That's right. This weekend, Turtle and I had the pleasure of meeting and having dinner with Janie and her husband while they were in The Metromess for other events.
I'm always just a little apprehensive when setting up a meeting with someone I know from online but have never met before, in the physical realm. That may sound like a strange admission, coming from a man who first met his wife in an IRC chat channel and regularly attended computer BBS gatherings during the early '90s; but a first real-life meeting with an online acquaintance is like a blind date. Or a box of chocolates. Oh, you can get a certain sense of people from how they write and what they write about, but there's always the chance to find yourself in an uncomfortable situation, with Too Much Information or too little to talk about.
Like that time in 1992 when I drove an hour or so to a BBS potluck. I'd had some good results making new friends when I attended a similar gathering from one of the other BBS systems in the area, and I was feeling adventurous. I arrived to find an unusual mix of nerdy, rough, and just plain unusual characters, but the people seemed nice enough. The conversation over dinner was typical computer nerd stuff, but afterwards, when everyone adjourned to the living room for a marijuana-fueled Traci Lords film festival...
Well, let's just say my capacity for new experience had been exceeded. Call me a coward—or a prude, if you must—but I faked the onset of a migraine and fled.
I'm pleased to say that our dinner with Janie and her husband was nothing like that. The four of us fell easily into a wandering, seamless, laughter-filled conversation that was cut short only when Turtle and I had to leave for an appointment before church. No weirdness, and the only hint of marijuana was the fern-like print of my shirt. It was big fun, and I'm glad we had the chance to meet!
So now I've met Bill and Janie, which makes me 2 for 2 in the Blogger Blind Date "success" column.
19 August, 2007
14 August, 2007
Nerds and the fashion void
In case anyone is keeping track, it stopped raining a month or so ago. The wet weather and cooler than normal temperatures have given way to the customary hot, dry weather that we north Texans are used to. When I rolled into the driveway after my evening commute, Dorian's in-dash thermometer read 105 °F.
I've been working some long hours lately. That has put the brakes on my after-work bike riding and makes it tough to find time for routine chores like mowing the lawn. Turtle, being in attuned to such things, was waiting for me when I walked in the house.
"You're not planning to mow the lawn, are you?" she asked. When I didn't immediately respond with the 'no' she was looking for, she continued. "I was talking to Mom, and she says you should take it easy, have a nice cold beer or two, and not die."
"Mmm," I said, noncommittally. I knew that the only beer on the premises was in the garage, where it was about 120°.
But what's that got to do with nerd chic? you're probably wondering.
For as long as I can remember, one of the defining characteristics of nerds has been their complete lack of fashion sense.* Thick glasses, held together with safety pins and Scotch brand tape. Highwater trousers. Sweater vests. Not last year's fashions, nor even those from the year before—five years, ten years ago.
I've always felt it was unfair to assume that nerds can't dress themselves presentably. It's just lower on their list of priorities than hacking the Linux kernel or re-watching the entire Firefly series from start to finish (including Serenity) in one sitting. Why blow perfectly good money on a new pair of eyeglasses when it could be spent on a Visual Studio 2005 upgrade?
It's with that kind of mentality that, the minute Turtle's car was out of sight and on the way to her meeting, I went to my closet and grabbed my old red, sleeveless cycling jersey (the one whose elastic waistband was shot). I dug out an old pair of navy gym shorts (the ones whose drawstring had broken) and my old Halo sweatband, dressed, and headed out to mow the lawn.
Sure, the combination of tight cycling jersey and shorts that displayed just how weird a cyclist's tan lines really are would have elicited hoots and jeers from the guys down at the local day labor office. But from a practical standpoint, the wicking fabric of the jersey got me the most cooling benefit from what little breeze there was to be had. The sweatband kept the perspiration (okay... rivers of sweat) from burning my eyes. The shorts... well, let's just say I don't have the flabbiest man legs and bum on the cul de sac.
I was just finishing up when one of those Lexus [snicker] trucks pulled up in front of the next door neighbors' house, and a woman in a tailored white linen suit climbed out. As she made her way up the sidewalk, I saw her eyeing me and imagined that she was horrified by my attire.
Yep, I thought, cracking a grin. Still got it.
That, or she was mesmerized by my tan lines.
* I say "their", but I don't think that's fooling anyone. We're talking about me.
I've been working some long hours lately. That has put the brakes on my after-work bike riding and makes it tough to find time for routine chores like mowing the lawn. Turtle, being in attuned to such things, was waiting for me when I walked in the house.
"You're not planning to mow the lawn, are you?" she asked. When I didn't immediately respond with the 'no' she was looking for, she continued. "I was talking to Mom, and she says you should take it easy, have a nice cold beer or two, and not die."
"Mmm," I said, noncommittally. I knew that the only beer on the premises was in the garage, where it was about 120°.
But what's that got to do with nerd chic? you're probably wondering.
For as long as I can remember, one of the defining characteristics of nerds has been their complete lack of fashion sense.* Thick glasses, held together with safety pins and Scotch brand tape. Highwater trousers. Sweater vests. Not last year's fashions, nor even those from the year before—five years, ten years ago.
I've always felt it was unfair to assume that nerds can't dress themselves presentably. It's just lower on their list of priorities than hacking the Linux kernel or re-watching the entire Firefly series from start to finish (including Serenity) in one sitting. Why blow perfectly good money on a new pair of eyeglasses when it could be spent on a Visual Studio 2005 upgrade?
It's with that kind of mentality that, the minute Turtle's car was out of sight and on the way to her meeting, I went to my closet and grabbed my old red, sleeveless cycling jersey (the one whose elastic waistband was shot). I dug out an old pair of navy gym shorts (the ones whose drawstring had broken) and my old Halo sweatband, dressed, and headed out to mow the lawn.
Sure, the combination of tight cycling jersey and shorts that displayed just how weird a cyclist's tan lines really are would have elicited hoots and jeers from the guys down at the local day labor office. But from a practical standpoint, the wicking fabric of the jersey got me the most cooling benefit from what little breeze there was to be had. The sweatband kept the perspiration (okay... rivers of sweat) from burning my eyes. The shorts... well, let's just say I don't have the flabbiest man legs and bum on the cul de sac.
I was just finishing up when one of those Lexus [snicker] trucks pulled up in front of the next door neighbors' house, and a woman in a tailored white linen suit climbed out. As she made her way up the sidewalk, I saw her eyeing me and imagined that she was horrified by my attire.
Yep, I thought, cracking a grin. Still got it.
That, or she was mesmerized by my tan lines.
* I say "their", but I don't think that's fooling anyone. We're talking about me.
05 August, 2007
Exxxcellent...
Through The Simpsons' eighteen-year history, we've seen lots of guest celebrities reduced to two dimensions. I've always wondered how I'd look with yellow skin and googly eyes... and now I know.
As part of the non-stop hype for the recently-released Simpsons movie, Burger King has put together a web site where you can upload a picture of yourself, answer a few non-personal questions, and see what the analyzer thinks you'd look like as a cartoon character from the Simpsons. I was frankly surprised by how well this worked.
You can try too. www.simpsonizeme.com
22 July, 2007
Ride report: Tour de Paris (Paris, TX)
The 90-mile drive to Paris in the pre-dawn hour was a little spooky because of heavy fog along the way, but the day dawned sunny and clear. I rolled into the Paris High School parking lot at a little after 7am, started unloading my gear, and immediately started streaming sweat. As I was preparing to leave the house, I couldn't decide between a short-sleeved jersey and a sleeveless one. I was glad I'd brought both and chose the sleeveless.
At a little after 7:30, I'd finished with my preparations—sunblock, HRM, bike assembled—and gave The Stradas a call. They were still about 15 minutes from the high school and unlikely to be ready to go by start time, so I went ahead and began making my way toward the starting line.
A few minutes before 8:00, the organizers made a few remarks and then handed the microphone over to a gentleman introduced as Lance Armstrong's dad. He went on for a couple minutes about how the Tour de France didn't hold quite the same interest for him as it had in years past. The riders laughed, but I was distracted. I seemed to recall that Lance didn't have any kind of relationship with his father and referred to him as "the DNA donor." It seemed rather... uninformed for the Tour de Paris organizers to have this guy as a special guest when Lance Armstrong didn't even acknowledge him. Turns out I was the uninformed one, though. When I got home, I looked it up and discovered Terry Armstrong is Lance's step-father—and one who's obviously quite proud of his adopted son, at that.
Aaanyway... we got off promptly at 8:00 and, because I'd managed to find a spot toward the front of the group, I had very little of the claustrophobia I experienced last year, at the start. Last year, I was toward the back with all the wobblies; this year, I was up with the hammerheads. We took off, and most of the folks around me coalesced into several pace lines. Those who didn't rode in a predictably, orderly fashion, and in no time at all I was in clear air. At least, I was in clear air until I caught up with one of the pace lines, which was writhing back and forth across the entire width of the lane. So I passed them. And then I passed another. I finished the first 10 miles with an average speed of 21 mph.
Between miles 10 and 20, the pace lines reeled me in again. As they passed, one of the guys smirked and said, "Guess you're not as as fast as you thought, huh?" I told him that I reckoned I could keep up the pace just fine, if I'd been sitting on and sucking wheel all day, instead of going it alone. He just grunted and sucked on past.
When I made my first stop at mile 30, I had an average of 20.4 mph, but it was starting to heat up. The roads were rougher than I'd remembered them from last year, and I'd come to the realization that I might have mismanaged my resources on the first half. I hung around at the stop for longer than I normally would have done, hoping to hook up with the bunch of RBENT folks I thought were supposed to be in attendance. Corsa Ken arrived after a bit, but no sign of The Stradas or anyone else, so I took off before my legs got any stiffer.
I could tell I was fading. Though there were no serious climbs on the route (and no rollers of consequence until we hit Rt. 19), my legs felt rubbery on every incline. I went into conservation mode, spinning more and tucking everything in on the slight downhills to get aero and conserve energy. Still, I must have been doing better than some people. Somewhere around mile 35, I picked up a tail and towed a very fit-looking young fellow on a cyclocross bike for about 5 miles before he peeled off at a rest stop. He expressed his appreciation but never offered to take a pull. The moral? Don't let any DF rider tell you that he can't get a draft off a recumbent.
At mile 50, I "had" to stop again. I needed pickle juice and a few minutes off the bike in front of the gasoline-powered cooling fan that was set up there. Corsa Ken showed up a few minutes later, and Steve Strada shortly after that.
Steve was looking strong and only stopped because we yelled at him. So strong, in fact, that when we headed out again, I could tell that I was holding him back. Once we got into the final stretch and the rollers, I admitted to him that I was cooked and that he shouldn't let me hold him back. He didn't. Meanwhile, I continued on in energy conservation mode, feeling every one of the days during June when I should have been riding and getting stronger... but hadn't.
And yet, as I was grinding my teeth and spinning my way up one climb, I passed a DF rider in a Rolling Stones jersey.
"Hey," he said. "I'll toss you a rope and you can pull me, okay?"
"Good luck with that," I told him, but I was thinking, Up yours. This Little Engine That Could is through towing roadies for the day. He passed me, but I caught him (and passed him) once we made the turn on to the smooth straight stretch leading to the high school. "No fair!" he called out, laughing. "You're coasting!"
I dug in and cranked it up to 23 mph, trying to bring my average up a tick from 18.9 to 19, but I never quite made it. That said, "nearly 19" is a new record for me at any distance, so I mark it as a good day. My heart rate monitor showed that I'd averaged 165 bpm (86% of my maximum) for the duration of the ride.
Special congratulations go out to dallasbikr, who finished 100K on a fixie with an 18+ average. Dude, you're sick!
At a little after 7:30, I'd finished with my preparations—sunblock, HRM, bike assembled—and gave The Stradas a call. They were still about 15 minutes from the high school and unlikely to be ready to go by start time, so I went ahead and began making my way toward the starting line.
A few minutes before 8:00, the organizers made a few remarks and then handed the microphone over to a gentleman introduced as Lance Armstrong's dad. He went on for a couple minutes about how the Tour de France didn't hold quite the same interest for him as it had in years past. The riders laughed, but I was distracted. I seemed to recall that Lance didn't have any kind of relationship with his father and referred to him as "the DNA donor." It seemed rather... uninformed for the Tour de Paris organizers to have this guy as a special guest when Lance Armstrong didn't even acknowledge him. Turns out I was the uninformed one, though. When I got home, I looked it up and discovered Terry Armstrong is Lance's step-father—and one who's obviously quite proud of his adopted son, at that.
Aaanyway... we got off promptly at 8:00 and, because I'd managed to find a spot toward the front of the group, I had very little of the claustrophobia I experienced last year, at the start. Last year, I was toward the back with all the wobblies; this year, I was up with the hammerheads. We took off, and most of the folks around me coalesced into several pace lines. Those who didn't rode in a predictably, orderly fashion, and in no time at all I was in clear air. At least, I was in clear air until I caught up with one of the pace lines, which was writhing back and forth across the entire width of the lane. So I passed them. And then I passed another. I finished the first 10 miles with an average speed of 21 mph.
Between miles 10 and 20, the pace lines reeled me in again. As they passed, one of the guys smirked and said, "Guess you're not as as fast as you thought, huh?" I told him that I reckoned I could keep up the pace just fine, if I'd been sitting on and sucking wheel all day, instead of going it alone. He just grunted and sucked on past.
When I made my first stop at mile 30, I had an average of 20.4 mph, but it was starting to heat up. The roads were rougher than I'd remembered them from last year, and I'd come to the realization that I might have mismanaged my resources on the first half. I hung around at the stop for longer than I normally would have done, hoping to hook up with the bunch of RBENT folks I thought were supposed to be in attendance. Corsa Ken arrived after a bit, but no sign of The Stradas or anyone else, so I took off before my legs got any stiffer.
