Coming Up Milhouse

Sundays and Tuesdays are my days off from wrenching at the shop, but that doesn’t keep me from waking early. For the past few weeks I’ve been consistently getting up around six or seven and enjoying more of the morning before the air has time to get really hot.

Today I had an early appointment with my orthopedic doctor to confirm that yes, it is time for the pins in my knee to come out, despite what Paula the receptionist thinks. The procedure is scheduled for some time this coming Thursday and it ought to be a much less severe operation than the insertion was.

Then on Friday I get to sign the lease and pick up the keys for my new apartment. After crashing on couches for three weeks it is going to be so nice to have a place of my own. The apartment is technically a single-bedroom cottage, but I’m not sure why. There will be plenty of room for bicycles, and perhaps even a couch for visiting friends.

I’ve been drawing again. Once I’m settled in my new place I’ll set up my scanner and try to share some.

Also, bikey-bike-bikey-bike, Cycloculture has an interview with Grant Peterson of Rivendell Bicycle Works that is very nice. Peterson has been making reasonable and elegant bicycles for years, and his insights into what makes a “high performance” bike, and what allows a bicycle to perform are interesting and, in my opinion, dead on.

Sorry I Said.

Now that the sun has gone down, with a mason jar full of water experiencing all kinds of phase shifts in my hand and a strong wi-fi signal, I feel pretty good.

There was a bit of a kerfuffle at work today. Usually it’s a rather peaceable environment, but today there was some tension over a customer who’s been a really good friend of mine since before I started working at the shop, but who has been ‘blacklisted’ from doing business with us for a few reasons. I’m in the fortunate position of being wedged between my friend and my job, and I try to steer clear of the issue when I can. From my point of view there has been a whole lot of miscommunication between parties who seem to have immutable unfavorable opinions of one another, and there doesn’t seem to be much I can do to ease the situation. This afternoon I was lambasted by a coworker for saying that both sides of the argument were acting like “babies”, I guess the discussion wasn’t as lighthearted as it felt. This sent me into a pretty sour mood for the rest of the afternoon.

From work I’ve got a pretty long walk to the house of the friend I’m staying with while waiting to move into my new apartment. This gives me plenty of time to playback what happened, what went wrong, and how I behaved. Despite completely disagreeing with my coworker’s divisive and argumentative approach to the situation, I found myself apologizing to them for what I said, it being what I felt.

I’m pretty good at getting myself out of bad moods though, and I was in better shape by the time I got home, I was also much sweatier. After a cooling swim in the creek and some rest in the shade things were looking up. What does it matter if I find myself offering apologies every time I face a conflict, or alone in trying to keep things amiable? I’m almost glad to be an apologist for getting along.

Also, as far as good news goes, I got my new bike (in progress, and gloss black), I should be able to move into my new place this weekend (hopefully), I’ve been exercising my bum leg by swimming upstream which feels great, and I’ve made a new muxtape for you to listen to (but the upstream connection here is weak sauce so you’ll just have to wait).

Secret Plans

Rapha is a very high-end and expensive brand of cycling apparel. I’m talking $100+ tee-shirts expensive. I first heard about Rapha through their Continental project on display at the 2008 North American Hand-built Bicycle Show. On top of their business of cycling-specific clothing they spread a very thick atmosphere of a specific branch off the bicycle culture tree. It’s the old school, Euro-styled, blood sweat tears, hard-man riding up the mountain of pain kind of cyclist that they are appealing to. Their marketing is very romantic, inspiring, classy, and often quite subtle, but it will always be corporate advertising.

Within this marketing there are quite obviously some things of value. For example, on the Continental site they have a collection of interviews and workshop photographs of eight independent frame builders who built the Rapha Continental team bikes. The builders featured are Ira Ryan, Tony Pereira, Richard Sachs, Chris Igleheart, Chris Bull & Brian Chapman of Circle A Cycles, the previous president of Independent Fabrications Matt Bracken, Jeremy & Jay Sycip of Sycip Bikes, and Stephen Bilenky.

I savor this quote from Richard Sachs’ interview:

What’s it like being a benchmark. Do you think you’ve inspired next-generation builders? The craft is exploding and enjoying such a robust resurgence. What’s that all about, what does it mean for you?

You want be a frame builder? You don’t have a freaking clue. You don’t ride a bike, or if you do, you don’t ride fast. Or a lot. Because if you do, you realize you’ve only made 2 frames. First of all, a bike is a freaking vehicle. And you’re going make one and sell it to somebody and hope that it stays together in traffic, next year, next decade, we’re not talking about macramé or glass blowing here. This is something you put out on the road.

I’m talking about a skill-set and experience, I made a lot of fucking frames to get to where I am. And I made a lot of fucking frames before even thinking about starting my own business. Because in my peer group you had to learn on a line, we didn’t have books or UBI’s. I don’t condemn books or UBI’s but even they would tell you only 2% of graduates make a living. Just because you take a frame-building course and actually make descent frames, it doesn’t mean that you’re capable of running a business.

You can’t be a doctor after taking a surgery crash course or by reading ‘Doctors for Dummies’. These people get some tubes and a jig and they think they’re instantly a frame builder. Well, they’re not. Not until they make 500 frames and show, after a decade or two, that they hold up. Frame building, in a way, is like Latin. Nobody speaks Latin, nobody likes Latin, except for scholars. Except for a few, like Sacha White of Vanilla, I can’t imagine which one of these new guys is going be here in 5 or 10 years.

