From a Wall Street Journal online article:
Now 63, Mr. Peterson has progressed from bike paths to rugged mountain trails and is known for his caped helmet emblazoned with his nickname, UniGeezer. Based on his GPS and bike computer, he estimates he’s logged nearly 30,000 miles, or 24 million pedal revolutions, since he started.
He thinks there’s a fear factor that prevents more people from trying unicycling. “If you fall, 99% of the time you land on your feet,” Mr. Peterson says. His worst injury was a torn piriformis, a tiny muscle behind the glutes, from overuse.
Unicycling isn’t as trendy as spin class, but Terry Peterson says he sweats just as much and smiles way more.
In 2006, at age 50, Mr. Peterson was 30 pounds overweight and got winded climbing a flight of stairs. His job as a piano tuner in Lomita, Calif., was mostly sedentary.
Popular workouts like running, cycling and boot camp sounded boring. “I needed something that would constantly demand my attention and keep me entertained,” he says. He thought back to his childhood unicycle, googled his old toy and was wowed by online videos of Canadian off-road unicycling pioneer Kris Holm. “This wasn’t the cheap ride I had when I was 11,” he says. “He was on a real, purpose-built unicycle doing unreal tricks.”
To read more: https://www.wsj.com/articles/hes-gone-a-long-way-on-his-unicycle-11571572801
Not until July 16 did Edison feel that he had a device worth patenting. The application he signed that day specified multiple timpani that “reproduced” vocal inflections and a sibilant-sensitive diaphragm. But a laboratory visitor (spying for Bell) found the instrument more powerful than clear, with the word schism sounding more like kim.
FINICKY WESTERN EATERS would still be relieved to find filet mignon on the French menu of the hotel, now known as the Nikko Kanaya, a 90-minute drive from Tokyo. The dining room itself looks much as it did when it first opened, in 1893 and eagle-eyed diners might notice that the wooden pillars are decorated with flower carvings that echo those of the nearby Toshogu shrine. The views from the guest rooms are likewise unchanged—forest-covered mountains in the background, the same fastidiously manicured gardens in the foreground that the Einsteins strolled in 1922. Other parts of the hotel feel mildly haunted, like a Japanese version of “The Shining.” The wood-paneled lobby is well worn, stairwells creak noticeably and a shadowy cocktail bar features fading black-and-white photos of forgotten ’20s parties, with men in tuxedos and women in frocks smiling at the camera. 
Whereas most Wright biographies build from one structure to the next, this one caroms from one digression to the next. Mr. Hendrickson spins miniature biographies of the people who commissioned Wright to build their homes and office buildings. An array of midcentury figures appears: e.g., Glenway Wescott, the novelist and poet who rubbed shoulders with Gertrude Stein in Paris and whose sister commissioned one of Wright’s homes; and Clarence Darrow, the renowned lawyer, who waded into the murk of Wright’s personal life when a disgruntled housekeeper attempted to use the Mann Act to have Wright arrested. We also meet the little-known residents of various structures. Seth Peterson, for instance, dreamed of living in a Wright home so powerfully that he camped out in the one he commissioned as it was being built. 
…a new 
“It’s a way of life that’s gone and I don’t think it’s a bad state that it’s gone. But realistically it must’ve been livable on a level by pretty well everyone involved or it wouldn’t have gone on for a thousand years.”
Many self-styled “wine educators” online claim to be certified sommeliers, but that doesn’t mean they have worked in a restaurant. Others are winemakers, adjunct professors or simply oenophiles with a pedagogical bent. Whether via video or podcast, the education they offer tends to fall into two categories: basic (grape names, how to hold a glass) or wonky (the role of tannins, grapevine blights).