Blazing Saddles

Form, Fit, and Function - A Tale of Two Freds

2009-09-01T14:13:00.028-05:00

A little while ago, BikeSnobNYC took a blogger to task for pedaling around in high heels. Actually it was more the tone of the high heel wearer's comments that prompted the aside, which came at the end of particularly embarrassing rant about this guy, who tries to make a buck selling "getting started" advice. Normally I read BikeSnob for a good chuckle, and I take his critiques at face value. This one seemed a bit personal, and I guess that "Bike Shrink" offers advice is one thing, but to sell it? Why, thats, thats....

...The American Way. Even if we never know whether the advice is worth the fee. Some of you may scoff, but what Bike Shrink is trying to capitalize on is the fact that a lot of well-meaning people spend tons of cash to get started in the sport of cycling. Simply sorting out the basic necessities, the terminology, and the culture creates all sorts of confusion. Let's face it: the cycling biz is a racket built around slick unhelpful marketing. Caught in the middle are the bike shops that just want to stay in business. I'm not accusing anyone of dishonesty, all I'm saying is that finding gear that really works - and fits - is a crap shoot. I can't say how much cash I've thrown away on gear that wasn't worth the paper it was wrapped in, and I can't be alone. But that's neither here nor there. The real task is figuring out what's what without making a Fred of yourself.

Being a Fred isn't the same thing as being a Newbie. Newbie is a synonym for beginner. Its a friendly word that doesn't carry many negative connotations. Fred, on the other hand, is a pejorative - on the order to poseur - and can sometimes mean "fool". There are all kinds of Freds in all kinds of places, but Freds are only Freds in the cycling world. In the navy, a Fred is a "dink" or a "non-qual" (non-quals are the worst). In the cycling world, a Fred is a person who acts outside of the local or universally accepted mores of the cycling culture. For sure, nobody tries to be a Fred.

But it's not hard to do. Cycling is a semi-exclusive sport that attracts a lot of egos and narcissists. Just look at the professional peleton. Even so, the barrier to entry into cycling isn't insurmountable by the average Joe, but it does require a little well-spent cash. Here I'm reminded of the episode of "Malcolm In The Middle" where Malcolm's father takes up race-walking. The point is, the expense is usually the first detour on the road to Fred-dom. Everybody wants to fit in, and a lot of people come to cycling wide-eyed. Without experience to steer their choices, most wind up committing a few faux-pas that earn them the outward disdain or the sideways glance from some of the established crowd. Thus the niche that the BikeShrink aims to fill.

What's more, there are so very many ways to be a Fred, because we see now that Fredness is a matter of perception. The high-heeled pedaler boasts that she can blow by fully-kitted riders on expensive bikes without the benefit of traditional cycling garb. Indeed, she is woman, hear her roar along the road in boutique jeans and shoes. But she is no Fred because she refuses the to wear the badge of spandex. To her, any rider in a road kit is a Fred. Especially ones on bikes more expensive than hers. To the high-heeled rider, cycling requires style and class, and technical clothing doesn't measure-up.

Aside from bicycles being a cross-cultural thing, I think she's on to something. Fit and function are one thing, but style is quite another. Finding all three elements in cycling gear takes years of trial-and-error and a few shiny pennies. Sometimes its all for naught once one realizes they will never look good in a jersey and shorts. High-heeled pedaler is dismayed because she believes the cycling mores of "looking good" is akin to being confused with bad art school homework or an Old Navy mannequin. I'll agree, there is some very bad design and artwork in the average cycling outfit, but whatever is printed on the kit means something to the wearer. I think the real objection is not finding the necessity to wear in public what amounts to loud, pretentious underwear. Fred or no Fred?

Cycling might be the only sport where its possible to express your style in technical clothes. Myself, I prefer a certain subtlety if I can find it. Pro team kits are right out, and most everything else seems garish. Right now I'm the poster boy for Pearl Izumi. The Hincape stuff might be the worst-looking in terms of price, and Giordana exemplifies everything that's wrong in Europe. I have seen a few things out there that might work for my personal taste, but I have to buy them online. You never know what you'll get if you buy online, or how much it will cost to return it. That goes for anything cycling related, not just clothes. Shoes and saddles make the most difference in cycling and they are the hardest things to buy in terms of form, fit, and function. Unfortunately LBS can't invest in the inventory required to make shopping for gear easy. So its either take your chances on the Internet or buy LBS.

Over the years I've learned to embrace my Fred. In the beginning, my Fred was the over-confidence in my abilities after years out of the saddle. Then it was the goofy clothing because I refused to wear spandex. Then it was looking even goofier after I did. Then as my fitness returned, it was the poor bike handling skills and getting carried away on bike paths. Then it was the mistakes in training and nutrition, and not listening to the mechanics at the bike shop about equipment and adjustments. Then it was the awkwardness of finding a like-abled group, and being a Johnny-come-lately. Now its my white helmet and hairy legs.

I've been on the St. Louis roads for ten years now. It's taken that long to find all the things that work for me, and I'm finally comfortable with my equipment and my style. I like to train hard if for nothing else but to keep myself in good shape with age, and to maintain the ability to keep up with (and sometimes pull) a group of respectable riders. In the end we are all enthusiasts and we are all competitors and we all have our insecurities. But if you stick with something long enough, blah blah blah. I refuse to shave my legs.

P.S. - I read the other day that I might not be a Fred after all. I have white bar tape on the Masi. Alas, I let it get pretty dingy and I don't care to change it, so its back to the Fred Leagues for me.

Performance

2009-08-14T08:50:00.001-05:00

Just To Be Sure

2009-08-02T07:32:00.005-05:00

St. Louis doesn't have an abundance of bike lanes. Where bike lanes are available, its often necessary to remind the driving (and cycling) public what they're for:

The Little Tour That Could

2009-07-29T10:22:00.049-05:00

Out on the road we don't talk about it much, the Tour of Missouri. I think the subject has come up only once in a long while, and the conversation was more a comparison of what stages each of us would attend. Me? Whatever stage lands in St. Louis. This year that's Stage 1. A few of the others were wondering if there will be an accessible 'Etape du Tour' like there was last year. The fear being that it will be held at one of the across-the-state stages. Even more important, who will lead it now that Mary Kay as quit Maplewood? To that I'm indifferent because there's no way I can get a kitchen pass for an all-day bike ride; not now; even if it is the Tour of Missouri.

I sometimes wonder how others talk about the Tour. Is there hot debate about the strategies of major teams? Or maybe who will lead the breakaways? Maybe some gossip around a few of the riders? Or is it more like where to sit along the race routes? I can never get a sense of it. We're told the Tour of Missouri is a Big Deal(tm) - one of only two races in the United States rated as worthy of attendance by the biggest and best international teams. Indeed, the biggest teams and the biggest names have, and will, come to town. How did that happen? Are the stages that challenging? C'mon, there's bigger hills in Arkansas. It certainly can't be because of the weather. Maybe its because this is the Midwest and everyone is so nice. One thing's for sure: whoever puts the Tour together must be a fast talker.

That's a good thing. The Tour needed some fast talking to stay alive this year - or so I'm told. On July 10, the Post-Dispatch published an article by Kathleen Nelson and Tony Messenger informing that the race could be cancelled because the Department of Economic Development proposed to eliminate the $1.5 million allocation for the Tour of Missouri from the state's tourism budget. At first the article focused on the reaction of the tour organizers: "devastating". Then the article framed the cut as a poor timing issue: "interest in cycling is growing while Lance is only seconds from the lead in the Tour de France!" Like that has anything to do with it. Then it became an economic development issue: the state has an interest in investing in tourism. But really really, it was a personal political confrontation between the Tour's primary political supporter, Pete Kinder, and the governor, Jay Nixon. That Kinder is expected to challenge Nixon in 2012, and also that Kinder leads the commission from which the money would be cut, the article hints, means it must be personal.

The vacuum drawn by all the butt holes puckering across the state set off the motion detectors at my neighbors house. Those with incurable cases of Compulsive Outrage Disorder came out of the wood work, posting on forums and calling talk shows, accusing anyone who wears spandex of unspeakable crimes against humanity. The Tour pundits and cycling affectionados came out too, demanding the road be shared and threatening to withhold their carbon credits. Yes, it was clear from the article that something was rotten in Jefferson City. What was not clear from the article is why the Tour receives half its operating budget from the state and what that money is used for.

The very next day, sensing that their first attempt didn't muddy the waters enough, Kathleen Nelson published a combined Tour de France race report/political editorial ironically titled "Tour of Missouri clearer than Tour de France", complete with very bad analogies of peleton strategy and political hegemony. I guess as a counterpart, Tony Messenger filed his own report characterizing the budget proposals as "a high stakes game of chicken between the governor's office and the nonprofit agency that runs the September bike race", as if there were spandex-clad ruffians in Pete Kinder t-shirts staring down the governor though his office window.

The truth of the matter can be found by reading all three articles together, minus the hyperbole. The obvious part is that this state, like so many others, has money problems. I think the governor's staff simply pulled a bunch of non-critical line items out of the budget and asked the responsible departments to justify their expenses. All very straight forward. Of course, when the sports beat reporter and the church beat reporter "broke the news" in twenty different contexts, everybody got defensive and turned on the PR machines. At bottom was the governor's budget director asking what the money would be used for. Not an unreasonable question when the amount is $1.5 million. At top was getting the Tour organizers to turn over their books - which, by the way, the public is still yet to see.

The final word on the matter came from Messenger on July 14 in a blog entry of all things. A blog entry that was basically one long quote from Governor Nixon stating only that people who receive state money should be prepared to show their work. I'm pretty sure that's a governors responsibility. So the Tour organizers came up off the goods, the state budget staff had a look and cut them a check. Problem solved. Now that this ridiculously fabricated "tug of war between the governors office and the tourism commission" is over, you can all go back to your regularly scheduled programming. For me, that'll be riding down to the Central West End on race day to collect some autographs, have a beer, and take in the crowd.

I hope the Tour of Missouri continues. I want the Tour of Missouri to continue. But I want the drama to be on the race course, in the midst of a first class, honest-to-goodness, Pro Tour stage race that I can see up close. Everything worthwhile seems so tenuous these days. What I don't need is a sports reporter who doesn't know anything about the sport stirring up political apoplexy.

Evolution of Style

2009-07-19T15:18:00.011-05:00

I've been trying to improve the conditions around riding the singlespeed. When I bought the bike, I took it as it sat from the shop floor and rode it home. I was thrilled with it. I still am. It's an elegant-looking bike to begin with, and I felt that bolting on typical bicycle accessories like a bottle cage or a saddle bag really detracts from the style and purpose of the bike, which is to sit in the garage ready for action. Owning a bike I can simply jump on and take off for a while with no special preparation is - or was - a great convenience. Lately though, I'm finding reality a little different. The reason?

Well, at work I look like this (really), but at home I look like this (sort of). I live in cargo shorts or jeans when I'm not in the office, and changing into bike gear is a tedious extra step. Riding in street clothes was fine for a while, and as a matter of fact, nothing beats jeans for winter riding (even if you really stand out in group rides). But I quickly found a disconnect between practicality and utility. All over the interwebs are pictures of people merrily moving along on their bikes in all kinds of get-ups: suits, dresses, cargo shorts, dress shoes, high heels, tennis shoes, etc. I don't see how they do it. For one thing, I sweat when I ride; and even if I don't, I tend to absorb the smell of my surroundings. Do they? If not, St. Louis county must be the smelliest, most sweat-condusive place on the planet.

In spite of the utility, on anything but the shortest of rides I found that jeans and street shorts tend to rub and get a little manky in the seat, especially in the summer. I solved the problem by buying a pair of these to wear under my cargo shorts. Later on, I bought a pair of these to go with them, because lets face it, summer here is brutal, and riding in Levi's or cargo shorts just doesn't cut it when the alternative is a nice pair of Zoic's. Of course, once I started wearing bike shorts, it was only a short step to athletic T's. So now I'm back to changing clothes, and the spontaneous hipster-street-clothes aspect of riding the bike is gone. And that was just the beginning.

One day I had a close call with a pile of glass. I was lucky because I had strayed a good distance from home and I would have been stuck otherwise. I started carrying a spare tube banded together with a tire lever and CO2 in the leg pockets of my shorts. Then it dawned on me that the wheels on the Masi are bolt-on. Before the next ride I remembered to grab a 15mm box-end from the tool chest. Then I thought about it, and turned around and put the tube, the wrench, the CO2, and a patch kit in a saddle bag, and strapped the bag to the bike.

The official end to my spartan urban riding came on a hot June day. I was thristy, and felt more than a little silly stuffing bottled water in the pockets of my shorts like some junior high-schooler. I found a bike shop on the way home and bought a bottle cage and a cheap bottle. The bike was now fully decked-out and so was I. Well almost.

The only thing unchanged is the pedals. The bike still sports the cheap-o platform pedals it came with. I've held out on the pedals because they are truely the utilitarian part of the bike - I can still jump on and go if the need arises. I've had more than a few instances of the need arising, and nothing is worse at, say, the moment the kids suddenly want to ride, than telling them "wait while I change my shoes". Its a buzz-kill. And while those times aren't frequent, they aren't rare either. The pedals do offer enough stability when I'm riding with the kids, but they don't begin to cut it when I'm riding on my own - especially in traffic.

Even if nobody walks around in bike shoes, I wanted to. I thought: wouldn't it be cool if there were shoes practical enough for daily wear, that also clip in, but won't scratch the kitchen floor? There is. They're damn comfy and fit my super laid-back street style too. I'm not sure what to do about winter riding yet, but I'm considering these. As for pedals, there's only one choice isn't there?

