The Ballad of the Guinea Pig

Once upon a time there were two girls. The older girl, Matilda, wanted a guinea pig for Christmas. That was all she desired. Just a small rodent that could be held, loved and stroked. The younger girl, Gert, also wanted a guinea pig. One would assume it was merely because her sister wanted one. That was partly true. But Gert also desperately wanted something to love. Not just a furry pet, but something she could love with all her heart.

Christmas came and Santa complied. He brought everything a girl could ever need for a rodent. A home, food, vitamins, toys and more. He did not, however, provide the livestock. Instead, he provided the means by which to get the livestock.

We followed all the rules. We picked animals from the same litter. Both boys, of course. Matilda picked out Frito, a brownish, small pig with a sweet disposition. Gert selected Max, a largish pig who was hiding.

From the back seat Gert’s voice was a feeble wail, “I love him so much I can’t breathe,” she said. Those words would haunt us.

We brought them home. Frito and Matilda immediately bonded, cuddling and playing Gameboy. Gert and Max, however, had a few problems.

Max didn’t wan to be held. Max didn’t want to play. Max didn’t want to be looked at, touched or even thought about. Max didn’t want to live with Frito. Max didn’t want to share food with Frito. Or water. Or space. Max, in fact, hated everyone and everything.

Max was also a bully. He pushed Frito around, causing Frito to cower in the corner quivering in fear.

But Gert loved him. She tried to bond with him; she made excuses for his behavior. She did all she could. But Max wanted nothing to do with anyone. Gert cried, “I’m a bad guinea pig owner.” But she never gave up.

But the household was on edge. No one, including Frito, seemed happy with the situation. In only three or four days, these pigs had caused so much stress and unhappiness.

Finally, early Sunday morning, we heard a clatter and a chirping. I found Frito cowering in the corner while Max sat on top of the food dish angry. There was a hunk of Frito’s fur embedded in the wall and bedding was scattered across the room. Literally, ten feet from the cage.

Mom and I started discussing that maybe Max was not a social animal and, maybe, it would be best for both of the animals if we took Frito back to his brothers and we selected another.

But there was Gert. How to explain this idea to emotional Gert. Turns out, she was completely open to the idea. But, not without emotion. She held Max and cried for an hour. She asked to be left alone with him and wondered if, maybe, he were just like her. Maybe he needed time to adjust. Maybe he was just nervous and needed love. Maybe he was just a furry version of Gert. Maybe …

In the end she decided that maybe Max had been separated from him family and his best friend was still back at the hutch. So she steeled herself and went back with mom and Max to reunite him with his family.

She returned an hour later with Max II. He was the same size as Frito. He was brown and white and very, very sweet. The original Max was at home again, with his family and seemingly happy.

Gert put Max II in his new home and filled the food bowl. Frito wolfed down food as if he hadn’t eaten in days. And, perhaps he hadn’t because Max I had frightened Frito away from the food dish.

Gert and Max II spent the day together, watching TV, playing on the floor and getting to know Frito. They were happy together. Very happy together.

When I last saw Gert this morning, she was laying on the couch with Max II on her chest. They both seemed content and relaxed.

And Gert was happy. I don’t know if it’s causing breathing problems, but I can tell that she loves Max II so much.

Radio Ga Ga

Ever wanted to listen to a radio station programed by me? Yeah, I didn't think so. But, technically, you can thanks to the beauty of Last.FM. You see, I log all the crap I listen to on a daily basis and Last.FM remembers. Then, thanks to a million monkeys sitting in a room hammering on marshmallows with spiked heels, they can spit out streaming audio that is exactly like something I would listen to. It's fun.

There are two ways, click on the little widget on the right to listen to it on this page or, click the little square with the arrow in it and you can listen to it in a popup.

But hey, I understand if that's just too damn difficult. Life is hard an your feet hurt. Your husband is an ass and your kids are screaming at you because you forgot to feed them again because you're too busy gambling online. It happens to all of us. So, if that's the case or you're just lazy, click on RadioSFT to your left and you'll get the popup too. That is, if it worked . . .

Skateaway

To the day off that started with me working at 6:30 this morning.

Merry Message Redacted

My Christmas wish for you before I take some time off.



I meant protectors!

Tom Waits Shocks the Hell of of the Letterman Audience

I would have loved to have been in the audience for this one. I'm sure that at least 60% of the audience sat there bewildered and confused.



John Candy Approved!



And one that won't scare you, if you're uninitiated:

Rosie Thomas Is A Better Singer Than You

Never has a speaking voice and a singing voice diverged so much. The video quality is shit, the audio is questionable ... However, when Rosie sings her voice is clear and just rings.

Honestly? She amazes me. I'm not sure I've ever heard a voice as purely beautiful as hers. She talks like a children's television host, but she sings like a rainbow breaking through the clouds.



You can listen to this too, from her website.

Battlefield Earth

Life? Love?





I think I need a jumper. Jack looks so . . . um . . . interesting in his. They are so high waisted. You know who else wore high waisted clothes? Oddly, I think I'd prefer this workout to Jack's. My favorite move has always been the chicken walk at 5:40ish. It really works the upper body. Plus, that knee slide at 7:40? So damn rock and roll it's sick.

Not So Silent Night

I wish there was a live copy of Neko Case's version. Holy moly, that girl belts it out.

"And I still have that record
Of Little Anthony & the Imperials
But someone stole my record player
How do you like that?"

Today's Bike Pr0n

So, my original bike lust for my hopeful spring purchase was this one:


I'm contemplating these from Orbea.

One with Campy:


And one with Shimano:


If it ever stops being ass cold, I'll go ride them. Then I'll decide. A bunch of people have been pushing Cannondale to me, but I just don't like the Cannondale. There's nothing inherently wrong with them, they just don't do it for me. I've been looking at this year's Specialized too, but the Scott and Orbea seem to fit right now.

Scott is American, and Orbea is Spanish. I kind of want to support the US bike industry. But, ultimately, I guess I'll go with feel.

Then I need to choose new shoes and pedals . . . What do I want to do? SPD? Look? Barefoot? It's a slippery slope . . .

Pleasure Me Elmo?

Does anyone else find this commercial disturbing?



It's like Elmo Gone Wild.

You know, someone at Fischer Price approved this commercial. And that person is an idiot.

Don't Go Breaking My Heart

We had a slight snow/ice/something storm yesterday. When she went to bed, Gert saw a nice crystalline world glistening and, somewhere deep in her heart, she wished for a snow day.

When she woke up this morning the world was no more frozen than when she went to bed. School was not canceled. And, as the morning wore on it was revealed that Gert was secretly crushed.

I came up out of my office and saw her crying in the hall. "I don't want to go to school today," she said, "I wanted to stay home and play in the snow." I pointed out that the snow, or the crusty, injury-causing ice, would still be there when she got home. But that wasn't all.

"I don't want to have indoor recess," she said. She's afraid that, because of the set up of indoor recess, her teachers will just go off somewhere and forget the kids and she'll be alone. She has a deep fear of being alone (she gets that from me).

I assured her and told her to go get some socks on. But, even this was a bust. All she had left were itchy socks. She hates itchy socks. "Three pairs of socks, all itchy," she lamented.

