Tuesday « Kenny Smith | A remarkable thing happens …

Tuesday

cycling / overwriting / photo / Tuesday — Comments Off
19
Nov 24

On the occasion of a record breaking ride

Most rides are for the ride themselves. Or for riding with others. A lot of them are for exercise or to enjoy the great outdoors or both. Take a break, unwind, race a friend you can’t beat, go somewhere. Indulgent as they can be, they always seem to carry at least some sort of purpose. But this ride, today, was just for me. I realized, just before I left, that this would be the ride where I broke a personal best for miles pedaled in a year.

It happened right in here.

After that spot, every turn of the crank arm, every loop the chain made, every time I shifted through the cassette would all be new, a record, a best, an achievement.

You don’t think about that over the course of a ride, but it’s there. When the legs protest, you remember it. They’ve stomped and danced and glided through more miles this year than you’ve ever asked of them before. When your lungs don’t ache, maybe it’s for the same reason. When the lactic acid takes a little longer to burn, maybe that’s why. Or all of it could be that you’ve learned a new kind of patience this late into the year.

All of this is racing the sun, trying to stay on the right side of daylight. I set off through town and out the other side, doubling back into the town again, where 10 miles had gone by in the blink of an eye, thinking about the possibilities of what this ride could hold, given the hour and the time of year.

Yesterday I wanted to do this same route, but started too late and wisely changed my plans. This afternoon, which became the early evening as I swooshed and whirred along, felt like a ride that could go on forever.

I thought about that when I stopped, to put on my windbreaker. I was close to home, but determined to take the longer way back, so I mounted the headlight and left the full finger gloves in my pocket, and riding down that three-mile straight stretch of chipseal. It goes on forever because I want it too, particularly today. And through this stretch I feel a melancholy, a paradox that comes up with the truly great rides. It’s going to end soon. And the season will end soon, which is unacceptable. I don’t want this ride to end, either.

Sometimes you want a ride to be over. You have things to do or somehow the fit seems off or you’re just not feeling it, but there are days when you want it to go on forever, and this was one of those days, evenings, now, because the sun has left me and I’m listening to the rubber on my Gatorskins shuzzzz away in the gloaming.

That’s a great road. No traffic, beautiful farm scenery, two little rollers that can make you feel powerful or humble, or a bit of both. I only want that road to end because of what’s waiting at the turn.

At the bottom of that road is the best part of the ride, a brand-new ribbon that you could soft-pedal at 20 miles per hour, but it only lasts four-tenths of a mile, far too short for something so luxurious.

I have to work my way through two parking lots there, and I become aware that my neck has tightened up because my fit is never quite right and, also, I’m a little bummed about how this ride is coming to an end — I have been out for about two hours and heard two voices in that whole time, a crossing guard in town, who told me to “Go ahead honey,” while she held up her stop sign and a woman two towns later who stepped into the crosswalk as I came through the intersection, she laughed and I apologized and she said “Oh, that’s OK,” and we wished each other a great afternoon and you could hear the smile on her face as I pedaled away through a sleepy small town block. It was those two people and me and road noise and the click click click of my bike and this rattle in my headset, a loose screw that I need to tighten — why should any of this end?

I realized I’d put my foot on the ground just three times during this whole ride. Sometimes the timing is right and that was today, and this turn weaving behind the small car dealership and the gas station beside it, I had the timing right, rejoining the highway and a bike lane with no one coming from either direction. The bike lane there sometimes feels huge and sometimes small. Today, it felt small. I felt big. I felt like I could do anything on my bike, even though I can’t. I felt like my machine was asking me to do more, but it certainly, by now, understands my limitations.

This is why you don’t want these rides to end, why you don’t want colder weather to run you indoors, because you eventually tap into something elemental about this. Something basic and cosmic and purposeful and purposeless. I don’t want to lose that. Not for a minute or four months. It takes too long to find again and would require years of continual study to understand or explain it. Besides, we’ve lost too much this year — family and friends and elections and car keys and cyclists and opportunities and remote controls — and how much must we lose? How much is the right amount? But we lose it all, don’t we? And that’s when I heard the Canada geese somewhere to my left, to the west. They’d blended into the dark blue-gray of the sky, making those incessant honks and barks, those beautifully chaotic, continual sounds. They stay over there to the left, in a wildlife sanctuary, between some pastures, harassing the cattle, adding a bit more to the soundtrack as I stand up and suzsh suzsh suzsh my way up the fourth-to-last roller on my ride. You know the one, it tells you how you’re feeling in defiance of everything else you’ve done, and without any consideration for what else is still ahead, three more little hills, in this case.

