2008 Utah Trip: Day 1

Today Stacy and I departed on our annual pilgrimage to the mountain biking Mecca of Moab, Utah. As planned we hit the road at 7a.m. and sailed to our destination of Springdale, Utah just outside of Zion National Park in just under 11 hours, stops included. Our only traffic was in Las Vegas and it wasn't really that bad. Tommorow we head to Red Canyon just outside of Bryce NP and will ride the one of world's most beautiful trails--Thunder Mountain.

Saturday we roll into Utah and will pick a trail when we get there...we also will hook up with the other half of our party--Troy and Shannan. With the 24 Hours of Moab going on, there's sure to be some reconnects with fun industry friends. Here's the box score and some clicks...more tommorow if the Interwebs cooperates.

-Don

DAY ONE BOX SCORE
From/to: San Jose, Calif. to Springdale, Utah
Mileage: 691 ~MPG: 24 (not bad with bikes at 80mph)
Time: 10 hours, 58 minutes (including stops)
Tumbleweeds obliterated: 3 (They shatter! It's really cool.)
Coolest road names: Main Drain Road, Merle Haggard Blvd.
Coolest town name: Carp, Nev.
Coolest animal sighting: Ostritch


Gas stop #1 near Gilroy. The bikes are filled with excitement.


Stacy munchin' a bunch of lunch. Note the sign in the background.


Looks like Union 76 stole the Urge Overkill logo. Bastards.


Now that's a proper sign. Bun Boy, Baker, Calif.


A cloud and two shells at sunset, Hurricane, Utah


Pioneer Lodge in Springdale, Utah. Because, you know, the pioneers stayed in kitchy motels all the time.

Bikes = Love

I built up Shannan's new bike and she left me a delightfully workplace inappropriate heart note.

(I would have added a photo of the bike, but I think she took off on it!)

Cubs meltdown eminent

I really did mean to post this before the playoffs started...

Yes, the White Sox squeezed into the playoffs by a scant one run, and yes they are the most inconsistent, least deserving playoff team with the second worst record of all the playoff teams who avoided a catastrophic end-of-season collapse by the narrowest of margins. And yes, I would love to see the Chi Sox sweep the Cubs in the World Series, but it ain't gonna happen. Neither team will be there, BUT I can guarantee you this...the Sox will make it further than the Cubs, maybe only a game or two longer, but longer none the less. Them Cubs are cursed.

P0rntastic Thursday

I don't do Diesel myself, but this is pretty good.

MBV: Loveless in SF, 9-30-08

Big Black Monday

To-do list: Zombiewalk

So there we were driving back through Vancouver to catch a flight home from our quick biz trip trip to Whistler, BC when--stopped at a light--I noticed a large gathering of people in front of the Vancouver Art Gallery.

At least I thought they were people.

Zombies on the loose in Vancouver. Cool.

Turns out they were the undead. Zombies to be precise.

Apparently, there is a worldwide phenomenon of these so-called Zombiewalks, wherein anybody who wants to participate puts on their best fake blood and Gothy makeup, meets at a centralized point, then stomps around making groany noises. Fucking brilliant. I want to do it and it looks like San Fran has at least one according to (of course) zombiewalk.com.

The picture above is one I hastily snapped as we pulled away and therefore not very good. The vid below gives you a better feel for what it's like.

So who's in?

PS - This video from San Francisco Zombie Mob is pretty good too.

Garage Artifact #1

I found this ginormous Husker Du Zen Arcade poster rolled up in a tube. I think it originally hung in my dorm room at ISU, then at home when I moved back in with the folks.

And so the mayhem begins

As you can see from the slideshow, deconstruction of our garage began today much to the chagrin of the rodents who called it home. Barring any major hiccups, we should be down to the slab by quitting time today, and Monday they start in on the concrete demo. I'm feeling Bob Vila-esque. Monday I'll be Mr. Slate.

In closing, I'd like to wish the old garage and carport all the best--except for the the doors that were too small, and the sauna-like climate, and the fiberglass roof that leaked like crazy, and the colony of pooptastic rats, and the roll-up door that faced the yard, and the huge gap in the back wall, and the moldy mold, and the lack of lights, and peeling paint, and all the shit the previous owners left--you were a good old bike shed.

Strange Destination #1

Random hidden church along Highway 17. I think somebody lives there. I mean someone besides Jesus.

Personal archeology of the not-too-distant past

Science has shown junk reproduces at will in the garage.

It’s now been three Sundays in a row that I’ve spent all day cleaning out the garage in preparation for its demolition and replacement. The first Sunday was probably the most fun because I unearthed all this cool stuff I forgot I had—I especially liked the photos, what’s left of my old train set and the vast collection of obsolete and/or defunct bike parts.

The second week, things got a bit more business-like, but still fun-ish…listening to eons-old mix tapes, enjoying the unique cast of characters that having a free yard sale attracts (try it and you’ll see what I mean) and throwing pieces of wood javelin-style across the yard were the highlights. There was also lots of blocking and tackling…organizing, reorganizing…trashing and recycling, as you’d expect.

There was another 'f' originally, but somebody took it.

