Friday, December 24, 2010

For Love Of Luke (A Christmas Story)

My old dog Luke

In the spirit of Christmas, I'm reprinting this blog post from December 2009.

I almost died 30 years ago this Christmas.

I am prone to exaggeration, but in this case, it's the truth. My dog Luke had fallen through the melting ice on a pond where we used to live near Syracuse, New York, and I jumped in the water to try to save him.

I do remember clearly, when I had no more strength to swim and I couldn't breathe, and my whole body sank beneath the dark, icy waters, that I thought I was going to die. And I remember feeling very calm, almost resigned to my fate. I might even describe it as a peaceful feeling. The idea of death hasn't been so scary since then.

I was 18 years old and a budding writer and journalist at the time. I decided to write about my near-death experience and try to sell it to a magazine. "Dog Fancy" bought it for $50. It marked the first time I'd ever been paid for my writing. I cherished that check (which didn't stop me from quickly cashing it, however).

Unfortunately, the editors got my byline wrong, spelling my surname as Pedelco, which means my first published sale started with a typo!

I've kept that January 1981 copy of "Dog Fancy" ever since, and I hope they won't mind if I reprint the story here, these many years later. (I believe the title of the story was mine, but the picture they used to illustrate it was a stock photo. That's not really me running in silhouette with Luke.)

Reading it now, it's obviously the work of an amateur, and it's unintentionally funny in places. But it does a decent job of capturing the high drama of that Christmas night in 1979.

A few things you'll need to know before reading this story (which I should have made clear in the original story):

-- Carol is my younger sister.
-- In addition to Luke, we had two other dogs at the time, Joe (a female mix), and Ike (a German shepherd stray).

As the story hints at, my parents seem more concerned with Luke's fate than my own, once the rescue was over. They obviously hadn't realized just how bad off I was. I was shivering uncontrollably, and I lay on my bed in my basement room, alone, numb, naked, wrapped in a blanket, listening as they ministered to Luke upstairs.

Anyway, here I am, and here's my story. I hope you enjoy it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


It was six o’clock on Christmas day. The many gifts lay scattered beneath the tree, temporarily abandoned, and everyone was reflecting sadly that Christmas was drawing to a close for yet another year.

Suddenly, Joe began to bark.

This was nothing unusual in itself, except that this bark possessed a sound of urgency, of danger or warning, a summons to anyone near that something was awry. My father, sensing her distress, stepped outside to investigate.

He located her standing anxiously on the bank of one of our large ponds, which are situated conveniently just a few yards from the house. The unseasonable temperatures had succeeded in softening the layer of ice that had covered the pond during colder weather, and all of us had vented our concern that one of the dogs, while venturing onto the ice, would accidentally fall through.

It was by this time completely dark, with not even a glimmer of moonlight visible through the clouds. The flashlight my father carried could penetrate no more than a short distance into the night. He listened carefully, hoping to catch the sound of whatever was causing her concern. From somewhere in the pond came a muffled whimper and the soft splashing of a drowning dog.

“Luke’s in the pond! He’s fallen through!” he exclaimed.

My mother had joined him along the water’s edge.

“Go get Grant and some rope!”

I was in Carol’s room when I heard the commotion of my mother’s entrance. I hurried to the door, sensing that something was amiss.

“Put your boots on! Luke’s fallen through the ice!” she said excitedly, searching frantically for some rope.

Without a moment’s hesitation I began ripping off my sneakers when I realized that heavy boots would only hinder a rescue in 12 feet of water. I replaced my shoes and raced out the door. Momentarily consumed by my love for the mutt Luke and my gross underestimation of the task before me, I ran into the frigid waters, all sense of reason temporarily erased from my mind.

I was already waist deep when I heard my father’s call, “Go get the raft!”

Of course! The small inflatable raft which we kept in the garage. It was our only hope. But was there still air in it?

