google is just cool

I really try hard to disassociate myself from brands. I don't like wearing logos. I told the car dealership they'd have to pay if they put their name on my car.

But google is just cool. Latest example: they map your polling place, then provide links to all the voting particulars in your state, like how to register and whatnot. A simple thing, but so cool.

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I've been down and out with a nasty cold, fever, sore throat for the past several days and have been watching a lot of television. NBC has been serving up a Brian Williams interview with McCain and Palin piecemeal through their various news programs. It's been interesting...and, I think, revealing. (I did a quick search for some clips available online and came up empty. I'm sure they're available somewhere.)

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Also, The New York Times editorial board's presidential endorsement.

bachmann's overdrive

One of the more disappointing characters to emerge as a national figure in the 2008 presidential campaign is this woman, Congresswoman Michele Bachmann (recent news, website, wikipedia).


On a personal note, I'm troubled by a concern that my dislike of this woman may be in part a tacit sexism. I can't stand her smile. Just like Sarah Palin's nails-on-chalkboard voice, whenever I see this woman and her plastic smile on TV my esophagus burns a little with bile. And so I ask myself, are there men to whom I react similarly, or is this sexism? In other words, do I hold persons like Bachmann and Palin to the same standard as I do men, or is there some deeply engrained cultural bias at work here?

Well, whether I'm sexist or not seems slightly less important than Bachmann recently associating "liberal" with "anti-American" and her call for media inquiry into which members of congress hold "anti-American" views.



(This is my first embedded youtube clip, by the way. Are you proud of me?)

What!?

(I'm no great Chris Matthews fan, but I loved how he just let her hang herself, which she seemed all too eager to do.)

So let me get this straight, if I don't like something my country is doing or has come to stand for then I am anti-American? McCarthy would be proud of this woman. He also saw no value in dissent. What is it that breeds this kind of absurd rhetoric?--the rhetoric of the unreasonable, as I've taken to calling it. (Note: McCarthy was from Wisconsin, Bachmann from Minnesota. Does that mean anything?)

I'll try to put as objective a hat on as possible and say that I'm pretty sure this woman is mildly insane. (Though, now that I think of it, she's probably not saying anything half as absurd as one might hear daily from the likes of Limbaugh and Hannity--people who I'm pretty sure are more than just mildly insane. Hey, maybe I'm not sexist afterall!)

stupid boys...

Song to Be Sung by the Father of Infant Female by Ogden Nash My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky; Contrariwise, my blood runs cold When little boys go by. For little boys as little boys, No special hate I carry, But now and then they grow to men, And when they do, they marry. No matter how they tarry, Eventually they marry. And, swine among the pearls, They marry little girls. Oh, somewhere, somewhere, an infant plays, With parents who feed and clothe him. Their lips are sticky with pride and praise, But I have begun to loathe him. Yes, I loathe with loathing shameless This child who to me is nameless. This bachelor child in his carriage Gives never a thought to marriage, But a person can hardly say knife Before he will hunt him a wife. I never see an infant (male), A-sleeping in the sun, Without I turn a trifle pale And think is he the one? Oh, first he'll want to crop his curls, And then he'll want a pony, And then he'll think of pretty girls, And holy matrimony. A cat without a mouse Is he without a spouse. Oh, somewhere he bubbles bubbles of milk, And quietly sucks his thumbs. His cheeks are roses painted on silk, And his teeth are tucked in his gums. But alas the teeth will begin to grow, And the bubbles will cease to bubble; Given a score of years or so, The roses will turn to stubble. He'll sell a bond, or he'll write a book, And his eyes will get that acquisitive look, And raging and ravenous for the kill, He'll boldly ask for the hand of Jill. This infant whose middle Is diapered still Will want to marry My daughter Jill. Oh sweet be his slumber and moist his middle! My dreams, I fear, are infanticiddle. A fig for embryo Lohengrins! I'll open all his safety pins, I'll pepper his powder, and salt his bottle, And give him readings from Aristotle. Sand for his spinach I'll gladly bring, And Tabasco sauce for his teething ring. Then perhaps he'll struggle through fire and water To marry somebody else's daughter.

barack hussein obama

The most emailed NYTimes story of the week. It's a goody.

