Behind the Scenes

A bike race seems to leave spectators standing around looking at each other as much as watching the race. Here are a few shots from behind the scenes at the Velogirls Menlo Park Grand Prix . Enjoy.

Velogirls Menlo Park Grand Prix

Is that the leader? I never know.

I started out today with a crazy idea I was going to go get coffee, photograph a womens bike race, have dinner with my folks and be in bed by ten. It all workd out ok except for turning the clock forward. Which meant it was 11:00.

That's Mount Diablo, which I think is about 35 miles away. It was definitely a nice day for a ride so I rode home to an ice pack and a hot tub. The extra ten pounds of camera gear made the long ride more fun.

I took about 100 photos during the CAT 5 mens race, the only race I saw. I'll be looking those over for the next few days to cultivate out a few more good shots, but for now, enjoy these. If you recognise anyone -- I'd like to know so I can add their name to the credit.

Hard to say it Better than this.

5 Miles Out

At about Chestnut and Embarcadero I turned back. For a total of 8.8 miles. That is Coit Tower.

Hi Dive

Lunch Ride

I have an appointment at 11:00 down near the Moscone center, so I am going to take a lunch time ride after that. If I can make it this far, it will be 17.6 miles out to Chrissy Field and Back. It's glorious out. The actual map.

UglyBike

Closed up shop. That, makes me sad. I'll miss you, Gilby. Good luck to you. I'll keep a place in my heart for you.

Flat Tire Paradise

Somewhat as a result of some self reflection, over the past few weeks, I changed the name of my blog. When I started this endeavor almost two years ago, my entire life was revolving around cameras, pictures, photography, and travel -- primarily in the desert Southwest. I am really unsure of the new name, since the old one was just simply descriptive, and the new one is ... well, slightly more philosophical.

Today, my life revolves around ... and around. If I have a camera these days, it's incidental, and more often than not, it's a cell phone and not a 4x5" film camera. Occasionally, I will throw my digital into my bike bag (and go to a bike race in Menlo Park on Saturday). It's a lot more likely I am carrying a spare tube. And some tubes of gu.

My blogging and reading the blogs of cyclists has led me to be back on a bike. Why I was drawn to the cycling blogs, or they drawn to me is a subject needing academic study by someone like Studs Terkel. But the truth is, reading about cycling put me back on a bike. On January 26 last year, I got back on a bike and rode 6 broken miles. I never should have quit in the first place. Those of you that inspired me, I should live longer because of it.

I live in a major metropolitan area -- a gorgeous city -- with a fairly poor transit system, and I rarely drive. My life is much more defined by a bike, my family, caring for my aging parents, and contemplating a haircut, than it is by 30,000 annual miles of desert driving, to get a camera into some crowded backcountry paradise. There's a strong community in my life today, and I haven't driven my own car this year. I live a much different life today, then I did two years ago in Mesa. When I cut my hair my friends said, "Was this ponytail longer than the last one?" and not, "Wow, I didn't recognize you."

When I look to what defines my life today, it's a gritty, joyous ride through wet manhole covers, potholes the size of a basketball, and an endless stream of broken green and brown bottles. Steep little hills that kick the crap outta Arizona. Horns honking, adrenaline pumping, lunchtime brawls into downtown for szechuan. Me dodging hazards and taxicabs to dine at one of 4000 restaurants, each with a Gypsy folk band. Or it's the meal I cook at home, the same one my mother cooked for me twice a month for the last so many years.

It's friendly cafes, family rock concerts, my father's workshop. Always -- I am a mule carrying groceries and a computer, dog biscuits in my pocket, raingear, shoes, a change of clothes, the encyclopedia brittanica, and a potted plant, and Shawn, don't forget to get the milk; It's me on a bike in a flat tire paradise, pushing these yellow bars into the mist.

Ray and Nassir Checking out Boats

Near the Embarcadero.

The Bike Hut

Bike Rentals at $5 an hour. Right on the Embarcadero.

The Embarcadero at Lunch

Trash

I took this with my phone on the way to work. This is a trashed up spot adjacent to the San Mateo Caltrain Station and North Railroad Street in San Mateo. I wonder if it is the resposibility of the Caltrain or the City of San Mateo to clean this up.

