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'.

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 wobblies inexperienced cyclists away from The Rock, and the wind made us work—for half the loop, at least.

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?

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?

Bunny update

Some of you may be wondering about our nest of 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.

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.

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:

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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 2^nd 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

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.

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.

Squirrels and hellhounds and mummies...

...oh my!

That's just my way of leading into saying that my first Dawn Patrol with a couple of my MS 150 teammates was good for a laugh or two. More, actually, but most of those were the result of offbeat conversations I had with the woman I've come to (and will henceforth) refer to as "Squirrel Bait". In other words, ya hadda be there.

To those of you thinking, "Aw for the love of Mike, not another cycling post", all I can say is that it's either a) this, b) yet another tired rant about Dallas drivers, or c) some rather dodgy commentary on Dancing With The Stars and Heather Mills' leg.

So there I was at 7:00 yesterday morning, sitting in my car, in the dark, next to a practice soccer field. I was waiting for St. Bob and Squirrel Bait to arrive so that I could join them for their weekly Dawn Patrol. Around 7:30, they rolled into the parking lot, and we made our final preparations.

As we headed down the White Rock Trail toward the lake, the sun had officially risen seven minutes earlier, but we only saw what filtered through a layer of thick, gray clouds. As we rolled down the trail, choking on a thick miasma of gnats, SB and I wondered what Bob had eaten for breakfast. St. Bob, who always claims to ride at a steady 13-14 mph, was 20 yards ahead, thundering down the trail at 17 mph!

How Squirrel Bait got her name

In previous conversations, Squirrel Bait had made comments about ninja squirrels leaping out of the underbrush. Hurling themselves at her wheels. Attempting to commit sudoku* in her spokes and launch her over the handlebars. I always smiled and nodded, but secretly thought she might be overstating a bit. After all, what cyclist hasn't had to dodge a squirrel or three? Well, I've never seen anything like it. Over the course of 3½ hours and 50 miles, I must have seen over a dozen squirrels make attack runs on poor SB. It didn't matter whether she was up front, in the middle, or sucking wheel at the back. The squirrels made a beeline for her every time.

Personal fitness and the undead

We saw and evaded enough joggers to populate the Boston marathon. Anyone who has ever ridden a bike around the roads and multi-use paths in and around White Rock Lake knows that les boyz de coureur de cycliste** are an irritant, but at least they are conscious of the other traffic. The roving packs of joggers are worse, because they stick their noses in the air, spread out across two-thirds of the breadth of the path, and simply assume that everyone else will get out of their way. [directive: abort rant - CONFIRMED]

After the first hour or so, the larger mobs of joggers had finished, and Squirrel Bait and I started observing the smaller groups we passed. One guy in particular caught our attention at the same time: keeping pace with a group of much younger runners, this guy looked like a Slim Jim with sticks for arms and legs. His gait was stiff and awkward, his mouth gaped, and his eyes were wide and staring. He fit perfectly my mental image of the lead character in the not-soon-to-be-released Sean of the Dead II: Let's Get Physical.

But note that I said "keeping pace." I should be so lucky as to still be out there getting it done, when I'm that old and dessicated.

Devil dogs

Just as we came off a crowded "multi-use" bridge, we rounded a bend in the path and came face to face with a pair of large, orange-furred, dogs being led on leads by an older gentleman. Short leads, fortunately. These critters didn't utter a discouraging word and didn't make any false moves as we rode by. But with their odd coloring and their matching orange eyes, they were... unnerving. My first thought was that this was what Cerberus must've looked like (except without the extra heads).

I went Googling to see if I could round up a picture to share. My initial attempt came up with this, which obviously isn't any kind of dog but is still pretty cool (I think Gwynne will appreciate it). After a bit more digging, I found what I was looking for: my hellhounds were French Mastiffs. The third picture down does a good job of summing up my impressions as I passed.

In closing

We had a really nice ride and had an added cause for celebration, because it was Squirrel Bait's first 50-mile ride. I also rode on Saturday and ended the weekend with just shy of 100 miles under my belt. At this rate, and if I keep my pace down, I should be ready by the time the MS 150 ride rolls around in May.


* That's, ah say, that's a joke, son.
** Pseudo French for "the cyclist racer boys"—those overblown lycra-wrapped egos who seem to think that the stroller-strewn paths around the lake are their own personal time trial course.


