Actually, dear worst-reader, it’s not quite 24 hours. The snow-pic I took yesterday afternoon. The rain pic I took before noon today. Yesterday’s snow storm was a sight to see–if you live in this region of wet-weather-torn Germania. It will snow every once-a-once here and the snow will be gone by the next day, but what makes this different is the amount of snow that fell yesterday. Within half a day there was at least six inches of snow in front my abode. Needless to say it was a wet journey getting to the same spot to take the same picture for comparison. Talk about a soaked area. It was like walking on water.
In my previous post, I wanted to put up these pics. But then I started typing and, well, you know how that batshit show ends up. Still. Here is potentially the post I would have uploaded regarding roadkill, my youthful confusion between Mighty Mouse and Mickey Mouse and a dead rabbit that was obviously mauled by dog near where I live. Poor Bugs Bunny, eh.
According to our friendly neighbourhood park ranger, this is not Bambi (vid above). I mean, we thought we were walking next to Bambi. She’s got spots on her back n’all. But according to Ranger Billy-Bob-Junior she ain’t even a “deer”. She’s an elk. Of course, I don’t really care. I was so pissed that we had to–in the land of free to be stupid–pay $20 dollars to enter a national park so that we could go for a walk. The good news is the ticket we bought works in the northern park of the park, too, which we plan on visiting before we end this lovely misconstrued #americant visit. Considering what #americant pays for wars, for stupid white people doing the easy wrong instead of the difficult right, etc., etc., to charge $20 for something that should be paid for by tax dollars is really, really f’d up. But what the hell am I saying? This is a country that has no idear why/how/who it pays taxes to/for/what. Need I worst-remind: The land of free to be stupid–where money is for maintaining the poor, artificially propping up inheritors of century old wealth and letting the inept middle classes think they too can someday be part of it all.
Oh. Before I forget. The pine trees on Assateague Island have some kind of bug eating them from the inside-out (see pic below). This has devastated the forest there. We stopped one journeyman, an elderly Dame, and inquired about the devastation. Her faced turned sad as she explained the Southern Pine Beetle to us. To prevent a tangent into her life story we weren’t ready to listen to, I interrupted her and blurted out the following question:
Worstwriter: Is this a climate change thing?
Without getting into any reality that is climate change, here is the crux of her response:
Nice Old Dame On A Walk: Well, if you’re the type… and I am one… I think you can say that.
Indeed, #americant. If you’re the type… you too can have… a land of free to be stupid. Also, if you’re the type, you too can believe in virgin births, i.e. books written during the bronze age.
A pretty gruelling ride yesterday. It started with a train ride that took me and my electrified The Panzer to the badlands at the end of Wuppertal. (Btw, if you’ve never been to Wuppertal, you have to go. It’s worth it to go there and just take a ride on the Schwebebahn.) From there I planned to ride back the whole way to the Rhein and then D’dorf. I got started late after meeting with some folk and drinking a few. Since the sun is beyond it’s summer solstice, and it got away from me quicker than I expected, most of the ride was in the dark. And we’re not worst-riding (writing) about the dark on some paved roads. I was in the friggin woods most of the time. Thank goodness I’ve got some pretty decent lighting on The Panzer. Btw, the panzer is a Riese&Müller Charger GX Touring (what a mouthful, eh). Now. The distance I travelled wasn’t the farthest I’ve been. It was only about sixty and half kilometres. The challenge last night was something else. Most of the first half of the ride required some pretty serious uphill trekking, including having to get off the bike and push it, albeit with electric motor assist. Seriously. There were these tree roots covering one pathway and I thought I’d have to put that damn bike on my back to get it up (and that’s what she said, eh). The darkness that quickly overcame me didn’t help matters. Anyhow. See elevation and speed profile of pic above. Moving my well endowed, well-over 200lbs a$$ up a hill–see 10km mark in pic above–pretty much wiped an entire bar from my battery. I even had to use the walk-assist of the motor to get up some of the hills. Keep in mind, five bars indicate a full juiced battery. By the time I hit 25km two bars were gone. On flat-land, I can average 15-20km (on tour-assist mode) per bar. And so. In the middle of some serious darkness on a lonely road in the middle of nowhere, and only one bar of battery left, I finally changed batteries at 45km. I was pretty tired at that point, too. I rode around 35-40km through dense woods and trails, up and down lots of steep hills–and it was f’n fun! But this middle-aged fellow was pooped at 30km. Would I do it again? Damn straight. But I’d prefer to do it when there’s… let there be light.
Rant and ride on.
PS The speed profile is a bit whacky. I think the reason it has such a large blank space in it is because, while going down one hill, I exceeded normal bike speeds by whole bunch. Indeed. I clocked well over 60km/h on one down hill short trek. (Oh, it was light out, in Ronsdorf, when I did that.) Yea, baby.