At the 4-way stop, the one with the haunted house on the corner, a truck hauling a trailer is waiting for me to pass, even though he has the right of way, and I think, not for the first time, it would be great if everyone understood the rules the same way. But he waited, and I did a track stand for a respectful amount of time and finally I went, even though it was his turn, and even here, it felt like I could have held my bike up for forever. But I could not. But it felt like it just then, and now I wonder, maybe my bike doesn’t want this ride to end, either. Is that what it is? We’re both feeling this moment the same way? The air in the tubes and the softness of the grips and the loose-but-tight grip of my cleats in their clipless mates have all made this tiny little magical moment, which is persisting, but also fleeting.

Down and back up again, just two hills to go. I’ve been thinking, for four miles now, about how I didn’t want this ride to end, about that girl I knew in elementary school, some friends from the 10th grade, a professor I once had, the work I must get to. How the mind wanders. How it can wonder in its wanderings! I thought about the incredible feeling I had on my first ride outside this year, the sweet joy and optimism that came with it, and the feeling of this one, right now. I’m starting to think I should write this down and one word falls out of my mouth as I pull the bidon away one last time: Elation.

Sometime, in December, probably, I’ll have to take my bike to the basement and put it on the trainer. I’ll ride away on Zwift for several months. I’ll pedal a bunch, I’ll sweat a lot. I’ll be breathless. I’ll go nowhere. It’s just not the same.

I saw someone on social media yesterday beaming with pride that their oldest kid had learned to ride the day before and she pedaled away yelling, “I feel freeeeeee!” And, kiddo, it never gets better than that. She’s an old pro by now, because you know she was riding yesterday, and again today. So she knows, but it bears repeating. Be home when the lights come on, or for supper, or whenever your parents tell you, but it never gets better than that. It doesn’t have to. How could it? It just stays that perfect. And you can’t get that feeling on a trainer, no matter how many endorphins you tap into.

My average speed fell away, because why would I want this to end? And I circled one of the neighborhoods, the road shaped like a horseshoe. My neighbor built that development. It’s his, and he thinks of it that way. He still plows that road himself if it snows. He probably contributed, then, to those potholes on the backside of it, the ones I dodged in the semi-dark, chin down to the stem, hands over the hoods like a Belgian champion, using the fullness of the subdivision’s road as I turned into the final length of that horseshoe. The flow of a bicycle in the diagonal is a triumph. You feel freeeeeee. And maybe I could do anything my bike wants to do, even if it is a bit slower.

What is speed, anyway? Today, it just seems like a way to end a ride sooner. That’s a fool’s racket. A hustle with no payoff. At the end of that subdivision, I did another reasonable approximation of a track stand to let the traffic clear, so I could turn left, and then quickly right again. Now a car is behind me, and it’s finally fully dark. I charge up the little hill, throwing my bike this way and that up this penultimate roller, looking like a French prima donna, feeling like a million bucks, thinking of those headlights on me, and wondering where they disappeared to. I glanced over as I switched my headlight on, and the car was gone. So now it’s the downhill and it flattens out to the 90-degree turn into the back of our subdivision, the last hill, then a right-hander and around the big circle to the house. Two cyclists we know live back there, but I don’t even think to look in their yards today. I was, I realize now, too taken with imagining the next ride.

I wonder where it will take me, and how my legs will feel about it. I remind myself, once again, to start earlier in the day next time. This ride was 40 great miles, without even that much fuel, or water, considering the temperatures. I could just as easily have done another hour or two, amused by the muses and the thoughts they bring, bemused by how much better this little tale was, because I was fully in composition mode, while my legs brought me home. Some days it feels like they could go on forever. You must take advantage of those, I said to myself for the 6,000th time in the last 15 years of doing this.

There are days when it never gets old, days like this one. Not the fastest or a technically superior ride, not the first new road discovered, but just a ride for me, filled, in that last little bit, with hopes and fears and love and dreams. My dreams never grow weary.

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12
Nov 24

Enjoy these photos while I grade things

We didn’t get to see the kitties yesterday, which is their usual place on the blog. This is an incredible oversight on my part. I’m the one that looks at the metrics. I’m the one that knows they are the most popular regular feature on the site. But the cats somehow know to. You think this is a joke I make, but no. They are insistent. They are incessant. They are insistently incessant.

And they are consistent.

They are consistently, insistently incessant.

It can be unpleasant, their persitent, if I don’t feature them in a timely fashion.

(As I write this, Poseidon has sat on meet, just to make sure … )

They look like they have a new album dropping, and this is one of their publicity photos.

Did you notice those boxes on the floor below them? Those are their boxes. If you don’t open, empty and remove boxes immediately, they become cat boxes.

We have a cardboard problem.

Phoebe likes to swim in the sunshine. This would have been a great photo, but I composed the negative space all wrong. In my defense, she can move pretty fast while doing the side stroke.

And, the other night, Poe decided that I’d done enough work for a while, and he figured he’d take over for a while.

I wish he’d done some of the grading for me. He never does any of the grading. He picks his spots with his incessant insistence.

