Every new family must be going through this protracted 24/7 selfless servitude in order to give their infant the comfort and security needed to grow and prosper (a burden never shared with prospective parents as to ensure propagation of the species). So therein lies the question, "are you riding?"
A deal has been brokered where Sunday mornings are mine to do the Bicycle Place 8:30 Ride and shift my agony to that of a weekend warrior unwilling to admit that his form is gone, muscle tone withered away with 3am feedings, mental acuity blunted by repetitious high-pitched babble (My own: "Who Hungie? My cutie Wootie? My CutieWootieSmootchyDoody, etc.) and energy stores diminished by cold meals forgotten after impetuous demands by our darling 20 inch tyrant.
But I'll take it.
Others have spawned before me and more are even likely to follow. They are right to say that nothing compare to this experience, SO even if I'm not now riding the Rockies, spinning through Sicily or pulling to Poolesville, I'll still be getting out enough and fathering enough to ask the inevitable question...
Who's With Me?
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Dream So Real II
In a dream I was holding a tiny baby as foreign as could be, but then he slipped from my grip and scurried away before my sandbag hands could react.
In reality this little baby is my own, even though he looks a lot like my father-in-law. Just makes me love him all the more... So he arrived 8 weeks ago, 3-1/2 weeks early, hence my scarcity scaling slopes of Sugarloaf, spinning the shores of Seagull or the steep Civil War Century. Parenthood is like taking that on every day. No, he doesn't bolt out of my hands, but he is growing before our eyes and the experience makes me feel both older and younger while igniting a fire of love I never knew was within me, even after calibrating my Power Tap.
His middle name is after my Dad who passed away 3 months to the day before his birth.
His resting heart rate is phenomenal, in the 130's! plus he can rev it up over 220 bpm when angry, like when Dad gets the old and new Pampers stuck together. His climbing weight is optimal, just over 8 lbs at last check, but he seems to be on the Kirstie Alley diet.
http://deceiver.com/2008/02/15/jenny-craig-fires-kirstie-alley-for-getting-fat-again/
We know this little guy will not be a giant, but he has already demonstrated a vigorous will and charismatic charm.
He had us at "Wh-ah, Wh-Ah, Wh-AH, WH-AH, WH-AAAAAAH!"
In reality this little baby is my own, even though he looks a lot like my father-in-law. Just makes me love him all the more... So he arrived 8 weeks ago, 3-1/2 weeks early, hence my scarcity scaling slopes of Sugarloaf, spinning the shores of Seagull or the steep Civil War Century. Parenthood is like taking that on every day. No, he doesn't bolt out of my hands, but he is growing before our eyes and the experience makes me feel both older and younger while igniting a fire of love I never knew was within me, even after calibrating my Power Tap.
His middle name is after my Dad who passed away 3 months to the day before his birth.
His resting heart rate is phenomenal, in the 130's! plus he can rev it up over 220 bpm when angry, like when Dad gets the old and new Pampers stuck together. His climbing weight is optimal, just over 8 lbs at last check, but he seems to be on the Kirstie Alley diet.
http://deceiver.com/2008/02/15/jenny-craig-fires-kirstie-alley-for-getting-fat-again/
We know this little guy will not be a giant, but he has already demonstrated a vigorous will and charismatic charm.
He had us at "Wh-ah, Wh-Ah, Wh-AH, WH-AH, WH-AAAAAAH!"
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Dream So Real
In a dream I was gathered with my family in a pleasant room in a nursing home, amber walls with flowers on the table. We were resigned that there was nothing left to do there and were comforting our Mother while my Father stood off to the side, wearing his signature newbuck jacket and favorite beret, looking at the doorway, ready to go home.
In reality my Father was my hero and role model. He taught me to be confident in myself and respectful of others while always maintaining a positive outlook on life. As a father he would never micro-manage, but would simply instill seeds for us to grow, to let us each blossom on our own.
When I was 5 or 6, he must have sensed my interest in bicycles. One of my fondest early memories was when he’d plop me on the on the handlebars of our English Cruiser and ride me around our block. I remember the rush of wind when we screamed down The Big Hill. Inspired by this shared experience, I took off my training wheels and soon set The Record for riding around the block at maybe 33, but I fear an obsessive 100 laps.
Always a man of action, Dad had the uncommon sense for doing the right thing. I witnessed this as an eight year old while traveling with family in a foreign country. A woman had been involved in an accident and lay bloodied in the street. Without hesitating, Dad rushed to the scene to tender aid. In grade school I wanted to be a doctor like Dad, but my obsession with drawing and building models indicated a different track, which he unflinchingly supported. While I would not be saving lives, through architecture I strive to uplift people within their environment.
My Mother and Father had a wonderful 60-year marriage based on love and respect for each other and commitment to family. Now that I am about to be a father, I am starting to realize even more deeply his influence. My wife and I deeply wished that he would have had the chance to see our unborn son, but in our son we hope to see some of Dad.
In reality my Father was my hero and role model. He taught me to be confident in myself and respectful of others while always maintaining a positive outlook on life. As a father he would never micro-manage, but would simply instill seeds for us to grow, to let us each blossom on our own.
When I was 5 or 6, he must have sensed my interest in bicycles. One of my fondest early memories was when he’d plop me on the on the handlebars of our English Cruiser and ride me around our block. I remember the rush of wind when we screamed down The Big Hill. Inspired by this shared experience, I took off my training wheels and soon set The Record for riding around the block at maybe 33, but I fear an obsessive 100 laps.
Always a man of action, Dad had the uncommon sense for doing the right thing. I witnessed this as an eight year old while traveling with family in a foreign country. A woman had been involved in an accident and lay bloodied in the street. Without hesitating, Dad rushed to the scene to tender aid. In grade school I wanted to be a doctor like Dad, but my obsession with drawing and building models indicated a different track, which he unflinchingly supported. While I would not be saving lives, through architecture I strive to uplift people within their environment.
