It was on this day three years ago that I was back in Portland after being picked up by my mom in Redmond after I had failed to even get out of the state on what was to be a cross country bike trip. It is, to date, the single greatest failure in my life. Three years later I can accept it for what it is, but it still stings and bugs me. There were a lot of logistical mistakes to the planning of my first attempt. I learned a lot. You'll note I said first attempt. I'm doing this trip, I'm now seeing it as a solo thing, but I'm going to do it. I'm not sure when, but I can't imagine I'll ever really be at peace with myself unless I complete what I failed at three years ago.
In other news you can help me. I often sit around and wish my life would get magically better. Like, I wish that my landlords would call me up one day and say, we're looking to sell the house. If you want we will sell it to you for cheap, and it totally works and thus I have a house. Or like at work when a new vehicle is bought for someone and I have to compile all the information on the old car (mileage, tire status, repair history) to pass on to the person that buys the car I often just hope the company decides, "you know, Mark you need a car, here's car we no longer need, here's your reward for taking such good care of it for the past 2 and half years." As you can tell this is all very outlandish and not likely to happen. I understand that, but I still wish and hope for things like this all the time. With that in mind, you can help make my life magically better by taking the time to vote for me at the link provided below. See the premise is I'd get a Lexus to drive for a year. I'm not sure why only a year, but whatever, a year of having my own car is better than no car I figure. And before you just dismiss me by saying "Fuck Mark, he's not worth the time to register for this lame as promotion," please realize that most of the people currently registered to win already own a car, not only that they already own a Lexus. If anything vote for to spite those greedy fuckers. Also, you might as well forward that link on to as many people as possible. Seriously, don't let some rich asshole that already pilots a Lexus win this contest.
VOTE!
Since this is my blog I have no problem also shamelessly hitting you up for money. Once you get back from voting for me to win the Lexus swing on by the ADA Tour de Cure site and donate some money to the ADA. I'm really proud of the money I've managed so far, but asking one more time can't hurt. The ride is this Saturday with temperatures expected to be in the high 90's. Can't wait to get that patented cycling burn on my left arm and thigh.
DONATE!
Now don't go leaving thinking I never gave you anything. Well you still might feel that way soon enough, but as always my never ending quest for new music leaves me with the following recommendations for you.
Death Angel - Killing Season
Goblin Cock - Come with Me If You Want To Live
Wizard - Thor
Helloween - The Dark Ride
You can't go wrong with any of those.
7.23.2009
7.16.2009
Oh Happy Fun Time
I'm a genius! No really, ok well, maybe not, but I did stumble across something today that I think any one of us can use. Okay, so I've been going for long bike rides after work for about five years now. In that time I've ridden in any weather imaginable and I find that the extreme heat is still my favorite. It does however pose some comfort issues. The high heat and dry air is, at times, uncomfortable. My skin feels warm, my eyes feel dry, that type of discomfort. So what is there to do? I've found two coping methods that work fairly well. The first is to always, always, always, bike through any and all sprinklers that reach the road. I like this because this comes down to chance, or knowing my routes well enough that I can anticipate where sweet, cold, watery, rain on a cloudless day may be. The downsides is this isn't common, so, while nice, really won't do. The other option is to boorishly pour water all over my head and let the mildly warm water drip, like trickle down economics, to my body below. Now this is problematic because normally on high heat days I wear a hat so my hat gets wet, which it already is as it is usually saturated with sweat, and then my face a bit and that's about it. Also, I'm fairly paranoid this water will ruin my ear buds which I think is baseless since they reside in my ear and surrounded by sweat for many hours. This is also a huge waste of water. Water being a precious resource most of the time, it is not something I want to waste.
This lead me to today's most brilliant idea. I've managed to combine the coolness of the sprinkler with the at hand nature of water-bottle-over-the-head tact, while also limiting water loss. Ready? Okay it really is pretty smart. It is simple. You take a swig of water and then, as though you are Triple H, or HHH, whatever, you mimic his entrance theatrics and spray water directly in front of you in a fine mist. Your forward motion will carry you into the mist cooling down your face, arms, upper body, and maybe even your legs. See the brilliance? And as an added bonus you get to practice doing Triple H's spit mist. Okay, yes, you are pretty much spitting on yourself, that's sort of gross maybe. Also, should a car see you, or someone else, you may look a little dumb. But I would counterpoint all that by saying the refreshment level of self made mist is really quite high and totally worth looking like an idiot.
