This is a running blog and I’m a runner again. Under a warm Colorado sun, I ran my first miles since November. I’d put on too much weight to run, although I walked regularly. I’m not a snobby runner and truly believe walking is as healthy for you as running. But I like running more. And since I returned from Texas this year, I’ve been working out on my elliptical, which is a fine piece of equipment, but it’s not running.
I’ve dropped ten pounds this year and felt like I might be ready to try running again. The biggest problem with the extra weight was it made running so hard. The other issue is it leads to poor form and possible injury. My running form this weekend was certainly more of a shuffle, but I believe I maintained a decent footfall technique, landing on the forefront of my shoes to spare my knees too much impact.
Like returning from outer space, the trail introduced gravity that wasn’t noticeable on the elliptical. And today, my legs have soreness never present after even two-hour stints on the elliptical. So now, in addition to working on my cardio, I’ll hopefully improve on my muscle tone. Mostly though, it just felt so good to be back outside, under the sun, viewing the snow-capped Indian Peaks, on the trail.
Later in the day, I met up with my buddies at Shoes and Brews for a socially-distanced beverage. Non-athletes don’t generally feel welcomed here among all the shaved legs and hard bodies. I felt I like belonged though. I ran 8 miles in my return to the trail. Well, I ran about 6 miles because I had to mostly walk the remaining hills on the return. Still, running or walking, I was back on the trail.
The hell suffered by Texans over these last brutally cold days has produced the best original content on the Internet in years. My Texas friends might single-handedly save Facebook from the repeal of Section 230. The stories from my friends have been enough to make me willing to live through decades more of Russian misinformation campaigns. Come on. Who doesn’t love some good potty humor?
I knew everyone would be okay once the jokes started flying. They were a welcome relief to the stories that made my throat harden and eyes mist over. Families sleeping in their cars. Families dying from carbon monoxide poisoning. Despite the grief, I kept reading the stories coming out of Texas. Stories from Tiger, a lateral thinker who can generate tears one minute and out-loud laughing the next, who in one photo depicting the generosity of HEB conveyed the loving heart of the Great State of Texas.
My friends’ stories captured hardships that challenged a full 2020 of Covid nightmares. Cindy saved her plants. Knowing her righteousness, I imagined her family being forced to sleep outside to make room. Steve, my brother-in-law, spent the previous weeks stockpiling excellent hardwoods for the fire pit he got for Christmas. He spent the last few days giving it all away to his neighbors. Stories like that, I only heard from Karen’s phone conversations, checking in on family.
It won’t surprise me if the next Pulitzer is awarded to one of my many talented writer friends from Texas. George is the best American nature writer since Emerson or Thoreau. He’s producing original content seemingly hourly that covers the spectrum of Texas humor, ingenuity and beauty. Of course, I hope the skies clear and the ground warms my friends up this weekend, but I can’t wait to read more stories of the human condition tomorrow morning.
The winter just got a little colder with my mother’s passing early Thursday morning, after battling COPD and cancer for ten years. Surrounded by her children, she went peacefully, willing to join God and the loved ones who preceded her.
She was fortunate to meet her new grandson-in-law, Eric, before he and Brittany were married in 2019. And she lived long enough for four great grandchildren to be born in 2019 and 2020.
When you have seven children, you’re going to have a few great grandchildren. She had seven, with more on the way.
She married on September 21st, five days after her 18th birthday, because her German Protestant mother wouldn’t approve of her underage marriage to an Irish Catholic. Demonstrating a strong work ethic, Johnny eventually won his mother-in-law over. He died young in 1967, leaving mom to raise us on her own.
A friend said to me that our parents are our one constant and true love. My body once lived inside her body. Without a father since I was five, she was everything to me. She’ll live on through me, but my world is colder without her.
It feels to me as though everyone I’m close to, who passed in the last few decades, did so in the winter. I can see how it might be poetic, to follow nature’s seasons. Without winter, there’d be no spring. There are yet more grandchildren to marry and more great grandchildren to be born.
My mom loved her church, Round Rock Presbyterian Church. She formed their Women’s Guild and for anyone whom wants to give in her memory, she wishes for donations to go to the RRPC Women’s Guild. Below is a joke mom shared with her grandchildren, that she heard at church.
We never truly know our parents, just the stories. I thought of those stories a lot over the past year. Some stories where she’s the hero. Others where she’s not. Stories, where a single working mother, in the sixties and seventies, raised seven kids. Until the equal credit opportunity act was signed in 1974, it must have been hard for a woman to obtain a credit card. But we were never homeless, never hungry. We lived well. I was always happy.
