John put together an early ride, which was sweet. It started at the Rocket Market and over coffee, there was talk of whether the rent-a-cat idea was sound. At first, our enthusiasm over the concept made it all seem very sweet. But as we talked our way through the logistics of unfamiliar cats and dogs living in the same space and having the run of the whole house all day while Patty and I are at work, as would be required, and the prospect of a meek dog being emotionally scarred for life by a badass cat, and the prospect of a "marking" contest, the whole thing turned toward the sour side.
Although the rent-a-cat concept is not dead, it's just being re-worked. And there is huge promise. More to follow on that.
I also learned that Bihl B's been busy bagging beans. Alliteration's rule, hard, and so this was a solid mark in the sweet column.
The ride itself involved climbing White Road, which is always sweet and sour; Catharsis, through pain.
The main planned outdoor activity for today, though, was a trip up to Mt Spokane with Patty, to do some cross-country skiing. We got into this sport a coupla years ago and then didn't do anything with it last year. And this would be our first time up this year. So we were rusty and our equipment was dusty. It was how dusty, that we weren't exactly prepared for. (Sour is coming, wait for it.)
Back to the mouse invavion, then. I am totally at a loss to explain how things have gotten to the point that they have. I think the fact that neither of us have been through a mouse invasion before means that we
So here's the latest: We went to round up our ski equipment and discovered that our boots had been used for nesting and were filled with poop to the point that no human being with any shred of self respect would ever, in a million years, put a foot in them. There was no option other than to spend the better part of an hour under a running faucet of scalding-hot water with a bottle of detergent and a long-handled scrub brush, in an effort to de-sanitize. Lather, rinse, repeat. After which, of course, the boots were super-soaked and there was zero chance we'd be skiing with them on this day. Super-duper sour then. Bitter and maddening, actually.
We decided to salvage the outing by renting equipment, and we did make it up, and it was sweet.
We ran into our friend Eric, who helped knock the rust off our memory of how to get around the trail system up there by offering us a guided tour. Sweet.
My fatbike has been on loan to Caveman for the last coupla days so he could play with it on Cave Mountain and once back in town and on the way home, we went to pick it up. He'd mentioned maybe lowering the stem and that was totally cool with me and so he did that, and liked the results. I'm looking forward to checking it out over the next few days. Sweet.
We also stopped and re-stocked, ammunition-wise. Sweet that we have the tools, I guess, sour that we need them.
We also brought out the big guns, bait-wise. I don't know how this can be considered anything other than sweet, in the context of the war in which we are engaged.
We'd put the first pair of sanitized boots on the dryer before we'd headed up to ski and when we got back, the stench that we now call "musty mouse" was emanating from the dryer. Krap. SOUR!
We set up production in the kitchen tonight and baited a boatload of traps. It's a good thing that women were cleared to serve on the front lines this week, because Patty is now fully engaged in this battle. She's even calling them "little bastards". Sour that she has to, sweet that she is.
Victim #4. I don't know how this could be anything other than SWEET!
The deal about how I was granted exactly one post to talk about the mouse problem. Yeah, I know, it's the elephant in the room. I've decided to ask forgiveness, because I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been granted permission. I just think this stuff is too important for the bike world not to know about.