Gettin' High at Edisto

I just finished up a ride of nearly 100 miles, and I feel a little tenderized.  I had not been out to Edisto Island since I worked for the County, many years ago, and it was just the right day for it. There were at least 4 road-killed raccoons, 1 bloated, buck white-tailed deer in a ditch, 3 or 4 heaps o' opossum, and a few smashed snakes along the way, but I was lucky enough to return in one piece (thanks, again, to my reflective vest and reflective triangle with which I always travel).   

I wish I could give more of the credit to the motorists I encountered, but most gas addicts are still moving around as if the fluid was being sold for $1 per gallon (lots of peeling out, revving-up, unnecessary trips, and related my-driving-style-represents-my-stunted-emotional-development antics), which leads me to my current consternation.  Why is domestic oil suddenly so acceptable to so many elected officials and others?  When it comes to domestic employment, they shove their heads into the very holes in our planet for which they are rallying.   It is dishonest for them to brandish the flag of energy independence in an attempt to seem patriotic at the same time they are making it easier for companies to eliminate or relocate jobs.  If you had the choice, would you vote for one more good job in your community that would support a family for a lifetime or cheaper gasoline for a few more years?

Meanwhile, I carted the kayak to a local landing the other day on the X-tra Cycle.  I used a couple of bricks for ballast on the opposite side, and it worked quite well.  The only couple of rubs were that there was no good place to lock the bicycle and I was paddling a whitewater boat in flat, tidal areas.  Such a boat has nearly no tracking ability, so I was only out for about an hour before I tired of the constant corrections required to move in a straight line.  It has me considering the purchase of a sit-on-top, which would not only provide a good track, but which is designed for bringing along fishing gear.  I've grown more and more convinced that I need to make the occasional fish a part of my diet, in order to replace some of the carbon excess associated with soy being my staple source of complete protein.  Besides, once the girls are here and onto solid foods, I want them to have some choice in the way their diets develop.  If they are going to eat animals, I want them to be aware of how food gets to their plates.  Hell, we may even do some hunting, though I'm still a little undecided on what species I/we may pursue.  I'm leaning toward Canada goose or some such other pestiferous species that is less likely to possess the sentient capacity of large mammals like deer that are so often targeted, but we've got some time to make this decision.

It feels a little weird to be writing of killing animals for food, but I've grown less and less convinced that an entirely plant-based diet is efficient and ecologically sound unless a large part of it is raised by the consumer.  Recent, light gardening efforts have helped me realize just how difficult it is to produce an appreciable amount of food without hornworms, aphids, or others tearing apart a harvest.  It makes organic food prices much more understandable, and it makes one wonder what sort of monitoring and maintenance (fossil fueled?) must be required when pesticides and herbicides are not employed.  Anyway, we'll still plant, and I hope to get at least 4 or 5 good crops in this year (some leafy greens, some peppers and tomatoes, some garlic, and others), but we may be using those crops to adorn a few fast-twitchers of the piscine variety, here and there.

Dave and I got in the ride that I was hopeful would happen last weekend.  We arrived just before hunting closed for the day and may have ruined somebody's shot, as we pedaled around a bend and noticed 4 or 5 deer milling about in the center of the road (a no-shoot zone, if I'm not mistaken), about 1/2 mile distant.  Perhaps they knew where to hang out to avoid their demise? 

It was a great ride, save for the many huge, fresh piles of horse dung we had to bob and weave to avoid.  Dave was on a new single-speed 29'er and, as usual, had no problem steaming up my tail, regardless of my use of 3 or 4 gears, but it wasn't a high stress ride.  We got in about a lap and a half, pushed a medium pace, for the most part, and finished up just in time for me to get back to work on time.  I signaled my satisfaction with the ride by smoothly rolling up to the car, failing to unclip my foot successfully, and falling squarely onto the wound on my shin that was barely starting to heal from a few days previous (regardless of having been riding clipless pedals for a few years, now).  Dave calmly inquired, "Are you done?"  I could only laugh.