Large Fella on a Bike

Do-Over...

Found the following photo lurking in the dark corners of the hard drive.

...and it gave me pause.  Serious.  Pause.

That was taken outside Lake Placid, NY in 2003 [on my way up to bigger & worse things] but, it was a great moment.  Great because it was the 3rd time I was outside that year.  Chloe & Amy had begged me to go somewhere with them: a vacation, a get-away.  And I had -finally- agreed.

Looking at that photo, I smile for what it shows in the immediate: a beautiful little girl in her very first swimsuit walking into water for her very first time with her dad.  She was terrified of a school of baby trout swimming near our feet.  Amy & me had to -repeatedly- convince her that they weren't 'Miniature Sharks'.

But, also, looking at that pic right now... The Regret.  I'd like my daughter's youngest years back, with me where I am at currently/presently.  I lost so much of it.  Only stories & events retold for my cloistered benefit [sanity] kept me seeing what I did not see, what I did not participate in at all.  I missed every walk, every errand, every trip to the park.  I pushed my daughter in her stroller precisely one time... in our living room [Amy had arranged that so I could know what it felt like~and it felt gloriously like it should have felt].

I don't know what or how it is that draws me to regret, deep regret, while certainly respecting, appreciating & honoring where I'm at now, today.  I appreciate a lot if not every thing in ways I cannot express overly well... but simultaneously, I am -at minimum- tipped toward the past with endless melancholy over what was -no other good way to paint it- Lost.

I've asked Chloe if she feels anger, sadness or anything bad toward me for those years, the lost years.  And her answer remains, "No, you're my daddy... I love you!  I just think you're more You now, than you were you Then".  And that's that I suppose...

We are who we are right now.

It's the shedding of memories [the ones that hurt, haunt & drag it all down] that seem everlastingly on the biggest of big 'To-Do Lists'.  If you can't erase them, what's to become of them.

I think, eventually, I'll find a proper place for all of it to reside in myself...

but for all the good and fantastic in the universe, I'd like a Do-Over.

Keep Ridin'... Always

Thoughts of Folding+WID

Been seriously thinking/considering the probability of a folding bike for Brevets.  Within these possibilities there's:

Dahon

Brompton

and...

Bike Friday

Now the quandary... I know nothing/nada/zip/zero about folding bikes.  I do, however, know lots of folks who like them [and theirs personally] and -also- plenty of folks who love [like a Blood-Sport] to make fun of those kinds of bikes and -especially- the people that ride them.

But, like I said, I know nothing about them.

Anyone care to fill me in?  I've tried out a Brompton twice now, and must declare: I like it [and for traveling I can't imagine the ease].
____________________________________________

In other news...

completely forgot to update on my last Weigh-In Day [WID~March/5/09].  So, the stats:

Weight:  178.4 pounds

Weight on Last Weigh-In [January 18th, 2009]:  181.8 pounds

Loss Of:  3.4 pounds

Total Loss Since November, 2005:  322.6 pounds 

Keep Ridin'... Always

 

For My Brother...

Sure we don't see each other enough.  Sure we don't see eye to eye all the time [but we don't see each other much].  Sure his wife hates me [she's likes sending email calling me an asshole among other fond wishes/thoughts].  Sure I think he's full of shit a lot [but I know he thinks I'm full of shit way more than he is].  Sure we don't have some 'Happy Days' meets 'The Walton's' vibology going on 'tween us...

but he knows I dig him/him me.

So... I did two things I NEVER do, and did them specifically for him [and no one else... heck, I won't even do this for Amy or Chloe]:

I went to the mall-

-and stood in a line.  A very long line, for a very long time.  And I did mention that it was at the mall, right?*

I'm not going to go into details on this as it's personal, and if my brother still has decent vision he's gonna 'Get It' [I will, however, outline the final pic -Click 'Em 4 Big-]:

 

 

 

 

and...

 

...which reads,

"II Rich-

Sorry IV the conflict"

He also said, "Tell Rich I said Hi, and thanks for taking so much shit from your dad to ride my deck, appreciate it".

Told ya, I dig him [I dig you~it's en route to you via the USPS].

[*I equate malls to the lowest, festering anus of all of society... and yet, I went -for you- my dear Brother]

Keep Ridin'... Always

Of Stupidity-Comes Insight:

I like to ride in big gears.  I recall doing this as far back as my first multi-geared bike as a kid.  It's like weightlifting: you see the bar, a stack of metal discs nearby and one way or another, you & your friends end up puttin' them on all and seeing what comes of it.  It's always been this way for me with bikes... I get on, I roll, and by the end of the block I've geared it down to its highest gear in no time at all.

