I haven't had a single bite of red meat (or 'the other white meat') for 45 years. The average American eats 71 pounds of red meat a year. I saved six bulls or 3,200 lbs., due to my abstention, over four and a half decades of consuming protein. It's due to a lack of trust, not...as you may have guessed...a reluctance to slaughter docile and unsuspecting animals.
I was informed in 1971 that US meat producers had not one worry about the health effects or consequences of their product preparation. Steroids, growth hormones, antibiotics and various other chemical tools were used to maximize profits. Feed lots were already dominating the Central Valley agricultural landscape. Warnings of health dangers were shrugged off as speculative and burger restaurants under neon plastic signage dominated busy suburban corners. I remained suspicious and unwilling to partake.
I realize that it is absolutely not possible to avoid every environmental, elemental and nutritional hazard/ hurdle placed in front of us. We can, however, set some limits to our consumptive behaviors and avoiding red meat was one that I found easy to practice. Friends have encouraged me to sample their wild/ or grass-fed animal tissue...no thank you, I might like it...who needs to risk prions in the brain from consuming animals suffering from "wasting disease" (look it up), resulting in dementia, mad cow, Alzheimers or Jacob-Crutzfeld .
Yes, I do consume animal products in the form of cheese, ice creams and yogurts. I know, the rennets are unavoidable in the cheeses I like most. Technically I am not a Vegetarian...or a Lacto-Ova Vegetarian... but, I am not attached to any such labels. I occasionally consume fish and fowl and I am aware that both carry a chemical soup of undesirable elements. No apology...when you are young you set rules to live by and hopefully these keep you out of trouble and result in long life and happiness.
Thursday, March 3, 2016
Friday, February 12, 2016
On Two Wheels And Self-Propelled
Forty-three years ago I decided to share my fascination with cycling with the people around me by publishing a weekly column. I used the nom de plume "Bodfish" from the very beginning. My bicycle adventures and writing about them were my personal therapy...how I tried to make sense out of the world around me. Mapping and exploring helped me locate myself on the earth and in society. I was excited to share these discoveries with everyone so, I wrote about them.
The miles covered, the exercise, the heavy breathing, the heart pumping, working through bodily glitches...the chaffing and the blisters...were secondary. I was fast becoming an exercise evangelist, or at least, that's how others saw it. My 'following' has always been small but editors were always hard up for copy.
At 65 I am still addicted...to maps, to exercise endorphins and to getting the word out about cycling therapy. At thirteen, a neighborhood kid talked me into joining the high school cross country team. I was never very good but, like everyone else on the team, I ran forty miles a week with hopes of finishing in the top five during the next meet. Running through the pain and exhaustion, listening to my heart and lungs coordinate their pace to promote my goals, for the next four years, taught me that there were rewards for constant effort...never take the lazy option, always get out there, work it and tell the world how good you feel.
Another attempt at changing the world commenced when, in 1976, I invited others to join me on a 100 degree day in August to ride The Bidwell Bump, (which I very nearly christened as The Bodfish Bump however, I thought geography was more important than my chosen "handle")...a ten mile bicycle race on dirt in Bidwell Park. A dozen hearty folks on a variety of two-wheel steeds, raced and everyone won a prize...including the first female mountain bike racer ever, Lisa Sedlacek whom, I later married.
The miles covered, the exercise, the heavy breathing, the heart pumping, working through bodily glitches...the chaffing and the blisters...were secondary. I was fast becoming an exercise evangelist, or at least, that's how others saw it. My 'following' has always been small but editors were always hard up for copy.
At 65 I am still addicted...to maps, to exercise endorphins and to getting the word out about cycling therapy. At thirteen, a neighborhood kid talked me into joining the high school cross country team. I was never very good but, like everyone else on the team, I ran forty miles a week with hopes of finishing in the top five during the next meet. Running through the pain and exhaustion, listening to my heart and lungs coordinate their pace to promote my goals, for the next four years, taught me that there were rewards for constant effort...never take the lazy option, always get out there, work it and tell the world how good you feel.
