"You know, when you're kind of tired. . . ."

Sunday morning Anna insisted on our weekly morning ride, which is what I needed to get myself off my proverbial butt and onto my cycling saddle. Too easy to find excuses not to go, but she would have none of it. Besides, as Mei pointed out -- accurately -- these are the sort of experiences that both Anna and I will recall with pleasure.

We stopped first at her friend's house, to care for a gerbil while said friend was on vacation. while she was inside I sat on the front porch, rocking on a chair; the old phrase, "rocking chair's got me" came to mind, as I listened to the breeze through the branches and the chittering of birds, thinking how nice it would be to have a cup of coffee and a newspaper, and no further plans than that. After all, I told myself, there's no inherent virtue in getting hot and tired on a bicycle; didn't Buddha spend years doing nothing more than sitting? I don't think he found enlightenment through saddle sores and long climbs.

But Anna came out and brought me back to the present. We went on down to Middleton, through old downtown and out along Highway 12 for a bit; it was Anna's first taste of highway riding and, even though it was still mid-morning, and fairly cool at that, and the road was four-lanes with a pretty wide shoulder, the cars whizzing past came a bit too close for her. Also, after the shaded streets of town, the sun reflecting off the flat asphalt was not exactly soothing. But some things are necessary to build character, I suppose, maybe a few steps toward enlightenment.

After a couple miles of this we turned off the highway -- a left turn which had its own share of drama for the uninitiated -- and went up Pleasant View Road. Sort of pleasant for a bit, then we had a long winding uphill past an old quarry, past a tiny little cemetery (three graves, but well-maintained) and up toward the old First German Lutheran Church (pictured; a tranquil bit of the 19th century more and more surrounded and hidden by the encroaching 20th and 21st century developments).

I'd thought the climb was further west, so this was a bit of a disappointment to me. I couldn't quite get us all the way up the hill, despite the lowest gears. So close, and she was working so hard, but I was beginning to get wobbly and felt a sense of parental responsibility; I like to think on Rocinante I'd've made it, I know that I have before). Anyway, we walked the last few feet to the top, paused, and partook of refreshments. That's when Anna said, "You know, when you're kind of tired, you feel really alive." Has a sort of Watsonian ring to it, that sense of wringing pleasure from discomfort. I have to admit it made sense, too -- as I've said before, to me the most seductive part of riding -- when I get out there -- is that it becomes its own self-contained universe. So when we were paused there, admiring the view (and it is pleasant on Pleasant View Road, at least in spots) the sensation was that of being one with that universe, alive in the sense of being here in the now.

A few moments later and we were on our way, down a long downhill, and up again -- made it this time -- across the 4-lanes of Old Sauk Road, and over to Mineral Point Road, and back toward Madison. There we got caught in a long line of cars, I think heading home from the Blackhawk Christian mega-church further south on Mineral Point (definitely neither tranquil nor 19th century). The road was two lanes wide,with a narrow shoulder/bike path, so we cruised along past the crawling cars, sometimes fairly closely; I was fine but Anna, again, was a bit nervous. The only time it bothered me was when we approached the Belt Line on ramp, right after the road became 4 lanes, and divided. We were along the edge of the right lane, with the BeltLine access ramp beginning on our own right. I didn't mind the cars creeping past, but this large SUV came past towing a pontoon boat; the boat was as wide as the lane, and one pontoon -- ominously pointed like a torpedo -- came awfully close alongside, threatening to harpoon us. But it went by and we were back into town, on a wide safe bike lane and uneventfully home. Another chapter, or at least another paragraph.

The Dead Spot

This photo may not look like much, but if so, it's a clear case of how a camera can lie. This is what I have named "the Dead Spot," the point on the long climb on Garfoot Road, where I literally feel the energy and hope dropping from me; I must have stopped at that point half a dozen times, the first when I was riding with Robb up this road for the first time, the last about amonth after the Centurion ride (on which I had also come up short). And I'm not sure which was the harder of the two; on the first I had no idea what was coming up, and had convinced myself that the earlier, long and gentle climb, was the guts of it. I remember rounding the corner, thinking I had peaked, when I saw the road turning upward again. All my resolutions about giving the last and deepest effort, mind over matter, persistence over pain, all disappeared into the simple sensation of being overwhelmed.

I could not make it, and simply wishing or wanting, even "deserving" to make it was not enough. One did it, or one did not. I stopped, walked a ways, got on and ground my way up.

The second time I thought I'd do it. I'd seen that the remainder of the hill from the point was not so bad, and I understood it was a matter of mind and not body, that if I kept the discouragement under control, the ride would go on, and, once the spot was conquered, like I had conquered Mt. Nemesis (who had never succeeded in stopping me despite his fearsomely official 11% grade), the next rides would be easier. I still don't know if that's true, because as I neared the spot, and saw the side road thrusting out, like a taunting arrow or maybe middlefinger, it all went away again. Every damned time. The last time was the worst -- I stopped just beyond the side road, rested a few moments, got back on without walking, and made it. If only I'd had the conviction to keep going past that deepest, deadest, spot. . . .

Then came Daniel's surgery, and winter, and the seductive thought of taking a few weeks' hard earned recovery time. Time that stretched out, like Garfoot Hill, until it began to seem unconquerable. The pounds came back and the desire melted. A few desultory spins on the trainer, some treadmill time, but not much. A glimmer of hope, perhaps, with Mark's simple advice, "just go out and ride, and write about it."

Then Racer came along. Suddenly I had a reason to ride, to get Daniel out. And it would not be easy to push him around on it, but it could be done. So it began. Then the real new incentive: his twin Anna, my sometimes reluctant biking buddy, who never really liked riding. Suddenly she liked being on Racer, covering ground like she'd never covered it, at speeds she'd never attained. Suddenly she's asking me to go for a long ride; and I'm experiencing a taste of fresh riding and fresh joy.

