World Wide Time Out

I made the mistake of visiting other blogs the other night. Shit. I was going to take a break and just chill. But no. I figured I'd drop in on a couple of blogs just to socialize some with my Internet buds. Now I am fired up on so many levels, I just don't know which soap box to climb up on first. I feel like all four Ninja Turtles.

It was Randal's fault I even thought of Ninjas. It was Demeur, Dawn and the pipe smoking Professor who created the personality split. Soon Honest Partisan chimed in and I was blasting off. To cope I came up with the turtle thing. Maybe it was their shells and maybe it's time for me to relocate my mind. Hey, the connections were crystal clear a minute ago. That I cannot relay them clearly is but an indicator of the tumultuous condition my Id is in. Or is it more because of the severe deflation my Ego has suffered? Regardless, at some point there was a common thread here somewhere. I keep hoping Jim Palmer's Hair can be snuck in somewhere, but even to me that would be a stretch. Guess I am going to strike out with the Palmer Doo.

The Issues that caused me to go over the edge this time

Urban Living versus Rural living - which one is greener?
Honest Partisan wants to believe the urban myth that living in the cities is greener than living in southern Maine. Maybe, maybe not. Seems to me instead of playing the who's better game, maybe we ought to be working on making each style if living as green as possible. Both are needed to support the other.

Gay Marriage or no Gay marriage - Maine votes in 50 days or so.
Dawn wants me to care about this as much as she does. There is no way I will ever be able to care about it as much as she does. I am not gay. But I do care. Enough so to begin conversations about it at the Bike Shop. As an ardent believer in freedom of choice, Gay marriage falls well within those boundaries in my opinion.

The right to be stupid as some gift from God - Just because I had already been primed at other blogs, my natural fall back tendency to be contrary kicked in and I decided I disagreed with Demeur on whether God gave us the right to be stupid. He/she certainly gave us the ability to be stupid. The government gave us the right to be stupid when they created the two party system. I just imagine the two sides getting together on a regular basis and having a great belly laugh at our expense. Two different groups. Yeah right.

And finally another fed up blogger and their take on the dismal state of our Health Care system - Frumpy Professor adequately covered his frustration and mine over the stupidity of the debate that is Health care. I could not come up with any more to add, so I just nodded my head and said , "Damn Right."

Any one of them by themselves is enough to set me off and watch out Mr Man. But catching all four in one night and damn if my circuits didn't over load. No fuses were blown, but breakers were stressed. I could feel them failing. The system slowed as the my mind sped up to try and give each one their acrimonious due. I finally found out there is a limit of how fired up I can get in one evening. I only have so much bile to spit up.

Thanks a lot guys.

I hope each one of you noticed my comments were low key and generic. I kept my tendency to dive off the deep end in check when it came time to let you know I dropped by. I reminded myself of the guy who owns the pizza joint next door. he started a diatribe 3 weeks ago about the financial crisis and every day I see him, it is like a new episode with the same plot. He doesn't even bother saying hello anymore, he just starts in where he left off yesterday.

I think we all need a day off from everything. A day of silence. A day to make the Earth stand still. A self imposed World Wide Time Out. The planet cannot not handle too many overly wound up humans at one time.

And on this day of universal calm, we will all stay silent as we sit comfortably under our favorite tree or in our favorite chair. We will contemplate our navels a spell. We will sip cool drinks and try to figure out how we can all just not open our mouths unless we have something positive to add to the over all condition we find ourselves in. We don't need to hold hands and sing. We don't need to kneel in prayer. We just need to take a breath and back it off a notch.

The idea appealed to me so much I calmed down. Caught my breath. Finally I considered the plus side of not letting the bullshit get to me. I also considered that I never "let" the Bullshit get to me. But somehow it always finds me.

Sadly this is the end.................Finis. Kaput. But I'll be back.

You have been warned.

(909 / 6125)

Watching a Cat Die

As I sit here and type, Bob is settled in next to me. Bob is on his last legs. Bob is dying. Bob has been a companion of ours for I guess 14 years. We brought him home from the Kennebunk Shelter as a kitten. Bob lived most of his life outside. He used our house as a place to sleep between adventures and catch a quick meal when his hunting skills let him down. Considering the dangerous environment out there, Bob has done very well.

The first time Bob did not check in for a week, we were sure we had lost another cat. But one morning, there he was, all beat up and looking pitiful on the front porch. He gladly came in, ate until I thought his stomach would burst and then slept for several days. But soon, he was back out again, carousing and raising Hell. Eventually we became used to his prolonged absences. He always came home.

Several months ago, we noticed Bob had lost weight and one eye seemed out of whack. He had no appetite. A vet visit was inconclusive. It could be a bug. It could be his thyroid gland. Kidneys were mentioned. Pills were prescribed.

At first Bob seemed to respond to the medication. He began to eat and gain back some of the weight he had lost. His eye cleared up. That lasted until a couple of weeks ago. Now he is worse than ever and almost blind. His relapse was dramatic and sudden. His health is deteriorating so quickly, every day he is noticeably worse than the day before. Yet, he still cries to go out.

And here is my problem. We want to protect him. By keeping him indoors, I guess we feel we are. Is dying slowly here inside somehow better than the quick death he will have out there in the pucker brush? I cannot help but feel bad over either certainty.

Of course we could take him to the vet and have him put down. Rationaizing that is always easier than dealing with a slow and prolonged process of death right in front of us. He does not seem to be in pain. He does not seem to be suffering. But he is dying. I cannot get past the sadness of losing him to reach the point of making the right decision.

It is almost as if Bob is a kitten again. Seeking comfort in my arms. Purring in my ear and rubbing his head against mine. A circle seems to be closing in on itself. Bob seems okay with it. I sure wish I was.

Later.................

(441 / 5216)

When the Music is Over

On several recent commutes into the bike shop, the Doors tune "When the Music is Over" popped into my mind. I had recently ripped and then burned it onto a mix CD. I always listen to my new mixes several times in a row. So this tune popped up more than once.

It first came to my attention in 1967 or thereabouts. I had been buying albums from an Econoline van that stopped once a week at Clark's Tank & Tummy in Sanbornville to re-stock the 8-track rack next to the lunch counter. I pumped gas, changed oil and provided Joe, the owner with a convenient ass to chew on daily. Gas was maybe 30 cents a gallon. I paid $1.50 an album for anything the delivery guy had in the truck. I spotted "Strange Days" and liked the cover. I wore it out before Summer was over and bought a brand new copy to take back to school with me.

What have they done to the Earth?
What have they done to our fair sister?
Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and bit her
Stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn
And tied her with fences
And dragged her down

I hear a very gentle sound
With your ear down to the ground
We want the world and we want it...
Now
Now?
NOW!

All the lyrics of this tune are excellent, but the ones I always wonder in awe over are these. Jim Morrison may have been an over intoxicated waste of breath many days of the week, but when he put his mind into it, his lyrics could blow me away. The mid 1960s represented the pinnacle of the World's total disregard for the planet. Polluted rivers, air, and lakes were everywhere. We punk boomers noticed the pollution and took environmental concerns with us as we were assimilated into the culture we would one day run for a spell.

