Shuffle play Friday-Back to the north

A few weeks back, I detailed the parallel rock universe, just north of our border, infused with diversity and variety. While I like to think of myself as being into newer music, I actually know little about that new world I'm immersing myself in, save for a few bands--The Tragically Hip, Our Lady Peace, Bachmann Turner Overdrive, and a handful of others.

I encourage my brethren in the continental 48, and of course the yonder regions of Alaska, and the tropical paradise of Hawaii to check out CBC Radio 3, and tune into a diverse array of bands that stack of favorably to anything on rock stations stateside.

Joel Plaskett-Gone, Gone, Gone/Three

Who releases triple albums anymore? Shit, who releases music arranged and sequenced, period? Joel Plaskett, Canadian indie rocker extraordinaire, that’s who. The former front man for Halifax-based Thrush Hermit had a career year in 2009, winning a Polaris for Three. The Polaris Music Prize is a fairly new award, established in 2006, and is given to the best full-length Canadian album. It’s based solely on artistic merit, irrespective of genre, and not dependent on sales or record label affiliation. The award comes with a C$20,000 cash prize.

Plaskett is no stranger to an array of Canadian music awards, including songwriter of the year in 2006 and 2007, male artist of the year in 2005, entertainer of the year in 2004, 2006, and 2007, as well as being a recipient of a bunch of other coveted Canadian rock honors. Who knew?

Three is about multiple derivatives of the number three—the album consists of three discs, with each disc comprise of nine songs. Many of the song titles have a title that repeats three times, like “Gone, Gone, Gone.” Plaskett is pictured on the cover holding up three fingers and the numbers of the release date, 3/24/2009, are all divisible by three.

Plaskett’s music has been described by one critic as “aching folk-pop,” which I couldn’t disagree with. When I first listened to Plaskett’s tracks on Last.FM, I heard a bit of the pop-ish qualities of Joe Pernice, an expat American, now living in Canada himself; Toronto, to be exact.

I ordered Three last week, and I’m eagerly anticipating its arrival. I expect the discs will be pulling overtime duty in my CD player at home, and in the car.

The Wheat Pool-This Is It/Hauntario

If you know anything of my musical inclinations, you know they never stray too far from alt-country, and rock firmly planted in the roots-rock vein. Hearing The Wheat Pool the first time recently, I couldn’t help but thing of Uncle Tupelo’s brilliant third album, March 16-20.

This particular track is an folk-rock gem, perfect for late at night listening, when you are sitting alone, beer in hand, reminiscing about happier times, when you were younger and hope was ample and not hedged in by gray hair and the approach of middle age. The song’s chorus has the line, “If our love is but a fire, then our hearts must be made of wood,” which you’ll be singing to yourself for days afterwards.

Another track I particularly liked and couldn’t resist was “Neil Young,” an ode to one of their Canadian rock and roll forefathers (as well as a longtime fave of mine), from The Wheat Pool’s first record, Township.

No less an authority on the entire alt-country genre than No Depression gave Hauntario a solid review, indicating that the new release is a “restless, hurting record full of the kind of cocaine jags and morning after regrets that put a person in a frame of mind to hit the road, fleeing with the last few vestiges of dignity and pride intact. None of the songs come from a healthy, happy place, and if they weren’t so brilliant and evocative, we’d all be much better off avoiding them altogether. But, there’s a kind of train wreck fascination in following the sludgy tangled momentum of each song as the crunching electric and acoustic guitars swirl around each other trying to find their own voice as the skies around them thicken.”

So there you have it. If alt-country is your cup of tea, then The Wheat Pool are your kind of band and Hauntario will probably fit right in next to your UT, Bottle Rockets, and Centro-matic CDs.

Amy Honey-Old Reliable Death/Pioneer Woman

What is it about Nova Scotia that keeps churning out some of Canada’s more talented musicians, like singer-songwriter Amy Honey, the pride of West Chezzetcook? Not too much different than my home state of Maine, with a population slightly less than our 1 million plus, Halifax has long been home to creative types, but West Chezzetcook?

Like it’s evil twin brother, taxes, death never takes a holiday, and always stalking its prey. Maybe because I lost an uncle this week, this song resonated with me and easily made the cut for SPF.

Amelia Curran-Bye, Bye, Montreal/Hunter, Hunter

I’ve been to Montreal many times, particularly when my wife Mary’s aunt lived in the city. I have never been to this international city and not had a great time and left longing to return.

