Big Guy on a Bicycle: Ranting & Rambling

Random Cabinetry

Wed, 14 Jun 2006 00:36:05 GMT

Today's title comes to us from a piece of Spam email that I received today. Once in a while the random subject titles (no pun intended) that they generate for these things strike me as amusing. Maybe random cabinetry is what you'd get if you were building a house and just went down to Lowes or Home Depot every few weeks and bought one section of whatever they had the most of that day. It probably wouldn't work very well in practice.

Overheard at lunch today: "I remember where I was when I lost my mind, but I don't remember when."

Okaaaay...

Today I called my friend who had the overheating issues on the big ride last Saturday. He's fine. Actually, he's doing very well. He rode forty miles yesterday and plans to ride more tonight.

The A/C finally works in the house. They came yesterday while Mrs. Guy was spending the day working from her home office. It finally cooled off the house sometime after 11 pm (I went to sleep sweating and woke up freezing). I just hope it stays fixed for a while. That would be nice, wouldn't it?

I got the car back yesterday, too. They finally listened to me and replaced the part (under warranty, I might add) that I said was causing the problem. Here's the funny (strange) thing. We just got a card in the mail from our car manufacturer yesterday saying that they had extended the warranty on that particular part only to ten years or 200,000 miles. Our car is out of its original warranty since it is seven years old and has a little over 170,000 miles on it. The timing couldn't have been better (or stranger, for that matter).

In the green-with-envy department, three of my friends - John B., Jim, and Dianne - just left this morning for Bonnaroo. They are riding their bikes over three days to get there, where their respective spouses will meet them with the big honkin' rental RV. I'd love to go to Bonnaroo this year. I really like the line-up they have this year. I'd especially love to go there on my bike. Can't go due to other conflicts, and can't go by bike anyway for other reasons that don't bear repeating.

Speaking of which (so I guess I am repeating it somewhat after all), I went back to Physical Therapy and got my original therapist back. "What are you doing back here?!? You didn't do something bad, did you?"

"yes..."

I think I've told the reinjury story way too many times. I've started making up stories. Not believable stories, mind you. I want the listener to know that (without having to ask).

One from today:

"Yeah, my neighbor challenged me to an aerial baseball bat-fight with the trapezes in our back yards. Seems he's training for some 'bloodsport' competition coming up in Thailand. I hope his shattered knee recovers in time..."

From a couple of days ago:

"I was trying to hold up a bank, but the safe shifted, I lost my balance, and the whole building came down on top of me..."

Additional suggestions, the more ridiculous the better, would be welcomed.

And why is it that the first question everyone asks me is if I did it on the bike?

And when is MSN Spaces going to stop messing with layouts? Just when I get used to something...

Bloody Wednesday

Thu, 08 Jun 2006 02:12:17 GMT

I went down to the Bike Zoo tonight for a club meeting. The minute I walked in the door I hear “…dripping a trail of blood wherever he goes…”

“Oh, I guess you saw the article.”

“Dude, everybody saw it. You’re not just famous, you’re infamous.” [A reference to The Three Amigos.]

“Great…”

Happily, it didn’t spiral downward from there as I’d feared. Most of the meeting was on the subject of the upcoming ride. I’ll be driving a SAG wagon with John B. (using his company van) on Saturday, which is just as well since I can’t ride anyway. Should be fun anyway, that is as long as the A/C is working in the van.

Some random thoughts and observations from today:

Why isn’t Clorox spelled “Chlorox”?
Why did that guy in the Lexus this morning race so fast to get around me, only to slow down to five miles per hour slower than I was going before?
Why does the stock market tend to plummet every time Greenspan or Bernanke open their mouths? Here’s an analogy for you – The stock market is like a roller coaster. You pay to get on, it goes up slowly, it goes down quickly, it changes directions a bunch of times at high speed, and sometimes it makes you want to lose your lunch. Can I just bury my 401(k) in my backyard instead?
Why does it take almost two weeks to mail a CD from Knoxville, TN to Raleigh, NC, but the check I mail to my mortgage company in Tulsa, OK gets cashed within 2-3 days?
Why does the cat with white hair always lie on the dark pile of folded laundry before I can put it away?
Why does the cat with dark hair lie on the pile of whites and lights?
How is it that a dog can sleep ALL DAY LONG, but wants to get up and play at 3:23 am when I have to go to work by 6:00 am?
There are 10 kinds of people; those who understand binary numbers, and those who don’t.
Is it any wonder so many people have trouble with English as a second language? Ban + d = Band (same vowel sound). Ben + d = Bend (same vowel sound). Bin + d = Bind …different vowel sound! And that’s just one example.

That’s enough for tonight. Time to go walk the dogs and give them their sleeping pills…

History Lesson

Mon, 06 Mar 2006 23:55:10 GMT

After a long day at work, I find that I really don’t feel much like coming up with a post today, so instead I will recycle an old technical article I once wrote for my car club (in fact, I’m skipping the club's monthly meeting RIGHT NOW!). I’ve recycled an article once before, and I have about eight or nine other articles I can pull from if the need arises in the future. So anyway, this one is about some of the early history of tires. I’m editing it some to cut the length down a little. Note that bicycles are heavily involved.

