Bike rides & rock shows

On a bike ride a rock show

Photo surreptitiously (and gleefully) provided by CH - Thanks!

could happen. (Yes, that is me, on my own ass, with my bike above me - let's move along folks! Nothing to see here!).

At a rock show, without falling on your ass, these guys

could show up, and this guy

might play for you, and this dude

could sing a few songs, and this machine

could transform itself from ugly to this,

and this,

and then these guys could do their thing some more,

and this dude

too.

Such as they are, bike rides and rock shows have few things in common. But I like them both! A lot! Other than that I have no idea what it all means!


Ride report
in:          10'C wind 15 ks NNW
out:        10'C wind 15 ks NNW (A quick turnaround and a short day!)

Into the night

- a sonnet for M -


Just after sunrise, just before night
I would be one with you out in this light
and we would be lovers in a garden of life
I'd be your husband, you'd be my wife
I'd send you flowers, I'd ride my bike
across town to meet you, to hope you would like
me, despite what you know about how things could go
wrong and go right, these risks that we know
So here in this home, on our piece of land
as rich and as old as the seeds in your hand
consider my weakness, my offer newborn
consider my body, just a bit worn
and just after sunset, at the end of the light
I would be one with you into the night


Ride report
in:            6'C wind 15 ks NW
out:        13'C wind 25 ks SE

Spring Ride preparations

At least once a year I ride my mountain bike on appropriately mountain-bikey terrain out at Ingolf with the FGBC guys, and a few ABES too. It's a great weekend full of great weekend stuff. Including drinks and chips and foods of various varieties. And the weather doesn't matter because it's a hardy bunch that isn't afraid to get wet and dirty, or to decide not to get wet and dirty. It will all be good.

But the bike. Oh my bike. I'm still riding a Giant hard-tail, purchased second-hand by way of DS. It's been modified and made better, somewhat, but there's so much about it I would like to change. Alas, I so seldom ride trails that I, well, can't muster the argument to free up the cash to do it right. (Which would probably be to buy a different bike; isn't that always the better answer? I've never actually owned a new trail bike. Will that ever happen? You know, before the rapture?) So tonight I changed the tires (from IRC Mythos to Ritchie ExcaVaders - both old, but the Ritchies are less old, and more aggressive), lubed the chain, adjusted the rear derailleur (a stiff old Deore DX) and the brakes (still no discs for me), and tried to make the old Gripshift shift smoother (a lost cause I do believe).

By the end of the hour it's all working. That is working well enough for a ride on the dirt and gravel around here. How it will serve me out on the rocks and hills and water of the Whiteshell remains to be experienced. We've managed before, we shall manage again. But oh how, even for that one great ride a year, a good new bike seems like it really might be the only answer (mutters about lottery tickets and luck).


Ride report
in:            7'C wind 20 ks NNE
out:        11'C wind 25 ks NNW

What is good

When I'm 70 who will I be and what will I be doing? Bob Dylan turned 70 today and is still playing and still writing - still creating. Well that sounds pretty good.

A life focussed on creating, for Dylan there are clearly no options, and no doubt. This is, itself, an achievement. We would all be better for it if each of us were thus devoted to living and creating, whatever we do.

Flee distraction, oh man. He has shown you what is good and what the Lord requires of you, to do right, to love good, and walk humbly with your God (Micah 6:8).


Ride report
in:         4'C wind 20 ks NE
out:     12'C wind 15 ks NNE

Moving

I'd forgotten how tiring it can be to help someone move from one place to another. The only thing that's more tiring, is moving yourself. Today we moved G & J into a great place on Wolseley, and tomorrow we all go back to work or school. We can be thankful for the holiday time to do it, but it doesn't change the demands of "occupation" and the "clock." Those things don't move.

Regrets

There's a song about these, but I'll spare you Frank's wise words. I have rarely heard my Dad express regret, and as I write that I wonder whether my kids will say something similar, should I reach 90. Today he told me he regretted something that, a few days ago I was hopping mad about. Which, of course, made me feel both vindicated and guilty at once. Parents eh? If you think mothers are good at guilt inducements it might only be because when they're around the fathers just let them have at 'er. But when mom's not there, dad can get 'er going too. But I digress.

