Constipated Weasels

A Kipling For Cadel

2011-07-25T10:46:00.000-07:00

Dedicated to Cadel Evans, the Aussie who conquered the roads of France.
Good on ya mate!
Six

A Song of French Roads
1923

"The National Roads of France are numbered
throughout, and carry their numbers upon each
kilometre stone. By following these indications,
comprehensible even to strangers, the tourist
can see at a glance if he is on the correct road.
For example, Route Nationale No. 20 conducts
from Paris to the Spanish frontier at Bourg-
Madame, in the Eastern Pyrenees; and No. 10
to the same frontier at Hendaye, on the Bay of
Biscay: "-GUIDE BOOK.

Now praise the Gods of Time and Chance
That bring a heart's desire,
And lay the joyous roads of France
Once more beneath the tyre-
So numbered by Napoleon,
The veriest ass can spy
How Twenty takes to Bourg-Madame
And Ten is for Hendaye.

Sixteen hath fed our fighting-line
From Dunkirk to Peronne,
And Thirty-nine and Twenty-nine
Can show where it has gone,
Which slant through Arras and Bapaume,
And join outside Cambrai,
While Twenty takes to Bourg-Madame,
And Ten is for Hendaye!

The crops and houses spring once more
Where Thirty-seven ran,
And even ghostly Forty-four
Is all restored to man.
Oh, swift as shell-hole poppies pass
The blurring years go by,
And Twenty takes to Bourg-Madame,
And Ten is for Hendaye!

And you desire that sheeted snow
Where chill Mont Louis stands?
And we the rounder gales that blow
Full-lunged across the Landes-
So you will use the Orleans Gate,
While we slip through Versailles;
Since Twenty takes to Bourg-Madame,
And Ten is for Hendaye.

Sou'-West by South-and South by West-
On every vine appear
Those four first cautious leaves that test
The temper of the year;
The dust is white at Angouleme,
The sun is warm at Blaye;
And Twenty takes to Bourg-Madame,
And Ten is for Hendaye.

Broad and unbridled, mile on mile,
The highway drops her line
Past Langon down that grey-walled aisle
Of resin-scented pine;
And ninety to the lawless hour
The kilometres fly-
What was your pace to Bourg-Madame?
We sauntered to Hendaye.

Now Fontarabia marks our goal,
And Bidassoa shows,
At issue with each whispering shoal
In violet, pearl and rose,
Ere crimson over ocean's edge
The sunset banners die . . .
Yes-Twenty takes to Bourg-Madame,
But Ten is for Hendaye!

Oh, praise the Gods of Time and Chance
That ease the long control
And bring the glorious soul of France
Once more to cheer our soul
With beauty, change and valiancy
Of sun and soil and sky,
Where Twenty takes to Bourg-Madame,
And Ten is for Hendaye!

Drugs And Bicycles

2011-07-19T17:11:00.001-07:00

I'm a cyclist. I love my bicycle. As I've aged and the injuries from repetitive lifting have gotten easier to suffer and harder to heal my bicycle has become my number one source of exercise.

I found out a few years ago that I also like to watch competitive riding, including the Tour de France. The problem is that professional bike riders are synonymous with performance enhancing drugs. The drug of choice is EPO but Blood Doping and stimulants are and have been used extensively. Many pro riders have been caught but the doping was so widespread and endemic that the entire sport was in real danger of dying. And good riddance it would have been. Riders have been banned and teams have dissolved, doctors have been stripped of professional credentials, some have done time for smuggling. It even seems pretty clear now that Lance Armstrong was doping and that is a real kick in the nuts to fans like myself.

Lu and I started watching the Tour in 2001. We watched as Armstrong won and continued to win. 7 Tours in all. It was always apparent who the strong men were and there were damn few of them. Compared to those few the rest of the peleton looked pretty average. In succeeding years the script was the same. Two, or at the most three, riders were light years ahead of the rest (think men against boys) until one would kick in the next gear and simply blow the competition away. The winner most always seemed to win fairly easily (for certain values of easy).

Of course we now know that their competitive edge came from a syringe and a transfusion bottle rather than being honestly won. I got disinterested fairly quickly. The various anti doping agencies, both in Europe and here in America, were pretty ineffectual but then the systematic doping with doctors and experts involved made any detection chancy at best. There is now a new system in place called Blood Profile or Biological Profile. It's based not on a failed drug test or a criminal investigation but rather on telltale changes in the blood that signal the use of performance enhancers. There is no way to be certain but anecdotaly it seems to be working.

This years Tour is like no other I have watched. Everyone seems to be on an even level. The current leader, a man who should have had absolutely zero chance of winning, is a Frenchman named Thomas Voeckler. He's a good rider but not in the same league as those past, enhanced, winners. Yet this year he leads by almost two minutes after stage 16 of 21. The big names are down, some way down, in the standings. My pick, Cadel Evans, is an Aussie who I am confidant has been racing clean for years. He's in second and, if reports are to be believed, in "incredible"physical shape. That means his performance edge is coming from his body and training and not from a moral shortcut. The rest of the peloton, the mass of riders who make up the body of the race, are taking turns racing heads up against the big names and are more than holding their own. The racing is close, intense and sometimes violent. There's been more crashes, and more injuries, than I can ever remember seeing. Such conditions are indicative of racers who are evenly matched and trying for every advantage on the road that they can get. Heck a sprinter, Thor Hushovd from Norway, has won two mountain stages. A feat previously unheard of. Jonathon Vaughters put together the Garmin-Cervelo team, derived from the old Slipstream-Chipotle team, expressly to show that clean riding was not only possible but clean riders could win at the very highest levels of the sport. In a case of great minds think alike, Vaughters agrees with my assessment.

We're seeing riders and teams choosing not to dope. It may be because of the fear of getting caught (along with the literal millions of dollars at stake). It may be an attempt to emulate Vaughters. It may be because the participants realize just how close they came to losing their sport. Or it may be that the riders are finally just plain wising up.

Whatever the case I'm watching this years race with renewed enthusiasm and excitement. I want an unexpected winner. I want those domestiques, the nameless faceless drones shepherding the name riders, to win and place high. I want to be amazed by the sheer guts and determination of a Frenchman riding for glory and honor, hanging on to the yellow jersey with his teeth and his nails and his courage. I want people to know my sport is clean and to be awed by the things these men can do from the saddle of a bicycle.

I have admitted many times that I am a man of deep emotions. A man who can be easily moved by demonstrations of human exceptionalism. I make no apologies. Anyone who cannot be moved by courage and effort and overcoming long odds is missing out on a wonderful experience.

Finally, I can watch and cheer and be completely and wonderfully ignorant of the final outcome. And that is a very good thing for those of us who love bicycle racing and the men and women who abuse their bodies in search of fleeting and elusive glory.

Viva le Tour!

Six

Gambling

2011-07-14T16:56:00.000-07:00

Can someone please explain to me why Poker is on ESPN? I know it's Entertainment and SPorts Network but the emphasis has always been on the SPort with the Entertainment relegated to Cheerleader competitions and hot dog eating contests. They don't even have pro wrestling on for crying out loud.

Poker? Really? With play by play and in depth color commentary?

"Greasy Pete really took a big hit on that hand Cool Hand Jesus."

"That's right Mortimer. He really should have folded that hand when the flop turned up Duece, Seven and the Death Card."

Apparently I'm watching waaaay too much TV.

Six

Canine Prosthetics

2011-06-29T13:37:00.001-07:00

I've been spending a lot of time getting ready for the new puppy, some of which has been internet searches. I ran across this during my surfing.

How can something be so sad and yet so uplifting at the same time? Dogs and the people who love them. It's a beautiful thing. Spirit, it can't be measured but you know it when you see it. You can read the whole story about Naki'o and his owner, Christie Tomlinson here.

Six

2011-06-28T15:34:00.001-07:00

I'm headed out to California on Thursday to pick up the new boy. I'm staying with Car Guy and his lovely bride Thursday night. I'll pick him up at the breeder on Friday morning and immediately return to Utah. I hate to do the hit and run with Car Guy but I have things that must be done both Wednesday and Saturday so my window is small.

I've been getting ready for his arrival. Re-reading some old favorites

And especially this one. No finer work exists regarding the raising and training of a good lab.

This is my literally dog eared copy. Proof that Trooper loved it as much as I did. I think the new boy will be as interested as he was.

The DO and the grandkids bought him his first collar. I found some puppy sized bumpers I just couldn't resist. Hey, gotta start 'em early.

The toy box is full with any accoutrement a retriever could ever want. More toys equals fewer chewing incidents. At least that's the theory.

The house is ready. His crate is beside my bed and waiting for it's occupant. The back yard is newly fenced. The lake has been scouted and the best spots picked out. We've been talking to Chrisi about her new little brother. She talks a good game but I don't think she really understands. Come Friday night it'll all become clear to her. She loves friendly dogs, especially little ones. She's missed Trooper badly so I think the new boy will be a welcome addition into her life.

I'm nervous. Perhaps anxious is a better word. On the day I pick him up Trooper will have been gone exactly 11 months so it's been a while. It's important that I do this right and I haven't had a puppy in almost 16 years. I'm hoping it's like falling off a bike because we all know how well I do that.

I'm as ready as I can be and really looking forward to meeting my new friend. It's going to be a wonderful ride and I plan on sharing it with you. Pictures as soon as I get a chance, probably Saturday night.

Six

Garage Build Pt. 2

2011-06-15T22:21:00.000-07:00

After finishing the basic structure it was time for the exterior walls. They went up fairly easily. This is where prior preparation is critical. The sides (and roof) attach with metal screws through pre-drilled holes. If the slab isn't perfectly flat and even the holes won't match which is fixed by a lot more work accompanied by fits of bad language.

Here's the South side done.

The North side

And the Back

Here are the trusses, gables and roof I-beams installed and ready for a roof. Have I mentioned how hot it's been cause it was a mite warmish. I figure I sweated approximately 5 Gatorades per hour. That's real construction speak right there.

The roof corners go up first. See that ladder I'm on, the 6 footer with the inviting step at the very top? Yeah, I fell off causing much bruising and more colorful metaphors. Don't be alarmed, I'm a professional where it comes to falling off ladders. I mean, I've fallen off ladders put up and held by professional Firefighters. Seriously, I've fallen off a lot of ladders. Explains many things. I ended up hanging from one of the roof I-beams by my right armpit. You may not know this but your armpit wasn't designed for holding up your body weight. Just a tip. It was spectacular enough that Lu even noticed. Usually when I hurt myself doesn't even look anymore, she just asks if we need to visit the ER. No? Then get back to work you lazy bastard.

The ladder incident (or rather the latest ladder incident) led to an epiphany. I have a large truck. It has this really nice and strong camper shell. The garage is open at the moment and, you know, it's right there, so...
Presto! Instant scaffolding. That's Sphincter Boy standing up there in case you can't see him.

Here is our now much smarter hero, installing the roof panels the safe way. See, I actually can learn from my mistakes. Provided they're painful enough.

We finished the day with the roof about halfway done.

The next day we got up and finished it off. Hey, there's a building there!

A couple of pictures from inside. It was at least 20 degrees cooler in there making my motivation to go back out in the sun pretty much nonexistent. See the man? See the huge sweat stain? Don't get too near the man.

After finishing the roof it was time to anchor the building. We did the final squaring and got ready to install the anchors. Uh. We might have a problem here. Take a look at the 2 anchors at the bottom of the picture. The one on the right is what was supplied in the anchor kit I bought, paying perfectly good money for it. It's 1/4 inch and was woefully inadequate. To fix it I went to the hardware store (Oh Joy!) and bought fifty 1/2 inch by 3 inch anchors. You can see the difference here. You do not anchor a 14x31x10 foot building with tinker toys.

This change in the plan required the purchase of a new tool. Oh yeah, I love tools especially new ones. Lu wasn't even mad. That bad boy is a Dewalt hammer drill and it's fabulous in the extreme. It drilled 1/2 inch holes 3 inches deep in my 6 bag concrete like, well, something sharp going through something soft. Hey, I'm tired and my brain don't work too well at the moment.

The day wouldn't be complete without thanking the support staff. Good ol' Chrisi. Where would we have been without her? Pay no attention to the fat man on the floor. Cheap labor.

Tomorrow I'll post the final build. We have to finish the trim, put on doors and build some shelving. Plus there's all my crap to lug and store in there. Come back, it'll be epic. I swear. There will probably be more pain and maybe even some bleeding.

Hey, I aim to please.

Eric

Building A Garage

2011-06-11T13:17:00.000-07:00

The delivery guy dropped off a package on Tuesday afternoon. It was 9 large boxes and 1 small one on a triple long pallet.

Here's the boxes, unloaded and partially opened. That's a lotta parts!

First step is to do some assembly, lay down the foundation and put up the corners, main pillars and support beams. It's important brace the walls as at this point it can be blown down by a strong wind.

Slot A goes into Tab B and then attach the doohickey with alternating thingies. Got it. Wait...what?? I'm a guy. I hate instructions.

The 2 main trusses. They had to be assembled piece by piece by piece. There were a lot of parts.

This is where we left off yesterday. Most of the main supports are in and the trusses and roof beams are assembled and ready to install. That's what we'll be working on today along with putting on the exterior sides. We're still several days away from a completed garage.

More tomorrow.

Eric

NowhereMan Triathlon

2011-06-04T16:43:00.000-07:00

I signed up to do Fatty's 100 Miles Of Nowhere. It's 100 miles on rollers or a short course and is a fundraiser in the fight against cancer. I have a special reason for participation this year. My Mother is in the end stages of terminal lung cancer. This is the one and only time she'll be able to see me complete this event. In that light I decided the day deserved the best effort I could give. If 100 miles on rollers is good maybe something more would be better. I settled on a triathlon. But how? I can't swim and even if I could doing laps in the tub seemed kinda boring. But I can lift and have this humble but really cool, mostly equipped gym right at my house. Presto, the NowhereMan Triathlon was born (With all due credit and respect to Fatty for the name. Please don't kill me).

It's a triathlon with a twist; 100,000 pounds lifted, 10K run and 100 miles on a bicycle, all without leaving the comfort of my home gym. I planned on doing it on Saturday but wandered around the house all day Friday, thinking about it and playing it out in my mind. Shortly after 2:00 PM I decided heck with this. I gathered up Lu and headed out to the gym to get things rolling.

Ma. This is for you.

A partial view of the gym with the bicycle already hooked up to the rollers. That's the official 100 Miles Of Nowhere plate on the bike. The whole thing was done in my humble home gym out behind my house. The gym equipment for lifting, the run on a treadmill and the bike on rollers. Never left the gym except once to use the facilities which were in my own house. How cool is that?

2:30 PM and the official start.

The scoreboard, depressingly free of completed disciplines.

Lifting was up first. As the Big Board shows, I did 7 exercises. The totals went like this:
Bench Press - 100 reps @ 185 pounds = 18,500
Barbell Curl - 100 reps @ 70 pounds = 7,000
Dips - 100 reps @ 245 pounds = 24,500
Rows - 100 reps @ 185 pounds = 18,500
Overhead Extensions - 100 reps @ 100 pounds = 10,000
Shoulder Raises - 100 reps @ 55 pounds - 5,500
Deadlifts - 60 reps @ 200 pounds = 12,000
Squats - 20 reps @ 200 pounds = 4,000
If my math is correct that's 100,000 pounds in 680 repetitions for a 147 pound per lift average. The first time I did 100,000 pounds in training for this it took me 1250 reps. I started to do squats, intending to do 100 reps but at rep number 10 felt a twinge in my right knee. On the second set of 10 it went from a twinge to a full blown owie and squats were out and maybe the entire triathlon. I switched to deadlifts and managed 60 reps before the pain became too great. I added some weight and reps to shoulder raises (I was only planning on doing 60 at 50 pounds) and made up the weight.

Take a look at that face. It was about this time that I recognized there might be a problem and was considering how to continue.

Here's Lu loading plates. She spent the day and night setting up, bringing me food and drinks and just generally coaching and cheer leading. Not to mention the recovery massages. Love that woman.