When I heard Curran singing this song, I couldn’t help but think of the time, when Mark was small, and we’d drive north and spend a long weekend, taking in an Expos game at Olympic Stadium, one of the ugliest ballparks ever visited upon fans of America’s favorite pastime.

I need to find an excuse for returning for one more visit, soon.

Tijuana Bibles-Custom Made Man/Custom Made

Surf rock, replete with wrestling masks, wry lyrics, and killer guitar riffs, the T-Bibles were a huge hit in Europe, a continent that tends to “get” bands that don’t quite catch fire on this side of the pond.

From the website, tijuanabibles.org, Tijuana Bibles were pornographic tracts popular in America before the advent of mass-market full-color glossy wank-fodder such as Playboy. A typical bible consisted of eight stapled comic-strip frames portraying characters and celebrities (eg. John Dillinger, Popeye, Disney characters) in wildly sodomistic situations.

The band Tijuana Bibles regularly contributed music to a variety of film projects including Canadian indie rock film Goldirocks, the masked wrestling horror film Zombie Beach Party (directed by old friend and nemesis Stacey Case) as well as two "blue" movies, Johnny Legend's Sex Mex and Toronto's "Dirty Pillows". They've also produced several of their own music videos for several of their own songs, including “Custom Made Man.” When the cult Canadian 70's TV show The Hilarious House of Frighenstein needed supplemental music for re-broadcast in 2006, the Bibles were enlisted for the task.

The Hub of Broken Hearts

Another season that began with so much hope, sits dashed on the rocks this morning, as the California Angels accomplished what they’ve been trying to do since 1986—beat the Red Sox in the postseason. What was supposed to be the Sox’ strong suit—pitching, and in particular, the vaunted bullpen—gave away the game, one that clearly should have been won.

Much like the Shaughnessy-invented “curse of the Bambino,” another overused, and in my opinion, useless phrase is, “2004 changed everything.” Yeah, probably for those bandwagon riders, many female that now make it impossible for the cult of the longsuffering to find tickets to the games, but dues-paying lifers to the club knows that 2004 changed nothing for the many that know baseball is a marathon, not a spring, and as fatalists, know that every Red Sox loss could be the beginning of the unraveling of a season.

I still contend that most sports fans are morons, but some of RSN recognized chinks in the team’s armor long before October’s shadows graced Fenway’s green manor. Back in spring training, the incessant talk of too much pitching rattled around the echo chamber of Boston sports writers and their tendency to repeat one another. The rigors, strain, and torque visited on arms and bodies necessary to throw a baseball upwards of 90 miles per order can sideline the best of pitchers. Who would have guessed back in March that the season would hang on the inconsistent Game 3 slants of Clay Buchholz?

Two weeks ago, I grabbed Steward O’Nan and Stephen King’s Faithful: Two Diehard Boston Fans Chronicle The Historic 2004 Season off the library shelf, mainly to hate on King and possibly pen an essay about his over-inflated ego and the self-importance that attends some of the book. I’ve been reading it for the past week in snippets, between the overly long commercial breaks that plague televised baseball, and occasionally in bed, before sleep overtakes me. Instead of King’s ego getting in the way, I’ve found the book an interesting work of history that helps put the past three seasons in an entirely new context. To those of you that think “2004 changed everything,” I have two words for you and an accompanying gesture—fuck you!! (ok, enough of the potty mouth, and maybe a bit harsh, but good lord, many long-suffering Sox fans never got to experience 2004's WS win, kicking it before seeing their team break a streak of futility that dated back to 1918, curse, or no curse--jb).

Yes, the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004, and again in 2007—so what? The Yankees have won a total of 26 compared to a mere six for the Red Sox, and my prediction is that they’re on their way to #27 this year. Who the hell is going to stop them? With all due respect to the Angels, a gutsy group of gamers in their own right, watching the Yanks take two swings last night and turn Carl Pavano’s strong performance for the Twins into another “nice try” by a Yankees’ opponent convinced me that it will take a Herculean effort to derail the evil empire.

Red Sox fans might be staring another postseason drought of three years (2000-2002), or longer squarely in the face.

While I’m a big fan of Jon Lester, Beckett’s been a disappointment two postseasons in a row. Buchholz showed me something during parts of August and much of September that I had been looking for from him, still I’m not convinced he’s matured enough to become the type of big game pitcher the club needs.

