breather

Blah. Quadruple blah (i.e. blahblahblahblah). Crazy that, with so much positive change happening in life, I am caught up in the temporary negativity of my job. Temporary being a misnomer; I've been way too busy for about a month now, working at least ten hours every weekend in addition to the 45 or 50 hours during the week itself. I dig my job, but still haven't figured out how to draw that line and stick up for myself, for my endeavors.

But let me fill you in. Likely, if you're reading this you at least have some inkling of what has been happening en la vida Calvino, but I'll update anyway. Let's see... somewhere in the middle of October, I got my little paws on a most immaculate diamond ring. Since white gold and diamonds don't match my eyes, I decided to pass it on to the love of my life. After much haggling with her father for permission, I got the green light and asked Lauren to marry me at 1:00am on Saturday, October 27 (notice: I'm so-so with dates, but by chronicling the engagement in this blog I am [hopefully] avoiding the inevitable occasion when I forget said anniversary). We were up at her family's cabin in Garden Valley. It was beautiful.

That very Saturday, Lauren and I drove back into Boise and began house hunting. Seriously! We had decided we would not live together again until engaged, and although the house-hunting was at first an innocent afternoon time killer we soon became sucked in to the lovely whirlwind of home buying. We checked out maybe eight houses that afternoon and only toured four of them. The final house we toured, a 1905 bungalow located just a few blocks off State Street in the 'north end' of Boise, was disturbingly alluring. You know me well enough, I suspect, to ascertain that I take months to decide on substantial purchases. It would straight-up piss my sister off how calculated I was with my allowance and savings; so it surprised me more than anyone to make a $200k offer on something I'd seen only three days prior.

Three agonizing weeks later I got the house keys, and a clicker to my very own garage. Very own! The entire house is amazing, but the thought of having my own little work space drilled in the reality. Ah, so male sometimes, aren't I? The rest of the house is wonderfully eccentric, though quite functional: lofted ten-foot ceilings, hardwood floors, a potbelly wood stove in the main room, a loft with skylights, energy-savvy washer and dryer, stainless steel pert-near brand new fridge.... geeze. My sister even approved, claiming during her recent visit that my house was gorgeous, of which I can't take too much credit. Lauren has been going nuts. It's awesome to see her fulfilling her girly dreams in our house. We've had our challenges of compromise, sure, but anytime I surrender to her decorating desires I am blown away by the results.

Now... back to my job. It's an extra kick in the crotch not to have time to rake my yard! We have done a great job of avoiding the typical pile-up of boxes that happens when moving, but I have a list of tasks I am looking forward to simply because I have never owned a house or property before. I think the job is tapering. Heck, I have been saying that for months and the best that happens is a temporary undulation that instills false hope. It is my own fault for not being able to draw the line, and not being willing to take a hit by slacking a little. I have been in similar situations in life though with different ingredients, but here I am again trying to juggle three or four aspects while not wanting to be less-than-stellar in any of them. Fiance, Engineer, Cyclist, Brother and Son. Back in the crux of feeling so-so at all four because I won't let a single entity drop even a smidge. Something might crack soon, though this seasonal break could save me yet.

I will post pictures next blog. I would do it now but my camera and the transfer cord are in the other room... lazy? Ummm... I rode an hour outside then another three on the rollers this evening, so I am not sure lazy is an accurate adjective. More like anti-social: Lauren is having a party of sorts and invited all of her summer counselors from the girl scout camp. There are no males out there. It's not a matter of feeling intimidated. I am trying to let them be girly-girls and talk about girl things without inhibition. And yes, I'm being anti-social as well.

If you look back a year or so at previous blogs, I am confident you'll find mention of the twisted irony of training during this time of year. To go fast when it's warm, you have to train a whole lot when it's cold (nothing to do with temperature, just timing). The 'base' period of training occurs during the wintry months and involves more hours per week than any other time during the year. The challenge of logging 20 hours per week of ride time in Boise, in December, pushes the limits of time management, personal dedication, and sanity.

