James & Lysander Joslin :: 1844 Tax Duplicate

The 1844 Tax Duplicate for Whitley County, Indiana is located at the County Archives. There was no date written in the book, just the year 1844 written on the inside front cover. The Genealogical Society of Whitley County published a facsimile of the Duplicate in October .., which includes copies of the pages of the original text as well as an index of all names listed therein.

The names were listed in semi-alphabetical order by township, for example, all the surnames beginning with "J" were together for that township but not in alphabetical sequence. There were no page numbers though page numbers were assigned when the GSWC published their book. In that publication, Lysander and James are listed on pages 39 and 40.

=+==+==+=

No 3 Troy Township Continued

Lysander Joslin, Number 132, No Poll, SE NW, Section 25, Township 32, Range 9, 40 acres, land valued at $100, improvements valued at $15, value of land and improvements $115

Note: Lysander was born in May 1825 and would have turned 19 years old in 1844. Therefore he was too young to vote, thus no poll tax for him.

James Joslin, Number 133, 1 Poll, NE NW, Section 25, Township 32, Range 9, 40 acres, land valued at $100, improvements valued at $40, value of land and improvements $140

Lysander has Personal Property valued at $35, total value of taxables $150, taxes were: state 31 cents, county 67 cents, road 50 cents, total am't of Taxes $1.48, Remarks: Paid

On the line with James' name, there is a notation written in the first three columns that looks like Rate (or Late) paid 50 but I'm not sure. James has Personal Property valued at $60, total value of taxables $200, taxes were: state 42 cents, county $1.30, road 50 cents, total am't of Taxes $2.72, Remarks: D $2.22 [Delinquent ?]

ATV Time

We took the ATV's out the other day after a rain, to see how bad a shape the roads were in. Nothing to bad but a few were washed out some.

To Know a Mountain

The mountain is impossible to ignore. I see it from my window first thing in the morning and last thing before the light fades - nearly at midnight on a summer's night. I see it when I ride to and from town, and when I ride in loops around the countryside. No matter where I go and what I do, the mountain is always there, an enormous living, breathing thing, looming over the landscape.





At 1,263 feet, Binevenagh (pronounced "be-NEvna") is actually quite small. But it cuts a dashing figure on the Limavady landscape. It stands alone, outlined crisply against the ever-changing sky. Seen from the seashore, it resembles a crumpled old hat (or the snake that ate the elephant drawing from the Little Prince). From other vantage points, a jagged edge protrudes. Steep on all sides, it is topped with a large lumpy plateau, covered with forests and meadows.





Gazing at the mountain everywhere I went, all I could think of was climbing it. I hesitated at first. It felt so special I did not want to rush it. But finally one morning I woke up and knew it was time. The atmosphere was festive.





The road up Binevenagh starts directly from the house. But a friend suggested I take a detour - swinging around the coast, then turning onto another road to give myself a bit of a warmup before the climb. "Even with that frying pan of yours, you'll need it!" He was referring to the 11-36t cassette my bike was decorated with.





The ascent is relatively short and steep: 1,045 feet of climbing over 3.5miles. It is continuous climbing, much of it at a 10%+ grade, the road steepening, letting up, then steepening again. Right off the bat, the pitch was tough. I went at a good rhythm, but after a mile stopped to take a breather at a crossroads. Most of the mountain continued to tower ahead; I had hardly chipped away at it.





But when I turned around, the evidence of the mile I'd already done was in plain sight: A sharp dip, and the hills of Donegal spread out behind a shimmering sliver of water. Still narrow from this vantage point, the Lough Foyle is a saltwater inlet that separates the western part of Northern Ireland from the northwestern tip of the Republic. The border between the two nations is rather picturesque here. Climbing Binevenagh, the view becomes more breathtaking with each push of the pedals. And the sheep become more frequent.





How to describe this climb... The pitch was doable in my low gears. But the continuous steep grade made it tiring. I switched between my 3-4 lowest cogs and stood up occasionally (something I've finally learned to do), and tried not to get overwhelmed. I ignored my legs and focused on the scenery, aiming my eye at the top.As I kept going, the sheep were like loyal spectators. They looked at me with sympathy, understanding, encouragement. I was not miserable on the climb; it was a peaceful and oddly calming experience.






