Tenderfeet:
I'm nothing, if not a man of my word. Having whetted your appetites for ever-increased doses of the verbose pablum that serves as the foundation for this senseless ramble intellectual nourishment that these literary victuals provide, it is with great pleasure that I regale you with my latest episode from the verdant glade. Cringe not; I'll be brief.
This, the 19th iteration of our annual camping trip to a nearby state park began - as it always does - with a visit to the ranger station. There, K2 reconnected with the ladies of the park office staff who were stunned to learn that these morons had actually survived another year overjoyed to see us again. After dropping off a fine load of dry firewood, we settled in to await the arrival of the rest of the troupe.
The next 45 hours were spent alternatively feeding like vultures, smoking like chimneys and lazing like the gorged carnivores we are. Campfires, replete with the obligatory explosive rigging, were the focal point of this pack of migrants. Naturally, my rock star-like aura served as catnip to these (by now) scruffy tabbies, and they predictably followed my every lead.
One such example was an all too short kayak excursion on the lake, with one of the woodland nymphs. The water was calm, my strokes were smooth & sure and our progress was unimpeded as we managed a first place finish in that day's watercraft regatta.
Our weekend calm was shattered however, by a Sasquatch sighting. No, not the kind spotted by an overweight, dim-witted founder of the local Sasquatch Hunters Club - no sir. This was a real-life, confirmed sighting. Here finally, is visual evidence of the beast's fearsome visage - taken just as it pulled its enormous head out of a cheese puff bag. Fortunately, I was able to shoo the monster back into the woods; I confounded it by laying a trail of ginger snaps in a westerly direction - away from our camp - and it simply followed its nose.
Little else of consequence occurred, and our haitus ended with a premature withdrawal from the campsite, in advance of Hurricane Sandy's impending arrival. I can never say no to Mother Nature. Ego vobis valedico.......
Devotees:
Those of you fortunate enough to know me well, understand the prominent role that major college and professional sports have played in my seemingly endless universe of interests.
Cursed with an embarrasing lack of ability, I struggled to achieve barely adequate performance in any thing and had no choice but to turn my attention to becoming a fan of athletics, rather than a participant. Blessed with an abundance of natural ability and skill (my record of 38 home runs in our backyard Home Run Derby stands to this day), I naturally gravitated toward athletics, excelling in everything I tried. Coevally, interest in sporting teams I had adopted as my own, was developing at a brisk pace. My preferences were: Baseball - New York Yankees / Basketball - Los Angeles Lakers / Hockey - New York Rangers / College Football - Penn State Nittany Lions.
As I matured and my intellect soared, it became apparent that little/no attention need be paid to Soccer; hence, my lifelong disdain for that. I flirt occasionally with Golf (don't get me started on Tiger Woods - deep sigh, eyes rolling), but that waxes and wanes. In the intervening years since my youth, I have modified my focus, paring Basketball from the list of sports in which I held an interest.
Surely, dear folk, you'll agree that it has morphed from the beautiful hardwood ballet of Cousy and the Big O, to the unwatchable, cartoonish, Dancing With The Stars version that LeBron and Kobe currently treat us to.
I provide this background as the foundation of my current malaise; I'm adrift in a soupy mix into which my predelictions have led me. My beloved Yankees have, yet again, soiled the bed of Post-Season play - the NHL is mired in a contentious strike/lockout <vernacular depends on your bias> - and good old PSU finds itself in a spot that was absolutelyunimaginable just one short year ago; "Say it ain't so, Joe!"
With Fall upon us and Winter not far behind, the
gloom is palpable. As such, I find myself groping for a modicum of joy, a sliver of bliss to replace what's been so tragically lost. It is for this reason that I've decided to turn my attention to the more refined pursuits that lie ahead. In the weeks to come, my foci narrow to my annual camping trip to Gifford Pinchot State Park, perfecting my Bloody Mary recipe for the holidays, and of course, compiling my annual Christmas gift list (volumes I, II & III).
References and recaps of all these will follow in posts to come. In the meantime, stay warm, my diamonds. Ens me est ita frigis....
EDITOR'S NOTE:
As by now you know, Speed recently returned from a sojourn to Sierra Leone, where his arrival went largely unnoticed was hailed as a great holiday (they even cleaned the streets for him). He and his travel-mate Bearcat, have formed their own Non-Governmental Organization (NGO): Jerks Without Borders.
However, the effort required to spread their own sappy brand of Tommyrot is not without cost. Contributions to this worthwhile effort are now being accepted. Remember, without your generous gifts, they stay here ..... with us!