Along those lines, and yet completely random, here is a hooray list of my appreciation. Hooray for:

Sci-fi Audio Books: Especially Philip K. Dick's "A Scanner Darkly" read by Paul Giamatti
Peppermint Mocha Coffee Creamer: Brought to you by the seasonal elves at Internal Delight
Bulk Powdered Cheese: Nothing warms the soul like cheesy couscous after a winter bike ride
Rumplemintz and Hot Cocoa: Goes well with cheesy couscous? Goes well with anything.
Devotchka: Most amazing indie show I've seen in years. Highly recommend their 2004 disc "How it Ends".
Self-Parking Lexus: Pretty ballsy, and not a single child has been run over yet.
Ronco: dehydraters, juicers, dicers... billionaire. Genius.

Goo!

Three months, three months! What the? Not too much has happened... just an engagement and the purchase of a home. I'll be updating real soon, not that I expect anyone to still read this silly thing. But hey the point is that I'm anxious to vent, and whether or not an ausdience exists is beside the point. Stay tuned...

La carrera al angel

Some of you asked:

http://www.wellsnevada.com/racetoangel/Results06.pdf

In other news: I am legend. The annual Calvin drinking performance occurred last Friday, though its toxic repercussions lasted well into Sunday evening. I've heard I dance like Usher.

thwarted

Do you know what a dongle is? Wikipedia quotes "a dongle is a small hardware device that connects to a computer to validate some piece of software". In my case, the dongle is a thumb drive that I am required to use on my laptop to run SolidWorks 2006, our chosen 3D CAD software. However, seeing as it's stupid-early and I came all the way down to this damn coffee shop to do some CAD work and left my dongle at home... well, I define dongle as "an unnecessary piece of shit".

Hostility? Yessir. I could be sleeping still. OK, probably not sleeping, but at least sitting on my own futon watching the morning news or pouring caffeine down Lauren's throat in an attempt to roust her this early. Asi es la vida, and instead of heading into the lab I'm going to kill an hour and a half here at the caffeine-dealer's crack-house. Holly and I are planning to meet at this very location at 7:15am; I need the visit and am anxious to hear of her trip to Norway.

There are some really amazing pictures on the walls around me, mostly of stalagmites (n' tites) from Horsethief Cave in Wyoming. The photos and their titles remind me of Cormac McCarthy's novel "Child of God". I won't go into detail, as the book is quite disturbing, but it is a worthwhile read and if you have 3 days to kill you should read it (to kill not being an intended pun, which you'll understand if you read the book). Anyway...

Something really on my mind, chewing at my innards like an invisible tape worm, is my team situation for next year (or lack thereof). I have thrown my resume all over the US, to every division three pro team and to a handful of the top amateur teams. I have not, however, heard anything substantial from a single team. If you know me, which you must if you are reading this silly morning rant, you know I prefer to plan out everything. If I have to fly solo next year and prove my worth at a few early-season events before being grabbed by a substantial team, so be it; I just want to know NOW so I can plan accordingly. Simply going with the flow, as they say, brings a metallic taste to my mouth and a rash to my hands (not really). A character flaw, I suppose? I have always believed in some sort of upper-tier plan for my life, a belief which spawns undulating sensations of confident serenity and apathy. It will be interesting to discover what is "supposed" to happen for next year. Annuit Coeptis, right? Hah!

MOUNTAINS and mole hills

I've tried to stop working today, really. I came home, shut off the lights and holed up in my cool little cave of a bedroom at 4 pm this afternoon. My conscience had me back at the computer, phone in hand, by 4:15; so much going on. so much.

Or is there? Before this past month I'd never logged a forty-hour work week in my life. Now here I go with another fifty hour semana and I'm whining like the world is imploding. I just don't feel like I am excelling at anything I'm involved with in my job: I'm too busy to be a good boss, too inexperienced to be a good project manager, and too distracted to sit down and design the files I need to. Good timing with the season being over, as bittersweet as that is to accept.

