Why I'm Not Like You....

.....or anyone, for that matter.

For any of you that may have come to this blog hoping to see what new feats of athletic endurance I may have accomplished recently, you won't find it in this post. This post will have nothing to do with athleticism, and will probably be very long (I really don't know yet, I just started writing).

Any of you that know me personally know I don't quite fit into any sort of mold (eeww). Many times in my life, people have asked me "what the fuck is wrong with you?".

Where do I begin........

I decided to write this post after I found BRATS: Our Journey Home, a documentary about military brats - the children of active duty military. Please keep in mind, I'm not using my upbringing as an excuse for past rash behaviour, or for any sort of sympathy. I think I had it pretty good, and I thoroughly appreciated the lifestyle experiences, it was just very different from anyone you've ever met. This documentary goes so far as to refer to us as 'third culture kids'. I'm not so sure I agree with much of the sentiment of the film, but I'll go into that later.

It's funny how a persons world view is so specific. Up until the time I was 15, I had never spent more than three years in any one place. People have asked me, "how could you stand moving all the time?".

I would always reply "how could you stand staying in one place your whole life?" Indeed, when I was 15, and we had been at Fort Devens for three years, I asked my father "can we move?" I had been there, done that, and had more than just a fucking t-shirt.

Sadly, no. I was doomed to _another_ three years on this tiny military base, where I would graduate from the local public high school, and my father would eventually retire from the army after 21 years of service. My hope of living in europe - preferably germany - dashed with the revelation that my father had full intentions of finishing out his 20 years in the army in two years at this installation, and we would most likely 'retire' locally, in Ayer or Shirley....from the frying pan, to the fire.

But, The US military being what they are, had other plans. He filed for his retirement six months before his 20th anniversary in the army, which would have been at the beginning of my senior year in high school. His requested was rejected, and he was instead given orders to prepare for a one-year hardship tour to a remote military outpost at Sinop, Turkey. A small base with a few hundred soldiers overlooking the black sea with large radio arrays for the purpose of listening to soviet russian communications. Families not allowed. He would be forced to delay his retirement for at least 18 months past his intended date.

This wasn't the first time he left for long periods. My father was gone alot. This would be his second year-long hardship tour. The first was in 1972 to another small outpost in shemya, alaska. A rock at the end of the aluetian chain, about 500 miles from the Kamchatka pinnensula. He couldn't quite see russia from his house, but he got a much better look at it than sarah palin ever did, that is, when he could actually venture outside. At least Turkey would be warm.

He also did three tours of vietnam between 1969 and 1972, about three months each. But then he was rewarded with two three-month tours of Kwadjeline in the '70s. It was defined as a hardship tour, but it was quite like tahiti. There were some remote installations where the military went out of their way to create amenities for the soldiers and their families. They _did_ have dependent housing (family housing), but his tours were only three months long, so he went alone. Dad got 2 three month trips to almost-tahiti, and my mother, sister and I were left to contend with new england winters. (oh, I didn't mention I have an older sister yet? yeah, by two years, She was born in clinton Massachusetts, when my parents were at fort devens for their first tour after my father graduated basic training in 1959. She's a christian fundamentalist redneck living in Georgia now). But then, we never had to deal with aleution storms, or getting shot at by the viet cong. Let's just say it was a well-earned perk.

I wrote those three paragraphs as a precurser to _my_ experiences. After all, this blog is about me.

I was born in Ethiopia. Really. There used to be a US military installation called Kagnew Station at the city of Asmara high in the mountains of Eritrea, then a province of Ethiopia. Kagnew was another 'hardship' post, and the military went out of their way here as well to make life more comfortable for the few thousand soldiers and their dependents. From here:

"On the positive side, a tour at Kagnew Station offered houseboys and housegirls, a chance to save a few dollars in the low cost of living, and the opportunity to capitalize on the Command's endorsement of higher education and take some University of Maryland or University of Oklahoma courses. For some, the cultural setting was a matchless experience in itself. For others, it may have been Red Sea lunkers, the challenge of the Prince Makonnen Golf Course, Italian food or Ethiopian gold jewelry that kept the personnel office flooded with extension requests. Perhaps it was the 12 months of sunshine that made an assignment to Ethiopia a memorable one. But probably above all, and especially for the first-termer anxiously awaiting ETS, Kagnew's relaxed military routine made it an optimum assignment"