Long after the invention of the wheel by that nameless caveman, it was still just a simple disk made of wood or stone. Carriage makers discovered that they could make an effective wheel using a hoop, a hub and some spokes, but they didn't always last long on the rough road surfaces. A metal band around the hoop increased the strength, but didn't help with easing the burden on the backsides of carriage riders. Carriage makers got smart and started adding suspension systems (which is the subject of a later article), but suspension wasn't always practical on all vehicles, and one vehicle in particular; the bicycle. Sure, they tried it to various degrees of success, but the better the suspension, the heavier the bicycle became. (One thing to remember; before cars, bicycles were extremely popular as personal transportation.)

Then came Charles Goodyear, a down-on-his-luck, always broke, yet extremely persistent inventor. He took the very gummy rubber of the day and started playing around with different additives. He eventually hit on sulfur, which helped make rubber a little more usable, but he still hadn't made a product that wouldn't eventually slump into a pile of melted goo. But as things often happen in the inventing business, it took an accident to help him stumble onto his major breakthrough. He dropped a sample of his rubber onto a hot stove, and being at least a man of some common sense, he waited for the stove to cool before removing it. Lo and behold, the now-cooled piece of rubber had changed, becoming more stable and less likely to melt away in a few days. After playing about with different mixtures, temperatures, and heating durations, in 1844 he finally patented rubber vulcanization (named by a friend after Vulcan, the Roman god of fire). The rubber industry took off and rubber was used to create, among other things, solid rubber bicycle tires.

One day in 1888 or so, a Scottish veterinary surgeon by the name of John Boyd Dunlop was watching his young son ride his tricycle. The tricycle had solid rubber tires on wooden wheels, which still caused an uncomfortable ride (though better than just the wood wheels alone). Being the loving father that he was, he set out to do something about this. He soon hit upon the idea of attaching an inflated rubber hose to each wheel, which would allow his son to ride in more comfort, and also allow him to ride faster. Dunlop's first simple design consisted of a rubber inner tube, covered by a jacket of linen tape with an outer tread also of rubber. The inner tube was inflated using a football pump and the tire was attached by flaps in the jacket which were rubber-cemented to the wheel. Soon after, his son won a tricycle race using Dunlop's tires, and public notice followed. As a result, pneumatic tires were soon being made for all types of vehicles and the modern tire industry was born. Bicycle popularity waned as automobiles became more affordable and most tire companies shifted over to making automobile tires instead. Two notable exceptions are Michelin and Continental, who still make very good bicycle tires (I used to race on Michelins).

But that isn't the whole story. It turns out that Dunlop didn't actually invent the pneumatic tire; he just developed it. The inventor of the pneumatic tire was actually another Scotsman named Robert William Thomson back in 1845. Unfortunately for Thomson, the rubber industry wasn't quite ready to produce his tires in a cost-effective manner, so he abandoned his patent (remember that Goodyear didn't patent vulcanization until 1844). Don't feel too bad for him, though. While he didn't have a tire company named after him as our other two subjects did, he still went on to invent the elliptical rotary engine, hydraulic dry docks, and electrical detonation devices for explosives along with a host of other items still in widespread use today.

Re Cycle

Sun, 05 Mar 2006 01:49:10 GMT

I didn't actually get to go ride today. I wish I could have, because the weather was good enough, but I had too much to do in the domestic arena. Namely, I had to take care of a problem with the garage. It was full...of recyclables.

Some places I've lived have had curb-side recycling pick-up. I think the City of Knoxville actually has it, too, but Casa de Big Guy is just outside the city limits, so if we want to do the environmentally responsible thing, we have to do it ourselves. So I spent a good part of the morning breaking down cardboard boxes that have been accumulating since December and loading them into the station wagon, along with boxes full of plastic and glass bottles, tin and aluminum cans, mixed paper and newspaper. Mrs. Guy decided to spend her time working in the flower bed in front of the house. I would rather have taken the tandem out, but I guess these things needed to be done.

We went over to a friends house on the way to drop off the recycling. They were having a going-away party for one of the veterinarians where Mrs. Guy still puts in the occasional Saturday. While I was there, I ended up talking to one of the guys about accents and mimics. Seems we both have the ability to mimic other accents, and both tend to pick up other accents quickly without even meaning to (which explains why I sounded almost like a native Maine resident within a month of living there). He had heard an interesting theory about that ability. His first question of me was if I'd been in choir or chorus as a child. Yes, I was in choir at Church. The theory goes that we learn to lengthen, shorten, soften, et cetera, our vowel sounds when we learn to sing. That's a lot of what accents tend to be; just changes in the vowels. It makes a lot of sense, actually. Have you ever noticed that a lot of singers sound like they don't have much of an accent when performing (country musicians excepted), but can be completely different when they are talking?

I talked to John H. for a little while tonight. He's just decided on a new bike recently. He's getting a Specialized Roubaix (the S-Works version, apparently). Very nice. But he brought up something he saw last night that he found disturbing, especially as a father. They went to the Pizza Kitchen last night, where he saw a group of people out enjoying the evening, with several children in tow. One of the sets of parents actually had a portable DVD player set up on the table to keep little Junior entertained and quiet...and completely ignored. They barely paid attention to him the whole time, except to hit the 'Play' button again when "Dora the Explorer" reached the end. While I applaud the parents for making an effort to keep their child from creating a disturbance, I firmly believe that social interaction is far more important than just leaving the child to the tender embrace of the video babysitter. It makes you wonder how often the parents resort to this means rather than actually nuture their child. I hope this isn't a new trend in parenting. If so, I shudder to think what these children be like fifteen to twenty years from now. Tuned out? Completely introverted and unable to relate to anyone around them? I really hope not.

