This shot is from the window to the left of my desk. There isn't a screen on the window, so I stuck the camera out and took a shot. 

This is the view from my office through the window directly in front of me. In the bottom of the picture you can see the scattered pvc stuff from the hurdles we made for winter plyometrics. Yeah, got to use those a grand total of three times before the knee said, "Um, No." 

Better. Sorta.

I rode with Noah this morning on the Sunday ride. He was considerably smoother at holding his line and so forth. He was riding just fine up Wichita Trail when someone in the group said, "Good job, Noah!" Then he looks down at his computer and says, "We're doing 18mph!" The thing is, when Noah looks down at his computer, he stops pedaling. And we were on a hill. Near the back of the group.

So then we were gapped, and I didn't have the engine to push him to close it. But we sure tried.We just rolled for awhile, and we talked about staying focused on the task. we talked about how much smoother he was riding, which he attributed to his 20 minute session on the rollers.

We discussed cutting the course and meeting up with the group at another point so he could get more group time. We decided to instead take a few shortcuts and meet up with the group in the last few miles so he could ride the finish with the guys racing for the win. I explained to him that he would get dropped on the attacks, but if he kept chasing that he'd catch back up when they sat up looking around. Fortunately for me the group did a lot of this in the last few miles, and made me look real smart.He dug deep, made it over a little hill or two, and managed to survive the late attacks. He even kept the guys sprinting for the win to about 50m at the line, AND he kept on keeping on, so he passed people who blew or sat up. That was cool.

I had to give a few pushes in those closing miles, which were more like slings than pushes. Then I'd have to chase while he tagged on to the group. I got a good workout in, which isn't hard for me to do at this point.

40.6 miles in about 2:40:00 ride time. But a lot of that was just rolling and talking while taking shortcuts and waiting for the group.

I liked this shot a bit better. Don't cost nuthin'. 

Noah's first time on the rollers. This is five minutes after we started. I left him riding while I went to get the camera. "this is cool!" "woo hoo" Those are things he's actually saying while riding. Might not be able to notice it in this shot, but he's not leaning against anything. Doesn't need to. 

Mama was hanging laundry, and Reanie was working the field. 

I guess I could have helped hang the laundry 

Buddy has had happierr mornings than this 

Mary Had a Little Lamb, Confetti, and Cranky Trucks

So Reanie, Buddy and I are sitting in the truck in the driveway this morning. We're all buckled in and I turn the key...nunhnuhnuhnuhnuhnuhnuhnuh. Nuhnuhnuhnuhnuh nuhnuhnuhnuh. Hmmm.

Mama already left for work, and today I need some wheels. I can get the kids to school via the bike trailer and a short ride, but besides the ice on the windsheild, I still really need wheels today.

Nuhnuhnuhnuhnuhnuh. Nuhnuhnuhnuhnuhnuh. Nuhnuhnuh.

I'm starting to worry that the battery is going to die. "Is it flooded?" "Is is getting gas?" I don't know. Can't smell anything.

So I sit there for a bit. I was about to scrape the ice off of the windsheild, but that seems silly if we aren't going anywhere. That's when I decided that I'll just keep turning the key until it starts or until the battery dies. At the very least, I'll wake up Noah and we'll push this truck down the hill to try to start it.

One last turn of the key before I go crazy from singing "Mary had a little lamb" and put the kids in the trailer to get them to school....cough, cough, cough, sputter, sound of 1976 V6 starting and running.

We make it to the preschool. We had a nice mix of tunes, "Mary had a little lamb," "Patty Cake," "This old man...," "Twinkle little star." I don't know if we need a working radio in the truck afterall.

I take them into school and the principal is there sprinkling clover-shaped confetti everywhere, and she is randomly turning the cute little kids chairs over and gernerally disheveling the place.

O-kaaaayyy...

When I get the kids down the hall to their rooms, the principal gets on the inercom to tell the kids and teachers that, "I little green man has just been spotted!"

So all 12 kids and three teachers rush out into the hall. everyone is genuinel excited. Reanie is excited too, though we just got there, and I think she's just being excited because everyone else is excited. She's got her mouth and eyes wide open.

I'm a guy, so decorating for "holidays" like this is ridiculous. It isn't cool.

But it really was.

