The Captain’s Log

Today is my dad’s 80th birthday. It’s a mind-blowing achievement in our family, since the men don’t seem to last all that long. I’m hoping I got a buttload of that particular longevity gene, because I’m just warming up. But that’s enough about me.

Let’s indulge in a little perspective. Dad was born in November of 1926. There were planes, trains, automobiles and radio–but just barely. Television and computers were a long way off. Sixty two years ago tomorrow, my dad turned 18. If I have the family folklore correct, he marched off the next day to the army recruiter’s office and signed up for World War II. He was aboard a troop ship off the coast of Great Britain on VE day. Dad spent his 78th Lightning Division tour as part of the army of occupation. Seems that all of the Germans didn’t give up on the same day. But it beat mogging through the Pacific Theater of Operation by a long shot, I suppose.
(more…)

Two things:

Thing One: An old Iditabiker buddy of mine has surfaced in Vermont. After some mutual email benchracing and lie swapping he turned me on to this: The Jay Challenge. It’s a 10- or 30-mile mountain bike race on packed snowmobile trails in Newport, VT this coming February. I’m ashamed to say, after all I learned in two Iditabikes (that’s 200 miles on Alaska’s Ititarod Sled Dog trail in February), that I’m actually thinking the 30-miler sounds like fun. It would at least be an excuse for lots of winter riding, although it lacks the night racing aspect (and you thought 24-hour racing was the birthplace of headlamp racing!). I must be losing my mind.

Thing Two: Tattoo Dave and I were working on some photo stuff for my next coupla stories for Dirt Rag the other day, so I had a chance to download the photos from our September assault on the Kingdom Trails, which I’ll share with you here:
(more…)

Your captain’s been sick since Sunday. Saturday was a gorgeous day and I got out on the slightly moist trails in shorts and short sleeves, then stopped off to watch my daughter’s final playoff soccer game just before dark. Sunday was rainy and Tattoo Dave wanted to go get wet and freaky with Travis (Private Pyle), who now has a brand-spankin’-new Specialized Rockhopper that his wife begifted him for his birthday. I decided the noble thing was to go watch my daughter’s final game and maybe catch the tail end of the cyclocross races down at West Hill, so I begged off the sodden epic. But I was feeling a little draggy, so I lay myself down for a minute and, all of a sudden, it was Sunday night.

Pain was creeping across the right side of my scalp and I thought it was “Return of the Shingles,” which I had last year at this time. Don’t let me kid you folks. My day job isn’t always interesting, but it is stressful. I’m a one-man department with a lot of outsourcing, so when the hub (me) goes down, lots of things grind to a halt. So a quick trip to the medical office on Monday revealed I also had a fever and that the head pain was some sort of weird swollen gland thing at the top of my trapezius, behind both ears at this point. So I look fine, but feel like I’m turning into a Ferengi.
(more…)

Woo! Big work week this week. Not much riding time, other than a few loop-de-loops from here to the office and back and a three quick trips to the gym. But I did manage to put a new chain on Big Pink today. I don’t wear out chains as often as you’d think somebody my size would. I’m actually pretty delicate on the pedals and I own multiple bikes so it takes a while. I was joking with the guys down at West Hill Shop (www.westhillshop.com) that I’d be back the day I put the chain on because the cassette is probably shot as well. Not so. It was the middle chainring. The new chain is catching on the “hooks” of the old chainring distorted by the old, stretched chain. So the bike now makes a soft “wockety-wockety-wockety” noise as I pedal. I can see the shadow of the bottom side of the chain bouncing up and down as it catches and releases on the back sides of the chainring teeth.

Will I replace the chainring? Nah. I’m a cheapskate, so I’ll first try lubricating the bejeezus out of everything and riding it until the new chain mates with the old ‘ring. If that doesn’t quiet things down, I’ll probably try to turn the chainring around, although I don’t think you can get away with that sort of stuff these days. Everything’s “integrated” now. High performance comes at the cost of low-rent fixes. Such thoughts remind me of stories of my Uncle Jack buying (at a greatly reduced price) two scabby Christmas trees on Christmas Eve and harvesting branches from one that he inserted into drill holes on the other to make one good one. It’s the Scots part of of the Scots Irish in me blood, I suppose. Once I’ve wasted several hours trying to make silk out of the sow’s ear and lit a few candles for St. Jude (patron saint of lost causes), I’ll find out there is no replacement chainring available and that I have to throw the whole bike away like a Bic lighter out of gas. Just kidding. I’ll probably dig the old chain out of the trash and put it back on. Just kidding again. I’m really hoping the lubing-the-bejeezus protocol will work. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
(more…)

Saturday’s ride got cancelled on account of baseball. Rory (my 8-year-old son), Luke (my 6-year-old son) and I lost track of the time and by the time the score was 21 to 14, the sun was setting. So we did a quick trip through the weight room and called it a day.

Today, however, the riding gods smiled upon us. Tattoo Dave and I were supposed to ride with Travis (the Full Metal Jacket Private Pyle look-alike), who got a new bike for his birthday yesterday. Mrs. Travis had another idea about that, however, and, as in most households I know, the husband only gets one vote to the spouse’s majority. Or something like that. I think there’s an electoral college in there someplace, or at least and electoral secondary school. Where was I?

Oh, yeah. So the boys and I suited up instead and headed out to the back 40. Rory announced that he’d like to someday have pedals that attach to his shoes so he can get his back wheel in the air when he pulls up. As we tootled up the dirt road to campus to warm up, Rory on his 20-inch-wheeled 6-speed Specialized and Lukey tucked behind me on the Alley Cat, Rory was attempting to bunny hop.
(more…)

So Clem’s got me sorted out on the time change thing. Once again, I’m gobsmacked that the world doesn’t revolve around little old me. That doesn’t keep me from having some Deep Shower Thoughts on a regular basis, however. Read on.

I was showing Harriet, a nice lady with whom I work, some old photos of my kids yesterday. Looking at one shot of my middle child, I commented that it was taken during the period that I feared he was mentally retarded. I mean, my daughter was speaking in complete sentences at 18 months. This guy was using a series of grunts, hoots and pointing to get what he wanted at age 2. I thought maybe he was, you know, a little short in the cognitive department. Not the case. He’s now one of the shinier pennies in the third grade roll. Harriet said she thought the same of one of her sons when he was young (couldn’t get the spoon in his mouth–things like that) and he turned out to have an IQ of 170.
(more…)

Okay, so I’ve got a nifty idea for filling a couple of pages in Dirt Rag, but I can’t share them with you or it will ruin all the fun. Sorry. You’ll just have to hang in there and hope I can slip it past the editor. It’s silly, but to the point. I think you’ll get a kick out of it at least. Ain’t that the point?

On to new business. All of a sudden it’s dark when I leave work now. It’s light when I wake up regardless of the time of year because I’m a night owl. Now, with a simple edict that requires me to change my clocks by an hour, the ride home requires lights, reflective materials, flashers, gloves and all manner of extra paraphernalia. And for what? If summertime is daylight savings, then what is this? Daylight wastings? Personally, I’d be much less likely to circle the rim of the Seasonal Pit of Despair if the light went away at 5:30 p.m. all winter instead of at 4:30. I can’t even tell if it’s raining when I get up in the morning until I’ve started into the second cup of coffee. Who cares if it’s dark in the morning? There’s a much better chance of getting outside in some relative warmth at 4:30 in the afternoon than at 6:30 in the morning. So why make it dark after work? I just don’t get it.
(more…)