29.10.09
Thursday hate
Baristas with no sense of humor.
Erik and I stopped by the Starbucks at Central and Devon for a rare mid-commute espresso. Standing at the counter, Erik tried his “is it Free-coffee-for-cyclists day?” angle out the wearers-of-the-green-apron, but the girl at the register looked at him as though he’d asked for a stray cat corn dog or if she liked it in the back door. I think she actually thought he was serious, from the way she looked at the other guy, making coffee. You are serving caffeine to red-eyed grumpy people before 7am – crack a smile, at least.
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Shortly after, while changing Erik’s tire on the sidewalk just outside, a big white SUV pulled up too fast to the curb and hit a big puddle of standing water, splashing both of us and a little old lady with drawn-in eyebrows. The driver literally waited until we rolled away to get out, avoiding the inevitable confrontation; although she was another little old lady wearing a fur coat, so that wouldn’t have been very sporting.
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Jesus CHRIST, people. Even if it’s a green light, it is illegal to proceed into the intersection if traffic isn’t moving.
Because then the light turns red, and the people who’ve been waiting patiently for their green are now blocked by your cell-phone-using-while-driving, inconsiderate ass. This is called a “gridlock law.” Last night coming south on Elston, the drivers in the west bound lane of Irving Park were just driving brainlessly into the intersection causing each set of cars waiting at the light to sit through at least two cycles. Once the honking started, the offending assholes would just raise their hands as if to say, “What can I do?” I swear to God, so few people are capable of having a single, proactive thought it’s a wonder they can even operate a car without killing themselves at all. I am calling my alderman’s office today about that intersection, but there has got to be a better way to enforce this law, including some creative, science-fiction-y Mr. Gadget-type robot arms wielding Mickey Mouse gloves with shotguns and explosives, and trap doors in the middle of the intersection.
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There are way too many hyphens in this post.
Erik and I stopped by the Starbucks at Central and Devon for a rare mid-commute espresso. Standing at the counter, Erik tried his “is it Free-coffee-for-cyclists day?” angle out the wearers-of-the-green-apron, but the girl at the register looked at him as though he’d asked for a stray cat corn dog or if she liked it in the back door. I think she actually thought he was serious, from the way she looked at the other guy, making coffee. You are serving caffeine to red-eyed grumpy people before 7am – crack a smile, at least.
----------
Shortly after, while changing Erik’s tire on the sidewalk just outside, a big white SUV pulled up too fast to the curb and hit a big puddle of standing water, splashing both of us and a little old lady with drawn-in eyebrows. The driver literally waited until we rolled away to get out, avoiding the inevitable confrontation; although she was another little old lady wearing a fur coat, so that wouldn’t have been very sporting.
----------
Jesus CHRIST, people. Even if it’s a green light, it is illegal to proceed into the intersection if traffic isn’t moving.
Because then the light turns red, and the people who’ve been waiting patiently for their green are now blocked by your cell-phone-using-while-driving, inconsiderate ass. This is called a “gridlock law.” Last night coming south on Elston, the drivers in the west bound lane of Irving Park were just driving brainlessly into the intersection causing each set of cars waiting at the light to sit through at least two cycles. Once the honking started, the offending assholes would just raise their hands as if to say, “What can I do?” I swear to God, so few people are capable of having a single, proactive thought it’s a wonder they can even operate a car without killing themselves at all. I am calling my alderman’s office today about that intersection, but there has got to be a better way to enforce this law, including some creative, science-fiction-y Mr. Gadget-type robot arms wielding Mickey Mouse gloves with shotguns and explosives, and trap doors in the middle of the intersection.
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There are way too many hyphens in this post.
28.10.09
Hump day
First, some early Hate. It’s things like this that bring out the fascist in me:
Why the fuck does a guy with six DUI, not to mention mental instability (which should’ve become obvious by – oh, I don’t know - the third instance?) still possess a drivers license? Because nobody took the responsibility to make sure he didn’t, a 20 year-old molecular biology student from Winnetka is dead. And the most this guy will face is a six year prison term as punishment. There are no are no charges of manslaughter or vehicular homicide. At my new job at the DMV, I would clear several other pre-lunch “appointments” to devote my full morning to this guy.