There, don't say I never gave you a great idea. Run forth, cycle, spit a fine mist into yourself on a hot day and thank me when that cool water clings to your body cooling you down, for I am a genius.
This lead me to today's most brilliant idea. I've managed to combine the coolness of the sprinkler with the at hand nature of water-bottle-over-the-head tact, while also limiting water loss. Ready? Okay it really is pretty smart. It is simple. You take a swig of water and then, as though you are Triple H, or HHH, whatever, you mimic his entrance theatrics and spray water directly in front of you in a fine mist. Your forward motion will carry you into the mist cooling down your face, arms, upper body, and maybe even your legs. See the brilliance? And as an added bonus you get to practice doing Triple H's spit mist. Okay, yes, you are pretty much spitting on yourself, that's sort of gross maybe. Also, should a car see you, or someone else, you may look a little dumb. But I would counterpoint all that by saying the refreshment level of self made mist is really quite high and totally worth looking like an idiot.
There, don't say I never gave you a great idea. Run forth, cycle, spit a fine mist into yourself on a hot day and thank me when that cool water clings to your body cooling you down, for I am a genius.
7.13.2009
I Was Always Partial to Sub-Zero or Liu Kang
Growing up I always assumed a few things, and it is interesting how those assumptions play out the older I get. For instance, I assumed I’d never be someone that would ever communicate his annoyance or displeasure with sloppy or incorrect English to those offending parties. I just assumed I’d never be the cranky old man behind a desk penning missives to companies that spell things wrong, or make a grammatical error. Turns out I’m exactly that person. I do however think that it isn’t solely that I have the mind of a grumpy 50 year old man decrying the decay of the youthful society around him, though there is that. I think that the ease at which it takes to communicate my complaints via the internet means I’ve reached this road much earlier than anticipated.
Case in point, this Saturday (which will get its very own extended blog have no worries) I was in a car that happened to pass by Kids Kastle Learning Center in Beaverton and I quickly remarked that it didn’t seem quite correct to misspell the Kastle since this is after all a learning center. This stuck with me until today when I actually sent them the following e-mail which in order to do I actually had to fill out an application for admittance to their prestigious learning center. To be fair the learning center is really just a pre-school, but still school is where we learn things like how to spell castle rather than kastle.
“I do somewhat apologize for wasting your time since I have no kid. I'm writing because it seems strikingly odd that a learning center would actually misspell a word in the title of your business. Kastle, as you know, is not correct and while it does create a visional alteration, Kids Castle, is still a phonetic alteration which is actually more important since alterations are base on sounds of words, but not how the they look. My point is by misspelling castle you pretty much muddle up the mission statement of a learning center and lose a lot of credibility just for the sake of being cutesy.”
Certainly not my best efforts, but I am all excited every time I see I’ve received an e-mail. Sadly they haven’t gotten back to me. There is also the distinct possibility that this place is actually focuses solely playing of and surrounding lore of Mortal Kombat. If that’s the case I withdraw all concerns and applaud their efforts to teach the youth of our nation how to execute Fatalities.
"Our showers looked like a hate crime"
7.03.2009
Le Tour
For three weeks in July I'm in pure sporting heaven. I love everything about the Tour de France. It is, without a doubt, my favorite sporting event followed closely by the World Cup and then the NBA playoffs. This year's Tour is shaping up to be fairly interesting and I thought I'd take the time to try and explain why you should pay attention. I plan on being up at 5:30 a.m. or early for the live feeds this year. Hello sleep deprivation!
