Breakfast is something I have only indulged in since I began working full time. Before that were the college and school years. In those days the morning meal consisted of whatever nutrients I could extract from toothpaste, a few cigarettes and maybe a bar of chocolate, if I was good.
Cereal is what God intended humans to eat in the wee hours. I am sure of this. While working at Nova Science, in Ireland, I was introduced to a brand of cereal whose recipe could only have been concocted by Him. We’re talking about Kellogg’s Just Right… “A sumptuous blend of just the right amount of four natural grains, crunchy nuts and succulent fruit.” I recall one morning in the canteen sitting across from someone slurping up a bowl of Just Right and thought I’d try my hand at a few mouthfuls. Immediate satisfaction was exhibited by making an over joyous horse type sound.
Fast forward to present day life here in America. I’ve searched high and low in countless supermarkets spanning three states. It’s a personal crusade whenever I happen to be in a new part of the country. Never have I once seen the stuff. “Kellogg’s Just Right”, I’ll say to an employee. “Do you have it?” The reply always sounds initially positive. “Oh yeah, I remember that stuff… no, sorry, we don’t sell that anymore.”
In this country you can get everything you don’t need. There used to be a game I’d play. I make up completely absurd products/services and bounce them off Martha, just to test how consumer friendly America really is. 24 hour golf club shops, restaurants dedicated to the provision of one niche food only: pancakes, drive through banks. They all exist.
A shrewd and loyal friend wanting to shed the hassle and expense of a wedding present for the happy couple could always have a few 750g boxes of said cereal shipped over. No pressure.
30 June 2005
19 June 2005
Camping
A three day week is a sweet thing indeed. On Thursday morning, after miserably failing a driving test, Martha, Fro and I drove north for a long weekend of camping.
George H. Crosby Manitou State Park (LINK), or Bill Cosby Park as I call it, lies about 50 miles north of Duluth, Minnesota on the edge of vast Lake Superior. We stopped for lunch in downtown Duluth. A major port city even though on a lake. Northern Minnesota is known as The Iron Range due to the abundance of iron ore in the region. All visible heavy industry in Duluth revolves around ore processing. While driving out of the city I looked up at an overhead railway bridge. It must have been 75ft above road level. As far as the eye could see were a string of identical carriages crawling toward a white smoke belching plant. The scene looked like a rollercoaster ride as it begins its initial journey along the rails.
Lake fronted northeastern Minnesota enjoys a beautiful summer climate compared to landlocked Minneapolis where July/August temperatures can and do reach the high 90's and the parallel insult, humidity, measuring as high. The enormous body of water that is Lake Superior acts as a giant heat sink absorbing the sun's rays. It would take years to heat that quantity of water to even lukewarm, so when a breeze blows off the lake and onto land it is cool and refreshing. As I said, summer in Duluth is sweet but winter is hell with snowfall measured in feet and duration of ground coverage measured in months. That welcome breeze from the lake turns evil making you wish you could crawl into a bears den and sleep it out until spring.
Bill Cosby Park has a population of Black Bears. Although not as big as their grizzly cousins I don’t think I’d like to happen across one while alone at night. The bear presence and our instinct for survival forces us to take certain precautions. All pic-i-nic baskets, food and food waste has to be stored in a bag. The bag is then tied to a rope and pulled up into a tree out of reach from hungry bears. I whipped up a rope system that would shame an above average outdoors man. Patent pending.
As I write this I am sitting on a rock on the edge of the powerful Manitou River that cascades noisily over a rocky river bed diagonally bisecting the park. Silver Birch, Maple, Pine, Cedar and many more tree varieties populate the banks and surrounding woods. Storm felled trees provide all the firewood we could ever need. The trick is getting to the good wood before the ants reduce it to soil. The water is the color of organic apple juice, tinted by the iron in the earth. Protruding rocks provide resistance to the rivers flow and generate plenty of whitewater. I’ve yet to see any brave soul canoe it.
It’s interesting to look around and acknowledge that nothing has ever been changed by people here. The park is managed by the state but the human influence can only be seen in the water pump two miles from our tent and the hole in the ground that serves as the toilet. It’s not your average tents in a field, vending machines everywhere kind of place. There’s no shop, showers, electricity, noise or litter. Each tent is nearly a quarter mile apart. It’s the most cut off from civilization I’ve ever been. We saw no more than 30 people all weekend! The woods are dense and getting lost looks all too easy. Whatever I learned in the scouts wouldn’t be enough to get me out of here alive. The few knots I remembered came in useful though.
