On Saturday I met with 5 friends for a flat 55 mile ride from Lodi to Thornton to Lockeford and back to Lodi. It was really an incredible day to ride after all the hot weather of the summer; cloudy with temperatures in the 60’s and almost no wind. There were even a few showers possible.

I started out feeling really good. I took a few pulls, then sat behind Marlin and his brand new very nice e bike. Marlin is really strong and on this flat road he had the battery off. On flat rides he and I do quite a bit of riding at the front of the group, trading pulls and letting everyone else follow. I think we have gotten pretty good at doing this. When we pull through we know how to ease just enough to let the other get onto the wheel, and once on the front we don’t surge. We keep the same speed and try to keep the group together. On the regular Tuesday club ride heading west on Collier Road into the prevailing wind I get quite a workout doing half the work.

I felt really good for about 20 minutes, all the way to Ray Road. When we turned right something went wrong. I took a drink and got dropped, but I caught back to the group. As I sat on the back I felt like I was really struggling just to hang on even though we weren’t going that fast.

When we turned onto Kile Road I was really dropped. The gap was so big Marlin spotted me in his mirror and slowed down to see what happened. I wasn’t sure myself, but I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to do 55 miles feeling like this.

I’m a big cycling data guy. I always ride with a heart rate monitor and all three of my bikes have power meters. I enter all the data from each ride into a spreadsheet. So I have a really good idea about the relationship between my heart rate and how much power I can generate. And what I saw yesterday was that my heart rate was much higher and my power level was much lower than usual. My heart rate was in the 120’s and my power was only about 120 to 150 watts. On Thursday I averaged 112 beats per minute and 166 watts. Normally on flat ground if I’m doing over 120 bpm the power is 160 to 200. Not yesterday.

When we got to Thornton I told my friends I had to turn around. They were nice and concerned and offered to help or ride back with me. I told them I felt fine, which was true. I didn’t have any chest pain, or leg pain, or cramps. I just seemed to have zero energy.

So I rode the 10 miles back to Lodi going about as slowly as I ever have. I was crawling and trying to figure out what was wrong. I didn’t ride on Friday so I wasn’t overtraining, although a heart rate higher than normal is a sign of that. I often have trouble after two hours of hard riding when it’s hot, but that certainly wasn’t the case on Saturday.

Back home, I took my blood pressure and it was a perfectly normal 129/78. My pulse was 58. After a very hard hot ride on Thursday I was really kind of wiped out and my pressure was 101/65. Then I used my Kardia to do an EKG; could it be A Fib? I had a single incident of A Fib way back in 2016, but it never recurred, and my Kardia has recorded well over 200 normal EKG’s since then. Including yesterday.

So what happened? I don’t know, so I don’t know what to do about it except worry. Did I just have an off day? Certainly possible and I hope that is all it is. In Europe this year I rode 8 days out of 9 and never got ‘overtrained’; my heart rate/power relationship was normal. A day like yesterday on an expensive cycling trip would be quite a disappointment.

This morning my blood pressure and EKG are still fine. I do feel a little light headed, but not really dizzy. I’m going to walk the dog and then do a trial ride and see if things are normal. Stay tuned…

And here’s the update: I went for a ride to see what would happen. I watched my heart rate and power and decided to try to do 1 hour over 150 watts, which is well within my capabilities, except for yesterday. But I felt good and rode better than that: 1 hour at 173 watts average power. My heart rate averaged 122, drifting up over 130 for the last 10 minutes or so, which is completely normal. After the ride I felt fine. So maybe what happened on Saturday was a one time event. I sure hope so. I have a really nice two weeks of cycling in France planned for next year, with some of my cycling friends on roads that I really love (more on this trip later). I’d really hate to spend parts of in a van with a ‘power outage’.

If you read my blog, you will remember that I began this year staying off of the bike because of my flap and subsequent complications. I went over one month without riding at all and almost 6 weeks without getting out on the road. Obviously I lost quite a bit of fitness.

All through the spring and early summer I kind of went through the motions of getting into some kind of shape, but I really didn’t train for my trip to Italy in early June. But I surprised myself in Europe: I made it through 8 rides in 9 days totaling 320 miles with 26,000 feet of climbing. Not the hardest week I’ve ever done, but I was still pretty happy about how I rode.

