300 to 500 to 1000 and More!

It certainly seems like running shoes have come a long was over the decades. They're lighter, have more cushioning, more specific foot support, and they even last a really long time. Still, though, the old industry standard of recommending that running shoes be replaced every three to five hundred mies is still in place. My most recent pair of running shoes just hit the three hundred mile mark and they're basically in perfect condition. They look brand new even. My previous pair ran me up to one thousand miles. That's been sorta of my goal for my running shoes over the years and I've taken perhaps ten or more pairs that distance. And, yes, by then they're usually showing signs of wear. I can't say I could recommend anyone run in the same shoes for that long but I wonder if maybe that industry standard could be pushed up to at least 500 - I mean, just get rid of that 300 business. Especially considering how expensive running shoes can be - $100 on sale?! LOL. There are better deals than that if you search around, of course. I suppose one could easily argue that a hundred bucks for 300 hundred miles isn't such a bad deal after all. 33 cents a mile for your health? Still worth it for many people I suppose. 

But then what do you do with your shoes when they've reached whatever distance you've chosen for them to retire. I mean, running is hard on the body which is why we need proper running shoes in good condition. But after lets say 500 miles of running your shoes should still look pretty good and should still be safe to walk in, to garden in, to bike in, to hike in, to sit at the pub in. 

There are recycling programs for old shoes and there are many folks that could use a good pair of cheap shoes from the thrift shop. But I often get attached to my shoes! Not very mindful of me I know. But still. I've got like a whole dang closet full of 1000-Mile Shoe Club members - it's ridiculous but true. Because what if someday, someday... someday what? I don't even know. I should get rid of them. The closet will have lots more space and probably smell a whole lot better too! 

Definitely keeping a few pairs though!

Of Seats and Saddles and Other Things to Sit Upon

There's a funny debate in the bicycling world about whether that thing one sits on should be called a seat or a saddle. Going back to the beginnings of bicycling I suppose it makes some sense to call it a saddle as it was more or less a mechanical horse and horses wear saddles not seats. And calling it a saddle does have a nice ring to it, a nice feel - potentially a bit pretentious. Maybe when a bicyclist starts calling themselves a cyclist their seat becomes a saddle. I go back and forth - a bicyclist/cyclist...

Epiphany, though: The seat/saddle rests on a post that slides into the frame of the bicycle. That post is called a seat post and that part of the frame that it slides into is called the seat tube. It's never to my knowledge called a saddle post or saddle tube. Even in Europe! So there. 

Mindful Mule got a new seat recently. (Or was it a saddle?) The old seat was the beautifully named Mundialita by the famed Selle Italia. That may have been her second or third of that model. They're nice but sometimes they get stolen and eventually they wear out. I'd been riding the latest seat with cracking cover for quite sometime - theft deterrent. But eventually it's nice to have a smooth looking ride with a smooth surface to sit on. They don't make the Mundialita anymore. They can be found on eBay, etc. I entered a few auctions. But in the end (no pun intended) it's just a seat that gets heavy use and doesn't need to be fancy. So I found a super cheap replica of a Selle San Marco Regal saddle - the one with the rivets on the back - just realizing now that those are different companies... Why the Italian saddle (you see, somehow, if it's European it becomes a saddle instead of a seat)? I don't know. They look cool. Or maybe it's in the blood. The new seat (made in Asia?) was thirteen dollars. I figured it was worth a try at that price point knowing that I could replace several over the years and still be under the range of a new-old-stock brand name. It's held up well for a few months and is comfortable and looks good. So I'm happy. I hope Mindful Mule is happy too. 

One of my friends rides a bike called #3 (so boring - at least make it Numeri Tre!) We ride together frequently and we talk about bikes pretty much incessantly - at least, when not talking about the other important B-word in our lives: Beer! (Also, when does a seat become a barstool?) So we've been talking about this new seat for Mindful Mule for some time. Debating and considering options endlessly because that's what bike freaks do. And then one day I switched to the new seat and didn't tell him and though we've been on several rides together and locked up our bikes next to each other he still hasn't noticed the new seat! Granted it's similar in color, although, a bit more towards the grey spectrum than blue - but those rivets! How can you not notice the rivets! It will be fun to see how long this takes. Maybe I should invite him for a ride again soon...

