Van the Man

WFMU has posted a bunch of tracks from Van Morrison's legendary Bang Sessions, in which he turned over a bunch of crap in order to get out of a contract. (Yay stereogum for pointing everyone there.

Now, some of you may think this is all chuff and chattel. Nothing worth listening to. You would be wrong.

For my money, The Big Royalty Check is better than "Brown Eyed Girl."

The Cuteness

It's all about the cuteness. You can't deny it, nor can you put your finger on it. There's no one thing that defines it, yet there's no predicting it. It's like a mist that surrounds you, envelopes you, overtakes you.

Just don't touch it.

You see, Gertrude, since starting preschool, has discovered her cuteness. And she often talks about her cuteness, though she is careful not to describe it or make it too real, lest we be able to normalize her, make her less of the toddler goddess that she is.

These days it looks like her cuteness is displayed via overall shorts with a bandana or headband. This is her favorite outfit to wear to school and, because she only has two sets, the teachers now think we dress her in the same clothes every day.

But, each morning, we'll be sitting at breakfast and Gert will ask through a dribbling mouthful of cereal, will ask, "Do you like my cuteness today?" Since I never know what is making the cuteness, I always answer, "Yes" and wait for her to point me in the direction of what pleases her.

Sometimes her cuteness takes assembly, like the time she brushed her hair for an hour with a doll brush. If you touched her hair, she would scream that she would have to start over and you'd be banished from the room. Cuteness takes time. And effort. And you're just messing it up.

Like yesterday. We were quietly eating our breakfasts and there was a hair clip on the table. So, me being the jovial guy I am, I placed it in Gert's hair, just to the side of her the bandana that was holding it behind her ears.

A darkness came across her eyes as she looked at me. "YOU ARE RUINING MY CUTENESS." She stepped off her chair, pointedly removed the clip and stomped off to her room to undo the damage I had done.

I now live in fear of her cuteness. It may be lurking around any corner. It could be the muddy shoes, or the stray hair stuck to her cheek. Or maybe the Oreo glaze around her mouth after she finishes her desert.

Whatever it is, if I touch it with my big, dumb hands, I will be killed. And probably deserve it.

A Mostly True Conversation in which Daddy Learns a Lesson

Gert: And I want the baby that cries. Real tears! That's what I want for my birthday.

Me: Good choices sweetie.

Gert: What do you want Daddy?

Me: It's your birthday coming up, not mine. But I want a new bike.

Gert: Did you ask Mommy? Maybe she will get you a new bike.

Me: No, Mommy said I haven't been a good boy this year, so she won't get me one.

Gert: Aaaaah. It's probably because of that potty mouth you keep using.

Me: Fuckin' A, Bubba.

Cycling: Week Three Report

I’ve been riding hard four to five times a week (and on a bike doing something the other days) for three weeks now so I thought I’d bore you with some observations. Anyone who has ridden a bike will probably laugh at me and say, “Oh how naïve”. But, keep in mind, this is the only exercise I’ve ever enjoyed and stuck with.

1. I’m a bigger guy. Not a competition size, and I never would be. Too tall, too broad. But I could stand to lose a few pounds. You’d think after three weeks of such hard exercise, I would have lost weight. But, no. I’ve gained weight. Three pounds.

2. To be fair, all three pounds are probably muscle on my thighs. I’ve always had large thighs, but riding at a constant cadence for the purpose of endurance have change them. I’d say they are about a third larger than they were and I’m starting to see definition.

3. And with that increase in size has come soreness. As my wife likes to say, building muscle is breaking down and rebuilding. Well, last night she massaged the muscles in my legs, specifically muscles along the sides that I can’t seem to figure out how to stretch before and after I ride. Holy crap. Talk about agony and ecstasy. We had just watched a documentary on Cycling.tv about a team’s quest for greatness and the opening shot was of a rider getting a massage. He was screaming and tears were welling in his eyes. To a much, much, much lesser extent, I understand why he was doing that.

