Before we get into today’s events, an update on the migration patterns of the East Coast bicycle tourists. I had previously seen a single northbound bike tourist on the Mount Vernon Trail on two occasions in the last week or so. Friday night I spotted one man, Asian, about 30 years old give or take five years. (Suffice it to say, I stink at guessing people’s ages.) About a minute later, three more Asian men of about the same age rode by. It’s a sure sign of spring. They looked like they were having a blast.
Spring is really happening now. Dogwoods, lilacs, tulips, and redbuds all in bloom. Soon ducklings and gosslings will make their debuts and tortoises will lay their eggs along the edge of the trail.
Now back to today.
Anybody who knows me knows that I am a baseball fan. When Tony Conigliaro was beaned on my 12th birthday, I became a Red Sox fan living in Yankee country. It wasn’t easy. In 1973 I started college at Boston University. I became a Sawx addict. My sophomore year in a dorm about 1 block from the Citgo sign in Kenmore Square and 3 blocks from Fenway Park’s green monster. I drove a cab in Boston during the summer of 1975. I had to walk past the green monster every day to get to the cab company. During the summer many of the passengers wanted to talk about the Sawx. The Boston Globe had the best sports page EVER.
I learned that baseball is about the arc of the season not about each individual game. I went nuts during the fabled sixth game of the ’75 nWorld Series, and mourned at the feeble end of the seventh. In ’78, I learned Bucky Dent’s middle name. (It begins with F.) In ’86 I yelled at the TV “Where’s Stapleton?” wanting to see first-baseman Bill Buckner’s defensive replacement in the sixth game of the 1986 series against the Mets. My kids watched mesuffer as the Yankees won the 2003 playoffs on an Aaron Boone home run. And they watched daddy completely lose his mind going “Cowboy Up!” during their amazing come from behind stomping of the evil empire in 2004. And they won the Series to boot. Mercy. The next two pennants were fun but anticlimactic although I think 2013 was some sort of divine intervention after the sickening Boston Marathon bombing.
Now I have turned my attention to my new home.
The Nationals are loaded like Ron White on a bender. Their line up is the Death Star. They remind me of the 1978 Red Sox in that they have thunder in their bats Rooting for the Nats is meant to be. They were once the Montreal Expos. My father took us up to Montreal to see Willie Mays and the Giants play the Expos in Jarry Park. Willie didn’t play that day but I have a fond memory of sitting in the smallest major league park on a lovely August day. And besides the Expos gave Boston Pedro!
Tomorrow I go to my first Nats game of the season. I will try to refrain from yelling “LETS GO EXPOS!” during the game. I will bike the 14 miles to the stadium for the first time since that impossibly sad day last September.
Today I spent the day getting stuff out of the way for tomorrow’s fun. I picked up my holey sweaters at the dry cleaner. After a somber ceremony, they will be put in storage for next winter. Then I washed all my winter bike clothes. My jacket and vest were both disgustingly dirty. I had no hope they’d come clean but I will be damned if they don’t look like new. IMoving outdoors, I removed raised beds from our back yard. They had failed to produce more than a handful of veggies for several years. After an hour plus of digging dirt, I think it’s time for someone to invent a dirt version of the Wovel.
Next I mowed the lawn, learning in the process that it was mighty hot out for mid April. Dehydrated, I decamped to the family room and watched the second half of the Nats game. (They lost. We’ll get them tomorrow.)
After the game I took The Mule out for an easy spin to check the bald eagle nests along the Mount Vernon Trail. I saw one eagle in the massive nest at Fort Hunt Park. I didn’t see any other eagles at the four nests between the stone bridge and Tulane Drive, but I did run into Reba, fellow bike commuter and Friday Coffee Clubber. She was looking for the nests without much luck so I took her on a tour. It’s a good thing she was looking today because in about a week the leaves on the trees will make the nests very hard to find, even if you know where to look. We didn’t see much eagle action but at least Reba knows where they are.
Winter clothing is cleaned. Chores are done. Legs are refreshed.
Okay, Mule, take me out to the ballgame.
A Few Spokes Shy of a Wheel 