In the General Weirdness File: Yesterday, within a period of around an hour, I ended up driving behind nine vehicles with a tail-light burned out. It was the left one. On all of them. I checked mine as soon as I got home to make sure I hadn't accidentally driven into the Twilight Zone.

What Type of Stereo Do You Have?

Thu, 02 Mar 2006 23:46:17 GMT

As I was driving to work this morning, I just happened to be listening to NPR as they described the 6th Annual Fargo Film Festival. This is apparently a big year for Fargo and films, as it was ten years ago that the film Fargo (starring William H. Macy and Frances McDormand) was released. According to the NPR story, most Fargoans (is that the correct way to refer to people from Fargo?) really loved the movie, but some in Fargo were offended by the accents that the actors used. Apparently they thought that they were overdone and stereotypical.

Well, welcome to the club.

I am from East Tennessee. I was born in East Tennessee. I attended college in Middle Tennessee. I now live in Knoxville, which is in East Tennessee. OK, quick quiz for those of you who have never met me – How would you imagine I sound? What do you have to go by? Movies? TV? Would it ever cross your mind that I sound like a hillbilly? Maybe? Probably? Well, I can assure you that I do not. And guess what; I have always had indoor plumbing where I’ve lived, and my Sister isn’t barefoot and still has all of her teeth.

I have spent time living in northern New York State. I have also spent time living in northern Maine. Most (if not all) of the people around me realized immediately that I was not a local, but very few pegged me as a southerner, much less a Tennessean. Most people guessed I was from the Mid-West. Some didn’t believe me when I told them I was from East Tennessee. I just didn’t fit their preconception. But, if I met someone who had heard that I was “the Tennessean”, they expected me to talk like some poor cousin of Gomer Pyle (and seemed disappointed that I didn’t). That’s not to say that I don’t know people who talk like that, but there aren’t near as many as you’d think.

A friend of mine that I work with usually does talk like someone you might have seen on “The Dukes of Hazzard”, and does it on purpose, especially when traveling. He related the story to me only recently that he once went to a week-long conference in New York and never had to buy a meal or a drink, simply because people were so fascinated with the way he talked that they would take him around everywhere to “show him off”. My own Father has spent a lifetime constructing a “Georgia Gentlemen” mannerism that served him well when dealing with people. The funny aside to this is that when Mrs. Guy and I went to Scotland some years ago with my Mom and Dad, there were times when I had to translate between Dad and the Scots that we interacted with; they couldn’t understand him, and he couldn’t understand them well, either.

I think, though, that the time for regional stereotypes is rapidly passing. In my own neighborhood you can hear accents from every part of the country, and from select other parts of the world. As our society becomes more mobile, mixing is more widespread and rapid. Will we ever come to the point where we all sound similar, from Knoxville to Bar Harbor to Phoenix to Toronto or even to Brisbane and Sydney, and to Liverpool and Dublin, and all other points on the map? Well, likely not in my lifetime, but who knows?

So how did I end up speaking like the ‘Average American’? Truth is, my Brother and Sister are the same way, though each of us are capable of ‘turning it on and off’ at will (you should hear my Sister as ’The Southern Belle’). Our Mom trained us that way. It was her intention to ensure that we did not sound like we just fell off the turnip truck, so to speak. I remember (very well) one day when I was a Little Guy and I used the word “lye-uht” (“light” in heavy hick mode) in front of my Mom on purpose. The fury that flashed through her eyes (because she knew I’d done it on purpose) was enough to leave an indelible mark upon my very soul. Hell hath no fury like a mom whose son is sassing her. Still, I suppose I should thank her.

By the way, Fargo, some of you really do sound like that, just as some of us sound like you think we do.

Trivia Time

Wow, we're really close to having someone win the big prize. Three are within striking distance of 25 points, with Honor and the Lilac Penguin sharing a slight edge over Jon N. Is this the week that it gets decided? Or will others sneak in and steal the points away while attempting a stunning come-from-behind victory? Let's find out, shall we? Please remember to read The Rules (there's a link over to the left).

1. What is the official name for the Northern Lights (hint, it's Latin for "Northern Dawn")?

2. Who organized the American Red Cross (and was also known as "The Angel of the Battlefield")?

3. Which Winter Olympic athlete is a spokesperson for the American Heart Association's "Go Red" campaign?

4. What fraternal lodge did Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble belong to?

5. What city is the Pentagon based in?

Denouement Olympique

Tue, 28 Feb 2006 00:18:41 GMT

A funny thing happened today. I could be refering to my day at work, but I would refer to that more as a rollercoaster ride without the safety devices to hold you down. No, this is different. I have discovered that I am not suffering from my usual post-Olympics malaise, now that coverage is gone.

I am usually an Olympics junkie. I can't get enough of it, especially when stuck with the coverage on US domestic television (by "can't get enough", I am being literal...I really can't). NBC (and the other networks during their turns) tend to concentrate their coverage on the more "popular" events, usually ones in which the US is expected to medal. I don't think I heard of too much Biathlon coverage this year. I don't know, because I didn't watch much coverage.

DID YOU HEAR ME NBC?!? I DIDN'T WATCH MUCH!!! I guess the question is, do they care if I watched much? Likely not, but if more and more people didn't watch, well, that would get their attention.

