Years ago, before DC or New York or San Francisco, before Southern California, before St. Louis, I lived in Southern Illinois. My folks went to SIU in Carbondale, and spent the next several years working for different organizations in Jackson and Randolph County. One of the towns we lived in was Chester, Illinois, nestled on the banks of the Mississippi.

Chester had one street light, and about 6000 people. The official population was 8500, but that included the 2500 or so “residents” of the Pierre Menard Home, a maximum security correctional facility for the criminally insane. It also had a food factory, Gilster-Mary Lee, where they made cake mix. I always remember that smell.

I lived there from fourth to sixth grade. I haven’t kept up with anyone I went to school with, though I remember many of the names, and even some of the faces. Of the ones I do, perhaps the face I remember most vividly is Melissa Reiman. She was athletic and tall, a born achiever, and a radiant person. Whenever my mind stumbles back through what remains of my memories of being 11, she’s in them, a bright, shining star.

So, how did this come up? Well, just a little bit ago, another name popped into my head that I couldn’t place, so I Googled and the name came from a site dedicated to Chester High School’s Class of ‘87. I clicked, and my stomach flipped and dropped.

The Chester High School Class of 1987 has lost their “Favorite Punk Rocker.” The City of Chester is remembering Melissa Reiman who lost her five-year battle against cancer Friday morning, May 1.

The 40 year old CHS Hall of Fame member passed away around 6:30am central time Friday morning in a San Diego hospital with her family surrounding her.

I haven’t talked to her in probably 25 or 30 years. I didn’t know she’d married, or had a son, or moved to San Diego. But I’m certain of two things: I know she fought like hell, and I know she’s left a massive crater of a hole in the lives of those she left behind. I feel it a thousand miles and 30 years away.

This is insignificant in the scheme of things, but I’ve made a small donation to my Livestrong account in her name, the eighty-seven cents to mark what would’ve been our common graduating class had I stayed in Chester. Melissa, you’ll be on my mind and in my heart while I ride.

Look what my awesome wife found In the basement, right where it liberated itself last saturday! She’s like a bounty hunter of lost electronics, but without the mullet.

[UPDATE]: So I wore it into work today. My route had more road exposure so I kept it low enough that I could easily hear when my shift needed trimming, and that seemed to work fine, though I don’t think this will become a regular occurence on D.C. streets.

In any case, some initial thoughts:

• Earbuds aren’t going to cut it, ultimately. I’ll have to find something with a more positive connection to my head, hopefully an open-driver model that allows world-noise to come through. I had a pair of Sennheiser portable headphones at one point that were perfect for that, though probably too bulky to fit in a helmet.
• Band/Song I would’ve thought would be a good driver but wasn’t so great: Circle Jerks, Deny Everything. Too fast, too short, and 3 beat changes (none of which I could keep up with). Good in the sense that a triple shot of espresso would’ve been.
• Band/Song I wouldn’t have thought would be so great but turned out to work really well: Fleet Foxes, White Winter Hymnal. Oh, sure, it’s got pretty pretty harmonizing, and seems like it belongs more to the cable-knit sweater crowd. But it’s got an outstanding tempo, and kettle drums, and what’s wrong with pretty? I really liked spinning to this. Besides… I kinda like cable-knits. Don’t look at me at like that.
• Band/Song that was every bit as awesome and bad-ass as I thought it was gonna be: Rush, Spirit of the Radio. God damn it was awesome when this came up. Out of all the Rush songs that I love, and there are many, this one is just irresistable to me. I think I could load up a playlist with just this song, do five hours of riding, and still be pounding my handlebars along with Mr. Peart. (Yeah, I know you don’t like ‘em, get stuffed Canada Hater.)
• Band/Song that dangerously surpassed my expectations of awesome-ness: Mudhoney, Thorn. Mudhoney makes me wanna bunny hop a flaming trench on an Xtracycle. This cannot be on any playlist for any ride where other people’s safety is involved. Dammit.

