Ch-ch-changes...

"Out In The Sticks" © Mike Moore Studios 2025

 New year, new me? Nah, of course not, I've been on this particular road to ruin this long...might as well see where it ends up. I did, however, make the monumental...NAY! STUPENDOUS! I did, however, make the STUPENDOUS decision to change up the accompanying photo style with these here random rambles.

When I started doing this, I thought a cohesive/through look would maintain a certain vibe. Problem is/was, what the hell's that vibe? I was digging the retro oversaturated look...but it also looked painfully like an old IG post. So from here on out...something different each time. Why? The whole point of this little nug of narcissism was to stretch my skill set with writing and picture making. I'll let you, dear reader, judge to whatever level of success.

This shot was taken 2/03/25 at Dana Peak Park in Harker Heights, Tx. My bike is about 6' off the trail, balanced in the aftermath of May 24's flooding. I hadn't been down to this area since right after the floods, when it was still impassable. Ol' mom nature can wreck some havoc when she gets in a mood, but this is an oddly peaceful destruction...a natural upheaval.

Meh, enough of that. Okey dokey Bat fans, strap in and let's take a ride...see where we end up.

Good times!

It's the New Year! Who wants a resolution?

Here it comes, barreling at you like a hopped up spider monkey—2025, baby, and I’m kicking off with my annual anti-resolution resolution. That’s right. Pass on the promises, dodge the self-improvement platitudes, and swerve hard away from the "dang, I didn't learn Origami this year" guilt spiral. Who needs another regret in the dumpster fire of modern existence? Not me, amigo.

One bike ride logged this year. One. And the art? Less than that. Am I sweating it? Not yet. The real world has yanked my leash lately, and while paying attention to it isn’t my A-game, I’m trying. If I learned one thing from G.I. Joe, "knowing is half the battle". The other half? I’m guessing bullshit and duct tape, but don’t quote me on that.

Let’s talk 2024. Oh yeah, it brought its fair share of ass kicks and bitch slaps. Newsflash: 2023 wasn’t a picnic either. And guess what? 2025 will probably come at ya too. That’s the deal, folks. Life shows up, punches your ticket, and rides you around the sun whether you’re grinning or grimacing. The secret sauce? Somewhere in that maelstrom of chaos, there’s also love, laughs, and moments that make you wanna throw your head back and howl at the moon. Focus on those. Ignore the rest—or at least try to.

But wait, let’s circle back—because I lied...

"Resolve This" © Mike Moore Studios 2025

There is one tiny little resolution, buried under all this blather. Not really a resolution. More like a grudge match between me and a chunk of dirt. There’s this 25-foot section of trail I’ve never conquered, at least not this direction. It's not as flat as it looks, weird angles, obbstacles straight out of Beelzebubba’s design catalog. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of attempts, and every time it spits me out like gas station Sushi. But 2025 is the year. It’s not a resolution, damn it. It’s a goal. And goals? Goals are made to be CRUSHED. Good GOB, could I be any more cheesy? Most likely.

Here’s the final scoop: take care of yourself. Take care of others too, if you’ve got the bandwidth. Why slap a time limit on it? Forget “new year, new me.” Just keep trying to be less of a dick every day. Improvements? Sure, let’s sprinkle those in.

Good Times.

2 Wheeled Escape Pod...

2 Wheeled Escape Pod © Mike Moore Studios 2024

 My first memories of riding a bike, other than "Weeee" or "Oh ssshhhiiittt", were "where can I go?" My world grew exponentially with a bike. Boundaries were established by those that do those sorts of things, looking at you mom and dad, and quickly ignored by those that do those sorts of things. If I wanted to go somewhere, and it was feasible in my continually bored prepubescent mind on my Free Spirit 20", I went. I was curious, I wanted to see more, and do more than my normal life offered. I wanted to escape.

I wasn't escaping anything bad. No abuse or neglect horror stories, just good ol' white bread "Merkin" living. I needed to see something else, do something else, so I got on my bike and I rode. As I got older, 12 or so, I had a new love in my life, skateboarding. Until I was old enough to drive I pedaled to spots WAY outside the approved boundaries. My bike and board my constant companions.

