What Makes Her Unique

Tags

family

My daughter is home from college for the summer, a treat that I know I may not get to enjoy too many times again.  Last summer, she lived for two months at a youth camp in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin as a live in counselor.  Who knows what next year will bring, especially since she is studying to be a teacher and will be a college junior this year.  Alyssa is a busy young lady, really not home much even when she is home — working as a cashier at Cracker Barrel, teaching flute lessons, volunteering to help with the high school marching band, as well as spending a lot of her free time with friends.  I am quite proud of my busy little girl.

Tonight I am watching Alyssa put together decorations for her dorm floor, adding to the collection of decorations she has already put together this summer.  This fall, she will be the Personnel Assistant for her dorm floor (other colleges call the position R.A.), a responsibility she is taking quite seriously.  The other night, she wrote and mailed notes to each of the freshman girls that will be on her dorm floor.  Several times, I have watched her Face Time with the other P.A. in her dorm.  When Alyssa was interviewing to be P.A., she was as nervous as I have seen her, and she was very excited when she found out that she was appointed to the position.  I received a text from her right away, then a phone call.

I love watching the careful detail she gives.  It’s the way she has always been, something that has always brought a smile to me.  When she was the drum major for her high school marching band, she gave the same kind of attention to the responsibilities that came with the position.

I am aware of the blessing my daughter is, not just to me, but to others.  Not all fathers have so many reasons to be proud of their child.

As I watch my daughter, I realize that even though I can see the influence of both myself and my wife in her, so much of what makes her special is unique to her.  I can’t take credit for a lot of what makes her the person she is.  Neither can her mother.  Oh, there are parts of her personality that reflect each of her parents, but so much of what makes Alyssa so special is what is unique only to her.

Look at her hair — curly, red, and neither of her parents has either!

She leaves for college in a few weeks.  My house will seem empty.  I miss her already!

It was a strange weekend.

Doctor follow up.  Blood pressure is very much under control, 124/68 on Friday afternoon and usually somewhere in the vicinity of that pressure.    My doctor was very pleased with what he saw, enough that he said he does not need to see me for another year.

Whoop!

Visit to my parents, the annual family get together.  I went by myself, my children both occupied with either work or camp, my wife decided that work needed her attention.  It felt very strange to be by myself.  My brothers and their wives as well as their children did a good job treating me like it was no big deal.  I felt a bit betrayed by my wife, but I also enjoyed the time with my family.  We went to an outdoor play last night, Hello Dolly, and my little niece enjoyed having her uncle Steve all to herself. I like that my niece and nephew like their uncle.  Anna sat next to me during the play and it was clear that she liked having her uncle with her!

I rode some of the local singletrack trails around Lake Springfield yesterday morning, a treat simply because the local trail group is new and they have been working hard to put together a good trail system.  From what I saw, they have a good start.  The trails were very well maintained and I liked that the trail builders are trying to make them challenging.  It has been very rainy in Illinois lately, so the trails were a bit greasy, but they have a lot of roots and extra stunts added in.  I had a good time riding the trails, the Lick Creek and Polecat Creek trail systems.  They were challenging enough that I dumped twice, and also wrecked a rear derailleur while jumping a log (not a big deal except for the time it will take for my shop to fix the break).

I am home, by myself, enjoying a bit of the quiet.  With Nate gone for the week, it promises to be a quiet week.  I may not be riding much as my road bike is also out of commission.  The rear wheel has been a constant issue all season and has not been quite right since last Fall.  I took it back to my favorite shop last week and my friend, Pete, is looking for a reasonably priced replacement.  He has given up fixing the wheel.

 

E-Limp

Tags

family, life

Electronic books are a new thing to me.  Prior to just a few weeks ago, I had never given electronic books much of a thought, at least beyond when my daughter had a Kindle and she had chosen to read an assigned book for school on her Kindle (and was disappointed when the Kindle failed).  Honestly, I am one of those people who is holding on to the notion that a REAL hard copy book is the only way to read a book.

Then again, my only choice for E-books was using my phone or IPod or lap top computer.  None of those mediums is ideal for E-books.  Recently, a dishonest Verizon salesman sold my wife and son a phone upgrade with the idea that the tablet promotion offered with the phone upgrade was ‘free’ and would cost us nothing.  Now, I have two free tablet computers that cost me $500… plus a monthly fee for the phone lines that were added to the wireless accounts.