I'm more optimistic about the pitching, thinking it will be ok heading into 2010, with Lester heading a decent staff, I still have my concerns about Beckett, and Dice-K, and it appears the Wakefield years in Boston are over. However, we may be looking at another throwback string of fourth and fifth starters the likes of Frank Castillo, John Burkett, and Brad Penny next summer. Buchholz could win 14, or 15 games, Lester might once and for all harness his electric stuff and have the career season I thought he’d finally have this year. With a greater commitment to training, Matzusaka could win in double figures. Still, Papelbon (Papel-fuck, as I “affectionately” call him) was shaky all season, culminated by yesterday’s meltdown (even Hendu throwing out the first pitch couldn’t save the loveable lunkhead). Who closes next year?

[Papelbon leaves field in 8th, after surrendering the season (Photo by Jim Rogash/Getty Images) ]

As for the offence, fans saw an anemic club that the likes of Lackey, Weaver, and Kazmir (while they got to him, it was a surprise to me, given his previous history against the Sox), not exactly Cy Young candidates, shut down. Right now, the Sox have a lineup that can’t hit the good pitchers. Yes, they pad their stats against Triple-A caliber staffs that clubs like Baltimore, Kansas City, Toronto (save Halladay), and the rest of the AL consist of. Against stud pitchers, however, Ortiz, Lowell, Drew, and most of the Sox lineup is overmatched. That won’t change next season.

Baseball’s basically over for me, closing the book on 2009. Now it’s on to basketball and the Celts (and possibly a few Red Claws’ games), and hockey with the Bruins.

Portland, Maine, a haven for foodies

Maine, just like other parts of the country, is fighting to preserve its unique qualities, and not be overrun by homogeneity, and bland corporate ubiquity.Depending on where you go, it seems hit or miss how well the state is doing to maintain its identity.

Portland is Maine’s largest city, and the closest community we have to something remotely urban. With a population of just over 60,000 (230,000 if you include South Portland and the surrounding metro area of Greater Portland), Portland exudes a vibe of a small town, where people still know one another, and yet, offers qualities of cities with much larger populations.

I’ve always had a special affinity for Portland, dating back to my high school years when a trip to the Old Port was special, and felt somewhat decadent, especially for a small town kid who had his sights on leaving his hometown in the dust, at some point. In high school, a night on the town, catching a show at the Cumberland County Civic Center, and eating at one of the many restaurants that dotted the Old Port, even back in the late 70s, was a real treat for me and my friends.

Fast forward 30 years and Portland has recently been honored with recognition and accolades from a well-known food magazine, as well as America’s newspaper of record for its abundant eateries, and great local food.

Bon Appetit voted Portland “America’s Foodiest Small Town” in August, and then, a few weeks later, Julia Moskin, food writer for the New York Times visited town, and wrote an effusive piece about the city and its decade-long ascendancy as a food destination. Moskin highlighted many of the city’s eateries, bakeries, and markets where fresh, local food is the norm, not the exception. She also recognized the many top-notch chefs that populate the city’s food scene.

There’s always a danger to take for granted the special qualities that exist in one’s own backyard, thinking that the grass is greener, and life more robust elsewhere, especially in bigger cities like Boston, New York, Chicago, or Los Angeles. While these places certainly have elements that are impossible for Portland to compete with, for a small city, it arguably has an amazing array of local food options, and restaurants committed to local farmers and food producers.

Moskin’s article struck a chord with me. Some of the restaurants she mentioned, like Hugo’s and Fore Street, I was familiar with. I also knew about Rabelais, Portland’s bookstore for foodies, located on Middle Street. There were many more places, however that I knew little about. After reading the article, and discussing it with my wife, we’ve decided that we are going to make an effort to get into Portland more often, and sample some of these places, even on our small budget devoted to out-to-eat options.

With fall firmly ensconced, and Maine farms producing a rich bounty full of abundant choices for local food lovers, we headed into the city to sample the offerings of Saturday’s Portland Farmer’s Market at beautiful Deering Oaks Park.
Before hitting The Oaks, we buzzed over the Casco Bay Bridge to partake of bagels at 158 Pickett Street Café, one of several places Moskin mentioned in her article.

Bagels are a food item that I used to eat almost daily. Back when I went low-carb, following the prescription of Dr. Atkins, I called bagels, “wheels of death,” and even though I’ve abandoned the low-carb path, bagels have never found their way back to my daily menu of foods.

158 Pickett Street is located near SMCC, about a mile and a half down Broadway, after turning left off the bridge. Moskin mentioned Chef Josh Potocki’s “long-fermented water-boiled bagels,” and chili-garlic cream cheese to top them off, and Mary and I decided to break our bagel fast and sample one each.

