Wee Doggy

The ride home was the perfect inverse of this morning's commute: I was warm, I was fast, and I had fun. Remember what I said earlier about kissing and kicking? As if to make up for my hellish ride, Ma Nature puckered up big treated me to a good time.

The wind was at my back going both West and South, which is exactly the two directions I go on the way home. I didn't even need to stand up on the pedals over El Overpass-o Grande.

Coming down the back end of that thing is always fun for me; if the light right at the bottom is green I gun it and get to keep up with cars until the next light where I make a left turn. If it's red I slow to a stop waaay early and perch on the side of the hill waiting for the light to change before diving in. I always feel like a peregrine falcon.

It's the Great Balance of Being Outside. Sometimes (more often than not, if you look at it correctly) it's awesome, but others it can be a pain. I think a lot of people, locked away in their cars, focus on the bad. When it's a nice day outside they probably don't even notice the sunshine and cool air in their climate controlled, noise-deadened coffins.

But when it's windy and cold, and the rain is coming down or the defrost is on full blast, that's when they're paying attention to the weather. And that's when they look out to see cyclists and shake their heads, labeling us as crazy bastards for subjecting ourselves to the Out of Doors. And that's what they remember when someone talks to them about commuting by bicycle.

'Tis a shame my friends. 'Tis a shame.

Oh, and I did have a near-encouter on the way home. A variation of my commute takes me right by the parking lots and garages of some downtown police buildings. About the time I'm coming home cops a plenty are walking down the sidewalks, BSing before they head out to home or wherever.

As I was passing the lot, a line of two or three cars was on it's way out. The first car had plenty of space to get on the road before I got there, but the second in line was apparently gabbing to some of the fine citizens on the sidewalk over the passenger seat and through their rolled down windows. I smelt trouble.

With a wary eye I watched them and started to move out into the left lane to give me a good amount of buffer zone while moving my hand to the brake in case something went down. As expected, they started pulling out while still talking and I began evasive maneuvers. Someone had the presence to shout at them and they stopped before I had to really dodge. I gave a subtle stink-eye to the driver and nod to the group of Protectors & Servers that helped me out.

It's late and Stir of Echoes is on. Plus the hookah is providing me with sweet strawberry-flavored enjoyment, so I'm outy.

Take care!

- David

Hey-soos Christo

It seems I'm getting into the habit of starting a post for one reason but starting it off with something totally unrelated.

In that vein, I'm sad about all of the cool shit that's going down in the cycling world. Alley cats, monster tracks, roller races, you name it. People are getting rad all over the world in groups and I'm over here in southern Virginia with nary an event to throw myself into.

I think I saw about six cyclists doing a Critical Mass ride once as I was meeting friends for sushi, and at random times I've seen a huge heard of spandexed cyclists with a dozen blinking lights each race by the ferry landing, but that's it.

If anyone is in Hampton Roads and wants to get more cycling events going, let's chat. And if anyone anywhere has info on how to setup the rig for a roller race, I'm all ears. I think I could make it a very popular event in my part of town.



Coming back to the title and original reason for this here chicken scratch, today I had the hardest ride ever.

I don't care what Weather.com, Wunderground.com, and Wavy.com (my local news) says, the wind today had to be like twenty miles per hour or more right in my face. I could not get speed to save my life. And as I've sorta stopped checking the weather before I leave the house it was a total surprise. But I knew I was in for it when five minutes in my legs had that deep burn in them.

I'm ashamed to say I caved, if only for a moment, but I caved. As someone who's been in an accident directly resulting from riding on the sidewalk, I've been staunchly opposed to it for a number of reasons ever since. And until today, no matter how slow or tired or fat I was, I never ventured back there. Forgive me Hogfather, for I have sinned. It was only for half a block or so, but I feel burn of the scarlet "S" upon my chest.

Luckily I had remembered to bring some facon with me to work, and that made me feel better.

Sometimes the wind is kissing your ass, and sometimes, well, it's kicking it instead. Happy trails.

- David

Mornin'

Firstly, a job I think I could get into, courtesy of How To Avoid The Bummer Life:


How sweet would it be to pedal backwards on random days? Pedal quickly through the work-week then slow that biotch to a crawl on the weekends.

Nextly, today was windy, cloudy, and surprisingly warm so I had the pleasure of forgoing arm warmers and hoodies and took the Merckx jersey out for a spin.

I don't know if it was the lack of multiple layers, momentum from rushing out the door to make the ferry, or some sort of special power from the jersey, but I was quick today. Big cadence, lots of staying power, and a good run of green lights.

Hell, coming down a large overpass I was keeping up with traffic for a block or two. As I was climbing said overpass a car with four blue collar joes paced me, all four faces in my direction until I noticed them. Must have been doing good.


Alrighty, I should so something besides blog reading & writing. I am at work after all.

Drink some water.

- David

Hobos & Legs

Before I jump into the strange occurrence I had this morning on the way to work concerning an overpass, a possibly homeless man, and an invitation to engage in intimate activities, let me first direct your attention to the image on the left.

