Bob's Web Log

I Am So Tagged

2008-07-22T11:50:00.000-07:00

Elden tagged me over on his blog. I do not fear him. Despite his nickname, he is a puny man who strikes dangerously only when he comes up behind you on a bike. Here are the questions I must answer to avoid leprosy:

If you could have any one — and only one — bike in the world, what would it be?

I honestly don't know. I don't pay attention to which bikes are good. I like Elden's road bike that I picked up with one finger. And I want a mountain bike that makes me go faster, especially at altitute. In short, I want a really good bike.

Do you already have that coveted dream bike? If so, is it everything you hoped it would be? If not, are you working toward getting it? If you’re not working toward getting it, why not?

No, I don't own the coveted dream bike. No, I'm not working towards getting it. Spending $5,000 on a tricked-out bike is taking food out of my children's mouths. Literally. I would have to pull the macaroni and cheese out of their mouths and put it up for sale on eBay.

If you had to choose one — and only one — bike route to do every day for the rest of your life, what would it be, and why?

If this question really means every day for the rest of my life, I'd have to pick something relatively easy, like Hogg's Hollow or South Fork. When I'm 72, I don't want to have to drag my colostomy bag up and down a hard ride like Tibble Fork.

But if this question really means "What's your favorite ride?" I'd have to narrow it down to these five:

1) Gooseberry Mesa
2) Tibble Fork
3) Gold Bar Rim
4) Little Creek Mesa
5) Slickrock

What kind of sick person would force another person to ride one and only one bike ride to to do for the rest of her / his life?

This has the makings of a sci-fi novel. On the planet of Gebarn, enslaved Polowots are forced to do all kinds of things against their will. One polowot must do the same ride every day for the rest of his life -- until he escapes! On a Vespa!

Do you ride both road and mountain bikes? If both, which do you prefer and why? If only one or the other, why are you so narrowminded?

I ride both, but I spend way more time on my road bike since I live in Seattle.

Have you ever ridden a recumbent? If so, why? If not, describe the circumstances under which you would ride a recumbent.

Yes, I have ridden a recumbent, and it was fastastic. Seriously. It put a huge smile on my face. I wouldn't think twice about riding a recumbent around.

Have you ever raced a triathlon? If so, have you also ever tried strangling yourself with dental floss?

Yes, triathlon. No, flossy suicide. In my first triathlon, I won my age group (35-40). For my victory, I received an Ironman watch, which was an excellent conversation starter: "Hey, guess where I got this watch..."

I swam in high school. In fact, I was a two-time state champion* so I could hop in a lake right now and swim a mile in under 20 minutes. But I destroyed my knee training for a marathon, so I'm not supposed to run more than 6 miles. If I do a sub-12 Leadville, I'm going to train again for triathlons.

* The Upper Peninsula in Michigan is officially considered a state in high school athletics.

Suppose you were forced to either give up ice cream or bicycles for the rest of your life. Which would you give up, and why?

Easy -- ice cream. I could take or leave it. Now if you gave me the choice between bicycles and pastries, I'd have a more difficult choice. But you said ice cream, so that's the end of that.

What is a question you think this questionnaire should have asked, but has not? Also, answer it.

“Do prefer riding uphill or downhill on a bike?” would be my question, to which my answer would be "Both!"

You’re riding your bike in the wilderness (if you’re a roadie, you’re on a road, but otherwise the surroundings are quite wilderness-like) and you see a bear. The bear sees you. What do you do?

Look for a wild berry to eat.

Now, tag three biking bloggers. List them below.

No. The cycle of tagging ends here. I do not fear leprosy. By the way, I read a cool article about a doctor named Paul Brand who spent his life trying to cure lepers. When he visited the leper colony, he tried to figure out why lepers lost their fingers and toes and went blind.

He had an epiphany when he tried to open a jammed lock with a key. The leper boy who was with him grabbed the key and opened the door instantly. But the boy's hand was torn and bleeding. The Dr. Brand realized that leprosy caused partial paralysis, and the lepers were losing their fingers and toes to avoidable injuries and nibbling rats. So he had them wear heavy duty gloves and socks.

Lepers also developed cataracts more easily because they weren't blinking enough due to damaged optic nerves. When Dr. Brand figured this out, he performed a simple surgery in which he rerouted the eye muscles to the jaw muscles so that whenever the patients moved their jaws, their eyes would blink. True story. And that's why lepers look so silly.

Leadville 2008 Status Report, Part VI

2008-07-19T18:28:00.000-07:00

Three weeks to go until the big race.

I am not ready. I repeat. I am not ready. I am five pounds heavier than I was last year. I get winded more easily climbing hills and running up the Thistle stairs. I'm telling you, I'm not ready.

Finishing Leadville in under 12 hours isn't entirely out of the question. I missed the 12 hour mark by 25 minutes, but it's not like I had a good race. The altitude messed me up from the beginning. If I'm feeling well, I could cut 25 minutes off the Columbine Mine climb. I could cut 25 minutes off the Powerline climb. Hell, I could cut off 25 minutes if I had just stopped at the last rest stop for only 5 minutes instead of 30. I could cut 25 minutes off by riding a faster bike.

So yes, if the altitude doesn't get to me, I could finish in under 12 hours. But since I live at sea level, and since the race reaches 12,600 feet, can't I assume the altitude will get to me? But that's being too negative. Here are some positives:

* Last year, two weeks before the race I went on a cruise to Alaska. While I had fun, eating rich cafeteria food wasn't exactly the best way to train.

* This year, I'll be in Utah ten days before the race instead of five days before the race. That means I can do three or four small training rides at altitude instead of just one. That could mean a lot.

* While the conditions were nearly perfect last year -- fast course, no rain, no headwind -- it was really hot in the afternoon. Maybe we'll get cooler weather and an actual tailwind. Or at least I'll cool myself off better with a water bottle.

* Last year, my single biggest mistake was accepting the pain. I should have taken Tums early in the race when my stomach was bothering me. I should have taken ibuprofen and Tums the first time I hit a wall on Columbine. I waited until I was three-fourths done with Powerline, which gave me the energy to ride faster than I had all day. If I can do a better job of pill popping, I can avoid losing so much time on the two biggest climbs.