4. The muscles feel good now though. I took a short ride this morning to blow off some steam and shot right up a mile-long hill. Well, maybe not shot up, but I didn’t tire out like I did when I first started that hill.

5. I now understand what it means to “crack” on a ride. I was a little more than halfway through my ride on Saturday (far from my car, across a river and in a different county). On my return trip, I cracked. My legs just didn’t have it in them anymore. Luckily, there’s a good downhill section and that part of the ride, so I was able to complete my ride and not die. But, man, going over that looooooong flat road was hell. I never thought I’d pray for a hill, but I knew that if I had an uphill section I’d have something to push against, if that makes sense. But the flat plain was just killing me that day.

It’s not the same as running out of energy, because I wasn’t exhausted. My legs were fatigued.

Good news is that I recovered and was able to take my leisurely cool down around the lake. But I will never forget that stretch of road. It looked really long.

6. Cold weather is coming and I have some decisions to make. Years ago I rode in cold weather a lot. There’s nothing like the feeling of cold, dry air slicing through lungs desperate for oxygen. It sucks. So does that feeling of needing to rebend your fingers that are so cold they feel like they’ve molded into the shape of your handle bars.

I think I set a temp limit this time and then pick up a trainer to keep in shape. I’ll ride outdoors in good weather and on the trainer in bad. St. Louis is unpredictable, so it could be in the 70s in December. Plus, the trainer will be a good opportunity to get used to the SPD bindings. I’ve had other cyclists explain, “Yeah, in the first week or so you’ll fall over a lot trying to get your feet out, but you’ll get used to it.” I’m getting multi-use pedals so I can ride with Gert on a whim. Plus, there’s something about being able to have one foot free for a few strokes while going through an intersection that appeals to me.

7. The Physicist has pointed me in the direction of the bike, or at least the style of bike, I want for the riding I want to do. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mountain bike. But it’s too heavy and bulky for what I want to do. That being said, it’s probably a good training tool. Like, my wife says, it’s like putting weights at the end of a baseball bat. So I have a goal of a bike that will probably cost me a minimum of $1200, if I bring my own pedals. I’m looking at a few other brands too, but this one comes highly recommended by a few people whose opinions I respect. Besides, with that bike I’ll be able to go farther, harder and faster. Plus, it’s closer to what the cyclists I admire ride. Not that there’s anything wrong with MTB. And I could at least have a chance to catch those Cannondale guys from last week.

Okay, sorry to bore you. Back to your regular lives . . .

And, yes . . . I'm becoming one of those people. And I like it.

It's a Record!

I've written nothing interesting on this blog all summer. In fact, the time I've spent putting together what I've posted should be considered a giant waste of time.

Ah, remember the days when I would tell stories and make funny comments? Apparently those days are gone. It appears that I'm no longer either interesting nor am I funny.

I mean, outside of my family I'm pretty much irritable and miserable all the time. You'd think I could turn that into comedic gold. Instead I turn it into desire for sleep and revenge (not in that order).

Feh. Chalk up another useless ten minutes. Of course, you read it. What's wrong with you? Go listen to the grass grow or something.

Side note: Is it odd that blogger's spell check doesn't contain the word "blog"?

Perdition's Flames

Ow. My stomach is on fire today. I mean on fire. So bad that the mere thought of ingesting anything violates an article of the Geneva Convention. Sigh. Even coffee.

Damned GERD. Damned GERD medication not working.

Ow. Pity me.

Or suffer my acid spouting wrath.

Whimper.

Sorry. That was all very gross. So, here, this is to cleanse your mental palate:

Sleepy . . .

Man, I'm tired. First full week of hard bike riding and there are a few things I've noticed.

1. My ability is increasing. My planned ride on Friday and Saturday were both about 30% longer than I had planned because I felt really good.