To this day, my mother waxes romantically about the weather. We were fortunate enough to be there during the 'golden period' of Kagnew station, with the army granting excesses in the forms of entertainment venues, vacations on the red sea, and relaxed dress/discipline codes. It was short lived though. We left in late 1963, I was only a year old and don't remember a thing about it. In the late '60s political strife overtook the country, and in the early 70's the centrist emperor and US ally Haile Selassie (whom Rastafarians consider a demigod) was overthrown in a soviet communist backed coup. The Army bugged out before it got too hairy, and there's a darkly humourous story about the one time they actually had to scramble to arms, the key line being: "My God, they're giving us real bullets!".

From there, we moved to Vint Hill Farms, Virginia where my father attended a cryptology school. We left there after about one year, when my father was transferred to Hokkaido, the northern-most island of japan, Chitose Army-Air field, now a commercial airport. I'm told we flew across country to san francisco and boarded a marine troop ship for passage across the pacific. The ship had been retrofitted to carry non-military dependent families, so it had larger rooms and better food and mattresses but it was still a marine troop ship, with 200 marines on board. I don't remember that either.

I have a few memories from chitose, the very first ones, in fact. One involves watching my father use his lighter (he used to smoke a pipe) to burn a big fucking black spider off its web that it had built overnight outside our front doorway. I asked him recently if it was as big as I remember it. He closed his eyes, nodded his head, and said "oooo yah. It was big". My mother nodded in agreement.

They used to get multiple snowfalls of several feet deep in the winter, and the famous Sapporo Snow Festival is a few miles away. Now, there are no blonde japanese children, and both my sister and I were almost nordic in appearance. The japanese tourists took as many pictures of me and my sister as they did the 20 foot tall ice sculptures. A number of them asked my parents for permission to touch our hair. We have 8mm video of my sister and I being surrounded by a small group of japanese school children. It was as if they had never seen a blonde child. Wanna know something? They hadn't.

Incidents like this are what shape the attitude and sensibilities of people, and why it's so critically important to understand and embrace the diversity in cultures of the world around us. I learned at a very young age that people aren't just a little different from us, they're _alot_ different from us. People are murdered and wars are started because of people abject willful ignorance about others that are different. It isn't to be feared, but embraced.

I started kindergarten here, in a quonset hut. My teacher was mean, though I don't remember it, but my mother said so.

Halfway through kindergarten my father pulled his second tour of Fort Devens. We left Chitose in the late fall of '67. We flew back this time instead of a US marine-hosted cruise, and I have vague recollections of of a four-engined commercial passenger airliner with turbo-props. Yes, a propeller driven trans-pacific flight. We stopped over at my grandparents house in Binghampton, NY for a few days. This was the first time I ever remember meeting my grand parents.

Here's where I began to become cognizant that my life wasn't the norm. Most of you probably can't ever remember your grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins _not_ being there. For all intents and purposes, I didn't even understand the concept of extended family - beyond my mother, father, and older sister.

For all I knew, my grandparents were just some other people we were going to meet, get to know for a while, then move and never see again. Sure, I got cards and presents from them, these people I had never met...they may as well have been Mr and Mrs Clause. I actually had a stronger bond with the japanese house-keeper we had in chitose. My sister of course had the same feelings, or lack thereof. She _did_ remember them from when we visited before we left for japan. Though here member was simply a fleeting visual image, emotionally insignificant.

I had no idea anyone actually lived in one place their entire lives. I mean......how boring...how banal. In the military, you could tell people anything about your extended family. They could be doctors, statesmen, eminent religious or political figures... They would never know, or have reason to doubt you. (this was something my ex-wife never quite out-grew - more on that later). Hell, I was in school with ambassadors kids more than once, took gym class with kids whose fathers were two and three star generals, and most of us had no clue of "family" beyond our parents and siblings.

Now, here these two old people were, enthusiastically hugging and kissing a completely bewildered 5 year old. We may have spent a couple weeks there until our housing was ready, but then we would leave there too.

