Zak's Sidewalk

Base 2 Week 3

2011-12-20T23:02:00.000-08:00

I've been working hard this winter to set myself up for next season. I've got my race wheels built up, my training schedule planned out, my races picked, team dues paid, kit bought, and my bike fixed up. I've been doing everything right to make sure I ride faster this spring.

But it wasn't until this morning, having just gone to the library last night, that I realized how much better I ride when I'm in the middle of a good book.

Best New Club

2011-12-16T10:28:00.000-08:00

My team just earned USA Cycling's Best New Club of 2011 award!

It’s no wonder Credo Racing (Austin, Texas) won the “Best New Club” award this year. In addition to co-sponsoring two events and winning multiple regional and state titles, Credo’s members make community service a priority. In fact, the group beat out the Austin City Limits Music Festival to take the Keep Austin Beautiful Litter Abatement award. The members are also very involved with two middle schools where they provide after school bike maintenance and riding classes to at-risk kids. Read more at www.credoracing.com.

"Monkey Detectors of Spurious Coin" [truth]

2011-12-10T00:29:00.000-08:00

An excerpt from the San Saba News, March 15, 1889:

Monkey Detectors of Spurious Coin

The Siamese Ape is said to be in great request among Siamese merchants as a cashier in their counting houses. Vast quantities of base coin obtain circulation in Siam, and the faculty of discrimination between good money and bad would appear to be possessed by these gifted monkeys in such an extraordinary degree of development that no human being, however carefully trained, can compete with them. The cashier ape meditatively puts into his mouth each coin presented to him in business payments, and tests it with great deliberation. His method of testing is regarded in commercial circles as infallible; and, as a matter of fact, his decision is uniformly accepted by all parties interested in the transaction.

What's the best part of this article? The term "cashier ape"? The assertion that no human being can compete with them? Or the notion that parties to a business transaction are satisfied with the ape's decision?

This article does raise the question, though, of what to do with a Siamese cashier ape in the 21st century.

Source: Library of Congress

The Ride

2011-12-07T21:18:00.000-08:00

Riding in McKinney with Ed. Music by The xx.

Favorite things on the internet right now

2011-11-08T17:54:00.000-08:00

It's the Matrix in board shorts shot with GoPros. Yes please.

It's Motorcycle Diaries in the American Southwest without, you know, that whole "guess what, I was Che Guevara the whole time" twist ending.

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm pleased to introduce my write-in candidate for 2012!

What?! Is this for real? Is it too late to do every single thing in my life differently, starting with not being born in West Cornwall.

Bollywood Mustache

2011-10-31T19:16:00.001-07:00

I can't grow a mustache, but if I could I would grow this man's mustache:

It's cool...

2011-10-21T19:02:00.000-07:00

I started helping with this after school biking program for middle schoolers. Today, before we headed out, we noticed that one of the kids left his helmet in the locked bike locker. We told him to go find a coach to unlock it and get his helmet. So, of course, he tells a smaller kid to go get the coach.

I only half-caught that part when it happened, so I asked the first, bigger kid to confirm. "Did you just make him get the coach for you after we asked you to do it?" "Yeah, but it's cool. I'm gonna pay him a dollar."

Damn, next time I'm going to go get the coach.

Chillin' with my bros

2011-10-14T18:46:00.000-07:00

Another typical Saturday afternoon, chilling with the dudes at the laundromat.

[Rick Ross playing from a boombox at the feet of the peacock on the right]
Me: Nice socks.
One of the peacocks: They're blue; hens seem to dig blue.
Me: I guess they also dig stripes.
One of the peacocks: That's genetic. What's your problem?
Me: Whoa! Sorry, didn't mean to offend anyone. What are you guys doing here anyway? Do you actually have any laundry?
That same damn peacock: Wouldn't you like to know. Come on fellas, let's go. We don't want to get arrested by the laundromat police.
[As they strut away, the peacock on the right picks up the boombox with his beak]

The peacocks walked across the narrow parking lot and hop-flew over the chain-link fence landing just on the other side. The peacock with the boombox faced it back towards me. It was still playing Rick Ross' Hustlin' single, seemingly on a loop. The spokescock for the three stepped over to the boom box and pecked the volume button until it was at its max and then the three just stared at me with their violet throats and golden chests beaming in the early afternoon sun.

Last night at the Driveway

2011-10-14T17:40:00.000-07:00

via Jim Hicks

Not even one bite, huh?

2011-10-04T22:05:00.000-07:00

Standing in the kitchen, polishing off the leftovers from dinner at the Mexican place around the corner, my dog stares at me with pleading eyes. By the time I start the last quesadilla, she's moved to the living room where she blinks out with half defeat, half disgust, "You're not going to give me even one little bite, are you?"

Ride with me

2011-09-30T18:25:00.000-07:00

Hey y'all, I'm leaving from Summermoon Coffee shop on South 1st (Lightsey and S. 1st) tomorrow at 8:00 for a zone 1/2 ride down to San Marcos. If anyone would like to join me, I promise to keep the pace conversational so I can regale you with all of my conspiracy theories.

A non-inclusive list of conspiracies you can expect: Big Oil, Big Pharma, Big Earl (my conspiratorial neighbor), Big & Tall Stores, Biggie Smalls, Big Butts and Why I Like Them.

Other topics may include predator drones, burner mobile phones, Goya's desnuda, bougainvillea, light-transmitted wifi, Dilbert, toilet stopper chains, chocolate-tinted mulch, government-mandated fuel efficiency standards, and the holiday tablet market.

Wheels down at 8:15.

Going for it

2011-09-29T20:03:00.000-07:00

Tonight I placed sixth at the driveway in the B race. It's weird, though, when you're not sprinting for first -- instead of going for it, you're just going.

From this morning's ride

2011-09-21T20:35:00.000-07:00

Another part of something I'm working on...

Big Trouble: Fennec Fox Edition

2011-09-20T16:55:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Heidi emailed Lauren (and Cc'd me) a link to this Craigslist post:

I have a three year old Fennec fox named Albert that needs a sitter to watch him during some weekends when I am out of town. This will have to be at your home, I have roommates with hectic schedules so this way works out best for everyone.

Albert only weighs in at about 4lbs, but is a bundle of energy when around other pets. He's never met another dog or cat that he didn't get along with. I pour litter on the floor of his cage for him to use as a litter box, which he is pretty good about using at my house...I can't say the same for when he stays other places, so if this is a deal breaker then so be it. He sleeps most of the day and is more active at night. You can just put him in his cage at night though, if you want to get some rest. Albert is easily bribed with fruit and veggies. He's had all his shots. Let me know if you are interested and what your other pets are.

The compensation was for $30/day, which Heidi volunteered to work out in trade, presumably by not behaving badly -- her usual offer.

As we discussed the merits of the possibility, Heidi interrupted with the exasperating admission that she'd already replied to the post and the woman was on her way with the fennec fox. Sure enough, she showed up within the hour on her way out of town.

Everything seemed to be going well. Heidi and the fennec fox, which we learned was named Pierre (Heidi called him "kitty"), seemed fast friends. Heidi showed him all her favorite places in the apartment and about the grounds. She introduced Pierre to the neighbors and to peanut butter. We had to put an end to the tour when we discovered Heidi had used her considerable influence and size advantage to convince Pierre into helping her topple the kitchen trash can. We discovered Heidi rooting around in an old bean can and Pierre snoozing on a bed of wilted field greens with the heel of a large peeled tomato resting on his thin-haired belly.

All was well and good until this afternoon. When we came home, both Heidi's kennel and Pierre's cage were open. Heidi was sitting demurely in the middle of the living room. Pierre was nowhere to be found. Heidi was utterly unhelpful in solving the mystery of the missing fennec fox. She offers an implausible story for the time we were gone and only hours ago we found her trolling Craiglist again. She contends she was looking for gigs to earn the money to pay back the woman for her fox. Two things trouble me about this, though. First, the woman will likely consider the cash offer, especially from the prime suspect in her fox's disappearance, vulgar.

