Up until this weekend the jeans were still presentable at, say, Home Depot. Hilda even thought they looked kinda cool, with the fading and frayed holes developed through years of wear.

The fluorescent shop light that I installed above the engine together with the fancy fluorescent "drop light" provide plenty of illumination to see by. But there is a certain spirit that emanates from my Dad's 60-year-old tungsten drop light that hopefully will help guide the next move.

Ever wonder what Eric does way down there? Hilda and I checked it out a couple of years ago when we joined one of his tours. We journeyed through the land of the Maya, from the southern mountains and deserts to the humid jungles of the Yucatan. Here is a slide show - the photos are ok, I apologize for the narration, the music is gorgeous. I think the main take-away is the contrast in wealth between our culture and that of indigenous Mexico, especially that of Chiapas. Gives me perspective when I slip into a hand-wringing mode watching our meager retirement fund becoming more so.

It's customary among the online biking community to for people to post trip reports of the places they've been. For me, reading about the experiences of people all over the world, particularly those that get into the history and/or geography of a region, has become a savored part of participating in these communities. The common motorcycling theme just makes it that much more appealing.

This is a report I've enjoyed possibly more than any other:

In our house, Anthony Bordain is a bit of a star, and this post highlights why we love his grouchy, stinky self:

Link

Mike has made the move to his new home in Oregon, and will be working at the new building up there. Of course his move has been in the works for some time, but even so his last day seems to have come upon us really quickly, and I was unprepared for the emptiness he left behind.

Dana turned me on to Amy's blog a few months ago during her recent pregnancy (Amalah's, not Dana's), and I really enjoy her writing. This is an excellent, thrilling, tear-jerking two-part journal of her experience delivering Noah.

We were off.

And we were already hopelessly disorganized. What to do with the dog? Leave food down for the cat! Tape a key to the front door for the contractor! On second thought, maybe scratch that last one. And pack the snacks! All the books said to bring snacks! Send email! Tell boss I won't be working tomorrow! Update the Internet!

Desert Solitaire. There are precious few books that I can honestly say have changed me, that have affected me in such a fundmental way as to have tangible effects on my being, my thought processes, even years later. Conversations with God? Perhaps. Twain's Roughing It? You bet. But how different would I be today, as a person, had my father not given me that well-thumbed paperback copy of Desert Solitaire in my early teens.