Arriving just after 9:00, there was a line of six, or seven people ahead of us in the non-descript building just a stones throw away from the SMCC ballfield that Mark used to play on during his fall baseball days during high school.

The place had a hipster vibe, with staff sporting an abundant variety of colorful tattoos. The line moved quickly and we placed our order; I ordered a poppy seed bagel and Mary had one with everything, both toasted and topped with the above-mentioned spread, which the cashier assured us was “a good choice.”

[Willard Beach, bordering the SMCC campus]

We took our order to go and drove a few hundred yards, parking and walking down to Willard Beach bordering the backside of the campus. The bagels, both about the size of a baby’s head, were heavenly. The chili-garlic cream cheese was the perfect complement to the crusty bagel, which had its own abundant flavor.

From South Portland, we headed back across the bay and into downtown Portland, bound for Deering Oaks and Saturday’s assortment of fresh local produce.

With the sun just peeking through the clouds, we enjoyed walking through a variety of booths filled with root vegetables, arugala, fresh heirloom tomatoes, and locally-produced artisanal cheeses. We had discussed creating our evening meal from what we found at the market, and we didn’t leave disappointed.

With tomatoes, turnips, arugala, fresh basil, as well as mozzarella, and feta cheese made from goat’s milk (for tomorrow’s tomato feta salad), we then were off for Brighton Avenue and Rosemont Market.

Rosemont Market is a local market of the finest order. Committed to carrying the freshest in local foods, ranging form locally-grown produce, to meat from local producers, as well as freshly baked bread they bake themselves, this neighborhood market provides a cornucopia of what’s right about Portland’s Buy Local movement.

We picked up steak and sausage for the grill, both from Maine producers, as well as a bottle of moderately-priced red wine, a snack of polenta pennies (cookies), and a Moroccan chicken soup, which was our lunch (it came with a large, doughy roll that was similar to the mouth-watering rolls my German grandmother used to bake), and we were on our way home, and an afternoon bike ride.

Tonight’s dinner was a celebration of our day; a rich bounty that came from Maine’s often, too-rocky soil, and local farmers that continue to buck the blandness of over-produced, factory farms, where too much of our nation’s food ends up originating from.

I feel fortunate that Mary and I live so close to Portland, and we’re planning to embrace this benefit by sampling local food, whether we pick it up and cook it for ourselves, or allow one of Portland’s skilled chefs to work their magic and prepare it.

[Sign for Portland Farmers' Market]

[One of the Farmers' Market's wagons]

[Abundant veggies from local farmers]

Jesus rules the airwaves

My drives up and down the interstate afford me ample time to think, ponder a variety of subjects, and listen to the radio (and alternately, books on CD). During these chunks of time, I occasionally wonder why Maine as a state continues to languish economically, culturally (with the exception of Portland, primarily), and whether a new administration in Augusta will make any significant difference.

Once I drift north of Augusta and begin to lose the southern Maine radio stations, there isn’t much for variety on the FM side of things. Jim Rome’s national sports talk show can be picked up via WJJB-96.3, aka, The Big Jab, an FM blowtorch with a signal that travels up and down the I-95 corridor. I can only handle so much of Romey, however, as his schtick tends to irritate in large quantities, at least according to my tastes. There is public radio, and MPBN, which I do listen to semi-regularly, and actually caught this interesting piece tonight on my way home, about Lewiston, home base for the work that I do.

Since my schedule this week has been extremely hectic, I haven’t been able to find the 15 minutes, or so required to squeeze a trip to the Maine State Library in on my lunch break, or passing through Augusta on my way home. Hence, I haven’t been able to pick up an interesting book to listen to. As a result, I’ve had to imbibe more bad radio than I prefer.

Interestingly, I discovered something today I had never noticed before—mid-Maine has a significant number of Xian radio stations. I’m not quite sure why this is. Is this part of Maine in the throes of a religious revival that I’m not aware of? Do the residents of Augusta, Waterville, and Fairfield have a greater propensity for the rock knock-offs of bands/artists with names like Newsboys, Addison Road, Tobymac, and Kutlass?

These were all artists that I heard on some station called K-Love, located at 102.1 (WKVZ) on the FM dial, and originating out of Bangor.

According to K-Love’s information pack (which you are required to download in order to access), they don’t play commercials (because they know their listeners don’t want them), are “positive and encouraging,” and they can “help you make a difference.”

Actually, K-Love’s information pack left me nonplussed, and unimpressed--basically, it contains little substantive information about the station.

