So after a long weekend of visiting family in Ohio, we set out this morning along the back roads linking small towns before we reluctantly committed ourselves to the numbing routine that driving Eisenhower’s interstate system has become.

Glum with ennui, we persevered through sheets of rain obscuring our progress from the Keystone state into Wild and Wonderful West Virginia. Suffused with an imagined sense of zen-like mastery as we motored ever eastward, I took on the task of nudging sociopathic left lane dawdlers into learning the error of their ways.

Part of my non-AAA-approved technique is to swing into the right lane to pass the miscreant and then drift back into the left lane (w/o signaling of course) to conclusively demonstrate (pretty much always) his dumbassery.

Well, this time something else happened.

As I was schooling this fool, passing him on the right and getting in front of him in the left lane, I noticed this odd little after-market searchlight on the left side of his car. Being all in and with nowhere to hide, all I could do was watch in the rear view as the lights came on.

Now some of you if you knew you were driving on an expired license might have elected a different driving strategy than the one I was confidently beavering away on. I am not like you; I am that (other) guy.

Even though my license has expired (thank you for nothing DC DMV for not sending a renewal notice), an earlier “passing acquaintance” with a Joe Friday officer of the Arlington PD had alerted me to the facts of the situation and I had proof of my renewal with me though I did not actually have the new valid license itself.

So when the Chris Farley-looking copper came up to the car, I had the entire package for him – (expired) license, registration and note from the teacher explaining that yes I kind of sort of really had a valid driver’s license.

He was a bit mystified but took in the whole situation – heading-down-the-other-side-of-middle-age white guy driving a station wagon with the wife and the dog – and admonished me about my idiotic driving in cutting back in front of him well in advance of the speed limit and leaving him no choice but to assert his lawman’s prerogative.

Happily for domestic tranquility, our Agent Unknown was not a state trooper but was on fugitive patrol looking for actual criminals who were evading the law. His self-respect as a peace officer led him to pull me over, but he had no interest in doing the paperwork and writing me a ticket.

White male privilege saved my ass, and suitably chastened, I drove mildly on home. Lesson learned???

Since the kitchen project began in the middle of last month, we have been nomads crisscrossing the Potomac in search of relief from the heat and the dust. Fortunately, our friends have been incredibly generous, and we have been variously encouraged to stay with them or in an apartment in Shirlington when it is unoccupied. Each time we go back to our house to see how things are going, we are again reminded of what friendship has spared us. But while we are grateful and relieved to be temporary suburbanites, the transition has taken some getting used to.

In the Arlington-dominated metro area, Shirlington (along with Fairlington and as-yet-undiscovered lesser “lingtons” no doubt sprouting nearby) lacks a vibrant sense of identity. It seems more like an open-air mall than a community.

Its residential architecture conjures a sense of place akin to that of an area near an airport.

But on the ground level, it is clear there is something else afoot:

Most of the businesses put out water bowls, and in the evenings and on the weekends, dogs are everywhere.

Nearby, there is an off-leash dog park:

where the rules are taken very seriously

and the dogs enjoy playing in the water

Here is a view downstream with “our” apartment building in the distance:

There is also an excellent regional theater

and a library with dozens of computers and free wifi for all:

Anyone sitting outside in the “mall” can access the internet for free, a public service unknown in DC.

WETA is nearby, and the corporate masters town planners chose to honor its founder by naming the main street after her and erecting this plaque:

My initial sizing up of Shirlington as a place that appeals to the kinds of people I didn’t like in college has been tempered by greater acquaintance. The post-neutron bomb-like sterility of its architecture is still off-putting, but the public spaces and shops and restaurants attract a more diverse community than is apparent at first glance. As temporary refuges go, one could do a lot worse.

The project has officially spilled out into another room. The crew has sanded down the drywall in the kitchen, and while they wait for the cabinets, they have turned to building bookcases and a bench in the dining room. Here’s a shot of the new bench that runs along the east wall from bookcase to bookcase:

And the bookcase on the other side:

On the opposite wall, a similar bookcase will house the various electronics:

And though you can’t get much of a feel for what it will end up looking like, here’s the view as you enter the house:

Goats!

So tous les DC is all atwitter about the Eco-Goats feasting on the vegetation along a fence outside the Historic Congressional Cemetery. With front page coverage by the Washington Post and a piece on NBC national news, there is perhaps no clearer indication that Congress is out for its August recess. Great Bezos, has it come to this?

Well, since we are members of the cemetery (for dogwalking purposes), we decided to have a look for ourselves. And being city folk, we decided it’s pretty fun. YMMV as the kids used to say.

A short while ago, we finally got around to watching the Herzog documentary on Dieter Dengler entitled “Little Dieter Needs To Fly.” Evidently Herzog went on to make a feature film called “Rescue Dawn” which is also about Dieter’s amazing story, but I don’t know anything about that movie except that it stars Christian Bale.

I do, however, recommend “Little Dieter Needs To Fly.” Most of the movie is Dieter narrating the events back in 1966 when he was shot down over Laos and captured, starved, beaten and tortured before he finally escaped into the jungle and was eventually rescued.

It’s a harrowing tale by itself but the film is laced throughout with typically demented Herzogian ecstatic flourishes. At one point, poor Dieter, now a much older man, reenacts his captivity in the jungle as, with his hands bound behind him, he runs down a trail pushed and prodded along by his native “captors.”

You’ll have to watch the documentary to understand why little Dieter needed to fly, but the desire originated in his experience as a young German kid in WWII.

In any event, it was a beautiful seasonally mild day in DC today, and we thought we’d go to Arlington National Cemetery to pay our respects to Dieter Dengler, the likes of whom will seldom be seen again.

Not much to say here – more of just an excuse to put up a picture and kick things off again on this blog. Rachael and I are in California for another Climate Ride adventure. This time we’re camping each night so today was all about logistics – picking up shipped camping gear, etc. At the end of a long day, we settled in for some sushi. Saturday we bus up to Fortuna, and the next day we will bike into the redwoods!