Vegetables of the Mind Weblog

As a web developer, I have always despised Flash. I’ve never really been able to fully articulate exactly why, but here are some basic reasons:

• Flash files can be large and can take long to load
• Flash files are difficult to edit without the right (and costly) software
• Flash files require the Flash plugin, which is a potential security hole and therefore can’t be assumed to be on every user’s web browser
• Since I can’t assume that everyone has Flash, I have to figure out a way to rewrite the Flash content so that it complies with HTML standards

My basic issue with Flash is that it makes it a lot more difficult to maintain a website. This is more of a personal bias against Flash than anything else, but I just finished reading this blog post which decries Flash for not adhering to basic HTML standards. Well spoken, good sir.

I’ve been keeping at the running thing, though I’m noticing my right knee is not very happy with it. Ignoring it does not seem to work. I wish I had a brain radio so I could tune the knee out, much in the same way I use my car’s radio to tune out the squelching sound from my car’s right rear wheel under braking. The knee feels great when I’m running. It’s all the time in between running that it decides to be unhappy. Ibuprofen.

Three laps is almost exactly five miles. I’ve done it twice in the last two weeks, and each time I start out stiffly but by about mile 2 I get this strange feeling, like I could run all day, and that I could easily do a marathon. Alas, I believe that to be my “second wind” since by mile 4 I’m ready to be pithed.

The weather has cleared and therefore I took the car to the shop to have them assess my wheel situation along with a 60k mile service, so I rode my bike to work today. I’ve missed bike commuting. The longer I spend off the bike, the harder it is to convince myself that I want to bike commute, but that feeling disappears the moment I swing my leg over the top tube. I love to ride. I love the cold morning air. And it’s nice to spend time outside.

I wasn’t sure if the bike path through Mission Valley would be open since Murphy Canyon creek, which runs through the bat cave, floods during storms and washes tons of silt onto the path. Fortunately the silt was cleared, though the creek has changed dramatically. It’s one of those concrete culverts, and it is now half-full of silt. There is a chain link fence between the bike path and the creek, and one section has completely toppled, the steel poles bent at 90 degree angles. I would really like to see what the creek looks like during flood stage.

Last year, I made a new year’s resolution to stop caring so much about the number of miles I cycled. I failed miserably, logging the miles of each ride and comparing where I was in relation to where I needed to be to reach 7,000 miles. I did reach 7,000 miles but I feel that they were somehow empty, devoid of meaning other than mileage for the sake of mileage.

This year, I’m taking that resolution to a whole ‘nother level. Also, it’s been raining a lot, and I just don’t have the gear (or willpower) to commute by bicycle in the rain. Also, the rain causes Mission Valley to flood, which really screws up the bike commute.

A seed was planted in my head a long while ago, during the Athens Summer Olympics, as I watched the marathon events. The seed began to germinate when I started to think, “I could do that.” Since then, the seed has been in stasis, partly because of my focus on cycling, and partly because of my prejudice against running:

• Running is hard
• Running is hard on feet
• Running is hard on knees
• Running is going to make my body all droopy from all the impacts
• Running is really slow compared with cycling
• Running is hard

A few days ago I looked out at the rain and thought “That looks like fun. I think I’ll go run in it.” So I put on a crappy pair of sneakers and set out, marveling at how easy it is to just go out for a run. No special clothing, no gloves, no checking tire pressure, none of that bike stuff. I found an easy loop near my house and did it twice. According to the Gmaps Pedometer, the loop is about 1 2/3 miles so on my first outing I did a nice 3+ mile run.

And you know what? It felt great. So great that I did it again the next night, though by then I was pretty sore. It was strange: my cardio was ready for more but my legs just don’t have the right muscles yet, and they began to protest. Mainly by stopping to move. The next day I could barely move them but I’m recovering quickly and I think I may go out again tonight.

Screw my droopy body, and screw the pain. I might just start training for a marathon.

This post is mostly for myself: I want to document my year in cycling. As such, you, the reader, will probably be bored stiff. Consider yourself warned. Now’s your chance to stop reading and go somewhere more interesting.