Speaking of Writing ... or was I Talking to Myself

It's autocratic, much like riding a bike. You can write me a ticket(thanks for the link, fritz), sure. Provided you can ride on the sidewalk, the wrong way up alleys, through tight spaces made up by fixed objects and moving cabs, into doorways to run up staircases, all the while acting nonchalantly --like it's an everyday thing -- like, "Hey man, I'm just on my way to get some coffee," all at 20 miles an hour. I can write you a ticket -- Mr. Authority, and publish it in my blog.

Seriously. I can write publicly about anything -- I don't need Simon and Schuster. I am a published author and have the equivalent of a novel in print. I have been writing almost daily for about 2 years. About 30-100 (care to hazard a guess?) people read what I write with some regularity. I have no idea why. But, they do. I read what some of them write and I know some of them. I am getting to know some of the one's I have never met. Some of them are my friends. I have friends I have never met.

Many of us having been trying to get out of the more populated areas, and as I grow, my friends have managed to succeed, for the most part. They are spread out like the leaves of an old maple. There are about a 1000 photographs taken by me exposed (published) onto the world, in the form of a casual travelogue, helping my friends and family know what I am doing. I know you've enjoyed some of the photos and some of the stories. I can share the travels, tales and work of my life with a few friends, not to mention an occasional spattering of wisdom.

I really like to hear when you, gentle readers, tell me that you enjoy what I have done. Or that you feel my pain, sorrow, boots, pain, frostbite, glee, victories, anger, adventures, see my successes, fear, dismay, love ... beauty.

I learn and enrich my own life when I read your stories and read what you've done. Or get a happy chance to develop a real relationship via an online world. Or as I develop and craft the stories I must tell to an unseen world.

I have been meme'd (hereinafter pronounced "maimed") by fritz. Frankly, I dislike the tagging activity, but, I am a good citizen. So that's five reasons I blog.

John, Tom, Eclectchick Michelle, Joann. You've been tagged. Five reasons you blog. Since I now have tagged everyone I know. I am no longer allowing myself to be tagged -- at least not until my third bloggerbirthday, which is slightly more than a year from now.

Beef Stew with Dumplings

Date: 25 February 2007
Mileage for the week: 82.68
February total: 286.30
March total: 47.26
Max: 28.3
On the Ipod: The Gypsy Kings, Un Amor

Ummm.

That's the 15" braid.

Leaving me looking a bit straight.

bzzzzzzz, click whirr ...

Night Studio

Back in the day, before Ipods. Philip Guston's daughter wrote a book called Night Studio. I bought a pair of 36" Cerwin Vega speakers. I moved into a warehouse. The warehouse was, well -- It was sweet. Me, a crow, three feral cats, a junkyard next door, a crazy girl, and about a hundred orchids. Juliana Hatfield at volume 11, a screamin prayer from a secret god. The coolest neighbors.

Late night workaholic, seriously loud, no one notices, -- way too cool. One night my friend JT came by and the crow sat on the edge of his cup and drank wine from it. Jim would drink -- and the crow would drink. I told a story about Jim today -- to some aspiring young artists. We talked about making art with our hands and tools like paint brushes, and how much fun that was (it used to be). So I told them a story about Jim and myself.

Jim called me one Friday night late, years ago. He said -- "I need your help. I am painting a 6' tall copy of Norman Rockwell's Home for Christmas".

"You don't need my help for that."

"It's due Monday at 9".

"I'll be right over."

Back to the warehouse.

Grinding sounds, Sculpture. "The Edge of Nowhere". A place where no one notices what you do. Me and a crow. In the warehouse santuary. The Warehouse Sanctuary. "Hello Girls!" Said the crow. The smell of paint. Linseed oil.

I am an expert in turning it up. The shower floods daily. Turn up the music. Neil Young, Prince. No -- really turn it up. Steely Dan. The Doobie Brothers, Marta Sebestyen. Finding a way to an unknown land. A place where hands create a magic that no one explains. Eric Clapton and Cream. Louder, please.

When I was faithful student at Cal State Hayward I met a man with a book that claimed artists were Shamen, and so was I. The book was The Artist as Shamen in the 20th Century, by Mark Levy. Later, as a graduate student, the music was louder. The drum beats grew firmer. My presence grew richer. I became stonger in my way.

"Who will take the only hearts they've got and throw them into the fire,
Who will risk their own self respect, in the name of desire,
Who'll regret everything they've done, and who will get the bill" Bonnie Raitt, Lover's Will.

It's like a switch, the way to making art. The way to knowing more than you thought possible, the way to communicating more than you could before. It's like the Shaman swimming under the ocean to see an underwater demon, to find an answer to some question. The night studio -- you wake in the day and look at what you've done and say, "wow" quietly to yourself so no one will hear you.