2. Time didn't allow much riding yesterday. (Hey man, it was my six year anniversary with my lovely wife. We had to stare longingly into each others eyes.) So, after dinner, Gert, Mom and I all hopped on our bikes and rode around. I spent most of the time riding up and down a hill as fast as I could. Mom joined in as well. When I started back on the bike, that hill killed me one time up. Yesterday I was able to do it six or seven times at full speed. My legs didn't hurt. In fact, they felt good. Really good.

3. Speaking of full speed . . . Saturday I was riding around the lake. It was a foggy morning, so the trails were covered in a fine mist. It was really nice. I had just started my ride and was moving at a pretty good clip on a nice flat, long, straight section. When I had hopped on the trail, there were no other bikers to be seen and I could see at least half a mile in each direction. As I'm riding, just getting into my rhythm, I hear this sound. It's kind of a whirring or a hum. Nothing ahead of me, nothing behind me that I can see.

Then, all of a sudden, two riders on Cannondales come whizzing past me like TIE Fighters in Star Wars. Now, I was going pretty fast, but these guys . . . wow. Granted their bikes weigh as much as my pedals and they were obviously training for something serious.

Then, one of them leaves the trail and rides down to the road that runs parallel to the trail. This gave me time to catch up to him as he headed perpendicular to me. Then, there was a small downhill section as I started heading under a bridge and he remained flat.

Bastard passed me while I was going down hill and he was moving across a flat plain.

Now I'm jealous. My stupid bike is heavy and cumbersome. His is light and fast. Of course, I can ride on the gravel paths and off trail (where I bent one of my wheels a few years ago, so . . . you know . . . it balances out).

I did get my revenge later in my last mile. There were four bikers on really expensive bikes and I was trailing behind them for a mile or so. I decided to pass them, so I powered past them in my lowest gear and just pushed as hard as I could back to the end of my ride.

Of course, they were on tandems, but I still blew past them.

Ride

Started my intensive riding this weekend. Did a really nice sixteen mile ride on Saturday that took me across the Missouri river. It was fantastic. I'm planning on doing varied distances and courses to help me get in better shape. Today will be about 12 miles, mostly flat.

The best part about Saturday, I have to admit, is a particularly cruel climb to get to the first bridge that will take you over the river. It's a trail that's pretty flat, but then you hit this thing that is like suddenly going up two painful stair cases. I felt good because I just leaned into it and kept a steady pace and made it up without too much pain. Plus I passed a bunch of people.

Overall it was a good ride.

The only bad thing, and this was more apparent on Sunday (shorter but harder ride) is that I seem to be getting exercise induced headaches. I'll talk to my doc about them on Friday, but it's seriously pissing me off.

Anyway . . . Here's a song to fit the theme.

Me and My Shadow

Last night after dinner, and prior to Gert’s Princess Party, I felt the need to have something sweet. So, looking over our various choices of gourmet snacks and desserts, I chose a nice Lucky Charms, special chocolate edition. Gertrude chose to partake in the sweet yumminess as well.

I sat eating my cereal and reading the business section of the newspaper. A minute later, Gertrude hops off her chair, walks behind me and returns with a section of the paper. She opens it and props it up against the napkin holder, just like my section. She eats as I eat. She turns the page when I turn the page.

“Dad,” she says, “I’m just like you. I want to be like you. You are my buddy.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” I said, “we have to make some changes. First, you have to develop serious stomach acid issues. Then, you must become passionate about something and then devour it. That something can be music, songwriters, authors, or even particular subjects like physics. Once you have devoured one subject, you must then enter a deep depression because you’ve run out of things to be obsessed about. It’s a vicious cycle.”

“I think I’ll also handle stress very poorly,” she said.

“Excellent idea. Make sure you come up with conspiracy theories and run your close friends out of town, preferably to separate coasts.”

“How come we never watch bike races anymore,” she wanted to know.

“Well, because no one covers any of the races. But, on the 18th, there will be a one-hour highlight show on the Vuelta. Which should be interesting, considering it’s a three week race.”

