they be stealin'

This morning I had a small, so I thought, unopened container of raspberry yogurt I got from the hotel continental breakfast. I put it in my plastic ziploc bag full of the small bottles of shampoo, conditioner, mouthwash, etc. for airport security. But they really stuck to their guns (or whatever compliance-promoting / protective devices they have) about the 3.4 ounces rule. The lady said, "Oh...I'll have to take your yogurt. It's more than 3.4 ounces. Would you like to go back so you can eat it?" (I thought, I know you're doing the right thing by offering me that choice, and it's clever psychologically as well as less illegal to offer a silly choice that preserves someone's illusion of personal property rights, than to confiscate pocketknife keyrings and baby bottles and yogurt out of hand, but NO, I WOULD NOT rather take off my shoes and empty out my pockets and unpack my laptop and remember not to put it in the same bin as the case, after adequately stowing those items again so I can leave the security area, just so I can eat this 4 ounces of yogurt.) I said, "I can't eat it right now?" (in the presence of these witnesses and all here assembled) and she said "No, afraid not." I had a spoon and everything, I could have stood aside and gobbled it right up in probably less than thirty seconds.

I wonder what would have happened if I'd said, 'Okay, I'll go back,' but then, upon accepting the container of yogurt, I'd suddenly peeled back the top and started eating it right there by the x-ray conveyor belt. Would I have been detained, or cited, or forbidden to board a plane? Or perhaps I'd never have had that option because she would have walked the yogurt outside the security area before returning it to me, as there is protocol for this kind of thing, these scenarios with yogurt.

Powered by pretzels

Yogurt pretzels, that is. By Sunday afternoon the remaining handful had melted and re-congealed together in a big crunchy ball (imagine this picture without the empty spaces), having been both in the truck for awhile in the sunshine, and in the back pocket of my bike jersey. I think they were trying to evolve into a new snack.

I found this yogurt pretzel image online and I'm a little disturbed by it, actually. The pretzels look unhappy. They remind me of the Edvard Munch painting, or that silly horror flick of the same name (only ever saw the first one), or of the Stay-Puff'd Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters. My pretzels had a less haunted look (at least before they melted).

I am sore in various places, but it's appropriate since I rode a total of 110 miles on Saturday and Sunday, climbing many a hill on the way. Both rides, Winters on Saturday and Sonoma County on Sunday, were graced with beautiful weather and scenery. My friend Lisa mapped out the Sonoma ride for me, having toured most of the back roads on her motorcycle, and she tried to pick a route that wasn't too hilly. The Winters ride was supposed to be the hilly one. However, I don't think it's possible to ride 67 flat miles in Sonoma unless you're dragging up and down the freeway, and even then I'm not sure you can do it. In fact that is one of the appealing features of riding in Sonoma County. Anyway, Lisa tried, and some might say she did not entirely succeed. But it was an awesome route that I would love to ride again (but not again tomorrow), up through the Alexander Valley from Santa Rosa to Cloverdale, and down through the Dry Creek Valley west of Highway 101, to River Road where my sag support (i.e. Lisa in her truck) came to get me since continuing to ride would have made the ride about 77 miles and most definitely quite hilly. Maybe sometime I'll try the whole loop when I have no interest in trying to find a not-too-hilly route.

I took my second rest stop around mile 50-something to eat a bagel (also in the back pocket of my jersey...I just love how you can put so many things in those pockets). I parked my bike in some landscaping outside the big gate to some or other winery, and happened to notice these among the woodchips. You might be saying to yourself, 'what's the big deal, those aren't even an edible variety of morels.' To which I would answer, 'I don't know what kind of morels they are, but I know they are the first morels of any kind that I have ever found in the wild (or at least in the landscaping) so, to me, it's a big deal.'