This tune, specifically these few lyrics really relay the tone and feeling of the time. Memories of living in DC and days spent fishing the Potomac downriver from the city always come when I hear this tune. Pulling in condoms instead of fish. Watching barrels of who knows what tipped over and draining into the river in sight of the Capitol. Pollution became so bad in this country, we could not ignore it any longer.

Like or not, every generation seems to own something that has major impacts on future generations not on the planet yet. We boomers own, for good or bad, the green movement that came into it's own in the 1960s and 1970s. We embraced the idea of caring for the environment. Blame or credit can rightfully be laid at our door.

Some days I am sure we blew it. Other days, I am more forgiving. What if we had not raised a stink when we did? Where would the Earth be now? Dare say, much worse than it is now. But all in all, I think many of us boomers cast our idealism aside before we should have. Idealistic concern for the planet ended up taking a back seat to the in our face concerns like family , homes and bringing in some money every week. Convenience replaced concern. Being comfortable now and in the future caused many of us to disregard even reasonable measures to help the planet. We fell into the disposable consume for consuming sake mentality and Wal Mart became our factory store. We helped create awareness for the planet, but did little more than that. Following through became more work than we were willing to give.

The movement faltered but never disappeared. New laws were created to curb air pollution, acid rain and clean up toxic locations. Progress was made. However, the enthusiasm we had when we weren't paying for it diminished over time as the reality of the financial and convenience cost dawned on us. Now I talk to contemporaries who were once solid supporters of cleaning up our nest and many have lost their passion for a cleaner and healthier environment. They still complain about it, but when it comes time to put pressure on by vote or buying, many are lost in "what is the cheapest alternative". And they end up backing the status quo of the previously hated "establishment". As it stands now, I am not very proud of my "Boomer" brethren. They talked the talk once. Many even walked the walk once. Now it seems not many Boomers even want to hear about it.

The words of Jim and the Doors are even more relevant today than they ever were. We continue to "stab her with knives, tie her with fences and drag her down". All the while more of us stuff our heads in the sand and think the ride will never end. It will end. Believe it. I guess it depends on how important the future we won't be part of is to us now. Personally, I would like to think I am leaving the planet in better shape than I found it. At this point, it doesn't look good.

(860 / 4775)

Taking Time To Ignore It

I will often slip into a zone. Specifically I will find that the words I write seem to fall onto this screen by themselves. I become nothing but a conduit from some place not known into this place we call the here and now. I may begin with a plan and a point. But somewhere a synapse misfires or maybe enters that place unknown for a moment and a torrent of unannounced words will spring forth leaving me clueless how I came up with what I came up with.

Most of the time as I sit back and sip on whatever relaxing drink I have chosen and peruse the words I just spewed out I will laugh and either delete the random words of the moment or place them in the purgatory that exists just behind the screen you see now. That repository for all words saved whether posted or not.

On occasion though, I will be thrilled and pleased with the effort it didn't take to come up with such brilliant and insightful thought. I become my own best fan and break an arm patting myself on the back. For what it's worth, these moments are few and far between. They do happen however.

When I find myself enjoying the act of writing and then true pleasure with the result, I will post and assume everyone else is being dazzled by my brilliance. Yeah Right.

More often than not, the posts I take the most pleasure in are the ones that are ignored. Not even a token comment on some facet or point, just flat out ignored. The rest of the World has decided that my words that night are worthless.

I am okay with this I guess. I am puzzled more than anything else. When I think I am on, I am usually not. And then I will post what I consider a mediocre effort and the comments flood in.

I could delete the posts that no one paid attention to. I have that power. But I came to my blog that night to write. And write I did. Good, Bad or Indifferent, I figure it stays. I took the time to write it. Folks may as well take the time to ignore it.

Keep it 'tween the ditches....................

(376 / 3915)

Shots with Hash

My recent rediscovery of whiskey brought back to mind a fellow who used to come into the bike shop on occasion. Zeke was his name and beating the odds was what he did with his life. He called me kid. And though he looked older than God, I found out he was only a few years older than I was.

The years had not been kind to Zeke. He walked hunched over with a kind of stumbling shuffle. One arm had been rendered useless from a stroke some years back when he still free based cocaine. I wasted a good portion of my life abusing substances of varying types and amounts. Zeke dedicated his whole life to the abuse of whatever he could get his hands on.

Zeke claimed to have ridden a bicycle across the country several times over the years. He still lusted after bikes and biking, but his bad habits had taken over and he was not physically able to even toss a leg over the bars anymore. Vicarious enjoyment by hanging out in my bike shop was about as close as he got now.

His first couple of visits underwhelmed me. Just another pathetic loser looking to waste my time along with his. I tried to blow him off and stay or at least look too busy to pay much attention. Zeke did not care. Only my presence was needed, not my attention. He would just lean on the glass counter and tell stories. Apparently more interested in telling the story than caring if anyone besides himself was paying attention.

He built grand stories of escapades and adventures he had had before Life began to take it's pound of flesh from him. It was not until the third or fourth visit that summer I started to warm up to him. He was damn funny and did not dwell on his own infirmities.

One day he shuffled in. After he had settled in on the counter, he looked around the shop to see we were alone. Satisfied we were, he said, "You look like a dope smoker or maybe an ex-dope smoker. Ever get into any good hash? Know where I can get some now?"

I looked up from the bike I was attempting to cajole back into shape. I was not sure how to respond. But I answered his question. “Uh No, haven’t seen hash of any kind for over 25 years. Those days are behind me now.”

“Damn. I just ran out and we won’t be headin back to Brookline, Mass until day after tomorrow. Plenty of hash in Boston. Guess I will have to finish that bottle of Johnny Walker Black without my favorite side dish. Nothing goes with hard liquor like some tokes of fine black hash. They were made for each other. A shot, then a couple of pulls and Life begins to make sense again." It's gonna be a tough couple of days."

I stopped my wrench twisting. Looking at Zeke with his broken body hunched over the counter, I thought, "There, but for the grace of God, go I." Somehow I had managed to turn off my substance abusing switch. Zeke apparently never even looked for it.

"Jeez Zeke, sure you might not want to take it easy? Look at what the drugs and likker have done to you at this point."

"Shit Crum, I am well past any kind of salvation at this point. Liver is toast and I picked up the Cancer. I won't be back next summer. Or so the doctors tell me anyway. What got me into this mess is all I have now to numb what's coming."

I just stared at him. What do you say to someone who tells you they are dying? Apparently silence works. Zeke just kept on talking. Like he understood my discomfort and inability to come up with the right response. Or any response for that matter. He moved onto politics and how he had voted for Bush the first but didn't for Bush the Second.

I stopped him. "Zeke, I may have stopped smoking and carousing, but I know a guy who knows a guy. I'll drop a dime. Give me a call tomorrow."