There’s a story in my family, about my mom selling one of her children’s musical instruments. And something about how she went about it, some of my sisters were upset. Those memories make me feel shameful at how selfish I was. A single working mother with seven children and I can’t think of one thing I ever did to help her.
I should have been giving her all my discarded toys and used clothes or whatever. I should have contributed to the hot meals and the roof over my head provided by a mother who had to sell one of her seven kid’s musical instruments. But I was just a kid.
She loved her grandchildren. Below is Brook.
And this is her with my girls, Brit and Ellie Rose. We love you mom and grandma.
I would be remiss to let this SolarWinds story go without commenting and self-promoting my cyberwar series. These opportunities don’t come around every day. Well, actually there is a story just about every day, but few on par with the colorful intrigue of SolarWinds, FireEye, and Cozy Bear.
My favorite aspect to this story is how it more resembles cyberwar than cybercrime. Experts are downplaying the cyberwar facets, but espionage is on the war spectrum. I focused my novels on cyberwar to respond to what I perceived as a dearth of stories because most books published on the topic are on cybercrime. The difference is that cyberwar is acted out by nation states and, North Korea’s Lazarus notwithstanding, for non-financial reasons.
Remember when you used to read stories of thieves stealing money from banks? Two decades deep into the 4th generation of the industrial revolution (4IR), data is the new currency. Steam power dramatically increased productivity three hundred years ago in 1IR as the industrial revolution launched a still-accelerating advance in technology. Steam locomotives shrunk distance in terms of time travel.
Electricity further accelerated productivity, making the work day longer, in 2IR. The 3rd industrial revolution commenced in the fifties, around the time white collar workers exceeded blue collar workers in the US work force. Compute tech put the world on an exponential growth rate in the Information Age.
Data networking, namely the Internet, and everything since from AI to blockchain has established a digital economy that drives 4IR. We have complete industries now that exist only online. But our success is our weakness. The leading, most advanced economies of the world have more to lose in a cyberwar than the digital have-nots. And that’s why so many people believe the next world war will be digital. It’s where we are vulnerable, our Achilles heel.
Here’s the promo part. If you are curious enough to read up on all this tech, but find it all just a bit too dry for your taste – read my books. Read fiction. I wrote my cyberwar series partly as a cybersecurity primer, so you’ll learn something. But I chose a fictional format to make the content entertaining. You don’t need a text book when you’ve got Cyber War I and Full Spectrum Cyberwar on your shelf.
You’ll discover that my stories are fairly prescient. The first made Iran the bad guys but had attacks like this supply chain malware that compromise a large segment of the economy. The second story focuses on Russia and might spook you just how closely it mirrors current events.
The Russian threat actors in Full Spectrum work for the GRU – Russia’s Military Intelligence. I considered writing about the SVR, Russia’s Foreign Intelligence agency behind the SolarWinds hack. I find one of their code names more literary – Cozy Bear. The GRU is nicknamed Fancy Bear, which is still cool; Bear of course stands for Russia.
I felt forced to use Fancy Bear because it’s more plausible they would launch the type of attacks in my story. Cozy Bear is more about intel gathering. This is why some experts are suggesting this isn’t a cyberwar attack. Cozy Bear doesn’t destroy systems. They just listen to our secrets. That doesn’t make for as fun a story as the mayhem in Full Spectrum. Sometimes I choose plausibility when deciding my storyline. Other times I take extreme liberties for a good story.
Like the road to a car, TCP was the transport to my digital footprint; traffic lights and all. Maybe I couldn’t get rid of my digital DNA, perhaps all I needed to do was delete the digital path known as the transport layer. If voyeurs can’t stream what I did last night, did last night ever happen?
Everything turned out fine the next day. If my friends and co-workers viewed the previous night’s events, they didn’t say anything about it. But that’s what got me thinking about killing off TCP. Born in the 80s, TCP had been the dominant digital communications transport my entire career. Novell had its day in the sun, as did Microsoft, but mostly only on local area networks. Cisco collapsed the backbone into IP packets routed over TCP and it’s been all the TCP/IP stack ever since. For decades.
The problem with TCP is latency. TCP Rate = Maximum Segment Size / Round Trip Time. Round Trip Time (RTT) is latency. Measured in nano or micro seconds on a computer but over the WAN, measured in milliseconds (ms). Latency is mostly distance. The medium matters; air is faster than glass, glass is faster than copper, but theoretically, bits travel at the speed of light, so a satellite hop (round trip) is about a quarter second, or 250ms. Note in the algorithm above that this distance metric is in the denominator of measuring TCP throughput, so the farther the distance, the lower the throughput – by design.