And second, why would Heidi be more concerned with replacing the fox than looking for him...

Just something I'm working on

2011-09-12T17:52:00.001-07:00

The Tour de Austin within

2011-09-08T17:59:00.000-07:00

Monday was day 3 of the Tour de Austin, a 3-part criterium series here in the capitol city. As a category 3 racer, my races were only 60 minutes each -- combined, no more than an early spring road race. Oh but these races were so much more than 3 hours of riding.

But I want to focus on the second day of racing, the Pickle Crit, so named for the JJ Pickle Research Center where it's hosted. The Pickle Crit was held on the Sunday before Labor day, the same day this summer's oppressive and record-setting heat wave broke -- blown away by upending gales of a passing storm front.

The course was described to each successive category by those who had just raced in terms of the wind. Not turn 2 or the straightaway or the backstretch, but rather the headwind, crosswind, tailwind. To make it to the finish line, one first had to make it through the wind.

Nearly 100 racers wheeled to the starting line. Only 37 would actually finish my race. Some crashed out; some couldn't hold the pace or were stuck behind crashes; some decided to save their legs for the third day of racing. I didn't really have a plan. Our team director (yes, we actually have a team director) gave me and my 3 teammates pretty solid instructions, but plans are for people who have the strength to execute them. I was racing like a gazelle in a cheetah costume -- I just wanted to fit in.

The race blew apart immediately. That fierce wind, some tight, fast turns, a couple crashes, obliterated the field. I started racing like Old Man Coyote. I had to use every shred of cunning to stay in the pack. I wasn't racing towards the finish line. I was racing for position into each turn; I was racing for a better draft; I was racing to move up on the downwind so as to lessen the impact of moving back into the headwind.

Every time a gap formed in front of me it felt like the devil had just finished fiddling and now I had better play my heart out or lose my soul. Every time I lost the wheel in front of me it felt like I was on Apollo 13 and an oxygen tank just exploded. I can't remember a race, in high school, college, or since, that I've come back from the brink so many times. Nor can I remember a race I've wanted to quit so badly.

This race reminded me why I race, why I ride at all. It made me remember that the purpose of racing is to struggle. It's a crucible. Every race, every ride, is an opportunity to decide who I will be.

Late in the race I came through the finish line in tenth wheel. The following lap I was off the back with a sizable and growing gap. I tried to work with the other stragglers to just avoid getting pulled by the officials. And within just about a lap it actually worked! I couldn't believe it. We dropped our lungs and legs like ballast and flew forward like wild fools and we actually caught the pack! Safe in the lee of twenty riders, I surfed the draft from a crosswind back towards the front of the pack to stave off the ensuing downwind attacks.

Thankfully I had enough to stick it through the remaining accelerations and attacks and actually sprint for the finish line. I earned 19th. And I learned that, at least on that day, I am a fighter.

photos by Jim Hicks and Patrick Wong

Why I ride

2011-09-06T19:26:00.000-07:00

Imagine if everytime you went to the gym it meant you could drive faster, take corners sharper, sit in traffic less, and got better gas mileage. Imagine if the fitter you were, the further you could go on road trips.

Now, imagine driving down the road and everyone lining up behind you because you're such a good driver. That's what it's like to ride a bike.

For generations...

2011-09-05T20:56:00.000-07:00

Tonight Lauren and I called out our dog for making a little dog nest out of our blankets. She justified herself saying that her people having been making dog nests out of blankets for generations. We're concerned because we don't think she has any clue what the word generations means.

Heading out in the hot, dark morning

2011-08-30T03:51:00.000-07:00

Pulled another spoke through my front rim on Sunday afternoon. Thanks goodness I had a spare wheel because the road is calling so loudly this morning. I just cleaned the drivetrain, aired up the tires, pulled my bottles from the freezer, and pulled fresh kit from the drying rack. Heading out in the hot, dark morning on a bike I don't deserve.

via NPR, trackosaurus rex, fubiz, velogogo

Jokes are real

2011-08-30T03:43:00.000-07:00

Yehuda's got the right idea for the new Surly Moonlander.

Never leave the house without a clean...playlist

2011-08-28T22:28:00.000-07:00

On long rides especially, it can be nice to bring some tunes along to pass the time or push you up a long climb. I don't do it anymore, though, because I'm afraid of crashing and having my playlist entered in to evidence or handed to my family at the hospital or noted in a newspaper article:

Local cyclist, Zak Hardage, was injured earlier today on a training ride. Authorities report he was listing to Katy Perry, Coblie Caillat, Ke$ha, Beyonce, Cyndi Lauper, Dido, the Dixie Chicks, Avril Lavigne, and Led Zeppelin. Correction: he was not listing to Led Zeppelin; he was just listing to more Cyndi Lauper.

Glory days

2011-08-19T23:25:00.000-07:00

My high school football coach (I was the starting freshman squad b-team fullback) always told us he didn't care how many yards we gained on the play, only how many yards we gained after the first hit. Thursday night's crit brought back those glory days on the grid iron.

With only a lap and a half to go, two riders locked up and took out nearly half the field. I was behind the pile up and couldn't slow down fast enough to avoid the jacknifing bike frames in front of me. Besides, skidding to a stop only invites the twenty guys behind you to roll right over your back. So I picked a line, shouldered through the crowd, and burned half my matchbook to catch the pack again.

You can see the crash at about 10 seconds in, and me squeezing out the left side of the screen at about 18 seconds to rejoin the pack.

video courtesy DL Hurlbert

Outlaw

2011-08-19T22:12:00.000-07:00

Roly Poly, an astronaut's tail

2011-08-18T21:44:00.000-07:00

Roly Poly is an amazing project of the Design Incubation Center at the University of Singapore. You've got these two egg-shaped objects and when you push on one, the other, no matter how far away you are, rolls over instantly as if it were also tapped.

These little guys are amazing, but also kind of heartbreaking. All I can think of are astronauts (or taikonauts now), woken from cryostasis, watching a time-delayed video of their family telling them how much they miss them back on earth...and that guy in the American Airlines commercial.

I'm convinced this idea was formed after watching Fievel and Tanya Mousekewitz' haunting duet Somewhere Out There:

Tanya: And even though I know how very far apart we are, it helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star.

Fievel: And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullabye it helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky.

Together: Somewhere out there, if love can see us through, then we'll be together somewhere out there out where dreams come true.

An American Tail - Somewhere Out There on Vimeo.

Yes Please!

2011-08-03T06:38:00.000-07:00

Private backyard dirt track? Check.
Thrashing Romanian potato farmers? Check.
Frame and helmet mounted GoPro cameras? Check.
Soundtrack by the Naked and Famous? Check.

Yes Please!

The Earth Beat from Fire Up Your Dreams on Vimeo.

3 tunes I wish I could get in rdio right now

2011-07-28T00:25:00.000-07:00

3 Tunes I wish I could get in rdio right now:

The Flying Pigeon Bicycle from yulu canada on Vimeo.

Feel So close - Calvin Harris from Deji Haastrup II on Vimeo.

Oh wait, there's one more:

adidas, boxing from ROMAIN-GAVRAS on Vimeo.

Mr. Watson -- come here -- I want to see you.

2011-07-08T23:58:00.000-07:00

The precise moment when, after days of coding a custom online shopping cart, each and every single variable passes through to your database exactly the way it's supposed to, must have been exactly what it was like when Alex Bell passed his voice to old Tommy Watson in the next room.

This calls for rocking out, briefly, to Foster the People.

Every summer...

2011-07-06T14:05:00.000-07:00

Why, when the barber says "Are you sure?" do I always double down? My signature style (and by style I mean haircut that I've found paves a path of least awkwardness) is a 2 on the sides faded to finger-length on top, faded in back and sideburns to the middle of the ear.

