Waddling Around Ashland: Is There No Escape?

"Jack, the roadster is packed, now would you shake a leg and get it in gear? We gotta a lotta ground to cover today if we're going to make it to the wedding party that starts tomorrow, you know, Dania's little Dot is getting hitched down there in wine country. Now, get it going!" "Alright, alright, Dolly-girl. Just let me get my heater and my Luckies and I'll be ready to roll. You know it takes me a while..." "For Sam's sake and the love of Mike, you are the slowest. And leave that damned gun and those smokes at home. You sure don't need the gun and you don't smoke." "Anymore..." "What's that mumbling?" "Mumble mumble..."
Me and Dolly-girl were taking off on a little adventure and, how shall I say it, it was starting off on the il piede sinistro, if you get my drift. I just don't know how she gets started so much faster than I do...


We eventually got out the door, into the Chevy, and down the road to Red Bluff, California, where we pulled over for the night. Dolly-girl had found us a roadside hotel--what they call a motor hotel--where we could rest our butts after a long day of doing nothing. I spotted a road house where we could tie on a feedbag and knock back a couple cold ones. Dolly-girl went for a vino bianco. It was a coupla IPAs for me. Surprising when it comes to drinks the two of us are not, I guess. We had a nice relaxing time sitting outside along the river. Something felt real comfy about this town, but I couldn't put my finger on it.






The next morning, shank's mare and I went out for our morning constitutional and I found what made me have that kinship feeling. Turns out Red Bluff must have a touch of that unsavory element. Either that or the 24-hour bail bond place has the same sort of bottom line that D'Mestiere Investigations has. Let's just say that it's a good thing Dolly-girl sells a poem from time to time to keep beans on the table back in Stumptown!






Skip ahead. The hitching was about as much fun as you can have, especially when it takes place near Santa Rosa and you get to make a coupla trips to what Beluga Slim calls "The Mothership of IPAs", the Russian River brewery. I'll tell you, those boys know how to brew them some beer that will make you spin and lucky for us, there was plenty to go around. And you know, a beer at breakfast just isn't that bad a way to spend time on a little vacation get-away. Of course, it earned Cuco and me a round of tsks tsks from Dolly-girl and Dania, mostly 'cause they couldn't quite buy our "what are time zones, really?" argument.




The following Saturday, found me out and about in Ashland, you know that spot where her and me go each year to see the live action plays that she likes so much. I'm pretty sure I've given you the straight talk on this before. It's the weekend-a-year when she goes all nerdy on me. The rest of the year she's only nerdy during the week, but hey, Fiora wouldn't be Dolly-girl if she weren't like that.
Anyhoo, I decided to get up with the chickens and get out on the streets to see what Ashland looked like early and to wear off some LARD! as I knew back at the old Blue Moon B&B, the joint where Dolly-girl, or as they call her there "Fiora, dear", likes to set our brake, Dino would be cooking up a storm for birdseed time. I couldn't wait to just enjoy a meal in peace. In fact, given that the War on LARD! was going so well, I might even cast caution to the wind and eat my fill!




Sure enough, Dino rolled out a frittata that would make a hen proud of where her fruit ended up. As I mentioned, I'd decided to throw caution to the wind and I put what looked to be a delicious home-fried potato on my plate. "Jackie-boy, just what gives you the idea that you can hang a "Mission Accomplished" banner on your bridge and act like you're King of Whatever, prancing around in your flight suit?" "Javier--I mean Professor Boleyn?" I looked up looking for the Boleyn's Eye View Sky Cluster (® Boleyn Enterprises) that had found me. It must be in the umbrella..."Jackie-boy, look down."



