“NASA: Largest Meteor in more than 100 years.“

Al Gore was right!

“See, all these terrible things are happening more frequently now.”

Uh huh.

Any non-average observation of a phenomena is now evidence the phenomena is occurring alarmingly above average.

Seriously, you know what they say of a theory that explains everything:

It explains ______.

Wrong answers will be penalized, meaning -1 point if you provide an answer that’s wrong. If you leave it blank, -1/2 point. Imagine an entire exam of fill in the blank questions. Do nothing and you score 50%. Failure with no effort!

My sister is coming to Maui. Was reminded of this yesterday by a text:

So looking forward to coming to Maui. R u having a good time without me?

How to break it to her?

P/T for the Boo Boo Knee:

BIGGER.

3:30 pm on Kapalua beach, Merriman’s restaurant in the distance. Happy hour 3-5 pm!

Another gratuitous bike shot:

BIGGER.

This one on the north side of Maui, somewhere northwest of Honokohau Bay. Try as I might I continue to struggle with the vowel rich language of Hawaiians. I don’t know how these people play Wheel of Fortune — “Pat, I’d like to buy a consonant.”

Just beyond that guard rail there was maybe two or three feet of volcanic rock, and then a vertiginous drop to the ocean, maybe 500′? Often Happy Wife will accompany me on certain rides but given her boo boo knee she stayed back today. This does not make Happy Wife happy. Perforce, flat sandals will be the attire at Valentines Day dinner tonight at Honu.

Played hide ‘n seek with the sun (again) today. We stay put in Napili and the clouds come, go north and they follow, head fake south and continue north, same thing. Sheesh.

Okay, fine, so we duck back inside the condo to wait out the cloudiness and make ourselves a Mai Tai or three. Just then we see shadows appear on the lawn and we hustle outside and position the lawn chairs accordingly. By the time we fetch our drinks and settle in another rouge cloud hovers. Ugh.

Before you play your tiny violin for us recall we travel here from the antipode of Alaska expecting warm SUN. Imagine taking the kids to Disney Land and having to tell them Goofey and Mickey are sick.

You know you have a tailwind when you descend a 1% grade at 30+mph and realize you’re not pedaling. Additional evidence was the palms bent over in my direction of travel, and I could hear everything clearly. More on this below. Combined with long stretches of fresh asphalt aboard a custom Serotta, wide shoulders, an unbroken view of the crystal blue Pacific where humpback whales breach, flat for 30+ miles except one smallish climb, and I ask you:

What. Could. Be. Better.

BIGGER.

That’s Otis at about mile 22 or so measured from Napili en route to Kihei (pronounced: “Key Hay”), my destination today. Kihei looms in the distance across the bay.

So far so good. Until…

… until you turn the corner at the south end of the island and pedal north briefly. Here, you experience a faceful of an Hawaiian trade wind that feels like the force of the hand of God forbidding entrance to heaven for past sins not absolved. The first and only thing you hear is wind, nothing but an angry headwind that fills your ears obscuring the sound of everything else. Even passing cars cannot be heard until they are right beside you. You think falling to your knees to repent may help, but it won’t. For the next three miles you suffer. No gear is low enough, the tightest tuck improves nothing. You just suffer for about three miles. Until…

…until you reach the cutoff for Kihei that involves a blessed 180° turn to the south!

All is suddenly forgiven. The trade wind is once again at your back, the road descends ahead of you, you click the front derailleur to the big ring, the rear to the smallest, and scream-pedal downhill like a little boy on his first bike — Yahoo!

Seen while walking to the beach today:

BIGGER.

I don’t think about frogs much. Or the circumstances of frog death. Was this guy desperate for fresh water and when unable to find it simply lost his will and literally dried up in the sun? His preservation was exquisite, if not also very delicate, like thin parchment. And the frozen animation — as if he was in mid leap when the life was suddenly sucked out of him.

Fascinating.

AM condo counter top.

BIGGER.

Papaya, cup o’ Kona dark roast, Happy Wife’s hand-picked flower arrangement, blogging gear, lingering evidence of PM Mai Tais, and that bowl. Not a bowl really, it’s a dried palm frond. It was a gift from the grounds crew given to Happy Wife when, sufficiently curious by the pruning of the palms, she quickly padded outside barefoot in her little black slip to inquire. Needless to say this held the burly worker men rapt for the duration.

