The Gulf of Mexico. That’s what they call it. You can stand on the 9th-floor balcony of the Opal Sands hotel in Clearwater and squint all you want. Mexico will not become visible no matter how you try.
That’s because the earth is curved. You’d have to construct a building much taller than the Opal Sands to ever catch a glimpse of the Mexican shoreline. Or you could build progressively higher-flying rocket ships until you can get high enough to see across the Gulf. That’s what some modern era dope who still thinks the earth is flat has begun to do by making steam-powered rockets so he can get high enough to prove the earth is flat. He’s a limousine driver by occupation, but has a knack for building rocket ships it seems. Such are the endeavors of fools.
He used to believe in a round earth until the Flat Earth society convinced him that modern knowledge is all a scam. Their belief system rests on the idea that the earth and all its continents rest on a flat disk of some sort. This requires them to ignore the satellites and technology that bounce and trade signals all around the world as well as all evidence from the space program including moon landings.
Never mind the fact that the human race has essentially left the moon behind, launching rockets with space equipment and cameras that have recorded the highly spherical shapes of Saturn and Neptune. The Cassini probe sent back this last photo before it plunged to the surface of Saturn.
One has to be a true mental bigot to ignore the immensity and clarity of such a photo. It clearly shows the spherical shape of Saturn surrounded by rings that are only now revealing their mysteries after years of study by the Cassini probe. A simple Google search turns up this fact: “Saturn averages 886 million miles (1.4 billion km) from the sun, nine and a half times Earth’s average distance.”
View of the sun through the hotel balcony divider.
That is a long, long ways off. The place is not natively inhabitable for earthlings. Nor are any of the other planets, large or small, near or far, in our solar system. Most are either too hot or too cold to sustain human life, or any other for that matter.
So we’re stuck here on earth for the near future. It’s a mighty fine planet for us. Most of the earth’s surface is covered by water, which is salty. Human blood is about half as salty as the ocean. But it’s a safe statement to say that we are all living the Salt Life whether we lay claim to it or not.
You just feel closer to the salty water when you’re visiting down here in Florida. All along the Gulf Coast there are sandy beaches lined with tall hotels to give people quick access to the ocean waters in all seasons. The mindset of hanging by the ocean is not for everyone, but millions do love it.
There is even Salt Life gear that takes its name from our ocean affinities. But most people seem to prefer walking around in as little as they can. Even the fat guys with the big guts and deep tans wear their Salt Life shorts and hats proudly. This is not the land of apology. No Sir. People wear their fat with pride here on the Florida Coast. It’s almost a personal trademark like having a tattoo, sporting really large breasts or a bulge in the shorts. Millions of people each grabbing for the straw of individuality.
And mostly, life makes a big sucking sound at the other end of it.
I look in the reflection of the hotel windows as we walk past and all it does is make me realize that I’m just borrowing the salt of the ocean for a little while. Despite inane claims by biblical literalists that human beings once lived 900 years, the typical life span of a person is between 80-100 years. If you’re lucky.
I want to live that life as well as possible. And, to actually feel what it means to be alive, I run, ride and swim. Seems like those are tyings many of you like to do too, if you’re reading this. Never, ever apologize for that. Be sensible, and don’t literally kill yourself. But do take it to the edge now and then. Find out what it means to hurt a little. That’s a holy venture, I promise you. But also let it flow. Dream it. Live it.
And when you come back from a long workout and sweat streams down your face, take a lick of what comes out of your body. Check your shirt and shorts when they dry. They will be lined with salt sometimes. Because you’re the ones living the true salt life, wherever you are. There are plenty of places to do this all around the world. Because the world IS round, despite what the deniers, the mental bigots and the biblically distracted want us to believe.
We’re staying in an elegantly constructed retirement community in Spring Hill, Florida. As my brother-in-law explained, it’s nice as retirement communities go, but not the most luxurious. He explained: “There’s one north of here that’s one of the wealthiest in the world,” he told me.
