I Once was Lost, but Now I am Found ...

Was blind, but now I see. ...

Well, -- I went for a leisurely little climb today. I was discussing routes around town the other day and *someone* suggested I ride up to the College of San Mateo via 26th Avenue. It's a short climb ... Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound ... a climb.

'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear
And grace my fears relieved
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed

Through many dangers, toils, dangers toils and snares
I have already come
I've already, I've already come
'Tis grace hath brought me safe, it's brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead, gonna lead me home
Oh, yes he will

I believed I could make it to the top of that hill ... Some young women (downhill) runners on 26th Avenue were cheering me on. I am thinking they will probably want to take a cab (that's what I wanted) back up the hill after having coffee at the mall. It will be really bad for them if they insist on running.

From the hard deck (20' elevation max -- i.e. just slightly above high tide) to the top of the top of the hill at CSM is about 600 vertical feet. Although my ride was around 10.6 miles, the hill climbing part of all this was in less than a mile. Ultimately my route doesn't go all the way to the top -- bailing out early at about 525 ft.


The sweet view at the top from Parrot Drive.


That's San Francisco there, go ahead and blow it up (the picture, silly).

When I was a lad, the route up Parrot Drive was my favorite. After school I would often ride up there and come down 26th to the mall and get coffee. It was always fun. The rapid descent of 26th Avenue was -- well -- fun. The route is the same route in reverse. Ride up 26th to the top. Toss your 1000 $100 bike over the fence onto Campus Drive. Hump up that hill to Laurelwood, and turn on to Hillsdale up and up to CSM Drive. Turn left and then right on Parrot Drive. and enjoy the panorama, and the rapid descent into downtown San Mateo. Enjoy coffee.

I am redeemed. I made it. I had to stop for oxygen at the cul-de-sac, and for beer water at the liquor store. I got spotted by Tassia in the Hallmark store at Laurelwood. I rode up the hill and returned. It felt great to take a ride again for pleasure.

I know it was just ten or so miles -- but I smell bag balm linament ... it hurt just a bit. I feel great though. Pass the Chili. If you can't warm it from outside; warm it from within.

The route. Yahoo's routing algorythm isn't consistent enough to produce the same result when I plan as it is when you view it. I tried to get them to hire me to do their quality -- but ... So it isn't quite right. You probably won't want to ride on that freeway.

Keep on rocking in the free world!

Shawn's Chili

You might be wondering right about now, "What the heck is wrong with Shawn?" It appears as if he is on vacation, but he is hanging around the house cooking. Yeah. What's that about?

Well, I like it here. And I don't want to go anywhere. I need the down time.

So -- I am at the golden spot -- I have made the chili and now wait for the result. 45 minutes of stinky ecstasy, as the beans cook and the chili roasts, sending the neighbors to place like Mesa, Arizona in search of these delights. This is not my mother's chili. This is serious tailgate party chili. Serious southwest chili goodness. The house is rich with the aroma of it all. I promise to sweat when I eat it.

It all started because I told my ex-gf that I made chili for my parents. "You made that chili you make?" No ... I made my mother's chili. "Oh, I thought maybe you were seriously cooking for them. That's too bad." ... or something similar to that.


I am going to share this recipe with you ... gentle readers.

1 lb Pinto or red beans
One cube of butter
2 T. vegetable oil
2 lbs. chuck steak or sirloin tips cut for stir fry into 1/2" x 2" strips
1 1/2 lbs. of good ground beef
4 small onions reduced to 1/2-1 inch pieces
4 hot house tomatoes chopped and seeded
8 garlic cloves crushed then chopped into large pieces.
1/3 c. powdered chili (herein lies the magic -- this is ground/crushed arbor chilis, hot New Mexico chilis, California Mohave chilis. Mohave Foods Corp in Los Angeles offers them in little bags in Safeway.) Adjust this to your palette. It can get out of hand quickly
Large can of stewed tomatoes
2 cans of ortega chilis chopped
2 Jalepeno peppers -- chopped
1 Pasilla or Anahiem Pepper chopped
1+ t. brown sugar
1+ t. salt
1/2 t. fresh ground pepper
A bay leaf or two -- If you live here on the west coast you can find these -- they grow as a Bay Laurel -- or Myrtlewood tree.
1+ t. cayenne
Pinch thyme
1+ T. Worchesterschire sauce
32 oz of beef stock
Squeeze of Lemon or touch of vinegar or splash of beer -- to add interest and help emulsify the fat ...
Beer
Cheddar Cheese
Crackers

Oh my -- I just tasted it. I simultaneously thrills the tongue and warms the testicles soul.

Soak the beans overnight to reconstitute them.
Fire the wod burning oven to 300 degrees
Brown the strips of meat in half the butter and half the oil -- reserve all the result in a large pot.
Add the hamburger to the skillet and brown -- add that to the large pot
Discard all the fat from your skillet add the rest of the butter and the onions and saute -- add the garlic near the end -- when the onions are transparent -- move to the pot with the meat.
Add the chili powders to this mix.
Add all the remaining ingredients to the large pot except the beans.
Boil all this and put in a 300 degree oven
Bake covered for 1 1/2 hours
Drain and cook the beans for about an hour
Add the beans and the meat mixture together
Add a splash of beer. vinegar, or lemon juice and stir
Bake uncovered for an additional 1/2 hour
Add more beef broth if it dries out
Drink remainder of beer


Grate cheddar cheese on top and serve with raw onions for real chili goodness.

From my Mother's Kitchen

She claims this is the Smacky's chili of Eau Claire, Wisconsin fame.

One large can (or bottle, go figure) tomato juice
Two stalks of Celery (chopped)
One small onion diced
One lb ground beef
1 T. Chili Powder
1 t. Sugar
1/4 to 1/2 lb sphagetti
1 can dark kidney beans
Salt and pepper to taste

This is quite simple.

To a large pot add the tomato juice and an equal amount of water, the chili powder and sugar and bring to a rolling boil. Be sure to salt (imagine trying to kill the nearest coronary patient) and pepper this. When it boils, uncover, add the pasta and the celery and cook till the pasta is done -- about 15 minutes.

In a skillet fire up the meat and add the onions. Brown the ground beef and drain most of the fat (save that coronary candidate now) . Add the kidney beans to this and heat it up.

Combine the two in the big pot and make sure it's all hot.

In my family, on a cold day, a windy day, a wet day, this was the best meal ever. I called my brother and that's what his wife made today. It was windy and cold today -- so that's what I made for my folks tonight.

The storm front has passed and the wind is howling down here from the north, bringing cooler temps and fallen trees. I like to eat the chili with soda crackers coated in butter. Yum. And it's good with a glass of milk.

My other brother used to insist that the kidney beans be in the pot -- but he wouldn't eat a single one. He would dig them out and give them to my father. Go figure.

My Package from Alaska has Arrived

Three or four days of Jill's weather. Notice the resemblance of my weather to Jill's. The only real difference is about 20 degree's in temperature. She has had wind advisories, hazardous weather outlooks and probably even flash flood warnings. I been here for a while, and it's fixing to rain in a grown-up way.