And I usually just keep it there, unless I'm halfway up a hill steep enough that I'm beginning to roll backwards down it.  Maybe it's a Boy/Guy thing... perhaps it's just an offshoot of always having to "try".  Of course it could be as easy as the Time-Space continuum of 'Be careful or you'll shoot your eye out': whereby you have to keep pushing until the Universal RubberBand of "It's Your Turn" snaps back around on your arse and that's that.  Dunno.

But I do know this... It, does snap back, eventually.  And did for me.

I've noticed a lot more folks out-n-about riding lately, and of those folks many [lately] are in full-on kolorz: i.e. Team Kit [some local, most 'Net-Bought from & of their favorite team/teams/riders[?]... but in either/any case they are out and wearing those logos], and many of them are racy.  They wanna go fast all the time.  They are speedy quick, quickly speedy.

So far -with this climate of Fasteryness [my word, Google will net you nada]- I've been willingly coerced into two/2/to/too races.  One netted me a flatted rear [but I was holding my own up until that flat even though I didn't have full USPS team kolorz on me... but I would seriously bet I was within mere feet of having my backside handed to me -had it not been for that pancaked rear flat- as we were about to embark on some serious inclined inclinations of the hilly sort]...

...and the other netted me a hyper-extended left knee.  A few days back, while exiting the downtown PDX area and heading toward home, a Roadie with serious eyes for Man-Man came up from behind me.  What followed was the usual, non-spoken, nudge/floor it/back-off/floor it, on again/off again game of 'wanna go??".  And we went.

Between runners, walkers, joggers, baby strollers, commuters, bird poop, areas that smell of freshly sprayed cow manure [parts of the Eastside Esplanade reek to high hell of... well, one can't really candy coat it, Shite], the homeless & more... we went.  And we kept going.

Never a word spoken.  Only frowns, occasional grunts, always lots of serious intent written on two mugs, we went.

Pull ahead, gap opens, close it up, gap closes.  Draft, pull, draft, pull... I think, looking back, we knew it would end at the tracks one stop past Spokane on the Corridor.  But we never discussed it. 

So it kept going, and I know he was as tired as me.  And for what gain?  To what effect?  It was sublimely ridiculous and served zero purpose.  But I think we were heeding our Testosterone, our inner-Caveman, our need to gage & monitor the current state of our "Me-ness". 

What a moronic sight we must have made: me in a jacket, helmet w/mirror & lights, tights & knickers... him in a very expensive Giro helmet, racing shades, "Hammer Nutrition" jersey & shorts w/"Discovery Channel" tights underneath it all... about the only thing that united us: riding two-wheeled bikes and clipless shoes [but he got me there too, Sidi road shoes].

A 14 mile sprint, and I might be wrong on this, cannot be overly fun for even those with the advantage of Youth & Ultra-Fitness on their side.  It can't be.  It certainly wasn't for me... but then again, 'Sprint' is a relative term to those doing the sprinting and those watching the sprinting.  My 'partner' in all this certainly wasn't wearing anything near enjoyment on his face either.

But we kept on.

So far, I'm only -really- dipping my big toe into Stupidity.  The 10-Meter, full-on, belly-flop, comes about... right... Now.

Just past the drop on the Corridor, where you can go under the tracks into Oak's Bottom, my left knee, more specifically the outside & inside [not the front or rear of the knee] goes "Pop" and then "Ping".  The 10% of my brain that isn't bathing in testosterone, endorphins and hair-covered hands, says "Whoa... bad.  Stop.  Now".  The other 90% announces, "It was a stick, a piece of gravel, something on the asphalt... keep going sissy".  So I went.  I listened to the part that -also- responds with things like "No, I know that's a gas station right there, but I'm positive that if I get on that highway and drive east 20 miles we'll find the hotel.  I know what I'm doing here, honey". 

10%:  'This knee has a history, Einstein.  It gave out before anything else gave out as you got big, then bigger, then biggest... every time you've had a knee issue, it's been this knee.  You always have babied this knee, what are you doing here, Chief?'

90%:  'It was a stick or something'

10%:  'Amy's gonna be pissed.  Not angry because it hurts and you hurt it... no, pissed because you're going to drive her batshit with nonstop worries about it, nonstop questions about it, nonstop "do you think? this/do you think? thats"... check up and ride home like a person that actually has learned something [anything?] in 45 years on this planet'

90%:  'You ain't Lance brother... but neither is this guy.  You and Me, we can take him.  Go fatboy, go'

10%:  'Why do I even bother with you?'

90%:  'Shut up man... go Mr. Tubby GO.'

10%:  'Hello Ice, Hello E.R., Hello Meds, Hello Amy'

90%:  'Steel against Carbon-The Grudge Match.  Just keep going, it was a twig or something... I'm tellin' you man, just keep going'

10%:  'I guess no more rides for a while'

90%:  'There's only The Now'

And we arrived...

well, actually, I arrived.  And then he arrived. 