Today Dad had no intention of inducing guilt. He was genuinely chagrined at a choice he'd made a few years ago that, at the time seemed like a reasonable one, though even then I was wishing he'd choose otherwise. But he didn't. And today he said that he questioned his own "silly loyalties" (his words) that caused him to opt for the less practical, on some sort of moral ground. I don't think I've ever had as honest a moment with my father as I did today, because I agreed with him, and told him that I too wish he'd chosen the other option. That it would have made the transition we were in the midst of right then (seeing to having his wife (his third, who is slowing wasting away) committed to the full care wing of the seniors home they live in, in Winnipeg) quite a lot easier.

Then we discussed his generosity, and how he'd have to take a step back from it, in order to keep up with the bills. Then we talked about how hard it was to commit someone you love, who might not fully understand, or might misunderstand, into the care of others. He worries about being seen to be shirking his duty. This from a man who has worked hard and long and watched two loved ones die prematurely already. He's worried that he hasn't done his fair share. We cried and hugged, which was likely also a first (unless he actually did cry when he spanked me, like he said he did, but I never saw it).

In weakness there is so much new to see. It was so much easier telling him I loved him tonight, and really feeling it. I mean I do love my Dad - what are the options after all - but too often it's been the kind of love that one musters: the love of loyalty and moral pragmatism, rather than the love of common ground and admiration. Today though I could see in my Dad something I could admire. Something I could recognize, and emulate. So here's to regrets. Let there be a few.


Ride report
in:         10'C wind 10 ks SE
out:      drove to Wpg on family business

I see what you did there ...

... with the weekends? How you've arranged for the good weather during the week, and the not-so-good (rain, or whatever) on the weekend? Indeed! It's been like this all year already, and I think we could use a two or three-day calendar adjustment to get it right. You know? Let it rain from Tuesday to Thursday, and leave the weekends for the sun? How about that? Too much to ask? Yeah, I thought as much.

Ride report
in:          10'C wind SE 15 ks
out:        23'C wind SE 25 ks

On visiting a cemetery with young people

Four stones say:
Kinder von JB & Lizzie Falk
Lena Falk - Aug 4, 1916 to Apr 16, 1918
David Falk - Geb. (born) & Gest. (died) Aug 28, 1924


Corny Frederick Falk - Oct 19, 1936 to Aug 12, 1943 "Safe in the arms of Jesus"


Vater - John B Falk - 1888 to 1974 "Selig in Jesu Armen" 


Mutter - Elizabeth Falk (Geb (born) Sawatzky) - 1894 to 1948 "Selig in Jesu Armen"


There's laughter and pokes and jabs and shrieks in the SouthEast wind on the second really warm day in May this year. Have they just lost context, or is it Spring and really what else could one do but be young and silly? Is it perhaps too much to ask to settle down into the weight of the stones. The stories. It's a small sunlit place during the day - grass long with dandelions making appearances.

We who live so well don't really want the news of death. Why pay attention to it when there's living and breathing to do? When we've put all our stock in this one fact: that we will wake up in the morning and be well. We count on the rather ridiculous notion that breathing in and out will just always work. That your body will always remember, even when you're not paying attention. If our bodies were as carefree as our brains, we'd be dead. The heart, off on a daydream, takes a minute or two to wander, and what do you get? Death. We count on those biological elements that we cannot consciously propel in one way or another. Can I? Can I will my heart to stop? Can I hurry it up without running hard? Worry it without being anxious? My heart is me - my body - and so I am, so will it be. Lungs and liver too.

So here I sit writing, not thinking about breathing or bloodflow or bloodcleansing. I do not know what I've got left. Or how long what I do will work.

