The Surreal World of San Francisco

I was in San Francisco last week for work. My only exposure to this area previously was from watching Full House with my daughters, and that show, as it turns out, paints a terribly distorted picture. San Francisco is amazing, in its own, bizarre, way. I would have stayed longer if it were practical.

We rented hybrids from one of the stands that caters to tourists. Not my first choice of bicycles but the riding was good. We rode across the Golden Gate Bridge, windy and foggy, down into Sausalito which was warm and sunny.

We rode through the Golden Gate Park where a Tour de Fat bicycle festival was going on.

I have never seen so many bicycles. And every bike was unique.

Very unique.

I was amazed with the food in L.A. the last time I was in California. San Francisco somehow raises the bar. I ordered tea in a Chinese restaurant. They put a dead, dried up flower bud in boiling water. The bud opened up into a bright red flower as it slowly sunk to the bottom of the cup. Apparently the flower was the tea. Maybe I am easily amazed. Regardless, it was excellent.

The tables in San Francisco restaurants tend to be close together so you inadvertently hear other’s conversations. Sitting next to us on our last night was a surfer dude, his beautiful Norwegian wife, and her parents who were apparently visiting from Norway. Half the conversation was in Norwegian but from what I could make out, the parents were asking them to move to Norway. Surfer dude explained why, for numerous reason, San Francisco was the greatest city in the world. While he was explaining how clean the city was, the person I was having dinner with described a homeless transvestite she saw defecating in a flower pot in front of a shop. I suppose San Francisco is difficult to see objectively.

You Don't Know Me At All, Maybe

I did a training ride last week, two hours at my aerobic threshold. If I could do more than one training ride a month, I might be on to something. This blog started as a training tool, as if publishing goals and a plan to get there would somehow make it happened. It helped. I am going to try to nudge this blog back in that direction. Later.

Somehow I don’t fully realize real people read my blog. I am taken back when someone introduces themselves at a bike race and say they read my blog. I met Ali B, who I only knew through her blog, at the Log Splitter race last year. She looked at my result then looked at me and said: “You did well, I mean, you don’t suck as much as you imply in your blog.” Or something like that; I was star stuck and not really listening. Things have gone downhill since then and now I really do suck as much as I imply, possibly worse.

After a particularly whiney post about how all my friends have road bikes and I don’t, Bob, who only knows me through my blog, offered me his Giant TT road bike for just a token price. I didn’t take him up on his kind offer but was touched by his generosity

Emilie and I went on a ten hour road trip to Ohio yesterday to deliver Sally to her new home. This provided a good opportunity to really talk to Em. I also used this time to expand her musical horizons. I can’t get her to budge from this horrible Country Music genre so I tried to expose her to good Country Music; difficult to find at best. I like Lyle Lovett, Cowboy Junkies, and Patty Griffin enough. Em wasn’t impressed. I even played Mary Chapin Carpenter who is more mainstream Country but sometimes uses big, three syllable words, like “perilous”. Nope. It left Emilie more convinced that I haven’t a clue. She is only 13 and will figure out on her own that the best music isn’t on the radio. Or maybe I haven’t a clue. I don’t even know anymore.

Mary kindly offered to take Sally. Mary is a clever girl and apparently figured out through my posts that I am not in a great position to take care of a pet. I struggled so hard to find a good home for my Yamaha RD350LC that finding a home for our family dog seemed impossible. I figured out through Mary’s posts that she is a unique dog person and my best option. It is just a trial right now; Sally can be difficult.

Emilie cried when we left Sally at Mary’s. I wanted to make Em feel better. Sushi was the only thing I could think of. After a round of normal Sushi (Shrimp, Tuna, and Salmon), Em suggested we get Sea Urchin. I honestly didn’t know Sea Urchin was eatable. I’m still not convinced it is. Neither of us could eat it but we laughed hard as we tried. That was worth the $6.95. We were still laughing as we walked to my truck in the parking lot. I think everyone will be fine.