When cars entered the picture and the range of my escapes could increase, the bike got set aside. I always had one and always wanted to at least kinda be into them, but my devotion slipped. My board stayed handy, but now instead of the ditch across town I could pedal to...I was hitting something a few towns over.

I'm older now. I still love skateboarding. The friends I made, the things I did and saw will be with me forever. So will the titanium hips. When skating was done for me, I'd already been revisiting my first love for a while. I don't feel bad, it was never an exclusive relationship. I've owned and ridden mountain bikes since the late 80s, but since skating has left me the spark has been relit.

I'm still escaping. There's still nothing bad, but I still gotta get away. The trail in the picture above is 5 minutes from my front door. It may as well be on the other side of the planet. When I'm there, or somewhere like there, I'm gone. The usual melon melodramas may go down, anxiety, like rust, never sleeps, but I've escaped and can contend with them.

The past few months I've been riding with a good buddy. If I'm being honest, I was a little worried about it at first. Riding was MY escape...sharing it seemed high sacrilege. Turns out to be a reminder of those early escape days when I could talk a neighborhood friend into going on an adventure, so that doesn't suck. Still escaping AND sharing a laugh.

I hope to be able, and want, to get on a bike and go for a whole lotta more years. I will always need to escape.

When you get bucked off...

"Bucked Off" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

 

There’s that old cowboy mantra — "When you get bucked off, get back on!" — rattling around in my head like a rock in a hubcap. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not one for motivational nonsense. Those kitten posters telling me to “hang in there” just make me wanna roll my eyes. Sure, hope the little furball makes it, but seriously, we all got our own battles, right? Suck it up, buttercup. (Kidding… mostly.) No one deserves to go through hell, but do we really need discount hobby shop wall art screeching “Live, Laugh, Love” at us like some demented suburban mantra? Makes me wanna “Hurl, Puke, Vomit.”

Dammit… I’ve drifted off the trail here. Focus.

Okay, so picture this: I’m just your average overgrown manchild, who, in a moment of misguided showboating, managed to “injure” himself. Yeah, injured. Nick, my ever-wise buddy, pointed that out. “You didn’t get hurt, man. You injured yourself.” And damn it, he’s right. It’s been a while since I’ve been legitimately injured, and I guess I’d just forgotten that it could still happen. I’ve never been the gnar god, with skateboarding or mountain bikes, keeping it relatively low key — just trying to stay around maybe a “twist your ankle if you mess up” level. But, you know, sometimes life will give you a taste of knuckle sammich.

Fast forward to today. My third ride since getting cleared to run free again. Back at the scene of the crime, BLORA. Knocked out a solid 10 miles, the sun shining, wind in my face, and — miracle of miracles — no trips to the ER.

(Side note: tried to do this on Tuesday, but forgot my helmet like the aforementioned manchild I am. I took it as a sign from the Ride Gods, packed up, and went home. No tantrums, no broken bones, just a wounded ego.)

Now, on the way back home, I pass another trail — Miller Springs. The legs were feeling like they were plugged into an electrical socket, so I thought, why not? Stopped and knocked out a few more miles of a favorite hunk of trail still recovering from tornado redecorating.

So now here I am, tapping out this rambling mess of thoughts. Bottom line? I got bucked off, but I’m back on, baby. Feeling invincible, ready to tackle the world, and hey, there’s some amazing leftover vittles waiting for me. Life’s good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some vacuuming to do and some scrubbing bubbles to set loose.

Have Fun!

After the fall...

 

"After the fall" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

August 19th, 2024. The calendar said it was a Monday, but my gut told me it was a victory lap. Another morning ride, then home for some graphic freelance magic, or maybe diving in to some domestic duty. Routine, right? Wrong. That day, I was cocky. Strutting around like a peacock with a death wish, thinking I was king of the trail. Looking back, I was overconfident, underprepared, and setting myself up for a date with gravity.

It wasn’t even a big jump. Hell, on the scale of extreme, it barely registered—a blip. But let me tell you, no amount of "visualize it, manifest it" was gonna save me when my shoulder met earth like grandma’s old Lincoln and her neighbor’s cat. Yeah, that hurt. Bad.