The third week…well, you just want it to be done with. You keep asking yourself how come that box of junk doesn’t sort itself out? How many times am I going to trip over that rake before I pick it up? What the fuck did I ever need a 10 pound bucket of hot-dipped galvanized nails for? Is it healthy that my snot is black from dust when I blow my nose?

Need any paint? Sealer? Raid? Fertilizer? Stain?

But still, fun manages to rear its awesome head even when you’re over the whole thing. I unearthed an unmarked cassette, dusted it off and snapped it into the mono portable tape deck that plays at delightfully random, variable speeds and hit play. The next four plus minutes I spent blissed out spinning in circles in the middle of the garage listening to Yo La Tengo’s “Detouring America With Horns.” I had goosebumps the entire time. I completely forgot that song existed and that I love it. And that it reminds me of my first trip to California.

I also found my favorite trophy ever. It’s from the 1989 Pontiac (Ill.) Triathlon, a rather untraditional team triathlon that has one person run, the other bike and both canoe (yes canoe—only in Central Illinois).

Pontiac '89: A trophy with a purpose.

I did said race with Steve Speckman, a dorm mate of mine at the time, and after the first two stages, we looked like Olympians. Steve won the run, turning in a sub-18 minute 5k and by the time I got done with the bike we were ahead of the entire field by 10 minutes.

Then we got in the canoe.

For whatever reason Steve and I never really talked about the canoe part before the race. Steve grew up on the Kankakee River—one of the best paddling rivers in the state—and it was my natural assumption that he knew his way around a J-stroke. Steve revealed to me post-race that he thought I had been a Boy Scout (nope) with mad outdoor skills, canoeing among them (nope). Though my mom and I used to rent rowboats and go fishing, I’d never ever been in a canoe. I quickly learned how much easier a rowboat is to handle.

As the crow flies, the canoe portion was two-and-a-half miles to the turn-around and another 2.5 back to the finish line. I’m fairly certain we paddled at least twice that far. Heading upstream in our clapped-out behemoth of a rental canoe, Steve and I zigged and zagged against the current with little control. We yelled at each other like a pair of magpies as we ran aground to the left…and to the right…and to the left again.

It wasn’t long before boats began passing us—beautiful opaque fiberglass boats with pilots that made it all look effortless. At first it was just a boat every now and then…by the turn-around we were getting passed wholesale.

At one point, I’d actually considered jumping in the river and pushing the boat with a whip kick. It certainly would have been faster, but given the cold weather, so would hypothermia.

Miraculously we made it back to the finish—and without tipping over. Because all the real canoeing talent was in nice boats, we managed to place second in the stock boat division and were presented with the coolest trophies ever—home made benches straight outta woodshop with our achievement painted crudely on them.

Though it’s been buried in the garage for a while now, the bench brings a smile to my face every time I step on it to reach high shelves or take a seat on it to work on a drivetrain. Though I’ve been in purge mode throughout the garage process, this is one item I think I’ll hang onto.

I'll miss this hosebib.

Given the sheer volume of photos and curiosities, I imagine the garage contents will provide blog fodder for some time, assuming I make the time to chronicle it all. Expect more weirdness.

Setting the record straight

I admit it. I'm weak. I can only take politics with a spoonful of sarcastic sugar these days. I tried to watch the RNC but those self-serving fucking liars make me sick. Not that I cared for the Disney parade that was the DNC much either, but at least it didn't make me physically wretch.

PS - This was priceless:

If I only had a few extra bucks...

Excerpted from the Santa Cruz Sentinel

Marianne's Ice Cream shop up for sale
Sentinel staff report

Article Launched: 08/28/2008 12:13:56 PM PDT

Sam Lieberman, who has run Marianne's Ice Cream for 50 years, wants to retire, so he's put the business up for sale. The price: $1.4 million.

The shop at 1020 Ocean St. has a huge following, with 122 of 175 reviewers on Yelp.com giving it the top rating of five stars.

Share your experience at Marianne's with Sentinel reporter Jondi Gumz at jgumz@santacruzsentinel.com.

For sale listing

How very Marvin the Paranoid Android

Happy Birthday Prosciutto!

Saturday was the one year ownership anniversary of Prosciutto, my 2004 Vespa GT200. I waxed about it loquaciously in this post. Fourty-five hundred miles later, were now good good friends solidifyling the relationship with our three-to-four times weekly commute of about 70 miles round trip...not to mention the numerous fun weekend forays when I'm neglecting my bicycles.

Now if you wouldn't mind singing along...a-one anda-two...Happy Birth-day (louder!)...

You like-a de jersey, no?

Only the Italians could get away with using the Chop Suey font (or is it Bonsai Regular?) on their Olympic uniforms. And as tacky as this jersey is—I want one.

Mortgage Crisis widens, Middle Earth in foreclosure

Just when you thought the real estate thing couldn't get any worse, this happens. Shocker.

This is pretty amazing

More details here.

Happy B-day 'Lil' Tiger

Jim Szczupaj (pronounced shoe-pie) is my Original Friend. He turned 39 today. He is the cute little tiger on the left, I'm Superman on the right and I think that's Christine Peretti in the middle. We all have paper lunch bags.