In this, the year 2009, I:

• Cycled 7004 miles
• Bought my first road bike (have I mentioned how much I love it?)
• Participated in my first road race
• Commuted 4,079 miles by bicycle, saving about 150 gallons of gas and 3,000 pounds of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere (less, of course, the amount of carbon dioxide exhaled by my lungs and the environmental impact of my tubes, tires, lube, and all other bicycle maintenance)
• Rode through a swarm of bats
• Got a great new wheel to replace my crappy rear wheel which broke 2 spokes within a month of each other. Thanks, Universal Cycles! I couldn’t be happier with your handbuild wheel.
• Fell off my bike at a red light because I couldn’t get my foot out of the pedal fast enough
• Rode the Winter Stagecoach Century, the Alpine Challenge, and the San Diego Century, and realized that while the SAG support is great, I’d rather ride unsupported than participate in formal events.
• Faced my fear of heights and lost.

The first generation of Transformers captured my heart. At their core, they were basic, everyday objects that morphed into robots. The molds were a combination of die cast metal and plastic. Later generations were all plastic, contributing to a sense of degraded quality.

I always marveled at the engineering that went into the transformations and I would practice transforming them from vehicle to robot and back in a way that might mimic how they would do so in real life: their vehicle mode carrying momentum while they transformed into a fighting robot. There was a sense of ongoing action that set them apart from ordinary toy cars or action figures.

Toy execs might argue differently, but I always knew that there was real value in licensing real life vehicle makes and models. Yes, toys are fantasy, but they are rooted in real life role playing. Kids want to play with the things they see every day, including the family minivan.

Here are some of my first generation Autobots. The blue fellow, Tracks, is a reissue, so he doesn’t count. Hoist, the green one on the left, transformed into a GMC tow truck that you could attach other autobots and tow them around. Inferno is the red devil in the middle. When I bought Inferno and Hoist, I wasn’t sure I really wanted them. I liked fast sports cars and fire and tow trucks just weren’t all that cool. But they turned out to be two that I played with the most. The red dude up front is Sideswipe, who I got from my brother when he went to college. He’s awesome because he’s a freaking Ferrari. Did I mention how cool my brother is?

Bluestreak was one of my first Transformers, and one of my favorites. His arms articulate about the shoulder, elbow, and wrist, which was unusual. His mold was reused for Prowl, to his right in the picture. Prowl is a reissue, so he doesn’t really count, but it’s interesting to note that he is a Nissan Z police car, which as I understand was common in Japan. Note the Fairlady Z license plate on Bluestreak. I had no idea what a Fairlady was, but now I do, and I think it’s pretty cool that it carried over to the North American market. On the far left is Jazz, probably the coolest Transformer ever. His transformation is basically the same as Bluestreak and Prowl but he’s a freakin’ Porsche. As such, he was a rare find, and I was ecstatic when I did. There’s a better shot of him with the Dinobots below.

Blaster. Not a whole lot to say about him. A ghetto blaster that transforms to a robot: not that interesting, but I did like the cassette tapes that fit into his tape deck. One of those buttons opens his tape deck door so you can put the cassette tape in. He was mostly plastic and while he was larger than most Transformers, he just seemed a bit cheap.

Soundwave was the original tapedeck Transformer, predating Blaster and absolutely killing Blaster on a coolness level. Soundwave was compact, sleek, with die cast parts, where Blaster was bulky and plasticized. Blaster’s buttons were sticky and prone to failure, and the cassette tapes didn’t quite fit inside the deck, whereas Soundwave’s single eject button worked flawlessly and the cassettes fit like a glove.

Soundwave came with a cassette that transformed into a gold vulture named Buzzsaw, who’s perched on top of Soundwave in the picture. The cartoon always paired Soundwave with Laserbeak, who was the same mold as Buzzsaw but purchased separately, no doubt to drive sales.

The cassettes. Strangely enough, these were some of my favorites, though most of my cassettes were the second generation of Transformers that were introduced with the movie. I think I liked the compactness of the cassettes, the two-dimensional quality of them. Flat rectangles that transform. Don’t ask me why.

I’m quite proud to have found both Decepticon triple changers: Astrotrain and Blitzkrieg. These were unique in that each had 3 modes instead of 2. Astrotrain transforms from train to space shuttle to robot and Blitzkrieg transforms from tank to jet plane to robot. Each mode is compromised to facilitate the transformations but nonetheless it is not obvious how the transformations happen, and for that reason I think they’re notable. Blitzkrieg was a rare find in the toy store.

The Decepticon jets were all the same mold with different colors and in some cases different plastic wings. Skywarp, the black feller in the front is a reissue. Dirge (blue) and Thrust (red) are originals. Skywarp, Starscream, and Thundercracker were all identical except for coloring and were nearly impossible to find in toy stores, so awesome and badass were they. Thrust was my brother’s. (Did I mention how cool he is?)

