tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66328901234630633602024-03-14T07:21:17.160-07:00RockyChrysler.comUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger255125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-26971445708522571162023-11-24T09:06:00.043-07:002023-12-13T08:02:52.545-07:00Archival footage: My Week of Riding Dangerously [UPDATED]<div><i style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">The following essay was posted to both the <a href="https://www.mtbr.com/threads/my-week-of-riding-dangerously.1226547/" target="_blank">Rigid/Hardtail</a> and the <a href="https://www.mtbr.com/threads/my-week-of-riding-dangerously.1226548/" target="_blank">50+ Years Old</a> forums at mtbr.com on 24 November 2023.</i><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, "Palatino Linotype", Palatino, serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;" /></div><hr /></div><div><br /></div>Turned 57 a couple weeks ago. Means I've been riding mountain bikes for close to 40 years now. <div><br /></div><div>As happens to some of us, I ended up hanging on to many of my old bikes, and have acquired and restored a couple other vintage rigs over the years, too. Several of my older bikes are still intact and quite rideable. The rest have essentially become organ donors or wall-art, so in a sense still "around" if only in spirit.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGUoTKOXQDy-Hm14qxNQWSQThTX6nUDOHl7XHi6EwOrF0eYu-NsuOdyjGYbHU6CAIlmIY_SyUUyBR7RD3VePShp26iz3MIv2Sm5hvNlDIbrLqW5xuujjGVjCPxC7BzWgk6FptAt7nm_DCQ7cJlyYs5UOcKXxUB_IInX20hEK1lcw0xbLF7o87ASORojns/s10874/IMG_3327.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3535" data-original-width="10874" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGUoTKOXQDy-Hm14qxNQWSQThTX6nUDOHl7XHi6EwOrF0eYu-NsuOdyjGYbHU6CAIlmIY_SyUUyBR7RD3VePShp26iz3MIv2Sm5hvNlDIbrLqW5xuujjGVjCPxC7BzWgk6FptAt7nm_DCQ7cJlyYs5UOcKXxUB_IInX20hEK1lcw0xbLF7o87ASORojns/w640-h208/IMG_3327.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quite literally hanging on (the ceiling) to several old bikes</td></tr></tbody></table><div>Had an idea pop into my head the other day, as a kind of 57th birthday commemoration, that I'd ride (as-in <i>really</i> ride, on singletrack trails, out in the woods, just like I used to back-in-the-day) some of my oldest bikes over the course of a few days in the vicinity of my birthday and try to hit as close to an aggregate 57 miles as I could in the process. Rounding upward by just a few tenths, I pretty much nailed it at the end of Day 4 of what I've decided to call: <i>My Week of Riding Dangerously</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was brutal. It was amazing. Effort was expended. Flow was elusive. Skin was lost. Blood was shed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Flats: 0</div><div>Broken body/bike parts: 0</div><div>Dabs, portages, mulligans: lost count</div><div><br /></div><div>I've no regrets. </div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>My Week of Riding Dangerously </i>was everything I wanted/needed it to be: a fully analog, thoroughly tactile, uninsulated reminder of so many of the aesthetics and sensations that initially drew me into the sport in the first place so many years ago. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you've still got an old bike or two hanging around in your garage, I encourage you to dust it off, pump up the tires, and take if for a legit spin on your local XC trails... Just one old dood's opinion, but <i>I</i> think it's good for our aging souls to reminisce, and to reflect on how far things have come in the decades that have passed since we first got started riding bikes on trails. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'll leave you with a few terribly obvious observations from <i>My Week of Riding Dangerously</i>:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Disc brakes are so much better than cantis... but cantis worked back then, and they still do today.</li><li><a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2021/10/lets-ride-with-dropper-post.html" target="_blank">Dropper posts</a> are essential to effective and responsive bike handling... but ride an old bike around for a bit and you'll quickly recall how steep and quick you can still ride without ever lowering your saddle.</li><li>Suspension forks, tubeless tires, wide bars, short stems, beefy rims, and slack geometry definitely enhance bike handling in innumerable positive ways... but the truth of the matter is, you can still have a great nostalgic time shredding around on rigid, narrow, long, and steep sh!t, too. You're just not going to be able to do it as fast or effectively as you're accustomed to. And in my book, to on occasion be reminded of how far you've come, and how much things have changed (mostly for the better), isn't really a bad thing,</li></ul></div><div>Below are some sexy iPhone portrait-mode pictures of the bikes and the distances/elevations I rode during <i>My Week of Riding Dangerously.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEu_Byp3EA7mDnZiLgi7KYL-L66kcscZ836diZ8SvFnFoVDFn53qe-bX9IjHXebXUob_qQF-AMK8eBGBLbKZPjsgcPxRupnFdEP_vXZVkOZ3nf_8HpNyphsovwYc7PM6zXiFneRSY-uY6ahWceTLNlp_hXcyJI9pnqeN2eC2VPHpxfll-Ig39rDckXUb8/s1600/breezer.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEu_Byp3EA7mDnZiLgi7KYL-L66kcscZ836diZ8SvFnFoVDFn53qe-bX9IjHXebXUob_qQF-AMK8eBGBLbKZPjsgcPxRupnFdEP_vXZVkOZ3nf_8HpNyphsovwYc7PM6zXiFneRSY-uY6ahWceTLNlp_hXcyJI9pnqeN2eC2VPHpxfll-Ig39rDckXUb8/w400-h400/breezer.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1994 Breezer Lightning -- 12 miles -- 1000 feet elev.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzDksPhlc8Twr7ntGxqoqvD-PD4vSAbtJA7-HYtKBgY0ixjbJgvYdSXdiwUSw8nkr7A60ytrZCQGV5OJsofPutVOqliVqklh14TklbTGPgDXSAidzGvXF4pmitEUJK4l9wf_kVLxkAQhtK83cZ8SUu0y9SdV0FHshDNe8b3E-UrorthEto0YNuqqCVGY/s1600/ibis.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzDksPhlc8Twr7ntGxqoqvD-PD4vSAbtJA7-HYtKBgY0ixjbJgvYdSXdiwUSw8nkr7A60ytrZCQGV5OJsofPutVOqliVqklh14TklbTGPgDXSAidzGvXF4pmitEUJK4l9wf_kVLxkAQhtK83cZ8SUu0y9SdV0FHshDNe8b3E-UrorthEto0YNuqqCVGY/w400-h400/ibis.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2010/03/just-about-bike-ibis-mountain-trials.html" target="_blank">1991 Ibis Mountain Trials</a> -- 13 miles -- 1100 feet elev.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5yoLKwn0eDXDem6agoY8RqKKTS7tUhkc9OFG5XArEPa4npMp1WUSKTZBVPHLi7KuwWdGixlhI_Dvb2eFm-kJ4fqo2ltyy0f3aOhACbSus0tQNxMKE_wOGR3fvutVmOio_LCSt98UrDWsEnnfMvoUVsEDISAu74pdFncrQi_f8sIFjhYY7iVoxzoeHIY/s1600/retrotec.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5yoLKwn0eDXDem6agoY8RqKKTS7tUhkc9OFG5XArEPa4npMp1WUSKTZBVPHLi7KuwWdGixlhI_Dvb2eFm-kJ4fqo2ltyy0f3aOhACbSus0tQNxMKE_wOGR3fvutVmOio_LCSt98UrDWsEnnfMvoUVsEDISAu74pdFncrQi_f8sIFjhYY7iVoxzoeHIY/w400-h400/retrotec.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2010/07/just-about-bike-retrotec.html" target="_blank">1992 Retrotec</a> -- 16 miles -- 1800 feet elev.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnYP2MFawUkOSPrusd6bMIDjKGhkN_yjYuscurXthSsD7JwjWGo0bnR0-741YRcXuF-fLryaOlDvnj1ehFH5zSwkFkVNVQULFMrfQjg8PpU9xGajise6zZSg8aElAZfhg_G5I4-2MhqXWMhlM41RDRMHPPINpl96o6oiiA3SXlR7Yijf-VJ0AMrBTDbA8/s1600/rocklobster.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnYP2MFawUkOSPrusd6bMIDjKGhkN_yjYuscurXthSsD7JwjWGo0bnR0-741YRcXuF-fLryaOlDvnj1ehFH5zSwkFkVNVQULFMrfQjg8PpU9xGajise6zZSg8aElAZfhg_G5I4-2MhqXWMhlM41RDRMHPPINpl96o6oiiA3SXlR7Yijf-VJ0AMrBTDbA8/w300-h400/rocklobster.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2010/04/just-about-bike-rock-lobster.html" target="_blank">1985 Rock Lobster</a> -- 16 miles -- 1300 feet elev.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><span style="color: red;">Update: 25 November 2023</span></div></div><div> </div><div>Thought this response to my original post in MTBR's <a href="https://www.mtbr.com/threads/my-week-of-riding-dangerously.1226547/#post-16102859" target="_blank">Rigid/Hardtail</a> forum, along with my reply, merited inclusion here.</div><div><blockquote><i>I make a rule that every new bike purchase must be followed by selling a bike.<br />Thanks for confirming this is a good policy.</i></blockquote></div><div>I guess I could see your point... if we were talking about shoes, or T-shirts, or even skis... there are lots of things that we own which were at one point cool or fashionable or top-tier-tech that tend to lose their luster or efficacy over time. That kind of stuff is consumable, it wears out and becomes just so much trash.</div><div><br />But there are other things, like old bikes and cars and tractors, which, while no longer top-tier by any means, are nonetheless, if they've been well-maintained or carefully restored, still perfectly viable, even dare-I-say pleasurable, as modes of transport if you're willing to shift your mental space into a more nostalgic mode whenever you intend to enjoy them.<br /><br />I'm really, really glad I've kept my old bikes.<br /><br />Pretty sure my urge to hang on to, and likewise to ride these old bikes out in the woods once in a while, is triggered by the same part of my brain-stem that salves the old dude's desire to drive around town on Friday night in his sweet 1970 Oldsmobile 442, which it just so happens is exactly like the one he drove in high school... or the the war vet's compulsion to meticulously restore and tractor around the fairgrounds on Labor Day weekend in his old 1928 John Deere, which looks, sounds and smells just like the one he grew up driving on the farm back-home.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-32282119866483120742023-10-19T08:13:00.019-07:002023-12-13T08:02:04.775-07:00Archival footage: Vintage Chris King Angry Bee swag [UPDATED]<i>The following essay was originally posted to the <a href="https://www.mtbr.com/threads/vintage-chris-king-angry-bee-swag.1225446/#post-16073538" target="_blank">Vintage, Retro, Classic</a> forum at mtbr.com on 18 October 2023.</i><div><br /></div><div><hr /></div><div><br /></div><div>A little history per <a href="https://chrisking.com/products/rolls-good-muckynutz-face-fender">chrisking.com</a>: <i>Back when hub warranty registration was done my [sic] mailing us a postcard, Akiyoshi Takamura coined an <a href="https://www.dictionary.com/browse/infamous">infamous</a> [sic] quote in the comment field of his card; "It rolls good with angry bee sound". This was the birth of the angry bees and so much more.</i></div><div><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitttmiLpRukbj5_gM7fK0GmjcvzQhj5AKDNAq6-alS9RqNAc3WUuo1YhLUvE3_D92pNufdH8RQ1-8UDYJ_6tnmDYZuwi5lonfQdT8GmAgQRXx5be46LVlFVPyaPLEOJNjjOhgRvNpsvFkgr27LW2hTsU_20pDg_XIOak312VqNbvig1nReySlwnxxtg40/s1920/aki.webp.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1920" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitttmiLpRukbj5_gM7fK0GmjcvzQhj5AKDNAq6-alS9RqNAc3WUuo1YhLUvE3_D92pNufdH8RQ1-8UDYJ_6tnmDYZuwi5lonfQdT8GmAgQRXx5be46LVlFVPyaPLEOJNjjOhgRvNpsvFkgr27LW2hTsU_20pDg_XIOak312VqNbvig1nReySlwnxxtg40/s320/aki.webp.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aki-the-bear loading up on wild raspberries <br />before descending Pluto trail</td></tr></tbody></table>Here in my hometown of Flagstaff, AZ (and likewise among the FLG-diaspora currently residing in Bend, OR) coiner-of-the-phrase "It rolls good with angry bee sound" (which, let's be frank, Chris King Precision Components has taken to-the-bank as it's now ubiquitous marketing theme), <a href="https://www.mtbr.com/members/274399/">@angrybee</a> Akiyoshi Takamura, has become nothing less than a legit folk hero. By no means "infamous," in our estimation Aki has, instead, become well-respected by handmade bike-builders and riders alike. All who have had the pleasure to know and ride with him have found his knowledge and enthusiasm for small-batch mountain bike sh!t to be deeply sincere, knowledgeable, and endearing.<br /><br />Since I-don't-know-when, Aki has made an annual trip to ride in Flagstaff and, over the years, has purchased a respectable sampling of North American small-builder bikes to take back to shred in the hills and forests around Osaka, Japan. Sadly, COVID-19 made Aki's trip to the USA impossible for the past two seasons. So everyone that knew him was super stoked when word got around late in the spring of 2023 that Aki would be traveling to northern Arizona once again in the summertime.<br /><br />While he was here this summer I traded him a custom-made "red Pepsi" <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2019/11/how-to-lets-make-cooziecage.html">Cooziecage</a> in exchange for his Kanji-signature on my first-gen "It rolls good with angry bee sound" T-shirt which now proudly hangs in "the place of honor" (on the wall above my workbench) in my garage.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLiXJETwphZLI74wMBEm-2OvrlLO5UyEtWcg49OLheCp6s51KUgS3K3zakdaeg89hv8aqXcyFDCfb9_WnyWlIxSrSI5edQhejx9-HN0ADG08PIGFp5CechRPM7DoyQ7FWBUnw4i93HLCYmLOWdYAx1ngFSTSZfyTXyof3EGRgmK07vfht-D_7ETwOSmO8/s3024/IMG-3068.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLiXJETwphZLI74wMBEm-2OvrlLO5UyEtWcg49OLheCp6s51KUgS3K3zakdaeg89hv8aqXcyFDCfb9_WnyWlIxSrSI5edQhejx9-HN0ADG08PIGFp5CechRPM7DoyQ7FWBUnw4i93HLCYmLOWdYAx1ngFSTSZfyTXyof3EGRgmK07vfht-D_7ETwOSmO8/w400-h400/IMG-3068.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><hr /></div><br /> A few more pictures from Aki's recent visit...<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYxslcL4LfWVnwCV3sxf7qQUQsvysHD3Km6VUdF8QsddKzBKTrBaRhqvqotJureiVXIAWLedscpi5snEyHCsRGjMP7lU82fMSDa3x-H3wQyf3PDsUEws9KaAPu6P-nR1nwFwRYPT6okjAKnxl6O4nV4PD6HTcCkiwCPNiO_fhyE4LI8lSLhjQOx-fx4hg/s1988/IMG-3082.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1988" data-original-width="1124" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYxslcL4LfWVnwCV3sxf7qQUQsvysHD3Km6VUdF8QsddKzBKTrBaRhqvqotJureiVXIAWLedscpi5snEyHCsRGjMP7lU82fMSDa3x-H3wQyf3PDsUEws9KaAPu6P-nR1nwFwRYPT6okjAKnxl6O4nV4PD6HTcCkiwCPNiO_fhyE4LI8lSLhjQOx-fx4hg/w226-h400/IMG-3082.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs74f_xsvyzFXJuRGN8WpKHP8NYd9Mq6YSKINbNMMpH0qRPLbdtPdGOtM8EYeRorl3Fida5iJ22l9ULXz-BCyiiEfV5AYLVLSmLaejhEHk9_6Fh8YU6IHuBdRZQ0rDqaP7An2uiEqS3QKg3SJE5TniOTcEWQ7pMtySSJXcNehJXcNBB9Fp8grjyUQ9oH8/s1988/IMG-3083.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1988" data-original-width="1124" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs74f_xsvyzFXJuRGN8WpKHP8NYd9Mq6YSKINbNMMpH0qRPLbdtPdGOtM8EYeRorl3Fida5iJ22l9ULXz-BCyiiEfV5AYLVLSmLaejhEHk9_6Fh8YU6IHuBdRZQ0rDqaP7An2uiEqS3QKg3SJE5TniOTcEWQ7pMtySSJXcNehJXcNBB9Fp8grjyUQ9oH8/w226-h400/IMG-3083.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRafxQfPFvy-EKehebjsQs5BeUh5kBs85iloemUcH92_Z4iErMLXxnt5SRpAfSp82KrtbLqd4sFy71fwLKnXZA_pl7NuUdxcd055cia4C2tiK8pLFolNLwVfR4btTjosUIXR2ieqebldU1WXxGoVlJXx08WdXPIU0oXQ6Bc-KxrwuT7AcBIixzgdOZ_Ts/s1988/IMG-3084.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1988" data-original-width="1124" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRafxQfPFvy-EKehebjsQs5BeUh5kBs85iloemUcH92_Z4iErMLXxnt5SRpAfSp82KrtbLqd4sFy71fwLKnXZA_pl7NuUdxcd055cia4C2tiK8pLFolNLwVfR4btTjosUIXR2ieqebldU1WXxGoVlJXx08WdXPIU0oXQ6Bc-KxrwuT7AcBIixzgdOZ_Ts/w226-h400/IMG-3084.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2yjfh7zAxT49aib7-5n2bJq30bAebaJvOKu5RRj9t4pXym1-e0QCrefQ7LZleE9uCCdRa1y3o0PP10eLyeLS-sXdmQbdQ0523kmeT8zei-ie14UcPYlsWUhubZm8iVDDD63EIttqoqcPHTo7gk0OqK-OppdEA9E6WvRwYLfJ4FuswGj0F4_O2TAd1sNY/s4032/IMG-6362.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2yjfh7zAxT49aib7-5n2bJq30bAebaJvOKu5RRj9t4pXym1-e0QCrefQ7LZleE9uCCdRa1y3o0PP10eLyeLS-sXdmQbdQ0523kmeT8zei-ie14UcPYlsWUhubZm8iVDDD63EIttqoqcPHTo7gk0OqK-OppdEA9E6WvRwYLfJ4FuswGj0F4_O2TAd1sNY/s320/IMG-6362.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEJz0DJP1dPdg8nZz6nNMMuk-2p7YFNSnqy3czRq3QnSaX4Z5Ca_8cm9lbC6Cf7ZZwcnptkeoRrd_G_x8RNk9ccgPphNHmu-FzS4XqkLKGrkAq0Sah1KmzXY5YR5n2Uu4TZ-K_JNcjyaaKoBzcLm4ytBPnqkcxItSwG7Oaqbtt92AIe-GkCTXHoqCWSc/s4032/IMG-6387.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEJz0DJP1dPdg8nZz6nNMMuk-2p7YFNSnqy3czRq3QnSaX4Z5Ca_8cm9lbC6Cf7ZZwcnptkeoRrd_G_x8RNk9ccgPphNHmu-FzS4XqkLKGrkAq0Sah1KmzXY5YR5n2Uu4TZ-K_JNcjyaaKoBzcLm4ytBPnqkcxItSwG7Oaqbtt92AIe-GkCTXHoqCWSc/s320/IMG-6387.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="color: red;">UPDATE: 27 October 2023<br /></span>I picked up this piece of new “angry bee” swag while I was on the Chris King site researching my original post the other day. Installed it on the <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2021/05/just-about-bike-matt-chester-mutinyman.html">Chester</a>. Does what it says on the tin, as the saying goes.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PlryRLnz3ZFic2OWK9Ji6vqWRb0dpx0PBrcnIOq_M3wcz0VcUH0G7lnPzFR4u8yg3KvHyDOu5itQ_Ryey3OP8q5FRJQ8uQxZ0dtaN_aaRsPvaGLqE8Icu1oPaZsKw97g3e-8b1yoUIkt1jCcMDo2Y21tQp6SbHgmcW8OysyyYOqHgH35lcXYnKrDAKY/s1920/angrybee_fender.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1920" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PlryRLnz3ZFic2OWK9Ji6vqWRb0dpx0PBrcnIOq_M3wcz0VcUH0G7lnPzFR4u8yg3KvHyDOu5itQ_Ryey3OP8q5FRJQ8uQxZ0dtaN_aaRsPvaGLqE8Icu1oPaZsKw97g3e-8b1yoUIkt1jCcMDo2Y21tQp6SbHgmcW8OysyyYOqHgH35lcXYnKrDAKY/s320/angrybee_fender.webp" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-9700780975387930252023-10-09T16:46:00.005-07:002023-10-09T16:51:53.789-07:00In Beauty<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>In beauty I ride</i></div><div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><i>With beauty before me I ride</i></div><div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><i>With beauty behind me I ride</i></div><div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><i>With beauty above me I ride</i></div><div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><i>With beauty around me I ride</i></div><div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><i>It has become beauty again</i></div><div style="font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">-- adapted from a Navajo prayer</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZ3pY4u7n5XHgFfdMbeHDTf9pmndJDS5UDlm3imOGZpkbD7LZtPHjjLNTvAr52fX5M86fRVddjbdfGqGwGl66be5VWSK5VbtWvhdbXPT4MH250JWxPNtlLmLl2mEVAbWfPim8ojJlwhl4_dYnk3p3FzV9-DUBiEovr6wqJMt0mT7VeOm1KoAzUK6kDgI/s1920/beauty.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZ3pY4u7n5XHgFfdMbeHDTf9pmndJDS5UDlm3imOGZpkbD7LZtPHjjLNTvAr52fX5M86fRVddjbdfGqGwGl66be5VWSK5VbtWvhdbXPT4MH250JWxPNtlLmLl2mEVAbWfPim8ojJlwhl4_dYnk3p3FzV9-DUBiEovr6wqJMt0mT7VeOm1KoAzUK6kDgI/w480-h640/beauty.png" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swell Trail - 09 October 2023</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-40583424546843600542023-09-30T16:09:00.136-07:002024-01-06T21:51:43.743-07:00Let's lurk!<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSRbZ37iIQH6C2kifbxVkCLbdu0uTVFbPU6HC0ZSKBh8E3fsSQw_9T7Wou5Vny7CP-QU-tWaPnNdOCDWPhkdmqMr62FATA7oJOozK1EhdAK_upKlWkl8bzPqd-o5wT-V31L-MccoA1HfDy4JPaxxjT9e_jVS23q2FrLMRTsfX4EyHpqXOQQBTxSeMCFsw/s1158/2023-02-21_18-21-30_000.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1158" data-original-width="1125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSRbZ37iIQH6C2kifbxVkCLbdu0uTVFbPU6HC0ZSKBh8E3fsSQw_9T7Wou5Vny7CP-QU-tWaPnNdOCDWPhkdmqMr62FATA7oJOozK1EhdAK_upKlWkl8bzPqd-o5wT-V31L-MccoA1HfDy4JPaxxjT9e_jVS23q2FrLMRTsfX4EyHpqXOQQBTxSeMCFsw/w310-h320/2023-02-21_18-21-30_000.png" width="310" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See Nate lurk.</td></tr></tbody></table>In the course of my life there have been several things that I knew I would love the very first moment I saw them. That list includes: <br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>my wife</li><li>our daughter</li><li>our home</li><li>riding singletrack on a mountain bike</li><li>making sweet dropped-knee Tele-turns</li><li>paddle-boarding gracefully across a lake</li><li><i>and</i> skiing with a lurk</li></ul><p></p><p>I've written about many of these subjects elsewhere on this blog. But never before about lurking. And if I'm being honest, as with the other things listed above, lurking has pretty much changed my life, entirely for-the-better.<br /><br />It all started when I watched this video at some point in the fall of 2022. <br /></p><p><br /></p><center><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gXd_ioh_xXM?si=dOEEfu6OGqgpqEh1" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></center><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>The video features a guy named Marshell Thomson testing <a href="https://bishoptelemark.com/products/san-juan-stick" target="_blank">Bishop Telemark's San Juan Stick</a> during the 2021 season. The moment I saw him shredding the backcountry near Silverton on his Tele-skis, carving big turns with a single, long, two-ended ski-pole called a lurk, I was hooked.<div><br /></div><div>Sadly, by the time I caught the bug, Bishop's website showed that the $275 (plus shipping) San Juan Stick was sold-out<sup>(2) </sup>.</div><div><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgY-T7kaUDvyHb6dmvcXWukvgAn3pa043Kt5-AMIAOTxa9wOR1OgRRyHR9PMy6ifx0vO50_oTHoHh1TecU0SPY8iCAy5Z2izg3P2zU9GvBiIIxUNdoMQMw7d-_c8veXu1waUaijjVUsGrZE5fH8cSIdTDDgrvAFY8SZ3SaOLjB-dYjdWbpygADgxqhi0/s1125/lurk2.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgY-T7kaUDvyHb6dmvcXWukvgAn3pa043Kt5-AMIAOTxa9wOR1OgRRyHR9PMy6ifx0vO50_oTHoHh1TecU0SPY8iCAy5Z2izg3P2zU9GvBiIIxUNdoMQMw7d-_c8veXu1waUaijjVUsGrZE5fH8cSIdTDDgrvAFY8SZ3SaOLjB-dYjdWbpygADgxqhi0/s320/lurk2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nate<sup>(1) </sup>is lurking.</td></tr></tbody></table>So, for a time, early in the 2022-2023 ski season, I just experimented with bamboo, which I had easy access to as a volunteer with the Courtesy Patrol at <a href="http://www.snowbowl.ski" target="_blank">Arizona Snowbowl</a>. I spend a lot of time running bamboo around the mountain anyway, so in the process I just started holding it like Thomson had in his <i>King of the Lurk</i> video, often lashed together as a small bundle with a tele-strap, as I transported it to various projects around the hill. Despite the 'boo's inherent flexibility, which isn't a desirable quality in a ski-pole of any kind, I could nonetheless tell that skiing Tele with a lurk made a lot of sense, as it equipped me to power my rear foot more and lean back into the hillside to initiate better turns and carve more aggressively and naturally into the ski's turn-radius.</div><div><br /></div><div>Given that I wasn't going to be able to get my hands on one of Bishop's Sticks, I began <a href="ski pole lurk" target="_blank">searching</a> the Internet for other fabricators of lurks, and likewise preparing to <a href="https://www.bcbackcountryfamily.com/blog/dyi-lurk" target="_blank">adapt a plan</a> to hack together a lurk of own if my searching proved fruitless. Which it nearly did. </div><div><br /></div><div>Not including an ancient, one-ended, peeled and seasoned natural pine <a href="https://us-store.altaiskis.com/product/tiak/" target="_blank">Altai tiak</a> ($44.75 plus shipping), which I didn't find nearly as enticing<sup>(3) </sup> because, well, it is <i>not</i> a lurk it's a tiak, I could find only a couple legitimate lurk makers other than Bishop selling their products online: <a href="https://aspinockwoods.com/shop/ols/products/treepole-ski-lurk" target="_blank">TreePole</a> ($187 plus shipping), and an Etsy shop called <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/ThirdEdgeSkiing" target="_blank">MountainSports</a> ($149 plus shipping) owned by a guy named Dennis. </div><div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyBUW5ZKQJJIZvji1RQtcHHv1Foit0xOa_ivAJkENPZ6RqAWqR8qZRSDRteDOByfJt2SYE0wW9w5O3l-4E5SrpI3IwEJQYyl9bQt0ejO1vbL7ZqspfcYsci_ZmOEhFcwuJkRZv4r3CBnXHp57_cXJijRlG_thRUioERnve73Dl7wZplrNzgmUef9kXiGs/s1125/lurk3.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyBUW5ZKQJJIZvji1RQtcHHv1Foit0xOa_ivAJkENPZ6RqAWqR8qZRSDRteDOByfJt2SYE0wW9w5O3l-4E5SrpI3IwEJQYyl9bQt0ejO1vbL7ZqspfcYsci_ZmOEhFcwuJkRZv4r3CBnXHp57_cXJijRlG_thRUioERnve73Dl7wZplrNzgmUef9kXiGs/s320/lurk3.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nate has lurked.</td></tr></tbody></table>I've gotta be honest: TreePole's natural peeled pine lurk looked a lot like Altai's tiak, just longer and with two-ends rather than one, which I wasn't too stoked on for nearly $200. However, I really liked the machined and lathe-turned look of Dennis' MountainSports lurk a lot, and was compelled to purchase it, not only because it was less expensive than the TreePole, but also because it shipped with three different tips plus a set of baskets, a sticker for my beer-fridge, and also featured a machined aluminum decoupler mid-pole, similar to <a href="https://youtu.be/9AvZolKrCzk?si=LGgBiww9qA_cyWGl" target="_blank">Bishop's design</a> (video).</div><div><br /></div><div>Dennis at MountainSports makes lurks in three colors and three sizes, 7 feet, 7.5 feet, and 8 feet. I'm six-feet tall and tend to set my traditional adjustable ski poles at about 115-120cm when I'm Tele-skiing in the area. But when it came time to pull the trigger on purchasing a lurk, I wasn't really sure what length to get. Fortunately Bishop has a brief "<a href="https://bishoptelemark.com/products/san-juan-stick" target="_blank">Lurk Sizing</a>" tab on their San Juan Stick page, which recommends that someone like me should use a 100-inch lurk, which is a bit over 8 feet end-to-end. In order to be sure I got the right size for me and the kind of Tele-skiing I like to do, I eventually ended up ordering both a 7.5 and an 8 footer from MountainSports, which came to just a few bucks more than one San Juan Stick.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5oGgCYtUm3QaHm7JDu49QX957OY_QgceA6AGNnO13W18vNGZEuZqK-GLn-ToII2wGsxyQVQXtXXSKfEbG7VR7mS-qtHBYgUjM9VXt2UnM8OhsR1W-BzdWtQQ6E395wDKXSE6J2hrkoUURExCccUg3bA1gcv0OjZXncPEK4iA5GimQvLqpxtLro_0nFfg/s3088/2023-02-21_15-17-17_315.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5oGgCYtUm3QaHm7JDu49QX957OY_QgceA6AGNnO13W18vNGZEuZqK-GLn-ToII2wGsxyQVQXtXXSKfEbG7VR7mS-qtHBYgUjM9VXt2UnM8OhsR1W-BzdWtQQ6E395wDKXSE6J2hrkoUURExCccUg3bA1gcv0OjZXncPEK4iA5GimQvLqpxtLro_0nFfg/s320/2023-02-21_15-17-17_315.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nate and his friend are lurkers.</td></tr></tbody></table><b>As a 30-year (1993-2023) Tele-skier, I am stoked to give my 100% tried-and-tested five-star recommendation to the lurks I purchased last season from MountainSports.</b> They're made of poplar wood, so they're not too heavy. They're super stiff. And they're pretty dang rugged. I've whapped mine on more than a few trees, fallen on top of them a time or two, and basically put both through a season-long series of unforgiving on-the-job trials. They've never failed me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Skiing with both lurks during my shifts over the course of some 75 days on my local hill during the 2022-2023 season, I can tell you: most days when I'm working with Snowbowl Courtesy Patrol riding my <a href="https://www.blizzard-tecnica.com/global/en/men/skis/freeride/rustler/rustler-10-flat" target="_blank">Blizzard Rustler 10s</a>, I like the lighter weight and somewhat faster tip-to-tip operation of my 7.5 foot pole. However, on bigger, deeper days, or whenever I'm on my wider <a href="https://www.blizzard-tecnica.com/us/en/men/skis/freeride-1/rustler/rustler-11-flat" target="_blank">Blizzard Rustler 11s</a>, the 8-foot pole makes tons of sense.</div><div><br /></div><div>Everyone asks, "What is that thing," when I'm riding up the chair with my lurk. I like to make up a different purpose for it every time... "It's a wizard-staff for casting spells; you shall not pass!" or "I'm training for the summer Olympics in kayaking and my coach wants me to ski with a paddle." or "It's a COVID-distancing stick, please stand back." or "It's a porcupine-prodder for coaxing them back into the woods when they wander out onto the runs." Stuff like that. People always go, "Ha, right... seriously?" and then I explain what a lurk is and why, especially as a Tele-skier, I like to shred around the mountain with it.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I said before, Tele-skiing with a lurk puts you in an more advantageous position to use the slope angle and your momentum to engage solid turns, stay in the sweet-spot on both your turning edges through the entire turn, and then initiate confident, precise, fast transitions turn-to-turn as you work your way down the hill. Once mastered, it really is an amazing sensation, flipping the lurk left and right, like a kayak paddler does with their oar, as you rail the skis' edges around the long-pole's tip. </div><div><br /></div><div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Fcw96ngDJK-nNSqtUhw1XgpJzWfD9hQV3L_3xopK5JMNNQVwMmNqH93gKB2Fd7q6WexEwL2lMUTl1s7TYuMfDEAyiuAf4axITBfD1i7xux00fhE-fRnJVLL6XITlPZpGMWMM6Se948aonT3JVly-fUJuLlfOULXDmA64Eu6IZG9DEqqxBA0BefDepVw/s4032/2023-02-21_15-17-03_355.