How much is 'not much'? Well, for me it meant that I don't think I saw an average of more than 15 minutes per day during the entire Olympics. And none of the Figure Skating if I could help it. It just doesn't interest me.

I used to watch TV constantly during Olympic coverage. I'd have the TV on just about every hour that I was at home. Mrs. Guy says she didn't like it much because she says she already feels like a Tour de France widow every July, but the truth is that she was just as hooked as I was. Yeah, I said 'was'.

I think I got spoiled back in 1996. I lived for most of the year during 1995 and 1996 in the small town of Massena, New York, which is right on the Canadian border (an hour from Ottawa, an hour-and-a-half from Montreal). I was living there when the Atlanta Olympics were being held (except for the one weekend when Mrs. Guy, my Sister and I actually went to Atlanta and watched the Cycling Time Trial). My apartment in Massena was modest, but I had great cable channels to choose from. There were about 60 really good channels, including two from Canada.

During the Olympics that year, there was a lot of coverage from whichever domestic network had the rights that year, but as usual it was dominated by "popular" sports like Track & Field, Gymnastics, and Swimming, which are fine, but I spent most of my time watching the coverage on CTV and CBC. They showed Track Cycling. They showed Archery. They showed Rowing, and Fencing, and Badminton. And the best thing about it was, they weren't just concentrating on the Canadians in the events. They showed everybody, all nationalities, pretty much equally. And all events equally as well (though I was happy to find that they showed different things from each other at the same time). I suffered though Sydney and Athens games coverage, but it just wasn't the same from here in Tennessee, far away from CBC and CTV.

Why does our domestic coverage spend so much time showing mostly the American athletes? Is it Mom, Old Glory and Apple Pie from the network boardroom, or are they showing it because that's what most Americans really want to see? I suspect it is the latter. Let me tell you, if we're being nationality-centric in our coverage preferences, Canadian TV networks have demonstrated to me that we're missing a lot.

And I really wouldn't have minded seeing more of the Biathlon and Cross-Country Skiing events.

Citius, Altius, Fortius Equals Fun(ius?)

Wed, 15 Feb 2006 00:32:21 GMT

I beat myself up pretty good at the cyclocross race last Saturday. I have also beaten myself up pretty good in other races, or preparing for other races. Someone asked me to explain why I think this is fun. OK, I will try.

In all honesty, getting injured is not fun, though it may lend to your ‘Legend’ status depending on the nature of the injury, the method of acquisition, and the scar it leaves behind. No, the fun part is the competition, and that is hard-wired into the human brain. Note that I said “human” and didn’t limit it to “males”. There’s a reason for that.

“You men are so competitive”, I once heard a female friend saying to me and a group of other guys playing an admittedly spirited game of pick-up basketball. “You get so wrapped up in these little games. You never see women get that competitive.” I couldn’t let that one go.

Me: “Oh, you think so? Was it not you that I heard bad-mouthing “Jane” just before the voting for Homecoming Queen?”

She: “Wha…oooh…don’t go trying to change the subject!”

Me: “I’m not. I just waiting for you to explain to us how that wasn’t ‘that’ competitive. At least me and the guys here will be able to go enjoy a pizza and beer together after this…”

She: “Ew…I…OH!” <sound of her stomping off while my friends were laughing>

Now I am not saying that all women are like that. But women are not immune from rising to the call of competition. I can remember a particularly nasty episode over a church picnic baking contest.

We humans thrive on competition. We grow, evolve, and develop because of competition. “Faster, Higher, Stronger” isn’t just the Olympic slogan: it’s part of what we are and how we live our lives. Those throughout history who did not compete became obsolete and then extinct. Every day of our lives is about beating the other guy. Coke competes with Pepsi. FedEx competes with DHL. TV networks compete for market share. It’s what we do. Just think about the common phrase “get ahead in life” (and who are we getting ahead of?). It isn’t evil. It’s just us being who we are. Want an example closer to home? Children will compete with each other for adult attention even before they can talk. The good Lord knows my three dogs compete for my two available hands.

Why can’t we all just get along, eh? Well, here’s the good news, most of us can, and sports help us to do that. I have a bunch of friends among the people I race with (against), and there have been very few that I would ever have called enemies (the exceptions always those displaying the poorest levels of sportsmanship). So, if it’s all about competition, how can I call my competitors my friends? Well, for one thing, we share the same passions and many of the same goals. When it comes right down to it, I’m not really competing against Luke or Tim or Phillip or AmyLynn or Eric. I’m really competing against myself. I’m pushing the bounds of what I think I can do. I’m trying to improve myself, to improve my strength, to improve my skill. I won’t get better if I don’t go out there and ride, and I won’t really push myself unless I’m doing it in the company of other like-minded people.

And then there’s racing in bad conditions. Personally, I enjoy racing in bad conditions. Why? Because others don’t. There are some that won’t even show up at the threat of inclement weather. I thrive on it. I love the knowledge that I’m tough enough to not only do it, but do it just as well from a physical perspective. Some of my best race performances have come in the rain. I remember running a cross country race as a teenager and coming in 4^th overall, and 1^st for my school. That had never happened before or since. I did a bicycle race back in the late ‘80s where it rained so hard it hurt. Others were dropping out. I was speeding up. The exhilaration of overcoming adversity; now that is fun.