Then Mommy was going through her bag and noticed a note from the teacher. "Don't forget pretzels and M&Ms!" Holy hell, what is she talking about? Whatever it was, we forgot. We had no idea. Gert, who is obsessed with Hanukkah (thankfully Mike is out of town or he'd be getting daily calls to explain the Jewish faith to Gert), thinks it has something to do with latkes. Only pretzels and chocolate have nothing to do with latkes.

Gert started to sob. "This is the worst day ever," she said.

But do not worry, we said. Mommy will take you to the store and we'll get a bag of pretzels and M&Ms and she'll drive you to school. No big deal!

It was too late. The die was cast and Gert forlornly put on her coat, hugged me and went to the car with mom. She waved to me as they pulled away, one tear streaming down her cheek.

The hard thing about parenting is when you can't fix it for the kids. When you can't find the right thing to say to put their fears to rest, or help guide them through their trouble. Sometimes it's just impossible. And in Gert's case, it was impossible today. No snow day, itchy socks, indoor recess and forgetting our contribution to a school project all combined to ruin her day before it started. We tried, Mommy and I, but we couldn't convince her that it would get better. Now I begin the long march of the day, waiting for the time to pick her up at the bus to see how it went. To see if, perhaps, she was able to pull her mood out of the fire.

She's right. Today is the worst day ever.

My Childhood Ruined

See the gallery at the top. It's . . . it's . . .

Sob.

I'm going to personally kick Joel Silver's ass if I ever see him. He ruined Racer X. That dirty son of a bitch.

A Very Yaglenski Christmas

Check out my buddy John's grid-busting light show:



He's been cultivating this for years and has become a grand master of Christmas lights. It's fantastic. You can see his gear and see how he does it on the light show's website.

I'm As Free As A Bird Now

I just beat Guitar Hero II (yes, I'm late to the party). I kicked Freebird's ass on the first time through. Yeah.

Now I have to try to be Expert. My hands hurt.

You know what my worst handicap is? Knowing the songs. I try to play what I hear rather than what I see. It's hard.

Right now Gert is playing Cheap Trick's "Surrender." I really hope she never figures out the lyrics, otherwise her teachers will wonder what soldier we know is falling off some Indonesian junk.

That Time of Year Again

This time of year the whole Christmas cheer thing is hard for me.

Amazon Users Review Uranium Ore

Amazon, amazingly, sold uranium ore for a while. Currently unavailable. When smart people are unleashed, these are the reviews you get.

Half life jokes. Nothing better.

A Little Too Meta?

This is odd. My six-year-old daughter is rocking out to Black Sabbath's "War Pigs" on Guitar Hero. Um. Wow. Weird.

And awesome!

It Wasn't The Dog

Last night Gert's homework was to make a pattern necklace out of food. You know, pasta, Cheerios, Froot Loops, etc. She made a nice little piece of jewelry.

This morning she was wearing her necklace while getting ready for the bus. I looked over had her and she was chewing off a Froot Loop.

"What are you doing?"

"I didn't like how the pattern worked, so I took one Froot Loop off. Then it wasn't a pattern! I had to eat it!"

"You're eating your homework!"

Explain that to your teacher. But, really, it's her fault. You cannot put a sugary food in front of my daughter and expect it to survive. She's like a sugar consumption machine.

Andy's Last Day

Sometimes enough is enough. Even if it hits you right in the middle of the song.

How Did I Not Know?

For my wife's birthday I finally discovered Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings. How have I never heard them before? Holy crap this makes me want to grab a beer and sit at a table and watch them play all damn night long.



Live, 2005


Rehearsing a James Brown Medley for the Apollo:


Damn.

You Can't Unring a Bell

Can't Talk Now

Playing Floyd Landis: The Home Edition.

No, it's not what you think.

Dreamer in my Dreams

Hard to believe, but six years ago today this happened. In fact, right about now I was eating a World War II surplus bagel and watching my wife's contractions on a monitor. Leave it to us to actually enjoy the entire labor process. We stayed up all night talking and then, without the help of a single chemical, Gert was born.

And now she's six. She woke up today in a ball of excitment, excited about her birthday and her bowling party on Saturday. I gave her a little bag of plastic princess jewels to hold her present lust for the day. She was thrilled with it, the little goober.

It's just amazing that just yesterday (or so it seems) she was this little lump and now she's this goofball.

Edited to add: I noticed this in the birth story and I am simply amazed at how much she's knocked off this list in her first six years.

She has yet to walk or talk or discover the beauty of music, she has never seen snow or felt rain fall on her, she doesn’t know what it is to run barefoot across hot pavement to the swimming pool on a hot summer day. She has never tasted pizza or listened to Dr. Seuss. Nor has she ever seen a Picasso, Van Gough or Rodin. She doesn't know the Beatles, Beach Boys, Pink Floyd, Randy Newman, Elvis Costello, Beethoven, Bach. She has no concept of yellow, blue. She doesn’t understand the sweetness of a new love or the pain of a lost love. She’s never cut herself and seen her own blood, the fluid that supports her life. She has yet to see a movie or read a book. She's never been to Disney World. There is so much that she doesn’t know, that I can’t wait for her to experience.

Anyway, happy sixth birthday to my baby girl. I can't put into words the joy and pride I feel.

And now I have six more months to prepare for her sister turning 13. My stomach hurts . . .

The World According to Gert, Pt. II

While playing with her electronic barking puppy her grandma bought her for her birthday, and asked to stop blocking the fridge in the process:

"Hang on, I'm calibrating him."

The World According to Gert

Wisdom from an almost six-year-old.

On Matilda's belief that she has some sort of freedom at the age of twelve:

"Sorry, you're too young to be let off the leash."

Being a Kid

It was so much better in 1980. However, the good part ended at 5 p.m. Man I hated Jim McNeil. Pasty bastard.

It's All Progress To Me

Remember this?



Well, I thought a gorilla playing drums was the epitome of awesomeness. I was wrong. Check this out.

Warning: Do not click on that link if you don't like to see bouncing. Lots of feminine bouncing. Glorious feminine bouncing. I also think there's music in it. I'm not sure because there was bouncing. And jiggling. Not much talent, really, just bouncy fun.

This One's for Finnegan

Who helped me dismantle a tree this weekend. Once I had to get out the saw and hatchet, Finn was out there attacking and dragging the larger branches around, trying to help me subdue them. He kept one as a trophy.

I know that, without him herding he branches for me, I wouldn't have been able to get them chopped up and into a yard waste container.

Adult Language

Sometimes when you have kids, you have to suppress laughter. Because, sometimes, they say something that, out of context, is wildly inappropriate and wrong. Gert did that yesterday morning and Mom and I didn't handle it well.

She was sitting on the couch with Mom reading a library book. "Dad, come here! Gert wants to show you how she can read this."

So Gert starts with the cover, pointing to each word with the stick end of a plastic sucker that's part of a set of hair sticks used for buns. I have no idea what they are called.

"What the No-good Baby is Good For, by Elise Broach and illustrated by Abby Carter."

She turns to me with a big smile, shoves the fake sucker in my face and proclaims, "Suck on it!"

