98844 to 87106

Novermber 7th, 2009 I flew to Spokane WA, where Vivane Harper of Oroville WA picked me up at the airport.  Viviane was sweet as pie, short with very old knees making it difficult for her to walk easily.  Viviane is the the truck's previous owner's ex wife and she was in Spokane visiting grandkids and going on a blind date.  We had a great time on our 3 hour ride back to Oroville during which Viviane entertained me with theories of Earth's eroding magnetosphere and the impending stop of earth's rotation as a result.  She also had some very interesting things say about rocks from outer space and lots of other stuff that made more sense to me than magnetospheres and space rocks. On our way back to Oroville we drove past the Grand Coulee Dam and through a forest fire on both sides of the road.  I am assuming that is was a controlled burn but one never knows.  Very smokey and odd.

Left is a picture of me sitting in the truck for the first time which Viviane very sweetly took after dropping me off. You can almost tell from my expression that I am gleeful 'Ha ha ha! Finally.' Oroville WA is where I finally met the truck.  I tried to get it shipped via car carrier but it was so far off the beaten path that noone wanted to take the job.  Two truckers did and then canceled once they figured out where it was.  It was pretty frustrating seeing I bought it in September and did not get to see it until November 7th.  So here I am sitting in it for the first time hoping it starts: it did.  Very interesting driving it for the first time.  This is just what I expected and NOT your Subaru Legacy with a standard.  It grunts and wheezes, snorts and whistles, farts and groans but it is a pretty simple machine and in spite of all the noise it is very satisying to drive.  The seat is not stock and was reputedly installed so seatbelts could retrofitted to the cab.  When I asked Bob if it had seatbelts he said it did.  Well he wasn't lying but they were under the seat and in the bed in respective heaps.  Later my sister and I tried to mount them and discovered why they had not been installed; fairly major modification of the cab would be required to mount the shoulder belt.  I threw them away and ordered lap belts.  Someday the seat will go too.


Oroville is US terminus of the Okanagan River Valley.  Any further north and you are in Canada.  Nice little town but I think it is much like many 'edge' towns in the US.  Key West, El Paso, all of Alaska etc., places that are as far as you can go and still be in the US.  They seem to collect a certain type of 'almost expatriot' who generally wants to be left alone and resents government, rules, taxes and the like.

So, I stayed the night with Bob: the previous owner and discovered that less is more when it comes to quality time with Bob.  What a disagreeable man.  Smokes too much, drinks too much and complains vociferously.  After 12 hours most of which was spent asleep in his basement I had had enough.  I was ready to head south to warmer weather and friendlier faces.

So let it be known that I took some pictures on this trip but I did not stop and take pictures every time I 'should' have.  I gaped at some amazing views and just kept right on driving.  It is also easy to understand why I took so many pictures that include the truck.  I just got it after waiting two month, so sue me.  So, to make up for the ... gaps in my pictures I have used a great resource and website called Panoramio.  I found pictures of almost every place that I had been to support my pictures on this horrid little chronicle.  Bear in mind that I drove from WA to NM in November so any picture that looks out of season probably IS and good on you for catching it. Also all of these pictures can be scrutinized by clicking on the photo and then zooming additionally if you really want to see details.

Finally headed south!  97 South to Riverside where I stopped at Home Depot and bought some 'old truck road trip' essentials: tools, lubricants, gas can, etc. The kind of stuff that you hope you don't need but you know what they say about chance favoring the prepared. At first I was driving alongside the Okanago River which like all other rivers in this area empties into the Columbia River.  To the right is Orondo WA. and I was graced with good weather and good health and kept driving south.

To the left is Brewster WA which as you can plainly see is a beautiful place.  In fact the whole area is incredible.  Along the way I got to see why most big chain supermarket apples  are from Washington State. Orchards are everywhere.


We have orchards in Vermont and New York and New Hampshire but not this many.  The landscape is much starker, bigger and magnificent than Back East. The scale is orders larger.  Nothing beats the east for GREEN but the brush used to paint this country was HUGE.

Have you ever had to work inside a small room, a room that feels close? Remember the feeling of leaving that room and walking outside into a bright, clear day with a high blue sky? That expansive, open, empty feeling.  An overhead camera focused on the hat on your head zooming back and back and back until you disappear into the combination of colors and hues that comprise this huge land.  There just aren't that many people per square mile in this part of the country and most of them like it that way. It is a good feeling being out in the middle of the great, wide, open.

