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Nest of Wangdoodles.

Well. I did it. I rode a friggen bicycle. I’m still alive…so far. Whoever coined the adage “it’s just like riding a bicycle,” was clearly an idiot. You can absolutely forget how to ride one. There are clearly better comparisons available. Like, for instance, I’d never forget pi. Why can’t the aphorism say: “It’s like the first sentence of Pride and Prejudice; You never forget it.”

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife”

How could you forget that? You can’t. I can easily forget stupid things like gears and how not to die.

Brief overview of how this went. I went with the Viking, the Highlander, and the Professor to the path along the water. (NONE of my ladies went. Surrrre, they all went to Crossfit, but WHERE’S THE GODSDAMNED LOYALTY??? Excuses like “I don’t want to” and “but what if I fall” were out in ABUNDANCE.) The friend formerly known as “Graverobber,” henceforth to be known as “Ellie Mae” actually said “My face is too pretty for road rash.” She’s not wrong. Luckily, I am apparently a hag, and thus totally prepared for microdermabrasion via asphalt.

However, the relative propinquity of this race demands my immediate attention and dedication. So I suited up, strapped on a helmet, and had only a few, petite panic attacks. What I was unaware of before getting on the bicycle, was that I would be riding a bicycle fit for triathlons. The bike weighed less than my purse, and requires me to lean farther over than I thought I should. It should also be noted that I have seen maxi pads larger than the seat of this bicycle. It is also equipped with what I lovingly referred to as an “ass and vag vent” on the seat. I understand why it’s there, but it’s still funny. Though, not nearly as funny as the dude’s saddle which looks like either a confused bunny rabbit or strange sex toy.  It totally fits their wangdoodles like a hot dog bun. I laughed aloud. Hard.

Ladies saddle:

Of COURSE it’s white and pink. OF COURSE.

Dude’s saddle:

See what I mean? Wangdoodle nest. Incidentally, just typing “wangdoodle nest” made me think of a Seussian image of a “Nest of Wangdoodles with their throw-hoodles” or something, and the image was unpleasant. Now, I just placed it in your brain. You’re welcome.

In order to keep my mind from wandering toward my own death, the Highlander and the Professor, both of whom are from the UK, decided to have me help them with their French. The Highlander speaks English and Gaelic (Scottish Gaelic, not Irish), and the Professor speaks English, Latin, Mandarin, Welsh, and Manx. Yes, Manx. As in the mostly-dead language from the Isle of Man. They both have overwhelmingly UK-y accents. The Professor’s is all upper-crust Queen’s English, and the Highlander is, well, Highlandy. I almost went off course several times because I was shaking my head so hard. The unique dips and flat or round tones of French are completely lost on the two of them. At one point, at a break, I shot off an email to the Professor’s husband, begging him to teach him Spanish instead of my teaching him French.

But I digress, I rode NINE MILES without falling. NINE. As in the number after eight. 47, 520 feet.  Fourteen-point-five kilometers. I rode them on a tiny maxi-pad, vag-saving saddle, hunched over like I was doing something fun, like READING A BOOK. I got sweaty and sticky. I contemplated my last will and testament. I regretted not wearing some sort of foam armor. (which you can find instructions for on Pinterest.) I also realize that padded bicycle shorts exist for a reason, and it’s not just to give me junk in my empty trunk. I was wearing tight, capri-style pants. I also learned it matters not how handsome a dude is, when they put on a pointy helmet, they look ridiculous. I looked like an awesome space alien come to meet your leader.

The Highlander insisted that riding a bike in a triathlon was an ethereal experience akin to a wakeful dream. He is obviously insane, and I should re-evaluate our friendship at once. Sure, I thinking oneirically, but the dreams rushing upon my psyche were far more Captain Ahab and far less Stevenson’s dreams of toasted cheese.

For example:

 “A chasm seemed opening in him, from which forked flames and lightnings shot up, and accursed fiends beckoned him to leap down among them.”

Riding a bicycle is my white whale, it would seem. But I did it. No unholy communion required. Just a great amount of ribbing from friends and desire to not be a coward before my children. If I expect them to ride a bicycle, I can do no less. So I rode with the fear of cursed man, and somehow survived. Let’s just see if that holds. I am riding in Catalina for the Tri. We mustn’t forget the cliffs of insanity.

Jesu, near 900 words. Holy smokes. Ok, tomorrow is a book review, and I’m trying to secure a deal code for you scamps, so hold onto your asses until then. For now?

Peach Tea Muffins.

You know I LOVE tea. All sorts. All temperatures. I take my hot tea with milk and sugar, and my iced as black as my soul. But it is an underutilized ingredient in cooking! We use coffee all the freaking time! Why not tea?? Have you HAD a good Irish Breakfast lately? It’s freaking delightful. Ok, to be fair, I used Scottish breakfast tea, but that’s because it’s the strongest of the bunch. I mean, this tea wears a kilt in winter sans underoos; it’s that strong.

That’d be a way to describe the tea on the box. “Exposed stones in winter, strong!”

TO THE FOOD, MACDUFF!

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Peach Tea Muffins

by Cat Bowen

Prep Time: 20 minutes

Cook Time: 20 minutes

Keywords: bread breakfast dessert vegetarian

Ingredients (20 muffins)

  • 1 cup whole milk
  • 1/2 cup coconut oil
  • 5 bags of black tea
  • 1 cup maple syrup
  • 1/2 cup honey
  • 3 peaches, diced
  • 2 eggs
  • 2 tsps baking powder
  • 1 tsp cinnamon
  • 1 tsp vanilla
  • 2 cups AP flour
  • 1/2 cup oat flour (pulse oats in a food pro until it’s powder)

Instructions

preheat oven to 375F

stir together oil, sugars, and vanilla

microwave milk on high for 1 minute and 30 seconds

add in tea bags

let steep five minutes

while steeping, sift together dry ingredients and toss with peaches

whisk eggs into oil-sugar mixture

SLOWLY stir in tea milk into the egg-oil-sugar mixture

stir in peach/flour mixture

scoop into muffin cups to the top

bake for 18-22 minutes or until lightly browned on top, darker at the edges.

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4 comments on “Nest of Wangdoodles.

  1. I came for the wangdoodles. I stayed for the peach tea muffins…. I lie. I stayed for the wang doodles too.

    I so effin agree. People say that all the time. I tried to ride my kids bike recently and almost lost half my face.

  2. Dammit. I supposed now I have to go ride my bike, since I believe I made some kind of statement to that effect.

    It’s probably covered in spiders. Do I really want to take the spiders’ entertainment away? Or would a better question be: Do I really want spiders in my basement who’ve been exercising consistently for months?

    DECISIONS!

    Anyhoodle, wangdoodle, congrats on overcoming your fear and getting on the bike. I hope your ladybits are not terribly sore now.

  3. yessssssssssss black tea FTW.

    I’m joining Gold’s the second I move again just for ze bikes. It’ll be the most action I get all year. I mean…. yeah.

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