Three Fingered Frank

More Free Poop!!!

2009-02-16T18:42:00.004-07:00

Amy was driving and sent me this picture she took at the corner 7th Street and Glendale, near Sauce Pizza (yummy). Clearly, the Free Poop grafitti we witnessed in the park rest room was no singular event. There is a "Free Pooper" out there roaming our streets right now. What is his/her motivation? Is this a Free Poop movement? Are they stating that our society is constipated morally, or is intellectually coprolitic, and we must induce a spiritual laxative? Do they know of a robin (Turdus Migratorius)named Poop that is being unfairly caged and must be allowed to roam? I want to know!!!!

R.I.P. My Little Pinky

2009-01-27T17:38:00.003-07:00

Summer's sparkling leaves were just a memory as the three fingered hand walked alone on a cold January night. Cleveland, at 2:00am, is no place to be in winter. Especially when the wind and snow coming off the lake cuts through you like 277 volts of 3 phase power. The three shots of gin were not enough to lessen the despair the hand felt. In a moment of revolutionary esprit it had given the world the proverbial finger and the world had not given it back. The morning of January 16, 1991 had looked grand to the hand. A day which dawned with the luncheon promise, at the China Palace restaurant, of fresh jumbo prawns flown in from New York. Some call it fate, some call it bad luck, but the hand never made that lunch. And after January 27, 1991 its pinky would never be seen again......

Ode to a Pinky
In pinky heaven do you stand
singing pinky psalms?
Do you gaze upon this mortal hand
with too few fingers and slender palm?

It was 18 years ago today when Dr. Hand (no kidding) filleted my poor little finger. Happy anniversary little finger. I miss you so. I still get questioned about the truth on how I lost my little finger. To tell the truth, it has been such a long time and I have lied about it so much I have forgotten the true story. I can no longer vouch for the veracity of any tale concerning its disappearance. Some say it still haunts the halls of Cleveland Clinic, scratching the ears of unsuspecting researchers. Others claim it wanders the Southwestern desert searching for its lost hand and at night when the wind whistles through the trees you might hear its plaintive cry. I hear that its story is told around campfires to scare the young, "And all there was left was a bloody pinky hanging on the car..."

Ode to a Pinky Two

There is sweet joy in my memory
when my gaze does softly linger
upon the empty space
where dwelt my little finger

Why take such a morbid glee
at what is considered painful?
I would simply say to you
self-pity is not gainful

Yes, yes, I admit it freely
There are things sorely lacking
no more five fingered chords
since the surgeon went a-whacking

But as you can plainly see
its loss I do not rue
because the notoriety I have gained
is owed to a pinky, too.

Requiescat in Pace little buddy

February 1958 - January 1991

Don't Eat at joe's, Eat At Lupe's!!!

2009-01-25T18:48:00.003-07:00

Keir, Lee, Bjorn, and I went down and pre-rode the Old Pueblo 24 Hour course today. I haven't been riding and my expectations were very low. Wow, a great ride in great weather. I think it was the best I've ridden there in a couple of years even with my extra weight. Maybe the curse of Ohio Bob from a couple of years ago is gone.

The best part of the day was eating lunch at Lupe's at Oracle Junction. Huevos Rancheros, with vegetarian beans and a couple of Bohemias. It was as close to heaven as one could be. I know where my pre-race dinner is going to be and the post one as well.

Let the Pre-Race Taunting Begin

2009-01-23T20:46:00.008-07:00

I had oral surgery this week. The doctor had a hard time getting the sutures done. He said I had the toughest tongue he had ever seen. My tongue responded with what I can only say was a Tourette's moment. I hate it when I can't control my tongue.

At least my legs quickly recovered from the PF Chang's 1/2 marathon. I've only run once since before Thanksgiving and that was on X-Mas day so I was very slow. But, it turned out to not be hard at all ...much. But do I really want to hear High School cheerleaders encouraging us along the route? I really hate it when I can't control my tongue.

Now on to the 24 Hours of Old Pueblo. Cesar D has thrown down the gauntlet and has initiated a bet with Keir and I that he and Lee are going to do more laps than us. Nothing worse than a divorce between ex-teamates turning ugly. I say bring it on. Some words have been tossed back and forth to heighten the competitive spirit. I am normally above such childish behavior but the race for them will be a marathon of fear...a universe of pain. Nothing can stop Keir and I. We are invincible. We are Doom itself. Of course, we have to actually finish the race this time. Since Cesar stuck some whacko namd Bob the Knob with us in the 2007 24 OTOP we have been cursed in the following few 24 hour races with terrible bad luck. But this is a new year.

A New Movement?

2009-01-10T07:39:00.001-07:00

While on a bike ride with Amy over the weekend the following graffiti was found above the door of a North Phoenix's parks' restroom. It was the only graffiti on any wall and it was about 2 feet above the doorway.

Note the broad and confident strokes that form the letters. Also, the addition of the exclamation point. The fact that these words are the last thing the reader sees as he leaves the peace of the Sancto Sanctorum that is the restroom and re-enters the world is very meaningful. This is no simple, childish comment, my friends, but a powerful philosophical statement of man's relationship, and level of self identity, to the universe. Keirkegaard stated, "Poop is subjectivity." He felt the human condition is influenced most by the questions pertaining to an individual's spiritual relationship to poop and its existence.

Amy noted the existential tenor of the phrase. She felt the author was using the concept of poop to bring some sort of meaning to an absurd world. Sartre tackled this question in 1943 when he wrote L'Être et le Néant du Caca (Being and the Nothingness of Poop). Although it might be argued that he was influenced by the Phenomenological viewpoint of poop as proposed by Edmund Husserl in his 1901 treatise, Logische Untersuchungen der Scheißhaufen (Logical Investigations of Poop). Huserrl wished to free poop from conventional psychological structure and studied the effects of one's thoughts upon real poop or even the ideal poop as imagined in the subconscious. He attempted to objectively study poop through the subjective lens of our experiences. This led to the philosophical study of Phenemonopoopology.

Ludwig Wittgenstein, in the preface to Tractactus Logico-Faeces, say, "The whole sense of the poop might be summed up in the following words: what can be said about poop at all can be said clearly, and what we cannot talk about we must pass over in silence." He formulated his thoughts in a series of propositions, or poopositions as they were colloquially referred to. I am also told what was passed in silence was not easily forgotten.

I believe the writer is commenting on the question of determinism versus free-will in the nature of poop. One could argue that poop comes and goes as it wishes and it controls its own destiny. It has free-will, so to speak. But the very act of our knowing (if you consider our body as an outside observer in the body/poop relationship) then us having that knowledge actually determines the actions of the poop. It will go as determined by our knowledge and therefore, it is predestined to follow its path, though unconscious of any outside influence.

It might be Marxist in nature. Poop is the opiate of the masses.

It is meaningful that this cry of humanity is written above the door to be seen as we exit to the world. Are we, the viewer, the symbolic poop? Must we free our inner poopiness from the norm, from the conventions of an absurd and often meaningless world? To be poop in a world of roses. Would poop by any other name smell the same? Is it a sign of a new poop movement bringing Hope and Change?

I am going to continue to ponder the statement. I believe there are some interesting ideas that might be found from looking at this from a quantum mechanics viewpoint. But, I promise to keep all this to myself.

The Torch of Superiority Meets Its Match

2009-01-04T22:19:00.001-07:00

I hate confrontation, arguments, and the like with the moronic. My latest occurrence with this unpleasantness took place tonight as I tried to enjoy some cheese pizza from a "national chain". I like to put crushed red pepper on these slices because the added zip covers the blandness of the cut-rate ingredients. My taste buds and stomach usually thank me for this action. Last night, however, the pizza, being from a cheap delivery chain as I said earlier, felt I was disparaging its quality by the liberal addition of spiciness. It felt I showed no respect for it (it was New York style. It would have grabbed its "pepperoni" while talking but it had none to grab). My food therapist tells me that cheap pizzas, and food in general, from humble environs are usually a bit sensitive to commentary made regarding their taste worthiness. It has something to do with their self actualization. (I do agree with this assessment. Proof being in that the last time I lowered myself to drink a mainstream American "quality" lager from St Louis, I made disparaging remarks in comparison of its quality versus that of my normal libation from Belgium. It responded, as those from the lower classes often do when faced with superior verbal skills, by attacking me physically. In this case by spraying me with the contents of its container.)

Last night the first pizza slice engaged in a verbal battle with my stomach about class distinction and the intolerance of plebeian food products by hoity-toity organs. My stomach would have turned up its nose, if it had one, at the pathetic attempts of this cheesy product to justify its lack of taste, but a second slice soon joined the fray. At first my stomach, and myself, laughed at the obviousness of the tactics shown by the slices. When faced by an opponent of greater intellect, the masses usually resort to higher volume and more noise in an attempt to shout down the voices of reason. In order to, as my friend Chuck Dryden, would say, "To extinguish the Torch of Superiority."

I have to admit, though, the battle was lost when the third slice jumped in and pointed out that the very crushed red pepper seeds I was applying to it were of the lowest quality possible. At that point, my body's gag reflex kicked in and my stomach, in an extreme moment of panic, responded to the pizza with what I can only describe as a very low-brow riposte. Thankfully the Torch of Superiority had already been extinguished so damage was easily contained.

After a bit of reflection I can only conclude that I really hate it when my food disagrees with my stomach.

A 3 Fingered Christmas

2008-12-30T06:30:00.001-07:00

It was a great Christmas except for a sore elbow received while "bowling" on my grandson's Wii. I cannot be the only person who sees the irony in this. I long for the days of real bowling. The smell of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and ugly shoes. The thrill of trying to find a bowling ball that actually fit my hand and didn't weigh, seemingly, 200 lbs. *sigh* But now real activites are replaced by video game replicas. We're doomed. (I shouldn't complain, I can't hold a regular bowling ball now, anyway. I just wanted to whine.)

I did a quick Desert Classic, at South Mountain, ride on the Specialized after work on Christmas Eve. I guess I should have cleaned and lubed the bike after the 24 hour race in early November. It made a lot of noise. Or, maybe those were just squeals of protest caused my the weight of my massive mid-section. Small planets have been known to be drawn into it by its strong gravitational pull. I have, also, finally killed my rear Crossmax wheel. It is worn out after 5 hard years of use. Now I get to build those Chris King's I have been dreaming of. I have the hubs. Just need the rims.

My X-Mas present to myself was a nice 5k run in the cold rain Christmas morning. Fun, fun, fun!!! I at least "earned" the right to drink all the Hoegarden I wanted that afternoon. Well, three at least. I also needed the alcohol to dull the pain in my upper lip. While putting on my arm warmers my hand slipped and I smacked myself in the mouth. Not hard enough to see stars but enough to make my eyes water.

A buddy from Flag, Marc, came down to see his girls for Christmas and we ended up doing Desert Classic Sunday afternoon. For someone who doesn't ride as much as he wishes he could, he is super strong. I dreaded the ride a bit since I was forced to ride the single speed due to the other bike's wheel issues. I held my own, though, and actually put a bit of hurt to him. What a change. Last time I rode with him I coughed up a kidney. Oh, my lip was sore again. My hand slipped while I was putting on my arm warmers and...well you know the rest. Santayana said that those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. Who am I to argue? I'm doomed and I didn't even forget.

Well, on to 2009.....Will there be more 3 Fingered Moments? I'm doomed.

Joyeux Noel!!!

2008-12-25T07:22:00.004-07:00

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

El Greco:
Mantegna:

Fra Angelico:

Detail from Ghirlandaio:

Bruegel:

Caravaggio:

Joyeux Noel!!!

Another 3 Finger Moment and Other Stuff

2008-12-22T17:26:00.005-07:00

I went to the post office to mail a couple of letters and somehow found myself at the drive through book return at the library read to dump the letters. Fortunately I caught myself in time. I wish I could say that weighty matters caused me to make this mistake, but no, just a Three Fingered Moment.

I've heard some grief from male co-workers and friends about my last post that refers to a study showing French men require the largest condoms in Europe. These people say that the French lied, or exaggerated, the size of their, um, assets. I disagree. When I mentioned that the average size was claimed to be only six inches, almost invariably everyone replied with, "Well, that's a size Small here in the U.S. of A." Who's exaggerating now I ask?

The Colon and Rectal Center of Arizona has either the best or worst name ever for their website. Kolonokopelli.com. The logo is Kokopelli's cousin blowing into....well you just need to see it yourself. Kudos for their imagination. I am tempted to run away with this, but I am sure I would be told to just blow it out my @$$.

Here is a picture of the newest addition to the household, Stella Fitzgerald. She is an adoption and has quickly made herself the queen of the house, if not the globe.

I finally took my first run since being sick at Thanksgiving. The first 100 meters were smashing. The rest of the run was a complete suffer-fest. I am turning into a complete weenie. I better get cracking with the training. Keir signed us up for a Duo in February's 24 Hour of Old Pueblo. I stunk up both 24 hours I did this year and don't want that trend to continue.

It's Twue, It's Twue!!!

2008-12-04T19:52:00.000-07:00

Thanksgiving Day has come and passed and I have finally recovered from the past week's intestinal adventures. One news item which helped my recovery was a report from Reuters that stated The Institute for Condom Consultancy has found French men require the biggest condoms in Europe. This statement raises (no pun intended) no questions or surprise from me. My friends have always told me us French are the biggest pricks in the western world. I think they are just jealous.

Just In Time For The Holidays

2008-11-25T12:16:00.007-07:00

I got a bad case of food poisoning on Sunday. It's Tuesday and I am now up to eight pounds lost since Sunday night. But fortunately I am starting to feel a little better. I am trying to think of humorous things to say but I can't.

Why Cable TV?

2008-11-21T17:01:00.003-07:00

The cable TV box died and went to Digital Heaven. Its demise was preceded by its freezing of the screen every five seconds then coming back to life after 10 seconds and then repeating the cycle again. After trying a reboot, the cable box flatlined and a new one was necessary. The replacement works great but even with 180 cable stations the programming still sucks and I find myself always reading a good book for entertainment instead. (Does a Donald Duck comic qualify as high literature? Carl Barks' four-color covers from the '50s for Comics and Stories and Uncle Scrooge do qualify as high art, though. Look him up. But I digress) All this begs the question, why have TV at all?

A Tale of Two Races

2008-11-19T18:53:00.003-07:00

In the spirit of literary references here is a visual tale of two races.

It was truly the best of times and the worst of times...weather wise.

The Team Squid Pro Quo race headquarters in the February 2008 24 Hours of Old Pueblo:

The Team Squid Pro Quo compound in the November 2008 24 Hours of Fury:

Can it really be November? 87 Degrees? Oh, how we suffer.....

The Sound and the 24 Hours of Fury

2008-11-19T18:42:00.002-07:00

Mine is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and the 24 Hours of Fury, and our efforts resulted in nothing.

I have finally recovered from the 24 Hours of Fury put on by 4 Peaks Racing up at McDowell a week and a half ago. Team Squid Pro Quo had penciled this in as our prep race for the 24 Hours of Old Pueblo and we were pretty excited. On the same course four years ago, in the 24 Hours of Adreneline, we put in 23 laps farting around and figured being in better shape we could contend for at least a good placing.

The Squid Pro Quo Compound in about the most perfect racing weather imaginable:
I won't bore the reader with how we did, but I'll only say I got sick during the first lap, barely finished the second lap, slept for ten hours and never darkened the track with my presence again. Fortunately, I had three Warsteiner Dunkels in the cooler to soothe my fevered body Sunday morning (It turns out I had gotten an infection).

I had a feeling we were doomed when Keir called just before the noon start and said he couldn't show up (he traditionally always does the first lap). He had a work emergency arise just before the start of the race and wouldn't make his appearance until late afternoon where he did one lap and promptly disappeared again until Sunday morning. Cesar stepped up to the plate and attempted to give us a strong first lap, but two flats killed his effort.

Cesar at the start pulling away (Lee is across the way taking a picture of Cesar's "good side"):
Cesar and Lee carried the torch and kept us in the hunt for third to last place. But, alas, without Keir and I to spell them, we slipped into second to last place late Sunday morning despite their best efforts. I just stayed at the compound and moaned and complained to everyone.

I was reminded of Macbeth's soliloquy after the death of his wife. It seemed apropos with references to "the way to dusty death" etc... We strutted our way upon the stage for each hour that a lap took but in the end with all of our sound and fury, it signified nothing. But maybe I doth exaggerate. Next year we will be heard from again!

The Soulcraft ready for battle with the S-Works waiting in the wings behind:

At the end of the first lap. It took so much effort to smile I could not even suck my gut in:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

That about describes the race for me.

Does A Bell Ring Every Time A Pinkie Gets Its Wings?

2008-10-18T13:01:00.004-07:00

A news item that has been making the rounds the past few days involves a young football player at Mesa State College in Grand Junction, Colorado, named Trevor Wilke. It seems that Mr Wilke badly hurt his pinkie during a practice seesion and was told by doctors that it would require surgery and with four months of recovery, he was done for the season. AS a senior, this would effectively end his career. "No way,"said the brave Wilke. "I can't let the team down. Cut it off." So now I raise a toast to young Trevor who has joined the hallowed ranks of those with three fingered hands.

