An AMOLAD yard, one might say.
I've got Rainmaker and Starblind duelling in my head.
I've got Rainmaker and Starblind duelling in my head.
Let's try and get 1,000,000 replies to this post
- Thread starter The Ancient Mariner
- Start date
Perfect statement!
I'll have those running as well. So far, Starblind is my favorite.
I wonder what my yard will look like after PFD, tho.. (its about a 5 hour job, from start to finish.)
I'll have those running as well. So far, Starblind is my favorite.
I wonder what my yard will look like after PFD, tho.. (its about a 5 hour job, from start to finish.)
I'm surprised you don't have a ride-on.
I did have one, but it finally bit the dust. I kept it alive for 3 years (bought used) but too many things broke to keep it up. So, my budget only figured in a push mower- and my kids will typically help, but they are all gone.
So, how bout this for my starting off mowing shuffle:
PFD
Revelations (live)
Hallowed Be Thy Name (live)
Run To The Hills
Can I Play With Madness
Fear Of The Dark (live)
My iPod knows how to keep me happy...
So, how bout this for my starting off mowing shuffle:
PFD
Revelations (live)
Hallowed Be Thy Name (live)
Run To The Hills
Can I Play With Madness
Fear Of The Dark (live)
My iPod knows how to keep me happy...
Keeps you moving, anyway!
I love mowing the lawn. I often drink a beer or three when doing it.
I love mowing the lawn. I often drink a beer or three when doing it.
Yeah, I'll do that some times. Front yard done, filling with gas and back out.
Albie
Keeping an open eye on the Weeping Angels.
To a degree, it favours Labour as well - which id why they had some major names behind the No campaign. In hindsight, I think the Lib-Dems should of put forward a different voting system rather than AV. What, I don't know, but one that could not be argued against so vehemently by the nays. It did get too personal against Clegg, I thought.LooseCannon said:
AV is the basic alternative, though. People wouldn't go for PR...I dunno anymore.
Mowing, mowing. All done!
Next up, my son's spring Jazz Concert dinner.
Next up, my son's spring Jazz Concert dinner.
Fear of the Dark
He was walking down the long, twisted path through the forest, and the long shadows of dusk had faded, as the sun revealed the stars otherwise obscured by her powerful light. The canopy of leaves was mostly missing, as autumn was all but gone. He was deep inside a forest preserve, the long expanses of protected wilderness that are designed to usher along the continued existence of the nature that modern day society has so carefully tried to destroy.
There'd been many walk through many paths in this forest; the man was a habitual examination of the endless acres upon acres that existed near the town where he lived, though he'd not yet explored this one. It was longer than his usual jaunts, and the trees here were a hint more menacing; they were taller, aged and twisted; this was the old forest the preserve was designed to protect. The spindly branches mixed up above, and here and there they overlapped and obscured the arriving pinpricks of stars.
His shoes crunched softly over the leaves lining the path, and as he continued forward, a deep gust of cold wind brushed along his body, chilling him deeper than he'd expected. As he exhaled, his breath crystalized before him, faintly visible in the last light still coming from the horizon. There was no moon. His footsteps echoed as he wandered along the path, yet with no end in sight.
But a forest should produce no echo, and he stopped, only to hear two more footsteps in his rhythm when he did. Instantly, the hair on the back of his neck stood up; his head swiveled left and right, and then, he looked over his shoulder, to check behind himself. There was nothing there, and quickly, he chalked it up to a trick of his imagination. He continued his walk, and after a few steps, he heard the echo again.
This time the pause brought three footsteps. He was sure of it now. "Hello?" he said, his faint Welsh accent clipping through the crisp fall air, but there was no answer nor reverb. His tongue flicked against his lips as he held his breath, straining to hear anything else, but there was nothing to be heard. Just that faint hint, that lingering animal instinct, that something was out there. Watching him. Perhaps stalking him.
He walked again, but varied his pace, faster, now slower, a quick dash, a slow stroll. The footsteps couldn't keep time. Somewhere, probably in the forest, someone else (something else?) was trying to keep pace with him, but it just wasn't properly in sync, and now he was more sure than ever. He ran, and ran fast over the trail, leaping on roots, sliding on the dead corpses of leaves that still littered the forest trail.