Critical Mashed

As a cyclist, I have mixed feelings on the whole Critical Mass phenomenon. While I agree with the message, I know nobody ever changed my mind by antagonizing the crap out of me--no matter how right they were. Maybe I'm just not the punk I once was, but the idea of Courteous Mass seems like a much more effective tactic.

But that's beside this point. On a recent Critical Mass ride in New York city, a rider was intentionally creamed by a cop who dropped his shoulder and unleashed a viscious football-like hit on him. Naturally, the rider was charged in the incident and held in jail for 26 hours. Then a videotape emerged which appears to contradict the police report...



Now the officer in question has been suspended from active duty and put on a civilian desk job while the incident is investigated....you know, because it's so difficult to see what happened.

Many people have called for the officer's dismissal. I actually think he should be required to keep his job...and complete the same football-style hit to whatever is coming by that same spot during rush hour.

Paul ain't dead

Former Replacements frontman/superhero Paul Westerberg has released a rambling lo-fi effort called 49:00 that's available on-line for the bargain basement price of 49 cents...all, apparently, in honor of his 49th birthday (yes, we are all getting old, aren't we).

In any case, Paul farting is worth 49 cents, so go buy it...now :
http://studio.tunecore.com/store/product/47

Dan Deacon is insane

And I like it.

I like the naked kid

I've always liked the cover art of Nirvana's Nevermind. An underwater shot of a naked baby swimming in a pool, chasing a dollar bill on a hook-and-line--that last bit Photoshoped or retouched I assume.

I have vague recollections of shimmying down a pole and touching the bottom of the pool at the Mont Clare YMCA where my mom was a swim instructor when I was very young. Though I don't remember this particular part, my mom tells me she regularly took me swimming starting when I was less than a month old and that I splashed around and made happy googly noises and spouted water. Except for the tantrums I likely threw when we had to leave, I imagine myself as happy as the little guy--peepee exposed and all--on the cover of Nevermind.

I couldn't find a swimming picture of me, but this is from the YMCA. I'm the unhappy clown in the center with the plastic pumpkin. My brother is the matching clown to the right and my mom is behind me. I'm certain I was wondering when I would get to take off the ridiculous costume and go swimming.

So it brought a smile to my face today when my cubemate Kevin directed my attention to a story on NPR's website about the kid on the album. He's 17 now and pretty much a typical teenager...and he must still like the water 'cause he plays water polo (the best team sport ever) and I like what he has to say. It's worth the three minute read.

First the Peach Pit, now this...

Art rockers Flaming Lips infamously played the Peach Pit, the rich kid rock club on Beverly Hills 90210. Now their music graces the soundtrack of Okie Noodling II, a documentary about bare handed catfish hunting in Oklahoma. A step up if you ask me.

Interleague Play Results

June 27, 2008
@ Chicago White Sox 10, Chicago Cubs 3

June 28, 2008
@ Chicago White Sox 6, Chicago Cubs 5

June 29, 2008
@ Chicago White Sox 5, Chicago Cubs 1

The Devil, You + Me

The Notwist's first album in six years--The Devil, You + Me--drops today in the US. Back in my WRRG days, Kurt Greisch put the amazing "Nothing Like You" on a comp tape for me and life has never been the same.

Notwist Retrospective:

Nothing Like You live from The Notwist (1990)

The Incredible Change of Our Alien from Nook (1992)

Torture Day from 12/Loup EP (1997)

Chemicals from Shrink (1998)

Moron from Shrink (1998)

One With the Freaks from Neon Golden (2003)

Pick up the Phone from Neon Golden (2003)

Bizzare Off the Rails video and the making of Off the Rails recording from Neon Golden (2003)

On/Off the Record Neon Golden documentary trailer (2004)

Good Lies from The Devil, You + Me (2008)

Perfect Speed from 13 & God, a Notwist and Themselves collaboration

Soft Alias another 13 & God song

They live!

Quite possibly the crappiest recording to ever give me goosebumps.

Emmy is STILL h-a-w-t

Age is irrelevant to the ever-hot Emmylou Harris. Quite the singer/songwriter she, as well.

Exile in Lizville

So Liz Phair is doing a limited number of live shows where she plays her classic Exile in Guyville in its entirety. While Guyville is one of my favorite albums ever, Liz hasn't done much for me since. The debut is raw and beautifully unrefined, while her subsequent recordings are--in my generally snobby opinion--increasingly overproduced and unoriginal.

In any event, I have tickets in hand for the San Francisco show on the 23rd along with mild hopes that I'm not dissapointed. Whatever she does, I am fairly sure she'll be better than THIS guy:


An...umm...interesting cover of Liz Phair's "Fuck and Run." Ah YouTube.

Liz Phair Exile in Guyville shows:
6.23 San Francisco, CA - Fillmore
6.24 Chicago, IL - Vic Theatre
6.25 New York, NY - Hiro Ballroom
6.26 New York, NY - Hiro Ballroom

Interleague Play Results

May 16, 2008
Chicago White Sox 2, @ San Francisco Giants 0

May 17, 2008
Chicago White Sox 3, @ San Francisco Giants 1

May 18, 2008
Chicago White Sox 13, @ San Francisco Giants 8

White Fright and Bike to Work Day

Bike to Work Day is kind of a little piece of Christmas joy to me. It’s not so much that I need a special occasion to prompt me to pedal to work—though today was my first such foray of 2008—it’s just the fact that I see other people get jazzed on what I’m into and it makes me happy. And yeah, I realize it may be the only day of the year they get on a bike, but that’s OK. As long as they get flashback of the simple joy buried somewhere in their childhood memories, then it’s a good day…anything more is gravy.