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Fcw96ngDJK-nNSqtUhw1XgpJzWfD9hQV3L_3xopK5JMNNQVwMmNqH93gKB2Fd7q6WexEwL2lMUTl1s7TYuMfDEAyiuAf4axITBfD1i7xux00fhE-fRnJVLL6XITlPZpGMWMM6Se948aonT3JVly-fUJuLlfOULXDmA64Eu6IZG9DEqqxBA0BefDepVw/s320/2023-02-21_15-17-03_355.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nate likes to lurk.</td></tr></tbody></table>Some practice is required to transition your Tele-skiing style from traditional poles to a lurk. And, while it's definitely most ideally suited to open runs and <a href="https://youtu.be/r3ug0T6xIZs?si=zGYLmwU5ehkJw2zb" target="_blank">big open terrain</a> (video), it doesn't really matter if you're working it on hard-pack groomers, a few inches of early-morning freshies, or deep, deep pow. You learn pretty quickly to smear it across the fall line on the piste, and rudder it like a canoe paddle in the deeper conditions; it doesn't punch into the snow if you're doing it right, which is why standard ski pole baskets are unnecessary. The ball tip (see image below) is what works best, and the one with the pointed end is particularly nice when polling across the flats becomes necessary.</div><div><br /></div><div>Even <a href="https://youtu.be/NH86HBVM230?si=apNR0dhZMm3M5G3b" target="_blank">in the trees</a> (video), the lurk is a great snow-tool with few, if any, liabilities, particularly for an experienced Tele-skier who's practiced with it a bit. In fact, I think it's enhanced my meadow-skipping just as much as it has my on-piste activities. Remember: when you're using the lurk correctly, both in and out of the trees, you're placing it on the hillside behind and beside you, just a bit above your turn (not in front of you and your turn as with standard ski poles), so it doesn't get in the way of sticking to your path in and around the trees. </div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaDpfe4SiIzQZbrI3Gw7PSUe99Glm8bXFD1xvtQK5ezLAZqiiiF3UA7Pj1LA-Il52V_UjISCKxX3kAeAGJcD5fzkW6q73xDAbT1CeQFr8USGmYr4ghJzAEiYCmFha_afpJPClGv5Sva1Sh3-gb48jhU74djBkMPQ9sTZemVv5cuQ7Bp5CS5l-VylH9Gz0/s1002/image_6487327.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1002" data-original-width="1002" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaDpfe4SiIzQZbrI3Gw7PSUe99Glm8bXFD1xvtQK5ezLAZqiiiF3UA7Pj1LA-Il52V_UjISCKxX3kAeAGJcD5fzkW6q73xDAbT1CeQFr8USGmYr4ghJzAEiYCmFha_afpJPClGv5Sva1Sh3-gb48jhU74djBkMPQ9sTZemVv5cuQ7Bp5CS5l-VylH9Gz0/s320/image_6487327.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lurk, Nate, lurk!</td></tr></tbody></table>Transitioning quickly between left and right fall-line turns in the trees, however, requires the most practice with the lurk and demands that your situational awareness spatial monitoring systems be set to optimal. More than once I've gotten sloppy or inattentive and clipped a tip on a tree or a low hanging limb which, depending on your speed, will cause the lurk to recoil in your hands with little warning. But again, it's not that hard to figure out how to avoid these situations. With a little practice, tree-lurking quickly becomes just another skill to master and put in your Tele-skier's toolbag.</div><div><br /></div></div><div>I'm also convinced the lurk helps you reduce Tele-fatigue and conserve energy, too. Because of it's rigidity, you learn to put some of your weight onto it as you're dropping down into your turn. Then, as you're unweighting your body mass toward the bottom of your turn, you can push against the stick to raise your body upward into a more upright position to complete your turn-transition, taking some of the strain out of your legs. </div><div><br /></div><div>Using the lurk in this way has helped me extend my days as well as my ability to get down long sustained runs from the top to anywhere on the hill capably and quickly without my legs blowing up. I've got a lot more gas in my tank since switching to lurking full-time. My six-run days have now become 12 to 15 and sometimes 20+ run days, almost always with enough juice leftover to get up and do it all again tomorrow, which for me equals nothing less than stoke-factor: maximum!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_T1p9i7Jy7rkKJL5SoBdnM8ir1gmm9-HsSmdCVkCGaeTyIJDh7tEhhowNpIRv3oT4_oHJ8hykCFQFECpKDVgf7nl60-1FMUNBew7Crn2rlEsweCl_Qy79hoV4jUKrurjDwK_BiPxhnEUUrtFwDvoD9HRpFcWcs7zcxnE-09IDNPF7t49WsXjCRAuzfHY/s598/Screenshot%202023-10-01%2012.45.22.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="452" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_T1p9i7Jy7rkKJL5SoBdnM8ir1gmm9-HsSmdCVkCGaeTyIJDh7tEhhowNpIRv3oT4_oHJ8hykCFQFECpKDVgf7nl60-1FMUNBew7Crn2rlEsweCl_Qy79hoV4jUKrurjDwK_BiPxhnEUUrtFwDvoD9HRpFcWcs7zcxnE-09IDNPF7t49WsXjCRAuzfHY/s320/Screenshot%202023-10-01%2012.45.22.png" width="242" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nate's friend uses his lurk at work.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div><div>Bishop's site echo's my observations, citing the following as "<a href="https://bishoptelemark.com/products/san-juan-stick" target="_blank">Lurk Benefits</a>" for beginner to expert Tele-skiers: </div><div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><i>Creates a strong upper body posture</i></li><li><i>Allows you to lean into the hillside and carve aggressively</i></li><li><i>A solid tool to improve back foot weighting issues or losing balance</i></li></ul></div></div><div>Turns out, the aluminum coupler that both MountainSports and Bishop install in the center of their lurk sticks isn't all that useful, at least not to me. Initially I used it a lot when loading the lift, so that I could shove the decoupled poles beneath my thigh as I've always done with my standard ski poles. But in fairly short order, after a few days getting used to lurking, I found that this "extra step" really wasn't necessary. </div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Ibiem_g5dfMx_DOU7NLrXsOFbJMSYqsT6HFsRE5nod_wFHSYKD2MoszIz6-20ZOVx5kyWNFiblXie-eY_o6IQPS8ityLtl3aRN_P_xasKJFffwbkB8WHoO17ooLOgd6dpOKb_sUJKieD-xvdZU6lOIlIt-N3sALbsE7JyJ8VeLB0QbCwWI6ORw3CWHE/s399/Screenshot%202023-09-30%2016.01.20.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="387" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Ibiem_g5dfMx_DOU7NLrXsOFbJMSYqsT6HFsRE5nod_wFHSYKD2MoszIz6-20ZOVx5kyWNFiblXie-eY_o6IQPS8ityLtl3aRN_P_xasKJFffwbkB8WHoO17ooLOgd6dpOKb_sUJKieD-xvdZU6lOIlIt-N3sALbsE7JyJ8VeLB0QbCwWI6ORw3CWHE/w194-h200/Screenshot%202023-09-30%2016.01.20.png" width="194" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">porcupine prodder</td></tr></tbody></table>These days, when loading the chair, I just cradle the lurk inside the elbow of my arm, raise the rearward tip enough that it clears the back of the seat and any footrest apparatus, and seat myself when the carrier comes around as usual. I hold the lurk between my body and my arm, gripped with one hand, as we travel uphill. It's easy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, after thorough experimentation, I've settled on using the thermoplastic ball-shaped tip with the stainless point which Dennis provides with every order. With it installed on both ends of my lurk I'm ready to "pole" to and from the chair when we load/disembark just as well as the skiers with traditional poles, and of course, <i>much</i> better than the one-footed snowboarders.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJk3wCKxVzvqtzfcV8X1T_wxQYETctTRthdVkslit6AyD5PvFc4qlQhHyXsOGWJXMcuWeydfrGfJgImPPFtBSKExvE6RACfI_siv9Gj8nwFZuMOC2qiU0nMu14JSny_t-Jws2vtYtPUO1mIn1p78QXlZrE80krRn5eIpbTjfprmpGSszwROP5wmHB2nRE/s1600/lurk2324a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJk3wCKxVzvqtzfcV8X1T_wxQYETctTRthdVkslit6AyD5PvFc4qlQhHyXsOGWJXMcuWeydfrGfJgImPPFtBSKExvE6RACfI_siv9Gj8nwFZuMOC2qiU0nMu14JSny_t-Jws2vtYtPUO1mIn1p78QXlZrE80krRn5eIpbTjfprmpGSszwROP5wmHB2nRE/s320/lurk2324a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTEP8spi6DT3McZ_aObO39nUCikLt4As1IUceAIV2T3GSg2i_xQmfRhjaVcnHzx30T8Vr94FSj9Aori_fgF29cSZ8zfTJ3TKw6hN4Nr_d_zSbFtGLgvzF-AjQ0XM4SiY4y9hE_vFViHwKimkewB9ML8TFPSydRXvG77LsT1vURTZQur75HA0Lk3tjfIek/s1600/lurk2324b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1588" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTEP8spi6DT3McZ_aObO39nUCikLt4As1IUceAIV2T3GSg2i_xQmfRhjaVcnHzx30T8Vr94FSj9Aori_fgF29cSZ8zfTJ3TKw6hN4Nr_d_zSbFtGLgvzF-AjQ0XM4SiY4y9hE_vFViHwKimkewB9ML8TFPSydRXvG77LsT1vURTZQur75HA0Lk3tjfIek/s320/lurk2324b.jpg" width="318" /></a></div><div><br /></div><hr /><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>1. Many thanks to my good pal and fellow <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2019/11/how-to-lets-make-cooziecage.html" target="_blank">beer-drinker</a>, <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2013/06/just-about-bike-surly-pugsley.html" target="_blank">fatbiker</a>, <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2021/11/lets-ride-singlespeed.html#more" target="_blank">singlespeeder</a>, <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2020/03/lets-make-burton-diy-throwback-snowboard.html#more" target="_blank">snurfer</a>, and Tele-skier, Nate, for demonstrating effective lurk skiing in many of the pictures used in this post. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>2. When this post was first published in late September 2023 Bishop's website indicated there were just 9 San Juan Sticks in-stock at that time prior to the start of the 2023-2024 season. As far as I can tell, <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/ThirdEdgeSkiing" target="_blank">MountainSports</a> lurks are all custom made-to-order, therefore Dennis appears to have a more than abundant supply!</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>3. I did end up purchasing an <a href="https://us-store.altaiskis.com/product/tiak/" target="_blank">Altai tiak</a>, just to try it... And, I was right: it's okay as a snow-tool, but definitely not as intuitive or inspiring as a lurk. A tiak works more like a drag-brake, slowing and controlling the skier's progress down the hill. But it's not a lurk, which is thing for making better and more satisfying turns and transitions. The tiak hangs in my garage alongside my ski quiver and looks interesting, but I rarely if ever use it.</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-11781147269017714922023-08-26T08:01:00.013-07:002023-09-03T09:22:47.891-07:00Archival footage: When did you get slower?<i>The following essay was originally posted to the <a href="https://www.mtbr.com/threads/when-did-you-get-slower.1223798/page-3#post-16030835" target="_blank">Fifty+ Years Old forum at mtbr.com</a> on 25 August 2023.</i><div><br /><hr /><br /> Am I slower? I really don't know. That's the honest answer.<br /><br />I mean, I've got almost a dozen years of Strava data that conclusively says: maybe?<br /><br />How do I really know? And how much do I really care?<br /><br />Facts are facts: My bikes have all changed for-the-better by several iterations in the aforementioned dozen-year time-period; fires, floods, and new construction have radically changed our local trails, in some cases for-the-better; technology, frame- and tire-design have all changed my riding style and abilities for-the-better a thousand-fold; and sure, inevitably, so has my body changed (tho not always for-the-better) as well as the way that I sometimes feel before, during, and after I ride (again, not always for-the-better)... So, which of these variables am I looking at when trying to determine if I'm slowing down?</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIzNynYSK5tKoayWFXANuawSOh91aRefBGyKlX8ItGkVgCQFTONy5p4YrcmMomXK0Xl1H9pbUP00eJQcFyQCiB3Iew9dc3LEZieaMOl4qM_j_eSG5-dwLB7nq1d5uGLHBVSpwHS03lLHN6LHFBoakRD0GY31X4fN9hC4iLf4o4c_bWESOhKCfkOFaeC1k/s309/Screenshot%202023-08-26%2007.59.43.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="153" data-original-width="309" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIzNynYSK5tKoayWFXANuawSOh91aRefBGyKlX8ItGkVgCQFTONy5p4YrcmMomXK0Xl1H9pbUP00eJQcFyQCiB3Iew9dc3LEZieaMOl4qM_j_eSG5-dwLB7nq1d5uGLHBVSpwHS03lLHN6LHFBoakRD0GY31X4fN9hC4iLf4o4c_bWESOhKCfkOFaeC1k/s1600/Screenshot%202023-08-26%2007.59.43.png" width="309" /></a></div>I still get the occasional Strava PR, though they're certainly fewer and further between these days... but does the interval between improvements mean I'm getting slower? Maybe? Or perhaps I'm just drawing closer to the top-of-my-game given where current technology and new, better-built trails have gotten me.<br /><br />I know I'm getting older, and maybe I am slowing down some. But, hand-on-my-heart, having done this mountain-bike thing for 30-plus years, I've never enjoyed riding more than I am right now, in the present moment, at my present age. I know one of these "days" my last ride will ultimately literally be my last. But for now I'm committed to try to "live to ride another day" and to savor each moment of each of today's rides, and push against the unavoidable envelope of entropy as best I am able. Rage, rage against the dying of the light, right?</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigDpM3e9rWmi8bA0W_H4yHk1V8ThvovoGeURUrOcTlq5O1oxAB2BUWdg0vBcBhwTzLnoTrj8gX4bwuMkzEv5GSQzqkuXoOOHhP_3RLPMzZl_JK9r-2xA5shNSU7wRpRCtAKsbbIaH-S9pEWLyIqQq3hzDVUsci0xoqozmp24kRCEooqh3JJHcOGPul_NM/s573/fuse%20(2).jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="573" data-original-width="568" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigDpM3e9rWmi8bA0W_H4yHk1V8ThvovoGeURUrOcTlq5O1oxAB2BUWdg0vBcBhwTzLnoTrj8gX4bwuMkzEv5GSQzqkuXoOOHhP_3RLPMzZl_JK9r-2xA5shNSU7wRpRCtAKsbbIaH-S9pEWLyIqQq3hzDVUsci0xoqozmp24kRCEooqh3JJHcOGPul_NM/s320/fuse%20(2).jpg" width="317" /></a></div>So slow, fast, or somewhere in-between doesn't really make a lot of sense to me anymore. Sure, I still like to check where I stand in the Strava pecking-order after most rides... and I'll be honest, I'm never the KOM, but when was I ever, really? Nevertheless, in general my times going up and going down are, to my mind, well within the respectable range and nothing to be ashamed of for a hairy-legged 200-pound 56-year-old dood on a hardtail.<br /><br />But, to tell the truth, despite my somewhat voyeuristic interest in where I stand on the segment-achievements list, my heart-of-hearts simply wants to know after each ride:<br /><br />Was it Good?<br />Did it Flow?<br />Did it get Rad?</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-91215695829984213132023-08-25T07:52:00.002-07:002023-10-07T07:48:09.750-07:00Archival footage: Should I move to Flagstaff?<div><i>The following essay was originally posted to the <a href="https://www.mtbr.com/threads/should-i-move-to-arizona.1221461/page-2#post-15971251" target="_blank">Arizona forum at mtbr.com</a> on 28 June 2023.</i></div><div><br /></div><hr /><div><br /></div><div>I've been "trapped" in this little mountain town since 1991 with no way out, but likewise also with little desire to leave (that's both a pro and a con, I suppose... I'll explain below). It's a good thing I like it here.</div><br />What's a pro to living in Flagstaff? That's easy: all the trails (more all the time thx to @rockman and his crew), lakes, ski runs within easy striking distance of town. For me these features are the reasons I find myself so content living here. Also, there's a couple grocery stores, a few places to eat pretty good food, and about 1000 bars. It might sound like I'm speaking hyperbolically, but I most definitely am not. Other pros? Hmmm... there's mostly decent people here. I've know a few assholes, and heard about several others (we're kinda a one-degree-of-separation sort of place). But most of the folks I know are pretty cool. I think it's because almost everyone is here on purpose, so you don't meet too many people who are "this place sucks" except high-school kids who don't know any better.<br /><br />Cons? It's a bit expensive. My wife and I got lucky and got our toe-hold established in the 1990s when things were a little cheaper, if not perceivably so at the time, they certainly were looking back in comparison to today.<br /><br />Bureaucratic things move slowly around here, be it the town council, or the local USFS agency, the school board, or the county government... it all just kinda churns around the same drain most of the time. Until disaster strikes... then everyone's pretty good at rallying together.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhle7xPTmwvPYbbwiKwdm9MGqY69j64Nx-mVW6HwFtPhsBriF13CoPJsce5p6mOO0n-p2PRSLSPv6Apy-Lo9zkDJdcgosR84FAbGRZ-0le0SAPnvF70_-1DB5mn-RcTASm_hl6y56DH3fTwzSVautUmm51wDS1MvQLMxIIspVK2C33LsKI_c47MMlBLI8I/s1280/Slim-Pickens-Riding-Bomb-in-Dr.-Strangelove-Movie.webp" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhle7xPTmwvPYbbwiKwdm9MGqY69j64Nx-mVW6HwFtPhsBriF13CoPJsce5p6mOO0n-p2PRSLSPv6Apy-Lo9zkDJdcgosR84FAbGRZ-0le0SAPnvF70_-1DB5mn-RcTASm_hl6y56DH3fTwzSVautUmm51wDS1MvQLMxIIspVK2C33LsKI_c47MMlBLI8I/s320/Slim-Pickens-Riding-Bomb-in-Dr.-Strangelove-Movie.webp" width="320" /></a></div>Turns out we've had some practice in this regard (the striking of disaster), which brings me to "the big con" which is: the simple truth that we're all just here bronc-riding a giant bomb-casing, hoping like hell it doesn't explode and kill us all... and by that, of course, I mean: THE THREAT OF WILDFIRE.<br /><br />If you're really good at pretending... or super-good at putting all your hope/trust/assurance in any of a half-dozen or so public service agencies that you think might be able to try valiantly to save you and/or personal property, then how-doo! Welcome to Flagstaff, pardner! <br /><br />If, on the other hand, the prospect of losing all you have (and possibly, let's be honest, everyone you love) to a massive out of control FIRESTORM (or the flooding thereafter) that will probably be started by some tweaker a-hole living in his van "down by the river" (note: we have no river) who believes his right to a high-summer campfire is enshrined in the Second Amendment, then maybe take a beat, think it thru... perhaps a townhouse in Anthem, within easy striking distance of Flag but well out of the burn-zone, is better suited to you.<br /><br />'Cause here's the hard reality of life in Flagstaff: always knowing, in the back of your brain: it's all gonna burn. We don't like to talk about it. We like to pretend we can do something to mitigate the risk of it (thinning projects, controlled Rx fire, closure orders, let-burn lightning strikes, etc). But the bottom line is, these things don't really work, we're merely "tilting at windmills" trying to look like we know what we're doing, but basically we're just fukt.<br /><br />Those of us whose roots are set too deep, who have been here so long, most of us can't do much to get out of the path of what's coming... And maybe we just don't want to. I gotta admit, there's the constant draw of all the sweet singletrack out your back door, just begging for a shred, which, I think, causes a lot of us to live rather cavalierly day-to-day perched on the razor's edge of disaster, like the good lord said, "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die." The riding and the skiing and the paddling really are that good most days. I think we're just kinda hoping it's not coming for us today... maybe even that "the big one" will wait 'til we're gone, aged out of the living process, ya know. But who the hell knows... Nobody does.<br /><br />Except, truth is, we all know: it's coming, bummer of it is: we just don't know when.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-85470922664962051982023-08-24T07:44:00.000-07:002023-08-26T17:20:31.587-07:00Archival footage: A MacGyver Story <i>The following essay was originally posted to the <a href="https://www.mtbr.com/threads/a-macgyver-story.1222062/#post-15984402" target="_blank">Vintage, Retro, Classic forum at mtbr.com</a> on 13 June 2023.</i><div><br /><hr /><br />JRA in a lonesome meadow which runs for a couple quiet foresty miles between two outlying upscale neighborhoods on the north side of town, I determined, as per usual, to take the higher-harder track this afternoon, the one that climbs over a rough basalt bench, rather than the other, which nearly everyone else takes because it's less angular (in all dimensions) and heads more directly and expediently back into town.<br /><br />Threading the needle, I pushed the front wheel of my <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2015/07/just-about-bike-panasonic-mountain-cat.html">1987 Panasonic Mountain Cat 7500</a>, oh-so gently between two pointy black rocks embedded in the track, both firmly bolted down with the force of eons of volcanic glue, when, despite the confident finesse with which I executed this fine maneuver, the stem slipped, quite unexpectedly, about 15 degrees to the right of center.<br /><br />No big deal. Hop off, out with the six-mil hex, a bit of righty-tighty and viola! With the last twist of the wrench, the unpainted aluminum top-cap on the ain't-she-sweet 1" quill Salsa roller stem crumbles to a mixture of crappy metal bits and a smattering of what I'm guessing is fully adulterated AL2O3. The bars now swing freely side-to-side...<br /><br />A tube, a pump, a couple nylon tire levers, and a Cool Tool seat-post quick release are all the tools I've got. The Mountain Cat is my slackcountry commuter rig, afterall. Hasn't been on a long ride in the woods in decades (it's got seatstay breather-hole cancer). But for years it’s gotten me around town via the sidecountry and interstitials so darn well. So, there I am, not so far from home that I can't self-extract on foot, but reluctant to do so because, in some 30 years of riding, I've only ever walked out twice, once for a broken rear triangle (snapped both chainstays on the only FS bike I've ever owned), and once for a broken fork (fully snapped off one leg of a red Ritchey biplane... didn't want to risk snapping off the other, ya know).<br /><br />A couple minutes looking at the bike, trying to puzzle out where a flat washer with an ID close to the stembolt's OD might be hiding, and I can't think if a thing... 'cept prolly there's a washer behind the crankbolts that would work (can't actually recall), but the Cool Tool QR tool doesn't have a 15mm socket for this purpose like the original Cool Tool does, just a 10.<br /><br />Clock ticks off another minute or two as I contemplate other options... not. walking. home.<br /><br />And then it occurs to me: I might could flip the two remaining parts of the top-cap so what remains of the flange will act as a washer to the recessed retainer and see if it'll bind enough without crumbling to steer without slippage sufficient to get my ass home. One foot-pound of tork, twist-check the bars, then another and another half-a-turn 'til it's juuuust tight enough to ride as slow and as straight as I can.<br /><br />Something like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSW-ccRQndH1QmJNo307VxZg668gbCVOHxH2vx2Sp_3bFKy3B5id43wdFcBNgJGdQ-XbH_6bxMvOQ8hu2MH6XzHIwBk2d3oCbZdo_VgbjudJxmvHsw_PpOou9xX41y1lSsNddepkw_aCeMWth4o0XWFVF14RJ21b6UJ60-vkKXi9O20AntvGwbkoBO9pE/s1920/salsa_stem.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSW-ccRQndH1QmJNo307VxZg668gbCVOHxH2vx2Sp_3bFKy3B5id43wdFcBNgJGdQ-XbH_6bxMvOQ8hu2MH6XzHIwBk2d3oCbZdo_VgbjudJxmvHsw_PpOou9xX41y1lSsNddepkw_aCeMWth4o0XWFVF14RJ21b6UJ60-vkKXi9O20AntvGwbkoBO9pE/w300-h400/salsa_stem.webp" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-70851453635279935732022-10-06T16:21:00.052-07:002023-12-02T15:49:16.031-07:00ex evangelical et al: losing my religion<i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBLQ44hhKL2_EwtfFmi2sIVqDg6YpBkAXpvPQ2_PBUVEs-BFJWyrMsy25c9eB5gBuTbh42s6aQS6E3OU5pAl-eZ_w1DNTc-YlMZ5aETUIR4xsJ0RP8n9XoLs-seToaodce-N29akMOKzIWdXD-Gq8QgkgDofY5uQA_T-LYlkm3Jxln0jROulG2ZhM8/s900/stipe.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="900" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBLQ44hhKL2_EwtfFmi2sIVqDg6YpBkAXpvPQ2_PBUVEs-BFJWyrMsy25c9eB5gBuTbh42s6aQS6E3OU5pAl-eZ_w1DNTc-YlMZ5aETUIR4xsJ0RP8n9XoLs-seToaodce-N29akMOKzIWdXD-Gq8QgkgDofY5uQA_T-LYlkm3Jxln0jROulG2ZhM8/s320/stipe.png" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>That's me in the corner </i><div><i>That's me in the spotlight </i></div><div><i>Losing my religion </i></div><div><i>Trying to keep up with you</i></div><div><i>And I don't know if I can do it...</i></div><div><i>Oh no, I've said too much</i></div><div>Michael Stipe, R.E.M. (1991)</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span></span></div><div>I was born early on a Sunday morning in the second week of November 1966. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBTapqLb7jIYDMI362_66248LbO6xWeTzfN3xwhNtgUS5uRX5kpGJASaR5cVnjWwGTSEmb6M0pX3jGD_0g3vKGP770sbO6um0Qfa229qCp_pI2-dTbFmYolx_g_6jw5rC4IdaqVMPzp7LDFMKa1vtnXfLveXlc0LGAyuUJgMy4zIjo4mph4SlMjWyI/s500/41rfUGj9PDL._AC_SY580_.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="297" data-original-width="500" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBTapqLb7jIYDMI362_66248LbO6xWeTzfN3xwhNtgUS5uRX5kpGJASaR5cVnjWwGTSEmb6M0pX3jGD_0g3vKGP770sbO6um0Qfa229qCp_pI2-dTbFmYolx_g_6jw5rC4IdaqVMPzp7LDFMKa1vtnXfLveXlc0LGAyuUJgMy4zIjo4mph4SlMjWyI/w200-h119/41rfUGj9PDL._AC_SY580_.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Some years later, the presidential election of 1984 was held on Tuesday, November 6, exactly one week <i>before</i> my 18th birthday. At that time I was senior at an exclusive private evangelical Christian high school in Phoenix, Arizona, and I was crushed that I wouldn't be able to cast my first-ever vote to re-elect Ronald Reagan to a second term as president of the United States, even though <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1984_United_States_presidential_election" target="_blank">he didn't need it</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not long after that, as an undergraduate at Arizona State University, I can still recollect the visceral intrinsic disdain that I felt toward the <a href="https://asu.campuslabs.com/engage/organization/young-democrats-at-asu" target="_blank">Young Democrats</a> whenever they would gather on the lawn near the <a href="https://lib.asu.edu/hayden" target="_blank">Hayden Library</a> to exercise their First Amendment rights, shouting down the wild-eyed itinerant preachers holding their horrific anti-abortion banners, demanding fair treatment and representation in student government, better access to campus facilities and healthcare, and any number of other liberal concerns <i>du jour</i>. Despite my membership on the <a href="https://humancommunication.asu.edu/forensics" target="_blank">ASU Forensics Team</a>, and my sincere, abiding friendships with my left-leaning teammates at the time, many of whom were also a part of the flourishing "out" community on campus, I nonetheless eventually gravitated toward the <a href="https://twitter.com/ASUCollegeGOP?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor" target="_blank">ASU College Republicans</a> organization and soon rose to various leadership positions within it. As an pro-life, born-again, lifelong twice-weekly-attending evangelical church member, I had hopes that my involvement in CRs would fulfill my desire to have an outlet for demonstrating and professing my faith while at the very secular ASU. At this point in my life, I genuinely perceived these two things, my religious faith and my membership in the GOP, as two sides of the same coin, actively and inextricably intertwined one with the other.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGffrs5V-RDjOsYYleodSYrGwOwiO2Rb-DTw9WRSfpdY8jINrHWsiAE5g5goZWxHKCsPRMKyb3GdFVYSnDzynP-FhQyz5zeor2zP_Hyxbquwt7c1KdkSTMtN5FBAPIEleJZGUP_c1v1zOfRM53WejK0W-xQ1vkIoIe3wKn6NacOW2T-xOBIe6tp1uH/s579/rrasu.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="370" data-original-width="579" height="127" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGffrs5V-RDjOsYYleodSYrGwOwiO2Rb-DTw9WRSfpdY8jINrHWsiAE5g5goZWxHKCsPRMKyb3GdFVYSnDzynP-FhQyz5zeor2zP_Hyxbquwt7c1KdkSTMtN5FBAPIEleJZGUP_c1v1zOfRM53WejK0W-xQ1vkIoIe3wKn6NacOW2T-xOBIe6tp1uH/w200-h127/rrasu.