And there's Mei, who'd never been on a bike before, discovering the pleasure of it. I recall friend Mark's comment that he never would have believed one could have so much pleasure from two wheels. Now that's at least two of them.

And so on I go, and we go. I may be moving again off the dead spot, but in my mind The Dead Spot lurks, as I know it will until I conquer it. It would be an amazing thing if I climbed it on Racer, but Rocinante would be as good. I do know I just need to do it.

Of Geese and Men

Sunday was another 3 Ride Day on Racer the tandem. First, we got Daniel on with minimal effort. We tightened the cages and he actually tried to pedal. For a bit, till his right ankle turned and his heel started hitting the side; then he pulled his feet out altogether and declared that he quit. So we stayed on mostly level ground for a few blocks. We stopped, he got off, and announced "that's it for the week!"

Then Mei got on, with her new helmet. And she did pedal. So we did a long downhill, followed by the inevitable ascent. It was her first climb ever, and she was a bit surprised that cycling is not all beer and skittles, or even flat and easy. But she stuck with it, and is really getting into it.

Speaking of getting into it, Anna insisted on another long ride, around the Capitol. So I pulled on my old Camelback hydration pack; Mei asked how I could stand that stale vinyl taste, while Anna asked if I could possibly look any dorkier. I ignored them as I sucked down my Gu and luxuriated in the warm glow of my Chamois Butt'r (though I did tell Anna she could pretend she wasn't with me). Thing was, I had realized that part of my problem on the last couple long tandem rides was that I didn't take them seriously and got dehydrated. It's really hard for me -- almost impossible --to get the bottle out of the cage while riding, due I guess to the upright handle bars, so the Camelbak is a necessity.

And it worked. I never did get overwhelmed, overpowered, or overheated. Anna and I took a roundabout swing toward downtown; at one point we heard a soft honking as we waited for a light to change -- we looked over and saw a Madison city bus, its signature gray-bearded driver smiling at us and giving us a thumbs-up; Racer the tandem certainly does stand out. Ultimately we went down the Southwest Bike Trail, and over to Lake Monona. Twas a hot morning, but not unbearable, and the sun gleaming over the lake was a beautiful sight. We went past a few fishermen, who greeted our arrival with pure indifference, and a few geese, who murmured greetings. The idyllic air was a bit tarnished, though, by the not unusual sight of some bearded men sprawled along the lake in grimy sleeping bags; a reminder that not everything is as it should be. I've never really understood the draw of Madison for homeless folks, unless maybe it's a lingering aura from the 70s or Willy Street. Maybe it's because the cops here are generally laid-back and tolerant -- at least until Walker gets around to enlisting a Gestapo approach.

We also had a near collision, too, as a young woman at the tail end of pod of cyclists wasn't paying attention and nearly veered in front of us. I yelled, she swerved and stopped, a woman behind her nearly rammed her. But nothing significant happened. "Well," Anna said, as we resumed our trip. "That was interesting." Indeed.

So we headed on along the Lake, down the afore-mentioned Willy Street for a bit, then back up to the Capitol, past the anti-Walker hunger striker --"Day 43" -- although as Anna noted, "he doesn't look like he's missed that many meals; I don't think you can live more than 30 days without food." Such a cynic we are raising.

We rolled home along the SW Bicycle trail, past Mickie's, through and around various pedestians, perambulators, and poodles, accompanied by a cacophony of cardinals and crows. I was impressed by the clip with which we sailed up that gentle grade. -- I've noticed that the tandem really flies on flats and gentle uphills; steep climbs are slow and steady and hard, but doable.

I wonder what it would like to be paired with a hardcore.

I'm getting so high-tech I can't stand it

Last Thursday I went to Budget with the same sort of feeling as in buying a new computer -- I was going to get spend a relatively lot of money on something cool, but something that seems extravagant and maybe, just maybe, unnecessary. All the rationaliation was there, specifically, if I'm going to be riding the tandem a lot, I need a rack that can handle it easily. Otherwise I'm at the mercy of whoever has a van I can borrow, or the kindness of other drivers as I haul the tandem around with both ends sticking out, and bouncing up and down.

So Gary and I got the pieces together, he asked me all sorts of questions I'd never considered because I'd never thought about such things, like which side of the roof should it be on, facing front or back, yadayada. I tried to contribute to the conversation, but mostly asked questions or watched for cues. About an hour later I departed, the rack -- I felt anyway -- an ostentatious ornament. As Mei later pointed out, with the rear bike rack and the roof rack on the CR-V, it looks like we are real outdoorsy peope; I wonder how many of the numerous racks and similar appendages on 4-wheel drive vehicles here are actually used more than a couple times a year?

Of course, to use the rack one must remove the front wheel. Which of course meant that I had know how to take it off. But disc brakes don't have a quick release, or, it turns out, any release. One simply pulls the wheel down and away, "being csreful not to bump the pads." Now those are the sort of words that send fear down the spine of us ungeeks, almost like an invitation to bang the wheel around just to, you know, get a feel for the parameters -- or, more realistically, an ominous foreshadowing of problems to come. How much simpler Rocinante and the rear rack were. But methinks I'll get used to this, as well.

You're Never Alone on a Tandem

Another Saturday, another hot and bright day, more tandem rides. First, Daniel; he got on without complaint, if not without effort on the parts of Mei, Anna, and myself, getting him on and his feet in the pedal cages, while he cooperated grudgingly at best. But then we were off. He really tried to pedal this time, but had trouble remembering which way to push, then his ankle turned sideways, so he couldn't. But no real matter -- we were moving at a good clip, and he liked it. His monologue from the front went something like, "I don't know how to ride a bike. Hey I can ride a bike. I'm riding a bike!". We went an extra couple blocks (primarily flats, since his 90-some pounds are a lot to push around), and even down a short stretch of the bike trail. Of course, by the time we got home, he denied having fun. But I know better; we just have to figure out how to better lock his feet in. Another step forward.

