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.

This just in.

Managed to squeeze out a 4.0 this past semester. Had to brag, since I was seriously skeptical of the MBA class. Dig it.

Tux, 3 and (not) counting

hello hello. Everything worked out wonderfully. I managed to track down D. Robinson on Wednesday afternoon, and he gave me close-enough directions to Erik's house. Turns out that Erik lives right by the university... ironically I was three blocks from his house whilst typing my last entry! Big D is residing there for a few days until some friends return from Christmas vacation, but honestly there seems to be enough space for all of us. Erik started a new relationship three weeks ago, so right now he's in that "hey why sleep at home when I can spend every hour of every day with my new girl?" mode.

We all started out for a ride yesterday morning; Erik, David, two of Erik's teammies and yours truly. I had different plans, however, and opted to stay in the valley instead of climbing Mt. Lemmon with the group. Mt. Lemmon sits just northeast of Tucson, and the newly-paved road climbs 24 miles before topping out around 8500 feet! I dig the climb, but wanted to give my legs another few days of flat riding before straining fibers and tendons in an uphill slug. My day turned out epic enough anyway, since I ended up being 'pimped' by the wind for five hours. I sometimes like to convince myself that God is trying to make me stronger by turning the wind against me... it takes just as much faith as believing the devil is trying to kill me, but is much less pessimistic. The official ride time was 4 hours 58 minutes; a bit longer than I wanted to be out, but my body handled it OK.

More than OK, my body wanted more. I got up at 6:00 this morning (waking pulse 40 bpm) and was pedaling by seven. I cut it 'short' at three hours ride time. If I get a good nap in I might head back out this afternoon, but if the nap isn't superb I'll take it as a sign to rest more. Two years ago, the last time I was here, I remember writing about the crazy Tucson-Time-Dilation. If you don't ride at least four hours, you feel like a sissy. 75-degree weather, a handful of new routes, and a day completely centered around riding.... what excuse is there to ride less than 240 minutes? It's hard to keep the training load in perspective.

Lack of wi-fi at the house gives me an excuse to hit the Fourth Avenue hippie district, again within walking distance of Erik's pad. I'm sitting on a rickety bar stool de'coupaged with Marvel comics, staring out a huge window at the passer-bys in the winter sunshine. I swear Bob Marley just walked by, followed by Anthony Kedis of the Red-Hot-Chili-Peppers and... Dennis Hopper. It's a fun area with about five coffee shops and a Co-Op natural grocer. I'll probably be back down here tomorrow night, too, since PLUSH is hosting some sweet bands in celebration of New Year's Eve. He doesn't think I know, but David's birthday is tomorrow, and Erik and I are scheming something crazy in celebration.

Battery's beeping, good time to cut it off. More to come.

Tux Day One

Blasted in last night, ended up crashing in a hotel just three miles west of Tucson. So much for splitting it up. I always get that way during long drives: sure, sitting in a car for 13 hours sucks, but the idea of stopping at hour eight and having to resume the torture in the morning is, well, torture.

What a mind blower so far. Tucson is the same as it was two years ago, of course, but I am in a completely different place personally. I am sitting at an outdoor table on University Drive, about two blocks from the U of A convention center. I came here first to snag some coffee from a hip little shop I visited before, but to my surprise it’s been torn down with a Starbuck’s erected in its place. Works out for me, viva la corporation, but it’s sad to see the little guys go under.

Thus, I will kill some time until it, ahem, “warms up” and I can head out for my first ride. It’s 7:45am and 53 degrees right now, not too shabby. Elko was glacial yesterday morning when I waved goodbye, but thankfully the conditions cleared about thirty miles into my journey and I had smooth sailing. My Tucson host was not expecting me until today, so I’ll just poke around town until the afternoon when we can rendezvous. During my vagabond months in the VW bus, I learned that time-killing should be finessed and not depended on… I do fine playing tourist for a day, but car-living makes me feel degenerate.

If you have never experienced Tucson, I suggest you escape for a winter weekend one year. Good culture, good weather, and beautiful views. I won’t endorse the summer season, but around New Year’s I prefer no other place in the U.S.

Lots to come. The next 16 days should allow me to ramble on and on and on about all of my activities. Lucky you, I also got a digi-cam (finally) and will figure out how to post pics on PROLIX. First pointless blogs, now pointless pictures too? Have mercy.

Bring It

Bring it on, that is. I'?m up ridiculously early, prepping for the approaching vacation time. Yessir, prepping and trying to wrap up work projects, bills, house duties, and everything else that could potentially unravel in my three-week absence.