It doesn’t even have to be a race. It can just be a ride I’m on when conditions go awry. For example, I was riding last year up to Woody Gap to watch the Tour de Georgia. A bunch of us had set out together to ride about 30 miles or so from Morganton, and I was ahead of the main group and trying to catch up to one of my friends ahead of me. Just as I passed through Suches, the heavens opened up with hail stones of sizes from peas to dimes (only not flat like dimes). Let me tell you, hail hurts on bare arms. I looked around for shelter, but since there wasn’t any close by without turning back, I just kept going for the next mile or so until I found our SAG van, at about which time the hail ended. I was the only one (I think) of my group caught out in the hail. People were sympathizing with me over it, but I was just as jazzed as I could be. I not only had overcome the hail, I had an interesting story to tell about it (plus the welts on my arms stayed visible for a day or too). Suffering tempered with humor and/or glory = fun.

Even a bad day of competition can be fun to remember, as long as you have the ability to laugh at yourself. Then, there’s always the old supporting maxim I’ve heard from golfing friends of mine: “A bad day on the links is better than a good day in the office.” I guess that’s more true for people who don’t derive any satisfaction from their jobs, but I put it out there for your consideration.

OK, so it still comes down to a state of mind. Many of my friends think I’m crazy. These same friends would not be able to run a city block without gasping and wheezing if they could do it at all. Their idea of fun might be sitting on the sofa watching NASCAR or “Professional Wrestling”. Their idea of fun might be exercising their thumbs all afternoon with the PlayStation or X-Box. Of course, their weight and mine are going in opposite directions, too.

And that’s part of the point behind my whole blogging experience. I need to lose weight and I know it. But I might as well have fun doing it.

“Pain heals. Chicks dig scars. Glory…lasts forever.” – Shane Falco (Keanu Reeves), The Replacements

Unhappy Camper

Fri, 03 Feb 2006 22:29:05 GMT

I placed an order last week with a certain online bicycle outfitter out in Colorado for something that my LBS does not carry. At the same time, I placed an order with Terry for a couple of things for Mrs. Guy. We got Mrs. Guy's order on Wednesday (thanks, Terry). I still don't have my other order, but I know a few things about it now after placing a call to Colorado. When I placed my order, I gave them my PO Box address to ship it to. They were supposed to ship it USPS Priority. Whoever entered my order into their shipping computer out there put it down as UPS. UPS doesn't ship to a PO Box (as most people know, and certainly someone who ships stuff should know). I decided to look at the tracking number on UPS to see just where the package was, and it did come here to Knoxville...for a while. They noted that there was an address problem, which had been "corrected", and they sent it to Bristol, Virginia for delivery. ?!?!?

You know, I am in the phone book here in Knoxville. My number and address are listed. So how in the world did my stuff end up on a brown panel van in BRISTOL OF ALL PLACES!!!! I'd be interested to know who gave them that address for me. I don't know how the store out in Colorado does in customer service in person, but when it comes to shipping, they certainly don't ... Excel.

Paranoia

Wed, 01 Feb 2006 02:37:24 GMT

They’re out there. I can feel it. They’re looking for me. They think I’m an easy mark. The trouble is, they might be right. They sense my weakness, and they circle in and attack.

Shhh! I think I hear a car pulling up. Oh, it just the mailman. Whew. I can’t take this anymore. I can feel the anxiety building up in me. My muscles are all tense. My back is in knots. My hands are starting to sweat a little.

What was that? Shh! Another car out front…a minivan. Aww, man, they always use minivans. Wait, wait,… There’s one getting out! Move! Move! Hide behind the couch or something! You didn’t brush the curtains, did you? They look for that kind of thing. Quiet now, quiet… The doorbell! Ack!!! Oh, man, the dogs are going nuts! Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it will scare them off. Wait. Wait… Is she gone? Let me sneak over to the window… Yeah, she’s gone. <sigh> Sorry about that.

It always happens about this time. At first it was only two or three of them coming around, and back then I was a big-time user. They could always count on me. Then the word got out, I guess. They could always unload product here at our house, especially if they hit me and Mrs. Guy separately. Before we’d know it, there’d be so much of it here we couldn’t even hide it all. We were even stuffing the basement freezer with it. It all got to be too much. I finally went cold turkey last year, but they just can’t seem to get the…

Shh. Did you heard that? Out by the front walk. Did I see movement? OH! Duck! Oh, I know this one. She’s sneakier than the rest, and she doesn’t give up easily. Oh, why did I have to park the car in the driveway instead of the garage? This one’s cagey…she’ll sense me here.

Knock, knock, knock. “Mr. Guy? It’s Julia! Mr. Guy?”

Shh. Quiet. Maybe she’ll think I walked over to the neighbor’s.

“Mr. Guy? I know you’re in there, Mr. Guy.”

Aww, man. Stay still, maybe she’s just trying to flush me out.

“Mr. Guy? I know you want this. I’ve got sa-MO-as!”

Must…be…strong…for…my…diet

“I’ve got DO-SI-dos.”

Must……be……strong……..

“And I’ve got TAG-A-longs!”

Arrgh!!! I can’t take it anymore! I’ve got to get to the door. Hey, no, don’t hold me back! I’ve got to get out there! Let go of…my…arm…!

“I can hear you in there. I’ve just got one more thing to say. Lemon COO-lers!”

“JULIA!!! TWO BOXES OF EACH!!! I’LL GIVE YOU A CHECK TONIGHT!!!”