For most of this summer I’ve felt pretty good on the bike. I’m not doing as much climbing as I should, but chasing down Marlin on flat rides and trying to do my share of pulls with him is pretty good training. My power numbers have been acceptable. They aren’t as high as they were when I got my first power meter in 2005, but I was only 49 years old then and now I’m 67. One expects some kind of performance drop off in many areas (why do you thing there are so many ads for Viagra?). which is fine as long as you don’t drop off of a cliff.

In the two weeks from July 26 until August 8 I did 8 rides adding up to 340 miles. That was quite a bit of pedaling for me. Only one ride was in the hills, but I did do 3 rides over 50 miles. And two interval sessions: 4×5 minute efforts followed by some short all-out sprints. Intervals are no fun while you are doing them but afterwards Garmin gives you some pretty pictures to look at.

Unfortunately I am facing another period off of the bike. On August 9 I had a pterygium removed from my right eye. A pterygium is a kind of fleshy overgrowth on the surface of the eye. Mine has been there for at least 4 decades, but my optometrist noticed that it had grown toward the center of the eye over the last 2 years. He referred me to an ophthalmologist who recommended it be removed.

The surgery had me more than a little nervous, especially when I learned that I would be sedated but awake and aware during the procedure. The anesthesiologist said the injection (a needle in my eye?!) would feel like a bee sting for a second or two, but truly I didn’t feel any pain at all during the entire surgery…

Until I got home and the numbing medication wore off. I was told I might have “slight to moderate” pain, but this was far more than moderate. There was a bandage and shield over my eye, but underneath I alternated between shooting pain and feeling like someone was using sandpaper on my eyeball. I took six Tylenol over 4 hours, and it didn’t help much.

Today, four days after the procedure, the pain is pretty much gone but the eye feels scratchy and irritated. And irritated kind of describes my mood too. Cycling produces endorphins, keeps my blood pressure down, my weight under control and provides me with most of my social interactions with friends. I’m missing all that. And then there is the loss of fitness. It is incredible how much you can lose in a short time if you stop riding completely .

The doctor said I should refrain from all exercise for a week. He also said I should not ride on the road for another two weeks after that. He doesn’t want me to get sweat or sunscreen into the eye until it heals, which is reasonable. He said after a week I could ride a trainer as long as I don’t get sweat into my eyes. Obviously he doesn’t know how hard I ride on the trainer. I see him on Thursday and I hope to get this non-riding sentence reduced, but I think he will be unlikely to let me get back on my bike any sooner.

So I have another layoff, and walnut season starts soon afterwards. I’ll be busy counting nuts and won’t do much riding. In November I’m going to start getting ready, slowly, for another trip to France. Both Mont Ventoux and L’Alpe d’Huez are on the tour, though not on the same day. I’ve got plenty of time to get ready, unless I have another stint on the cycling disabled list.

When Diane’s mom passed away last year I wrote a blog about her. People must have liked it, or at least read it. WordPress keeps stats and my blog Remembering Doris really bumped up the page view count. You can find it here if you missed it:

Remembering Doris

Last month Doris’s family gathered to lay her cremains to rest next to her late husband Dave in The Garden of Memories in Waterloo Iowa. The attendees were Doris’s 4 daughters and their husbands, 5 grandchildren bringing 3 spouses, and 7 great grandchildren ages 14 to 2.

Diane and I flew to Cedar Rapids from Sacramento on Friday morning. Early Friday morning; our flight left at 5:10 am. Flying is never fun or comfortable (Air France Business Class is an exception) but this trip was on time and relatively smooth. We even dozed a little. The United hub at the Denver airport was humming, with people everywhere, but we made our connection to Cedar Rapids with plenty of time to spare. The trip home on the following Monday was a bit of an adventure, but that is a subject for another blog.

Arriving at the Cedar Rapids airport, we were greeted by Herky: this is Hawkeye country!

Diane’s sister Cindy and her daughter Sara and grand daughter Brinley picked us up at the traffic free Cedar Rapids airport. After a quick check in at the Hampton Inn we headed to Cindy and her husband John’s house, which was the base of operations for the next 3 days. John is an expert carpenter and he showed me the work he was doing, turning an unfinished basement into a work room and craft room and entertainment room and spare bedroom, with a full bath.

He is also skilled with a barbecue. I had heard of beer can chicken, and even tried making it once. His version used 7 Up instead, and it was delicious. As was the fresh sweet corn we enjoyed with dinner.