Rick Reilly, the famous sports writer, commented that Trevor's team mates now say "High Four!" when a good play is made. How cute. My grandson said the same thing to me when he was four years old . The best line in Reilly's piece was "Trevor only has one regret. The doctor didn't give him the finger. " My surgeon, Dr. Hand (no joke on his name), gave me the finger. That's when he caught me riding the motorcycle to a check up. Definitely verbotin.

Anyway, Mr. Trevor, I trust you will enjoy the life of the digitally challenged and though I am pleased you have joined our ranks, I hope you bring honor to your pinkie who now resides in Pinkie Valhalla.

O’ what does a finger think
upon the loss of a brethren digit?
Does its sorrows drown in a drink?
Does it worry or does it fidget?
Does it it cry “Oh the humanity”
And fret for its fingery sanity?

It might feel it is really fine
that another has gone a-missing
It might look around and opine
with a sniff, “I am not distressing”
Adding “I think we all agree
'Twasn't it good it was not me?”

Some say the remainder sing
A song of the missing pinkie
And what the future does bring
Be it good or be it kinky
I think they do intertwine
And all sing “Now we are nine”

One more thing, Mr. Wilke, as you look back upon this in the future, there is no smart way to lose a body part, but keep laughing about it.

Back In The Saddle Again

2008-10-12T19:32:00.004-07:00

Yesterday I went to Tucson for a niece's wedding reception and took advantage to bring the singlespeed along and visit the 50 Year Trail near Catalina. When I lived in Tucson and Oro Valley, I would ride this trail at least four times a week (since 1994) and it still remains one my favorite rides. But in the almost four years since I've moved to Phoenix, I have probably been on this trail only 5 times. Rain and erosion have taken their toll and places that I remember as sidewalk smooth are now rutted and bumpy. That's one of the things I love about mountain biking. Trails are living entities and they constantly evolve. So, each year brings new challenges to the same ride. Road rides are pretty much static and, usually, only the road surface changes and not always for the best. (As an example, I rode the TT bike down HWY 87 today, south of Chandler, and got a flat about 15 miles out, like I usually do on that section. The ride is always the same for people cycling that road, they see me standing on the shoulder with a look of extreme concentration as I am trying to figure out how to make my CO2 quick-fill work. I won't mention the CO2 cartridge taking off like a rocket and the dead rabbit since I do not have a hunting license. In fact, I look so stupid trying to fix a flat that everyone offers to do it for me even though the entire process takes me less than five minutes from flat to back on the road. I just have that "look". Tongue sticking half-way out. Narrowed eyes. Pointy head (The pointy head allows my helmet to sit at a rakish angle which gives me a touch of that "je ne sais quoi" air of suavity) And in a true Three Fingered Moment, I've forgotten where I was going with this aside. So let us return to the regularly scheduled crapola.

The parking lot at the end of Golder Ranch Road was, as is normal, pretty full. There were quite a few people riding on the lower trail out to the Chutes and I saw Dan, an old friend/neighbor. I see him every few years riding and we stopped and caught up for a while.

When I got to the Chutes, I decided to ride the long upper loop and quickly found out it was not as easy as it used to be. Let me rephrase that. it was never easy and had a couple of lung busting climbs, but I could ride the entire trail with, maybe, one dab. Of course, that was on a multi-geared bike. I discovered to my chagrin, and my knees' disappointment, that my singlespeed was not the best choice for the condition of the trail. I had to walk a few places I normally ride but, hey, that's part of the deal. I refuse to accept that my advancing age and weight have an affect on my riding capabilities.

It seemed that most people are avoiding this part of the upper loop. It used to be well ridden in, but yesterday I saw only two sets of tracks and that turned out to be one person who went up about a 1/4 mile then turned around. Too bad for them, it got better towards the top. A little rain just added to the fun.

I got to the fence line where the real joy, and challenge, begins and I just wimped out. So, I turned around and enjoyed the thrill of going down what I had just climbed. Except when both my pedals got jammed in the sides of a deep narrow cut in the trail and I almost went over the bars. I also left some skin from the side of my ankles in the same spot.

All in all, it was a excellent ride and I need to "come back home" more often.

The sun setting against Pusch Ridge. This view is one of the reasons I wish I hide never moved away.

Some Extra Trip Pics

2008-10-12T18:45:00.003-07:00

A friend asked me to post a few more photos from the trip.

The clock tower in Anduze. Anduze is also known as The Gateway to the Cevennes. It is about 22 miles from St Roman. The restaurant, La Place, has incredible pizza and salads. I think it's the best food in town.

Looking for a place to pee on the Col de Galibier.

A view of the high French Alps.

A street in Turin at dusk. I wish we had kept walking another 1/2 mile because we would have then found ourselves in the heart of old Torino. Which from the pictures I've seen is spectacular. We unfortunately only saw the more industrial parts of the city. Too bad. I need to go back. Just around the corner is a great restaurant we found called Mina's. The special of the day was fresh mushrooms grilled, fried, and raw with a little olive oil. That was proceeded by a small plate of Taglietelle with a light tomato sauce and washed down with a very nice local red wine. A very nice, hic, wine. I've never had the Piedmontese cuisine and wine before and was very impressed.

The Fiat office building at left. The old factory at right. I've had four Fiats and loved them. Maybe because I'm half Italian or I'm a fool.
The bank and post office in Wallgau, Germany with our rented turbo diesel Renault in the center of pic. I could go 750 miles on a tank of gas, averaging about 40 miles per gallon. Because Americans have better technology in our vehicles here, I get 21 mph and can get 400 miles on a tank with my personal car in Arizona. Hmmmmm. The cable going to the top of the Aiguille de Midi at Chamonix, France.
A couple of last thoughts about the trip. I did not have one bad meal the entire trip. This was a first. In every restaurant or cafe, the food was excellent. The weakest meal was in Oberaudorf, but it would still rate as four star quality here. Every beer and bottle of wine was top notch, too. This was a first for me. I usually have one or two food disasters in France each time I go there. These are the meals where the service or the food are not even up to Denny's standards of presentation, taste, and hospitality. And, though I groused about the Germans in Wallgau, in retrospect it could have just been an off night for the owner in combination with a barrage of flash photography from Arlette. I would go back to the Hotel Post in a heart beat.

Although the American style of fast food has invaded the shores of Europe and one finds McDo's, Burger King, the Colonel with his chicken, and awful cafeterias, there are plenty of smaller places where the food is top notch, the service is excellent, and the prices very reasonable. I love eating in small villages. We ate lunch in La Grave, a small French Alpen village, and spent quite a bit of time talking with the server would had lived her entire life in this one small village. We were not treated as customers but as old family who just stopped by for a quick visit. (The restaurant is La Meijette in La Grave. Order the Tartiflette). Wow, now I'm hungry. Time to call Papa John's Pizza.....yeah...right..

On to Paris and Home

2008-10-09T20:18:00.009-07:00

We woke up to beautiful weather as the village's church bell rang out 6:00am, its first ringing of the day. The bell rings out the hours every hour and at five minutes past from 6:00am to 10pm with a single gong on the half hour. It used to ring every hour for the entire day until one gentleman who had just moved into the village threatened to sue if it continued to ring at night. He could not sleep with the bell pounding in his ears. Most of the village wanted it left as it always had been but the threat of a suit made them reach a compromise of ringing until 10:00pm and starting again at 6:00am. His honor and sleep satisfied, the genteman proceeded to move out of the village within a year of moving in, but the bell still remains silent at night.

After a breakfast of bread, jam, and coffee (plus the end of some every good goat's cheese from the village of Le Pompidou just up the road) it was sadly time to leave and head down to Avignon and the TGV. At least Kelly was going to get a chance to sit in the front seat of the car for once this trip since she spent the entire drive in the back seat. Arlette says she gets car sick in the back and so always claims shotgun. I think she's pretty sneaky.

A last look at the front door of the house.

The village from the road to Col D'Exil. Just after I took this picture I stepped in a deep hole while walking and fell flat on my face. After removing the debris from my mouth (which is usually open) I found the grass in the Cevennes had a more earthy, yet pleasant taste, than the grass here in Chandler. The dirt is better tasting here, though.

The drive to Avignon was uneventful and I drove slower than usual enjoying the perfect weather and the unusual lack of traffic. I did not even make my normal coffee stop in St. Jean du Gard. In fact I drove so leisurely that we missed the train we had hoped to catch to Paris. But, no worries, another TGV was arriving and leaving within 90 minutes.

The TGV is an incredible train and riding it should be on every ones' list of things to do before dying. It fast, smooth, comfortable and, well, fast. It reaches speeds of 180mph on stretches of the track. It doesn't feel like you are moving at that speed until you fly by cars on the autoroute which are traveling at 80mph.
As the train travels up the Rhone valley you can see many hilltop villages and towns that border both the left and right banks of the river. Before the new high speed track was built for the TGV, it shared the normal track which the slower trains use (they only travel at 80-100mph). It passed through Montelimar, Valence, and the vineyards of Hermitage (my favorite wines). I prefer the old route, though it added over an hour of travel time because it was so much more scenic.

The church of Saint Michel de la Garde Adhémar from the TGV at 180 mph. This is one of my favorite Provencal Romanesque churches. It was constructed on the site of an existing chapel and dates from the second half of the twelfth century, though its bell tower was heavily reconstructed in the 19th century. It also contains a wonderful medieval wooden Madonna and Child in its presbytery.

Arrival at Gare de Lyon after 2 hours and 50 minutes of travel.

We took a cab from Gare de Lyon to a nice hotel in the LAtin Quarter across the street from the Cluny museum. It was such a gorgeous day we took off to Notre Dame, which was less than 1/2 mile away.

Notre Dame from the Pont Neuf.

Notre Dame from the Parvis.

As I was taking the preceding picture the bells began to ring for Sunday mass. It was awesome. We have been in the bell tower before as the bells were beginning to ring. They quickly move you out of the room as the big bell begins to swing (it takes awhile to get any moment. The ball on the clapper is larger than my quite sizable head). When you are standing on the landing outside as it rings, you feel the entire structure vibrating under your feet. It is an incredible feeling. I sure hope the gentleman who left St Roman does not live near here.

Statues flanking St Anne's Portal on the west facade.

We didn't have much time to hang out in the Latin Quarter or go to Montmartre so we found an Italian restaurant, chowed down and went to bed so we could catch an early flight back to Phoenix.

And thus ends a great trip. Well, there was the umbrella incident at security in London Heathrow, but that's a story for another time. I'll only say that it was not a 3 Fingered Moment on my part, but it had the potential to be so. And, I no longer have a nice yellow Tour de France umbrella.

Yay For The Last Day Driving

2008-10-07T13:02:00.014-07:00

Dinner at the Vieux Leysin was phenomenal. We were given a great table towards the back, next to the bar. Arlette wanted to get the local white wine to go with dinner which she said was called Fendant. She has never had it, which is a great surprise to me, but has always wanted to try it since she first read the Tintin adventure L'Affaire Tournesol (In English The Calculus Affair).

In this story Tintin, along with his boozing friend Captain Haddock, are visiting a scientist in Nyon, Switzerland and he offers them a bottle of local Fendant wine for their enjoyment. Haddock is quite the drinker and eagerly awaits a glass, but unfortunately each time the professor is going to open the bottle he goes off on a tangent and poor Haddock is left staring with ill disguised longing at the bottle. Before they can drink, there is an explosion and the house is destroyed. Haddock does get his wine in the end as he saves the bottle and drinks it as he is carried away on a stretcher. This happens to be Arlette's favorite scene in all the Tintin adventures and the opportunity to drink the same wine was too much to pass up. ( I can't believe I am actually talking about this) The woman behind the bar was listening to our conversation about the wine and joining Arlette, they laughed uproariously in describing the scene to each other. It turned out that she is also a huge Tintin fan. I know this scene very well myself since I love Tintin and his dog Milou is my cycling mojo. (I have a Milou decal on all my bikes but one mountain bike, which happens to be the one I crash the most...hmmm)

The woman explained to Arlette that they don't have Fendant since it comes from a completely different region (maybe 20 miles away. Fendant also happens to be the popular Swiss varietal and is called Chasselas in France). Anyway, she offered us an excellent Yvorne from Aigle Les Murailles down the road and it was very, very good. The meal at this restaurant was awesome and the vegetarian dishes were incredible.

The woman asked Arlette where she was from and Arlette responded with, "Lozere in France." The woman came back with, "What a coincidence. Your waitress is also from Lozere." The waitress, who was in her mid twenties, immediately adopted us and spent most of her evening ignoring other customers and talking to Arlette about home. Arlette got all the personal details, "Father is ex-mayor of Le Luc. Grandfather and grandmother own the Hotel-Restaurant de la Gare. Etc..." Arlette promised to go visit her family, the Coulons, next time she drives through Le Luc, which means she will make a special visit just to say hello. I did feel bad because there was a German couple that were dying to leave, but they were continually ignored by the staff who spent their time jawing with us. What can I say? The residents of some countries obviously recognize my family's inherent quality and so treat us as we deserve to be treated. So the poor Germans received what their compatriots had dished out to us the days previously. (It doesn't make it right, though......much....)

After the wine and a glass of Génépi (the official liquor of the Haute Savoie and Alps) the hike up the hill to the hotel was taxing. Poor Arlette had to stop a couple of times to catch her breath. This was a momentous occasion for me as this is the first time I have ever seen her show any weakness in walking as she usually walks at the same pace that she talks. In St Roman, she walks about 10 kilometers a day. I forget that she is 79 years old. I just hope I am in as good of shape as she is when I, hopefully, hit 79.

I woke up to sun above and clouds below:

Arlette at breakfast: "Are you trying to kill me by giving me straight orange juice? Where's the Vodka?"
The entrance to the Bel-Air hotel. Notice how unpretentious the name is by not having an "E" at the end of "Air."

We hit the road and headed to Martigny to catch the route to Chamonix, France. Right after Martigny we found La Cascade. The roar of the water was loud enough to be heard as one drove by with the windows up.

Almost to Chamonix and Mont Blanc looms ahead.

Arlette was adamant about about us taking the cable car up to the top of the Aiguille de Midi, a peak right next to Mont Blanc. It was quite a wait for a cable car, but was worth every moment. The cost for the ride up to the peak was very expensive. It was about $50 a person. The entire ride takes about 30 minutes and that includes one stop to switch cars. You climb about 9000 feet and the views are jaw dropping. It did get very crowded on the first gondola. The first stop is prime for para-sailing and these guys just force their way into the car with their giant packs. It does look like fun though.

I would prefer to be climbing like the guys in this picture:

Mont Blanc, another 3000 feet higher in altitude.

We skipped elevator ride that would take us up to the actual tip of the Aiguille (which means Needle) because our stomachs started to growl as it was nearing two o'clock in the afternoon and lunch was beckoning. We found a little restaurant nearby after we descended to Chamonix. Once again the food was excellent. This is the first trip to France that I have taken where every meal was memorable for all the right reasons. I enjoyed a Mont Blanc lager while Arlette chose a Leffe instead. She really prefers Bavarian brew over all others but I am getting her to appreciate the Belgian ales more and more.

After being verbally accosted by a bombastic neighboring diner for awhile (I think he was hitting on Arlette, really!), we headed, finally, towards St Roman which was still five hours away.

My final view of the French Alps before we hit Grenoble and the autoroute home.

The rest of the drive was in the dark and not much was said as we were totally fragged. We arrived at the house at 9:30pm and drank a celebratory Karmeliten beer which is brewed by monks and called Sturm Bio (Bio for Organic). It's awesome and is now my official second favorite brew after Duvel...and maybe Bohemia... We also had a very nice bottle of Cairanne Cotes de Rhone wine with cheese and olives and spent until midnight rehashing the entire trip. We were too tired to drink the Veuve Clicquot. That'll wait until next trip.

Tomorrow- The TGV to Paris.

And I Thought The French Were Snooty

2008-10-06T20:56:00.006-07:00

A quick back-step to the hotel in Oberaudorf:

Breakfast at the Lambacher, in Oberaudorf, was a silent affair except for Arlette's continuous conversation. She has one speed on speaking and that is at warp-speed. I feel that part of the reason behind her speaking so fast, and much, is that her mind works so quickly, one thought merges into another and another and another so she ends up with a lot to say. 99% of it is very interesting since she is so smart (not many people would point a town while passing by and comment, "on September 13, 1786 Goethe was arrested on suspicion of being a spy because he was caught sketching the castle." She is brilliant.

There were two other people there, Germans, who completely ignored us as we walked in. One of them, an attractive younger lady, was also sick and she and I played quite the duet with our sniffles, coughs and sneezes. The delicate interplay between us, as each sniffle was layered upon another, with the contrapunction of a cough or wheeze inserted where needed, was moving. Though, I am not sure the New York Philharmonic will be booking us soon. I do believe my nose raised the art of the French Horn to new levels.

And now back to the story in progress:

We left Salzburg (sadly) and headed to Wallgau, a small Bavarian town. Arlette was raving about the beauty of this town and the fact that there was a very well known hotel there that she had always wanted to stay at. We left the highway and soon were on a very beautiful, windy road. We still could not see the mountains because of the low clouds and rain, but the countryside was amazing. As we got closer to Wallgau, well marked bike paths and hiking trails started to appear along the road. I would love to come back and spend some time riding and hiking here.
We finally arrived in Wallgau and quickly found the hotel.

