The Adventures of Puddin and the Fruit Bat Awarded an Artist Support Grant to Publish Volume II

Teri Saylor and Shannon Johnstone are pleased to announce they have been awarded an Artist Support Grant that will enable them to publish the second book in The Adventures of Puddin and the Fruit Bat series.

The Adventures of Puddin and the Fruit Bat: Book One, The Perils of Puddin is the first volume in a series of stories that follows an unlikely kinship between three very different characters who live together: Puddin, a big, old, heavy dog with lots of shaggy fur; Rotten, a bossy cat; and Stella, a small, energetic puppy who is a newcomer to the household. 

The powers of the universe have brought Puddin, Stella, and Rotten together, and together they find themselves in a variety of adventures. One of these lovable animals has a special superpower.

Saylor, a freelance writer in Raleigh developed the book’s concept and storyline, and Johnstone, a Cary photographer and professor of art at Meredith College, created the illustrations. 

The Artist Support Grant program provides the opportunity for regional consortia of local arts councils to award project grants to artists in their regions. The grants support professional artists in any discipline and at any stage in their careers to pursue projects that further their professional development.

The Adventures of Puddin and the Fruit Bat is supported by the United Arts Council of Raleigh and Wake County and the North Carolina Arts Council, a division of the Department of Natural and Cultural Resources.

In an email announcing the grant, vice president for education and community programs, Ragen Carlile wrote: “Grant awards were determined after careful discussion, evaluation, and deliberation among the grant panels and members of the United Arts Board of Directors. Of the 116 applications received, only 62 were approved for funding. Requests for funding continue to exceed available dollars.”

The funds will be used to publish another book in the series. Its working title is “Puddin and the Puppies,” and it will be launched in Spring 2021.

Visit http://puddinandthefruitbat.com for more information and to order books and follow the adventures of Puddin, Stella and Rotten on Facebook.

For more information contact: terisaylor@gmail.com | m.shannon.johnstone@gmail.com 

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About the author and artist

Teri Saylor is an independent journalist and communication professional in Raleigh, with more than 25 years of experience in journalism, public affairs, and nonprofit management. She holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in English and Communications from North Carolina State University and has studied documentary arts at the Center for Documentary Studies in Durham. This is her first book. 

Shannon Johnstone received her BFA from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and MFA in photography from Rochester Institute of Technology. Her project, “Landfill Dogs”, has been featured in national and international exhibitions and magazines, and was most notably on ABC World News with Diane Sawyer, and CNN.com. Johnstone is a tenured Professor at Meredith College in Raleigh, NC.

Stella’s Spooky Halloween

Story by Teri Saylor | Character Illustrations by Shannon Johnstone

There was a full moon on Halloween. It lit up the night sky in a milky glow.

Everyone was sound asleep – even Rotten.

From somewhere far away, a mournful sound drifted through the air. It sounded like a baby crying.

Stella woke up. Her ears stood at full attention as she took in the faint sound.

She got out of bed and ran to the window in her room. Standing on her back legs, she could see across the back yard, and she peered into the darkness to look into the woods behind the tall fence.

Then she ran downstairs, through the pet door and out into the yard. She listened as the crying grew louder. Was a baby in trouble?

Suddenly a pair of wings, like bat wings grew out of her shoulders and started waving up and down until they lifted her off her feet and into the sky towards the moon.

She flew over the fence and through the forest, following the moaning and crying sound. It grew louder and louder as she flew deeper into the forest.

Spotting a clearing, she landed gently on the forest floor. In the distance, she saw the shadow of a cabin and a light shining in a window.

She followed the light – and the crying sound which seemed to be coming from that cabin.

The moon was shining bright overhead. The trees were swaying in the breeze and Stella could hear the leaves rustling overhead. The air was cool and damp. The light of the moon made long shadows on the ground.

Stella shivered in the darkness as she slowly crawled along a pathway toward the light. She kept her wings tucked in next to her small body and she kept her belly close to the ground. An owl hooted in the trees overhead. She could hear the sound of something scurrying in the leaves next to the path.

She felt all tingly, like something – or someone – was watching her. Following her. She knew she could turn around and go back home, but like a magnet, the light in the window pulled her closer and closer.