Late evening is fire time. Fro chops wood and builds a fire. The fire must be enjoyed without its liquid partner, beer. Not an option this weekend. Beer is heavy and we have too much already to haul from the car to the tent, a journey of over two miles through woods and fast changing topography. Another factor is that all rubbish must be taken home. It’s all fun and games when drunk around a warm fire, but transporting a scatter of empty but heavy bottles back to the Honda is not my idea of a good time. If I was fond of the hard stuff a half bottle of whisky could be accommodated, but I’m not, so I’ll have to rely on sobriety and the sound of the rushing Manitou River to put me to sleep. Life could be much worse.
I made friends with this (LINK) guy.
George H. Crosby Manitou State Park (LINK), or Bill Cosby Park as I call it, lies about 50 miles north of Duluth, Minnesota on the edge of vast Lake Superior. We stopped for lunch in downtown Duluth. A major port city even though on a lake. Northern Minnesota is known as The Iron Range due to the abundance of iron ore in the region. All visible heavy industry in Duluth revolves around ore processing. While driving out of the city I looked up at an overhead railway bridge. It must have been 75ft above road level. As far as the eye could see were a string of identical carriages crawling toward a white smoke belching plant. The scene looked like a rollercoaster ride as it begins its initial journey along the rails.
Lake fronted northeastern Minnesota enjoys a beautiful summer climate compared to landlocked Minneapolis where July/August temperatures can and do reach the high 90's and the parallel insult, humidity, measuring as high. The enormous body of water that is Lake Superior acts as a giant heat sink absorbing the sun's rays. It would take years to heat that quantity of water to even lukewarm, so when a breeze blows off the lake and onto land it is cool and refreshing. As I said, summer in Duluth is sweet but winter is hell with snowfall measured in feet and duration of ground coverage measured in months. That welcome breeze from the lake turns evil making you wish you could crawl into a bears den and sleep it out until spring.
Bill Cosby Park has a population of Black Bears. Although not as big as their grizzly cousins I don’t think I’d like to happen across one while alone at night. The bear presence and our instinct for survival forces us to take certain precautions. All pic-i-nic baskets, food and food waste has to be stored in a bag. The bag is then tied to a rope and pulled up into a tree out of reach from hungry bears. I whipped up a rope system that would shame an above average outdoors man. Patent pending.
As I write this I am sitting on a rock on the edge of the powerful Manitou River that cascades noisily over a rocky river bed diagonally bisecting the park. Silver Birch, Maple, Pine, Cedar and many more tree varieties populate the banks and surrounding woods. Storm felled trees provide all the firewood we could ever need. The trick is getting to the good wood before the ants reduce it to soil. The water is the color of organic apple juice, tinted by the iron in the earth. Protruding rocks provide resistance to the rivers flow and generate plenty of whitewater. I’ve yet to see any brave soul canoe it.
It’s interesting to look around and acknowledge that nothing has ever been changed by people here. The park is managed by the state but the human influence can only be seen in the water pump two miles from our tent and the hole in the ground that serves as the toilet. It’s not your average tents in a field, vending machines everywhere kind of place. There’s no shop, showers, electricity, noise or litter. Each tent is nearly a quarter mile apart. It’s the most cut off from civilization I’ve ever been. We saw no more than 30 people all weekend! The woods are dense and getting lost looks all too easy. Whatever I learned in the scouts wouldn’t be enough to get me out of here alive. The few knots I remembered came in useful though.
Late evening is fire time. Fro chops wood and builds a fire. The fire must be enjoyed without its liquid partner, beer. Not an option this weekend. Beer is heavy and we have too much already to haul from the car to the tent, a journey of over two miles through woods and fast changing topography. Another factor is that all rubbish must be taken home. It’s all fun and games when drunk around a warm fire, but transporting a scatter of empty but heavy bottles back to the Honda is not my idea of a good time. If I was fond of the hard stuff a half bottle of whisky could be accommodated, but I’m not, so I’ll have to rely on sobriety and the sound of the rushing Manitou River to put me to sleep. Life could be much worse.
I made friends with this (LINK) guy.
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