I think about lyrics a lot

It occurred to me today that Neil Young's song "Cortez the Killer" has an abrupt ending. It's as if Neil wanted to write a long song of epic scope but just ran out of steam.

Also, is there any lyric sadder than the end of Bob Mould's "Compositions for the Young and Old," to wit:

"I hear the weatherman
He says "it looks like rain for a while
I guess I'll have to stay inside
Make peanut butter sandwiches and cry."

Fuck, makes me wanna cry every time I hear it. Bob Mould deserves to have his name live on for a thousand years for writing the album Workbook.

uh-oh

Well guys, We made it to the middle of fekkin' nowhere, Middlegate Station, Nevada, which isn't actually a town, it was a rest stop on the old pony express route 100 years ago, and now it's a rest stop on the Lincoln Highway between Fallon and Austin. It's basically a clapboard saloon/restaurant/motel
deal, and there's one house across the road from it, where I bought sweet corn from the folks who lived there when I was driving through 10 years ago. We're staying the night in the motel; amazingly they have wifi! Fred rode 100 miles yesterday, me considerably less, so we deserve soft beds to sleep on.

Middlegate is also the "gateway" to Berlin-Icthyosaur State Park, 51 miles down a gravel road. I love the name of the park! The Berlin part refers to a mining ghost town, and the Icthyosaur part refers to a handsome specimen of a fossil icthyosaur that was discovered there back in the day. It's still embedded in the rock face it was found in, but is now protected from the elements inside a building. Pretty neat if you can stand the drive.

Last night around 2 am, Fred and I were awakened by a horrible racket outside the motel, followed by bright lights. We peeked out the window and there was a helicopter landing in the parking lot. There was also an ambulance, lights a-flashing. We figured someone was being airlifted out, god knows what happened to them. It gave me flashbacks to my own accident last year. Haven't been able to get back to sleep since.

Which brings me to my own tribulation, and why I haven't written so far. I've been pretty bummed out since last Wednesday, when we rode into Placerville. Besides Fred's bike self-destructing (we eventually got him a new one), My achille's tendon began to hurt me. It may have to do with the new bike shoes I had to buy in Davis, or maybe some sequelae to my injury, but it kept getting worse, and my ankle swelled up disturbingly. It also began to "squeak," which I guess was from the inflamed tendon rubbing against the surrounding tissue. I consulted a doctor and he said I had tendonitis, and needed to R.I.C.E my achille's tendon or it might rupture. So I've been a total drag on this trip ever since Placerville (Fred's bike was a total drag on it before Placerville). The tendon's a little better, but not much. We discussed ending the trip, or at least the riding, so I can heal my heel, heh heh. The alternate plan would be to get a car go visit friends &
relations in New Mexico for a few weeks, riding our bikes as the mood suited us. On June 23 I have to be in Iowa City, Iowa, for a week long Rural Health Scholars Program (some of you know I sorta want to work in rural health care when I graduate), which is this annual symposium thingie for med students, dental students, and NP students. I have no idea why they're letting me in, but what the heck-- It's Iowa, baby!!! Immediately after that ends, Fred needs to attend a Bat Mitzvah in one of the suburbs of Denver. And I forgot, I'm supposed to visit my folks in Ohio, also. So it would still be a full-ish itinerary. Maybe fun, too. Anything to get me outta this funk. Oh yeah, not rupturing my tendon would probably be a good thing, too.

So there it is. My body is a broken down mess. I'll probably never get a chance to do something like this again. I've been wanting to do this since I was 18 years old. Better stop now, I'm getting depressed again.

First post of the actual bike ride

Day Two (May 25):

Today was our first full day. We covered 70 miles
total from Benecia, the lovely oil refinery town, to Davis,
perhaps the North American and/or New World Capital of
Bicycles. I mean, they have a bike as their official town logo
(a penny-farthing, one of those old-timey bikes from a
hundred years ago with the giant front wheel and the tiny
rear wheel. You needed a step ladder to mount one of those
suckers. I hear they were quite unstable but went hella fast.
No chain involved, so the big differential in size between the
pedal crank and the front wheel provided the pedaling
advantage. Then someone invented the bicycle chain and
the pneumatic tire, and the penny-farthing was toast.
But I digress).