Fast forward six long weeks. I’ve scrolled through the entirety of the internet at least four times, mountain biking vids on repeat. Normal folks, superhero freaks—they all have something I was dying to get back: freedom on two wheels. Watching those videos? Torture. The real kind. The “you can look but don’t touch” brand of hell.

Yesterday, I went for the six-week follow-up with the doc. Good news? No surgery. But, surgery’s still on the table if I feel like playing mad scientist with my skeleton. Right now, the shoulder’s a little funky—like I could moonlight as the bell ringer at Notre Dame, but it’s not causing trouble. Just hanging out, reminding me it's there. Doc hit me with the “at your age” spiel, but wrapped it up with a casual, “Take it easy out there.”

So today, I took it as easy as I could stand. Eleven miles—part road, part off-road dirt—just a test run. Legs? Still kicking. Lungs? Holding up. Not bad. A few bone-rattling moments made it clear the shoulder isn’t 100% yet, but not in an “oh shit, I’m broken” kind of way. More like a friendly reminder: “We’ll get there, just not today.”

And you know what? Even after those measly 11 miles, I felt like a GAWD! Like I’d shed 50 pounds of funk, frustration, and futility. The comeback is real, and it’s on!

Have Fun!

All fun, til it's not...

Bum Wing © Mike Moore Studios 2024

 Monday (8/19/24), started off pretty good, slept decently and had a ride planned. Got a text from my riding buddy that he'd be able to go after all, day got a little better!

Everything was business as usual from there. Nick got to the house, we tossed everything in my truck, and shoved off, BLORA (Belton Lake Outdoor Recreation Area) bound. I'd ridden the same area Friday, and had been visualizing a way to launch into the trail since. I had had it in my head to try anyway, having a buddy along as a witness to my super heroic feats of daring? Bonus!

Looking back, can't remember exactly if I said what I was gonna try, or that I was just gonna try "something". I cranked off towards the trailhead, rolled over the "fun hump" before, locked onto the entrance, and headed in hot...Too hot!

I'm not even going to try and sell this as some Red Bull XXXtreme Hardline Death-Defying kind of a jump. IT'S NOT. Everything about it is within my skill range...except probably the speed I hit it at, and not being able to adjust to whatever it was that kicked the ass end of my bike all wonky. As soon as I was airborne, I knew it wasn't gonna end well, but didn't have time to finish the thought before I was on the ground.

I didn't get knocked out, but it was close. My old pal, the vasovagal response, was creeping around for sure. I remember being PISSED that I'd a) screwed the jump up, b) screwed the ride up, then c) was a random thought about food or something else completely unrelated to the situation at hand. Probably not great. After 40 years of throwing myself at concrete for fun (skateboarding), I knew I wasn't HURT, but I was definitely hurting. Nick rolled up nearly instantly, I think...the concept of time and clear thinking weren't quite within my reach yet. I remember him asking if I was ok, then urging me to sit down. He told me later I had a death grip squeeze on the rear brake lever and my eyes weren't really focusing, probably not great too. My legs kept trying to convince my brain that we should all just take a minute to catch our breath, and all would be cool...then my shoulder spoke up, "Time to go. NOW!"

Nick drove us back to the house, pretty sure it would've sucked heavily had I attempted it. Thanks for being there, and for being a voice of reason Nick. Sorry we only got a half mile in. Soon as the wing will flap, I'm ready to roll.

A bit later I drove myself to the ER, or as more aptly described, "Satan's Bus Station". The ER is like being trapped in a real life documentary on the deplorable state of healthcare and human services with no way to mute or change the channel. No breaks, sprained, and a self pledge to try to not go back to the ER.

So how was your Monday?

Have Fun!

Got my happy face on...

 

Happy Stuff © Mike Moore Studios 2024

Went out and got my ride on this morning. Was reconning the route I'll be going tomorrow with a buddy. Pretty much the same "course" we always ride, but with a new section added and going the opposite direction. Not any harder, not any easier, exact same scenery, but completely different. Such a good time! I've got a grin that would make the most seasoned Village Idiot neon-cartoon-vomit-green with envy.

Reckon there's a lesson here kids... Change it up every now and again. Go a different direction. It might suck, or it just might just trigger a case of overt giddiness and/or glee. Worth the gamble I think.