My Mother and Father had a wonderful 60-year marriage based on love and respect for each other and commitment to family. Now that I am about to be a father, I am starting to realize even more deeply his influence. My wife and I deeply wished that he would have had the chance to see our unborn son, but in our son we hope to see some of Dad.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Now Hear This
The Frogman made it out to The Sunday Ride but had to don my knee-high tourniquet, an egregious piece of fashion but an article that helps keep my anterior tibialis muscle attached to my shin bone. That's worth braving a comment or two (or ten). Many of my comrades took the opportunity to kindly quip, "Business casual-nice look", or "You're late for your meeting", while some recognized my attire and asked with concern, "What the F--- is wrong with you?!"
Talk this week has been all about the Capital Crescent Trail speed limit in Bethesda, a trail safety measure pointed at only on user: Cyclists. Yeah, make it "safer" by randomly posting a 15 mph sign to slow bikers down but ignore chastising the Oblivious-IPod-RollerBladers, or the Infinite-Ratchet-Leash-Dog-Walkers or the Random-180-degree-turn-Joggers. Word, that Washington Post article (too lazy to link and you've read it by now) says it targets the Lance Armstrong Wannbees, but if pulled over at least I can still produce an active USA Cycling License and you'd never catch me sucking face with an Olson Twin (Either One!)
So stop writing blogs and write to the Editors and make this injustice heard, or we'll be chased off the paths as well as the roads. Why, just the other evening (Not the one where the winds were doing a "Surrender Dorothy", Kansas style) I was on a Trek down Persimmon Tree Road where a pubescent pig-tailed punk in an aggressively passing Ford Exploiter or Exhibition or Excretion or whatever you call them, yells "Sidewalk!"
Right. Let's do the math. If I'm humming along at 26 mph and the speed limit on sidewalks is 15 mph, then that would be like driving on a highway posting double-nickels at 91 mph! Some would call that "aggressive". So we're not welcome on the trails and too often threatened on the roads. It is our right, but one we have to fight for. Get out and prove a point by riding responsively and don't worry about what anyone calls to you.
You know, in retrospect maybe she was actually yelling "Nice sock!"
Talk this week has been all about the Capital Crescent Trail speed limit in Bethesda, a trail safety measure pointed at only on user: Cyclists. Yeah, make it "safer" by randomly posting a 15 mph sign to slow bikers down but ignore chastising the Oblivious-IPod-RollerBladers, or the Infinite-Ratchet-Leash-Dog-Walkers or the Random-180-degree-turn-Joggers. Word, that Washington Post article (too lazy to link and you've read it by now) says it targets the Lance Armstrong Wannbees, but if pulled over at least I can still produce an active USA Cycling License and you'd never catch me sucking face with an Olson Twin (Either One!)
So stop writing blogs and write to the Editors and make this injustice heard, or we'll be chased off the paths as well as the roads. Why, just the other evening (Not the one where the winds were doing a "Surrender Dorothy", Kansas style) I was on a Trek down Persimmon Tree Road where a pubescent pig-tailed punk in an aggressively passing Ford Exploiter or Exhibition or Excretion or whatever you call them, yells "Sidewalk!"
Right. Let's do the math. If I'm humming along at 26 mph and the speed limit on sidewalks is 15 mph, then that would be like driving on a highway posting double-nickels at 91 mph! Some would call that "aggressive". So we're not welcome on the trails and too often threatened on the roads. It is our right, but one we have to fight for. Get out and prove a point by riding responsively and don't worry about what anyone calls to you.
You know, in retrospect maybe she was actually yelling "Nice sock!"
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Bike 2 Work
Bike to Work Week.
A romantic notion that crashes into the reality of meetings, weather and family obligations that comprise the usual rash of excuses which leaves one stuck in a car reading the same tired old bumper stickers like "01.20.09", "Envision Whirled Peas", "I may be slow but I'm ahead of you" or "Stop Continental Drift". Screw That. I had a meeting in the deep south, like in Fairfax County, so I hitched a ride with the wife to Alexandria and then biked the remaining 14 miles to my jobsite near Mt. Vernon, did the meeting then back to the office in Bethesda and then home. 52 miles and hardly saw a car.
One forgets how well endowed our trails are when tears roll out our eyes while screaming down River Road, but if you slow down for a change there are treats along the way, even in Virginia! The GW Parkway Trail hugs the Potomac (slightly flooded during my foray) offering marsh & river views, battlements like Fort Washington & Fort Hunt, colonial charm of Old Town, the industrial brute of Mirant mountaintop-scraping coal-fired power plant, adrenalin pumping game of Chicken with the incoming planes to Washington National (last time I checked we did not live in Reagan, DC) at Gravelly Point, vertigo inducing panoramas atop the Key Bridge and the Rail-to-Trail along the historic C&O Canal up to my work destination.
How could such a trek be better rewarded than by finding my place atop the podium as bike Commuter of the Day in the company of none other than Miss Maryland, USA! Yes it's a tough job but I chose to do it in an effort to save all those other lost souls who need to enjoy cycling at whatever level one partakes. I may be another month away from healing my poor anterior tibialis into racing shape, but at any speed we can take pleasure of being responsible commuters, riding to improve our health and suspend denuding our earth, and read about interesting people under bridges like "Borf" or "Cool Disco Dan" instead of the elementary school Honor Roll while ingesting bong hits of CO2.
The weather could suck. There might be a meeting. A spouse may be waiting. Fugettaboutit. Repeat the mantra:
Work to Eat
Eat to Live
Live to Bike
Bike to Work
BPVC Proverb
A romantic notion that crashes into the reality of meetings, weather and family obligations that comprise the usual rash of excuses which leaves one stuck in a car reading the same tired old bumper stickers like "01.20.09", "Envision Whirled Peas", "I may be slow but I'm ahead of you" or "Stop Continental Drift". Screw That. I had a meeting in the deep south, like in Fairfax County, so I hitched a ride with the wife to Alexandria and then biked the remaining 14 miles to my jobsite near Mt. Vernon, did the meeting then back to the office in Bethesda and then home. 52 miles and hardly saw a car.
