The Big Sick and The Big River

A has pneumonia. A wretched nasty lung buttery case of it. I spent last weekend trying to simultaneously keep G clear of her so she could rest, take care of her, and keep G occupied.

Friday evening there was an EMT and Police incident in front of our house. G and I were heading to "monkey bar park" when two cop cars, a fire truck and ambulance all showed up for a passed out individual that none of us neighbors knew. Ultimately G missed out on the park before dinner but got to live large with sirens, lights and ladders.


Saturday he and I went to a nearby bike race at an industrial area around a bakery. The bakery was giving away free bread. We got to see the tail end of the Masters race and the the first part of the Women's race. G was anxious to get home and make toast to help mom feel better.


photo courtesy of Oregon Cycling Action

Sunday we went for a boat-bike ride and found ourselves in the middle of the Portland Triathlon run/bike exchange and Start/Finish area. Granted, from the waterfront the only way for us to get onto the Hawthorne bridge was to pass through the crowds gathered for the event. It was a little embarrassing but G shamelessly played his harmonica as we rolled up to the bridge.

Then we came across the Portland Century fun ride on the Springwater trail. The 25 and 50-mile events were using the path system around Portland for their route. The trail has been recently repaved so the draw to ride with the event was pretty alluring. We stopped at a park for G to play for an hour, watched airplanes descend to land at PDX, ate Fig Neutons, and changed his diaper. Some text messaging with A revealed she was not feeling any better.




G was getting tired and ready for his nap. The conundrum was that while he will sleep soundly in the boat, he won't wake then go back to sleep should we arrive home midway through his nap. So I convinced him we would take the slightly longer way home and see "the big river". Not to be confused with the "down town river" he see's from his perch regularly.

Sure enough, soon after getting to the bike path along the Columbia, he was sound asleep. The good news was that it would be quiet, smooth pathway all the way home. The bad news was the headwind and the dark rain cloud ahead of us. The Portland Century riders passed above us on Marine Drive in drafting clusters of 4's and 5's. We stuck to the waters edge knowing there was no one interested in sharing the work with a boat bike.



Watching him nap always reminds me to pedal smoothly. Looking ahead, the pathway was visible for miles. Miles of headwind with white caps of river waves to remind me of the wind should my legs forget. I could see the thunder cells building over the west hills and knew eventually we would face a shower. I considered the fatigue in my legs, the pain of my hip, the light lunch at the park and how much back-washed Gatorade G left for me to drink. As we got closer to home we stopped under an over-pass to let the harshest part of a thunder shower blow through. I texted with A and she was still in the same misery. G was fine as he got to watch MAX trains speed by. The break gave me a second wind to continue to power us home at a respectable pace.

Monday A finally got some antibiotics and prescription cough syrup. That afternoon G and I rode to "monkey bar park" of which we missed on Friday evening. He went straight for "the big slide."

The Night Spooge Ball Went Electric

Thunderstorms, humidity and electrical wire interference over the side yard court didn't stop Spooge Ball 2010. The photo above was not the first, nor the last time that someone hung their balls and Spooge had to climb up from under them and yank 'em down.



While there was plenty of trash-talking, there was a definate lack of booing and heckling unlike when Dylan went electric in '65. It was game on from the get-go and maybe the trophy lady had a little something to do with the fact a rookie girl took home the spoils.

Walking into this year's tourney felt a lot like the scene from Hoosiers when Gene Hackman measures the court at Butler University to show the kids its the same size as the hard woods back in Hickory. In fact, one of Spooge's neighbors got lost driving up the alley and thought she was at Wimbledon.



The nuts and bolts of the ball tossing classic is that while I beat the Mrs. in our first round, she surfed the losers bracket all the way to the semi's before finally losing in a sharp tongued battle of trash talk with none other than the bride of last years champ. In the end the Snooze-fam couldn't claim back to back titles.


But no joke, I lost to this guy while he held his kid most of the game. The only time he put her down she took G's balls.



Ultimately I was not disappointed to fail at repeating last years rare-feat performance. After getting the axe from the losers bracket I hung out with these guys and told them about the time my friend Mark met Steven Tyler.

These guys stole my look like U2 stole the Alarm's sound

Age Of Chance - Kiss
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Spooge-Ball Tournament of Champions / Athlete Profile #5

Il Campione


The curse of success is a bitter lust for a ghost of sweet love.

Undoubtedly the preparation ball-tossing for the follow-up Champion season gets compromised with celebrity obligations. He’s proven he’s the head tosser but now there's a target on his back. No rest for the winner. The Snooze-man swears he'll draw the line and focus on training after one last interview with Oprah, or a final photo-shoot for Sports Illustrated. But behind the smile he knows the competition is preparing single-mindedly to knock his balls off.