The last significant improvement to the TCP spec was in 1984, where version 4 was developed to mitigate the effects of congestive collapse on the network. Given that rate of innovation, TCP needs to just die. And I think TCP did die this week. It’s being replaced by the Remote Direct Memory Access (RDMA) protocol. The RoCEv2 (pronounced Rocky v2 for RDMA over Converged Ethernet version two) protocol can transport RDMA frames over an IP header and UDP, but Vcinity has a proprietary implementation where they encapsulate the RDMA frames in an IP header for WAN routing and add their own algorithms for flow control and packet loss recovery. The result is an order of magnitude improvement over TCP in throughput.
Think about that. In tech, an order of magnitude improvement generally equates to disruptive technology. A product killer. TCP’s days are numbered.
On my first full day home for the holidays, I got in five miles on the East Boulder Trail. I was able to run to the turn-around point, but had to walk back as I’ve gained the Covid-twenty since March. I was only home for a stealthy few days, all of them full, relaxing, restorative.
My family gathered at Brit and Eric’s new home in Edgewater for Thanksgiving. It’s near Sloans Lake for running and they have good neighbors. Eric has mastered replacing the doorbell and is preparing for larger DIY jobs.
Eric brought me into the kitchen to carve. Otherwise, he cooked it all; the stuffing was his family recipe; he baked Brussel sprouts with something else good; mashed potatoes with a gravy that was the talk of the table; he warmed up the green bean casserole; plus he baked two pies. Did I mention the turkey?
Yesterday, Karen guided me on a path south of NCAR, a trail she has only ever hiked before with a close friend. Yesterday was a big day. Momentous.
Turn onto Lehigh St., off Table Mesa, and park at the top of Shanahan Hill. You’ll see a trailhead for the Shanahan Ridge Trail. Crowds were sparse for our noon hour, Thursday hike. The weather was classic Colorado cool air and sunshine.
I can’t imagine what might be on your mind this weekend, but I’ve been thinking about the upcoming snowshoe season. I’ve been reading my snowshoe routes all week. Karen and I will target Peaceful Valley trails this season.
I’ve noted ten of them. I enumerate them north to south with trailheads along the west side of the Peak-to-Peak Highway.
By the way, Josie, my Uber driver this morning, was from Kingston Jamaica, by way of Florida, then ATL, and now Colorado. She was smiling under her facemask and has a 4.97 rating.
While flying Southwest, I outlined the snowshoe adventures for Karen and me this upcoming season. The ten routes will begin with easy-to-moderate difficulties and novice skill levels, then progress to more advanced, allowing us time to find our trail legs.
Buchanan Pass – Camp Dick Trail, our first route, is rated easy to moderate for novices and is an eleven mile out and back trek that explores the headwaters of the St. Vrain River which flows through our town.
Our trek will begin easy and sunny, gliding through the Peaceful Valley Campground. We will cross the Middle St. Vrain Creek twice, once going up and again on our descent. I’m guessing the waters will be frozen.
Coney Flats Trail is rated easy to moderate. This trek will be similar to our first, following westbound along Coney Creek from the Beaver Creek area, in a seven mile, out-and-back route. The other Beaver Creek.
These two hikes will have established our legs for increasing technicality on the next hikes. If we want, we could take two cars and make a loop of treks one and two, because there is a side trail that intersects the near top of Coney Flats Trail with the Buchanan Pass Trail.
North Sourdough is rated easy to moderate and will be our third route, unless we looped the first two and did them in one. It’s nearly eight miles one way, but can be broken down into three other treks – all of which would be more pleasant, I think, if we shuffle two cars and hike the routes as loops.
Red Rock Lake and Brainard Lake are rated novice. We’ve snowshoed this several times, so I suspect we will do it only if committed to one of the three spurs that launch from Brainard Lake – Mount Audubon, Mitchell and Blue Lakes, and Long and Isabelle Lakes.
Mount Audubon is challenging as it leads to the top to a twelve thousand foot peak. I plan to skip its seven and a half miles. I’ve hiked it several times in the summer, one of my go-to trails to test friends visiting from sea-level. Audubon’s eastern slopes is where wind comes from. I can’t imagine it being pleasant in the winter. It’s the first though, of the spurs that launch from Brainard Lake, which means you must do the westbound part of the Brainard Lake trek as a warmup.