I only listened to K-Love for about 15-20 minutes in truth, and scanned the website briefly, but my experience with Xianity prompts me to take a stab at pegging this station as catering to a segment of so-called believers that I’ve run into that I define as “consumerist Christians.” They have both feet firmly planted “in the world” of American consumerism, and their faith places a sanitized veneer over an overly materialistic approach to life. They tend to equate being a good Xian with being a Republican, see Sarah Palin as someone to admire (her new book is being distributed to Xian book stores via mega-religious publisher, Zondervan), are by-and-large anti-abortion, and probably support the Yes on 1 position on Maine’s upcoming, and overly divisive gay rights referendum.

Another station specializing in watered-down rock with spiritually-oriented lyrics is 99.3, WWWA, which the FCC indicates is based in Winslow and is affiliated with the Worship Radio Network.

From the station’s website, which like K-Love’s, again provides very little beyond generic information about WWWA, or the WRN; I did learn, however, that “all radio stations at Worship Radio Network are non-profit, 501c3, non-commercial radio stations. Most radio commercial radio stations rely on sell ads to make a profit. We ask you to invest in the station financially so we can bring you more of what YOU want without all the clutter.”

If you prefer Bible teaching to music, you can pull in 99.5, which is listed as WJCX, and apparently emanates from Pittsfield. This station is affiliated with the Calvary Chapel churches, and featured a variety of scripture-based teaching programs each time I tuned in.

Calvary Chapel is a non-denominational church, which claims ties to evangelicalism. They were founded in 1965 in Southern California. The original Calvary Chapel in Costa Mesa was pastored by Chuck Smith, operating as a cross-cultural missions organization that bridged the "generation gap" that existed during the Vietnam War period. Calvary Chapel became a hub for the Jesus People movement that was prevalent at the time, particularly on the west coast.

Calvary Chapel pioneered a less formal and contemporary approach in its worship and public meetings. For example, it did outreaches on the beach and baptisms in the Pacific Ocean. Much of Contemporary Christian Music (CCM) has it roots in Calvary Chapel worship music. Additionally, Calvary Chapel features a “rolling commentary” style of preaching, centered on the biblical text each sermon is based upon. Their style of worship, and emphasis on contemporary styles of worship music makes me think they are very similar to the Vineyard Churches, which can be found dotting Maine’s landscape in Lewiston, Mechanic Falls, Westbrook, and a few other communities.

I’m not quite sure what this concentration of Xianity means north of Augusta. I did find it a bit odd, but then again, I don’t find much about organized religion beneficial, or personally edifying. Others may have a different take on this than I do.

First Dempsey Challenge is a hit

Over the course of a lifetime, we look back to events, and periods of time that represent turning points for us, crucial moments. Sometimes these moments are personal, other times they connect us with something larger than ourselves.

When I decided back in June that I was tired of being overweight, out of shape, and neglectful of maintaining a modicum of fitness, I didn’t think that I’d be riding in an event that would be a major fundraiser for cancer awareness, supporting families and cancer survivors. I also didn’t even consider that I’d be part of a team made up mainly of family members and riding in memory of my late father in law, someone who had a real impact, albeit a delayed one, on my life.

Patrick Dempsey is an A-list celebrity, best known as Dr. Derek Shepherd, on Grey’s Anatomy. What many people outside of Maine don’t know is that he grew up in tiny Buckfield, Maine, a community that is easily missed, unless you have a reason to turn off busy Route 4 and head west into the center of town. Like similar communities in rural Maine, the economic changes and shifts of the late 20th and early 21st centuries have all but removed any vestiges of local trade and industry. The town is now a bedroom community for Lewiston/Auburn to the southeast.

While Dempsey’s star has risen far beyond the tiny hamlet where he grew up, he obviously hasn’t forgotten his roots. Like almost all of us that have been touched by cancer in some way, this vicious disease struck his mother in 1997, when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She was successfully treated, but the cancer returned twice, requiring further treatment.

His mother is doing fine today, living an active, healthy life, but Dempsey wanted to do something more for others. His own experience with his mother helped him to realize that access to good, reliable resources are essential in helping not only the cancer patient, but also members of the family, as well as caretakers. Because of this experience, Dempsey decided to give something important back to the very community that helped his mother through her journey to recovery and health. As a result, The Patrick Dempsey Center for Cancer Hope & Healing was born.

In an attempt to generate funding, as well as continue to raise awareness about the center and what it has to offer, Dempsey announced in early 2009, The Dempsey Challenge, a bike ride of varying lengths—100, 50, 25, and 10 mile rides, as well as a run and a walk as part of the festivities.