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Shortly after he left office, in March 1989 <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ronald_Reagan" target="_blank">Ronald Reagan</a> visited Arizona State University. Reagan gave a well-attended speech to the student body and a pantheon of local conservative dignitaries in the ASU Activity Center. Despite now being the brand-new duly-elected president of the school's College Republicans, I was afforded no special access nor did I receive any kind of invitation to the event, not that I really expected one. Instead, I attended the speech with everyone else, as a walk-in general-admission member of the public, and listened excitedly with great interest to the former president's words from an otherwise anonymous seat high-up near the top of the stands. Reagan was the epitome of Celebrity in my world at that moment in time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Likewise in the spring semester of 1989, my Arizona Government class hosted former <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barry_Goldwater" target="_blank">US Senator Barry Goldwater</a> for an in-person hour-long lecture one day. I was thrilled to be able to spend a few minutes speaking with him one-on-one after the class period concluded. As a native son of Arizona with burgeoning political aspirations, on the brush-with-greatness scale, this was, for me, a moment likely akin to a Catholic penitent having the chance to <a href="https://www.azcentral.com/picture-gallery/news/local/phoenix/2014/11/18/photos-pope-john-paul-iis-visit-to-phoenix-tempe-in-1987/19220025/" target="_blank">meet the pope</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div>Around this same time, I made arrangements for the then executive director of the Arizona Republican Party, <a href="https://firststrategic.com/our-people" target="_blank">Kurt Davis</a>, to speak to the College Republicans in a meeting room we'd booked in the Memorial Union on campus. Mr. Davis asked to be provided with a ride that afternoon to the Tempe-campus event from his office at the state party headquarters in the <a href="https://www.azcentral.com/story/news/politics/politicalinsider/2016/08/25/goldwater-out-picture-arizona-gop-headquarters/89353110/" target="_blank">Barry Goldwater Building</a> on 24th Street in Phoenix. As the proud president of the CRs, I was more than happy to oblige. As we drove there, and likewise afterward as I returned him to his office that evening, we discussed a number of issues and concerns that were before him as the de facto leader of the state Republican organization. He encouraged me to seek him out, in anticipation of my need to complete an internship prior to my graduation from the <a href="https://cronkite.asu.edu/" target="_blank">Cronkite Journalism School</a>, if I wished to discuss "working" with the party in an in-house capacity in the future. Some time later I did so, and was given my first-ever legitimate sounding job-title (communications intern) and a small office in the back of the building doing public- and media-relations work for the Party.</div><div><br /></div><div>I did not last long in this position, however. Just a few months after stepping into my role as communications-intern with the Party, I was given the chance in June 1989 to move into a somewhat more elevated and exciting (albeit still pro-bono) role as an assistant communications director when <a href="https://www.legacy.com/us/obituaries/azcentral/name/burton-kruglick-obituary?id=16242463" target="_blank">Burt Kruglick</a>, then the Chairman of the Arizona Republican Party, <a href="https://www.phoenixnewtimes.com/news/see-burt-run-6412707" target="_blank">determined to run for mayor of Phoenix</a> against popular incumbent, Democrat <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terry_Goddard#:~:text=He%20served%20as%20the%20Mayor,Arizona%20from%202003%20to%202011." target="_blank">Terry Goddard</a>. I soon moved myself into a noticeably larger office space in Kruglick's newly leased campaign headquarters in a Central Avenue high-rise in downtown Phoenix. I was extremely excited to be given this opportunity, which to me felt quite prodigious since I was still nearly a year away from receiving my degree.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was here, I am certain, that my <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Exvangelical" target="_blank">exvangelical</a></i> awakening began. I was 22 years old.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Kruglick for mayor team was, to put it bluntly, an odd bunch, if not a cross-section then surely a reliable random sampling of the innate strangeness, privilege, suspicion, lurking duplicity and xenophobia that permeated conservative circles even back then. All of them GOP party functionaries who had quickly become, at least by name, well-known to me during my time at the Goldwater Building. Now, by virtue of our common membership as campaign staff and volunteers, I was thrust into a situation where I was compelled to get to know any number of them personally, now not only by name, but sometimes, and quite shockingly so, by their unusual predilections and prejudices.</div><div><br /></div><div>Without naming names or delving into the details of the abundant weirdness, selfishness, and super-paranoid xenophobic bullshit that I encountered while working with many of these individuals, while trying to get the City of Phoenix' grumpiest, most uncharismatic, king of coin-operated-laundromats elected mayor, I was disgusted to learn that their central-strategy in doing so was to sully the reputation of the incumbent mayor by impugning his sexual orientation through thinly veiled innuendo. Suffice to say, my eyes were opened to who and what the GOP is and was through this experience. I did not want to be associated with them. I did not want to become like them.</div><div><br /></div><div>Because of this, I spent less and less time "volunteering" as the campaign neared election day. And because I lived in Scottsdale at the time, I was logistically released from the burden of having to deliberate about how to cast my vote in the Phoenix mayoral election. Fortunately, in the end, Kruglick lost. Goddard was <i>always</i> the better candidate. And I was pleased to be able to vote for him several times in subsequent years, first when he was seeking the office of Arizona Governor and later Attorney General. </div><div><br /></div><div>I finished the Kruglick campaign disgusted with the GOP, disgusted with myself, and determined to rescind my party affiliation immediately. I resigned from the College Republicans and registered myself as an independent soon thereafter. To the best of my recollection, I haven't cast a vote for a Republican candidate for any office since 1989.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>---</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>Our church made me an elder in the summer of 2007. I was 41 years old. </div><div><br /></div><div>Most of the congregation was willing to defer to the current board members in their recommendation of me that day, and showed up to deliberate and vote for the agenda at the quarterly meeting only out of dutiful obligation. But there were a few aggrieved voices in the crowd that afternoon, chiefly men close to my own age, who came prepared to speak against my nomination, for numerous reasons: my career spent in (and my abiding commitment to) public education, my rumored admission to having voted for John Kerry in the 2004 presidential election, <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2016/12/20-part-1-and-none-worse-for-wear.html" target="_blank">the tattoo</a> I have worn on my hand since 1997 as a wedding ring and indelible commitment to my spouse, and my failure to ascend to the position of elder without first occupying the subordinate positions of deacon and usher. One individual went so far as to testify before this assembly that he "could not focus on worship" whenever I was singing with the small acoustic church-music ensemble I was a part of one or two Sundays each month due to the "liberal political positions" he knew I held. </div><div><br /></div><div>Only one other person spoke against my nomination, a former elder's widow named Marilyn who stated, "John's little daughter is only two years old. You should encourage him to focus on being a dad and a husband at this point in his life. He doesn't need the contention of being an elder now. He needs to be at home when he's not at work, not here at the church managing and debating its affairs." Turns out, she was the wisest voice in the room.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I understand it, one of the most important qualifications for anyone serving as an elder in an evangelical church is to hold each member of the congregation in a place of empathy and compassion in one's heart and mind, to love them, in fact, as one would a member of one's own family. And well, truth be told, I just could not pull this off. In fact, I could <i>not</i> <i>stand</i> some of them, especially a few of the guys who spoke against me when I was joining the elder board. Not because I resented them, or because I was embittered toward them for what they said or implied about me on the day of my nomination. No. I couldn't stand those guys, and likewise a number of other individuals in the congregation, because of what I learned about them as I served on the board for many years, most especially their perpetually angry, prideful attitudes and groundless ugly prejudices, in both word and deed, which they directed toward the "unsaved" members of our civic community. Their hatred and disdain of these folks was palpable, their attitudes of superiority ever-present, and their slurs describing these <i>enemies</i> of their perceived freedoms seemed ever on their lips: the gays, the lesbians, the meth-heads, the drunk Indians, the unmarried cohabitors, the single moms, the queers, the panhandlers, the gun-control advocates, the ecumenicals, the dope-smokers, the cult members, the liberals, the unbelievers, the baby-killers, the illegals, the trannys, the welfare queens, the bums, the deniers of creationism. I could find little (indeed, often nothing) to love in any of those who felt and spoke of others so scornfully.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKLlDEvzU3SMmahns-yTE9GLsJ_pZeGiz0XTUSe4JhosQUdkL2tWbztwh1TfKuJtFhg5hqGvBc6p7-Xr3O7XEUuYfhugMKWtbBDMeFHJyWJuWdBw-sJBDfBjDVR1sCze9MCg2wbJqL4kXdCyOyeWABM4neVW7bEcvF-b3jhc7blImV9QPW6Ia7eU-/s1200/McCain_Palin_logo.svg(1).jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="1200" height="90" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKLlDEvzU3SMmahns-yTE9GLsJ_pZeGiz0XTUSe4JhosQUdkL2tWbztwh1TfKuJtFhg5hqGvBc6p7-Xr3O7XEUuYfhugMKWtbBDMeFHJyWJuWdBw-sJBDfBjDVR1sCze9MCg2wbJqL4kXdCyOyeWABM4neVW7bEcvF-b3jhc7blImV9QPW6Ia7eU-/w200-h90/McCain_Palin_logo.svg(1).jpg" width="200" /></a></div>When the congregation, almost universally, and also quite vocally, hitched their presidential political fortunes to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_McCain" target="_blank">John McCain</a> in 2008, a man who had cheated on his first wife with his second and operated deceitfully and deceptively as a member of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keating_Five" target="_blank">Keating 5 </a>during the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Savings_and_loan_crisis" target="_blank">Savings & Loan Debacle</a> in the late 1980s, and then later to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mitt_Romney" target="_blank">Mitt Romney</a> in 2012, a man who had been a lifelong faithful adherent of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mormonism" target="_blank">Mormonism</a>, which was described as an accursed unbiblical sometimes-Satanic cult by many members of our evangelical congregation, I began to question their allegiance to their own belief system. Likewise, my own questions regarding my allegiance to <i>them</i> as a congregation continued to grow as well.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-qxJRac9dXC2uiolkwN02Vz2QCfQ5ibkzft_V4EJqLxNos5_F1Qr6PRtURETjFMB7yqjYL0nC0nwBSWRZhLEA1Cm5-XnEP3Yweb2w1evFAwyintjvfFNapt9ODNzeqChrCXyGhrl8P28i-JepLMbmapq4SbV-eL1aYkorkikE_NpMrXzXzAh5Thvu/s1250/Lg-1200px-Mitt_Romney_Paul_Ryan_logo.svg.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="1250" height="89" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-qxJRac9dXC2uiolkwN02Vz2QCfQ5ibkzft_V4EJqLxNos5_F1Qr6PRtURETjFMB7yqjYL0nC0nwBSWRZhLEA1Cm5-XnEP3Yweb2w1evFAwyintjvfFNapt9ODNzeqChrCXyGhrl8P28i-JepLMbmapq4SbV-eL1aYkorkikE_NpMrXzXzAh5Thvu/w200-h89/Lg-1200px-Mitt_Romney_Paul_Ryan_logo.svg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I left the board in 2012, using the fact that I, for professional reasons, truthfully needed to continue my education past my master's degree as an excuse. We left the congregation for good at some point thereafter when my wife, in tears one morning on our drive to church simply said, "I can't do this anymore. I can't worship with people like this, who wouldn't welcome so many of the people we love into their church service because of who they are or ow they live. I don't want to go back there ever again." I thought her sentiment very well timed. I had been feeling the same way for quite a while. Turns out neither of us wanted to associate with evangelicals any longer. We did not want to become like them.</div><div><br /></div><div>We went and got bagels that morning instead, and we never did go back. </div><div><br /></div><div>To this day, no one except the senior pastor has ever contacted us to ask why we left or to inquire about where we've been or how we're doing. He and I went for a coffee together one afternoon many months later and, while I was not ready to fully disavow my faith to him at that point, I did make it clear that an eternity spent alongside the bullies and bigots I'd been trying to shepherd at his church for some five years was no longer a very enticing prospect.</div><div><br /></div><div>We bumped around for a time, sporadically searching for another church to call home, a few Sundays each month, for the next several years, in fact. But we never really found another place to land. We were always feeling like something was amiss, like we were just going through the motions of worship and fellowship with an ever diminishing faith, a kind of slow entropy leading to nothing.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then, in 2016, came Trump...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-87984861485808335572022-06-01T09:49:00.036-07:002022-06-11T17:31:51.741-07:00Between every two pine trees<center><p style="text-align: center;"> "Between every two pine trees there is a door leading to a new way of life."</p><p style="text-align: center;">-<a href="https://www2.oberlin.edu/physics/dstyer/Muir/QuotableJohnMuir.html" target="_blank"> John Muir</a><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijS61MaWkTlrLuaM7mzc4tAS4FUxBUoNN35ZA1lzrt5Tt_YOzva_pLQkVp9rdUUG_oIYkbyZGDNG7opXP4krc62TqpN1vxEfzQBWqYm2IjMu3U3s-8A8_KRyJJl_82IMKD-V2zVuulv0PCbzyTUc-fopTnzHTDG2EOieoCdrP1AXszt2QQAN5uUKq6/s2800/dsc_0020_5536221344_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1867" data-original-width="2800" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijS61MaWkTlrLuaM7mzc4tAS4FUxBUoNN35ZA1lzrt5Tt_YOzva_pLQkVp9rdUUG_oIYkbyZGDNG7opXP4krc62TqpN1vxEfzQBWqYm2IjMu3U3s-8A8_KRyJJl_82IMKD-V2zVuulv0PCbzyTUc-fopTnzHTDG2EOieoCdrP1AXszt2QQAN5uUKq6/w640-h426/dsc_0020_5536221344_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>A deeply personal thematic photoblog: <br /></b>A half-century or so of inadvertent tree-doorway photography<br /><br /></div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(select images to enlarge)<br /></span><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqInSrR8ryoZpb51t8lE-xfr6d3Lnooe7OH6wLdEPPKBnfaFw9JW101UcTcqf2RI7_yos7XvIWvjc4IXC0lZogZvMz-SpkbHdIx3MEf-fHww3SM_--XbfO0Ezix8_J-fkiCPE3ZnjbVGuwNodsTQRVOsLOtkeH8Zp7oe_dCdJF1P0nvaZqdHFFZ6Gm/s1595/dsc_0050_5536197876_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1595" data-original-width="1139" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqInSrR8ryoZpb51t8lE-xfr6d3Lnooe7OH6wLdEPPKBnfaFw9JW101UcTcqf2RI7_yos7XvIWvjc4IXC0lZogZvMz-SpkbHdIx3MEf-fHww3SM_--XbfO0Ezix8_J-fkiCPE3ZnjbVGuwNodsTQRVOsLOtkeH8Zp7oe_dCdJF1P0nvaZqdHFFZ6Gm/s320/dsc_0050_5536197876_o.jpg" width="229" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiprENDLKi-QCcusfLn0lWyJp17xhXiAtQlX059kPF3mi-Y1FFAnVmeqIqNrA0WUwQj2UWE4iEnMxALQg-D-LWCyIzt_4IIAS6Y39nxAMTFGkzPdC8hrgjOgXfC_1KDKvyRSKiZN2o2iYYYWInrcWosWf2yZj_KXFkFKV9baQFXTOO4ZEfjonTT4Djn/s3008/dsc_6129_5544438565_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3008" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiprENDLKi-QCcusfLn0lWyJp17xhXiAtQlX059kPF3mi-Y1FFAnVmeqIqNrA0WUwQj2UWE4iEnMxALQg-D-LWCyIzt_4IIAS6Y39nxAMTFGkzPdC8hrgjOgXfC_1KDKvyRSKiZN2o2iYYYWInrcWosWf2yZj_KXFkFKV9baQFXTOO4ZEfjonTT4Djn/s320/dsc_6129_5544438565_o.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2694" data-original-width="2752" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheM1E55YebtnJ-WA-UF2Lv215HbkS020kpSzOYaSA3ukJN4ZMPM333rJBVdVRh9M7tVcoVA6_PilYtvBKo01vM7ZgKIVXl1rPpUfJmZfNqLjGKXNUDxqlogUEJtA8qa567J3DHBoj-9M4pvMxdj7NFw2NvoUe_CiIoM8fvljA62nfSYE37rOz1j_rG/s320/2022-05-28_13-43-43_739.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuQyq8Si9B1gLhxVaFmpsvdYLk9ft7BuGtZaa34_Ef9qfkDlzytuRkoz9VA84YerpDjiBTWbNQGisDiDrN13Z-SlWsRw0MdjVomtL0XCojYaVMltkaZbungljQQLtp1CATDps1I-hpZGvI8zE4WNU0qS5DVXC4jjE7hOraybR0lBeaZg_1DQUp2aJV/s1024/887032_10151372517038123_524142180_o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuQyq8Si9B1gLhxVaFmpsvdYLk9ft7BuGtZaa34_Ef9qfkDlzytuRkoz9VA84YerpDjiBTWbNQGisDiDrN13Z-SlWsRw0MdjVomtL0XCojYaVMltkaZbungljQQLtp1CATDps1I-hpZGvI8zE4WNU0qS5DVXC4jjE7hOraybR0lBeaZg_1DQUp2aJV/s320/887032_10151372517038123_524142180_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOQuEXXeXudcLxu9Uv__z7GoDc9_mUQgBX2RKPS0qyPwdL57CAm4zyJaQ7mLImTAPrAkiS4ZY479fUBlJEJgDv35zExT27Sv1XNA1LaFfWlklTwL2hRZxnT_fXFd1ZyDnFpu8VyVdeyhPlh9rX-DrhSZlAkcsfuwmX17qMtCFcVBK0eJeAUMh67s4Y/s320/PlYSEWXuxPkZ-xJ-BQ2ewmgxlH_1v2JSURGauvZjFwI-1536x2048.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></center>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-54067210187894237132022-05-05T08:41:00.053-07:002022-06-01T16:56:44.051-07:00Archival footage: Kind of New<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJlCZo-8np_vHwqpPdVBjUMih57gAFLpe_4oWbTmLfqnp551qAcM7dHFURWGQ4iGaTBTiX84DI_abDuM7EZlFBAD0jurGNpt5U2AzPrqoyMcWe03N9NpKa5Vyz_gyg2J3uhmyFlV68D-v4hBdaBRWIsUFRJhyMyR-kOZi3ECCdIEwl81lLXoFbOreH/s599/kindofblue.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="596" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJlCZo-8np_vHwqpPdVBjUMih57gAFLpe_4oWbTmLfqnp551qAcM7dHFURWGQ4iGaTBTiX84DI_abDuM7EZlFBAD0jurGNpt5U2AzPrqoyMcWe03N9NpKa5Vyz_gyg2J3uhmyFlV68D-v4hBdaBRWIsUFRJhyMyR-kOZi3ECCdIEwl81lLXoFbOreH/s320/kindofblue.jpg" width="318" /></a></div>In late January I finished up at the FUSD Transportation Department, where I had been asked in September 2021 to return to work temporarily as the interim Student Discipline Coordinator. Became just kinda done-with-it for a number of reasons, mostly because of the grumpy drivers, recidivistic students, uncooperative parents, and even a few unsupportive building and district admins. It felt really nice to have the luxury to be able to simply decide, "Nope. I don't want to fight about stuff anymore." When I met with the director to discuss my decision to leave my interim role in his department he basically said the same thing, "Must be nice. I'm actually a bit jealous. You did good work while you were here, thanks for your service."<br /><br />Dove head-first into the whole patrol-volunteer gig after that. Went up "to work" at Snowbowl four or five days a week, five to six hours a day, from February through the end of April. Ended up having the best season of my life, despite the relatively meager winter. Skied almost 60 days in all, nearly 300 hours total, got to assist with any number of interesting/urgent calls-for-assistance, and loved every minute of it, doing what my ski-patroller supervisor calls, "skiing with a purpose." <p></p><div><br /></div><div>In anticipation of the end of the ski season at Snowbowl I've been mulling over for a while now other means for making a productive and satisfying use of my retired-guy time. Lots of ideas, but the one that keeps rising to the surface is Flagstaff's lack of a legitimate new/used independent retail record store. It vexes me that every time <a href="https://recordstoreday.com/" target="_blank">Record Store Day</a> rolls around, all of us Flagstaffricans have to drive down to visit <a href="https://puscifer.com/product-category/featured/" target="_blank">Puscifer</a> in Jerome (a very cool store with an amazingly well-curated selection of new vinyl; you should definitely visit if you're ever there) to shop the Day's exclusive releases, simply because Flagstaff (the largest town in the region by far) doesn't actually have a store that qualifies as a dedicated, independent retailer of new music. We have <a href="https://bookmans.com/what-bookmans-wants/flagstaff/" target="_blank">Bookmans</a>. Don't get me wrong, Bookmans is great! I'm a former employee, former manager even, and a very loyal customer for the last 30 years. But it turns out, Bookmans doesn't qualify for Record Store Day because, I guess, they don't commit enough square footage of their large, mulitfacited operation to the sale of new music on vinyl. Sure, they sell a lot of new music on vinyl. Definitely more than any other store in town. But apparently not enough to satisfy whoever makes the decisions about which stores get to sell Record Store Day exclusives. <br /><br />So it's off to Jerome we go.<br /><br /><span><a name='more'></a></span></div><div>My dream would be to open a store that would qualify for Record Store Day here in Flagstaff, but I'm not the one who's going to make this happen, for lots of reasons:</div><div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>I don't have the money, nor do I have the inventory, to start-up such a business. </li><li>I don't feel like I want to work as hard as I expect I would have to work to start-up a successful new business in Flagstaff; I would likely have to miss out on a lot of bike riding and skiing to do so, and that doesn't sound like fun to me.</li><li>I don't ever want to supervise people ever again and the thought of doing so for a small set of employees in <i>my</i> record store is a stultifying thought, indeed.</li><li>Bookmans has always been great to me, both as an employee and as a customer; I have no desire to compete with Bookmans. </li><li>I think it's a total fool's errand to enter into any endeavor these days which will put you into direct competition with Amazon, and selling new music on vinyl would definitely do just that.</li></ol></div><div>So, I decided the thing to do instead might be to just go back and work at Bookmans as a rank-and-file clerk/buyer, help them revamp, restock, and revitalize their music department, perhaps even grow it to the point where it could qualify for Record Store Day, and bring my expertise and experience to bear for the good of their well-established business model rather than assume all the risks of trying to do it on my own. I hoped they'd be stoked to get me back as a seasoned, well-educated, experienced public educator and administrator, as well as a former employee, super loyal customer, and voracious and knowledgeable collector-of-music and reader-of-books.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I was wrong. I submitted my application online some time ago and have not heard a peep in reply from my local Bookmans Entertainment Exchange. Not even an email saying, "Thanks for your application. We hired someone else." Just nada. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOp5pgpP2NKOi_a19Q_NL6yYbqORYOSr0JFdMK2TIJUYdpOScA9hLMjI-iPcjloJVnr78prpF2vrd60RIQ2RX5xRUFMaTgZOiJjYXlJZQqr39fTGOmxVT4FtGp2l6EN4gS8F6Des0hTj0NvLm8KGk2T9ozuTKnuUNWSDTPI5UbdQbU4rGniY7H90-V/s599/kindofblue-b.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="599" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOp5pgpP2NKOi_a19Q_NL6yYbqORYOSr0JFdMK2TIJUYdpOScA9hLMjI-iPcjloJVnr78prpF2vrd60RIQ2RX5xRUFMaTgZOiJjYXlJZQqr39fTGOmxVT4FtGp2l6EN4gS8F6Des0hTj0NvLm8KGk2T9ozuTKnuUNWSDTPI5UbdQbU4rGniY7H90-V/w200-h200/kindofblue-b.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Below is the résumé I submitted with my online application, herein forever preserved as another part of my life's archival footage and nothing more. It's a riff on the back cover of Miles Davis' seminal 1959 jazz recording <i><a href="https://www.discogs.com/master/5460-Miles-Davis-Kind-Of-Blue" target="_blank">Kind of Blue</a>, </i>a very famous record that every music collector/buyer/seller would be familiar with. I thought it was quite the clever way to present myself in order to obtain the role I wanted within Bookmans' organization. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've got a feeling I'm the only one who felt that way about it. <br /><br />Alas.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqpoppVh29tn50tYLENtaMAImX9FZEM66cxHYWHRL2D71FIqIUXoA0t7mWOmD4yXA0qkzwv5C_Vuno6i_eNfp0TaNQUCJjW8BDxlzg0gKsTS6kqcK4eLkHqdf3v-OB3ugIhDAMuXnzGShvqzTx8lqxIn1qImlszLEydCvKeo3uJeqMlZwXmM6dk6Zz/s1280/johncoe%20bookmans%20kindofnew-page-0b.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqpoppVh29tn50tYLENtaMAImX9FZEM66cxHYWHRL2D71FIqIUXoA0t7mWOmD4yXA0qkzwv5C_Vuno6i_eNfp0TaNQUCJjW8BDxlzg0gKsTS6kqcK4eLkHqdf3v-OB3ugIhDAMuXnzGShvqzTx8lqxIn1qImlszLEydCvKeo3uJeqMlZwXmM6dk6Zz/w640-h640/johncoe%20bookmans%20kindofnew-page-0b.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Select image to enlarge</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-40495947375731924002022-04-20T07:42:00.043-07:002022-06-01T16:57:16.508-07:00Just about a bike: This old frame<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSj77CHa1ZMi4KIkLc5l9tny1PmuX4vtPMovnYihQBZaRivKDxFuy5Jzxgx-oE8ZtqJR0Szq5tPRSL-xzPy2nYHjEIf5j2zQol_NlsSnOE8LyKG-prKiZXFwwIc1UvoqnWsfZMJbFakqo3Ryz1avdGCNxlgCY0RdwJ90VxXDVMn9-0z4y7pmmB-5pF/s4032/image_50455041.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSj77CHa1ZMi4KIkLc5l9tny1PmuX4vtPMovnYihQBZaRivKDxFuy5Jzxgx-oE8ZtqJR0Szq5tPRSL-xzPy2nYHjEIf5j2zQol_NlsSnOE8LyKG-prKiZXFwwIc1UvoqnWsfZMJbFakqo3Ryz1avdGCNxlgCY0RdwJ90VxXDVMn9-0z4y7pmmB-5pF/s320/image_50455041.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2016/05/jack_25.html" target="_blank">My dad</a> drove me way across town early one Saturday morning at some point in late 1975 or early 1976 so that, for the very first time, I could buy a bike with my own money. I was in the fourth grade and had saved up what was to me then a massive amount of cash doing odd jobs around the house, 40 bucks, so that I could get my very own BMX bike and shred with my buddies up and down the canal banks, and through the shady orchards, and across the vacant desert lots that lay between our Scottsdale neighborhood and the Circle K convenience store and the local Schwinn bicycle shop.<div><br /></div><div>The bike that was to become mine had been advertised for a week in the classified ads in the <i>Phoenix Gazette</i> and fit perfectly into my adolescent price point. As soon as I laid eyes on it, leaning against the front steps of the west Phoenix house that had been its home, it looked really good to me: fully chrome with silver bars and a simple black fork, kitted out otherwise with what looked like cast-off Stingray parts as most BMX bikes were back then. <br /><br /><span><a name='more'></a></span></div><div>In the time that I've owned it, the bike has never had any decals on it, not even a headbadge, so I've always been uncertain of its branding. I'm sure it's nothing special or rare, but it also doesn't visually conform to anything that was super common in those days. Despite it's mysterious origins, we nonetheless had a lot of fun together back in the day... I took it off many <a href="https://quotational.com/quote/580/" target="_blank">sweet jumps</a>! The chrome is solid and has long resisted rust or tarnish, the TIGs, while not perfect are decent and definitely done by hand, the likely high-ten frame has always been perfectly straight, the Mongoose-like gussets at the head tube are made of bomber plate steel, and the serial number, hand-stamped on the left rear dropout (SO1124 or S01124), is oh, so curiously and enticingly low.</div><div><br /></div><div>One of my pals long ago thought it looked like a <a href="https://bmxmuseum.com/bikes/gary_littlejohn/" target="_blank">Gary Littlejohn</a>, likely due to the U-shaped chain- and seat-stays, but I don't think it's one of his frames, for lots of other reasons. Everyone else I've ever asked has drawn a blank when attempting to ID it. I disassembled it, for reasons I cannot recall, at some point when I was in high school during the early/mid 1980s. Nonetheless, I’ve kept it around as garage wall-art for almost 40 years. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now that I'm getting to be an old man I’m thinking I’d like to rebuild it one of these days before I die, and ride it around again, perhaps even source some decals for it if I can figure out what brand it actually is. I've posted it on a few vintage bike forums, such as <a href="https://bmxmuseum.com/forums/viewtopic.php?id=879999">bmxmuseum.com</a>, hoping to find some answers, and I have also been trolling around Craigslist looking for period correct Stingray parts, so we'll see what happens.</div><div><br /></div><div>Watch this space!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBe0U0goArQZ6I8IjtK9WuQGVAlIb5AnNC2dChfSc9Yw0HlKAmMCowtkXkRUUERrIsSwnnaolVVvbyAxbXEE-lUcOLvUlKJnHSvSS5HjYrPwQng9xOrUsw5bSy_rOt5uIo5dnZToiKSr4Ub6Dkw1vqcoZHjV_1R2sh5hg2BhvMDAhcl5Wwhd1VeALM/s4032/image_67176193.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBe0U0goArQZ6I8IjtK9WuQGVAlIb5AnNC2dChfSc9Yw0HlKAmMCowtkXkRUUERrIsSwnnaolVVvbyAxbXEE-lUcOLvUlKJnHSvSS5HjYrPwQng9xOrUsw5bSy_rOt5uIo5dnZToiKSr4Ub6Dkw1vqcoZHjV_1R2sh5hg2BhvMDAhcl5Wwhd1VeALM/s320/image_67176193.