Ahhh... at last. Somebody has figured out how to properly dispose of a Chevy Corsica.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Now Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Programming...
Beavers Battle Cougars in Sin City!
No, seriously.
It's the MAACO Las Vegas Bowl between the Oregon State Beavers and the BYU Cougars.
Gosh, it's hard to know who to root for...
And y'all may think it's cold out here, but trust me... It's Coooold in Da D.
No, seriously.
It's the MAACO Las Vegas Bowl between the Oregon State Beavers and the BYU Cougars.
Gosh, it's hard to know who to root for...
And y'all may think it's cold out here, but trust me... It's Coooold in Da D.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Merry Christmas!
On Christmas we sometimes ponder questions of God, whether it's a just universe, how can good things happen to bad people, etc. That question has been bugging me lately.
I've come to the conclusion that life is a test. It's like a long hilly race. Train all you want, it's still going to be hard and you may get derailed by random factors. Winning the race - taking first - is cool. Taking first doesn't mean you performed up to your potential though. What if you're one of life's sandbaggers, and doing well was easy? What if you could have done a lot better, despite looking like a winner?
No, winning in life's race is harder. It involves doing your utmost no matter what random problems may crop up. It is the moral equivalent of Fausto Coppi putting 25 minutes into the field at La Primavera. That is The Good. That is the purpose of it; to lap the field if you're capable of it. Mother Theresa probably could have been a pretty good cloistered nun, but she had more in her than living a quiet life of prayer and contemplation. She tried to live up to her potential.
Look, the hills are going to suck whether you're off the front, or in life's laughing group; cursing the fact that you can't hold on to the team car the whole way up the hill, or that maybe you weren't born with all the gifts of some other guy or gloating because you can win easily is pointless. Your job is to pedal your ass off until the race is done. The nature of the universe, even down to the molecular level, is that there are random factors we simply cannot control. It's up to us to keep pedaling, to hand teammates a water bottle, maybe even say a kind word to our rivals. But we have to do our best, and even if we're off the back never ever quit.
Christmas isn't the only religious festival of birth. Its precise terms are unique to judeo-christianity, but the crux of it, like the other religious festivals, is about the promise of life, and about higher meaning. You don't have to buy the particulars of my religion's belief, but even if you don't accept the notion of existence of a personal God or even a somewhat disinterested deity, the underlying philosophical propositions surrounding Christmas and the historical figure of Christ should move you.
Regardless of whether you buy the virgin birth, transubstantiation, the Chosen People, or any of the finer points of theology, historical Jesus's philosophical point is, I think, valid. It states that we should put other people first and act selflessly, and that this is the way to salvation. Some Buddhists might particularly agree with this, and I think you'll find most major religions treat the question in a similar manner. Even if you're only talking about living a better life here and now, the way to it, is to sacrifice yourself on behalf of others. Carry their water bottles. Give them a draft. Don't worry about how you ache. It isn't about you sitting there and hurting and feeling sad for yourself, and how could a good Director Sportivo have let you get dropped and left without support. It's about you, but it's not about you at all. Did you support your team, your fellow man? Did you give your all? That's what it's about. Cool if you win the race, but did you become the great champion you could have been, or did you just rack up some palmares and then wander off?
Life's promise is to make us struggle and suffer, to see what we're made of - you get chances all the time to see if you can do better than you did before. So what if you got dropped yesterday, blew your diet, or in real life snapped at somebody you love (or some random person) or goofed off at work. You must let it go; it's time to take a dig at the problem and try to do better, it's not time to dwell on what happened at last week's contest. There's no sag wagon here - all starters have to finish. It's your choice whether you finish as hard as you can, or lie down in a ditch and quit.
The cool thing about all the philosophical bits that are corrolaries to Christmas is there is even a training plan. Yeah, there's all sorts of rules. Depending on which edition of the plan you read, maybe there's diet restrictions and you aren't supposed to eat lobster and pork barbecue, or maybe you're supposed to take cold baths and wash your feet for recovery after you've gotten all sweaty and dirty or whatever. (Whoa... it's like being a Belgian bike racer, isn't it?)
But the main point, kind of like Friel's 3-on-1-off periodization, is pretty simple. Love one another. Or if you want the Training With [religious] Power version, "whatsoever you do for the least of my brothers; that you do unto me." Or as Bob Roll reminded us recently, "ever notice how homeless people look like Jesus?" Bob's right. They sure do. You're supposed to help take care of them. And everybody else you encounter on the course.
A good example of this that many of us saw this past year was the fight waged by Elden Nelson's wife, and by Elden. As Elden tells it, he did everything in his power to ease her path, filled as it was with terrible suffering. He also tells us that she went out of her way to be kind to her family, and to make her suffering and their sacrifices on her behalf not about her; no self pity, no whining, just holding on to the days and encouraging her family to live fully despite her dying. I've spent several months getting my head around this. It's remarkable, and profound. Iohannes Paulus Maximus discussed the purpose we can find even in our own suffering in an encyclical that he later put into practice as his own infirmity tested him in his later years. Yes, in life as in bicycling, the suffering is for a purpose. It is an opportunity we get to make ourselves better, even though it may make us ache terribly and seem senseless at the time.
Christmas is about the fact that on many planes, we are given a chance each day to do better. If you're reading this, you have a chance to do better. Give to others. Forgive yourself when you fail to do so (and forgive others too)* and resolve to do better. Each day is a gift. Use it.
I hope you all have an extremely Merry Christmas, even if you aren't of my faith and are just borrowing the holiday for a day off and to exchange gifts with loved ones. That's cool. But I also hope that the deeper meanings of the holiday, the sensibility that surrounds it, finds purchase with you and that you find solace and strength in it.
Here's the great Wagnerian, Kristen Flagstad, singing Silent Night. Enjoy.
[And yes, to those I've slighted this past year, I'm very aware that I've slighted you. Oh my, have I slighted you. I apologize, and will try to do better.]
I've come to the conclusion that life is a test. It's like a long hilly race. Train all you want, it's still going to be hard and you may get derailed by random factors. Winning the race - taking first - is cool. Taking first doesn't mean you performed up to your potential though. What if you're one of life's sandbaggers, and doing well was easy? What if you could have done a lot better, despite looking like a winner?
No, winning in life's race is harder. It involves doing your utmost no matter what random problems may crop up. It is the moral equivalent of Fausto Coppi putting 25 minutes into the field at La Primavera. That is The Good. That is the purpose of it; to lap the field if you're capable of it. Mother Theresa probably could have been a pretty good cloistered nun, but she had more in her than living a quiet life of prayer and contemplation. She tried to live up to her potential.
Look, the hills are going to suck whether you're off the front, or in life's laughing group; cursing the fact that you can't hold on to the team car the whole way up the hill, or that maybe you weren't born with all the gifts of some other guy or gloating because you can win easily is pointless. Your job is to pedal your ass off until the race is done. The nature of the universe, even down to the molecular level, is that there are random factors we simply cannot control. It's up to us to keep pedaling, to hand teammates a water bottle, maybe even say a kind word to our rivals. But we have to do our best, and even if we're off the back never ever quit.
Christmas isn't the only religious festival of birth. Its precise terms are unique to judeo-christianity, but the crux of it, like the other religious festivals, is about the promise of life, and about higher meaning. You don't have to buy the particulars of my religion's belief, but even if you don't accept the notion of existence of a personal God or even a somewhat disinterested deity, the underlying philosophical propositions surrounding Christmas and the historical figure of Christ should move you.
Regardless of whether you buy the virgin birth, transubstantiation, the Chosen People, or any of the finer points of theology, historical Jesus's philosophical point is, I think, valid. It states that we should put other people first and act selflessly, and that this is the way to salvation. Some Buddhists might particularly agree with this, and I think you'll find most major religions treat the question in a similar manner. Even if you're only talking about living a better life here and now, the way to it, is to sacrifice yourself on behalf of others. Carry their water bottles. Give them a draft. Don't worry about how you ache. It isn't about you sitting there and hurting and feeling sad for yourself, and how could a good Director Sportivo have let you get dropped and left without support. It's about you, but it's not about you at all. Did you support your team, your fellow man? Did you give your all? That's what it's about. Cool if you win the race, but did you become the great champion you could have been, or did you just rack up some palmares and then wander off?
Life's promise is to make us struggle and suffer, to see what we're made of - you get chances all the time to see if you can do better than you did before. So what if you got dropped yesterday, blew your diet, or in real life snapped at somebody you love (or some random person) or goofed off at work. You must let it go; it's time to take a dig at the problem and try to do better, it's not time to dwell on what happened at last week's contest. There's no sag wagon here - all starters have to finish. It's your choice whether you finish as hard as you can, or lie down in a ditch and quit.
The cool thing about all the philosophical bits that are corrolaries to Christmas is there is even a training plan. Yeah, there's all sorts of rules. Depending on which edition of the plan you read, maybe there's diet restrictions and you aren't supposed to eat lobster and pork barbecue, or maybe you're supposed to take cold baths and wash your feet for recovery after you've gotten all sweaty and dirty or whatever. (Whoa... it's like being a Belgian bike racer, isn't it?)
But the main point, kind of like Friel's 3-on-1-off periodization, is pretty simple. Love one another. Or if you want the Training With [religious] Power version, "whatsoever you do for the least of my brothers; that you do unto me." Or as Bob Roll reminded us recently, "ever notice how homeless people look like Jesus?" Bob's right. They sure do. You're supposed to help take care of them. And everybody else you encounter on the course.