Then Mei got on, for about the same distance (though she really pedaled, and that made all the difference). But when we stopped in the driveway to switch stokers, she leaned over a bit too far too fast, I lost balance, and over we went, tangled in the frame. I came down on my right elbow, which got bloody and bruised. It took a bit for me to extricate myself, and a bit longer for Dr. Mei to patch up my arm, but at least the bike was undamaged.

Then Anna and I were off, and I knew she wouldn't settle for a short spin. We went over to and down Mt. Nemesis, that good ol' boy of an 11% downhill (not so good the other way) and it was inspiring to hear Anna's delight at the wind in her face, and nice to see the Capitol shimmering in the distance. We took the bike trail for awhile, along a golf course then the roads, till we ended up at Budget, where I had a few questions to ask and wanted to buy some Goo. Anna browsed the store, picking at tools and cycling toys, much the same way that I would wander the pipe bins on long-ago summer road trips with my father, as he made sales calls to small town plumbers. I ran into Gary, the somewhat paunchy bearded middle-aged guy who had put on my roof rack, and introduced him to Anna with the same parental largesse my father would display as he introduced me to his clients. And Anna replied politely, as I must have done.

Then Anna and I headed got onto the Capital Loop bike trail, and followed it over to Lake Monona, cruised along the lake, then got onto the Lake Wingra trail, behind the zoo and Edgewood College, long, heavily wooded, shade-darkened loops, often along a lilied and mossy slow moving creek, with ducks, geese, turtles and the occasional other cyclists. By then the day was getting hot and long, and home seeming dangerously far off. I was less hydrated than I liked, because I can't get at my water bottle as I ride, because of the configuration of the bike and the upright bars, so I had to rely on Anna to hand me her bottle from time to time.

Sometimes Anna and I would talk, and sometimes we would each fall silent into our own worlds, at which times, she usually answered, she was thinking about the novel she is writing. Sometimes she would launch into a monologue about manga books or some other teen fascination of hers, and I would try to listen, with either real or feigned interest, realizing that on a tandem there is no escape.

As we worked our way along I could tell I was getting tired because I kept seeking the path of least resistance, and dreading the approach of every hill of any substance (though to be fair, Anna was working as hard as I, and making a big difference in our progress). Soon I was trying to avoid hills if I could, which, of course, is usually counterproductive because bike routes are usually laid out along the paths of least resistance. I won't say I got us lost, but I will admit there were times when I didn't know exactly where we were or the best route home.

It was at that moment I sensed the awesome responsibility of captaining a tandem, made even more manifest with the stoker in front -- Anna had no choice but to pedal and maybe pray. I would be watching the road and either tell her a turn was approaching, or simply make the turn on my own, and she, uncomplaining, would trundle along. She trusted me, and I could only hope to merit that trust; it's one thing to get myself lost and hot and tired; another to drag a 14-year-old girl along.

Eventually we stumbled onto a really cool bike overpass across the Beltline, got within reasonable distance of home, and made that final push, and wearily rolled home, tired and thirsty and happy. Anna had the added delight of brightly sunburned legs.

A turn around the basement

Got up this morning at 5:15 and rode the trainer for about 30 minutes, enough to work up a sweat, but not near the sweat I would work up if I were to try and ride in this 98 degrees of humidity. Felt a bit odd to be on Rocinante again, after so long -- I even had to pump up both tires, and re-educate myself about the shifters. And that saddle is harder than Racer's. Not to mention the still and humid air in the basement which, though not hot, is conducive to sweat.

But enough whining. It's come to my awareness that if I want to stay or get back into shape, I have to do something about it. I was so inspired last year, and did so well, and it was equally as easy to stop, and I did that well, too. But I have to understand that when I am laying there deciding whether to get up, it's mewho has to decide; no one else will. Though Mei tries sometimes -- and she has been an inspiration to me since in the past several months she's become a real regular on the treadmill, and beginning to show it. The tandem helps, too, not only the riding itself, but the fact that Anna wants to do it, and doesn't hesitate to push me about it.

I also had a bit of a learning lesson earlier this week. After the flat on Racer, I noticed that my frame pump doesn't accept Schrader valves (like Racer) just Presta's (like Rocinante). "Aha," I thought,"an opportunity to vist Budget again." Fortunately I examined one of the newer Blackburn pumps and noticed, on the back of the package, instructions on how to reverse the valve. So I spared myself the embarrassment of having one of those insufferably young bike guys explaining the patently obvious to me. The valve's now reversed, and I feel like I accomplished something in doing so; though I didn't get a chance to spend anything -- yet -- at Budget. That's coming, though, the roof rack is there and it don't come cheap -- though it's kind of cool in that it pivots, so I don't have to lift the heavy (44 pound) bike clear up there, and can do it myself. (I must be getting back into the cycling mode because I read the Thule catalog while eating breakfast).

Four rides

Late Friday afternoon I suggested to Anna, half in jest, that we take Racer out for a spin. She surprised me with her enthusiastic yes. So off we went, through quiet residential streets, and out Old Sauk Road, past the library; I told Anna that if it were a daylight ride, we'd probably stop in for a bit; she said that'd be nice. My plan was to head out to Pleasantview Road, which cuts back to Mineral Point Road, which we take home. A pleasant but non-taxing ten or so miles.But just past the library I heard a sickeningly familiar"whup-whip-whip," and felt the wobble and pull of sudden flat rear tire. Not being familiar with Racer's workings, and it being a rear wheel, I decided not to attempt to patch it in the fading daylight. So we walked back to the library, and called home.

Well.