Here's the what the final board looked like. Not exactly according to the plan but done.

With lifting done it was to event number 2. I was planning on biking at this point but Lu convinced me that my arms were so pumped that supporting myself on the bike might be problematic so the 10K was next.

The problem knee. It kept me from running the pace I wanted but held together long enough to finish. I did no better than a fast walk and a light jog but I finished every step.

6.2 miles aka 10 Kilometers. The time was disappointing but I finished.

The mid point meal complete with a smile and a thumbs up. Mac and Cheese with bacon bits (because everything is better with bacon), whole wheat bread and a glass of milk. I went through about a gallon of water, a half gallon of Gatorade and a tall milk. Yes, that is indeed a drill press behind me. Don't ask.

Ok. On to the bike. My arms were still pumped but I considered this the easiest part of the whole deal. Hey, we're all wrong from time to time. Right?
The obligatory Zero miles shot.

I was going to do the whole ride in my official Team Fatty Jersey but...

Fatty, I love you and Twin Six but by this point my arms were still so pumped the jersey was cutting off circulation to my hands. I went with something a little more...open.

Man, this is hard. In addition to a triathlon this was my first Century on the bike. I found myself looking down at the odometer thinking "I must almost be done by now. Come on, let me almost be done by now" only to discover I still had 75 miles to go. Oof. It was grind it out time so I put my head down and put in the miles.

The finale was most satisfying.

And just like that it was done! The clock on the wall said 11:26 PM.

The official time was kept by Lu on her official Ironman Timex

8:55:42. 8 hours, 55 minutes, 42 seconds.

The final Big Board.

I wanted to do this event for a couple of reasons.
First to support Team Fatty and all his good works and do my part in The Fight.
Second to prove to myself that I could do it.
Finally, and most importantly, to let my Mother know how I feel about her. Ma, I love you more than I could possibly say. I did this because you couldn't. It's my small way of honoring you, your life and your fight. Cancer may separate us but you will ever be in my heart. Fight your fight and know I'll be beside you the whole way. And when your fight is done I will take it up as my own. That is my promise to you.

And so it is done. My legs feel like a bag of angry cats. Lu has been taking good care of me with plenty of Tylenol and leg massages. I've spent the day sleeping and eating anything and everything that gets near me. Now, as far as I can tell I'm the first to do this particular brand of triathlon. If so I believe that makes me the world record holder. If not I'm still the record holder in the Male, 51.9 year old (I'll be 52 in a couple of weeks), Clydesdale, Hurricane Utah, Home Gym, Balding division. I declare myself satisfied. And hey, maybe someone else will step up next year and go for my title. Oh, almost forgot one thing. I started the tri at 245 pounds. After it was done I weighed myself again, thinking I'd see how much weight I'd lost. Kinda like the last chance workout on Biggest Loser. I weighed in at 247. I have to be the only guy in America who can do 9 hours of straight exercise and gain 2 pounds. Jillian would be so disappointed.

Thank you to all of you, my friends, for your support and encouragement. A big Thank You goes to Fatty. The fight goes on my friend but as long as people like you exist how can we possibly fail? Thanks for letting me participate and honor my Mother. I owe you.

Eric "Six"

Honey Do

2010-04-17T15:57:00.000-07:00

So it was time to do one of the honeydo's highest on my list of things I really, really did not want to do. Taking out the Jasmine vine out front. Why now?'Cuz I don't want to end up like this guy.

This is what that mess looked like before I started. Each wing of the vine is 16 feet long and a little over 5 feet high. There are 3 main roots and, as anyone who has ever messed with these things knows, about a million little roots.

Started by pushing it over as far as it'd go because I'm a gorilla and that's what gorilla's do.

It's been up for 20 years or so and the 4x4's were rotted pretty badly. I pushed and pushed but surprise, surprise it completely failed to fall over and onto my trailer. It was pretty obvious some cutting was needed. Cue my double bitted axe because I broke my chain saw doing the fence. Yeah, I'm that guy.

Half down and ready to be dragged away. Yeah, that's my help laying on the lawn sunning themselves with the cooler nearby. Oh, turns out the vine was heavy. Really heavy. Like about 500 pounds of heavy. Oh, my aching 50 year old legs. That's about 2 hours of solid, backbreaking work. Well..... work for an old guy anyway.

Hey, I can see the street!

And the house.

One down and one to go. Luckily for me my timing worked out perfectly and Lu got home just in time to help out with half number 2. Tell me that isn't a frickin' mess.

Number 2 is gone and Lu poses next to her triumph. She finally got me to finish what I've been swearing I'd do for the last 15 years. Remember that bear in the procrastination poster? He's got nothing on Lu. Man, I need some window treatments now. Sigh.

For comparison. That trailer is 5 feet wide and 10 feet long. I'm 6 feet tall. That is a pile o' Jasmine. Unseen under that pile is about 1200 pounds of broken concrete and brick that used to be 2 benches (you can see one of them in the before photo). I'm thinking I'm gonna have to cough up a lung at the dump.

The After picture. Please ignore the partial glove on the left. I was lacking adult supervision at that moment. We can now see out and, even more importantly, it no longer looks like the entrance to the Brazillian Jungle Ride at Retarded Otto's Amusement Park. My neighbors will be so happy.

All this just so I can rent the place out and someone else will miss out on the joys of Jasmine pollen and Jasmine trimming.

Becoming a slum lord better be worth all this effort.

Six

New Site

2010-04-09T16:41:00.000-07:00

We all have, at one time or another, dealt with crappy neighbors. Well, the folks at It's A Security Light are apparently living in or at least near the seventh circle of Hell.

Go, read and revel in the thought that thease are not your neighbors. The snark is of the highest quality.

Six

Gooseberry Mesa

2010-04-09T16:19:00.000-07:00

A couple of years ago Lu and I bought her grandparents home in Hurricane, Utah. It's a modest home, built in sections by her grandfather. The original house and the first addition were masonry construction so, yeah, I have some masonry interior walls. It's going to need some wiring (lots of 2 prong outlets), plumbing (copper attached to iron with no anodes) and flooring (carpeting in the kitchen?!). First was the water heater.

Last time we visited the house was in February. While there I noticed that both the cold water inlet and the hot water outlet pipes were leaking. Not bad but enough. The water had gotten inside the electric water heater and corroded the hookups. Enough to trip the breaker. Yikes. We turned off the water and power and headed back to California so we could decide what to do.

I did some research on tankless and decided against it for now. The electric one needs 3 separate 20 amp 240 volt feeds and a 200 amp box. That means a total re-wire of the old house and I'm not quite ready to do that at the moment. So, new regular water heater.

I went out last Wednesday, armed with tools and an inadequate plumbing skill set. Luckily I have a good friend (Hey Tom) who knows everything. He clued me in and stated his confidence in my ability to do this rather simple talk. Disaster will surely follow such a pronouncement.

For those of you who are home remodel savvy, you no doubt already know about Gator Clamps (also known as Shark Clamps. At least in Utah). These little plumbing wonders are the greatest thing since the invention of sex. They allow even the dimmest bulb to do basic copper pipe plumbing without sweating in the joints. Sweating in is a vast misnomer for attaching copper pipes to various elbows, devices and attachments through the use of solder, the heat from a portable blast furnace and something called "Flux". "Flux" is apparently a magic substance that causes solder to decide to flow into a copper joint when used by a plumbing expert and third degree burns to the digits of amateurs when used by same. They are a wonder and if I ever meet the inventor I will kiss him full on the mouth in public (any chance the inventor was female???). Leakless joints with a simple push. I LOVE them.

Through the use of this fabulous device I was able to install a new 50 gallon water heater in the space where tho old one was. The exact center of my house. Just inside the door from the living room to the bedrooms. In the middle of everything. Yeah, I need to move it. Later. I also installed new clothes washer hoses. Baby, I'm a now a plumber! Got the butt crack to prove it.

Since I got done early I called my best friend (the selfsame Tom of the awesome plumbing skills) and invited him and his dog Mugsy down for some riding. Southern Utah has some of the most awesome MTB trails in the country and most of them are mere minutes from my front door. Go ahead. Be jealous.

I decided it was time to tackle the Gooseberry Mesa. We loaded up and headed out. The trail head is at the end of several miles of very bad dirt road. The area has had some bad rains so those roads were also muddy with water filled potholes approximately the size of Lake Michigan. Still, I am the illegitimate son of Parnelli Jones so we had no difficulties getting there, screams from the passenger seat notwithstanding (Tom, you're such a wuss. We were no where near that cliff. Missed it by at least 6 inches. Big sissy).

This is Tom and his "dog" Mugsy. Mugsy is a 9 month old, 100 pound Bull Mastiff. He's also the biggest goofball dog on the planet. If he's actually a dog and not the unholy offspring of an real dog and water buffalo. That dog is big. His head is the size of a basketball. Did I mention he's 9 months old? Tom figures he's got another 40 to 50 pounds to still put on. Sheesh. BTW, yes, those are Tom's bike riding clothes. No spandex. No cleated shoes. No cool mesh riding shirt and high tech water hydration system. Jeans and a t-shirt. It was cold so he wore his long sleeve with the front left unbuttoned in that hip, Jack Nicholson if he was a dork kinda way. All the other bike guys saw him and I was like totally embarrassed. Love ya Tom.

This is me and Mugsy. You will please note that I am properly attired for a day on the trails. Cool riding jacket, neat riding trousers (not pants mind you, trousers) with chamois padded spandex underneath and cleated MTB riding shoes. Fabulous. Note the Gooseberry Mesa sign for those of you who suspect that I may be making the whole thing up. Also please note Mugsy's head and chest. I'm 6 foot and about 17 1/2 stones (Hah!) for reference.

Tom wussed out part way through the ride. Something about not having ridden for a year and neck surgery and a bad back, Blah, blah, blah. Typical. I suspect he's probably a closet hiker. Still, a good time was had by all. Tom swears he's going to start riding again and kick my ass next time. Heh heh.

I'm heading back at the end of the month. I'm installing some new flooring in the kitchen, water heater room and the man cave (aka the basement. More on that later). Did I mention I'm retired? And bored?

Hey Tom. Up for Gooseberry again? We'll get you some spandex.

And a little scarf for Mugsy.

Six

Poor Me

2010-04-01T22:12:00.000-07:00

I'm at the Utah house. I've got a cold and I have a truck and trailer of crap to unload.

And no Lu to pity me, coo over me and make it all better.

It's so hard to be a guy.

Six

Tools

2010-02-27T16:01:00.000-08:00

As many of you know, I'm a tool guy. I love tools. Owning them and using them. Mostly improperly. Pop sent me the following list.
All I can say is Yeah, pretty much.
Six

Men's Tools

DRILL PRESS:
A tall upright machine useful for suddenly snatching flat metal bar stock out of your hands so that it smacks you in the chest and flings your beer across the room, denting the freshly-painted project which you had carefully set in the corner where nothing could get to it.

WIRE WHEEL:
Cleans paint off bolts and then throws them somewhere under the workbench with the speed of light. Also removes fingerprints and hard-earned calluses from fingers in about the time it takes you to say, "Oh, shit!"

SKILL SAW:
A portable cutting tool used to make studs too short.

PLIERS:
Used to round off bolt heads. Sometimes used in the creation of > blood-blisters.

BELT SANDER:
An electric sanding tool commonly used to convert minor touch-up jobs into major refinishing jobs.

HACKSAW:
One of a family of cutting tools built on the Ouija board principle ... It transforms human energy into a crooked, unpredictable motion, and the more you attempt to influence its course, the more dismal your future becomes.

VISE-GRIPS:
Generally used after pliers to completely round off bolt heads. If nothing else is available, they can also be used to transfer intense welding heat to the palm of your hand.

OXYACETYLENE TORCH:
Used almost entirely for lighting various flammable objects in your shop on fire. Also handy for igniting the grease inside the wheel hub out of which you want to remove a bearing race.

TABLE SAW:A large stationary power tool commonly used to launch wood projectiles for testing wall integrity.

HYDRAULIC FLOOR JACK:Used for lowering an automobile to the ground after you have installed your new brake shoes, trapping the jack handle firmly under the bumper.

BAND SAW:A large stationary power saw primarily used by most shops to cut good aluminum sheet into smaller pieces that more easily fit into the trash can after you cut on the inside of the line instead of the outside edge.

TWO-TON ENGINE HOIST:
A tool for testing the maximum tensile strength of everything you forgot to disconnect.

PHILLIPS SCREWDRIVER:
Normally used to stab the vacuum seals under lids or for opening old-style paper-and-tin oil cans and splashing oil on your shirt; but can also be used, as the name implies, to strip out Phillip screw heads.

STRAIGHT SCREWDRIVER:
A tool for opening paint cans. Sometimes used to convert commonslotted screws into non-removable screws and butchering your palms.

PRY BAR:
A tool used to crumple the metal surrounding that lip or bracket you needed to remove in order to replace a 50 cent part.

HOSE CUTTER:
A tool used to make hoses too short.

HAMMER:
Originally employed as a weapon of war, the hammer nowadays is used as a kind of divining rod to locate the most expensive parts adjacent to the object we are trying to hit.

UTILITY KNIFE:
Used to open and slice through the contents of cardboard cartons delivered to your front door; works particularly well on contents such as seats, vinyl records, liquids in plastic bottles, collector magazines, refund checks, and rubber or plastic parts. Especially useful for slicing work clothes, but only while in use.

SON OF A BITCH TOOL:
Any handy tool that you grab and throw across the garage while yelling,"Son of a bitch" at the top of your lungs. It is also, most often, the next tool that you will need.

Uh...

2010-02-14T14:57:00.000-08:00

So Lu and I went for a ride today to celebrate her birthday. Out to Ft. Ord for a nice, easy ride.

After a few miles I went to my back brakes for some slow and whoa. The handle went to the bars with little slow and definitely no whoa. I suddenly remembered my last ride on Friday. One of the pads had come loose. I made a mental note to fix it when I got home. Mental is the key word here. If I don't write it down these days, it didn't happen. So...it didn't happen.

Cut to today. I adjusted the pad and managed to twist it such that it was in place and secure. Off we went.

At about 6 miles I felt like I was peddling a serious uphill. I mean, it was painful. I chalked it up to dead legs from my heavy workout pace this last week. I put in a lot of miles and time in the gym. I am retired now after all.

Then we got to The Hill. It's a leg breaker. Normally not a real problem but today I barely made it up in granny gear and suffered the whole way. I was in the pain cave big time. By the time I crested the hill, well back from Lu who dropped me like a handful of slug, I was cooked. Done.

We made it back to the truck but that was it. I was badly disappointed but figured it was just one of those days. I put the bikes in the rack and as I put mine on I brushed the rear wheel with my arm. Can you guess what I discovered? You can? I knew you were smart.

Yup. When I twisted the pad tight, the tightness was the pad being wedged against the rear wheel. It wouldn't turn with mild pressure. I had to give it some muscle to even get it to spin at all.

So at least I didn't bonk because I'm a wuss. Just a moron.

Six

Retired

2010-02-09T22:52:00.000-08:00

So I finally pulled the plug. Retired. Done. Unemployed but still collecting a paycheck. Old. Well, advanced middle aged anyway.

I'm uneasy about it. I mean, I've been in one uniform or another for the last 33 years. Going from 100 to 0 just ain't in the cards. In that vein, I'm ramping up the training and workouts to a whole new level.

So, I'm kicking off FiftyFit. How fit can a 50ish year old guy get? Especially one as lazy as I am. Heh heh.

Don't get me wrong. I've got a lot on the old plata. 2 houses in different states. 1 to get ready for renting and the other for our occupancy. For those interested we'll be moving from california to utah sometime this year.

I'm working on the ole diet thing. Luckily my daughter is schooled in such and is way smarter than I am. She and the grandkids are visiting next for month for 6 weeks or so (and here's to 'or so' lasting until, oh maybe 2011). While she's here we'll be riding, spending time in the gym and refining my diet. That means she's going to beat me about the head and shoulders until I give up bad stuff. The definition of 'bad stuff' will surely make me cry but she won't care. Meanie.

