There Was A Farmer, Had A Dog...

I used to be a pawnbroker. I got to see the gamut of human emotion, all of it revolving around money and possessions. I dispensed as much advice as I did money. It was like being the progeny of a banker and a bartender.

I've been thinking about that job a lot lately. Mainly about the things I saw that made me sad. Dirty looking, umkempt 30 something slack-jawed woman would come in with another dirty looking umkempt 30 something woman and a dejected looking child in tow, carrying a video game console. (This was a surprisingly common caravan.) As it played out, the first woman was invariably the mother of the dejected looking child, and she was there pawning her kid's fucking toys, so she could go to bingo.

We did a brisk business in used video game consoles. I guess bingo was unfriendly to those moms. I wanted to cry for the kids.

Of Barbecue and Ibuprofen

The Texas Sweet sauce at Vince Staten's is incredible. But what's a sauce without a finely cooked bony piece of meat to go with it? That was the best rack of ribs I've ever had. Best baked potato, too. The festival of flavors almost drowned out the panolpy of pain in my knees and shoulders.

See, we sat down at Vince's about 15 minutes after finishing the 100 mile bike ride. It was a perfect day. Started out blue and brittle. Only con-trails and geese in the sky, our words disappearing in puffs of vapor around our heads.

Unlike last week, the bike FIT me yesterday. She did everything I asked her to do.

"C'mon baby, lets crest this hill before my heart bursts."

"Lemme lean just a little further into this turn..."

"If you get me through these last two miles, I promise, I'll rub you down."

The first 25 miles spun by effortlessly. "Damn... quarter of the way done already!"
The next 25 were just as easy, as were the 25 after that. It was the last 10 that hurt.

River Road. Right shoulder burning so badly I wanted to bawl. Knees screaming in pain. Dump trucks and Harleys barreling by inches from my good shoulder. The fucking blue F350 diesel belching enough soot to warrant an EPA investigation. Did I mention that my knees hurt? And then, suddenly, there was the One Lane Bridge. I've come to love that little pockmarked wonder of engineering. Bumpy li'l bastard, but only a mile and a half from where the truck's parked.


I've finally done it.

I still owe the Nishiki a rubdown.

Countdown to Exhaustion

I should be resting with my feet up. I'm riding a century tomorrow. I'm a little nervous about it. A hundred miles... with a bike stuck up my ass... and I've barely turned a crank all week. I guess I could call it my "taper" week, but that makes it seem like I'm taking it much too seriously.

At the beginning of the season, I was quite serious about it. Watched what I ate, made sure to do my intervals, base miles, hill work... But as Autumn approached, I started easing up. Eating cake, drinking coke (I still haven't had a Big Mac for months, though) Riding fewer, but longer rides. And now, here I sit with my stomach in knots.

I hope my brain hears a new song tomorrow. Last week, everytime I'd slip into a zone, "It's Raining Men" kept running through my mind. Jesus Christ...how friggin' gay (not that there's anything wrong with that). It got to the point that at mile 50, I had to force a new song in. Maybe in a future post I'll clue you in on what it was. Needless to say, it wasn't a pleasant ride, coupled with the crash and Holthaus' problem with his knee.

I ride a bike because it's fun. Yeah, it's great that I can fit into my pants again. (I actually need some new ones that are smaller in the waist) Yeah, it's great that I regularly drop Holhaus on climbs. Yeah, it's great that I've developed the discipline to "train" for a long ride, but goddammit, this is supposed to be fun. Training rides are most definitely not fun. Fuck it... tomorrow is gonna be a blast. I don't care what comes up. I'm gonna have fun, like it or not. Even if I have to manually change the channel on the radio in my mind.

Snake Eyes

A love song of sorts which I wrote some 10 years ago.


Shell-shocked by keepsakes of pain I'm tethered to you
By chains at the heart you're rooted to me
Naked and wild-eyed we tread on the heels of love
Seeking the beast in ourselves or only seeing the eye of the storm
Still to come

Stock still, you try to run from me
Like lovers in the stories no place for us to be
Merely shadows at high noon with the sun behind a cloud
Our story's surely written with chalk on a petal
Or a funeral shroud

Blinded by passion, hoodwinked by lust
We tread the great unknown
I blaze trails, you burn bridges
We dance like fireflies
The shadows we create obscure the ones we've cast
We've cast the mold, the dice are cast
Snake eyes.
No chance to roll again

Small Victories

Just put the last coat of finish on the cool looking wood part of the new bow window. Also, I put in the missing trim in the hallway. Y will want to paint it tomorrow... anyway... I celebrated with a refreshing adult beverage. I may have to have another.

Rode the Nishiki up to pick up the pickup. Damn... I wish I had more time to sit on The Beater today. I'd been a bit gun-shy since my crash on Sunday. What a sucky ride that was. 73 miles. Halfway out, Holthaus started having knee problems. He didn't bother telling me about it, until I looked back and he was nowhere in sight. I pulled off into this gravel parking lot, kind of looked back to see if I could see Holthaus, and when I turned back around, there was this redneck looking guy carrying the biggest damned air filter (like for a carbuerator) that I ever saw. There I am, in my (nondescript) spandex outfit, straddling a 30 year old 10 speed, looking "banjo boy" (from Deliverance) in the eye, wondering where the hell my riding partner is... anyway, "banjo boy" and I exchanged pleasantries, and Holthaus appeared from around the corner, saving me from further repartee with the redneck.

We rode fairly slowly from that point on, right up until the Nishiki fell off the side of the road, and I fell off her. Fortuately we were only going about 13mph, so it didn't hurt much. This was at mile 60, by the way. Damn.. I was tired, and I guess the crash just took the wind out of my sails, as I found it very difficult to get up to 20mph.. hell... who am I kidding... 17 was a stretch. Well, to make a long story longer, we finally made it back to where we parked the cars, and allowed as to how every cyclist needs an epic ride now and then. Chalk it up to experience.

Returning to the original thread of thought for this... Apparently, I'd let that bad riding experience cloud my judgement about riding (or I've just been plain lazy), and my little jaunt up to pick up the pickup made me realize just how much I love riding.

I have to go back to the jewelry store tomorrow, so my rides will all be predawn except on the weekends. Damn... I wish I'd not felt so out of sorts and well... hung over... through my vacation. I could have spent days in the saddle. Fuck...

Once Again... With Feeling

Band practice! Wahoo! Loud drums and bass... screaming electric guitar... cheesy keyboards... Finally, the new singer showed up with his keyboard. It was a little weird hearing some of the songs with strings or organ or piano instead of the other guitar players. Although I love being "the" guitar player in the band again.

We played a Delbert McClinton song that half of us hadn't played before, but because it's just a blues, it was easy. I've heard it before, so I got to sing the back-up vocals. What a blast!

On a sadder note... I haven't ridden since Sunday, and it's pissing me off. The skies have been pissing for days, and I'm just not man enough to ride in the rain. The brakes on the Nishiki are pitiful when they're dry... Death trap in the rain. I guess I could have ridden the Diamondback.... I'm just a loser.

I go back to work on Thursday. Joy.

Jesus H. Christ!

Goddammit, some asswipes put frigging campaign signs in my yard. (I live directly across the street from a polling place.) A goddammed Bush-Cheney sign no less. If I see some muthaf###er out there planting another one, I'm gonna kick his ass.