The land of Bon Jovi and Atlantic City ... a joyful place to drive (insert sarcasm) where law prohibits a motor vehicle operator from pumping her/his own gasoline ... that little strip of a state that has harbored criminals (even given them jobs on their police forces) and bred a sub-race of Anglos whose every other word is "fuck" or some derivative thereof ... this mythical land named for an Old World place with far more beautiful scenery and much more class is now trying to live up to the butt of all the New Jersey jokes. In other words they're trying to actualize what the rest of us (outside NJ) may or may not rightfully think of them. The legislators of the fair state of New Jersey are dangerously close to passing a law forbidding the sale of bicycles equipped with quick release wheels in their state. It's hilarious, sadly hilarious. Why can't the taxpayers paying the salaries of these idiots request that they spend their time on some productive legislating? I'm not going to conjecture an answer.
All I have to say is that the case in New Jersey is absurd, but governments across the land and the American public in general suffer from a myopic condition whereby bicycles are all lumped together as toys in their narrow fields of view. And don't get me going on quick releases. "Lawyer lips" (the nubs molded onto either side of a fork dropout) are a big enough pain in the ass. They are already there to, in theory, keep the wheel from completely coming off the bike should someone not have the gumption to properly attach it. Now, if someone can't learn to operate the simple machine that is a cam-actuated bicycle hub skewer, maybe they should stick to sedentary sporting pursuits like Texas Hold'em or eating contests. Or perhaps consider attempting to hold their breath -- for a very, VERY long time. In fact, perhaps breath holding (with the aid of a plastic bag) should become the new state sport of New Jersey.
My pain meds are wearing off and I'm tired. You can read more about the madness here. Well, and here.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Mustard (Ren Fest 2007)
April scored free tickets to the Renaissance Festival for us, Angela and Eric. I had never been. April used to be a regular since this was her sort of thing growing up. I was pretty excited to go, too. (Not so secretly we're both closet geeks.) Three years ago when we got married we'd contemplated having our nuptials at the Ren Fest, complete with costumes. When we arrived the wind was attempting to blow my kilt, sans me, back to Minneapolis. Rain came in driving waves for the first hour or so. We huddled with the peasant masses beneath booth structures and shop awnings.There was a little something for everyone at the Festival -- from mass consumerism to salsa dancing. Lots of cool animals too. I enjoyed the animals at least as much as Sylvia did.
Elephants are just awesome. It was my sincere hope that they treat their elephants kindly at the Ren Fest.
Horns reminiscent of a bad 90s mtn bike bar design -- the "commuter bar."
Eric made a good point about camels -- they always carry themselves in such a proud, stately manner.
Here Angela test rides a state of the art mode of Renaissance transportation.
Then we got to meet "our" knight at the joust. I forgot his name. The four players really whacked the hell out of one another with real swords, but they were all just a bit too scripted and generally kind of lame. It was a half-step away from WWF action on Pay-per-view. His lady was cute and made up for some of the lameness, but B Rose had pegged the key to the Ren Fest when we stopped by CRC for drinks beforehand -- fake British accents. She had one and it was liltingly annoying like a bad nanny making you scrub your sibling's vomit off the floor.
Our green knight getting ready for action. The whole affair had a disgustingly sexist and misogynist ending. That's all you need to know.
If you venture to the Renaissance Festival and don't experience your inner pagan screaming to be let out you might want to check your vital signs. April and I got to daydream about how our yard will look when we eventually do own a home of our own.
This critter was something else. He tooled around the grounds with his companion trailing behind, mystifying crowds of people and parting from them loads of their cash. I got a good vibe from the turtle, like he was someone you could hang out and chat with over a hearty ale.
Daddy grabs a snack -- a Scotch egg with horseradish sauce. Yummy and Heart Healthy, too! Don't let the sausage layer fool you.
April befriends the dragon. No damsel in distress here.
It took me a while to realize that when they asked if I had any weapons at the gate, they might have meant something entirely different than a Glock.