Mei was exercising in the basement and didn't pick up her phone for about an hour, but at least the library was open, and Anna happily settled in with a pile of mangas. After Mei finally did arrive, I learned to my chagrin that Racer will not fit in our CRV, no matter how many seats you remove -- which had been my rationale (and fallback position) for not yet springing for a roof rack -- that and my ultimately unfounded conviction that these fat road tires would be all but immune to puncture. We talked the library staff into letting us store the bike inside overnight; I had hoped for real inside storage, but they, obviously not bicycle afficiandos and clearly reluctant bailors, offered only an alcove, albeit behind locked glass doors. That being the best available option we went home sans Racer, and I slept the fitful sleep of one whose new toy is exposed to criminal elements (although, as Anna later pointed out, Racer is so unique that one could hardly pawn her, or expect to ride her openly on the streets -- but still).

Next day -- right at the library's 9 a.m. opening -- I picked up Racer with the traditional trunk rack, which left it sticking out both sides; a slow and careful drive home, and Mei and I manuevered it into my basement workshop. After some tedious searching, I found a tiny shard of glass sticking through the sidewall, which took a lot of work with tweezers and needlenose pliers to extricate. By the time I finished it was too late and hot to set out on a ride, so I promised Anna we'd go in the morning.

Sunday morning broke hot, humid, and sunny, with heat index warnings. Before Anna and I left, Mei and I persuaded Daniel to go for a short ride, despite his misgivings. We set out, his feet in the pedal straps, but he refused to pedal (I suspect it was an organized "slowdown"). When, during the ride, I asked him how he liked it, he said "okay," but when I asked him which way I should go, he said, "home." So we did, one time around the block. But, it's a start. He promised to ride again, but "not today."

Then I got Mei onto the bike -- she's never ridden a bike, and had some misgivings. But the short ride went well, and she wants to go again, for a longer distance. At least she pedaled.

And Anna and I set off, to downtown again. Things went smoothly, and the tire held. But downtown being down, it was easy to go further than I intended, and, with the heat and humidity, I sensed an impending bonk. Whenever we stopped for traffic lights the heat seemed to push up in a wall from the pavement, and shade seemed scarce. So I set the return route as least challenging as possible, but still found myself fading. We stopped at the EVP coffee shop, a couple miles from home, so I could get some icewater. As I stood in there with my water, two different people said something about it being very hot, and looking at me with what appeared to be mild concern. When I went into the bathroom I saw why -- my face was as red as my helmet, or as Racer's scarlet paint. But with nothing left to do but do it, we set out again; the downhills and flats were tolerable, but the hills were a struggle, so much so that even Anna asked if I were okay. We finally did arrive home, into glorious air-conditioning and fruit smoothies. A half-hour nap on the bed, with an overhead fan blowing over me, and I was about as good as new.

And ready to go again.

Buddies and more

Anna had a friend over this afternoon, who had biked over. When it was time for the friend to leave, Anna and I decided to escort her on the Bilenky. A short, sweet, ride on a humid late afternoon, on quiet residential streets, long shadows beginning to attach themselves to big quiet trees, accompanied by the occasional screech of a bluejay. What struck me the most was not that Anna and I are beginning to get coordinated, but the sensation of teamwork, falling comfortably into place without words. There was also a sense of equality that Anna and I rarely feel, when I'm busy parenting or ordering, or both. This was nice.

That's something I didn't realize earlier about tandem riding; I've shared many rides, of course, with good friends and enjoyed them much -- and hope to do it again -- but that always involves two separate entities, independent beings who share time, but also fall back into each independent world. That don't happen on a tandem; you're together for the long haul. And you're destined to learn a lot about the other, for well or ill.

Three on a tandem

Sunday was sunny and warm, borderline hot. What better time to take Racer the tandem out for a spin (assuming I could shanghai a stoker). Daniel was uninterested at best, but a mix of cajoling and commanding got him to finally don his helmet (mom has to put it on him, all because of a slight miscalculation on my part years ago that resulted in a bit of a pinch) and sit on the bike. One step at a time. Mei did say that he smiled broadly when I moved Racer a few feet down the driveway. But then he insisted on dismounting, on his own.

Anna actually got on board as a willing victim. We took some back roads down to the bike trail by Shorewood Hills and got onto the Lake Mendota trail, which we followed to the Union, where we stopped and watched the ducks and talked. Still got a lot of looks and comments while riding, and I think I'm getting the hang of it -- balance is a lot firmer than I had suspected, and hills are somewhat less challenging than on Rocinante. Still, I found myself breathing heavily on the first hill, to the extent that Anna asked if I were okay. I was. I was fine. Nice to be out again. And things got easier again when I got into rhythm.

Nice to see things through Anna's fresh eyes, too. We got caught in a bit of rain on the way back, and Anna commented that it was "cool" -- in the slang sense, since at 80 degrees the water was blood warm. She said it was her first time in the rain on a bike. She also confided in me that she's uncomfortable on her solo bike -- "Pedals", a pretty nice Trek hybrid, because her legs aren't strong, and she seems to spend all her time in misery and the wrong gear. I'm hoping this exposure to the joys of the road -- we went about 15 miles -- and the sensation of actual speed and accomplishment of our tandem experiences will encourage her to eventually head out again on her own, and with stronger legs.

We got home feeling rather exhilerated, though Daniel's only concern was that I might try again to get him on board. Not yet, Bucko, though your time is coming. I first need to get the bike rack and take Racer back to Budget to get adjusted to his legs, and, probably, to have a notch or two taken up on the chain.

And, judging by the photos, I too, need to have a notch or two -- or three -- taken in on my own chain. Amazing how easy it is to fall so far from the wagon.