That's enough for now. I'm thinking this will end up being in three parts....if you, or I, make it that far.

try not to laugh out loud

I did

http://anywayiwasjustthinking.blogspot.com/2009/12/simple-pleasures.html

"your problem is, you just don't ride fast enough"

Yeah, someone actually said that to me this weekend. The Irony is, he was spectating and I was racing. I was just this side of 02 debt, then this fucker lobs _that_ grenade at me. I laughed. I actually laughed while gasping for air. It was the funniest fucking thing I had heard in days, and he's right. I've had many people over the years tell me I could be a lot better at this bike racing thing if I just got serious for a change.

I've done more 'cross racing this fall than I've done in the past 8 years. The last time I raced this much 'cross was in the fall of 2001. I was actually doing well that year (for me) and that was the only time I've ever been in the top ten when there were more than ten riders.

So, I raced the Shedd Park race a couple weeks ago. I was hung over. That's not an uncommon occurrence, though it happens significantly less than it used to. Chronoman once quipped 'you can tell how good jay will do by how many cuervo shots he did the night before'. Other than a headache, I didn't feel all that bad. The race started by taking a promenade lap around the running track. I burned a match going around the outside and found myself just out of the top ten heading onto the first turn. I took the outside again - the smooth line, and passed a few riders that bobbled over the roots trying to ride the inside, one of whom went down. I was exiting the turn in the top ten, when the dude that crashed hopped back on his bike, pushed me off the course, and tangled my bike up in the course tape.

That's right, the second best 'cross start I've ever had and the jackass knocks me off my bike. He's a big dude, maybe 6'2" and probably 185 when he's fit. I'm a little dude. Unless I'm prepared to bump someone that big, I'm probably going down. The entire field passed me as I tried to get my bike untangled.

I know the dude well. He's been racing longer than I have, though he rarely beats me in any discipline except maybe the occasional TT. I now had mission to chase him down.

He ended up midfield because of his crash, and I caught him on the second lap. But the effort was too hard, I was too hung over, and started tasting bile on the 3rd lap. He passed me, then shortly after I bobbled a hairpin just before a steep ride-up and had to run the bike up (I rode it every other lap) which gave him a good 15 second gap that he held. He finished a few places ahead.

(stay with me here, this isn't as much of a non-sequitur as it seems)
I hadn't planned on racing any verge races this year - I'm on a personal boycott. Not against the promoters or sponsors, but against the riders. More appropriately, the hype. These guys take this shit way too seriously, and I can't be bothered to set aside time specific races for the whole cross season. I want to race when I want to race, and don't like the idea that I'm going to get stuffed into the back row because I have a fucking life and don't have any series points.

But, Shedd Park changed things. Now I had to go and beat the dude. I knew he would be there, he's one of those serious series racers. All about points, series results, etc. I seriously wish he didn't make me have to do that, but sometimes things just can't be helped. So, I went home that day and registered on line, in-hopes that I wouldn't be in the last row (they stage verge races by points, then order of registration, no mad dash for the front line). I ate well during the week, trained (actually rode the 'cross bike), and slept well.

Saturday came. I got there early to register, ride the course, and warm-up a bit. As we staged, the dude was in the 3rd row, I was in the last row (shit!), next to two mountain bikes and a few guys from the guys-who-get-fat-in-the-winter cycling team (you know who they are). Already, I had 30 spots I had to make up.

First lap, I'm just making up time, jumping around guys, I couldn't see the dude. Second lap, Shit! he's less than ten seconds up! I gradually caught onto him, and passed him on the long gradual climb. The dude ain't no climber. He never was. He wasn't giving up easy though. He tried a few times to get back on terms, and stayed less than a few seconds behind me for almost two laps before he finally faded. I beat him by about two minute and and two places.

I wouldn't have gone sunday if I didn't pre-reg. These series races are bit expensive for my taste, and it was a shame to waste the $35 bucks, so I went. The sunday course was more about power, compared to the saturday course which was more technical. I'm definitely a technical course guy, but sundays course was very comfortable and I felt quite good. I lined up in pretty much the position, around the same hacks. This time though, I caught and passed the dude before the end of the 1st lap. At every corner, he was further and further back, though he never dropped off like a lead weight as he had done the day before. I beat him by a bit under a minute, but there were 7 places between us.