My 2010 goals?
1. I'm currently at 240 pounds (down from the 250's last year). I want to get to 215. That's 25 pounds. Imminently doable, especially considering how Gene at
http://100poundsago.wordpress.com/ lost 90 friggin' pounds last year. Makes me feel like a wuss.
2. Ride a Century. There's one in my new hometown of St. George, Utah next month. Perfect. Yeah, I won't be ready. But I will do one this year. I vow.
3. In light of goal number 2 above I definitely need a new bicycle. It's for my health and everything. I mean, I really need a new one. Really. I have a Gary Fisher MTB and a Giant TCR2 road bike. I have to say the Gary Fisher just fits me better even though I'd buy another Giant in a second.
4. I can't think of anything else right now but rest assured I have many more goals I will accomplish this year. Many more. All of them all epic and cool and stuff.

In the meantime Lu and I are going riding tomorrow, weather permitting.

I'll post pictures.

Six

Part V The End

2010-01-27T17:01:00.000-08:00

I really struggled with the ending. I actually wrote a different one before deciding on this ending. I hope you like it. I am frankly relieved to have this out of my system. Maybe I can get back to blogging about bicycles and riding again!
Six

Firth came to with his head in the Axon Auto Medic ‘Guaranteed Soothing Or Your Money Back.’ He pushed it away and was greeted by the grinning face of Starth. “Hey hero. You finally awake?”

Firth jerked away and dropped to the floor. He scuttled into a corner and looked wildly around the room. “Where is he? Where the hell is he?”

Starth’s grin grew wider. “Relax man. He’s back in the bathroom sleeping like a baby. What’s the matter, you scared?”

Firth relaxed. Slightly. “You weren’t there. Or rather you were there, but you were passed out. You didn’t see. It was life and death man. If I hadn’t zapped him he’d have killed both of us.”

Starth’s smile wavered and was replaced by a hurt look. “Hey now, I didn’t pass out, I hit my head on something.”

“I hit my head on something” Firth shot back. “You just passed out.”

“Yeah, hit your head on the upper bulkhead when you practically jumped out of your skin” Starth teased.

Firth sniffed. “Screw you pal. I’m the one who saved us both from another one of your schemes gone bad. You laid there on the floor and left me to deal with the human so just piss off.”

“Now, now. Don’t get your panties in a wad. Who knows who’s head hit what and who’s didn’t. Besides, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got him locked up in the bathroom as just as soon as you ‘recover’ we can send him back and find someone else.”

Firth slumped into a control chair. “You’re a menace Starth. You know that don’t you? I mean, you have to at least suspect that you are in fact certifiable.”

Starth laughed. “That’s why I let you hang out with me Firth. You’re always such a ray of sunshine.”

Firth sighed in resignation. “What now?” he asked.

“Now we go back to where we picked the doofus up, drop him off and try again.”

“Did the brain ray work? I mean, I know I hit him with it but he acted kinda funny. Like it wasn’t working quite right or something.”

Starth’s smirk was back on full power. “Will you relax? You hit him with it didn’t you? He’s out isn’t he? What’s to worry? It worked and now all we have to do is put him back and go on our merry way. No one will ever know. Now go back to the controls for the zapper and get ready. Trust me”

Firth rose with yet another long sigh. ‘Man’ he thought ‘Will this day never end?’

**

Luster awoke on the ground next to his pickup, a half remembered dream fading away. ‘What the hail?’ He spent minutes scratching at his grease stained pate, willing the vision to return but without success. He looked around and took stock. He was stopped in the middle of the road, lights on and engine still running. He had no memory of why, when or even how. He saw the empty beer cans scattered around the ground and came to the logical conclusion. ‘Man, I shore musta tied one on las’ night.’ He filed it away as useless information. He levered himself off the ground, looking for all the world like a scarecrow rising for a new day. He looked around again, his face a moue of concentration. Something had happened but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. Something about a bathroom and some midgets poking him with sticks or…..or was it a dream? A stranger to introspection, Luster damned the dreams to whatever hell they were from, climbed back into the ancient truck and headed for home and perhaps a taste of the high life. Though he’d take what he could get.

But as he drove away, Luster kept returning to the half remembered dreams…

**

High overhead an argument was taking place.

“Maybe you’re on to something Firth. UFO groupie. Yeah, that’s the ticket.”

“I just want to go home Starth. I’ve had enough for one day. We’re already late as it is. Let’s just chalk all this up to experience and try again next year. Besides, I’m still worried. I can’t shake the feeling that there was something funny about that memory eraser. I don’t think it worked like it was supposed to.”

“Look man, it worked. Ok? We’re in the clear so stop with the whining. Now we’ve come this far and I’m not going home without scoring. That dude didn’t work out but somebody, somewhere on this miserable planet has got to have some beer. And we’re gonna get some.”

**

6 Months Later

“Good evening America and welcome to the highest rated early morning radio show in the country. It’s Border to Border and I’m your host, Buck Bently.”

“Folks, have we got a show for you. First up is a man who’s had a near death experience, during which he says he was taken to Hell, tormented by small, gray demons and then rescued by God in a beam of pure light. So let’s get right to it. Luster, are you there my friend?”

“I shore am Buckster and it’s a downraht pleasure to be a speakin. To ya’ll tonight.”

“Luster, tell us about what Hell is like.”

“Well Buckster I ain’t never been so scart in all muh life. See, the entrance to Hail is really a bathroom. A white bathroom and……”

The End

Part IV

2010-01-27T14:23:00.000-08:00

The story is now finished. Part V will be the last. I'll post it tomorrow.
I can't believe I actually finished this thing.
Six

The poking ceased, the dreams faded and Luster clawed his painful way back to wakefulness. As he woke, Luster could hear a conversation between two people he couldn’t yet see. It was the same language he’d heard before. Maybe it was them ayrabs. Or the messicans. ‘Speak English you bastards.’ he thought. Crap, I knew I shoulda learned to hablo that espanishola’.

Luster sat up as the memory of where he was suddenly crashed down on him. He looked around him and again took stock. ‘Crapper. It’s a goldurned crapper! I knowed it.’ Then Luster spied something he’d forgotten about. There was a door. And it was open. Luster looked and through the portal he saw a strange being. It looked like the ‘angel’ he’d seen before and it was evidently arguing with someone else across the room.

Cowardice was Luster’s middle name and damn all his momma for that. Still, he did tend to live up to the sobriquet. About the only thing that’d bring out his brave side was sobriety or the specter of sobriety and Luster was looking that particular monster square in the face at the moment. It was enough to motivate a man. ‘Besides, twernt no angels atall, just someone a funnin’ me.’

The gangling Luster rose from the floor like a puppet with half its strings cut. ‘Cain’t nobody treat me like ‘is’ he thought. ‘I gots my rahts’. Luster gathered up his dander and stomped toward the door, ready to give someone ‘a dang good what fer’. Unfortunately, Luster’s indignant march from the room was cut short by a second trip to his back. Luster shook his head and peered at the door for an explanation. He fought his way back to his feet, ducked his emaciated six foot frame and crabbed his way through the 4 four high door. With all the wounded dignity of a Baptist preacher’s mother turning down a request for an unmentionable sex act, Luster approached the small, gray being, leaned in and delivered his memorable line.

The small gray man, Luster was now certain they were small gray men, jumped three feet off the floor, slamming its head into the low ceiling. The second small, gray man simply fell over, dropping a strange device to the floor as it did so. Both were out cold. “Dad gum” he muttered. “Dad gum midgets, that’s what they is. Now who the hail would be a settin’ the midgets on me?” he wondered. Luster dimly remember as how some do gooder down to the welfare office had told him they were ‘little people’ and how he was not to call them midgets but political correctness was never Luster’s strength. Luster briefly wondered if maybe this was ‘all them welfare peoples a doin’’ but the thought went as fast as it appeared. Thinking wasn’t Luster’s strength either.

Luster wasn’t fazed. He smiled in satisfaction. “Serves you sumbiches raht. Kidnap a man and take away his beer. It’s agin the constitution! I’ll see yore asses in jail fer this!” Luster aimed a kick at the nearest. The kick missed by the four or five feet separating the two supine gray men. Luster cursed and tried again. This time he managed to send the strange device rattling across the floor. Satisfied at having regained his lost dignity, Luster spit once and began to explore. Maybe they had some booze?

Luster took a good look around the room. It was small, unadorned. ‘Not even a picture of someone’s momma on the wall’ he thought. He walked around for a bit, poking into this and that. There was nothing he recognized and, even worse, no beer! Luster felt himself starting to shake. ‘Oh Lor’, please don’t let me get the DT’s. Not now.’ Luster was determined, now more than ever, to find the door, get back to his truck and put the two small gray men out of his mind and as far away from him as he could.

It took several minutes of bumping into things before Luster noticed the second room. This one with a window. He shuffled over for a better look, fully expecting to see the familiar landscape of central Oklahoma and a way out of the cramped space. Instead he saw the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. It was blue and green and white all over. As Luster watched he saw a dark line approaching. Hidden in that shadow were points of light, like a thousand fireflies glued to black construction paper. He’d never even imagined anything so beautiful. He pressed his nose to the glass and whistled. A half remembered Sunday school lesson came to mind. “It’s Eden” he whispered. “The garden of Eden,”

Behind him, a small gray man stirred but Luster, enrapt, stared on.

**

Firth felt the black of unconsciousness lift. He woke to find himself lying on the deck, staring up at a hatch on the ceiling. He noticed it was a slightly different color than the rest of the ship. ‘Kinda off white’ he thought. ‘Maybe eggshell. Firth thought it extremely important but couldn’t say why. ‘I’m supposed to be doing something’ he thought. ‘But what?’ Firth thought and thought but the something stayed just out of reach. Tantalizingly close but beyond his touch. He rolled his head to his left and saw Starth, also lying on his back and facing the ceiling with unseeing eyes. He saw the Axon Memory Beam resting against the bulkhead wall where Luster had kicked it. He saw the pen door to the bathroom and it all came crashing down on him. ‘Oh yeah’ he thought. ‘I remember now.’

Firth took a surreptitious look around but didn’t see the human. Good. He tried to sit but his head felt like someone was trapped inside and desperate to get out. He slid across the deck to his friend. Firth took hold of thin arms and shook him as hard as he could. Starth barely moved.

“Starth. Starth. Come on man, wake up. Starth you rat bastard, this is all your fault now wake the hell up.” Nothing. ‘Now what?’ He spied the box again. ‘If I could just get to the brain ray we might still be able to get out of this.’ Firth didn’t dare stand so, taking another look for Luster; he started to crawl for the box.

Every pull with his arms and every push with his legs was an agony. His head was pounding now and he barely kept awake. Firth was sure he was about to die. ‘Great’ he thought. ‘I’ll never be able to leave my room again.’ Still, he had to try and salvage the situation. Slowly, inch, by painful inch, Firth made his way across the floor until at last, he reached his prize. He extended a hand and grasped his salvation with a cry of relief. He tugged at it to bring it to where ho could get to the controls. The thing was heavy and refused to budge. Firth, tiring quickly, gave one last pull with all the stringy muscle he had left and it suddenly shifted and sped toward him. Too late, he realized that it had come to rest partially on the floor and partially on the wall. When he pulled it away the back of the box, instead of sliding down, came crashing to the deck. The resounding noise sounded like a sonic boom to the now thoroughly scared youngster.

Fear galvanized Firth. His headache disappeared and he found new vigor as he scrambled at the controls. “Oh shit Oh shit Oh shit!” he screamed. “Work you stupid piece of junk!”

Luster’s reverie was broken by a soft sound. It was so faint that if he had not been standing quietly he’d have missed it. Still. “Mebbe them little fellers done woke up already.” Luster hitched up his faded and dirt encrusted jeans and started back. “Gonna have a little palaver with them boys.” Luster chortled. “Heh, heh. Little. I kill me.”

Firth was still madly slapping at switches when he heard the ponderous tread of Luster’s badly worn boots approaching. He was almost wild with terror. So much so that he missed the warning lights flashing out their messages of potential doom from the badly mishandled machine. As Luster rounded the wall, Firth pushed with all his might, lined the machine up in the general direction of the human as best he could and hit the transmit button.

Luster had time to see the small gray man huddled against the far wall, fiddling with the box. He opened his mouth to ‘commence the cussin’ but was struck short. A soft white light surrounded him and Luster began to relive his life.

Luster remembered his childhood. His Ma and Pa. His sister Gertie and his brother Lemuel. He remembered graduating 8th grade and how proud they’d all been. First one in the family to go so far. He remembered sneaking kisses with Cousin Flora at the family reunion and the first time they’d gone ‘all the way’. He remembered his first drink and all the drinks after. Every beer. Every shot of rotgut. The still he’d built from pipe he’d salvaged out of that condemned building. How the Sheriff’d come out yelling about ‘lead poisonin’ you dumbshit hillbilly’ or some such blather and took it all away but not before he’d squirreled away a fair stash. The rubbing alcohol. The paint thinner. All of it. Luster’s brain latched onto those memories like a rabid dog onto a dead possum and refused to let go. Luster tried to think of something else but couldn’t. The memories played back over and over in his head until he thought he’d go insane.

Then, blissful nothingness.

Firth watched as Luster crumpled into a softly snoring ball and finally took a long delayed breath. His body shuddered and his hands shook. He slumped back against the wall and let his fear drain away. “I’m gonna kill Starth.”

Part III

2010-01-25T20:35:00.000-08:00

The sense of despondency was palpable. The air was thick with the stench of failure. And the gastrointestinal passings of Luster of course. Firth lay sprawled on the control couch, contemplating the gently snoring human.

Starth squatted near Luster and poked him again with the long carbon pole he’d found in the emergency locker. As before, no response. “What now?”

Firth stared at him in growing anger. “How the hell would I know? This was all your idea. You think of something and do it quick. I can’t stand this smell.”

Starth poked again. “I’m thinking, I’m thinking. Don’t rush me.” Poke. Poke.

Suddenly, the human stirred and moaned. Starth screamed, dropped his poker and scrambled behind Firth’s couch. Firth snickered. “Don’t drop a load there Starth, smells bad enough in here already.”

Starth straightened and brushed away an imaginary speck of dust. “Screw you. I wasn’t scared, just startled a little.” He never took his eyes off the now quiescent human. “At least we know he’s still alive.”

Firth’s humor vanished as rapidly as it had occurred. “Oh he’s still alive alright but the main question still remains. What do we do now? Let’s brain ray this guy, dump him and go home. I’m sick of this planet and even sicker of you”

“Well, one thing’s for sure”, Starth quietly muttered, “We’re definitely not scoring off this guy.”

**

Starth grunted as he shifted the bulky device into place. In spite of miniaturization, the machine, an Axon Memory Beam, “Guaranteed Tumor Free Or Your Money Back!” was nearly as heavy as he. “How about a little help here?”

Firth didn’t even glance his way. He stood near Luster, the carbon rod in his hands, poised to strike, run or faint. As the situation called for. “Screw you Starth. I’m not taking my eyes off this guy.”

“I’m not taking my eyes off this guy” Starth mocked. “He’s been out for ages. What’s he gonna do? Suddenly come back to life, go on a rampage and kill us both? Please. I’m going to zap this guy, send him back down to his vehicle and then you and I are gonna find a new pigeon and score.”

Firth felt a spike of anger. He turned on his friend, the carbon rod clenched in a bony, gray fist. “Score?” he screamed. “Score? Just shut up Starth. This is all your fault. It’s your fault I’m here, watching a human lie comatose on the floor, his every body emanation more vile than the last. It’s your fault we missed the opportunity to score with a UFO groupie. It’s your fault that Deputy Sheriff took a pot shot at us. It’s your fault this maniac may wake up at any moment and rip us limb from limb. Everything is your fault. Now please be so kind as to shut the hell up, bring that thing here and let’s just get this done and leave.”

Starth was silent for only moments. “Pussy.”