Story One: Team Astana
Astana features three guys that can win the Tour. If Alberto Contador, Lance Armstrong, or Levi Liepiemer, don't outright win the Tour Astana will be sorely disappointed, and the whole cycling world would be fairly shocked. Contador is who the team will be riding in support of as he's the team leader. To briefly explain, while each team is comprised of 9 members realistically only one memeber of that team can win the whole thing. The other 8 members sole job is to protect their leader, shield him from the wind, run to and from the team car for water and food, do anything possible to give his leader a shot at the podium at the end of the whole thing. The thing with Astana is they have three guys that could conceivably win, four if you consider Kloden a threat, which I do. While right now the team is saying Contador is their leader and everyone, including a certain 7-time champion, says they are riding in support of Contador that can all quickly change. What if Contador has a bad time trial, or falters in the mountains? What if Lance goes super human and is minutes ahead of Contador in the second week? Are we really to expect them to keep towing this line that Contador is the leader if Lance or Levi is riding better? Contador is young, and he's been put off by Lance coming back to Astana. Tensions right now seem low, a week into the race that could all change. This is the story to watch in the Tour and it should be endlessly fascinating. Oh, and please do not kid yourself into thinking Lance cannot win an 8th tour at the age of 37. The dude came out of a three year retirement to place 12th the Giro last month. Some riders ride all their lives and don't finish in the top 20. He can still ride.
Story Two: The Field
Can any other team really compete with Astana? Yes, and here's who to watch amongst the rest of the field. Cadel Evans of Silence-Lotto. He's shown this year he isn't the passive rider he has been in the past is ready to match any and all attacks in the mountains. Factor in his usual excellent time trailing abilities and he's a threat for the podium. The Brothers Schleck from Saxo-Bank both young and can climb, but I'd say they are more likely to finish in the top 10 not the top 3. Last year's winner Carlos Sastre from Cervelo Test Team. I hope he finishes in the top 3 simply because he rides the bike I covet the most, and the guy is a pure climber who always loses time in the time trials, but makes up for it in the mountains. Finally there is the big Russian Denis Menchov who's a personal favorite riding on Robobank. He certainly looked good in winning he Giro last month. finally there is the other American hope Christian Vandevelde who rides for Garmin-Slipstream. He suprised many last year as a legit podium threat but that was in a vacuum since there was no Astana last year which meant a lot of teams had members finishing higher than can be expected. Still, I'm going to say atop the podium it will be an Astana member.
Story Three: The Sprinters
Who wins more stages Mark Cavendish or Oscar Freire? Really we should all be pulling for Cavendish for a variety of reasons. First, his team is sponsered by Oregon's own Columbia Sportswear, they better they do the better our local economy does. I'm not sure if that's totally true, but it sounds good. Plus Cavendish is young, 24, and brash. The old guard hates him for being a cocky little prick, but the man gets results. He won a record 4 stages last year before dropping out to train for what was ultimately a very disappointing Olympics for him. Friere, Hoshvod, and the newly reinstated Boonen (the Belgian superstar whose Tour participation was very much up in the air because the kid likes the nose candy) should all compete for what could be the most tightly contested points race in some time.
Story Four: The Route
The second to last day is not an individual time trial like most years where for the leader to maintain his yellow jersey simply has to post a decent not great time trial. No, the second to last day is a brutal day of climbing featuring a beyond category climb Mont Ventoux (21.2 km (13 miles) at a total elevation of 1912 m (6273 feet)). What this means is the Tour could still be very much up in the air on the second to last day of racing. In fact nothing could be settled going into the final week as uncharacteristically has three (1, 2, 3) mountain stages, all of which may shatter the peleton leaving the fittest five or six guys to duke it out alone over the climbs without the help of their teammates. The route may make for the most exciting Tour in years.
Since I know at this point eyes have very much glazed over I'll just stop as those are the big four stories I could think of. As the Tour progresses I'll post an update here and there about things to pay attention to.
Predictions:
Yellow Jersey: Alberto Contador
2nd: Cadel Evans
3rd: Denis Menchov
Lance: 10th
Polka Dots: Sastre
Green: Cavendish
Over/under of how many riders will be booted for failing a test: 4 and I'll take the under.
If you want to follow the action daily here's your best web resource.
