report that I had a non-Eeyore moment about the rain today. I looked outside the car and was dazzled by the sight of vibrant green lawns sliding past the window.

Absolutely dazzled. Green is good.

Cooking for loved ones

These photos are a bit late, but I wanted to post them anyway because, well, it was a great day and I love this family.

Our pastor's family came over for Easter dinner. They are just about the coolest people. I love their honesty and straighforwardness. Their kids, all four of 'em, are sharp and fun and kind and humble.

My mom and I decided to go big for this meal...just for kicks. We made a crown roast, which is essentially a rack of ribs rolled into a crown. We stuffed it with apricot stuffing. We made apricot candied carrots and a fancy-schmancy salad. For dessert, I made Oreo cookie salad and a frozen dark chocolate mocha mouse cake.

It was a meal I was proud of, but more than that, it was a chance to go crazy in the kitchen out of love for another. Is there anything better or more fun than cooking for those you love? It is such a joy.

I was too busy hustling and bustling about the kitchen to snap many photos, but here are a few...just for kicks.

 My folks and I broke our water fast for Living Water International with a delicious French press on Easter morning.

 Putting the crown roast in the oven. Yummm...

 My mom and dad, Monica, Hannah, Michael, Maggie, Josiah and Pastor Ron. What a great meal with some great folks!

I'll love you forever, Mom!

I don't think a day goes by without me recalling one or another of my Mom's "momisms." 

If I have a headache, I need to "drink three glasses of water and sit on the pot."

If I have a stomach ache, I need to "drink three glasses of water and sit on the pot."

If my heart aches, I need to drink three glasses...just joking. For that one, I remember that "this, too, shall pass." 

When I try to stuff my pain, my Mom gives me a safe place to "feel it and let it go."

When I'm being selfish, I remember to "get over it."

And when I'm restless and pacing, I tell myself to stop being "like a fart on a hot skillet." To this day, I have no idea what that actually means, but it always makes me laugh.

I could write a book about just how cool my Mom is. She is a beautiful blend of nurturing and practical, always there to catch my tears or give me a swift kick in the pants...depending on the situation and how I'm responding to that situation. I am blessed to have her as an example to follow. And I am blessed to have her as my best friend. I'll love you forever, Mom.

 Sunday school teacher extraordinaire!

 For her 50th birthday, my Mom did barrel rolls and jackhammers in a local pilot's trick plane. Yeah, she's cool like that.

 My Mom parasailing in Mexico!

 She hasn't missed a birthday dinner yet!

 Mother of the groom!

 My best friend's mom is my mom's best friend. Neat, huh?

 Mom and Flipper. My Mom has the biggest heart for animals.

 My Mom has been "mom" to many a wayfaring stranger. John was the most recent in a long line of youngsters needing a place to hang their hat...be it for a day or a year. I hope to be as hospitable.

 A dazzling sense of humor!

 My Mom, the artist. She does good work. Seriously. You should buy some.

 My Mom and I have colored in this giant coloring book EVERY Christmas since I was about eight. We finished our last picture last Christmas. What a sweet tradition!

"The whole fam damily."

I'll love you forever, Mom!

There in the spring

Oh, the lure of the open road.
I feel it every spring.
And summer.
And fall.
And winter.

But mostly in the spring.

It is the giddy flip of my stomach when I wake to see a blue sky,
and it is the shake of my fist at the door to the office, the chair at my desk,
the dazed and unblinking stare of my computer screen.

I don't want to be here. Not in the spring.

I want to be there.

Where, there? you ask.

Just...
there...

in that magical unknown,
that place, that state
of being

anywhere else,
somewhere else,

on the open road where there is nothing, save God,
and a stupid giddy grin that is the truest me I know.