Since there are no photos of me in the white shorts (thankfully), I added this Bike to Work Day video from our good friends at Top Dog Illustration.

There was a nice article in Santa Cruz Sentinel this week about a woman who bike commutes and I liked the fact that it was just about a regular person who made a few adjustments in her routine and made it the norm. Usually the story is about some über athlete or über environmentalist crusader and I just think that kind of thing turns regular folks off. Anyway, I like the article so much I sent a note to the reporter saying so. Her response was very warm and thankful—I get the feeling the folks at the Sentinel get a lot of angry email shit. People are so brave from behind their keyboards. But I digress.

Since I had left my road bike in the office earlier in the week, I ended up riding my XC mountain bike in this AM. I thought it might be a bit of a struggle as 40 odd miles and 3,000 feet of climbing tend to be better suited to the former. I was pleased to be wrong. The Yeti may be a bit portly for road riding, but its high-volume tires did pretty well pumped to the max, and the suspension and disc brakes were a blessing coming down the ripple and pock of Mt. Charlie “Road.”

I started my ride in San Jose and met my co-worker Sean in Los Gatos to share the joy and pain and sunshine and (no) rain as we crossed over the mountains to Santa Cruz. He rode his cyclocross bike with—inexplicably—a backpack full of laptop batteries. Some things I just don’t question. I was happy he had some ballast to equal out the added heft of my MTB.

I also unwittingly made a strategically advantageous clothing choice—white cycling shorts. A perk from one of the magazine’s we advertise in, these babies are comfortable, expensive and Italian. Unfortunately, they’re also virtually see-through when combined with a little sweat. After, oh, ten seconds behind me, Sean mumbled something about “butt muff” and went to the front, I tucking in behind him out of the wind for the remainder of the ride. A few years ago I had vowed to never buy a pair of white shorts out of courtesy to my fellow riders...Dan O had rocked a similar pair of Castellis on a lunch ride, exposing his nether regions for the duration and raising both the ire and disgust of the groupetto. As if cycling shorts didn’t already offer way too much detail, making them white adds that almost naked Cirque du Soliel costume quality to them. But they were free…and I thought maybe they figured out a new method to make them more modest. Apparently not.

So now all that’s left is getting home. I brought in another kit so I wouldn’t have to endure swampass on the way back, meaning Sean won’t have to suffer the “white fright” of my shorts twice in one day. We will, however, face the steeper and longer climb up from the coast with miles already in the legs, along with near 100-degree heat. But it’s all OK with me. I love today.
----------
PM UPDATE 9:30 PM

Sean pays me back for my AM white short treatment by wearing an entire white kit for the ride home. You should be thanful that my camera phone can't adequately represent the detail of his hairy asscrack.

I'm finally home and my balls are killing me. No, not those balls...the balls of my feet. Though the former took a bit of a spanking as well. So I switched to my road bike for the way home and as we were climbing up Mt. Charlie's, my seat bolt snapped. Fortunately I stayed up and only slightly slammed my taint on the top tube/seat post, spanking my balls in the process. No permanent harm, but riding 20 mountainous miles without a saddle is not my idea of fun. Truthfully, it was only really bad on the unpaved sections where the bike bounced around alot and I would have preferred to have more weight on the rear wheel. The real killer was not my quads as I would have thought, but the balls of my feet that took a beating as I stood on them the entire way home. Oh well, at least I could still ride and I wasn't too slow.

I ended up making it back to the Silicon Valley Bike Coalition's Bike from Work event at Gordon Beirsche after it was over, but before all the people I cared to run into had left, so that was good. And I still love this day.

Molly Wins

It's official. Molly F now has the coolest bike in the office. Trumped are all the nanosquidnology carbon race bikes, superelastic boinger sleds, way-too-dandy fixies and that rust pile of a BMX bike Baker is working on. Her custom Superhero bike is art in motion...comic book art, painstakingly culled by Molly herself—an artist she, with an artist’s eye and temperament to boot—from volumes upon volumes of source material. Scanned, tweaked, outputted, remixed and arranged over the course of a month or two, Miss Molly sent off the art and a sketch to John Slawta, proprietor/builder/craftsman of Land Shark Bikes. He crafted her a stunning, lightweight steel cross bike...painted it with a sparkly white basecoat and applied the graphics all over, the covered it with a durable clear coat. As you can see the results are awesome. The coolest hero shot? The pic of her dad on the top tube riding his bike as a kid!

Personal Hygene Tip #763

Always brush your teeth after putting your contact lenses in. Doing the reverse may result in a painful condition known as Peppermint Eye Syndrome.

The wisdom of T2

Thanks Todd.

Jimmy eat crepe

I unfortunately won't be in attendance tonight, but the great Jim White plays the Crepe Place in Santa Cruz tonight...and he's got 10 miles to go on a nine mile road.

Blessed are the Peacemakers

Today marks five years too long.

