One Thing Leads To Another part I

About a year and a half ago now, we got new neighbors. There was concern that the fence between our yards that has been standing since 1960 was going to fall down at any moment. Being a good neighbor, I offered to re-build it but was met with hesitation. The neighbor was concerned such a project was beyond my reach. He wanted something better than wood. Something waterproof, something that might last a little longer than half a century.  Something I feared would not be mid-century-modern-cool.

I nodded, bid good bye and tended to other responsibilities. Months passed. He asked me again as winter set in last year and I said we’d discuss it in the spring.

About that same time, my buddy Seth wanted to borrow the Thomas bike to put in the window of his high traffic Chiropractic Clinic for the winter. I wasn't surprised then in the spring when he said he was going to buy a Bullitt cargo bike to haul his two boys around. His older son is about the same age as G and the two are thick as thieves. In fact, we often swapped kids on adventure rides when they were 3 and 4. G liked riding on the tail of his Surley Big Dummy, "because it felt like riding on a motorcycle".

 Through the winter we came up with various box design ideas. Finally we decided on building a helicopter cockpit complete with a Gatling gun that shot water. In April I took my rough sketches and Pinterest "Choppers" page to my dad's shop and got busy building what I dubbed the, "Three Headed Monster." When I floated the idea of the squirt gun, the old man off handedly recommend using a windshield wiper motor since Seth was going to have an e-motor to get the boys up their steep hill home.

As spring began to blossom, the neighbor caught me between trips to Mr. Plywood and asked me again about the fence. I told him again I was happy to build it and had some design ideas that would be rad. He again shared concern for my ability to build a fence. I reminded him that I built the shed he could see from behind our geriatric divider. He was not dissuaded from concern. I then made it a personal challenge to find creative ways to park the Thomas in front of his house, leave for rides while he was outside, or stop by to say “hi” when we returned from rides with the Thomas bike. Mostly just to remind him that a fence was not going to be a problem.

 

Building the 3-headed-monster went well. I tried a new tactic of using foam core board from the Dollar store to cut out a rough profile of the cargo box, but in the end, I think it just created more work. Having a beer or two, squinting at the bike, looking at pictures on my phone, then sketching a shape before cutting up a bunch of wood I think works just as well. But the beer costs more than the foam core board.

Work started getting the better of me and the 3 Headed Monster was taking up valuable space in my dad's shop. He took over on the canopy, elevating the craftsmanship from my solid ability of a 6, to his standard 11. Seth's Bullitt arrived and the e-motor was being installed. Time was ticking and spring was quickly becoming summer. Seth, the old man and I got busy on the finish work and cranked out the sanding and paint work.

Portland being Portland, there was some minor public pushback for making a weapon of death and destruction for innocent boys as a play thing. Those comments gave me a better sense of accomplishment than even the guy in his rusty Bronco that yelled, “That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever seen!” at us while riding the original boat bike. But the neighbor still wanted a new fence.

The Big 0-5

Remember in the movie, 'Cars' when all the cars raced through the water park and 'Mater was launching water balloons with his tow-hook?

Neither do I because I'm pretty sure that never happened in any of the Cars movies. But when you're 4 and planning your 5th birthday party, reality is sort of an after thought, like napkins to wipe all the cake off your shirt.

So it went then that G, -having missed a 4th birthday party due to it being the day we moved into the Cold War Dream House and the previous and following weeks being filled with all the pomp and circumstance of remodeling and selling and buying and remodeling homes,- had a good one coming for birthday number 5.

His plan was a Lightning McQueen themed party with his blow up slide, swimming pool and Slip'n Slide. Given that our yard has multiple elevations, the layout of it all would be awesome for sure. I envisioned a wave of water from a popped inflatable swimming pool washing a fence away at least. Possibly flooding a neighbor's basement. Certainly there would be some crying kids. To make sure that last one would happen, G insisted we also have plenty of squirt guns.

Then the coup d'etat request; A Tow Mater pinata. The Lightning McQueen paper plates, napkins and Disney Cartoon shaped cake were all optional. Finish line flags, NASCAR references, Jeff Gordon look-a-likes were all unnecessary. But the 'Mater pinata was the key to the whole party. According to the 4-year old.

G's birthday represents more to The Newmaforma than just a kid turning a year older. Without getting sappy or rehashing details, his birthday is a day of celebration of family and health. A lot went down before and after G was born and we are each blessed to be here as a family. So we celebrate.

This year celebrating as a family meant making a pinata. Earlier this summer I went to a paper mache' party where I wrapped a balloon in soaked, torn up newspaper and was "allowed" to leave the party early because I sucked at making a balloon shaped paper mache' thing.