I'm wearing a green TRP shirt today.

Bessie

Bessie

In the last 2.5 months, Bessie has had the following replaced:

Tires
Battery
Battery Cables
Belt (just one belt on her...no A/C, power steering or anything)

Oh, all of those things replaced were the originals with the truck from when it was new.

Here's the britches. 

New TRP kit coming soon! 

TST Birdville 02.13.05 

The Noah Channel

One of my favorite foods is pistachios. They are a lot of work to get opened, but it is worth it.

Noah took his first belt test in tae kwan do on Friday. He looked good. He looked like he knew what he was doing. Not that I didn't expect him to do well, but it was a strange (but awesome) feeling to see him testing doing things that I know nothing about, and looking like he's been doing it forever. Until now, I've known more about anything he's taken up than he did, so seeing him look like an athlete in something I don't even know right from left was (dare I say) inspiring.

When he came out of his class yesterday, he was already wearing his new belt. Cool.

We (the babies, Noah and I) drove straight home from his class, all stuffed nicely in the cab of the truck, talking about "yellow" the entire way. As soon as we hit the door to the house, Noah put on his cycling shorts and went to work on the trainer, getting his ride in for the day.

And this morning, he didn't say, "Dad, it isn't cool to take your lunch. All my friends buy their lunches." And he emptied the diaper pail this morning too. Molto freddo.

Baseball season started on Monday.

It's Like This, You See...

It was just made aware to me that my last entry might be read as a "Woe is Me" type thing.

Don't read it that way.

Sure, it sucks to be broke, but it is part of the risk you take when you get to answer the "So what do you do?" question at parties with, "I'm a cycling coach and we put out a free magazine." When we were really rolling well with coaching and the rag, things were really rolling well, you know? We'll get there again. Just gotta put in the base.

I mean, it really isn't all bad. This morning, I got the kids up, took them to school in Bessie, which I fixed yesterday instead of taking it in to the shop. They didn't fuss when I dropped them off (yes!), I came back home to get some work done, saw Mama madly trying to get a magazine tidbit done before going to the day job, and I made myself some breakfast.

Eggs scrambled with some of the leftover homemade pasta that Mama made last night, slathered with some sweet pepper tomato sauce I made the night before. Cup of good coffee with a push of a button. Upstairs to my office with the windows open and a beautiful day. The cows are content, just laying in the field. A bird flew in through an open window and didn't freak...

Things are good. There are worse things than being broke.

Heck, I may even suit up to ride to the post office today.

OK, back to work.

It's My Party, I'll Cry if I Want To

That was a fun party. What was happening was a great, big, huge game of musical chairs. Lots and lots of people, loud music, action...things were happening.

But evidently, someone forgot to pay the elctric bill, and when the power was shut off, it left the party awkwardly silent. Guests weren't really sure what was going on, and though everyone was still in the party spirit, after awhile, folks realized the power wasn't coming back on. Gradually, everything just went dead. The energy, obviously, but also the spirit, the food, the music...all of it went dead. All we could do around here was clean up the mess. And like any party that gets busted up, everyone sort of stands around wondering what to do next. Eventually, someone says, "Hey, let's go over to..." But those who were hosting the party have to stay and clean up that one first.

So there we were, cleaning up the mess in the dark. Part of the gig. To have a party, there's always some set up and clean up. Over the last 1.5 years, in particular, we've lived the vida loca. When the power went out, we laughed. "Uh, oh! Someone forgot to pay the bill," we said in a singsong voice.

Upon closer inspection, we found out that it wasn't that we forgot to pay the bill. We flat couldn't pay it. Nor any bill for that matter. Then it wasn't funny anymore.

We hadn't just had a rough month; we'd had a rough twelve. Chloe sort of knew, as did I, but we had some optimism that things would work out anyway. I mean, those advertisers who were thousands of dollars in arrears were sure to pay, right? Riiigghhhtt. Not so strangely, the printer still wanted to be paid. Our mortgage company still wanted to be paid, we still needed to pay for health insurance...

After awhile, the party-goers were asking when the next party was going to be. They were asking me why so and so was coming, because he's a downer. And why is that other so and so coming, because he's a party pooper. And why is that other person coming, he doesn't even like your parties.