"Can't. No phone at the camp. I'll swing in." Zeke slowly straightened up. His twisted torso fighting even the slightest demand placed on it. He turned and limped towards the door. Over his shoulder, "Later Man, and oh yeah, thanks."

I made some calls, got a number, and passed it on to Zeke the next day. That was the last time I saw him.

There's always a story to tell...........................

(766 / 3539)

Writing As It Happens

I thought I would try something different tonight. I wanted to catch Obama's speech on Health Care because I have a vested interest, what with being a newbie old fart, on what happens to Health Care over the next decade. In an attempt to understand his stand better I wrote a running commentary as the speech unfolded. Impressions, interpretations, and how I saw it in a nutshell. The result was interesting. To me anyway.

So Obama Man just walked in. I could hear the Sargent at Arms announcing his arrival in the background of the NPR commentary trying to keep us placated because the Prez is running late. Apparently Obama will spell out his views on what we should do with Health Care. He will one more time try to bridge the differences and sift out the rhetoric that means nothing and only causes emotions to get fired up.

Over what is obviously loud and boisterous applause, Obama - several times, "Thank You...clap clap clap......thank you......clap hoot holler...." Pelosi in charge starts pounding the podium with that massive mallet. She introduces the President. More applause. He begins.

He starts in with an overview of what he talked about the last time. How he won't give up until all Americans who have lost their jobs have found new employment. He won't give up until all who lost their homes have moved into new ones. He goes on saying through all our efforts we have indeed pulled our collective asses away from the brink. But there is more work to do. He is setting a grand tone.

I left for a moment. Parched, needed a drink of water.

Seems Obama is now jumping right in on the Health Care issue. Several examples of egregious and poor treatment at the hands of an indifferent Health Care Insurance Industry. Care denied for arbitrary and specious reasons. Costs have more than tripled in some period of recent memory. In other words, he tells us what almost all of us already knew. The system we have now sucks.

He proposes not to build from scratch, but work with the system we have and make it better. Now he begins to stroke Congressional egos by telling them how pleased he is with their efforts. On both sides. But we are only 80% there and that partisanship has been utilized to hamstring the efforts. Scare tactics using blatant untruths. He utters the word "Lies" and "Liars" I think. (That's gonna piss off some folks and ruffle feathers) He calls for action. The games are over. He calls on the Leadership to "deliver on Health Care".

His plan with substantial gaps because I ain't no stenographer.
~Nothing in our plan requires those who have insurance already to change providers. What it will do is clean up some of the rules.
~No pre-existing condition refusals
~No arbitrary caps on amounts of money
~Insurance policies will be required to cover pre-emptive measures - Mammograms, Physicals, blood work, etc.
~Instilling a plan that will include every American not covered to go to a new insurance market place and buy insurance as part of a bigger pool of people. Will make rates more competitive and cheaper.
~Interim Catastrophic Plan - The same plan McCain proposed back during the election
~Require some kind of "basic Insurance" for all Americans who can afford at least the basic coverage. We all need to work together.

Obama says he has no interest in putting the insurance companies out of business. He wants to hold them accountable. He is of the opinion that consumers do best when there is competition. Fair competition. The way it is set up now is not fair and often exploits the insured.

Calls both the Right and the Left out to stop the partisan crap. To the Left - Don't overstate the impact of the plan. To the Right - Stop the fear mongering of government takeover.

Paying the freight - Won't sign any bill that increases the deficit. Must be deficit neutral. Will cost about 900 billion dollars over the next ten years. Cheaper than the War in Iraq. Cheaper than the Tax cuts to the rich.

He feels that much of the cost can be born by making the system we have work more efficiently. Too much waste. Too much inefficiency. Not one dollar of the Medicare plan will be used to pay for this. Then he outlines some the measures his plan will utilize to protect and even enhance the coverage Seniors have and will have in the future.

Another water break.....I'm back ......clapping - guess I did not miss much.

He lays down the gauntlet. Lets everyone know that he is serious and will call out anyone who uses unfounded claims to misrepresent the plan he laid out. Killing the idea of Health care reform is not an option. Settling on the "status quo" again was not an option.

Then it gets mushy as Obama begins a tribute to Ted. Ted was not being ideological or partisan with his focus on Health Care. He just cared. Then a brief history of Social Security. 1935 - fears of Socialism were unfounded as Social Security came into existence. The stupid fear that this country will ever be socialist. That over the years, our leaders have ultimately understood that too much government is no better than too little government. A balance must be found and so far we seem to find it. Eventually.

And finally a rah, rah rah closing moment as he performs a "I still believe" and "We Can" moment - that we can still act when it is hard. We can bury the acrimony. We can do the right thing. See ya and thanks for your time.

Charles Boustany - Republican Hack Response

Republicans are pleased Obama came to Congress. The Republicans are ready to find ways to make Health Care more affordable. Republicans understand Americans want reform. Then it is onto their standard bullshit about it being nothing but Government Health Care. Faults Obama for not taking it off the table. What a maroon. Just because it is on the table does not mean it "has" to be part of the solution. Obama said as much.

Then ole Chuck starts beating the favorite Republican straw dog, er man - Tort Reform and how without it, the cost of Health Care will remain high. Standard crap from the Right. But somewhat muted because Obama was so very clear about the what, where, and how his plan would really work. Why has the party of my youth become such a cast of clowns?

I give Obama a B+ or maybe even an A- for this speech. I would give him an A but well, he was a tad kinder than I would have been to the boneheads in Congress. I'm way more disgusted I guess with the lot of them than he is. But President Obama spoke strongly, clearly and he did strike a line in the sand to a degree. And not just one between himself and the Republicans, but one between himself and Congress. He continues to do the job I envisioned he would. I just hope to see his success rate pick up some in the near future.

I am not sure why I even did this. I have to say though, writing my impressions and my take as I thought them was quite...... well shit, it was cool to do this. I have re-read the previous narration and decided that after some spelling corrections and straightening of a few (okay, more than a few) awkward phrases and such, I will let it go to post.

Later..............

(1274 / 2773)

We Are Indeed Insane

Maybe I have re-discovered my sanity. And maybe it is just me returning to the insanity again and I haven't found my sea legs yet. I have never seen this country afflicted with as much hate and discontent as I am seeing now. The acrimonious exchanges between Right and Left have gotten worse, not better since Obama Man became President. The one thing I hoped for now seems even farther in the distance than it was when Dubya was the Man.

I search for the why of this wider divide. The economic upheaval of a year ago? The election of a Black President? The clashing of religious ideals with the political ideals of a nation split into two camps? Or might it just be the fear we all have over a future that is now just dawning on us as being something we had not bargained for. And thus had not prepared for?

I see and hear panic in almost everything making the news now. Seems everyone is looking for reasons for things that have no reason. They just happen. It seems that everything is someone’s fault. So we waste the precious time we have on this planet trying to fix the blame instead of fixing the problem.

