Osborne Family Glob.

...and miles to go before I sleep.

2011-10-09T09:23:00.000-06:00

As one wanders, Frost-like, through the woods, there are inevitably signs of passage from those that have gone before. D+S carved into a tree, perhaps, or a well-worn path around a boulder leading to an easily-forded section of a stream. Other places, other meadows, the signs and markings may simply not be found, and one is left with untrammeled wildflowers, a choice of direction and approach... and no warning signs if the meadow is secretly high-mountain swamp and likely to result in rangers finding only your hat sitting on the top of what appears to be solid ground.

As in marriage, so as in life. And birthdays, I suppose. I find paths and patterns in my meanderings that I know were cut with care by my mom and dad. I find other areas where the path simply fades out, and I'm left to cut my own trail into the undergrowth and hope that I'm still going the same direction I was when I set out. Turns out moss actually grows on every side of most trees that I've seen, leaving me no conclusion when I find myself at a loss to where I am ...other than that I've ended up at the South pole.
The clear and simple paths, the ones that avoid cactus, poison ivy, sudden drop-offs, and potential unpleasant surprises of that ilk don't cause much consternation, or wonder, for that matter. Other travelers, having been through that, or having the foresight to avoid it, have embedded the route into the earth, leading you safely past. It's the meadows, however, where the footprints become sparse, then invisible, that cause me to pause and reflect.
If the path has stopped, why? Is this a bad idea? Here Be Bog Womblers signs were eaten, along with the previous souls that came this way? Is it safe, and thus you can pick your own bed of flowers to lie in for cloud-watching and star-gazing, and peacefully while the afternoon away?

Or, is this simply a place and a time where it's more important that I be left to discover what needs to be found on my own? No small and hidden wildflower, when pointed out by another, has the same magical impact of seeing it yourself. No warning of 'that may sting for several days' can convey the reality of having suffered through the reaction oneself.

I, Ryan, having been blessed with goodly parents, a resoundingly adept and beautiful wife and friends that matter, am happy. I'm grateful for trail guides, for purple mountains' majesty, and for someone to show me the vistas I missed while I was on my hands and knees, looking for flowers amidst the ferns. I'm pleasantly surprised to find that my Life, the Universe and Everything year feels not much different than my twenty-fifth, other than the kids needing far fewer diaper changes and more car keys. I'm also kinda happy that the number of my parents' anniversaries is still greater than the number of years I've been roaming this planet, no matter what people yell at me when I'm on my bike.

Life is sweet.

Locations and locomotives

2010-12-07T12:47:00.000-07:00

Where does greatness lie?

In the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness, there is often little heed given to moments of stability. Much ado over change, chaos and uncertainty seems to be omnipresent, and yet there is no joy in being consistently balanced on one leg, Karate movies notwithstanding.
Greatness does not come with conquering nations. Greatness does not find itself in the trappings of movements, causes or blind endorsements devoid of thinking. Greatness does not lurk in the edges of madness and despair, but it starts to appear when the struggle to move toward light and singleness of purpose becomes all-important and all-consuming. It comes even more to the fore when that singleness of purpose encompasses love.

Greatness lies in my arms and smiles at me and makes the world revolve, softly, as I sleep.

Land of Enchantment. And Rental Cops.

2010-10-08T22:29:00.000-06:00

Strange town, Trinidad... and yet it's the first spot of true verdant, well, anything after leaving Colorado Springs and heading South. I was hoping for some 'A Whole New You, While You Wait' parlors along Main Street, but alas, Trinidad's reputation was not matched by reality, at least in that aspect.

Tammy hit on the brilliant idea to look up the smallest, middle-of-nowhere towns that we passed through on her phone (hooray for iPhones) and surprisingly, there were some pretty stellar things in some amazingly blasted looking places. There wasn't an app for 'make the stupid headwind stop' though, and we managed to stay on a greater than 1:1 miles to the gallon, but only just.

Wandered among the great unwashed at the balloon festival, and my theory was once again validated: there is no event, no matter how high-minded or full of artistic merit that cannot be improved by the liberal addition of carnies. We gorged on turkey legs, pulled pork sandwiches and almost made it to the funnel cake line... and then realized the crowds we were pushing through WERE the funnel cake line. We absconded to the bus, and returned to the mall, making it barely in time to have a Mall Security Officer (like a real officer, only with less fat and twice the USDA recommended fiber!) tell me I was no longer welcome on the mall grounds. I thought about being hurt, but then decided to eat candy by the handful while sitting on the hotel bed instead.

Oh, the balloons were really cool, lest I fail to mention that. They finished up the night with a fireworks display, but sadly, not one timed to coincide with the balloons being in the air, and perhaps allowed to fire back.

Sick Of It All... Okay, Just The Bad Parts.

2010-02-17T20:45:00.000-07:00

Tired of cold. Tired of mud. Tired of rides that are just fighting equipment and the weather and terrain.

I've caved already. Riding will take place later in the year.

Started working with a physical therapist to keep my back from locking up and to get some better explosive power for sprints and climbs... and some core strength so I don't rag-doll my way around on the bike anymore.

Maybe this won't be the year of supreme punishment, but maybe it'll be another year of improvement and happiness once the trails are dry and I don't have to ride in fifteen layers of clothing.

More importantly, yay Rich, yay Reese. Go, fight win. Great to see hope and love win out.

- Ryan

Cold

2010-02-06T18:01:00.000-07:00

Back out after being sick and then just sick and tired of cold and busy without time to ride and enjoy it. Need more daylight, more warm and less adulthood.

Laptop Died, iPhone Sucks For Blogging But I Rode

2010-01-27T23:27:00.000-07:00

Sniffless

2010-01-26T20:56:00.000-07:00

And yes, that's 'sniffless' not 'sniffles.' Bella made it while accompanying me on the ride with only two moments where she had to catch up. Some of that was probably due to the fact that it was too cold for there to BE smells.

Freaking winter... in two more months I'll have the light and time after work to hammer out real, leg-burning, 2,000 ft total climb rides. Now, I'm riding around the block. I feel like I should be on a tricycle.

Still, beats a day without riding.

Dog Run

2010-01-25T20:31:00.000-07:00

Took the dog around the block, off the leash, random sniffing galore and back in one piece. Okay, two pieces, three if you count the bike. Good to ride, even in the dark.

Circles

2010-01-24T21:27:00.000-07:00

Spent some quality time picking mud and debris out of the cogs and bushings, then messed with the seat geometry trying for a little better balance. Rode back and forth in the street and basically discovered that while I did indeed improve the feel of the bike, I can't ride a wheelie for love or money. At least I still have my looks.

Not Entirely Soup

2010-01-23T18:27:00.000-07:00

Trail is starting to dry up, only really foul in a couple of spots. Can't wait to lead a pick-and-shovel crew to fix all the mayhem we've caused. Still, better to have to put some time in with a shovel than not to ride until April. 20 klicks, mostly road, mostly hills and mostly really tired now.

Looped

2010-01-22T22:34:00.000-07:00

Got home just a little before five, and it was still light. Maybe there's hope.

Threw a quick hill-climb-and-loop in, maybe a hair over five miles and got it done in 20 minutes. Knees are talking smack to me a little, but good to get a faster workout in.

Avatar was fantastic, and it didn't have a single bike in it. Who would have thought?

Twofer Redux

2010-01-21T18:52:00.000-07:00

Rode yesterday barefoot, and not very far in the cold. I really like shoes.

Tonight was a half mile, at most, and windy... hope we don't get a storm, which probably means we will. Ah, well, I haven't ridden while it was snowing yet. Be good to get that out of the way.

Nobody Can Spell "Derailleur"

2010-01-18T21:01:00.000-07:00

Spellcheck never found a variant it considered correct. Sad.

Tore my hanger off today, managed to not break any spokes, and as usual, it happened in the middle of a flat, grassy field. Amazing. Mark got it all squared away at the bike shop and I'm back in business for tomorrow's ride, but I think I'll stay on pavement for a while. Sick of cleaning the bike off and there's no rhythm, no flow and not much fun on the trails. Still, not much fun beats no ride, hands down.

Lazy Sunday

2010-01-17T19:28:00.000-07:00

Just took it around the block after helping some neighbors - cold, clear and beautiful outside, but there's a disturbing noise coming from the bike after the mudbath yesterday. Looks like it's time for some puttering in the garage and then breaking things so I can help make the mortgage for the bike store owners. As usual.

Saturday Is A Special Day

2010-01-16T15:00:00.000-07:00

...it's the day we pull cactus spines out of my knee and have to go to the carwash to get the mud off the bikes.

Tammy and I did the Hidden Mesa loop thinking (hah) that it would be dry. It was a total mudslide, complete with rocks, innocent bystanders and chunks of mystery stuff stuck in our bikes. Sooooo much fun and so frustrating all at the same time - you couldn't get any rhythm going, you couldn't just spin and enjoy it, nothing but grinding away in the granny ring and watching for ice.