I could tell I was fading. Though there were no serious climbs on the route (and no rollers of consequence until we hit Rt. 19), my legs felt rubbery on every incline. I went into conservation mode, spinning more and tucking everything in on the slight downhills to get aero and conserve energy. Still, I must have been doing better than some people. Somewhere around mile 35, I picked up a tail and towed a very fit-looking young fellow on a cyclocross bike for about 5 miles before he peeled off at a rest stop. He expressed his appreciation but never offered to take a pull. The moral? Don't let any DF rider tell you that he can't get a draft off a recumbent.
At mile 50, I "had" to stop again. I needed pickle juice and a few minutes off the bike in front of the gasoline-powered cooling fan that was set up there. Corsa Ken showed up a few minutes later, and Steve Strada shortly after that.
Steve was looking strong and only stopped because we yelled at him. So strong, in fact, that when we headed out again, I could tell that I was holding him back. Once we got into the final stretch and the rollers, I admitted to him that I was cooked and that he shouldn't let me hold him back. He didn't. Meanwhile, I continued on in energy conservation mode, feeling every one of the days during June when I should have been riding and getting stronger... but hadn't.
And yet, as I was grinding my teeth and spinning my way up one climb, I passed a DF rider in a Rolling Stones jersey.
"Hey," he said. "I'll toss you a rope and you can pull me, okay?"
"Good luck with that," I told him, but I was thinking, Up yours. This Little Engine That Could is through towing roadies for the day. He passed me, but I caught him (and passed him) once we made the turn on to the smooth straight stretch leading to the high school. "No fair!" he called out, laughing. "You're coasting!"
I dug in and cranked it up to 23 mph, trying to bring my average up a tick from 18.9 to 19, but I never quite made it. That said, "nearly 19" is a new record for me at any distance, so I mark it as a good day. My heart rate monitor showed that I'd averaged 165 bpm (86% of my maximum) for the duration of the ride.
Special congratulations go out to dallasbikr, who finished 100K on a fixie with an 18+ average. Dude, you're sick!
11 July, 2007
10 July, 2007
A time for Heroes
...and Chuck.
I've been seeing the amusing and slightly mysterious teases on NBC for the last week or so. Tonight I finally took the bait and wandered over to the www.chuckssecret.com web site to see what the deal is.
The fact that I'm now eagerly awaiting the Fall premier of this show probably reveals more about me than I'd like, but I can't wait. Based on the preview, Chuck looks like Get Smart meets Gotcha meets Clerks, with maybe a bit of The Office (if The Office took place in Best Buy and if it was funny).
I've been seeing the amusing and slightly mysterious teases on NBC for the last week or so. Tonight I finally took the bait and wandered over to the www.chuckssecret.com web site to see what the deal is.
The fact that I'm now eagerly awaiting the Fall premier of this show probably reveals more about me than I'd like, but I can't wait. Based on the preview, Chuck looks like Get Smart meets Gotcha meets Clerks, with maybe a bit of The Office (if The Office took place in Best Buy and if it was funny).
09 July, 2007
Lost in translation
I'm often impressed with Google's language translation service. Sometimes, I'm amazed—but not by the accuracy of the results.
I've mentioned in passing that some of the work I'm doing involves Unicode support. Since I don't speak or write Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, or any of the other language that requires characters outside the ISO-8859-1code page character set, I've been tapping Google for some test data.
Sometimes the results are rather interesting, as in the case of this Arabic translation of a well-known children's rhyme:
ماري كان قليلا الحمل. عن ابتزاز الابيض الذي كان الثلج. في كل مكان ذهبت ماري، انالحملكان متأكداان نسلكه.
...which Google translates back to English as...
Mary had a little pregnancy.
The blackmail was Snow White.
Everywhere I went Mary, that the pregnancy was sure to go.
I know we're seen as infidels and all, but that spin seems just a bit cynical, even to me.
More disturbing, perhaps, is the fact that the phrase "I like monkeys because they taste like chicken" makes the round trip from English to Arabic and back with no problem.
Now playing: Spock's Beard, Snow
I've mentioned in passing that some of the work I'm doing involves Unicode support. Since I don't speak or write Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, or any of the other language that requires characters outside the ISO-8859-1
Sometimes the results are rather interesting, as in the case of this Arabic translation of a well-known children's rhyme:
ماري كان قليلا الحمل. عن ابتزاز الابيض الذي كان الثلج. في كل مكان ذهبت ماري، انالحملكان متأكداان نسلكه.
...which Google translates back to English as...
Mary had a little pregnancy.
The blackmail was Snow White.
Everywhere I went Mary, that the pregnancy was sure to go.
I know we're seen as infidels and all, but that spin seems just a bit cynical, even to me.
More disturbing, perhaps, is the fact that the phrase "I like monkeys because they taste like chicken" makes the round trip from English to Arabic and back with no problem.
Now playing: Spock's Beard, Snow
08 July, 2007
Ride report: RBENT club ride (Celina, TX)
On the RBENT forum, one of the members commented on his disappointment with the Mesquite Rodeo Ride, noting that one of his usual routes had better roads with less traffic, and he didn't have to pay to ride on them. One thing led to another, and before he knew it he had gotten roped into organizing a Saturday club ride showcasing 50+ miles of his favorite route.
It's been tricky finding time to ride during the past couple months, what with all the rain we've been having. As the date for the ride approached, we all watched the weather reports very carefully and hoped that we'd catch a break in the weather, and we did—sort of. There was no significant chance of rain in the forecast, and by 8am when we headed out from the quaint little town square at Celina, it was sunny with blue skies and fluffy white clouds. It was humid and was going to get hot, but I was slathered in sun block and carried nearly two liters of water, as well as a bottle of Accelerade. No problem.
We got our legs warmed up and before long were cranking along the wide shoulder of FM-289 at around 20 mph.
Finally, we were back on the road, heading west along FM-121 toward Lake Ray Roberts. Traffic was a non issue, for once, as our route had been chosen expressly for its scenery and wide shoulders or low traffic.
Finally, we... well, you get the idea. We turned south on FM-377 toward Pilot Point. More nice scenery and great company. As we entered Ray Roberts State Park and passed over a thin finger of the lake, we were all amazed at how high the water was. Last year's many exposed tree stumps were hidden, and the water level was into the canopies of trees that normally stand on the bank, well up from the usual water line. We wondered what we'd see when we crossed the dam, further on in our ride.
We headed west on FM-455 toward the dam. By this time, we had spent so much time stopped by the side of the road that the heat had caught up with us. In the heat of summer, a successful ride is as much about staying on the move and completing the ride before it gets hot as it is about going the distance. The combination of heat, distance, and having to warm up our muscles after every repair stop was starting to wear on everyone, and our pace had slowed by a few miles per hour. Chip seal that hadn't seemed so bad in the early stages of the route was now drawing complaints from a couple of the riders who had lost their happy thoughts.
And then the remaining DF rider (see mechanicals 1 and 2) flatted.
A cell phone rang. It was Mr. Strada. "Um... we need a 700c tube. Does anyone have one?"
Most DF road bikes use 700cm rims, and so there's usually an abundance of spare tubes of the correct size. Unfortunately, on this day, the two other DF riders had had to turn back, and most of the remaining bikes were Bacchettas with dual 650cm wheels. Fortunately, one of the recumbents was of the big rear/little front wheel variety, and its rider pedaled back to donate his spare 700cm tube. Normally, this wouldn't be a big deal, but on a ride like the one we were having, the generosity of such a gesture was huge and was not lost on me.
Meanwhile, we waited, baking in the sun. We re-applied sun block. We finally decided that the best way to keep cool would be to keep moving, so we headed out at a leisurely pace across the dam. Halfway across, the cell phone rang. The flat was fixed and we were ready to move on. We returned to where the mechanics were waiting and were just about to roll out when...
"Damn," the DF rider said. "I just flatted again."
He hadn't even gotten back on the bike. Out of options, he found himself some shade to sit in and called the DF riders who'd turned back earlier to come and pick him up.
At Aubrey, we turned east on FM-428 for the home stretch back to Celina and a series of rolling and not-so-rolling hills. One of the guys, who normally rides a fast, sexy lowracer was having a tough time. "Anything less than a 20 mph average just isn't worth bringing the racer," he'd said earlier in the day. It was a decision he had come to regret, I suspect.
I was feeling a bit beaten down too, but I concentrated on pedaling in circles and remembering to drink often, all the while watching my average speed fall. When we rolled into the town square, my computer showed 60.17 miles. All it would take is a few leisurely laps up and down the lightly-traveled streets to complete two more miles and a full metric century—but I was done. I had developed a thousand-yard stare, and my legs felt rubbery. I needed air conditioning and food.
Under normal circumstances, this would have been a really fun ride (instead of a pleasant epic). The company was great, and it was fun riding with a bunch of fast recumbents, but the heat, the bad luck, and the fact that I really haven't been on the bike for a month made for a long day. I'll be ready to try it again when the rain stops and I've had a chance to get acclimated to the heat.
I'll bring more than my usual two spare tubes, however.
It's been tricky finding time to ride during the past couple months, what with all the rain we've been having. As the date for the ride approached, we all watched the weather reports very carefully and hoped that we'd catch a break in the weather, and we did—sort of. There was no significant chance of rain in the forecast, and by 8am when we headed out from the quaint little town square at Celina, it was sunny with blue skies and fluffy white clouds. It was humid and was going to get hot, but I was slathered in sun block and carried nearly two liters of water, as well as a bottle of Accelerade. No problem.
We got our legs warmed up and before long were cranking along the wide shoulder of FM-289 at around 20 mph.
Mechanicals 1-3
About ten miles up the road, at Gunter, there was a problem. One of the DF (a.k.a., "normal bike") riders who had joined us had a flat. A couple people stayed back to help while the rest of us went on to wait at a convenience store a short distance up the road. And wait. And wait. (We later found out that he changed the first flat but didn't get the tube seated correctly and immediately flatted again.) While we were waiting, one of the guys noticed that his rear tire had a bulge. After some discussion, he decided it would be best to turn back.Finally, we were back on the road, heading west along FM-121 toward Lake Ray Roberts. Traffic was a non issue, for once, as our route had been chosen expressly for its scenery and wide shoulders or low traffic.
Mechanical 4
We were enjoying the sun and the scenery when someone called out "FLAT!" We pulled off, and the victim set about replacing his punctured tube. Mrs. Strada and I stood baking in the sun while discussing the luck deficit that was developing, and the cruel twists of fate intertwined with a career as a professional bowler.Finally, we... well, you get the idea. We turned south on FM-377 toward Pilot Point. More nice scenery and great company. As we entered Ray Roberts State Park and passed over a thin finger of the lake, we were all amazed at how high the water was. Last year's many exposed tree stumps were hidden, and the water level was into the canopies of trees that normally stand on the bank, well up from the usual water line. We wondered what we'd see when we crossed the dam, further on in our ride.
Mechanicals 5 and 6
About a mile from FM-455, where we'd turn and head west over the dam, I heard the dreaded "FSSSsssSSSsssSSSsss!" that signaled yet another puncture. This time, it was me. I called out "Mechanical!" and rolled into the parking lot next to a strip mall while there was still a little air in the tire. I think I pulled off the fastest tube change of the day, but maybe it only seemed that way because I was busy. Still, it was long enough for our bad luck to find another one of the DF riders, who broke his chain. I'm not sure how he managed to repair it, but he'd already headed back home by the time I finished changing my flat. Or maybe someone came and picked him up. I didn't find out about the problem until we were all back on the road.We headed west on FM-455 toward the dam. By this time, we had spent so much time stopped by the side of the road that the heat had caught up with us. In the heat of summer, a successful ride is as much about staying on the move and completing the ride before it gets hot as it is about going the distance. The combination of heat, distance, and having to warm up our muscles after every repair stop was starting to wear on everyone, and our pace had slowed by a few miles per hour. Chip seal that hadn't seemed so bad in the early stages of the route was now drawing complaints from a couple of the riders who had lost their happy thoughts.
And then the remaining DF rider (see mechanicals 1 and 2) flatted.
Mechanicals 7 and 8
The poor guy. Mr. Strada stayed back with him while the rest of us rolled slowly on, in search of some shade. There was none.A cell phone rang. It was Mr. Strada. "Um... we need a 700c tube. Does anyone have one?"
Most DF road bikes use 700cm rims, and so there's usually an abundance of spare tubes of the correct size. Unfortunately, on this day, the two other DF riders had had to turn back, and most of the remaining bikes were Bacchettas with dual 650cm wheels. Fortunately, one of the recumbents was of the big rear/little front wheel variety, and its rider pedaled back to donate his spare 700cm tube. Normally, this wouldn't be a big deal, but on a ride like the one we were having, the generosity of such a gesture was huge and was not lost on me.
Meanwhile, we waited, baking in the sun. We re-applied sun block. We finally decided that the best way to keep cool would be to keep moving, so we headed out at a leisurely pace across the dam. Halfway across, the cell phone rang. The flat was fixed and we were ready to move on. We returned to where the mechanics were waiting and were just about to roll out when...
"Damn," the DF rider said. "I just flatted again."
He hadn't even gotten back on the bike. Out of options, he found himself some shade to sit in and called the DF riders who'd turned back earlier to come and pick him up.
Denouement
We made it through the return trip without any further mechanical mishaps, but by this time everyone was dragging and feeling the effects of the heat. I continued to drink from my water bladder, but my breakfast was long gone and the snacks and energy gel hadn't done much to perk me up. Our pleasant ride was rapidly turning into an epic.At Aubrey, we turned east on FM-428 for the home stretch back to Celina and a series of rolling and not-so-rolling hills. One of the guys, who normally rides a fast, sexy lowracer was having a tough time. "Anything less than a 20 mph average just isn't worth bringing the racer," he'd said earlier in the day. It was a decision he had come to regret, I suspect.