When Stella reached the cabin, she tried to be quiet as she softly walked to the window. She raised up and stood on her back legs to look inside.

AND CAME FACE-TO-FACE WITH …

Stella was so scared she fell down onto her back and rolled all the way over. She stood up, shaking and forgot she had a superpower. She did not even use her wings to fly home. Instead she ran and ran and ran. She was panting hard, and her little pink tongue was hanging out as she bolted through the woods toward home.

Her thoughts were racing! What was that creature? Was it Rotten? How could Rotten have gotten into the cabin? Even though Rotten is the boss of the household, she is not that scary.

Stella arrived back home safe and sound. She was tired from running but had enough energy to use her wings to fly over the fence. When she landed inside her back yard, she looked up at the sky.

The full moon was shining so brightly she could see her shadow on the ground.

Then she saw another shadow.

It was Rotten sitting in the yard, staring at her.

Stella let out a loud yelp, ran through the doggie door to inside her house. She ran upstairs to Mom and Dad’s bedroom and stopped cold in her tracks.

There was Rotten, lying in bed with Puddin.

Stella turned around, jumped in bed with Mom and Dad, where she hid under the covers until the sun came up the next day.

During Trying Times, Find Your Joy in Simple Pleasures

By Teri Saylor

 

Times have turned super stressful since the coronavirus began invading our lives. For many people, our happy places are forbidden destinations, our livelihood is threatened, our health may be compromised, and we are running out of toilet paper.

I recently crowd sourced some ways my Facebook friends are battling anxiety. From indulging in favorite shows on streaming channels, to long walks in the best that nature has to offer, to grooming our cats, counting our blessings and doing a little yoga, some people are finding ways to handle stress and stay sane.

Here are their coping strategies:

Mary Miller: If you are privileged enough to have Netflix, there is a British show called The Repair Shop. Staffed by craftsmen and conservators affiliated with England’s museums, it tells the stories of people bringing in broken but beloved objects and how they fix them. Soothing for the soul and senses.

Tammy Parliment Massie: Well, until we are completely shut down, my project unrelated to coronavirus but related to public health has me continuing to go to the office. So today I jog alone as with tomorrow, but statistics analysis continues…In my downtime I am brushing my cats…which it is spring shedding season. And I got this book “crafting with your cat” that uses cat fur….luckily my cats are big foofs with longer fur:-).

Linda Banks: I am retreating to the woods. It’s always been my happy place, but I feel safe there away from crowds and enjoying the sounds of nature.

Meri Kotlas: Spent three hours at Umstead (State Park) this morning. Beautiful weather.

Donna Salem Naeser: Hope to take a walk today. Before this started, we reserved a B & B in New Bern for next weekend(my hometown). Meeting 10 classmates for lunch. As well as my lovely French Teacher. Be safe everyone!

Erica Hinton: Origami helps me. They have kits at craft stores like Michaels.

Cindy Flinchum Black:  Beach and jig saw puzzles. Not necessarily together 😉

Robyn E. Smith: I feel very fortunate to live in the amazing mountains of WNC, so you’ll find me hiking the trails, meditating to the soothing sounds of the creeks, rivers and waterfalls, basically just getting out into nature and the fresh air. Yesterday, me and Clarke and the dogs went for ride just to get away. Oh… also throw in some yoga practice.

Janice A. Farringer: Yin yoga is very calming.

Melissa Breedlove Denny: I literally just watched Pensacola.com’s beach cam for like 15 minutes to calm down. My kids are missing their weekend activities, their friends and are already very tired of each other. We are getting out the chess board and Jenga for later

Norma Knapp Lloyd:  knitting indoors & walking the Cary greenways & at Hemlock Bluffs

Lou Ann Hickman Bakolia: Staying outside, running, walking and biking. Good books help too and movies at home.

Donna Kidder: Turning off the television.

Susan Krause: Go hiking in the sunshine!!!

Dan Roehler: Every day for the last 439 days and counting, I have found something to be joyous about. Every night I log in a spreadsheet what made me feel some joy that day. Some days it’s easy some days it takes a lot of soul searching. If every day there is something to feel happy about, the habit becomes reality. I started this when I was in a major funk, and it has helped me immensely.