North Niwot Mountain and Ridge is rated moderate for intermediate to expert skill levels. It’s yet another spur from the Brainard Lake Area, turning south at Long Lake off the Pawnee Trail.
South Sourdough Trail, tucked into the Brainard Lake Recreation Area, is rated novice skill for intermediate difficulty and leads twelve miles south, from the Brainard Lake trailhead that we will have parked at several times in a row for the previous hikes, toward Nederland.
Rainbow Lakes are easy to moderate and lead out of the Brainard Lake Wilderness Area into the Indian Peaks Wilderness Area. Over five miles round trip, depending where we start, this will end our winter 2021 game plan. We do half this and it will be a good snowshoe season.
If I told you whom I had this conversation with, I’d have to kill you. But this was in fact my conversation tonight. Let me know if you’ve had similar conversations.
This person suspects Trump is faking his corona virus infection. And this person is deadly serious. In earlier conversations, I thought she was mostly joking. And I thought it was funny. I laughed so much harder tonight knowing this person was serious. And this person has evolved beyond suspicion to confidence in her theory.
I laughed so hard on the phone with this person. With everything going on, from the world’s problems to my own dire straights, it felt good to laugh like I did. Seemingly daft conjecture became deeply inane and devolved into plausible supposition on par with a debate on the reality of professional wrestling. By the end of our call, I was left wondering if it was me who was daft.
Tell me what you think. Trump is at a military hospital where he controls the staff as commander-in-chief. The show of white coats on CNN today, failing miserably at transparency, could not have been manufactured back at the White House. Where, I might add, Melania is ducking out of the show. Trump knows he is hopelessly behind in the polls, and can’t possibly dodge that fact he’s responsible for the untimely deaths of nearly a quarter million Americans. What else to do other than become part of the problem he can’t solve by becoming infected himself?
It’s brilliant, except for one small detail, and my brother pointed this out to me when brought into the fray. His administration is too inept to pull off such a clever plan. That is indeed a good point.
And I myself? I don’t believe in conspiracy theories, and this is no different. I do love the fanciful possibilities. If Lance Armstrong was an American tragedy, Trump is an American soap opera. His one true success may have been in reality TV, but the ebb and flow he injects into the news cycle reminds me more of a TV drama.
I don’t know. Professional wrestling is fake. Trump is fake. What are the odds his illness is fake? After I ended the conversation and hung up the phone, I wasn’t exactly sure what I believed, or why I was laughing.
I don’t often read women authors. Except when I do and according to my Goodreads’ history, my last five books have been authored by women. Some of my preferred genres lend themselves to men and perhaps my current trend is coincidence. I suspect I read Rachel Maddow’s Blowout to satisfy my confirmation bias after having weaved Putin’s oil oligarchy into my last novel, Full Spectrum Cyberwar. Her story did in fact support my fictional account. I was surprised when she dedicated part of a chapter to the president of Shell, for whom I served as an usher in his wedding.
I read Porter’s Pale Horse, Pale Rider as part of a writing assignment for my writers critique club. It’s a collection of classic stories from 1939. We take turns in my small group of five male writers to assign exercises to each other on a monthly basis. Sometimes, the exercise requires research, which for me is what makes it fun. Research has always been necessary for my novels and I enjoy that. It’s also essential in my day job as a product manager, and one of the roles I most enjoy.
Ruth Ware’s The Lying Game reminded me somewhat of Where The Crawdads Sing. I think because of the setting; even though it was in the U.K. rather than America, as it was on the coast. There are other similarities in the mystery format. The main characters were all women and it caused me to consider if, on average, women are better at creating female antagonists and men are better at creating male characters. Seems safe to agree to that, but of course some writers are so good they aren’t challenged by gender.
Lucy Foly’s The Guest List is the very first audio book I’ve listened to. Karen and I listened on our long drive to Ouray. It was a great whodunnit for a drive. Each character was voiced by a different actor. That might have been jarring as a read as I suspect Lucy changed the point of view per scene in the text as well as the audio.
Jen Louden is a friend and I’d been wanting to read one of her best-selling books, but I’ve never been interested in the motivational self-help genre. Her latest book Why Bother? was perfect because it’s as much memoir as self-help. I thought once she steamed up the narrative with real-life stories in section two, the book became fascinating. It reminded me of Stephen King’s On Writing, which was as much memoir as instructional. I find the sharing of personal vignettes a successful approach to storytelling. It helps to have lived an interesting life but I don’t think one necessarily has to be Hemingway.
