Viper
06-16-2012, 08:09 PM
Ride began today at high noon. Worked on the bike this morning, replacing the rear derallieur cable and loop-housing. I had some odd shifts taking place, attributed it to a too-short RD loop and sure enough, this resolved the issues. With my tools placed out I looked at them and thought, "Everything I learned about wrenching cars and bikes or whatever I tackle, I learned from dad" and it's not learning how-to-do things I gained from him, it's get-up-off-your-arse-and-teach-yourself-how-to-fix-everything mentality, which he demanded.
First stop bagel and coffee. I needed them and there's only one place to go for killer bagels. Pulling up, I placed my bike against a bench when I heard, "Is she for sale?" I turned around and a gentleman was getting out of his work van.
"No Sir. This is my main ride" I replied.
"Man, wow. You don't see them like this anymore. My son, he's a level 3 rider, out east on Long Island" he offered.
"Cat 3, sounds like your son is a Category 3 rider" I responded.
"Yes, Cat 3. He's about your size and he rides carbon fiber. Everything carbon fiber, even the wheels" he continued.
He admired the bike and I told him all about Dave Moulton, lugged steel, the 80's, thwart and the work I've done to the bike.
"They don't make them like this anymore and you know what? I have tools in my van older than this bike; if something works it works and you don't fight it, certain things just work. I am a carpenter and when you have a tool that works, you take care of it and it lasts forever" he explained.
"I totally agree" I nodded.
We both decided it was time for a bagel with coffee. He kindly offered to buy me brunch. I had a buttered cinnamon raisin bagel, coffee with milk and sat on the bench chomping down, with hunger. Just then an SUV pulled up and out popped a tiny, little girl. She ran across the parking lot and she startled me, "Biker man! Biker man! Mom, it's a biker man!" she yelled.
Her mom and I were both laughing and I smiled offering her, "Yes, I am a biker man, do you have a bike, too?" She was shy and she and her mom went inside for bagels.
She came out and said, "Hello, biker man!" I tried to take her picture but again, she was too shy. She ran over to her SUV and shouted across the parking lot, "Biker man! Look! Look, biker man, look!" She held up a page of stickers or tattoos, I don't know which. Her mom clipped her into her car seat and I made sure to clip-in before she left, so she could see the bike in-action. I waved to her and she waved back. Vince, the nice gentleman in his work van also waved goodbye.
Coffee and bagel consumed, I needed a plan. I felt good, my fitness level is fairly high, not quite where it needs to be and it will be in three to four weeks time. "It doesn't get easier, you just get faster" I thought, thank you Greg LeMond. You are correct and it's like anything in life, really. "I'm not as fast as I can be" I thought, "But ride into Centerport, where you grew up, crush the hills and push yourself today" I planned.
My father and I aren't close. Perhaps it's an Irish thing. Irish sons and fathers aren't made to be close, I guess. I thought about this when I was a kid. I thought about this today. Tomorrow being father's day offers another moment to think about such things. I am what I am, due in large part to him.
He knew I'd ruin something wrestling back in high school. He refused to sign the permission slip for me to wrestle my junior year. "Grades are what count this year and next, not the wrestling bs" he told me. Mom also let me know that dad knew I'd either wind up breaking someone's neck or meet my own match and have my neck broken. He knew.
My coach looked the other way when I did not return the permsission slip to wrestle my junior year. I was a terrorist on the wrestling mat. Best of the best and someday, something would have to give. It did. My right knee. Dad was right. "Now you have one leg. No scholarship. Your coach won't remember who you are. You weren't getting paid to wrestle and now, your future and your financial income might be impacted by hobbling around on one leg" he scoffed at me hours before a surgery to reconstruct my knee. We didn't talk for six months. "We're both Irish. We're nearly identical. We are the same. This is why we don't get along" I thought from about age seven, onward. My dad and I are one and we are the same, but things never got better. He was furious I could not join the US Marines Corp and I was a broken down teenager with one leg to stand on. Four more operations later, the leg is what it is. Stopping at my dad's old repair shop, which he owned in the mid-70's, I took a photo and thought about how fast time goes. I was just a kid playing in this parking lot, fishing across the street in the pond and learning automotive repair.
Up came Lone Oak Drive. The steepest mofo hill you can find. I tried to photograph the hill while pedaling. I got to the sixty-percent mark and had to give up taking photos. I needed two hands and full focus to get to the top.
