Multicultural, Sorta

Max got to walk to the Taqueria with us, in a hilarious coat Corinna put on him. He's a hunting dog by breeding, though not by training, so I guess a boy's camo coat should have looked hunterly, but I thought the effect was more AWOL soldier.



The taco special was fantastic: we had six kinds of excellent tacos in a throng of cheerful Mexicans having a good time out of the bitter cold. A guitar was strummed, but the guitarist was too busy telling stories and jokes (lost on me, I have basically no Spanish) to play songs.

And dinner for two including tamarind soda and tip was all of ten bucks.



After we ate, Corinna did a bit of grocery shopping, and I spotted some imported candy. And I wasn't sure what to make of this: what is a Japanese peanut and why do we import them from Mexico? Is this an exercise in multiculturalism or some sort of candied misunderstanding?

What Brought the Mayans Down?

This El Yucateco brand of habanero sauce is dear to me: the Trek Group's usual Monday night end point has the red and green versions on the table, and me and Roj often split a nacho appetizer (only in America can an appetizer be enough food to make a meal for two grown men who have just worked out), and liberal doses of that red and green stuff make it a flavorful dish.



I spotted this the other day at Corinna's favorite Asian market, the same brand but XXXtra hot 'Mayan Recipe.'




I was afraid it would be pure heat and no flavor, but I was wrong. It was amazing on a sort of huevos rancheros scramble with poblano peppers, queso fresco and dried cherry tomatoes.



I don't know if this is what ended Mayan civilization or not, but it could have at least made the whole culture go back for seconds.

Ice Cream Run

I rode my bike to Wal-Mart on Saturday to get a few groceries and the colored pencils and glue stick Em needed to finish her dread Huck Finn homework. It was 25ºF when I left the house, and a brisk wind was blowing out of the north-northwest. I mailed a bill, paid the trash man, got to Wal-Mart without my lock.

It's not like Gardner is a cesspool of crime, but I didn't want to do all my grocery shopping just trusting my luck. I gave one of my Disappointment Artist business cards to the high school kids caroling at the Salvation Army bucket and said, Anyone rides off in that thing that doesn't have a pink helmet poof, call my cell, alright?

I was due to buy a lock for the bike anyway because the one I use on my rack is too short and I prefer locking the bike rack to the car even when the bike isn't there. So I got a six footer and locked up, did my shopping and returned home.

By the time the stuff was in the panniers, my fingers were already ice cold. And it was noticeably colder and windier than when I arrived. Snow had fallen, not much, but still.



A mile later, riding into that headwind, I had to stop at a gas station and warm up my aching hands. Then I slugged my way back home and was busy congratulating myself on 6.4 miles starting at 25ºF and finishing more like 17ºF. I was bragging about it on Facebook, Em was finishing her Huck Finn thing, and I was about to make a quick Christmas-shopping errand (by car) before Corinna arrived for dinner (also by car).

Or so I thought. Em looked out the window and said, 'Dad, there's flashing lights and a pink helmet poof coming in our driveway.

Corinna saw my miles and raised me forty, having come all the way from downtown KCK on her bicycle in zero-degree wind chills. She said she was in the mood for an epic ride, and she was not disappointed.



I tried to get a picture of the ice in her balaclava but I settled for inviting her in and getting dinner going. She had a few cups of hot tea, some grub and then invited me to go on another bike ride in the cold.

To get ice cream.

I wasn't keen to go, my fingers had been so painfully cold on the Wal-Mart trip and it was even colder out. 15ºF or so, I think, and snowing again.

That's when she surprised me with an early Christmas of wool socks, wind-blocking lobster claw mittens (yeah, lobster claws, she's a keeper!), long johns, and my very own balaclava (I'd been riding in one I borrowed from her). While I had been thinking about how I needed to get to Mickey's for some mittens, she was there making her list and checking it twice.



She convinced me to try my boots instead of my usual running shoes, and my fears that they'd be too heavy were overcome when I discovered how much warmer my feet were without the wind on them. With the mesh in my Brooks Adrenalines, I might as well wear sandals for all they block the wind.