At least I got my first fall out of the way for the year and it wasn't a disaster. I usually ride better after that.

And yes, my wife is cooler than yours because she kicks ass and takes names on a Saturday in the mud and looks ravishing while doing so. I win.

Twofer.

2010-01-15T18:55:00.001-07:00

Some friends had to borrow the truck last night, so I threw the bike in the bed, drove over and tossed him the keys, then rode home. Any excuse to be on the bike is a good one.

Tonight Mike and I did almost 20 klicks in mud and ooze and snow. You could feel the tires drop through the frozen surface of the mud and then wallow in the caramel center... grody, slick and fun. Tipped past the freezing point on the way back and the yuck that was packed in and around the rear derailleur froze once I hit the road. Had to flush it out with hot water and a squirt bottle.

So good to be out and running amok. Can't wait for summer.

Threefer

2010-01-13T18:06:00.000-07:00

I need to figure out how to post to this from my phone.

Haven't fallen off the wagon yet, was just traveling and unable to update. Monday night found me at a hotel in SLC, and impatiently waiting for the woman on the excercise bike to stop pedaling at 30 RPM (target heart rate: 4) so I could get my ride in. After checking back a few times, and then vigorously wiping the bike down to get rid of the apathy, I made my first attempt at spinning. Got 35 minutes in keeping my heart rate between 130 and 160. Pretty good workout, even if it felt stupid to not be going anywhere.

Yesterday was a repeat of the first attempt, sans the lady hogging the bike. Went for 45 minutes last night and I'm feeling it today.

Today I was just glad to be home and did a quick half-mile in the twilight and then called it good. I greatly prefer a real bike over a pretend one.

Glad to be home.

Toes? We Don' Need No Steenking Toes.

2010-01-10T18:59:00.000-07:00

Did the token it-still-counts-as-a-bike-ride ride around the block, but in flip-flops and shorts. 37 degrees, so it's totally a heat wave here.

Next few days are going to be tricky with travel, but I figure that the gym will have an excercise bike. I hate the things, but it's better than nothing, and this way I won't have to break into a bike shop just to get my fix.

Hello everyone, my name is Ryan and I'm a bike junkie.

The Glare Of The Hills

2010-01-09T15:10:00.000-07:00

Snow. Mud. Wife. Bikes.

Perfect day.

White After Labor Day

2010-01-08T18:31:00.000-07:00

Mike wanted to get a joint ride in today, and as the days are (finally!) getting longer, we were able to get out after work and throw down six miles. Trail was in surprisingly good shape, not much snow and the ground wasn't warm enough to turn to mud, so I actually stayed clean on a ride. Amazing.

Good to be out under blue skies and feel sunlight, even if it was faint. Can't wait for warm weather and long days to spin away.

* Insert Witticism Here *

2010-01-08T00:18:00.001-07:00

Almost went to bed without whining about how cold it was. Still 5 degrees, rode a little further tonight, face didn't just feel cold, it HURT by the time I got home.

Yes, yes, I know, my face may hurt but it's KILLING you. Thank you, Mr Husted, for that joke.

Still, even mockery is not as bad as a day with no ride, and today was good.

No, No, They're Tears Of Joy, Really. Okay, Icicles Of Joy.

2010-01-06T19:29:00.000-07:00

Not warm. Not balmy. Really not nice. It's the kind of clear, biting cold that immediately makes you feel brittle.

So, one quick loop was plenty in the dark. But at least no one could see the tears from the incredibly cold wind sticking to the side of my head and thus my manly reputation is safe for another day. Way better than not riding.

Work, Couch, Ride

2010-01-05T21:52:00.000-07:00

Got home and found that our incredibly generous friends were still trying to find a home for their old sofa... so took the cover and bike rack off the truck and went and got us a new couch. Which completely failed to fit down the stairs, and had to be trucked down the side of the hill, in the dark, in snow to discover that it didn't fit through the sliding glass door, either.
Some swearing and creative rotations later, it made it into the basement. Lot of help from our neighbor, who ran out of his house barefoot to help once he saw the couch. Great guy.

And then, after finishing off the andouille sausage and peppers over rice (yay, Tammy!) I came upstairs, managed to get all the way to my skivvies and realized that I hadn't ridden today. Back into clothes, coat, hat, on the bike and around the block. Hardly an epic ride, but beats a day without riding.

I Am Cold And My Dog Is Invisible At Night

2010-01-04T18:49:00.000-07:00

Rode maybe 500 yards at most, wearing street shoes, jeans and a down jacket. Quite the stylish figure compared to my usual spandex-and-sweat attire. Took the dog with me, as she was making the sad face as I was leaving the garage... and a black dog at night is not good. Kinda hard to see where she is when I'm trying to go in any given direction, but it worked out fine, as she was always over sniffing the closest fence post and ignoring my instructions.

Cold, dark, clear and beautiful, pristine air. A good ride regardless of time spent in the saddle.

Suprisingly Refreshing

2010-01-03T15:17:00.000-07:00

Short ride today. By that, I mean I rode in shorts. And it's 31 degrees and windy.

Rode a little more slowly, and only did 4.5 miles... more of an excuse to kind of zone out and think about things than a training ride or to hammer. No great insights resulted, but at least it was bitterly cold.

And still better than a day without riding.

Aww, Hail No.

2010-01-02T13:35:00.000-07:00

13 miles, sun was out (initially, anyway) and had the trail to myself once I passed three other insane folks out running. Slippery as yesterday, but still great to be out. Rode over to the bike shop and hung out with Mark and KC for a bit, scoped out the parts I need to replace on the bike, then rode home

Did a mile or so no-hands, just for the sheer fun of it, which apparently triggered some sort of karma-related vengeance and it hailed on me the rest of the way home.

Still better than a day without riding.

Oh, My Frozen Hobo

2010-01-01T16:35:00.000-07:00

The tracking app didn't lock on altitude and I'm thinking the distance it showed is fishy as well, but nonetheless, a ride took place. Cold, uphill, loose snow, a flat, and being fat still didn't make it any less fun. App said 14 miles and 800 calories, but I'm pretty sure it's calibrated for roadies on no-resistance tires and pavement.

Need to calibrate it for idiots in stretchy pants riding in snow over loose dirt and rocks at 6500 ft.

One down, all the rest of them to go.

Onward To Pain And Glory. And Goatheads

2010-01-01T10:51:00.000-07:00

While there is some risk involved with saying that I have a goal, and doing so publicly, I hope that this will help with keeping me motivated. Best year I ever had biking was when I rode every day... right up until the part where I rode into a hole and chunked large portions of my body. One sub-goal will be to avoid said holes, so hitting the real target of 365 days of riding should be possible. Unpleasant for the next few months, but not fatally so.

I'll be posting every day as proof.

There's a 50-miler coming up in June, and that's just attainable enough to push me to get fit and fast. Not sure Leadville will happen this year as a race, but we plan to camp at Turquoise Lake as often as we can to allow me time to get conditioning rides in.

Lotta 'me' in this so far - Tammy's training up for her triathalon (nailed four consecutive days of running 3+ miles this week) and she's choosing food based on her cravings, so we're eating really healthily. Would be funny if I hit the best shape of my life on the wrong side of 40, but maybe that means I can drag out my riding into my 80's. Who knows... I'm barely awake, and not trying for any sort of prose or wordsmithing.

Just want to ride.

On Ignorance And Apathy

2009-11-06T19:44:00.003-07:00

In an Archemedian moment, I have risen, towel-clad, to attempt to convey what thoughts arose amidst the froth and foam.

It seems to be that each bit of knowledge, each key finding or mastered form of expertise that we accrue merely serves to illuminate what areas lie further out in the gloom, dimly glimpsed and of uncertain magnitude and complexity. And yet, so much of what we are sure we know, we really may not.
I thought often of how glorious and adept I would seem were I whisked back in time, like the heroes of A Conneticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court in Mark Twain's classic, or the even more revered The Time Machine by H.G. Wells. I could end disease, build skyscrapers, fly jet-powered craft to the amazement of those unlearned and properly worshipful natives...

But, really, could I? Could many of us?

Take the notion of the germ theory of disease. Easily proved, simply show someone the spiricles and other mutilegged wonders in a drop of water. Well, as soon as you build a microscope. Glass should be easy, that's just melted sand... and I'm sure someone around there would have a forge so I could make some kind of a frame and, oh, yes the tube of the microscope and... um. Err. Well, perhaps that's a bit complex. How about something simple, like bleach? Clean clothes, sterile bandages, and you just... umm. Mine it? Make it out of something and that other thing and some water?
Likewise most things we take for granted.
Steam power, refined metals, a stable ink for printing, paper to print things on, plastics - many of the simple and/or complex things that make up our daily existence have passed beyond our ken and ability to make for ourselves.
At best, any adventuring into the past would have simply seen me relegated to a teller of fanciful tales, if not actually being labeled as insane.