No broken egg no omelet.

No rain no bow.

Taken from our patio.

BIGGER.

And so we traveled to the southeast side of the island today in search of the sun. We found it briefly at a beach in Wailea where we’ve been before.

While soaking in some rays we overheard the woman next to us talking on her cell phone complaining to a merchant on the mainland somewhere that the custom bracelet they made for her, the one she picked up just prior to coming to Hawaii (last Friday), the one she wore for the first time in the sun yesterday, is discoloring badly. Like it started with the gold coming off the clasp, and it’s getting worse, it looks terrible, I can’t wear it with any of my other jewelry, I mean it looks just awful, and I’m not sure why this is happening and, well, obviously I’m here and you’re there and there’s nothing to be done about it RIGHT NOW, so I’m just calling you to let you know how unhappy I am about this.

The woman was begging a stereotype: tall, slender, raven hair, preternaturally tanned, Gucci this Cartier that. When the clouds thickened she and her silver-haired husband quickly up and left leaving the towels, beach chairs and umbrella for the hotel help to clean up. Maybe that’s not too unusual behavior on the beach of a five star hotel where the rooms can run upwards of $1000/night, but it just smacked of the kind of privilege you want to throttle.

We packed it in shortly thereafter convinced the sun had lost the battle, went shopping for sandals for Happy Wife, ate chicken wings and drank Mai Tais. Duh.

Back at our condo I got a call from the neighbor that the septic problem was merely a clogged filter screen on the lift station pump. He hosed it off and replaced it, and now our house sitter is once again flushing with impunity.

For John Venlet, the Banyan Tree in Lahaina.

Planted in 1873 by Sheriff Smith it was a mere 8′ tall. Now, the canopy spans close to an acre. When the seeds of a Banyan tree sprout they send out shoots which look like skinny branches, but they’re really roots. When the shoots reach the ground they take root and eventually grow into what appears to be a separate trunk of a new tree. But the entire matrix is really one tree. Large enough to provide cover for the local art fair. Amazing.

BIGGER.

Happy Wife beneath the canopy near one of the “trunks”.

 BIGGER.

The plane lands on Maui.

Everyone turns on their phone.

Satellites acquire.

Suddenly, I hear the texts queue up on my phone: tweet, tweet… tweet, tweet, like a songbird on steroids…tweet tweet… tweet tweet tweet…

They’re all from our house sitter: Came home and the septic high water alarm was on. Won’t go off. Loud. Annoying. Neighbor came over. Nice guy. Diesel mechanic, like my son! Lucy is fine. What to do?

Happy Wife and I collapse in disbelief. NOT. AGAIN. Two years ago on the eve of our flight to Hawaii a pipe in the septic tank broke, sending the high water alarm into paroxysms. We must’ve looked like parents who just got word their child had died, judging from the looks of the deplaning passengers observing our horror.

We walk to baggage claim; I call the house sitter; the neighbor is there; troubleshooting plan is devised; tools are acquired; time passes. Snow is shoveled to expose the tank lid; screws removed and gray water tank is inspected; no break in the pipe. Yeah! And so? Test the lift station pump manually, I say. I hear the alarm screaming through the phone. Neighbor removes fuse; alarm goes silent. Time passes; the pump is tested manually. But the water, she no come. Ah ha! Bad pump. Water can’t get to the leech field. Tank fills up.

Whew. Could be worse. Much worse.

Of course, this had to happen at 11:30 pm on Friday night. Septic people don’t work Saturdays. Nevertheless, neighbor calls and leaves a message. I thank him and house sitter profusely.

The following morning a reassuring call comes from septic people: “Rod, we got your back. We’ll fix this Monday. Enjoy your vacation. No worries.”

Reassurance accepted.

And so Happy Wife and I venture out for our morning espresso near the Napili Market. Marshall waits obediently near the door for his upright to return. I tell Marshall we’re from Alaska. Marshall says, “Alaska?! Do tell. I’m all ears.”

Later, Otis and I ride to Lahaina and back (~20 mi) to get my legs . I stop at Bad Ass coffee for an iced Mocha:

Back at the condo, Happy Wife and I expose our pasty white selves:

Later still, the sun sets behind our Mai Tai’s at the Sea House bar:

No Worries.

Arm candy (aka Happy Wife) Maui bound.

Bottomless mimosas free in the fun seats at thirty thousand feet.