To these eyes (and the eyes of my galpal) my legs are pretty awesome, and while I'm aware I don't have the Best Legs Evar, they are pretty sweet. My thighs are large and getting noticeably cut for a one-hundred and thirty pound boy, and my calves aren't half bad little heart-shaped things either. But good lord, they aren't large enough to make my kneecaps look recessed

Now, I've been toying with the notion of finally putting an 18-tooth cog on my bike for a while, and in my head the debate boils down to easier spinning or more speed.

The gear ratio I run now allows for some good speed, but the stop/start stuff is tougher, as are hills. Adding the new cog would make it easier to get moving at stoplights and such and less work to get up steep inclines, but my overall speed would probably suffer. So the dilemma.

Until today I'd nearly decided to just stick with my trusty 16-tooth gear, chalking it up to being tough and not pussing out. The above photograph of a racer's legs has clinched it. I want legs like that. Shame on me for trying to show my body any mercy.

If I want to learn to spin faster I'll just get me some rollers.

During my commute I've been yelled at a few times, and always by motorists. Once I was even hauntingly moaned at by a USPS driver who wanted me to ride on the sidewalk but didn't want me to know who was going, "Geeeeeet oooooooon the siiiiIIIIIiiiide waaaaaaalk..." like some ill-informed ghost.

Mostly it's people shouting crap I can't hear because the roar of their engine and the speed at which they are passing me drowns out the message they half-roll down their windows to hurl at me. You can mostly catch the gist though, which is invariably "Get off the road."

As I crested the last of my overpasses I saw a man on a rusty but functioning commuter-style bike pedaling serenely in the road's shoulder, looking like he didn't have a care in the world, despite his slightly-homeless appearance. "Hey," I thought, "A fellow commuter! I shall ride up next to him and we can exchange pleasantries as we make our graceful descent."

Imagine my surprise as I slowly and respectfully came abreast the traveler and, as he looked down at either my shoes, my makeshift knickers, or my bike, started yelling "Trash! Trash! Trash! Suck my dick!... (at this point I hadn't said anything and just decided to keep on pedaling, leaving him behind) ...Get me a blowjob! [Something something] that mouth, girl!"

At this point I was at the bottom of the offramp and after checking for traffic continued on my way. I glanced back to make sure he wasn't coming after me with some sort of crazy hobo jousting stick, but couldn't see him any more.

It was like I had just seen a kitten give birth to a yak that glared at me with burning red eyes and had said simply, "Keep moving." I was too stunned to react, I could only observe and retell.

The one thing that keeps sticking in my mind is that he didn't even look directly at me before launching into his tirade. He simply glanced down towards the center of my bike and started yelling. Was it my shoes? Does he hate silver and Velcro? Maybe my rolled long-shorts legs? Could this explain the confusion as to my gender? Or was this an early adopter of the inevitable backlash that will one day whip across the fixed-gear trendies like an angry tsunami? The world may never know.

But you can bet your ass if I see that guy again I'm not stopping for a quick chat.

- David

Excuse Me While I Become "That" Vegetarian

If only for a brief moment.

* "At about 5 percent of the world’s population, [Americans] “process” (that is, grow and kill) nearly 10 billion animals a year, more than 15 percent of the world’s total."

* "An estimated 30 percent of the earth’s ice-free land is directly or indirectly involved in livestock production, according to the United Nation’s Food and Agriculture Organization, which also estimates that livestock production generates nearly a fifth of the world’s greenhouse gases — more than transportation."

* "If Americans were to reduce meat consumption by just 20 percent it would be as if we all switched from a standard sedan — a Camry, say — to the ultra-efficient Prius."

* "2.2 pounds of beef is responsible for the equivalent amount of carbon dioxide emitted by the average European car every 155 miles, and burns enough energy to light a 100-watt bulb for nearly 20 days."

* "Though some 800 million people on the planet now suffer from hunger or malnutrition, the majority of corn and soy grown in the world feeds cattle, pigs and chickens."

* "Agriculture in the United States — much of which now serves the demand for meat — contributes to nearly three-quarters of all water-quality problems in the nation’s rivers and streams, according to the Environmental Protection Agency."

* "We each consume something like 110 grams of protein a day, about twice the federal government’s recommended allowance; of that, about 75 grams come from animal protein...It’s likely that most of us would do just fine on around 30 grams of protein a day, virtually all of it from plant sources."

Meanwhile, meat is also a contributor to health problems from obesity to heart disease. Eating less meat is definitely a case of happier people, happier planet. Professor Eshel of the Bard Center told Bittman that when it comes to lowering meat consumption, “The good of people’s bodies and the good of the planet are more or less perfectly aligned."

- From Mark Bittman's article "Rethinking the Meat Guzzler," published in Sunday's New York Times.

I've been vegetarian for about two years now (I believe) and there's been no adverse affect on my physical person. I put myself through some pretty serious physical exertion six days a week and there's no lack of energy or under-fed muscles. So no matter what Rosanne says, we Veggies can indeed raise our heads off the table.

