Did you know that in 2006 almost 39 million people visited Las Vegas?!!! Sweet lamprey of Santa Fe! That particular statistic I was not aware of! That is more than the 2006 population of California!
"It's huge! It's enormous! It's gigantic! I mean, they said it was big, but I didn't expect it to be BIG!" -Chris McConnell, Roxanne
Well, I certainly hope the fine bean counters of Sin City do not count my delivery of Soraya and Brandon as a visit to The Meadows (How's that for two names other than Las Vegas?) One thing I am most certain of, is I will never move back to Las Vegas. Not that an airport is a bastion of proper etiquette, but the image to the left says it all. Get your cocktails and sit your bum down at the slots!
Whenever I escort the kids to Las Vegas, as soon as they are gone, I get itchy. I am ready, ready to get back on a plane and get my pointy behind out of there. This mission was no different. Below is a little pictorial of yesterday evenings activities...
With your cocktails you can get dinner too! Just the thing after running through the airport from one flight to another!
Yeah, we're being herded like cattle. However, I still like Southwest Airlines...really, I do! The line ups do have a tendency to get a little, uh, tense. I love the travelers who leave their luggage unattended in line as a marker of their place. Hello airport security?...There's a suspicious looking, unattended bag here...*grins*
Cool! My favorite spot, the window. Now I can lean away if some big gigantic smelly guy sits next to me. This time I was lucky, seated next to me was a smaller, attractive, uh, I mean graying tiny senior. Right Andrea? She kept looking suspiciously at me as my cell phone clicked off pictures. Ahhh...the proper traveling companions... Yeah, it was hot in Las Vegas! Over 100 degrees when we landed! YIKES!!! I watched this poor guy outside of my window loading the luggage all by himself. Can someone get him some water? For me, this is the worst part of flying, the stand and wait at the end of the flight. Especially, when it's a return flight. I'm done, toast, I just want to get in my car and get home. Geez people, let's have a purpose! Chop! Chop!
"Look, I'm sorry your life turned out so bad. But don't blame me! You messed it up yourself. You just focused on the bad stuff when all you had to do was... let go of the past and keep moving forward..." - Lewis "Hmm, let's see... take responsibility for my own life or blame you? Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! Blame you wins hands down!" - Bowler Hat Guy
So my tastes in films at times can be a little, how would one say?...er...immature. That's why one of my all time favorite movies is Finding Nemo. And that's why today, along with a little sadness, I am posting about Meet The Robinsons.
Actually, it's also because today is the day I fly the Soraya and Brandon to Las Vegas for their summer visit with their father. Because of some unexpected planning snafus they will be gone for eight weeks...EIGHT WEEKS!!! Yeah, yeah...you can try to put the positive spin on this by saying it will give Andrea and I grown up time, more cycling, able to watch R-rated DVD's during the day, etc....none the less...I am blue...indigo...deeply blue...
I an a big, HUGE, GARGANTUAN, believer in kids. I think kids rule! Kids are awesome and I love the fact that I have the privilege to corrupt...uh...I mean guide...Soraya and Brandon.
It's the reason why I loved Meet The Robinsons, that the film was about an orphaned boy, Lewis, trying to find his mother and his quest to have a true family. I think that is also why I loved Nemo so much, I have a soft spot for kids and their longings for families. Both films are about what parents will do for their kids and children's need for love.
That's all I have ever wanted for Soraya and Brandon. Sure I want them to have a good life, for them to grow into adults and have happy lives, but at the core, I want them to feel loved. I want them to know that whatever happens, I have their backs.
Meet The Robinsons is the first computer graphics animated film not made by Pixar that I truly loved. Okay one could argue that it was a Disney film and Disney now owns Pixar, but this piece of celluloid was not made in Emeryville...so there! Someone at Disney figured out that what makes Pixar films so good is not the animation, but the story and to actually make characters that one could care about.
Go see Meet The Robinsons (or rent the DVD)...it will make you chuckle...not all films need to have deep meaning...
Soraya and Brandon...have fun in Las Vegas. Be safe. It's okay to love your father. I will miss you guys fiercely...
Well, so much for another school year. It seems like every year goes by faster and faster. A friend of a friend, Ron, once gave me this advice:
Life is like a roll of toilet paper. It goes faster as it goes along...
Thankfully it wasn't about my life being related to someone's butt. But that is another story.
With the end of the year, it's time to retire the current year's back packs. It's time to empty the contents and decide what are heirlooms and memories and what are destined for the garbage can. One of the most curious to come out of all of this is Soraya's anti-drug bookmark.
Soraya has always been the little artist of the kids. In her class they were all to make bookmarks warning against the evils of drug usage. From there, the students (and teacher, I suppose) would decide which bookmark would be copied, laminated and made into a grade-wide book mark. Guess whose won? This is the second contest of such nature for Soraya to win. In an earlier grade her drawing of a jellyfish was used for the class' field trip tee shirts.