One forgets how well endowed our trails are when tears roll out our eyes while screaming down River Road, but if you slow down for a change there are treats along the way, even in Virginia! The GW Parkway Trail hugs the Potomac (slightly flooded during my foray) offering marsh & river views, battlements like Fort Washington & Fort Hunt, colonial charm of Old Town, the industrial brute of Mirant mountaintop-scraping coal-fired power plant, adrenalin pumping game of Chicken with the incoming planes to Washington National (last time I checked we did not live in Reagan, DC) at Gravelly Point, vertigo inducing panoramas atop the Key Bridge and the Rail-to-Trail along the historic C&O Canal up to my work destination.
How could such a trek be better rewarded than by finding my place atop the podium as bike Commuter of the Day in the company of none other than Miss Maryland, USA! Yes it's a tough job but I chose to do it in an effort to save all those other lost souls who need to enjoy cycling at whatever level one partakes. I may be another month away from healing my poor anterior tibialis into racing shape, but at any speed we can take pleasure of being responsible commuters, riding to improve our health and suspend denuding our earth, and read about interesting people under bridges like "Borf" or "Cool Disco Dan" instead of the elementary school Honor Roll while ingesting bong hits of CO2.
The weather could suck. There might be a meeting. A spouse may be waiting. Fugettaboutit. Repeat the mantra:
Work to Eat
Eat to Live
Live to Bike
Bike to Work
BPVC Proverb
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Hosed!
After over a month of whining about my shin split tendinitis anterior tibialis muscle strain, the most scruitinzed phisical condition to hit Washington since Gilbert Arenas' bruised knee or Joe Theisman's snapped leg or Bill Clinton's bent, uh, well, anyway today it felt pretty good, taking me on a pain-free commute in (6.25 miles) and home (15 miles), over the hills and far away (like the Led Zeppelin song), but I only did Anglers and let's face it, 21 miles is not too far.
Speaking of whining, my "Buddies" decided to record my tepid return to riding by posting same Frogman with the compression sock (old-man hosiery) prescribed by my P.T. Now you're thinking that a self-respecting cyclist with any sense of style would do the smart thing and stay home or ride on the sidewalk where this fashion attrocity wouldn't be noticed by anyone who mattered.
But I didn't.
In fact I grabbed anything green to announce that I Am Back and by next week ready to take a pull or maybe not get dropped on River. Ambitious? You decide when I rip somebody's legs off besides my own.
Speaking of whining, my "Buddies" decided to record my tepid return to riding by posting same Frogman with the compression sock (old-man hosiery) prescribed by my P.T. Now you're thinking that a self-respecting cyclist with any sense of style would do the smart thing and stay home or ride on the sidewalk where this fashion attrocity wouldn't be noticed by anyone who mattered.
But I didn't.
In fact I grabbed anything green to announce that I Am Back and by next week ready to take a pull or maybe not get dropped on River. Ambitious? You decide when I rip somebody's legs off besides my own.
Friday, May 2, 2008
P.T. Cruiser
So I'm walking gingerly back from my Physical Therapy session when I see - OH, first about my P.T.: My anterior tibialis was getting no better for like 4 weeks until I started my visits and between Western electrical stimulation, ultrasound, compression to the point of mummification and later Eastern fascia alignment, energy points and spinal massage earning positive results enough to take a 16 mile ride along MacArthur & Persimmon Tree with only a dull throb to remind me to take it easy. Since it essentially feels like a shin splint, I've been thinking about how to seriously cross train including running on my flat frog feet to strengthen those regions. How? I have no idea.
Flashback to walking back from PT when I glance into the patio of the Harp & Fiddle when I see an old architecture colleague chatting it up with a couple of babes (attractive women). We order more Guinness and catch up only to find out that he has completely bagged his architectural career in favor of Personal Training (PT)! He's totally into it and assures me he won't look back. I'm totally wondering if he'd set me up with a recovery program.
A serendipitous encounter for sure.
It takes a lot of cajones to go through one of the most gruelling graduate programs only to practice for 5 years and turn your back on the whole thing, even while still paying your student loans! But I respect the resolve to make the decision and confidently move on. I know it's the right thing for him, and a good PT may be the right thing for me.
Flashback to walking back from PT when I glance into the patio of the Harp & Fiddle when I see an old architecture colleague chatting it up with a couple of babes (attractive women). We order more Guinness and catch up only to find out that he has completely bagged his architectural career in favor of Personal Training (PT)! He's totally into it and assures me he won't look back. I'm totally wondering if he'd set me up with a recovery program.
A serendipitous encounter for sure.
It takes a lot of cajones to go through one of the most gruelling graduate programs only to practice for 5 years and turn your back on the whole thing, even while still paying your student loans! But I respect the resolve to make the decision and confidently move on. I know it's the right thing for him, and a good PT may be the right thing for me.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Double Whammy
Alas, Spring.
Contrary to the common notion that spring is the beginning of new life, happy with birds chirping and gay with bees doing their thing and thought of positively by Thoreau, to me they are dark days, a teasing season to be endured and held off like Odysseus's' sirens, for all that is green may as well be Kryptonite for to me it is only allergy season and it cannot end too soon.
Sure there are some drugs out there that can mask symptoms or overcompensate and leave one dry as a scone often while bringing early onset senility or an inebriation that won't wear off. I won't take them (I also won't take some other drugs which may be why I only have a few top 10 finishes to my name, but I digress). Normally the most effective elixir is the adrenaline pumped during and long after a hard ride. My sinus' get blown out and the natural endorphins keep me cleaned out and so there, I beat back the spring dragon and ride triumphantly into the sunset/garage.
'08 has dealt me a cruel hand, however, as previously posted I have wrecked havoc to my anterior tibialis and as a result have not been able to partake in the activity which is the basis for this blog (As "The Dude" would say: "That's a bummer, Man" and he'd be correct). Oils, creams, massages have so far only inflamed, and a regimen of ultrasound and Yogi stretching are in the next round.
People who know Frogman will say he's not a complainer*, so I can only hope for the promise of Physical Therapy's healing benefits of and the rain which washes the air of the ill humors to pull me out of this equinoctial abyss, for now I am unable to do it on my own. Without becomming maudlin, this is one of those times to reflect and count your blessings and think about those who have been more seriously afflicted and have come back or, more inspiring, carried on in the face of far darker prospects.
As Ah-nold would say, I'll be baaack!"
