Tomorrow marks 3 weeks since I've moved from Blacksburg, VA to theBoston area. Before the move, I sat down & made a list of the pros/cons of each area. No sense in moving on if its not going to make you happy. A little snippet:
Blacksburg Positives:
Peaceful* minus shootings/guns
No traffic
Great Bike Riding
Youthful feel
Natural Scenery/beautiful with college town life
Cost of Living is inexpensive
4 hour drive to families
laid back
garden
ability to save money & travel due to cost of living
walk to downtown in safety/stumble home
friends here
simplicity of life/ easy routine
Boston Positives:
The Phillipi
Cultural center
food options
public transportation
progressive politics
Major sports venue
Wandering ability
Entertainment options/music
Abundance of townships
Bike exploring
Bike riding easier/flatter
Better economy/more stable due to city
More educational options
More job options
Closeness to major airport
Diverse Culture/people
Water/ocean beauty
Cultural identity
Christmas
Tons o bike shops
Novelty of new accents
Ice Hockey
Bike commuting
Blacksburg Negatives:
Rednecks/Jesus lovers/dumbasses
Conservative politics
Limited career opportunities
"island effect" of Blacksburg
Distance to major metro area
Limited ethnic food options
transient college population
repetitive entertainment
lack of diverse culture
Good Ol' Boy culture
Love of guns to the extreme
Boston Negatives:
Sensory overload - sounds, smells
Cost of living
traffic
crime
bike riding stop & go
winter / short days
faster pace lifestyle
population density
Distance from WV/Travel
Distance from families
Commuting to work
20 days into the transition & I've loggedclose to 300 miles on the pedal bike already. I figured the riding would be difficult at best do to some super aggressive drivers, but my preconceptions are totally unwarranted. So far everyone has been very polite, courteous, and even very helpful. It seems having thousands of people on bikes makes drivers used to seeing & dealing with cyclists. Of course we'll see what happens when spring comes and the warm weather lowers the car windows of hatred. Just like the first robin of spring, as a cyclist you anticipate the first "get off the road faggot" yell, as lowered windows compels drivers to share their opinions with all who will listen.
Until then I will continue to enjoy Global Warming & the upper 40 degree weather of the Northeast. See you on the bike path, it's WICKED AWESOME !
Fall time blowing around the leaves & thoughts of old times past.
The cooling end of warm bike rides and the need for more clothes begins to creep in.
This time of year I wane the present and draw nostalgic.
Today with the crisp, dry air on my face I dreamed back to days of shortcuts.
The shortcut that reminds me of these days gone by is a small walkway behind my old middle school. The shortcut was a couple of railroad tie steps that led through an opening in the chainlink fence. Without this shortcut you would have to walk blocks to get to the connector street that the shortcut accessed. A perfect shortcut. A true timesaver, especially when you are only 13 and can't yet drive.
But if you really know me, the car is not my heartfelt mode of transportation. That pinnacle rests on trusty two triangles and two circles, the bicycle.
Once I discovered a shortcut by bike, my world got bigger and easier all at once.
Exploring by bike to find these shortcuts became an exciting adventure.
Travel up the dead-end looking Marion Ave and discover a small gravel cut that connects blacktop to sidewalk. When you are 13 years old and discover a whole new neighborhood, the discoveries just keep on growing. New streets look like foreign lands, both exhilarating and unknown.
Or travel up Belleview Ave and try to pedal the steep dirt path that connected to the high school saving a ride around the loop and a good 5 minutes time.
All these shortcuts, now 20 years old in my mind, are as fresh as the first day my old Nike's or old Huffy Sigma bike traveled over them.
So why the reminiscing about shortcuts? It could be that I have been talking to friends from 20 years ago and the fall time brought about two-hand touch football and the great times we had. Walking or biking to games as a group of best friends, shrouded in our beautiful ignorance of youth, not aware of what 20 years in the future would be like.
Or maybe the shortcuts I so cherished are a symbol to where life takes you. Sure, there are shortcuts in the game of life. Some truly timesavers, some leading to new horizons, some leading to dead-ends and a need to turn back around and reassess your position.