And yet, basic theories of gravitation were worked out by such simple timings as the human pulse or counted numbers while dropping objects... and the fact that the world was round could be proved by means no more advanced than digging two wells far, far apart, with an ordinary shovel, and then measuring where the sunlight fell at noon with regard to the mouth of each well on the same day.

Advances in science do not carry all of the accompanying developmental effort and understanding with them. There must be a process of discovery of the basic principles, exercising them, and then, with persistence, eventual mastery. Exploration into uncharted territory with the expectation that the miracle of GoreTex and the magic of Kevlar will save you frequently results in additional entries in the annals of Darwin, should you not actually be able to light a camp stove.

I remember having a man from NASA come to our elementary school when I was in the second grade. He had a piece of the material from which the astronauts' suits were made, and invited any of the teachers to try and cut it. This was suitably impressive, as it couldn't be marred or even deformed by an teacher bringing considerable force on them... and then, the man who had the ability to make things so sufficiently advance as to be magic told us about the most powerful words he knew.

They were, "I don't know."

He was in no way espousing ignorance as a thing to be proud of - profoundly, he showed us that the smartest man that we had seen was quite able to say that he didn't know everything, and to do so with no loss of face or shame. This was a watershed moment for me. There was, even then in the heights of hubris attained by reading my father's science fiction novels, certainty that I didn't know as much as I professed, let alone much about anything. And yet, that wasn't the point. It's very hard to determine what areas of growth and learning one has if pride and fear of admitting less than omniscience dictate that we not express any such lack.

Those that turn rocks over and marvel at the simple things found there, or the patterns of a fern, replicating ever smaller, or the grains and composition of a rock, or whence comes inspiration and altruism and the dare to ask the nature of diety are those that I love. And with this love of finding untrammeled paths comes the knowledge that we can explore and move and learn. And even more precious than those that have bravely ventured out into ignorance and returned with tales of fantastic new things are those that have done so and then encourage others to do the same.

I remember sitting down with my father after having asked what would happen if the earth suddenly stopped. He could have simply told me, but did not. With a series of questions and guidance, allowing me to progress past my own area of known forms and maths and into new territory. And so, with hesitating steps, scribbled calculations and encouragement, I was able to work out the rotational velocity of the earth. Heady wonderment followed, and queries about inertia, gravity and Newtonian concepts naturally followed, and some subtle enlightenment was gained.

Safely ensconced on the shoulders of giants, I still had little reach, but oh, what a view. I could borrow the surety that things could be reached given time, and that grew into the knowledge that I had the capacity to do so. I wonder how much of my resilience to despair is due to this concept being ingrained at an early age.

I remember feeling the pit of my stomach drop away when I heard that Carl Sagan had died. My next thought was kind of a bleak wondering who would champion the pursuit of knowledge and especially wonder at the interweavings and beauty of our universe. I don't know that anyone has stepped up to fill that space, or that there will be ever be an exact fit into the void he left. I don't have his power to explain and make the very large and very small fit nearly into a very normal-sized head. I do share his wonder and the love of the interactivity of all things.

And in time, perhaps there will be another champion; the pursuit of understanding and knowledge will go on regardless. We can each step up and perhaps even do more than a famous personality could by being there for those around us and working through life together, pointing out the wonders to each other.

At the heart of such things is not the knowing of the answers outright, but of knowing the steps to take to find out for oneself, and the confidence that things can be, and will be, knowable.

I'll be frivolous and goofy next time.

- Ryan

What The Aftermath Of Fun May Look Like

2009-09-21T21:41:00.003-06:00

Spent the day Saturday with the intent of clearing the garage enough to use the saw so that Tammy won't have to face a partially finished window seat... and true to form, ended up building a bike repair station instead.

I have no idea how she puts up with me.

Cleaned, poked, prodded, repaired... and replaced some extremely worn brake pads, and then got to ride through the river bottom to old town Castle Rock with my sweetheart. We puttered around, riding randomly on sidewalks as we waited for our favorite restaurant to open and talked about hats and gears and paint and all the stuff that makes up the random bliss that is our life together.
... and then we ate like kings while we jealously hovered over our bikes on the patio. So, sort of jealous kings with no armies or minions but with really divine crab claws and focaccia bread and free Coke refills.

And, Lo, it came to pass that after Saturday, it came to pass that it was Sunday, and yea, the trails did look exceeding tempting, yea, sore beautiful were the paths upon the mount. And we did dwell at home and did not tempt God nor his smiting by riding, and the rocks were wroth that there would be fewer people to bruise and rend.

But it was a close thing, and luckily Monday followed quickly thereafter.

Toiled merrily away all day today (yes, Monday) grousing about the fact that it snowed here this morning. Also, just to keep thing cheery, I sputtered and smoldered over the fact that the trails were going to be something like terra cotta soup and there was no way that I'd be able to ride. Made the day just fly by, really...
Thankfully, there were rogue servers that had to be 'rassled back into the corral and I stayed busy, but then, somehow, I ended up at home, and the clouds broke, and there were glimpses of blue amidst the lowering grey... and I am a weak, weak man. I rode.

The fruits of eight miles of slow pedaling, careful balancing (a foot put down in the primordial ooze would be swallowed to mid-shin, and not returned in a pristine fashion) are proudly displayed above.
Not pictured: much work with a stick clearing out my own weight in clay from the rear of the bike. Also not pictured: the fun of riding a mile, downhill, straight from the trail onto pavement with tires packed with mud. And then hitting 30 mph. Also also not pictured: the liberation of said mud in glorious arcs, earth set free from the surly bonds of gravity, and the pain of having that hit you smack in the forehead. Cars were giving me a nice thirty-foot bubble in which to be a dirt redistributionist, which just shows that nobody loves it when you try and commune with nature and traffic at the same time.

I love my bike. I love my wife more, but my wife loves me no matter what, and my bike only loves me when I'm pushing myself to be better.

We all need bikes.

-Ryan

Things I Have Eaten Today

2009-07-08T20:11:00.001-06:00

A muffin.
A banana.
A lot of soda.
A CamelBack full of water.
A sandwich.

...and a LOT of my brother's dust.

Great, great day. Perfect singletrack, best company in the world (my wife, my kids and my brother) and one of the coolest resorts on the planet. Robert didn't make an appearance himself, but we think we heard him hollering, "GET OFF MY PROPERTY." That's how people say howdy in these parts.
Lauren took a pretty good hit, then got up and rode out the rest of the trail, as usual. Total TonkaBabe. Ashley did great, carving corners and eating roots like a pro. Burke knocked out a good ride with me and rode the ski lift round trip a ton, unafraid and fierce in his righteous pride.
Sage got a Tinkerbell playhouse to keep her happy while we rode, but ended up discovering the joys of feeding potentially disease-ridden marmots Oreos.
And, yes, Tammy made it out of the Sundance store without needing a sherpa to cart all of the awesome back to the truck. Plus whaling down the mountain like the World's Coolest Mom that she is.

Such a cool place.

I am tired and my bike is tired and my kids are tired and Rich is uncatchable on singletrack and is not tired (and on a rented bike, no less) so I'm going to go sit in the backyard and radiate happiness at the world.

And answer emails on my Blackberry.

Ah, well, the price of being employed... I can be happy about that too.

- Ryan

Look Ma, No Fingers

2009-07-05T13:20:00.012-06:00

While lacking that certain je ne sais quoi of pouring gas into a storm drain and then lighting it, causing seismographs in Ohio to wiggle madly and elephants in the zoo to think someone dropped a lightsaber... our experiments with flame and fury were, nonetheless, fun.

Rich graciously hosted us over the holiday, and the giant purple smoking holes in his lawn should fill in just fine. Eventually.

I hear the hammock in the back yard calling me. I must obey its summons.

- Ryan

Things My Bike Taught Me

2009-06-23T15:19:00.004-06:00

If I ever publish a book, that's likely what I'd title it.

There's a state blissfully devoid of all the usual banalities that occurs when you've pushed your body hard for too long, and it begins requiring conscious thought to breathe. In that moment, thoughts and linkages come, sometimes strangely, and sometimes profoundly.

Case in point:

Bikes are like marriages. You can buy a low end bike from any given store, ride it, and it'll work. Leave it in the garage for a year, let sawdust build up on it and grease harden in the bearings and linkages... and it'll still ride about the same when you take it out.

A high-end bike takes more thought (and possibly debt) to obtain in the first place, and it will ride and work sublimely when you take it out. Leave in the garage for a year, and it'll do its level best to kill you on the trail. Shifters won't, brakes will, but at a volume to raise the dead, things will squeak and chatter... but give it a little maintenance every time before you ride, and the places it can take you are far beyond the reach of the lesser bikes. And with much less butt-hurty, too.

As for marriages... well, you get it.

And, as people keep telling me that I should write, I say this.

I am writing. No book would give me the pleasure of putting something out there for the world to see that chronicles the adventures of our family, that shows the small glories of growing up, or that allows me to express my love and appreciation to the people that matter most to me.

Now, should someone choose to pay me for this, I'm okay with double-dipping. We can have family adventures in a Mercedes just fine.

