O! It's windy!

April 29, 2011

As I was wending my windy way home today, I struggled to stay focused on the path which lay ahead of me. As you may know or imagine, it is not easy to stay focused on your way in the occasionally bustling, metropolisish city of Omaha. Let me start a numbered list (one of my favorite activities these days, I think it helps me focus) of the reasons it can be hard to stay focused on the road/multi-use path/sidewalk/traffic while riding:

1. The ocean-like wind that often buffets our humble, land-locked hills of concrete and grass-clad loess

2. The wind is a bringer of curiosities: this wind had been so unrelentingly diligent in its purpose that it had apparently actually separated this comfortable looking sock from a baby’s foot!



Disembodied adult foot added for scale.


3. There are numerous pieces of tantric-looking public sculptures, sidewalk art and the occasional encouraging motorists honking like friendly geese as we fly to our individual feeding waters/fields/garbage cans.

Yes, our fair city has come a long way since the days of my youth, when I was not quite as thrilled with my surroundings. We have more multi-use paths, and a bewildering number of sporting events and stadiums. Not a half-bad music scene, either.

Speaking of music. I was thrilled to have the opportunity to stop in the used CD shop to pick up some new tunes this afternoon. As I was browsing as happily as a goose in a delicious lichen-infested , cool pond, I looked out the window only to find that the Old Bastard (my bicycle) was once again lying down gracelessly locked to a fixed object. Not only that, he was being sprinkled. No that is not kind of kinky, he was being sprinkled by a sprinkler system.

Ah, my faithful, long-suffering companion. Not the worst thing you’ve endured, but not exactly a heroic pose, either. Luckily, Old Bastard baby’s got back, which I like to think caused the second fall to be fairly low impact.

(Sorry ODB, I thought it would be a more secure location…..awkward tailing off towards the end)

Well, ODB’s ignominious ordeal was not to be in vain, for after being alerted of the shop’s buy 2 get 1 free offer, I became the proud owner of six of my new all-time favorite sensitive, atmospheric, pop-folk artist Badly Drawn Boy. So excited was I to have stumbled upon such an aural treasure-trove that I neglected to look for discs from his fellow Manchester (England, that is!) musical brethren The Happy Mondays. Oh well. Luckily I had just joined an exclusive club which would make my purchasing of used CDs and DVDs even more rewarding than usual (details available at your local CD Trading Post)!  I'll be back for you Mondays, oh yes, I'll be well-padded back.

As I pointed ODB’s stout backside downwind and aimed towards home I almost thought to myself “Home-aha, you’re alright by me.”

Now if only Badly Drawn Boy could come and play an outdoor venue near me sometime this summer. Ah, yes, now that might call for adding another “!” to some of our Os!!

Free Stuff!

April 27, 2011

As a staunch proponent of free love back in the ‘70s (ages 0-8) and again during several on-again-off-again relationships during my conflicted teens and 20s (I was torn between the monkhood and my monkey hood tendencies) I still keep an eye out for free stuff. Such as this sweet stationary bike-

I’m sorry to inform you that it’s not there anymore (previously available to anyone who wanted to pick it up). It is now dripping water onto my basement floor as I simultaneously type and pedal thoughtfully towards the development of my “free” theme. Eat your hearts out, suckers!

I also like to sporadically encourage free expression, such as this artwork on one of the multi-use paths I frequent.

Ah, the spontaneous expression of one’s passions is, alas, a thing many of us have to leave behind as we move into adulthood. We get jobs. Married. Children. Work slavishly for “the man.” And if we are lucky the man rewards us with pay that, I would guess, probably provides a higher standard of living than the pay in most other countries. As the count on SCTV used to say, “Not, too shabby, eh kids?!”

This generally seasonally-attired and accoutred scarecrow always provides a free smile to passersby.

I was also treated to some free sunshine (both the liquid variety and the less easy to define variety [waves?, particles?, watt-eVeR] as illustrated in this photo. [end use of "quotation marks" and "free" theme here]

Well, my legs have finally recovered from my Earth Day fun run. I felt drained and crankier than usual for several days afterwards. Small price to pay for my foray into the world of the sharp-eyed raptors and their blunt-shelled prey. I have been attempting some ambitious sleeping to aid in recovery. So far I’ve been rewarded with dreams that included a man who was cheating on his wife telling me that Year One is a really good movie, and one in which I started arguing with a large, doughy punk while sitting in a theater and watching Spaceballs.