I waited for him on the tracks.  About 8 seconds later he pulled up beside me.  We both smiled.  Long pulls on water bottles, a few 'Wows', a couple 'We were goings'... he said, "Great job!  Man, I thought for sure I had you near the end"  I said something like "I think I killed my knee, so unless you're injured or worse, you came out of this better than me".  We shook hands.

I rode home wincing... at appx. 7mph.

Lesson ~finally~ Learned=

Pedal Lite/Spin Fast/Resistance Minimally.

[...and I never told Amy how it happened by the way, but she'll know soon enough]

Keep Ridin'... Always

The New Era of Aero...

Purchased for me by my dear & loving Girls.  The rides thru PDX will only but get sweeter.

Keep Ridin'... Always

The Circle->

continues to Close.

When I began all this, actually -in a way- before I began this: was planting the seeds to begin all this, I would check out things on the Internets, in print, catalogs... and a name I continually came across was that of Kent Peterson.  Rivendell & Grant Petersen, Bob Brown ... and Kent Peterson [a lot of Peterso[e]ns out there]: three names that would play enormously important in my unfolding of a new life.

I would sit, I would rest, I would lay on the sofa, and I would read [and marvel] about this guy who rode to ride.  He rode far away to ride even farther away.  He resided [resides] in Washington state, but if he was going to ride some event in Mass. [Boston-Montreal-Boston] or the GDR [Great Divide Race  -starts in the tippity topper most of Montana and finishes up at the bottomery most bottom of New Mexico], well... he rode there too.  Also, he was Car-Free.  Had been for a number of years.  He's married, has two kids, and they did/do fine. 

This guy, and his life, struck me as something special.  Best? ...he wasn't running around beating on his chest like some raving Tarzan screaming 'Look at me!!  I'm car-free you buncha SUV-drivin' jerkweeds'.  He was pretty much quiet about it.  Also, with his riding pursuits he wasn't running around pounding his forearms like some extra in Braveheart shouting "Look at ME!  I ride more than any of you, and on your longest rides -you know, the ones you take trains, buses and cars to get to... the ones your wives or hubbys drive you to... I ride to those too!!".  No, he was & is quietly Herculean.

A smallish, concrete cast, formed from Kryptonite, Buddha with a bike helmet atop its head.

This guy meant [still means] a lot & much to me.  I started writing him, and he responded back.  I left out the stuff about my size, the hole I was in, I kept to bike and riding stuff.  Life -without the mess- stuff.  We became friendly.

When he undertook the GDR, we donated bread.  Chloe made artwork for him... he took that artwork along with him [tucked into his water purification tablet container].  He mentioned her [Chloe's first major press outing] in his follow up on that race in Dirt Rag magazine, mentioned her by name.  She was thrilled.

I was still in a hole... miserable, but planning.

And he was still quietly living his life out in a semi-little/Salmon-known town in Washington.

At the end of that GDR race, I looked at Amy and said "We gotta do something... I gotta do something.  This is like Babe Ruth smacking one out of the park for me.  I know Kent's racing for his own reasons, but he's fueling me-giving me hope, inspiring me to try.  Amy, I gotta do something here."  And Amy said back to me, "Whatever you need to do, we'll do it".

Now I knew Kent loves his wife and she loves him in return... and that's something I knew and understood well in my own life.  Very well.  I also knew that he had been away from home for a very long time to do this race: riding from Washington to Montana, racing from Montana to the New Mexico/Mexico border... and then, now just finished, riding his bike from the border back up to Washington state.  Bingo, there it was... get him back home, back home to his wife/his wife to him, as fast as possible.

So, for this guy I had never met and only knew from the Internet and had corresponded with via email, but had given me so much more than I could have ever possibly given him, we bought him a plane ticket home.  Home to his wife.  And that was tiny peanuts compared to what he had delivered to me just by being who he is.  And I got to talk to him for 5 minutes.

Through his wife, I was given a phone number and an approximate time to call-a time she estimated he would be finishing the race.  I called that number, a friend answered [a buddy picking him up at the finish line to drive him back to his house to spend the night before riding back to Washington  **I think that buddy was Tarik-who visited Amy, Chloe & me last summer in Minneapolis, and we now count as a buddy too ~that Circle again**], and said "Hold on, Kent's just pulling up... ".  Off in the distance, at the New Mexico/Mexico border I could hear 'Hey Kent, phone for you'.  I was sitting on the edge of our bed in the NYC area with my knees and back shot from having walked from the kitchen to the phone in the bedroom to place this call.  Sweating & panting from that 10 foot stroll.  It was surreal.