I found this guy at Encina Drug store in Walnut Creek (Is it Encino or Encina? Is it still there?). He’s the same mold as the Transformers Decepticon jets but he was made by Takara. At the time I didn’t have any of the Decepticon jets and thought this might be the only chance to get this mold, so I bought him. One-offs and rebrands like these always fascinate me. Though to be fair, I believe the Hasbro Decepticon jets were a rebrand of Takara.

The Dinobots were dinosaurs that transformed to robots. I wasn’t all that crazy about them until I got Grimlock (the T-Rex). His transformation is actually kind of fun, so I got Swoop (the pterodactyl) whose transformation is kind of lame. The yellow and red brontosaurus-looking thing is a generic something-or-other, but he does transform to a robot regardless of his pedigree. There’s a better shot of Jazz there to the right of Grimlock.

The Insecticons. Lame like the Dinobots, but I still had to have one. As you might guess, they’re insects that transform to robots. This is Shrapnel. I think he’s one of those goliath beetles. Hence the big silver antennae thingies.

“Reflector was not sold in stores; instead, he was offered as a mail-in exclusive by Hasbro for money and Robot Points collected from packages of other Transformers toys.” I never sent my Robot Points in, but I did find this rebrand (or original-brand, as the case may be) and snatched it up. Microx is a far better name than Reflector anyway. All three join together to form a miniature camera with a real viewfinder.

Omega Supreme. That’s right, bitches. I have an original G1 Omega Supreme with all of its pieces and the freakin’ box. He was the first “battle station” Transformer: a robot that turns into a fortified, defensible space. While in general I don’t much care for the concept, Omega Supreme had several aces in his pocket: a battery-powered tank that ran along track and a rocket that forms his hands. There is some imaginative play to be had here. The biggest detractor to me is that his transformation isn’t so much a transformation as it is taking things apart and reassembling them.

Roadbuster is another interesting case of rebranding. Transformers marketed him as a Deluxe Vehicle and he was never featured in the cartoons that I recall. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a licensing issue involved, similar to Jetfire’s story. Roadbuster is the largest version on the left. In the middle is a smaller, fully transformable version rebrand in army green. On the right is a version that my brother found in an Asian toy store. It’s not transformable but it’s almost completely made of die cast metal. All three belonged to my brother. (Did I mention how cool he is?)

The vehicle version of Roadbuster is a concept car similar to a Humvee. While I was never a big fan of concept vehicles in the Transformers universe, Roadbuster was an exception in that his transformation was not easy to figure out and both his robot and vehicle modes are completely cool.

I bought Shockwave at Long’s. I seem to recall pissing off my mother by asking for him for Christmas and then buying him out from under her, leaving her to return hers to the store and wondering what the hell to get me. I did that a lot as a kid. I was kind of an asshole, and I guess not a lot has changed.

I picked up a quartet of miniature Autobots along the way. Bumblebee is the most famous of the mini Autobots, but unfortunately I never came across him. The closest I got was Hubcap, the yellow fellow on the right. From left to right: Powerglide (A-10 Warthog in red), Beachcomber (grey and blue dune buggy), Warpath (in tank mode - why red?), and Hubcap (Porsche 924 Turbo sports car). Standing behind them are two members of the cast of Transformers: The Movie. The movie introduced the next generation of Transformers and ushered in a new era of poor quality toys.

If Jetfire is the holy grail of my collection, Devastator is perhaps King Tut’s Gold Death Mask.

Devastator was the first of the “combiner” transformers: individual robots that combine together into a single large robot à la Voltron. Devastator is made up of 6 Constructicons, construction vehicles that transform to robots.

Hook was nearly impossible to find, being both the coolest and necessary for attaching the other five; I had slowly amassed all 5 but could never find Hook. When I finally found him I simply had no choice but to buy him. If only we had the internet in the 1980s.

Hasbro unleashed several more combiner sets after Devastator, but in my opinion Devastator was the best. Each Constructicon had more detail and slightly more complicated transformations than later combiner sets, and the later sets only used 5 robots, one of which was always a larger robot that formed the torso. The 6 constituent Constructicons were all the same size.

As I unpacked my Transformers to display them, I was surprised at how many full sets of combiners I had. I was disappointed to find that I had fewer first generation Transformers than I had thought, but having these full sets of combiners somehow made up for that.