We all sat for 3 nights after dinner at the kitchen table working on Mater. I roughed up the basic frame work. A did most of the paper mache', knowing of my previous balloon aberration. G painted with mostly a brown pallet. The funnest part, the late-night Mom and Dad time building Mater's details were the time that A and I had to really enjoy.

It's amazing what skills surface when you have kid projects to do. Before G, we didn't really roll with the paper mache' crowd. Cargo-bike family fun, riding from park to park wasn't really our thing either. Nor was staying up till 2 a.m. reminiscing about how we used to  sleep for gluttonous hours at a time.Yet, it was quality time to reflect as she painstakingly made Mater's eyes and I wrote his name on the doors. We eagerly showed each other our detailed work and then basked in our completed project before reminding ourselves that some little pre-school kid was gonna destroy Mater with a wiffle ball bat.

In the end, Mater was as G had insisted all along, perhaps the best part of the whole party. Each of the dozen kids got a few swings. Mater was torn from the string hanging him by a slightly taller-than-average kid and this fool had to get his hands all into the hard end of the wiffle ball bat to keep the pummeling for candy at peak interest. G, going last, was able to purge his energy into destroying the 12 hours or so of his parents' handiwork. The kids fought en mass ripping the candy from Maters' innards and from each other before ingesting as much as possible before their own parents confiscated what was unable to be gripped in their tiny little hands.

Happy birthday G.

Saving the world with Burger Rain

 

 

I had a conversation with a friend a while back about our boys being maybe too aggressive from watching too much super hero-evil fighting tv shows. It was deep winter and with a broken elbow, television was in heavy rotation so don't judge me. The problem came up during a break in the weather when a little girl at the park wanted to play on the play structure thingy and the boys came running out from behind some Laurel hedges toward her with sticks yelling, "Slay the monster intruder."

The thing is, the glowing boob-tube is merely an accessory to the action and monster slaying that goes down during episodes of super hero crime fighting shows. Think of it more like the P90X for tots. Other accessories include a small trampoline, a couch and a carpeted basement for all this world saving to get done. And any other objects or people to jump on/over. As a father of a boy it is my duty to instill a sense of imagination, adventure and responsibility to take care of others. I think I'm doing a pretty good job. Besides, his mom started it with  the Captain America costume at 18 months.

Spiderman, Superman, Batman...the classics are great, but Ninja Turtles were a bigger draw. Until we found the Aquabats Supershow!  Even a 4 year old can see that Ninja Turtles are a cartoon and Aquabats are real. Who better to save the innocent from extra-terrestrial monsters than an aging punk band from Orange County? Anyone? Anyone? I thought not.

So while I was away for work last month, A came through again by making G some Aquabats goggles out of pipe cleaners. G thinks they're the real deal. He goes out of his way to take care of them so as not to bend them up too much. He wears them practically everywhere. Last week, when G asked,  I  took a break from other projects to crank out an equally official, laser shooting, electric guitar, just like the one Eagle Bones Falconhawk rocks. Today G took it to school for show and tell. But not the goggles. He was worried the other kids would jack them up.

Stay tuned for future episodes and more cool homemade Super gear.

photos via google  courtesy of the Aquabats Supershow! on the HUB. Watch it.

Project: Don't Break Bones This Week

Spring Break has greeted me with a to-do list that looks similar to the one in January I was progressing through when I broke my arm. One project in particular I have been looking forward to was a jump box or 3 as a warm up for some garage cabinets I'll hopefully tackle this summer.

The box was originally planned as an alternative to protecting my junk while sitting on the couch watching The Aquabats Supershow! with G as he jumped all over the couch and everything else in the room. Television is an interactive experience for that kid. In fact, I tried to sign him up for a gymnastics class after witnessing his prowess on furniture, and the conversation went like this while we dropped in to watch before signing up:

Me: Check it out, they have a giant trampoline and a padded floor as big as our house!

G: Yeah, but gymnastics is for girls! I'm a dude!

Me: You're totally a dude. Dudes' do gymnastics. See those rings and that rope? That over there is a pommel horse. Gymnastics is rad and will teach you to be quick like a Ninja and a totally better bike rider.

G: If I want to be a ninja, I'll go to ninja school. And riding my bike will make me a better bike rider.

I had no come back to the truth, so I caved and we left.

Anyway, today we went out to my folks and I told my dad what I wanted the 4 x 8 ft sheet of plywood to look like after I cut it up. He has a knack for planning and doing math that I lack. As it turned out, I could get 2 boxes out of one sheet of plywood. Lucky news for a buddy and his kid who likes to jump on furniture just like G.

Here's all the pieces. See, just like building cabinets.

I especially love my handles

The blur of stripes is G testing out the finished product. 