Sara’s three children were at the dinner table and I marveled at how polite and well behaved they were. Their ages are something like 8, 10 and 14, but they acted like adults. No teenage boredom or pre-teen hyperactivity. The next day when I accompanied Sara on a grocery run I told her how impressed I was, which probably made her a proud mama. Deservedly so.

Ben is in high school and a new member of a state champion marching band. A few months ago they were raising money for new equipment. Since I have a soft spot for high school musicians I made a fairly generous donation. He sent me a nice note at the time, and now offered up a very mature and sincere thank you in person. Sara and Matt should be proud of their kids.

Diane and her sisters were a little concerned about the plan for Saturday, probably because there really was no plan. Everyone was arriving that afternoon and meeting at the cemetery, and the Hampton Inn had a room reserved for a cocktail hour and dinner afterwards. But the meal plan wasn’t finalized until Friday: they decided to get catering from Olive Garden, and Sara took charge of ordering and picking it up.

About 2 pm we drove from Cedar Rapids to Waterloo where the Garden of Memories is located. This part of Iowa is really pretty, and green, green, green in a way California never is. There are fields of corn and soybeans irrigated by rainfall instead of pumps and sprinklers. What isn’t crop land is either pasture or woodland. The countryside is gently rolling hills, and an occasional silo or barn adds to the bucolic setting.

At the cemetery there were hugs and handshakes all around. This was the largest gathering of the Roberts family since pre-Covid. Kris had the cremains, and the sisters transferred them into an urn, which was placed in a small vault. The sisters put some items associated with Doris into the vault, including some crafting supplies and a small bottle of white wine. “Just a splash” which is what Doris would say when offered more than her usual one glass.

Diane ‘volunteered’ me to kick things off by reading my previous blog as a kind of eulogy. It was better on paper than as a speech, even with a few changes to smooth it out. But it did break the ice and others offered up memories of a wonderful mom and mother in law and grandma. Then we held hands and said The Lord’s Prayer, opened some champagne and drank a toast goodbye. “Just a splash…”

The littlest kids were not at the grave site; Patrick’s wife Megan kept them busy splashing in the hotel pool. But everyone was present at the cocktail hour/dinner back at the Hampton’s private room. The kids had a great time and the adults had fun watching them, but Amelia (the youngest) stole the show. A 2 year old bundle of energy with a non-stop smile, she must have done 5,000 steps just during the dinner. Eventually the party broke up, and I know Diane and her sisters were relieved. Plan or no plan, it was a very nice and touching goodbye.

The next day events moved to John and Cindy’s house, The grandkids had a mini pool to fill and splash in, and splash they did, even though the weather was quite cool and pleasant for summer in Iowa. Little Amelia grabbed the hose and doused her cousins and squeals and splashes entertained the adults sitting out of harms way on the front porch. Diane’s niece Jamie had her dog Fozzy along, and I guess Fozzy knows a dog person when she sees one.

The four brother in laws (or is it brothers in law?) spent most of Sunday afternoon sitting of the front porch watching the little kids and chatting while Diane and her sisters went through hundreds of Doris’s old photos looking for the few worth keeping. Jeff and Mike and John are all guys I like with lots of interesting stories. And the weather was simply incredible, not hot or humid at all, so it was a pleasant afternoon.

The little kids and their parents headed home later Sunday afternoon, but the adults stayed Sunday night. Since there was plenty of left over Olive Garden no one had to cook. More stories, more conversation, some extended goodbyes, and then Kris and Mike drove us back to the hotel. We had an early morning flight so we wouldn’t see them in the morning. That was the plan anyway. Plans change…but that is another blog.

So we all came together to say a final goodbye to Doris and put her next to her husband of over 60 years. A marriage that really was ” ’til death do up part”. As we were ending the grave side activities someone (Mike, I think) pointed out that Diane is now the matriarch of the family. I’ve never been married to a matriarch before.

The first time I recall seeing ‘trigger warnings’ was for special effect strobe lighting that might potentially cause epileptic seizures. But now such advisements are everywhere. For movies or books with violence or sex, which is pretty much all of them made now, warnings tell us there is potentially disturbing material and susceptible people should practice ‘self care’ as they read the book or watch the film. You think I am making that ‘self care’ part up? Nope, I found it on Google looking up definition of ‘trigger warning’.