A Cricket in the Kitchen

Wait. What’s that sound?

Man, this old house—creaks and clicks, thumps and bumps…

But this sound is new. Well, I haven’t heard it in a long while anyway.

Is it the florescent under-cabinet lighting heating up and shifting?

Or wait! Ah! It’s a cricket! 

It gets quiet as I get closer to the sound as I search for it—so like Cricket!

I think it’s right here… 

It’s lucky, I’ve heard—a cricket in the house…

I think I’ve got it cornered now… slowly moving forward…

Oh. 

It’s just my water bottle equalizing pressure out its squeeze-top…

Funny. Fun. 

Life of a cyclist…

Walking With Jack

There’s this great Mexican restaurant in town that I’ve been visiting for about a decade now. Daughter was practically raised there. We’ve probably over done it (Daughter now rolls her eyes when we mention the place) but we’ve also had a lot of good times and brought a lot of friends into the place and made new ones there, too. It’s a little bit of a trek to get there from home but we’ve got various activities to attend to in that part of town so it’s easy enough to drop by before or after or during… 

I’ll often bike there. There’s one bike rack in front. They could use a couple more. 

It’s also pretty close to the commuter train. So that’s easy, too. 

As I’ve made some new friends in there (did I mention there’s a bar?) I’m reminded that not as many people bike, train, walk places… So, for example, when I was in there the other day I was mentioning that I had just hopped off the train and walked over and that I’d be doing the same on the way out… John (we’ll call him), an older jazz saxophone player looked at me with amazed eyes—“you mean you’re just going to walk all over town and hop trains all afternoon—like Jack Kerouac?!” 

Fast forward a few visits and John was in there again. As I was heading out I said, “I’m gonna go walking with Jack…” He must have forgotten about the Kerouac comment because he conjured up a very different image this time, saying, “you mean your 8-foot tall jackrabbit?!” 

“Haha, that’s right!” Sometimes it’s best to just nod and smile and go with the flow. As I was walking off into that blissful sunset, though, I did enjoy the image of me and my invisible giant rabbit Kerouac-ing around together… a couple of amigos on the road…

Microspikes

I suppose this fits in the category of Trail Shoe Test Lab although microspikes are more of a shoe accessory—just try wearing them without you shoes!

There's a snowy mountain on the horizon. It’s been watching over me for all these years. Of course, snow melts, but at its high altitude more or less at treeline it always looks bald.

And there’s a trail to the top! Let’s take it! Let’s take it a lot! Over and over again! 

But with big mountains comes big responsibility. And big preparedness. I tried visiting the mountain with burley hiking boots and the mountain said No. Its snow and ice turned me around halfway to the peak—right about that moment when I saw a group of hikers coming down wearing crampons and helmets and carrying ice axes, oh my!

So I prepared so more. I guess I need crampons, I thought. But that seemed so serious—I’m no mountaineer! Or am I? Maybe there’s a middle ground. A mountain hearer? Perhaps. After all, “the mountains are calling,” as He said. And the middle gear for answering that call for me turned out to be microspikes—not the cute little ones with Track&Field spikes but those with a dozen one centimeter-long daggers! So practically crampons. (And they do come with a cute little carrying bag!) 

Well, they stretched right on over my boots just as they should and amazing they were! Right up the mountain I went… Because, “I must go…”

Naked Without My Bike

Trying to leave the house these days seems to be getting more and more challenging. Let’s see… Do I have everything? Pockets check: wallet, phone, mask, another mask… Sweater, hat, gloves? BYOBags… Pants?! Check.

But sometimes it still feels like something is missing as I walk along the sidewalk… I find this sensation to be particularly strong the day after a long day of riding. My legs longing for that sensation of smooth circular motion. There’s an endless soothing in that pedal stroke that doesn’t translate to walking. 

After a few blocks I’ve more or less recalibrated my expectations to the footfalls of walking—especially once I start dreaming up my next ride!

Why Is a Raven Like a Writing Desk?

Well anyone who’s been late for a very important date knows about this riddle… But here’s another perspective that also leads us in various directions… 

I was just sitting down at my writing desk (the one with the computer…) with another half cup of tea, when, gazing through the window (the looking glass, nearly), I chanced to see Raven alight on Deodar Cedar across the way… An inspiring moment!