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGzqAOUzQXdoN2r-n2X41_NSBsH2r_Tljd72gm7UWOkaT6bJhhFhSoFtCbTbBzQy2fTIV9eD256RFDFSlbtx6vCBAJo6_syqZABO3Dp1Ak96hA3ijEN14lUtT5U1KsymDRDWaRzK93OgGnweA0SqubPpTQR0ZMD9ot-6HXC1avWzz7ghsY0xXKdWy/s4032/image_67194113.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGzqAOUzQXdoN2r-n2X41_NSBsH2r_Tljd72gm7UWOkaT6bJhhFhSoFtCbTbBzQy2fTIV9eD256RFDFSlbtx6vCBAJo6_syqZABO3Dp1Ak96hA3ijEN14lUtT5U1KsymDRDWaRzK93OgGnweA0SqubPpTQR0ZMD9ot-6HXC1avWzz7ghsY0xXKdWy/s320/image_67194113.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWrcdJdcXbmpCpefM6e1pJsNVWDKabd5_VEkJyCgFD2FXhMFvX4Xi6DNp2RPxiW_9RjT281agTF4P7b1xgRvuLNZI6zZhDW0SfZfgwkJDPw69SEqUKqruYUcLTktaBDCrAJB5uMT1Mxiqq8Y4mrFr9xSe_-8jPxI2hPQun_2Bj-s8VG5aJnhjpulIq/s4032/image_67208449.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWrcdJdcXbmpCpefM6e1pJsNVWDKabd5_VEkJyCgFD2FXhMFvX4Xi6DNp2RPxiW_9RjT281agTF4P7b1xgRvuLNZI6zZhDW0SfZfgwkJDPw69SEqUKqruYUcLTktaBDCrAJB5uMT1Mxiqq8Y4mrFr9xSe_-8jPxI2hPQun_2Bj-s8VG5aJnhjpulIq/s320/image_67208449.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRMeLpLYjONeYqUomeoPqQMfch6YMOkPSdmGY4tzz928h_SugZ6zDX6YIJ9tFaeKsAZPAhirg4NZBipl_UTHHgi4NpiKnWpz82OYnGfI5BSJx16aT6VJPozcl5keTUg-vjCRyjBX7VBufP6DF-TkHj5rzYJ6CEKFpUwNqRzcwN8woKltfUggoXWBBq/s4032/image_67502593.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRMeLpLYjONeYqUomeoPqQMfch6YMOkPSdmGY4tzz928h_SugZ6zDX6YIJ9tFaeKsAZPAhirg4NZBipl_UTHHgi4NpiKnWpz82OYnGfI5BSJx16aT6VJPozcl5keTUg-vjCRyjBX7VBufP6DF-TkHj5rzYJ6CEKFpUwNqRzcwN8woKltfUggoXWBBq/s320/image_67502593.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtgz9U6mSyU7CYgXavS9juL5nDeLSIgKEN4hu-6pu__Nz9d5lNcatUH33YSO3SG3q_TwYHOuZ80R-kDLfhnNlidYq7xL8eQOPH9kjKKJ7q2s-Gx56pHEiSL1tbzcQEBtpgpEqs_rZcpklaSx9fOZKWXxLIn_FCxfgEkv0iVc1Q4MlK5RCUmijLipcZ/s4032/image_67527937.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtgz9U6mSyU7CYgXavS9juL5nDeLSIgKEN4hu-6pu__Nz9d5lNcatUH33YSO3SG3q_TwYHOuZ80R-kDLfhnNlidYq7xL8eQOPH9kjKKJ7q2s-Gx56pHEiSL1tbzcQEBtpgpEqs_rZcpklaSx9fOZKWXxLIn_FCxfgEkv0iVc1Q4MlK5RCUmijLipcZ/s320/image_67527937.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-52926406398548035232022-03-08T17:11:00.106-07:002023-09-30T18:50:21.898-07:00Credo: This is my yellow jacket<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgvLGJ-9Q-XWGcGO-4W69qTu7ZkJHa2dKnZDcwSlmdi-dOIy-niOCA6kTEC13TUv5HKXEL1nc0U3AYCcZJSRXXSjZj9S0fQBsZLEM5FapHmuHg0dzPFy10r6BBMyIjHd2oq6NUdmmejwG3QChJGKpyQIJOMTFPRWnNFvOwoO98QFjISNGvJjSf4iJd=s792" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgvLGJ-9Q-XWGcGO-4W69qTu7ZkJHa2dKnZDcwSlmdi-dOIy-niOCA6kTEC13TUv5HKXEL1nc0U3AYCcZJSRXXSjZj9S0fQBsZLEM5FapHmuHg0dzPFy10r6BBMyIjHd2oq6NUdmmejwG3QChJGKpyQIJOMTFPRWnNFvOwoO98QFjISNGvJjSf4iJd=s320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ca. 2004-2005</td></tr></tbody></table><i>This is my yellow jacket. There are many like it, but this one is mine. <br /><br />My yellow jacket has been a good friend to me. Without it I am vulnerable. <br /><br />My yellow jacket has faithfully guarded me from the ravages of weather. It has protected my body from injury. <br /><br />We are a part of </i><i>one another, my yellow jacket and I. Together we have endeavored to master the mountain.<span></span></i><div><i><br /></i><div><br /><br /></div><div><div><hr /><br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7U2ii0BX6O0a0idQUAG-kmRQZ6Omw2TVhCupGx3b3HFbRUeHayymD62_82OZ9zgRqYgShdW_3L6Z2Fjz2uhirz8tNfgoE9_ha2dKl69o7m7jvgDsC89Hn_TXAjsoG3PrEvc2SsIRa1LBTQaIBjysY5htPoz3tTd1YCWpT1Aobjay0FLlC6ImuAHoj=s4032" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg7U2ii0BX6O0a0idQUAG-kmRQZ6Omw2TVhCupGx3b3HFbRUeHayymD62_82OZ9zgRqYgShdW_3L6Z2Fjz2uhirz8tNfgoE9_ha2dKl69o7m7jvgDsC89Hn_TXAjsoG3PrEvc2SsIRa1LBTQaIBjysY5htPoz3tTd1YCWpT1Aobjay0FLlC6ImuAHoj=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">* the work of the Courtesy Patrol includes:<br /> lost family-member reunification, <br />detached ski reinstallation,<br />perplexed guest reorientation, <br />Ski Patrol incident notification, <br />uprooted signage restoration,<br />downhill-slope traffic mitigation,<br />& general ski-area explication<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span></span>I have been volunteering as a member of the Courtesy Patrol at <a href="http://www.snowbowl.ski" target="_blank">Arizona Snowbowl</a><span> </span><span>this season, skiing more days, and also longer days, than I've ever skied in any previous season, usually 3-5 days a week, 4-8 hours a day, weather and snow conditions notwithstanding. Over the course of some 40+ days on the mountain thus far this season, and despite having one of <i>the</i> most amazingly fun and interesting ski seasons ever, I have nonetheless reluctantly been forced to conclude that my old yellow <a href="https://www.marmot.com/" target="_blank">Marmot</a> jacket is no longer able to keep up with the demands that my new work* has been placing upon it. Lately, I've been getting increasingly colder, and wetter, and more wind-blown. And I've deduced that this is happening because my trusty old yellow shell is, quite simply, worn out.<span></span></span></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Precise recollection fails me, but my best guess is that I probably bought my yellow jacket in 2004, nearly twenty ski seasons ago now. I have worn it every winter, on practically every single day that I have skied since then (I did attempt to replace it <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2011/02/jacket-of-love.html" target="_blank">back in 2011</a>, with a newer, fancier jacket, but, well, that plan did not work out the way I had intended it to).<br /><br />It has reliably sheltered me from the mountain's most brutal elements, and the weather's harshest conditions, during literally hundreds of great days, down many thousands of great runs, throughout what must have been the linking of<i> at least</i> a million great turns (How many Telemark skiers does it take to screw in a lightbulb? At least three, one to install it, and two more to say, "Dude, great turns!").<br /><br /><span><a name='more'></a></span>I've punched or torn, and then patched, with needle-and-thread, or duct- and packaging-tape, a half-dozen major holes in its fabric. It has been washed no more than a handful of times over the many years that I've owned it. Nonetheless, it does not stink.</div><div><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMBZvAg66lb7QEWkQ6qMEnK2v3V9UE-ev0PfPpkp2-S8sS_78Ef6k42QCoWvUUx6OEh4PvojnRlxA6iT0mxlf1YmWtPcJIsybF99TOuZhsFH_68OcBwkhlTsF0V7ZzYd5FuRDisOG76-P0CyjVAR_K9D8WGFdtNhKx-sSpB_O2I2_87gwPkU02bTTp=s3024" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMBZvAg66lb7QEWkQ6qMEnK2v3V9UE-ev0PfPpkp2-S8sS_78Ef6k42QCoWvUUx6OEh4PvojnRlxA6iT0mxlf1YmWtPcJIsybF99TOuZhsFH_68OcBwkhlTsF0V7ZzYd5FuRDisOG76-P0CyjVAR_K9D8WGFdtNhKx-sSpB_O2I2_87gwPkU02bTTp=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ca. 2021-2022</td></tr></tbody></table>Over the course of the intervening years, however, it has become increasingly threadbare in many places, and it's laminate wind/waterproofedness has become noticeably worn-through and less effective. It's seam tape has begun to detach on portions of the sleeves and also on parts of the body. And its cuffs, hems and collar have become too stretched and inelastic to be effective anymore against the incipient invasiveness of snow and wind and water and ice.<br /><br />Therefore, the 2021-2022 winter season is to be its last; my old yellow Marmot shell has been retired. But I haven't yet had the heart to throw it away. Instead, I intend to give it a place of honor on the wall of my garage among my former cycling jerseys, vintage posters, and treasured topo maps. </div><div><br /></div><div>I ordered a simple, well-reviewed <a href="https://www.patagonia.com/product/mens-calcite-jacket/84986.html" target="_blank">Patagonia shell</a> to replace it, hoping it, likewise, will protect me and be my good-friend for the <i>next</i> twenty years.</div><div><br /></div><div>My only problem: it's not available in yellow.</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-63331557852741266742022-01-19T09:09:00.059-07:002022-06-01T16:58:10.142-07:00Let's adopt a rescue cat!<i>“A human being with no dæmon was like someone without a face, or with their ribs laid open and their heart torn out; something unnatural and uncanny that belonged to the world of nightghasts, not the waking world of sense.”</i><br /> — Philip Pullman, <a href="https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northern_Lights_(Pullman_novel)">The Golden Compass</a><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg94MFs9J5wVheUKXQQh_qJ7BuHL5IIPOmbIeLwR6gTOIiIHL5uwujZdoADwf6sZoK7sFkSum4BrTIk4TWJ0l77h5NImhP7kEDGLNFffNsD4RVuz6gczHlOctAhvA3kHpxOCCOCGLle2zH1d7DqnOZRjDhPUDJJU0NTqvepO0Vu4xyWQhVI--mUaWKX=s1063" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg94MFs9J5wVheUKXQQh_qJ7BuHL5IIPOmbIeLwR6gTOIiIHL5uwujZdoADwf6sZoK7sFkSum4BrTIk4TWJ0l77h5NImhP7kEDGLNFffNsD4RVuz6gczHlOctAhvA3kHpxOCCOCGLle2zH1d7DqnOZRjDhPUDJJU0NTqvepO0Vu4xyWQhVI--mUaWKX=s320" width="289" /></a></div><div>Our cat, like <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2020/04/lets-raise-rezdog.html">our dogs</a>, is a rescue. You can tell by her one docked ear. Our vet has told us that she was likely captured when she was young as a feral stray, spayed, and then released back into the world to fend for herself. Later on in her wild early life she must have been recaptured, probably by animal control or a rescue agency. <span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Fortunately for her (and us), it seems she somehow fell into the care of our local no-kill shelter at that point. That's where my wife and daughter first encountered her. They brought her home soon afterward.</div><div><br /></div><div>They named her Rosie.</div><div><br /></div><div>I just call her Cat.</div><div><br /></div><div>She is, of the many many <i>good</i> cats I have known in my lifetime, easily the best-of-cats, my <a href="https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyra_Belacqua#Pantalaimon" target="_blank">Pantalaimon</a>, a chatty, constant companion to me at all times (except, of course, when she is cat-napping) whenever I am at home. <br /><br /><span><a name='more'></a></span></div><div>I adore her.</div><div><br /></div><div>If we could choose the aspect of our <a href="https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/D%C3%A6mon_(His_Dark_Materials)">dæmons</a> in this world, as they do in <a href="https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northern_Lights_(Pullman_novel)" target="_blank">Lyra's</a>, I would most certainly have chosen her, oto-asymetry and all.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizRywPaj-GkXGzHlSqQCA5vhtQC_GdW-H3Kxm0b2N3vzdo9gwckxe10MwIRlOx2Uac8K7aEer4hLxRGgjusVV1TEJ1hSTo-65CbkJOFh5wZt-Dz3-N9Yg9CGnf-EpnssqjEsqoM80L0GZlsTV9RUtlfMjRplo6Sng5MECUbSWuGeZgu05G7Uz9sqf6=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizRywPaj-GkXGzHlSqQCA5vhtQC_GdW-H3Kxm0b2N3vzdo9gwckxe10MwIRlOx2Uac8K7aEer4hLxRGgjusVV1TEJ1hSTo-65CbkJOFh5wZt-Dz3-N9Yg9CGnf-EpnssqjEsqoM80L0GZlsTV9RUtlfMjRplo6Sng5MECUbSWuGeZgu05G7Uz9sqf6=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXKDZEtlqPT4mKqFBFEwe6XxxXSHVWRHr-IA8ND9rOLb1raC89_uHXOMUSB7TM_QpTSSPBbnkAqSfFYXLMKmb0CKPQ0-6o5ffsKq2Evw2zL1E7E-xcFDMIA4owad9kUVWyKsGMFbpcz92D9UT7VoY7vY92RcSsWO8NmgGG5bXfR3TjYPytKenI3TYM=s2911" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2911" data-original-width="2798" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhXKDZEtlqPT4mKqFBFEwe6XxxXSHVWRHr-IA8ND9rOLb1raC89_uHXOMUSB7TM_QpTSSPBbnkAqSfFYXLMKmb0CKPQ0-6o5ffsKq2Evw2zL1E7E-xcFDMIA4owad9kUVWyKsGMFbpcz92D9UT7VoY7vY92RcSsWO8NmgGG5bXfR3TjYPytKenI3TYM=s320" width="308" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEht9T7xzvCO0MvJZ2FkfK9UCUWy7sYC21ybys3veCad4NBtFnZpe_UzMoKZeVY1F8MhfYxJBvP9FxQafZgvxkSPcSAXKE-Ur_BFfH_IKVFFZD1pFo84xg4EUwQFaSOphM5L69zd9NwdubM0EVRF0jtiq1Lj2vLyVTPJbRVZ-ibhgoYu5XQvA4Hs8hXC=s600" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEht9T7xzvCO0MvJZ2FkfK9UCUWy7sYC21ybys3veCad4NBtFnZpe_UzMoKZeVY1F8MhfYxJBvP9FxQafZgvxkSPcSAXKE-Ur_BFfH_IKVFFZD1pFo84xg4EUwQFaSOphM5L69zd9NwdubM0EVRF0jtiq1Lj2vLyVTPJbRVZ-ibhgoYu5XQvA4Hs8hXC=w200-h200" width="200" /></a></div><i>I wrote the post reproduced below for our 20th wedding anniversary, 04 January 2017. A lot has happened in the five years that have transpired since then, too much to mention here for certain. Suffice to say, we're still together, still in love with one another, still trying to figure it all out, one day at a time.</i><div><i><br />I wanted to republish what I wrote back in 2017 today, on the eve of our 25th wedding anniversary, because this one seems to me to be an even more significant milestone than was our 20th, for lots of reasons, and not just because it's a bigger number.<br /><br /><span><a name='more'></a></span>In <a href="https://www.blogger.com/#">another post</a> I wrote in 2017, I said,<br /></i><blockquote><i>"My (wedding band) tattoo has aged and changed over the years. Sure. It's weather-worn now, gotten bumped, been bruised, and seen cuts, has bled, and been scarred in the course of the last 20 years.<br /><br />So has our marriage been.<br /></i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSdUWGhBYN6gsxhTIs0avzzZauiLzp2gkv-DAnR0Mw7GWJN9Rh1aL8cyJs_CX_1pIDi8DfbRu8Z6AHsjYAkeleDKeJtm4eq4Hbgc54-IoFLpj74xTxLGZKSkrTTLVCYG1oB5DXMSvAjauhwLCdT9rdcPfhq-QmQsuKhY8A2nCmHudEwwiiOntLfzSP=s1280" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1276" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSdUWGhBYN6gsxhTIs0avzzZauiLzp2gkv-DAnR0Mw7GWJN9Rh1aL8cyJs_CX_1pIDi8DfbRu8Z6AHsjYAkeleDKeJtm4eq4Hbgc54-IoFLpj74xTxLGZKSkrTTLVCYG1oB5DXMSvAjauhwLCdT9rdcPfhq-QmQsuKhY8A2nCmHudEwwiiOntLfzSP=w199-h200" width="199" /></i></a></div><i><br />Just like my tattoo, our marriage has survived. Changed. But it is intact. The bruising and scarring, laughter and elation, and long stretches of simple, mundane, day-to-day living-in-partnership with someone who's company you enjoy most of the time, are all just parts of our narrative now, the course of time and the turning of events that have conspired to make us us. Older, most definitely, wiser, indeed, and yet here we find ourselves on our 20th anniversary still together and none the worse, despite the wear.<br /><br />My tattoo doesn't need to be touched up.<br /><br />Neither does our marriage.<br /><br />I love what we have become.<br /><br />I like us the way we are."</i></blockquote><i>I stand by those words, they are all the more true today, some five years and nearly half our lifetimes later.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiF7uyWPv_7CxY-QQQel7r_0trj3lQQ50_IEYrKzDrEUtalIqrJQxdZM5pHLBoW7-horjucXaWfPcHiOErRkY7iUGi8XlWRvJozV20j7-nwLVesoLwbSTJQbQk7jmzrPV0JhD2xA3nBCwAcL4SMK-RQlB2CXPOPhhAbf20iA0KYBpTqhLNo-MlMrmjP=s3998" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1922" data-original-width="3998" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiF7uyWPv_7CxY-QQQel7r_0trj3lQQ50_IEYrKzDrEUtalIqrJQxdZM5pHLBoW7-horjucXaWfPcHiOErRkY7iUGi8XlWRvJozV20j7-nwLVesoLwbSTJQbQk7jmzrPV0JhD2xA3nBCwAcL4SMK-RQlB2CXPOPhhAbf20iA0KYBpTqhLNo-MlMrmjP=w640-h309" width="640" /></a></div><br />I love you, LisaCoe! I hope we get to do at least 25 more together, and then some.</i><div><div><div>
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Scheduled to begin at 2:00, our wedding ceremony nevertheless began at 1:53 in the afternoon on January 4, 1997. The church was at capacity at that point, and there was no one else trying to get in, so we decided to get started a little early.<br />
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Twenty-four minutes later, at 2:17 <span style="font-size: x-small;">PM</span>, we were done.<br />
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We had no attendants, no guest list, no decorations, and no formal reception; Jason played piano at the top of the service, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCfZbCZbD15twfx03z2e2yMQ" target="_blank">Gerv</a> played his guitar at the end. A few random friends and relatives took pictures and sent them to us afterward. I wore my well-used concert choir tux and Lisa wore a lovely dress she found on sale at a small boutique in town.<br />
<br />Dozens, maybe hundreds of our favorite folks showed up for our mid-winter wedding on a beautiful cold-blue Saturday afternoon, honoring us with their presence. Some brought <a href="http://www.rockychrysler.com/2013/05/just-about-bike-specialized-deja-tu.html" target="_blank">gifts</a>. Some brought cookies. Some didn't bring anything except themselves. We didn't really care, we just wanted them to show up, and we were so glad when they did. <br />
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I gave the pastor a check for $80.00 so that he would have the heat in the church turned on that morning. Other than that, and the giant flat-sheet carrot cake that I surreptitiously purchased for $45.00 from <a href="http://brandysrestaurant.com/" target="_blank">Brandy's</a> with <i>Lisa and John</i> written in frosting on its top, we spent nothing else on our nuptials, even the ring I gave Lisa was a gift from my mom.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiACqxBaiQwgjZL6Ji6l_YCsYVRCHeVrssHxL5TCR_CbMRWe2azoNbDMFWnGBny1mjHzNwgZI34hU8VvCtT8O3W9OdOSPkizNtpcHHTVO7fd0QgOvVr3LnALjCdbvjjbXAPc8-jrCb7Kik/s1600/lisaandjohncake.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiACqxBaiQwgjZL6Ji6l_YCsYVRCHeVrssHxL5TCR_CbMRWe2azoNbDMFWnGBny1mjHzNwgZI34hU8VvCtT8O3W9OdOSPkizNtpcHHTVO7fd0QgOvVr3LnALjCdbvjjbXAPc8-jrCb7Kik/s200/lisaandjohncake.jpg" width="200" /></a>For our wedding ceremony, in lieu of candles and soloists and staid processions up and down the aisle, we wrote our own vows, kept them secret from one another until that day, and then said them aloud to one another for the very first time during the ceremony.<br />
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My wife's vows were lovely. Amazing, really. And the crowd who had assembled to watch us wed that day laughed and cried along with her. She's always been a natural on stage. Our wedding day was no different.<br />
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As to <i>my</i> vows, well, all I can say is: I meant every word of them back then. And I still do today.<br />
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We watch our vows together almost every year on our anniversary, thanks to my mom's oldest friend, Valerie, who videotaped them for us that afternoon without being asked. I transferred the tape to YouTube a year or two ago. If you like, you can watch it below. Lisa's vows start at 10:45 and mine begin at 17:00.<br />
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I've included a transcript of my vows below the video, too. Just for the record, I guess, filed here forevermore as one more piece of my life's <a href="http://www.rockychrysler.com/p/archival-footage_13.html" target="_blank">archival footage.</a><br />
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"I am glad you're here, Lisa!</div><div><br /></div><div>My vows have changed some since I started writing them. I guess that's to be expected. I tell my [students] frequently that nothing you write should ever be finished, and I guess, sometimes, I practice what I preach.<br />
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"I decided that the best way to relay all of this to you is to tell you a bit about how these vows finally came together.<br />
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"Initially, I thought I'd find a rather clever analogy to frame my vows in. As you know I like how a good analogy helps me feel like I'm a little closer to understanding something. So, of course, my first idea was to frame my vows to you around something that I know pretty well: bikes.<br />
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"I actually worked on this idea for a long time. But in the end I decided that it was a little on the predictable side, for someone who knows me so well, so I decided to go in a different direction. But the main point of it was, that even as someone who doesn't know a tenth of all that there is to know about bikes, I have developed, what some people might call a fondness for them. This is, in ways, similar, though by no means as intense as the way I feel about you.<br />
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"You see, I'll never know all that there is to know about you. You're far too intricate and wonderful for me to ever presume that. And, as you continue to grow and change, you will, of course, become somewhat different from the person that you are today. However, none of that will ever change the way that I feel about you. I will not stop loving you. The you that I know today, I love. The you that I will know through many tomorrows, I will love just as well, if not moreso. Nothing will change that. Not a lack of cash. Not a prolonged illness. Not an argument. Not senility. Nothing.<br />
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"So, once I'd thrown out my bike analogy, I began to search for some other device that I could use as a framework for my vows. And, of course, music came to mind. For a long time, I looked for a song that had some tugging set of emotional lyrics in it that I could sing to you during this ceremony... well, I am not going to sing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh59vq_a63A-DqJg6L1DToE9H-IjyOjCOMaOVHWBmQFPggNny27f_NNUcl9PEGS9INgrwmDq2YttZ2thujJlHxQZo3W_FGlRdoNlA24KtK7poORP0Kc81LKbMM_kMMg_pA1BHWWe_TgfI/s1600/lookingdown.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh59vq_a63A-DqJg6L1DToE9H-IjyOjCOMaOVHWBmQFPggNny27f_NNUcl9PEGS9INgrwmDq2YttZ2thujJlHxQZo3W_FGlRdoNlA24KtK7poORP0Kc81LKbMM_kMMg_pA1BHWWe_TgfI/s200/lookingdown.jpg" width="200" /></a>"You see, through all my searching, I kept hearing just one song playing through my head, over and over again. A song that I've never heard anybody sing during a wedding ceremony, but a song that for me expresses deep sentiment. My grandmother taught it to my mom, and my mom taught it to me. It implies that you are the joy of my life. That you heal me. That the depth of my love for you cannot be plumbed. And please, stay with me for a lifetime.<br />
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"However, I decided it was a bit on the silly side, so I decided not to use it as the framework I was looking for. But the words to the song go like this:<br />
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<i>You are my sunshine,</i><br />
<i>my only sunshine.</i><br />
<i>You make me happy</i><br />
<i>when skies are gray.</i><br />
<i>You'll never know dear</i><br />
<i>how much I love you.</i><br />
<i>Please don't take</i><br />
<i>my sunshine away.</i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlnfQDdiv743q_A7-VNuFYHTlNxuLVqvOhHgO1O1-Uhp04DSFwVeYvA9OYUxz7IPvQQ7nP5nGzUBIQFHLZSHeWNFxC4EtFR2KL5GkBV45bV2NqFK1rU0jyvz-xv8JDzlEVjdeEEt1UCoA/s1600/alldone.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlnfQDdiv743q_A7-VNuFYHTlNxuLVqvOhHgO1O1-Uhp04DSFwVeYvA9OYUxz7IPvQQ7nP5nGzUBIQFHLZSHeWNFxC4EtFR2KL5GkBV45bV2NqFK1rU0jyvz-xv8JDzlEVjdeEEt1UCoA/s200/alldone.jpg" width="200" /></a>"One day, not too long ago, I got to thinking about all the things that I believe in. I started jotting down some things that I believe in and I began to think that this was the much sought-after framework for my vows that I was looking for. I could talk about the things that I believe in, and eventually find some clever segue that would allow me to talk about you and me and all the things I believe about our future together.<br />
<br />
"Well, after rereading some of my ideas several weeks later, I decided that some of the stuff that I'd written wasn't very meaningful for a wedding ceremony. However, some of the other stuff I wrote about you and me was really nice. Stuff like:<br />
<ul>
<li>I believe we will always be steadfast in our commitment to one another. </li>
<li>I believe that patience, gentleness, and truthfulness will never fall out of fashion where we're concerned. </li>
<li>I believe that you are now, and will continue to become, the most interesting, sincere, humorous, intelligent, and exciting friend that I will ever have, and I will strive to always be likewise to you. </li>
<li>I believe that you possess genuine wisdom and that I will never be misguided by seeking out your loving counsel first and above all others. </li>
<li>And finally, I believe that I was never loved in this way, nor did I ever love like this, until I met you.</li>
</ul>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTHZTT4ZYbBb6YNktKCkpXwa9D-Yqrs8OkcaJgB81444dJYvVXO1IaR120LSbnYyZDUVyXCwPPRNp1Hv_GDSFB88SjUNIhmwEfvjedt25fIcjOPqXXLH0EKThd8E1UeQ3wGbvjDQ1cfZc/s1600/ryrie.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTHZTT4ZYbBb6YNktKCkpXwa9D-Yqrs8OkcaJgB81444dJYvVXO1IaR120LSbnYyZDUVyXCwPPRNp1Hv_GDSFB88SjUNIhmwEfvjedt25fIcjOPqXXLH0EKThd8E1UeQ3wGbvjDQ1cfZc/s200/ryrie.jpg" width="200" /></a>"Regretfully, I never found the clever segue for this device, so I had to throw it out along with the others.<br />
<br />
"I finally found the answer in the Bible. Specifically on page 1337 of my Ryrie Study Bible, in a footnote. Actually, I'd found this answer years ago. However, in my effort to communicate my vows to you today, I came back to it not too long ago, and its message literally jumped off the page. In fact, I liked this concept so much that I had it indelibly etched on my finger, for the rest of my life, in lieu of a ring, and as a constant reminder to me, and the rest of the world at large, of my commitment to you.<br />
<br />
"As you already know, these Hebrew letters spell out the word <i>Hesed</i>. The word means lovingkindness. Interestingly, this one rather unusual compound word occurs about 250 times in the Old Testament and it's used to imply all sorts of things about loyal, steadfast faithful love. According to folks who understand Hebrew way better than I do, this word lovingkindness "stresses the idea of the way that those who are involved in a love relationship truly belong together." The word connotes all sorts of things that marriage partners should be able to provide for one another, things like deliverance, empowerment, enlightenment, guidance, forgiveness, communion, hope, praise, and preservation.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrgK0Si1Kh7sL_DDa_0OtkxLtC0DCeM3eR1pDrwW71XSt8xPoQLE43xc9JKZS81Y2xmDQD3SjCsHDLA570TR77liFC1ODLhQmLeXPhONh-nuy-isJ-d_LPw5rGhjyX9EmxS6AnnAsQ91Q/s1600/atthereception2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrgK0Si1Kh7sL_DDa_0OtkxLtC0DCeM3eR1pDrwW71XSt8xPoQLE43xc9JKZS81Y2xmDQD3SjCsHDLA570TR77liFC1ODLhQmLeXPhONh-nuy-isJ-d_LPw5rGhjyX9EmxS6AnnAsQ91Q/s200/atthereception2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
"That's some word.<br />
<br />
"With all those wonderful things implied and understood, this then is, very simply, my final vow to you today. It's from Hosea, chapter 2, verses 19 and 20, where I first encountered the deeper sense of this word in a footnote. With only the slightest paraphrasing, it goes like this:<br />
<br />
<i>I marry you for all time.</i><br />
<i>I marry you in righteousness</i><br />
<i>and in fairness,</i><br />
<i>in lovingkindness</i><br />
<i>and in compassion.</i><br />
<i>I marry you in faithfulness</i><i>."</i><br />
<br />
<hr />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFAMzHI8f0nFIjqPwkxsftXJSXr-1FslxFAv_uuY2s1iIpRb9phn3CtUnqk2D7oTryYS5-s21RfGJyswpYbbiHKK4JdlchV75Y63iYTOgM72o9e5ULTD5El5MiY1ATEVrMMLorLelQquQ/s1600/painteddesert.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFAMzHI8f0nFIjqPwkxsftXJSXr-1FslxFAv_uuY2s1iIpRb9phn3CtUnqk2D7oTryYS5-s21RfGJyswpYbbiHKK4JdlchV75Y63iYTOgM72o9e5ULTD5El5MiY1ATEVrMMLorLelQquQ/s320/painteddesert.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We never had the money to arrange to take a honeymoon. <br />
<br />
Instead, the day after we wed, we rather aimlessly drove to <a href="https://www.nps.gov/pefo/index.htm" target="_blank">Painted Desert National Park,</a> mostly because we felt like we should go <i>somewhere</i> and do <i>something</i> away from home that day. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
It began to snow as we drew near the park and, by the time we'd paid our entry fee and driven to the first overlook, there was nothing to see. Everything was covered in snow. I took one quick picture of my beautiful new wife, and then we turned around and drove home, stopping to eat an early dinner at Holbrook, Arizona's, finest (and only) Italian restaurant, <i><a href="https://www.yelp.com/biz/mesa-italiana-restaurant-holbrook" target="_blank">Mesa Italiana</a>, </i>cloth napkins and all.<br />
<br />
It snowed hard the whole drive back. And it continued to snow for the next several days. By the time the storm was over, there was nearly 5 feet of snow on the ground.<br />
<br />
School was closed for a whole week. We claimed it as our honeymoon and spent it at home. <br />
<br />
Snowed-in, just the two of us.
