Weebles Wobble, But They Don't Fall Down

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

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

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.

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?"

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

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

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