I finished about the same these two days that I've done all year....about halfway down, and even at shedd park with the hangover and the crash I finished smack in the middle. But you know what? I'm ok with that. I don't train for 'cross and I don't take it seriously. I have a 22 pound ten-year-old bike. With these last two races, that makes a grand total of ten times I've ridden my 'cross bike this year, _including_ 'training' rides. I know what I'll have to do to get good at Cx, and until I start doing that I have no cause for complaint. I _do_ have cause for enjoyment though, Cx is fun, and I don't want to pollute that with serious training.

So that's probably a wrap for season for me this year. There's one more local race that sounds like fun, and rumor has it there's going to be free beer.

The Ice Weasels Cometh.

Don't be surprised if I go, but then don't be surprised if I don't.

melancholy

Where to begin?

ok, it's been over two weeks. my bad. been busy. I've actually had some shit at work that interests me, for the first time in about two years.

So here I am, on a saturday night, near midnight, blogging. Damn, that's lame. ok, I'm buzzed. My Lovely and Talented Young Wife and I have a standing monthly dinner party with two other couples. Tonight was our night to host. My wife is a fabulous cook, and I am the stereotypical "the way to a mans heart is through his stomach" kind of guy. Top it off with a half dozen glasses of Shiraz, and you have a more lame blog post than the last one.

But that's not what i'm writing about tonight

Here I am, feeling 50 pushing on me ever so slightly, seeing the guys in the 55+ category still mixing it up, and hoping, against all hope, I can push on.

I think I can.

I see Julie Lockhart showing up each and every race. yeh, I hope I'm still out mixing it up, or even have the desire to do so, at her age.

I sit here tonight, listening to The Cure. I've been a fan since Boys Don't Cry, destroyed a vinyl version of Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me in 1987 (dance mix of Hot Hot Hot is one of my desert island CDs), and despaired at Robert Smiths coronation of The King Of Pain, when Robert Morrisey made him look like a fucking disney character. I remember calling a local radio station 18 years ago to complain about The Mighty Mighty Bosstones really lame version of Pink Floyds 'brain damage', and 'Love Cats' came on the air when I was on the phone with the DJ. My Lovely And Talented young bride was with with me at the time (though we weren't married at the time) and said into the phone "oh honey, they're playin' love cats!!!".

The DJ was thoroughly amused.

So what I'm listening to as I write this, is not the original releases of the cure, or even some live version. No, it's an MTV "acoustic" "unplugged" CD......

shit, man, give it up.....

After the Storm Passed

The 'storm' being the reviews of The Canton Cup Cx. You know that everyone that went there had to blog something about it, and if you live in new england and you read _this_ blog, then you know someone that has blogged about it, if you haven't yourself.

So sit right back and you'll hear a tale.....

Yes, I did the first two-Cx-Race-weekend in several years. I had planned to race canton and Orchard cross, so the night before I called my good friend and way-better-than-me Cx'r Bangin' Billy Bad Balls (Bigring) to see if he wanted to ride down to canton together, since I saw he had pre-regd. It turned out, that very afternoon, BadBalls was out on a training ride, something happened, then something else happened, and BadBalls banged up his Balls, Bike, and Brain. Broke his helmet too. Suffered a temporary loss of vision in his right eye. No cars were involved. Billy was a bit hazy about the sequence of events himself but he managed to convey something about pulling out of his pedal while sprinting on rough pavement. Sounded kind of like a Jens Voight scenario, without the road rash.

So BadBalls said I could have his entries both days. I'm going to repay him in the form of a case of finely crafted Snob Beers. Yes, hes as much of a beer snob as I am.

I was a bit anxious going to canton for a couple reasons. One was The Great Pint Glass controversy of '07 - still unresolved issues there. The other was that I had decided to finally set up my Cx bike for _me_. I bought my Cx bike about 5 years ago, I got it _wicked_ cheap. It's a Bontrager, one of the last of the real hand-mades from bontrager, before he sold out to trek. It came with ultegra 9sp drivetrain and brakes, a USE shockpost, Matrix rims and Vittoria Tigre tires.

