Monday, February 06, 2012
Sunday, February 05, 2012
TMS
I get accused of having TMS, riding with too much shit on my bike.
It's a criticism I generally ignore, but the other night I almost left my coat at the office because I was riding home and wouldn't need it. I carry the coat mainly because if you have a flat when you're all sweaty, and you're not any faster at changing flats than me, you're more comfortable if you put the coat on and then deal with changing the tube.
I started hearing a squeaky sound as I rode through Westport. I thought it was coming from my front wheel, couldn't figure for sure what it was other than that it was loudest when I pushed the left pedal (that was a clue).
By 21st and Summit the crank got so stiff I couldn't make it turn. It was in the 20s and I was sweaty, so I'd have gotten pretty miserable without my coat.
Corinna looked up the bus schedules and called me with an answer about where to catch the Max faster than I could pull up the schedule on my phone, and I got home with a new tale of urban adventure and an absolute vindication of my TMS.
It's a criticism I generally ignore, but the other night I almost left my coat at the office because I was riding home and wouldn't need it. I carry the coat mainly because if you have a flat when you're all sweaty, and you're not any faster at changing flats than me, you're more comfortable if you put the coat on and then deal with changing the tube.
I started hearing a squeaky sound as I rode through Westport. I thought it was coming from my front wheel, couldn't figure for sure what it was other than that it was loudest when I pushed the left pedal (that was a clue).
By 21st and Summit the crank got so stiff I couldn't make it turn. It was in the 20s and I was sweaty, so I'd have gotten pretty miserable without my coat.
Corinna looked up the bus schedules and called me with an answer about where to catch the Max faster than I could pull up the schedule on my phone, and I got home with a new tale of urban adventure and an absolute vindication of my TMS.
Saturday, February 04, 2012
Super Fly
I fucked up not putting on my rain suit.
Generally, the thing makes you decide between being hot and wet or cold and wet. Mostly you have time to decide 'hot' when it actually starts to rain.
Today, as I left the house, it was thundering but the pavement was dry. About half way across Kansas Avenue, the skies opened up in an Old Testament way.
I was instantly soaked, and the rain suit doesn't do much good when you're already a drowned Mardi Gras float. Cold, wet weather is the one kind I don't really enjoy riding in, so I decided to try catching a Max.
I pass Max stops on my bike all the time, and they have a little display telling you when the next bus will arrive. Problem is, a lot of the time those arrivals are forecast to be over twenty minutes out. An express bus is definitely an improvement over traditional routes that stop block or two, but I can typically match the pace of these lumbering behemoths by just riding at a steady ten miles per hour.
As I settled in, I realized I felt like I was on vacation. When I visit New York or Chicago I don't even think about cars or cabs, I just get a pass for the transit and go. Especially in a place like Manhattan, you're not going to get anywhere significantly faster than with the bus because the taxis are all stuck behind buses. Since I haven't ridden the bus here much in the past twenty years, that jostling ride in the company of strangers has strong leisure associations for me.
This was only my second time putting my bike in the ridiculous bike-on-bus racks. They don't look that secure to me, and I had all kinds of anxiety the first time I put my bike on one. But surely I'd have heard of it if lots of people's bikes were flying off.
Then, on Brookside Boulevard, I heard people saying, 'Whoah!' and 'Wow' and looked up to see my bike sail up in front of the windshield and disappear for a split second before reappearing to land about 30 feet in front of where the bus came to a stop.
I was too freaked out by this to even get mad. A part of me didn't really believe I had just seen my bike describe a parabola as tall as a city bus. I just picked up the bike and re-loaded it, asking the bus driver if there as some step I had forgotten.
No he said, I was loading it right. How often does this happen, I I asked.
He said it was the first he'd ever seen it happen. He thought maybe the wind had caught it, but the panniers weren't on it, and it's a steel frame bike. I think what caught it was a perfect combination of inertia as the bus came to a stop and the road dipped abruptly.
I was also too freaked out to notice that I'd lost a couple of flashers and the AAA batteries from a flasher that managed to stay on the bike. Probably $30 or so worth of lights and batteries, so that sucks hard. And I couldn't tell for sure if anything else on the bike was compromised, but it's high time I get that Surley frameset fleshed out anyway.
I don't think I ever really blogged about that frameset; it was a real find Corinna made at a swap meet, a lightly used 2007 Long Haul Trucker frame and fork for less than a third of what they cost new. It's my size, the fork us uncut, it's exactly what I wanted to replace the bent Diamondback I've been pushing my luck on the past fifteen months or so.