I was feeling a bit beaten down too, but I concentrated on pedaling in circles and remembering to drink often, all the while watching my average speed fall. When we rolled into the town square, my computer showed 60.17 miles. All it would take is a few leisurely laps up and down the lightly-traveled streets to complete two more miles and a full metric century—but I was done. I had developed a thousand-yard stare, and my legs felt rubbery. I needed air conditioning and food.
Under normal circumstances, this would have been a really fun ride (instead of a pleasant epic). The company was great, and it was fun riding with a bunch of fast recumbents, but the heat, the bad luck, and the fact that I really haven't been on the bike for a month made for a long day. I'll be ready to try it again when the rain stops and I've had a chance to get acclimated to the heat.
I'll bring more than my usual two spare tubes, however.
04 July, 2007
Long may she wave
- 3 half-inch screws - 30¢
- 3 lead screw anchors - 15¢
- 4 hours hammer drill rental from Home Depot - $41.75
- 5 minutes of my time (not counting the 45 minutes I spent trying to drill the first ¼" of the first hole in the brick and the 1½ hours spent running to and from Home Depot for drill rental) - FREE
- Seeing Old Glory flapping in front of the new house - Priceless
Happy Independence Day!
30 June, 2007
Teatro de los artes marcial
Wanna see something really funny? Catch some cheesy old Hong Kong chop-socky flick on Telemundo, dubbed in Spanish. Say, Invicible Armor, the synopsis of which reads, "Falsamente acusado de asesinato por un corrupto oficial, un hombre usa las artes marciales para limpiar su honor."
The truly disconcerting part is that I actually got the gist of it.
The truly disconcerting part is that I actually got the gist of it.
iMania
It was only as I was finding my way back here to begin this post that the irony of the previous post's title hit me. After two solid weeks of rain and one of the wettest springs in the state's history, Texas is anything but dry. Waterlogged, maybe.
I think we can safely declare that the past couple years' drought is safely over.
Anyway, with more storms in the forecast and after... um... sleeping a bit too late to get myself around in time to go riding with any of the local clubs, I'm planted in front of the TV, catching up with what's going on in the world.
BUT... I guess I'm not the gadget geek I used to be. I just don't get what's so special about a phone that plays music and has fancy scrolling graphics that people would feel compelled to camp out in long lines, in the rain, for a chance to buy one. Maybe I'm just cheap, because when I see all these ads touting phones that allow you to browse the web or watch TV shows from the comfort of your phone, all I can think is, "Wow. The air time for that must cost a bundle." So cheap that Turtle and I don't even spring for the extra $15/month that would allow us to make use of our camera phones.
Which leads me toward another rant about how devious it is to make camera or music phones cheap, but design them so that the only way of getting content on or off of them is to upload/download them using costly air time. But I'll resist the urge and move on.
The next story was about a woman who is suing Mars, the makers of Starburst fruit chews, claiming that, "about 3 chews and it literally locked my jaw… and it just literally pulled my jaw out of joint." [link]
Lady, you've been around long enough and have eaten enough candy to have experienced Sugar-Daddy, Tootsie Roll, and Laffy Taffy (i.e. "old-timer candy"). If you can't figure out that something like Starburst could be hazardous to your crowns, you probably should be required to wear a helmet when walking.
Literally.
I think we can safely declare that the past couple years' drought is safely over.
Anyway, with more storms in the forecast and after... um... sleeping a bit too late to get myself around in time to go riding with any of the local clubs, I'm planted in front of the TV, catching up with what's going on in the world.
The iPhone
I want to preface my remarks by noting that Apple's new superphone does look cool. I know that Bill has been salivating over this thing for months, and I expect Eric has been eyeing his new toy budget, as well.BUT... I guess I'm not the gadget geek I used to be. I just don't get what's so special about a phone that plays music and has fancy scrolling graphics that people would feel compelled to camp out in long lines, in the rain, for a chance to buy one. Maybe I'm just cheap, because when I see all these ads touting phones that allow you to browse the web or watch TV shows from the comfort of your phone, all I can think is, "Wow. The air time for that must cost a bundle." So cheap that Turtle and I don't even spring for the extra $15/month that would allow us to make use of our camera phones.
Which leads me toward another rant about how devious it is to make camera or music phones cheap, but design them so that the only way of getting content on or off of them is to upload/download them using costly air time. But I'll resist the urge and move on.
In the news
Just when I had begun to think that Americans were starting to wise up, it looks like some of us have rediscovered the joys of frivolous litigation. When I heard about the recent $54 million (note: not $54M) lawsuit brought by a D.C. judge against a dry cleaner who misplaced a pair of his pants, I took it in stride. I view our nation's capital in much the same way as I do Hollywood, each being in its own way a sort of common sense black hole from which only ridiculousness can escape. [link]The next story was about a woman who is suing Mars, the makers of Starburst fruit chews, claiming that, "about 3 chews and it literally locked my jaw… and it just literally pulled my jaw out of joint." [link]
Lady, you've been around long enough and have eaten enough candy to have experienced Sugar-Daddy, Tootsie Roll, and Laffy Taffy (i.e. "old-timer candy"). If you can't figure out that something like Starburst could be hazardous to your crowns, you probably should be required to wear a helmet when walking.
Literally.
25 June, 2007
Dry Spell Outlasts Dry Humor. Film at 11:00
I know, it's unconscionable to go as long as I have without posting, but while my current work situation doesn't provide much in the way of entertaining anecdotes, I'm pleased to report that I seem to have appeared on my boss's boss's radar. Is it presumptuous of me to dream that I might someday battle my way out of the cubicle and into an office again?
Maybe not, but I'm far too occupied with exceeding expectations (and getting noticed for it) to concern myself with that, just now.
There once was a C++ coder
Who was known for his powerful odor.
He said, "I commute
And it's hot out, to boot;
But my bike, she's content 'cause I rode 'er."
I'm a big fan of Harry Graham, so...
Willie up the hillside spun,
The price his burning hamstrings paid.
When halfway up he said, "I'm done."
Poor William didn't make the grade.
Willie on a bike of red
Bonked because he had no Gu.
He wore no helmet on his head,
And now he's dead: he bonked it too.
And a wee limerick...
There once was a man from Nantucket
Whose bike was so tough he could huck* it.
He rode off the edge
Of a very high ledge—
They retrieved his remains with a bucket.
* A mountain biking term meaning to... well, throw oneself off a cliff without a second thought, basically.
Maybe not, but I'm far too occupied with exceeding expectations (and getting noticed for it) to concern myself with that, just now.
Meanwhile...
I rediscovered some bicycling poetry I wrote a couple years ago. Since I can't seem to keep track of this stuff, I'm archiving it here.There once was a C++ coder
Who was known for his powerful odor.
He said, "I commute
And it's hot out, to boot;
But my bike, she's content 'cause I rode 'er."
I'm a big fan of Harry Graham, so...
Willie up the hillside spun,
The price his burning hamstrings paid.
When halfway up he said, "I'm done."
Poor William didn't make the grade.
Willie on a bike of red
Bonked because he had no Gu.
He wore no helmet on his head,
And now he's dead: he bonked it too.
And a wee limerick...
There once was a man from Nantucket
Whose bike was so tough he could huck* it.
He rode off the edge
Of a very high ledge—
They retrieved his remains with a bucket.
* A mountain biking term meaning to... well, throw oneself off a cliff without a second thought, basically.
11 June, 2007
Ride report: Collin Classic (McKinney, TX)
The 16th Collin Classic was a very different ride from the 14th Collin Classic I first took part in, back in 2005. That one was beastly hot, the 50-something mile route was crazy with large-aggregate chip seal, and I was still suffering on a DF bike. After what seemed at the time like an ungodly amount of climbing, we had to battle up one of the vicious hills on the frontage road running south along US-75—only to arrive at McKinney High School to find that the Chipotle eats we'd been promised had been replaced with jelly sandwiches or rubbery hot dogs. Some people were irate because the t-shirts had run out, and they'd been given headsweats instead.
The Classic took a lot of knocks that year, and the ride director has since worked very hard to address the criticisms. In 2006, there was a lot less chip seal, the giant hill at the end had been deleted from the route, and there was pizza and fajita tacos for afters.
This year, the improvements to the 55-mile route (in fact, 53.72 miles) continued. There were still plenty of hills to climb, but I can't remember a ride route that had such a generous portion of smooth, well-maintained pavement. There was a small amount of chip seal, but it didn't feel particularly rough to me. Either it had been broken in, or running my tires a couple PSI softer this year helped. There was no wind to fight, and the heat wasn't too bad.
I had another very good day.
I started off with The Stradas and Corsa Ken, but that didn't last more than 100 yards. Thanks to the crush of riders and a mechanical glitch involving Mrs. Strada's computer sensor, I quickly became separated from The Stradas. Not long after, I lost Ken as well. Without any social governor to keep my hammerhead wanna-be tendencies in check, I set about the business of passing... well, anyone between me and a vacant stretch of road. I hadn't started out feeling particularly spry, but my legs warmed up and the HRM showed an average around 160 bpm (not unreasonable, for me). By mile 30, the crowd had thinned slightly, and I pulled in to the rest stop to wait for the Stradas so we could regroup. When they arrived, we compared computer readings and found we'd been averaging 18.5 mph to that point.
A bit further down the road, Mrs. Strada took a spill at a railroad crossing and got banged up a bit. She's a trooper, though, and after taking a few minutes to clean her injuries, we were all back on the road. We all made it across the finish line at around 3 hours and 15 minutes, in plenty of time to chow down on questionable-looking (but muy delicioso) soft tacos filled with a mixture of eggs, potatoes, and some sort of meat-like substance that may or may not have been chicken.
It was in the cafeteria that I finally caught up with LanceNotStrong, Allez, and Allez's husband. I'd run into rcarlino before the ride, and he said Lance was looking for me, but I never was able to spot their group during the ride. I took the opportunity to interrupt their conversation for a few minutes before leaving them to analyze the contents of their tacos.
Notwithstanding my glowing review of the Wild Ride, the 16th Collin Classic might have replaced it as my best for-pay ride experience of this season, if the route had been about 10 miles longer and if I'd spent less time separated from my riding buddies. As it is, I'm pretty pleased at having finished a ride of that length, with hills, with an 18.1 mph rolling average.
The Classic took a lot of knocks that year, and the ride director has since worked very hard to address the criticisms. In 2006, there was a lot less chip seal, the giant hill at the end had been deleted from the route, and there was pizza and fajita tacos for afters.
This year, the improvements to the 55-mile route (in fact, 53.72 miles) continued. There were still plenty of hills to climb, but I can't remember a ride route that had such a generous portion of smooth, well-maintained pavement. There was a small amount of chip seal, but it didn't feel particularly rough to me. Either it had been broken in, or running my tires a couple PSI softer this year helped. There was no wind to fight, and the heat wasn't too bad.
I had another very good day.
I started off with The Stradas and Corsa Ken, but that didn't last more than 100 yards. Thanks to the crush of riders and a mechanical glitch involving Mrs. Strada's computer sensor, I quickly became separated from The Stradas. Not long after, I lost Ken as well. Without any social governor to keep my hammerhead wanna-be tendencies in check, I set about the business of passing... well, anyone between me and a vacant stretch of road. I hadn't started out feeling particularly spry, but my legs warmed up and the HRM showed an average around 160 bpm (not unreasonable, for me). By mile 30, the crowd had thinned slightly, and I pulled in to the rest stop to wait for the Stradas so we could regroup. When they arrived, we compared computer readings and found we'd been averaging 18.5 mph to that point.
A bit further down the road, Mrs. Strada took a spill at a railroad crossing and got banged up a bit. She's a trooper, though, and after taking a few minutes to clean her injuries, we were all back on the road. We all made it across the finish line at around 3 hours and 15 minutes, in plenty of time to chow down on questionable-looking (but muy delicioso) soft tacos filled with a mixture of eggs, potatoes, and some sort of meat-like substance that may or may not have been chicken.
It was in the cafeteria that I finally caught up with LanceNotStrong, Allez, and Allez's husband. I'd run into rcarlino before the ride, and he said Lance was looking for me, but I never was able to spot their group during the ride. I took the opportunity to interrupt their conversation for a few minutes before leaving them to analyze the contents of their tacos.
Notwithstanding my glowing review of the Wild Ride, the 16th Collin Classic might have replaced it as my best for-pay ride experience of this season, if the route had been about 10 miles longer and if I'd spent less time separated from my riding buddies. As it is, I'm pretty pleased at having finished a ride of that length, with hills, with an 18.1 mph rolling average.
08 June, 2007
On the juice
Lest any of you be tempted to suspect that I'm kidding about the pickle juice that's become increasingly popular with cyclists over the last year or so, I present Exhibit A.Or maybe Exhibit P. Or D. Just... look at the picture.
I know what you're thinking, because I thought the same thing: "Eww. Nasty." And yes, all else being equal, you won't catch me lounging in front of the TV, sipping this stuff after a hard day at work. That's what a nice, cold dunkelweisen is for.
On the other hand, when I'm 40 miles into a hilly bike ride and sweating like a pig, this stuff is a real picker-upper. Still doesn't taste great... but better.
Meanwhile...
I found this on my camera while retrieving the picture of the pickle juice. Turtle's out of town for the weekend and may enjoy this shot of her baby girl.
03 June, 2007
Ride report: Mesquite Rodeo Ride (Mesquite, TX)
I've been back on the bike and participating in charity rallies since 2004, but I had never tried the Mesquite Rodeo Bike Ride before. At the urging of the Stradas and a couple of DF buddies from the Plano club, I signed myself up for the 56-mile course. Turtle signed up for the 20.