Any way -- I still have no seal skin booties neoprene socks, but I do have marmot rain pants. ... I can get a bit grumpy when my feet get wet. Maybe I'll need to ride over to the dive shop. It's either that or poach a seal and find an Inuit wife.

Logs

Turn up Ipod -- Mingle with pedestrians and cross street to enter traffic. Talk to ups driver waiting at light ... avoid acute crossing of rail by cutting into traffic slowing down some BMW driver who is a hothead. Fantasize about working at Advent or one of these cool content shops near the rail station. Oh that's a truck stopped ... pass this doofus -- stand up and pedal hard. Sprint through intersection! Scream at person on phone trying to kill me with a Honda. Realize adrenaline. Signal. Ring street. Ring bell. Miss pedestrian! Pick up egg mctedwich and secure to rack. Jump curb. Avoid same woman trying to park as yesterday. Race uphill, accelerate. Coast ... to time intersection to run stop sign. Jump curb, wave to security and ride into lobby.

Who needs a training log?

Mileage for the week, 63.90; Maybe I do. because I used to ride that in a day.

Manfrotto Mono Pod

My new Manfrotto™ 679b tri mono pod. it weighs 1 pound 6 ounces. It also came with new Slic ball head (SBH-120).

It can double as a walking stick.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Plan your Escapes

Look closely at this map. It's from the United States Geologic Survey (USGS) latest quake page. It shows a 3.7 magnitude earthquake in red (and a smaller one in the same place). These two earthquakes obscure another one which happened in the last week. There are four earthquakes south of this quake. Clockwise from the red one -- an earthquake East of San Jose on the Calaveras fault and the blue one at the bottom of the map (both no big deal), an earthquake near the site of the Loma Prieta quake of 1989, a small earth quake near at the epicenter of the 1906 quake and the 1957 Daly City Quake, and then the recent quakes on the Hayward fault in Berkeley (3 at least but who's counting).

The other day I was at work and I was looking around the room -- noticing the brick walls and the evidence of earthquake retrofit. I said to my friend the transplant from the Mid West, "Do you know what to do in an earthquake here?" Get under your desk ... one brick in the head can do a job on you.

I grew up in California. I think about the world in terms of escape from collapsing buildings. Especially brick ones. Glass ones are freaking scary too. Not to mention the ones on stilts. Thinking ahead is important ... planning what to do is valuable.

Having survived a dozen or so noticeable earthquakes and some moderate to large ones (never any great ones), I want to get back to talking about the map. The thing that scares me is the earthquake at the hitch in the fault. The hitch in the fault. There's a small dogleg in the San Andreas fault right at the epicenter of the last major quake in the region. Despite a myriad of opinion to the contrary (opinion puts it north in Marin County), I think the epicenter of the great 1906 quake was at the site of that small quake in the picture -- also approximately the site of the 1957 Daly City quake. It's all based on an artist's observation of the map, unlike the science used in 1906. Quakes along the San Andreas in this section of the fault make me nervous -- even if they are very small.

My son was born right after one of these noticable quakes -- he was born the day after the Loma Prieta quake in 1989. I'll tell that story tomorrow perhaps. Today -- I was at my parents house with my daughter -- as I was that day in 1989 -- and strangely I was reminded of that day for some reason. It's 17 years later. During the quake in 1989, I was in my parents house. I have been there for most of the quakes I have enjoyed, endured. Let's just say I knew what to do.

My son and I went shopping today, and hung out with the men at the cafe. We got something for my daughter and his mother. There are many mysteries in the world -- earthquakes are one -- how men shop -- what hummus is made of -- and then there's this:

You come out at night
That's when the energy comes
And the dark sides light
And the vampires roam
You strut your rasta wear
And your suicide poem
And a cross from a faith
That died before Jesus came
You're building a mystery

You live in a church
Where you sleep with voodoo dolls
And you wont give up the search
For the ghosts in the halls
You wear sandals in the snow
And a smile that wont wash away
Can you look out the window
Without your shadow getting in the way
Oh you're so beautiful
With an edge and a charm
But so careful
When I'm in your arms

Chorus
cause you're working
Building a mystery
Holding on and holding it in
Yeah you're working
Building a mystery
And choosing so carefully

You woke up screaming aloud
A prayer from your secret god
You feed off our fears
And hold back your tears

Give us a tantrum
And a know it all grin
Just when we need one
When the evenings thin

Oh you're a beautiful
A beautiful fucked up man
Youre setting up your
Razor wire shrine

Chorus

Repeat chorus

Did you hear that?

You woke up screaming aloud
A prayer from your secret god

It was Sarah McLachlan. Building a Mystery. Any way there was another quake today at the same spot in Berkeley. Plan your escape carefully.

My Japanese Name

My japanese name is 石川 Ishikawa (stone river) 天音 Amane (sound of heaven).
Take your real japanese name generator! today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.

Cruising the Blog World

I went out cruising the blog world. I figure that if you browse around a bit -- maybe some folks will blog back into your world and we will all get better.

So I am looking at blogs using the next blog feature which finds a random blog ...

In whatever language is there. It would be nice if it knew I spoke English and pointed me at blogs in English. They know I speak English -- Google ... i.e. blogger -- knows who I am and knows my search preferences. They probably know I like to search for "Free Asian Women," among a half a million other things. The might know what books I have read and when. They know I speak English and French and could read in Spanish if I tried for a while. They know this. I am convinced that's why they didn't hire me. They've been imagining what I've been thinking.

So I am looking at a blog that is so unintelligible that I have no idea what language it is -- it might as well be Martian (poor persecuted Martians).

It says: "anwinatza uevflk haltsv bhngv kgwa" among other things -- which frankly -- I can't read. But I have this overwhelming desire to comment: "asdf ghjkl qwerty yuoit zxcv bnm," or "klaatu berrata nicte" just to see if I get a response. This sort of anarchy could make me very happy, much in the same way as having a bike lane stencil, a can of spray paint and some free time would.

That's a guarenteed opening to anarchy, "The pursuit of happiness," maybe we should leave that out of the constitution. Amen, Brother. I remember being up at Stanford looking at a New Guinea Sculpture garden near Roble Hall. The sculptors were brought to Stanford to make this garden and while they were here they had the opportunity to enjoy Rodin's work at Stanford. After seeing this -- one of them said -- "This is nothing, we can do better than that." That ... is optimism.

Aim high. We can do better than that.

7.83 miles today. Temperature: chilly. This morning (or last night while giving some young cyclist a safer route to Palo Alto), I pulled a muscle in my calve. Ride home, hot dog and garlic fries, hot tub, cold refreshing liquids, Ben Gay™ ... bag of popcorn, sleep.

Today's 8.5

Miles ... 8.5 miles riding. I rode to work in the frost on the ground frigidness. I left my bike at work and then walked from potrero hill to Pacific Heights and then to North Beach for dinner, about 4 miles. A cab back to work then ride over to BART and train to Millbrae. Ride through the ice on the road frosty chillyness to home at midnight.