Some days I get lost in my thoughts of all those great years gone by. I think of getting in the car to travel back to my hometown Butler and getting on the bike to find my old shortcuts.
Of course I won't be travelling these roads alone. Like 20 years ago, walking in those old Nike's with my best friends Tom, Mike, and Rob, now I am also accompanied by my new best friend... and future wife. We'll cut down the gravel sidewalk, maybe have to hop a fence, and I'll tell her stories of fun times long past. I'll hold her hand while we walk up the steep dirt path by Belleview Ave.
I'll show her the old Butler High School and then walk on to the middle school. We'll walk around the building, and there it will be...the old railroad tie steps leading to the opening in the fence. The shortcut that brought all the memories back today. I'll smile and we'll walk the long way home, content in the thought that not all of life needs a shortcut when all you need is right beside you.
A little over one day to go and July 2009 passes on into memories. Enduring this month of massive change has been my only goal and with less than 36 hours to go I think I'll make it through. A quick recap: Matt & Rhonda, my two bestest friends in Blacksburg move to Boston to start their careers (good luck ya chowda-heads!) I spent an amazing week in london with Becky. I spent 5 great days mountain biking with friends in West Virginia. I spent over 3 great weeks with Nanda hiking and just chilling around town. I had various weekend excursions to visit some friends and spend quality time talking and reconnecting. I talked to friends from High School that I haven't spoken to in years.
All seems well and good, but yet as my Sweet July closes, I can't help but think how sad I am to see the times end with such dear friends. Yet I do not need to regurgitate all that was said in my previous post, instead I find it funny that my Sweet July has indeed been hijacked by my subconscious thoughts of Sweet November.
Over a month ago I watched Sweet November, yes, yes, that girly movie with Keanu Reeves & Charlize Theron. I can't believe I am admitting that in public, but sure the Capt. does have a soft spot for a sappy movie & and a good cry once in awhile. I can't always be the awesome ass-kicker I am, as I do have an emotional river buried deep inside, and only those with a special compass can find the way to sail down its caring current.
So with all the changes that July would bring, the joke was that this will be "Sweet July". Except I thought there would be role reversals & I would be Charlize Theron (man, if I was her I'd never get myself out of the shower) and Nanda & all my friends who are moving on in life would be Keanu, cause obviously like Keanu they must lack mental processing power since they are leaving Blacksburg and me! So like Charlize I would show them the errors of their life, shower them with love and good times, and they would by their own inclination, change their lives. OK, that's just a brief synopsis, really go watch the movie. (Maybe drink a bottle of wine, put on some candles, and get Enya on the music player; not that's what I do or anything. Just saying.)
So during the whole lunar cycle of July, my heart was slowly opening to the changes all my friends have shown to me. I became Keanu, except not as dumb, (though not by much), and maybe a touch not as sexy, but I'll leave that for you to decide; though I was quite the piece of eye candy when Becky & I went to Club Infinity, but that's a whole nother story. I have opened my heart to a even more sappier and caring side (what, how can this be possible you may be thinking, I mean come on, you were watching chic flics before you were "sappier", so now by that vein of thinking you are on the verge of getting your Man Card revoked).
True, True. But I still appreciate all I have learned. As much as I feel the need to vent that I miss my friends once they move on, that my heart feels like it is sitting on death row waiting for its excution at the end of July, I know that even though I may be losing the ability to see them in town, I can't lose the lesson.
My Lesson is simple, it's not anything new that has never been said before. It's simply tell the people in your life that you love them. That no matter how much you get lost in the sauce of the daily grind, their smile, their touch, their jokes, their laughs, their cries; they all truly mean something. Maybe not at that moment, but later someone will think about that moment and smile. Giving up control is what I learned. No matter how much I don't want life to change and people to move on, it's going to happen. I'm not saying its ever easy to deal with that loss, but remember don't lose the lesson.
Open the wine, get out the tissues, and have a good cry.
One month since I last visited this time waste called the blog. In a span of a month I went to London, Bruxelles, Blur Concert at Hyde Park, crashed on the pavement, bid farewell to my two best friends from Blacksburg, dorked out on a Scooter, spent 5 days Mountain Biking in WV, and other numerous activities I cannot dispel to the public. Yes, I've been busy & rightly slow. Going into it, I knew the month of July is going to be a test and so far I'd say I'm getting a solid "B-" on it in keeping my head above water.