I have a desire to build bicycle frames which I have filed under ‘Secret Plans’. When riding, fixing, and building bikes one comes to recognize various levels of quality. An inexpensive rear derailleur won’t shift as accurately, won’t adjust as easily, and won’t last as long as one made of better materials or of a more elegant design. The same can be said of frame construction and bicycle assembly, you’re likely to get out of these components and processes what you put into them. I believe I can find immense satisfaction in getting something great out of a bicycle because I put it there myself.

Still Waiting

After being told that my new apartment would be ready to move into by this past Friday, then this past monday, I’ve been informed that the previous tenant actually has until the 10th to clear out. They could be out of there sooner, but there is no guarantee. So I wait, gratefully crashing on couches in the meantime.

Sometime this week I’m also supposed to have the two metal pins extracted from my knee, thus freeing me to begin physical therapy. I told the doctor to schedule the removal for sometime this week, assuming the challenge of moving would be past by this point. They haven’t yet called to tell me when the minor operation can be done though, and so I wait impatiently.

I’m also waiting for good things. Yesterday at work I ordered a new bicycle frame, along with some components, to build up a touring/cyclocrosss/randonneuring bike. This will be the first new bike I’ve bought in years, and will allow me to pursue some styles of riding that I’ve been interested in for a while, once I regain the strength and flexibility to safely bend my knee. For those interested, I bought four and a half pounds of Tange Prestige heat-treated butted chrome-molybdenum steel in the form of a Soma Double Cross. The distributor I ordered from normally ships product to the shop in a day or two, and so I anxiously wait.

Moving Is Strange

There is very little left in my apartment. My laptop and some notebooks in a backpack, a weeks worth of clothes in another bag. Everything else I own is packed away in a storage unit across town. My other three room mates have already moved into their new places, taking almost everything with them. There are unclaimed dishes in the kitchen and cleaning supplies abound.

One of my room mates and I spent most of the day cleaning the apartment. Wiping a year of dust from the blades of ceiling fans, clearing windows of handprints, applying spackle to tack holes in walls, emptying the refrigerator and bleaching the bathrooms in an attempt to reclaim some small portion of our security deposit.

In the meantime my sleep schedule has rapidly decayed, despite the regularity of my work schedule. Not having a bed makes it easier to wake and harder to fall and stay asleep. There are few things I look forward to as much as having a bed of my own again.

The details of the place I’m moving into are a bit dubious, and yet I’m intermittently insouciant and worried about the reality of me moving in on Friday. I’ve heard the place described, and I’ve seen similar studio apartments in the area, but I haven’t yet visited the place where I plan to live. While the property manager has told me it would be ready to move into by the first, one of my co-workers who lives in the same group of apartments cautions that I may not be able to move in for another week and a half. I haven’t seen any sort of lease agreement yet, so at this point there is no guarantee of my tenancy.

But I’m not really that worried. I’m calm and I feel optimistic that things will fall into place in the next three days. I hope I’m not being naive.

Little Bits

  1. Had a doctor look at my knee for the first time in the nearly eight weeks since my surgery. Looks like the kneecap is stitching itself back together again, and it’s ready to have the two supporting pins removed. As soon as I get them out I can begin physical therapy again to restore flexibility and strength to my leg. If I was to try to bend my knee with the pins still in it, they would “shred the flesh”, as the doctor put it. Two little bastard steel toothpicks live in my leg, but not for long.
  2. Looks like I’ve almost secured a new apartment. My current lease ends next Wednesday and I’ll be able to start moving into the new place the following Friday, so it looks like some couch crashing will be in order. Slowly my belongings are getting boxed in preparation for brief storage and eventual moving into the new digs. I am looking forward to have a gas range, a garden, and a one bedroom apartment all to myself.
  3. Started listening to Andrew Jackson Jihad last night, very tasty. Kind of rude, kind of nasal and squawking, some kind of awesome. Brave As A Noun is obviously a very good song, but I think People II: The Reckoning is my favorite so far.

    So here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson
    People love you more, oh nevermind, oh nevermind
    In fucking fact, Mrs. Robinson
    The world won’t care whether you live or die, live or die
    In fucking fact, Mrs. Robinson,
    They probably hate to see your stupid face, your stupid face
    So here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson,
    You live in an unforgiving place.

  4. I think bicycle frame builders who blog and/or upload photos of frames-in-progress are hot. There are plenty of them on Flickr, including but not limited to Mike of ANT, COURAGE Bicycles, Jordan Hufnagel, Ira Ryan, M.A.P. Cycles, Pereira Cycles, Signal Cycles, and especially Sweetpea Bicycles. Almost all of those builders are from Portland, hey, whadyaknow.

Packing

Calendar claustrophobia has accelerated. I’ve got roughly eight and a half days before the lease of my current apartment ends. Almost all secondary hobbies have fallen off the radar. Two of my four room mates have already moved out, but I haven’t yet secured my next abode. I’m waiting to hear back from several possible landlords, no word yet.

If everything suddenly decided to go my way it would be quite surprising. I’d get a call sometime this week along the lines of, “the studio apartment is good to go, you can move in as soon as you sign the lease.” I would then borrow my boss’s truck and move my personal accumulated flotsam over in two or three trips over the coming weekend. Once the unit was emptied it could be properly cleaned. By next week I would be aligning sparse furniture into pleasing geometries in an apartment all to my self. Order of operations is bed, kitchen, computer, bookshelves, bikes.