A good example of this that many of us saw this past year was the fight waged by Elden Nelson's wife, and by Elden. As Elden tells it, he did everything in his power to ease her path, filled as it was with terrible suffering. He also tells us that she went out of her way to be kind to her family, and to make her suffering and their sacrifices on her behalf not about her; no self pity, no whining, just holding on to the days and encouraging her family to live fully despite her dying. I've spent several months getting my head around this. It's remarkable, and profound. Iohannes Paulus Maximus discussed the purpose we can find even in our own suffering in an encyclical that he later put into practice as his own infirmity tested him in his later years. Yes, in life as in bicycling, the suffering is for a purpose. It is an opportunity we get to make ourselves better, even though it may make us ache terribly and seem senseless at the time.
Christmas is about the fact that on many planes, we are given a chance each day to do better. If you're reading this, you have a chance to do better. Give to others. Forgive yourself when you fail to do so (and forgive others too)* and resolve to do better. Each day is a gift. Use it.
I hope you all have an extremely Merry Christmas, even if you aren't of my faith and are just borrowing the holiday for a day off and to exchange gifts with loved ones. That's cool. But I also hope that the deeper meanings of the holiday, the sensibility that surrounds it, finds purchase with you and that you find solace and strength in it.
Here's the great Wagnerian, Kristen Flagstad, singing Silent Night. Enjoy.
[And yes, to those I've slighted this past year, I'm very aware that I've slighted you. Oh my, have I slighted you. I apologize, and will try to do better.]
A Very Bicycle Christmas or Why I Like Riding With My Friends
Team rides are cool, but everybody's got to have a shop ride. If you don't have a good one, get one started. Seriously.
We had the Traditional Family Bike Shop Christmas Eve's Eve Night Ride last night with a good chunk of the usual shop ride crew. Normally this is a regular hooligan ride, fixed gears and cross bikes, riding down stairs, hill sprints, and drinking lots of Kentucky Antifreeze, Irish Fighting Fuel, or Mexican Soul Lubricant. Afterward, it's off to one of the local establishments providing fine comestibles for a seasonal repast and fine intoxicating beverages.
For a while it wasn't clear where we were going to ride. The roads were okay but our forays off road were a bit painful - the snow was deep and even where packed down it was very hard to ride, being packed down by foot traffic. This was bumpy and fragile, with the tires breaking through the crust and making riding impossible.
After a 600 yard hike-a-bike, we found the first of the sledding hills, and the night turned around. Kids had packed down the snow pretty well, so we were able to bomb down it, hit the little bumps, do long, lurid skids, and generally play around. After a bit, Klas challenged us to ride without headlights, which we did and which he exploited by immediately plowing into Jonathan at the bottom of the sledding hill. It may have been the first time Klas was ever unintentionally dangerous on a group ride.
After a while we decided to ride up Reidel Road, where we may or may not have ridden up and down the really big sledding hill on a local golf course. We may or may not have cheered for a bunch of 15-16 year old kids with their little brothers and sisters as they bombed down the same hill. There may or may not have been a really odd mix of guys in their late 30's and early 40's, and high school / junior high kids. We may or may not have bombed up and down it on our mountain bikes. And Klas may or may not have eaten shit big time on one of the jumps, doing a huge endo and failing to land a jump stylishly in Ryan's footsteps.
From there it was back to the shop, skidding down icy side roads, hopping snowy curbs, and single speeders spinning our guts out to keep up with the geared bikes on the roads. A quick change, then we hit Christopher's for some calamari, excellent burgers and craft brews. Much hilarity ensued, even more when half the group had left and we got the $300 bar tab.
It would be possible to view the ride as a skill builder. I spent a lot of it riding at the limits of my handling skills. But mainly it was about riding with my friends. I like riding with my friends.
We had the Traditional Family Bike Shop Christmas Eve's Eve Night Ride last night with a good chunk of the usual shop ride crew. Normally this is a regular hooligan ride, fixed gears and cross bikes, riding down stairs, hill sprints, and drinking lots of Kentucky Antifreeze, Irish Fighting Fuel, or Mexican Soul Lubricant. Afterward, it's off to one of the local establishments providing fine comestibles for a seasonal repast and fine intoxicating beverages.
Kentucky Antifreeze 
There was a lot of snow on the ground this time around and that made things different. Okay, well, a little different. This time involved mountain bikes and snow and wicked icy roads. But the ride was Same As It Ever Was.For a while it wasn't clear where we were going to ride. The roads were okay but our forays off road were a bit painful - the snow was deep and even where packed down it was very hard to ride, being packed down by foot traffic. This was bumpy and fragile, with the tires breaking through the crust and making riding impossible.
After a 600 yard hike-a-bike, we found the first of the sledding hills, and the night turned around. Kids had packed down the snow pretty well, so we were able to bomb down it, hit the little bumps, do long, lurid skids, and generally play around. After a bit, Klas challenged us to ride without headlights, which we did and which he exploited by immediately plowing into Jonathan at the bottom of the sledding hill. It may have been the first time Klas was ever unintentionally dangerous on a group ride.
After a while we decided to ride up Reidel Road, where we may or may not have ridden up and down the really big sledding hill on a local golf course. We may or may not have cheered for a bunch of 15-16 year old kids with their little brothers and sisters as they bombed down the same hill. There may or may not have been a really odd mix of guys in their late 30's and early 40's, and high school / junior high kids. We may or may not have bombed up and down it on our mountain bikes. And Klas may or may not have eaten shit big time on one of the jumps, doing a huge endo and failing to land a jump stylishly in Ryan's footsteps.
From there it was back to the shop, skidding down icy side roads, hopping snowy curbs, and single speeders spinning our guts out to keep up with the geared bikes on the roads. A quick change, then we hit Christopher's for some calamari, excellent burgers and craft brews. Much hilarity ensued, even more when half the group had left and we got the $300 bar tab.
It would be possible to view the ride as a skill builder. I spent a lot of it riding at the limits of my handling skills. But mainly it was about riding with my friends. I like riding with my friends.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
You're Kidding, Right?
Man, I have all these trainer workouts piling up that I'm supposed to do. This ain't in the schedule.
Cross about wore my ass out. I'm not burnt out but you know how you can travel a long ways toward a destination, and you aren't there yet but maybe you see some familiar landmarks and you know you're almost there? 5-6 trainer workouts a week would be the equivalent of hitting the brakes just before that town, doing some donuts at the town limit sign, and peeling out for downtown at full tilt with the sheriff hot on my ass.
Can't get that serious about it just yet. Sorry.
I can ride the trainer casually right now. Those are the trainer rides where you convince yourself you're doing something else, like watching an NHL game or reading a book, and you knock out 90 minutes of L2 or something. These are not the 'droids you're looking for...
But the serious, intense, hurt yourself until you hurt yourself stuff?
Meh.
I'd rather do repeats of the muddy runup at Granogue carrying a 75 pound velocipede than do serious trainer workouts right now.
My goal for the winter is to ride a lot but to throw the powertap away, for all intents and purposes. The best way to recover mental freshness on the bike, I've found, is to ride it to new places, do different things, and don't try to ride with any more precision of effort than easy, medium, and hard; and consider foregoing "medium" in an effort to simplify things.
So I guess I need to explain my goals for next year. I said they were 215. 13. 50. 274 and the best guess would get a prize. Reader StevieD got it closest, guessing
215lbs
13hrs solo @ Bakers
50 more racers for the Taccino
274 riding days
The only thing he missed was 50. I'm actually looking to try to finish 50th percentile or better in 50% of my cross races next year - a tall order since Masters B has gotten a lot faster. The significant of the other numbers is as follows. 215 pounds is really skinny for me, given my build. You probably don't know many people who have hit 7% bodyfat and still had a 47" chest and 35" waist, not unless you know a lot of powerlifters and linebackers and such. That's the goal though, and it should help me go faster if I can hit it. The 13 is my goal for Baker's Dozen. I'd hoped to do 13 laps, but seeing as they've lengthened the course to over 8 miles (I'm told) I'm going to set my goal at 100 miles. I knocked out around 70 solo last year with no training for it; with some training... we'll see. 274 is how many days I plan to ride this next year. That will require rolling three out of every four days, trainer days included.
So StevieD, drop me an email with an address and I'll send you a prize.
Cross about wore my ass out. I'm not burnt out but you know how you can travel a long ways toward a destination, and you aren't there yet but maybe you see some familiar landmarks and you know you're almost there? 5-6 trainer workouts a week would be the equivalent of hitting the brakes just before that town, doing some donuts at the town limit sign, and peeling out for downtown at full tilt with the sheriff hot on my ass.
Can't get that serious about it just yet. Sorry.
I can ride the trainer casually right now. Those are the trainer rides where you convince yourself you're doing something else, like watching an NHL game or reading a book, and you knock out 90 minutes of L2 or something. These are not the 'droids you're looking for...
But the serious, intense, hurt yourself until you hurt yourself stuff?
Meh.
I'd rather do repeats of the muddy runup at Granogue carrying a 75 pound velocipede than do serious trainer workouts right now.
My goal for the winter is to ride a lot but to throw the powertap away, for all intents and purposes. The best way to recover mental freshness on the bike, I've found, is to ride it to new places, do different things, and don't try to ride with any more precision of effort than easy, medium, and hard; and consider foregoing "medium" in an effort to simplify things.