On the Road Again

Today being one of the nicest in a long time, sunny and 70, it seemed a wonderful opporunity to take out Racer, Daniel's new tandem bike. After I determined that he still doesn't want to ride, I offered the chance to Anna, who accepted with much more alacrity than I expected. So after lunch we backed Racer out of the garage -- no easy feat with two cars in there and a recycling bin -- helmeted up, and set out. Anna doesn't wear gloves, because, she says, all she has to do is sit there, with holding on optional. And since the front is recumbent, she doesn't need cycling shorts. I, on the other hand, dug out all the accoutrements, including gloves; but not my cycling shoes, since Racer has cages on traditional pedals instead of clips. So I put on an older pair of tie tennis shoes. Also we took water bottles, and I put a handlebar bag on the bar behind her seat, with tools, a map, and a first aid kit.

And off we went, toward downtown, and the Capitol. This required us to begin with the rather long hill up from Island Drive to Science Drive. Tougher than it should have been, but I haven't been riding much. Made me realize that I have a lot of training to do because Daniel's not likely to pedal much, or very hard, or at all, so I'll be pushing nearly 150 pounds uphill (Daniel's 100 and the bike's 40 or so). So I slogged on. Anna mentioned the demand of the hill, too. But we did it, then it was a nice downhill. As we neared Midvale, and another moderately challenging hill, I offered to cut the ride short and stop at the nearby library, but Anna refused, saying we could stop on the way back. So we went on, faster than before, up the hill, then cut through the cemetery, sunlight dappling roadways, headstones of all shapes and colors, primarily white and faded gray, spires reaching up among the trees, more modest blocks of granite, simple crosses. The place was mostly deserted except for one young woman standing near a grave, holding a bouquet of red flowers, and one older couple getting out of their white Oldsmobile. We recited some of the names and dates as we rode by; Anna, in a demonstration of worldliness, commented that it reminded her of Arlington National Cemetary, except that this one was much smaller.

I couldn't say much, having never seen Arlington.

Then we were back among the living, down Regent Street, past the stadium and Mickey's Dairy Bar, and onto the flat of Regent Street, full of shabby storefront restaurants and the like. We stopped at Budget Bicycle's tandem center. I had a couple questions about Racer, and we both partook of our water bottles, already the ice water was warm, but still welcome. I again offered to cut the ride short, but Anna again demurred. So on we went, up West Washington, toward the Capitol. We made one quick, unplanned stop when my shoelace got caught in my pedal and locked up my foot. Good thing we were plodding uphill instead of flying down among traffic. Anna scolded me about being careless, I tied it better and tucked it into my shoe, and off again.

We circled the Capitol building, watching the Farmers Market folks packing up their wares; Anna said how much she appreciated the building, I said, me too, except that right now it's occupied territory. She agreed, and we recollected briefly about the time we crowded in among the thousands of people protesting in the square last spring, thicker than summer dandelions in an untended yard. For all the good it did.

From there we did something I've always wanted to do, rode a bike down State Street (closed to cars, except police cars and delivery vehicles -- and buses and taxis, all of which were scarce this afternoon). I felt so, well, Madison, and so did Anna -- plus we were getting lots of looks and waves from people because of Racer's relatively unique appearance. I almost wished I had a gray beard, tie-dyed shirt, and bandana -- and maybe a tattered tatoo of a peace symbol. Anna looked good, thrust out in front like a figurehead; which she says she felt like, without the power to steer or stop, only the right to pedal or not, and smile, and to pray, perhaps, that my shoelaces stay tied.

From there we rode down Johnson Street, past the University, back again past the stadium, and up the bike trail; amazing how much easier a climb can be when the grade is gentle, as on this former railroad bed. And on to the library, Anna went in to catch up on mangas, I went into the EVP coffee shop and scored a tall glass of ice water.

I thought to myself, it might be a good for Anna to experience the surprising way that remounting a bike can feel so tiring, when you've been off and relaxing, forgetting that there are still miles to go -- though only a couple in this case. I mentioned to Anna we had two choices -- we could return to the bike trail and take the long way home, or accept the challenge of one more relatively long and steep hill (I had found it challenging anyway the spring of last year, when I was first riding after my 10-year hiatus). She opted for the straight shot, up the hill. I shrugged and we headed out, me with visions of walking the bike up that hill. But we got a long rolling start, the light at the bottom of the hill was green, and we worked our way up. It was hard, but not that hard. As we topped it, I mentioned to Anna that I hadn't thought we would make it; she was surprised I had doubted us. I was surprised, too, that we made it -- I guess there are some nuances to tandem riding that I don't understand yet, what's hard and what's easier.

So we rolled home, past one of our neighbors moving her lawn; she waved at us and smiled, giving us one of those looks we had gotten used, admiring Racer and maybe Anna. And home. Tired and content, 15 or so miles down, by far Anna's longest ride. She went in with a show of tired pride, and I showered.

One small step

Daniel and I talked again about the bike, mostly me talking. One thing about him, he is more likely to go along with a new idea if he gets to negotiate the terms; so we talked about riding soon; I'll narrow it down to a specific date and time when everything seems in optimal alignment. the last thing I want is to make it a frustrating or traumatic first experience.

I understand his caution. For one thing, he tends to process things more slowly, probably because his frame of reference is narrower. Also, most of his life is beyond his control. Teachers, therapists, surgeons, and parents all tell him what to do, often things that, and the reasons for, that make no real sense to him and are certainly not things he would freely choose to do. And there are few places so powerless as this stoker's seat, in which all one can do is hold on. So when he has power, even the power to say no, he tends to exercise it. He knows he can always change his mind later, but it's hard to go back. As for trauma, if he has a seriously bad experience he'll really dig in his heels. Like when I pinched Anna's neck once while fastening her bike helmet -- it was really hard to get her to let me approach her neck again, much less put the helmet on her again.

Or more broadly, like her elevator experience when she was about five years old. I was getting on an elevator in the condo we lived in at the time, with both kids. Just as the doors were about to close on the three of us, Daniel dashed out; I stepped out to get him, the doors closed behind me and Daniel, and off Anna went, alone. I could hear her screaming from two stories up. It was years before we could get her to willingly ride an elevator again, and she still prefers the stairs. And has not quite yet forgiven me.

