Let's pretend that everything is fine.

If ever I had an ego, it ceased-to-be in 2025.

Or maybe what I'm actually talking about is self-esteem. 

Could I, in fact, be referring to my sense of self-worth?  

I don't know. Took my last psychology class half-a-lifetime ago, so I'm not really sure. Also, I haven't seen my therapist in a while. Thus, for today, I'm doing my own stunts when it comes to dredging the definitions and depths of these terms.

Holidays and bitter anniversaries have me feeling pretty shitty these days. Why? My wife left me.  A year ago.  Told me she didn't love me any more.  Moved out of our house 30 days later.  Walked away from me, our home, my side of her entire extended family, all of our pets, and every single one of our family photos... to say nothing of the many happy memories contained therein. 

Ghosted. 

All of it.

Let's redecorate the living room!

It was just about a year ago when my now ex-wife revealed the first of many reasons she had for needing to leave me (ultimately there were more than 20; I kept a list). In October 2024, about two weeks before she actually got around to telling me that she didn't love me anymore and was moving out, she told me that it was deeply upsetting to her that “everywhere I look around here, I just see your shit. Especially the garage!  Oh my god, you have completely taken over the garage!"  

True, I'll admit, but only to a point.  Lots of bikes and skis, workbenches and tools out there.  Hard to be a bike rider without owning a few bikes, or a skier without a quiver of skis...

Let's get a divorce.

Divorce is a world of suck best avoided. 

Divorce is a towering rogue wave poised-ready to rend asunder a lifetime's promises and dreams.

Divorce is a muddled muttered mantra of repeated regret.  

Divorce is a dark road to nowhere, inevitably heading somewhere, only god-knows-where. 

Divorce is an explosion of great magnitude thoroughly destroying all matter.

Divorce is unabated disquiet.

Divorce is interminable disbelief.

Divorce is an unnatural disaster.

Let's go to France!

I went to Paris, France, for a post-divorce adventure in July 2025.  Visiting Paris has been a "bucket-list" item of mine for a very long time. Given the sad situation I found myself in in January, suddenly all alone, planning and accomplishing this trip solo came to mean a lot to me.

I'm pleased to report, I had a truly amazing time!  

Aside from one breakdown on the RER-B train on my way into the city from the airport, which required me to navigate the massive Gare du Nord train station unrehearsed in order to find an alternative route to my hotel, everything went super smoothly travel-wise. 

I met lots of good people, ate tons of good food, drank gallons of great wine, and visited innumerable amazing places.  The things one does while visiting that ancient, complicated, beautiful city.

While I was there, wandering around the city by day on a janky rental bike, and each night via the Métro, I took a lot of pictures and thought a lot of thoughts.  I posted several of them to my Instagram.  

They're embedded in chronological order below.

Just about a bike: Specialized S-Works CX

Select any image to embiggen

A 2000 Specialized S-Works CX popped up on our local Craigslist the other day, instantly piquing my interest.

During our first salvo of correspondence, the seller told me that he'd had the bike shelved in his garage for several years and now needed the space for other things (a tale as old as time). 

He also told me he had converted it to a 1x11 recently, but that he would willing to include "a box of old parts" in the deal. This box, it turned out, contained the entire original XTR-M950 group, and the original right-hand Ultegra integrated lever, and the original front wheel with its bespoke S-Works hub, and the original Body Geometry saddle.

Thoroughly intrigued, I arranged to meet him in a corner of one of the parking lots at the hospital, cash in hand.  

Took me 2 minutes to eyeball the rig and shake the seller's hand. Told him, "I'll take it!" without any haggling. Gave him every penny he was asking, which was $350, box of parts included.

Let's use a heart-rate monitor!

Several of the following observations were originally posted to the Fifty+ Years Old Forum at mtbr.com on 01 October 2024.

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I started riding with a heart rate monitor, a Garmin Forerunner 45, in April 2024 and, after several months of data collection, I now find myself absolutely fascinated by what I've been learning about my cardio-vascular health and fitness. I am especially intrigued by the corroboration of what I feel has been a distinct increase in my overall-fitness and threshold-endurance during this summer's riding season. 

Bottom line: I love doing the things I get to do outdoors. My objective in learning to use a heart rate monitor has been to better understand my general overall fitness and health and, quite simply, to maximize however-many years might remain to me to continue to be able to do these essential activities that I love. Below is an inexpert run-down of what I think I'm beginning to understand better about my body based on what my new monitor seems to be telling me.

Just about a friend's bike: Dale Shewalter's 1983 Specialized Expedition

I was first introduced to Dale Shewalter in 1993. His sixth grade classroom was located two doors down the hall from the room where I was about to start my student teaching, in fifth grade, with the legendary Grant "Brad" Gerver at Weitzel Elementary School in January of that year.  The always gregarious Gerver was great about taking me around and introducing me, right away, to everyone that I would be working with, and Dale's room was one of the first stops on my first-day tour. 

Having grown up in a multigenerational family of teachers, I immediately recognized Dale as a teacher's-teacher, cut from the same bolt of no-nonsense but ever-compassionate fabric that my mom, grandmother, great-aunt, and great-grandmother had likewise each been hewn from.  Naturally, I liked him right away. And it was my great good fortune that we were able to remain friends for years, long after I completed my student teaching, well into my own career as a professional educator.