* This year, maybe the highway won't be jammed with broken heroes on a last-chance power drive.

Estimated time if the race were held tomorrow: 12:15

Estimated finishing time on August 9: 11:59.30

Ride Report - STP 2008

2008-07-15T11:04:00.000-07:00

I woke up at 3:30 on Saturday morning and debated whether to try to sleep for a half hour before the alarm went off. I couldn't sleep, so I got up, ate breakfast, and unloaded the dishwasher out of guilt. I started the ride from my driveway at 4:20am. It was still dark, even in Seattle.

I live in West Seattle, which should really be called South Seattle since it's due south of downtown. Instead of driving to the starting line, I decided to ride north to meet the early starting riders at the I-90 bridge. I ended up riding an extra 3.5 miles, which seemed like nothing until I got close to Portland.

Early Speed - I went out too fast by plan. I wanted to bonk and then work my way out of a bonk to practice for Leadville. So I jumped behind two tandem bikes from California who were going about 23 mph. You get a good draft off tandem bikes, so I wasn't pushing too hard. I stayed in pace lines for the first half of the ride.

One big difference between this year and last year -- the pace lines were smaller and more traditional in 2008, with each rider taking a pull. Last year, nearly all the trains I jumped onto were being pulled either by an exceptionally strong rider who was dragging along his wife or buddies, or by a team of strong cyclists that didn't care about sharing the pull. I left a little earlier this year and rode faster early on, so maybe that accounts for the difference.

Tailwind - For the last 150 miles, we had a nice tailwind that at its weakest caused the leaves to rustle and at its strongest caused flags to wave straight out.

Besides helping you to go faster, the great thing about a tailwind is that when you hit a wall, you can drop out, ease up, and still go along at a pretty good clip. For me, it was pretty easy to sit up and still go 18-20 mph -- at least until we crossed into Oregon for the last 50 miles.

The heat - In the afternoon, the bank displays along Highway 30 flashed temperatures between 92 and 94 degrees. I was worn out and riding around 15 mph, blowing by a few people but watching a whole bunch of people blow by me. I never really bonked, but I hit a few little walls here and there. At various points along the way, I saw riders collapsed in the shade. I heard later that a whole bunch of riders trying to make it one day had to abandon the ride from heat exhaustion.

The Lexington bridge - People kept talking about how treacherous the Lexington Bridge is, but I didn't understand what the issue was. There was a dedicated section with room for two riders to ride side-by-side. But no one mentioned the fact that there are huge gaps in the bridge on the downhill side that can cause a pinch flat or even taco a wheel if you hit them. Fortunately, I was riding alone, so I had time to jump my bike over the gaps.

Friends and Family - Minette, Andy, and Wendy and the boys drove down to meet me at the Lexington food stop and again at the finish line. Stan and Grey met them at the finish line, so I had a whole throng cheering my arrival. That puts a smile on your face.

Final stats

Total time: ~14 hours
Total time in saddle: 12 hours 35 minutes
Maximum speed: 40.9 mph
Average speed: 16.6 mph
Distance: 208.3 miles

Conclusion

Riding 200+ miles in a day isn't exactly fun. I love the course and the support and the festivities, but I don't want to do it again, not in one day. I'd rather take two days. I'd stop and eat pancakes, fill a Camelbak with whiskey, and sing "Danny Boy" during the ride.

Photo courtesy of Minette.

Pre-Ride Report

2008-07-11T10:06:00.000-07:00

I'll be riding the STP (Seattle to Portland) again this year. The ride is tomorrow. Because I finished this 206-mile ride in one day last year and failed to break 12 hours at Leadville, I have it in my mind that the STP is a cinch while Leadville is nearly impossible.

Today, the day before the STP, all of a sudden I'm getting jittery. I'm just remembering now that I had a pretty serious bonk last year around the 110-mile point. I was dizzy and sick to my stomach. I tried to call Wendy so that I could tell her to forget about meeting me at the next check point and come pick me up right then. Fortunately, we had a bad connection, so I was forced to keep riding. By the time I got to mile 146, I had recovered enough to push through the last 60 miles. By the end of the ride, I felt sore and tired but happy that I made it.

I was in better shape last year.

This year, we're going to ride in temperatures in the 90s. For you desert types, 90 degrees seems like nothing, but in the humid northwest, 90 degrees is hot, especially for people who are used to 55-degree weather seven months out of the year.

In an odd way, I'm looking forward to a nasty bonk. I think one of the reasons I failed at Leadville last year was due to mental weakness. It took me too long to work my way out of pain, and I made things worse by mashing a high gear and getting discouraged. And discouragement is Satan's tool. He has a pitch fork in one hand and discouragement in the other, the foul red beast. I hate him!

Tomorrow will not be a jaunty ride down the coast to meet friends and family. No. It will be Bob's Battle Against Beezlebub! BBAB. Courage! I shall not fail!

Olio

2008-06-29T16:16:00.000-07:00

Some of you may have noticed that I haven't updated my web log in awhile. Here are the reasons.

Work - I'm in crunch mode at work. Basically, now that most of Adobe's products are part of a suite, I'm extra busy whenever the suites near the end of the 18-month cycle. Now is that time. After the suites ship, I'll be in cruise mode for the next year or so, and then it ramps up all over again. In the past, writers worked on several different products during the year, sharing the workload. Now, the writers work on one project, unless of course there aren't enough writers, in which case certain writers have to work on multiple products. In my case, I'm responsible for four different help systems -- InDesign, InCopy, Version Cue, and some goofy Japanese product. As compensation, I have demanded two extra phones for my desk.

Lisa - My sister has cancer -- a particularly aggressive form of lymphoma. No, it's not Hodgkins, which is highly treatable. Non-Hodgkins lymphoma is still treatable, and Lisa has a good chance of surviving. Still, Lisa's cancer made me profoundly sad. She's a single mother of a 1-year-old toddler who's now undergoing chemotherapy, which is harsher than aromatherapy by a good margin. I've been meaning to write about Lisa, but the situation was too depressing and uncertain. I thought about writing other entries, but I kept wanting -- and not wanting -- to write about Lisa, if that makes sense.