The trip down to Elko over the weekend was a success. We rolled in to town Friday around six pm, and Lauren had found one of Lydia's puppies by approx. 6:00.54 pm. She came tearing around the house with a six-week old springer puppy in her arms, which my mother had already sold but not yet delivered. Lydia birthed nine of those critters, but by the time we went to Elko all were gone... save one. Thank goodness it was sold or we would have returned to Boise with a new pet. I don't need a creature depending on me for sustenance... but it was tempting.

The hill climb was Saturday; two hill climbs actually. Justin Mayfield won the Bogus Basin Hill Climb here in Boise in an impressive feat of strength and tactics. A serious pat on the back to Justin for finally bagging that event - he has valued that raced above all others since he started riding five years ago. As you know I opted to race in Wells, Nevada, at my own little world championship event. The event was super-validating for me, as I managed to pop off a great ride and smash my former record by nearly two minutes. Dig it. In 2004 I tried to beat the record but was cramping too badly. Hooray for bulimia! This year was pure velocity and determination and it proved I really am in the shape of my life.

Oh yeah, the aforementioned trip to Midvale, Idaho, was also rad. We got to check out Rodenator's varmint-destroying gun... in case you missed it on cnn.com, this device pumps a couple minutes' worth of oxygen-propane mixture into a ground-squirrel hole and ignites it; effectively liquefying everything within the tunnel system via a fire ball/energy concussion. I don't know if we tested 'dry' holes or inhabited ones, but I didn't see any survivors scampering out after our shots. Gruesome, but cool. In a good ol' boy sense.

back to work.

Early

It's early, yessir. Work has been insane, insane I tell you. I was so apprehensive to start that forty-hour-per-week routine, and here I am well into a 50-hour week. Smooth transition I think not. I got up at five this morning, cranked out a couple proposals/quotes for clients, and now I'm taking a brief respite before heading to the office. McKinley and I are curled up on the couch... she seems annoyed at the sound of my keystrokes. I'm annoyed at her inability to keep her hair attached to her body instead of floating all over my house... I'll let her slide. I just looked at her and instigated the 100-decibel tail-thump that she emmanates in the early morning silence. Shhh.... Lauren's sleeping.

Anyway, the days are progressing well and I am finding reward in most aspects of my job. The bike season is winding down, down, down, which takes the edge off these long weeks. Just one more hill climb this weekend and I get to hang it up for a while. I had debated hitting a few more big-caliber events, but between logistical set-backs and financial drawbacks it became obvious I should call it a season. Call it a season of accomplishment, a season well-done.

But first, that hill climb. I'm opting to skip the local hill climb this weekend, AKA the Bogus Basin World Championship; instead I will be travelling down to Elko tomorrow evening then over to Wells, Nevada early Saturday a.m. The "race to the angel" climbs up to Angel Lake some 13 miles southwest of Wells, and is actually the first "road race" I ever did. Back in the day, 1995 riding a l992 Carbon Trek. Epic climb and a perfect way to end the season: family and friends present (both in cars and in competition), a nostalgic climb, and a brewery-sponsored barbecue. Although the barbecue typically consists of cold chicken wings, store-bought chocolate-chip cookies and wilted iceberg lettuce, the beer and epic climb overshadow all shortcomings. Best thing about the event? The promoters and locals could care less who you are! Last time I went down there I received zero acclaim for winning the overall! Awesome.

I get to travel to Midvale this afternoon, which I've been told is somewhere North of here. You know it's a small town when it's referenced to another unknown Idaho town. "Yeah you know, Midvale, it's about forty miles north of Weiser". What? I'm heade up there for a project, so apparently someone lives there - or at least works there.

G'bye.

calvino

random idea

We've all seen rally car driving in Europe, yes? Likely originating from a few good ol' (Euro) country boys betting a case of beer, these events are usually point-to-point and involve not only spry, sporty 4wd subarus, but everything from Semi trucks to motorhomes towing speedboats. Dig it. The objective is to set the fastest, blistering time while adhering to established rules.