Celebrities are notorious for lending their name to causes, and having little, or nothing to do with the event. Occasionally, they make a cameo appearance, the crowd ogles, and goes “ga, ga,” and that’s about it. The star gets some positive press, and hopefully a bit of money makes its way into the till of whatever organization is running the benefit event.

Not only did Patrick Dempsey do more than make a token appearance and then dart out, he was an active participant, riding 50 miles, and bringing along fellow cycling rock stars, George Hincapie, and David Zabriskie to accompany him on his ride. In fact, Dempsey, a competitive cyclist, was out on Maine’s back roads, along with world class athletes Zabriskie, and Hincapie on Saturday during the day’s steady rain and occasional downpours, warming up for The Dempsey Challenge ride, happening on Sunday.

Our own Team Tarazzmatazz contingent were in the parking lot by about 7:00 a.m. and it was a good thing, as the parking area on the corner of Lincoln and Main was nearly full and about 20 minutes later, was at capacity. As my wife and team captain, Mary said, “cyclists get out early.”

After Saturday’s torrential rains, and late night lightning and thunderstorms, the fact that it was not raining, and merely overcast was a portent positive for riding. The mood was festive and by 7:30, there were already long lines for the row of Porta Potties lined up against the former Grand Trunk Railroad Depot, on Beech Street.

As the 8:00 a.m. starting time approached, a couple of thousand cyclists were jammed into the staging area along Oxford Street, waiting for the 100-milers to go out, and then the 50-mile group (which included Dempsey and Co.), and then the three biking members of our team, riding the 25-miler. Even a slight delay of five minutes couldn’t dampen the positive energy of the riders.

[staging area packed tight before the start of The Dempsey Challenge ride]

I was feeling a few butterflies, which reminded me of what it once felt like, back in the day, when I was still pitching semi-pro baseball, and that feeling in the pit of my stomach that always arrived minutes right before I threw my first pitch.

Mary, Rosie (a friend from work), and I were eager to be on our way, headed out on the course, along with others nearby. About 8:20, we got the word that the 25-mile group could begin moving forward, and like water surging over a dam, our group was off.

The course was very well designed, and the initial part of the route was marvelous, with Auburn’s finest making sure that the early stage of our ride was free of automobile interference. There were a few challenging hills early in the ride, but by-and-large, the route was not overly taxing for Mary and I, since we’ve been riding most of the summer, and training religiously for this ride since July. It was really special to see so many people out on their lawns, and along the early parts of the ride, cheering the riders on, shouting encouragement, and offering personal messages via handmade signs.

Not only were there 3,500 participants biking, running, and walking, there were also several hundred volunteers, all offering a smile, a word of encouragement, and even a drink, or a snack.

One of the takeaways from The Dempsey Challenge’s maiden voyage is that it couldn’t have been located in a better community. To those coming in from outside, like Mary, a representative from Amgen, one of the event’s major sponsors (along with Mercedez-Benz), her first experience in Lewiston was an overwhelmingly positive one. As we chatted in line, waiting to pick up our lobster dinner, she told me how impressed she was with Lewiston, the enthusiasm of the participants, and how beautiful she found the early fall foliage. Hailing from Thousand Oaks, California, and having grown up in Portland, Oregon, Mary told me that she was very impressed during her first visit, including a wonderful meal on Saturday, at Fishbones, one several great restaurants that now dot the community.

Lewiston and surrounding communities have embraced this first time event with a great deal of enthusiasm. To have 3,500 sign up to take part the very first year, and to have assemble such a strong organization enabling such a great event the first time makes me excited for next year’s 2nd go round, as it can only get better.

Today was special for me, personally, as the day was infused with meaning as a member of Team Tarazzmatazz. The family connection was important, as all of us were participating in memory of Joe, Mary’s dad. Also, Mary and I had gotten fit through training to ride, with me losing 40 pounds, and Mary 25.Lastly, the fact that a local boy that’s found fame far beyond his hometown, yet hasn’t forgotten where he came from, and even that despite somewhat dire weather predictions, only a few sprinkles fell on the festivities, made this one of the best events I’ve participated in for a long time.

I leave you with the saying that Mary had printed on the front of our Team Tarazzmatazz t-shirts we wore, in memory of Joe T, “remember the good times.” This is one time that I’ll savor and keep with me for years to come.

[Mary and I after our ride]

[Participants enjoying themselves at Simard-Payne Police Memorial Park]