It takes the two of us a bit longer than most to get our collective show on the road and to get unloaded and set up, so we arrived at the Resistol arena (or Mesquite Convention Center... whatever) at around 7am. As a result, we got a prime handicap parking spot next to the hotel and set about setting up her handcycle and my bike. And then we waited, watching for the RBENT bunch we were supposed to meet. And waited. By a few minutes before 8:00, Turtle had returned from her pre-ride pit stop, and we still hadn't seen a single familiar face on a recumbent. I later learned that this was because everyone else had parked on the complete opposite side of the convention center.
But no matter. With a few minutes to spare, we made our way to the starting pack where we got Turtle introduced to a couple RBENT folks doing the short route, and I hooked up with my bunch. The start was... awkward. Fred Flintstoning it up a grade to start on a wet street with a bunch of high-strung DF riders is not the ideal way to begin a ride, but we managed and set about picking our way through the pack toward clear air. The Stradas and I quickly got separated from the rest of our group.
Early on, I was impressed with the traffic control, not only for the motorists but also in the way that we cyclists were funneled to where we needed to be by means of liberal application of road cones. Sure, it made things a little dodgy having to at the same time avoid cones knocked over by inattentive riders and greasy-looking puddles on the streets—but there were half a dozen intersections and lane transitions that would have been much less safe without them. Route layout and intersection were, with few exceptions, better than for the Wild Ride, and that's saying something. I thought the route was a nice mix of urban and country riding, and while I could have done without some of the teeth-rattling, multiply-patched sections of pavement, sometimes that's just the price you pay for beautiful scenery and the not-entirely-unpleasant tang of cow poo in your nostrils.
The route was, at once, less hilly than I'd heard in the past and more hilly than more recent reports had led me to believe. Maybe it was just that I was having an off day (or feeling the effects of not having ridden in nearly two weeks), but it seemed like we did an awful lot of climbing for the less than 1500 feet of elevation gain the ride is supposed to have. But it was all good, and the best part is that instead of getting smacked by the thunderstorms that were predicted, we got a nice, sunny day.
And Blue Bell ice cream for afters.
I kind of wish that there had been a chance to log my sixth metric century (100 km = about 62.5 miles) of the year, but given that I thought I might have to downshift to one of the shorter routes because of the weather, 56 miles and change is just fine. Motorists were sharing the road nicely (except the woman who nearly dislocated her shoulder rolling down her window to spit and scream obscenities at us), we didn't have any unpleasant encounters with racer boys, and the company couldn't have been better. Unless...
Nah. Scratch that. I don't know if Jessica Alba even knows how to ride a bike.
It takes the two of us a bit longer than most to get our collective show on the road and to get unloaded and set up, so we arrived at the Resistol arena (or Mesquite Convention Center... whatever) at around 7am. As a result, we got a prime handicap parking spot next to the hotel and set about setting up her handcycle and my bike. And then we waited, watching for the RBENT bunch we were supposed to meet. And waited. By a few minutes before 8:00, Turtle had returned from her pre-ride pit stop, and we still hadn't seen a single familiar face on a recumbent. I later learned that this was because everyone else had parked on the complete opposite side of the convention center.
But no matter. With a few minutes to spare, we made our way to the starting pack where we got Turtle introduced to a couple RBENT folks doing the short route, and I hooked up with my bunch. The start was... awkward. Fred Flintstoning it up a grade to start on a wet street with a bunch of high-strung DF riders is not the ideal way to begin a ride, but we managed and set about picking our way through the pack toward clear air. The Stradas and I quickly got separated from the rest of our group.
Early on, I was impressed with the traffic control, not only for the motorists but also in the way that we cyclists were funneled to where we needed to be by means of liberal application of road cones. Sure, it made things a little dodgy having to at the same time avoid cones knocked over by inattentive riders and greasy-looking puddles on the streets—but there were half a dozen intersections and lane transitions that would have been much less safe without them. Route layout and intersection were, with few exceptions, better than for the Wild Ride, and that's saying something. I thought the route was a nice mix of urban and country riding, and while I could have done without some of the teeth-rattling, multiply-patched sections of pavement, sometimes that's just the price you pay for beautiful scenery and the not-entirely-unpleasant tang of cow poo in your nostrils.
The route was, at once, less hilly than I'd heard in the past and more hilly than more recent reports had led me to believe. Maybe it was just that I was having an off day (or feeling the effects of not having ridden in nearly two weeks), but it seemed like we did an awful lot of climbing for the less than 1500 feet of elevation gain the ride is supposed to have. But it was all good, and the best part is that instead of getting smacked by the thunderstorms that were predicted, we got a nice, sunny day.
And Blue Bell ice cream for afters.
I kind of wish that there had been a chance to log my sixth metric century (100 km = about 62.5 miles) of the year, but given that I thought I might have to downshift to one of the shorter routes because of the weather, 56 miles and change is just fine. Motorists were sharing the road nicely (except the woman who nearly dislocated her shoulder rolling down her window to spit and scream obscenities at us), we didn't have any unpleasant encounters with racer boys, and the company couldn't have been better. Unless...
Nah. Scratch that. I don't know if Jessica Alba even knows how to ride a bike.
30 May, 2007
Wherefore art thou, muse?
I remember now: I have this blog thingy where I used to post my internal dialogue for the... well, entertainment might be too charitable a word. Amusement, perhaps.
Around 3:30 this morning, I finally gave in to concerns about lawn care that had been milling around in my head and keeping me awake. I crept out of bed and went to my office to look up some information about thatch control and core aeration, but I ended up playing around on Flickr. It's fortunate that web sites don't literally collect dust, but I could tell that it had been a while since I'd been on that site. As if it weren't bad enough that I haven't really uploaded much of anything since Turtle's and my Caribbean cruise last year, I also had a couple buddy requests (or something like that) in my in box.
I didn't even know I had an in box on Flickr.
Anyway, I discovered a new "blog this" feature that allows you to, with the click of a button, add many of the photos on Flickr as a blog posting. Even more exciting, this actually does work with the new and super handy (here's a tissue, in case any of that sarcasm dripped on your shoes) Blogger Beta. I promptly blogged a couple photos I found particularly interesting so that you could enjoy them too.
That lasted about as long as it took for me to get to work, have a cup of coffee, and pause to wonder about the copyright implications of my actions. Sure enough, "The Jimmer's" photos were marked "All rights reserved", so despite the fact that he (or she) hadn't disabled my ability to use the "blog this" button, I felt my only correct options were to either take down the images from my blog, or go through the whole process of contacting the photographer to ask his permission to display his (or her) work.
Frankly, that's just too much effort to go through just for an image of a dilapidated shack with a TV with the screen shot out in the front yard. Even if my alternate title was going to be "The Presley Homestead".
Around 3:30 this morning, I finally gave in to concerns about lawn care that had been milling around in my head and keeping me awake. I crept out of bed and went to my office to look up some information about thatch control and core aeration, but I ended up playing around on Flickr. It's fortunate that web sites don't literally collect dust, but I could tell that it had been a while since I'd been on that site. As if it weren't bad enough that I haven't really uploaded much of anything since Turtle's and my Caribbean cruise last year, I also had a couple buddy requests (or something like that) in my in box.
I didn't even know I had an in box on Flickr.
Anyway, I discovered a new "blog this" feature that allows you to, with the click of a button, add many of the photos on Flickr as a blog posting. Even more exciting, this actually does work with the new and super handy (here's a tissue, in case any of that sarcasm dripped on your shoes) Blogger Beta. I promptly blogged a couple photos I found particularly interesting so that you could enjoy them too.
That lasted about as long as it took for me to get to work, have a cup of coffee, and pause to wonder about the copyright implications of my actions. Sure enough, "The Jimmer's" photos were marked "All rights reserved", so despite the fact that he (or she) hadn't disabled my ability to use the "blog this" button, I felt my only correct options were to either take down the images from my blog, or go through the whole process of contacting the photographer to ask his permission to display his (or her) work.
Frankly, that's just too much effort to go through just for an image of a dilapidated shack with a TV with the screen shot out in the front yard. Even if my alternate title was going to be "The Presley Homestead".
Meanwhile
I've been trying to take Tink's recent challenge to heart and return to noticing all the strange little things going on in the world around me.- The beefy, early-middle-aged guy in the booth across from us at Chili's. The tribal armband tattoo was kind of cool. The spider web encircling the point of his elbow wasn't something I would have chosen—but then, part of the reason I don't have one is that I could never think of a design that represented something integral enough to Who I Am that I'd want to wear it for the rest of my life.
Which brings me to the four-inch high "KISS" plastered across his bicep. Now, I can almost understand someone getting a tattoo of the Grateful Dead's iconic skull. For their fans, it's not just a band; it's a way of life. But KISS? Sure, I have a couple of their earlier albums (one within arm's reach), from before they got old and fat and couldn't carry off the whole rock-gods-in-makeup thing any more. But come on. Bands come and go.
I bet the poor guy sees that tattoo in the mirror and wonders what he was thinking. Or worse, maybe he doesn't. - Speaking of rocking out, I actually got on my desktop computer at home the other day and rediscovered the pile of MP3s I have on it. It occurred to me that it might be nice to put together some driving music to listen to during my commutes, now that I have a CD player in the car. The result? Commuter Sampler - Vol. 1.
You'd think that I'd use lots of soothing ambient music and drowsy Rachmaninov... stuff. Nope. It's all high octane stuff. Counterintuitively, it helps my mood during my commutes, perhaps because I'm so busy howling along with Queens of the Stone Age's "No One Knows" or Dwight Yoakum's "Fast As You" that I can't be bothered to get pissed off when the dozenth butthead cuts me off without signaling. Or maybe there just aren't that many people willing to cut off the insane guy while he's yelling at his windshield.
23 May, 2007
Cut off
If it weren't for the fact that Blogger is a free service, I'd start to suspect that I'd forgotten to pay my blog bill. Sometime during the past few weeks, I've stopped receiving notifications about comments left by anyone who's logged in to Google. That means I get notices when rcarlino leaves a comment—anonymous, technically, since he's not logged in, but not really, since he leaves his handle—but never know when anyone else does.
Right about the time Emma Sometimes pointed out that one of my posts had got the comment link turned off, I noticed that other posts had received comments I didn't know were there. And here I thought I was just boring you all.
Are the rest of you having this problem, or am I getting the VIP treatment?
I'm overdue for a trip to Costco, so maybe something weird and blogworthy will come of that.
This morning, I saw three ducks foraging in the ground cover landscaping outside the big city building where I work. They were the tame white ones, and I have no idea where they might have come from.
Yep. I'm coming up dry, so in parting just let me share this thought with you: Я имеют жить форель в моем нижнего белья.
Right about the time Emma Sometimes pointed out that one of my posts had got the comment link turned off, I noticed that other posts had received comments I didn't know were there. And here I thought I was just boring you all.
Are the rest of you having this problem, or am I getting the VIP treatment?
Meanwhile...
I wish I had more entertaining things to tell you about, but there's not much going on but work.I'm overdue for a trip to Costco, so maybe something weird and blogworthy will come of that.
This morning, I saw three ducks foraging in the ground cover landscaping outside the big city building where I work. They were the tame white ones, and I have no idea where they might have come from.
Yep. I'm coming up dry, so in parting just let me share this thought with you: Я имеют жить форель в моем нижнего белья.
19 May, 2007
Ride report: Richardson Wild Ride (Richardson, TX)
For most of the early part of this year, I was focused on training and raising money for my MS 150 ride, but today Turtle and I took part in our first charity ride of the year.
The Richardson Wild Ride benefits the Richardson Regional Cancer Center and is held in conjunction with the Wildflower Arts and Music Festival each May. I rode in the rally two years ago, before I made the switch from my Trek 1500 road bike to the recumbent. That year, the weather was sunny and surprised a lot of us with a high temperature in the upper 90s. I went out fast with the long riders, bonked hard before the second rest stop, and barely managed to limp back to the finish for 40 miles. Still, what I'd seen of the event impressed me, and I was eager to see how things looked from the seat of my recumbent this year.
When we rolled out of bed at 5:20 this morning, I heard rain pounding on the roof. I groaned inwardly, because Turtle has a history of having to skip rides because of bad weather, and she was really looking forward to this one. But a quick check of the weather radar revealed that the rain was much lighter elsewhere and would likely pass through before the start of the ride. We continued our preparations, and by 6:30 the rain had stopped. At 8:00, when the ride started, the streets were still damp and puddly in spots, but we weren't getting rained on. And it was cool. Oh bliss!
Squirrel Bait—or as she has officially requested to be addressed, "Squirrelly Girl"—was there too, and we planned to start at the rear of the pack with Turtle so that we could ride out with her. Turtle was headed out to do the 16-mile route on her handcycle; SG and I would ride together as far as the second rest stop, which was the turnaround for the 40-mile route. I'd decide at that point whether to return with her or continue on the 64-mile route.
Starting at the back, we knew that we'd have to fight our way up through the slower riders, but by 15 miles the pack had thinned out a bit. When we go to rest stop 2, SG stuck to her plan and continued on the 40-mile route. I was feeling strong and headed into the hills to the east of Lake Lavon to bag my 5th metric century for the year.
See, one of the things about recumbents is that our ride rhythm is a bit different than wedgies. We tend to descend faster, while the wedgies are riding their brakes. Since we have to work harder on climbs, we prefer to fly down hills and use the momentum to reduce the amount of work we have to put into a following climb. So I often find myself penned in behind a glob of wedgies, losing all my momentum and then having to work my tail off on the following climb because the wedgies don't even start climbing until they absolutely have to.