Maybe it's best to forget and live blithe. Live in oblivion. Why bother with all this angsty examination? Is that what Lena, or David, or Corny would say? If they could? It's not what Dylan Thomas would say: "Do not go gentle ... " What does that mean? How do you rage against the dying of the light? Ignore it? Live despite it? Let it surprise you? Get angry? Get drunk? What?

I imagine I hear John and Elizabeth. The dead love to hear us talk and laugh. Don't you think? They want the company. The reminders. This was once me. This voice-making body one-ness of love and breath. Wind and laughter. Discomfort and ecstacy.

Can I know the two - death and life - without knowing both at once? What does the dead man know? I imagine David Falk, who was born and who died on the same day, speak: "I couldn't have had one without the other."


Ride report
in:          12'C wind 10 ks SE
out:       22'C wind 30 ks SE

After the movie

After the movie they re-enter the Spring haze of the 9 PM prairie, a rampant fecundity. In the car he disengages the air conditioner before the first stop sign. Moist evening air blows in instantly. It's cool enough outside. Cool. Real. They pull out of town and drive east toward the moon, sleeping on its purple-blue bed, just above newly seeded fields. Now it's clear. The night will arrive.

By the time he parks the car in the garage they step out of the its electronic glow and, wide-eyed, crave what daylight remains. They walk to the flower bed, still barren. They discuss the deep green lawn and the ravages of winter. They understand now, without words, that the premature evening of the film, has stolen something that only the oncoming dark may return.


Ride report
in:            12'C wind 20 ks NE
out:         19'C wind 35 ks NNE

Night song

I'm a bit at a loss again today: 

Family, obligation, virtue, doubt, love, loss, death. 

Here's what's come of it:

Under these stars

beneath these lights

we rip ourselves open

with all of our might

and all that holds silence

all that holds right

pours out itself 

into us tonight

While under the moon

within this light

we pour out our words

we bleed out the night

Beneath these stars

under the night

we bind up our wounds

we bleed out delight

till all of our sorrows

rage blind and white

and stare us down then

we see without sight

While under the moon

within this light

we pour out our words

we bleed out the night

These ropes and barbed wire

these teeth that bite

in such caves of steel

grows love's stalactite

in falling, in failure

in slow born requite 

waters bending to stone

re-framing the plight

While under the moon

within this light

we pour out our words

we bleed out the night

 

North winds & Breached dikes

On May 11 the North wind is blowing, hard. The temperature is forecast to slip to 4'C tonight. Why does this feel so cold today, while in December this would be walk around in shorts and t-shirt weather?

On May 12 the folks in southern Manitoba cities will once again demonstrate their ignorance of life in rural areas and breach a dike holding back the Assiniboine River just outside of Portage la Prairie, in order to save approximately 900 more urban residences downstream. 150 rural residences will be sacrificed for this cause. What is not reported in this "sacrifice" is the difficulty of moving farm animals and trying to save agricultural implements and assets. This does not consider the likelihood of lost income. But all of this does not matter, because the 150 (x2?) votes of rural Manitobans  does not count as much as the 900 (x2?) votes of urban residents. That's the political reality of it. The current governing party also knows that it'll be a hot day in heaven when those rural voters vote for them anyway, so what's to lose? So the farmers and rural residents gather their belongings, load up the cattle, and pigs, and chickens, and cats, and dogs, and trailer them away, while blithe and smug urbanites nod sagely at the apparent logic of saving 900 houses over thousands of acres of agricultural assets.

It's a cold, windy, Manitoba Spring day indeed.


Ride report
in:            6'C wind 35ks NW
out:         9'C wind 25ks NW

I am not 64

It was a good day! 

The steak was stupendous.

People brought me 

        cupcakes (with lots of icing - which I love!), 

        a three layer cake iced and sprinkled with chocolate chips (yum!), and

        36 glazed donuts, which I shared.

Here's what the day looked like on my whiteboard:

That's just about as good as a day gets for me! And actually it was kinda normal (except for all the cakes and donuts). What a great job! What great people to work for and with! 