2011 Maybury TT

A few weeks ago Allison showed some interest in doing a race this summer. We went to Maybury to practice and decided to do the 8/20/11 Maybury Time Trial. Allie changed her mind Friday night, which is fine; I am excited she even considered it. I did the time trial anyway. It could be my worse result ever but I’m glad I went. I get a little anxious when I go too long without racing and, after spending the previous week moving most of my stuff to Canton, Maybury is now my local trail and I want to support my new community and everything it has to offer.

Canton isn’t all bad. They have an Ikea. Home furnishings aren’t something that normally interests me but Ikea is kind of cool. I took Emilie, Allie, and some friends to Ikea after dance class for a cheap dinner and to pick out some cheap yet stylish furniture.

After the race I assembled an Ikea loft bed and clothes cabinet thingy for Allie. The girls are excited to move and helped clean. I hate Canton less today than I did last month. I suppose I am moving in the right direction.

How to Lose Friends and Manipulate Children

Most of the riding I did last year was just social rides. They seldom went anaerobic so I occasionally told fibs so I could ride alone. Over the winter there was a flurry of changing jobs and priorities with the people I ride with. This season I find myself pathetically asking them to ride with me, like Bob Roll in that Road ID commercial. The few rides I have done with friends last month concerned me.

Paul isn’t exactly a mountain biker but he does spend 20 plus hours a week in the gym. I had to work harder that I expected to keep up with him on the flat, straight sections of trail. Randy fell in love with a tri girl, the kind of love that gets you out of bed before work to swim laps. He worked hard over the winter and is now officially faster than me. I rode with Bill Saturday. He got a job at a bike shop and is deep into bicycling. Bill recently had his ass measured for a new saddle; I didn’t realize this was even an option. I struggled to keep up with Bill at first but figured I would drop his Clydesdale ass and matching saddle on the hills. Nope. I kept my heart rate pegged at 173 BPM as he effortlessly climbed away from me.

Maybe I’m not as fast as I thought. And I didn’t think I was all that fast to begin with.

I was supposed to do a shop ride with Bill yesterday but I took the girls out for dinner and ice cream in downtown Ann Arbor instead. As usual, I used this time to point out the hip U of M kids in the retro stores and coffee shops. I subtly talked about how cool it would be if Em and Allie went to the University of Michigan, and about GPAs and SAT scores. Em, my sweet angel, was enthusiastic but I noticed Allie, my, Allie, was wearing Michigan State flip flops; I’m sure that was no accident. Allie is not one to be manipulated. Maybe I’m not as clever as I thought.

Daddy's Girl

I love being a dad but I had no idea it would be this hard; the hours spent playing Pretty Pretty Princess and how my heart breaks as I offer muddled advice to help my girls navigate through the atrocities of middle school. I was naïve before children. Part of this is because I lack dazzling perception, but I think a better explanation for my complete lack of understanding is an ignorant bliss concerning parenting wired into our DNA. If it wasn’t, Adam and Eve never would have had children thus avoiding the whole Cain and Abel debacle and robbing everyone thereafter the wonderful experience of parenthood. All fairytales have universal truths.

Emilie is a sweetheart but I have lost her to friends; I eagerly wait for any time she has left for me like a dog waits for table scraps. I’m not so naïve that I didn’t see this coming 13 years ago. I have had time to prepare. Allie still digs me and I know the clock is ticking.

Yesterday after work I got ready to ride as I do every time I get a little rattled. Riding is a drug and I have no qualms about that. Allie walked into the garage and asked to go with me. This is the first time she has shown any interest in riding single track. That right there made the hours of playing Polly Pockets all worth it.

Allie did great. I never noticed how technical the Brighton trail was until I looked at it from the point of view of a 10 year old. She attempted everything and didn’t complain once. We cut through the woods to lop off a few miles. It happened to be at a spot where I crashed hard during a race two years ago, knocking the visor off my Giro helmet as I bounced off a tree. I went back to look for my visor after the race but couldn’t find it. I would briefly look for the visor as I passed that spot for a few weeks afterwards but eventually bought a new helmet and gave the Giro to Allie, figuring she wouldn’t notice it was missing a visor, and had a dent in the shape of a tree.

