Training for the VLT drawing!

May 31, 2011

As it is now the season of races and outdoor exercising I am in serious need of assistance. I have determined that, since excelling at any type of single event is not my forte (con accento macho, you bastard!), it would behoove me to design a special team shirt or costume of some type in order to feel the thrill of accomplishment that is otherwise held very far out of reach (generally completely out of sight, in fact) in front of my rabbitty nose. To that end, I have cranked up the Badly Drawn Boy music and retrieved the trusty sketch book from its wooden crate. As I have been assigned to Team Wheezy for the upcoming Grand Gooduckit Gorefest (aka the Urban Omaha Ultimate Adventure Race- coming right up on June 4), I am putting my subconscious to work on a grandiose design which can be crafted with Sharpies and a few v-necked, size L t-shirts (aka VLTs). These VLTs are likely to be hand-drawn by Yours Truly. This could be it, my big chance at being a success, being a weener! I will keep you posted as I progress haphazardly towards completion of this noble endeavor.

I have also noticed a lawn decorating trend that has caused me to break into song on occasion after occasion. Here it is:

Yes, these wooden wheels are littering lawns like their scorched and gnawed upon ancestors once littered the sides of the Mormon Trail. They remind me of the Old Crow Medicine Show's smash hit - "Wagon Wheel," which I have been singing during my travels in areas where this type of decor is prevalent. and can be heard in this video.

I also came across a field full of Rumex crispus during my latest training run to the store to buy beer.

Don't be surprised if you see plumes of smoke inexplicably rising towards the western skyline of suburbia. But instead of the usual tea party burning of Obama in effigy, the source this time may be a large bonfire with three large vats of boiling water cooking up mass quantities of thrice-boiled R. crispus. Ah, yeah, it's a suburban bonfire and R. crispus party waiting to happen!

Well, enough jibber-jabber - I gotta get my logo designing groove on if I'm gonna create the best Urban Adventure Race uniform ever! Hold onto your VLTs! Be a weener!

Veggie Roadkill

May 27, 2011

The squeeking of my dry chain greeted me as I began my afternoon bicycling experience. I had apparently not been diligent with my maintenance of the Old Bastard, but of course we have had a few soggy days lately. Even the Hawthorn tree in front of my abode is rusty! The outlook had been overcast. Even the roadkill had seemed a bit less perky - rather bedraggled, in fact. But today things were still fairly dry due to yesterday's sun shining down upon the pasty white necks of my fellow Caucasians and I as we paced our lawns, led by our machines. Restlessly, back and forth. My buddy Bob had called and reluctantly informed me that he would not be able to meet me for a beer after work.

"Well, I guess that'll give me a chance to mow the lawn." I squarishly responded.

"That's what I'm doin'!" Bob declared, seemingly relieved by our mutually staid but responsible outlooks on evening activities.

I guess I wasn't surprised.

I have had more excitement in the sleeping world than the waking one lately. Last night I dreamt that I was working my way up a long stairway, gradually hopping, one wheel at a time, sideways on my bicycle. I was somewhat annoyed when I encountered a couple of unambitious teenagers sitting on a step. I dismounted and entered a house party. I dismantled my hot pink bicycle and left it upstairs in a cozy study nook of a female inhabitant of the house. The bicycle seemed a bit familiar, so I was (once again) unsurprised when I discovered the bike very much resembled the Terry Fastwoman pictured in the catalog I received in the mail recently. Yes, I may have been riding a Fastwoman on the stairs in my dreams.

As I was typing before, the roadkill has flattened out, and perked up recently due to a bit o’ the sunlight. Here’s an expressive example.

or two.

Even the veggie roadkill looked crisper.

These shapes (when miniaturized) would combine to make a fine-looking breakfast cereal. We could call it Mourning Roadkill. It would be great! It might even emit some kind of a red dye into your milk (or perhaps feature a label recommending pairing the cereal with strawberry Kwik milk, mmmmm)! All I need is a partner with some marketing saavy and a few big bills lying around and we’ll both be rich! (Just send me a copy of your ATM receipt and we'll get started right away!)