And neither side is guilt free here. Even though they would have you believe it is the "them" of the other side that is responsible for Johnny not learning, Grandma not able to afford her heart medicine, or the loss of jobs in Dayton.

There is way too much to unite us. Why do we work so hard at dividing ourselves?

Call me disgusted with the lot of us....................

(269 / 1499)

A Marketing Ploy

Dave left my bike shop earlier tonight. In tow he hauled out a brand new custom build ride he assembled himself. Dave probably got home tonight with his new love and propped her up in the corner of his garage. He made sure she had any available light shining on her. He stepped back and I am sure he grinned.

I know this about Dave because he and I share similar cycling spirits. Had I been him tasting for the first time a piece of two wheeled art I had just completed, I would also have surely grinned. I might even have enjoyed that kind of satisfaction that visits us on rare occasions. The euphoria that starts somewhere deep inside overwhelming us and our only answer is to smile.

A bike build successfully carried out brings with it pleasure to all the senses. The meshing of colorful metals with technological purity reward the mechanic in the cyclist while also teasing the cyclist in that mechanic. Thoughts bounce from appreciating the effort to bring it all together to how and over what it will roll. Trails will fly by. Wishing to hear the hub whir as the tires break traction and then hook up. The aroma of new grease and chain lube blend with the smell of new rubber. Moments are spent trying to remember the two wheeled beast as just parts, pieces, nuts and bolts. We wonder at it's simplicity and are awed by it's complexity.

We stare at this yet untried machine. We know it will not let us down. We have planned. We have installed with care and concern. Positioned each part with precision. Agonizing every little detail, tipping a lever down just so and tweaking the chain line until it is perfect. Plucking nicely tensioned spokes promise us mechanical loyalty from this man made, man powered conveyance. Life makes sense for a moment.

Yeah, a new bike beats pretty much most anything I can think of.

Back in a Flash.............................

Thanks to Dash Jim for this fine photo of Dave and his new ride.

OH Yeah!

I started this post with ulterior motives. Once again I came with a plan to influence choices and sway focus. What resulted hardly worked out that way.

I have started yet another Blog. That makes three blogs in the official kinda way. My new blog is dedicated pretty much to cycling and my bike shop. It is intended to enhance my overall strategy to create a larger Web presence. In a business kinda way. So if you are feeling like visiting yet another new blog by some fool in Maine, stop by CRUM Cycles . It isn't or rather won't be just about bikes, shop rats and how anal retentive roadies just make my day sometimes. I figure to chronicle my re-birth as a business. Or keep track of it's demise. Either way, Life just got a tad more interesting.

(489 / 1230)

Giving Someone Else Some Due

I spotted this well written snippet by a fellow cyclist and just had to share.

If you ride you know those moments when you have fed yourself into the traffic, felt the hashed-up asphalt rattle in the handlebars, held a lungful of air in a cloud of exhaust. Up ahead there are two parallel buses. With cat's whiskers, you measure the clearance down a doubtful alley. You swing wide, outflank that flower truck. The cross-street yellow light is turning red. You burst off the green like a surfer on a wave of metal. You have a hundred empty yards of Broadway to yourself. ~Chip Brown, "A Bike and a Prayer"

* Image poached from Party Bots. It is a silk screen image they sell on tee shirts. The artist and main man is Karl Addison. Some cool stuff. Check it out.

Thoughts While Driving

I had considered another "Whiskey Wednesday" entry tonight. Last Wednesday while feeling the gut warmed euphoria of a couple of shots of whiskey, I thought," I oughta make this a weekly thing like other hip bloggers do. Seems many of them have some kind of regular hook to bring in the adoring fans. Yeah, I'll spend Wednesday night lightly sipping some decent whiskey and then discussing, pontificating, or spewing forth whatever comes out."

That was last Wednesday. Between then and now I have had a chance to consider the ramifications of such an obligation. Heavy thoughts weighed me down on several commutes back and forth the brutal 8 miles to the bike shop. I almost broke a sweat.

My first concern was could I live up to the higher bar I had constructed for myself? Having had 57 years to get to know my proclivities, I knew that committing to a regular anything was pushing my personal envelope past it's usual limits. I have my ritual bag pretty full what with waking up every day, going to work at least 5 days in a row, and then topping it all off with enough mental machinery to keep the blood flowing and somewhat oxygenated. Throw another "routine" in and well, one of the others might just suffer. This was my first "but".

My second concern came as an "Oh Yeah" moment. One of those moments when my mind was vacant of any thought as the pavement buzzed by and suddenly I remembered I had given up drinking many years ago. Only recently had I fallen off the wagon with my occasional intake of the Demon Rum. And while my flirtation with alcohol has been fun, I did have a good reason to stop the drinking. It had become a habit. And not a good habit. I stop short of saying I was an alcoholic, but I will say I was pretty much an all around champion substance abuser. If it gave me a buzz, hey I was ready. Alcohol had hung in the longest and when I sent it packing, I felt good about it. Insisting on downing some shots every Wednesday sounded suspiciously like the troublemakers inside were trying to subvert all those years of sobriety and clear thinking. The evil bastards never go away, they just get tucked into nooks and crannies.

Several days passed and suddenly it was today. Wednesday. On my way home I found the best rationalization for not tipping a few today. I just flat out did not have a hankerin. I came home tonight and looked at the bottle of Rebel Yell and nothing happened. No trepidation, no lust. Nothing. So tonight I don't drink. Tomorrow, hey who knows? Creating an excuse to drink is how it all started in the first place.

BUT - this post was to be about thoughts while driving. Not about whiskey, routines, or stupid human tendencies. Tonight I was going to relay my thoughts about my lifetime of thinking while behind the wheel, in a jet plane, on a bicycle pedaling from here to there. Tonight I was going to talk about how I have spent so many minutes, hours, days, years traveling somewhere from somewhere else. I had a whole post thought up about the odd things that came to mind while in transit. Some kicked off by a visual cue. Some teased into existence by some news clip or angry snippet from a disagreement encountered the day before. I was also going to pick away at the edges of some of the darker thoughts I have had while moving from point A to Point B. I mean, I cannot possibly be the only one who has had evil or nasty thoughts. I assume we all do from time to time. At least that is my hope. Certainly the variety of evil people, things and deeds written about over the years would indicate I am not alone.

My failure to deliver on the idea of this post as originally intended only proves the strongest underpinning for why I should not try to commit to a weekly post that has the same focal point or starting point each week. Hell I can't even keep the same thought in line for more than a minute or two. Maybe next time.

So goodnight to all you other Space Cadets out there.........You know who you are if you know what I mean........


(741)

The Visceral Nut Sack of my Soul

This is a picture of the first substantial piece of original art my daughter purchased on her own for her first real apartment. Given her limited budget, she coughed up a sizable chunk of her disposable income to make it hers. Personally I think it is excellent. But then she and I are in sync when it comes to anything that may even hint or smell of bicycles.