Slipping back into my normal, non-militant ways, I don't think everyone should stop eating meat. Hell, even His Holiness the Dalai Lama has to eat meat half of the year for health reasons. But I think we can cut back, both for our personal health and for the environment.

Today is sucking already for a couple of strange reasons so I'm gonna go and try and get on top of it.

Stay cool.

- David

I Do Math Good

Let's look at some numbers together. Just a disclaimer: I am officially a Math Retard. I have a plaque in my office and everything. So if anything here is wrong, I'm sorry. I'm sure my #1 Reader (take a bow, Baby Snakes) will let me know and I'll correct it, sharpish.

Let's do some rounding first, to make things easy for me. Gas is going to be calculated as $2.70 per gallon. That's actually rounded down for the cheapest unleaded stuff where I live now, which I normally don't buy. As a Buddhist I always get mid-grade, but fuel prices have forced me to one side.

FuelEconomy.gov says my truck gets a combined gas mileage of 22 MPG, but for the sake of my crippled math lobe and because even on the highway it's jammed as hell, we're going to say 20 mpg. This is what the guv'ment has listed as my city mileage. Just from experience, I'd say it's closer to 20 MPG more often than not. She has a few miles on 'er.

My drive to work is 8.2 miles and takes about half an hour in the morning. Coming home it takes a little over an hour most days, but never less than forty-five minutes. Lots of stop and go.

So that means weekly, if I just went straight to work and straight home, I'd drive an even 82 miles a work-week. If my math is correct, that's $11.07 a week. Not counting running errands or going out to see people on the weekend. So $44.28 a month, which is $531.36 per year driving to and from work alone.

And that's just to my job. The lovely and beautiful Kasey McKaserson works an additional 11.5 miles past where I do. So if we carpooled (and we do when I don't bike) the numbers would jump to $26.46 a week, $105.84 a month, $1,270.08 a year.

In 2005 the average American drove 284.5 miles per week, according to MSNBC. For me that would come out to something like $1,843.68 a year in gasoline. Add on top of that a car payment (a lot of us don't fully own our vehicles), insurance, maintenance, wear and tear like tires (those things are surprisingly expensive), etc, etc, and you have a lot o' cash leaving your wallet.

But this isn't really news to anyone. I don't know a lot of people that aren't struggling or at least annoyed with the amount of bills they have to pay.

This is all just money, what about our time? The only place I've never seen traffic jams is in south-east Idaho, where traffic cops give out more tickets for over-watering the roads than for traffic violations. If you work anywhere near the classic 9-to-5 then you are well aware of the wasted time and aggravation Bad Traffic brings with it.

In 2002 CNN reported:

"Based on the analysis of 75 U.S. cities, the annual Urban Mobility Report from the Texas Transportation Institute finds the average rush-hour driver -- not just commuters, but all drivers -- wastes about 62 hours in traffic each year.

That's not total travel time, that's just the extra time spent going slow or going nowhere because of traffic congestion."

I'm sure that number is higher by now.

And what do we do with the more than 2.5 days of our lives per year spent sitting in traffic? We stress out. We get angry and impatient. We drink coffee and eat fast food. We get unhealthy and fat.

Riding a bicycle whenever possible can take care of a lot of these problems.

Even if you can't commute to work (because not everyone can), 40% of US urban travel is 2 miles or less. Quick trips to the grocery store to pick up the one or two items you forgot you needed, grabbing a movie or video game from the rental store, hitting the post office and the bank, going out for food at your favorite local spots, or drinks a nearby public house, all can be done easily and joyfully on a bike, or even on foot.

A lot of the places we frequent are near; that's why we live in cities. And a car isn't necessarily a requisite or the best method to get there.

You never have to circle the block or wind through a parking lot looking for a space to park. There's no such thing as bad traffic or traffic jams. While you're riding around checking items off your errand list, you're also strengthening your lungs and heart and burning calories. Later on you are completely justified in having that dessert/third beer/late evening snack. Your bank account gets a break, as does the air we breathe.

But most of all, it's enjoyable. It's a cheap, stress-free, constructive way to do something that's simply fun as well as extremely useful. While road trips and the occasional booze-fueled drag race are good times, not since we first got our licenses or that brand new car has driving itself been fun. It actually becomes sort of a pain as we get used to the novelty of going fast without effort and start to realize all of the aforementioned strings that come attached to it.

All this is really me trying to talk you into riding The Noblest Invention. And since I did strain myself to do actual math besides figuring out how many donuts out of a dozen I have left to eat, you should at least humor me and give it a try. I guarantee you'll be hooked if you give it half a shake.

- David

Mmm Hmmm.

Found this over at Urban Velo, and it mirrors my own thoughts (and other's) on the Human Machine. This is the type of commercial I like to see.


Get out and take care of your beautiful machine today. Eat some good food, drink some good beverages, go outside and get cold, come back in and get some, run, jump, bike, sweat, nap, and smile.

Amen.

- David

*EDIT*

I think I like this one even better!

Friday Picture Fun Session

U <3 p1ct0rs

Working for me has it's benefits.


Arm warmers and stomach warmers.


I can't remember if I posted this one or not yet, but there you go.