When my brother went to college, he gave me all of his Transformers. Pretty cool, huh? That’s where I got the Combaticons who form Bruticus.

Here are the lamely-named Protectobots who form Defensor.

The next lamely-named combiner set is the Technobots who form Computron.

Superion (the Aerialbots). Not such a bad name, I guess. One of the few examples of Autobot jet aircraft. This is the only set that I bought together in a box.

Predaking is perhaps the lamest of the combiner Transformers. While the big combined robot is ok, each component is a joke and far too expensive. I remember buying all 5 members of Predaking and feeling completely ripped off. Transformers had evolved from really cool, die cast metal licensed versions of real vehicles with complicated robot transformations to asinine plastic approximations of animals with simplistic robot transformations.

Unfortunately, my collection consists mostly of the latter, and as I unpacked my Transformers I felt sad and more than a little bit betrayed that I had wasted so much money on a product line whose quality had nosedived. When I get around to showing my Optimus Prime, I’ll show you exactly what I’m talking about.

Until then, I hope you enjoyed my early sets of combiners.

When I was a kid, there was a show called Amazing Stories. It was sort of like Twilight Zone but not as mean to its characters. One show was a story about a kid who wouldn’t let his mother get rid of his toys. Time passed and wasn’t kind to him, leaving him homeless. But one day he discovered his cache of toys and sold them at auction, making him a rich man. Or at least that’s what I remember of it, and it inspired me to keep all of the boxes for my collection of Transformers.

Unfortunately, I played with my Transformers and while I still have all of the boxes, I’m afraid their condition considerably degrades their monetary value.

For many years, they have lived stowed away in their boxes. Finally the wife and I decided it was time to take them out and display them, so we cobbled together a couple of glass doored bookcases from Craigslist and over the course of several weeks I have put my Transformers on display. I wish I had done this years ago; there is something about seeing them all together and free that simply makes me happy.

So, here you go. My Transformers. Let me show you them:

This is the first post in a series.

I’m going to start with what I consider the holy grail of Transformers: Jetfire. He’s hiding out here with his friends on the 2nd shelf from the top.

Did you see him? He’s the dashing fellow decked out in white, red and black.

For several months, he lived in the toy aisle of the Longs store and was one of the pricier Transformers. Every time I happened to be at that store, I would look at him wistfully, wishing for the day I could bring him home and wondering how I could ever afford him.

There was something about Jetfire: he was one of the few Transformers whose transformation was complex enough that I had absolutely no clue how he could possibly transform just by looking at its pictures in the catalog, and both his robot and vehicle modes were stunning. I must have him. I must know how he ticked.

One day I came into possession of enough cash to take him home; probably birthday or Christmas money or something. I rode my bike through the paths along Contra Costa County’s canal system to Longs, praying that no one had snatched him out from under me. To my glee, he was still there, and for a few minutes I agonized over whether I really wanted to spend $29.99 to take him home. Of course I did.

He came in a big box and was rather unwieldy on my bike, but I managed the return trip without incident and soon my mind was blown by the engineering that went into his transformation. As I said, both his robot and vehicle modes were impressive, and his arms and legs had multiple points of articulation. Truly, he is one of the best Transformers ever.

Jetfire has an interesting history. All of the first generation Transformers toys were rebrands of Japanese toys. The original Japanese toys had no story or team affiliation: they were simply everyday objects that transformed into robots. Hasbro gave us the warring factions of Autobots and Decepticons and a cartoon to drive sales.

Jetfire is more recognizable from his role as a Veritech fighter in the Robotech saga. Again, Robotech was an American rebrand of 3 separate Japanese television shows. The first in the series was the Macross story whose Veritech fighter jets were the same model as Jetfire and were likewise sold as toys with different branding.

Hasbro ran into some licensing problems with Jetfire, so his only appearance in the cartoons was as the lame Skyfire. But that’s ok; Robotech was much better (see the Veritech in action starting at 5:30… and by the way, the music from Robotech was top notch).

I’ve always considered Jetfire and the Veritech toys to be rare finds, and whenever I saw a variation of one in a store I would buy it. I never saw another full-sized Jetfire or Veritech fighter but I did end up with a few smaller, kooky versions. The small, fat ones crack me up; they’re like little Jetfire caricatures but what’s cool is that they still transform the same.