<br /><br />
<br /></div>
</div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-29068695436839649772021-11-26T11:38:00.139-07:002023-09-15T15:31:47.337-07:00Let's ride a singlespeed!<i>"When the mathematician would solve a difficult problem, he first frees the equation of all incumbrances, and reduces it to its simplest terms. So simplify the problem of life, distinguish the necessary and the real. Probe the earth to see where your main roots run." </i><br /><div style="text-align: right;">- Henry David Thoreau</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizJ5qQ8n_gQXl-QzecD6U1qCBb_6qg0mZ_AWcRl-bT_jJLW9N1virGQNbzkeOt_4_hLqAu25GEVzwuB8bolO7KvDeu1inmHtBX9kk41pALyBNaUnfk7PHloRPMQcKgmBRL0YsFKsdOuHQ3XkZebnzVQJuL1p1k1E3PEiJNkLQCLgGZTSrx0-z2cjJg=s1597" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1597" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizJ5qQ8n_gQXl-QzecD6U1qCBb_6qg0mZ_AWcRl-bT_jJLW9N1virGQNbzkeOt_4_hLqAu25GEVzwuB8bolO7KvDeu1inmHtBX9kk41pALyBNaUnfk7PHloRPMQcKgmBRL0YsFKsdOuHQ3XkZebnzVQJuL1p1k1E3PEiJNkLQCLgGZTSrx0-z2cjJg=w640-h338" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3.0:1 gain ratio, 41.6 gear inches</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span></span>I recently converted <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2013/06/just-about-bike-surly-pugsley.html" target="_blank">my Surly Pugsley</a> "fatbike" from an eight-speed to a singlespeed. After a thousand or so very rode-hard miles in the past 8 years (and having been put away wet more often than not), the original drivetrain components had become seriously clapped-out. Rather than replace them (at great expense), I decided to just remove them. <span></span>Best part of this decision: stripping off the no-longer-necessary gears, shifters, cables, and derailleurs shed almost four pounds. Today, the Pugs, and her one 34x22 (3.0:1 gain ratio) gear, is revitalized as a bike that is (as it truthfully always has been) an unmitigated <i>hoot</i> to ride! In a way, it feels as though this was how she was meant to have been set-up all along.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIHzdlufCWYJPhP2YAOHTbYlfHvV977xtDiktmqgOWhT4c954N-NZJQ1knGai29xYKipotGQt5DRmZ_FhSeBV_3G3hgjqb2nFHY5d_TRqpEJ5lzM11dNZPJEK76agE-8CEkJw0fbje4s_Vk-MdXGAcfG6cczEg0WG1U1XuC3tQZEpuO0AVUnWMbUtX1Y0/s423/Screenshot%202023-07-22%2008.09.43.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="239" data-original-width="423" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIHzdlufCWYJPhP2YAOHTbYlfHvV977xtDiktmqgOWhT4c954N-NZJQ1knGai29xYKipotGQt5DRmZ_FhSeBV_3G3hgjqb2nFHY5d_TRqpEJ5lzM11dNZPJEK76agE-8CEkJw0fbje4s_Vk-MdXGAcfG6cczEg0WG1U1XuC3tQZEpuO0AVUnWMbUtX1Y0/w200-h113/Screenshot%202023-07-22%2008.09.43.png" width="200" /></a></div>I've been riding singlepeed bikes in the forests of northern Arizona for almost 30 years. My newly reconfigured <i>Pugs SS</i> is the fourth legit singlespeed mountain bike in the garage. I really dig riding one-speed bikes. Always have. Geared bikes are lots of fun, but only singlespeeds are truly enlightening (pun intended).<br /><br /><span><a name='more'></a></span></div><div>Despite her radical weight loss and new svelter aspect, my oldest friend, Derrill, who's never understood singlespeeding and has often vocally railed against it, again wondered <i>why</i> when I told him of my Pugsley's recent transformation? "Why not just ride around in one gear without shifting? I just don't get it." </div><div><br /></div><div>Nevertheless, I think he does. </div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp9TbEw8jSkeHWZfiFJFuA2WvEWXMm3v85K9X782qI5PzYv7pARpCSwvbQBqW_H5n7E7aZ_RiWy73aZoLAMFwTQHVWfdMR59rJNuMVjo6GlArZn_Z4LMfFUpSnCI1blSbj28UeSbRqGsM/s500/P1250901.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp9TbEw8jSkeHWZfiFJFuA2WvEWXMm3v85K9X782qI5PzYv7pARpCSwvbQBqW_H5n7E7aZ_RiWy73aZoLAMFwTQHVWfdMR59rJNuMVjo6GlArZn_Z4LMfFUpSnCI1blSbj28UeSbRqGsM/s320/P1250901.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Derrill's 1950 Willys CJ3A</td></tr></tbody></table>You see, Derrill's owned a 1950 <a href="https://blog.kaiserwillys.com/cj-3a-customer-photos/derrill-wolkins" target="_blank">Willys Jeep</a> for many years. He and his dad meticulously restored it back when we were in high school in the 1980s. To this day, when he can find the time, Derrill still likes to take his old flathead four-banger out wheeling on long days all over eastern and central Arizona, often in very remote places, bumping along at no more than 4 miles per hour over rocks and logs in his bone-jarring, slow moving, doorless, roofless antique Army truck.</div><div><br /></div><div>That's because Derrill, at the core of his being, understands something that Henry Thoreau and every true-believer singlespeed rider I've ever met also knows in their heart-of-hearts. And that is: regardless of your means for achieving it, there's something really good for your soul about doing something simple, something analog, something slow, something uncommonly, better yet, unnecessarily difficult. </div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMAHeZ7bcveHRtqt073-JChx2p29RSzitUaQ_qeQcCUJQFek959oczYuo2JrnIcstLadI9zHHXIqnZrN_7l5YlyHYCzdpgUZV8tLZDw78s-IFrIidjnZ13iBKeQCxSjfMMdzPkszfyEeJoyM5PX2buTNDFtjsitx_w5SCchKUS3ZqbFc7hjsU2L6rH=s4032" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMAHeZ7bcveHRtqt073-JChx2p29RSzitUaQ_qeQcCUJQFek959oczYuo2JrnIcstLadI9zHHXIqnZrN_7l5YlyHYCzdpgUZV8tLZDw78s-IFrIidjnZ13iBKeQCxSjfMMdzPkszfyEeJoyM5PX2buTNDFtjsitx_w5SCchKUS3ZqbFc7hjsU2L6rH=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Inside many of our brains, there's a hard-to-articulate compulsion to undertake a thing that has had most, if not all, of its creature comforts and modern advantages stripped away. A thing that requires you, the operator, the driver, the rider, to muster a great effort, to seek and find a sort of oneness with, or a focus on a particular moment in time as you actively traverse a landscape, endure a set of adverse conditions, without any of the technological aides or advantages others might commonly require. To be reminded, at the end of the day, after a good ride: I <i>can</i> do hard things. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is something satisfying about developing a skillset, a proficiency, an ability that is otherwise nontransferable, in any practical sense, to your survival in the real world. Let's be honest: in a world where bikes with gears exist, riding a singlespeed bicycle in the woods is kinda stupid. At the same time, it's also very rewarding to be able to say you did it, that you conquered that arduous task, that you struggled productively to be able to take in the view at a spot not everyone gets to enjoy and that you arrived at that place <i>the hard way</i>, that you did something which reminded you that, at least for today, you're alive and your heart is racing and you feel vital and alert and attenuated, at one, albeit sometimes all-too fleetingly, with the world around you.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgo5tSQ7H4DJ7yEyD8zokhLqdxAYugMjRvaOcR1r1fhtZb54iKU_eGr4X-OdvQfLAiZxcFlq9MrS4l8sdonlfKw4JcwrxNONFAo24xNFPj8scx2jaXL6drUQZEcXX5fl96klpdNrBxmrdtQEbmrhibV-e6DnEhuOTIrTe8_3XIyBeSNPNWNE0B6JqcY=s4032" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgo5tSQ7H4DJ7yEyD8zokhLqdxAYugMjRvaOcR1r1fhtZb54iKU_eGr4X-OdvQfLAiZxcFlq9MrS4l8sdonlfKw4JcwrxNONFAo24xNFPj8scx2jaXL6drUQZEcXX5fl96klpdNrBxmrdtQEbmrhibV-e6DnEhuOTIrTe8_3XIyBeSNPNWNE0B6JqcY=s320" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Introducing: the Pugs SS</td></tr></tbody></table>The older I get, the more I am compelled to contemplate and appreciate these moments. I think that's because, as I find myself aging, I'm beginning to better understand that there will surely come a time when decrepitude will catch up with me and I won't be able to do such things any longer. Moreover, as I've watched in recent years several of those who have been dear to me pass away, I have become more aware of the inevitable fact that there will come a moment in time for me when, quite simply, I will cease to Be, and that opportunities for me to be reminded so vividly of being alive will end. </div><div><br /></div><div>Like Thoreau said, <i>"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Was Thoreau a singlespeeder? I believe he was, if not in actual practice most assuredly he was, nevertheless, in his soul.</div><div><br /></div><div>I often tell the people that I encounter out in the woods, if they ask me about the singlespeed bike I'm riding, <i>why do you do it</i>, and <i>what is it for</i>, that, "I never learned to play a musical instrument with any proficiency. And I never learned to fluently speak another language. But, over the course of my lifetime, I did learn to ride just this one gear really well, and it has always taken me everywhere I needed to go. <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44272/the-road-not-taken" target="_blank">To me, that has made all the difference</a>."</div><div><br /></div><div>When it comes answering folks more specific questions about <i>why</i> I'm riding the Pugs SS way out in the snowy forest come winter, I like to add, "Low tire pressure, and a sort of stupidity that's never deterred by your rational brain's entreaties to turn the-f around, both help a lot, too."</div><div><br /></div><div>---</div><div><br /></div><div>Check out the post post-punk sounds of <i>Sit, Stand, or Push,</i> a song about using all <i>three</i> of the gears on your singlespeed by FLG-local band, <a href="https://m.facebook.com/thee.deores/?__tn__=%2As-R" target="_blank">Thee Deores</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/iE7rEPkwHA8" width="320" youtube-src-id="iE7rEPkwHA8"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>---</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, I present to you my <i>real</i> singlespeeder bona fides, <i>all</i> the one-speed mountain bikes in my quiver:</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI5vhbHujf415xlBvmv1tl2EfYKhKXpiBS7SQsWv0IcX_YTjQqywD-nzxT1oiH9JBtm8SBVfvpvWTL0QyzoYzsxRwX-Paac6z4VAplMUw6K3d7DjWnIyKzWSGcuyYHv4bq6iWr6vpSO2o/s1080/13392126_10153744123628123_7055938550910107894_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI5vhbHujf415xlBvmv1tl2EfYKhKXpiBS7SQsWv0IcX_YTjQqywD-nzxT1oiH9JBtm8SBVfvpvWTL0QyzoYzsxRwX-Paac6z4VAplMUw6K3d7DjWnIyKzWSGcuyYHv4bq6iWr6vpSO2o/s320/13392126_10153744123628123_7055938550910107894_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2014/12/just-about-bike-coconino-cycles.html" target="_blank">Coconino</a> (2.9:1 gain ratio, 41.4 gear inches)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLFRyZHG-6skBVLQ1mTmRxcMkJJ2J9hvJOwMuXuuYgZkM3IW-6H4SU76APQsydALb7cmM6zW31S5siQJgBpu9g68X-cl-pjL2KhjLpCAY7gOpXQRRYUzqLzvItqJ0D8ZjpOr2GJQCKc98/s2048/IMG-5025+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLFRyZHG-6skBVLQ1mTmRxcMkJJ2J9hvJOwMuXuuYgZkM3IW-6H4SU76APQsydALb7cmM6zW31S5siQJgBpu9g68X-cl-pjL2KhjLpCAY7gOpXQRRYUzqLzvItqJ0D8ZjpOr2GJQCKc98/s320/IMG-5025+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2021/05/just-about-bike-matt-chester-mutinyman.html" target="_blank">Chester</a> MuTinyman (3.4:1 gain ratio, 46.3 gear inches)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl_jIyG7zARiFgDQdo-SlyPbfV3ZliO_875ixoBG8FQR2rgKOUunemKIhClnMsqijqxchRuYUK-6EEOAEsnlyFN6SBJ-SLasvIqiwBC36_rDCfVWSibzs34Poy78ZEMgQR7rA2VMS24JQ/s2048/IMG_2782.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl_jIyG7zARiFgDQdo-SlyPbfV3ZliO_875ixoBG8FQR2rgKOUunemKIhClnMsqijqxchRuYUK-6EEOAEsnlyFN6SBJ-SLasvIqiwBC36_rDCfVWSibzs34Poy78ZEMgQR7rA2VMS24JQ/s320/IMG_2782.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2010/04/just-about-bike-rock-lobster.html" target="_blank">Rock Lobster</a> (3.3:1 gain ratio, 44.9 gear inches)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghv4p41dtt5DI-bLgmYiCZMptf0Y8tYAv01sQMIHMKRfI8_QwOvem5Ug4O3N7sGC9SlPr8-GZHSLxsE9Lcses1SqIbOsTIK7JUaCkR_NuohtPDxb4Z7Y4DmxnfvWAs52MLsR78NEWUhQww2uqd9_Z2l2BAjNMrKC2IwILXzWL1P5GD6oKdsf2kW6CM=s1600" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghv4p41dtt5DI-bLgmYiCZMptf0Y8tYAv01sQMIHMKRfI8_QwOvem5Ug4O3N7sGC9SlPr8-GZHSLxsE9Lcses1SqIbOsTIK7JUaCkR_NuohtPDxb4Z7Y4DmxnfvWAs52MLsR78NEWUhQww2uqd9_Z2l2BAjNMrKC2IwILXzWL1P5GD6oKdsf2kW6CM=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Surly <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2013/06/just-about-bike-surly-pugsley.html" target="_blank">Pugs</a> (3.0 gain ratio, 41.6 gear inches)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-81001834127588276892021-10-13T09:48:00.085-07:002022-06-01T16:53:55.716-07:00Let's use a dropper-post!<div><i>Sure, 2021 is more than a little bit late-to-the-game to be writing an article advocating for the use of dropper-posts on mountain bikes. But I ride on a regular basis with a few old doods, militant Luddites all, who have yet to upgrade their bikes to a seat-post that drops with the pull of a trigger. I've been trying to convert them for years, at every opportunity singing the praises of dropper-posts loud and clear, to no avail. This blog post is all I've got left, my last-ditch effort to try and get them to see the light.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><hr /></i></div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixFp_53UXxpsazlKAWlwC9wGxBXKbzhEKcNMKCdmGY7GA7Nag9C-1yEit4yjLPm8tNks5rGW7OLoQdOtYj-xu7tuXqhICyuWSVsVaOU8FHpWWQ5LDmhCosTEPABjqe0jlZ2LVZOub0W78/s2048/IMG_2785.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixFp_53UXxpsazlKAWlwC9wGxBXKbzhEKcNMKCdmGY7GA7Nag9C-1yEit4yjLPm8tNks5rGW7OLoQdOtYj-xu7tuXqhICyuWSVsVaOU8FHpWWQ5LDmhCosTEPABjqe0jlZ2LVZOub0W78/w150-h200/IMG_2785.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hite-Rite & Rock Lobster<br />both ca. 1985</td></tr></tbody></table>I got my first dropper-post as stock-spec on my <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2021/04/just-about-bike-specialized-fuse-6fattie.html" target="_blank">Specialized Fuse Expert</a> when I bought it new back in 2017. </div><div><br /></div><div>Actually, no. That's not an entirely accurate statement. See, I've had a <a href="https://mbaction.com/sept-hardtales/" target="_blank">Breeze & Angell Hite-Rite</a> on my <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2010/04/just-about-bike-rock-lobster.html" target="_blank">Rock Lobster</a> <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2021/11/lets-ride-singlespeed.html" target="_blank">singlespeed</a> for years. The Hite-Rite is undisputedly the world's original dropper-post and it's actually very effective and efficient. <span></span>But, it's also super tough to operate on-the-fly. Unlike contemporary dropper-posts, which can be moved up or down with the flick of a trigger, a stop-and-dismount is required of all but the most practiced riders in order to move the saddle up or down using a Hite-Rite. As a result, the Hite-Rite on my Rock Lobster was installed as period-correct bling, mostly for show (the frame, fabricated in 1985, even has a specific braze-on on the back of the seat tube intended for it), and, for the first fifteen-plus years that I owned it, I used it on rare occasions, only to move my seat down at the top the most ridiculously steep/sustained descents (and sometimes not even then), otherwise it mostly stayed-put and looked pretty.<br /><br /><span><a name='more'></a></span></div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2J6M-spZjuEEcSC9J6mSHuSgb2BfGTVwoDsj2wJJAVYfUmd0glTWY6p5wU7JBSLk4HQyNJNb4LftNfrIYucL1H-2FcU_haoBbPAaPmFq4R6Amm7iprm_J_JK776l-Im_ILHq38IGTB5w/s800/55023372_238cc91144_o.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="541" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2J6M-spZjuEEcSC9J6mSHuSgb2BfGTVwoDsj2wJJAVYfUmd0glTWY6p5wU7JBSLk4HQyNJNb4LftNfrIYucL1H-2FcU_haoBbPAaPmFq4R6Amm7iprm_J_JK776l-Im_ILHq38IGTB5w/w432-h640/55023372_238cc91144_o.jpg" width="432" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old school<br />ca. 1993</td></tr></tbody></table>So I can admit, when I started riding my new Fuse I was actually a bit perplexed as to the real functionality of the dropper-post. As a bona fide old-schooler, having ridden, as I was saying, most of my rides over the course of some 30 years with a stiff-posted seat forever glued to my ass, or wedged between my thighs, or pushed up into my belly or ribcage, depending on the contours of the trail. For decades I held firmly to the belief that a fixed, immoveable seatpost actually made me a more skillful rider, that it was an essential point-of-contact which had to remain forever in its place, that to stop to reduce one's seat height was nothing short of admitting to one's innate dweebishness. In my mind I really did believe that all this was crucial to my ability to shred my bike like the "pro" I have so often imagined myself to be.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then, shortly after buying my Fuse, I went on a few rides with <a href="https://mmbhof.org/joe-murray/" target="_blank">Joe</a>. Joe, you see, is a <i>legit</i> pro, and has even, a couple times, been a NORBA National Champion, and he is a Skunk for sundry secretive bike-related enterprises, and is also a real live <a href="https://mmbhof.org/mtn-bike-hall-of-fame/inductees/" target="_blank">Mountain Bike Hall Of Fame</a> (Class of 1988) inductee. To this day he still practically lives on a bike as his fulltime job. Safe to say: he knows how to ride, in the sense that it's like watching someone make pitch-perfect music to watch him ride.</div><div><br /></div><div>And what I saw as I watched Joe ride was at first surprising to me. Turns out, Joe used his dropper a lot, and not just when he was descending, but also when he was cornering. In fact, he used his dropper <i>a lot</i> a lot, as in dozens and dozens of times in a given ride, in almost every fast corner and on even the slightest declines. I watched as he lowered his natural center much closer to the ground and used this new position on the bike to make quicker microadjustments to the terrain than he would have been able to on a traditional stiff posted bike. And he was able to tip his bike well up onto the side-knobs when cornering, too, literally putting him on rails in the corners, which was a thing of beauty to behold, indeed. Riding behind Joe was the epiphany I needed to figure out what I could aspire to when it came to incorporating my new-school dropper-post into my riding.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAGFZQYRKWOj6MfaQ1ggUGurGmRJzolBnefSnufCg9_fEXjEkyLYq3iIh0HVyir-cu0xCBG2sLxe0eXQIS5l5UOOQqzwjReDw3wiQy6E3FjRZVww3JCShsABtH4VwpXI1ZFoNH-ubKQgw/s573/fuse+%25281%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="573" data-original-width="568" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAGFZQYRKWOj6MfaQ1ggUGurGmRJzolBnefSnufCg9_fEXjEkyLYq3iIh0HVyir-cu0xCBG2sLxe0eXQIS5l5UOOQqzwjReDw3wiQy6E3FjRZVww3JCShsABtH4VwpXI1ZFoNH-ubKQgw/w396-h400/fuse+%25281%2529.jpg" width="396" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New school<br />ca. 2020</td></tr></tbody></table>And I am here to tell you, several years and many thousands of miles on, that it has changed my life, and especially my riding, all for the better a gajillion times over. Another old friend once told me, long before I ever rode with a dropper, "They're even more essential an advancement in how we're able to ride than clipless pedals were." And, while I didn't want to believe him at the time, I am more than compelled to admit now that he was right. </div><div><br /></div><div>Nothing (other than perhaps the flat-freedness of tubelessness) has made my riding funner, faster, or has improved my ability to navigate my bike more capably (and safely) over all types of terrain than riding with a dropper-post has.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've since come to develop quite a dependency on riding with dropper-post, and now find that riding without one has become quite challenging. So, I've recently upgraded my <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2014/12/just-about-bike-coconino-cycles.html" target="_blank">Coconino singlespeed</a> with a <a href="https://kssuspension.com/product-category/droppers/" target="_blank">KS eTen dropper-post</a> (a decent post, albeit with limited travel, from one of only a few manufacturers who make a 27.2mm diameter post). I've considered installing droppers on the <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2013/06/just-about-bike-surly-pugsley.html" target="_blank">Pugsley</a> and the <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2021/05/just-about-bike-matt-chester-mutinyman.html" target="_blank">Chester</a>, too, but for the time-being, I've reverted both of these bikes back to levered seatpost quick-releases, rather than bolted clamps, while I mull things over. </div><div><br /></div><div>And, for the record, I'm also using the Hite-Rite on my Rock Lobster a whole lot more these days, too, despite the fact that I still have to stop-and-dismount each time I use it.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMDozVF1KdrXXewzLHGhukm6mZpvugMlc6hOBaWwvIbT-SliBYO0kvf4-LFqv1OCMMzWiiCqICk0XH8ZJIZJNowIo-bM9ghakINGY9X5SX0LwcVVwUQVnfci2ao3RKESRW6BeucDodCo/s1406/HiteRite-Ad-B.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1406" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMDozVF1KdrXXewzLHGhukm6mZpvugMlc6hOBaWwvIbT-SliBYO0kvf4-LFqv1OCMMzWiiCqICk0XH8ZJIZJNowIo-bM9ghakINGY9X5SX0LwcVVwUQVnfci2ao3RKESRW6BeucDodCo/w493-h640/HiteRite-Ad-B.jpg" width="493" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-6098021909317915102021-07-05T09:20:00.091-07:002022-06-01T17:09:39.296-07:00Archival footage: Curriculum vitae [UPDATED]<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic;">Some things in life are bad.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic;">They can really make you mad.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic;">Other things just make you swear and curse.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic;">When you're chewing on life's gristle,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic;">Don't grumble, give a whistle.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic;">And this'll help things turn out for the best...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b>Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b>Monty Python - <i>The Life Of Brian</i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDKVNYzKLTwrtETdNCoy22kGPC8ZvdGI0al-xsuve42G6e997u8MXWMhi0H4cjH3yeUKpztKu8lKGcbcb01fLdy6fU1kyJweF4v-wMQpobFoYNQ-t_eAKr8M3zgqpTbNURd_1iiMVH3EA/s1524/Screenshot_20210509-181128_kindlephoto-495818679.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1524" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDKVNYzKLTwrtETdNCoy22kGPC8ZvdGI0al-xsuve42G6e997u8MXWMhi0H4cjH3yeUKpztKu8lKGcbcb01fLdy6fU1kyJweF4v-wMQpobFoYNQ-t_eAKr8M3zgqpTbNURd_1iiMVH3EA/s320/Screenshot_20210509-181128_kindlephoto-495818679.png" width="252" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Select images to enlarge</td></tr></tbody></table>I was <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2014/12/what-would-lura-do.html" target="_blank">never crazy about my job </a>as a school principal. It feels a bit silly now to admit that I only took it on because our out-going principal and the then-district superintendent asked me to, but that's the god's-honest truth about how I ended up doing it. <span></span>I never aspired to be a school leader and I struggled every day, for seven long years, to try as best as I could to graciously manage, keep safe, and empower our staff and students. Despite <a href="http://www.rockychrysler.com/2014/12/what-would-lura-do.html" target="_blank">my best intentions</a>, each of my many missteps were all too glaringly public, and any meager successes I may have wrought from the endless stream of contention that always seemed to be waiting at my office door, were far too few in number. <br /><br />In the final months of what was to become my last year in the role, when a midcareer faculty member on one of our hiring committees responded to the question asked of her by an earnest young interviewee, "Why do you <i>love</i> working here?" with the shoulder-shrugging reply, "I'm sorry, you should skip me. I've got nothing," I knew my time as a school leader had to be done. My disappointment now complete, I sent a <a href="http://www.rockychrysler.com/2019/05/archival-footage-request-for.html" target="_blank">3:00 AM email</a> to our new superintendent that night asking to be relieved of my administrative duties, and to be allowed to return to the classroom for the remainder of my career.<br /><br /></div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmnSka_f5cKK9rcWVCLd-BatWTfGsO-JengXsdcV-5a_WyLMFC87MFIXBsFfXvjbg1UAYevxznEhEB0aIRMF1emz99SlFgulwZQqNXC1GL6Gkc1qX6ujAP1kuGWGZipFtE_gJF3LQAXjGFR_4XyLPu1sAhWUHkjc6iNBTlQ6MDZPFbmaAtk3EPTp4T/s613/Screenshot_20210509-134546_kindlephoto-495417698.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="613" data-original-width="494" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmnSka_f5cKK9rcWVCLd-BatWTfGsO-JengXsdcV-5a_WyLMFC87MFIXBsFfXvjbg1UAYevxznEhEB0aIRMF1emz99SlFgulwZQqNXC1GL6Gkc1qX6ujAP1kuGWGZipFtE_gJF3LQAXjGFR_4XyLPu1sAhWUHkjc6iNBTlQ6MDZPFbmaAtk3EPTp4T/s320/Screenshot_20210509-134546_kindlephoto-495417698.png" width="258" /></a></div>During my time as a principal, whenever I found myself "chewing on life's gristle," rather than grumble (or whistle), I instead worked secretly on a couple of personal projects that helped salve my broken spirit: the first, a letter of resignation that I was never able to honestly give to our faculty (though I did send it to them via email <a href="http://marshallbluenote.blogspot.com/2016/04/updates-01-april-2016.html" target="_blank">as "a gag" one April Fools Day </a>morning); and, second, my professional <i>curriculum vitae</i>, or "the course of my life" for the seven interminable years I spent in the principal's office, styled intentionally as study guide, such as one might purchase and pore over to prepare for an important test like the SAT or GRE. It's not much to show, at the end of the day (or moreover a career), but it really is all that I've got as proof of my time spent leading one smallish, too-often dyspeptic elementary school, as best as I could for as many years as I could do it and only until I just couldn't do it anymore.<br /><br />Needless to say, after happily accepting a 40% reduction in pay, it was with great relief that I returned to the classroom to teach again, for what would be the final two years of my career (COVID actually foreshortened my last term by about two months). I ultimately concluded my time in public ed as a fifth grade teacher in July 2020 after something like 28 years (1 as a sub, 7 as a principal, and 20 as a teacher). For whatever it's worth, I never intended to apply for another school administrator job, but I always found encouragement while working on my CV whenever I was feeling melancholy nonetheless.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1RlwgjwPSvi4eu6c4BC4U8zdn6VOjemlpAYXBoJ13voQPkq2btuIN_8aHx5fG9pbmCEVnbr93WczVE2TYbFBmHyVSdEtx6fOLKinnWVnUjrvuOh9EypbZYQysfMs5hKi44N_mV5XvwSQ_twmBjiVGGmUdSYIpiP0ImzjUr07Ymyy3wGJZdKpBb1n/s616/Screenshot_20210509-134614_kindlephoto-495443972.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="616" data-original-width="494" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1RlwgjwPSvi4eu6c4BC4U8zdn6VOjemlpAYXBoJ13voQPkq2btuIN_8aHx5fG9pbmCEVnbr93WczVE2TYbFBmHyVSdEtx6fOLKinnWVnUjrvuOh9EypbZYQysfMs5hKi44N_mV5XvwSQ_twmBjiVGGmUdSYIpiP0ImzjUr07Ymyy3wGJZdKpBb1n/s320/Screenshot_20210509-134614_kindlephoto-495443972.png" width="257" /></a></div>It's reproduced here (select page images to enlarge) for the first, last, and only time, merely as an historical record of what was and, perhaps, I suppose, had it not been for the shoulder-shrugging and constant stream of contention, what might have been.<br /><br /><span style="color: red;">Update: September 2021<br /><br /></span>While helping out as a volunteer* over at my wife's school recently, I bumped into Bob, one of the assistant superintendents in our local school district. We've known one another for many years and worked well together during my time in the principal's office. I've always liked Bob. More than that, I've always trusted him, and have long felt the district's well-being was his top priority, and that I could believe whatever he was telling me. On a more personal level, I've always felt that he had my back in times of trouble or contention, which is a great thing to be able to say about one of your bosses.<br /><br />"Hey, how'd you like to come back and work a couple days a week? " he asked me, smiling. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtqX9N2aibmNUtxnLokasSXlAzHXAEaydJxfB1meElyptWWrUqhZBlDR2oeMf5NrTgYzg9uCMvUXP6k5sKvwyvSaeAs2FsdNhfU65FdEA_kgAAFYA6GtJMixND_-zJFy0hNB2CdusR3c/s1575/Screenshot_20210509-181207_kindlephoto-495924298.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1575" data-original-width="1191" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxtqX9N2aibmNUtxnLokasSXlAzHXAEaydJxfB1meElyptWWrUqhZBlDR2oeMf5NrTgYzg9uCMvUXP6k5sKvwyvSaeAs2FsdNhfU65FdEA_kgAAFYA6GtJMixND_-zJFy0hNB2CdusR3c/s320/Screenshot_20210509-181207_kindlephoto-495924298.png" width="242" /></a></div>"Are you kidding, Bob? I'm living the retired-guy dream. <i>All</i> play and <i>no</i> work!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"I know you are! But I'm not kidding. We're short-handed everywhere these days. Right now we really need someone to help out at the bus barn, doing student discipline. The director is doing what he can to stay on top of the big concerns, but otherwise no one's doing discipline for the buses right now. You would be great at it."</div><div><br /></div><div>And so, as they say, long story short: I got all my sh!t together: certs, background checks, work history, etc., filled out an online application packet like a newb, and got myself all signed up as a bona fide substitute-administrator. <br /><br />And here I am, working again. <i>Every</i> day, actually, not the "couple days" a week Bob forecasted during his sales pitch. Can't have safe buses just two days a week. It's a five-day-a-week effort for sure. But I really don't mind. Each day it usually only takes me a few hours to work through the stack of hand-written disciplinary referrals the drivers leave for me. And when I'm done, I'm done: zero homework. And they're paying me well. And <i>most</i> folks seem appreciative of the work I'm doing (I get my ass chewed, usually by an angry parent, at least once a week, which really isn't a big deal. After seven years as a school admin, the once delicate skin that covers my ass is all scar tissue and callous now). And, honestly, I kinda like the feeling of having a bit of a plan for part of my day, but one that's flexible enough to allow me to do whatever else I want with the rest if my day on either end of my shift. And it's nice to be back working with my friends in the school district again, too. I'm still very much a true-believer in public ed, afterall.</div><div> </div><div>So, it's a pretty good gig. Not sure how long it will last. Technically, it's an interim role and I'm just subbing-in 'til it's filled. In fact, the district still has it <a href="https://www.applitrack.com/fusd1/onlineapp/JobPostings/view.asp?Category=Transportation&AppliTrackJobId=3143&AppliTrackLayoutMode=detail&AppliTrackViewPosting=1" target="_blank">posted for hire</a>, on the off chance you're interested.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I'm not stupid. This isn't my first rodeo, as they say. The last time I took on an interim role in our district, I did that job for seven years.</div><div><br /></div><div>---</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgPB1XvdKnQudmkUaBGpMBnNpaSnp9IeOr8dxan0-Nd9mi4gIeeao65L1Ry9M0tAfUn3LGryDE0pFOzv3yIDl5YR4X-fMOWuEyLf02ZC4KZmKK5jrGep6mIlepOcmqa9VSds9hTTP_Kg3ted3KNrNpNatXwy281Q87mRPcd_ytn5gKEaUr166BDdOut=s4032" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgPB1XvdKnQudmkUaBGpMBnNpaSnp9IeOr8dxan0-Nd9mi4gIeeao65L1Ry9M0tAfUn3LGryDE0pFOzv3yIDl5YR4X-fMOWuEyLf02ZC4KZmKK5jrGep6mIlepOcmqa9VSds9hTTP_Kg3ted3KNrNpNatXwy281Q87mRPcd_ytn5gKEaUr166BDdOut=w150-h200" width="150" /></a></div>* Since my retirement, I have also been volunteering two days a week with <a href="http://www.sunsounds.org" target="_blank">Sunsounds</a>, reading <i><a href="https://www.dcourier.com/" target="_blank">The Prescott Daily Courier</a></i> and the <i><a href="https://azcapitoltimes.com/" target="_blank">Arizona Capital Times</a> </i>for visually impaired listeners<i>, </i>and (seasonally) 10-15 days a month at <a href="http://www.snowbowl.ski" target="_blank">Arizona Snowbowl</a> as a member of the Courtesy Patrol. I am pleased to report that, despite these obligations, I find I still have plenty of "free" time to <a href="https://rockychrysler.libib.com/" target="_blank">read books</a>, <a href="https://www.discogs.com/user/rockychrysler/collection" target="_blank">listen to music</a>, <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2020/04/lets-make-fresh-roasted-coffee-at-home.html" target="_blank">roast coffee</a>, do a bit of our grocery shopping, meal prep and housecleaning, and even peck away on <a href="http://www.rockychrysler.com">this here blog</a> now and then, too.