Firth started a retort that stopped as he saw his friend’s eyes go big, his mouth framing a silent scream. Then he heard a voice coming from directly behind him.

“Whut the hailfire’s a goin’ on here?”

Firth screamed. Starth screamed and everything went black.

Merry Christmas

2009-12-24T14:00:00.001-08:00

It truly is the most hallowed night and day of the year. Christians celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Yes, The Six is an unabashed, unapologetic and proud Christian man.

Being a Christian is as much a part of me as being a man. Faith is as much a part of my character as honor.

I am taking this night and day and putting all my cares and worries aside.

Instead, I will contemplate the gift of Jesus to all. Redemption.

May the Lord guide us all through another year. May he watch over and keep safe our warriors, police officers and firefighters serving in harms way. May he give comfort to their families and loved ones. May he bless each and every one of you.

I send my love and best wishes to each of you who have touched my life this past year.

Thank you my friends and Merry Christmas.

Six

Interlude

2009-12-08T20:37:00.000-08:00

I'm temporarily interupting the program to bring you this story.
A few months ago I decided it would be great to get some of my friends from work together for a nice ride. The question was how? How to draw both active/experienced riders and novice/new riders out to a group ride? The answer was to stage a "Ride". Hence the First Annual Monterey Pedal Dawgs Quarter Century. Why Monterey Pedal Dawgs? Well I work for the MPD so....Hey, it was all I could think of and I got no help from the others. Lu and I did the grunt work, setting things up, getting the shirts printed, getting the food lined up, etc. Lu even made these great bibs. Nifty huh?

This is the group. 11 intrepid riders. Most were on MTB's of one stripe or another. Nothing more high tech than Lu and my Giant FCR2's. There were a lot of pedals without even cages. Lu and I had the only clips in the bunch,

This is my lovely wife, Linda Lu. Lu for short. What's she pointing at you ask? A very good question. She is most definitely not pointing at clear skies and warm sunshine. After unending days, weeks and yea verily even months of fantastic weather we woke up to cold and misty rain. Not Michigan weather I know but I don't want Gene to think we're complete wusses. We are, I just don't want him to know.

We met in the parking lot of the Ft. Ord Dunes State Park. It's on, well, the old Ft. Ord. Near where Stilwell Hall was for the historians out there. Yeah, that's me in the yellow. I'm a walking caution sign.

T-shirts. Get your t-shirts here.

And food. Can't forget the food. I thought there was plenty but when you get 11 people together after a 25 mile ride and most of them have never ridden anything like that mileage before, appetites are commesurate. Let's just say we had enough, barely. BBQ was by yours truly and my world famous Teriyaki chicken vanished like smoke on a windy day.

Good food, great people and a fantastic location made for a wonderful event if I do say so myself.

Everyone made the distance. We even handed out certificates of completion at the end. Why 25 miles? It's just at the edge of doable for novice riders but still a distance that experienced riders can get in a good workout if they push the pace. First place was my good friend Mike at 1 hour 44 minutes. Lu and I were together in second at 1 hour 53. Yeah, not exactly TDF but hey, the spectators seemed happy with the show.

What did I learn?

First, putting on a successful riding event is a lot of work. We had to get the start/finish location, ride the course to make sure of the mileage, name the club (we are so brand new), get the food and arrange for a chef (thank you), make bibs and certificates of completion, arrange for t-shirts, pick a date, pick another date, pick still a third date, get a photographer and timer (thankfully the same person, thanks Paula) and generally coordinate with all participants.

Second. It's a lot of fun. I mean a lot of fun. I highly encourage anyone with an interest to do one. Just get together with your friends/co-workers and do it. We took a 25 mile ride and made it a fun family event. We even got a couple of people involved who hadn't ridden in years. I gave them plenty of work up time to get ready but it was still no mans land for them. The pride they felt on completion was palpable.

We named this the First Annual Monterey Pedal Dawgs Quarter Century for a reason. I may be retiring soon but there will be a Second. I may have to come out here and coordinate it and if so I will. I intend for this to become a regular ride, open to anyone, and I'd like to incorporate a charity like LAF into it.

This is a doable thing for anyone with an interest. If you want to do one but need some pointers or advice please contact me and I'll help as much as I can. If your ride is reasonably close I'll come out and ride it with you.

I'll even BBQ some chicken.

Six

Part II

2009-11-05T23:48:00.000-08:00

Luster stumbled out of the cab of his truck in a circle of puke green light. He was followed by a clattering of empty beer cans. Luster knew they were empty because he had sipped each one in the hope of a few drops of that sweet, sweet nectar. He thought he had hit the jackpot on that last one but it had turned out to be piss from his last drunk. At least it had been his own. He hoped. As the light hit his bleary retinas he felt his gorge rise and again tasted the bitter acid of his own urine. He hawked, spat and shielded his eyes as he peered upward. “Whut the hail?” Luster could dimly see something approaching him from the sky and knew immediately what it was. He had four drunk driving convictions on his record, damn cops anyway, and hadn’t had a drivers license in decades. He knew a police helicopter when he saw one. Luster lifted a hand and extended a middle finger as he hollered his disdain for authority everywhere. “Kiss my ass you bastids, I’m sober!” He hoped.

**

Firth watched as the man exited the vehicle and waved in their direction. He nudged Starth. “What’s he doing?”

Starth was busy being engrossed in his own fantasies. He was imagining the stories he was going to tell about his masterful score. The chicks. The acclaim. He’d be cool beyond measure and to hell with Crath. He shook off his pleasant reverie. “What? How the hell would I know. Go get ready to beam this guy in and don’t screw it up. Put him in the bathroom.”

**

Luster was just beginning to doubt his assumptions about the identity of the approaching aircraft. It didn’t sound like no helicopter Luster had ever seen and Luster watched a lot of TV. He considered himself an expert on the subject, among many others. He felt a tingling all over his body and was suddenly afraid. He’d experienced this before. “Oh no. It’s the DT’s!” He began flapping his arms and running around the idling pickup, slapping at his body. “It’s the DT’s! It’s the bugs come back to eat me! Lor’ help me!”

**

Firth slapped the controls to the Axon Beamalyzer, ‘Guaranteed Mutation Free Or Your Money Back’, and watched through the bathroom door as the glow appeared.

**

Luster felt himself flying. His body was light as a feather and he could feel his spirit soaring skyward. It hit him like one of Lotties canes across the forehead. The light. The tingling. The flying. “Oh shit, I’m daid. Fergive me Lor’. I’s sorry for all my sinnin’ ways. Take me into the light Lor’, take me into the light.” As his eyes whited out, Luster opened his arms wide, prepared to feel Heaven’s embrace.

**

The first thing Firth noticed was the smell. He’d never met a human but they all couldn’t smell this bad. Could they? He quickly closed the door and looked to Starth, still seated at the controls. “Dude, this guy stinks.” Starth could only smirk.

**

Luster came to his senses and looked around. White room bathed in a warm light seemingly coming from everywhere. Yep, he was in Heaven. Well, probably Heavens waiting room. The room was kinda small though. Maybe there was separate interview rooms for each person. A place to talk your way into Heaven. Luster quivered in fear for a moment but it quickly passed. Luster had been on a job interview once. It was just like this. He’d gotten the job then hadn’t he? If anyone could talk his way into the Pearly Gates it was ol’ Luster. Luster took a seat on the only piece of furniture in the room and settled in to wait, already rehearsing in his mind.

**

Starth and Firth approached the bathroom with trepidation. In spite of all Starth’s big talk, they were young and inexperienced in the ways of the Universe. Starth pushed Firth forward. “Go ahead. Open it.”

Firth shied back. “No way. You do it. I saw him already. Smelled him too. This was your brilliant idea so you go ahead. Unless you’re scared?”

Starth was stung. “Scared? By a human? Please.” He felt the reassuring weight of the remote in his hand. “If he so much as jumps I’ll zap him back down and we’ll split, allright?”

Firth, remembering the size and smell of the man, shook his head. “Listen, this isn’t some UFOlogist here. This guy may be crazy. He may be dangerous. He for damn sure is empty handed. Let’s beam him back now and leave. That cult in Colorado is supposed to be meeting tonight. We do a fly by, pick one up and score for sure.”

Starth hissed in negation. “No you moron. It’s not the same. You know the rules. No fans, period.”

Firth nodded his head. “Ok, if that’s what you want. I just want to remind you of why we’re here. We’re here to score, nothing more, and this guy’s got nothing. If you’re only going for style points we may come up empty.”

Starth snorted. “Nothing on him but we haven’t checked his vehicle yet. Relax, it’ll work out. We’ll score but we’ll do it cool.”

**

Luster was getting nervous. Stone sober, or as close to it as he ever got, and now he was hearing things. It sounded like voices but voices speaking a language Luster couldn’t understand. Luster screwed up his courage and knocked on what was apparently the door to the Heavenly Interview Room. “Angels, can ya’all hear me? It’s me, Luster and Ah’m ready for them Pearly Gates now. Can we get on with this? Please? Hello? Angels, can ya’all hear me?” Nothing. Luster began to sweat. Maybe this wasn’t Heaven at all. Maybe this was Hell and this was Luster’s punishment. Stuck in a tiny room with only one seat and stone cold sober for all eternity. It was unthinkable. Not the room. Luster frankly couldn’t care less, but no Beer? He began to frantically hammer at the door. “Hey Angels! I cain’t understand your Angel talk but I reckon ya’all can unnerstand me so please let me explain. I’s sorry. I never meant any of it if ya’ll just give me another chance. Hello? Angels?”

**

Firth and Starth shared a long look. Starth broke the silence. “Angels? What is this guy talking about?”

It was Firth’s turn to laugh. “You should try studying sometime genius. It’s religion. This guy thinks we’re a part of their religious pantheon. Thinks he’s in Heaven or something. What a moron.”

Starth snickered. “Yeah. Wait, can we use this? Make him think if he doesn’t give us what we want he’ll be damned forever?”

Firth considered. “I don’t know dude. You know we’re not supposed to scare these people. Sometimes the Brain Ray doesn’t work right and they remember stuff. We might get into trouble. If we mess up our parents will freak. I don’t need to be grounded”

Starth slapped him on the arm. “Will you stop worrying? Our parents aren’t here and I pulled the fuse on the recording systems. Still, we better be careful. The Friendly Alien bit has worked before. Maybe we should just stick to what we practiced.”

Firth regarded the bathroom door, resounding from the heavy blows. “Yeah and hope this guy doesn’t kill us both.”

**

Luster plopped back down while the second lucid thought of the day penetrated his abnormally thick skull. He took in his surroundings again as he spoke to the walls. “This can’t be Heaven or hell. How did I die? What was that noise? A Green light? There has to be another explanation.” He noticed the top of the chair he was sitting on lifted up, hinged at the rear. He opened it and got a whiff of … something. Something foul. Something odoriferous in the extreme. Luster had never smelled anything exactly like it before but that didn’t throw him. He knew it when he smelled it because he had smelled a lot of it. “Is that …?”

**

Starth reached for the handle to the bathroom door. He looked to make sure Firth was set. “You ready dude?” Firth nodded. “Ok, here we go.” Starth flung open the door and he and Firth stepped in. They took up positions on either side of the doorway, raised their arms and pointed at the man, who was now laying on the floor. “You are our prisoner Earthman. Cooperate and you won’t be hurt. Oppose us at your peril!” A scream interrupted the speech.

**

Luster’s moment of coherence passed as the two beings stepped into the room. They were both small, no more than four feet high, with grey skin, large bulbous heads and black eyes. Luster screamed and fainted dead away, never even hearing the melodramatic words.

**

Firth was first to recover his wits. “Oh shit dude. I think we killed him. What are we gonna do now?”

Starth shook his head. “I don’t know. Is he really dead? Maybe you should check him.” He pushed Firth toward the supine man.

Firth backpedaled like he was being chased by the ugly girl. “Me? Hey, this is your deal. You do it.”

Starth shook his head again. “Not me. I’m not getting near him.” He waved a delicate hand past his nose holes. “Whew. Does he smell that way because he’s dead?”

Firth looked closer. “Well, he pretty much smelled that way when we brought him onboard and I’m sure he was alive then. Wait, his chest is moving. You got a med scanner?”

Starth looked his disdain at his companion. “It’s an Axon InterGalactic Z-Speedster man. It’s got everything. But it’s not programmed for humans.”

“It’s an Axon InterGalactic Z-Speedster. It’s got everything” Firth mimicked. “Everything except a something we actually need!”

Starth tried not to look hurt. “Hey, gotta have an adult code for the re-programming. It’s supposed to cut down on the genetic experimenting by the nerds. What do you want from me? He wasn’t supposed to do this.” Both paused as the man stirred, moaned and broke wind in a loud and noxious manner. Starth started waving at his nostrils again while trying to cover his face with a thin fingered hand. “Well, at least he isn’t dead.”

**

Luster was dimly aware of a pain in his side. It came and went. When it came he groaned awake and tried to get away from it. When it went he dropped back into his nightmare ridden sleep. The nightmare was a repeater. A grey, shambling horror was poking him with a skewer, as he rotated over a fire, smacking its lips and muttering “Mmmmm. Human.” Luster desperately wanted to wake up but his fear and booze ravaged brain simply refused to cooperate. He slept on.

**

A Very Dry System

2009-10-20T17:19:00.000-07:00

In my very first post (way back in February) I mentioned that I would be using this blog as a way to document some stuff, opine about some stuff and try out some stuff I've written. Well, don't say you weren't warned.
As my long suffering family knows only too well, I am a scribbler. That is, I like to write down my ideas and thoughts. Hence this blog. Occasionally those thoughts and ideas manifest themselves as stories. Well, alledged stories at any rate. In that vein I present part 1 of A Very Dry System.
It's a short story I wrote a while back. It's not exactly finished yet so really, I guess you could say I'm still writing it. If you wanted to be petty. Jen and Lu have both chastised me to finish the damn thing already. So. I'm taking a page from Gene and Fatty. I'm going to publicly challenge myself and risk ridicule. I'm going to post it here in the hope that my muse will wake up from her Mt. Dew induced coma and you know, help a brother out. If later on you find this blog has been taken down and see a news article about the cop who joined a monastery in Lhasa you'll know she smacked me a good one, rolled over and went back to sleep. Parts 1 through 3 are done. Really, I just need the ending. That's all. Just a way to wrap things up in a humorous way that reads like I'm not in fact missing a lobe of my brain. Is that too much to ask?
Comments are solicitated and appreciated.
Without further ado.

A Very Dry System Part 1

Luster was feeling low. Even for a man who was habitually unemployed, drunk and divorced this was a new feeling of low. The problem wasn’t the lack of gainful employment. No, that was his preferred state. Luster hated work and work hated Luster, which suited him just fine. It wasn’t even the high pitched nagging about the lack of spousal support from the latest former missus Luster that was bringing him down. No, this was far, far worse.

Luster was out of beer. Absolutely and totally out of beer. Not completely sober just yet but he’d had his last cold one at Goobs up in Henrietta more than an hour ago and Luster was feeling the need. “That damn stuck up, no good Bobby McAlester” Luster muttered as he drove. “Throw me out. And for what? Just ‘cause I run outta money. Cheapskate bastard. Shoulda kicked his ass.” Luster conveniently forgot that Bobby McAlester was the size of a semi and Luster himself was an alcohol ravaged, pot bellied middle aged man but then, Luster forgot a lot.

Luster pointed his battered pickup down Highway 75 and headed south. No beer, no money and no prospects for either. Luster was a desperate man and sometimes desperate men do desperate things. Luster rubbed a dirty hand across a scalp dotted with a few stray wisps of greasy hair and contemplated doing the unthinkable, asking Lottie for money. For a second, just a second, Luster had a lucid thought. “Has it really come to this? Have I sunk so low? Nob’s hiring down to the Lube and Go. Maybe I should go straight. Get a job, quit drinking and mebbe see my kids.” But Luster was nothing if not proudly self delusional and the coherence disappeared like his welfare money down the g-string of the strippers at Cooties. “Screw that. If Lottie won’t give up the drinkin’ money she’s still got some of her granny’s jewelry left and the hock shop’s open til midnight.” Safely past his moment of introspection, Luster gunned the ailing pickups’ smoke belching engine, the radio blaring out the latest smash hit from The Gobbeldy Boys, ‘Oil Field Hoe Down’. He could just taste that beer.