The voice didn't have the usual booming Voice-of-God quality--it sounded right-in-the-room, if you get my drift, even though we were outside. "That's right, Jackie-boy, in the flesh." Sitting next to Dolly-girl was, OH MY GOD! PROFESSOR JAVIER BOLEYN (® Boleyn Enterprises). I gulped, gasping for air. My breakfast was ruined. "That's right Jackie-boy..." "Professor, must you call me Jackie-boy here in front of strangers. It's not like when it's Bar-Am and you are talking through the Tap-Cam (® Boleyn Enterprises) or on the LARD! app (© Boleyn Software, Ltd.) on my iPhone (Galactic © Steve Jobs). "Yes, Jack, I must call you Jackie-boy. It's part of the humiliating Demean-o-talk that's a key ingredient in a new strategy outlined in my latest book, Respect Weighs Heavily: Lose it in 2-Steps with Professor Javier Boleyn (Pre-orders are now being accepted on Amazon.com (© Steve Jobs and Amazon.com)). I must leave you now, as enjoyable as this is. I'm here as a consultant. You see, Falstaff has been 2-Stepping and now needs to don a fat suit to play the part. I'm here to perform my patented Hip-No-Therepy (USPTO 7,932,457) which will allow him to wear the suit without imagining that he's a hefty hog again. Ta ta. I'm off."



"Go ahead and finish your breakfast, Jack. Don't let this chance meeting spoil your vacation." "I can't do it, Dolly-girl. The Professor is correct. I have no business trumpeting "Mission Accomplished" just because I've shed 61 pounds of LARD! Osama bin LARDEN may be dead, but another LARDorist will rise to take his place. Eternal vigilance is my fate." "You're right about that, Jackie-boy." The professor popped out of the doorway as he was leaving. "And oh, Fiora, dear, I've autographed your copy of Polka the Pounds Away: 2-Steppin' in NEPA with Professor Javier Bloeyn on the table inside. I depart!" Fiora blushed. I didn't even know she was thinking about 2-Stepping!




The solitary home fry remained on the plate and I left the table, not quite sated. The next day I was determined to walk enough before Dino filled the feedbags that the good professor would not be able to interfere with my full enjoyment of a savory meal. Well, it turns out it was sweet day, not savory day, at the Blue Moon, but you get my whadda-ya-mean, right? I got an early start because I knew it was going to be a long road before I got back and could settle down, smug as a bug, and render the professor speechless. Hours later, I arrived at the table, exhausted, sweaty, and ready to carbo-load. The world famous oat flapjacks were being flipped and I eyed a fresh blue-berry something or other that was fixin' to be poured over those griddle cakes. And was that the smell of, yes! Bacon!"


"Good morning, Jackie-boy." The professor had beat us all to the table. He was looking at the screen of a gadget the likes of I'd never seen before. He noticed."Oh, this, just a little iSomething (USPTO All Parallel Universes Patent Pending, oh what the hell, just give it a number, you know it will be patented, Steve Jobs) that Steve lent me. I've connected it to the Sky Cluster and used it to track you this morning. Good walk, Jackie-boy, and at a brisk 4.5 mile-per-hour pace, as well." "What the? Pit tags? Do you have pit tags in me?" "Oh, never. Don't need that old technology. Steve and I dreamed up something new (USPTO patent pending Javier Boleyn and his new best friend, Steve Jobs) that uses a satellite acquisition to identify and follow the spectral emission of your perspiration." "You track me by my sweat?" "Yes, indeed, Jackie-boy. As long as there's a single bead, you are in my bead...I'm proud of you, too, Jackie-boy. You walked by the Morning Glory and stayed on the other side of the street. You know you gain weight when you walk by places like that." "Wail and whoan." "Stop your sniveling and eat breakfast."



Dino set my breakfast and I couldn't believe my eyes. An entire flapjack, some of the wonderful blueberry stuff, whatever it's called, and bacon!" "Jackie-boy, I didn't want to completely humiliate you, so I instructed Dean to serve you this modest breakfast. Of course, you can't eat it. I used the Boleyn Enterprises Carbo-Carver (® Steve Jobs--I sold it to him...) to cut your allowable portion. See it there, by the cantaloupe. Enjoy!

Dispatch from Sonoma County

Who says Pliny the Elder isn't a breakfast drink?

August Results: I waddled more than in June, but Less than in July

August results are in: 31 daily Waddles Toward Fitness in Oregon, Ontario, and Québec; 212.83 Waddling miles; average Waddle, 6.87 miles; cumulative total year-to-date Waddles 1289.54 miles.