The Test is keeping myself from sliding into a slump of self-pity over the pain of life's changes & how it hurts when friends move on in their lives. Already I've had to say goodbye to Matt "Stickado" and his wife Rhon"DD"a, my two best friends when they lived in Blacksburg. Now that they are gone, I feel a large piece of me is missing. I always knew that I loved both of them, dearly not queerly, and the day that they would move on in life would be a total suckfest. That day has now come and gone, and the suckfestness has become apparent. I miss you Phillipi'.
Seeing good friends at the 2009 Slatyfork Shuffle in WV is always a good pick me up. My buddy Pat helped put it all in perspective like only he can. We were talking about life changes (he & his wife just had a baby girl 16 months ago), about my relationships with women, and how I seem to be to emotionally focused on the lows, like I prefer the comfort of sorrow.
As we sat on a picnic table in the middle of the Monongahela National Forest drinking beers Pat, in his aged wisdom said: "So let me get this straight Dan? You are a single guy that just got back from Europe. You have heart pains cause the women you like are not readily available. You have pictures of you smiling with beautiful women at all these amazing places you go. I'm not saying marriage isn't great, but really, be careful what you wish for."
And the way Pat lifted his one eyebrow as he said "be careful what you wish for" was the sign of a married man politely telling the young, single man, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU COMPLAINING ABOUT?!?!?! Touche' old friend, touche'!
Still, I do miss all those who I can not be with. This has been a great month and a month of growing changes. So to all my friends who waste 5 minutes of their lives to read this babble, I do think of you all & I love you all.
I have the Power. If you don't know where that's from, you are too young to be reading this!
Just like the homo-erotic cartoon that was He-Man, I too have the power, well at least for 10 seconds. I better be more clear, 10 seconds in cycling, not in the bedroom ladies, that's more like 44 second power.
Who Wants to Grab My Sword?
This weekend after a nice 3 day beer & tequila induced rest, I finally got my butt back on the road bike. Not to sound proud at all, but I have been feeling good on the bike. My diet has me hovering right at 150 pounds, full of leafy green goodness and fish & pasta. My natural fruit protein smoothies are a nice substitute for fat ass ice-cream & they taste oh so yummy. I'll share my power protein with you.
Buy 1 pound of fresh strawberries (about $1.50 fresh vs $4 for frozen strawberries). Freeze the strawberries. Once frozen add 5 ounces of fresh frozen strawberries, 1 cup of low fat Probiotic yogurt (whatever flavor you like), 3 ounces of Homestead Creamery Milk, and 1 scoop of Designer Whey Vanilla Protein. Blend in the Blender (add ice if you want more like an ice cream consistency) and enjoy! Pretty soon you'll have 10 second power capable of blowing by Cat 2 monkeys while still being an alcoholic Cat 4! Who says you can't have your cake & eat it too! (Well don't eat cake fat ass, you're supposed to be a cyclist, eat a smoothie). At least this way you can rationalize all the alcohol you drink.
So back to gay He-Man. I've been mountain biking a lot lately & it has helped my with my leg speed, spinning madly up muddy mountains. So this translates nicely to the road, spinning up those gears like you would in the forest on short power climbs were you still need to remain seated to apply even, fast pressure to the pedals.
So after 3 days of heavy boozing and one day of recovery, I managed to put out my highest 10 second power to date, 1182 watts for 10sec. Some lightweight "Climber" jokers would be happy to see 1182W as their instantaneous max power. My fat ass has now held that for 10 seconds. That's enough power to run a vibrator for 30 minutes * *(not confirmed)
1339W max, 1182W 10 seconds... all the more reason to not tow my fat, wheel-sucking ass to the line.
I may be going to Hell in a Bucket, but at least I'm enjoying the ride.
Tonight the Capt found himself back at the Floyd Country Store where clogging & flat foot dancing are the name of the game. All it takes is a big smile (fueled by booze) and you can meet all ages of nice ladies. I danced with a nice lady with questionable dentistry, Rhon"DD"a, and a nice lady who tried to undo my two left feet & teach me how to Two Step.