It'?s been a great month. First off, let'?s talk about hockey. Kevin'?s birthday was last Friday, and he just happens to have a friend who dates a girl who works for Albertson'?s Corp who... Well, we ended up scoring some hockey tickets and celebrating from suite 307: a swanky mid-rink patio overlooking the Idaho Steelheads arena. Talk about a cool evening. Kevin, his fiance Sarah, Lauren and I swooped into Opa for a pre-game Hot Choco beverage then shuffled over to the arena; soon to be escorted to the suite by aforementioned Trevor.

Lauren had never been to a hockey game before. Heck, listen to me, I'?ve only been to one; though I'?ve watched a few games on TV. During the first brawl I watched her reactions more than I watched the fisticuffs: "?What the hell!? They just let them fight!? Why doesn'?t someone break it up!? What kind of a sport is this!?"? In addition to the big-boy ballet on ice, we also enjoyed listening to Trevor'?s endless supply of personal near-death experiences. At age 23 he'?s been stabbed twice (once by a brother), severed three fingers in a table saw (had all three re-attached but now lacks all feeling... which spawned another story of blistering his fingers on a hot burner completely unawares while his girlfriend screamed in horror), and a day spent snowboarding with a shattered shoulder and ribs (all trying to maintain a cool-guy I'?m-not-hurt attitude for his snowboarding date). Wow. Add to that the inter-familial brawl in the suite next to us and you'?ve got an exciting night on the town.

We all went down to Estrella last night; a new tapas bar downtown created by the owners of the Milky Way. Not too shabby, but not geared toward the penny-pinching grad student. Plus, I had high expectations for authentic Spanish tapas, which were of course unfulfilled. I had a phenomenal martini mixed with Apricot Liquor, Cava, and fresh-squeezed OJ, but for $8.00 a pop I was limited to one. Ouch, an $8 drink in Boise? I could see that in Seattle, Chicago, etc., but Boise?

The plan: Lauren and I head out in two hours for the cabin. We went to the Co-op (chicken coop, that place was beyond busy yesterday) and plumped a good chunk of cash for some fancy cheese. Get this: we'?ve decided to eat cheap and easy meals, but to wine and dine with aperitifs and beverages in-between. Time to crack open that Spanish Champagne we got from Dykstra for our two-year anniversary, thinly slice the stinky cheese, and pretend we do it all the time. The weather'?s been dumping moisture (the frozen dandruff kind) into the mountains so we'?ll log some epic hikes and refuel on cheese alone. I'?ll let you know how my body holds up after such a diet.

OK, back to it. This is an exciting time for sure; cabin, Christmas, Arizona warmth, then the final chapter of grad school. OK.

viva

The academic world is grossly out-of-step with the Christian calendar. Don't they know, the professors that is, that we're required to prepare well in advance of December 25th for the Christmas holiday? I just finished my finals today, which means I started frantically scribbling Christmas cards this evening.

Life is rolling along like a wet sponge; I'm getting too wound up about future employment. Too often I lie awake at night, waiting for sleep to descend; chasing thoughts about resumes, cover letters, interviews, networking, locations... Come on, I'm still six months from graduating, and probably nine months from relocation. The underlying anxiety permeates everything I touch, including my relationship with Lauren, and I am way too cranky way too often. Too, too, how many times is TOO many to use TOO?

Lauren and I head to the cabin next week for a three-day pre-Christmas vacation, a welcome respite before I journey to Elko and then south to Tucson for a couple weeks. The three days in the mountains will be the only full-on rest during this break, and I'm looking forward to sleeping late, eating well, and logging some epic snow-laden hikes. The last trip Lauren and I followed some elk tracks a few miles up a trail. In my non-Sacagawean knowledge I assumed we were a mere five minutes behind them, though the tracks were likely laid hours before our arrival. This time the snowscape should offer new opportunities to fake mountainman insight... are there bears in Idaho?

I am excited about Tucson, and the couch is reserved awaiting my arrival. A friend of mine calls the sport of cycling "a tall man in a midget circus", meaning it is the most outlying of sports in the public eye. The benefit to such a niche sport is that friendship ties run deep and thick; how else would I have a couch to occupy seven hundred miles away? During my training time I'll also be shooting cover letters to potential employers. Between pedaling my bike and peddling myself I will stay occupied. I'm also planning a day-trip into Mexico, which will be my first trip since I was in diapers (three years ago... just kidding, it's been a couple decades). My dad once bragged to me that he drug me across the border with him just to distract the border police; I like to embellish the story by imagining the dope actually hidden in my Huggies. Huggies? Smugglies?

The only things I'm bringing back are some fake Oakley sunglasses and a few gallons of local-brewed Tequila (which I've heard makes exceptional engine degreaser). I'm not pretty enough to warrant abduction, but I'll be certain to alert my caretakers before I cross the border so don't worry. I am planning to stick to English as much as possible, mostly to conduct my own experiment into how many people try to rip-off the dumb American tourist who can't speak Spanish. Should be fun.