For some time, the sheep were my only company. Until, out of nowhere, a man in blue pulled up next to me. Even as I spotted him in my peripheral vision, I knew he was a Cyclist. Slender and agile, he moved so fluidly, it looked like liquid pouring uphill. Riding next to me, he matched my pace effortlessly as we talked. He lived nearby and loved to train on this mountain. He was an endurance cyclist, and rode in the Race Across America last year. Before we parted ways at the top, he introduced himself: Joe Barr.




I watched him disappear down the other side of the mountain, as beautifully as he climbed. Later I learned he was a retired Irish pro-racer.







The top of Binevenagh... The plateau covers a large area, and the highest point is somewhat uneventful. A painted bridge over a stream, a scraggly meadow with Queen Anne's Lace and buttercups, a forest in the background, and lots of sky with very distant views of water. From here on, there are several options for descending. One starts right away and is fairly steep and twisty, consistently throughout. Another is further down the plateau. It is longer and gentler most of the way, until it ends in a sudden, sharply winding vertical drop to the sea at the very end.






To start with I chose the first descent. The steep, narrow, winding road pushed my comfort zone. I was in control around the bends, but had to work on myself to keep calm. I did breathing exercises to keep from shaking and destabilising the bike. Descending on the left side of the road felt intuitive; my brain had already switched over.





This descent was a heavily shaded one, winding its way through a forest.







But after every bend, a view opened up, each more beautiful than the next. If it is possible to feel both cautious and relaxed at the same time, that is how descending this road felt.






Cars passed me up the road occasionally, the drivers waving, friendly - something I am still getting used to here. Toward the bottom, one driver was trying to communicate something urgently, which I did not understand - until I saw a row of pointy brown ears up ahead. Quickly I stopped, dismounted and clambered up the side of the road to let the herd of cows pass.






The final winding stretch dumped me onto the coastal road unceremoniously.Feeling sad it was over, I repeated the loop, then crawled home, spent and drunk on mountain air.






Several days later, I climbed Binevenagh again to try one of the other descents. The road along the plateau offered wide open views of both the Lough Foyle and the North Atlantic.






I rode through a dreamscape of hot-pink sheep grazing upon neon green grass, as the sun came out over the hills of Donegal.






At the far end of the plateau stood "the boat man," as the locals refer to him. He isManannán mac Lir, a god of the sea - a new statue the local council has erected just in the past week. Facing Magilligan Point (entrance to the Lough Foyle on the Northern Ireland side) - the mythical wood-carved figure spreads his arms over land and water of the bordering nations.






Standing there, I remembered being at Magilligan Point, at the ground level, and looking up at the mountain from there. Some form of symmetry had been achieved.






The descent was long, tame and idyllic, rolling through farmlands. But at the end came the stretch I had been warned about: This section winds tightly, down a steep grade.I was advised to either walk or ride the brakes once I saw the crumbling rocks sign.Over the course of two loops, I tried both methods. Riding slowly with good brakes is actually a bit easier than walking the bike.





After some S-bends, another sharp bend follows before a vertical drop onto the main road across from the water.





The spot is Downhill - defined by the magnificent view of the Mussenden Temple - a round structure at the edge of a cliff, which a nobleman had built for his niece... with whom he may or may not have had an affair with. The niece died before the temple was finished, infusing the story with an extra air of tragic poeticism.






I looked back at the road I had come down. I was not as shaken as I thought I'd be by the descent. But with the rush and the beauty of it over, I felt lost - so much emotion can build up along these stretches, and it has nowhere to go. Maybe that is why the cliffs looked especially beautiful in the evening light. And maybe that is why I put all my remaining energy into the 10 miles home along the flat coastal road. Big ring, small cog, setting sun, burning legs, cold air, sprays of water, and Binevenagh towering over it all. Turning the pedals madly as I raced home, I already longed to be up there again.

Weeping Cherry Tree

This is my little weeping ornimental cherry tree, (no fruit) that keeps trying to die each year but struggles on and has nice blossoms this year.

Church Balloon

Jemez Springs, New Mexico

I took some photos of the village of Jemez Springs the other day. I keep meaning to stop and take a group of photos of this quaint little town. It is something I'll have to come by my self to do as hubby doesn't seem interested. The one photo here is of the steeple of the Catholic church that is in use there now. Jemez Springs Momument is located in the town and the ruins of the old mission chuch from about 300 years ago are still there. I need to visit there again and take some photos of it, too. I have photos from when I used a 35 mm camera but no digital photos. The other photo in this posting is of the main business section of town. The saloon is on one side, a gift shop on the other side from it. The Bath House which is a true hot springs is also to the left side but hid from view. The police station is just down the street in the photo.