Let me now describe to you how much hot coffee hurts as it comes spurting out your nose as you try not to laugh out loud.

We tried to stifle the laughter. We tried. We really, really did.

Hopefully Gert doesn't know what was so funny. However, we handled the issue with the inappropriate language very poorly, because we were laughing so hard that it's possible Gert may never read again.

But I defy you not to laugh when your five year old insults you like she's Easy E.

Ninja Parade

Damn it. I missed it again!


Ninja Parade Slips Through Town Unnoticed Once Again

There's a Light? What Light?

I have so much work to do it's disgusting. I've been in my office since around 7 a.m. and, unless I go for a ride today, I'll be here until dinner time. Roughly 11 hours. Oh, but it has to be billable time. So I don't get paid for company work (straigtening out people's pay checks, doing company taxes, processing time sheets, running financial reports, fixing other people's computers) or if there's any other issues (running to Office Depot because I run out of paper or toner, breaking printers, computer problems, etc.). It's nuts.

So am I working? No, I get sucked into watching Wilco videos on YouTube. Now I'm listening to my whole Wilco directory, including all the Tweedy and Wilco live shows and boots (I love me some demos). All in all we're talking about nearly 1500 tracks. Seriously. I have a sickness.

So here are my favorites on YouTube.

The opening credits of I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, the Wilco documentary. I really enjoyed this movie and I absolutely love this version of the song.


Jeff getting recognized in New York and being totally flabbergasted by the experience.


One of my favorite moments in the movie, a rehearsal for "Pieholden Suite." Watch to the end. The kids dancing is the best part.


Also from the movie. A good performance of "Monday":


A band rehersal of "How To Fight loneliness" from the film:


The last from the movie, the band rehearsing "I'm Always in Love" before hitting the road:


I love the movie clips because they have such a great feel to the performances. I miss Leroy in the band.

From the new album, "What Light." This is Gert's favorite song on the album.


My favorite song on the album, though "Hate it Here" could be a runner up, "Impossible Germany."


Oh hell, a fan shot video of "Hate it Here" including funny stage banter and a false start, for which Tweedy chides himself.

Still Behind

I'm still behind on emails. Sorry about that. I'll get to it.

Look! Something shiny!



That should buy me some time.

After This Week . . .

Which has been unreasonably busy, I'll be doing this. Exactly. In my front yard.

Dream a Little Dream With Me

I'm working an unreasonable amount at crazy hours and I'm tired. Plus I have to relearn Dreamweaver to get the VBA website edited and uploaded. Plus, in order to do that, I have to figure out how to get FTP set up on the website. I have to ask John, but I'll forget.

If I owe you an email, I'll answer it, I swear.

Anyway, here's my dream. Next April I want to buy this. I really, really, really want to buy this. Or, you can buy it for me now.

G'head. Buy it for me. I'll wait.

So You Are a Star. Okay.

Gert comes running off the bus through the chilly rain yesterday with a big grin on her face. When we got home, we had the following conversation.

"Dad," she says, "I have a problem."

"What's that?"

"Well, I'm Student of the Week and my wiener balloon popped."

"Wait. What? You're Student of the Week?"

"Yeah. And my wiener balloon POPPED," she said holding up a limp, dead balloon animal.

"I'm sorry," I said. "But you're Student of the Week! That's fantastic!"

"Yeah, only my WEINER BALLOON POPPED. I got the balloon and this toy and a coupon for a movie."

"That's great," I said. "I'm so proud of you that you're Student of the Week! You must feel very happy."

"Happy? That my wiener balloon popped?"

"No, that you're Student of the Week."

"But my wiener balloon POPPED!"

"I know," I said, "but--"

"I don't know if it had a hole, or a leak, or what. But right before I got on the bus, my wiener balloon popped."

"Yeah, I'm sorry to hear that. But you're Student of the Week! That's fantastic, I'm so proud of you."

"Yeah, only my wiener balloon popped."

"I know, but--"

"My wiener balloon popped. That's the problem."

"And you're Student of the Week!"

"I really don't want to talk about this anymore," she said, as she gathered up her dead balloon and left the room.

"But you're Student of the Week!"

"And my WEINER BALLOON POPPED!"

She's still Student of the Week. I think I'm allowed to be proud.

OMG! OMG! OMG!

Tonight is Hannah Montana! We are like, so totally freaked out with excitement!

Actually, considering that the tickets right now are worth more than a backyard filled with crude oil, the girls are rather blasé about it. There are parents out there who are shaving their heads and publicly humiliating themselves for this concert and our kids are so like, whatever.

That's okay, I'm psyched. Honestly, as far as teen-pop queens that were manufactured for television shows go, Hannah isn't bad. Even somewhat enjoyable. Gert and Matilda know every word. Sometimes I find Gert sitting on the floor of her room, between her bed and dresser, quietly singing along with a look on her face that says, "Yeah, man. If we were a movie. Totally." Gert wants to be Miley Cyrus' best friend.

I have no idea where she gets that. (David Byrne, call me. We'll do an awkward lunch.)

I can't wait to see the faces when Hannah hits the stage. Or Miley. Whomever she appears as first. That will be priceless.

And then I shall lose my hearing as 15,000 pre-teen girls shriek.

Being Dad

Gert was sitting on the couch with the laptop open on her lap, pounding away at the keyboard. She told Mom she was "being Daddy."

She started to bang harder and said, "Honey come here!" Chris came over and sat down. Gert typed furiously then gestured with both hands toward the screen in exasperation. "It just disappeared! It's gone! It's all gone! I lost everything!"

All in all, it's a good imitation. But I'll be damned if she didn't leave out some key words. Son of a bitch.

Brain Melting

My brain is melting. Reviewing pages hurts. Make it stop. On the list of things I'd rather be doing than working right now is shaving my head and painting it to look like a watermelon.

Or this:



I like that song too much. I really shouldn't, but I do. Cool video too.

For My Wife

Who wants a ferret.

Words Cannot Describe

First, I'm not sure if this actually counts as a talent. Second, I hope she realizes that there is such a thing as "key" in music.



Here, this is better. It's David Byrne's bike cam. Yes, technology has allowed us to take a bike ride through New York from the founder of Talking Heads' point of view. That, my friends, is awesome.

Isn't it Nice to BeHome Again?

Terrible video, but it's only 54 seconds and the song is the point.



Gert saw me as I was getting off the bus and leaped into my arms and wouldn't let go until we got home.

So, yes, it is very nice to be home again.

Such Great Heights

I'm flying out tomorrow for the great INTERCOT extravaganza. What this means is that I'll be tasting beer wherever it may be sold in Disney World. Oh, and there's some sort of party.

So, in that mood (you know, flying, traveling):

The Postal Service:


And Ben Folds' take, by way of John Cage beating up Steve Reich:

Your Coffee Sucks and I Regret Marrying You!

Ah, marriage. It's all about the coffee and making your spouse feel worthless. And, seriously, coffee and steak? Come on.

I'd like to see this style of advertising reversed and used for Viagra.

"It's your penis, Jim. It's limp. I'll get some at the plant."