Another attempt at changing the world commenced when, in 1976, I invited others to join me on a 100 degree day in August to ride The Bidwell Bump, (which I very nearly christened as The Bodfish Bump however, I thought geography was more important than my chosen "handle")...a ten mile bicycle race on dirt in Bidwell Park. A dozen hearty folks on a variety of two-wheel steeds, raced and everyone won a prize...including the first female mountain bike racer ever, Lisa Sedlacek whom, I later married.
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Why France For Cycling and Camping
When we plan a journey...we think bicycles. When we think cycling...we think France. No where else have we experienced such courtesy and love for the self-powered traveler. Another reality that sets France apart from other european countries we've ridden in, is the road network that spiders throughout the countryside...impeccably maintained and every one of them leading to magical experiences, stunning views and time zones long forgotten. "Our land is our art," revealed one of our campground/ fruitstand hostesses. The French are proud people...proud of their agriculture, proud of their politics and most proud of their scenery.
The villages in rural France strive to win awards for best kept streets, parks, visitor information centers and floral displays. When we pick a camping spot each day, during our September/ October visits, the campground hosts are relaxed and relieved to have survived another busy summer season.
The hosts are generous beyond belief...often-times bringing us a bottle of local wine and/or part of the local fruit/ vegetable harvest to enjoy at our campsite. They keep at least one shower/ sanitaire open and are quick to tell us about our hiking/ biking and swimming options nearby. Outdoor showers and laundry hanging are always acceptable.
Once we set up our tent and lock our rental vehicle, we can always be assured that our belongings will be secure and in the same state we left them. During a two hour ride through the hills of France we often see other cyclists and there is never any doubt that they will acknowledge you and want to converse.
We are planning a fifth bicycle excursion to France, once again focusing on the South of France. As long as we are capable of climbing the numerous "cols" and "ports" we are excited to do so. As we get on in years we may have to focus on the flatter roads to the North of France. The hospitality and incredible diversity of scenery encountered each and every time we vacation on bicycles in France causes us to happily spend our modest savings mingling with the citizens of this amazing country.
The villages in rural France strive to win awards for best kept streets, parks, visitor information centers and floral displays. When we pick a camping spot each day, during our September/ October visits, the campground hosts are relaxed and relieved to have survived another busy summer season.
The hosts are generous beyond belief...often-times bringing us a bottle of local wine and/or part of the local fruit/ vegetable harvest to enjoy at our campsite. They keep at least one shower/ sanitaire open and are quick to tell us about our hiking/ biking and swimming options nearby. Outdoor showers and laundry hanging are always acceptable.
Once we set up our tent and lock our rental vehicle, we can always be assured that our belongings will be secure and in the same state we left them. During a two hour ride through the hills of France we often see other cyclists and there is never any doubt that they will acknowledge you and want to converse.
We are planning a fifth bicycle excursion to France, once again focusing on the South of France. As long as we are capable of climbing the numerous "cols" and "ports" we are excited to do so. As we get on in years we may have to focus on the flatter roads to the North of France. The hospitality and incredible diversity of scenery encountered each and every time we vacation on bicycles in France causes us to happily spend our modest savings mingling with the citizens of this amazing country.
Saturday, January 9, 2016
Bodfishttva...Bicycles Are Forever.
In 1846 Robert Thomson patented the pneumatic tire in France....and this changed everything. Before this time wheels were solid, rough riding and made quite a clatter. Having air in your tyres (as they spelled it back then) was magic. During the second half of the ninetenth century bicycles gained favor with thousands of travelers, in fact, by the 1890's more people were on bicycles than any other form of conveyance in the "civilized" corners of the world, including the horse and buggy. Imagine, you didn't have to feed the bicycle and you could easily lift it over obstacles...and be free of stubborn negotiations.
Every generation, for hundreds of years will appreciate the bicycle for it's simplicity and utility...the bicycle will live on FOREVER.
Putting a motor on the bicycle and the subsequent invention of the motorcar, has been a setback for cycling enthusiasts around the world....however, for those of us who can see into the future, we realize that this noisy, smelly, resource-depleting bastardization of the original human-propelled two-wheeler has had it's day and will undoubtedly be relegated to the footnotes of human history.
