I Paid 25¢ to Light a Little White Candle
Such is my devotion to the Decemberists--I have a shrine in my home office.


OK, so I didn't end up giving up cycling for very long--only Thursday night, really, but I sometimes feel like I might as well. I've had such a crazy schedule training has been a major mess and I've had 4 punctures in the last month. Now, it's no big deal to change them--if you have the tools and spares. But I've run out. So for today's ride (supposed to be 5 hours) I end up with yet another flat after 18 miles. Now, I'm pretty well-versed in the proper installation of tubes and tires at this point, so I don't think I'm pinching them all. I DO think that since I started buying tubes at the local bike shop I've been getting crappy merchandise. Plus, who knows how long they've been sitting there. Most of the tubes they have are Schrader valves for BMX and mountain bikes. They just don't get a lot of people wanting 700x23C Presta valves. Maybe they were all dried out and leak prone. I dunno. I don't think I'll buy them there anymore, since that's where they all came from.

Untouched by Work or Duty
I played a song in public the other day. It was fun. I don't know if I got high on the attention or it was just appreciated, but the whole experience really had a good vibe. It was a silly song. I can IM or email an mp3 of it to anyone who wants it, but why would you?
Plus, I got this spiffy little effects processor by Digitech from the competition-crushing Musician's Friend. (Did you know you can now buy music gear from them via Amazon? Also, I am amazed at how many music gear review sites all point back to MF. They are clearly a force to be reckoned with--the Wal-Mart of guitars.) It's really cool. Chorus, Delay, Flange, etc. All in one small package!

Oh God, I Love You, But You Trouble Me
I remember reading an article in (blech) Bicycling Magazine (remember when there was an ! at the end of the title!?) about a guy who rode this horrendous century and concluded that every cyclist needs a ride that makes them not want to ride again in order to become a better cyclist--the whole "what doesn't kill me makes me stronger" thing. Of course, I always insist that I could still very easily end up exhausted, injured, or insane. But at least I won't be dead.
It was a horrendous club ride tonight. Overcast, but humid, thick air. Some maniacs at the front took it up to over 25 after only a few minutes. Then a group of us got stopped at an intersection, and the pack just took off. Bastards. Then I got into a little verbal altercation with "Scattante" (Supergo house brand), a pro-doping doctor guy/fan of Lance. Nobody knows any names, just bikes. "Trek" "Bianchi" "Trek" "Kestral" "Litespeed" "Trek" "Colnago" And Steve. He introduced himself last night even though we did that last summer. He was nice and thanked me for pulling so much to try and catch up with the pack. That doctor guy only pulled once in a while and when he did he really ramped up the speed. If he was so strong back there, sucking up our wheels, he could have pulled more. I don't think we'll be saying more than a noncommittal "hey" anymore. But I should have known it was gonna be a bad night when my pump blew apart as I tried to fill up my front tire. When our possessions let us down that's always a sure sign of badness.

Also, some no good do-gooder signed me up to raise money for Jerry's Kids. They do this whole jail-themed thing where they "arrest" you and you have to raise "bail." Some lady from MDA called me the other day and chastised me for not having raised enough money so far. She had a point, I hadn't tried to raise any.

The Shape of Things to Come?
The other day, while riding many miles from home, on a lonely stretch of road unknown to me, I found this:

Weird, huh? I'm not superstitious, so I don't think it's any kind of omen. The day before I was at one. So maybe that was the only cosmic connection. We're not gonna get all freaked out about it, OK? It's just a stray piece of fabric that the wind blew into that ditch. It signifies nothing. Got it?

Bionic Man
I used to love that guy. I never watched the show that much cuz only the intro was interesting to me, with that "we can rebuild him, we have the technology" VO and the mechanical music. And the dolls (read: action figures) had that little telescope hole where you could look through his eye. Or was that the old biggie size GI Joes?
Anyway, this morning it occurred to me that I have been completely digitized now. I've been mis-writing all kinds of words today. Typing is no problem and somewhat faster, and definitely easier for others to read. If I am slowly losing the ability to write, what about future generations? Will they have some sort of virtual keyboard glove-y things that enables them to type while they gesture? Kind of like sign language that's WiFi'ed or Bluetooth'ed to the computers in their earrings or something. No one would even have to talk--we could IM each other to the devices in our ear canals and the voice synthesis chip could replay our actual voice without our mouths ever even having to open.
It sounds like some sort of Luddite anti-tech, "Oh no! virtual reality is ruining the real reality!" rant, but it's not.

