Battling Concrete

This post also has some injury photos, though less severe than the last one. Still, in case someone glancing through my feed has issues with blood, I'll make sure the first few photos in here are of bike-related t-shirts I've seen at the thrift store. Really, this whole post is a bit mood whiplash-y so you should probably sit down and keep your hands and legs inside the vehicle--this summer roller coaster is on it's way.

Places you'd probably rather drive...

That seems like a pretty harsh exchange rate

OK. So we've already talked about how I spent the end of May. Well, let's fast forward to the end of June.

Last year I was really good about biking to and from the thrift store all summer, but this year I'd been a little lazy-- and then I'd cut my finger open (you wouldn't think that would cause a problem with biking but, oh, it does) --so I hadn't really pulled out my bike yet this year. But then my car had a problem with one of the wheels, so I decided to bike until I had a chance to get it fixed. This required replacing a flat on my bike and some other tune-ups, but finally my bike was in working order and I was ready to bike to work.

Except-- I wasn't in the habit of waking up early enough to bike, so I ended up running a bit late and booking it as fast as I could go.

Which meant that I didn't notice after one turn that, instead of straightening out my handlebars, I'd turned them around 180 degrees. Meaning that the next turn had the breaks tangled up around the wheel.

 I didn't know any of that; all I knew was that suddenly my bike stopped moving--but I didn't.

Take it from me, this is terrible advice

Yeah. I kind of hit the curb.
With my face.

For a minute, I just lay on the ground, stunned. My mouth hurt and I was terrified I'd knocked out a tooth. I was bleeding all over and shaking, and my brain couldn't seem to figure out how to get me off the ground.
Luckily I was in a bike lane-- so there wasn't a lot of danger of getting hit by a car. And as usual, I was wearing my helmet.
After I'd been lying there a minute, a car pulled over and a couple got out to see if they could help. They actually offered to call an ambulance but, after a moment to calm down, I didn't think that was necessary-- not when my parents were home and living less than five minutes away. I saw that my phone had landed nearby but I couldn't quite manage to make my hands pick it up, so I asked them to call home for me.
I overheard the man's side of the conversation.
"Hi, your daughter's been in an accident. We're at the corner of _______, can you come get her?" Then he hung up.
I did have the presence of mind to realize that this was not quite enough information.
It definitely wasn't-- my parents thought I'd gotten hit by a car. My Dad took off so fast he forgot to close the garage door behind him-- I think he must have been pretty relieved to reach the intersection and see me sitting up and waving sheepishly at him while the kind (if perhaps communication challenged) couple helped pour water over my hands to clean out some of the worst of the gravel.

Incidentally, my bike wasn't damaged in all this. Yay.

Between the couple and my Dad, they managed to pick me up off the ground and put my bike in the back of the car. I could walk fine, but I realized that something was wrong with my left hand-- other than the bleeding-- because it hurt too much to open the car door.

You should see the other guy...

Anyway, after taking me home and getting me an ice pack, my parents decided to take me to the ER. Again. For the second time in roughly a month. By this point, while I was hurting a lot I felt pretty foolish-- but we wanted to check I hadn't broken something in my hand. That worried me a lot, actually-- since I play so many string instruments, an injury to my left hand could be much more problematic than one to my right.

Anyway, at the ER we were able to properly survey all the damage. I had road rash on one knee, both of my arms, my knuckles, the palm of my left hand, and my face. I'd managed to bite the inside of one lip deep enough to leave a dent. I chipped one of my front teeth-- but just a small chip, and otherwise the teeth were fine. As for my wrist-- the x-rays couldn't find anything. In retrospect I might have had a hairline fracture in one of the bones of my hand, but for all intents and purposes my wrist was just sprained. I looked like a mess, but I actually got off pretty light, all things considered. 