I was also hearing, "You really need to talk to the downer guy." "You really need to deal with the party pooper, because he's making us feel bad." "You need to talk to the guy who doesn't like your parties and set him straight."

Geesh. I felt more like a piñata than a party host.

Then the police came to really bust up any future party. They had papers and everything. That night, when trying to figure out how to get the power turned back on, I had one too many, "Hey Chris, you really need to..." type things. When I snapped, I snapped at my daughter.

The tear hadn't even reached her chin when I decided that hosting another party wasn't going to happen. Dealing with the party poopers, the downers and the guys who didn't like the parties in the first place, and dealing with the people who had problems with all those people was far down on my list of priorities, yet it was taking up an inordinate amount of time and energy.

Sure, I wanted to (and was willing to) deal with hosting the parties. Throwing a party is work, but it is generally fun for everyone. But planning for the next party was getting to be a job. One that didn't pay. And dealing with personnel issues for a job that doesn't pay is a far cry from having a party.

Anyway, I let the chaparones know that we weren't going to have any more parties. Told them that paying the light bill was getting to be an issue. I was told, "Don't worry about it. Money won't be an issue."

Ding, you've got mail. "Hey Chris, you know, if I'm going to be on this team, these are the things I'm going to need."

Man, I think I've got other things to worry about right now.

Anywhat, we had some serious things to deal with on the homefront. We got out of the party hosting business. We've liquidated just about everything that could be sold, and fooled some people into buying things that couldn't. We're still way short. But without having to deal with the people complaining about the party poopers or the party poopers, I've found I have time to really work. Maybe we will get the lights turned on again.

I can't tell you how many times I've thought about getting out of the two-wheeled world over the last few months. What has pretty much saved me from quitting it altogether was seeing clients tear it up in the early races. That was about the time that we started getting some genuine positive feedback about the magazine. Then it sort of made the picture clear to me...I've got a pretty good gig. It was poor business and crappy luck that got us in this predicament. It was not a lack of skill or talent to get the job done.

Chloe bailed from the cycling world for the most part. Partly by choice, partly out of necessity. I'm driving a new bus. The Racing Post bus. It is a different kind of party.

If you don't get one sent to you directly, please get to a shop and pick one up. All of our party is now packed into 32 pages. Let the shop know that you are there to pick it up. Think of the magazine as a party favor.


For those who have asked me about racing:
I am not riding right now. But I still shave my legs. You never know.

Bye Bye Ruby

Early December, 1998, somewhere in the dead zone between big D and H-town. Noah and I are cruising south to see Grammy in Galveston to do the Dickens on the Strand thing. Nice event, that is. Funnel cake. Bag pipes. Funnel Cake. They have other stuff too, I think.

So we're rolling down the road in the Explorer. It was getting tired though. It had almost 200,000 miles on it, and over the previous few months, it had some things start going wrong with it. I was in a world of not really being able to afford something else, nor could I really afford to fix her, so I just made sure we had a bike in the back at all times. Good times.

It was late, say 10pm or so, and it caught my eye that the temperature gauge was climbing a bit. I decided to keep an eye on it, but keep the thing moving south anyway. Found a Bobby McFarrin tape, and just went on with the monotony.

Then the windshield fogged up with steam. Crap! Took a quick look at the gauge, and for a second I thought the needle had fallen off, but it was just pinned. The wrong way.

So I pulled over, popped the hood, looked inside (that's what we learn to do in "Guy School"), grabbed a rag, burned the bejeezes out of my arm turning the radiator cap anyway, poured in the last of the gallon jug of gatorade we had. And then sat and waited for about 20 minutes.

When I went to start the car, the battery acted dead for a second, but then it caught, the thing started, the gauge read normal, and we rolled.

Made it to Galveston that night, met up with Grammy, and we did the Dickens thing that weekend. I even got a ride in, though it was only along the coast from Galveston to Freeport and back. Since I only do it once or twice per year, I like that ride. But it doesn't have anything to do with "Bye Bye Ruby."

After a weekend of funnel cake, we pakced up and headed north. Made it to about Clear Lake when the oil pressure and water temp guage said, "F'you." My Mom (Grammy) was behind us, so she stopped and asked what was wrong. I told her, "200,001 miles." Grabbed her phone, called GrandDaddy, and asaked him to make a call to his friendliest and most compassionate car dealer advertiser in The Blues.

