Costume Change-Up

Fall has pretty much come and gone.  As usual, it was short-lived, but enjoyable nonetheless.

I'll be blunt.  I'm looking for a place where it is fall like 80-100% of the year.  I want to experience a transitional season that doesn't transition.  Colorful leaves on the brink of death that don't die.  Hay rides and haunted houses, pumpkins that grow year 'round.  Point me to this place, and I'll be there.

While I continue to dream, reality calls to remind me that Halloween is in a couple days, and Jason's throwing a big party at his house this weekend.  Two weeks ago, I was in costume crunch mode and decided to clean shave for the first time in six years and go as Justin Bieber.  Definitely a hard right turn from my yearly ritual going as my alter-ego, "Kurt".

But, after more thought...I decided against the Biebs.  Sorry, Justin.  I've found something better.  Now, I'm just waiting for the rest of my new costume pieces to come in.

In the meantime, I got home from work to find Justin's kicks in a package on my doorstep.

Size 9.5. Just like Justin!

Unfortunately, I didn't get a picture of the white studded pyramid belt and Neff watch that got shipped to my work.  I think the Bieber wig is due in tomorrow : /

Fall Riding

The final month of mud race for the year was held on Sunday morning in Ohiopyle.  We had ridden our bicycles to the same race last year and had fun, so a couple months ago, decided we would do so again.

Saturday morning, our trip began.  Five of us met in the city and before departing, ate lots and lots of tasty food and even got some extra breakfast to go.

The day was super beautiful and the leaves still vibrant, hanging on to a few more weeks of life.  As the mileposts rolled by, we'd fill ourselves with the fall air and take in all the season had left to offer.  It's sad that hours go by just as fast on days like these.

Ryan, TJ & Ry

We got some rain as we passed through Connellsville.  About four miles later, it rained harder.  When we got to Ohiopyle, there wasn't a whole lot of arguing over the idea of getting a room.  We were sort-of happy to have gotten to use the rain gear we packed, since the tents and bags we carried so far along would go unused.

All cleaned up and extra hungry, we made our way to Falls City Pub behind Wilderness Voyageurs.  Just as crowded with racers as it was the year before, we were still able to snag a table pretty quick after walking in.  We ordered an abundance of food and were joined by our friend and Ohiopyle resident, Montana.  We ate a lot, drank a lot and talked a lot.  Before we knew it, we were the last ones there, so soon after, we called it a night and parted ways.

The next morning, our ride began with a climb up Sugarloaf in an effort to watch the race from a much more entertaining and down-hilly spot.  It didn't take too long to finish the climb up, but it was definitely consuming in some sections trying to keep the weight of full panniers in motion.

TJ volunteered to be a course marshal.  We volunteered to be the ones to convince racers to avoid the go-around and instead, take the more difficult line.  We were successful.

A local laughing heartily.  TJ looking stoic.

We watched many of our friends race through, cheering them all along the way.  Satisfied with our efforts, we descended back to town and caught up with all those who had already crossed the finish line.

We didn't depart Ohiopyle until after 1:00 in the afternoon, so we knew we'd be cutting it a little close on daylight hours.  The day was just as nice as it was on Saturday, and despite being rushed, we were still able to enjoy it.

In the end, maybe the hours did slow down for us just a bit, as we were happy to have had some time to spare.

Seven Minutes on a Tuesday Morning

"Hey!"
 
It's 8:30 on Tuesday morning, and I'm walking back up to the front of the building.  My step seems a little off...must not be fully awake, yet.  Down the long, straight walkway...

"Jer!"

I hear some scampering and clanking behind me.  As I begin to turn around, anticipation overcomes me.  Thoughts start racing.  I know it's Dan behind me, and I know he's pushing a dolly.  The clanking gets louder, and I realize it's not just the dolly.  The decaffeinated gears starting to turn in my head are adding to the noise...

"Ho!"

What could he need?  Did something get messed up?  My morning had been going so well, too.  The only snafu was forgetting my vanilla Nugo bar, which has become my staple mid-morning second breakfast.  On days when I only eat some granola or cereal before I leave, the Nugo is necessary.  Necessary like seeing Return of the King, after watching Fellowship and Two Towers.  This morning, I made an omelet with avocado and zucchini.  Nugo trumped.  Necessity non-existent.  Back to the Future: Part III status.

"Whoa, whoa!"  Dan stops a couple feet from me.  The dolly keeps sliding, grinding to a quick halt on the concrete floor.  He's all out of breath, and I'm thinking he may just be the first api employee to break into four-minute mile territory.  Or, even seven.  His legs are all jittery.  "You gotta take a look at this!".  Stacked on the dolly are a bunch of white boxes with unfamiliar labeling.  They all say "Baby Powder" on the side.  His head's spinning around.  I'm still puzzled.