The water was too cold to waste precious time blowing it up, and who could say how long Luke had been floating amid the broken ice before our arrival? I dashed into the garage. It was still inflated! But where was Luke? The noises had ceased and he remained swallowed by the night.

When I reached the water I climbed atop the raft, stomach down, my head and arms extending from the front. With Luke’s location still a mystery, I began paddling, plunging my hands into the icy water, trying to maneuver to a universal vantage at the center of the pond. The melting ice was half-an-inch thick and I pounded by fists and arms against it, breaking a path for the raft to follow. My hands swiftly became numb.

Meanwhile, my father was shining the dim flashlight across the water, hoping to spot the reflection of light in Luke’s eyes.

There he was! Twenty long yards away, only his head protruding above the surface. There wasn’t much time!

“I’m coming Luke!” I cried out over and over again. “Hang on Luke! I’m coming!”

I wanted him to know that I was there in his time of need.

“I love you so much,” I thought. “Please don’t die!”

My hands hurt terribly now, but I continued to beat them against the ice, hacking a crude channel toward my beloved mongrel. I was oblivious to everything but rescuing Luke. The encouraging shouts from the shore were lost amid my shouting and splashing. I wouldn’t have heard them anyway so intense was my concentration on reaching Luke before he disappeared forever.

When he was in an arm’s length of me, I reached out with numbed hands and grabbed his coat. So lifeless and frozen was he that he made no attempt to climb into the boat or resist my efforts. With all of my remaining strength I lifted him from the water, intending to pull him into the raft with me, but my fingers lost their grip and he slipped beneath the surface.

Then the horrible happened.

The raft, responding to my awkward movements, drifted directly on top of Luke, smothering him under my weight. Realizing that he would die if I remained, I jumped into the slush, refusing to quit so soon.

My lungs heaved for air as the icy water surrounded my chest. I was overcome by the shock and managed to breathe only in short gasps. I shoved the raft away, grabbed Luke, and began swimming back through the ice, trying valiantly to keep Luke’s head above water while I myself was slowly sinking. My breathing was forced and my legs were leaden with my waterlogged jeans and shoes.

I would never make it.

My sole option, besides a watery grave, was to return to the raft.

With Luke limp and heavy in my arms, I reversed my course and headed back, wondering how I would manage to get us both within the safe confines of the boat. I had to consider the factor of darkness and how it would affect the ultimate outcome of each plan once it was set into action.

I decided to lift Luke above my head and throw him in, somehow keeping myself above water as I did so. Twice I raised him from the water and twice the raft floated farther away the instant it was touched. My body aching from the cold, my fingers unable to tell how tightly I held him, I grabbed Luke and with a final display of strength successfully threw him into the raft. He made no effort to move, his body shaking uncontrollably.

Luke in the snow outside the house in Cuyler, New York, where we were living when this story took place.

Clinging to the rear of the boat, I gradually propelled us forward using my feet and my one free hand. I struggled toward the distant glow of the flashlight, a faint beacon of safety forming eerie silhouettes of my parents along the shore. It was difficult maneuvering through the route that I had previously broken, the darkness deceiving me time and time again and loose slabs of ice continually scraping across my upturned neck.

I was growing increasingly weaker with the passing of each second and more hopeless with the realization that Luke was slowly slipping out of the boat. There was nothing I could do but pray that he would hang on until we reached the others.

A person can remain alive only three or four minutes while totally immersed in icy water. I had exceeded that crucial limit. Drained of energy, gasping for air, and with Luke almost in the water, I could no longer force myself to paddle. With but five yards separating me from safety, I felt myself sinking.

“Help me!” I choked barely able to talk and breathe simultaneously. “I can’t make it.”

My father, who had been coaxing me on from the end of the dock, jumped to my rescue.

Instantaneously, Luke fell completely in and I slipped under, remembering before I submerged only the exaggerated intake of air when my father entered the water. I gave up, unable to fight back the freezing water that was pressing against my head.