It was huge and obviously well known as amongst the pictures of previous guests was one of Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor. Arlette got the rooms as I got the bags from the car. The first thing Arlette told me was that she was sure it was a very good hotel since the woman at the reception desk was very snooty and if her nose had been any higher in the air it would have been impossible for her to look at Arlette. I should write a new travel guide that rates food and hotels with Nose-Ups instead of Thumbs-Ups. The Normandy Hotel in Paris would be a Four Nose-Up hotel.

I wasn't too worried about it, all I wanted was a beer and some food. It was quite a hike through the labyrinth of hallways to the rooms, which were amazing. We headed down to the restaurant for some chow and discovered that there were two restaurants and bars. One small bar was for the "hip" younger town's people and one restaurant was for the hotel's guests. Arlette quickly steered us to the other bar/restaurant which was filled with locals. We were politely stared at as we chose our table up and out of the way of the main floor, but no one greeted us as they did others (read German) that walked in. Arlette was thrilled with the decor and local color and started snapping photos immediately. I think some patrons thought there was a lightning storm from the amount of flashing that was going on. One gentleman walked in wearing Lederhosen and Arlette was finally in heaven. She took a couple of pictures of him before he noticed and he immediately walked to her and grabbed her camera. He looked at her and asked her (in German of course) if she was an idiot. He didn't realize that she is completely fluent in German. He then looked at me who looks as American as can be and turning back to her asked her if she spoke English. I knew something was wrong because her face went white then red (if it had gone blue she would have had the French flag) I started to get up but Arlette responded to him in German saying she just wanted to get a pic of him in the traditional costume. He then acted like he was just kidding with her and I got a picture of them together. We were treated correctly after that, but not warmly. The feeling we got is that we had not stayed in the guests' side of the eatery and had the gall (maybe I should say "the Gaul" since we're French) to enter their space. I will say a visiting German couple came in also and they were not treated much better. (in the hotel's defense, I walked into a bar in North Carolina where I was treated even worse so I will not say that it's just a Bavarian thing).

The beer (all two liters of it) was excellent and I felt much better towards my fellow man as we headed towards bed. My head cold even felt like it was going away. I slept well even though the couple next door had their TV blasting all night long and I could hear it through the wall.

The next morning dawned cold, cloudy and rainy, but the town and countryside were still extraordinary. Arlette got me up early for breakfast since she hadn't slept at all due to her neighbor's TV blasting very loudly all night long. She banged on the wall and door and the front desk tried calling the room but all to no avail. I could hear it loudly in the hallway. But for me, at least, all was right with the world. I figured that my attitude towards everyone last night was caused by being sick and tired. We were seated and once again, no one said good morning as we greeted everyone upon entering. The hostess asked us if we wanted coffee with breakfast and we said yes. Arlette then asked (in German) if she could have some warm milk for her coffee. The hostess stared at her for a second, then pointed to a small carafe of cream and then to a pitcher of cold milk, next to the cereal and said that is all there is. As we were eating, a German couple of guests walked in and were greeted by everyone warmly. The wife asked the hostess for some milk and received a pitcher of warm milk!!! I then noticed that all the German guests had warm milk for their coffee. I guess we were truly "untermenschen" in their eyes and undeserving of such small niceties. The one other non-German couple on the room was also ignored and had cold milk.

I noticed Lederhosen man hanging around in normal clothes and it turns out he is the owner of the hotel which has been in his family for over 350 years. That's pretty cool and deserving of mention even if he was a jerk to us. I checked out the town's website and this is what it says:
In our cosy village, you can experience old customs, traditions and Bavarian hospitality and above all, the local cuisine will pamper you in every possible way. Moreover, there are no limits concerning any sport activities in Wallgau. The fascinating countryside invites everybody to discover and conquer or simply enjoy it – in any case it is charming.
I have experienced Bavarian hospitality in Oberaudorf and in Wallgau and maybe it was the weather but the greetings were as warm as the outside air temperature. But, it is so beautiful there, I am willing to give it another chance.

As I was getting the bags and heading for the car, Arlette's neighbor left his room looking like he had had a very rough night of it. No wonder there was no response from him. He looked so hungover I felt sorry for him. I think his condition was an exeption to the house rules of imbibing, though. One thing that impressed me with the locals in their barroom was that they were drinking quite a bit, but they were never drunk or obnoxious. They were relaxed and enjoying each other's company and having a good time in a very convivial atmosphere. There's a lesson for us to be learned from them.

Local church with typical Bavarian onion dome:

High fashion at the Dirndl Boutique. Check out the nifty hats!

Arlette looking quite dashing in front of the Hotel. It's hard to imagine she is 79. She doesn't drink, or eat, much, but when she gets into a rhythm, she can put it away. Just ask my buddy Darrell as he and I found ourselves crawling out from under the table as she was opening another bottle of Cointreau....
We headed south towards Austria before cutting over to Switzerland and our next stop at Leysin. We had planned to stop at Garmisch but the weather was so bad we decided not to. Next time.

As we hit Austria the clouds started to go away and sunshine soon greeted us with warmer temperatures.
After cutting through Lichtenstein we stopped for lunch in the Swiss town of Bad Ragaz. We found a little Gasthaus that was amazing. Ultra modern and chic, but the food was incredible. The local beer was good too. I give this place Three Nose-Ups for the modern, hip atmosphere and the decent cuisine.
Bad Ragaz, Taxis in front of the train station (just kidding):

Somewhere in the Swiss Alps looking for Heidi:

As we got closer to Lake Geneva and Leysin the weather started to turn to crap again. We arrived in Leysin as it was getting dark and found the hotel. The proprietor greeted us like old family, showed us our rooms, and made reservations for us at a local restaurant. The restaurant was about a 3/4 of a mile away and was a little difficult to find. It was called the Vieux Leysin (The Old Leysin) and was in a four hundred year old wooden building. We were seated next to the bar with some Americans near by. Arlette went into her loud, in English, "Listen! They are American don't you think?" She is awesome.

To be continued:

Maseratis and Mozart Meet

2008-10-01T19:26:00.008-07:00

As we crossed the Brenner Pass and entered Austria, clouds soon obscured the mountain tops as in France. We were unable to see anything but the base of the mountains as we passed through Innsbruck. We had decided to go to a small town in Bavaria called Oberaudorf, about 40 miles from Salzburg, Austria. I was excited for the opportunity to drive on the German Autobahns which I believed had no speed limits. Alas, as soon as we crossed into Germany we were stopped by road work and the average speed was about 10 miles per hour. At this time it was raining hard enough to preclude any idea of traveling at a high rate of speed anyway. Fortunately there was an exit just a couple of kilometers up the road and I quickly got off the Autobahn. As I exited I noticed that there was a speed limit sign stating that the max speed for the freeway is 130 kilometers per hour, just the same as in France. Oh well, the European Union strikes again and another dream shattered.

Brenner Pass in sunshine.

Traffic jam and heavy rain at the German border

It was dusk at this time and with the low lying clouds and the rain, the road to Oberaudorf was surreal in its beauty. It wound up, down, and around small hills, through trees and fields, and small hamlets. The rain continued to fall as we arrived in Oberaudorf and the first sight that greeted us was an old Bavarian man, pushing an equally ancient bicycle, dressed in traditional leather knickers which were filthy. Arlette was in heaven and proudly pointed out this gentleman as proof that the Bavarians are the acme of western civilization. What crusty leather pants have to do with man’s ascendance from savagery I have no idea. But, Arlette is one of the most brilliant persons I have ever known, if not a little whacko (being whacko must be a genetic trait in my family so my kids and friends would tell me. Except my kids would say that it stops with me since they are obviously superior to me in every way. Punk kids.), so I will take her word for it.

We arrived as it was getting dark and tried to find a hotel with a couple of rooms. There was a typical hotel/restaurant next to the church in the center of town and we made that our first stop. We were disappointed to find out that all the rooms in the town were taken up by people from Munich. My guess is that they were escaping the madness of Oktoberfest. There was one hotel left that had rooms, but it was the one that the other hotels sneered at. It was actually quite nice and inexpensive. It just didn’t have the ambiance of the others. I think that the local distaste for our hotel was that it was plain, simple, and inexpensive compared to the others that were trying very hard to provide that real “Bavarian” experience that Arlette was looking so forward to. All I can say is “Viva la Revolucion!”

We ate at the Alpen Rose restaurant across the street from the hotel and the meal was okay but not spectacular. Arlette soon realized that she was the only person besides the server dressed in a Bavarian fashion. I feel a little bad for her because I think she is slowly realizing that her world is no longer in existence. She remembers things as they were before 1968 when social revolutions started to change the face of Europe. The typical greeting in Bavaria is “Grüße Gott” But aside from the hostess greeting us that way, the Germans we met entering any restaurant or place of business never said that to us (The one exception was a very old lady at a gas station who was definitely “old school”). Unlike in Austria, but I will get to that later.

The Alpen Rose with church behind.
Visitor's Bureau guaranteeing the true local experience. Notice the McDonalds sign.
The local bank
We left Oberaudorf to low lying clouds and rain and headed up the road to Salzburg, Austria.

I got into a fast driving line of cars that included a couple of seven series Beemers and one Maserati. I loved the fact that as we were heading to Salzburg, the birthplace of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, I was listening to a symphony from the exhaust of the Maserati. Italians may not be able to keep a government in place for more than 6 months and their cars have a reputation, in the US at least, of being suspect in reliability. But, they certainly put passion and a sense of beauty into all their creations. American cars have exhausts that are silent and blah or are brutal and try to overpower you with their “studliness.” The Maserati's exhaust note was mellow, yet powerful at low RPMs, but as the driver got on song with the throttle, the exhaust became this wonderful mix of speed, power, and desire for covering huge amounts of road quickly. *sigh*

But I digress. Pulling into the outskirts of Salzburg, I got stuck in some noontime traffic and noticing a small neighborhood Gasthaus at a stoplight, I made the executive decision to stop for lunch. Actually I held my breath until I turned blue, whined, cried, and sniveled until I got my way. As we walked into the restaurant/bar, it felt like we were in a Clint Eastwood movie. All conversation stopped, the piano player stopped playing (just kidding), and all heads turned and stared at us. Then, all at once, everyone smiled and exclaimed, “Grüße Gott”. The bartender seated us in a small side area where only one very old man was seated with a half liter of beer and some munchies (“schnibbles” as a friend would say) in front of him. He looked up and with a serious tone greeted us politely. As we ordered our meals and some decent local brew (Stiegl) I could tell he was trying to listen in on our conversation. But not in a nosy way, just through curiosity for strangers being in the pub, so to speak. After he finished his meal he stood up, grabbed his hat and coat, and asked us in German where we were from. Arlette responded in German that we were from France and Arizona. He then asked us in broken English if we knew Tucson, which he pronounced “Tuckson.” I answered that I was born in Tucson. At this point he stood up a little taller, slapped his chest proudly and loudly exclaimed, “I was prisoner of war near Tuckson.” It turned out that he had been in Rommel’s army in North Africa in 1943 working clearing mine fields when he was captured by Patton’s army. He then stayed in several camps throughout the US until 1946 as a POW. He said Arizona was the best place he had been interned and still had a piece of cotton saved as a memento of his time as a prisoner.

We drove to the city center, parked the car, and wandered in the rain for a while soaking in (no pun intended) the beauty of the city. We finally ended up at the house where Mozart was born but did not take the time to visit it since we had to get back to Germany and a little town where Arlette was raving about this hotel she had to stay in or her life would forever be incomplete.

Here's Arlette proving her street cred by flashing a gang sign in front of the house where Mozart lived.

Next time, “Wallgau. Where the inhabitants make the French look like St Francis of Assisi.”

Update from London Airport

2008-09-29T05:23:00.005-07:00

As I sit here in Heathrow Airport waiting for my flight home I thought I would take a couple of moments and put together some thoughts about the trip since this is the first time I have had a good internet connection in four days. I do not know how long I will be able to maintain writing this as I am limited by my computer’s batteries’ life and my bladder’s ability to hold the pint of bitter I just drank in O’Neill’s Pub. I apologize in advance for any disjointed flows in thought, but as my friends will attest, my thoughts do not ever travel in a straight line but wander to and fro like a dog sniffing at every bush and pole searching for the best spot to leave its mark. Hmmm. Maybe comparing my thought process to a urinating dog is not a great metaphor…Well; I’ll try to start from where I last left off.

We left Turin in sunshine and temperatures in the 70’s with the decision that we would try to hit Bavaria that night. The traffic was not too bad leaving the city, but it still took 30 minutes to get from the hotel to the Autostrada. I followed the traffic signs instead of listening to the GPS and that added a few minutes. Turin is not an unbeautiful city, but it is very industrial looking in many places. The young people here, however, are some of the most beautiful that I have ever seen. I heard that the Italian women were the most beautiful in the world (Sophia Loren…sigh) and I am now not inclined to disagree. But the men, too, were beautiful. I looked like a manatee in a sea of dolphins. But I felt better knowing that very few of them had the class and grace to sport a three fingered hand.

After I got onto the Autostrada I was hoping that I would enjoy the freedom to go what ever speed I desired. But, alas, the regulatory police of the European Union have decreed within their 10 Commandments of No Fun that “Thou shalt not pass beyond 130 kilometers per hour (80 mph) lest thou displease thy bureaucracy who is thy new god.” Fortunately, the Italians, who are the head priests of the Church of Bureaucracy, pay no attention to the rules and I knew I was going to have fun when I followed a UPS truck at over 95 mph.

After a couple of hours of driving we reached Verona and Lago Di Garda (a beautiful lake) and turned towards the Tyrol and the Brenner Pass which is the modern border between Italy and Austria. Arlette really wanted to stop at Riva del Garda which is at the northern end of Lago di Garda. To get there one drives through a small valley and then drops down a windy road into one of the most spectacular views possible. The cliffs of the mountains reach soar up from the lake. Absolutely stunning. Riva is a wonderful small town which has a running/cycling/walking path which follows the shoreline. I wish I had not forgotten my running shoes in St Roman. I also promised myself I would return to cycle the area. Riva is a cycling mecca and there were plenty of cyclists who had made their hadj to the area.

We ate outside at a small café overlooking the lake. The only disharmonious note to the lunch was the sound of a large group of German Harley riders leaving another café and Arlette complaining that she didn’t get mustard with her sausages and fries (I can't say which was louder). The café had only mayo or ketchup. Oh, the humanity! Quel scandale! Finally the waiter managed to dig up some mustard and quieted the loud, old lady wearing the strange Bavarian shirt and vest.

I will make an aside here and explain that Arlette was so excited to be going to Bavaria, which to her is the center of the universe, she wore some old Bavarian styled clothes that she bought in the fifties so she would fit in. In today’s era it looks a little weird. If she still had my grandfather’s lederhosen, I am sure she would have tried to convince me to wear them. Arlette also has a habit of talking loudly about whoever is sitting nearby and discussing their nationality. If they are American she will stop speaking French break out into English and exclaim loudly, “They are Americain?” She forgets that Americans will understand her perfectly. But she does the same for all nationalities. I do not know which the other people think is funnier, the crazy old lady in the puffy sleeved shirt under a red vest, or the three fingered guy who is as red as the vest.

After a decent lunch (I had risotto and mushrooms and a beer), we hit the road and headed back up towards the Brenner Pass and Austria. The town we planned to spend the night in, Oberaudorf, is in Germany but very close to the Austrian border and about 30 miles from Salzburg. I am very impressed with the Italian freeways. There was construction everywhere but we never dropped below 60 miles per hour. Everyone stayed in the right lanes unless to pass and so traffic flowed freely. I just wish all the schmucks who drive 75.5 mph in the left lane on I-10 south of Phoenix would follow this simple, yet effective rule. I took the picture below after slowing down (I was in a line of cars and work vans)!

As the road climbed up towards the Austrian border the traffic signs started to be in both Italian and German. This portion of Italy has been historically part of the Tyrol section of Austria and the town’s names are posted in both Italian and their original German version. As we climbed further up the road the high Alps appeared again. I thought the San Juan Mountains in southwest Colorado were spectacular and I also thought the nothing could match the northern Rockies in Montana and Idaho but I was wrong. Photos and films of the Alps do no justice to the beauty and awesomeness of these mountains.

When I was leaving Grenoble a few days ago, the Alps were covered by clouds and as we climbed past Bourg D’Oisans towards Briancon the mountain tops were covered, As the sun burnt away the low lying cloud cover and the actual peaks started show, I was nearly brought to tears by the beauty of these peaks (and also by the odor of Arletee’s old vest which may have never been washed since the time she bought it in the 50’s). They rise in almost shear faces from the valleys below and the roads cling to their sides.

Oops...they're calling the flight. I will finish this update later. Ciao.

What a Trip...

2008-09-28T13:48:00.006-07:00

I am finally in Paris getting ready to fly home tomorrow. I have not updated this blog since there has been no internet available for updates until tonight. I will update later with pics and a full description, including pictures with circles and arrows on the back of each one as soon as I get a chance, describing the thrills , chills, and 3 Fingered Moments of this trip. But, i have got to get something to eat....

But here are a few pics:

No wonder Italian men are happy; they have Happy Nuts.

The church in Oberaudorf, Bavaria.

Climbers heading up the Aiguille de Midi. About 12k in altitude.

A view of Chamonix, France from 12,000 feet up on the Aiguille de Midi, next to Mont Blanc.