All Is Not Forgiven
I finally got a reply from the Blogger help people. They suggested I try using Firefox until the issues with Safari get worked out. So, pictures are being added to all recent posts. Enjoy!

I found this at fegmania of course. Please oh please someone tape this!

White Album Benefit Gigs

Robyn and Heavy Friends will be playing two benefit gigs at the Three Kings in Clerkenwell, London EC1, on August 7 and 8. They will be performing the entirety of The Beatles' White Album at both gigs. All proceeds benefit Medecins Sans Frontières. Tickets are available now from the Three Kings, telephone +44 207 253 0483.

Also, today's example of leisurely existence was me redoing all the AV cables now that we've switched from a jerry-rigged conflagration of various components into a much simpler streamlined version, all courtesy of the new TV's plethora of plugging-in places.

What Do We Do?
Gabe is very interesting to me. He has learned all kinds of things about various card collecting games and which cards are better and worse, etc. He's constantly talking about some sort of blue-eyed dragon thingy. I don't understand it all.
And, file this under "Freak Out": Gabe and Sam are downstairs, I hear the surround sounds of Mario Kart Double Dash, and then they sing this--"Bye, bye, Miss American Pie/To the Chevy, to the levy, but the levy was dry/And diesel boys is drinkin' whiskey an' rye, singing 'This'll be the day that I die!'" Well, that's how they sang it anyway. I ran down and asked them to sing it again. They complied. I asked where they learned that. "Riley's" was their reply. Oh, that Riley!

It'll Be a Breeze
Even though I didn't get to go to Hell, I'm still training, because I have another ride to go on.
So today I ended up riding 2 hours (but only 27 miles) into a nasty headwind. Then, I turned around and enjoyed the glorious tailwind. I ended up doing a good old metric century (100 km/62 mi). It was fun and felt good to stretch out my old man legs after a couple of weeks of dismally disorganized training.

Folks, I'm really sorry about the pictures not working. That was always part of the raison d'etre of this humble blog--a short, pointless rumination and a picture each day. At least the permalinks finally work!

Same As It Ever Was
I ended up back in the town we used to live in when Gabe was born. I hadn't really been there for about 6 years. It was strange--it felt like it was either yesterday or another lifetime. I guess that means I'm getting so very old, but the part about it feeling like yesterday could be good. It means that I'm (mentally) no more than 28, not life-half-over 35.

Oh! Get Me Away from Here, I'm Dyin'
I am getting a new passport. I feel I must travel sometime in the near future. I am very tired of the "One Nation Under God" bumper stickers (if you believe in God, then aren't all nations...under?); the Calvin pissing on [insert favorite here: "terrorists", Ford, Chevy, 24, etc.]; and all the other things that bespeak this midwestern oasis of backwardsness. I just don't believe that one can be a good American (whatever that is) without ever looking at your country from the outside.

Streaming Out of the Magnets

Music for the ride in: The-Band-Whose-Name-Probably-Shouldn't-Be-Mentioned, Electric Version.
Music last night: David Byrne, on Austin City Limits. (Sorry, Brian.) While maybe not pop genius, comforting weirdness and sentimental journeys back to wasted youth.

Blogger service issues update: Still can't see the pictures I'm supposedly uploading. Not in IE or Camino either. (This comes to you via Safari.) Fix please?

Someone Tell Me How To Feel
Lance wins the stage. Lance is in yellow.
It will take a catastrophe to keep him from taking his 6th Tour in row, it seems.
But am I excited or not?
Last year, in the last week I could barely sit still. I checked cyclingnews like every 5 minutes. I listened to the live audio feed at work. I was beside myself when he crashed from that careless kid's strap. But this year, I wait until the primetime coverage, watch most of it if I don't pass out, and am relatively calm about the whole thing.
This is hilarious--as the peloton passes by two guys run alongside with a giant syringe!