Brrrr... No snow though. I put on an extra layer this morning and was still chilly as I left the station tonight. I stopped and put on my gloves and something around my neck. By the time I got home and into the house I was seriously overheated and ripping my clothes off,

I've been Tagged

I once got pulled over on my bike for speeding through a school zone -- I was younger then. Gilby has tagged me -- I suppose I will need to tag someone now, too. But, that might take some thought. Fortunately, right after I got tagged I wrote this, which reveals several things about me.

1. My brother killed himself twenty years ago.
2. I lived in a warehouse with a menagerie.
3. I studied Fine Art as a graduate student in Pullman, WA -- I am not going to get all POMO on your ass like Annie.
4. I used to fish alot with my older brother. He liked to fish in the stanislaus river.
and
5. I have never ridden a bicycle in the snow. I have gotten laid in the snow -- and you know what they say about getting laid and riding a bike.

And the bonus. My son was born the day after the Loma Prieta Earthquake. There's a huge story there which I might tell someday. Two things are worth understanding. I survived a major earthquake, and so did he. Fortunately, he doesn't remember.

So I think I want to tag the old bag, and Ruby to tell me 5 things about them I don't know.

Spare me a little bit ...

I was really trying to read Edward Abbey's Journey Home, but unfortunately it's just a bit too much about actually returning home, which is what I thought I was doing, unfortunately, you never actually go back ... so instead I am listening to the Cowboy Junkies on the IPod at volume 11.

Things are returning to normal. What's normal? Four years ago I lived in a warehouse with concrete floors, more than a few dozen orchids, a crazy bird, a woman named Jane, and three somewhat feral cats, and a Pacific tree frog. It had no heat and a makeshift kitchen and a clawfoot tub right in the middle of the living room, which we fondly referred to as the observatory. ... Jane would be out, and I would have the volume on the stereo at nine with Juliana Hatfield taking the paint off the walls ... I could pretty much park my bikes anywhere. There was a 1+ mile hike to the bay directly out my door. That still seems pretty normal to me. My brother would have shown up with beer and a couple of friends, turned the stereo up, if he could have.

Two years ago I lived in the desert. The Sonoran desert. 15 minutes from the most stunning of wilderness. Scorpions, coyotes, bobcats, javelina, tortoise and tarantula, not to mention snakes. You never really had to go anywhere to find them -- they would come and visit you -- no waiting. Stereo on and up. My brother would have been there to check out the sights and bag a few peaks with his dog, who would chew up the couch. He would have complained about the heat and made more Margaritas. The desert would have begged us to hike and ride. I left that virile sun to return home.

I made a journey home like this once before. A journey back to the place I was born. Where I grew up. I went back home after grad school, after I graduated in the desert, after I did what no other person in my family has ever done. I went back. Nothing was as I remembered it. I grew in a sleepy burb ... which grew up into a freeway coated metropolis.

So I have done it again. Gone forward into something that looks like the past, to find out that it isn't there. It's just not; the past is not here. I am miles from my home.

If I could just reach the crest of that hill
this whole day will tumble and out the night will spill
The sky is still as a spinning top,
shooting stars drop like burning words from above
If I could just connect all these dots,
the truth would tumble like a cynic vexed by love

I am many miles from my home. In the place I grew up there was my brother. "I was Walking After Midnight, Searching for You." He was there, always there. He would show up on Saturday morning with two tickets to The Day on the Green. Stop in on Thursday night looking for me to go see the Taming of the Shrew with him. Pick me up on Friday night for a trip fishing to the Eel River, or whatever. It was always something -- and he was always late, but it was often good. He was always a good place for a party to start. He was smart -- brilliant -- and a disaster. My father used to say he could "snatch defeat from the jaws of victory." I travelled across the country with him, my brother. He always said that it was great to be alive. He said that, my brother. Then he killed himself. He killed himself on Christmas Day 20 years ago. Happy fucking anniversary.

On the Ipod is 'Misguided Angel.' Brother, you speak to me of passion, You said never settle for nothing less ... There comes a time when you live to break away. Baby there are things that we cling to all our life. ... Misguided Angel hanging over me. Hard like a Gabriel, pure white as ivory, soul like a lucifer, black and cold like a piece of lead.

When I was writing the introduction to my thesis I talked about my brother. Early in my life he inspired me to want to be a Painter, an Artist. When I was about 5 he painted a painting of hot air ballons ... and I decided to be like him -- to be an Artist. I talked about his inspiring me. My whole life changed that day. It's too bad he was never here to see what he had done. When I was in Pullman Washington -- he would have been there. To party! -- and to cheer me on. He would have shown up unannounced with his Pentax, and say I was in the area ... We would have smoked some hash and ...

JUST WANT TO SEE
(Michael Timmins)

I don't want to be no patch on no quilt
(I just want to see...)
Tear-stained stitching linking memories to guilt
(I just want to see...)
I don't want to be no hair on no wall
(I just want to see...)
Blood-stained note saying fuck you all
(I just want to see what kills me)

Tommy, are you ready we better head to town
J.D.'s box is waiting to be lowered down
and you know how he hates to be kept waiting 'round

I don't want to be no chalk line drawing
(I just want to see...)
Toe-tagged question mark, until identifying
(I just want to see...)
I don't want to fuse with no economy seat
(I just want to see...)
fuel some fireball at 30,000 feet
(I just want to see what kills me)

Tommy, did you catch his face
before they closed the lid?
I swear I saw him wink once and flash me that old grin
Oh, you know, that would be just like him

I don't want to face no hollow-eyed ending
(I just want to see...)
Loved ones buried, empty days of waiting
(I just want to see what kills me)

Tommy, darling, come to bed
we'll try and sleep away this sadness
These memories, too, are bound to die
so our dreams will have to serve us
Tomorrow may be the day that our love betrays us

Do you think it's too late to volunteer to work on the suicide hotline on Christmas morning?

Sheer Madness

This is madness. Please spread condoms to Africa to prevent the spread of aids. Not this voodoo. I can't imagine why the New York Times thinks this is news.

You'll have to sign in. If not it says that circumcision reduces the chance of infection with HIV by about 50% for men (let's not even bother to talk about the women who have unprotected sex with these men). Those odds can be beat I think.

Happy Days!

Make your own Razz!

My Kitchen Would Like Some Attention

Oh, well. The sink flooded the other day and slowed the pace of blogging all to hell. Made a mess of things out into the hall and I woke with security in my kitchen. SO I have fans all drying me out and things look like they might get back to normal sometime after the new year.

The upside:

It's easier to park the bikes on the concrete floor in the living room.

The heater is on, so it looks like I might stop feeling cold before March.

I rode 55+ miles last week because I was so comfortable in my place.

I got to sleep on a cat last night at my friends house.

I don't have to lock the door because so many people are going in and out every day.

I won't need to worry about whether I will have enough money to run the Colorado again this year.

There appears not to be a really large amount of damage (fingers crossed).

Drawing with a Pencil

So here I am -- in San Francisco -- far from the adventures I have known in my recent past, close to all the adventures of my childhood, reading, as it were, the future and current adventures of Jill. I have to admit I am more than a bit jealous.