So I guess I need to explain my goals for next year. I said they were 215. 13. 50. 274 and the best guess would get a prize. Reader StevieD got it closest, guessing
215lbs
13hrs solo @ Bakers
50 more racers for the Taccino
274 riding days
The only thing he missed was 50. I'm actually looking to try to finish 50th percentile or better in 50% of my cross races next year - a tall order since Masters B has gotten a lot faster. The significant of the other numbers is as follows. 215 pounds is really skinny for me, given my build. You probably don't know many people who have hit 7% bodyfat and still had a 47" chest and 35" waist, not unless you know a lot of powerlifters and linebackers and such. That's the goal though, and it should help me go faster if I can hit it. The 13 is my goal for Baker's Dozen. I'd hoped to do 13 laps, but seeing as they've lengthened the course to over 8 miles (I'm told) I'm going to set my goal at 100 miles. I knocked out around 70 solo last year with no training for it; with some training... we'll see. 274 is how many days I plan to ride this next year. That will require rolling three out of every four days, trainer days included.
So StevieD, drop me an email with an address and I'll send you a prize.
Monday, December 21, 2009
When Life Hands You Lemons...
You break out a 29'er and go for a night ride in the snow on local, nearly impassible roads.
A few thoughts about this:
A few thoughts about this:
- the 29'er seems to be a pretty good choice for riding on packed snow / ice, running 10 pounds lower tire pressure than normal.
- the cross bike with studded tires seems to work too; it is more efficient, seemingly on the packed and dry spots, though it cuts through fragile snow a bit easier and rides a bit rougher when it does.
- don't count on turning or stopping fast.
- smooth handling seems a key to not crashing. Relax, just keep the pedals turning smoothly. One hour, 6-8 miles, no crashes. All that riding 'cross in the mud helps.
- the hip flask of Van Gogh espresso-flavored vodka that Seibold brought didn't hurt either, though peppermint schnapps or bourbon would probably be just as effective.
- it's an hour's worth of work, not 6-8 miles worth. the pedaling is a lot harder with the funny surfaces and heavy clothes.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Friday Fun Mostly
Damn. Winter is setting in. I know because the bare-headed, bare-legged commuters riding across big patches of ice on the roads and W&OD have their ski jackets on, which they will now wear through April 15th, regardless of the temperature. Who needs embro, when your back is soaked with sweat? Not these guys...
I am watching the NFL game and just saw an ad for Fred Frank, the Affordable Bail Bonds People. According to the ad, "For over 20 years, we've specialized in getting the ones you love out of jail." Chico's my ass; that would make them basically the Mike Huckabee of the bail bond game. Gotta wonder though, are they targeting the NFL audience with this ad, or the NFL players? Tough call.
BTW, the game (Colts/Jags) turned into one of the best ones I've seen in years. 9 lead changes. Colts' perfect record on the line... sweet. And I found out where to go in case a relative gets arrested and needs to make bail. A win/win!
Hey, guess what. It's not just driving your car and eating meat that rapes the planet. It's eating cheese too, according to Nina Shen Ristogi's Green Lantern column this week at Slate. So listen up, you lacto-ovo vegans: I'm tired of your smug environmentally friendly moral superiority! Your cows and goats fart methane, and your cheese? Oh mah gott... you people might as well be eating 32 ounce porterhouse stakes seared over sulphurous shale oil flames. Now walk around the village square, flogging your back with a stiff loofah and chanting, "Pie Gaia Domine. Dona eis Requiem." So you know how eating meat is horrible for the earth, and eating cheese and dairy products is too? Next up is legumes, the only other viable source of protein. And you know what legumes make you do? Fart methane. Lots and lots of it. Brace yourselves, vegans. I'm willing to put a sawbuck on Nina Shen coming up with a column about that one in the next few weeks.
Seriously though. I very much support conservation, and I would support a greater role of science in public environmental policy if I thought for a minute the public policy determinations would get co-opted by empirical science and rational cost-basis analysis, rather than the politics co-opting the other two. But this hair shirt shit - ride your bike because it hurts not because it's fun philosophy - is enough to make a man buy an H2 Hummer and stock in Exxon. If they're that into guilt, can't these people just become Irish Catholic or Jewish or something and quit bugging the rest of us?
My friend Beth qualified on the M-16 today. Way to be, Beth! She's getting ready to deploy and take care of the troops who take care of us, so hit her blog and give her some love, willya?
Oh, you're here for the music, aren't you? Okay.
Here's some Slaaaaaaayyyyyyyeeeeerrrrrrrrr!
Okay, let's have some old school shit.
Man, that is one of the great rock songs of all time. Say what you will about crazy old Uncle Ted, but if you were having a backyard beer blast, and you could pick any band in the world to play, Ted would be at the top of the list. Might want to leave the potbellied pig inside though. But here's my favorite Nuge song - it's totally primal.
Wow. That's like drinking a 64 ounce mug of espresso. Guess it's time to mellow a little bit. Check out Jaco Pastorius with one of his trademark tracks, The Chicken.
Jaco, who was a jazz prodigy, also suffered from mental illness and was killed in a fight with a bouncer in the mid-80s. Little more good mellow here from Medeski, Martin and Wood.
Have a good weekend, everybody.
------------------------
I am watching the NFL game and just saw an ad for Fred Frank, the Affordable Bail Bonds People. According to the ad, "For over 20 years, we've specialized in getting the ones you love out of jail." Chico's my ass; that would make them basically the Mike Huckabee of the bail bond game. Gotta wonder though, are they targeting the NFL audience with this ad, or the NFL players? Tough call.
BTW, the game (Colts/Jags) turned into one of the best ones I've seen in years. 9 lead changes. Colts' perfect record on the line... sweet. And I found out where to go in case a relative gets arrested and needs to make bail. A win/win!
------------------------
Hey, guess what. It's not just driving your car and eating meat that rapes the planet. It's eating cheese too, according to Nina Shen Ristogi's Green Lantern column this week at Slate. So listen up, you lacto-ovo vegans: I'm tired of your smug environmentally friendly moral superiority! Your cows and goats fart methane, and your cheese? Oh mah gott... you people might as well be eating 32 ounce porterhouse stakes seared over sulphurous shale oil flames. Now walk around the village square, flogging your back with a stiff loofah and chanting, "Pie Gaia Domine. Dona eis Requiem." So you know how eating meat is horrible for the earth, and eating cheese and dairy products is too? Next up is legumes, the only other viable source of protein. And you know what legumes make you do? Fart methane. Lots and lots of it. Brace yourselves, vegans. I'm willing to put a sawbuck on Nina Shen coming up with a column about that one in the next few weeks.
Seriously though. I very much support conservation, and I would support a greater role of science in public environmental policy if I thought for a minute the public policy determinations would get co-opted by empirical science and rational cost-basis analysis, rather than the politics co-opting the other two. But this hair shirt shit - ride your bike because it hurts not because it's fun philosophy - is enough to make a man buy an H2 Hummer and stock in Exxon. If they're that into guilt, can't these people just become Irish Catholic or Jewish or something and quit bugging the rest of us?
------------------------
My friend Beth qualified on the M-16 today. Way to be, Beth! She's getting ready to deploy and take care of the troops who take care of us, so hit her blog and give her some love, willya?
------------------------
Oh, you're here for the music, aren't you? Okay.
Here's some Slaaaaaaayyyyyyyeeeeerrrrrrrrr!
Okay, let's have some old school shit.
Man, that is one of the great rock songs of all time. Say what you will about crazy old Uncle Ted, but if you were having a backyard beer blast, and you could pick any band in the world to play, Ted would be at the top of the list. Might want to leave the potbellied pig inside though. But here's my favorite Nuge song - it's totally primal.
Wow. That's like drinking a 64 ounce mug of espresso. Guess it's time to mellow a little bit. Check out Jaco Pastorius with one of his trademark tracks, The Chicken.
Jaco, who was a jazz prodigy, also suffered from mental illness and was killed in a fight with a bouncer in the mid-80s. Little more good mellow here from Medeski, Martin and Wood.
Have a good weekend, everybody.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
An Inconvenient, Um, Thingie.
Interesting. If this is true, then it probably qualifies as an inconvenient truth. A really, really inconvenient one. It'd be cool if any of my readers were actual climate scientists and could chime in on what's going on here, particularly w/r/t climategate. I don't know enough about the topic to comment knowledgeably. I do know that all the millenarian talk I've heard over the last couple years w/r/t anthropogenic global warming makes me deeply distrustful.* millenarian movements - and I'm starting to view a lot of the people espousing a need for really extreme change right now as millenarians - have a history of going very badly in the end.
* If it makes you feel any better, I don't know that the skeptics are right either. I'm a skeptic of both sides, if that makes sense - just that the skeptics (who urge, "Don't do anything") strike me as less threatening that the non-skeptics (who urge "Do what I say") at least in an ecumenical sense. I'm always distrustful of people who want more power, maybe because I know I couldn't be trusted with it myself.
* If it makes you feel any better, I don't know that the skeptics are right either. I'm a skeptic of both sides, if that makes sense - just that the skeptics (who urge, "Don't do anything") strike me as less threatening that the non-skeptics (who urge "Do what I say") at least in an ecumenical sense. I'm always distrustful of people who want more power, maybe because I know I couldn't be trusted with it myself.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Quick Shots
Okay, got it figured out. Here's the cycling goals for the year - see if you know what I'm talking about. Answer in comments. Person who gets closest to what I'm thinking gets a special prize. 215. 13. 50. 274. Good luck.
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Oh, what the hell. Why not. Here, have a flaming shot of badassedyness.