When you have just adjusted to the scale of things.  When the Okanaga River Valley is beginning to feel homey you come to the Columbia River Valley and you have to start all over.  There is no fording this river.  The Columbia is absolutely HUGE.  There is nothing in the East like this, nothing.  Wow.

Perhaps you begin to see why I didn't stop to take pictures. It felt like a hopeless attempt at capturing what it was like.  Like eating Taco Bell and thinking that now, at last, you have had good Mexican food.  Think again.  What I remember most about the Columbia is this deeply quiet essence of power.

After a few hours of driving through this sort of ridiculous grandeur, this majesty on steroids I started to get a little complacent about it.  No more exclamations or slowing down, no more wonder and awe. 'Yeah, nice river, I need a Coke!'  My normally well stocked box of 'Ooohs and Aaaahs' was down to the occasional 'hrrrmph'.  I had a lactic acid burn in my exclamator muscle.  Enough, already.

To the left is the Martha Inn.  Strange name for an Inn?  Perhaps but not so strange if it is located in George WA. Too funny.  Free wooden choppers at the restaurant.   (not funny, sorry)

All the while I am learning to drive this old thing and keeping my fingers crossed that chance WILL actually favor the prepared today.  The truck starts every time, shifts fine, stops fine, the only thing that I really had to watch was the suspension and that is just plain old worn out.  Nothing wrong with it that wouldn't hold until NM.  Somewhere along the way the rear right hub cap has spun off into never never land but the it is just a cover and these wheels are looking a bit rough anyway.  Not the first or second thing on my list but they will eventually be replaced.

Southern Washington state flattens out and I talk to my friend Richard in Portland Oregon trying to arrange a rendezvous.  We make a plan and then he texts me that he totally forgot he has jury duty.  Hmm. Sure.  I keep going and by days end it is dark and I am bushed and I look for a good place to pull off and sleep a few hours.  I find a good place in the future site of a housing development that is just dirt road.  Windy, cold and starry I curl up in the voluminous bed and get some sleep.

Oregon beckons and I am very near I84 southeast to Boise.  Almost immediately the road climbs off the Oregon plain and up into the mountains.  Speed limit on the interstate was 35mph due to the tight radius curves.  'Snow chains required in storms' states the sign.  I cross my fingers and keep the boiler stoked.  What a crazy road! It winds down into a tight, winding canyon with dirt exits to both defunct and operating mines.  The only way in or out is on the road.  You would need climbing gear to ascend the steep walls.

I drive and the country opens up and flattens out and feels emptier than Washington did. Logging trucks and old, abandoned farmhouses dot the countryside. I stop for breakfast in North Powder, Oregon and have biscuits and gravy.  A more substantial gut bomb I have never eaten. White flour biscuits under a veritable sea of more white sausage gravy that was more white than sausage.  I couldn't finish and thought I would never need to eat again.  I think I heard a seat spring let go when I hauled my ass back into the truck seat.  

Getting Started

Well, the truck is here.  I plan to write a section on YouMeandGPLB (I changed the name of the blog BTW) on the trip from Oroville Wa. to Albuquerque NM but this one will be short and sweet.  I have ordered a bunch of stuff for the truck: new wood for the bed, hardware to install it, seatbelts, gas tank, locking gas cap, etc.  I have also been poking around in and around the truck trying to prioritize what I should work on first.  The usual kind of stuff for a vehicle that runs but basically needs lots of love.

Imitation is the finest form of admiration.

So I have gone and done it.  What you say?  What?  I have stepped off the cliff.  I have 'thrown caution to the wind', I have damned the torpedoes, I have resisted the urge to be 'reasonable', I have ignored advice to be practical.  I have done something that always elicited the response from me 'That is too cool, I want to do that someday' when someone ELSE did it.  Now I have done it. What have I done?  After all that it ought to be good eh?  

I bought a 1963 C10 Fleetside Longbed 3/4 ton pickup truck with a 4-speed SM 420 tranmission and a straight six 292 cubic inch motor.  (what a mouthful)

The only follower of this silly blog: Charlie Whitney bought a Triumph Spitfire a while ago.  When he did I remember thinking just what mentioned thinking 'That is too cool, I want to do that someday.'  Since then I have lost track of the project but regardless I am sure it still fits into 'cool', after all it is Charlie.  