The shuffle thing’s kinda hit and miss. I went from a Jerry Reed tune to Roxy Music at one point, the transition didn’t work and Roxy Music sapped the bounce. So it seems like crafting an 8-hour-long mix tape is what it’s gonna take to manage the ups and downs. But, I was pretty stoked and surprised to have this one come up.

Yesterday, I was going to do the Sligo Creek to Capital Crescent Trail into work, and then do it again coming home.

Cledus was my weapon of choice, he’s a solid warhorse of a bike that loves the road and frolics on gravel. I felt good, the weather was beautiful, and once I got warm I started pushing on him, and then kept pushing harder. I hit pedestrian-free stretches on the gravel parts of the CCT where cruising in the 20’s was as easy and natural as the grin on my face, and towards the end I even took turns pulling and drafting another gentleman that was tearing down the last couple miles towards Water St. I realize this is not at all impressive by any objective measure, but averaging 16.5 mph for 20.6 miles is probably the performance highlight of my short, unremarkable cycling career.

When it was time to go home at the end of the day, I was pumped to get on the loop for another run… right up until I got on the bike. Half block into the ride home, I realized I had nothing left in the tank, nada, so I headed north to the shortest, flattest route home and tried to keep the stiffness and fire in my legs down to a manageable level. Progress burns!

Nevertheless, with that short ride home, and then a round trip to the pool to meet the family, the first half of the year came to a close with my first ever 500 mile month! Woohoo! Here’s some more numbers, as recorded by… BikeGame!:

• Finished June with 502 1/4 miles and somewhere around 14405 feet of climbing, though MapMyRide’s elevation stats are innaccurate, so that’s kind of an arbitrary measure suggesting only that some climbing was done. We’ll call those units “not-feet”.
• For the year, I’ve done 271 rides for 1962 miles and 59416 not-feet of climbing.
• Also, thanks to a few close friends and family, I’ve raised another $200 in donations for the Livestrong Foundation, and have now crossed the minimum fundraising line of $250 to clock in at $274.65

Now, I need to talk to y’all about something. The Team Fatty Philly manager has asked me about my donations, and I said, “I have just over $250, see? I made it!”

And she said, “$250 is the minimum, sure, but it’s up to you whether or not you want to do the bare minimum. Well, like, Oscar over there has raised $2740, and he has a terrific smile.”

So I said to her, “Okay. Okay, so you want me to do more fundraising.”

“Chiggins,” she says, “people can go anywhere to give money to fight cancer. They give to people doing the Livestrong Challenge for the thrill and the attitude. That’s what it’s about, okay? It’s about fun.”

“So you want me to raise more funds then?”

“Look, we want you to fundraise, okay? If you think the bare minimum’s enough, then okay. But some people raise more, and we encourage that, okay? You do want to raise more funds, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Great. Great. That’s all Team Fatty asks”

“Okay.”

So, um, I need to raise some more flair– er, funds, I don’t wanna be on the wrong side of Philly Jen. If you were thinking about making a donation, now’d be a good time to do it.

There’s 54 days left until the Philly ride, and we’re only five riders away from our goal for team members. Last I checked, I was the only representative from our nation’s capital. You really, really don’t want me to be the sole representative from our nation’s capital. So I’m calling out all you cyclists from the District, and asking you to join me in Philadelphia on August 23rd.

Also, our team’s about 30% of the way to our fundraising goal, so please consider making a contribution. With your help, we’ll hit our goal. Hopefully, we’ll surpass it, by a lot.

I mean, c’mon, what do you think of someone that just does the bare minimum?

As I read a few folks’ blogs last week, and noticed the playlists they were forming for their long rides, I became entranced by a vision. I see myself steaming along the Capital Crescent Trail, early in the morning, spirits buoyed by something upbeat, perhaps Spirit of the Radio. Then, I become inspired by High on Fire’s face-melting guitar licks and hammering toms to get out of the saddle and crank like hell. Finally, Tom Jones croons me down, I find an easy, solid cadence, and keep on rollin’ towards the Green, Green Grass of Home. It’s a beautiful, bewitching dream, no?