So I'm warming up for a crit last weekend (more to come on that), and the idea of rally criteriums hits me. Freaking brilliant. Racing a crit, alone, is harrowing and challenging. But imagine the turn out and thrills if we started adding cargo and passengers to our two-wheeled transporters. Here's a few ideas for a sixty-minute crit:

Girlie-on-the-bars Class (GOT-B): Chosen girlfriend must be planted firmly atop the handlebars, at least one glute in contact with bars at all times. There could be different GOT-B classes, depending on girlfriend mass and geometry (i.e. weight and proportion). Style points are given depending on girlfriend's attire and facial expression. Girl is allowed to assist the rider by shifting weight, gears, and attitude at will.

Tot in Tote Class (TIT): Not necessarily your own tot, but someone's child (age six or less) in tow in one of those BOB child carriers. This again could be modified using a Trail-A-Bike apparatus for larger/older/more coordinated children. Style points are available, this time rewarded in direct correlation to your child's scream decibel.

Any other ideas? Let's turn this into an open forum and get the masses involved.

That's all for now. Stew on that idea for a while.

Oh, I won the crit, which is nice; but it would've meant more with Lauren on the handlebars, or with a five-year-old in tow.

Calvin

Z-less

It's now Saturday afternoon. Four of the six stages have come and gone, all leaving their invisible marks and scars on my internals; lungs, legs, arteries. The time trial was this morning. I got all super-duded and had a phenomenal warm up. In the TT, looking fast actually does often equate to going fast. And boy did I look like speed.

I went out way too hard. Way. That's happened so many times in the past I have lost count, and at least this time I managed to limit the damage and recover to finish well. My time was somewhere around fourteen and a half minutes for the 6.6 mile course... sounds decent, but the winning time is likely below thirteen. Bummer to have good legs and not perform to your maximum. Story of the year.

Regardless, my mind keeps pogo-ing back and forth between negativity and optimism. I am pleased to be 'in the mix' this year, but am also frustrated to be lacking that confidence; the type of confidence that one obtains from always 'being in the mix', unfortunately, is temporarily beyond my grasp. This race should prep me well (mentally and physically) for the Twilight Criterium next weekend in Boise. Big money this year. I had to watch last year's event from the curb, having hung my bike up during Cascade 2005. So glad the tide is different now.

This is a difficult time in longer stage races. Your brain is tired but sleep evades you. Your body is depleted but your stomach is boycotting and has extinguished your appetite. I can only imagine what the Tour de France riders experience, averaging around 4000 calories burned per day during exercise... three weeks straight. Sheesh, no wonder so many go home due to 'gastro-intestinal distress' and pure exhaustion. Toughies.

That's all I can muster for now. I should be stretching, sleeping, eating, or preparing my bike for this evening's criterium. Perhaps I'll read for a while. I apologize for such a boring blog.

Here, and not.

I am at the Cascade Classic in Bend, Oregon, attempting to mix it up with the big kids. So far it's going well, though frustrating, since I've wonderful fitness but terrible strategy and have blown it in both stages. The beauty in such stage races is that there remains four opportunities to 'get it right', and just maybe I'll be able to pop a good result against these yahoos.

Yes, bikes are good, though to be honest my mental energy is elsewhere right now. A few days back Lauren came down from McCall (camp Alice Pittenger - Girl Scouts) to have an MRI performed on her back, and to receive steroidal injections into the L4 and L5 surrounding muscle tissue. She's been in pain for quite some time, and the physical therapy she underwent (aimed at rehabilitating a bulging disc) had little effect. So... Monday was the MRI, which actually revealed zero disc bulge, but she went ahead with the injections (epidural style) to reduce inflammation and hopefully alleviate the pinched-nerve sensations for good. OK, good, end of procedure see you in a few months....