This fellow is fully accoutred. I spied him while standing in line for the Queen's High Tea. The High Tea was a let down. Not only were we pointedly subjected to a myriad of bad British accents, but they had the nerve to tell us the only bevvies they had were lemonade and chamomile tea! A British tea, high tea with the Queen nonetheless, without proper black tea?! I was tempted to revolt and make all our peasant forebears rejoice in their graves. It was the last weekend of the festival and I'm sure the servers didn't give a damn that they were out of Lipton's. A pox on them!
Eric was kind enough to relieve me from pack duty for a while. Here Sylvia seems to be pointing out something we haven't seen yet. There was too much to see. Next year we'll plan to go a couple of weekends. I'm even considering a costume (an excuse to buy a real kilt). April is thrilled.
The booth was called "Vegetable Vengeance." The fellow acting as target was throwing out some of the best one-liners I have ever heard. Nacey should come along next time so we can take notes. This guy was good -- really good.
I've always believed the family that dresses like freaks together stays together. This scaly leather armor was not cheap I'm sure. Good thing the chap can get double, even triple, duty wearing it to biker rallies and fringe festivals along with some ass-out chaps.
Pickle vending proved a bit slow with the intermittent rain. The vendors exercised their creativity by mocking up bloody pickle battles.
April was happier after she broke down and got her palm reading. The news she delivered from the psychis had a lot to do with me. It sounds like I'm going to continue to be very busy for the next few years. Anyway, she celebrated with a turkey leg! I nursed the contents of my fancy new double capacity wooden beer mug.
The parting shot -- we stayed 'til the end -- ground littered with turkey shanks, Solo cups, and miscellaneous trinkets. Sadly, it sounds like the Renaissance Festival has lost its lease on this plot of land. I hope they relocate close by for next year.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Ketchup
Sitting around the house nursing a concussion and a deeply aching body. One moment I feel rested and ambitious. I do something as innocuous as go for a short walk and I am sapped, drained, dizzy and in pain. Blogging does not hurt and for the most part does not require too much cognition. Perhaps this is a good time to mention a couple of events not too distant on the horizon of history:
Beer Pilgrimage III: Saturday, Sept 22nd
The birthday girls are joined front and center by Sylvia.
A rare Tony sighting at the party.
Sylvia and I rocked the hammock as high as it would go.
Angela's birthday wish was to be burned at the stake. (Well, not really.)
Kate's wish was to relax and show off her sexy boots.
Beer Pilgrimage III: Saturday, Sept 22nd
A small group and an informal ride. I was watching Sylvia all day while April worked so we made it a casual trip with fewer riders and less emphasis on mass growler consumption. Guilty parties: Mark R, Seth N, Anthony K, Paul R, TJ, Sylvia and me. It was a beautiful day -- quintessential warm autumn weather.
Sylvia is ready to cruise away from CRC with the top down.
The southbound end of a northbound beer patrol headed up Victory Memorial Pkwy.
En route to the brewery Sylvia says, "Beer!" for the camera.
A small, yet spirited group departs Surly Brewing. BTW Since our trip, I have tried Surly Fest and I recommend you drink some of it, too.
Back to North Mississippi Regional Park to examine all manner of weekend-style riverfront culture. We contributed to the unique ambiance of the place.
A little slice of urban nature. Sylvia and I explored the river bank and even found a tent, recently occupied nestled in the trees.
Anthony has gotten quite good at the hands-free track stand. Seth, well, he perfected his trademark schtick long ago.
Most of our group engaged in a toast. It's not quite the same as Mom taking Sylvia to playgroup ... but Sylvia had a blast ...
... especially because she had my full attention!
I gave into the group pressure to stick around a while and stoke up a grill. One of Sylvia's favorite foods is bratwurst.
Our group split to head home our separate ways. Anthony led Mark, Sylvia and me right through downtown and Nicollet Mall where we got to dodge pedestrians and cops.
Sylvia slept the whole way back. It had been a busy day for a 2 year old. Not long afterward it was time to head to Kate's house for Kate and Angela's birthday celebration.