My daughter sent me a note today that said, "In the studio again." Good for you. Turn up the music. She knows. I know this. When she could barely talk, she walked into the living room of our old bungalow, and pointed at every painting I had painted and said, "See," as if she had finally put it together. While she was sleeping, I was painting those. In the mist. In the Mystery. She knew. My son never quite knew that. But tonight he played that Gibson in a very accomplished way. He knows something. Maybe he has a secret god. Or simple Voodoo Magic.

"What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away? ...
How do you sleep while the rest of us cry,
How do dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye,
How do you walk with your head held high, Can you even look me in the eye? " Dear Mr President, Pink (with the Indigo Girls)

Turn it up. Crank it up. All the way. There's a paradise. It's a paradise of desire. The band leader looked across at my son tonight and said, "What do you got?" My son hit a note and the man said, "Turn it up" and pointed his thumb at the sky. It's there, where the volume is high.

In the Mystery. There's where it is. Secret God ... Something. I am trying to find my way to paradise. I am trying to find my way into an unknown world where there is a truth I can get to know.

I don't know. But, ohhh, how I do know. Turn it up.

I miss my studio. It's been replaced by an Ipod, which isn't quite the same. The reason I turn it up, is to unleash the angels, and silence the demons.

Green Manalishi -- What Ever That Means

Playlist:

Nina Simone: Wild is the Wind
Elvin Bishop: Stealing Watermelons
Fleetwood Mac: The Green Manalishi
Blind Faith: Can't Find My Way Home
The Cream: Crossroads
Delany and Bonnie Bramlett with Duane Allman: Living on the Open Road
Bonnie Raitt: The Road is My Middle Name
Fleetwood Mac: The Way I Feel
Cowboy Junkies: The Way I feel
Cowboy Junkies: Good Friday
The B52's: Roam
Pink: Dear Mr President
The Cowboy Junkies: Misguided Angel
Patsy Cline: Walking After Midnight
The Indigo Girls: Closer to Fine
Sarah McLachlin: Building a Mystery
Maryann Faithfull: Sister Morphine
Derek and the Dominoes: Got to get Better in a Little While (for mile 85)
Fleetwood Mac: Why (Mile 86)
Blind Faith: Presence of the Lord (mile 87)
Drive By Truckers: Gravity's Gone
Cream: Badge (Mile 88)
Steely Dan: Peg
Steely Dan: Time Out of Mind
The Carnival Steel Drum Band: Under the Sea
Cowboy Junkies: Just want to See
Charlotte Church, Chorus of the Welsh National Opera: Amazing Grace
Fleetwood Mac: Black Magic Woman
Cowboy junkies: A Common Disaster
Fleetwood Mac: Revelation
Cowboy Junkies: Pale Sun
Quiksilver Messenger Service: Mojo
Howlin Wolf: The Red Rooster
Jackson Browne: The Road and the Sky
Niel Young: Cowgirl in the Sand
The Pretenders: Middle of the Road
The Ronettes: Be My Baby
Lou Reed: Sweet Jane
Jane's Addiction: Jane Says
Tori Amos: Winter
The Doobie Brothers: China Grove
The Doobie Brothers: Black Water
Daryl Hall and John Oates: Abandoned Lunchenette
Blind Faith: Sleeping in the Ground
Eric Clapton: Further on up the Road
Duane Allman: Please be with Me
Bonnie Raitt: I Can't Make You Love Me
Indigo Girls: Secure Yourself
The Cowboy Junkies: 200 More Miles

Heel Carving

Date: 25 February 2007
Mileage for the week: 75.67
February total: 251.98
Max: 25.1
On the Ipod: Alison Brown, The Promise of Spring

Riding Home

"Just a moment. Three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it very well until it's ice-cold, then add a large thin slice of lemon-peel. Got it?"

Pass me the lemon peel. Today's ride home was like a ride in a shaker. "Shake very well till it's ice cold." Add ice pellets and mix with cars, ride until frozen.

The ride started at 6:10 for the 6:33 train -- plenty of time to travel a mile and a half to the station. I stepped out the door to put my purple shower cap on, when a guy standing in the shelter of the door said into his phone, "It's really hailing now." I slipped onto my bike and rode out into it, figuring -- it could never last. It was surreal and strange. Lights and cars and snowpellets in a dark, very windy torrential downpour. A Slushy. The ice pellets, hail, or freezing rain, whatever it needs to be called, added a reflective characteristic to the very air. After the first crossing of railroad tracks it became more difficult to see them as the water on the roads collected to about an inch deep.

