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

Something I've always carried inside

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?

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

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.

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

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

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