Smitty Welborn: Climbing trees to get toilet paper from recently rolled yards…..

Louise Guardino trotting on a track on a sunny day

Debbie Moose: Short of finding a video of the 2017 Final Four (GO HEELS), playing music with a small and carefully spaced group.

Despite a car strike, cancer scares and Hawaiian missile crisis, Maureen Bowen keeps running

 

By Teri Saylor

(Note: This article was previously published in the April 2018 issue of The Running Journal)

Last January (2018), Maureen Bowen had found, on the warm sands of Waikiki Beach, a large rock to rest on. It was her last day in Honolulu before she was scheduled to fly to Maui for a half marathon, the 46^th state she had to conquer in her quest to complete a half marathon in all 50 states – for the second time.

“I’m sitting on a rock on Waikiki Beach. I had my journal. I had an organic smoothie,” she said. “I was thinking this was an awesome place to write in my journal, and two minutes later everybody’s phones went off around me.’”

A text message alerted her to a ballistic missile strike that seemed inevitable at the time.

It’s early February, and I’m sitting in a Raleigh restaurant with Maureen. We’re munching on a light dinner as she discusses the crazy journey that has made her into a runner – and a survivor.

After losing 100 pounds, completing a half marathon in 50 states, which was almost thwarted when she was hit by a car during a race, running three ultra-marathons, including covering 50 miles of the Umstead 100-Mile Endurance Run while suffering from two different types of cancer, Maureen was still going. She had endured two surgeries, several rounds of radiation and six months of chemotherapy. The Maui half marathon was going to be her big comeback race and suddenly, with the ring of a text message, she thought her world was coming to an end once and for all.

Maureen, 53, who lives in Raleigh, describes herself as a good athlete during her growing up years in Indianapolis. She excelled in softball and won a college scholarship to pitch for Indiana University-Purdue University in her hometown. But after graduating from college she hung up her ball glove and got on with her life – for two decades.

Then she took up running to improve her health.

“I didn’t do my first half marathon until I was 42,” she said.

She started out walking, and completed her first half marathon – the former Mardi Gras Marathon/Half Marathon in New Orleans in 3:45. She finished her second half marathon in 3:15. Then she got the bug.

“At that time, I wasn’t crazy, as I say I am now,” she said. “I would do two half marathons in a year and think that was a lot, and now, if I don’t do two in a weekend, people look at me like ‘what’s wrong with you?’”

Maureen’s life as a casual runner changed when she met Eric Johnson, a well-known Raleigh runner who has a prolific resume of over 200 marathons, including marathons in all 50 states.

“He was telling me about finishing his 50^th in Alaska, and I started thinking,” Maureen said. “I had done a half marathon in Indy when I lived there. I did one in North Carolina, I did one in Florida, and while I was sitting there adding up my races the whole time he was talking to me, I realized I had eight states and I thought ‘I could do this.’”

She was 45 when she set her goal to finish 50 half marathons in all 50 states by her 50^th birthday.  She had a special race bib made, and every time she finished a state, she noted it on that bib.

When Maureen says she “caught the running bug,” she’s not kidding.  She focused like a laser beam on her 50 states and like a freight train, she barreled through those states, finishing two years ahead of schedule.

“One year I did 34 half marathons and finished 30 states in a year,” she said.

Finishing 30 states in a single year puts you on the highest level of the Half Fanatics organization, she explained.

The Half Fanatics is part of the Marathon Maniacs organization whose members measure their level of craziness in how many races they complete during a designated amount of time.

“The highest level of craziness is 30 states in a year, or 52 half marathons, no matter where,” she said.

Maureen’s goal to reach the Half Fanatics’ loftiest level of craziness was nearly thwarted when a car hit her just three miles into her 29^th state in St. Louis, Mo. She happened to be closing in on her deadline to finish her 30^th half marathon in one year and couldn’t afford to waste a single race.

“It was icy, and a gentleman was driving very slowly, but he slid and hit me from behind, and I went up on the hood of his car and came off on the other side. The poor man was more upset and petrified than I was,” she recounted. But she convinced the driver she was okay and kept going.