Now playing: Dennis James, Cristal: Glass Music Through The Ages

Still cranking along

Anne's comment to another post, this morning, reminded me that I haven't darkened the doorway of this blog recently. Much of what's been keeping me away remains the same. However, part of it is the fact I've been publishing the only remotely postworthy material on the team blog I put together for my MS 150 teammates to share with our sponsors, and I just didn't think to repost the ride recaps here.

In brief (or in briefs, if that's the mental image you prefer), I had a couple really good training rides on back-to-back days, this past weekend. Both were roughly the same distance and pace, over similar routes, but with different groups. I more or less successfully reined in my inner Zoom-Zoom to keep my heart rate in the moderate zone, which meant that of the 2600-odd calories I burned, over 700 were straight from fat stores. From where I sit—which is to say "on the bike, laid back"—that's a good thing. Less weight to haul around; more Zoom-Zoom.

Work is still keeping me hopping. This has caused a few sleepless nights and, sometimes, longer hours, but considering that several more of my coworkers were laid off last week, in the wake of my company's recent acquisition, busy is better.

On the down side, my well of creativity (such as it is) drains straight into the computer code.

I did post up a YouTube video I found amusing but ended up taking it down. Like the joke about the robot bartender, the video was just too liable to spark political debate that I just don't have the time and energy to pursue.

But never fear: I'm still around, and I try to check in on you guys every couple days and post comments.

'Nuff said

Kicked off

That's the status of the 2007 Dallas Sam's Club MS 150, as of this past Saturday. That's when a parking lot full of the Dallas/Fort Worth area MS 150 riders gathered for a training ride, a barbecue lunch, and some speechifying—the last being more or less optional, if one managed to plan things so that he was still out on the course when it took place. And I did.

What a gorgeous day we had for it, too. Sunny, temperatures ranging across the 70s, and little to no wind. The event was held at Texas Motor Speedway, where we'll end up at the end of the first day of riding on May 5, and the course was a five-mile loop of road that surrounds the speedway. The organizers had arranged for police to be stationed at each of the intersections where those of us who abide by such things as stop signs would have felt obliged to do so. About half the loop was flat, a quarter was a long, gradual climb, and the rest was a slight downhill.

Boring, you say? Maybe. From where I sat (reclined on the seat of my Bacchetta), it was an opportunity to crank out 45 miles at a nice, easy fat-burning pace—not that I took advantage of the opportunity. In the end, the Go Fast part of my brain took over, and I logged a personal best rolling average of 18.5 mph.

At 30 miles, Cliff (one of my MS 150 teammates) and I noticed that many of the riders had called it a day, so fearing that we might miss out on lunch, we agreed to do 10 more miles and call it a day. Still, considering that it was the season's first ride of any decent length, I'd say 40 miles at 18.5 was a success.

Mazda sent me a "Zoom-Zoom" sticker a while back. I'm thinking of putting it on my bike.

Busy, busy, busy

Lots going on, some of it noteworthy, not much of it particularly entertaining. Still, the company I work for completed its "merger" with the much smaller company that bought us out, and I won't be one of the small number who became redundant. More good news: since the new, combined company is privately held, my outstanding stock options were paid out at a price sufficient to replace much of what I spent on the new car.

Coding, coding, debugging, and more coding. No blogging, but you knew that.

The weather shows signs of finally warming to temperatures that this weenie can ride in, and I've been taking advantage. I have yet to catch a weekend when the temperature hasn't dropped back to winter levels, but it's starting to stay light longer and I've been able to get out for an hour each of the past two nights after work. I take my full-suspension Humvee of a mountain bike because it's more nimble in the neighborhoods, and because its weight and higher rolling resistance give me a harder workout than the 'bent would in the available time.

This evening, as I was finishing up, I rode to the neighborhood Sonic for a toaster bacon cheeseburger. Yes, I probably more than replaced any fat I burned during the ride, but whatever. It was delicious. So, I was sitting at one of the tables, watching the traffic and having my dinner, when a co-ed pack of skate rats rolled up and loudly worked out what they were going to order. A couple of them kept eyeballing me in my lycra clown suit, and as I was getting ready to take off one kid finally decided I was ripe for some cool points with his buds.

"What a huge dork," he announced. He turned to his buds for approval and was rewarded with jeers and laughter.

"Yeah," I said. "These shorts don't leave much to the imagination."

More hoots and laughter. I like to think I scored with that one, but who knows.

Under the weather

I've never been able to figure out why "under the weather" means "not feeling well", but here I am again: under the weather and under my afghan. This wouldn't be particularly interesting to me or anyone else, but if one were to scroll back to last year's archives, he or she would see that it was about this same time that I was laid up, watching Olympic curling.