The lobster claws were very effective, too, more than their weight would lead me to believe. They're big enough to wear over my full finger cycling gloves, thin enough to allow me to brake and shift, and they block the wind.

Only the tip of my nose was really uncomfortable because if I pull the balaclava over it my glasses fog.

The winds were every bit of 30 miles per hour as we rode into the snowy darkness. It's so beautiful being on the road with the sounds of the snow and the wind. I was so much more comfortable than I'd ever been on a cold ride (this was only my third time heading out when it was below freezing, and the second time that day) and not being miserable goes a long way when it comes to appreciating natural beauty.



Coming back, the wind on my nose and around the glasses into my eyes was a bit much, but when I contemplated stopping at a gas station on Main, I realized we were long past it, almost to our turn. In fact, after we made that turn we had a stiff tailwind for the last half mile home.

With no fenders on my bike, cold, wet weather would still be a problem, but other than that I think I'm geared up for pretty much all conditions. Sure, a cycling jacket that breathes in back would be a plus, and if I can find some way to shield my nose without fogging my glasses, that'll be good, but it turns out the girl is right: there is no 'to cold' there is only inadequate gear.



And there is no ice cream better than the ice cream you brought home in your snow-covered panniers.

And Nobody Even Knows What Judo Is

I caught the tail end of Corinna's Judo workout. I would have caught more, but I made the mistake of using MapQuest instead of just wandering around until I stumbled on some place I wanted to be. How that site does it (sends me 30 blocks away from the address I accurately keyed in) is the Lord's own private mystery.




Anyway, for my benefit they actually did a couple of extra rounds. I won't claim to understand what I saw (though I'm aware that this is Judo, not Kung Fu, despite the lame 'Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting' title).





And I was keenly aware that Corinna was the only chick on the mat and the guys she was grappling with and throwing generally had a foot of height and over fifty pounds on her.



And she seemed to be holding her own. A couple of kids (I think their Dad was the class leader) were where Corinna was packing up her gear afterward, and I said to them, My girl's wicked tough, ain't she?



They nodded, eyes bugging out a little.

Rollin' On the River (Below Freezing)

I haven't got my winter riding gear all quite figured out yet. But the makeshift, make-do and borrowed gear is sufficient to get me setting new records for myself as far as temperatures.










We set out to the River Market via the levy and, according to the bank we passed, it was seven degrees cooler than when I threw it in for being too fargin' cold last Thanksgiving.






I know most of my roadie friends ride trainers, take spin classes, pretty much do anything but ride below freezing. But a lot of them, I'm sure, think nothing of going skiing in cold weather.



Same idea, you need to block the wind, stay dry, keep the sweat from building up and so on. You're moving fast through cold air, but it's not like riding through a volcano or on the bottom of the ocean.



Fast forward a week and maybe I was a tad cocky in setting out for the store when it was 25ºF and falling with brutal northwest winds around 30 mph. I emerged from shopping to 17ºF and winds at least 30 mph. Fortunately it was a short trip, 6.4 miles round trip. Definitely need to figure out that mitten thing if nothing else.

Open Mic @ MU

If you'd told me a couple years ago that I'd spend a rare bachelor Saturday driving my girlfriend and her dog to Columbia for a poetry seminar and open mic; devote the seminar part of that day trying to find bargains on wool socks, balaclavas and ski mittens to facilitate cold weather cycling...

Or, for that matter, that I'd be mad I hadn't brought my own bike and some good riding gear so I could take off on Columbia's copious bike lanes despite the cold.



I struck out, for the most part, on the gear shopping. Play It Again Sports scoffed at the idea of even trying to handle gear like what I wanted.



Walt's had cool touring bikes, including the Trek Transport (if my bike is a pig, this thing is an elephant with a Howdah. There were expensive balaclavas to be had, but none that seemed worth the money; the closest thing to mittens was the Pearl Izumi 'Lobster Claw.'

