The new bike is Sweeeeet. It's weird though - the boinger rear end is a bit funny through turns and over logs. I can tell it's going to make me a lot faster on rough downhills. With gears, my climbing is... well, dismal. The steering is something I'm going to have to figure out. The Redline was very stable in the turns; to turn, I just leaned in and kept the wheels more or less straight. The front end of the new Big Mama, however, is sort of light. It needs to be flicked into the turns with the hips. I'm still getting used to it. Still, it was a nice sunrise ride this morning at Rosaryville.
Ahh, but you're here for the tunes, aren't you?
Try some Gogol Bordello.
I have no idea what the **** that was. Atheist Ukranian Gypsy Punk or something? I like it though. Apparently, they're touring with Primus. Shock-er. There's no video for this song, Transcontintental Hustle, from their new album of the same name, but it's clearly got something going for it. What that something is, I haven't a clue.
While I'm feeling all aggro, might as well have some DK's. Police truck is an apt theme since we're apparently in the mid-Hitlers. That's an era in the 21'st century where half the country referred to one president as "just like Hitler" for 8 years, then as if on cue, the other half of the country started referring to the new president as "just like Hitler." Future historians will note that it was a magical time, where a trusty few maintained their sanity only by riding their bikes a lot, and listening to old grind core music.
Man, it's like I'm channeling Gwadz today or something. Time to mellow out a little bit with some zydeco. This is L'il Anne and Hot Cayenne. I'm going to make a point of catching them if they blow through DC. Nice blues / zydeco vibe here. Crummy recording though.
And really, if we're trying to get mellow, you can't beat George Clinton and Funkadelic now, can you?
You want to know what made the P-Funk especially funky? It wasn't George, and it wasn't Bootsy, and it wasn't Maceo. It was actually Buddy Hankerson, the bassist. Here he is just jamming on the bass.
Man, there's more funk in that, than in a week old pair of socks.
Might as well end with something upbeat. Sorry there's no real video here, but Wolfmother, Joker and the Thief, is as good as it gets even without movin' pitchers.
Have a good weekend, y'all.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
New Bike!
I got in about 45 miles this morning with Beppo and Jon before work. That was nice, though the legs are a little toasty from the combination of wind and hills.
Seibold finished building up my new Salsa Big Momma.
The first thing you need to know is the build cost $666.
Yep.
It's the Demon Bike.
I'll have some pictures for you as soon as I can find the damn camera.
Meanwhile, I'm getting my crap ready for a ride tomorrow. Think I may hit Rosaryville around sunup, and take 'er for a shakedown spin around the park. I'll let you know how it goes.
Last thing, here's a video salute to the Caps. They went down hard tonight, victimized by a very good Habs goalie who is completely on fire, with roughly 140 saves to three goals given up over the last three games. The Caps had a great season, and on the balance outplayed the Habs pretty badly in the series, especially over the last two games. But the great thing, and the terrible thing about hockey, is that sometimes a goalie can carry a team on his back and crush a better team. That happened here, and the Caps have nothing to be ashamed of. Yeah, they coulda played better, but I don't think it would have mattered in the end. You simply don't beat a streaking goalie until he goes cold.
Seibold finished building up my new Salsa Big Momma.
The first thing you need to know is the build cost $666.
Yep.
It's the Demon Bike.
I'll have some pictures for you as soon as I can find the damn camera.
Meanwhile, I'm getting my crap ready for a ride tomorrow. Think I may hit Rosaryville around sunup, and take 'er for a shakedown spin around the park. I'll let you know how it goes.
Last thing, here's a video salute to the Caps. They went down hard tonight, victimized by a very good Habs goalie who is completely on fire, with roughly 140 saves to three goals given up over the last three games. The Caps had a great season, and on the balance outplayed the Habs pretty badly in the series, especially over the last two games. But the great thing, and the terrible thing about hockey, is that sometimes a goalie can carry a team on his back and crush a better team. That happened here, and the Caps have nothing to be ashamed of. Yeah, they coulda played better, but I don't think it would have mattered in the end. You simply don't beat a streaking goalie until he goes cold.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Random Weirdness
This morning gave up an hour and a half, so I wedged 25 miles into it. The 25 miles were peppered with Low Traction Events. The Weapon of Choice, the cross bike, has two of the worst tires on it. The front tire is a Michelin Lithion, which is a French mis-spelling of Lithium, which is what you'll need to take if you choose to rock a Lithion as your front tire.
Two or three times today, I was riding on the still-wet roads, and the front end started to slither out from under me. The worst was navigating up the 4 Mile Run trail spur up toward the W&OD. There are gaps in the cement path that run north/south, with the direction of the path. Ordinary sidewalk gaps. Several times, I had to cross these to avoid litter on the path or joggers. Each time, the front end slid a bit, with the worst slide comprising a lurid 12 inch slip to the left. I saved it each time but it was a bit scary, judging from the looks on the joggers' faces.
The rear tire is no better. It's the three year old remnants of a Conti Gatorskin that has been kicked around from bike to bike. Whereas the nice carbon Giant gets new tires in pairs, this tire gets swapped over to whichever bike needs a road tire *NOW*. This means it's been skid stopped many times on a fixie, it's been stuck onto the Giant once or twice when I've ripped the sidewall in a tire, and it's spent a lot of suboptimal time on the Weapon of Choice, riding in the rain, during winter, on gravelly surfaces, and generally in places that a tire isn't supposed to go. It's also been age with that special aging gas, Eau du ManCave, comprised of spilled and evaporated scotch, the off-gassing of bicycle clothes left in the hamper, and a special stink that can only come from a bike helmet locked in a closet. The Gatorskin usually grips well on dry land and passably on the damp, but this tire is not functioning at peak performance levels. The tire has had a tougher life than a veterinary dentist whose specialty is root canals for sharks. The tire is squared off at the edges like a brick, harder than a bag of hammers, and more slippery than a politician.
That's a long walk for a short trip I guess, but the upshot of the worn out tire is that every time I was pedaling hard and hit a bump, the thing spun a little, and on a couple potholed hills it spun out a lot. Like, "pedaling but no longer moving forward, think I'm going to quit before I tip over" a lot.
There's no special significance to this except for the fact I damn near crashed a half dozen times which makes it kind of interesting, and it was really disconcerting to finish the ride with it. Do any of you ever have weird nightmare tire / slippage problems?
---------------------------------------------------------------
At my office, they've just replaced the toilets. Smug little signs extolling the environmental friendliness of the toilets are posted everywhere inside of the stalls and at the urinals.
Lovely.
For one thing, they've done the impossible - making a U.S. bathroom smell like Oktoberfest. They did this by installing 16 ounce flush urinals. After you pee, I think they spray around 16 ounces of water into the air to keep it properly humidified. As for the pee? It kind of sits there and eventually goes down the drain. And here I was thinking there was no way to duplicate that miasma of beer, used and discarded beer, 93 oxen cooking, and fish-on-a-stick. Leave it to American technology...
In terms of dealing with the Universe's vast store of dark matter, the new toilets are kind of shitty, in a number of meanings of the term. The old toilets were okay, ish. They used 2.3 gallons per flush, and they were reasonably strong. As long as you only had one serving of bran flakes with breakfast, it *probably* took only one flush to remove the evidence into the sewage system. The new toilets, with their smug stainless steel plaques bragging about saving the earth, use only 1.6 gallons, or in the case of the wheelchair accessible one, 1.8 gallons. You know what that means?
It means it takes at least three flushes per turd to make the damn things work.
So instead of using 2.3 gallons one time, it takes 1.8 gallons three times, or 5.4 gallons, nearly double what the old, only somewhat environmentally friendly toilets required.
Isn't saving the Earth fun?
This is a good example of the kind of cargo cult environmentalism I ****ing hate. The building manager didn't stop to figure out what the most efficient system was - y'know, that'd take an open mind and an empirical approach. Instead, he went for the system that came with the most gratifying labels, maxing out his sense of superiority but nearly doubling the building's use of water in the big toilets. Nicely done!
Two or three times today, I was riding on the still-wet roads, and the front end started to slither out from under me. The worst was navigating up the 4 Mile Run trail spur up toward the W&OD. There are gaps in the cement path that run north/south, with the direction of the path. Ordinary sidewalk gaps. Several times, I had to cross these to avoid litter on the path or joggers. Each time, the front end slid a bit, with the worst slide comprising a lurid 12 inch slip to the left. I saved it each time but it was a bit scary, judging from the looks on the joggers' faces.
The rear tire is no better. It's the three year old remnants of a Conti Gatorskin that has been kicked around from bike to bike. Whereas the nice carbon Giant gets new tires in pairs, this tire gets swapped over to whichever bike needs a road tire *NOW*. This means it's been skid stopped many times on a fixie, it's been stuck onto the Giant once or twice when I've ripped the sidewall in a tire, and it's spent a lot of suboptimal time on the Weapon of Choice, riding in the rain, during winter, on gravelly surfaces, and generally in places that a tire isn't supposed to go. It's also been age with that special aging gas, Eau du ManCave, comprised of spilled and evaporated scotch, the off-gassing of bicycle clothes left in the hamper, and a special stink that can only come from a bike helmet locked in a closet. The Gatorskin usually grips well on dry land and passably on the damp, but this tire is not functioning at peak performance levels. The tire has had a tougher life than a veterinary dentist whose specialty is root canals for sharks. The tire is squared off at the edges like a brick, harder than a bag of hammers, and more slippery than a politician.
That's a long walk for a short trip I guess, but the upshot of the worn out tire is that every time I was pedaling hard and hit a bump, the thing spun a little, and on a couple potholed hills it spun out a lot. Like, "pedaling but no longer moving forward, think I'm going to quit before I tip over" a lot.
There's no special significance to this except for the fact I damn near crashed a half dozen times which makes it kind of interesting, and it was really disconcerting to finish the ride with it. Do any of you ever have weird nightmare tire / slippage problems?
---------------------------------------------------------------
At my office, they've just replaced the toilets. Smug little signs extolling the environmental friendliness of the toilets are posted everywhere inside of the stalls and at the urinals.
Lovely.
For one thing, they've done the impossible - making a U.S. bathroom smell like Oktoberfest. They did this by installing 16 ounce flush urinals. After you pee, I think they spray around 16 ounces of water into the air to keep it properly humidified. As for the pee? It kind of sits there and eventually goes down the drain. And here I was thinking there was no way to duplicate that miasma of beer, used and discarded beer, 93 oxen cooking, and fish-on-a-stick. Leave it to American technology...
In terms of dealing with the Universe's vast store of dark matter, the new toilets are kind of shitty, in a number of meanings of the term. The old toilets were okay, ish. They used 2.3 gallons per flush, and they were reasonably strong. As long as you only had one serving of bran flakes with breakfast, it *probably* took only one flush to remove the evidence into the sewage system. The new toilets, with their smug stainless steel plaques bragging about saving the earth, use only 1.6 gallons, or in the case of the wheelchair accessible one, 1.8 gallons. You know what that means?
It means it takes at least three flushes per turd to make the damn things work.
So instead of using 2.3 gallons one time, it takes 1.8 gallons three times, or 5.4 gallons, nearly double what the old, only somewhat environmentally friendly toilets required.
Isn't saving the Earth fun?
This is a good example of the kind of cargo cult environmentalism I ****ing hate. The building manager didn't stop to figure out what the most efficient system was - y'know, that'd take an open mind and an empirical approach. Instead, he went for the system that came with the most gratifying labels, maxing out his sense of superiority but nearly doubling the building's use of water in the big toilets. Nicely done!
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Zone 2 Riding and the Lizard Brain
It's been a good week for me. You probably noticed the blogging output was pretty sparse here. That's because I took a week off for a personal camp - both mental and physical. Things are tough at work right now, and the Wife of Rouleur decided to hop off the Career Woman With a Son [of Rouleur] and onto the Mommy Who Works a Little track. Then there's that looming, slowly recovering back injury. Stress has there been, young Jedi. So I decided to do everything right for a week and see where it got me. By "right" I mean put out as little effort as possible, and have as much low stress fun as possible, and ignore work as much as possible. I think the Army saying about this was never run when you can walk, never walk when you can sit, never sit when you can sleep.
It worked out alright. Really well in fact. I feel better than I've felt in a long time, both physically and mentally.
Part of the improved outlook stems from improved opportunity to ride and improved legs. For the last three or four weeks I've been riding around 75 to 100 miles per week, which sounds like a lot but which works out to a medium long ride and a couple short rides per week. This week, I upped it to about 175 miles of mostly zone 2 easy aerobic riding. It was exactly what the doctor ordered.
As I was pedaling out some long miles, I thought about the effect of different types of workout on different parts of the psyche. Freud invented a mythos of the psyche, positing that the mind consists of three parts: Id, Ego, and Superego. The Superego is the grownup part of the brain. It tells us to eat spinach because it's good for us, and that's what grownups do. The Ego is the adolescent chunk of the mind. It tells everybody, "Hey! Look at me! I'm eating spinach! Isn't that awesome?" The Id, for all the bad press about being the primordial part of the mind, just is. It's the part that tastes the spinach and goes, "hmmm... tasty. I think I want some more of this."