*Except about muscle tears, lacerations, road rash, burns, burrs, blood, boils, bunched chamois, locusts; ice, sleet, hail, rain, darkness, drought, murrain, flies, frogs (!); pot holes, groomed asphalt, soft shoulders, Jersey Walls, Jersey Girls, Girls Gone Wild, punctures; Trade Zone, testosterone, iphone, phone home, homophobe, EPO, ELO, ELP, XTC (for never touring!), THC, HC, ANSI; W, WWM?, Double Whammies.
Contrary to the common notion that spring is the beginning of new life, happy with birds chirping and gay with bees doing their thing and thought of positively by Thoreau, to me they are dark days, a teasing season to be endured and held off like Odysseus's' sirens, for all that is green may as well be Kryptonite for to me it is only allergy season and it cannot end too soon.
Sure there are some drugs out there that can mask symptoms or overcompensate and leave one dry as a scone often while bringing early onset senility or an inebriation that won't wear off. I won't take them (I also won't take some other drugs which may be why I only have a few top 10 finishes to my name, but I digress). Normally the most effective elixir is the adrenaline pumped during and long after a hard ride. My sinus' get blown out and the natural endorphins keep me cleaned out and so there, I beat back the spring dragon and ride triumphantly into the sunset/garage.
'08 has dealt me a cruel hand, however, as previously posted I have wrecked havoc to my anterior tibialis and as a result have not been able to partake in the activity which is the basis for this blog (As "The Dude" would say: "That's a bummer, Man" and he'd be correct). Oils, creams, massages have so far only inflamed, and a regimen of ultrasound and Yogi stretching are in the next round.
People who know Frogman will say he's not a complainer*, so I can only hope for the promise of Physical Therapy's healing benefits of and the rain which washes the air of the ill humors to pull me out of this equinoctial abyss, for now I am unable to do it on my own. Without becomming maudlin, this is one of those times to reflect and count your blessings and think about those who have been more seriously afflicted and have come back or, more inspiring, carried on in the face of far darker prospects.
As Ah-nold would say, I'll be baaack!"
*Except about muscle tears, lacerations, road rash, burns, burrs, blood, boils, bunched chamois, locusts; ice, sleet, hail, rain, darkness, drought, murrain, flies, frogs (!); pot holes, groomed asphalt, soft shoulders, Jersey Walls, Jersey Girls, Girls Gone Wild, punctures; Trade Zone, testosterone, iphone, phone home, homophobe, EPO, ELO, ELP, XTC (for never touring!), THC, HC, ANSI; W, WWM?, Double Whammies.
Are Bicycles better than Women?
This little tidbit of levity came by way of a non-cycling and younger work colleague, and while these opinions expressed are not necessarily my own, it's good to know that other people out there in cyberspace are talking about bicycles. Or is it women?
1. You can ride your bicycle any time of the month.
2. Bicycles don't whine unless something is really wrong.
3. You can share your bicycles with your friends.
4. Bicycles don't care how many other bicycles you've ridden.
5. When riding, you and your bicycle can arrive at the same time.
6. Bicycles don't care how many other bicycles you have now.
7. Bicycles don't care if you look at other bicycles.
8. Bicycles don't care if you buy bicycle magazines.
9. You'll never hear, "Suprise, you're goning to own a new bicycle" unless you go out and buy one yourself.
10. If your bicycle goes flat, you can fix it.
11. If your bicycle is too loose, you can tighten it.
12. If your bicycle gets misaligned, you don't have to discuss politics with it.
13. You don't have to be jealous of the guy who works on your bicycle.
14. If you say bad things to your bicycle, you don't have to apologize before you ride it again.
15. You can ride your bicycle as long as you want and it wont get sore.
16. You can stop riding your bicycle as soon as you want and it wont get frustrated.
17. Your parents wont remain in touch with your old bicycle after you dump it.
18. Bicycles don't insult you if you're a bad rider.
19. Your bicyle never wants a night out with other bicycles.
20. Bicycles don't care if you're late.
21. You don't have to take a shower before you ride your bicycle.
22. If your bicycle doesn't look good, you can paint it or get better parts.
23. You can ride your bicycle the first time you meet it without having to take it to dinner, see a movie, or meet its mother.
24. The only protection you need to wear when riding your bicycle is a decent helment.
25. When in mixed company, you can talk about what a great ride you had the last time you were on your bicycle.
However, you can't ride your bicycle with a bum shin!
1. You can ride your bicycle any time of the month.
2. Bicycles don't whine unless something is really wrong.
3. You can share your bicycles with your friends.
4. Bicycles don't care how many other bicycles you've ridden.
5. When riding, you and your bicycle can arrive at the same time.
6. Bicycles don't care how many other bicycles you have now.
7. Bicycles don't care if you look at other bicycles.
8. Bicycles don't care if you buy bicycle magazines.
9. You'll never hear, "Suprise, you're goning to own a new bicycle" unless you go out and buy one yourself.
10. If your bicycle goes flat, you can fix it.
11. If your bicycle is too loose, you can tighten it.
12. If your bicycle gets misaligned, you don't have to discuss politics with it.
13. You don't have to be jealous of the guy who works on your bicycle.
14. If you say bad things to your bicycle, you don't have to apologize before you ride it again.
15. You can ride your bicycle as long as you want and it wont get sore.
16. You can stop riding your bicycle as soon as you want and it wont get frustrated.
17. Your parents wont remain in touch with your old bicycle after you dump it.
18. Bicycles don't insult you if you're a bad rider.
19. Your bicyle never wants a night out with other bicycles.
20. Bicycles don't care if you're late.
21. You don't have to take a shower before you ride your bicycle.
22. If your bicycle doesn't look good, you can paint it or get better parts.
23. You can ride your bicycle the first time you meet it without having to take it to dinner, see a movie, or meet its mother.
24. The only protection you need to wear when riding your bicycle is a decent helment.
25. When in mixed company, you can talk about what a great ride you had the last time you were on your bicycle.
However, you can't ride your bicycle with a bum shin!