There is an undercurrent of love and energy for the bicycle, this most efficient mode of transportation and recreation. We are recreated each time we settle into our favorite saddles above our spinning cranks and blood-filled legs. It is the next best thing to love-making, caressing and cuddling with your favorite fellow human being.
Yeah, it's that good. This simple fact ensures that bicycles and bicycling will be celebrated forever. The power of the bicycle is so great that we ride them across entire continents. Some of us seek out the longest and steepest hills instead of rolling through the lowest valleys, (so as to avoid excessive perspiration and toil). Many of us have experienced the meditative value of silent foot-twiddling over natural and even over-civilized landscapes.
Our senses are sharpened, our awareness of the natural world is heightened...and, unfortunately, our sensitivity to the impacts of our motorized/ speed oriented fellow travelers is also foisted upon us. At some point, possibly before the end of this century, our descendants will once again appreciate the two-wheel self-propelled cycle as the finest and most rewarding form of transport ever developed for land travel. The bicycle will live on FOREVER.
Every generation, for hundreds of years will appreciate the bicycle for it's simplicity and utility...the bicycle will live on FOREVER.
Putting a motor on the bicycle and the subsequent invention of the motorcar, has been a setback for cycling enthusiasts around the world....however, for those of us who can see into the future, we realize that this noisy, smelly, resource-depleting bastardization of the original human-propelled two-wheeler has had it's day and will undoubtedly be relegated to the footnotes of human history.
There is an undercurrent of love and energy for the bicycle, this most efficient mode of transportation and recreation. We are recreated each time we settle into our favorite saddles above our spinning cranks and blood-filled legs. It is the next best thing to love-making, caressing and cuddling with your favorite fellow human being.
Yeah, it's that good. This simple fact ensures that bicycles and bicycling will be celebrated forever. The power of the bicycle is so great that we ride them across entire continents. Some of us seek out the longest and steepest hills instead of rolling through the lowest valleys, (so as to avoid excessive perspiration and toil). Many of us have experienced the meditative value of silent foot-twiddling over natural and even over-civilized landscapes.
Our senses are sharpened, our awareness of the natural world is heightened...and, unfortunately, our sensitivity to the impacts of our motorized/ speed oriented fellow travelers is also foisted upon us. At some point, possibly before the end of this century, our descendants will once again appreciate the two-wheel self-propelled cycle as the finest and most rewarding form of transport ever developed for land travel. The bicycle will live on FOREVER.
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
The China Grade
Lisa says, "I'm going to Taylorsville for some bodywork, would you like to come with me?" She's been working on a stiff neck/ tight back problem, so it would be good of me to do the driving. Kanda, her masseuse extraordinaire, had some unfinished business with Lisa.
Hey, I'll bring my bike and ride up Mt. Hough on the China Grade. I air-up the fifteen year old Gary Fisher Cake and throw on cycling clothes...November high country cycling clothes.
It was high noon on a monday...mid November. The China Grade heads south out of town, right behind the school...I imagined the kids looking out the windows saying, "No Way." It's a 20-23% grade for the first two miles, without a pause in grade...should've warmed-up a little. I dropped to granny gear immediately. The left knee started talking to me right away...the seat felt like it was tilted back a bit too much. The road surface was perfect, moist clay-like dirt and no rocks.
At the 1 milepost there was a light snow accumulation next to the one lane track but, the road was clear and tacky. At the 2 milepost there was a truck track to follow through a one inch snow layer. The grade was still relentless, I was puffing like a horse at full-gallop...even though I was progressing at a two mile-an-hour pace. I'm looking desperately for the 3 milepost and now pushing on the pedals with all I have to progress through four inches of snow. The truck track stopped. I can see where the driver had unloaded a snow machine...I followed that track for another hundred yards to a confusing intersection of five roads.