Today, I thought I'd get a 2 all around. This is what happens when the line is too long at your barber's and you get to thinking. Thinking is the worst thing I could be doing at a barber shop. It's taken me years and years of embarrassing failures to learn how to not get the wrong cut. But today I had to get creative; I had to let my mind wander. I just had to read the Times syndicated opinion columns in the local paper.

I should've just stuck to the funnies; the way I stick to cheese enchiladas, tofu pad thai, relaxed cut jeans, and button-down collars. Whenever I deviate from what I've found to not burn me, I end up with a 1 on the sides faded to a 2 on top, with no sideburns.

The barber handed me the mirror when he finished as if I was going to say, "Mmmm, maybe a little bit shorter. I want everyone to be able to read my mind." My head looks like a large kneecap with all my lobes doing what lobes do best, looking weird.

At 2000 FPS

2011-06-30T22:45:00.000-07:00

How have I not shared these two BMX vids yet?! Beautiful. At 2000 frames per second, and with that sweet, lugubrious melody, I forget I'm watching dudes thrashing and instead feel like I have a window seat on the last rocket leaving earth; my fingers pressed to the small, rounded rectangle pane, watching condensate freeze as we enter the upper atmosphere and the only home I've ever known shrink to a tiny blue memory.

from Oton Bačar

via ATG

Neither snow, nor rain...

2011-06-28T23:14:00.000-07:00

I'd read this morning about more glass falling from the new W Hotel downtown just a few blocks from where I work. I though it was messed up but that was all. That is, until our postman came in to the office this afternoon with an incredible story.

After delivering mail to the W, he exited the building and made towards his postal van when his phone rang. He took the call and stepped beneath the awning at the hotel's entrance. At that moment a sheet of glass fell over 20 stories and landed directly on top of his van, only feet away. Because of the angle of the glass when it fell, most of it shattered in to the street, but he was close enough, and there was enough of it, that his pockets and mail bag were filled with broken glass.

When I asked what he did next, he looked at me almost puzzled. He explained to me that once a mail carrier takes charge of their mail, they're obligated to complete their rounds--simple as that. He stood by and waited for the police to conduct their investigation before completing his rounds.

Rarely have Herodotus' words rang so true:

Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.

I guess now we can add giant sheets of plummeting glass to that list. What a badass.

image via Austin American Statesman

Freedom of Mobility

2011-06-23T22:13:00.000-07:00

In 1969, Supreme Court Justice Stewart wrote, regarding the right to travel, "...it is a virtually unconditional personal right, guaranteed by the Constitution to us all." When I think about my freedom, how much I have, how far I can go, what I can do, I'm humbled. And never do I feel that more than when I'm riding. When I ride, my only limitation is my stamina. I can go as far as I can go. It's such a beautiful truth.

Every time I hop on my bike, there's this tingling excitement of possibility. It feels like a road trip when everyone else in the car is asleep; like hopping a freight train and looking at the world from the inside out; like getting lost in the woods; like flying in a helicopter with the doors off; like scuba diving and looking back up at the surface; like the moment during takeoff when the back wheels lift off the ground; like drinking water from a spring; like standing up on water skis.

Here's three good riding videos.

Planet Bike from Planet Bike on Vimeo.

Rapha Rides the Victorian Alps from RAPHA on Vimeo.

The Ride from Anthony Fernandez on Vimeo.

Wow! Great Service

2011-06-17T09:21:00.000-07:00

I bought my cycling shoes in 2007 and I've trained, raced, and commuted to work on them regularly since. They are fantastic. But this morning, after 4 years of abuse, the cable laces broke.

I looked up the company that makes the laces, BOA, and they have a bright link on their homepage that says redeem guarantee. They have a "Dialed in for Life" guarantee and replace parts for free, including shipping. No proof of purchase, no forms, no hassle. Just tell 'em what you have and tell 'em what you need. Right now I've got replacement laces, dials, and tools on the way -- they'll be here within a week.

Not everyone can offer a lifetime guarantee; not everyone should. But the BOA example is a good lesson that whatever guarantee you do offer should be without hassle. I guess it just comes down to doing what you say you're going to do. It's amazing how refreshing that is.

Favorites

2011-06-05T18:09:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite things* is when Lauren starts narrating the evening, in song, in a continental accent.

*In the whole wide world

Regrets

2011-06-03T22:46:00.000-07:00

I regret not descending faster on dirt roads in New Mexico, on dirt and gravel roads everywhere I've ridden. You work so hard to even get to a place and then you work so hard on the bike to get to the top of that place and then waste the downhill with worry.

Because, you know you're not going to get to the bottom, turn around, and ride back up to descend it better.

Wait a minute. Maybe what I really regret is not turning around to descend it better. Either way, I'm not making that mistake again.

Rapha Continental – The Movie from RAPHA on Vimeo.

Commuting Etiquette

2011-06-03T08:23:00.000-07:00

Dear drafting commuter...

So begins a subchapter in my forthcoming book on cyclo-commuting etiquette.[1] As our cities become decreasingly bike-unfriendly, cyclocommuters can expect to see more of each other out on the roads. Where he was once a solitary creature, the bike commuter now finds himself part of a community, a community with standards of etiquette. It is our job to define those standards.

And one of those standards is to announce yourself when you creep in to the draft of another rider with something louder than than the misaligned drivetrain on your retrofitted Raleigh Technium fixie, preferably your voice. You see, when one sneaks in to the draft like that, unannounced, it has the effect of turning every conceivable landmark into a finish line. Lamp posts, street signs, particularly large trees, a gap in a speed bump, fire hydrants, trash cans, the top of a hill, a bend in the road.

What was once a leisurely, if a little brisk, morning commute has now become a drag race, which can only lead to one thing: hobo showers at work. So, dear drafting commuter, please give a friendly "hello" when creeping up behind another rider, unless you're especially fond of cleaning up with sink-wetted trifold paper towels.

1. I do not have a forthcoming book on cyclo-commuting etiquette

McKinney Bike the Bricks

2011-06-02T19:27:00.000-07:00

Bike the Bricks 2011 from Brett Fene on Vimeo.

That's me at 0:54 leading the pack in the 3/4 race. Full disclosure, I was striking matches all afternoon just to hang with that pack. The race promoters put thousands of dollars 20 places deep and it was like yelling fire in a movie theater...in a good way. Were there women and children to be trampled, they would have been. Friends and family were there on the sidelines so I dug deep to ride by in the lead for at least one lap. It cost me precisely one lung and one vertebrae to swing it. And I finished 35th overall, out of a full field. Clearly I need to put in more miles, but notwithstanding my struggling fitness, that was a fiercely fast race.

I've never been in a race that intense before; I saw things I can't unsee. I saw a rider steal energy gel from another rider's jersey pocket, eat it, and return the used wrapper. I saw another guy tuck both hands behind his back on the downhills to get more aero; he steered with his teeth. His teeth! To save weight one rider forwent jersey and bibs in favor of body paint and another rode with baby's shoes. Neither finished well. I saw a rider squirt and entire turkey baster of EPO in to his mouth. I saw a rider with bottles of saline solution in his cages. One rider stuffed his jersey pockets full of potatoes, but when he ate one it shatterd glass everywhere. The potatoes were really glass light bulbs; he was eating glass! I saw a rider tear his helmet off and head butt the moto ref. I rode next to another rider for 8 1/2 laps who quietly wept the entire time. I don't know how he maintained speed because it looked hard to breathe. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he was making those crying spit bubbles people make when they unsuccessfully hold it back. I saw a rider, for no apparent reason, in the middle of the pack, scream at the top of his lungs for 2 minutes and 45 seconds without stopping to breathe. Before the race even started, I saw a guy staple his number on to his jersey while he was wearing it. After he finished the race, I saw the winner lock his bike to a telephone pole and climb in to the trunk of his car.

McKinney Bike the Bricks

2011-05-29T15:22:00.001-07:00

Tools of the trade

2011-05-20T23:12:00.001-07:00

Add this to my list...