Fixed it

The whole thing was probably weirder for the nurse who helped me disinfect and bandage all of my road rash, actually. Back when I was a kid, I started singing "ow" to the tune of Ode to Joy when something was hurting because it made me feel a little better. (And you all wonder why I ended up going into music therapy...) Well, I ended up taking a similar tactic, singing my way through the very painful process of getting all the dirt and gravel out of my cuts. My parents started giving me requests for what songs I should do, and at one point the nurse said, "This is the strangest reaction to getting bandaged I've ever seen."

So. Anyway. I stayed home from the thrift store for a while because there is only so much you can do to move clothes around when you can't do anything with your left wrist and you're covered in enough bandages to consider dressing up like a mummy. The reactions when I went to church the next day were, ah, dramatic.

 And, well-- that was my second ER trip of the summer. I've healed pretty well; I'm still building the strength back up in my wrist but it's doing much better. I've got some lingering scars on my hands, elbow, chin, and upper lip that turn funny colors when I get cold, but otherwise I'm back to normal.


These two injury-- adventures, both at the ends of the month, made me a little wary for the end of July. I didn't get injured, though in a kind of bitter irony my grandfather passed away at the end of July.
That was... hard, but not as much as it could have been? He was 97, and his health had been declining for a while; it was definitely his time. And I've been very at peace about it; I know the plan of salvation, I know that he's with his wife and his family now and that I'll see him again. And I did get to say goodbye-- about a week before he died, when it was clear he didn't have long, those of us who could came to talk to him one last time. I didn't really know what to say, but the words of an old jazz standard came to mind so I sang it to him.

I'll be loving you, always

With a love that's true, always

When the things you've planned

Need a helping hand

I will understand, always

Always

Days may not be fair, always

That's when I'll be there, always

Not for just an hour,

Not for just a day,

Not for just a year, but

Always

 I told him I loved him and kissed him on the forehead, and he told me he loved me. And that was the last time I saw him alive. And it was hard, but I'm so grateful I had that chance to say goodbye. My grandfather was a wonderful man, and I'm glad that there's a few times towards the end when I was able to use my music to bring him some joy and some peace.

And, well, now it's the end of August. And I had a coworker at the thrift store pass away unexpectedly last week-- it's getting to where I have a bit of a complex about getting to the end of a month. Guys, this summer has been doing it's level best to eat me alive.

There's good news heading into fall, though. I've found some more clients for my business, and the orchestra teaching program is having me do twice as many classes this year-- which, after some math, led to an amazing realization.

I can quit my job at the thrift store.

Don't get me wrong, that job has been good to me-- I've made friends there, and they were incredibly willing to work with me when I had weird scheduling because of my business. But-- I've been so desperate to get out of there and do the work that I, you know, went to college to learn how to do, to be doing more than a minimum wage job I could have done in high school, to do the work that I love and that I've tried so hard to make possible.

And starting in October, it will be. I'll be able to make enough income to get by just by doing music classes and music therapy; just doing the things that I love. It still doesn't feel real. 

Of course, I still have September at the thrift store, and it'll take me a while to get through all the photos of weird items and funny t-shirts, so you'll see plenty of that. There's one more thing about working at a thrift store in September, though--Halloween starts early.

My sister keeps reminding me that I said I'd never do the costume challenge again. But, uh, look, I might have an addiction to costumes now. Seriously, I'm actually kind of sad about leaving the thrift store before October.

It definitely will be less costumes than last year; I only have the month of September to dress up (plus a couple of off-season costumes I'll share next time), and several of those days need to be simple costumes that won't be a problem for going to do music therapy stuff afterward. So it'll be something like 24 costumes total? 23? 

My only rule this year is no repeats. I'm going to be ignoring most of the suggested theme days this year (which are actually kind of lackluster this year; the management completely forgot to do them until I asked about it) so this'll just be whatever I think sounds like fun and that I have the stuff for (or can beg, borrow, or steal).

So, on this last day of August-- here's hoping for a good Autumn. Wish me luck. 