I despise dishonest people, especially freaking two faced truthless phone salesmen.

So I have two tablets that I have no idea what to do with.  Nobody in my family has a real use for tablet computers.  Sorry, tablet manufacturers, we just don’t.

When I went to my local library to check out the latest jones that I am experiencing, a trilogy by Justin Cronin, I was flabbergasted that the first book of the trilogy was already checked out.  I found the second and third books, greedily grabbed them and horded them to my possession.  But ‘The Passage’ was not mine to be possessed.  I slapped my forehead repeatedly.  What was I to do?

Ahhhhhhhh, but I have tablets in my possession, both gathering electronic dust.  My local library also offers Ebooks.  Hah!!!!!!  I found my loophole.  An Ebook copy of ‘The Passage’ was available.  I checked it out using my new unwelcome tablet, an evil grin enveloping my countenance as I realized that I beat out other desperate readers for one of the five electronic copies available.  I began reading, almost greedily, immediately, trying to get used to the electronic format.

The Passage is very, very, very good, by the way.

I was 90% finished.

Guess what happened?  I bet you can’t guess.

Maybe you can, especially if you are E savvy.

I was close to the end.  The electronic check out period ran out.  I didn’t know it.  I was prepared to finish the book before I went to sleep a few nights ago, but the electronic gods had already taken the book away from me.

AUGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

Big Ball Confession

Tags

life

I have a confession to make, a deed so nasty and foul that anyone who reads this will hate me forever.

No, I am not endorsing Trump, not even 50 words of Michelle Malania.  I am pretty sure that I would vote for his son.

No, I did not squeeze the Charmin.  I have been tempted to squeeze the Charmin, but I learned my lesson from watching Mister Whipple  turn into an addict.  I am traumatized to this day.  Let’s face it, that guy was cree-py.

This past January, two of the guys from the softball team that I played on a few years ago contacted me to ask if I would play for their team this season.  It was a mildly complicated decision, mainly because it was the company team from the company that I was fired from two years ago.  They assured me that the coast was clear, no one in upper management was watching.  Besides, it would cost me nothing since the company paid the league fee.  I said OK.  I liked playing for that team, especially since we always got along very well, almost always winding down with a few beers in the parking lot after our games.  And I still like to play, still feel like I am just a bit better than your average guy, very proud of a strong arm that can still deliver a throw from third base that will take the first baseman’s mitt off, as well as the above average to hit a softball — I rarely make an out.

Yes, I have an ego.  That is not my confession.

I played the first 10 games of the season.  Each night the team plays is a double header, two consecutive games, so I played the first four weeks of the season.  The last two games, the guy who coaches the team put me last in the batting order.  Last.  I had made three outs in ten games.  The guy batted me last.  Each game I had been moved down in the batting order.

What the freak?  What the freaking freak?  Who does something like that?

This 55 year old dope was insulted and I decided to be a passive aggressive baby.  After all, I knew that if anyone was keeping track of batting statistics, my average as well as on base percentage would be far and away the best on the team.  When I was batting in the 4th or 5th spot in the batting order, our team was winning because I was hitting consistently and scoring the runners on base to the tune of being responsible for at least 6 runs a game (or more).  So I quit showing up for the games, three weeks in a row.  The coach kept texting me and asking if I was going to play, but I always made an excuse for why I couldn’t be there (only one was legit — I went to Feed My Starving Children with my daughter).

Eventually it dawned on me that I was being a whiny baby.  Guilt set in.  After all, the coach kept sending me messages, wanted me to play.  So I decided to come clean, but I was not going to do that without being completely honest.  I told the coach that I was not happy with batting last and had decided it was not worth my time to play if I was batting last and that was the reason why I had not been showing up for the games.  I suppose I was graduating to big boy pants with that confession.

I showed up last night.  Batted fifth in the batting order.  Played third base.  Knocked the cover off of the ball and made some pretty dang good plays at third base, including stealing a rocket hit down the base line and pegging the throw to first base, a satisfying pop in the first baseman’s mitt that caused him to shake his hand with pain.  Our team won the first game by eight runs, the second game by slaughter rule.  I guess I proved my point.

