A couple rain storms, Nacho Ride & Hold Still awesomeness, Ande lets me cut his hair for the first time ever, Girl Bike Night Pretty Dress Ride, UUVVWWZ with Darren Keen, and the Rumbletime Girls win our division of the Team Triathlon.
The Canon 1200/5.6L USM, the longest fixed telephoto lens ever built by Canon, contains 13 elements (2 Fluorite) in 10 groups and focus' down to 49.5'. With an angle-of- view of about 2° on a full-frame 35 mm camera, calling this lens a 'tele' is like calling King Kong a monkey.
Built-to-order by Canon from 1993 to 2005, each lens was hand-crafted at the rate of about 2-per-year and a delivery time of about 18 months. Only a dozen-or-so were ever made. Who bought them? National Geographic magazine and Sports Illustrated are known to own a couple, the Feds probably have a few squirreled away somewhere, and a few well-heeled photo enthusiasts.
This particular lens is extremely clean inside and out. Included with this lens is a leather slip-on 'lens cap', the original fitted aluminum trunk case, a custom trunk case with wheels that holds the original trunk case, and a prodigious measure of ego satisfaction. Weighing in at over 36lbs and an overall length of 33 inches, a sturdy tripod and pan/tilt head is highly recommended.
Pack mule not included.
- Metal Alloy
- Angle of View
- Minimum Aperture
- Closest Focusing Distance
- Filter Size
- 48 mm Drop-in
- Lens Hood
- 36.2 lb
Is there something special about my thirteenth week beginning on the thirteenth of July? Perhaps. My work week is minced with a long ride and a visit from Nate; my weekend includes the best camping ever and my first century ride. Thanks to Felice for the shot of Baxter out the window.
As soon as we'd staked out a good camping spot, we hit the trails for some lovely magic hour views of the Missouri River.
After hiking, it was time for some cooking and fire-sitting. It was one nice fire, and we discovered a naturally perfect division of labor -- Felice likes building, and I like tending.
This morning, it was maté & oatmeal on the Primus. We were chilly -- again, unbelievable for July 18th -- so the warm tea hit the spot.
We went for a morning hike as our tents got a chance to dry off their dewiness. Best friends are the best.
dial H-I-S-T-O-R-Y was part of the screening schedule for my senior seminar in documentary production, paired with One Day in September, and I loved it instantly. You should probably read Alex's interview, then watch both films.
I headed out after work today after several days of excuses not to ride. Other than scoping out a bit of the triathlon course, I didn't have a route in mind. I hopped on Hwy 2, and thought about heading to Syracuse, thanks to a little BRAN-induced nostalgia. I got fed up with the traffic on the highway, though, and wouldn't have had any Rumbletimers with whom to share an adult beverage. I turned at Bennet instead, and headed for the Roca Rollers.
Heading west on Roca Road. The exposure here doesn't show it, but the road stretches straight into the distance for miles and miles, rolling over the Bohemian Alps. All in all, including waiting at lights in town, I rode 40 miles in 2 hours and 15 minutes.
And then there are the sad fields, a few short, pale-green cornstalks on the end, the occasional errant milo (exceedingly rare, this lovely drought-resistant grain), the center-pivots nowhere to be seen. Is this what it will look like?
I came home to read further in My Ántonia; and came to this passage, published in 1920:
July came on with that breathless, brilliant heat which makes the plains of Kansas and Nebraska the best corn country in the world. It seemed as if we could hear the corn growing in the night; under the stars one caught a faint crackling in the dewy, heavy-odored cornfields where the feathered stalks stood so juicy and green. If all the great plain from the Missouri to the Rocky Mountains had been under glass, and the heat regulated by a thermometer, it could not have been better for the yellow tassels that were ripening and fertilizing the silk day by day. The cornfields were far apart in those times, with miles of wild grazing land between. It took a clear, meditative eye like my grandfather's to foresee that they would enlarge and multiply until they would be, not the Shimerdas' cornfields, or Mr. Bushy's, but the world's cornfields; that their yield would be one of the great economic facts, like the wheat crop of Russia, which underlie all the activities of men, in peace or war.
Little did Cather know how far this prophesy would come nearly 100 years later. Enlarge and multiply they did, swallowing up so many farmhouses now left empty and weathered, drinking down the aquifer, stripping away the topsoil, and poisoning the groundwater in the process. Yes, give me the dry and barren (or the mountainous, or the naturally verdant, &c.) over the irrigated and industrialized. In Israel, one plant has it figured out.
Train travel, plane travel, car travel, Colorado, rocks, clouds, carp sexuality, and fireworks.
Bread from Le Quartier complimented nicely.
I put off the packing for too long, and once I finished that, I needed some more fortification. Late night rainbow chard from the farm!
Bike trailer fun! Look at those Kovanda ladies go!
I had both snow peas and regular snap peas from the farm, so I flash-fried them with some garlic scapes from my neighbor Rich, and added some soba noodles and sesame oil to round it out.
The best thing right now is that when I take out the compost, the black raspberries that grow right by the compost pile are really ripe. Nice dessert!