I believed that I was going to die.

Then, miraculously, I felt a hand pulling me to the surface and ashore.

Totally exhausted, I collapsed on the grass, my hands and upper arms numb and bloody. I was useless to assist any further. But before I lost consciousness, I was witness to the emergence of a latent section of my mother’s character that I never knew existed.

The water’s extreme temperature had proved too much for my father and he was forced to abort Luke’s rescue. But my mother, seeing Luke floating helplessly in the water, his muzzle beneath the surface and dead for all apparent reason, jumped in the empty raft, regardless of her own safety, and paddled the short distance to his motionless form.

I could only pray, as I struggled to the house, that she had succeeded where I had failed.

And indeed she had.

The carried him unconscious into the warmth of the house, his breathing shallow and labored. For almost an hour they rubbed his wet fur with towels, attempting to massage some life back into his frozen flesh. The other dogs paced the floor, wondering as we did whether it was too late.

Slowly Luke regained consciousness, his blood once again circulating, his contracted muscles loosening their icy grip on his bones. We watched, joyously, as he strove painfully to walk, wondering if he had sustained any brain damage from his terrifying ordeal.

There was one sure way to find out. We spoke his name.

And Luke wagged his tail in recognition.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

RIP Steve Landesberg

I had the pleasure to interview Steve Landesberg for "The Press," the college paper at the State University of New York at Cortland, when I was a student there, sometime around 1983, during a college comedy tour. He was hilarious, and a nice man, too. I was very sad to hear of his death this morning at the age of 74. Rest in peace, Mr. Landesberg. Thanks to Andy Markowitz for pointing out this classic clip.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Looking For A Home For Pee-Wee

Pee-Wee showed up on our back porch in late August, out of nowhere, as friendly as if she'd been our cat all her life.

We're pretty sure she's a hypo-allergenic Siberian Black Smoke. She has long, flowing black hair, a gray collar, and gorgeous green eyes. Her body just seemed a little small for her outsized personality, so we called her Pee-Wee. The name stuck.

She lived outside, and we fed her every day. She slept in a cozy covered cat box that we put outside for her. But she didn't seem like a real outdoor cat -- she wanted desperately to be inside the house. So we'd let her in for a few minutes and take great delight in watching her explore. Pee-Wee's Playhouse, as it were.

Chicho, our male indoor cat, even tolerated Pee-Wee's shenanigans. She's very playful. We assume she was a house kitten but got lost or tossed outside at some point.

We took her to the vet and had her checked out. He thought she was probably around 7 months old or so. She was given the proper vaccinations. We scheduled her for neutering, which happened to coincide with the cold snap that we've been experiencing for the past month or so. We kept her inside after that, during her recuperation. A big patch of her fur was shaved for the operation, and we didn't want to expose her to the frigid temperatures. She's been inside ever since.

We're probably going to be moving back into the city soon, and we can't take her with us. We need to find a new home for Pee-Wee. She is an extremely loving, funny, and great-looking cat who definitely loves people.

If you're interested in adopting, or know of someone who is, we'd love to hear from you. Send me an e-mail to or call 728-070-139.

UPDATE: We found a wonderful home for Pee-Wee on December 29. Thanks to everyone for their interest.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Going To Grape Pains -- Hungarian Wine In Prague

The two wines I tasted: The 2007 Jackfall Totagas and the 2009 Szucs Portugieser.

If I told you there were a couple of American guys in Prague who will deliver interesting and reasonably priced Hungarian wines to your doorstep -- by hand and for free, in rain, snow, or sleet -- would you believe me?

When the guys at Boden Fine Wines first e-mailed me, I didn't believe them either. But you know what? It's true.

Brett Aarons, 36, and Luke Bodenschatz, 28, are two guys with regular non-wine day jobs who've lived in Prague since 1997 and 2006, respectively, and who just happen to be obsessed with Hungary and Hungarian wines.