It was quite relaxing to ride with a couple people whose rhythms and ability level were similar, so no one had to wait up for anyone else. And we got some strange looks from our fellow riders along the way, including a priceless moment during a climb when we passed a line of wedgies. On the way down the hill following the climb, MrsP rolled up next to me.
"Did you hear that?" she asked. I hadn't, so she explained. "I didn't get all of it, but one of the women in that group we just passed said something about us passing them, and one of the guys told her, 'Don't worry. They won't be able to keep it up for long.'"
They were right, of course. Once we got out of the rolling hills, we did ease the pace to 17 mph or so, but we never did see that group again. I guess they couldn't keep up our pace for long either.
When we arrived at the finish, we thought it would be neat to line up across the road, side by side, so the event photographer would get a shot of the three of us together. At least, until we discovered that there was no even photographer at the finish line this year. Ah well. We just consoled ourselves by sitting under a tree with Turtle, Sarah, and CliffyB while noshing on cold cheese pizza.
And the sun came out. It was a very good day and among the most fun of the rallies I've ridden during the past few years.
In terms of the ride organization itself, it's the about the best I've ever seen, from registration and packet pick up, to parking direction, to staging at the start. The rest stops are not as extravagant as some, but when you get to the finish, it's pizza and beverages galore. Traffic control on this ride is outstanding from beginning to end, with peace officers controlling most intersections and volunteer flagmen on some of the busier streets to make sure riders make needed lane changes in time. The only possible down side is that riders can become complacent and ride right through un-controlled intersections, assuming that they have right-of-way—but that's absolutely not the fault of the organizers. Another knock peculiar to Turtle's situation is that they hadn't provided a single handicap-accessible porta-john. She was pretty hot about that, but the ride director made it right, comping Turtle's ride fees for both this year and next year's ride, as well as giving his heartfelt promise that the oversight would not be repeated next year.
Thus making the Richardson Wild Ride one of the premier rallies in North Texas.
The Richardson Wild Ride benefits the Richardson Regional Cancer Center and is held in conjunction with the Wildflower Arts and Music Festival each May. I rode in the rally two years ago, before I made the switch from my Trek 1500 road bike to the recumbent. That year, the weather was sunny and surprised a lot of us with a high temperature in the upper 90s. I went out fast with the long riders, bonked hard before the second rest stop, and barely managed to limp back to the finish for 40 miles. Still, what I'd seen of the event impressed me, and I was eager to see how things looked from the seat of my recumbent this year.
When we rolled out of bed at 5:20 this morning, I heard rain pounding on the roof. I groaned inwardly, because Turtle has a history of having to skip rides because of bad weather, and she was really looking forward to this one. But a quick check of the weather radar revealed that the rain was much lighter elsewhere and would likely pass through before the start of the ride. We continued our preparations, and by 6:30 the rain had stopped. At 8:00, when the ride started, the streets were still damp and puddly in spots, but we weren't getting rained on. And it was cool. Oh bliss!
Squirrel Bait—or as she has officially requested to be addressed, "Squirrelly Girl"—was there too, and we planned to start at the rear of the pack with Turtle so that we could ride out with her. Turtle was headed out to do the 16-mile route on her handcycle; SG and I would ride together as far as the second rest stop, which was the turnaround for the 40-mile route. I'd decide at that point whether to return with her or continue on the 64-mile route.
Starting at the back, we knew that we'd have to fight our way up through the slower riders, but by 15 miles the pack had thinned out a bit. When we go to rest stop 2, SG stuck to her plan and continued on the 40-mile route. I was feeling strong and headed into the hills to the east of Lake Lavon to bag my 5th metric century for the year.
At rest stop 3, I pulled in for a snack and a potty break, and I was pleased to see Mr. & Mrs P, a couple friends I'd met on a previous ride were standing next to their brand new, fire engine red Bacchetta Stradas. We rode on together, forming our own little pace line and having a ball.
See, one of the things about recumbents is that our ride rhythm is a bit different than wedgies. We tend to descend faster, while the wedgies are riding their brakes. Since we have to work harder on climbs, we prefer to fly down hills and use the momentum to reduce the amount of work we have to put into a following climb. So I often find myself penned in behind a glob of wedgies, losing all my momentum and then having to work my tail off on the following climb because the wedgies don't even start climbing until they absolutely have to.
It was quite relaxing to ride with a couple people whose rhythms and ability level were similar, so no one had to wait up for anyone else. And we got some strange looks from our fellow riders along the way, including a priceless moment during a climb when we passed a line of wedgies. On the way down the hill following the climb, MrsP rolled up next to me.
"Did you hear that?" she asked. I hadn't, so she explained. "I didn't get all of it, but one of the women in that group we just passed said something about us passing them, and one of the guys told her, 'Don't worry. They won't be able to keep it up for long.'"
They were right, of course. Once we got out of the rolling hills, we did ease the pace to 17 mph or so, but we never did see that group again. I guess they couldn't keep up our pace for long either.
When we arrived at the finish, we thought it would be neat to line up across the road, side by side, so the event photographer would get a shot of the three of us together. At least, until we discovered that there was no even photographer at the finish line this year. Ah well. We just consoled ourselves by sitting under a tree with Turtle, Sarah, and CliffyB while noshing on cold cheese pizza.
And the sun came out. It was a very good day and among the most fun of the rallies I've ridden during the past few years.
In terms of the ride organization itself, it's the about the best I've ever seen, from registration and packet pick up, to parking direction, to staging at the start. The rest stops are not as extravagant as some, but when you get to the finish, it's pizza and beverages galore. Traffic control on this ride is outstanding from beginning to end, with peace officers controlling most intersections and volunteer flagmen on some of the busier streets to make sure riders make needed lane changes in time. The only possible down side is that riders can become complacent and ride right through un-controlled intersections, assuming that they have right-of-way—but that's absolutely not the fault of the organizers. Another knock peculiar to Turtle's situation is that they hadn't provided a single handicap-accessible porta-john. She was pretty hot about that, but the ride director made it right, comping Turtle's ride fees for both this year and next year's ride, as well as giving his heartfelt promise that the oversight would not be repeated next year.
Thus making the Richardson Wild Ride one of the premier rallies in North Texas.
15 May, 2007
Just... a little while... longer
Just another couple days and I should get part of my life back. Brain cells and fingers left idle in the wake of my indentured web servitude... [sob] ...well, the mind bloggles at the possibilities.
In the meantime, check out this funky (in the words of the photographer) shot of the bunch of us waiting to roll out on the first day of the MS 150. I think it's rad.
...and one of my favorite shots from the whole weekend: Turtle congratulating me after I came across the finish line.
Now playing: Drivin' and Cryin', Fly Me Courageous
In the meantime, check out this funky (in the words of the photographer) shot of the bunch of us waiting to roll out on the first day of the MS 150. I think it's rad.
...and one of my favorite shots from the whole weekend: Turtle congratulating me after I came across the finish line.
Now playing: Drivin' and Cryin', Fly Me Courageous
07 May, 2007
The long and winding road
We've all heard the expression "as the crow flies", right? Well, it has nothing whatsoever to do with this past weekend's MS 150. If one were to pop up a map on Google or MapQuest or Yahoo!, he (or she) might be inclined to observe that there's no way the distance between Frisco and Ft. Worth adds up to 150 miles. I'm here to tell you that there most certainly is—if you take the scenic route.
Such a scenic route would include little-known dots on the map, such as Rhome and Dido. It would pass through the sleepy environs of Prosper and Ponder and Krum (but not quite Krugerville). It would cross Lake Ray Roberts and Eagle Mountain Lake. There would be an abundance of wildflowers and longhorn cattle and people waving from lawn chairs in their front yards.
There would be wind and rain on the first day, and long steep hills (and more wind) on the second. And at the end, there would be friends and family, some jumping up and down, some waving from their wheelchairs—but all cheering their faces off. There would be a jumpin' band playing, and tents with Cajun food and liquid carbohydrate replenishment.
And sore muscles. And a sort of vague sense of joy, not so much because the headwinds and hills were over, but because of a sense of having accomplished something for a worthy cause, in the names of others who could not do so for themselves.
We had a freakin' blast, wind and rain be damned.
Such a scenic route would include little-known dots on the map, such as Rhome and Dido. It would pass through the sleepy environs of Prosper and Ponder and Krum (but not quite Krugerville). It would cross Lake Ray Roberts and Eagle Mountain Lake. There would be an abundance of wildflowers and longhorn cattle and people waving from lawn chairs in their front yards.
There would be wind and rain on the first day, and long steep hills (and more wind) on the second. And at the end, there would be friends and family, some jumping up and down, some waving from their wheelchairs—but all cheering their faces off. There would be a jumpin' band playing, and tents with Cajun food and liquid carbohydrate replenishment.
And sore muscles. And a sort of vague sense of joy, not so much because the headwinds and hills were over, but because of a sense of having accomplished something for a worthy cause, in the names of others who could not do so for themselves.
We had a freakin' blast, wind and rain be damned.
Postus Scriptum
It has been brought to my attention that there was no comment link at the end of this posting, and sure enough when I looked I found that comments and backlinks were disabled. I didn't do it intentionally, so maybe Blogger burped. Or they've helpfully changed my defaults.03 May, 2007
Foo needs...
No one actually tagged me, but Gwynne posted this meme, and I thought it would be fun. Go to Google and type in your name, followed by the word "needs."
I could go on, but I have things to do. Love ya... buh-bye.
- Foo needs a Bar to do some or all of it's work. You'll get no argument from me. However, I do object to your misuse of punctuation, as well as being reduced to an 'it'.
- Foo needs to actually perform, say in certain cases First only, in others Second only, in others yet, First then Second (if Foo never needs to call Second before, and First after, on its argument, then its unit-tests will not exercise that path). Your lips move, but I can't hear what you say.
- Foo$ needs. You've got that a little backwards. It's "Foo needs $."
- Foo needs to be abstract. Now you're just stating the obvious.
- External callers will have no idea that Foo needs swapped arguments. Maybe, but I find that having any kind of conversation with a telemarketer is rather like talking to a brick wall.
- Foo needs lots of extra page reads. Because it feels good to be needed.
- Foo needs to know how to provide a Bar. Look... if you let me know you're coming, I'll have some Shiner Bock on ice. If you want something with fruit or an umbrella, consult a professional.
- Foo needs to be shared between multiple components. Forget it. I'm, like, totally monogamous.
- Foo needs a stronger incentive. I said FORGET. IT.
- Foo needs to be foo. What else can I be but who I am?
- silly-foo-needs-meme.html — mumble mumble I resemble that remark.
I could go on, but I have things to do. Love ya... buh-bye.
01 May, 2007
T-minus three days...
Well, more or less. I could probably geek out and embed a sly little niblet of JavaScript into this post to accurately count down the hours until the Dallas/Foat Wuth MS 150's Saturday morning launch time. I could... if I weren't so dadburned busy.
Tightened deadlines and paring of the development staff at work means I hit the ground running every day and don't slow down until I've put in my 9½ hours. I'm not looking for sympathy. Save that for the folks who got the pink slips. All I'm saying is that some very prime blogging time is being utilized more productively than in the past.
When I'm not at work, I'm doing homeowner stuff and handling the conscripted webmaster duties for all the Ride of Silence organizers who have waited until the last couple weeks to submit their event information. That won't let up until after May 16.
But I'm still here, and I haven't closed up shop. I've actually had a few things I felt were interesting enough to post about, but I got to work, got busy, and by the time I was in a position to post again, I... uh... what was I saying?
My neck's back to what passes for normal in my (wait for it) neck of the woods. The legs are strong and ready to roll. I still need to give my bike and gear a final going-over, but it's supposed to rain for the next couple days, so I have time.
As long as the weather behaves itself, it's going to be a great weekend. The troops—Turtle and assorted other family and well-wishers—all have their marching orders and will be busy getting us riders where we need to go before heading out to the lunch stop to help make sammiches. To top it all off, we received our cool team jerseys from a generous benefactor. Sweet, no?
Besides looking cool, there's a bit of symbolism in the design. Red, if not the MS Society's official color, sure does show up on a lot of little rubber bracelets and on the Champions of MS bandannas. I'm told by people who actually have luck to test that black chips are $100, and green chips are $25. So the chips on the front of the jersey total $150. I hope I don't have to explain why that's a significant number.
On the back, four playing cards bear the faces of the five friends and loved ones for whom we're riding. I think that's the coolest part of the design, and it's kind of a shame that it won't be visible while I'm riding because I'm basically lying on my back.
Finally, I want to thank those of you who have sponsored me in this endeavor. My blogger friends have made up the bulk of my contributors, and I find that pretty darned amazing.
Tightened deadlines and paring of the development staff at work means I hit the ground running every day and don't slow down until I've put in my 9½ hours. I'm not looking for sympathy. Save that for the folks who got the pink slips. All I'm saying is that some very prime blogging time is being utilized more productively than in the past.
When I'm not at work, I'm doing homeowner stuff and handling the conscripted webmaster duties for all the Ride of Silence organizers who have waited until the last couple weeks to submit their event information. That won't let up until after May 16.
But I'm still here, and I haven't closed up shop. I've actually had a few things I felt were interesting enough to post about, but I got to work, got busy, and by the time I was in a position to post again, I... uh... what was I saying?
My neck's back to what passes for normal in my (wait for it) neck of the woods. The legs are strong and ready to roll. I still need to give my bike and gear a final going-over, but it's supposed to rain for the next couple days, so I have time.
As long as the weather behaves itself, it's going to be a great weekend. The troops—Turtle and assorted other family and well-wishers—all have their marching orders and will be busy getting us riders where we need to go before heading out to the lunch stop to help make sammiches. To top it all off, we received our cool team jerseys from a generous benefactor. Sweet, no?Besides looking cool, there's a bit of symbolism in the design. Red, if not the MS Society's official color, sure does show up on a lot of little rubber bracelets and on the Champions of MS bandannas. I'm told by people who actually have luck to test that black chips are $100, and green chips are $25. So the chips on the front of the jersey total $150. I hope I don't have to explain why that's a significant number.