UFOs on a foggy night over a battleship.


Someone really needed the eighth floor.

Have a good weekend!

- David

Hells Yeah

Courtesy of How to Avoid the Bummer Life, which I hope one day to contribute to.

In non-print news, I fell victim to one of the dangers of bicycle commuting today: I left a crucial article of warm weather clothing in my truck. There I was, staring twenty minutes of cycling in near-freezing weather in the face without my trusty wool arm warmers.

I swear, lately I'd forget my head if it wasn't stapled to my body. Earlier this week I had a scare when I thought I left one warmer in the mall. I was actually sad! I'm attached to the little guys.

Luckily my hands seemed to have lost feeling after five minutes or so and my arms warmed up due to internal combustion shortly thereafter. I didn't realize my hands were numb until the warm shower water made them feel all tingly. Guess I'm getting tougher. Or more easily distracted from physical discomfort, which is probably the same thing.

A friend o' mine texted me last night and stated he was thinking of bringing a spare bike of his over for the ride on Saturday morning, saying, "...thought you may want to try some gears..." Gears, meaning more than one. I don't know how I feel about this.

It's sorta like asking a hardcore industrial music fan to listen to some reggae. Yeah, they're both music. Yeah, people can and do like both. But I'm hesitant. I'm content with what I got. It's fun and challenging. Does reggae have it's merits? Yes it do. But that don't mean I gotta like it. Although, I'm not one of these fans that's going to punch you in the face or ralph at the mere mention of straying from their current object of obsession. I guess we'll see.

I haven't seriously ridden a free-wheel bike since I got hit and had to buy a new one. I tried a comrade's clipless pedals and some pathetic BMX forays, but both were on the sidewalk. Otherwise it's all been Isabelle.

One problem for me is the loss of complete control that I've come to instinctively rely on. What would cause nasty surprises and discomfort for other riders has become home to me: The constant motion of the pedals, the ability to slow the bike with the legs, track stands, skip stops, etc. There are all tools I've come to use on a daily basis. Taking them away would seem to take something away from my experience as a rider.

Besides, having to reach for brake levers is a pain in the ass.

But before you label me a trendy hipster fixed-gear zealot, I figure one day I'll have to start riding geared/free-wheel bikes. I want to do some of these cycling camping trips I've heard about, as well as century rides and the like, and while I'm sure it's physically possible to do them on a fixed-gear, I don't know if it's possible to enjoy it.

Time will tell.

Lunch time!

- David

DIY Laptop Case Trick, From the Streets

If you're like me, you sometimes go places. And once in a while you need/want to go there with a laptop computer.

Perhaps you want to seem cool and pretentious at the locally owned organic free-range sustainable indigenous-grown coffee shoppe, or trendy and pretentious at some crummy third-story low-selection over-priced indie record store. Or your grandma's house for tea. Either way, you need a way to get your laptop (slathered with personality-broadcasting stickers) from point A to point B.

And maybe if you're really like me, you don't have a lot of dough to spend on things like clear laptop shells or a separate bag designed specifically for transporting your machinery. What do you do then?

Know what Jack Burton says at a time like this? Jack Burton says, "Do it yerself."

Following is a step-by-step walk through of the DIY Laptop Case Trick, From the Streets. Please refer to it by it's full name whenever teaching and/or being interviewed on this amazing art form born from the harsh environs that is downtown Norfolk.

You will need:
1. Laptop

2. Sweatshirt or zip-up hoodie, with or without awesome local drinking spot endorsements.

3. The ability to tie your shoes.

A flat surface is also handy. Being on planet Earth, this should be readily available.

The sweatshirt or hoodie you select is entirely up to you. As far as I can tell this does not stretch out the clothing item in question, and after sitting in The Mansion for ten hours and fourteen miles of pedaling neither the hoodie or the laptop was affected in anyway.

Step 1.

Put the laptop into the hoodie, just peaking out of the top if you have small clothing or a large laptop. This is so there's enough material on the bottom to fold up and be held down by the sleeves of your receptacle.

If there is a zipper present, zip it up all the way to ensure that no teeth scratch the top of your immaculate white Apple or super-spendy Alienware computer.

Step 2.

Turn the whole thing over like it was a drunken prom date: Gingerly but with the intention of tying it up shortly thereafter.

Fold hood (if present) and bottom material to the center, and secure securely by tying the long sleeves together over the whole affair like a warm & fuzzy Christmas present. If you have the material available, tie it twice just to be sure.

You should now have a cute little personalized package of computer, wrapped in your favorite grown-up version of the security blanket, ready to be placed in your messenger bag, backpack, car seat or bicycle basket. Effectiveness is based off thickness of material and whether or not you put the most padded side where it needs to be.

Voila! Or, as we say on the mean streets of my apartment, shabam! A free, DIY, cruelty-free (are there leather hoodies?), environmentally-aware, individualized laptop protection system.

Use it wisely, my friends. And share the love.

- David

Body Bag

Proof that The Mansion was a sound and just investment:

Laptop, 14 puppy pads, complete change of clothes with shoes, DVD, gloves, arm warmers, gum, and zip up hoodie. And that's just in the large compartment.