"We both love Budapest and have been there many times," Brett told me. "Early on, we realized how good the wine is there, a highlight of every trip to Hungary. Finally, a visit to Pecs and Villany -- the southernmost wine region in Hungary -- convinced us to start bringing this fantastic wine to Prague, where the red wines available leave much to be desired, especially for those on a budget."

Brett says they're trying to introduce the wines they love to a skeptical Prague market.

"No supermarket Bull's Blood, and we only try to compete with reasonable Czech white wines when we find a good one for a good price," he says. "Our strongest suit is red wine. Our margins are embarrasingly low."

They don't have a store. All their wines (20 or so different varieties, ranging in price from 150-500 CZK per bottle) are imported and stored in a cellar in Old Town somewhere. They're big fans of the Jackfall vineyard and are Jackfall's exclusive sellers in the Czech Republic.

Brett (left), vintner Jeno Szucs, and Luke during a visit to the Szucs winery in Villány, Hungary.

I ordered six bottles a few weeks back -- including three of the 2007 Jackfall Totagas (150 CZK). Totagas is a cuvee of cabernet sauvignon and franc, with a little merlot.

"Totagas exemplifies the kind of wine Boden Fine Wines looks for – a refined taste, not overly fruity, suitable for ‘fancy’ meals but affordable for everyday drinking," Brett told me.

I also ordered three bottles of the peppery Szucs Portugieser (150 CZK). Szucs is their other favorite Hungarian vineyard.

While they weren't quite as big and beefy as some of the South American and South African reds that I like to drink, both wines were smooth and drinkable and excellent values. Since I live outside of Prague, Luke met me outside the Dejvicka metro station with two fancy bags full of wine. Now that's what I call service!

The guys even host wine-tastings on occasion. The last one was at the Maximilian Hotel on November 24. They've also got a Facebook page under Boden Fine Wines.

If you're interested in supporting a worthy cause, send the guys an e-mail at

I know I'll be placing another order quite soon.

The Great Spotted Woodpecker

A Great Spotted Woodpecker having a snack on our backyard feeder.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Drifting Away

The view from the cockpit as we drove Emma to the McMurdo Arctic Research Station this morning. Oh, wait, we drove her to the International School of Prague. Same thing, lately. More snow -- and earlier in the year -- than I've ever seen in Prague in the past 15 years. It hasn't stopped since just after Thanksgiving.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Cold Snaps

It's been painfully cold and incredibly snowy here in Prague for the past week or so. Yesterday morning, it was minus 17 Celsius (or about 1 degree Fahrenheit) at our house in the village of Cerny Vul, west of Prague.

We've also received around 25 centimeters (about 10 inches) of snow, which basically paralyzed the city on Wednesday night and Thursday. I can't remember when we've had this much snow or it's been this cold so early in the year.

Here are a few photograpsh I've taken over the past few days.

The driving was atrocious on Wednesday night. Buses couldn't make it up the Suchdol hill, so passengers were forced to trudge up the long, steep hill in the road in the driving snow.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Sign Of The Times

Old-school Czechoslovak refreshment sign, taken in Brno, I believe, a few years back. Probably dates to the 1960s, I'd guess. I love it, although I'm not sure what each of the icons means. What the heck is going on in the middle right square??

Sunday, November 21, 2010


I found this tableau in the Tesco store at Zličín to be profoundly disturbing.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Takes A Licking ...

We found this watch among my late father's possessions.

Note the "brand" -- Podelco, the family name. We are not watchmakers by trade.

It's 17 jewels, 14K gold. I've had it cleaned and the mechanism repaired. It works great now.

From what I understand, Sears -- yes, that Sears -- at one time contracted with a Swiss watchmaker to make these, probably in the 1950s but perhaps the '60s.

Does anyone know anything about where this watch came from and what it might be worth, if anything?

