Onsen Buddy

I'm in Montreal for the NABSA conference this year. It's an absolutely fantastic city; full of all of the life that I love in Philadelphia, but done in a slightly European, progressive way. The important thing however, is that I was able to reconnect with Shane Smith, human being par excellance, and onsen buddy of yours truly. Jennifer and I were a bit shell shocked when he and Lara broke up years ago, and honestly we ended up gravitating more towards her, as she'd kept in better contact over the years. Shane is a man of the moment though, and we missed him a lot.  I last saw Sumisu-san when we visited during Canadian Thanksgiving in 2005. We went rock climbing, and hung out with Lara's parents a bit.

Tonight, Shane picked me up at my hotel, and we headed back to his place to catch up a bit and have a couple of beers. I can hardly express how great it was to see him again. He's doing well, working intermittently as a camera man on a number of TV shoots and some commercials. Most recently he was filming life on the Jersey Shore for the Évasion show on Quebec's Travel Channel. He probably knows more now about the 'downna shore culture than I do.

What was great about seeing Shane again was the almost audible click of connecting with a friend from long ago. It'd been twelve years since we last saw each other, and yet it was so obvious that we were still friends that it's a bit painful to write this. He's a good man, who cares about people in an intuitive way, and who collects good people to himself.  In a lot of ways, we're not that similar; he's eager and polite, I'm pessimistic and inconsistently considerate.  What we do share is a sort of human compatibility where I can know and understand this differences between us, and accept them and love them all the same.

After he insisted on treating me to ramen and heading to Dieu du Ciel, the mold-making microbrewery of Monteral, I had the pleasure of meeting his girlfriend, Frances. She is great, in the same sort of natural way that Shane is great, and that Lara is great.  Let me write it here, and keep the promise to myself that we will meet up again sooner than later. That's the right way to keep a friendship going.

Get the lead in

A little lead solder and a bit of luck saved me five hundred bucks. About three weeks ago my 2011 vintage Power Tap hub started to freak out following a routine battery change. After fiddling​ around with everything I could think of, I was ready to purchase a new one, but decided to give it one extra new set of batteries to check. As I did, I noticed that there was a small wire that had come loose from the battery unit.

Thanks to my sister, I had a handy soldering iron and some electrical wire and made the repair this evening. The hub even works like it should now.

While I admit that there is often something obnoxious about my insistence on making things my own way, it is really satisfying to use what I've fixed or made in my own.

Snack vortex

I picked off a whole nest of tent caterpillar babies with the idea of giving the fish an all-natural snack.  As it turns out, guppy mouths are even smaller than baby tent caterpillars, so the remaining hundred or so got to hang out for a couple of days.

One reason to ride in the evening

In some ways, I really don't like weekends​. I spend so much time during the working week thinking about what I will do with my free time, that when I finally have a whole two days to myself, I kind of freak out. I can't decide which of the million awesome things I will do next and it is painful to sort through. Mostly I just flit between several options unsuccessfully, and then kick myself for indecision and incomplete projects all Sunday night.

Today was just such a day. I had in my head that I was going to do a bike race, but then realized that I had spent all Saturday cleaning out the basement, and had not spent any time with Jennifer. I chose the latter, but was so annoyed that I couldn't do both, that I in turn annoyed the shit out of Jennifer.  Neither of us enjoyed the day.

Fail.

I finally dragged myself down to the Navy Yard for a bike workout, and was ultimately rewarded with this sunset. A nice way to remind myself that every day comes to a close, and every morning is a new chance to start it over.

Tilford

Steve Tilford, the first real, honest to god, bike racer dude I ever met, died last night in a car crash in Colorado. I remember seeing him hanging out on the couches in the back of Michael's Cyclery, holding court about some bike race deed or other with the guys. He raced for a number of years for Michael in the 80s, and knew my dad well from the scene at the shop. There was always a sort of manic energy about him, like sitting still was a waste of his time. He was a compelling character in the way that many such driven people are, like a little crackle of electricity arcing through the room as he ambled in. There was a newspaper article in the back break area of the shop with a picture of Steve, arm in a sling spinning along on his rollers. The headline said, "Steve Tilford Wants to Race His Bike Badly." Underneath, someone had written And He Does in neat block print.

The last time I saw Steve, he was fuming after some jerk kid from United Health Care chopped his line in a corner of the nighttime crit in the Sands Casino Hotel parking lot at Interbike in 2009. He was talking with my dad, and was obviously still coming down off of an adrenaline rush from what would have been his thousandth crash in a race. My dad always insisted that Steve was likely immortal, because scar tissue doesn't die.

