Frosty morning walks posses a unique charm. The air,still chilled from the earth's overnight cooling, infuses a snap and crunch to the ground.
Cheeks redden: breath freshens.
The trees and plants appear crystalline replicas of their normal selves. Light gleems from each frosty stem.
Good days begin like this. May the frost be with you.
The constellations are ready for viewing: all one need do is go for the ride.
You hear them calling to the little wanderer in your soul. They whisper seductively, "Come see me, come climb me, come ski me."
They are old, quintessentially old, and yet oh so vibrant. Like the sea, they are home to countless creatures and plants of intrigue.
We who get to play on earth's mountains are blessed.
San Francisco is a thrilling locale. From Russian Hill to Coitt Tower, from the Embarcadero to Fishermen's Pier, SF is an explorer's paradise.
The streets are steep, the coffehouses always open. The music scene is unparalleled.
The incredible Golden Gate Park hosts a variety of themed microclimes and gardens. A nicer afternoon strolling spot could not be conjured.
I've visited San Francisco many times, and each visit is more memorable than the last. Lombard Street may be no longer open for a joy ride, but it remains open and inviting for a pedestrian climb.
Ending the day with dinner overlooking the Bay is just about perfect.
Crystalline beads of frozen dew make for a fine Christmas greeting. Ice Zen.
The sky is growing starker these days. Grey cold winds are blowing. Snow will soon follow.
The Spartan air is refreshing in a way. It bites the nose, it stiffens the muscles.
It is Winter, and even the normally bright Lighthouse seems bewitched into a black and white world. All is as it should be.
The Mallards of Central Park (NYC) see no reason to migrate in the Winter. They are in paradise, with admirers and food galore.
We apparently are not to have a White Christmas this year. So be it.
When I walked out of my office tonight, I saw lights and cars and colors, and I heard Christmas Music playing from City Hall Square. It will still be Christmas, snow or no snow.
This is the view I have when I walk out the door of my office. I love Hanover Street and all its little cafes, shops, and pubs.
That is City Hall at the end of the street. Very nice indeed.
Readers of this little place know that Montauk Rider loves Pomegranate Martinis. Months of field testing has proven that fresh pressed Pomegrante is superior to store-bought juice.
A nice twist of lemon peel is also a must, as is a stick of cranberries on the martini spike.
Perfection. Best done as a couple, however, as the making of these fine concoctions is half the joy. The rest is up to you.
It's almost here. Merry Christmas to all of God's creatures, big and small.
Yes, let beautiful light shine on all persons this Holiday Season. May all your dreams come true.
Old alleys in historic cities offer adventure of their own to those who stumble into the maze. Cobbled paths, tiny doors and windows, each hiding a room or suite with huge stories to tell.
Some of the best urban hiking is in such places. Each time a door closes another opens. Like the seasons, the alleys move from one to another in planned purpose and complete harmony.
Of all life's pleasures the joy of puttering about the kitchen with friends and family is right near the top. Chopping, stirring, folding, blending, mixing, baking, laughing, roasting, toasting, steaming, tasting.......just blissful.
One of my earliest Christmas memories is of awaking to find an overfilled stocking at the foot of my bed. From that age, I think I was around 4, till today, our family's Christmas Stockings have always included a fine ripe orange way down deep in the stocking's toe.
That orange is the last thing to be found in the stocking and the first thing I eat on Christmas Morn. Yum.
Urban evenings have a charm of their own. Even old City Halls, here Toronto's, when properly lit and adorned, appear magical and grand.
City Zen.
Every new experience, every new adventure, every new day worth living begins by letting go.
At the basest level we awake and let go of our beds and sleep. We embrace a new day. We walk out the door into a new beginning.
At a more profound level we love those who, and that which, surrounds us and let even that go as we venture beyond our everyday world into the unknown. How inspiring that we dare to let go. To dream and to live.
That is the spirit of the motorcyclist, of the sailor, of the mountain climber, of the skier, of the hiker, of the surfer, of the scientist who desires to discover the truth of how and why things really are.
The common thread of the greats is the willingness to let go -- to embrace the future with open arms and childlike curiosity. Amen to that. For when we become incurious we become dull. How sad is that?
The Aussies like their Christmas Trees large. How marvelous.
I knew I wanted to cruise around Australia. And it would appear that Christmastime is the perfect time to do so.
As if a Pomegranate Martini alone isn't decadent and wonderful enough, meet the Pomegranate-Grapefruit Cupcake. Oh yum. The recipe is linked to the photo.
Montauk Rider just might have to learn how to bake.
Misty morning memories are strong memories. Whether one recalls a supremely quiet walk or a gloriously mystical ride, one is remembering something never to be forgotten.
The mist is soft. The song of distant birds carries far. The air is moist. All seems still.
Good memories are these: More of them shall be made.