- David

Chef Cycle

For a while now I've been looking at getting some clipless pedals. For thems of you that don't have heads full of two-wheeled freedom, clipless pedals are like ski boots: You have snug shoes that clip in for increased control and efficiency.

Way, waaay back in the early days of my bike riding (meaning last July) I wasn't really excited about clipless pedals. I wasn't really excited about much of the dorkiness having to do with cycling. I didn't see how the difference between a strap across the top of your foot and clipless pedals would be all that much and/or worth the money. The same still holds true for spandex pants and any clothing with "aero" in the description (although I do love the man Aero immensely).

Saturday I endured six hours of moving rich people's useless crap in and out of trucks and up and down stairs, all in the cold rain on a single donated Clif bar from my man Jeff, who also brought me in on the job. Why would I do this, on my day off, in the rain, for people I don't know? Fifty bucks an hour is why my friend. Money talks, and David walks boxes.

With cash in pocket and eyes big, I thought of all the things this wad could bring me: Perhaps a pair or two of knickers? T-shirts? Movies? The list just kept growing. I did buy myself an awesome new zip-up hoodie (my favorite clothing item EVAR) from my local bier garden spur of the moment, and it was thirty-six dollars very well invested.

Then I remembered the Crank Bros. eggbeaters and Cannondale Carves I had been eying for a few months now. A bike shop in my area was having a sale on both, and with fresh cash in hand and an okay from the accountant I soon sauntered out of there with both for ninety-eight dollars. Woo!

I installed them as soon as I got home but didn't get a chance to take them out for a spin (ha) until my commute this morning. Although, I did get to fall right over in my living room while the gal was in the shower, so that's good.

Man, these things are slick. Man and machine combined into one efficient pedaling monster. When I pull the pedal up, it comes up. No wasted space or movement. It feels the way pedaling should be.

I didn't fall over on the road because all the stops I had to make were well broadcast and I had time to remind myself, "Okay, rotate the foot out, rotate out, rotate out..." But I'm sure it will happen one day. And hopefully only once, on some deserted stretch of road, with only one of those dogs with the flasks of whiskey under their necks to witness it and bound over to provide assistance.

In other news, I'm fundamentally sick of work. And not work in general, my work. It must be the same thing that nurses and police officers and fire fighters feel: "Good lord I am tired of fixing broken things." I know it's my job, but some days it's just really a pain in the ass when every phone call is, "I fucked something up, fix it!" Fix it yourself, ass.

Speaking of, I need to get to work. Got some stuff to finish up before I bike over to the Apple store to get Emily Three-Eighty-Six's DVD drive replaced.

Have a good one, be safe out there tonight.

- David

New Jersey, Not New Jersey

Hanging out at my favorite local bike shoppe on Saturday, I spied with my spectacled eye a new jersey hanging up next to the tiny television that's always playing some kind of bicycle footage with the volume off.

Bearing the name of the eternal Eddy Merckx and devoid of any company names (I'm only a walking billboard when I wanna be), it appeared to be just my taste and size. I like 7-11 and all, but I'm not I'm sure I want their name on my ass.

I took it down, and sure enough, it was a small. And being that I am tiny, it fit like a glove. My amigo and riding comrade Jeff took the pics. He figured the owner probably wouldn't sell it and we should play a prank on him: We'd take the pictures and send one to him in an e-mail with a big ol' thanks for the $25 deal the shop attendant gave me.

Luckily St. Gordon (the owner) arrived some time later and after joking around and peer-pressuring Jeff into blowing dough on his bike I subtly mentioned the quality of the jersey and it's fit on my person.

This was done innocently after Gordon had apologized for the delay on an ordered part and a promise to make it up to me. As a result of my Sun Tzu-ian strategy I walked out of there with my first jersey for around $35 off. Yay for me and unintentional debts.

As soon as I got it home I modeled it for The Gal (who, I have to add, did O.K. the purchase, after I slid outside and explained the whole situation over the phone, with a surprised "You don't have to ask me to spend $50." For the record, I wasn't asking for permission as much as checking with my accountant to see if bills could be paid. I swear.) She admired it's construction and fit as much as any girl who isn't into bicycling can. Bless her heart.

Today was the maiden voyage, although anyone without X-Ray specs wouldn't have been able to tell. It was rainy and cold so I had a jacket on over top.

I'm looking forward to seeing what all the fuss is about. Are they really useful or is it just part of the whole trip? What are the benefits? Will it trap smells? Does it make me look fat? These are important questions I intend to answer.

Fear not, ladies and gentlemen of the Internet and along my riding routes, the purchase of a jersey does not entail the purchase, and subsequent wearing, of spandex bicycle pants and/or shorts. I am not going down that road, and the world will be a better place for it. I've been told my ass is nice and perky, but unless you've bought me drinks or offered candy from the window of your van, you don't get to see it.

Alrighty, back to woik. It's Thursday and I need to get some momentum going of I'm gonna make it to the weekend. I went home sick yesterday with a case of vomititus. Safe journeys, one and all.

