Forty is F'd Up!

Initially I was informed I would have a work audit performed on my birthday. This being my 40th, such boring, adult activity sounded par for the course. Then in a stroke of luck the audit was pushed out.

My birthday is a special day in history. Not only is it always the 1st day of the 2nd week of the 3rd month, every year; on the evening of my birth, Joe Frazier gave Ali the beat down while earlier in the day Radio Hanoi played Jimi Hendrix's rendition of The Star Spangled Banner. Important stuff.



I was pumped to (be able to) read on the calendar hanging from the fridge, while eating breakfast that my birthday would fall on Fat Tuesday. Pretty rad. Not so rad was that it would also be International Ladies Day.

In staying my course of optimism for officially being old, last Saturday A surprised me by gathering up a group of friends to take me out for a good long bike ride. This was sweet of her no doubt and my friends certainly savored getting to drag me over hill and dale for the first time in 3 1/2 years. I think they most enjoyed the shocked look G and I shared as they crashed our Saturday morning cartoon time with derogatory name calling and threats for me to get off the *&^%ing couch.


Ironically, I wasn't the one who bonked blocks from home. I actually fared well. All those boring evening rides on the rollers in the basement and weekend ski trips with G prepared me well enough to get back into the swing of big bike rides.

The flip side was that while I was out with my aging spandex clad posse, her and G bought paint supplies for me to paint and carpet the stairwell I've been blowing off for 10-years.

Which brings me to last night and the sobering vision of falling from my poorly engineered scaffolding as I reached the high corners of the stairwell with a 20ft telescoping pole complete with a soaked sponge and paint dripping onto my face. In full color I could see the wood shelf the ladder was supported by, breaking from too much Newma-weight and my getting tangled in it as we both fell, hitting the last 3 steps of the staircase and tumbling to the basement floor, breaking my legs into 4 or 5 pieces each.

Ultimately painting the far end of the stairwell went okay. It was the cutting in at the landing, the part where all I needed was a step ladder that I did the most shoddy work. I rarely sleep well as it is, but last night I tossed and turned to dreams of paint dripping from the ceiling. In reality it was in the corners, the easy to reach corners where the drips got the better of me.

Last night was a busy night for someone else too. In the morning as A and I were both heading out the door for work, she saw that someone had broken into her car. Tin snip cut like opening a can of soup under the door handle was the access point to steal the air bag out of the steering wheel. They also took her Sheryl Crow CD which is odd because Sheryl Crow sucks.

Just Standing Still

It's pretty rad as a parent to get a compliment about your kid. A is the one who really reads the variety of child development books to pick and choose what strategies or routes we take with G. I'm more of the "throw mud on the wall and see what sticks" approach. So when someone shares something positive about G, I know they really mean for me to pass the compliment on to his mother. That pat on the shoulder? That's more for me being able to keep him in one piece thus far.

Some of the compliments revolve around G in public. Trust me he has his moments. Melt downs at the grocery store happen. The big dump he took at Home Depot? He freaked out about walking from the bathroom through the checkout, to the car, commando style. It was a confidence builder. A father/son teaching moment I reveled in. I reassured him it was fun to sometimes not wear underwear. Like a joke that only you know the punchline to. He didn't get it but I can't expect much understanding of my analogies; he's only 2.

All this to say that recently I've received some compliments about how he goes everywhere and can handle situations that some kids wouldn't stand a chance in. We don't need to boot up a laptop with movies at restaurants. He sits in his sled for 3+ hours AFTER the hour drive to the trail head. He likes to look around.

Last summer he caught me being more motivated than aware on occasion. Twice, for whatever reason, he hadn't been to the park in a few days and simply wanted to play. I wanted to ride the boat bike a solid hour before any alteration. But both times, he explained that he just wanted to swing and slide. So I let up and we rode a few blocks to the park and played. Would I have had more fun riding? Sure. Did we have fun together doing his favorite things? Absolutely.

My logic is that if sometimes I give in, he'll continue to enjoy the times we go big and do long, epic adventures. If he always has to tag along doing what I want to do, he'll hate the things I enjoy when he's old enough for us to really enjoy them together. Right now, he could care less about my V02max or FTP. Will it matter when he's 17 what my max sustainable power was when I was 40? Doubtful.

The tricky times are situations like last Saturday when we committed to driving to Mt. Hood, changed into proper XC-Ski gear, packed the sled with his current play list of books and animals, made it a mile down the trail and he says, "I want out."

"What?"

"I want out."

"Do you want to ski on your ski's?"

"No. I want to walk."

So we walk. 10 or 15 minutes pass. He's walking like I used to walk to school (before I rode my bike as far as I could in the other direction!). Long marching strides until something big enough to kick or step on grabbed his attention. He'd kick a snow ball or pick it up and throw it. He laughed a little, but kept walking.

Until he stopped.

Usually when he stops like that he clinches his fists and his face turns red. I thought about that and the prospect of changing his diaper on snow. I patted his butt but felt nothing. Whew!

"Are you okay son?"

"Yeah."

"Are you trying to poo?"

"No."

"Are you trying to pee?"

"No."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm just standing here."

And there he stood. Watching the clouds move and open a window like view of Mt. Hood. Watching the trees sway and drop piles of snow to the ground. Watching me get colder and shiver and mumble about the one time I didn't bring extra wind shell pants or jacket.

It annoyed him that I'd interrupt his silence to ask about getting back in the sled or strapping on his ski's.

"Seriously, why are you just standing there?"

"I'm just standing here."

So I let him just stand there.

After about 20-minutes he was done standing there. He climbed in the sled and slept for 2 hours while I trotted around the lake and thought about the value of stopping to just stand still. To be perfectly motionless and watch a view of a snow covered volcano open up right before you while not hearing a single sound. That is pretty epic. Even if your more than 2.

The Basement and Beyond

The last 2-months I have been able to ride consistently a few nights a week in the basement staring out a small window into the darkness. In 2009, I first rode outdoors again on the boat bike but often that was too much stress on damaged joints. In 2010, the bulk of my outdoor riding was again with Gavin at the helm. Much to my enjoyment our family rides grew longer and faster but I was still far from putting the kind of pressure onto the pedals I have taken for granted over the years.

So it has been rewarding in a weird way to see progress of how hard I can ride going nowhere. Almost enjoyable enough to lull me into thinking riding inside is fun. But sweating in place while staring out a window is not nearly the same as being knackered from a ride traveled beyond what can be seen from the comfort of home.

Skiing has been great, but even G has been asking to go for rides. He talks about riding along the river, going to the velodrome, watching cyclocross and cheering at racers flash by in a criterium. He's as parched and hungry as any racer just before a new season. He's even taken to asking to watch bike races I've DVR'd instead of Mickey's Club House.