That moment reminded me that I often rehearse thoughts about writing while out on long rides on my bicycle named, would you believe… Raven! 

So, why is a Raven like a writing desk? Well, both Raven (the bike) and the writing desk provide a space and/or opportunity that, while may not be totally free from distraction and/or interruption, at least, helps to guide or focus our thinking toward a certain end… (the end of blogging, as it is still dead...)

Perhaps they allow us to wonder… about a bird… a bike… the land… 

The Squeaky Bird

We’ve had a lot of good birdwatching around these parts lately. Mostly all the old familiar favorites as they migrate through again. One day I’ll learn their names. For now I’m just happy to see them again—it’s been several months! 

I was listening to a particularly sweet sounding trio of little birdies recently on a long stretch of a bike ride. So lovely to hear them again… But, they sound so regular… And are they following me? Oh, it’s my shoe rubbing on my crankarm…

Days later I heard a squeaking rattle coming up from behind. Clearly, this was some sort of ill tuned vehicle (MM would never sound like that!) So, as I was approaching a winding blind curve that I wanted to take at my own pace, I slowed to let this chortle mobile pass me by… But when I looked back there was no vehicle behind me at all… It was a gaggle of crazy nonsense birds fluttering around through the branches… 

Let Me Ride

(In the parlance of our beloved Beatles:)

When I find myself in times of trouble

Mindful Mule, she comes to me

Spinning wheels of wisdom

Let me ride

And in my hour of darkness

She is track-standing right in front of me

Spinning wheels of wisdom

Let me ride

Let me ride, Let me ride, Let me ride, Let me ride

The winds, they whisper wisdom

Let me ride

And with the broken-transit systems

The world will come to all agree

The bike will be the answer

Let me ride

And if their habits can be parted there is

Still a chance that they will see

The bike will be the answer

Let me ride

Let me ride, Let me ride, Let me ride, Let me ride

Yeah, the bike will be the answer

Let me ride

Let me ride, Let me ride, Let me ride, Let me ride

The winds, they whisper wisdom

Let me ride

And when the night is cloudy

Still that headlight shines for me

Ride until tomorrow

Let me ride

I wake up to the sound of freewheels

Mindful Mule, she comes to me

Spinning wheels of wisdom

Let me ride

Let me ride, Let me ride, Let me ride, yeah, Let me ride

The bike will be the answer

Let me ride

Let me ride, Let me ride, Let me ride, yeah, Let me ride

The bike will be the answer

Let me ride

Let me ride, Let me ride, Let me ride, yeah, Let me ride

The winds, they whisper wisdom

Let me ride

Enter the Night

Fall’s arrival has been presenting itself for weeks. It’s the same old slow process, of course, but every year it catches me off guard—It’s getting dark so early, I think. And stepping out in the morning the air is crisper (despite lingering 100 degrees days,) the light sharper—Suddenly it feels like life in the mountains—memories of summers at altitude where the season shift comes earlier, still, than down here in the valley—the coastal plain, really. 

I haven’t been riding at night for quite sometime. Well before the pandemic, even, I mostly stopped the practice entirely—preferring to walk, perhaps using the train to get further afield. It was a phase that centered on staying local and safe, and one that will continue some of the time—I certainly do hope to continue with a good amount of walking—I mean, what more human thing could we possibly do! It’s got to be good to get in a few daily miles… 

But I’d forgotten about what it feels like to experience the night on the bike—these perfect early Fall evenings when all you need to carry is the lightest of extra clothes… And lights! Light up the night!

A week ago was my first night ride back. I wasn’t really expecting to be out so long, but as often is the case on these leisurely weekend afternoons, I was. And, not having ridden at night for years I had no lights on the bike. But I had some reflectors (which are so Cool again now that we’re old) and luckily, a light sweatshirt! Which of course I didn’t put on when I started the ride because I was just going about a mile from my friends house and figured, It was a hot afternoon, I’ve been sitting comfortably outside in t-shirt and shorts all afternoon… But then! it hit me—that first, coldest ride of the year, again! It used to happen to me at about this time every year. You think it’s warm, you think it’s Summer… But it’s already Fall, my boy. And the cool evening bicycle-windchill reduces you to shivering. 