Different workouts hit different parts of the psyche. Intervals, for instance, are a creature of the Superego. The grownup brain knows that to ride well, one needs to do plenty of hill repeats, VO2, tempo, and other kinds of painful intervals. So it makes everybody else do them. The Id can occasionally be conned into enjoying intervals ("I think I vomited a little... awesome!") and the ego occasionally brags about doing them ("I hit 380 watts for nearly 20 seconds there... ain't I grand?") but only the Superego really likes doing them.
The adolescent Ego part of the brain likes doing group rides and races, as long as they go well. "Hey everybody! Check this out! I just kicked ass!" The Id goes along for the ride there and says, "Ugh. Me kick ass! Sweeeet!" The Superego, meanwhile, says, "I suppose there's health benefits, but you probably don't want to ride with your heartrate over 180 for too long. The health benefits of that are unproven, at best..."
The Id - which some people describe as infantile, but which I think of as the Lizard Brain - lives for long, slow distance rides. The Id likes having its belly scratched, and you can do a lot of belly-scratching on a 3.5 hour zone 2 ride. You get to eat stuff ("mmm... Clif bars warmed up in leg of bib shorts to chewy goodness... numm nummm numm"), drink stuff ("ooooh, nature break. Can I have a Coke?") and see stuff ("beautiful sunrise... me likee.")
In my life, the Id is the tough part to win over. I have a fairly responsible job that makes my Superego happy; it's easy to win over because the Superego is like a Lutheran minister from the Midwest - stereotypically predictable. (There goes my Lutheran evangelist readership...) My Stepford Superego *looooves* my job. He also likes the fact that I pay my bills, keep a roof over the family's head, drive no faster than the speed most people are doing in the fast lane, go to church regularly, eat oatmeal, and stopped getting drunk all the time nearly 6 weeks ago. Superego happiness does not translate to general happiness, however, just as taking your foul-tasting medicine rarely brings a smile to your face. The Superego is a (justifiably) proud fellow, and the very proud are never very happy. He's a great guy, but a little soulless and completely artificial.
My Ego is also pretty easily won over. Y'know the socially responsible stuff my Superego takes, um, something like joy in? Well, my Ego rejoices in that stuff. When my Superego does something good, my Ego crows, "YEAH BOYYY! That's MY Superego. Mine! You hear me? How ya like me now, caucasian?" Every time I read about some mobbed up lawyer, or jackass homeowner who could have paid his mortgage but walked away because he was underwater, my Ego screams, "I'm better than you, ya big jerk!" Ego happiness is pretty shallow. It's a sucker for phony, self-delusional thrills, crowing over minor accomplishments done by Id or Superego, and making its own accomplishments out to be much greater than they really are. The Ego is a delusional fellow when you get right down to it. The Buddha said "if you meet me on the road, kill me," but what he really meant was "be a good chap and open a can of old school whup ass on my Ego, willya?" The Ego is a cheerleader type and we all need a bit of cheerleading, but after a while the Ego gets to be like that Will Ferrel / Cheri Oteri SNL sketch - a bit overplayed.
The Id on the other hand... the Id always does things more or less in perspective. Sure, it's ungoverned by conscience or a sense that others are looking, but it's bloody honest. It's the home of the primordial feelings of gratification, anger, fear, frustration, hunger, and angst. If you have an impulse, it was generated by the Id. The Id doesn't have a higher consciousness, but it is pretty smart. It knows what it likes when it sees it. The Id doesn't much like working all the time, the stress of a mortgage, or even all that stupid shit the Ego wants to pull on group rides. "Oh great, so you rode off the front for a half hour, Ego. Now that we're shot and the ride is getting tough, what do you want me to do? Make the call of shame? 'Cuz I will... I don't give a f*** what your friends think." The Id doesn't much like intervals either. It regularly tells the Superego, "You want me to do what? No effin' way... well, okay, if you hold a gun to my frontal lobe, like always, I'll do it. But it doesn't mean I'll like it."
But you go on a long slow ride, it's like taking a ScotchBrite pad to the Id, polishing it up and making it shine. All the rust, all the angst and deep seated resentment over the latest turdpile the Ego and Superego have landed us in, gets scrubbed away. The Id spends three or four hours just enjoying the sights, feeling the wind, maybe enjoying a little bit of sun on the face and a very alive feeling in the legs. LSD rides are very sensual and enjoyable, if you can just get yourself out of the mindset that it's training and into the mindset that you're riding your bike for fun.
Bob Roll, the King of Inadvertent Id Musings, said that the thing he missed most about pro racing was the six and seven hour slow training rides. Of course that's right. Long rides are nothing but self gratification. Sure, the Superego can turn them into spinach if it does the calculations just so, and the Ego can try to turn them into a bragging fest. But if we are being honest - and the Id is nothing if not honest about what it wants and doesn't want - then LSD rides are stolen pleasures.
For starters, you need to have three or four or five hours to donate to the cause. You don't just get time like that if you're married and have a mortgage and a job. You have to steal the time, either by getting up super early, or by burning off vacation time, or by shirking somewhere else. I happen to have a huge amount of leave saved up that I have to burn, so there's this big reservoir of should-be-working-time that I can squander on myself.
For another thing, you need to plan to be comfy. You won't be working real hard, so a huge sweat isn't in the cards, and you don't want to be too cold, so you bring plenty of transitional clothes to keep your temperature just right. You'll need to bring some food so you grab a few of your favorite energy bars and maybe think about hitting the Sheetz in the middle for some additional grub. One of my favorites is to have a big cornbread muffin at this gas station down near Galesville... yummy. Plus you'll drink plenty, and knowing you're 2500 calories into a ride you won't feel guilty downing a Coke or eating a candy bar in the last hour if you feel a little bonky.
Finally, and most importantly, your Superego and Ego can work some things out quietly, in the background, while the Id is running the show. I think through a lot of issues on these long rides, whether they are specific work-related topics, family or financial thoughts, contemplations about my next bike build, relationships I've screwed up or done well with, people I miss or could stand to see less of, or even general what-is-the-meaning-of-life type questions. The funny thing is, I work through that stuff mostly in the background. There's no stress and the supra-terranean portions of my psyche work it out with the cognitive specialist, but the usual din of their debate is absent. Meanwhile, my Id is playing and running the show for several hours, the volume is turned down on conscious thought, and different things just pop up in my mind to work through, at a peaceful and slow pace.
When I finish a long ride, my legs are tired but my mind and my spirit are refreshed. When I finish several long rides over the course of several days, and ignore the usual burdens that weigh heavily on me... well, I can't even describe how good I feel compared to my usual donkey self.
Things are looking up enough after this week off from life that I felt the need to do a comparison ride today, spinning along a course that I rode six weeks ago as my first ride-resembling-actual-training after my layoff. That ride kicked my ass then. Today? It was no big deal to knock it out on the fixie, and I added five or six miles to the tail end just for good measure. Half the ride was spent attempting to sprain my cheeks by smiling like an idiot, with some Dead and the Raconteurs on the I-Pod. The mind was empty, just soaking up the good vibes on the road, spinning along and thinking about upping the gear inches from the 55 inch cog to the 65 inch cog. Paying attention to my Id for a week has worked wonders for my legs. Bottom line:
This is your brain.
This is your brain on long zone 2 rides.
Get the picture?
My Fixie - The Occidental Gentleman (The O.G.)
It worked out alright. Really well in fact. I feel better than I've felt in a long time, both physically and mentally.
Part of the improved outlook stems from improved opportunity to ride and improved legs. For the last three or four weeks I've been riding around 75 to 100 miles per week, which sounds like a lot but which works out to a medium long ride and a couple short rides per week. This week, I upped it to about 175 miles of mostly zone 2 easy aerobic riding. It was exactly what the doctor ordered.
As I was pedaling out some long miles, I thought about the effect of different types of workout on different parts of the psyche. Freud invented a mythos of the psyche, positing that the mind consists of three parts: Id, Ego, and Superego. The Superego is the grownup part of the brain. It tells us to eat spinach because it's good for us, and that's what grownups do. The Ego is the adolescent chunk of the mind. It tells everybody, "Hey! Look at me! I'm eating spinach! Isn't that awesome?" The Id, for all the bad press about being the primordial part of the mind, just is. It's the part that tastes the spinach and goes, "hmmm... tasty. I think I want some more of this."
Different workouts hit different parts of the psyche. Intervals, for instance, are a creature of the Superego. The grownup brain knows that to ride well, one needs to do plenty of hill repeats, VO2, tempo, and other kinds of painful intervals. So it makes everybody else do them. The Id can occasionally be conned into enjoying intervals ("I think I vomited a little... awesome!") and the ego occasionally brags about doing them ("I hit 380 watts for nearly 20 seconds there... ain't I grand?") but only the Superego really likes doing them.
The adolescent Ego part of the brain likes doing group rides and races, as long as they go well. "Hey everybody! Check this out! I just kicked ass!" The Id goes along for the ride there and says, "Ugh. Me kick ass! Sweeeet!" The Superego, meanwhile, says, "I suppose there's health benefits, but you probably don't want to ride with your heartrate over 180 for too long. The health benefits of that are unproven, at best..."
The Id - which some people describe as infantile, but which I think of as the Lizard Brain - lives for long, slow distance rides. The Id likes having its belly scratched, and you can do a lot of belly-scratching on a 3.5 hour zone 2 ride. You get to eat stuff ("mmm... Clif bars warmed up in leg of bib shorts to chewy goodness... numm nummm numm"), drink stuff ("ooooh, nature break. Can I have a Coke?") and see stuff ("beautiful sunrise... me likee.")
In my life, the Id is the tough part to win over. I have a fairly responsible job that makes my Superego happy; it's easy to win over because the Superego is like a Lutheran minister from the Midwest - stereotypically predictable. (There goes my Lutheran evangelist readership...) My Stepford Superego *looooves* my job. He also likes the fact that I pay my bills, keep a roof over the family's head, drive no faster than the speed most people are doing in the fast lane, go to church regularly, eat oatmeal, and stopped getting drunk all the time nearly 6 weeks ago. Superego happiness does not translate to general happiness, however, just as taking your foul-tasting medicine rarely brings a smile to your face. The Superego is a (justifiably) proud fellow, and the very proud are never very happy. He's a great guy, but a little soulless and completely artificial.
My Ego is also pretty easily won over. Y'know the socially responsible stuff my Superego takes, um, something like joy in? Well, my Ego rejoices in that stuff. When my Superego does something good, my Ego crows, "YEAH BOYYY! That's MY Superego. Mine! You hear me? How ya like me now, caucasian?" Every time I read about some mobbed up lawyer, or jackass homeowner who could have paid his mortgage but walked away because he was underwater, my Ego screams, "I'm better than you, ya big jerk!" Ego happiness is pretty shallow. It's a sucker for phony, self-delusional thrills, crowing over minor accomplishments done by Id or Superego, and making its own accomplishments out to be much greater than they really are. The Ego is a delusional fellow when you get right down to it. The Buddha said "if you meet me on the road, kill me," but what he really meant was "be a good chap and open a can of old school whup ass on my Ego, willya?" The Ego is a cheerleader type and we all need a bit of cheerleading, but after a while the Ego gets to be like that Will Ferrel / Cheri Oteri SNL sketch - a bit overplayed.
The Id on the other hand... the Id always does things more or less in perspective. Sure, it's ungoverned by conscience or a sense that others are looking, but it's bloody honest. It's the home of the primordial feelings of gratification, anger, fear, frustration, hunger, and angst. If you have an impulse, it was generated by the Id. The Id doesn't have a higher consciousness, but it is pretty smart. It knows what it likes when it sees it. The Id doesn't much like working all the time, the stress of a mortgage, or even all that stupid shit the Ego wants to pull on group rides. "Oh great, so you rode off the front for a half hour, Ego. Now that we're shot and the ride is getting tough, what do you want me to do? Make the call of shame? 'Cuz I will... I don't give a f*** what your friends think." The Id doesn't much like intervals either. It regularly tells the Superego, "You want me to do what? No effin' way... well, okay, if you hold a gun to my frontal lobe, like always, I'll do it. But it doesn't mean I'll like it."
But you go on a long slow ride, it's like taking a ScotchBrite pad to the Id, polishing it up and making it shine. All the rust, all the angst and deep seated resentment over the latest turdpile the Ego and Superego have landed us in, gets scrubbed away. The Id spends three or four hours just enjoying the sights, feeling the wind, maybe enjoying a little bit of sun on the face and a very alive feeling in the legs. LSD rides are very sensual and enjoyable, if you can just get yourself out of the mindset that it's training and into the mindset that you're riding your bike for fun.
Bob Roll, the King of Inadvertent Id Musings, said that the thing he missed most about pro racing was the six and seven hour slow training rides. Of course that's right. Long rides are nothing but self gratification. Sure, the Superego can turn them into spinach if it does the calculations just so, and the Ego can try to turn them into a bragging fest. But if we are being honest - and the Id is nothing if not honest about what it wants and doesn't want - then LSD rides are stolen pleasures.