- Ryan

Tree, Apple. Apple, Tree.

2009-06-20T18:10:00.004-06:00

I suppose that to God, to whom our behavior and course is much less of a mystery, we may seem to be more than just the static individuals that we see each day in the mirror.

Should time be manipulated so that we move through it less in a linear fashion, only able to recall dimly where we have been, we would perhaps be seen as thus:
Collections of desire and patterns of behavior, potentiality both realized and yet unfulfilled... hyper-kinetic children, myopic teenagers, young parents, and so on, through the latter part wherein we have seen all that life has to offer, all at once in a glorious tangle of human yarn.

This is how I've always seen my father.

He's always been older than me (again, hooray for the linear nature of time... would be awkward to have Dad just starting to date when I was looking forward to my mid-life crisis) and so has been the figure of wisdom, the place where the answers were kept, and the one that could solve the puzzles and show the way through the night when monsters lurked all-too-close.
And yet, with that, there was never a somber, joyless approach to being my personal Oracle and Hercules. I remember the 300 yard cross-canyon shot that dropped the buck... and the happy dance and whooping that followed it. I remember firecrackers smuggled from Wyoming and the how insanely happy we were as kids to witness the illicit thrill of watching orange juice cans rocket into the sky.
I remember the day, time and place when I was first complimented by one of my parents friends, and told "you have your dad's sense of humor."

There is no higher honor in my book. Although, having Grandma (his mom, no less) mistake me for my dad on the phone was a close second.

The sense of eagerness to go explore and the appreciation of something seen through new eyes or from a new vantage point hasn't changed as long as I've known him. The solidity and sense of self hasn't either. My mom often remarked that he was the most secure person she'd ever seen.
Then again, you'd have to be secure in yourself to wear that only-visible-hummingbirds-T-shirt with rainbow suspenders and camouflage pants in public... but, to be fair, he had a lot of grief to pay back to the three of us kids, too. Dad, you win, we give up, please, UNCLE.

I love the fact that dad chased (chases, really - he hasn't outgrown that, either) the fantastic and the sardonic as well as the pragmatic. The bookshelves in the basement outside of my room growing up shaped more of me than I think he knows. Asimov and Lienster, Vonnegut and Heinlein, Ambrose Bierce and Tolkien all took me far away from being a small bit player on an immense stage and let me peek behind the scenes of places unknown and unsullied by, well, let's be honest here, chores and homework. Still, the ability to close my eyes and send my thoughts out and amidst the universe is owed a great debt to being allowed free reign with subject matter that would have, in a 'normal' home, be considered beyond the reach of an eight-year-old. I have many of those books in front of me now, as it happens, and there's another generation ready to read them under the covers with a flashlight, assuming I can find and burn all the Twilight books first.

Don't get me wrong, I missed most of the points and explanations and hard science in the classic SciFi that dad had amassed... but only on first read. Once I asked dad, I got the explanation and knowledge that some of the SciFi was really more fact than fiction. Pretty cool thing to discover that your dreams aren't out of reach, and in fact, have blueprints drawn up somewhere. Which brings up another crucial point.

Dad does not hide behind 'magic' for an explanation. Want to know why the Earth doesn't rotate any faster than it does? Want to know what color shows in the flame when aluminum is finally coerced to burn? Want to know where your lap goes when you sit down? Want to know what happens when you put a grenade inside an anthill?
Dad knows all these things, and may even know where Hoffa is. You'll have to pay him to get that, though. And you'd better be ready to handle the answer. Some things are predicated on tiers of knowledge, and mere surface curiosity will leave you with far too much answer and not enough comprehension.
Not for nothing did Solomon write, "With all thy getting, get understanding." Dad understands how things work, and has been the World's Smartest Tour Guide, at our sides for years, indefatigable.

It isn't all roses with dad, though. There's the uncomfortable fact that you know that he's smarter than you are, so any given game of Scrabble isn't likely to end well. The fact that he cheats just makes it worse.
Worser yet, he has a VERY good idea of what your potential is... so coasting in life and not expected to be called on it is a pipe dream.

You can't succinctly render the parts of fatherhood into a comprehensive whole... and I doubt very much that you could even do so with an infinite amount of time. Too much of it is in the wordless radiance of a small boy feeling loved and treasured even after making a hash of things. Took me a while to realize the linkages than spanned the miles and the years: of friendship, love, shared life-voyager appreciation and (hopefully) pride in how all his work is turning out.

Still wish he'd assigned the no-body-fat genes to me instead of Rich, but you can't have everything.

Dad, happy Father's Day. We'll have the kids call you every half hour starting at midnight to make sure you really, really enjoy it.

- Ryan

I Wanted An Alligator But All I Got Was This Lousy Duck

2009-05-29T19:45:00.003-06:00

Still in the process of converting the pictures from RAW... having too much fun to stop and mess around with post-processing nonsense.

Absolutely, insanely good here. Weather has been around 80-82 every day, occasional showers and also, occasional monsoon-level deck-clearing downpours, but they've been short in duration and get the bugs off the windshield.

Oh, yes, we're in Florida. I kinda miss the hectic fun of my projects at work, but I think I can suffer through withdrawals in the penthouse suite that my brother got for us.

More in a bit, have to go play now.

- Ryan

What's Purple, Has Four Arms, And A Pouch Full Of Milkshakes?

2009-03-26T14:41:00.002-06:00

We drove through Vail at nine at night in our quest to escape Denver before the coming storm reduced us all to cannabilism. I don't want to die, stranded in my home, to have my well-fed family emerge without me, blinking and wan, after the snow has melted.

It was a brisk fourteen degrees, with ice forming on the windshield and yahoos a-plenty on the road in rear-wheel drive sedans with bald tires... On top of which, it was snowing about four inches an hour and drifting three times that. We passed them, in the median, if necessary, to make sure any subsequent dumb happened a long way behind us.

We played games with Sage to improve her mind on the way over.

"Sage, what's yellow with brown spots and has four legs and a loooooong neck and likes to eat leaves?

"ummmm, a zebra? "

"No, it's not a zebra. What else could it be?"

"A duck."

"...no, it's not a duck. It's really tall."
"Uncle Richy?"
"No."
"EYEBALLS"
"Yes, you're very clever, it was 'eyeballs.' Go back to sleep."

No mention of a helicopter was made, so we're at least semi-hallucination free. Some of you will understand this.

Grand Junction was a balmy thirty-five, and it hit a high of fifty degrees at two in the morning, pulling into the motel in Moab.

I turned off at what I thought was the Cisco exit that drops you down the river canyon, and instead ended up on a road with tumbleweeds growing through the asphalt and several pygmy buffaloes scurried away as we approached. We ran away before the ghosts of forlorn drifters and ex-convicts could infest the truck and made it safely back on to I-70.

No lukachooki adventures resulted. Only dad can do those.

During the first night at the motel, I slept soundly through the storm that had Tammy at the window, making sure the truck hadn't become a spectacularly heavy kite. Lot to be said for fatigue overcoming the smell of strange pillows and bed built for people shorter than 5'6".
Tammy was ever so pleased to find that I'd forgotten to pack her suitcase when we started unpacking the truck the next morning. She showed her delight at wearing the same socks and suchlike by hitting me vigorously about the face and neck until I was very sorry. Luckily, her dad pulled some strings with a courier agency and we got it overnighted to Grand Junction. Hooray for clean skivvies.

...and, it's still snowing here. First time in thirty years that I've ever seen it snow in Moab. Beautiful, but strange, like the first time you saw RuPaul.

Hey Look, Snew!

2009-03-07T14:14:00.003-07:00

It done made winter here agin.

Sage was out running in little circles on the lawn when I got home from the store, covered in snow, lank hair and wet-little-girl smell (it smells like cinnamon and hugs.)
Lauren took a more measured approach and just frolicked briefly in a photogenic manner before retreating to warmer climes.

Moab in two weeks, a true return to earlier days when we'd go... and freeze to death in a land shaped by baking heat. Mom, I hope you know how much we're giving up for you here. Just seems so wrong to walk amidst hoodoos and arches while wearing mittens instead of shorts and a thick coating of deer flies.

Party last night with friends, learned many fine Spanish words and managed not to accidentally blurt any of the ones that I already knew... not so appropriate for mixed company.
Party today for Burke's friend and the one-year party for the kiddo next door.

Not sure what happened that we're suddenly not hermits anymore, but never fear, we'll go turtle as soon as possible.

... and yes, still snowing.

- Ryan

Weebles Wobble, But They Don't Fall Down

2009-02-26T17:39:00.002-07:00

Therefore, by process of elimination, I know I am not a Weeble.

Made wheat bread from scratch this week, courtesy of Tammy's new grinder, and it was simpler than I thought and kinda fun. House smelled awesome from the baking.

Dinner is ready, I am tired and I keep hauling my camera around with me everywhere and never see anything that I want a picture of, so this is going to be a short post.

And boring. More when my muse isn't on strike.

