The King is gone...

"The King" © Mike Moore Studios

Bucky Roscoe Stripes Moore left the world a little after 9 this morning. He joined us in 2009. He was King of his domain.

Our family used to own a large liquor store that was the hub of our little community. We worked with a local vet occasionally to help find homes for kitties, we were kinda locally famous for having friendly store cats. We're cat people. I worked the register next to the kennel where the kitten then known as Stripes and a couple of his siblings were showing off for prospective new homes. They'd all been tossed from a car, found, and taken to the vet. The vet called and asked if we could help. Of course!

At home we were dealing with the imminent loss of another feline family member, Roscoe. We were sad, maybe especially our oldest son who'd really formed a bond with Roscoe. We did not need, or want a new cat.

The kitten had other plans. His siblings got chosen first through no fault of his own, a perfect sweet little gentleman. I talked to him while I worked, he reached out of the kennel to get my attention when I wasn't paying enough of it to him. We both knew, deal was done. My wife called a little later in the day to ask how it was going and if we'd gotten them all adopted. "Yep" I said, told her who went where with who. "What about the other one?"

The idea of him coming home wasn't immediately thought well of. "Roscoe isn't gone yet, and you're replacing him?". It changed quickly, and I believe helped us all with that transition. Travis, our oldest son, named him Bucky after the cat star of Get Fuzzy a comic strip he was reading at the time. He also chose to honor our elder statesman Roscoe by attaching his name, and he kept his OG name, adding our last. He's been called, Bucky, Buck, Bucket, Buddy Bucket, Buckethead, and many more.

After Roscoe passed, Bucky was left under the watchful eye of his big "sister" Sandy. She was half his size, but very much in charge...until he got ornery. Younger bigger brother, picking on big sister. She'd scream, we'd scream. He was just having fun, didn't mean anything by it. Luckily as they got older the relationship mellowed and became one of mutual distance for the most part. When she passed, he missed her. He became a bit more of something he'd never been, a lap cat. He enjoyed all eyes on him. Loved the love.

I'm honored he chose me, and chose us all to be his family.

The King is gone.

Gonna miss you Buddy Bucket.

Have Fun.

I feel ya...

"I Feel Ya" © Mike Moore Studios

Don't feel like I'm making much ground lately. Not sure why it matters, not much needs to get made, but still feel off pace. I've been down for a bit, trying to fight through, but it's hard. Our old boy Bucky will be leaving us soon, soon as in "the appointment's been made". This is our last weekend together. We're all sad, all dealing with it differently, but sad is the prevailing mood. I guess I've been sad, and slow for a while now. His health started declining during the home renovation we just went through, which had it's own share of still ongoing issues. Between the two funfests, my spark has dimmed.

Reckon like my friend up there though, even slow is still going.

Have Fun! 

 

Gettin' Dirty...

"Gettin' Dirty" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

 C'mon...who doesn't like gettin' a little dirty every now and again? You've been screamed at about it most, if not all, your life. "Don't get dirty!" Gettin' dirty was quite likely one of your first "F You" moments. Mom said not to, but...dang...who knows how it happened? Can't wear those pants to school now. Gettin' dirty is an escape from the trappings of polite society. Screw wearing white, before or after Labor Day. There are those among us it is hardwired into, gettin' dirty is life. Sadly, there's flocks of those who's need to get dirty has been terminally beat, or bred from them, homogenized sterility.

Run wild. When you get wrecked, rub some dirt on it.

Have Fun!

Road hard...

"Road Hard..." © Mike Moore Studios 2024

Been a long week. Nature had its way with us with nearly seven sloppy inches of hard, pounding, rain…leaving my trails violated, abused, and darn right squishy.

Been waiting for a dry up, til I couldn’t wait no more. Took my show on the road. Gotta say, not too effin’ bad! Beautiful day, drivers not acting a fool. Got a decently paced, and most importantly, FUN fifteen miles in.

Road riding is a WAY distant second to off road for me. If that’s all there is for the picking, then off we go and make the best of it. A decent attitude never hurt anything (think I just threw up a little bit actually saying that), and riding is better than not. So I’m gonna just give it a smile.

Have Fun!

 

Boundaries...

