Christmas comes and goes...

Sorry I haven't been much on typing of late, dear readers, but as usual Christmas has been hectic. Why is it that we over schedule ourselves an extra 50% to celebrate the birth of a man that was all about PEACE? I'll never figure it out....
Anyway, Christmas eve brought cold temps and a group mountain bike ride for those of us still in town at the pig trails. It was around 40 degrees when we hit the trail, but we had a good time anyway. I've never ridden that trail much, but like it a lot. Let me tell you, though, anyone that preaches love for the pig trail while complaining about Thomson is crazier than batshit. That is one rooty, rough trail, a LOT more so than Thomson. Maybe all these people rode thomson last decade some time and have never been back. Update, guys, the trail has changed.
Off the soapbox, and on to pictures:


Let's see, in other news, the Christmas cookie fairy visited, and left me an extra 5 lbs. Thanks, really. Looks like I'll be getting plenty of use out of the trainer my sweet wife gave me for christmas so that I can still fit in the cool Twin Six Argyle jersey she also gave me. Was that a shameless plug?
I'm finding it really hard to schedule enough time out on the bike, especially the road bike, so the trainer should keep me pedaling through the nasty weather. One of my fellow riders likened riding an indoor trainer to (and I quote) "a hot poker up the ass," but I don't find it quite so objectionable. The trainer, that is. I've got a "gut buster" interval set from the Chris Charmichael column in Bicycling magazine that gives me an hour ride if I can work up to doing the whole thing. I should be there in a week or so if I stay on it. Alternating 2 min of all-out pace with 2 min of recovery, repeat 5 times, 8 min recovery spin, another 5 reps with appropriate warm up and cool-down spins. We'll see.
Happy New Year, Kids, and I'll see you on the trails somewhere soon!

Ahhh, Family

Today we drove down to Fitzgerald to connect with my Dad's side of the family for Christmas. Fitz gerald's in south Georgia for those of you that are scared to be out of site of the interstate. It's about an hour and a half south of Warner Robins. Maybe an hour in the Mustang. It's an interesting town. Like most towns in south G-A, it's a typical farm town, but shortly after the civil war it was re-invaded by the north. The post-war years were hard in the northern midwest for farmers, bringing massive droughts and catastrophic crop failure. Word of the hardships reached the farmers of Ben Hill County, who were in the middle of an extremely good year. In good christian fashion, they rounded up a wagon train of donated necessities and sent it north. When the hungry yankees were presented with such bounty, they figured they knew the address of the promised land and moved south. On arrival in Ben Hill County, they were welcomed in and the newly expanded town was officially named and mapped out. Given the unique make-up of the townsfolk the north-south streets were named after Southern generals and the east-west streets were named after Northern generals.
So, we drove down to the town of general streets and met the fam at Tom's Super Country Buffet. We started doing this a couple years ago. They fix a great spread and don't mind that we take up half the joint and hang out for 2 hours. And nobody has to clean their house before and after the party. I'm rare I guess, because I actually enjoy the company of my family. I know some of them are way out of touch, and there's always some you have less in common with than others, but I love them all. I look around the table and see people that have come up from simple backgrounds through hard times and still retain laughter and light. They have thick country accents that I can hear echoed in my own voice, and they laugh the same way I do at the same things. Most of us have hand calloused from honest labor and faces that bear marks of joy and tears in equal measure, but still smile.
We ate and talked, and talked, and talked. After a half hour goodbye, a few of us went to Granny Sexton's grave and the aunts put out some new flowers. Standing there in the strong December sun listening to the wind blow through the marble markers, I looked around at my bloodline, and was proud. Don't worry Granny. We're still here, and we're going to be fine.