So, in my age-old wisdom I stopped the bike. Put on that light long-sleeve shirt and all was well. Although, without lights—so, little streets, slow speed, ride like an invisible butterfly… a moth, rather. 

The forecast for Fall is that it will continue! The forecast for biking: Same! So I dug around in the shed to find and dust off the lights. Amazingly, both front and rear still held a charge! But I recharged them anyway—age-old wisdom… 

The following week, after another lingering afternoon of a similar nature, when I was a little further from home and another friend arrived to extend us into the evening, I didn’t need to worry about a thing—Be Prepared, they say! A prepared, cozy, happy, calm cyclist waltzes through the night… enjoying the breeze… the crickets!!! and the quiet… the evening blossoms… and the Moon! Hello Moon… O! to ride a bicycle through the night again… 

It’s Not Like Riding a Bicycle

It’s like riding a bicycle, as the saying goes. Once you’ve learned to ride a bike you can pretty much pick one up for the rest of your life and make a decent ride of it… Which is true, I suppose… like… in a park or a quiet cul-de-sac… 

But a friend recently asked if he could borrow or buy a bike from me. He’s a runner and a swimmer and is thinking about getting into Triathlon. We’re the same height and I’ve been wanting to get rid of a bike. All good so far. Glad to help. 

But despite that old saying it’s really not quite so simple as just riding a bike. I’ve been riding for, like, forever now and I know so much—probably too much. And as a wizened old cyclist I’d happily help this fellow get into biking and share all my knowledge and equipment and recommendations, etc. 

But it’s also the pandemic. And how much of that can one really accomplish through text messages without going frustratingly crazy? 

There are questions I need to know the answers to. And I can ask them all. But I don’t want to overwhelm or turn him off to riding. 

It reminds me of a Northern Exposure episode. I believe it was Marilyn Whirlwind that comes to Chris Stevens to ask for help learning to drive a car. Chris gets really into it and guides her through a full education about the automobile and how it functions and its history, etc. I don’t think they ever even get her behind the wheel. His efforts were all too much. She decides she likes walking. Something like that. At the end of the episode, on Chris’s radio show he sums up his experience by comparing it to someone asking him what time it is and him telling them how to build a clock. 

And I worry that I’m overthinking it and doing the same thing with this friend of mine.

I guess at a certain point we just have to point someone in the right direction and let them find their own path. 

Even Cyclists Get the Blues

We almost didn't have Le Tour this year. Luckily it was eventually rescheduled... in September! That was weird. And kinda cool. Seeing France at a different time of year was nice. So many of those stages finishing up further into the evening because of the shorter days. So much riding into the sunset... 

But back at home pretty much everything is getting rescheduled, or postponed or cancelled, too. I notice a lot of the regular groups rides are active, although mine is not. I haven't ridden with anyone since the beginning. I've been riding by myself pretty consistently, though. Trouble with that is that I tend to be overly repetitive. So I do the same route every time. At pretty much the same speed and intensity. 

The heat is manageable. It's summer. It's normal. But the smoke from the fires is tough. I suppose that's normal summer, too, but it just seems like a lot of them this year. Sometimes we can ride through if the wind is right but seems best to stay close-ish to home in case the wind shifts. 

And riding solo all the time is just a little too much. I like riding solo. A lot. But I also like riding with people. And 6 months is a long time without someone to ride with. 

And riding solo feels a little more vulnerable. I'm not exactly sure where everyone is driving these days as there's basically nowhere to go but it seems like where ever it is must be of a quite urgent nature as everyone is speeding and impatient. I know. Again, totally normal.

Maybe it's just everyone is feeling everything a little more intensely. The stressors aren't subsiding. 

And so perhaps we're feeling it too. Perhaps we're feeling a little over squeezed. A little bummed. A little unmotivated. Like, what's the point exactly. What's the point of going out on a ride and dealing with all of that risk. 

This is meant to be fun and invigorating and relaxing. But it's not so much.

So we take a break. We probably need it. Fall will develop and bring cooler temperatures at least and the fires will have to stop and we'll find that vaccine and everything will be okay. Maybe not the same. But it will be okay. It will get better than it is right now. This break will give us rest and peace and we will ride again. We will Ride Like the Wind!

Why do cyclists shave their legs?

