oh this is too much

But I can't help but wish it would happen to me. Just lovely.

(Facebook users, click on "see original post," or whatever it says, to see the video.

crappy decisions

So the bearings in my powertap hub are shot. Finally time to send it back to Saris for a rebuild. Now, the dilemma.

Option #1. $300. Saris rebuilds the current hub, sends it back to me, but I live without heart rate. My heart rate strap stopped working two years ago and Saris no longer makes a model compatible with my older powertap SL. So, this option essentially gets me back to where I was before, with all moving parts and seals replaced. Still wired.

Option #2. $460. Same deal with the wheel, but Saris also sells me a new CPU (2.4 version) and a compatible heart rate moniter. I'd like a heart rate monitor again. Still wired.

Option #3. $1000. Saris guts my hub body and besides bearings and seals, replaces the old 12mm axle with a supposedly much stiffer 15mm axel. Also updates the innerards to the new SL+ wireless version. New CPU. New heart rate monitor. New everything. Except the hub body.

I can't hardly believe how stinking expensive this power crap is. Nuts. The worst of it is (probably) that you spend all this money and then you don't really have anything new to look at. The bike still looks the same (except without that unsightly wire).

I'm half tempted to go the $1000 option and then just turn around and sell the wheelset (Bontrager Race X Lite Aero), but I'm not quite sure I'm ready to give up on power. I'm also not sure that I could sell the wheelset, even with the upgrades, for much more than $1000. If I was really lucky I might be able to get $1500. But then what?

What a pain...

explaining cyclocross

When I have to explain cyclocross, which includes fall semester classes (how will I report the results of major races if the students don't know what cx is?), I usually use this great video.



However, today I found this one, which I also love.



All my years in cycling and I still really had no idea what to expect until I showed up to my first race. And I only lost that race by two places. (I've since learned to lose them by many more.) But cross really is that great. At least for this shaggy dirtbagging goat.

Getting excited...

falling

Knee and arm warmers on my 7:00 am ride today. It's much warmer now, but the times...they are a-changin'.

the Fish, writing, and classroom regulation

Stanley Fish starts a rant on something else with a rant on college students' writing proficiency.

I like Fish's columns. A pleasure to read. (And sometimes expensive; this column prompted me to buy two books. They both proved worthwhile reads, though the thoughtful "Shop Class as Soulcraft" will be kept on my shelf, whereas the disappointingly lightweight "Big Sid's Vincati" I'm sending to my brother...for him to pass on once he's done with it.)

Anyway, from today's column, two highlights:

I became alarmed at the inability of my students to write a clean English sentence.

Yeah, me too. Every time I sit down to read students' papers. And often when reading email. And though I can't quite articulate and diagram the problems as well as Fish (perhaps a failing of my undergraduate institution's writing curriculum), I can do well enough. And do well enough to know that either my students' prior training in writing has failed them, or that the bar is set exceptionally low, or perhaps both.

I am...against external regulation of classroom practices if only because the impulse animating the effort to regulate is always political rather than intellectual.

Indeed.

I am especially against external regulation of classroom practices by those on the other side of the classroom from me. It strikes me that a student is in a particularly bad place to evaluate the usefulness of a course's content or the relevance of a degree's curriculum. Having thus concluded, it becomes preposterous that search committees and college administrators place so much weight on student course evaluations. But sometimes it's all we have. So we make do. Though I'm sure there's a better way. I'm afraid, however, that we're too lazy, entrenched, and (perhaps) fearful (of students, in part) to implement it.

the Chicago six

Six pounds. Five days off the bike, three of them in Chicago eating cheesecake and a bunch of other really wonderful stuff, the two days prior sitting around depressed eating a lot of ice cream. Six pounds...

Yesterday I hardly ate a thing and wasn't hungry at all. Weird.

...

After round three of the YBR/SMVC/SUCC Summer Smackdown yesterday--a 6.5 mile hill climb up Big Flat--I rolled over and scouted out The (Almost) Half World Championship course. You won't want to miss it. It's going to be great. (Date still pending...due to a thousand other conflicts, it's looking like we might shoot for Labor Day.)

...

I'm thinking I'm on the tail end of discovering this, but I have to say I enjoyed it tremendously. For my hipster Philly friends, you may be happy to know that while the hipster fixie culture in Chicago is alive and well, it's not nearly as evolved and natural as it is in Philly. You still win.

some people's (would be) president

Sarah Palin, that stalwart of reason and sense, wrote this on her Facebook page the other day:

"The America I know and love is not one in which my parents or my baby with Down Syndrome will have to stand in front of Obama’s ‘death panel’ so his bureaucrats can decide, based on a subjective judgment of their ‘level of productivity in society’ whether they are worthy of health care."