Monday, March 31, 2008
Canal Commute
A day off the bike gives me time to reflect on the richness of the lives of Cyclists. Right after our early ascent to Daylight Savings Time I took the ol' Steel Wheeler onto the CCT for my regular commute home, but with extra time and daylight I extended my trek down to the C&O Canal. While I knew 99.9% of the commuters where in their steel coffins or Metro sardines, I was free to choose my course and it took me along the swollen shores of the Potomac where canada geese honked to their flock ("Nice pull...on your left") and mallard ducks by the score peacefully foraged the muck of the canal bottom for a tasty treat of what must be like duck gu.
Plying the path past the locks and abandoned keeper's houses removes ones mind from our harried modern lives, allowing us to cash in on a mid-week respite replete with raptors and heron confident atop their aviary fraternities, painted against a sunset canvas amidst the aural backwash of the churning river.
Next commute I want to catch the Goon Ride and rip some legs off.
Plying the path past the locks and abandoned keeper's houses removes ones mind from our harried modern lives, allowing us to cash in on a mid-week respite replete with raptors and heron confident atop their aviary fraternities, painted against a sunset canvas amidst the aural backwash of the churning river.
Next commute I want to catch the Goon Ride and rip some legs off.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Splintered!
Just as the trifecta of cardio fitness, muscle strength and confidence were coming together after a series of challenging rides, I fear that the ol' frogster has succumbed to the crouching tiger (or is it hidden dragon?) of fitness: Injury.
Gamefully chasing my N2 Comrades after just missing the catch at 7-Locks/Tilden, my legs were becoming increasingly heavy like a wet Sunday paper. By time we regrouped and made our way out to Poolesville, the pain became acute as my right shin tightened up like a mooring knot. Now I've got it up and on ice like an old frog ready to croak. I use "like" more than a gum-smackin' teenager.
Shin splint was my first diagnosis. "Don't runners get that?" you may ask. Well yeah, but it can also come from repetitive and intense exertion (check). "The Frogman is flat-footed. Could that contribute?" Good question, because it can. Trouble is that FF puts more stress on the inside of the tibia, whereas my pain is just outside the shinbone. "Sounds like it could be tendinitis. Ever think of that, huh?" Hmmm, I've had that before after digging fence posts in the dry mid-summer clay of my old side yard. That Sucked! It was weeks of pain, stretching while trying to take it easy. It was hard. "Is this that?" I'm an architect, not a sport medicine guy. Tendinits in that region is typically between the kneecap and shin (patellar tendinitis), however, so maybe not. Either way, it is a tear and/or inflamation and must heal fast as I'm expected to represent BPVC at Walkersville and Tysons next weekend. "Will it heal in time for you to be rady?". Well, we just don't know now, do we...
Gamefully chasing my N2 Comrades after just missing the catch at 7-Locks/Tilden, my legs were becoming increasingly heavy like a wet Sunday paper. By time we regrouped and made our way out to Poolesville, the pain became acute as my right shin tightened up like a mooring knot. Now I've got it up and on ice like an old frog ready to croak. I use "like" more than a gum-smackin' teenager.
Shin splint was my first diagnosis. "Don't runners get that?" you may ask. Well yeah, but it can also come from repetitive and intense exertion (check). "The Frogman is flat-footed. Could that contribute?" Good question, because it can. Trouble is that FF puts more stress on the inside of the tibia, whereas my pain is just outside the shinbone. "Sounds like it could be tendinitis. Ever think of that, huh?" Hmmm, I've had that before after digging fence posts in the dry mid-summer clay of my old side yard. That Sucked! It was weeks of pain, stretching while trying to take it easy. It was hard. "Is this that?" I'm an architect, not a sport medicine guy. Tendinits in that region is typically between the kneecap and shin (patellar tendinitis), however, so maybe not. Either way, it is a tear and/or inflamation and must heal fast as I'm expected to represent BPVC at Walkersville and Tysons next weekend. "Will it heal in time for you to be rady?". Well, we just don't know now, do we...
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Thrashed!
A big weekend for the ol' Frogster, starting with my first foray with the already legendary R. Thrasher Ride, the 12:30 PM affair that leads afar into Potomac unless it doesn't. Figuring that
I'd get my feet wet on the advertised "Easy" Friday ride, plus not being currently swamped at my Bethesda job, and some sunshine, was all I needed to get changed in the car and meet up for some leg stretching.
I caught the group of about a dozen past the start (they leave on time) and we took Bradley out to Kentsdale and made a left at the end towards River. Feeling acclimated I took a pull on the rollers, but the pace, which had me a bit winded, took it up another notch and instead of sitting in I was fighting to hold a wheel. By time we hit Persimmon Tree I was watching them pull away as I tried to cheat the March winds and finished my outing with a long but satisfying TT.
Quickly changing and returning to my desk, I didn't bother with a shower let alone a helmet hair check (just got them sheared!). A colleague kindly pointed to my check which was caked in snot. Er, thanks, I guess I will wash up...
Putting the ignominy of Friday behind for the N2, I rode with The Most Friendly Group Ride Ever on the typical route, but somehow found new confidence even after being b*tched by the Big Boys by staying at the front and surviving on hills where in February I had just blown up. Matching pulls with James P, the John M's and the KMasterK on the return gave me confidence that BPVC will be doing some real race representin' this season (Ray Man already has, though will likely not be long for the 4's). We fed off each other and it was a tasty treat.
SO around come Sunday's 8:30 Ride and my legs felt like taught rubber bands. I resolved to go hard again but not long, aiming to train for the upcoming Walkersville/Tysons racing weekend. I took my share of hefty pulls and sparred with James and oscotto at the front. On Oaklyn, feeling strong and leading our group on a blast down the road, I thought a car was overtaking me only yo see it was Nick B. who had long ago dropped the "A" group. Perspective.
FWIW, Brian B of My Building pulled up to ask me how I liked the Thrashing, but added that they decided it had not been an "easy" day after all. Indeed...
I'd get my feet wet on the advertised "Easy" Friday ride, plus not being currently swamped at my Bethesda job, and some sunshine, was all I needed to get changed in the car and meet up for some leg stretching.
I caught the group of about a dozen past the start (they leave on time) and we took Bradley out to Kentsdale and made a left at the end towards River. Feeling acclimated I took a pull on the rollers, but the pace, which had me a bit winded, took it up another notch and instead of sitting in I was fighting to hold a wheel. By time we hit Persimmon Tree I was watching them pull away as I tried to cheat the March winds and finished my outing with a long but satisfying TT.