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When somebody shows up and says they're from the government and they're here to help, and all you need to do is give them shitloads of power, and a lot of control over your life, you would do well to question whether they are acting in your best interest. There is a distinct possibility that they could be utterly fraudulent, or at a minimum violating the hippocratic oath and doing a hell of a lot of harm right out of the gate. Climategate doesn't prove or disprove anything to me, other than a lot of scientists are on a gravy train and maybe willing to indulge in a little confirmation bias if it wins some more funding. It deepens my distrust. So too does a healthcare bill that even big fans of nationalizing healthcare on the left say will do nothing but enrich insurance companies. Let me repeat that in short form: don't trust people who ask for money and power in order to save you. They are probably lying about the crisis, and about their ability and desire to save you. They do want your money and power, however; you can take that to the bank.
-----------------------------------------------------I am looking forward to riding the Kona tomorrow morning early. Going to hit the W&OD for the regular Wednesday ride with Metro out toward Reston. 28 or 30 miles, moderate pace. The bike needs some upgrades - I had a Thomson stem lying around, but need a Thomson seatpost, some more comfortable handlebars, better brake levers, and maybe better brakes. Seibold is building me a rear wheel this week - a Phil track hub (flip flop) on a Mavic CXP 33 rim. Should be super light, pretty strong. I'm soooo amped about that. Did I mention I really really like the Major One?
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The Paleo diet, for those who asked, is supposedly based on what Paleolithic Man would have eaten - no grains and legumes, nothing processed, lots of lean protein, fruit and vegetables. Or Protein and Produce, as I call it. I'm losing weight at an okay pace but get a ferocious hunger and wind up whacking a big pile of turkey or 2-3 pieces of fruit at a shot. There are headaches and I'm mean as ****. It is extremely hard to ride on this diet, there's just not enough blood sugar and what there is burns way too slow. When (If?) I get into a decent race weight I'm going to integrate some complex carbs back in - steel cut oats, beans a couple times a week. Nothing major. I just don't think this is a permanent long term solution for me, but it seems to be a semi-long term diet I can stick with, which should adapt well to being the permanent fix. You do get carbs, but it's 30-40% of your diet, rather than 60%.
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If Bill Schiecken had an official Chinese rock song, it would be this (NSFW!) song. There's an interesting story behind it; yes, it's a protest song akin to George Carlin's Seven Things You Can't Say On Radio. Anyhow, it's the Song of the Grass Mud Horse (NSFW) and if you don't know why Schiecken is The Grass Mud Horse you've never raced with him in the rain.
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I'm fascinated with Clutch. Here's a spinoff band called The Bakerton Group. It's mainly the guys in Clutch, but they do different stuff. Neil Fallon doesn't sing, for instance, but plays guitar. Pretty cool. And yeah, The Bakerton Group opens for Clutch. Hmmm... that's alternative.
------------------------------------------------------So I've got a shit-ton of 90% drunk bottles of liquor in the man cave that I have to get rid of to reduce the clutter. Anybody up for a Kill the Sandbagger party sometime between Christmas and New Years? I may do it myself but then you won't hear from me for a few days while I get over the alcohol poisoning.
Oh, say, would you look at that? Looks like its Drambuie, Hennesy and Hornitos night at the Rouleur household. Mmmm. Nice.
Oh, say, would you look at that? Looks like its Drambuie, Hennesy and Hornitos night at the Rouleur household. Mmmm. Nice.
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Oh, what the hell. Why not. Here, have a flaming shot of badassedyness.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
The Off-Season
We've now entered what Douglas Adams, author of the ridiculously mislabeled Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy trilogy, once called The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul. The off-season, particularly the portion of it immediately after the season, is a good time for reflection on the racing year that came before us.
Despite highly regrettable results, I'm not upset with the season. Some things happened, and I'm damn glad just to be here, Howard. I might not be riding or racing at all, so I am truly grateful for what I was able to do.
Let's recap a little bit. I was laid up for about 6 of the first 8 weeks of the year. This decimated my fitness. I was in the state I call "Fat but Fit" where I carry about 15 pounds more than my usual (fat) race weight through the winter when my left foot and ankle blew up, just after New Years. This added a bit of weight and put me in the category I call "Fat but Just Plain Fat."
Off-season fitness is tenuous; you try to maintain it with a patchwork of trainer work, snow mountain bike rides, frigid road rides that are often cut short due to irrational attachment to toes and nose, and, gosh darnit, a social life conducted in the harsh glare of mellow lighting, martinis and tasty, rich snacks. A six week layoff at the end of that is a little sub-optimal if you're hoping to progress as a racer.
The ankle came around enough that I could walk on it by early February, and actually ride on it by mid-February. I was dreading group rides around then. I recall hitting a Tradezone race with Seibold and just about crapping my pants trying to keep up with his easy spin. That's how far I fell with that layoff. It was dreadful. It wasn't bad enough to keep me out of Coppi camp in mid-March, however. Three to four weeks of mostly easy spinning - a ridiculously hard easy - got me more or less ready for that. I didn't ride strong but got a lot of mountain miles in; it's good training. Getting lost by myself for three hours and riding on dirt roads up mountains in the snow was also a highlight, despite a nagging fear of freezing to death in the mountains and not being found until July. Except by the coyotes.
Coming out of camp some confidence was returning, so I hit the Escape From Granogue, in a desperate effort to get some revenge for its clubbing me in the head with a cleverly hidden oak tree last year. If you didn't do that race, I'm not going to bother trying to tell you what the mud was like because (1) no description could capture the shittiness of it; and, (2) even bad descriptions 50% weaker than how bad it was sound unbelievable to anybody who didn't race that day. When the guys next to me at the wash rack were experts who had only completed one lap before packing it in, like me, I knew it was bad.
That didn't sour me on the mountain bike, so I hit the Baker's Dozen, trying my first 12 hour solo, in the single speed class. Um, that hurt considerably. I found that my Pain Cave actually has an additional room, wayyyyy at the back. You can't get into it until you're in the darkest part of the normal cave, and you're staggering around in delirium. As you skin your shins on stalagmites and stumble into walls, if you pull really hard on just the right razor sharp rock, a secret door opens up and you will find the Swedish Bikini Team, a kegerator full of ice cold Sierra Nevada, your own masseur, and an easy chair with NHL playoffs on the big screen.
That's right, there's a place in the Pain Cave where it's so bad you start going utterly delirious ad thinking you're enjoying the experience. Finishing a narrow DFL in my class (but still beating a bunch of two-man teams) I decided I'd like to go back there and make that course my bitch. Plus I'd swear this Bikini Team member named Heidi told me to stop back in, though it could have just been the salamander I was licking after the 8th lap that told me to come back sometime.
About two weeks after that, the ankle started to blow up again for no apparent reason and I decided to get a surgical consult. I didn't care what the problem was, I wasn't going back to being utterly immobile until the thing settled down. This time the doc got a good Cat Scan, figured out that my problem was actually likely a fused toe, and we talked about cutting. He thought that the fused toe was making me walk funny, and this was aggravating my mildly dorked up ankles. All it takes to fix a fused toe is to take a saw to the joint, resection it, then take a tiny grinder to the joint surfaces and grind them into a smooth mortar & pestle sort of configuration. [Ed. Nothing to it...] He then explained the risks, I told him that I didn't give a flying fig, the damn thing needed to be fixed. He said if I could be in early on the next Tuesday - four days away - he'd fix it.
One Dremel Tool grind job on my left big toe later, I found myself on the sofa in pain again, only this time with the hope things would get better.
The road back was tough. I didn't know if I'd come through the operation okay, or if the toe would heal up right. For those it helps, the operation tends to help a lot. For many of those it doesn't help - maybe 20 or 30% - it makes it worse. A lot worse.
I wouldn't know for a while. From mid-June to late July, it was L1/L2 spinning only. I couldn't have pushed harder if I wanted to; there was this pressure in my foot that felt like a mean person warning me they were about to kick my ass. I didn't want to aggravate the mean person.
By the time the foot was half healed, cross season was looming. I had a lot of questions about whether the foot would hold up to the pounding of hopping off the bike, runups, and constant accelerations, never mind the mid-week high power intervals. Power tests were strong; I managed a string of personal bests for FTP through the mid season. And lo, the foot held up.
Alas, my results were not great. The B Masters class has suddenly become very competitive. Guys I raced around before are still there; it's just that there are now 25 more dudes in front of us. And most of the time it seemed like circumstances were conspiring against me. At Ed Sander, a course I can hammer when it's dry, we had to go miles through deep mud, something few big guys navigate well. At Hyattsville... I just don't know. I had an okay race and finished on the lead lap, was approaching halfway around when Robinson was taking the win, but f***ing everybody was in front of me, it seemed. Then I was having the race of the season at All Hallows, hangin' with Schiecken and passing guys, grooving on the slippery bits, when I had a monster crash. Yes, my left hand *still* is bruised from that. Throw in the seemingly endless rain this year, and it was a recipe for a bad time.
But good stuff did happen to me. Really good stuff. And I'm happy about it.
For one thing, I figured out my move. My move is wait until it's really bad, slippery, nasty, then go real hard. Seems the big boy handles alright. Slippery clay like we had at All Hallows is the ticket. Deep mud you can blast through like after the big downhills at Reston? I can fly. Deep mud that you have to pedal through like the uphills at All Hallows and Granogue, or the flats at Reston and Ed Sander? Death. But at least I've got a move. The Move helps on sand too, a surface I can suddenly ride now.
For another thing, with the help of a commenter on this blog, I found out something important about cross bike setup. That is, you want to have a lot of weight on the front, more than you would for normal road setup. That helped *lots*.