“I didn’t get hurt, and I was at the 5K mark and if I had stopped, I would have missed my goal,” she said. “He said someone needed to come pick me up and I said ‘no, they’re not.’ I’m going to finish this race, and I did. I wasn’t even last. I finished in under three hours. So now if anyone ever asks me if I have ever been hit by a car and still finished a race I can say ‘yes, I have.’”

It’s not just setting goals that fuels Maureen’s fire and keeps her running. She runs for her health, and she runs to prove the haters wrong, first losing 100 pounds and then fighting social stigmas that often come with the extra pounds.

“I was running well, and I had lost a lot of weight, so I was excited to go to athletic apparel stores and buy clothes that would fit me,” she said.

So she picked out Athleta in a local mall and encountered a sales clerk who appeared to be her own size. She wanted a pair of compression shorts, and asked if the store carried them in her size.  The sales clerk responded by calling Maureen “a fluffy girl” and reported they didn’t carry shorts in her size.

“That bugged me because I had accomplished this big weight loss, and I felt like I could go shopping in that store, and because they didn’t have the inventory, I was called ‘fluffy,’” Maureen said.

And thus, “Team Fluffy Runners” was born. So many of Maureen’s friends have joined her in solidarity, she is branding the name and taking orders for special “Team Fluffy” athletic clothes, including visors, hats, sparkle skirts and shorts.

Eventually, Maureen set her sights on completing an ultra-marathon. Many of her friends had run 100 miles in the Umstead 100-Mile Endurance Run, so she trained hard, putting in the miles as she ran loop after loop in the park on weekends.  On the big day, dehydration led to nausea and she settled for a metric century (62 miles) on that day.

She knew she could do better than that, so five weeks after her first attempt in Umstead, she put on her determination hat, snuck out of Raleigh without telling anyone what she was planning, and completed a 100-mile run in Greenville, S.C.

Last spring, Maureen returned to Umstead, determined to finish. She felt strong and happy, even though she was scheduled for surgery two days after the race to remove an early stage breast cancer. During the first quarter of the race, she started feeling symptoms of a urinary tract infection, and after covering 50 miles, she had to stop.

A month after her surgery, she was starting to run again, but the stubborn UTI would not go away, and doctors feared she had appendicitis. An MRI led to a diagnosis of stage 3 ovarian cancer.

“So now I feel kind of good about Umstead, even though I only finished 50 miles and didn’t make my goal,” she said, in her typical glass-half-full attitude. “How many people have had breast cancer and ovarian cancer and still ran and walked 50 miles?”

Maureen did well with her chemotherapy, continuing to work as a product expert during her treatment, and walking whenever she felt like it.

Maui was to be her comeback. She was ready for it.

Then she was on the beach with other tourists when the text messages started.

“Everybody’s phones went off, and we  kind of looked at each other like ‘is this for real?” she said. “And then you think about it and knowing the global political climate, you think well yes, it could be real,” she reasoned.

So she gathered her things and started searching for a place that seemed safe. She chose a parking deck next to a spa at a nearby hotel. With no experience in dealing with ballistic missiles, she reasoned the destruction could be like a tornado.

“If it’s nuclear, we’re all going to go anyway, and there’s nothing we can do about that, but if it’s shrapnel, this concrete on the ground floor of the parking deck is the best place I could be,” she said.

While she was concerned, she wasn’t afraid, and at the same time she was skeptical.

“We didn’t hear sirens go off, only the phones, and so I think it would have been a much more escalated environment if people had heard the sirens,” she said.

A hotel employee came out and saw her hunkered down in the parking deck and asked her what she was doing there. After Maureen explained she thought she was in a safe place should a missile strike happen, the worker left and came back about 20 minutes later to tell her it was a false alarm. A few minutes after that, she received another text message cancelling the alert.

She was incredulous.

“For about 10 seconds after the alert I thought ‘are you kidding me? I went through breast cancer, which escalated into ovarian cancer, and now a ballistic missile? Are you kidding me? Can I just have tomorrow? Can I just get this race tomorrow?”

In the end, she did. She walked the entire race with a friend. She has four more states to go to complete her second round of 50 states, and plans to wrap up the series in Fargo, N.D. in May.

Barring getting swept away in a tsunami, she should be good to go.