The noise he made swimming resembled the struggles of a waterbird I once saw whose leg was snagged in the mouth of a giant snapping turtle. The bird was flapping one wing trying to pull away and escape. It was the most pitiful sight. However I did not know at first that the snapping turtle had the bird by the leg. I though it might be trapped in some errant fishing line or other manmade horror. So I waded out to the bird and reached down to follow its leg underwater in hopes of freeing it. But when I reached down to feel the face of large snapping turtle, I recoiled in fear, and backed away. “Sorry, dude,” I said, and waded back out of the water.
Climbing into a Boeing 737 Southwest Airlines jet in Chicago, I settled into the window seat next to my wife. Our flights to Florida and back were quite affordable, and we had family business to attend.
When we landed in Nashville, we climbed out of the airplane and dined at a restaurant in the airport called Gibson’s. It is named after the famous line of guitars, which makes sense in such a music town. I’ve played songs on Gibson guitars, but I cannot make the claim that I am actually a guitarist. I can strum chords but can’t make it cry and sing. So I’m not really a musician.
Even though I spent considerable time on a farm as a kid, I was never really a farmer. I visited my uncle’s farm and did some chores when I was there. But that’s not the same as living on a farm year-round, or milking cows at 5:30 in the morning. But I did develop an appreciation for the work that goes into farming.
So many farmers rent their land or equipment now it’s all mortgaged and leveraged to the max. Everyone in the farming business paying bankers at some point, and delivering crops to the maw of the markets.
Walking through Midway Airport on the way to Florida this morning, I noticed a sign that said “Service dogs allowed on leashes. All other animals must be in carriers.”
There was a time when the “end of the season” was emphatic by nature. As a cross country runner through high school and college, the season would end when the success ran out. That could be the district meet or sectionals, depending how well we ran.
One felt relief in some respects that the competitive demands were over for a moment. Getting ready for meets twelve weeks in a row does a share of wear and tear on the mind and body.
In fact it was the start of a whole new season. We love and hate the process, don’t we? We love the rush of late season competition but welcome the relief when our big race is done. We love the idea of starting a new season but hate how much it hurts when we really start to push it again.
“Sno Fun Run. The time I hurdled that orange cone like an idiot. Remember how much that hurt?”
So now I know. My mouth is finally closed after the amusing shock of learning what it really was. That’s the way I react to such things. With an open mouth and then a cold dose of realization.
It was an even less forgiving story when Bernie Madoff made off millions of dollars and left the people victimized by his scams horribly deceived. Or did they deceive themselves into believing in someone who appeared to have all the answers? It was all too good to be true.
My Black Friday (if you insist on calling that) began in the comfort of an MRI bed at our local hospital network. That would be Northwestern Medicine, the conglomerate that now owns a variety of hospitals across Northern Illinois. They are a good operation as far as I can see. Given the interface between consumer and health care providers is so heavily brokered by insurance companies these days, one is mostly glad when there is permission given to walk in the front door.
Only there was no need. Only the lower half of my body was inserted into the MRI hole. The rest of me stuck out like an uncut carrot from a salad so there was no need to worry. Above me was a multi-dimensional photograph of a locust tree against a clear blue sky. I looked at that with amusement thinking I was probably one of the only patients who sits there thinking they might find a yellow-billed or black-billed cuckoo in that kind of tree on a summer day when tent caterpillars set up shop. Makes for good eating when you’re a cuckoo.
The annual Fox and the Turkey run in Batavia draws more than 2,000 runners. The vibe is wonderful. Dozens of families run the race together. Today was the 21st annual race put on the by Fox River Trail Runners, the largest running organization the burbs west of Chicago.
Cycling shorts can certainly feel like they’re in a knot after spending hours in the saddle. For men, the testicles can feel constricted and the head of the penis can get raw from the merest misalignment of a seam on a chamois.
I’ve always lived fairly close to water, especially rivers. It is fun to run along river trails because there is always something to see. This is especially true as my avocation is birding, or birdwatching. Rivers attract birds because of food resources ranging from bugs that fly over the water to the berries that grow in 
There is plenty to see in all seasons. Even in winter there are ducks such as mergansers, goldeneyes and huge flocks of Canada Geese. The mergansers fish in the open water and are easily spied as their sides are bright white.
Over the years I watched those old structures decay and fall into the river. The gray wood cracked and bent in places, then tumbled into the water. Come spring a big flood would wash away the weakened structures bit by bit.
We Run and Ride 