If nothing goes as I hope it might, things will turn out a bit differently. With my essentials in back packs I’ll stow the rest of my stuff in a storage unit. I would surf the couches of my friends, were they not for the most part traveling the state on bicycles. Some kind of crashing arrangement will be met, while I wait out the doldrums of uncommunicative land owners.

In order for the more preferable of these two possibilities to occur, many large floating objects will need to align and fit together in a very precise way. Unfortunately their shapes are complex and their trajectories unknown. There is no luck involved nor faith required, their inertia will carry them through.

Until I know where I am heading, the only really productive thing I can do is pack. Many things are heading back to my mom’s house for storage, and my cumulative load is lessened. I’m borrowing a trick from a friend and labeling taped up boxes in a manner completely unrelated to their contents. A box of books is labeled “stray cats”, a box of bike parts is designated “assorted novelty limbs”. As my moving situation unfolds I hope these inaccuracies keep me balanced.

Tours Away

Tomorrow morning the Wheeled Migration takes flight. “Students, educators, innovators, activists, organizers, and entrepreneurs of the environmental justice and green economy movements” will be spend ten days riding South from Chico and other parts of the state toward San Luis Obispo and the UC/CSU/CCC Sustainability Conference.

Many of my friends are going on this tour and I wish them the best of luck. However it plays out I am sure it’ll be a great experience. All the preparation I’ve seen so far makes me hunger for my own inevitable bike touring.

At this moment, I like the idea of lightly-loaded short tours, some akin to Randonneuring. I want to ride light and fast, I want to carry the bare minimum and realize that I need even less, I want for something like this.

It’s going to be a while before I’m riding again, and even longer still until I’m riding as fast or as strong as I was. I’m imagining myself as starting from a completely blank slate, though I know this isn’t completely true. It will be through daily indoctrination that my legs return to appropriate levels of muscle tension; riding to and from work, riding in spare hours of sunlight, riding entire Sundays.

Eventually the miles will add up to something. Until then, I’ll watch my friends ride and share in the revelry that I can.

Converging Calendar

Every so often I feel like upcoming events in my short-term future are conspiring to attack me all at once. I can see them amassed on the horizon, their forces regimenting and growing, preparing to land on me with claws fully extended.

By the end of this month I need to have found and then moved into a new apartment, I’ll get to stop wearing my cast and start going to physical therapy for my knee, I’ll reach my self-imposed and arbitrary deadline for recording the seventeen songs of my album Year Two, and other such assorted feats.

For the most part I feel like I can’t really prepare for these events beyond what I have already done or am currently doing, and there’s not really anything I can do to attend to them any sooner. So here I sit, and here they come.

No One Cycles

A few months ago John Pucher, professor of planning and public policy at Rutgers University, gave a lecture titled Cycling for Everyone: Lessons for Vancouver from the Netherlands, Denmark, and Germany at a Canadian public policy conference.

Citing the personal and public benefits of increased cycling, Pucher explains why riding a bike is by far one of the most environmentally, socially, and economically sustainable forms of transportation.

The meat of his presentation lies in his exploration of cycling infrastructure in societies where trips by bicycle are much more common. In the Netherlands, for example, over a third of all local trips are made by bike, as compared to less than 1% here in the United States. The reason they are riding more is that the infrastructure in place in their cities makes cycling practical, safe, fast, and convenient.

Ezra Klein, associate editor at The American Prospect, agrees with many of Pucher’s points. In a recent post on his blog Klein suggests that these kinds of transportation issues have been recast as what he calls lifestyle issues:

In America no one cycles, and when you’re over thirty, really no one cycles. In the Netherlands, a quarter of the old make their trips by bike. Which is just to say, everyone cycles. It’s like walking, or driving: A mode of transportation that’s often the best for a given trip. Not some sort of radical lifestyle statement. Meanwhile, the problem in America is that, compared to other countries, cycling is incredibly unsafe, and we have little infrastructure dedicated to supporting it.

This of course means that cycling ends up concentrated among the young, who tend to take more risks and feel more physically capable, and males, who tend to take even more risks and feel even more physically capable. But there’s no reason it should be that way. It’s a public policy choice, and given the energy and public health benefits of cycling, it’s an odd one.

The comments on Klein’s post make a pretty interesting read, discussing wether it’s fair to compare the US and European countries, how cycling advocacy may be indicative of a culture war, and ways in which European modeled cycling infrastructure may or may not be applicable in the United States.

One commentor, Philly, argues nicely:

All the anti-bike people here have very short-sighted sense of what it would take to make more Americans ride bikes.

It isn’t about getting a lawyer who […] lives in a Houston exurb to bike to the city wearing an expensive Italian suit in mid-July. […] It’s about first creating the infrastructure for the people live close enough to work and in appropriate climes (which is a larger number of Americans than most people here concede, but does not include, I will admit, Texan exurbans). And it’s about developing and redeveloping urban areas so that commercial and residential areas are more mixed and closer together.

I think the ideal goal is not an America that looks like 1970/80s-era China where the streets are filled with flocks of bikes, but rather a place where a respectable number of people (but realistically, probably never more than 10% of the population) bike to work and an even larger number of people (again, never a majority) use bikes to run everyday errands and on the weekend rather than using cars or buses, and that there would be a far greater number of bike lanes, bike paths, and bike racks throughout the developed landscape.

I personally need to become much more of a cycling advocate. I’ve always thought of trying to be the best bike mechanic I can be as a way of encouraging others to ride their bikes more often (since you can’t ride your bike if it’s not working), but I can and should be doing more to affect changes in my community that will cultivate more cycling.