Runners to take on the Umstead ultra marathon this weekend in Raleigh

 

Nearly 300 runners will brave cold temperatures and the threat of frozen precipitation when the gun sounds at dawn on Saturday, March 28 signaling the start of the 31^st Umstead 100 Endurance Run at Umstead State Park in Raleigh.

This year’s 100-mile ultra-marathon features a field of 101 women and 190 men from 31 states, the District of Columbia and New South Wales, Australia.

The race starts at 6:00 a.m. on Saturday, March 28 at the Camp Lapahio headquarters in the heart of Umstead Park and ends at the same location at noon on Sunday, March 29. Runners will attempt to run the 100-mile looped course in 30 hours or less. Last year, the male winner was John Dennis, 33 of Maryland, who completed the race in 13:41:07. The female winner was Liza Howard, 42, of Texas, who completed the race in 15:07:39.

The Umstead Ultra Marathon traces its humble beginnings back to 1974 as a training run before ultra marathons had grown in popularity. Two Raleigh runners – Blake Norwood and Tom Newnam had registered for the Hardrock 100 Endurance Run in Silverton, Co. and needed a long training run. Intending to run 150 miles, the duo obtained permission from the Umstead Park rangers to stay in the park and run for two nights, with their friend, Jerry Dudek serving as their crew. But after they completed 100 miles in less than 24 hours, they called it a day.

Later that summer, Norwood, Newnam and Dudek hatched a plan to develop a 100-mile ultra-marathon at Umstead and made good on that plan in spring 1975.

And every year since, with Norwood serving as race director, they have made good on their promise to conduct a quality, runner-oriented event, to encourage ultra-running in North Carolina, especially the Triangle area, and to produce a race that offers first-time hundred milers a reasonable chance of success.

Norwood died last October, leaving the Umstead Ultra-Marathon’s reins with Rhonda Hampton, who assumed the race director duties after the 2014 race.

Fast facts about the 2015 Umstead 100 Endurance Run:

Total number of runners: 291

Number of runners in their 70s: 9 – including the race’s oldest runner: Walt Esser, 76 of Cary, N.C.

Number of runners in their 20s: 9 – including the race’s youngest runner: Josh Belin, 23 of Potomac Falls, Va.

Number of women: 101

Number of men: 190

Number of North Carolinians: 116

Married couples:

Fernando Puente 61 and Carol Puente, 59 of Raleigh

Bill Squier 72 and Sally Squier, 72 of Raleigh

Darris Blackford, 51, and Starshine Blackford, 39, of Columbus, Ohio

Shannon Johnstone, 41 and Anthony Corriveau, 44 of Cary, N.C.

Other notable runners:

• Fred Dummar, 46, will be running in Afghanistan while his wife Susan Dummar, 50, of Fayetteville, runs in Umstead. Fred is a commander in the Afghan National Army Special Operations Command – Special Operations Advisory Group.
• Dave Cockman, 57 of Cary will be running in preparation for a 620-mile across North Carolina starting on April 4 in Murhpy, N.C.
• Grant Maughan, 50, New South Wales, Australia, an elite runner who finished in second place in the grueling 135-mile Badwater Ultra Marathon in Death Valley, Calif. last July in 24:43:08, despite temperatures that soared into the 90s.
• Hal Koerner, 39 of Ashland, Ore. Who won the 2012 Hardrock 100-Mile Endurance Run in Silverton, Co. in 24:50
• Mark Manz, 29, of Durham, N.C. who finished in third place at Umstead in 2012.

Some Elvis for the holidays

Oasis

Freedom Found on the Saddle of a Bike

Gasping for breath after pedaling up and down rolling hills for six hours on a beautiful sunny afternoon, my friend Ann Guevara and I mustered enough energy to cheer as we made it to the end of a grueling metric century Cycle-to-Farm bike ride, sponsored by Velo Girls of Black Mountain, N.C.

The ride was billed as “flat and fast,” so we thought we could conquer the 62-mile distance, even though we had hardly been in the saddle since last fall and had minimal training.

But considering the tour was around places with the “h-word” like Chapel “Hill” and “Hills”borough, we had our doubts about “flat and fast.” Plus, the elevation chart showed an ascent approaching 2,700 feet, including a short steep hill with an 11 percent grade. In short, the whole thing looked mighty hilly on paper.