The Village (not the Shyamalan one)

Despite some stressors, and the fact that I visited a place called "The Village", today was not a horror movie. Mostly.

First of all, today I had my board exams. AKA the test that I have to pass to get my music therapy licence so that, you know, I can legally keep my job and be a music therapist and all that. It was a doozy of a test, despite the fact that it was all very familiar material. Lots and lots of questions with multiple potentially correct answers.

But I passed! And, with one less thing to worry about in my currently very crazy life (Stress? Stress? I'm not stressed, what made you think I was stressed? I have nothing to be stressed out about. Ha. Ha. Ha... Excuse me while I go throw up) I decided that it was worth celebrating. Since I had to take my test all the way out in Meridian anyway, I thought I'd go check out the taco place my roommate had mentioned to me in The Village ...at Meridian.

I'd noticed the outside before while driving between appointments, mainly because it's got an anachronistically old-world European charm (at least to my admittedly untrained eye), but this was my first time actually visiting.

Basically, it's a big fancy mall. Now, understand, malls have never been my wheelhouse, but I do have a bit of a fascination with outdoor malls. And this one really is quite lovely; the flower gardens alone are worth a visit if you're in the area:

And there are some very pretty buildings:

In the center is an area with lots of nice seating, a performing stage, and some mini Bellagio-type fountains.

They sync up with the music that's played throughout the area.

Also, statues of butterflies turning into books and vice versa:

Anyway, I got my taco:

And then I took some time to go exploring. I was actually pretty excited to have one of the kinds of adventures that I happen to instead of that happen to me this week.

I fell in love a little bit with this fancy stationary store:

The reflection kind of spoils this, but the store is called "Paperie + Pen" and behind that is a wedding dress made of paper.

I might need this notebook...

I had also heard that there was a pretty cool candy store here, so I took a look.

The outside:

Did not adequately prepare me for the inside:

AGGH! My EYES! My cellphone camera can not do justice to the neons.

My middle school self would have loved it but I found it a little overstimulating. They do have an excellent selection if you're into gummy candy, but I didn't end up buying anything.

All in all, I had a very pleasant time wandering around at the village.

Perhaps a little too pleasant. 

You see, as I stepped out of one shop with a frozen yogurt in hand, I glanced down at my cell phone to realize that I only had forty-five minutes until my next work appointment. Barely enough time to run to my erstwhile apartment for my guitar and then get there on time.

Note, also, that this session is with a client that I still haven't officially added to my caseload yet. I'm supposed to meet him once or twice with his previous music therapist first. But last time, I got lost and ended up not arriving until the last fifteen minutes of the appointment. So you can understand how I felt stressed when it looked like I was just a hair's breadth from being late. Again.

And there was much skedaddling.

Well, that was the intent, anyway. But I got stuck in some nasty rush hour traffic. And then there was a problem with the elevator, which made me regret my guess that the elevator might be a few seconds faster than the stairs. (But also left me dreaming with some fondness for the day not long from now when I will live somewhere that isn't on the fourth floor). Then, on my way back into the car, I somehow managed to set off the alarm. 

Cue five minutes of me trying to figure out how to make the sound stop and get the lights to stop flashing in my brand new car that I am still figuring out what all the buttons do. And I don't have an owner's manual because it's a used car.

I texted the other music therapist to let her know I was going to be late (because at this point I was) and alluded to some car problems. Then I took off, rushing as fast as was legally permissible-- right into the very worst of Boise's rush hour traffic. Inching down Chinden Boulevard, I watched the estimated arrival time on my GPS unit go from "a little bit late" to "a lot bit late" to "Wow, this family is going to hate me and not want me to work with their child", to "Wow, I kind of hate me and probably shouldn't work with their child", to "Yeah, no, at this rate I'll miss the entire session." So I gave up and turned around to go back to my apartment. And promptly got lost. In a familiar neighborhood.