After writing this, it has occurred to me my interest in reading women authors stemmed from making the antagonist in my current novel a woman. Call it research. My first novel was strongly male dominated. My wife gave me grief, and that’s putting it mildly, over the sexist undertones in my story. I was trying to convey a sense of men who travel extensively for their careers. She wasn’t a fan. I corrected that somewhat with my second novel by having the wife of the antagonist tag along during his adventures. I’m comfortable writing from a woman’s point of view. Doesn’t mean I’m good at it. If I pull it off, I credit having grown up with five sisters.
Not really. 112° was the heat index. It was only 103°. That was yesterday. And my run today was only 97°, although it’s 100° now. I would tell you the weather is fine in Texas, as long as you don’t go outside. No wonder I’m so compelled to drink cold beer in this town.
Karen will join me next week, when the temps will start off in the 100s and cool off to the 90s by the end of the week. She grew up in Austin, but has lived much longer in Colorado and likes the change of seasons. Karen is going to melt.
We’ll be staying in South Austin at her cousin’s second home, so we plan to walk each evening on Town Lake which will be close by. I recently visited her to celebrate our 33rd by hiking in Ouray. The occassion for this visit is her birthday. This year has been like having a long distance romance.
I still recall a friend in Mexico telling me decades ago that amor de lejos, amor de pendejos. That phrase has many meanings but essentially, long distance love sux. Hey there, Delilah. But it also feels like we’ve been dating more than married, which is sort of fun. We used to go to the movies together and now we watch NetFlix remotely while texting each other as the show progresses. Love in the time of Covid.
A Go Bag is an emergency-preparedness bag that you pack in advance, but hope you never need. That description, definition, is plagiarized directly from wikihow.com, where you can learn how to make your own go-bag. Their advice on what food to pack is ridiculous. I’ve done enough backpacking to know. You don’t buy a can of tuna. You buy these Bumble Bee tuna lunch packs. Depending on your vices, Starbucks Via Instant Coffee is also brilliant.
I watched Sean Penn advise America on TV the other day that we should all have a go-bag ready as part of our pandemic preparedness. He said smart Californians already know this, for when the big-one hits. With all the backpacking, hiking the 500-mile Colorado Trail with A Lo Hawk, aka La Plata, the international travel as an IT hit man, and the Covid-regulated, guest-living I’ve been doing this year, with all that, it’s fair to say I invented living out of a go-bag.
I could tell you how much experience I’ve gained over the years, but honestly, I think most of my efficiency gains are the result of improved tech. I recall the strap to my computer bag breaking as I climbed the stairs to the second deck of a ferry, crossing Sydney Harbour to Manly Beach. It was a quality bag, but no match for the stresses of my network cables and scores of 3.5 inch floppy disks needed for emergency reinstalls of the prevalent operating systems of the day. It’s crushing weight nearly broke my foot. I now carry a billion times more data, at a fraction of the weight, in the form factor of a USB drive.
Nowadays, I carry two MacBook Airs, one work, one personal, an iPad, some adapters and USB drives, and a copy of my latest novel to gift to whomever I chat up on the flight. My current laptop bag has survived under this improved load the last fifteen years. My back is doing better as well.
I’ve been shuffling back and forth between Colorado and Texas all year and virtually living out of a go-bag. While I’ve expanded my real estate on the remote end of that passage, stocking clothes and toiletries, I can sometimes travel with just the laptop bag. I can leave behind most tangible materials, even most of my data is in the cloud, but I find that I still need to carry compute resources – the requisites to stay connected.
But I must say, I feel stealthy when I travel. I have a bit of an imagination and sometimes pretend I’m a spy as I travel through airports. I fancied myself Harrison Ford in Blade Runner during this recent jaunt through ATX. Maybe that makes me weird, but what goes through your head when you travel? Got a go-bag ready for when you have to self-isolate?
To celebrate thirty-three years, Karen and I hit the trails in Ouray. What could be better than taking in air from the top of the world? We spent day one exploring the Perimeter Trail that rings the box canyon.
We drove up to Molas Pass on day two and hiked between the lakes. The weather could not have been more perfect with the cooler temps I’d been dreaming about in Texas.
We discovered our favorite trail on day three when we hiked the Blue Lakes Trail. The forest road is a bit long, about eight miles, but drivable with a low clearance car. The trail runs mostly through gorgeous pine and aspen. It breaks just around tree line for the first lake, catching snow melt in the basin.