But the concept has gone woke and publishers are getting carried away. Now in the cross hairs (trigger warning: violent imagery): Bertie and Jeeves and their creator P.G. Wodehouse:

PG Wodehouse is the latest literary great to be targeted by cancel culture, as the publisher Penguin announces text removals and a trigger warning for all new editions of Wodehouse books.

The trigger warning issued by Penguin read: ‘Please be aware that this book was published in the 1920s and may contain language, themes, or characterizations which you may find outdated.’

The move comes after publishers rewrote Wodehouse’s Jeeves and Wooster books to remove ‘unacceptable’ prose, in April.

I haven’t read everything P.G. Wodehouse wrote, but that is only because he was so prolific and his catalogue of work is so vast. But I’m a big fan and I do have quite a few titles sitting on my bookshelf:

I am having a hard time understanding why Wodehouse’s wonderful wacky world has even a single word that could cause offense. Unless you are disturbed by a spoof where long winded country church reverends have the length of their sermons timed and turned into a parimutuel wagering scheme (The Great Sermon Handicap). Or unless the idea of the useless young men of the aristocracy throwing dinner rolls at each other in the dining room of their appropriately named Drones Club makes you worry what the workers of the world will think of such exploitative frivolity.

Trigger warnings are one thing; they occupy a page in the front of the book, and like my blog can be easily ignored. But changing an author’s words is another matter. Apparently publishers are employing ‘sensitivity readers’ to flag what they consider unfit prose and then either delete or substitute.

This strikes me as wrong, and ironic and hypocritical. The woke-up gender gendarmes are aghast that parents might not want sexually explicit material in grammar school libraries, but they seem perfectly ok with removing or rewriting passages they do not like in literary classics. A touch inconsistent, no?

It isn’t just Wodehouse either: two other authors that are well represented in our home library are also being ‘updated’:

Wodehouse isn’t the only author whose books have been purged of language that might offend modern readers, novels by both Agatha Christie and Ian Fleming have also been reissued.
Racist terminology was taken out of Fleming’s work, meanwhile Christie’s work was changed more drastically.

Fortunately we have plenty of pre-woke copies of Jeeves and Bertie and James Bond and Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple books on our shelves. But new purchasers of these classic entertainments should be advised that they are getting the watered down, politically corrected versions. Put a second trigger warning underneath the first one: “This book has been revised to conform with the views of sensitive snowflakes. Self care not necessary…”

Many years ago Stoker and I were walking down Michigan Avenue in Chicago at Christmas time. It was a cold but sunny day and the famous Windy City was enjoying calm conditions. The street was filled with festive shoppers and the stores were all decked out in holiday finery. Not a homeless person in sight either; this was back when there was a Daley in the mayor’s office and the city functioned, even if a few dead people might vote occasionally.

Not everyone was celebrating the holiday spirit. Outside of a high end department store (Nieman Marcus maybe?) there was a group of petulant PETA people protesting. Say that 3 times fast to improve your diction. I think they were opposed to fur coats, but it could have been meat or testing cosmetics on animals. Whatever it was they were worked up about it, chanting slogans and waving signs.

We stopped to watch for a second, and I guess I was looking askance at one of the women, so she glared directly at me and snarled “Do you find me frightening?” I responded “No Ms., I find you amusing!” That really got her mad and as we walked off she was spewing obscenities. Nothing makes a social justice warrior angrier than being laughed at.

I’m no longer laughing, at least not in the presence of someone convinced they are fighting against fascists like me. Back around 2000 such behavior would get you upbraided verbally, today it might get you beaten up or shot. Or at the very least, “keyed”.

Even by an elected public official:

A Rhode Island state senator who was caught keying a man’s car last month was sentenced to pay restitution after admitting to the charges of vandalism and obstruction of a police officer. 

Miller, 69, was arrested in June after he vandalized a car with a “Biden Sucks” bumper sticker and later lied to police. He initially denied keying the car and later claimed the victim was “daring” him to once police confronted him with video evidence.

This is how an elected State Senator behaves when he sees someone who doesn’t think the current occupant of the White House is doing a good job and chooses to express his opinion with a semi vulgar message on his automobile. He keys the car and lies to police about it, then tries to blame the victim. About what you would expect from a politician.

What ever happened to the ‘sticks and stones’ mentality? Nowadays words can get you doxed, or cancelled, or keyed, or beaten up, or shot.