And then it dawned on me... I'm doing"it" all wrong. All the nights spent in downtown Blacksburg hitting on clueless college girls was wrong. There are plenty of good, old fashioned country ladies who can appreciate a cocky guy from NJ & the Marines. Seems to be a good combination of testosterone and sexual innuendo.
Yet, through all the clever banter and cheesy smile, I know at the end of the night I still am a semi old fashioned guy. So I go home and follow the Vincent Vega method of ending the night with some morals.
After weeks of slacking I dragged my sorry ass back to yoga. My legs, back, shoulders have become so tight after not stretching for over a month & I have started to feel the ill effects on the bike. After a winter of yoga twice a week, I felt more balanced & stronger on the bike. But with the warm weather I wanted to ride more than before muscle maintenance & in one short month my body went to imbalanced hell. So I go back to yoga....and remember why the hell I liked going so much.
Sure the stretches & poses feel good, but thats not the reason. Nope, its the hot as girls and women in class. I finally spoke with my yoga dream girl, though the conversation was more a friendly formality than the envisioned coolness I thought it would be. Somewhere over the course of my aging 10 years, I lost the easy game I had back in school & college. Being schooled in the Jim Morrison school of love was much easier when I was carefree & young. My pick-up line was some stoner smile, rock n' roll, and booze. It worked quite well.
Somewhere responsibility, work, & maturity have sucked the fun out of the old Capt_phun. I used to not give a fuck, I still kind of don't, but not with the reckless abandonment & sexual prowess I used to purvey. Which leads me to some thoughts. I need to either: A) start drinking more b) start drugging more c) hit myself in the head with a hammer till I have the mental awareness of the carefree 22 year old I used to be d) start drinking more e) just throw it out there with the ladies & stop fearing rejection f) start drinking & drugging more simultaneously
I think I'll go with all of the above, minus C.
I know one thing. I need to go back to summer school, summer school of The Doors that fueled that confident romantic that used to be a charmer. Old friends from back in the day can attest to the drunken skills I used to have... so Jim where have they gone? I recall the easier days when the conversations were as simple as you told me they would be. Something along the lines of: Hey what's your name? How old are you? Where'd you go to school? Well, now that we know each other a little bit better, Why don't you come over here and make me feel all right!
Oh Gloria, come on back...
You took me home, To your house. Your father's at work,Y our mama's out shopping around. Check me into your room. Show me your thing. Why'd you do it baby? Getting softer--slow it down, softer, get it down. Now you show me your thing. Wrap your legs around my neck, Wrap your arms around my feet, yeah. Wrap your hair around my skin. I'm gonna huh--all right, ok, yeah. It's getting harder--It's getting too darn fast, etc. Come on, now, let's get it on. Too late, too late, too late, too late, too late, Make me feel all right! G-L-O-R-I-A!
The weather has brought warmth, sunshine, and lush green mountains. It seems overnight the beautiful mountains that surround me on my rides have gone from a drab, lifeless brown, to a glowing green. The smell of flowers, cool moist breeze, and buzzing bugs reminds me of how beautiful the world is when in bloom. All is good on the pedals, and all seems good in the brain.
With all the talk of economic gloom, pig swine, and all the general bullshit the media pumps out, I have tuned it out and now focus on the good. I am happy to have a job that I can now ride my bike to, have good food on the table, a loving family, and a great circle of friends. This year has been a whirlwind of bad news, but keeping a positive outlook on it all is now the norm.
The bike has been enjoyable and I am looking forward to planning a weekend getaway out to Davis, WV for a nice mountain bike and beer chill out.
I think one reason for all my new found optimism is some great music recently discovered. Every year I like to think back & vote for my personal album of the year. This year, already in April I think I have found it in Band of Horses. Positive songs, nice vocal effects, and just the kind of melodic soothing tunes that I would sing on a way out to a mountain bike camping weekend.