We sighed, and reckoned that since the ride organizers were based in the North Carolina mountains, these rolling hills were indeed “flat” by comparison.

And as the lily-livered, wimpy flatlanders we are, we knew we would just have to suck it up and ride it out.

Ann and I had set out the night before the ride to see just how hilly the route was. We scouted shortcuts, and we got lost along those country roads and gravel pathways.

We found compass apps and downloaded them into our phones, just in case.

Turns out, we didn’t need a shortcut or even a compass after all, but at the end of the day, I don’t know if I could have forced my pedals into one more rotation, and the only point to point map I cared about anymore was from the finish line to the finish line party.

I have often wondered how slow you can go up a hill without falling over. Struggling for balance on that ride, my abs were fully engaged, and it felt like I was pedaling through mud as I wobbled over the crest of the steepest grade at a stunning speed of 3.7 mph. Of course, what goes up must come down, and I was rewarded for that pitiful uphill effort with a glorious downhill screamfest like a roller coaster running at 30 miles an hour.

Spending six hours on a bike gives you plenty of time to think, and as we worked our way across the countryside, I thought about growing up, and I thought about bikes.

When you are a kid, you don’t cycle. You go bike-riding.

I grew up in neighborhoods full of kids.

My hometown is Winston-Salem, a hilly, medium-sized city in North Carolina’s Piedmont area. During the summertime, we kids lived on our bikes. They were our wheels, our transportation, and our freedom.

We rode without gears, without helmets and without shoes.

Back in those days, we didn’t select our bikes based on sleek styles or weight; expensive titanium or carbon frames; aero bars or seat structure. We didn’t worry about a drive train or components. We didn’t wear bike shorts or gaudy aerodynamic bike clothing. Or even special shoes with cleats for hooking into clipless pedals.

The most important thing we considered before we selected our favorite two-wheeled wonder was how the pedals would feel under our bare feet.

As kids in the south, we couldn’t wait for summer and for shedding our shoes. My brother and I would have contests to see who could acquire the toughest feet, and we would go out and walk on rocks and hot gravel like fire-walking believers to toughen them up. When we could step on a bee and hardly feel it, we knew our feet were ready for summer.

In Raleigh, as in other cities, I imagine, there is a class of young urban cyclists. They drag out their street cycles and converge on downtown in swarms, wearing street clothes with not a helmet on a single head.

A couple of years ago I wrote about an alley cat bike race sponsored by North Carolina State University. Kids, young and old, turned out on bikes of all shapes and sizes, from beach cruisers, to retro 3-speeds, to mountain bikes, to banana seat bikes with high-rise handlebars.

They had dragged their bikes out of crawlspaces under their parents’ houses, found them covered in cobwebs after years of storage in barns and sheds and under porches. They bought them off Craig’s list or at yard sales.

Some were rusty. Some were shiny. Some had bells, and others still had colorful streamers hanging from the ends of their handlebars, a nod to the glory days of youth and what kids think is cool.

There was not a single racing bike in sight.

As a kid, my brother had a banana-seat bike and loved to compete in heated contests with the neighborhood boys to see who could pop a wheelie and hold it the longest. Some of those boys could ride a wheelie the entire length of our neighborhood street.

We loved riding our bikes hands free.

On the 4th of July we’d go speeding down the street, arms out and holding sparklers in each hand. We used clothespins to attach playing cards to our wheel spokes, making a silly flapping noise, which we thought was cool. We rang the bells on our handlebars at random, and stayed outside until the lightning bugs came out and signaled it was time to go home for supper.

Back in those days, you could ride forever, and never get tired.

Feeling the wind in our hair and the asphalt under our wheels, we were free and wild, and we believed we could go anywhere we wanted – at least as far as our two wheels could take us.

It’s different now.

We worry more about cars and distracted drivers.

We have too much stuff to carry.

We have to observe traffic laws and ride in bike lanes.

We have to protect ourselves against road rage, as it is now legal for drivers to carry guns and even conceal them in their cars or in their pick-up trucks.

On the Farm to Cycle ride, we passed by a lovely farm with horses grazing in a pasture. On the pasture fence hung a sign that read “Warning: Due to price increase on ammo, do not expect a warning shot.”