Doctor calls her the next evening (Tuesday evening, hours before she planned to return to McCall), to announce that the radiologist spotted a curious discoloration near the lower aorta, apparently down near the upper stomach. The color, the doctor explained, was a loose 'fluid' that, of course, should definitely NOT be there. Shit hits the fan, Lauren's spooked, the doctor calls her in for an emergency CT scan, and meanwhile I'm 335 miles away pedaling my bicycle in a silly race.

CT scan reveals nothing, though the doctor explains that such free-fluid-that-shouldn't-be-there caused such alarm because, typically, it is the byproduct of a growth, cyst, tumor, what have you. Lauren's still freaked. Lauren's doctor stresses that the CT scan revealed no such growth, but returns to the radiologist to further discuss the mystery-fluid in her MRI. So, as of now, they have no freaking idea what caused (is causing?) the fluid, but they are 'reasonably sure' it's not a tumor and Lauren has for the time being been placated and calmed.

I have not. Thank goodness Lauren hardly ever reads this (she abhors email, see Luddite), for I fear that my apprehension would only feed her worries. I know this sounds mushy, but I'd come unraveled if anything happened to her. After living with Jason and watching him go from a healthy gent in his late twenties to a full-blow battler of cancer within a few months... I don't know.

That's it. Reporting on the racing seems shallow at the moment so I'll hold off.

Morning commute

Always such a shame to see someone fulfilling grotesque stereotypes.

Example-
morning commute in Boise, Idaho [suppose'd home to innumerable rednecks and gun-toting closed-minded luddites]. Relatively hassle-free. Meathead in jacked up 4x4 Jeep, sporting the following bumperstickers: 1) Jesus didn't ride an Elephant. 2) My Jeep can kick your Hybrid's Ass. and 3) Who would Jesus Bomb?. Wow, hooray for Idaho.

I'm at work, though not planning to work today. We are all headed up to Garden Valley for a day's "retreat"; though in my developing sense of career-hood I've learned "retreat" is actually nerd-speak for "day o' meetings, albeit outside of the office." I hope we don't have too much to discuss, as Garden Valley is referred to as the Promised Land at this time of year.

Which, perhaps, is why I might run into my father [I am no longer speaking in terms of Idaho Bumper Stickers... father, not Father]. A few hours before my graduation BBQ he swung by for a six-minute visit and mentioned he was headed to GV to source work and a housing situation. No one has heard from him since, and based on prior experience I should expect the unexpected, i.e. to run smack into him during a micro-vacation from Boise. GV only has two bars, three if you count Painter Ed's single-wide home [a rather pickled gentleman my father once referred to as "Good People"]; so he should be easy to avoid or locate if I feel so inclined. I've no desire to see him. I admit, it would be awkward to introduce my workmates to him in such a situation. "Oh, hey dad, these are my co-workers... I didn't know you were up here. Wow, dad, you look/smell great as usual." Never ceases to push the envelope. Good for me, I guess.

Anyway, it should be a nice escape one way or another. I'm packing my [NEW!!] mountain bike along so I'll have someone snap some pictures of me pedalling around.

Time passes

It's Tuesday... in June. Yikes! Where does the time go? The scary (yet exciting) fact is that I enjoy such rapid passing of time, and although I still haven't settled into my post-school rhythm I'm slowly gaining control of my schedule. First off, school is over, as most of you know. We all threw one hell of a BBQ (which many of you attended) and I nearly fulfilled my promise of a legendary drinking performance. Alas, at the end of the evening no one had gone streaking, and I woke up in normal PJ's and a moderate if non-existent hangover; yet I certainly pushed the inebriation envelope and won't be drinking like that for another five or six months.

It's five p.m. My day today: Ride, work, nap... headed out for ride number two. Not too shabby, a good schedule. I'm trying to regain some bicycling-confidence after a horrid experience last weekend at Mt. Hood. The weekend bared strong resemblance to the Tour de Toona back in 2005: good prep, superb legs, and an unwavering lack of belief in myself. Never underestimate my ability to mire good fitness in bad brains. I don't want to write about this... I'm upset but I'll deal and it doesn't change my love of the sport, nor my narcissistic opinion of everything in my life non-cycling related (hey the counselor says its OK!). That's the beauty in such a blog, created under the pretense of pure extemporaneous ramblings... let's talk about other things.