Annunciate and Enunciate

In recent weeks my posts have been fewer and farther between. Whenever I want to write for this blog I start with something very loose and descriptive, but after a few paragraphs I start to ask myself, “What am I saying, why am I publishing this?” What begins as something I’m pretty interested in writing about turns into vanity and useless word-tossing.

I usually try to avoid daily journal style posts, à la “Today it was hot and I rode the bus to work.” But sometimes that kind of account is the best way to get some damned words on paper — er, screen.

Last night I drew something I didn’t completely hate. I’ve been drawing in my EVERY DAY sketchbook much less often than the titles suggests, and the usual result doesn’t get me too excited, but yesterday I had some luck. So here is a short illustrated description of a dream I had in which me and Batman were hanging out in my old neighborhood.

On the bus home from work today I was thinking about how one can never be absolutely certain that they understand the meaning of a word. If I want to make sure I know what the word adjunct means ([?aj? ng kt] noun, a thing added to something else as a supplementary rather than an essential part), then I must know what the words used to define adjunct mean. Then I need to know the definitions of the words defining the definition, on and on.

Surely, over time I can learn how to speak and read and write and become very confident in my understanding of a language, but I can’t ever be absolutely certain that I do. One might be able to relate this idea, of not being able to completely understand a system from within itself, to Kurt Gödel’s incompleteness theorems, if one actually understood what was being said.

While at work today I saw a pickup truck burst into flames in the street. Chico has been inundated with firefighters while the wildfires are burning so the situation was rapidly contained, but it was still totally awesome to watch.

Tomorrow is my friend’s birthday. I haven’t heard from them in a while but I can’t wait to call them and tell them how great they are and how much I miss them (it’s a lot). I’m really tempted to call them tonight, to be that person who calls early to avoid the birthday phone call traffic, but I will wait. I’ll call them from the farmer’s market while I buy fruits and vegetables and wait for the bus to come.

Also, vowels are awesome.

Two Fourths Past

I don’t know what I was doing on the fourth of July last year, but I can vividly remember the year before that.

I remember sitting on the lawn behind my house with friends.
We had originally gathered on Flood’s hill, a big grassy slope on which the town gathered to watch fireworks being shot off from the nearest soccer field. Afterwards we walked through the dispersing crowds and the two blocks to my house.

From my backyard we shot bottle rockets out of an empty glass bottle up into the trees, each time hoping it wouldn’t light any of the branches on fire, hoping it wouldn’t fail to take flight and set the grass ablaze.

High school was over and a lot of us were headed to different parts of the country in the next few months. Most would still have family in New Jersey to return to over each extended break between classes, but not all.

I remember a conversation between two friends about their accepting college’s drug reputations, specifically the mention of coke being popular on some North-Eastern campus. I said something admonishing about the drug, asking my friends not to mess around with it. I even told the story of the friend of a coworker who overdosed just a few weeks before.

I had only met the woman a few times in passing, but in stories she sounded rather manic. One evening she invited my coworker over to the place she was house-sitting and upon his arrival refused to let him in. After an argument through the window my coworker left, returned once more to be met by more arguing, and finally left for the night. The woman was found the next morning, apparently dead from an overdose of cocaine. My coworker indicated that he thought it was likely an intentional suicide.

After I told the story, one of my friends remarked how tragic it was, how unfortunate the woman was. Though my feelings have changed in the years since, I said then that I didn’t feel bad for the woman, implying that the situation was her own fault. I now regret having the entire conversation.

Back to Work, Again

I’ve returned to work at the shop again, and it feels good. Even though my leg is still in a (removable) cast that keeps it straight, I’m able to walk/stand/work with it well enough. I was worried I would have to wait until I got my cast off at the end of July before I could return, but I’m finding myself to be plenty capable of standing around and wrenching on bikes.

One thing I forgot about working, both mentally and physically, is what it does to my arms. Besides making my hands and the undersides of my forearms filthy, working on bikes all day really stresses my shoulders. I think it’s funny that while I was away my body got out of shape for turning wrenches.

Another silly thing my body is doing since starting work again is making me pass out at 8pm. Instead of making a big late dinner like I’m used to, I get maybe a bit of a snack and then WHAM my bed jumps me. But this work induced fatigue only lasts a few hours, and I’ll wake up again listless in the middle of the night unable to get back to sleep. At least my body’s not giving me any guff about waking up at 6am each day.

At the same time, I’ve decided to start being a real musician again. The singing/strumming/recording kind. I’ve started re-recording the “rough cuts” of tracks for my second album “Year Two”, when I can get rid of my sleepy inertia. I’m giving myself a deadline of the end of July to get all twelve of the songs done, including collaboration with some friends around the country. That sounds like plenty of time to me.

Loved Live

I decided I wanted to offer a bit more explanation with this muxtape, appropriately titled “Loved Live”. I’ve tried to collect some live recordings that I have specific and fond memories tied to, while at the same time offering a thread of aural continuity throughout.

Continue reading ‘Loved Live’

Munday Mux

Here’s another Muxtape called “It’s Not Hard”. Starts out a little sickly and discordant, but eventually twists into a smile. Enjoy.

  1. Kissability - Sonic Youth
  2. Fruit - Modest Mouse
  3. Vanish Or Vanquish - The Detachment Kit
  4. Pirates Declare War - The Moldy Peaches
  5. Tape Deck Ghost - The Microphones
  6. Daily Dares - Les Savy Fav
  7. I Bleed - The Pixies
  8. This Place Is Haunted - DeVotchka
  9. Our Way To Fall - Yo La Tengo
  10. Hickory - Iron & Wine

Internet is spotty where I am, uploading these songs was like pulling teeth. I miss my broadband in Chico.