I have thought about displaying a flag for a politician outside our home on Brumby Road, but I have demurred. This Blue State ain’t gonna agree with me on anything political in my lifetime. Besides, the only people who would see it work for Amazon or UPS. They are younger and likely to be a lot more woke up than I am, and I don’t want to incite violence. All they would have to do is go into the orchard and kick a few sprinklers to really mess up my day. And strike a blow for justice against the fascist farmer.

So these days I restrain my laughter and hold my tongue. I can’t remember the last time I got into a political argument with anyone, and I’m going to keep it that way. I’ve never convinced anyone of anything anyhow. If I keep my head down maybe state senators will keep their keys in their pockets.

LGBTQ activists at New York City’s annual drag queen parade chanted, “We’re here, we’re queer, we’re coming for your children,” in Manhattan on Friday.

I had a hard time believing this actually happened. But YouTube has video. And sure enough that is what these marchers are chanting.

I am a tolerant man. I really don’t much care what consenting adults do in private as long as they don’t frighten the horses. Tolerance is, however, not approval. If you are a participant in all the hoopla over Pride Month, well and good. I may be quietly laughing to myself over some of the celebration rituals, or merchandise, or rhetoric. And I will certainly be avoiding gatherings where it seems acceptable to openly display genitalia. I like a topless beach as much as the next person, but fully erect appendages on public streets are a bit much.

But I would like to ask people in the LGTBQIA2S+ community whether they are proud that some of their members are chanting this threat that they are “coming for your children”. Are Pride Activists going to disavow this? Are they going to censure the perpetrators?

Let me assure the Pride Promoters that behavior like this is making tolerant people like me a lot less tolerant.

My 16th trip to Europe for cycling was accomplished in 4 steps: car transfer to SFO, flight from SFO to Charlotte, flight from Charlotte to CDG in Paris, then take the TGV to Nimes. Almost 30 hours in transit.

The easiest and most comfortable leg was supposed to be the Business Class flight across the ‘pond’. It was on American Airlines, and I was curious to see how this would compare to my previous experiences on Air France and KLM.

I was sitting pleasantly ensconced in my window seat of the 4 across cabin, when an older couple boarded and were dismayed to find that their assigned seats were not right next to each other. As I was looking at my phone a middle aged woman, who turned out to be the couple’s daughter, politely said “Excuse me sir”, and asked if I would mind changing seats so her parents could see each other during the flight.

There were a couple of reasons for me to say no. I had already organized my seating area and started saving some ‘favorite’ movies to help me get through the flight. Also my seat had my shoulder against the fuselage and my feet angled toward the aisle. It also had a simple lap seatbelt. The seat I was asked to move to was configured the opposite way with my shoulder on the aisle and my feet angled toward the window. And because of the direction it faced I would be required to wear a lap and shoulder belt instead of the lap belt, which was less comfortable.

I had deliberately chosen this seat months ago, and I was well within my rights to refuse to move. Instead I agreed, packed up my stuff and made the switch, thinking this act of kindness would give me good Karma for the trip. Karma soon made its entrance…

One of the many nice things about business class is that you board first, and they serve you a beverage while you wait for the plane to fill up. They usually offer champagne, water and orange juice. Guess which one I choose.

The cabin steward entered carrying a tray with full glasses of champagne. He offered one to the old guy who was now occupying my former seat. As the steward turned toward me he somehow lost his balance and sent 5 full glasses of champagne cascading into my cubicle, drenching my shirt and pants and seat.

The steward was mortified and ran off and returned with some napkins, but he underestimated the degree of the drenching; I was soaked. Napkins were kind of a feebIe gesture. I asked him what I should do now? How am I going to get through an 8 hour flight soaking wet and smelling like a winery?

I had a change of clothes in my carry on bag, which I usually don’t have. Ever try to change clothes in an airplane bathroom? Not easy even in business class. And I didn’t have a change of underwear in the bag, so my choice was to go damp or commando. I’ll let you guess.

Back at my cubicle, I had to stand up because my seat was so wet and I didn’t want to get my dry clothes un-dry. The steward assured me there was someone coming to give me a dry seat cover, and finally a technician showed up and replaced it. I’m pretty sure the foam underneath, which was not replaced, was still damp, but it didn’t penetrate the new cover and my bottom stayed dry.

When I finally sat down the apologetic steward asked if there was anything he could do. Since I had missed my champagne, I asked for a vodka and ice, STAT. And he said he couldn’t serve me because we were too close to takeoff! I’m already mad, and this was beyond the pale.