Great song, though the title should be: "I go to the barn because I like the"
Sing it Jim, to the one who is there but doesn't believe it, though it is so true:
We could be so good together,Yeah, so good together,We could be so good together,Ya, we could, I know we could. Tell you lies,I tell you wicked lies.Tell you lies,Tell you wicked lies.Tell you 'bout the world that we'll invent,Wanton world without lament,Enterprise, expedition,Invitation and invention. Yeah, so good together,Ah, so good together,We could be so good together,Yeah, we could, know we could. Alright!Do da do do do do do bup bup de day. We could be so good together,Yeah, so good together,We could be so good together,Yeah, we could, know we could. Tell you lies,Tell you wicked lies.Tell you lies,Tell you wicked lies. The time you wait subtracts the joy,Beheads the Angels you destroy;Angels fight, Angels cry,Angels dance and Angels die. Yeah, so good together,Ah, but so good together,We could be so good together,Yeah, we could, know we could.
No matter how crazily life has spiralled up, down, sideways, in the past three weeks, I have come to a calm. Its a good pace, in a happy space, especially when you sit on my face. OK, maybe not that last part. From a passionate kiss to the little leaf buds popping on the trees, the rebirth is here.
Today on my Strength Training ride, pushing 50X11 up short, steep climbs, and some on gravel, my rear tire became that dreaded soft, sluggish feeling. I raised my right arm for the team car to swap out my wheel, but unfortunately I am not ProTour level so there is no team car. Long story short, the spare tube & CO2 inflator were not cooperative so I knew there was only one way home, on foot. Not wanting to ruin my nice white shoes, I stuffed them in my jersey pocket, removed my socks & began the 2 mile walk back to the Blacksburg Transit bus stop.
Under normal circumstances, walking while carrying your bike would piss most people off and ruin their day. For some reason I was thinking for once & instead of walking on the road I walked through the grass. It seems like years since I have walked barefoot through lush, soft grass and the cool squish beneath my feet made the walk actually, yes, enjoyable. Instead of dwelling on the stupid flat tire, I focused on the greenness of the grass, the shapes of the clouds, the curious cows that ran up to the fence line to watch this lycra clad dork walk by carrying a bike instead of pedalling it.
And I smiled. I sang a song that I just heard over on a video at Ignacio's Speedmore Racing Blog. And I smiled some more. For once I wasn't pent up with unnecessary rage, but being "tranquilo".
Let me be the first to admit it: Nothing ever good comes from too much salami. Oh yes, feel free to read into that as deeply as you choose. Whether it's the salami in my refrigerator cooler drawer or the salami in my drawers, too much salami is never a good thing.
After what seems like a month of feeling like crap on the bike, its seems the body has blown clean of relative sickness & riding is once again enjoyable & punishing at the same time. Glorious days are here again. With all the time I've been spending on the bike I should be plowing through the post ride calories, but oddly enough, I've been content to eat sparingly & still feel full and fueled. Of course two Pabst tall boys followed by three St. Bernardus Pater 6 aren't totally light on calories, but I did manage to eat only a garden salad so it balances out. Or so I tell myself.
But what is all this talk of Salami you say? Well it is somewhat well known that I have a fondness for tubed shaped meat. No asshats, not that kind of tube shaped meat, but dried meat products stuffed in some kind of casing. Ok, ok, I'm getting nowhere with this.
On my trip to Belgium last year, I was in dried meat heaven. I managed to make a habit out of gorging on Stickado, and even managed to smuggle some back in stateside, though they only lasted about 3 days before I ate them all and USDA kicked down my door. So, how can too much salami be so bad? Well if you are a loser with the ladies like I am, it goes down something like this.
I return from a hard ride with Matt "Stickado". Wow that sounded homo.
So anyways, I get back from our ride & I have only about 1 hour to eat, wash up, and head out to yoga, where there is a super cute girl I've been making eyes at. I open the fridge, hmmm, what can I eat quickly & still is satisfying? Why of course, Salami, that will sit fine in my stomach after strenuous exercise. I munch on some tasting soprosetta sausage, and head out to yoga. After some up dogs, down dogs, and other poses that contorts my gut, I begin to feel the salami repeat into my throat. Good job dumbass, lets go talk to the cute girl with salami breath.