2011-04-17T23:23:00.000-07:00

...of places I want to visit soon. The Doughnut Vault in Chicago.

thanks Ryan

I love doughnuts, irrationally. I'll spoil breakfastlunchanddinner with however many doughnuts are around. When I was fifteen and worked at the bike shop in North Dallas, reps would bring in a dozen donuts and I'd pay attention to every word they said like they were teaching me how to fly a plane or showing me an elephant graveyard.

The best doughnuts in our hood are at Gordough's. They're gourment, which mostly means huge. One is perfect and makes you dizzy. Two, though, and you wake up feeling like Rodney Dangerfield and looking like Steve Buscemi. They're like diving on nitrox; the more you eat, the longer you need to spend on the surface before ordering again.

Heidi attempts to address the nation...

2011-04-16T22:40:00.001-07:00

Heidi attempts to address the nation, but is taken less than seriously by the former President. Uncool Richard, uncool.

Taking Heidi for a walk

2011-04-16T16:50:00.000-07:00

Dave Zabriskie is the Honey Badger

2011-04-15T05:20:00.000-07:00

Which is more badass, Dave Zabriskie or the Honey Badger? Stage wins in all three grand tours or immunity to king cobras? It's a tough call.

The good busy

2011-04-13T22:32:00.000-07:00

Rode straight home from work to finish client projects; studied at the coffee shop 'til they turned out the lights prepping for Friday's exam; now pinning my number on my jersey for tomorrow night's race.

This is how I feel right now.

via

Manda Road Race Report

2011-03-27T17:35:00.001-07:00

This is official footage from the Manda road race this morning. You can see in the beginning of the video the peloton holds a respectable paceline as we head up New Sweden road. But then we turn north in to the wind and it's baby ducklings everywhere. Then, after about 12 miles, we turn south with the wind at our backs and the paceline forms back up again.

My legs are hungover

2011-03-25T13:04:00.000-07:00

After last night's crit at the Driveway my legs feel like they just got home from a night "bowling" with Eddie Van Halen and Charlie Sheen.

Cool Runnings

2011-03-11T23:27:00.000-08:00

Hearing the walk signal tone on a green light, holding a track stand in downtown traffic, feels exactly how I imagine it is starting a bobsled run.

I thought I found the food that will kill me...but I was wrong.

2011-02-22T20:15:00.000-08:00

I have a theory, that at any given time, there are between 5 and 7 deadly peppers in the world. These are seemingly ordinary peppers; ordinary in that their terrible burn isn't deadly. But these 5-7 deadly peppers never stop burning. The mouth and throat and belly can not handle the pain and so you welcome death to make the burning stop.

Tonight Lauren offered me a tiny bottle of almond extract. I love to take tiny swigs from the vanilla bottle and I thought the almond bottle would be the same, just nuttier. I was wrong, almost dead wrong. First, the flavor was much better, but I could only enjoy it for an instant before the burning started. The burn was vertically asymptotic. It didn't just burn steady, it burned hotter with every moment. I felt like I was on Zeno's arrow, time was slowing around me and the burning was intensifying. Lauren saw my upper lip tremble and she laughed. I couldn't see her laugh, though, because all I could see were images of skin grafts inside my throat. It was like I swallowed a sparkler.

Any fool can tell you that if your mouth is burning, do anything but drink a glass of water. So I drank a glass of water. I figured I'd just done a Ken doll-sized shot of liquid death, I might as well have a moment of peace before I die. But it didn't even bring me that--instead it was like putting out a grease fire with a clown's seltzer bottle. My mouth literally (not literally) exploded. When you do this to yourself, all your natural instincts malfunction. Fight whom? Fly from what?

And then it was over. I was alive. I made it. As quickly as it came the burning was gone. But I'm now more convinced than ever that the deadly pepper exist. If such terrible pain can be found on the ingredients list for macaroons, imagine what is silently growing in the Mexican jungle.

The peafowl this morning

2011-02-19T12:02:00.000-08:00

Before heading out on the ATC ride this morning, I saw these peacocks on the roof. I like the third one the most -- it makes me feel like the Stacy Peralta of rooftop peafowl.

Favorite new blog

2011-02-12T20:23:00.000-08:00

My new favorite blog is Law and the Multiverse in which two midwestern lawyers geek way the hell out entertaining their own and their readers' legal questions regarding comic book characters.

Here we turn our attention to the hypothetical legal ramifications of comic book tropes, characters, and powers. Just a few examples: Are mutants a protected class? Who foots the bill when a hero damages property while fighting a villain? What happens legally when a character comes back from the dead?

And it's likely that there are indeed some super-powered folks out there, or some extra-capable mutants who seriously appreciate the work done by this blog's authors. When these extra-normals inevitably come out of their closets/pods/lairs, this blog will no doubt instantly transform from nerdcore to provisional legal precedent.

Is your dog awesome?

2011-02-04T13:21:00.001-08:00

An awesome dog is alert, focused, fast, and wears a sweater well. I've only seen a sweater worn this well on two other occasions. The first was in 1964; Sean Connery was investigating a gold magnate's smuggling and a plot to contaminate Fort Knox's gold supply. The second was five years later when George Lazenby wooed a mob boss' daughter and went undercover in the Swiss Alps. 42 years passed before a sweater was again worn so well. Thank you awesome dog.

Little Heidi snowbaby sugarfoot

2011-02-04T10:03:00.000-08:00

Back out in the snow, this time with cousin Kelly's sweater.

Little Heidi snowbaby

2011-02-04T06:54:00.001-08:00

Little Heidi played in her first snow this morning. If it wasn't obvious from her snowstache in the first image, you can see in the second image, from her delicate pawing, with eyes closed, that she loves the snow.

I should've ridden this morning

2011-02-01T06:04:00.001-08:00

My favorite things on the internet right now

2011-01-30T22:19:00.000-08:00

via velogogo

dress like Carl Sagan via Nerd Boyfriend

via zeldman.com

via Competitive Cyclist

via Emilie Ogez on flickr

from Jordan Matter's Dancers Among Us

from Colwyn Thomas' The Lookouts and Others on Behance

sticker by hu2

damewse's tribute to NASA / homage to Michael Marantz's video homage to Carl Sagan

Copperas Cove race

2011-01-22T19:52:00.000-08:00

A huge thanks to Brian on Team ALS-C3 and Ethan on Team Wooly Mammoth. We got dropped halfway through today's race in Copperas Cove and worked together for about 5 minutes. My heart rate monitor said I was maintaining 193 bpm, but it didn't feel like that, not exactly. It felt like I had no heart, but rather like I had a French plaza full of transit workers on strike stuck in the middle of my chest--they're pissed to begin with, but when you cram them all in there they start with the bottle throwing and pounding on windows and shouting French vulgarities--it hurt. We finally caught up and then the crosswinds kicked up. Of course, at this point, the whoosh from a dandelion petal falling to the ground would have felt like a gale.

The crosswinds kicked up and sent us all scurrying to the shoulder. We were on the backside of the course by this point, with rural roads and no center line. The wind was coming from, somewhere (exhaustion had spun my internal compass like a drunk at the roulette wheel), and sending us all over to the left shoulder. I was so desperate for a draft I fully expected to see Rumpelstiltskin, the Devil, and the Goblin King, on the side of the road putting the finishing touches on a contract--I tell you now I would have signed it. I never found my draft, only a soft and crumbling shoulder. I could hear pieces of it, grabbed from the soft rubber of my tires, flung up into my bike's downtube. It sounded like hope, dropped from shoulder height onto the sidewalk.

Luckily the engines at the front slowed their pace and let me take a sip of water and put my eyeballs back in. Soon enough I was back to daydreaming. Like Hemingway's Santiago thinking about the baseball, I was thinking about how I would write this blog post. I was trying to come up with a pneumonic device to remember a metaphor for how bad my lungs hurt on that earlier bridging effort, when the 1 kilometer to go sign came and went with out any notice. My calculations, another of my distractions on the bike, put me at 4 miles out. So when the sprinters shifted and stood up on their pedals, I said to myself "Oh my, they sure are jockeying for position early. I should pay attention and see how this plays out before I make my move." At that moment I saw the finish line tape across the ground and the mounted camera and officials table.