Have Fun!

Getting into it...

Getting Into It © Mike Moore Studios 2024

I like heading into the unknown. Moving forward devil may care. Admittedly, as the gray has increased, the urge to see what's out there has slacked...the level of excuses growing exponentially. Some grown up thing always keeping the mysteries at bay. The known is comfortable, you can snuggle up in it and drift off dreaming the sanitized dreams of the status quo. The unknown can be the best, worst, or some fiendishly twisted combination of the two. You dare not slumber on the unknown, lest you miss the pay, or the pain.

Get out there. Somewhere. Somehow. Get lost. Find yourself. Repeat.

Have Fun!

The difference...

Solo © 2024 Mike Moore Studios

Up until very recently, I rode solo. I got lucky every now and again and my son's and my schedules lined up and we were able to get some miles in together. Mostly though, it's just been me and my thoughts. I ride with earbuds, music at a level so I can hear what's going on around me, and  "the voices".

"The voices" typically ramble on about some twist of the same mundanity, "Could I? Should I? Did I? What if? How come?" Their mood changes, but their lazer-like deathbeam focus is most certainly always on yours truly. I've been granted the gift of being absolutely certain I was under the universe's microscope as long as I can remember. Trust me, I'm not so full of myself that I actually believe it, but I do sometimes have that hard to reach itch. Doing it to myself, self-microscopy? That's a special kind of hard to reach. Usually, we all get along just fine, understanding our places. Sometimes, not so much. When the conversations get loud, or uncomfortable, I go harder, turn on the body, try to turn off the brain, don't think, be, do.

As previously reported, a good buddy got a new bike and we've gotten in some rides together. I’ve more than enjoyed it, it's been rad. Laughing, talking, riding. I haven't gone as far, or as fast, as I might go solo, but even with all the talking and laughing, they've been much quieter rides. "The voices" don't come along.

This morning I was back on a non-solo solo mission. "Why are you wearing sunglasses?" Dammit. Shut up. "You should go back to the truck". It'll be fine. "Did that guy call?" "You still need to do that thing" Yeah, yeah, oh shit, big rock, spider web, can't see good, shouldn't have worn my sunglasses, should've gone back to the truck, fuck me...

Stop. Breathe. Ride.

A different voice started in on me, this one missing the nails-on-a-chalkboard-spirit-breaking abrasiveness of the others, but just as demanding, "Why are you doing this?" Because I love it, it makes me happy, it’s fun. "Then stop listening to us and get to it doofus...why's everything gotta be spelled out to you? Geez!"

So, I did. I rode. Eddie Spaghetti and Bon Scott were my wingmen. Negative murmurs from the peanut gallery were ignored in favor of the symphonic flow of two wheeled dirt surfing through Central Texas chunk and moon dust.

The difference between riding solo and riding with someone else? Too much me. I'm not a bad guy I know, but I'm with me all the time...so really, what do I know?

Have Fun!

Gratitude...

I have a lot to be thankful for in life. I have a beautiful, healthy family that loves me. My wife and I worked hard for a lot of years to build this life. I know full well my reality isn't the same as others, and that I should be grateful. Guess what? I am, in spades. I really don't know why I'm allowed to live it, but thanks for my life, seriously.

The weather has SUCKED for a couple months now. Coupled with life's other curveballs, it has been less than a good time of late. Last time my butt touched a bike seat was May 10th. I have not been happy Mike. With all I have around me, it does strike me as strange how much curative power those 2 wheels have. Can't argue with what works.

Good buddy of mine got a new bike. He's been through a lot the past couple years. He'd just started a new business, was kicking ass, got bitch slapped with a bad vax reaction, and was literally paralyzed from the waist down. He went back to kicking ass. Worked his ass off rehabbing, went from a chair, to a cane, to a full suspension mountain bike. He's also been building his business back up and kicking ass there.

With the weather, and his biz we hadn't been able to get out together until this morning. Pretty sure our mutual stoke to go ride was matched by our wonder how it would go. Perfectly imperfect? There were a few ponds with trails under them, easily circumnavigated. He hadn't been on a bike at all in a while, and he's still learning this one, but nothing but smiles coming from that direction. We didn't go far, we didn't go fast, but damn...it was good.