Some Three Fingered Travel Advise

2008-09-23T22:07:00.002-07:00

Some travel advise from Francois Trois Doigts.... Never, ever buy suntan lotion that comes in a toothpaste like tube......But, hey, my teeth now have a nice, even tan.

When the Ego Landed it Went Splat

2008-09-23T12:57:00.017-07:00

Well, I woke up in Grenoble with a head cold. Since I have used all my PTO days it makes sense to get sick during vacation. So, I will not waste my time looking for new running shoes since I do not have the energy to run. I also have an Alpine drive ahead to get to Turin for the night so it makes sense not to push it. The fact that it is rainy, cold and gray does not help my whiney attitude. It was supposed to be sunny.

Leaving Grenoble:

We stopped in Bourg D'Oisans at 11:00 for something to drink to warm us up.

Searching for a warm drink at the Cafe de Paris:

Arlette took the Leffe Blonde and I the Leffe Brune.

Views along the road:

We took a short detour to climb up the Col de Galibier which is a very famous pass used in the Tour de France, including this year. It looked steep on TV but in reality it is even steeper. Over 12% grade in places.

Here are some sheep along the road. I understand they are bred to have one legs shorter on one side so they don't fall off the mountain.

At the summit:
A storm rolling in across the valley. It was about 42 DegF here. If you look closely you can see a car coming up the road we just climbed.

Welcome to Italy: 36 DegF and raining. Wha.......?

Of course, I had to hit Turin at rush hour......Not bad compared to Phoenix.

I found a hotel (constructed in the old Fiat factory) The Fiat test track is on the roof and was used in the original Italian Job movie. It is now used for the hotel's running path. If I had only remembered my shoes and weren't sick. Sigh. Not everything was smooth however, the room keys would not open the doors and the internet would not work. When I asked for a new key for Arlette, they promised to send one up right away. Two hours later we were still waiting. Hey, it's Italy. They did not care much that the internet didn't work either. But in a true Three Fingered Moment I decided I should have turned the comm port off and then back on. And "Voila," everything started working.

Si, era un momento dalle dita tre. Ciao!

The Ego Has Landed

2008-09-22T14:53:00.009-07:00

I arrived in France on Sunday on my semi-annual trip to visit my maternal homeland and my wonderful aunt, Arlette. I flew into Nice and then drove 95 kilometers to a small town called Draguignan to spend the night. I chose Draguignan for several reasons rather than spending the first night in Nice. Nice may be uber-hip and suave, but it sucks. And no amount of magnificent bare boobies on the beach is going to change that. Not that I ever looked. Needless to say I was a bit tired since I had been on the road almost 29 hours. The flights for once were uneventful and actually quite pleasant. No real disasters or adventures to speak of. Well, there was one Three Fingered Moment when my backpack's strap got caught on a seat handle while boarding and I almost went over backwards, feet in the air... You get the picture...

There was also the carry-on bag moment. I noticed one couple going through security at Sky Harbor with huge carry-on bags. Either the $15 fee for the bag check-in was too expensive or the wait at the baggage claim was too much to deal with but they were determined to get those bags on. I was wondering if flight personnel would prevent them and would enforce the gate check-in rule. So it was with great interest that I saw they were on my flight. His struggle to insert their bags into the storage bin was hilarious but he succeeded and fortunately did not prevent anyone else from storing their bags. So no harm, no foul, so to speak. They did hold us up in trying to pry the bags out upon arrival in Dallas. This was a pain because for some reason (TMI moment here) air travel makes my bladder go into overtime work mode. I was in the midst of performing a selection from Riverdance to the amusement of my fellow passengers when I noticed the wife was wearing an Obama for President button. Aha!!! Everything became clear as i realized that they had attempted and achieved the impossible dream because they had the "audacity to hope". Either that, or they were just plain rude and did not care a whit for their fellow travelers. I leave it up to you to make up your own mind as to which was the true motivation for their actions. The only drag during the trip was a layover of almost 5 hours in London but I found a great bookstore where I immediately bought three books. I had to leave quickly before I blew all my cash on books and over burdened my already overloaded backpack. Even though I wasn't hungry I still ordered a typical English vegetarian breakfast.

In retrospect it really doesn't look that good.

The drive from Draguignan to Saint Roman de Tousque, the small village of about 70 people in the Cevennes ( a mountainous area in the south-central part of the country) where my aunt lives was fun. I followed a group of Ferrais (proof I was near the Riviera) and a puke green Lamborghini on the highway for a while at almost 100mph. They must have had radar since they slowed down at the only speed trap.

Chasing a Ferrari at 100MPH while taking a picture:

I made a quick stop in a small town called Anduze for some of the best pizza around. Thin crust, and the perfect mix of sauce and cheese. After a liesurely repast of the pizza and a beer I drove the final 22 miles to St Roman.

Our house is the tall one.

I gave Arlette the obligatory hug, kiss, tears, and after a glass or two of champagne I casually asked her if she wanted to leave for Italy. It took her less than 15 seconds to say, "Yes!"

I normally relax and hang out and do not much of anything except eat and drink...eat and drink...eat and drink. (Of course, since I've become a vegetarian I have not had the opportunity to enjoy the absolutely fabulous local salami. But, the goat's cheese that is made in Le Pompidou, 12 kilometers up the road, is to die for and more than makes up for it. ) Within 30 minutes we were on our way to Grenoble so we'd have a good start to hitting the Alps before spending tomorrow night in Turin, Italy.

So, here I am in Grenoble on a Tuesday morning waiting for a sports store to open since I was in such a rush that I left my running shoes at the house. (I hate 3 Fingered moments). I also left my camera in the car so pictures will be uploaded in another post. Stay tuned for more.

The Ghost of Asshole Bob

2008-09-07T16:01:00.009-07:00

I was visited by a ghost from the past today on my ride back from swimming. The ghost of Asshole Bob arose from the depths of bad memories and shook his chains at me like Jacob Marley. Asshole Bob was a man of dubious distinction (hence the nickname) who would mysteriously appear at group rides and then as mysteriously disappear. His name was rumored to be Bob, though I do not know if anybody actually knew if this was true. The rectal reference was added during a discussion at a post-ride coffee stop. I cannot remember the exact conversation, but someone was grousing about some guy who showed up to the previous weekend's century ride and complained about lawyers for 3 hours . Three people at the same time said, "That sounds like Asshole Bob!" And then was born the legend and the myth of this mighty man.

A-Bob (The hip-hop version of his name) was never seen by anyone during normal rides but only at organized rides that had free food and support. He was strong enough to not be dropped by all but the best riders, but desperate enough for company to slowdown or stop with any group helplessly trying to escape him Preceded by the squeaking of his beat up Cannondale he would appear suddenly from behind, pass his victim and then make some sort of caustic comment like, "with a bike like that you should be going much faster. If I had that bike I would be with the front pack." He would then emit an aura of profond pity for the pitiful boob, slow down and give helpful hints and riding tips until the poor schmuck was ready to ride into a telephone pole just to end his misery.

On one very long ride he attached himself like a parasite to our group and could not be shaken. Soon he started to suck the life, joy, and comaradery of our small pack. Where we usually maintained a collective effort to protect the group we soon were accelerating in an effort to drop the weaker members of our herd in a hope that he would stop and feast on them. All to no avail. I thought I could escape by pretending to be weak since he had ignored all the others who had fallen back. But, I had been chosen to be his victim. When I faked a cardiac arrest he offered to do CPR and before he could so, lo, I was miraculously cured and caught back on to the pack. I then faked an asthma attack so I could drop back and get away. But he stopped and offered me some special spray that was sure to heal my wheezing and open up my lungs. One look at his giant, crusted nose and, lo, I was miraculously cured again and got back in the safety of the group. I stopped a third time and pretended I had cramps but he stopped and said he was a certified masseuse. I replied that they were menstrual in nature and got back on my bike and miserably limped to the finish, all emotions sucked out of me as he droned on and on and on and on about....I cannot continue...I am still scarred.

At least one person saw something good within @$$hole Bob (I dislike most hip-hop names so I will replace a portion of the letters in his name with symbols which will hopefully disguise the naughty word enough to get it past the censors and guardians of good taste) and let issue from her loins his progeny, a rather good looking young man who, unfortunately, did inherit some of his father's tendencies. These two were often witnessed at the only other gatherings where Bob was ever seen, the bicycle swap meet. The bicycle swap meet is a place were worn out bikes and components that have been jealously guarded for years in the Sancto Sanctorum of the spare parts bin are finally, though regretfully, allowed to be passed on to other acolytes who will jealously guard them until they are passed on yet again. The fact that most of these parts will never be used and are what one would generously call crap, does not matter.

The son showed up at my spot where I was regretfully parting with years of accumulated treasures (hey, my stuff was never crap) stops and grabbed his radio. "Galactic One to Galactic Leader. Galactic One to Galactic Leader. Mavic bottom bracket at dirty table on west side of parking lot. Repeat, Mavic bottom bracket located on west side." Two minutes later Bob sauntered up in baggy shorts, dirty t-shirt, and, what was and still is possibly, the ugliest ball cap ever produced on this planet. He put down his bucket of goodies, picked up said bottom bracket and sniffed at the price. "$10? I can get these all day long for $5. I'll give you $2 since that is all it is worth." Considering the bottom bracket was brand new and retailed for much, much more, I laughed and told him what he could do with his $2 and all the $5 dollar items he could buy. He sniffed again and disappeared into the crowd, followed by his son, never to be seen by me again. "A*****e", I muttered under my breath.

Imagine my surprise and dismay when after 12 years, as I was riding home from my swim lesson, the ghost of @$$hole Bob arose to haunt me once more. I was cruising along at a very moderate pace when an guy wearing a pro teams' jersey, shorts, and very tall white gym socks passed me. As he went by he did not content himself with only a muttered, "Good afternoon." Oh no, he had to add, "Hey, let me give you a tip. If you want to get faster you need to push yourself." As tired and fragged as my legs were I immediately responded with a quick acceleration. I caught him, passed him, and dropped him. I felt that I had to put to rest the ghost of @$$hole Bob forever. He tried to hang on but as he started to drop I slowed down just to give him hope then pulled away again. He refused to talk to me at the next red light and when it turned green I let him get ahead by a little bit. Again I pulled him in, passed him, let him get on my wheel for a few pedal strokes and then dropped him again. But just before I dropped him for good I said, "Hey, do you feel faster now?" My moment of triumph in excorcizing myself of the ghost of @$$hole Bob was short lived when I saw what his eyes were saying, "You think you're funny, you Three Fingered A*****e." At that moment I realised to my horror that I had become the very monster I hoped to destroy. I had become Bob.

In the future, if anyone like today's, ahem, gentleman ride by and make a snide comment, I will humbly, yet regretfully, make no retaliatory comments, gestures or take action. Now, is the ghost of Bob finally put to rest. Requiescat in pace, Bob.

Schrödinger's Pinkie

2008-08-30T09:32:00.002-07:00

A great work week. Next week will probably suck.... It's been one of those special weeks where everything has worked out well. Excluding my new eyeglasses breaking and losing one of my new contacts while swimming. But, besides those two minor incidents, smooth sailing.

I have had several inquiries from readers (okay, just my aunt asking three times) as to the true story about the loss of the pinkie. So in order to disabuse any false notions and to put all rumors to rest I now present the real tale; the veracity of which cannot be disproved.

It was a dark and stormy night (no, really, it was) in Cleveland, Ohio on that fateful date, January 16, 2001. I was wandering alone along the docks, my hands deep in my coat's pockets and its collar turned up against the wind and snow. It was as cold as the heart of the waitress I had met the night before. I thought the extra fifty buck tip I slipped her would provide the kind of entertainment that I read about in Penthouse, but all she wanted to do was talk.

"My name is Kat," she said. "Kat Schrödinger. I need your help. I think someone is trying to kill me. I found some hydrocyanic acid and a Geiger counter in my room. I need you to find out who it could be."

"Look, Doll Face, you're making as much sense as String Theory. Just tell me who you think it could be and give me my fifty bucks back," I replied.

With my fifty and a couple of new C notes keeping it company in my wallet, I found myself looking for Tony "The Nose" Luchelli. He was also known as "The Quantum Mechanic" because those who displeased him would feel pain down to the subatomic level.

That is how I found myself wandering in the dark on a snowy night in Cleveland following a guy who would appear in one place, disappear, and then be somewhere else instantly. After an hour of feeling the nether regions of my body turning into ice cubes I found myself standing outside a dive named "Causality".

A deep, gravelly voice behind me snarled, "Who are you and whatta you want?"

"I'm just an average guy doing his job," I answered. I turned and found myself face to face with Tony "The Nose" aka "The Quantum Mechanic." He was so fat he could bend light and his breath made the liverwurst on onion roll sandwich I had for lunch come back up. I added, "Followin' you was easy, real easy. I just played the odds."

"Used probability, eh? Well, pal, since you seem to be a sportin' man, lemme show you a little game we play wit' smart guys like you." With those words, his two goons, Erwin and Max, grabbed me from behind and dragged me into the back room of the bar. "Make sure he's comfortable," Tony said. That's when everything went black.

When I woke up, I found my right hand encased in a metal box. Tony and his sidekicks were standing there. Tony said, "Inside this box is a mousetrap with a spring strong enough to cut through a broom stick. Your little finger is strapped to that mousetrap. Holding the spring down is a piece of cheese. Also inside the box is a sedated mouse. The question is how long will the mouse stay asleep? And when it wakes up, how long will it take to eat the cheese? I know what you're thinkin', punk. Is your finger still there? Or, is it gone? Or, is it both at the same time? Well, to tell you the truth, in all the excitement I forgot. Why don't we open the box to find out?"

Everything went black again. And, when I woke up I was in the gutter grasping a bottle of bad gin in a paper bag. A cop was pushing me with the toe of his boot, "Go on, ya lousy three fingered bum. Get yerself home before I run ya in!"

And that is the true story of how I became Three Fingered Frank. I never saw Kat again, nor the 250 bucks that Tony lifted from my wallet.

Eye Caramba! New Glasses

2008-08-23T18:19:00.000-07:00

Pardon the cheesy pun in the title, but I got new eye glasses today. For most people that wouldn't be too exciting, but I am easily amused. I love eye exams. "Which is better? Number 1 or Number 2?" I always have a smart ass and infantile response on the tip of my tongue but have yet to say it. I still like to mess with them, though.

"Can you read the bottom line?"
"Sure. F, Z, 2, G, and I really like your shoes."
"Um...uh...okay..."

After they dilated my eyes I had to do the "push the button when you see a flash or flicker" test. I drove the poor girl crazy. Everytime the screen reset itself it would flicker and I would hit the button causing it to flicker again which meant I would click the button again. After a couple of minutes of this she took the clicker away and said, "I'll tell you when to start" She handed it back, but *flicker* and boom, I hit the button again. I was clicking the button as if I were in Jeopardy, "I'll take 3 Fingered Morons for $200, Alex."

All in all it is a fun exam. Especially as I get older my eyesight has been progressively getting better, though slowly. At this rate, if I live to be 150 years old, I could potentially get to 20/20.

Keir, Bjorn, and I hit McDowell this AM for a quickie ride before it got too hot. I still drank 70 ounces of water in an hour. Ooh Lah Lah. I miss Colorado. I was feeling lazy so I brushed the dust off the Specialized and left the Soulcraft at home. It didn't seem too upset to stay in the garage.

Bjorn looks a bit too happy. Which as the sign says, is the wrong way to pose for a mountain bike picture.

Keir is attempting the classic pose. A hint of a smile, mixed with a dash of a grimace, intense concentration, and a decent pretense of pushing it. For him just being on the bike was pushing it. He is recovering from food poisoning and he really gutted it out today. *Sniff* I am so proud.

I on the other hand, have no trouble "gutting" it out. I am trying to suck in my stomach but failing miserably. I am attempting the "I know the camera is there but I am studiously ignoring it while simultaneously accelerating up the hill because I am too cool" pose. Maybe if I was wearing my prom dress I could pull it off. But as you can see...........

I have been back from Southwestern Colorado for a few days and am really missing it. If I had the opportunity, or the intestinal fortitude (I have the "guts"), I would move to Dolores in a heartbeat. The people up there are about the friendliest I have ever met. definitely very welcoming and open. If you're ever up there, the Dolores River Brewery is a place to hang out and relax. The beer being good is just an added benefit. I do want to try out the German Beer Garden next time.

Headin' Home

2008-08-17T20:18:00.004-07:00

Mesa before Kayenta, Arizona.

Before Kayenta.

Lunch at Navajo national Monument.

Is a camping lunch a "lunch" without orange Pims?

A storm rolling in over the valley

Star Mangled Banner and Single Speed Heaven

2008-08-17T19:39:00.006-07:00

Finally, a good nights sleep. It took a bit of pounding on the ceiling of the room to get the people upstairs to keep their brood from constantly running around, but I finally rested in the arms of Morpheus (no, he was not wearing cool sunglasses and offering the choice between the Red and Blue pills). What was actually amazing was as soon as the people upstairs got quiet, the ladies in the room next door started singing the Star Bangled Banner, though "mangled" might be a closer approximation of their singing ability. But I give them an "A" for effort. They certainly put their hearts and souls into their stirring rendition of our national anthem.