An auctioneer, going through my mom's old house, offered my sister $25 on the spot for this watch. She declined.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Curds Away

Daisy just came back from a reporting trip to Kyrgyzstan and brought back some very interesting items from the markets in the capital, Bishkek.

At the top, three kinds of curds -- balls of salty, sour milk that are extremely popular there as a snack. Kids, especially, like them and collect small change to buy a bag of them as a treat.

They're pretty hard for a Western palate to appreciate, however. (They taste like rancid milk balls, basically. A friend compared the taste to what a horse barn smells like.) Although the kind in the upper left had more fat (and were more expensive) and tasted a bit like some prehistoric cheese found in a bog somewhere (I mean that as a compliment). I could see eating a few with a glass of beer, perhaps.

Fascinating how different cultures appreciate different tastes. For example, the Chinese hate cheese, from what I understand. And I can't explain why I love bleu cheese, which is basically streaked with huge veins of mold, and I don't like the curd balls.

In the lower left, dried apricots -- hard as rocks, but they softened in the mouth after a minute or so into something like candy, with the pit still inside. Delicious.

Then dried baby figs and some incredibly good roasted almonds.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Whatever Comes Our Way

Allen took a video of our ride using his Contour HD helmet cam.

Homer Simpson: The first meeting of Hell's Satans is called to order.
Ned Flanders: I move to reconsider our club name. Make it something a little less blasphemous. After all, we don't wanna *go* to hell.
Lenny: How 'bout The Devil's Pals.
Ned Flanders: Nuh-no... see...
Moe Szyslak: How about the Christ Punchers?
Ned Flanders: The Chri...! I-I don't think you understand my objections.
Homer Simpson: I'm the president and the decision is mine. We're Hell's Satans. Besides, I already made our club jackets.
Lenny: Ooo, machine wash warm.
Carl: Tumble dry... Oooh lah lah.

As some wise person once said, "It's not the destination, but the journey." And that old adage certainly held true last weekend, when I went on my first group motorcycle ride with some cool dudes from the Czech Expat Bikers Club.

I'd received an e-mail from the club's guru, Allen Harris, back in August. He'd seen a previous blog post I'd done on the ride that Daisy and I took to Český Ráj and wanted to know if I'd be interested in riding together.

He wrote:

"I have 2 cruisers, a Yamaha VX1100 Virago and a VX535 Virago. I have had them for 10 years now and after a period off them due to work I am getting them back on the road. The first job is to get new STK approval which will start next week for the 535 then I will get the 1100 back on the road as well.

"I have been looking out to find someone who might enjoy pottering about the countryside at the weekends, take in the smells, sights and life of the area. It is good that you like to drive at a moderate pace as riding cruisers at speed results in getting very long arms and continual tears rolling down your face.

"I am planning some short trips around the area as soon as the bikes are legal, so if you are interested maybe we could get together one day soon and put a mark on the map."

That sounded right up my alley. My idea of motorcycling paradise is cruising along at 70 kph on a deserted country road.

But what with my mom's injury and recovery, and my trip to the U.S. to take her home, and then the month of September was pretty much consumed by wedding plans, Allen and I never did get to ride together.

But at the end of October, Allen organized a meeting at a Smichov pub for interested riders. I stopped by for a few cold ones (OK, they were Radegast Birells) and met Allen and four or five other expat bikers, all cool guys and all interested in riding together.

The next week, Allen scheduled a ride, which I didn't think I'd be able to make, as we had friends coming over with their new baby for dinner. But then Daisy got sick, and we didn't want to risk making the baby sick, too, so suddenly I was free to ride. I didn't realize this, however, until about 45 minutes before they were all scheduled to meet at the McDonald's on Evropská.

I threw on my riding leathers and raced over. The skies were dark, but it hadn't rained, and it was quite warm (around 14 C or 57 F).

Turns out there were, in addition to myself and Allen, four other bikers, all of whom had not been at the pub meeting the week before. Here are the guys I rode with, and what they ride (photos of the bikes can be founda at the end of this post):

Allen Harris rides a Yamaha XV1100 Virago.