**

Starth slapped Firth on a bony grey shoulder and whooped with delight. “We got us a winner Firth. This guy’s carrying for sure.” He started punching controls and turning dials.

Firth suppressed a groan. He felt the craft lurch and noticed they were losing altitude at a fairly alarming rate. Starth was really starting to get on his nerves. “That’s what you said about that fat woman in Arkansas yesterday. And what about the trucker in Omaha? The deputy in Alabama ringing any bells? You haven’t been right since we got here. Let’s just forget this and go find some UFO conspiracy theorist. Crath said that’s what he did and he scored.”

Starth belched a reply. “Crath! Crath’s a damn cheat and a liar. He never even made it to Earth. Got to Andromeda and wussed out. Hung out for a couple of fleebs and came home all wild with stories of how he scored off the Earthmen. What a load of crap.” Starth thought talking in the local patois made him cool.

Even though he himself also did it, Firth thought it made Starth sound like an idiot, but one with a ride that had inter-galactic endurance. It was no small thing even in the rich crowd they ran in so Firth was willing to humor him. “I saw the recordings. Crath scored.” The ship sped up, hurtling toward a small vehicle on an empty stretch of highway. “Hey, you wanna take it easy there cowboy? If you crash us your parents will be royally pissed and the Earthers will probably do another Alien Autopsy.”

Starth waved a spindly fingered hand as if to dismiss any concerns. “Relax. I got this. Gonna zoom this guy, light him up, beam him in and then we’ll see who scores.”

Firth stifled a sigh. Starth really was an idiot.

**

Luster had an empty feeling deep down in his guts and was starting to shake. Sober was no way for a man to live. He tried coaxing a little more speed out of the dilapidated truck but backed off when the vehicles’ shuddering got so bad it penetrated even his pickled brain. He finally spotted the turn off to Lotties place, Okie Boulevard, and started to slow. As he did he saw a fairly odd thing, odd even for a man who, when deep in the throes of a really good drunk, regularly conversed with Elvis. At least Luster thought it was Elvis. The night suddenly turned into day. Light so bright it hurt his eyes was all around him. Luster was momentarily blinded but his sense of self preservation was as strong as his sense of taste was poor and he reacted fairly quickly, considering. “Whut the hail?” He slammed on the brakes and eventually came to a tire smoking stop. A single smoking tire, the pickup hadn’t been seen the inside of a garage since 1967. The light was getting brighter and now Luster could hear a weird humming sound, like a million bees were trapped in a bottle and were real anxious to get out; and exact revenge on the one who had put them there.

**

Starth whooped. “Got him! Quick, check if anyone else is around.”

Firth stifled another sigh. “Fine time to be thinking about that. We’ve probably been picked up by every radar on the planet by now.” A wave of Starth’s bony arm showed his level of concern. Firth did a quick check of the crafts sensor block and confirmed they were alone. For now. “It’s clear. No one within sight but let’s not screw around.”

Starth snorted his response. “You worry too much. I know what I’m doing. Flinth did this 2 semesters ago and he taught me everything he knows.”

This information failed to give Firth confidence. Flinth was an even bigger idiot than Starth. If that was possible and Firth was beginning to doubt it was. Starth was currently in a suicidal dive on a lone vehicle on a deserted country road in pursuit of a score that Firth seriously doubted was worth the risk. “Your brother knew munch and you know even less. If you crash and kill us I’m kicking your ass when we get back home. Being killed hurts and bodies cost money. Money my parents will take out of my allowance and I’ve got a date.”

“Relax. I told you, I got this wired. Get ready with the lights on my say so. I got this monkey hooked.” Starth pulled back on the wheel and the craft started leveling off as they neared the incredibly dirty, smoke belching vehicle. “Get ready. Ready. Now! Hit the lights.”

Firth flipped the switch for the Axon Shield Micro Pulse driving lights, guaranteed by the manufacturer to ‘Penetrate The Darkest Interstellar Void Or Your Money Back.’ The road and the small truck were bathed in their intense green glow. Firth remained unimpressed. “Look at that piece of crap. You think we’re gonna score off that? You gotta be insane.”

Starth laughed. “Shows what you know. We’ll score, just you wait and see.”

Lessons

2009-10-07T20:22:00.000-07:00

We were working on the new retaining wall the other day. Prior to laying the new wall I had stacked the blocks in that dirt area just in front. I completely forgot that it's the place where my dog, Trooper, likes to lay. As soon as the last block was placed, he was quick to reclaim his spot. The dirt is cool and soft. It's a place he knows well, having lived here his entire life. He's comfortable and contented.

Trooper is a good dog. That is to say he's a near perfect dog, I just lack the wit to properly appreciate him.

What a dog. I love him fiercely and I'm not a bit ashamed to admit that.

I held this life in my hands when he was only 5 days old. We were meant to be together.

In 1995 I decided I wanted another Labrador Retriever. I grew up with them and had a powerful urge for another. Lu did the legwork and found a breeder a couple of hours away. We drove out to meet them and their dogs. I was escorted to a dirt area next to the kennels and the breeder opened a door. Out flooded a wave of black, chocolate and yellow puppies, their bodies wriggling with happiness at meeting someone new. They swarmed around my feet, lapping against my ankles in a deluge of Labrador joy. Shoes were chewed, strings fought and petting was demanded. I was in heaven.

Then he took me to the whelping box where I met one of the sweetest creatures God ever put on this earth. Sister.

Sister was a Black Lab, an absolute joy. I loved her instantly and knew I had to have one of her puppies. Lu was completely surprised. She expected me to take a puppy home that day. But I was hooked and God had a different plan in store for me.

Now, when one buys a purebred puppy from a reputable breeder it's first come first served. Johnny on the spot gets first dibs and so it goes until all potential picks are spoken for. Sister was bred with a Chocolate Lab so she was likely to have a more or less 50/50 split between black and chocolate. I was late to the party. Most of the likely pups had already been spoken for, both colors, down to third and even fourth pick. With one notable exception. That late in the game I got first choice black male. Sister gave birth to exactly 1 black male. Trooper. We were meant to be together. It was God's gift to me, one have never been worthy of.

Trooper was born to Sister on November 30th, 1995. The breeder called me to let me know and 5 days later I was there, standing beside the whelping box and gazing at my new friend. The breeder lifted him up and carefully placed him in my hands. I cradled that tiny form against my chest. He silently mewled and then snuggled in like he had always known me and was just wondering where I'd been.

I brought Trooper home 44 days later. I carried him out to the truck for his ride to his new home. He was fat and soft and warm in my arms. I placed him on the seat next to me and he snuggled against my leg. I put my hand down and he immediately put his head in my palm and went to sleep, somehow secure in the knowledge that this was where he belonged.

With the exception of a few days here and there when I was out of town for training, we've been together every day since. Our lives entertwined. We learned from each other. I taught him what every good dog needs to know. Good behavior, fetch, hand, voice and whistle commands. He taught me patience, kindness, dignity and the joy in simple pleasures. He got the short end of the stick.

We hunted together, slept together, traveled together and learned together. He has been my constant companion. He has one last thing he's teaching me.

He's old and grey now, mostly blind and almost completely deaf. His left hip was replaced a couple of years ago and sometimes he limps a little. He takes medicine for his thyroid and bad allergies. He sleeps most of the time. His legs twitch in dream chases, his flews blow as he softly barks in delight at some doggie fantasy. But he's still alive. We can still go for walks. Still take rides in the truck. He still loves his nightly treats and having his tummy scratched at bedtime. He still greets me with manic enthusiasm at the end of my work day. He still knows when It's been a bad one and I need him to just love me. He still sleeps at my feet when I sit down to write. He still wants to be near me whenever I'm home. He's still my dog and that's all he's ever wanted to be.

As I watch as Trooper ages and gets ever closer to the Rainbow Bridge, I am reminded that I too am aging and drawing ever closer to the end of my time here. I'm not as fast or as strong as I was. I can't work as hard or as long as I used to. My body aches with old injuries. My youth is behind me and my elder days ahead.

But Trooper does not know that he is getting old. He still thinks like the happy, boisterous, clownish puppy he was. He makes no excuses and never misses an opportunity to have a little fun. He possesses a comic dignity that only another Lab lover can truly understand. He is content in being what he is and to let the world find it's own way. As long as we're together.

And that is his final lesson to me. I will not acknowledge my approaching infirmities. I will not let them get purchase on my soul, whatever they may do to my body. My body may age but I won't.
I will love each day and approach it without fear or regrets. I will celebrate and laugh and find joy in the small things. I will live what life remains me as fully as I can. Come what may. I will ride my bicycle. I will go on that pheasant hunt I've always dreamed of. I will kiss my wife. I will tell my child and grandchildren that I love them.

I will scratch my dogs belly.

I owe it to Trooper.
Thanks Pal.

Bubba

2009-10-02T08:55:00.000-07:00

I recently finished a class for work. It was the Instructor Development Course. To graduate I had to pick a subject, write a tutorial and actually teach the class. I chose Police Bicycle Patrol.

But what angle to use? I pondered and pondered. Then it hit me. My nickname.

See, as some of you know, I'm a recovering meathead. A powerlifter. A guy who specializes in picking up and putting down heavy things. Never world class, I can say with all due modesty that I was pretty good at it. At my largest I was about 270 pounds (239ish at the moment). A badly blown Achilles tendon, a second shoulder surgery, a motorcycle crash wrecked hip and a host of chronic aches and pains convinced me that at 50, it was time to find another athletic outlet (hence my move into pedal powered transport). All this to tell you that my nickname was/still is, I swear, Bubba.

So, Bubba the Bike Cop was born.

What's Wrong with this picture?

The class was on how to start a bicycle patrol, starting with uniform and equipment. I led the class on what a bike cop needs to do the job. I presented Bubba as What Not To Do and as a starting point for our theoretical bicycle patrolman. Yes, that is yours truly. I'm still carrying too much on top and, yeah, that's what happens to ones legs when one catastrophically rips an Achilles tendon. I'm working on it. Really.

Much to my surprise and delight, the class was a hit. They really got into equipping Bubba and pointing out what a goober he was. Really, really got into it. I'm still trying to live it down. I passed the class and actually got a good score on my presentation so I guess the humiliation was worth it. I got an A and I exposed others (some of whom are or will be chief officers) to the real benefits of the bike. Another win for bicycling!

But it is clear to me now that I will be Bubba among my circle of peers for the rest of my career and probably my life.

Eh, I can live with that.

Sweet Baby Schwinn

2009-09-24T17:16:00.000-07:00

DONE.

The bike is done and I'm back on my meds again. The wife will be so happy.

When last we left our project it was basically done but not yet together. Let's now join Insane Crazy Welder Boy, already in progress.

Ok. Assembly day.

Here's the crank in place. It went in easy as pie with only a little grease and even less swearing. It's off the donor and yeah, it's a single gear. It's not rusty and simplifies the build considerably because I don't have to come up with a working front derailleur. That's a good thing because I seem to be short exactly 1 front derailleur. Also a close up of the repair, sanded and painted.

I gathered all the brake pieces I had and put them in a 1 big pile. Then I seperated them into 2 smaller piles; Parts I recognize and parts that are obviously from a crashed UFO. I took the parts I recognized and managed to make 2 brake systems. I even managed to use the old, hard rubber pads. If you put them on the grinder and go past the outer hardness there is a whole new layer of nice rubber goodness underneath. And joy of joys, they're all schwinn.

Rear

Front

Here's those bars I cobbled together with levers and some grips I had laying around. Doesn't saying I have stuff 'laying around' sound a little too convenient? It's all true. I swear. The levers went on with only a little prying and crying. And some hammering. Again.

Here it is with bars, crank, pedals and seat.

It seemed to be missing something....

I kept the original Schwinn World badge from the original bike. I carefully polished it but otherwise left it alone. It's things like this that make me love this bike.

A couple of very, very small screws in hands better suited to holding heated metal make for a comedy of dropped things and colorful language. Even the dogs left in disgust.

Ah. Schwinney goodness!

Rear wheel with derailleur and chain. The chain is from the donor. I got to use my new tool, the chain breaker and a masterlink that kinda, sorta works. I think the anvil and a ball peen hammer are on the upgrade list. Notice the black painted hub shield. Dewd, it like rocks and stuff. Totally.

Cables all hooked up and a thumb shifter from...you guessed it, the donor. I hate that frame but I shamelessly stole its parts.

And here it is in all it's beautiful blue Schwinn glory. The brakes brake, derailleur derails, pedals pedal and crank...uh, cranks. The frame is solid and the wheels spin easy if not exactly up to Gary Fisher trueness specs. The rust is all gone and the paint is moderately attractive. It has a seat and a very unique handlebar.

Is it road worthy? Is it safe? Beats me. I'm certainly not going to go first. I enlisted a lovely and far too trusting test pilot. "Hey honey, can you come here for a second?"

Nothing broke. Everything worked and a good time was had by all. In fact, Lu immediately put her claim on it and declared it was just the thing for casual rides with her mom. Now that's misplaced confidence!

Lu's Tribute Collage

Before. Ewww.

After. Mmmm.

All attempted humor aside, I'm very proud of the work I did on this project. I took a pile of rust and bentness that was headed for the recycle (heh heh) bin, another donor someone also left in a field to rot like the Schwinn, 31 dollars in parts and about 16 hours of actual work time and got a pretty neat bicycle.

It's not a trainer or racer. You'll never see someone doing a century on it. It'll never see a hill higher than what the local streets can offer. It's got ancient brakes, 27 inch tires and a handlebar that's a phrenologists dream. It's a 5 speed instead of 10. It has an ungainly lump in the frame that causes people to ask "what the heck is that for?"

But everything works and she rides just fine.

In my eyes she's beautiful. Maybe because in a very real sense, I created her. I took some parts and an idea and made something of value. Maybe only valuable to me and the missus but valued all the same. To me this is way more than just a Schwinn World Traveler with some different and unusual parts and repairs.

Oh, the Schwinn is still in there, don't doubt it for a second. In fact I think she's aware of her new lease on life. Her escape from the oblivion of being melted down to provide steel for some hipster doofus' nose bolt. I think she's proud of her new clothes and her new purpose. I think she's pleased.

I know I am.

To Doohickie, the motivation and inspiration for this project I say, Thank You my friend. I've never had so much fun. The hours I spent totally engrossed in her and completely unaware of job, personal problems, world problems, stresses or even my surroundings were some of the most pleasant I've spent in years. So much so that I'm looking for another challenge.

To all my friends who have encouraged me and commented on my progress, thank you again. I hope you are happy with the results.

It has been an absolute ball and I have no idea what's next.

Now if you'll excuse me, I hear Sweet Baby Schwinn calling my name.

I'm think I'm going for a ride.

No Welding This Time. Sigh.

2009-09-17T15:57:00.001-07:00

We're getting closer. Actually, as you read this the bike is officially done. It's just gonna take at least 2 more posts to cover it all.

This is the official list of new parts I just had to buy. Two 27 inch tires, two 27 inch tubes, two rubber tube protectors (the guy at the bike shop called them spoke condoms. He's a funny guy) and a set of cables. The pedals pictured are off my wife's Gary Fisher but it turned out they wouldn't fit (wrong size threads) so I went with the set off the donor frame. I also stole her old seat.

Total? $30.00.

Remember the cruiser handlebars off the donor frame? Remember how I said I was a cheap bastard? You do? Good cause I decided to straighten them, cut them off and make a flat bar out of them.

I absolutely love power tools. The real reason I did this project was just to justify owning them. I heated them up with my trusty oxy/acetylene torch and bent (And hammered. Let's not forget the hammering) them more or less straight then cut em down to a more human size.