My Life This Week

Shine on Harvey Bloom

One of my favorite Neil Young songs. I remember the first time I heard it, shortly before the album was released and he was on a solo acoustic tour. He wandered the stage, pacing between the various instruments, telling stories looking like a jobless farmer in his ratty flannel shirt.

Harvest Moon was the only song he had help with, in the form of someone playing the broom.

Gert Fundraising

I think we're all suffering from fund raising fatigue. But, Gert is doing her very first fund raiser for school this year. If, by chance, you have not been pounded with offers for candy, trinkets, wrapping paper, coupon books, magazines, etc. let me know and I'll have Gert come over and give you her full pitch.

But, to be honest, even we're sick of all this crap. However, we're just working for the prizes.

Elvis Costello's First TV Apperance

Rosalita . . .

It's a Man's World

A really messed up one, at that. I don't know how I missed this when it happened. And now they are dead. Now surrealism must march on via YouTube.

RE Your Brains

JoCo goodness today. For the unwashed, that's geek musician Jonathan Coulton. All of his songs are released in Creative Commons which lets us, the barely talented, remix, reuse and re-imagine his works. The RIAA would like you to think that this would destroy the system. Seems to be working pretty darn well for Coulton.

Why is he a geek? Well, how many songs do you know about Benoit Mandelbrot? Warning, he drops the f-bomb but in an ultra cool way.



Also, the trend on the Interwebtubes is for college girls to get a webcam and dance. Why? I don't know. I suppose it's alluring to watch someone move in bizarre stilted way in a very limited space. In a way it's like an awkward Twyla Tharpe dance performed by a doped up Britney Spears in a small cell.

How does this apply to Coulton? Well, this is how a geeky girl does the dance. Which I like better. So did NPR and the New York Times Magazine:



And, finally, by allowing his fans to make their own videos for the song, Coulton doesn't have to do it. It's really a brilliant path for a lazy artist to allow his own fans to promote his music. I respect him for that.

Dragoncon took the world's greatest indictment of the office place/zombie song and made a very funny video that highlights zombies' abilities to clap:



And, two live versions. One by JoCo and the other by Willa. You pick the best.

Shake!

Feeling Feisty

Ever since the new iPod commercials my wife keeps reminding me that this is how she sees herself when she dreams, dancing and sequins included:



Admittedly, there is something adorable about the way the lovely Ms. Feist dances:



She'd be awesome at a wedding. However, my favorite Feist dancing is here, despite the fact that the director chose horrible closeups that make her look like Roger Waters:



That video proves the allure of a woman in a short skirt with a Gibson. Maybe it's a guy thing.

Warning to any nieces and nephews who may be planning on getting married any time soon. Chris and I are so doing that at your wedding.

Your other choice is this:


Wow. Talk about the White Man's Overbite.

Mosquitoes

They're everywhere. They are attaching. Help me. Please help me. I'm crying.

Walking Gert to the bus stop there were swarms . . . no GANGs of the things. I think one of them actually hit me with a chain. One of them was taunting us, yelling, "Warriors, come out and pla-aaaay!"

Help. They're forming civilizations and a written language. They're making tools.

We're all going to die.

Celebrate

Yesterday was the eighth anniversary of my marriage to my wife, conveniently. Now she's sick in bed. Coincidence? I think not. I think she finally reached a toxic level of me after nearly ten years together.

It's been known to happen.

Anyway, despite the fact that I've made her physically ill, we've decided to see where this thing goes. It's kinda fun. Seems we kinda like each other. Strangely, because it seems like some married couples barely tolerate each other. I still get excited when I hear the garage door open and know she's home for the evening. Go figure.

Here's your song for the next 8 years. It's probably the best description of a good relationship I've seen.

Loudon Wainwright III - Little Ship

The lyrics, if you're lazy:

Our relationship
Is just a little ship
That's out on a stormy sea

We barely keep afloat
In our leaky boat
But still I'm hoping
That you'll dote on me

When we first set sail
We thought we'd never fail
The wind was our best friend
It wouldn't let us down

But then the tempest grew
And I thought I'd lost you
And our little ship
Would sink or run aground

But the precious craft
Was sturdy fore and aft
It rolled on a stormy sea

And when the winds died down
That's when I looked around
You and the sun were all that I could see

And then a gentle wind
Bore us home again
I sat in the stern
You were in the bow

We landed safe and sound
And there on solid ground
We loved our little ship
Even more somehow

Our relationship
Is just a little ship
That's out on a stormy sea

My Tour of Missouri Adventure: Day 3

This is the last of it. I might get photos up later. I have to upload them and someone is lazy. Previous days below, full photoset here.

Saturday I was a course marshal in St. Charles. I picked up my groovy volunteer shirt and had a few hours to kill before I had to be at my station blocking an intersection between the race course and a rich neighborhood. That was interesting.

Since we had time, we headed down to the Health & Wellness expo at the finish line. I poked around the booths, drooled on some bikes and convinced myself that Gert did NOT need a child sized leader’s jersey. Before we left we lamented that we didn’t have proper noisemakers for Gert.

Lo and behold, they have cowbells for sale for charity! Cowbells! Cycling! They go hand in hand! She could run beside the peloton ringing her bell and yelling! What could possibly go wrong?

Well, it’s a cowbell. I can still hear it. Sucker’s loud. But worth it.

While they purchased the cowbell I visited with Dave Shields and bought his Saul Raison book, Tour de Life. Dave’s a nice guy and a good salesman.

We headed off to my spot and argued with people in expensive cars about whether or not the state police closing their road was actually something that impacted them. It was.

The race came rolling by and Gert and a new little friend (rich daughter) banged thunder sticks, rang cowbells and screamed at the caravan. They were thrilled.

We packed up and headed back to the finish line in hopes of catching the sprint. Didn’t quite make it. But we got to watch the podium ceremony and Gert shrieked and clapped for George Hincapie, or as she called him, “Lance’s Best Friend.” I saw Timmy Duggan’s mom again and said hello and that she must be proud of her son’s performance in this race. She was. In fact, Slipstream (my current team of choice) had performed wonderfully at the Tour. These are guys to watch.

We headed back to the car, said hello to my Mavic friend who, it turned out, was ready to take Darby and me up on our beer offer that night but the girls and I were ready to collapse (sorry Darby). I shook his hand and thanked him for being so kind and providing us with so much fun at the time trial.

We had planned on seeing the final circuit race the next day, but as I said, Gert got sick. She’s still sick, laying in bed roaring with a fever like a furnace. She was really upset on Sunday because she wanted to go to the bike race. Poor kid. There were 55,000 spectators lining the streets of St. Louis.

Sometimes riding the streets and watching the scant coverage cycling gets on TV I feel lonely. Like I’ve chosen a sport that no one understands or cares about. And, I think that’s most likely true. However, St. Louis proved that I could be somewhat wrong. Or, perhaps, that it’s changing. That makes me feel happy.

There’s next year. I know this event will be back and I know Missourians, who really stepped up for an inaugural event, will be out in even more force next year. More importantly, now that the cycling world (yes, world—it’s an international event) knows what we can do here, the crowds will grow next year.

I’m looking forward to it.

My Tour of Missouri Adventure: Day 2

Day 1 below. Keep scrolling if you haven't read it yet.