Unfortunately I no longer live in NJ, aka Soprano Italian land, so my salami breath would not have the aphrodisiac effect it would have on the ladies back in say, Nutley NJ. Class ends, the cute girl smiles goodbye and my salami breath feel so repulsive to myself that I barely dare crack a smile in fear of leaking out some sausage spices gas.
I return home, tail between my legs, having to wait another week to cross paths again. So to dull the pain of my loserdom, I cook up some stuffed salmon, maybe fish breath is better? No wonder I'm still single.
12 days till I'm 32 & all I can say is getting old blows. All through school you are taught useless shit, like history, English, terrible sex ed class. Hell, the only class that actually had some latter day application was home ec where we learned how to cook rice. They need to go back & have a class called "Getting Older Blows - 101". In this class you will learn about back pain, mortgages, friends coming & going out of your life, receding hairlines, pills that cause 4 hour erections (not necessarily a bad thing), and the monotony of the 9-5. Another required viewing of class will be Office Space, for those who dream of climbing the corporate ladder, you need this heavy dose of reality.
Why didn't someone warn me of this shit?! Well as I can hazily recall, people who were in their 30's & 40's were warning me, but at the time 30 seemed so far off I never could wrap my noddle around ever making it that long. So now I get to hear people say "wait till you're 50" and I say, that is highly improbable. Maybe I should enroll in "Getting Even Older Blows 202, the 50+ years" and learn about the joys of my future prostate exams, senior citizens discounts on Tuesday, all you can eat buffets, more erection pills that now require asking your doctor if you are healthy enough for sexual activity, and receding grey hair.
Blah, too much to wade through and not enough time to figure it out. Pass the bottle buddy, hit the play button, turn it up, and dream about those not with you today. The bonus of older days is that maybe one day it will make sense and the cards will fall in place.
As easy as the wind blows weather changes through the mountains of southwest Virginia, life blows changes through the simplistic routines of the everyday. Rewind one weekend & I'm pumping out power to the pedals I've never done before. Fast forward to today, and the body says, "enough, time for a rest whether you like it or not." And so the funk begins again. Unfortunately the mental anguish is accompanied not by a simple sinus infection, but the thought of the "C" word. No, not cunnilingus, but the big C. The uncontrollable C that takes hold of people's body no matter how healthy they are, or how much they fight all the causes. C'est la vie.
And so with the drab weather casting gray shadows over all I see, the brain has time to wander about & reminisce of past encounters, fleeting minutes spent staring in the eyes of beauty & longing for those time to hurry back. But like the changing weather or the big C, those moments are out of our control so we simply can reflect on them & be hopeful we shall experience them again.
Thoughts of a cold beer at the campsite, shins shredded from stinging nettles as you bomb downhill mud flying in your face, a wet dog waiting at the tent to greet you at the end of a great ride.
Oh warmth, come back soon. Your sweet embrace is missed by my body. Your sweet spring breeze feels like gentle lips pressed to my cheek. Your sun rays milking the sweat down my face (and giving me goddamn skin cancer) as I grind uphill. Your morning dew coating the rocks and causing the tires to lose their line, skinning my knees like sweet carpet burn. And yet through all the falls & abrasions, I get back up & push forward, for it is in that feeling that you get such sweet release.
So today there will be no Metallica pumping through the headphones, no need for that aggression. Instead I offer up to Mother Nature & those long at heart a mellow mood to ease the mind as we await warmer days. Oh Mother Nature, you MILF, I can't wait for your hot touch so I can get at your "Buttons & Zips" & tear it up with two tires.
No this isn't part of Obama's Greening of the power grid, this is the power of tequila fueled cycling legs. On Saturday I headed out with Fatt Phillips to do our typical Bradshaw Rd Loop & we were greeted by a stiff tailwind heading out on Blacksburg Road. Cruising along at 30 miles an hour without having to work too hard is always a great feeling & about as PRO fast as I can ever get.