And for another nother thing, I figured out at Rockburn that I am really sick of being a big dude who is fast-for-a-big-dude-with lots of unrealized potential. This occurred to me on a hill out there about 1.5 laps in. I'd been riding strong, but then just had nothing left, no legs. I was cracked. About 10 guys passed me on the one hill, after I'd handled my way into someplace mid-pack. I didn't like that feeling and it's motivating a diet. A hard diet that gives me headaches and makes me mean like a snake but without the charming personality, BTW. I'm going to use that as a reference point for the next six months or a year.
The final thing I learned is that I liked promoting the Tacchino, and that it was fun because I've got good friends on the team, good friends in the cycling community, and I happen to live in a good cross community to begin with. That was one of the high points of the year.
So yeah, it's been a really good year. I can't think of any other way to describe it. Sure, there's a little deflation from not having a race to do every weekend. But it's good to get some family time in, to clean all the crap that I've been putting off for months (like the Man Cave, the bedroom and the cross bike) and to recharge.
It's also a good time to start a diet, to tell the coach you don't want to look at a Powertap for two months, and to chart out the new year.
And that's what I'm going to do. There's a glass of bourbon with my name on it (low carbs... nice...), and that's what I'm about to go do, sit and reflect on last year's racing, and think about what to do in the new one. I'll let you know how it turns out.
Despite highly regrettable results, I'm not upset with the season. Some things happened, and I'm damn glad just to be here, Howard. I might not be riding or racing at all, so I am truly grateful for what I was able to do.
Let's recap a little bit. I was laid up for about 6 of the first 8 weeks of the year. This decimated my fitness. I was in the state I call "Fat but Fit" where I carry about 15 pounds more than my usual (fat) race weight through the winter when my left foot and ankle blew up, just after New Years. This added a bit of weight and put me in the category I call "Fat but Just Plain Fat."
Off-season fitness is tenuous; you try to maintain it with a patchwork of trainer work, snow mountain bike rides, frigid road rides that are often cut short due to irrational attachment to toes and nose, and, gosh darnit, a social life conducted in the harsh glare of mellow lighting, martinis and tasty, rich snacks. A six week layoff at the end of that is a little sub-optimal if you're hoping to progress as a racer.
The ankle came around enough that I could walk on it by early February, and actually ride on it by mid-February. I was dreading group rides around then. I recall hitting a Tradezone race with Seibold and just about crapping my pants trying to keep up with his easy spin. That's how far I fell with that layoff. It was dreadful. It wasn't bad enough to keep me out of Coppi camp in mid-March, however. Three to four weeks of mostly easy spinning - a ridiculously hard easy - got me more or less ready for that. I didn't ride strong but got a lot of mountain miles in; it's good training. Getting lost by myself for three hours and riding on dirt roads up mountains in the snow was also a highlight, despite a nagging fear of freezing to death in the mountains and not being found until July. Except by the coyotes.
Coming out of camp some confidence was returning, so I hit the Escape From Granogue, in a desperate effort to get some revenge for its clubbing me in the head with a cleverly hidden oak tree last year. If you didn't do that race, I'm not going to bother trying to tell you what the mud was like because (1) no description could capture the shittiness of it; and, (2) even bad descriptions 50% weaker than how bad it was sound unbelievable to anybody who didn't race that day. When the guys next to me at the wash rack were experts who had only completed one lap before packing it in, like me, I knew it was bad.
That didn't sour me on the mountain bike, so I hit the Baker's Dozen, trying my first 12 hour solo, in the single speed class. Um, that hurt considerably. I found that my Pain Cave actually has an additional room, wayyyyy at the back. You can't get into it until you're in the darkest part of the normal cave, and you're staggering around in delirium. As you skin your shins on stalagmites and stumble into walls, if you pull really hard on just the right razor sharp rock, a secret door opens up and you will find the Swedish Bikini Team, a kegerator full of ice cold Sierra Nevada, your own masseur, and an easy chair with NHL playoffs on the big screen.
That's right, there's a place in the Pain Cave where it's so bad you start going utterly delirious ad thinking you're enjoying the experience. Finishing a narrow DFL in my class (but still beating a bunch of two-man teams) I decided I'd like to go back there and make that course my bitch. Plus I'd swear this Bikini Team member named Heidi told me to stop back in, though it could have just been the salamander I was licking after the 8th lap that told me to come back sometime.
About two weeks after that, the ankle started to blow up again for no apparent reason and I decided to get a surgical consult. I didn't care what the problem was, I wasn't going back to being utterly immobile until the thing settled down. This time the doc got a good Cat Scan, figured out that my problem was actually likely a fused toe, and we talked about cutting. He thought that the fused toe was making me walk funny, and this was aggravating my mildly dorked up ankles. All it takes to fix a fused toe is to take a saw to the joint, resection it, then take a tiny grinder to the joint surfaces and grind them into a smooth mortar & pestle sort of configuration. [Ed. Nothing to it...] He then explained the risks, I told him that I didn't give a flying fig, the damn thing needed to be fixed. He said if I could be in early on the next Tuesday - four days away - he'd fix it.
One Dremel Tool grind job on my left big toe later, I found myself on the sofa in pain again, only this time with the hope things would get better.
The road back was tough. I didn't know if I'd come through the operation okay, or if the toe would heal up right. For those it helps, the operation tends to help a lot. For many of those it doesn't help - maybe 20 or 30% - it makes it worse. A lot worse.
I wouldn't know for a while. From mid-June to late July, it was L1/L2 spinning only. I couldn't have pushed harder if I wanted to; there was this pressure in my foot that felt like a mean person warning me they were about to kick my ass. I didn't want to aggravate the mean person.
By the time the foot was half healed, cross season was looming. I had a lot of questions about whether the foot would hold up to the pounding of hopping off the bike, runups, and constant accelerations, never mind the mid-week high power intervals. Power tests were strong; I managed a string of personal bests for FTP through the mid season. And lo, the foot held up.
Alas, my results were not great. The B Masters class has suddenly become very competitive. Guys I raced around before are still there; it's just that there are now 25 more dudes in front of us. And most of the time it seemed like circumstances were conspiring against me. At Ed Sander, a course I can hammer when it's dry, we had to go miles through deep mud, something few big guys navigate well. At Hyattsville... I just don't know. I had an okay race and finished on the lead lap, was approaching halfway around when Robinson was taking the win, but f***ing everybody was in front of me, it seemed. Then I was having the race of the season at All Hallows, hangin' with Schiecken and passing guys, grooving on the slippery bits, when I had a monster crash. Yes, my left hand *still* is bruised from that. Throw in the seemingly endless rain this year, and it was a recipe for a bad time.
But good stuff did happen to me. Really good stuff. And I'm happy about it.
For one thing, I figured out my move. My move is wait until it's really bad, slippery, nasty, then go real hard. Seems the big boy handles alright. Slippery clay like we had at All Hallows is the ticket. Deep mud you can blast through like after the big downhills at Reston? I can fly. Deep mud that you have to pedal through like the uphills at All Hallows and Granogue, or the flats at Reston and Ed Sander? Death. But at least I've got a move. The Move helps on sand too, a surface I can suddenly ride now.
For another thing, with the help of a commenter on this blog, I found out something important about cross bike setup. That is, you want to have a lot of weight on the front, more than you would for normal road setup. That helped *lots*.
And for another nother thing, I figured out at Rockburn that I am really sick of being a big dude who is fast-for-a-big-dude-with lots of unrealized potential. This occurred to me on a hill out there about 1.5 laps in. I'd been riding strong, but then just had nothing left, no legs. I was cracked. About 10 guys passed me on the one hill, after I'd handled my way into someplace mid-pack. I didn't like that feeling and it's motivating a diet. A hard diet that gives me headaches and makes me mean like a snake but without the charming personality, BTW. I'm going to use that as a reference point for the next six months or a year.
The final thing I learned is that I liked promoting the Tacchino, and that it was fun because I've got good friends on the team, good friends in the cycling community, and I happen to live in a good cross community to begin with. That was one of the high points of the year.
So yeah, it's been a really good year. I can't think of any other way to describe it. Sure, there's a little deflation from not having a race to do every weekend. But it's good to get some family time in, to clean all the crap that I've been putting off for months (like the Man Cave, the bedroom and the cross bike) and to recharge.
It's also a good time to start a diet, to tell the coach you don't want to look at a Powertap for two months, and to chart out the new year.
And that's what I'm going to do. There's a glass of bourbon with my name on it (low carbs... nice...), and that's what I'm about to go do, sit and reflect on last year's racing, and think about what to do in the new one. I'll let you know how it turns out.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Friday Fun Time
It's been a quiet week. When the racing season ends, it's hard to feel any other way but empty. I get up in the morning and think, "maybe I won't ride my bike today. Maybe I'll have an extra cup of espresso. Maybe I'll AaaaaaeeeeeeeeeegggghhHH! I'm going nuts! When is it race season again?!?
Still, life goes on and we try to have fun.
And if you're gonna have fun, you might as well have funk.
Yep, I'm having fun tonight. But I feel old. I'm watching Syracuse beat up on Florida, coming up on the end of the game. Two of the kids on the team are legacy Syracuse hoopsters. I used to watch Leo Rautins throwing down on the excellent SU teams of the 80's, and now his son Andy is a star. Howie Triche was a pretty solid player that I balled with a couple times on the mean streets of the 'cuse. Howie actually wasn't really off the mean streets. I think his folks were school teachers and he was a good kid. His nephew Brandon is now starting for SU. Florida coach Billy Donovan, of course, was a hell of a point guard at Providence. He's got gray hair, what's left of it. He's two years older than me.
Damn. I'm turning into an old man.