Like Lauren, for example. She leaves this Friday (or Saturday, if I can dissuade her for an additional 24 hours) to begin her two months' incarceration up at Camp Happy Girl in McCall. OK, it's not actually called that, but I haven't yet memorized the term the Girl Scouts of America has assigned to its institution. Ouch, I sound a bit sour, when in actuality I'm not too upset. I'll miss Lauren, but we'll get our visits in here and there. Plus, this is the frosting part of her job, after six months of scrambling to hire staff, write curriculums, arrange bus skeds; all the while dealing with typical "Hey I'm miserable to be here" co-workers. She's earned a couple months' stay in the wilderness. Any malevolence I express stems from pure selfishness.

This blog breaks the seal on a sparse year of personal journaling, and I'm looking forward to logging more key strokes in the months ahead. I'll have to fill you in on the unexpected side effects of non-academia. Tom Crawford recently graduated as well, and on his blog he mentions recently being denied a library card for summer enjoyment. I'm off the list, too, and just found out that my ID card works to enter my lab but no longer grants access to the building (in which the lab is located). Hooray. More later. The pic above was taken in Moab over Spring Break. Little after the fact, but worth posting. My mountain bike should come in sometime this week... dig it.

all-most....

Aero project? Check (see below, nerdery in its finest). I modeled 60-mph airflow over the cross-bars of an empty Yakima roof rack. That black silhouette... yep, the Volvo. The top row is without a fairing, the bottom row includes one. If you really care, shoot me an email and I'll tell you the drag force an empty roof-rack adds to your car at such speeds. Nerds.

I'm up to page 18 with my renewable energy systems term paper. Roughly another seven pages and I'm golden. No worries. No? worries?

crunch time

yes indeed, busy am i. busy enough to not bother with capitalization of proper nouns nor sentence headers. hah! hah, the life of a rebel!

OK, Enough of that. But seriously, things are insane. Next Tuesday: comprehensive exam (as in THE exam). One day later: Aerodynamics design project due. Two days later: Spanish test. Four days later: Renewable Energy Systems test. One week later: 25 page term paper regarding Proton Exchange Membrane Fuel Cells in Non-Automotive Applications. Two days later, another aerodynamics project.... Drip, drip, (cranium seepage).

Thank goodness I got to sneak away last week, though I wonder if the cold-water-shock-contrast of returning to this mayhem will send me into a coma. Lauren and I went down to southern Utah for a week; car camping four or five nights and lodging in 40-dollar hotels the remaining evenings. It was incredible, to understate things. I've a new-found respect for Utah's beauty... there are two or three thousand national parks along the southern edge of the state. Not really, but a buttload. If we gleaned anything from our week's visit, it is to budget WAY more time per national park. The Grand Staircase Escalante National Park, aside from having a bi-lingually redundant title, would take decades to fully explore. Two days in passing left us shell shocked though euphoric, and we're already planning a future return trip.

Managed to see my dad on the way back to Elko to Boise. Not worth writing about. He's getting old. He walks and moves like a 75-year-old ex-sumo wrestler, all busted up with arthritis and yet still working construction jobs in 38-degree winter conditions. Still a drunk. Still a travesty.

In contrast, we also got to hang out with my mom, Bob, Heather and Jacob for a day point five. Wow! Bob made us a meal that made up for one week's worth of camp-snack-junk food, and I enjoyed watching my mother and Lauren get to know each other even more. They really haven't spent much time together; ironic that they both mean so much to me, and yet there is such distance (geographical) between them.

Tonight I'm taking a break from studying. I'm headed to Lauren's to watch some good old fashioned TV and relax a bit. Three more weeks. Three more! Lord help me. Three more weeks till it's over; either ending with my Master's or a brain hemorrhage.