I waited until the car cooled off, added some oil and water, and drove that thing straight to the car dealership. It ran fine and normal all of the way there.

GrandDaddy set up the meeting with the friendly sales guy, I told him, "I can't afford a new car, but what can you do for me anyway?" We did a lease thing (CRINGE), and he showed me Mustangs. Mustangs are cool and all, but I race bicycles, so I obviously don't care about "cool."

Explorers and the Expeditions were too expensive, so that left--and all I really wanted anyway--was a pickup. The four dour thing was just happening, so I talked myself into that. Save a few bones and get a manual tranny...everything was done except the color. Told Noah to go pick out a color and to keep in mind that this truck would probably be his someday (he was 3yr at the time), and he chose RED.

The sales guy asked/told me, "is there anything wrong with your car to affect its trade in value say no because it is going to auction immediately anyway?"

"Um, no," I replied.

And we drove back to Denton in our new truck.

A couple years later, tired of dealing with the lease, and doing better financially, and having blown the mileage alottment for four years already, I bought it. I was planning to keep it forever, and I felt dang good about buying that truck. Truck owner. That was me. Me and the F150, the National truck of Texas.

We drove that truck to and from our wedding. When Bubu and I started the wooden Christmas ornament thing (that was the original Lone Star Works) we drove up to the farm in Tennessee and brought back a truck load of wood working equipment. We drove that thing on many trips out to the ranch in Terlingua, about eleventy-hundred bike races, to the farm in San Patricio, to...like I said, I went through four years of miles in two years. It was driven.

But I didn't drive it hard, though. I'm a slow, deliberate, almost defensive driver. That truck was going to last. It was developing a soul.

Then we went broke. Shit happens and all that, and we needed the cash, and I was out of things to sell, and we'd found another truck to replace it on the cheap (Bessie), so, we got Noah's OK to sell his truck (He asked if he could have Bessie instead. Deal), he said, "yes," and we put it up in the classifieds.

Not a single call for two weeks. I tried dumping it for cash with friends and family, but no takers.

Then I got a call from a Mexican who doesn't speak english. Over the course of a wek, we had about a dozen conversations. He'd come over to look at the truck, but I wouldn't be here. That happened twice. But, finally, we got it sorted out.

He offered $5000. We were asking $6650.

He made sure I knew he didn't speak english. I made sure he knew it was $6000.

On Monday night, he said he'd come back on Friday to buy it. I told him, we'll see you tonight, then. I had his keys in my hand (from when he test drove the truck), and I walked inside the house with them. He freaked a bit, but figured it out, got his keys, told me he'd be back at 8:30p with the cash.

He showed up at 8:47p, and we did the deal. $5800 (as soon as he test drove it, the power door locks decided to stop working, and the inspection was due last September).

Then he drove off in my truck.

The People's Elbow and Mama's Underwear on Your Head

There was a beatuful lightening show last night. C.Ezra ("Buddy"), Reanie and I watched it for some time, which was quite nice having them sit still with me while we looked out through the back windows over the pasture and trees. When the rain began pelting the window, I took that as a cue to put them to bed, as I was hoping they would be asleep when the storm hit.

Reanie wasn't going down at all, so she stayed up with me a bit and watched a Dora DVD. I got Buddy down pretty easily, but he's got an ear infection, so he's up every 15 mins or so to whine, but he goes right back to sleep.

What I really needed to happen was for Reanie to learn the Dora stuff quick, as I had a guy come over to buy Ruby (1999 F150), and he didn't speak english. Whatever. Deal was done, but that is another story for another time.

I gave Reanie the money, just because it was funny to see her hold all of those 100 dollar bills. Then we made a sippy cup for her, and took her to bed. As we approached the door, we could hear Buddy babbling about something. I was hoping he was the only one in the room, but it was still cute to hear him talking just for the sake of talking.

As soon as I walked in, he started fussing. Great. Reanie said, "Too loud." I put her down, gave her a kiss, picked him up, and then Mama called.

"How's it going?"

"Fine."

"Did the kids go down easy?"

"Yes." They just won't stay down.

So, Buddy and I went to bed in the big bed. He was a little grouchy, but I figured out which medicine was his, and that seemed to take care of it.