Oh. My. Word.

Notice how tricky she is, though. She hasn't said that Obama has actually proposed this "death panel" (whatever that is), which would be a lie, of course. But the language leads the reader to believe that Obama wants this weird thing (a thing so weird I don't even know where it's coming from).

Look, I can play this game too:

The America I know and love is not one in which small children are forced to watch the torture, maiming, and eventual slow and painful murder of soft, cuddly white bunnies at the hand of Sarah Palin and her 'death professors' in order to teach them the 'biology of pain economics.'

You like that? I didn't lie either.

Palin, you are the lunatic fringe. Well, a lunatic for sure. I'm merely hopeful that you stay on the fringe.

so many things...

I compose blog posts during the day, in my head. But I rarely write them.

Last Saturday, I whipped up a beauty about the ride Joel and I had on the Iron Cross course. It was a great ride (70+ mtb miles, 5+ hours), great weather, great company... And I remember having some terrific insights I thought worth writing down. But now I've forgotten.

Tuesday, I was going to write about the Tuesday Night Races, being tired, the art of the solo break, and a number of other things. But after the races I was so tired. The next day, busy.

Wednesday, I was going to write about this. And I was going to write about the trouble with using war metaphors when talking about cancer--words like "battle" and "fight." Because, in war, only death wins. And where does that leave the dead in the thoughts of the living?

Yesterday, I was going to write about my little miracle girl. Eight years-old yesterday. On her seventh birthday her oncologist told us it had better be some party. I liked that. Physicians are so obnoxiously dishonest when it comes to talking about how near death your children are. Until afterward. Then they seem to be more forthcoming, if not completely forthright. (Where do they learn this stuff, anyway? ...this inhuman distance from the painful emotional reality of life. Is it a symptom of having developed the medical gaze...the dishonesty their way shielding themselves from the pain? I guess we all have to cope.)

So this eighth birthday is something special too. Maybe more so. Her hair has grown back, wild and thick. She's grown fleshy (still an outlier as far as height and weight for her age, but proportional with a BMI in the 70th percentile). And, most significantly, has grown seven inches since transplant. Her endocrinologist, who hadn't seen her for 21 months, was in awe. (Again, an after-the-crisis display of honesty...admitting that when he saw her last he didn't expect her to grow again at all.)

Now, today, the post I wrote in my mind... Something about the ironies, paradoxes, and contradictions of parenthood. Something about the nature of joy/pain, which is to say the nature of life.

Yesterday's celebration ended abruptly around nine pm. Reuben was standing up, holding Audrey's hands. Then he dropped one hand and fell abruptly, awkwardly, twisting to the floor. It was a weird fall, but not that weird, for a baby. Babies fall all the time. But somehow this fall dislodged or jarred or otherwise upset his tumor (behind and under his right shoulder). It moved position. Bruised. Hardened.

And then there was screaming. For the next three hours. At least. Intermittent inconsolable screaming. Then some sleep. Then more screaming.

On and off again until four am, at which point I was supposed to drive to the airport to catch a flight to Chicago. Valerie didn't want me to go. She didn't want to tell me not to, but she didn't want me to go. I wasn't sure I'd be able to stay awake even for the drive to Harrisburg.

So now I'm laying on the couch, as tired as ever. The girls are playing a new computer game (Oregon Trail, a birthday present from someone who knows how much Marian loves all things pioneer). Valerie and Reuben are off to Hershey for X-rays and who knows what else. (It says something about the course of our lives that Val asked me to load a suitcase, still packed from the last hospital stay, "because who knows?") And I'm left to decide if it's worth it to try to get the airline to rebook my outgoing flight to Chicago.

And there's a cute little dog (stuffed toy) with a homemade leash tied to one leg of our piano.

And Audrey couldn't sleep last night blaming herself for Reuben's injury.

And she let me hold her as she cried herself to sleep.

And we've yet to figure out what happened to Reuben's shoulder.

And the sound of a screaming baby is the sound of my slowing going insane. It's quiet now, but the echos of insanity linger, softly reverberating inside my skull. It'll be a wonder if Val and I make it to 40.

those darn college professors

A bunch of liberal, elite know-it-alls... Can't trust a one of 'em.

This coming fall semester, on the second day of classes, a whole bunch of upperclassmen at Shippensburg University of Pennsylvania are going to walk into class, all bright-eyed and eager, only to find they're going to have to sit through 75 minutes, twice a week, of this:


I'd feel sorry for them if I were you.

...

The department secretary showed me this afternoon that my mug had been reduced to stock art. Here. (You may have to refresh the page a few times.) An occupational hazard, I suppose.