In the end, despite glazing over like I was in a Sophia Coppola movie, and despite ribs bruised on the inside from pounding lungs, I managed to finish 36th out of 100, less than 2 seconds off the winning time. I couldn't be happier with this first race. It shows me how far I still have to go, but it also reminds me that I can still spin them pedals.

Zane Sterling Episode 5: It gets real

2010-12-28T12:50:00.000-08:00

[Here are episodes 1, 2, 3, and 4]

911: 911 Dispatch. What's your emergency.
Caller: We've just been robbed and my partner was shot. We need help.

"Sterling, are we going to talk about this note? Sterling. Zane, are you listening? What are we going to do about Boise's note?"
"Not much we can do. Seems to me the man's made up his mind."

911: Sir, where are you?
Caller: I'm in front of the New Ghent Bank at the old power plant. The shooter...he just rode off.

Zane's mechanic ran across the downtown street, jumping over bumpers and sliding across hoods, to the taco stand where Zane and Dallas were finishing lunch. He carried a radio in one hand and a bright red messenger bag with the first aid cross emblazoned on the flap in the other. "Zane! There was a robbery at the New Ghent. Someone shot the armored truck driver and rode off on a bike. Denise says they want you deliver these supplies to the scene and then pursue the suspect."

911: Help is on the way Sir. Until they get there I need you to stay on the line, okay Sir. I'm going to tell you what to do to help your partner.

Zane finished his own taco and put Dallas' in his jersey pocket. He slung the medical kit over his shoulder, cinched and buckled the straps, and clipped in. He was in the drops and out of the saddle, sprinting between the idling columns of all-day traffic when he heard his mechanic yelling, "And Zane. They think it's Phillips Boise."

Zane Sterling Episode 4

2010-12-09T09:28:00.000-08:00

[Here are episodes 1, 2, and 3]

Technically, the transfer to the Bike Squad was a demotion, but Agostino didn't see it that way. He was relieved to be outside, away from his computer, and back with people. He made few arrests, but even fewer screw-ups and soon found himself again in a leadership position, which was unfortunate for Agostino. The Bike Squad operated out of a series of connected rooms that had been converted from storage for the motor pool. It wasn't the bad light, the window-less cinder block walls, or the lack of air conditioning, but the seclusion that Agostino couldn't stand. He didn't work well alone, behind a desk hidden in a storage closet. Less than a month in his new office and Agostino started spending all his spare time looking for a way out.

He soon found it at 856 Fairfax Street, suite number 4. As far as strip malls go 856 Fairfax was, well, it was still a strip mall. But it had a lot of foot traffic, and number 4 had a lot of lady foot traffic. In Financial Investigations Division, Dallas never found time to find some one, never found time to date, or to even try. Bumped down to Bike Squad, he suddenly had more time than anything else. He got the idea to buy a salon watching the Bravo network and found the salon at number 4, Impressions, after calling on some of his old almost-friends in Finance Division. Impressions had had a series of shady owners, before this current one. She was on the up-and-up, a former stylist herself, who gave in to an entrepreneurial seizure and bought the place with all her savings ran it on credit cards. Dallas offered cash and to take care of the building and the business, freeing up Cristina to manage her stylists and take care of her customers. In return, Dallas could keep his office and his bike in the salon and share the receptionist.

He traded on what few favors he was owed in the department, asked for a few more and soon, the entire Bike Squad was taking their pedaling orders from 856 Fairfax Street, suite number 4. If you needed to reach the head of Bike Squad you'd just call Impressions Salon and ask Denise to transfer you to Dallas. She was more than happy to oblige because, you see, Denise was in love with Dallas.

Zane Sterling Episode 3

2010-12-09T09:05:00.000-08:00

[In case you missed 'em, here are episodes 1 and 2]

Zane Sterling's Director Giurisprudenza, Agostino Dall'Acqua (everyone on the force called him Dallas), had been a lieutenant in the financial investigations division. He was good at his job, so good he thought he was good at everyone else's job. He expressed this to his major one wintry Thursday morning in front of some junior troops. The arrogance could have been excused, after all it was mostly true; the insubordination in front of junior personnel was tougher to swallow, but Dallas would have been hard to replace and he closed more files than cops twice as long in the job; but this particular Thursday, the major hadn't had his morning cup of coffee. He was running late because his belt loop caught and ripped on a kitchen cabinet fixture. He had to iron a new pair of pants and by the time he was on the road he was in traffic and he could see a line at the counter of the coffee shop. Probably day traders or IT guys; all civilians looked alike to the major. So on this Thursday morning, as Dallas Agostino Dall'Acqua complained about funding and quotas and staffing and overtime and equipment, the major could only see a giant, whining kitchen cabinet fixture reaching out with his stainless steel fingers to rip every damn belt loop in the major's life.

That afternoon, Dallas was transferred to the mounted division, the aluminum and rubber mounted division. That was 8 years ago; 4 years before he met Zane Sterling; and 7 years, 10 months, and 2 weeks before he bought the hair salon.

A memo

2010-12-03T13:48:00.000-08:00

Dear Kim,

Attached are scans of checks and deposit slips from Friday. It was great getting all these checks. Randall said I could use some of the money for a candy bar, which I interpreted as pony. Sorry there's no money left, but you can borrow my pony. Really, I guess it's the firm's pony. I keep it tied to a moon tower with 3 dog leashes I tied together. During my lunch breaks I feed it almonds and macaroni and cheese and give it a large dish of water. I think it also eats the grass under the moon tower. I don't ride the pony myself because I am too heavy but the pony tows me and my friends behind it on our skateboards. I will get my friends to write thank-you letters to the firm to express gratitude for use of the pony. My friends are good at this and when you read their letters and understand their joy I think you will agree that the purchase of the pony was a wise investment and you won't want to fire me any more or call the thief police.

Just kidding. I deposited them Friday afternoon in the first commercial lane of the Guadalupe branch Frost Motor Bank. It was uneventful, which is why I made up the story about the pony. I made up the story about my friends because I wanted to pretend I had friends that would skateboard behind a pony with me. I made up the part about my friends being good at writing thank-you letters because I thought that even if I had cool, skateboarding friends, I would want them to also be good writers. And thankful.

Sincerely,
Zak

One of those faces

2010-11-18T11:07:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I was out measuring a house with another guy from the office. We needed to prepare as-built drawings before we could draft plans to convert the little house into classrooms for a local Montessori.

The school's owner let us in and then asked if we'd met before. I told her that I didn't think so, that I must have one of those faces. Now, I've never said those words before or even heard anyone not on TV say those words before, and so the instant I heard them coming out of my own mouth I already felt a little uncomfortable.

Not to be outdone with uncomfortable statements, the owner replied "I think you have a kind, warm, trusting face." Admittedly, I do. I do have a kind, warm, and trusting face. And whenever I meet new people I try to give them what I think is a Mark Wahlberg stare. I guess it worked.

I managed to say thank you while keeping my face perfectly still before I could find a mirror and practice my new kind/warm/trusting look.

Flann O'Brien on the bicycle

2010-11-02T22:13:00.000-07:00

An excerpt from Flann O'Brien's The Third Policeman:

Her saddle seemed to spread invitingly into the most enchanting of all seats while her two handlebars, floating finely with the wild grace of alighting wings, beckoned to me to lend my mastery for free and joyful journeyings, the lightest of light running in the company of the swift groundwinds to safe havens far away, the whir of the true front wheel in my ear as it spun perfectly beneath my clear eye and the strong fine back wheel with unadmired industry raising gentle dust on the dry roads.

image via zara picken

All Hallow's Eve Eve in South Austin

2010-10-30T20:06:00.000-07:00

Lauren and I just got back from a straight-to-the-vein dose of beans and cheese at El Mercado on South 1st Street. It was nice: plenty of sour cream and cheese, xylophone and accordion playing softly, UT v. Baylor on a bigscreen somewhere, our server dressed as a mischievous something (he had horns--maybe just a mischievous server).