Tag This!

The City of Santa Ana, California is down wit it yo.

And there's more!

A ride of solitude

Note: I’m trying to get this post down while the cement is still wet…so please bear with the bad grammar/spelling/thought processes/rambliness.

If you ever watch bike racing on TV you might have heard the announcers talk about a rider “turning himself inside-out” with a really hard effort. And on occasion I’d like to think that I myself have inverted my physiology in this overly dramatic hyperbolic way…pounding down the coast at 30 mph or charging up a hill in a tall gear or setting a relentless pace on a group ride. But I found myself inside-out in a different way on today's ride.

Riding one of my regular routes, I passed the spot where two cyclists were killed last weekend by a county deputy who had, apparently, fallen asleep at the wheel of his police car. It’s been all over the news and on my mind more than I care to admit. I knew the spot was coming up and I tried to steel myself to the sight of it…as I imagined there was a makeshift roadside memorial…photos, jerseys, water bottles, flowers, bike parts and other stuff all piled in homage.

Though only cruising at a casual pace, I instantaneously found myself short-of-breath and panicked. I was overcome by dread and fear and anger and an overwhelming sense of loss. Tears found my eyes and my heart felt like it would explode.

Next were thoughts of Bill, a co-worker who was killed by a truck last year on his bike. And Paul Clark, the brother of a friend who was mowed down out on Mines Road in the East Bay. And thoughts of the teacher killed on Mission Street in Santa Cruz last year and the kid on his fixie who died down near Seabright and the bastard who got out of his car and downed a beer after killing a guy on his bike last year on the Peninsula.

A scooter buddy of mine was clobbered head-on last week on Highway 9 by a goof who was speeding and overshot a turn, locked his brakes, crossed the double-yellow and, in fact, the entire lane of opposing traffic. Fortunately the car basically split in half and Josh “only” has two broken legs and a busted up shoulder and nine months until he can walk again.

And though it was a while ago, I still have visions of my best buddy Troy repeating himself over and over in a hospital bed after an SUV clipped him and kept going. He’s, thankfully, as back to ‘normal’ as he ever was.

But the fact remains that we are ever-fragile and delicate and exposed. Though we, some of us, look like Superheroes with our funny costumes when we ride, we are anything but. We have no Wonder Twin Powers or magic lassos or protective bubbles we can conjure up…in some cases don’t have any defense at all—not even a chance at an evasive maneuver.

Despite it all, I will not stop riding. I refuse to live a numb and muted life of fear. But I, however, want to do something about this shit.

I want to remind people that the comfort cocoon that is the modern American automobile is still a deadly if unintentional weapon that should be attentively and judiciously used. That the luxury which seems so alluring in cars equals insulation from reality and our fellow human beings. That we should not be using it as a phone booth, dining room, reading parlor or entertainment center. That we should consider what features might save somebody else’s life as well as their own like a smaller vehicle or anti-lock brakes or not putting shit on your car that eliminates its crumple zones—I truly believe that the crumple zone of the car that hit Josh is what saved his life and that the effective elimination of it on the police cruiser (it had a steel ‘grille guard’) added to the devastation in the bicycle collision.

I want to continue to work for more funding for bicycle and pedestrian safety; for bike lanes and trails; for driver awareness campaigns and rider education programs too. For us to stop pouring billions monthly into unjust wars and put it back into crumbling infrastructure and alternative intermodal transportation and under supported schools and law enforcement and services here at home.

I want riders to take off the fucking headphones—you need ALL of your senses ALL of the time. For them to ride safe bikes with real brakes and keep the fixed-gears on the track where they belong. And to follow traffic laws better and realize that riding is as much of a privilege as driving, even if it doesn’t require a license. Be predictable and visible and sensible. And wear a helmet—at work we get letters EVERY DAY from people who would otherwise be dead.

Yes, shit happens, as they say, and it always will. But some of it IS preventable. So please, let’s all slow down a bit. Let’s be more aware and less adversarial. I want it to stop. I don’t ever want to have to write a post like this about you. And I don’t want you to ever have to write a post like this about me.

Spring Training Baseball Results

3.15.08
White Sox 5, Cubs 3

Daily Distractions

Click on the pic.

Creature from the Desk #9

Okay, this one is more part of the cube than the desk, but you can see it from the desk, so fair play.

As space has inexplicably become less available here at work, I've seen my bicycle get moved, knocked over, run into and tripped on. Being that I neither want to see it nor anyone hurt, I improvised a storage syetem out of some old bike rack parts sitting around. Just put the wheels in the track and lean it against the wall..voila! I may need to add some restraint to make it earthquake-safe...and my mountain bike handlebars may be too wide, but, we'll see!

And, yes I am aware that my desk is a friggin' rat's nest mess!

Oh how I miss the Ish

Material Issue's "Diane" from the 1991 album International Pop Overthrow.

I had 120 Minutes on the tele while I was washing dishes last night and I heard this video playing—I'd never seen it before, but I'd seen the band frequently back in the day. The "Ish" was one of those bands in the Chicago scene that seemed so destine to break out, but never really did. They wrote amazing little pop songs mostly about girls and heartbreak, with hooks and style unapologetically borrowed from the play books of fellow midwest power popsters Cheap Trick and Shoes.

