Doug accurately sums up the single greatest asset for a parent — short term memory.

Posted on 21 October 2005

I’ve wanted to post about this for a long time, but haven’t found the time. Patagonia has published this essay by Bill McKibben on the joy of localism. I am always amazed that localism is not easily constrained within typical Left v Right thinking. Most “conservatives” would dismiss anything Patagonia prints as enivronmental drivel, yet the more traditional conservatives (as manifest in folks like the Pantagruelists and those behind Caelum Et Terra) would find much common ground with McKibben (as I do).

Posted on 20 October 2005

Let me get this out of the way — I don’t like scavenger hunt style alleycats, at least not as much as the standard checkpoint driven races. When faced with four pages of stuff to do, in divergent corners of the city, I tend to stare blankly at the manifest, hoping that I can find the wheel of someone who actually has a plan. This would be no different, except that Eli and Josh were actually expecting my feedback on a plan for the race. Umm….

The race was a benefit for Book’em a books-to-prisoners run out of the Thomas Merton Center. The stops on the manifest were heavily library or prison-centric, so at the very least, the race promised to teach us something. The three of us mulled over the manifest in the Free Ride parking lot, trying to find the balance between the lower valued, but more local stops and those high point stops that were on the fringes of the city. We decided to take a library-intensive route, going to Wilkinsburgh, East Liberty, Oakland (with multiple stops), perhaps downtown, and then Garfield to the finish.

From the start, we quickly got on Penn Avenue and headed to the Wilkinsburgh library. The wind was, in a word, terrible. It was nearly constant, with gusts that pushed my front wheel off course. It dampened any thoughts of perhaps getting to one of the more distant checkpoints, especially those along the rivers. Once at the library, we had several tasks — get information from a Wilkinsburgh map, and check out a Herman Hesse book. Both were easy (Hesse’s books were within sight of the door), and I quickly checked out Narcissus and Goldmund. Joshua, however, had a tougher time at the counter, and Eli and I had visions of unpaid fines and Joshua being taken away by the authorities. A few minutes later, however, he appeared, book in hand, and we were off to the East Liberty Library.

This stop was quick and mostly easy as well — a Langston Hughes book and some research about Mr. Rogers (which, apparently, I forgot to write on my manifest — oops). Quickly, we were off to The Big Idea bookshop. Another quick stop and we were on our way to Oakland to the main branch of the Carnegie and Hillman Library at Pitt.

Before we hit the libraries, we made a quick stop on Craig Street for two different checkpoints — one in Phantom of the Attic, the other in Caliban (a vintage, used book store). The Caliban activity was to discern a rather old train schedule, the format of which resembled this:

1. Afternoon train with seating for two, beds for two, and space at the Hotel Omnium.
2. Same as #1 with seating for one.
3. Same as #1 with one bed.
4. Same as #2 without Hotel Omnium.
5. Same as #1, but evening train.

Repeat up to #20 or so. After a few headspinning minutes, I tapped on the window and requested reinforcements.

A few notes from the libraries:

1. It looked like there were lots of points to be had, especially at the Carnegie, but it was a bit of the Big Lie™. Yes, there were points to be had, but we spent a full 30 minutes (at least) in the Carnegie. We could have used that time on the road to a higher value stop.

2. I apparently can’t type the number from my library card properly. After trying five times, I asked for help. The kind gentleman keyed in the number, and I had access.

3. Despite having only one copy of Prison Memiors of an Anarchist, the value for checking it out was a paltry 200 points. I do intend, however, to read the book.

4. There’s a coffee shop in the Carnegie. What? Beverages and books, together?

From the Carnegie, Eli and I hopped across the square the Hillman, whilst Joshua went off to the Carnegie Library for the Blind (or is the deaf?) to dumpster dive for government issue tapes (hmm, blind methnks). The Hillman tasks were relatively quick and easy, and Eli and I were soon riding across Oakland trying to find Josh. Apparently we blew right by him, so we headed to the Thomas Merton Center to package books for the books to prisoners program (and get 1000 points in the process). One interesting note — while I was packing fantasy and sci fi for one prisoner, Joshua was busy searching for existential philosophy. Different strokes, I suppose.