When I ride on my own, I stick to the parks and greenways on my mountain bike, only venturing out onto the roadways in a group setting.

But despite the dangers, we still manage to have fun.

Today, I can look out my window and watch the neighborhood kids ride their bikes on the street in front of my house, jumping over speed bumps like they are in the motocross. And on the Farm-to-Cycle tour, I watched the adults ride their bikes, and I realized the kids and adults are really not that far apart in our attitudes and thirst for freedom.

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As adults, we may have fancier equipment. We wear aerodynamic clothes with padded britches. We clip our feet into pedals and don’t even think about riding barefoot. We are old enough to know when we are tired, and our only feeling of wild childlike abandon is when we blaze downhill as fast as our wheels will turn. It’s the up hills that get to us now.

And I think deep down inside, even the most sophisticated cyclist is always going to be a little barefoot kid at heart.

Outside bike-riding.

Trending Thursday: Top 10 ….. er, 11 Tweets for 11-11-11

 

This day comes just once in a century, so for the 21st Century, here are my Top 10,  er, 11 Tweets on 11-11-11 as seen trending on Twitter:

11. It’s 11-11-11 What are you wishing for?

10. 11-11-11 Comes just once every 100 years. This is probably the first and last one you’ll see. Enjoy it!

9. 11-11-11 A great day to follow up on those goals and dreams you always planned on achieving

8. 11-11-11 I’m scared of tiny spiders, but not the end of the world

7. 11-11-11 Number 11 means incompleteness, disorganization, disintegration. Also lawlessness, disorder !!

6. 11-11-11 Next year we’ll have 12/12/12. Big deal! What would be awesome is if we could have 13/13/13

5. 11-11-11 Did you know that if you add your age and the last two numbers of hte year you were born it equals 11?

4. 11-11-11 1. Wish 1. Purpose 1. Person 1. Heart 1. Feeling 1. Word “YOU”

3. 11-11-11 Who said 1 is the loneliest number? I see a bunch of them up there.

2. 11-11-11 Maybe I’ll fall in love, or win the lottery or get a good deal on a new purse

And my choice for the top tweet trending on Twitter:

1. 11-11-11 Make the day worth remembering!

Out and About: Disappearing into South Carolina’s Bermuda Triangle of BBQ

Jackie Hite's in Batesburg, SC could very well be the Bermuda Triangle of BBQ, where you wish you could disappear, never to resurface

My friend Bill Rogers knows his barbecue.

As a certified barbecue judge down in South Carolina, he was my go-to guy for great Q when I visited him at the South Carolina Press Association in Columbia, where he works as executive director.

Face it, when you are friends with a real-life, card-carrying South Carolina barbecue judge, you gotta go with him to get some Q.

I grew up in North Carolina eating the red-sauced barbecue in the western Piedmont region. After migrating east, I learned to love vinegar-and-pepper Q from places like Simp’s in Roper, Wilber’s in Goldsboro, and King’s in Kinston.

But never in my life have I eaten as much barbecue in one sitting as I ate last week when Bill took me to Jackie Hite’s Barbecue in Batesburg, SC.

Getting full was no excuse to stop eating.

You see, Friday is pig-pickin’ day at Jackie Hite’s.

‘Nuff said.

The End.

Not really.

On pig pickin’ day, Jackie Hite goes whole hog.  Literally.

He lays out the meat of an entire pig under glowing heat lamps with the same care and pride a jeweler lays out the glittering gems of his trade.

A diner helps himself to a heaping plateful at Jackie Hite's

The cooking staff recites a litany of what you get on the bottomless buffet, and are happy to repeat it as often as needed.

“You got your string meat here,” a well-seasoned server points a gloved finger in the middle of the pile. “Here’s the rib meat. Here’s the shoulder. Skins are on the ends.”

Friday is pig pickin' day at Jackie Hite's and the serving staff are happy to recite a litany of the delicious meats on the buffet

No need to be picky. Bill piles heaping portions of each steaming section on my plate.

Beyond the hog are the sides and desserts: string beans with flavorful chunks of fresh brown bacon fully visible among the vegetables; creamy mashed potatoes; gravy, rice; baked beans; curried fruit; mayo-based slaw; chopped barbecue and fried chicken. And barbecue hash. And banana pudding.