Apropo of nothing - recognize this song and this guy?
You may have seen him here:
Now that's how you age gracefully. BTW, the dude invented moonwalking. Of course some people don't do anything gracefully. Here's David Allan Coe being badassed, country, and less wrong than usual.
Nothing wrong with that.
Still, life goes on and we try to have fun.
And if you're gonna have fun, you might as well have funk.
Yep, I'm having fun tonight. But I feel old. I'm watching Syracuse beat up on Florida, coming up on the end of the game. Two of the kids on the team are legacy Syracuse hoopsters. I used to watch Leo Rautins throwing down on the excellent SU teams of the 80's, and now his son Andy is a star. Howie Triche was a pretty solid player that I balled with a couple times on the mean streets of the 'cuse. Howie actually wasn't really off the mean streets. I think his folks were school teachers and he was a good kid. His nephew Brandon is now starting for SU. Florida coach Billy Donovan, of course, was a hell of a point guard at Providence. He's got gray hair, what's left of it. He's two years older than me.
Damn. I'm turning into an old man.
Apropo of nothing - recognize this song and this guy?
You may have seen him here:
Now that's how you age gracefully. BTW, the dude invented moonwalking. Of course some people don't do anything gracefully. Here's David Allan Coe being badassed, country, and less wrong than usual.
Nothing wrong with that.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Random Thoughts
I have to thank all the people who cheered me on during the season, whether it was the usual random assortment of folks littering the local cross courses mid-race, or people who picked me up on the long dark mid-week afternoons between races, when the bitter little aspects of last week's race seem larger than the joy of it, and the challenge and nerves of the next week's race loom. I couldn't do it without my cross friends; and I wouldn't do it without you.
Nobody has fallen as far, as fast, as Tiger Woods. Even Icarus is off somewhere on Olympus shaking his head and going, "damn, dude." The extent of his extramarital cheating is epic. And I don't mean that in the "wow, that 45 minute race was epic." I mean, epic as in Homer could have written a book about it and the book would be longer than the (ahem) Trojan War itself.
On the one hand, it's not shocking. He's a billionaire celebrity, and unlike most all the other billionaire celebrities, he's not 50, geeky, wrinkled, ugly, and weird. So naturally he'd have an opportunity or 300 million to cheat. But he did it with a Playboy calendar collection worth of women - most of whom are proving to be much more indiscreet and venal than the characters on Gossip Girl. Cheating usually shows bad judgment; cheating when you have *so much* to lose shows world class bad judgment. Cheating with women that even America's Second Most Famous Hooker thinks are being immoral and uncouth? That's like the Grand Slam of bad judgment. Tiger apparently doesn't do anything the amateurish way.
Boy, do I feel bad for his kids and wife though. I will admit to a sick desire to see Jesper Parnevik confront him over it though. Tiger's wife, you see, is the Parnevik's former nanny, and a close friend of the Parneviks, and Jesper is known for wearing funny hats, and being really testy.
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The Rig is up and running. I took it for a shake-down ride at Hains late this afternoon. It's a Kona Major One single speed cross frame. If you're going to be one... you should be a Major One, I guess.
I took all the gear of the Crosscheck and just swapped it over. There will be some upgrades in the near future, not least of which will be some gold handlebar tape. Full fenders will go on in a day or three, and we're going to probably build up a White Industries rear wheel on a Mavic CXP 33 rim, for some light & speedy hoop action. In case you're wondering about the spec, the crank is an old Ultegra with a track ring, the cog is surly, and the tires are the wretched but durable Armadillos in a 700x28. Hard tires notwithstanding, It rides as sweet as you'd expect a thin-wall scandium tubing frame to ride. Very sweet.
I took all the gear of the Crosscheck and just swapped it over. There will be some upgrades in the near future, not least of which will be some gold handlebar tape. Full fenders will go on in a day or three, and we're going to probably build up a White Industries rear wheel on a Mavic CXP 33 rim, for some light & speedy hoop action. In case you're wondering about the spec, the crank is an old Ultegra with a track ring, the cog is surly, and the tires are the wretched but durable Armadillos in a 700x28. Hard tires notwithstanding, It rides as sweet as you'd expect a thin-wall scandium tubing frame to ride. Very sweet.
_____________________________________
Nobody has fallen as far, as fast, as Tiger Woods. Even Icarus is off somewhere on Olympus shaking his head and going, "damn, dude." The extent of his extramarital cheating is epic. And I don't mean that in the "wow, that 45 minute race was epic." I mean, epic as in Homer could have written a book about it and the book would be longer than the (ahem) Trojan War itself.
On the one hand, it's not shocking. He's a billionaire celebrity, and unlike most all the other billionaire celebrities, he's not 50, geeky, wrinkled, ugly, and weird. So naturally he'd have an opportunity or 300 million to cheat. But he did it with a Playboy calendar collection worth of women - most of whom are proving to be much more indiscreet and venal than the characters on Gossip Girl. Cheating usually shows bad judgment; cheating when you have *so much* to lose shows world class bad judgment. Cheating with women that even America's Second Most Famous Hooker thinks are being immoral and uncouth? That's like the Grand Slam of bad judgment. Tiger apparently doesn't do anything the amateurish way.
Boy, do I feel bad for his kids and wife though. I will admit to a sick desire to see Jesper Parnevik confront him over it though. Tiger's wife, you see, is the Parnevik's former nanny, and a close friend of the Parneviks, and Jesper is known for wearing funny hats, and being really testy.
_____________________________________
Monday, December 07, 2009
Capital Cross
I went and raced.
Didn't really want to, but it's the last race of the year. You just shut up and go, know what I mean?
It was really cold. I rode a warmup lap, warmup being an ironic term in this case.
There was a lot of ice. The road was ice, the dirt was ice, there was ice on top of ice.
People were crashing in the parking lot. From walking.
But Schiecken was there and Cernich was there and we were joking about how it was going to be funny to be walking into work on Monday in a full body cast asking for time off due to a broken hip, and how the bosses would be incredulous because nobody who is 41 breaks their hip...
So I shut up, signed up and went. Shall I pre-load the excuses? The back was, and is in a spasm. I still haven't figured out that if I want to race in cold weather without having an I-Think-I'm-Dying sort of asthma attack it takes a half week of steadily taking my asthma medicine. And oh my lord, does this paleo diet make me weak right now. So anyhow...
Anyhow... I raced pretty good for two laps, to the extent where Joe Jefferson felt compelled to shout, "It's McNeely from Squadra Coppi. He's Mid-Pack! He's always at the back. He's having a great race!"
Or at least that's what it sounded like. I wouldn't know because I think blood was bubbling out of my ears at this point.
Great race or not, on the first lap I just kept chugging past people who were stalling out on the ice and snow, elbowed a few people out of the way when they slowed (Dave T was on my wheel and dropped me a "nice pass" for one offensive-tackle-like, um, pass) and moved on.
I did stay in a long string for maybe a lap and a half, close to two.
I've realized what my go-to move is in cross.
Ride in really shitty weather, and pray for no deep peanut butter mud. Seriously, I appear to be able to handle a bike pretty well, and if the surface consists of ball bearings atop groomed ice lubed up with Slick 50... well, I can ride it. A light coating of lube-y sloppy mud atop slick clay appears to be my surface of choice, combining peak fear in other riders and low enough friction to let me slither through turns and such. I wish my move was something like "crush all riders on any hill" or "drop anybody any time" but I'll settle for "rides like a pig that's happy in shit only probably not quite enough shit."
At one point we crossed the bridge and a couple guys rode down the ice in the middle of the road instead of the 6" wide track on the right. As they first passed the line of 8 or 10 riders I was in I muttered aloud, so that they could hear me, "you've got to be kidding, right?"
At the end of the road, where you turn right to hit the runup, first one went down, then the other. As we road by, I delivered maybe my best bit of heckling all year:
The other highlight of the race was riding the sketchy off-camber and tarmac downhill at speed into the mud, and riding the grass downhill into the yet-more-mud as hard as I could. It's not often a big boy draws cheers for his riding, but when you combine the effects of gravity with a rugby player's innate knowledge that a big fall in deep mud is essentially painless, it allows for some wild-ass hanging-it-all-out-there riding. If you can carry speed off a hill through a mud pit, it makes your day go a lot easier.
It was cool while it lasted. I was riding in a totally unfamiliar group, a half dozen or so guys that I am never near in a race, and one or two guys I completely can't touch at all were within striking distance, including Gwadzilla, who combined his worst race ever with one of my best.
Alas, it was not to last. Around the midway point of the second lap I started to feel a bit week and started losing contact with my group. Going into the third lap, on the runup near the pits (which turned into a ride up later) I was utterly gassed, just nothing in my legs. Still I kept the pedals turning, but knew I was doomed.
You know how you can see a crack or a bonk coming a ways off, like a huge dark thunderstorm on a sunny day? Well this wasn't anything like that. It was more like getting punched out. But you know what I mean. Half way through the third lap my legs were just gone, wouldn't even work at all. I'm pretty sure this was the diet kicking my ass. There just aren't enough calories on the basic paleo plan to fuel a good hard 1000 calorie race effort, so my legs cooked. About the same time I started coughing. Hard. By the time I got past the start/finish, it was TIME. So I pedaled up to the truck, and sat on the bumper coughing up chunks and taking hits of my rescue inhaler. Lovely.
After getting changed and dolled up in 5 layers of shirts, and my Amazing Wooly Sweater, I hung out for most of the rest of the day to cheer friends, tell lies, and drink some of Micah's bourbon. No carbs, eh? I could get used to that.