This 3x4 foot wall hanging patiently crafted from recycled steel sheets reminded me of the Art Appreciation class I took in college. The instructor had obviously stopped paying attention to any art after the 1890s. Either that or I failed to or refused to get on the same page as her in order to safely pass one of the gimme courses we had too many of back in the day. To this day, several friends just do not understand how or why I forced her to fail me. But I did.

Actually I did not officially fail, I received a "NC" or No Credit. It didn't really hurt that 2.mediocre GPA I was carrying. It didn't help it either. I aced all three True/False tests. I even caught most of the classes. But for some reason, I just could not stand the woman teaching the class. Maybe it was her "I know what Art is and you don't" attitude. And maybe it was just me being stubborn and unwilling to fall into line. But every class, I picked out something to rub her the wrong way with. I found out early she hated the word "why". So I used it as often as possible. Her technical and historical knowledge of Art was top shelf. Her appreciation of it sucked. She would have definitely not had any appreciation for this piece.

Which brings me to my point. The reason I even posted the picture. There are a multitude of reasons I may like or dislike a piece of Art. Most times it has nothing to do with what branch, era, or school of art it came from. It has to do with what does it do to my senses, visually and emotionally. How does it make me feel? Who created it is of little interest at first. If I like a piece of art, I will often follow up by looking for more by the same artist.

I long ago gave up trying to figure out why two people can look at the same painting, watch the same movie, read the same book and then come away from them with opposing attitudes about what they just experienced. I may not be sophisticated enough to break down artistic endeavors into the various nuts and bolts that make up that particular art form, but I am able to appreciate most any art from the visceral nut sack of my soul. In my opinion, good art always hits me there first, which will often then kick my brain in the ass to actually think about it.

See Ya................

(500 / 7286)

Whiskey Wednesday

Some days I feel guilty for not paying more attention to the odd and maddening events unfolding inside The Beltway. I am sure most days, the lot of them just screw the pooch while looking busy and attentive to our needs. They have been screwing some pooch of some kind for the 57 years I have been aware. Okay, at age Zero I was not watching Huntley/Brinkley or Edward R Murrow, but I am sure the boneheads in DC were doing the same stupid things they do now long before any period I can remember. Let's call it retro-extrapolation.

I feel if I don't pay attention, they really screw up. Without my constant attention and consistent whining, this country would be in tougher shape than it is. My worrying and anguish is what keeps us from going over the edge. So when I find myself in those periods of blissful ignorance, I rush back to see what my inattention has wrought. I find it is always the same. Some new issues have heated up, some old ones have cooled down, and some issues continue to simmer as they have for as long as I can remember, occasionally coughing up a bubble to relieve the pressure.

In reality, Life inside the Federal Triangle unfolds without respect or attention to the events I face on a daily basis. Those wing-tipped button down cigar smoking yahoos definitely march to their own tune. I sit here in Maine singing the "Nobody loves me, my dog just died Blues" and they are down there hanging out in bars on M St drinking, carousing, and dancing to Reggae. They exist in an Alternative Universe. Or I do.

The disconnect I feel between myself and them is profound. The problems I face seem to my addled brain to have simple solutions for the most part. Yet by the time the problem is processed, looked at, broken down, and inspected by pols, bureaucrats and think tank wizards, simple solutions are tossed out the window. How would they justify their existence if problems were addressed with simple solutions?

Other days I walk by the tube and some kind of new but all too familiar craziness is filling the screen. Pols caught with their fingers in other pockets, other women, or in their own. If one of them has not just been snagged being stupid or outrageous, it must be a cold day in Hell. And if for some reason the politicians are catching their breath and laying low, panty bunchers from the extreme edges always have some new cause, latest bitch or other evolving complaint. The rhetoric may change, but the clamor remains the same. Seems many, if not most are not happy being happy...............Of course, quite often neither am I.

And don't get me started on all the mass stupidity the rest of us get ourselves into. I swear sometimes, I am sure any moments of sanity in our collective existence are figments of our imagination. By day, Gun Totin Tea Bagging Birthers facing off against Tree Hugging Snail Saving Whale Lovers. By night everyone sits on their respective barco-loungers and laughs their way through the latest segment of "America's Got Talent". That 90% of the time we all seem to be on the same page matters little since we all seem bent on tossing the 10% that separates us in each other's face.

I hear there's some windmills in Poughkeepsie that need a comeuppance..............

(566 / 6786)

Freedom Relies On More Than One Oar

There is a fellow commenter who visits a blog I also visit on occasion. He is a regular. Me, well I breeze through once in awhile. This fellow's user name "free" is followed by a series of numbers that must have significance. Serious people like him do not assign themselves user names that mean nothing more than an avenue to a website. His clever use of small numbers as bookends for larger numbers indicates some special secret handshake kind of handle. I consider him serious from his name to his comments. He is sure of his view and even more sure that my view and anyone else's view that falls outside the tolerances of his tightly woven box are as far wrong as he is far right. "Free" takes his Right Wing "I own freedom" notion very seriously. He is not a foaming at the mouth Freeper. But he is hardly what I would call open minded.

I know it is not terribly open minded of me either to pigeonhole folks like I just did based on superficial garbage like someones user name. After years, no, make that after many years of dealing with people using aliases on the Internet, I have determined through exhausting assumptive research, that when someone uses the word "free" in their handle, they are less likely to tolerate the freedom of others they feel are outside their narrow view of what Freedom should be. It does not seem to matter which side of the aisle they spit from either. If they use "free" anywhere in their name, my red flags start waving.

To be fair to the "free" dude who I held up to ridicule in the beginning of this post, I would have to say he is one of the more tolerable intolerants. He is usually civil and will respond with the appropriate level of acrimony that suit the various comments. He is not mean. But he is not willing to concede even one inch to any side he views as being the opposition. Of course given that the blog we both visit is authored by an unashamed Left Wing Partisan, I would guess "free" comes armed for combat.

I know. I know. I should be more open minded myself. I should be less judgemental and more inclusive. And I do try to be. I at least do not tear apart every aspect of another's comment every time I visit. I more often than not just read the variety of takes and maybe add my own. Then I move on. But being only a couple synapses shy of also wanting to include "free" in my various Internet nicknames, I will often allow my own blinder predispositions to override my attempts to live and let live. At some point I will make a snarky comment. Thus proving I am no better than the person I have decided is brain dead. Hey, it takes one to know one.

To me Freedom is not something you talk about. Or brag about. Freedom is something you practice. To me Freedom is not handed down from some faceless bureaucratic/political machine. It is something I take for myself. Blind allegiance to an idea or political structure is not Freedom. It is subservience wrapping itself in a disguise of patriotic hogwash or monolithic ideals. The narrow confines of which often stifle any real ability to practice freedom as it is defined by Webster. To align oneself completely to a certain political direction is in my opinion limiting one's freedom. Assuming one side has all the answers is shackling oneself to but a single oar. It often ends up with the afflicted rowing in circles and mumbling about how free they are. In the end all that happens is the environment that they feel free (safe) in becomes ever smaller and more constrictive.