My mood hasn't been this good for weeks. This is me, expressing GRATITUDE.

Gratitude © Mike Moore Studios 2024

Thanks for it all.

Have Fun!

I was going to pontificate, but...

"Road Closed" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

Took this shot out on my ride this morning. I was going to pontificate about both the real & metaphorical road being blocked before me, but nah...

It's been raining for, I think, ever around here. We're at least a solid week from trails being doable again. I had to get out. Cabin Fever is no joke. Lake is up, road closed, had to go around. Got 14 miles in. Had to pee. Went home. Road excitement! Can you feel it? Gimme my trails back!!!

There...that's the Reader's Digest appraisal of today's tire spin.

April went by in a blur, but it sucked. As mentioned previously we lost our boy Bucky. Life wasn't done with the shake ups though. That night, after having to put Bucky to sleep, the phone rang. What we thought were gonna be condolences turned out to be just more terrible news. One of our family's best friends/adopted uncle had died. We're all still kind of in shock. I've seen cat ghosts, and I've nearly texted my lost friend more times than I wanna admit. Death is waiting for us all, no doubt...inescapable part of the story. Obviously there are those that welcome that part, but for those that whose time shouldn't be done? Nah...re-write! Gimme the Hollywood ending. And not the Old Yeller one.

Have Fun!

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!

There's gonna be some B.S. I tell ya...

"B.S. Dealer" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

Got to ride with this guy for a bit today. Didn't talk much, but he had an aura about him that radiated the unmistakeable truth that there was gonna be some b.s. He seemed expert on the matter. "It's always something" he oh so quietly divulged. I agreed as I pedaled on by, already making plans to seek his counsel on my next ride there.

Take note gentle reader, wisdom can be found all around us, sometimes even moistly plopping from the quivering poo chute of a two ton philosophizing bovine.

Have Fun!

 

I had to...It's the law.

"Bluebonnets" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

 By law in the State of Texas every citizen must take a keepsake photo of something placed lovingly in a bluebonnet patch a minimum of once every 10 years*. Our kids are too grown to be able to talk them into it, and the cat just won't cooperate, so I had to make do.

While out on this ride, the mind meltingly grand idea to incorporate each ride with a post here came to be. I want to challenge myself to come up with something to write about or an image to share. My pocket microbrain (phone) is with me to keep track of the rides, may as well use it as the Swiss Army documenting device that it is. Generating creativity is the goal...and riding my bike. 2 great things together...like the ol' peanut butter and chocolate commercial. "You got your photo on my bike ride." Hopefully something more clever, or at least vaguely funny, will transpire than that last little bit of quotation mark contained tripe.

Naturally once the idea was born, the panic soon followed. "Well, now what?" That's completely what I don't want, pressure to perform. I'm going to attempt to...RELAX. That's the whole point of all of it, right? Get out, see something, do something, CHILL. So, I'm gonna listen to music, ride my bike, think my thoughts (maybe jot down a note or 2), take some pix of interesting things, and enjoy the process of being in it, doing it.

"Monolith" © Mike Moore Studios 2024

My rambling took me into part of a local Corps of Engineers park that has been closed to cars since the park flooded in the early 90s. Nature, time, and the typical bored miscreant has reclaimed, or destroyed much of the park's former creature comforts. This old concrete water fountain caught my eye. I suppose I could get all arty and say something about the contrast between manmade and nature and blah blah blah. I just thought it looked cool.

Oh yeah, if you wanna be an Ace Photographer, just like yer ol' pal Mike here's how: I'm using an iPhone 14 standard model. Photo app of choice is currently Hipstamatic Classic with the Tejas "lens" and Ina's 1969 "film". Hipstamatic has been around for a long while, one of the OGs in the "put a cool filter on your snapshots" game. I've decided to use it and the settings to create a cohesive look, so you the beloved user, has a more pleasant viewing experience. Ya know, cause I'm a giver.

Take some time to treat yourself right. Heck, treat somebody else right too.

Have Fun!

*The legally astute amongst you will quickly realize that this is a complete fabrication, no such law exists in Texas. It IS however illegal in Texas to eat your neighbor's garbage...without permission. Look it up.