Archive for February, 2013

PB

 

 

 

 

 

He had never seen so much blood.  The gooey dark red liquid dripped from the counter-top and splashed on the stone floor.  It created patterns reminiscent of new age art.

What the frick?

“Dana, Dana where are you?” His shouted words bounced back at him in the small house on Clark street.

The back door to the kitchen was open and warm summer air flowed into the cool house.

“Christ! Dana, where are you?”

Jack didn’t wait for an answer, he sped room to room searching for his sister.  He stopped by because of her frantic call.  His mind was going faster than a Nascar racer at the Daytona 500 but all answers eluded him. He sat on the couch and called 911.

Now what?

He headed back to the kitchen.  He noticed the gelling liquid was confined to one area.  No bloody foot prints!  The counters were clean except for the massive amount of congealing blood and a bowl of fruit.  An antique bowl that held apples and oranges. It was the only thing left from their mother.

I love cycling! I like to do all kinds of rides from 10 mile around the neighborhood rides to a week-long 300-400 mile cycle tour.

So what’s this have to do with coffee you ask yourself?

It’s where the story begins on a week-long bicycle ride called GOBA; GOBA stands for The Great Ohio Bicycle Adventure.

Rick!” mh

Yes.”

What does this have to do with coffee?”

Give me a chance, I am getting there.”

Well hurry up, your losing me. I want to know about the coffee!”’

“Ok! Constant Readers – geez!”

The adventure, about coffee, begins on a GOBA trip out of the City of Delaware, Ohio. My buddy Ken organized a private sag (he rented a U-Haul for our group). GOBA is an acronym for the Great Ohio Bicycle Adventure a six day cycling trip with 3,000 of your closest friends.

It was a bright June day, Sunday ( Father’s Day), and GOBA was in Delaware. The smell of summer was like a perfume that followed you where ever you went. I arrived, registered, and soon found the U-Haul Truck that would carry my gear and that of the other 20 participants who decided to go with our tight-knit cycling group. Steve, his nickname is Shogun, was busy helping Ken load the gear in the truck. Steve is an older tough red-neck, blue-collar kind of guy, that can out ride some of the young guns. Ken’s nick name is Putittakeit; I know weird but then so is Ken, his bike has Indian feathers on it, enough said?

Coffee Rick, Get to the damn coffee!”sb

I am, don’t you want to know my nickname?”

No!”

“Alright then on with the tale!”

One of the guys that signed up to go along with our group was Jay. Jay was obnoxious, loud, and an advocate for the repeal of gluttony as one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Simply, I never really cared for Jay. Jay had that swagger and attitude that translated as; I know everything about anything and only my opinion counts so don’t bother me with your drivel. I hate that kind of guy!

Please Rick, the coffee, you prooomisssed!”

Be quite, others are reading! Do you want some cheese to go with that whine?”

When Jay dropped off his gear to be loaded on the truck, he rummaged through one of his bags and pulled out a package of Starbucks Coffee. Steve was setting up the placement of our food stuffs when Jay threw the package at Steve.

Shogun, catch!”

Steve snatched the package out of the air with his large rough paw. There was a sound like hard snow being crunched under heavy boots but with a crisp finish.

What’s this?”

Starbucks Coffee man, the best coffee ever produced by anyone! We are going to have Starbucks every morning and you can all thank me.”

Steve didn’t say a word. He took the package and put it in the food box along with the other items that had been donated and deemed to be a necessity on this week long adventure. Why rough it right?

So for the next six mornings Steve was the first guy up and would always start breakfast. He had brought along his camp stove, which was a bit temperamental, and wouldn’t let anyone else work it. I didn’t mind, by the time I was up Starbucks coffee and breakfast were ready. That tasty roasted flavor biting your tongue was wonderful. Jay, he really liked Starbucks and would pour a cup, taste it, then proselytize.

Mmmm, this is great coffee! Starbucks is so much better when you camp. That package of Special Dark Roast from the Wilds of Tanzania was ten bucks. It’s worth it and I am glad I could treat you all to it!”

The following Saturday we finish our 300 plus mile loop and rode back in to the City of Delaware. I find our U-Haul truck and began helping Putittakeit (Ken) unload some of the general items. Shogun comes around the corner of the truck and we all stand there talking about the ride and our different adventures. Shogun looks up the road and I could read disgust in his eyes.

Damn!”

What’s the matter Shogun,” I said.

Here comes Jay!”

Sure enough Jay rides up on his recumbent; it’s a bicycle that you sit in rather than on, smiling like he owns the world.

Wow, that was a great ride and that Starbucks Coffee was the best. Shogun was there any left? I want to take the rest home it was expensive.”

Shogun reached into the food box that was sitting on the floor of that worked-out U-Haul and pulled out the unopened bag of Starbucks and threw it at Jay. That toss was like a Catfish Hunter fast ball in the bottom of the ninth inning. The bag hit Jay in the hands then dropped to the ground after bouncing off his overly large belly.

Shogun, this bag is unopened!”

That’s right.”

So what were we drinking all week?”

Shogun’ s steely stare quieted Jay and after a pause he said, “Maxwell House!”

Putittakeit started with one of his belly laughs and I laughed so hard I was crying. Jay was embarrassed and dumb-founded (first time ever).

Personally, that scene provided the best story of the trip and it was, wait for it, good to the last drop!