Up ahead, after this curve and that curve, as his heart started to pound in his throat, as sweat poured down his forehead, leaving little trails of cool over skin heated by exhaustion and fright, he saw a building come into sight. Electrical wires twisted along a small driveway that descended further into the black forest, connecting to the house - a legacy before the government took action and protected these forests. The footsteps were louder, and he dashed to the door, pounding on it. He gasped, as the door creaked inwards, open, ajar. He stepped into the black of the house and slammed the door.
Slowly, he groped in the darkness for a switch to turn on the light. The wall was rough, as if made of unsanded wood, and the thought of the creaky building - more of a cottage than a house - alone and abandoned was enough to make his skin crawl with fright. He wasn't sure what he'd see, as his fingers found a metal box mounted on the wall and the small switch, and he imagined horrific things out of last night's horror film - human bodies, perhaps, or alien horrors from the void between the stars. Instead, a single light flickered into being, warming up with a faint buzz, casting a soft light over the main room of a perfectly reasonable hunting cottage. There was a cot, and some shelving; there was a cabinet and a refrigerator disconnected from the wall, lying open, and a wood stove by a dark corner.
It was the dark corner that drew his eyes, and then his other senses, for the faint light from the ancient electric bulb refused to illuminate the angle where slightly uneven walls met. He imagined (or did he) that two faint pinpricks of light cast their gaze back at him for a brief second, but when he looked again, they were gone. He was ever so still, and he held his breath, but a rattle rolled across the room to him. The sound of a badly scarred throat taking a breath? Or was it the wind seeping in through the wall of the old cottage.
Then it did it again, and that time, he thought he heard a growl.
Breath suddenly recovered, he burst out the front door and dashed for the driveway, following the two-wheeled trail rapidly. The footsteps were back, a snarl, but when he gazed over his shoulder, the faint starlight showed only shadows dancing after him, darkness that obscured whatever else was out there. His footsteps were loud, were heavy, and his lungs were fit to burst.
Then suddenly, his feet found pavement, and he erupted onto a paved road that bordered the forest preserve. The skeletal-like fingers of entwined treelimbs above him were gone, and the constellations lit up the road enough for him to see that the only shadow nearby was his own. As he doubled over and his hands found his knees, he listened. No footsteps. No rattle and no growl of aggression and anger. Absolutely nothing out there but him.
He straightened, running fingers through his hair, and he started to walk along the pavement, wandering forward, in the direction of his village. He wasn't sure what, if anything, had actually pursued him through the forest, but as he walked on that road, he was sure of one thing: he was alone.
The end.
He was walking down the long, twisted path through the forest, and the long shadows of dusk had faded, as the sun revealed the stars otherwise obscured by her powerful light. The canopy of leaves was mostly missing, as autumn was all but gone. He was deep inside a forest preserve, the long expanses of protected wilderness that are designed to usher along the continued existence of the nature that modern day society has so carefully tried to destroy.
There'd been many walk through many paths in this forest; the man was a habitual examination of the endless acres upon acres that existed near the town where he lived, though he'd not yet explored this one. It was longer than his usual jaunts, and the trees here were a hint more menacing; they were taller, aged and twisted; this was the old forest the preserve was designed to protect. The spindly branches mixed up above, and here and there they overlapped and obscured the arriving pinpricks of stars.
His shoes crunched softly over the leaves lining the path, and as he continued forward, a deep gust of cold wind brushed along his body, chilling him deeper than he'd expected. As he exhaled, his breath crystalized before him, faintly visible in the last light still coming from the horizon. There was no moon. His footsteps echoed as he wandered along the path, yet with no end in sight.
But a forest should produce no echo, and he stopped, only to hear two more footsteps in his rhythm when he did. Instantly, the hair on the back of his neck stood up; his head swiveled left and right, and then, he looked over his shoulder, to check behind himself. There was nothing there, and quickly, he chalked it up to a trick of his imagination. He continued his walk, and after a few steps, he heard the echo again.
This time the pause brought three footsteps. He was sure of it now. "Hello?" he said, his faint Welsh accent clipping through the crisp fall air, but there was no answer nor reverb. His tongue flicked against his lips as he held his breath, straining to hear anything else, but there was nothing to be heard. Just that faint hint, that lingering animal instinct, that something was out there. Watching him. Perhaps stalking him.