“Thanks, Mr. Guy. I knew I could count on you.”

What? Stop looking at me like that. It’s for a good cause. Yes! Really! That’s the only reason I’m buying them. So she can go to Girl Scout camp. Yes, I….I…. Oh, man. I was weak, wasn’t I? <sniff> Oh! Why do they torment me so? <sniff> Oh, the enormity! <open sobbing>

The preceding never actually occurred. Now, I’m not saying it couldn’t occur…

Driven To Distraction

Wed, 28 Dec 2005 22:58:22 GMT

I took the borrowed bike back to the Bike Zoo last night after work. I also went to two grocery stores (the first didn’t have what Mrs. Guy had asked me to get) and to the post office. In that time I nearly got to see four different accidents. Each of them were near-misses almost caused by people who were in a hurry and tried to do something inadvisable in order to get where they were going without having to wait however many extra minutes it would take to do it safely.

The first was a lady in a Lexus who turned left through an intersection after the light had turned red and cross traffic was already moving (and had to slam on brakes). The second was a pickup truck driver (gender unknown) who whipped a U-turn right in front of oncoming traffic (I was impressed by the evasive maneuver applied by the young girl he almost hit). Then a guy in a Honda in the left lane suddenly decided that he wanted not only to be in the right lane, but also wanted to turn into a parking lot at the same time, almost taking the lady who was then in the right lane with him (need I mention that no turn signal was applied?). Finally, as I was in the middle turn lane waiting to turn left, an oncoming Volvo nearly hit me head-on because they were looking at something in the seat beside them and talking on their cell phone instead of where they were going (quick horn usage saved me there, as I had no way of moving quickly enough to get out of the driver’s way).

Apparently, the Christmas driving season has been extended this year. Each December I expect to see driving like this in the weeks leading up to Christmas Eve. Hurried, frazzled folks are pushing their skills to the limits (and often beyond), perhaps counting on Providence or some guardian angel (who must be equally frazzled) to keep them from harm. This is just one of the reasons I avoid the malls – and indeed the area around the malls – to the extent possible between Thanksgiving and Christmas. It just isn’t worth dealing with rude and aggressive drivers who might otherwise be saner about it during any other time of year (except possibly the shopping period just before my birthday). But it usually dies down pretty quickly after December 26^th (the dreaded ‘return and/or exchange’ national holiday).

OK, it was only the 27^th, but I haven’t seen driving as bad as I did last night even during the last three weeks. Maybe the moon was in the third quadrant of Aquarius’s mother-in-law’s 2^nd cousin’s house. Maybe the government was testing some top secret weapon that gives random people a case of the “Driving Stupids”. Or maybe we should all just learn to slow down and relax, realizing that an extra minute or two spent waiting in traffic is better than chancing several hours spent at the local Emergency Room (or worse, sending someone else to the local Emergency Room).

Just my $0.02 (not adjusted for inflation).

I have a dilemma. I can’t decide to spend New Years Day mountain biking at the Norris Watershed with friends, or participating in the Tour de Downtown Parking Garages with friends. All-in-all, not a bad dilemma to have since either way I’ll be hanging out and cycling with friends.

Mankind has invested more than four million years of evolution in the attempt to avoid physical exertion. Now a group of backward-thinking atavists mounted on foot-powered pairs of Hula-Hoops would have us pumping our legs, gritting our teeth, and searing our lungs as though we were being chased across the Pleistocene savanna by saber-toothed tigers. Think of the hopes, the dreams, the effort, the brilliance, the pure force of will that, over the eons, has gone into the creation of the Cadillac Coupe de Ville. Bicycle riders would have us throw all this on the ash heap of history. ~ P.J. O'Rourke (known satirist)

Difference

Sun, 11 Dec 2005 17:36:22 GMT

Sorry there wasn't a post yesterday. I was pretty busy all day long (that seems to happen a lot this time of year). The morning was spent doing a lot of work around the house getting the decorating done and making out the list (at Mrs. Guy's insistence) of further stuff to be done. I don't usually operate that way. I can usually work more effectively around the house by just doing stuff in a non-linear method. What do I mean by that? Well, I'll try to explain.

Mrs. Guy's method (and before I get started, let me say that I don't think either method is wrong, but hers works best for her and mine works best for me) is to start a task and see it through to completion, leaving all other tasks alone until the one is completed and checked off of the list. It drives her nuts to have to stop in the middle of one thing and have to do something else. I, on the other hand, can work on several tasks in what may seem like a random approach. For example, she asked me to move all of the VHS tapes up to the bedroom, move the CD rack from the den (to some undetermined location, which I decided should be my office), move the empty decoration boxes back to the basement, et cetera. These were my tasks on the list, so I got started.

I grabbed a armfull of VHS tapes and took them upstairs. Then I grabbed the laundry basket and put the dirty clothes in it and took it to the laundry room. Then I grabbed several decoration boxes and took them down to the basement. I grabbed an old rack from the basement for VHS tapes and took it up to the bedroom. I grabbed an empty box from my office and went down and filled it with CDs. I took the CDs back to my office and unloaded them. Then I took the empty box and threw old cycling clothes in it for POT (see the PS for details). I took that to the basement and grabbed a screw driver. I took the screw driver up to the CD rack and detached it from the wall. I took the rack and another armfull of VHS tapes back upstairs, putting the tapes on our bed and the rack in my office. I took another decoration box and the screwdriver to the basement, where I grabbed some spackle to fill the screw holes in the wall where the CD rack had been attached. ....