Quickly changing and returning to my desk, I didn't bother with a shower let alone a helmet hair check (just got them sheared!). A colleague kindly pointed to my check which was caked in snot. Er, thanks, I guess I will wash up...
Putting the ignominy of Friday behind for the N2, I rode with The Most Friendly Group Ride Ever on the typical route, but somehow found new confidence even after being b*tched by the Big Boys by staying at the front and surviving on hills where in February I had just blown up. Matching pulls with James P, the John M's and the KMasterK on the return gave me confidence that BPVC will be doing some real race representin' this season (Ray Man already has, though will likely not be long for the 4's). We fed off each other and it was a tasty treat.
SO around come Sunday's 8:30 Ride and my legs felt like taught rubber bands. I resolved to go hard again but not long, aiming to train for the upcoming Walkersville/Tysons racing weekend. I took my share of hefty pulls and sparred with James and oscotto at the front. On Oaklyn, feeling strong and leading our group on a blast down the road, I thought a car was overtaking me only yo see it was Nick B. who had long ago dropped the "A" group. Perspective.
FWIW, Brian B of My Building pulled up to ask me how I liked the Thrashing, but added that they decided it had not been an "easy" day after all. Indeed...
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
PC stands for Piece of C***
I'm sure you, My Public, have been wondering if Frogman had hopped away from his blog responsibilities. Well Yes, but only because my twice-rebuilt, recently updated, AVG protected "Personal Computer" had a motherboard crash that sent the hard drive into a non-responsive safe mode akin to a high-tech spy satellite (recently shot out of the sky). It can only be rescued in autopsy, cannibalized for it's precious drafting files of our house and the germ of it's addition.
To err is human, alas it takes a computer to F' Up Big Time.
So I've been otherwise occupied, but found that the latest Leopard operating system on Mac's allow you to partition the hard drive through Boot Camp and load Windows on any Intel Apple. Best of both worlds! I went for this approach since we don't need Windows and OSX to talk to each other and I was wary of Parallels slowing down my drafting program. This way they both operate in their native environment and I can forget building up another Piece of Crap.
Anyone need a monitor the size of a couch?
There's still work to be done as I've got two weeks of constipated Power Tap files to dump and will have to re-protect the Windows side of the Mac. I am happy to get Windows running, but feel blasphemous, tarnishing the pristine beauty and elegance of an Apple with the clumsy and sickly Microsoft alien. Once under control I can focus on more important things like the house design and Trade Zone.
To err is human, alas it takes a computer to F' Up Big Time.
So I've been otherwise occupied, but found that the latest Leopard operating system on Mac's allow you to partition the hard drive through Boot Camp and load Windows on any Intel Apple. Best of both worlds! I went for this approach since we don't need Windows and OSX to talk to each other and I was wary of Parallels slowing down my drafting program. This way they both operate in their native environment and I can forget building up another Piece of Crap.
Anyone need a monitor the size of a couch?
There's still work to be done as I've got two weeks of constipated Power Tap files to dump and will have to re-protect the Windows side of the Mac. I am happy to get Windows running, but feel blasphemous, tarnishing the pristine beauty and elegance of an Apple with the clumsy and sickly Microsoft alien. Once under control I can focus on more important things like the house design and Trade Zone.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Back in the Saddle
Finally a weekend where I got two rides in! Saturday was brutal as the cobwebs and moist chill left the ol' FM feeling creaky (in lieu of croaky). A late start meant the N2 should have passed my rendezvous at 7Locks & Tuckerman, but miraculously (for me) they were passing through only about a minute ahead, but the "miracle" was thanks to three riders going down in the early morning black ice of RCP. All staunchly stuck it out to do abbreviated rides.
Energized by the catch, I did my typical attack down Glen to get the blood flowing, but the long rollers and a feeling that something was fishy in last nights sushi compelled me to abandon the ride to Poolesville and convalesce home on the regular River Road Route with Phil P and Greg C who was the Fire to the Poolesville Pan. No matter, a crappy day on the bike beats a good day doing most anything else.
Sunday Bicycle Place Ride - my first in like two months! Another late start as I barely caught the back end of the ride as it turned up Massachusetts, worked my way up but we were gapped by the A's. I was looking to do the A- (the old shop course with Whoever would be With Me) but was resigned to lead the B's (not that there's anything wrong with that), taking strong pulls in the slow (but steady!) Clara Barton paceline and then only getting passed by those skinny climbers up Mt. Gate (Note to Self: Work Your Fat @ss).
Brickyard was a clinic of Anger Management. Where was Anglers? How about Great Falls?
I cranked it up and dared others to work, pulling the entire group with only a short breather before cracking the whip down Falls and overtaking a chatting Adam F & Ray Man who quickly joined the fray. Tempo was now up, Game On! It may be February but that's a fine time to do some quad ripping, heart pounding (Power Tap registered null), barn storming, nostril blaring, snot seething, uh, rides.
I rested on Bradley but then had a heckuva lot of traffic to navigate to get into position for Democracy. I did, getting on the wheel of two big guns who led out and left me space for the final attack, but out of nowhere Miguel (Little Mig) comes around and pounced, taking the field sprint ahead of me and Kevin's Dad.
By time we got into the Park, where a rather large contingency took on the Extra Ten, I was fighting some mighty quad cramps (see above), unable to finish strong up the last of the days' hills. 12 more miles to home and I almost collapsed by Chevy Chase Elem., completely bonked.
(Insert Aerosmith's "Back in the Saddle Again" here).
Energized by the catch, I did my typical attack down Glen to get the blood flowing, but the long rollers and a feeling that something was fishy in last nights sushi compelled me to abandon the ride to Poolesville and convalesce home on the regular River Road Route with Phil P and Greg C who was the Fire to the Poolesville Pan. No matter, a crappy day on the bike beats a good day doing most anything else.
