We made contact again in 2002, threw sparks over the Internet, fell in love again over long late night telephone calls, kissed again on Memorial Day. I took an Amtrak from Baltimore to New York, watching the Mid-Atlantic speed by as my stomach flipped over again and again. We spent a few beautiful days swimming blissfully in our togetherness, and then I returned to San Francisco to consider what had just happened.

You came out to visit, and we spent another week tangled up in each other, happy and anxious, eager yet apprehensive. For 6 months we crossed the continent to be with each other for short, intense bursts. We filled the time apart with phone calls that spanned hours, and we talked about what should happen next.

In the Fall, on my 33rd birthday, I left San Francisco with 3 bags of luggage and moved into your studio apartment on Eldridge St. in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. We fumbled and struggled and got to know each other’s boundaries, occasionally by crossing them, and learned how to live together again in the smallest, densest, most intimate space possible. We had magnificent brunches on the rooftop and dined in bistros all over town. We had the joy and privilege of getting to know some truly remarkable people, the good fortune to host friends from everywhere else.

We already knew we would be together, and I’d already secured Gramma’s engagement ring, when we found out we would soon be parents. On Mother’s Day of 2004, with your Mom and mine brunching on the roof, I snuck up on you, ninja-like, and asked you if you loved me. And then I got on my knee, pulled the ring from my pocket, and asked you to marry me. You replied, eyes wide, grinning, and with a slight crack in your voice, “Of course I will, stupid!”

Ruby joined us in the world of the breathing on November 22, 2004, and spent much of the winter wrapped and bundled inside our coats. Spring came, and then summer, the offer of work in Los Angeles, the promise of family on the West Coast and year-round sunshine took us west. And all the while, the planning continued. I still can’t believe that, in the middle of that maelstrom, you created your wedding dress by hand.

On August 20, 2005, in Santa Cruz, California we stood in front of more than 300 of our friends and family, I whispered my vow to you, close to your ear, and you leaned in to mine and whispered yours. The words of our vows stayed between us, carried the weight of our years together, of our love for each other, of our commitment to spend our lives together. We left the altar, together, to the wild cries and cheers of so many of the folks we love.

And then, behind the stunning effort of so many friends and relatives, we threw one of the best parties I’ve ever been to. Barbeque! Square dancing! Horsehoes! Cotton candy! All those flowers and smiling faces and promenades, the tent city and the music, the wine and the guests decked out in suits and kilts and country dresses… it was so lovely and so much fun. I never wanted it to end, but when it was over we were exhausted and knew it had gone off better than anyone had imagined.

My life has never been more vivid, meaningful, and filled with well-being than it has since I said, “I do.” And every year we’ve been together is better than the last. I still can’t believe how blessed I am to be with you, or how lucky we are to have these amazing children together. It feels strange to say “Happy 3rd Anniversary” after so much time and so many miles.

Happy Anniversary, Rebbie. I love you, so much.

Friday night I traded my 5.5 mile commute home for a 12.5 mile ride north from Downtown to Takoma Park, then northeast to Silver Springs, then southeast down the Sligo Creek Trail to the Northwest Branch Trail, and finally to the PG Pool where I joined the family for dinner and had a quick swim.

Marv: The weekend’s off to a hot start thanks to that dandy homeward ride! Yes!

Saturday morning Rebbie and I enjoyed coffee together on the front porch before the kids got up, and then she whisked Huck away to the farmers’ market. Ruby and I got a rare opportunity to hang out together, so we had some breakfast at the ever-delightful Cafe Suriea before heading down to Turkey Thicket for a playgroup with kids from her new school. After that, we rode Sylvie to the market to join up with the other half of the family and then all rode home together.

Marv:A splendid morning with the daughter and an early afternoon unparalleled in its pleasantness combine for a stunning one-two punch! Saturday is on fire out of the gate!

While we were out and about, my automated Internet minions did battle with competing bidders on eBay’s field of honor, and prevailed. The auction details say that it’s a ‘93 Trek 970, but the fact that it’s a ‘ZX’ leads me to believe it’s a ‘95 or ‘96. Here, take a look.

That there’s a made-in-America, TIG-welded steel frame, constructed from True Temper OX III tubing, sporting a melange of Shimano Deore LX and XT components. See any signs of cable rub on that headtube? See anything that even looks like a scratch on that chainstay? Yeah, me neither. Perhaps I’ll be proven wrong when it arrives, but near as I can tell the thing’s been garaged since it was purchased. I’ll be surprised if there’s significant wear on the brake pads. Did I mention that I won it for less than $120? That’s sans shipping, but even with shipping it came to less than $200.

Marv: With some impressive hustle and a critical score, Saturday is leading this weekend to a blow out! Yes!

Rebbie hauled the kids off to the pool and left me alone for a few hours to build wheels for Nigel, the in-progress Xtracycle. The wheels are black XT 6-bolt disc hubs, laced to Velocity Cliffhangers with black DT Swiss 2.0mm Champion spokes. They’re beautiful, take a gander.

Laced and lovely, yes indeed.