- Ryan

Three Seconds of Glory

2009-02-07T21:53:00.001-07:00

The Bomber made its debut to great fanfare and zgomot... who knew that there was word in Romanian to perfectly describe the sound of thirty cub scouts in a gym?
A dual-car track was in place instead of the quad-car tracks of my Pinewood Derby days, so it was a bring-a-lunch-and-a-book affair while waiting for them to sort through all the pairings. I suspect Ralph had a hand in the track we had as kids, looking back... there must be some rule that enforces the prescence of at least one cabinet maker in any given group of Cub Scouts. Sure enough, we had some suspiciously hacksaw-free cars there today. I'd like to think that we have Scouts capable of triple coats of laquer and automotive-grade paint sanding, but the limits of credulity are sorely pressed after seeing the amount of nasal excavation that goes on when the higher thought processes shut down for any length of time in that demographic.

One track would effortlessly catapult cars into the waiting crowd and the other ran silky smooth into the catch box. There was outright panic when boys found out that they were up on the bad side. The officials let everyone run twice on each side before averaging the times, so it worked out.
Well... unless you were sitting close to the launch point on the bad side, that is. The signal to start the race was usually followed by the small-coconut sound of a car hitting a soon-to-be-sad spectator.

First time I've ever seen timers that would measure to three decimal places, but as every car ran between 2.9 second and 3.15, they needed it. Also, this was the first time I've ever seen Excel calculate the winner of a car race. Insert your own pun on 'mean' here.

Burke drew up the plans himself, and we stayed pretty true to it, other than not being able to find a 1:25 scale .50 cal. He did the paint, sanding, layout and project management. I'm proud of him - he did great, and even more so for doing so well on his first try.

Off to transfer the wee one to her bed so that any leakage that occurs due to her falling asleep at 7:30 happens somewhere other than the couch.

- Ryan

Publish Post

What Fun May Look Like

2009-02-05T22:39:00.004-07:00

Some folks are gluttons for punishment, I'm apparently one for mud.

Now, to be fair, that is a miraculous form of punishment indeed, as it seems to violate laws of physics and reason as it covers me and all that I hold dear... at least I didn't fill my chain up with it like I did last ride. Don't ask.
Those caked-on barnacles anchored firmly to the bike are not, in fact, the full glory of a truly globby afternoon. Those are just the roots of the stalactites. The rest of it came off at about 30 mph and hit me in the head and face on the ride back home from the trailhead. I suspect that aliens arriving with no foreknowledge would consider the clay-heavy mud here less of a substance and more of a catalyst, permanently changing the host and never to be fully exorcised.

Finally replaced the stock lens on the camera and I've started to despair at ever doing anything but deepening my ignorance. Got some fun shots with it tonight, but haven't figured out how to dial the sharpness in without losing the natural-light shooting ability. Ah, well, good weekend project.

Speaking of which, the Pinewood Derby is coming up for Burke, and the Bomber is almost ready. Yes, it has real (stolen from a model airplane) bombs that will be glued to it. However, since it's painted in camouflage, you won't be able to see it. With any luck, it will also weigh three pounds and get me a royal stinkeye from the weigh-in judge. Max weight is a whopping 5 oz for those of you not in the know... and you can't use CO2 cartridges or Estes rocket engines either, as it turns out. No fun at all.

Off to bed to catch up with my loving wife, who wisely gave up on listening to me cuss at the camera and how-to websites an hour ago.

- Ryan

Godspeed and Farewell.

2009-01-21T11:43:00.021-07:00

But I woke up this morning with a piece of past caught in my throat

and then I choked

I...
I guess I've learned the taste of days that will always burn.
I...
I guess I've learned if it's in the corner of my eye I can't always turn

~ Rites of Spring, 'For Want Of'

Don't ask, I'm not going to talk about it now.

- Ryan

...Did He Say "Raccoon Trap?"

2009-01-10T20:59:00.007-07:00

Another week of avoiding work in the basement has gone by quite nicely. The dadgum main room is usable (and highly used) now so the urge to move everyone and everything back out to sand and seal the floor just isn't there for me. Or Tammy. Or the kids.

Got the tonneau cover back on the truck, which guarantees a call within the next few days to go help someone move something... and I'll have to take it off again. Never fails.

Maxwell's demon may very well be a real and quantifiable Spirit of Perversity. And he apparently lives under my sink.

Rode again today (a real ride, not an 'I got on the bike just to keep the streak alive' thing) and verified that I still, in fact, hate being cold. At least the skies have been incredibly clear, so much that you can see Long's Peak to the North and Pike's Peak to the south. Beauty can do a fair amount of distracting, but just not enough for me to not notice that my knees were turning blue.
Still mud-and-snow (Snud? Mow?) on the trail which means that you can pick any one of the following options when coming up on a stretch of goo:
a) Come to a complete stop, but with no hope of ever getting enough traction to start again. You'll have to walk the bike home.
b) Keep pedaling in a straight line and come out of the mud safely, but pointed in a completely random direction. This turns into step a) at this point.
c) Attempt to keep pedaling and turn with the trail. This will result in the stepping-on-a-wet-bar-of-soap effect with both wheels and you'll fall over. If you're lucky, you'll land on one of the softer stumps or fluffier rocks before going to step a).
When things start going iffy on the trail, I have a tendency to look for the softest possible bail spot, and frankly, it'd be a lot easier if we had more fat kids here, standing by as nature's pillows. There are just never enough fat kids to go around. Maybe Obama will fix that imbalance.
Or fix mine. Either way.

Speaking of yesterday, we made it 16 years without Tammy killing me in my sleep. I'm not sure what the 16th anniversary present is supposed to be, but hopefully it was either the 'Your Own Pack Of Gum That You Don't Have To Share With The Kids' or 'Boots That Were Really Really On Sale' anniversary.
She's entirely too good for me, but I'm not letting go of her just to see if she'll come to her senses. I must be some sort of raccoon trap like the one in Where The Red Fern Grows (go read it) for her.
We had a blast looking at model homes and dreaming about upgrades (or, in my case, dreaming about being DONE with upgrades.) We took Sage out with us in the morning and, surprise, didn't get knifed during breakfast at the biker joint. Dinner was at Union Bistro here in town, and impeccably presented, delicious and with my sweetheart. Great days.

Dub

2009-01-02T12:54:00.002-07:00

Back on the bike.

Found that while a series of 50+ degree days does melt the snow in the sidewalks, it does not guarantee a mud-free trail. Every shadowed corner was a magical journey to the land of primordial sludge... hence Tammy asking sometime later, "why is there mud in the kitchen?"

The basement is coming along - still have to sand and seal the floors, finish the windowseat and put up the desk and cabinets in the office, but that's small beer compared to the work already (and thankfully) done. Should have pictures up shortly.

Burke made it through his baptism in one shot, even though the water was, shall we say, brisk?
Great day.

Back to work - more to come, assuming no supervillans ascertain my secret identity and begin stealing my mail.

- Ryan

Of Garages And Gunboats

2008-09-10T10:25:00.002-06:00

I think I'm going to let the magazine article rest without any further discussion or lotus-eater navel-gazing. It's a huge part of who I was, and shaped who I am. 'nuff said.

I've been spending a few hours a night in the Augean stables of my life... sadly, unlike Hercules, I can't divert a river through the garage. Something pleasant about a relatively brainless task at the end of the day, and knowing that Tammy will be able to park in the garage makes it worthwhile.

Spent an all-too-short weekend with Reese and Rich (see, Reese, you got listed first. Happy now?) over the Labor Day break. I discovered a heretofore unknown talent for capsizing jet skis and was able to pick the most obnoxious, unrideable trail in all of Utah to try and climb on my bike. We're going to have to go back to Sundance and ride the mountain... such a pretty corner of the world.

Back to work, more this weekend with any luck.

- Ryan

Something I've always carried inside

2008-07-17T14:29:00.008-06:00

Paul found me in a magazine, immortalized on film at 17 years old, with good friends at a show. There's a lot I want to say about that time and place, but I'm still reveling in the feeling right now and don't want to try and interrupt for the sake of pinning one or two pieces down.

This is a time that we can live our dreams
and a time so pure, at least it seems
a simple life, a modest one
where money plays a minor role
and I pray and I'll try to keep this spirit inside me
as I start to grow old
this is an era of creativity
good music and good friends
and the dreams that we reach for
seem to be at the tips of our hands
and it's getting too late to appreciate
and it soon will be the past
but I'll still have these memories
but why can't they last
maybe they can
this is a time, this is a time we'll remember
this is a time with lots of hope
and very little fear
and a time where every move we make seems so sincere
but when the song is sung and the moment's gone
only you'll know all we've shared
and I hope that you can rekindle too
this same feeling in the air
This is a time we can remember

(Ray Cappo, Youth of Today)

Rocks. Why is it ALWAYS Rocks?

