National American Story

A colleague of mine studying and living the applied science of social engineering made a huge discovery the other night while attending his brother's birthday celebration. As he put it, "The one thing that the American culture can't do, is talk about it."

I have borrowed this Image of Pat Tillman(left) and his brother Kevin from the Internet. Photographer unidentified. Notice the Placement of the American Flag on Pat's sleeve.
Why shouldn't we? We are directly connected to it, we own it and it is ours to deal with as a Nation unwilling to face it. I do not have the same collective cultural desires as most of this country so therefor I can, need and want to talk about it.



He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep

pain that cannot forget, falls drop by drop upon the

heart, and in our own despite, against our will,

comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.

-Aeschylus, Agamemnon


I have just finished Jon Krakauer's latest book, Where Men Win Glory-The Odyssey of Pat Tillman. Of all of his amazing work that I have read this one was by far the most learning which equals some sort of internal suffering. Krakauer has the keen ability to take a subject, get to the factual quanta of it and then make the emotional transfer happen with the use of his words and literary technique. Every single one of you, that is each of you reading this post toonday should get your head wrapped around this story for your own learning which cannot be unlearned.


Up until reading this factual account of the life and death of US Army Ranger Pat Tillman I had in my mind pictured the incident of fratricide that had killed him on a hillside in Afghanistan. I had only based those thoughts on whatever the media had released after the lies were told. News, just news or is all of this really happening? I was completely wrong with my media based assumptions and am thankful that someone passed me this book last week. Krakauer frames Tillman's life and death story so well that I honestly felt changed as he died on the pages in front of me. I mourned the death of Pat Tillman Wednesday even though he died on April 22, 2004 and I did not feel anything then, 5 years ago. The author also has the ability with his application of the truth to give you the bigger picture as well. The real American Energy crisis is brought to light. I have read some powerful books lately but this one is over the top and has yet again brought my learning to a new level. With that comes the pain referred to in Aeschylus' statement. I cannot look at it the same anymore, a reoccurring theme in my life ever since I started to face it instead of looking away as I had done my entire life up until that point. As hard as it was for me to take that first step of looking in, I can not imagine living and dying any other way.

Friday Part IV, that's Eye Vee

Friday Perspective
Courier Chronicles

Somehow I have been able to drag the events of last Friday out all the way to this Thursday in four continuous posts. The story of a day finally closes with a happy ending.....
While rolling north my phone vibrates, it's the Rookie dispatching me on his day off because he trained one of our clients to skip SOP by calling him in the afternoon. In my response to filling in for him the night before I actually verbalized my concerns about that one client calling him while he was on the road and then him having to get me. That is all based on him actually having his work phone on while he is off and traveling. What do I know? Nothing other than what is right in front of me to see with my own eyes without making judgement except for within my own self. Change. Okay fine, that job works out with the other three at three so on with it. I deliver the single first to 301 S Tryon where I do not have a proxy card, however by proxy of another proxy card that I do have connected to this building I am in with a paper slip. This process slows me down anywhere from a few minutes to maybe five, depending on the security mood transfer. I flash the yellow card to the guard and think about giving it to him to recycle but stick it in the cargo pocket of my shorts giving consideration that I may have to come back in the building before the end of the day. It is getting late, how could that ever happen I said to my reflection in the mirrored elevator with the paper chit in my pocket on the way up to deliver on the 7th floor. Back down and onto the street, my phone vibrates again. The Rookie says I have another one going from 'his' client to 301, again. How did that just happen? Pick it up a bit you still have to get done with the court before 1600hrs.
At that point I had to go back to the same place that I had just came from to bag the 'again' job and then move on to the Courthouse. Fast paced brisk walk through the Hearst Lobby, I can see Ansel Adams' work big at like 30 x 40. Tower Three elevator, the doors open as this short wide lady wearing blue jeans and a huge silky blue Pro Level Carolina Panthers Jersey walks off hurriedly almost right into me. We miss colliding by inches. As we meet and pass so close she looks up into my eyes and says in a deep human frog croak, "HELLO". The shock and awe was written all over my face but I managed a civil reply as I moved into the elevator. Her voice mouth box sounded ravaged by years of the grit, her only escape from the styro institutional setting of the bank floor above. The doors close and I see her disappear into the light. Up and package is on board, back down for the Court again. This time as I ride by fast the audible siren test is silent but the memory is still there.

