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We are heading off to Montana for Thanksgiving. Phil and I will spend the day with my brother, and probably a couple of his friends who are far from their homes and families.
It has been a long time since I’ve spent a holiday with Pat. But I have a pretty good idea of how the day will go.
We’ll arrive on Thursday and get to his house in time to get in his way in the kitchen (have I mentioned that Pat is a really really excellent cook?).
There will be wine.
His miniature Schnauzer, Moose, and giant Schnauzer, Squirrel (Pat spells it more creatively but I can’t remember exactly how – sorry), will be overcome with excitement to have strangers – who smell like cats – in their home. Exuberant behavior will ensue until someone suggests it might be a good idea to take them for a walk before dinner. Phil will gladly oblige.
I’ll wash dishes. It’s what I do when visiting my siblings for the holidays. It makes me feel marginally useful, and I’m a hell of pot-scrubber, thank you very much.
Did I mention there will be wine?
Eventually we’ll sit at the table – which will be fabulously appointed. We’ll begin to eat ourselves into a happy little coma, while talking, joking, sharing opinions (Phil has learned that Morrows are never at a loss for an opinion . . .), telling stories and generally basking in the glow of good food and good company.
There will be more wine . . .
Everyone will help clear the table and package up leftovers and get the kitchen in ship-shape. We may play a game of Uno or Greed or Taboo.
Pat and I might have a moment where we get a little bit sad missing our parents, but that will pass.
It will be a really good day. And I’ll be thankful. For family, friends, abundant food and the fact that I’ve never had to spend a Thanksgiving with any of the people mentioned in this article. Yikes.
So . . . let’s all be thankful for what we have . . .
I think I’ll have another glass of wine!
If you ride your bike enough, it is bound to happen. But that doesn’t make it any more palatable.
What is this mystery affliction?
The unfixable flat.
It isn’t that you are unprepared. You perhaps spent $8 for a fancy slime-filled inner-tube that is supposed to be “self-sealing.” It, however, failed after a mere 20 miles. [It doesn’t seem like “merely” 20 miles when faced with the prospect of walking that distance to return home . . .]
So you pull out your spare tube - which you in fact checked before leaving the house, just to be certain you were being responsible and prepared for a flat tire – an unlikely event due to your investment in the slime tube, but not entirely outside the realm of possibility.
You remove your rear wheel (it is always the rear wheel; always), pull out the tube which is oozing lime green slime, and deftly replace it with your spare. You confidently take your CO2 cartridge in hand and . . . realize that the stem on your spare tube is too short. The chuck for the CO2 cartridge can’t grip the stem.
You are screwed.
If you are very lucky, you are riding with a buddy who has a spare tube with a stem that is at least 2 inches long.
If you are not quite so lucky, your buddy has a tube with a stubby little stem that is no damn good to you. So you give him $20 and a pat on the butt and send him in search of a bike shop.
While you begin the walk of shame. In your cycling cleats. Pushing your bike. Looking like a spandex-covered penguin and feeling forlorn. If you are very very lucky, after you have walked only 1 mile, a very nice cyclist on a very fancy carbon fiber bike stops to help you. He gives you his spare tube – which has a 2-inch stem. He gives you his CO2 cartridge (because you wasted yours trying in vain to make it work on your short-stemmed tube, even though it was patently obvious that there was no way it could possibly work). You ride off to meet your buddy who is returning from a bike shop with new tubes in hand. Then you turn around and ride home because this whole mess wasted about 90 minutes, and the days are short and the evenings are cold. But you still got in a 3-hour, 40 mile bike ride. Once home, you immediately check all your inner-tubes, get rid of the ones with stubby stems, and pack up your seat bag for the next ride with 2 long-stemmed tubes & extra CO2 cartridges. Because no one wants to do the walk of shame.
As predicted, we were treated to a beautifully appointed Thanksgiving table.
The happy chef showing off his really decadent chocolate cranberry torte & pumpkin bars - wow.
Moose - looking innocent but ready to pounce on any morsels that might fall off the plates . . .
Squirrl - as big as me! But with a much sweeter disposition!
Me and Pat in front of the Montana State Capital.
Beneath the statue of Thomas Francis Meagher, the governor of the Montana Territory (and a really interesting guy).
The view from Pat's house - stunning as the light sweeps across the hillsides.
Nothing beats a Montana sunset. 