2008-07-03T20:41:00.004-06:00

And it came to pass that there were in those days rocks. And it was pleasing unto those gathered into the hills that the rocks should be organized and placed in such a manner that there would be no biking upon the hills.
And it came to pass that there were those that were wroth that there were rocks on the hills, and they smote their bikes with other bikes and swore in their wrath that they would bike upon the rocks.
And it came to pass that many years later, the bones of those that rode upon the rocks were bleached and scattered by the sun and diverse beasts and the people that thought that they might just try to ride on the rocks a little bit when no one was looking were scared, yea, they verily hid themselves from the rocks.
And it came to pass that the rocks abode for a space of time, yea, many years passed and bikes were no longer made out of wood and could ride upon the rocks
And the Keepers of the Rocks saw this, and conspired among themselves to slay those that were riding upon the hills and verily, upon the rocks, and they then took all the oxygen away from that place so that the bikes were left riderless and abandoned.
And there arose a great wheezing in the land, and yea, many bikes were abandoned upon the hills and left to breed without supervision.
Thus endeth the first Book Of The Rocks With Bikes On Them. Let no man add unto it, yea, especially if he rideth the rocks that were found to be too hard, and besides, I'm tired and there may be mountain lions so we should turn back they're all idiots that go up there.

Bergen Peak, Evergreen, CO. Trailhead is at 7,800 feet above sea level, and the bloody peak is 1,980 feet higher than that, with great views, assuming that you can ride the 10 linear miles to get there while the rock fanatics pelt you with pamphlets espousing the Advantages of Being Smitten with Rocks. Try and fall over on the fanatics, as they're slightly softer than the rocks themselves.

With various adventures, mostly involving deer flies, the ride was a hair under four hours, up and back, and easily the hardest bloody trail I've ridden. Or walked while swearing at rocks. Tammy did it all too - she's turned into an amazing stamina factory, and frankly, has better balance and judgement while riding than I do. Those that have seen the X-rays understood this part already.

Freaking awesome day, though. Had lunch at a little Italian bistro at the foot of the peak, sitting outside and watching various stunned and anaerobic souls stumble back from the misery that comprised trying to summit. Being a total clydesdale and lacking grace, I'd managed to shear off some fairly important parts of the bike (strangely, not by falling on them) and so I have a new cassette and got my rear hub rebuilt for the second time. I swear, in my next life I'm coming back as a dwarf just for the sheer fun of not breaking everything I sit on.

I'm surrounded by Lilliputian devices. Help. Help.

- Ryan

The Healing Power of PBJ

2008-06-26T11:49:00.004-06:00

Things are starting to feel normal again. My shoulder really only bugs me when I'm brushing my teeth (the jiggle-jiggle-jiggle of the brushing motion propagates up my arm and feels really creepy when the bone floats free.) The road rash is down to the odd pink spot on my arm, and the fluid on the hip is slowly being absorbed. No sign of getting a tan yet, but there is hope.

Been a hard year, but I haven't given up yet. Nothing has been more than a speed bump when all is said and done, and I still have the 'wanna' feeling when I see my bike.
I rode 50+ miles total on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning, and felt great afterward. No shoulder aches, just the usual jello-legs and falling sound asleep with my arms over my head at 8:30 so that when I woke up a few hours later, I couldn't feel my hands.

Patty asked me to come up with a six-word memorial, and as much as I hate to write my own eulogy, I think this is as close to the mantra I try and follow as I can express succinctly:

Turn rocks over; never stop exploring.

Corollary: life is sweet. Play hard and find things to help maintain a child-like sense of amazement at all of the things that surround us.

I don't have a relentless thirst for knowledge in the sense that I'm driven to extremes when something piques my interest. However I do find that I'm happier when I understand the why.
I love things that enable us as humans (even if I never fully exploit the capabilities of said object myself.) Life is best experienced as a gestalt, all-encompassing event, not a series of compartmentalized and formalized happenings and periods. There is no 'kids as toddlers' phase in my head, it's all 'life.' No breaks, no sadness when an epoch ends - there is no epoch. It's all one big happy ball of being alive and having the best kids and wife and family and friends to share it with.

Understanding why Tammy loves me is the one exception... I'm content to let that remain a beautiful and perpetual mystery. I have to have a little wonder in my life.

- Ryan

Beware of the answers.

2008-06-17T09:23:00.002-06:00

I'm late in getting this posted, mostly because there's a fear of self-aggrandizement in anything I write as an attempt to praise fathers and fatherhood.

I learned very early on that in school, if you asked a question, you'd get an answer at the lowest common denominator level. If you asked why the sky was blue, you'd be told 'it's because that's what your eyes see' which is a non-answer at best and misleading otherwise.
Now, if I went home and asked Dad, I'd get a short adventure into the land of wavelengths, an explanation of refraction and scattering of light, and maybe a touch of particle theory as the sprinkles on the cupcake of knowledge.

The latter was almost worse than the former, as I knew that I didn't understand it, but, unlike the educators that didn't seem to trust me with the straight dope, Dad did. He never dumbed it down, which made me feel that even if I didn't get it now, he knew I'd get it eventually.

Unfortunately, when Burke asks me why the sky is blue, I have to tell him that it's the reflection of the oceans as I never remember the right answer.

Somewhere along the line I seem to have inherited Dad's tolerance for pain. It's entirely possible that I was the reason he had such a high tolerance... I don't think I was all grace and beauty when handling hammers, tennis racquets, fireworks, anything thrown, any heavy machinery, cars, my own sweet self... I don't know that any baker's dozen guardian angels could have kept up with intercepting all of my randomness, but Dad did. Or at least knew how to stop the bleeding and/or fix the gaping holes in the ceiling.

It's traditional when accepting any major award to declare that you were lifted on the shoulders of giants and able to see beyond what had been done before (unless you're Murray Gell-Mann, in which case you announce that you were surrounded by dwarfs.) I haven't gotten any awards recently, other than the supreme ones... the love of my wife, the happiness of my children and the knowledge that the world is a lot more secure and we aren't lost or destined to be miserable as humans. Really, I guess those were things that were awarded to me, not that I earned, but I'm grateful nonetheless. It's good to have been raised (in both senses of the word) to see the things that matter, to see a life lived in accordance with the words spoken, and to feel hope and love as concrete items.

Nice work Dad.

P.S. We're not going to take the kids back until they know Avogadro's Number and what it means. Hey kids, guess what you get to do instead of playing on your vacation! Physics! HOORAY!

- Ryan

The Sweet Smell After Rain

2008-06-04T15:11:00.004-06:00

The weather has been beautiful, with the rare blue skies that you only find at altitude... sun, light winds in the evenings and the sounds of kids playing outside til dark. Glad to be alive, gimpy arm or not.

The kids are all out of school, end-of-year camping trips over and done for Burke and Lauren. Nothing but the slow brain-death of cartoons beckons, and cereal can now be eaten for three meals a day, or until the milk runs out.

I got a ride in last night, so I'm officially through feeling sorry for myself. I may try and elicit some pity backrubs now and again.

I'll post a few recent pictures when I boot back into Windows (haha, I'm posting this while running Linux, I'm geekier than you) and continue to putter along.

Life is sweet.

Bionic Man In Progress

2008-05-20T12:30:00.002-06:00

I'm over my limit for surgeries this year, which means that I'm going to trust the doctor that told me to endure it for three weeks. Shoulder should be back to normal, or very close to it, at that point.
I'll have a cool moving bump on that side unless I opt to get it fixed. Playing 'Wait and See,' which is my all-time least-favorite game.

Worst part about being on the injured reserve list is that I was just on the cusp of getting FIT, and now I'm idle. I remember Tyler Hamilton riding in the Tour de France with a broken collarbone... I feel like a pansy.

That is, until I move my arm wrong, then I feel like a happy ground-level firework of pain.

Had a nice affirmation from the nurse in the ER, though - in pain and worried and all that, and still had a resting 66 pulse rate, which is not something I've had in 15 years.

Tammy's taking advantage of the time to ride daily, and is killing the hills and new trails they put in the neighborhood. Got a sweeeeeet picture of her bike covered in its own weight in mud one morning... she was one brave kiddo to wade through the sea of muck out there. Everything goes to horrible sticky mud when it rains due to the high clay content of the soil... she's lucky she didn't come home looking like a terracotta wife.

Back to work, lunch break rambling is over.

- Ryan

He Said, "The Sheriff is NEAR"

2008-05-16T16:03:00.003-06:00

And, likewise, the end of another school year is nigh. Wish work got out for summer vacation.

Think I'm going to sulk about this for a while, then eat more Lucky Charms for dinner. That'll show them for being so mean to me.

Songs My Mother Never Taught Me

2008-05-11T09:31:00.012-06:00

I wonder how my tastes would have differed in life if I hadn't been exposed to so much art as a child. Once over the illicit thrill of seeing nudes from the 1400's, I returned to the books my mom had accrued over the years to look at the technique, the brushstrokes, the carriage of the models... and despaired. Rembrandt was especially hard on a twelve-year-old, with his perfect skin tones, unreal lighting and chiaroscuro; fabrics that had heft, weave and draped around the forms elegantly. I couldn't duplicate that mastery.
Somewhere in there, Picasso started to make sense. He'd moved from the real to the insane, as it seemed to me at the time, and I reveled in his ability to paint from well beyond the normal event horizon. Granted, there was the sneaking suspicion that he'd been drinking his own paint, but, really, does it matter where lies the headwater of genius?