Into the court for a quickie and back down and out for the hill one more time but not the last of the day. I drop the job using my yellow pass first then return the three O'clock schedule just before commencing the next scheduled pick up at two firms at 1600hrs. Time is on my side now, all of this will be over in an hour as long as the flow keeps going. I have one more court run on the last regular pick up of the day. Just as I go to leave with it I hear someone asking if the courier has left yet. There is one more job, this one is an ASAP going to One Wacky. I write it up quickly while I wait for it to be put in an envelope and labeled. All of the formalities are covered and I am out the door for the court one more time on this Friday. Up and down, I feel like I had just left because I actually had less than 25 minutes ago. I drop the ASAP first then return the file stamped pleading right before 1620hrs. I am still moving watching the clock because in ten minutes I will have to get the mail from three firms and have the Certified Servicing stamped and in the USPO by 1700hrs.

Back around One Wacky, Two Wacky and the Hearst Tower taking away what amounts to just over one tub of outgoing mail. There are 10 certified as well which take individual care and cannot be just thrown in the blue box. With the mail on the top of my cockpit I make the light at College and fly down the hill on 5th Street all the way to the bike rack by the front door that John Cock was able to get the Post Master General of Charlotte to install almost a decade ago. It feels strange to be working the late shift pulling the all day like back in my rookie years. I walk in with the stack that needs to be stamped with the round brown and look down the hall to the window that I picked up my first two deliveries 8 hours prior. Billy Dee gives me the nod from behind the counter and I approach taking the round brown from his hand. As soon as he let go without warning, I dropped it. The stamp hit the counter on the edge and then fell to the floor with a click. "Don't brake my round brown" he said with a grin that made him look even more like Lando Calrissian. When I picked it up off of the floor I looked at the device and wondered if this tool of his trade had been his since the eighties when I was in High School. It looked old and used. I tore off and stamped the 8 receipts as fast as I could. Outside the Post Office I unlocked and started the 35 minute commute home considering the day in the job that I just had.