I finally got my vodka much later during the normal pre-dinner cocktail service, and the drencher did offer me a double. I was tempted but decided to stick with my moderation plan and demurred.

Near the end of the flight, a very pretty woman (I noticed, so call me sexist and sue me or dox me) said she was the head flight attendant and she wanted to apologize personally. She said Charles (the spiller) was so very very sorry. She had noted that I drank Malbec with dinner and offered me a bottle as a goodwill gesture. I thanked her and declined because I didn’t really have room for it in my bags but I appreciated the thought.

Then Charles the Drencher came over to apologize yet again, and he thanked me for being so composed and understanding during the incident. I was kind of surprised by this since I know I was fuming and extremely irritated and I had to have been scowling. But I didn’t raise my voice or swear or call anyone an idiot or klutz or worse. He said not everyone would have behaved so reasonably and he was grateful.

So Karma hit me in the face with 5 glasses of champagne, but maybe the payback came on the rest of the trip where the weather was perfect and I felt great off the bike and okay on it. At the end of the trip I made a visit to the Duomo in Milan, and lit two sets of prayer candles in gratitude and for continued safe cycling in the future. ‘Seat Change Karma’ needs to up its game a bit though.

First it was Bud Lite managing to offend a large number of its customers and cut sales by 30%. Now this from the store I use to avoid shopping at Walmart:

Target Pride merchandise includes female-style swimsuits that can be used to “tuck” male genitalia, products labeled as “Thoughtfully fit on multiple body types and gender expressions,” a “Gender Fluid” mug, a variety of adult clothing with slogans such as “Super Queer,” party supplies, home decor, multiple books and a “Grow At Your Own Pace” saucer planter.

Critics are particularly peeved about Target Pride merchandise for children, which includes onesies and rompers for newborn babies and along with other apparel for kids of all ages.

I had to see this for myself, so after a trip to my CVS and B of A I headed to ‘my’ Target on Kettleman Lane in Lodi. Sure enough, the Pride items were right in the front of the store just beyond the entrance. I took a few photos to convince myself that the conservative community of Lodi that I grew up in has gotten a bit of a woke-up call.

I looked for one of those bulge accommodating swim suits, but I couldn’t find any. That was probably too ‘over the top’ for Lodi. This is what I was looking for:

I was planning to purchase one of these gender bending swimsuits and model it for Stoker. Who knows, it might uncover some long repressed fantasy of hers that could lead to an entertaining hour. Or it might cause her to collapse with laughter. Or she might make some clever remark about not really needing so much extra crotch coverage. Wives can be cruel…

I was also planning to take a picture of myself clad in my tuckable, and put it in this blog. Fortunately for you, dear reader, that did not happen. Those who know me realize that I get a five o’clock shadow well before noon, and have unshaven and very hairy legs, so it would have been quite a sight.

I could say I’m boycotting Bud Lite, but that would be misleading since I never touch the stuff. And I’m not going to boycott Target. This merchandise may say Pride to some but to me the items aimed at adults are just entertaining. Now the ‘onesies’ with slogans like ‘bien pride’ are something else, but I imagine parents know best.

One really cool thing about France is that it has a real high speed rail network, far superior to anything California is going to come up with even if we do actually build something. The TGV (Train à Grande Vitesse) can get you to many places in France at speeds up to 180 mph. And there is a train station in the International Terminal at Charles de Gaulle Airport, which means you can get off a flight from the US and walk a few hundred meters and catch a train to Nimes or Lyon or Nice or Toulouse. Much more comfortable than a connecting flight and more scenic too.

Last February when I finalized my 2023 cycling trip plans, I decided to take the TGV from CDG to the lovely city of Nimes in southern France. My flight is supposed to arrive at 10 am, and there were two trains to Nimes: one at 12 noon and the other at 3 pm. Originally I booked the later train, because it delivered me to the Nimes Center station only a short walk from my hotel. But this train involved 2 transfers, including a 10 minute connection in Lyon, which made me a bit nervous. I’ve been to the Lyon station and it is busy and more than a little confusing.

The noon train was non-stop to Nimes, but the destination station is at Pont du Gard, maybe 15 miles from my hotel. When 44 5 (my ‘French Connection’ cycle-touring company) offered to pick me up at Pont du Gard I decided to book the earlier train. If everything works I will be in Nimes in time for an afternoon glass of rosé.