On the back, four playing cards bear the faces of the five friends and loved ones for whom we're riding. I think that's the coolest part of the design, and it's kind of a shame that it won't be visible while I'm riding because I'm basically lying on my back.
Finally, I want to thank those of you who have sponsored me in this endeavor. My blogger friends have made up the bulk of my contributors, and I find that pretty darned amazing.
23 April, 2007
Weekend update
But you've already used that as the title of another post, some of you are thinking. Well, hush. It's descriptive, it's Monday, and honestly... what difference does it make? It's not as if anyone's actually going to go back through the archived postings and become confused if two of them have the same title.
Speaking of being confused, maybe someone can explain something to me (or at least provide a non-obvious explanation). When an Amber Alert is issued, we learn the general circumstances under which a child has gone missing. We learn the make, model, and color of the vehicle, that it has a dent in the left rear door, and that it has a bumper sticker reading "My kid beat up your honor student." With a bullet hole in one corner. We learn what the suspected abductor was wearing, down to the team logo on his ball cap, and that the child was wearing pink. Pink t-shirt, pink capris, pink tennis shoes.
Am I the only one who sees it as being rather disingenuous to omit the race of the child and/or that of the suspected abductor from their description(s)?
Yeah, yeah... I get it. The radio station doesn't want to risk being accused of perpetuating this or that racial stereotype. But if I'm supposed to be on the lookout for the child, wouldn't it be useful to have me looking for a white guy pulling on the arm of a black child, if that's the case? Sure, knowing that they're traveling in a clapped out, '90 Accord is helpful, but there are just so many of them smoking around the metroplex.
I'm just sayin'.
Sunday morning, it was time for Dawn Patrol and a metric century with St. Bob and Squirrel Bait. At 63 °F, the temperature was nearly 20 degrees warmer than when we started our ride last weekend, but the stiff southern wind and overcast skies made for a gloomy sort of day. That was good news for us, because it made for a good training day. The homeliness of the day kept a lot of the usual runners andwobblies inexperienced cyclists away from The Rock, and the wind made us work—for half the loop, at least.
"Hey, SB," I called to Squirrel Bait. "Your little friend's back."
"Ew! Make it go aw—"
She didn't finish, instead stopping to watch the squirrel. Sensing the potential for a handout, it had cranked the cuteness up to Full and would have batted its eyelashes at her (if it had any).
"Aw... he is kinda cute, isn't he?"
The squirrel puffed up its tail and shook it to signal its excitement and a desire to be our best friend. I broke off a chunk of my Clif bar and tossed it in the squirrel's direction, and it leapt into the air. Time slowed, Matrix-like, so that we could fully appreciate the back flip with full twist the squirrel executed before snatching the crumb from the air and landing in a graceful crouch on the sidewalk.
"Go, Neo!" I said, genuinely impressed.
The squirrel was busily munching its chunk of chewy energy bar, but spared me a glance and seemed to wink conspiratorially.
To make a long story a bit shorter, I ended up going off on my own so that I'd be sure to get in my metric before my lovely bride started looking at the clock and worrying (as she is wont to do). I considered going for some extra distance, but by the time I'd finished my seventh lap, I'd had enough of the wind and the racer wannabes and gave that a miss. I ended with 65.5 miles at an average of 16 mph.
Later in the day, I got a call from St. Bob who wanted to be sure I'd made out okay, finishing on my own.
I don't call him St. Bob for nothing.
He told me that when he and Squirrel Bait finished their last lap and returned to the parking lot, the park maintenance guy who had tried to help Bob with his mechanical problem last week was there. He asked about Bob's bike problem and whether they'd had a good ride, just making conversation.
Finally, he asked if they'd seen his squirrel, and it turns out that the bold little critter I'd fed isn't just some random rodent. Her name is "Sylvia".
Who knew?
Speaking of being confused, maybe someone can explain something to me (or at least provide a non-obvious explanation). When an Amber Alert is issued, we learn the general circumstances under which a child has gone missing. We learn the make, model, and color of the vehicle, that it has a dent in the left rear door, and that it has a bumper sticker reading "My kid beat up your honor student." With a bullet hole in one corner. We learn what the suspected abductor was wearing, down to the team logo on his ball cap, and that the child was wearing pink. Pink t-shirt, pink capris, pink tennis shoes.
Am I the only one who sees it as being rather disingenuous to omit the race of the child and/or that of the suspected abductor from their description(s)?
Yeah, yeah... I get it. The radio station doesn't want to risk being accused of perpetuating this or that racial stereotype. But if I'm supposed to be on the lookout for the child, wouldn't it be useful to have me looking for a white guy pulling on the arm of a black child, if that's the case? Sure, knowing that they're traveling in a clapped out, '90 Accord is helpful, but there are just so many of them smoking around the metroplex.
I'm just sayin'.
But I digress
With my bloodstream full of anti-inflammatories, I've officially lowered the Foo Irascibility Advisory System threat level to a more manageable yellow. I didn't go out for any significant training miles on Saturday, wanting to ease back into riding to see how the ol' C3-C6 would tolerate it. Instead, Turtle and I went out for a pleasant hour of tooling around the immediate neighborhoodplex. It was a bit windy (and what Spring day in Texas isn't?), so we agreed that I'd ride ahead, double-back, and repeat. That way we'd be sort of riding together, but I wouldn't have to ride at her pace, and she wouldn't have to push herself beyond what felt comfortable for her. 15 miles for me; 8 for her (though I'm sure she'll correct me if I've remembered it wrong). Lunch at Subway.Sunday morning, it was time for Dawn Patrol and a metric century with St. Bob and Squirrel Bait. At 63 °F, the temperature was nearly 20 degrees warmer than when we started our ride last weekend, but the stiff southern wind and overcast skies made for a gloomy sort of day. That was good news for us, because it made for a good training day. The homeliness of the day kept a lot of the usual runners and
Nature break (a gratuitous double entendre)
I think it was after our fourth loop (~36 miles) that we made a brief stop for potty breaks and energy bars. As I munched on a Blackberry Sawdust Clif bar*, a squirrel with a very puffy tail boldly scampered up to me. It sat up on its haunches and watched me intently, eyes bright and whiskers twitching."Hey, SB," I called to Squirrel Bait. "Your little friend's back."
"Ew! Make it go aw—"
She didn't finish, instead stopping to watch the squirrel. Sensing the potential for a handout, it had cranked the cuteness up to Full and would have batted its eyelashes at her (if it had any).
"Aw... he is kinda cute, isn't he?"
The squirrel puffed up its tail and shook it to signal its excitement and a desire to be our best friend. I broke off a chunk of my Clif bar and tossed it in the squirrel's direction, and it leapt into the air. Time slowed, Matrix-like, so that we could fully appreciate the back flip with full twist the squirrel executed before snatching the crumb from the air and landing in a graceful crouch on the sidewalk.
"Go, Neo!" I said, genuinely impressed.
The squirrel was busily munching its chunk of chewy energy bar, but spared me a glance and seemed to wink conspiratorially.
Meanwhile...
St. Bob had been on the phone, checking in at home. There was a smallish emergency that was going to cut his ride short—and Squirrel Bait's, as well, since they'd carpooled.To make a long story a bit shorter, I ended up going off on my own so that I'd be sure to get in my metric before my lovely bride started looking at the clock and worrying (as she is wont to do). I considered going for some extra distance, but by the time I'd finished my seventh lap, I'd had enough of the wind and the racer wannabes and gave that a miss. I ended with 65.5 miles at an average of 16 mph.
Later in the day, I got a call from St. Bob who wanted to be sure I'd made out okay, finishing on my own.
I don't call him St. Bob for nothing.
He told me that when he and Squirrel Bait finished their last lap and returned to the parking lot, the park maintenance guy who had tried to help Bob with his mechanical problem last week was there. He asked about Bob's bike problem and whether they'd had a good ride, just making conversation.
Finally, he asked if they'd seen his squirrel, and it turns out that the bold little critter I'd fed isn't just some random rodent. Her name is "Sylvia".
Who knew?
20 April, 2007
Reporting in... Suh!
After bagging on the Colder Than Crap Century,* I turned right around on Sunday and logged my first metric century (100 kilometers or, in this case, about 65 miles) of the year. At 45 degrees, it made for a very chilly start, but the wind had blown itself out and the sun was shining. By mid-morning, we were stopping every 20 miles or so to peel off layers of clothing. I felt strong all day and had a great training ride.
Monday morning, I was well into my first major neck flare-up of the year. It had nothing to do with the previous day's ride, but with all the whipsawing of the weather I'd suspected it was coming. By that afternoon, I could no longer hold my head completely upright and could barely turn my head. The treatment options: a Turtle-imposed freeze on all evening laptop sessions, and a trip to the neurologist for some new prescriptions. The former (and my load at work) accounts for the lack of postings to this blog and the ones I visit; the latter explains why I'm once again able to turn my head without seeing stars.
Looks like I'm back in business.
* Polar opposite of the Hotter Than Hell Hundred, you might say. Get it? Polar opposite?rodents little furry darlings. Last Friday, just as our nasty storms were rolling in, I went out to check on them. Their eyes were open by that time, and the biggest of the litter eyed me suspiciously as I approached.
A teenager already? Ah... they grow up so fast, I thought.
"Well, Señor Conejito," I said aloud. "Are you and your buddies ready? There's about to be a lot of rain, so you'll maybe want to climb off the other kids so they don't drown."
It eyed me for a couple seconds and suddenly scrabbled over the lip of the nest, scampered along the fence line, and wriggled under. I could see Turtle watching me out the kitchen window, waving her hands and mouthing something that looked like Go get him! Go get him! I shrugged at her and headed back inside as fat droplets of rain began plopping on the concrete patio.
Turtle continued to peer through my binoculars out the kitchen window as the rain pounded down. Two more... three more emerged from the nest and milled around in the downpour. We haven't seen a sign of them since, but I'm sure they're fine.
Probably digging an elaborate warren under the foundation of my house as I type this.
Monday morning, I was well into my first major neck flare-up of the year. It had nothing to do with the previous day's ride, but with all the whipsawing of the weather I'd suspected it was coming. By that afternoon, I could no longer hold my head completely upright and could barely turn my head. The treatment options: a Turtle-imposed freeze on all evening laptop sessions, and a trip to the neurologist for some new prescriptions. The former (and my load at work) accounts for the lack of postings to this blog and the ones I visit; the latter explains why I'm once again able to turn my head without seeing stars.
Looks like I'm back in business.
* Polar opposite of the Hotter Than Hell Hundred, you might say. Get it? Polar opposite?
Bunny update
Some of you may be wondering about our nest ofA teenager already? Ah... they grow up so fast, I thought.
"Well, Señor Conejito," I said aloud. "Are you and your buddies ready? There's about to be a lot of rain, so you'll maybe want to climb off the other kids so they don't drown."
It eyed me for a couple seconds and suddenly scrabbled over the lip of the nest, scampered along the fence line, and wriggled under. I could see Turtle watching me out the kitchen window, waving her hands and mouthing something that looked like Go get him! Go get him! I shrugged at her and headed back inside as fat droplets of rain began plopping on the concrete patio.
Turtle continued to peer through my binoculars out the kitchen window as the rain pounded down. Two more... three more emerged from the nest and milled around in the downpour. We haven't seen a sign of them since, but I'm sure they're fine.
Probably digging an elaborate warren under the foundation of my house as I type this.
14 April, 2007
Best laid plans of mousey men
A few weeks ago, I was sitting at a table outside Einstein's Bagels with my buddy, rcarlino, and he asked if I was going to do the PBA's Spring Century ride. I remembered how much he and several other riding buddies enjoyed the Fall Century and, after a bit of discussion about whether or not I was in shape for it, decided I'd give it a go.
As of last weekend, the projected weather forecast for this weekend was high temperatures around 70, and sunny. By mid-week, it had changed to partly cloudy and low 60s. Last evening, a nasty band of thunderstorms and tornadoes rolled across the metromess with a cold front in its wake. By this morning, the temperatures were in the mid-40s with projected highs in the mid-50s.
But it was still supposed to be sunny, so even with the predicted 20 mph winds out of the north the ride was still doable, and the wind would be at our backs (bonus!) on the return leg. I'd just have to wear my tights, full-finger gloves, and my windbreaker. The thing is, once I was standing in the parking lot, discussing the situation with other riders, I started noticing that their tights and jackets were thicker than what I had on, and most were wearing at least two jerseys—and arm warmers besides. And still I tried to convince myself that I was being a weenie. I'd probably warm up once I got moving. 20 mph headwinds and 35 mph gusts wouldn't be that bad, right? Except I couldn't hear myself think over the chattering of my teeth.
I should have listened to Turtle when she tried to get me to buy some winter cycling gear on end-of-season closeout.
The short of it is that I hung around long enough for rcarlino to arrive, told him I was bagging it, and turned the car toward the house without ever unloading my bike. I felt kind of guilty about that. At least, I felt guilty about it until I checked Weather Underground and saw that the winds are only increasing, and the temperature's dropping.
Maybe I'll go to Hotter 'N' Hell 100 this year and try for my century. I'm betting it won't be too cold then.
As of last weekend, the projected weather forecast for this weekend was high temperatures around 70, and sunny. By mid-week, it had changed to partly cloudy and low 60s. Last evening, a nasty band of thunderstorms and tornadoes rolled across the metromess with a cold front in its wake. By this morning, the temperatures were in the mid-40s with projected highs in the mid-50s.