One last stop at a small book seller (the name escapes me), and we were checking out manifests outside the Arrow Gallery on Penn Avenue (the finish line). Apparently, I was a bit hasty in preparing my manifest, and I left off an answer or two, since I finished behind Joshua and Eli, despite having the sole copy of the anarchist’s memiors. So well. I still managed to get a multi-tool out of the deal for finishing 18th, and there was a dinner spread from Sree’s Foods, so I more than got my $5 back.

Joshua found that the folks who won did manage to hit highest point stops at the edges of the city in the North, East, and West, but apparently they suffered for it. The wind was unbearable in the city, so I can’t imagine what they dealt with along the rivers. I don’t know what their point totals were, but they were enough to compensate for finishing nearly an hour late (10 points were deducted for every minute). Perhaps had we tried to go the jail, at least, we may have cracked the top ten, but we were no match for roadies on their fancy bikes.

Posted on 18 October 2005

The full report is coming soon (I think), but here’s the route Eli, Joshua, and I took for the scavanger hunt-style race.

Posted on 16 October 2005

I was not looking forward to the new commute yesterday (my first day on the new job). I had been given a laptop a week or so ago so I could begin to poke around the codebase, and now, I had to get said laptop (a large-ish Dell workstation-type model) back to the office, in my messenger bag. When I slipped the strap over my shoulder, the weight threatened to tip me over backwards. Yes sir, this would be fun.

Running down Baker Street faster than usual (thanks to the front brake), I found myself turning right on the 62nd Street Bridge. The expansion joints on the bridge deck are scary — gaping jaws ready to catch a skinny road tyre. Exiting into Sharpsburgh, I bounced over the rough concrete and slowly picked my way over the railroad tracks into Etna proper. For now, I wished I had cushy cyclocross tyres, rolling resistence or not. Moving along Butler Street, I notice a small cafe/deli and think maybe I’d stop some morning.

As quickly as I’m on Grant Street, I’m off again, up Dewey, heading for the “back way” to avoid the initial hill up Mt. Royal out of Etna. Once out of the neighborhood, I’m on Pine Creek Road, meandering below the traffic of Mt. Royal. Pine Creek is only a gentle climb most of the way, passing small pockets of houses, folks that are brave enough to live across from a creek that floods at a moment’s notice. It is a nice section of road, with little traffic and a wide shoulder. I note, however, the lack of any sort of street lamps, and realize I’ll have to upgrade my (non-existent) lighting system for the winter.

At the end of Pine Creek Road, the road bends sharply to the right, and I’m faced with the single hardest climb of the commute — a short, steep rise that curves quickly to the right. Immediately, I lose momentum, and I’m one the drops of my bars, the bike rocking side-to-side. I hear the chain grown a bit each revolution, and I hear the tyres buzz as the bike leans with my pedal stroke. At the crest of hill, I turn left on Vollmer, into another residential area. The grade eases somewhat, and the crossing guard at the corner smiles and says “Hello, there.” I wheeze a “hello,” and this disrupts my breathing terribly, and I’m now panting, hoping this will end soon. I feel like I’m barely moving — in fact, I’m sure someone walking could overtake me with ease. Soon enough, I’m at the top of the hill, hands now resting on the bar top, tongue wagging. The respite will be shorted lived, however, with another short rise ahead that will bring to Mt. Royal.

Most of the ride into work on Mt. Royal is just slightly rolling. In the first two miles, I don’t even have to get out of the saddle. This, however, ends abruptly just past Ferguson Road. The hill is deceptively steep, though relatively short. Any momentum carried from the previous downhill is lost rather quickly, and again, the bike rocking side-to-side, the chain squeaking just a little from effort. Once to the top however, it’s a looooong downhill to the office parking lot. Which of course means…

It’s abrupt start to the ride home — poking my nose out of the parking lot, looking for traffic, and then immediately it’s into the drops for more bike rocking and tongue wagging. The intitial hill is long, but not sustained. The angle decreases eases a bit in the middle, allowing a bit of rest before the final surge around the first corner. Once at the top it’s a short, steep drop past Ferguson, and then the deceptively easy climb through the S-curve. I thought upon first inspection that this climb would be the killer, but it’s not, really. Yes, I’m out of the saddle a lot, but the first curve flattens a bit. After the second curve, it’s a short sprint to the crest, then nothing but rolling bumps until Saint Bonaventure school, where I leave Mt Royal for the quiet of the residential streets.

