I Can't Stand Up For Falling Down

"Don't ride today," my wife tells me. "It's going to rain."

"But," I stupidly say, "I only need 22 miles to hit my first goal for the spring. If I leave really early, I can beat it. I'll stay away from roads, cars and the flood plains and stick to the paved trails. I'll only be, at most, 4 miles from the car and I can cover that pretty easily if it rains."

At roughly mile 15 the rain started. I turned around and, as fate would have it, I was four miles from the car. So I started heading back. The ride itself wasn't bad. The rain stung, but nothing too bad.

Then, turning off the trail I signaled that I was turning left, realized I was going a little too fast and I felt the tires slip. I hit, slid and was up looking at the jogger who was running in Khakis. Nothing hurt, other than my pride. I found the stuff that fell off or out of things attached to me and walked back to the car. The computer sensor was focused in and hitting the spokes and I'll have to replace my bar tape, but my noggin and body are in tact.

This was my first crash with the Specialized and, frankly, my first road bike crash. It's different than a mountain bike crash because of then nature. Most of my mountain bike crashes occured with me going forward because something happened with the front wheel.

I know people who have been through far worse crashes and I don't want to pretend like this was bad. It really wasn't. This really did feel different. And, oddly, it felt like a rite of passage. It's weird how relaxed I was about the whole thing. My brain just clicked off the list. Slipping? Check. Evasive maneuvers? Pointless. Go limp. Hitting road? Check. Sliding? Yep. Alright, that's done. Body in tact? Uh huh.

Slight bit of panic about the bike, though. Because if it was damaged, I'd have no bike until I got it fixed. That was a worse possibility than the road grit in my ass.

Enough whining. Pictures!


This is where I hit the road first, I think. Or where I slid the most.



Poor bar tape. I guess better that then my skin.



Really the only open wound. It's tiny. The rest of my body that contacted pavement has simple road rash.


Really, this is the worst part. Yes, discovering the road rash on my back while I was in the shower was an unpleasent discovery, this son of a bitch hurts a lot. And it bleeds like a monster.

Cool

I was going to write about my ride today, because I know how interested everyone is in that (quit rolling your eyes) and my weirdly coincidental daily encounters my self-proclaimed nemesis, another cyclist who I have decided to name Thor.

Then I saw this and, frankly, it's amazingly cool. Also, I've been looking for an excuse to say ammonia-hydrosulfide.

Equine Probing

Apparently Matilda and her friends were discussing what their parents do while riding the bus home.

"What's your dad do," one of her curious friends asked.

"He's a freelancer," she said.

"What's that," they all wondered, no doubt thrilled with the mysterious adventures I surely find myself entangled in on a daily basis.

"I know," said her friend Judy, "a freelancer checks horses butts."

"Uh, no," Matilda replied. Though she could offer no further explanation.

Oddly enough, my job does involve horses butts. Generally a horse's butt is that which I do not give.

On a side note, I recorded my fastest ride today at 18.93 mph average speed. I was able to spend roughly 4 miles at 23 to 24 mph, without dipping below it. That's significant for me.

I honestly think I would have peaked the 19 mph plateau had I not had a dog incident and a near crash due to someone hopping out in front of me, causing me to skid with my back wheel jumping about like Beloki right before he met the pavement. I honestly do not remember anything about it, except that somehow I was unclipped and ready to slide while also working to avoid the collision. It didn't help that all I was thinking was this.

I went out wearing shorts, came home wearing sharts.

Come Along if you Can

Ever wonder what a freelancer's life is like? Is it filled with bon-bons and television?

Yes. It is. But not every waking moment. Sometimes we actually go to our "home office." This is usually a corner of the house that has been transformed into a work area.

I've been doing this for five years now. I co-own a company these days, but the core work and solitude remain the same. So, without further ado . . .

Welcome to my world:

Click for the photo set and ample notes.

In The End, Scientists Are. . .

Highly educated, focused, easily amused kids. Check this out. From Good Morning Silicone Valley.

Sheer Agony

Ever have a hamstring cramp?

There is no describing the pain. I was quietly sitting at my desk when I felt a twinge and moved my leg slightly. That's when it started to constrict. Sheer, utter agony. Not to be confused with agonist.

Then I tried to straighten my leg, hoping it would abate.

Only, that made it hurt more. Like pulling taffy. Ultimately it took my wife massaging the muscle and me inventing seven new words to solve the problem.

Because of this, I personally believe I can no longer sit at a desk to work. Therefore, I must be paid to do nothing. If you're willing to do this, please feel free to contact me. It must be noted that if you pay me to do nothing then, in actuality, I can do no harm either. It's a win-win situation.