I did meet one of them when I went to get my book out of the car. She asked me if I was from Louisiana. I said, "no" and asked her why she thought that. She replied it was because I was barefoot and only people from Louisiana went barefoot because a lot of them didn't have shoes. Guess where she was from? A hint: In the space of five minutes she mentioned okra, shrimp, gumbo, and the French Quarter. I had nightmares of her asking for beads. No, don't ask.......*shudder* But it is cool how different regions of the US have different habits and viewpoints.

I was reminded of the time I was working in Durham, North Carolina and my co-worker asked one of the electricians where a good place was to meet girls. The electrician replied, "The car wash is a good place to find girls." (this is not the word he used, I will not stoop so low). My buddy looked at me, paused, looked back at the electrician and said, "The car wash? What are they doing at the car wash?" The electrician's reply is one of the classics of all time. In a very slow southern drawl he answered, "Wah ya dumb f**king Yankee...Thar washin' thar cars!"

I know we Southwesterners must have our own regional idiosyncrasies that seem quaint, if not just weird, to visitors (like the German I chased around yesterday).

After such an enjoyable road ride yesterday, today I went back to the Boggy Draw trail system for some more single speed fun. The Soulcraft is made for this place. I added the Italian Canyon loop for some new fun.

This loop is not very hard but it does have, seemingly, twice the amount of climbing as Boggy Draw and two real steep short climbs. I made the first climb, but completely toasted my legs on it. I didn't even attempt the second one.

Here's the split from Maverick to Italian canyon. These trails are amazing. I was telling myself how confident I am riding with tubed tires here versus my normal tubeless ones. No cactus or super sharp rocks.

Here I am two minutes later down the trail. Stupid trail Ninjas.

Here is the Dolores River valley from Sam's Lookout.

And a view up Italian Canyon.
When I was done, I stopped by Sol Cycles in Dolores to chat and buy a couple of tubes. Then off to hike a bit and just hang out doing nothing. All in all not a bad day. Some hot soup and chili on the stove for lunch and woo hoo....

The Light at the End of the Tunnel is My White Shoes

2008-08-16T19:19:00.006-07:00

Not sleeping well two nights in a row left me in a whiny mood and a decent continental breakfast did nothing to improve it. But, vacation is still vacation and just hanging out relaxing before heading out for a ride put me back on track. Still, there was a bit of stress in deciding to choose between going back to Dolores to explore some more single track or do I suck it up and climb up Mesa Verde? Choices, choices.

Mesa Verde won out because I wanted a chance to wear my new road bike shoes. Just before leaving Phoenix I bought a new pair of Specialized shoes. I had just replaced my older Sidi's with a pair of Northwave. But they just didn't fit me well, and since I am very picky about what's on my feet I kept looking for replacements. I was tempted by the Specialized's fit, weight and features. Actually, I dazzled by them because they are white. Even if I am slow I still want to look good. I embarrassed to admit that I chose a killer ride just to wear new shoes.

It was fairly windy at the bottom (maybe it was my windy bottom) and the first 4 miles sucked. It was hot, but the tears of pain falling from my eyes kept me cool as they evaporated. I find it interesting that climbing starts off as a miserable experience until the legs and lungs start to find their rhythm.

I had found my rhythm when I reached the unlit tunnel , about 5 miles up the road. At the entrance I had to toss a tidbit to Cerebus. the three headed dog, who was guarding it. It was as if I was entering Hades. Most of the way through I could not see the road surface at all and kept praying that there would not be a pothole in my line. You can't see the road and can only aim for the, I'm not kidding, light at the end of the tunnel. I was lucky that no car or Winnebago came through as I was in it otherwise that light might have had a different meaning.

I stopped at one lookout to take pictures (and find my rhythm which had fallen off somewhere after the tunnel) where I met a great German family. They took a picture of me trying to look like I am not ready to throw up. I also pumped my legs to make them look extra muscular, but they still look like sausages. And, check out those fancy white shoes! Pure sweetness.

After chatting with the father for a while he seemed to want to get away. I am not sure if it was the bugs in my teeth or if I had body odor. But, I kept chasing him down to have an excuse to stay where I was. When I asked where they were from he said they were from southwest Germany, but he got a nervous look in his eyes and changed it to Norway. I think he thought I was going to follow them.

The ride back down the hill was great. It's what makes all the climbing worth it. I love keeping up with all the traffic, especially when the speed limit is 45MPH. The tunnel was, once again, a scary adventure. I just closed my eyes and held on (hey, I already couldn't see).

After the ride I decided to do the Durango, Silverton. Telluride, Dolores, Cortez loop in the car. Just as I left Mesa Verde I found these Anasazi pots on the side of the road. I didn't realize how large the Anasazi must of been. Check out the ladder leaning against the largest pot.

I took my first stop for some lunch at Coal Creek Pass. Here is a pic of the flowers at over 10,000 feet in altitude. It was perfect. Even though there were a lot of people stopping for the view and the bathrooms, it was still quiet enough to hear the wind through the trees. Well, it was quiet until an old man sitting in the car next to me started to cough and hack his lungs out. This was as I was trying to eat my chili in peace. I almost lost my appetite. He must have sucked a lot of air into his stomach while coughing because he immediately started to belch with a resonance that would make a fog horn proud. With apologies to the Bard, "Who would have thought the old man had so much air in him?"

Downtown Silverton. A happenin' place. I bought a postcard for Arlette and mailed it to her. I hope my poor attempt at French is comprehensible. I've been calling her in France everyday to describe where I am and have been. She's living the trip vicariously. It's a lot of fun to hear how much she is enjoying my trip. Silverton reminded me a Gallup in the sense that all the stores cater to tourism and sell the same style cheesy t-shirts and keepsakes. But, if it pays the rent, I am for it.

Mountains by Telluride.

The drive out of Telluride was a lot of fun. A Mini Cooper wanted to play a bit so I obliged him. But I think he was discouraged to see a car with two bikes on it catching up to him in every corner. Especially when the driver had his arm hanging out the window. He finally gave up, pulled over and let me by. I am not the competitive type (just ask my friends) so I derived no pleasure from crushing his spirit like a grape.

A perfect day ended with another veggie sandwich at the Dolores River Brewing Company. Of course, it was washed down with two pints of their ESB.

A Mini Adventure

2008-08-14T18:48:00.012-07:00

I decided at the last minute to take a mini vacation (huzzah). For some reason, the thought of throwing the singlespeed and a road bike on the roof of the car and taking off for a few days to ride and camp in the southwestern corner of Colorado seemed like a good idea. And, now that I am in the first quarter of said trip, it still does.

I made no set agenda; places to go or times to go, but just decided to follow whatever my feelings were at the moment. I guess I didn't want my brain to overload with such heavy decisions as, "where do I take my first pee break?" Looking at the maps ( I love maps, but that is another blog) I finally decided (loosely) to head towards Gallup, New Mexico and spend a morning riding the Soulcraft there on the local trails. Afterwards, I would mosey on up to Cortez and spend another day riding the trails there before tackling Mesa Verde, with the Pegoretti, the third day. The fourth and final day would be spent on the proverbial "40 years in the desert" trek back to Chandler.

I left Wedneday from work, ate Himalayan in Flag, and planned to spend the night in Holbrook. However, in a bit a bravura (or foolishness depending upon your point of view) I pushed on to Gallup arriving at midnight. All the cheap motels were filled and I finally decided to stop at a Days Inn. What could go wrong? Thye are a national chain usually known for their quality. Well, to make a long story short, sleeping on the floor of a rest area bathroom with a posse of chain smoking janitorial staff would have been more comfortable. Not an auspicious start to the trip.

But the morning dawned with a new hope and I set off looking for a typical Gallup greasy spoon for true Route 66 cuisine to power the motor for some good riding. I ended up at Don Diegos and it was a pleasant surprise. I made a couple observations while dining. The first is that no matter where I am travelling, I will order the absolute most dangerous meal before departing. 150 miles of open prairie without a bathroom? No problem! "Give me the Huevos Rancheros with green chile and extra jalapenos. Oh, and the Habanero Tabasco on the side." I will say they were amongst the best I've ever eaten and that the Mexican food in New Mexico is better than in Arizona. Yes, I know I am treading on dangerous ground.

The second observation was that rednecks are rednecks no matter what or where their origin. I will not repeat the conversation ( it was offensive and stupid with plenty of "hyuk, hyuk"s) but I do believe that if there is one thing worse than a redneck with a gun, it is a redneck that is computer literate. Some of the emails I receive (and delete) are proof of that.

I digress. I decided at the last minute to proceed as quickly as possible to Cortez and to hit the riding in Gallup on the way back. Highway 491 on the way to Farmington is one of my favorite stretches of road anywhere. It must be proof that I am easily amused.

This was the view I had during my first "pee" stop. Uh oh, too much information!!!

I made it to Cortez and stopped at Kokopelli Bike and Board to buy a trail map and find some nice local places to ride. These guys are great. I wish I had gotten their names. They gave me all the hot places to ride and which trails were best suitable for a fat old man on a singlespeed, etc.. But they never once looked down their noses at me. I highly recommend visiting this shop and shelling out the 15 bucks for the map. It is worth it. As an added bonus, they recommended the Dolores River Brewing Company for an "apres promenade" recovery meal.

Because my legs were a bit stiff from all the driving, I decided to take the easy 9 mile Boggy Draw ride outside of Dolores (about 14 miles north of Cortez). It was easy except for the 7500 foot elevation's affect on my lowland lungs. Plus, my legs were very stiff from driving. I will say as technically easy as this trail is, it now ranks amongst my favorites. I ended up riding the loop twice. It rained, there was sunshine, trees, ferns, water, frolicking naked amongst the pines with the forest creatures, etc... Absolutely beautiful! I am joking about frolicking naked, though. The world doesn't need or want another Sasquatch story. Especially one with a newly discovered midget variety.

I took the shop's advise and stopped at the brewery for a beer after the ride. I ended up having too many but it was worth it. The friendliest people in the world must live in Dolores, Colorado. I was treated like a long, lost friend. Of course, it might be because as a benefit of purchasing a Mug Club membership for my aunt Arlette. I received a 1/2 gallon growler of beer which I shared amongst all my new friends. And, the more we drank, the friendlier we became. YEp, it was a family reunion by the time I left. We sang, we danced, we frolicked naked with the forest creatures adn there were many sighting of a new tribe of Sasquatches.

For the "real food" portion of the visit, I ordered their Portobello mushroom sandwich. It was like none that I have ever eaten. Instead of being served like a hamburger, the mushrooms were chopped and mixed with onions, red & green peppers and cheese on a Hoagie bun. (The girl who made it was a vegetarian so she understood what we like). I give it Five Pinkies because it was a true Five Pinkie experience.

I decided after all this fun tht instead of camping, I would shell out the shekels for a motel room in Cortez. I decided not to stay in Dolores because I liked the brewery too much and down the street was a German Beer Garden. The potential for stupidity was too close for comfort. Unfortunately, as in Gallup all the inexpensive motels were full. My bladder at the bursting point, I took the last single room at a Best Western. I won't say the price, but I will need to camp out for the next couple of nights to make up for it.

Hallejujah!!! I walked in and discovered that the room is a suite. And, as a bonus it has a hot tub in the bedroom. So I will cut this off now while I soak my weary body in the waters of Elysium.

Ciao

As an afterthought, beware the trail Ninjas lest they attack your tires!!!

Weekly Update

2008-08-10T20:53:00.006-07:00

A lot has happened since I last logged on. An old friend found me through this blog and we are going to meet and have a few beers soon. He'll need them to recover from what he has suffered reading this swill.

It was a week of firsts. I worked in Northern Arizona this week and had a chance to take a nice ride along Lake Mary Road. It was the first time I have ever ridden it where the wind was not blowing. The temp was around 65 DegF. Absolute perfection. An added bonus was that I got my flat tire upon arrival back to the car.

The next first (the second first?) was my first over the bars mountain bike crash in quite a few years. I'd like to think the lack of falls was from superior bike handling rather than an age induced lack of speed. Fortunately there was just enough blood drawn to make the crash worth while. Another scar to adorn the body. Some people collect tattoos. I collect scars.

I won't bore the world with tales of visiting the detention center in the Hopi Nation (it was for work) but suffice it to say that it was an interesting day. Stopped and took some pics of the typical Arizona tourist stop along I-40 on the way to Polacca.

A True Unadulterated 3 Fingered Moment

2008-08-04T21:48:00.003-07:00

Wow!!! A true Three Fingered Moment. I won't mention who this happened to, I must protect the guilty, but a valuable lesson was learned by a certain (you know who you are) person on Thursday night.

Never, ever keep a cell phone in your pocket that might accidently speed dial someone while orally composing a pornographic novel. It just might be recorded in all its *ahem* glory on their voicemail. And if this does happen, pray that it is not a female friend that receives said erotic saga on her voicemail. The only thing that can make it worse is if her voice mail times out and your phone dials her again thereby leaving a continuation of the previous train of thought.

If this ever happens to you, you must hope she has a good sense of humor or you might be visited by badged personnel in the middle of the night.

What is this sick, sick world coming to? I understand the story had something about teenaged, hitchhiking nuns in it, but my sources are vague as to the veracity of this rumor.

Local Color

2008-08-02T20:14:00.004-07:00

I got up early to meet the group at South Mountain for a ride on the Desert Classic. I started off riding well but it didn't last. I turned around early from fatigue and a queasy stomach and came back to the casa to hydrate and rest up. Keir was kind enough to escort my wimpy self back to the car. Or, at least, to use me as an excuse to turn around. I believe a long work week and two days of poor nutrition took its toll. Plus, I have been getting tired following the adventures of Amy and Anna this week (so maybe it's their fault).

Amy owns AEC Reprograhics in Flagstaff and does all of my copies and prints for my projects up there. Always fast and excellent service (yes, this is an unashamed plug). This week she is preparing to open a new gallery/store on Leroux in downtown Flag called Local Color between Route 66 and Aspen. The doors should be opening in early September. Be sure to check it out. It gets Five Pinkies (no stars here). All this in addition to training daily for triathlons, running a business, and doing a complete restoration of a house by herself. I get tired just thinking about everything she does.

And, speaking of "local color", Anna is at the annual American Historical Society for Germans from Russia gathering in Casper, Wyoming. She has been updating her blog at Value Meals on the Volga daily and I have been enjoying reading her descriptions of the local interests. You can find her blog at http://valuemeals.blogspot.com/. (yes, more shameless pandering). Anna works full time, is an author, editor, president of the local AHSGR chapter, and more. Her blog also receives the coveted Five Pinkies rating. I don't want to be around when her adrenalin runs out.

All this begs the question, where do they get the energy? Well, in true Three Fingered fashion, I hereby volunteer to give all my energy to them. Yes, I will step up and place the onus of "kicking back" upon my broad shoulders. It a tough job but I am willing to do it. For them and for the nation.

It Was The Best Wednesday, Ever!!!

2008-08-01T16:01:00.003-07:00

I screamed to the world that this was the best Wednesday ever.

Unfortunately, it was Thursday.

I think everybody needs a pair of these!

I Can't Walk Tall But It's Still A Long Way Down

2008-07-29T18:43:00.003-07:00

I had an epiphany today, a stupid one, but an epiphany all the same. Since I am short by American standards (5' 7") I cannot really ever "walk tall", even when I strut with shoulders back (my little tough man walk). If my name was Buford and I had a baseball bat, I'd still not be walking tall.

The old saw, "the bigger they are, the harder they fall", brings me scant comfort. Yes, I realize that being height challenged means it is easier for me to fall, but it also means it should hurt less when I hit the ground. I am here to categorically state that it's not true. It hurts like hell when I hit the ground.

Let me list some examples (for brevity's sake I will skip all the motorcycle crashes) They will be rated on a Loss of Blood Scale of 1-10 (LOB) and a Level of Pain Scale of 1-10 (LOP):
1) Oracle Ridge Trail in 1999 with Mike Jones. He fell in a very technical section. I tried to show him the correct line and crashed even harder than he did (He was pleased). LOB=5, LOP=8
2) Yetman Wash Trail in 1996: Face plant showing Curtis how old fat men can ride. LOB=7, LOP =8 (I got bonus pints for having a bratwurst for an upper lip and making faces at people through the Emergency Room window. "Look at that poor retarded man")
3) Charaleau Gap in 1996: Slow speed fall that shook the mountain. LOB=0, LOP=8.5
4) 24 hour of Old Pueblo course in 2005: Caught a pedal on a rock at full sprint. LOB=5, LOP=9.5. (Bonus points for bruises, cuts and scrapes on front, back and inside of legs and arms. Plus one additional point for losing rectal control when I hit the ground)
5) Upper 50 Year Trail in 2003. Fell and slid down sandstone rock into a gully. Slow speed but I watched the rock peel the skin off my leg as I slowly slid down the hill. LOB=8, LOP=9.5. (Bonus points for Will saying "nice" as he surveyed my damaged leg.)
6) December 15, 2007. 11:00pm approximately. Challenged by Darrell to a foot race after imbibing way too much beer and bourbon. All I remember is I was catching him when my upper body started moving at a much higher speed than my feet. I tried to save it but I couldn't. It registered at least 3.6 on the Richter Scale when I hit the ground in a pile of asphalt gravel. It was the triple crown of falls. Both hands, both knees, both arms and elbows, the nose and forehead were bloodied. LOB=8, LOP=0 (remember, I was hammered, plus I still kicked Dave's butt in a race immediately after).