"Hello, Kent here".  He wasn't breathing hard, didn't sound like someone who had just ridden thru hell and back, dodging bear, assaulted by hills, dust, cold & heat: nature at her best & worst... all on a Single-Speed bike.  He sounded like someone at peace and in his element.

I introduced myself, he was happy to hear from me after all of our email, I told him my plan: what he needed to do, ID to have at hand, times to be where & there... he thanked me, Amy & Chloe profusely.  He started to sound a little tired so I steered the call to an end.

The next day he was home, home with his wife.  We bought him that...

he gave gives me hope & inspiration.

I got the better end of the Deal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy 50th Birthday, Kent [450 odd miles in 3 days sounds exactly like your kind of gift to yourself]!

Keep Ridin'... Always

Her Grandma would be-

...so very proud:

Amy has been knitting lately, and has -also- taught Chloe.  Chloe loves it.  Her Grandma, my mom [who passed in 1997], would be beyond proud of this.  Chloe's first project [seen above] is for a special guest coming by tomorrow for a hang, family ride & then hummus wrap [which will probably make him seriously sick based on his legendary intake of all things Fructose Corn Syrup-but Amy is a nurse after all, so he'll be in good hands when he drops due to something natural and non-chemical laden in his gullet].  Chloe calls this a "Whimsical Charm of Safety"... and man did she work hard on it, not to mention that she got more than a lil' stressed about the short hour of his arrival.  But it's done, and it's rawkin'!

While Chloe knitted her behind off, Amy made candles...

 

And Mr. Dipshit, me, I decided to shave without reading the instruction sheet on my new 'lectric trimmer, and instead of taking a "little off", I hacked it all off:

Amy & Chloe like it, and therefore forced me to smile while snapping off a foto [trust me, it's a fake smile].
And then I rolled out... precisely 2 feet from our front door before noticing my front tire was flat.  Fixed it, rode thru downtown, started racing a guy up Lovejoy [both of us laughing in a good-natured way] and was soundly "Game-Over'd" when I thought he was pulling my bike backwards, looked down and saw a pancake flat rear tire.

Never had two flats, front-n-rear, in one day... heck, one ride!

Life can be that way, sometimes.

Keep Ridin'... Always

The Intimacy of being Exposed...

When riding, as in Life, one often thinks of Their Space.  While walking, that space is more often than not where your two feet are planted: step-air-step-air-step-air-step.  While riding, the Cycler more often than no casts that space as their two wheels, and maybe a couple feet fore & aft/a few port & starboard: pedal-wheel-turns-pedal-wheel-turns-pedal-pedal-pedal.  In Life, that person often feels their existence is 50% driven & realized, where they are at currently [literally, physically], and pair that with 25% memories of their past & 25% thoughts toward their future [dreams, plans, goals, schemes]: Live-Think-Act-Plan-React-Live-Think-Act-Plan-React.

One of my absolutely favorite spaces to place [find?] myself in is this: on the bike, eyes slightly cast for/occasionally aft but mostly downish-toward my stem/bars & front wheel... sometimes, my feet.  How amazing really: watching those two things go around, and around, and around.  And thru that: momentum, inertia, movement.  Toward something?  A goal, a plan, the future... maybe even the past.

Here, up ahead, comes that hill again.  First 100 or so yards, steam, real steam.  Desire and Jones.  Next 200... man, gravity, Mama Earth throwin' her Grand Plan at your Steam.  Hurts, a lil'... A Lot.  Sure, I can ease up... and hey, I'll have to soon enough, but for now, juice/Juice.  Of course she always wins, she always can outlast me and my type.  She laughs in the end, but I'd bet she would wink a small nod of "Hey, that dumb mother!$@ker comes back each & every day, gotta give him some thing for that too".  I hope she knows I'm trying the impossible [what, I'm not sure of... maybe that some day, somehow, I'll climb her as fast as I can descend her with a stiff tailwind?  Maybe I am that thick].

Top of the hill... duality: 'Man, I feel beat-down" mixed with a pinch of 'That's never as bad as it seems looking up from the bottom'.  Why do I think that every time??  Dunno, but I always do.

Check my feet, yep still attached and pumping, and damn-they do their thing easier than my brain, heart & larger muscles.  I envy the attachment of Feet. 

No, I own that space and that place.  My space is near the looking half-over/half-behind the bars.  A little stem, some wheel and a touch of road.  I can pivot my shoulders, my head & maybe a few other things too... but where I place the hands & my eyes, that's My Space.

Of course there's The Ache too... serious ache.  Ache for more, and for less.  Ache for what's been lost and to never be recovered.  Ache for how lost I was before I became found...

Aching for what's yet to find. 

Keep Ridin'... Always