I built them up to the point where they’re lightly, evenly tensioned and declared that a good place to stop so I could rejoin the family, get a quick swim and have some dinner.

Marv: Saturday with the hot hand! Grabs an item off the to-do list, converts the task into an enjoyable celebration of wheelbuilding! Then the swim! The dinner! The Trifectaaaaaaa! YES!

Sunday morning I took off to Seneca Creek State Park to throw some plastic into the woods. I got into disc golf around 2005 when we moved to Southern California, hung out with these miscreants and ne’er-do-wells up at Lake Casitas, and played some amazing Mid-Atlantic courses after we moved here. I haven’t had any time for it this year, so getting away for a few hours on a perfect, sunny afternoon to play 36 holes on a championship course was a real treat. Afterwards, back to the pool for more grillin’ and a swim.

Marv: Sunday comes out swinging and delivers a monster performance! This weekend is bringing the whole repertoire! It can’t be stopped! It can only be contained! YES!

Yes. Contained by Monday morning, but what a helluva weekend, ya know? Although if I had to put mine up against this guy’s…

So, how was your weekend? Whudja do whereja go whooja see?

I was about 3 months old when that was filmed, I think it’s held up pretty well.

That’s about all I have to say, except, of course, for this: have a delightful weekend.

About that bad. Sounds like it’s ’bout time to raze that block, till the soil, and grow some veggies there.

(h/t Jesse guestblawgin’ at Ezra’s place).

(h/t to BoingBoing, but you already knew that, didncha?))

FatCyclist is posting his race report (a bit at a time) of the epic Leadville 100 Mountain Bike Race in Colorado, which he did on a freakin’ single-speed. Much like the Great Divide Race article I posted on earlier, it’s inspiring and it’s making me hungry for trails.

Linked from there was this short video documentary of 7-time Tour De France winner Lance Armstrong and 5-time Leadville 100 winner Dave Wiens pushing each other way out in front of everyone else. Great photography, commentary, and soundtrack, plus Lance Armstrong admitting at the end that he told Dave Wiens to go on without him when he ran out of gas. Ever think you’d hear Mr. Armstrong saying, “I can’t do it.” and mean it? Crazy-ass superhumans, they are, both of ‘em.

My friend Carl and I used to ride from up to Ojai from the beach in Ventura, and then up into Matilija Canyon along the creek. He still rides that GT Avalanche, I haven’t seen my beautiful old Trek 970 in probably 14 years. But I can remember vividly, like it was last week, climbing those trails, flying down the fire roads, rear end drifting precisely around the turns, hopping from one tractor rut to the other at high speed, coming around a turn into a meadow and resting on a boulder next to the burblin’ brook.

Good times, maybe something I’ll get to enjoy again, but clearly nothin’ like the mayhem they were stirring up in Leadville. Check out Fatty’s race report and then watch a couple freakish superhumans go at it in the Colorado Mountains.

Wrong.

– “Pork and Beef”, The Coup

There is an upside for all you kids going back to school at the end of the month, I hear that your school’s not even going to bother teaching the Constitution anymore, so no more trying to remember which amendments are which on that test!

(h/t Chris Floyd)

This article in Outdoor Magazine on the 2007 Great Divide Race, via midway bike blog, was a fantastic read. A handful of riders race 2.500 miles from the Canadian border in Roosville, Montana across the official Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, through the halfway point at Steamboat Springs, Colorado, finishing in Antelope Wells, New Mexico at the Mexican Border. The writer is one of 11 riders out of 25 that finished the race. The writing is compelling and the story is wonderful, and god damn does it make me want to ride a 29″ touring/mountain bike… somewhere. Anywhere. Everywhere.

I throw my sunshade in the dirt just north of the Colorado line. Crossing state lines proves the biggest boost to morale, and tomorrow I’ll be in Colorado. A buck antelope wakes me before dawn, kicking and snorting as if I’m a threat to his buckhood, so I gather my possibles and ride south. It gets hot fast, and I run out of water on the dusty climb up County Road 38. I know I can’t make it all the way to Steamboat with no water. But then, a mirage. A sign on an old schoolhouse reads COFFEE.

I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole into Wonderland. Kirsten, a tattooed kindergarten teacher from Northern California, makes me my very own pot of good coffee and feeds me mushroom quesadillas and chocolate cake. While I eat, she smokes American Spirits and checks the GDR progress on her laptop. “Matt Lee was here a few days ago. He ate breakfast but wouldn’t even take an orange with him.” I feel ridiculous attempting to explain to her that oranges are heavy.

2008 WAGBRAD

The very first WAGBRAD (Washcycle’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Around DC), a 47 mile counterclockwise ride around the perimeter of DC, takes off from Jones Point Light House in Alexandria, VA at 8:00 a.m. on Saturday, August 23. Sounds like fun, and the weather’s been perfect for a nice long ride. Wonder how long it would take haulin’ 80 lbs. of toddler on a 50 lb. bike?

They, in turn, link to another very fine creation from The Stouts in Colorado, complete with sunshades! They also have pics on their blog of the center stand they built for it, truly outstanding.

Man. All this crafty innovation, it’s givin’ me the itch to build another one…