Joyous gatherings peak in December. Friends meet to dine, drink and laugh -- to celebrate life. And wine is the perfect quaff of such times.
To those who are distant, I raise my glass and quote my departed Uncle Shane's favorite toast: "To the Best People I Know, Us."
Betsy just birthdayed in St. Thomas, and what a nice little Birthday Pie she was given. LIfe should indeed be interesting 365 days a year. Cheers.
To those lucky December babies, Happy Birthday. May your days dawn as brightly as this, and may you know no end to your days of health and happiness.
Simple, green and red, the Christmas Wreath warms the home it adorns.
How many times do we cruise by old, perhaps dilapitated old barns in the countryside? Each has a story to tell. Each has nobility of its own.
Each creak of the flooring speaks of history.
In sleep we dream. In the dream we see amazing colors and places. Imagination flies as high as we allow it. Untethered, free to roam, free to dream.
May those who are passing ride to Heaven in such splendor.
One can be overwhelmed with converging thoughts of past, present and future, the fog of time so to speak. In my experience the best way to avoid the fog is to remain focused on each goal, one day at a time. The fog then lifts and clarity of purpose is achieved.
Fog thus unfeared is welcomed. Look at how fog plays with air, water and tree. Like a dream, it whisps past in cooling waves of caress.
Few places are as serene as the alpine lake. Whether Crater Lake in the US or Lac Lioson in Switzerland, it matters not.
For perfection in reflection, the Alpine Lake is supreme. Peaceful.
Before the Spring comes the Snow. The flowers and animals rest.
The dance of life will soon shift from a slow waltz to a tumultuous tango, and all will be well.
A wall of water, smooth ahead yet crashing above and behind, propels the rider across a headwall of perfect descent. The wave and rider are one -- a perfect ride begins.
When once again the sun rises high and grasses grow tall, the fields will call us riders to play. Perhaps to picnic with cheeses, bread, olives and wine.
To gaze at the azure sky and imagine what the birds must see when they soar. To rest before another journey of adventure.
I recall riding back from the Adirondacks in a snow storm. It was slippery, cold, and the riding was a bit tough.
I think of the sailors and fishermen who are forced to take to the sea in Winter. Sometimes they meet smooth seas: other times they meet Hell.
Yet they persevere. They know what they want, and they will not be deterred.
They understand their place in the universe and they embrace it.
Quite admirable, no?
Should I be lucky enough to travel again to Venice I will stay awhile, days and days, just to walk the little streets and gaze at the wonders of its watery magnificence.
December's dusk lasts but a moment -- Darnkness arrives so very quickly.
Wool and down keep us warm, but our breath still steams into the night sky, disappearing as quickly as did the daylight.
Fear not, however, for the Solstice is near, and daylight will stretch longer again. Today the sun lay low on the southern horizon. Soon it will climb higher and higher and nature will respond with flowers galore in Spring.
What an amazing ride we enjoy as we circle the sun.
I've read that West Virginia has some of the finest motorcycling roads in North America. I'll have to go see about that one day.
Old Mills are places of intrigue. Many are now empty: long gone are the jobs and people who once thrived in them. Grain is no longer milled by water power.
In their day these shops were ahum with activity and commerce. Families made such mills their entire world. The work was hard, but the rewards were pure and simple.
Whenever I happen upon the decaying remnants of such places I pause to think of those folk. I say a little prayer of thanks for them.
Soaring throught the air, a Kite speeds above the land yet below a bridge. Upon the bridge a patient photographer captures the moment.
Uplifting.
A coral garden in Bora Bora affords the perfect playground for those who don snorkle, fins and mask. Fish Zen.
As much as I want snow to come I also think of warm tropical places. Bora Bora intrigues me.
Here, tropical fish photographed by a Bora Bora snorkler are subjected to the "Amazing Circle" procedure, creating a spectacular glass ball effect.
Bora Bora...........someday.
The Italian coast lies along some of the bluest waters of the world. I'm reminded of a favorite song by Shawn Mullins (album:"9th Ward Pickin Parlor"), titled "Blue As You."
Of whatever color, the oceans are magnificent.
I've been listening to Jimmy Buffet's latest album while looking at lovely photos of birds. Then I stumbled across this colorful shot of two fellows looking quite content in their flamboyant attire.
I don't blame them one bit.
Here is a road to heaven that simply demands to be ridden. Higher and higher, verdant fields surrounding you as you climb the pinnacle. Breathe in the air. Observe the Hawk's flight. You are there.
The moon rose so brightly last night that it made my heart skip a beat: it caused my breath to whisper a "Wow."
May it shine brightly on everyone tonight.
Shadows move.
They can bend around corners, stretch out across a street, or (as here) paint a wall with a curved glory that lasts but a moment.
Fleeting ... lovely.
Six tiny trees of ice join together to make a silvery snowflake. Allow a flake to fall onto your tongue and taste water as pure as nature can make. It tingles, no?
So neat.
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