Stranger Things

Posted on July 5, 2019 by anthonycaferro

The takeaways that manifest while intermittently binging Stranger Things 3 over a 24 hour Fourth of July shift:

1) No Back to the Future sampling, homage, reference nor inclusion can go wrong… ever. (Especially when accompanied by the name Alex P. Keaton.)

2) I should have kept all of my middle school fashions. I could be finally be stylish or wealthy.

3) All the cool kids are saying “comrade”. They know we’re already a socialist nation.

4) Duffer Brothers’ writing is still better than Trumpers’ photoshopping.

5) Flay kinda used to just be that chef on TV until GoT and ST… and really, fuck that guy anyway.

6) Zero upside down utterances, cuz wouldn’t ya know, it’s the new norm.

7) Continuity of experience matters. Understand that if for some reason you must blow off your own fucking fireworks then they will probably light your garbage can on fire three to four hours later. If I wasn’t getting paid, I’d probably patriotically sit around drinking whiskey, quoting the constitution, watching it spread to your house and burning your whole shit down. Luckily, they pay me decently, so support unions damnit.

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I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sweeter feelin’ in the whole wide world.

Posted on July 4, 2019 by anthonycaferro

Outdoors in the rain.

After you’ve ridden your share of hours through stormy weather (cue Storm Music), a special kind of appreciation toward the coverage of trees or the occasional sheltered public space goes through the already-raised-and-almost-predictably-on-fire roof.

The weather in Western New York is peaking, you know like something that’s at its peak, of course. 70s and 80s, light breezes, and long days mark the inevitable seasonal return of WNY expats who left for Florida or Arizona or Carolina or California or….

…so come and visit now, won’t ya?!

Riding in the rain is liberating. As adults, we generally get out of the rain at the first opportunity, but there’s something special about being in the rain and accepting that you’re going to be wet and that’s the way it is. Currently though, I’ve got the coverage of a tabled umbrella and a Fruit Belt tree keeping me out of a pretty solid rain – one that reminds of a day on the Natchez or maybe through Ohio. I really miss riding all day every day, seeing every sight, smelling every smell, feeling every feel, meeting new people at every stop, and problem solving my way to caloric and electrolytical replacement on the daily. I’ve been saying for more than a decade that if I could do nothing else, I’d just ride through space in time. My life would be one big ass bike tour. That sentiment is particularly stinging now in a postpartum sort of way. Maybe my happiness lies in the basement of the Alamo. Maybe it’s just within. I ease back into the patio chair – realizing that I wouldn’t mind being in this rain, but being out of it has its advantages too. Normal life is light years behind Stranger Things 7, but it ain’t so bad. I guess…

I’ve got about 2 weeks off this fall. Taking possible November bicycle tour suggestions, so if you know a great region to bike during that time and/or want to come along, lemme know!

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Day 23. 1,485 Miles. Ain’t nothing to it but to do it.

Posted on June 23, 2019 by anthonycaferro

I wake up in my own bed. Everything is familiar. But at the same time, strange. And you may ask yourself, “how did I get here?” I need food. Suddenly, I’m feeling the wind in my face as I’m moving along at 12 mph… in a 1997 Jeep Wrangler. This 10 miles per gallon carbon footprint is really setting me up for another bike tour, I guess. Cars behind me beep and yell at me. Fuck you in your fucking asshole, asshole. Maybe tomorrow I’ll just keep riding and go to Toronto. I haven’t pulled my remaining days off the work schedule, yet. Yeah… umm… maybe not, other various appointments are already piling up into the week. Hashtag fivejobproblems. I don’t want to stop riding. Or writing. But the two go hand in hand. And I have siding to tear off and then re-side. And a roof to fabricate. And I crawlspace to insulate. And…

Butt.

I’m certainly not going to wait another 9 years for a fresh 1,000-3,000 mile tour through the USA experience. Western Express? Lake Ontario? Pacific Coast? I might just ride the Natchez Trace again this fall – passport stamps be damned.

Butt.

My body is ready to go back to bed and it’s only noon. I’m currently stuck in line waiting to buy all these groceries. The lady ahead of me has been arguing for over 10 minutes about something that ends up saving her $3. Fuck. I think I left my spare time machine at the shop or something; space and time have once again got their fuzzy cuffs on me, so I can’t tell what’s what. I can deduce that regular non bike tour world kinda sucks ass if I’m being honest. Albert King’s Born Under A Bad Sign reverberates through my feeble cranium. At least it’s finally summer time in Western New York. Maybe some of the friends of just made the last few weeks will come up and visit. Maybe I can live vicariously through cyclists riding through Buffalo. I’m gonna need to start planning the next ride soon, though. Suggestions welcome.

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