I had a roommate in school that was a swimmer. That is to say, he was on the swim team. He took his swimming pretty seriously. Maybe he loved the sport. Or maybe it was the scholarship. He shaved his legs to be more streamlined, to swim faster, to place higher. 

This was back in the nineties. But even then everyone knew that swimmers shaved their legs to go faster. It was before my leap into the fanatical following of professional cycling. But even then everyone knew that cyclists shaved their legs, too. 

A few years later, when he-whose-name-cannot-be-mentioned was winning races and hearts across America and the world, cyclists’ legs were all over the screens - clad in neon Lycra advertisements, deeply tan-lined, glistening, and, well… shaved. Well shaved!

But why do cyclists shave their legs? 

Originally, we thought it was, like swimmers, to go faster. Reasonable assumption. But probably only the slightest of aerodynamic effect on the hairiest of gents in the peloton. 

If you’ve watched pro cycling long enough, actually almost any amount of time will do, you’ve likely seen some crashes. Riders are always getting tangled up in each others’ business or coming into a corner too hot. Clearly those Lycra suits are not Kevlar reinforced - providing nary an extra layer of skin’s worth of protection. This is when we learned the term road rash - quickly branded into our minds with graphic images. And then the argument goes that hair and wounds and bandages and infection don’t mix very well if one is planning to finish the stage and then up and ride another several hours on the next stage and the next and next, week after week after tour after tour, all through the season. 

And what about massage? It seems these cyclists live quite the life of luxury, if not leisure. Daily massage after each stage. Not so bad! And there’s that massage oil - keeps things slippery. Wouldn’t want hair to get in the way of the relaxing and restorative advantages from the spa.

Then we add in tight clothes and long days in the saddle and friction and one can guess that there are various remedies, tonics, and lubes that must be applied to certain areas of the body. Does shaving help with that application or the reduction of friction? 

Similarly: sunscreen. Whose legs would you rather rub down with sunscreen? I’m not sure a lot of these riders wear much sunscreen though. Did I mention those tan lines?! 

Maybe it’s cooler in hot weather…

And how often do they shave? It seems a lot of work to shave daily when they’ve already got so much going on in their day… you know, like massage... and dinner and interstage transport… oh, and riding all day! (When do they sleep!)

And what about amateurs? And the regular weekend warriors? We’ve seen them out there, too… 

And what about their arms… hmm…

I think we can all see now why cyclists shave their legs… Because it’s so damn sexy!

keep your toes up

I've been finding myself tripping on things a bit lately. Mostly it's more like scuffing the ground with my shoes. Only once did I come crashing down to the sidewalk. I was running at the time so momentum was harder to halt. Trying to avoid head butting a palm tree I shimmied left and landed heavily on my elbow and grazed my knee. Concrete is not forgiving!

But it finally dawned on me as I was walking to the store a few days ago and I again scuffed my shoe on a slight rise in the pavement while crossing the street. My downward peripheral vision has been blocked.

As annoying as it is to wear a mask (and believe me, it's really annoying to run in one) I didn't realize it was affecting my vision. We tend to look far ahead and as we walk and run. Things underfoot tend to pass magically under us. But it's not magic is it? Some part of our brain is still paying attention to that lower field of view.

Interestingly, I don't trip when I'm walking home from the library and start reading a new book on the way. Maybe that creates such an obvious distraction to my vision that I'm paying closer attention, consciously and subconsciously, both.

So I've been trying to focus on keeping my toes up so as not to trip so much. And my knees up. And my eyes up... And my spirits up!

Vidal Sassoon and the Ruination of My Hips

Sometime in the early Eighties I had a pair of jeans that I really loved. I wore them all the time and since I was still a little kid I even wore holes in the knees the old fashioned way - by doing kid stuff on the floor, ground, in the garden, crashing bikes and roller skates and all that... There was a narrow metal copper-colored label riveted to one of the back pockets. I think it just read: Sassoon. Were they hand-me-downs from my sister? Or was I really so chic?

Sometime toward the end of their useful life - my mom was not a holey jean fan - something shifted in me. Maybe it was the early stages of becoming a man, of noticing that girls walked differently from boys. And maybe it was something about those sexy slim-fitting jeans that prompted me to notice that I was still walking with a pronounced swing in my hips. Like a girl. Well I had to put a stop to that immediately. I remember consciously focusing on not moving my hips while I walked. Social pressures ensured that I kept up my diligent training and before long I was walking straight ahead at all times. No more swing.