I'm no Picasso. I'm still really close to Calvin in terms of world outlook, and I don't mean the reformist. At some point I'm going to get busted for doodling dinosaurs eating middle management while in a meeting...

I was left free, ultimately, to find out who I was and what I liked. If that meant rejecting a lot of the strictures of conventional thought and wisdom, my mom let me do so, with the understanding that she was not going to provide a 'Get Out Of Consequences Free' card. This may have been the greatest gift ever given to me, as it let me become who I am. Having many viewpoints available while growing up, and the ability to discuss both sides of things with my parent(s) was a rare and beautiful thing, I realize now. I didn't paint the Sistine Chapel, and I didn't give anyone my ear as a touching and really creepy gesture, but I found my muse and my art and my eudaimonea all the same.
I credit being surrounded by things of worth and beauty with the emphasis on what really mattered for a lot of my stability in life now.

There is a long list of things that I've derived from my mother. And, to be fair, many of them stand out because Dad was right there with her, but Dad will have to wait a month for his anthem and tribute.

Things I Got From Mom:

My hairline.
My tolerance and appreciation of classical music.
My self-image as a happy kid (I remember sitting on the stairs when she told me my default state was 'happy', maybe at age 11? Whether it was true or not, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy)
My love of art and beauty in the classical sense.
My ability to draw.
My sarcasm (it's a good thing.)
My Eagle Scout award.
Understanding how a good marriage works (again, Dad gets credit here too.)
Knowing that women should be smart, capable, well-read and able to do anything they want.
A letter every few days when I was overseas or otherwise away from home.
A sense of 'home' to come back to when I was done being away.
My ability to speak and write coherently when I can be bothered to do so.
Some really cool cousins and relatives and grandparents. I felt planted deep while growing up, and it was nice to have a sense of place in the world.
The ability to match my belt to my shoes and not look like I got dressed with the lights off.
My near-magical ability to have my respiratory system slam shut when cats are near.
Same as above, but with random pollen.
My covetousness of really good lawnmowers
The sure knowledge that putting a log on and having an entree will fix most problems
A brother and sister that I count as my closest friends

Things I Did Not Get From Mom

Any appreciation of opera ('Live from the Met' is illegal under the Geneva convention.)
A desire to weed the garden.
Being insistent that the kids eat their Brussels Sprouts.
A desire to ever HAVE Brussels Sprouts.
Anything to do with liver.
My love of all music that you can dance to without wearing a powdered wig.
Any sugar cereal for the first eighteen years of my life.

I'm sure a few more things will occur to me, so I'll come back and edit this as the day progresses.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

[ Edit: mom noted that it wasn't Brussels Sprouts. It was bean sprouts, and they're worse. ]

...let there be light.

2008-05-04T08:43:00.005-06:00

Shhhh. Sleeping.

Yes, she's covered in band-aids. She may even need some of them. We can't tell.

I found some really cool dragonfly lights for Tammy a while back, and the Chairman of the Decorating Committee moved them to drape over Sage's headboard. They are just bright enough to keep her happy and able to read in bed, but not quite so bright that she wants to get out of bed and play. Besides, we've been showing her pictures of monsters and pointing under her bed to help her understand that Getting Out Of Bed Is Not Good.

She was a good sport about it - I only got one heavy sigh and I can only imagine what weirdness the sound of the shutter introduced into her dreams.

Off to slay breakfast.

[update: When I was posting the picture, Tammy came up and said, "she looks dead." Lauren said the same thing a while later. So much for my ability to capture the delicate bloom and innocence of youth.]

- Ryan

I Dig Pain.

2008-04-30T21:12:00.004-06:00

Henry Rollins once said, "I think about the meaning of pain. Pain is personal. It really belongs to the one feeling it. Probably the only thing that is your own. I like mine.”

I don't like mine yet, but I don't fear it like I used to. Too much of what we do to grow as humans requires pain as a gateway. To avoid it and expect progress and difference in our lives is, at best, folly.

Yes, this is going to turn into another biking story.

I met a friend after work to ride a trail that I'd heard of, but never explored myself. He'd ridden it several times this year, and lured me with tales of adventure, glory and heaving up a lung. I was skeptical, but you can't really argue or ride slower than a guy that has to use an asthma inhaler and still consider yourself manly.
The dadgum trail has two parts. The first has 1,343 vertical feet of climbing over 2.4 linear miles. Except the miles are not linear, they're UP and nothing currently available to science can accurately measure a rockfall. And the whole trail, basically, is God's gift to rocks and purgatory for guys on bikes.
The second half of the trail, or the 'nice scenic loop' was 884 feet of vertical gain and 733 of vertical loss. In other words, Not Level Ground.
Also, more rocks.

I ride very much like a paranoid father of four children (i.e., a complete chicken) when I don't know where the drop-offs to oblivion are on a new trail.
The fear of being afraid is stronger than the fear of the actual fall in me. Once I know where the things are that may cause me to pause, stop, get hung up and crash by losing momentum, then I can ride past them.
The power to do the thing comes by having done it.

I didn't rock the climbs, I didn't bomb the descents and we got passed by a lot of guys with suspiciously large trucker guts. Nice to find out that the definition of 'fitness' has nothing to do with actual shape after I've given up the good soda and junk food.

I also found that the urge to stop is enormous when multiplied by nervousness and fear over being someplace that may be over your head in terms of technical skill. Add in a dash of fatigue and a few thousand rocks and, well, it's not an easy or pretty victory over gravity. In most cases with anything technically difficult, slowing down will lead to a harder fall than trusting yourself and the bike and riding through it. Having a friend that's done it to show you that it can be done is priceless.

We saw a lot of folks turn around before the halfway point, and they all seemed pretty happy to have made it as far as they did. Makes me wonder if there isn't always something more, a set of skills and endurance out there further that someone else already has mastered; they see me and think, 'Yes, he made it halfway... maybe one day he'll reach the end and see what I've seen.'

My legs hurt. I have small red marks on my legs from the yucca plants I ran into. I have bonus red marks all over from rocks that kicked up from my front tire. I rode with most of my mouth numb from Novocaine. I managed, as I do every stinking time I ride, to push my chainring into my right calf and leave a giant greasemark and welt. My lungs burned and my legs felt half-numb on the climb up... almost at that point where the muscles just refuse to fire when the brain says GO.
I'm not saying this to give the impression that it was climb worthy of notice and to beg accolades for having done it. There were far too many riders of all skill levels, some with K-mart pig-iron bikes that were ahead of me for that to ring true.
But, I rode it. I didn't cave in and walk when I could have... and that means that the pain from pushing past mental barriers and the desire to stop may bear fruit. I'll be stronger tomorrow than I am today. It was ultimately as much of a reward as I decided I wanted.

Incidentally, I grinned like a monkey with the full run of a banana plantation on the way down. There are rewards to long climbs, and one of them is the descent. Remember the feeling when you'd see Bo and Luke Duke jump the General Lee over the creek and get away from the sheriff?

Yeah, it's better than that.

More Lies

2008-04-27T18:47:00.007-06:00

Burke is trying desperately to finish Eragon before the weekend is over so he can watch the movie. Tammy bought it for him, but being a good mom, movie comes after some brain exercise.

Photographed in the moment by Tammy:

I loved the poster filter in Photoshop so much that I left it in place. Click on it to enlarge it - really cool effect.

Burke also started his own blog, here.
Warning: for those with a low dragon tolerance... look elsewhere for your entertainment.

Lauren couldn't take it anymore, and she's got a blog up as well. Lauren's blog.

Time for dinner - cordon bleu and peas. I'm a well-kept man, I am.

- Ryan

Lies My Camera Told Me

2008-04-26T10:00:00.011-06:00

I'm going to try and resist the temptation to turn this into a photography blog, but...
with new camera in hand, I don't think I'll be able to avoid it entirely.

There's a lump under the blanket, giggling, but she didn't come out for the picture. Guess we'll have six more weeks of winter.

We get phenomenal light coming in off the back of the house in the afternoon. I left this picture of Ashley untouched, other than cropping it a little.
Turns out that Photoshop doesn't have a 'hairdryer' filter, sadly...

I've been asked to take pictures of the prom queens as they primp, lacquer the walls of the bathroom with hairspray and suchlike... Ana and a group of her friends are going as whatever the opposite of stag is. Doe, I guess? Can you go doe to a date dance?

Update:

Shot a ton of pictures, girls looked great, but since I still feel the urge to be snarky about having to shoot a bunch of girly girl things, here's my version of the event.

Mwaaahahahaha.