As I cycled squeekily homewards, I noticed many signs that we were approaching the first holiday weekend of the spring and the unofficial beginning of summer. This guy was staring at the swimming pool, apparently assessing it’s ability to handle an early onslaught of soon-to-pee-due-to-chilly-water-ish children.

Many of my fellow suburbanites had recently mowed, which explained the abundance of veggie roadkill and also the occasional dusting o’ the green on the driveways.

The variety of expression displayed by many of the creators of public art in our area is a source of never ending delight to me. This subtle (i.e., very hard to decipher without the right lighting) ironic statement... (if you can read it)

preceded it’s slightly more visible, but less confrontational, equivalent (at least to the young, speed-hungry motorists with an aversion to braking) that I encountered further down the road.

Well, these notices didn’t faze me as I gradually wheeled along on my merry way. After all, as the good book says, the road to glory is paved with cute corpses, flattened vegetable matter, insults, bumps and warnings!  And a merry weekend to you, too!

　

Sour Dock

May 24, 2011

As I inhaled the scent of damp cedar mulch and rode past Woodchuck Holler, I came upon this lovely image of sour dock.

After talking to this plant at length, I learned that they generally prefer their scientific name of Rumex crispus (and who can blame them, I'm kind of a sourpuss, but prefer not to be referred to as such). They are also generally fond of italicized words, as am I. My conversation also revealed that a thrice-boiled Rumex crispus could be rendered non-toxic and would perhaps serve as a harmonious accompaniment to a lovely meal of gooduckit. Yes, it seems that no matter how I try to resist the siren call of the Great Gooduckit Chase (also known as the Urban Omaha Ultimate Adventure Race of '11 [come on along, you'll be back by the 4th, of June, that is]), I am drawn to it like a triathlete to synthetic fabrics.

Speaking of synthetic fabrics, I just received a Terry cycling catalogue and I was curious to see what their models (bicycle models, of course) looked like. Well, they were classy, well proportioned, with muscular legs, uh, I mean bottom brackets.... There was also a lot of synthetic clothing in tastefully designed styles. The Terry Isis looked like a fine ride, and put me in mind of the Bob Dylan song, which can be heard in this
clip.
http://www.timsah.com/Bob-Dylan-Isis-1975/q0QVrVl6x7x
After I made it back to my safe haven, I immediately set out on a training run in my Neonderthal feet.

I ran through some puddles and got some mud on my face. Then I jumped over a branch and growled to myself. On my way back I noticed a picturesque raised crosswalk along one of our city's many multi-use trails. What a great concept! Looks good, calms traffic and pedestrians alike with its languid allure.

There was also this paleolithic god of balance.

A kind of primitive, Robert Rauschenberg-like reminder of the heavy beauty of stone, supported by the light strength of wood.

Then I went home and picked some rocket (Eruca sativa) from my garden for a nice salad with my dinner. Paleo-terrific!

Wear yellow (and dodge the trees)

May 21, 2011

I survived a 50-mile ride today and enjoyed it, to boot! Yes, Mr. Braggy Pants had quite a time, meeting other cycle enthusiasts, some who were even more enthusiastic than I. One woman loved her Terry bicycle so much that she stated that she would take it to bed if she could and that she feels like she's cheating when she goes out for a ride on it! She also answered a longstanding question of mine as to the identity of this plant-

 

This tree tried to put the smackdown on me the other day as I was enjoying a bicycling excursion on the local multi-use trail.  Yes, I was nearly axed by a tree, which was chopping wildly in the wind.

Which brings me to the results of my tree identification project, which I have presented in the form of a weekend arboreal answer-if-you-can exercise.  If you answer correctly, then you will be redirected to one of the many fabulous Badly Drawn Boy videos available on youtube.  If you are wrong then you will see comedian Auggie Smith!

