Free at last free at last

Wichita is so bad there were long lines of people wanting to leave well before six am this morning. Need I say more ?
I made it out !!

April Highs and Lows

After what seems like, and has been, months of this:

We had a day that was closer to this:

We weren't in short sleeves or anything, but we got to wear sunglasses with dark lenses. Sixty-five miles and five thousand feet of climbing with an assortment of teammates. We had sunshine and blue sky. Despite riding parts of this route dozens of times, for the first time we had views of the snowy Olympic mountains and chamber of commerce views of the tall buildings of Seattle.

In the afternoon I donned shorts and sandals (and a long sleeved shirt) and pretended it was summer.

I'm getting fit. I feel really good after yesterday's epic. Thank you sir, may I have another? I just need to keep pouring on the miles (with climbing mixed in). I saddle up and do it again. It wouldn't be as fast, but I could do it.

On the downside, I have to travel again. My work has taken me to some pretty cool places. I've been to Paris, London, Montreal, Munich, Rio, New York, and South Beach.

This time, I don't even get to go to beautiful and desirable Dubuque:

Not this time. I'm off to freakin Wichita. The highlight of Wichita is the Hotel Old Town:

A sharp eye will recognize the Stevie Nicks shower curtain.

I shall employ my duel talents of optimism and denial and have a good time.

Thank you sir, may I have another?

Yeah, it was that wet...

The email went out Friday. The ride rolls out from the cobbles at seven AM sharp. It was supposed to be wet. 100% chance of rain wet. I was up early and checked the radar map. The map wasn’t green; it was yellow. It was raining hard. We usually think there is fine line between stupid and epic, there was no line today; this ride would be both.

As I was gathering my stuff for the ride I spotted my camera. “Not today, it’s too wet” I said out loud. On the drive to the rendezvous, I plucked a pair of toe warmers out of the glove box. I game them a kiss before opening the pack and sticking them to my socks. The rain was slapping my windshield as I drove.

We gave each other fist bumps like most morons do just prior to all manner of foolish undertakings. It was raining pretty hard. Like solders following orders we rolled out with minimal emotion.

We stopped for a moment whilst Sam made a brief clothing adjustment. As I was stopped, a drop of water from a power line fell as if aimed by a sniper, and went down the back of my neck and chilled my whole body. A cold rain continued to fall.

I looked out across Lake Washington. It was so dark and grey it looked like a black and white photograph. The ride was going to be so epic, the story should have been told in monochrome.

As we crossed I-90 there were whitecaps and the wind was blowing. For the first time in two years I closed the pit zips on my rain jacket. Dave kept going off the front. We three chasers; El Hefe, Hardman, and Evo spent the early miles trying to catch him. It seemed to be raining harder now.

The rain was unrelenting and we found ourselves crashing through puddles the way one does the last lap of a cross race. We seemed to have a mindset of, “I’m already soaked, and it’s almost over.” The only problem was; we were not nearly done; we had just started.

We were in Medina when Dave needed to take a natural break. Considering the neighborhood, we stopped at a gas station. While Dave was using the bathroom, Hardman bought a cup of cocoa, to show some patronage while El Hefe hung out in the walk in beer cooler to try and warm up. He passed the cocoa around and we all savored a sip or two.

Dave contemplated taking a bus back home and his body language revealed how cold he was. He mentioned how his feet were soaked. The store clerk, I’ll call her Marge because I could believe she was a Marge, offered Dave her socks. She said they were men’s socks and that her feet were clean when she put them on before her shift. Even with all of the sarcasm I have, I can’t say anything except that was among the nicest things I’ve seen in a long time. It was bombing rain outside.

Dave did take her up on her offer of two plastic bags which he promptly inserted between his shoes and his failing Pearl Izumi Cyclone Shoe covers. We scarfed food in hopes of stoking a fire in our bodies and warming up. With our bellies full we again set out.

The road was being resurfaced, so it was as rough as the cobbles we had started on. We kept the pace conversational and asked about each other’s gloves and shoe covers. Today was the test for all of our gear. I opened and closed my hand. My (waterproof) gloves were soaked. The temperature was in the upper thirties. The rain wasn’t ever going to end.

We climbed out of Kirkland and my glasses fogged up. My feet were now cold. My core was still good. Our bikes were covered with road mung. They looked like they had just finished a Cyclocross race. Mud on the chain stays and seat stays and down tubes.

We stopped in Kenmore for a second natural break. Would the bathroom have hand dryers that blew warm air? No such luck. For a moment I thought the rain had stopped. It hadn’t.

As we pointed south for the return to Capital Hill we were greeted with a stiff headwind. We had the weather trifecta; cold, wet, and windy. We plodded toward home. We were on the home stretch and each of us suffering quietly. I took some solace that there would only be thirty-nine more days and thirty-nine more nights of this biblical storm.