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Cycling tip of the day: ride “hub to hub.” One of the things that makes a group ride – even just two of you – so enjoyable is the rambling conversation that makes the miles melt away. At least three times a week I ride to work with Diddy Kong, aka The Bike Destroyer, and we cover any number of subjects, from bike gear (mostly gear) to cooking to last night’s 30 Rock episode. It can be very hard to have a conversation, however, when riding single file, especially in any kind of wind, which is almost always the case. Where allowed, riding two abreast is much more conducive for a fun ride.
However, problems can arise when the two riders are not riding at the same speed. Inevitably, one rider is going just a bit faster, causing the other to constantly have to play a mini-game of catch-up…or visa versa: the ride gets too slow. Whichever the case, the constant fluctuations in speed will make the ride a constant battle, robbing it of enjoyment.
The pro’s solution to this – utilized on infinite low-level recovery and base mile rides - is to imagine an invisible line between the front wheel hubs, perpendicular to your direction of travel. By each rider keeping the line straight, only miniscule adjustments are needed to keep the speed constant, allowing for a steady, low-level endurance effort at which a conversational pace can easily be maintained.
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I think this picture by Luke should get a Pulitzer:
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I’m going to Jinglecross this year!
Why the fuck does a guy with six DUI, not to mention mental instability (which should’ve become obvious by – oh, I don’t know - the third instance?) still possess a drivers license? Because nobody took the responsibility to make sure he didn’t, a 20 year-old molecular biology student from Winnetka is dead. And the most this guy will face is a six year prison term as punishment. There are no are no charges of manslaughter or vehicular homicide. At my new job at the DMV, I would clear several other pre-lunch “appointments” to devote my full morning to this guy.
----------
Cycling tip of the day: ride “hub to hub.” One of the things that makes a group ride – even just two of you – so enjoyable is the rambling conversation that makes the miles melt away. At least three times a week I ride to work with Diddy Kong, aka The Bike Destroyer, and we cover any number of subjects, from bike gear (mostly gear) to cooking to last night’s 30 Rock episode. It can be very hard to have a conversation, however, when riding single file, especially in any kind of wind, which is almost always the case. Where allowed, riding two abreast is much more conducive for a fun ride.
However, problems can arise when the two riders are not riding at the same speed. Inevitably, one rider is going just a bit faster, causing the other to constantly have to play a mini-game of catch-up…or visa versa: the ride gets too slow. Whichever the case, the constant fluctuations in speed will make the ride a constant battle, robbing it of enjoyment.
The pro’s solution to this – utilized on infinite low-level recovery and base mile rides - is to imagine an invisible line between the front wheel hubs, perpendicular to your direction of travel. By each rider keeping the line straight, only miniscule adjustments are needed to keep the speed constant, allowing for a steady, low-level endurance effort at which a conversational pace can easily be maintained.
----------
I think this picture by Luke should get a Pulitzer:
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I’m going to Jinglecross this year!
26.10.09
Yo, Adrian!
It was tough to get out of bed this morning. Tougher still go through my race-day regimen and pack the messenger bag. I wanted to do nothing else than sleep in until 9, drink coffee until I got the shakes, and listen to NPR and watch football. Looking out the window sucked the motivation out of me; the thinning leaves – now dull and robbed of their once fiery color – were stark on their skeletal branches against the slate grey sky.
I felt fat and stiff. It is getting late in the year. Fitness is waning, darkness is coming earlier, and Halloween candy and cookies are taunting me at every turn. Only four races remain before training completely goes off the rails in a head-on collision with the month-long holiday party of December. What harm could it do?
But Jack needs the exercise and socialization (so do I), he’s always dead tired after a day pulling on the leash, peeing on bikes, and snarling at little kids. The day was soon sunny and glorious mere minutes after arriving in Bartlett, and the Bears ended up laying an egg, as well, losing 45-10 to Cincy. Upon returning home with William – and Jack passed out cold in the back seat - I was really glad I had gone and done two races.
The 30+ was a flat out joke, flat on my back. I had the wrong tires and the wrong fork for this race. I am clueless when it comes to road gear, so with a loaner cross bike, I just show up and ride no matter what.
“Dude, why are you using file treads?”
In the muddy turns, the shallow tread filled up with mud quickly, and I rode as though I were in a Three Stooges short. I also got my first road rash of the entire year, losing my back wheel coming back out onto the pavement before the hill at the end of the lap. I was up quickly and the skinsuit was fine, but that was going to be a big strawberry on my ass; added injury to the insult of being covered in mud.