Now that I've got some film-watching opportunities available while sleeping, maybe I'll hold off on my free trial subscription to Netflix.  After all, as Debbie Harry has been known to sing, "dreaming is free."  (Yes, I realize I've quickly lapsed back into my use of quotation marks and the "free" theme, but they're irresistable!)  So, my freewheeling friends, here's some free advice:  freak freely and watch for freebies!  

Earth Day Fun Run!

April 22, 2011

Hello and a happy Earth Day/Great Friday to you! Good Friday was upgraded based on the sacreligiously fine weather we enjoyed this afternoon and evening. It did not start out quite so cheery, as a moderate rain jumped out onto the road about the same time I did this morning. A continuously gritty spray of water ensured that my face was awake and slightly numb by the time I reached my place of employment (I run a small investment-advisory group I like to call the Stuff Your Money Under Your Mattress Group, Inc.).  I have witnessed scenes similar to this less than inspirational one fairly often lately.

So as you can imagine, when the heavens opened their arms in a warm embrace later in the day I was overjoyed with giddy springtime joy.

As many of you know, I am a tireless crusader for the preservation of all turtles, great and small. And as I am fond of advertising interesting events well in advance, you may have grown tired of my constant trumpeting about the first annual “Race Against Extinction,” which took place this evening at the inspirational Hitchcock Nature Center near Crescent, Iowa. My studious nature towards studying nature has caused me to feel a strong empathy towards nearly extinct turtles. Uninterestingly enough, my severe (occasionally nearly debilitating) attachment to endangered turtles began when a fellow youth outdoor activity leader informed me that when you are backpacking you are like a turtle because you carry your home on your back. Also I tend to do things rather slowly........like.....a.........turtle.

When I heard that I should race against extinction, I adjusted this exhortation to something more my speed, a sort of “run/jog in favor of extant-tion.” My initial interpretation was that the ubiquitous raptors that ruled the Hitchcock center with an iron talon had been hunting the local turtles to near extinction. There wasn’t much time to spare (I think the early announcements came out a couple months ago). We had to run (or walk/jog briskly) to the aid of our reptilian cousins. My plan was to stuff a couple turtles into my pockets and get them to a slightly safer, nearby environment where they could survive safely and happily with no natural predators (preferably a lovely [preferably zebra mussel-free] pond near my home). I figured if all the runners did the same, these fragile Testudines would be able to cautiously thrive in a more perfect location than the one they had had the misfortune to slowly choose.

I coquettishly informed the strapping EMTs manfully manning the ambulance that I was likely to need mouth-to-mouth attention due to my accident-prone nature and moderate lack of fitness. Their nervous laughter was quickly followed by the clarification that, “we’ve got masks.”

When I made it out to the starting line, I was excited yet slightly nervous about once again celebrating the pagan Earth Day, which had been put in place by some type of anti-Christ to counter the traditional, Christian holiday we like to call Easter.

I nervously eyed the meat/ice hooks which hung near the barn/starting line, wondering if the strongest runner would be sacrificed to some pagan deity following the bacchanal/race.

I once again gave thanks for my weakness and anonymity, there was no chance I would be suspended from these steel talons following my feeble exertions.

The race began, and I trotted gamely forwards, buoyed by my extreme case of spring fever and an invigorating drink I like to call “mate (con accento) you bastard!” Although naturally Testudinal in pace, I was actually faster than average on the descents, (approximately as speedy as a perfectly wheel-shaped, rolling-on-edge of shell turtle) which were aplenty during the beginning of the event. I do not generally run voluntarily, however when I do run I generally mimic my bicycling behavior- fast descents followed by slow, whining ascents and/or steady, flat pedaling.

As I let my superiority complex live a little during my relatively quick descending, I recklessly shot my camera off in various directions, in a true tour de farce of racing ennui.

Although I glanced in the direction of the stream at the bottom of the main descent, I could not discern any of the needy turtles requiring a transfer to a less deadly ecosystem.