Cycling - I've gone on two (2) mountain bike rides since last I wrote. One was a six-hour ride at Tiger Mountain in which I kept doing loops around the Preston and Iverson trails. Six hours is a long time to ride a mountain bike alone. I've mentioned this before, but I would almost rather prefer riding a road bike alone. Riding a mountain bike alone is actually depressing to me.

One good thing about being alone at Tiger Mountain is that I took a particularly embarrassing fall that I'm glad no one saw. It was one of those slow-motion falls that lends itself to announcers. Here's what the announcers would have said if they had been there.

Announcer 1: And here comes Bob riding up the trail. This is unusual because most mountain bikers ride up the 5-mile dirt road and ride down the singletrack trail, while Bob is riding up. Isn't that unusual, Announcer 2?

Announcer 2: Sort of. I know people who put their bikes on ski lifts to go up to the top of the mountain.

A1: Right, it's very unusual. And here goes Bob. He's riding up over a set of roots, and IT LOOKS LIKE HE'S NOT GOING TO MAKE IT!

A2: He's tipping over. I though he could pull it out, but he tipped over.

A1: He's on a downslope right now with his hand just above a puddle.

A2: Now his hand is in the puddle. Why would he put his hand in the puddle like that?

A1: I have a better question -- Why did he slide the side of his body into the puddle like that?

A2: Where is his arm strength? Where is his agility?

A1: Look. Now he just put his foot in the puddle. It's like he doesn't care anymore about personal hygiene. What's next? Will he throw himself headlong into the puddle and make a mud angel?

A2: No, he's made it out. He's swearing. He's saying lots of swear words right now, aloud.

A1: "Chit. Ducking duck. Some in a ducking birch." That's all I could make out.

A2: He's riding again. Oh, here comes someone down the hill. They just rode by.

A1: Yes, and he's gone now. That was uneventful. Let's hope Bob comes down again. That should be fun.

I also rode Crop Circles this morning while listening to Bruce Springsteen.

Music - It's official. In any desert island scenario, the Boss would make it on my list, even if it's a list of one. I just discovered an album of his called "Born in the USA."

Television - It's also official. Deadwood is my favorite television show. I'm not saying it's the best. But for me, it's the most watchable and rewatchable. It's oddly ugly in its beauty and beautiful in its ugliness.

And now I better stop ignoring the twins.

Bob

A Graphic Is Worth a Thousand Words

2008-06-17T11:58:00.000-07:00

This chart was created by a Frenchman named Charles Joseph Minard who wanted to show the losses suffered by Napolean's army that invaded Russia.

I love this graphic because it tells a story using several variables. The brown band depicts the size of the army as it invaded Russia with 422,000 men. As they travel eastward in the cold weather, the band thins as men die or run off. By the time they get to Moscow, there are only 100,000 men left. The black band represents their return journey. The line at the bottom of the graphic shows the falling temperatures during the return. That little tiny black band that meets up with the beginning of the brown band represents the number of men who made it home -- about 10,000.

After analyzing this graphic, I've come to the conclusion that invading Moscow was a tactical error.

Ride Report - Flying Wheels Summer Century

2008-06-15T09:15:00.000-07:00

The official word of the Cascade Cycling Club is that if you're fit enough to do the 100-mile Flying Wheels event, then you're fit enough to do the 200-mile STP in one day. The reasoning is that the Flying Wheels has a lot of climbing -- five big climbs to be exact -- while the STP is flat. The truth is that the climbs in the Flying Wheels event aren't particularly long or steep. My personal calculations indicate that riding the 100-mile Flying Wheels is roughly twice as easy as riding the STP.

2007 STP - 200 miles, 13 hours riding time, gentle rollers
2008 Flying Wheels - 100 miles, 6 hours riding time, rollers and hills

The ride starts at Marymoor Park near the Microsoft campus in Redmond. It goes through what we writers call bucolic scenery in which we head through rolling farm lands and pass through quaint small towns like Duvall, Snohomish, and Carnation.

The ride starts at 8:00 am. I wanted to end the ride early in the afternoon because both my brother and Robert's family were coming back to town. Unfortunately, there was a huge line of cars waiting to park, so I didn't get on the bike until 8:15. I rolled along for a couple miles when it hit me -- I didn't lock the car door. In fact, I think I may have left the passenger door wide open when I was putting on my bike shoes. Here's one of the nice things about getting old -- you know who you are and how your mind works. I knew if I didn't turn back then, I'd have spent the entire ride obsessing about my ransacked car with a dead battery. So I turned around, locked the car, and started the ride all over again.

At the 15-mile mark, I reached the first rest stop. I thought about not stopping because I had ridden only 15 miles -- actually 20 miles if you include the turnaround -- but I wanted to see if I could get a map since the course wasn't marked. And what I saw was the best stocked rest stop out of any ride I've been on. It had twenty kinds of energy bars, various power gels and glu shots, bread and bagels for making PBJs, cookies in packages, pop tarts, and all kinds of sports drinks. Unable to resist the siren song of "free stuff," I loaded my pockets and took off.

I rode another 60 miles when I decided to attack. I blew by a few startled cyclists, and then rode to the finish line. At that point, I drove home. And that is the end of this account.

Leadville 2008 Training Update, Part V

2008-06-10T08:01:00.000-07:00

I have mixed news to report. On the positive side, I have avoided all the colds and flus (and pneumonia!) that have hit the family, so I've been able to do my favorite training rides.

The 7 Lakes of Seattle. I've done a couple of 80 mile rides around Lake Washington, which I called the 7 Lakes of Seattle. Please understand that my definition of "lake" is somewhat loose in that I refer to the Pacific Ocean and the Sammamish River as lakes. It just has a better ring than "7 Bodies of Seattle Area Water." I think we can all agree on that.

The 7 Hills of West Seattle. This 25-mile ride takes about 2 hours. I loop up and down the biggest hills within ten miles of my house, pushing hard on all but the first climb. While this ride hammers my legs and lungs, it doesn't quite simulate doing the 9-mile climb up to the top of Columbine at 12,600 feet.

Bursting. Twice a week, I sprint for quarter-mile stretches or climb hard up hills. I hope this is moving me from commuter shape to racing shape, because people in Myrtle Edwards Park stare at me.