Lessons learned:

1) Pay attention to the time while going on adventures.

2) I'm kind of an idiot

3) I opened this up with the wrong kind of village references.

Anyway, tomorrow I dive into the legwork part of apartment hunting, so that's where the real horror story begins.

Don't believe me? Check out this map I poked lots of holes into just so I could show you how many places I'm going tomorrow.

Runnin' on a Prayer

Let me tell you a little bit about my car.

You've heard some things already, but I'm going to give you a bit of background: My car is 19 years old. It belonged to my grandparents, then was used interchangeably by my siblings and cousins and myself before my Mom just bought the thing and let me use it for the past few years for school and work.

For such an old car, it's served me well. There have been a few odd repairs needed here and there, and the car definitely has its quirks, but it was more than usable and I've come to like it a great deal. I've even given it a name--Perseus, or Percy for short.

Back in May, however, trouble began.

Well, actually I suppose you can look back to February to see the seeds of ruin. Back in February, the engine started to short out randomly while I was driving. My dad, despite his skill as a former diesel mechanic, was unable to fix it and it ended up going to a shop for a couple of days.

That week, both of my parents got influenza. My dad got dehydrated and passed out while standing in the bathroom, breaking several ribs, and then got pneumonia. Being the caretaker of my sick parents, it wasn't a surprise to anyone when I got the flu myself a few days later. So February was a fun month for all parties. But, by the time the plague that swept through my house had ended, my car was fixed and back to normal.

When the check engine light came back on in May, I was concerned--but my car was still working just fine. I got the engine light checked out, and didn't understand a word of the results, but my Dad said it was probably a problem with the gas cap (which had been replaced during the February repairs by a generic gas cap.). I got a new gas cap from the dealer and then went on my merry way.

The engine light came back on, though.

Now Dad was worried about something involving a vacuum seal  (is it obvious that I don't know much about cars?) and did some repairs. The engine light stayed on.

When I was moving up to Idaho, I took my car and my parents took the minivan. When we stopped for gas, my Dad noticed something concerning--after I filled up on gas, gas was leaking from the bottom of my car. After a cursory examination (during which the leaking stop) he said to not fill the tank up quite all the way and to regularly check to see if it got any worse. He'd do a more thorough investigation next time I visited home.


And everything went smoothly, despite the continuous presence of the check engine light, until a couple of weeks ago. On my way to an appointment with a client living out in Eagle, Idaho, as I took my foot off of the break to enter a green-lit intersection, my engine shuddered and my car came to a stop.

I tried to restart the engine, but still the engine sounded like it was struggling and my car wouldn't move. Cars behind me were starting to honk. Quickly I said a prayer, asking Heavenly Father to help me get safely to and from this appointment, whatever else I had to manage in the future. I didn't know anyone who could pick me up or come to my rescue if I was stranded up here, so far from the mechanical expertise of my father and brother-in-law, and this was too far from my apartment to walk.

After finishing my prayer, I started the engine one more time. This time, it roared to life, and I was able to continue driving without incident. In fact, for the rest of the week and the coming weeks, my car didn't have any obvious problems at all, other than a bit of sluggishness when I first ignited the engine. Still, I told my Dad about what had happened, and he planned to take a look when I next visited home for the fourth of July weekend. He said it sounded like something was wrong with the gas tank, so he advised me to try to arrive in Salt Lake with a quarter tank of gas so that he'd have an easier time taking my car apart.


So, on Saturday, July 2nd, I packed my overnight bag and headed out to spend a nice weekend at home with my family and hopefully get the needed repairs on my car. I had no doubt that my temporary lack of problems was due to some divine intervention in response to my prayer, so I still tried to be cautious and pay close attention to what the engine was doing as I hit the road.