It was one of those days when you sit in the bathroom working at the crossword puzzle (usually just after lunch) and think, "They're paying me to do this!"

Ride report

in:          6'C wind 15ks NE (at 6:15 am for soccer practice)

out:      12'C wind 20 ks ENE

On anticipating a predictable milestone

These moments turn
up yearly. What's
to be gained in fretting
even in pretending one's
failures in celebrations?
Thus tomorrow I
anticipate a quiet
day with steak, baked
potatoes, green salad,
and beer for supper. This
is my wish. Lord
let it be.

Ride report
in:          8'C wind 20 ks ENE
out:       12'C wind 20 ks NNE

Good ride and good French wine

Saturday's ride was a good one! Five of us headed over to Letellier for breaky and a tour of the Red River flood waters. Which are on the wane. Total ride ks were just over 62, and we managed to keep a decent pace, though much of the hauling was into the wind - which conveniently shifted on us, from ESE to mostly S, just when we needed that Easterly boost. So it goes on the prairies.

It is great to ride with friends, and even better to be riding than doing yard work, even if it is for your church (sorry Dan). To quote the great Neil: "Comes a time ..." and the time always comes for a ride, and rarely comes for yard work that isn't your own, much less motivated by some deep-seated motherly castigation to get your ass in gear and fix stuff (that's as Mother's-dayish as this post will get). So I've said it then, that the church does not hold as much sway over my actions as does my wife (not my mother, though at times I have to give my head a shake), or my bike. In that order ... more or less. Wife. Then bike. But there may be occasion to negotiate.

And good French wine? Of course! This is the stuff of conversations that go on and on. That and a common trip to France. We and J & L cracked a bottle we brought back from Frankreich tonight and then proceeded to bombast (well at least I did!) our way through it, and into local issues historical (and hysterical - though none of the ovaries present were functioning) and literary.

Ah yes. One of these days I'll say too much. You just wait.

Not a splitting image

Ever been really tired and shirked all kinds of small duties and light-ish obligations? I have, and am. I'm jet-lagged in the brain. I'm not motivated. Although tonight I did split the stove-size pieces of maple from one of the five trees we had cut down yesterday. It took me two hours using a splitting maul, a sledgehammer, and a wedge. If that time holds, I've got another eight hours to get all five trees done. Some of the pieces were almost two feet in diameter. And the trunk was twisted so there were some really tough ones; the grain wasn't just straight up and down.

Travel alters things, and your perception of them. I can't really say with any clarity, or certainty, what's changed, but everything feels and looks a bit off these last few days. I expect I'll forget it at some point, and return to a kind of "pre-travel" state. Right now though, things do not appear to be what they were  before. Splitting wood was a good reprieve, because it needed to be done, and it is a task that requires focus. (I was on the verge of naming it a "mindless task," but if you've ever split wet wood, you'll know that characterization is ridiculous. Actually, I'd be prepared to say that the phrase "mindless task" is most often a poor characterization of a focused task in which there's only one thing to do, and you have to choose whether to do it well or not.) If you don't focus when you're swinging a splitting maul, you're going to hurt yourself, and you're going to work way harder than you needed.

Which is sort of the way life feels after travel - way harder than needed. Speaking of, I'm looking forward to my first longer ride after France, as tomorrow I join the ABES peloton in a ride to Letellier for breakfast. At this point I'd have to say, if given the choice between wind and a hill, I will take the hill. The prairie wind is big on training, and small on reward and enjoyment. It's just a grunt, with little visual interest. I'm grateful for it and all,  for I'm sure it made riding in France more enjoyable, but riding on the prairies just requires a kind of love and dedication to riding - to riding along - to riding for riding's sake - that riding in a place like France simply does not demand. Choosing to ride in France is like being asked to take a lover out for dinner and hence reaping both the gustatory and libidinal rewards. Choosing to ride southern Manitoba is like walking down the hall to math class, in junior high - it's on your schedule and you know it's good for you, but the teacher's grumpy and the girls are likely to laugh at you.