I have boots, and a bike, and a truck. I can walk, hike, ride, camp, bike, but can't manage to get away, so I stay here. I miss the new Jane, the "happy hiking buddy™", and the Superstition Ridgeline. I can go there. If I can just get away.

I can't. In my youth, I was stuck here too. I dreamed of tigers and safaris and ostriches, and places far away, rain forests. I wrote read National Geographic on the remote wilderness and the world adventure. I was their staff ornithologist. I dreamed. I dream now, too. I dream of orchids in Madagascar and Brazilian women (just one actually). I dream of the world without. I dream in the dentist's office as I read where people have circumnavigated the globe under human power. I could be one of those people.

And where am I? They survive a hurricane at sea in a boat and I am at my desk. Did you know that Ernest Hemingway finished "As the Bell Tolls" in Havana, Cuba. I can't even go there, as far as I know. I am really just here, in the place of my youth. My friends are here, and I make new friends easily, because I know the rules, the local code. I grew up here, in a marsh, in a barrio, I lived through glass in the street and neighbors that we called "the stealers" for seemingly obvious reasons (they were replaced by a Portuguese family that -- guess what -- got robbed) and several floods.

I feel V.S Naipaul's neighborhood in Trinidad in the way I can still feel my own. The babysitter of teaching my children Erdu is here, my neighbor of the perpetual sushi is here. My best wiffle ball playing childhood friend. Islander Markets and taquerias, the taquerias of my youth. Seafood, tacos and cioppino. I am a tidepool of cross-cultural driftwood. So be it.

So, where am I now? On a journey in my head -- an adventure within. It's a place where we draw the birds in our yard and read all the bird books at our library. We draw the birds of the Arctic, the puffins, and barnacle geese, and dream of the future when we can travel. Shoot arrows into a bale of straw at the back fence until we manage to send one out to the freeway. We get poison oak at the local rope swing while smoking (my political career is a disaster anyway -- honest -- I did inhale) and dive off the dam at swim in the water shed. It's the place where we had our first kiss and got the truck stuck in the mud; the first time we got laid, and then I met that young Asian woman who will remain nameless. We rode our bikes to shoot at rabbits with wrist rockets, and later learned to hunt with guns. A rock concert -- a love-in, and ... a fifth of tequila. Birds on the edge of the bay in the morning. Canoe trips and costume parties. And we should never forget beer drinking bonfire parties to be broken up by the cops on the beach out at the ocean in the wee morning. It's the place where we met ... almost every one we know.

It's the place where I learned to work and ride a bike; learned to navigate an uncertain future. I learned to make art, got married, raised a family, and was a strong part of this community. My community is here. My friends, family and mentors are all here, too; some to live and die here. I sure wish I could strike out on a ten mile hike with the camera into the sun and the scorpions ... there's a wilderness within, I know it; I just have to find it. I must find it.

Inspiration to Change

Last week or so, I received a letter from a friend of mine talking about how he'd been thinking of me. He was planning to start trying to get back into shape, the kind of shape that would put him back on a mountain bike, and be able to enjoy it.

He told me that he was inspired by seeing me change my life, from a smoking, hiking, hacking maniac into a biking, hiking, hacking, maniac. He watched the photos roll in as I drove my car 30000 miles a year around the west shooting pictures. He witnessed a quiet and powerful change as I quit smoking and hit the road on my bike, preparing to ride a 100 miles for the first time in my life. I was flattered and touched to realize that I had this influence on his decisions; that I might have been an inspiration to him to get fit.

On November 10 of this year, one of the most profoundly inspirational men in my life passed away. Ray Lorenzato, Professor Emeritus at the College of San Mateo, father, Sculptor, and my mentor for several years, passed on. Saturday or Sunday morning I'll ride my bike down to San Mateo's Central Park for a memorial on his behalf at 11:00. Ray was a daily challenge to change, and a inspiration at every step.

A new friend of mine has told of this and it's been very interesting to meet Michael. He was one of Ray's colleagues and indirectly caused a profound change in my life, many years ago. I had the pleasure to tell him this, because I recently met him. My (ex)wife was a student in his class where he taught a lesson about a Flemish bread called Desem, which is made only from whole wheat flour and a "yeast" or organism cultured for the flour, and water. As a result of this lesson and my subsequent attempts to bake this bread and eventually reading the book The Laurel's Kitchen Bread Book (and several other titles on the subject of eating better for a better planet) I stumbled upon an article (in the Laurel's Kitchen Bread Book) which became part of my life's philosophy. It was the introduction, entitled Always a Choice, by Bronwyn Godfrey, which changed the course of my life. I started eating to impact global politics, I started to eat better, I studied colonialism and I ate better. I started thinking about what I was doing, what I was doing with my voice, my money, my appetite, my effort. My (ex)wife was right there with me. Did I mention that I ate better?


I embarked on a search for a better way to live, a better set of rules, a search for better bread, and on a bread baking quest of my own. A search for a philosophy to help me navigate a confusing world. I fed my friends and gave them loaves of bread. I still make the lentil soup recipe I learned from Frances Moore Lappe in Diet for a Small Planet, and I can still bake a damn good loaf of whole wheat bread. I can't believe that people embrace a lie of scarcity, amid such incredible bounty. It was a great ride I went on, intellectually, socially, physically, happily.

In teaching my wife, oh so many years ago, a simple lesson about how bread was made, Michael had a significant and profound impact on my life, the life of someone he didn't even know. He started an avalanche of choices and decisions that led to where I am today. All from a simple glimpse into the staff of life. A simpler life.

So how do we inspire others in our world to change? I had a conversation with a friend of mine about how I generally felt apolitical in most conversations. I didn't find conversations about politics to be all that exciting. I said that the simple act of having a conversation of politics was usually a serious waste of time.

He asked, "What about the quiet way you life your life? You take photos of the beauty of nature, and you ride everywhere you can. What about that -- is that apolitical?" I say no, it's powerful. It's the only vehicle for change that I have control over. It's actually an idea better defined in feminism. Carol Hannisch's idea that "the personal is the political," is here. Change your life, and you can change the world. It's not just for women.

Ride your bike, eat well, demonstrate the beauty of nature, live healthy, and ask the people around you to join you. Ray and Michael, and my (ex)wife, all inspired me. Change your life -- and maybe someone will be inspired.

It's really cool to think that I might live in a way that inspires people.

I tuned up the roadster today, filled her tires, put lights on her. Took her out for some lovemaking a spin. She's looking good, still under 20 lbs. If I am not going to drive -- I need to be able to get around a bit better.

On the Ipod: Prince, When doves cry. Allison Brown, Mambo Banjo. The Crusaders, I felt the love. Le Mystere des Voix Bulgares, Sableyalo Mi Agontze.

There's a few miles involved.

Today: 21.46
December: 37.62
Weather: 50°F. and clear


Live well.

Eat Well.

Moire

This was a nice example of a moire affecting a digital image. Blogger must have screened it out. Hmmmm, now it's just a fat wad of keys.

November Tally.