The most important thing I figured out about riding in street clothes is that I don't need to. Sure, I take short trips with the kids, or pedal to the drug store or to the gym, but I don't have to get around by bike. I'd like to, but I can't. Most of the time I use the bike to wander. I don't stop at coffee shops (or bars), commute to work, pick up groceries, or make it part of hanging out with friends. I guess what I've done is find a happy medium - somewhere this side of depending on the bike - that really suits the way I live. And my style. Without having to run around in a spandex diaper.

Who Was That Masked Man?

2009-07-12T09:35:00.005-05:00

A few posts back I posited that while riding west to Babler one Sunday, we got a lead-out from an unlikely source. I should say that while we never got right up behind this person - or even spoke - we did get close enough for what I thought was a positive ID: the Big Shark kit, the Unmistakable Look 585, the harrowing pace; it had to be the Bugman.

But no. Bugman pointed out that it wasn't him. Nevertheless, Bugman, your dignity is safe. I can assure you that this person was time-trialing-it away from us too; so he didn't want to be seen with our group of Freds either :)

But more important: who was this impostor? This interloper? It is said that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but that's cutting it a little fine in my opinion. Now we have a mystery solve.

Call to action lads! We have to be vigilant! We must keep our eyes pealed and a sharp look-out for what most surely must be a dangerous charlatan. If you see this person, resist the impulse to grab for the torch and pitchfork. Just mark the location of the sighting in your Garmin and report it to me immediately. Together we can root out this craven mountebank and make the roads safe for democracy once more.

Vertical Insanity

2009-07-01T13:21:00.018-05:00

Its hill climbing madness around here. That is to say, I don't climb hills very well, and anyone who climbs faster than me is mad. But I have a twisted sense of dedication, so its my duty to keep up with the pack. Or try to. Mostly. Sometimes.

My excuse is that I weigh alot. Most of the folks I ride with weigh about a buck-seventy or less, so I make out that the extra thirty pounds I carry is all the difference in the world. On the group rides I really like to show off my power by pulling the lead-outs, but when the grade passes 5%, I sit up and take it easy. Truth is, I'm vertically apathetic - I just can't say so in mixed company. Its not cycling-chic. One must cotton to the pain! Or speak of the suffering! Can a brother get some sanity up in this bitch?

An old hand once told me that I "smooth it" up hills. I guess that charaterizes it pretty well. I have a certain cadence and breathing rhythm that I like to maintain, and humping it up Marshall hill with a grimace on isn't smooth. More important, I've noticed over the years that the typical driver is more apt to run you off the road if he sees you hunched over the bars, grinding your teeth. They subconciously think "Fred" and try to do you a favor by putting you out of your misery. Whereas flashing a cool, confident glance from a relaxed, upright position gets you an escort plus half-dressed women and cold beer at the next light. Guess which one I go for?

So why everyone on the group ride has to try to fly up these hills is beyond me. The kids? You can't tell them anything anyhow, so I let them go on with their hill-repeats and their suffering-fests. But the older folk? My generation? Its brain washing I guess. Maybe too many Gatorade commercials and "Cyclism" reruns on Versus. I was aghast to find out that one of my Sunday compadres does interval sprints uphill "just like you see in the Tour". May the ghosts of Fat Tire have mercy on his soul.

On the other hand, riding a single-speed puts a whole new perspective on riding. Call me the Gray Hipster, but I enjoy riding a fixie more than my racing bike. Why? Because no matter what I do, I can only go so fast, especially uphill. I tend to get a better look at my surroundings, and cars get a better look at me, too. I've found that my riding is style is perfect for a fixie. That cadence and breathing rhythm that I like keeps my efforts constant, and I can get around any terrain or in any kind of traffic with more power, manuverabilty, and visibility than a multi-gear bike. Its all in the leg speed.

Its also more relaxed. When the grade gets steep, only smooth will do it on a single speed. Sometimes the only choice is to stand up and mash it out; but the effort doesn't feel the same as spinning large in the bottom chainring. As a matter of fact, it doesn't feel much like effort at all. I've tried to find the same gear combinaton on the Litespeed without luck. Experimenting isn't an easy thing to do on fast group rides, and I have to maintain my suffering facade. Nevertheless I keep trying, and so I continuously get dropped on steep hills. Not that I'm really losing anything, its just so tempting to try to keep up.

So in the interest of picking up more style points while improving my climbing power, I must first improve my explosive, mild-mannered smooth.

Too Close To Home

2009-06-18T13:15:00.006-05:00

A friend of mine was hit by a car on Doughtery Ferry Road last week, at a spot I - and a lot of you - pass regularly.
I'll let him tell the story:

[My wife] and I were riding single file along the right-hand white line of south-bound Doughtery Ferry, just where the road widens from two lanes to three lanes to make the right-turn lane for Carman Road (about a block away from the front of Barrett Elementary). [My wife] was about 50 meters behind me. It was 2 p.m. Sunday afternoon. As I recall we had a green light to proceed.

An SUV driven by a 19-year old woman talking on a cell phone cut between [my wife] and me, and plowed straight into me at approximately 40 mph, never hitting the brakes until after hitting my bike. The entire episode was witnessed (apparently) by a St. Louis County sheriff who was traveling north on Doughtery Ferry.

The SUV drove my bike seat through the left transverse processes of my lower three lumbar vertebrae, fractured my left pelvis, and broke my left femur into four pieces; fortunately the head stayed in the socket, the highest break occurring at the neck. That impact drove my abdomen into my handlebars, thrusting me horizontally off the bike to the right, into and across the righthand lane. My right scapula fractured into multiple pieces in situ (no repair possible) and broke off the end fragments of my 10th and 11th right thoracic ribs.

After four days in traction, the femur was repaired with plate and five screws, staples removed yesterday. I'm allowed no weightbearing activity of any type on my left leg and right arm, meaning I'm wheelchair bound until Labor Day. PT and OT plus lots of friends have restored my faith in humanity and the value of staying fit (the trauma and OR teams at St. Johns' were pretty convinced that I could easily have died).

That just scares the hell out of me. I think all of us have had a close call at that intersection. Fortunately my friend is alive and on the mend, but it will be a long road back.

Hi! I'm A Cyclist

2009-06-02T06:02:00.000-05:00

Wild Kingdom

2009-04-16T08:46:00.029-05:00

Here in suburbia we have the typical collection of wildlife: squirrels, rabbits, possums, small birds, and the occasional fox. The fancier neighborhoods have deer. I wouldn't say we have a good relationship with our animal brethren. Animals living in suburbia cause problems, and as a result, cause people to do strange things.

Jane has a fascination with flora and fauna - especially flora. She spends hours in the garden making everything just so. She takes pride in it. At the same time, she makes it a point to keep the squirrels and rabbits well fed by planting things in the garden they love to eat, and putting out seed for the birds by the ton. I guess you could characterize it as a sort of a love-hate relationship.

The love side of the relationship gets us endless colors and textures of flowers, all tiered amongst the ornamental trees and grasses, arranged with attention to when each variety matures, so that no part of the garden is without a blossom. There are are also herbs for fragrances and cooking (nothing, and I mean nothing, can beat fresh basil for pesto in the summertime). And there are the birds: wrens and hummingbirds, robins and cardinals, sparrows and finches and doves. There are six bird houses scattered around the yard for accommodation, all of them occupied by early spring. Those that arrive too late for housing roost in the bends of the rain gutters. Robins first, then doves, and finally pigeons; the occupancy changes marked by the size and color of the discarded egg shells that land on the walk.

The yin to the garden yang is another battle of wills. Over the years we've invested in no end of squirrel-proofing gadgets, none of them actually squirrel-proof. I've seen the little bastards shimmy up and down greased poles, unlatch locks, defeat counter-balances, chew though screen, swing over barriers like Chinese acrobats, and move heavy weights. The rabbits are nearly as cunning, and the kids have the gumption to think they're cute.

The best deterrent we ever had was a wrong-way hawk that crashed into the side of the house one afternoon. He managed to knock himself out good. At first we thought he was dead and wondered what to do with him. Then, being suburbanites, we frightened ourselves into thinking we'd run afoul of the Endangered Species Act, or the Bird Of Prey Rams Your House Act, so we left him laying on the patio. Surely there must me some law governing the disposal of dead hawks. A few panicked phone calls to the Wild Bird Sanctuary later and we found ourselves in the clear, but stuck with a hawk carcass.

He was a massive bird - almost as tall as my arm is long. The beak and the talons looked really menacing. And he was in the way. I donned my thickest pair of leather gardening gloves and prayed hawks didn't have some type of death-bite reflex. Just about the time I was reaching for him, he came-to, jerked around and stood up. His eyes looked really glassy, and he ruffled his feathers and cocked his head from side-to-side to shake off the collision. Then in one huge movement he extended his wings and launched himself up on to the the edge of the gutter. We just stood there and marveled. Then we went inside for lunch.

After lunch, Jane and I worked in the yard the rest of the day - coming and going, in and out of the house. The hawk stayed perched on the edge of the roof the whole afternoon, watching. The first thing Jane noticed was the general quiet. Then she realized that every animal within a two or three house radius had cleared off. Light bulbs appeared above our heads, and we offered the hawk everything we could think of to hang around. He was having none of it though, and finally gathered enough of himself to move on. About three or four days later, the squirrels had enough gravitas to start raiding the tomatoes again.

Lately, the squirrels have figured out how to completely detach the feeder tubes of the latest squirrel-proof bird feeders from the hangers, dropping the whole apparatus to the ground and spilling the contents. Some mornings I watch the goings-on from the kitchen window and wish I had a pellet gun. Imagine my surprise when I looked out the kitchen window and saw a flock of turkeys pecking at the ground under the bird feeder.
"Turkeys??" you might ask with a certain amount of incredulity.
Yes, I'm serious: turkeys.
You might also ask: "Where did they come from?"
I don't know. I was astonished. There were eight of them. I think seven hens and a big tom. The first thing I thought was to get a picture because no one would believe me otherwise.

One thing we're not short on in my house is cameras. I kid you not, there's a drawer full of them in the kitchen next to the sink. I flung open the drawer and grabbed a camera. Crap! Dead battery. I grabbed another. No battery! I grabbed a third. It powered up but the memory card was full! Double crap!! I looked out the window: yep, they're still there. I checked the contents of the memory card and it looked to be full of something Ben was working on, meaning it was probably worth saving. Triple crap!! I snatched the USB cable from the drawer and fired up the laptop. Once the camera was connected and downloading I checked the yard again. The turkeys were looking in the house with a sort of impatience (turkeys are said to be smart).

Finally the memory card emptied. I turned the camera on and quietly opened the back door. The birds didn't notice and kept pecking. I raised the camera, waited for focus, and took the first shot. When the picture snapped, the flash went off and the birds scattered. I got a black exposure. Quadruple crap!! I looked at the LCD again and realized Ben had enabled every possible setting on the camera- seeing all of the feature icons dotted around the edge of the screen. I turned off the flash and tried another shot but got another black exposure. I disabled a few more settings and tried again. And again. Then the birds were gone.

In all I got two "viewable" shots out of four. The best one is published above. If you look closely, you can just make out three of them under the feeder, and a few of the rest scurrying away in the neighbors yard. I felt like I was taking pictures of a Sasquatch. Really, how many turkeys can be living in suburbia? When I told the story to Jane she asked "why didn't you use the camera in your cell phone?" Silly wife.

The Hovering Cat

2009-03-27T05:46:00.036-05:00

We have two cats. Its always been that way. They came with Jane as a package deal when we were married. I'm not a pet person, but I don't mind cats, really. As pets go, cats are tolerable. They're relatively low maintenance as they tend to be self-sufficient, they're kid-friendly, and they stay out of the way unless they want something. I suppose it could be worse.

Our family has tried branching out in the pet world. We've had a few species of fish, some ants, and a snake. Various kinds of rodents have been suggested, like Guinea Pigs, hamsters, and mice, but we never seem to follow through on the idea, probably because of the snake. At any rate, none of our additions have lasted very long. Especially the fish. When it comes to new pets, I usually have the last word. I'm not opposed to extra pets - except dogs - so long as whatever we get doesn't take up too much of my time. Dogs as pets are right out for obvious reasons: being Chief Pet Taker-care-of-er means I handle the feedings and clean-up, and I refuse to spend my Saturday mornings cleaning shit out of the back yard.

Apart from a brief period of pet-free bliss in 2006, we are landed with cats. Jane is a Siamese fan, and every cat we've owned apart from one has been Siamese or some facsimile. They always come in pairs and of two distinct types: the alpha male, and the effeminate co-dependent companion.

The original pair was Vincent and Theo. Vincent was a beautiful, sturdy, flame-point Siamese - perhaps the most beautiful cat I've ever seen. He was thick and heavy and muscular, with a pure white coat. He was a terrific fighter and mouser, and ruled he the roost everywhere he went. He commanded respect. Theo, on the other hand, was skinny, slow, and sheepish. Cats have a demeanor, and if you observed Theo for any length of time, you would be convinced as we were that he was probably gay (not that there's anything wrong with that).

Before Jane and I were married, Vincent used to try to suffocate me by laying over my face when I was sleeping. It was his way of expressing his displeasure with my presence. After a time, we came to an understanding and he switched to lying around the top of my head. I actually got used to it. Not so with Theo. Theo was always under my feet. I don't like anything on my legs when I sleep, and many a night Theo found himself launched across the bed room. He never got the hint. And whether I was walking, standing, or sitting, there was me tripping over Theo. I'm surprised he was never in pieces as many times as I accidentally kicked or stepped on him. And I won't go in to the time he got caught under the garage door. But for all his quirks, Theo was a gentle, loving cat.