These are just a few of the many painful moments experienced while not "walking tall". In looking back I have to admit that I have fallen quite a bit riding, but in my defense I only needed stitches three times. In conclusion, it doesn't matter if you walk tall or walk small, it still hurts when you fall.

I was listening to Simon and Garfunkle today. Is there a better song than The Only Living Boy in New York? Best line, "I get all the news I need on the weather report."

Speedy One Day, Sluggo the Next

2008-07-28T18:56:00.002-07:00

You know you are having a 3 Fingered moment when you pass a Highway Patrolman doing 72mph in a 55mph zone and don't even see him. Fortunately, he saw the humor in the situation and let me off with a warning. (Maybe it was the hint of cleavage I gave him). I am actually glad he stopped me. If I am so preoccupied that I speed by a police officer, I deserve the ticket. If not for breaking the posted speed limit, at least for being a moron.

I did the final Picacho Peak 20k TT of the season yesterday. Don Mehado and crew really put on a great event. I was satisfied with my performance. I cut 2 minutes/20 secs from my last effort and didn't even put out a 100% effort since I was saving myself for the afternoon swim lesson. Even so, I still got smoked by the majority of riders there, but the time difference from last race shrank. Next year, on to the 40k event.

The Joys of Swimming in Public

2008-07-15T17:10:00.002-07:00

My legs have finally recovered from their efforts on Sunday. A nice two hour road ride with Keir was immediately followed by my swim lesson. I thought it was going to be easy, but the instructor had us kicking up and down the pool with our legs. Oy!!!!

Unlike last week where there were only two of us, a nice husband and wife joined in. I must have made quite an impact with them because they studiously ignored me the entire time they swam. They had their reasons, but they completely misread the evidence. As they were entering the pool I turned to greet them and some air trapped in my suit escaped up my back. The look on their faces was priceless. I am sure they expected me to crap in the pool at any moment. Hilarious.

I can't wait until next week to see if they come back.

Happy Bastille Day!!!

2008-07-14T20:23:00.004-07:00

July 14, Bastille Day. Vive la France.

I decided to lay out the cash and ordered Versus from the cable company so I could watch the Tour de france. I especially hoped that by some miraculous twist of fate, a Frenchman could actually win on Hautacam on Bastille day. I think the earth has a better chance of being struck by a meteor today, but I can still dream.

After watching a short Italian deservedly win the stage I can safely say that it doesn't matter what channel/company is showing the Tour in the US. If it has American announcers, it will assuredly suck. And tonight was no exception. The final 30 minutes were the only worthwhile coverage out of the entire 3 hours. I know, I know. There are TV starved cyclists in eastern Montana that would give up their Sidi's to be able to watch the Tour. But still, would it kill them to cut 90% of the human interest stories and show a little more racing? Please?

And to keep to the general whining of this post, let Liggett and Sherwen do all the announcing. Please...please....puuullllllleeeeease.

Kudos to Cadel Evans for the Yellow Jersey. Well deserved.

I apologize for the rant, but since it is Bastille Day, I believe I have the right to lose my head.

We Meet At 7:00, Give or Take 40 Minutes

2008-07-12T12:21:00.004-07:00

Wow. It is officially monsoon season here in Arizona. The humidity level has really kicked up. I felt it during today's ride at McDowell. I went through 53 ounces of water in only 90 minutes of riding and then went through a large Gatorade afterwards. It's a good thing I stopped drinking alcohol since I am sure if I had more than only two Stella Artois last night I would have been in bigger trouble today.

I found out about the ride at 6:40 this morning when I checked emails. Fred emailed last night at 10:45pm that he and the ASM crew would be at McDowell at 7:00 to ride. That gave me 20 minutes to get ready and drive there. Considering it takes 40-45 minutes to drive there from my house I almost didn't go. But, since everyone is usually late I wasn't too worried about not being able to catch up by half way through the long loop. I got there at 7:30 (still stopped and got a coffee and bagel for the drive) and saw that Lee was the only one there. Fred, Chris, and Ahmad showed up about 15 minutes after I did. Gee, I'm glad I didn't rush.

Even after the big storm on Thursday the track was in incredible shape and the tires were really hooking up. The pace started off a little bit fast for my old legs, especially being the only one on a singlespeed, so the short grinds hurt. But after I warmed up I was able to get to the front, keep the legs spinning, and pull away on the climbs. If Cesar or Keir had been there I am sure they would have kept the speed up and the "Ihatemylifeometer" would have been pegged.

I find it amusing that, lately, during every ride, road or mountain bike, we meet some wingnut(s) that has to make what he/she think is a witty, but ends up being a condescending, remark. Today's comment came from a older lady that rode through as we took a break to regroup at the top of the only tough climb on the long loop. I can't remember exactly what it is she said but it pissed me off My brain was moving too slow to come back with a decent riposte so all I could do is mutter, "Oh yeah?"

Soon the humidity took its it toll and the last couple of miles were not too much fun since I had gone through all my water. I must have still been dehydrated form yesterday's after work ride.

I have to say that any ride beats sitting on the couch watching TV. And all the riders out there today, including Smart Ass Woman, must have agreed. The place was packed.

I Wanna be a Jellyfish!

2008-07-11T18:15:00.006-07:00

A great week. It started with a great ride last Saturday with Timo at McDowell's competitive course. I singlespeeded it and we enjoyed excellent trail conditions. Even though Timo wasn't feeling his best, we still hooked it up pretty well. The highlight of the ride was the two guys we met who told us everything right and wrong with our bikes and bikes in general. Wow. I didn't realize that there is still so much to learn and that I am just an ignorant boob. As an aside, Timo's wife, Rebecca, runs the course almost as fast as we ride it. Fantastiche!!!

I have been wanting to start doing Triathlons but a lack of swimming skills (read: the skills of a Coconut Cream Pie, which probably floats better than I do) has prevented me. So, I took the plunge (pun intended) and went to the first swimming lesson of my life the Sunday past. I had emailed or left voice mails for four different coaches since March and had not ever received the courtesy of even a, "Sorry, we train only the beautiful and fit" reply. (One of these coaches replied to Amy within 24 hours, for me it's been 6 weeks and no response to phone call and email. But I am not bitter) Gold Medal Swimming in Chandler was finally interested in teaching me. I wonder if my friends, Jackson, Lincoln, and Franklin were beautiful enough for them to decide to let me join. I originally wanted private lessons because I am easily embarassed (too many 3 fingered Moments) but joined a group class in desperation. I arrived and found I was one of two students so it is essentially a private class. Hopefully I will be done with the Baby and Me 2 class in a couple of weeks so I can progress to the Jellyfish, Starfish then Seahorse levels. I have to be careful, they'll charge me $100 if I have a "fecal accident" since I am not wearing approved swim diapers. The first lesson was a success except for one nervous moment. As I was laying on my back floating I noticed a gentleman with a peg leg sharpening a harpoon.

My buddy , Darrell, and I also started Yoga classes on Wednesday before work. What a hoot. Four older, out of shape dudes with a ravishing young instructor (and she called us "kids"). When I saw the four of us in the mirrored walls trying to hold the Warrior One position while being "cool", I could have peed my pants. I learned quite a bit about breathing, flexibility, being centered, and the importance of wearing a shirt that is long enough so that when one's arms are above their head, a dark, hairy belly doesn't pop out. Not that I witnessed this happening. but I can imagine that it could be very disturbing and gross.

Because of the Yoga, I was in a very peaceful state the entire day until I started imagining what it would feel like to be walking to the mailbox, feel something squirming between my toes, look down and see a big bug , kick off my sandal while shrieking like a little girl, all this in front of the neighbors, and finally realize that it was a wadded up piece of string. I just imagined the humiliation and was thankful that such an incident has not happened to me.

And to finish the work week on a high note, I took the Soulcraft out for a Friday afterwork fast blast on Desert Classic. Sweet.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot, Repeat As Required

2008-07-07T17:25:00.002-07:00

What better way to to start off the July 4 weekend than with a true "Three-Fingered-Moment." A moment of such Three Fingeredness that after four days I can finally speak rationally of it.

It is amazing how one can make a stupid statement in public and then continue to add to the embarassment even with full mental warning alarms going off. "WHOOP-WHOOP...Danger...danger...Idiot moment approaching." I was speaking with a co-worker on Thursday afternoon, just before quitting time. We were talking about a 5k race I had run the weekend before and I made a comment about how "this really, really old guy kicked my butt. He had to be at least 60." My co-worker gave me a smile and to my chagrin I remembered that he happens to be 60. Well in a instant of pure genius I tried to save myself with, "But, don't worry, you look great for your shape." Oops. Well, if you're going to screw up in public, you might as well make it memorable.

Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of The Year

2008-07-01T21:34:00.000-07:00

I can't believe that after my rant of a few days ago I am actually saying this but, today is the first day of the rest of the year. (and everyone says, "No s**t, Sherlock") Today, July 1, marks the downhill slide towards the end of the year. The summer solstice has just passed and the days are getting shorter. All the unfulfilled resolutions made on New Years Eve are now closer to being tossed onto the pile of good intentions which rest in the closets of our minds. (Did I really just use that metaphor? Ouch!)

I like July in Arizona. The summer rains are close and the oppressive heat will soon be a memory. This is always a time of reflection for me. I look back to what I have accomplished and look forward to what still needs to be done. Afterwards I compile a mental list of the things that have stood out. I realized during my musings that the most memorable things during the first six months of 2008 have been“Three-Finger-Moments.” I analyzed whether some of these incidents could be re-classified as accidents and un-equivocally can say, "no." I now offer some samples of the difference between a "Three-Fingered-Moment" and a normal oops. Not all these examples are from 2008 and I will not admit if any of these "incidents" are my own moments of greatness. But they are all true.

You have made an innocent mistake if your cell phone falls out of your shirt pocket while you bend over to pick something up.
You are having a “Three-Fingered-Moment” if your cell phone falls out of your pocket a second time while bending over to pick up the object you ignored after your cell phone fell out the first time.

You have made an innocent mistake if you lose a sock.
You are having a “Three-Fingered-Moment” if you can’t find the sock because you are sitting on it.

You have made an innocent mistake if you forget to turn off a turn signal after changing lanes.
You are having a “Three-Fingered-Moment” if you use a turn signal while going around a curve on a highway.

You have made an innocent mistake if you crash on your mountain bike.
You are having a “Three-Fingered-Moment” if you crash on your mountain bike while showing a friend how to clear the section they just bit it on.

You have made an innocent mistake if you strip an Allen head screw while trying to loosen it.
You are having a “Three-Fingered-Moment” if you strip the head of an Allen screw because you are loosening it in the wrong direction and have actually tightened it.

You have made an innocent mistake if you greet an acquaintance by the wrong name.
You are having a “Three-Fingered-Moment” if you greet your husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend by the wrong name. (Bonus points are scored if it is the name of someone they hate. Plus, "Hey you" doesn't count as a "Three-Fingered-Moment", it counts as, well, I don't think I need to elucidate)

You have made an innocent mistake if you have a gastric-intestinal incident in public.
You are having a “Three-Fingered-Moment” if you describe it in all its olfactory glory to your friends afterwards. (They really don't want or need to know)

You have made an innocent mistake if you forget to buy a present for a friend’s birthday and you grab an unused and unwanted item from a drawer and give it to them.
You are having a “Three-Fingered-Moment” if the item you give them is the present they gave you last year.

There are many more “Three-Fingered-Moments" that come, unfortunately, too easily to mind. But they are for another post. Have a happy downhill slide to 2009.

Let Us Talk of Cabbages and Fingers

2008-06-30T21:45:00.000-07:00

I love the looks I get from people who shake my hand. When they realize my hand is a bit smaller than they are expecting their expressions run the gamut of surprise, wonder, and even once, disgust. That one was classic. I could read the surprise in his face followed closely after by a slight narrowing in his eyes as if he had stepped in something unpleasant.

Most people, after shaking my hand, try very hard not to look at it. They fight the urge but then started glancing down. Almost like a man talking to a woman and battling the desire to look at her breasts. (I never do, I'm a gentleman). But they need to know what felt so different. No matter how hard they try to concentrate on where the conversational path is heading, they are distracted. It is like being at a party and you are talking to a total stranger who has a big piece of food stuck to the side of his mouth. The relationship is not close enough to say, "Hey Dude. You got, like, a totally gross piece of cabbage stuck to your face. Jeez!" so you try not to stare, but no matter how hard you try, you keep staring at it until all else in the universe disappears and all that exists is that one piece of cabbage. Then he thinks you are a total moron and leaves to find someone else more intellectually stimulating or who will point out that he is a slob.

That's how it is with my hand for strangers. All else disappears and their thoughts are invariably drawn to my hand. My small hand is my piece of cabbage.

Tomorrow Is Another Three Fingered Day

2008-06-29T16:50:00.019-07:00

I started the build on Tate's wife's mountain bike today. The only new parts are the rear wheel, rear derailleur and shifters. Everything else came from the parts bin. The frame had a trashed bottom bracket shell but Tate and I managed to get the threads clean enough to install a bottom bracket. It's coming along and it should be ready by tomorrow night. Pics will follow when the build is done.

It's hot in the garage, though. 109 DegF!!! As you can see Jack is prepared for the weather. I am reminded of a song by the Dusty Chaps:

"It's 110 in Gila Bend in Buckeye it's a 102. Summer's here and I just can't find a way to stop lovin' you"

I had another "three fingered moment" today but the pain from hitting my finger with a rubber mallet drove it from my mind.

My legs are still sore from yesterday’s run
Mashing my finger today was not much more fun
Scarlett O’Hara did say
"Tomorrow’s another day"
“Really?”, is my response to you, moron.

I actually had someone say "tomorrow's another day" to me earlier in the week after they were complaining about some trivial matter (unlike my trivial matters which are extremely important). I am constantly amazed at the pseudo-philosophical platitudes that people live by. "Tomorrow's another day?" I would certainly hope so. How about, "Everyday is today some day?" Or, "Yesterday was another day?" I have always felt better when someone says, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." Wow. That's profound. Especially to the condemned man on the gallows. The one song from the musical Annie that I always detested is "Tomorrow." You bet your bottom dollar I do. The Romans had a more realistic view of "today" which they put on epitaphs, "hodie mihi, cras tibi." Today to me, tomorrow to you. In other words, "Maybe I'm having a three fingered moment today, but tomorrow it'll be you." Well....I took some liberties with that paraphrase.

Maybe I shouldn't be too snooty because of the poor quality of the little poems I throw in this blog. When I can write like Ogden Nash, then I can be judgemental. But to end my little rant I will quote from a real philosopher, somebody who has a clear and consise vision of change. I give you.....Snoopy: "Yesterday I was a dog. Today I'm a dog. Tomorrow I'll probably still be a dog. Sigh! There's so little hope for advancement." You can actually use that line for anything or anyone. For example, William Shatner. "Yes...terday...I...was...William Shatner. Today....I'm....William Shatner...Tomorrow...I'll probably still...be...William Shatner. Sigh! There's so..little hope... to be Leonard..Nimoy."

Yesterday I had a three fingered moment, today I had a three fingered moment and tomorrow I'll probably still have a three fingered moment. Sigh! There's so little hope for getting a fourth finger.

Now that I have finished frothing at the mouth with my holier-than-thou attitude, I admit that I, perchance, may have over reacted a bit. It'll be better tomorrow.

Running Sucks But Running at 7000 Feet Sucks More

2008-06-28T16:37:00.006-07:00

I'm whining. I went to Flagstaff (yet again) and ran the Northland Hospice 5k. I felt really good for the first mile but when I tried to pick up the pace, my lowland habituated lungs failed and I was barely able to finish. When a 400lb monk in his cassock and sandals sprinted past me with 100 meters to go, I couldn't even respond. I finished 30 seconds slower than last year. *whine* What added to the discomfort was having to pee as soon as I started running. Hey, there's my excuse....

I love watching people run. It is amazing to see someone who looks like a goofball standing still just fly with a beautiful, natural style. Others run with the Marvin the Martian stride. They don't bend their knees, they just move their feet back and forth at a very high rate of speed. I, myself, use the "Stick-Up-The-Butt" technique. It looks awkward, but has the advantage of keeping the competition in stitches from laughing so they lose a bit of speed. I have to use what God's given me. In this case, fortunately, a sense of humor about my lack of running style and/or skill.

I Thing a Thong of Thixspence

2008-06-26T20:49:00.010-07:00

It's been a good week. A couple of great rides and a good run. I took advantage of having to work in Flag deliver a bike to triathlete extraordinaire, Amy, which she commissioned me to build for her. I think she thought she was getting Michelangelo to paint her the Sistine Chapel but got instead one of those guys that draws the awful caricatures at the county fair. It did turn out to be a very sweet build, though.

It felt good when I came back down the hill to the valley and there was a wonderful smell of rain in the air. Monsoon season is just around the corner and I can't wait. It's my favorite time of year.

I had another "three finger moment" when the car cassette adaptor for my iPod died on the drive up to Flagstaff. I was seriously bummed and tried all the usual tactics to get it to work. Ejecting it and reinserting it 40 times. Staring at it and willing it to start working. Banging it against the car dash. Pleading, crying, throwing my fists to the sky in frustration, and cursing the fates. The one thing I didn't try was to check was the volume setting on the iPod. Somehow it had rubbed against something while driving and turned itself to the minimum setting. Oops.