Well, sportscars and motorcycles ... get me in trouble.  I am sticking to mountain bikes and sea kayaks for the full gonzo 'full throttle' behavior that tends to get me in trouble.  My longtime erstwhile friend Lynn Coates had a truck much like this one in the 1980's when I was twenty-something and I loved that truck.  It was black and white and she towed a matching black and white horse trailer to all the Events that she competed in and we all tagged along on motorcycles to applaud, support and travel New England.  Since then I have developed the opinion that all the new American built trucks are just silly.  They are outrageously expensive, all the 4WD models are about a foot too high off the tarmac and they have all lost the honest work ethic design that made the pickup truck what it isn't today.  Why do I need a full size pickup that is ostensibly meant for work to have a bed so high that the manufacturer offers as an option a step and handrail on the tailgate just to get in the bed?  Why?  I will tell you why; Because most pickups are no longer really utility vehicles anymore.  They are marketed and purchased as lifestyle accoutrements.  Pickups these days are like bodybuilders.  Big and muscular and totally focused on looking like they are strong and hard working.  Except the focus has moved from hard work and getting the job done to LOOKING the part.  In a word: Posers.  I am not saying that everyone that buys a truck these days is a poser and that pickup trucks aren't any good for work.  They aren't all posers driving posers.  BUT most of the pickups on the road are daily drivers for guys that don't WORK for a living.  They could get along just as well with a conservative sedan for the use they give the truck.  Like I said: accoutrement.  Put another way: penis extension.  A reflection of what a MAN should drive.  "The Heartbeat of America", "Built Ford Tough", Dodge Ram "Big Horn Edition".  Current day pickup trucks are like cartoons.  

So why did I buy one?  Well ... here is the thing.  I am a guy, an American guy.  I am a lot of other things too including iconoclastic, contrary and independent to a fault.  I love pickup trucks but I can't stand pretense and the new trucks and most of the people who drive them are full of pretense.  Old pickup trucks were heavy, slow and low and they were not a socially popular vehicle to drive, they were an essential on farms and many other places but no one drove one that didn't need one.  They were too hick.  Things changed and more and more people worked jobs that were not physical.  In fact the real money was in a job where you didn't 'work'.  After a few generations chasing the American Dream and realizing that it wasn't a Dream the popular mind of the populous began to romanticize the ethos of the pickup truck.  That is when the shift from truly mundane bucolic utility vehicle to chest thumping, musclebound poser vehicle began.  I had a pickup truck: a nice 1996 Ford Ranger.  That was a great truck.  Nothing fancy, got the job done.  I used it for what it was good for: moving big stuff from here to there.  I used it a lot.  I felt justified in owning it because I used it where no other type of vehicle would do.  Well, I sold that vehicle, I wish I hadn't but I did.  

Now I drive a Honda Element.  I call it my Manivan.  Practical?  Sure.  Like you read about.  But it lacks something.  As cool as it is it is low on ... vehicular soul.  Not as low as a minivan but low. It does everything I want it to do.  Why then?  Why?  

I can't sit on the hood.  Shit I can't even lean on it.  I plowed into a snowbank in my first Element and the pressure on the front end pushed the hood up just the tiniest little bit in one place.  Well I thought I might be able to just push it back, so I put my thumb on the spot and pushed down ... much to my dismay I dimpled the hood right where I pushed with my thumb.  The metal in the hood is so thin that it will permanently deflect from the pressure of a thumb.  For Pete's Sake!!  I can sit on the hood of the C10, all 225 pounds of me without effect.  

Why? I like bench seats.  Pickup trucks are not available with bench seats anymore.  The best you can do is what is called a 60/40 split seat.  I don't like bucket seats.  Mostly because the size of my 'bucket' is not the size of your bucket and I invariably feel a bit cramped in the 'one size fits all' bucket seats of today.  I like that the old school bench seats weren't sculpted or shaped to fit tops and bottoms.  They were flat and smooth and went all the way across.  You could sit right next to someone or ... not.  

Why? The bed floor is nice and low.  Pickup trucks are thusly named for their utility in ... (stay with me now) picking things up.  Which is to say that their ostensible primary purpose was to facilitate putting things large and small in the back.  You know this, I know this.  The higher the bed floor is from the ground (that you and I are standing on) the more difficult it is to put something in the truck.  Imagine that you are carrying something heavy: a transmission.  If you were strong enough to carry a transmission all on your lonesome you would certainly be doing it with straight arms using the larger stronger muscles in your back to do the work.  So putting the transmission in the bed of a truck might be possible if the bed was roughly at the height of your hands with arms at your sides.  Next time you are near a current Ford, Chevy, GMC or Dodge full size truck check the height of the bed.  Dollars to donuts it is not at hand level.  My new 'old' truck has a nice low bed.  