What type of tree is shown above? 

1. a banana tree (Musa acuminata)
2. a hooker willow (Salix hookerana)
3. American basswood (Tilia americana)

How about this one? 

1. white ash (Fraxinus americana)
2. American basswood (Tilia americana)
3. den shelter (Beastus umbrellialis)

Here's the weed I was concerned with earlier.  What would you call this (if you wanted to be correct)? 

1. mouse's ear (Cerastium fontanum)
2. ragweed (Ambrosia sp.)
3. beatle's bane (Mikus jaggerinus)
4. sour dock (Rumex crispus)

While the Wear Yellow Ride was rewarding, it was not without a mishap. I rode over this nail that skewered my Mr. Tuffy tire liner and tube like Auggie Smith's sharp wit skewers Portland bicyclists.

My standing firmly in the back of the pack was shaken. With a little help from Sean of The Bike Way I made it back to the start of the ride as the lone latecomer. I was not too proud to ask the man representing Chris's Cakes to fire his grill back up and flip me some 'jacks! He flipped me up eight, and they didn't last eight minutes.

For most of the ride I pedaled with my dad who is generally a bit faster on his two-wheeling, flat handlebar-headed steed than I.

We rode past some scenic areas of the region.
Linoma Beach - fun, but occasionally deadly family/partier destination, which according to hearsay, may be closed for the time being(?)

A feedlot - some skittish cattle, but a few stuck around to fulfill my need for personable subject matter.

Yes, all in all, a good time was had by most.

In Training!

May 18, 2011

Well now there's no retreating, as I have become a wheel on the tricycle known as Team Wheezy. Yes, my friends Rich, Nick and I have dedicated ourselves towards finding, killing, cleaning, combining, possibly cooking somewhat, and eating the three components of a gooduckit - (aka the Urban Omaha - the Ultimate Adventure Race). I am excited about this goal, because now I am "in training," which is a nice break from riding my bicycle. It is somewhat similar to the popular notion of breaking up the rainy weather by getting outside to water our lawns. Although a big goal can be daunting and impressive to others, I find that the smaller goals are really the most important ingredients in implementing a recipe for delicious success, which (when half baked) might taste similar to a gooduckit stew. So with this notion in mind, I set out to kill two birds (and as you may have guessed, those two birds would be a duck and a goose) with one high velocity, sling-shot propelled stone. The first metaphoric bird (the goose) was returning my movies to Blockbuster, while the second bird (the duck) was going for a run, since the Great Gooduckit Chase will most assuredly involve some transporting of oneself by foot in a speedy manner. I am quite fond of combining activities like this in a spontaneous paeon to efficient planning. Here goes!

I snapped photos of various trees on my way to Blockbuster,

and I plan to identify them using my handy-dandy Trees of North America: A Field Guide to the Major Native and Introduced Species North of Mexico (A Golden Field Guide) . If you have not perused this treasure trove of arboreal lore, then you may as well just go climb a tree, because I just don't know what you've been thinking!

My tree identification skills are rusty (kind of like the Hawthorne tree in our front yard was last spring), so I will have to get back to you on the tree types shown here. Please feel free to inform me if you can identify these shady customers. I also noticed a large washed-out portion of the soil supporting this tree. I wondered if this might serve as some type of creature's den.

Which of course led me to thinking about snaring a rabbit with a trap of some sort, rather than the traditional compound bow favored by most Neonderthal hunters.

I trotted over hill and over dale and dropped off my movies, browsed and left. Quite a small success, if I do say so myself (and if I don't, then no one else will)!

It has also come to my attention that this week is Bike to Work week. I hope that you have been enjoying it. I had a nice chat with a fellow bicyclist concerning the possibility of rain later in the week at a local traffic crossing I will henceforth refer to as Chatty Corner (since this is the location where I have been fortunate enough to be able to exchange a few words [of the non-cursing variety] with my fellow travellers).