Going down Vollmer, I’m amazed at how long the hill is. I let my legs spins freely, using the handbrake once or twice to check my cadence without skipping the rear wheel. Quickly I’m at the top of hill above Pine Creek road, shocked and appalled I rode this brakeless on my first sortie with Aaron. Hard braking and a skip or two checks my speed enough, and I gently rolling, rolling down Pine Creek Road, enjoying the creek and the pines.

The last bit of Pine Creek Road is rippled like a washboard, and I bounce over them, not at all gracefully. It’s good preparation for the remainder of the ride, however, through the potholed, cracked streets of Etna. I’m still learning the ebb and flow of traffic, so I’m cautious as I pick my way across cars to turn left on Bridge Street. Once again, I wobble over the railroad tracks and harsh cement slabs just before the bridge, and I find the ride still has a sting in the tail — the final rise to the deck of the 62nd Street bridge. It’s not long or steep, but in the corridor of concrete, rattling over expansion joints, drainage grates, and potholes, I’m not happy about it. I’ve also realized it’s best to simply hug the yellow line up the ramp, rather than find myself in the middle of two lanes of traffic once on the bridge deck. Hugging the jersey barrier, I pick my way, quickly, through the potholes and cracks, bounce through the intersection with Butler Street, and take comfort in the final, familiar rise to home.

Posted on 14 October 2005

Matt Chester, a former rally co-driver himself, has posted his thoughts on the tragic death of Michael Park.

Posted on 13 October 2005

Starting tomorrow, my morning and evening commute will consist of this.

If you care.

Posted on 12 October 2005

Dusk comes early this evening, thanks to clouds and a barely there drizzle of rain. I’m rehydrating myself from an afternoon ride with vanilla tea and water. The day’s effort (a ride to Southside and back) settles in, and the tight muscles from yesterday’s work around the yard and house fade. On stereo is an old Uncle Tupelo cd, and Sandusky, the song two friends played at our wedding, is on. I’m saddened, just for a moment, thinking that we haven’t seen one of those friends in nearly two years, as he and wife (the woman who made our wedding cake) have split and he has fallen out of our world. Dinner, a pot of vegetable soup, is simmering on the stove. Its aroma, a mix of vegetable stock and garlic sauteed in olive oil, fills and wams the house.

The boy and Jen sit on the couch, each reading their own books. Sebastien’s head leans on the crook of Jen’s elbow, and emphatically points out the “Captain!” in his hockey dictionary. The living room floor is a jumble of blocks and cars and books, but that doesn’t matter right now. It might not even matter once the boy goes to bed. You get used to stepping over and around cars and trains and tools. And anyway, why put it away, when it’s just going to come out again tomorrow? There is likely a parental lesson we’re missing here, but there will be time for that another day.

The boy gets down from the couch with a jump, and he is ready for dinner — the remains of last night’s pizza from Pino’s and a few green beans. He climbs into his chair, a well-worn blue plastic high chair strapped to the chair my father gave to us. A moment later and he eating his pizza, chatting to me, to Jen, to himself.

All is well.

Posted on 8 October 2005

Here’s a not-so-great photo of my upgraded Steamroller. Better pics will be coming for submission to the Fixed Gear Gallery.

Posted on 6 October 2005

Eli has a thoughtful post on the commitments of bicycle commuting. His musings are a reaction to this essay by Grant Peterson (of Bridgestone and Rivendell fame) that outlines the commitments and compromises required of full time commuting. Eli is most troubled by this particular point:

It is also hard to ride a bike to work if it takes away family time in the morning or evening or both. What?s more important to you?your personal fitness and a contribution to a cleaner world, or eating breakfast and dinner with your family? Sometimes, there are tradeoffs, and if you choose your bike over your family, why?

I like his response, and I’ll take a bit further. First, I’ll ask that if your commute is so long that it takes time away from your family, why don’t you a) move closer to your employer or b) work closer to your home? I know, of course, that there are certain circumstances that require a long commute, but more often than not it is simply a choice most people don’t want to make. Also, I wonder if these trade-off Peterson describes can’t also become important lessons for your children. Even at two years old, Sebastien knows that daddy going to work equals a bicycle ride. The boy is already thinking outside of the box.

That said, Peterson’s essay is a great read. There is certainly a hump to get over, but you do, it does really become easier to get on the bike, day after day, in any weather. But I’ve prattled on about that before…

Posted on 5 October 2005