I stopped over my nephew's house. Nephew #3, the wee one answered the door in his typical weekend attire, policeman uniform. I said hello to their dog, drank some soda and headed down to see nephews # 1 and 2, who were both playing video games, "Killing bad guys and bad pirates." Nephew # 3 showed me his art work, taped to the wall on the way downstairs. "Umm, Uncle, dats, the Earp, Mars and Venus" he offered and I could not be more proud as he announced all the planets, in sequence from the sun, along with their moons. Science and science fiction run strong in my family and I hope he carries the torch.
Needed food after doing a very hard, sustained effort on The Strip. I kept 25mph for five miles, but was happiest with my speed uphills, "Twelve is the new nine" I thought as I can now sustain 12mph up the super-steep climbs, versus the 7mph weeks ago. It is not easier, nothing athletic-related ever is, but you do get better; the human body is a simple machine and the mind controls everything.
I looked down at my outer gatrocnemius and peroneus longus. My tell. When my fitness is at it's maximum on the bike, the outer calf muscle pops and is defined. "Another three or four weeks" I thought as I looked down. I took an arse-shot for cycle-chic and noticed the hamstring, leg biceps, contracted and doing what it's supposed to do.
Dad gave me a strong sense of focus and willpower. Or maybe it came in my blood, given to him from his dad. Who knows. I don't enjoy pain. It isn't why I ride, but I can take and withstand pain. Pain is a vampire and you gotta look at him, brush your teeth, floss, wink and bite the mofo in his neck. Pain is an enemy. It always is. Don't listen to it, it lies to you. "Ride with your mouth closed" my dad told me as a kid and he's right. Don't ever let gravity and pain see you struggling. I thought of keeping my lips together climbing Harrison Drive today and it's not easy, everything tells you to do the opposite.
Lunch was a nice, "Gouda Cheese and Turkey Bacon quiche" said the teen girl behind the counter, "It's awesome." Sold. I needed it right away with some pomegranate iced tea, coffee and cookies for dessert.
Clipping-in after lunch, I was shot. Rode home on autopilot. I gave 25 miles the best I had. I struggled getting out of my seat on the sidewalk at my cafe. My face was purple and my legs felt numb.
Thanks dad. You did your best, which is all you could do. You raised five kids while enduring a 90% disability from the United States Marine Corps. Your folks came over from Ireland and you lived 'Angela's Ashes'. You joined the Service to create a future and you got f*cked up, badly hurt. We are one and the same. I got you a huge bag of grass seed, fertilizer for your lawn, placed them onto your soil, using your tools and picked you up a USMC tee-shirt, green in XL.
For Dad and his awesome pompadour, of which I have the same hair. He's my twin, just thirty years older:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBt14glNi6Y
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZpDQJnI4OhU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M6hJz4aom2M
First stop bagel and coffee. I needed them and there's only one place to go for killer bagels. Pulling up, I placed my bike against a bench when I heard, "Is she for sale?" I turned around and a gentleman was getting out of his work van.
"No Sir. This is my main ride" I replied.
"Man, wow. You don't see them like this anymore. My son, he's a level 3 rider, out east on Long Island" he offered.
"Cat 3, sounds like your son is a Category 3 rider" I responded.
"Yes, Cat 3. He's about your size and he rides carbon fiber. Everything carbon fiber, even the wheels" he continued.
He admired the bike and I told him all about Dave Moulton, lugged steel, the 80's, thwart and the work I've done to the bike.
"They don't make them like this anymore and you know what? I have tools in my van older than this bike; if something works it works and you don't fight it, certain things just work. I am a carpenter and when you have a tool that works, you take care of it and it lasts forever" he explained.
"I totally agree" I nodded.
We both decided it was time for a bagel with coffee. He kindly offered to buy me brunch. I had a buttered cinnamon raisin bagel, coffee with milk and sat on the bench chomping down, with hunger. Just then an SUV pulled up and out popped a tiny, little girl. She ran across the parking lot and she startled me, "Biker man! Biker man! Mom, it's a biker man!" she yelled.
Her mom and I were both laughing and I smiled offering her, "Yes, I am a biker man, do you have a bike, too?" She was shy and she and her mom went inside for bagels.
She came out and said, "Hello, biker man!" I tried to take her picture but again, she was too shy. She ran over to her SUV and shouted across the parking lot, "Biker man! Look! Look, biker man, look!" She held up a page of stickers or tattoos, I don't know which. Her mom clipped her into her car seat and I made sure to clip-in before she left, so she could see the bike in-action. I waved to her and she waved back. Vince, the nice gentleman in his work van also waved goodbye.
Coffee and bagel consumed, I needed a plan. I felt good, my fitness level is fairly high, not quite where it needs to be and it will be in three to four weeks time. "It doesn't get easier, you just get faster" I thought, thank you Greg LeMond. You are correct and it's like anything in life, really. "I'm not as fast as I can be" I thought, "But ride into Centerport, where you grew up, crush the hills and push yourself today" I planned.