I do rest assured that at least I am not in the position of being ridiculed nationally for having my thong's rhinestone clip pop off and hit me in the eye as did a 50 something traffic control/parking enforcer in LA. I read in the news that she is now suing Victoria's Secret for pain and suffering. I could not believe that she and her lawyer were interviewed on the Today show about this horrendous and debilitating incident. Ah, the quality of the American news agencies. The media made a big deal about her age which to me is not fair. There are many 50 year old women who I know would look quite ravishing in a thong ( I couldn't get away with it, it'd look like a rubberband on a potato) The best quote was by her attorney, "Her life is changed forever." I know mine is changed forever. I'll never look at another meter attendant in the same way again. I'll always be wondering what they are wearing under their alluring uniforms as they place a ticket under the windshield wiper with a certain "come-hither" manner. I am sure that someone in Congress is going to convene a panel to investigate this danger to the unsuspecting public. Super models will be called as witnesses and to display the offending garments. Soon the goverment will require all thongs to come with a warning label. WARNING: IMPROPER USE OF THIS ITEM MAY LEAD TO SERIOUS INJURY TO EYES OR GOOD TASTE

I met a meter maid wearing a thong

and parked my hand where it did not belong

she told me to stick it

and threatened a ticket

unless I'd keep moving along

Jesse Trevino

2008-06-17T21:44:00.003-07:00

I revisited one of my favorite artists tonight on the web via an incredible website called Mark Harden's Artchive. Jesse Trevino is from San Antonio and he is one of he most important Hispanic artists living today. I found his art on the web a few years ago and fell in love with it.

http://artchive.com/ftp_site.htm

Look for Trevino in the list on the left of screen.

Miscellaneous Whines, Moans and B*****s

2008-06-17T17:28:00.001-07:00

Well, I am finally recovered from the Picacho Peak time trial on Sunday. I was warned by Amy not to do it because I was feeling under the weather, but would I listen? Nooooooooooo. Not me. I'm too tough to give up. To make a long story short, I stunk up the course. I felt I was doing okay until the 30 second man behind me, my buddy Dennis, passed me within the first 2 kilometers going by like I was sitting still. That didn't bother me too much since he is much stronger, but when the two Dutch tourists with loaded bikes passed me uphill into the wind, I knew it was going to be a long morning. I crossed the line, rode back to the car and almost passed out from dehydration. Oh yeah, did I look good.

I did have my daily "Three Fingered Frank" moment afterwards. I was so fragged I put my t-shirt on backwards. As I headed over to the convenience store to load up on water and gatorade, the girl parked next to me said, "Hey, I think your shirt is on backwards." I replied, "That's so I remember where I've been." Two points strike me in retrospect. One: That even sick, I am still a smartass. Two: I must have been in bad shape because at the time I thought it was a hilarious comeback.

Well, France is out of the Euro Cup. Italy beat them up in a 2-0 romp. Lowlights were Ribery hurting his leg 10 minutes in and Abidal getting the boot after drawing a red card in the 24th minute, so Les Bleus were at 10 men the rest of the match. I was proud that they held Italy to only 2 goals (they were lucky it was that low), one of which was helped into the goal accidently by Henry. The French threatened but could not make the shots. Oh well, I'll root for Germany Thursday in the match against Portugal. That should be a great game.

Man Does Not Live On Bread Alone but I Like My Pumpernickel

2008-06-16T17:18:00.004-07:00

To those who tell me to cut all breads from my diet remember these words: Let he who is without glutenin cast the first scone.

Tomorrow is the big Euro Cup '08 day. France meets Italy with a trip to the quarter finals on the line. I will be embarassing myself at work with my World Cup '98 jersey on, but France must win! I still have to congratulate Timo on his team's (Netherlands) win over les Bleus, but I am still choking on my words. But I guess I have to admit that the sun will shine on every dog's butt someday and the sun is shining on Holland so...congratulations. The strange thing is that I am also half Italian but I just can't bring myself to root for the Azzuri. They play with passion, they beat my team in 2006 for the World Cup title, but I...I...I..prefer Germany for my second team. There, I said it! I admit it. So if France doesn't make it tomorrow, I'll root for the Deutsch. I am so ashamed......Forgive me father for I have sinned.

Not a True Story - Would I Lie?

2008-06-14T14:34:00.004-07:00

I was buying something at Walgreens today and an older guy next to me was asking the clerk which aisle the diapers were in.

"Child or adult?" she asked.
"Depends," he replied.

*insert the sounds of crickets here*

I don't hafta!

2008-06-13T17:34:00.000-07:00

I was listening to NPR today while driving to an appointment. There was a brief sound bite of President Bush reacting to the Supreme Court's decision to allow prisoners in Guantanamo Bay to have the right to Habeas Corpus. I was struck by the way he phrased his response. He said, "I don't have to agree with the decision of the Supreme Court." Now I am not going to make any political statements about what I believe in regards to this issue, but I was struck by how weak this statement made him sound. Of course, he doesn't "have to agree" with the decision. He has the right to agree or not to agree. Or, was he stating he had no need to comply with the ruling? "I don't have to agree because, as President, I can do as I wish. Although, in this case, I will comply with the ruling." The terms "have to" and "do not have to" refer to the obligation or necessity to do something. "I have to feed the cat. The cat does not have to poop in my shoe." To my ear Mr. Bush would have sounded stronger if he had simply said, "I disagree with the ruling." No ambiguity and no reason for me to get on my high horse. Maybe I am sensitive to the "I don't have to..." remarks because of raising four children.

Child 1:"Dad says to clean your room!"
Child 2: "I don't hafta listen to you!"
Child 1: "Do so!"
Child 2: "Do not!!!"

The upshot of all this is that now I am more aware of how I phrase things. I want to be more precise so there is no misunderstanding in what I am trying to say. I have to feed the cat but he does not have to poop in my shoe. You do not have to agree.

France lost to the Dutch 4-1 in EuroCup 2008 action today. *sob* They did not have to lose, but they did. Will the make the next round? Je ne sais pas.

Parlez-vous Engineer?

2008-06-12T18:07:00.002-07:00

Some gems I found while reading project specifications today.

" Words implied, but not stated, shall be inferred, as the sense requires."

" Singular words shall be interpreted as plural, and plural words shall be interpreted as singular where applicable ..."

"Imperative mood and streamlined language are generally used in the Specifications. Occasionally, the indicative or subjunctive mood may be used...."

Get out of here with the imperative mood! Although, if I had studied more in school, I probably would understand the subjunctive mood. I prefer the indicative mood, myself.

Wow!

Two Hot Tomaters, Salmonella, Value Meals, Happy B-Day Ma, and Do I Have the Legs to Wear This Dress?

2008-06-11T17:46:00.006-07:00

Amidst the news items today, two headlines caught my eye in particular. "Michelle Obama, Cindy McCain are study in contrast" followed by several headlines refering to the tomato salmonella scare.

The "potential" first lady headline had me laughing because a following sub-title stated that the difference between their husbands was even greater. Gee. You think so? I get confused differentiating between the candidates every time I see or hear them. I promised myself I would never use this blog as a political forum, but this is how the article started:

Obama, wife of Democratic candidate Barack Obama, and McCain, who is married to Republican John McCain, are both known for an elegant sense of style, lending glamour to their husbands' campaigns.
McCain posed in size zero jeans for the latest issue of Vogue. Obama, who has also appeared in the fashion magazine, was praised by style writers for the violet sheath dress she wore to her husband's Democratic nomination victory rally and has been compared to former first lady Jacqueline Kennedy.

It's seems to be normal journalism these days to compare the sartorial sense of women before getting into real issues; their positions on policy, etc... I pray for the day when an article on the differences between Obama and McCain will start off with:

Mr. Obama was stunning in his well fitting gray Armani suit. Mr McCain suffered a slight fashion faux-pas when the pant legs of his Men's Wearhouse suit were cut a bit short revealing mismatched socks. However, his wonderful tie and shirt combination allow us to forgive this slight miscalculation on his part.

Plus, what's up with the "lending glamour to their campaigns" line? Does that mean they can take the glamour back at any time? What are the terms of this loan? As voters I think we need to know the interest rate on this loan...or...maybe not....

"Okay, for two days of glamour in Indiana, you pumice my corns. For a day in Louisiana, you add, 'Yes Mistress' to everything you say to me. Otherwise you are on your own and you know I make you look good!"

Maybe I am just a bit jealous because I no longer fit into my size zero Calvin Klein's . I know at one time I was much smaller than I currently am because years ago, while dressing in the dark, I inadvertently put on Kelly's jeans and was almost to the office before I realized my mistake. They did seem a little tight in the ankle and my co-workers thought they made my butt look big. My kids are still wondering about that incident (and also the one with the dress. Hey it was an accident! But I do admit to a wonderful feeling of freedom).

But speaking of hot tomatoes, there seems to be another outbreak of food poisoning. This issue stands out because Chuck, Marilyn, and Amy are suffering from gastro-intestinal malaise brought on by bad food. So in their honor.

After praying to a porcelain god
one has thoughts that can be odd
Especially as one does choke
On an undercooked fried egg yolk
What exactly are nature's laws?
Are they effect or are they cause?
All I know as I clench my buns,
it's not only yolks that get the runs.

and:

In the soft early morn's gloaming
are the sounds of somebody moaning
for bad whipped creams
leaves one, it seems
at the porcelain god's altar atoning

Yes I know I used porcelain god twice, but I am just happy to know how to spell it. It reminds me of porcine which is one of my favorite words. Use as an adjuective and you will feel better. You cannot say, "I play in a porcelain porcine polka band" without smiling. Use it to an insult. "Excuse me sir, but your porcine eating habits are leading me to feel ill." I just wish I knew what it means.

If you feel like an underachiever (as I do quite often), visit Anna's blog at Value Meals on the Volga. I guarantee you will feel more like a slacker than ever. But it is a great read. I am amazed at how much she accomplishes. An inspiration (and one of the reasons you get to read this blog).

Last, but not least, Happy Birthday Ma!!! You've been gone 33 years and I still miss you!!!

Now, please excuse me. I have some tomatoes to eat.

French Football and Cafe au Lait

2008-06-09T17:39:00.004-07:00

Allez les Bleus!!! Allez France!!!!

I knew it was going to be an interesting start to the work week when the office coffee tasted like, well, like crap. A little sugar and cream and I hoped it would at least be palatable. The first sign that I was to be disappointed was the swizzle stick coming out of the cup melted.

The French football team started off their 2008 Eurocup campaign against Romania. I have nothing personally against the Romanians, but Les Bleus are supposed to win. Alas and alack, it was a nil-nil draw. Gasp. unheard of. Unthinkable. Then the Netherlands crushed Italy in the same group, 3-0, thereby taking command of the group standings. It's going to be very tough for France to progress, with upcoming games against the Dutch and Italy. Very tough. sigh.....

From Jamaica came Karma John
Who'd say, "I love my Dharma, mon."
But when he died
His spirit sighed
For he came back as grated Parmesan

It's a bit frustrating trying to get this update posted since my cat, Hoagy Charmichael, is trying to help me type. He's not helping.

A perfect weekend

2008-06-08T19:51:00.006-07:00

What can I say except that this was one of the best weekends in a long time. Yep, it was! Sigh...I'll be smiling for quite a while.....I hope this doesn't mean that this upcoming week stinks.

Went back up to Flag for a nice long road ride in gale force winds. Fortunately my weight prevented me from being blown off the road. Amy, being a light weight (pun intended) suffered. Others didn't seem to be that affected by the wind. All this fun was followed by lunch at Mountain Oasis. The Shitake rolls are awesome. My falafel plate was comme ci, comme ca. The Lemon Tart at Macy's for dessert was worth the drive. There's more, but not enough room to describe it. Suffice it to say I got home at 1:45am. Now, that's a good time!!!!

On Sunday I subbed for the regular bass player, at Oasis Community Church, who couldn't play. I hadn't played in almost two years, but it all came back quickly. I really hit the groove in practice but what Three Fingered experience can pass without at least one embarassing moment. I was flying through the opening song during the service, but I couldn't hear anything through the amp. Yep, I got half way through the song before realizing that the amp was off. What a Gaboik. I should be happy that I only had the one major faux pas. Usually, there are quite a few more. The regular bass player happened to show up and I have never seen anyone so not worried about being shown up by the replacement. But he did say that the part where my amp was off was the best bass playing he had ever heard.

Yes, I'm a Schmuck

2008-06-03T22:55:00.007-07:00

Yet another work trip to Flagstaff. I should buy a house there. The highlight was going for an after-work road ride with Amy. Plus, I was happy to see her dog, Bean Sprout, for the first time in quite a few months. Sprouty is the ultimate dog, smart and sweet, and she loves me.

My heart was greatly buoyed
when I saw sweet Sprout
and how she was overjoyed
to smell my crotch with her snout

Amy did crush my spirit on the ride. I can usually out muscle her on climbs, but this time I spent all my energy keeping my tongue out of the spokes trying to hang on to her wheel. To add a bit of salt to my bleeding ego, she had already done a running/swimming brick earlier in the day and this was an easy social ride. I did get her on the downhill on the return leg of the ride. It was my superior bike (and maybe an extra 40 pounds in body weight?), descending skills (ok, 50 pounds?), and leg strength (55 pounds?). Actually, she has gotten a lot stronger so kudos to her (@#*&%@#).

Enough whining. At lunch, I was reading some news headlines on Yahoo, and was struck by two in particular. The first headline read "Stupid Flies Live Longer". It was followed by "Dutch Man Injures Posterior in Mooning Incident". I looked back upon my life and realized at the rate I am going for "stupid" incidents, I may live forever. This would also make a great "tell-all" book about the incident. "RED MOON in the NETHERLANDS". A chilling tale of ass cracks and broken glass.

I am also thinking of of patenting and selling a new product guaranteed to increase any person's life span. A small hammer. "Hi! Billy Mays here with an exciting new product. Scientists have shown that stupid people live longer. And, until now, the prohibitive cost of stupidity has only allowed people like Paris Hilton to live longer. But now there is a product for people like you. The GQ37 LifeSpan Extender. This simple product will add years to your life and it's easy to use. Watch how by applying the blunt end of the GQ37 LifeSpan Extender to your head in short, repeated motions adds years of pleasurable living to your active life style. Plus, you can build up those biceps and triceps at the same time. The head is made of the finest carbon steel which is specially hardened to give it strength and many years of use. The wooden handle is made from Terra Fuegan oak, especially chosen for its beauty. If you are within the first 150 people to call, we'll throw in a second GQ37 LifeSpan Extender at absolutely no extra charge." ad naseum.....

It looks like my secret identity has finally been discovered:

A Hot Tamale at Chili's Today

2008-05-30T21:37:00.007-07:00

I have been helping my friend, Anna, trace back some of her family in the Moselle region of France. Based upon some info she found, I discovered some names and dates that made us think we could add a few generations to her tree. Unfortunately, while verifying the information we found some new data that may make the hours of work we already did worthless. But, in the long run accuracy is paramount and verification of sources and data extremely important. That is the joy and aggravation in genealogical research. Sometimes you make a breakthrough and sometimes you waste your time. But, it is still an incredibly enjoyable and satisfying pastime. I don't have any problem admitting I was wro..wroooon....wr..wrr..wrrong. Okay, okay, I'm frustrated. I admit it. Not because of the wasted work but because I thought I was so smart. What a boob.......

Speaking of boobs, embarrassing moment of the week was spilling half of a mug of ice cold water on my shirt and lap at lunch while witnessing a young lady sitting across from me accidently reveal a bosom to her friend. This is at Chili’s…lunch hour…crowded restaurant. I was shocked (shocked I tell you) and appalled. I had to keep checking to make sure she didn’t do it again. Fortunately for her modesty, my “oops” action drew the attention of adjoining tables away from her social faux pas and torwards myself. I am such a gentleman (and a pitiful boob). Anybody who knows me is probably not surprised.

In sad news, the illustrious Harvey Korman passed away. What a class act and comedian he was. He is best known as playing the incomparable villain, Hedley Lamarr in Blazing Saddles.

I drink to you, Harvey, wherever you are
You were a favorite, a genius, a comedic star
You’ve passed from our midst
You’ll be sorely missed
No one else could be Hedy (it’s Hedley) Lamarr

Since it is the weekend, the big question is do I ride the Soulcraft or do I blow the dust off the S-Works Epic and do a multispeed ride? Decisions, decisions.

Memorial Day, Bikes, and Brats

2008-05-26T16:41:00.003-07:00

I have to admit that on this weekend I have been a bit selfish. I have treated myself to a real weekend off from the travails of my existance. In simpler words, I have done absolutely nothing (even though I am starting to pre-plan my work week, argh). But, I do feel a bit guilty in admiting that I have not given much thought to the meaning of today's holiday. So here is a tip of my beer bottle (and hat) to my Grandfather, who spent four years in German POW camp; my uncle Bob, who served in Vietnam; all my friends who have worn the uniform and to all those who have served. I thank thee.

I took the Soulcraft down to Tucson and spent some time riding the 50 Year trail and Fantasy Island. First time on Fantasy in about 3-1/2 years but I remembered it all. It is made for a single speed and dehydrated as I was, I ripped it pretty well. And, since Keir was feeling a bit under the weather, he didn't push me for once (it must have been fatigue caused by crushing me in ping pong the night before).