Why?  (this is the last one I promise)  I like the way it looks.  There are some pretty bold looking new trucks: like the Dodge Ram but they all look like they are trying too hard.  Like bodybuilders.  Actually I like the look of many of the older trucks but my favorite is the '60-66', first generation C10 (actually it is the second generation as Chevy made the first generation for one year: 1960)  

So in the spirit of my friend Charlie: an inspirational person, I have begun the journey.  Thanks Charlie.  

The first step is to get the truck here.  It is 1500 miles north in Oroville WA.  I will keep you posted.  

Albuquerque NM

Well here we are. It has been three months since I posted anything at all but we have been busy. Vermont to Albuquerque NM. Big changes in geography and climate. 300 + days of sunshine here and the days that aren't sunny by their standards are by mine Back East. It is even sunny when it rains here. Clothes dry on the clothesline about as fast as it takes to hang out a full load so you can almost finish hanging at one end and go back to where you started and start taking them off again. Of course Albuquerque is an enclave of green in the high desert provided by the Rio Grande. Go to far in any direction (especially south) and it gets dry like you read about. This country was notoriously difficult to cross before the railroad and the advent of paved roads and internal combustion. Between the natives and the environment a white man would be hard pressed to survive here for long. When I was in Death Valley years back there was a big picture of some famous party crossing Death Valley complete with tattered Conestoga wagon etc. These poor souls eventually became so thirsty and hungry that they resorted to cannibalism to survive like the Donner Party. In the painting there are natives lying down behind a small ridge watching the party traveling across the floor of the valley. Natives who knew how to survive in the valley, natives who knew where the fresh water springs were. I always wanted to go back and pen in what the natives might have been saying to each other like Mystery Theater 2000: "They are looking mighty dry eh?"

So I have been here a week and have ridden my bike in the city a bit and am pleased to say that Albuquerque is doing a fair job making the city bike friendly. As usual the folks that drive in the city aren't always in possession of a clue about cyclists but at least there is a terminal mass of cyclists andthe motorists are used to seeing them. There are bike lanes, and bike routes and even a bike boulevard (albeit on just one street). There is a published map showing all aforementioned bikeways and various published books on both roadbiking and mountain biking routes and trails. I have had two pretty amazing mountain bike rides on canyon singletrack that was GOBS of fun. It is a great city to have various bikes in your quiver so I am glad that I brought all of my bikes in spite of the space that they took up in the truck.

Winter Cycling

Question: Am I insane, stupid, addled, strange, odd, 'tetched'? Every time ... let me stress EVERY time I tell people that I ride my bike to get around in the winter in Vermont I get some pretty strange looks. Even if the person knows that I ride a bike in the winter they often look at me like they can't quite believe I really, REALLY ride a bike in the winter. My contention is this: that I am normal and there is nothing at all wrong or indicative of any sort of deficiency with riding a bicycle when there is snow on the ground. I choose to do it in the land of internal combustion. I own two vehicles that burn gasoline: a car and a motorcycle and I would rather ride a bicycle if I can. Further I contend that in general this country is soft and spoiled and lazy. Owning a car is a luxury. We don't treat it as such but it is. We spend way too much money on buying, fueling, insuring, and maintaining our vehicles. 100 years ago EVERYONE rode bicycles or walked or took the train. What happened? The cultural expectation that EVERY person should own/drive a car as primary mode of transportation has done us all as much harm as good. You want to really feel independent? SELL your car. You will save thousands of dollars every year but we all know that for most this is not about money but the personal sense of freedom a cars can give you. Noone walks anymore, even people with good, young legs drive a 1/4 mile to buy snacks at the convenience store. I commute through a college campus and watch students drive to the store just off campus that is within sight of their dorms. I am not that old but when I was at UVM (a school where most of the students have a huge sense of entitlement now) I walked everywhere, I hitched and rode my bicycle before I was a bike nut. What happened to enjoying the journey?