When our server refilled my Dr. Pepper, he refilled it with Diet Pepsi, an easy mistake as they share the same initials. But I didn't even notice. I knew something was off. I thought maybe the syrup was low, but no, that wasn't it. So, I let it go and enjoyed my weird Dr. Pepper. The server realized his mistake a few minutes later and swapped them out. But I'd already decided that my Pepsi was Dr. Pepper so I was cool either way.

I told you that story so I could tell you this one. I'd just finished my enchiladas and started on the rice and beans when a costumed gentlemen walked up to the bar. From the top, he wore a flaxen galaxy-bobbed wig, sparkling bustier, matching high-hipped bikini bottom, and satin high high heels. Lauren and I said a quick prayer for the bar stool and then decided, just like how I didn't order a Diet Pepsi, we didn't order an inter-galactic space tranny. Of course he was still there, volutpuously swallowing his bikini, but, just like with the Diet Pepsi, we were cool either way.

Transportation infrastructure leapfrogging

2010-10-10T16:26:00.000-07:00

I wonder if instead of struggling to return nationwide passenger rail to the US, we could instead leapfrog and use new autonomous vehicle technology to create trains of private vehicles. The same way developing countries have embraced cellular communications technology to leapfrog more expensive cable infrastructure.

A good person trying to do good

2010-10-06T11:05:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning I was almost hit by a woman who didn't see a stop sign. Riding with a friend, we stopped , waited our turn and proceeded through the residential intersection. I heard the squealing tires and humming anti-lock brakes before I looked to my right and saw the white sedan plowing to a stop half-way into the intersection. The driver, a middle-aged woman threw her hands up to her face in fear and panic.

We continued down the road to get out of dodge and catch our breath. After a minute or so we were ready to get riding again and I looked back and saw the poor woman was still there, stopped with her conservative cowling out in the intersection. Eventually she drove off, presumably to work. It was 8:00 in the morning.

I wanted to be angry about it, but it was impossible. I could see she wasn't on the phone; she wasn't texting or eating or putting on makeup. She wasn't even speeding. She was alone in the car, paying attention; she just didn't see the sign.

This poor lady was trying to obey the spirit and letter of the law. She was driving conservatively and courteously. Maybe the morning sun or a tree branch obscured the stop sign. Maybe she's new in town or this is a new route. Maybe she was zoning out after stopping at twenty other stop signs. Who knows.

What I do know is that we're both safe and sound and so is she and we ultimately had a great ride. I give that lady credit too, because that was one hell of an abrupt stop--she really pulled it off. What I took home from all this is profound gratitude for everything I've been given, and respect for everyone out there doing good and looking out for one another. So to everyone out there pulling off the abrupt stop and everyone out there who doesn't need to [hat doff].

Zane Sterling Episode 2

2010-09-30T22:44:00.000-07:00

[In case you missed it, here's episode 1]

Phillips Boise was the fastest wheel in town and he knew it and knew that everyone knew it. He woke up every morning and ate breakfast knowing he was the fastest. It was part of who he was.

So when Zane Sterling came home it upset a fragile balance. Now, everyone wanted to know who was faster, Zane or Phillips. But no one wanted to know, needed to know, more than Phillips. When something that's always been true, when you've built your life around that truth, is suddenly called in to question, you have to know for sure.

No one had ever heard much more than a few words at a time from Phillips Boise. He made ends meet running errands downtown and coaching young peddlers. He picked up a few extra bucks in alley cats on the east side and scratch races on the south side. So no one was sure what to say when he showed up at the east side Liberty Bar Thursday afternoon, walked up to a rag tag of skinny-tire bandits and asked them how he could race Zane Sterling.

"He doesn't race." A short punk with an ironic t-shirt and a complicated ear piercing broke the silence. "What do you mean he doesn't race?" Boise demanded. A man named Gibson walked out of the liberty bar and waved for the punk to sit back down on the curb, which he did. Gibson he was the closest thing the east side bandits had to a leader. "What he means, Boise, is that Zane doesn't race. He never rides out of uniform. The only way you're going to go head to head with Zane Sterling is to ride like a bandit." Phillips swung his leg over his saddle, clipped in, and merged with the lethargic afternoon traffic. Gibson watched as Phillips weaved through the gridlock, admiring how quickly he found his lane and was out of view.

As he approached downtown, Phillips thought about what Gibson had said. Surely there had to be another way to race Zane. He passed under the highway spans and through the slow and honking off ramp. He turned left on red at 5th street and rode toward the police station ahead on the right. He saw Zane's crew arguing in their support truck waiting for their captain to exit the station. He slowed to a stop 20 meters behind their truck, stood straddling his frame, and scratched out a note. The Broom Wagon 4 were still arguing when Phillips rode up to the driver door, held a brief track stand and tossed the twice folded note in to the lap of Zane's director giurisprudenza.

As he rode away he heard Zane's mechanic ask, "Wasn't that Phillips Boise?"

Sign you need to clean your chain

2010-09-19T21:49:00.000-07:00

When you keep degreaser in the shower to clean chainring tattoos, you know you need to clean your chain.

I miss my dog

2010-09-18T19:30:00.000-07:00

Marlowe and I were a lot alike. We both loved to run and take naps. We both got in to trouble and we both would always get caught. We'd eat anything put in front of us; we'd like to eat what was put in front of someone else. Neither one of us particularly liked to take a bath.

I miss him so much. I had only just taught him lay down.

Thursday afternoon Marlowe and I take a nap in the bedroom. Through the doorway we both watch Lauren crying on the phone with her parents. Her face is in shadow; the blinds behind her are lit with afternoon sun. I'm crying too and Marlowe is still. His head is raised. I pull him down towards me, but his head stays upright like a gyroscope.

Walking Marlowe every morning,
The regularity
Feels like prayer

Thursday night we went to the library and had a picnic under the stars. We let Marlowe explore off the leash and then we fed him sliders and imagined players on the amphitheater stage. He sat between me and Lauren staring forward as if he'd been saving for weeks to see this show. Then he laid down and put his chin on his paws. We watched the stars turn around the sky and when the big dipper dipped beneath the trees we headed home. Lauren sat in back with Meecie and held him while he put his head out the window scooping night air.

On our road trip to Sedona last year, we stopped at a small gas station in West Texas. I waited on a bench outside with Marlowe while Lauren went inside and paid. An old Cowboy on his way back to his truck stopped and remarked that Marlowe sure was a cracker jack dog.

I love my dog so much and I miss him; I miss my cracker jack dog. My heart is a haystack.

What you miss when you tune in

2010-09-16T12:35:00.000-07:00

Today I overheard a man say that he doesn't wear headphones (earbuds, whatever) so that he can hear what's going on in his office and stay on top of things. He went on to chide the 'kids' in his office for always plugging in and effectively turning off everything around them, which, he argued, is just as important to their careers as their immediate tasks.

I thought that was a good point.

While riding

2010-09-12T21:51:00.000-07:00

view full size here while riding

Standing porter at the laundry door

2010-09-06T20:26:00.000-07:00

Lauren and I came home late this evening and across the courtyard I saw little K. standing porter at the laundry door.

Colbie Caillat and the cattle egret

2010-08-28T08:09:00.000-07:00

I killed this morning's group ride. Which is to say I managed to hang on to the stronger riders. I spent an hour and a half at 92% of my lactate threshold, which is a lot like a cattle egret hanging on to hide as the herd is driven across a river in flood.

Now this cattle egret is trying to celebrate back at home with some loud music, chocolate milk, and pasta. I need some Tom Petty or Meatloaf, but my iTunes Genius is serving up a reflective and loving selection of Colbie Caillat and Iron & Wine. I was planning on eating a big bowl of pasta and taking an ice bath, but now, for some reason, I think I'll just have some Greek yogurt and gently exfoliate with a loofah.