As I sorted out the pedestrians and cabs in front of the train station and made my way to the sidewalk, there was easily 2 inches of standing water on the roadway, but the rain was less icy.

Miso Soup

Here is Fritz's contribution to the soup cookbook. Except for adding tofu -- This is his recipe as posted.

Miso soup
By Fritz

Shawn asked for soup recipes from around the world . I'm happy to oblige.Miso is basic, simple to make, and yummy to me. Here's how I do it.

Start water to boil.
Mix in a spoonful or four of miso paste. I like the strong-flavored aka or 'red' miso paste.
Add chopped scallions, mushrooms, soft tofu (added by me) and/or kombu seaweed.
When the miso paste is completely dissolved, remove from heat and dissolve in about a teaspoon of instant dashi powder.

My grandmother would sometimes boil up a big pot of clams and then make miso soup using the clam stock. She also didn't use instant hondashi -- she kept dried, moldy fish hanging on the kitchen wall, and she'd scrape the moldy fish flesh straight into the soup pot. Good stuff before and after a bike ride.Because of the dead-fish flavor, Japanese miso soup typically is not vegetarian. Link to his post.

Trophy Water Bottles and Rain Storms

They are more like trophies of my past accomplishments. In the early days of my life we weren't as sophisticated. Gallon milk jug filled with Tequila Sunrise for three days in a canoe on the Russian River. Vodka to mix with bags of plums on Mount Diablo summit. Gallon jugs of passed around koolaid. Gallon water bottles clipped right onto you belt for fifty mile desert hikes. Waterdog lake and the sand caves, and sawyer camp road when you could drive on it . Freezing cold water blown on the wind for San Bruno Mountain hike.

The stainless "grand canyon discovery" cup that went down the colorado with me, The water bottle I bought for my first century, and the one I forgot. The stainless thermos I bought to drink the coffee on the way to work. The water bottle I carried empty across four mile s of Joshua Tree, and the one I tried to give away to some ill prepared hikers near the oasis of mara. The one that froze solid in Mokulemne, and the ones I carried on the Superstion Ridgeline trail. Then there's the two or three I actually use. I have too many, too.

Did I forget to mention that this drizzle is trying to become a rainstorm.

Head Carving

Another Day in Paradise.

Today was characterized primarily by time spent with my parents. With a 1:30 hair appointment, then an early dinner at Fernando's in San Mateo, it was a great day. If you are one of those people who might want to be jealous of those of us that live in California, today would be a good day to express your emotions. It was incredible out in Pacifica today, at least for a couple of hours. Everyone was out, not just the surfers. Surf's up. This photo is of Linda Mar.

This person is riding his bike backwards while sitting on the handlebars. During the hair appointment, the sun just went away, being changed to fog, leaving a bunch of people in shorts standing out in the cold. It was summer for a split second -- then it was winter again.

Here's a photo of the guitar's headstock veneer being glued into place on the neck blank. This is not the clamping technique mentioned in the book.

Here's the guitar's neck after yet another -- albeit short -- day at the project. The truss rod is now inserted into a routed slot in the neck and a tenon exists to attach to the body of the guitar. I added the Zebrawood veneer for the head and trimmed everything. I think I am about ready to carve the neck.

Nah, silly, that's my mother working a puzzle with her new do.

Date: 17 February 2007
Mileage for the week: 94.67
February total: 176.31
Max: 28.1
On the Ipod: Howlin Wolf, Built for Comfort

Dear Asshole,

Before.

After.

Dear Thieving Asshole,

I could understand that you might need my rear light to put on your cool bike, so that you won't get hit riding brakeless through the night. I could understand that you might be able to sell that light for six or eight dollars and get some beer.

Although the light was basically free for the taking, I wonder why it was necessary to destroy my seat bag by ripping it to remove the light. Did you almost get caught? I actually don't mind that much that the light was taken -- I probably would have given it to you if you had convinced me that you needed it for your bike. You could have easily slipped that light off without damging the bag. Please try to be more considerate when stealing my shit. As you can see, I was barely inconvenienced by the loss of the light, Nick helped me to bolt the new one onto the bike, for lack of a better place. Please try not to hurt yourself attempting to steal the new one. I don't want to be subjected to a personal injury suit.