We turn onto Rt. 311 and start to eye of the green town sign sprint for Catawba. We are riding shoulder to shoulder, no sucking wheels here, this will be a showdown of pure sprinter hardness. About 175 meters to go I give it the gas first & quickly find the tailwind is pushing us along as I have to drop gears to keep from spinning it out. I surge, Fatt pulls up along side, I drop it another gear & move away, Fatt surges, I drop one more gear and do the Boonen head bob as the line approaches. I give it my all, throw the bike & take the line by half a wheel. Whooo, that was rough.
We catch our breath & check out the Powertap numbers. Holy crap, Max Watts 1339, speed 35 mph. Fatt rolls up & says he hit 1343 Watts. I reassure him those extra 4 watts he had is do to his ass being bigger than mine & he needed an extra 40 watts to come around me. We get home, I download the power file, and holy shit, new 5 second personal best by almost 60 watts. Way to go Belgian Beer & Tequila, must be high grade alcohol rocket fuel.
As they say, if you don't have the file, it never happened, so here you go:
From Merriam-Webster: Boundary - something that indicates or fixes a limit or extent
Seems simple enough, but as long as the week ends, and the weekend begins, boundaries are constantly disregarded and crossed. There has got to be some reinforcement tool to help establish those boundaries and remember not to cross them. What boundaries you may ask?
Boundary One: Caution...do not cross regulary: the limit of strong Belgian Beer followed by high dollar Tequilla. The problem lies when the tab is open under someone else's credit card or the bar does not charge you for the right price for the tequilla, that boundary line gets quite fuzzy. Quite fuzzy from the booze, the 8.5% abv beer and any extracircular activities that may be too incriminating to mention.
Boundary Two: I really need to get that cell phone breathalyzer installed when combined with crossing boundary one. Too much booze, a sexy woman on the other end of the line, and the next morning you wake up hung over with a vague recollection of a conversation that may have went something close to this:
One week till the Jeff Cup Road Race and I wake up with infected snot draining from my sinuses. Contrary to what Phillips believes, it was not from watching Two Girls, One Cup, (which I have never, nor will ever, view) but from the changing weather. Every spring & fall when the weather changes from warm to cold, I seem to get a little sinus infection. I lucked out & did not get sick this fall or winter, but hell, today the 1st day of spring, I wake up congested.
In an attempt to blow out the congestion, I went on the usual Saturday ride, the plan was to do about 90 miles. I made it about 25 miles before deciding I would be better served to rest & recover than to force onward. It turned out to be the right decision. As a mountain biker more than a roadie, I pride myself on my bike handling as a way of intimidating the regular roadies. Little did I know that all the pressure would force me to use all my skills just to make it home. As I struggled up Gap mountain at a blistering 6mph, closing my eyes would make the pain go away but also make me zone out & swerve like I was zooted off my ass back in "High" School.
It's funny what the mind will imagine when the body is pushed to hard, the glucose in your body at dangerously low levels. As I forced the cranks over, the song kept repeating in my mind.
Here's hoping there is no permanent brain damage done.
Today shall be remembered, a day of epiphany. The vision: I am a dyslexic heart asshole when it comes to picking up women. Case in point, my often aggressive, self-assertive style of never being wrong (but usually in hindsight, find I am way wrong on some deeper level.) So long story short. I go downtown to get a haircut at the usual barber shop only to find it closed. Fuck. I really need a haircut, the hair on the side of my head is long enough to make my head look 2 sizes too large for my body. Remembering that a Great Clips just opened down the road, I stroll in for a quick haircut.
I'm not one to be picky about my haircut, just buzz the shit off & make my head look proportionate to my body. I realize the canvas that is my face does not give much to work with, so just make me look slightly better than a baboon's ass & I'm happy. The canvas that is my face is more in line with a Picasso, only beautiful to those who can see through the jumble of shit that composes it.
So I am greeted by a cute girl, hair stylist. For some reason, hair stylist have this extraordinary cuteness, driven by their own uniquely styled hair & fashion-mod sense. Or maybe they are cute cause I know they'll be rubbing my head in a few minutes. Regardless, this girl was exceptionally "cute" and super friendly.