Sunday Bicycle Place Ride - my first in like two months! Another late start as I barely caught the back end of the ride as it turned up Massachusetts, worked my way up but we were gapped by the A's. I was looking to do the A- (the old shop course with Whoever would be With Me) but was resigned to lead the B's (not that there's anything wrong with that), taking strong pulls in the slow (but steady!) Clara Barton paceline and then only getting passed by those skinny climbers up Mt. Gate (Note to Self: Work Your Fat @ss).
Brickyard was a clinic of Anger Management. Where was Anglers? How about Great Falls?
I cranked it up and dared others to work, pulling the entire group with only a short breather before cracking the whip down Falls and overtaking a chatting Adam F & Ray Man who quickly joined the fray. Tempo was now up, Game On! It may be February but that's a fine time to do some quad ripping, heart pounding (Power Tap registered null), barn storming, nostril blaring, snot seething, uh, rides.
I rested on Bradley but then had a heckuva lot of traffic to navigate to get into position for Democracy. I did, getting on the wheel of two big guns who led out and left me space for the final attack, but out of nowhere Miguel (Little Mig) comes around and pounced, taking the field sprint ahead of me and Kevin's Dad.
By time we got into the Park, where a rather large contingency took on the Extra Ten, I was fighting some mighty quad cramps (see above), unable to finish strong up the last of the days' hills. 12 more miles to home and I almost collapsed by Chevy Chase Elem., completely bonked.
(Insert Aerosmith's "Back in the Saddle Again" here).
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Winter Shape
People are always coming up to me and asking, "Frogman, pray tell the secrets of keeping in your winter shape". "Well," I respond, "It's not as hard as it looks and no good secret is fun unless shared. It starts with not having the time to go on lunchtime hill rides like many of my brethren, eating energy bars as sustenance when skipping meals, designing an affordable house addition when I can barely afford the house, tempered by hitting the weight room for strengthening and resistance training, long hikes, rowing & cycling machines while cranking the Gorillaz and getting back on the N2 ride where I am the King of Democracy" (proclaimed with just enough irony).
"Word on the street is you do Pilates II classes."
"Don't bore me with your old news. Maybe I occasionally hit the mat in the morning, if it's convenient. Man, that stuff kills your gut, what with The Saw, Neck Pulls, Spine Twist, Teaser Camp (tee hee) and, Oh My G_D (OMG), the Bicycle! Come January, I don't need it. Comfort Food, Baby!"
"Yeah, but do your secrets work?"
"Can't say, as I avoid all mirrors until April. Can't seem to read a scale either, LOL. What I like is the spring rebound, having left lots of room for improvement. IOW, sweetening the deal like make-up sex (MUS).
"Um, thanks. Your secret is safe with me..."
"Word on the street is you do Pilates II classes."
"Don't bore me with your old news. Maybe I occasionally hit the mat in the morning, if it's convenient. Man, that stuff kills your gut, what with The Saw, Neck Pulls, Spine Twist, Teaser Camp (tee hee) and, Oh My G_D (OMG), the Bicycle! Come January, I don't need it. Comfort Food, Baby!"
"Yeah, but do your secrets work?"
"Can't say, as I avoid all mirrors until April. Can't seem to read a scale either, LOL. What I like is the spring rebound, having left lots of room for improvement. IOW, sweetening the deal like make-up sex (MUS).
"Um, thanks. Your secret is safe with me..."
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Shake it Up
What's in a dream? Have they ever been so vivid that you feel yourself thinking they're real, even during an impossible peregrination from the mundane to the fantastic?
My wife and I went to The Bicycle Place where many familiar faces from the cycling community were gathering for a long bike tour, like to the end of the Canal, except I didn't recognize any of the names along the route. As we assembled to go , there was a lot of activity in The Shop where Mike's family (more grown up) were playing around the stairway which had a wobbly railing that an older Brock commented on being "a loose Bannister Fletcher", which made me laugh because the pun referred to the classic architectural encyclopedia. Clever kid. Downstairs were youngsters assembling, like, three different Titanic puzzles. A narrative in my head explained how the doomed ships' boilers kept fireing even as they settled into the sea (not entirely accurate)...
But then we were in the tour van, having a good time; The Car's were on the radio playing "Shake it Up" while the guy next to me, who looked exactly like the Terps' Bambale Osby, was singing the chorus, "Do do doo" (unlikely) when discussion led to this guy who wrote an amazing book about proportions and beauty and how he was inspired from the view from his hillside cave, coming into view so blindingly bright like the white cliffs of Dover and then I morphed into him and saw for myself the most fantastical urbanscape of buildings and temples with spires and gilded domes rising up out of the landscape that stretched across the horizon before me... then my step-mother-in-law took back the book as she is wont to do, though oddly the binding changed into the color and consistency of molasses as it ended up in one of my neighbors' hands...
It was time to resume the tour as our group tromped down a long staircase to street level which consisted of a network of canals. Barracuda-sized fish raced along these channels and I followed one as fast as I could, barely keeping up with it and the voice of our tour guide who was explaining everything so authoritatively with his British accent and of course it all made perfect sense at the time... but then I was moving swiftly on rails, through a train yard passing freight cars overflowing with gray gravel under canvas tarps and surrounded by a bleak burned out city with block after block of hollow building shells of ochre and mustard. Where had that fantastic city gone?
Alarm clock said it was time to go to work.
My wife and I went to The Bicycle Place where many familiar faces from the cycling community were gathering for a long bike tour, like to the end of the Canal, except I didn't recognize any of the names along the route. As we assembled to go , there was a lot of activity in The Shop where Mike's family (more grown up) were playing around the stairway which had a wobbly railing that an older Brock commented on being "a loose Bannister Fletcher", which made me laugh because the pun referred to the classic architectural encyclopedia. Clever kid. Downstairs were youngsters assembling, like, three different Titanic puzzles. A narrative in my head explained how the doomed ships' boilers kept fireing even as they settled into the sea (not entirely accurate)...
But then we were in the tour van, having a good time; The Car's were on the radio playing "Shake it Up" while the guy next to me, who looked exactly like the Terps' Bambale Osby, was singing the chorus, "Do do doo" (unlikely) when discussion led to this guy who wrote an amazing book about proportions and beauty and how he was inspired from the view from his hillside cave, coming into view so blindingly bright like the white cliffs of Dover and then I morphed into him and saw for myself the most fantastical urbanscape of buildings and temples with spires and gilded domes rising up out of the landscape that stretched across the horizon before me... then my step-mother-in-law took back the book as she is wont to do, though oddly the binding changed into the color and consistency of molasses as it ended up in one of my neighbors' hands...