But it was still supposed to be sunny, so even with the predicted 20 mph winds out of the north the ride was still doable, and the wind would be at our backs (bonus!) on the return leg. I'd just have to wear my tights, full-finger gloves, and my windbreaker. The thing is, once I was standing in the parking lot, discussing the situation with other riders, I started noticing that their tights and jackets were thicker than what I had on, and most were wearing at least two jerseys—and arm warmers besides. And still I tried to convince myself that I was being a weenie. I'd probably warm up once I got moving. 20 mph headwinds and 35 mph gusts wouldn't be that bad, right? Except I couldn't hear myself think over the chattering of my teeth.
I should have listened to Turtle when she tried to get me to buy some winter cycling gear on end-of-season closeout.
The short of it is that I hung around long enough for rcarlino to arrive, told him I was bagging it, and turned the car toward the house without ever unloading my bike. I felt kind of guilty about that. At least, I felt guilty about it until I checked Weather Underground and saw that the winds are only increasing, and the temperature's dropping.
Maybe I'll go to Hotter 'N' Hell 100 this year and try for my century. I'm betting it won't be too cold then.
12 April, 2007
New red shoes
With the MS 150 only a few weeks away, I decided it was time to go ahead and give the Ba-cheetah the set of spankin' new, red Michelin Ironman tires I bought last month. While I was at it, I cleaned and lubed the chain in preparation for this weekend's century attempt.
Here's my steed all gussied up and looking proud:
Here's my steed all gussied up and looking proud:
08 April, 2007
The Easter bunny cometh
Several bunnies, in fact.
Last week, I had finished mowing the lawn and was racing the predicted storms to get the trimming done, when I noticed a tuft of what looked like dryer lint lying on the grass. I looked closer and saw that it was rabbit fluff. I heard a tiny squeaking noise and followed it to a nest of tiny critters. I'd knocked open a bunny nest with the string trimmer. They were so tiny that their fur was still black and their little heads still had that sort of generic shape that could just as well have belonged to newborn puppies.
I consulted St. Turtle of Assisi. One of the babies had a cut across its belly, probably from the string trimmer, but the others looked fine so she suggested we should leave them alone so the mother would come back and take care of them.
As of this morning, they're still out there. They seem to be doing all right and are active enough that they keep knocking the fluff out of their hole. When I come out to check on them, they hear me and start climbing all over one another. Their eyes are still closed, but their heads look more like bunny heads now, and their fur has changed to a more recognizable mix of browns and whites.
In the first picture, you can see one of the bunnies' heads, facing to the left, with a little white stripe on top. The second picture shows one of the babies' bunny butt, as it attempts to burrow its way to the bottom of the pile to take its turn getting warm. To give you a sense of how little these guys are, the hole you see is only about four inches across.
I just hope that they don't decide to take up residence in my yard, tearing up the grass and burrowing under the foundation slab like their mother.
Last week, I had finished mowing the lawn and was racing the predicted storms to get the trimming done, when I noticed a tuft of what looked like dryer lint lying on the grass. I looked closer and saw that it was rabbit fluff. I heard a tiny squeaking noise and followed it to a nest of tiny critters. I'd knocked open a bunny nest with the string trimmer. They were so tiny that their fur was still black and their little heads still had that sort of generic shape that could just as well have belonged to newborn puppies.
I consulted St. Turtle of Assisi. One of the babies had a cut across its belly, probably from the string trimmer, but the others looked fine so she suggested we should leave them alone so the mother would come back and take care of them.
As of this morning, they're still out there. They seem to be doing all right and are active enough that they keep knocking the fluff out of their hole. When I come out to check on them, they hear me and start climbing all over one another. Their eyes are still closed, but their heads look more like bunny heads now, and their fur has changed to a more recognizable mix of browns and whites.
In the first picture, you can see one of the bunnies' heads, facing to the left, with a little white stripe on top. The second picture shows one of the babies' bunny butt, as it attempts to burrow its way to the bottom of the pile to take its turn getting warm. To give you a sense of how little these guys are, the hole you see is only about four inches across.
I just hope that they don't decide to take up residence in my yard, tearing up the grass and burrowing under the foundation slab like their mother.
03 April, 2007
Bicycle Q & A
My previous posting triggered some interesting questions and commentary, and since I've been a bit low on interesting life events to post about...
Bret: What should I be doing after each ride (and what should I be doing it with)?
That's pretty wide open there, buddy. Particularly if I've had a hard workout, I like to make sure I get some protein in me within an hour of finishing. Chocolate milk seems to do well for me, and lots of people swear by it. Accelerade or some other recovery drink with whey protein is also good. You can also reduce some of the soreness by getting a massage or by using, say, a rolling pin to work the lactic acid out of your muscles.
Bret: Clean the bike? Lube the chain? (Clean the chain? Lube the bike?) Tighten x, y or z?
Ah. So it is about the bike.
I know a lot of people who lovingly wipe every speck of dust off their bikes immediately after finishing a ride. I'm not so fastidious. I typically try to give it a quick wipe down if I've been forced to ride on wet roads or if I've been using Gatorade (or similar) because that stuff will eat the paint. Other than that, I don't really do much in the way of post-ride maintenance.
Pre-ride, it's another matter. I don't yet have a rack for the new car, so I have to transport my bike inside the car. To do that, I have to remove both the front wheel and the seat. While reassembling the bike in preparation for a ride, I do a quick check of the various bolts (many of which aren't on a traditional bike). Every couple rides I check to make sure that the brake calipers and pads haven't worked loose. I also run the chain lightly through a rag to remove any loose dirt and gunk.
I clean and lube the bike on an as-needed basis. Frankly, I feel that oiling the chain before or after every ride is excessive—for a road bike, at least—and only serves to attract dirt that will wear the chain. Basically, if it's a) been a while, b) the chain is starting to sound a little gritty, or c) I get a link that squeaks a little, then I apply some fresh lubricant. Every once in a while, I apply a drop of lube to the... turny bits of the idler wheels and to the moving parts of my clipless pedals.
I'll return to the topic of chain lube shortly, but just a few more thoughts about cleaning. As I said, run the chain through a rag to remove dirt and excess lube. Clean your cogs by pulling a rag in and out between them. As you do so, the freewheel will ratchet a bit at a time, and you'll be able to work your way all the way around. Repeat for each cog. Also clean the gunk off the idler wheels in your rear derailleur. Just use a rag and sort of pinch the wheel with your fingers while spinning the cranks backward until there's more goop on the rag than on the idler wheel.
Occasionally, I use a chain machine and bio-degreaser to give the chain a good cleaning. I don't do this as often as I used to, partially because the lubricant I started using shortly after switching to the recumbent doesn't seem to gunk up and collect dirt like some others I've tried.
If I really want to give the chain a good cleaning, I remove the chain* and place it in a plastic jug. I like a square Planter's peanut jug because it has a wide mouth and sort of a hand grip on one side. I Pour in enough bio-degreaser to cover the chain, tightly close the lid, and shake, shake, shake. I let that soak for "a while" and then, if I'm in the mood, shake, shake, shake. When I've decided the chain is probably clean, I remove the chain, drawing it through a clean rag as I do so to remove as much of the degreaser as possible. Then I hang the chain over one of the garage door tracks (remember: my chain is twice as long as yours), dry it a bit more with the rag, and then leave it to dry. With the chain off the bike, this is a good time to clean the cogs, chain rings, and other parts that can be difficult to reach with the chain on.
Do not leave the chain to dry so long that it starts to think of rusting or you forget about it and open the garage door. Not that I've done this, but it could happen.
* Depending on what brand chain you have, this could mean using a chain break tool. It's not difficult, but if you accidentally push the pin all the way out of the link you'll probably be making a trip to the bike shop. If your chain doesn't have one special master link that can be taken apart without a chain tool, ask your local bike shop for a SRAM power link. They'll know what you're talking about, and it will make getting the chain apart and back together much easier.
Eric: In response to Bret's question, while still deferring to your response, I highly recommend White Lightning as a chain lube. It's especially good out here in west Texas as it sheds or repels dust and dirt.
I've never used White Lightning, but if Eric says it's good stuff I figure it would be worth trying... if I weren't already such a believer in what I'm using. I've been told that it doesn't penetrate as well as lighter lubes but, as Eric suggests, what works for you will depend a lot on the climate and conditions in which you ride.
Bret: Something perhaps to add to your list -- an air hose adapter, if your tires are presta-valve equipped.
It's been so long since I've had anything but Presta, I didn't even think to mention this. But yes, if you think you might have to rely on the kindness of strangers whose pumps aren't designed to handle both Schrader and Presta, a Schrader-Presta adaptor would be a good thing to carry. Turtle keeps one screwed on to one of her valve stems. Also, as I added to my previous post, when you're shopping for an inflator or frame pump, try to make sure it will handle both styles of stems.
Eric: I take it your bike has wheels of the same size. I'm not so fortunate, so I have to pack two tubes. It's really hard to find someone to loan you a 16" presta tube on the roads around here.
It's true that I could get by with one tube, but I always carry two. And a patch kit for extreme situations. The seat bag I use has room, and that extra tube is worth its weight in not being flat. For the MS 150, I also intend to carry a spare folding tire that still has enough life left in it to get me back on the move, in a pinch.
If I need more than two tubes, a patch kit, and a spare tire it means I'm having a really lousy day and am probably ready to just bag it and have someone come and pick me up. More than two flats and a trashed tire, and I have to figure God is trying to send me a message.
Eric: I order bike stuff online only as a last resort. Such is my loyalty to our only LBS, but, then, it's probably harder to feel like you make a difference to the Richardson Bike Mart.
I agree with you, in principle. My local shop (Plano Cycling & Fitness) has been great to do business with, so if they're at all competitive on price I buy from them just because I want them to stay in business. But at the end of the day, I still have to make an accounting of my bike-related expenditures to The Boss, so for those items that are not available or are significantly more expensive at the LBS, it's the internet for me.
And that ought to just about do it for now.
Bret: What should I be doing after each ride (and what should I be doing it with)?
That's pretty wide open there, buddy. Particularly if I've had a hard workout, I like to make sure I get some protein in me within an hour of finishing. Chocolate milk seems to do well for me, and lots of people swear by it. Accelerade or some other recovery drink with whey protein is also good. You can also reduce some of the soreness by getting a massage or by using, say, a rolling pin to work the lactic acid out of your muscles.
Bret: Clean the bike? Lube the chain? (Clean the chain? Lube the bike?) Tighten x, y or z?
Ah. So it is about the bike.
I know a lot of people who lovingly wipe every speck of dust off their bikes immediately after finishing a ride. I'm not so fastidious. I typically try to give it a quick wipe down if I've been forced to ride on wet roads or if I've been using Gatorade (or similar) because that stuff will eat the paint. Other than that, I don't really do much in the way of post-ride maintenance.
Pre-ride, it's another matter. I don't yet have a rack for the new car, so I have to transport my bike inside the car. To do that, I have to remove both the front wheel and the seat. While reassembling the bike in preparation for a ride, I do a quick check of the various bolts (many of which aren't on a traditional bike). Every couple rides I check to make sure that the brake calipers and pads haven't worked loose. I also run the chain lightly through a rag to remove any loose dirt and gunk.
I clean and lube the bike on an as-needed basis. Frankly, I feel that oiling the chain before or after every ride is excessive—for a road bike, at least—and only serves to attract dirt that will wear the chain. Basically, if it's a) been a while, b) the chain is starting to sound a little gritty, or c) I get a link that squeaks a little, then I apply some fresh lubricant. Every once in a while, I apply a drop of lube to the... turny bits of the idler wheels and to the moving parts of my clipless pedals.
I'll return to the topic of chain lube shortly, but just a few more thoughts about cleaning. As I said, run the chain through a rag to remove dirt and excess lube. Clean your cogs by pulling a rag in and out between them. As you do so, the freewheel will ratchet a bit at a time, and you'll be able to work your way all the way around. Repeat for each cog. Also clean the gunk off the idler wheels in your rear derailleur. Just use a rag and sort of pinch the wheel with your fingers while spinning the cranks backward until there's more goop on the rag than on the idler wheel.
Occasionally, I use a chain machine and bio-degreaser to give the chain a good cleaning. I don't do this as often as I used to, partially because the lubricant I started using shortly after switching to the recumbent doesn't seem to gunk up and collect dirt like some others I've tried.
If I really want to give the chain a good cleaning, I remove the chain* and place it in a plastic jug. I like a square Planter's peanut jug because it has a wide mouth and sort of a hand grip on one side. I Pour in enough bio-degreaser to cover the chain, tightly close the lid, and shake, shake, shake. I let that soak for "a while" and then, if I'm in the mood, shake, shake, shake. When I've decided the chain is probably clean, I remove the chain, drawing it through a clean rag as I do so to remove as much of the degreaser as possible. Then I hang the chain over one of the garage door tracks (remember: my chain is twice as long as yours), dry it a bit more with the rag, and then leave it to dry. With the chain off the bike, this is a good time to clean the cogs, chain rings, and other parts that can be difficult to reach with the chain on.
Do not leave the chain to dry so long that it starts to think of rusting or you forget about it and open the garage door. Not that I've done this, but it could happen.
* Depending on what brand chain you have, this could mean using a chain break tool. It's not difficult, but if you accidentally push the pin all the way out of the link you'll probably be making a trip to the bike shop. If your chain doesn't have one special master link that can be taken apart without a chain tool, ask your local bike shop for a SRAM power link. They'll know what you're talking about, and it will make getting the chain apart and back together much easier.
"What's the best chain lube?"