Dispatch from Saguenay: Waddling to La Croix de Ste. Anne et une Poutine

Call it fate, a siren song, or just plain luck. I was back in my rooming house in South Chicoutimi, out on the fire escape, and just about to fire a Lucky when the rain stopped, the clouds, parted, and the sun shone through. Damn, I wanted a Lucky, a beer, and a reason not to go waddling through Chicoutimi. Now I had none of the above. And no Dolly-girl to boot.

OK, so I didn't have any Luckies and it was too early for beer (well, maybe not) and truth be told, I like to walk. I headed out on shank's mare, destination, La Croix de Ste. Anne in North Chicoutimi. Let me tell you, there's a lot of elevation change between the river and the cross. Jack got a work out.



Coming back down the hill, being a gumshoe and all, I noticed a joint that would catch the eye of anyone who happens to like french fries covered in gravy with cheese curds. Yep, a patate, right there before my eyes. I knew it was the best in town because it said it is the best in town. My French is THAT good! Besides, there was a dump truck parked outside. I gave a look over my shoulder--force of habit, but hell, the Good Professor can't be here. I sauntered in because it seemed like the French way.



I sat down at the counter and Missy stepped in front of me, gave me the once over, and said, "Que sera-ce, Jacques?" How the hell did she know my name? "Je voudrais avoir une poutine avec les frites, le sauce, et la fromage blanc." "Nous avons obtenu an autre traducteur Google, Gisette. Seigneur, prends pitié, pour l'amour de Mike..." She turned to me. "First of all, the sauce, how do you comme, gravy? The gravy is a she and the fromage, le fromage it is a he. Mais, je comprende et je suis ici pour vous dire, poutine, she is frites, sauce, and cheese, Jacques!"


She turned and went to do whatever--I hoped to make me a great poutine like I'd had with Rouge and Newshawk--so I tried to act like I knew what was happening. I took out the menu, maybe a quelqu chose to late, and had a look. Missy gave me le globe oculaire poilue so I went back to trying to behave. I put the menu back in the little holder. She was there in about 10 seconds to take it out of where I put it and put it behind the ketchup, apparently the real home for a menu.




The next thing I knew, a poutine was sitting right in front of me. My mouth was watering and I picked up my fork to dig in. "Oui, oui. Il est ici comme une question de fait. Jacques! Au téléphone, il est pour vous." What the?

"Jacques-garçon, be careful there. You have not waddled far enough to deserve that beautiful poutine served in what could pass for a cocotte." "Professor, what, how, why?" "Jacques, the Star Cluster is an international tracking system. You didn't think..." "A guy can hope."


"I'll tell you what, Jacques, since it's a vacation of sorts, I'm going to let you consume this petite poutine, provided you promise to walk at least 6 miles today. I did receive the report this morning and, as of today, you are falling behind the pace of both July and June. You have work to do..."

"Wail! I know Professor, but look at this. The gravy is tasty and just salty enough. The curds squeak. The fries...oh, oh. A chink in the armor. They looked crisp enough, but a little soggy. Now I wish I hadn't eaten the whole thing!"

"Sounds like a 3.5 curds with a half-curd bonus for ambiance and china." "Just what I was thinking, Professor, just what I was thinking."

"Jacques?" "Yes, Professor?" "Get your LARD! ass off that counter stool and hit the streets." "Yes. Professor."

Fiora's Day in Plymouth becomes Jack's 1-Page Chapbook

"Ill tel u Jacl, Plymoyth is killin me ans I HATR pokinh at this iPhon leyboard to send emai;" Dolly-girl was not having the best of times in the tale of her 2 cities. August 2, 2011 and I was getting messages from her new blower left and right. All what you would call terse and truncated missives from the Wyoming Valley if you were a poet like Dolly-girl.









I remembered that she told me about some sort of poem that has 5 syllables in the first row, then 7, and then 5 more. Haiku, I think she called them. I think they are supposed to be reflections on nature. And they are supposed to have to ideas juxtaposed with a "cutting" word marking the transition. At least that's what I remember she told me. I made some up that are reflections on Dolly-girl's nature on August 2, 2011. I don't think they are haiku, though. I call them ditties.