The birthday girls are joined front and center by Sylvia.A rare Tony sighting at the party.Sylvia and I rocked the hammock as high as it would go.Angela's birthday wish was to be burned at the stake. (Well, not really.)Kate's wish was to relax and show off her sexy boots.
Sylvia showed off her ability to fall happily asleep almost anywhere. And so ended another fun day for the Flecks.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Lights out
When really weird, sudden shit happens one quite often is left piecing it together after the fact. Such was the case last night. It was a regular commute home. Andy and I planned to stop off for some conversation over a coffee. Wrex and Johnny happened to be leaving at the same time. We all rode together alternately pushing the pace and making good time. Wrex peeled off to make a date for a ride to Matt's at 35th and Cedar with some other friends for a Jucy Lucy. The three of us kept riding toward Minnehaha Pkwy. At this point I knew Andy and I were heading to Bryant Ave and intended to go west on Minne to Lake Harriet. As we shouted goodbye to Johnny, Andy thought we were heading east. When I glanced back left (and was on an imminent crash course with Andy's rear wheel) I knew it was too late to avert disaster. The last thing I uttered was 'Uh oh' as I catapulted over the left side of my bike. I tucked for a roll and then I was out.
Apparently I was out for about 4 minutes. Andy and Johnny told me I had a seizure -- jerking arms and legs and frothing at the mouth. A bystander called 911. The sound of the siren woke me as the wagon pulled up to do the things that emergency personnel do so well. I don't think I have ever taken a ride in an ambulance. That all changed as they raced me toward HCMC trauma center in downtown Mpls. On the way they asked me ridiculously absurb questions, e.g. "Do you know where you live?" Of course I do, you dumbshits. But I couldn't remember my address and the more I tried the more it hurt like trying to neatly slide a knife into a belt sheath but instead repeatedly shoving it into your surrounding flesh and thinking somehow that's where it must belong.
At the hospital the biggest disappointment of the evening came as they told me they'd have to cut my new Dirt Rag wool jersey off of me. Before I could even argue the eager tech had mutilated it in jagged patterns a punk rocker couldn't emulate. A CT scan, 5 x-rays and multiple needle sticks later (including a fresh tetanus shot) I would be told I was basically okay. I was admitted around 7:30 and discharged at 11:30. My fear was that I'd re-herniate my C5/C6 disc injury from several years ago, but that didn't happen. I did however sustain a serious concussion. I also appear to have landed on my lumbar as the pain from that area and the already huge hematoma above my butt crack were the worst bodily complaints I had. I had escaped any lacerations or rash but still clocked my noggin pretty darned good.
Johnny and Andy ghost rode my bike home the remaining three miles. Now those are friends for you. When I got back and surveyed the damage I was expecting the worst. My bike looked basically untouched. My helmet however showed evidence of a pile driver into the pavement with the back of my skull. The stabilizer strap across the back base of the skull exploded and the helmet split right up the middle nearly to its halfway point. Helmet #2 for the year.
Today sucked. I got plenty of supportive calls from friends and a basket of flowers from Q. But all day I slept and hobbled around for snacks and slept some more. My brains felt like a consumme this morning; they're more like chowder this evening but I'm still addled. I couldn't remember the dial number for the Current radio station just 20 minutes ago. So a couple days off are in order. Let's hope my professors understand.
A stupid accident? Maybe. But to people who fancy themselves capable, seasoned riders aren't most accidents stupid? Wear a helmet, seriously. Maybe you are just the sort who never hits your head. Well, if you're able to retain perfect technique through every spill, more power to you. But chances are sooner or later physics will get the better of your ego and a caretaker might be wiping your ass for the rest of your life.
Apparently I was out for about 4 minutes. Andy and Johnny told me I had a seizure -- jerking arms and legs and frothing at the mouth. A bystander called 911. The sound of the siren woke me as the wagon pulled up to do the things that emergency personnel do so well. I don't think I have ever taken a ride in an ambulance. That all changed as they raced me toward HCMC trauma center in downtown Mpls. On the way they asked me ridiculously absurb questions, e.g. "Do you know where you live?" Of course I do, you dumbshits. But I couldn't remember my address and the more I tried the more it hurt like trying to neatly slide a knife into a belt sheath but instead repeatedly shoving it into your surrounding flesh and thinking somehow that's where it must belong.