Even if you've never heard of the guy, I'd recommend reading this blog post, which paints a compelling picture of a fairly crazy dude. I'm sure you've seen shades of this guy in the people we know around Philly or in your scene, whatever it is.

https://truebs.com/some-of-my-writing/short-nonfiction/steve-tilford-is-why-we-ride/

Thank God the montage is over

While there is still a little extra bump on my collarbone, things look a lot better than this now. I can even sort of do pushups.

My shoulder looks great compared to the bike.

Busted

In the Streets Department they call them breakaway poles, but I would beg to differ.

The good news is that I don't have a zipper on my spine, the bad news is that my bones now number one more than they did Tuesday morning.  Six to eight weeks in a sling, don't know yet if I need surgery.

Looking back

Mom retired this month and has been cleaning out the closets. I am the lucky beneficiary.

Lots of pictures of my awkward teens, but some keepers.

Last year, so hot, so tired.

The day started with shaking hundreds of crickets out of our clothing at the roadside pullout where we camped.  We got water, and a breakfast of some cheese, apples and Dr. Pepper at a gas station and grocery store in Cody, Nebraska.

For lunch, we stopped in Valentine for the best salad I've ever eaten at a McDonalds.  I took a work call because we had cell service for the first time in a long time and then I attempted to rinse the sweat off of my body in the bathroom sink.  It wasn't very effective.

By the afternoon, the 20 mile per hour tailwind from the southwest had turned into a 25 mile per hour cross/headwind from the southeast and we were beat.  We sat by the side of the road for 30 minutes, saw one car, and watched a monarch butterfly flap in vain as it tried to get to Mexico.  We settled down for the night just off of Turbine Road in the one bedroom house that we rented in Springview after 100 long, hot miles. 

Lightning bug and I

Both staring at our true loves.

Return home and return home

Jennifer and I spent the last weekend in Ames for no particular occasion.  While I love the fun of being home at CHristmas or Thanksgiving with all the family in place, it was actually really great just to spend some time with my parents, see Jennifer's family and pass some time in lovely Iowa spring weather.

The general routine is to fly in late one night, crash at the McMakens and then spend the next day or so trying to maximize time with my folks.  Saturday morning I ended up working a Bike Rodeo with my dad at the Nevada (pronounced Ne-VAY-da) Police Department's spring safety fair.  A bike rodeo usually consists of a helmet giveaway, safety instruction for kids, and a couple of willing souls from a local bike shop trying to make a bunch of really crummy bikes safe enough to ride.  The Nevada Police auctioned off a bunch of bikes that they'd impounded or recovered over the years and as the morning crept onward it was clear that we were working on a bunch of refuse.  On one hand, it sucks, because people with low expectations purchase a bike for a 'good deal' and then are left with something that barely functions.  Deals are only deals when they are worth more than you paid for them.  I joked with my dad that next year he should head over a day in advance and pay the police $20 bucks to throw about half of the bikes in a dumpster.

On the other hand, this is the type of repair that I am truly excellent at.  My years working on shitty bikes at Michael's Cyclery, Grand Performance, Skunk River Cycles and Trophy Bikes prepared me well for fixing crap and fixing it fast.  I got a surprising amount of satisfaction from quickly identifying the real failings that would keep a bike from moving or stopping and then hosing it down with Tri-Flow and making it do its thing, at least to a small degree.  I am a top-shelf kludge-master.

The remainder of the day was spent hanging out with Claire, who sort of surprised everyone last minute by making the trip from Iowa City.  It was great to spend time with her and have some tasty drinks and catch up on the various craziness that is her life. Her husband is now helping one of their catering customers put together a hydroponic system on his roof in his spare time, which is nearly nil.  I can oddly identify with that.  My people are helping people, even at the expense of their own free time or sanity.

We had an oversized dinner, oversized numbers of beers and other drinks, and then had a small backyard fire in the pit that my dad had constructed from pieces of an old bed frame and the guts of a washing machine. Classic style.

Down'a Shore

In late April I rode down to Avalon, down on the Jersey shore with Colton and Nick. It was a great ride, for reasons I can't fully explain. I guess I just like to sweat. The initial tail wind was nice, and we rolled along at 24 mph much of the time.

It ended up being 110 miles in 5 hours and change. Met a fair bit of headwind and a fair number of crazy people in Atlantic city where we boarded the train back.

Locally Famous, again!

Spent the morning hanging out with my IndeBuddies and Quincy Harris from Fox 29 here in Philly.  Its amazing how easy news can be when you work with a morning show personality on a channel that you pay for advertising.

Locally Famous

I'm frequently found about town with a bike frame strapped to my back.  Usually it's something that I'm picking up or dropping off for a friend or teammate who has busted their carbon race bike.  That's exactly what happened here last month as I was delivering this to Philly Bike Smith for one of their folks.