I glanced fearfully upwards and noticed that several cruel-looking raptors were hovering above our pack, clearly waiting for the weakest gazelle/rabbit to become disconnected from the group before they mercilessly dove in for the kill. I bypassed the drink station, fearing a potential cramp which would make me a sitting, salty duck for the beaks of the red-tailed hawks, whose eyes I could feel boring into the top of my sweaty head.

Although my newfound sense of competitiveness quickly waned during the flats and ascents, I felt pretty good about my fairly snappy uphill hiking on the second half of the course.

I even passed a young, fit girl who stated, “Man, this is intense.” Yes, my fellow racer, intense for you, even more intenser for the Testudines!

As I finished the run, several people appeared impressed and were snapping photos of my less-than snappy finish. I didn’t want to over-exert my non-running-enabled heart during this unusual, exhilarating event. So I slowed and nonchalantly snapped photos of the photographers. (In hindsight, I think this may be my version of the turtle’s “head-into-shell” maneuver).

Mmmmm. Behold the fruits of my sporting spirit!

Yes, truly and Earth Day feast for the ages.

A fifth place “winner” (not the Olympics, obviously) was kind enough to allow me to photograph him with his awesome prize- a painting made by an actual (and probably baffled) Bengal tiger:

(Looks like that tiger is about to make a quick snack of that tasty-looking, recently disembodied wrist).  I’m pretty sure it was way better than the first place guy who’s prize was made by some kind of angry porpoise or something. Although I backtracked under the protective cover of the descending dusk to determine whether or not there were needy turtles in the stream that would prefer living in my less perilous neighborhood, I wasn’t able to locate any of the shy Testudines. Perhaps we were too late in our race. But we ran nonetheless, oh yes, we ran, (or at least jogged a little).
PostscriptOn a side note, during my last reconnaissance of the turtle habitat I came across this disquieting bit of information(!):

Yes, it appears that a “woody invasion” is occurring at our very own Hitchcock Nature Center. Our beautiful, sun-loving prairies are being out-competed by invasive, shady trees. Darn.

I also learned that the “species of the month” were species that would not be here if not for the “woody invasion”! I guess a woody invasion makes for some pretty good livin’ for some of us!

　
　
　

Spring Training

April 17, 2011

I went out for what turned out to be my first longish ride of the spring. As I loaded up with a bottle full of energy drink and strapped on my clownish carbon-soled clogs I was planning a quick ride over to Rich’s to get a ride around a local lake and to borrow his truck to bring some apple trees back to the potential suburban orchard I call home.

Much like the Huskers football team, recreational/non-competitive/commuting bicyclists like myself spend a fair amount of time enduring something I like to call "spring training."  A good coach is very helpful in situations like this.  Luckily my riding partner and best friend Rich is very motivated when it comes to putting in some serious distance astride bicycles. 

I met up with Rich and we rode around the lake and then down the road and then went down a road that appears to be in the process of being transformed into a bike trail, which I thought was great. Then we rode for several miles on hilly country roads with the wind. Rich seemed anxious to get some serious riding in and I was feeling pretty good, so we rode out to see the llamas.

We also avoided some slight flooding.

Rich had been working much to hard and finally had a day off, so he exuded some serious energy as we pedalled over many hills on our "country mile" long ride.  My typical view of the inspirational Rich during the event looked like this-

We then rode for what seemed like several days along gravel roads.

I saw many grain storage bins, silos, and propane tanks.

This particular grain silo looks a little like a beaver wearing one of those peasant Asian cone hats (made famous by the villains in the cult classic Big Trouble in Little China). 

It was all quite pastoral and enjoyable. Especially once we finished the ride and ingested large quantities of English muffin pizzas and bread pizzas. A quick truck ride home with the apple trees and a Samurai rice ale polished off the day, all unrelated to Chris Carmichael’s personalized training programs.  My personal training program consists of sporadic spastic attempts at riding long, slow distances, followed by a sore butt, lots of food and a couple beers.

Lost Wallet? Bike Nepal! - part 2

Sorry for having to split this into 2 parts (I am technologically challenged and may be under the influence of severe magnolia intoxication).  Please read part 1 first or you will ruin the surprise!