The beauty of the dream, however, is betrayed by the reality of personal audio devices. Frequently, I’ve been on the business end of what I initially believed to be shockingly inconsiderate behavior, only to approach the person and realize that it wasn’t deliberate thoughtlessness so much as earbud-induced, inadverdent obliviousness to the flow of the world around them. And numerous times, I’ve witnessed someone nearly eliminate themselves from The Great Darwinian Contest by rocking the soundtrack of their life a little louder than other sounds that are, I realize, less appealing, but nevertheless crucial to one’s safety. Approaching cars and jealous, well-armed spouses, f’rinstance.

But I felt like I could be different. I figured if I was wearing headphones, and came to the top of a subway escalator, I’d have enough presence of mind to clear the way and dart the eyes. I figured that I’d never ride wearing headphones on any street with significant traffic, and I’d otherwise keep the volume low enough to hear music and people on paths and trails. Maybe I was right, maybe not, but Geddy Lee, Matt Pike, and Tom Jones were egging me on and I couldn’t resist. So I bought an MP3 player.

Friday night, I stayed up late after the kids went to bed, loading up 300ish songs, carefully selected from several thousand, and cross sorting them into playlists that reflected genre, personal categories, and most importantly, tempo. It was late when I got to bed, and I knew that the ride I had planned for the morning would hurt a little more, but I figured I could always turn to the Reverend Horton Heat if I needed to pick it up.

Saturday morning, Rebbie and I loaded up Nigel, and rode off to the Mt. Pleasant Farmers’ Market, where I was gonna hook up with my buddy Mark, who is also an intrepid Xtracyclist. Our plan was to head down to Tryst for coffee and pie, then ride our longtails out to Mt. Vernon and back along the Mt. Vernon Trail. I was a little spun, but it was a truly gorgeous morning, my legs felt good, and spinning the cranks got me fired up. About 3 miles from home, I looked down and realized that the player I’d clipped to my shorts, the one I’d bought less than 24 hours ago and finished loading less than 5 hours before, had vanished.

So, besides the fact that I’d just lit $50 on fire, and that I’d traded 3.5 of my planned 8 hours of sleep to go all music-geeky late into the night, I had to explain to my wife that not only had I spent money on electronics, but had spent it on a device that we’ve both roundly reviled over and over for its impracticality as a cycling accessory (or a walking accessory for that matter, assuming one wants to be aware of, and involved in, one’s surroundings). She didn’t actually give me any more flak than I deserved, but it still added a dollop of humiliation to the loss.

I’d write it off as a lesson learned, but the dream of adding music to the miles is too desirable, and Lee, Pike, and Jones are not a trio of imaginary guiding angels to be ignored. If any of ya’s out there have a 2 or 4 gig flash-based player that’s just gathering dust in your gadget drawer, I’d be happy to put it to good use. Otherwise, I’ll probably get another one and try again. If you have any tips for staying alert, being considerate, and not endangering one’s self, feel free to leave them in comments. Actually, if you have any amusing anecdotes about failing to stay alert, being an inadvertent jackass, or hilariously almost killing oneself while rocking out, feel free to share them too.

The ride, incidentally, was outstanding. Coffee at Tryst was good, and the blueberry pie was yummy. The ride down Rock Creek Park and across the Arlington Memorial Bridge was a fine warm-up, Nigel ran smooth as the pie made its way into my bloodstream. The trail ran south past Reagan National Airport, and wound along the Potomac for 16 miles and change from the bridge. Mt. Vernon was lovely, the ride back was pretty spirited for a couple old guys drivin’ haulers, and we stopped in Old Town Alexandria for a burger and Yuengling before heading back into the city. Once I hit the other side of the bridge, I worked back up to the market, picked up Wife and Daughter, and headed home to prepare for Tent Night at the Pool. The weekend turned out great, the whole family had a great time, and by Sunday night I’d clocked 176 miles for the week.

Not bad! Though I can’t help but wonder if I could’ve made the jump from “awesome” to “epic” if only Geddy, Matt, and Tom had been there with me.