Und So Weiter

I’m writing about reading again, as I’ve been doing plenty of the latter in the past few weeks.

I don’t consider myself particularly well-read or in possession of the kind of monstrous appetite for books that expresses itself elsewhere in my family. When I do read it’s usually in fits. I’ll find something that catches my attention and sit with it for about two days or until I’ve finished it, whichever comes first. As a result I have a stack of really interesting but only half-finished books that’s half as tall as I am. I get new books much faster than I complete old ones, and I have an unjustifiable (but rationalized) preference for buying instead of borrowing. I suspect these problems aren’t so unusual.

I normally look for books on specific topics or ideas that have caught my attention. A lot of what I bring home is non-fiction and popular science. Comix aside, I don’t really invest a lot of time in books with strong narratives and characters.

Recently though, I read The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. Recommended by my mom and step-dad after I complained of finishing all the books I brought with me to their house, I expected nothing more from it than to pass a few hours. The story revolves around the relationship of Henry, a man cursed and blessed by involuntary time travel, and Clare, a woman living a perfectly sequential life. Their life together is passionate, painful, and often confusing to them and those around them.

I was lured into the book by the mechanics of Henry’s time traveling. Niffenegger obviously spent a lot of time considering the possible side effects of two broken and wildly intertwined timelines, while precariously avoiding an over-explanation or excuse for Henry’s condition. It wasn’t until I was about two hundred pages in that I realized I cared less about the deterministic implications of Niffenegger’s time travel mechanisms than I did about her engrossing characters.

I stayed up until dawn finishing the story. I laughed, I cried, I made strong connections with fictional characters. Doctor help, I am sensitive to this new medicine.

Self Afloat

One book I’ve recently finished reading is Tor Norretranders’s The User Illusion. Beginning with the basic tenets of thermodynamics and moving on to the physical cost of whittling unimportant information down to something meaningful through computation, logical depth, the nature of communication, and the information bandwidth of language, Norretranders arrives at the fact that the conscious mind may not be the most important thing going on in our heads. Of the nearly eleven million of bits of sensory information that comes in to our brains, we are conscious of very little. The capacity of consciousness can be measured and is found to be somewhere below forty bits a second, perhaps even as low as sixteen.

But these few bits of information are hardly enough to explain the wealth of human behavior or the richness of our perception of the world, and Norretranders argues that a great amount of subliminal (below the threshold of sensation or consciousness) perception, interpretation, simulation, decision making, communication, and thought processing goes on that gives our conscious mind the illusion of being in charge of the show.

The division between the conscious and the unconscious is presented as the coexistence of the conscious I, and the unconscious Me. While I is aware of things we can afford to spend time considering like language and social interaction, Me takes care of everything else, such as breathing, body language, the interpretation of light and shapes as recognizable objects and patterns, and anything else we are not conscious of.

By definition the I can only be conscious of what it is conscious of, and cannot be aware of what it is unconscious of. Surely we can shine the I like a flashlight onto different portions of our perception, like the sensation of wearing clothes or our respiratory rhythm, but in doing so we realize that there are many sensations we are not constantly conscious of.

One of thing that can be drawn from the dualism of the I and Me is an understanding of how pleasure can come from practiced activities. When you first learn how to do something, like tying shoelaces or riding a bike, it’s an akward and stilting process as the I is conscious of everything you’re learning to do. Eventually the activity becomes much easier, through practice the I gains confidence in the Me to forge on without supervision. For more complex tasks, Norretranders gives the example of a concert pianist, there can be great respect for the unconscious Me’s ability to go through such motions.

In a job, this can manifest as the satisfaction of your skills are being properly applied, of everything working the way it should and allowing the Me to operate smoothly. I think a lot of the satisfaction I get from working as a bike mechanic comes from the sensation of moving from one task to another without stopping every thirty seconds to think “what am I doing?”, “how do I do this?”, “what should I be doing?”.

When everything is going well, things get done. My hands know how much torque to apply to a bolt. My arms know where on the board to reach for right tools (when I can keep the board organized). My ears know the difference between the sound of a customer opening the door and walking in, and a customer holding it open to bring their bike in.

In Chico you can find stickers stuck everywhere that read “Everyone Is Going Conscious”. Not if I can help it!

Two Fifty Mixty

Another muxtape for your listening pleasure, I call this one “Summer Funder”. So listen, enjoy, and celebrate with me my 250th post.

  1. Mouseteeth - This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb
  2. Toy Piano - Matty Pop Chart
  3. Women Are Born In Love - Oh No! Oh My!
  4. Bad Town - Operation Ivy
  5. The Warming Sun - Grandaddy
  6. Ebb Tide, Azure Sky - The Unicorns
  7. Race Car Grin You Ain’t No Landmark - Modest Mouse
  8. The Demise of Madame Butterfly - Madeline Adams
  9. MX Missles - Andrew Bird
  10. Stella Was A Diver And She Was Always Down - Interpol

Another reason to celebrate, same-sex marriages are happening all over California today, awesome!

Summer Schema

Right now? I’m staying at my mom’s home in the bay area, entertained by kittens and occupied by a pile of books I’ve been meaning to finish reading for a while (in some cases more than a few years). I’m taking it easy as doctors, friends, and family recommend. I think I might actually be getting the hang of this “relaxation” thing.

Originally, I had planned for this to be a prolific summer of wrenching, riding, and increasingly independent living and unparalleled personal productivity. As of my second knee injury and resulting surgery though, it looks like I’m going to have my leg in a cast until at least the end of July.