AHA! You exclaim. "I have you! : What does Winter Cycling have to do with enjoying the journey?" I am sure you have seen the short cartoon at the top. It is classic because like Bugs Bunny it is funny to more than one sense of humor for different reasons. When I read it I agree with the final statement:"And Miss This?" without any sense of irony. I enjoy riding my bike in the winter. That's right. I LIKE IT. But the cartoon is funny to most of us because so few people can believe that WE LIKE IT, therefore the final statement "And Miss This?" comes off at least ironic and possibly sarcastic.

I like riding my bike when it is snowing like hell and cold and icy. Erin, my sweety, secretly thinks I am a nutjob. At every opportunity she offers me a ride to/from work as though somehow I own a car. As though one of these days I will suddenly come to my senses and realize 'Oh my God! It is winter. What the hell am I riding my bike for?' I always say the same thing. 'Erin, if I wanted to drive I would.' She just doesn't get it. Not that I really need her to.

In Europe owning a car is treated as a luxury. Most people do not own cars. Most people do ride bicycles and walk and take public transportation. Of course Europe supports this sort of behavior with a vastly superior public transportation system than we have in the US, bike lanes, bike parking etc. but in Europe riding a bicycle is so integral to getting around that while most people ride their bikes in winter they would not be considered 'bike nuts' by their peers. They just ride a commuter bike, kinda like sensible shoes. Japan is the same, in fact in many cases bikes aren't even locked in Japan. In the US I am treated like a weirdo and a sort of extremist if I commute by bike IN ANY SEASON, especially in winter. In Europe I would be one of thousands in any city were I to commute by bike in the winter. Everyone does it.

I have to admit that sometimes I get an iconoclastic rush from putting my bike skills to work just to get to work during a snowstorm. I wouldn't do it if being labeled weird really bothered me. That said I would love to see the US change just a little in it's cultural perspective on cars and bicycles. I understand that most people don't like riding a bicycle in the winter and still wouldn't even if it was more 'normal' accepted practice here. I am willing to be 'that guy' who rides all the time. I would love to have some company out there. Popular opinion holds that if you are riding a bike in the winter you must have lost your license etc. The same is true for using the bus in Chittenden County, noone with a car takes the bus!! This unfortunate perspective perpetuates because many people who might take the bus DO NOT because they don't want to deal with the people they imagine are on it: homeless, punks, poor, and criminal types etc. Sigh.

Then there are the drivers ... I am a driver. When I am on a bicycle and am forced to use a major thoroughfare for lack of a realistic alternative I am consistently amazed at how many people just act as though cyclists just have no right to be on the road at all. Not very many people say anything (they would have to roll down the window and get a blast of cold air) but I can tell from the way they drive that for many the only thing keeping them from just dinging me into the ditch is fear of legal reprisal. They pass way too close, beep horns, creep forward behind me as though to nudge me into the intersection or (this is the worst) fail to see me. My family, my working cohorts all voice concerns for my safety knowing I ride on the same streets that they drive on. Doesn't this speak to something deeper? They know it is an unfriendly environment for anyone trying to make their way on foot or bicycle. Sad.

When the latest gas crunch hit and prices topped $4/gallon I was secretly happy about it. Of course the prices came back down and everyone went back to their normal driving routines. The only thing that is going to change the behavior of the vast American driving public is an economic pinch. For folks to stop using a car to get them where they need to go it has got to become financially painful to use a car. Bottom Line. Advertising and friendly cycling ambassadors have a small effect but the real motivator is money. That day is coming. We must find a way to get around that does not involve the internal combustion motor using refined petroleum as fuel. That is clear. What is not clear is will the American public start seeing the advantages to bikes and feet or will they just trade petroleum for another fuel source?

Screaming Babies

I (we: Erin and I) have a new baby as of 6 weeks ago. I think by now we know that she is kinda fussy. I don't know if I will go as far as to label her 'colicky' but she cries a bit. This weekend she got a sniffle. Not terrible but enough that her breast feeding tapered off because she could not breathe well. Turns out the bottle works better than the breast when she can't breathe through her nose very well. So she spent some time screaming this weekend and ... I struggle with this.

I don't know how else to say it. I really struggle with this. I work with mostly women being a nurse and female nurses usually don't stray too far from a certain ... personality type. I won't go into it further but suffice it to say that most of them are good mothers and this is also their 'style' of nursing. They mother. So I have heard certainly enough advice and possibly too much from my working cohorts about babies. Some is of great use. Some feels like an bird telling a fish how to ride a bicycle: pointless.