60 days remain until I ride my bike 100 miles around Montgomery County, PA, just North of Philadelphia. Up until recently, I’d been thinking, “So long as I train to not die, Cledus has the gears and I’m pretty sure I can average at least 10 mph for 10 hours.”

I’d been thinking this because I don’t always read all the documentation associated with toys, tools, or adventures like this. After spending a little more time looking at the route, and reading fine print, I see that there’s a cut-off at 4 hours for a checkpoint 32 miles in, and then provisions for getting riders off the road if it doesn’t look like they’re going to make it in 8.5 hours. Recalculating, it looks like it will take an average of 11.8 mph to make it with seconds to spare, or 13 and a third to get there with an hour to spare.

Last night I took a very long way home, grabbing the Capital Crescent Trail down in Georgetown, taking it to the Sligo Creek Trail in Silver Spring and down through Takoma Park, then into Hyattsville on the Northwest Branch Trail and finally back to Brookland. I did the reverse this morning, certainly because I want the miles, but also because it’s a gorgeous day, the trails are beautiful, and I felt up to it. It’s about a 22 mile trip, and I handled it on Cledus in about 90 minutes and change. A little checking indicates I averaged 14.8 mph, sweet! So all I have to do is stretch that out over the next few weeks, and I’m golden, right? Right?

Except for the fact that DC is really, really flat. That whole loop involved, according to MapMyRide, about 540 of total climbing, none of it on grades above 2%. The Philly Livestrong course, on the other hand, has about 4331 feet of climbing, including a couple climbs of about 500 feet over the course of about 1-2 miles. Hm.

So I’ve still got a lot of work to do, Cledus might get some skinnier shoes, his fenders are definitely coming off, and believe me when I say that depleted uranium bottom bracket I’ve been running is history.

My buddy Aaron just threw down a donation to my Livestrong page. The first was me priming the pump, the second was my mother, in memory of one of her best friends. Aaron’s the first non-me, non-family member to go all in. He’s also a helluva guy.

Thanks brother, you make me proud.

[UPDATE]: One of my other bestest buddies Sharif, aka Mr. Wacky, took that as a challenge and responded swiftly and with a haymaker of a donation. In a world that’s only interested in fucking around, Mr. Wacky is all about business.

Tell ya what folks, that deserves something special. This one’s for you, Sharif.

[UPDATE]: My friend Robin just threw down! Woo Robin! So did my Pop, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that my dear Momma was the first person to chip in. In other words, I’ve already shaken down most of the folks who unconditionally love me and are used to me asking them for advances on my allowance. So now, I’m asking you.

…and we’re back in five… four… three..

Greetings, hot rodders and race fans! It’s a joy and a delight to be back at the… um… Eye Jar? What the hell is an Eye Jar? Anyway, I just flew into the Internet and boy, are my arms tired! Thank you, thank you very much!

First up, for friends and family who’ve been watching the news: the good news is that I was not on or anywhere near the tragic Red Line crash last night. It’s a terrible accident, I’m grateful of course that I wasn’t on that train, and my thoughts are with the families of the dead, and the injured.

The bad news is that I am still putting in 50-100 miles a week on the streets of DC, and the folks I share the road with are eating, rocking out, smoking, talking or texting on their phones, and doing whatever they can to entertain and pleasure themselves rather than piloting their cars and trucks. Sometimes they drive a little bit liquored, sometimes a lot. So statistically, I’m actually I’m in a lot more danger than a Metro commuter. Sorry about that.

Summer’s entrance has been dramatic and wet, full of thunder, lightning, a little hail, and the odd downed tree, but it’s held off the kind of heat that makes us sleep above the sheets, fingers and toes spread, with the ceiling fans on full. Strawberries have been in season, and a couple weeks ago we came into about 4 flats that were just a few days from overripe, so we’ve been enjoying cold, weak daiquiris on a nightly basis since then. But happy funtime’s over, it’s time to get to work.