The trouble started as I passed through the small town of Eden, Idaho. I'd been speeding along with my car on cruise control when I noticed the sound of the engine getting louder and faster. I looked to see a dial that I think is called a tachymeter (maybe?) heading into the red section that means the engine is working too hard. I tapped the breaks and the engine calmed back down--but every time I touched the gas the engine would speed up again and the car would only continue to slow down. I ended up coasting down the exit ramp and parking in the closest parking spot I could find.

Back in February when I'd had car problems, the car would work again after a bit of a break. So I turned the engine off and took a second to check my map. Then I started the car again--and, success. I pulled back onto the freeway and continued on my merry way.

Until I had to slow down suddenly upon entering some road construction near Burley, ID. As I hit the breaks, the engine began to chug like a 5k runner attempting a marathon, and again every attempt at pressing the gas only led to the engine speeding up again.

(If and when Dad reads this, he will probably wince at my inaccurate descriptions of what was happening, but I'm calling it the way I saw it at the time).

I coasted onto the next exit ramp, where my car stopped entirely in the middle of the road. I gave it a minute then restarted it--nothing. Except, I heard a grinding sound and smelled something burning. Opening up my windows, I realized that it was my engine making that terrible sound, even though the ignition was off.

Now getting very worried, I tried calling my parents. But it turns out that they were still on their fishing trip, and so didn't answer the phone. I waved some cars to go around after they lined up behind me, then sat in growing anxiety. If I were closer to the Utah border I could maybe call on my sister to come give me a lift or give my parents a chance to come get me. But this far away, I wasn't sure I could do anything but call a tow truck. I've never done that before, but I've heard it's expensive, and as I frequently mention--I'm about broke. Not to mention, would a tow truck get me as far as home or just take me back to Boise where no one I knew could fix my car?

I looked out at the cornfield next to where I had stalled, then I said a prayer. I expressed gratitude that I'd been helped so much already, but I didn't know what to do now. I asked if I could be helped a little further, at least until I was close enough to home that my parents could potentially come and get me after their fishing trip was over.

I turned the key again, and the engine roared to life.

The rest of the trip was long and boring. It seemed like the engine worked best at a consistent speed, so I chose one that I wouldn't have to change for the rest of the trip-- twenty miles per hour slower than the current speed limit. It was agonizing driving so slowly when I knew it would add two hours to an already overlong trip, but I wanted to be cautious and not push this miracle engine too far. The engine gave me trouble a few more times, but each time I was able to pull over, wait a minute, then restart the engine and get back on the road.

It's a good thing that I made it all the way home myself because my parents had some issues with the boat and didn't make it home until an hour after I did. That evening, as I related my experiences, Dad grew concerned. He said that it sounded like there might be something catastrophically wrong with my transmission.

Catastrophic is a very descriptive word. It is not a word you like to hear in reference to your car unless someone is saying your ride is "catastrophically awesome." But I don't think anyone actually says that.

Well, early on Monday morning (July 4th), Dad came and knocked on my bedroom door, waking me up. He told me, "You need to get your knees and thank Heavenly Father that you made it here safely because that should not have been possible."

Now, I know absolutely nothing about car engines, so I'm going to let Eric The Car Guy tell you about something called a Torque Converter. According to my Dad, he got most of it right except for talking about the stator.

The short version--the thing he called a "pump", that gear looking thing--that's what was broken. As a matter of fact, that grinding sound I heard when I turned the engine off back in Burley was the pump tearing itself into shreds. Also, that lubricant fluid you can see in the video is kind of red--mine was black and smelled burnt. My Dad helpfully translated these facts into layman-speak by telling me the following: "These are bad signs. I don't know how you got that car started again."

The damaged parts are too expensive to replace in a 19-year-old car, so we really didn't have much choice but to spend our Fourth of July car shopping.

Although I came along for my ride, my parents were the ones paying for this and so they were the ones making all of the choices. We were helped by a very kind older gentleman who has this awesome conspiracy theory that ever since they started using the hadron collider, lines in books printed years and years ago have been changing. He gave some examples from the Bible. The whole thing was as nutty as a fruitcake, and he mostly cornered my Dad with it, leaving Mom and I free to giggle over Dad's "I-am-too-polite-to-tell-you-that-you-are-insane-and-I-don't-know-how-to-escape-this-conversation" tone of voice.