Autograph Would Be So Proud

This morning Gert realized she left her backpack in Mom's car and refused to go to school with out it. "I don't want to put a rubber band around my papers," she declared with gravitas. So we went to break into mom's car at work and steal it.

On the way back I was chatting with her about superpowers. What superpower would you want? Why? What's good?

"Hey Dad," she said, "turn up the music."

"Why do you like this song?"

"No, I just want you to stop talking."

Gary's Garage

Not too long ago, my wife and I were talking about what we want to be. Not when we grow up, but how we want people around us to see us. I told her that I want to be just like Reed Palmer. I want to be known as the neighborhood bike guy that all the kids come to when their bikes aren't working right. We're already the most crowded yard in the neighborhood, so I have the clientele right outside.

Lately I've been feeling down. I'm going through a cycle where people crap on whatever I do. My work, my writing, my choices, whatever it is, someone, co-workers, clients, friends, family will find a way to take something I feel good about and make me feel like crap. People don't mean to do it, but when all you hear is "constructive" criticism about everything you do from the time you get up to the time the wife and kids come home and remind me what it feels like to be liked.

Today that turned around. I was about to do the dishes when I heard a knock at the door. It was the kid whose backyard meets ours. Figuring he was here to see my daughter, I started to tease him.

"I have a problem that only you can help me with."

These are not words you long to hear. Nine times out of ten the problem is either something you didn't want to know about or will only lead to someone being disappointed.

"What's up," I asked.

"My brother trashed his bike. I told him that you are the best bike rider I've ever seen and you can fix it." True, I did fix this kid's bike last summer, but that was just an easy adjustment. "Trashed?" This worried me.

But, flattery gets you everywhere so this great bike rider said sure. We wheeled the bike into the garage and I put it on the repair stand. The neighbor kid went through the story. His brother crashed and now the handlebars were all messed up and the chain keeps falling off. I quickly fixed the handlebars and then started looking at the chain. It would spin, start to drag and fall off. Hmm.

I started going through the diagnostics I could think of and was ruling everything out. The front derailleur was fine. The chain rings were all okay. Neighbor kid said he needed to call his mom because he forgot to tell her where he was.

"Hi tell Mom I'm at Matilda's. Yeah. I told you he can fix it. Yeah, the handlebars are already fixed and he's working on the chain. No, he can ride really fast it's amazing. He'll fix it. He can do anything with bikes!"

Now, this isn't true. My repair skills are rudimentary at best. But now I had to perform. An eleven-year-old and a fourteen-year-old are depending on me.

Just then, we found the problem. One of the links on the chain was bent. And it was rusty. It was a kid's bike after all. Well, I had another chain, by luck. So I scavenged it and . . . popped the pin all the way out. That was bad. But it needed to be shortened anyway.

I slapped the new chain on, adjusted its length and . . . it fixed the problem. I cleaned up the chain and the cassette a little (it's a Target bike, so I could only do so much). I wanted to double check the length on the chain, but he had to go home. So I told him to come back tomorrow because I had to take out another link.

"Thanks! We'll pay you for fixing it."

"Nah," I said. "I'm just happy that your brother will have his bike back."

"He'll be happy too! Thanks!"

And he was off. So, in about an half hour's time I was able to be a hero and was called the greatest bike rider some kid has ever seen.

I know I'm not a great cyclist. But, you know what? To an eleven-year-old I probably really do seem like Lance Armstrong when I go speeding through the neighborhood in my ESP team kit. And, you know what? That's good enough for me.

Brilliance in Retrospect

I went for a ride today. It was in the mid seventies. Why not? I slapped on some shorts, a jersey and my new socks that I love so much (though, honestly, the website said they were charcoal gray and they are black . . . I look like a grandpa).

I go outside and start loading up. Breeze, but not windy. The weather said winds would be 5 - 10 mph. I can handle that. So off I go. I get to the lake and look at the flag. It's blowing, but not too stiff. I can handle that. I turn my bike, point toward the south and start riding in earnest. Wind is tough, but not too tough.

I turn toward the west, no let up in the wind. Hmm. Crosswind. I turn to the North and have a brief respite. Of course I only go north for about 1/4 of a mile. Head back toward East. Crosswind again. Turn south and WHAM. The wind has picked up. Damn.

Obviously this route is a bad idea, I think. I do some calculating and figure that if I go over the river I'll mostly be heading Northwest. That's good. So I go. The ramp to get over to the flats was a bitch. The wind was blowing straight across and the higher up I got, the harder it was to pedal. I know my limits, so I backed off and just took it easy up the hill.

At least, I thought I knew my limits.