Jim Ellison, the band's frontman, was a whisp-skinny but charismatic fellow whose onstage persona belied his odd look. I must have seen Material Issue a dozen times and was always amazed by Ellison's magnetism and presence. He had the moves, chops and bravado to take down Mick Jagger in his prime...and it was just so unexpected.

Tragically, Ellison took his own life back in 1996 amidst rumors of a bad relationship and depression stemming from the band's dismissal from Mercury Records. It's both sad and ironic that this fun bright little band would end on such a dark note.

The first line from the title track of International Pop Overthrow—"I was ridin' around with the radio up and the windows down"—sums up the spirit of Material Issue and, along with a fine spring day, describes the best way experience their music. Roll down the windows and dial it up...you'll see what I mean .

An open letter to Barack Obama

Dear Senator Obama-

I would like to congratulate you on your strong showing in the Democratic primaries thus far. Your charismatic and positive campaign has energized the country, awakened an apathetic sleeping giant and elevated the democratic process within the national consciousness. It’s heartening to see interest in this country’s political future overshadowing our obsession with celebrity culture. Well, maybe the two are merging a bit, but motivations aside, I credit you—what with your obvious intelligence, amazing gift for communication and that winning smile—for creating a whole new generation of political activism. Bravo…and I mean that sincerely.


The use of this photo to discredit Obama is reprehensible. His response has been underwhelming.

I should tell you that I did vote for you and while you did not win my state (California), you did garner a sizeable share of the state’s delegates, and should you win the nomination, you can count on my vote—and hopefully a Democratic majority from California—in the general election.

Something, however, has been bothering me and I’m hoping you can do something about it. It has to do with all the BS and misinformation that’s been going around about you. I believe it was the great American fictional mob character Tony Soprano who uttered the phrase “fucking internet” upon learning that his children had found out he was not in “waste management” as they had come to believe, but a criminal.

I imagine that you had a “fucking internet” moment of your own—in a reverse way—when all this crap about you began to circulate on the net. Who could blame you—they’re all lies orchestrated to misrepresent you as something you’re not…and that sucks. What sucks even more is that some people really do believe it, which is why you—wisely—have systematically denied and corrected these rumors.

The one thing that has really bummed me out is that in your denial of being a Muslim, you have not taken the opportunity to point out that there is absolutely nothing wrong with being a Muslim. That, in fact, there are millions of Muslims around the world who themselves denounce the fundamentalist factions that give Islam a bad name. I mean, I was raised Catholic (though I’m out of practice, so-to-speak) and I have as much to do with Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh (also Catholic) as most Muslims have to do with Al-Qaeda.

The fact is that the Muslims are good people—at least as good as Jews and Catholics and Mormons and atheists and Protestants and Baptists and the good folks from your Church of Christ—who want nothing more than to live good lives and exercise the right to express their faith as they see fit.

I’ve noticed that you talk about change quite a bit. I agree that this country needs it badly. Here is an opportunity to walk the walk, sir. An opportunity to show that you are accepting and open minded and accommodating—unlike, say, the current administration. An opportunity to show that you are willing to do what’s right, despite political risk. An opportunity to defuse the prejudice and persecution Muslims have been increasingly subjected to since that fateful day in September 2001.

Please, Senator Obama, take this opportunity to lead by example and help start the healing.

Sincerely,

Don P
San Jose, CA

Inattention and the Adrenaline Save

Is it weird that some part of me was kinda stoked to get in a car accident last night?

I should say that it was a very, very minor accident with nobody hurt and no apparent damage. I rear-ended someone ever-so-slightly. I wouldn’t even call it a fender bender—it was a bumper flexer at most. Completely my fault…I let my attention wander from driving to looking at what appeared to be another accident only to have to stand on the brakes in a vain attempt to avoid the car in front of me who had stopped to make a left hand turn. Too late—the anti-lock brakes pulsed a few times and “bam” I was into the rear end. Not too hard, mind you, the jolt only a smidge more abrupt than the anti-lock pulses, but I definitely hit him.

We pulled over—I was apologetic and the guy was pretty cool about things. We exchanged information, but I really don’t expect to hear from him—it was that benign. And if my people instincts are correct, he neither seemed like the type to pull a Brady Bunch injury on me.

So other than the fact that everything is OK, why would I be happy about nearly wadding it all up? Well, there’s something kinda cool about how instinct takes over in that panic split-second—the instant when I went from spectator of one accident to participant in another. I did not think or process or deliberate, I just acted. Or reacted.

I guess it’s comforting to know I still have the ability to snap "make a save" in a fraction of a second. It was not unlike my stint as goalie for my high school water polo team. Through coaching, training and conditioning I learned how to tend goal based on positioning and cutting off angles and doing things that lessened the likelihood of the ball going into the net. This text book stuff was undoubtedly tried-and-true for a reason, but for me it was always the completely instinctual things that were most satisfying. That intangible something that made you shift your shoulder just left enough at the last second, or the implausible way you might have guessed wrong on a penalty shot, but blocked it because the reactionary self covered a shot going the other way. The incomprehensible things you couldn’t do again if you tried, but none-the-less kept a goal off the scoreboard.