Anyway, we got a used car, and I don't even want to think about how all we're paying for it (this is actually the first time my parents have ever taken out a loan to pay for a car) and sold poor old Percy for a grand total of $300 so that it can get converted to scrap.

Goodbye, Percy. :(

While I was sad to see the old car go, I couldn't help but be pleased with the car my parents decided on:

Meet my new car, Sheila. So. Shiny.

No, they do not let you keep the ribbon. As soon as they give you the keys, the ribbon goes into a big Tupperware of them on the side of the room.

Sheila runs very differently from my previous car. Percy was, to be quite frank, a boat. That car made wide turns and skimmed over bumps like they weren't even there. Sheila makes tighter turns, which makes parking much easier. My new car also lets me feel every single bump in the road and shakes if I'm driving slower than 30 mph. Pros and Cons, I guess.


Driving back up to Boise tonight was fairly uneventful, other than me taking a wrong turn and ending up in Idaho Falls. I wasn't too sad about the detour, though, since it gave me a chance to check out this:

To give you a sense of scale, that little blue speck in the river is a woman in a kayak. That slightly bigger white speck in the river is two guys in a canoe.

According to my roommate, who used to live in Idaho Falls, people come from all over the world to jump off this bridge with a parachute. Unfortunately, there's been a few known cases where the parachutes malfunctioned with fatal consequences. But I didn't see any such daredevils today, just some people enjoying the river below.


Anyway, this weekend was a little more eventful than I expected. But now I'm safe in Boise with reliable transportation, so I'm content.

Also, it really goes to show that God answers prayers in amazing ways. Getting my car to start felt like a small but wonderful miracle at the time. After seeing my car unable to move five feet without coming to a stop and after hearing my Dad's explanation of exactly what went wrong, I'm awestruck. I really shouldn't have been able to drive away from Burley. With the condition my car was in, it should have been physically impossible. I can't think of a better way to close out this entry than with Matthew 19:26.

But Jesus beheld them, and said unto them, With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.

Cars make giving talks complicated

So I was asked to give a talk in church today.

In case of any readers who are not Mormons/LDS, in our church members of the congregation are asked to prepare talks for church instead of having one person give a sermon every week. I was a little surprised to be asked so soon upon moving into the area, but I agreed readily enough.

This morning I decided to wait and travel by car to church with my roommates rather than leaving early to walk to church. I usually would rather walk or bike (surprising no one who knows me) but I'd had my roommates get after me (in a friendly way) for not riding together with them so I decided to be social and join the car group.

Except we were getting really close to time to leave and neither of my roommates were stirring. When it got to the point of "leave now or be late" I discovered, to some embarrassment, that one roommate was out of town (I'd forgotten) and one had texted me two hours before to say she was too sick to come to church that day. So I dashed down the stairs as quickly as I could manage in heels to get to my car so I could get to church on time.

Well, despite the fact that I was running close to the wire I made especially sure to look behind me to make sure I wasn't backing up into anything. Apparently I was looking that direction too much because I then heard a sickening "crunch". The side of my car had just come into contact with a concrete pole.

As I pulled out of there, I was hoping that maybe it would just be a little scratch. But to my panicking eyes, a large section of my car was dented inward and scraped white. The damage was only cosmetic-- everything still worked-- but ugly enough to be distressing. And now I was definitely going to be late for church.

I saw a definite look of relief on the bishop's face when I slid into the chapel during the opening hymn, so I'm sure I caused at least some concern with my tardiness. Sitting down, I sighed and thought that this was turning out to be kind of a lousy day.