Story One: Team Astana
Astana features three guys that can win the Tour. If Alberto Contador, Lance Armstrong, or Levi Liepiemer, don't outright win the Tour Astana will be sorely disappointed, and the whole cycling world would be fairly shocked. Contador is who the team will be riding in support of as he's the team leader. To briefly explain, while each team is comprised of 9 members realistically only one memeber of that team can win the whole thing. The other 8 members sole job is to protect their leader, shield him from the wind, run to and from the team car for water and food, do anything possible to give his leader a shot at the podium at the end of the whole thing. The thing with Astana is they have three guys that could conceivably win, four if you consider Kloden a threat, which I do. While right now the team is saying Contador is their leader and everyone, including a certain 7-time champion, says they are riding in support of Contador that can all quickly change. What if Contador has a bad time trial, or falters in the mountains? What if Lance goes super human and is minutes ahead of Contador in the second week? Are we really to expect them to keep towing this line that Contador is the leader if Lance or Levi is riding better? Contador is young, and he's been put off by Lance coming back to Astana. Tensions right now seem low, a week into the race that could all change. This is the story to watch in the Tour and it should be endlessly fascinating. Oh, and please do not kid yourself into thinking Lance cannot win an 8th tour at the age of 37. The dude came out of a three year retirement to place 12th the Giro last month. Some riders ride all their lives and don't finish in the top 20. He can still ride.
Story Two: The Field
Can any other team really compete with Astana? Yes, and here's who to watch amongst the rest of the field. Cadel Evans of Silence-Lotto. He's shown this year he isn't the passive rider he has been in the past is ready to match any and all attacks in the mountains. Factor in his usual excellent time trailing abilities and he's a threat for the podium. The Brothers Schleck from Saxo-Bank both young and can climb, but I'd say they are more likely to finish in the top 10 not the top 3. Last year's winner Carlos Sastre from Cervelo Test Team. I hope he finishes in the top 3 simply because he rides the bike I covet the most, and the guy is a pure climber who always loses time in the time trials, but makes up for it in the mountains. Finally there is the big Russian Denis Menchov who's a personal favorite riding on Robobank. He certainly looked good in winning he Giro last month. finally there is the other American hope Christian Vandevelde who rides for Garmin-Slipstream. He suprised many last year as a legit podium threat but that was in a vacuum since there was no Astana last year which meant a lot of teams had members finishing higher than can be expected. Still, I'm going to say atop the podium it will be an Astana member.
Story Three: The Sprinters
Who wins more stages Mark Cavendish or Oscar Freire? Really we should all be pulling for Cavendish for a variety of reasons. First, his team is sponsered by Oregon's own Columbia Sportswear, they better they do the better our local economy does. I'm not sure if that's totally true, but it sounds good. Plus Cavendish is young, 24, and brash. The old guard hates him for being a cocky little prick, but the man gets results. He won a record 4 stages last year before dropping out to train for what was ultimately a very disappointing Olympics for him. Friere, Hoshvod, and the newly reinstated Boonen (the Belgian superstar whose Tour participation was very much up in the air because the kid likes the nose candy) should all compete for what could be the most tightly contested points race in some time.
Story Four: The Route
The second to last day is not an individual time trial like most years where for the leader to maintain his yellow jersey simply has to post a decent not great time trial. No, the second to last day is a brutal day of climbing featuring a beyond category climb Mont Ventoux (21.2 km (13 miles) at a total elevation of 1912 m (6273 feet)). What this means is the Tour could still be very much up in the air on the second to last day of racing. In fact nothing could be settled going into the final week as uncharacteristically has three (1, 2, 3) mountain stages, all of which may shatter the peleton leaving the fittest five or six guys to duke it out alone over the climbs without the help of their teammates. The route may make for the most exciting Tour in years.
Since I know at this point eyes have very much glazed over I'll just stop as those are the big four stories I could think of. As the Tour progresses I'll post an update here and there about things to pay attention to.
Predictions:
Yellow Jersey: Alberto Contador
2nd: Cadel Evans
3rd: Denis Menchov
Lance: 10th
Polka Dots: Sastre
Green: Cavendish
Over/under of how many riders will be booted for failing a test: 4 and I'll take the under.