Right after Jane and I were married, Vincent was run over by a car. What a tragedy that was. Jane cried for hours, and Theo couldn't adjust to life without Vincent, you could tell. Eventually, Jane recovered and started looking for another cat companion. She finally found one from the same woman who sold Vincent to her. Claude was Theo's nephew, and believe it or not, you could see a kind of family resemblance. Claude wasn't a flame-point, but he had all of Vincent's other features - sleek and powerful and agile - plus much of Vincent's demeanor. He was really cool. Theo couldn't stand Claude at first, but after a few years he fell into the same sort of relationship he had with Vincent, and things went back to normal. We moved house twice and adopted three children with those cats, and they took the changes with the usual cat aloofness and disdain.

Come to find out, Siamese cats have faulty kidneys. It's an unfortunate genetic trait. So after ten years, both of our cats within a few months of each other, lay down in the living room and died. The episodes gave my children their first real life lesson, and left a void in the house that took months to fill. Ben took it hard. Explaining why his pet wouldn't be climbing out of the hole I dug in the yard is one of the hardest things I've had to do as a father. But Ben doesn't stay down for long, and one afternoon I came home to a very excited boy with a secret to tell: he had been with mom to see the new cats! Oh joy.

The current iteration of the pair is Ferdy and Cleo. Ferdy is the dominant, traditional Siamese-looking something-or-another, and Cleo is his Calico sister. Ferdy has a reckless, aloof demeanor that has mellowed a bit with age. Cleo is Theo's, well, clone - which lends some credence to our original feelings about Theo. I have the same problem with Cleo that I had with Theo: she is always under my feet or stalking my lap, and she won't take a hint. She's developed the annoyance into a routine, and we are now locked in a battle of wills.

In the mornings I like to take some of my breakfast in the study and eat it while I check email and look at the calendar and so-on. The routine starts with Cleo casually hanging around the kitchen the way cats do, rubbing back-and-forth along the corners of walls and furniture. If it looks like I might go in the right direction, she darts into the dining room and lays under the table. Once I start down the hall, I can see her eyes flash in the light as she stalks. Before I get too far along the hall, she clears the cover of the table and darts past my heel in that cat trot, angling the approach so that she gets to the door of the study only inches before me. Then, as I set my plate and coffee on the desk, its time to rub along my ankles and purr. I pull the chair out from the desk and she darts underneath and hops on the subwoofer, still purring. As I seat myself and pull to the desk she hops out to make a first attempt at my lap. If she's too slow or meets obstruction, she goes to Plan B, which is to continuously hover around under the chair, rubbing against my ankles, purring, until she can either take another crack at my lap, or I get up to leave, whichever comes first. But she *never* gives up.

Some days she gets a nice long sit in my lap. Other days she alternates her hovering with dozing on the subwoofer (except when I turn up the Panic). For two years she's maintained the same routine with no signs of letting up. I don't know why my office lap is so enticing. I don't get the same treatment when I'm out in the den watching TV. Or sitting in the kitchen. Maybe its just the routine, or the thrill of the challenge. Maybe its a sanctuary or her way of saying 'thanks'. Maybe she knows something I don't. Maybe its Theo come back to haunt me.

T'Akela

2009-03-15T10:14:00.021-05:00

nce upon a time, there was some elementary school boys who wanted to join the Cub Scouts. But there was no Cub Scout Pack at their school. The nearest pack was at another school two miles away. None of the parents of the boys had the time or the inclination to drive all the way to the other school. It was so far away, and full of boys the parents did not know. The boys were sad.

Then one day, a kind mother of one of the boys decided she would start a cub scout pack at the boys school. She went to the PTO of the school and said "I would like to start a cub scout pack at our school." The PTO had many wise people. They listened to the mother tell her story of the sad boys, and how the Scouts could turn everything in the school to gold. The PTO wisely considered the mothers story; and after much wise discussion said to the mother "as long as it doesn't cost us anything, go for it."

And the mother went for it. She called upon the Scout office and said: "I will start a new pack at our school". The Scout office rejoiced, and sent to the mother the District Executive, who wore his scout uniform, and had many forms to fill in. The District Executive said to the mother "Dear mother: read this impossibly large binder and fill in these endless forms. Then call upon the parents of your school to bring forth their boys. When they are reverently assembled, I will bravely appear again, in my uniform, clean and cheerful. For I am trustworthy and loyalty, and I will be helpful and friendly to the families, and show them kindly and courteously The Way of Obedience."

The mother set about filling in the forms. And while the mother was filling in the forms, she visited upon the playground with the other mothers. She told them of the pack, and of the coming of the District Executive. The mothers rejoiced and told the news to their sons. The sons rejoiced, and wondered how they would fit scouting in between soccer, basketball, baseball, math tutoring, art classes, and the Science Fair project. But no matter. All their friends would join. It meant swimming and camping, and the uniform was pretty cool too!

So on fateful Fall evening did gather the parents with their boys, and the District Executive cheerfully appeared once more as he promised. He passed around even more forms to the parents, then said to the mother "You, good mother, who revived what turned out to be a long-dormant pack, YOU will be the Cubmaster!" The parents were impressed and smiled amongst themselves, and the mother said "I'm not wearing that silly uniform."

Then the District Executive turned to the parents and said: "Dear parents, to the boys and to the Cubmaster you have a great responsibility!! Who among you will step forth and form The Pack Committee?! To raise money for the pack, and fill in forms, and guide the Cubmaster on her way?" The parents did look at their shoes and check their PDA's, but the District Executive held firm. Finally, after much pulling of hair and teeth did the volunteers come forth, and the Dens were sorted and the Committee formed. The District Executive looked upon his work and saw that it was good. He said to the parents "I will send to you my appointee. The One with experience to Chair your Committee until you are ready to guide yourselves. And the parents and their boys went home with stars in their eyes.

When the father of one of the boys heard the news of the pack he was happy. The father looked back on his scouting days with fondness and misty eyes, and resolved to carry on the traditions he had learned. The father pledged to himself to become Akela, and guide his boy on his Way. But the father could sense danger. He had learned long ago through many trials and much suffering to Never Again Volunteer Yourself. The father also pledged never to wear that silly uniform again.

So the father set about becoming Akela, and going to scout functions, and seeing that his boy was on his Way. The boy earned his Bobcat badge and set about becoming a Wolf Scout, and the father was proud. Then one day the wife did come from the playground and say to the father: "Good father, the Cubmaster speaks of the many traditions the cubs must uphold, like the carving of wooden cars to race, and the yearly celebration feast! For your wisdom and kindness I have named you, dear father, to sit upon the Committee and produce the feast." The father did inwardly rage, but smiled and said that he would make the best feast ever. Then the father did plod to his study to figure out feast-making, and tear apart his calendar looking for extra time.

Then after many days did The One Chair, sent by the District Executive to guide the Committee, give notice of the Gathering. On fateful evening the committee gathered at the fathers house, and lo, appeared The One Chair. And with her Delores Umbridge manner, The One Chair declared that she would rule over the committee without question, in a safe, risk-free manner, so that no organizing of pack business would actually take place. And she required of the committee to follow Roberts Rules of Order, and say the Cub Scout Promise, and talk of inconsequential things. And the parents looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders, for they didn't know any better.

However, in her exuberance, The One Chair did demand of the committee to be Trained! And so one Saturday did the parents make the perilous journey past the malls and through unending sprawl to far-away West County. For there, in West County, is the Temple of Scouts, where the oldest and wisest scout leaders are said to dwell. Find the temple the parents did; and for that Saturday the parents ate donuts and communed with the oldest and wisest scout leaders. And the old leaders revealed to the parents the Cub Scout Leader Book, and taught them the deepest scouting secrets and campfire songs. And when ended the day, the parents rejoiced at receiving their Trained insignia, and having their training cards punched. They talked amongst themselves of the knowledge they had gained. They resolved between them to wear the silly uniform, and apply the secrets of the Leader Book with enthusiasm and love.

But a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. And after the Training did the committee know they had been deceived by The One Chair. And they resolved to organize themselves according to the Leader Book and the teachings of the wise old scouts. And the father set about making attendance records, and a budget, and a website, and a resource directory, and email lists, and an activity calendar, and he did ask the other parents for input. When The One Chair discovered the fathers work, she cried: "Usurper!! How dare thee ignore the Job Description!" The One Chair assumed the father would claim the position of the Chair for himself. But the father had no such designs, and he blew off The One Chair, and worked day and night with the other parents to support the Cubmaster.

But The One Chair is powerful and can not be ignored. She complained to the Unit Commissioner, and cast spells of confusion upon the parents, so that they sent their email replies to the wrong accounts, and showed up for meetings at the wrong time. The father made copies of the Leader Book, and gave them to the parents so they would know the truth, and took control of the calendar. This caused The One Chair to cry War! and send forth her army of bureaucracy. At this point the Cubmaster was forced to smite The One Chair with a nasty email, and The One Chair did shut up.

Peace has settled upon the pack, though no one knows for how long. For the One Chair can never be completely vanquished, and those of us who know her, know she is out there still. Meanwhile, the father continues his planning of the feast, and the uploading of the records to Google Docs. He is prepared for the return of The One Chair only insomuch as to give her another chance to dispossess herself of the Obsession With The Job Description; and to get with the program and actually help with the recruiting, and drafting a budget, and organizing the den meetings. For the father knows he needs her help for the pack to succeed....

To Be Continued....

Cookies For Breakfast

2009-03-13T09:57:00.029-05:00

Beware! Advertisers are coming for your soul. Now that you're here it may be too late!

How'd you like my boogieman impression?

OK, calm down. Let me explain:

If you've never noticed (I never do), there are AdSense ads on my blog. When I created the blog, I thought it would be fun to see what Google thought belonged as advertising on my site. There was also the prospect of a paycheck from ad revenue in the event my scribblings became renown. Well, no such luck. I'm yet to earn a dime from the ads.

While they don't take up much space, I've toyed with the idea of pulling the ads and closing my AdSense account. The thought came and went, but I really didn't pay it any mind. That is until yesterday. Yesterday I recieved this email from my partners on the AdSense Team:

Hi,

We're writing to let you know about the upcoming launch of interest-based advertising, which will require you to review and make any necessary changes to your site's privacy policies. You'll also see some new options on your Account Settings page.

Interest-based advertising will allow advertisers to show ads based on a user's previous interactions with them, such as visits to advertiser website and also to reach users based on their interests (e.g. "sports enthusiast"). To develop interest categories, we will recognize the types of web pages users visit throughout the Google content network. As an example, if they visit a number of sports pages, we will add them to the "sports enthusiast" interest category. To learn more about your associated account settings, please visit the AdSense Help Center at http://www.google.com/adsense/support/bin/topic.py?topic=20310.

As a result of this announcement, your privacy policy will now need to reflect the use of interest-based advertising. Please review the information at https://www.google.com/adsense/support/bin/answer.py?answer=100557 to ensure that your site's privacy policies are up-to-date, and make any necessary changes by April 8, 2009. Because publisher sites and laws vary across countries, we're unfortunately unable to suggest specific privacy policy language.

For more information about interest-based advertising, you can also visit the Inside AdSense Blog at http://adsense.blogspot.com/2009/03/driving-monetization-with-ads-that.html.

We appreciate your participation and look forward to this upcoming enhancement.
Sincerely,
The Google AdSense Team

First, I have to stop myself from pointing out the hilarious irony of "interest-based" advertising on THIS site. But it sounds pretty big, doesn't it?

Second, I should note that that little email has created quite a stir on the Inter-tubes. But I digress.

So what does this mean for you, my good reader? It means that the End Times are approaching. It means that Google, through me, is watching your every move. It means that with the one-two punch of Analytics and AdSense, Google will set the Mother of All Cookies in your browser. A monstrous cookie; one with the half-life of a Twinkee; one that follows you everywhere you surf; one that feeds Google's bottomless appetite for the almighty dollar and increased share-holder value. I, for my shame, have wrought this upon your soul and I am sorry. The least you can do now is buy from my line of whey-cewl cycling apparel.

A few tips: if internet-based tracking frightens you, you might want to find a hole or a cave to live in. But if you prefer to keep your suburban lifestyle, you might consider ditching Internet Exploder for Firefox with the AdBlock and NoScript add-ons. You might consider ditching Internet Exploder anyway. Because if, like me, you've realized the futility of maintaining any real privacy on the brave, new, ad-supported, corporate-controlled Interwebs, you might want to consider Firefox with the AdBlock and NoScript add-ons, just to keep a handle on the amount of information you expose.

Whew! I've done my part to keep the Intrabytes safe for democracy by raising a panic about your cyber-existence. I even went the extra mile and recommended a few simple work-arounds. For now I'm going to keep the ads and the reader counters. After all, the ads might make me some money one day, and the counters make really phat graphs. Won't you please buy my jerseys?

My Great Movie Idea

2009-02-25T12:43:00.009-06:00

The other day I noticed a story in the Wall Street Journal about two formerly top-secret vessels the US Navy is trying to give away. First, there is the Sea Shadow - the prototype for all modern naval radar-evading technology. Along with Sea Shadow is the Hughes Mining Barge - a floating dry-dock that was the base for the Sea Shadow. The article says the ships are being "given away", but we're talking about the Navy here, so there is probably mountains of paperwork, unending bureaucracy, and one-or-two political hoops to jump though.

Still: rough water stabilized, diesel-electric propulsion, radar stealthy. What's not to like? Too bad it would cost a fortune to move and refit. It has to be the ultimate party boat, although it would be a little tough to fish off the back.

Then I got to thinking: what if I didn't salvage it as a party boat? What if I fit it with missiles instead? I could have endless fun making the great navies of the world think they're shooting at one another. Yeah! Even better: I'd use it as part of my dastardly plot to steal missiles from a British vessel lost in the South China Sea. Then, I'd use those missiles to provoke a war between China and Great Britain. Waddaya think, huh? Yeah? Yeah? Do you think the Navy will still let me have it?

