To clean, some would say fling, or not to clean that is the question. House guests are expected this coming week. This is a good reason to clean. We want to do a big bicycle ride on Sunday. This is a good reason not to do a big ride today and to spend the day cleaning. Reason schmeason, it is a nice sunny day. Throw caution to the wind. I say let’s ride!
Little Flower, our parish church had its annual parade. I heard the sirens first. They kept getting closer. I know what that usually means, but today was different. The emergency vehicles were leading the parade. Following them were the parochial school kids. Successors to those Catholic school kids that use to beat up Danny at the bus stop and steal his lunch money. I don’t believe that these cute kids could ever be guilty of such school-yard thuggery. [Fact check, smack stack, you can check this all you want, Anne.]
We launched towards Ryan Hummert Park. Ethan, the neighbor kid, was playing little league baseball there. We arrived too late to catch his game, but caught their post-game revelry. They won and Ethan had gotten two hits and then scored two runs. We continued on our way. We headed towards Webster, taking the Deer Creek bike path. We continued along to Kirkwood.
There are mansions there whose lot’s acreage rivals our twenty-some household block. These single family abode’s floor space also rivals the block’s total square footage. Then there is the lawn art. The most outrageous example has a splayed eagle descending to clasp its prey, a centerpiece of their circular drive.
We picked up Grant’s Trail and rode it to its terminus. There were no Clydesdales to be seen. We started north on Morganford, but bailed to the River Des Peres bike path. We were only on that path for a bit, when we switched to the Christy Greenway. We wound our way north towards Tower Grove, following Bike Saint Louis signs. We went past Bevo, thought we were lost a couple of times, but really weren’t. We rejoined Morganford near its northern terminus and had lunch at the Tin Can.
The Tin Can is a tavern-grill that we hadn’t visited yet and had plenty of outdoor seating. It also had a drunk that the bartender had to call a cab for at three in the afternoon. It derives its name from the 91 beer cans that decorate its walls. It was hot sitting outside, even though we were in the shade. Checking the iPhone’s radar scope, it looked like trouble was brewing.
We dawdled through lunch and then launched towards darkening skies. It started spitting between Tower Grove and Forest Park. We made it to the park, declined the easy safe haven of the Science Center and struck out towards home. By the time that we were approaching the visitor’s center it became obvious that we needed to seek shelter. In our race for shelter, the rain won and we came in second. You know what they say about second place. One of the MRH principals was there too, so Anne socialized, while I coughed up cottonwood seed. The rain relented and we made it home. We got 34 miles.
Round Two: I am writing this post from the basement, because we are under a tornado warning. Golf ball sized hail has fallen. I hope my Prius is OK. … It is.
You didn’t at least clean the basement while you were down there?
Nope, didn’t even think of doing that, or cleaning and lubing the bike chains either. Mark took the laptop, and I grabbed the crossword puzzle and a flashlight. We didn’t lose power.
Flinging is *related* to cleaning but they aren’t exactly the same thing. One of the [many] reasons for flinging is to make *cleaning* a lot easier to do, i.e., I don’t really mind cleaning, what I hate is having to move *stuff* around so I can clean things. 🙂
So, flinging is to cleaning, as death is to taxes? When you fling you are forever done, but taxes you pay every year. It would be nice, to avoid the whole lot.
I have a feeling that flinging doesn’t go away either. But I am looking forward to simplifying my life.