And here is where it all goes downhill. She simply asks for my name and phone number to put in the computer and I resist like a P.O.W. with jumper cables clamped to his testicles. I only give out name, rank, & serial number, I know this shit, I've been trained to kill. Really, whoever is the marketing douche who thought of this years ago, I say "Fuck you" I hate getting spammed either by email, phone, or shitty mail flyers that just end up contributing to the trash heap that is pushy marketing. But the cute girl plays it off like its not spam, just a way to know something, like your haircut or god knows what. So they crank the power up & the battery cables sizzle my nuts, but I resist & say "John Doe", sounds good.
Having obviously made more of a production out of this than is necessary, I get my haircut, & in the process talk with this lovely girl who is new to the area (hint #1), talks about dating (hint #2), asks me if I'm married with kids (umm, no) (hint #3), etc. She spends way more time than is necessary to make me look pretty, a losing battle really, & I feel so douchenozzlish, that I give her my name, phone, blood type, & all the secret plans for invasion I had so direly resisted initially. Feeling like a huge dick, I give her a $5 tip for a $10 haircut, take my shrivelled & dejected balls out the door, & that's when I have my epiphany.
That girl was making nice, almost too nice, & I was a total dickbag. God I'm an asshole when it comes to picking up the signs. I walk over to the grocery store & can't stop thinking, "what an asshole", "what an asshole". If I had just given her my fucking name, I could have then hinted at asking her out, but no, Mr. Anti-Marketing, Anti-Man, you fucking blew it! What an asshole. Have fun jerking off tonight instead of taking cute hair stylist girl on a date. "What an asshole".
After a long weekend in NoVa visiting the family, the Capt seems to be on the biking downswing. I only managed 1 ride in NoVa, a nice 64 mile solo ride to visit my sister & mom's work place & meet some of the fine ladies at their office (if you're reading this Kelly, you should next be emailing me). My Rogues Racing picture is displayed in the office & I have found out it has been affectionately (or perversely) dubbed the "package picture." Funny cause I'm not holding any boxed goods, hmm.
After riding Wednesday, trying out a new Prologo saddle, the old back pain flared up & the demotivation kicked in. After reassessing the saddle fit, I determined it was 6mm to rearward. 6mm too long, the story of my life. After moving the saddle forward, I still didn't have the inclination to get on the bike & fear the back pain I have come to dread.
Luckily my crazy sister called saying she wants to buy a bike. After a 20 minute talk about bikes, caloric burn rate, & heart rate monitors, I felt I should man up & get on the bike & see how it goes. Knowing I still needed a little push to get out the door into the warm weather, I stuck the I-Brick mp3 player in my pocket, loaded up some old Metallica (when they were good), and blasted down the road, instantly realizing my saddle was where it belonged, cradling the "package." For 2 hours, double kick drums & tight guitars blasted through the ear buds, oh yeah, the legs are coming back, the brain is thinking positively.
So little kiddies, when you are feeling low, load up on coffee, eat some potatoes, grab the bike & blast Blackened. This shit will having you pedaling like a coke head on a stolen bike.
It's confirmed. Northern Virginia blows for cycling. After living in Blacksburg for almost 4 years, I've become spoiled by our low traffic, rural roads. So after riding 65 miles on shit traffic, a-hole clogged NoVa roads, the Captain is ready to rage and snatch & grab the douchenozzles who think they own the road.
In SW Va you can usually chock up all the "biker fag" comments to some uneducated redneck in a dually pickup, but in NoVa, the spectrum of assholeness knows no bounds. So to the rich business man in his Mercedes SUV, to the Redneck with the 4th grade education in your big ass pick-um-up truck, I give you a hearty FUCK YOU.
I warned you I was ready to rage. Maybe its years of supressed anger from my time in the Marines, the andrenaline I feel while stomping the pedals, or years of sexual tension, but yesterday I was praying someone would have the balls to stop & exchange words. The only words I would have uttered would be:
This weekend after a nice 3 day beer & tequila induced rest, I finally got my butt back on the road bike. Not to sound proud at all, but I have been feeling good on the bike. My diet has me hovering right at 150 pounds, full of leafy green goodness and fish & pasta. My natural fruit protein smoothies are a nice substitute for fat ass ice-cream & they taste oh so yummy. I'll share my power protein with you.