The fork clearance above the tire is less than a centimeter, and I’d pick up about half the forest floor each time to and from the back section through the trees. The rider in front of me would hear a loud buzz/whir from the woodchips, leaves, mud colleting behind my tire, and then I’d fade out, slowing to grab handfuls of gunk adding handfuls of watts to my race effort.
I was mercifully euthanized by the two lead riders Tom Burke (Lathrop/Giant) and Scott McLaughlin (SRAM) passing me at the end of my fourth lap, their bell lap, and I pulled over to find I was riding on a flattening tire and broken spoke. Thankfully, someone – I didn’t get his name – from Rhythm Racing loaned me a wheel, even changing out my 8-speed cassette so I could ride later in the 4Bs race. The tire on the back was also much better suited for the course conditions. Huge thanks to you.
I got through the first two turns sitting top 6th or 7th and stayed top ten for 2.9 laps out of three. Race winner Jake Teitelbaum (Spider Monkey) blew past halfway through the first to catch the leaders 100 meters in front of me to drop them all on his way to a solo win. I was never alone however, a few other riders right on wheel, including teammate Dave Hudson. They all passed me on a catastrophically bad uphill remount after the last barrier early-on in the last lap. Both muddy shoes zinged off the muddy pedals and I nearly crashed the bike. I had slow down for a second to get it together, consciously clipping in. Then I was hanging on to 10th.
(photo by Liz Farina Markel, Tipping Point Photo)
In the backside, heading back to the trees for the last third of the lap, I hear behind me, “I’m coming for you, Morrissey!” It’s Adrian Redd, my old mechanic from Boulevard Bikes, racing for Pegasus and closing fast. I am already on the edge of redline and vomit, and I try mightily to add watts and increase the gap. But as we approach the hill, he is on my wheel. A tight u-turn, and then you are looking straight up.
On any other day of the week, this place would be an inconsequential bump in the terrain of a boring, suburban park.
Sunday, it was as big as Alp d’Huez. Slick and treacherous, a deafening echo-chamber, a gauntlet of screaming mouths, hunched bodies extending clenched fists carrying hideously contorted faces; megaphone sirens; all of it willed into pure energy – quashing the doubts of lost momentum and thrown down to the pedals to wrench yourself to the top. At the crest, the roar rose to absolute cacophony.
(Photo by Newt Cole)
I could see a wheel in my right periphery as Luke scrambled out of the way, camera in hand (I hope it’s a good one!) and then Adrian passed me. Three turns to go his gap seemed to grow and I stamped down the sense of futility as I took the corners as fast as I dared. Through the last turn I was closing. The finishing straight opened up, closing. The catch, the pass, the throw. 10th place.
How unbelievably fun to finish this race in a two-up sprint, let alone against a friend of mine? I pulled over on the grass to dry heave three times in front of five or six complete strangers – thanks for the water! – as Adrian rolled back, hacking up chunks of lung. We chatted and relived the last half-lap. Cross Cup director Jason Knauff may be joking as he calls us to the line, but the 4Bs really are the main event and such a carnival because everyone who raced earlier makes it so. That’s the kind of enthusiasm and spirit that makes cyclocross so much fun, and makes the curmudgeonly whiner I was back in July totally unrecognizable. It’s the reason I am now a confirmed cross maniac for as long as I breathe, no matter how laughably bad I race.
Because cross-racers know that it's good to be alive:
(Photo by Luke Seemann)
I felt fat and stiff. It is getting late in the year. Fitness is waning, darkness is coming earlier, and Halloween candy and cookies are taunting me at every turn. Only four races remain before training completely goes off the rails in a head-on collision with the month-long holiday party of December. What harm could it do?
But Jack needs the exercise and socialization (so do I), he’s always dead tired after a day pulling on the leash, peeing on bikes, and snarling at little kids. The day was soon sunny and glorious mere minutes after arriving in Bartlett, and the Bears ended up laying an egg, as well, losing 45-10 to Cincy. Upon returning home with William – and Jack passed out cold in the back seat - I was really glad I had gone and done two races.
The 30+ was a flat out joke, flat on my back. I had the wrong tires and the wrong fork for this race. I am clueless when it comes to road gear, so with a loaner cross bike, I just show up and ride no matter what.
“Dude, why are you using file treads?”
In the muddy turns, the shallow tread filled up with mud quickly, and I rode as though I were in a Three Stooges short. I also got my first road rash of the entire year, losing my back wheel coming back out onto the pavement before the hill at the end of the lap. I was up quickly and the skinsuit was fine, but that was going to be a big strawberry on my ass; added injury to the insult of being covered in mud.