I've got a great crank to go with it, a Sugino XD2, 24-36-48; I've got some parts on the Foolkiller that can come over. That's more than a slight upgrade from what I've been riding, and that's part of why I haven't finished building the bike.
Having my bottom bracket cup fail on the way home, stranding me about half way between work and home (that was the first time I put my bike on the rack of a Max) I decided I was fed up with crappy worn-out components. Like the plastic cups most bottom brackets are retained with. Which doesn't mean I have the budget to do Phil Woods bottom bracket and retaining rings, which are about as bomb-proof as things get—but cost as much as I paid for the frameset.
It's probably time to just finish the build with whatever parts I can get. It's still an upgrade from what I'm riding and I still love my Diamondback so much I photograph it on occasion. If it didn't have a bent frame (from when I ate a grate, not from flying off the Max), I wouldn't even be thinking about retiring it.
Generally, the thing makes you decide between being hot and wet or cold and wet. Mostly you have time to decide 'hot' when it actually starts to rain.
Today, as I left the house, it was thundering but the pavement was dry. About half way across Kansas Avenue, the skies opened up in an Old Testament way.
I was instantly soaked, and the rain suit doesn't do much good when you're already a drowned Mardi Gras float. Cold, wet weather is the one kind I don't really enjoy riding in, so I decided to try catching a Max.
I pass Max stops on my bike all the time, and they have a little display telling you when the next bus will arrive. Problem is, a lot of the time those arrivals are forecast to be over twenty minutes out. An express bus is definitely an improvement over traditional routes that stop block or two, but I can typically match the pace of these lumbering behemoths by just riding at a steady ten miles per hour.
As I settled in, I realized I felt like I was on vacation. When I visit New York or Chicago I don't even think about cars or cabs, I just get a pass for the transit and go. Especially in a place like Manhattan, you're not going to get anywhere significantly faster than with the bus because the taxis are all stuck behind buses. Since I haven't ridden the bus here much in the past twenty years, that jostling ride in the company of strangers has strong leisure associations for me.
This was only my second time putting my bike in the ridiculous bike-on-bus racks. They don't look that secure to me, and I had all kinds of anxiety the first time I put my bike on one. But surely I'd have heard of it if lots of people's bikes were flying off.
Then, on Brookside Boulevard, I heard people saying, 'Whoah!' and 'Wow' and looked up to see my bike sail up in front of the windshield and disappear for a split second before reappearing to land about 30 feet in front of where the bus came to a stop.
I was too freaked out by this to even get mad. A part of me didn't really believe I had just seen my bike describe a parabola as tall as a city bus. I just picked up the bike and re-loaded it, asking the bus driver if there as some step I had forgotten.
No he said, I was loading it right. How often does this happen, I I asked.
He said it was the first he'd ever seen it happen. He thought maybe the wind had caught it, but the panniers weren't on it, and it's a steel frame bike. I think what caught it was a perfect combination of inertia as the bus came to a stop and the road dipped abruptly.
I was also too freaked out to notice that I'd lost a couple of flashers and the AAA batteries from a flasher that managed to stay on the bike. Probably $30 or so worth of lights and batteries, so that sucks hard. And I couldn't tell for sure if anything else on the bike was compromised, but it's high time I get that Surley frameset fleshed out anyway.
I don't think I ever really blogged about that frameset; it was a real find Corinna made at a swap meet, a lightly used 2007 Long Haul Trucker frame and fork for less than a third of what they cost new. It's my size, the fork us uncut, it's exactly what I wanted to replace the bent Diamondback I've been pushing my luck on the past fifteen months or so.
I've got a great crank to go with it, a Sugino XD2, 24-36-48; I've got some parts on the Foolkiller that can come over. That's more than a slight upgrade from what I've been riding, and that's part of why I haven't finished building the bike.
Having my bottom bracket cup fail on the way home, stranding me about half way between work and home (that was the first time I put my bike on the rack of a Max) I decided I was fed up with crappy worn-out components. Like the plastic cups most bottom brackets are retained with. Which doesn't mean I have the budget to do Phil Woods bottom bracket and retaining rings, which are about as bomb-proof as things get—but cost as much as I paid for the frameset.