Although I am wildly enthusiastic (to nearly unsafe proportions, whoa there pardner) about Bike to Work week, I actually prefer to think of it as Bike the Hell Away from Work week (BHAWW Ya!). So ride the hell safely outta there and enjoy some tree viewing!

Three Modes of Travel

May 10, 2011

It feels like summer out today! Went for a bike and joined a large group of outdoor enthusiasts enjoying the sunny outdoors. Firstly, I noticed a young, helmetless daredevil proceeding audaciously down the middle of the road while looking at, and using both hands to operate, some type of digital device! "Ahea!" I groaned to myself. Secondly, I saw a young man who appeared to be texting while faced with the inviting glow of a green light shining down upon his visage of nonchalance. Not only that, he also had some skateboard-style helmet slung over his handlebar to protect his texting hand in case of mishap. I was shocked by the utter impudence of it all. Thirdly, a youngster riding a skateboard on the sidewalk caused me to take to the grass for a time. He then passed me by boldly busting through a red light and onto a multi-use path with the savoir-faire of an otter at play, waving at me as I waited for my chance to cross the intersection. Then a pedestrian joined the melee (avec accente SMASH!).

We eventually converged at the first island of safety in the trafficky stream of autos while crossing a bustling city highway. "It's hard to time these things." stated the pedestrian matter-of-factly.
The skater joined us., smiling puckishly. "Three modes of travel!" I quipped inanely, just as our footborne friend was about to speak.

And then we were off. Our moment of kinship was over (probably for the best, as I sensed nerves were beginning to fray). We narrowly avoided a collision on the far side of the highway and then I rocketed dorkishly down the hill, Planet Bike Superflash flashing its cadence of safetyhood for all to admire.

May 11, 2011

A good day for ducks. That is also the name of this painting by a talented local artist named Jen Beroila.

I was pleased to see a family of ducks out for a morning stroll near the multi-use trail.

Ducks are so heart-warming, and not just when their down is used to stuff coats and sleeping bags. I feel that we (like myself and yesterday's street-crossing companions) share a special kinship since their waddling, awkward-looking antics and brightly colored plumes are very similar to me and my brightly-colored, wobbly, bicycling progress up the hill by Woodchuck Holler.

As I pedaled home, I arrived at a stoplight and waited for a bit behind a coupe of some sort. When we got the green the driver was off! The back tire spun a bit in the sand and gravel that had been transported by some recent heavy rains.

Oh, that mischievous driver! I wonder if he was trying to playfully kick up some sand in my face, just like those smiling, larger, older scallywags at the beaches of my youth. Those kidders!  Ah, those were good, albeit confusing, times.

May 12, 2011

As a wanna-be Neonderthal (a kind of New Primitive or Noble Savage, ala Paul Gaugin's ideal), I am gradually trying to work my way backwards in the so-called time"line" of history. I employ the ""s because I believe (primarily from watching Doctor Who and Donny Darko) that time, rather than being strictly linear, is more like a spiral during which certain events occur closer in spirit to moments that may have occurred long ago "linearly." I am easily influenced by any new-age types of theories and trends. Hence my latest footwear purchase:

I am also interested in observing trends in history that conveniently support my overall outlook, much like the authors of many of the latest history/propaganda books (e.g., How the Irish Saved Civilization and Born Fighting ). So you can imagine my fascination when I was informed of an ancient Roman tradition that paved the way for our pale imitation of their decadence. As everyone knows, a turducken is an unholy abomination that involves a duck inside a chicken inside a turkey that is cooked and served as a meal on Thanksgiving. It seems to me to be a kind of sarcastic "Thanks, thanks a lot" since it is basically an unnatural co-mingling of disparate fowl, that implies the Providence-provided turkey isn't quite festive enough. Well, turducken lovers, the ancient Romans had your dissatisfaction beat around two millenia ago when they were feasting on a turducken inside of a pig inside of a bovine (a Bopiturducken)! Yes, I heard about it from a man who saw it on television while undergoing a heavily-medicated recovery from surgery.
　Well today I was able to spot some quarry that would perhaps provide a true Neonderthal hunter with a kind of suburban game version of turducken.