At the bottom center you can see what the jet looks like: a variation of the swept wing F-14 fighter jet. Also featured in the picture are two small Alpha fighters from the 3rd Robotech series. they’re the light blue and army green robots. At the far right, in red, is the motorcycle from the 3rd Robotech series. The rider is not attached but I have since found her; unfortunately she’s missing a leg. And there are some Micro Machines tossed in there for good measure.

Part of Murphy Canyon Creek goes through a tunnel before emerging at the bike path by Qualcomm Stadium. That’s where the bats live.

Last night I got there just after dusk and the bats were out en masse, streaming out of the tunnel and all around the bike path. As my headlight revealed brief glimpses of little mammals on the wing, I made some trilling sounds to announce my presence and scooted through the swarm. I don’t know if it made a difference but this time I didn’t hit any.

Perhaps I should add a rabies shot to my bike bag.

Do two bats constitute a swarm? Things like this tend to wax hyperbolic when experienced on two wheels.

There’s an area of my commute where I often encounter wildlife. Behind Qualcomm Stadium lies a bike path that connects Mission Valley with Murphy Canyon and it’s a Godsend for cyclists, allowing us to navigate through Mission Valley without having to mix with traffic. It runs parallel to Murphy Canyon Creek, which funnels a constant stream of landscape runoff to the San Diego River and provides something of a riparian ecosystem in the midst of an otherwise urban environment.

Rabbits, rats, and swarms of gnats are common sights along the bike path, though the gnats are never so much seen as they are felt as I pedal through at 20 mph. I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut, though I haven’t figured out how to get them out of my hair.

I had a late day at work, and by the time I got to the bike path, the sun had set and darkness had just fallen. Suddenly to my right, a dark birdlike creature winged in front of me, its flight jagged and crisscrossing pell mell around my front wheel. Wait a second, that’s no bird! It’s a bat!

Just when I realized that it was a bat, a second came from the left and smacked squarely into my chest.

I like to think I’m not a pansy when it comes to creepy creatures. I don’t feel squeamish at the sight of roadkill, even when it’s inside-out. I’ve ridden by a rattlesnake without much care and I’m fascinated by the huge argiope garden spiders whose girth steadily increases throughout the summer.

But getting whacked on the chest by a bat left me a little unnerved. The dull pain left me unsure whether the bat might still be on me, and thoughts of it going down my jersey and nibbling on my nipples gave me the heebie-jeebies. I swatted at my chest and realized it was gone but couldn’t shake the sensation that I was riding into a scene from Batman Begins.

Alas, there were no CGI swarms to terrorize me. I started to laugh and I hoped that the little bugger wasn’t hurt.

This is one of the many reasons why I love commuting by bike.

I wrote this letter to my Representative.

To the Honorable Bob Filner:

I am writing regarding health care reform. I do not have time to read the 1000+ page proposal but I want to air my concerns over the current system in the hope that these concerns may be addressed.

I am currently covered through health insurance offered by my employer, and for that I am both fortunate and grateful. However, this health plan is a mess and I am concerned that the health care industry lobbyists are framing the debate in terms of private vs. public coverage and not in terms of how health care is actually administered to the American people.

I have an autistic son. We have gone through all the administrative processes to cover his care by a specialist who is not part of my insurance network. We have a letter from my insurance company authorizing this care. Despite this letter, we receive a rejection notice every time the specialist submits a claim. We literally spend hours resolving these rejections and it is emotionally devastating: it’s hard enough to raise an autistic son without having to constantly fight our insurance company.

Insurance companies claim that they are “controlling costs” by reviewing claims to be sure that treatment is both authorized and necessary. I agree with this sentiment, yet in practice health care insurance companies simply deny coverage and bank on the fact that many people don’t have the resources or tenacity to fight for their coverage. This is borderline criminal.

The monthly combined payment for our plan (employer + employee) is somewhere in the neighborhood of $1500, not including deductibles. Even with our son’s ongoing treatment, we pay far less into this plan than we get out of it. I understand that that is the nature of insurance, but I am concerned that our premiums and deductibles are lining the pockets of lobbyists and anti-reform pundits rather than taking care of their customers’ legitimate health care needs. It seems to me that insurance companies care more for their shareholders than their customers. Doctors are bound by the Hippocratic oath and I think insurance companies would do well to do the same.

I am flabbergasted by people who are afraid that the government is trying to step in and “make health care decisions.” In my opinion, bureaucracy is the same whether it is private or public. All large institutions, even when they are private businesses, suffer the same bureaucratic inefficiencies. Dealing with government agencies is no more or less vexing than dealing with my insurance company. Furthermore, I believe health care decisions are to be made in consultation with my doctor, and when an insurance company steps in and reviews these decisions, the insurer violates doctor/patient confidentiality.