Disclaimer. This post is somewhat NSFW. Good luck. §On account I’m so jealous that I couldn’t see the solar eclipse yesterday, here’s a pic I took two weeks ago while visiting the Ostsee. Sorry for the over-exposure. (That is over-exposure, right? I really know zilch about picture taking.) §I do recall seeing a solar eclipse in 1979, though. I even tried to catch its shadow on a paper plate but instead was distracted by a neighbourhood hottie. §She was riding around on her pink bike towing along her family poodle. Robyn was her name, I think. We were both in the same grade–eighth or ninth and since puberty barely shared a word with each other. She had really big hair and corresponding really big boobies. But not too big. Big boobs and hips. She was a show to watch/look at. I was terrified to talk to her. Indeed. §As the eclipse approached and everything began to darken Robyn stopped riding her bike, turned to me, and lost control. She stopped in the middle of a neighbours drive-way. Her dog ran away and within seconds was up the street and got hit by a speeding 1972 Impala. She dumped her bike in the driveway of Victor, the neighbourhood grouch. Victor proceeded to run over the bike while leaving his house, smashing it to pieces while singing “I’ve Gotta Be Me” as the celestial happening approached. §Robyn grabbed my hand and lead me off behind her house. We ran like a gazelle and a thick, beautiful cow. We even jumped over the fence guarding, surrounding her backyard. We went into the woods. §Only a few days before I had caught a whole bunch of frogs in the creek at that same place. A guy that lived in the houses on the other side of the woods told me that the frogs were gathering because they knew the eclipse was coming. If I didn’t do something they would all go crazy during the eclipse and annihilate each other in an orgy of self-destruction. So I gathered them up and put them in little containers. I would be doing them a favour, I thought. §Robyn pulled me behind a huge honey locust tree, the thorns of which I had removed recently because me and a friend wanted to build a tree-house in it. (Of course, if completed, we would have had the perfect view of Robyn’s bedroom window. But I digress.) §Robyn placed her mouth on mine and at the same time pulled my hand and held it over her left boob. I let her stick her tongue in my mouth and I focused on some tenderness, avoiding teeth–holding back my inexperienced tongue, feeling hers quiver and search. Under the veil of the woods and the disappearing act of the sun in the middle of the afternoon, I thought it was time to lose something. But I wasn’t ready to lose it. It just wasn’t possible under those circumstances. I realised it would take a life-time just to get underneath her shirt and bra. There are too many hindrances, I thought. Too many hindrances to this game. And. There was no place to lay down. There was nothing but old tree limbs, leaves, stumps, etc. Could we do it standing up? Of course not! Way too soon for that. Or? No. §First it’s time to finally learn the real purpose of a brassiere. It was a barrier, a guard-house, maybe even a trap–to the softness of a teat. A bra’s sole purpose is to hide and protect, to shield–it is not to support. But then she said, “if you can get underneath, go ‘head.” As I pushed on the metal support to get my fingers underneath, crickets started chirping–as they do at dusk. The birds stopped singing–as they do at night. And Freddy, a neighbours German Shepard, started barking. Freddy always barked at sunset. But it’s two-thirty in the afternoon. §We were let out of school early that day for the eclipse. I was doing my best to capture the sun and moon’s shadows on a paper plate that I was supposed to trace with a crayon and bring to school the next day. Primitive, elementary, but what the heck. #Americant was educating all of us to be geniuses now was it? Nomatter. Instead I was thinking about the paper-plate I stole while my mom wasn’t looking. Yes. I grew up in a household that counted the paper-plate supply. But I wasn’t going to get distracted by all that–the frogs were enough. §I was thinking about how Robyn was finding places on my face where she could make gentle smooches. She would circle my eyes with her lips and then move down the bridge of my nose. She whispered that she loved my flat nose and my big nostrils. She then touched her top lip to my bottom lip and grabbed the back of my head. She pulled me closer and closer and our skulls began to touch. She pulled back and then touched her bottom lip to my top lip, her top lip kissing the septum of my nose. She whispered, “how come you didn’t finish your tree-house?” Before I could answer I finally learned the method of the French Kiss. Placing the left side of my nose to the left side of her nose, my top lip gently met hers. Simultaneously we moved our lower lips lower to make room for the tip of our tongues. She moved her tongue more than I did. More experienced? I was focused on the electricity of her top lip. It felt similar to her under-boob. I had gotten the bra up above her nipple but was preoccupied with the milky flesh of her under-boob. I couldn’t find the gentlest part of my hand to caress it, though. The calluses of my palm must have scratched. Or it didn’t. She put her hand over mine and pulled my hand towards the whole of her boob. She crushed it as though massaging a very large itch. I squeezed with my finger tips, I could feel the weakness of the nail of my little finger gorging her boob. Then the first gasp came from her mouth, even while she tongued me. I could smell that she had milk and a banana recently, maybe even a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before that. Then I noticed an urge in me. I wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Was it coming from the sun–or the moon? No. It must be coming from both as we could still hear Victor, the grouchy neighbour singing I Gotta Be Me in the back ground of what we were doing in the oddity of new darkness behind Robyn’s house, beyond her yard’s fence, in the woods. §I pulled my mouth away from her lips but caressed the side of her face with the hand that had just left her boob. I sunk down low and placed my face on the roundness of her puffy areola. Immediately the areola recessed and her nipple grew ten fold (or the like). I fiddled with it with my tongue until I could coordinate with Robyn’s gasping. She placed gentle kisses on the top of my head, running her fingers through my hair. She then offered to help me finish the tree house–if I come and talk to her tomorrow. §Suddenly the darkness was gone. It all happened in the span of a life-time during two or three minutes. The crickets stopped chirping. The birds started singing. Freddy was again silent, probably snoring away his afternoon. Robyn pulled my head away, covered her beautiful, swollen left breast with the bra, pulled down her shirt and ran off. She repeated as she ran: finish the tree-house, finish the tree-house. I watched her milky cow leap over the fence of her backyard like a gazelle. I sat down at the base of the honey locust tree that had shielded these first moments of love from the sight of others. I then slowly pulled a thorn out of my ass. I realised that I completely wasted my time with those frogs. But I had something to talk to Robyn about–if next days come.