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About the debate last night, everyone (I should have several links here, but I'm too lazy) seems to think McCain came out ahead. But I'll tell you what I saw: an old man with a misguided sense of entitlement getting increasingly cranky about the fact that he's going to lose this election (after _finally_ getting oh-so-close) to a young upstart with such an un-American sounding name.

It's too bad. A year ago I had positive feelings towards McCain. Now, not so much.

Unfortunately, McCain's place in history will forever be that of the man who tried to keep the first black president of the United States from becoming the first black president. A milestone chapter in the progressive history of the country is being written, and the McCain/Palin parts will forever be that of the ineffectual villains.

Which part will you play? ;-)

beating the deceased pony

Courtesy of someone's Garmin Edge I can pinpoint the location of my quickly-becoming-all-too-tragic accident. Highlighted in the first figure by a green (teal?) circle, in the second by red.


It's Day Four of no riding and depression is setting in. I think tomorrow I may join the fitness club down the block and spend my evening doing leg presses.

I hate not being able to do anything. I can't even go for a walk...the jarring movement still hurts too much. Probably next week...

kelley acres

Some shots from the fateful event, courtesy of W. Browne.

Early in the first lap, running the log barrier...


This next was the sketchest part of the course. Down a steep little drop, over a straw-covered wood bridge, then in and through a mud pit. A lot of people struggled though this, some getting off and running the whole thing, but remembering to gear w-a-y down prior to the drop I managed through three times without a bobble.



I think I was in about forth position here, but soon made short work of this NVCC rider.

And this must have been mere moments before the mishap...

So I didn't really get to make short or long work of anyone.

Anyway, I thought it was a really fun, original course. The atmosphere and trails reminded me a bit of Granogue, just not quite as grand as all that. I would have loved to take away my first cross win on that course, and I nearly did. But the butterflies... The previous three times down that fast left-hand turn I felt like I could have taken it faster, so on the fourth pass I did, and now here I am, typing incomplete thoughts with one hand...

c-r-a-c-k

Just when it was shaping up to be a great cross season I go and snap my collarbone. Again.

The first time it was sort of novel and interesting. I'm afraid this time it will be unbearably boring. No Iron Cross. No cyclocross season at all. So lame. Lame as an arm in a sling.

wheel lechery...and that darn sarah palin

I have a serious wheel problem. Which is to say I have a serious problem with my desire to purchase wheels.

Weighing all interests (weight, aerodynamics, convenience, cost), I had all but decided on these (Reynolds Assault), which can be had for under 1k, new, on eBay:


But then Reynolds goes and introduces these (Reynolds Strike), which in a few weeks I assume will also be available on eBay for probably around $1100 or $1200:

Nuts. What a decision. What's an indecisive wheel lecher to do?

(The right answer is the Strike.)

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The vice presidential debate last night...

I don't even know what to say about Sarah Palin. That nails-on-blackboard voice, the persistent folksy colloquialisms ("darn," "heck," "ya," etc.), her blatant refusal to answer questions directed to her... Most commentators seem to agree that she did well in the debate (if only for not doing poorly), but how a rational, thinking person could want her for President of the United States, or anything close to it, is beyond me.

If not on this blog, I've often complained about the strong tenor of anti-intellectualism in the public sphere in general, and in politics in particular, and I can't help but believe that this current of anti-intellectualism has fueled Palin support...or that it is the reality of anti-intellectualism that makes a Palin VP choice even considerable and perhaps strategically sound. In any event, the reality of it angers me and, worse yet, tests my empathy. I want to believe that differences in political opinion are a consequence of reasonable people having reasonable ideological differences (or if not ideological, reasonable differences regarding particulars of practicality), but I question the reasonableness of someone who supports Sara Palin for high office.

(To be clear, I'm not a McCain supporter, but I can acknowledge that reasonable people would prefer McCain leadership to the alternative. It's the Palin component that baffles me so.)

as predicted...

I guess it was really more a combination of options #1 and #2, though a bit more forcefully delivered than I had anticipated.

Whatever...

well played

How about this gambit by Prudhomme, et al.

Dramatic.