At some point during the night, Reanie crawled into bed between us. I'm a very, very (yes, two "very's") light sleeper, and I don't remember her getting in bed with us. I realized she was there when I rolled over and gave her my best version of The Rock's 'People's Elbow'. Right between her eyes and with enough force that I hoped I didn't just knock her out. Of course, at the time, I thought it was Buddy who I hit. But I quickly learned it wasn't when Reanie said, "No hitting, Daddy."

They squirmed, rolled and squeaked through the night, never waking up. I know they never woke up, because I was awake watching them.

When I finally gave up trying to go back to sleep, I tiptoed to the shower, only turning on the smallest of lights. My intent was to take a shower, get downstairs to make breakfast, then come wake them up, dress them, feed them, take them to school, and get to work.

So I'm taking a shower for about, oh, 30 seconds when I hear one set of pitter patter footsteps. I look out over the door of the shower to see Buddy with his pajama top sorta off with one arm out. He looked like he was wearing a toga with one arm and shoulder bare and the other shoulder holding up his clothes. But his other arm wasn't in the sleeve; it was stuck inside. He was playing around with toys paying no mind that he only had use of one arm. It seemed like it was perfectly normal for him.

I finished up the shower, and when I came out, Buddy was wearing a pair of Mama's underwear on his head and around his neck. As long I dropped the Hamlet and Hoover context, Buddy looked like he was just coming in from some frat party. It is hard to be cool with your Mama's underwear on your head, but he pulled it off.

We had a breakfast of polenta, scrambled eggs and tomato sauce (yes, I cooked), and took them to school. This was the first day that neither of them fussed when Mama or Daddy left. We've had days where one was fine, and not the other, but today, both were fine. Yyyeeeeesssss!

Then I went to Walmart for groceries because I was supposed to get something from Kroger. If that is my worst screw up of the day, we're doing pretty good.

Bartonville Whirled Chumpionships

Mama is on the plane to Vegas, we had Cheerios and cheese for dinner, and Noah is chomping to get on the track.

Reanie took to riding the tricycle properly (she could pedal before, but much like her Daddy's attempt at racing bikes, she was only going backwards). By 'properly,' I mean that she pedals, goes in a forward direction, and steers to avoid things she means to avoid and hit things, like her baby brother, she means to hit.

Noah crushed the Sunday ride on Sunday. He made it over Wichita Trail, Shiloh, and the Bartonville hill under his own power (no pushes). He was gapped on Wichita Trail and Shiloh, but he got back on under his own power. His undoing was the long, straight, flat section on 407. The group was riding 27 or so (tamer than normal), but he was just plain spun out in his biggest gear of 44x13. He was also dealing with a couple of guys who were dangling off the back. One was getting dropped, and the other didn't realize that there was a kid he was taking off the back when he'd coast, stretch, and sprint back on.

Now I realize, and I've prepared Noah that when the hot dog racers return that we probably won't make it over Wichita Trail with the group for awhile. But he's up for trying. He's really looking forward to racing on the track. Hope the track up here offers a separate race for the junior/youth. Otherwise it looks like we head to Houston to throw down with their youngsters program.

Buddy can't ride a bike, but any time someone rides down our road (which is a lot), he says, "Daddy." I'm pretty sure he means that the cyclists remind him of Daddy, not that all of those riders are his Daddy.

Eating Meat With Your Hands

Noah and I did the Sunday ride this past weekend. While we had done it together before, that had been on the tandem. This was his first time on his own bike.

We rolled from the house and put in some warm up miles before meeting up with the group in Lewisville. I gave him only the essential information of what to expect on the ride, as I didn't want to overload his processor and have him crash his hard drive or anything else.

The plan was to do the "neutral" eight or so miles until the Taco Bell in Flower Mound (Taco Bell in Flower Mound Taco Bell in Flower Mound Taco Bell in Flower Mound) and then sit up and ride our own pace home. That'd give us about 20 miles on the day. I knew that a lot of the hammer dogs were away racing, so I was sort of gambling that the ride would be pretty easy until Taco Bell in Flower Mound. Turned out just fine. Instead of rolling at 20-21, we rolled at 16-18, which is a good pace for Noah.