After a few more deep breaths, he explains that they are refills for the auto air-freshening units on the bathroom walls.  The things that go "hisssss" every two minutes and never fail to make you ask yourself, "What was that?", like you've never heard it before.  Restaurants stopped putting them near sinks, because 80% of the time you'd walk in, you'd see someone between the ages of seven and thirty-five standing on the counter spraying themselves in the face, so they could smell like pineapples or something.  To their credit, it's probably more fun than gorging yourself on all-you-can-eat breadsticks.  You know, the ones that taste terrible.

Dan begins to point out the unobvious.  Our normal supply of baby powder-scented aerosols has been infiltrated by a new, unfamiliar scent: "Super Dooper".  I am now awake.  The name of this chemical scent is so non-descriptive.  My interest is piqued.  Dan, thinking I may want to have the box returned, looks a little super doopered himself when I tell him to keep it and get it into rotation immediately.  I want to know what this stuff smells like.

Never being one to wait patiently for an outcome, I go back to my desk and immediately start Googling "super dooper".  It's like reading the plot of a film on wikipedia, while at the theater.  The previews haven't even started, yet.  I know the winner of The Hunger Games, and that new aerosol is still in the box.

Results: inconclusive.  All over the board.  It's either going to smell like potpourri or soy.  Maybe Dr. Suess.  Chances are likely it'll smell more like baby powder than the real "baby powder".

Unsatisfied and knowing I'll have to wait a few more days, I close Google and stretch my arms.  It's 8:37.  Time to carpe diem.

Back to Life.

Last fall I rode my bicycle to my late grandparent's home.  I hadn't been there in years, and sadly, no one else had been either.  Unfortunately, the house was essentially abandoned after my grandma passed.  Dilapidated.  Run-down.  Overgrown.  Sad.

Doors locked, I was stuck outside.  I would later find that even with a key, the front door would require a considerable amount of effort to open.  The seasons had taken their toll, and the consistent expanding and contracting essentially warped the door into becoming one with the wall.

Making my way behind the house, everything was so small.  Playing around as a kid - picking chestnuts, climbing trees, throwing apples at my brothers, and burning an endless amount of childhood energy, all the while seeing my grandfather sitting on the patio from so far away - it was simply vast and unexplorable.  Now, nothing.

In the distance was a semi-collapsed chicken coop.  Built on a small hillside, it sat in the shade of the forest behind it.  It was faded blue, and nature wanted it.  I've only known it to be a shelter for miscellaneous accumulations, and I wanted to see what it still held.

The steps leading to the door were long-ago rotted away and what wood remained was halfway buried in the grassy dirt.  Climbing past that mess brought me inside, where I encountered a tetanus-inducing jungle.  Brackets, wire fencing, nails - anything and everything farm and garden related - all rusted out and weathered.  Tools once used for hours a day, now lifeless.

Treading lightly around the inside, I managed to find two Schwinn's along the back wall.  Surprisingly, both were in pretty decent condition.  The tires were dry-rotted somewhat, and there was some surface rust here and there, but compared to everything else in the vicinity they weren't too shabby.

My Aunt Patty's sweet ride.

I wanted the bicycles, but there was no way I was going to be able to get them home.  Instead, my eyes locked onto another forgotten treasure.

Rusted, pitted and full of potential.

I exited the chicken coop as carefully as I entered, and was very much excited to have a memento of the long trip down.  This would be the second cast-iron skillet that I've rescued by bike - The first being a 9" Griswold in Rockwood, PA.  I know.  Weird.

Halfway home.

I finally got around to restoring this little guy a couple weeks ago.  I used a drill and wire wheel to remove the years of heavy oxidation.  The deeper pits would have to remain, but ten minutes of work went a long way.

The next step was tossing it in the oven and turning the self-cleaning cycle on for five hours.  Anything left on it would be reduced to ash.  My other cast-iron needed some love, so it got thrown in the natural gas-fueled inferno as well.

Bare.

Big brother got naked, too.

Once cooled, they were both coated with oil and put back in the oven.  Two hours at 250 degrees seems to be just enough heat to open the pores in the metal to soak it all in.  Another hour at 375 to finish it up.

Edit!  Because one person asked, and that seems to be enough demand to warrant more info...

I used flaxseed oil to season these, and pretty much followed all the steps from this cast iron genius, here:  http://sherylcanter.com/wordpress/2010/01/a-science-based-technique-for-seasoning-cast-iron/

The only difference between her process and what I did was the temperature and duration of seasoning.  Once the oil is soaked into the skillet, the goal is to pretty much get it up past it's smoke point.  The smoke point for flaxseed oil is pretty low at around 225 degrees.  Leaving the oven temperature at 250 for a couple hours gets it close.  The metal temperature is still about 200 degrees at this point.  Turning it up to 375 for an hour gets it where it needs to be.  I did this five times.  So, time consuming, but worth it.