I kept going like this until a bit later when Mrs. Guy came into the laundry room (where I was changing clothes over) and asked me why I hadn't finished moving the VHS tapes. Since that was the first task on the list she'd made out for me, in her mind that was the first one I should have completed. She hadn't noticed that the CD rack was already gone until I explained what I'd been doing while she was working on her first task.

Again, let me say that I'm not putting anyone down, but different people see things and approach things differently. It bothers Mrs. Guy that I don't do things the way she does, but it would bother me to be told I have to do them that way. We both completed our given tasks, but hers were all completed in a very linear fashion, one after another, and mine were mostly completed all at the same time (except the ones that only had one or two steps). I contend that I was actually working more efficiently, since I was rarely moving from one spot to another without having something in hand (rather than grab some tapes, take them upstairs, come back, grab some more, carry them up, come back, grab some more...).

The good news is that after 15 years of marriage, she's finally getting used to me doing things that way (or at least she's fussing at me less).

I went out yesterday afternoon to run errands and actually do some riding. I was originally going to ride a road bike, but it was cold and windy, so I decided at the last minute to throw my mountain bike in the car instead of the track bike I had been going to ride (mountain bike trails around here are sheltered from the wind by trees). I don't mind riding on the road by myself, but I prefer to ride with others off-road, so I placed a few last minute calls hoping to find a ride buddy. Wally wasn't home. I tried Ron and he didn't answer. I tried John B. thinking him a long-shot (since he was co-hosting a party last night, and I figured he'd be busy getting ready), but he said "Yeah, sure. 2:15 at the King?" Ron called back a few minutes later from the grocery store, but couldn't make it, so it was just John B. and me.

I haven't been riding much, as anyone reading this blog regularly would know. John B. has. I can usually stay right with John B. on the trails even though his technical skills are a little better than mine, but yesterday was a different story. We each only had time to ride one loop (approximately 8[?] miles of rolling singletrack), so I figured I could just push myself a little harder and be OK. I was in the red zone way too early. I was so badly out of conditioning that I couldn't even do switchbacks that I usually have no problems with. John had to wait on me at the top of several of the hills on the south side of the cove, which usually doesn't happen. What a difference two months off of the bike makes.

I set up the trainer last night. I hate the trainer. Actually, 'hate' doesn't express my full revulsion for riding the trainer. But I gotta start doing it. I checked the scale this morning and I've gone over 235 pounds. <sigh>.

I went to two different Christmas parties last night. The first one was for my cycling club. Everyone was talking about a lot of random stuff, but nobody was talking about cycling at all (except for the comparison between my broken collarbone and our hostess's more recent broken collarbone on the opposite shoulder).

The second one was hosted by other friends. They had invited neighbors, coworkers, musicians, et cetera. I had an hour-long conversation involving several other people on the subject of bicycling, about their favorite rides, their favorite biking trips, their favorite pro riders... I didn't even start the conversation.

Go figure.

A stationary bike for the body is like a fantasy for the mind. It might not take you anywhere, but it prepares you for an opportunity. - Unknown

Ten Things I Just Don't "Get"

Wed, 21 Sep 2005 23:36:03 GMT

1. Reality TV

Take a bunch of people who had to apply for the opportunity to embarrass themselves on TV, put them into a contrived set of circumstances (such as on a island, or in one house, or something like that), make them do silly stunts that to my recollection don’t come up in daily life (like building a raft out of department store flip-flops, silly putty and a ball of twine, or eating a bunch of Erotylid Beetles with a Norway Rat’s Liver chaser, or chopping down the tallest tree in the forest with a herring…), roll the cameras, offer personal interviews with participants on the subject of their opinions about other participants, and what do you have? Well, you might have a hit show on Fox, but I wouldn’t say it was based in reality any more than I would say professional wrestling (WWE:Raw, anyone?) is based in reality. Now take Candid Camera, for example. That’s what I’d call reality TV. At least those people didn’t know that they were being filmed, so they acted naturally. I still miss Allen Funt.

2. Professional Wrestling

They call it “Rasseling” where I grew up (or just “Rasslin”). It amazes me how many people over the age of 12 actually think this stuff is real. I remember sitting in the Charlotte airport once waiting for a flight, when two professional wrestlers walked through the concourse having a conversation about the landscaping work being done at one of their houses. Someone behind me said to their traveling companion, “Hey, weren’t those two about to kill each other in the ring the other night?” “Get real, Dave. Santa doesn’t exist either”, says his buddy, followed by the sound of barely stifled laughter from about ten other people within earshot.

3. SUVs As Status Symbols

OK, first let me say that I’m not against SUVs per se, but I don’t understand why people buy them who have absolutely no legitimate need for one. Isuzu or Land Rover, some people use them as they were intended, and some never will. My friend Leslie bought a Porsche Cayenne not long ago, but I have personally seen it loaded down (and it still rode like a dream). This I can accept. But nobody, and I mean nobody, needs an H2. Ever.

Here’s a part of a conversation overheard at a restaurant just two nights ago:

Girl 1: You know, you don’t really need to be driving that monstrosity around.

Girl 2: But I do need it. You’re just jealous because you don’t have one.

Girl 1: I could buy one, I just don’t need one. And what the @%$* do you need one for anyway?