It's probably time to just finish the build with whatever parts I can get. It's still an upgrade from what I'm riding and I still love my Diamondback so much I photograph it on occasion. If it didn't have a bent frame (from when I ate a grate, not from flying off the Max), I wouldn't even be thinking about retiring it.
More Christmas...
We had Christmas at my Dad's on Boxing Day.
In the interim, me and Corinna rode around the neighborhood on Christmas Day proper documenting chickens and McCops and whatnot.
Yes, I did a calendar again this year, but I think that's a separate post.
I guess it's supposed to be weird not having family to go to on Christmas Day, but given the festive Christmas Eve and Boxing Day I have on the years when my ex gets the kids, I don't put too much pressure on the calendar day.
Friday, February 03, 2012
Bangs
Corinna clipped Mo's bangs. The were in her eyes, but she'd been refusing options she normally embraces like a trip to Fantastic Sam's.
Corinna stayed calm and the next thing you know, the job was done with.
Corinna stayed calm and the next thing you know, the job was done with.
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
Burned Out
This is the kind of thing I've fallen inexcusably behind on. The august institution that is Lobsterland reports these things far slower than real-time, but generally gets it in the same month.
As I tooled up Broadway on the way home from work one mild December evening, I smelled smoke. As I passed Archibald Avenue, the road south of Westport Road, I looked right and saw fire trucks. All of them, I think.
I figured an apartment building had caught fire, there's lots of three-decker six unit apartment buildings in the area, and at least one I've been in was seemed built out of kindling and Duraflame logs, so it stood to reason.
It was Westport Presbyterian Church. I gathered from the press the next day that it's chances of rebuilding are less impressive than the building's facade. A few dozen attended services, according to the Kansas City Scar. It was apparently more of a community center than a church these days.
I heard people comment about how it was a stone building, so how could it burn? The facade is still impressive. If the church can't raise the funds to rebuild, I hope the city at least allows the facade to stay up. Maybe it can be a hybrid sort of structure like the Off Broadway Theater if nothing else.
But go around the back and take a look. It's like meeting an incredibly hot older woman, say Mary Tyler Moore, and then getting a sudden shot of a bare back side innocent of plastic surgery and personal trainers.
As I tooled up Broadway on the way home from work one mild December evening, I smelled smoke. As I passed Archibald Avenue, the road south of Westport Road, I looked right and saw fire trucks. All of them, I think.
It was Westport Presbyterian Church. I gathered from the press the next day that it's chances of rebuilding are less impressive than the building's facade. A few dozen attended services, according to the Kansas City Scar. It was apparently more of a community center than a church these days.
I heard people comment about how it was a stone building, so how could it burn? The facade is still impressive. If the church can't raise the funds to rebuild, I hope the city at least allows the facade to stay up. Maybe it can be a hybrid sort of structure like the Off Broadway Theater if nothing else.
But go around the back and take a look. It's like meeting an incredibly hot older woman, say Mary Tyler Moore, and then getting a sudden shot of a bare back side innocent of plastic surgery and personal trainers.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Cheese
My kids grew up on Monty Python, I made sure of it. The Cheese Shop sketch mentions a bunch of cheeses I've never seen, but I found one of them at HyVee. I had to buy it, see what it was like...
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Chicken or the Egg?
We might not be able to grow avocados here in Kansas, but we're keen to maybe keep a few hens for eggs.
The question was whether the city had a law against it. Apparently not: these chickens were just a couple of miles from home, fearlessly walking the neighborhood.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Critical Mass
As I write this, I'm missing out on Critical Mess. But catching up on the blog thing means I get to share with you pics from last month, including the soon-to-Bermuda-triangulate Jenny.
Jenny returned to the Peace Corps and shuffled off to Liberia this month.
But Max got to ride Critical Mass for the first time!
I found this trailer at the thrift store across from my work awhile back, but we were missing a part to really hook it up right. Corinna had talked a lot aboutmaking Critical Mass a family affair, make Em ride and tow Mo as if it were nothing.
But after towing Max all over hell's half acre, and realizing that one MO is about three Maxes, she reconsidered. And that's saying something, the girl thinks nothing of hauling home 40 lb bags of dog food or cases of fruit by bike.
Jenny returned to the Peace Corps and shuffled off to Liberia this month.
But Max got to ride Critical Mass for the first time!
I found this trailer at the thrift store across from my work awhile back, but we were missing a part to really hook it up right. Corinna had talked a lot aboutmaking Critical Mass a family affair, make Em ride and tow Mo as if it were nothing.
