More Excuses

It doesn’t matter that motorcyclehouse.com just sent you a cool new Adventure Dry Bag to review, or that the stack of music you have to learn is so heavy it collapses your sturdy Manhasset stand, or even that you have no fewer than 14 half written blog posts in the queue, summer’s bounty doesn’t politely align itself with your personal schedule.  In fact, by the time late July arrives, the botanical production line outpaces even a speedy little Ducati.*  Ready or not, it's time to stock the pantry.

“Cherry bike!” a friend called out.  I could probably ride 200 miles in the time it will take me to pit 30 lbs of pie ** cherries.

A friend’s raspberry patch bears fruit according to its own schedule.  A test batch of Eating on Two Wheels proprietary Raspberry Something extends the fruits’ culinary life when nature lacks restraint. (Don't worry, I'm an ATGATT*** rider and canner. I always wear my safety gear, and adhere to all USDA canning safety guidelines.)

Not everything is destined for the canning pot.  Raspberry turnovers last week, cherry pies tomorrow, plus great quantities slurped straight up while standing outside or over the sink... the happy eating never ends!

A Tucsonan has no real need to bottle up Utah’s sunshine, but with the marked lack of fresh apricots in southern Arizona, it’s well worth it to let the rest of my life rumble on idle, while I preserve these beauties.

*There are faster machines on the road, to be sure, but with an 80 hp to 355 lb (not including fuel, engine oil, or market produce) power to weight ratio, she “gits along jest fine.”
**They’re not just for pie!  I forecast a succulent cut of pork, rich with drippings, balanced by the tingling bite of sour cherries. Whatever the details of this yet to be fully developed recipe, I’ll call it Pork Montmorency and serve it the next time the snow hits the  mountains in Tucson.  (Yes, we do see snow in Tucson.)  No, no, I'll call it Hog Montmorency, even if I don't ride a Harley. 
***All The Gear All The Time 

Trailside Food Find

So today, while I was tripping gaily down Richards Hollow Trail (on two feet this time, not two wheels), I came across three off-road motorcyclists resting by the side of the stream.  I teased them for “cheating” before admitting that I, too, have been known to employ a motorized two wheeled vehicle to gain elevation at times.  I continued on my way, until one of them said something that stopped me dead in my tracks.  “Want some homemade cheese?”  My heart stopped.  “Whose home?” I asked back, in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner, while my heart stopped stopping and started pitter-pattering with anticipatory delight.  “Rockhill Creamery!,” came the reply, and a little flicker of recognition lit up my brain. “You’re the market cheese guy!”

Pete the cheese guy and his old trials bike.

Yes, he was indeed the market cheese guy, whose stand I happily patronize several times each summer.  Not only did he send me home with a generous and delicious hunk of “No Name Tomme,” he also delivered a great tip for the Ducati “Hell and Back Again” trip I have planned for next week.
I am here to tell you, dear readers, that the business of skipping* past waterfalls and through great meadows of waist high bluebells is only made better with a mouthful of tasty alpine style cheese.

*In my mind, I was skipping.  The waterfall and bluebells (along with many other types of flowers, a bubbling stream, picturesque rocky outcrops, and a beaver dam) were for real.