It was time to resume the tour as our group tromped down a long staircase to street level which consisted of a network of canals. Barracuda-sized fish raced along these channels and I followed one as fast as I could, barely keeping up with it and the voice of our tour guide who was explaining everything so authoritatively with his British accent and of course it all made perfect sense at the time... but then I was moving swiftly on rails, through a train yard passing freight cars overflowing with gray gravel under canvas tarps and surrounded by a bleak burned out city with block after block of hollow building shells of ochre and mustard. Where had that fantastic city gone?
Alarm clock said it was time to go to work.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Why Blog?
Dagwood says it all in this strip (see below) as time that should be spent drawing up my new house for an eventual addition gives way to the irresistible urge to blog. Am I looking for a forum to drop Big Lebowski quotes? No, that's what work is for. Do I want to be an internet superstar like Mark Malkoff, www.markmalkoff.com ? No, I won't even use my real name and the most important parts of my life will never be on this page, BUT true to my masthead, I DO want to share what it is that gets me on the bike most days, whether it's to ride to work, ride with my friends, be with my wife, race, do a group ride in a strange town or trek halfway across the country (that's about all I'm good for) and I will gladly promote those who share with me these experiences. SO, that's why I ask...Who's With Me?
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Save Us from Ourselves
In recent years being an architect has meant shifting our responsibilities to be, well, more responsible about what we build and how our buildings pollute our environment and consume precious resources. To set an example (and to release precious endorphins), I RODE the 16 miles to College Park to be a Carbon-Neutral example of how we can collectively reduce fossil fuel consumption, curb road congestion, save money, fight obesity and generally be better stewards of the earth. I'm not saying I am morally superior (you should have gotten that by now), but we can all make simple decisions like using compact fluorescent bulbs (CFL's) and biking to promote a healthier lifestyle for us all.
It was also telling that after riding through not-the-best cycling neighborhoods and passing through an extreme range of socio-demographics, my ride had been uneventful until crossing the One Lane Bridge on MacArthur when a gold Cadillac SUV gives me an annoyed HONK because I must have distracted this pampered person from enjoying their Skim-Choc-Frap-Latte while gabbing on the cell phone and getting 12 mpg. Well Excuuuuze ME! Seems like those with the most have an attitude to be the least likely to give anything up lest be inconvenienced (place Al Gore ad Here).
Anyway, our AIA meeting was thus inspired, even to where we turned the lights off seeing well enough in the natural light. We'll do our best to design smarter buildings and hope the world citizenry follows the lead to help save us from ourselves. On and off the bike I'll do my part. SO...
WWM?
(BTW, you can ride cross town on Wilson, Jones Bridge/Beach, Forest Glenn, Sligo, then Piney Branch to Adelphi or Erskine, Riggs, Cold Stream to Adelphi and get to UM on decent roads.)
It was also telling that after riding through not-the-best cycling neighborhoods and passing through an extreme range of socio-demographics, my ride had been uneventful until crossing the One Lane Bridge on MacArthur when a gold Cadillac SUV gives me an annoyed HONK because I must have distracted this pampered person from enjoying their Skim-Choc-Frap-Latte while gabbing on the cell phone and getting 12 mpg. Well Excuuuuze ME! Seems like those with the most have an attitude to be the least likely to give anything up lest be inconvenienced (place Al Gore ad Here).
Anyway, our AIA meeting was thus inspired, even to where we turned the lights off seeing well enough in the natural light. We'll do our best to design smarter buildings and hope the world citizenry follows the lead to help save us from ourselves. On and off the bike I'll do my part. SO...
WWM?
(BTW, you can ride cross town on Wilson, Jones Bridge/Beach, Forest Glenn, Sligo, then Piney Branch to Adelphi or Erskine, Riggs, Cold Stream to Adelphi and get to UM on decent roads.)
Friday, January 11, 2008
Desperate Daze
The elation that followed last Tuesday's Noon ride has quickly faded as I roll into the weekend with fear and trepidation that I may be faced with a dearth of Ride Time starting with commitments to the AIA, my professions organization (no, USAC hasn't invited me to go pro just yet) for our annual Board Retreat. Retreat into Fatness, I fear. Agendas. Programs. Champions. Motions (hardly).
If Lyin' Bob Ryan can generate some decent weather Sunday, then some of you will be with me on the Bicycle Place ride www.thebicycleplace.com For those of you living under a rock, this has become the preeminent ride in the DC area, eclipsing the fabled 10:00 and topping DC Velo's (because that's on Saturday). The resurgent N2 (no Name) Saturday ride is an honorable mention, favored by some, and frequented by This Guy, but alas not tomorrow. I'll be out there soon, and when I go I ask...
Who's With Me?
If Lyin' Bob Ryan can generate some decent weather Sunday, then some of you will be with me on the Bicycle Place ride www.thebicycleplace.com For those of you living under a rock, this has become the preeminent ride in the DC area, eclipsing the fabled 10:00 and topping DC Velo's (because that's on Saturday). The resurgent N2 (no Name) Saturday ride is an honorable mention, favored by some, and frequented by This Guy, but alas not tomorrow. I'll be out there soon, and when I go I ask...
Who's With Me?
Thursday, January 10, 2008
I Got the Fever
A little Spring fever going around these parts here in early January as I got a noon ride in with a half-dozen other earnest bikers, hitting some hills and feeling so good I didn't think twice about dropping my Boss. Funny, I had to work late again...
Welcome to my Blog!
Seeking a new outlet for thoughts, photos and your comments on the topic of the unbridled joy brought forth when one is unleashed upon their bike.
I'll keep it light with inane diatribes and plenty of eye candy since this is supposed to be fun. Some blogs are sooo serious and they don't even write good.
I'll keep it light with inane diatribes and plenty of eye candy since this is supposed to be fun. Some blogs are sooo serious and they don't even write good.
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