I feel pretty lucky that the idea of working full time when most of my peers are taking a vacation excites me. Like most bike shops, Pullins Cyclery gets especially busy when nicer weather arrives, and it looks like rising gas prices have lead to even more people pulling dusty bikes out of garages or starting riding for transportation for the first time. I’ve come to understand that I get the most satisfaction from my job when my hands are busy from opening to closing. If I forget to take lunch until late into the afternoon, it probably means I’ve been flipping tools, hopping from project to project, uselessly wiping grease from my hands, and running about with a frantic grin on my face.

As much as I was looking forward to long hours though, it’s not really safe or productive for me to be in the shop with a stiff leg. If I had been able to work for a few months, I had planned to take a train trip to the East coast to visit friends and family. Unfortunately this too has to be scrapped as the situation demands.

Earlier this year I made a promise to myself to give cyclocross riding a try, and to actually attempt some races. Even after my first knee injury, I figured I’d be able to work some kind of purposeful ‘training’ into my riding in the months before the winter season rolled around. I also intended to keep with a routine of weekend century rides that brought me such exceptional health and strength in the Spring of last year. Being off the bike until the end of Summer cuts into these plans though.

This time around I will return to riding much more slowly. Instead of hopping back in the saddle as soon as I’m flexible enough to do so, I will try to wait until the majority of my flexibility and basic strength returns. When the time comes, I’ll put together something with some low enough gears that I won’t need to stand on while pedaling, and I’ll take it easy.

In allowance of these altered plans, I’m going to take next semester off from school, to give myself not only time to heal but to return to a way of living that satisfies and fortifies me. Hopefully, many of these plans will be translated to the fall.

Back in My Head

I’ve been really out of it this week, or at least it seems I’ve been feeling strange now that I’m becoming a bit more normalized. One of the characteristic difficulties of determining one’s own health, physical or mental, is that we can’t quite seem to find a window to peer out of that will give us a complete view of the building we’re in.

My brother Zack was driving through the valley, up from the Bay Area to Portland, and spent the stayed at my apartment overnight. After graduating from University in Connecticut and completing his second cross-country drive, he’s spending the summer in the Pacific NW with some friends.

As always, my brother proved to be an invaluable sounding board and yardstick for ideas and mental conditions, and spending time with him always leaves me feeling much more grounded, confident, and concrete. I don’t think anybody else can do that for me the way he does. He’s my best brother for sure.

In trying to pin down what’s gotten me so befuddled these past few days, I couldn’t tell whether it was my body’s reaction to the stress of injury and surgery, the effects of narcotic opioid painkillers, too much or too little sleep at irregular intervals, not eating enough or the right things, the onset of mild lethargic depression, or some combination of all of the above.

After getting breakfast with Zack at Cafe Coda though, I think I’ve determined that what I eat (or haven’t been eating) may have the largest effect on my stamina. A big tasty breakfast this morning has already improved my condition considerably, and chances are I might actually accomplish something akin to being productive today.

One of the side effects of the much less active lifestyle that goes along with a broken leg is a reduction of appetite. If I’m not commuting by bicycle, working on my feet for nearly nine hours a day, and then spending my free time riding through the foothills, my body is consuming vastly fewer calories. Yet somehow I’ve lost about twenty pounds in the ten weeks since I originally fractured my knee. That’s a full ninth of my previous weight.

I tried to give my brother a little bit of advice, since he’s becoming more conscientious about what and how much he eats and drinks (a shift I earnestly endorse). To be frank, the majority of the substantive waste that comes out of our bodies (yeah, shit) isn’t just chewed up food, It’s discarded flesh. What this means is that what we eat, for the most part, becomes us in one way or another. Food that we burn for energy is what allows for us to take action and thought, to survive. We are what we eat in a very literal sense.

So it’s no surprise to me that by returning to wholesome and substantial meals I begin to feel both more corporeal and clearheaded.

Srgry

So I seem to have survived my knee surgery. I’m still feeling a bit drowsy and loopy so this entry may be a bit brief.

The last thing I remember was being rolled into the operating room, moving myself from the gurney to the operating table, and joking with the surgeon about a Monty Python skit. The anesthesiologist fed a cocktail into my arm and I told her that about the taste of copper in my mouth. There was a clear plastic oxygen mask with two flexible hoses leading out of it placed over my mouth and nose.

Then it goes blank. During this time the surgeon drained the effusion of fluid surrounding my knee. They then made an lateral incision across the front of my kneecap. After pulling back the soft tissue, they began to file away the new bone growth that had previously held my fractured kneecap together. This was done to create smooth and clean surfaces for the bones to bond together again. Small holes were drilled into the top and bottom of my kneecap, where the tendons attach, into which small metal pins were inserted. Once these were in place, wire was wrapped around the pins and across the front of my knee.

Then I was back in a bed in the recovery room, and I can start to remember again. Ryan, Brad and Amber were there, we were talking, joking, but I was still very much under the effects of the anesthesia. I would drift off to sleep every other moment, I was mumbling, my eyes were very heavy. I couldn’t stop scratching my nose and forehead, and I later learned that the dilaudid (a painkiller opioid) they dosed me with interacts with histamine receptors, which is why my face was so itchy.

Somehow I made it from the bed into a wheelchair, out of the hospital, and into Amber’s car. Amber took my back to their house, and it wasn’t long before I was back in another bed, surrendering the illusion of mental acuity.