- David

Pay no attention to the helmet hair or the dorky face!

V for Velocity

Recently I finished a book called The Rider, which apparently is a cycling classic. And for good reason. Translated from the Dutch and written in Holland in 1978, it covers a one hundred and fifty kilometer race in one hundred and fifty pages. Although, one page does not equal one kilometer.

I had to eat immediately after finishing the book. I felt exhausted, like I was the one who had pushed myself so damn hard. Written in an enjoyable and addicting style, it is far from a boring read. I could easily identify with the struggle and sometimes strange internal workings of the rider's mind. It's difficult to provide a picture of how this book does it, but you are there. You are in the race, and you're plotting and giving everything you are to win it. It's very honest and real.

And for some reason, very inspiring. Not in a hokey "If You Put Your Mind To It You Can Do Anything" sort of way. It's not that kind of book. The only thing I can liken it to is hearing stories of how your grandfather worked his ass off and rose up out of the badlands to be one of the most intelligent and accomplished men you know. That story is not aimed at you. It's progression had nothing to do with you or inspiration. But simply by seeing what another person has gone through, you want to do more with yourself.

So lately in honor of The Rider, I push harder. I hardly check the weather or the wind. Somewhere during that book I decided weather wouldn't matter anymore. I lightened the load in my bag and I dress in less layers. I have slowly been slipping into Pansydom and it's time to climb out. The body is the most beautiful of machines and art, and I have been coddling, neglecting, and wasting it.

I've also decided to use my daily commutes as training. Training for what? Who knows. Being fast. Sustained exertion. Endurance. I'll start keeping track of my times, all that junk. I've arbitrarily hit upon twenty minutes as the first benchmark for my seven mile commute, including traffic lights and all they entail. I'm going to start learning how to sprint and the apparent benefits of handlebar drops. Then I'll create another benchmark, and another.

Some mornings it's rough. My face is the prow of this particular ship and tears always streak it when I first get moving. I figure my eyes either get used to the cold wind or dry out after about seven minutes. Stop lights are enemies that play sick games with my legs. Sometimes it feels like I'm moving at five miles per hour. I push on, trying various pedal positions and styles, crouching down, changing my hands on the bars, pushing with different leg muscles. Nothing seems to help for very long.

But still I somehow get to work within roughly twenty minutes. Horseshoes and hand grenades.

Hey! You! Pick up a book!

- David

Lucky '07 Is At An End

We're less than forty-eight hours into Aught-Eight and a ton of people already have their New Year's Posts up. And while I started this post a few days ago, I am a slacker. Hell, this might not even be ready for mass consumption for a few days more.

I had a bunch of ideas for this post: New Year's Resolutions, the ABCs of personal major occurrences in 2007, best/worst lists, etc. But nothing seems to be correct.

---

It is now the Fourteenth. Every time I try to finish up this post I just can't seem to do it. So following is a quick recap of the things that come to mind from Lucky 2007.

I started riding to work (and then everywhere else) at the end of July and haven't looked back since. (Unless you count looking back at a mirror in shock at the horse legs that have sprouted where my chicken legs used to be.) I've ridden more days than not even with injuries minor & severe, a broken bike, "bad" weather, and the readily-available drug referred to as the Snooze Button. I'm actually quite proud of the gumption I've shown these last six months.

I moved from the urban desert of Phoenix, Arizona to the foreign and four-hundred-year-old areas that make up Virginia. Since high school I've talked about living on the East Coast (although it was New York) and now I finally have. Thanks be to Brick, the Internets, plane tickets, red-heads, and the labyrinthine path of intertwining Karma.

I was briefly jobless with substantial rent, car payments, animals to feed, and so on, and only survived with the assistance of my family, especially my grandmother. She's still helping me out to this day. I'd be in a cardboard box or a potato field without her and my pappy.

I've become the smiling steward of an ephemeral gray cat and a wily gray rabbit, which brings the livestock count in my apartment to five. Also, I am the only male in the whole joint.

New scars and tattoos, new haircuts, no haircuts, no hair, assistants come and gone, books read, movies collected, music swooned over, friendships made, traditions forged, weight lost, muscle gained, tears, beers, & tobacco. And love, luv, l<3ve.

This year? Who knows. Hopefully more riding, radness, and returns to family.

I'd love to start writing for an awesome cycling blog (*coughcough*Swobo!*cough*), reading more, getting back to my Buddhist ways, and spending time with the fam. Didn't get enough of any of that last year.

I'm grateful for all the crazy/shitty/hard/beautiful things that happened to me over the weeks and months. It's brought me to a good place, and like the tip of a bright-white comet shooting through the sky, this good place keeps on a'movin.

Dr. Pepper and work time. Piece (of arse)!

- David

Monday & Friday

This video is really well made, and the rider is super talented. I wish my commute was like this! Sadly it's only made up of dodging city buses and cursing/praising the wind, but I wouldn't give it up for anything.


Friday bitches! We made it! Tax season officially starts today and as the second or third largest tax prep shop in Virgin-I-A, I've been busy. Late nights, long phone calls, and lots of stress. Last night my boss ominously told me that I hadn't seen anything yet. Pray/sacrifice/meditate for me.