I fell off the vegetarian wagon again, but I have an excuse. Memorial Day weekend is made for brats and I tried eating a vegan version of said culinary delight. Now I know exactly how horse dung tastes. So, I ate a real brat. A succulent, juicy, grilled brat. Cooked as if from a German beer hall. *sigh* Indeed, Manna from heaven it was. The stomach cramps and headache afterwards were well worth it. I have been told, though, that bratwurst does not count as real meat, especially when accompanied by the proper beverage. I will rationalize it anyway I can.

Is it so wrong to eat a juicy brat?
Should I feel guilty or a bit distraught?
I knew I was done
seeing it in its bun
yes, in its succulent goodness I was caught

I tried eating the vegetarian version
believing it to be a culinary excursion
it tasted like dung
to my sensitive tongue
it was more of a culinary perversion

Who Is Palicio D. Northrup?

2008-05-24T11:06:00.004-07:00

Just checking emails before heading to Tucson and the 50 Year Trail. I'm taking the singlespeed and am totally stoked. Tomorrow will be Fantasy Island. It's been two years since I've ridden there and am hopping around like a two year old needing to pee in excitement. anyway, I don't know why iTunes bothers to send receipts. I can always tell when I purchase music from them by the sudden increase in spam.

Why do I get emails from Palicio D. Northrup?
Stating he can turn me into a hound from a pup
If I want the power of Niagra
Just purchase his Viagra
I just wish he wouldn’t ask me, “What’s up?”

Then there are the messages from Shanghai Alice
Who enquires to the strength of my phallus
And if I so desire
to fan women’s fire
she is happy to sell me boxes of Cialis

How to pay for these miracles is the question
I’ve sent away all the money in my possession
It has all gone to Nigeria
Based solely on the criteria
Of a general’s wife and her total discretion

Oh well, it is nice to know that these total strangers have such concern for my financial and sexual well being. I will sleep better tonight for the knowledge that such Good Samaritans still exist. But, if anyone out there happens to speak with her, can you ask the general's wife where my money is? It's been six weeks....

Can I Have a Snow Day?

2008-05-23T19:06:00.002-07:00

I’m still stuck in Flagstaff but there are worse places to be. On Tuesday I was in 108 degree weather in Chandler and this morning in Flag I walk out of the motel room and it is 31 degrees and snowing. And, where is my jacket? It’s at home, of course, where it is desperately needed. Oh well, at least the Pegoretti is enjoying the scenery, though from the car. Why? Because I left the arm and leg warmers next to the jacket. I do not mind riding in the cold, but I do draw the line at 48 degrees in bare legs and arms. I am not that tough. Well, hopefully the riding in Tucson this upcoming weekend will make up for it.

I was speaking with the waitress at Little Thai Kitchen last night while waiting for my take-out. We hadn’t seen each other in about six months and since we were the only two people in the place we drank hot tea and shot the breeze. After about five minutes we stopped because we remembered we had the same conversation last time we had chatted. Neither of us wanted to discuss how to save the world so we hung out in a slightly uncomfortable silence. She was bored and I hate any aural void that is not being filled by the golden tones of my voice. With nothing else to say she played with her pen and I drew circles in the condensation left by the tea cup on the table. We perked up, though, and started talking about how amazing it is that we could have the same conversation twice in six months. I was enthralled by her insight and she loved the golden tones (a cross between Barry White and Roger Rabbit) I guess small talk ain’t small when you can repeat it ½ of a year later. Either that or, to paraphrase Santayana, those who can't remember their past conversations are doomed to repeat them.

Why Do Donuts Have Holes In Them?

2008-05-21T20:47:00.005-07:00

So, there I was today waiting for my lunch in a small Flagstaff deli when the proprietor hacked a furball into her hand. She then grabbed a donut, put it in a bag, handed to me with a sweet smile and said, "Here, have a free donut for desert." Since I just got over a bad cold which kept me on the couch all weekend moaning, I was a bit loathe to partake of the aforementioned freebie. and it was quietly deposited in the closest trash receptacle. I related this story to Amy, over a Beaver Street Brewery pretzel, and she commented that she was not surprised since most people are oblivious to their actions. "Why, most people don't wash their hands after going to the bathroom," she added. True, I thought. Sometimes I have even fallen prey to this sordid act. Though I rationalize it by telling myself that I know where my privates have been. And where they have been is much cleaner than the contents of a stranger's lungs. Of course, I can picture myself working in a deli and telling a customer, "You get a free donut with your lunch. Oh! My hands are dirty. But, don't worry, it's not a problem....."

It's been hell hot in Chandler the past couple of days so I brought the bike up to Flag with me so I could take a nice after-work ride. Unfortunately, the mild temperatures have plummeted, the wind is blowing, and there are rumors of snow for tomorrow. None of which would normally bother me except I left all the cold weather gear down South. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

My friend, Anna (Value Meals on the Volga) has discovered that within her German from Russia ancestry there is a French conection. As a certified French snob, I always knew that she carried the "snoot" gene in her blood. So we have done a little research and have discovered a few new names and generations for her family tree. One of the things I love about genalogy is how it satisfying it is when pieces come together from seemingly disparate bits of information. The Internet has made searching for information, and confirming the validity of data, so much easier.

Where's Jar Jar Binks When You Need Him?

2008-05-13T18:51:00.004-07:00

In the news today: Darth Vader spared jail in Jedi attacks. A gentleman in Wales, dressed as Darth Vader, attacked two members of the Church of the Jedi (real church!!!!!) after imbibing a bit too much in the fruit of the vine. Truth is stranger than fiction. The judge was kind enough to spare jail time for poor Mr. Vader.

Poor Darth is the latest celeb to spiral out of control. I guess after sucking down the major portion of a 2.5 gallon(!!!) box of wine he realized that he had spiraled out of control, hit rock bottom, and he needed to find solace at church. So, he donned his garbage bag cape (oh, how the mighty have fallen) and strolled down to the local house of worship only to find to his disgust that it was the village Church of the Jedi. In a fit of madness, he grabbed his trusty Sith metal crutch Rumor has it he had pawned his light saber to pay for the box of fermented goodness) and started beating the Jedi Masters, Jonba and Hormi Hehol, about the head and thigh. Decorum prevents be from making any jokes about these names...but seriously folks...

What's a Sith Lord to do when he's down?
How to turn to a smile from a frown?
You wear a garbage bag cape
tie it on with some tape
and head for some action downtown

Darth wandered blocks upon blocks
looking for a party that rocks
but no fun's to be had
when garbage bag clad
except from bad wine in a box

After imbibing of the fruit of the vine
Poor Darth sought guidance devine
he ended his search
in a Jedi church
Where he kicked the Hehol's behinds

The Hehols were true Jedi masters
and also the Jedi church's pastors
so they used the Force
(a policeman, of course)
to arrest the Darth who was plastered

The best part about this story is that the evidence used to catch Darth was a camera the Hehols had set up to record a secret Jedi ceremony. Or, was it to film themselves light saber fencing? I was reminded of that scene in the first movie where Darth starts choking some poor schlep for his lack of belief in the Force. Now, it would be more of a neck massage. "Hey Darth, I got your Force!!!!! *grab crotch* Right here!!!!"

A New Way to Injure One's Self

2008-05-12T18:52:00.005-07:00

Just when I thought I couldn't sink any lower. Just when I thought I was escaping the cesspool of self pity, I found a way to sink deeper into the mire. I have already reported that I fell off the vegetarian wagon and, gasp, ate flesh. But, not just any flesh. No, liverwurst, braunschweiger, a paté of such exquisite stinkiness and taste that it defies description (beyond the superlatives already stated). I have not admited it yet, but in the delerium caused by eating said food stuff, I injured myself. How embarassing, especially when the truth came out to our Safety Manager at work. I was leaving the *ahem* facilities and opened the door to depart. I caught my profile in the sink mirror and noticed how the mirror enhanced the middle portion of my torso. I stopped in facinated horror (like a witness to a particulary gruesome accident) and stared at the protruding stomach area pushing the belt line slightly down. Of course, the Jimmy Buffet parrot shirt did not help the effect. As I stared the self closing door slammed against the middle finger of my already small hand. Oh, the humanity!!!! What makes it worse is that each time I inspect the injury, I give myself the finger. Salt upon the proverbial wound. Fortunately , the Stone Brewery bottle of Old Guardian does help soothe the pain. Barely....... I just wish I could come up with a better story.

In other news, after Keir kicked my butt on the bicycle from here to Sunday...um, on Sunday (it had to be the liverwurst or the planets were aligned in such a way...) Afterwards, he bought himself Rockband for his upcoming Tuesday b-day. I discovered a few things from said purchase. My son, Frank Jr. (a true rock god) is a Guitar Hero marvel, Keir has not lost his drumming chops, Micah is a musician in making, and daughter Jess can still belt it out. What did they find out 'bout me? Whether on bass, guitar, or *gasp* drums, I can turn any song into a polka. Gimme Shelter by the Stones?...polka. Paranoid by Black Sabbath?....polka. Beastie Boys? Polka city, baby!!!! (BTW, I cannot turn any song by Pat Benetar into polka. I'd rather slam my head in a bathroom door. ) Liverwurst and Lederhosen. What more does one need? Besides the sense to move one's hand from a closing door? Come to think of it, my cry of pain sounded just like a yodel.

Pass the Tofu, please. Back to normal dietary practice, to kicking Keir's ass in cycling, and figuring out how to polkarize Incubus.

Football Again

2008-05-10T20:21:00.005-07:00

Today was the first Saturday in quite a while when I did not get to see my granson, Micah, play flag football. The season ended last week with a victory for his team, The Colts. His dad, and my best riding partner, Keir, was the coach. They ended the season with a victory and I believe the highlight was actually a loss in the penultimate weekend. The Colts came within 1 minute of beating the only undefeated team in the league. What a game. Great game Coach K!!!!! Here's Micah taking the ball under center.

The Platypus Genome Project and French Fries

2008-05-10T16:44:00.007-07:00

For years the platypus had biologists perplexed
Its genetic weirdness had them vexed
Having cracked its genome
They can now go home
To seek relief from their Platypus complex

Actually the only question I have regarding the Platypus is to ask whether the plural is "Platypi", "Platypuses", or "Platypodes?"

In other news, Austria and Switzerland are sharing this year's Eurocup football tourney (Allez Les Bleus, Allez France!!!!!) The big scandal is there may not be enough potatoes in Helvetia to feed football fans starving for their pommes frites. I know it's bad enough when the beer runs out, but no french fries? Heaven forbid. They may actually lift importation restrictions on potatoes.

Took the Soulcraft single speed out to the competion track at McDowell today for a nice long ride. I absolutely love this bike. The S-Works is gathering dust and gives me a plaintive look each time I walk by it. No, I don't feel guilty....much. Did a couple of laps of the sport/tech loop to warm-up. Hoped to see Timo and crew show but ended up riding solo. Finished with another sport/tech loop then long loop before heading back to the hacienda for a Negre Modelo in an effort to carbo load. Truth be told, I still feel a little under the weather but any ride is better than sitting at home moaning. I do have to confess, that I fell off the vegetarian wagon yesterday and wolfed down a couple liverwurst sandwiches which did my head and energy no good. Looking forward to meeting Keir tomorrow and riding up South Mountain on the road bikes. He has a beautiful Indy Fab Crown Jewel which I always drool over.

Went to the writer's group tonight and it was one of the most productive meetings we have had. Probably because I had nothing to share except the existance of this blog. I fear for my compatriots' sanity if they happen to wander here.

An Interview With The Dead- Bella Abzug

2008-05-08T11:47:00.006-07:00

This is a new, and hopefully, monthly feature of Interviews with the Dead. This will be a series of interviews with those who have shaped our present through words and deeds in the past. A historical look at the future, if you will. Today I am featuring Bella Abzug, the famous liberal and feminist (she put the "women's lib" into "liberal") Congresswoman of the 70's. March 31 was the 10th anniversary of her passing and I thought it would be interesting to get her viewpoints on some current events.

TFF: Thanks for joining us Bella. You are remembered for being a powerful voice for both the women's and civil rights movements. What is your opinion on how the Democratic race between Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama is playing out?

Bella: ……………………………………………………….

TFF: Um…I see…Do you think that Obama’s lead in the delegate count is less a question of race versus gender than the Clinton campaign’s failure to run on a platform of “change” rather than relying on experience and old school politics?

Bella: ……………………………………………………….

TFF: Moving on…A news article yesterday stated that a scientific study shows that conservatives are, as a whole, happier than liberals. Do you agree with this assessment and are you happy?

Bella: ……………………………………………………….

TFF: Interesting. If a conservative is happier, could anyone be happy being Bill O’Reilly?

Bella: ……………………………………………………….

TFF: A very profound response. Final question. If you could be a missing digit, which one would you be?

Bella: ……………………………………………………….

TFF: Incredible. My choice, also. Thank you, Bella Abzug, for joining us today.

No "Yay" for PTO Day

2008-05-06T11:29:00.004-07:00

Yesterday’s trip to Flag must have been extra tiring or maybe it was going for the #4 spicy with the curry but I only got a couple of hours sleep. So after going into the office for 30 minutes, I took a PTO day to try and sleep. I hate wasting a PTO day just on being fragged, but I just couldn't concentrate on anything. What a weenie. Oh well, it's May and my first sick day of the year.

It’s weird the thoughts one has while laying on a couch in a semi-awake state. I think everyone has experienced this. There is a comforting silence broken only by the ticking of the clock and the rhythmic sound of the ceiling fan wobbling. My mind wandered about and I started thinking about a news article from a couple of weeks ago stating that scientists had modeled a Neanderthal larynx and were trying to decide what he/she may have sounded like, which prompted this ditty:

The scientific world is all a-buzzin'
about the vocal abilities of our ancient cousin
Just when one thought one had heard it all
one can now listen to a Neanderthal
How does he sound, this ancient man?
Like Laurence Olivier, or Charlie Chan?
It really is quite an amazing stunt
to give any accent to a snort or a grunt
If he were here right now, I know what he'd cite
"Who got cut from American Idol last night?"

The next day, our world beloved commander-in-chief was in Paris at a world summit on global warming. His comments prompted the German representative to call his plan, “Neanderthal.” Coincidence? I then was forced to compose another little bit of prose:

Yesterday we heard that scientists found
how a Neanderthal's speech really does sound
They could have more wisely spent their grants
by traveling to beautiful Paris, France
They'd find their answer without much trouble, too
They'd only have to listen to our George W.
Then discuss if global warming is caused by the libido
Followed by watching semi-nude girls dancing at the Lido

Back to my original train of thought (my sleep deprived mind is wandering), whilst dosing and pondering upon this important news, I had the epiphany that Neanderthal man probably would have appreciated a little global warming during the Ice Age. At least he wouldn’t have then been forced to tell every woman, "It’s shrinkage!!!!"

And now for the obligatory blog rant. This is a message for the young “garcon” at Zinc Bistro. If you are going to be snooty and dashing at the same time, learn to pour the Duvel properly. I can forgive not having the proper glass and substituting a large snifter as replacement, but for Pete’s sake, angle the glass while pouring!!! Even the label shows how to do it. If you are going to be a proper French garcon, walk the snoot, be the snoot. Annoy the patrons by having your nose in the air, not by being ignorant. Also, you do not want to make customers feel special by having an "off-hour" menu. You want them to feel small and foolish. “Our regular menu is wide and varied but is reserved for those who know the proper time to eat. For the unwashed masses who are too stupid to know better, we have the Off-Hour menu featuring Pates a Gratin or, *sniff*, Mac and Cheese as you silly Americans say. Because you are ignorance personified, you must pay $12.95 for the privilege of stating that it is the best you have ever eaten.” Learn that attitude and I guarantee you will be serving officials of the Global Warming Summit on the Champs Elysée soon.

Now that I have unburdened my soul, I can finally snooze in blissful peace.

The New Blog Smell

2008-05-05T17:10:00.001-07:00

My first entry. It still has that wonderful new-blog smell. I am sure if I stick with this, in a few months it will have the perfume of a ’56 Buick that has been sitting behind a gas station in Gila Bend for the past 30 years. It is an odor that is a combination of rotting upholstering, rusted metal, body odor, and animal droppings. In actuality, it will smell like most of my writing. The first question I asked myself in partaking of this journey is why? Only a couple of close friends and maybe some family will ever wander here. And, only as a pity visit to build up my ego. However, I will shamelessly place links to some of my friends’ blogs or websites. These are sites that have interesting things to say and just mentioning them will add value to my spot.

I will also brazenly pander to (visit Value Meals on the Volga) some of my favorite things… bicycles, books, beer, music, genealogy, etc ….

I had to travel to Flagstaff for work today and brought the Pegoretti Duende up for a nice “after work” ride along Lake Mary road.

Even with the wind, it was just great to be out riding in the high country. And, unlike the majority of “racer types” down in Chandler/Tempe/Phoenix area, riders up here actually wave when they ride by in the other direction. Unfortunately, coming down the bumpy road from the NOPI observatory is not the time or place to realize my headset was slightly loose. A quick fix, though, and all was right with the world, especially since the day ended with a quick trip to Little Thai Kitchen with Amy for the #15 before the long drive down the hill to the valley.