The Red Hook Ride. One of my favorite rides is to Red Hook Brewery in Woodinville. I leave early in the morning, ride 60 miles, and then Wendy and the boys meet me in the car. Once I went on a little bike ride with the boys while Wendy and Kim hit a couple of nearby wineries, but all the other times I just throw the bike on the back of the car and we eat and drink at the brewery.

On the negative side, I still weigh 180 pounds. Unless I go on a crash diet, which is highly unlikely since food is so readily available in our society, I'll be doing the ride as the Before guy in one of those diet commercials. It will be a jiggly ride.

Then again, on a positive side, Fatty has agreed to let me race on his light mountain bike. It won't be as comfortable as my full-suspension System^TM, but I need to be built for speed, not for comfort. The lighter bike will help compensate for the fatter body.

Then again, I haven't been riding my mountain bike this year. I haven't gone on a single mountain bike ride in Washington since October 2007. That's not good, because Leadville is a mountain biking race, not a road biking race. In fact, I need to pull my mountain bike off the wall in the garage and see if it still works.

Estimated Time If Leadville Were This Weekend - 13:00

Estimated Leadville Time If Training Continues As Is - 12:05

Obama Wins!

2008-06-03T15:45:00.000-07:00

As an official Democratic caucus member, I am pleased to inform you that Barack Obama has just won the Democratic primary! Huzzah! The last time I wrote about the primaries, I was saddened by the whole Reverend Wright affair, announcing that I was pro-Hillary. In my madness, I forgot the one critical thing that I kept harping on in previous months -- he didn't authorize the Iraq war. Hillary did. As did Kerry and Edwards and a bunch of other frightened politicians.

Here's what Obama said in 2002, before the war:

But I also know that Saddam poses no imminent and direct threat to the United States, or to his neighbors, that the Iraqi economy is in shambles, that the Iraqi military a fraction of its former strength, and that in concert with the international community he can be contained until, in the way of all petty dictators, he falls away into the dustbin of history.

I know that even a successful war against Iraq will require a US occupation of undetermined length, at undetermined cost, with undetermined consequences. I know that an invasion of Iraq without a clear rationale and without strong international support will only fan the flames of the Middle East, and encourage the worst, rather than best, impulses of the Arab world, and strengthen the recruitment arm of al-Qaeda.

I am not opposed to all wars. I'm opposed to dumb wars.

For that reason alone, I should have been for Obama all along. I'm sorry for ever wavering. Forgive me, reader. And forgive me, Mr. Obama.

Film Review: Sex and the City

2008-05-29T12:56:00.003-07:00

Wendy has been out of town this week and I have a big deadline coming up, so things have been a little frantic as I've juggled watching the kids and working. Last night, I decided I needed a break, so I went to the 9:20 showing of Sex and the City.

I didn't think I needed a babysitter because the boys are usually asleep by 8:30, but they stayed up late last night so I just had to jam their door shut and hurry to the theater.

Sex and the City is a laugh a minute! I say that objectively, although I must admit the Cosmopolitan I snuck into the movie house loosened me up a bit. I don't want to give away any details, but I have to!

Mr. Big is gay!

The most touching scene occurred when Carrie was at Samantha's wedding wearing an expensive pair of rented shoes. Because of an earlier dramatic scene, Carrie was sad, and she wasn't sure whether she would ever laugh again. Fortunately, Miranda soiled herself, and Carrie was able to laugh again!

Assorted Issues for the Month of May

2008-05-18T08:02:00.000-07:00

My Web Logging Status

I recently mentioned that I'm busy at work, so I won't be updating this web log regularly through the summer. I'm thinking either two or three sloppy posts a week, or one really well-written post like this one.

Leadville Status

I got my Leadville packet in the mail. In the past, this has been a moment of great excitement. When I've seen the packet in the mail, I dropped the rest of the mail on the floor, shouted something loud and incomprehensible, and tinkled in my shorts a little bit. This time, it's different. I got the Leadville packet on Monday and still haven't opened it. It's just sitting there on the coffee table.

I don't know why I haven't opened the packet yet. Do I look like a psychologist? I'm sure one contributing factor has been the fact that I've had two nasty sicknesses this year -- bronchitis and a cold that kept me off the bike for two weeks. Another factor is my fat suit. I weigh the exact same amount that I weighed in January. I'm 182 pounds. Last year, I weighed 172 pounds for Leadville, and I missed the 12-hour mark by 25 minutes. Gulp. Yet another factor is the memory of last year's race. The whole experience was great, but the race itself was torture for the final eight hours. Do I really want to go through that again, only this time fatter, older, and slower?

AWOL Family

Wendy has an interesting job in which she gets paid half a salary year-round for working 26 weeks a year. She has some time off, so she took the boys to Indiana to visit her family. I'm swamped at work (see above), so I couldn't go. She and Kim drove the boys down to the Memphis area so the boys could spend time with their grandparents, uncles, and cousins from Wendy's side of the family. One of Wendy's brothers is a henpecked born-again christian who is married to a mean, 240-pound battle axe who allows children in her care to be scalded with hot water. The other brother is going through a nasty divorce. Here's how sad their situation is -- the extended family is working hard to get the children into a day care environment to improve the quality of their lives. It's pretty sad when a Mississippi day care facility is seen as a cure-all.

For the last two weeks, I've had the house to myself.

Nerdy Tech Talk

I'm allowed only one computer at work now, so I had to choose between a Mac and a PC. If it weren't for the fact that I need to use a Windows-only writing setup, it would have been a no-brainer -- Mac. I ordered the Mac anyway, and used a program called VMware Fusion to install a version of Windows that runs in a separate window on the Mac. I was skeptical at first, but I'm sold on it now. If you make it fill the screen, you can't tell you're using a Mac machine. My Mac has 4G of RAM, which is more than enough memory.

Here's what I love the most about this setup. When I installed everything I needed in Windows, I took a snapshot. You know how Windows machines get bloated after a year or two, and they run slower and take three times as long to start up? On the Mac, that's not going to happen. Instead of reinstalling Windows, I can just revert to my snapshot, install updates, and take another snapshot. For what I need to do, Windows works better on a Mac than on a PC. How do you like them apples?