In Illegal News
I'm not sure if it's technically illegal--I'll have to leave all the DRM jurisprudence to my legal man brother--but I've been enjoying a Morrissey live in Dublin show that I snagged over at sharingthegroove, as well as the David Byrne DVD I got in trade for a Robyn Hitchcock DVD. They're both fan recordings, so I think that's a gray (or grey, in the Queen's English case of Moz) area. It's all a reminder of my long-gone youth. In HS I was a Smiths and Talking Heads fanatic. Nowadays I've hardly bothered to replace my old collection of begged, borrowed and stolen cassettes.

Best Dressed
Painted the playhouse to match the house. I found a mistinted gallon at Lowe's ($5) that is close enough. You should see it. Perhaps someday you will.

Like today?

Mayfly
I can't stand those things. I don't think they bite, and they only live for a matter of hours (one mayfly myth is that they have no diggestive organs), but, still, the way they land on walls and just stay there till they die is creepy. And disgusting. Dead mayflies, when wet sort of melt and that makes the parking lot of the grocery store look like it's covered with fish guts. It smells that way, too. The place is just blanketed with them. Lake Erie shore.

Woe Is Me
Still having Blogger problems, how about you?
Obviously I can post, but pictures don't show up. They upload OK, but never appear in the post code or in the preview or the published post.
It's a shame, cuz I have so much to show you.

[like this: now that Blogger is sort of working again]

Blech!, etc.
Today’s milk factory stench: burnt bacon.

Stupid Blogger won’t let me post! When I click on old entries it only shows a new blank post. When I do enter something it spits it out as crap. Well, I suppose you get what you pay for.

www.cyclingnews.com
First, I should have known it was gonna be a bad day when I noticed the smell from the milk factory on my ride in to work. Today's scent: burnt Cheez-Its soaked with soy sauce. I now no longer drink milk.

Second, Gabe came home screaming, I'm told, missing patches of skin on his elbows and knees, after a crash on (off) his bike. When I saw him later I told him that "only the bravest bike riders survive such a bad crash." He looked at me blankly and said, "OK," and left. Well, I felt better, anyway.

Third, on my way out the driveway after lunch I ran over a child's bicycle. My own, in this case. We do have a spare bike for him that's a little bigger. He's been insisting he's big enough. Now we'll get to see.

Oh, I am such a bad father.

Here I Dreamt I Was an Awful Spendthrift
I don't usually write about my dreams cuz I don't usually have very many, nor are they interesting to anyone but me. (I know, is ANY of this interesting to anyone but me? Honestly!) But I had a dream that I was at a bike shop back in New Jersey, in one of the million and a half anonymous strip malls. I was buying some new pedals, Speedplays, to replace my old favorites, LOOKs. The guys at the shop seemed to know me and I knew them. On the radio I heard a Belle & Sebastian song (I don't know which one, it kept changing) and I was trying to listen and carry on a conversation at the same time. Then, somehow, the new pedals were on my bike and shoes and I rode away on them.
When I woke up I: a) did NOT immediately order a pair, thinking the dream was a sign from God that I must change pedals after, like, 15 years; b) did buy a new capo for my Washburn, one like Colin's, with that curlicue.

You Can't Play Nursemaid and Be the Crazy Patient
This morning Sam yelled at me that me asking him to change his pants was "not part of our arrangement," and he further declared that "Momma would never make this kind of arrangement!" So much for trying to win his favor and buy his affection.

At least I got her back. For better or worse, as they say.

Mmmm. Gary's steel plants looming on the horizon. The smell of patriotism.

But I Play One on TV
Gabe's friends asked if I was in the Tour de France. He explained that only famous bike riders go to that.

In other news, I am the best Poppa.
While their Momma is away I have allowed them to eat a steady diet of popcorn, Happy Meals, and cheap ice cream. Plus I bought them each a new pack of Yu-Gi-Oh cards.


I seem to be having a run of bad pictures. This is my official portrait for work, and, again, I look deranged.