Dave kept popping off the front, not so much because he was aggressive, but because he was trying to warm up. After passing through the University of Washington we began to climb. Standing on the pedals only served to stir the water in my shoes and pump the warm water that had been close to my pruned skin away, and draw the colder water close to my skin.

“Guys,” Dave offered in a tone that concerned us. He sounded like he was about to confess something serious. “I’m just going to go straight home and sit in my hot tub.” We continued to climb and as we neared Dave’s house he bid us farewell. I don’t know if Dave changed his clothes or just dropped his bike and stepped into his hot tub in full kit. Either way, I respect him.

Hardman, El Hefe and I stopped at Fuel and started to acknowledge reality. I wrung out my waterproof gloves and then winced at the resulting puddle. I searched in vain for my second cleat cover and had to concede I had lost it somewhere along the way. It was still raining.

We were all soaked. What was the best part of the ride? The end was the best part. We all knew exactly what we were getting into when we started. It was as rough as expected. We didn’t whine and our bravado was all tongue in cheek. The warm coffee was good, but we were so cold we knew the path to warmth involved a shower, and so our respite was brief.

I didn’t even think about putting on my soaking gloves, I just wedged them into a back pocket and rode the half-mile back to the war wagon with bare hands. At the car I plopped my wet clothes in a pile and climbed in.

I drove home sitting on a towel. Once back I had to do the full Post-Cyclocross Race routine. I hosed my clothes off and washed everything. I hosed off the black gunk that coated my rims.

The shower was welcomed and the washing machine did its job as well. My boot dryer was called to service and my shoes are there right now.

I think I’ll get up early tomorrow and do it again.

The first K is the hardest

My 2012 training miles passed the one thousand mile mark today. I am still feeling my Saturday in my legs. Saturday was a combo of 56 hard miles and yard work. I'm not sure which contributed more to my suffering, but suffer I have. Today I felt like I was always a couple gears too high. to my great surprise, as I neared home, my legs started to feel good again. Hope !

Wintertime is NOT over

We delayed the start of our ride an hour to let the storm pass. It didn't. It didn't rain the whole time, near the top of Cougar Mountain there was snow mixed in with the rain.

You know it's cold when everyone offers to pump up the flat tire.

El Jefe, who must carry some special delegation from the UCI, takes the opportunity to perform a surprise inspection to ensure Tim's bike is fully compliant.

I marvel at how many clothes I wore today and I wasn't overheating. We went long and it never made it to 40 degrees. Luckily it wasn't just wet, it was a cold wet.

Twenty eight degrees

Yesterday morning it was 28 degrees when I rode into work. It was wonderful.

Where is THIS going?

Recently Hottie and I went to the movies. As we stood in line we were behind a man and his son. The lad looked to be about nine or ten and appeared special. He was looking around and not speaking. His head snapped back and forth as he scanned his surroundings. The expression on his face was blank. He was rocking back and forth and as he slowly turned toward Hottie and me he stopped suddenly.

The boy yanked on his fathers sleeve and pointed at me would not take his eyes off me. He couldn't (or didn't) speak and he slowly moved toward me pulling his dad the step or two between us until he was almost touching me.

At this point I wondering where this was going to go.

Was he going to say something friendly to break the ice such as, "That is the man who made me take off my clothes?" Was he going to suddenly blurt out, "You're my real daddy?"

The weirdness was peaking and his father was trying to figure out what was going on as well. I am usually a good sport and was trying to act like this happens everyday, but it was all a facade.

Then his father spotted it. I was wearing a shirt with a small image of the Grinch on the center of the chest and it caught the lad's eye.

"Yes, that is the Grinch," the father said and that satisfied the young man. His tiny attention span saturated, his eyes darted somewhere else and I was off the hook.

A Cool Blog

Just another day in Syria..
If the truth is told, I actually only follow about three blogs. I enjoy the writings of two Oregon women who write of things bike, and things not bike. Their sites are listed on this blog under the heading, "My Blog List."

Every now and then I come across a new blog that provides entertainment. One such blog is Transit Interface. It speaks of all things young, strong and foolish. Just to be clear; when I say foolish, I say it with respect. To be old is to have your courage replaced with wisdom. I envy that youthful foolishness. I don't envy it enough to do something that will put me into the doctors office (age is doing a fine job of that), but I sincerely admire that energy.

Tux at the 2010 TOC

A good blog is honest, entertaining, has pictures, and is updated at least once a week. I haven't been meeting these criteria, but I am recommitting. While I am nothing without a goal, once I commit, it is pretty much a done deal.

Back to it

Isn't this the coolest picture of the coolest Greyhound ever? He was sniffing snow and this is what it looks like.