If you want to follow the action daily here's your best web resource.
7.02.2009
Hairy Blowy
At 10:30 I swung my leg over my bike and began what I had penciled in as a 6 hour journey to Gearhart from my home in NE Portland for Paul and Mel’s wedding. I reached the ocean at 4:24 p.m. wind whipped and exhausted. Factoring out the half hour of stoppage time this put my actual time at roughly five and a half hours for a pace of about 16 miles an hour. But to limit the ride to just those few sentences would do no justice to the journey.
Musical selections for the ride to the beach:
Metallica – Master of Puppets
Iron Maiden – Somewhere in Time
NIN – The Fragile
The Offspring – Rise & Fall, Rage & Grace
Orphaned Land – Marbool.
Honestly I mishandled the music selection for the ride there, but I’ll get to that in a moment.
I reached North Plains about an hour and half later. I knew the ride was going to be a little rougher than anticipated when I, for that hour and half, battled a hard head wind. I stopped for a moment to eat a Clifbar and communicate with Ash that of all the things I forgot to pack with me was my wallet. This was troubling for two reasons. Had I wanted to buy anything along the way either food or water that option was now gone, and also should I get hit I had no ID on me. The latter being a little more troubling. It was when I was talking to Ash my gut rumbled and I became very worried that a poop was imminent. I weighed my options for a bit and the pressed onward to 26W.
Having ridden a bike in traffic for close to 9 years at this point I’m pretty used to it. I don’t get fazed easily by cars passing me. I will however admit that 26W when it is still four lanes wide is a little intimidating. I’m unsure why, as I was riding on 26 at this four lane wide point I felt the need to compose a text message to the effect that not getting hit is my number one goal. While doing so I felt it would have been very fitting that I would get hit at that moment. Clearly, I didn’t.
Just a comment about mile markers. They really don’t need to be there every mile. It is a little maddening to tick off the mile one by one on a ride that is 90 miles long.
Finally after being battered by the wind for two hours I approached the first climb on 26. It was beyond fun. There are a few things to note about 26W that from a car perspective you just don’t get. The 1000 foot elevation mark is the designated spot for throwing away Christmas trees.
The tunnel that is at mile markers 41 is terrifying while on a bike. My exact thought was, here’s where I die, in this fucking tunnel.
Shortly after the tunnel I passed a roll of toilet paper. I took two more pedal strokes before slamming on the brakes, dismounted from the bike, and picked up the TP. What went through my head was “this toilet paper is a like a gift from the heavens!” The rumbling in my gut never fully abated all trip. Any time I took in water I got a cramp, and any time I ate I felt like I was about to shit myself. As far as comfort level on the trip to the coast I’d say it was low.
For about an hour before finally hitting what would be my lunch stop of the day I grew despondent. I came to the conclusion that the ride to the beach along this route was a poor decision. I began to have serious doubts if I’d make it or not. I also hadn’t really studied the trip as much as I should have and was unsure how much more climbing was left. As far as I was concerned I was not even half way done with this ride. My water was running low which was another concern. In short, mentally I was done with this ride.
I finally hit this amazing fresh water drinking pull out off the side of the road and solved my water problems. Then a mile later was a rest area where I decided to take a 20 minute lunch break. I consumed one very soggy sandwich and stretched out my muscles. Things began to partially look up until I saw the sign that told me that Seaside was still 35 miles away. What? 35 miles? How is that even fair? What was even worse is a monument at the rest area let me know that the frightening tunnel that I thought would be the end of me was only 12 miles from where I was. I hung my head and imagined another 2.5 hours on the bike and begrudgingly commenced my journey.
Shortly after starting again Nine Inch Nails’ the Fragile finally ended, and as if by magic my mood shifted. I passed a sign that said Seaside was only 25 miles (I’m still confused by how the two signs could be off by 10 miles) and things began to look up. The lesson I learned here is never, and I mean never, listen to Nine Inch Nails if one wants to foster a feeling of good spirits.
I finished my climbing and began what should have been an easy 14 miles to Gearhart except the wind, that bastard, was whipping hard on the coast.