The worst part is that the weather I've been under since about midday Thursday has been nice. I could have been getting in some training rides, if I'd been able to draw a full breath without triggering a coughing fit. For now, though, it seems like enough of an achievement just to be sitting upright and typing on the computer.

Which brings me to something I meant to post earlier but didn't feel well enough to bother with...

More bathroom humor

Just when I thought I'd heard it all, someone went and upped the ante.

I was at work and decided it was time to return my first three cups of coffee to the wild. Almost as soon as I entered the men's rest room, I could hear music coming from the handicap-accessible stall—tinny, like someone was listening on headphones and had the volume cranked up loud.

Stomp-stomp. CLAP! Stomp-stomp. CLAP! We will... we will... ROCK YOU! Sing it!

And he did, sort of under his breath, tapping his feet. But not clapping. If he'd been clapping, I think I might have been tempted to sell tickets.

When worlds collide

As I sat down in front of the TV to drink my first cup of coffee and send a thank you note to a fellow blogger for her MS 150 sponsorship, I noted that the tube was still tuned to CMT, where I'd been watching an interview with Larry the Cable Guy, yesterday. There was Ricky Skaggs, looking ageless, paired off with Bruce Hornsby, not so much. I like Ricky's bluegrass, so I lifted my thumb off the remote and was rewarded with a rousing cover version of an '80s classic.

Rick James' "Super Freak".

The earth shifted slightly on its axis, and I felt the same sort of disorientation as the first (and only) time I heard Leslie Gore doing her rendition of AC/DC's "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" or The Oak Ridge Boys covering "Carry On Wayward Son" (both from the When Pigs Fly compilation).

I think I'm awake now.

One for Shoesie Badoozie

As promised.



Things you should know about this footwear:

• These boots were made for walkin'--not scootin'. The only boot scooting I ever did was when I found myself in such a crush of humanity that I was unable to take a full step. Not so much a scoot as a shuffle, really.
• Like Anne's, my feet have grown a bit since I bought the boots over 15 years ago.
• Unlike Anne, I'd still wear them if they fit. I've lost about 1 1/2" in height due to my degenerative disks and could use the elevation. And wouldn't it be easier and less humiliating than having to change the information on my driver's license?

My first MS 150

Donate Online!

As I mentioned in one of my earlier posts, I'll be riding in the Sam's Club MS 150 (Dallas) on May 5-6, 2007. Over two days, we will ride 150+ miles. Starting from Frisco, Texas, we'll ride to the Texas Motor Speedway on day one. The next day, we'll start at the Speedway and end at Sundance Square in Ft. Worth.

I'll be riding with The Wheeler Dealers, an MS 150 team founded in 2005 by my friend Bob. I'm pleased to be riding with them this year, not just because they have so much fun but because I've seen firsthand the debilitating effects of multiple sclerosis. You see, Bob's wife, Gerry, has secondary progressive MS and has been confined to a wheelchair for the past eleven years.

Turtle and I first met Bob and Gerry in 2002, and each year we've seen Gerry lose a little bit more of her mobility and strength to the effects of MS. She's a lively, outgoing woman who handles her disease with aplomb and courage, but it's tragic to see her increasingly become a prisoner of her own body.

Then there are our friends Barb and Joe, another couple who both suffer from MS. Joe was diagnosed first, and was already using a motorized wheelchair to get around, by the time we met him. Barb is able to walk using a cane, but has an entirely different set of symptoms than Joe's.

MS is a wasting disease that presents itself differently in each of those afflicted with it, and it takes away dignity and mobility. If I can do a little something to help by just riding my bike—because I can ride my bike—then I'm in.

But I need your help. If you feel, as I do, that finding a cure for MS is a worthy cause, I hope you'll help me to meet my fundraising goal by sponsoring me in this year's MS 150. It's easy to make your donation online, and it's tax deductible. It doesn't even have to be a lot of money. $10? $5? Every little bit helps. And if you know others who might be interested in helping out, please refer them to this posting or to my official MS 150 donation page.

Thank you.

The web we weave

More than a decade after my first faltering attempts to get connected to "those internets" using Spry's Internet In A Box, I've become a little jaded about the wonder of the web's interconnectedness. But every once in a while, I still find myself marveling at how Al Gore's creation has brought the world closer together.