The ride in today was moist, but not wet. I got rained on walking the dogs and was excited to get some rain fall on the way in, but it was only warm and muggy. Although a nice tailwind was kind enough to blow all the spray from the rear tire into the back of my legs, so at least it tried.

Late tonight may see this boy up on a karaoke stage trying to do Trent Reznor some justice, but it's going to take a lot of intoxification for that to happen. Either way, it should be fun.

Dunkin' Donuts run time! Happy End o' Week & be safe!

- David

Facon Cheese Pizza

As a true vegetarian (not one of these half-ass seafood eaters) my food options are sort of limited. Although honestly after time one learns that there isn't any real deprivation, just a different stance towards fuel intake.

That being said, Morningstar Farms is a gift from Heaven. I can honestly say that everything I've ventured to put in my mouth of theirs is awesome. It started with veggie burgers of all flavors, then moved to veggie crumbles (near-perfect ground beef alternative), breakfast sausages, spicy buffalo wings, and now fake-bacon. Or facon as I have lovingly named it.

To this two-year veggie it smells and tastes just like my ex-favorite breakfast side. Somehow they even managed to make it greasy. The texture is different of course, but so what. It all feels the same in your belly. Plus, forty-four percent less fat than real piggie strips!

I got a little inspired in the kitchen area (which is rare for this Ramen chef) and decided to make a Canadian Facon cheese pizza. Ingredients: Red Baron 5-Cheese pizza and Morningstar Farms bacon. Shazaam!


The wrong tool for the job, but it gets it dooooone.
Before & After
Mmmm, sorta-meaty.

I'm a pioneer. Come over and I'll treat you to a spin on the wagon train.

- David

Pwiiiiiiish!

Yesterday about a mile from the ferry I experienced my very first blow out. I've had slow leaks, quick leaks, pops while stopped at lights and random bursts while the bike was in the living resting against the wall. But now I have my "Popped Tire While Rushing A Traffic Light" badge.

I could easily have walked the bike the rest of the way and fixed it in the comfort of my living room. But it was a nice night, I didn't have any engagements, and I've been carting around a pump and patch kit in The Mansion anways, so, why not? I pulled off, setup shop, and got to work.


The only specialized tool I have for the job is an awesome Crank Bros. hand pump. The rest o' my kit is made up of a crescent wrench, Allen tool, Leatherman, and a garbage bag. The patch kit I bought months ago and cost like $2.50. The garbage bag is multipurpose rain poncho/tool box/prison wine distillery/Halloween costume. The Leatherman I have not had to use yet, but I'm sure once I come upon the president of the Fox network trapped in a burning overturned car, I'll be glad it's there.


I timed myself, of course. While I have thus far avoided the other traits of cyclists (i.e. spandex) watching a clock is something I've started to do. With pictures taken, a phone call from The Misses, and packing back up it all took about fifteen minutes.

A bunch of that was hand-pumping my tire back up to 110 PSI, which took forever. I discovered a method of quick & easy pumping by propping the tire and pump against a wall and using my leg to do the work, although I'm sure it looks like I'm humping the air from the road.


I had about ten minutes to make it to the ferry. I rode hard, but not hard enough. Sitting here on my couch or at work in my chair I sometimes long for the kind of painful exertion I've read about and seen on the faces of athletes, but out there on a bike in high humidity it's hard to push yourself that hard just to get home thirty minutes earlier. I wasn't up on the pedals pushing with my heart and soul, but I was doing what I've come to learn as kind of a sit-down sprint.

I missed the ferry by about a minute. I spent the resultant thirty minutes waiting for it to come back talking to The Girl while riding in circles and trying to drift around various objects.

Hours later the tire suddenly popped again whilst watching TV with us. A quick investigation of the punctures revealed a pattern that is very interesting. I think a hole in the sidewall of the tire is causing re-occuring pinch flats. I'm going to bring the evidence to my local bike shop and see if I can get this taken care off once and for all.

After the day I've had, it's hookah & brownie time. Daddy needs to relax after dealing with... people who... aren't... the best with computers.

Time for resting. Peace!

- David

Yikes

I am officially an uncoordinated collection of clumsy sticks compared to this guy:


It is waaaaarm, people. Seventy degrees today. And this morning we had around ninety-four percent humidity. No fun! Luckily/Lazily I did not ride in today because of lateness and grocery shopping later tonight. But fear not, ye ecological enthusiasts, if I'm not riding a bike I'm carpooling.

Yesterday I was way overdressed for The Ride. I was a sweaty mess by the time I got to work, and I was only sporting a manly Marino wool t-shirt and sexy Solo vest. For the record, Marino wool is the best thing since people started saying "the best thing since..." I wish my whole wardrobe was made out of the stuff. I need me about four more pair of them underpants.

Since I didn't ride in I'm making the most out of being physically inactive and fasting for the day. Or at least planing on it. I don't even know if one day of not eating qualifies as fasting, but whatevs.