Riding with Fatty

2008-05-11T08:27:00.000-07:00

Elden's wife Susan has cancer. She's been getting chemo treatments on and off for the last few years, but her situation has gotten much worse recently. The cancer made its way into her brain. She has only a few months to live, if that.

Some friends and I have been trying to figure out what to do to help their family. One thing Kenny did was to set up an account where Elden's many faithful readers can donate. Elden agreed to post a button on his site. I'm glad he did this. It's difficult to accept help, and it's even more difficult to ask for help. Many of Elden's readers know how generous he has been in giving away prizes, helping other cyclists in need, and pouring effort into his beloved blog. A number of commenters begged him for a chance to pay back his kindness.

We also decided to get together and do a ride this weekend. At first glance, it seems pointless. "Hey, I hear Susan's dying of cancer. Let's all get together and go on a bike ride!" It seems desperate. Or futile.

And what's wrong with desperate acts of futility?

Especially when you can talk and ride and have a few laughs. I'm telling you, that ride we did on Saturday on the ridge between Draper and Alpine will go down as one of the most memorable rides of my life.

Elden, your buddies are with you. Susan, keep fighting.

The Twins' First T-Ball Game

2008-05-04T08:02:00.000-07:00

I don't think 4-year-olds should be playing organized sports. Wendy does, which is why Luke and Max played in their first game on Saturday. I thought about staying home in protest, but the allure of watching pre-schoolers try to figure out which hand to put their mitts on was just too tempting.

I was actually surprised by the quality of play.

As batters, most of the kids ran the proper way around the bases after the expected amount of delay. As fielders, most of the kids managed to trap or chase down a hit ball and -- after the expected amount of delay -- throw it in the general direction of first base.

Yes, there was crying in T-Ball.

I found it interesting that all the crying was done by boys. The girls remained stout and steadfast during play, their casual spitting and crotch-grabbing a sign that the emasculation of our culture extends its reach into our very pre-schools.

One boy on our team (the Buttercups) was crying so hard that he wasn't able to bat. His mother pulled him from the lineup. So I hit for him. Now one thing I'll say is that the bats used are ridiculously small, making it difficult to get leverage. Although a few parents and coaches scowled, I reckoned that driving the ball hard into centerfield would turn their disapproval into envy.

When I swung, I hit both the plastic tee and the bottom of the ball. As I mentioned, the bat was ridiculously small, so the ball traveled only a few feet. I wanted the umpire to declare it a foul ball since the tee itself flew nearly as far as the ball, but he signaled it was in play.

Well, you can imagine the argument that followed. I slammed down my helmet and kicked dirt all over home plate, and then I kicked dirt all over the umpire's shoes. While I was trying to dig out the home plate so I could hurl it towards the pitcher's mound, I was secretly hoping that our coach would step in and take over the argument to keep me from getting ejected, but let's just say he didn't have my back.

After that, it got a little out of control. Fortunately, I managed to stay out of the legal system, and we all managed to come out of our first T-Ball game unscathed.

I Changed My Mind

2008-05-01T14:11:00.000-07:00

I want Hillary to win the Democratic nomination.

I know you have questions. First, why aren't I writing as much? I'm busy at work, so whatever internet web log entry I slap together is going to be quick and dirty. Second, you're probably wondering why I changed my mind after so eloquently expressing my desire for Obama to win.

Well, this may come as a shock to you, but I don't have to defend myself. I'm like Juror #7 (Jack Walden) in 12 Angry Men. I'm sick of all the talking. That's right, you heard me. I've had enough.

You're probably all, "Who tells you that you have the right to play like this with a man's life? Don't you care? Don't you have the guts to do what you think is right?"

No, I don't care. I just want it to end. And right now, I'd rather hear about Whitewater than Jeremiah Wright.

I remember sitting in the Democratic caucus a few months ago and hearing several people say, "We have two great candidates..." No, we don't. We have two deeply flawed candidates, at least in terms of being electable. What kind of "great" candidates would be dead even with a garden gnome who's basically running for George W. Bush's third term?

Here's an analogy. Imagine your favorite book is being made into a movie, you're in charge of casting, and you have a limited number of choices:

The Catcher in the Rye - Holden Caulfield
- Keanu Reeves (Hillary)
- Ashton Kutcher (Obama)
- Corey Feldman (McCain)

Pride and Prejudice - Elizabeth Bennet
- Sarah Jessica Parker (Hillary)
- Jennifer Love Hewitt (Obama)
- Madonna (McCain)

The Hobbit - Bilbo Baggins
- Freddie Prinze Jr. (Hillary)
- Rob Schneider (Obama)
- Steven Segal (McCain)

Do you pick? Or do you just walk away?

Bandwagons

2008-04-24T15:46:00.000-07:00

The fact that Luke always wants to root for the winning team made me think about sports allegiances. But first, a quick kid story. This morning, Luke and Max were putting on their coats. They were getting ready to do a zipper race. After Max got his zipper started, Luke asked him to wait. When Luke took too long to get his coat zipper started, Max just zipped up his coat and gave Luke a "that's right" stare. Luke collapsed on the floor, crying and babbling. It took a few minutes to sort that out.

Because I moved around from state to state, never living more than three years in the same city, the local team wasn't as important to me as it would be to someone who lives his whole life in, say, Seattle. Mariners, Sonics, Seahawks, end of discussion. I picked my teams for different reasons, usually when a team I was rooting for lost a heartbreaker.

The Baltimore Orioles - 1971

I was sitting in a Riverside movie theater when there were technical difficulties. While technicians in white hats repaired the feature film, they showed a 30-minute recap of the 1971 World Series between the Baltimore Orioles and Pittsburgh Pirates. During that time, I established a bond with the Orioles, who lost the 7th game. For the next ten years, I waited up late at night during baseball season to see the news score of the Baltimore game flash. I learned to hate news anchors, especially weathermen. If the Orioles won, I went to bed happy. If they lost, I went to bed sad. If the game was undecided, I thrilled myself or tortured myself with come-from-behind scenarios. In the morning, I analyzed the box score to figure out how the game went down. I should write a whole blog entry on the art of reading a box score.

The Green Bay Packers - 1968?

