Well that was fun

I just realized that I raced my bicycle every weekend for the last eight weeks, and three of those weekends involved back to back races.

I managed a respectable result at Battenkill, one solid local result, and a bunch of almosts but not really. And I upgraded to a Cat 2.

This weekend I will sit around and talk about how nice it is to not race while secretly envying the people who are driving to the Tour de Syracuse.

And I'll be planning next weekend's trip to Frankenmuth, MI to race and enjoy the faux Germanic ambiance that fine town.

I need to get a life. Fast.

The real Cleveland

On Friday, I volunteered at the therapeutic riding center that provides lessons to children and adults with disabilities. The usual crew was there, giving their time (and money) to this place that provides the community with a great service and provides about 36 horses with incredible lives.

In the evening, I rode across town to the Don Frey Art Opening at Studio 11 in Tremont. I passed Coventry, with its local institutions such as Tommy's, Big Fun, Mac's Backs, the Grog Shop, Coventry Cats, etc. Then though downtown, and into Tremont with its legions of locally owned restaurants and galleries, including the gracious Studio 11 yoga studio who hosted the event.

On Saturday night, a bunch of us got together to celebrate the graduation of Dr. Scott at the Happy Dog, the wonderful, locally owned bar and hot dog joint on the near west side.

On Sunday, the good folks from Chagrin River Cycling and Mountain Road Cycles sponsored the recently resurrected Chippewa Creek road race, which, as in years past, pretty much rules. In case you were wondering, putting on a race like this is a thankless endeavor with lots of hassles. It also takes way more work than "worth it" from a financial standpoint.

The purpose of this post is not to bore you with my weekend activities, but to point out something that struck me when riding home from Studio 11 and passing the (publicly funded) Quicken Loans Arena.

It is the real people of this area....the volunteers, entrepreneurs, artists, small business owners, and people who generally give a shit who make this town what it is. It has nothing to do with multi-millionaire sports mercenaries who whore themselves out to the highest bidders and, with a few exceptions, will sell out this town (and any other town) for a buck.

If only the papers would focus on the actions of the real people...the true assets of this town, instead of trying to track the movement of Lebron James over the next two months with GPS-like accuracy.

World's worst hunter

Reuben is a Black and Tan Coonhound, which means that, somewhere in that little brain of his exists an instinct to bark at and chase raccoons up trees.

We figure that he wasn't so good at this exercise, which is probably why he ended up wandering Lorain county before he was picked up. Last week this was confirmed.

A young raccoon has taken residence near the area and enjoys watching the evening goings on in our yard from about 15 feet up in the neighbor's tree, right next to the fence on the property line. On one evening, Sylvia smelled the beast and got mildly riled up while running around the yard.

Katie thought it was a great opportunity to test out The Brave Sir Reuben's hunting prowess, so she brought him outside on a leash, and took him to the area where the Raccoon was. Then she took him right near the tree, close enough for the raccoon to hurl obscenities at him.

His reaction: nothing.

Gee, I wonder why his previous owner, most likely a hunter, "lost" him.

Luckily for Reuben, hunting ranks up there with going to casinos or going to Disney World on the list of things that I enjoy doing.

I think he's safe here.