My bike tires rave their faces off

2010-08-26T15:58:00.000-07:00

I set out on my ride this morning with normal bike tires and returned with these strips of shredded rubber looking like they've spent the night going shot-for-shot with Lindsay Lohan. The rubber melted when I passed over some in-progress city road work. It's a good thing that I figured it out too, because it smelled so nice I had planned to return and put my face down on that road, which of course, would have turned out badly.

This is what it looks like to rave your face off.

The new library

2010-08-24T11:05:00.001-07:00

Another picture of our beautiful new library, from patrick hughey.

Zane Sterling and the Broom Wagon 4

2010-08-24T10:47:00.001-07:00

In a city so choked with traffic, the fastest way to get anywhere is to walk or ride your bicycle, cycling gangs now dominate the criminal networks. The police force, with nothing but grid-locked squad cars to pursue them, is powerless to stop the two-wheeled gangs. Ordinary citizens live in fear; businesses that don’t cooperate with the pedaling bandits are looted and destroyed; the mayor is about to institute martial law.

All seems lost. But from this choking and paralyzing shroud over the city emerges one man, the only man who can put a stop to the cycling gangs and pull back from the brink a city on edge. He is former-UCI professional cyclist turn police officer Zane Sterling. After 18 years on the international circuit, Sterling had a reputation for rigidly adhering to the sport’s storied etiquette, and even more for riding clean, which made him few friends and more than a few enemies among his fellow elite riders. He had spent plenty of time on the podium, but far more time in the back of team vans watching his teammates swallow and inject anything they could to gain advantage on the peloton.

Disgusted with what he saw as the corruption of the most elegant pursuit of excellence, Sterling walked away from the grand tours and spring classics to return home. Only, when he got there, he found the same sort of corruption he’d left. Tired of being silent, tired of running, and tired of watching what he loved polluted and abused, Sterling decided to fight back the only way he knew how – standing on the pedals and attacking off the front.

The only member of an elite squad of a new breed of enforcer,he would fight crime astride his bicycle, a custom carbon frame painted matte black, with black rims and hubs, black tape, black cables and shifters, black brakes and cables and derailleurs, black stem and fork. His chain was the only component that wasn’t black, and it shone with the silver luster of storied lawmen, lawmen from an earlier time, another time when justice was served from the saddle.

Sterling always rode alone, but he was aided by a full support team. He had his director giurisprudenza, two soigneurs, and mechanic. Trustworthy and loyal to a fault, Sterling’s support cadre were the best at their craft (when they could catch up to Sterling to perform it). Deputized in a ceremony unattended by the press, a new breed of law man clipped in and set out on the race of his life. And as he dove in to the corners, and attacked the climbs, and threw his bike forward through intersections, he was no longer chasing gold or the top of the podium. He wasn’t even chasing justice, though justice followed him. No, with his nose in the wind and strain in his legs, Sterling was chasing after something more elusive than glory or justice; he was chasing after a place he could call home.

Tune in right here for more stories of Zane Sterling and the Broom Wagon 4.

From today's ride

2010-08-22T21:05:00.000-07:00

seven tractors in line
along the freeway
like kids on a field trip

ice in the bottle
in my jersey, shakes
like a thawing tambourine

our tires sound strange on the new road
I look to Matt
he says it's nothing

Our Brand New Library

2010-08-21T11:00:00.000-07:00

The library opening was huge. There were about a thousand people there. The mayor spoke; there was face painting and a magician and a band; every chair and every bench was taken with people reading or nursing; there was a line to get in the door and the line to check out books was into the stacks; the bike rack was overflowing. It was pretty much like Norman Rockwell playing a drum circle in my brain. Now you know where to find me Monday through Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday, from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m.

Oh, and here's a shot from the foyer looking up at the installation made from thousands of salvaged typewriter keys.

Marlowe at the Library

2010-08-21T05:51:00.000-07:00

Game Face

2010-08-19T19:40:00.000-07:00

idea via

Our baby boy is all grows up

2010-08-19T08:23:00.000-07:00

The gentleman who bought our Airstream earlier this year just sent me this picture. He got her all polished up and is ready to hit the road. Clearly he has a higher standard for what is roadworthy. Lauren and I were ready once everything worked or could be fixed en-route. But it's beautiful work, and so good to know that after nearly 40 years, she's running as well as ever and still getting used. Would that everything we made be so reliable.

Slacktown

2010-08-17T10:43:00.000-07:00

Wooderson: Say, man, you got some pleats?
Mitch: No, not on me, man.
Wooderson: It'd be a lot cooler if you did.
SLACKTOWN!

Used to be on the west side of the 700 block on Austin's Congress Ave. Now it's only in our hearts. It's a shame too, because I could sure use some slacks.

Stuff I learn when Lauren's out of town #Eleventy One

2010-08-13T18:50:00.000-07:00

During Lauren's most recent trip out of town I learned that Thai iced tea isn't made with coconut milk. No, not at all. In fact, it's made with sweetened condensed milk. One uses coconut milk to make a faintly sweet concoction that looks every bit like rotten curdled cow's milk. In my first version, I couldn't really mix in the coconut milk so I was getting big chunks of it stuck in my teeth while I convinced myself this was pretty much just as good as the stuff you get in the restaurant.

Another thing I learned while Lauren was out of town is that though one may indeed make Thai iced tea with sweetened condensed milk, I can not. The tan sludge was sweeter than age-ripened coke.

W T K ? !

2010-08-12T08:18:00.000-07:00

I turned around to look out the window and met this tiny furry gaze. What the kitten?! As I snapped some quick pictures, another popped up on to the escape. I thought maybe his brother.

These two were clearly on the run. But from what I doubt even they knew. All they had for their tremulous journey were the quivering orange coats on their backs and each other.

It made me think of my own brother, just moved in to town from Boston with his wife and son. They're looking for work and a place to live and I've been too busy even to help them unload their trailer in to a storage unit.

So I put a little bowl of water out on the fire escape.

Marlowe's morning vision

2010-08-06T06:45:00.000-07:00

New Library!

2010-08-04T09:52:00.000-07:00

After almost five years, our new neighborhood library is opening on our street. We've been watching them back the trucks of books up to the front doors for weeks and in just over two weeks we'll finally be able to go in and read them. This is doubly exciting for us because the firm I just started working for last year is the architect for the project. So I've been in on all the details. At work I read the reports of progress at the library and at home I watch it. Soon we'll get to hang out there.

Now, I've got 17 days to learn how to read.

And I'm a dog person

2010-07-19T19:42:00.001-07:00

But I just can't resist posting this cat picture. For the following reasons:

1) His posture. If you were to photoshop out his tail, it'd be easy to squint your eyes and see a wizened child. He has a strong just-got-home-from-work-and-all-I-want-to-do-is-enjoy-a-nice-sit-on-the-couch slouch going on.

2) He's wearing pajamas.

3) The pajamas fit him, well. Are those a european cut? How did he find such a slim-fitting, dapper pair of PJs? I could use a pair of PJs like that.

4) His sleeves are rolled up. This cat is one boombox over the head shy of convincing an aloof genius to give up her scholarship to study in England.

5) Tail hole. Either these are cat's pajamas, which is funny, or these are euro human pajamas with a tail hole cut into them. Either way, a tail poking out of pajamas is hilarious.

6) A good attitude. Even with a cone around his head, this cat is still engaged. He still gets up in the morning, zips up his pajamas and buttons his soft, cottony collar, and goes to work. There's something to be said for keeping your chin up in the face of adversity.

image via thedailywhat

Reason #7 Bicycles are better than cars

2010-07-10T23:04:00.000-07:00

The freedom to go wherever you want, through alleys and parking garages, along hike-and-bike trails, and down the sidewalk, is a helluva lot to sacrifice just to get where you're going a little quicker. You could ride clear across town without ever meeting a stop sign or traffic light if you wanted to. Sometimes there's nothing I want more than to roll over old town, alleyway cobbles, slink through a parking garage like ink through a screen press, and fly down the forgotten in-betweenways.