Joe Tasker and Dick Renshaw English Alpinists?

Much of the ideas you read here frommy own climbing came early on as I and my partners weretesting our own limits as young men. The climbs I aspired to then are still the climbs I aspire to do now.Ice and mixed climbs generally nothigher than 6000m. More typically less,at around4500m. That covers most of the alpine faces in Alaska, theCanadian Rockies and the Alps.



Some how I am not surprised that the same discussions ingear choiceswe had in the'70s are the same discussions we are having today. Frozen feet and frost bite in single boots have brought us the warmestdouble boots ever made. But may be not the best double boots ever made. High tech clothing, insulation and fabrics are exceptional now . But the designs and products you can buy off the shelf may not be the best designs for climbing. Designs intentionally must do multi tasking as ski, snowboarding and climbing clothing."Climbing designs" being the last in line generally as the smallest consumer group.

Long gone are the days when most serious climbers owned a sewing machine and actually knew how to use it!



Tasker and Renshaw did a number of first British and first British winter ascents in the Alps from the mid '70s on. Including a winter ascent of the Eiger in 1975. There were others that were just asimpressive at the time asthe Eiger. Both went on to succeed on bigger climbs. The climbs are the same.Our gear has gotten better. I would be hard pressed to say we as climbers have gotten better. Certainly our imaginations have grownas have our capabilities.



A lot has changed in alpine climbing over the last 35 years. Including the weather. It is generally warmer. But much of the basic challenge has stayed the same as well, which is why winter alpine climbingstill interests me..



This article is from the August/September 1975issue of MOUNTAIN LIFE.







Jonathon Griffith photo @ http://www.alpineexposures.com/



One Man's Gear

by Joe Tasker (1948-1982)





"Are you taking your long-johns?"



The author of the "Wall in Winter", an account of his seven-day epic on the Eigerwand with Dick Renshaw, featured in MOUNTAIN LIFE 20, will need no introduction to readers. Here Joe Tasker presents his own personal likes and dislikes in Alpine equipment.



Even after years of practice I still find that before an Alpine route the same questions about clothing and equipment get asked: 'Are you taking your "long-johns"?'



'No, I've got my overtrousers. They'll do just as well. How many jerseys have you got?'



'Just one spare.'



And so it goes on, the ceaseless evaluation of weight against eventuality; the number of krabs and pegs estimated in accordance with the difficulty of the climb and then whittled down to a manageable load. Each time it all needs rethinking and there is no guarantee that one has chosen the right combination and amount of clothing and equipment until one is back safely off the mountain. But some things can be seen to be more useful and better suited to Alpine climbing than items of clothing and equipment currently in use. One of the most awkward pieces of clothing that many people wear are those much praised thick, woollen breeches [I think Americans call them knickers]. They are meant to be warm even when wet, but in practice they tend to be too warm and uncomfortable when it is hot, and when it is cold the snow sticks to the wool, melts from the body warmth and freezes into an icy armour-plating, stiff to walk or move in and storing up moisture to melt later in the warmer surroundings of a hut or bivouac. Much more sensible - but much more expensive and not readily available - is a salopette. This is a chest-high trouser with sewn-in braces; for climbing the leg of the salopette ends low down on the calf and for skiing it is ankle-length. The design is excellent; the height of the 'waist' virtually eliminates the cold spots which can develop there from jersey and shirt getting separated from breeches. The length of the leg cuts out the cold spot below the knee where gaiters and breeches often part. On top of that the material dries readily if it does get damp and consequently does not freeze solid. The material is a stretch fabric, not completely waterproof but, more importantly, snow does not adhere to it. Skiers have been used to much more sensible material for dealing with snow for years but I wouldn't recommend rushing out and buying a climbing salopette derived from the ski salopette, even if you can find any on sale. They were retailing last year in Chamonix at £27 per pair!



As with so many articles of clothing the salopette can be readily made from materials obtainable in many big stores or by mail order. It only requires a bit of patience and a few hours with a sewing machine.