</div><div> </div><div>Retirement is good. I highly recommend it.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-84457308543599182322021-05-27T10:21:00.863-07:002023-10-08T17:26:36.800-07:00Just about a bike: Matt Chester singlespeed<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8EifuBu9Aq6LCkk3tDOOlqL6yrPpJvc4cDo28bEhiKnhsh0_R8p5oaXEmE-3F75rXLqpXuLbfd0EwakN5oEdOjAirmghn1RgSrrIlaPDMDwyuOgPqKRwGvc5T0RBakUuf53vCzQsq-EgWnaN_M43n3BoZirMfNZmOcHeAH-yl72eDsYPZgfVcljHepk8/s1920/chestercoozie.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1920" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8EifuBu9Aq6LCkk3tDOOlqL6yrPpJvc4cDo28bEhiKnhsh0_R8p5oaXEmE-3F75rXLqpXuLbfd0EwakN5oEdOjAirmghn1RgSrrIlaPDMDwyuOgPqKRwGvc5T0RBakUuf53vCzQsq-EgWnaN_M43n3BoZirMfNZmOcHeAH-yl72eDsYPZgfVcljHepk8/s320/chestercoozie.webp" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3.4:1 gain ratio<br />46.3 gear inches</td></tr></tbody></table>Near as I can figure, Matt Chester, a resident of Leadville, Colorado, began fabricating and selling bicycles made from titanium tubing out of his home workshop sometime early in 1999. Per his now-mothballed website, he only built bikes from Ti, focused his work exclusively on singlespeed bicycles, and tried very hard (though not always successfully) to convince all of his customers to get their bikes built with 29" (700c) wheels. He refused to install disc-brake tabs, entirely shunned eccentric bottom bracket shells, yet nonetheless eagerly charged people for repairs to other manufacturer's broken or damaged titanium frames. <span></span><br /><br />Also, near as I can figure, sometime around 2003, Matt Chester, now a resident of Salida, Colorado, had moved his operation down-valley to the south and was building his bikes in a friend's garage. It would seem that, around this time, Chester began to carry-out a kind of haphazard, perhaps even initially unintentional, deceptive scheme amongst his customer base, apparently taking new orders along with hefty deposits, purchasing tubing and supplies for older as-yet undelivered orders with the new-customer money, and hoping everyone, including his friend (a mutual friend of <i>both</i> of ours, as a matter of fact) who was leasing him shop space in his garage, would remain none the wiser (he did not; he got wise). As with most such schemes, Chester's seems to have eventually come apart, as he most likely fell further and further behind in fulfilling his orders. It appears he was at times years behind, failing to deliver to those who had put down $1000, $2000 or more, anything but empty promises of "Soon," proffered only after persistent pestering and almost always via email.<br /><br /><span><a name='more'></a></span>Finally, near as I can figure, by 2006, Chester's operation was likely failing in earnest, possibly due to the recurrent concussive traumatic brain injuries he occasionally complained of which rendered him unfit or unable to work, or possibly because he met a girl who lived in Canada and he chose to refocus his life-goals around being with her instead of making bikes, or possibly because he became fixated on the fact that, as a Canadian, she offered him a way out, beyond the reach of his increasingly disappointed and often angry customers and creditors. Regardless of his motivations, and with little forewarning, he announced mid-2006, on his now defunct Livejournal blog, that he was officially going to stop framebuilding, presumably with a number of orders still unfulfilled and deposits unreturned.<div><br /></div><div>In the end, near as I can figure, at some point prior to 2010, it seems he and his wife/girlfriend had moved to a small town near Toronto, Ontario, Canada. A handful of customers, some of whom had ordered their bikes as far back as 2002, report that a few of their bikes were finally delivered via international shipment through Canada/USA customs in early 2011.<br /><br />No one knows how much real cash money Chester absconded with, if any. No one really knows how many of his frames went undelivered. Other than Chester himself, no one knows much about the actual whys and wherefores of his apparent inability to honor his commitments to his customers.<br /><br />All anyone really knows is that, while he was productively making bikes, Chester made some (comparatively) very affordable, <i>very</i> fun-to-ride bikes out of a difficult to conjoin, quite highly sought after, genuinely exotic material.</div><div><br /><hr /><br />And now, a decade or two later...<br /><br />We also know that, of the bikes that <i>were</i> delivered to customers by Chester between 1999 and 2011, many of the frames eventually failed.<br /><br /></div><div>Thus it has gone with mine, a 2003 Matt Chester MuTinyman 29" singlespeed, serial number #whothehellknows <sup><span style="color: red;">1</span></sup>.<br /><br />It busted.<br /><br />I bought my Chester <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2021/11/lets-ride-singlespeed.html" target="_blank">singlespeed</a> some five years ago from the person who was its original owner. In fact, he's another mutual friend of mine <i>and</i> the guy in Salida who was renting Matt Chester shop space in his garage.<br /><br />Small world, huh.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdV3kTubRoPsls4IzO7tML4uXQ7jZiLzR_KdZJxeKd4a1eNjdiAxFllWZkW-ivO56Rhj5L_jkNi2zcG3W3JLS-WpS0FUgrbPCvCNrKMeg3hg9WQtgjChlitMSFWEqlDXETuu7WLEud0To/s2048/IMG-5025+%25281%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdV3kTubRoPsls4IzO7tML4uXQ7jZiLzR_KdZJxeKd4a1eNjdiAxFllWZkW-ivO56Rhj5L_jkNi2zcG3W3JLS-WpS0FUgrbPCvCNrKMeg3hg9WQtgjChlitMSFWEqlDXETuu7WLEud0To/w200-h200/IMG-5025+%25281%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chester now</td></tr></tbody></table>My friend, the guy who originally arranged with Chester to have the bike built for himself is, to put it mildly (and especially in comparison to myself), something of, shall we say, a man of means. So, once the frame-build was finished, he had the bike shipped down the road a few short miles to where it could be assembled by the good folks at <a href="http://www.absolutebikes.com" target="_blank">Absolute Bikes in Salida</a>, Colorado, with what, in my world, I can only describe as "quite a bit of (classic 2003-era) bling," silver Chris King hubs and a black King headset, Stans ZTR hoops, Fox F29 80mm fork, Hayes Oro hydraulic front disc brake, black/silver Pauls rear v-brake lever, Avid Black Ops Research rear v-brake, XT M760 175mm cranks, 36t Blackspire ring... it's a sweet now-vintage build and I've done little over the years to alter its stance.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0X4cCYFVlLrrYYlpjCh28lLGvKa_QhFF6krQkR3vCD2sxTd3-025819KQroHCntxZtByZa-y7FCeMk5XmUmhYoOo2Sa-wEqbOqkbFBWttLCRWOEXHzb-Z1oeCYzI4jyqBEnGNw90hWKA/s1080/18623210_10154683073058123_112368443925346327_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0X4cCYFVlLrrYYlpjCh28lLGvKa_QhFF6krQkR3vCD2sxTd3-025819KQroHCntxZtByZa-y7FCeMk5XmUmhYoOo2Sa-wEqbOqkbFBWttLCRWOEXHzb-Z1oeCYzI4jyqBEnGNw90hWKA/w200-h200/18623210_10154683073058123_112368443925346327_o.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chester then</td></tr></tbody></table>I did replace the Thudbuster post with a lovely Ti unit that I had in my parts bin, and the too-narrow Answer Monkeylite carbon bars and too-short 50mm Salsa stem with a much wider (725mm) sexy blue anno SpankSpoon unit (matches the top caps on the Fox fork), along with a gorgeous 80mm silver Thomson stem. And I also took off the fugly carbon Shimano brake booster and replaced it with a one-of-a-kind brushed tubular steel <a href="https://www.velocipedesalon.com/forum/f22/vulture-cycles-16595.html" target="_blank">Vulture Cycles</a> brake booster (handmade for me in Oregon by Wade in the 1990s on IRD Rod Moses' jig, I'll have you know). It looks a hell of a lot better on the Chester than that ol' Shimano horseshoe ever did. Works just as well, too. Possibly better.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Lwna_ytBls-cPYNYjnMUFyK16MFTl-ZsugfBTaSJn3RF8TBWme8K0D0SDIIChdI5vMatBy8i-W9SMI6W1_IjKVHP_OEHCK52PGozmVVqoZZcrRO7HoL-7uu32Z7yaLR5EBIzXKk-lok/s2048/IMG-5033.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1989" data-original-width="2048" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Lwna_ytBls-cPYNYjnMUFyK16MFTl-ZsugfBTaSJn3RF8TBWme8K0D0SDIIChdI5vMatBy8i-W9SMI6W1_IjKVHP_OEHCK52PGozmVVqoZZcrRO7HoL-7uu32Z7yaLR5EBIzXKk-lok/w200-h194/IMG-5033.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>After owning the bike for more than a dozen years, my friend listed it quite unexpectely on Facebook one evening several years ago now (at a time when I was still a part of that compromised clusterfuck of a website) for a very fair price, along with a couple other bikes that he said he wasn't riding very often any more. I contacted him as soon as I saw the ad, and gave him every penny he was asking for it without any negotiation. I think we both felt we were getting a good honest deal. That's always nice.<br /><br />Anyway, after about four years of pretty legit riding by me all over our local shield volcano, the bike's seatpost seemed to get super creaky as I was headed out for a shred one morning. I stopped to apply a tiny bit of lube to the post and noticed, as I was preparing to slicken things up, that there was a tiny crack visible in the weld on at the top-tube/seat-tube junction. On further inspection, I noticed there were also cracks on both the seat-stay welds... <i>and</i> beneath the top-tube/seat-tube joint... <i>and</i> at the head-tube/top-tube... <i>and</i> who knows where else. I made myself stop looking and gingerly rode home, back the way I'd come. I've broken bikes before, but never so catastrophically. There was no question, the frame was cooked. End of story. I was sad to see her go.<br /><br />She had been a real hoot to ride.</div><div><br /><hr /><br />Then, one afternoon not long after that, I flipped the story of my broken titanium Chester past Kyle, the general manager of <a href="http://www.absolutebikes.net" target="_blank">Absolute Bikes in Flagstaff</a> and, as I would soon come to learn, a <a href="https://www.instagram.com/rustrunner/" target="_blank">skilled fabricator</a> of various alloys of metal looking to try his otherwise experienced hand for the first time at the intricate art of welding titanium.<div><br /></div><div>"I'm set up and ready to work with titanium," he told me after listening sympathetically to my tale of woe. "Haven't actually done it yet. All I need is a guinea pig. You pay for the materials and I'll do the labor for free if you'll let me practice my techinque on your Chester."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9nAAFX-qtm-HkzAF_PS9S7WsrsT0mqdemqQSx8sOyTyfaXpkxvaFbPBO6wDV5xBDrjQ7bqa9tW2N56oMiq2e6rbc6jeC7Hz7BWrDLC6UGcYdF9EcU0j6T6k0nxXgy6OafkwOOFbnTifI/s2048/IMG-5031.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2011" data-original-width="2048" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9nAAFX-qtm-HkzAF_PS9S7WsrsT0mqdemqQSx8sOyTyfaXpkxvaFbPBO6wDV5xBDrjQ7bqa9tW2N56oMiq2e6rbc6jeC7Hz7BWrDLC6UGcYdF9EcU0j6T6k0nxXgy6OafkwOOFbnTifI/w200-h196/IMG-5031.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Deal. I mean, the bike was going to be wall art otherwise, so what was there to lose? Thus, a few hundred dollars in Ti tubes and rods, a number of months of patiently waiting, and voila! </div><div><br /></div><div>The bitch is back!</div><div><br /></div><div>She's got a brand new carefully mitered and affixed top-tube<span style="color: red;"> <sup>2</sup></span>, and a super sexy collar-gusset at the top of her seat-tube now. And, to my eye, a whole bunch of damn solid looking, albeit raw and unpolished, Ti welds <sup><span style="color: red;">3</span></sup> in all the places where she needed them, which, as noted above, was several.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQ-yNRJfupsEUs7IEoTzR1SGcbEgB6vS2TVHSMWOuoHczbLGk-k-PCevrzOLY0kURC0_iA9fIZNXz_aW3gy9VGCGjEdL8EwJ1zC5-e23a7YL9VlC2SJ8P2E6qSaqqG9BdFXvzvw2FWo4/s2048/IMG-5026.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQ-yNRJfupsEUs7IEoTzR1SGcbEgB6vS2TVHSMWOuoHczbLGk-k-PCevrzOLY0kURC0_iA9fIZNXz_aW3gy9VGCGjEdL8EwJ1zC5-e23a7YL9VlC2SJ8P2E6qSaqqG9BdFXvzvw2FWo4/w200-h200/IMG-5026.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Do I think it's going to break again? Oh, yeah. Based on what I saw, how the frame failed in so many places simultaneously, it seems inevitable. If you look carefully, Kyle also ran a tracer bead down another short crack he found in the downtube near the headtube. And then there's the bottom bracket shell joints, where so many of the stresses of riding are concentrated in one area, those welds are key to a bike's survival. And I'm pretty certain Chester probably didn't spend any more time building-in frame integrity there than he did anywhere else. So yeah, I think it's going to break again. When? Who knows. How? Hopefully slowly and with a lot of warning and <i>not</i> in a way that kills me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm thinking we're gonna stick to mostly XC-style riding from now on.</div><div><br /></div><div>Won't bother me a bit, because regardless of where I'm riding, or how, it's great that I get to shred my resurrected zombie-Chester singlespeed again!</div><div><br /></div><div>'Cause she is still a hoot to ride!</div><div><br /></div><div><b><hr /><br /></b></div><div><b>Footnotes</b><div><p><span style="color: red;"><b>1.</b> </span><span>Oddly, </span>Chester never put serial numbers on his bikes.<br /><span><br /><b style="color: red;">2.</b></span> Based on what little I know of frame building, and the way this frame cracked so catastrophically in so many places, seemingly all at once, I've come to suspect that Chester could probably have been a lot more precise about how he cut and mitered his frame tubes prior to assembly.<br /><span><br /><span style="color: red;"><b>3.</b></span></span> Chester's tube-joinery has always looked a little too smooth to me, like it was finish-filed, akin to what a frame-builder often does to complete a fillet-brazed frame.<br /><br /><br /><b>References</b><br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><a href="https://web.archive.org/web/20040408194853/http://www.mattchester.com:80/maindocs/411.shtml">https://web.archive.org/web/20040408194853/http://www.mattchester.com:80/maindocs/411.shtml</a></li><li><a href="https://www.mtbr.com/threads/matt-chester.714775/">https://www.mtbr.com/threads/matt-chester.714775/</a></li><li><a href="https://www.mtbr.com/threads/infos-on-matt-chester-frame.1057664/">https://www.mtbr.com/threads/infos-on-matt-chester-frame.1057664/</a></li><li><a href="https://www.bikeforums.net/singlespeed-fixed-gear/194823-matt-chester-no-more.html">https://www.bikeforums.net/singlespeed-fixed-gear/194823-matt-chester-no-more.html</a></li><li><a href="https://dirtscrolls.com/89403-matt-chester-utilitiman">https://dirtscrolls.com/89403-matt-chester-utilitiman</a></li><li><a href="https://www.retrobike.co.uk/threads/utilitiman-titanium-singlespeed-madness.375133/">https://www.retrobike.co.uk/threads/utilitiman-titanium-singlespeed-madness.375133/</a></li><li><a href="https://www.mtbr.com/threads/where-the-hell-is-my-matt-chester.1026027/">https://www.mtbr.com/threads/where-the-hell-is-my-matt-chester.1026027/</a></li><li><a href="https://www.twitter.com/mctifab">https://www.twitter.com/mctifab</a></li><li><a href="https://www.mtbr.com/search/287520/?q="Matt+Chester"&o=relevance">https://www.mtbr.com/search/287520/?q="Matt+Chester"&o=relevance</a></li></ul><p></p></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-89976166640478425592021-05-15T14:25:00.067-07:002024-01-30T08:24:58.884-07:00Cosmic Ray [UPDATED]<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlcBUsC1pgwOgN8X1QPIUmonP2l57jE1SRDyF1EOpTE0krg9t2enepQFY3NHQmg4Gz2VcnvXwEQSrBbWS1qnw__zFxelEpafBIswxyesp0w8OI068OPrXyHVpxHsyshgOfnKqqtYtdBs/s2048/unnamed.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlcBUsC1pgwOgN8X1QPIUmonP2l57jE1SRDyF1EOpTE0krg9t2enepQFY3NHQmg4Gz2VcnvXwEQSrBbWS1qnw__zFxelEpafBIswxyesp0w8OI068OPrXyHVpxHsyshgOfnKqqtYtdBs/s320/unnamed.jpg" /></a></div>It is no small thing to say that the course of my life was, quite literally changed forever, when, shortly after moving to Flagstaff, on one of my first visits to our town's original mountain bike shop, <i>Cosmic Cycles</i>, I spent a few of my then very-limited funds ($5.95 plus tax to be exact) on an early edition of a little day-glo green self-published guidebook entitled <i><b>Fat Tire Tales and Trails</b></i> written by some dude who called himself <i>Cosmic Ray</i>.<span></span><br /><br />I moved to Flagstaff, into a dank charmless little studio apartment, located conveniently right next door to the Greyhound bus station, in the middle of the summer of 1991, admittedly quite broke and, also, more than a little bit broken of heart/spirit/mind/body as well. <div><br /></div><div>During my first weeks in Flagstaff I had absolutely no idea (and no friends to show me) where to ride my bike. To learn the lay of the land, I regularly bumped around my neighborhood, rambled around downtown, and cruised through north campus on my bike. A couple times I rode down the two-track dirt service road that ran beside the railroad tracks as far as a big red-sandstone bridge. Nevertheless, despite my best efforts, I struggled in my first days in town to find a good way into the woods. All I found on my first forays along the railroad tracks were a few abandoned transient camps, the shell of a wrecked car or two, and several piles of surreptitiously dumped trash. <br /><br />Cosmic Ray's little green book changed all that. I was hooked on page 4. <br /><br /><span><a name='more'></a></span></div><div><blockquote>"The world is a serious place... [but] someone somewhere got an inspiration to put a few skinny tire bike parts on a fat tire clunker just to see. Why? Fun! That's why this little trail guide... so that we here in Flagstaff and the rest of Arizona can share our fun. <i>This is a guide to that elusive trail disappearing into the woods. That trail leads to the very heart of imagination... of our childhood dream of wander. </i>Mind you, there are always secret rides... red hot pokers couldn't make me talk! Or there are trails not meant to be biked for the good of Mama Earth. <i>But there are also rides so fine all over our great state that they just yell out to be shared. This is them!</i></blockquote>The day after I purchased his book at Cosmic Cycles I followed his Observatory Mesa map out my door and into the woods. It was this one:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC00PRgiCLOLkdEmWciRV-LA5M951AZpj4-HuM2F1IUwTdEfzeoBO5sRkQIBo-WSlAA8w_Yhi8VFLWYUEyBeFG685J1vwmULsV7Ta5afm0H6A5tkshT_DkPQ6EhmPdk-xjCvIMHduFCUw/s2048/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC00PRgiCLOLkdEmWciRV-LA5M951AZpj4-HuM2F1IUwTdEfzeoBO5sRkQIBo-WSlAA8w_Yhi8VFLWYUEyBeFG685J1vwmULsV7Ta5afm0H6A5tkshT_DkPQ6EhmPdk-xjCvIMHduFCUw/w640-h480/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I did the ride backwards. I made the dumb decision to do the ride in a clockwise direction because the end of the loop, per Ray's written directions, was not far from my apartment, on the other side of the train tracks, right where the pavement ended, not too far from the big sandstone bridge, at a place Ray described as Tunnel Spring. I figured I could piece together the rest of the ride, working the route out turn-by-turn, by reading Ray's directions in reverse. <div><br /></div><div>Of course, I got quite lost. Very little of what I encountered on the ground that afternoon matched with what I had read in Ray's book. "...an unmarked road takes off to the left heading south. There are two huge twin pines which mark this intersection..." Seriously?</div><div><br /></div><div>Good lord. </div><div><br />I learned that day what all of his readers would come to know about Ray over the course of the ensuing years and multiple editions of his book. That is, despite the fact that he was destined to become a kind of regional celebrity in mountain-bike circles, it would not be for his cartographical skills or his ability to provide detailed textual descriptions of critical waypoints. </div><div><br /></div><div>Instead Ray's notoriety would endure for decades because of the way his elevated level of stoke for riding bikes came through on every page, and because of the way his witty prose so naturally projected his unique patterns of speech and dialect, and because of the way his compelling sense of humor cut through the typically sterile and carefully succinct diction more common in other glossier guidebooks, and most especially because of his genuine love of mountain biking which he was so obviously eager to share with anyone (for a small fee, naturally) so that they, too, could find and enjoy a few of the places and adventures he loved. </div><div><br /></div><div>As an author, and an increasingly talented illustrator, Ray will always be known for writing guidebooks that changed people's lives for the better <i>because</i> they were more than a bit short on accuracy, and sometimes quite confusingly rendered, where north is more a state of mind than a cardinal direction, and distances are measured more by one's feelings than with a carefully calibrated odometer. These were intentional conditions to which Ray readily copped, upholding in each edition of his book the famous Tolkien adage, "Not all those who wander are lost." In the epilogue of a later edition of his guidebook Ray similarly noted, </div><div><div><blockquote>"Sorry my semi-accurate treasure maps still look like the primative doggerel of a demented adolescent. I'm a bike mechanic by trade. Be thankful. They used to look like the scribble of some tweaked out rat on glue. My maps are rough like mountain biking, not an exact science. It's hard dirty fun and it frequently hurts."</blockquote>It rained a lot while I was getting lost on Observatory Mesa trying to follow Ray's perplexing directions backwards, hailed a bit too, none of which I was adequately prepared for, leaving dozens of large welts on my bare arms. It was hard. And maybe even a little scary. But I persevered, undaunted and undeterred, through it all, to return back to my dank-but-dry studio apartment near the bus station, eventually, nearly hypothermic in the end.<br /><br />And it was awesome, life-changing, transcendent, healing! I'd been on many mountain bike rides before that one. But I am convinced it was on that ride that day that I became a mountain biker. I remain a dedicated mountain biker to this day. </div><div><br /></div><div>I owe it<i> all </i>to Cosmic Ray, who showed me the way. </div><div><br /></div><div>Kinda.<br /><br /></div><div>As my years in Flagstaff and my time on our trails accrued, I got to know Ray personally, to go on a few wide-ranging exploratory rides with him, and eventually to consider him a good friend. I met him the first time because, as the sole distributor for his always self-published books, he often came into the <a href="http://www.absolutebikes.net" target="_blank">bike shop</a> where I worked in the summertime to personally check on our inventory and, he hoped aloud, to sell us more books. On the first occasion when I met him I was so pleased to be able to tell him how much his book had meant to me. And then, a little later on, I had the chance to publish a few reviews of newer editions of both his <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Mountain-Biking-Arizona-Trail-Guide/dp/0966476999" target="_blank">bike</a> and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Favorite-Hikes-Flagstaff-Sedona-Cosmic/dp/0966476972" target="_blank">hike</a> books for <i>Flagstaff Live</i> when I was briefly the interim outdoors editor there. In each of those articles, I did my level best to convey in the most earnest words I could muster the special role Ray's books had played in helping me reshape and redirect my life.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMq4dHOzNI_4HqIDHrQUssynsfD99Fk-ZQc869SvMGAsdBnnwYfrbkRx0hHrK29XlduqeEeTXqpCqBeoOEfiZlRsOCHgABpa89f2ofp1jGqoGtKgtp28y_HQWMhC1DJyEL2lc-tY5S36w/s1830/Screenshot_20210514-065410_kindlephoto-32580884.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1830" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMq4dHOzNI_4HqIDHrQUssynsfD99Fk-ZQc869SvMGAsdBnnwYfrbkRx0hHrK29XlduqeEeTXqpCqBeoOEfiZlRsOCHgABpa89f2ofp1jGqoGtKgtp28y_HQWMhC1DJyEL2lc-tY5S36w/s320/Screenshot_20210514-065410_kindlephoto-32580884.png" /></a></div>Ray died quite unexpectedly not too long ago, during our COVID year, but not, fortunately I suppose, of that awful virus. I heard he crashed on his bike, got badly banged up, and later succumbed to a serious septic infection that resulted from his injuries. I haven't spoken with his wife or daughter since I read his obituary in the newspaper, so I'm not absolutely certain this is the way he went out. But I think this story's probably pretty close to accurate. We live in a very small town.<br /><br />The honorees for this year's <a href="https://flagartscouncil.org/viola-awards/2021-finalists-event-info/" target="_blank">Viola Awards</a> were announced last week. The arts commission in our small town gives them out each year as "Flagstaff's Oscars" to artists and organizations in our local community who have been duly nominated by other grateful beneficiaries and admirers of their talent. Having lost Ray this year, I'll admit, I was a little disappointed to find that his name wasn't on any of the organization's lists of nominees. I think Cosmic Ray is well deserving of such posthumous recognition, for a lifetime spent using his unique artistry to inspire and inform thousands of people to seek solace and well-being astride a bike.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Next year, when the Viola noms open up again, I'm determined to adapt this post as need-be and submit it for the commission's consideration and in hopes that the Viola's will commemorate Ray's abiding, life-changing, clever and challenging contributions to our greater good.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you ask me, he more than deserves it.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><hr /><br /></div><div><span style="color: red;">Update 11 December 2021</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Here's the text of the nomination I submitted, with the approval of his widow, Marcia, to <a href="https://creativeflagstaff.org/" target="_blank">Creative Flagstaff</a> in hopes that they will consider Ray posthumously for the <a href="https://creativeflagstaff.org/viola/2022-viola-awards/" target="_blank">Viola Community Impact award</a> this year. <span style="color: red;">Update April 2022</span>: Sadly, my nomination of Ray was not accepted.</div><div><br /></div><div><span id="docs-internal-guid-01939926-7fff-b884-9281-3e5951bc4606"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Raymond Brutti (1946-2020)</b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;">
It is no small thing to say that the course of my life was, quite literally changed forever, when, shortly after moving to Flagstaff in the summer of 1991, on my first visit to our town's original mountain bike shop, Cosmic Cycles, I spent a few of my then very-limited funds ($5.95 plus tax to be exact) on an early edition of a little day-glo green self-published guidebook entitled Fat Tire Tales and Trails, written by some guy who called himself Cosmic Ray.
</span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;">
During my first weeks in Flagstaff I had absolutely no idea (and no friends to show me) where to ride my bike. Cosmic Ray's little green book changed all that. I was hooked on page 4.
</span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;">
"The world is a serious place,” Ray wrote. “[But] someone somewhere got the inspiration to put a few skinny tire bike parts on a fat tire clunker just to see. Why? Fun! That's why this little trail guide... so that we here in Flagstaff and the rest of Arizona can share our fun. This is a guide to that elusive trail disappearing into the woods. That trail leads to the very heart of imagination... of our childhood dreams of wander. Mind you, there are always secret rides... red hot pokers couldn't make me talk! Or there are trails not meant to be biked for the good of Mama Earth. But there are also rides so fine all over our great state that they just yell out to be shared. This is them!”
</span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;">
The day after I purchased his book at Cosmic Cycles I followed one of his maps out into the woods.
</span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;">
I got quite lost.
</span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;">
I learned that day what all of his readers would come to know about Cosmic Ray (Raymond Brutti) over the course of the ensuing years and multiple editions of his book. That is, despite the fact that he was destined to become a kind of regional celebrity in mountain-bike circles, it would not be for his cartographical skills or his ability to provide detailed textual descriptions of critical waypoints.
</span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;">
Ray's notoriety and the success of his book would expand and endure for decades because of the way his elevated level of stoke for riding bikes came through on every page, and because of the way his witty prose so naturally projected his unique patterns of speech and dialect, and because of the way his compelling sense of humor cut through the typically sterile and carefully succinct diction more common in other glossier guidebooks, and most especially because of his genuine love of mountain biking which he was so obviously eager to share with anyone (for a small fee, naturally) so that they, too, could find and enjoy a few of the places and adventures he loved.
</span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;">
As an author, and an increasingly talented illustrator, Ray will always be known for writing guidebooks that changed people's lives for the better because they were more than a bit short on accuracy, and sometimes quite confusingly rendered, where north is more a state of mind than a cardinal direction, and distances are measured more by one's feelings than with a carefully calibrated odometer. These were intentional conditions to which Ray readily copped, upholding in each edition of his book the famous Tolkien adage, "Not all those who wander are lost."
</span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;">
In the epilogue of a later edition of his guidebook Ray noted, "Sorry my semi-accurate treasure maps still look like the primative doggerel of a demented adolescent. I'm a bike mechanic by trade. Be thankful. They used to look like the scribble of some tweaked out rat on glue. My maps are rough like mountain biking, not an exact science. It's hard,dirty fun and it frequently hurts."
</span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;">
