Tamara reminded to me today.
After all my petulant ranting, just like last year, being reminded of her death kind of puts things in perspective.
“When the spirits are low, when the day appears dark, when work becomes monotonous, when hope hardly seems worth having, just mount a bicycle and go out for a spin down the road, without thought on anything but the ride you are taking.”
Arthur Conan Doyle, Sr.
BK...wish you were here.
30.6.08
29.6.08
My Proctologist's Exam!
Sorry. Nothing but mixed-metaphors right here. It's the whine. Er, wine.
Proctor. Illinois State Criterium Championship. Yeah. I wanted this race bad.
Whatever.
I could complain about how the hell did I fall asleep and let him get off, when all week that was practically the only tactic we talked about...
I could complain about how I was just as complacent as everyone else with 5 to go...
I could complain about how strong I felt but didn't really apply myself, HTFU, and sling my own pair around with a counter-attack into that wind...
I could complain about how I worked my way up, probably no more than 5 wheels back with ideal position on the outside with 2 turns to go, just going into my jump, yet had to bail out onto the curb to avoid the flying bodies right in front of me...as the entire race went from a guaranteed top-10 to DFL in the span of about four and half seconds...
But I won't.
Because at least I got to race. Just getting to start is a privilege, and the chance of a finish like that is, frankly, what gets the heart racing and makes it all so fun in the first place, especially for a guy like me who, otherwise, has basically just been banging his head against a brick wall for the last 6 weeks. I consider myself blessed to have even been in that race at all, let alone being the factor that I was up to the bitter end.
Unlike David Jones, who spent 6 hours in the backseat, only to be told he couldn't race at all. And David can race, and deserved to. But it goes to show you can't rely on the USCF site to have to have the most up-to-date results when you really need them. Especially if you've been using day-of licenses this whole time.
So David, get that resume done, and get the annual license. We'll see you at Superweek.
Speaking of Superweek...I will be taking the inside of the turns, since I can hold my line.
26.6.08
Thursday Funny
The final slide from Rick Santorum's "Slippery Slope" presentation to Congress:
(image courtesy of Drunk Cyclist)
(image courtesy of Drunk Cyclist)
Thursday Common Sense
Last week, both a friend and a teammate of mine were doored (self-explanatory for you non-cyclists - please see below) and received relatively serious and very serious injuries, respectively. One is a blue belt in karate and a daily commuter, and is now on crutches with torn ligaments in her knee. The other is still in the hospital with God-only-knows-what internal injuries. At least she's out of the ICU, finally.
And far more disastrous, a third, Clinton Miceli, was actually killed two weeks ago, on the first day of Bike to Work Week, no less.
It's literally an ounce of prevention...a fraction of an ounce, actually. Bike lane or no bike lane, driver side, or passenger side, just look over your shoulder before opening your car door on the street. It takes one second. If the three drivers responsible for the incidents above had taken that one second to think about somebody other than themselves, Clinton would still be alive, Sophie would be going to karate tonight, and Robin would be racing this weekend.
There are a lot more bicyclists out there than in the past, and we are here to stay. The old "roads are for cars" line carries zero weight now. That school of thought now only is for selfish, thoughtless people whose mommies never taught them to share, and who believe that 200 horsepower between their legs gives them the right to threaten anybody "weaker" in their way.
And not only is sharing the road the right thing to do, it's the only thing to do.
So let's all be patient, let's all be cool, and let's all get home safe.
And far more disastrous, a third, Clinton Miceli, was actually killed two weeks ago, on the first day of Bike to Work Week, no less.
It's literally an ounce of prevention...a fraction of an ounce, actually. Bike lane or no bike lane, driver side, or passenger side, just look over your shoulder before opening your car door on the street. It takes one second. If the three drivers responsible for the incidents above had taken that one second to think about somebody other than themselves, Clinton would still be alive, Sophie would be going to karate tonight, and Robin would be racing this weekend.
There are a lot more bicyclists out there than in the past, and we are here to stay. The old "roads are for cars" line carries zero weight now. That school of thought now only is for selfish, thoughtless people whose mommies never taught them to share, and who believe that 200 horsepower between their legs gives them the right to threaten anybody "weaker" in their way.
And not only is sharing the road the right thing to do, it's the only thing to do.
So let's all be patient, let's all be cool, and let's all get home safe.
25.6.08
Lakefront Pathos
I set a new personal best at the fitness check time trial this morning...finally cracked the 25 minute barrier. 2nd PB in a row, too. Whoot. But now they’re going to be harder to come by.
Some anecdotes from today’s workout:
I was moseying along, headed downtown from Logan Square along Milwaukee Avenue (The Hipster Highway), when around Western I hear the telltale sound of rusty chain and bike lock hitting a frame. It stays there for a bit, so I figured now’s the time to get at least one effort, and I hate the sound of a poorly maintained bike, so up I go.