Countrymen:
As promised, I have returned from the Dark Continent - so full of myself that I'm barely tolerable. I must apologize for the delayed posting - I've been back for 4 days now - but my elder-skinned bag of meat finds it more difficult to readjust to the time change, with each passing year. But, fear not, I'm now in fine fettle and just oozing with information about my trip.
By now you must know that I've been to Sierra Leone; this was my third trip and I expect there will be more. My life-partner Bearcat and I arrived in Freetown, the capital city of Sierra Leone, via Heathrow in London, on 9/28 - after 30 hours of travel.
From the airport terminal (being generous here; calling that barn a terminal, is like calling Justin Beiber a great singer - but I digress), we motored through the dusty darkness, awash in the smell of coal oil, sweat and human waste, where we arrived at the ferry that would sail us onward to the city. After a mind and butt numbing ride, we reached the guest house, where we fell into our respective sleep chambers for a well-deserved repose.
We awoke on Saturday to learn that our plan to leave the city by 9:00am had been dashed. It seems that the city fathers decided to conduct a "cleaning" of the city. Some background here: Freetown, like every other place I've been in Sierra Leone, has nothing that we would call a modern sewer system. Rather, they utilize a network of channels and trenches, to direct the flow of the most god-awful stuff imaginable, away from each street. The "cleaning", as it's euphimistically known, is rather a mucking out process, where the waste from the channel, is removed. And, to ensure the success of this project, there was a complete ban on motor traffic until noon that day.
As you might imagine, this created a massive traffic snarl at, oh, I'd say about 12:01pm. However, this was made even more challenging by the failure of the city workers to dispose of the stuff they just took out of the channels. Instead, they simply placed it in the street, making what's normally hazardous traffic conditions, substantially worse - because now in addition to avoiding each other, the motorists had to also avoid the fetid piles of goo that lay in the streets. Suffice it to say, our arrival at our next scheduled stop, Makeni, was delayed by about 8 hours.
Again, when we arrived at our place of lodging, we collapsed like little puppies, and slept soundly ..... until 5:15am, when we were awakened by the local Mosque's call to prayer, blaring from the loudspeakers just down the street! This became a ritual we nearly got used to over the next 3 days.
Sunday was a good day. We finally arrived in Maboleh, the village where we are building a church. Seeing it in person was so much better than any pictures. It is absolutely awesome.
We took pictures, took videos, reconnected with old friends, and enjoyed the first service ever conducted in that new building - quite an honor. The singing and dancing that happens in an African church service must be experienced to be appreciated. Even I, a wordsmith of great renown, struggle to find words that adequately describe the sensation you get during this time.
The next three days were spent meeting with many individuals, including church officials, village elders, educators and Conference employees. These sessions were incredibly productive and we accomplished far more than mere mortals could have. We travelled to and from the village; each time, passing the mountains Wusum and Menne (Father & Mother in Temne). Last trip, we hiked to the top of Menne, and I secured a promise from the secondary school headmaster, of a trip to the top of Wusum next time.
Finally, on the 3rd of October, we checked out of our guest house (back in Freetown) and headed to the Government Wharf to catch the ferry back to the other side of the bay, where the airport is located. This too, is an all-day process (everything there that's transportation related, is). We arrived about 4:00pm, after another stultifying ferry ride that included the passing of a woman's body floating with the current, and settled into, again, the worst airport terminable on the planet; it was there, in as much comfort as plastic chairs can provide, that we awaited our 11:50pm flight to London.
Our arrival at Heathrow was the commencement of yet another long (5 hours) layover. We boarded our plane to Philadelphia, and our 12:45pm flight took off without incident. During the flight, I was so bored, I watched some movie about Abraham Lincoln, the Vampire Killer; it was dreadful, but sufficiently diverted my attention long enough to make the flight bearable. We arrived in Philadelphia about 4:00pm (our time - London is 5 hours ahead of us), and returned Northwest to my Goddess Of Beauty (yet another 30+ hour travel time).
So there it is; a fairly unvarnished look (sans my typical snark and bluster) at an extremely difficult trip, to an extremely difficult place to be; truth is however, I absolutely love it there, and can't wait to return........
The next 45 hours were spent alternatively feeding like vultures, smoking like chimneys and lazing like the gorged carnivores we are. Campfires, replete with the obligatory explosive rigging, were the focal point of this pack of migrants. Naturally, my rock star-like aura served as catnip to these (by now) scruffy tabbies, and they predictably followed my every lead. 