- Ryan

punkrockacademyfightsong

2008-04-20T21:13:00.014-06:00

Been a while since I've posted anything of significant content. I blame the encroachment of adulthood on a life otherwise unblemished by the intent to grow up.

There are a few like-minded folks here in the area that had been wanting to go out and pretend to be seventeen again, so we did. Caught a four-band-for-twelve-bucks show (says a lot about the caliber of the bands, I'm sure) a few weeks back. Great, great fun, other than being the old guys at the club... Most of us are follically challenged to one degree or another and have fought back by shaving our heads, so we looked like the poster children for the Aryan Nation. Oi Oi Oi.
The show, other than the opening act, was great. The opening band seemed to have lost the thread of of the master plan somewhere, leaving something like:

Step 1: Buy instruments
Step 2: Get booked at a club
Step 3: Act like goons on stage (does beer help? test theory!)
Step 4: ?
Step 5: Mansions, fast cars, nekkid girls; sacks of money

There's just something electric about seeing a band play live in a small club, close enough to see the emotion and belief in the songs. I love it.

Authority Zero in full roar.

There were a trio of delightful Daughters Of The Sons Of The Trailer Park in front of us at the show. They'd apparently decided in early childhood that beer and Ho-Ho's constituted, in spite of all contradictory experience, a valid diet. They also thought that enough beer would be in the bloodstreams of all and sundry so that no one would care about the fact that they... had really great personalities.
I've never seen a mosh pit empty out so fast when they waddled in. No safe place to push off of them, nothing you'd want to touch, and no penicillin wipes handy in case you accidentally made contact.

Top photo is mine, bottom one was just too good not to include. Note the face being made directly behind Moshzilla. Classic.

I'll try and post the story of the 40-mile weekend, the best food ever and the If You See It, You Can Puke On It tale of one girl's fight to cover everything in the house with yuck. Tomorrow, barring real work or good weather.

Bike has dibs on my free time, capice?

- Ryan

Landmines

2008-04-14T09:26:00.005-06:00

One nice thing about having my own laptop is that I can finally keep all my music with me, in digital form. One not-so-nice thing is sharing a music library with three other iPod users in the house.

We have substantially differing musical tastes, which means that when I'm rocking along (that's pronounced 'rawkin' to you neophytes) I randomly hit the song equivalent of a surprised and angry buffalo in the headlights. Brake, spin, end up in the ditch...

(Yes, girls, your music is bad. As in cukka-poo. Once you're adults, you'll realize how smart your dad is and how his musical tastes are impeccable and the only true path to audio nirvana.)

No, mom, my musical tastes haven't changed significantly, I just have less tolerance for poor musicianship and poor recordings. Thankfully, there's still plenty of shouty music with which I can annoy you and dad when we move back into your basement. With all four kids and the dog. And maybe a pony.

Mantra

2008-04-07T23:39:00.008-06:00

I suppose I should be emulating Samuel Coleridge and writing my own opiate-induced epic poem before the good stuff wears off... but my muse doesn't work in that way. Vicodin has completely failed to invoke Kublai Khan, pleasure domes or, really, anything. Unless I shouldn't be able to hear colors.

I can't tell.

As for my muse, she's asleep. After working her usual wonders with the kids and taking care of me as I tried to form words and gum some eggs for dinner, she's all funned out and is sleeping the sleep of the just.

I tried to find my inner island of peace and sanctuary during some rather un-fun dental work today, and I completely failed. The immediacy and proximity of the surgical instruments, and the method in which they were being employed to exact payment for past sins... it jarred me back, all too aware of what was going on.
The only image that I could focus on that would stay through all of the noise and pain was Tammy. Not surprising, as she's always been there for me through the chaos, mess and insanity of my everyday life.

Here's to good women with endless patience, beauty and the ability to cope with it all, with astounding grace and love.

I'm running out of pillars to put under her.

...brainnsss...

2008-04-02T11:19:00.005-06:00

Pinkeye? Not so much. Kids just got back from the pediatrician, and it's looking like adenovirus.

I'll clean the post up later and add a some real content, but you should realize it's all just an excuse to post this picture. Be kind to us as we lurch and stumble up the street, eating stray dogs and whatever else our decaying synapses identify as needed sustenance.

On an even scarier note... we measured Sage last night. My childhood pediatrician had a neat trick - you measure height at 2 1/2 years old, then double it to predict the adult height. It worked within an inch of my height, and was about dead on for my brother and sister.

Using this, Ashley's due to hit somewhere around 5'10", Burke should be about 6'0", Lauren may reach 6'2".

...and Sage, you ask? She's a meter tall as of yesterday, two days before her un-birthday. Rrrraaaawwwwwrrrrr STOMP STOMP STOMP CRUSH.

- Ryan

...it burnss us, Preciousss

2008-03-27T12:16:00.005-06:00

Sage looked a little goopy around the eyes last night, and sure enough, we all woke up to this. Sometimes, it's really okay NOT to share...

Please refer to our house as 'Barad-dûr' in all future correspondence. Thank you.

Wheel-side down.

2008-03-24T23:07:00.005-06:00

I was able to ride after work, finally got my wheels back in the dirt and out and away from pavement, debris and noise.

There's no adequate way to explain the feeling of despair that sets in as you madly flail at the pedals, hoping against hope that the endorphins will kick in soon. The approach to the mesa trail that is my daily escape is several miles of gradual uphill, winding between prairie dog colonies and cactus, scrub oak and rock.
Then, as unwelcome as underwear for Christmas, there is several hundred yards of steep scree, gravel and watermelon-sized rocks on the final, and steepest hill... I try and ride the hill clean
(no stopping to rest, push, or occasionally, throw up) and usually end up just shy of the dry heaves and with a heart rate somewhere around 'hummingbird.' Yes, I do this for fun.
Once you get past thinking too much and reach the state of mind where you no longer have to consciously direct your breathing, your arms, your legs... there's a powerful moment where you lose the little voice behind your eyes that constantly natters away, and there is just gestalt existence. If you can maintain that between-thought state, there's no arrangement of mere words that will convey the sense of flow, of reading the curves and leaning in, pushing against the earth itself... and feeling it kick away beneath you, leaving you free to float for a moment before gravity catches you.

Somewhere in the rush and flow, everything that has weighted me down throughout the day is... gone. Sweat isn't generally thought of being an aid to gaining perspective on life, nor is dirt, and yet, they are my catalyst.

The only thing that makes a good ride sweeter is looking back and seeing Tammy and the kids stretched out in a train of happy noise and tumult. It's proof that the very best things in life are not diluted when shared among family and friends, only multiplied.

Life is awfully sweet.

- Ryan

Worth my weight in plastic eggs

2008-03-24T12:14:00.006-06:00

And, Lo, there were chocolate bunnies in those days, and they waxed strong except in direct sunlight or when they were left where Sage could find them. And those that ate of the head without first eating of the body were cursed unto the fifth generation, and smitten with Easter grass until they were very nearly sore.

Tammy made crepes for Easter breakfast, and yea, verily, they were full of awesome. Well, once you added the fruit and pudding and cream and sprinkles and jam and made what is technically known as a 'ball,' anyway.

Ana introduced us to the fine Eastern European sport of egg fighting, in which you hold your egg and either hit someone else's, or they hit yours. Symbolic of the... the... the fearsome egg-wielding Cthulhu enthusiasts that used to smite the unbelievers' eggs with other eggs, I guess.
Twas great fun until Ashley had her Grandmaster of Egg-Fu medals taken away after the Olympic Committee caught her using a plastic egg. Tammy then trumped that by using an already-shelled egg for maximum rubbery impact. Soooo glad that the fridge no longer smells like a sulfur-emitting volcanic vent...

I learned a valuable lesson: never, ever attempt to explain the digital mapping of a waveform as an analogue for how truth is passed on. It may take counseling and/or a few hits with a mallet to get those poor kids in my class to be able to blink normally again.

The happiest times in my life are the simplest, such as the daily wind-down, late in the evening. It's when Tammy and I just talk about... whatever. The kids come through and either ask for kisses or hugs and wander off to bed (sometimes eight or nine times in Sage's case, who also, as a bonus, occasionally begins vacuuming at 11:00 pm.)
Nice to have everything that matters to me safe and warm and accounted for, hatches battened down and all dreaming of the next big adventure.

- Ryan

...all this and puppet stew

2008-03-09T20:15:00.000-06:00

Things are close to normal again after a chaotic February.

I'm fully recovered from surgery and enjoying my new life as a woman even more than I thought possible. The kids are looking forward to spring break and hyper as little crack monkeys on... um, crack.

Tammy is beautiful like a thousand sunrises.

Ana's around here somewhere, but likely on Skype and not paying attention to us.

We're going to try and figure out the formatting and graphics angle to the blog, so if you log in and immediately start a grand mal seizure, Tammy says it's my fault.

- Rhino

Patience, more coming

2008-01-29T09:25:00.000-07:00

Just getting this blog started - give me a few weeks for meaningful content.

- Ryan