The picture below was posted to "Philadelphia Stolen Bikes" on Facebook.

It's the little things

In preparation for having Susanna and Camilo over on Saturday, Jennifer and I finally took it upon ourselves to put the refrigerator into the lovely little nook prepared for it.  While the move itself caused the standard sort of argument that occurs when people move furniture into tight spaces, the end result was fantastic.

Friday morning, I had the unmitigated joy of reaching into the cereal shelves pulling out a box of granola, and then reaching a mere 3 feet below to open the door to the refrigerator to extract a bottle of milk. 

Fantastic!

Peppers

Jennifer found a recipe for fermented chili sauce that was mostly jalapeños, with a little salt and a little garlic thrown in. We started slicing them and knocking out the seeds, but then the air got a bit too spicy. Drastic measures were in order.

posted from Bloggeroid

Wise men sometimes

My friend and bike club teammate Kevin posted this to our list serve the other day. I didn't write it myself, but it describes a lot of what I love about my team and riding in general.

The new year is a month old and races are already being posted and trained for. We have had a blizzard - life goes on. In the hours spent in the house last weekend I thought about the the bonds that we form as a result of being connected to this crazy sport - the people we meet - the people that change us. And I suppose that's why I keep coming back every year because I know I need to be changed - that I'm missing something many things and if I just hang in one more mile I'll find at least a part of it. The ride is never truly complete. I have ridden since 1986 and there are more miles- I watched Meurig ride across the United States - there is more. Those of you that I don't know well I should know better/ those whom I think I know I do not know enough. Those who have left us are with us- on every ride which is never done.
       K.G. 

The game is afoot

It's always agonizing to prepare a resume for a new job.  There is the uncertainty of what to highlight in one's career, the endless permutations of formatting and font and all the other BS that will help your name stand tall among the pile of others just like it, vying for the same job.  It's even more agonizing to prepare a resume for a job that you already have.  There is a sense of hurt that even though you've done your best, and had success, that they may not have need of your services in the next rodeo.

Well, I got over it.  It's only fair that a new mayor can put his or her stamp on their team.  Speculation is rife in the office and while I'm not particularly worried that they will find someone who knows how to run a bike share program better than me, I'm definitely worried that the new administration will break up our band.  MOTU has been such an awesome place to work, and my colleagues are great.  If only we could keep building on what we've got, I'd be happier.  As my old boss used to say, "Philadelphians embrace change, as long as it looks exactly like it did before you changed it."  I guess I'm becoming Philadelphian in that sense.

First Degree Connection

I had an odd experience the other night.  I'd just been to a presentation at DVRPC where I gave the standard presentation about all of the work we are doing to make Indego bike share a representative and socially equitable program in which the race and income of our users mirrors that of Philadelphia as a whole.  I was on a panel with a guy from Rutgers, Charles Brown, (no joke, generally goes by Charlie) who presented his team's research on the disparate impacts that crashes have on people of color.  The upshot: if you are poor or black or brown or poor AND black or brown, your odds of being hit or killed in a car crash are dramatically higher than if you're white and middle income or higher.  In places like New Jersey and the Philadelphia Metro, the maps of crashes can often look like the maps of 'communities of concern' as they've been dubbed.

I was impressed by the work, and particularly by Charlie's presentation.  I work hard on making sure that when I give a presentation I'm engaging and that I use whatever media I've got at my disposal to the best of my ability. Over the years, I've gotten pretty good, and I'm generally to the point where I think that I'm one of the better presenters on any given panel that I do.  I did a passable job last week, but Charles' absolutely rocked.  Clear, compelling and well supported by the graphics in his powerpoint.  I was in presentation envy and following our meeting, was pleased to find that he'd sent me a connection request through LinkedIn.  I'm not much for social media, but I do dabble enough to understand that it could be useful to cultivate this connection, so I clicked on the link.  Charlie and I were now connected, and since I was in the portal where one accepts pending invitations, I started clicking through the requests.  Several were from people who I'd never heard of, several from some who I didn't want to hear from again and then I found one waiting in my inbox from Wade Frank.  He'd sent the request some months ago and I'd never really bothered to respond.  No particular snub there, I hadn't responded to 10 or 15 other people who'd been patiently waiting in my inbox.  I hadn't seen Wade since he'd moved back to Des Moines from Ames where he worked for my dad while he was finishing, or generally not finishing, his dissertation at ISU.  I'd always liked Wade and I'll always think about him now in my work.  Not because of our connection on LinkedIn, but because I think that I'll always be thinking about how to encourage more people to ride bicycles and to help more people stay safe on the roads.  It's a strange coincidence that my reminder of him was the result of a poignant talk about road safety.  Cheers to you Wade, and goodbye.