Friday Part III

Friday Perspective
Courier Chronicles

My description of the events that took place this past Friday October 23 Continues. Two Pleadings plus a few Checks in my bag on the Twelve O'clock schedule and I am on the way back to the Court. Around the corner on 4th the phone rings, a forgotten Twelve O'clock job at 1222hrs now a rush to the ROD Public Work area and a familiar balding fellow. Trajectory changes on the two dimensional flight path, heading now for the King on the Chess board to pick up the ASAP. Diversion constant, timing change is perpetual in this sort of livity because the wheels are in motion. Including this latest change in flight plan sending me smack dab into an audible Euro Siren Transfer. In a bend in the avenue I slow the bike to a crawl listening to the echo of some sort of an alarm test in a dark new building under construction. As I ride slowly by huge openings in the sides of the new building I can see thousands of tiny pin points of light attached to the walls and rafters flashing in unison with the wailing of the Euro ambulance siren style alarm. I flash back to the German Polizei(Poh lee zeye) racing through the wet streets below our room on the morning of Day 3 when a bunch of people quit. ROD dropped by 1240hrs and a few minutes later I was back in line at the Clerk's Office. Only one clerk, the line is seven deep at mid lunch celebration. Moving slowly towards the front I hear a desperate ruckus on my left. A baby's momma with her teenage baby holding one of her own. Something negative was heaving from them. The baby started to cry which drew my attention through the fog emotional disconnect between them and I. Her head looked draped in a cloud like the Corporate Center earlier in he morning. People standing around ignored the source, do not look at it because it is right in front of you. It is much easier to live in reality that way for most, not I. I kept an eye on it for the few minutes I was in line. Just as I stepped to the window I saw the anger transfer by the black hand of the angry young baby's mama to the baby's tiny diapered hip she was holding. Twice hard, quick with a verbal, "Be quiet" through her gritted white teeth. Damn, I should hit you I thought as I looked for her eyes avoiding mine but searching for those not looking. The baby quieted down only in the arms of her mama's mama. I walked away from the clerk towards the cashier to pay multiple bills for my client and I stared intently for the dark eyes of the even darker mama. She glanced, it was cold and hate tied in a knot with even more of her own 'reality'. I left the court again for the Hearst Tower and the return of the Twelve.
Not long after 1300hrs I was sitting at a small wooden round table in front of a tall window looking out on Tryon. I broke out my home made sandwich lunch, the green roadie water bottle I found in Greenville along the course and the Tillman book. The sun was blasting through holes in the low dark clouds that were moving fast across the sky from the south and west. The shadows made the clouds movement noticeable without looking up into the silver sky dotted with crevasses in the clouds filled with the dramatic deep blue of our own atmosphere. Minutes pass while I eat, sip water and read about Tillman's youthful awareness. I am reminded of my kid by what I am reading. When the sun finds a hole it lights up the window with thick radiant warmth. Then it hides behind the thick clouds and the heat stops the light from bouncing off of the white pages of my book. Forty minutes pass and it is time to pack up and move for the Two O'clock schedule at two Firms in different big buildings. The pick ups yield three jobs, more Court work. The first is back to the Courthouse along the same approach as the previous 10,000 times. The answer comes in the form of following myself into the dark. Clouds are billowing and moving across the sky like strips of film with no projector. Large and small scattered all the way up high in the sky as well as down low towards the horizon. Hello again Deputy, through the security check that at afternoon docket call reminds me of what I had seen at immigrations in Newark once returning from afar. Sluggish folk at the dispense of the authority bound by the thin felt ropes funneling them through and into the Judiciary System so that they can pay or yet perhaps a few even get paid. Up to the Chambers first, still nothing in the order box for an anxious and curious client. Back down to the clerk for filing. To the window and while I wait I find out that there is no Chocolate for sale anymore, the World's finest to be exact. No Complaint in the consolidated case file. Job done and back up the hill for One Wacky and Three Wacky. All work returned by 1445hrs and I am on my way to 201 North Tryon(aka The Hearst Tower) for my three O'clock pick up at one big Firm with two Departments.

On the morrow the story of what happened in one day on Friday will continue......