Marcus Pauels rides a European 2008 Harley-Davidson Softail "Rocker C" (1584 cc)

Andy Schofield rides a 1999 Honda CBR900RR Fireblade (918cc)

Karthik Shetty rides a 1999 Honda X11 (1,137 cc)

Stu Schaag rides a 2008 Harley-Davidson Nite Rod Special (1250cc)

And me? I ride a 2002 Honda Shadow 600.

By the way, Stu got his Harley outfitted with a monster after-market exhaust system that really shakes to your core. I recorded a bit on my iPhone. Take a listen:


I sort of assumed that everybody knew everybody else, and that I was the odd man out, but that wasn't the case. We were all just bikers eager to ride with other bikers but who didn't really know anyone to ride with.

Allen (left), me, and Stu at a pit stop at the lovely Ve Stoleti.

Andy (left), Karthik and Marcus across the table at Ve Stoleti.

Someone decided we should ride to Lany, which is the town where what you might call the Czech Camp David is located. There's a chateau there that's long served as the summer residence of Czech presidents. The first president of Czechoslovakia, Thomas Masaryk, is buried in the local cemetery. President Vaclav Havel used his regular "Talks From Lany" radio programs to comment on current events.

Anyway, that sounded like a fine destination, probably a 30-minute trip from Prague through the rolling Czech countryside. In the end, though, the trip took us something like 90 minutes, after the leaders got lost numerous times.

For my taste, we spent way too much time on major highways on that route and not enough time peeling fall leaves off our visors, but it was still a hell of a lot of fun.

Here's a funny bit of audio I recorded of Marcus and Stu discussing where we'd all gone wrong on the roads:


In Lany (where just about everything was closed for the season), we stopped for coffee (I had another nonalcoholic Birell) and then headed down to Beroun, twisting through some genuinely gorgeous autumn-hued countryside.

From Beroun, we headed back toward Prague and stopped again in a really cool restaurant and hotel that Marcus knew called Ve Stoleti in Loděnice. He spoke highly of the food and service, and while I didn't eat, the place had a great vibe and looks like it is spectacular in sunny, warm weather.

Stu and I needed to get home to our wives, so we cut out a few minutes early and headed up the highway. Turns out that that was a smart move. About 10 minutes from home, it started to rain, and rain pretty hard. I managed to make it home before getting too soaked, but the guys who stayed behind had a very wet ride ahead of them once they finished their meals.

Members of the Expat Bikers Club? Or an outtake from "Wild Hogs"? The gang stops in Lany for a break -- (left to right) Andy, Karthik, Stu, me, Allen and Marcus.

Let me just say a few words about riding motorcycles in a group. This is the first time I've ever ridden with even one other rider, and it does have its advantages:

1. You have support if something goes wrong.

2. You have someone to talk to when you stop for a coffee.

3. You can just follow the pack and not worry about where you're going.

4. And I must admit: You really feel like a badass when you're one of a gang of six motorcyclists passing through a town or village. People stop and stare and generally get the hell out of your way. You feel, well, cool. There's no other way to say it.

I had a fantastic time on this ride, which ended up being around 140 kilometers or so. I do have to admit that I'm an enthusiastic motorcycle rider, but I know next to nothing about the geeky aspects of riding -- that is, I don't know that much about bikes, or engine sizes, or horsepower, or the advantages of a twin-cam air-cooled engine.

All the other guys really seem to know their torque from their compression. And truth be told, I really don't care that much. I just want to ride. And that seemed cool with them.

Despite feeling slightly out of place, I had a fantastic time. I made some new friends, saw some beautiful countryside, and experienced that surge of adrenalin that only comes with riding a motorcycle.

When's the next ride, gents?