For starters, you need to have three or four or five hours to donate to the cause. You don't just get time like that if you're married and have a mortgage and a job. You have to steal the time, either by getting up super early, or by burning off vacation time, or by shirking somewhere else. I happen to have a huge amount of leave saved up that I have to burn, so there's this big reservoir of should-be-working-time that I can squander on myself.
For another thing, you need to plan to be comfy. You won't be working real hard, so a huge sweat isn't in the cards, and you don't want to be too cold, so you bring plenty of transitional clothes to keep your temperature just right. You'll need to bring some food so you grab a few of your favorite energy bars and maybe think about hitting the Sheetz in the middle for some additional grub. One of my favorites is to have a big cornbread muffin at this gas station down near Galesville... yummy. Plus you'll drink plenty, and knowing you're 2500 calories into a ride you won't feel guilty downing a Coke or eating a candy bar in the last hour if you feel a little bonky.
Finally, and most importantly, your Superego and Ego can work some things out quietly, in the background, while the Id is running the show. I think through a lot of issues on these long rides, whether they are specific work-related topics, family or financial thoughts, contemplations about my next bike build, relationships I've screwed up or done well with, people I miss or could stand to see less of, or even general what-is-the-meaning-of-life type questions. The funny thing is, I work through that stuff mostly in the background. There's no stress and the supra-terranean portions of my psyche work it out with the cognitive specialist, but the usual din of their debate is absent. Meanwhile, my Id is playing and running the show for several hours, the volume is turned down on conscious thought, and different things just pop up in my mind to work through, at a peaceful and slow pace.
When I finish a long ride, my legs are tired but my mind and my spirit are refreshed. When I finish several long rides over the course of several days, and ignore the usual burdens that weigh heavily on me... well, I can't even describe how good I feel compared to my usual donkey self.
Things are looking up enough after this week off from life that I felt the need to do a comparison ride today, spinning along a course that I rode six weeks ago as my first ride-resembling-actual-training after my layoff. That ride kicked my ass then. Today? It was no big deal to knock it out on the fixie, and I added five or six miles to the tail end just for good measure. Half the ride was spent attempting to sprain my cheeks by smiling like an idiot, with some Dead and the Raconteurs on the I-Pod. The mind was empty, just soaking up the good vibes on the road, spinning along and thinking about upping the gear inches from the 55 inch cog to the 65 inch cog. Paying attention to my Id for a week has worked wonders for my legs. Bottom line:
This is your brain.
This is your brain on long zone 2 rides.
Get the picture?
Friday, April 23, 2010
Friday Video
First, some News You Can Use. Have you ever wanted to protest the dismissive way we cyclists sometimes get treated, but maybe the asshat behavior of some Critical Mass riders puts you off that? You know what I mean by dismissive treatment - kill a cyclist, get a minor ticket; proposals to shut down multi-use trails to bikes, or to take the trail easements for utilities? Well, the National Ride of Silence is sponsoring a silent ride from Hains Point on May 19th, at 7:00 PM. It's a short ride, about 9 miles, and will commemorate cyclists who have been killed, and make a strong, quiet statement that we're here, and we want to be appropriately accommodated as road users. My understanding of these rides is that they are quiet and dignified protests; assclowning around isn't tolerated. In other words, it's a protest for people who aren't exactly comfortable with the usual drums & giant papier mache head protest scene. If you're interested, you can register on Bikereg and appreciate the fact that as a free event, it's the cheapest interaction you'll ever conduct via Bikereg.
Providing the weather is good and the protest permits are issued by the 5-0, I'll probably ride hard before, do the protest ride as a cool down, and then transition into a bike & brew later on. Please join me, and let me know if there's interest in a post-ride social.
-------------------------------------------------------
I was thinking about commenting on the apparent death threats leveled at the creators of Southpark, but I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions there. I'm a civil liberties attorney. You probably already know what I think.
-------------------------------------------------------
Here's a little Miles Davis, "So What" from his landmark Kind of Blue album.
Providing the weather is good and the protest permits are issued by the 5-0, I'll probably ride hard before, do the protest ride as a cool down, and then transition into a bike & brew later on. Please join me, and let me know if there's interest in a post-ride social.
-------------------------------------------------------
I was thinking about commenting on the apparent death threats leveled at the creators of Southpark, but I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions there. I'm a civil liberties attorney. You probably already know what I think.
-------------------------------------------------------
Here's a little Miles Davis, "So What" from his landmark Kind of Blue album.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Random Bike & Non-Bike Stuff
Whiteface Mountain and the Lake Placid NY area is catering to Mountain Bikers - both the downhill and cross country types. I feel a road trip coming on next time I visit the 'Cuse. Never tried downhill before, never bombed down Whiteface in the summer on a bike. Me + Downhill? Do you believe in miracles?
My back is coming around a bit. It takes stretching every day to keep it feeling alright. But alright, it does feel. I am going to take advantage of a day off and some good weather tomorrow, and try to knock out 75 easy miles before lunch. Looks like I'll be eating brunch, with a little luck, in a gas station in Chesapeake Beech. Who knows... if I feel really stellar I'll pile on a few extra miles when I get back towards the house. I doubt I'll feel that good but when you have an open day, nothing planned and nothing but the road in front of you, it's a mistake to foreclose any options as much as it's a mistake to take your opportunities for granted. So I'm going to cue up some tunes, stuff the back pockets with food and a $20, put on some extra Creme de la Chamois, and hit the road smiling tomorrow.
Lance Armstrong won Fleche Wallone! In 1996. I know who won today's race but I won't spoil it for people who are dying to see 15 minutes of Fleche Wallone coverage on Versus this Sunday. But I will tell you, it's tough to avoid finding out who won it. Better avoid Velo News. And Pez. And Cycling News. And Pro Peloton. And Bike Radar. And Bicycling. And...
How Cancellara really won Paris Roubaix...
I'm not joking. Riis and Cancellara got completely inside of Boonen's OODA loop. Cancellara tested Boonen a few times and figured out that Big Tom's strategy was to hold Cancellara's wheel and outsprint him - Boonen can't bridge to Cancellara, and Cancellara can't shake Boonen if he's on the wheel, and because Cancellara can't outsprint Boonen he needed to get into Roubaix without Boonen on his wheel. That part of the strategy isn't brain surgery. What was brain surgery...
The trick was for Cancellara to get away clean some distance from the finish. Riis and Cancellara surmised that Boonen assumed that Cancellara would go with 40km left in the race - it worked the week before, right, and it's about as far out as Cancellara has broken for the finish. So at 54km, when Boonen headed to the rear to chow down a bit, they knew, absolutely knew, that Boonen was expecting Cancellara to go maybe 20 minutes later, somewhere around 40km, and Boonen wouldn't get a chance to eat and drink during the last hour because it'd take everything to hold Cancellara's wheel. Instead of wisely holding the wheel and eating right there, Boonen's slide to the rear tipped his belief that Cancellara wasn't a breakaway threat just yet. Riis and Cancellara observed Boonen slipping back to hit the buffet, oriented themselves to him - thinking about what Boonen is capable of, and why he'd start a feed at 54km - and determined that it meant Boonen wasn't expecting or prepared for a move just yet. So Riis pulled the trigger, screamed at Cancellara to go, and ol' Spartacus headed for the exit at top speed, pausing only briefly as he passed a couple guys slightly up the road. If you've ever wondered what it looks like to get inside the OODA Loop, that was it. Call it "reading the race" if you will, it's a complex analytical process that Riis has mastered in the context of a classics race, just as Bruyneel has mastered it in the grand tours. Yes, Cancellara is strong, but he had only one good path to the podium, and he pulled it off. I'm blown away by how well executed the move was and think Riis isn't getting enough love for his part in it.
*Okay. I made up the part about the demons. But there are people with PhD's who will tell you the rest of the stuff is true. As for Guam flipping upside down due to overpopulation, somebody in Congress said that so you know it's true. As for volcanoes and earthquakes and AGW... well, it sounds intuitive enough if you're talking about local geological phenomena, just as I'm skeptical about the global aspect of AGW but definitely a believer in substantial local and regional anthropogenic warming. If teh warmening really is behind earthquakes and volcanoes, then we need to boost the space program NOW because if a bunch of cars and powerplants are enough to rend the Earth apart, then we're living on the geologic equivalent of a month-to-month lease and it's time to find a new place to store our toothbrush and an extra pair of underwear.
Do I need to remind you again why the NHL is the greatest of our major sports leagues? Okay, fine. I will. In no other sport does the referee put the equivalent of a dunce cap on the players and allow the rest of the 'class' to taunt him. The Green Men definitely represent here.
Hockey's a hard luck kind of sport, like football or rugby or Ozzie rules. There's no quarter given and none asked, particularly in the playoffs. The fundamental honesty of it is appealing, and in a seven game series the team that has the greatest quantity of talent+grit+effort generally wins. Unless a goalie goes on a huge streak in which case your heart gets broken roughly 31 times a game. I *love* hockey.
------------------------------------------
My back is coming around a bit. It takes stretching every day to keep it feeling alright. But alright, it does feel. I am going to take advantage of a day off and some good weather tomorrow, and try to knock out 75 easy miles before lunch. Looks like I'll be eating brunch, with a little luck, in a gas station in Chesapeake Beech. Who knows... if I feel really stellar I'll pile on a few extra miles when I get back towards the house. I doubt I'll feel that good but when you have an open day, nothing planned and nothing but the road in front of you, it's a mistake to foreclose any options as much as it's a mistake to take your opportunities for granted. So I'm going to cue up some tunes, stuff the back pockets with food and a $20, put on some extra Creme de la Chamois, and hit the road smiling tomorrow.
------------------------------------------
Lance Armstrong won Fleche Wallone! In 1996. I know who won today's race but I won't spoil it for people who are dying to see 15 minutes of Fleche Wallone coverage on Versus this Sunday. But I will tell you, it's tough to avoid finding out who won it. Better avoid Velo News. And Pez. And Cycling News. And Pro Peloton. And Bike Radar. And Bicycling. And...
------------------------------------------
How Cancellara really won Paris Roubaix...
I'z Inside Boonenzes OODA Loop... Eatin' Hiz Cheezburgrz.
I'm not joking. Riis and Cancellara got completely inside of Boonen's OODA loop. Cancellara tested Boonen a few times and figured out that Big Tom's strategy was to hold Cancellara's wheel and outsprint him - Boonen can't bridge to Cancellara, and Cancellara can't shake Boonen if he's on the wheel, and because Cancellara can't outsprint Boonen he needed to get into Roubaix without Boonen on his wheel. That part of the strategy isn't brain surgery. What was brain surgery...
The trick was for Cancellara to get away clean some distance from the finish. Riis and Cancellara surmised that Boonen assumed that Cancellara would go with 40km left in the race - it worked the week before, right, and it's about as far out as Cancellara has broken for the finish. So at 54km, when Boonen headed to the rear to chow down a bit, they knew, absolutely knew, that Boonen was expecting Cancellara to go maybe 20 minutes later, somewhere around 40km, and Boonen wouldn't get a chance to eat and drink during the last hour because it'd take everything to hold Cancellara's wheel. Instead of wisely holding the wheel and eating right there, Boonen's slide to the rear tipped his belief that Cancellara wasn't a breakaway threat just yet. Riis and Cancellara observed Boonen slipping back to hit the buffet, oriented themselves to him - thinking about what Boonen is capable of, and why he'd start a feed at 54km - and determined that it meant Boonen wasn't expecting or prepared for a move just yet. So Riis pulled the trigger, screamed at Cancellara to go, and ol' Spartacus headed for the exit at top speed, pausing only briefly as he passed a couple guys slightly up the road. If you've ever wondered what it looks like to get inside the OODA Loop, that was it. Call it "reading the race" if you will, it's a complex analytical process that Riis has mastered in the context of a classics race, just as Bruyneel has mastered it in the grand tours. Yes, Cancellara is strong, but he had only one good path to the podium, and he pulled it off. I'm blown away by how well executed the move was and think Riis isn't getting enough love for his part in it.
------------------------------------------
Interesting. Reuters claims that global warming caused the Icelandic volcano to blow because less surface ice meant less pressure on the Earth's crust, and with less pressure volcanoes are more likely to blow. I'm told there are real scientific studies backing this up, just like there's real scientific, er, assumptions relating to missing data we're not supposed to mention, backing up the 'hockey stick' graph. If we accept that tectonic plate movement causes volcanoes - plates rub together, rock melts, there's big pressure, and it eventually blows - and we conclude that a lack of ice on the surface causes an adjustment in the plates leading to more volcanoes, then it's reasonable to assume that earthquakes are also caused by global warming. I suppose if enough ice melts, Guam may tip over or great fissures may open up in the Earth where the tectonic plates used to connect to each other, and demons will storm out.* We're doomed. DOOOOOMED, I tell you. Global Warming: is there anything it can't do? *Okay. I made up the part about the demons. But there are people with PhD's who will tell you the rest of the stuff is true. As for Guam flipping upside down due to overpopulation, somebody in Congress said that so you know it's true. As for volcanoes and earthquakes and AGW... well, it sounds intuitive enough if you're talking about local geological phenomena, just as I'm skeptical about the global aspect of AGW but definitely a believer in substantial local and regional anthropogenic warming. If teh warmening really is behind earthquakes and volcanoes, then we need to boost the space program NOW because if a bunch of cars and powerplants are enough to rend the Earth apart, then we're living on the geologic equivalent of a month-to-month lease and it's time to find a new place to store our toothbrush and an extra pair of underwear.