Friday we got up early to hit the road for Lebanon, MO where the day’s start line was. The drive was easy and it became even easier to find our location because we came across the BMC Cycling Team caravan and the Discovery Channel Team caravan. Just on principle I passed the Disco caravan to say that I did. I kick ass.

We followed BMC, and St. Louis native Dan Schmatz all the way to the start line. Best GPS money never bought. First thing we did, of course, was say hi to our Mavic buddy and scold him for not dropping by for a drink the night before.

The start line proved what’s so great about cycling. First, the entire town of Lebanon seemed to be there. Every kid in the school district seemed to be there, wearing yellow and all carrying signs for various teams. For them, having elite international athletes in town was akin to the Super Bowl showing up. The current Tour de France champ was in town, for crying out loud. When’s the last time the Kansas City Royals or the St. Louis Cardinals ever showed up to Lebanon, Holt’s Summit, Clinton or any of the other small towns on the route.

Moreover, cycling is open to the fans. We wandered around the team cars, chatted with the racers while they prepared for the stage, got autographs and took photos. The teams never asked the fans to leave, never felt we were in the way and never refused an autograph or photograph. Their bikes were out in the open, we could look at their equipment, talk to managers, mechanics, Directors Sportif, soigneurs even owners. They were open and available up until the very moment their presence was required at the start line.

I chatted with Dan Schmatz, who had been charming some of the school kids and getting them excited about cycling, about his encounter with an armadillo and asked if he’d pose with his injuries for the St. Louis Biking message board. He started to show me his broken collarbone, but I assured him that just seeing the bandages and sling was enough. Prior to our arrival a group of kids were talking to him and he was charming the hell out of them, talking about school, cycling, everything. Despite my goofy photos, I think he may have converted some fans to cycling.

I admit I then did the total fanboy, goofball thing and stood outside the Discovery Channel bus waiting for the team to come out. If I had my choice, I would have sat and watched Slipstream prepare but . . . well . . . they don’t have the current Tour de France champion, the current US Champion and last year’s US Champion/Current Tour of Missouri race leader. So I stood in the throng.

I managed to get a signature from Alberto Contador, so I’ve officially come into contact with a Yellow Jersey. Darby had been leaning against the team car and was approached by Levi Leipheimer who said, “Uh, I need to get in there.” Darby stalled him, got his signature on my poster and we retreated to the background.

We wandered over to the start line to watch the riders roll off and listen to our Governor speak. We got to say hello to the race marshal known as “Skirt” because of her unique fashion style for motorcycle riding. Our Mavic pal pointed her out in Branson.

The race rolled off and so did we, hoping to beat the peloton out to the first KOM point of the day. We were tearing down the highway, trying to bridge up to a small highway what would allow us to intercept the race. Unfortunately, I missed our turn so we had to go off course a bit. Darby is an expert in navigating rural roads because he’s an avid off-roader and camper. So he wasn’t worried, he found us a route that took us directly into the path of the race. We parked the Jeep and took off down the road trying to get to the KOM point. We missed it by about a half KM. But our spot was fine. We chatted with a race volunteer from Olathe, Kansas which is where Darby’s kids live. Small world!

There was a small group off the front as the race came flying by. As we walked back to the car, we noted the chalking on the roads. Most prominently was “Timmy D” (Timmy Duggan) of Slipstream, who had placed third in the USPRO National Time Trials a few weeks earlier. When we got back to the car there was a family loading into their van. The woman was wearing a Slipstream jacket.

“Did you steal that from Jonathan Vaughters,” I asked.

“Ha, no. I borrowed it from my son, Tim Duggan.” Holy shit, really? We talked for a second, I told her how great her son had done in the TTs at Nats and she said she was really proud of him. Then she asked if we had a bottle opener because they wanted to open some beers, but we had to be quiet because the Sherriff was about ten feet away.

“Darby,” I yelled, “they need a bottle opener.”

So Darby walked over and handed them his shoe. They looked confused, so he flipped it over revealing the built in bottle opener. They were amazed at the advancement in technology and marveled at Darby’s shoe. You’d think they were prehistoric man discovering fire.

“We have to get a pair of those!”

We declined their offer of beer and hit the road for Holt’s Summit, just outside of Jefferson City where the second Edward Jones Sprint Point of the day would be. We had plenty of time to beat the peloton there because it was about 50 miles away. We rolled through a small town that was slowly preparing for the race. A surprising number of people lined the route, excited about the rolling circus about to come through town.

We found the sprint point, parked grabbed our lunch and set up our chairs directly on the line. It was an awesome spot. We ate our lunch and waited. Darby built a Dagwood sandwich and asked me if I wanted one. I did. But, here’s the thing, I hadn’t ridden my bike in days. I wouldn’t be riding again until Monday at least. The bikeorexic hit and I ate my dainty cyclist lunch instead. I am a nerd.

But, also, because I don't like this Gary, I like this Gary. So, I try to stick to my training diet and plan. Without burning 1000 calories on the bike, I needed to save the calories. Otherwise, well, you know.

Across the street was an elementary school that had let their kids out to wait for and watch the race. Standing along side a fence facing the route and started rooting for their favorite team.

What team was that? Well, think about it. You’re a kid. There are teams sponsored by a boring cable channel, a car and bike company, olive oil and wine, a German big box store, an insurance company, or a jelly bean company?

You guessed right. Those kids were pumped about the Jelly Belly squad. The rumors that they throw jelly beans out of the team car surely didn’t hurt.

The kids stood at the fence, about 30 minutes before the race came through Holt’s Summit, chanting, “Jelly! Jelly! Jelly! Jelly! Jelly!” This continued for some time until the local fire department showed up and parked their fire truck across the street from the school. Without missing a beat, the collective unit of kids switched allegiance immediately.

“Fire truck! Fire truck! Fire truck!” they chanted.

As the race caravan came through we learned there was a break of about 4 minutes. This meant nothing to the kids. They cheered every time a State Police vehicle came rolling through. When they started riling up the kids by setting off their sirens. By the time the race came through the kids were so keyed up I feared they might riot when it was time to go in.

The break came through and sprinted for the line to get the points. Admittedly it was all a blur. Couldn’t tell you who won it. I heard the numbers from the posted race judges, and could have checked the race grid to find out their names, but it was all a blur. Then came the peloton.

Tired, and a little dazed that I actually got to see an event like this, we loaded our gear back into the car and headed home.

All in all it was a great trip and I had a great time with Darby. The trip confirmed that he’s a genuine, kind man and a hell of a lot of fun to be around. If given the opportunity to drive across the state with him again, I’d do it without hesitation.

Looks like the race will be back next year, as it’s been hugely successful—perhaps even beyond expectation. I’m already planning on taking those days off next year (hey, my company is instituting paid vacations next year because the financial dude kicks ass!). This time I think I’ll tent it across the state. Darby rekindled my desire to camp. I think it’s time to start building up those supplies.

I think the girls are even starting to warm up to the idea.

One more day, but it's not as exciting because I had to actually work the event! Full pictures from the first two days here.