Karthik's 1999 Honda X11 (1,137 cc)

Stu's 2008 Harley-Davidson Nite Rod Special (1250cc)

Allen's Yamaha XV1100 Virago.

Marcus's 2008 Harley-Davidson Softail "Rocker C" (1584 cc)

Andy's 1999 Honda CBR900RR Fireblade (918cc)

My bike, a 2002 Honda Shadow 600

Prague's Own Mysterious 'Missile' Launch

All the hubbub over the mysterious contrail off the coast of California, which many people believe was some sort of missile, had me thinking back to just a few weeks ago, when my friend Rob Coalson posted these pictures on his Facebook page.

He took them from his apartment in Prague 6 at sunrise on October 29.

These pictures certainly had us intrigued. The angle just seems too steep for it to be the vapor trail of a jet. But I could find no reports in the Czech press of anyone else reporting a missile launch or anything else strange in the sky on that day.

Since the Pentagon has denied any sort of missile launch in the Pacific, the current explanation for the California "missile" seems to be an optical illusion produced by a simple jet contrail.

"It's an airplane that is heading toward the camera and the contrail is illuminated by the setting sun," John Pike, director of the U.S.-based security analyst group, is quoted as saying by AP.

But Pike is baffled about why the U.S. military has not recognized it as a contrail.

"The Air Force must...understand how contrails are formed," he said. "Why they can't get some major out to belabor the obvious, I don't know."

Seems like there may be the remains of a second earlier "missile" on the left of this photo.

And Fox News cites as saying the trail of condensed water vapor that is spewed out of a jet engine resembles a missile trail when seen from some angles.

The confusion between a missile launch and a jet plane contrail is caused by several common misconceptions, the site notes, explaining that the angle of launch, the direction of flight, and even the shape of the Earth can lead to the illusion.

This might explain the Prague missile launch, too.

As for me, I'm not totally convinced. Anyone else out there see anything in Prague on October 29?

Thursday, November 4, 2010

The 2011 Prague Bike Blog Calendars Are Here!

A blog post from my sister site, Grant's Prague Bike Blog, that may interest Gusto readers, too.

Yet another blog post in which I make excuses for not riding...

I got married earlier this month -- as you may have read ;-) -- and was out of the country. Then I got sick for two weeks with bronchitis, which I'm just now pulling out of.

I hope to be back in the saddle again soon.

In the meantime, I am thinking of putting together a 2011 Grant's Prague Bike Blog Calendar, featuring some of the best, funniest, and most entertaining photographs from the blog over the past four years.

It hasn't been created yet (I'll post a link when I get a final version together), but in the meantime, let me know if you'd be tentatively interested in ordering one of these babies, at cost.

It'll probably run you around $20 each, plus a few bucks for shipping.

They make excellent Christmas gifts or stocking stuffers!

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Now That's Hospitality!

Daisy is in Kyrgyzstan for a reporting assignment. Very exciting.

Imagine her surprise, upon checking into her hotel in the capital, Bishkek, this morning, to find this tube of toothpaste awaiting.

All first impressions should be like this.

UPDATE: Turns out Daisy isn't the only person with a toothpaste named in her honor!

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Ol' Black Water Keep On Movin'

This is a video of Blackwater Falls in Davis, West Virginia, on October 1, 2010. Daisy and I were married at Blackwater Lodge the next day.

I've been to Blackwater Falls many times, but I never recall seeing this much water passing over the brink. There'd been torrential rain for the previous day or two, swelling the river.

In fact, an experienced kayaker was tragically killed in the Class V rapids on the river below these falls just a few hours after I shot this video.

Compare it to a video I shot of the same falls in April 2010:

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Autumn Hike To Přední Kopanina

Cool Fonts, Continued

Above a disused door in the Želivského metro station in Prague.

Part of my continuing series on preserving some cool old fonts I come across in Prague, and elsewhere...

A change machine at Blackwater Falls Lodge in Davis, West Virginia. Echoes of the old Tab soda cans, no?