------------------------------------------
Do I need to remind you again why the NHL is the greatest of our major sports leagues? Okay, fine. I will. In no other sport does the referee put the equivalent of a dunce cap on the players and allow the rest of the 'class' to taunt him. The Green Men definitely represent here.
Hockey's a hard luck kind of sport, like football or rugby or Ozzie rules. There's no quarter given and none asked, particularly in the playoffs. The fundamental honesty of it is appealing, and in a seven game series the team that has the greatest quantity of talent+grit+effort generally wins. Unless a goalie goes on a huge streak in which case your heart gets broken roughly 31 times a game. I *love* hockey.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Killing the Voices of Doubt
The word "epic" gets overused a lot, but my injury-induced winter layoff was epic in scope. By "layoff," I do not mean "spent a lot of time cross country skiing, swimming and lifting weights." What I mean is, "did nothing except lie on my back, do office work upside down on a notepad, and ate." I would have liked to do more, but the combination of searing pain in my back, and searing fear of the return of the searing pain, kept me off the bike (and yea, verily, thy trainer too) until the back was relatively healthy. ("Relatively healthy" in my case means "mildly painful with a constant reminder that you aren't supposed to lift heavy shit after you're 40.")
If there were an Olympics for de-training, this performance would have qualified me for the decathlon. It would have been so strong, that I would have been able to skip the quarterfinals and semis, and proceed straight to the finals. People would be asking if I was doping to achieve this level of excellence. In fact, I was.
Attaining such a remarkable level of dissipation is not without consequences. The usual painful reminders of too much time off the bike are present - I can pedal squares that would put Pythagoras to shame. On even the mildest upward grade, I huff and puff in a manner that would blow the Superdome down, along with any three large former Arkansas Razorbacks. Plus my knees keep bouncing off my gut when I'm on the hoods, or perhaps it's my gut that keeps bouncing off my knees, I'm not sure. There's some bouncing of something off of something else there, and it doesn't help.
But that stuff is familiar to every roadie who takes a few months off and then has to try to squeeze into last year's jersey. I'm so good at this de-training, however, that I'm wayyyy past that point. The rest of you suck at de-training compared to me. I'm like a UCI Pro of de-training, and the rest of you are looking for the Cat 5 registration table of the de-training competition.
I'm so de-trained that my legs are actually confused about what we're doing when we go for a ride.
Seriously.
I was out for a ride and about halfway through, I heard the right leg ask, "What the fuck?" A couple minutes later, the left leg said, "You got me dude. Let me ask the colon. He knows some shit. "
Fine, my legs weren't actually speaking. But it felt like they were. This is the first time I've managed to put in three consecutive days of concerted effort since last Fall. My legs felt physically confused. There's no other way to describe it. How did this happen? And what are the consequences when your legs wander around as if they had Alzheimers?
Sunday was an easy ride. I took the Redline out to Rosaryville for one last spin on it. I bought a Salsa Big Momma the other week - a full boinger 29'er being my concession to the doc's order not to mountain bike. Hey, it's not mountain biking if it's got more than one gear and a rear suspension, right? Most of the Redline's parts are migrating over to that new Salsa. I may keep the old Redline frame, but odds are it's going to meet its fate on E-Bay and if I take up single speeding again it's going to be on something sinfully light. So I wanted to have a breakup ride with the old girl, which I did for 90 minutes or so. And yes, my back definitely felt it. Sayanora, Redline.
Monday, I did maybe 30 or 32 miles on a loop I refer to as Piney Orchard / Millersville / Crownsville Loop. That uniquely innovative name stems from the fact that I ride from home up to Piney Orchard, then over to Crownsville via Millersville, then back home, with a couple little detours thrown in for good measure. (I've been debating adding the Dairy Farm and Hog Farm monikers to the name, but the committee is still out on whether we need that bovine/porcine literary flourish on a simple loop ride). POMCL was a pretty nice ride, though the stiff wind made for some interesting moments. When the legs are not great, a 5 mile long stretch of front quartering wind seems like nothing so much as an expression of nature's malice toward those who would test Newton's First Law by applying force to make an object at rest begin movement. There are a couple hills of three or four minutes duration on that ride, and the legs never opened up so I paid dearly for my attempt to ride twice in a 26 hour period. It wasn't a bad ride, but at no point did I think, "Gee, this is fun."
Today I decided to head south on Pax River Road, and to muddle about down near Greenock and Galesville. This isn't a hard ride, but it's entirely up and down. There is nothing flat on it - it is either false flat up or down, little kickers up and down, or hills, up and down. It's possible to almost get a rhythm on it; parts of the route make up the Davidsonville Rides (weekday and Saturday) and though it defies attempts to ride with rhythm, a skillful rider can pick his spots. This route worked out to three ticks under 50 miles - no great distance, but roughly equal to the longest ride I've taken thus far in 2010.
Unfortunately, to exercise skill and to take advantage of the terrain, one needs to have compliant legs. My legs were not compliant, and in fact seemed as if they were fighting me for most of the ride. I'd start down a hill and try to spin, and the legs would grumble and stop at maybe 110 RPM. That's ridiculous; I can spin 130 with ease, and top 160 for a minute or two at a time. It's like the legs were losing the signal or something.
Going uphill, I found that I couldn't really grind up over little kickers. My usual fatboy climbing technique involves rolling into the kicker at speed then doing a short sprint over the top. That didn't work at all. There just wasn't any sprint in my legs.
Worst of all, on the false flats, I couldn't get on top of the pedals. This was terrible because the only place I'm ever really strong is on false flats. I can do some things on them. I tried, honestly, but my legs felt confused, as if they couldn't figure out how to spin smoothly. There were brief flashes of suplesse, but they disappeared quickly.
About two thirds of the way through the ride, it occurred to me that perhaps my legs were blocked because my mind is a bit blocked. Whenever we recover from an injury, the physical recovery is only a part of what we have to do. The mental part is perhaps as large of a challenge. The mind erects more barriers than the body ever can because it's a lot more innovative. The legs and lungs, they are Yoda like. There's no try; only do or not do. The mind comes up with a lot of excuses the legs and lungs could never think of.
Was it my mind though? I found myself going up hills today under very low power. My seeming inability to turn the pedals preyed on me. "Is a nerve in my back pinched, limiting my ability to use my legs to generate power?" When I did have decent power, it would evaporate after a few minutes and my legs would lose coordination.
On the other hand, I kept reminding myself, "dude, you have no base whatsoever. Shut up and pedal. It's always like this, just worse right now due to the long layoff."
It didn't help that when I did clear a hill, I'd be cruising 11, 12, 14 MPH for a while until the legs started working again. They didn't hurt; it's just that they wouldn't move any better than they did. It's not like I was going real hard anywhere; I was trying to keep it at a conversational pace and rarely working until I was panting or had burning legs. But modest levels of effort wiped me out repeatedly. My Powertap was no help here either; that fucker is completely on the blink right now and it reflects steadily decreasing wattage under steady state efforts. So if I start up a hill and hold a steady 700 watts (perceived) and maintain 18 MPH, the indicated wattage keeps dropping and by the time I crest the hill it's down to 7 watts. Thanks, fucker! Like I needed that...
The internal dialogue - which boiled down to "dude, yer fuckt" versus "ah, you'll be okay, mate" - went on for close to two hours. "Dude, yer fuckt" naturally had the upper hand for most of the ride, because it's always easier to be destructive and negative than productive and positive.
Still I hung in there, promising myself I'd get home, chill out, have a nice lunch with my wife, and then forget about the disappointments of the day.
The question kept on gnawing at my brain though, eating away at the underpinnings of confidence. Eventually I sat down to write this, to try to get over the hump and maybe make peace with where I am.
The final stats on the ride were 47 miles in 2:40. Power? Hell if I know.
It took until just now to figure out that the way to gauge the ride was to divide the mileage by the time, and figure out my average pace. Turns out 47 divided by 2.66 hours works out to 17.66 MPH.
That's not blazing fast by any stretch, but it is about where a Zone 2 ride ought to be.
The diagnosis? There's nothing wrong with my legs that a couple thousand more Zone 2 miles can't cure. Wouldn't hurt to lose some weight.
The nagging doubt about my back isn't going to die off, ever, because the disc will not return to pre-injury condition no matter what happens. There may be some physical limiters to my performance. The physical limiters are unrelated to the mental limiters, however. Today's ride was partly about getting a little base in, but in retrospect it was largely about killing off one little nagging, unjustified doubt in an auditorium full of doubting voices in my mind.
To ride well, you have to be able to perform up to your physical limits at a given time. You can't reach even modest limits if you have mental doubts, nagging voices, arguing that you can't or shouldn't push your limits. They will distract you from your task. They will cause you to limit your performance out of fear, discouragement, or lack of focus. They are an unnecessary part of your riding psyche. You have to get rid of those voices or they will be screaming at you on a hard ride, in a race, or if you're sitting on your sofa thinking about hitting the local road loop.
There's no way to silence those voices by arguing with them. The only way to shut them up is to take them out on the road, and kill them, pedal stroke by pedal stroke.
If there were an Olympics for de-training, this performance would have qualified me for the decathlon. It would have been so strong, that I would have been able to skip the quarterfinals and semis, and proceed straight to the finals. People would be asking if I was doping to achieve this level of excellence. In fact, I was.
Attaining such a remarkable level of dissipation is not without consequences. The usual painful reminders of too much time off the bike are present - I can pedal squares that would put Pythagoras to shame. On even the mildest upward grade, I huff and puff in a manner that would blow the Superdome down, along with any three large former Arkansas Razorbacks. Plus my knees keep bouncing off my gut when I'm on the hoods, or perhaps it's my gut that keeps bouncing off my knees, I'm not sure. There's some bouncing of something off of something else there, and it doesn't help.
But that stuff is familiar to every roadie who takes a few months off and then has to try to squeeze into last year's jersey. I'm so good at this de-training, however, that I'm wayyyy past that point. The rest of you suck at de-training compared to me. I'm like a UCI Pro of de-training, and the rest of you are looking for the Cat 5 registration table of the de-training competition.
I'm so de-trained that my legs are actually confused about what we're doing when we go for a ride.
Seriously.
I was out for a ride and about halfway through, I heard the right leg ask, "What the fuck?" A couple minutes later, the left leg said, "You got me dude. Let me ask the colon. He knows some shit. "
Fine, my legs weren't actually speaking. But it felt like they were. This is the first time I've managed to put in three consecutive days of concerted effort since last Fall. My legs felt physically confused. There's no other way to describe it. How did this happen? And what are the consequences when your legs wander around as if they had Alzheimers?
Sunday was an easy ride. I took the Redline out to Rosaryville for one last spin on it. I bought a Salsa Big Momma the other week - a full boinger 29'er being my concession to the doc's order not to mountain bike. Hey, it's not mountain biking if it's got more than one gear and a rear suspension, right? Most of the Redline's parts are migrating over to that new Salsa. I may keep the old Redline frame, but odds are it's going to meet its fate on E-Bay and if I take up single speeding again it's going to be on something sinfully light. So I wanted to have a breakup ride with the old girl, which I did for 90 minutes or so. And yes, my back definitely felt it. Sayanora, Redline.
Monday, I did maybe 30 or 32 miles on a loop I refer to as Piney Orchard / Millersville / Crownsville Loop. That uniquely innovative name stems from the fact that I ride from home up to Piney Orchard, then over to Crownsville via Millersville, then back home, with a couple little detours thrown in for good measure. (I've been debating adding the Dairy Farm and Hog Farm monikers to the name, but the committee is still out on whether we need that bovine/porcine literary flourish on a simple loop ride). POMCL was a pretty nice ride, though the stiff wind made for some interesting moments. When the legs are not great, a 5 mile long stretch of front quartering wind seems like nothing so much as an expression of nature's malice toward those who would test Newton's First Law by applying force to make an object at rest begin movement. There are a couple hills of three or four minutes duration on that ride, and the legs never opened up so I paid dearly for my attempt to ride twice in a 26 hour period. It wasn't a bad ride, but at no point did I think, "Gee, this is fun."
Today I decided to head south on Pax River Road, and to muddle about down near Greenock and Galesville. This isn't a hard ride, but it's entirely up and down. There is nothing flat on it - it is either false flat up or down, little kickers up and down, or hills, up and down. It's possible to almost get a rhythm on it; parts of the route make up the Davidsonville Rides (weekday and Saturday) and though it defies attempts to ride with rhythm, a skillful rider can pick his spots. This route worked out to three ticks under 50 miles - no great distance, but roughly equal to the longest ride I've taken thus far in 2010.
Unfortunately, to exercise skill and to take advantage of the terrain, one needs to have compliant legs. My legs were not compliant, and in fact seemed as if they were fighting me for most of the ride. I'd start down a hill and try to spin, and the legs would grumble and stop at maybe 110 RPM. That's ridiculous; I can spin 130 with ease, and top 160 for a minute or two at a time. It's like the legs were losing the signal or something.