Going across the flood plains I didn't exactly have a tailwind, but it was close enough. It was maybe a 20 degree crosswind that gave me a little boost. Circle the ramp up to the bridge and as soon as I'm facing North again, WHAM, that wall of wind. It's okay, I think, the ride back will be Southeast. I'll be okay. Stopped off on the western side of the river, had a goo and went on my way.

The bridge was windy, but not TOO windy. But, as soon as I was off the bridge it was like stepping into a bubbling Hell broth. I realized that the wall on the bridge was shielding me from the full force of the wind.

It's four miles back to the lake from the river. Normally, that's not a bad ride and because it's the river flats I can usually cover it in well under 15 minutes. Today was another story. Slowly my gears kept getting lower and lower and lower and the wind kept getting higher and higher and higher. Those four miles felt like an eternity. I imagine this is a fraction of what a time trial feels like. I don't want to ride a time trial.

Now, here's the thing, I wasn't even trying to go fast. I wasn't fighting the wind. I was trying to conserve energy, but it was still kicking my ass.

I finally get to the last mile until I'm back out of the flats. I turn left to go up the hill and over an overpass. I figure the wind will let up. No, that damn crosswind again. I battled my way up that hill. And it's not that big a hill.

Luckily, my ride home was with a bit of the tailwind. But when I was done I was shaking. Only 21 miles. I didn't even ride hard the whole time and I was still really suffering. But the wind showed me who was boss. I was left wondering how the hell the pros race with winds like that. They do. And they still go faster than my top average speed. Bastards.

Now, sitting here, my legs are very angry at me. But what hurts most are my arms. I guess when I was gritting my teeth and trying to ride I got a little overzealous with my grip.

Verdict: I hate nature.

Turn My Camera On

Yesterday was a gorgeous day. It hit the sixties and we decided to head to the lake. Mom slapped on her cycling kit and put the bike on the back of the car while Gert and I decided what to do while Mom was seeing of her winter training had paid off in any way. (Matilda, sadly, was at her dad's.)

Off mom went. First Gert and I went down to look at the boat launch. A floating dock was sitting on the concrete, which we inspected thoroughly. Buoyancy is an amazing thing to a five-year-old.

We wandered down the trail by the lake. There were sailboats out, and we watched them for a while. Then we headed into the sand and started picking up rocks, sticks and anything that looked cool. The winter storms and the hard freeze seemed to dredge up all sorts of interesting things along the beach. Including a really cool tree branch that floated alongside the shore.

I picked up some flat rocks while Gert made soup with sand and water. Wonderfully unsanitary.

"Hey Gert," I said, "Check this out!" I started skipping rocks. I even managed to get one to skip five times. No response. "You're really not impressed, are you?"

"I'm not into the whole rock skipping thing," my five-year-old-going-on-twenty-five told me.

We walked over to some swings, which was a good 3/4 mile hike from our car and swung for a while, chatting about rocks, dirt and what's under dirt. Mom called and warned us that she was heading back to the car so we had to stop swinging.

"I'm turning on my recorder," Gert said as she grabbed my hand. "I want to record these memories because today is the best day ever. Sometimes you just need some Daddy time. Are you recording it too?"

"Always. Every day with you is the best day."

On the way back to the car we stopped to make some more soup. This time, however, we found a dead fish. Gert was crushed. We spent ten minutes burying it and having a philosophical discussion.

"Why did the fish have to die Daddy?" Here's a question you don't want to answer. It's right up there with, "How do we get another baby in mommy's tummy because I want a baby sister."

"Well, honey, everything dies sometimes. It's how life works. I'm sure the fish lived a good life and that he loved his family and his family remembers him as a good fish. He was a strong swimmer and could go deeper into the lake than any other fish. Plus, I be he always warned the little fish to stay away from the fishermen."

"But," she asked, "why can't we make him come back alive so that he can keep telling the other fish to be safe?"

And that, in a nutshell, is my daughter. No human on Earth has the capacity for compassion that Gert has. She truly feels for each and every being she encounters. Reminds me of a guy who still remembers some old man he saw walking down a busy road on a hot summer day and, to this day, regrets not offering him a ride or getting him water or something. Not that anyone would except in this day and age . . . but still.

We found Mom happy and exhausted. Gert rode my shoulders back to the car until we heard the dulcet tones of the Ice Cream Man. Off she went with money in her hands, me barely able to keep up.

We ended the day on a sugar high.

I'm a lucky guy.

People in Glass Houses Should Put Their Names and Phone Numbers on Them

Ahhhhhhh, technology.