I guess it depends. I've established I have a criminally-inclined genius and a ruthless streak, but more is required:

1. I need an organization with a name I can turn into a suitably menacing acronym.
2. I need henchmen with unusual and remarkable deformities (hard to find in St. Louis).
3. What about henchwomen with names both unlikely and sexually suggestive? (I guess I could hang out at SLU).
4. I don't have a white persian cat. Would my calico work?
5. I don't enjoy monologuing. I'll have to refine that skill.
6. Can I credibly threaten the destruction of western civilization while maintaining a PG-13 rating?

Catawissa

2009-02-08T08:03:00.007-06:00

You don't get many Saturdays like this in February. Maybe in San Diego, but not in St. Louis. None of us could pass up the 65 degree weather.

Catawissa is here. We started here. Don't ask me how we got from one point to the other because I have no idea. I'm still trying to map the route.

According to the folks with Garmins on their bikes, there is 4000 feet of climbing in the 50 mile loop we rode. I believe it. It was very hilly, very windy, and very fun. And in a testament to the Weekly Workouts, I can proudly say that I was not the lantern rouge on any of the climbs. In fact, I finished all of them either in the middle or the end of the main pack. Quite an accomplishment riding with this group.

The Art of Toodling

2009-02-06T09:51:00.027-06:00

I received a fair number of comments (four) directly and by email about this post. "Love the post" they said. "But what is toodling?" I was surprised. I thought toodling was a common term. My parents accused me of it routinely. One of my officers in the Navy used to refer to killing time at sea as toodling. In all my travels I've heard endless numbers of people use the word in passing. So how is it that toodling is unknown in St. Louis?

I don't think for a minute that St. Louis was bypassed by the toodling world. I swear I have seen people here toodle. They may not have known they were toodling though; I never stopped them to ask if they're aware. Then again, midwestern culture is kind of conservative, so maybe we keep our toodling on the down-low. It may not be polite to mention toodling in mixed company either. I'll have to write to the newspaper to find out.

But what exactly is toodling? Well, there is no formal definition. Its more of a feeling; or rather, a state of being. In essence, to toodle is to meander or relax; to stroll or drift along without destination. It's a way of satisfying the soul by clearing the mind and ensnaring the senses. There are no rules.

For example, one may toodle aimlessly. Here is a couple who have toodled together since 1968, and they are so good at it, they can wrangle lunch from their friends. Here is another couple who toodle the trails of Seattle. And here is a fellow who calls himself Squishy and photographs his toodles.

One may toodle in the name of science.

Or in the name of the law.

Here is an example of toodle-spotting.

And here is some allegorical toodling (similarities in blog style notwithstanding). Google Image will supply you no end of other examples.

One may also toodle with purpose. For instance, my wife toodles in the garden. That doesn't make toodling an exclusively English passtime, but it does attest to the international recognition of the term (or our colonial past). Of course she has refined her garden toodles in the English way. No great horticultural feats are endeavored, but certain plantings are rearranged while others are ejected, and many a weed has met its demise.

I look forward to my toodles. Judging from the hits on Google, I suspect others do to. Living a modern, suburban life, toodle time is precious. Its something we teach our children and pass along from generation to generation. I think I toodle more like my father than my mother. My mother certainly toodles like her mother. My wife toodles in something of the way of her father and her mum. My kids being Ukrainian, I'm not sure whos toodle they emmulate. Early observations of my son point towards Ivan The Terrible. My daughter is very developmentally delayed, and I can't tell the toodling from her normal function - yet. As we grow the orphanage out of her, her style will blossom, and she may develop a uniquely eastern European toodle, or borrow from one of us. Only time will tell as we toodle along.

Well Now

2009-02-05T04:57:00.045-06:00

No sooner did I post this then this was revealed. I'm sure everyone has heard about it. Of course we get the predictable malarkey like this and this. Our athletic heroes have let us down? Really? Even before activating my Wonder Twin Powers of Reading Comprehension, I understood the references to the collective "Our" - the figurative national "Us" - but it didn't stop my knee from jerking. Let "Us" down how? You're telling me some 21-year-old swimmer is supposed to be The Paragon of Moral Virtue<trumpets sound>? Yeah, Phelps' Olympic accomplishments were staggering, and we can point to him with pride as an example of athletic skill, but we're not talking Dali Lahma here. "Our" expectations of this man beyond the pool point to a very serious fundamental problem.

What is a hero? Merriam-Webster says:

he·ro \ˈhir-(ˌ)ō\ noun
1 a: a mythological or legendary figure often of divine descent endowed with great strength or ability b: an illustrious warrior c: a man admired for his achievements and noble qualities d: one that shows great courage

OK, lets review:
- Endowed with great strength or ability? Check.
- Admired for his achievements? Check.
- Shows great courage? Check.
Hmm, we just might have a hero on our hands. Wait now, there are other qualities to consider:
- Divine decent? Certainly not.
- Mythological or legendary? Uh, no.
- Illustrious warrior? That would be stretching things.
- Noble qualities? Yeah,maybe.
I don't read anything about perfect, infallible, or keeper of the national standard. You see, the "expectations" for celebrities and athletes has become the same as with politicians. Nothing short of some divine, squeaky-clean Donny-and-Marie-type creature can occupy our public space, as if to say that the people we choose to represent us are actually Heaven-sent. That goes for the people who play football, baseball, or ride bikes, or anyone on TV. How backward and deluded is that?

Try this one on for size: Micheal Phelps wants to be normal. When I was a kid, I had the good sense to choose my heroes from the non-existent and the dead. Only comic book characters have super powers, and dead men don't make mistakes, hence they never let me down. I never counted on my heroes, nor did I model my behavior after them. For instance, Hemmingway was one of my favorite writers, and JFK was one of my favorite statesmen. You see what I'm getting at? Heroes can guide you to what is possible, but not how to live your life, because heroes are - first and foremost - tragic characters.

I can only imagine the hell that must have been Phelps' world: dogged by the press and marketeers. Agents and coaches. Endless training and interviews and sycophants. And at only 18. His life was the pool. Sequestered. I bet all that taken together can make one quite anti-social. So then he achieves what no other has at 21, and what next? I'll just bet he longed to try all those things he'd heard about, but never got to experience. All the fun of being a young man: parties and a girlfriend and the freedom to explore. To be anonymous. Unfortunately it was too late, and he'd already been twisted into a spokes-model. How sick.

Phelps certainly didn't let me down. If anything he lifted me up. He showed me that he's human after all. And he acted in a way I would expect any kid with a brain (and feelings) to act who'd been swept up by marketing machines and the world press. He rebelled. And I think the only thing he's sorry about was trusting the people he was with. That will certainly never happen again.

I don't think any less of Micheal for this either. I do, however, harbor an enormous disdain for the jerk who took his picture. I can see it now: "DUDEZ!! Check out the snaps of Phelps doin' bingers my room!" That person should have known what would happen when that picture got out. But our obsession with money and celebrity knows no bounds; and good sense and discretion isn't part of growing up any more. Why should Michael be held to a different standard just because he swims well?

So now Phelps has lost his sport and his income, and may have to face the police (apparently Kellogg's doesn't market to human beings, and South Carolina can't resist a cheap headline). That's supposed to be a tragedy. I say: fly Michael, be free.

MasiMoto

2009-01-31T08:52:00.037-06:00

I love to get around on my Masi singlespeed. Its probably my favorite bike. Oh yes, riding the Litespeed is a thrill, but you can't toodle around on a Litespeed. Well I suppose you can, but it would be hard.

St. Louis isn't particularly hilly, but it does have some Hills (with a capital "H"). The Speciale Fixed make of Masi is more of a track bike, with the track geometry and spec. It came with a 48T front chainring and a 16T rear cog. That's OK for spinning around the park, but in traffic the gearing is a little steep. There have been times when I needed to Get On It, and even as strong as I've become with the bike, I can't move it fast enough in certain situations to feel safe (and not prevent knee surgery, anyway). It was time to talk to the mechanics at LBS.

LBS employs a few singlespeed affectionados, and we had a lot to talk about. In the end we decided that a 46T chainring would do the trick. They had a few in stock and set about making the swap. A few minutes into the work the mechanic discovered something: the Touro crank will only accept the 48T chainring that comes with it (something about the bevel). This was confirmed by looking through the SRAM catalog, and surfing out to the SRAM site. Of course the Touro doesn't even appear on the SRAM site any more. I surfed a little more and found this post confirming what we already knew. By that time, the mechanics had already suggested the same work-around and swapped the 16T freewheel for a 18T.

Now a new problem: the Masi also comes with some off-brand of chain. Since LBS didn't have the proper links in stock to lengthen my existing chain, I was forced to buy a new one. So, Masiguy: why the Touro crank?

In the end I'm rolling phat. That is to say, toodling with a little more confidence. It cost me a bit more than I expected, but I have just the right amount of Go (<-- is that the right way to say that?) in traffic.

~**~

Other Adjustments
One of the things I love about the Masi is the jump-on-and-go platform pedals, but the shoes I normally wear to ride, lets say I'd be better off bare-footed. I tend to pad around in these. They're comfortable and warm, especially in the winter, but the sole is really floppy. I decided I'd made-do long enough and wanted to replace them with stiffer-soled commuter shoes. Unfortunately, LBS didn't have any in my size, so I was forced to shop around. In the end I found these at Mesa Cycles. They're a bit flashier than I wanted, but they're really comfortable, warm, and feel great on platform pedals. Not to mention that I can wear them in the house and not be threatened with a horrible death.

~**~

I might have been the only rider in St. Louis not on his bike today. Yes, I missed a 60 degree January day. It happens sometimes.

The City Museum Workout

2009-01-26T05:27:00.021-06:00

<-- Check this out. That H.R. Geiger-inspired apparatus is a network of spiral slides and staircases inside City Museum. It rises eight storeys out of "The Caves". There's only one way to get up there, and only one way to get down. If you want a real of test your fitness, I suggest you round up a couple of second graders and see how many trips to the top you can make with them.

And the trip down? Well now, I won't say the slides are built for small people. Rather, lets say they're the perfect size for the area they occupy, in order to induce blood-curdling screams. Larger people (with sturdy constitutions) have to contort and hold themselves in a half-moon shape, sort of on their side, whilst holding the feet up - but not too far up. Holding the feet too high means bumping a knee cap on the safety cage at speed (yes, I'm sure). Dragging the feet slows the blistering decent in the dark and risks a collision from behind. Mastering the proper sliding form takes only a few tries.

This is by far the most fun to be had - ever - on a snowy Sunday, anywhere. We are lucky to live in St. Louis.

Where Do They Find The Time?

2009-01-25T07:57:00.006-06:00

Blogging is hard. Well really, its the keeping up with that takes the effort. If you're like me - on the work/kids schedule - you know that time is always at a premium. As I read through my list of usual blogs I wonder where the authors find the time to write their long, rambling discourses three or four or more times a week. It baffles me. What else do they do all day, to, you know, earn money?

Coming up with subjects for blog posts is never a problem for me. I have no end of half baked scribbles in the queue. Some of them are just titles. No, its finding the time to finish them. It takes me hours, sometimes days, to write a post, all depending on the thought. I can write paragraphs on the way to organizing an idea, only to find later that most of what I've written doesn't follow and I have to start over. Or I forget something. Or I add too much detail.

Then there's the distractions. So far this morning I've had to settle at least a dozen arguments, redirect and give comfort, judge artwork, attend a play, go to the store, relocate our wandering washing machine, clean out the furnace. And this is Sunday - you know, the day of rest.

Then there's the sitting down to do it. This blogging thing is voluntary, right? Sometimes I just don't feel like it. I like to be sure I have something to say rather than filling up space. But that's not what blogging really is, is it?

I also take that stuff from english class very seriously. I mind my dangling participles and my gerunds and my run-on sentences. Every now and then I can turn a pretty cool prepositional phrase. I should have slept through all that like the rest of my classmates, but I couldn't. I'll write and rewrite until it reads just right (the word processor was the one of the best things to ever happen to me). I continue the rewrites even after I've given up and published the post anyway, sometimes for days after it appears on the blog. There's always some little detail.

I'm lucky its snowing out today, otherwise I'd be off in some far-flung corner of the city running errands or riding my bike. As it is, the kids are in Snow Mode: alternating playing in the snow with thawing in the kitchen over snacks and an art project. We'll probably end up at the City Museum today which means I'll have to get organized and pack it up, putting my thoughts on hold once again.

So tell me: where do these people find the time? Maybe if I learn the secret I'll be a blogging wizard - a publishing marvel, and it'll look like I get paid to do this. Possibly? Nah...

Analytics

2009-01-12T15:40:00.025-06:00

Every now and then Google likes to remind me that there are tools available for measuring the appeal of my blog. I think I know the appeal: I have two Followers, one of whom is my wife, and I hardly ever get comments. Am I supposed to have a wider appeal? Dare I dream of an audience on the Internet?

Really, the blog is a vanity toy I use to document my attempts at youthful vigor or sketch a random thought. Everybody has one. I don't care who reads it, and I certainly don't expect to make a living at it. If I tried, I imagine I'd wind up in front of the publishing world equivalent of Randy, Paula, and Simon, having my ass handed to me for some heinous literary faux-pas.

My wife's blog though, that's another story. She can get thousands of unique hits a day depending on what group of Jesus freaks or Dr. Phil wannabe's she rankles. In real terms, that's enough traffic to sell the kind of advertising that pays bills. Even on a slow day her page rate is in the hundreds, because lets face it, there is a far wider audience of family voyeurs and moms comparing notes than there is of those who care anything about my take on local cycling.