Didn't really want to, but it's the last race of the year. You just shut up and go, know what I mean?
It was really cold. I rode a warmup lap, warmup being an ironic term in this case.
There was a lot of ice. The road was ice, the dirt was ice, there was ice on top of ice.
People were crashing in the parking lot. From walking.
But Schiecken was there and Cernich was there and we were joking about how it was going to be funny to be walking into work on Monday in a full body cast asking for time off due to a broken hip, and how the bosses would be incredulous because nobody who is 41 breaks their hip...
So I shut up, signed up and went. Shall I pre-load the excuses? The back was, and is in a spasm. I still haven't figured out that if I want to race in cold weather without having an I-Think-I'm-Dying sort of asthma attack it takes a half week of steadily taking my asthma medicine. And oh my lord, does this paleo diet make me weak right now. So anyhow...
Anyhow... I raced pretty good for two laps, to the extent where Joe Jefferson felt compelled to shout, "It's McNeely from Squadra Coppi. He's Mid-Pack! He's always at the back. He's having a great race!"
Or at least that's what it sounded like. I wouldn't know because I think blood was bubbling out of my ears at this point.
Great race or not, on the first lap I just kept chugging past people who were stalling out on the ice and snow, elbowed a few people out of the way when they slowed (Dave T was on my wheel and dropped me a "nice pass" for one offensive-tackle-like, um, pass) and moved on.
I did stay in a long string for maybe a lap and a half, close to two.
I've realized what my go-to move is in cross.
Ride in really shitty weather, and pray for no deep peanut butter mud. Seriously, I appear to be able to handle a bike pretty well, and if the surface consists of ball bearings atop groomed ice lubed up with Slick 50... well, I can ride it. A light coating of lube-y sloppy mud atop slick clay appears to be my surface of choice, combining peak fear in other riders and low enough friction to let me slither through turns and such. I wish my move was something like "crush all riders on any hill" or "drop anybody any time" but I'll settle for "rides like a pig that's happy in shit only probably not quite enough shit."
At one point we crossed the bridge and a couple guys rode down the ice in the middle of the road instead of the 6" wide track on the right. As they first passed the line of 8 or 10 riders I was in I muttered aloud, so that they could hear me, "you've got to be kidding, right?"
At the end of the road, where you turn right to hit the runup, first one went down, then the other. As we road by, I delivered maybe my best bit of heckling all year:
Now THAT was entirely predictable.The two boys on the ground were grimacing.
The other highlight of the race was riding the sketchy off-camber and tarmac downhill at speed into the mud, and riding the grass downhill into the yet-more-mud as hard as I could. It's not often a big boy draws cheers for his riding, but when you combine the effects of gravity with a rugby player's innate knowledge that a big fall in deep mud is essentially painless, it allows for some wild-ass hanging-it-all-out-there riding. If you can carry speed off a hill through a mud pit, it makes your day go a lot easier.
It was cool while it lasted. I was riding in a totally unfamiliar group, a half dozen or so guys that I am never near in a race, and one or two guys I completely can't touch at all were within striking distance, including Gwadzilla, who combined his worst race ever with one of my best.
Alas, it was not to last. Around the midway point of the second lap I started to feel a bit week and started losing contact with my group. Going into the third lap, on the runup near the pits (which turned into a ride up later) I was utterly gassed, just nothing in my legs. Still I kept the pedals turning, but knew I was doomed.
You know how you can see a crack or a bonk coming a ways off, like a huge dark thunderstorm on a sunny day? Well this wasn't anything like that. It was more like getting punched out. But you know what I mean. Half way through the third lap my legs were just gone, wouldn't even work at all. I'm pretty sure this was the diet kicking my ass. There just aren't enough calories on the basic paleo plan to fuel a good hard 1000 calorie race effort, so my legs cooked. About the same time I started coughing. Hard. By the time I got past the start/finish, it was TIME. So I pedaled up to the truck, and sat on the bumper coughing up chunks and taking hits of my rescue inhaler. Lovely.
After getting changed and dolled up in 5 layers of shirts, and my Amazing Wooly Sweater, I hung out for most of the rest of the day to cheer friends, tell lies, and drink some of Micah's bourbon. No carbs, eh? I could get used to that.
Sunday, December 06, 2009
Because It's What I Do...
30 degrees out, feels like 23, according to Weather.com.
MAC Championship race at Reston. Going to get my ass kicked.
The back is in the midst of a 3 day spasm. It's eased off slightly but is going away the way a guy walks away after a fight - it keeps throwing glancing pain at me.
I feel like ass because of the low carb Paleo Diet that I'm on.
My hands are cold because I was outside for 30 seconds and when you're dieting, you freeze easy.
There's a lot of snow on the ground but the turf won't be frozen yet, so it will be freezing mud conditions. Y'know, where it's not black ice / plain old ice.
Not even sure I'm going to be able to race.
Going to show up, ride some warmup laps, if that works, then pay for the race, go as hard and as far as I can.
Seems senseless. But I have to go. I feel like there isn't really a choice.
Good shape or bad, good results or bad, I go unless I can't.
I won't go well today, but I can in fact go, at least until I can't.
So I will go.
I am a racer.
It's what I do.
MAC Championship race at Reston. Going to get my ass kicked.
The back is in the midst of a 3 day spasm. It's eased off slightly but is going away the way a guy walks away after a fight - it keeps throwing glancing pain at me.
I feel like ass because of the low carb Paleo Diet that I'm on.
My hands are cold because I was outside for 30 seconds and when you're dieting, you freeze easy.
There's a lot of snow on the ground but the turf won't be frozen yet, so it will be freezing mud conditions. Y'know, where it's not black ice / plain old ice.
Not even sure I'm going to be able to race.
Going to show up, ride some warmup laps, if that works, then pay for the race, go as hard and as far as I can.
Seems senseless. But I have to go. I feel like there isn't really a choice.
Good shape or bad, good results or bad, I go unless I can't.
I won't go well today, but I can in fact go, at least until I can't.
So I will go.
I am a racer.
It's what I do.
Friday, December 04, 2009
NEW BIKE! NEW BIKE! NEW BIKE!
Well, a new frame anyhow.
I picked up my new Kona Major One from Seibold's shop this afternoon. They just moved the running gear over from the Surly Crosscheck frame that I busted a little while back. So the running gear isn't great and will be getting upgraded with time. But the ride...
I rode it around the block a few times.... the ride is awful sweet. Scandium is the bomb.
It may be my B cross bike - which rarely comes out - and may roll at Reston if the weather is crap, but I think its main job for now is going to be daily beater for winter training rides and commuting. The Rig. It's a little light for a rig, a little sweet... but it's a cross bike, and will be run in gnarly fixie mode for the next 3-4 months, so I think we can forgive it some prettyness. Particularly once I put on the Bike Eyebrows, the full rig fenders. Yeah, I'm going to do the Full Sheldon this winter...
I picked up my new Kona Major One from Seibold's shop this afternoon. They just moved the running gear over from the Surly Crosscheck frame that I busted a little while back. So the running gear isn't great and will be getting upgraded with time. But the ride...
I rode it around the block a few times.... the ride is awful sweet. Scandium is the bomb.
It may be my B cross bike - which rarely comes out - and may roll at Reston if the weather is crap, but I think its main job for now is going to be daily beater for winter training rides and commuting. The Rig. It's a little light for a rig, a little sweet... but it's a cross bike, and will be run in gnarly fixie mode for the next 3-4 months, so I think we can forgive it some prettyness. Particularly once I put on the Bike Eyebrows, the full rig fenders. Yeah, I'm going to do the Full Sheldon this winter...
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Friday Fun Stuff
Please feel free to walk this way.
Very good. Please be seated. In honor of my diet, which is only 5 days old but is frankly kicking my ass, please give a warm welcome to Clutch, Big Fat Pig.
Now, for no apparent reason, it's time to face what you most fear...
And, appropo of nothing...
And finally, if today's collection of odd bits isn't mind bending enough... Hayseed Dixie takes on Sabbath's War Pigs.
Have a good weekend y'all. See you at Reston, if I can get off my fat ass to do it and if I haven't starved to death by then.
Very good. Please be seated. In honor of my diet, which is only 5 days old but is frankly kicking my ass, please give a warm welcome to Clutch, Big Fat Pig.
Now, for no apparent reason, it's time to face what you most fear...
And, appropo of nothing...
And finally, if today's collection of odd bits isn't mind bending enough... Hayseed Dixie takes on Sabbath's War Pigs.
Have a good weekend y'all. See you at Reston, if I can get off my fat ass to do it and if I haven't starved to death by then.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Open Letter To: The Paleo Diet
Dear Paleo Diet,
I've decided to give you a try. In fact, I'm now in my second day of your delights. But I think we need to clear the air about a few things, otherwise this relationship is never going to last.
First of all, I really love what you've done with meat. Meat here, meat there, meat meat everywhere! I'm a carnivore at heart; in fact, I'm such a carnivore I'd only eat apex predators if I could get away with it, on the theory that if eating meat is good, then eating meat that eats other meat is at least twice as good.
However, you are out of your f***ing gourd if you think I'm going to eat cold salmon for breakfast. Smoked salmon, maybe. Give me a bagel, some cream cheese... what's that? No bagels or cream cheese? Okay. Then I repeat: you are out of your f***ing gourd if you think I'm going to eat cold salmon for breakfast. You will get ground turkey burgers, and like it!