But that's not a very natural way to walk. Even for a man. It forces all kinds of straight-legging that shuts free flow down and stiffens up almost every join from head to toe. It turns one into a board. After years and decades that board-body is no longer going to be able to do much of anything but peg-leg up to the bar like a cowboy - something my childhood self would have been delighted to attain.

I wasn't ever a ballerina or anything so it all worked out okay... for a while. But then I started running. And running and running and running and over the years started focusing on form and how to improve stride and pace and efficiency and speed. Across the decades I've come to believe that none of that focus on form was going anywhere until I got to the root of the problem. Cowboys don't run.

I can't and don't blame Vidal for this. If anything, he showed me the way all those years ago and I just chose to ignore him. Actually, now, if anything, I should thank him and those jeans because now I have a point of memory that I can go back to. If I can just imagine myself wearing those jeans again and walking like I used to when I was a kid and being willing to roll around and move freely like a real human animal then maybe I can bring some of that swing and twist and freedom back into my gait - to my hamstrings and glutes and hips and back and neck and mind! Freedom at last to run freely through the world as goddess intended!

keeping track

As cyclists, as runners, as people, I suppose, we keep track of things. So many miles recorded. Or, distance, anyway, I should say. Some of us keep track of other things, too. Number of rides in a month. Average heart rate trends. Minutes per mile. 

I tend to total up each week, and then each month, and then each year, and then start over. I've never totaled all the years. That would be a lot. I'm not sure it would really be useful information for me. A few decades? A few times around a globe. But not really around the world, around the Earth. Around town... 

I got to the end of last month a totaled it up, as I do, and then went straight on to the next month. I hardly even gave that yearly total a second thought. We kind of have a sense of that as we go along anyway. Each day's schedule becomes fairly predictable as it rolls into the week's which rolls along and along... Some shifting here and there but mostly staying the course. 

I wouldn't say it's pointless, though. Keeping track becomes part of the process. A daily connection, a checking in. Sometimes even a motivator in it's own right.

Of course, these days, there's Apps that will do it all for you. "They'll" even send you a message at the end of the year with all your stats all tallied and graphed. Some stats that you might not even have known were being tracked. Who needs a pencil and a log? What's a log? What's a WebLog... LOL. Wink, wink... Who knows anymore...

I like my App stats, though. And my App friends. And I'll keep them. But I think I'll keep my pencils, too. And the process. The sharpening of the pencil, even. Journaling the day in micro poems of distance or route or people along the way...

Sweeping the path, chopping the wood, carrying the water... moments into moments...

Red Tail Invited Ground Squirrel for Brunch

One day Red Tail invited Ground Squirrel for brunch. Ground Squirrel was very excited. She had known many friends who had been invited to brunch by Red Tail in the past. They had never returned so she assumed it must be the most lavish brunch in the clouds that one would never want to leave. So she happily accepted Red Tail’s invitation. “I’ll meet you under the Lemonade Berry Bush at 10am sharp,” Red Tail instructed. Ground Squirrel could hardly sleep that night as she stayed up thinking about all the lovely seeds and nuts and refreshing herbs that would be spread across Red Tail’s table. And she was also really looking forward to catching up with all her old friends. Ground Squirrel was bright eyed and bushy tailed the next morning when she showed up early to wait for Red Tail. He showed up casually late as if he really didn’t care much. “Curl up into my talons and I will carry you to my brunch,” he rather gruffly squawked at Ground Squirrel. Just as she was rather uncomfortably settled into his talons Red Tail began to flap his powerful wings and they slowly began to rise through the branches of the Lemonade Berry. Just as they had broken free from the last rustling leaves Old Man came running down the arroyo past them. All were quite startled for a moment. Even Red Tail lost his normal cool and his grip on Ground Squirrel. As she fell a few feet back down to earth she suddenly had a flash of enlightenment. She was for brunch! She quickly spun around and scurried straight back into her burrow under the Lemonade Berry. Her heart wouldn’t calm down for quite sometime and she wasn’t even hungry anymore. She decided that from then on she would abide by her name and stay on the ground…

Tour of Cal No More

So the news is out there that the Tour of California week-long professional bicycle stage race will not be returning for the year of 2020 which in my mind puts it at extreme rick of never occurring at some future date.