Now, I am proud of her accomplishment(s), yet I am amazed (concerned) at the detail that went into this bookmark. The little skulls that frame the mark, the single light shining down, what does it all mean? What is going on in my little girl's head? (On a funny note, when the kids were younger they saw a billboard for Longs Drugs and they became very concerned that a business was selling drugs...) Why does the skull and cross bones sort of look like a demented lamb?
Another interesting item of note is that the "drugs" appear to be a bottle of vino...hmmm, again, what does that mean? Okay, all my wine loving friends, Soraya's watching you!
Maybe I'm reading too much into it. I had a long discussion with Shawn at the Police concert about the complexities of growing up these days. My job, with no formal training, is to help guide the kids to what is right, yet give them the freedom to find that path on their own. Am I up to it? Who knows...I guess we'll see...
First and foremost I must thank Shawn for taking me to see the Police. That was an incredibly kind act as he left his lovely wife, Micheline, at home to take his mangy friend Neil to the concert.
THANK YOU SHAWN!
So things have changed since I had last attended an arena-type concert. Couscous and Jäger-Bombs were served along side some sandwiches made with fresh baked bread and home made, non-laced with anything illegal, chocolate cookies. So much for the raiding the folk's liquor cabinet and combining tiny portions into a toxic poison. Not to mention that The Police were presented by Best Buy! Once again the Man keeping us down...
Yes, the Police were in fine form, however, I was a little concerned after their first few song attempts. They seemed to be a little off and I thought to myself, "Uh-oh...those years apart are starting to show..." However, once the geezers started to get going, they were great. I am always amazed that in such a large venue that the sound is actually quite good, all things considered.
This looks much worse than it actually was! Retro-80's over the top light show...COOL!
Shawn asked me what my favorite all-time concerts were. I took a moment to pause before answering and I realized that most of my fondest concert memories were not because of the performers, but because of the person or people I attended it with. In no particular order:
Eric Johnson (with a special appearance by a very, VERY, drunken Slash, then of Guns N Roses) with Shawn at The Joint at the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas.
The Outfield with Shawn at The House Of Blues in Las Vegas.
Bruce Springsteen at the Shoreline Amphitheater with Joe. Springsteen fans are very loyal!
Incognito with Shawn (okay...we're sort of the musicians of the group of friends, so...) at Bimbos
Interpol at the Fillmore with Andrea (my absolute fave as this was Andrea's first concert!...I really do feel privileged!) It was sooo cool to see the excitement in her eyes as Interpol took the stage.
What was very cool was that The Police performed with no back up musicians. There were no keyboard players, no horns, no back up singers. One could hear every instrument being played and every mistake made. Hey, that's the joy of a live performance...it's not perfect!
There is a moment in the film The Wall where the singer Pink envisions himself as a Hitler-esque type figure as his fans cheered for him. That image popped into my head as the entire coliseum echoed what Sting was singing. At times it was very eerie. Yet, how thrilling it must be to have 60,000 people chanting words that you wrote...
Some of my favorite Police lyrics:
I will turn your face to alabaster, when you find your servant is your master...
Your brother's gonna kill me and he's six feet ten...
De-doo-doo-doo, de-da-da-da...
So overall, this was definitely one of my fave concerts...
The bad news. ..
The bad thing about large, humongous venues such as the McAfee Coliseum is the leaving part. As the crowd shuffled its way out of their seats I felt like we were a herd of cattle being led to the slaughter. Hmmm...
Unfortunately, my view from the parking lot for about half an hour...
The concert was very cool, so thank you again Shawn. It's just at 10:30 p.m., I was ready to go and get home. Unfortunately, anytime one attends something at the Coliseum by car, the end is not the end. However, the Police were awesome and I cannot thank Shawn enough!
My thoughts are all over the place currently, so bear with me...
How cool was it that one of my teenage favorite bands, Journey, played such an integral part of the final scene of the Sopranos? "Some will win, some will lose, some were born to sing the blues...oh the movie never ends, it goes on and on and on..." Thank you Tony Soprano for putting your coins in the jukebox and picking that tune! The last voice we heard was that of Steven Perry's singing, "Don't stop!..."
Score one for Neil and his cheesy music!
My friend Shawn invited me to go see the Police. You know, "de-doo-doo-doo, de-da-da-da, is all I want to say to you." Somehow the idea of seeing guys who should be soon seeing social security checks in their mail rocking out is unsettling. But I am excited none the less...
Were these guys cool before their golden years?