Shawn

P.S. If you try to sell it back to me on the street tomorrow, I'll do my best to steal it back from you without damaging your hand.

Go Jill

I'll be watching along ... Go Jill.

I look Interesting in Korean

I was looking at the referrals to my blog and I found someone using the Korean version of Google to find my Korean Soup post. The google page offered to translate me into Korean. I of course had to see it. One thing I noticed is that none of the Korean words are translated, which I found quite funny.

My son's in this movie, you might be able to recognize him near the end.

Working from Home

I had this plan to work from home. It was a good plan, every week on Wednesday I work from home. Wednesday is the least busy day in my week -- I have no meetings no over scheduling , no serious crises, because everyone else works from home.

Every week I end up at work on Wednesday. ... I was really jealous of other people who can workout on their bikes over lunch. So I said -- well -- what if I pick my busiest day and spend that at home. The website gets pushed live, busy staff meeting at one lunch with what's his name Thursday and spend that at home. We all work extremely well together, there will be a lot of evidence that I am working. So I floated the idea -- And everyone said "great". So tomorrow is the next effort at working from home.

Up at 7:00, cafe, work at 8. Lunch Ride at 11:30, Tech Meeting at 1:00, work till Webness is complete. Check on parents and shop ... What I'll spend riding is the time I will gain from my lack of commute, so I'll gain the upextra workout I need every week. I should be able to ride out past the bridge and back for 12-20 miles. That could push my weekly base up to 100 miles, which is where I'd like it. The real incentive for working from home will be the extra hour a week I can spend on my bike -- in a focused ride, rather than a spattering of short city commuting.

Then -- if I manage to schedule a long sunday ride every week I can prepare for the next century I ride; the same one I did last year. Not to disrupt the flow or anything -- I am glad to see that Ruby is back, because I think I may be up for another 700km month in March. Are you with me bud?

Tearing Myself a New Asshole

My Marin™ road bike came with a Selle™ Italia® saddle, a favorite in it's day, but really an ass ripper unless you wear those gotdamned padded shorts, which I really prefer never to wear. It's quite sleek and light in the roadie correct (RC™) way. At 250g, it's dandy if your about to ride 100km in those padded shorts and orange™ jerseys.

What about those of us in street clothes with a bony™ ass sit bones. An old favorite among the bicycle enjoyment (BE™) set is the Brooks™ Professional Saddle. It has a nice ring to it -- "Professional" -- like I might ride a bike like I have a job. At 538g it is a heavy load, and not at all RC. Once I have loaded 39 lbs (7,662,657g) into my PC carrying, camera toting, rain gear, tennis shoes, xtra socks, lumber carrying messenger bag. I am sure that my legs won't notice the extra weight.

For those of you that are metric dysfunctional, 250g is about eight ounces. That's quite a bit less than my wallet. Possibly less than one of these. Here is the seat in a most un-RC orientation. Other advocates of the Brooks™ saddle have done this, put perfectly good Brooks saddles on there otherwise racing bikes.

I can always change it if I ever have to ride a lot of miles in pink™ padded shorts.

My bony™ ass thanks me.

Guitar Neck Construction -- Take 2

Yesterday went slightly better.

Here's the neck blank I put together yeseterday, with a Martin Style truss rod and showing the fingerboard outline. I'll need to route out the location for the truss rod and drop it into place. Then I suppose I can start to convince it to look a bit more like a guitar neck.

Date: 10 February 2007
Mileage for the week: 56.62
February total: 81.64
On the Ipod: The Carnival Steel Drum Band, Linus and Lucy (Peanut's Theme)

Texas Hell Week

Should I go? Reading all the blogs from last year made it sound like fun. Does anyone think They might like to go along with me?

It's Going to Rain

See. Photo http://www.NOAA.gov

Guitar Neck Fabrication

This is the first attempt at the neck fabrication for the guitar. At this point it is still going very well. This is a piece of Honduran mahogany just before being reduced to scrap cut at 15 degrees with a dozuki and then planed to match. I'll be doing this part again next week though, as I learned an important lesson in paying attention, later in the day.

Date: 4 February 2007
Mileage for the week: 70.45
February total: 25.02
On the Ipod: Jackson Browne, Late for the Sky

We're Home

We're all back home, including me -- I'll be staying here (with my folks) tonight as well. We all sat around and watched the Bears lose, ate like pigs.