Using the SNCF website and the app is not always intuitive or easy to navigate, but eventually I got the second ticket. Today I decided to go back on SNCF and get a refund on my first ticket, which was fully refundable.

I logged on, went to ‘My Trips’ and was shocked to get the following message:

Both of my tickets has disappeared. Even though I had printed them on paper with the QR code, the website seemed to have lost track of them. I went back to my credit card statements and sure enough, both tickets had been paid. What now? Do I have tickets or not?

44 5 (Gerry) to the rescue! I sent him some What’s App messages and he used my password to get onto the site. And he said the tickets were there! I tried again and still couldn’t make them appear on my computer or on the SNCF app I installed on my phone. So I asked Gerry to cancel the first ticket, and seconds later I got confirmation by e mail from SNCF.

I tried to follow Gerry’s steps so that I could view my remaining ticket, but I kept getting the screens you see above. Finally I asked Gerry what name he typed in and he said “Freggiaro”. I told him I had been using Richard Freggiaro, or Freggiaro Richard, or FREGGIARO RICHARD or RICHARD FREGGIARO in case it was case sensitive.

I actually got tripped up by Google translate. The French word ‘nom’ apparently means surname. When I put the booking code in with FREGGIARO (leaving out any form of Richard) my ticket popped right up. In English the box asks you to enter “Name used to make the booking”. If it had translated ‘nom’ as ‘Last Name’ I could have saved myself about 2 hours of confusion and worry. That is the price I pay for not taking French in high school, although in San Joaquin County two years of Spanish proved much more useful. Google take note: nom and name are not the same!

First a little history: Stoker grew up in Iowa but spent several years in St. Paul Minnesota. She got her Library Science degree at the University of Minnesota, then went to work to support her first husband while he worked on his PHD.

When we got together in DC I used to get on her case about all those kind, decent, caring liberal Lutherans who belonged to the DFL political party. That is the Democratic-Farmer-Labor party, which is what Democrats in Minnesota call themselves. In 1984 Minnesota was probably one of the least diverse states in the U.S. Blonds, Scandinavian last names, and Lutherans. They were also the only state not to give an endorsement to a very popular sitting president.

In 1980, Stoker voted for the incumbent, along with 16 of the 18 people working at our consulting firm. One secretary and I were the only dissidents. The majority was probably partially self motivated, since our firm did some lobbying (not me; I was just a junior analyst) and had really good connections at USDA who would be replaced if Reagan won.

You would think that love could not conquer such a wide gap in political views, but marriage is about compromise. I rant and rave and then we do what Stoker wants. Over years of observing the economic and regulatory realities of farming, along with realizing that the government was confiscating an increasing percentage of our growing income, she made a kind of spectrum shift towards the red.

But feel-good liberalism is alive and well in the North Star State:

Minnesota lawmakers are mulling a change to state law, House File 181, that would log alleged bias incidents even when they aren’t considered a crime.

The bill, introduced in January, would allow people to report perceived bias-related incidents such as alleged slurs and verbal attacks that would fall outside the hate crimes compiled annually by the state Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, according to the St. Cloud Times.

When asked if opining that the Corona virus leaked from a Chinese virology lab could be considered a ‘bias related incident’ a sponsor of the bill had this to say.

Samantha Vang (DFL) argued that while not all incidents are considered violent or criminal, this sort of rhetoric is “bias motivated” therefore “it can be considered a bias incident.”

Ms. Vang was also asked if wearing a J.K. Rowling t shirt could be considered a bias related incident, and she demurred.

Shoplifters ply their trade with impunity. Violent felonies are reduced to misdemeanors and perpetrators released from custody. Rioters smash windows and burn cars and assault innocent people trying to enjoy a dinner downtown, and very little happens to them unless they are protesting from a non-woke point of view. But in the Land of 10,000 Lakes, ‘bias motivated rhetoric’ is a reportable offense.

So if you engage in a modern tea party protest by dumping cases of Bud Light as a show of disgust at their choice of spokesperson, be advised that Minnesota has you on their radar.

My blog is definitely bias motivated. I am biased against stupidity and hypocrisy. There is plenty of both of these around so I never lack for material. I imagine my blog would make Minnesota’s bias incident registry if any of my readers want to report me. Go ahead; reporting me means you read the entire blog, which is all an author can ask for.