That's right, a rabbit inside a duck inside a goose- a gooduckit. No longer will families have to argue about whether it's duck season or wabbit season - it's both! And yes, "It's a goose, Martha!" I'm pretty sure that I'll soon be seeing my fellow suburban, Vibram Five Fingers-clad Neonderthal brethren stocking their prey with a high tech, neoprimitive tool called a compound bow. You bring the beer, we'll be back with the meat by 8:00. Coincidentally (or is it?), I have it on good authority that the upcoming Urban Omaha Ultimate Adventure race (June 4, 08:00) will actually consist entirely of bagging, preparing, and consuming a gooduckit as quickly as possible (extra points awarded based on pre-cooking weight). BYOBB (bring your own bow and bicycle). Yes it could get a little ugly as we Neonderthals jockey about on bike-back aiming bows into backyards along golf courses. I recommend keeping the dogs and cats inside.

Safety Bike

May 8, 2011

As all citizens of our great nation are now aware, Bike Safety Month is upon us, like a sheep dog herding its flock towards the safety of the next pasture. People are wearing colors that are even brighter than your typically outrageously bright spring fashions.

I have been safely riding my bicycle without a lost time accident for approximately 28 days now, so I am glad to welcome this Safety-worshipping time of the year. In the pagan bacchanal of springtime rituals, I constructed a Safety idol to remind me of the all-glorious role of Safety in our lives.

I call her "Safe Urassup." Not only is it Bicycling Safety Month, it's also Bike Month in general. As a staunch devotee of Safety, I would be remiss in not mentioning that the upcoming month of June is also Safety Month (in general).

Pick your poison. No, I do not think it's too much all at once. Embrace Safety. Wallow in it. Go ahead, but you might want to find a private place to be alone with Safety. It's just safer that way.

A couple days ago, I saw the pedestrian equivalent of my self-image as the Safest Bicyclist of Suburban Omaha-First Week of May 2011.

Although it may be hard to tell from this less than adequate photo, this pedestrian is sporting large, retro-chic headphones and a yellow safety vest, placed accessibly atop his briefcase.  He is also walking to the extreme right side of our beloved multi-use path.  Although the huge noise-cancelling muffs might not be considered safe by some, I think the presence of the yellow safety vest cancels out the noise of those decrying the muffs.  And walking to the right of the path is the sign of a considerate, model-user of the multi-use way, (also known as multi-do).  He might even don his boldly colored safety top when crossing busy intersections, transformed from his normal identity as a mild-mannered citizen to a proud cock o' the walk strutting through the concrete jungle, eyed greedily by the many single female motorists looking for a man with healthy walking habits and a yen for safety. 

I saw many types of safety markings today, mostly underground utility oriented, but a few for above-ground events such as these-

The "Ahea" sign is perhaps confusing to some, which can be dangerous, because one shouldn't operate a vehicle in a state of confusion.  I'm pretty sure the next character is a "!" which makes the more sensible statement "Ahea!," which, as everyone knows, is a universally understood entreaty to "Watch out, dipshit!"  The lady carrying the flag might just be using it to mark the corner of her youngling's football (South American/southern North American/et. al., football, that is) matches/practices. But it would also look simply smashing if it were attached to the Old Bastard's backside.

I was slightly disappointed not to see any bicycle-specific safety markings, so I rang my handlebar bell mournfully a few times. But then I pulled myself quickly out of my melancholy, since melancholy bicycling isn't as safe as ordinary unemotional, objective bicycling. Which is why Terminators are probably the best bicyclists. I'm pretty sure that the studio will contact me soon with regards to my screenplay for Terminator 5: Bicyborgs. (The "cy" is short for "cycle" in futuristic Earth slang).