Case in point: I was working my way through my blogroll and several twists of the rabbit hole later found myself at Pink Ginger's Sketch of Life 珂琳随笔: Why Must I Eat With the 2 Sticks ??. A native of China who doesn't take eating with chopsticks as a given? Mon Dieu! Who would have dreamed of such a thing?

As a fledgling Foo-let, back in the '60s, it was not uncommon for me to find myself scowling into a plate of chipped beef on toast (a.k.a., "s--- on a shingle") or staring down the barrel of a stuffed green pepper. On those occasions when I dared to think I might simply wait Mom out and sneak away from the table, she was quick with the standby admonition that so many of my generation heard: "There are starving children in China who would love to have that food."

"Can't we just send it to them?" I said, taking a philanthropic tack. But Mom wasn't buying it.

"How do you know that Chinese kids even eat this kind of... of... stuff?" I parried, hoping a social studies/world geography approach might work. It didn't.

In the end, I tended to find myself sitting alone at the table, mournfully picking my dinner into smaller and smaller pieces in the vain hope that they'd go down easier that way. It was at such times that I wondered if some Chinese kid was sitting at his table, with something I liked on his plate and wishing he could find a way out of eating it.

I wish I was a Chinese kid, I thought. 'Cause if I had to eat with chopsticks, it would be a whole lot easier to get away with dropping a lot of this stuffed pepper on the floor for the dog to eat—and get away with it.

The inner nerd

Thanks to okkernoot.net blog for this:

One of the most frightening things about your true nerd, for many people, is not that he’s socially inept—because everybody’s been there—but rather his complete lack of embarrassment about it.

- Randy Waterhouse in Cryptonomicon

Look to the future

Over on Write Lightning, Deb suggests an interesting visualization technique that might be used in clearing away emotional clutter when one is faced with a decision. The short of it is this: you imagine walking in to a house, then into a room where you sit with an older, wiser version of yourself and discuss the situation.

Some of you may recall from one of my earlier postings that I have not been, historically, a huge believer in visualization techniques; but I've been trying to decide whether I really need this [some nondescript luxury item that won't distract from the point of the narrative], or if it's my inner child whinging down the aisle of the virtual toy store, so I gave it a whirl.

I walk up to the stoop*—my imaginary old folks' home has a stoop—and knock politely on the front door. No answer. Old Foo must have his hearing aid turned down again, I think, so I try the knob and find the door locked.

Curses.

I take off my t-shirt, wrap it around my knuckles, and clench my teeth as I punch through one of the door's glass panes. No burglar alarm (not that the old codger could hear it if there were). Older and wiser, my hindquarters.

After reaching in and unlocking the door, I step into the foyer, grimacing at the sound of crunching glass and feeling guilty about scarring the hardwood floor. I make my way toward the living room and spot my older, wiser self. He's sound asleep in his chair, with a crocheted throw pulled over him and a laptop computer on his lap. Tropical fish swim across the LCD display, uninterested in my arrival.

"Old Foo?" I say, tentatively, not wanting to startle him.

No response.

"HEY OLD FOO!!"

The old fart duffer jumps, blinking his eyes, disoriented. "Huh? Wha--?"

His eyes focus and I see recognition dawn in them.

"You! GET OUTTA MY HOUSE, YA LITTLE BASTID!!"


Seems I'm 0 for 2 in the visualization exercise department.

* n. Chiefly Northeastern U.S. - A small porch, platform, or staircase leading to the entrance of a house or building.


Now playing: Kansas, Song For America

Cartoon Network ad campaign bombs

Over the years, I've pretty much stopped tuning in to Cartoon Network. With the exception of South Park, which I'll occasionally watch when Turtle's out of the house, most of their offerings are either insultingly mindless or far too arty and hip for an old fart like me. Or both, maybe.

I stumbled on Aqua Teen Hunger Force once while flipping channels and found it to be pretty stupid (or maybe too hip), so I'll admit I don't really "get" the show. Maybe that's why I can't imagine what the show's creators were thinking when they decided to promote it by planting suspicious black boxes all over Boston and other cities.

"It is outrageous, in a post 9/11 world, that a company would use this type of marketing scheme," Mayor Thomas Menino said. "I am prepared to take any and all legal action against Turner Broadcasting and its affiliates for any and all expenses incurred."

The 1-foot tall signs resembled a circuit board, with protruding wires and batteries. Most depicted a boxy, cartoon character giving passersby the finger — a more obvious sight when darkness fell.

Link (AP, via Yahoo! News)

Nice.

Now playing: Trevor Rabin, Can't Look Away