Yes, I have an ego.  That should be the real confession here.

 

 

 

De Muir

Tags

bicycle, friends, memories, mountain biking

Every moment spent on a bicycle is sublime.  It can be a bit like giving birth, I suppose, as much as I can imagine that feels like, in that it’s not the pain that you remember as much as the sheer joy of what the experience reveals to you.  What I take away from each and every ride will stay with me forever.

Thanks, Jim, for reminding me of that.  You’re pretty smart, for a roadie.

Yesterday was a nearly 30 mile day — 28.99 miles to be precise.  Singletrack.  Rocky, sandy, steep climbs, roots, twisty turns, screaming descents.  Through woods and meadow, groves of cedar.  The Kettle Moraine area of southern Wisconsin is exquisite.  A treat.  And barely two hours drive from my front door.  My third time riding there, it is now cemented on my ‘must do’ list every riding season.

My friend, Ben, sent me a message last Thursday — Kettle Saturday at 10 am?  Full monty.  Some faster riders will be there.

I already was thinking about going on my own.  Ben’s invite just helped me make up my mind — Of course.  I could go for that.  See you then!

And so I went.  Ben and I met his friends, Melissa and Scott, as well as Eric (his job is to drive Specialized demos from trail to trail for demo days), at the John Muir trailhead in Lagrange, Wisconsin.  The plan was to do the full monty, which means that we were going to ride both the John Muir trail system as well as the connector to the Emma Carlin trail system.  On my own, I would have no problem riding the 30 miles.  However, I did not know if I could hang with Ben’s group all day.  Melissa and Scott are racers, Melissa a former roadie turned mountain biker (when I asked her about riding road, she says she has no desire to go back to riding road — it’s too boring), and both skilled, fast riders.

I shouldn’t have been worried.  No one cared.  All we cared about was riding and riding in a beautiful place.  I hung on, but it was work for me, and the faster riders did nothing but encourage me all day, even complimented me as I conquered some fairly hairy rock gardens and a skinny with a tall drop.  When we stopped to catch our breath, it was a blast, the comraderie of riding bringing us together.  I was tired and at the mid way point felt like I didn’t have much left in my tank, but I pushed on and was glad that I did.  Had I stopped, I would have missed a lot, including the time spent winding down at the end of the ride, cold beer and the talk about what we had done that day.

Like when Ben and I were riding through the connector trail that wound through a meadow, surrounded by tall grass.  Ben was about 50 yards ahead of me when I saw his red helmet disappear into the weeds.  The trail was deep with fine sand as it took a sharp turn, Ben’s front wheel digging in and throwing him into the tall grass.

That reminds me, I need to look up what those little prairie dog like animals were in the field next to the parking lot.  They popped out of their holes and stood up to check out the surroundings, all together.

Here’s a selfie taken by Melissa somewhere around the 20 mile mark, when we stopped to cool off and take in the view from an overlook.  I am the guy in the orange with the blue/white head sweat.  Melissa kicks butt — she was up front all day.  Scott was right on her tail the whole time.  They both are such good riders, I felt a bit out of place, but you might be able to tell from the picture that I fit right in.

 

Hog Wallow Friends and other stories

Tags

bicycle, friends, life, mountain biking

As far as I know, there is not a novel with the title of Hog Wallow Friends.  If there is, I bet it stinks.

Ha!  Ha ha ha!

Hog Wallow Friends might be the best title for the story of my July, at least so far.  Friday afternoon, my boss decided that we both were taking a half day vacation.  So at noon, I was gone, a flash out the door before he could change his mind.  I zipped home, changed into my cycling clothes, and loaded the mountain bike up on my VW for a trip to a Chicagoland mountain bike that I don’t visit as much as I would like to — Palos forest preserve.  I was on the trail by 1:30.

The trails at Palos don’t dry fast, one of the reasons I don’t go there often, but the trails were dry and in great shape.  Palos, however, always has a few large spots on a few trails that hold water, a perpetual mud pit.  One of the first connectors that I took, a trail called Hickory Smoke as it runs through a grove of Hickory, as well as being a fairly fast trail.  At one point on that trail, there is a sharp bend around a large Hickory, a spot where quite a few large roots cross the entire trail.  In between those roots, the water collects, turning the trail into a mud bog.  I crossed the roots close to the tree, a bit precarious as the roots close to the tree are large and, to ride that close to the tree, you have to be comfortable leaning a bit away from the tree as you ride over the roots.  That ended up being the best line, with no issue as I rolled over the roots.