So now every time I meet someone sporting the word "free" in their secret Internet identities, I always chuckle at the irony. Because nine times out of ten, it seems they are never as free as they pretend to be. And often they would love to limit my freedoms to somehow bolster theirs. At the same time put me in the boat that only has only one oar.

Okay, who's got my other oar.......................

(709 / 6220)

Evil Seductress

How does the saying go? I saw it once as a sticker on a friend's bike - "Lord, protect me from the things that I want."

I honestly thought I was pretty much over the wink and sashay of another new bike. Like an aging pimp in Las Vegas, I have been around the two wheeled beauties for so long, I tend to yawn when "that next new piece of biking bling" comes over the horizon. It's a bike. It has pedals. It conveys one from point A to Point B in the most civilized way possible outside of walking. Yes, I was sure I would never get wood from another bicycle.

I was wrong. Proof that even jaded old bike shop rats like me can still perk up and pay attention if the right combination of materials blend with the latest mechanical advantages offered by tech geeks hunched over computer CAD programs designing that next "perfect ride".

In the 1980's I became smitten with these new fangled "Mountain Bikes". I bought one. I bought another. I bought part of a bike shop. Mountain bikes rode high into the mid 1990s. I hung ten on that wave. I bought, sold, and owned about every new innovation that came at me. Each one promising to be the revolutionary improvement that would turn me into another cycling god. I figured out pretty quick though, the flashy new gadgets were not going to turn me into a cycling god. Not even a pretend god. I was nothing but a lay preacher in the movement to get people off their butts and out of their cars and into the street and forests on bicycles.

I watched the wave crest and then fall. Mainstream America, temporarily infatuated with bicycles, soon lost their interest as most figured out that to develop any skill sets or fitness, they actually had to ride them. No matter what spiffy hi tech stuff was hung on them. Bikes by the millions were hung up in garages coast to coast. And America moved onto the next new fad. Scooters, wake boards, fishing, rock climbing, whatever.

A funny thing happened. Rather than fade into the background and fall back on the bread butter part of the industry, kids bikes, cruisers, basic mountain and road bikes, the surge of the late 1980s and early 1990s had created a top heavy industrial and R&D base that figured it only needed to keep innovating and the riders would come back. Improvements slowed during the late 1990s, but the ones that came down the pike later were not empty and useless like so many before. Shock tech has reached a point now that dependable suspension for cheap is the rule, not the exception. Components have become more elaborate in their function and now a high end bike of any kind is more functional jewelry a rider can pound on day after day. Yes, the prices have gone through the roof. But what product out there has not become more expensive?

One innovation I thought a total waste of time and energy was a new wheel size for mountain bikes. 29" wheels rather than 26" started to catch the attention of the die hard woods riders. Combine the earlier movement to single speed mountain bikes and what I was being forced to learn about drove me batty. 26" wheels rolled just fine. Having a variety pack of gears to use made any terrain my bitch. Larger wheels would just fold easy under hard hits I thought. And Single Speed just seemed some hellish idea thought up by sadomasochists. Talk about self flagellating. Stupid ideas, both of them.

So the new movements passed by my shop. As a confirmed retro grouch, I watched them from the sidelines and decided I was right. Neither would ever really catch on. There was not enough industry support to make it happen. Not enough variety in frames, forks, rims, tires to even get the new born fads off the ground.

That was 6 or 7 years ago. I was wrong 6 or 7 years ago. That's okay though. I am used to being wrong. It goes with my retro grouch persona. At least now I am right. Or should I say I am not wrong anymore. 29er bikes and Single Speed bikes have managed to become mainstream in the industry.

Okay, so I have admitted my mistake. But I still did not feel any compulsion to jump on the bandwagon as a consuming cyclist. I have more bikes in my quiver than any one man should have. Adding yet one more ride to my barn full seemed silly. And then I stumbled on the "Zaka".

29 inch wheels mated to a titanium frame is what it took to make me gaga again over a bike. I own a titanium bike and it rides like no other I own. But it is pre-new tech and I have moved onto newer rides that offer better handling and more gears. The "Zaka" is also a changeling. It can manifest itself as a multi-geared bike or be set up as a Single Speed. High Tech, please meet Simplicity.

As I write this I am conspiring to find a way to put my fat butt on one of these. They are not cheap. The frame by itself retails in the $1400 range. My cost would be less, but even finding $100 to spare right now is tough. In the meantime I can lust and fantasize about how another new bike will turn me into that cycling god I secretly want to be.

Later.............

(935 / 5511)

I Want to be Your Groupie

Pour a couple of well deserved shots of decent sour mash into me after a solid and excellent week of business at the bike shop - slap on the headphones - punch up some Zeppelin and,.......and, ......turn it up to WOW! Well, I have to admit that no matter how many years separate me from those seminal days and eye opening years when Jimmy Page and his guitar first caught my attention - Well yeah I have to admit, I cannot deny my roots, Led Zeppelin is my all time favorite Rock n Roll Band.

There are many groups fighting for second place. But on my Rock Podium, Zep wins the Gold. Love the Who, Tull, Hendrix, Little Feat, Yes, the Rolling Stones, and Cream. Shit, name some Rock band from back in the day and I would have to say that there were moments when I was enticed away from the best of the best. But it never failed, I always came back for the ear splitting sound of Page, Bonzo, Plant and the unflappable John Paul Jones.

Many bands attempted to cover their music, copy their sound, ride on their coattails. Some famous, some just barroom tribute bands. How many budding guitarists cut their picking teeth on "Stairway to Heaven"? Frankly, "Stairway is one of my least favorite Zep tunes. Always against the tide I guess.

No one ever caught the essence or even really hinted at the soul of Led Zeppelin. They might think they nailed the guitar licks of Jimmy page. But it always ended up not quite. Lead singers Worldwide lusted after Robert Plant's pipes as they struggled to sing like he did. Bonzo baffled drummers all over as he pounded 4/4 time with exquisitely timed off beats. No one did it better. Some as good maybe, but never better. All the while John Paul Jones stood wooden and sane,keeping everyone on the same plane with his consistent and technically subtle bass. He remained to the end the pivot man in their excellent Rock n Roll Circle Jerk.

Yes many bands tried. Most bands failed. None ever really captured it all. Snippets, a song here and there. That is all. It took a band made up of four extremely talented women to get Zep right.

Lez Zeppelin - These ladies know how to rock. Sure I can tell they aren't the bonafide article. But their honest and respectful treatment of the music and their talent will make any die hard Zep fan smile when they catch one of their versions of "Since I have been loving You". Steph Paynes and her incredible talent on guitar keeps Kris Bradley and her great voice from stealing the show. Figures it would take some woman to hit the notes Robert used to hit.