Today: 5.75
November Total: 194.36
Number of days this month without driving a motor vehicle: 22
Weather: 30 Nov 7:50 pm 46°F., 63% humidity, wind E 7, CLR 30.426 inches.

Whoa -- cold.

African Crowned Crane Spotted in Los Altos, CA

Hey

I been spending some time on the bike, and at the dentist.

Riding since friday: 50.42
November Total: 188.61
Number of days this month without driving a motor vehicle: 21
Weather: 29 Nov 8:30 pm 46°F 38% humidity, wind SSW, 30.074

It's supposed to freeze tonight ...

Thanksgiving, California Style

I had a great Thanksgiving, more like a Norman Rockwell painting than this. We didn't grill a turkey. Photo plucked from Lauren's site.

Sister Morphine, the Ipod and the Alarm Clock were ...

Gentle readers.

I bet you're rooting for a story about the Ipod getting wet, or a story about an object the size of an Ipod stopping a bullet, or what might happen to a plugged in alarm clock if you dropped it into the washer or the toilet.

It's just not that simple. Since I moved in August. I have been struggling to find everything and squeeze my ever expanding life into a ridiculously small apartment. My father's health has been deteriorating on an almost daily basis. Currently, the doctors are treating him with a designer heroin to manage his pain. At least he has ecstasy on his side.

Here I lie in my hospital bed
Tell me, Sister Morphine, when are you coming round again?
Oh, I don't think I can wait that long
Oh, you see that I'm not that strong

My siblings, their children, wives, and myself have been pitching together in an herculean effort to keep my parents at home, and help them live honorably, decently. My superhero elder brother and his wife carry the brunt of the load. I find myself enjoying the closeness of my family, and the time I get to spend with them. Nevertheless, the time required, combined with trying to finish a cross country move, and a new job leave me occasionally feeling a bit tattered around the edges. I have less time to spend blogging, masturbating reading, and finding crap.

I am gradually becoming victorious. I am not your average sized Joe. I have a regular sized houseful of goods. In fact, when I moved from grad school it took me three weeks to pack the sculpture and studio, and only one day to move the entire apartment. And then there's all the art, and the sculpture studio, then the painting studio, and the 30 or so cameras, and the photo studio. I have a painting that has been on the wall of my home for some time. It's large -- 5'by 8'. It doesn't even fit in my apartment. I also have a working darkroom. It's complicated.

Each step of unpacking involves the determination of 4 possible outcomes for each item. Trash, gift, store, or find a place for it here. It's tedious work.

Today, I found the Ipod, the alarm clock, the kitchen timer, and a few other useful items, like the iron. So I started a load of laundry, set the kitchen timer for 60 minutes. Then I jumped on my bike for a wet pavement, gentle rain, dodge-car sprint downtown to Jeffrey's for a cheeseburger extraodinaire. Just as Sister Morphine came into the headset, the endorphins kicked in. At least I have ecstasy on my side.

Well it just goes to show
Things are not what they seem
Please, Sister Morphine, turn my nightmares into dreams

I have been riding my bicycleta to work every time I go there, for about two weeks now. In fact I have never driven to the new location of my job (we moved a while ago). This is a shot of Henry Adams street which is part of my new route to work. The only time recently that I have driven the car has been to pick up my son.

I just took la computadora off of the bike today and read it. 60.08.

Today 14.2 miles
Swimming: 0/0 yd.
Riding: 14.2/138.19
Miles Running: 0/0
Walking: 0/0 Miles
Number of days this month without driving a motor vehicle: 16
Weather: 24 Nov 9:30 pm 52°F., 76% humidity, Wind WNW 3, 29.776.

If you look at that street you will see the climb at the end of it ... Potrero Hill. Looks like it might be fun.


Now that the tryptophan has finally worn off I have resorted to eating a lot of Tacos de Camarones al Mojo de Ajo, and am trying to learn some Spanish from Miguel, the camarones dealer. Photo credit.

So the Bicycle is Your Primary Form of Transportation?

Yes.

It's all about route picking really. The pleasure in all this comes from picking better routes. Today, I replaced my bars with a new set and then pruned two inches off each end. I reduced the width of my bars by a total of seven and a half inches, to nineteen and a half inches. This should reduce the chances that some inattentive driver will clip the end of my bars and send me flying by about 32 metric percent. Additionally, it will mean better handling while I am on the sidewalk.

What are you doing on the sidewalk?

I wouldn't go as far as to say that San Mateo planning is bike negative, but I do believe they might feel that bikes don't really belong in the road. At critical points they push bikes toward the sidewalk and onto bike pedestrian bridges, such as the ones crossing the US 101 at Tilton Ave, Third Ave, the planned one at Hillsdale Blvd, and the bridge over the railroad tracks at 19th Avenue. Crossings such as the pedestrian route at Hillsdale and Pacific Blvd./rail tracks and the pedestrian bridge at Peninsula are both extremely difficult for bikes. These are all primarily East/West routes, and they are difficult on a bike. There are several signifigant obstacles in any East/West trip in San Mateo.

I believe that there are two fundamental failures in the thinking about bikes that lead to these decisions. One: "Bicyclists are pedestrians" and two: "Bikes are for recreation." SO, it's delightful that the county closes Cañada Road to vehicles on Sunday so that bicycles can use it exclusively. It's cool that there are places like Sawyer Camp road (mixed human-powered use) Ryder Park (Same -- with dog park so ... no dogs on leashes). I am not going to drive my bike there in my car to get out and use these. I want to ride there. I also want to safely ride to my parents house. And to Sushi at Tokie's in Foster City, and to the Dentist.

There are some great North/South routes in San Mateo. Palm Ave for a while. Alameda De Las Pulgas isn't too bad. Norfolk Street. The route through Bay Meadows Race Track.

But let's take a look at me through North San Mateo to downtown to have coffee. Initially, I applied the typical Phoenix logic to the problem -- forgetting a myriad of childhood knowledge and experience. Pick the direct route on the biggest streets and ride there. Take Delaware (Parents dropping off high school aged kids for school -- construction workers opening car doors into cyclist -- pedestrians walking into street and drivers on cell phones in SUVs trying to hit/miss cyclist) from Peninsula to 3rd (Scary-Scary) and turn right, turn left (safety ahead) on B. Get coffee. Omg -- I lived.

Not one inch of this route is very safe on a bike.

Use childhood knowledge:

Leave driveway and cross Delaware immediately -- and carefully -- trying to hide behind a woman with a stroller so as not to get mowed down -- to State Street. Travel one block East to Claremont and turn South. Follow Claremont quietly, watching for people backing out of driveways in a sane way to leave for work. Carefully cross Poplar. Proceed to Monte Diablo and turn right to N Railroad and continue South on this narrow one lane two way street with almost no traffic. Roughness of road hammers testicles and prostrate so be careful. Wave to hispanic cyclists who wear baseball hats for helmets. Hola. Turn right and cross under railroad tracks at Tilton. Turn onto South Railroad -- watch for SUV taking up entire road every day, wave, and break law riding against traffic to ramp in to railroad station. Ring bell a lot and ride through train station avoiding pedestrians and trying not to get a ticket (keep ringing bell and pretend not to hear cops and conductors -- keep riding). Jump curb into parking lot and high density angle parking. Ring bell -- pay attention and plan for escapes.

