Watching The Crazy Parade Go By

My engineering friend will get a kick out of this picture...

My compact washing machine does a righteous job of getting things super clean.  It just does so in very small batches. 

So today I washed the towels and wash cloths. 

I poked around my toy box and came up with this funky system to hang my stuff out to dry.  Shown is 5 towels and 7 wash cloths, hanging on clothes hangers, some with the aid of clothes pins.  The little blue spring clamps keep things separated when the wind blows. The orange jumbo spring clamp keeps the whole shebang from falling on the ground.

That's my built-in roof ladder that is attached to the rear of my motorhome. The other ladder is a step ladder gift from my Brazilian friends.

Life is good!  I just can't say it enough.

Yesterday I found myself agitated.

Self I said, you've got to find out what's agitating you and reverse that. Life is short, be happy!

I decided torture was the answer... maybe that would improve my disposition.

Somehow I raised my achy legs up over the bicycle and off we went to the dog park. Harley dog was a bit fussy. Apparently his sweater wasn't enough warmth for the brutal wind of me peddling the bicycle. Or maybe I was scaring him. Or maybe he was anticipating the dog park or maybe he just wanted to tell me I was a lousy bicycle rider.  Either way, he whined and moaned and fussed.  A few times he tried to prop himself up on his front legs to hang out of the basket while I admonished him "Sit!  This is no time to be doing monkey acrobatics."

I have no idea why I am having so much trouble riding the bicycle. Maybe that old head injury  knocked my bicycle skills ajar. I keep forgetting to use the hand brakes!  Good grief.

No wonder the doggy is scared.

Maybe he doesn't like the crash landing near-misses.

Sometimes I can't seem to get the bicycle started. Put your feet on the pedals and push!  Why is that so hard for me?  Sometimes it takes me several tries before I can get going at all.  I didn't have this trouble as a child.

But that was back in the dark ages.

Other times I fear the road just isn't big enough for me to make a simple turn.   Of course having a 6 or 7 pound dog riding in the basket on the handlebars does add weight and problems  But even when I ride without the puppy dog, I still have trouble steering around corners, making turns.

Recently a new camper moved next door. She has a little dog and a bicycle. Her dog rides on the back of her bicycle in a basket. No leash, just sits there pretty as you please as she pedals away.

I know it would be easier to ride the bike if Harley sat in a basket in back instead of in front. But he is such a monkey, prone to antics, that I fear he will do something foolish to injure us both. Maybe next year... we can try this new feat.

If anything, I provide endless entertainment around the campground and county park. Sometimes I get heckled which I find rather odd. Why would anyone want to pick on me for riding my bicycle?  Or am I just too comical that some folks can't resist?

One day I was trying to do  loops around section A of the campground.  It's probably about a quarter mile around loop A.  I wasn't feeling so hot.  I figured if I just did loops around this section where my little old wheel estate is parked, I wouldn't have far to crawl when I tuckered out or fell off the bike. For good measure, I had loaded up the dog, because I want to get used to his weight in the front basket for when I tackle the brutal two mile round trip ride to the dog park.

On my third loop, I was feeling very proud of myself, in spite of my thighs which were screaming "Ouch!  Oh!  Ouch! Stop this foolishness!"

Suddenly an old geezer who was sitting out in front of his RV yelled at me "You're going to get dizzy if you keep riding around here!"

For some silly reason I was mortified and deflated.  I went straight home and rested. I didn't want to ride by the old fart again.

For good measure I locked up my bicycle in case he coveted thy neighbor's torture toy...

Matter of fact, I am obsessive about locking up the bicycle. Even at the dog park, I lock up the bike for fear someone young and bold might hop on it and take off, never to be seen again, while I am still mopping up drool off my face.

This park seems 100% safe. Goodness gracious, we are patrolled by park rangers, the sheriff, the neighborhood watch, the police, the wildlife management and other official looking vehicles. At night I often cat nap. When I am awake, I sometimes slide the shade up at the window to see what's happening in the wee hours of the night. I often do see the ranger or police driving by every half hour or so.

Recently I misjudged sunrise, thinking it was imminent. I set out walking with a small flashlight dangling around my neck, my puppy on a leash and a small bag of garbage. Sure enough, we were about twenty feet down the road, headed towards the dumpster when the ranger came driving by at about 5 miles per hour. He stopped, all cheerful and chatty.

I suppose his night shift can get pretty lonesome.  I told him I was out walking in anticipation of seeing the sunrise. He looked at his watch and announced I had about two hours to wait. Oops. I wasn't quite planning a walk nearly that long.  Nonetheless I felt pretty safe, so we walked to the dumpster then came back to my little old caravan cabana.

Puppy was ready for a nap, so we climbed back in bed. We slept right through the sunrise. Oh well, I guess the sun managed to come up without me watching and waiting.

Another day.

Another miracle.