And yes, I am really eager to spend Christmas with my family in Elko. My mom knows the correct colors, smells, and music to spiral my thoughts back 20-years to the fondest childhood memories I possess. Gifts mean nothing. The intangible family vibe hits you like an anvil in the chest the first time the Christmas tree lights flicker.

Hooray for the unexpected!

Hewwo weaders.

Still battling the cold, still waking up each morning to find that the little viruses have up and relocated to another region of my body.

It's Thursday, the week is almost over again. I was scheduled to head to Mountain Home today with my work compatriots, but opted to sit at home (yet again) and eat soup and cry into my keyboard. Oh, awesome news here: I took my car down to an auto shop to get the brakes checked (as prompted by the high-viz BRAKE light on my dash)... turns out that the brake master cylinder is destroyed and I'll have to buy a new one. Retail: $320. Labor: $75. Good thing I'm loaded with cash or this would be a tough one to remedy... oh, wait.

Little tight on cash flow, and here I am skipping work due to illness. Ya hoo! All my standard cold remedies continue to fail, but I'll keep at it today. Garlic soup, garlic tea, garlic and ginger puree, one of them is bound to work (by the way, Lauren LOVES being around me when I'm sick). Maybe today I can figure out a way to work from home, or to job hunt, or something; I just have a hard time being absolutely lethargic and falling victim to bad day-time TV programming. Gravity's Rainbow, the book I'm involved in right now, only offers 30-minute windows of entertainment because it's so freaking hard to keep up with. Special thanks to Tom Crawford for introducing me to Thomas Pynchon's works of literature.... his books are a mental workout, and in my sickness they offer no solace.

Goodbye. My garlic is calling.

Le Bois? Nope

So let me put this in perspective: Boise has a squirrel infestation problem. In my backyard alone, there are six squirrels vying for residence in three trees. Instead of watching the morning news, Lauren and I have taken interest in observing Gladiator-like competitions, in which the squirrels hurl each other from atop full-grown oak and fir trees. Nothing complements good coffee like squirrel wrestling.

But I digress, the point is that these little buggers have no natural predator in Boise (aside from the aqua-tred-clad rims of Toyota 4-Runners). I'm not against the procreation of squirrels, mind you... but seeing three rodents simultaneously inverted in a single tree... dangling by their rear feet on the ends of the thinnest branches (like upside-down fur-clad Christmas ornaments)... one begins to wonder when the population flux will decrease. Boise is called the City of Trees, but if there are two squirrels per tree in Boise, perhaps it should be called the City of Squirrels. I don't know the French name for that... something like Le Squirre'?

Other news: the weather is terrible. I got all duded-up yesterday and went for a 2-hour bike ride in the rain. Yay! As I've stated before, however, the line between Tough-Guy and Sick-Guy is ever-so-thin, and unfortunately I crossed it yesterday. I had a great ride, but was soaked for too long and awoke with a sore throat this a.m. Paired with the time change, the weather at this time of the year in Boise (sorry, in Squirrelville) really tests one's resilience to depression: dark, gloomy skies and limited hours of sunlight. I suppose that everyone in the U.S. experiences this, but feeling exclusive lets me justify my rants and whining.

Such is life. I'm off to Vibrations, then to my MBA class, the hopefully to a solid night's sleep back at the pad. Thank goodness for the Grocery Outlet: 48 cough drops for $1.25. I'm working through 'em.

Ping Pong

I used to wonder if I was manic-depressant, or sometimes just manic-manic... sometimes depressant-depressant. Now I have to wonder if I simply lacked a stable, constant source of the right music.

Does music dictate the mood, or does your mood decide the music? I think you can force feed your emotions. Go ahead, wake up on the wrong side of the bed, but start your morning with the right blend of goofy-ass indie rock, or poppy-random techno, and your synapses have no option but to start sparking in a lighter shade of electric blue. Try it: pre-load something into your stereo (MP3, CD, I don't care)... then break the rules by blasting yourself senseless right when you get up.

My mother is reading this right now, assuredly picturing Bob in a panic at 4:45am while she skitters about the living room, electric-sliding to Paul Oakenfold's latest electronic remix of Elvis Presley's "Rubberneckin".... OK, so maybe you have to change your plans if you live with someone else. But hey maybe you can force-feed their emotions, too (DISCLAIMER: I can not take responsibility for adverse reactions).

The point? There is none. I suppose I wanted to finally write a post that didn't scour and examine the depth of my soul. I mean, come on, if I continue the trend of my writing topics I'd have to rename my blog to something more like: Melancholy-R-Us, Fear and Loathing in Boise, A Life More Somber, or more simply... Waaaahhhh!!!

So have a good day. If you're already on the wrong path, I suggest rocking out to The Decemberists' song Sporting Life, or Swayzek's song Ping Pong. Dig it.