Deciding to fast is like deciding to exercise more or get up earlier: It sounds awesome and you look forward to doing something genuinely good for self, but then find a million excuses not to do it once the time comes. Luckily work has been shite busy today and I haven't had a spare moment to go lurking for food. Just some fasting tea and anger for me today, thanks.

Why the fast, you ask? My stomach has been acting really weird lately. Not weird like, "Ooch. Ice cream normally doesn't affect me this badly, I wonder what's up." Weird like, "Umm... I think my stomach lining has been replaced by a substitute teacher." It still does the job, but just barely and differently than I'm used to. If I consume anything that a vegan and or puritan would shake their heads at, my tummy rebels by feeling warm and then angry. The warmth is akin to drinking shots on an empty stomach. If any of you are belly doctors, please let me know what this means.

Personally (and I'm only a doctor of love, not of anatomy) I think my body has reached a stage where it gets upset if I try to pollute it with things that hinder it's ability to rock ass on a bicycle like caffeine, refined sugar, small children, and solid cow extracts. Maybe it's forcing me to be a healthy eater, instead of just cramming thirty-four mini York Peppermint Patties in my face a day and calling it a day. Who knows.

Alrighty, break over. Time to get back to pulling down that rent.

Take care.

- David

Obsolete Vernacular

A quiet moment or two with my thoughts on cycling, a soy beverage, and the Royal Tenenbaums.

Then I was off to chase traffic and stalk my girlfriend.

We made it through Monday, now get oult there and celebrate!

- David

Fourteen!

Today as I left my house for work, the temperature was reported as fourteen degrees. Did I flinch? Nope. Was it cold? Only the parts that were outside of the protective layers I enveloped myself in.

Once or twice my hands were a bit too warm so I stuck my little digits out of the mitten, then immediately put them back in cuz the cold air bit into them like Vienna sausages. As I pedaled down the street my breath left big white clouds like a child's drawing of a train. I passed frozen puddles on the street and laughed. I feel pretty impervious to weather now.

Work, on the other hand, is putting me through the ringer. Take care y'all.

- David

Push.

It's cold outside. You've checked the weather online, been outside, peeked out the windows. You know it's windy and somewhere in the twenties. You know the wind is not on your side. It's snowed a little.

You're inside where it's warm. You see cars drive by; tiny bubbles of comfort locking their inhabitants away from the outside environs. Everyone in your office is driving home. Everyone you know is probably driving home, warm and protected.

There's a thousand ways to get out of The Ride. Friends are sympathetic when the conditions are adverse; they offer rides when it's dark and cold. A part of you is constantly trying to talk you out of riding. You learn to stop listening. Experience teaches you that you'll regret it later, when you're at home on your couch, warm and sluggish.

The Ride is hard. The wind is pressing against you, an invisible hand that pushes you back and to the side. Each intersection brings the stronger gusts of unfettered wind tunnels. You ride miles on a road that's legally a highway, and up a steep intersection that proves to be a trial even on the best of days. Some times you have the strength of will and body to stand up on the pedals and pump, others you focus on your technique, getting the most out of each rotation.

The traffic lights are kind and you only have to stop once or twice. A single car is waiting behind you and passes respectfully after you've cleared the intersection. It's late and only three or four cars pass you at a time. The colder the weather, the more slack you get from motorists.

A few times you find you can't breathe. Cresting each overpass the wind and the cold and your own exertion steals your breath. Each inhalation is quick and short; it seems like hyperventilation. You know that if you keep pushing it will pass, like all things. The cold passes. Pain passes. Exhaustion passes. You just can't quit.

Your legs are dumb and beautiful. They won't let you quit. Sometimes you forget you're pedaling; you just move with speed and grace. They take care of you. And inside their silent power is a promise and a loyalty that suddenly has you weeping.

You haven't won anything. There are no numbers or figures, no finish line and no opponents. You are alone in the cold. Without inspiration or prodding, internal or external, you have overcome something. It simply happens. And you weep. Still moving at an agreeable clip, you're laughing and crying at the beauty of your body, of the night, of life.

Alone on a road you've traveled hundreds of times, suddenly you're joined by an unexpected satori.

Without the struggle of the wind and the cold, it never would have come. And if you tried to find it on another day with the same conditions, you wouldn't find it. All you can do is treasure it while it rides along with you.

Happy trails.

- David

Snow.

According to Weather.com the actual temperature is 34˚, and with the twenty-one mile an hour wind it actually feels like 22˚. Better still, it's been steadily snowing. Little flirtatious flakes of snow that don't even seem to make it to the ground, but it's the first snowfall I've seen in five years.

While I didn't ride into work this morning (woke up late, weaseled The Girl into taking me) I did bring Isabelle, my new (voluminous) messenger bag, and layers of warm clothing. I hope it's still snowing when I have to make my way home.

The temperature doesn't give me pause as much as the wind. I'm heading West and that wind is going to be right in my face. Hopefully that means I'll be that much warmer, working against it.

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Five hours later and I'm finally getting ready to head out. In half an hour it will feel like 22˚. Wee!

See you on the popsicle side.

- David