Big ring: still there.
Shift: still there.
Shift: squeak-squeak-squeak
25 mph: still there.
Fine.
I slow for the red light at the Noble intersection and around me shoots this guy in basketball shorts and a sneakers, on an ancient downtuber, didn’t get a look at the make. But he does have shaved legs. So I say to myself, down boy. Don’t give in.
I hate commuter racing. What is it about Freds that makes them try to race anyone in kit? Or even worse, sucking a stranger’s wheel? Introduce yourself. Nothing pisses me off more than to check behind me as I’m about take the lane to pass a double-parked car and be greeted by somebody drafting on. If I don’t know you and it’s not a race, it’s personal space. Maybe this guy isn’t a Fred, so even more shame on him...I guess I did start it, but, not to “race,” only to get away from the annoying sound of his chain.
For God’s sake.
So I pass him on the overpass, and sure enough he’s stuck to my wheel again. And this is where it got funny: as I was passing over the Ohio feeder ramp…he “attacks” on the overpass. Except as he tries to come around to my left, he plateaus, and then falls back.
Not to be outdone however, he blows the light at Grand, after nearly getting hit while doing one of those glacial creep “trackstands” and shoots away up towards Jefferson.
Good for him.
On the return leg of the time trial, just past the path construction where the route jets out towards the breakwater, I come upon a dude with the exact same bike as mine…same model, color-scheme, everything.
Cool!
“Nice bike!” I say as I come by.
“Fuck you, asshole!”
Oh man, there was way too much loaded into that one to really get into it, other than this:
I remember when I first started biking on the path, I’d be pretty self-satisfied with my speed, and then, as a racer on a training ride would come flying past, I’d completely deflate and spend the rest of the ride embarrassed and grumbling under my breath something derogatory about shaved legs or spandex. Long story short, I confronted my perceived shortcomings and decided to do something about them.
So, sorry Bike-twin. I meant nothing by it. But, since you brought it up…
Ha ha. Now go do something about it.
Some anecdotes from today’s workout:
I was moseying along, headed downtown from Logan Square along Milwaukee Avenue (The Hipster Highway), when around Western I hear the telltale sound of rusty chain and bike lock hitting a frame. It stays there for a bit, so I figured now’s the time to get at least one effort, and I hate the sound of a poorly maintained bike, so up I go.
Big ring: still there.
Shift: still there.
Shift: squeak-squeak-squeak
25 mph: still there.
Fine.
I slow for the red light at the Noble intersection and around me shoots this guy in basketball shorts and a sneakers, on an ancient downtuber, didn’t get a look at the make. But he does have shaved legs. So I say to myself, down boy. Don’t give in.
I hate commuter racing. What is it about Freds that makes them try to race anyone in kit? Or even worse, sucking a stranger’s wheel? Introduce yourself. Nothing pisses me off more than to check behind me as I’m about take the lane to pass a double-parked car and be greeted by somebody drafting on. If I don’t know you and it’s not a race, it’s personal space. Maybe this guy isn’t a Fred, so even more shame on him...I guess I did start it, but, not to “race,” only to get away from the annoying sound of his chain.
For God’s sake.
So I pass him on the overpass, and sure enough he’s stuck to my wheel again. And this is where it got funny: as I was passing over the Ohio feeder ramp…he “attacks” on the overpass. Except as he tries to come around to my left, he plateaus, and then falls back.
Not to be outdone however, he blows the light at Grand, after nearly getting hit while doing one of those glacial creep “trackstands” and shoots away up towards Jefferson.
Good for him.
On the return leg of the time trial, just past the path construction where the route jets out towards the breakwater, I come upon a dude with the exact same bike as mine…same model, color-scheme, everything.
Cool!
“Nice bike!” I say as I come by.
“Fuck you, asshole!”
Oh man, there was way too much loaded into that one to really get into it, other than this:
I remember when I first started biking on the path, I’d be pretty self-satisfied with my speed, and then, as a racer on a training ride would come flying past, I’d completely deflate and spend the rest of the ride embarrassed and grumbling under my breath something derogatory about shaved legs or spandex. Long story short, I confronted my perceived shortcomings and decided to do something about them.
So, sorry Bike-twin. I meant nothing by it. But, since you brought it up…
Ha ha. Now go do something about it.
