I went for a bike ride around town today. I need to ride every day for the next month or so to buff up my legs for my Savannah bike ride I am planning. It was a nice day out, however the air was hazy and smoky. There was a fire somewhere, I think they are burning down the cabbage fields a few miles down the road. They do that every year or so. Slash and burn. It felt like hell moved in next door and was wafting off brimstone.
I pedaled by the place that is going to become 'Big fish Little Pond'. I saw the artist Liz there and I stopped a moment to say Hi and she let me peek inside. It's going to be a really hip joint when it is done, and I find Liz's paintings to be amazing.
I then amused myself by riding around and snapping pics of alleys in Sanford. I turned the pics black and white not to be artsy, but because alleys should be viewd in black and white. They are dank in-between worlds separating one building of life from another. Happy things rarely happen in alleys. People avoid walking in them unless they themselves are people that other people avoid. I like them. So, below are a few alleys.
I also spied out this osprey in his penthouse next on one of the odder buildings in Sanford. The osprey did not seem to be comfortable, it kept shuffling around and adjusting itself. I do not know if there were chicks in the nest or if the osprey was having a grumpy day. I whistled at it and it peered balefully down at me before dismissing me as nothing it wanted to eat.
I rode around riverwalk, the lake was so calm and the air was so smoky that it was hard to tell where the lake ended and the sky began. I saw the river ship romance boat come putting in on it's daily journey. The whole thing is some little romantic dealy where you eat dinner and cruise along the st johns. I would like to go on it one day, but, alas, you need someone to be romantic with for that.
After that I rode down mellonville for a while and decided to check out one of the new neighborhoods that had sprung up over there. I pedaled in and them promptly got lost. I had no idea those neighborhoods were that large, and it only had one exit. It was also eerie in there because it was a neat row of new homes in garish colors, reminding me a bit of the neighborhood fro 'Edward Sissorhands'. But what was particularly strange was despite the number of houses and indications that people live there, I hardly saw another soul the whole time I was in there. No one working in their yard or walking their dog, nor kids playing in the street. It was eerie, and I was glad when I found the exit again and made my getaway.
I found this tiny red 'no tresspassing' sign to be rather inadiquet for the large field over which it proclaimed its domain.
I am also amused by the fact that in one of those most historically black sections of Sanford, there is a baseball stadium dedicated to 'whitey'.
I got home, drank some water and had a sweat nap. It just seemed like a sweaty nap day.
The tadpoles in my fishtank are coming along nicely, although I suspect they have been nibbling on my poor snails. However they are starting to develop little froggy faces and spend more time swimming. The guppies ignore them.
I need to go work on my car now. I bought a new fan blower that I have been meaning to install in my Saturn for a week and a half now. I supposed I had better get to it.
2026 Update
Nineteen years ago, Ed was pedaling through cabbage smoke and a subdivision with exactly one exit—I simply had to attend.
Ah, 2007. Ed's day is a museum of lost arts. He goes for a bike ride with no phone strapped to his handlebars, no GPS telling him he's made a wrong turn—just a camera and a hunch. The alleys he photographs in black and white would now be uploaded to some app before the sweat dried, each one captioned 'liminal.' The subdivision that spooked him? Today it would have a Facebook page, a Ring doorbell on every gaudy house, and an HOA arguing about his lawn from three states away. And the riverboat romance? He sighs that he needs someone to be romantic with; now you'd just swipe right, meet under the osprey nest, and still feel lonely. The Saturn fan blower is the real tombstone: he's going to install a part, in his own driveway, by himself. In 2026, half a car's features are subscriptions and the other half is sealed units that require a diagnostic computer and a second mortgage. Even the cabbage smoke feels old-timey—we've replaced it with wildfire season and air quality alerts on our phones. Ed, you sweet, sweaty fossil.
“2007 Ed, you pedaled into a labyrinth of garish houses with exactly one exit, saw almost no one, and still took time to photograph the 'no trespassing' sign—what was the plan if the exit had vanished, and did you at least leave breadcrumbs?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2007 Ed: Well, Beelzebubba, I'm embarrassed to say my plan was basically to keep pedaling until I either found the road or gave up and became a permanent resident of one of those garish houses. No breadcrumbs, no, I'm not that organized. I had a water bottle and a head full of bad directions. To be honest, that neighborhood felt like it was designed by a man who hates people, one winding street after another, all pink and mint green, and nobody outside. I figured if the exit vanished I could just pick one of those identical lawns to die on. But the sign caught my eye because it was so small and serious, telling a whole field what to do. I'm still a little spooked. Next time I'll bring string. Or a compass. Or maybe just stay on the riverwalk where the osprey can judge me.