After I finally reached Gearhart I sent some communications to various people and proceeded, as planned, to jump in the ocean. I instantly regretted doing so. With no towel to dry off with, I was actually cold for the 3 hours it would take for everyone else to arrive and I could take what was a life restoring shower.
How does one kill 3 hours in Gearhart while cold, with no money, and no where to go? Well what I did was find a bench located in the sun and slightly shielded from the wind that was located in downtown and shivered. I did learn a lot while on that bench. I learned that Lauren would be attending the University of Arizona, she would be studying psychology, in a week she would be going to Maine, and that she has been bored for a the full month she’s been in town. I learned that Matt Miller was having a party that night, and that the youth of Gearhart bonfire. You’ll note that here bonfire is a verb. The lady responsible for watering the plants in the potters drives a green Tacoma. That no one bothers to lock up their bikes when they go into a place of business. The grocery store closes at 7:00 p.m. and the employees then leave at like 7:07. Not so much town related, but I learned that I have no patience for shit fantasy written by Dave Eddings.
The next day was the wedding and reception. I’d be not an asshole if I didn’t relay some of the events from the reception.
First the food was fantastic, truly commendable food. After eating came the fun and dancing portion of the night. I was having a great time dancing up until a point and then my dancing fun was ruined. Generally speaking weddings make people a little odd. By odd I mean desperate. There they see an image of true happiness and if that is missing in their life they want it, and they want it right then. Truthfully this put me in a funk, which also sort of dictated how I acted the rest of the night. Now while I was in a funk that I was trying to dance my way out of another woman at the reception was manifesting her desperation in the somewhat predictable I-must-hook-up-with someone-here variety. This meant that as the night progressed I was simply unable to even step foot on the dance floor without her approaching me and trying to dance with me. Let’s be clear I dance with no one, I am a man alone on the floor. She would not leave me alone. So what does one do? Well I went with two tact’s. One was to turn my back on her and dance away. This was surprisingly ineffective as she just followed me where I went. Tact two was, whereas, I generally tried and failed to control my farts this evening, when around her I let fly. Yes, totally true I attempted to gas her away from me. That also didn’t work. Also, seeing that logic typed in text makes me feel odd.
At one point she approached me from the side. I didn’t make eye contact, but I dropped my head, audibly said “oh gosh,” and then walked away to get a beer I didn’t want. I took a sip of the beer, put it down on a table, and then walked outside. There was nothing more I could do to tell this woman I wasn’t interested. She eventually moved on to another guy after I did some quick spin moves at the end of the night.
About my gas. I would like to humbly apologize to all at the reception. I was, as I say, blowing it out that night. I’m unsure why this was, but I had it bad from about 2 in the afternoon until 1 a.m. or so. All attempts to hold it in where foiled by the vigorous rump shaking I was doing on the dance floor. I did attempt to leave the dance floor, but often didn’t make it. I’m not saying every fart was my doing, but I’ll say that 90% of them were me. Again, a thousand apologies.
As the night wound down Ash demonstrated his true Jew powers by boxing up an entire meat and cheese spread into one take home box.
Perhaps the less the said about the post reception bonfire the better. I’m going to just posit that some of us made some choices they wouldn’t have normally made had they not been drinking since 6 in the afternoon. Not, me, I was in bed, terrified of my drunken roommates at 2:30.
By 10:40 a.m. the next day I was back on my bike and pedaling.
Musical selections for the ride home:
Avantasia – The Scarecrow
Foreigner – 4
Hiberia – The Skull Collectors
Running Wild – Dead Hand Inn
Slough Feg – Ape Uprising
Sirenia – 13th floor
Not a downbeat album in the bunch. I learned from the NIN mistake two days pervious.
The ride home was mostly unexceptional. I did find a super sweet Strom Trooper action figure which is now proudly displayed in amongst my bobble heads as a memento from trip. The weather was perfect. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. I have some really terrific tan lines from my time spent in the sun. I made it home in a little under 5 hours, but I’ll just put it at 5 hours even. It was about an 18 mile an hour pace home, such are the joys of a tailwind and my desire to get back to home.