Last night, by which I mean 5 p.m., I went to one of the local farms that sells fresh produce. We get an occasional box of goodies from them. The drive over was lovely.

This is the view from their front yard. I don’t know how long they’ve been there, or what determined how their home and some of their farm buildings were laid out, but they’ve got one heck of a view.

I wonder how many days a year they go out to see that, before it becomes old hat. And then, after a time, maybe they forget the everyday-ness of this, and see it again, in wonder.

They’ve got two dogs, at least, and they came to see me this evening. This was the second, and more needy of the two pooches.

Even got in the car when I opened the door. Had to talk him out of going for a ride with me. I’m sure they would miss him there at home. He’s a friendly dog in a fine home in a beautiful place and, last night, it was a perfect night.

cycling / journalism / memories / photo / site / Tuesday — Comments Off
5
Nov 24

New month stuff to distract you, also a new front page look

It occurred to me yesterday that this is the first presidential election cycle since 1996 when I haven’t spent all day and all night in a newsroom or at a campaign watch party.

So all day I’ve just been doing … normal stuff. Is that what everyone does?

My first election as a cub was a midterm election, where I interviewed a man immediately after he found out he was elected to Congress. You could hear the excitement and hope in his voice. He would become a two-term governor. I also interviewed a man who became a senator, who told me I asked too many questions and hung up on me. I spent some time at a watch party where a mayor spent part of her evening hitting on me. (She’d had a few beverages.)

My first presidential election I spent in the studio, and at two watch parties. A woman who was running for local office, who’d spent the entire campaign deliberately not speaking to me, lost that night. It was fun to catch her eye at the end. But I was also trying to localize the Bush-Gore race. That night I took a brief nap in my car before going back inside the studio to go back on the air the next morning.

I was in the studio for the 2004 election, but I don’t really have any strong memories about the night. By 2008 I was back on campus, and I had to convince the students I was working with that it might be a good idea to talk to people on campus about their votes and hopes, and report on their reactions to a historic night. I’d been on that campus for a little over two months at that point, and it was eye-opening.

In 2012, the initiative in that same campus newsroom was better. They were also putting to bed their paper on that Tuesday night, so they were excited, and it was another long night. All of these were long nights.

In 2016, on a different campus, in brand new facilities, someone got the bright idea that we should try the new equipment, all of it, at the same time, and turn that into a showcase. And, fortunately, most of it worked.

By the time of the 2020 election, we were used to all of that new production equipment, but we were working in a Covid environment, which didn’t make the day any shorter, just still-surreal.

And now I’m filling my day in other ways, which is satisfying.

Anyway, the normal stuff was very normal. I have a lot of grading to do this week. It’s all piped into a CMS and that interface helpful tells you how many documents I have to work your way through. Seeing those numbers pile up, it feels like having a headache in a dream. It’s a disembodied feeling, and you know it is supposed to hurt, but you can’t feel it, which somehow makes it more daunting.

So I have 148 things to read and assess. Most of those 148 things require feedback. You want that to be useful. And since I’m forever saying the word “substantive” it should be feedback that has some significant use to it. In truth, the feedback is a lot of fun. You can make all sorts of connections, try to help students make the next leap, introduce a new concept or two if a student is interested in it. And if a student is interested in it, I find that the feedback might be the most fun part of running a class. It just takes time and care. This batch take three or four more days to get it all in. And then the next round will roll in Monday night.

I’ve also done the monthly cleaning of the computer, deleting a bunch of files I no longer need, updating some templates and updating some statistics.

Oh, and I also updated the images on the front page. They look a lot like this.

Go check them out. We’ll wait here for you.

Those are from Monterey Bay, California. I took those on a March afternoon, while we were waiting for our lunch order to be called. It was quiet, but busy, and the waves were also busily doing their job, and also quiet. At least in my memory, now. It was a beautiful afternoon. We’d driven up the Pacific Coast Highway a bit to be there, in that old cannery-turned-tourist town, and we were about to go visit the aquarium.

That is the third or fourth set of photos I’ve put on the front page from that trip. And, it turns out, I took more photos from that beach than I realized. I could run another set easily enough. In fact I might! I saved those photos of sand and rocks and water until now, to get us through a bit of the colder weather that will be here, eventually, though it felt like a warm summer day here today.

I also need to add some new buttons to the front page. I’ll get to it at some point, when the grading gets done.

Since we’re in a new month, I updated my chart for the year’s bike mileage. This means nothing, but I think about it a lot. After each ride I update the spreadsheets — plural, because why just look at a little data when you can consider it in more than one way. This chart is the main way I consider my progress.

And as you can see from the lines, what I’ve actually done, in that blue line, is well above where I was at the same point last year, which is the red line. That green line is just an arbitrary number I use as a linear measure.