When I signed up last year to join Team Fatty for the Livestrong Challenge, I had lots going on, but I figured I could keep those plates spinning until about two months before the Philadelphia ride, at which point I’d need to get serious and busy about fundraising and training. The Philly ride is on August 23rd, exactly two months away, so it looks like today’s the day. Over the next couple months, I’ll be putting in a lot of miles, but I’ll also be asking for your help, raffling off things I love and value, maybe even hosting some kind of fundraising barbeque. I’m still working out the details. If all else fails, I’ll be selling my body on the street, raising the remainder the hard way… fifty cents at a time.

Hopefully, with your help, it won’t come to that.

Let’s see, what else has been happening. Oh! Well, when last we spoke, Clovis had been abducted. I hope somehow he escapes his captors, finds a boy (perhaps named “Timmy”), and enjoys his new life running through forests, meadows, and singletrack in the country somewhere. I also hope the bastard that stole him falls into a fissure in the earth and goes straight to Hell.

Since then there’s been some happy additions to the family! Time to break out the pictures…

Shortly after Clovis was stolen, I put in a bid on eBay for a Soma 4one5 singlespeed mountain bike. It was practically new, built up with good components, and I thought about making it into a sexy Xtracycle with an Alfine hub. But since it showed up, I’ve been riding it every chance I get, and it’s been like one of those horrible touching movies where an adult and a kid are thrown together and have to make the best of it but instead of the adult teaching the kid to be more grown-up the kid teaches the adult something about him or herself. There’s no way this bike’s ever going to haul cargo, it’s a light, springy race horse. However, I seem to have picked up a new love, and I predict I’m going to be making my way off the road and onto the dirt a lot more often.

Then, last weekend on Father’s Day, The Wife and I packed up the kids and headed down to First and R St to get coffee and breakfast at Big Bear Cafe, and perhaps pick up some goodies at the Bloomingdale Farmers’ Market. While we had coffee and chased our children, a gentleman we’d met previously came over and excitedly told me he was glad to see us. He and I had talked about bikes and messengering when we’d chatted before, I’d ridden for Elliot Bay in Seattle in the early 90’s, he’d been with Bucky’s. He was leaving in a few days for India, on assignment for the Dept. of Agriculture, and hadn’t found a home for his bike. Rebbie and I had both ridden our haulers, and I figured I could easily tow a bike back home, so we headed over to his house to have a look.

That, dear friends, is an aluminum, epoxy-bonded, 105 equipped 1989 Trek 1400. It weighs nothing. It has very, very skinny tires for someone accustomed to deciding between Big Apples and Fat Franks. It feels very fast. It needs some lovin’, but it’s in fine shape. Naturally I agreed to give it a good home and get it healthy.

Meanwhile, another bike came out of the shed, a somewhat worn, but still quite lovely, Schwinn Le Tour III. Of course I had to ask about what was going to happen to it, of course they said they were going to leave it on the street and someone would take it. I just couldn’t let that happen, because I’m a sucker like that, and I have a little thing for mixtes, so we towed that one back too. She needs some work too, but man, she’s a beaut.

There’s a lesson here, and the lesson is: if anyone’s going to the animal shelter to adopt a pet, it absolutely can not be me, or we’ll end up with 20 dogs and 40 cats.

So that’s what’s on tap for the summer, and likely into fall: some fundraising, lots of riding (by road, trail, and singletrack), and a whole lot of wrenching. And before all that overhauling can take place, the bike room needs dramatic improvements, which will involve some rudimentary carpentry. Good thing too, that’s about the only kind of carpentry I know. Looks like I have my work cut out for me.

Have I mentioned that it’s good to see you again?

PS: I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention how awesome my Father’s Day was besides just adopting two new bikes. Did you get hipster cysts, new gloves, and an awesome new bike-tire wallet for Father’s Day from your family? No? Did they cook you up a delmonico steak and put some brie on top for you? They didn’t?

You gotta remember, people: if you succeed in lowering their standards, they’ll love you that much more. Work on ‘em, and better luck next year.

There’s nothing in me that belongs on this blog right now, I’ll be back when there is.