Remember those roots and the mud that exists between them.

Palos has a lot of trail with a lot of climbing, a different ride that the constant little 10-20 feet up and down trails that I normally ride.  It’s a workout.  I rode a good 2 hours or more, returned to the parking lot with a pleasant fatigue, stripped my sweat soaked shirt off and perched underneath the opened hatch of my car to recover with a bottle of water.

“Steeeeeevvvvvvvve!!!!  Is that you?”  It was my friend, Gina, someone I met last year on a group bike path ride, then again as part of the group I rode with during a ride called Rando de Taco.  Gina rolled to a stop in front of me, a big smile on her face, happy to see me.  Likewise.  I enjoyed the rides last year, Gina and her boyfriend Glenn instantly becoming friends.

“Did you just finish a ride?  If you want to ride some more, we have a group ride starting up in a few minutes.”  I might have declined, but I felt like I still had something left in the Steve tank.  Besides, I have never seen Gina ride dirt singletrack.  The two rides I did with her last year were flat path rides and not on mountain bikes.  Rumor was that Gina was a very fast and gifted mountain biker, a former racer who had quite a bit of success.  She is petite and fiercely competitive, a consistently fast rider who led our group on both rides I had been on with her, latching onto my back wheel or riding next to me when either of us were not pulling the group.  I had to see her ride dirt.

So I put my shirt and shoes back on, jumped back on my bike.  The ride was a coed ride, promised to be a medium paced ride.  All except Gina were people I didn’t know — Price, Steve, Chrisrine, Nancy, Don.  As seems to be the case when a bike is involved, three hours later I would have five new friends.

We rolled out onto the connector trail that I had started on a few hours earlier, Hickory Smoke.  The first section went quickly, with Price and Gina leading out, and with me right on their tail.  We stopped for the rest of the group, then Gina encouraged me to lead out.  I did just that.

Remember that I said that Gina is fiercely competitive.  I intentionally lead out fast, hoping to shake her off of my tail, but failing at that.  Quickly, we were out ahead of everyone but Price.

That is until we came to that bend around the tree with the roots and mud.  I took the same line, cleared the roots even faster than I had before.  After I cleared those roots, a few seconds later I heard a loud “Argggggghhhh!” followed by a splash.  Gina had leaned too far over as she crossed that roots, tried to put her foot down to steady her but found out it was too far down to the ground.

Gina was very personally acquainted with the hog wallow-like mud between the roots, covered from head to toe with thick mud as she fell in.  Following the splash was loud laughter as the riders behind witnessed the dirty debacle.

Pictures were not allowed, at least not until Gina was able to take a quick dip in a close by lake.  But her mishap had really created a loose atmosphere amongst the group, not that we were all that serious to begin with.  The pace slowed, the competitive fire reduced to a glowing ember, replaced by conversation.   Before I knew it, several hours had passed and I was near toast.

And that is when the competitive fire returned.  The slower riders in the group decided to finish up, leaving the faster riders — Price, Gina and myself (sort of) — to ride a little more at a faster pace.  They gave us a challenge to ride a three mile loop instead of the one mile connector they would take back to the parking lot, see if we could beat them back to the parking lot.  I was toast, but no way was I going to do the one mile connector.

I should have just admitted it.  I was buttered and spread with jam with about a mile left on that loop.  Price and Gina ended up slowing their pace to help bring me in.  I rode nearly 6 hours of single track that day, though.

We all finished up with a brew at the Imperial Oak, then I headed home to pick up Nate for a late night movie.  I still had a little left in the Steve tank, I guess.

Price invited me back to Palos for a early morning July 4 guys ride.  I made some new friends — Price, Dean, Neal, as well as getting to ride singletrack with Glenn (Gina’s boy friend).  I was invited to ride with Price and a few others the next evening, with a promise that I could try out Price’s fat tire bike on that ride.  We ended up at the Imperial Oak after the Tuesday evening spin, a mistake for me as I ended up staying out way too late!

So there you have it.  I am so glad that summer is back and the trails are ready to ride again!