A Summer Wasting
I did get to go on a 100 mile ride today. But it was in the van, to Columbus, to take my mother in law home.
Bah.

Lots of Love
Sickly wife update: three days now (or ten and a half years, depending on how you count), probably coming home after the weekend. Her medication is being monitored closely. All her doses were halved, because she was "overmedicated." Gee, do you think? She sounded like herself on the phone, even using polysyllabic words and finishing her sentences. There is perhaps, hope.

We Can Rebuild Her, We Have the Technology
I've heard about a day of testing, including a turbaned head for a 24 hour EEG, or EKG or E-whatever. Lots of poking and peeing. Perhaps this all will help.
Perhaps it will not.
All I know is I played hooky from the office and sealed the recently powerwashed deck. Mostly. Not quite as epic an achievement as a hilly century, but this week it'll have to do.

Not for Fun
Another trip to Chicago. Not for fun and games. No shows to see.
Lauran went back to the hospital for migraine-related...stuff.
They f***ed her up, they can fix her.
We left in the morning for an appointment, I got back a little after 11 pm. Alone.
They might spring her over the weekend. Which means I will be in Hell, only not when or where I thought.
So much for 2 months of training. Oh well, the roads aren't going anywhere. I can still ride 'em another day.

I am a patient, saintly husband.

Who expects to be rewarded.

See You in Hell, My Friend!
The plans for this weekend: go to Hell (MI)


I can't tell if it's DNA or Mardi Gras beads. But it does exist.

All Over Again
Gabe presented me and Lauran with grade cards, inside manilla envelopes. Each contained a couple of his favorite (or non-favorite, if you got a bad report) Pokemon cards. I got A+'s for "being a good student." On the other side of the card was my academic record--all F-'s! Ack! It's High School all over again. Well, sort of. Back then, I got mostly B's because I could get them without doing much of anything. Why work for A's when B's are free? Then I got to college and realized what studying is supposed to be. Rude awakening! But awakening, nonetheless.

Holiday weekend project: powerwash the deck. It was so dirty and unsealed it looked like driftwood.

Oh, Really?
So, IS freedom just another word for nothin' left to lose?
I don't get how going shopping or cooking meat products over the fire has anything to do with the events of 1776.

The fireworks were nice, though.

Gabe took the picture (and about 127 more).

You Know, Nobody's Chasin' Us
Bike, ready for next week's century, complete with inspirational saying on the top tube.
10 points to the one who can tell me what it is.

Not That It Matters
My uninformed Tour de France podium predictions:
1. Lance Armstrong. I think he's a bit of an asshole for leaving his wife and kids, plus I saw him on OLN's "Lance Chronicles" and was not impressed with him off the bike in the slightest. But, Sheryl Crow notwithstanding, he'll take that historic 6th (and in a row!), but it will be hairy at times and dramatic.
2. Jan Ullrich. Always the bridesmaid (except for that one time in the pre-Lance era).
3. Tyler Hamilton. His seemingly untested team will probably reveal themselves as the sleeper strongmen that I'm convinced they are, but Jan wants this one too bad. I could be wrong. Tyler may end up in 2nd.
With Beloki, Vino and a number of others out, this is going to be Lance's year. Last year's mistakes are gone and Lance is motivated and MAD at the book and doping allegations coming in his direction, and when that guy gets mad he wins.
Bear in mind, these are the opinions of a rank amateur outisder. Your results may vary.


We have our own tiki party going on.

There Is a Road That Meets the Road That Goes to My House
Made it back from Columbus in time to go in to work a little and still get to the club ride. For once, no rain on Thursday! It was a speedy, sweaty affair. I didn't get dropped and didn't come in last--really my only goal is to finish with the main group, if there are some crazy guys that want to go off in a sprint in the last few miles we usually let them. I certainly do.

Here, in the middle of the ride, a group attempts to take off, taking our current speed from somewhere around 25 to up around 30. They didn't get away. Usually at some point a group tries to jump off the front. That's a guy named Germano in red. He's cool, even with his habit of saying rude, obscene things whenever he gets the chance. There's often a few girls on the ride and they usually hand our asses back to us, so maybe the sexism isn't testosterone, it's just shame.