So I counted it as a big step forward when I got Daniel to let me adjust his helmet and have him wear it around the house for a bit. One small step toward a ride, one giant leap toward a shared century.

Madcatting

Took another spin on Racer yesterday afternoon, a beautiful June Sunday. I first tried to get Daniel onboard, his reply was a definite "No-ho-ho." So we still have a long way to go on that one. But at least he's sort of taking ownership of it -- he knows the number of gears and he calls it "my bike." That's a start. We also noticed a potential problem to be addressed: The captain (me) has to get on first, then steady the bike while the front rider/stoker (Daniel) gets on -- or is helped on. Unless and until Daniel gets fully comfortable and capable of mounting alone -- and fastening the belt if possible -- we'll always need a 3d person around. Perhaps I can find some sort of kickstand that is wide enough to steady the bike while I help him on, then easily released when I get on.

Always a complication. But always, ultimately, manageable. I still have visions of Daniel and I on the open road.

In the meantime I went out with Anna. We've worked out a sort of barter -- she gets to go where she wants (yesterday it was Madcat's Pet Store) and I get to try out the bike a bit more. Actually, I think -- no, I know -- she enjoyed the ride. My legs felt it, but primarily because I simply haven't ridden much for so long. I did notice that her pedaling really makes a difference; we flew up inclines atfaster speeds and in higher gears than I do on Rocinante. A couple issues to get used to; the first is the shifters, which are smooth but are not yet intuitive for me; the second the old-fashioned cages on the pedals -- I have trouble concentrating on getting up to speed while looking down to turn the cage over and inserting my foot --the intermittent wobbling this induces tends to concern Anna (I'm not sure why on a bike like this, with all the bells and whistels, didn't have clipless pedals as default -- though it is nice not having to always wear cycling shoes). Also, I have remember to tell Anna that I'm going to coast awhile, since if she keeps pedaling I have to also do so -- and also, at stops, as long as her feet are on the pedals I can't freely turn the crank backwards to line up my startoff foot on top.

Still I love the bike. It seems awfully effortless and efficient, and I find steering a breeze, once I realized that the front wheel is about the same place as on Rocinante, that the stoker seat simply extends out front, but the bike turns from beneath the stoker; I kept expecting a much wider turning radius. Another nice thing -- always before when I was able to coax Anna out on her bike, I found myself watching for her, and waiting for her, and encouraging her, and wincing as she got her shifter caught between gears. Now we simply cruise along, and have conversations; sort of the way teenagers have to talk to a parent when trapped in a car. Also, because she's not always clear on right and left, I can just tap her appropriate shoulder.

She seems to enjoy the sensation of being in front, with no responsibilities (albeit no control, either). Someday I'll try it. In the meantime, I'd settle for taking Daniel on a ride.

Back in the saddle(s) again

Someone else's Bilenky -- but you get the idea.



A couple hours back Anna, Mei, Daniel, and I stopped at the Budget Bike specialty shop to pick up Daniel's Bilenky Viewpoint tandem, a cherry red, 27-speed, machine with a recumbent front stoker seat and an upright rear captain seat (the captain also steers) We had carefully searched out this bike with the criteria that Daniel ride in front -- so he can't unilaterally decided to dismount -- and that it be recumbent so that he can pedal with his bad hip. The next step, of course, is to get him to ride the thing. Not easy, especially at first, since his first reaction to anything new is "I'm not doing it." Has happened with everything from his laptop computer to a bathtub support, both of which he happily uses now. I have visions of he and I someday going on an organized ride.

Not today, though. My big concern was getting it home, since even the folks at Budget, nice as they truly are, were getting tired of having to trip over it on their showroom floor. We're getting a roof-mounted tandem rack next week (which, unfortunately, will cost more than Rocinante), but in the meantime I had to talk Anna, sometimes a bit surly, into riding the bike home with me. After spending about 45 minutes at the shop while the mechanics, drooling over the fine technical details of the bike (which Daniel has named "Racer"), Anna and I set out to ride home.

Took a bit of getting used to, the front sticks out so far, and all that weight on front made me wobble a bit, to Anna's great annoyance and minor concern. But then we rolled along nicely, up the Southwest Bike Trail, onto Odana Road, and home, avoiding any major hills -- though we did climb nicely up the gradual bike trail ascents. Got a lot of stares and some comments, too. I've never before owned a bike that many hardcore types admire (even though most of the specs are lost on me, I just know it's a delight to ride, and, as of now, unmarked and clean). Anna even admitted it was fun. Tiring, too, since it was my first time on a bike this calendar year. Anna's pedaling made a lot of difference; one attribute of Racer is that the Stoker can pedal or not, independently -- though the Captain must pedal whenever the Stoker does, which sometimes interfered with my coasting decisions. But we worked it out, as we did the shared techniques of mounting and dismounting without tipping over.

Dispatches from the Northern Front, Part 1

You can blame friend Mark for this; he suggested I post these:

March 1, 2011

Despite the picture media is painting, Madison is not in chaos. At least for now. Mei and I and Anna were down at the Capitol a week ago Saturday, and things were very mellow. I understand it's beginning to get uglier, because the guv is giving his budget speech tonight, and doesn't want the protesters in the picture. So even though the state constitution and open meeting laws say the building is to be open to the public whenever business is being conducted, it apparently ain't gonna happen, if Scotty gets his way; of course there are still a couple hundred people inside, so . . . . .I'd love to be down there today, but Mei's in Monterrey CA and I need to be available for the kids, e.g., not caught up in some massive event. It's amazing the way this guy thinks he can brush aside legal technicalities like so many cobwebs. And he may get away with it, after all, though I hope and pray not.

You know, I've been through a lot of losing elections, Nixon, Reagan, the Bushes. But I have never felt so sick to my stomach about politics -- Walker has absolutely no conception of or concern about human beings.