I have taken to wearing hearing protection while she is crying in earnest. Erin thinks this is ... a suspect behavior in a father but I know other men who do the same including her own brother. There is something maddening about the noise she makes that turns my ability to maintain love and patience for my daughter to mush. At some point without my ear muffs I just want to break her in half. TOTALLY irrational? Definitely. Shaken Baby Syndrome makes sense now. I am not justifying it but I do understand the urge. A patient of mine said "Oh, I wanted to chuck mine in the woodstove more than once." They estimate that annually 50,000 babies get shaken hard enough to sustain some damage and 1/4 of them DIE. Holy Shite. That's a lot of shaking. I get it though. Scary. So I am trying to practice just putting her down and walking away.

An old friend says I am 'cranky' about the whole crying thing. That would be an old friend who is a mother of two. Politely I would respond: THWWWWWWP! Call me a wimp, roll your eyes in motherly indignation, bask in the glorious female role imperative that you take inconsolable, screaming babies in stride without any real struggle. Let me congratulate you! You are more of a woman than I am! I am not a woman. I am a man and this man struggles with it.

The Latest Obsession

I have long fantasized about owning a Land Rover. This has been nothing but a pipe dream but I did enter into it deep enough to buy a nice repair manual long since lost. I test drove a Defender 90 15 years ago and liked it a lot for what it was. I could not afford a new or close to new Defender now so that route is out. I remember (recurring theme here: see 'Things that Beep') the Defender 90 in spite of being a new vehicle had very little in the way of 'extras': no carpet, no electric windows, no heated seats etc. All the ridiculous little gee-gaws that cars of every price point seem to have that you pay for and don't necessarily want were missing. Simple.

So I was looking around thinking that maybe once I get to Albuquerque I might get a LR. Well there are all sorts of rigs out there for sale, some for too much, some for a reasonable amount. My favorite find is this one: http://agustinspurlock.com/gallery1/index.htm This is the sort of fantastic exploration that gets you little nuggets of interest for future reference. For example: check out this guys name: Agustin Spurlock. Initially I thought NFW this guys name is really Agustin Spurlock. Sounds like a pulp fiction detective.

The thing I really like about old Land Rovers is there timelessness. At some age it ceases to be important exactly what year they were built but what condition they are in, how many miles since the last motor rebuild, what sort of transmission is in it, is the frame galvanized, does the winch work etc. This vehicle is nearly forty years old. It does not have ANY thing extra by todays automobile standards. If you are hot you open a vent just above the hood beneath the windshield by hand and air comes in. The beauty of this sort of engineering is it lasts because it is simple and if it breaks you can fix it. Land Rovers have aluminum body panels that don't rust, they are simple and flat and bolt to a frame: Old school. No unibodies. Land Rovers for all there British quirks and poor 'performance' by modern standards achieve something that most cars do not: they last. They do not last because they never break down or never rust (they do both). They last because they are the sort of vehicle that someone wants to maintain.

I made a deal with Erin (the mother of my sweet daughter and my favorite person on the planet) that we would NEVER drive a minivan. Bear with me, this is germaine. Along the continuum of vehicular soul minivans are bereft. They have no soul: they are conveyance, they are convenience, they are convention, but they do not have that something that a vehicle must have to engender LOVE. They are a Land Rovers antithesis. Thus my love for LR's. So.

There is something about the pace of Land Rovers that I like. It runs against the mindset of ever increasing media distraction and multitasking imperative that our culture and its advertisers push us towards. There is something peculiar and eccentric about LR's that adds to their 'soul' value.

More later.

Curious about the bike?

Well if you are curious about the bike in the picture listen up. It is called a Zoo Python, that is like Chevy Camaro: Marque and Model.

Some background: Observed Trials is a judged competition where competitors use bicycles to navigate a course over VERY uneven ground, rocks etc. The object is not to finish in the least amount of time but to 'clean' all the obstacles on the course. To 'clean' something you must ride over it without touching down with feet or hands and staying in the confines of the marked course. You would not believe the stuff that the really good trials riders can ride over. Crazy.

So in trials there are different types of bikes: like in auto racing there are different types of cars. The bike in the picture is a 'Modified' trials bike. There are also 'Stock' trials bikes that look like mountain bikes. A modified looks like a bmx bike but there are some marked differences. Modified trials bikes have 19" wheels and relatively small frames compared to the stock class which use 26" wheels.