Friday Part II

Friday Perspective
Courier Chronicles Out of CMPD HQ with a thick heavy stack of criminal records in the bag. As I cross over the short little side street and alley to 4th for the Courthouse and the next order of business I have a conscious thought spinning along. From the saddle things appear extraordinarily familiar to me, have I been to the Courthouse this way 25 times so far this week? If that is the case that is a hundred times a month, over a thousand times a year and perhaps over 10,000 times in this 11 year career that has led to my own awareness. Amazing how familiar the route actually is to me but if I have travelled it anywhere near 10,000 times that would be more than once and since I am taking it in through the visual cortex I am accepting it as real. I get side tracked just before the CH with a call that asks me to check a specific Box at the Register of Deeds. Seeing that facility is one block before the Courthouse I stop there first. As I lock up at the only ROD bike rack I realize that the bolts securing the rack to the concrete slab are loose in place. Up to the vault I check the box, the envelope is there and I bag it turning to head back downstairs for my bike. Down a short steep grassy slope leaning back on the bars I roll across the quad and lock next to an attorney's one speed cruiser in front of the Mecklenburg County Courthouse. I see the gun wearing Sheriff Deputies without vest familiar with me, we make eye contact and I get the nod to lay my bag on the belt. One foot at a time through the human scanner to avoid having a cleat set the thing off. Upstairs to drop at the Chambers first. Next is a pick up form the clerk of room 8150. The Deputy there informed me that who I was looking for had gone down to her auxiliary desk on the 3rd floor behind the Civil Clerk. I have six things to attend to on 3rd floor anyways, perfect. Off the elevator on three and I am staring at the back of a girl who is reading the Civil Clerk Floor Directory. Just as I pass she turns and we make eye contact. She had been crying through the red brown curls and looked tired. The expression of shock on her pale face and in her Chakras made her appear somewhat out of place with no understanding of where she needed to be. "Do you need help?", I asked. Quietly nodding she said what I already knew, "I need to get a Restraining Order". I pointed the way which was the same window that I was going to first. So she wound up in line right in front of me, her confusion with the system via a former ex boyfriend full contact transfer apparent. I volunteered real information based on my experience in already witnessing such cases. As soon as she filed the paper the clerk would give her a court time for the early afternoon where the judge would grant her temporary order. Within hours the accused will be served and locked up in processing by the Sheriff. Then within something like ten days the Court will hear the case in room 4130 where women sit on the left and men sit on the right. One time I went into 4130 in session and tried to deliver photo evidence to a female client sitting on the girl side when out of nowhere a short dark lady deputy intercepted me with a hand on the butt of her pistol. No way, girls to the left, boys to the right. "At that time if the evidence compels the judge his or her honor will sign the Ex Parte granting your order for a year", I said. I knew the process so I told her the truth in the Courthouse. I went on babble style suggesting that she cut all ties with the man who put his hands on her neck. Cut it away and look inward for the safety you desire, it is not as hard to do that as it might feel. The whole point being it is harder to carry it without taking that inner view to get to the next point of not unlearning. She never smiled but I could tell the truth made her feel more assured, a touch of relief against an back drop of pain at the extension of physical abuse. As we walked through the webbing lined Common Feeder line to the window I pulled out my stack of pleadings and put them in order. The victim without a name stepped up to one of the three windows at the clerk and received her packet. Simultaneously I stood at the next available clerk and filed two pleadings. I disappeared around the corner for the newly available Court Calendars, two sets for two different clients. Further into the walls I find the familiar faces of the vault clerks. I pull four civil cases and copy what I found. Out of there at 1142hrs for the Corp Center, the Hearst Tower, Three Wacky Fargo, One Wacky Fargo and then the Courthouse again. Unless the phone rings and things change.

Part III Toonmorrow, this day may last all week.

A Day in the Week of a Courier

Friday Perspective
Courier Chronicles

In lieu of the normal weekend report recapping my latest excursion in life I transfer you today experiences from the job scene on Friday. This will be a different attempt. I sometimes wish I could hand write my post with pencil on a pad as it is happening. I would take pictures to fill in the gaps. Then in my dream world I could later at my own convenience scan the document and post it for you to my see the authenticity on paper. I could keep a little hand written book going and when I filled all of the pages I would store the little bound document on a shelf in the barn. Pencil written blog post, instead I am typing late Friday recounting how my job works completely around the forward movement of myself through the tunnels uptoon.

May I start my explaining the situation leading up to Friday's adventure. Two weeks ago while having a convo with my Rookie I had a vision that I would be working all day on Friday the 23rd even though I did not find officially find out until last night. I was so aware that I would be pulling a long day that I made at least two separate humans know of my work related premonition. Fate, synchro and the ability to see and take what is going on around me at face value leads me to the truth. So, I worked all day today and had these amazing transfers stack up on themselves as if they were rookies or better yet cookies.