I was driving to Kinko's today to drop off a project to be copied. Along the way, I was being tailgated by a Ford Explorer. When we stopped at a stop light she came so close to me that the arms of my bike rack were almost touching the top of the Explorer's hood.

Eventually, the Explorer slid out without signaling into the next lane and started to pass me. We came to another stop light and she couldn't actually be bothered to stop. Slowly she edged out into traffic waiting for the light to change. When it finally did, she peeled out and started weaving through traffic, without signaling again.

As the lanes when from four down to one, I found myself behind her at a stoplight again. That's when I noticed that she had a magnet on her car. She's a Realtor. Her name and phone number are on her car. She peeled out of the stoplight and and sped down toward a school zone.

So I called her on the number on her car.

"Hello, this is XXXXXX."

"Hi XXXXX," I said. "I just thought I'd suggest that if you were to speed and weave through traffic perhaps it's not a good idea to have your name and number on your car."

"I . . . " she said and hung up.

I didn't see her again but, I hope she's at least driving a little bit saner now.

Broken Bicycles

In just two short months, after a very long winter, Floyd Landis will finally see his USADA hearing occur. Of course, Floyd is accused of taking testosterone during the Tour de France, putting his heroic ride into Morzine into the realm of infamy in the sport.

Why should you care about a dirty cheater in a sport that doesn’t even appear of the radar of most sports fans? Because, what happens to Floyd could signal a major change in the fight against doping for future athletes.

For the record, I believe Floyd. I’ll get into that later. However, I never rule out the chance of being wrong. I simply do not know. Outside of Floyd, if he doped, someone else knows the truth because he would have needed help in dosing, administering and deciding when, how and what to use for doping. Despite how the current system is set up, focusing on the athlete and only the athlete, no one dopes alone. The culture of doping must be dealt with and focused on, not just swinging a punitive hammer at the cheaters.

But that’s beside the point here. The point is you need to educate yourself about this case. Floyd’s hearing will be open to the public, though we’re still not sure exactly how open it will be as that is under discussion, but you will have unprecedented access to the proceedings. Floyd maintains his innocence and questions the way that the USADA and WADA approach their cases. He has raised very important questions about how fair the process is for the accused because, as it has been printed in many forums, there is no room for a mistake. According to the USADA and WADA mistakes simply do not happen. Ergo, no matter what, the athlete is guilty. Floyd seeks truth but feels that the ADAs seek “wins”.

So, yes, educate yourself. Find out what’s going on, what Floyd is claiming, what the ADAs are claiming and what the fans are saying. Amazingly, Floyd has a lot of support. But he also has a lot of detractors. Though many people believe this is a black and white case (i.e. he cheated, end of story) that’s not quite the full story. Don’t be fooled. Everyone one has an agenda and is acting in their own interest. Including Floyd, the UCI, the USADA, WADA and anyone else involved.

Get more of the story than you can get in a newspaper blurb. Documents are available. Arguments, PowerPoint presentations, rulebooks, codes, scientific discourse, procedural discussions are all available for you to read, interpret and discover whether or not Floyd is not only guilty but if his quest for fairness is just and admirable.

There are some great sources for Floyd information and I urge you to use them. Read, digest and understand before you judge:

Floyd Landis – The official site. Where Floyd is, where he’s going and what’s up with his hip.

Floyd Fairness Fund – Floyd’s group dedicated to getting him a fair shot and, ultimately, helping other athletes who may have been sucked into the system unfairly. Also, if you’re looking for documents, you’ll find them here. Including The PowerPoint you’ll hear so much about.

WADA – They write the codes that make the whole world sign.

USADA – They enforce the WADA code in the US. In addition to working with cyclists and other professional organizations, they’ve also been in charge of all Olympic sport testing since October of 2000. If you are interested in a sport, odds are the USADA is testing athletes at some level.

The UCI – The governing body of cycling. They are, apparently, working on a new double-secret probation anti-doping program that, from what I understand, is really expensive. No word on if it works or if it is simply another way of doing the same thing with similar results.

Landis Wiki – If it’s been hashed out, peed in, put in a test tube or floated as a possibility then it’s been documented here.

The Daily Peloton Forums – Where the discussion really started in earnest. Mostly intelligent discourse looking at the very minutiae of all the claims by all the key players. However, given enough time, the “ignorant slut” comments come out.

LA Times – Series on Landis, USADA and other doping concerns. I’m sure I missed one: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Chat Transcript

Rant Your Head Off -Well-written, deeply considered points on Landis, doping and the policies, procedures and chest thumping that surrounds it all.