This morning I woke up no longer feeling the mental effects of the general anesthetic, but much more painfully aware of the condition of my knee. I’m still relying pretty heavily on hydrocodone to keep the pain tolerable, and as a result am pretty drowsy throughout the day.

More coherent posts to follow.

Back to Square One

I went for a bike ride this past Sunday, it was my first real ride with the gang since I got my cast off, and it was set to be a great day. We met up at a coffee shop around 9 or so, and headed South-East out of town along the bike paths, riding up into the foothills towards Honey Run Road, the very road I crashed coming down on ten weeks ago.

My leg was feeling pretty good. I’d spent a large portion of my morning preparing, stretching and massaging my knee, and it wasn’t that stiff once I got on the saddle. Though I was trailing a bit behind the pack as we made our way through the gentle foothills, it was still fantastic to be back on the road together.

Feeling perhaps a bit overconfident, I decided to try heading up Centerville Road, a milder climb that begins just as Honey Run Road starts to get steep. It was slow going climbing with such a weakened leg, but it felt good. I felt like what I was doing was within my abilities, and was just another part of increasing the flexibility and strength of my knee.

What I didn’t anticipate was my right cleat suddenly detaching from the pedal in mid-stroke, suddenly placing all of my weight and momentum onto my bent left leg. Not having the strength to hold myself up on the injured leg alone, it bent beneath my much further than I had yet been able to achieve through physical therapy. I remember hearing a noise, something like a snap and a pop, and then the pain began. I don’t think I have ever felt anything so painful before.

It was laying on the road, screaming obscenities into the sky, biting hard into the leather palms of my gloves, wiping tears from my face, and screaming some more, that I realized I had done something enormously regrettable. An X-ray taken this morning confirmed that I had split my kneecap open again, worse than the original fracture I had inflicted little over two months before.

So I’m back to square one, a bit worse off this time around. It would have been nice if just letting the bone stitch itself back together had been enough, but the fact that I could split the bone simply by bending my knee proves that it was insufficient, and that more invasive measures are necessary. I’m going to have knee surgery sometime this week, in which they will either pin my kneecap back together with small metal rods, wrap the bone in thin metal wires to hold the pieces together, or some combination thereof.

This operation will be followed by another eight to ten weeks in a cast, after which I will begin some much more challenging physical therapy. I’ve got a long way to go before I’ll be riding again, let alone walking.

I had planned to spend this summer working, riding, and generally recovering from the mild depression that seven weeks in a cast had brought upon me. It now looks like I may have to push that process a bit further down the calendar.

Bursting!

Sometimes, when I eat a massive Californian burrito vegetariano and drink a lime Jarritos all in less than five minutes, I get to feeling pretty full. Full enough that I can imagine my stomach bursting open and everything inside of me exploding outwards.

Summer is here f’real, and it’s doing me good. I am so lucky that something as simple as the 23.4° tilt of the Earth’s axis of rotation brings me such rejuvination. I’m back to work wrenching at the bike shop full time, I’m staying up late and waking early, and I’m returning to a schedule that brings me all kinds of health.

I’ve also started riding my bike again. Yesterday was the first day I had ridden in a little over 9 weeks, after getting approval from my physical therapist. “If something hurts real bad, don’t do it.” Riding my bike hurts, but only a bit. On my first ride back in the saddle I was imaging all these elegant ways of describing how good it felt to be cycling again, but by the time I got home all the words had melted.

But this is what it looked like, anyway.

Back to Bikes

Also, here’s another mix for the internet to enjoy. I think I’d like to make this a regular thing. This one is titled Sharp Warm Hands.

  1. Dukes Up by Modest Mouse
  2. Gone Gone Gone by Ghost Mice (feat. Eric Ayotte)
    {taken from video available at If You Make It}
  3. Heaven’s Gonna Be My Home by The Crooked Jades (thanks Diana!)
  4. The Coney Island Song by Hop Along, Queen Ansleis
    {taken from video available at If You Make It}
  5. Reeks and Seeks by Oh No! Oh My!
  6. Sing Songs Along by Tilly & The Wall
  7. Arpeggiator Demo by Fugazi
  8. The First Five Times by Stars
  9. WANDA WANDa from the Katamari Soundtrack
  10. Oh My Darling by Madeline Adams
  11. Portions For Foxes by Rilo Kiley

Phoenix Lander Landed

NASA’s Phoenix Mars Lander touched down on the Martian North pole this afternoon. This is awesome. It was the first soft-landing of a craft on Mars since the Viking 2 landed over 30 years ago. Soft landings are awesome.

Entering the atmosphere traveling over 12,000 mph, Phoenix burned off some heat shielding slowing itself to nearly 900mph. A parachute deployed and in a few seconds the craft decelerated to a mere 250mph. It’s at this point that the little planet-hopping robot started scanning the ground below with radar and other instruments, and planning the rest of it’s own descent.

Around 3,200’ up, the lander disconnected from the parachute and began to free-fall again. Retrorockets fired to ensure proper orientation, and eventually bring the Phoenix lander to a soft landing. Awesome. The last time this kind of landing was attempted, by the Mars Polar Lander in 1999, the thing cratered.

So here’s what Mars looks like.

Habits of Motion.

As I work to regain flexibility and strength in my leg, I’m trying to learn how to walk again.

For the most part, walking around and balancing upright on two legs is performed without conscious control. We command ourselves forward and on we move, our legs smoothly keeping pace beneath us. So many muscles working in concert to propel us forward, always falling and catching ourselves with elastic bundles of fibrous flesh. .

