On Track

I've been anxious to get this year over with. So anxious I'm writing about it a day-and-a-half early. This has been a good year, don't get me wrong. I've just wanted to get one positive year between myself and the year before.

Throughout this year we've had fewer MD visits, spanning further apart. Monthly check ups became quarterly, 3-month check ups became annual. Both A and I are healing. Life has slowly gotten back on track. Gavin's check-ups are a game of "how off the charts is he?" for weight/height.

Rehab exercises are more for recovery than harder than any lactate tolerance or VO2max test I've ever done. The other night I was flipping channels and caught a re-run that flashed me back to when I first saw the episode. It was after 2 a.m. the hospital bed was in the living room. Good and numb on vicodin, I pinned my arm in the frame of the bed-rails and lowered the bed flat to force my arm as straight as I could tolerate. Being the middle of the night, I muffled my screaming by biting the blankets under the glow of the TV light. I did that night after night as Dave-the-PT said I had to push through to get range of motion back if I ever wanted to throw a ball with my kid. He knew how to motivate me. That, I can now say, was more than a year ago.

We have summer of 2009, riding along the Spring Water with G asleep in the boat-bike to think back on, not counting Gavin's age by the same number of weeks his mom was still in the hospital. Tonight I was looking at pictures of G from last Christmas. How little he was, how much he's grown. How he still uses the same expressions, but now has a reason or an agenda with them. I can't believe he's a little dude now, not just a bottle sucking-pooping machine. He's a full head of steam going every which way. It's a job in and of itself just keeping him on the rails. We're gaining momentum and slowly turning a chug...chug...chug into a sustainable pace. Next stop...potty training town!

May all your Christmas wishes come true

Thanksgiving

In the morning, one couldn’t decipher where the low clouds ended, the rain began or the difference from rain coming down and road spray shooting up. Water gathered through my wool hat to form a single drip from the center of the bill, falling onto the frozen tip of my nose then repeating with another drip onto the same spot for the length of the ride. 2 hours with some hills, some flats, some jokes and some retrospection. Just TK and I as others were out of town, watching kids or recently moved away. The weather stayed dark and wet all day.

My last Thanksgiving Day ride was 3-years ago sitting gingerly with a still healing pelvis. That day Markie stopped us where Cadillac Jack took me out. He burned some incense, said a prayer and danced in a circle in the middle of the street to expel the bad ju-ju. It was pouring rain that day too.

When I got home, Gavin and A were in the basement. I peeled the wet clothes off and put my shoes on top of the heater. G was pining for help from atop his slide. He’s mastered climbing up the steps but still is nervous about committing to going down the other side. Once he holds my hands he lunges fearlessly down laughing all the way. But never lets loose of his grip.

My mom called to tell me of my uncles passing. It was relatively quick and he was lucid near the end (able to be with his brother and sister, my dad and aunt). I never knew him well, but always felt a connection. He was simple and sincere. The last time I saw him he held Trike which was no easy feat, and Trike snuggled in under his chin as he did to no one other than A and I.

Two weeks ago a neighbor died from a blood clot while recovering from a previous stroke. This morning Adrienne had her Coumadin level checked, as she always will. It is a gift that despite the sheer number of clots that she had, we still have her.

The sun is shining today. Gavin just woke from his nap and we are off to hike up and down Mt. Tabor. My hip isn’t aching after yesterdays ride. This is a recent, new trend of progression. A is off to a traditional outing with her gal-pals tonight. G and I will practice going down his slide and throwing toys down the basement stairs. Giggling the whole time.

Rainbow

Fists of Justice for a bag of candy

Friday, G and his Wonder Woman mom made his Captain America Halloween costume. Saturday he wore it all day, showing his muscles to anyone and everyone.

Old habits

After a rocky start burning through a few of my parents cars, I ended up with a 1971 Volkswagen square back. The catch (like a disease) was the maintenance. The valves had to be adjusted regularly to keep the engine from blowing up. The motor also needed to be driven at less than 90mph for extended distances, but I learned and observed that rule pretty early on.

My dad regularly said that not maintaining my car was like not changing my underwear. Funny because bike racers, not just 19-year-old bike racers, are generally very aware of their crotch and go to great extremes to keep them clean and free of saddle sores. Why waste time working on a car when I could be applying oily concoctions to the chamois I spent so much time in?

Change of subject.

I've had the same coffee cup for 15 years. It has my name on it. In 12 different languages. It was a gift after someone at a job stole my previous coffee cup. At various employers, I've rinsed it out and washed it on Fridays. Now I work from home. Occasionally I rinse it out with left over boiling water meant for the French Press. It's a system, my system works, no one gets hurt.

Recently A made an issue of my system. Using words like. "disgusting, nasty, gross", you get the idea. We've been married 12 years; she knows me better than I do at this point. Why now? Why at all? It's my mug...with my name on it. In a dozen languages no less.

The conversation escalated when she said, "It's like not changing your underwear!"

"No," I said, "not maintaining a car is like not changing one's underwear."