My initial thought when I recognized the stopped car was something along the lines of “Holy shit I am totally gonna plow this guy,” but the combination of my reaction and good mechanics/physics was more like, “Whew, dodged a big one there…it shouldn’t be too bad.” And it wasn't.

I’m always a little upset with myself when things like this happen at all—as a cyclist I’m a particularly harsh critic of distracted drivers and that’s exactly what I let myself become. Not cool. But the fact that, despite a little contact, I still made the save—I’m pretty happy about that.

Bad MBV Cover Video of the Week

The My Bloody Valentine reunion appears to be for real. There's an album in the can and live dates on the calendar in Europe. I've taken up prayer just so I can pray for them to come here. And while I've pretty much seen every live band/musician I've ever loved--provided they weren't dead when I was born or something--My Bloody Valentine's narrow window of exposure has been exclusive. So, in honor of Valentine's Day and February...and in vigil to MBV I will post horrible YouTube covers of their songs until they come. Or February ends. Whichever comes first.

Addendum: I thought I'd add the link to my initial MBV blog gush from a couple years ago.

The Extra Ordinary Passing of Sheldon Brown

It is with a heavy heart that I post news of the passing of a US cycling luminary--bicycle mechanic Sheldon Brown has died of a heart attack at the age of 63. A longtime technical guru for the Harris Cyclery in Massachusetts, Brown was an early adopter of the internet who transferred his considerable body of accumulated knowledge to the web for the benefit of all. Need to know how to adjust a cone? Curious what Helicomatic hub looks like? Wondering if a Helicomatic hub has adjustable cones? Wondering what the hell a Helicomatic hub even is?! Brown’s site (http://www.sheldonbrown.com/) can tell you this and much more. From how to ride a bike to how to fix it. New, old. Arcane, mundane. It’s all there. Not too pretty, but it gets the job done...and well.

Though I only met Sheldon only once in person--and very briefly at that--I felt I knew him through his writings and photographs. He was one of those crazy-to-the-core bike nuts-- what with his Lincoln’s beard and plastic bird bedazzled helmet--that made you raise an eyebrow and chuckle only to be bowled over by his encyclopedic bike knowledge. Scholarly and academic but approachable and down-to-earth, I could easily see him as a college professor that even after a couple of decades in the classroom would return year after year with infectious optimism.

I can’t even count the number of times--mid-repair and up to my elbows in grease--that I checked my work against his site only to have Sheldon let me know that, no, I in fact installed everything 100% backwards and needed to start over. You’d think I would have learned to check with him first but I’m slow like that sometimes. I was actually just on his site last week researching my old bikes...and wouldn’t you know it, Sheldon had a link to the info on my old Raleigh Grand Prix that Google didn’t even pick up.

As an industry, a sport, and a culture we are drawn to the glitz and the glamor--for bicycling it’s more-often-than-not the races and the racers. But Sheldon is a reminder of what the bicycle truly is--a simple pleasure with amazing versatility and a bottomless soul. It is truly extra-ordinary. Just. Like. Him.

Coming up for air

It’s been a while since I’ve made the time to post words or pictures here, but that’s life. Lots of long work days lately what with a major product dog and pony show here at the office and then a trade show coming in mid-February. It got so hectic for a while there that I opted out of a European work trip…to do more other work. I ain’t complaining…it beats the alternative...and life is good.

Anyway, here are some Cliffs Notes of varying length of things I may or may not post more about:

Bikes! Fast ones! Coming to a town near me!
-Tour of California, Stage 3 – Modesto to San Jose - Feb. 20, 2008 - While San Jose’s own Sierra Road was a painfully sharp stick in the eye at the end of a long day during the ’06 and ’07 Tours of California, the 2008 edition will undoubtedly be the most painful ascent of the slab yet. That’s because before they even get to Sierra, the riders will alreday have 80 miles and some 6,000 feet of climbing in their legs—including the gnarly steeps of Mount Hamilton’s back side. This hors categorie (so hard it’s not classified) grunt comes after a steady diet of uphill rollers that begins in the town of Patterson and does not relent. The descent should see some interesting tactics too, as the front side of Hamilton is 22 miles long and much more gradual than the back. It should lend itself to some powerful (and exhausting) chases, not to mention sketchy cornering.

The profile of Stage 3 looks painful with 7000 feet of climbing over 103 miles.

From the bottom of Hammy, it’s out to the Category 1 ascent of Sierra—3.5 miles of 10 plus percent grade fun. Having ridden Sierra a couple weeks ago, I can attest that it is still one tough bitch that feels even worse early in the season. I’m not anywhere vaguely near pro caliber, but this climb even made last year’s stage winner Jens Voigt hurt, and there’s not a harder man in the pro peloton.

Stage winner Jens Voigt launches the key attack up Sierra Road at the '07 TOC.

After cresting and covering a couple rollers over the top, it’s a breakneck charge to downtown San Jose and the finish line at eMocha/Broken Door Coffee, which serves the best coffee in the world and is across from some building...oh yeah, City Hall. I expect it will take the shattered field some time to all finish and that the pool of overall contenders will be quite select at this point.