Picture Hal Daub without the charm, Nixon without the tact.

Scott Walker's a dangerously stubborn man who refuses to negotiate -- though that stance might get him into trouble with the labor laws, since there is currently a labor contract in place; the guv's spokesman said the guv doesn't have time to negotiate - though he did have time to take a 20-minute call he thought was from a billionaire supporter (if you haven't heard about that, check it out - an amazing window into a narrow and rigid mindset; for one thing, he said he'd "considered" putting trouble makers in the crowd to stir things up, but opted not to after careful political consideration; this in the context of 70,000 average and peaceful citizens, including many many kids of all ages, and old folks.). And the truth is so obvious -- he wants the unions gone so that no one can resist the millions and millions he's planning to cut in school aid and health and . . . . .

He's a hypocrite and maybe a meglomaniac, who's already done great damage to the state.

March 10

Just a few more lines about what's going on up here. First, I was down at the Capitol today over the lunch hour. I'm bad at crowd estimates, but I'd say maybe a thousand people circling the square, maybe more, on sidewalk and street and veranda. The building has been re-opened to the public, albeit only one door and that with metal detectors and only a few people at a time. I stood awhile at one of the closed doors, with a crowd of people chanting, "Whose house?" "OUR HOUSE" to a phalanx of unsmiling police officers (in muliple uniforms, having been assembled from all over the state; interesting, Madison's mayor has limited his police to safety issues only, and the County Sheriff has pulled most of his officers, stating that their job is to protect the public safety, not to serve as "palace guards."

This thing literally makes me sick to my stomach; not only the issue of collective bargaining but more the way it's being ramrodded through with deception and outright lies. And there are probably open meeting law issues, too, as well as the questiion of whether you can make a fiscal bill non-fiscal (and thereby avoid the quorum requirement). There's also a contempt of court issue out there because a judge has issued an order opening the Capitol "in the same manner as before" -- and before it was open almost all the time, at all doors and little if any police presence.

The crowd is mostly polite and well-behaved, chanting aside -- but there is a palpable and growing sense of frustration, because people here re feeling lied to, manipulated, and ignored. Even Mei, who had been Republican since citizenship, is appalled. I knew things had changed when she said the other day, "back when I was a Republican," and this morning she had me drive around the Capitol so we could honk in support and show fists of solidarity with the protestors. And most of these protestors are not college students looking for fun -- or refugees from the '60s (except me perhaps), they are teachers, docs, nurses, and off-duty police and firemen, and steel workers and teamsters, and kids and old folks; middle class people who you'd never expect to be circling in the cold, shouting and marching and singing -- and as of a while ago, being dragged out of the Capitol with passive resistance. Signs are posted in many of the Capitol windows expressing solidarity and maligning Walker, the Republican establishment, and outside interests. Still, the only time I have felt hostility was when Mei and I and Anna were here a couple Saturdays back, and a number of Tea Party folks were standing at the side of the street, shouting at the marchers. And there are similar demonstrations all around the state.

I worry about what will happen, though. Walker and his cronies appear to be tone deaf and obsessed, and people really feel frustrated. It's not a national issue, I know, but it feels like a fascist coup, all the legislative changes being shoved through and the laws ignored when inconvenient. Even the newly appointed Secretary of Agriculture got into the act, describing the scene at the Capitol as a "a holocaust of horrors" because, he later admitted, "some shenanigans."

Shit.

Well, the next stages are recalls of several Republican senators, and court actions (including conspiracy to endanger the public and accepting offers of gifts -- both arising from that phone call when Walker thought he was talking to a wealthy contributor but it was really a journalist).

Exciting times. It was daughter Anna who first alerted us to the sudden passage of the bill last night -- she came charging out of her room almost in tears. What an introduction to politics. It will be a valuable bit of education, all the more important because the schools will be gutted.

March 13

I went down to the Capitol Thursday (I think), anyway it was the day Walker signed the bill and scheduled a news conference. I was there around noon -- I had finished lunch at home and had been on my way to the library, and decided to go there instead. I parked several blocks away, at the nearest of the free street parking. The weather was bright and chilly. There was a good-sized crowd, though nothing like on the weekends. Until I went inside (past several cops and screeners). The rotunda area was surrounded by people with signs and buttons (the signs were all carried by hand, no sticks allowed inside). A couple people stood inside the circle with a microphone. When the speaker stopped, he or she would hand it off to someone else; it was called the "people's microphone." Cops from all jurisdictions stood back and watched, and several more from the floors above. The bulk of the crowd was on the stairways leading up from the rotunda to the governor's office, though the hall to the office itself was blocked by a wall of officers. The protestors ranged, as always, from high school students (a thousand or so kids walked out of the nearest high school) to college students to middle-aged, to the obviously old. Everyone was chanting, "Walker lies" and "Shame! Shame!" and "Come out, you coward" and the like. I got as far as the top of the staircase, but couldn't go any further. I couldn't see down the hall, but every once in awhile the crowd who could see would boo lustily.

After about an hour it was time to go, and I walked out a different door, intending to circle the building, midst lines of people carrying signs and chanting and beating drums. As I turned down one of the wide sidewalks I saw an old man sitting on one of the stone benches; he had on a black beret and a gray beard, gold wire rims,a heavy gray coat and brightly mismatched gloves. He was leaning back with a soft smile, eyes closed, obviously soaking up the sun. He opened his eyes as I walked by, and I said something about him seeming pretty mellow. "And why shouldn't I be?" he asked, "the sun's warm and I'm tired and I'm old. I have the right to be mellow." We talked a bit about what was going on and agreed it was more disgusting than anything Nixon ever did. He said he drove down from Portage almost every day and stayed until evening. "The bottom line is," he said, "we have to be more like Europeans -- in Europe the government fears the people, here the people fear the government." With that we shook hands and I left.