It is difficult, however, to compromise on footwear. Even for summer climbing in the Alps double boots seem to be the best thing. This may simply be a reflection of the sort of climbs that Dick Renshaw and myself have been doing over the last few years, but we have done some hard rock routes in 'doubles' too - such as the Walker Spur and the Bonatti/Gobbi route on the Eckpfeiler. At first it wasn't through choice that we climbed such routes in doubles but because they were the only boots we had. Although such routes were quite trying in doubles the boots came into their own on mixed climbs. We rarely experienced cold feet on stances and once survived a whole night on the Dent Blanche North Face standing up on a step cut in the ice, unable even to take our crampons off, never mind slacken our boots (as the books advise). Although we had to wiggle our toes to make sure they were still there we never had the slightest trace of frost-bite afterwards.

Except for the Galibier Hivernales, most double boots seem similar in their warmth-retaining properties and clumsiness; my own are Harlin Leroux, which don't seem to be made anymore. There isn't a lot one can say about krabs, nuts, slings and pegs, except that we British climbers seem to take far too many. Perhaps this is due to the habit of taking meticulous care to protect pitches on a British climb - a precaution which is out of place in the Alps, where protection is usually more straightforward and must be more rapidly arranged. Some of the 'super-strong' krabs on the market today seem to be too fat for ease of manipulation in awkwardly-placed pegs or where one wants to slip a piece of line or tape through the eye of the peg. I do not really think that there is any one set of equipment that is the answer; it depends on what you grow accustomed to. Of the various models of curved pick axes available Dick and I have been using Chouinard axes and hammers. At the time we got them there were few others available. In summer the combination of axe and hammer curved picking' seemed to work well, though Dick was justifiably apprehensive of his axe after the tip broke off on a winter climb in Scotland - an eventuality one dare not contemplate on a big ice route like the North Face of the Droites. When the ice is very hard, though, as it can be in winter, the Chouinard hammer is very unsatisfactory - the shaft being too short. This causes poor purchase in the ice due to the limited arc of swing and also damages the knuckles, even through Dachstein mitts. In very hard ice we were often making a Terrordactyl-type insertion movement, and that sort of axe/hammer might be more efficient on certain ground - but against that would have to be weighed its disadvantages on more general ground.



On the question of crampons I am undecided. I climbed a lot in a pair of Salewa adjustables which someone described as 'bent tin' and another lad, whose gear hadn't arrived in Chamonix, declined my offer to loan them to him until I said that they had taken me that year - amongst other climbs - up the North Face of the Eiger, Dent Blanche and Eckpfeiler. I didn't see them again for another six months and was consequently forced to buy another pair. I chose the Chouinards but didn't find myself on really difficult ground in them until a year later. Meanwhile Dick had used his on various hard climbs and was visibly startled one day on the camp-site when doing the ritual sharpening of the points to find fracture lines across both crampons; they subsequently came apart in his hands. A couple of weeks beforehand he had been on the North Face of the Col de Peuterey. They fractures must have occurred then.



It constantly surprises me to think of how much crampons do put up with and that the front points don't just buckle up.



As far as performance goes the 'bent tin' Salewa crampons seemed perfectly satisfactory, but I did feel that Dick had the advantage over me on the North Face of the Eckpfeiler, when we were climbing very steep ice for about 1500 feet and he was wearing the Chouinards. They do give very good support for front-pointing but after one or two unnerving moments on difficult mixed ground I've never really felt at home in Chouinard crampons where there is rock around. The more flexible crampon seems to mould itself to the contours of the rock and hold better.



The sharpening of crampon points is overdone in the Alps. When you think of how much rough ground you often cover before meeting the real difficulties of a climb it is quite clear that all the effort put into sharpening them - and quite a bit of steel - is lost. I felt the points of my crampons at the foot of the Eckpfeiler; they had been razor-sharp to start with but were more blunt than they had ever been - and that was just with the descent from the Trident bivouac hut, and Col Moore! I don't think the same holds true for axe and hammer.



The drive-in/screw-out ice screw is the most useful ice peg around. The oddly-shaped Salewa-type, however, tends to hold too well in very hard ice. It can take far too long to extract and precious time is wasted hacking it free from the ice or riskingmaking it unusable by warping or even snapping it while it is still tight. A much more manageable drive-in/screw-out is the Simond-type,which has a round, slightly tapering shaft with a fine thread. It seems to hold well and is extracted with a minimum of effort. However, in some ice the Salewa does hold better.



Finally a word about food. Sometimes our food seems to weigh a bit heavy but at least we know that what we have got is nourishing. Over several seasons we have evolved a bivouac menu that has nothing to do with dehydrated foods and soups - which seem to be the standby for many teams. Quite apart from any considerations as to whether there is actually any food value in the dehdrated stuff, it takes too much heating and cooking.