Going uphill, I found that I couldn't really grind up over little kickers. My usual fatboy climbing technique involves rolling into the kicker at speed then doing a short sprint over the top. That didn't work at all. There just wasn't any sprint in my legs.
Worst of all, on the false flats, I couldn't get on top of the pedals. This was terrible because the only place I'm ever really strong is on false flats. I can do some things on them. I tried, honestly, but my legs felt confused, as if they couldn't figure out how to spin smoothly. There were brief flashes of suplesse, but they disappeared quickly.
About two thirds of the way through the ride, it occurred to me that perhaps my legs were blocked because my mind is a bit blocked. Whenever we recover from an injury, the physical recovery is only a part of what we have to do. The mental part is perhaps as large of a challenge. The mind erects more barriers than the body ever can because it's a lot more innovative. The legs and lungs, they are Yoda like. There's no try; only do or not do. The mind comes up with a lot of excuses the legs and lungs could never think of.
Was it my mind though? I found myself going up hills today under very low power. My seeming inability to turn the pedals preyed on me. "Is a nerve in my back pinched, limiting my ability to use my legs to generate power?" When I did have decent power, it would evaporate after a few minutes and my legs would lose coordination.
On the other hand, I kept reminding myself, "dude, you have no base whatsoever. Shut up and pedal. It's always like this, just worse right now due to the long layoff."
It didn't help that when I did clear a hill, I'd be cruising 11, 12, 14 MPH for a while until the legs started working again. They didn't hurt; it's just that they wouldn't move any better than they did. It's not like I was going real hard anywhere; I was trying to keep it at a conversational pace and rarely working until I was panting or had burning legs. But modest levels of effort wiped me out repeatedly. My Powertap was no help here either; that fucker is completely on the blink right now and it reflects steadily decreasing wattage under steady state efforts. So if I start up a hill and hold a steady 700 watts (perceived) and maintain 18 MPH, the indicated wattage keeps dropping and by the time I crest the hill it's down to 7 watts. Thanks, fucker! Like I needed that...
The internal dialogue - which boiled down to "dude, yer fuckt" versus "ah, you'll be okay, mate" - went on for close to two hours. "Dude, yer fuckt" naturally had the upper hand for most of the ride, because it's always easier to be destructive and negative than productive and positive.
Still I hung in there, promising myself I'd get home, chill out, have a nice lunch with my wife, and then forget about the disappointments of the day.
The question kept on gnawing at my brain though, eating away at the underpinnings of confidence. Eventually I sat down to write this, to try to get over the hump and maybe make peace with where I am.
The final stats on the ride were 47 miles in 2:40. Power? Hell if I know.
It took until just now to figure out that the way to gauge the ride was to divide the mileage by the time, and figure out my average pace. Turns out 47 divided by 2.66 hours works out to 17.66 MPH.
That's not blazing fast by any stretch, but it is about where a Zone 2 ride ought to be.
The diagnosis? There's nothing wrong with my legs that a couple thousand more Zone 2 miles can't cure. Wouldn't hurt to lose some weight.
The nagging doubt about my back isn't going to die off, ever, because the disc will not return to pre-injury condition no matter what happens. There may be some physical limiters to my performance. The physical limiters are unrelated to the mental limiters, however. Today's ride was partly about getting a little base in, but in retrospect it was largely about killing off one little nagging, unjustified doubt in an auditorium full of doubting voices in my mind.
To ride well, you have to be able to perform up to your physical limits at a given time. You can't reach even modest limits if you have mental doubts, nagging voices, arguing that you can't or shouldn't push your limits. They will distract you from your task. They will cause you to limit your performance out of fear, discouragement, or lack of focus. They are an unnecessary part of your riding psyche. You have to get rid of those voices or they will be screaming at you on a hard ride, in a race, or if you're sitting on your sofa thinking about hitting the local road loop.
There's no way to silence those voices by arguing with them. The only way to shut them up is to take them out on the road, and kill them, pedal stroke by pedal stroke.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Friday Tunes
It's been another long week for me. If you're expecting a coherent discussion of music, it ain't happenin' this week either. That's the bad news. The good news is I'm taking a week of vacation next week. Any of y'all interested in some long ass daytime rides, drop me a line. Next week's big project is Deeee-compression. LSD, eatin' Clif bars in the saddle, and goin' "damn, that's a pretty bit of landscape right there." My bike's my lifeline, my rides bring peace.
----------------------------------------
First, you guys remember OK Go? They were that pop band that did the video with the treadmills. What, you don't remember this? What, were you drunk for all of 2005? It's this one. With 2.6 million page views. They did that video because they didn't have the money to do a big budget video. So what do they do when they come up with a new song, and a big budget to make a video? Um, this.
Actually, the official video for it is wayyyy cheesier than the Rube Goldberg machine. And the Rube Goldberg machine is cheesier than Velveeta. I really like OK Go's sensibilities. Does that video remind you of anything?
Now, some videos don't remind me of anything. Black Eyed Peas "My Humps," for instance. What a piece of trash. It's a three minute slice of life explaining why our culture is falling apart. God help me, but I really like it.
Hey, guess what's going to drop in a couple weeks... how's the Black Keys new album strike you?
I'm looking forward to that. Going to be hitting iTunes on May 10th or so when that's released. Now for something totally different - Wu Tang clan reminds mountain bikers that core strength and spinal flexibility is important, in Protect Your Neck. At least that's the message I take from it.
They also remind us that when getting one's party on, it is important to bring one's own ruckus. Lotta good chop socky in this one. (NSFW lyrics. Really NSFW lyrics).
In honor of the Stanley Cup playoffs being underway, I guess I should have a good hockey song for you. I'm not a Bruins fan, but the Dropkick Murphys have one of the better hockey songs ever. So enjoy it.
I have to leave you with something mellow I guess. Here's one of my favorite very old songs by Louis Armstrong. He was kind of the Un-Dirty Old Bastard. On the whole, I like him better than ODB, but I wouldn't want to live life without the both of them.
Good luck at the Bakers Dozen, y'all.
----------------------------------------
First, you guys remember OK Go? They were that pop band that did the video with the treadmills. What, you don't remember this? What, were you drunk for all of 2005? It's this one. With 2.6 million page views. They did that video because they didn't have the money to do a big budget video. So what do they do when they come up with a new song, and a big budget to make a video? Um, this.
Actually, the official video for it is wayyyy cheesier than the Rube Goldberg machine. And the Rube Goldberg machine is cheesier than Velveeta. I really like OK Go's sensibilities. Does that video remind you of anything?
Now, some videos don't remind me of anything. Black Eyed Peas "My Humps," for instance. What a piece of trash. It's a three minute slice of life explaining why our culture is falling apart. God help me, but I really like it.
Hey, guess what's going to drop in a couple weeks... how's the Black Keys new album strike you?
I'm looking forward to that. Going to be hitting iTunes on May 10th or so when that's released. Now for something totally different - Wu Tang clan reminds mountain bikers that core strength and spinal flexibility is important, in Protect Your Neck. At least that's the message I take from it.
They also remind us that when getting one's party on, it is important to bring one's own ruckus. Lotta good chop socky in this one. (NSFW lyrics. Really NSFW lyrics).
In honor of the Stanley Cup playoffs being underway, I guess I should have a good hockey song for you. I'm not a Bruins fan, but the Dropkick Murphys have one of the better hockey songs ever. So enjoy it.
I have to leave you with something mellow I guess. Here's one of my favorite very old songs by Louis Armstrong. He was kind of the Un-Dirty Old Bastard. On the whole, I like him better than ODB, but I wouldn't want to live life without the both of them.
Good luck at the Bakers Dozen, y'all.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Controversial Things I Think
I had a nice ride with Seibold this morning, then worked at home to avoid the downtown crush of security and traffic. With no commute to work there was a little bit of time left over to think about controversial shit I think about cycling and other stuff. Well, it's not controversial to me and maybe some of you agree with me. But it's what I believe and I'm sure it pisses somebody off, somewhere.
Cyclists will never be treated decently on the roads until our advocacy and our self-image isn't based on feelings of victimhood and persecution. As somebody pointed out on the MABRA list the other day, drivers are just as shitty to other drivers as they are to cyclists. You want to change that, you need to change driving culture. To do *that*, along with advocating for bike lanes and cycling awareness campaigns, you have to change the culture at large from one with a callous disregard for human life, into a culture that respects human life. From there you need to work to make cycling something people want to do, so maybe the horse is going for a trot behind the cart here. It still is true, however, that few people want to join a victim subculture. If we don't get out of the victimhood mindset, we aren't going to persuade nearly as many people as we need to, to make it safer out there for cyclists. And pedestrians. And cars. I'm for better treatment of cyclists - strongly, there's some self-interest here - and I am also realistic that we probably don't have a snowball's chance in hell of doing it because the culture tends toward the lowest common denominator, and things like respect or selflessness are long division in our culture.
We waste an inordinate amount of time and money on our bikes. Instead of dropping $3k on your next road machine with the stated goal of improving performance, if you're serious about improving performance, use that money to pay for some coaching, hit a good training camp or two, see a nutritionist to get a program, and pay for the latest drivetrain improvements (because shifting really does matter). For the most part it's about the engine and the psyche. A shiny new bike makes us feel faster but it probably only represents marginal performance improvement - says the guy who has been bullwhipped by Jay Murphy on his 27 pound 1980's vintage steel fixed gear. If you are going to drop the bling on the new bike, admit to yourself and us that you are doing it because you have an irrational love of shiny bikes. There's nothing wrong with that - just don't try to hide The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name In Front Of My Wife using the rationalization that it'll help you move up from 46th to 33d at Bunny Hop.
- We cyclists tend to be whiny bitches. Road cyclists worst than mountain bikers. If there's something to whine about, we will. Everybody papers over their whining pretty quick with "but it's cool, lovin' the ride today," but we started with whining before we caught ourselves. I think the stony faced old guys who still hammer pretty well but don't talk much probably realized this about themselves somewhere along the way and that's why they don't talk much. A lot of mountain bikers, of course, overcompensate with cheerfulness. The forest is on fire, Bambi just ran past with his cute little fluffy tail aflame, and you can't see through the smoke, and it's, "Sweet ride, brah!" As my teamie Bernard points out, cribbing from Mercyx, "Class is the absence of whining." It's a trait many of us could probably stand to work on. Class is also the absence of self-pity, too, just in case you were wondering. I don't claim to have a lot of it...
This revelation hit me on the road today - gruppos from the Big Three are well sorted out. If you need a gruppo that will not fail, go with Campy, Shimano (105 or higher) or SRAM. You can't go wrong, and even if there is a failure, it will be a logical sort of failure attributable to something stupid you did or fair wear and tear, and it will almost certainly occur only under ultra severe use, or toward the end of a product's natural lifespan. Every other piece of kit on the road has fatal flaws that hard riding - or even moderate riding - will reveal. It doesn't mean that the Race Face cranks with chainrings I've found easy to break are bad bits of gear, or that the Zero G brakes many find impossible to properly adjust don't work, or that the Zipp wheels like the one Cancellara crushed on Sunday are fragile. No, those parts actually do work - just that they have holes in their game and when you work them outside their design parameters, they fall apart. No so much with the Big Three. Their parts tend to be over-engineered; their design teams apparently don't just ask "how will this be used?" but also "how will this be misused?" There's a reason the Big Three are big. It's because they git 'er done just about all the time.
The best way to improve your knowledge of how the world works is Popular Mechanics. It is the antidote to having been raised in a culture where you were never expected to do anything with your hands. If you're curious about how things work, it's where to go. And they have a good website. You won't get expert knowledge about anything from PM, but they will introduce you to the basics and give you enough background information on any topic they cover, so that you have enough information to research further. Basically, it's the Bicycling Magazine of Everything - including bicycles.
Unless you're using very mild mixers, it's a total waste of time to put top shelf liquor in a mixed drink. It used to kill me when I saw guys order VSOP and Coke. Why not just put some Grain in a glass of coke, and drizzle in a little maraschino cherry juice? It'll give you just about the same flavor and you're not drinking from a $40 bottle... This rule about using modest mixing liquors doesn't hold if you're mixing the liquor with water - scotch rocks, gin and tonic, a mint julep, or a mojito. You gotta use decent stuff then because the true taste of the liquor will flower once you add water - but understand too that a lot of mid-market liquor has a great taste that works in well drinks. See e.g. Old Grandad in bourbon drinks; Beefeater in G&T's and Martinis. And, BTW, if it's wetter than a 4:1 mix, then it's not really a martini, nor does it make more than a cosmetic difference whether it's stirred or shaken.
I just finished reading Joe Parkin's second book, Come and Gone. Like the excellent Dog in a Hat, it's a great read if you dig bike racing war stories and enjoy a magazine format with a bunch of loosely related stories stuck next to each other. It's a so-so read if you're looking for a coherent book with a unified narrative in it. The most profound thing he says in the book is tucked into the end of a chapter about three quarters of the way through, where he discovers that for most racers and for himself, racing isn't about winning, it's about the process of racing. The whole book is about this! The reason Parkin doesn't destroy himself in training, and why he usually doesn't win races, is that he isn't there for the win. He's there to have fun racing! As the great Andrew WK put it, "We do what we like and we like what we do." This discovery should have been the punchline to the book, not the coda to a chapter midway through.