The first one: I took a lift in an auto viper, hence the puny Friday blog post. It is definitely not the normal routine which leads to cosmic timing implications. In the passenger seat of the car approaching from the North and East I can see the buildings through the glass. It is an earlier view than my normal 0745hrs perspective which is usually around about the time that I roll out of Dooleyville for the Jar. Seeing the sunlight bursting through the cuts in the overwhelmingly gray low cloud sky gave me cause to consider time and space. At one point minutes from the car stopping up in a garage, the crown of the tallest building in town appeared lit by rising sun. Resplendent against an early morning dark sky. The lower floors below the crowned roof and halfway down the building were obscured by a dark low cloud enveloping the symbol of our Nation's backbone. The cloud was an elongated runner feeding over the hill that is the square and it was interlacing like the fingers of Mother Nature herself with the steel and glass structures as if they were no part of the atmospheric decision. Low clouds, individual at sunrise take on the characters of human emotions.

As soon as I got on my bike I rolled out north and east back towards the auto view that had stolen my thoughts and side tracked my infantile attention. I stopped at ten and eleven Blocks north and one East. The view was slightly better and free of overhead three more blocks further out. I looked through and saw the crown in a gap and then pulled back to witness the bigger picture. I left the bike across the street and took to foot for a better vantage. I watched the sky and light change in front of me for over twenty minutes. Then I took off for the US Post Office for the start of my day, it was 0812hrs.

Mail Delivery times two then a warm cup of coffee. I find myself with Crackauer's latest written effort, Where Men Win Glory under a fire escape and next to a red brick corridor. It is the story of Pat Tillman's life and death from infant to the NFL and on to Afghanistan where he was killed with a squad automatic weapon fired by one of his fellow platoon members in Alpha Company, 2nd Battalion Seventy Fifth Ranger Regiment. I am listening. Coll is referenced in the first few chapters as is Lawrence Wright. These are authors I have already faced the truth with, my familiarity with the context in which their words were applied made me feel in touch with 'reality'. The phone rings, I'm Bootsed. Before the normal schedule starts I am on a mission to the State Courthouse Chambers to pick up a signed order and then get it filed below with the clerk. I take the rest of my warm cafe in a few gulps, put the book in the bag and then buckle up one handed on the roll like Dicky taught me. I got the two jobs done and returned by 1010hrs, enough time to start the 1015 schedule at one firm with two departments.

Then onto the 1030 at two firms in two different buildings. Things stacked neatly in the bag, the CMPD HQ is is the first stop at 601 East Trade. The records department will have something set aside for me. I lock up, walk in and am greeted by a fellow sitting on the bench with three plastic grocery bags at his feet. At the Kiosk were three armed and vested CMPD officers, I look for and get eye contact then turn left to the records window. The girl disappears to let my contact know that I have arrived. While I wait I look over and see the light dark man on the bench fixing a little late breakfast out of the plastic bags. A cylinder like box of Quaker Oats into a yellow plastic bowl with a white plastic spoon. He pours Milk in, floating his oats. Is this really happening as he sets the room temperature concoction down next to his side and reaches into a different plastic bag pulling out some bread, Peanut Butter and another plastic knife utensil. This guy is more cracked than I am, I thought to myself as the Lead Cop stood up from behind the desk kiosk and started with a firm verbal ball busting about identity, blood tests, the FBI and Wade County. The big mustached cop was familiar with the identity of the light dark twitchy man with no other place to fix some fooding other than where he sat in the Head Quarters of the Charlotte Mecklenburg Police Department.

In an effort to keep your attention this story will continue tomorrow.

Bicycle Sport Spotted

at the Tree Shaker.

No time for words

I must be doing a sub par job of negotiating my priorities because I have nothing for you this morning except for the following little photo essay. All of these pictures were taken by me within a few days of each other earlier this month. The other common denominator about them is that they were all made within the beltway, the Jar/Uptoon proper.