I wonder at the end of each month how legitimate this is. On those last few days I compare the miles again, and compare it to earlier iterations of that same month in previous years. And there’s a list where I have ranked the months I’ve ridden the most. And so near the end of October I saw that the month was my most productive October ever — humble though my productivity be — and it had a real shot to become the second most productive month of all time. There was no way I was going to catch February 2024. At the same time, September 2024, January 2023 and November, 2023 were all ready to be knocked down a peg. And so I started riding with that in mind. It seems disingenuous, somehow. To my brain, that is. The parts of me doing the work would argue it’s quite real.

Like I said, this means nothing.

Anyway, I went out this afternoon for an easy 20-mile ride. And because of the time change I was racing daylight to get home.

That photo is timestamped 4:43 p.m. Bring on the solstice, so the days get longer again.

Though this day and night have been plenty long. So much grading still to do …

cycling / photo / Tuesday — Comments Off
29
Oct 24

It’s a grading day, so here’s a brief story

Yesterday, before the week’s grading began in earnest, I surprisingly went for a bike ride. I spent a few minutes noodling around town, waiting to meet the owner of the local bike shop. On my way, I passed this cornfield, which looked like something that van Gogh might have noticed.

The bike shop guy, Mike, rode with me over to a road planning meeting. He took me on a few roads I’ve not been on before, waving and nodding at everyone between here and there. He might be one of those guys who knows everyone. He also taught me a thing or two about riding bikes along the way.

The meeting was for a county-wide project. They had four posters and a few slides. The idea is that this group is going out looking for grants. They’ve identified, over a five-year period, a series of priorities for intersections and roads around the county.

A few of the county commissioners were there, and they want to know more, and would have preferred to be a part of this planning earlier. They’ll apparently hear about it next month. The plan seems sensible, at least to a lay person like me, but it was concerned more with motorists than cyclists. But that makes sense, too, considering the data in their basic five-year study. This was the last poster.

I hope I didn’t volunteer myself for work on this, but I might have volunteered myself for this. If you talk about awareness and perspectives and all of those things to planners and commissioners, they might think you’re interested.

Using the late hour as an excuse, we ducked out of there, Mike the bike shop owner and I, and pedaled away, talking about what we’d heard, and what we’re doing and how we have to work to make moments like this one more widely available.

This moment in particular. I took this shot right after he said that, because it was beautiful, and he was right. And this was where I realized something else.

You should find someone who knows more about a thing you love, a person who has done it for longer than you have, and do that thing with them. No matter how much you enjoy it, or for how long you’ve been passionate about it. You’ll be energized by an enthusiasm that equals or bests your own.

And then, when you part ways in the semi-darkness, you’ll have something to think about as you make your way home.

There might be something more than a metaphor to that.

adventures / cycling / photo / Tuesday — Comments Off
22
Oct 24

Finally got the photo I wanted

Halloween yard decor is a big thing around here. A really big thing. A where-do-you-store-all-this-stuff-year-round thing. But this little yard is my favorite this year. This sits beside a modest house of weathered wood cladding and freshly painted trim, the house’s footprint was cut out of a tree line and farmland. It sits right up on the road, at once out of place and perfectly expected.

Beyond the over-dependence on plastic tchotchkes, this scene has one unique feature. You see it right in front of that standing skeleton.

That human-sized wrapped garbage bag. Wrapped in duct tape.

Each time I pass by, that bag is in a different spot. Cracks me up, every time.

The view from office is not bad.

A little kid plays under those trees. What a magical set of memories are getting made under those big full canopies.

(Update: I took that photo at precisely the right time. Two days later, one of those trees has dropped half of its leaves already.)

I went to campus to give a very brief presentation last night. On the way back home I think I saw the comet.

I was driving, on the phone and it was pure timing, which explains the quality of that photo.

It could be a plane, or a smear on the car’s glass for all you know. (I know it isn’t the latter.)

We went for a nice bike ride this afternoon. Well, the first few miles were nice. I swallowed a bug at about eight miles in, enjoyed a coughing and choking fit, got dropped and never really recovered.

Before that, though, I took this photo. This is the one my lovely bride usually takes, but she’s much better at the composition than I am.

Here’s my question. We’re poking along at 20, 21 miles per hour here. That’s not nothing. How does she look so casual there.

After I got dropped, I enjoyed the scenery.

Have you ever wondered what half a million dollars looks like on a farm? It looks like this combine.

Since I had a nice ride today, and it’s now a record-breaking October, and I’m ahead of my mileage projections, and we went to a cycling safety meeting tonight, I wore this shirt.

I made this a few years ago and it’s sat in my closet since then, because I oddly don’t want to wear the things I like, I guess? Worrying about wear-and-tear and stains probably means something. Anyway, it’s a cool shirt. I thought you should see it. I’m thinking maybe I should design all of my own t-shirts.

Like I have more hangars in the closet.