Still, Google tools are simple to use, I was curious, and after a few months I had some pretty charts and reports to look at. The charts and reports tell me interesting things, like, that I have a semi-regular readership of eight; and that I have a "bounce rate" of about 80%. My most popular posts are about my submarine days, dealing with traffic, and the election (I always thought this one was my best post, but it certainly isn't the most popular). The Masi post gets the most referrals from Google searches.

Of my daily readers, most:
- use Internet Exploder;
- buy their internet access from a cable provider;
- spend an average of a minute-and-a-half on the site;
- wear spandex (I don't know how Google knows this).
I've had readers from nearly every state and a handful of foreign countries.

Sometimes, like yesterday, I get a spike in the number of readers. Normally the chart bumps along between four and eight readers a day. Suddenly it will jump to twenty or thirty readers then settle back down. This can happen once or twice a month. Google doesn't easily tell me what the extra readers are looking at or where they come from. I have to really dig to correlate page views to events. Most of the time I can't be bothered, but every now and then I'd like to know what's so interesting.

In Google's terms I'm pretty boring. Looking over my front page its not hard to see why: I publish a collection of gym workouts and ruminations about my rides around town, punctuated by the occasional commentary. To make it a bit more interesting I add maps of my rides, and links to sites published by riders who live around here - keeping the local flavor, if you will. No flashy graphics or formatting, just stuff by a hired hand at one of the local cube farms. So if I wanted to improve my readership, what would it take? What makes a great cycling blog?

Whenever I surf cycling, I notice the same three sites linked from the front page: BKW, Fat Cyclist, and BSNYC. They're even linked from my front page. Why? They seemed to be The Standard when I was putting my blog together and I jumped on the band wagon. To wit:

BKW is published by a pair of bike industry fixtures, Padraig and Radio Freddy, who I think sleep with their bicycles. They are so enamored of the sport and the lifestyle they feel the need to use the slang of the noun "professional" as a nominative verb, capitalizing the letters as if to shout it at you. "PRO is go!" Or, "that's PRO!" The diction is such that they belong to an exclusive club, with its own mores and customs that we casual riders ignore at our peril - kind of like we submariners did after we earned our dolphins (but I don't run around calling people NON-QUAL anymore). Over time I've come to appreciate BKW for the interviews, the clips of the various classic races, and the great insights from guys who take cycling very seriously.

Fat Cyclist is a truly funny journal. The blog is published by a fellow in Utah who calls himself Fatty. Fatty, of course, is something of a misnomer. Fatty isn't fat, he's a middle aged hobby rider with kids like me, but with a brilliant sense of humor. What's more, his wife is suffering with cancer and he's managed not only to maintain his sense of humor, but refine it. He also has his own line of cycling apparel that is continuously sold out. My Spring line will be debuting soon, and I'm hoping for his endorsement.

BSNYC is an amalgamation of BKW and Fat Cyclist. You get the wit of Fatty with the insight of Radio Freddy. When I read BSNYC, I dub over the commentary with the accent of the Brooklyn transplant who sits next to me at work. It's like having the cycling world related to me by Joe Pesci or Tony Sirico. The style is gritty and to the point, no mincing words or mixing metaphores. I mean, its New York City, for crissakes. The place where you can get laid just by doing a track stand in an alley (scroll down to the picture of a girls back). For contrast, let's see what's going on in St. Louis:
- Ewers smudged his carpet riding the rollers;
- Unit is busy defining embrocation, and still hasn't bought new shorts after his crash in the fall;
- James has the flu;
- some loony at Bugmans office shot herself in a porta-let (why Bugmans employer can't afford indoor plumbing is another matter).

As you can see, I have a long way to go before I have the kind of high-traffic, well respected, online journal that sell loads of pricey ads. I don't have the Phil Donahue/Montel Williams thing going for me, so I can't take that angle (or can I?). I'm not an cycling "insider" so I don't have the street cred thing going for me either. Maybe if I got a tatoo? Certainly I need to post more often than twice a week; and I need to make the posts - if not something funny or worth reading - at least snarky. My own line of clothing wouldn't hurt. Maybe I can have contest. Or take a few polls. Maybe I could buy Rock Racing. I'm open to suggestions....

Playing With Playlists

2009-01-04T10:51:00.045-06:00

This iTunes thingy is pretty nifty. The holidays have given me some extra time in the mornings, and I've spent the last few days putting a little organization to my music collection. There is much to organize.

In my younger days I used to traipse around the county with microphones and tape deck recording concerts. Blues Traveller, Widespread Panic, and Grateful Dead were my favorites, but I was known to stick a mic in the air for anything that made my backbone slip. I put it all away when I got married, but the hobby left me with a mountain of archived music. I'm still not sure how many hours. Lately I've dug up DAT masters from the '90's that I've never listened to.

On top of all the live stuff and the cabinet of store-bought CD's in the living room, there is iTunes: that ultra-convenient marketplace for all things media. My old MP3 player died during the summer and was replaced at Christmas with a shiney new 16Gb Nano and several iTunes gift cards. I went kinda apeshit. Between my existing collection and the Genius feature in iTunes, I collected, well, a lot.

Without being too sentimental, suffice it to say music is a big part of my life. It puts ideas in my head and gives me perspective. I grew up listening to Devo, Parliament, Al Greene, Johnny Cash, Pink Floyd, Bob Marley, Elvis Costello, Glenn Campbell, Iggy Pop, ZZ Top, the Alman Brothers. I could go on. My folks gave me my first single, "Hard Days Night", when I was six, and I played it to death on this little Playschool turntable. I bought my first album, "Houses of the Holy" with paper route money in 1973. When I was in high school, punk emerged from the ashes of disco and gave some of us a little hope and respite from the likes of Ted Nugent, Donna Summer, and Bachman Turner Overdrive. It was the heyday of FM radio and Steely Dan was there to glorify it for us. I went to my very first concert - ZZ Top at Barton Coliseum - in 1977 (I had tickets to Lynyrd Skynyrd but they never made it to town). I recorded my first Dead show in Nashville in '78.

MTV arrived just as I was going into the navy and introduced me to a new host of British bands that my wife still adores. Unfortunately we're stuck with the influence of the music "lifestyle" that MTV created - but you gotta take the bad with the good. To me, it was all too weird. I remember in the early '80's watching a video by (Duran Duran I think?) I don't remember. I do remember the song was about rejection and loneliness or something, and the scene was a girl wandering around an apartment, and then on a street. Suddenly this blender goes flying by, followed by all sorts of out-of-place objects as the scene shifted from black-and-white to color and back. What a joke. I don't have any idea what that had to do with the song, but it really typified MTV to me. I haven't looked at MTV in over twenty years, but I don't expect it would have changed much, if its even still around.

Just returned from my second westpac in the summer of '86, I found time to catch up with the scene again. I was living in San Diego in those days, and it seemed like all the music I cared about was making its way through town. I saw The Smiths and Dire Straights at SDSU. Paladins used to play regularly at a bar on the Mission Beach strip, along with Beat Farmers, The Replacements, X, Wall of Voodoo, and Los Lobos. I was in LA one weekend with some friends and caught Janes Addiction at the Wiskey-A-GoGo. And how could I ever forget Talking Heads, big suit and all, at the LA Forum? What a show! What a summer. After that I pretty-much decided I'd had enough of the navy, but I stayed on for two more years. San Diego, you know.

I have the iPod with me all the time these days. I like listening when I run or go to the gym or ride the Masi. I hook it up to some speakers when I'm putzing around the house or grilling out or playing with the kids. There is that element of exposing the kids to the influences of "my day", sort of like my dad did. Music is much more than the environmental element it was when I was growing up, but I stay true to the idea. I like to think that if it wasn't for me, there are things my kids might never hear - not while they're young, anyway. There is a crush of music vying for their attention and they already have their own idea of what's good. I don't know if they'll ever get around to exploring the live music archive. You know how boring the parents music is. But who knows?

So here's the first 50 of my Top 100 playlist. Lets see what y'all think. Comments?
Monkey Man 4:11 The Rolling Stones
Rock & Roll 3:48 Jane's Addiction
Sympathy 5:47 Jane's Addiction
Join Together 4:24 The Who
Stir It Up 5:21 Bob Marley & The Wailers
Dyin' Man 4:30 Widespread Panic
Can't Get Used to Losing You 3:02 The English Beat
What Difference Does It Make? 3:51 The Smiths
Pickin' Up The Pieces 4:26 Widespread Panic
Waiting for the End of the World 3:23 Elvis Costello
Calling Elvis 6:27 Dire Straits
In the Summertime 3:58 Shaggy
Lost in a Crowd 4:02 Rusted Root
Think 3:13 James Brown
Where I'm From 4:35 Digable Planets
Dead Egyptian Blues 3:52 Trout Fishing In America
Stay With Me 4:54 Rod Stewart, Ron Wood & Train
Stuck in the Middle with You 3:24 Stealers Wheel
Wild Kingdom 3:49 2 Skinnee J's
Folsom Prison Blues 2:45 Johnny Cash
Ace of Spades 3:06 Surf Report
Why Can't I Touch It? 6:34 Buzzcocks
One Way Out 4:58 The Allman Brothers Band
Walk on the Wild Side 4:13 Lou Reed
Hocus Pocus 6:43 Focus
Samson And Delilah 5:05 Grateful Dead
Skateaway 6:19 Dire Straits
One Summer 4:33 2 Skinnee J's
Fat Man In The Bathtub 4:53 Little Feat
Blues Prelude 4:05 Jorma Kaukonen
Two Step 6:27 Dave Matthews Band
Is This Love 7:29 Bob Marley & The Wailers
Apeman (Live) 4:01 The Kinks
Spill the Wine 4:55 War
Over the Hills and Far Away 4:49 Led Zeppelin
Godzilla 3:43 Blue Öyster Cult
Hits from the Bong 2:41 Cypress Hill
Ziggy Stardust 3:30 David Bowie
Planet Claire 4:38 The B-52's
Breakin' Down 4:01 Ben Harper
Jack (Live) 6:46 Widespread Panic
Cross Eyed Mary 3:59 Jethro Tull
Little Martha 2:08 The Allman Brothers Band
Price Of Eggs In China 3:04 Cosmic Giggle Factory
40 Miles from Denver 3:47 Yonder Mountain String Band
Nasty Dogs and Funky Kings 2:42 ZZ Top
I Know a Little 3:28 Lynyrd Skynyrd
Tomorrow Never Knows 6:15 Phil Manzanera
Down On the Corner 2:45 Creedence Clearwater Revival
One Step 11:21 Paladins

Concrete Jungle

2008-12-15T05:29:00.007-06:00

Its finally finished. Well, half of it anyway. The reconstruction of the western five miles of I-64 through central St. Louis has taken about a year and upset the balance of commuting in town. No one will deny it was worth it, though. The second half of construction (the eastern five miles) begins today.

Before the stretch was opened for traffic, the city gave it over to the cyclists and pedestrians. There was a 5k run, an organized time trial, walkers, joggers, fancy old cars, and political speech-making. The weather was typical St. Louis December, and the rain held off just long enough for everyone to have a good time. I took the Masi, the camera and my family, and spent the afternoon cruising around. Hopefully this time next year we'll be riding the other half.

Damn Vigilanties Again

2008-12-03T06:38:00.027-06:00

This subject may have been done to death already, but I feel it bears repeating for its significance. Last Wednesday, the Lori Drew 'cyberbullying' case ended in three misdemeanor convictions under the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, a 1986 US Federal law intended to address illegally accessing a computer. The interpretation of the act by the Court to cover violations of a website Terms of Service - a circumstance obviously not considered in the law's formulation - may have profound effects on the common use of the Internet under US law. Referring to an amicus curiae brief filed by online rights organizations and law professors, PJ at Groklaw breaks down the implications of the decision to support her assertion that "unless this case is overturned, it is time to get off the Internet completely, because it will have become too risky to use a computer."

I have a lot of respect for PJ. Some folk think she goes off the deep end at times, but I don't think so here. Referring to MySpace she writes:
"...If it respects this decision, I don't feel safe there. I didn't even want to visit its web site to try to find its terms of use. But according to this decision, MySpace gets to be the one that decides if we've violated their terms:
'MySpace users agree that the social networking site has the final say on deciding whether content posted by users violates a long list of regulations contained in the agreement.'
There is no recourse. They make the law and if you mess up, you go to jail. Since when do web sites have the authority to jail anyone?"

Plain and simple, the ruling says that violating the Terms of Service of a website is a federal crime. The original idea behind the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act was to make "unauthorized access to a computer" - that is, breaking in, a federal crime. Because Lori Drew violated the Terms of Service, her access to MySpace servers was unauthorized and therefore she is convicted of computer hacking. Essentially, she was convicted of using an online social network to be an idiot. Now we're all in trouble.

How is that justice for Megan Meiers? How is that justice for any of us? As the amicus brief points out, treating a Terms of Service violation as a federal offense is absurd. And this should concern you why? Well, how about if someone under 18 does a Google search (Google's Terms of Service state you must be 18)? They violated the Terms of Service. That by itself is hacking. And don't you worry, Google keeps good track of searches. How many of your children use Google to do their homework?

Orin Kerr, one of Lori Drew's attorneys, is a regular contributor to the legal blog The Volokh Conspiracy. He has a summary here, and has updated the blog's terms of use:
"Any accessing the Volokh Conspiracy in a way that violates these terms is unauthorized, and according to the Justice Department is a federal crime that can lead to your arrest and imprisonment for up to one year for every visit to the blog."