I expect to improve my jumping skills as well. Unless I break something. 

This box is 12 x 18 x 24 inches. I don't think standing it up tall to the 24" height is very stable for an adult to land on. I'll likely build a 24" stand alone box with a wider, angled base for that. 

Every Tool Needs A Shed

The main updates to the Cold War Dream House have mostly been wrapped up. I'm still uncertain why a house actively being constructed during the Cuban Missile Crisis was not amended to include a fall-out shelter. Khrushchev  had already proven that brick and mortar work can be done on the fly. I guess that floor plan update will have to wait until my lottery numbers align.

More importantly though, I need a place to put the yard tools. It's a slippery slope piling gear in the garage; I have an agenda for that square footage. At the Cold War Starter Home, I simply bought A a car that wouldn't fit in the tiny garage.  Lawn mowers only add clutter to my garage vision. I needed a Dojo for gardening.

Location was an issue, the best place for a shed was straight across from the living room window. The ground was most level and highest elevation, as well as the least amount of shrubs to remove. There was a gap in foliage to the rear neighbors deck that would best be blocked, and I had multiple shades of left over paint and an art interest spurred by youthful cycling heroes.



Unfortunately my inability to read a tape measure was highlighted as I made the doors way to big for the space. Of course I didn't measure the doors themselves until after I had glued them together, taped and primed them.

I had to make a run out to my Dad's shop to cut, router, pucker and rebuild. At one point, he told me to grab a chisel to clean out the routered groove in one of the joints. I asked where a chisel might be and he responded, "On my workbench."



 With the doors fixed and ready to hang, I had a vision come to me during a dream. But first a little back-story; A's Grandpa had a thing for shellac. He put a glossy coat of chemical preserve over EVERYTHING. The brick chimney in his basement had a candy coating as if it was made of red M&M's.

So in my dream, I was spraying shellac all over the kitchen with a pesticide pump sprayer. A was yelling at me to not spray the windows, but all her knickknacks on the counter and window sill had a shiny preserved coating and it looked HOT.

 Of course the dream clearly meant that I needed to shellac the inside of the shed. And so you know, a pesticide sprayer works great for spray sealing. I brushed it out with a broom because everyone knows if you paint with a broom you're a Bad ass.



On Any Sunday (in portland)

I got an email last monday from a friend about a Cargo Bike Criterium at the Mississippi Street Fair. When I had the time to look into the race, registration was full. I emailed a photo of Thomas to the promoter and was promised race details on Wednesday.

In my head I imagined a traditional Crit with Gavin as my co-pilot. The details of the race indicated an abreviated course from the actual race route later in the evening. Then the part about no kids under 18 and that each lap racers' had to pick up "cargo" from a recycled home improvement store on the course. Thomas would not work, I decided. I would need to put the boat back on the Bullitt bike.

To stir the pot, I then found this promo post with racer bio's. No pressure! I decided the boat would not work as it weighs 58 lbs. I needed a new boat.

I called my dad and persuaded him and his crew of two grandsons to take a day off a bathroom remodel and build me a new boat. They worked off the original and were done with construction around dinner time on Friday. At which point the finish work was left to me. I sanded, primer'd and painted on Friday night and Saturday morning. Then bought another shade and re-painted Saturday afternoon as the first coat of "red" came out orange. Sunday, race day, the paint was still tacky but definitely red.








The boat turned out great and only weighs 15 lbs! That's 10 less than Thomas and 40 less than the first boat.

The event, the Cirque du Cycling, is a fantastic neighborhood celebration including far more than just a criterium. There was a street parade, a family bike ride, freak bikes and generally freaky people. Imagine the Santa Cruz Crit as part of the solstice parade at the Garden Mall. Freaky for sure.

A made the banner for Thomas on Sunday morning for the parade while I finished the boat and G found his conductor hat. Then lost it. He then made sure Thomas was polished and parade worthy. We were off to circus right at nap time and to his credit, G was a trooper. He waved and blew his train horn during the parade and decided he would do the race instead of me.





For the race, we were staged in 5 rows of 3. I drew #13 meaning I would start at the back of the pack. It was difficult to tell who was fast and who was not. Much of the competition looked road-wise from being messengers by day and daredevils by night. I may have been the only one without a tattoo.





When the whistle blew I had a big job to fill gaps and move to the front of the group. The pack was more like a group of humping water buffalo than a smooth peloton. I nosed the boat through small gaps between riders and came out of the first U turn on the front to put my head down and drill the pace the 3 blocks to the cargo pick up pit. I was first in to grab a sink, throw it in the boat and race on.



