Archive for September 2025
Viewing Boston
We needed to wake up at 3 a.m. to drive to the airport, which made for a long day, but we arrived in Boston before lunchtime, giving us plenty of daylight to go for a walk to experience Barry and Carlos’ neighborhood. I am still longing to be able to pick one image from our day, but am now choosing to feature one at the top and offer thumbnails of a few others for some additional scenes I captured.
I looked up at the sky with the angular shape of the Hancock Tower and the sunlight features showing in the lens, and I have settled on that as my pick for the day.
We dined at Tatte Bakery & Cafe in the South End, where I enjoyed a fabulous roasted salmon sandwich on a housemade challah roll. I think the “bun” is what sent this delight over the top for me, but the salmon was substantial and prepared to perfection.
Early check-in was available at the Stay Pineapple for the room we reserved for Barb and Mike, so we walked with their luggage to get a look at their room. I was captivated by the whimsical dog sculpture and the tile mosaic in the foyer.
From there, we headed toward the three levels of a 360° “View Boston” experience at the Prudential Center after a quick exploration of the Boston Public Library. Our expert tour guide, Barry, walked us around a big loop to get back to their condo, where we crashed for a much-needed nap. I have no directional sense and was completely at the mercy of others to figure out which way to go.
We hung out on their 5th-floor patio for drinks and snacks before ordering Mexican take-out for dinner. We just got to Boston, and it feels like we’ve seen and done enough for several days already.
Today promises to offer even more of a similar type of Boston adventures. I fully expect I will be unable to choose just one image to represent all that we will see and do.
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It’s Starting
In September, the shortening of days becomes more noticeable. The temperature swings between morning and afternoon force clothing adjustments from jackets to shirt sleeves. Tree leaves begin to reveal that their growing season is coming to an end.
The tops of some of our trees are starting to show some orange. Cyndie has set our thermostat to “Auto” to cool the house if the daytime gets too warm and bring heat when the nights get too chilly. Schools are in session, and fall sports are underway.
Advertisers peddling goods via Christmas themes won’t be far behind.
I experimented with relaxing my perfectionistic tendencies yesterday in order to get enough mowing done to feel like our place is ready for us to be gone for a week. The grass remained damp enough that it was difficult to get a grip with the riding mower’s tires.
It didn’t feel like I had time to carefully navigate sideways slopes, so there was a fair amount of failure to keep the free-spinning front wheels of the zero-turn from uncontrolled turns downhill. It was a haphazard, frequently circular route to getting all the grass blades trimmed.
The wet soil and slippery grass resulted in a far greater occurrence of spinning wheels when I simply wanted to execute a turn. Normally, this causes me a lot of angst and a fair amount of foul language, and inspires me to try many ways to prevent it from happening. Not yesterday, though.
I chose the alternative of not caring in an effort to accomplish the greater goal of having the whole place mowed before we leave. I’m the only one who will even notice the increased number of skid marks.
It’s September. People’s attention will be on the trees, not on the dirt marks in our grass.
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Wet Mowing
Wetness abounds this morning. After a first round of mowing yesterday, I parked the rider, put the batteries on their chargers, and went in for some lunch. A peek at the weather radar revealed I had limited time to make much more progress on mowing. While the tractor batteries charged, I grabbed the push mower and hustled down to the labyrinth.
I was maybe 4/5s of the way through when the droplets started sprinkling down. I finished anyway, hoping that the electric mower wouldn’t be hypersensitive to working in the rain. The shower was of short duration but long enough to make it too wet to do any more mowing.
Cyndie put a rain cover on Mia because the last time it rained, the old mare shivered significantly when she got wet. This time, it wasn’t as cool or windy, but Cyndie chose a little extra caution, just in case.
I didn’t think it was necessary, but soon after, another round of precipitation arrived and soaked things even more, and my thinking changed. It’s a good thing Cyndie’s intuition is so keen.
As we emerged from the woods this morning on our rounds, it was hard to tell whether the moisture droplets on the horizon were steam rising up from the heat of the rising sun or fog settling down toward the ground.
Water droplets were clinging to new spider webs, accenting the mastery of the intricacies of the structures.
Just a couple of steps in the yard had our boots soaking wet. Hopefully, the declining angle of September sunshine won’t delay the drying of grass blades too long. I have plenty of mowing left to do and dwindling days to accomplish it all. We need to leave somewhere around zero-dark-thirty Tuesday morning to meet Mike and Barb for a ride to the airport to catch a flight to Boston. Today and tomorrow are all I’ve got left to finish another week’s worth of groundskeeping tasks.
It seems like travel adventures with the Wilkuses in September are becoming an annual event. Last year at this time, we were all headed to Iceland together. Much earlier this morning, I was dreaming we were already underway and driving to a destination that took the car around a corner too fast while Cyndie and Mike were somehow joint-driving in classic reality-defying dream logic.
I felt myself clinching in preparation for a crash as the car rounded a corner on only two wheels, with the rest of the car hanging in mid air over a dropoff. Thank goodness the gravity in dream-world didn’t pull us down.
It’s not like I have any lingering subconscious aversion to traveling or anything…
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Usual Elevation
Home again at an elevation my lungs are more accustomed to, my mind lingers in the Black Hills of South Dakota and the priceless fellowship of precious friends sharing an affinity for bicycling.
