Like a bicycle?

Is blogging like riding a bicycle? In that once you learn how, you never forget?

I'm not sure. I wanted to write something this weekend, but I was having writer's block. Don't know how to start, what to say, which of my experiences are worth writing about and which aren't worth the bother.

There is news ... but I'll save that for another time. Hopefully, I'll be writing more often again in the days to come. But the wintertime blahs came over me pretty good this year. Good news is that I wasn't ill. Outside of being sick of winter.

That's because our brutal winter continues to be, well, brutal. We had snow a few days ago--just three inches, but it was accompanied by colder air and high winds. The winds died off, leaving behind conditions straight out of January. A couple days ago, we didn't get above +5F (-15C). Overnight, the predicted low was -23 F! That's, like, -30 C. Today, Sunday, we drove out of town to visit my mom. It was sunny, and the temperature was a balmy 15F. Tonight, the forecast calls for minus 26F, and we're at minus 20F already.

But they are promising highs in the 30s in a few day. Well, we'll see.

On Friday evening, one of those frigid evenings last week, I didn't have a basketball game, so my wife and I decided to go for a fish fry. This time we chose a place we hadn't visited before--a restaurant that was well-known way back when. As a gimmick, they had signs posted all over Wisconsin. "M------ Cafe. 154 miles."

But that was then. It's gone through several changes of ownership and new names. They're open just one night a week now--Fridays, for fish fries. We decided to give them a try.

Don't know if we will be back. Our table was in a back room that was halfway between cool and cold. I had a sweater on, but I still decided to put my coat over the back of my chair for insulation. The fish (we chose cod) was OK, but there were just two pieces of it per order. And to top it off, they didn't take credit/debit cards. (Yes, I had money for the bill.) The price was rather high for two fish fries and two sodas. So I think next time, we'll go somewhere else. If nothing else, the next fish fry should be a little warmer.

On Saturday, I had another first experience. I covered a biathlon. That's like the Olympic event that combines cross-country skiing and rifle shooting. I remembered seeing telephoto shots of a group of skiers bunched together on the trail, coming right towards the camera, and a line of marksmen lying prone on the ground, squeezing off shots at the target.

Ha! As it turned out, the competitors went out on the course whenever they wanted: There was no mass start. If you got there early, you went out early. If you arrived later, you started later. So there would be no mass of people competing for position--I'd get just one or (if I was lucky) two skiers at a time.

It was a lovely, sunny day, about 15 F. I decided to go by a shooting station anyway, but it was a little more than a quarter mile down the trail. So down the trail I trudged, trying not to mess up the Nordic skiers' tracks on the trail, sort of like a pair of railroad tracks. I got there, talked to the judge there and waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally we saw a skier coming down the trail towards us. Finally, a picture. He fired his shots at the metal targets mounted about 50 yards away. Bangplink! Bangplink! Bangplink! Bangplink! Bangplink! He hit the targets on all five shots. He gave me his name and left. OK. So far so good.

The next competitor was a woman. She fired at the target. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bangplink! Bang! One of five. She told me something as she left, something I hear a lot at such events: "Don't put me in the paper!"

Occupational hazard up here. Adults (especially) are horribly shy people, or so they would have you believe. You would think their toes would curl up and they'd die of embarrassment if they made the paper.

Later, another guy showed up. He had a fancy hat and a very expensive-looking gun. He fired. Bang. Bangplink. Bang. Bang. Bang. Costly equipment is only as good as the person using it.

We waited another 20 minutes or so. Finally, a man and a woman. The woman was one of those shrinking violets I just wrote about, but she was just along for the skiing, anyway--her husband was the competitor, and she gave me his name. OK, I'll settle for that.

Good enough for now--the walkie-talkies told us no more competitors were on course. So I started the long trudge back down the trail. When I finally reached the end, Mr. Fancy Gun was talking to another course worker there. He noticed me and walked over with a smile. "Just so you know," he said, "I'm in the Witness Protection Program. So you can't use my picture."

I bit my tongue. A few minutes later, as I was putting the camera bag in the car, he was walking past, towards the lodge building, and I muttered--just loud enough for him to hear--"Witness Protection Program!" I didn't add "my ass!" at the end, but I didn't have to.

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Last time I wrote (I think), it seemed as if the basketball season would last forever. Now the girls regular season is over, and their playoffs start Monday. The boys schedule is one week behind. The end is in sight! Hallelujah!