As my loyal fan may have noted, there were no posts in February. Not a plan, it just kind of happened. I lived all 29 days.

My knee is coming along fine. I did some lunges on Monday and I went deep and bonked my Osgood-Schlatter on the carpet several times and thought nothing of it until the next evening when something went wrong and it hurt really bad. I've been nice to it and all seems swell.

Work has been crazy and I truly appreciate nice people. I work with some great people. I come home to a wonderful wife and loyal pup. Life is pretty fun.

Kyson and Tux are absolutely fascinated by each other.

We have enjoyed visits from Si as well as RJ, Kyson, Sophie and Katie. I visited Kansas and Montreal in February. Hottie is S L O W L Y recovering from her surgery and is understandably frustrated.

On a personal note; although I wasn't out of commission very long, I have so appreciated being able to ride again. The morning of my first post-surgery commute it was dumping rain. I woke up (thanks to my alarm set for 5:30 AM) and could hear the rain running down the downspout. My first thought was, "I get to ride today," I put on my rain stuff and went out the door and smiled all the way to work.

I commuted today and riding with a little light makes a big difference. I'm starting to think we are about to finish this winter thing and get started on spring pretty soon.

Physical Therapy IS Torture

So when people talk about Physical Therapy most of us have images of massage and gentle stretching. That sounds kind of fun. I think the following image may be more appropriate to the actual experience:

Not only is PT hard work, but it hurts. I heard the only difference between visiting a torturer and a Physical Therapist, is that the Therapist has magazines in the lobby. Bart, a Jedi Knight among Therapists, pushes my knee is a direction it isn't supposed to go. It hurts. I try to relax, but seeing the direction he is going it makes as much sense as staring at the sun. I close my eyes and hope no tears escape.

"This is insane," I think to myself.

"Now walk around for me," Bart says like a proud papa. I get off the table and walk without a limp. I smile and shake my head. Bart knows exactly what he is doing.

I then get series after series of exercises that have my muscles quivering. I work and sweat until I receive my reward of an ice pack on my knee. Done. The road to recovery is bumpy indeed. I gotta hook up with Crash John for a ride...

ONLY riding is riding...

The hardman of the modern peloton, Jen Voigt
I had arthroscopic surgery on my right knee on the 17th. I woke up in the post op with an ice bag on my knee. I was able to walk out, but the tradition of leaving in a wheelchair seems to be a sacred cow that I decided not to challenge. After Hottie got me home we had a snow storm that was followed by freezing rain and I spent two days at home with my work computer in front of me and a different ice bag on my knee.

Remember that first ride ?

That weekend I spent twenty minutes on the trainer with no tension and it felt okay. I got the stitches out this week and went to physical therapy twice. I got on the trainer again mid week and even went to spin class yesterday. The knee is coming right along and I have been following the direction given me by my doctor and my physical therapist.

Warm sunshine, a tailwind, and all day to enjoy it...

We had a dry day today and I decided to ride a few miles on the road nice and easy, in the daylight. It was such a joy to spin my legs. It was as if I had not ridden in years. I almost felt like singing, but I elected not to ruin the moment for myself and others.

Having so much fun my jersey burst open !!

As Hottie starts her much longer road to recovery, I look forward to her being able to have that feeling of flying when she too is able to enjoy the simple joy of riding a bike.

Soon, Hottie, soon.

Surgeries in the house

What is better than bacon?

You're right; it is a trick question because NOTHING is better than bacon except, of course, more bacon. But if you look closely at this picture you will see Hottie and I had bacon by candlelight. What is more romantic than bacon? Too much to list here.

What is less romantic than bacon. Surgery for sure.

Last Tuesday I had knee surgery for a torn meniscus, and this Tuesday Hottie had surgery to re-attach a tendon in her elbow. My recovery is going well and Hottie has several hard weeks ahead of her.

I'll keep you updated..

Misery loves company

Misery may love company, but apparently it HATES happiness even more.

In my professional life I am working on a project with an airplane manufacturer. For the curious among you, it is NOT a company located in my home state of Washington.

The nature of the program is iterations. We provide a prototype, they test it and see how well it plays with other systems on the aircraft. Based on those activities, my company is asked to make changes and make them fast.

In my role I have the potentially conflicting objectives of providing realistic expectations to my customer, and keeping that customer happy.

The working environment at the customer's facilities is horrible. Yelling, bullying, petty politics are all alive and well there. Their managers get abused from their superiors and they take every opportunity to pass that grief along to suppliers such as my company.

I discovered that because I failed to complain or show any signs of being upset or miserable, they had concluded my company was not working hard. It seems my upbeat attitude and occasional jokes made those miserable souls I interact with even more miserable. Like I said above; misery may love company, but it just HATES happiness even more.