I'm flattered, self-conscious, and mildly disturbed.

...

Here it is August and I finally got around to reading my spring semester course evaluations. Under "Please describe what aspects of this course you would change," a few of my favorites:

"cancel class more often, take a break"

"boring"

"The way he teaches"

I especially appreciate the last one. Very helpful.

One of the problems with course evaluation comments is, of course, their anonymity. About some students' opinions I couldn't care less. But other students--students I've come to respect for one reason or another--I really want to know what they think. If I get a complaint that assignments aren't well explained, for example, that's much more meaningful feedback coming from a a student I know to be attentive and engaged than if it comes from someone who rarely comes to class. As the saying goes, context is everything.

Two other observations from course evaluations. First, there are a lot of college students who don't like to read (one wonders what these students' expectations for college were, and why). Second, I consistently get better evaluations in my earlier classes than I do in my later classes.

I'm not sure how to explain this second observation. It may be that I simply get tired through the day, and don't conduct class with as much energy the second or third time as I do the first. But I always feel better about the presentation the second time around--where I stumbled in the first hour, I'm clean and rehearsed in the second. Maybe too rehearsed?

I wonder if others' evaluations show the same thing. If so, it would seem that students are better off the fewer classes their professors teach. The professors, no doubt, would be better off too. Win-win.

the blood chronicles

Bradley Wiggins, as promised, released his blood values. Lance Armstrong, despite all his lofty talk a year ago, did not.

Remember all that stuff about independent testing and transparency? Then he (LA) said it would be too complicated and no one would understand (it was in February of '09, but, sorry, no reference). Well, I might not understand it, but someone will, and they'll discuss it with others that will, and that's what transparency is all about.

While I'm anti-Lancing it up, I better link this as well. Very funny.

I owe The Onion link to the MABRA listserv. Predictably, after the link was posted, a chorus of self-righteous fury arose. "Jokes about cancer aren't funny," they say. Hogwash. When the burden of living has you down as under a ton of bricks, all you have left is humor. Even if dark. Perhaps, espcially, if dark.

Or, there's this posible explaination from another MABRA listserv contributor:

"I suspect that there's a correlation between not finding this amusing and thinking that Armstrong actually returned in the interest of raising awareness about cancer."

Maybe that's it.

schedules

An interesting distinction made between the schedules of the "manager" versus the "maker."

http://www.paulgraham.com/makersschedule.html

scout camp

Back from a week of scout camp. And not a day too soon. By day five my patience was wearing thin, which had me just as upset with myself for being impatient as with the boys for being, well, boys.

Thoughts:

* Scouting is dumb. In my eagle board of review years ago I was asked why I wanted to get my eagle. I responded that I didn't, but that everyone around me told me I'd regret it if I didn't, so I was doing it on faith. I can't speak to the regret, but the only place having it gives me any traction is in scouting circles, and those aren't circles where I'm aching for legitimacy. Anyway, watching boys (and leaders) march around all week in matching brown shirts with badges sewn on all over left me nauseous. "Timeless values?" Sure...if conformity and hierarchy are values you think praiseworthy.

* The woods are awesome. And so here's the irony: scouting, for all it's pomp and Mary Kay motivation is banal and damaging, but w/o scouting I would have spent a lot less time in the woods as a kid, and a lot less time with rope, axes, knives, tents, trees, canoes, and a whole lot of other things that I think are worthwhile. So what we need is a non-paramilitary alternative to scouting. Ideas?

* Scouts are distinctly more nerdy in Pennsyltucky than in western Idaho. I'm confident of this. The difference? PA's low Mormon quotient. Mormons are scouts because they're Mormon (which provides a broader cross section of types and dispositions). PA scouts are scouts because they want to be scouts. I've learned to be wary of scouters (both youth and *especially* leaders) who want to be scouters.

* Speaking of timeless values, how about physical fitness? The current crew on staff at Hidden Valley are about the most doughy bunch I've ever seen. Yikes. And the scoutmasters? It got me wondering if there was some sort of BSA award for high BMI. These boys need to shed the tan polyester, lace up a sturdy pair of shoes, and get to...something...anything! Unbefreakinglievable. (The camp diet didn't help much either. All very high fat, high calorie crap. Another "timeless value?")

* I can't go as long without a shower as I once could. I can't tell you what a tremendous disappointment this is. Forty-eight hours is about the limit. Then finding a shower becomes my number one priority. This is really more for me than out of consideration of others. But if my neighbors find the stench undesirable, perhaps I could make a deal with some of my overweight scouting friends: I'll shower as often as they go for a jog.

saturday riding

Tried to make it to the Chambersburg Y by 7:30 to meet up with a couple of guys, but woke up to a refrigerator with no milk (how can I get started in the morning without a bowl of cereal?) and after a quick spin to Sheets for that, and eating, and swapping wheels, and kissing sleeping wife, and mixing bottles, and all the rest...I didn't start rolling until a few minutes after seven...and when I got to the Y at 7:45 no one was there.