Recently on NPR, Steve Inskeep interviewed Republican Party Chairman Michael Steele about health care reform. Mr. Steele argued that a government-run system would be plagued by inefficiency and would be a drain on resources. He compared it to Amtrak and USPS. What he failed to understand is that Amtrak and USPS offer services that are deemed socially important enough to keep running, even if they operate under a loss. That is one of the purposes of government: to step in when an unprofitable venture has a social value. I implore you and your colleagues to consider health care a venture whose social value far outweighs monetary profit and loss.

UPS reports that my new wheel is out for delivery. I don’t know why I’m so excited about this. Maybe because I’m ready for a wheel that I can trust.

Last night I broke my rule about solvents and bikes. I took the cassette off and gave it (the cassette) a thorough soaking and scrubbing. It’s clean and sparkly and prepped for its new home. Cassettes have no moving parts and the solvent did not go anywhere near the bike itself, but still. Maybe it’s the exception that proves the rule.

I bit the bullet and ordered a new rear wheel. This one has 36 spokes; the spokes are stainless (not alloy) and the nipples (don’t laugh) are brass, so in theory this wheel should be pretty strong. By comparison, my current sh**ty wheel has 24 spokes and the original wheel had 32 spokes which seems to be the standard for 26″ wheels.

I’m still a little bit annoyed at my LBS for recommending the Mavic Crossride to me since I explicitly asked them whether it would hold up under the weight of a rack and the stress of disc brakes. “Oh sure, these spokes are beefy.” Though I guess I can’t be *too* mad since they broke up the wheelset and I was desperate for a new wheel at the time. Live and learn, though I don’t seem to be learning the “you get what you pay for” lesson very well.

Anyway, the wheel is scheduled to arrive on Wednesday. I’m looking forward to it, since I noticed that my new spoke is already twisting and it’s completely bound to the nipple. I will never buy a wheel with straight-pull spokes again.

I was three quarters into this morning’s commute when I heard the all too familiar *ping* of a rear spoke giving up the ghost. It’s been only two months since my last rear spoke blew; this is getting ridiculous. At least I was only a couple miles from the bike shop where I knew they would have a replacement in stock since they had special ordered a set last time. I’d still have to wait a half hour for them to open.

So I had some time to reflect. I don’t know if I can do this anymore. People try to sell you on the idyllic aspects of bike commuting: be green, get exercise, save money on gas, blah blah. What they don’t say is that it’s a gigantic pain in the ass. Tires need replacing, the bike needs washing, and the drive train needs constant attention to stay clean and lubricated. And let’s face it, fixing a flat just downright sucks, especially on the way to work. Not to mention all the asshole drivers who are either trying to kill you or just trying to drive but suck donkey balls at both. And that’s if you can find a decently safe enough route, what with our dependence on freeways and all.

Save money on gas? That’s a riot. It takes calories to commute by bicycle, so you’re going to eat more. Did I mention fixing flats? 5 bucks for a new tube, or you can save a little by patching but at the expense of time. You’ll need some clothes, too. Sure you can get by on cotton but it’s going to wear out fast, and all that brightly colored cycling clothing is downright highway robbery, and all that clothing needs to be laundered. Don’t forget lights (and batteries) if you ride at night, and a multi tool and pump and tire levers and a spare tube, and oh yeah you’ll need something to carry all that stuff in, so at the very least a backpack for your change of clothes or a rack with trunk bag or panniers.

I’m fairly certain there’s a design flaw with my rear wheel that’s causing the spokes to break. Both have broken at the same point, where they leave the hub. I don’t feel that I can trust my equipment, and that’s a huge morale buster. Do I really want to fork over the cash for a new wheel? If I want to continue commuting, I don’t have a choice. Wheels should last longer than a year.

I remember at a very young age being quite particular about the choices I made. I’m not talking big choices; these choices were the minutia of daily life. I felt that the small decisions I made would have drastic impacts on my later life. For instance, if I walked along a sidewalk and there was a crack, which side of the crack would I place my next footfall? Maybe the right side would bring happiness and fortune and the left would doom me to a life of misery.

So it’s no surprise that I identify personally with chaos theory, fractals, and the butterfly effect.