Cross Second and turn onto the car free Main Street -- and aim bike directly into line for theatre. Ride slowly and politely through the crowd. Behave like best of bike advocates. These are people in my community. And it's a good community. Even if its government thinks bikes are pedestrians. So I am always nice. Ride to Third and turn West onto the sidewalk. Cross as a pedestrian on B street at the light and proceed on the sidewalk to the light pole in front of the cafe.

"Could I have a double espresso, please?" And the assumption that bikes are really transportation.

Rain, oh Yeah ...

I remember this stuff. It falls from the sky and gets everything wet.

So I got up this morning and looked out and -- guess what? The ground was wet. Ah, what to wear? Should I wear neoprene socks? Nah -- forgot to find those. Smartwool™ socks, Sugoi stretch tights, geeky 100% nylon explorer shorts from REI™, trendy 100% Merino Wool to die for pullover from SmartWool™. North Face™ Polartec™vest. Cannondale rain jacket. Louis Garneau helmet showercap™. Soppy when wet leather palmed soggy butt cotton backed gloves. Customized bike messenger bag.

8 sorta wet, somewhat warm and seem to dry out get wet in a hurry miles later, here we are, in the house with the remains of the day all hanging around the bathroom drying out and preparing for tomorrow. A pizza and a soak in the hot tub, warm conversation with friends, two oatmeal, a double espresso, and it's time for bed. This kinda day makes one tired and hungry.

Should I Cut My Hair?

I thought it might be interesting to take a vote. Does anyone have an opinion about what cut I should get -- here are a few choices. Please comment your opinion.

Bob Marley

Marten Sheen

Johnny Depp

Olvier Matinez

Quentin Tarantino

Steven Tyler

Andy Warhol

Pierce Brosnan

Lyle Lovett

Harvey Kieltel

Happy Veterans Day

My father told me a story yesterday, while we were watching the news of Iraq and story of the loss of 3000 there since the war began. My father is 83 years old and on Wednesday night I ride over to his house with dinner on the back of my bike, to cook and have dinner with him and my mother. Their health has deteriorated lately and my whole family is gathering around to help and try to make things better, and easier for them. And like I said, he told me a story yesterday.

He told me a story about the battle for Iwo Jima and how the Americans lost some 10000 soldiers in that battle alone. He served on the USS Hancock at the time and described the hit that the Hancock took during that battle.

250 men were lost on that ship alone when a kamikaze stuck the flight deck and hanger deck severing a 4 inch gas line and causing several explosions. This was quite a signifigant hit on the Hancock, causing more death and injury than the 10 hits that the USS Hornet took during it's sinking at the Battle of Santa Cruz, which according to my father, only cost 150 of his shipmates.

As you read the history of the USS Hornet, think of my father, who served in each of these great battles. Yes, he was on the Doolittle Raid. He was also at the Marianas Turkey Shoot. And he sailed into Tokyo harbor at the end of the war. Am I proud of him? You bet!

I didn't hear these stories my entire life, just for the last 30 years or so. Sadly, these stories will stop soon.

There's another veteran in my family, my older brother, who served honorably in Vietnam. Some years later he took his own life. His stories are lost I am afraid. Am I proud of him? Yes, I am.

Join me in a prayer for these men, and all of the great men and women who have honored their countrymen, their parents, and their children by risking their lives through service in times of war. And let's be sure to honor them, by remembering thier stories.

Happy Veterans Day.

Cold Wind ... Today

Yesterfay and Today/Month

Swimming: 0/0 yd.
Riding: 17.2/42.99
Miles Running: 0/0
Walking: 0/0 Miles
Number of days this month without driving a motor vehicle: 5

Boat Free Day

Swimming: 0/0 yd.
Riding: 6.2/25.79
Miles Running: 0/0
Walking: 0/0 Miles
Number of days this month without driving a motor vehicle: 3

Alas -- I had to use my truck to go get some pie.

The Old and The New

 
Here's a cross check. These are the new boots sitting next to the old ones. Do you notice any slight resemblence? After casting aside several other seemingly good choices, and finally giving in to the temptation to believe that these Merrill™ Wilderness boots were in fact very much like the old ones, I still had great difficulty ordering them online because of the huge price. I looked everywhere to try to find them in a store, but could not.

They are a classic leather boot with a traditional Vibram™ sole and they lack the plastic inner liner that made up the ultimate watertight construction part of the boot. I bit hard on a whiskey soaked Bandana™ and ordered away. When they arrived I tosssed them in the oven and greased them well with SnowSeal™, put them on and hiked 6 miles.

It's been some months now. They're good. So far -- they rock. They are very similar to the old ones. I'll let you know in a few years when I get them really broken in. If all goes well we'll hike a few hundred thousand miles together. 

An Ode to My Boots

Note: I originally posted this June 30th, 2005, and by an odd twist of fate, I actually had to dig these boots up today. So I shot some photos of the blessed boots. Original post:

I have this old pair of boots that I bought when I was a grad student in Pullman, Washington in 1994. I was cold and tired of slipping around on the ice and having wet feet from the snow. They were rated to –40 degrees and waterproof, and had what looked to be leather uppers. I moaned at the price and my shopping friend disagreed laughing, but I bought and put them on immediately. It took months to break them in – but they were warm and comfy all through the process. They had Vibram soles and blue laces. I stopped slipping and was rarely cold after that.

It’s been a few years since then, and now when I look at those boots I can see right through the soles to where a sock would live, having finally given them up for dead when I started wearing holes in my socks. 10 years have passed. During those ten years, we (my boots and I) have been in four countries, on two continents – and in fourty four states, and a myriad of national parks, national monuments, and wildlife refuges. We have bagged peaks in the Adirondacks, the Rockies, and throughout the northwest and California. We have waded together in some of the coldest rivers around, and some of the nastiest, remembering now that I once forsook my trusty boots for barefoot small mouth trout (I mean bass) fishing in the Huron River, only to be rewarded with a nasty cut. I put the boots on and continued. I have worn them to cast bronze, weld and grind things, used them to hold hot metal, and as a hammer. I have literally mistakenly beaten them with a hammer. Together we have been on glaciers, in the snow, the streets of major world cities – and through at least a thousand miles of desert in the summer, and made a few hundred sculptures.

I don’t remember them saying they would be good to 120 degrees, but once they were worn, they were fine. Once I even won a prize at a basketball game because I had blue shoelaces (the person sitting next to me had a picture of a fish in her wallet – and also won a prize). The death knell for these old friends finally came when I was moving out of my warehouse loft. After a week of 16 hour days – literally standing and walking on those poor soles, I caught the hole in the sole on a nail in the floor and ripped the boot open. I had a funeral in the yard.

