What oppressive weather this is – it just takes your breath away when you step outside of the air-conditioned house. I set out anyway, determined to reach my next goal of 200 miles this year. I may just melt into a pool before this gets accomplished – Whew! Enroute to Wyandotte, I went around a corner and came upon a scene right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Twin boys, who were the spittin’ image of one another, were standing barefoot, bare-chested and in identical long and saggy, baggy shorts with a large turquoise Tupperware bowl near their feet. The bowl, which was laying on its side like a beached whale, was about a quarter-full of cherries, and at least an equal portion had spilled onto the sidewalk and rolled down the driveway, no doubt to the delight of any passing critters. There was a ball of twine and a yardstick laying nearby. The scenario piqued my interest and so I stopped to scope it out. The boys, who were wearing identical, cherry-stained faces (and feet as well), had twine running horizontally across the sidewalk and fastened down with two bricks which served as “markers”. The gears clicked in my head: these two were having a cherry spitting contest! A quick glance did not tell me who was winning, but there were cherry pits everywhere and being stepped on as well – thus, the stained feet. Amused, I watched the technique of one twin and then the other to see which boy had the greatest aptitude for spitting the pits. One boy gobbled up a cherry, and as soon as his tongue sorted out that pit from the sweet, juicy pulp, with great finesse he aimed and fired with major velocity. The other twin inhaled and held a very deep breath and then whoosh … the pit flew out at the speed of sound and he nearly keeled over after that effort. Well up at the Traverse City Cherry Festival this is a big deal where they determine the winner for a “spitacular” feat – maybe here in Lincoln Park not so much. It was fun to watch them though. I decided to move on and get home as it looked like a winner was not imminent, and at the very least would not be declared until the bowl was empty. Ho hum … when you’re a kid, life sure is a bowl of cherries, isn’t it?