The salad bar seems oddly out of place.

Jackie Hite’s Barbecue is one of a handful of South Carolina’s 100-mile barbecue joints. “I’d drive 100 miles to eat this barbecue.”

I actually drove 233 miles, to Columbia, and Bill drove the rest of the way to Jackie Hite’s.

We found ourselves in the heart of South Carolina’s mustard belt, named for the tangy yellow sauce used to flavor the barbecue in that region.

Jackie Hite reckons he’s been cooking barbecue for over 50 years, if you count the early days he spent helping out around the family business when he was just a kid.

“I believe I started helping my daddy when I was about 10 years old,” Hite says, holding court during lunch hour in his top rated joint.

The owner and author at Jackie Hite's BBQ

He’s learned his lessons well, and still cooks his hog the old fashioned way, as slow as possible over a wood fire burning in a sand pit at temperatures so low that cardboard laid over the grill doesn’t catch fire. Meat simmering for hours is treated with gobs of mustard/vinegar sauce for tenderizing and flavoring.

Jack Hitt, writing for the New York Times Magazine, called the area of South Carolina, north from Charleston to Columbia, the “Devil’s Triangle” of barbecue.

That’s where Jackie Hite’s sits, and it is where you might sell your soul to the very devil himself in exchange for barbecue.

Or you could call it the Bermuda Triangle, where you can disappear into its delicious vortex, never to resurface.

“There, the sauce is based on mustard, not tomatoes, and vinegar, not brown sugar, is the dominant back-taste,” Hitt wrote.

I know for a fact that in North Carolina, barbecue fanatics have gotten into fist fights over red sauce vs. vinegar sauce. I can only imagine the wars that break out in a state where there are four different sauces.

In addition to mustard-based Q sauce, you can get thick red sauce, vinegar sauce, and light red sauce in South Carolina.

Jackie Hite, in a show of diplomacy that would qualify him to be Secretary of State and has probably prevented all out wars among the barbecue regions, displays all four kinds of sauce on his buffet. He helpfully points out the vinegar as a way to make me feel more at home, and even brings a bottle of it over to our table.

The Q was so delicious and tender, it needed no sauce at all.

I gluttonized myself and ate two plates full.

And drank four large cups of sweet iced tea.

I was not hungry again for two entire days.

Jackie Hite’s staff has been with him for years. They are part of the ambiance of the place, a nondescript little white building decorated on the inside with trophies from Jackie’s life.

The joint is plain and spotlessly clean. Diners are as comfortable there as they are in their own kitchens. Even visitors who have never been to Batesburg before will feel right at home, as if they have been eating there forever.

Jackie Hite's is plain and spotlessly clean.

Everyone is family at Jackie Hite’s.

Jackie Hite himself is tall, broad and brawny from years playing football, years spent outside and years eating barbecue. He wears a ball cap emblazoned with the BL logo of his beloved Batesburg-Leesville high School where he earned trophies playing under the lights on Fridays. Those trophies, photos and plaques too, adorn the walls and perch on his buffet counter.

He’s still an avid football fan and fisherman.

Mounted bass with mouths gaping wide, join dozens of photos of Jackie and little kids proudly displaying their catches. Some of the photos are curled from light and sun after years of hanging on those walls. Kids smiling out from those photos are likely now grown and fishing with their own sons and daughters.

Jackie reckons he goes fishing four times a week at least, in between running his restaurant and going to football games.

The lunchtime crowd lines up on pig pickin day at Jackie Hite's

Midway through the lunch hour, the entire joint shakes and rattles as a train rumbles along tracks that go straight through the middle of town, just feet from the front door.

Conversation pauses while the train passes through.

Finally, Bill and I have eaten enough barbecue and have drunk enough tea, and we clamber out of the place.

I glance back inside the restaurant as we walk out the door. Our table is already clean, and a new diner is settling in with a heaping plate.

Back in Columbia, Bill and I struggle to hug each other before parting ways, but our swollen bellies get in the way. We are almost too full to even laugh about that.

I’m not sure when I will be hungry enough to feed from Jackie Hite’s trough again, but it doesn’t matter.

I’m going back.

There’s always room for barbecue.

Bill Rogers is a certified, card-carrying BBQ judge in South Carolina