Okay, now back to reality. I turned around and made my way slowly most of the way back to my place of work before I realized I should probably turn the ringer on for my phone in case someone found my wallet and gave me a call. Indeed, just as I was adjusting my settings the pre-ring vibrating began and I eagerly answered a call from an unknown person.

The lovely girl that had found my wallet had been out for a bike ride herself, and would not accept any cash as a token of my gratitude. I felt blessed. Humanity, you’re alright by me.
　

Lost Wallet? Bike Nepal! - part 1

April 14, 2011

As the spring season has sprung upon me like a pink and green catamount I have apparently taken further leave of my senses than usual. My search for scapegoats turned up the following:

Yes I feel that the potent blend of magnolia blossoms (our American version of the more compact and expensive Japanese cherry blossoms or the high-fallutin’ Nepali rhododendron blossoms) and abundant yard waste had conspired with spring to render me a jabbering, giddiot ineffectually flopping about in a kind of hapless ecstasy. Yes if I were a game animal I would be “in the rut.“ Yet another blunder- yesterday while wending my way back towards my adobe abode I heard a sharp clattering on the pavement behind me, which (in case you didn’t already know it) is a signal that something has fallen off. I slowed and apprehensively predicted that it was my beautiful burnt orange/sienna colored Nikon Coolpix, pictured here with disembodied hand-

As I turned back to behold my loss, I saw it was just one of my many mini-pumps lying on the sidewalk. Hmmm. No biggy (no pun intended). I looked at my dowdy, practical, customized rack trunk bag

(which I would have turned my nose up as being a bit too bike-dorky back 15 years ago or so)

and was unhappy to see that I had left the lid unzipped (wish I could say for the first time). A quick inventory revealed that my wallet (which I think might sound good pronounced “walley”) was absent. Damn. As I turned around and began to backtrack I heaved a heavy sigh of self-disappointment. It was as if I had somehow been transformed from a brightly colored eel effortlessly weaving through the coral reef of life in my natural, warm, watery home (which is my typical self image while bicycling erratically through the concrete jungle) into a careless, slobbering, imbecile dog playing in the highway.

As I lose track of my story (I blame the magnolias that I have covered myself and my computer chair with and which are nearly overpowering me with their sensuous pungency) I am compelled to apologize for my over-parenthesizing (for anyone who is as offended as I am by this severe case of cutesy stylization/lazy writing).

Well, now would be a good time to mention this fun story that I was able to peruse today about these guys who did some mountain biking in Nepal (not something to be sneezed at, depending on which part of Nepal you are in).
http://www.bicycling.com/ride-maps/featured-rides/i-was-told-thered-be-enlightenment These guys were in one of the many steep parts which often followed the western portion of the famous Annapurna Circuit. There is also a nice slide show. http://www.bicycling.com/ride-maps/featured-rides/bike-nepal Although I think the bikes may have been a huge pain and encumberance on this trip I am envious of some of the moments they must have experienced on this adventure. So, please feel free to count on joining me for a mountain biking adventure trip to Nepal next October.

Eggy Cupcake

April 11, 2011

In this Lenten season, a small number of Christians give something up. Some of them will tell you about their sacrifice in a martyr-like manner. For those of you with the stomach for it, I will jump on both of these bandwagons….at the same time! (Yes, I can do that because I’m fairly flexible, and I occasionally wear tights, that’s right - acrobat-wear). For this Lenten season, I appear to have (completely accidentally) given up my safe bicycling ways. I have also become an object of ridicule to the masses. Yes, I am also happy to have developed a Christ complex in this Christly season of Lent and the upcoming Christian and pagan ritual of Easter (or as it was known to the ancient Romans - the ides of Eastermass).

I was feeling kind of down following my weekend activities. I think huge quantities of sugar and small amounts of exercise formed a potent blend of highly reactive chemicals that may have affected a shift in my spiritual trajectory. But I shoved aside my feelings of dejection and jumped out of bed with the alacrity of A.A. Milne’s beloved, striped kid’s idol -Tigger a full 12 minutes before my alarm went off. A scant 90 minutes later and I was on my speedy mountain steed

and swooping raptor-like towards my office eyrie. As I was impressing myself with my speedy gracefulness, I surprised a complacent wooden fence with my speedy attack.