Yesterday, I drove from sun-up Mountain Time to sun-down Central Time in a completely different muscle-stiffening endurance exercise than pedaling nonstop for hours on end. I crossed most of South Dakota and Minnesota to get back to Beldenville in Wisconsin, where Cyndie and Asher were awaiting my return.
It’s good to be home.
The wide open expanses of South Dakota offered a stark reminder of how small our little rectangle of fields and forest really is. The massive hay production underway for mile after mile was remarkable to see now that I know a little more about the process.
The horse ranches are just as impressive. We saw real cowboys wrangling cattle as we whizzed by at over 80 mph on I90.
As I made one of the last few turns around a cornfield toward our driveway, the clouds looked busy in the sky. When I pulled in, I came to Cyndie walking in my direction. She was looking for Asher, who was chasing after a cat that appeared on our property.
He came running to me soon after in a special “welcome home” that only dogs excel in performing to such a degree.
This morning was a treat to reconnect with our horses. I smirked to myself while cleaning up their manure after a week of dodging cow messes on the trail. I’m glad I don’t have to clean up after cattle herds.
I’ll be thinking a lot about the previous week while I am mowing the overgrown grass that grows so thick at our much lower elevation compared to where I huffed and puffed while pedaling that marvelous gravel Mickelson Trail.
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Relentless Miles
During our return ride back to Hill City, we climbed for about 2 hours, mile after mile without any coasting. That means pushing pedals the whole time to in order to make progress.
Upon reaching the high point, the well-tended trail slants down and our bikes started rolling along without any help from us.
That seems like a chance to rest, but it’s not. In no time, we are flying along at 23 mph and hanging on tight to keep the bike on the trail and our bodies on the bikes.
Even though it only takes a fraction of the time, the fact that you are flexed in mostly one position throughout makes it feel almost as relentless as the climb did.
Somewhere at the bottom of one of those downslopes, we finally had our first close encounter with cows on the trail.
I received quite an education about the difference between cow and horse manure during this adventure.
I’m biased, but I definitely prefer what horses produce.
Today, Gary and I face relentless miles in the car as we cross most of South Dakota to get back to our homes.
That’s a small price to pay for the blast of a time we had. It was an absolutely fabulous adventure.
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Giggle Inducing
Several times during yesterday’s ride to Deadwood from Hill City on the Mickelson Trail, Rich and I found ourselves giggling over how much beautiful fun we were having.
Gary decided to take an extra day off to regain full strength, and drove his car to meet us in Deadwood.
We are impressed with the quality of this trail and the attention to detail in their trail stops. They are nicely spread out and offer shelter, seating, hand-pumped well water, bike tools stations, and pretty respectable toilet facilities.
There is a lot of historical information provided on signage at each stop, as well as along pertinent locations along the entire 109 miles of the trail.
The leg we rode yesterday has four tunnels that added nicely to our adventures.
The Mickelson Trail won’t meet every cyclist’s standards for level of challenge, but I found it to be an ideal combination of gorgeous different landscapes with respectable mile options that are being well maintained.
The cost of the trail pass is easily worth the giggle-worthy adventures available to a wide range of people with bicycle skills.
I’m excited to be able to ride back to Hill City on this same route today.
Even though we’re still not counting, the distance of this leg is 51 miles.
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To Deadwood
We are back on our bikes again today, riding north on the Mickelson Trail, this time to Deadwood.
Our much appreciated day of rest included a drive along the Needles Highway.
The rock formations are a wonder to behold. They look cool, too.
Rich and I took a moment to do a little bouldering.
Gary was happy to stay in the car, where the chance of taking a tumble is significantly lower.
After the Needles, Rich drove us up the precarious gravel curves to see the fire lookout tower on Mount Coolidge, 6023 feet elevation.
Climbing the steps to the observation deck left me short of breath.
It definitely feels like I’m not in Beldenville anymore.
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Reality Bit
We got bit by a great big dose of reality yesterday. All that easy gliding down the trail we enjoyed on Sunday was wiped out by our plan of reversing direction and riding back the way we came. That meant climbing 3009 feet one day after draining our bodies with 63 miles of riding the day before.
It was incredibly exhausting which made it harder to take in the glorious scenery.
Spectacular rock formations.
Pine tree forest.
Cactus and yucca plants.
Mule deer right beside the trail.
Wild turkeys.
Beautiful cattle herds.
Freshly cut and baled hay fields.
A hawk sailing overhead and darting around trees.
Horses ranches and riders all over the place.
Odd sightings of abandoned junk cars seemingly in the middle of nowhere.
Crazy Horse carving in the rocks that has barely changed in decades.
Fellow cyclists sharing greetings and gladly visiting when opportunity presents itself.
We are having a great time, but got our butts whooped yesterday.
Today will be a day of rest as planned all along. A much needed rest.
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Exceeded Expectations
I could list all the superlatives I know and it wouldn’t capture how great our first day on the Mickelson Trail was yesterday.
There were so many spectacular scenes that I got frustrated I only had eyes on the front side of my head.
I’m really grateful for our plan to backtrack the way we just came because I can have another chance to take it all in again, this time from the other direction.
Failing on the idea of picking just one photo…
63 miles, but who’s counting?
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Relative Something 