Lizard brain in the bike lane

2010-07-05T09:47:00.000-07:00

Yesterday a motorist passed my cycling group in teaching-a-lesson fashion. That is, too close, too fast, and leaning on the horn. We caught up to him at the light and some of the fellows chatted him up, which digressed into mutual threats. Beyond that, nothing happened. But certainly, what did happen wasn't nothing.

What he did wasn't right; what they did wasn't right. Obviously. But was what I did right? Was doing nothing, but sitting back and enjoying a display of pop-culture Karma right?

Before I answer my own question, I want to provide the context for my decision. I've long justified confrontation with obnoxious motorists, civil and uncivil confrontation, as a method by which I can shatter this anonymous relationship. Motorists behave the way they do, the thinking goes, in large part because they don't view other road users as people, but rather as cars and bikes. The same person who honks and swerves and curses on the road wouldn't dare express even a fraction of that vitriol face-to-face. And so by forcing a face-to-face confrontation, one can break through that illusion of anonymity and communicate the reality and humanity and consequences of the situation.

Fantastic self-justification, no?

I've tried to doff that cloak of bitterness and self-righteousness, but as I watched these other men invite this motorists to fisticuffs, my lizard brain flared with satisfaction. I was liberating my inner reptile, the hunger to hurt, as I chose to do nothing but see these events as simple, prehistoric justice. But it wasn't.

It wasn't justice; it was co de-evolution. And more importantly, it wasn't doing anything to eliminate the anonymity either. If anything, their poor action and my non-action served to further engulf us all in misunderstanding.

What my good friends Christopher and Matt helped me to get this morning was that at the point of digression, there ceased to be the potential for progress. It wasn't simply mixed in, but was instead entirely voided.

13 year old Zak's dream come true

2010-07-04T19:34:00.000-07:00

On this morning's group ride I momentarily passed through a temporal vortex, similar to the one encountered by the crew of the USS Enterprise-E. And, just as the crew of the Enterprise met their hero, Zephram Cochran on that journey, I too met my hero.

Ever since I was in the 8th grade I wanted a Specialized FSR with aero bars. And today I passed an older gentleman riding a 1998 Specialized Ground Control FSR with a set of clip-on aero bars. He was in a boardwalk tuck, those nash-bars at 45-degrees and my heart fluttered with admiration and envy.

A not so hilarious joke

2010-07-03T21:35:00.000-07:00

Riding with friends this morning, I humorously hypothesized that rather than benefitting from a leading rider's draft, the following rider actually pushed them forward. I named this effect the slipstream bow wave -- the phenomenon of a leading rider surfing on a cushion of air created by the following rider.

Even funnier than just joking about it, I thought, would be to demonstrate with a little push to my friend's back with the delightful chirping "bow wave." However, this little push, while not really funny in its own right, caused me to run off the road and over the soft country shoulder into the rocky gulch.

My schtick, it would seem, is less cerebral and more slapstick.

Good to be back

2010-06-28T18:52:00.001-07:00

It's good to be back. Good to be swiping sweat from my eyes with a salty glove. Good to be measuring topography in percentage of lactate threshold. Good to lose feeling in my feet and in my hands, to feel wobbly walking down the stairs. It's good to taste strawberries and avocados and artichoke hearts that I need and not just want. It's good to smell like sunscreen. It's good to want bigger maps and steeper hills and sharper turns. Good to be thinking of a lunch out in terms of what it's worth in new tires, new socks, and race fees. Good to have my tan lines back and two sets of razors. It's good to be outside in the heat and in the rain, to eat PB&J at 20 miles an hour.

Sleeves!

2010-06-25T15:48:00.001-07:00

Two of the things that scare me more than terrorism:

2010-06-25T15:43:00.000-07:00

1. Eating a pepper that never stops burning my mouth, and
2. Having peanut butter stuck in my throat and not having anything to drink to wash it down.

Reason #6 bicycles are better than cars

2010-06-24T14:03:00.001-07:00

Irrevocable right to the road

2010-06-24T10:45:00.000-07:00

Excerpted from Bob Mionske's Road Rights blog.

Where the roads are dominated by the automobile, it is because they have been usurped. Many motorists—specifically, those who refuse to share the roads—mistakenly believe that their possession of a driver’s license gives them a superior claim to the road. These are the motorists who exclaim that, “Until cyclists are licensed and insured, they don’t have a right to the road.” In fact, the right to travel is an ancient right, now recognized as one of our constitutional rights, and the roads are the commons, open to all for travel and other uses. Rather than signifying a superior claim to the road, a driver’s license merely grants the holder the revocable privilege of operating a motor vehicle on the commons. Because other road users are not required to be licensed (and that tacitly means this right cannot be revoked) their right to use the roads is in fact superior to that of the motorist.

Roadie loser

2010-06-04T16:09:00.000-07:00

Today, on my way home, a hobo pushing his bike uphill called me a "roadie loser." I don't especially enjoy being called a loser by anyone, but it hurt because I've always felt a kinship with the cycling homeless. In Norfolk and Corpus I saw more in common with them than the general motoring public.

But here in Austin, there's so many cyclists that we can faction off in to the committed and the recreational, the poseurs, the lycra'd euro wannabies, the crunchy chic who pedal their pugs and farmer's market sprouts in front-mounted milk crates, thrashers and college kids and pannier-saddled commuters.

It's a good thing, of course, there being so many cyclists, but as more of us are rolling on two wheels instead of rolling up our windows, there will cease to be such a distinction between cyclists and motorists. We'll just be people, albeit much cooler people. Of course, I'll still be a roadie loser.

A teachable moment

2010-06-03T20:54:00.000-07:00

A quick note to those motoring sages, the ones who, from behind the leather-trimmed steering wheels of their leased Chrysler Sebrings, are compelled to offer advice to cyclists:

When you see a cyclist at night, at ten o'clock at night, coming home from four hours of night school, wearing a cinched backpack stuffed with texbooks, toes and crotch soaked from the all-day-rain, blinded from your ilk's xenon high beams, and exhausted from over an hour on the bike for the third time today...

this is not a teachable moment.

A license to kill under the Christmas tree

2010-05-27T14:20:00.000-07:00

To get in long rides before work, my best option is to stash a bag with a week's worth of clothes at work. That way, I don't have to ride with a backpack and I only have to figure out lunch. It's also easier to get out the door if all I have to pick out from my wardrobe is one of 4 identical sets of bibs and jersies.

But even if it weren't faster and more convenient, I'd still stash my duds under the desk because it's also the best way to feel like 1) you're a secret agent, and 2) every morning is Christmas morning.

Picture this: you ride under the cover of darkness (okay, dawnness) wearing a specially designed skin suit, on a cutting-edge blade of carbon fiber; you're above the law with your license to...run stop signs; after darting through an alley and up the wrong way on a one-way sidewalk, you slip into the side door of a nondescript downtown building. After noting your exit options, you stash your bike and wipe it down with masking tape and rubbing alchohol to get rid of prints. Aside from your boss, one of the tenants with whom you chat for 10 minutes about house sitting this weekend, and Kim in marketing, you remain completely undetected--a master of stealth. You find where you stashed your burn bag--the bag that, should everything go south, has everything you need to make it through the next 48 hours alive: socks, underwear, a handsome belt, a pair of flattering slacks, an admittedly well-ironed button up, and a pastel v-neck undershirt you're convinced goes with everything. You look around. You weren't made--no one could have followed you. You might just make it to see tomorrow, which is important because one of the partners just reminded you to pick up some turbinado sugar for the break room.

Now, picture this: you're a secret agent. Merry Christmas.

Nice bike shorts

2010-05-26T13:51:00.000-07:00

Reason #5 bicycles are better than cars

2010-05-25T11:18:00.001-07:00

Lycra:

Reason #4 bicycles are better than cars

2010-05-25T10:03:00.001-07:00

Bikes don't have alarms.