At some point, back when the Packers were winning NFL championships and the first two Super Bowls, I fell in love with them, though I have no memory of watching Bart Starr play in any games. I jumped on the bandwagon. I had Packers pennants and a John Brockington poster on my wall, and I had a Green Bay Packers trash can that looked way better than Mark's Los Angeles Rams trash can. There is a family photo in which my parents, brothers, and sisters are all dressed up, while I was wearing a Green Bay Packers jersey. Number 42.

To this day, some family members still ask me if I'm sad about Favre's retirement. No, I don't root for the Packers anymore.

Trojans, No Gophers, Trojans! - 1973

I was living in an Omaha suburb at the time. A bunch of friends and I went to Rosenblatt stadium to watch the College World Series, which is still held every summer in the same place. Back then, it was easy to get tickets. My friend Paul and I went with Paul's older brother and his friend, a frumpy guy's guy named Bob. Bob took an immediate liking to me when I told him I was rooting for USC (my grandfather went to dental school there). He was a loud fan of the Trojans.

Then I watched Dave Winfield take over the game. He was so dominant that I abandoned my grandfather and started cheering him on, almost against my will. When someone masters a sport like that -- whether it's Tiger Woods or Michael Jordan or Dave Winfield on that day -- a sense of hero worship compels you to root for someone almost against your will. Winfield smacked a homer and a double and was throwing a one-hit shutout through eight innings, with 15 strikeouts. Ahead 7-0 in the ninth, Winfield finally wore out. When the reliever came in, he ran out to left field to a huge ovation. USC scored 8 runs in the bottom of the 9th to win the game and move on to the championship game. (For any of you older sports fans out there, the only USC batter to make an out that inning was Anthony Davis, USC's great tailback.)

After the game, Bob came up to me all excited! "We won! We won!" I acted excited too. "What a comeback!" Then Paul ratted me out. He announced that I had been rooting for the Gophers. Despite my best attempts to explain the hero worship theory, Bob was still disgusted.

"You've got to stand by your team, kid."

The Boston Red Sox - 1976

I watched every inning of every game of this famous World Series between the Red Sox and the Reds. Even though I was still an avid Baltimore fan, I hated the Big Red Machine. There was old Luis Tiant doing his crazy windup, a Reds batter interfering with Pudge, Carbo tying up the game with a three-run homer, and Pudge waving the ball fair. And then the Reds came back in game 7, continuing the Red Sox nightmare. Years later, after having given up on the sport for more than a decade, I became interested again when the snakebitten Red Sox battled the hated Yankees. When I heard their mocking chants of "1918," I became a member of Red Sox Nation.

The San Francisco 49ers - 1987

My affection for the Packers had waned by this time. I was into college sports. BYU, to be specific. I rooted for any team with an ex-BYU quarterback. I even like the Raiders for the only time in my life when Marc Wilson was their quarterback. But the 49ers with Steve Young were my favorite sports team ever. Young choked under pressure in big games. Playoff losses made me so sad I would go in a funk for days. When the Niners beat the hated Cowboys and then the Chargers in the 95 Super Bowl, God was in heaven and all was right with the world.

The Colts - January 16, 2005

I liked the Colts just fine at the time. In fact, I liked them about as much as I liked the New England Patriots. I was living in Indiana and I enjoyed watching Peyton Manning. I wasn't a huge fan. Something happened at the end of the AFC championship game that just set me off. I don't remember exactly what happened, but there were a couple of cheap shots and some grandstanding mockery. No, it wasn't all good. I don't know whether I hated the Patriots more than I liked the Colts.

So there you have it. I like to keep my allegiances to sports teams flexible.

Cute Kids Story!!! Part IV

2008-04-21T07:04:00.000-07:00

The perils of television...

Story 1

Just before putting the boys down, I turned on the Angels-Mariners game. It was the top of the ninth inning, and the Mariners trailed by one with a man on first. Luke asked who our team was.

"The blue team is from Seattle. They're the Mariners, and I'm rooting for them. The red team is from Los Angeles or Anaheim -- it's kind of confusing -- and Uncle Mark roots for them."

Max agreed to root for the Seattle team. Luke was rooting for the team that was going to win. The batter, who had already hit two homers that day, smacked a long ball to deep center. The Angels' centerfielder jumped high and made a great catch, robbing the Mariners of the go-ahead home run and ending the game.

When I explained that the Angels won, Luke declared his affection for the Angels. I explained to him the moral perils of jumping on the bandwagon, but he would have none of it. For tonight, he's an Angels fan.

That night, we went through our usual ritual of saying good night.

Sleep tight. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite. Don't let the bedda bugs bite. Sleep with angels. Sleep with angels.

"No, sleep with Mariners!" said Max.

Story 2

Wendy was folding laundry and watching a strange cooking show in which a chef went to Hong Kong and re-enacted a martial arts scene in which he fought bad guys. He was doing all that Hidden Tiger stuff like floating through the air. One of the bad guys brought out a sword and was whipping it around.

"I'm the guy with the sword," said Max.

"I'm the guy with the gun who dies everybody," said Luke.

"Me too," said Max.

Status Report on My Bicycle Fleet

2008-04-17T14:28:00.000-07:00

Everywhere I go, people are asking me the same question: "How are the bicycles?" I don't want to get into it, so I just reply, "OK, thanks." Unfortunately, that's not exactly true. My bicycles are not OK. In fact, they're pretty fucking far from OK.

The Road Bike - It rattles. It's heavy. It's in constant need of repairs. Right now the LeMond (which I purchased while Greg LeMond was still racing) has yet another flat because the sidewall of the brand new tire wore too thin, so I actually need to drive it into a bike shop for repairs. I could take it to the bike shop near where I live, but the guy lectures me about taking better care of my bike. If I wanted to be scolded, I'd go to the dentist. Or the florist.

The Touring Bike - I've been riding this beaut the last couple of days because my road bike has a flat tire, which I just mentioned in case you're skimming. Unlike the road bike, the touring bike needs no repairs. It is exactly the same bike with the same parts that I took to Spain in 1995. Actually, that's not quite true. After I got a couple of flat tires in Spain, I realized that the rim strip was off-center, put a band-aid over it, and haven't had to replace a tube since.