He walked again, but varied his pace, faster, now slower, a quick dash, a slow stroll. The footsteps couldn't keep time. Somewhere, probably in the forest, someone else (something else?) was trying to keep pace with him, but it just wasn't properly in sync, and now he was more sure than ever. He ran, and ran fast over the trail, leaping on roots, sliding on the dead corpses of leaves that still littered the forest trail.
Up ahead, after this curve and that curve, as his heart started to pound in his throat, as sweat poured down his forehead, leaving little trails of cool over skin heated by exhaustion and fright, he saw a building come into sight. Electrical wires twisted along a small driveway that descended further into the black forest, connecting to the house - a legacy before the government took action and protected these forests. The footsteps were louder, and he dashed to the door, pounding on it. He gasped, as the door creaked inwards, open, ajar. He stepped into the black of the house and slammed the door.
Slowly, he groped in the darkness for a switch to turn on the light. The wall was rough, as if made of unsanded wood, and the thought of the creaky building - more of a cottage than a house - alone and abandoned was enough to make his skin crawl with fright. He wasn't sure what he'd see, as his fingers found a metal box mounted on the wall and the small switch, and he imagined horrific things out of last night's horror film - human bodies, perhaps, or alien horrors from the void between the stars. Instead, a single light flickered into being, warming up with a faint buzz, casting a soft light over the main room of a perfectly reasonable hunting cottage. There was a cot, and some shelving; there was a cabinet and a refrigerator disconnected from the wall, lying open, and a wood stove by a dark corner.
It was the dark corner that drew his eyes, and then his other senses, for the faint light from the ancient electric bulb refused to illuminate the angle where slightly uneven walls met. He imagined (or did he) that two faint pinpricks of light cast their gaze back at him for a brief second, but when he looked again, they were gone. He was ever so still, and he held his breath, but a rattle rolled across the room to him. The sound of a badly scarred throat taking a breath? Or was it the wind seeping in through the wall of the old cottage.
Then it did it again, and that time, he thought he heard a growl.
Breath suddenly recovered, he burst out the front door and dashed for the driveway, following the two-wheeled trail rapidly. The footsteps were back, a snarl, but when he gazed over his shoulder, the faint starlight showed only shadows dancing after him, darkness that obscured whatever else was out there. His footsteps were loud, were heavy, and his lungs were fit to burst.
Then suddenly, his feet found pavement, and he erupted onto a paved road that bordered the forest preserve. The skeletal-like fingers of entwined treelimbs above him were gone, and the constellations lit up the road enough for him to see that the only shadow nearby was his own. As he doubled over and his hands found his knees, he listened. No footsteps. No rattle and no growl of aggression and anger. Absolutely nothing out there but him.
He straightened, running fingers through his hair, and he started to walk along the pavement, wandering forward, in the direction of his village. He wasn't sure what, if anything, had actually pursued him through the forest, but as he walked on that road, he was sure of one thing: he was alone.
The end.
Dr. Eddies Wingman
Brighter than thousand_suns
Cool stuff, LC, but where's the solo? 
Dr. Eddies Wingman
Brighter than thousand_suns
Just came in from a 50 km bicycle trip. I was caught in the middle of a race - twice! They caught me up at the points marked B and C in this map:
http://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&source= ... 8&t=h&z=11
In between, I followed the route shown in blue, whereas the race participants followed the road along the sea (to the west).
http://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&source= ... 8&t=h&z=11
In between, I followed the route shown in blue, whereas the race participants followed the road along the sea (to the west).
Dr. Eddies Wingman
Brighter than thousand_suns
I would also take my time for such a trip 
By the way, from about 7 to 17 kilometers were quite cold. Not many hills, so I held quite good speed, and at the same time I was in the shadow (because the banks of the fjord there are quite steep). From 17 km on, it got really nice and warm. Especially from 20 to 22 km (starting at the "B" mark), where the road climbs continuously.
By the way, from about 7 to 17 kilometers were quite cold. Not many hills, so I held quite good speed, and at the same time I was in the shadow (because the banks of the fjord there are quite steep). From 17 km on, it got really nice and warm. Especially from 20 to 22 km (starting at the "B" mark), where the road climbs continuously.
Dr. Eddies Wingman
Brighter than thousand_suns
I started a little before 10 and was home shortly past 12, so I held an average speed just above 20 km/h. I was really done the last 10 km - after all, it was the first time since last summer I went for a real bike ride.
Sunday afternoon post
I love this thread. Some people put hours into their posts, others 5 seconds