Tonight, I was unwrapping Starbursts and came across two strawberry flavored candies. I felt very strongly that the candy on the right was the one I should open, but for whatever reason I opened the one on the left. The entire time, I felt that I was doing something terribly wrong, that this choice had doomed me to a terrible fate.

The candy was tasty, but I still have a nagging feeling that I will pay a terrible price.

It still has its gears and freehub and if it had genitals they would still be attached, but otherwise the commuter bike, after 6 long weeks of downtime, is finally fixed.

I declare this mid life crisis officially over. Except for the part about me hating everything. That stays, because it’s like the warm cozy bear rug in front of a fire that comforts me on cold nights.

I Effing hate cubicles. With a capital eff.

That is all.

After my last bout with bike shimmy, a seed was planted in my head that I decided must be reaped in yesterday’s ride. I needed to get back on that bridge. Firstly, to face my fear, and secondly, to determine whether the shimmy was due to physics or my nerves.

The thing with that bridge: there’s no turning back.

Southbound, the bridge ascends and makes a sweeping left turn. As I approached, I told myself “It’s just a bridge. You’re OK.” This would become my mantra. I wasn’t entirely comfortable, but I focused on turning the crank and the road in front of me, and soon enough I was over the span.

Northbound, the bridge descends and the sweeping right turn reveals a view that is impossible to ignore. The bridge’s concrete supports are clearly visible, plummeting down to the unseen abyss. The concrete barrier on the right is no more than 3 feet high, with a steel railing that vanishes at speed. The bike lane is wide by any standard, probably around 6-8 feet, but with cars traveling at freeway speed, it’s best to stay as far to the right as possible. Right next to that far-too-short concrete barrier. I estimate the bridge to be at least 150 feet high.

It’s just a bridge. You’re OK.

Within 20 yards of the start of the bridge, my body went to gelatin. I mean, my muscles completely gave out. I mashed the brakes, locking the rear wheel and almost pitching it over. I managed to get the machine stopped right where the asphalt turns to concrete at the edge of the bridge. My heart pounded.

I sat on my bike for a minute, contemplating. I felt panic rising, primal and instinctive. I looked for an exit. There is a little service road that goes down into the gorge, protected by a chain link fence and gate. The thought of putting my hand on the gate made me sweat. The slope simply drops off after the gate and I didn’t know whether the service road actually existed on the other side.

It’s just a bridge. You’re OK.

I began to talk myself down, realizing that my control had given way to fear. I needed to get the adrenaline out. I dismounted the bike and sat on a guardrail post. I thought of my options. I could go back, but that would mean going against traffic on a freeway shoulder. I could investigate the service road, but the thought of opening the gate was just as bad as crossing the bridge. I could call my wife and have her pick me up. This last option was the most plausible, but holy cow would I feel awful.

No, none of those things would do. I had to get over this bridge.

I looked down the expanse, and my trusty bike never seemed more frail. It may as well have been made of rice paper.

There is a little turnout just before the guardrail so I walked my bike over to it. I mounted and steeled myself for the ride over the bridge. There I stayed for what felt an eternity. Crossing the bridge seemed completely implausible. The junction between asphalt and concrete was a barrier that separated reality from impossibility. The bridge lived in its own universe, one whose physics would not allow for my presence.

It’s just a bridge. You’re OK.

I watched a couple cars go by, then pushed off, and was immediately assaulted by the wind over the bridge. I grabbed hold of the drops and fought off the gelatin. I said out loud “It’s just a bridge. You’re OK” and was now on the bridge.

I repeated the mantra over and over. By the time I was halfway over, I was shouting it and cursing the bridge. It took all of my nerve to keep my muscles from turning to goo, and I maintained a death grip on my bars. The bike wanted to shimmy but I wouldn’t let it. I realized that the shimmy was entirely due to my fear, not the machine, and that gave me some fortitude. I could trust the machine. If only I could trust myself.

The last half of the bridge seemed interminably long. It was getting harder to maintain control of my muscles, but shouting the mantra helped me keep focus. Waves of panic washed over me, but I didn’t let them control me. Finally I made it to the other side, and as the road pitched upward the fear left me, though my whole body was trembling.

It was just a bridge. I was OK.

I’ve never met the fat cyclist, but I heard about him during the Tour of California when he got Bob Roll to shave his head and I’ve followed his blog ever since. He’s a prolific blogger (posts at least every weekday) and his posts are always humorous and well worth the time to read, even when they’re tragic.

While his main topic is bicycling, once in awhile he posts about his wife’s fight with cancer. Today’s post is particularly sobering.