While Allie and I trekked through woods last night I found my long lost visor. I assume it was mine; it’s a Giro visor that fits my helmet, 15 yards from the tree I hit. It’s the little things in life that delight me. It doesn’t take much. I quietly thanked Adam for his naïvety.

Log Splitter Race Report

I really don’t do race reports, unless I don’t mean the report literally but rather use it to hint at something else just to amuse myself. And I’m not even sure the Log Splitter Challenge was a race. It was a clever 28 mile point to point course that went from North Higgins Lake to Hanson Hills, well marked, and someone even took the time to rake leaves off the wooded sections of single track. It looked like a race, I mean, there were number plates and it was timed. The problem is it had a fun, relaxed atmosphere, only one category, and free beer at the finish line. It was more like a very well organized group ride. I had fun but did poorly.

There was no official starting grid but rather three signs in the starting area that said “Fast”, “Medium”, and “Slow”. Everyone knew where they fell in the pecking order and apparently lined up accordingly because I was neither passed nor passed others more often than when the race is categorized by age and ability.

Looking at the riders and making a conscious decision where to line up at the start made me really consider what kind of racer I was. I down loaded my HRM data Friday and, just like my previous data dump, saw I only averaged 4 hours a week on the bike. I know I must ride at least 8 hours a week to be competitive. I haven’t taken training seriously for the last few years. I was embarrassed as I took my humble place in the group and quietly committed myself to kind of train.

But training takes time and motivation. My motivation comes and goes. And I have serious time management issues. I took Em to see the new Harry Potter movie Friday morning at 3:30 AM, dropped her off at home afterwards, and went straight to work. Friday night I drove up to Grayling after the kids were situated and only got a few hours of sleep before the race Saturday morning.

When I am hyper tired, things have a way of seeming more profound. In between Higgins Lake and Hanson Hills was a straight, flat stretch of paved road. I looked at the long line of riders in front of me and tried to quantify where I would be if I were more dedicated. If I lost those last 5 stubborn pounds, I might be up the road another 100 yards. If I rode 8 hours a week, maybe I would be up a quarter mile. If I lost weight, rode more, made an effort to do hard group rides, and followed some type of training plan, perhaps I would be up a mile. No matter how far up I envisioned myself, there would still be a long line of riders in front of me. Fast is so relative.

I am going to put my guilt on hold tonight and ride at Brighton just for fun.

Not Quite Home

Back to work this week and back to reality. Em and Allie are back in Dance. They are dancing on the same nights so yesterday I had 3 hours to myself while I waited, not enough time to go back to my house in Brighton but enough time to ride in Canton.

Maybury is the only trail in the area so it made my choice easy, which was nice since I tend to be a little indecisive. By the time the girls start school in September, Maybury will be my local trail. And I am resolute to make the best of it.

Maybury is a cute trail, like a Girl Scout nature trail, without the nature. It’s a short trail which is convenient if you only want to ride for 30 minutes. And if you want a longer ride, you can do it several times. It doesn’t have any outdoorsy smells, maybe it does but it is buried under the scent of Ambercombie Fierce from pretty body builder Northville boys in matching Specialized kits.

The trail looks almost magical as the late afternoon sun sparkles off the broken reflectors lining the single track. The hills are small, indistinguishable as hills if not for the horde of pretty body builder Northville boys in matching Specialized kits on shinny new Specialized bikes still with pie pans, some with reflectors, who wait at the top to catch their breath. There are no sections of Maybury where you can crack the throttle to blow out the carbon yet the trail isn’t technical, just twisty and hard packed, like an impacted colon.

It was a nice ride. I finished with plenty of time to make it to the dance studio, even with the crazy congested Canton traffic. I loaded my bike on top of my truck, surrounded by new cars probably owned by pretty body builder Northville boys in freshly dry cleaned matching Specialized kits, right down to the socks; the sweet sweet smell of Ambercombie Fierce hanging gently in the air.

As I drove the girls home we passed a nursery lined with palm trees. Charming but they looked out of place. They don’t belong in Canton. It’s just not natural.