At the Gandhi Statue official unveiling ceremony which I was invited to attend I saw this future mogul in training hanging out on the steps of the old Mecklenburg County Courthouse. The columns were killing me so I asked him if I could take his picture. Without missing a beat and in soft English with a light Indian accent he smiled and replied, "Give me a dollar."
So, I gave him a dollar even though it is not my normal practice to pay the subject of my photography.

His smile was as authentic as the eyes stitched to his shirt.

Clockwise from 12: The Hearst Tower, The BOLA(Bank of Literally America) Corp Center and the new Manhattan big Ritz Hotel/BOLA Offices and more BOLA Conference Space.

CMPD COMMUNICATION CHECK, CAN YOU HEAR AND SEE ME?

2 Rides in 1, Post that is....

Last night while Ms. Arcen and I were on long PT(Physical Training) out of the house in Dooleyville something sort of hilarious went down at the end of our ride. Maybe it's funny only to her and I. You be the judge, it will only take 31 seconds to see and hear what we were dealing with. A few minutes before we were down at Loch Dooley when the Ice Cream Van Truck rolled by real slow playing the obligatory music. The kid jumped on the cruiser and said, "Lets catch it!" But I have no money, oh I get it, this is not about buying anything, you really just want to catch it. Then we can pass it on an uphill out of the lake and stay in front of it so that we can create a scary little film. The entire time the maniacal ICVT driver was laughing with amazement that he was passed by a 10 year old on a cruiser and her old man.

Bike Ride Bad Dream from Billy Fehr on Vimeo.

Two Saturdays ago her and I headed to Freedom park via the Little Sugar Creek Greenway at the Brandywine Road end. We parked the car and unloaded the bikes behind Ilan's Bicycle Sport. I'd link him but his shop's page is 'Coming soon' and his blog has not been updated since the 08 Interbike. Wait, if you want to read about him check this out. Down the hill and across the beautiful Greenway all the way to the hospital. Once there we stopped, had a snack of almonds and water and then I fixed a flat on my bike. When the break was over we rode back to the park and played Frisbee on a soccer field that we had all to ourselves. After an hour or so of that disc flying fun we jumped back on our bikes and rode back to Brandywine and up the final climb back to the car.

On the way there we saw a rider pulling a B.O.B. trailer loaded with a medium sized brown dog on the Booty Loop. I asked her to take a picture of the dog in the trailer but she got side tracked not realizing her own reflection as the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. This is one of the neatest images she has ever made.
A side stop off of the Greenway and the water felt good.

Snack time at the far end of the Greenway near Moorehead. When we went to leave my rear tire was flat, like the 5th I had had in a week. I fixed it on the spot and later that day I found the cause of my flat pandemic. 12 new tubes in stock and I should not flat again for awhile.

On the return leg of the journey.

Before we left the back of the Shop Ms. Arcen and I wanted to know what Ilan and crew were throwing away. Stop whining kid and get in there. Do you see anything shiny or made of in tact rubber? The frame was bent cracked, the wheels totalled and the handle bars tweaked. Did the owner of the Cannondale get ran over by a car or did he back up over his bicycle with his Ford Excursion??

Zoo TV on the Square

Last week Uptoon on the square. A trailer and large TV rolled up and tuned in.

A guy on a bike became curious.

Despite the traffic.

As if car drivers need yet one more distraction.

and A Mustached Cowboy at that....