Showing no mercy, I gouged at it with my vicious headlight and then away! I rode away as if nothing had happened, although the car at the intersection I had just swooped across seemed to hesitate just a bit, perhaps in bemused wonder or perhaps temporarily paralyzed with spasms of laughter.

The feeling of heaviness settled upon me like the effects of DDT into the fragile eggshell of my young day. I felt as if I had been chosen for a particularly Mondayish Monday. I went to work and dunked and drowned my sorrow with peanut butter cookies and coffee.

I noticed I had missed a few spots on my mug during my morning shave.  I shuffled my way through a humdrum day and then began a lazy ascent on a low-gear-powered updraft. When I had almost made my escape back to my pastoral homeplace, a girl’s laugh accompanied an airborne ovo’s flight through the spoke’s of my front wheel.

I decided not to dignify their prank with a lifted head, and just ignored them as they sped gleefully around the corner, plus I was listless.

From Tigger to an Eyore’s bland acceptance of misfortune, I had truly come full circle and back to my origins. I felt as if I was a clumsy martyr for the cause of amusing others with my bumbling antics. Oh and of course it's no surprise to me that I forgot my camera, and the lens of my camera-phone seems to have been damaged somewhat by a recent ice-skating incident, so you'll just have to take my word that there is egg-yolk hanging from my spokes in that photo.  Well, I may have busted a headlight, but my friends and family nearly busted a gut laughing as I related my free-wheeling follies for their amusement. 

Hankerin' for some pavement!

April 6, 2011
As I was lying in the middle of a quiet residential side street with my chin on the clean concrete and a faint aura of sparkles around the periphery of my vision, I realized that I had biffed it! Yes, my tires had lost their tenuous contact with the road.
I had gotten off to a good start, riding past kids frolicking about in their neighborhoods. A fellow cyclist (mini-version) had inadvertently greeted me (along with her intended target) with a, “Hi Steve!” I’d made it around several other corners, and I was feeling nimble.
Here’s the corner.

Here’s the (brand new) tire.

Hmmm. Those both look pretty good, eh?
Operator?

Yep. Think we might’ve found the “weak link.”
Here’s the small hole in the pants I was rewarded with for my endeavor.

Here’s some more pants with holes that I have fashioned throughout my travels and travails.

WARNING- the following 2 paragraphs contains adult content of a sexual (and snotty) nature:
As the weather warms, and the sunlight arrives earlier, I am looking forward to some reduced snot rides, possibly followed by some snot-free spinning. Yes, my trusty bandanas/hankies will soon be retired for the season and set comfortably amongst other comfortable cotton items in my sock/underwear door. Following an energetic clearing of the nasal passages onto the pavement while waiting for lights to change, I often pull from my pocket my bandana/hanky to clean up the residue. This, naturally, puts me in mind of the once popular “promiscuous singles’ bandana-signal parties.” I wondered what my bandana colors would signify in a slightly more metrosexual environment such as these parties. Wikipedia served as my source of information for gay S&M information (guess I’m really not in art school anymore).
I also often carry a navy blue snot rag, which gives me a nice, comfortable, safe and mellow feeling, and which apparently may signify, “Wearing it in the left back pocket or on the left side indicates a preference to be the insertive partner (the "top" or "pitcher") during anal intercourse. Wearing it in the right back pocket or on the right side indicates a preference to be in the receptive role (the "bottom" or "catcher"). Guess which side I prefer… (wink, wink).
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Handkerchief_code Well, come to find out, my orange bandanas would (although subject to regional and hanky placement variations) signify, “anything, anytime.” I generally carry my hanky in my front right pocket, which might indicate, “will bottom in relatively any fetish, anytime, anywhere or may indicate (probably the most appropriate for this conservative, married feller) "just looking, no play." Also since I’m a little scraped up from my tryst with the rock-hard concrete, bottom might be best. Alright, handkerchief code isn’t the only thing happening these days. (Yep, I’m really a cutting edge kind of guy, always aware of the latest trends and fashions). The good ol’ Taco Ride on the Wabash Trail is now underway. I am looking forward to this ride, hopefully with some good friends and family. Good brews and good food. And there aren’t many corners on the way to Mineola, so I’ve got a pretty good chance of staying upright (just as my orange handkerchief might lead you to believe, nyuck, nyuck, nyuck.)