I got this. A little bumpy but they'll work just fine and look okay once I get the brakes and shifter mounted. I hope.
Of course I couldn't do this alone. I did have some expert help. They're taking a break here. Just before this shot they were all over that bike, slobbering on things and generally making themselves useful.

The frame needed some final finishing. I decided to smooth some rough edges with Fast Steel and a sander.

It's not fast and it's not steel but it is harder than bondo so...

Cut off a chunk.
Knead it to mix in the hardener.
And spread it on. You have about 15 minutes so you know, no hurry. BTW, fingers make great putty knives.

Time to sand. Woo Hoo, more power tools!

Frame's done. Time to paint. The missus had some very nice blue paint in the shed and there was plenty for the project so I....appropriated it. And hey! It's Rustoleum.

The fork. Please ignore that original yellow. The frame covers that up. I swear. I actually checked this time.

The frame. Does my ass really look like that? Maybe it's just the camera angle. Yeah, that's it.

All the parts together in one place. Can you feel the excitement? I was still certain I was going to be able to use those pedals. Without checking to be sure. Hey, everyone is wrong occasionally.
The wheels. I started out thinking I'd replace all the spokes. Yeah...not. Real budget buster. The funny bike guy said forget it. Just tighten them and let it go. So, new plan. Polish the rims and paint everything else.

This time I got some real help. Isn't she cute? Thanks sweetie!

Painted the hubs but still not looking too good. Gonna have to go further. Words to send a sane man screaming. Luckily, I'm not sane.
Taping off the rims. Are we having fun yet?
Ready for painting. Hubs, spokes, gears. I painted everything.

And hey! It's a wheel. Whadda ya think?
I'm going to post the final assembly and test ride later this week but here's a teaser.

The frame with the newly painted and tire shod wheels mounted.

Is it looking like an actual bike?

Will it work and ride?

Is this all just an exercise in humiliation?

Tune in next week for the final installment of Insane Crazy Welder Boy and find out.

More Frame And wheels

2009-08-31T18:56:00.000-07:00

Ok, Insane Crazy Welder Boy here with more proof of my insanity. This is all Doohickie's fault. I swear.

The paint and sanding Faeries apparently decided to skip my house this week so I was forced to do the job myself.

First up, getting rid of the old paint on the frame. Tools? Wire wheel on the air grinder. Heh heh. I love power tools.

I decided on this versus sanding because of all that rust. Remember, this is a mild steel frame, not aluminum. The rust was mostly surface but needed a firm hand. You gotta let that rust know who's the boss or it'll walk all over you. Look, the crazy man is wearing eye protection again. Proving even crazy people have some sense.

It works very well though. Besides, it's all kinds of fun! See the cool work table? I made it out of a bar stool and a concrete paver. Yep, I'm that guy.

Of course there are some minor drawbacks to this method. See that wire? That's one of the wires from the wheel and it's embedded in my right forearm. I also got some in my face and all over my clothes. I looked like a metal porcupine. Propriety precluded taking a picture of the ones in my face. Besides, I couldn't figure out how to aim at my face without being able to see through the camera. I need to take up yoga apparently.

Here's a closer look at that repair, looking down on it from above. See? Rough but mostly straight. Mostly. It should be strong and that's all I care about so there.

All done with the paint removal and down to the bare frame. Have I mentioned I've never done this on a bicycle before? I have? It shows? Darn it.
I decided I needed to paint the bare frame, to get an idea where the problem areas were and to protect it from further rust. Yep, that's a can of OSH enamel. I had it on my shelf. It's cheap, sandable and covers well. This might be the final color. Unless I run out and have to find something else. I've gotta keep the costs down remember and that means using what I have wherever I can.

Really, I'm just cheap.

It needs a final sand, especially around the repaired area, but not too bad if I do say so myself and apparently I have to. Certainly no one sane person would.

The wheels were badly rusted. I thought I was going to have to replace them but the rust was all on the surface. I was able to power buff most of it off. I'll try the trick Doohickie gave me with lemon juice and aluminum foil for a final polish but I think they're definitely salvageable.

Hey, there's a wheel there! Now if only the hubs were going to be that easy. Sigh.

I didn't get to the worst, the rusty derailleur, crank set and the chain. I think all are history but remember that other frame I have? The one I hate? Yeah, it's got a good chain, derailleur and crank set. It's a single chain ring but beggars can't be choosers. Everything fits and I'm pretty sure the donor bike won't care.

Even if it does. Have I mentioned I hate that frame?

Challenge Accepted

2009-08-06T16:50:00.000-07:00

A while back Doohickey told me that I wasn't a real mechanic until I fixed a bicycle I found in the dumpster. That challenge has been percolating around in the back of my head for a while now so I kept my eye out for a suitable candidate.

Well, I found it. It wasn't in the dumpster. We found it abandoned on one of the trails we ride on old Ft. Ord. My wife said "sure, go for it" with a knowing smirk on her face. Yeah, it's going to be bandaid time around here shortly.

It's a Schwinn World Traveler and it's best days were in the 70's. 1870's if it's condition is any indication. Still, a challenge has been issued and accepted. Let the swearing begin.

Uh, is that frame bent? Well, maybe just a bit.... It looks like that old Bond villian Jaws tried to take a bite out of it.

Broken and basically completely trashed thin tube aluminum handlebars? Check.

Rust? Check, check, check aaaand check!

Ok. This is the plan. I'm going to try my best to make this an actually working bicycle. One that rides, shifts and everything. I'm not promising it'll be pretty but I'll do my best and it will work. I'm going to keep track of my expenses (bandaids will not be calculated into the final cost). I need to keep it as cheap as possible to stay within the (self imposed) rules of the challenge. I will need tires, tubes and a chain. Probably handlebars (but I've got some ideas about that). Other than that I think I can salvage everything else.

Cost so far: Spoke - $1.00.

Next up: The bent axle/big hammer confrontation.

Stay tuned. This could be a disaster.

The Thing

2009-03-31T08:33:00.000-07:00

Ok. I'm back. Thanks to everyone for realizing that this last week or so was a bit difficult. But it's time to get back to life.

I'm a father and like any father I dearly love my child. We all know we're supposed to love and cherish our children but there's something else we are supposed to do.

Make fun of them from time to time. It's good for them and hey, if you can't point and laugh at family who can you do it to?

I present for your comedic consideration The Van. When Jen went haring off to Hungary (the land of The Huns you know) she left us her van. Now, for those of you who have or ever had small children this without a doubt comes as no surprise to you.

Parents have better things to do than constantly keep up on the cleanliness of their various Child Transportation Conveyances. Hence, the state of hygiene of The Van. I decided to drive The Van around a bit. You know, keep the fluids flowing, keep the tires round and see what she's got. (Hint; It's a van, she don't got much). During the ride I noticed a certain....odour. I noticed it as it crept up from the back and started beating me about the head. It was piquant with a full bouquet and just a tang of baby vomit. And is that a hint of spilled milk mixed with the musky remnants of a full diaper? Why yes, I believe it is. So, with head firmly out the drivers window, I felt it might be time to maybe do some Spring Cleaning. In February. Hey, you take Spring where you find it.

I present you proof that small children are in fact wanna be chipmunks. This is my granddaughters seat. Where her car seat goes. We found this after removing said car seat.

If you look closely you can find all kinds of goodies in there. Nuts, M&M's, cracker remnants and various bits unidentifiable as actual food. Hey, is that a pretzel?

This is my grandson's side.

Please note that there is actually considerably less food like items on the boys side. Is it because he's just naturally neater than the girl? Did he get fed less? Did the cleaning fairies start on his side first? Um, no. Rather it's either because he seldom let anything slip past his always ravening hunger or he was busy fishing around down there for a snack. I'm voting for that second one. That boy is always looking for something to eat.

This is the floor mats directly in front of the kids' seat.

Jen wisely chose a mat with little indentations to catch whatever fell down there. Each of those indentations, cups if you will, was packed with to the top with...stuff. It was compressed to the consistency of concrete. I took the mat out and threw it on the ground upside down. Then I beat on it with a broom. When I turned it over again not one single molecule of this....stuff had fallen out. It required a jackhammer and industrial strength solvent to clean. Well, I exaggerate. It was only Muriatic Acid.

This was the rear of The Van, in a secret compartment behind the rear seats. Hey Jen, is that wrapping paper? Heh, heh, heh.

So, why the rip off of a reasonably good and pretty darn frightening Kurt Russel movie for the title to this post?

I think something is alive in The Van. After cleaning it to within an inch of my life I decided to drive it again. As I drove I could have sworn I saw something move. Out of the corner of my eye. When I turned it was gone but was that the tip of a tentacle disappearing under the floor mats I saw? I dismissed it but later I swear I felt something brush the back of my neck. You know, where the alien sticks it's tendril to suck out your brain and take over your body? You know? Like that.

I screamed like a politician facing a runoff election and piled out of The Van. I fired 3 quick rounds into the floorboard. I think it was 3. It might have been 15. I was a little spooked. (Don't worry Jen. The holes are barely noticeable. Sorry about that). When the smoke cleared I saw....nothing. We've set off several Febreeze bombs but I'm pretty sure I saw movement in there again yesterday.

I parked The Van and there it remains. I am startled. I am so, so startled.

Could it be true? Can the leavings from kids snacks, combined with sleep drool, spilled juice and the smell of overripe diapers actually create life?

I don't know but I'm not going in there again without Kurt and a flamethrower.

Jen, when are you coming home????

eric

A Tribute to the Fallen

2009-03-27T19:24:00.000-07:00

They buried 4 of my brothers in Oakland today. 4 men I never met but knew oh so well.

I see fatherless children.
I see bereaved widows.
I see parents without a beloved son.
I see grandchildren who will never know the men who should have bounced them on a knee.
I see crying brothers and sisters.
I see an empty patrol car.
I see a riderless motorcycle.
I see a somber roll call.
I see a wide eyed rookie, suddenly uncertain.
I see an empty uniform.
I see tears in the eyes of men and women unused to crying.
I see 4 fewer guardians.

To The Everlasting Glory of the Oakland Police Department
Shines the Name
Shines the Name of

Sergeant Mark Dunakin

Sergeant Ervine Romans

Sergeant Dan Sakai

Officer John Hege

Rest in Peace my brothers.

eric

A Quick Note

2009-03-20T15:48:00.000-07:00

Sorry I haven't posted anything nthis week but I've been in an instructor class that really kicked my butt. I had homework and everything. Plus, the course was hard enough that I wasn't sleeping. Lying there every night with visions of disaster screaming through my head. Have I ever mentioned I'm a pessimist at heart? No?

Well I am.

The class is done, thank ghu, but I'm still trying to recover. I'll post something slightly more interesting this weekend, I promise.

But only slightly. I do have standards to live up to after all.

eric

MTBers Are Apparently Not Wusses After All

2009-03-15T15:13:00.000-07:00

When we started riding seriously (as opposed to riding comically?) we decided that we'd put our time and effort into road riding. Oh we kept the Gary Fishers but that was only for the occasional fun trail ride. Right?

After all, the serious guys and gals were road riding. The Mountain Bikers were just goofing off. Right?

Hey, we're all entitled to be wrong from time to time. I mean, I'm right most of the time. Well, some of the time. Ok, from time to time. Occasionally.

Lu and I decided to take a nice trail ride Saturday. We loaded up the Fishers and headed to old Ft. Ord for a nice, leisurely day. Well, that's how it started anyway.

We parked at the start of a nice, flattish fire road and headed off. We climbed to the top of a spine of hills that runs parallel to the road. Not too bad but still we were puffing a bit at the top. Still, just goofing off. Right?

Down the back side with a little trepidation. After all, we'd have to climb back up it to get back to the truck. Ah, what the heck, it's an easy trail ride. Should be no problem. Right? Right? Please tell me I'm right.

As we wended our way down the trails we came upon a piece of SRAM tape across the trail. It looked suspiciously like someone was laying out a course. Cool! We'd ride around the course and see what the MTB folks called a race. Can you see where this is going?

I knew you could.

Down we went, around the flat sections, commenting on the layout and wondering about the race. Then we got to the uphill. Or should I say the uphills jumped out and smacked me in the mouth.

Man, it's harder to climb when you're turning a knobby on soft dirt as opposed to a skinny tire on asphalt. A lot harder.

Should I have anticipated this? Should I have been a little less confident in my ability to climb those hills while out for 'just a nice trail ride'? Do ducks fart underwater?

Why yes, I think they do.

Switchbacks. Soft dirt. Narrow single track. Bushes. Bumps. Washboard. All while climbing straight the hell up! It was leg breaking and I'm not ashamed to say I got off and pushed at one point. Well, maybe a little bit ashamed. Especially since Lu 'The Chick Climbing Machine' didn't seem to have the same problems. At one point she got so far ahead of me on a climb she actually came back and goaded me to continue. Such a comedienne. I'm married to the Shecky Greene of bicycling.

We finished and I was cooked. Spent. Bonked like Lurch's head in a backyard playhouse. I won't even say how far the ride was but suffice it to say it was just about the distance of one lap of the race. And the race beginners do 3 laps. Ouch. This mountain biking stuff is hard.

We went back on Sunday to see the actual race. Got a good spot and watched the suffering. Good fun that. And you know what? We really enjoyed it. The mountain bike folks seemed a little bit more friendly that the average road biker we run across and they were having an absolute blast.

We talked to a really nice guy named Joey from a group who call themselves the Highway 68 Hillbillies. They seem to concentrate on riding, racing from time to time and drinking large quantities of fermented beverages. Good bunch. Joey gave us the info on the races and the website for the organizer, Central Coast Cyclo-Cross. http://www.cccx.org/. Lots of races, lots of categories, lots of pain and seemingly lots of fun.

After the race I went home and checked them out. Hey, there's a beginner age 45 to 54 class. The next race is March 29th. It's just a few miles away.

Lu says she'll pit crew for me. I think she's just trying to talk me in to it so she can watch me suffer and laugh at me.

I haven't decided whether I'm going to do it or not for sure just yet but I am leaning toward a yes. If I do it I'll post results and pics here.

What the heck am I thinking?

eric

A Nefarious Plot

2009-03-07T20:14:00.000-08:00

I have discovered a Very Frightening Thing.

Those who know me would never describe me as a conspiracy theorist (Please ignore the bomb shelter, arsenal and years food supply. They're for personal use only. I swear).

All that notwithstanding, I have stumbled upon a discovery so shocking, so frightening, so terrifying in it's sheer scope that I hesitate to mention it. Of course then I'd have nothing to talk about so forget I said that part about not mentioning it.

Ready? Ok, here it is.

My dogs drool heavy water.

That's right, heavy water. The stuff needed to make nuclear weapons. Right here in my dogs water bowl.

How did I make this monumental and world altering discovery? Let me explain.

I have 2 brain damaged Black Labs. Of course saying your Lab is brain damaged is a little like saying the sun is hot. They just naturally go together. Labs. Brain Damaged. Redundant.

Anywho. These 2 dogs go through water like a dying man in the Sahara. Oh, they don't actually drink it but they instead do a messy imitation by plunging their faces into the bowls while making lapping, slurping noises and somehow managing to swamp the floor and surrounding walls to a height of 6 feet. So much so that we are required to refill their bowls approximately 17 times a day. With much mopping. I always wondered why.

I wonder no more.

It was during one of these interminable bowl refills that I made The Discovery.

When finished "drinking" they made a crucial error in their nefarious plans. They left some of the "water" in the bottom of their bowls. When did this go from a simple case of excreting a substance necessary to the construction of weapons capable of destroying Hoboken, New Jersey to a plan for world domination? When I caught Trooper giving me the stink eye when he caught me making The Discovery.

It was pretty disgusting to look at. Some water mixed with floating bits of kibble, cookies, grass and various unidentifiable bits that Labs just naturally try to eat but can't quite seem to get out of their gums. Then I looked closer.

Don't ask me why I decided to take a closer look at this noxious mess, I don't really know. Maybe it was divine inspiration. Maybe it was my keen interest in broadening my mind. Maybe I was just bored.