Thanks for checking back, it's been a while since I've written.

busy. ouch. busy

blink

Busy busy busy. School, relationships, training, work, yikes. This may be the first weekend since school started where I'm not scrambling to get ahead with homework or projects at the lab.

Finally got my new bicycle built up. Very similar to my laptop last year, I'm feeling a huge wave of pride and ownership after ponying up so much personal cash to get it running. As my mom pointed out, this is the first bike in a long time that I won't have to give back at the end of the season. I hate to make it my first picture posted to this blog, but it just might happen.

A random tidbit, actually the occurence that made me finally break down and write another blog, is the chicken bone that hit me on the shoulder today. Yessir, a chicken bone. About four blocks from home, riding my bicycle, a gnawed-down chicken leg bone dropped from the sky and whacked me. I looked up to see an aggrevated squirrel, teetering on an oak branch 30 feet overhead and violently chirping accusations. That one, paired with a dozen other too-hilarious-to-ignore happenings, has cast a humorous tint on the past three weeks of stress.

The stress is paying off though, and I feel that I'm juggling things well. I fly out next week to an interview with Stryker down in San Jose, California. Funny, I don't know if I'm truly aspiring to work in California, but it's flattering to reach the fourth stage (of four total) in the interview process. The last stage was the most entertaining: a 50-minute phone interview with Gallup (as in Gallup Polls) that left me spun, wondering what my name was. Binary questions, followed by "please give me an example".... each question a slight twist on one asked six minutes previously.

My favorite:
"Do you consider yourself a funny person, Mr. Allan?"
"Sure do, I'm hilarious."
"Do you make your work companions laugh?"
"They love me, I keep the work environment light."
"Please give me an example of something you did in the last week to make them laugh."

Ouch, are you kidding? Let me explain something (and I apologize if you've already heard this from me but I must tell). Those people, the ones that actually remember what they did to make someone laugh... they are not funny people. "Honey, you'll never guess what happened today at work. It was great! I made a clever quip about the capacity of our recycling bin as compared to Mr. Collins' retirement fund. Everyone laughed, I'm a hero! I'm a funny hero. Ah, Honey, I wish you could've been there." No thanks.

Jason told me I should have answered with the intro to a blatantly inappropriate Playboy-quality joke. "Hmm... well, they all loved this one: So a nun, a Jew, and a midget are walking down the street..." To protect my honor, I do not know the rest of that one, and I apologize to all of my height-impaired Jewish Nun readers.

I also found out that my final "Hey I've my Master's Degree in Engineering" exam is April 11, a bit surreal but exciting nonetheless. Ticking down. Okay, my brain is numbing and I'll cut this off. Instead of that shiny new bicycle, I'm posting a picture of McKinley. Little bugger has grown on me over the past couple years... She still owes me for that SWIX beanie she ate the tassles off of, and I've yet to teach her to bag her own poop... but she's coming around.

misc

Not too much to report on from the Valley of the Sun. The temperature has gradually risen since my arrival, though unfortunately the wind has as well. I have yet to figure out the wind in this place, as it seems to blow from a different direction every day... every hour. I'll take 80 degrees and windy any day. Not too hard to tolerate.

Said and done, I have another five or six days of riding before returning home to Boise. The duration seems perfect; if I were staying longer I wonder if my focus would be the same. So far I've been very committed and diligent with riding and resting, and have yet to feel like I'm biting off more than I should in terms of mileage. The most epic ride to date was the Kitt Peak loop on Wednesday.

Kitt Peak lies 42 miles to the West, along Ajo road (AKA Highway 86, I believe). After a gradual decent out of Tucson, then a gradual ascent to the foot of the mountain range, you're at the base of the 12 mile and 3100 foot climb to Kitt Peak. There is a national observatory atop the peak, complete with five or six gigantic telescopes. The ride up the mountain was manageable, averaging about 8%, but nevertheless it was half way through a 108-mile ride. It was the most awesome out-and-back ride I've done in years. How often is the turnaround point in the shadows of massive telescopes? I got back to the house tired, but not wiped, and actually slept well that night.