During the sacrament, though, I felt inspired to make some last minute changes to my talk--mentioning what had happened to my car. The topic of my talk was on fearing God more than fearing man, and I ended up tying the incident to the fact that superficial things-- what we look like, what we own, what damage our cars have taken, etc --don't matter as much as the way we live and how well we cling to the Gospel. I guess it went over well because for the rest of church people kept coming up to me and saying, "I liked your talk, and I'm so sorry about your car."

Actually, after church when I'd had the chance to calm down, I found that the damage to my car wasn't as bad as it had seemed during that first crisis moment. I don't know, here's a photo so you can judge for yourself, but it really could have been worse:

Well, I'd better be OK with it because it is not currently in my budget to fix it and since it's just cosmetic it's not urgent either.

And, all in all, it's ended up being a good day. I really like my ward up here; it's a smaller ward, but I do better socially in smaller groups, and everyone has been very welcoming and friendly. I met a girl who is currently meeting with the missionaries and I sort of invited myself to join in on a lesson this week. We had a "linger longer" (group lunch after church) and I found myself at a table that spent the entire time discussing twilight zone episodes so you know this is a group of people I can feel comfortable with.

So I guess the moral of the story is that, yes, cars do make life complicated, but that doesn't mean that they have to ruin your day.

Taking a Bike to a Car Show

Now, since I'm under a pretty tight budget just now, if I'm going somewhere that's not for work I bike instead of using my car. I've actually used my bike more in these past two weeks than I have since my mission.

Which works out just fine in Boise; this town is super bike friendly. In addition to the Greenbelt, a long walking/biking trail that stretches along both sides of the Boise river, there are bike lanes and bike racks everywhere. You always see people riding bikes wherever you go, and my interactions with these other bikers have been decidedly pleasant. There are even these little "bike fix-it stands" all over the place which have bike tools and a pump attached.
Of course, when I tried to actually use said pump to inflate the front tire on my bike, I had some trouble getting it to work. A toothless older gentleman who may or may not have been homeless noticed my struggling and loaned me a hand pump. A few minutes later, seeing that I was still struggling, he walked back over and said, "You're doing it wrong. It's a girl thing. Don't worry, I have sisters and they can't do it either."
Since he said this while inflating my wheel for me, I decided not to take offense. He then told me to go to Walmart and get myself a pump if I was going to live in Boise and use a bicycle. "Save money, live better. Guess where I work?"

On June 18th, I heard about a Car Show over in Garden City and thought that would be a good free activity for a Saturday afternoon. After all, I have a weakness for vintage cars. According to Google Maps, it was about a half hour bike ride to the location--a bit long for me, but not so terrible on a beautiful sunny day, and I didn't want to waste any gas. (Seriously, I go through a tank a week and I'm still only working half time. I've got clients who live out as far as Caldwell so I try to save gas wherever I can) So I took off. Again, my budget permitted me the generous sum of $2, all of which was in spare change, but I figured I could get myself a snow cone or something from a vendor. So I hopped on my bike and off I went.


The Boise Greenbelt is incredible. The river is lovely, and there are so many trees. The whole trail has a smell of green growing things, and during this time of year, the air is full of bits of cottonwood fluff that dance in the sunshine like magical fairy snow.

I tried in vain to get photos of the cottonwood fluff in the air; it's just too small and fast for my camera on my cell phone. But here's a shot of just how thick it can pile up in places--it really does look like snow.

The first part of my trek, following the Greenbelt, was very pleasant. Even though, when the wind started to kick up, I discovered that the cottonwood fluff was a little less "magical" when the wind kept blowing it into my eyes and up my nostrils.