The touring bike could probably use a tune-up. All of the cables are brown from rust, and one set of brake pads fails to react when I depress the brake lever. The lack of braking ability does not concern me because the bike is so heavy. If I were to collide with an average-sized car that pulled out in front of me, here's what passers-by would see -- a long-haired guy (yes, I'm growing my hair out again) spinning the front wheel of his bike to see if it's out of true while several emergency vehicles are using the Jaws of Life to extract possible survivors from the crumpled sedan.

The Electric Bike - This is technically Wendy's bike. It's still doing fine, there in the garage.

The Ibis Mountain Bike - This is also known as my Leadville bike. It's fine unless you try to shift into the two lowest gears, which are useful only if you're climbing hills.

The Stumpjumper Mountain Bike - Not doing well. Two flat tires and one-half of a seat, very inactive.

The System - This is sitting somewhere in Utah. It's a heavy bike that caused me to fail at Leadville last year. In truth, I shouldn't lay all the blame on this bicycle. Dug was also very much at fault.

The Singlespeed Mountain Bike - I believe this is still in Fatty's garage. I miss it.

The State of My Golf Swing, Part IV

2008-04-14T12:22:00.000-07:00

To be perfectly honest, I haven't been practicing my golf swing lately. Although it's been more than a year since I last played golf, what's really hurting me is my lack of imaginative practice. I lack drive. The Masters was on television yesterday. That would have been a perfect time to get up off the couch and take a couple of swings with a rolled up newspaper. Did I do that? No. Not even once.

In fact, instead of writing this message, I could be practicing my golf swing. I wouldn't even need to be that aggressive. I could just pretend to hit a little 9-iron. Short backswing, easy stab in tempo, and fwapp! The imaginary ball would fly about 120 yards and land in the new construction site on the other side of the road. I can imagine the ball ricocheting off the scaffolding. That would be easy. It's not nearly as difficult as hitting a driver, which is unwieldy even in one's imagination.

If I were a more active person, I'd do something about my indolence.

Convergence of Stars

2008-04-09T15:31:00.000-07:00

Q: What happens when you favorite contemporary band covers your favorite song by the greatest band of all time?

A: You link to it.

For any of you Band fans out there, first of all congratulations. Second, you may want to check out the tribute album, "Endless Highway." This song is on it. And for you fans of Pearl Jam, My Morning Jacket, and The Band, be aware that Eddie Vedder covered this song with My Morning Jacket. It's only a partial video, but I'm comforted knowing thing kind of thing happens. And here's The Band's Laste Waltz version. It's the song that made me fall in love with all things The Band.

Whine Tasting

2008-04-07T11:57:00.000-07:00

For Wendy's birthday, I took her to a fancy pants place in wine country about 30 miles north of where we live. We stayed at Willow's Lodge, which is one of those upscale resort inns with massage spas and wooden beams and terry cloth robes.¹

It turns out that this place is just off the Burke-Gilman Trail, so I've ridden by it dozens of times over the years. It's on the same grounds as two upscale restaurants (Herb Farm and the Barking Frog) and Red Hook brewery², which is now my favorite brewery in the whole wide world³. Within a half mile of the lodge are at least ten wineries.

Wendy and I went to two of the wineries on Saturday afternoon. One was an unpretentious yellow house off the side of the road. I would like to complain about the whole wine tasting experience for two reasons. First, this entry is called "Whine Tasting," so readers will be disappointed without at least one rant. Second, I'm not terribly fond of wine. It doesn't go well with donuts.⁴

Here's the thing. I have no complaints. The wine tasted good, happy people were spending time in bucolic settings, and for people who really appreciate good wine, well, I'm going to change gears here⁵ and say that Seattle has decent wines, but there are way too many blends. I like to try to tell the difference between a cab and a pinot and a merlot, and when these guys put a blend in front of me, I have nothing to speculate about. Sure, I can tip my glass and say, "I think this is a red wine," but that almost seems too obvious.

My theory is that Seattle has lousy grapes but a nice setting, so the wineries use chemicals and peppers and "blends" to create mongrel wines. It's base and demeaning for someone with a refined palette.

After a massage and a hotel room experience for which I should have won an award, Wendy and I met Andy and Minette at the Barking Frog for dinner. Here's the thing. I don't know why it always works out this way, but I always somehow manage to order the best food. Trust me. If you're ever in a restaurant with me, even if you're sitting at another table, just tell the server that you want whatever that guy is having, and point a finger at me.

The next day Wendy and I went on a bike ride along the river. Wendy and I have now ridden along four rivers, the Provo River, the Rhine, the Danube, and Sammamish River. That is very interesting!⁶

______________

¹ In the interest of full disclosure, Wendy made all the arrangements, so really I just went along for the ride. She loves to be pampered like this once a year.

² Is beer stronger in headquarter breweries? Few people can hold liquor better than I can, yet I was beyond tipsy and downright drunk after one beer.

³ You know you're writing boring stuff when you resort to needless hyperbole. If this blog were pay-per-view, I'd make this entry free.

⁴ OK, that was a decent joke. If this keeps going, I'd charge imaginary money in my imaginary pay-per-view scenario.

⁵ That fell apart quickly. At this rate, I'll be paying people to read this entry.

⁶ I'm taking a page out of George Bush's book here. Whenever he travels abroad, he tells people what to think. "My message is that the United States cares about the fine Latin Mexicans who live this far south of civilization." I hope it works.

When Children Are Not in the House

2008-04-03T13:18:00.000-07:00

My sister-in-law Kim took Luke and Max down to Portland for a couple of days. Their absence has given me a moment to reflect on the difference between having children in the house and not having children in the house. Here are my observations:

* When children are not in the house, we can eat dinner and play poker with friends without dealing with a babysitter.

* When children are not in the house, I have an animal's sense of freedom. Nothing is stopping me from sleeping on a window sill.

* When children are not in the house, I am more likely to caress, fondle, and mount my wife, Wendy.

* When children are not in the house, there is no bickering with 4-year-old children who have the rhetorical skills of right-wing radio callers. I am not reprimanded for helping a boy put his belt through a loop. Nor am I reprimanded for not helping a boy put his belt through a loop.

* When children are not in the house, it's quiet. Too quiet.

* When children are not in the house, I miss them. Come back, monkey boys!