What happened to Megan Meiers was a tragedy, but it wasn't a crime. If the US Attorneys office is willing to jump in with the Torch & Pitchfork crowd and demand that Lori Drew be convicted of something, anything, just to prove a point, we all have a lot to lose. To paraphrase Oliver Wendall Holmes: great cases make bad law. Watch your cyber-ass.

45 Lbs Of Pure Awesomeness

2008-11-29T09:19:00.010-06:00

We took a jaunt to my moms house in Little Rock for Thanksgiving. Time to see family and old friends and a Razorback game (of course). This year I brought bikes - the Masi for me; and Ben chose the single speed Red Bike.

Thanksgiving day was beautiful. Very close to 70 degs and not a cloud in the sky. While dinner was on the stove I took Ben to the river to ride. Little Rock has a very unique riverfront trail system. It consists of roughly fifteen miles of bike lane and extra-wide asphalt bike path that connects the east and west parts of the city, from downtown to Pinnacle Mountain State Park.

Midway along the trail is Murray Lock & Dam. The dam sits at the intersection of the Rebsamen Park and River Mountain Rd. trails, and features a bike path across the Arkansas River known as the Big Dam Bridge. Ben and I started at the base of River Mountain Road riding east towards the dam. When we got to the dam, Ben couldn't pass it up, and took off up the ramp. This is no simple climb. But climb he did - up and across and down the other side - stopping only once to take in the view. On the North Little Rock side, Ben was so happy with his effort, he turned around and did it again - up and over to the Little Rock side.

Now back where we started, Ben told me he was tired (he'd gone 5 miles), so we called it a ride and pedaled towards the car. On the way he asked me why all the riders we passed said hello to us, and kept telling him he is awesome. I explained that cyclists are very friendly people. They thought he was awesome because he did something very few adults can do, and he looked good doing it too. I could see the wheels turning as he smiled.

At grandma's house, the dinner wasn't quite ready and some of the neighbor boys were playing tag. Ben joined the game, and I took off for an 18-mile lollypop loop of the river road done my way.

Internet Nonsense Epilogue

2008-11-25T10:01:00.003-06:00

25 business days after ordering, Jane's new soaking tub finally turned up on the front porch (in a much smaller box than the first one).

Bicycle Repairman

2008-11-20T10:06:00.002-06:00

My Winter Bike

2008-11-19T16:34:00.015-06:00

What can I say?

I went to the bike shop to look for a heavy jersey/jacket and winter shoes. Instead, I find a 60cm Masi Speciale Fixed in the corner. Its so rare to find a bike in my size sitting on the shop floor - especially something as nice as a Masi. I took it for a test ride and couldn't part with it. Kinda solves the shoe problem, huh? Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Curse you Masi! Curse you bike shop!!

Its A Series Of Tubes

2008-11-17T06:39:00.014-06:00

This is an interesting article. It brings to mind the announcement that President-Elect Obama plans to distribute his weekly address as a YouTube video posted at Change.gov. Obama's candidacy was based in part on a platform of using technology to make government more transparent. Now that he's about to take office, debates are beginning to form over how best to utilize technology to engage the public and make government not only more transparent, but more accessible. These debates are distinct from the very serious technological issues of Net Neutrality, copyright and patent reform, and Internet security, and seek to bring our whole framework of governance into the twenty-first century.

First of all, lets look at our government from an technological point of view. Government - as we technologists see it - is a legacy system written some 230 years ago by developers who have long since moved on. The developers who came after them have generally been cautious of making any substantive changes, opting instead for minor revisions and, when new features became necessary, generally attempting to follow the techniques documented in the original framework.

The original design was very Unix-like: small, elegant, and decentralized. The platform was designed by a committee that opted to compromise efficiency for performance by limiting the scope and roles of the departmental subsystems. The ten original features were added at the last minute when some of the developers balked at adopting a platform considered not user-friendly enough.

Since the original deployment, the platform has been modified a number of times with features being added and removed. Other features have been extended or deprecated, often in creative ways by super users. There has been a growing tendency for the super user to have root access without sharing the password other power users, circumventing the original platform design of decentralized roles.

Now what we have is a maintenance nightmare. Over the last 8 years we've seen the talent pool of developers dwindle. Hence, we've relied on contractors who generally ignore the existing infrastructure and rewrite from scratch in languages they make up as they go along. The work is done for expediency and efficiency, without regard for stability, performance, or maintenance costs. What's worse, the contractors knew they'd be gone by 2009, and that another group of developers would have to solve the problems they leave behind. As a result, we have one of the most resource hungry systems in the world, and the poor performance to match. For example, one job has run for 6 years and still not completed. No one is really sure what the job is supposed to accomplish, but the one thing it has done is suck up a ton of resources to attack another system and try to install a copy of our system in its place. At least our new lead developer has indicated he'll kill that job, albeit without the '-9' flag, in the hope of freeing up some much needed resources.

We need to face the notion that we somehow downgraded to the Windows Vista of governments. We had the Windows XP of governments before the last administration got their hands on it. But instead of going back to our Unix-like roots, they placed a priority on DRM and the appearance of security, and delivered a system that requires more resources than we have to run. They made cosmetic changes to the interface to distract from the fact that the filesystem is bloated and mismanaged. It was made to look modern, but at its core it was rewritten for an entirely different time and for an entirely different audience. Not to mention that its unable to defend itself against viruses and worms.

Hopefully our new developers will be looking at ways to install the OS X of governments: very user-centric with the freedom of Unix. Less gets done but people are generally happier. Or how about the Linux of governments: almost nothing is done for you, but you get the basics. And if you're determined enough, you can make the interface suit you, and have lots of resources left over for the things you really need. Either of those platforms offer the user total responsibility, and hold more promise than Windows every will.

****************************************

Yeah, well, maybe we won't get a whole new OS for Christmas. How about some Web2.0 stuff? Like Wikis for pending legislation. Only members of congress (or their staff) can make changes, but anyone can add a comment. Use a moderation system to hide frivolous comments and ensure that relevant comments rise to the top. Where a moderation system would work really well is in the thousands of public comments that are submitted to, say, the FCC when they request public comment.

Unfortunately, I get the feeling we'll be more likely to see something like this than a more complex moderation system. Note that at the time of posting, "repeal the DMCA" is the third ranked suggestion. Of course we all know the problems with the DMCA (anti-circumvention provisions come to mind first), but repealing it would also get rid of safe-harbor provisions. How many people who clicked "vote for" thought of that?

In any case, it's not as if legislators are just going to look at the top five things on the list and implement them. At least, one hopes not.

Herding Cats

2008-11-13T13:22:00.015-06:00

One of my favorite things to do is volunteer for the annual Trailnet Bike Rodeo held at my sons elementary school. Its a fun way to teach kids about bicycle safety and help them practice some basic handling skills.

The format is simple: split the kids up in to groups of four or five and get them to tell you what they know about riding their bikes. After some adjustments and a quick Q & A, its on to the handling course.

I spend the first 30 minutes with any group just fitting helmets to heads, inflating tires, oiling chains, and raising seats. Most of the bikes need a little extra TLC. Children's Hospital donates a box of kids helmets so I can replace damaged ones on the spot.

The handling course has five sections that cover the basic skills: balance, agility, awareness, and patience. The overwhelming favorite section is The Slow Race. The object is to 'race' from one end of the tarmac to the other, moving as slowly as possible, without letting the feet touch the ground or running in to one another. After that I turn 'em loose on the 'cross course set up on the playing field.

I also get a chance to talk to parents about keeping up with the equipment because some of the bikes I see are in remarkably bad shape. I always get lots of questions and do lots of demonstrations, and some of the moms are pretty handy with a wrench with a little encouragement.

By the way, if you have a kids bike between 14 and 18 inches in reasonable condition just laying around, and you think you can part with it as a kind gesture, drop me a note and I'll find it a home. I know some kids who can use a new bike.

On Election Eve

2008-11-03T13:59:00.029-06:00

Up until now I've resisted posting anything political (except this). I've tried to keep the blog focused on fitness even though I knew I would eventually sprinkle in a few anecdotes that would give away some of my unusual views. I've always been fascinated by the history of governments, the law and the courts. After all, those who can't remember the past are doomed to repeat it, or something like that.

My four years of college-level political study can be summed up in one sentence spoken by my professor at the beginning of my second term: "Politics" he said "is the art of who gets what, when and how". The art, mind you. Art is abstraction, and like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. What are we to make of a system of services whose function is enshrined in art? It was agreed upon long ago that we need no ruler, yet we have the party of the last eight years who subscribe to the notion of a "unitary executive" - a dictator. No one will deny that we are each in possession of certain inalienable rights, yet the recognition of those rights depends on the composition of a panel of nine. We all know from our elementary school days that Congress shall make no law and so on, yet those laws were made anyway, and serve each day to cheapen our remaining inalienable rights.

The first election in which I voted was the presidential election of 1980. I was eighteen. The choice that year was between the incumbent, a farmer from Georgia with a funny family, and an actor from Hollywood who was famous for making movies with a monkey. The farmer didn't seem to inspire a lot of confidence and he couldn't gain a consensus for any of his ideas. Jobs were scarce, especially for young people, and all the older adults talked about how high the taxes were, and how much more everything cost than before. Then there were some religious people who overthrew a government that our government had previously overthrown, and they took the employees of our embassy in that country hostage. The farmer said that if we gave him a second chance he could solve all those problems.

The actor was inspiring when he spoke. After all, he was an actor. He said all our problems were caused by an evil empire of people who didn't like to own stuff. He said that because of them, there were people in our country who didn't want us to own stuff either. He said he could protect us from that evil. He said that the problems with the religious people could be solved by being even more religious than them. He said that for all of us to have a job and live well, we would need a great army so no one - especially the people who didn't like to own stuff - would bother us. Strength was the answer. Strength - and low taxes. America would have its glory without all that respect and collaboration hogwash that the farmer talked about.

The actor made sense for all I knew. It was simple and easy. He made sense to my friends too. We helped vote the actor into office and he set about making country strong again. But the actor was only an actor and he believed so deeply in his ideals that he couldn't see where he'd gone wrong. We got our low taxes but the country was nearly bankrupted. We got our great army but it became a burdensome beast. Moral outrages were invented and used to justify one war after another on the citizenry in the name of better religion. The promises of health care and education and small government and fiscal responsibility turned out to be just promises, and we all stood by and watched as the public coffers were emptied into the pockets of the actors supporters.

This election year feels a lot like it did in 1980. Like there's something real at stake. The party of the actor has offered us an old man with a poor temperament and a grifter sidekick as their candidates and told us they are different. But these "new" candidates haven't said anything different than the actor did 28 years ago. Because many refuse to accept that fraud, the actor's party and its "new" candidates are willing to incite the mob in an attempt to sully what they can't keep. What a disgrace they are.

I have had enough. I've had enough of the climate of fear. I've had enough of the cronyism and graft and austerity and debt. I've had enough of war. I want my civil liberties back. I want my privacy respected. I want my retirement protected. I want clean water, good roads, good schools, and health care. I want somebody smart to run the government for a change. Somebody who isn't an actor or a privileged son, who is about my age, and who has actually had to go out and earn a living. No more old Cold Warriors. We need new ideas and fresh faces; people who can understand the shifting cultures and technology of the modern world. If I have to pay more in taxes for it, so be it. If I've learned anything since 1980, its that nothing worth having is simple and easy.

Tomorrow is a big day. Vote your conscience.

Scary Halloween Photos

2008-10-31T06:36:00.011-05:00

One of my old shipmates got in touch the other day - coincidently after I posted this. Funny, he is planning a twenty year (or so) reunion in the Spring and is looking for wayward crew. I think the timing is right for a reunion and I hope to be able to attend.

To make matters worse, he used to be the ships photographer, and apparently there still exists celluloid evidence aplenty of our wasted youth.

So...herewith is a small compendium of your tax dollars at work in the '80's. Enjoy. See if you can spot the pensive, baseball-loving blog author in amongst the gallant defenders of our great nation.

Internet Nonsense

2008-10-24T09:33:00.019-05:00

There has to be a first time for everything. Over the years I've ordered a lot of Stuff(tm) from Internet-based companies - everything from food to clothes to bike parts - and I've always had a good experience buying online. I received the items I ordered on time and in good condition, and my identity remains intact (knock wood). Me being a good-ole modern multi-tasking techie, I like using my machine for the convenience of 24-hour shopping at the same time I'm drafting a proposal, analyzing IDS alerts, writing a shell script, shuffling through my music catalog, and updating my Facebook profile.

So imagine my surprise when I came home yesterday to find a box roughly the size of a small car sitting on my front porch. My first instinct was to - of course - blame the kids. Closer inspection revealed that the box was indeed addressed to me, and was shipped from a company with which I had only days before made an online purchase. But I didn't buy a diesel engine. What could this be? Allow me to digress...

Like a lot of riders, I really enjoy cleaning my bike. Each has his favorite method and mine involves using a lot of rags - especially on the drive train. Cleaning the rags is another story. My wife makes her best effort, and she's told me a number of times she'd rather I throw the rags away if they're really greasy. Me being the insistent waste-not-want-not type of guy, would rather the rags be reused.

One afternoon Jane confronted me with the soaking tub out of the sink in the laundry room. It was obviously trashed. There was a black, greasy ring around the top inside edge of the pan, and all sorts of mucky marks and stains in the bottom. The result, she told me, of trying to soak the grease from my cleaning rags. Would I now please consider throwing the rags away? Oh, and I am appointed chairman of the Find A New Soaking Tub Today search committee.

To the Internet! was the cry. And search I did. For about 10 minutes. I found a plumbing supply house with exactly the same soaking pan for the low, low price of [see cart] plus free shipping. How's about them apples? I whipped out my trusty card and did the cyber deed. Won't Jane be enamored of my efficiency? I'll be out of the dog house in 3-5 business days.