At the hospital the biggest disappointment of the evening came as they told me they'd have to cut my new Dirt Rag wool jersey off of me. Before I could even argue the eager tech had mutilated it in jagged patterns a punk rocker couldn't emulate. A CT scan, 5 x-rays and multiple needle sticks later (including a fresh tetanus shot) I would be told I was basically okay. I was admitted around 7:30 and discharged at 11:30. My fear was that I'd re-herniate my C5/C6 disc injury from several years ago, but that didn't happen. I did however sustain a serious concussion. I also appear to have landed on my lumbar as the pain from that area and the already huge hematoma above my butt crack were the worst bodily complaints I had. I had escaped any lacerations or rash but still clocked my noggin pretty darned good.
Johnny and Andy ghost rode my bike home the remaining three miles. Now those are friends for you. When I got back and surveyed the damage I was expecting the worst. My bike looked basically untouched. My helmet however showed evidence of a pile driver into the pavement with the back of my skull. The stabilizer strap across the back base of the skull exploded and the helmet split right up the middle nearly to its halfway point. Helmet #2 for the year.
Today sucked. I got plenty of supportive calls from friends and a basket of flowers from Q. But all day I slept and hobbled around for snacks and slept some more. My brains felt like a consumme this morning; they're more like chowder this evening but I'm still addled. I couldn't remember the dial number for the Current radio station just 20 minutes ago. So a couple days off are in order. Let's hope my professors understand.
A stupid accident? Maybe. But to people who fancy themselves capable, seasoned riders aren't most accidents stupid? Wear a helmet, seriously. Maybe you are just the sort who never hits your head. Well, if you're able to retain perfect technique through every spill, more power to you. But chances are sooner or later physics will get the better of your ego and a caretaker might be wiping your ass for the rest of your life.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Forecast, Sept 30, 2007: Moderate to heavy cyclocross conditions all day.
We went and had ourselves a genuine 'cross experience today in Orono. After two presoaks and countless rinses, my kit is clean again. I had to hoark the neighbor's garden hose to spray off my steed. I'm still picking grit out of my eyes and ears. I thought Hurl's Slick 50 ride was muddy, but this cross race was amazing. The organizers let the A category go off first. That meant the A's got everything good and greasy for us. They were aided in their cause by Mother Nature who unleashed a moderate shower for most of the hour they were on the course. Once the A race was over I hit the course for one more warm-up lap. By the end of it I was already covered and my bike was caked in sweet, brown goo. Time to line up and get going.
My start was okay. I'm still trying to figure out my best combo of gearing, etc. A lap around the cinder track abruptly ended with a sharp muddy switchback onto a straightaway leading into a sand volleyball court. Hooray! I'm pretty good at riding sand, but it was deep. I rode it on my practice lap and exited the court with a drivetrain that sounded like it was full of gravel. I decided running it was the best option. A couple of long L's across a field led us into a chicane with two 180 degree turns into a set of barriers. On my third lap I thought I'd be smart and show off my stellar ability to ride my bike on the narrow strip of unmolested grass next to the fence and out of the mud. Great idea until my left brake hood caught the fence and down I went. Mud makes such a pleasant crash surface though. A short gravel/dirt road section led into the back side of the course where some of the best mud lay in waiting. One wicked 90, some S turns and a set of doubles were the icing on the mud pie. I did fine with handling but the mud made for fatiguing pedal strokes. Remounting from the doubles in the woods you spit back out on the road headed toward the start finish area. This was the part of the course where I felt I had no punch the entire race. I don't know if there was a wind or I was tired from the mud, but everytime I hit this open section of road I watched the riders I was chasing start to gain distance on me. Back into a field we endured another couple of short, extremely greasy hills. They were rideable most laps but I biffed a couple of times here from spinning out and watched more precious seconds slip away. Into the finish area was the last barrier and a classic run-up about 15 meters long. It was good and rutted and posed a worthy obstacle for many racers.