We stayed pretty near the back, and for the most part, the only folks around us are fairly tight friends of mine, so they wouldn't bother to say anything unless it was encouraging.

Of course, there were a handful of guys, who I don't know at all and scarcely recognize them, who made sure to give Noah all kinds of advice. "Point your elbows out." "Pedal with your ankles in." "Find a gear that allows you to pedal 100rpms." "Blah blah." "Blah blah bladdity blah blah."

Just let the kid ride. He isn't in your way. He's just nine years old for crissakes. He's 100 lbs riding a 25 lbs bike at 18 mph behind guys who are just barely less squirrely than himself. STFU.

The only tough part Noah faced in the first handful of miles was when we turned off of Morriss Rd on to whatever road it is we turn on to when we turn off Morriss Rd. At that point, there was the typical acceleration out of the corner, which stretches things out a bit, but then the guys in front sit down and it bunches all up again. If you are near the front, it doesn't feel like anything. If you are near the back, then you have to sort of sprint, then cruise, then coast, then hit your brakes. For Noah, that sprint to 25mph to get on the group was kinda tough, but he made it without too much fuss. Writing about it makes it sound like it was more than it was.

The next thing was to get on 2499 and ride by the grocery store. A few guys peeled off for a piss stop, and one guy nearly chopped Noah's front wheel, because he didn't even bother to signal that he was turning right. I told Noah that you can almost predict when certain things will happen in a pack, but it is very rare to predict when an adult male's bladder will be so full 8 miles into a ride that he can't bother to say, "I'm turning here." But like I said above, we were riding in the back of the group amongst guys who a barely better skilled riders than Noah.

We make the turn and roll by the Taco Bell. Noah doesn't realize we past the Taco Bell, so we stick with the group. The pace picks up, but it isn't anything brutal. Maybe 20mph or so, and Noah lets a few bike lengths open up a few times, but he manages to close it each time.

Then we get to Wichita Trail. Without me saying anything, he worked his way up to the front half of the group. This helped him get half way up the hill before losing contact with the back of the group. I gave him just enough of a push that he could catch back up, if he worked hard. And he kept working hard. Real hard. He'd get 15-20 yards from the back, and I'd make him finish it off. He'd blow a bit, and I'd help him get close. Repeat that a few times.

By this point Hassan and Kuithe are riding along with us. Keep in mind that we are hovering 15-40 yards off the back for a couple miles. Noah ultimately regains contact just as we hit the bottom of the hill on Shiloh. Ouch.

Hassan helps pace Noah along, and we all catch up at the light at 1171, just as it turns green. Noah hangs with the group down McMakin, and his face his turning a nice shade of red at his extended effort. I start prepping him that we need to get over the hill with the Bartonville city limit sign and that after that, we'll be going fast, but he'll be able to sit on.

But as we approached Hawk Rd, Noah asked where the Taco Bell was.

I told him we passed it quite awhile earlier, and he asked if we could ride easy for a bit. "Sure we can. You did a great job."

We turned left and made the .5 mile cool down to the house. It was awesome.

That was one of my best days ever. Certainly one of my best days on a bike.


Now, what fuels the fire and feeds the hunger is that there were a couple of guys on the ride that were idiots. One said that Noah was "unsafe," and he said it where Noah could hear it. Nice. We're at the back or two or three people from the back, and the group is rolling at 18mph. If you are worried about being near Noah, fart, and that should move you up a spot or two.

Another guy said something along the same lines, but he meant it more as a slam on me, since "The Coach" can't even coach his own son. That kind of thing.

Wait until Noah is eleven and dropping both of your asses.

Some folks are just idiots. Seems cycling has more than its fair share.

If you ride with Noah, he knows he's having a tough time keeping that front wheel pointed straight. Part of it is his size. Part of it is his lack of experience. Part of it is that he's darn near or considerably anaerobic, even when we are just cruising around. Part of it is simply a bike adjustment thing--I can't seem to get his headset just right...it is either too tight or too loose, but we'll get it sorted before his next group ride. Part of it is that aside from his races that have 6-10 people and break up 50 yards from the start, he just hasn't done much in the way of riding in the group. Part of it is that he's just 9yrs old. He gets distracted by things like a can in the road or a kid on the sidewalk riding a scooter, or a donut shop.

We had to start somewhere.




ggg