"Boundaries" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

This sign is on a fence (no not a wall...this isn't South Texas) adjacent to the park where I normally get my pedal on. It's uselessness is comedy gold. Does anyone really think the suburban backyard on the other side is open to the public? That it's free range park land? Not likely, but there's probably a statute, ordinance, or some sorta official proclamation that deems it's of utmost importance to the safety and well being of Mr. & Mrs. John Q. Public, and all the little Publics, that this boundary be officially delineated. So there it is...plainly, and cleanly, spelled out in a nice, easily readable, red sans serif font.

Kinda makes you wanna be a sign maker sometimes. Don't want folks going somewhere? Put a sign up. Boundaries. Maybe your sign isn't screen printed on a metallic rounded rectangle, but I bet you got 'em. We all do. When my lines, not all of them are of the "battle" variety, get crossed, of course I'm highly aware...again...as I'd wager we all are. Thing is, I'm not quite as confident on my ability to sense the personal perimeters of others. Maybe no one is, or maybe I just worry too much...consistency is key I'm told.

Boundaries, "Stay in your lane", "Do as you're told", and the always popular "NO". There are some that seem to preach a message more possibly punitive and definitely limiting, than helpful or guiding. These are the boundary varietals that made me wanna climb the fence, and flip the finger. And I did, a lot...too much.

As a society, boundaries are without question needed. The necessity of any boundary is likely most supported by whoever or whatever comes up with it. The rest of us go along as needed, demanded, or otherwise legally bound to do so...or not. Still, gotta have em.

Go on. Set your stakes in the ground. Let folks know what your space is. Just don't be an asshat about it, and maybe ask about their space too. We need boundaries, our own personal hunks of whatever life is that is our's alone, but it's ok to share too. To give and receive, learn and grow. Maybe we just need gates on our fences.

Have Fun!

My huevos dropped...

"Huevos" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

It’s the day after Easter, and I’m proud to say my huevos have dropped. This pic doesn’t do much for it, and maybe it’s not much, but this drop has kept its dirty middle finger rudely raised in my direction for longer than I care to fess up to. I couldn’t muster the cojones. I could easily and plainly see the line and that it SHOULD be doable, just couldn't commit.

Today, I wasn’t really 100% amped to be riding here, bit of the ol’ same ol’ same ol’. Made my mind up to spice it up, do something different, fun, challenging, or maybe even all the above. This section was the one I was imagining as I was contemplating that. You don't have to, but typically I ride past this turn, do another section, come back to it. Same for today, rode past, took a glance..."Today, you will be mine", rode on. Next section is a fun swoopy swath of single track with a short, shifty, stab of a climb at the end. Usually, despite my best efforts and eating all my vegetables, a dab, but today was clean. Well hell, is this really gonna be my day? 

Now, dangerously full of not only piss BUT vinegar as well, I rolled up, dropped the dropper and my sack. I did it. There was a nano second flirtation with a panic'd brake grab that I talked myself down from. At this point all I could wonder is why I waited.

Finished the ride, came back for the shot, didn’t look at all scary anymore. Reckon that monster is safely kicked out from under the bed.

Damn it feels good to stand up to your bullies.

Have Fun!

Reflecting...

"Reflecting" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

There's a reflecting pond at my go to riding spot. There's a nice bench there dedicated, I'm sure lovingly, in someone's honor. Due to non climate change related drought (here's hoping sarcasm isn't dead) the pond has been a bleak bin of silt until just recently. The pond is now verdant with all sorts of probably beneficial, but certainly slimy and not ungross, mosses, algae, and other bits of ol Mom Nature's finest yuck.

So me, being me, got to pondering during my pedal...

Do the types of reflections one has fit the scene? And if so, is it better to reflect over a dusty barren nothingness, or an emerald hued vomitous goo? Should you wait until something better comes along? I got no answers for you, just the questions. I, like most of us I reckon, do my bits of ruminating to all sorts of ends, a monotonous proclamation if ever there were one. The emotional wheel of fortune gets a good spin. Sometimes Pat and Vanna are there with fabulous prizes, and sometimes it's just a lifetime supply of Rice-a-Roni and a home version of the game. If looking BACK helps NOW, obviously it's a good and welcome thing. If that's not the result, then I question the medicine.

You gotta go through things to get places, a simple and true statement. Should you go back through things if they take you nowhere?

This was about the time that I realized I was thinking too much, or was it reflecting? Dammit! Stupid pond got me.

Have Fun!