So much for high expectations. Murphy being the wonderful lawyer he is, convinced the supply house to send me a whole new sink. While its nice looking and obviously well made, I'm afraid I'll have to send it back. Jane had a great laugh about it, and my youngest son is mad at me because he really wanted to keep the box. I contacted the supply house (online of course). Once I receive an RMA approval I can begin the Return Process(tm). Looks like my stay in the dog house has been extended another 10-20 business days. Oh the marvel of technology.

I Smelled A Submarine Today

2008-10-06T10:14:00.022-05:00

I finally got out for a long ride. On my way home, going up the hill on Clayton Rd. between Strecker and Clarkson Rds. I caught a whiff. It was faint at first. The breeze created by passing cars swirled it away. Once the air died down I caught it again, this time for real. It lasted for a good two breathes before it was gone for good.

Those of you who are Qualified know the smell. It is unmistakable. It is the combination of bodies, breath, machinery, sea air, cigarette smoke, galley food, and amine, churned through charcoal filters and scrubbers, injected with oxygen and recirculated again and again. It transported me off my bike. Suddenly I could feel the Olongapo sun and the gentle vibration of the power plant under a full bell. I could see the floating city around Hong Kong and the beautiful girls on yachts on the approach to San Diego Bay. I could hear the bustle of Yokosuka harbor, the laughter in Control, and the klaxon diving alarm. Then I was at the light at Clarkson Rd.

Next month will mark 20 years since I last set foot on a Boat. To this day I can still feel the boredom of long sea transits, the terror of submarine combat, and the tedium of the Cold War with its endless drills and inspections. It was 300 days a year at sea with people I could never forget but now rarely think about. Earning my dolphins was the biggest achievement of my life, and forever connected me to an elite class of sailor. It gave me the confidence to do all the things I have done since.

As I worked my way east on Clayton Rd I started to think about submarine life and some fun stories to tell my kids. Like the time we surfaced in a typhoon in the South China Sea. Or the time we stopped in Adak, Alaska on our way through the Bering Straights and sea water froze to the hull. Or the time we were using "dud" O2 candles for garbage weight and accidentally set the TDU on fire. Or the time we stole XO's stateroom door. Or the time we put a stuffed pair of khaki pants and deck shoes in the stall in the officer's head. Or the time the sea lion made himself at home on the Pioneer array.

Smells are a powerful thing. I don't know what combination of car exhaust, suburban vegetation, fast food, and garbage is necessary to recreate that smell, but for sure it was a one-in-a-million fluke.

Oh, and one more thing....

2008-09-25T12:36:00.011-05:00

Winter is coming. Again. I'm in the midst of figuring out what I want to do when I can't go outside. A friend of mine sent me a note asking if this might work with his mountain bike. I replied that he should take the bike out instead. He wrote back to ask what to do when it gets cold. "Buy some warm clothes" I responded.
"Wow. You're anti-trainer aren't you?" he replied.

I hadn't thought about it before, but now that he mentions it, yes, I am anti-trainer. I tried a trainer for one winter several years ago and promptly sold it. I don't like staring at the TV or out the window while I spin endlessly like a hamster. Not to be too cliché, but I have to feel the wind on my face. "Yes," I answered him finally, "its not for me but the Fluid2 is a very nice machine."

What's for me? Riding year-round. All it takes is some weather-specific clothes. My plan for the winter is the same as the rest of the year: I work out in the basement when I can't get out; go to the gym when I can't ride; and ride the rest of the time.

Understand that I'm not a serious health nut. I like to be outside. I like to stay in shape if for nothing else but my family's sake. I don't race, I don't want to look like The Rock, and have no desire to crush the competition. I just want to have fun, live a little longer, and keep trim. I want my kids to have fun. I want them to see how exercise is the fifth food group.

If my kids want to go out and crush the competition that's fine with me. I'm getting old and I can't burn up the road like I used to. I'm looking forward to the day when they can outride me, out-lift me, out-play me. I hope they pick a warm day.

Rule of the Road

2008-09-23T13:51:00.039-05:00

Nearly every morning on the way to work I end up behind a worn-out light blue Chevy with a sticker on the trunk lid that reads "I'll share the road with you damn cyclists when you share the stop signs with me". In the mirrors I can see the face of the driver. He is middle aged, probably in his late fifties, with white hair and a weathered face. He looks as worn out as the car. His appearance and demeanor reminds me of the old sods in the fishing circle back in Arkansas who hold that its all the liberals fault; or the homos or the commie unionists. Anyone or anything different is the subject of scorn and derision and the source of all the worlds woes - especially their own. There is no debate. They are certain they are right. They are the epitome of intolerance and when they are armed they are dangerous.

The guy in the Chevy looks like the last time he rode a bike was when he threw a paper route - if he ever rode at all. His obvious lack of experience with a bicycle doesn't matter to him. He seems typical of the vigilantism so pervasive today: he has abandoned reason for cliche. We're either with him or against him. We either stop or we don't.

Some mornings, after having had yet another close call the day before, seeing that sticker grates on my last nerve. There have been times when I wanted to grab the guy by the collar and give him a good shake - to ask him if he's really aware of the animosity and resentment he advocates. But I always take a deep breath and let it go because I get the sense that he probably wouldn't understand, not unlike the fishing circle, because he's not out to help solve the problem. He's only out to prove he's right.

I've written about Traffic in St. Louis before. Inside and outside of St. Louis the debates follow the same tack. "Those damn cyclists", they say. "They're the cause of all our troubles. They run stop signs and take up the lane and slow down my commute and get in the way when I'm in a hurry. Sometimes they surprise me and it makes me so startled I get angry! They have no respect, those cyclists! I'll show them respect!" And then it gets dangerous because the next step in that train of thought is to hurt someone. But that's never the *intention*, right?

Just so there's no misunderstanding, I'll lay it out like I teach it to my children: when I ride on the street, I ride for MY SAFETY. Period.

Yes, there are traffic laws and rules of the road. I understand them and I respect them. I make my best attempt to abide by them. HOWEVER. If gaining a safe advantage on traffic means taking the lane, I'll take it. If I have a clear view, momentum and the right-of-way, I'll continue through the intersection. You see, the issue isn't quite so black and white, but it is pretty simple: if I stop moving, I can't get out of the way. I don't apologize for my safety. I'm not sitting all cozy inside 3500 pounds of machine. That being the case it seems pretty obvious to me that the rules for my conduct will be a little different than those for the driver of a car. I certainly don't mean to sound flippant, but until the roads improve and the attitudes improve, I'll take whatever liberties I need to stay alive.

I'm a mature adult with a family and a professional job. I am responsible for my own decisions. I never leave my house on my bike with the goal of violating x-number of traffic laws or annoying y-many drivers. I leave my house with the goal of returning in one piece. I brook no stupidity on the part of other cyclists, either. There will always be those who show contempt and blatant disregard. I cannot account for them. Does that mean I have to pay with my life for the annoyances of some random jerk?

I know its hard for the non-rider to understand, but there's a lot more to riding in traffic than there is to driving a car. And with all the very certain angry drivers on the road today, I can't afford to take any chances. Sorry about your stop sign. Just take a deep breath and let it go. There are bigger things in the world to worry about.

Random Thought

2008-09-06T07:31:00.004-05:00

"Money" by Pink Floyd sounds a lot like "Green Onions" by Booker T & the MG's.
Don't know what made me think of that...

W00T!

2008-08-24T10:12:00.006-05:00

Here it is, weighing in at a svelte 17lbs.

We returned from vacation Friday afternoon. I called Maplewood and they told me the bike was ready. Not only that, but they'd scheduled me a 2PM Saturday fitting!

Tim had transferred all the measurements from the Cannondale to the Litespeed before I arrived. The fit took a little tweaking and that was it. I was in-and-out in 30 minutes. I took the bike home, added my Super Sherpa saddle bag and a bottle of water, and I was out the door.

First let me say: HOLY MOLEY!! What a ride! The fit is perfect, and the bike has the cockpit feel of the Roubaix. It's butter-smooth and lively, incredibly fast and almost effortless - just push the pedals and go. It corners on a knife edge, holds a perfect line, has no give under hard effort, and shoots from a stand-still like a bullet. The compact gearing makes all the difference in the world. I've never ridden a bike that climbs like this one.

So am I happy with it? You decide. I'm going for a looooong ride.

We Have A Winner!

2008-08-13T06:03:00.012-05:00

The camera in my phone sucks, but here's the new steed in the early stages of metamorphosis. I went with the Litespeed Icon.

The choice was tough. There are some quality bikes to be had these days. I spent hours comparing, reading brochures and reviews and comments. I rode around town talking to riders, coaches, and salesmen - and I think I aggravated every one of them with my questions (thanks for your patience folks!). I even got a nice note from Mark Lynskey. The hardest part was reconciling what I want in a bike with my ability and my budget. In the end, I'm pretty sure I bought the right bike for me, even if I had to spend more than I originally planned.

Here's the specs:

I'm keeping my pedals.

The bike should be ready before I get back from vacation. I can't wait to ride it.

More Improvements

2008-08-11T15:32:00.006-05:00

Saturday morning I went to Maplewood Bike to talk to Tim Ray again. I was really hoping he'd have a Ti bike fixed up for me to try. No such luck. As is the case with any bike shop I visit, really good bikes in my size have to be ordered. Tim did have a few frames to show me. I'll get to that in a minute. Before we talked frames though, Tim went back to work on the last of my "fit" problems.

Cleat position and foot pain have always been a battle. I've tolerated quite a bit of discomfort in my left foot for years. The problem is that my left ankle is off-kilter, forcing my foot out of alignment with my leg. When I ride with effort, the misalignment causes my hip to open which forces my foot to roll off to the outside of the pedal. If I try to compensate, the foot takes a lot of pressure on the ball and the arch. Ouch. My left foot is also a full size bigger than my right foot. But Tim thinks he can fix it.

First I have to stand on a contraption with laser levels that looks like a cross between a protractor and a Ouija board. I squat and alternate my weight from foot to foot. Tim takes a lot of notes. Then Tim attaches a set of pedals to my bike that are set on swivels and have a white and red bars protruding from the sides. I jump on the bike and pedal. Tim takes more notes and looks at each leg through a laser sight, followed by more note taking. After a bit of ciphering and a trip to the stock room, Tim produces a pair of Aline insoles. That's it? Insoles? Yes, insoles (and a slight repositioning of the left side cleat). Lemme tell you: Alines are the shizzle. A couple of revolutions on the trainer and I could tell the difference. A spin around the neighborhood and I knew the problem was fixed. No more numb toes; no more screaming arch. Amazing.

What about the frames? Tim showed me Litespeed Archon, Icon, and Siena frames, as well as Lynskey House Blend R220 and R320. It was nice to be able to handle the Archon frame. I've read so much about it and it really is a work of art. The Icon looks fast just sitting there. The Siena is amazingly light. Both Lynskey frames look and feel incredibly well-built.

Tim discussed the pros and cons of each frame as it applies to my riding style and needs. Then we discussed new build-out prices, and a build-out price using the components from the Cannondale. The bottom line: the R320 and the Icon appear to be the frames for me. The material seems right, the function seems right, the style is right, and the price is right. Either frame should last forever.

I left the shop to give my new insoles a thorough breaking-in. I guess I have to make a decision.

Traffic - Oh My!

2008-08-08T05:58:00.023-05:00

Riding after work means riding in traffic. Yes, road riders are always in traffic, but I'm talking about traffic, with a capitol "T". I expect St. Louis Traffic is no different from any other city. Riding close-in with cars is always a dodgy proposition, and it requires a level of patience and discretion on everyones part. There are good drivers, bad drivers, and indifferent drivers. The trick is to avoid the most heavily congested roads and bad drivers. Sometimes that just isn't possible.

One of my favorite roads to ride is Midland Blvd. Midland Blvd. is a divided residential four-lane that runs from University City to Maryland Heights. It has a wide shoulder and new blacktop all the way. The whole of Midland is a signed bike route and attracts a lot of cyclists. As you can see, even at 5 o'clock, there is barely any traffic to speak of. Still, I've had drivers get very close to me on this road.

Contrast Midland to Ashby Rd. Ashby Rd. is one of the major north-south thoroughfares in St. Louis. It is also divided four-lane, but with narrow or no shoulder, and it hasn't been repaved in years. Folks who drive Ashby are accustomed to seeing cycles dodging potholes and broken beer bottles. We (the cyclists) usually get a certain amount of leeway from motorists through the St. Ann-Overland section because of road conditions, and for the most part, drivers are very courteous. Until, that is, the road runs through Ladue. Crossing Olive Blvd., Ashby Rd. turns into Warson Rd. and narrows to two lanes in front of the Monsanto campus (see picture). Just beyond the farthest rise of the road in the picture is MICDS, a private school. Here you will find the largest collection of foreign-made SUV's outside of Chesterfield - or even Europe. Drivers through here won't give you an inch. And its not like I'm holding up traffic, either. There must be something about not being able to be right behind the car in front of you that makes driving a Volvo or a Lexus so exciting. Or maybe its the trill of passing a bicycle that's going the speed limit and brushing the rider with the right-hand mirror. Who knows?

Of all the areas I ride in St. Louis, I am the most wary of Ladue and Town-And-Country. If it were possible to avoid them at times, I would. Sure, you can run across the average idiot at any moment; but I'm always surprised at the level of impatience in these two boroughs. In ten years of riding, these are the only parts of town where I've had heart-stopping, non-provoked confrontations. I don't know if its the culture of the area, the color of my bike, the way I handle myself or what. All I know is that I get my paranoia on when I ride through Ladue.