I Choked

2008-03-31T11:35:00.000-07:00

I entered a yoga competition on Saturday. It wasn't a big international competition or anything, just the U.S. Yoga Freestyle Championship. I was looking at it as a tune-up. As you'll see, I may want to re-think that strategy.

While international competitions use the match play format in which seeded individuals compete one-on-one as in a tennis tournament, the U.S. Nationals is run more like a ballroom dance competition in which all the competitors do yoga on a large mat while judges declare who stays on the mat and who must leave. I arrived early, warmed up, and used the restroom several times.

When the buzzer sounded to announce the start of the competition, I went into the Mountain Pose. In lay terms, a Mountain Pose is standing upright with your hands at your sides. If you think anyone can do a mountain pose, think again. It requires a stillness of purpose. It requires a metaphysical alacrity. It requires inner patience combined with outer calm. If your chakra isn't aligned, or if your chi is off center, you'll get "tapped out" so fast you'll shit bricks.

As I said, my Mountain Pose was perfect. Too perfect. As the officials weeded out the competition, I knew I should switch poses. I could easily throw out a Warrior II or a Tree Pose without expending too much energy. I didn't. I just stayed in the Mountain Pose. I don't know exactly when it happened, but at some point, I froze up. I wanted to elide into a different asana. I really did. I just couldn't. I stood there for three hours unable to break out of my Mountain Pose, finishing in an extremely disappointing sixth place.

A couple more performances like that and I'll lose my sponsorship. I don't think Nike will ever drop me, but Applebee's and Jack Daniels may want to go with younger yogateers.

Irrationally Frightened

2008-03-28T06:44:00.000-07:00

I was trying to think of times when I've been scared for no good reason. I'm not talking about normal frights, like the time I was running home from a friend's house late at night, heard something rushing at me, and both the cat and I jumped about five feet in the air and ran in opposite directions. That's normal fright. But what about those times when you're scared stiff and you don't know why? This cries out for a top 5 list.

1. Coming Home

This is the memory that triggered this post. I was looking at a picture of Luke and Max when they were newborns, and I thought about their final check-up in the hospital. The boys seemed so fragile and mysterious. It seemed like they were fighting for every breath, and eating was a do-or-die proposition. I remember being shocked when the doctor looked them over and said, "Luke and Max are doing fine. I'll see them again in ten days." Ten days! What was she talking about? Those frail little creatures should be seen by a doctor every few hours! When we all loaded up in the car and drove home on Christmas Eve, I was scared silly. I felt like the Robert Redford character in The Candidate when he gets elected even though he's wildly inexperienced, and he turns to his campaign manager and says, "What do we do now?"

2. Interview with the Damned

This next one is kind of odd, because the memory was scary even though the actual event wasn't. When I was a missionary, my companion and I went to visit a young man who'd stopped going to church. He was deeply troubled. Haunted, even. I can't remember what he said, but I do remember his look of hopeless anguish. It makes sense that after 25 years, I don't remember where in Peru that happened. What's odd is that I'd forgotten where that happened soon afterwards. The interview took on a dream-like quality in my mind, as if I were remembering some nightmare. One of the strongest memories of my mission was also the foggiest. It stuck with me.

3. Innertube water polo

Now this is getting really irrational. There was (and probably still is) an intramural sport at BYU called innertube water polo. Everything about it seems dorky. First off, it's co-ed. Each team played three girls and three guys. For another thing, everyone has to splash around in innertubes and try to score goals. Goofy, right? It got competitive. Fiercely competitive. It got so that I had a difficult time sleeping the night before big games. I had no trouble sleeping before playing in real water polo games against the likes of Arizona State and Air Force Academy, so why would I be frightened the night before innertube water polo games? The consolation I have for this odd fear is that the leader of Ghetto Magic -- an intramural sports juggernaut at BYU that regularly won 4A championships in multiple sports -- said innertube water polo was by far his favorite sport. Go figure.

Ha! It's a top 3 list. See? That's the advantage of having a non-fascist blog. I can write a top 3 list and no one complains!

Geocaching

2008-03-26T19:44:00.000-07:00

It's a great time to be a kid. When I was a young whippersnapper, Saturday morning was the only time we could watch cartoons. If I were five years old nowadays and got scared by something in the closet that looked like a monster, I'd just go downstairs, turn on the television, nuke some popcorn, and watch a cartoon. That beats the Shake 'n Bake popcorn and color bars that I had to put up with back in the 60s. Of course, when I was a kid, I could go outside and play games with neighborhood children, but that kind of thing directly contradicts my train of thought. When I'm lamenting the fact that gasoline cost only 12 cents a gallon when I was a kid, I don't want to hear that the average income was $11,000 a year. I like to compartmentalize those ideas, so let's just stick to the fact that things are great for kids now, m'kay?

Like geocaching. It's a treasure hunting game in which you go out to a web site to get coordinates that indicate where treasures are buried. The canisters contain a bunch of little trinkets like yo-yos, hot wheels, and pen knives. Anyone with a GPS device can search for the buried canister, take something from it, and replace it with their own trinket. Andy and Minette have taken the boys geocaching a couple of times -- once in Lincoln Park and once near Green Lake. Luke and Max dress up as pirates and follow Andy around like he's the pied piper. When someone finds the canister and starts opening it, the boys hop around like they haven't peed in days.

Anyway, if you have a GPS and some kids, it's a fun way to spend an afternoon. Or not. I'm still bummed about the Colts losing to the Chargers.

Easter Gratings

2008-03-24T18:17:00.000-07:00

In case some of you missed it, yesterday was Easter. For some reason, I woke up in a lousy mood, and I've stayed in that lousy mood till now. And even till now. That's right. I'm still in a lousy mood, despite this most recent outpouring of sentences. For one thing, I don't think Christ is risen. I think He stayed in His tomb. And that means I can't arise from the dead, either, despite certain promises I was given as a child. I want to live forever, but solid scientific evidence suggests that Someone couldn't pull off a Miracle, and I'm pissed.

For another thing, there was an Easter brunch at Minette and Andy's house that was -- what? -- unsettling. Eight adults and two kids. Our kids. Having kids creates a huge gap between you and people who decide not to have kids. It's depressing. I'm too depressed to even provide a picture. Just imagine a picture of me in the upper right corner looking sad.