Kamp Keberle-Bronx, NY 9/24 30 car miles; 12.7 walking miles

After a not so white knuckle ride last night from the Catskills to the Bronx due to the able navigating of the ever multi-tasking Major Jacks, we spread the futons and slept peacefully despite the bright white glare of the street light. We awoke to another blue sky postcard day (New York at it's best). Then we started hoofing it around the Bronx. Ed schlepped us around the rich mitch neighborhood of Fieldston where the homes rest like royalty on the hillside along the river. We trespassed onto a private club where we were politely asked to leave. Unabashed, we made our way up and over the hill by the prestigious Horace Mann high school to broadway where the great unwashed (That be us-sort of) idled along the paths of their daily lives. Ed had on his list a stop at Lloyd's Carrot Cake store, a swelteringly hot and very tiny store front manned by a Jamacian lady who's built a business and a "must go" reputation on her carrot cake and pumpkin tarts. From there we strolled through the magnificent Van Courtlandt park, which was designed by the same guys who designed Central Park and our own Manito Park in Spokane. We were attempting to walk through the park to an Irish neighborhood on the East side. Little did we know that no such trail existed. After another frustrating bout with Google maps and a few circuitous instructions from Siri, we finally asked for directions, which is when we met our first two "best" humans of the day (Margaret Perron and Dennis Burton) who explained (In a nice way) that we'd been walking in circles since every path in the park is a loop. Once reoriented, we met Ryan and Erica for lunch at a quite good Mexican restaurant. The highlight of the day (By far) was our dinner at the Prune where we met a friend of the Keberle's, a delightful high energy, quite brilliant, especially vibrant human named Manca. Under her guidance (She's a regular), we ordered every appetizer and small plate on the menu, a round of cocktails before dinner, two select bottles of Italian wine, and one each of every dessert (Excessive orgasmic photos to follow). It was my treat because it was my "bucket item". Two and a half years ago I read a book written by the owner (Gabrielle Hamilton) called Blood, Bones & Butter: The Inadvertant Education of a Reluctant Chef. I was so moved, I wrote her a letter, which for those of you who know me, realize is quite far out of character. Sadly, (And fortunately) she wasn't at the restaurant. Sadly, because it would have been fun to put a face to the words that moved me to tears, and fortunate because I would have regretted mightily falling all over my fawning self. So as it is most days and times: things work out as they should, but I can tell you this: even though I'm suffering from the effects of Metformin and alcohol (Bad combo), I jumped off the wagon most willingly. The bottom line (Yes, that's the impression of my fat butt) is: Life is good, especially today.

The view from the private club they kicked us out of.

They weren't accepting resumes.

A snack: Thin gruel of sorts.

Margaret Perron, park administrator, giving "human" directions.

Dennis Burton, park employee, willingly deferred to Margaret.

Our "city slicker" hosts.

Love in the city (As it should be).

Welcome to the Lower East Side.

The bar, half the space, which is thirty seats.

Manca, as she is.

Round 1.

Round 2.

Round 3.

Round 4.

Bottle 1.

Round 5.

Round 6.

Round 7.

Dessert. Just Google Prune for the menu, but hurry, it's seasonal and things change according to availability.

Good night for us. As for Manca, she was off on her British built Brompton bike (Named Modesty Bkaze). I so love another who names their inanimate objects although Manca took umbrage, "There's nothing inanimate about this bike."

Quite a kettle of tea we brewed today.