In all the weekend was everything I wanted it to be. I finally was able to check off riding to and from the beach from my list of life goals. Plus I made great time and honestly my legs never once felt like they were overmatched for the ride. Now how my taint region felt for most of the ride is another story.
Musical selections for the ride to the beach:
Metallica – Master of Puppets
Iron Maiden – Somewhere in Time
NIN – The Fragile
The Offspring – Rise & Fall, Rage & Grace
Orphaned Land – Marbool.
Honestly I mishandled the music selection for the ride there, but I’ll get to that in a moment.
I reached North Plains about an hour and half later. I knew the ride was going to be a little rougher than anticipated when I, for that hour and half, battled a hard head wind. I stopped for a moment to eat a Clifbar and communicate with Ash that of all the things I forgot to pack with me was my wallet. This was troubling for two reasons. Had I wanted to buy anything along the way either food or water that option was now gone, and also should I get hit I had no ID on me. The latter being a little more troubling. It was when I was talking to Ash my gut rumbled and I became very worried that a poop was imminent. I weighed my options for a bit and the pressed onward to 26W.
Having ridden a bike in traffic for close to 9 years at this point I’m pretty used to it. I don’t get fazed easily by cars passing me. I will however admit that 26W when it is still four lanes wide is a little intimidating. I’m unsure why, as I was riding on 26 at this four lane wide point I felt the need to compose a text message to the effect that not getting hit is my number one goal. While doing so I felt it would have been very fitting that I would get hit at that moment. Clearly, I didn’t.
Just a comment about mile markers. They really don’t need to be there every mile. It is a little maddening to tick off the mile one by one on a ride that is 90 miles long.
Finally after being battered by the wind for two hours I approached the first climb on 26. It was beyond fun. There are a few things to note about 26W that from a car perspective you just don’t get. The 1000 foot elevation mark is the designated spot for throwing away Christmas trees.
The tunnel that is at mile markers 41 is terrifying while on a bike. My exact thought was, here’s where I die, in this fucking tunnel.
Shortly after the tunnel I passed a roll of toilet paper. I took two more pedal strokes before slamming on the brakes, dismounted from the bike, and picked up the TP. What went through my head was “this toilet paper is a like a gift from the heavens!” The rumbling in my gut never fully abated all trip. Any time I took in water I got a cramp, and any time I ate I felt like I was about to shit myself. As far as comfort level on the trip to the coast I’d say it was low.
For about an hour before finally hitting what would be my lunch stop of the day I grew despondent. I came to the conclusion that the ride to the beach along this route was a poor decision. I began to have serious doubts if I’d make it or not. I also hadn’t really studied the trip as much as I should have and was unsure how much more climbing was left. As far as I was concerned I was not even half way done with this ride. My water was running low which was another concern. In short, mentally I was done with this ride.
I finally hit this amazing fresh water drinking pull out off the side of the road and solved my water problems. Then a mile later was a rest area where I decided to take a 20 minute lunch break. I consumed one very soggy sandwich and stretched out my muscles. Things began to partially look up until I saw the sign that told me that Seaside was still 35 miles away. What? 35 miles? How is that even fair? What was even worse is a monument at the rest area let me know that the frightening tunnel that I thought would be the end of me was only 12 miles from where I was. I hung my head and imagined another 2.5 hours on the bike and begrudgingly commenced my journey.
Shortly after starting again Nine Inch Nails’ the Fragile finally ended, and as if by magic my mood shifted. I passed a sign that said Seaside was only 25 miles (I’m still confused by how the two signs could be off by 10 miles) and things began to look up. The lesson I learned here is never, and I mean never, listen to Nine Inch Nails if one wants to foster a feeling of good spirits.
I finished my climbing and began what should have been an easy 14 miles to Gearhart except the wind, that bastard, was whipping hard on the coast.
After I finally reached Gearhart I sent some communications to various people and proceeded, as planned, to jump in the ocean. I instantly regretted doing so. With no towel to dry off with, I was actually cold for the 3 hours it would take for everyone else to arrive and I could take what was a life restoring shower.
