Everyone should have a convertible once in their life.
Bought mine as a new widow when I was 67. Great to relax and take a break from the day. Let’s just go “ride around“.
We’re taking a look at some of our favorite photos over the past few months. What’s in store for your next adventure? Whether you’re going across town or across the country, share it with us in the comments.
As I mentioned in last week’s Rides Around, I’m not really a car person.
But it turns out I am a little bit of a truck person.
When I was growing up my dad had a pick up truck. Dodge. Blue. He drove it to work, mostly, but sometimes he’d work an overnight shift at the steel mill, and he’d let me drive it to school. It was a treat to have my own wheels, even if it was an old truck, and even if it sometimes wouldn’t start right away, or stalled out on occasion. I do remember turning the key in the school parking lot, and willing it to start… hoping it wouldn’t stall just at the point somebody super cool was walking out of the building.
Once I hit senior year of college I got my own car, thanks to a great deal given to me by my grandmother. I don’t remember how much I put down, or even what the total was, but I remember that I paid her $100 a month until I could pay it off.
I leased a car, then tried a Honda del Sol (fun!) and then ran the wheels off a Civic and needed something else.
A Mini Cooper caught my eye. Not many people had them in Texas, and it was a convertible (like the del Sol) and a great deal, so I snatched it up. I found I enjoyed being a Mini “person”. It got great gas mileage and when I made moves from Texas to California and back again, it held me, three suitcases, a guitar, a backpack and a dog just fine.
But this new neighborhood and its sea of potholes have been rough on the Mini. In just a few months I quickly had to replace tires, and this week new issues began to surface that felt more like Big Trouble. It was time to face facts. I had to bid adieu to the Mini, and get something a little more…max.
I whined; I researched; I consulted my personal panel of experts, and I test drove a couple small SUVs.
But, as I learned when I was sixteen… there’s something about a truck. I saw one online I liked. Blue. No frills. Just a truck with a few years and a few miles on it. Grey and blue seats and two little jump seats in the back, for some very small passengers, just in case I run into any. When I turned the key it started right up (thankfully) and I scanned the radio for a country station. I had a big smile on my face the whole ride home. It doesn’t fit in the garage as easily as the Mini, but I think it suits me just fine.
I recently had an interesting opportunity to surf an iconic surf spot, and when you hear that knock…well, wax up and paddle out.
I got a call early on a Wednesday. “Can you go to Africa to…” I interrupted w/ a resounding “Yes.” We worked out the details, well mostly. There was some uncertainty about Americans being able to procure a VISA on arrival in Ghana, but nothing that some good old-fashioned straight-faced tenacity couldn’t overcome.
Sunday I was roaming around Ghana, Africa in awe and wonder. Monday brought an onslaught of intense meetings w/ government, clients, shipping lines, etc etc. I managed to find the time for some google searching, and was reminded that in the Endless Summer film the first African beach surfed was in Ghana. Target acquired folks.
I started my education on geography, ground transport, swell report, and local safety. After spending three to five solid minutes researching it, my scheme was in place.
I was flying in country for site walks etc and saw a gap between close-out meetings in Takoradi and flights back to Accra. Wednesday night I lined out a driver for the next morning, and after I completed my responsible stuff, we were off. After two hours of some interesting car traveling, we had arrived.
This place was fantastic. It had several local surf shops to rent boards on its dirt streets. The wave was great. Good solid swell made for a consistent beach break. The locals were fun. One of them provoked me into a three-way surfing competition, that just meant we watched each other and openly admired or laughed at the others’ performances. With only about 12 people in the line up, there were lots of waves to go around.
After 2.5 hours I was surprisingly chilled and had to catch a flight.
I returned the board, dried off, did a wardrobe change, grabbed my driver, and we headed to the airport. After some more interesting driving, I was at the airport and thinking about all of the unsurfed surf in the world. After that trip, I know it’s out there.
Edgar~
Minneapolis. Cold country, my family called it. I called it home for four years, and the better part of a fifth.
I went to school in Minnesota, but not at the U of M, where most people assume when I say that. Instead I went to a small private school downtown, a few nondescript buildings that covered a couple of blocks and became my first home away from home. My first Big Move.
I remember not knowing at all what to expect, and being worried about how I would make friends. I was enthralled with the adventure, but nervous about how it would all play out.