I want another pair, I tell myself. And the only thing I know about them is that they are Merrell’s, size 8 and 1/2, I think. I go to the store. There’s nothing that even looks like these boots. I look at the old boots. There’s a marking on the tongue, “WTC” it says. A search of the web reveals “ultra watertight construction” is the predominant feature. I can’t find them anywhere. I even looked on Ebay. I go to the web site for Merrell. Lot’s of sandles … but I am not finding my boots. I can’t believe it. I am thinking that these were the best boots ever made. Why on earth would anyone stop manufacturing them.

I am now throwing away the fourth pair of boots I have owned since 1994, this time it’s a pair of Vasque Zephyrs, which crush my toes and cause serious pain in the ball of one foot -- and blister my toes. They are barely broken in. I can remember walking 12 miles as though it were nothing in those WTC boots. If I were in a pinch I could easily have walked 20.

Since I firmly believed that Merrell made the best boots ever, when I was unable to find the replacement boots, I chose a Merrell boot, a light weight “Ventilator,” whose predominant feature was slipping on any wet surface. They are unrivaled in being the worst shoes I have ever owned. They are shit. I have almost died now about 50 times. They provide almost no support anywhere – and are useless with a pack. They actually cause the ball of my foot to feel crushed. Additionally, I bought a pair of low top ventilators, which almost threw me into the Rogue river at the narrows from a height of about 200 ft, due to the very same slipping characteristic. I threw those away that day because I was afraid to take them to the goodwill, out of fear they might kill someone there. If you happen to be a shoe manufacturer or designer, you should pay attention to this part: I swear, I will never put another boot on my feet unless it has a yellow vibram label and squarish lugs. If you want me to buy anything else – you must provide a compelling argument that if I step onto a moss covered rock during a creek crossing with 50 pounds on my back, that they will find a way to stick, or at least help me not to fall. That really means you better start putting some wet moss covered rocks into the store with the boots.After trying that (the ventilators) I went down to the local independent shoe store (we’ll leave RedWing out of this, because they make pretty good shoes), and bought the Vasques. I have had the boots for about a year, and they stick to everything except my wet patio (they have vibram soles, go figure), and provide great ankle support. I went for a 2 mile hike four days ago in the Superstition Wilderness, and three days later my feet feel like they have been beaten with a hammer. What I really don’t understand is why I can’t seem to find a pair of boots that I can put through hell, and will grab the ground, keep me warm, and protect my feet from damage, whether I am stepping into the icy Couer D’Alene or the deserts of Death Valley, a parking lot in Phoenix, or a scrabble covered trail. I want a pair of boots that loves me and trusts me enough to let me decide where it’s safe to put my feet. Granted they all look cool and high tech, but they don’t work. I want a pair of boots that stands up to what I dish out and performs, not a pair that asks me to put up with them.

I think I am going to have to go out into the yard and dig up those old decent boots, my old friends, and put some new soles on them.Copyright 2005, Shawn Kielty, all rights reserved.

The Firestorm in my Inbox

When I locked up this morning around a tree in front of the Bean Street Cafe, as I got my morning coffee, I realized, that I don't think there is a single bike rack in the entire downtown of San Mateo. Not even in front of the bike shop toy store. You can rent a storage locker at the train station -- I think. One of my favorite characters from San Mateo history was Jud Green, who has always owned a clothing store downtown. He would frequently complain about the city eliminating good parking spots downtown to plant trees (San Mateo Times, some time in the early eighties). Did it ever occur to the city that it might be nice to have a bike rack somewhere downtown. I patronize downtown about three times a day on my bike, and never have seen a bike rack.

Yesterday's post started a firestorm in my mail box, and seriously alienated at least one of my former readers. More than one person has an opinion on the topic. Apparently the Peninsula Bicycle and Pedestrian Coalition doesn't support the city plan for Bay Meadows phase two. I really think there was a woman telling me about it in the Bean Street Cafe last week. It doesn't surprise me that they don't support it, since it seems misguided, at least at the first glance ... be sure to bring your reading glasses -- because there's a lot of pages.


The Commuter hanging down at the San Mateo Station.

One of the Tunnels

"The next San Carlos B/PAC will be meeting is Nov 7, at 7 pm, upstairs in room 207 of the San Carlos City Hall. Members of the public are encouraged to attend. " So there's the next chance to do something. I don't know what a B/PAC is but I do know this. People who like to use acronyms must have a disease that prohibits them from describing what they mean when the rules of usage are so simple: The first time an acronym is used in any document it is defined. I.e. Blue pigs and cats (B/PAC) will be meeting ... B/PAC prefer bacon as a food source ... until they realize what it is. Would it really be something like Bike Political Action Commitee (B/PAC)?

One rant about bike policy and suddenly I am thrust into politics ... maybe we need to organize a critical mass ride in San Mateo. We could clog up traffic downtown for a while and then ride right down El Camino to City Hall. Maybe we can start at the Whole Foods (WF) and take over Hillsdale Boulevard, where it's really freakin' scary (RFS). Yeta, yeta, yeta ... It really seems that San Mateo City policy isn't very bike positive. They are treating us like they treat day laborers, get 'em off the real roads and the world will be better. That's RFS.

Today's ride was good, albeit wet. The power went out several times today due to the rain, and well finally there was no further speculation about whether or not the network power was going to come back. The earlier than normal train dropped me at Millbrae, which meant a longer ride home.

How far exactly, we don't know. Because the Cat-Eye mount for the computer is a piece of crap and broke for the third time. I forgot to throw the computer into my pocket this morning. We do know from past trips that round trip via the train trips SM-SF SF-Millbrae is about 8 miles.

Daniele created this masterpiece mocha at Bean Street in San Mateo.

Although the leaf covered route was rain covered also -- The new fenders were smashing -- I didn't have a single leaf stuck to the back of my head. And I was generally dry, except for two drenchings due to rainfall. One of my acquaintances called the spattering from the lack of fenders a "Freshman Stripe," a term he picked up in Davis.

Carry All Everything Day -- the 1st of November

Today/November

Swimming: 0/0 yd.
Riding: 11.59/11.59
Miles Running: 0/0
Walking: 0/0 Miles
Number of days without driving a motor vehicle: 3

Me screaming at the top of my lungs, her driving less than inches from me, as if I was not less than a foot from her; she was totally oblivious. Some people should not be driving. That's all there is to it. The Gateway area in San Mateo is really kind of scary; the City of San Mateo should really consider some bike lanes on the main streets there. There is a big presence of cops in the area to keep business people from driving up and hiring day workers, but it seems that the enforcement of driving rules might be secondary to this. The City should have some sort of campaign to increase the awareness of the presence of bikes on the roads (I wonder if they are doing that?) . In one particularly bad stretch around the freeway they have put the bikes on the sidewalks, which is still a bad idea. If you live in San Mateo please contact these people and complain that the city bike policy (I couldn't find one) is mostly about making it hard on the rider, and not very much about making it safe to ride or easy to lock up a bike. A good comprehensive plan that includes bike lanes on all the roads and enforcement of auto/bicycle safety would be good places to start. Be sure to lock your bike securely and not leave it sitting on the sidewalk, where it might get stolen picked up by the city. At least if you lock it, they will have to get help to haul it away.