But after towing Max all over hell's half acre, and realizing that one MO is about three Maxes, she reconsidered. And that's saying something, the girl thinks nothing of hauling home 40 lb bags of dog food or cases of fruit by bike.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Saddle
My Christmas present from Corinna was a beard trimmer. Said so right on the box.
Except this beard trimmer is really a leather saddle, a B-17 by Brooks.
These saddles are supposed to take a breaking in, but after getting the height/angle about right, I quit being aware the saddle was there. A good sign, since once it's broken in it's supposed to be the most comfortable, longest-lived saddle in the world.
Except this beard trimmer is really a leather saddle, a B-17 by Brooks.
These saddles are supposed to take a breaking in, but after getting the height/angle about right, I quit being aware the saddle was there. A good sign, since once it's broken in it's supposed to be the most comfortable, longest-lived saddle in the world.
Look at the Christmas!
Played a lot of Monopoly at Christmas.
It was Scrabble at Thanksgiving, but after some of my relatives got a taste of how competitive someone who can make the Olympic Team can be, they wrote that game off.
But these games turned out to be great bonding experiences. especially when we got Mo into a game of Monopoly.
It was Scrabble at Thanksgiving, but after some of my relatives got a taste of how competitive someone who can make the Olympic Team can be, they wrote that game off.
But these games turned out to be great bonding experiences. especially when we got Mo into a game of Monopoly.
Why Don't I Blog?
I remember back when I was still married to the artist formerly known as Frau Lobster, I'd see blog posts with titles along the lines of "Why I Blog."
I was new to the concept myself, so I read a lot of these in an effort to figure out what sort of freak show I had signed up for.
I signed up for it, though. Did I ever. It seemed, in a way, like technology had created a niche I had been born for.
Over 2500 posts later, I find myself past my daughter's mid-January birthday having not blogged stuff from before Christmas.
It's a dramatic shift. But life is full of dramatic adjustments these days.
I've accumulated a stockpile of photos I took out of the blog-it instinct, such as this one taken at church with my new phone. I never thought I wanted a smart phone. Corinna thought I'd be pissed off with the thing, in fact, but it promptly grafted itself to my consciousness.
Anyway, the answer to why I haven't gotten around to these things is I got sort of distracted by moving, the holidays, and so on. The process of moving two households into one, the one being the smaller house, has created an effect best described as Hoarder Palace. I have a lot of sorting out left to do.
But I miss this outlet for such things as Max visiting Santa.
Max is getting old, and we'll likely adopt another dog soon so he can help train his replacement. He gets cold easily in the winter, and besides being a love hound, he knows it's warmer in bed with someone. If you ask him to get off the bed, he'll jump down and immediately look up to see if he can be invited back.
He's not proud, he'll get in bed with anyone. He's in his golden years, what would you do?
For that matter, Max was the star of the show at my Mom's for Christmas. I was against bringing him, wasn't sure Mom would want him in the house. But not only was she down with it, my nephew was an instant fan.
He was adorable running after Max chattering, 'Bow wow bow wow bow wow!'
It was a fabulous Christmas all the way around. The way the custody arrangement works, every other year we each get the major holidays and this was the odd year for me. Meaning we did a full Christmas on Christmas Eve at my Mom's, a full Christmas on Boxing Day at my Dad's, and in between, my ex got to have a full Christmas on Christmas with the girls.
As I explained to a friend, divorce and remarriage has been pretty good to my kids.
I guess a Christmas present to me from my kids, when we got to my Mom's she'd made fried chicken at Em's request. You can take your Christmas ham and stuff it up your Christmas turkey's ass, the fried chicken was the bomb.
It was our first Christmas in Westheight. With all the chaos of moving and whatnot, I didn't get my outside lights up really, and it's almost February and the tree is still up, but as long as you understand the concept you can pass the class, right?
Oh, and me and Corinna got whistles from the girls.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
All Lit Up
The other night, I hadn't gotten to bike commute as much as I'd like and then we had some ridunculously unseasonable warm weather. So I caught part of the Brookside Ride on the way home from work and six or seven riders showed up with the Vegas Strip between their legs.
I want Christmas lights like this just for visibility, I'd ride with them year round.
Hamburguesas
http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hamburguesa
We had hamburguesas for dinner. They were hamburgers except we live in a neighborhood with an awful lot of Mexican immigrants and the attendant Spanglish signage. As far as I can tell, what separates hamburgers from hamburguesas is avocado if it's the take-out joint around the corner. The distinction is something less than semantic elsewhere.