The Remains of the Day

Read the book referenced in the title of this post. It's charming. My mother recommended it.

I saw my mother this morning. They're treating her now for diabetes, developed as a result of steroid use. Atheletes with race induced asthma should pay very close attention. Albuterol is a steroid, so is prednisone,
cortisone and a variety of treatments for emphysema. You'll recognize these. If you're young and you have trouble breathing because you're racing a bike -- tell your MD he's an ass -- and that it's normal to be out of breath after humping your tushy up whatever race. You don't need his steroids to win. Steroid use. WTF? My mother is just a mother.

My mother is good and somewhat happy. I hope they let her come home soon. I may have to insist on it.

I have driven a car recently, I admit it. My first since Christmas. The trials of the last few days have left me needing to move around a bit better. It's hard to haul the elders around on your bike. My father believes he can drive and -- "I'll stop by and take you dad" -- is the absolutely correct response.

I made chili today for tomorrow's game. It is the food of the gods. I went to my folks to make it -- and I worked on the guitar. I was trying to make enough progress to show to my son tomorrow, but no. Not today. I took pictures of the guitar, and tried to mobile blog them from my phone. They haven't shown up. Maybe tomorrow.

It's late. I am old and tired now. I have only the remains of the day to look at. I sure appreciate the folks that have taken the time to let me know they are thinking of me. I am glad to know that you care. I am touched.

Let's hope tomorrow is better. Go Bears.

Gosh.

I rode around the corner a few blocks from my parent's house and there was bla fire engine in sight down the street. I knew instantly that something was wrong my father. He's been at home alone a bit this week, and it's been a busy week for all of us, and I knew. My father. He's been feeling really good, and talking about playing golf. I pulled up and there were firefighters there in triage. The Chief had fallen down.

It's hard for me to imagine the world I live in today.

When I was young, it was a different place. Jets hurled through the sky a supersonic speeds and the sonic booms rallied the glassware to leap to the floor. My life was dominated by a Naval hero and a military haircut. During the 60's it was the Packers and the Dodgers, and sandlot broken window Sandy Koufax baseball in the driveway with the bat pointed at the neighbor's house. It was stingrays in the mud hole that we called a park and riding out to the swamps in the afternoon. There were fallout shelters and we hid under our desks at the sound of a bell to fend off nuclear war. I actually broke the frame on my ugly bike. My sister was a h i p p y and my brother was always in trouble. I remember once I put out the window of a house well past Home Run distance in a glorious and fright filled batting moment. I had to work for hours to replace that window. I had no idea the bay was polluted, and about ten other things. My father was there, building, making, working, fixing, being. Guiding me.

My neighbor Mrs. Miller used to keep the balls in a box in the backyard and not give them to us -- we used to sneak in and steal them back when she went grocery shopping. Me and Vic the Sushi Man. Tonight, it was as if everyone knew something was wrong with John. The Chief. My father. The neighbor stopped by and the Chief didn't answer the door. Folks called from everywhere and the phone was busy. I heard that and raced across town on my bike. My sister in-law showed up right after I got there. Mrs Miller came over.

The Chief had fallen, he hit his head, and got a bit banged up. My father was a strong man. He was a sailor. He led us in a proud way toward a better life, a life. A good life. Through the valley of the shadow of evil. It was harsh at times, but there were many character building experiences. It wasn't necessarily always right -- but I am sure he thought it was.

The Chief grew up in a different era altogether. He was born in 1923. There were planes, cars, blimps. Buzz bombs, radio, radar, Tommy Dorsey, Amelia Earhardt, Charles Lindbergh and war came later. When my mother was 20, in 1941, she started smoking. She smoked for forty-five years. She will die of emphysema. She doesn't want the doctors to investigate much, she doesn't want to be resuscitated. She's in a different hospital, across town. She's scared now. Me too. We are all going to die in seperate places.

The world I live in today has cell phones, and mobile blogging, and this. And spontaneous world wide communications. As Jean Baudrillard said in 1948 -- it is -- An Ecstasy of Communication. It's a world my father can't fathom, and I can barely keep up with. It's extended the life of America by ten or fifteen years, but it hasn't lessened the pain of watching your parents fade. They were so strong.

I guess I need to be strong now.