How will LA respond? I suppose the best play is either (1) to dismiss the thing with some unsatisfying nonsense about the past being irrelevant, which is how he responded to Greg, or (2) to construct some story about how those now ten year-old samples are damaged in some way that would compromise the results.

My bet is some variation of #1; a kind of snobbish brush-off. Very Lance.

Is there a better move?

I hate being busy

So much crap going on lately, and there's so much I want to write about.

Like this. Which is to say that I am fascinated by both the politics and and the political science of this whole "bailout" deal. (One question worth considering, which I'd like to ask this dude, is why $700 billion? Why that number. Since the money appears to be coming in waves, on an as-needed basis, where and how did this seemingly arbitrary number come from? And a second question, why isn't the press corps asking that? It seems an important question in the context of the larger point which our politicians and government officials are having a terribly difficult time explaining--why is so much government intervention needed at all?) I want to write so much more about this, but no time...

Also, I love this site. When I wake up in the morning I check my email and I check this site, clicking on the little "next report" link on the right. I just love this stuff. Why? I'm sure it's for the same reason that I like sports, but that's a conclusion that requires a good deal more explanation than I have time for. Alas...

Finally (news flash here!), I love riding my bike. I had such a delightful ride yesterday. This ride has become a training staple. I discussed it earlier here. I think I've done this exact ride four times in the past couple of months. That may not seem like a lot, but it's a hard ride, so you can't do it that often, and usually longer rides are group rides which means riding from and to other locations. Yesterday I rode it in 3:15. Last week I rode it less hard, but finished in 3:08 (last week the wind was blowing the opposite direction from what it usually blows, I assume due to that tropical storm weirdness last week, which made the last fifteen miles or so blazing fast).

Anyway, when I got home yesterday I thought to myself, man, I just love riding my bike. So I just wanted to share that bit of childlike glee.

Yeah. That's it. Back to work...

a view from behind (and below)

On Thursday, Marian and I went for a ride. The trailer doesn't get to ride behind the Tarmac, so I put my road wheels on the cross rig and hitched her up. We were out for about an hour and twenty minutes, easily Marian's longest ride (it's been a source of frustration to me that Marian hasn't taken to the trailer as I hoped she would).

Marian brought her camera, and these are some of her in-ride photos.


I'm pretty surprised at how good these pictures actually are. Every time I turned around to see how she was doing I saw her hand bouncing up and down as she tried to focus in on something. Plus, I ride like lightening so you have to expect the blur.

These next two pictures I didn't see her take, and I didn't prompt them at all. I guess she wanted to document the vehicle(s) she rode in.


Below, the last three pictures she took before we went inside.

The first may be my favorite shot of the trip. It's her most artsy. The second is a picture of bird's nest that the girls found somewhere and brought home and that will likely be sitting on our back porch until spring. The final shot Valerie's back-door bumper sticker.



On the ride, Marian let me know with her excited little voice every time she saw an Obama sign in a yard--and since this is south-central PA, that isn't often. But the excitement speaks to how malleable these little minds are, which is all the more reason not to vote Republican. Ever. ;-)

(In case you're wondering, her political excitement comes 100 percent from her mama, who is crazy stressed/distressed about this election. I rarely talk about anything political at home--I just can't get that worked up about it anymore--and when I do I think it's usually issue-oriented, not candidate or figure-oriented. Though I certainly could talk about candidates, if prodded.)

fall has fallen

I saw my breath when I left the house this morning--the weight of autumn descending like a dark cloud of impending doom.

Well, maybe not doom, but I wasn't too thrilled about it. I'm told by people who predict these sorts of things that PA is in for a hard winter with larger than average snowfalls. Let's hope that's true. Winter's redemption is snow. But if it's another blah winter with occasional snow skiffs and ice storms and continual gray skies...then crap.

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A shot from the bike games last Saturday:

I'm amused by my expression in that photo. I suppose it captures the frustrated urgency of the moment--riding on a flat tire, too far behind the leaders...that sort of thing. Next time I'm going to stick out my tongue or something. One shouldn't take one's self so seriously.

08 PA BAR & nittany cross

You show up to the right races and those BAR results can look respectable. I only did two PA BAR races racing masters this year--the road and tt championships. (Double points for championships, right?) And races, incidentally, that no one else seemed to want to go to (though it may be worth pointing out that while there were few folks, I was at least the fastest cat 3 both days). So, pick the right races...