So, I rode by myself.

The big climb is Route 30 out of Chambersburg, the descent is from that point down to Burnt Cabins past Cowan's Gap State Park.

The climb on 30 was a first for me. I'd shied away from it because Route 30 is such an awful road elsewhere I was afraid to climb it with trucks and boats and campers and all that sort of traffic wizzing past at highway speeds. But I was wrong--there was plenty of traffic, but the road has a shoulder the width of a small house, is relatively free of debris, and for half the climb the ascending traffic has two lanes as well. So no worries. And it was a great climb. Looks like 1700 feet total, which I think is a touch more than Big Flat, with a much steeper and more steady pitch--the later a benefit of climbing on a highway made to US Department of Transportation specs.

...

Riding 76 miles alone takes a lot more out of you than riding the same distance with others. Obviously being able to sit on a wheel once in a while makes a huge difference, but I think just having company does too. I'm pretty confident that just having someone sit on my wheel would have increased the trip average speed by .5 to 1 mph.

I like riding alone too, of course. But today I had a pretty depressing book loaded on the iPod and it took a bit of the joy out of the ride.

...

Another thought: I love to race, but I'm not sure if I look forward more to race day Saturdays or long ride Saturdays like today. Without the car travel and all that, the later sure leaves a lot more of the day for other stuff.

the pine grove tt

Rode my third Mark Laser hosted pine grove tt of the year (actually, I think Mark likes to call these the Ironmasters). Having a front derailleur to keep my chain on prevented my having to stop twice like last time, and I posted my fastest time on the course: 23:39.

I feel like it's totally possible to get that time down another 20 or 30 seconds. I need something a little bigger than a 53x12 on the downhill sections. That would buy me several seconds. And of course I could easily buy some time with a deep-dish front wheel. But the biggest thing I think is just to spend a little more time on the tt bike. I only ride it at the races, so I've done little fiddling with my position (I think I can drop the front end another centimeter or two) and I often get weird side aches and pain between my ribs in my back. Eliminate that pain and I think I could go 30 seconds faster. Ride my tt bike more and I'd eliminate that pain.

I don't like to time trial much (the three Ironmasters I've done are the only three tts I've done this year), but I would like to try another 40k. Last year, doing my first, on a bike with an awkward setup, I posted a 57:13. I feel like I should be able to take 2-3 minutes off that easy.

tour of mt. nebo

A photo from last Saturday's race...

...about the only good thing to come from my participation.

For reasons I don't understand (and not given), the promoter didn't offer a 3/4 field at the race, just a 1/2/3 field (thankfully no pros), a decision which I'm sure kept most of the cat 3s far, far away. For me, had the climbs been not quite so extreme (in pitch if not in length), I'm sure I would have been fine to hang on, but it's hard for this old sack of bones to compete with lithe 140 pounders 10 years my junior on 18 percent grades. Or at least that's my excuse.

No. Scratch that. I've no excuse. I just suck more than everyone else that finished in front of me. Also more than those that finished, because I bailed after four laps. (The course was held over an undulating nine miles of Lancaster County rollers for something like 1100 feet of climbing per lap. The 1/2/3s were to do six laps.)

My favorite moment of the day: After being dropped on the big climb midway through the first circuit I chased down the field on my own, with three or four riders in tow. When safe at the back of the field, one of the riders I towed along thanked me for my work, noting that he was too taxed to have been able to take a pull. "No need to thank me. We're all going to be gone on the next climb," I said. We were.

...

A (non) defense of dropping out after four...

I hate dropping out of races. I feel like such a smuck afterwards. For days. Weeks even. And there was no real reason to drop out anyway. There was no "field" to speak of, just groups of 1-4 riders scattered over the course. I was 18 miles and 2200 ft from finishing and riding nicely with a group of two others. But I hadn't come to Lancaster alone, and I knew Jon, Chop, and Mike had already (or were just about to) finish, and since I wasn't having any fun, I figured it'd be better to pack it in and get a jump on getting home.

But then we had to wait for the cat 4 results to be posted before we could leave (Jon took home $40), and that took way too long. I think we waited two hours. Absurd. And now, six days later, I'm still regretting the decision not to finish. Based on the finishing positions of other riders I was riding with at the time, I think I would have finished around 15th or 16th--that many riders were dropped and/or dropping out--and I believe I may have taken home a little cash. Oh well.