OK, time to head back downhill...I'll just follow this truck track. I'm not sure how it happened but, it was the wrong truck track. The downhill was snow and ice covered for two miles and went in a NW direction. I should have taken the NE fork...it didn't look right...Oh well, I have my phone. Yep, I hit the main road five miles west of Taylorsville. My feet were numb and my hands were crampy from working the brakes down the icy descent. It was only a twelve mile ride and took me an hour and a half to complete. My commute of twelve miles a week may be keeping my butt bones in shape however, my sore legs and frozen feet thought they had had enough. Lisa was all warm and rubbery when she walked out of her massage..."Are you sure you don't want Kanda to work on you?" I was salty and my body temperature must have been in the low nineties. I think she would hurt me, I'm not going to risk it, I replied. A man has to know his limitations.
Hey, I'll bring my bike and ride up Mt. Hough on the China Grade. I air-up the fifteen year old Gary Fisher Cake and throw on cycling clothes...November high country cycling clothes.
It was high noon on a monday...mid November. The China Grade heads south out of town, right behind the school...I imagined the kids looking out the windows saying, "No Way." It's a 20-23% grade for the first two miles, without a pause in grade...should've warmed-up a little. I dropped to granny gear immediately. The left knee started talking to me right away...the seat felt like it was tilted back a bit too much. The road surface was perfect, moist clay-like dirt and no rocks.
At the 1 milepost there was a light snow accumulation next to the one lane track but, the road was clear and tacky. At the 2 milepost there was a truck track to follow through a one inch snow layer. The grade was still relentless, I was puffing like a horse at full-gallop...even though I was progressing at a two mile-an-hour pace. I'm looking desperately for the 3 milepost and now pushing on the pedals with all I have to progress through four inches of snow. The truck track stopped. I can see where the driver had unloaded a snow machine...I followed that track for another hundred yards to a confusing intersection of five roads.
OK, time to head back downhill...I'll just follow this truck track. I'm not sure how it happened but, it was the wrong truck track. The downhill was snow and ice covered for two miles and went in a NW direction. I should have taken the NE fork...it didn't look right...Oh well, I have my phone. Yep, I hit the main road five miles west of Taylorsville. My feet were numb and my hands were crampy from working the brakes down the icy descent. It was only a twelve mile ride and took me an hour and a half to complete. My commute of twelve miles a week may be keeping my butt bones in shape however, my sore legs and frozen feet thought they had had enough. Lisa was all warm and rubbery when she walked out of her massage..."Are you sure you don't want Kanda to work on you?" I was salty and my body temperature must have been in the low nineties. I think she would hurt me, I'm not going to risk it, I replied. A man has to know his limitations.
Saturday, October 17, 2015
Starting From Kalamazoo...One Week Ago Today
The train trip back to the far west gave me time to reflect...we had just completed our twelfth trip to the homeland in forty years...so much love in that SW corner of Michigan. ..Home of "my people". A few things I don't miss...the noise, the freeways from hell, I-94 and 131 (where 100 car/truck pile-ups are not uncommon). The roar of the Detroit to Chicago truck route is stunning and intimidating.
I don't miss the predominance of "mall shopping" (once called the Mall City). I do miss the "Country Roads"...the backroads of SW Michigan are busy now, there are modern ranch style homes sprinkled throughout. This zone of my home state now has 749,000 residents. The zone of California that I have called home for the 30 years (NE California) has one tenth as many residents in twice the land area...Plumas, Lassen, Modoc and Sierra counties. My mind finds solace, relief and an addictive meditative quality in the quiet roads and wide open spaces.
Yes, I realize that no one is going to move West to be nearer their big brother...It's been 45 years! I am lucky to get family for a visit every ten years. So, it is what it is...I'll just have to get my batteries recharged by Michigan hugs once every three or four years.
I don't miss the predominance of "mall shopping" (once called the Mall City). I do miss the "Country Roads"...the backroads of SW Michigan are busy now, there are modern ranch style homes sprinkled throughout. This zone of my home state now has 749,000 residents. The zone of California that I have called home for the 30 years (NE California) has one tenth as many residents in twice the land area...Plumas, Lassen, Modoc and Sierra counties. My mind finds solace, relief and an addictive meditative quality in the quiet roads and wide open spaces.
Yes, I realize that no one is going to move West to be nearer their big brother...It's been 45 years! I am lucky to get family for a visit every ten years. So, it is what it is...I'll just have to get my batteries recharged by Michigan hugs once every three or four years.
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