Phone Hell 2

Phone Hell

Date: 31 January 2007
Mileage for the last bit of the month: 45.25
January total: 371.46
Max 24.2
On the Ipod: Cowboy Junkies, 200 More Miles

Alaska Vacation -- Round Island

You can get a permit that allows you to take, harass, or kill marine mammals, if you have a good enough reason. If you have a good enough reason -- you can take a walrus. And if you're big enough. But where?

I don't want to take any walrus, I just want to take their picture. This is not like taking a picture of a petroglyph (or the honeycombs behind the petroglyphs) in Carrizo Plain National Moneymint, where you get threatened with ticketing and or arrest if you suggest taking pictures of petroglyph rock (If I even see you here with a camera ..."), this is a walrus we're talking about. This is not some light love making.

This is serious. Under the Marine Mammal Protection Act, it is illegal to take, harrass or kill a marine mammal, specifically whales, dolphins, seals, polar bears and walrus. If you take a camera and approach a walrus close enough to get a good picture without a $5000 lens, you probably need a permit. If he feels harassed, you may need to be able to run. I don't think the Marine Mammal Protection Act actually says any thing about that. Quote: "You must be able to run like a ... 'If I even see you here with a camera,' says the walrus"

Go figure, aren't I a marine mammal, in need of protection? Doesn't the walrus need a permit to hassle me. No -- I have to take my chances.

Flight to Dillinger -- $1000
Fly to somewhere -- I am not sure where -- a point on Homer spit or a beach -- $400
Boat to Round Island $400
Hotels meals etc. -- $600
One week Camping, permits, fees, food, film, and ... did I mention food? ... $500

12 day trip to Round Island to photograph walrus -- $2900

Holy shit, Batman

Any one care to join me?

About your Car ...

It went like this. I got caught at the light, and there was a young guy trackstanding for an eternity, then sped away. I, of course can barely stand, so trackstanding seems impossible. I did catch him and comment on his talents and then blow by him into traffic. I was wailing throught the ring street at the end of Townsend onto John Henry at speed, and this woman in front of me saw a parking spot and stopped. I hit the brakes and watched ... sliding ... an eternity passed. I was picking out how I was going to (safely) land on the back of her car, when she looked up and hit the gas. I think I was less than an inch from her bumber when the car lunged forward. Raise one for the driver. She actually gave up her parking spot to save me.

But don't raise one for this driver.

Ok so this Cool for the Bikers

Photo © Jill Homer 2007.

Jill the uber winter cyclist in Juneau, Alaska, who is currently preparing for the Susitna 100 (A 100 mile winter bike race in Alaska, and did I mention Winter?) and blogging about it, was nominated for a Bloggy award in the Best Sports Blog category. I think this is pretty impressive. Even to get nominated for that. A young woman who rides her bike in the snow and writes about it. No super bowl, no fantasy football, just a girl woman on a bike with a camera and a pen.

If you like winter, your bike, or women, or great achievements, then please go and vote for her. If that doesn't work for you -- then go read her blog and see if you like that.

Today, she rode a Big Century. Amen to that.

Date: 27 January 2007
Mileage for the week: 66.03
January total: 326.21
On the Ipod: David Grisman and Tony Rice: Tone Poems

Soon-dubu Chigae

Ok, some soups are unique colorful and photogenic. When I was in Korea I learned some things about food. First, when you buy stuff like cereal, look on the back of the box to see if there's a picture of a woman dumping it into a washing machine or cleaning a drain with it or any other obvious signs that its not food.

If it looks good, smells good, or has a lot of garlic, live octopi, chili, or kimchi, it's probably good to eat. Three or four or five foods became my staple diet there, with surprises occasionally. I love kimchi. There was a vendor right near my place there that made kimchee mandu in a tall stack of steamer baskets, which became a regular afternoon snack between classes. Another street vender would sell a garbage bag filled with puffed corn for about a buck. This was frequently breakfast. In the city I was in, bibimbop was the regional specialty. I preferred bibimbap hot (Dulsot) but one of my roommates there would rather it be cold.