Ride report
in:          5'C wind 15 ks SE
out:       18'C wind 25 ks SE (first ride with shorts & no jacket)

Air Terminal, and Other Travel Poems

Everything's been on time so far.

Woke up at 5:19 AM

(a minute before the alarm)

Made coffee.

Got in the car and started driving by 5:38 AM

Drove through Rosenfeld to the #23

then West to Kane

and up to Sperling. Then

along the #3 to McGillvray Boulevard

and Kenaston to Wellington.

At the airport by 7:21 AM

Parked

Checked baggage

Bathroom

Cleared security

Coffee

Globe and Mail

Crossword

On the plane by 9:30 AM

Smooth flight

Some sinus pain on takeoff, but

it cleared before 20 minutes in

the air. Great

landing.

Smooth.

(Obviously)

What do you look at in the airport?

Who?

It's all just eyes and signs

in here  you can't look anywhere without some attempt

at recognition, we're all saved

by the generica of the terminal merchant

still I look

and look certain

that at some turn that familiar face

may be yours

So far nothing.

On the flight from Winnipeg the guy

next to me - young

overweight, oblivious -

plugs in as soon as he sits

Watches a fashion channel while

wearing khaki shorts with so

many pockets. Hair

moussed - that careful I don't give a damn

look. Soon that's not

enough and he lurches to straight

pulls out an ipod

touch. Flicks it

for the time

for wifi

for Tetris

The silence so overwhelming

he must hold it

back with falling blocks

This is the primary feature

of the air-terminal

the air-plane

the eponymous nature

of it.

We're all at an end

here.

Our wits

end.

What to do but

wait?

Delay.

Allay the ennui.

Screens loop ads

news reruns interrupt

that younger version of yourself

just over your shoulder

dead ends and

overpriced sandwiches

gateways to jet-engined launch pods

In the air terminal one surveys all

assays nothing

In the air terminal one

stops to go

Ride report

in:            4'C wind 20 ks S

out:         10'C wind 30 ks S

Ventoux reprised (France rides - Day 3)

See Mounting Ventoux post (below) for written commentary that accompanies these pics.

Cool. At the shop. Ready for assault #2.

It starts so gentle, so pastoral. 

The summit in the distance, about to don its chapeau.

The rise over run coefficient increases.

And now it gets serious.

Really serious.

Very serious. 

Still pretty serious.

Chateau Reynard in view.

Turning from Reynard and toward the summit.

Tom Simpson memorial.

Sleet begins.

That's not fatigue, I just can't see. 

See?

Speaks for itself. 

Summit in view.

Slick, but still hammering.

Push!

Up there ... just in front of the car.

S' no big deal.

Representin' (for Bruce P).

Ride time.

Average speed.

Choosing to live, and walking down.

Didier!
(This was Didier's second time up too,
and we offered him a ride down.
Nobody's brakes seemed to be working in the wet.)

Sweet!

Col de Murs (France rides - Day 2)

I'd rented the bike for three days. On day 1 (Tues, the 26th) I rode up Ventoux, descended it, then rode back to La Roque from Bedoin, for a total ride of 70 ks.

On day 2 I rode from Roussillion through Murs, over a couple of  5+ k climbs. The total ride was about 45 ks. (And 45 ks out here are different than 45 ks around Altona.) Here are the pics:

The ride begins.
(Colour coordination thanks to Bruce Penner, Jamis bikes, Bell helmets, & MEC glasses.)

Uphill.

Downhill.

Uphill.

The machine at rest (with view).

Downhill.

The machine at rest (with Jeffe Belgian beer).

Mounting Ventoux

Clearly, from the evidence of the image to the left, I mounted Le Ventoux. Here's the story of said mounting. Which I managed to do twice!