For soup we take bouillon cubes - a continental equivalent of Oxo - in various flavours. This is a meat extract, very tasty, and replaces a lot of the salt lost in the day's exertions. It only needs to be put into hot water and it's ready.Into that you can put polenta, a ground corn, easily obtainable abroad and far more nutritious than powdered potato (Hiebeler survived several days in winter living solely on heated-up polenta. You can also buy fairly cheaply big, fatty lumps of meat to cut up into the bouillon. This makes the 'soup' into a tasty concoction of real value.



These comments are not meant to be definitive but might suggest new possibilities and improvements. The End!





More here on Taker and Renshaw:



http://reference.findtarget.com/search/Joe%20Tasker/



http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joe_Tasker



http://cc.bingj.com/cache.aspx?q=dick+renshaw&d=5037361146364964&mkt=en-US&setlang=en-US&w=54fd9b70,895d08b0



I'd like to thank IAN PARSONS for tracking down this article for me and making the effort to email it from England to the far side of the USA. The effort is much appreciated!

Hovenweep National Monument

In the southeast corner of Utah and southwest corner of Colorado lie the ruins of several prehistoric, Puebloan-era villages in a place called Hovenweep. It is not far from the Four Corners Monument, which is the only place in the United States where four states - Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado - come together and where a person can be in four states at the same time. But you can't do that until July because it is closed for renovation!

In the early evening light at Hovenweep, the structures within the canyon were not easily seen. Those on the rim of the canyon took on an other-worldly aura, especially when viewed in the last rays of the setting sun. Still, I stood looking in awe of those who had built them and looked forward to tomorrow when they could be seen better in the light of day!


Photographs taken on May 18, ...

Skipping School

As soon as the weather turns nice, John Payne, one of my local heroes and the prefect of discipline at the Duke Ellington School, is on the move. He does't just sit in his office- he goes out and tracks down his prey whether the errant students are in Georgetown or enjoying a park just down the street. A lot of people in my family have attended DC public schools including my parents, and during my son's tenure at Ellington,I noticed another theme running through our family: truancy.







First there's my mother and father- they met at Western High (now Duke Ellington) in the 1930s. My mother remembers skipping school to have picnics with my father. He had a a Model A Ford for a quick escape, and more importantly, two sandwiches in his bag because my Greek grandmother was sure he would starve while away at school all day.











For my oldest brother, Peter, skipping school in the 1950s meant he and his buddy Pete Stone would head for the movie theaters like the RKO, the Capitol and the Palace. Back then going to the movies also included not only a newsreel and a cartoon, but often a stage show, and my brother swears he once saw Peggy Lee.Unfortunately for my brother, our father's spies were everywhere, and he was caught more often than not, but despite the consequences, it was worth it to him.












My sister also remembers skipping school with Pete Stone, Wilson's expert truant at the time. This is what she remembers:



"Back in the day, skipping school was easy if you knew the right people. Pete was a senior, and I was a lowly freshman.He plotted with me one evening to go to Fletcher's Boat House, and the next day, hehandled the attendance records by commandeering the girl in charge. She erased my name and his from the absentee list. We then drove to the boat house, rented a canoe, and down the Potomac we went at lightning speed.




That should have been our first clue that things would end badly.



We spent the rest of the day trying to paddle back against the current. Finally, somewhere around the Tidal Basin, we were able to get the canoe out of the water. We carried the friggin' thing all the way back to Fletcher's. Returning home much later than usual andin agony with the aches of hauling a canoe over my head and a fresh sunburn, I now had to explain to the parents where I had been. I wasastonished whenthey accepted my tall tale about too much sun during the field hockey game, but I never risked skipping school again."

















Finally in more recent years, the very first time my daughter, Zoe skipped school at Wilson, she became a victim of Homeland Security. She and a friend had snuck out out, just for a quick run down the block to get a soda, but during her very brief absence the entire city went into lock down mode. (Remember the Bush Administration?) Getting out was easy, but to Zoe's horror, when she returned the doors were locked, and she couldn't get back in. That's when the truancy officers picked her up, took her downtown and made her call her parents. This cured her until senioritis set in, but I am happy to report that all of the truants in this story recieved their diplomas.

