Baby Onions
I am so very glad that I am leaving this place and going traveling, instead of leaving and holing up in a rented Habitrail somewhere in yet another gum-stuck concrete urban expanse. That would be difficult, and depressing.
The fields that recently covered me with a fine coating of themselves have since been dampened and planted, and the first small onion sprouts are already poking up, so that the deep black soil is peppered with a stubble of chlorophyll. The crosswinds were kicking up today, but all of that topsoil stayed put, so I was not exposed to another onslaught of powdered fecundity.
Mmmm...powdered fecundity.
There are still many hidden little treasures in this area, although given the pace of development much of that will probably be gone in another few years. I've always been curious about Simpsonville, for example. I passed by 5.8% of its population mulching some flowerbeds, but she didn't seem entirely open to a "So what's this about, anyway?" conversation, so we just exchanged greetings as I passed by, and two minutes later I was no longer in Simpsonville. 
At some point before I leave, though, I will have its secrets. I suspect Freemasonry.
People around here seem to be into the whole trike thing: I get thumbs-ups, waves, and this afternoon a minivan-driving lady was so enthusiastic about my tri-wheeled steed that she pulled up next to me, called out "I love it!" then pulled up next to Pea, riding a few hundred feet ahead, asked her if she was with me, and told her she loved it. So I think she liked the trike.
I don't expect everyone to be like that across the country, and I'm sure the first thrown bottle (it's happened to a friend of mine here) will be an occasion to contemplate mouth-breathing evil and the ending of Easy Rider. But until then, I remain optimistic. At the very least, there is some comfort in knowing that people who habitually abuse cyclists may be thrown off by the weirdness of my rig so that by the time they decide that yes, I am in fact deserving of a thrown object, they will have passed me.
Today was a near-fully loaded ride. The trailer, with most of its gear and the solar panels stowed on its rack, weighs in at about 50 pounds. With the addition of a few remaining bits of gear and clothing, it will probably weigh in at about 60 pounds or so. The black box will add another ten pounds, but that will ride on the trike's rack. Aside from my technological indulgences, I've been fairly judicious with the gear...it's all the fastest-and-lightest camping gear I could afford. But if I have to, say, fill up the water bladder to get through s stretch of road without services, it'll tip the scales at 70 pounds, which is on the heavy side. But this is all guesstimation. I'll see if my neighbor has a deer carcass scale that I can hang my trailer on.
And now: a shower, the ritual slathering of an inch-thick layer of Icy Hot upon my lower extremities, and dinner.
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UPDATE:
Icy Hot + scrotum = bad craziness.