How does one kill 3 hours in Gearhart while cold, with no money, and no where to go? Well what I did was find a bench located in the sun and slightly shielded from the wind that was located in downtown and shivered. I did learn a lot while on that bench. I learned that Lauren would be attending the University of Arizona, she would be studying psychology, in a week she would be going to Maine, and that she has been bored for a the full month she’s been in town. I learned that Matt Miller was having a party that night, and that the youth of Gearhart bonfire. You’ll note that here bonfire is a verb. The lady responsible for watering the plants in the potters drives a green Tacoma. That no one bothers to lock up their bikes when they go into a place of business. The grocery store closes at 7:00 p.m. and the employees then leave at like 7:07. Not so much town related, but I learned that I have no patience for shit fantasy written by Dave Eddings.
The next day was the wedding and reception. I’d be not an asshole if I didn’t relay some of the events from the reception.
First the food was fantastic, truly commendable food. After eating came the fun and dancing portion of the night. I was having a great time dancing up until a point and then my dancing fun was ruined. Generally speaking weddings make people a little odd. By odd I mean desperate. There they see an image of true happiness and if that is missing in their life they want it, and they want it right then. Truthfully this put me in a funk, which also sort of dictated how I acted the rest of the night. Now while I was in a funk that I was trying to dance my way out of another woman at the reception was manifesting her desperation in the somewhat predictable I-must-hook-up-with someone-here variety. This meant that as the night progressed I was simply unable to even step foot on the dance floor without her approaching me and trying to dance with me. Let’s be clear I dance with no one, I am a man alone on the floor. She would not leave me alone. So what does one do? Well I went with two tact’s. One was to turn my back on her and dance away. This was surprisingly ineffective as she just followed me where I went. Tact two was, whereas, I generally tried and failed to control my farts this evening, when around her I let fly. Yes, totally true I attempted to gas her away from me. That also didn’t work. Also, seeing that logic typed in text makes me feel odd.
At one point she approached me from the side. I didn’t make eye contact, but I dropped my head, audibly said “oh gosh,” and then walked away to get a beer I didn’t want. I took a sip of the beer, put it down on a table, and then walked outside. There was nothing more I could do to tell this woman I wasn’t interested. She eventually moved on to another guy after I did some quick spin moves at the end of the night.
About my gas. I would like to humbly apologize to all at the reception. I was, as I say, blowing it out that night. I’m unsure why this was, but I had it bad from about 2 in the afternoon until 1 a.m. or so. All attempts to hold it in where foiled by the vigorous rump shaking I was doing on the dance floor. I did attempt to leave the dance floor, but often didn’t make it. I’m not saying every fart was my doing, but I’ll say that 90% of them were me. Again, a thousand apologies.
As the night wound down Ash demonstrated his true Jew powers by boxing up an entire meat and cheese spread into one take home box.
Perhaps the less the said about the post reception bonfire the better. I’m going to just posit that some of us made some choices they wouldn’t have normally made had they not been drinking since 6 in the afternoon. Not, me, I was in bed, terrified of my drunken roommates at 2:30.
By 10:40 a.m. the next day I was back on my bike and pedaling.
Musical selections for the ride home:
Avantasia – The Scarecrow
Foreigner – 4
Hiberia – The Skull Collectors
Running Wild – Dead Hand Inn
Slough Feg – Ape Uprising
Sirenia – 13th floor
Not a downbeat album in the bunch. I learned from the NIN mistake two days pervious.
The ride home was mostly unexceptional. I did find a super sweet Strom Trooper action figure which is now proudly displayed in amongst my bobble heads as a memento from trip. The weather was perfect. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. I have some really terrific tan lines from my time spent in the sun. I made it home in a little under 5 hours, but I’ll just put it at 5 hours even. It was about an 18 mile an hour pace home, such are the joys of a tailwind and my desire to get back to home.
In all the weekend was everything I wanted it to be. I finally was able to check off riding to and from the beach from my list of life goals. Plus I made great time and honestly my legs never once felt like they were overmatched for the ride. Now how my taint region felt for most of the ride is another story.
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