One of his coping mechanisms is to very actively participate in the Livestrong Foundation to fund cancer research. His efforts have raised over $300,000.

There’s not much I can do for him other than help spread the word, so that I’ll do:

• Read the post
• Make a contribution to the Livestrong Foundation

And also: WIN SUSAN!

From the cycling coverage on Versus, you might not know that there’s a really big bicycle race going on right now in France. Apparently there is another race that is far more important: the Tour de Lance.

Don’t get me wrong: I have enormous respect for Lance Armstrong. His career and life story are nothing short of miraculous.

The media has had a field day (more like a year) with speculation about the leadership of Team Astana. Alberto Contador, having won le Tour in 2007 but denied the ability to defend his title last year, is hungry to prove his mettle. Levi Leipheimer, having won the Tour of California for the 3rd straight year, could very well take a podium position. Finally, Astana’s roster includes Andréas Klöden, another strong contender. Team Astana has no less than four GC contenders. There’s not enough room on the podium for all of that talent. And if they’re all vying for the top spot, I’m afraid none of them will win it.

The Tour de France opened with an individual time trial prologue stage to establish an overall race leader. There was much speculation that the results of the time trial would also establish the pecking order within Team Astana. Armstrong finished solidly in 10th place, but was beaten by all three Astana contenders: Leipheimer by 10 seconds, Klöden by 18 seconds, and Contador by 22 seconds.

Incidentally, I was pleasantly surprised by Cadel Evans’ performance. He also beat Lance.

If Lance had blown away his teammates and competition in the prologue, I would totally be on board with his leading Astana. But I don’t believe he has the ability to drop Contador in the mountains, and I shudder to think of them wasting energy duking it out between themselves instead of working together. Contador is the official leader of Astana, and unless one of his teammates had turned in a stellar performance in the prologue, I don’t have any reason to think the leadership will change. (Incidentally, I don’t think Lance would compete with his teammates to the detriment of the team; he’s too great a sportsman for that kind of petty squabbling.)

I want Lance to do well, really I do. But I have yet to see him perform at his former peak. It’s not entirely fair to judge his physical shape by his performance at this year’s Giro d’Italia since he was still recovering from a broken collarbone, and although he placed well (12th), I didn’t see him compete at the same level as his competitors, especially in the mountains. There was one stage where he went on the attack but couldn’t bridge up to the leaders. This wasn’t the Lance of old.

Lance has stated previously that he returned to cycling from retirement to promote awareness of cancer and raise funds for cancer research. He has done a remarkable job in doing so, and what’s not to applaud with that?

My beef here is not with Lance; it’s with all of the media speculation about the so-called leadership “squabbles” within Team Astana and with Versus beginning their coverage of the Tour de France with a huge segment about Lance’s return. Ok, we get it. Lance is back. But the Tour is far greater than one man, no matter how great the man.

The mid-life crisis is progressing quite nicely, thank-you-very-much. I really wouldn’t be so down if my job was evolving in a direction that was compatible with my skill set. I remember days where the majority of time was spent coding, and I actually really enjoy doing that. I need to get back to that, and so the last few days I’ve spider-holed myself in the family computer room, rewriting an accounting application that I originally wrote some years ago.

It’s good to have an activity where you can see real results. Like gardening. Or bicycling.

I had to get out of the office this morning or go crazy, so I took the road bike* out for a spin. The Torrey Pines hill is sort-of-close to my office and I decided to add Mount Soledad in there as well. All in all, some good hills packed into a sub-30 mile ride:

• Pacific Heights, a short connector road up to Mira Mesa Blvd.
• Portofino to Mango, which connect Carmel Valley Rd to Del Mar Heights
• Torrey Pines
• Mount Soledad
• La Jolla Shores

According to MapMyRide, almost 2000 feet of climbing.

As I slogged up Mount Soledad, I thought of the metaphor that might apply: working hard; not quitting; achieving a goal. And when I peaked the summit I lamented that if only everything else coud be so simple.

Someone forwarded me one of those inspirational things, maybe you’ve seen it: 212 The Extra Degree. It’s fine if you’re into that Tony Robbins crap but all I could think is that the statistics are all taken out of context and therefore totally meaningless. I know I need to adopt some of that philosophy but I just can’t buy into it. It’s all a big scam to me.

I want the metaphor. I really do. But like I said, it’s just not that simple.

______________________
* commuter bike is still waiting on a new spoke. grrr….