One other factor that could add to the drama is weather. Aside from a little light rain on a stage or two of the first two editions, this has been an unseasonably balmy race, even by California standards. Should our current soggy weather patterns extend to race week, this could be an epic, epic stage.

Shoot me an email or call me if you’re gonna be in town or wanna come watch. If it’s nice, we’ll do a ride from Casa Palermini to somewhere on the route. If it’s crappy out, we’ll just go to Broken Door and pretend to be European. If I were a betting man, I’d tell you to brush up on an accent.

OFFICIAL STAGE DETAILS

…Speaking of Downtown San Jose and City Hall
- Parking Tickets – I actually usually walk or ride my bike to downtown San Jose, but when I drive, it seems like I get a ticket about 40% of the time, usually due to nebulous and unclear makings and signage...even though I check two or three times. And really, I'm not that dumb. Using the Freedom of Information Act I'd like to get the spot-by-spot statistics on which spots garner the most violations. I'm confident the highest earners (for the city) are these cloudy ones...I'd bet the city knows it too. Believe me, I'm willing to admit when I'm wrong, but this is BS and the last thing the struggling downtown business core needs is to chase people away and leave a bad taste in their mouth. But alas, it's like talking to the taxman about poetry...and I'll probably just pay the $35 and be done with it. Apathetically pathetic, I know.

…and speaking of bikes (again)
- History of My Bikes – This one I will get done. I’m going to put together a personal, online, bike-by-bike history, starting with my current bikes and going back as far as I can remember. I also hope to jog free some of the notable associated stories as well as find some classic photos. A nostalgic indulgence perhaps, but it'll be fun.

…and speaking of water falling from the sky
- Showering – I really am trying to be less resource intensive in general, but one area I fail miserably in is both lessening the length and frequency of my showers. Maybe it's not as good a topic as I thought.

…and speaking of falling…well crashing, actually
- Shannan’s Skiing Accident – Thankfully, my dear and schralptastic friend is expected to make a full recovery from the facial fracture that pushed her eye out of place and generally messed her up a bit. Typically, she downplayed her time in the ER saying, “There were guys with full on broken femurs and spinal injuries coming in left and right. All I had was a skull fracture.”

..and speaking of bikes (and again)
- Hmmm...

…oh and music
-Naked Raygun – So the NR show in San Jose was great and all, but it left me feeling sorta sad. There’s something wrong with frontman Jeff Pezzati…an affliction of some sort, I gather. And while he’s still the consummate showman, in that non-flashy, confident, Chicago kind of way...and the voice is still strong and good, you can sense the sadness in him. I'm sure part of it is whatever's wrong but maybe more. Poo.

…and what I’m not doing when I’m not doing work and should be reading something
- Tomb Raider: Anniversary – I’ve returned to great adventure with my friend Lara Croft and am probably two-thirds of the way through the latest installment of the storied Tomb Raider series. I got stuck a couple days ago and had to look up a cheat and still had trouble. Stupid Centaur. Took me forever to get its shield.

…oh and music (again)
- CD – I’ve been working on my annual CD from 2007. I haven’t gotten far. But I’ll send you it sometime. Promise.

That’s it for now. I’ll try to be more Metamusil in the future.

PS - Oh yes! I changed the name of the blog...recognize the reference?

The Burrito That Saved My Life!

Okay the burrito didn't really save my life, but after a nice, brisk bike ride up Empire Grade to Smith Grade to Bonny Doon Road, down the big hill and back on Highway 1, I was ravenously famished. The two salty urine-flavored Cliff Blocks—officially, margarita flavor—did nothing to curb my cravings. I needed food—real food—with gusto dammit!

La Cabaña is in a strip mall that looks nothing like this.

On the far west end of town is La Cabaña, pretty much the only taqueria in Santa Cruz I truly like. Convincing Sean to join me took exactly zero words, just a raised eyebrow in the right direction. The fact that he offered to buy me a birthday burrito made the sustenance thing even sweeter. Not just real food, but free real food!

I'd expected to order my old standby, the carne asada super burrito, when I saw the "California Burrito" sign I had noticed about a month ago. It's hand written and taped nonchalantly and near randomly under the more formal vinyl die-cut menu board. It seems like a more apt place for a lost dog or need a roommate flyer than an addition to the menu. And while I'm generally skeptical of culinary Californication (i.e., California Pizza Kitchen and the like), I literally started drooling as I re-read the flyer:

"New. California Burrito - guacamole, salsa, French fries and meat."

There is no punctuation, I added that part...but French fucking fries?! In a burrito?!! With Guac?!?!?!! Holy shit that's brilliant. Not traditional...and certainly not Mexican, but Mother-of-God that's genius!

I ordered one with carne asada (did I mention Sean paid) and was soon wolfing the thing down with a veracity that threatened my fingers. The fries, Dios mio, the fries! Perfection! Not too many, not too few, but just the right ratio in tantalizing counterpart to the carne asada.

So it’s like six hours later now and I haven’t eaten supper yet…actually still kinda full from lunch. And if I make myself burp, I can even taste it a little.

Mmmmmmm….California Burrito…..

Too busy to write...

...but you're all invited to Pete-N'-Don's 1993 Halloween party. No slamming the stained glass window this time bitches.

1989 called...

...they want their long lost junior college ID back.