The fork clearance above the tire is less than a centimeter, and I’d pick up about half the forest floor each time to and from the back section through the trees. The rider in front of me would hear a loud buzz/whir from the woodchips, leaves, mud colleting behind my tire, and then I’d fade out, slowing to grab handfuls of gunk adding handfuls of watts to my race effort.
I was mercifully euthanized by the two lead riders Tom Burke (Lathrop/Giant) and Scott McLaughlin (SRAM) passing me at the end of my fourth lap, their bell lap, and I pulled over to find I was riding on a flattening tire and broken spoke. Thankfully, someone – I didn’t get his name – from Rhythm Racing loaned me a wheel, even changing out my 8-speed cassette so I could ride later in the 4Bs race. The tire on the back was also much better suited for the course conditions. Huge thanks to you.
I got through the first two turns sitting top 6th or 7th and stayed top ten for 2.9 laps out of three. Race winner Jake Teitelbaum (Spider Monkey) blew past halfway through the first to catch the leaders 100 meters in front of me to drop them all on his way to a solo win. I was never alone however, a few other riders right on wheel, including teammate Dave Hudson. They all passed me on a catastrophically bad uphill remount after the last barrier early-on in the last lap. Both muddy shoes zinged off the muddy pedals and I nearly crashed the bike. I had slow down for a second to get it together, consciously clipping in. Then I was hanging on to 10th.
(photo by Liz Farina Markel, Tipping Point Photo)
In the backside, heading back to the trees for the last third of the lap, I hear behind me, “I’m coming for you, Morrissey!” It’s Adrian Redd, my old mechanic from Boulevard Bikes, racing for Pegasus and closing fast. I am already on the edge of redline and vomit, and I try mightily to add watts and increase the gap. But as we approach the hill, he is on my wheel. A tight u-turn, and then you are looking straight up.
On any other day of the week, this place would be an inconsequential bump in the terrain of a boring, suburban park.
Sunday, it was as big as Alp d’Huez. Slick and treacherous, a deafening echo-chamber, a gauntlet of screaming mouths, hunched bodies extending clenched fists carrying hideously contorted faces; megaphone sirens; all of it willed into pure energy – quashing the doubts of lost momentum and thrown down to the pedals to wrench yourself to the top. At the crest, the roar rose to absolute cacophony.
(Photo by Newt Cole)
I could see a wheel in my right periphery as Luke scrambled out of the way, camera in hand (I hope it’s a good one!) and then Adrian passed me. Three turns to go his gap seemed to grow and I stamped down the sense of futility as I took the corners as fast as I dared. Through the last turn I was closing. The finishing straight opened up, closing. The catch, the pass, the throw. 10th place.
How unbelievably fun to finish this race in a two-up sprint, let alone against a friend of mine? I pulled over on the grass to dry heave three times in front of five or six complete strangers – thanks for the water! – as Adrian rolled back, hacking up chunks of lung. We chatted and relived the last half-lap. Cross Cup director Jason Knauff may be joking as he calls us to the line, but the 4Bs really are the main event and such a carnival because everyone who raced earlier makes it so. That’s the kind of enthusiasm and spirit that makes cyclocross so much fun, and makes the curmudgeonly whiner I was back in July totally unrecognizable. It’s the reason I am now a confirmed cross maniac for as long as I breathe, no matter how laughably bad I race.
Because cross-racers know that it's good to be alive:
(Photo by Luke Seemann)
22.10.09
Bonus hate
Yesterday, an uninsured driver with a revoked license ran a red light at Kostner going eastbound on Washington and collided with another vehicle, killing a pregnant woman, and sending other three pedestrians to the hospital. Doctors were able to deliver the woman's baby in critical condition, yet it died sometime later.
The driver was cited. No word on whether he was dragged by the hair into a police station storage room and beaten until half-dead with rubber hoses and baseball bats, or if he was tasered in the genitals until he lost all control of his bodily functions.
The driver was cited. No word on whether he was dragged by the hair into a police station storage room and beaten until half-dead with rubber hoses and baseball bats, or if he was tasered in the genitals until he lost all control of his bodily functions.
Thursday Hate
A recent entry from the Freakonomics blog sparked my thoughts on fascist tendencies earlier this week...
The new book Superfreakonomics was released yesterday, and their chapter on realistic solutions to climate change and global warming is drawing fire from the left. This is extremely ironic since Levitt and Dubner's last book was a target of the right for exposing the flaws of No Child Left Behind and their theories regarding legalized abortion and violent crime.