I consider myself fairly adept at relationship building and have been scratching my head as to how to deal with this situation. If I behave as if I'm miserable, it would demoralize my team here. If I stay happy, my customer will resent me even more.

Maybe I can fake it ?

Kevin's birthday ride

It was a great idea; celebrate Kevin's 56th birthday by riding 56 miles.

We met 24 minutes before sunrise and rolled out. It was 37 degrees and raining lightly. Six brave souls were out to honor Kevin.

The rain increased and it seemed to get colder. We were riding amazingly slow but our spirits we high. We were exploring a few hills and somewhat circling Lake Washington. I drank my Hammer products and did NOT mix the Sustained Energy with any simple sugars and all was good. THAT is a lesson that can have nearly crippling impacts if ignored.

As the miles rolled on the rain increased and those who had extra layers put them on. We were all flirting with hypothermia and found ourselves happiest on the climbs. With less than ten miles to go the rain turned to hail and my nose felt like it was raining X-acto knife blades.

As we neared the end, for the first time in all my years of ending the weekly ride at the Volunteer Park Cafe, we took a short cut. The road was snowy and when Tom's rear wheel spun out, he stopped, dismounted and walked the super steep climb. A final right turn and we arrived at the cafe. We were all hungry and cold and wet.

Hank was so cold he couldn't get his blue fingers to turn off his blinking light. We stood in line to order food and everything looked good. I wanted to reach over the counter and start eating then and there. I managed to hold off until I reached the front of the line and it was socially acceptable to chow down. 3,800 feet of climbing. It was fun in a type 2 fun kind of way.

My old reliable PI rain jacket kept me dry and the rain beaded up on my arms like a freshly waxed car. My PI thermal tights were almost okay, but it was not a sustainable situation. I could mumble about "micro-cilmate" but all I would be saying was even when I wasn't cold, I was wet. When we stopped, even for a minute to fish out a snack; my legs started to get cold. My Castelli shoe covers kept my feet dry until my tights got soaked and then the water ran down into my shoes. My secret weapon, Hotties Toe Warmers made the first three hours pretty tolerable.

Pearl Izumi Full Finger Gel Gloves Final Review

So long old friends..

These may be about the oldest full finger gloves I have. They have been my go-to gloves forever. See my previous review here. They have been mountain biking, cyclocross racing, and semi-cold weather gloves that I have never regretted wearing.

A keen eye will see where I have patched them to keep them going. I didn't like the gloves these evolved into, so I never bought a pair and I just kept stitching them where they split.

I wore them on more than a few home construction projects. When I undertook the epic wall removal, I turned to the faithful PI gloves.

I'm pointing to where an errant nail tried to cut me and was thwarted by the glove

The project proved almost too much for me, and marked the end of the road for these gloves.

I have been trying to think of an appropriate memorial to these gloves. I don't think I would be honoring them if I just tossed them in the trash. I haven't checked out the latest offerings from Pearl Izumi, but I will. These gloves have gone above and beyond the call of duty.

December Surprise

With our nest empty, Hottie and I had discussed taking out a wall that divides our master bedroom from the bedroom next to us. Hottie had a photo trip to Africa on the horizon, so Evo contemplated a clever plot.

After dropping off Hottie at the airport, Tux and I set to work...

This is looking down the hallway. Our bedroom on the right, underused bedroom on the left

This is the view in our master. Tux is guarding the bed

This is the underused bedroom. Note the non-functioning intercom system. Let's all say "Brady Bunch" together, shall we?

At first I did some checking just in case there was something unexpected in the wall..

Let the demolition begin !

Okay... no surprises yet. If this doesn't work, I will have some explaining to do...

I had everything covered to keep it clean. Time would tell if it worked..

Tux got comfortable with his changing surroundings

A new view. This had better work...

Between 48 year old rockwool in the attic and flying drywall dust, I was anxious to keep the crap out of my lungs. Can you guess which one is the new one and which one I used today ?

Tux was unfazed. See him on the bed? Reciprocating saw cutting beams; no problem. Sledge hammer knocking out posts; not an issue. "I'll be here sleeping, just keep the dust down," was his unspoken message to me...

New doorway goes.... here !

We'll start with new beams here

Like this. The first of four

Here we are..

Oh yes, it got messy..

After holding my breath I removed what was left of the walls. No shifting, no surprises, wonderfully according to plan..

Then Tux and I cleaned up. The sheet on the bed is so Tux doesn't get fur on our blankets, etc..

Add drywall

Tape and mud...

Sand, mud, sand, mud, sand, mud

mud, sand, mud, sand, texture, clean, clean, clean, clean, clean...

The notes on the wall were my daily goals on the project

Move the bed into the middle of the room (for the time being)..

Wrap it..

She liked it !!

Hottie looks pretty good considering she has been home five minutes after spending twenty seven hours on planes.