Lots of roads we have been on have been spectacular, but
The Putah Creek Road was paradise. Putah Creek. Hee hee.

Sorry.

Giant hills bordering the valley, covered with Blue, Valley, and
Coast Live oaks. How do we know this? Because Fred is a
freaking botanical encyclopedia.
The Buckeyes are in full flower and
the inflorescences of these trees are typically some
what longer than the coastal version (sez Fred).
The Putah Creek and Pleasant Valley Roads were
Flat, no traffic to speak of, and there were peletons of
cyclists going all directions. We were surrounded by
Enormous groves of English walnut, Cherry trees,
and Nectarine trees with fresh ripe
golden fruit. Fred even stopped to pilfer some (only ones
that were on the ground, of course!) Delish.
(Dana)

We had hardly been on the Putah Creek Road a couple of
miles when I was approached, as I was riding by a guy on
nice road bike who talked with me for several minutes.
He asked me where we were headed and who was with me.
He had guessed that Dana and I were together on the
trip as we were both the only cyclists on the road
with touring paniers on. He was very friendly and he
would race ahead ten miles or so and then circle back
to cycle and talk to other cyclists on the road,
biking all the time, getting his century in for the
day I'm supposing. He helped us out with information
on Davis.
(Fred)

Davis was fantastic!! Bikes everywhere and people so
friendly and helpful. I talked to guy in Rite
Aide about bike stores, and he gave us a tour around
town that lasted an hour!. Pretty good for a Monday.

So I was using these things called SPDs (affectionately
called "spuds"), made by Shimano,
which are a clipless pedal system with the cleats on the
bottom of the shoe recessed so that you can walk around
normally with them on instead of doing the "duck walk"
like you do with serious racer shoes. My shoes in this
case were actually SPD sandals, and were over 10 years
and had seen a couple thousand miles of use. Well, somewhere
between Vacaville and Davis, my right sandal disintegrated,
by which I mean fell apart into 2 pieces, all with little warning.
This was nearly intolerable, and luckily I was in the bike
nirvana, so I quickly acquired replacements. This was my
salvation but perhaps also my undoing. More on that later.
This was our second mechanical glitch that day (Fred had a flat
tire earlier, no biggie).

Anyhoo, two strangers
showing up in Davis at 4:30 pm on loaded touring bikes
get the right treatment in Davis, apparently. Our Rite-Aid
friend was calling his friends at various housing Co-ops
in an attempt to get us free housing that night. In the end
we decided to go with the motel, but it was a great friendly
effort on his part.

It turns he and his family live in Village Homes
which are some of the very first ecological/ solar/
earth-roofed homes ever built in America, built with
giant commons that everyone shares and lots and lots
of community gardens and athletic fields.
All sustainable-- no pesticides/herbicides.
A completely community-focused earth-freak subdivision.
As you can imagine, not many of the houses there are in
forclosure.

So, we did some bike shopping, which included spare tires
and and a space-age sweat-wicking cycling shirt for Fred.
It was blue. Then we rode to Nugget Market for the organic
fresh food, and a giant sammich for me. Foolishly we bought a
watermelon which I had to precariously bungee to the back
of my bike. We ate like porkers in the motel room and fell
asleep within an hour.

Freakin' cable TV but no A&E, so I couldn't watch the remake
of "The Andromeda Strain." This depressed me, and oddly,
I thought about Scottosaurus and how he probably loved
"The Andromeda Strain" (had we talked about it once? Mebbe).

Sac is only 15 miles away.. Tomorrow we hope to make
it to Placerville.

Birds & animals: western kingbird (Dana still hasn't
seen this one),
Acorn woodpecker (three perfect white spots, one on
each wing and white on the tail), Red tailed hawk,
turkey vultures, metalmark and sulphur butterflies.

Fred should be giving nature tours.

more nonsense

"timesuck (n.):" something that irresistably takes up more of one's time than one can spare.