When growing up I would always grumble when washing the dishes at my parents' house. As my parents grew up in the Depression Era and also were interned, they were and are extremely frugal. They would have us recycle the plastic produce bags by washing them out and then hanging the bags to dry in the garage. On occasion, being the bratty kid I was, I would "accidentally" put a hole in one while washing it, therefore it was useless to continue washing the bag.
Another thing that used to annoy me was my father's regimented way of putting the dishes in the dishwasher. He would chastise me when I would put my dirty dishes in incorrectly. Dude...it's a dishwasher, does it really matter?...
So what does matter to the present?...
Instance number one. I put a bunch of presliced watermelon in a gallon zip lock bag. When I removed the last wedge from the bag, I had a great idea. If I washed it out, I could use it to store tools, or toys or something. Hey...this sounds vaguely familiar?!
Instance number two. I opened our dishwasher this morning to load a couple more bowls into it. I noticed with a bit of annoyance that Andrea had loaded it "incorrectly". Now who makes the official rules in dishwasher loading is beyond me...however, in my tiny flea-like brain, that person would be me. Grumbling I rearranged the dishes "appropriately". Wait a second, where have I heard that before?!
Now THAT'S a good looking load!
Egads...I'm becoming my father. Although in many ways that is a good thing. However, all those annoying things that I used to dread, I AM NOW DOING! What the on Earth? I guess the fruit indeed does not fall far from the tree!
There are times when I need to remind myself what is important in life. That although my job, my career, provides a good income, my sole purpose is not just working. I come home from the store, usually mentally and emotionally drained. I need my fifteen minutes of decompression when I get home.
I am usually bombarded with requests from the kids as soon as I enter the door. "Neil can I get something to drink please?" "Neil, do you want to go on a walk?" "Neil can you help me with my homework?" Andrea will try to fight valiantly, yet vainly, against the surge of requests. I usually smile feeling like a drowning man gasping for his last breath as I head to the bedroom, loosening my necktie.
But I need to remind myself. These are some of the best years. I am the smartest, the fastest, the strongest, the bravest man to them. I can solve any problem. I can beat up any bad guy.
With that thought, Brandon and I headed out the door after dinner to the park. Soraya had chosen not to accompany us as she was holed up in her room. Puberty, although a subject for a later post, will be a long bumpy road for our little girl.
As we walked, ran, jumped and skipped our way to the park I felt rejuvenated. How can a little boy, only eight-years old, give me so much strength, yet at times sap me of every ounce of energy left in me? The boy of a million questions. We shoved each other playfully, we raced, he won.
I watched him run around the play structure oblivious to anything but the play at hand. The sun slowly sank as we both hung from the monkey bars. As twilight lingered and the stars began to appear, I gave Brandon the bad news that it was time to go home. I was greeted with the usual, "Awww, five minutes more...please?" Yeah, I could give him five as we ran around the jungle gym one last time.
These are definitely some of the best days of my life...
It a well established fact that I love my morning coffee. It doesn't matter how hot the day will be, I need my java in the a.m.! I take a travel cup with me every day I make my way over Highway 17, through the Santa Cruz Mountains. No, I don't get a lot of sipping between the curves of the road, but it's comforting to know it's there when I want it.
My day started as usual. Make coffee, turn on computer, drink coffee, get kids up, get Neil out the door. Blah, blah, blah. Just the usual work morning.
After getting dressed I poured my travel coffee into my silver thermal mug. Yep, almost ready to go. Straighten my tie, pull my lunch out of the refrigerator (yep, still doing that!), tie my shoes, the usual stuff. Walked out to my car to get yesterday's cup. Grabbed the red cup, a present from my kids, and walked back in. Said goodbye to everyone, reached for my cup of joe and out the door I raced.
It was in the 50's this morning and the mug of coffee sitting in the Xterra's cup holder looked mighty tasty. As the trees zoomed by, I hit a straight patch of highway. Cool!...I can take a sip of coffee. I grabbed the cool exterior of the red thermal mug and lifted it to my lips. Tipping the mug I took my first morning travel sip.
What the?!!! It's ice cold?!!! Wait a second...red thermal mug?!!!
In my haste to get on the road I had mistakenly grabbed the mug that had been sitting in my car for two days. Now, I'm one of those psychotic coffee drinkers who can drink day-old coffee. Maybe it's not at it's peak in flavor after sitting around for eight hours, but it's still Juan Valdez's best. But two days?! Even I have my limits. And it was cold, ice-cold.
My work day was getting off to a miserable start. Lesson learned take special attention that I am grabbing the correct mug. Caffeine levels at a dangerous low.
I happened upon this one website, www.realage.com, and it calculated that my "real age" was over 10 years younger than my calendar age. What the?!!! Let's be clear, it takes more of an effort for me to climb hills on my bike than it did ten years ago. I cannot eat whatever I would like to, as I did ten years ago. Mystery aches and pains appear for no reason, unlike ten years ago. Unless I have a really bad memory, something smells a bit fishy around here. But hey, if that means I'm back in my 30's...I'll take it!