My father and I aren't close. Perhaps it's an Irish thing. Irish sons and fathers aren't made to be close, I guess. I thought about this when I was a kid. I thought about this today. Tomorrow being father's day offers another moment to think about such things. I am what I am, due in large part to him.
He knew I'd ruin something wrestling back in high school. He refused to sign the permission slip for me to wrestle my junior year. "Grades are what count this year and next, not the wrestling bs" he told me. Mom also let me know that dad knew I'd either wind up breaking someone's neck or meet my own match and have my neck broken. He knew.
My coach looked the other way when I did not return the permsission slip to wrestle my junior year. I was a terrorist on the wrestling mat. Best of the best and someday, something would have to give. It did. My right knee. Dad was right. "Now you have one leg. No scholarship. Your coach won't remember who you are. You weren't getting paid to wrestle and now, your future and your financial income might be impacted by hobbling around on one leg" he scoffed at me hours before a surgery to reconstruct my knee. We didn't talk for six months. "We're both Irish. We're nearly identical. We are the same. This is why we don't get along" I thought from about age seven, onward. My dad and I are one and we are the same, but things never got better. He was furious I could not join the US Marines Corp and I was a broken down teenager with one leg to stand on. Four more operations later, the leg is what it is. Stopping at my dad's old repair shop, which he owned in the mid-70's, I took a photo and thought about how fast time goes. I was just a kid playing in this parking lot, fishing across the street in the pond and learning automotive repair.
Up came Lone Oak Drive. The steepest mofo hill you can find. I tried to photograph the hill while pedaling. I got to the sixty-percent mark and had to give up taking photos. I needed two hands and full focus to get to the top.
I stopped over my nephew's house. Nephew #3, the wee one answered the door in his typical weekend attire, policeman uniform. I said hello to their dog, drank some soda and headed down to see nephews # 1 and 2, who were both playing video games, "Killing bad guys and bad pirates." Nephew # 3 showed me his art work, taped to the wall on the way downstairs. "Umm, Uncle, dats, the Earp, Mars and Venus" he offered and I could not be more proud as he announced all the planets, in sequence from the sun, along with their moons. Science and science fiction run strong in my family and I hope he carries the torch.
Needed food after doing a very hard, sustained effort on The Strip. I kept 25mph for five miles, but was happiest with my speed uphills, "Twelve is the new nine" I thought as I can now sustain 12mph up the super-steep climbs, versus the 7mph weeks ago. It is not easier, nothing athletic-related ever is, but you do get better; the human body is a simple machine and the mind controls everything.
I looked down at my outer gatrocnemius and peroneus longus. My tell. When my fitness is at it's maximum on the bike, the outer calf muscle pops and is defined. "Another three or four weeks" I thought as I looked down. I took an arse-shot for cycle-chic and noticed the hamstring, leg biceps, contracted and doing what it's supposed to do.
Dad gave me a strong sense of focus and willpower. Or maybe it came in my blood, given to him from his dad. Who knows. I don't enjoy pain. It isn't why I ride, but I can take and withstand pain. Pain is a vampire and you gotta look at him, brush your teeth, floss, wink and bite the mofo in his neck. Pain is an enemy. It always is. Don't listen to it, it lies to you. "Ride with your mouth closed" my dad told me as a kid and he's right. Don't ever let gravity and pain see you struggling. I thought of keeping my lips together climbing Harrison Drive today and it's not easy, everything tells you to do the opposite.
Lunch was a nice, "Gouda Cheese and Turkey Bacon quiche" said the teen girl behind the counter, "It's awesome." Sold. I needed it right away with some pomegranate iced tea, coffee and cookies for dessert.
Clipping-in after lunch, I was shot. Rode home on autopilot. I gave 25 miles the best I had. I struggled getting out of my seat on the sidewalk at my cafe. My face was purple and my legs felt numb.
Thanks dad. You did your best, which is all you could do. You raised five kids while enduring a 90% disability from the United States Marine Corps. Your folks came over from Ireland and you lived 'Angela's Ashes'. You joined the Service to create a future and you got f*cked up, badly hurt. We are one and the same. I got you a huge bag of grass seed, fertilizer for your lawn, placed them onto your soil, using your tools and picked you up a USMC tee-shirt, green in XL.
For Dad and his awesome pompadour, of which I have the same hair. He's my twin, just thirty years older:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBt14glNi6Y
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZpDQJnI4OhU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M6hJz4aom2M