Okay, so I've been a bit nervous about the ride since I've heard from people that says it's really tough. On Tuesday when we head over to the bike shop in Bedoin to pick up the bike, I bring my stuff along, but I'm really intending to ride back to the place we're staying (about 30 ks) and ride around a bit (there are hills and crazy roads everywhere) just to see how it goes. So we get the bike (it's great!), I get changed, and set off, away from Ventoux. Then I say to myself, what the hell, I could just ride up the first bit of the hill to see how it goes. So I turn around after about half a km and head toward the hill. As I'm riding back past the bike shop (which is right at the bottom of Ventoux) three riders are just on their way up (it would appear). I fall in behind them. I hear them speaking in German(!), so I talk to them and it turns out they speak English too. Johannes (56) is with his brother (47) and son (26). He's been up three times before. He thinks they'll do it in more than two hours, maybe two and a half. These guys don't look intimidating, so this sounds like a good way to try it. I ask if I can follow along, and since they're bikers, of course they say that would be fine.

The first five ks are pretty reasonable. At about a 5-6% grade you're riding through farmland and a couple of villages. Typical. Scenic. Deceptive. It's a hill, but it's not a MOUNTAIN. But around five ks up that changes. Abruptly. The grade goes to 8%, and doesn't relent from that for the next 10 ks. In fact, 10 ks up the hill the grade is 10%. No switchbacks. Just twisting and climbing, in a coniferous forest. Damn it's beautiful, if you've got the time to look up from your grunting!

I left the German guys behind by around 6 ks. I was "spinning" (you don't really spin on this hill) a 34t in the front and a 25t at the back, which was as "easy" as I could get it. When I kept the cadence steady around 75 (not as fast as I'd have liked, but the best I could manage) I was averaging between 11 and 12 kph. When the grade got to 11% I'd be between 10 and 11 kph and the cadence just got lower. You keep your head down and try to breathe steady. Panting is not helpful.

I stopped twice. Once at around 8 and 12 ks, just to steady myself and do a bit of a gut-check. I ate half of an energy bar, took some water, and then went at it again - maybe a minute or two total. Then I settled into a steady breathing pattern and it seemed possible. By 10 ks I was grinning at everyone I met because I knew I was going to do it. I could hold the pace, and my breathing was controlled. I was passed by four riders (who, I'm guessing, averaged about 13-14 kph and would have finished it about 10 mins faster than I did).

Six ks from the top (at Chateau Reynard) the trees disappear and it's open with steep chunky limestone slopes. The grade for the last 6 ks is mostly about 6%, because the road uses switchbacks to control the ascent. You wind your way up and every corner feels like a great break because thing flatten out. There was almost no wind up there, which was very fortunate, given what I've heard about huge winds that are possible.

At this point my biggest worry is that I haven't brought my camera (because I wasn't expecting to go up on this day). I stop one more time at Tom Simpson's memorial, then I'm at the top! It's huge guys! There are all these other riders up there. They're all so happy! Through the whole ride guys have been descending, so I'm already pretty confident that I can do the descent too. I asked a guy with a camera if he'd take a pic of me and send it to my email. He (Alain Auberger) was happy to. Then I took his picture too. Then I helped others take their pictures. My ride time was 1h 47m 37s. Total time was 1h 52m.

The descent was fantastic! I hit 65 kph on one stretch and, if you knew there wouldn't be cars coming up, you could let it run faster!

I went up again on Thursday morning, with the camera this time. Stopped a few more times to take pics, and then Margruite and my fellow travellers showed up at about three ks from the top and took a lot of pics. It snowed and sleeted for the last five ks (see the pics) and the cars couldn't make it to the summit. I managed to keep enough of my fat ass on the back wheel to have enough traction to make it all the way up again (The front wheel slipped a bit on the corners.). My ride time the second day was 1h 45m 39s. Total time was 1h 50m.

I couldn't descend that day. The brakes wouldn't work, and there was no way to control your speed, much less steer.

Biking really is the way to world peace! If Obama and Osama could only have biked up Ventoux together. Baguettes and croissants and beer at the top. That would be a summit! The Pax Ventoux. Bikes would save the world if we'd only let them.

Ride report (back on the prairies)
in:           -2'C wind 10 ks W
out:         10'C wind 20 ks WSW