For all that he did to change for the better the lives of thousands upon thousands of folks just like me, I think Cosmic Ray is well-deserving of posthumous recognition. An honorific such as the Viola Community Impact award would be a fitting tribute for Ray’s enduring legacy and the lifetime he spent using his unique artistry to inform and inspire so many people to seek and find solace and well-being in the great outdoors “here in Flagstaff and the rest of Arizona.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: small; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span></span></p><span style="color: red;"><br /></span><hr /><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: red;">Update 26 January 2024</span></p></span><div><br /></div><div>As of today, thanks to both Cosmic Ray and my good pal, Soup, at <a href="https://www.mirrorgalleryflagstaff.com/" target="_blank">Mirror Gallery</a> in Flagstaff, I can literally say, "I know these trails like the back of my hand."<br /><br /></div></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirS3hsKVivJgBLi8qfNk5gQSfEunnj-ti12E9rYJdy1q4GniX45v0i7koNALeypG6oODIqNr071ckftgdz_m-GDXqO8LjIpR5w8lY1NrRqu1TWi1fphj_qMCtRWyVHRmJIam_OLh6eJzYABaEOCNzdteDCMkbiCtIEPTge_hfQ_Vymn1RkmRKGDPpEKaQ/s3024/image_50764033.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirS3hsKVivJgBLi8qfNk5gQSfEunnj-ti12E9rYJdy1q4GniX45v0i7koNALeypG6oODIqNr071ckftgdz_m-GDXqO8LjIpR5w8lY1NrRqu1TWi1fphj_qMCtRWyVHRmJIam_OLh6eJzYABaEOCNzdteDCMkbiCtIEPTge_hfQ_Vymn1RkmRKGDPpEKaQ/w400-h400/image_50764033.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-67763461051086724932021-04-26T12:05:00.046-07:002023-11-09T09:42:12.658-07:00Just about a bike: Specialized Fuse 6Fattie [UPDATED]<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirWi7loMchHLJqBhwmX58mRkn2lSrIO09kIRKWfJHnV9qcSCrWzfTuxhO5YrVVA6zMgBo63dXR1aY5EhpjlllJm5F5BIQru2FAfaWvg7R84xR44QCQfzaFvCFhPcMDb9bBQeMu_bLi6EA/s573/fuse.tiff" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="573" data-original-width="568" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirWi7loMchHLJqBhwmX58mRkn2lSrIO09kIRKWfJHnV9qcSCrWzfTuxhO5YrVVA6zMgBo63dXR1aY5EhpjlllJm5F5BIQru2FAfaWvg7R84xR44QCQfzaFvCFhPcMDb9bBQeMu_bLi6EA/s320/fuse.tiff" /></a></div>The archives here at <a href="http://rockychrysler.com">rockychrysler.com</a> never lie. A quick glance at them and you'll see: I haven't written a <i><a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/search/label/just%20about%20a%20bike" target="_blank">Just about a bike</a></i> blog post about any of my bikes since July 2016. That's kind of a shame. Honestly, it is. Because I still have a few fun <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/p/just-about-bike.html" target="_blank">bikes</a> that I haven't told you about yet.<span></span><br /><br />I'll admit, there was a period of time there, beginning around fall of 2016, where I had very little to say about anything here on the old blog-space. For lots of reasons. So I mostly didn't. I put up a scant 20 posts from 2016 through 2020. Truth is, it has been quite a while since I really felt inspired to sit down and write... So I am quite pleased to report that the mood to write has resurfaced somewhat, and that a few ideas have popped into my head of late.<span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3pFOTKaCy0hFjFWMDT0yUWq-GR4gCl5ZrS5yyyodAMD4wWqtaOWMihVkzoyJ3TbZCYc0MBUobUnMS3IepxWHfR7a_YycOeBQ5vAATekdGghyuiM4xwGs_9Jxpk3M-55-uXB97ejujAI/s1080/18193460_10154614756413123_570820940479167611_o.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3pFOTKaCy0hFjFWMDT0yUWq-GR4gCl5ZrS5yyyodAMD4wWqtaOWMihVkzoyJ3TbZCYc0MBUobUnMS3IepxWHfR7a_YycOeBQ5vAATekdGghyuiM4xwGs_9Jxpk3M-55-uXB97ejujAI/s320/18193460_10154614756413123_570820940479167611_o.jpg" /></a></div>We'll start with something simple: my "new" bike, a first-generation 2018 <a href="https://www.bikestoponline.com/product/specialized-fuse-expert-6fattie-263762-1.htm" target="_blank">Specialized Fuse Expert</a> 6Fattie hardtail. <span></span>Really, it's called a 6Fattie? Yep. An unfortunate marketing misstep, calling a bike, even a mid-fat (or anything other than an ample blunt), a 6Fattie, isn't it? I think so (and I'm pretty sure Specialized came to think so eventually, too. They dropped the word "fattie" for the second generation bikes). I've always assumed it's intended as a riff, a kind of <a href="https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/portmanteau" target="_blank">portmanteau</a> in fact, on the bike's stock wheel/tire size: 6<i>50</i>b hoops, 40mm rims, and 3.0" tubeless mid-<i>fat</i> tires, which is, for sure, a bit on the portly side of things... right where I always like my wheels and tires to be! And it's really for the best not to hold its somewhat unfortunate moniker against it, 'cause, in a nutshell, I'm here to tell ya, the Specialized Fuse 6Fattie rocks!<br /><br /><span><a name='more'></a></span>For the record: I like the Reba fork that came on the bike and haven't ever felt the need to upgrade it. It's maybe not as supple and active as my Fox forks, but it does the job just fine. Many riders scorned the stock press-fit bottom bracket, said it was of poor quality and made lots of noise, but it's performed well for me, and never did make too much noise. On occasion it would <i>tick</i> like metronome a bit, but a drop of Triflow at the top of the shell/cup interface always stopped it from recurring. In the end, however, it did require replacement with another OEM unit... at about 3000 miles (the nylon cups were fully played out), which I think is a decent duration for any nonserviceable bottom bracket. I put a new chain, cassette, and a chainring on at about 3500 miles (bit of a challenge finding a new ring for the obscure Sram/Specialized cranks that were original spec). Buncha worn-out tire changes over the years, Specialized Butchers and Purgagorys mostly (I'm sold on the handling their proprietary Grid sidewalls provide), always tubeless 3.0s and I've had zero, that's right, <i>zero</i> flats (running at 15/18 psi front/rear) with this setup. And the Avid DB3 brakes have worked consistently and reliably for me, too, with only periodic bleeding, just to keep things fresh. Pretty standard stuff for a bike that gets ridden. Overall, the 2017 Fuse has been a very problem-free bike.<div><br /></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/athletes/414563" target="_blank"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.strava.com/athletes/414563" target="_blank"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN5yEomsfIH3d-Ft2Up34PBpASwiJwZM1jMKcEn31ImB_5g71S6yI9PBTLl_OhGxaaJ1c75IwkHGiOOqzLOzOkLQ5YhBwO6Ap-z8tOK1tFhUCbpbbjRUQZYJFUo5peu48kn1DDmmNjb3_pkVHajk-tw5j-VmhAjcfC3NDEGLvI-a4bC4zkuIS4eR6IxDM/s3024/IMG-2820.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN5yEomsfIH3d-Ft2Up34PBpASwiJwZM1jMKcEn31ImB_5g71S6yI9PBTLl_OhGxaaJ1c75IwkHGiOOqzLOzOkLQ5YhBwO6Ap-z8tOK1tFhUCbpbbjRUQZYJFUo5peu48kn1DDmmNjb3_pkVHajk-tw5j-VmhAjcfC3NDEGLvI-a4bC4zkuIS4eR6IxDM/s320/IMG-2820.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Strava says I've put almost 4000 miles on this bike since I bought it new (for full-pop retail, by the way) from <a href="http://www.absolutebikes.net" target="_blank">Absolute Bikes</a> it in 2017. It's not the only bike I ride these days, but I do ride it a lot, especially if I want to go on a big mileage ride, or, better yet, keep up with my younger, fitter, faster friends on <i>any</i> kind of ride. The Fuse isn't a weight weenie, it tips the scale at just over 28 pounds, but it spins up singletrack and rips down gnarly trails in a very nimble, capable, and thoroughly confidence-inspiring way. It hops good, manuals well, and rails corners tipped onto its ample sidewalls like a beast. It's by far the longest, lowest slackest bike I've ever owned. And (likely because of that) it's also one of the most fun to ride! The stock <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2021/10/lets-ride-with-dropper-post.html" target="_blank">dropper-post</a>, my first, has been seriously life-changing, too.<div><br />I hear lots of manufacturers are growing disenchanted with the whole mid-fat bike thing. I think that's too bad. There's something kinda <i>Goldilock's porridge</i> about bikes like the Fuse, ya know... I think they're "just right" for a whole lot of riding. I've ridden this bike all over the Colorado Plateau region, on a wide variety of terrain types, rides of all distances, long climbing rides, fast descending rides, ledgy slickrock, loamy singletrack, moondust, chunk. fire road, goopy mud, and even a fair amount of snow and ice. And I can safely say, with the exception of super-steep rubbly ascents, which are always a sufferfest no matter what bike you're riding, but are even moreso on the long-low-slack geo of the Fuse, there's really nothing in the whole wide world (in my experience) that this bike doesn't excel at. It really is that good. And not just for a hardtail. It's a truly great all-around mountain bike, regardless.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ursnLT23kp3WSJK7OcnUfND0mGf7RvMA6puRWQPZmyOa0xSTaq3RBPTB352_jvGxScC83bx0tOGlocsAY6hVR5tr677-ENfI5s1isZ5N5SxuRmXm-k0gahnNXHHmaVVaTWo6_fPWJkm7umjiU_W8Rz6Afp3ezLLzngQS2E28Tn6G_1VJH1Pr-y-NOL8/s2124/Spec.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1492" data-original-width="2124" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ursnLT23kp3WSJK7OcnUfND0mGf7RvMA6puRWQPZmyOa0xSTaq3RBPTB352_jvGxScC83bx0tOGlocsAY6hVR5tr677-ENfI5s1isZ5N5SxuRmXm-k0gahnNXHHmaVVaTWo6_fPWJkm7umjiU_W8Rz6Afp3ezLLzngQS2E28Tn6G_1VJH1Pr-y-NOL8/w400-h281/Spec.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7OHr2cmvV9zY17Q7RO2qEZfuwreFwscDPTw99Gcr1KQX8yaHUyUc1IUglCS8UBZa1JhBNi-jCXEqM5e0JG3i_ZHY8HqNjcP8OZ_bDBSepE6VqVSF_JF5xmbrSg1Qog5AMoGEp94y7tSQ2AKhFlxu5avLzHEhYOb50IjdkfA5kIxpkkj1c7A2cUAanpM/s1010/Geo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="1010" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7OHr2cmvV9zY17Q7RO2qEZfuwreFwscDPTw99Gcr1KQX8yaHUyUc1IUglCS8UBZa1JhBNi-jCXEqM5e0JG3i_ZHY8HqNjcP8OZ_bDBSepE6VqVSF_JF5xmbrSg1Qog5AMoGEp94y7tSQ2AKhFlxu5avLzHEhYOb50IjdkfA5kIxpkkj1c7A2cUAanpM/w400-h239/Geo.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color: red;">UPDATE: August 2023</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Just a picture of my Fuse on the day/ride when it turned over 5000 Strava-miles... Still love this bike!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYupbjGo8k4v-C7glgTFcyJAgwkPHghFlcNK1cMBtIsTPK9N4n6BsjDM5nhN5DWMgq-O47wZOV5y1RVKsq45ny001NHgMhpBfwClOiyj9Dat9ZklR8dB4r1e52pGUH3IDAFsj7u-5jCKrz4m7aAdywbBysKkHpwJEJSDS1tTGHF48ETdOtNGuDQx1NSIA/s1600/fuse5000.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYupbjGo8k4v-C7glgTFcyJAgwkPHghFlcNK1cMBtIsTPK9N4n6BsjDM5nhN5DWMgq-O47wZOV5y1RVKsq45ny001NHgMhpBfwClOiyj9Dat9ZklR8dB4r1e52pGUH3IDAFsj7u-5jCKrz4m7aAdywbBysKkHpwJEJSDS1tTGHF48ETdOtNGuDQx1NSIA/s320/fuse5000.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><span style="color: red;">UPDATE: September 2023</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Upgraded the front fork to a brand-new 140mm Fox 34 Grip2 with 44mm of rake. Took me a couple weeks of fiddling to get it just-right. But after significant test riding and recalibrating, I'm here to say: It's amazing! </div><div><br /></div><div>Also did my best to carry off a little freehand paint-work in order to recast the model name of the bike as <span style="text-align: center;"><i>Fusée </i>which I'm pretty sure means "rocket" in French and therefore is a way better name for it than Fuse. Gotta say, despite not being a person who ever illustrates things by hand, I'm not displeased with how it came out.</span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiij8qWG9Mpx4T3c0Okxf0ElRuxjVYgcsaGAN6wWOnl2AMRA2Dxa1Ulj443AQFCY9jkebE3g4G8krB5V8XIV4hBb7pVnyLNsz8zHo0I_KY0pPw02SmcDY8CN0LeARnumIz6JNVR1yyznalAsLehWE7pznCndooHniLXYnkjJ407nZR5LqXfqWmPD9cfGQ/s4032/IMG-2873.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiij8qWG9Mpx4T3c0Okxf0ElRuxjVYgcsaGAN6wWOnl2AMRA2Dxa1Ulj443AQFCY9jkebE3g4G8krB5V8XIV4hBb7pVnyLNsz8zHo0I_KY0pPw02SmcDY8CN0LeARnumIz6JNVR1yyznalAsLehWE7pznCndooHniLXYnkjJ407nZR5LqXfqWmPD9cfGQ/w300-h400/IMG-2873.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcwbTYa_PSfdrb7Y5bNE4OPE9uGIeVotJ57GN1h5PehxxD-OMY9KB_Dd77OVn9COZjPEmGRbums1e3drN9dxGNgHvNV7IVgncWanhVJEw-uGPspAyY9zq_VVk1QIlU6dmdnuvAFdqJpqIXRbBx70hhGtf5-AWHMYZ8Vr69raT5yzeiyO1NcBj60uWDLps/s4032/IMG-3012.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcwbTYa_PSfdrb7Y5bNE4OPE9uGIeVotJ57GN1h5PehxxD-OMY9KB_Dd77OVn9COZjPEmGRbums1e3drN9dxGNgHvNV7IVgncWanhVJEw-uGPspAyY9zq_VVk1QIlU6dmdnuvAFdqJpqIXRbBx70hhGtf5-AWHMYZ8Vr69raT5yzeiyO1NcBj60uWDLps/w300-h400/IMG-3012.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fusée means "rocket" in French</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /><br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-15029403060325209412021-04-13T15:43:00.019-07:002022-04-01T08:00:02.307-07:00Snowbiking: good shit<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTnoCN-EPBpzRjghBX69CKogmQ5aScx9INAbbrZznJipAdxqG65_s-KGKzVyjGM1HZAPjzh4JlDKNLR0xZXKU3FbXvkixI-yLDgYFnVKIjc3kw__3KFuBnkLMvFhwN3a0Tm_1gznr998/s1600/TcDjencpzS3moxIU-eP4yFVyupo4FmHsy98QoGOVPb0-2039x2048.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1593" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTnoCN-EPBpzRjghBX69CKogmQ5aScx9INAbbrZznJipAdxqG65_s-KGKzVyjGM1HZAPjzh4JlDKNLR0xZXKU3FbXvkixI-yLDgYFnVKIjc3kw__3KFuBnkLMvFhwN3a0Tm_1gznr998/s320/TcDjencpzS3moxIU-eP4yFVyupo4FmHsy98QoGOVPb0-2039x2048.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Select images to embiggen</td></tr></tbody></table>Winter feels over. Skiing this season was just okay. Have to say, COVID rules made waiting in the maze to ride the chair at Snowhole kinda lame.<br /><br />But, I did get to ride some seriously good shit on the <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2013/06/just-about-bike-surly-pugsley.html">Pugsley</a> this winter. So there's that. Check it.<p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht5yDZ02eBIfGpeI090rRGslBahFaX9qhOPxtBqaWScuHuP8-DtcE7Z8KTTe1Aj7Jo95NWL50q49oABPmu4GTvOME_7J1saRqDagEy7kzNMOsx1_ux3fyjh5dSz3XDrAMV-kUprbsln44/s1600/t-vAC4W4D_LlY7c7Q5HSRcpQydMKV5lnQwSLlVEUqNA-2048x701.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="548" data-original-width="1600" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht5yDZ02eBIfGpeI090rRGslBahFaX9qhOPxtBqaWScuHuP8-DtcE7Z8KTTe1Aj7Jo95NWL50q49oABPmu4GTvOME_7J1saRqDagEy7kzNMOsx1_ux3fyjh5dSz3XDrAMV-kUprbsln44/w640-h220/t-vAC4W4D_LlY7c7Q5HSRcpQydMKV5lnQwSLlVEUqNA-2048x701.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPK1tMU2nE8izzGcFztNchsjTnBG367km6UP3o4Q48E-INwlmn8YEFALjVZJwnJdhqkQbCstnRgCvg2PfMXljMNdNf-EZYa42vfbBhlX7GROIX-ycp5D9N_tV9TCc1kesqQ5S6ZOnv3dM/s1600/R9H8G5SIPA6JsNQUNJ0jX4R1Iiy-jYs9WtjB5xZnxYA-1536x2048.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPK1tMU2nE8izzGcFztNchsjTnBG367km6UP3o4Q48E-INwlmn8YEFALjVZJwnJdhqkQbCstnRgCvg2PfMXljMNdNf-EZYa42vfbBhlX7GROIX-ycp5D9N_tV9TCc1kesqQ5S6ZOnv3dM/s320/R9H8G5SIPA6JsNQUNJ0jX4R1Iiy-jYs9WtjB5xZnxYA-1536x2048.jpg" /></a></div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSMoDO3PxDDnzT3PgiWrT7xAAZ4UytWPfKyRTlyz14Tk1vUn4vQj9hPMLWcJ_WMTesER8sh1GOUnWrnwvS_m9YN-efMfZeuWXkYLejwd43mDjdrwWBM9VuyuXaf0EBfzYSSyLtrRNKcoI/s1600/aViJBDS8VQaoaa_PwNEiZVr4rOGeTRqrlJYNJnO58YE-1536x2048.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSMoDO3PxDDnzT3PgiWrT7xAAZ4UytWPfKyRTlyz14Tk1vUn4vQj9hPMLWcJ_WMTesER8sh1GOUnWrnwvS_m9YN-efMfZeuWXkYLejwd43mDjdrwWBM9VuyuXaf0EBfzYSSyLtrRNKcoI/s320/aViJBDS8VQaoaa_PwNEiZVr4rOGeTRqrlJYNJnO58YE-1536x2048.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0cf5QN99F1uQXU-heCy5M7Ve0pJzXc1GeHla5S5AqV7cv83NJxuFkSxXKh7AgIgyZTE5cuXxPtVZO8t5crES5U5ZatDJYK_q1_wmSpiVpvyknSElukprIc0HIUq3BDAX73QdOq4oaZY8/s1600/hEB-cAuY1U1j9PvrGZH1tNhNNJCto_E-iUHQ7_MUBiU-2048x2048.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0cf5QN99F1uQXU-heCy5M7Ve0pJzXc1GeHla5S5AqV7cv83NJxuFkSxXKh7AgIgyZTE5cuXxPtVZO8t5crES5U5ZatDJYK_q1_wmSpiVpvyknSElukprIc0HIUq3BDAX73QdOq4oaZY8/s320/hEB-cAuY1U1j9PvrGZH1tNhNNJCto_E-iUHQ7_MUBiU-2048x2048.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9fdJbtQ7lrjcImLHvNlOKFMEsf1SIIwI5njBWaOP53QPrrSl9PphOWWE004E_4y02qUoLSCVg7163hhYDKo64pS2tyW_mUnB_2aOtvPVWyfaohmtqViLNdaQsaLnsoiIc0SEKZiXtG-c/s1600/nXz8nTwcK_Yrr0vtSNUy8XgcoB4a5WOALjwUowxM8Ec-2048x2048.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9fdJbtQ7lrjcImLHvNlOKFMEsf1SIIwI5njBWaOP53QPrrSl9PphOWWE004E_4y02qUoLSCVg7163hhYDKo64pS2tyW_mUnB_2aOtvPVWyfaohmtqViLNdaQsaLnsoiIc0SEKZiXtG-c/s320/nXz8nTwcK_Yrr0vtSNUy8XgcoB4a5WOALjwUowxM8Ec-2048x2048.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyELU3SPM_i_alaYgl6lmopiOc5EiXVWfxtW71xVXgqf_GqH54gIxzUCFZF0Xz0Itfpq0MOuEIoGUgfRCLrJMs6T3h7NDlX7Jnl9mSuaOitBoH5ez5skSJXDGb1xZT8fGBdSV8hRgivms/s1600/PlYSEWXuxPkZ-xJ-BQ2ewmgxlH_1v2JSURGauvZjFwI-1536x2048.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyELU3SPM_i_alaYgl6lmopiOc5EiXVWfxtW71xVXgqf_GqH54gIxzUCFZF0Xz0Itfpq0MOuEIoGUgfRCLrJMs6T3h7NDlX7Jnl9mSuaOitBoH5ez5skSJXDGb1xZT8fGBdSV8hRgivms/s320/PlYSEWXuxPkZ-xJ-BQ2ewmgxlH_1v2JSURGauvZjFwI-1536x2048.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Fat biking in the snow is rad. You should try it sometime.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-72322135664669882742021-03-29T12:46:00.082-07:002022-10-08T16:59:21.612-07:00Let's spin some records! <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="10" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBYAt1TKG13ytQCXUHGN8_IlpYIuyCOvkl_DvJaUaClDBn48z1iN_813fDdTir8c6XhOhPWbeDJ0u9Kh3L2f6YXwtGt0cHCQMPGR9JKtpfRr6WTKp6IKW0htJig6dOvb7zVgDrLcIOgE/s2048/unnamed+%25286%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1653" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBYAt1TKG13ytQCXUHGN8_IlpYIuyCOvkl_DvJaUaClDBn48z1iN_813fDdTir8c6XhOhPWbeDJ0u9Kh3L2f6YXwtGt0cHCQMPGR9JKtpfRr6WTKp6IKW0htJig6dOvb7zVgDrLcIOgE/s320/unnamed+%25286%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>System specs:</b><br />Fluance RT80, Ortofon 2M Red<br />iFi Zen Phono (balanced), Denon AVR-1804<br />Paradigm Mini Monitors (v.3)<br /><a href="https://www.discogs.com/user/rockychrysler/collection">Discogs/rockychrysler</a></td></tr></tbody></table>I listened to a ton of FM radio growing up, you probably did, too. I also had a small record collection in my bedroom, and a stack of tapes in a big tattered case in my car. As a result, I was slow to adopt digital music, CDs, MP3s and streaming content, not because I was an analog purist, mostly just because of the cost of conversion. <span></span><br /><br />I have always enjoyed listening to music, not so much for the sake of the lyrics, but quite simply as a background soundtrack that permeates nearly every moment of my life. As I see it, life flows better, most things are a little easier, food and conversation are more enjoyable, and I am more productive when there's music playing.<span></span><div><br />I'm not ashamed to admit that I listened to a whole lot of mainstream music during the early period of my life, Journey, Elton John, U2, Scorpions, Def Leppard, Prince, ELO, Pink Floyd, R.E.M., Van Halen and the like. These bands and artists, and this sort of easily accessible music-for-the-masses, was the gateway through which my musical tastes have since expanded and become enriched throughout the couse of my lifetime. In fact, many of these same groups still have a well-deserved place in my music collection to this day (in truth: <i>all</i> of the aforementioned do). The music of my youth is still on regular rotation in my life, not for the sake of nostalgia but because, at least to me, a lot of it is still quite diggable and good. Still <i>very</i> diggable and <i>very</i> good, in many cases.<br /><br /><span><a name='more'></a></span>It's a bit strange to think that there was a time when analog sound, AM/FM radio, cassette tapes and vinyl records, was the only sort of music, other than live music (which is also analog, naturally, and presently ruined by COVID) one could listen to. <br /><br />Likewise, it's hard to express how much I missed listening to analog music during all the years, from the early 1990s to the late 20-teens, when I didn't, because digital music, even for this reluctant adopter, became ubiquitous and tapes, and moreso records, were increasingly hard to come by.<div><br /></div><div>And I think it's that "missing piece" which has played a such a large part in what has compelled me, in the past two or three years, to rebuild a vinyl record collection, literally from the ground up. And, honestly, I have been so content, so sincerely satisfied, in doing so. I really do <i>love</i> listening to vinyl records now, much more than I did back when I was a kid. And I guess it is that simple reality that begs the important question: <i>why</i>. Why do I prefer to listen to analog music, and, more to the point, why do I so enjoy listening to vinyl records played on a turntable?</div><div><br /></div><div>The Internet is full of full-throated debates, passionate arguments, and even a few purportedly scientific justifications for why the sound produced by a vinyl record played on a well designed, carefully aligned, balanced, and appropriately amplified sound system <i>might</i> be superior to listening to a digital sound source or file. That's not what I'm here to discuss, because A) I don't put much stock in any of that, ultimately our ears can only hear and our brains can only decode so much sound; B) I don't listen to music in an attempt to recreate an ideal soundstage or the most-accurate reproduction of the original recording (though I really do <i>like</i> the way my humble system sounds); and C) because, to me, the enjoyment of music is a pure, exhuberant, fully subjective, individual experience, wherein I find personal transcendence, introspection, and peace-of-mind, among other things. It's not wrong to collect or play records for other reasons, but to me those other reasons just doesn't make a lot of sense. </div><div><br /></div><div>So why purchase costly individual vinyl records rather than buy what will ultimately be a <i>much</i> less expensive annual subscription to a high-quality commercial-free digital streaming service that will have absolutely everything, every album, artist, and song I'll ever want to listen to, for the rest of my natural life, abundantly available to me in one place, from anywhere in the world, all in an instant?</div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="10" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4E3M4CCRCKn-FcbVIOzoFFbQsn1IfxmfpJwtlsGrLEpyRi_cfm_2IuyP4d1Ib9U74DZr3NHkd5MjaeOrPrSsriflw8tCch7CTHCJg4shrZahhABVltIBM4zoOSNKkrXhp51DFn5rITkQ/s485/IMG_20210413_165738.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="485" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4E3M4CCRCKn-FcbVIOzoFFbQsn1IfxmfpJwtlsGrLEpyRi_cfm_2IuyP4d1Ib9U74DZr3NHkd5MjaeOrPrSsriflw8tCch7CTHCJg4shrZahhABVltIBM4zoOSNKkrXhp51DFn5rITkQ/s320/IMG_20210413_165738.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buying records cheers me up<br />whenever I'm feeling low, too.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Because chasing down and checking-off an ever-growing list of must-have records for your collection is really fun. Because flipping through crates filled with vintage vinyl in dank used record stores, or racks of mint shrink-wrapped discs in swank new music stores is always entertaining. Because building an eclectic collection of new and old records from multiple genres and eras is certain to expand one's musical, social, and historical horizons. Because chilling out in your living room for a couple hours in the evening, either alone or with friends or family, playing records on the turntable is good for everyone's individual and collective soul.</div><div><br /></div><div>At this point you might be expecting me to expound further on the benefits of listening to records. And, without doubt, I could. In fact, until a moment ago, I thought I would. Because there are, indeed, dozens if not hundreds of other valuable and important reasons why seeking, collecting, and playing analog vinyl records is beneficial. But, for the time-being, I'm not inclined to delve any further into my own reasons for doing so. Instead, I'd like to be an encouragement to you to give record collecting, and more importantly, record <i>playing </i>a try. I think you might dig it. And if you do, and you get into it, and it becomes your groove, a way of life for you as it has for me, if it becomes something that transcends just a simple hobby, and begins to define you as an individul, well then, all the better.</div><div><br /></div><div>So rather than waxing-on prosaically, I think I'll challenge you to a little exercise in self-awareness and introspection instead. </div><div><br /></div><div>You see, there are records and then there are<i> records</i>. I like to imagine that every record in my collection is a work of art, or at least the original work of an art<i>ist</i>... you know, someone who had something burning in their heart, a story, a picture, a set of songs, that they absolutely <i>had</i> to release. And that record on my shelf, it is the final artistic form that that certain burning something took once it finally bubbled over. I know this isn't always true. I know that a lot of music, especially popular music by popular artists, is just so much dreck rushed to market with limited integrity just so someone could make a quick buck. But, like most record collectors, I think, I'll be the first to tell you: there's not a lot of that sort of garbage in <i>my</i> personal collection. But there probably is. I just can't see it that way. Because I <i>dig</i> it. Seriously. I dig every record in my collection. Every single one. Won't keep a record that I don't dig. Won't keep a record that I wouldn't love to listen to, if, say, <i>you</i> came over to my house today and browsed through my collection and said, "Oh, cool! What a great record! I haven't heard it in forever. Can we play this one?" If it's a permanent part of my collection, my answer should always be, "Yes!"</div></div><div><br /></div><div>But like I said, there are records, and then there are <i>records</i>. We've established that all the records in my personal collection are really good. Many are really <i>really</i> good. A few are truly outstanding. Some are even critically important. But only a few of them are <i>perfect</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>An therein lies your challenge, dear reader. I really just want you to find for yourself a few perfect albums, a few rare records that are flawless. Not so much in terms of their physical condition, that's too easy a thing to assess. For our purposes, I'm talking about records that contain no dreck, no schlock, no garbage filler, no wasted notes... hell, no wasted <i>moments</i>. Perfect records aren't necessarily nostalgic records, or best-selling records, or well-reviewed records, however sometimes they are, and being so, or not being so, one way or the other, certainly doesn't exempt them from consideration. But most of the time, perfect records speak to your heart in ways that are too personal to always fit neatly into one or more of those catagories. To me, a perfect record must score a 10 on the <i>I Will Listen To It Anytime</i> scale. And a 10 on the <i>Every Song Is Awesome</i> scale. And a 10 on the <i>I Will Never Sell It Nor Get Tired Of It </i>scale. A tall order, for sure. Fortunately, finding and selecting your perfect albums is totally up to you. No one can pick your perfect records for you. And the only way to find them is to sit back and listen. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, just for good measure, and by way of setting an example for you, here, entirely without comment and in no particular order so as not to introduce any bias, is an ever-growing list of <i>perfect</i> records from <a href="https://www.discogs.com/user/rockychrysler/collection" target="_blank">my own collection</a>:</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGMNyWVX_33gbYyneRSbFOyqgftXOByXBk7YOLer2TtVUjBo1FLXDdHiZfPxBSwTxdd6uS9dLVxqSR8l1WfcQ6QL7US6jaqGBMnjOkOid7td-wPYJYHINmA7gi6u2ORazS0po96osgbA/s600/R-1439390-1231017791.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGMNyWVX_33gbYyneRSbFOyqgftXOByXBk7YOLer2TtVUjBo1FLXDdHiZfPxBSwTxdd6uS9dLVxqSR8l1WfcQ6QL7US6jaqGBMnjOkOid7td-wPYJYHINmA7gi6u2ORazS0po96osgbA/s320/R-1439390-1231017791.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AIR - Moon Safari (1997)</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0SAosDWSic3mqDjq35xBOgEqVV25-UCLkm26hIljefD3jlhutYwURRxdOI-0tNm0cf49pseJ-T2D5atfXsiUdxnMZe9sKeBGFDV388DnO1PLlB5eFISBHcuWb64WttoKpKlxUNx3oQI/s600/R-4819086-1418036572-6794.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0SAosDWSic3mqDjq35xBOgEqVV25-UCLkm26hIljefD3jlhutYwURRxdOI-0tNm0cf49pseJ-T2D5atfXsiUdxnMZe9sKeBGFDV388DnO1PLlB5eFISBHcuWb64WttoKpKlxUNx3oQI/s320/R-4819086-1418036572-6794.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nirvana - Nevermind (1991)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimcmCDyq3ZGU7mScNeWR8KnReVVQ5iI7ISs5SUycDWNB5-JiutOute4xf8IvapvgdJAKGMPZnU032E99wvHeKAYiMBMmC7jQopfTbOUZ2-bQkXrOHIKtyQnVHxRHNHQGRLcZZPFLbBG_c/s600/R-1526433-1448610434-7799.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimcmCDyq3ZGU7mScNeWR8KnReVVQ5iI7ISs5SUycDWNB5-JiutOute4xf8IvapvgdJAKGMPZnU032E99wvHeKAYiMBMmC7jQopfTbOUZ2-bQkXrOHIKtyQnVHxRHNHQGRLcZZPFLbBG_c/s320/R-1526433-1448610434-7799.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Portishead - Dummy (1994)</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPrvDNCL4euS5hRL4NgbQEGOE-4q53FRBBXpPIC6d_W6WF60M53f-n11QNTB7sbXwR1SvyakKnEcMGsI7a0RQA1i8Opve9l0ZREOyX044PPRuUIfmj95dlr4Dj30cxyML__hLraO0XAN8/s500/R-3048254-1512378391-3883.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPrvDNCL4euS5hRL4NgbQEGOE-4q53FRBBXpPIC6d_W6WF60M53f-n11QNTB7sbXwR1SvyakKnEcMGsI7a0RQA1i8Opve9l0ZREOyX044PPRuUIfmj95dlr4Dj30cxyML__hLraO0XAN8/s320/R-3048254-1512378391-3883.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here (1975)</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRvO6FVQP3lwlMNphbHPWiM6JPnr8oZIHQJ-VgYT9SY1_qH329jh-WcGLN-Pui15tUU9U92Huhveh8iTwhtpBT56a57xDkZKFUbH8Od66tLNxtkudkxq0IUmJsHmdVffyIp74HhBMEcyg/s572/R-1751970-1528907738-4474.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="572" data-original-width="569" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRvO6FVQP3lwlMNphbHPWiM6JPnr8oZIHQJ-VgYT9SY1_qH329jh-WcGLN-Pui15tUU9U92Huhveh8iTwhtpBT56a57xDkZKFUbH8Od66tLNxtkudkxq0IUmJsHmdVffyIp74HhBMEcyg/s320/R-1751970-1528907738-4474.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002)</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6dUDWezoM95-G3MGjeCXwGphWlQjMuylvgkufftidk3_lBl2iWiYYUUy9gn15baZzm2jA6OkMf5H77Wp_srKtUCfxzZ3N1MbARHuQZH26cHZZW1STMLCO700QBFDik-BYvAUD-Lucrko/s352/R-2191392-1352993980-1966.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6dUDWezoM95-G3MGjeCXwGphWlQjMuylvgkufftidk3_lBl2iWiYYUUy9gn15baZzm2jA6OkMf5H77Wp_srKtUCfxzZ3N1MbARHuQZH26cHZZW1STMLCO700QBFDik-BYvAUD-Lucrko/s320/R-2191392-1352993980-1966.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kirsty MaColl - Kite (1989)</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijHe3x3TwT-9CXTkdIddq_A-eUT3M-Gs4vZIDXtk13oUsKpL_7h9fVHPiAKUgzopqlrjDdOa_3p6OpjIMQL3A3spnkq_hiXtX3zg5NLPUZPnPP4lgVRzLpI_F74Cxvq3BRdUq4VVzBBN4/s607/R-8605699-1501259867-2226.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijHe3x3TwT-9CXTkdIddq_A-eUT3M-Gs4vZIDXtk13oUsKpL_7h9fVHPiAKUgzopqlrjDdOa_3p6OpjIMQL3A3spnkq_hiXtX3zg5NLPUZPnPP4lgVRzLpI_F74Cxvq3BRdUq4VVzBBN4/s320/R-8605699-1501259867-2226.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin (1969)</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSuPOAKKJO7NVDvMSTRKR666Nmpdd4ir6J3x02eaM5CF6zd5q460R0_CPgun_recfL4BLT0xiZKDCl3fxxGCWrQdduSJE6VASNrYt0mJhKH3zF7ZxL3MHIvw9HP6yAb9-EyRvARYQ3Jmc/s600/R-2400090-1481086115-2812.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSuPOAKKJO7NVDvMSTRKR666Nmpdd4ir6J3x02eaM5CF6zd5q460R0_CPgun_recfL4BLT0xiZKDCl3fxxGCWrQdduSJE6VASNrYt0mJhKH3zF7ZxL3MHIvw9HP6yAb9-EyRvARYQ3Jmc/s320/R-2400090-1481086115-2812.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eagles - Hotel California (1976)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTCyNmG6NFaa6QCjd29WY6VIHC-3t9HqvFrYVRNWdg3Wf8aIdrYH6mSEHfqe2xPiPhxNHPIQTAvldg-gK6fB1iEo4a8IOZGUYnD28VmGyY98XwHII-FUpmUh9-DT7sOG2qy8ZRS1yWWf0/s600/R-3242612-1428095379-2453.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTCyNmG6NFaa6QCjd29WY6VIHC-3t9HqvFrYVRNWdg3Wf8aIdrYH6mSEHfqe2xPiPhxNHPIQTAvldg-gK6fB1iEo4a8IOZGUYnD28VmGyY98XwHII-FUpmUh9-DT7sOG2qy8ZRS1yWWf0/s320/R-3242612-1428095379-2453.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Foo Fighters - Foo Fighters (1995)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMCOO1UmB6bCnwO5zQWYkKqG1HRfHKZAUOvjOea82-qqPdUgpjY_rejjA_neady5xbkWDRGcBZau_yc5njXjo42c54rEuJ3KLhpW5u8FUELd8GcOuAYWoaJ1eqGfDheD8qfWRyHKVKGYA/s600/R-5432533-1442553611-2892.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMCOO1UmB6bCnwO5zQWYkKqG1HRfHKZAUOvjOea82-qqPdUgpjY_rejjA_neady5xbkWDRGcBZau_yc5njXjo42c54rEuJ3KLhpW5u8FUELd8GcOuAYWoaJ1eqGfDheD8qfWRyHKVKGYA/s320/R-5432533-1442553611-2892.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Norah Jones - Come Away With Me (2002)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijESnhRrrnFMAkjXNx7q_JdFysqSE53p_TewcpnFxqfreueExtfoAFDEEPAnzmAbz27IzJvbfthJ_hOX8VHK2YWGaRkWwtGMQ2VBNOI0aYI1EK3QebsyyjEq8eacke_1hmYu-RMksclWk/s384/R-6265576-1415128442-5425.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="384" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijESnhRrrnFMAkjXNx7q_JdFysqSE53p_TewcpnFxqfreueExtfoAFDEEPAnzmAbz27IzJvbfthJ_hOX8VHK2YWGaRkWwtGMQ2VBNOI0aYI1EK3QebsyyjEq8eacke_1hmYu-RMksclWk/s320/R-6265576-1415128442-5425.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Led Zeppelin - untitled (1971)</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-rsO8g8csnUzpgQ-wS8r77iLrku_RRDafkkwP33gMthW18An3O15KC32ftbC5Ij5MUFT29ZlZU61XA9lfnMqRHoR4KsYogi-br2GQMtiqJ5xLyTzTbpvXsY5o5m2VEeaRrrTGlAP4T8/s600/R-9155574-1475761676-7356.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="590" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-rsO8g8csnUzpgQ-wS8r77iLrku_RRDafkkwP33gMthW18An3O15KC32ftbC5Ij5MUFT29ZlZU61XA9lfnMqRHoR4KsYogi-br2GQMtiqJ5xLyTzTbpvXsY5o5m2VEeaRrrTGlAP4T8/s320/R-9155574-1475761676-7356.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Radiohead - Amnesiac (2001)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTsQB7WRTptE1hUkbYJRStNSWRXnuM_L27ZuHpF696L5Gb9dYqczZw3ArSF1UiFHEDB1UREp0W1A5FzSuzefGAQxrRtyjoS3GjMG1_20FbtBgTq3QuYbeOrE7YogIqlciTICw3NPVHq0A/s599/R-9429675-1480431518-6173.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="599" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTsQB7WRTptE1hUkbYJRStNSWRXnuM_L27ZuHpF696L5Gb9dYqczZw3ArSF1UiFHEDB1UREp0W1A5FzSuzefGAQxrRtyjoS3GjMG1_20FbtBgTq3QuYbeOrE7YogIqlciTICw3NPVHq0A/s320/R-9429675-1480431518-6173.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beck - Sea Change (2002)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxCZmZ-637kVpNRcsBkB2qXodbAIsuzRnT6qBJWVjT3KpsryFjwiZnqEFWiGALq1BbioTlFS8h7m6VjpxdmRHmDWrGr0BQYCNBvZ2k0xhrhdlEZQuC86Tafl4R4LC4gqVV5cQOmnpmp60/s600/R-10241165-1501774120-1339.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxCZmZ-637kVpNRcsBkB2qXodbAIsuzRnT6qBJWVjT3KpsryFjwiZnqEFWiGALq1BbioTlFS8h7m6VjpxdmRHmDWrGr0BQYCNBvZ2k0xhrhdlEZQuC86Tafl4R4LC4gqVV5cQOmnpmp60/s320/R-10241165-1501774120-1339.