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.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Suprisingly Refreshing
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.
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.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Aww, Hail No.
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.
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.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Oh, My Frozen Hobo
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.
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
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.
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.
Friday, November 6, 2009
On Ignorance And Apathy
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
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
Monday, September 21, 2009
What The Aftermath Of Fun May Look Like
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
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