24.6.08
Spotlight: ED Sufferer of the Week
Two days a week, I commute to my job in the northwest suburbs; Northbrook to be exact. It’s a great route, a safe route, and a very convenient way to get my base endurance training in during the week, instead of sacrificing 2 extra hours of the day to devote to a separate ride; or losing quality riding by commuting on stop and go urban streets…as much as I miss that…
The route generally takes me up Kimball from Logan Square where I take Elston to the North Branch Trail head, at the intersection of Milwaukee and Devon. The world-famous Superdawg is here, a 1940’s era drive-in that serves a very unique dog, with friendly car-hop service. There are outdoor order intercoms you can use without a car so it makes a great pit stop on the way home from work…
From there I ride the North Branch Trail (empty and quiet at 6:30 am with the sunrise peeking through the trees) to Dempster. From here, it’s back to street-level, and I ride Leheigh north to Beckwith and go west (this is where the Chicago Cycling Club comes through on their weeknight training rides). A few blocks, and then north on Shermer, and I head past Golf, Central, and Glenview and then head west on Lake.
So far, so good…just a couple miles more…when…
I hear the shrieking of tires to the left me, and then honking cars. I of course completely freak out thinking I’m about to be the innocent victim of a 3 car pile-up. Then it becomes apparent no crash is imminent when I realize that the driver next to me, of the screeching tires, is yelling at me.
The passenger window of his blue minivan is down and he’s looking over his shoulder, calling out to me, over the irritated horns behind him:
“Yew must not lahk livin’, huh?!”
Having made his “point,” he then hit the gas and drove off.
I’ve been taking this route since March. I stay to the right, averaging about 23mph on this stretch, and every single car passing me up to this morning has given me at least a token of the required three feet. In short, we all just get along.
Until this guy, with his sense of self-worth(lessness) masked by self-entitlement, brought on by an obvious case of being unable to satisfy his wife’s even modest sexual needs, comes along and feels the need to create a traffic situation far more dangerous than the present one in order to inadvertently show just how innocuous can be one solitary bicyclist.
The route generally takes me up Kimball from Logan Square where I take Elston to the North Branch Trail head, at the intersection of Milwaukee and Devon. The world-famous Superdawg is here, a 1940’s era drive-in that serves a very unique dog, with friendly car-hop service. There are outdoor order intercoms you can use without a car so it makes a great pit stop on the way home from work…
From there I ride the North Branch Trail (empty and quiet at 6:30 am with the sunrise peeking through the trees) to Dempster. From here, it’s back to street-level, and I ride Leheigh north to Beckwith and go west (this is where the Chicago Cycling Club comes through on their weeknight training rides). A few blocks, and then north on Shermer, and I head past Golf, Central, and Glenview and then head west on Lake.
So far, so good…just a couple miles more…when…
I hear the shrieking of tires to the left me, and then honking cars. I of course completely freak out thinking I’m about to be the innocent victim of a 3 car pile-up. Then it becomes apparent no crash is imminent when I realize that the driver next to me, of the screeching tires, is yelling at me.
The passenger window of his blue minivan is down and he’s looking over his shoulder, calling out to me, over the irritated horns behind him:
“Yew must not lahk livin’, huh?!”
Having made his “point,” he then hit the gas and drove off.
I’ve been taking this route since March. I stay to the right, averaging about 23mph on this stretch, and every single car passing me up to this morning has given me at least a token of the required three feet. In short, we all just get along.
Until this guy, with his sense of self-worth(lessness) masked by self-entitlement, brought on by an obvious case of being unable to satisfy his wife’s even modest sexual needs, comes along and feels the need to create a traffic situation far more dangerous than the present one in order to inadvertently show just how innocuous can be one solitary bicyclist.
23.6.08
Happy Birthday to You
That night you laid it out there on the stoop
I sat there, stared and smiled without reply.
So when you showed it threw me for a loop,
Until I stuck my thumb into your pie.
Yet even though it seemed it might not last,
For I knew better and to bide my time…
In Fall those Summer flings are long since past,
Our sleepless night together was sublime.
And as you told me stories of Down Under,
The bees flew ‘round and told me “she’s the one…”
She’s come to you like lightning comes with thunder.
That she’ll be there forever, like the sun.
In humid darkness appeared that ray of light
Your smile, prophesy, on the stoop that night.
Bon Voyage baby...two weeks is gonna seem like an eternity.
I sat there, stared and smiled without reply.
So when you showed it threw me for a loop,
Until I stuck my thumb into your pie.
Yet even though it seemed it might not last,
For I knew better and to bide my time…
In Fall those Summer flings are long since past,
Our sleepless night together was sublime.
And as you told me stories of Down Under,
The bees flew ‘round and told me “she’s the one…”
She’s come to you like lightning comes with thunder.
That she’ll be there forever, like the sun.
In humid darkness appeared that ray of light
Your smile, prophesy, on the stoop that night.
Bon Voyage baby...two weeks is gonna seem like an eternity.
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