The narrative thread appears to evade Parkin as if it were a greased pig, and he a rodeo competitor. This doesn't make it a bad book - far from it. It's just that the stories could have been better organized around some common themes that crop up in most of the book's chapters. Most writers suffer from this lack of focus. This is why editors make decent money - to trim the unnecessary branches off of the story tree. So for our sake, please get an editor Joe!
The best book about roadracing, for my money, is still Tim Krabbe, The Rider. Krabbe is one of the Netherlands' great writers to begin with, and the autobiographical book about a single race captures what goes on in a racer's mind during the race better than anything I've ever read. Joe's books should be in your library too though; they offer a glimpse into what it meant to race and to come up the hard way in the generation of Roll, Phinney, Kiefel, Tomac and Juarez. That makes Parkin's books a priceless bit of bike culture anthropology.
My conception of NFL Commish Roger Goodell asking Big Ben Roethlisberger what he is going to do to avoid sexually assaulting young women during future nights out on the town. (With apologies to Blazing Saddles.)
Take it away, Burt...
---------------------------------------------------
Cyclists will never be treated decently on the roads until our advocacy and our self-image isn't based on feelings of victimhood and persecution. As somebody pointed out on the MABRA list the other day, drivers are just as shitty to other drivers as they are to cyclists. You want to change that, you need to change driving culture. To do *that*, along with advocating for bike lanes and cycling awareness campaigns, you have to change the culture at large from one with a callous disregard for human life, into a culture that respects human life. From there you need to work to make cycling something people want to do, so maybe the horse is going for a trot behind the cart here. It still is true, however, that few people want to join a victim subculture. If we don't get out of the victimhood mindset, we aren't going to persuade nearly as many people as we need to, to make it safer out there for cyclists. And pedestrians. And cars. I'm for better treatment of cyclists - strongly, there's some self-interest here - and I am also realistic that we probably don't have a snowball's chance in hell of doing it because the culture tends toward the lowest common denominator, and things like respect or selflessness are long division in our culture.
---------------------------------------------------
We waste an inordinate amount of time and money on our bikes. Instead of dropping $3k on your next road machine with the stated goal of improving performance, if you're serious about improving performance, use that money to pay for some coaching, hit a good training camp or two, see a nutritionist to get a program, and pay for the latest drivetrain improvements (because shifting really does matter). For the most part it's about the engine and the psyche. A shiny new bike makes us feel faster but it probably only represents marginal performance improvement - says the guy who has been bullwhipped by Jay Murphy on his 27 pound 1980's vintage steel fixed gear. If you are going to drop the bling on the new bike, admit to yourself and us that you are doing it because you have an irrational love of shiny bikes. There's nothing wrong with that - just don't try to hide The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name In Front Of My Wife using the rationalization that it'll help you move up from 46th to 33d at Bunny Hop.
---------------------------------------------------
- We cyclists tend to be whiny bitches. Road cyclists worst than mountain bikers. If there's something to whine about, we will. Everybody papers over their whining pretty quick with "but it's cool, lovin' the ride today," but we started with whining before we caught ourselves. I think the stony faced old guys who still hammer pretty well but don't talk much probably realized this about themselves somewhere along the way and that's why they don't talk much. A lot of mountain bikers, of course, overcompensate with cheerfulness. The forest is on fire, Bambi just ran past with his cute little fluffy tail aflame, and you can't see through the smoke, and it's, "Sweet ride, brah!" As my teamie Bernard points out, cribbing from Mercyx, "Class is the absence of whining." It's a trait many of us could probably stand to work on. Class is also the absence of self-pity, too, just in case you were wondering. I don't claim to have a lot of it...
---------------------------------------------------
This revelation hit me on the road today - gruppos from the Big Three are well sorted out. If you need a gruppo that will not fail, go with Campy, Shimano (105 or higher) or SRAM. You can't go wrong, and even if there is a failure, it will be a logical sort of failure attributable to something stupid you did or fair wear and tear, and it will almost certainly occur only under ultra severe use, or toward the end of a product's natural lifespan. Every other piece of kit on the road has fatal flaws that hard riding - or even moderate riding - will reveal. It doesn't mean that the Race Face cranks with chainrings I've found easy to break are bad bits of gear, or that the Zero G brakes many find impossible to properly adjust don't work, or that the Zipp wheels like the one Cancellara crushed on Sunday are fragile. No, those parts actually do work - just that they have holes in their game and when you work them outside their design parameters, they fall apart. No so much with the Big Three. Their parts tend to be over-engineered; their design teams apparently don't just ask "how will this be used?" but also "how will this be misused?" There's a reason the Big Three are big. It's because they git 'er done just about all the time.
---------------------------------------------------
The best way to improve your knowledge of how the world works is Popular Mechanics. It is the antidote to having been raised in a culture where you were never expected to do anything with your hands. If you're curious about how things work, it's where to go. And they have a good website. You won't get expert knowledge about anything from PM, but they will introduce you to the basics and give you enough background information on any topic they cover, so that you have enough information to research further. Basically, it's the Bicycling Magazine of Everything - including bicycles.
---------------------------------------------------
Unless you're using very mild mixers, it's a total waste of time to put top shelf liquor in a mixed drink. It used to kill me when I saw guys order VSOP and Coke. Why not just put some Grain in a glass of coke, and drizzle in a little maraschino cherry juice? It'll give you just about the same flavor and you're not drinking from a $40 bottle... This rule about using modest mixing liquors doesn't hold if you're mixing the liquor with water - scotch rocks, gin and tonic, a mint julep, or a mojito. You gotta use decent stuff then because the true taste of the liquor will flower once you add water - but understand too that a lot of mid-market liquor has a great taste that works in well drinks. See e.g. Old Grandad in bourbon drinks; Beefeater in G&T's and Martinis. And, BTW, if it's wetter than a 4:1 mix, then it's not really a martini, nor does it make more than a cosmetic difference whether it's stirred or shaken.
---------------------------------------------------
I just finished reading Joe Parkin's second book, Come and Gone. Like the excellent Dog in a Hat, it's a great read if you dig bike racing war stories and enjoy a magazine format with a bunch of loosely related stories stuck next to each other. It's a so-so read if you're looking for a coherent book with a unified narrative in it. The most profound thing he says in the book is tucked into the end of a chapter about three quarters of the way through, where he discovers that for most racers and for himself, racing isn't about winning, it's about the process of racing. The whole book is about this! The reason Parkin doesn't destroy himself in training, and why he usually doesn't win races, is that he isn't there for the win. He's there to have fun racing! As the great Andrew WK put it, "We do what we like and we like what we do." This discovery should have been the punchline to the book, not the coda to a chapter midway through.
The narrative thread appears to evade Parkin as if it were a greased pig, and he a rodeo competitor. This doesn't make it a bad book - far from it. It's just that the stories could have been better organized around some common themes that crop up in most of the book's chapters. Most writers suffer from this lack of focus. This is why editors make decent money - to trim the unnecessary branches off of the story tree. So for our sake, please get an editor Joe!
The best book about roadracing, for my money, is still Tim Krabbe, The Rider. Krabbe is one of the Netherlands' great writers to begin with, and the autobiographical book about a single race captures what goes on in a racer's mind during the race better than anything I've ever read. Joe's books should be in your library too though; they offer a glimpse into what it meant to race and to come up the hard way in the generation of Roll, Phinney, Kiefel, Tomac and Juarez. That makes Parkin's books a priceless bit of bike culture anthropology.
---------------------------------------------------
My conception of NFL Commish Roger Goodell asking Big Ben Roethlisberger what he is going to do to avoid sexually assaulting young women during future nights out on the town. (With apologies to Blazing Saddles.)
Roethlisberger: I got it! I got it!
Roger Goodell: You do?
Roethlisberger: We'll work up a Number 7 on 'em.
Roger Goodell: [frowns] "Number 7"? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that one.
Roethlisberger: Well, that's where we go a-ridin' into town, a-whompin' and a-whumpin' every livin' thing that moves within an inch of its life. Except the women folks, of course.
Roger Goodell: You spare the women?
Roethlisberger: Naw, we rape the shit out of them at the Number Seven Dance later on.
Roger Goodell: Marvelous!Million Dollar Arm. Ten Cent Head.
Take it away, Burt...
Rider Down
I don't have details but a rider was struck and killed literally right in front of my office last night. I work on the edge of the enormous security cordon that has been erected for the big nuclear weapons / power / grandstanding summit, and the police and military presence is overwhelming. I didn't like the random clumps of foreign security personnel wandering around either - and yeah, I can pick 'em out a mile away because once a country hits a certain level of tyranny, its security personnel wind up looking pretty much like all the other hired muscle for all the other police states in the world. You can see the malice in their eyes, and the resentment of knowing that if they walked up to you and slugged you, at least in D.C., they'd get in trouble for it. I know the look. It reminded me of the more authoritarian developing world countries and the police states I've traveled to, and I didn't much like it.
I suspect this poor cyclist, whoever she is, didn't expect to get run over by a 5 ton Army truck when she left work yesterday. This was so needless.
Power is the most dangerous thing in the world, and it's sometimes at its most harmful when it's wielded with good intent. I'm sure the soldiers feel awful about this, and it's not entirely their fault; they were doing a job that soldiers in 5 ton trucks are not suited for. It's the District of Columbia, not Forward Operating Base D.C., and we don't secure the place the way we'd provide hasty security for a firebase entrance, by driving 5 ton trucks across the road to block the traffic. Fuck.
I also suspect this incident will be given the usual full "no big deal" treatment, particularly because we're supposed to politely acquiesce and not notice when half the streets of our fair city are blocked by soldiers, on behalf of foreign grandees.
Plus it was just a cyclist.
If there's anything good to come out of this, some bike commuters in my office are freaked out and are interested in attending any protests or memorial services associated with this latest killing of a cyclist. Despite the fact some limited good may come of it, it shouldn't take homicide to get people interested in protecting their rights as cyclists. I wish very much it had never happened, and that my friend who I hadn't met yet was pedaling her way into work this morning instead of lying on a remorseless stainless steel table in the morgue.
Let me know if you hear about any protests or vigils, willya? I'll be bringing friends.
Update: The cyclist had a name: Constance Holden. She was an artist and an award-winning journalist for Science magazine.
Requiescat in pace.
I suspect this poor cyclist, whoever she is, didn't expect to get run over by a 5 ton Army truck when she left work yesterday. This was so needless.
Power is the most dangerous thing in the world, and it's sometimes at its most harmful when it's wielded with good intent. I'm sure the soldiers feel awful about this, and it's not entirely their fault; they were doing a job that soldiers in 5 ton trucks are not suited for. It's the District of Columbia, not Forward Operating Base D.C., and we don't secure the place the way we'd provide hasty security for a firebase entrance, by driving 5 ton trucks across the road to block the traffic. Fuck.
I also suspect this incident will be given the usual full "no big deal" treatment, particularly because we're supposed to politely acquiesce and not notice when half the streets of our fair city are blocked by soldiers, on behalf of foreign grandees.
Plus it was just a cyclist.
If there's anything good to come out of this, some bike commuters in my office are freaked out and are interested in attending any protests or memorial services associated with this latest killing of a cyclist. Despite the fact some limited good may come of it, it shouldn't take homicide to get people interested in protecting their rights as cyclists. I wish very much it had never happened, and that my friend who I hadn't met yet was pedaling her way into work this morning instead of lying on a remorseless stainless steel table in the morgue.
Let me know if you hear about any protests or vigils, willya? I'll be bringing friends.
Update: The cyclist had a name: Constance Holden. She was an artist and an award-winning journalist for Science magazine.
Requiescat in pace.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Pete Custer - Don't Click Here! Spoilers!
Paris-Roubaix was epic as usual. 'Nuff said. Boonen eases up for a half minute to try to get a drink and convince the rest of the lead group to work to stay away from the peloton, and bang! Cancellara goes and it's all over but the crying.
Versus screwed me. Or maybe Verizon did. The P-R coverage was listed in the online guide at 2 hours, starting at 6:00 PM. So I taped it and dutifully began watching at 8:00 PM, right after Son of Rouleur went to bed. I watched it right up until the end... 32 kilometers from the finish. WTF? Seems Versus was actually doing three hours of coverage, though the listing only said 2. Way to go, guys, lovely. Thank goodness for sites like Steephill.com, which archive streaming video of the races online. The slavic voiceover wasn't exactly awesome, but at least I was able to watch.
Got in a couple nice rides this weekend, with about 25 miles Saturday and 55 miles yesterday. These aren't real long by any standards but considering the two month layoff from doing anything physical, they were pretty taxing. The short ride was just fun; most of the way home, I was overwhelmed with a positive feeling about riding generally and found myself riding with a stupid grin. Sometimes, you just switch on in the cycling season, and that's what happened yesterday. My new attitude is "yep, I can do this. It feels good." It wasn't a spectacular ride or anything; it was just a ride across a mental threshold.