I ended the race feeling pretty good. But I was really pissed at my remounts and clip-ins. I botched and missed so many that I commented to Johnny on the ride home that single factor probably cost me a couple minutes and several places at the finish. (He rubbed it in by saying he didn't miss any remounts. Ass.) Maybe someday I will actually practice a little technique.
Lots of folks pay more than a $25 entry fee to get covered in mud. Here's the Fleckster at the finish -- 18th. Dave C took 14th.
While the A race was going on (and the heaviest showers were falling) I was hunkered under the tent at Camp Cory sponsored by Dave and Tom. This meant I missed out on photos of the A guys including my Hubster teammate Joel. I also did not get any shots of Paul since he and I both raced the B's. But there were lots of other interesting characters to photograph.
Two of the most dedicated 'cross fans you'll ever meet -- BLAR and Tom Cory. Thanks for the hand-up, Bill. And, Tom, your diplomatically delivered words of "inspiration" are always appreciated.
A little C race action courtesy of Ben Scherer (left) and Johnny Nebraska as they wade through the sea of mud on the final hill. Q Folks represent! For that matter, I should mention that Andrew Pierre took second in the B race, James Buddenbaum rocked in the B's again this week with a 4th, and Jason Prudhom won the C race.
Ben used his Green Lantern-like speed to pull ahead of Johnny and defy the meager abilities of my camera's shudder.
Johnny wouldn't roll over and die, however. Here he even manages to crack a smile while effortlessly besting this taller-than-average barrier.
I'm bestowing my "Spirit of the Race" Award on ATW Ray. He broke a derailleur hanger last week and couldn't race. This week he hung in there and slogged it out. In this photo he shows off his secret Michael Jordan tongue out technique for mastering the run-ups. The crowd was slim and not very spirited. I appreciated Ray allowing me to give him a push on the last lap -- audience participation Belgian style!
Unfortunately, Ray was picked off by this eager youngster who proved that you don't need a $3000 bike, or even a bike that fits, to race 'cross. The race series almost always incorporates kids' events and it is awesome to see these young racers get as fired up as the adults. The future of the sport is right here ...
Johnny K, my 18th place counterpart in the C division. He's already talking about moving up to B's. Go ahead, "Technique Man" -- let's see how good those remounts really are in a head to head Battle of the Johns.
Art.
BLAR (who manages to sneak into an amazing amount of my photos) enjoys the award ceremony with Paul, Ezra and Ezra's daughter. EZ raced the A's and then the B's too, winning the B race on his SS. He is our hope for SS Cross nationals coming up in Portland.
Johnny treated me to lunch at the Highland Grill(there can be only one) after the race. Carrie had just gotten off work and joined us. This photo reveals she obviously sees something in him, 'cause she's lookin' awful hard.
The legs of a champion. Johnny shows off his 'cross tan for the patrons of the grill.
The aftermath of another fine day of cyclocross. Do you even have to wonder why I love this sport so much?!