Putting it in Perspective: A Conversation with Dolly-girl D'Mestiere

"Saints alike, Jack, I plugged your numbers into an app on my new iPhone (® along with the rest of the currently known universe, and points beyond, by Steve Jobs) and I see you've walked from here to Rugby, North Dakota, the geographic center of North America!"








"Right, Dolly-girl. As Roberto says, the good thing about being in Rugby is that what ever way you go, you're headed to the beach. But, I think I've only walked to Shelby, Montana."

"Why's that, Jack?"

"'Cause I'm coming home to you, Fiora..."

Update from Stumptown: Waddling Through July

The results are in. Thirty-one days of waddling yielded 237.04 miles, a worn out pair of shoes (after over 670 miles), and an additional 4 pounds of LARD! left on the streets of Stumptown!





I continue to collect data as I know Dr. Rachel S. Graves, MD is all about data and she will give me a knowing and approving smile and nod the next time I see her. And, Professor Javier Boleyn just has to be proud!


You may recall that this all started one year ago with this post:

http://waddlingtowardsfitness.blogspot.com/2010/08/waddling-towards-europe-new-bill.html

You may also recall that it was inspired by the very trim President Bill Clinton who has been whispering in my ear for the last year. Inspiration, I like, but do I have to hear "Chels, when are you gonna have a baby?

Waddling Around Stumptown: Marking a Milestone.

"Here comes one on two hops, Jack!" "Thanks, Bar-Am, no trouble fielding that one." "I guess not. Just like back when you were playing the second bag, eh?" "How'd you know I was an infielder?" "I got your Rookie Card, Jack. Cleveland ball club, a long time ago." "Yep, another time, another story, Bar-AM, but it's as true as my life." "Never did find another card though." "Nope. Rookie. That was it. Curve balls. Not sayin' more. Nice of you to hold the card though. I could sign it for you..." "Naw, I don't think it would help. I tried to trade you for a Pat Corrales Manager Card--do you know he averaged 28 and a half games out of first during the 5 years he was managing--and I never did get even a nibble. Anyway, why the teeth showing through your mug today, Jack? What's tickling your fancy other than that tall cold one and the beautiful day outside?"



"Well, you know Bar-Am, it's not the taster tray of Imperial IPAs I just knocked off down the road..." "Yeah, someone told me you were in another joint. I was gonna be hurt if you didn't show up..."
I continued, "It's the fact that for the fist time in God-Knows-How-Long when I look down I see my belt!" A hissing sound filled the room, followed by "Eleven years, Jackie-boy, that's how long it's been." "OK, so God and Professor Javier Boleyn both know. Anyhoo, I noticed this week that when I looked down, I didn't see the familiar LARD!, but an unfamiliar shiny metal object."



"Bar-Am, please include the cost of Jackie-boy's beer on the monthly invoice for placing the Boleyn's Eye View (® Boleyn Enterprises) cam and mic. I know you've been swimming upstream metaphorically, Jackie-boy, and I'm quite proud of you for championing the 2-Step Duh! Diet. You have literally walked your ass off, Jackie-boy. Look at this silhouette captured by the Boleyn's Eye View Sky Cluster (® Boleyn Enterprises) this afternoon. Look there on the left at the top of your leg. Your ass is missing."

"Well, that's one gumshoe job I'm not going after, Professor. Wherever it is, it can stay lost! Catch you later, Bar-Am, I got concrete to wear out!"

Waddling Through June: 204.02 Miles on the Streets of Stumptown, Boise, and Juneau

June 30, the results are in. June is my waddlingest month so far. Professor Javier Boleyn will no doubt have a comment before long...