In contrast, yesterday's ride was pretty good up to about the 40 mile mark. At that point, I was overwhelmed with a tidal wave of poo. My legs felt like poo, my head felt like poo, and I was riding like poo. It had something to do with a stiff headwind but more to do with it being the longest ride for me since last October. I slogged it out though, finishing the last 15 miles at a very slow pace - like 17.5 average up to that point, 16 the rest of the way in, but I finished. Things got desperate enough that I stopped about 10 miles out from the finish for a 20 ounce Coke. That bit of rocket fuel carried me home, with a constant reminder that it's not all smiles and happy days. You have to work through the bad days to get to the good ones.
Shit I saw on the road:
- A strawberry cheesecake (WTF?)
- Integrated Trek tail bag that was no longer integrated. I was three miles past it before figuring out what it was or I'd have picked it up and given it away as a prize.
- Skyye vodka bottle, crushed
- Canadian Club bottle. Intact.
- Sloe gin bottle. Who the hell even drinks Sloe gin?
- Dead racoon, 3/4 upside down/legs up pose. Either dead, or we found out who drinks the sloe gin.
- Flat squirrel
- Dude driving convertible oncoming in my lane, nearly killing me
- Guy in a pickup truck making the "hey faggot!" call. God, that never gets old, does it?
Versus screwed me. Or maybe Verizon did. The P-R coverage was listed in the online guide at 2 hours, starting at 6:00 PM. So I taped it and dutifully began watching at 8:00 PM, right after Son of Rouleur went to bed. I watched it right up until the end... 32 kilometers from the finish. WTF? Seems Versus was actually doing three hours of coverage, though the listing only said 2. Way to go, guys, lovely. Thank goodness for sites like Steephill.com, which archive streaming video of the races online. The slavic voiceover wasn't exactly awesome, but at least I was able to watch.
Got in a couple nice rides this weekend, with about 25 miles Saturday and 55 miles yesterday. These aren't real long by any standards but considering the two month layoff from doing anything physical, they were pretty taxing. The short ride was just fun; most of the way home, I was overwhelmed with a positive feeling about riding generally and found myself riding with a stupid grin. Sometimes, you just switch on in the cycling season, and that's what happened yesterday. My new attitude is "yep, I can do this. It feels good." It wasn't a spectacular ride or anything; it was just a ride across a mental threshold.
In contrast, yesterday's ride was pretty good up to about the 40 mile mark. At that point, I was overwhelmed with a tidal wave of poo. My legs felt like poo, my head felt like poo, and I was riding like poo. It had something to do with a stiff headwind but more to do with it being the longest ride for me since last October. I slogged it out though, finishing the last 15 miles at a very slow pace - like 17.5 average up to that point, 16 the rest of the way in, but I finished. Things got desperate enough that I stopped about 10 miles out from the finish for a 20 ounce Coke. That bit of rocket fuel carried me home, with a constant reminder that it's not all smiles and happy days. You have to work through the bad days to get to the good ones.
Shit I saw on the road:
- A strawberry cheesecake (WTF?)
- Integrated Trek tail bag that was no longer integrated. I was three miles past it before figuring out what it was or I'd have picked it up and given it away as a prize.
- Skyye vodka bottle, crushed
- Canadian Club bottle. Intact.
- Sloe gin bottle. Who the hell even drinks Sloe gin?
- Dead racoon, 3/4 upside down/legs up pose. Either dead, or we found out who drinks the sloe gin.
- Flat squirrel
- Dude driving convertible oncoming in my lane, nearly killing me
- Guy in a pickup truck making the "hey faggot!" call. God, that never gets old, does it?
Saturday, April 10, 2010
My Paris-Roubaix Pick
I'm picking Servais Knaven to finish 6th.
You heard it here first.
Sure, it's a brave pick. Everybody else will be picking Boonen for the win, or Cancellara, or Hoste, or maybe Pippo. Not me.
I'm picking Knaven for 6th.
That is all.
Update: and one other thing. George Hincapie will report after the race that he had great legs, but his (1) freakish mechanical; (2) missing the break; (3) invention of an entirely new way not to win at Roubaix - was completely unexpected to him.
You heard it here first.
Sure, it's a brave pick. Everybody else will be picking Boonen for the win, or Cancellara, or Hoste, or maybe Pippo. Not me.
I'm picking Knaven for 6th.
That is all.
Update: and one other thing. George Hincapie will report after the race that he had great legs, but his (1) freakish mechanical; (2) missing the break; (3) invention of an entirely new way not to win at Roubaix - was completely unexpected to him.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Friday Fun
I'm really tired kids. Nothin' in-depth this week. Just some good guitar music.
Some damn good guitar music.
Ever heard of Ty Segall? He Rawks. This is It #1, one of his one man band works.
You just got 17% cooler by watching that video. No need to thank me though.
Ty Segall is also the drummer for The Traditional Fools. They're good too.
Dick Dale would approve.
While I'm at it... any of you like The Beat Farmers?
I do. Guess you didn't get a vote on what goes into the post this week. While I'm at it, I'll throw in a mildly bicycle-themed song by the Smithereens. Great band, I haven't a clue why they didn't make it bigger than they did.
Now, just because I'm contrary - Drivin' and Cryin'.
And apropo of nothing...
Some damn good guitar music.
Ever heard of Ty Segall? He Rawks. This is It #1, one of his one man band works.
You just got 17% cooler by watching that video. No need to thank me though.
Ty Segall is also the drummer for The Traditional Fools. They're good too.
Dick Dale would approve.
While I'm at it... any of you like The Beat Farmers?
I do. Guess you didn't get a vote on what goes into the post this week. While I'm at it, I'll throw in a mildly bicycle-themed song by the Smithereens. Great band, I haven't a clue why they didn't make it bigger than they did.
Now, just because I'm contrary - Drivin' and Cryin'.
And apropo of nothing...
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
A Couple Things I Really Hate
 |
I hate Duke. Viscerally. In a bone-deep sorta way. Didn't hate 'em that way when I was at UNC but watching Zoubek elbow and knee his way through the Tournament - and through De'Sean Butler's Former NBA Future - made me realize I hate Duke in a sneering-at-the-neighbor-who-is-listed-on-the-sex-offender-registry way. All of a sudden on Saturday night, for no apparent reason, I lost my shit and started screaming at the TV. At Duke. At Kitschchefski.
Damn, that feels good. I HATE Duke.
------------------------------------------------------
I hate Apple too. Why? Because they think we're all stupid and they do what they can to infantilize us. Too stupid to be able to replace a battery. Too stupid to be able to read books with dirty words - or words that look dirty to Apple even if they aren't. Censoring "s***m whale" in Moby Dick, but not censoring the word D*** in the title of the book? WTF?
Plus their marketing is totally full of shit and so many not-cool-enough-to-be-hipsters buy into it. Apple appliances contain 133% more Smug than any other consumer product, with the possible exception of Subaru cars, and Priuses in that shining era before Congress told us that Toyota is The Very Heart of Darkness a couple weeks ago.
I bet Ed Begley ditched the Prius and now drives a Chevy, but I also bet that he still has an I-Pod, an I-Phone, a MacBook, and the new I-Pad.
For proof that plenty of us are stupid and buy Apple's marketing bullshit, look no further than the web's gushing, splattering and overflowing font of conventional wisdom. If Apple designed doors, they'd all open automatically, but after a few years, none of its users would know how to use a doorknob. Many of us are stupid when we buy an Apple product, and the Apple product is guaranteed to make us stupider.
Yet people line up to buy Apple's shit and their condescension gladly. I will confess to owning an I-Pod but only because I'm forced to so that I can listen to music on the go without dragging a 4 pound appliance around. This is kind of like how you're forced to buy gas even if you hate oil companies. There's no other way but to buy their products. We're getting stuck with Apple because we're stuck in a lowest common denominator world, and Apple caters to the technical lowest common denominator who have trouble remembering how to turn on the lights in the kitchen, dial a phone, or for that matter, change a battery in their computer. Never mind how they absolutely screw over developers who would like to be able to sell little bits of software that Apple users could buy to make their lives better. No life-bettering, unless Steve Jobs approves of it.
Apple certainly has a number of orthopedists on staff to treat the stomach muscles torn and ribs cracked from the uncontrollable convulsive laughter of Apple designers who spend their days thinking up new ways to insult the consumer. "Hey, let's make a new product that runs on batteries, and we will make it so they can't change the batteries on their own, but have to come groveling back to us to do it. We'll also make it so that the only programmers who can make apps for it, are people we personally approve of."
It's entirely possible that Steve Jobs is Don Rickles' love child.
I hate Apple.
------------------------------------------------------
I don't like liver very much either.
Monday, April 05, 2010
Learning Stuff On the Commute
I've found a new bike route into D.C. - not really "new" new, but new for me. I usually park up in Silver Spring or thereabouts and take the Cap Crescent. This is a pain in the ass because it puts more miles on my truck than I really need to. A "mixed" commute is mandatory, however, because there are few good routes into D.C. from the East, and even if there were good routes from near where I live, 30 or 35 miles each way makes for a long, long day. That commute is for spring and summer only, and not for every day.
It's hard finding convenient parking on the east side of town too. I don't really like parking up and riding from Hyattsville or other locales in Prince Georges County. Chunks of P.G. are high crime areas, including most of them where I would park up.
Maybe I've found a solution. Metro parking is pretty cheap and the parking lots are relatively secure. So it's not perfect, but it knocks the round trip drive down to 25 miles (from 45), and the distance is similar, about 13 miles or so. On days I want more mileage, Hains Point is still there, along with plenty of urban riding. And the trip in following Rhode Island Ave., more or less, is frickin' hilly once I get off the multi-use trail. I'm not a great lover of hills, but grinding up a half dozen short climbs twice a day along with accelerating away from maybe 40 stop signs does wonders for the leg strength. Plus there's a half dozen downhills on the other side of each climb, so that's nice.
The people who you meet on the paths, though... well, they're different on the paths cutting through Northeast. The only way to understand what I saw today on the trail is to compare it to the other stalwart trails in the local multi-use trail system.
Typical Commuter
W&OD (incl. Custis, Mt. Vernon and Four Mile): White professional male, Performance kit. Current Trek or Specialized road bike. Yells at you if he doesn't like your (1) headlight; (2) riding style; (3) looks.
Cap Crescent: Great diversity in the commuters, middle to upper middle class, mostly. Trending toward flat bar commuters, vintage steel road bikes, and irritating triathletes, who pass, curb you into a ditch, possibly sleep with you, all without saying a word.
Northeast Branch: A couple racers, many immigrants, really slow riding rec users, and perverts. Each bicyclist you pass shoots you a grateful look, glad you aren't a mugger or some guy they owe drug / gambling / bike parts money to.
Typical Problem Encountered on the Trail
W&OD: Angry dudes in a hurry to get to work, blind corners, guys on low slung recumbent trikes.
Cap Crescent: Human ambulatory trail obstacles, irritating triathletes hammering downhill; dangerous passing. Hot mommies who *love* to distract bicyclists. Distracted cyclists ogling hot mommies.
Northeast Branch: two dudes blocking the trail and consummating a drug deal when you blast around a corner.
Thing You Wish You Never Saw on the Trail
W&OD: The guy who got crushed by a Mercedes at a crossing in Falls Church. Better you than me, dude.
Cap Crescent: The dude on a vintage 10-speed, rocking the white-fro, wearing only a banana hammock and sunglasses.
Northeast Branch: Two dudes just off the trail, apparently on their honeymoon, doing a Reverse Double Lewinski.
Technical Problems With the Ride
W&OD: Areas under bridges get icy
Cap Crescent: Some frost heaves on the D.C. portion of the trail. Occasional sewage overflow just west of the Boathouse (rare).
Northeast Branch: curbs, transitions that are muddy or rocky, occasional used hypodermic needles on the path.
Typical Mechanical
W&OD: Your handlebar gets crimped (and wayyy loose) after a huge panic stop brought on by sketchy road crossing
Cap Crescent: Girl on her first commute who has a flat, no spare, and, BTW, through axles that need a 7/8th's socket if you want to take the wheel off.
Northeast Branch: You enjoy a 5 flat day, with each flat due to different things (glass, hypodermic, busted pavement, curb with multiple sharp edges on it, and one flat resulting from God alone knows what).
Most Irritating Trail User:
W&OD: Guy in Performance USA Champion Jersey who screams at me about (1) inadequate lights; (2) I take up too much room; (3) for no reason at all
Cap Crescent: Uphill roller bladers. They use more lanes than a bowling alley. Downhill triathletes - testing the handling limits of aerobars each day, so you don't have to.
Northeast Branch: picnicking family that lets their 2 year old toddler play on the trail instead of the grass - because "it's safe."
Who Chases You:
W&OD: Elderly Korean lady from Tysons who is angry because you scared her tiny dog when you passed her.
Cap Crescent: Middle-aged triathlete who is angry because he hates his job and ain't sure about his wife either, and by God he's going to pass you before River Road and that will give his life meaning and make it all worthwhile...
Northeast Branch: Local kids on department store bikes who are better armed than the D.C. Metro P.D.
How You'll Die on the Trail:
W&OD: Hit by import car at road crossing.