I saw a uniformed officer standing quietly, watching the crowd. I noticed that his badge and patch described him as a game warden. "A bit out of your jurisdiction," I said with smile. "Not this week" he said, returning the smile. I asked how the crowd was and he said very mellow indeed, "Except when a few college students come up kind of looking for trouble, and they're not so bad, either." He was down here from Kenosha County, having been "drafted" into temporary palace duty.

Saturday Mei and I took Anna up to the city of Waunakee (about 20 miles away) so she could compete in the Science Olympiad, an all-day event. At noon Mei and decided to take a quick trip into Madison for lunch and, on a whim, decided to go to the Capitol. Miraculously we found a parking spot a block away, so we got out. A bearded young guy in a bandana and hard hat stood beside our spot, behind the open camper shell of an old pickup truck. Turned out he was with a group of tree specialists who had been intending to occupy the trees around the Capitol, but opted against because of the wind. "We'll be up there tomorrow, though. Just don't want to give them a legitimate excuse to make us come down."

Mei and I went on to the Capitol, and joined the huge throng marching around it; shuffling really, it was so crowded. A woman was talking from a bullhorn, and we were joined by several farm tractors, part of a "tractorcade" from the state agriculture society. There was even a manure spreader, and the slogan, "Let the farmers spread the BS". Lots and lots of signs. We ran into several people we knew; the whole thing was like a gathering of nice people of all ages, chatting and smiling except when chanting and singing "Solidarity Forever." Somebody gave us a couple signs, so Mei and I held them up and kept walking. We had to leave after one circuit, though, to get back to Waunakee; that meant we had to leave before the "Fab 14" showed up -- the Democratic senators who had hidden out in Illinois.

As we left that massive crowd, we walked -- and then drove -- past lines of people streaming to the capitol, carrying signs -- they either lived fairly nearby, or had parked there or taken buses down. Apparently the speeches by the Fab 14 were well-received, and even the actress Susan Sarandon made an appearance.

We took the kids out to eat later that day, and the restaurant -- Hubbard Avenue Diner, next to the Mustard Museum -- was unusually crowded, with a lot of people wearing anti-Walker and pro-union buttons. So odd but inspiring to hear all these obviously middle-class, mostly suburban, people casually discussing the protest. Even today, when I took Daniel to the library, I heard one of the librarians mention to another one that she had "been down to the protest" yesterday, as casually and matter-of-factly as one would mention a trip to the grocery store, just a legitimate bit of the daily routine. I read later that the crowd was larger than any tea party rally ever, and close to the old Vietnam marches in DC.

Today is much quieter, but there are still a few thousand people down there. But the struggle continues, as does the frustration. I saw today that the guv went to a Lincoln Day celebration in a smaller city up north, but was dogged by a couple hundred protestors, some local, some having driven up. He came with a police escort and went inside -- the protestors cirled the restaurant, chanting.

Well. Again, it's like nothing I've ever experienced, and I'm glad for the privilege, though not for the cause of it all.

Back to the Grind

Okay, I'm back for the first time since September; a lot of time and weather have gone under the bridge since I fell off the bike. Not literally. But my exercise and diet patterns have gone flat while my stomach has begun to swell again. No excuses for the total collapse -- I couldn't get out for any sort of long ride without a lot of commitment, due to out-of-town trips by my wife Mei, and a major surgery for son Daniel (which surgery BTW turned out very good, considering). But there's no real reason for not using the treadmill and bike trainer, or avoiding sweets. But here we are (using the royal we), and with a cardiology blood test coming up; last time the numbers were astoundingly good, this time. . . .

Part of the reason is/was the fact that I will not do the century before my 61st birthday, which comes in April. I do expect to do one this summer, ideally with pals Mark and Paul, and, if not then, in the annual Wright Stuff century in September. But the immediate drive is gone.

I also noticed that my writing has equally fallen off. Yesterday I was at the library, reading Writers Digest, an article about freelance writing. The author pointed out that the advantage to such a career is that you have no one to interfere with your schedule; but, he added, there is no one to blame but yourself for wasted time. It takes discipline, he said, and I agree -- and I see that it's been lacking. If I'm not careful, I might end up one of those senior citizens wandering between the library and McDonalds (62 cent senior coffee) and watching the world go by. I do start feeling old when the senior discount is automatically rung up; also, I've begun reading a 1970 novel, Jack Finney's Time and Again, about traveling in time back to the 1890s. Interestingly, the "current" scenes, when the protagonist is not "back in time," reads now like visions from a time machine -- he hopes for a salary of $12,000 a year, the ad agency where he works has typewriters and physically airbrushes photos, he uses a pay phone, and plays bridge once a week.

I was in those days, recalling when computerized writing was in its infancy, and it was life. Reminds of me of once when I was pre-teen, I was watching an old gangster movie on TV (black-and-white BTW) and I turned to my mother and asked her, "Did you know you were old-fashioned back then?" She rather curtly denied it. One of my favorite quotations, which I have on the wall of my cube at work, reads, "The past is a foreign county -- they speak differently there." Amen.

So I am getting up there, when my formative working reality is more than 40 years back, and most of my coworkers were born decades after the Beatles broke up. Still, a pair of 14-year old twins and an energetic wife with growing impatience, tend to keep me on focus -- or at least make me feel guilty about not being there.

Anyway, I'm back to the blog, and hoping to post daily again to keep my hand in writing. Which means the focus has changed a bit, from my journeys with Rocinante to my journey through this last quarter or so of my life.

I do know, and mostly believe, that I am a good writer. My book reviews, my past briefs and memoranda, my columns in the old Gering Courier, all suggest that -- as does my mother. I'm not sure what to do about the Cobb novels; I need to rewrite and strengthen them, but, having done more serious reading of good stuff, I wonder if they will ever be good enough.