I rode it a few times, and immediately swapped out the ultegra for chorus. It gave no tactile feed back from the dual levers on the STI, and the thicker the gloves the harder it was to discern between upshift and downshift. Everything I own is campy anyways, and the idea of the thumb lever for downshifting makes way more sense in a cross bike, no fumbling for the little paddle on choppy terrain while wearing thick gloves.

Anyways, I hadn't ridden the bike in 4 years. It turns out it came with a 110mm stem, and I can't remember if I ever thought I should change it. I rode it at the Velocross, and the inability to slide back on the technical stuff was highly detrimental, so I replaced it with the shortest one I could find - a 50mm.

That's better. Canton isn't exactly a technical course, but it just felt so much better being able to shift my weight further back. I raced the 3/4 45+ and did well (for me). I hit the deck once when a dude swung his bike to the right as I was approaching the run up at the track while I was dismounting. He probably shouldn't have changed his line like that, but then I was coming into the corner way to hot for the amount of traffic that was there. Hey, this is 'cross, a few bump and grinds are gonna happen. I had hoped to stay up with Solobreak, but canton is a power course, and solo has way more power than me. Not to mention, he's still training. I've just been running, and my training for Cx consists solely of going to Cx races. Still, I would gain on him through the winding sections, but he would distance me on all the open stuff. I ended up 13th out of 60something. After the race Solo and I went out for buhrgahs and Beahs at some irish joint in nohwood.

Me rounding the 180 before the pit at canton

Sunday was the Orchard Cross in Hampton Falls, NH. It's about 15 miles from my house, and put on by the same crew that used to put on the Amesbury 'cross race. This was a great course. Old school style. I've always thought apple orchards would make great cross courses and this just confirmed my suspicion. They didn't have to make abstract serpentine tape labyrinths in open fields, the rows of trees made perfect, sort-of natural switchbacks and turns. there was also way more climbing than pretty much any cross course I've ever done. OK, I'm not exactly a prolific 'crosser, but I _have_ been racing 'cross since around '97, so I've seen a few courses. There was a _very_ fast downhill farm road, followed by a similar uphill topped of with a barrier. 1/2 the course was _very_ smooth grass serpentine between the apple trees. There was a several inch deep mud section about 100 feet long with a downhill leading into it. Over all, this was even more of a power course than canton, but some the two climbs on the course balanced out the course for riders like me that have reasonable power/weight against the straight power riders.

I loved the course, and it will definitely be on my schedule for next year. Funny thing is, I didn't do any better than the day before. I got 12th/26 overall, and 4th/6 in the 45+. Well, this _was_ a 1/2/3 instead of a 3/4 like canton. I felt good, never laid the bike down, and could have done another lap.

Me coming out of a 180 into a mud pit at orchard cross

Well, that's it for another lame-assed bloggers lame-assed race report. Now go do something useful for a change.

Fucktitude back in the day

This originally started as a comment to another blogger commenting on the fuckeditude of fixed gear mtb'rs, but morphed into a blog post.



Fixed gear mtb'rs are an odd bunch, even more odd than single speed mtb'rs. I'm going to relate a 'back in the day story' but first we need to define 'back in the day'.

'Back in the day' wasn't when they had a B cyclocross category instead of the cat 3's, that was last fucking week. Back in the day the only people that had ever even _heard_ of cyclocross were people that had lived in belgium. Back in the day, mountain bikes were a novelty, and no one had a 'cross frame that was designed and built as a 'cross frame. We had road frames that were modified by a local frame builder by welding on canti brake bosses, pinching the chainstays by the bottom bracket and moving the rear brake bridge a bit higher on the seat stays. My first CX bike started life as a Schwinn Tempo .

Back in the day was when guys still raced with toe clips (yeah, 'cross racing with toe clips!). Index shifting was considered effeminate, there were more five speed freewheels (not freehubs) than six speed freewheels, and you would see an itinerant racer with a set of chainwhips removing the 13t from his freewheel so he could put on a 21 for the putney road race in the parking lot of the west hill shop. The longsjo classic was a one day crit on lower main street (even now, longsjo was a one-day crit longer than it's been a stage race).