We went and had ourselves a genuine 'cross experience today in Orono. After two presoaks and countless rinses, my kit is clean again. I had to hoark the neighbor's garden hose to spray off my steed. I'm still picking grit out of my eyes and ears. I thought Hurl's Slick 50 ride was muddy, but this cross race was amazing. The organizers let the A category go off first. That meant the A's got everything good and greasy for us. They were aided in their cause by Mother Nature who unleashed a moderate shower for most of the hour they were on the course. Once the A race was over I hit the course for one more warm-up lap. By the end of it I was already covered and my bike was caked in sweet, brown goo. Time to line up and get going.My start was okay. I'm still trying to figure out my best combo of gearing, etc. A lap around the cinder track abruptly ended with a sharp muddy switchback onto a straightaway leading into a sand volleyball court. Hooray! I'm pretty good at riding sand, but it was deep. I rode it on my practice lap and exited the court with a drivetrain that sounded like it was full of gravel. I decided running it was the best option. A couple of long L's across a field led us into a chicane with two 180 degree turns into a set of barriers. On my third lap I thought I'd be smart and show off my stellar ability to ride my bike on the narrow strip of unmolested grass next to the fence and out of the mud. Great idea until my left brake hood caught the fence and down I went. Mud makes such a pleasant crash surface though. A short gravel/dirt road section led into the back side of the course where some of the best mud lay in waiting. One wicked 90, some S turns and a set of doubles were the icing on the mud pie. I did fine with handling but the mud made for fatiguing pedal strokes. Remounting from the doubles in the woods you spit back out on the road headed toward the start finish area. This was the part of the course where I felt I had no punch the entire race. I don't know if there was a wind or I was tired from the mud, but everytime I hit this open section of road I watched the riders I was chasing start to gain distance on me. Back into a field we endured another couple of short, extremely greasy hills. They were rideable most laps but I biffed a couple of times here from spinning out and watched more precious seconds slip away. Into the finish area was the last barrier and a classic run-up about 15 meters long. It was good and rutted and posed a worthy obstacle for many racers.
I ended the race feeling pretty good. But I was really pissed at my remounts and clip-ins. I botched and missed so many that I commented to Johnny on the ride home that single factor probably cost me a couple minutes and several places at the finish. (He rubbed it in by saying he didn't miss any remounts. Ass.) Maybe someday I will actually practice a little technique. Lots of folks pay more than a $25 entry fee to get covered in mud. Here's the Fleckster at the finish -- 18th. Dave C took 14th.While the A race was going on (and the heaviest showers were falling) I was hunkered under the tent at Camp Cory sponsored by Dave and Tom. This meant I missed out on photos of the A guys including my Hubster teammate Joel. I also did not get any shots of Paul since he and I both raced the B's. But there were lots of other interesting characters to photograph.
Two of the most dedicated 'cross fans you'll ever meet -- BLAR and Tom Cory. Thanks for the hand-up, Bill. And, Tom, your diplomatically delivered words of "inspiration" are always appreciated. A little C race action courtesy of Ben Scherer (left) and Johnny Nebraska as they wade through the sea of mud on the final hill. Q Folks represent! For that matter, I should mention that Andrew Pierre took second in the B race, James Buddenbaum rocked in the B's again this week with a 4th, and Jason Prudhom won the C race. Ben used his Green Lantern-like speed to pull ahead of Johnny and defy the meager abilities of my camera's shudder. Johnny wouldn't roll over and die, however. Here he even manages to crack a smile while effortlessly besting this taller-than-average barrier. I'm bestowing my "Spirit of the Race" Award on ATW Ray. He broke a derailleur hanger last week and couldn't race. This week he hung in there and slogged it out. In this photo he shows off his secret Michael Jordan tongue out technique for mastering the run-ups. The crowd was slim and not very spirited. I appreciated Ray allowing me to give him a push on the last lap -- audience participation Belgian style! Unfortunately, Ray was picked off by this eager youngster who proved that you don't need a $3000 bike, or even a bike that fits, to race 'cross. The race series almost always incorporates kids' events and it is awesome to see these young racers get as fired up as the adults. The future of the sport is right here ... Johnny K, my 18th place counterpart in the C division. He's already talking about moving up to B's. Go ahead, "Technique Man" -- let's see how good those remounts really are in a head to head Battle of the Johns. Art. BLAR (who manages to sneak into an amazing amount of my photos) enjoys the award ceremony with Paul, Ezra and Ezra's daughter. EZ raced the A's and then the B's too, winning the B race on his SS. He is our hope for SS Cross nationals coming up in Portland.
Johnny treated me to lunch at the Highland Grill(there can be only one) after the race. Carrie had just gotten off work and joined us. This photo reveals she obviously sees something in him, 'cause she's lookin' awful hard.
The legs of a champion. Johnny shows off his 'cross tan for the patrons of the grill.
The aftermath of another fine day of cyclocross. Do you even have to wonder why I love this sport so much?!
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