My Tour of Missouri Adventure Day 1

You know that if a professional cycling stage race is coming to Missouri I’d have to go. I was able to see three of the six stages. I almost made it to four, but Gert got sick so we had to skip the circuit race in downtown St. Louis. I’m tired, so I’m okay with it. Gert, however, is PISSED. The girl loves her bike race and, though six, is obsessed with Lance Armstrong. I tell her he’s retired, not racing, probably not even paying attention, but she doesn’t care. He was winning the Tour de France for the last time while she was learning to ride a bike. Somehow he and her bike are intertwined like Luke Skywalker and Obi Wan Kenobi.

Poor girl is still sick. She’s limp and radiating heat.

My brother in law Darby and I left Wednesday after work, roughly 4 p.m.; appropriately we took the back roads to avoid gridlocked highways and started rolling at a good clip toward Branson, MO the home of wood carved crafts and the old ladies who collect them. Despite the fact that Branson has become the Nashville of Missouri, only without the alcohol, it lays in the middle of a beautiful area of Missouri. Rolling hills, beautiful lakes and enormous spiders.

I had rented an RV in a campground and we rolled in about an hour after the office shut down. We picked up or info and headed to the RV. It was . . . an RV. Strange, yet inviting. The bathroom was tiny. We unloaded the Jeep, unpacked the beer and stole three bundles of firewood from the closed store (which was common and we did pay for it the next morning).

We sat around the fire, sipping beer and talked until well past midnight as the coals were dying down. Darby and I both share the gift of gab and enjoy telling stories, or bullshitting, whatever the moment calls for. I also learned a lot about Gary Busey. Oh yes, Darby, it's on DVD.

The next morning, after being woken by every contractor with loose pipes in his pickup bed who had come careening down the rural road at 6 a.m., Darby decided to use the campground comfort stations to clean up while I opted to try to shower in an RV bathroom because, well, I never had done that before. Let’s just say I now know what it’s like to shower in a submarine. Damn thing was tiny. I plugged up the drain with the shower on and started yelling, "You can't take her below crush depth! We'll all be killed!" If only I had a red light. Subs always have red lights.

We were tired, didn’t sleep well and had stayed up too late after driving. Asses were dragging.

We came up with a plan for the day will eating yogurt and granola. Somehow we had both brought the same breakfast. Go figure. After paying our tab for the campsite (and the ill-gotten firewood) we set off on our tailgating adventure.

Branson’s stage was an individual time trial, which meant we could stake out a spot and sit there for a few hours and just make it an extended tailgate. So, we drove the course and looked for the best spot. We had targeted the King of the Mountains (KOM) section as the best spot and as we were driving through Darby spotted it. The road ends and is closed off. There was a port-a-potty and a perfect vista of the race course. We could go in any direction and see them climbing the steepest part of the course or trying their best to accelerate up toward the finish. Ultimately we were 2 KM from the end.

We unpacked our rolling party, flipped down my tailgate speaker and started listening to some music. We sat, read some magazines, tried to make coffee (freaking 900 watts) and more.

As the race caravan came through to sweep the course, teams came through on recon/warm-up. First was Kodak (who has a really long name and I won’t keep typing it) and Navigators, who were just driving the course. All through the morning cyclotourists came up the KOM climb, riding the course before the pros hit it. As the last one crested the top of the KOM climb, two riders in black and blue came up behind him, overtook him and passed him. Those two riders were race leader George Hincapie and current USPRO national champion, and Tour de France podium finisher, Levi Leipheimer.

As the cyclotourist rode past he looked over to us and said, “That will never happen again in my lifetime!” He has a good story to tell, that’s for sure.

Shortly before the first rider hit the course, a Mavic neutral service vehicle came in to our coned off area and started setting up a pit area, in case riders needed service to finish the race. Turned out they didn’t, but we made a good friend with our Mavic mechanic. He kindly set up the race radio so we could hear the time splits on the course and the results at the line about a mile away.

The first rider hit the course and we had to wait roughly 40 minutes for him to arrive at our spot. After that riders would stream by at regular intervals. I have to say I was impressed by the DFL/Cyclingnews team. They clocked some excellent times early on. That is, until Danny Pate of Team Slipstream hit the course. Pate was blazing, as was his teammate Timmy Duggan. Then came Nathan O’Neill, an Australian with HealthNet who set a blistering pace. He was the first to ride the course in under 40 minutes.

Race radio crackled that Levi Leipheimer was on the KOM so I ran across the road to get a good shot, head on. He came flying past, setting the top speed of the day which would not be topped. Seeing these guys up close, guys I’ve watched on TV was cool. But seeing their faces as they were burying themselves for a time trial was amazing.

As Levi came tearing past, I yelled something stupid and took a picture. He minute man (the rider behind him in general classification) came moving passed us shortly thereafter. A course marshal shouted out, “There’s a fast rider on the course! Dig deep, you can catch Levi!” The rider shot a look of death at the course marshal. Turned out, beyond our vantage point, Levi had passed this rider who was struggling up the KOM climb. According to the race video I saw, he didn’t just pass the poor kid on the US Development team, he rocketed past him like a bat out of hell.

Darren Lill, of Navigators, also cam flying past me. Got a really good picture there.

Ivan Dominguez came shooting past us later. Sean Weide, PR rep for the Toyota/United team told me he had hit a whopping 57 mph on one of the downhill sections. That’s amazing on a time trial bike with a slight crosswind. The man has nerves of steel.

A highlight of the morning was watching Andrew Guptill of Colavita/Sutter Home passing his two-minute man Stefan Parinussa of Sparkasse. Watching that moment is always exciting and sad because Guptill’s face betrayed no emotion, only the focus while Parinussa looked like he was ready to swallow a cat. Considering how much a casual rider hates being passed on a ride, I can only imagine the ire fueled inside a professional in a time trial.

Race radio told us that Frank Pipp was motoring up the KOM, which meant that race leader George Hincapie was not far behind. I ran across the road again and set myself up for the best photo I could get. In jockeying into position I nearly sat on a spider that was roughly the size of my head.

When the helicopter showed up, I knew we were waiting for the race leader and that television cameras would be involved. George came powering past me in yellow at a pretty good clip. Though, it was obvious he wasn’t moving at nearly the speed of Leiphiemer or O’Neill. Shortly after George came the man he passed on the hill, Dominique Rollin, looking unhappy. Watch Versus on Saturday because depending on the shots they choose, Darby and I may end up on TV. We did show up in the video feed from the Internet which is from the same video pool. Hopefully a DVD will be released.

And it was over. We decided to try to get to the podiums but were shut out due to closed roads. Turned out, even if we had gone to where we though the podiums were (Finish line) they were actually at the start. Silly us. So we headed off to the winery to taste some wine. Darby bought the same wine glass my wife always buys when we’re there. I warned him that I’ve managed to break every one I’ve ever come into contact with. He was not worried. We found where we were going to dinner and went back to the campground to collapse. I went to the general store and picked up three boxes of snap and pops. Two for the kids, one for me. I played with mine immediately.