Back in the day, we rode fixed gears for early season training. If you didn't have a bike you could leave set up as a fixed gear, you were cajoled into removing your derailleurs, buying a track cog, lock nut, and track chain. This was a point of discipline. No sprinting for town lines in your big chainring in february (they wore ski clothing back then, some guys even wore ski goggles on really cold days, and no one had bike helmets, I remember one brisk morning wearing a ski mask and safety glasses). The idea was to force you to ride for 5 hours in an easy gear to build your base fitness. There's a good reason for junior gear restrictions, the guys from 'back in the day' figured out the damage that pushing big gears did without base mileage without having the help of sports physiology. Fixed gear riding was never intended to be the domain of the urban hipster, once Tullio invented the derailleur, fixed gears became the domain of track racers and spartanites.

Back in the day there was a local bike club called The Sons Of Italy Road Club. You won't find too much about them, they went defunct somewhere around 2001, but they were pretty active in the area in the 80s and 90s. They used to hold an annual banquet in the fall, I could be mistaken but I believe the seeds of NE-BRA were sown here. This was the first time I met Chronoman, he was wearing a nametag that said "hello, my name is Terry Bradshaw". They used to have guest speakers at these banquets, the most notable of whom was Chris Carmichael. Chris talked alot about training, and of course, about his most famous client - Lance Armstrong. I don't remember what year that was, but it was pre-cancer and post world championship. During the q&a, I asked Chris if he thought lance would ever win the TdF. Chris answered 'I think he has the potential. Barring any accidents, yes, I think he will win the tour one day'.

Now, back to where I was heading when I first started writing this epic. Another guest speaker they had was Paul Curley (HEY!). This, if I remember correctly was the last banquet they had. Paul spoke a bit on his rather extensive racing career and then dedicated the rest of his address to his training philosophy. At one point, he mentioned 'fixed-gear' and 'mountain biking' in the same sentence. They served beer at the SoI hall, and I wasn't quite sure that I had heard him correctly. So I raised my hand and asked "did you just say you went mountain biking on a fixed gear?"
He replied "yes".
Again, having made a few trips to the bar, I'm not exactly sure what I said, but I know it was something along the lines of "that's fucked!"
This flustered Paul somewhat, but he continued with his presentation. I'm sure I feel asleep.

Fast forward about 17 years. MTB racing has peaked and declined. If you have a single speed mtb, you're cool. If you have a single speed 29'r, you're _uber_ cool. And, I guess now, if you have a _fixed_ 29'r, you're so fucking cool that thick mud solidifies as you approach allowing you to glide effortlessly through, coors light cans turn blue as you ride by, and hot chicks nipples stand out when you're in the vicinity.

I say this only partially toungue in cheek. Back in the day I was thoroughly ridiculed for wearing black/brown/beige dress socks when arriving for afternoon rides after work, even though I folded them over to resemble 'crew' socks (I remember a clause in the USCF manual as late as 1989 stating "socks will be white, shorts will be black. A thigh panel with the sponsors name will be allowed"). Now, white socks are totally gay, and the uber cool wear fucking argyle.

Now, certain bloggers fully embrace the off-road fixed-gear trend. These people are far more prolific as bloggers, racers, and slackers than I. While I ridicule the off-road fixed-gear rider for coming to the party 20 years after paul curley was using it as a spartan training regimen, I envy them for my inability to jump in with both feet due to pragmatic commitments of my own doing.

I sincerely hope that off-road fixed-gear competition becomes at least as successful as off-road single-speed competition has become. I won't be doing it, I'll have respect for those that _do_ embrace it, but I still think it's fucked.

I hope no one is buyin' this shit.......

From http://www.cyclingnews.com/news/boonen-says-counsellor-is-helping-with-consumption-issues

"The Quick Step rider blamed his positive doping controls on his drinking; indicating that he drank so much that he did not know what later happened. "I was very drunk. I do not know what happened, but the next day I tested positive for cocaine," he said.....Quick Step later accepted Boonen's explanation that his positive test had come as a result of contact with other cocaine users, rather than direct ingestion of the drug......"Hair samples proved that there was no cocaine in his system for more than four months," said Lefevere. "The amount of cocaine present [at the time of his positive test] was enough to say that there was someone with him who was using it, and he came close to those people.""

Really, a contact high from blow?

Right - Sorry Boom Boom, the only way to test positive for blow is to do blow. Being in the same room with it doen't set off the catalyst.

(posted by a survivor of many a lost weekend)