Then I needed to leave the Greenbelt to follow some more urban areas to reach the park grounds. The wind was continuing to pick up, and my path (which was not entirely paved) kept taking me past big dirt fields. Soon the wind was blowing painful grit and sand into my eyes. I had to bike with my eyes closed, just taking occasional peeks to make sure I was still not crashing into anything. (I rode on the sidewalks instead of on the road at this point because I at least have the intelligence to not bike blind where I might be hit by cars) Although the area was flat, fighting against the wind made it feel like I was going up a steep hill. Apparently this trip was going to be harder than I thought. I was hardly going to give up two-thirds of the way there just because I was a little uncomfortable, though, so I kept going, buoyed on by a split-second glimpses of a  distant sign reading "Idaho Expo Center".

As I neared the location, however, I noticed that this wasn't a park, it was a fenced in fairgrounds area. And it occurs to me, "I will be really annoyed if it turns out you have to pay for admission."

Guess what? You have to pay for admission. And it was $10, so my little coin purse was not going to cut it.

As close as I got to the Boise Car Show

I'm not great at selfies, as I've said before, but it turns out they're even harder when the wind is blowing dirt in your eyes.

Apparently a lot of the proceeds were going to charity, so I couldn't even be that annoyed at them. Still, I was all the way out here and felt like I needed something to show for it before I turned around and went home. So I consulted my GPS and figured out that it was only a mile and a half to the nearest Sonic.

I was there an hour before happy hour, but I was still able to pay for a medium Blackberry Slush with exact change. I felt a bit sorry for whoever had to count all the pennies, though.

Half a slushie still in hand, I began the long trek back to my apartment. Except, I noticed a branch off from the sidewalk leading into the trees, and I couldn't resist following. (Much to the dismay of the GPS voice coming from the phone in my back pocket, which kept announcing to me that I needed to make a U turn. I turned it off.)

Rather to my delight, I discovered a nature trail curving around some reservoirs and a section of the river. The sign said that riding bikes was not permitted on the dirt trail, so I'd have to walk my bike or leave it behind. But the map indicated that the far end of the trail would lead me back to the Greenbelt, and I really wasn't in any hurry, so I walked my bike and enjoyed the trail.

I ended up getting a lot of photos since I was going slowly enough that I could stop and pull my phone out. And this area was pretty enough to be worth it, too:

The breeze died down so I was really able to enjoy being out in the sunshine with nothing blowing into my face

I had to use my kickstand to get my hands free to take photos since I was still carrying the slushie cup around until I found a garbage can

A bunch of houses are next to the trail. Mostly I didn't pay much attention to them, but the statue of an alligator in this backyard startled me when I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye

A family of geese

At the end of the nature trail, I found myself in a confusing network of bike trails that make up the Garden City portion of the Greenbelt. With less wind and after my walking break, it made for very pleasant biking. I got lost a few times--but, on the other hand, I also took a few deliberate wrong turns just to see what was on the other side of intriguing bridges. My surroundings continued to delight me even if I didn't stop quite so often to take pictures.

Ugh, I look stoned. I really am terrible at selfies. Maybe I should stick to glamour shots of my bicycle instead.

There we go

I enjoyed exploring, but after a while, I found myself attempting to mountain bike up some unpaved trails and realized that I was well and truly lost. Not to mention, the wind was picking up again and some threatening-looking clouds were rolling in, and I was getting worn out and dehydrated. I tried to use GPS to find my way back but GPS just led me into an area closed off for some construction project. Finally I ended up having to bike back out into urban areas in order to get my bearings before I finally made it back to the spot where I had left the greenbelt just a few hours ago. So, just twenty more minutes of biking to go! ...yay...

By the time I got back to my apartment, I was exhausted, saddle sore, sunburnt, dehydrated, and my eyes were redshot from having yet more dust and fluff blown into them. According to my phone, I walked two miles and biked twenty. And I didn't end up getting to oggle a single vintage car.

That being said, I'm really glad things happened the way they did. I had a wonderful time exploring the bike trails around the Boise River-- I probably had much more fun than I would have if things had gone according to plan.

That evening, though, if I knew of a place that delivered ice cream I would have ordered some, budget be darned. As it was I had hot chocolate and spent the rest of the day sitting down.