In any case, take a closer look I did. And what did I see? I saw a clear substance floating in the bottom of the pan. Similiar to but heavier than water. You see where I'm going with this. Clarity struck me like a groin kick from an angry prostitute in stiletto heels (Again, please don't ask). It was obviously that fabled substance of story and song, Heavy Water.

My hands shook as the realization sunk in. My dogs drool Heavy Water. How? Why? I was dizzy with questions. It may have been the cough syrup but whatever. The point is that I was dizzy.

What to do now? Did the dogs know that I knew. I didn't know if they knew. Or that I knew that they might know that I suspected that they drooled Heavy Water. Would they kill me quick or just lick my face until I died of radioactive dog cooties? I can't begin to tell you how frightened I was. Well, I could but the Nyquil was starting to kick in about then and things got a little fuzzy for a while there. But I'm certain I was scared. Quite certain.

The happy looks on their water drenched faces didn't fool me for a minute. They were riveted to my every action. Almost as if they were watching me to make sure I didn't make any sudden moves toward the cookie jar.

I decided to go the casual route. I only pretended to pour the water down the drain while what I really did was pour it into a glass I had left in the sink. It had some dried milk from a few days before but what the hey. Any container in an emergency as my old Pappy used to say. Pretty peculiar guy, that Pappy.

I then carefully rinsed the pans and filled them with normal tap water. About this time is when I noticed Trooper (aka The Muscle) giving me the stink eye. It was unmistakeable. Stink eye. Right there in my kitchen. Chrisi (The Brains) pretended casual indifference but there was definitely a "look" between them. A "now we're gonna have to kill him" kinda look.

I feigned a casual indifference while leaving a water trail across the floor as I carried their pans back to their spot in the kitchen. Both dogs quickly scampered over and very carefully inspected each one, taking turns and going back and forth many times. Satisfied that there were no traces left of their special drool, they wandered off to sleep. I think that Heavy Water production must be draining. That would explain the daily 22 hour "naps".

I was certain. My dogs somehow managed to convert normal, "Light" into nefarious Heavy Water by some hitherto unknown Special Labrador Drool Gland. Probably by combining the water with some other, seemingly harmless substance. I suspect the pigs ears.

Later that night, as each was busy munching on their nightly pigs ear (See!!!), I quietly stole back into the kitchen and recovered the evidence. It's in the freezer right now, it's damning milky heaviness taunting me. Are they stockpiling this Heavy Drool? Is this a terrorist attempt to build The Bomb? The insane experiment of some mad scientist? A plot by the Canine Mafia to take over the world?

Or is it just the lunatic ravings of a mind pickled on Benadryl and Mountain Dew?

Man, I gotta get rid of that glass before Lu sees it. She'll freak.

eric

Wherein I Prove I'm A Cheap Bastard

2009-03-06T12:07:00.000-08:00

So, I'm back into bicycling. Going out and riding and getting all the benefits of pain and sweat.

Good fun that.

But there's more to it than that. I really don't want to ride around here on the streets so I usually load up the bikes and whoever is going with me and heading out to a nice ridey place. Easy peasy lemon squeezy right?

Not so much.

See I have not one but two trucks. Sweet. Just pick one, throw the bikes in the back and go.

Well, we have two dogs. I say dogs but really they're black labs so they're more like furry pathetic begging machines. "You going somewhere? Can we go? Can we go? Can we go? Please, please, please....." You get the idea. And being that I can't say no (really, if I was a chick I'd be perpetually pregnant and have like fifteen kids) they usually end up coming along.

So, we bought shells for both trucks. I really don't know why we did it for both trucks but I think you might be able to figure it out from the last paragraph (Salesman: you need the new single handle doodad and look, it comes in puce. Me: Ooohhh.).

The shells are nice and the dogs love them, hanging their little heads out and barking madly at passing squirrels.

But. They are a pain to load and unload more than one bicycle into and out of. And I almost never ride alone (Hey, I have a mortal fear of those selfsame squirrels. Why do you think I have dogs?) so there's always at least 2 bikes coming along.

The answer is obvious to anyone with more than 2 working brain cells. Bike Rack. Perfect. Except for one thing.

I'm cheap as hell.

I priced some racks at the local bike stores and REI. I was aghast and I don't ghast very easily. A good one was close to 300 bucks! Used ones on CL were still in the 100 dollar and up catagory.

And did I mention I was cheap?

So what to do? The solution was as obvious as it was potentially comical. Make one myself. I have a welder. I have some scrap. I have skills. Well, I have the fantasy that I have skills which is almost the same thing.

The end result

Another view

I had the hitch left over from an accident where an uninsured driver hit my boat trailer and bent it (My insurance paid for everything. Uninsured motorist coverage is a must these days). I hacked it up and added some square tubing I bought at a scrap yard for 3 dollars. two crosspeices to hold the bike frames, some carpeting to pad everything, a neato little hook at the bottom for a bunji and some black Krylon and Viola! A bike rack. I had everything in the shop except the tubing.
And it works pretty good too

Pretty cool eh?

Is it crude? Yes it is. Is it ugly and cheap looking? Oh yeah. Will the welds make any competent fabricator fall over with an immediate massive coronary on sight? Almost certainly (sorry about that). Is it a little crooked? Uh, yeah, it is.
Does it work like stink? Why yes, yes it does.
I figure I've got no more than 5 bucks into the thing. Proof positive that anyone with a little material, a welder, a high tolerance for ridicule and a misers attitude can make something at least marginally useful.
Of course, I did burn all the hair off my arms because I was welding in short sleeves. And I did pick up that cross peice before it was sufficiently cooled. And I did grind off a fair amount of flesh from a finger that later got infected and quite painful.
I guess in the end this project taught me a lesson even more valuable than the money I saved (Wait. Did I say that?).
Being a cheap bastard isn't for wusses.
eric

First Hundred Mile Month

2009-02-26T17:19:00.000-08:00

100.4 miles.

Woo Hoo! Finished with a very nice coastal ride with Lu this morning.

As a goal it is admittedly a small one but significant for a recovering meathead. It's now official, I'm spending way more time on the bike than in the gym.

We road all 3 of my days off; 2 road rides and 1 very nice trail ride on the Gary Fishers.

Ok, so what's next?I think a 25 mile ride is definitely in order. My legs feel fantastic and I'm getting more and more comfortable on the bike. I'm even learning a little about sports foods for rides (in fact I've got a post percolating about my search for the perfect ride food. Coming soon to a theatre near you. Please check listings for times and dates).

After that? I definitely want to do 1000 miles this year. I'm off to a good start, just under 200 miles so far. A Century is in the mix as well. (Mike, I'll be calling you about coming down for that ride you mentioned).

All in all, a good start to the new year.

Now if I can only resist the bench press temptations.

Joe Weider, get thee behind me!

eric

Happy Dance

2009-02-24T15:23:00.000-08:00

I've said publicly and repeatedly that I was going to make 100 miles this month. Only problem was that as of this morning I had 67 with 4 days left. Oops.

Well, Lu and I decided to try for a new personal best. We went 12 miles on a nice ride last week so that was the mark to beat.

We decided to ride the recreation trail. Now if you've ever been to the Monterey area you're familiar with our Rec Trail. It's a nice, asphalt path, wide and smooth. It runs along the coast from Pacific Grove to Marina. I've ridden it a lot but we've never tried to ride it for distance before. It tends to attract a lot of walkers (many with dogs, big and small) but on weekdays it's not too bad. If you visit, bring your patience but also bring your bike.

We started in the parking lot of the Monterey Beach Hotel, a nice place right on the beach. We went to Asilomar and back. The ride took us through Monterey and Pacific Grove. Along the beach front and along the coast. Total distance?

15 miles.

Woo Hoo! A new personal best for Lu and I. My mileage is now at a more manageable 82 miles. Only 18 from my goal. I'm now even more impressed with those of you who regularly do 100 miles in a week, weekend or even in one ride. Bunch of showoffs.

I think I really am gonna make it.

I am so happy I will now do the Dance of Joy.

eric

I Hate Golf

2009-02-21T18:48:00.000-08:00

So I was planning some great rides last week and weekend.

Of course I forgot that it was the week(end) of the AT&T Pebble Beach National Pro Am Golf Tournament. Seriously, can we maybe trim that name down just a bit? It used to just be The Crosby. I guess that was just too easy to say. Anyway.

Forn those of you who Don't know, it is policy that it rain copiously during this particular golf tournament. Every year like clockwork. You'd think the people who put it on would have been smacked by the clue bat by now but noooo.

So I have to stay inside and stare wistfully at my beautiful bicycle and think about all those poor unused roads going to waste without my fat butt on them. All the while a bunch of golf boobs bufoon around, chasing a little white ball over drenched grass while another man holds an oh so cute floral pattern umbrella over their heads.

And I don't get my rides.

But I'm not bitter. I'm not bitter.

I hate golf.

eric

Unh Part II (aka Film Star. h/t to Doohickie)

2009-02-16T19:36:00.000-08:00

Ok, here are the promised pics. They're not particularly graphic but a few of them are a little nasty.

A comparison view the day after the injury.

See that gap? Yeah, it's not supposed to look like that.

A couple days in. Nice bruise eh?

The day after surgery and swollen like a politician's head. Vienna sausage anyone?

4 days after surgery and the Doc admires his handiwork. Lu says it's Good enough for a quilt!

"Yes." They made me write this. And yes, apparently it is necessary.

Comparison. About a week post surgery.

A couple of weeks in. Starting to see some improvement.

I'm losing the calf literally by the day.

Just got the stitches out. Beauty scar eh?

About 2 months in and noticeably better. It almost looks like I have an Achilles again!

Nobody warned me about this. Crutches are a pain in the....hands. Those calluses took months to heal.

I'm almost positive I can explain this. See, I was going stir crazy and the bike was brand new and it was just around the block in first gear and....

2006. Yep, I completely lost the calf.

2009. I never did get it all back.

This is the final product. A brilliant surgeon, 45 rehab visits and 33 months of grueling and often painful work later. Not exactly normal but not bad. Not too bad at all.

In all seriousness, this a fairly common injury among athletically inclined old, er....let's just say middle aged men and leave it at that. It's not the career ender it once was. If you blow out your Achilles here are 6 tips.

1. Don't freak out! You can do this.

2. Pick a good surgeon. Do your home work here and ask around. Check him/her out online. I got mine from 2 friends he'd repaired but I still checked him out.

3. Pick a good physical therapist, listen to what they say and do what they tell you.

4. Do the work. I understand my days as a world class squatter, sprinter and marathoner are over (Ok, you can stop snickering now) but I just had to choose new ways to work out. Hint; one of them is shiny, got 2 big wheels and requires gatorade and sweat to make it go. I worked hard, I worked often and I worked when I would really have preferred to just watch some TV.

5. If you wallow in self pity and 'why me' I guarantee you'll end up crippled.

6. Find someone to give you foot rubs. Seriously. It helped immensely post-op and during rehab. It also helps now after a ride. At least that's what I'm telling Lu (and I'd really appreciate it if no one tattled on me).

So that's the story. I'm feeling good. I've got 46 miles in this month. I should make my 100 easy (Ha! Famous last words). I'm still in the gym and lifting. Most importantly I'm still a handsome dog.

eric

Unh

2009-02-14T05:41:00.000-08:00

I've gotten a couple of requests to pass along the story of how I blew out my Achilles tendon. It's a story of love and danger. Heroism and resolve. Discovery and triumph.

Nah. Really it's about a reasonably painful injury suffered in a totally stoopid way. So it is, of course, madly funny.

It's a little long so I'll do this in 2 posts. The first is the story and the second will be some mildly gross photos. They're cool.

With no further ado, I present;

Unh

I think I have discovered proof of a secret medical language. Unh is apparently Secret Medical Speak for a shredded Achilles tendon. Let me elaborate.

I live in Monterey County California. We have a film Commission who decided to make an industry film about...well, making films in Monterey County. What a concept, but I digress. The producer of said kinda sorta film decided she needed a Heroic Police Officer for a critical scene on our commercial wharf. The Chief called me into his office and declared his total faith in my ability to handle this sensitive and important task. He said. "You can do this or get someone else. I don't care." I left his office filled with the warmth of his obvious confidence. I decided I would undertake the job myself as I couldn't convince anyone else to do it. My sanity was questioned several times, but, again, I digress.

I arrived at the scene and met with the producer. She was obviously overjoyed with the choice for Heroic Police Officer. She told me to stay out of the way and "Go wait over there until we're ready for you. "I picked a spot to wait and prepare for my pivotal role. Then I moved after someone yelled at me and questioned my intelligence for apparently parking Right In The Middle Of Everything. I settled into my new spot and waited. Three hours. Did I mention it was raining and cold? The director came over and gave me...direction. She was clearly a top notch professional, leaving nothing to chance. She carefully went over each phase of the scene, breaking it down to it's most basic elements so as to leave me no doubt of exactly what was expected of me. "Drive down there with your lights and siren thingy on. Get out; throw the blanket over the wet woman and leave. Got it?" I nodded my understanding and mentally prepared myself.

I got behind the wheel, my steely resolve showing in the set of my jaw and the intensity of my gaze. I may have questioned the director’s parentage but that was only my attempt to "Get Into Character." At the signal I activated my lights and siren thingy and sped toward my destiny. Surely this was just the beginning of my long overdue discovery as the next great Hollywood leading man. I would soon find myself on thecover of Teen Beat magazine and earn billions of dollars making blockbuster films about Heroic Characters. I arrived on my 'mark' (that's expert acting speak right there for those of you who aren't in the biz), grabbed the blanket, stepped out of my Heroic Police Vehicle and prepared to run to the rescue of the Damp Distressed Damsel. At that moment my left Achilles tendon decided to horn in on the action. It apparently decided it wasn't getting enough attention so chose that moment to do a Very Bad Thing. It tore itself in half, although I didn't know it at the moment. Why it chose that particular action I can only speculate. Perhaps it wanted to interject some drama into the proceedings. How much better if the Heroic Police Officer must rescue the Distressed Damp Damsel while dragging a no longer quite operational left foot behind? Perhaps it was just pissed at being treated as an appendage. I don't know, but I digress.

My foot felt as if it had been hit by a charging Rhino, or perhaps a medium sized Armadillo. Still, I managed a kind of hopping, shuffling, club footed sorta movement to our Leading Lady. I Heroically draped the blanket over her shoulder and murmured words of comfort to her. I think I may have mentioned that my leg was falling off or words to that effect but my intention was absolutely clear. Her well being was of paramount importance and anything else she says is just a stinking pack of lies. I made my way back to the Heroic Police Cruiser and collapsed into the seat. With Heroic Dignity of course. The director mentioned as how she'd like a "Second take if you don't mind. And how about trying to walk likea real human being instead of the Shambling Horror From Space." I spent 5 minutes explaining to her why her parents had never married and informed her I'd be happy to give her a second take when I next saw her in Hell.

I decided to call it a day and returned to the station whereupon Idiscovered I could not take my left boot off. Oh, it's not like I didn't try but every time I did I woke up on the floor, looking up at the ceiling and wondering who that was I heard screaming. Luckily for me the Fire Station, filled with Heroic Fire Persons, is attached to the Police station. I managed a one legged, hopping shuffle to the Fire Station and summoned the Heroic Fire Persons therein. Now the good thing about Fire Persons is that they are imminently Threatenable. If one tells a Fire Person, "If you cut my expensive boots off with your Evil Scissors I will shoot you" they tend to believe you. Paramedics, on the other hand are Not Threatenable At All. I learned this the hard way.