Go Figure

2008-08-05T13:15:00.005-05:00

Saturday afternoon I got a call from the bike shop to say that my ride was ready. What a nice surprise. And there I was thinking I'd be without it all weekend.

I'm determined to get in a few 50- or 60-milers, and at least one 80-miler before this years Three Rivers Century. Now having the bike, I thought Sunday morning would be a great time for a long one. But where to go?

I was looking over the Epic West County Ride and noticed it looked a lot like the Tour of Wildwood. I remember that ride being a lot of fun, so I opted for 58 mile amalgamation of both - me not being a very enthusiastic early-morning rider.

I hauled myself out on Sunday morning and took off around 6:30. As I approached the intersection of McKnight at Clayton Rd., I see a 20-rider peleton going west on Clayton, and I jumped in with them. It turns out I'd latched on to the Sunday Morning Ride. I sat in with the SMR a few times in 2004, but I'd rather sleep in on Sunday, and since then I'd forgotten all about it. The group membership has changed, but its still very friendly. They ride a 40 mile west county loop every Sunday, year-round.

I stayed in the pack through the turn at Strecker Rd. At that point the group always splits in to three: the long riders continue on Clayton, the racers jockey for position to make up the lead group, and the cruisers fall back. I stayed with the lead group for a while then decided to drop out to conserve energy.

As I turned west on to Kehrs Mill Rd. I looked up and saw a squal moving in from the north (huh? there was no rain predicted...). I'm about as much for riding in the rain as I am for riding in the morning. I turned around and tried to catch the lead group, but by then I was well-and-truly dropped. I guess I was in for a hard effort after all. I made it back to Ladue before the rain caught up with me, and I had to shelter under one of the store fronts in that little business strip on Clayton Rd. I didn't stop for long, but it was just long enough to go cold. Once the rain subsided a bit, I limped on home. Wouldn't you just know it.

Even though I didn't get the distance I wanted, I still got 40 miles, and averaged a respectable 21.6mph for the ride, so I guess it wasn't all bad. Maybe next week?

Oh, and yes, I did ride yesterday. If you have time for a ride, why not ride? I think it was around 110F when I started. I opted for a soft-pedaled 25-miler over the shady streets of Webster Groves (and it was still hot).

Trek Madone 5.2

2008-07-30T10:04:00.015-05:00

I rode over to Maplewood Bikes to check out a Trek Madone 5.2. Its hard to believe that the same basic ride used to win the Tour de France three years ago is a box bike.

The specs for the Madone are basically the same as the Roubaix; the difference being 23c race tires on Bontrager rims, a 53/39 front chain ring, and about a pound heavier.

A quick aside: the service I received at Maplewood Bikes is the best I've experienced at a bike shop - ever. The shop has changed quite a bit since I bought a Trek mountain bike there in 1998. Tim Ray worked with me. He is about my age, and really seemed to understand my approach to riding, and what I want in a bike. He spent an hour fixing the fit problems I have with my Cannondale before he even looked at the Madone. The fixes included a new stem, new handle bar position, a change in saddle height and position. The changes made the Cannondale really comfortable. The pressure came off my shoulders, my back no longer felt over-stretched, I had full leg extention (more power!), and for the first time since I can remember, my feet didn't go numb or ache after a ride. Amazing.

By the time Tim finished all his adjustments, it was late. I had planned to take the Madone out to Marshall Rd but there was no time. I opted for a basic 20-miler through Webster Groves.

So...the Madone. I don't know what the hubbub is about. The bike felt dead to me. There was no zip - no glide - not like what I experienced with the Roubaix, or even the Cannondale. It seemed like I had to work constantly to keep the bike in motion. Handling was OK. Climbing was pretty good. Cornering was sharp. The bike was stiff. There wasn't much else to it. I don't know if it was the gearing, or the combination of components, the frame, the meticulous fit, the weather or what. The bike just didn't impress me.

I'm not really sold on carbon anyway. Yeah, its light and stiff, and the bike material du jour, but it also seems really fragile. There is an image in my mind of a rider hitting a divide marker in the road during a stage of this years Tour. The rider came away from the bike, and the bike shattered against the marker. The whole frame gone. Closer to home, I read in the blog of a local time-trialist how he cracked the top tube of his carbon bike just by running into a ditch. I've had my share of crashes, and I couldn't afford to replace the frame if something like that happened to me. What about regular repairs? The seat post on the Madone is part of the frame. Could I clamp it to a stand? I doubt it. I'd probably have to buy an adapter of some kind.

Back at the shop, Tim and I talked at length. For one thing, I'm sold on compact chain rings, and a compact chain ring is not an option on the 5.2. For another, at $3700, the Madone is way out of my price range. For that kind of money, I want a little more peace of mind. Tim gave me some other options: What about a different level of Madone? Or why not buy a good frame and move the drive train over from the Cannondale?

I like the good frame idea. I've never ridden a bike with a titanium frame. I'm told its nivarna. I made an appointment with Tim for next week sometime to try a Serotta or a Lightspeed (who wouldn't like to have a Serotta?). We'll see....

Quirks

2008-07-28T09:19:00.007-05:00

After we picked a peck of peaches for our Sunday family outing, I had time for a quick 20-miler in the afternoon. I wanted to take the Cannondale out while the feeling of the Tarmac test ride was still fresh.

I still feel over-stretched on the Cannondale, even with the handle bars repositioned approximately to the Tarmac. There is still a pressure point where my shoulders meet my neck that forces my back out of position when I try to compensate. I could definitely feel the saddle. After about 10 miles, as usual, my left foot started to ache, with the feeling that the foot is folding over the outside of the pedal. And of course I could feel every imperfection in the road.

It doesn't take much to move the Cannondale off a line. The slightest repositioning of the hands or on the saddle causes the bike to shift or change directions. I think this is what some describe as "twitchy" or "nervous" handling. Its quite a contrast to the Tarmac.

On descents and in corners, the back wheel of the Cannondale always feels like its following the bike. I've pulled up from many a turn for fear of the feeling the back end was going to come away from (or roll under) the bike. Standing on the pedals for quick accelerations or climbs, I can feel the bottom end give. Sometimes it feels like the bike moves away from me or folds, or is just plain mushy. I doesn't help that my left foot feels like I'll push it off the side of the pedal if I apply too much force. And there is certainly a difference climbing with a 50-tooth (or 34-tooth) front chain ring as opposed to a 53-tooth (or 39-tooth). The compact feels smoother, and allows me to find my cadence much faster.

...And Maybe A New Bike

2008-07-26T07:42:00.017-05:00

I've had my Cannondale R700 for a long time. I bought it at the end of 2000 with the intention of riding more-or-less full time (this was before children). The bike has some quirks that have taken some getting used to. For one thing, Cannondales are a notoriously rough ride. Over the years I've had several riders comment not only on the size of the bike, but on the rattling a Cannondale can give you over distance. Well, having never ridden another semi-high-end road bike, I wasn't in a position to comment on the size compared to other bikes, but I can attest 100% to the ride.

My Cannondale is a 63cm bike. That's a large bike, but I'm a large guy (6'3", 205lbs). Several of the mechanics at the bike shop where I bought it insisted it is the proper size for me, and I took them at their word. Over the years I've had several "fit" sessions, a different saddle, new pedals and shoes, and a different stem. Still, the difficulty of riding the bike over distance or in certain situations persists. As I get older, my body is less able to tolerate the quirks of the bike. My shoulders are beginning to ache, as are my lower back and feet. I figure its time I recognize my discomfort for what it is: a lost cause. After all, if you spend a bunch of money on something, its hard to admit to a bad decision. I think eight years is long enough, though.

Between the group rides and the magazines and the Tour, none of the experiences of modern road bikes are mine: stiff, comfortable, responsive, balanced; so its time to go to the bike shop for comparisons. I see a lot of Specialized bikes in group rides. Their owners swear by them. Mesa Cycles sells Specialized bikes, so my first stop is Mesa Cycles.

At Mesa I talked to Matt James and Chris Connelly. After listening (patiently) to my story, Matt suggested a Specialized Tarmac SL. There are major differences between the Tarmac and my Cannondale: size, weight, fit, materials, and gearing. The Tarmac I rode is a 59cm all-carbon bike with a compact front chainring and 25c tires. I think it weighs about 14.5lbs (at least 5lbs less than the Cannondale). The handle bar is turned slightly higher than the Cannondale but the saddle height is the same. The difference in the ride is so night-and-day I was astonished. The Tarmac has a cockpit-like feel. You simply sit, comfortably, with arms slightly forward on the shifters, but not over-stretched. There is no pressure on the shoulders or the lower back. The position keeps the chest open for breathing and allows full power from the legs. Its almost too easy: push the pedals and the bike goes forward - really fast.

I did not feel the road (carbon frames are amazing!). My feet never complained. The handle bar is extra fat and riding in the drops felt natural. Moving the bike is effortless. Cornering is sharp. No matter how I wiggled and turned in the saddle, the bike held a line. The biggest hills right around Mesa Cycles are Skinker Rd. and Art Hill >Government Dr. in Forest Park (I was afraid to go too far just in case...). I rode both hills a few times in the upper and lower chain rings, and whether sitting or standing, the bike simply transfered the power from legs to the back wheel. I spent the rest of the ride enjoying the undulating roads of Richmond Heights. The compact chain rings really make a difference on St. Louis terrain. I don't race, so losing three teeth up front shouldn't be that big a deal.

Have I really been riding the wrong bike all this time? Back at the shop, I told Matt I had a lot to think about. I really appreciated his help, candor, and choices. The Tarmac is bit out of my price range ($3300), and I want to try a few other bikes. This is going to be an interesting quest.

New Shorts!

2008-07-25T09:48:00.002-05:00

For my birthday last year, my wife bought me a pair of Descente shorts. At the time, I only had one good pair of road shorts, and an extra pair seemed like an extravagance. After wearing them for a few rides, I can say they are head-and-shoulders above my old pair of Pearl Izumi's. I can see why the Descente's cost nearly $200/pair. Really, they fit; they make long rides comfortable and my saddle seem plush. Not to mention that I no longer have a problem with numbness. I believe they are the reason I finished last years Three Rivers Century still ambulatory.

I was talking to my wife about these things, the Tour, and other cycling tidbits I like to lay on her. She does a great job of pretending (at least I thought) to be interested, smiling and nodding her head at the right times.

After her regular weekend grocery run, I noticed my middle boy (a very precocious seven year old) had a Big Shark water bottle. Where did that come from? I asked him about the bottle, and he told me it was a secret that he and mom went to Big Shark to buy some cycling clothes. Really? I promised to keep the secret and helped him carry the groceries inside. Putting everything away, my wife asked if I planned to ride that afternoon. I said yes, and my boy came charging in to the kitchen to tell me the "secret".

The Secret was a new pair of Descente "Strada" shorts. The top-of-the-line kind. I wore them that afternoon, and they're everything they're said to be. They fit as well as my birthday pair, are every bit as functional, and just a tad more comfortable. I'd rate them as "Worth It".

Thank goodness for my wife because this kind of gear I would never buy for myself - as good as it may be. If you think there's nothing to the notion of good shorts being necessary for long rides, think again. Do yourself a favor and spend the money. Or get yourself a good wife and let her do it.

First Post!

2008-07-09T15:17:00.026-05:00

I like to ride my bike. I'm one of those "just ride" people who has no particular destination and gets there at no particular speed. I'm faster than some and slower than others. I like a challenge but I don't race. My jersey isn't festooned with logos and slogans. I don't do intervals or hill repeats or sprints or criteriums. I don't care about the latest gear or go-fast supplement. I don't count calories, measure watts, monitor my heart rate, or track my performance. I am not "on the scene".

I read an article in the June edition of Bicycling magazine about a fellow who lives in Colorado and eschews "the scene". I thought my approach was unique, but here's a guy who actually makes a living at it. Granted, he runs a bike shop and has the best equipment supplied to him by the biggest manufacturers, but his philosophy is simple: just ride. He also derides competition and considers it a persons duty to abandon everything else in life to ride. I wouldn't take it that far (though sometimes I wish I could quit my job and ride all day), but at least we share the core philosophy. Of course, the tone of the article seemed to frown on his attitude because it makes a mockery of the lifestyle the magazine tries to sell. After all, sport cycling is big business. A person can spend all kinds of money on cycling - same as any hobby. But its the lifestyle - the image - and all that goes with it that I think creates a disconnect. That is, the amateur athlete equipped like a pro, eating like a pro, training like a pro.

I have a wife, three kids, and a full-time job. I'm way over 40. Its obvious that no one is going to pay me to ride my bike, unlike the guy in Colorado. So what do I need with Chris Carmichael or Selene Yeager? And what am I doing reading Bicycling Magazine? Well, its fun. In a way, Bicycling magazine is pr0n for cyclists. I mean, what rider wouldn't like to get his hands on a Pinarello Prince or a new carbon Willier? And all those glossy photos. Plus Chris and Selene offer good riding tips. The point is, cycling all on its own is fun. I don't like to wear spandex because it makes me fell silly. But if I can force myself to get kitted up, I'm happy within two minutes of getting on my bike.

I like riding with groups too. I don't make the group rides that often because of my schedule, but when I do, I like to make the most of it. Occasionally the rides become a go for some imaginary yellow jersey - it depends on who shows up - but that's the nature of the group ride. And sometimes I can keep up. But even if I get dropped I always have a good time.

Over the years I've seen a lot of bicycles hit the road around where I live. I know very few riders though. What I do know is a few good routes around central St. Louis. Google maps is a brilliant thing, and I've begun using it to sketch my rides. I will post them here, along with other random saddle droppings. Maybe some of you can use the maps for reference. Or maybe I'll see you out there.