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Well, the first cross race of my season has come and gone...and was a major disappointment. I had to stop four times for mechanicals. (1) A break that got lodged up under my rim after a sandpit crash. (2) A pit stop for a flat tire...though after screwing around in the pit for probably 30-40 seconds I didn't actually get a wheel. (3) A pit stop for the same flat tire on the next lap...this time I changed wheels. (4) A dropped chain in the sandpit. With all my stopping I passed some guys two or three times. Oh yeah, and the string on my shoes broke no more than five minutes before the start. I left my bike in the starting area amid the other cyclists and ran off to the parking lot to find someone with tape. A person in the third car I came to had tape...and while I'm super thankful for his generosity and my good luck in the face of exceedingly bad luck, I proceeded to wrap the tape so tight that halfway into the first lap I began to wonder if it's possible to lose my toes to a foot tourniquet within 45 minutes of bike racing. At the finish I ripped the tape off first thing and my foot kept hurting for a good hour afterward.

But even a crappy day at the races is better than a good day doing just about anything else.

The sad thing is that I think I felt pretty good fitness-wise. But I rode on a flat tire half the race. And had to stop a bunch of times. And missed my call-up while I was dinking around with some electrical tape and a broken shoe. So it's hard to know how I would have stacked up against the crowd had things gone a little better mechanically.

Next week... And on tubulars for the first time. With my luck, I'll roll a front tire within 400 yards of the start.

the tuesday night races

Yesterday I thought I was going to be in Bethesda having dinner with a friend...until at about 2pm I realized that is happening next weekend (someday I may condescend to using some kind of day planner--several years ago I showed up a week early to a conference...I booked my airfare, rented a car, flew from Nashville to Denver, and it wasn't until I showed up at the Marriot, then went to the other Marriot, then back to the original Marriot, that I finally realized I had arrived a week early--so someday I may condescend to using a day planner, but not yet). The evening being freed up allowed me time for some bike play.

My first racing experience (in 1988) came from a little mid-week event outside of Boise that we called the Tuesday Night Race. It was a 18-mile out-and-back affair on a dusty desert road where the wind always blew and always in the same direction and always HARD. One might say the wind blew with a vengence, and if one were to say that, I would excuse the absurdity of the metaphor (because why would the wind have a vendetta against anyone?) because the wind really did blow that hard.

Riders self-selected into A, B, and C groups and began the race at one to two minute intervals with the slower riders leaving first. Because of the handicap, the groups would come together at about the turnaround, then everyone was together for the race back. The way out, with the wind at our backs, was fast, fun, and comfortable for 14 year-old beginners like me. The way back was murder. The fast group would catch up, and with it the intensity, and by the time we'd made our way back to the two or three ball-breaking rollers near the finish I'd be toast. The weekly goal was to stay with the pack until the first of those hills. A MAJOR accomplishment was to stay with the pack until the finish. I'm not sure I ever did, though Mark may have. A couple years later the course was moved, the hills weren't as bad, I got stronger, and the whole dynamic changed.

So yesterday (Tuesday) I relived all that as I tagged along with the end-of-season Pine Grove duke-out between South Mountain Velo (those guys on the other side of the mountain) and Yellow Breeches Racing. A 22-mile out-and-back over the undulating Pine Grove Furnace Road.

Now, this isn't Wednesday Worlds or the DC Goon Ride, but a race is a race. Don't get me wrong, some of these guys can throw down, but some of these guys are nearly twice my age too. I mean, my being there probably dropped the average rider age three or four years.

Anyway...I flatted about five miles in. Fixed it. Rode on, then turned around when the main group came back past. On both kickers right there by the park I dropped the hammer and openned a decent gap between myself and the field both times. But both times within about a kilometer I was caught. A final attack in the last mile proved fruitless and I coasted over the line at the back of the field.

Good fun. I love the bike games...even when it's all unofficial and there's nothing really at stake.

Recently, reporters ask Floyd Landis why he wants to continue racing after having been disgraced and out of the sport for two years. The answer--obvious to me--is that he just loves racing his bicycle. So do I.