Stairs

Dad and I cut all the pieces Monday. Today I glued and nailed them in.

Number One Mom!

I guess it's a bit late, and third-party too. 
My sister made this card for my mom back about 20 years ago, I guess.  Mom hung on to it and it was posted on her fridge last week. 

She made Mom happy, and the card makes me happy now.  I hope you enjoy it too.

I hope it's sufficiently anonymous, Sandy.  Also, Ramona did not take thid photo.  I did.

Cyclist vs Walker vs Hitchhiker

I intended to bike to my band directors' meeting in Carman today, but 19 miles into the ride my rear tire went flat. Assuming that the local farmers would not have a patch kit on hand, I decided to walk the remaining two miles to the highway, then thumb it into town. There would be plenty of pickup trucks on the highway that would have room for a bike and rider. I even changed into my civilian clothes in the ditch next to a windblown cornfield so that I would appear respectable and hygienic.

Changing clothes in the warm wind of a sunny September day in the dusty anonymity of a gravel backroad was almost enough to make this whole experience something to write about. It won't be many weeks before skin and sun are separated by impermeable and sweaty layers, the sweetness of the wind turns its sharp edge, and the proceeds from the rustling cornfield are hustled away from hungry deer. I'm thankful for the unexpected pleasure.

Anyway, the two mile walk to the highway took longer than I thought it would in my stiff soled shoes, and the four mile walk along the shoulder of busy highway 3 took even longer.

If a tree falls in the forest with no one around, does it make a sound? And if a cyclist walks with his thumb out for an hour, is he a hitchhiker?

I think I was a hitchhiker today. I tasted the dust of uninterested traffic and attempted to look sincere and purposeful. I fancy myself a hitchhiker, but judging from the tension in my hips, ankles, and quads, I'm no walker.

Clarification of previous post

Just in case I'm about to be branded some kind of weirdo, I will hereby state that in the photo below, the "left nut" is missing from the bike axle.

Cyclocross and my left nut

I love cyclocross. Darkcross was spectacular.
I did notice some unusual clunking noises toward the end of the race. Here is a photo of my bike from late at night when we got home.


Sent from my iPod

School is back in session...

and we are all learning some new things.
Happy September!

Don't fight it.

There's nothing to be ashamed of here.  I've done it, and I know there are others of you out there.  I know it can be hard to admit, hard to give up some of your deeply held convictions. 

I discovered this piece of lyrical work written by a well known late 20th century (read 80's) artist named Kevin Cronin who may or may not have been a die hard singlespeed or hardtail rider.  The text doesn't give enough clues to verify this, but from the thinly veiled references in the writing it seems clear that he went through a similar experience to the one I've recently had.

Here are a couple of excerpts that will give you the heart of a man caught in the inexorable slide toward fully suspended, geared mountain biking.  I've italicized some of the key passages that led me to my conclusions about this writer and his passion.

I can't fight this feeling any longer.
And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow.
What started out as friendship,
Has grown stronger.
I only wish I had the strength to let it show.

I tell myself that I can't hold out forever.
I said there is no reason for my fear.
Cause I feel so secure when we're together.
You give my life direction,
You make everything so clear.

And even as I wander,
I'm keeping you in sight.
You're a candle in the window,
On a cold, dark winter's night.
And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might.

And I can't fight this feeling anymore.
I've forgotten what I started fighting for.
It's time to bring this ship into the shore,
And throw away the oars, forever.
Cause I can't fight this feeling anymore.
I've forgotten what I started fighting for.
And if I have to crawl upon the floor,
Come crushing through your door,
Baby, I can't fight this feeling anymore.

My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you.
I've been running round in circles in my mind.
And it always seems that I'm following you, girl,
Cause you take me to the places,
That alone I'd never find.

And even as I wander,
I'm keeping you in sight.
You're a candle in the wind,
On a cold, dark winter's night.
And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might.

And I can't fight this feeling anymore.
I've forgotten what I started fighting for.
It's time to bring this ship into the shore,
And throw away the oars, forever.

Cause I can't fight this feeling anymore.
I've forgotten what I started fighting for.
And if I have to crawl upon the floor,
Come crushing through your door,
Baby, I can't fight this feeling anymore.

(Sniff)  You must admit that's a beautiful emotive piece of writing for a rough and tough rider, but maybe it's that soft artist's heart that lurks in all of us that draws many of us down this path.  It's ok.  If you are feeling caught in the headlights here, exposing things inside that you thought were hidden away, you need to know you're not alone.  We're a supportive community of friends who will listen, care, and some of us (not me) even may have a bike to sell you.