It's a bit sad and surprising. It seemed to be well attended and sponsored. And there were some great stages over the years.

A couple of favorite stages that come to mind were both seen in person. It's still the only bicycle race I've ever seen from the ground. I remember George Hincapie crushing it on a breakaway on several loops around the Rose Bowl which also included a climb up and out and back in, I think up Holly St somehow. That was some great hard fought racing! I think that was the first race I ever saw.

And then one year a stage started right here in town. Which was lot's of fun. Mission Street was closed off all morning with all the team cars and bikes lined up for viewing and general swag and excitement all around. I even pulled my daughter out of school early that morning so we could soak in all things cycling for a brief moment. She was in Pre-K at the time so really big deal, I know! I wonder if she'll remember that.

In recent years I've felt a little overwhelmed with riding the mountain roads around here because of all the speeding cars and motorcycles. It hasn't felt safe up there on a bicycle for a long time but I do love those roads and those mountains. And that was one of the amazing side effects of Tour of Cal - it closed off roads to cars for the racers but fans on bicycles could still head up early before the race and enjoy the mountains car free - oh, and sure, the race... I'm realizing now that I didn't take nearly enough advantage of that loophole...

sneak up on opportunities

When I was a kid, like, in my teens, I liked to work on cars. Tinkering, turning bolts, fixin' stuff... but mostly just hangin' around with other car people... There was an older guy, probably in his sixties or seventies back then, whose house we'd frequently hang out at - there were always a least a few old cars in various stages of repair lined up in his driveway.

He'd been fixin' stuff his whole life it seemed and pretty much new all the answers to our questions even if he usually tried to hold back his opinions and let us figure it out on or own. He mostly just sat around in a folding lawn chair nearby and drank. There's a certain kind of clinking sound that ice makes on those hard plastic tumbler glasses and that sound still reminds me of him. We called him Chuck. Not his real name. Not changed here for privacy, that's just what we called him.

To give you an idea of his ways, we were once trying to figure out why one particular car kept leaking oil on the ground. Chuck didn't tell us what was likely to be the source of the problem but rather suggested we just pour the oil straight on to his driveway instead of into the engine - "Avoid the middleman," he laughed and laughed...

And his advice for those tough to loosen stuck bolts, "Well, you gotta sneak up on 'em, ya see... Don't let that bolt know what you're up to until - Wham!" And, you know what, it often works.

And in that same way, we've sometimes got to sneak up on those moments in our day when we can get out and do our thing - whatever that thing might be... a run, a blog post... Things can't always be planned and scheduled. Sometimes we gotta just say, Hey, I've got a few moments here all of a sudden and - Wham! Get out there...

smokey season

There's wildfires burning all over the state. Again. Some of them are even fairly close to Mindful Mule. Within a couple dozen miles. They've been burning now for a couple of weeks I'd guess. It's been very dry. Like 5% humidity on some afternoons. And it was pretty hot a few days ago. 97 degrees. This morning it was down around 44 degrees. Amazingly, if it weren't for all the news reports I'd have little idea that anything was even going on through all of this. There have been slightly gustier winds but nothing too significant. But today there is an obviously strong presence of smoke in the air. So much that I'm trying my best to stay inside. The fires haven't gotten any closer. I guess the wind has just shifted a little bit. Bringing the smoke my way. There Air Quality Index is still hovering down at around 50. Which is really not too bad. Given the strong smell of smoke I would imagine the AQI to be much higher. It's a very heavy air out there. It seems unhealthy. I wonder if maybe smoke doesn't directly affect the AQI reading. It should register as a particulate at least. There's been a lot of talk about the Santa Ana winds that are driving the flames. There's always a lot of talk about The Santa Anas. I've heard about these winds for as long as I can remember - for life. They've been a big part of that life, too. A long current of natural connection. They even burned down Brown Mountain ten years ago. Remember that?! And yet they feel like home. If the Santa Anas picked up a bit they'd blow the smoke away from me and Mule and we could get on with things. But they would also fan the flames downwind of here and extend the fire threat to others. It's very still out there right now. So I'll just stay put and sniff around some more. Maybe write you all a little note...