"rosyjackterrier (adj.):" combination of "rosey jack world" (a peppy Blake Babies album) and "jack russell terrier" (a frisky dog breed); in a condition of being overly excited about nothing: "don't get all roseyjackterrier on me..."

"please tell mom this is not her fault." -- Blink 182

The Gerund Song

There were some good lines from my trip to your house
I sold my soul to you like some discount outlet Faust
I showed you the burst capillaries in my sclera and said i took the red eye
I had some dreams about you I'll never tell and I wanted to feel my cheek on your thigh
If the sky were any bluer I'd have to live a million years
If I could disappear into it I'd gladly give you all my years
But I'll be annoying people for another fifty years with luck
Here's hoping my last dying phrase contains the word "fuck."


DON'T MESS WITH THE SEXLESS!

more neologisms

"frotty (adj.):" from the phrase "fraught with danger...;" said of a venture that's unlikely to succeed; iffy.

"to zoom (v.):" to scam or deceive; typical phrase: "who's zoomin' who here?"

"to lurk (v.):" to stealthily attend a social gathering one is not necessarily invited to in order boost one's ego by getting members of the opposite sex all excited then disappearing without a trace.

I'm pretty sure the picnic books are so named because one of the early one's cover was decorated by red gingham print contact paper (like a picnic blanket).

"blow some life into me jesus." -- Robert Pollard

Who needs intimate anymore? I'm comfortable with exhibitionism. Squeeze the rotted pulp outta my catharsis-loving soul. I don't care anymore.

get by

Intelligent Designers and AIDS deniers,
Placebo artists and outright liars,
Homeopath tincturers and book of love bowdlerizers,
Just let go of your crazy-think and we'll get by just fine!

People who make those ads on the internet where the fresh faced young woman morphs into the wrinkled crone
before your eyes,
Folks who cause so much harm then throw up their hands and say "it's all just business!"
The sunk costs of 10000 years of every religion on earth,
Just let go of your crazy-think and we'll get by just fine!

bike-water axis

Water... the real fuel that drives a long distance
ride. You get a love-hate relationship with the watery
stuff. Love because... well, thirst! Hate because the
stuff is HEAVY, and as much as you need it, you begin
to resent carrying it after a while. I mean, water
weights almost as much as you do, pound for pound, yet
it doesn't really DO anything, not the way your
sleeping bag swaddles you, or your iPod keeps your
brain from frying. Water is the substance you always
wish you had more of on the bike yet you never seem to
drink it as often as you should. The gold standard of
hydration is urine-- if you're peeing a couple times a
day, you know you're hydratin' ok. That's why people
like Camelbacks, they make sipping effortless:
think-drink, I call it. But I'm a purist. I like the
gummy, clunky, gotta reach down fer it, old fashioned
bike water bottle. Plus they help you keep mental tabs
on your reserves. The more you carry, the more secure
you feel. The pace of the ride goes from water stop to
water stop. If you find yourself not filling up at a
water stop because you have plenty left over, you feel
annoyed. On the other hand, nothing spells panic like
having swigged your last ounce with miles and miles
ahead of you to the next town, and nothing but
shimmering heat mirages taunting you! You can
literally be driven to drinking putrid unfiltered
ditch water by thirst desperation. Which is why it's a
good idea to bring a water filter. Life on the road
turns you into an H2O connoisseur. You judge the
delightfulness of every small town park you rest at
primarily by the slakeworthiness of its drinking
fountain and the quality of its shade. Ahhh, small
town parks. And elementary schools. The oases of the FLT!

craptastic dollar store buys!!

Memorable purchases at dollar stores: box of safety pins that were so dull and weak that you would bend them out of shape just trying to get the sharp part through cloth. I think they even would start to bend, Uri Geller-style, just by thinking bent thoughts. Liquid crystal lipstick that after you applied it would turn from green to fuschia. Rubber sauropod dinosaur skeleton. Crappy bare wood napkin holder that i use to store hold and envelopes and stuff. A bag of small rubber toy eyeballs, irises in rainbow hues. Yellow "POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS" tape. Small red fake netsuke dragon.