Trials has been around for years but it has gained popularity in European cities and much more recently in some US cities. Cities have all sorts of 'terrain' that provide a challenge for trials riding. Trials, like any sport, evolves and trials has evolved in the last twenty years. Hans Rey, who rides for GT Bicycles has done a lot to make the sport known but there are many riders that are 'pushing the envelope' as far as what is possible on a trials bike. BMX and BMX trick riding both have evolved and now there are some very talented riders that are using techniques and styles from both in urban trials. Check out the videos to see what I mean:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1F7z4HxpWfA Ryan Leech

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UjJkiF-xVNk Ben Travis

Things that beep.

I am a nurse in a hospital. There are a lot of things that beep. Call lights, IV pumps, tube feed pumps, ... even the refrigerator beeps when someone leaves the door open. Since I have become a nurse I have become 'sensitized' to things that beep to the point where I get really annoyed in my car when I leave the door open with the keys in the ignition. I want to disable all the alarms. Somehow a bird chirping repetitively outside the window is fine but a very similar and not necessarily shrill or loud beep from something electronic is maddening. Go figure.

In the eighties I had a girlfriend Heather Drewes who's grandmother had a convertible K-car that talked. I was in my twenties but in spite of my open minded age the car drove me bonkers. If the keys were in the ignition and the door was open a mild (and therefore maddening) voice said 'Your door is ajar.' I always heard it as 'Your door is a jar' which makes no sense ... I don't like cars telling me what to do. I always wear my seatbelt except when I don't and when I don't I have a good reason and hate the dinging reminder that the seatbelt is not fastened.

Another erstwhile friend of mine: Laurel Saville, had a great line that fit this sort of thing; 'It's like being beaten to death by moths.' Perfect.

The ripple effect

OK, yesterday we got a Certificate of Live Birth from the state of Vermont for our 3 week old daughter. Both her first and last name were wrong AND they spelled my name wrong. Normally you might give a little benefit of the doubt but ... I do not wonder if I spelled my daughter's name wrong, I did not spell my name wrong. Which means that someone else looked at the form that we filled out CLEARLY at the hospital and made 3, three! errors applying for a legal document. So we call and are told that we need to go to Town Hall to fix it. I do this and while I am there wearing my ski helmet with goggles (I rode my bike) I am told that I might have to go to Probate Court to get the name changed. I am pleasant and understanding but looming inside is the subtext body language "there is no way that I am going to go to Probate Court cuz some lazy desk jockey in the hospital can't read." Everyone is pleasant, everyone fortunately gets it: that we didn't cause this and we have to now deal with it. I was ready to start asking questions about the process "so who sent you this information?" etc. so I could track it back to the source. The invisible trail. Noone wants to own up with a stupid little error like this. Noone. Not a big deal as deals go BUT life is full of these goddamn picayune little details and after a while you wish that people just did their jobs like you do yours. So as it turns out the City Clerks office dealt with and the next day we got a corrected Certificate of Live Birth. Whew. This tale reminds me of a story:

Couple on vacation in Coastal Georgia are walking down the beach. This beach is not easy to reach so noone has picked the beach clean of all the shells etc. There had been a small storm and hundreds of live sand dollars had been washed up past the high tide line. Couples not getting along well for various reasons one of which is she won't let him collect the live sand dollars and there are not many dead sand dollars to collect on this beach. (live sand dollars are a very pale green and have many small hairs on the underside, dead sand dollars are smooth and typically white from being bleached in the sun) So he is a little pissed that he can't just fill up on sand dollars. So as they walk down the beach she is picking up the live sand dollars and tossing them like a frisbee toward the water do they don't dry out and die in the hot Georgia sun. The beach is long and he is not helping. He says in a frustrated tone "Jesus Mary and Joseph honey there are hundreds of them along this beach your throwing a few back in the water isn't going to make a difference." She looks at the sand dollar in her right hand before zinging it back into the surf "Made a difference to that one."

I love that story.

Anyway, today we got our 3 week old daughter's Social Security Card and guess what? ... That's right! First and last name are both wrong. Not a big deal right? Didn't have to go to Probate Court after all. Social Security card name change should be easy right. Don't count on it. What a pain in the ass. So now I have made a special trip into Burlington to get the Birth Certificate fixed and her mother has made a trip to Social Security in Burlington because some joker in the hospital didn't pay enough attention to details. So what might have taken them 30 seconds of proofreading requires hours of fix-it time on our end. GRRRRRRR. Nuf Said.