The cheese melted over the patties was queso fresco, so maybe that's a distinction, too. The one pictured was light on avocado but included green bell pepper.
We had hamburguesas for dinner. They were hamburgers except we live in a neighborhood with an awful lot of Mexican immigrants and the attendant Spanglish signage. As far as I can tell, what separates hamburgers from hamburguesas is avocado if it's the take-out joint around the corner. The distinction is something less than semantic elsewhere.
The cheese melted over the patties was queso fresco, so maybe that's a distinction, too. The one pictured was light on avocado but included green bell pepper.
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
Homes Tour (Welcome to My New Neighborhood)
Who are the people in your neighborhood? The people that you meet each day? Or so the children's song goes...
This is going to sound weird, but years ago, I thought I might live here. I was still married, in fact, to the artist formerly known as Frau Lobster, when I crashed on a couch after a homebrew competition in the Westheight neighborhood.
I remember at the time, I was reading 'Steal This Book' and it had a line about how smoking a cigar and hanging a picture of Che Guevera on the wall didn't make you a revolutionary.
My host opened the door with an enormous stogie clenched in his teeth and a framed portrait of Che behind him.
I was impressed with the neighborhood at the time, though. A lot like the Old Northeast of KCMO I used to inhabit, but with a wider mix of house sizes and styles. Some prairie school in the mix, and mansions (Senator Darby's house that could accommodate a Presidential motorcade without interruption in its garage) alongside three bedroom bungalows.
Imagine my surprise when I was riding home one evening to my new fiancé's house and ran into Chef Dan.
Or the day of the Westhight homes tour: he'd done an ice carving on the porch of the third house.
One of the charms of this particular homes tour, it's not all architectural monstrosities. The Darby house is the last one on the tour, and most are three bedroom affairs.
Tastefully done and historically preserved, but homes regular folks could live in. Including homes with some of the best forgotten ideas of modern architecture.
Including the most awesome basement/den in a ten mile area, though I have no pictures of it because it's owner posted a warning against all forms of electronics outside the hi-fi he keeps in an old GE oven.
It's a mutt neighborhood, I suppose. A few big houses, some smaller houses, prairie school mixed with neo-Romantic and whatnot.
But then, that's the charm of it.
And I flat out loved this one bedroom in the Senator Darby house. Not really pink, these walls were Pantone Magenta.
I think I want to paint our bedroom that color now. I said at the time that I didn't know how I could sleep in such a bright room, but the room's owner said when the lights were out it looked like a deep red and was very soothing.
This is going to sound weird, but years ago, I thought I might live here. I was still married, in fact, to the artist formerly known as Frau Lobster, when I crashed on a couch after a homebrew competition in the Westheight neighborhood.
I remember at the time, I was reading 'Steal This Book' and it had a line about how smoking a cigar and hanging a picture of Che Guevera on the wall didn't make you a revolutionary.
My host opened the door with an enormous stogie clenched in his teeth and a framed portrait of Che behind him.
I was impressed with the neighborhood at the time, though. A lot like the Old Northeast of KCMO I used to inhabit, but with a wider mix of house sizes and styles. Some prairie school in the mix, and mansions (Senator Darby's house that could accommodate a Presidential motorcade without interruption in its garage) alongside three bedroom bungalows.
Imagine my surprise when I was riding home one evening to my new fiancé's house and ran into Chef Dan.
Or the day of the Westhight homes tour: he'd done an ice carving on the porch of the third house.
One of the charms of this particular homes tour, it's not all architectural monstrosities. The Darby house is the last one on the tour, and most are three bedroom affairs.
Tastefully done and historically preserved, but homes regular folks could live in. Including homes with some of the best forgotten ideas of modern architecture.
Including the most awesome basement/den in a ten mile area, though I have no pictures of it because it's owner posted a warning against all forms of electronics outside the hi-fi he keeps in an old GE oven.
It's a mutt neighborhood, I suppose. A few big houses, some smaller houses, prairie school mixed with neo-Romantic and whatnot.
But then, that's the charm of it.
And I flat out loved this one bedroom in the Senator Darby house. Not really pink, these walls were Pantone Magenta.
I think I want to paint our bedroom that color now. I said at the time that I didn't know how I could sleep in such a bright room, but the room's owner said when the lights were out it looked like a deep red and was very soothing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)