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fiona Apple - Tidal (1996)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDcLGB4kHZ-M4H56I6g1qTdjDDqHUBUGCz3d_ElZ-7_8EMqO-sXM-YwJkCUA3JCgpv39rwc0GRsG82KdcaRWsy5yk47H61jC7f04hip6e0OSIdvz6bg5pTsM8jtBus1nn3cIAja2ZxMDc/s600/R-11710806-1521114988-3247.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDcLGB4kHZ-M4H56I6g1qTdjDDqHUBUGCz3d_ElZ-7_8EMqO-sXM-YwJkCUA3JCgpv39rwc0GRsG82KdcaRWsy5yk47H61jC7f04hip6e0OSIdvz6bg5pTsM8jtBus1nn3cIAja2ZxMDc/s320/R-11710806-1521114988-3247.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keane - Under The Iron Sea (2006)</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGRua91dQ7CGZdsO-Lt33wHro36qyHU74cQwID3HPhnxXkfm5UzBJi3Tw3GnAfkAT3yP-p9eJxhZmnCmR4L0MAbOYZ1eQ1Rc2NpC2FIwarl-ZTnHJ4FAYyAax3jtEUh19gtE6cd4gcCmg/s600/R-8638748-1466265912-2325.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGRua91dQ7CGZdsO-Lt33wHro36qyHU74cQwID3HPhnxXkfm5UzBJi3Tw3GnAfkAT3yP-p9eJxhZmnCmR4L0MAbOYZ1eQ1Rc2NpC2FIwarl-ZTnHJ4FAYyAax3jtEUh19gtE6cd4gcCmg/s320/R-8638748-1466265912-2325.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Radiohead - Hail To The Thief (2003)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPN7SiCabUQkpPf53a3WLbV-DvCNPSR9sYNWQ0g-cVuxBZigOMNclSmyLXLbP-4AMXbwEqWWZbFbpG47ClvheikdgN9XsNqULhx55Vc5ZeXvM1SYrv6AV82mT4cPolZ85jESFRwtrGGwg/s600/R-12388769-1534263473-1517.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPN7SiCabUQkpPf53a3WLbV-DvCNPSR9sYNWQ0g-cVuxBZigOMNclSmyLXLbP-4AMXbwEqWWZbFbpG47ClvheikdgN9XsNqULhx55Vc5ZeXvM1SYrv6AV82mT4cPolZ85jESFRwtrGGwg/s320/R-12388769-1534263473-1517.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zero 7 - Simple Things (2001)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSwBx9dnUFIz_sIVOEm5rTrH4TFrCaPhAeh7r3U-1A57dV7mdtN8dtnOb80vm-MqnfhMlnKjMjX8es-4GN0-DOu3uaIX-sT1pf3e6bdYMxrJdekDoEmt8VGQgB0t9PSctAIcGf5l1oWes/s614/R-12621899-1539718022-1071.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSwBx9dnUFIz_sIVOEm5rTrH4TFrCaPhAeh7r3U-1A57dV7mdtN8dtnOb80vm-MqnfhMlnKjMjX8es-4GN0-DOu3uaIX-sT1pf3e6bdYMxrJdekDoEmt8VGQgB0t9PSctAIcGf5l1oWes/s320/R-12621899-1539718022-1071.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cracker - Kerosene Hat (1993)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHhFfdZtKlrbP3WEsw8uSn8KhJOtJO4uIzDbYtashnF5viuS4rzDbluhCL88ZOjvpg2Wkk-Bu_VzfGETM7abQhEPEnHgn2iA1NeGAQssI7S5GEE5pN7UqZ5q5M2uoJi_6TsXczRWrJ2c/s600/R-12874229-1543613682-3183.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHhFfdZtKlrbP3WEsw8uSn8KhJOtJO4uIzDbYtashnF5viuS4rzDbluhCL88ZOjvpg2Wkk-Bu_VzfGETM7abQhEPEnHgn2iA1NeGAQssI7S5GEE5pN7UqZ5q5M2uoJi_6TsXczRWrJ2c/s320/R-12874229-1543613682-3183.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This Mortal Coil - Blood (1991)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKI9MDR3rua2q1EYTogZ-TNT0wFERSMIOM7GMvm8-sbSAYBnCEQq3011iMeZDUSzUfTjFycz3Sw840kehFouNaTtag-2-fcBDTCAEgZ6RE1Nz6cdaf7JxCzeaqo2sTyIPdImMl_JdZiYg/s600/R-14660454-1579328160-2971.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKI9MDR3rua2q1EYTogZ-TNT0wFERSMIOM7GMvm8-sbSAYBnCEQq3011iMeZDUSzUfTjFycz3Sw840kehFouNaTtag-2-fcBDTCAEgZ6RE1Nz6cdaf7JxCzeaqo2sTyIPdImMl_JdZiYg/s320/R-14660454-1579328160-2971.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Uncle Tupelo - Anodyne (1993)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgG32k8_Odt7lt2yatqtSM8vRp0A2wS5NsQFfyh4dX4y1HAKBkeaFH3bbl82bhNAfJZhZda3Mb3tsBTTT3GZjs7CwHnPuXy6dRbM3UVv4O7f-SBpm3Cr3iLW0l8rTZiZU0YEbD4fi46Q/s600/R-15051908-1586538109-5341.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgG32k8_Odt7lt2yatqtSM8vRp0A2wS5NsQFfyh4dX4y1HAKBkeaFH3bbl82bhNAfJZhZda3Mb3tsBTTT3GZjs7CwHnPuXy6dRbM3UVv4O7f-SBpm3Cr3iLW0l8rTZiZU0YEbD4fi46Q/s320/R-15051908-1586538109-5341.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jimi Hendrix - Bamd Of Gypsys (1970)</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgakzTQ13-TwLbIX-00XmbotrFY26TaTwaapjz22R9L7zDKSYkMX5F2s7YTJ76d66a7gQ7uTqwhyqpMp1_ePeqQJ1RQV75Arrqj5hYHmn_A8aLCwTw36sEpke4kZ9Oey91cdmQrFu7x298/s600/R-8664384-1466290658-4710.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="594" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgakzTQ13-TwLbIX-00XmbotrFY26TaTwaapjz22R9L7zDKSYkMX5F2s7YTJ76d66a7gQ7uTqwhyqpMp1_ePeqQJ1RQV75Arrqj5hYHmn_A8aLCwTw36sEpke4kZ9Oey91cdmQrFu7x298/s320/R-8664384-1466290658-4710.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Radiohead - OK Computer (1997)</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXp7UfUwXSv_YrMBEqBvPmgef_WZzm4MI5lLKefB0rRwSHE_DOpkS9t_7KcHMjOMSQw7WLTQGYBh0h4iztm2Lw2eFlnfTqlC1RLAr6p-fDaV78ruwQvzJ6Ipg-VXtEdfpFxlAJVsyrta0/s600/R-13779938-1561139971-8547.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXp7UfUwXSv_YrMBEqBvPmgef_WZzm4MI5lLKefB0rRwSHE_DOpkS9t_7KcHMjOMSQw7WLTQGYBh0h4iztm2Lw2eFlnfTqlC1RLAr6p-fDaV78ruwQvzJ6Ipg-VXtEdfpFxlAJVsyrta0/s320/R-13779938-1561139971-8547.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Travis - The Man Who (1999)</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaEsRN_ria_m2Q9YCyWaH9HyfLtdt_e67Tvkvzkx3ePp9VD9a3EMpylvBNpvr40xwRNw4xRjEz6m9QBGoFycyswlBnppp9dV5hEr3hAs78tlCcHXu98DIEC4L0ZEmGsr4k-smE5tEO9OA/s600/R-499829-1428887785-2116.png.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaEsRN_ria_m2Q9YCyWaH9HyfLtdt_e67Tvkvzkx3ePp9VD9a3EMpylvBNpvr40xwRNw4xRjEz6m9QBGoFycyswlBnppp9dV5hEr3hAs78tlCcHXu98DIEC4L0ZEmGsr4k-smE5tEO9OA/s320/R-499829-1428887785-2116.png.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camper Van Beethoven - Our Beloved Revolutionary Sweetheart (1988)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTfgzj3n_StyBXusFQyV_4kWFlbnZbjLcP4mp0oKA-2DS_YblhMym7oUZn1AsD1K8ApjpU3_XnJ_HBdEFhLfn-YTpYMz0NK0_m2x-j9On9ZzG5ChMZyg8RU9H59AHIhgKLlAz-WzcdILg/s515/R-6182576-1413122397-5951.jpeg_kindlephoto-123840436.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="514" data-original-width="515" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTfgzj3n_StyBXusFQyV_4kWFlbnZbjLcP4mp0oKA-2DS_YblhMym7oUZn1AsD1K8ApjpU3_XnJ_HBdEFhLfn-YTpYMz0NK0_m2x-j9On9ZzG5ChMZyg8RU9H59AHIhgKLlAz-WzcdILg/s320/R-6182576-1413122397-5951.jpeg_kindlephoto-123840436.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elton John - Tumbleweed Connection (1970)</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzJ3FtghEJfkqhWmVVRKaTHhEJ3FGjURYdgUkEW5eiGx2hMfI73L9SW6TEog1BkW8ZWcvyjVxHcNAKmWR9bcORM48UfparLuEzaCeMHJAJHy_xlbkn-tDSjoMvbeL_dfbuCH04JjJhCM/s600/R-10488255-1498480207-2007.jpeg.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzJ3FtghEJfkqhWmVVRKaTHhEJ3FGjURYdgUkEW5eiGx2hMfI73L9SW6TEog1BkW8ZWcvyjVxHcNAKmWR9bcORM48UfparLuEzaCeMHJAJHy_xlbkn-tDSjoMvbeL_dfbuCH04JjJhCM/s320/R-10488255-1498480207-2007.jpeg.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">U2 - The Joshua Tree (1987)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiguQCgL8q1ROlOanCbhEoGTByNwVWpMmUcsdg6B-WRZ28wKT-A9rZccCLZVf_IQH_2piESaw8KQJ5-pLn7RgV2-ZEPeNMlFVObPci6PWzxMylwXIsUABYpuiQJEoaQgr2aKbz4s0pBTt0/s600/R-1174296-1363434073-2265.jpeg.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiguQCgL8q1ROlOanCbhEoGTByNwVWpMmUcsdg6B-WRZ28wKT-A9rZccCLZVf_IQH_2piESaw8KQJ5-pLn7RgV2-ZEPeNMlFVObPci6PWzxMylwXIsUABYpuiQJEoaQgr2aKbz4s0pBTt0/s320/R-1174296-1363434073-2265.jpeg.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Radiohead - In Rainbows (2007)</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-35183343727327489952020-04-25T11:56:00.011-07:002022-04-04T09:05:57.981-07:00Let's adopt a rezdog!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; 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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheJ5_r_PocgrRxC5xGHyZKjn_FIrgft5PO8wPbeBByZKfGSr_n1_oJHKo3QN4wzQpwpZ4YRFK00yZg7C-tv0sq6vggfKEXACO4zwNZfyQfiYFyrXwahptF7EHHPyXfnwhi6QIeAdsFX2s/s1600/DSC_3344.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheJ5_r_PocgrRxC5xGHyZKjn_FIrgft5PO8wPbeBByZKfGSr_n1_oJHKo3QN4wzQpwpZ4YRFK00yZg7C-tv0sq6vggfKEXACO4zwNZfyQfiYFyrXwahptF7EHHPyXfnwhi6QIeAdsFX2s/s320/DSC_3344.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nellie</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpL42gkj5e77TANcTnfmwA9_p1aDJ1x1qishWaBq8ai8RPsstLK0P35WJYS9VTsJgm9lSygGYcCg8bTQg00BrtmAjsbeD4Y7jXixn_rnhW5wbmBxJ63mNEAnOmj5oE6hN2ZKA4f_atkwU/s1600/DSC_3354.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1596" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpL42gkj5e77TANcTnfmwA9_p1aDJ1x1qishWaBq8ai8RPsstLK0P35WJYS9VTsJgm9lSygGYcCg8bTQg00BrtmAjsbeD4Y7jXixn_rnhW5wbmBxJ63mNEAnOmj5oE6hN2ZKA4f_atkwU/s320/DSC_3354.png" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skadi</td></tr>
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A few years ago the Internet introduced my wife to the plight of the abandoned pets at <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dead_Dog_Beach" target="_blank">Dead Dog Beach</a> on the island of Puerto Rico. As her awareness and concern for mistreated and misbegotten mongrels grew, she and my daughter both became occasional volunteers at a local no-kill shelter. It was a short distance between this formative experience, helping in the recovery, care, and re-homing of unwanted animals, and the adoption of <i>our</i> own first rescue-pet, an adorable-but-feral little black puppy. <span></span>She had been found a few weeks prior by some travelers, wandering alone and mortally ailing on the roadside not far from the town of Kayenta, Arizona. Her bowels distended and infested with worms and infection, the travelers took her straight to an animal hospital here in Flagstaff where she received emergency surgery to repair her destroyed prolapsed rectum, and intravenous antibiotics for several days. <span></span>Her care was made possible by High Country Puppy Rescue, from whom we acquired her. We call her Nellie.<span></span><br />
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Our younger dog and her sole surviving sibling were clever enough to be able to evade capture by the good people at the <a href="http://tubacityhumanesociety.org/" target="_blank">Tuba City Humane Society</a> for several days after they were first reported as strays to them. Just another set of feral black puppies scavenging, motherless, in trashcans near the center of town, but my wife and daughter immediately fell in love with them the day their pictures were first posted to the agency's website. After a brief in-person get-to-know-you session, they brought the more gentle of the pups home. As with our first rezdog, she's quickly socialized positively into our domestic life, though, because she's still not quite a year old yet, she continues to be inclined to be cautious and nervous when out in the world beyond our home. She is never far from Nellie’s side no matter where we are. We call her Skadi.<span><a name='more'></a></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcvkicolyuvIxu7WGFG-U91M7_BgWrqrLNsCEjTQI3pM2B7EcNP76VY2vX_q8XX3oRmsPy1Y48uSCpFZ_fyOd5AJ62j_edF1_cLmfRFvXqNk-23MYOyxqqxPCjbfVXxlgp4lNrnpTASjs/s1600/rezdog1.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="704" data-original-width="463" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcvkicolyuvIxu7WGFG-U91M7_BgWrqrLNsCEjTQI3pM2B7EcNP76VY2vX_q8XX3oRmsPy1Y48uSCpFZ_fyOd5AJ62j_edF1_cLmfRFvXqNk-23MYOyxqqxPCjbfVXxlgp4lNrnpTASjs/s320/rezdog1.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>
The <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rez_dog?wprov=sfti1" target="_blank">rezdog</a> isn't a recognized breed by any formal dog-breeding association, not by any measure whatsoever. And, of course, that's just fine with us. But I think, perhaps, those that find something integral and meaningful in identifying dogs by their common traits and breeding, might do well to consider the merits and appeal of the Native American reservation dog.<br />
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As descendants in a long, long line of self-sufficient survivors, and prior to that, in many cases, real working/herding/hunting/companion dogs, there are a number of compelling and endearing traits in both disposition and intellect that I suspect all rezdogs share, despite their sometimes feral origins and often broad and diverse differences in appearance. <br />
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Native American people, including the Diné (Navajo) on whose lands both of our dogs were born, have revered the dog for thousands of years. And, while certainly many other standard-breed pets are likely to have been sold, abandoned, or lost on Native lands over the course of many years of colonization and tourism, we can be confident that the rezdog of today, despite the introduction of a wide array of dog genetics from far and wide, are nevertheless the direct descendants of the very same dogs who provided companionship and cooperative hunting and herding assistance to the native people of North American for many generations. I think that's a very cool legacy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaTbATa-VmZEPOG_YU7EpuroZ8VXzIUsLNu3kD8gRFVx-HoPidA552hIDkl9iWwSny50L3LLCInIJhez_sgTANDBfkb3uTEP0nNcUxTAbB-DezfAnBYWspwz-JsQm1YX0B_A-ZgyxuZSk/s1600/Indian+and+shepherd+dog+crop+LOC.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="439" data-original-width="506" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaTbATa-VmZEPOG_YU7EpuroZ8VXzIUsLNu3kD8gRFVx-HoPidA552hIDkl9iWwSny50L3LLCInIJhez_sgTANDBfkb3uTEP0nNcUxTAbB-DezfAnBYWspwz-JsQm1YX0B_A-ZgyxuZSk/s200/Indian+and+shepherd+dog+crop+LOC.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: <a href="http://www.whitewolfpack.com/2013/10/history-and-vintage-photos-of-native.html" target="_blank">White Wolf Pack</a></td></tr>
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There aren't too many differences between raising a rezdog and raising a more familiar variety of pure- or mixed-breed dog. Rezdog puppies can be pretty undomesticated and unsocialized when they first come into your home. But, with consistent love, affection, and training they always come around and seem, to me at least, to bond on a very deep level with the members of their new family.<br />
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Also, rezdog puppies are always hungry. For nearly the entire first year of their lives they seem to be almost insane for food, with each meal it's like they're trying to make up the calories they missed out on while they were homeless during their first weeks and months of life. But eventually, they get their fill and begin to approach mealtimes with the same excited anticipation most other dogs have, but without wolfing down every morsel with the feral madness they once had.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKoonkFjzVDliAZ69fytlFiNU0W4hltvIxr5ljeaswg8gvOVAUA7tItgsTUWNxEAuWFngS9DRSlIpsxeAN_H8B6gq0_JJFS2NzQsar_DDo3KJMExkn5scTxoGPVarDt7en5M41ocjWkSg/s1600/rezdog4.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="451" data-original-width="683" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKoonkFjzVDliAZ69fytlFiNU0W4hltvIxr5ljeaswg8gvOVAUA7tItgsTUWNxEAuWFngS9DRSlIpsxeAN_H8B6gq0_JJFS2NzQsar_DDo3KJMExkn5scTxoGPVarDt7en5M41ocjWkSg/s200/rezdog4.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rez Dog - Navajo</i><br />
Photo credit: <a href="http://www.whitewolfpack.com/2015/11/a-photographic-voyage-into-americas.html" target="_blank">White Wolf Pack</a></td></tr>
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Aside from some occasional barfing and the loose stools that come with the always-hungry sampling of the many unfamiliar things growing in our backyard to determine if they're edible, neither Nellie nor Skadi has ever been ill or injured since they've come to live with us. Rezdogs, I gather, have a good strong set of diverse genetics to sustain and empower them and their ancestors to survive in all sorts of adverse and challenging conditions. I hope both of our amazing rezdogs will be a part of our family for years and years to come.<br />
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If you're interested in bringing a rezdog into your home (and why wouldn't you be?) there are several organizations that can assist you with the adoption process:<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://tubacityhumanesociety.org/">http://tubacityhumanesociety.org/</a></li>
<li><a href="https://www.blackhathumanesociety.org/">https://www.blackhathumanesociety.org/</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.rezdawgrescue.org/">http://www.rezdawgrescue.org/</a></li>
<li><a href="https://www.souldog.org/">https://www.souldog.org/</a></li>
<li><a href="https://highcountryhumane.org/">https://highcountryhumane.org/</a></li>
</ul>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-69977022877258237002020-04-09T10:26:00.010-07:002022-04-04T09:01:56.247-07:00Let's roast coffee!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg09v4Ff3GMO1mfk6Bk5snjwE6Mbd5y8bOkrsRUaclVkaExP4YgfnXPRsXJ81ZS1S80xDWxPkVP0Cb2KTBZVFBdn6GFIScfzvimQnY-Op2yvNryNHnY2LI3o4fVxjL0E2x_JSQsbVZOiQU/s1600/dsc_8913_6170687207_o.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1143" data-original-width="1600" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg09v4Ff3GMO1mfk6Bk5snjwE6Mbd5y8bOkrsRUaclVkaExP4YgfnXPRsXJ81ZS1S80xDWxPkVP0Cb2KTBZVFBdn6GFIScfzvimQnY-Op2yvNryNHnY2LI3o4fVxjL0E2x_JSQsbVZOiQU/s320/dsc_8913_6170687207_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Green beans are shipped in sealed plastic bags</td></tr>
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I've been roasting coffee at home for at least 15 years, probably longer. I can't exactly remember when I began to do so, but I think it was my friend Mark (the same guy who sold me <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2010/04/just-about-bike-rock-lobster.html" target="_blank">my Rock Lobster</a>) who first clued me in to how to do it, way back in the early 2000s, before our daughter was born, when Lisa and I were still <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/p/who.html" target="_blank">living simple</a> in the barrio on the other side of town.<span></span><br />
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Here's the lowdown on home-roasting coffee: It's really fun, <i>and</i> it's also a very satisfying thing to do, in that <i>putting-your-hands-to-really-good-work</i> sort of way, same as fiddling with your bikes in the garage, or pulling dandelions out of your lawn, or spending a few hours flipping through crates of old vinyl in your favorite used record store. I dig things like that, especially when I've been able to take the time to perfect my process for doing so over the course of time for many years. Home coffee roasting is also a little bit cheaper than buying your coffee already-roasted from the coffeebar down the street, so that's another advantage for sure. But the very best reason of all for roasting your own coffee at home is how it tastes. There's really no comparison. None. <span><a name='more'></a></span> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We store green beans in our pantry in muslin bags</td></tr>
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I've always ordered my green coffee beans from <a href="https://www.sweetmarias.com/" target="_blank">Sweet Maria's</a>, for several reasons. First, because they're the place that Mark first recommended to me, way back when, probably because at the time they were the only game in town. Second, I always buy from them because they've never ever disappointed me, they ship fast, always ship fresh, they're priced competitively and fairly, and they're obsessive about testing, evaluating, and reviewing each and every product they sell. Third, I always buy my green beans from Sweet Maria's, because Thompson, the guy who runs the place, buys most of his coffees directly from farmers and co-ops and he travels all over the world to sample and purchase the most interesting and tasty beans that are available each season.<br />
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Until recently, I've always used <a href="https://www.sweetmarias.com/roasting/air-roasters/freshroast.html" target="_blank">Freshroast</a> roasters to prepare my coffee. I've probably owned four or five of them over the years. They're great little roasting machines, effective, simple, and reliable, at least to a point. I tend to burn out the heating elements in them after a few years of regular weekly use. Admittedly, it's a lot of use for a simple roaster that, truth be told, is basically just a cleverly modded hot-air popcorn popper. And I don't bear any kind of a grudge against Freshroast for the fact that their roasters eventually always wear out after a few years. Like I said, they get seriously used around here, a couple batches at least, every week of the year, always outside on the back deck, in warm dry weather, in cold humid weather. It's a work-out for sure.<br />
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We were going through a bit of an economic rough patch when my last roaster died about a year ago, so I couldn't afford to immediately replace it. Nevertheless, we needed our morning coffee, and I still had several pounds of green coffee beans on hand. So I began to look around at low-tech, affordable options for preparing roasted coffee at home. Not surprisingly, Thompson at Sweet Maria's had demo'd the best solution in one of his many Youtube videos: <a href="https://youtu.be/HgamxRvxHzw" target="_blank">roasting coffee in a cast iron skillet</a>. We don't have a gas stove in our house, so I decided to try Thompson's method on our propane BBQ's sideburner. I assumed this would be a short term solution, just until I had the money to buy a new Freshroast machine. But, now that I've survived a entire winter of roasting outside, I've become quite fond of this method's hand's-on, fully-analog technique and so, for the time being anyway, I'm sticking with it.<br />
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Below are a few short videos that show the process I go through to roast coffee on the BBQ in our backyard. Here, at 7000' elevation, it takes me about 15 minutes to take a skillet full of beans from green to full-city, just past second-crack, which is commonly where I find I like to take the Ethiopian beans that I typically buy from Sweet Maria's. I usually set the burner on high and wisk the beans pretty fervently the entire time they're over the fire to prevent scorching. Since there's almost always a breeze blowing here in Flagstaff, the chaff after first crack kinda takes care of removing itself from the pan, and the remainder of the chaff blows away when I spread the roasted beans out on cookie sheets to cool. As a general rule, I try to allow our roasted coffee to degas in the hopper for the better part of a full day before we grind and brew it, but sometimes, if I've forgotten to roast and the hopper's empty, we've been known to go right from roasting to brewing while the beans are still warm. Definitely not ideal, but still way better than the old stale bagged bean from the coffeebar down the street. <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6632890123463063360.post-28597664306244777922020-03-19T16:10:00.025-07:002024-03-13T22:17:00.884-07:00Let's make a Burton DIY Throwback snowboard!<div style="text-align: right;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXHaMrL3FwxEze_M0P0bA34KNutuf4CXuFDIxjW7WSOcrRe7jJsGIrpNPYHl3Udvee4vfDOREMTknTuWFCkT4cy1uBbY3GRs0Tn12YT2ELyVXmuKg6IOjHB2M02zO9ZvFZs5wrcHs_Jsg/s1600/burtondiy.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXHaMrL3FwxEze_M0P0bA34KNutuf4CXuFDIxjW7WSOcrRe7jJsGIrpNPYHl3Udvee4vfDOREMTknTuWFCkT4cy1uBbY3GRs0Tn12YT2ELyVXmuKg6IOjHB2M02zO9ZvFZs5wrcHs_Jsg/s200/burtondiy.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
To spice things up a bit this winter, rather than, you know, <i>just</i> going out to snowbike on <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2013/06/just-about-bike-surly-pugsley.html" target="_blank">the Pugs</a>, or <i>just </i>doing your basic cross-country ski loop out in the woods above my neighborhood, I determined to try to find a few other fun things to do when I'm out in the winter snow (when I'm not tele'ing up at <a href="http://www.snowbowl.ski" target="_blank">Snowbowl</a>), 'cause, well, I'm 53 now, and I really do need to find new innovative ways to hurt myself.<div><span></span><br />Mounting a <a href="http://www.rockychrysler.com/2019/11/how-to-lets-make-cooziecage.html" target="_blank">Cooziecage™</a> to the downtube of my Pugsley made beer-drinking in the winterwoods possible and, so, that was a great and rewarding first-effort in this regard.<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />I've also been doing some fun multisport snowbike-to-xc-ski excursions up Schultz Creek toward Schultz Pass. Probably got the first-ever ski descent of Kentucky Waterfall in the process. Wasn't pretty. Hellno! But it definitely happened.<span><a name='more'></a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIDkV_Gfgka8zvbc2lmd-6TcI4MaCBEc0lFfLm50Aa3ZDAnSYIQQVj2HNzZAGbjR2DzdBY3m2FVIrKfB6oSKIzGnfdxhYPl55J2f2FrDHcyD2RcndN7YR32TPdxFTXWmhrsrhlCxPTbiA/s1600/aViJBDS8VQaoaa_PwNEiZVr4rOGeTRqrlJYNJnO58YE-1536x2048.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIDkV_Gfgka8zvbc2lmd-6TcI4MaCBEc0lFfLm50Aa3ZDAnSYIQQVj2HNzZAGbjR2DzdBY3m2FVIrKfB6oSKIzGnfdxhYPl55J2f2FrDHcyD2RcndN7YR32TPdxFTXWmhrsrhlCxPTbiA/w150-h200/aViJBDS8VQaoaa_PwNEiZVr4rOGeTRqrlJYNJnO58YE-1536x2048.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Around that same time, my buddy <a href="http://www.lylemotley.com/" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">Lyle</a><span style="text-align: left;"> told me about some of his adventures lightweight/low-angle backcountry skiing in the San Juan’s carrying a bindingless snowboard called a Burton Throwback (an homage to one of Jake's original snowboards from the 1980s, the </span><a href="https://americanhistory.si.edu/collections/search/object/nmah_1400986" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">Burton Backhill</a><span style="text-align: left;">) on his back. He was super stoked on how bringing the snowboard along on his tours made it possible for him to have serious fun carving big graceful turns on wide-open backcountry slopes. He suggested that I get a board of my own and attempt to use my touring skis, or even my fatbike, as an approach vehicle to do the same thing on some of the more open north facing slopes in the Dry Lake Hills area.</span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYeFu7idjmOrmBzBZXuvoEjjN1w45F5rNJcyL0GnqSHHAT1O8j24VCsZ7LLOwdXbd9A8DzvLoD0a9O_p0Z816Rz-DxuTSDHxMdp6hhYAEhlR8wM3imiEb6ypcJc4ciWffSC-7obl1QMv4/s800/snurfer.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYeFu7idjmOrmBzBZXuvoEjjN1w45F5rNJcyL0GnqSHHAT1O8j24VCsZ7LLOwdXbd9A8DzvLoD0a9O_p0Z816Rz-DxuTSDHxMdp6hhYAEhlR8wM3imiEb6ypcJc4ciWffSC-7obl1QMv4/w150-h200/snurfer.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>To test this idea on the cheap, I bought an inexpensive but nonetheless quite clever little snowtool called a <a href="https://www.snurferboards.com/The-Nomad-Green-Snow-Surfer_p_45.html" target="_blank">Snurfer Nomad</a> from the <a href="https://www.snurferboards.com/The-Story_ep_41.html" target="_blank">Vermont manufacturer</a> who's been making them in the USA since 1965. Because it doesn’t have any bindings or metal edges, it’s super lightweight, so it was easy to mount on to the rear rack of <a href="http://www.rockychrysler.com/2013/06/just-about-bike-surly-pugsley.html" target="_blank">my Surly Pugsley</a> or to carry lashed to the old <a href="http://craterpacks.com/" target="_blank">Craterpacks</a> backpack I use when I go lightweight ski-touring in the hills north of town. Only everso-slightly safer than sledding, but nonetheless gloriously stupid and also terrifyingly fun, turns out snurfing is a rad, additive wintertime diversion from the typical<i> just</i> a snowbike ride or <i>just</i> a xc-ski tour adventure, precisely as Lyle said it would be.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_sZdcmeHK-KvipXYTzml3XoLISHyOe4wZ3ko8hElIL6Epm-yW_TE3lJwYk7vmefZzWAwzfADt8JVHs9JSl50OXYfO6_tqSUnynT_Q70q38fPcode4Wvrv0kbnvoqq3plvaGRUJXYJiR4/s982/SAR8CrbIPLdTEXcq2imXb2LT0QFtj168CnmEOyS6hSA-1153x2048_kindlephoto-111567755.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="982" data-original-width="901" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_sZdcmeHK-KvipXYTzml3XoLISHyOe4wZ3ko8hElIL6Epm-yW_TE3lJwYk7vmefZzWAwzfADt8JVHs9JSl50OXYfO6_tqSUnynT_Q70q38fPcode4Wvrv0kbnvoqq3plvaGRUJXYJiR4/w184-h200/SAR8CrbIPLdTEXcq2imXb2LT0QFtj168CnmEOyS6hSA-1153x2048_kindlephoto-111567755.jpg" width="184" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I had some good fun a few times riding on my Snurfer Nomad solo early this winter. But then, midseason, I got to watch another one of my fatbike friends, Nate, shred my snuper snecret snurfhill on his kid's <a href="https://www.burton.com/us/en/p/burton-the-throwback-snowboard/W20-159771.html" target="_blank">Burton Throwback</a>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
Up close and in person, it was easy to see that the Throwback was wider and longer and heavier than my Snurfer, a big-boy's version of the Nomad if you will, and it had a full p-tex base. As far as I was concerned, it was from a different planet, and it enabled him to easily ride faster and farther, and make better looking turns, every time, way better than my best-ever run on the Nomad.<div style="text-align: justify;"><br />So I started looking around for a cheap used Throwback on eBay, but it would appear that such a thing doesn't really exist. Then I looked at some of our local used sporting goods and thrift stores for a decent used snowboard that I could remove the bindings from and improvise into an ersatz backcountry snurfboard. But all I could find around town was garbage, all of it thrashed from years of abuse or neglect, and often both. For about 10 minutes I even searched online for a legit vintage Burton Backhill, but they must be very highly sought after. Every single one I saw for sale cost as much as a used car.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji1S72iGH6F2LKVGH8HMEj7ki7XErG_f2cuQmq11GuzNQVOYycSVAYwRw4-sHSjLTuvhXnHY2tnh-TysOwzA7MAF9XVx0swOkXtk2EDQDfzbYP8bRRI2hhNSYc39FzpPda9_x9Ebq6mhc/s1024/base.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji1S72iGH6F2LKVGH8HMEj7ki7XErG_f2cuQmq11GuzNQVOYycSVAYwRw4-sHSjLTuvhXnHY2tnh-TysOwzA7MAF9XVx0swOkXtk2EDQDfzbYP8bRRI2hhNSYc39FzpPda9_x9Ebq6mhc/w150-h200/base.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>It was about then that I stumbled upon <a href="https://www.burton.com/us/en/p/burton-diy-throwback-snowboard/W20-198561.html" target="_blank">Burton's DIY Throwback</a> kit, which, it turns out, sells for something like 30% less than the Snurfer Nomad. The DIY Throwback comes as a rockered-on-one-end rectangular plank of unpainted laminated wood with a p-tex base. Not really a <i>kit</i>, I guess, but nonetheless <i>very</i> DIY. There are no templates, no plans, no instructions with the DIY Throwback. It's just a gorgeous naturally-grained plank of wood, a couple sticky-backed footpads, a long rope, a wooden handle, and thou.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy90L9lznRafBz2ZwXWa3PgTNWzNNeRrbu-SB1UPzAyrFZWGfrGBBtM4vt0uZcDEXR4lKT86MeyyxE6BRTGgDNfN6eykduGQPYZjfLoE4h0gAPfAtXqPxmwq8DQtcYbpb06bXP2Q9A7Bs/s1600/done.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy90L9lznRafBz2ZwXWa3PgTNWzNNeRrbu-SB1UPzAyrFZWGfrGBBtM4vt0uZcDEXR4lKT86MeyyxE6BRTGgDNfN6eykduGQPYZjfLoE4h0gAPfAtXqPxmwq8DQtcYbpb06bXP2Q9A7Bs/w150-h200/done.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DIY Throwback ready to ride</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">Given the freeform, unguided nature of the project, before I ever put a saw to it, I spent quite a lot of time staring at the naked plank, trying to envision the shape I hoped to render upon it. Even after this great and prolonged period of introspection and planning, I can still spot a few small mistakes I made during my project's three-hour execution (does not include contemplation time).</div>
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the end, I can tell you this: Burton is definitely using some sort of rock-hard ballistic epoxy when they're laying up the laminate for this board. I went through the teeth of four different jigsaw blades while trimming the nose and tail on to the beautiful bombproof blank plank Burton sent me.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After using my hand jigsaw (and a carefully rendered long paper template to make sure the two halves mostly matched left-and-right) to cut out the rough shape of the board, I finished all the edges and curves with a handheld belt-sander and then I used a router with a small round-off bit on the top-sheet to make all the things very nice and smoothish and purdy. I think the finished product looks nice.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />I’m <a href="https://www.rockychrysler.com/2010/02/maladroit-is-not-manly.html" target="_blank">not a very handy guy</a> when it comes to building things, but now that all has been said and done and test-ridden, I'm rather proud of this project. And, I think my Burton DIY Throwback snowboard rides pretty darn well, too. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="333" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/S_TX526-nWg" width="400" youtube-src-id="S_TX526-nWg"></iframe></div><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0