The only correct answer is "Whatever works the best for you." Seriously. Ask a dozen cyclists that same question, and you'll likely get nearly a dozen different answers. My personal favorite is ProLink Gold. It's a light, penetrating lube that flushes out old gunk and bonds to the metal of the chain without making a sticky mess and collecting dirt. Before that, I used Purple Extreme, which is light and penetrating and smells like crayons—but it gets gunky fast and doesn't last for more than two or three rides on the recumbent before needing to be reapplied. I have the better part of a bottle left, if anyone wants it.Eric: In response to Bret's question, while still deferring to your response, I highly recommend White Lightning as a chain lube. It's especially good out here in west Texas as it sheds or repels dust and dirt.
I've never used White Lightning, but if Eric says it's good stuff I figure it would be worth trying... if I weren't already such a believer in what I'm using. I've been told that it doesn't penetrate as well as lighter lubes but, as Eric suggests, what works for you will depend a lot on the climate and conditions in which you ride.
Bret: Something perhaps to add to your list -- an air hose adapter, if your tires are presta-valve equipped.
It's been so long since I've had anything but Presta, I didn't even think to mention this. But yes, if you think you might have to rely on the kindness of strangers whose pumps aren't designed to handle both Schrader and Presta, a Schrader-Presta adaptor would be a good thing to carry. Turtle keeps one screwed on to one of her valve stems. Also, as I added to my previous post, when you're shopping for an inflator or frame pump, try to make sure it will handle both styles of stems.
Eric: I take it your bike has wheels of the same size. I'm not so fortunate, so I have to pack two tubes. It's really hard to find someone to loan you a 16" presta tube on the roads around here.
It's true that I could get by with one tube, but I always carry two. And a patch kit for extreme situations. The seat bag I use has room, and that extra tube is worth its weight in not being flat. For the MS 150, I also intend to carry a spare folding tire that still has enough life left in it to get me back on the move, in a pinch.
If I need more than two tubes, a patch kit, and a spare tire it means I'm having a really lousy day and am probably ready to just bag it and have someone come and pick me up. More than two flats and a trashed tire, and I have to figure God is trying to send me a message.
Eric: I order bike stuff online only as a last resort. Such is my loyalty to our only LBS, but, then, it's probably harder to feel like you make a difference to the Richardson Bike Mart.
I agree with you, in principle. My local shop (Plano Cycling & Fitness) has been great to do business with, so if they're at all competitive on price I buy from them just because I want them to stay in business. But at the end of the day, I still have to make an accounting of my bike-related expenditures to The Boss, so for those items that are not available or are significantly more expensive at the LBS, it's the internet for me.
And that ought to just about do it for now.
02 April, 2007
Bicycle gear
I originally put together the following notes after a conversation I had with St. Bob and Squirrel Bait and am re-posting them here, in case they're useful to someone else.
Nashbar:
http://www.nashbar.com/
(Note the "Free Catalog" link toward the bottom of the lefthand navigation bar. You'll get mailings automatically if you order from them, but if you want to get on their mailing list right away, this would be the way to do it.)
Performance Bike:
http://www.performancebike.com/
Both of these are pretty comparable, price-wise, but they carry somewhat different brands. It's usually best to check both and compare prices. I'd say Performance has a larger variety of jerseys and tires, but they have an annoying habit of sitting on orders for a while, when you use standard shipping. I've heard this is to encourage people to upgrade to 2nd day shipping. I don't know if that's true, but I do know that it's not unusual to wait an additional week for a Performance order over what it takes for Nashbar, who are usually pretty quick about shipping.
Universal Cycles:
https://www.universalcycles.com/index.php
This is a smaller outlet that I stumbled on when I was looking for the best price for my Crankin' Stein jersey. They don't have the selection that Performance or Nashbar have, but you can get some awesome deals, and they'll match the price for the same item from any other legitimate online retailer. They also don't charge sales tax to any state, have really prompt shipping, and depending on what you're ordering may even throw in a free pair of cycling socks. I was pretty darned impressed with the service I got from these folks from Oregon.
Pricepoint:
http://www.pricepoint.com
I've never bought anything from them personally, but they've got some good prices and I've heard others have had good results shopping there.
Now playing: Orbital, The Altogether
Online retailers
Here are the online bike stores I use most:Nashbar:
http://www.nashbar.com/
(Note the "Free Catalog" link toward the bottom of the lefthand navigation bar. You'll get mailings automatically if you order from them, but if you want to get on their mailing list right away, this would be the way to do it.)
Performance Bike:
http://www.performancebike.com/
Both of these are pretty comparable, price-wise, but they carry somewhat different brands. It's usually best to check both and compare prices. I'd say Performance has a larger variety of jerseys and tires, but they have an annoying habit of sitting on orders for a while, when you use standard shipping. I've heard this is to encourage people to upgrade to 2nd day shipping. I don't know if that's true, but I do know that it's not unusual to wait an additional week for a Performance order over what it takes for Nashbar, who are usually pretty quick about shipping.
Universal Cycles:
https://www.universalcycles.com/index.php
This is a smaller outlet that I stumbled on when I was looking for the best price for my Crankin' Stein jersey. They don't have the selection that Performance or Nashbar have, but you can get some awesome deals, and they'll match the price for the same item from any other legitimate online retailer. They also don't charge sales tax to any state, have really prompt shipping, and depending on what you're ordering may even throw in a free pair of cycling socks. I was pretty darned impressed with the service I got from these folks from Oregon.
Pricepoint:
http://www.pricepoint.com
I've never bought anything from them personally, but they've got some good prices and I've heard others have had good results shopping there.
IN GENERAL:
Buying from these online places is kind of like shopping at Costco, in that just because they have better prices on a lot of items—especially if you catch them on sale or close-out—doesn't mean that they're enough cheaper than your local bike shop to offset the shipping cost and the potential wait time. If the item price less my bike club discount (10%) plus sales tax is pretty close to the online shop's price plus shipping (and, possibly, sales tax), I'll always support the local shop. Prices on a lot of items at the larger shops are often quite competitive, but you may find that the online shops have a lot better prices than the smaller local stores.Must-have items for your seat bag:
- At least one replacement tube and a small patch kit (in case you've already used the spare tube or—like the sap I am—given it away).
- Some sort of inflation device. Frame pump or CO2 inflator with a couple spare cartridges. If you get a CO2 inflator, try to get a model that accepts both threaded and unthreaded 16g cartridges. You may save a few dollars buying an inflator that only takes threaded cartridges, but the threaded cartridges are more exensive so you'll end up spending more in the long run. Also, make sure the head fits both Schrader and Presta valves.
- Tire levers. I like the inexpensive plastic ones that fit together into a storage sleeve. The sleeve not only keeps the levers together and but also provides something to wrap a length of duct tape around. Duct tape can be used in all kinds of creative ways to keep you moving long enough to get to the next rest stop or back to your car.
- A multi-tool. At the most basic, get one that has half a dozen sizes of allen wrenches and a phillips head screwdriver. The one I have in my has two pieces that stick together with a magnet. One half has allen wrenches; the other has box wrenches with a couple sizes of spoke wrenches built in. It's a $10 Bell model that I picked up at Wally World and works as well as the more expensive ones by Crank Brothers and Park Tools.
- A small assortment of band-aids and wet wipes. You could forget to unclip, fall over, and scrape your elbow. You could skin your knuckles while changing a tire. Whatever. It's nice to clean up the wound and stick a patch on so you don't bleed all over your best jersey. Or, I guess, get an infection.
Good-to-haves
- $10 or $20 in cash... just in case
- Laminated photocopies of your driver's license and insurance card (just in case)
- Cell phone. Program an entry with the name "ICE" (In Case of Emergency) and the phone number(s) you'd want called... well... in case of emergency. This is catching on with emergency personnel who now know to look for ICE in cell phone directories.
Now playing: Orbital, The Altogether
01 April, 2007
Some days you're the windshield
You get the idea.
This weekend's [attempts at] training have been a bit of a mixed bag. My master plan for Saturday was to go out on one of my usual club rides, a 32-mile jaunt through the rolling hills of Collin and Dallas Counties at about a mid-16 mph pace. Then, on Sunday morning, just as the sun had come up, Dawn Patrol with my MS 150 teammates for an easy 60 miles. Neither turned out as I'd expected.
The good side of all this was that it was kind of fun to see how excited these folks were about finishing 32 miles, a distance that many of us view so mattter-of-factly. And it was such an easy pace that I got a nice 40% fat burn out of the deal.
An amusing anecdote from the ride: We were pulling out from the filling station where we usually stop for a break, and several pre-teen boys were playing around with their skateboards on a side street. As the group approached them, I saw one of the boys pointing my way and telling his buddies, "Whoa! Look at that bike!" One of the others called out to me, "Dude! That bike is pimp!"
That's a good thing. Isn't it?
* I ended the ride with a 13.8 mph average, but only because the group eventually split and some of us dropped the hammer for the rest of the ride.
First off, we hadn't made it half a mile down the trail toward the lake when we discovered that part of the trail was covered in gooey silt left in the wake of this past week's heavy rains. Now, this wasn't my first trip down this road. I should have known that mud under one overpass meant there'd be more of the same, further along. But I was pretty cold at the time, and maybe my brain wasn't quite awake. The bottom line? We made it a mile or two down the trail and came to a 20-yard stretch of 4 inch deep mud completely blocking our way.
We'll turn around and just find a way around, we thought.
That's when my chain fell off, and while I was off the bike rehanging the chain... PFSSSSSSSSS! I "had a puncture", as the British say. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, I'd fixed the flat—but by then, we'd come to the realization that we'd probably hit more mudslides all the way down the trail. So we rode back to the cars, loaded up, and drove down to the lake to salvage what we could of the time we had left.
When we got to the lake, we noticed an unusual level of activity and discovered that there was a marathon going on. Still not ready to admit defeat, we unloaded our bikes and started out on our first lap of the lake. Between the marathon runners/joggers/walkers/shufflers and the usual crowd of wobblies, stroller pushers, and cloud gazers, we were lucky to roll along at 11 or 12 mph. It wasn't long before Squirrel Bait and I had lost our happy thoughts and decided to finish one lap before conceding defeat and calling it a day.
By the time we eventually made it back to the cars, we'd narrowly missed colliding with three different runners and bystanders who just... stepped out in front of us. Squirrel Bait had some... some... wingnut in a white Caddy pull right up on her tail and lay on his horn, nearly scaring her out of her skin and into the middle of the road. But we survived.
St. Bob considered trying to talk us into doing another lap but was overruled. It was time to go to La Madeleine for some sort of self-indulgent breakfast and coffees.
There's always next week.
This weekend's [attempts at] training have been a bit of a mixed bag. My master plan for Saturday was to go out on one of my usual club rides, a 32-mile jaunt through the rolling hills of Collin and Dallas Counties at about a mid-16 mph pace. Then, on Sunday morning, just as the sun had come up, Dawn Patrol with my MS 150 teammates for an easy 60 miles. Neither turned out as I'd expected.
Saturday
I rolled in to the parking lot about half an hour early and immediately sensed that something different was going on. Half the parking lot was filled with mountain bikes and hybrids, and the folks excitedly milling around didn't look like the grizzled veterans who usually attended the ride. Shortly, the ride leader arrived and told me that the PBA had agreed to shepherd some folks along with our group to train for the Lone Star Ride. The time for the ride to start came and went, but we eventually got underway at what felt to me like a snail's pace.*The good side of all this was that it was kind of fun to see how excited these folks were about finishing 32 miles, a distance that many of us view so mattter-of-factly. And it was such an easy pace that I got a nice 40% fat burn out of the deal.
An amusing anecdote from the ride: We were pulling out from the filling station where we usually stop for a break, and several pre-teen boys were playing around with their skateboards on a side street. As the group approached them, I saw one of the boys pointing my way and telling his buddies, "Whoa! Look at that bike!" One of the others called out to me, "Dude! That bike is pimp!"
That's a good thing. Isn't it?
* I ended the ride with a 13.8 mph average, but only because the group eventually split and some of us dropped the hammer for the rest of the ride.
Sunday
This week's fun level was inversely proportional to last week's. Another way of putting it would be... well, I try to keep this to language I wouldn't mind my mother reading, don't I?First off, we hadn't made it half a mile down the trail toward the lake when we discovered that part of the trail was covered in gooey silt left in the wake of this past week's heavy rains. Now, this wasn't my first trip down this road. I should have known that mud under one overpass meant there'd be more of the same, further along. But I was pretty cold at the time, and maybe my brain wasn't quite awake. The bottom line? We made it a mile or two down the trail and came to a 20-yard stretch of 4 inch deep mud completely blocking our way.
We'll turn around and just find a way around, we thought.
That's when my chain fell off, and while I was off the bike rehanging the chain... PFSSSSSSSSS! I "had a puncture", as the British say. Fifteen or twenty minutes later, I'd fixed the flat—but by then, we'd come to the realization that we'd probably hit more mudslides all the way down the trail. So we rode back to the cars, loaded up, and drove down to the lake to salvage what we could of the time we had left.
When we got to the lake, we noticed an unusual level of activity and discovered that there was a marathon going on. Still not ready to admit defeat, we unloaded our bikes and started out on our first lap of the lake. Between the marathon runners/joggers/walkers/shufflers and the usual crowd of wobblies, stroller pushers, and cloud gazers, we were lucky to roll along at 11 or 12 mph. It wasn't long before Squirrel Bait and I had lost our happy thoughts and decided to finish one lap before conceding defeat and calling it a day.
By the time we eventually made it back to the cars, we'd narrowly missed colliding with three different runners and bystanders who just... stepped out in front of us. Squirrel Bait had some... some... wingnut in a white Caddy pull right up on her tail and lay on his horn, nearly scaring her out of her skin and into the middle of the road. But we survived.
St. Bob considered trying to talk us into doing another lap but was overruled. It was time to go to La Madeleine for some sort of self-indulgent breakfast and coffees.
There's always next week.
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