So, we decided to cut out some pictures out of some cycling magazines. Though I steered her away from a photo of a derailleur and some brakes, she chose some good photos. She went off to take a bath and I told her I’d hang them up next to her other cycling photo.

After bath, she came into her room and saw her new shrine.

“Cool,” she exclaimed, jumping onto the bed to investigate closer.

“Hey,” she said pointing toward Lance’s leg “where’s the . . .”

(Crap, I thought, she’s going to ask for a printout of Roberto Heras’ leg, isn’t she? I knew I shouldn't have shown her that photo . . . )

“. . . Screw thing that holds the other pictures up?”

“You mean the tacks, like in Matida’s room? I just used tape.”

“Oh,” she giggled, “I thought you used your Daddy magic.”

Damn. She’s good. So I bought her a pony.

Forgive Me

But I like this song. I can't help it.

If that freaks you out a little, try this song. It's very good.

The Suitcase of Courage

Really just pulling from the Paul Sherwin quotebook here.

Don't click this link.

You clicked it. Why did you click it? I told you not to.

Still, I imagine Roberto Heras dreaming about dancing around the prostrate body of Alessandro Petacchi. But it would all be a dream, of course.

Ooooh Fuuuuuudddddggggggeeee

Ever make a mistake, notice it too late and then have everything go into slow motion because no matter how many times you say you're sorry it's not going to fix the issue and you know there's someone off in another state who's really pissed off at you now?

I'm so screwed.

Sigh.

What exactly do you do in that situation? I don't think everyone is going to be super mad at me. But I'm super mad at me. And now I feel like I should quit what I'm doing, become a hermit and never talk to another human being again.

Besides, I always felt work was overrated. What does it get you?

Money.

But what does money get you?

Taxes.

What do taxes get you?

Reflux.

What does an ulcer get you?

Medication.

Nowhere in there do I see super powers. Just once, instead of getting my thumb sliced on a mandolin slicer, can't I get bitten by a radioactive spider? Or blasted by gamma rays? Or at least have a swollen middle finger so I could be "Super Flick Off Man".

No. All I get is a headache and more work. It's like black mold. You can never get rid of it. And if you can get rid of it, you lose your insurance.

Tired

I punctured my back tire this weekend. Go figure. On my bike, by the way. I think it knew I was talking about replacing it with something newer and faster. So it cut itself. My bike is a cutter.

Anyway, I like this song (the one linked in the title).

That's all.

Dig Deep into the Bucket of Pain

I have to thank Paul Sherwin for that title. He and Phil Ligget should put out a book of the strange metaphors they use to describe cycling races. "He's screaming up the side of the mountain like a frog in fire!" They never used that one, but I swear sometimes you never know what they'll say.

Anyway, that's beside the point. Posted a new Radio SFT playlist. This time it's to reflect the fact that I've been riding my bike a lot more and am planning on doing much more. There's a lot of references to the sun and heat. And pain.

Had a nice long talk with a guy at the local bike shop (not my favorite bike shop that is sadly now closed) about what my intentions are and if I need to buy a new bike or not. Looks like we're going to make a few changes to what I have and maybe upgrade down the road. Given the fact that my main intention is to ride on a gravel trail, ultimately on a multi-day trip, I'm afraid a cool road bike is out of the question. Sigh. Which is fine. I think I knew I'd never race. I'm too damn big, anyway. My family is built as linebackers, not sprinters.

But, I need to buy some pedals, shoes, swap out my tires for some slicks, etc. I think this is my best choice because if I get the hankering to go off the trail again and nearly kill myself trying to avoid rocks larger than one of my brothers, then I just need to put some new tires on. Looks like I'm going to get some Shimano multi-use pedals, given that I will sometimes just need to hop on a bike and ride with my daughter. She won't wait for me to change my shoes.

I also want a new helmet. And gloves. And some cold weather gear. And a trainer so I can keep working in the really cold months and continue getting into shape. And . . . I need more money.