I was involved in an on duty motorcycle accident where I injured my left hip which is at the top of my legs, very near my actual waist. When Iwas loaded into the ambulance the Paramedic immediately produced a pair of Evil Scissors. I asked the purpose of said Evil Scissors and was told they were to cut my pants off. I informed the Paramedic that they weren't in fact pants but Motorcycle Breeches which we were required towear by Gubernatorial Dictate. The main difference between Pants and Breeches is that Pants cost $29.95 and Breeches cost $310.00. I told the paramedic "If you cut off my Breeches which cost $310.00 I will shoot you". He laughed. I said "Look, my injury is my hip which is at the top of my legs and very near my actual waist and if I unbutton and unzip my Breeches I can easily slide them past my injury which you can then examine to your hearts content." The Paramedic informed me that I Did Not Understand and proceeded to cut my Breeches from cuff to waist. Apparently Breeches do not actually die if only one leg is cut so He then proceeded to cut the other, non-injured leg, from cuff to waist. Paramedics are terribly Inscrutable and very non-Threatenable but I digress.

The Fire Persons managed to remove my boot, with much crying and pleading, some of it by me. It may have been the gun I had pointed at them but then again it may have been my socks. The Heroic Fire Captain took one look at my Achilles tendon and said, and this is a direct quote, "Unh." I said, "What exactly does that mean, Unh?" The Heroic Fire Captain said "Dude, you need to see a doctor right now." I asked why. He replied "You see this gap in your tendon? See how it feels like a bag of dead meat? It's not supposed to do that." I felt the area and it did indeed feel like a bag of dead meat (don't ask how I know I just do) so I decided to heed his expert medical advice and went to the ER.

While in the ER I removed my sock and waited patiently. For another three hours. When the fine ER doctor came in he took one look and said, and again this is a direct quote, "Unh." I asked the doctor if he could maybe be just a tad more specific as to the actual problem. I may have inferred a too close relationship between himself and his mother but that is totally beside the point. He did seem to take a perverse glee in informing me that I had in fact ruptured my Achilles tendon but I thought the laughter was uncalled for.

Two days later I found myself in the Orthopedic Surgeons office, confident that the ER doctor and Heroic Fire Captain were all wet and this would turn out to be much less severe than I had so far been led to believe. The good Doctor took one look and said, and I must stress this is a direct quote, "Unh." He immediately scheduled me for surgery to repair what he called "The worst blown Achilles I've ever seen."

So, what have I Learned? Unh is obviously Expert Medico Speak for Painful Ruptured Achilles Tendon followed by even more painful Surgeryand Physical Therapy by graduates of the Marquis De Sade School of Medical Torture and Massage.

Get the word out. The code has been broken.

So if you ever feel like your foot has been hit by a medium sizedArmadillo and a Medical Expert says to you "Unh" don't say you weren't warned.

And whatever you do, don't let them cut your pants off.

Regards
Eric

Meathead or not Meathead

2009-02-10T21:02:00.001-08:00

Ok. Forgive the mostly serious nature of this post. I want to give anyone reading this a sense of where I've been, where I'm going and how I got here.

It's about time I talked a little about bicycling. But first;

Hi, my name is eric and i'm a recovering meathead. I was a powerlifter for about 30 years. Bench, deadlift and squat.

I've got the aches and pains to prove it. I also got to 270 pounds and as I approached 50 I realized I simply could not carry that weight around anymore. Enter my bicycle.

Like many I biked as a kid. Hey, when you're too young for a license it's walk, bike, snivel for a ride or stay home. I snivel with the best of 'em but you know, the bike was just sitting there and my mom didn't have to know where I was really going....

Of course 16 changed all that. A car, dates, parties. Well a car anyway. The bike got put away never to be seen again.

High School and football. I got started on my meatheaditude. Lift, get bigger and stronger. Hit that guy in the face! Testosterone, pimples and chicks. Woo Hoo!

Fast forward to my 20's. Just out of the Army and starting a career that required some martial prowess. I fell back on what I knew and hit those weights. Bigger, stronger, more and more. At my biggest (at 44 years old) I was 5-11 and 270 pounds. 54 inch chest, 20 1/2 inch arms and a 38 pants. I was nearing that magical 1500 pound total. Then in 2004 I got hurt.

Ironically it was 2 wheels that bit me. A motorcycle. I went down hard. Concussion, Damaged hip and crushed Sciatic nerve. Rehab and the realization that I couldn't quite hit the weights the way I had. At least at first.

Oh, my weight stayed but the pure muscle started to go.

By 2006 I was getting back into the groove. I virtually stopped deadlifting and my squat suffered but I was back to benching big numbers. Then I got hurt again.

This time it was my achilles that went south and man, did it ever go all the way south. Surgery, rehab and more time spent out of the gym. My weight stayed right up there though. I'm just lucky that way.

My hip and sciatic hurt all the time. My knees hurt. My achilles caused ankle, foot and back pain. I couldn't squat anymore. Lost time hurt my bench. I lost weight but it was mostly muscle. Something had to give.

I've always been fascinated by endurance athletes. Probably because I couldn't do it. Not since the Army anyway. When I got out I had stopped runnung and now my injuries pretty much precluded that type of activity. Way back in 1996 we bought a couple of Gary Fisher MTB's. Just for fun. Mine was a silver Marlin. I liked it but we had a couple of dogs and it became a hassle. Walk the dogs or go riding? The dogs won out and the bikes got put away virtually unused.

Fast forward again to 2008. 4 years of rehabbing hip, ankle and back. Weight still too high and activity level dropping. Trying to do my best in the gym. August and I got hurt again.

Left shoulder this time. Rotator cuff. Surgery and more rehab. Not as bad this time. The injury wasn't as severe as feared and the doctor (a brilliant surgeon who I will love for the rest of my days. He put me back together twice) fixed it arthroscopically. It was mostly scar tissue from a previous injury/surgery and bone spurs. I was back in the gym in 6 weeks.

This time was different. I felt weak and was constantly worried about a new injury. My weight was still too high (mid 250's) and I felt sluggish and old. I got rated as 17 percent disabled. Disabled. A very ugly word indeed. Then inspiration hit me.

Lu and I started watching the Tour De France in 2005 and every year since. Again, I was fascinated. The riders, the machines, the fitness, the effort. I'd always liked to ride. Was this my answer? In 2008 I decided to see if the Leopard really could cange it's spots.

I dusted off the Gary Fisher's, mounted some road tires and saddled up. 2 things helped me. First, in October my daughter Jenny and the grandkids came to visit for a few months. She needed to lose some weight and was having some trouble with it. She loves to ride and we decided to tackle it as a team effort. The second was that when I got Lu's bike back in shape for my daughter, she decided she liked this riding thing as well.

Jenny and I started out slow. I mean slow. Over the months we got better and better. The weight dropped off and I spent less and less time pining for the gym. Oh, i still went (and still go) a couple of times a week but instead of 2 to 3 hours concentrating on high weight, low rep strength training, I started doing conditioning lifting. My reps went up, my intensity went up but the poundage came down. And I felt fantastic. The hip felt better, the ankle and knees felt better. The shoulder felt much better. Hey, this was working!

Jenny and the kids left in January (They're in Hungary and Jen is buying a new bike in a bike crazy culture. She lost weight and let loose the athlete within while we rode together. She's going to do great).

Last month Lu and I decided it was time to upgrade. We bought a pair of Giant FCR2's and started doing some serious riding. Well, serious for me and Lu anyway. We love the new bikes and we put the knobbies back on the Gary Fishers so we'll be doing some trail riding as well as road.

Last month I did 83 miles. I've gotten in 41 as of the 10th of February on my way to my first 100 mile month. It may not seem like much but it is for me and it's the next step in my transformation from meathead to endurance athlete. Or as near to it as I can get.

So, am I actually a meathead in transition or will the iron bug bite me again? Only time will tell but I will say this. I'm just shy of my 50th birthday and I can honestly say I've never felt better. My wind is good. My weight is going steadily down. My blood pressure what it was when I was 25. My knees are better as is my leg and foot. Lu says my butt looks great. That's worth it right there. Woo Hoo again!

And I'm loving the riding. It's especially nice because I've had 2 great riding partners, my wife and my daughter. Thanks guys. I couldn't do it without you.

In a perverse way, weightlifting may have actually helped me on the bike. My legs are very strong and serious, heavy lifting requires a level of suffering that's kinda comparable to hard riding. The difference is in duration, not effort. Riding hard requires extended pain where lifting is pain in short doses. It hurts just as bad but you get a chance to shake it out between lifts.

I'm starting to actually contemplate goals I thought were forever beyond me. I want to do a Century. I'm waiting for Jenny to get back so I've got 2 years to train for it. I told her I wont go without her. We'll do it together. My mileage continues to go up as my weight decreases and my cardio fitness improves.

Jenny also turned me on to 2 guys who have unknowingly helped, dug and The Fat Cyclist. Check my links and go visit their sites. And please donate to the Lance Armstrong Fund fighting cancer on Fatty's site. It's a great charity helping to fund research into a disease that touches us all. They're funny, occasionally poingnant and always inspiring. I also owe both of them a big thanks. Of course they've gotten me thinking about the Leadville 100 so they're not entirely blameless.

So that's it. My story, such as it is. I'm sure you were underwhemed but don't worry, I've got many more sub-standard stories just waiting to be told. Ah, sweet anticipation!

Now lets go riding!

eric

Swimmers Ear

2009-02-10T09:50:00.000-08:00

So. Last November my right ear blocked up. You know, you feel the movement of some kind of noxious liquid in your ear canal followed by a complete blockage. Blowing my nose didn't help. Taking a variety of the liquid nastinesses that pass for 'congestion medicine' in my wife's storage cabinet didn't help. Even sticking a dirty finger in and stirring it around didn't bring relief (go figure).

But, being a guy I ignored it as best I could and carried on. In a Manly way of course. I am in fact that proto-typical guy who doesn't go into the doctor's office unless something is actively falling off. Drives Lu nuts but hey, that's my job.

Fast forward to a week ago. It had gotten to the point that even my extreme manliness didn't allow me to ignore the problem anymore. Lu called the Doc and away we went.

Now, I like my doctor. He's a friendly guy who dispenses simple remedies and doesn't cause me too much pain or embarrassment. He's got a dry sense of humor and isn't a lecturer.

When we got there and informed him of the issue he made muted comment on the passage of time. "3 months?" with an arched eyebrow. Not exactly an admonition but enough to let me know that he hadn't missed that little factoid.

Me. "But Doc. You know how I am." This was followed by another raised eyebrow. "Yeah, I know how you are." But again, no lecture. I love this guy.

He stuck the instrument in each ear and said, in a tone of triumph I must say, "Yep". He then called Lu over (she always goes in with me to make sure I tell the doctor everything that's going on. She's experienced too many times of questioning me about a visit only to find out I wasn't exactly forthcoming about symptoms to ever trust me again). He told her to look into the instrument he had cemented in my right ear. Yes, he actually let her look into my body! This isn't the first time either. When I went in for an endoscope for ulcers a few years ago, that doctor let her watch the screen and see my innards in all their gastro-intestinal glory. Just a tip here ladies. Guys insides are disgusting. You really, really don't want to see that.

Back to the present. The doc said "You see that cottage cheese looking stuff? It's Swimmers Ear." Lu dutifully looked, made some comment like "Hmmmm" and then quietly went to the corner to try and hide her dry heaves. And shame I presume.

Now when I heard "cottage cheese looking stuff" I started to panic. What had heretofire been only a mild discomfort became a throbbing, aching pain as visions of alien goo in my ear caused an entirely reasonable panic. I began to imagine the stuff nefariously working it's way through my ear and into my brain where it would slowly dissolve away all that is Me and suck up the juices to feed it's voracious appetite for World Domination! It would then pop out of my now empty skull (Now???) and have to be killed by Kurt Russell with a homemade flame thrower. That's what happens when you say things like "cottage cheese looking stuff" doc so in the future lets try and be a little more descriptively subtle alright? He even made it worse by giving me the worst case scenario. "Oh, it could go into the bone and cause real problems." See? Alien goop.

He told me to "Favor the other ear for a while" (he's a funny guy, my doc) and gave me a prescription for antibiotic drops with the admonition "This goes in your ears. You don't take it orally." You gotta tell guys these things. Trust me on this.

It got me to thinking. Swimmers Ear? Really? But hey, I don't swim. Oh I'm not saying I can't swim as long as your definition of 'swim' is very broad. Very, very broad. Like weakly dog paddling around while desperately trying to keep ones head above water and thereby avoid drowning. If that's swimming then yes, I can swim. It's just that I don't, or at least I haven't in, oh I don't know, like 10 years! Where in the hell did I get swimmers ear? And if it's not (as I suspect) caused by actual swimming only, then why call it Swimmers Ear? Is it like Tennis Elbow or Plantar Fasciitis? (There are no Fascist Farmers Planting things involved in Plantar Fasciitis and you can get Tennis Elbow from weight lifting. It's all so confusing).

Did I get it from a toilet seat? A used Q-tip? Did an infected person surreptiously stick their tongue in my ear when I wasn't looking?

Here's a thought. How about simply calling this what it is? Obnoxious Alien Ear Goo. At least then you won't have to be told the worst case secnario. That'll be all too obvious. In the meantime I'm taking my drops and staying watchful for the first sign of Imminent Alien Cranial Expulsion.

Where the hell is Kurt Russell when I need him?

eric

Hey, I'm a Blogger!

2009-02-09T18:28:00.000-08:00

After less than careful consideration I have decided to follow my daughter's lead and start a blog of my very own. Can the world stand another amateur's lame attempt at humor and commentary? Since the only ones who will ever read this are almost certainly some family and friends (and I'll be spending most of my time making fun of them) the answer is probably not. Oh Joy.

I plan to muse about many, many things;

Weightlifting. I'm only a recovering Meathead. I still lose my mind from time to time.

Bicycles, my current passion. See meathead above.

Poltics. No matter how many times I get spanked I still have a perverse inclination to opine occasionally. This will undoubtedly be the source of many a comeuppance. That's ok, I'm nothing if not easy.

Dogs. We currently have 2 brain dead Black Labs. One is blind and deaf. The other isn't. They're both old. Like me.

Guns. Yes I am an evil gun owner.

Corvettes. Remember that online dating commercial where the greasy guy pulls up in his red vette with the license plate 'THERICK' then goes running when the (male) hero introduces himself as THERICK's date thereby saving the Damsel in Distress from a Fate Worse Than Death? I love that guy.

Retiring, Life in General and the pratfalls of turning 50. Yes I meant to say pratfalls. One must find humor where one can.

Friends and family. No group of people are a better source of humor than friends and family. I'm always ready to embarrass all and sundry for a cheap laugh.

Anything else that strikes my fancy and my fancy is pretty striking.

I love a good argument and I can take as well as I give. Providing everyone is civil. Or at least funny. Betting on outcomes is always an option, providing the bet is for something embarrassing. Good fun that and I always pay off. For proof go see my daughter's blog wherein I make an ass of myself and pay off in a public way. http://lifeuniverseverything.blogspot.com/

A word about the name. I find that the world is filled with Constipated Weasels (CW's for future reference). They seem to mostly prefer the dark, dank environs of politics but really, they can be found anywhere and everywhere. Government, business, the grocery store, carnivals. Everywhere. I've met my fair share of them, mostly at work, but that's a blog for another day. The point is that they're numbers are vast and increasing at an exponential rate. (Ha! I used exponential in a sentence. Score!) They must be identified and stopped at all costs. Or at least pointed and laughed at. I plan to point and laugh whenever I can.

I love to write. I'm an action type guy in life who has a secret desire to be an artist. I dabble with stories as the muse strikes me and I'll be using this space to try some of them on you when I run out of other, better ideas. That's me, lazy as hell.

Married, 1 child, 2 grandkids and maybe 3 friends. The humor pool is looking kinda shallow. I may have to revert to outright fabrication.

I am decidedly non PC. I will be discussing 'Chick Stuff'' so be prepared.

I love cartoons. Old Warner Brothers (the pre PC ones where you actually see the anvil fall. Wile E. Coyote is pure genius), South Park, Family Guy, Simpsons, et al and ad nauseum. Love 'em. Rotted my brain many years ago and I don't care. I'm still a 6 year old at heart. Just ask my wife.

Ok. enough with the intro stuff. I'll post again tomorrow. Or the next day. Soon for sure and it will be funny. Probably.

I swear.