Sometimes I think that bicycle crossing signs at select intersections would be a good idea, but on the other hand bicycles could be crossing most any intersection at any time and probably shouldn't need signs to be safe. Hmmmm. Whoa. I think the Safety might be taking over my objectivity and using me as a vassal for her own purposes. We serve you, Safety. Please guide us safely along our well-marked path towards safer pastures.

Bike Safely! (con accento, you bastard!)

!Cinco de Mayo Taco Ride! (firsto "!" upside-downo, you bastard!)

May 6, 2011

I was so excited to get out to my first Thursday night taco ride of the season that I got to the trailhead parking area early and eased the 'tro into my sub-compact car sized parking stall with an alacrity that was clearly startling to the many leisurely and/or casual bicyclists that went about their preparations with a lack of franticness that caused my own franticity to leap several rungs higher on the tall, windblown ladder of excitement. I fumbled ineffectually at my front brake caliper which had somehow become maladjusted during its incarceration in my trunk while waiting impatiently for our arrival upon the glorious Wabash Trace Trail.

My friend Ben showed up with an impatience that I felt was akin to my own doggish enthusiasm. He handed me a space-age device known elegantly as a “multi-tool.” I set my Snickers Bar conveniently atop the hood of my vehicle of unusual parkability. After I had finally adjusted the brake I turned back for what I felt would be a well-earned candy bar reward only to find that the damn thing had slithered out of its heated wrapper and slid off the hood like a half-baked chocolaty snail.

Rich showed up and we were off!
We rode forwards at speeds that stunned many of the passengers aboard their erratically ambling cycles of the bi persuasion. Someone had lit a fire under my ass, and his name was Negra Modelo.

Yes, I had a hankerin’ for some smooth, full-bodied refreshment at the lovely oasis-settlement known as Margeritaville. I busted out a lime and sliced it to add some class to our drinks and kicked back to soak in the festive vibe. I stumbled spastically towards some costumed celibrators and snapped their photo with the shamelessness of a paparazzi.

Then I met the owner of a one-year old bicycle shop who had publicized a “Surly de Mayo” event that was happily co-existing with the usual Taco Riding.

I was not prepared for the onslaught of this fleet of Surliness that had dropped anchor here in our little port of bicycling non-hipness. I staggered around in bewilderment, snapping photos blindly, slicing limes and flinging beer about in a fit of pseudoreligious dorkstacy.

When I collapsed onto my comfortable Old Bastard, I gradually eased myself back into a state of near normalcy.

I gazed meditatively at a meandering creek, stilling my mind and preparing for the next leg of our ride.

Well when we made it to Mineola we were very hungry, and Ben had started gnawing on his arm and slobbering uncontrollably. I awkwardly introduced myself to a group of slightly older diners and asked if we could share their table. Management appeared and did not appease Ben's hopeful hunger by taking his taco order. Instead, we were informed that you've got to put your name in. We finished our drinks mournfully and slunk out of the bustling steakhouse.

We fled the persecution of non-service back out onto the trail. This was not the promised land we had been promised! We sped hungrily down the trail towards the mystical town of Silver City. Why, I had heard that they made burritos there the size of a strong, strapping lad's calf! We finally arrived at our newly-acquired goal: the beautiful Austin's on the Trail bar and grill.

No crowd, no other bicyclists, in fact.

We placed our order and Rich heroically dispatched a plate of extreme spiciness stuffed with chicken meat in order to procure his status as a living legend in this superstitious town of questionable repute.

He got a t-shirt and his picture on the coveted Wall of Flame!
We pedaled hurriedly back towards our starting point with full bellies and hearts. Nor did we heed the siren calls of the libertines lining the trail like a tunnel of illusionary confessionals. We barged steadfastly onwards, one part youthful exuberance, another part elderly impatience. Chilled to perfection and salted to taste. !Saludo! (Uno "!" flippitio inverto, you bastard!)