As my leg is currently restricted in it’s freedom of motion and load-bearing abilities, the autopilot motion of walking is running up against some painful barriers. As a result my body has learned a way of walking. Partly the trained result of seven weeks crutching, and partly a reflexive aversion to pains, I’ve got quite the limping swagger. My left leg tries its best to keep rigid and straight, and my hip rises to allow it to swing out and forward with every other step. But this is no fluid gait and it does little to restore flexibility and muscle mass to my weaker limb.

So I’m trying to walk more naturally, even if it hurts a little. Making sure to bend my knee back, trying to match its swing with that of my stronger leg, these are ways I can override my body’s reflexive pain-avoiding limp. I mean, I can totally understand why pain avoidance is a useful trait for big careless creatures like myself. I just wish that I could command my leg to toughen up, get with the program, and fall in line.

There are so many motions we internalize and allow to drop below the conscious level, like walking, riding a bike, typing, putting food into our mouths. I say “allow” as if the natural state of things were that we controlled, sensed, and knew everything about our bodies and their interactions with the world, but this gives consciousness far too much credit.

More Mux.

Celebrating the last of my final exams for the semester, here’s another muxtape mix. Tracks are as follows.

  1. I’m So TiredFugazi
  2. Expect The Worst - Defiance, Ohio
  3. Body BelowMirah
  4. Justin Destroyer - El Guapo
  5. Tiny Birds - Yo La Tengo
  6. O feed us! O fend us! - Chorused the Animals of Perfect Light
  7. Messes of MenMeWithoutYou
  8. The Monkey’s BackMenomena
  9. A.M. 180Grandaddy
  10. Either WayWilco

Phase Two.

I got my cast off this morning, after seven weeks. This is what the most recent X-rays show:

X-Ray of Knee in Profile

The patella (upper right) still clearly has a fracture running through it, but has begun to stitch itself back together. The doctor estimates it’s about 3/4 of the way to being as strong as it was before my crash. While there’s no longer any risk of my kneecap spontaneously tearing itself to bits, the doctor recommended I don’t crash my bike again for at least six weeks. Sure thing.

While my skeleton seems to be making progress, my muscles, tendons, and even my blood vessels are going to need some work. My leg has been locked in full extension for nearly two months and all of the normally exercised flesh has atrophied, stiffened, and constricted in neglect.

Currently, I’ve got about 45° of motion in my knee, at which point it starts to feel pretty sketchy. I’m learning to tell the difference between the kind of pain that tells me my muscles and tendons are unhappy stretching, and the much more severe pain that tells me by kneecap is unhappy.

Today alone though, in a few bouts of directed stretching, after a warm bath, and after walking around town for about an hour, I’ve already gained perhaps 5° or 10° of motion. I know that recovery of full mobility is going to take a long time, and that I shouldn’t rush the process, but today was encouraging.

So happy birthday to my new leg, may it heal and strengthen as as well as nurtured flesh can.

You Can Study This, or That.

I registered for my Fall ‘08 classes a few weeks ago and, suffice to say, I’m not going to be taking all the classes I wish I was. It seems as though all the classes I was so looking forward too, classes required by my major, are only offered on alternating semesters, the Fall semester not being one of them. This was only compounded by my relatively late registration appointment (upperclassmen get to register first), and only looking for classes I could schedule into a 30+ hour work week.

Over on the Adventures in Ethics and Science Blog, Dr. Free-Ride gives an academic perspective on ‘Why it’s so hard to get that course you need.

Maybe the problem is that faculty don’t teach enough classes in a particular semester? On paper it might look that way, but students may not be aware of the other requirements of our job (like scholarly output and committee work). These other requirements eat up time — and they make a difference as far as how we are evaluated for retention, tenure and promotion. Faculty who devoted themselves entirely to teaching to the exclusion of these other activities wouldn’t get to stay in the teaching pool for very long … at which point, it might be a while before their departments hired someone else with the appropriate expertise to take on the courses these altruists taught.

Until we get to a stage in our budgetary thinking where smaller classes are tolerated, there are going to be real constraints on how often required classes can be offered.

Dr. Free-Ride teaches philosophy at San Jose State U., and I can attest that the same budgetary concerns are on the minds of many faculty and students at CSU, Chico as well. The state’s budget for higher education is being renegotiated this summer, and cuts loom high.

That doesn’t explain why the classes I want to take are unavailable though. I’m special.

Oughta.

I ought to be doing homework right now, but I’m listening to music instead. Here’s a short mix titled “reverse murder”.

  1. Objects Of My Affection - Peter Bjorn And John
  2. Dead BodiesAir
  3. The Graves of Good HumansCicada
  4. Bright Red - Science of Self
  5. Bloody Knife #1 - The Robot Ate Me
  6. Knife - Grizzly Bear
  7. PocketknifeKickball
  8. Handpocket - Best Friends Forever
  9. Kept Our Hands Warm - The Robot Ate Me

Uploaded to my muxtape for your education.

A Thousand Words

I couldn’t help myself. Despite this being the last weekend before dead-week and finals, I spent far too much of the past few days redesigning my website. What started as an interest in improving the typographic elements and repairing a few minor issues gradually grew into a lesson on .css and Wordpress styling.

I was aiming for something that lent itself a bit more to the typographic elements of a blog, and would be less dependent on big grey rectangles to convey organization. Hopefully the new design works, but if you see anything misbehaving please let me know.

If you’re interested in how I came to soil my hands with the blood of the internet craft my own stylesheet, read on!
Continue reading ‘A Thousand Words’