Dinner was at Odee’s for some pretty good smoked pig and beer. Mmmm. Smoky pig. Then, back to the campground to bathe in DEET because the mosquitoes were the size of pterodactyls. Cracked open some beer, lit a fire and talked for a few more hours. If I tried to cover the range of topics discussed, from Civil War battle grounds to which states have the prettiest scenery to whether or not Dickie Betts is still alive (he is, just no longer playing with the Allman Brothers Band), I’d need another website).

Full photos here. More of the story later today.

Tour of Missouri

I have returned! My brother in law Darby and I spent the last two days chasing a bike race, eating ribs, burning things and investigating the various nuances of beer in rural America. I met a few cyclists, including the current Tour de France champ and nearly ran over two turtles.

My photos are here.

My story will be told when I get a chance. I'm a course marshal at tomorrow's stage and might, but probably won't, go down to the downtown finale on Sunday. I'm tired, man.

MS 150 Update

Well, we survived. The route was a hell of a lot harder than they advertised. “Moderately hilly” my ass. Those Missouri rollers were brutal and some of the climbs were just plain vicious.

We left my in-laws house at 7 p.m. on Friday and were due to arrive in Columbia just before 9. The best laid plans . . . Just five miles away from our house we hit a traffic jam that lasted two hours. No escape, nowhere to divert. It was gridlock for miles and miles. Five miles from home! AUUUGH. We rolled in to Columbia after 11 and were slated to meet the team in the parking lot at 6. We were sleepy. Very, very sleepy.

Day 1

Got up and met in the parking lot, headed over to the starting line for the event to grab some breakfast, get our team photo taken, gather back together, waited in line, and then start rolling around 8ish.

Note to organizers next year: the food you served and the amount you gave was not good for a bunch of people who were about to ride long distances. Not at all. Too greasy, not enough carbs and not nearly enough to eat. The juice and coffee were good though. Luckily I had my pockets filled with all sorts of on the bike energy.

We hit the road at 8, left the busy roads quickly and hit the first big climb of the day, less than a mile from the start. Never easy on cold legs. It was a shock to the system, but it was only the beginning. The descents were fun, I hit about 40 mph on the downhills, but little did we know what was ahead.

About three miles in I stopped to help a teammate inflate his tire, which was a little soft. Behind us there was a very, very loud man talking about how his bike “sounded like a diesel engine” and that there was something wrong with it. He was just going to hit the SAG wagon and head home. Wow. This was an ominous sign.

About five miles in we found our first victim. A girl had fallen and broken her collar bone. Then she had an asthma attack. She left in an ambulance. We churned away to our first rest stop where we were treated to shots of Fitz’s root beer. Yummy. I loaded up on oranges and we hit the road again.

I rode with Chris for a while but then decided to chase down her former co-worker, and also former racer, Jon. In about five minutes at speeds of up to 30 mph, I caught up and marked him on several tough climbs. That was fun. Then I waited for Chris at the top of the hardest and stuck with her for the rest of the day.

Shortly before the second rest stop at about 22 miles or so, we hit the hardest climb of the weekend. Everyone called it Highland Hill. It was steep, angry and had many false summits. Chris preferred to climb at her own pace, so I took off and took the climb solo.

I started passing people on the first slope of the climb. It was gentle, but gave you a little hint of what was coming. I passed a very, very tall man on a road bike that was far too small for him. He was singing a Culture Club song as he hit the first tough part of the climb. His momentum was cut in half and he started sinking like a stone. He’d play a major role later on.

I churned through my gears rhythmically, trying to control my breathing. People were starting to fall like flies. They were walking their bikes, wheezing and some were literally falling off their bikes. It was carnage. Hitting the steepest part of the climb I stood in the pedals and just started to focus on the top of the hill.

Sadly, it was not the top. Just beyond the false crest was another 500 feet of climbing. Even more carnage. At the top was a rest stop, but not until one last steep pitch.

At the top were people clapping and yelling encouragement. I pulled to the side and laid my bike in the grass. A little girl came up and handed me a packet of fruit snacks and said, “Thanks for riding!” Fruit snacks never tasted so good.

I stood at the side of the road, waiting for Chris. I figured she’d be a minute or two behind me. Four minutes rolled by and she still wasn’t there. Finally I saw a teammate of ours who I knew Chris had passed on an earlier climb.

“Chris was on the side of the road,” she said gasping. “I don’t know if she crashed or not but she was mad and walking.”

A minute later, Chris came riding up the last hill with a look of rage, and parked her bike next to mine. “Some guy knocked me off my bike!” (Note: That’s not exactly what she said, but I cleaned it up because no one needs to know she can curse like a sailor when angry.)

Turned out the super tall guy took Chris out. He was riding up the steepest part of the climb just ahead of Chris. She was feeling good and was pleased that she was going to clear the toughest climb of the day. Tall Guy started swerving. She tried to get out of his way, but that’s tough to do on a crowded road that’s heading straight up. He wobbled and than fell over to his right, hitting Chris and causing a domino effect. She hit the ground hard, hit her head and then got hit by the guy behind her. She was fine, just a little road rash, but that part of the climb was impossibly steep and she had to walk it to the false summit to get started again.

That’s what pissed her off. She was mad at the idiot who, it turned out, had just bought clipless pedals and didn’t know how to use them, but she was angrier that she had to walk her bike. That and the Gatorade at that rest stop tasted like soap.

This is that idiot, by the way. Thanks to Kim Morris, the official photographer of the MS 150 for capturing Tall Guy.

Filled with fruit snacks and covered in band aids, we headed off again. Little happened between there, lunch (hey, I was still looking fresh!) and about mile 60. At about mile 50 we left the quiet rural roads and hit some suburban roads and busy roads. Some idiot tried to bunny hop a road hazard rather than just avoiding it, nearly taking out all of us behind him. Our team captain yelled at him about that at a stoplight, and rightly so.

When we hit rural roads again I started picking up the pace, leaving Chris and our team captain’s wife behind. Our Captain rode with me for a while, but at about mile 60 I dropped him and started churning out a pace on significantly hilly roads of about 23 mph. I don’t know why. I don’t know what was motivating me. I was tired, my legs were a little sore, but I was passing everyone on the road, climbing like a monster and just flying up and down those hills.

I hit the last rest stop a full minute ahead of our captain and three minutes ahead of Chris. With ten miles to go, Chris was starting to flag. She couldn’t eat any more and had to force a gel and some Gatorade down.

We posed for a few pictures. That was Chris’ last smile until the finish line. We had some tough climbs ahead. We knew what was coming because we had descended them earlier.

When we hit the climbs, I tried to stay with Chris and encourage her. After the second climb she told me that she preferred to do it alone. Or, rather, she growled, “STOP TALKING!” So I would wait at the top of the climbs for her, make sure she didn’t need more water, etc.

Finally, after a grueling last climb we descended toward the finish line. I pushed Chris in front of me and found some of our teammates cheering us over the line.

Tired, we headed back to the car, changed into non-sweaty clothes and hit the finish line party for a little while. The consensus of nearly every rider we found was that this course was much harder than advertised. Vicious, actually. Everyone was shocked and it looked like the 75 mile route would be sparsely attended the next day. Everyone was surprised and exhausted.

Chris did fantastic on this ride. She trained hard and was presented with a route that was more than we expected. She gritted her teeth, and left her lungs, muscles and heart out on those roads. She should be proud of her riding on Saturday. It was a heroic performance for someone’s first organized ride.

