I have to go home... I am home

Loneliness is a demon some mornings. Waking up late, looking at a cold saturday morning in the empty apartment. The routine is almost so sad it is amazing that the soul is still willing to force air through the lungs, drive the carcass into the shower... a fraction of a pot of mocha java from the Chemex, an english muffin (whole grain, organic butter, natch) and things don't seem so bad, so empty. YouTube provides a little companionship... Clips from films, mash-ups of Carl Sagan and Mogwai, all 32 Short Films About Glenn Gould. The neue classic scene from Almost Famous, singing along with Elton John;

call: "I have to go home"
response: "You are home".

A truism of life on the road, the ties that bind wrapped around no one place, no physical thing, but a set of experiences, memories, feelings and the odd ducks, weirdos, freaks and just plain random people you meet along the way. This is, however, cold comfort on a saturday morning in february, when the only things that keeps the footfalls from echoing is the wall to wall. Have I gone too far too go home? and where is that supposed to be? Spokanistan? Seattle? Bellingham? or is home that glorious morning driving into Spokane on the tail-end of a horrid storm that threatened to throw the jeep off the road, the eastern sky stained with colour, like the aftermath of a riot, blood and fire and shattered glass... Hunter was right, buy the ticket, take the ride, and God knows, I bought a fistfull of tickets.

Teach The Children

September was a chaotic month, mostly of my own doing, and now on the back end of it, I think some days that I am my own worst enemy. Luckily there are many fine people out there who reach out and give me a hand when I need it most, usually by calming me down when I freak out, or offering up some space on the futon and a spare key when I am travelling in some place that isn't the Lou (Calvin, thanks again for letting me crash in SF). Big Mike put a new spoke on the Red Trek's rear wheel in about 2 minutes, and I am once again riding in fine style through the Gateway to the West. I knew that October was going to be a Super Awesome Month when on Sunday morning I was crossing Wydown and a mom with her two kids were about to cross as well, her little boy, who looked to be about 3 said "a bicycle" the mom said "yes, a cyclist, share the road". Mystery mom, you rock.

Selah.

Can We Nuke The French Now?

Sunday was insufferably hot and humid for a child of the PNW, even one from Spokane, who was also a resident of Moses Gulch. I did manage a ride to coffee, taking the Jeunet, but wearing my old Specialized shoes. The cleats stick out more on these than my Shimanos, and kept my feet sliding around on the spindle of the platform pedals, so after stopping by the store for plums, I decided a pedal swap would be a nice air-conditioned activity. Since the Easton is not being used right now, a simple matter of transferring the 747's to the Jeunet seemed like the proper course of action. I managed to remove a part of my right hand with the chain-ring when taking off the pedals on the Easton, which set the stage for taking the pedals off the Jeunet to discover that the cotter-pin cranks are French threaded. [Insert string of obscenities here.] Based on this information, I think it is safe to say that the bottom bracket is also French threaded, which preculdes replacement with anything made after 1980, so replacing the bottom bracket and cranks is out. Do I dare try and tap the cranks to metric? I fear that I am going to have to simply buy another bike, and remember to not wear my old shoes when riding the Jeunet.

Send neosporin and freon.

Mr. Ring Tail

Since my life revolves around polymer chemistry, cycling and gardening, when one aspect of my life is off kilter, my whole life is off kilter. This morning when I went to water my garden in the hopes of preventing mass plant death due to the extreme heat of the Lou I found the top of my hybride super-lycopene tomato bent over and the first of its crop of fruit missing. The raccoons have struck, the little bastards. At least the tomato was still green, had it been closer to ripe I probably would still be in the back yard crying. For some reason they are ignoring the pepper plants, and I will have to see what happens to the canteloupe, zucchini and cucumber as the summer progresses... as my sainted mother reminds me "I always plant a garden, and I always shop at the farmer's market". The process of growing stuff is the key.

Mahalo

Tomatoes and Tacos

At a certain point the insanity of my life starts to ramp up towards the red-line and I begin to seriously consider changing my name to "buttercup" and moving to Fresno, where I will gain fame as the local crazy person. Then someone will give me home-grown tomatoes. The simple gesture of giving, the luscious red fruit, the totally unexpected nature of the gift sort of erase all the oddity, the broken instruments, the stress... That and riding the Jeunet. And Gin and Tonics. And Tacos. We cannot forget the Tacos. In fact there is a Taco Blog. Unfortunately it only covers L.A. , but at least when traveling in that horrid, fetid, fungus on the ocean, we can get a good taco. Check it out: www.tacohunt.blogspot.com

Quickie

I returned from Seattle last week to a shocked look on my room-mates face. He had made a private bet that I would not return, or would return, only long enough to pack... but I remain in the Lou, for now. I will return to Seattle, as soon as I can after I graduate, if only for the copious bike-lanes and the Pyramid Brewry's beer garden across from Saefco Field. The Lou is greenhousing up to the mid-90's this weekend, a trend that appears will be with us for a while, and that I shall not enjoy. But I digress, this was just a quickie. Time for a shower, some thai food and then live music.

Send cold fronts.

Take That Werner!

Now that I am obsessed with the idea of re-working the Easton for in town fun, I decided to make another visit to the parts box and see if I still had a spare set of road-brake levers. I do, and they are not Dia-compes, but Suntour! I also found an old 7 speed, LX rear hub, which is probably worthless, and a box for a rear cassette. I opened the box, expecting to find some battered old mountain cassette, and instead found a brand-new 7-speed road cassette. Holy Shit! I need a new cassette for the Red Trek, and here in my box is the thing I actually need? Heisenberg has failed! I need the part, I have the part... Will the world start spinning backwards? Will cats and dogs live together? Will Menudo get back together? My trip to Recycled Cycles will be more frivolous, and less stressful!

I will blog with aplomb when I return.