I did ask out loud as I pedaled up towards Clawhammer, "Does the cowboy high five?" 3 hours and forty something minutes earlier I had left on the super early train engineered by Rich from Charlotte. Skiddaladophy was on board and we were headed up to meet Eric, Rob C., Blair and Tim K. in South Mills. The first part of the mission was to watch the 0800hrs start of Stage 3 in the Pisgah Mountain Bike Stage Race. We were there with spare minutes to see the riders off. Next we drove down to the horse stables, geared up and waited for the rest of our party to arrive. Temps in the high singles Celsius and various shades of gray skies were being blown about by a strong westerly wind. Almost 2 hours later through the woods our group which was back together made it to N. Mills and the base of Pilot. In the beginning hundred meters of pushing up Pilot the first racer coming descending towards me was Jeremiah Bishop looking down the steep terrain over the top of his glasses and the end of his nose. He was flying. Onwards up to the Humvee section where a little party had gathered to cheer the on coming riders who were approaching from over the top of Laurel and down Pilot. A fire was built, the cowbells came out and the heckling commenced. Snow fell from the sky and was apparently accumulating on the upper slopes. Downward riding racing folks and some non-racers out on Pilot talked about the beauty of the white covering the green just above us. We pushed up to the big exposed rock switch on Pilot and altho the snow pellets were falling we never saw the snow line which must have been over the top on the immediate Laurel side. I was making a bad choice to continue on. I wanted to ignore that we were parked in South Mills and continue to play in North Mills. My friend answered the question honestly. Plenty of business still ahead of us as soon as we turned around and descended Pilot. The drive train on my fixed gear started acting poorly on the down slope of Avery. The chain kept throwing every few meters. I got off and had to adjust the EBB and mess with it which was holding up my friends down below. Up until that final descent the fixy had been a positive transfer. Alone in the back, just powering down the trail quietly with the gray scale wind. The feeling of the trail coming right back inward to me through the transfer of the revolution on the dirt and rocks. I was not planning on holding up my friends to fix the fixy, I appreciate their patience and support. Back to the car at 1620hrs in fine spirits.

The start of Stage 3 I took this picture of Dicky taking a picture of Harlan taking a picture.

Racer coming through the lower Humvee section on Pilot.

The Winning Captain Jason Morgan racing while living up to Single Speed expectations!

Skiddaladophy enjoying his Pastoral experience.

The non-racing Pisgah Princess cleaned the Humvee section just like the racing Sue Haywood and I did. I was of course not racing either.

#46 entering the first switch above the Humvee.

So far so good.

Perfect form,

a little wide but he is holding it together.

Oh no, a dab that caused him to fall on the floor.

A few seconds later #46 was welcomed by the fire.

The view from up higher on Pilot.

The first turn around spot, until Eric showed up.

Creek side near Pinkbeds and Pinkbeds.

I stole this map from Eric's blog,

as well this ride profile.

HID

This header image document is recording the above picture that I shot of Chestnut Mountain in the Wilson Creek Recreation area on Friday October 2, 2009 off of HWY181 sitting on the roof of the UN Montero. You are looking at Chestnut from the South West. I mountain biked to the top of Chestnut with Dude a long time ago before the B Log via the mounds and 181 to Greentown. It was a chilly gray ride that brought wind and freezing ice pellets from the sky that collected in our helmet vents. At the top of Chestnut was a small bald where we snacked and hydrated, the rest of the summit was tree covered. We found a fresh pile of pellet like deer scat and an abandoned roofed shack before we rode down Chestnut's back side to Raiders and then continued the business of getting back to the cold car.

Fuzzy Friday Fosters

If you can't stand the cute, get out of the kitchen. Seems as if it has been awhile since I have been able to introduce any new foster animals to you. We have been taking care of this momma and her youngens now for just over three weeks and the time has flown by. When the babies first arrived they were very tiny with eyes barely open. As you can see by the pictures below they are all developing quite well. On the morrow these 4 will go back to the Humane Society of Charlotte and receive their second round of vaccinations. I am pretty sure that they will go out again for 14 more days of foster care and then they will be ready to adopt. If you or any responsible humans that you know are in need of a domestic cat please have them contact the Humane Society and take one or all of these furry friends home. The abandoned animals in our area do not need much but they do need help from you! From left to right: Yo-Yo, Pimpkin and Echo

Autumn, the proud and protective Momma.

Pimpkin

Poor little Yo-Yo with her sad eyes.

The painted face of Echo.