I'd also love to try all the game meat you suggest. I understand that pheasant is super-healthy to eat, notwithstanding the lead pellets and Uncle Morty's questionable cooking techniques. But frankly, I don't have the $20/half pound that it takes to buy the amount of pheasant I would need to eat to douse my hunger. Ditto for Ostrich, Alligator, and Capybara.
Second, the meat plus all-the-green-veggies-and-all-the-fruit-you-can-eat formula is really good. It's close to what I'd eat normally. But the proscription on grains? Even whole grains? Come on. You can't tell me our Stone Age ancestors didn't rock out with some whole oats. You have any idea what kind of havoc this is playing with my cycling? Okay, fine, I haven't ridden yet since starting the diet, but I will ride tomorrow AM and I question whether I can get enough juice to ride hard for an hour+ using just cold salmon and a couple pieces of fruit. I'll try but between the low nutrient density and the flatulence, I'm just not sure it'll work.
Third... we gotta talk about this no salt/no coffee regime. That simply ain't happenin'. You can take my espresso from me when you pry it from my cold, dead, slightly shaking hands. And the salt... I'm cutting back but you can't reasonably expect a brother to eat a couple/four pounds of meat each day, and not whip out some salt on it. Bird's gotta swim, fish gotta fly, and a brother's gotta have some salt on his steak. Just the way it is. You want me to get rid of the salt, then you're going to have to okay me getting a 55 gallon drum of Arthur Bryant's World Famous hot barbecue sauce. You want that? No. Didn't think so.
Fourth... what's up with all the peeing? I'm peeing like my bladder got angry at my toilet and has decided to wear it out with overuse. I don't mind a pee at all, but honestly, I'm standing there this afternoon and a couple guys come into the john, have an extended legal discussion about the Supreme Court's most recent search and seizure decision, do their business, clean their hands, walk out, and I'm still standing there letting 'er rip. If I'm going to pee this much, we're going to need to consider some replacement plumbing parts for my nether regions, since they're going to get pretty damn worn. Either that, or maybe I can subcontract to the Fire Department.
Fifth, and finally.... the occasional bouts of dizziness are really pleasant. I mean that. With getting hammered on a nice tasty Ram's Head Tavern Ale out of the question, I have to get my buzz on where I can. Admittedly, halfway up the stairs at home or every third time I stand up at work are not optimal locations to catch a quick buzz, though I appreciate your effort. But it is the nicest buzz since I huffed the Nitrous out of a Redi-Whip can in 9th grade. Like I said though, distracting! It'd be better if you didn't give me that little gift of altered consciousness while I'm driving on the beltway or working some plywood through the tablesaw. I'd be really pissed about this whole random buzz thing but for the fact that if I feel down and cranky and need a snack, I can just go get some meat. And how could I be unhappy then.. So no matter what else happens, you are a nice diet because you definitely keep me happy, at least in the short run.
Hey, want some beef jerky?
I've decided to give you a try. In fact, I'm now in my second day of your delights. But I think we need to clear the air about a few things, otherwise this relationship is never going to last.
First of all, I really love what you've done with meat. Meat here, meat there, meat meat everywhere! I'm a carnivore at heart; in fact, I'm such a carnivore I'd only eat apex predators if I could get away with it, on the theory that if eating meat is good, then eating meat that eats other meat is at least twice as good.
However, you are out of your f***ing gourd if you think I'm going to eat cold salmon for breakfast. Smoked salmon, maybe. Give me a bagel, some cream cheese... what's that? No bagels or cream cheese? Okay. Then I repeat: you are out of your f***ing gourd if you think I'm going to eat cold salmon for breakfast. You will get ground turkey burgers, and like it!
I'd also love to try all the game meat you suggest. I understand that pheasant is super-healthy to eat, notwithstanding the lead pellets and Uncle Morty's questionable cooking techniques. But frankly, I don't have the $20/half pound that it takes to buy the amount of pheasant I would need to eat to douse my hunger. Ditto for Ostrich, Alligator, and Capybara.
Second, the meat plus all-the-green-veggies-and-all-the-fruit-you-can-eat formula is really good. It's close to what I'd eat normally. But the proscription on grains? Even whole grains? Come on. You can't tell me our Stone Age ancestors didn't rock out with some whole oats. You have any idea what kind of havoc this is playing with my cycling? Okay, fine, I haven't ridden yet since starting the diet, but I will ride tomorrow AM and I question whether I can get enough juice to ride hard for an hour+ using just cold salmon and a couple pieces of fruit. I'll try but between the low nutrient density and the flatulence, I'm just not sure it'll work.
Third... we gotta talk about this no salt/no coffee regime. That simply ain't happenin'. You can take my espresso from me when you pry it from my cold, dead, slightly shaking hands. And the salt... I'm cutting back but you can't reasonably expect a brother to eat a couple/four pounds of meat each day, and not whip out some salt on it. Bird's gotta swim, fish gotta fly, and a brother's gotta have some salt on his steak. Just the way it is. You want me to get rid of the salt, then you're going to have to okay me getting a 55 gallon drum of Arthur Bryant's World Famous hot barbecue sauce. You want that? No. Didn't think so.
Fourth... what's up with all the peeing? I'm peeing like my bladder got angry at my toilet and has decided to wear it out with overuse. I don't mind a pee at all, but honestly, I'm standing there this afternoon and a couple guys come into the john, have an extended legal discussion about the Supreme Court's most recent search and seizure decision, do their business, clean their hands, walk out, and I'm still standing there letting 'er rip. If I'm going to pee this much, we're going to need to consider some replacement plumbing parts for my nether regions, since they're going to get pretty damn worn. Either that, or maybe I can subcontract to the Fire Department.
Fifth, and finally.... the occasional bouts of dizziness are really pleasant. I mean that. With getting hammered on a nice tasty Ram's Head Tavern Ale out of the question, I have to get my buzz on where I can. Admittedly, halfway up the stairs at home or every third time I stand up at work are not optimal locations to catch a quick buzz, though I appreciate your effort. But it is the nicest buzz since I huffed the Nitrous out of a Redi-Whip can in 9th grade. Like I said though, distracting! It'd be better if you didn't give me that little gift of altered consciousness while I'm driving on the beltway or working some plywood through the tablesaw. I'd be really pissed about this whole random buzz thing but for the fact that if I feel down and cranky and need a snack, I can just go get some meat. And how could I be unhappy then.. So no matter what else happens, you are a nice diet because you definitely keep me happy, at least in the short run.
Hey, want some beef jerky?
Correct me if I'm wrong Sandy, but if I kill all the golfers, they're gonna lock me up and throw away the key. ...
I see Tiger Woods is in the news, as his wife attacked his SUV, and maybe his own bad self, with a 2 iron. The lovely and skillfull Ms. Nordgren was apparently outraged at tabloid accounts that Tiger was seeing somebody on the side. Beyond the obvious interesting aspect - that a guy worth billions and married to a supermodel would risk his marketing image to get a little bit on the side - the story is remarkable for two things.
First, Ms. Nordgren allegedly went after him with a two iron, and did a bangup job. This is amazing because, if you've ever golfed, you know it's damn near impossible to hit what you're aiming at with a two iron. The girl has skillz...
Second, she managed to knock out a window on the SUV and hit Tiger using a Nike iron. This would make her the second person in the world, behind Tiger, who has ever been able to make a Nike golf club do what she wanted it to do. Admittedly, it was probably a re-badged Titleist. But indulge me here.
First, Ms. Nordgren allegedly went after him with a two iron, and did a bangup job. This is amazing because, if you've ever golfed, you know it's damn near impossible to hit what you're aiming at with a two iron. The girl has skillz...
Second, she managed to knock out a window on the SUV and hit Tiger using a Nike iron. This would make her the second person in the world, behind Tiger, who has ever been able to make a Nike golf club do what she wanted it to do. Admittedly, it was probably a re-badged Titleist. But indulge me here.
-----------------------------------------------
In all seriousness, golf club assault is no laughing matter. It's rather like taking somebody on with a .22 pistol. Can you do the job with the wrong iron? Yeah, sure. But you'd better be damn good with it.
A friend of mine, now deceased thanks to cirrhosis, once arrived home really late in the midst of a drunken boondoggle to find his clothes on the lawn and on fire, James Brown style. As he approached his house, his then-wife came screaming out of the house with a 7 iron, and proceeded to beat on him for all she was worth. My friend Clark beat a hasty retreat, never to return again, or at least not until accompanied by a couple Military Po-Po as an escort to protect his person.
A few years later, over a drink, I asked him if he had learned anything from his whole experience with *that woman.* His answer was to-the-point: "Yep, sure did. If you're going to try to kick somebody's ass with a golf club, you'll need at least a 5 iron. And you should maybe consider using a fairway wood."
That right there is some hard-earned wisdom, friends. As any golfer will tell you, never leave it short. If in doubt, use the bigger club. You won't regret it.
A friend of mine, now deceased thanks to cirrhosis, once arrived home really late in the midst of a drunken boondoggle to find his clothes on the lawn and on fire, James Brown style. As he approached his house, his then-wife came screaming out of the house with a 7 iron, and proceeded to beat on him for all she was worth. My friend Clark beat a hasty retreat, never to return again, or at least not until accompanied by a couple Military Po-Po as an escort to protect his person.
A few years later, over a drink, I asked him if he had learned anything from his whole experience with *that woman.* His answer was to-the-point: "Yep, sure did. If you're going to try to kick somebody's ass with a golf club, you'll need at least a 5 iron. And you should maybe consider using a fairway wood."
That right there is some hard-earned wisdom, friends. As any golfer will tell you, never leave it short. If in doubt, use the bigger club. You won't regret it.
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