"One of the saddest things for me about climate science is how political it has become," writes guest blogger Nathan Myhrvold. "Science works by having an open dialog that ultimately converges on the truth, for the common benefit of everyone. Most scientific fields enjoy this free flow of ideas."
Indeed. I wrote elsewhere discussing this topic that "the evolution versus intelligent design debate is where this is most evident. The whole argument is pointless, because one is fact, the other is philosophy. Neither is wrong. They are mutually exclusive - not even competing ideologies. Instead we waste precious time and resources trying to put philosophy in our science classes while quashing transcendent thought."
Teaching "why" has no place in the lab. "Why" belongs in the philosophical round table; in theology class. "Why" can't be tested, proven, or further defined. Leaving "why" out of the labratory frees up our time to answer "what" and "how?" And all the while those still-forming student brains are churning and whirring, asking "why?" silently to themselves. And "why" will be discussed in church, at the family dinner table, and in the basement with friends while passing a bowl. And the most important facet here is that "why" is asked and answered as freely as possible.
This is the reason why others want - not to ask, but to tell - our young minds what "why" is. Why they want to teach intelligent design in our science classrooms. To replace fact-finding and the art of deduction with blind faith - the complete anathma to the scientific process. And in doing so waste all our efforts to boost our national science and math scores, which include taking a bloody scythe to art, music, physical education, and even recess.
What kind of an example is that while trying to teach our students to adhere to strict scientific principles in order survive in an increasingly competitive world? Why would someone actually want to teach blind faith in that which cannot be proven?
Because fascists can't stand independent thought, on the left or the right, regarding climate change or the freedom to have a legal abortion, or to have sex at all. How can you control everyone else otherwise?
The new book Superfreakonomics was released yesterday, and their chapter on realistic solutions to climate change and global warming is drawing fire from the left. This is extremely ironic since Levitt and Dubner's last book was a target of the right for exposing the flaws of No Child Left Behind and their theories regarding legalized abortion and violent crime.
"One of the saddest things for me about climate science is how political it has become," writes guest blogger Nathan Myhrvold. "Science works by having an open dialog that ultimately converges on the truth, for the common benefit of everyone. Most scientific fields enjoy this free flow of ideas."
Indeed. I wrote elsewhere discussing this topic that "the evolution versus intelligent design debate is where this is most evident. The whole argument is pointless, because one is fact, the other is philosophy. Neither is wrong. They are mutually exclusive - not even competing ideologies. Instead we waste precious time and resources trying to put philosophy in our science classes while quashing transcendent thought."
Teaching "why" has no place in the lab. "Why" belongs in the philosophical round table; in theology class. "Why" can't be tested, proven, or further defined. Leaving "why" out of the labratory frees up our time to answer "what" and "how?" And all the while those still-forming student brains are churning and whirring, asking "why?" silently to themselves. And "why" will be discussed in church, at the family dinner table, and in the basement with friends while passing a bowl. And the most important facet here is that "why" is asked and answered as freely as possible.
This is the reason why others want - not to ask, but to tell - our young minds what "why" is. Why they want to teach intelligent design in our science classrooms. To replace fact-finding and the art of deduction with blind faith - the complete anathma to the scientific process. And in doing so waste all our efforts to boost our national science and math scores, which include taking a bloody scythe to art, music, physical education, and even recess.
What kind of an example is that while trying to teach our students to adhere to strict scientific principles in order survive in an increasingly competitive world? Why would someone actually want to teach blind faith in that which cannot be proven?
Because fascists can't stand independent thought, on the left or the right, regarding climate change or the freedom to have a legal abortion, or to have sex at all. How can you control everyone else otherwise?
21.10.09
Hump Day - Costume Ideas
Looking for a costume to wear at the Cross Cup #5 in Bartlett this weekend? Take a look at some of these ideas and show up Supergirl for at least one weekend...
The Halloween Cyclocross Crusade in Astoria, OR seems to be quite a party...
Oooooh, nurse?!
This one from PDX Cross is just creepy:
And from Surf City, CA (make sure you can actually see in case you get the hole shot):
The Halloween Cyclocross Crusade in Astoria, OR seems to be quite a party...
Oooooh, nurse?!
This one from PDX Cross is just creepy:
And from Surf City, CA (make sure you can actually see in case you get the hole shot):
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