That was the most epic, but every ride leaves me smiling. I'm so excited about the upcoming season, almost too excited. I'm really struggling internally with just how much to invest, emotionally, in the 2006 race season. Damn I'd like to do well, no getting around that. The pieces are in place, as in previous years, I just have to keep perspective. Easy enough, right?

In other news, I seriously miss Lauren. No getting around that, either. Funny how men and women differ in communicating feelings. I seem to interpret number of calls per day as love, she seems to interpret mushy soft-voice dialogue as love. Either way this trip has been challenging for both of us. When I return, we have three days to visit before she flies off for a work conference in Chicago. Between our lean time together and the start of the new semester, it will be a challenging month. That is all.

Why, what did you do for New Years?

The day started pretty well, though I wasn’t as spunky on my ride as I had hoped. I left the house around 7:30 and swung by Starbucks for a pre-ride decaf (sounds weird, but the act of drinking a hot beverage still offers a stimulant placebo). I headed south along Mission Boulevard, a low-traffic road with decent pavement that winds its way along the western side of Tucson, through the San Xavier Indian Reservation.

Saw some crazy things alongside the road. Aside from the lovely variety of cacti and desert plants, the random debris littering the shoulders blew me away. There wasn’t much trash, but the eclectic items I spotted included a crispy sun-starched sombrero (no kidding), a partially devoured wheel of cheese, and the charred remnants of an antique baby stroller. Only the decorative wheels remained of the stroller, bordered with gummy hoops of melted rubber. All the items were equally disturbing.

I’ve only done Mission Blvd. once, and it was two years ago with a group of 80 riders. Today was much slower, making me feel fatigued and question if I should be out there at all. After 30 miles of a 14 mph pace I flipped around… turns out I was climbing uphill into a headwind, and to my reassurance I averaged 28 miles per hour all the way back to town! During this time of year my body shifts to full-on endurance mode, which means I can ride forever but it takes a LONG time to get warmed up. I called it a day, went home, ate a pot of cheesy couscous and watched Caddy Shack for the second time this trip. I’m trying to hone my Bill Murray impersonation. Chicks dig it, so you know I got that goin’ for me.

So later I’m driving along, venturing northward in the Volvo en route to a Wild Oats Market on ritzy Oracle Avenue, and I hear this loud, LOUD, pop. Almost sounded like a backfire, or a small child wedged beneath the front grill (just kidding, that would be muffled and much more prolonged). I glance backward in the mirror; nothing suspicious. I turn down the radio and listen to the engine; nothing suspicious. I glance at the instrument panel and see a Swedish Christmas tree of colors: every light blazing in cautionary glory. Oil light, wiper fluid light, and even that crazy lambda “son” light I’ve yet to figure out.

I made it back to Erik’s and shut it off, popped the hood and didn’t see anything wrong. All the fluid levels were fine and the car started back up with no worries. Later this evening I was cruising around snapping some pictures of the setting Tucson sun. I pulled into a Chevron to refuel. The car never started again. I pushed it out of the way and discovered a fan belt ripped in two and wedged in the fan blades. Sweet. So now I am a forty-minute walk from home, on the WRONG side of the tracks (literally) with a broken-down car on New Year’s Eve.

Me: Hey, will it be a problem if I leave my car here until I can get it towed? Should be tonight, perhaps tomorrow.

Mr Gas Station Derelict: Um, ya got anything valuable in there?

Me: Nope, I’m taking it with me and there’s no stereo or anything.

MGSD: Don’t matter, this is a reeel bad parta town. They’ll break in anyway.

Me: Awesome, I’ll be back.

Walked back to Erik’s and managed to find a tow truck company running on New Year’s Eve. Pedaled my bike back down there, watched them load the car up, and got directions to the auto shop where it will be stored until January 2^nd. OK. Happy New Years. Pedaled my bike home and watched Top Gun (Val Kilmer is such a dork). Went to bed at 11:12pm. Weird dreams. Hooray for old cars.