As is often the case, I needn’t have worried. I made friends quickly… tight ones, the kind you make when you’re all in the same situation, and in desperate need for community. I landed on a major, found a part time job, and decided the snow wasn’t so bad. I got used to my wet hair freezing into a crunchy mess on the way to class, and learned which bus lines go where you want, and which will strand you in the middle of nowhere at the last stop of the night.
After college I got my first TV job in Minneapolis, at the same place where I interned my senior year. The city was different though, after all my friends had moved on, and the place where I had so many great memories seemed brand new again, back to a sea of strangers, with no forced orientation or constant comfort of communal living. I got lonely, and didn’t stay long.
This week a chance work trip will take me back. Back to Elliot Park and Hennepin Avenue. Back to skyways and skylines and Prince’s club downtown. I bet the quarter bus route is up to a couple of bucks, and I would be surprised if Jitters, the downtown coffee shop is still around, packed with students “studying” and enjoying the all night shenanigans. For old time’s sake, I’d love to go to the airport at dark, park under the route the planes pass as they head for the runway, and think about the 18-year-old me, sitting there bundled up in my dad’s flannel with my new friends and my wild dreams, striking out on my first adventure.
Traffic is interesting away from home.
It becomes a cultural phenomenon. Think about a New York cab driver’s behavior on the road…see what I mean.
Accra is a city of five million people in the West African country of Ghana, and that is where we are looking in this week’s rides around.
We found an aboboyaa and a fairly disinterested driver. The aboboyaa is a three-wheeled motorcycle contraption used for the delivery of local commerce. Take note of what’s in the background of the photos…the goats grazing and the locals toting wares on their heads.
Ghana is no different; to a local it is normal.
For me, I enjoy the aboboyaa, its driver, the goats, and the vendors.
I enjoy learning from the locals about the trike, eating the peanuts purchased roadside, and laughing w/ my driver about the girls he will not marry.
Edgar~
This week’s Rides Around is more like a “Floats Around” and comes to us from a friend who was inspired by last week’s post and poem.
He loved all kinds of boats (and trucks, and cars, and army vehicles), and sketched them in his many notebooks. He had the opportunity to own many, and custom re-fit a few.
This 18-foot, 1992 Lowe Jon Boat was a bare hull when purchased. Everything was fabricated from the center drive console to the entire trailer, which was customized with knobby tires and .50 caliber ammo boxes just for storage………perhaps.
Thanks to our loyal contributor, Marie, for sharing these thoughts on her recent Alaskan adventure.
Starting off, there are a few preconceived notions about Alaska that I have found to be exceedingly true. From traditional totem poles to glaciers to the sheer vast emptiness of the land.
By emptiness I don’t mean lack of substance or matter. I’m referring to the lack of human disturbance of the natural world: buildings, parking lots, houses, all of the things that fill our eyes every single day (Maybe not my sister’s, as she’s been living in a tent clearing trails and building bridges for the Rocky Mountain Youth Core since early summer). The majority of people take the sight of untouched land completely for granted, and mostly, I think, because they’ve never had the opportunity to understand it or have not been taught the significance of the untouched space. I was so fortunate to have been raised to love and treasure the connecting beauty that nature, particularly the mountains, holds. Thinking of the people who have been my mentors in helping me know how precious it is and will always be gives me an unmeasurable amount of gratitude. It makes me who I am.
Alaska holds so much, and it’s one of those rare places that you see and you just think, this is how it is supposed to be.
We took “The Seeker”, a rough and tough landing craft, out to an island one day, and sat on the beach with the sun shining down on us. The moment was how I picture heaven.
I have seen a few different oceans and there is always some sort of noticeable change between them. I speak just for southeastern Alaska, but when you look down into the water, there is nothing but clarity and life. The forests are the same way! They look healthy and happy and there is so much diversity when you train your eye to notice the vitality on a smaller scale. Seeing the unvarnished beauty and strength of nature provides a sense of unwavering hope, and I’ve been able to feel it all day and night and it’s better than any cleanse you’d find at your local, overpriced health foods store.
Living on a boat, there’s nothing else like it. The first few steps in the morning feel like they’re your first three steps ever. I’m sure this is all comical to the ones that have experienced it. All in all, I have definitely developed a much deeper respect for Alaska, seeing as I was the woman riding a borrowed, squeaky bike in my Xtratuffs.
-Marie
Special thanks to our friend Billy, who helped this trip come together.
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