My daughter Lis turned me onto them. Saw them in concert and I think bought their CD before she left the hall after the show was over. She ripped me a copy. The student is now teaching the teacher. And even though I have learned to respect Lis and her musical suggestions, I was sure any band named Lez Zeppelin made up of four females would never in a million jillion years come close to the Rock Gods that made up Led Zeppelin. They may never garner the fame. Being in the the right place at the right time with the right talent had so much to do with what made Led Zeppelin so huge. But the ladies are proving with their musical skills, they can come close. Closer than any tribute band I have heard.

So I sit here after playing their version of "Kashmir" for the fourth or fifth time and know I would gladly hang out by the back stage door for hours hoping to score a back stage pass. I'd be their groupie in a heart beat.

Or better yet - I would pay handsomely to just drive their truck. I did it for Led Zeppelin. Driving Lez equipment coast to coast would put a tidy book end on the years I spent in Rock n Roll. Ladies, I still know where all the halls are.



Oh look, someone dropped a joint.................

(695 / 4576)

The Tree Climber

As far back as he could remember, he loved climbing trees. No matter where his father dragged them as he moved up the ranks from noncom to officer, as soon as the young tree climber could break away from the all too familiar routine of unpacking his junk in one more new home, he would explore the neighborhood for the best climbing tree he could find.

If he could not find a tree, he found a tower, a telephone pole, a high roof, anything that would lift him off the dreary Earth, even if only for a moment or two. Calm and resolve to deal with his new situation always came once he had climbed that first tree. It became his ritual as he prepared to face another new school, another new group of kids to break into, another location to learn.

Any high spot would do, but trees were his passion. No one tree ever treated him the same. All were unique in their rewards and the trials thrown at him by their distinctive growth, position, or height. He learned to love trees. Trees never hurt him or excluded him out of spite. Trees always accepted him as he was as long as he returned the favor. He knew he would climb trees forever.

The old tree climber attempted a dry smile as he remembered his humble beginnings a lifetime ago. His broken jaw acquired somewhere between up there and down here where he laid a twisted collection of body parts and climbing gear would not let the smile travel to his lips. The pain made him chuckle. His mother was somewhere out there in the ether, "I told you so bonehead. One day a tree is going to kill you."

And grumbling in the background through liquored breath his father grunted while digging at his crotch, "What a Dumb Fuck."

The memories were interrupted. His body began to convulse as his broken chest tried to cough up the blood that had been pooling in his lungs. The seizures lessened and he once again lay quiet. He knew now, this was one fall he would not walk away from. He could not feel his feet. As far as he could tell, any pain was from the waist up. "Well Shit. Guess I should not have come out alone today." No regrets, the old tree climber just acknowledged that he had been caught being stupid.

If he did not try to smile or move his upper body, there really was not much pain. Only a dull pressure that seemed to come from every direction. He felt his essence begin to slip away. The old tree climber was thankful he had landed face up looking at the spreading branches of the final tree he would ever climb. And as the light faded from his eyes and the sounds of the woods grew faint, the old tree climber realized that he had indeed climbed trees forever.
_______________________________________________

Afterthought - One of the most fun posts I have written in awhile. I actually had a plan but it didn't pan out since what I just wrote is not what I intended to write. Not even close. What a hoot that was. Got as much a buzz from writing this as I do when I am riding on some new and unfamiliar single track that just flows. Where it goes and finally ends up, nobody knows. About the only thing that resembles my original idea is the title. And maybe the opening line.

Later........................

(588 / 3881)

Thank You

A few months ago I made a decision to back away from the blog some and concentrate my limited abilities to the pressing concerns of my life outside of the Internet. I had and still have a business running on one cylinder instead of the four it started on. I have a house in need of serious repair. And I have a 57 year old body that needs exercise to not become a gelatinous useless blob.

So how has it gone so far you might ask? Or more likely, you may not care one way or the other. Regardless, I figure a few moments of retrospection and dwelling on my immediate past might be in order so I can assess the over all benefits (profit/loss if you will) of being AWOL from the BoZone these past few months.

My business is still open. It is still running at no better than half speed. But I have eaten into my past dues and the lights still go on when I flip the switch. Overall, the bike shop is better off than it was a year ago.

The house - well here I seem to have run up against the priority monster. And it ties into the Health factor. I just do not have the energy to burn the candle at both ends like I used to. Past stupidity in my younger years has created a health scenario that leaves me with limited energy to use every day. Gone are the days when I can repeatedly work on the house in the AM, go to work, come home and work on it some more. I still have not figured out how to pace myself. I boogie hard for a few days and then spend two or three days a wasted and useless piece of flesh. I am not used to the level of exhaustion I find now is more the norm than the exception. I will not waste time beating myself up for putting myself in this predicament. I just need to find a way to deal with it. It will be tough. I have always been either on or off. Something in between is not something I am familiar with.

Today, three months after I re-committed to my life outside of this office, I have to say it has been a mixed bag of results. Some positive, some negative, and some just not changing much at all. In other words, SSDD.

While I ignored the blogging world though, strange things happened to it. I have somehow managed to find more folks following the blog than ever before. I stop posting so much and readership climbs. Odd. I have no explanation other than I do appreciate and thank all of you who have joined the group on the right. It is gratifying and I would be lying if I said I don't care one way or the other. Knowing someone out there takes the occasional moment to check my blog out does reinforce the urge to write. Thank you.

See Ya.........................

(507 / 3293)

I Hate Kickstands

So I stayed late at the bike shop the other night. For the second night in a row I came home around midnight. The first night I could barely put one foot in front of the other as I tripped up the walk to the house. I had been productive. I had been industrious. Piles got smaller. Fires were put out. Laid my head down and the next thing I knew, it was 5:00AM.

Got up and did it again the next day. In a fog, I wondered if I was not repeating the day over. Shit, Yesterday and Today all get mixed up when I keep the candles burning through one into the other.

Updating the evening's experience as a small town retailer of goods and services that are often underrated and berated, I have to say I came home the second night not dragging ass, but with a bit of bounce in the old dogs. Must have been the 3 Foster 25 ounce beers I walked down to 7 eleven 2 times for with the third supplied by a good friend wishing to tip a beer with me.. I was still industrious and productive, but I danced and rocked as I worked. By the 3rd beer I was absolutely ecstatic. Rocking to some Bowie or was it Zep, I priced more than a few boxes of product. A chore I really detest. Toss 75 ounces of beer down my gullet and Life is a blast for a short while.

It will be interesting to see what I wrote on the price tags besides the price. I definitely stepped outside the normal retailer pricing stock box I have become trapped in these past 11 years. On the Kickstands, I seem to recall writing "Don't Buy These". Actually I did not, but I think about doing it everytime I price them.

I hate kick stands. They just give the wind a chance to ruin your day when you come out of the local A&P with some pop and there embedded in the asphalt with one pedal buried hard and the other sticking up as if trying to catch someones attention, your trusty steel steed has become part of the hot pavement. I sell Kickstands. But I don't have to like them. They inevitably fall short of the promises they make when you flick them down. So I have not hung one on any bike I owned since that first one let my brand new Huffy crash into the pavement back in the 1950s. Some lessons come early and you never forget them.