My Genea-Mecca Sojourn is Coming to an End

After six weeks in Salt Lake City, I'll be leaving Sunday morning. It has been a satisfying and frustrating experience. Although no breakthroughs have been made, more documents have been gathered that add to the understanding of some of the ancestors. Of course, some of those documents have generated more questions - a few which will likely never be answered. But that is the nature of genealogy and family history research, which is a seemingly never-ending obsession.



In addition to research at the library, I've also been working on cleaning up my Legacy database. It is a slow and tedious process but I'm starting to have a good feeling about it. There is still a lot to be done with it but there is light at the end of the tunnel. One of the benefits of this process is that some of the "holes" in my research have been identified and I was able to obtain a few of those missing documents here in Salt Lake City.



One of the highlights of my visit here was being able to spend some time with Denise Levenick, The Family Curator. Denise was here for five days, coming a few days prior to the Utah Genealogical Association's Spring Conference where she was the keynote speaker and gave several presentations. It was a very nice change of pace to have someone to bounce ideas off of and just talk about stuff.





One evening, A.C. Ivory joined us for dinner at The Garden restaurant on the 10th floor of the Joseph Smith Building. Lots of laughing and talking - and we also enjoyed the sunset over the valley!







What's up next?



The coast of California will be my next stop, for about a week of "just relaxing" then I'll be meeting up with some of my Joslin cousins in Missouri in mid-May. After that, I'll be returning to Indiana to "settle down" into a somewhat "normal" life - whatever that is!



G.R.I.P. is on the agenda in July. I'll be attending "Your Immigrant Ancestors’ Stories: Writing a Quality Narrative" with John Philip Colletta and Michael Hait and in August I'll be going to the FGS Conference in Fort Wayne. I'm looking forward to seeing some of genea-peeps again and soaking in some knowledge that will, hopefully, help with the research process.

In the beginning

I can't even remember the last time I was able to shoot a sunset... I've been missing sunsets lately because my work schedule has me working during the "magic hour" when the light does wonderous things. SO, here is a sunset image from late October, 2007. I like to call this image "In the beginning" because when I viewed it for the first time on the computer screen it had the feel of being prehistoric... harking back to the days of single-cell life forms... kind of a "dawn of creation" feel, if you will. I don't know if it's the color of the sky, or the rocks on the shoreline, or a combination of the two, but that's what I think of when I view the image.

In Print

I wanted to share that this Spring I have two pieces of writing coming out in print publications. An article on my impressions of a classic randonneuring bike will appear in the Spring issue of Bicycle Quarterly. And a reworked version of a post from last December, "Emotional Landscapes," has been included in Taking the Lane, Volume 6: Lines on the Map. If you are interested in reading these pieces and the excellent works alongside which they appear, both issues are now available to order.



Since the start of this blog I've been reluctant to commit my bicycle-related writing to print. I did not feel the writing here was good enough, and I also didn't think the style really flowed outside of the blog format. But working on the Bicycle Quarterly article and interacting with Jan Heine made me aware that I've accumulated material - stories, thoughts, ideas - that do not fit the blog format and would work better in print.



Posts like Emotional Landscapes and this earlier one about Vienna are examples of writing that really should have been longer and more nuanced, adapted for the blog only because I had no other outlet for it. Publishing a slightly altered version of the former in Taking the Lane allowed me to test the waters as to whether I felt comfortable turning non-committal blog snippets into real pieces of writing.



I think that one of my readers, who comments here as "Spindizzy" (aka Jon Gehman the rackmaker) is a genius writer who owes it to the world to write a book about life and bicycles. His comments alone are literature as far as I am concerned. I've also been inspired by the writing of Tim Krabbé, Grant Petersen and Bill Strickland (in a way I see the latter two as flip sides of the same coin), and reading their stuff has made me realise that distinguishing "bicycle writing" from "literature" is silly and a defense mechanism. I've written stuff that has been published before. But with this blog I wanted to de-stress and take the pressure off with what I initially thought was a lighthearted topic. Imagine my surprise.



TheSpring issue of Bicycle Quarterly and Taking the Lane, Volume 6 are now available, and those who order should receive theirs some time in April. I derive no financial benefit from the sales of either, but invite you to support these small, independent publications.

Rock Bear

Every time I see this rock out in this meadow I think it looks like a large bear standing on it's hind legs scratching its back against the other rocks. You can see the ear at the highest point, then the head and nose, from legs with paws dangling, belly and back legs. Or is it just my excessive imaganation?