Palo Alto, a trendy and cool city, is bike friendly. Woodside, on the other hand is not. Would it be cool if San Mateo were? I think so. Trendy upscale apartments, cool, bike friendly city, excellent food and transportation, walk to downtown ... are you with me here? ...

Personally, I need to do more research before I drift into a serious rant. They may have a plan and I just not know about it. If you happen to know of the City of San Mateo Bike Plan, feel free to forward it to me. Enough of this, I survived another day.

Today was a haul stuff around day. Haul stuff to work. Miss train home by microseconds, grumble to no avail. Get on train early and sit around. Get coffee, go to grocery store, and select deluxe dinner offering for parents. Haul food across town, using stretchy cords to attach shoes to bike, carry lock over shoulder. Replace dinner in deck bag with large amount of mail. Cook scrumptious fresh wild ling cod dinner for my parents. Reminisce about trying to catch them (ling cod, not my parents) in the pacific ocean in 16 foot outboard boat with crazy old codger (not my father -- a different codger) who had shark teeth on his key ring. Eat, clean up, gotta-go bye.

Get groceries for home and haul them home. Strap groceries atop rack bag with heavy duty stretch cord. Think about cargo bikes for a bit. Sit in front of computer and drink heavily relax. Look around generally toward hot tub and become too weak to move.

This wasn't supposed to be a rant. Almost getting hit today reminded me that it's important to instruct drivers in the most obvious way possible, that cyclists have a right to be on the road. And it's the duty and responsibility of vehicle operators not to hit each other. Whether they are on skates, bikes, scooters, bikes or cars -- or just pedestrians with dogs on a leash.

Thorny Devil!

 

Here's one intact, found in the other tire. After a few hundred thorns were removed from the other tire, and the fender adjusted with tinsnips and a hammer, the tire is in place on the commuter. 

Enrique Penalosa Covered by Bike Portland

Here.

That's Not Enough Miles, Thanks

Saturday till Tuesday/Month

Swimming: 0/1200 yd.
Riding: 16.58/67.05
Miles Running: 0/0
Walking: 0/6.6 Miles

For a month.

Back in the Flats in Arizona

I was in the bike shop in Mesa, AZ,, some time ago I might add, and talking to the boy wonder bike mechanic about the numerous flats I have been getting and what I might do about them. "There's 49 other states," he says. Go figure.

I have been carrying these two Kenda™ tires -- around and across several states in fact -- because I know at some point I am going to want some larger tires with a bit of tread on them. For the rainy season that I know is coming, that thing Californians call Winter, but the rest of you dispute. It's coming Thursday, or so, I hear. Fire up the barbeque.

I have been running some sort of hi-ball desert tires -- bullet resistant, super slickery, slicky, slick slicks, in the tightest weave, highest pressure, and smallest small. Nice. The ground out here is a lot harder than it was in Arizona, There's a big lot of infrustructure sticking right up into the surface of the street in the form of cable car tracks, street car rails, Train tracks, manhole covers, curbs, speed bumbs, sewer grates, taxi cabs and what not -- not to mention an abundance of cobbles, potholes, recycling, and the ocasional miguided pigeon other stuff. It can be downright punishing at times.

So I pulled out the 700Cx38 Kendas with tread, to replace the 700Cx23 slicks. I start an age old ritual -- for me -- warm the tire slowly with my fingers rubbing the inside of the tire surface, caressing it, looking for puncturers, prickly pricks, nails, screws, riff-raff, or just thorns. Picking and prying the thorns, glass, iron filings, away from the precious air. Warming it and cleaning it, becoming friends with it, saving it from future damage. easing the rubber pieces together, easing them on to the rim, pushing the tire into place with my hands alone, gently stretching, straightening, and forcing the tire over the rim to fill with air. With just 75 PSI of the air (that's going to slow me down to a banana slug's pace).

I pulled about 50 thorns out of the first tire. There's fifty other states. I have to wonder, since they were so easy to see (they are beige), and that I could pick them out of the tire with my fingers, why one of these genious bike shop guys in Arizona, wouldn't have just simply said, "You're getting all these flats because your tires are full of thorns. Anyone who lives in Arizona and rides a bike, knows that you have to pull all these thorns out." You get them when the wind first blows in the summer.

There are two thorns in this picture. They are big enough to grab and remove with your fingers. They look like golf balls.

And here's a picture of one of them completely intact.

WTF? I ask. I am sure one of us should have noticed these in the tires.

And guess what? I am in one of those other states. Wish me luck tomorrow.

The Embarcadero

Salt and Pepper Tofu. I rode out to the edge of the world to have some Hunan food today. It was about a three mile ride there and back, and included dodging taxi cabs and one way streets, and passing double parked trucks and slow moving busses. One of the particular snotty highlights was being cut off ... and so on. We checked out the Embarcadero with a short tour after lunch.

The Embarcadero, near the anchorage of the San Francisco Oakland Bay Bridge.

It's busy during lunch.

Just Lately ...

Thursday to Saturday/Month

Swimming: 350/1200 yd.
Riding: 3.09/50.47
Miles Running: 0/0
Walking: 3/6.6 Miles

The Four Seasons

In a day ... San Francisco's four seasons occurred today. Lately before dawn it is Winter, temps less than 50 and snotty. As the day progresses it breezy and Springy, and I even saw poppies blooming. Temps in the afternoon in the sun belt (South of Market, Mission) have been above 80, and oh so Summery. And of course it's still really Autumn, and the falling leaves assure that the cooling down in the evening feels just like fall.

Tuesday and Thursday/Month
Swimming: 0/850 yd.
Riding: 13.47/47.38
MilesRunning: 0/0
Walking: 0/3.6 Miles
Weather: Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall
Food: Pancho Villa for Tacos Carne Asada, Beans and Rice

Http://shawnkielty.com Returns

In case you were wonderin'. Paul.

My Timbuk2™ Messenger Bag

Scared me yesterday. The way it adjusts is by pulling open a loop on the side of the bag, and shortening the strap that would go over your shoulder. All good, I guess.

Until you catch that loop on the mirror of a car. Fortunately, the loop would catch on the mirror of a parked car, because it's on the right side of the bag, and I am in America. Should you shoulder the bag with the opening side toward your body, it could get caught by the mirror of a passing car, assuring disaster. When I was riding in the wide open streets of Mesa -- this was likely not a problem. In San Francisco, however, where I might actually touch moving vehicles - or squeeze tightly between them, or they squeeze tight between me, this is a real serious life threatening risk.

So -- let's fix this. First -- flip the attachment point of the strap around and re-attach, then thread it back through it self to make sure it stays put. Open the clamp and take all the slack material out of the loop in the strap and flatten it against the bag -- then secure the clamp against the strap. If you don't know how this works throw the bag away. Just kidding.

Find a 2 inch Travato or similar buckle and cut the strap at a point below your shirt pocket and insert the buckle. Adjust it accordingly.

If you want you can also apply the same logic to the crappy waist strap that comes with the bag and increase it to 1 1/2 inches.

Always be safe -- and think ahead to stay alive.