Later................

(432 / 2796)

Words

Devolution, Revolution, Absolution, Resolution, Institution, Dissolution, and last but not least, Evolution.

Sometimes I will be doing mindless things and suddenly a word will pop into my cranium. Uh, Maybe it is more that a word is trying pop out and escape. Understandable, knowing that it is jungle in there.

The first word will be uttered creating a waterfall effect of words that sound similar or rhyme. With each word, my mind scrambles to connect them by other means than phonetics, roots, prefixes or suffixes. I try to find a mutual theme or direction that will tie them together to form some kind of point or clever arrangement of ideas and thought.

Once I have played this word game long enough to find the boredom behind it, I move on to the next piece of glitter that catches my eye. I very seldom take the time to write them down. But for some reason, the words at the top have popped up more than once in recent days. Hmm.

Since I only paid the slightest bit of attention I could muster back in the days of chalk boards and tight lipped teachers wearing winged glasses, I have never been much of a scholar of words. I like them immensely. But I have never gone gaga over them to the point of becoming lost in them for longer than most anything else I find interesting.

No, that is a lie. I am a closet Dictionary addict. There. I said it. I actually pick up the dictionary from time to time, not to find a word, but to find a new one or just bask in the glow of all those words we use to describe our condition, our lusts, our peeves, our reason for carrying on. Words are so cool. Without them, I am sure we would have killed each other off long before this.

Words can seduce. Words can produce. Words are the juice that keeps humans moving from where they were to what they will become. Without a written language, we would still be masturbating in trees. Uh, well maybe some still do. But that is more in spite of words, not because of them.

So what conclusion or connection have I managed to button up regarding the words, Devolution, Revolution, Absolution, Resolution, Institution, Dissolution, and last but not least, Evolution? They all seem to be ideas or concepts we humans cannot avoid. We either desire them or wish to tear them down. Regardless, they are all important in the matrix of exchanges we Homo sapiens have with each other.

As ever, now moving onto the next bright light...................

(428 / 2364)

FOMBA

I was going to continue to use my hard-tail and take it with me to the ride at Massabesic Watershed outside of Manchester, New Hampshire earlier today. But some glitches with hose length on those new Hydraulic brakes I was all wet over the other day stomped that notion down hard. I had already removed the old Hydraulics and there my bike was, ride-able but not stoppable.

"What was I going to do", I thought anxiously? "I love that Hard-tail. We have come to terms and I know I will hate riding any one of the other umpteen bikes I have kicking around."

I was like some contestant in a game show trying to pick which door to open. Three choices were staring me down. Put the old brakes back on just to remove them next week to put on my new ones. Ride a different bike. Or just don't go. Not going was out of the question. I had not been out to these trails in a couple of years. It was time. All of them were open now that the rain seems to be giving us break.

Miles of awesome single track were waiting for me. I looked over to the front display rack in the shop. There sitting patiently, cleanly, and humming softly with it's pedals up, the Rocky "Slayer" dual suspension tried to get my attention. It seemed to be saying, "What am I? Just some fancy bling to tease customers with? Or am I not an awesome piece of sporting equipment bound to cause you serious grin factor if you can handle me. I have been sitting here dude since April after you face planted into that stream. Dumass. Instead of making some adjustments for the extra 20 pounds you have strapped around your belly over the Winter, you put me up to gather dust. What a maroon! Pshaw! Hard-tail indeed! Hard-tails suck. I'm the real deal."

I swear that's what the Slayer said to me. Just not in so many words. It was a synaptic connection between my brain and the gully wots of the Slayer. Bicycles definitely have souls. Often playfully evil souls, but souls nonetheless. Dual Suspension rides are all so damn cocky. Almost as bad as those low rent trailer trash Single Speeders.

I had my doubts. The Slayer had punished me and my already injured knee not two months ago. Just because I had gotten fat and lazy over the Winter, it decided like some stubborn mule to not go into that stream with me on top of it. It had stopped short and I flew over the bars gracefully and just shy of a pike position to end up totally immersed in a Spring thaw cooled stream running full tilt boogie.

All the while I am checking out the bike, I am turning the worst case scenarios over and over in my mind. The FOMBA trails are chock full of opportunities for the Slayer to decide it wants no part of my hamfisted piloting skills. It could be a very embarrassing and bloody ride. I forged ahead though trying my best to not let the anxiety crest past sane amounts.

I pumped 20 PSI more into the rear shock. I pumped 20 more pounds into the front shock. I dropped the saddle 3/4 of an inch to lower my center of gravity. Ran through the gears, pumped the brakes, aired the tires to 30 PSI in the front tire and 35PSI in the rear. All I had left to do was fill the water bottle and lube the chain. I would do that just before we loaded up to head there. I went home and tried to get a good night's sleep.

I slept, but good is hardly how I would describe it. I woke up in a fog at 5:00 AM. I stumbled and bumbled through my pre-ride morning rituals. Coffee first, double checked that my helmet, gloves, Camelbak, shoes and knee pad were in the truck. Check and double check! I headed down to the shop to hook up with the crew and grab my bike. We left on time and my predicted 1 1/4 hour drive time was only off by a couple of minutes. On the trails by 9:00 AM.

The Lake Massabesic Watershed is a huge expanse of several lakes, forest, streams and rocks that provides drinking water for a sizable chunk of southern New Hampshire. FOMBA is a group of NH cyclists who have managed through hook, crook and hard work to get into the good graces of the powers that run the watershed. While there were miles of multi-use trails in the area, there were no trails designed and built by mountain bikers for mountain bikers. We like a trail to have features that would drive other users mad if that is all they had. Bikes like a certain flow with technical glitches like logs, rocks and trees close together to take out the occasional pinkie finger. If it is a pain the ass for a hiker, a mountain biker is probably in heaven. Hikers generally seem to like to go from point A to Point B in a fairly direct manner while taking in the sights, sounds and smells at a leisurely pace. Off road riders love switchbacks and using every bit of terrain there is. And getting from Point A to Point B is less important then the journey in between. FOMBA folks set up trails with this in mind.

It seems the Slayer was happy to just be out and having me pay some attention to it. The adjustments I made were spot on for the terrain. I have never ridden those trails better. I cleaned sections that I used to walk. I swooped, dove, and climbed obstacles previously outside my skill set. My bike behaved and I gained confidence with each new section. It was a great day on the trails.

The nine of us played for three hours on these trails. I rode well until I just ran out of steam on "The Long Trail". Hit the wall. Cashed it in. I was done. The last mile was a real struggle. But I left a lot of grins out there today. And that my friend is what fun should be about.

If you want to get a good feel for what I rode today, check out this video. Hats off to "allMTN". He did a good job - Riding and editing.


Happy Trails....................

(1084 / 1936)