We stopped by Khristopher’s Culinaire one day to say hi to Khris and Janet. They said the crowds have been great this summer. I agree, the trails had a healthy number of hikers. People were pretty good about either wearing a mask, or stepping off the trail if they didn’t.
I had time one day to hike around Molas Pass with my buddy Rob, who drove up from Durango. We began on the Colorado Trail and bushwhacked our way up to a high point offering tremendous views of the San Juans. I also ran into a work colleague in Silverton eating lunch with his family. We work together almost daily, and had never met one another before.
I remember when I discovered Ellie Rose was smarter than me.She was in middle school.She’s been reading adult-level books since grade school.
She had her pick of colleges and chose the one known to be the hardest scholastically, the Colorado School of Mines.She’s interested in epigenetics.
She’s a girl of many talents.At NHS, she formed clubs and participated in sports and the student council.She earned money at various jobs.She wrote songs on the piano and guitar.She traveled to Austria and back on her own.
Ellie Rose is ready for the next step in her life.She graduated yesterday to cap off a challenging time.We’re excited for her because we know she will become a woman who will move the world forward.
I’m using the three-day weekend to submit my taxes. I expect to get a return and will need it to buy Ellie Rose a laptop before she heads off to college. I think back in the day, parents used to buy their kids a car for graduating high school. Now we buy them a three thousand dollar MacBook Pro. I really hope I get a nice return this year.
I find joy in doing my taxes when I sum up all my book royalties from Amazon.com. I’ve made royalties almost every month of the year. The coolest part is seeing book sales from other countries. Mostly the UK, but also Germany, Australia, Japan, China, Mexico, Costa Rica, Brazil, and 26.77 rupees from India. That’s 39¢ I wouldn’t have if I weren’t an international author.
Other writers might find this interesting. I published a second book in 2019, but almost all my sales were from my first book. I suspect this is because I handed out a hundred copies of my book at a tech conference in Austin and those techies followed up by purchasing my first book. That’s exactly what they tell you will happen, and it did. This is why you will make more money the more books you publish; readers who like your latest book will buy from your entire collection. There’s a multiplier effect.
Knowing that, I really should work towards completing my third novel. I’m twenty-five thousand words into it, but paused it to rewrite a second edition of my first book instead. I believe I had multiple reasons for changing directions. One was that, with the surge in sales of the first book, I wanted it to be better. I didn’t have a copy editor for it, not that there were many typos, but I’m a better writer now and wanted to make some improvements.
The major edit, the reason I believe the rewrite qualifies as a second edition, is I changed it from present tense to past tense. Most novels are written in past tense. Present tense is rare enough that it can be a bit jarring sometimes to read it. The book I’m currently reading, The Lying Game by Ruth Ware, is in present tense. She does an okay job of it but it’s been my experience that past tense allows for more latitude in sentence structure. It’s easier to write past tense.
That exercise took me a couple of months. I spent the previous two weekends publishing it on Amazon. I find formatting text and designing a book cover extremely tedious and I don’t enjoy it, but I’m too cheap to outsource it. There are always problems. It took me a week to fix my cover and another to get the formatting to show paragraph indents correctly on the InsideLook feature.
It’s good to go now though, so go out and download a copy. As part of this second edition, the hardcover is no longer available. Amazon might try to sell you one anyway. They like to play this trick where they say it’s out-of-stock. Trust me, it’s out-of-print. If you already own a first edition hardcover, consider it a collector’s item.
I’m not usually a pessimist, but until you’re dead, things can always get worse. And things did get worse this weekend. You might think I’m referencing the Covid-19 spike here in Texas, but no, that was true last week. This weekend, the Saharan sands blew in from North Africa.
You can actually see the massive plume of sand extending westward from North Africa toward the Gulf of Mexico in this photo below, as it sails in the Sahara air layer at an altitude of twenty thousand feet.
Incidentally, mask wearing was much more prevalent this weekend on my running trail. Few runners, but many walkers and bikers. I can’t say if it was due to the Covid-19 spike, or the dirty air. Guessing the latter.
The dirty air wasn’t good for running. I struggled Friday and Saturday. I had one of my best runs in a long time today though, despite the dust. A storm front was blowing in and the strong breeze and heavy clouds helped keep my body temperature down. It felt really good running the fast pace.
I could have run farther today, which would have also been nice, but I limited my exposure to the dust by keeping my run under six miles. If it’s not the heat, it’s the air quality. These masks and bandanas are proving handy.