Cap Crescent: Hit by triathlete at the bridge.
Northeast Branch: Hit by stray bullet at community park.
Okay, fine, in all seriousness, it's not that bad. I did interrupt a drug deal and a couple guys going at it like rabbits this morning, but it isn't that...
Oh, screw it. There's no working around it. This commute route kinda sucks. I'll stick to it 'cuz I need to shorten the drive part of my mixed commute and cut down on the cost, time and energy waste of it, but damn people. This one is going to be interesting.
It's hard finding convenient parking on the east side of town too. I don't really like parking up and riding from Hyattsville or other locales in Prince Georges County. Chunks of P.G. are high crime areas, including most of them where I would park up.
Maybe I've found a solution. Metro parking is pretty cheap and the parking lots are relatively secure. So it's not perfect, but it knocks the round trip drive down to 25 miles (from 45), and the distance is similar, about 13 miles or so. On days I want more mileage, Hains Point is still there, along with plenty of urban riding. And the trip in following Rhode Island Ave., more or less, is frickin' hilly once I get off the multi-use trail. I'm not a great lover of hills, but grinding up a half dozen short climbs twice a day along with accelerating away from maybe 40 stop signs does wonders for the leg strength. Plus there's a half dozen downhills on the other side of each climb, so that's nice.
The people who you meet on the paths, though... well, they're different on the paths cutting through Northeast. The only way to understand what I saw today on the trail is to compare it to the other stalwart trails in the local multi-use trail system.
Typical Commuter
W&OD (incl. Custis, Mt. Vernon and Four Mile): White professional male, Performance kit. Current Trek or Specialized road bike. Yells at you if he doesn't like your (1) headlight; (2) riding style; (3) looks.
Cap Crescent: Great diversity in the commuters, middle to upper middle class, mostly. Trending toward flat bar commuters, vintage steel road bikes, and irritating triathletes, who pass, curb you into a ditch, possibly sleep with you, all without saying a word.
Northeast Branch: A couple racers, many immigrants, really slow riding rec users, and perverts. Each bicyclist you pass shoots you a grateful look, glad you aren't a mugger or some guy they owe drug / gambling / bike parts money to.
Typical Problem Encountered on the Trail
W&OD: Angry dudes in a hurry to get to work, blind corners, guys on low slung recumbent trikes.
Cap Crescent: Human ambulatory trail obstacles, irritating triathletes hammering downhill; dangerous passing. Hot mommies who *love* to distract bicyclists. Distracted cyclists ogling hot mommies.
Northeast Branch: two dudes blocking the trail and consummating a drug deal when you blast around a corner.
Thing You Wish You Never Saw on the Trail
W&OD: The guy who got crushed by a Mercedes at a crossing in Falls Church. Better you than me, dude.
Cap Crescent: The dude on a vintage 10-speed, rocking the white-fro, wearing only a banana hammock and sunglasses.
Northeast Branch: Two dudes just off the trail, apparently on their honeymoon, doing a Reverse Double Lewinski.
Technical Problems With the Ride
W&OD: Areas under bridges get icy
Cap Crescent: Some frost heaves on the D.C. portion of the trail. Occasional sewage overflow just west of the Boathouse (rare).
Northeast Branch: curbs, transitions that are muddy or rocky, occasional used hypodermic needles on the path.
Typical Mechanical
W&OD: Your handlebar gets crimped (and wayyy loose) after a huge panic stop brought on by sketchy road crossing
Cap Crescent: Girl on her first commute who has a flat, no spare, and, BTW, through axles that need a 7/8th's socket if you want to take the wheel off.
Northeast Branch: You enjoy a 5 flat day, with each flat due to different things (glass, hypodermic, busted pavement, curb with multiple sharp edges on it, and one flat resulting from God alone knows what).
Most Irritating Trail User:
W&OD: Guy in Performance USA Champion Jersey who screams at me about (1) inadequate lights; (2) I take up too much room; (3) for no reason at all
Cap Crescent: Uphill roller bladers. They use more lanes than a bowling alley. Downhill triathletes - testing the handling limits of aerobars each day, so you don't have to.
Northeast Branch: picnicking family that lets their 2 year old toddler play on the trail instead of the grass - because "it's safe."
Who Chases You:
W&OD: Elderly Korean lady from Tysons who is angry because you scared her tiny dog when you passed her.
Cap Crescent: Middle-aged triathlete who is angry because he hates his job and ain't sure about his wife either, and by God he's going to pass you before River Road and that will give his life meaning and make it all worthwhile...
Northeast Branch: Local kids on department store bikes who are better armed than the D.C. Metro P.D.
How You'll Die on the Trail:
W&OD: Hit by import car at road crossing.
Cap Crescent: Hit by triathlete at the bridge.
Northeast Branch: Hit by stray bullet at community park.
Okay, fine, in all seriousness, it's not that bad. I did interrupt a drug deal and a couple guys going at it like rabbits this morning, but it isn't that...
Oh, screw it. There's no working around it. This commute route kinda sucks. I'll stick to it 'cuz I need to shorten the drive part of my mixed commute and cut down on the cost, time and energy waste of it, but damn people. This one is going to be interesting.
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Spoiler Alert
Alas! In the real world of cycling, there is only one Spartacus. And even the Romans - and the French, and the Flandrians, and the Dutch - know exactly who he is. Someday, the rest of us will maybe get over our Grand Tour fixation and realize the guy is "The Next Armstrong."
Just damn.
Friday, April 02, 2010
Friday
No, I'm not really giving up the blog for Twitter. Some of you missed the date, based on the number of emails I've received involving polar bears dying of heat exhaustion and stuff like that. It was April 1st.
And FWIW, I can say things in 200 characters or less. I do a lot of that at work. Mostly, my work involves legal and policy commentary, along with some "primary" drafting of briefs and counseling memos. I'm *really* good at that kind of writing. Were you to read it, you'd understand what I am talking about even though the topics are usually pretty specialized and arcane. In addition to being strong on style, there isn't a spare word in any of my writing at work, and I edit a couple dozen other people's work so that humans may, some day in the future, be able to read and understand what they are trying to say. Unless the subject is brutally uncooperative, what I write at work always makes good reading. Yes, I could make you look forward to reading a short commentary on the different types of Federal preemption problems likely to arise undere a new regulation.
So why do I blog and ramble on so? I blog because what I do for a living, or 50% of my living, is an incredibly disciplined style of writing that chokes the very breath out of me. I write well because I am creative and love using words to do things, as J.L. Austin put it. Done right, my writing at work reads effortlessly and convinces you not only that my views are correct, but that there can be no other way. (Unless I leave you an out, which I commonly do because I'm not a fascist, and I genuinely believe reasonable people can disagree).
But making writing that both reads effortlessly and also does stuff is the hardest damn thing in the world, other than dieting while doing intensity training on the bike. Combine the intense discipline and difficulty of what I do with the full armor, cover-your-ass mode that I live in at work (keeping my actual thoughts (versus professional opinions) obscured), and it chokes the life out of me.
Like most people who can write well, when I write for pleasure I do it because I have a busy mind and I enjoy dumping the thoughts out, and trying to say interesting stuff in interesting ways. If you can write well and also do good quality legal writing, it's like being a sprinter on a grand tour team. You get occasional chances too strut your stuff, but even in a year where the G.C. contenders stink your personal abilities are only fodder for the sideshow. So I sit there at work some days writing about some policy issue and discussing trends in the law and what oughtta be done... and while the left brain is doing that nuts and bolts stuff, the right brain is thinking, "Damn. I could really easily write this in rhyming couplets. That'd blow 'em, away..."
So I blog to let the right brain fly its freak flag. Sometimes I work hard at it, usually it's slapdash and the writing is a bit flabby because I have used up the day's quota of Angry Anal Retentive Legal Editor Guy. I apologize for that because sometimes I burn off more of your time than I should with wandering bullshit. I'm trying to do better with that but some days, particularly the ones where I've worked 12 hours already, Mr. Discipline just isn't going to take another pull.
Anyhow, that's some insight on why I do this. Thanks for making me think about it.
So this weekend I'm traveling up in the 'Cuse for the weekend and right now I'm getting ready to hit the road for 25 miles of chilly goodness on the cross bike. Funny that bike doesn't have a name the way my Haole Hauler does. What should I name it? Scheisswagen would be a fitting name considering that half the time it's covered in mud; cowshit from some farmer's field or a horse pen, hauling poo and mud around a cross course at low speed. I'm still getting mud out of that thing from Lake Reston... Mistwagen would be the technically correct term for it. That's the tanker that German farmers use to fertilize their fields. It usually contains liquified pig crap, some chemical additives, and a smell that has to be breathed to be believed.
Anyway, short blog entry today with respect to the music. Gotta get my ride in. Since it's Easter, have a little Kirsten Flagstad singing Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring. My parents wanted this played at their wedding in the 60's and the organist - my mom's aunt who was the organist at the Cathedral for many years - agreed. The bishop damn near excommunicated them for it when he found out about it. Bach was a big protestant, you know... a really flagrant protestant at that. But then after that it became the rage in my folks' hometown. Nice piece of music, and Flagstad is an unbelievably amazing singer.
Have a good weekend y'all, and happy Easter, Passover, or just another weekend, as appropriate to your belief system.
And FWIW, I can say things in 200 characters or less. I do a lot of that at work. Mostly, my work involves legal and policy commentary, along with some "primary" drafting of briefs and counseling memos. I'm *really* good at that kind of writing. Were you to read it, you'd understand what I am talking about even though the topics are usually pretty specialized and arcane. In addition to being strong on style, there isn't a spare word in any of my writing at work, and I edit a couple dozen other people's work so that humans may, some day in the future, be able to read and understand what they are trying to say. Unless the subject is brutally uncooperative, what I write at work always makes good reading. Yes, I could make you look forward to reading a short commentary on the different types of Federal preemption problems likely to arise undere a new regulation.
So why do I blog and ramble on so? I blog because what I do for a living, or 50% of my living, is an incredibly disciplined style of writing that chokes the very breath out of me. I write well because I am creative and love using words to do things, as J.L. Austin put it. Done right, my writing at work reads effortlessly and convinces you not only that my views are correct, but that there can be no other way. (Unless I leave you an out, which I commonly do because I'm not a fascist, and I genuinely believe reasonable people can disagree).
But making writing that both reads effortlessly and also does stuff is the hardest damn thing in the world, other than dieting while doing intensity training on the bike. Combine the intense discipline and difficulty of what I do with the full armor, cover-your-ass mode that I live in at work (keeping my actual thoughts (versus professional opinions) obscured), and it chokes the life out of me.
Like most people who can write well, when I write for pleasure I do it because I have a busy mind and I enjoy dumping the thoughts out, and trying to say interesting stuff in interesting ways. If you can write well and also do good quality legal writing, it's like being a sprinter on a grand tour team. You get occasional chances too strut your stuff, but even in a year where the G.C. contenders stink your personal abilities are only fodder for the sideshow. So I sit there at work some days writing about some policy issue and discussing trends in the law and what oughtta be done... and while the left brain is doing that nuts and bolts stuff, the right brain is thinking, "Damn. I could really easily write this in rhyming couplets. That'd blow 'em, away..."
So I blog to let the right brain fly its freak flag. Sometimes I work hard at it, usually it's slapdash and the writing is a bit flabby because I have used up the day's quota of Angry Anal Retentive Legal Editor Guy. I apologize for that because sometimes I burn off more of your time than I should with wandering bullshit. I'm trying to do better with that but some days, particularly the ones where I've worked 12 hours already, Mr. Discipline just isn't going to take another pull.
Anyhow, that's some insight on why I do this. Thanks for making me think about it.
So this weekend I'm traveling up in the 'Cuse for the weekend and right now I'm getting ready to hit the road for 25 miles of chilly goodness on the cross bike. Funny that bike doesn't have a name the way my Haole Hauler does. What should I name it? Scheisswagen would be a fitting name considering that half the time it's covered in mud; cowshit from some farmer's field or a horse pen, hauling poo and mud around a cross course at low speed. I'm still getting mud out of that thing from Lake Reston... Mistwagen would be the technically correct term for it. That's the tanker that German farmers use to fertilize their fields. It usually contains liquified pig crap, some chemical additives, and a smell that has to be breathed to be believed.
Anyway, short blog entry today with respect to the music. Gotta get my ride in. Since it's Easter, have a little Kirsten Flagstad singing Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring. My parents wanted this played at their wedding in the 60's and the organist - my mom's aunt who was the organist at the Cathedral for many years - agreed. The bishop damn near excommunicated them for it when he found out about it. Bach was a big protestant, you know... a really flagrant protestant at that. But then after that it became the rage in my folks' hometown. Nice piece of music, and Flagstad is an unbelievably amazing singer.
Have a good weekend y'all, and happy Easter, Passover, or just another weekend, as appropriate to your belief system.
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Tired of it All...
I'm getting pretty tired of this blogging thing. Between work and trying to ride myself back into shape, and the demands of a 6 year old who just started playing organized sports, something has to give. So I think it's going to be the blog. I'm thinking about bagging facebook too. This stuff is just too much of a timesuck. Twitter though... now that has some potential. I'll keep you posted.
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