Girl 2: (defensively) I need it for hauling my dog around.

Guy 1: Jane, you have a Chihuahua. You should drive a Yugo.

I’m glad I didn’t have food in my mouth just then, or I might have started an interesting mural on the wall.

Disclosure: I once owned a Ford Explorer (back before SUVs were “in”), but I used it to haul bikes, building supplies, an apartment’s worth of stuff to northern New York and back, go 4-wheeling at the Obed River, et cetera. And I had a Golden Retriever.

4. Vegetarians Who Force Their Lifestyle Choices On Their Pets

Mrs. Guy and I went to the local Farmer’s Market about a month or so ago and were looking at the homemade dog treats in one particular booth. The woman in the next booth (selling some truly hideous jewelry and such) was lamenting to the lady running the booth where we were that she was completely unable to find vegetarian treats for her dog, and that she wished someone local would make some. Mrs. Guy (who, by the way is a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine) looked at ‘Lola Granola’ and said, “You do realize that dogs are carnivores, right?” Maybe this lady should just get a horse instead. Or maybe a cow. The sad thing is, as Mrs. Guy just pointed out to me, is that someone actually does market Vegetarian Dog Food.

5. People Who Yell At Cyclists

I really can’t count the number of times this has happened to me. Often it’s just some kid/punk/redneck with no other entertainment options that to yell something unintelligible as they go by a cyclist. Someone should alert these people and let them know that words shouted by someone going 50 mph to someone riding along at 20 mph just don’t stand much chance of being understood. Occasionally, someone will slow down enough to chastise me for riding on the road. [sarcasm]Gosh, they're right - how dare I? How can I sleep at night knowing that I was riding on their road? Oh, the humanity! [/sarcasm]. And it takes all types. I was once aggressively (some would say brutally) admonished thusly by some lady in her Cadillac on Harvey Road, with no opportunity given for rebuttal, and then watched as she pulled into the parking lot of the local church and went inside. What Would Jesus Do indeed?

6. Non-Handicapped People Parking In Handicap Spaces

<Sigh> It really makes me sad. It also makes me want to make their parking there legitimate by smacking them with a ... no, no George, that's just the massive dose of gamma radiation talking. Calm down and stop making your skin turn green like that. We can't afford to go wardrobe shopping again.

7. Braille On The Drive-Up ATM Buttons

I really want to meet the person who thought it was important to do this.

8. Nutritional Information Cards At The Local Doughnut Shop

There are some things you just know instinctively. You shouldn’t have to ask if those things are bad for that nutritious diet you are on. It’s like asking if there will be any profanity at the Eminem concert. It’s like looking for the movie rating on a DVD at the local Adult Book Store. It’s like asking Uncle Bob if he wants to watch football on TV after Thanksgiving Dinner.

9. Radio As “On Hold” Music

Let’s face it, you just can’t predict what will come on the radio while your customer is on hold. I once called a plumbing service that had to put me on hold for a few minutes. After listening to the end of whatever musak song the local EZ-listening station was playing, I was entertained by several commercials, including one for another local plumbing service. I was tempted to hang up and call the competitor on principle.

10. That I Just Can’t Seem To Stop At 9

I really didn’t have a tenth thing to discuss right now. I know there are other things, but I just couldn’t think of any. BUT I COULDN’T STOP AT 9!!! Maybe I’ve got OCD or something.

Bonus Item

OK, I thought of something else when writing that OCD comment, and that’s our Drugged Up Children. Now I’m not talking about smack, coke, speed, weed, or all the other recreational stuff, but the tendency over the past decade for parents to decide that Dick or Jane have a medical problem that only Ritalin or the like will fix. When I was a kid, they told us we were brats and then disciplined us, sometimes even by <gasp> spanking us. Now they tell their kids that they’ve got a “developmental issue” and get Doctor Feelgood to write a ‘scrip for junior so they can fill it at the same time they’re getting their own Valium and they can just make one trip to the pharmacy. “You’re not really a bad boy/girl for setting fire to the cat. Here, take these and we’ll watch Survivor until our eyes glaze over.” I'm not saying there aren't legitimate cases of need out there, but for too many it's the path of least resistance.

Extra Bonus Item

One Thing Mrs. Guy Doesn’t Get

1. Blogs

But we love each other anyway.

Oh yeah, and the photo I mentioned yesterday is in the photo album now. You've been warned. Here's a photo of a Golden Retriever (not to be confused with a Chihuahua).

Big Guy on a Bicycle: Ranting & Rambling

Random Cabinetry

Bloody Wednesday

History Lesson

Re Cycle

What Type of Stereo Do You Have?

Trivia Time

Denouement Olympique

Citius, Altius, Fortius Equals Fun(ius?)

Unhappy Camper

Paranoia

Driven To Distraction

Difference

Ten Things I Just Don't "Get"

1. Reality TV

2. Professional Wrestling

3. SUVs As Status Symbols

4. Vegetarians Who Force Their Lifestyle Choices On Their Pets

5. People Who Yell At Cyclists

6. Non-Handicapped People Parking In Handicap Spaces

7. Braille On The Drive-Up ATM Buttons

8. Nutritional Information Cards At The Local Doughnut Shop

9. Radio As “On Hold” Music

10. That I Just Can’t Seem To Stop At 9

Bonus Item

Extra Bonus Item

One Thing Mrs. Guy Doesn’t Get

1. Blogs