My favorite breakfast of all time is the Adobo chile at the Horseman's Haven in Santa Fe, NM -- but I'll need to talk about Korea now, and that later. Second, of course was soon-dubu chigae, which is a Korean Soup described with other common Korean soups here:

Korean stews (chigae) generally have two things in common, they're hot and spicy. The most common stews, which are all served with rice, are kimchi chigae, dwen-jang chigae, soon-dubu chigae and boo-dae chigae. All of these stews contain enough hot pepper to burn the hairs in your nostrils. On a frigid winter day, nothing will warm you up more than a hot bowl of boo-dae chigae (my preference). Kimchi chigae is loaded with kimchi, small pieces of pork and various vegetables. Dwen-jang chigae is a soy bean paste based soup filled with vegetables and clams. If you like tofu, you'll love soon-dubu chigae. Vegetables, clams and an egg are added to this tofu bonanza. Boo-dae chigae originated from the Korean War. After the American soldiers finished eating, many times they had a little food remaining that they threw away. The Koreans were very poor at that time and they would go around collecting that thrown away food and put it in a big pot and presto, the birth of boo-dae chigae. It includes hot dogs slices, ham, glutinous rice, and other vegetables. Ramen noodles are usually thrown in as well.

Soon-dubu chigae is a hot spicy meal. It's a power packed food and tasty. In my notebooks from Korea a recipe exists, along with how to make pickled garlic, which everyone should experience one in their life. I need to find a good recipe for Soon-dubu Chigae. Although it is a vegetable soup, it does contain Anchovy Sauce, meaning it's not really vegetarian.

The with clams part of the recipes, may rely on regional differences in Korea. Places nearer the sea include more seafood in there diet ... as students and teachers in Korea, we really didn't have all that much money, so certain foods were luxurious.

Photo from The Tofu House in San Francisco.

Why do People take Pictures of their Feet?

Because of the cool and stealthy new cycling shoes that arrived in the mail today from Lake Cycling.

Sunday Morning Social Ride

I'll be leading a ride from the Bean Street Cafe in San Mateo, on B street between Third and Fourth, Sunday at 10 AM, to the San Mateo-Hayward bridge on the Bay Front Trail. It's a social there and back ride -- so come and enjoy it. I think Bean Street is going buy the coffee.

It's about 10 miles round trip to the bridge. If you don't want to go that far, turn around and go back. Maybe we can all eat shrimp tacos at Pancho Villa afterwards. Maybe we will get back so soon we'll have to have bagels with cream cheese, onions, and smoked salmon at the cafe.

Note: I just changed the time from 8 to 10 AM.

ooooh!

Stuff came in boxes today. I bet there was a time in the not too distant past when a Luthier had to spend quite a bit of time aquiring and drying appropriate woods for his craft.

The internet speeds that process up a bit. So does fedex.

The picture above shows the better parts of the skinny end of a guitar. Clockwise from the top left: wicker trunk, ebony fingerboard, Honduran mahogany neck stock, adjustable truss rod, more Honduran mahogany, racoon, remote, mahogany heel block, gold tuning machines, zebrawood head veneer.

That means that there's work to do. Before that, however, I am going to try out Fritz' Grandmother's miso soup recipe. But first I have to find some Niboshi Dashi. Or whatever that was that his grandmother had on the wall in her kitchen. There's a bonus venison onion soup recipe in the comments.

Soup Recipe

Really -- I am looking for Cioppino, Minestrone, Italian Wedding Soup, Clam Chowder, Gumbo, Tortilla soup and the other great soups of the world to round out my list. I'll be happy to test out your soup recipes.

And I am listening to the Cream -- Live at Winterland. Crossroads. The man on the street in my building is Robert Johnson. I was thinking of making a CD for him. He's never actually heard Robert Johnson. I can't imagine what that's like.

I was too young to see the Cream at Winterland on March 10, 1968 -- but I did see The Who there and many great shows. Rumor Myth has it that Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil for his musical talent at the Crossroads. That's powerful juju. I would recommend turning it up -- A lot.

I believe I am sinking down. Make soup outta that. Go through the list of great musicians that went down the road with Robert Johnson:

Eric Clapton and Cream -- Crossroads and a variety of other songs
The Cowboy Junkies -- Me and the Devil
Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett with Duane Allman -- Come on in my Kitchen
The Rolling Stones -- Love in Vain
Ramblin on my Mind -- John Mayall and the BluesBreakers
SweetHome Chicago -- The Blues Brothers

and you got great soup. Maybe the Blues Brothers are a stretch -- but what the heck. I shouldn't have any trouble making a great Robert Johnson CD.

Yeah, I followed her to the station with a suitcase in my hand
Well, it's hard to tell, it's hard to tell, but all true love's in vain
When the train come in the station I looked her in the eye
Well, the train come in the station I looked her in the eye
Well, I felt so sad and lonesome that I could not help but cry
When the train left the station, it had two lights on behind
Well, the blue light was my baby and the red light was my mind
All my love's in vain