A Night Out in Stumptown: La nostra cena anniversario di Enzo's Caffe Italiano

I heard Dolly-girl humming to herself while she was clipping flower stems at the sink in the kitchen. She'd been riding Maude, her new Townie, and I'm not talking about a person living in Ithaca, if you get my drift. She'd been out on what she calls a "rescue mission", scooping up flowers that are laying over on the sidewalk or in the yards of a certain abandoned house she eyeballs from time-to-time. I walked in, snapped the cap on a Lucky 13 (© Lagunitis Brewing Company, image too) and pitched my idea.



"Perché non provare quel nuovo ristorante italiano su Alberta? Enzo's Caffe Italiano, a new joint I spied on a waddle up there. You know, the place me and Juneau went when he was visiting a few weeks ago. Remember, I was telling you, it's like being in il paese vecchio what with the homemade salt-and-flour map of Italy on the wall and a TV with Italian shows on..." "Non dire un'altra parola, Jack. I'll put these rescues in a vase, beautify, and we'll be on our way." A few minutes later, on account of this place is in the neighborhood, we walked into Italy-on-Alberta. Dolly-girl gave the special board a scan. "No need to even bring me a whaddaya-want, I'm having Enzo's special, paparadelle di massaria. You know there can't be nothin' to complain about when you slather a clucker in crème, toss in some spears-o-asparagine, and pour it over some pasta!"



It sure did sound good, but I knew an order like that from a mouth like mine would get me a phone call from Professor Javier Boleyn before Enzo could sing A Che gelida manina. It was a new place, but there wasn't an ombra di dubbio that the good Professor already had his Boleyn's Eye View installed in a joint like this one. He'd know that I'd be here faster than a Lambretta zips through the Piazza Venezia
(© Wheels of Italy, I think since I took it from their website)





Andrea, which any old person might think is said AN-dree-ah, but what she said was an-DRAY-ah, met us with a buonasera that meant business. Enzo and Carmella were outside, waiting for the evening rush, and from all appearances, having a quiet chat--hands were moving, of course, but not like it was serious talk going on. She steered us towards some biancho e rosso, brought a plate of some fine tasting dipping oil, and a cestino di pane.







"Si prega di portare noi una insalata verde per avviare." "My jaw dropped. Apparently while I've been out waddling off the LARD!, Fiora has been mastering the Italian. "Bene, è sulla sua strada" Yipes, it really was like I was in the old country! The salad showed up doused with just the right amount of a homemade and some of the best shaved wax I've ever had. "Grana, Jack. It's called grana, not wax." "OK, Dolly-girl, penso io." "Quit speaking Google, Jack. I see that iPhone (® along with the rest of the currently known universe, by Steve Jobs) in your lap!




anDRAYah was back after she saw that we'd mowed through the salad like a John Deere through a field of timothy hay. I tried to act like there was some connection between the ethnicity of my name--D'Mestiere, not Jack--and ordered the orechiette e cime di rapa con acciuga. "Enzo's gonna love making that one for you--it's his favorite anchovy dish. But I have to tell you, the rapa isn't right so it's coming out with broccoli--OK with you?" "OK con questo ragazzo!" anDRAYah looked a little quizical. "He's speaking from Google Translate. Jack, you're not that much of a youngster anymore." OK, some I'm not a ki, but I smiled like one when the feedbag arrived. The combination was as tasty as it comes to my way of thinking.




Dolly-girl's paparadelle di massaria arrived and it was as special as promised. The crème was rich and spiced just right. The chicken was tender and the pasta was perfect. Dolly-girl was all smiles for this anniversary! "This hits all the spots I was hoping for, and then some. And, I'm going to have it again for lunch tomorrow. anDRAYah, una scatola per favore!"






Coffee for me and tiramisu for Dolly-girl were going to top off the night, we thought. But Carmella had a different idea and anDRAYah showed up with due bicchieri di limoncello. "Complimenti di Carmella ed Enzo. felice anniversario! And oh, by the way," she pointed up at a small box in the corner, "I turned of the tiramisu-cam and sent in a trouble report, so you don't have to worry about the phone call..."




If a taste of Italy is what you're looking for, you'll find it staring you in the face on Alberta Street!

Dispatch from Mash Tun

Tatchos and beer with friends on the 4th of July. 12 Thumbs Up!