On the 2nd lap a guy in a much larger gear, but on the same model bike ripped past me and I knew I could't match his pace. The Bullitt bike comes stock with a 39x20 gear on a 8-speed internally geared hub. A 39x20 is about a 50-inch gear meaning for every revolution of the pedals the bike goes 50-inches. With the internally geared hub you get variation based on that sized gear. Regardless, I took the 20 tooth cog off last year and put a 23 on giving me a lower 44-inch gear. This is better for climbing as it's less torque on my hip. The guy that blew by me, come to find out, took his standard issue 20 tooth cog off and put an 18 on. An 18 makes a 56-inch gear which ultimately means he can blow by me faster than I can pedal. Which is exactly what happened.



I knew then I wasn't going to win but 2nd was possible. The guy I was racing for 2nd with was styling a full aero kit and grinning ear to ear. He was fast. I couldn't simply ride away from him, but my bike was shorter and could corner tighter. It was also lighter and I could accelerate quicker. None of this mattered however, as for the last cargo pick up, I thought I could grab some dryer vent tubing on a fly-by and put an unclose-able gap on him.



It didn't work and I almost capsized the boat. Ultimately losing more time than had I stopped for less heroic pick up. At this point the 4th place guy was nearly half a lap behind so I rode a less painful pace for the final lap to complete the race in 3rd. Yet in my haste to collect cargo I forgot one of the mandatory pick up items; a automatic door closer hinge. So in the end, I may have been DQ'd. I will never know for sure as official results have never materialized and the legend of the race will surely outlast any factual results.

Gavin was excited to get back in the boat and ride around some more after our race. Though when it was finally time to leave, before the category 3 race, he was not on board. For the first mile or two home, all he wanted was to go back to the race. Then he fell fast asleep for my tired ride home.




photos courtesy of ANewms, bikeportland.org, and sam_churchill.

Gavin's new ride

G has a thing for trains. Train sounds, train tracks, wooden trains, passenger trains, freight trains, steam trains, diesel trains, MAX trains, Zoo trains and Thomas the train. Not so much to watch the show hosted by Ringo Starr, George Carlin, or Alec Baldwin, but to play with his toy Thomas, Percy, James, Emily, and Toby. He builds tracks, rotates who hauls what cars, and which train crashes in whatever scenario he has concocted in his mind.

In the midst of winter as we skied around Trillium Lake most weekends, I pondered the eventuality of spring (which has still yet to materialize) and the days warm enough to go for bike rides but too wet to have a kid sitting in an open row boat. My conclusion was that we needed something with a windshield and a roof for theBullitt bike.


Just after Christmas we got started. What I had on our side this time around vs. building the boat was experience and time. I wasn't in the same hurry to finish for his birthday as I was two years ago. Experience was a double edged sword in that I knew not to make some mistakes over again, but I dreaded the actual process of the project. So it was decided the best option was to descend upon my dad's shop an hour or two, a couple times a week for as long as it took. What took an entire Saturday, much beer to calm my anxiety and a poor selection of power tools and work space in my own small, cluttered garage; I could get done in a mere 60-minutes at the old man's. Besides, my mom has a never ending supply of gluten free cookies which meant G and I could always have treats in hand while cutting, sanding, gluing and hammering.









As completion got closer, a local group ride to celebrate the spring classics of Pro Cycling grew near. This gave me enough of a goal to push through where many projects fall dormant. My dad, being retired, truly has time to watch paint dry. So after a coat of primer and a first base coat of blue, and the tedious taping for the pin-striping, he handled the top coats that truly make the colors pop.

We finished on Thursday evening and the big ride was on Sunday. Saturday was a test run on the waterfront before the sun actually came out for the homage to the punchy, cobbled climbs of Flanders. For the day, I wore my old Gentse Velo Club jersey but to be honest, the ride itself, abbreviated for weighty bikes and young boys, led to little thought of the roads I raced and trained on long ago.





Ronde photos courtesy of Dave Roth

Instead, I watched G as he busily turned knobs and "drove" the train up hills and down. Pushing Thomas onward with morale support up the hills and giggling through his calls to go faster as we went down. We did most of the ride with friends Seth and his son Max. A well timed break at Washington Park to play and eat lunch gave us both the reprieve to blast to the top of Council Crest before descending home to other chores and obligations.

Oops!

Sunday night it seemed I had the painting fiasco behind me. Then a friend came over to check on my progress and reminded me of a detail I had forgotten. A step although small, one which would go a long way in the workmanship of the vessel. After much internal debate, I chose to fix my err and recede my progress over the holiday weekend. I think the only thing that has taken me longer to finish than this was college!

The correction went smoothly and you will never be the wiser to where I screwed up. While re-painting, I realized, with some 6 coats of paint now sealing this thing...it may actually float! So I have that going for me.