We went back to the hotel, took a power washer shower (bad Travel Lodge shower) and Chris took a nap while I searched in vain for coffee. Sure, could have hit some of the coffee shops downtown but they had a festival going on and I would have had to park, walk six blocks and then drive back to the hotel. Not worth it.

Day 2
Because there were no team photos, we didn’t have to arrive as a team today. So, we had the car loaded for home and were ready for breakfast by 6:30.

We decided to skip the free breakfast and hit Waffle House with Chris’ former co-worker Jon. The waffles were just what the doctor ordered. I needed that energy the day before, but today they gave me just the right base for a nice, hilly 40 mile ride.

We rolled out as a group on a totally new route. Almost immediately we hit a long, slow climb along a busy two lane road. I call it “Bull Cry Road” because somewhere in the distance a bull sounded as if it was having its balls pulled through his throat.

Anyway, Jon and I immediately hit the climb at a good, but comfortable clip. Yes, I left my wife behind. But I was feeling good, loose and wanted to spin out some of the antsy feelings from the day before.

We hit rolling hills immediately. Unlike yesterday, they felt like nothing more than a driveway. Jon and I started picking up the pace, passing people at a regular pace. Then, as we were passing a group that was hogging the whole road, Jon started climbing like he was attacking on the Col d'Aubisque. I answered and hung on his wheel. We rode like that for a while, taking turns in front and chatting as we rode.

Three miles from the first rest stop I started churning hard in my big chain ring over the hills. We started hitting speeds in the upper twenties up the hills, using the descents as power up hills.

About a mile from the rest stop something snapped in my head and I just went nuts. I hopped up a gear and started hammering like I was going for the line in a solo breakaway. I didn’t look behind me, didn’t give Jon warning and I just went.

I averaged about 28 mph through those final hills, possibly fueled by the excitement of the speed. I hit the rest stop about 20 seconds before Jon.

“Hey, what’s up Hammerhead,” Jon said, in reference to my sudden need for speed.

Chris rolled in a few minutes later and we grabbed some snacks. I said I’d ride with Chris for a while. That lasted about five minutes because suddenly I took off again and we just hammered to the second rest stop. Chris found us on the porch of some old small town store talking about why we’d want to live in a town like this. Riding being one of them.

Chris was thrilled because the rest stop had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which are her training fuel of choice. She hopped on the bike ready to chew up some terrain.

I swore I’d ride with Chris to the end and Jon went up the road ahead. And we rolled through some of the most beautiful scenery on the whole ride. We seemed to be at the highest point in the ride and there were vistas of trees and rolling farmland. This, I thought, was what riding should be.

Well, I hit a descent and the speed monkey got on my shoulder again and I just started pedaling. Suddenly Chris was behind me and I was bridging back up to Jon. Chris had little interest in chasing as she was just enjoying the ride at her own pace. Besides, I think I made her nervous because I would mother hen her. “Did you eat enough? How are you feeling? Did you get enough to drink? Are you hot?”

A few miles from the third rest stop, Jon looked ahead and saw a rather nasty hill up ahead. “Faster,” he yelled and we started churning up the hill. At the top we found a man standing over his bike proclaiming that he didn’t even like cats.

That’s odd, I thought. Then a black kitten leaped off his wheel and meowed at me. Jon stopped to pet it and we laughed. Now that climb is known as kitty hill. We flew down to the next rest stop.

I waited for Chris by the road. After yesterday, if she wasn’t exactly where I thought she was I’d start to get nervous. Did she tank on the hill? Did she crash? Did the idiot knock her down again? A minute or two later she came rolling in.

“Did you see the kitty?” Of course. She wasn’t delayed by a problem. She stopped to play with the kitten.

We rode as a group, more or less, for the rest of the way. I learned yesterday that Chris did not want company on climbs, so I’d hit the hills and soft pedal until Chris bridged up. Here's me, Jon and Chris from the official photos.

We looped back to where we had started and found ourselves on a slow slope for about a mile. I was going at a nice clip, seemingly alone because I hit the turn off first. Then Jon shouts behind me, “Man, if I sit right here I don’t even have to pedal. You’re just pulling my up the hill.” I called him a wheel sucker and he took off toward the finish. Chris bridged up and we took the last few miles together.

She hit the line, with our friends cheering us on and grabbed our medals.

We were tired, but invigorated. Before we even made it back to the car we were talking about next year. Now that we know what we’re dealing with, we’re going to destroy the 75 mile route both days.

Ultimately, it was a great weekend. And oddly poetic. Next year I’ll do better at fundraising. I’ll be better prepared for the hills and I’ll definitely leave my wife alone to ride the ride she wants to ride.

Tour of Missouri and MS 150

I'll update with stories and photos from the MS 150 later. Too many meetings today.

However, more importantly the Tour of Missouri started. Look! No sound until the last two hours though.

Watch avflive live video and chat on Justin.tv

Going on a Bike Ride

We're leaving today.

Here is something about the town of Columbia. Substitute "Texas" for "Missouri," "Columbia" for "Virgil" and "MS 150" for "Sesquicentennial."



And, here's our Theme Song for the ride. "Road to Nowhere" by the incomparable Talking Heads.

Messin' With the Kid

Song stuck in my head while riding today.

MS 150

The MS 150 is next weekend. Thanks to everyone who donated. I plan on giving you each a personal thanks after the event, with details. Yay.

Yesterday, after a rest day, I went out for a short ride. 25 miles or so, I thought. I returned after 61 miles. The weather felt great, I felt great. The only thing was I ran out of nutrition on the bike and had to stop for some Gatorade (which I hate). Stupid Diabetes.

It was a good ride, though. It was my body telling me that I'm ready for the event, even if I haven't spent enough time on hills. Considering the group I'm riding with averages a speed about 5 - 6 mph lower than I usually ride, I think it'll be a nice two days for me. Hopefully the rain will hold off . . .

Anyway, yesterday I felt like this dude:

Today's Theme Song

Jonathan Coulton - Big Bad World One


Coulton is a mad scientist/genius. Hear the original, or buy all the Thing a Week songs here. If you're even a minor geek, you couldn't help but laugh when hearing "Code Monkey." He can be satirical one moment, and tender the next. Often, he can be both at the same time. It's amazing.

Don't believe me?



All done with Creative Commons licensed photos on Flickr. Just descriptions of photos. Funny and beautiful at the same time. Brilliant. Dwyer really does rock out on air guitar.

There, I feel better now about not having time to think lately. Even without the Tivo.

Oh No The Tivo

The Tivo died last night. DIED! It's just no longer responding. We've asked. We've begged. But, it just won't answer. It's frozen on the power up screen.

We missed Top Chef. We won't have a DVR all weekend. And it's a long weekend! And when we get it, it'll be a sad knockoff of a Tivo because DirecTV is stupid.

I'm not ashamed to admit that the Tivo has made me addicted to television. I admit it. You can bite me.

I. Need. Tivo.

Shaking. The thought of things not being recorded at my will is hurting me deeply.

Wilco - Another Man's Done Gone (From Man in the Sand)