Nuts!

We bought G a new slide toy structure. I was ready for him to play in the box instead of the slide for a while. To my dismay, he dug up walnuts the squirrels have burried in the grass. I guess he really likes nuts.

Hero Pose

Every Captain needs a Tennille

What better way to roll next to Captain Gavin "Stubing" and his boat bike than with a pimped out ride yourself?


A's new townie is a combination of old 8-speed XT and Dura-Ace parts that have been hiding in a shoe box and hot-new-ness that was on special order for most of the summer.


The original date for the frameset to show up was late-June. I spent some frantic late nights building the wheels and polishing up the old parts after evenings of boat-bike-building; all while watching the Tour, nursing a few Henry's and waiting for the local bike shop to call and say it was here. Then I had to wait another month for the frameset to finally show!

Hiding all the parts in the basement was going well until we had to do a complete sweep of the house for the DVD remote. Gavin likes hiding things and this time really went over the top. A stumbled onto the parts boxes, inquired...and I replied, "stay out of man-town" and sent her back upstairs to check for the remote elsewhere.


She digs the ride, and laments having to have done Bridge Pedal tough-girl-style on her Schwinn cruiser with only one gear and a coaster brake.

Stumptown knows how to throw a good summer

Two weeks ago was Bridge Pedal. 10,000 people rode their bikes over all the downtown bridges on a single sunday morning. 9,900 of those folks only ride a bike one day a year. Last week was the South East Portland Sunday Parkways ride. Which in my opinion was perhaps the single best day of socializing this summer. Today, was the 13th annual soap box derby race down Mt. Tabor. Now, this is by no means an exhaustive list of events, merely a sampling of the stuff we have lazily rolled towards.

After our walk this morning, we headed up to Mt. Tabor to see the races. I took a few pics with my phone. Given the boat bike and my childhood army tank, I think G and I have a chance with the soap box thing in a few years.

Other peoples' garages

I was in a friend's garage recently and happened upon this oddity, scratched my head and took a picture of it. Then I wondered...


A) "I have some oil and need a place to put it,"

B) "Yeah! Now that I'm home from the urologist, I know just what to do with this piss pot,"

C) "Man, I need to drink more water and less 30-Weight!"





answer: "I'm glad you asked; it works great for the lawn-mower."

Spooge Ball World Championships

This is Spooge. And this is the story of his 2009 Spoogeball World Championships.


We've been playing SB for a few years on camping trips. It's gotten intense. Especially late in the evening. Traditionally I get eliminated in the first round, often by my wife, then wander off to get firewood to illuminate the championship round. My point is not about being a pyro but that Spooge Ball is the real deal, with a real trophy and real drama.

This year however, there have been some changes. Camping is out due to an overall increase in head count and all the crap that would need to get packed to go with each of the new little heads. If we all went camping this summer we'd need a tour bus!


So the tourney starts with Olympic style pomp and circumstance. First by picking the starting order. Each player writes their name on a commemorative ball before being professionally mixed, drawn and entered into the bracket.



As the festivities continued to gain momentum, players; -nay, athletes, were treated to energy foods and performance beverages within the athletes village.




For the uninitiated, Spooge Ball is a game of ball tossing skill in which each competitor tosses their balls across a designated distance to a goal. Points are rewarded for where the balls land on the goal rack. Some people toss their balls further, some not far enough, and some even get their balls to land on various rungs of the rack for 2,3 or a single point. Each pair of balls are connected via rope and each player gets 3 pairs of balls. Unlike the Tour de France where one could win 7times with only a single ball.



Simply put,Team Newmaforma wanted victory. However, one member has a bed time that fell well before the second round of play. Another member managed through to the semi-finals and after finally being eliminated took this photo of the bracket board before the final championship round. Had said player been collecting firewood instead of progressively conquering competitors in each round of the tourney, the photo might have been a little brighter and of better quality. But I think Spooge would frown upon a bonfire in his yard made out of his neighbors decking.



In the end, I cannot report on the championship round or the winner for that matter as Team Newmaforma rushed home to get someone to bed nearly 3 hours past his bedtime.

Bridge Pedal

Got an early start today; riding downtown for the biggest, most chaotic event in Portland. A took all the pics.


There was a little trouble with the helmet-on-helmet situation. What looked like a a broken neck ended up being a bad combo of hoodie and helmet straps forcing the helmet(s) to lilt to the right. While waiting for the show to start, we took the time to make adjustments before the fuzz took much notice.

Fortunately while training in front of the TV, watching the Tour de France last month, Gavin mastered drinking from a 'real' water bottle. No sippy-cups on this voyage!

Here is the view from the Ross Island Bridge.

So confidant in his water bottle skills, G got a little upset when the water ended up his nose.


At the finish, after flirting with 20,000 people Gavin sneaks in one more smile when he was supposed to be looking tough for the photo.

Alas, 4 hours and 25 miles door-to-door, our little Viking has plundered his own reserves.

Ready to set sail!