This last would be something I'd buy for the novelty alone if it were cheap, but at $70, it's more than double what I'd consider paying for the absolute perfect thing (I seek mittens, which would keep my four fingers together; the lobster claw design is like a mitten designed to facilitate Vulcan blessings and Mork handshakes).



Anyway, after Walt's came the Alpine Shop where I did buy a pair of Smartwool socks on sale, but apparently mittens are out of fashion on the slopes, too. I also failed to find what I wanted (even without considering my cost constraints) at Bass Pro and Dick's before the day was over.



I did manage to find what I thought was an amusing sign, especially with Food Inc. fresh in my mind.



I served as a judge on the poetry contest, and was glad my relative inexperience was balanced by being part of a large-ish panel. I understood the criteria differently than the other judges in the content category, though, and since we declared our scores I found myself in a roughly Simon Cowell role. Actually, the poem that started me in that direction was my favorite of the afternoon, I just didn't see where it fit, content-wise. Like when I've judged beers that were entered in the wrong category, the score didn't reflect my taste. OOshene Fox ended up taking the top prize anyway, and she earned it.



I had fun trying documenting everything, though I used Corinna's camera for the video. I didn't quite get the shot I wanted of the featured poet, Kiara Lanier, with her yellow MacBook and its decals, but almost.



So anyway, if you'd told me a couple years ago I'd have a Saturday like this, I wouldn't have believed it. And if you told me I'd thing it was a great day, then I'd know you were out of your tree.

Crossroads First Friday

I don't get to do First Friday very often (this is my second, and the first was occupied almost entirely with my 20th high school reunion).




It was chilly but manageable on bikes, but we were on the job. Well, Corinna was on the job, I was trying to be helpful, snapping a lot of pictures (as if I wouldn't anyway), and so on.



Since only two of us were on bicycles, though, we had to keep a pedestrian pace so Jennifer could keep up.



I've never ridden so slow in my life. I looked down at my cycling computer at one point and realized we were averaging 3.2 mph. I thought, I could walk faster than this. And I could if we weren't there to network, get the word out, gather stories and maybe glom some free food.



And see some art.





And visit the Bad Seed Farmer's Market that's open on Friday nights but I'm never downtown on Friday night.







I got a brochure from a supplier of grass fed lamb, not exactly cheap stuff, but something I'm keenly interested in after watching Food Inc.



I have a hard time cold-calling, doing the door to door sales thing. I tend to take rejection too personally and even though I can get past that, it's a draining experience for me. Seeing someone pitch poetry and the arts as a wellness tool for metal health I thought, Talk about your hard sell.





To her credit, if Corinna and Jennifer saw any of the warning signs I did that some of these people would not only be unreceptive but actually rude, they didn't show it. And while I correctly predicted some people who wouldn't give the time of day, she also proved my psychic powers overrated on several occasions.




I'd think, That dude isn't going to even slow down, and the next thing I know he's signing a waiver and being interviewed on camera.



The Hare Krishnas were an interesting encounter. They wanted to get us to an eleven course vegetarian feast (it was described as part of three hours or more devoted to, I think, the selling points of orange robes, drums and a really long song that only has three distinct words). They weren't much interested in what we were selling either, but I had fun meeting them since I hadn't ever met a real live Hare Krishna before.



A kid being interviewed gave me a new band to look up, though, the Aquabats. They were on a shirt with Reel Big Fish, and I think the kid was just as intrigued to hear the gospel of Deal's Gone Bad, the ska band I discovered when they opened for the BossTones.






And after we knocked off we got to kick back and enjoy the art and the company of artists and art enthusiasts.




Ran into Brian and Randall, too. Brian, like Corinna, was barely a day back from a five day post-Thanksgiving bicycle tour starting in Memphis and ending just outside Kansas City.



A trip during which they learned that no matter what Coloradans say, the Ozarks are not hills but mountains. The last day, they did 134 miles, a personal record for both of them.



Corinna was working, as planned before the trip, but apparently Brian was just feeling restless and in need of some exercise; that 134 miles having roused his cycling appetite without bedding it back down.