And, of course, the Main Course:

Trust But Verify – The clearinghouse for all Landis content. If it’s said by, about, for, against or in reference to Floyd Landis it is here. Including the very important run downs, timelines, glossaries and more. This is THE place to go for any development big or small. Always on time, always concise and usually funny:
Timeline of Events
Current Status (includes a great graphic of the possible path of the proceedings)
Key References
Glossary
And the first in a series called Judging Floyd, written with an actual guy who not only has a law degree but is an actual judge. With a robe and everything. Very official.

Now, why do I believe Floyd? I’ve gone over this before, but I feel it’s important to explain why. I’ve read what I can of the documents (I don’t speak French, so in many cases I’ve had to rely on the kindness of strangers), I’ve reviewed all revisions of the PowerPoints, read the articles, the discussions, the arguments, the debates, wandered through the codes, listened to debates of positivity criteria, scientific minutiae, etc. Listened to, and found valid, arguments from all sides. And that has helped shaped my understanding of the case and how I view it. But there’s more.

At this point what does Floyd stand to gain out of all of this? His money is quickly depleting, he’s lost out on pretty much every opportunity that comes with a Tour de France win, he cannot race and even if he’s cleared, he may be treated as a tainted commodity by many of the Pro Tour teams. It’s quite possible that even if he is cleared, he may still be barred from racing in France. Plus, in cycling, he’s no spring chicken anymore and would be entering the tail end of his career no matter what. Of course, the tail end is frequently the best for many cyclists. He’s already lost out on the opportunities, the criteriums, the sponsorship options, PR appearances, etc.

He’s lost friends, supporters and is indirectly responsible for 40 or so people losing their jobs. Everything I’ve come to know about Floyd Landis tells me that being responsible for the destruction of a team and other people losing their livelihoods would not be something he can ignore for his own advantage.

So what does he have to gain besides proving to the world that he is not a cheater? There is no money in this, only bills. There is no glory in becoming the Curt Flood of athlete rights. There is no sponsorship opportunity at the end of the rainbow and there is no team contract sitting in a drawer waiting for his name to be cleared.

Unlike many of the doping cases, this feels like a fight for honor. Floyd cannot truly win this case. He may be cleared of wrong doing, he may be let off on a “technicality” (don’t get started on that rabbit hole of a term—because it’s a misnomer and a red herring). Floyd is not the type of man who would risk the welfare of his family for a bogus fight. I simply cannot believe he would do that. I cannot speak of his morality because I do not know him personally, but what I’ve seen of him very little matters more than Amber and his family.

I may be naïve. I may be wrong. I may be stupid. That’s fine. But, for me, this is a human story. It’s not just about cheating. It’s about a man who believes he has been wronged, that his family has been put into crisis and that he can do something about it by standing up and fighting for his reputation.

Believe him or not. That’s okay. But at least understand and know. Educate yourself and make an informed decision. You have two months before arbitrators hear and discuss this case and before the media press begins anew. Make yourself aware.

Then decide.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to go suit up for a ride.

We Rock Like This While We Roll

Oh yes. This is how we roll on cold Saturday mornings.

Also, I apparently have no head.

Irony Coincidence, Thou Art a Fickle Bitch Person With a Sardonic Sense of Humor

So, I've been kind of railing on the USADA about what I view as sloppy work, violations of its own rules, and needlessly prolonging the Floyd Landis case. And, of course, I think they are on shaky ground with Mr. Landis and are on a path to reform . . . which is a good thing.

So, after all my whining, all my criticisms guess who I am going to have to deal with as a bit player on one of my projects? Oh, yes, the USADA. I need to confirm information for a textbook on, guess what? Testing protocols, documentation, procedures, TUAs, the entire process and permission to reprint certain things will all be discussed.

Funny, ain't it? I've been working on textbooks like this for over a decade now and this is the first time my real life and one of my projects have ever cruelly crossed in such a way.

I wonder if I can quietly slip in a Landis question during our discussions . . . Damn my wish to keep my projects. Otherwise I would ask completely inappropriate questions.

Paprika

Holy crap. Now this is animation. I'm glad Cartoon Brew posted this today as it's lifted my spirits.

Though I have to disagree with the New York Times comments. It's not American animators that are still in the kiddie sandbox. Its that the only animation we get to see is buy animators who like to eat and, therefore, are chained to an entertainment industry who's more interested in cheap and profitable than good and artistic.

Oh, the American public doesn't care about good and artistic? I call bullshit on that. I can give you a long list of animated films that are good, artistic and profitable. Starting with Snow White (just watch the woodsman collapse while begging for forgiveness) to Monsters, Inc. (Sully's face in the film's final shot).

Just because it's a cartoon doesn't mean it's for kids. That's like saying Jackson Pollack was a slob.