So the exit polls are showing a definite pattern in my life! It looks like in the categories of fat, greying or bald...bald is surging ahead. It seems that my follicles are having an extremely difficult time holding onto my noggin'. As I brushed my teeth, my skull reflected more of the bathroom lighting than ever before. A tragic turn of events. My scalp definitely did not look like this ten years ago!
It's okay, your grandfather on your mother's side had a full head of hair. Look at your father, he still has hair and he's 88. Don't worry, you have thick hair. Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before, however at this moment, it looks like baldness is going to come upon me quickly.
Every time I eye suspiciously another gray hair poking itself out of the thinning Amazon known as my coiffure, I ponder if plucking the offending follicle is worth the additional thinning of my diminishing forest. As I cycle and my scalp itches, I wonder if scratching my head through the vents of my helmet, I am unknowingly carving a barren hole in my mop.
For all I know it's the cycling that is doing it. I have noticed lately that many of the top riders in the peloton seem to be hair challenged. Okay, for every receding hairline, skinny climber, there is a long-haired-mulleted Belgian stud. And although I may be just imagining it, it seems like a reasonable explanation.
Right on Paolo! The World Champ representing the Hair Club For Men!
I knew my gradually exposed scalp was noticeable when my friend Brian tried to console me. Now if you know Brian, you know that if you are his friend, which I am, Brian has no problem kicking you when you're down. That's something about his, uh, "charm".
Unfortunately, after first gasping, Brian said to me, "Hey no worries, hair loss is one of those things you have no control over!" What the?!!! That's the last thing I want to hear from B. I don't want him trying to make me feel better, I want him joking at my expense!
Hey whatever, all I know is I'm ten years younger than my driver license states and I have Sy Sperling's cell phone number handy...
As I looked into the clear blue sky, the cool grass surrounded me muffling the sounds of the squealing herd of children. I tilted my head weakly and peaked over to the playground hearing Soraya barking orders at Brandon, their movements slowed by my dreamy state. My legs were in the throes of rigor. The leaves rustled in the soft Western sea breeze. I was beat. Toast. Stick a fork in me, I was done.
Bonking. Cyclists' worst fear, besides crashing. And usually, it actually ranks number one on the hit parade.
I should have expected it. My legs were flat, there was no spring in them. I had only two pancakes for breakfast. Looking back to the night before, I, for some mysterious reason, skipped dinner. Prime time for fueling up for the next day. I was creating a monster and didn't even think about it.
Midway up the Big Basin climb my legs were struggling, but I was fooling myself as I passed cyclist after cyclist. It did not occur to my ego (and sound judgement) that they were an eclectic group of two-wheelists. Mountain bikes, Clydesdales (bigger heavy riders), girly girls (hey, I know there are certain female cyclists who can kick my butt all over the mountain...but not these ones...), backpack toting hippies, a varied cornucopia of bicycling enthusiasts. I did not care if they were 500 pound senior citizens on rusty Huffy's...I was passing them! Yeah, I was chasing fool's gold.
I crested the climb my head hanging, I had made it. Turning onto Skyline Boulevard, my speed increased. Hey!? My legs don't feel that badly?! Skyline Boulevard is a rolling highway that runs along the peaks of the Santa Cruz mountains. Usually I can keep a steady pace, but it didn't occur to me that I was out of my saddle more often than not. Not a good sign.
Page Mill Road signaled that it was time for me to turn downward and to zip down the Santa Cruz Mountains into Palo Alto. At the bottom of the decent was when it hit. When I realized I had made a serious miscalculation. I was bonking. I was bonking hard. Coming down Page Mill Road I didn't feel it, but now that I was turning onto El Camino Real and pushing the pedals I felt all of my energy flooding away from me. 20 plus miles from home, I was in trouble.
The Wikipedia definition of bonking: A condition when the athlete suddenly loses energy and fatigue sets in, usually caused when glycogen stores in the liver and muscles are depleted, resulting in a major performance drop.
A major performance drop?!!! Hell, I was crashing and burning.
Suddenly the flats of El Camino Real seemed like climbing Mont Ventoux. I was struggling. It was survival time, and I have admitted on many occasions that at times I question my mental toughness. Thankfully, this was one of those times that my will came through. Running out of water, I found a playground to fill my depleted reservoir. It seemed that in spite of my total planning disaster, Lady Luck was smiling upon me.
When I finally saw my garage, I was on the verge of tears. Tears of joy. I had survived. My legs could not have turned the pedals one more stroke. I could barely move as the water from my post ride shower pelted my neck and back. I groaned as I realized that I had promised Soraya and Brandon that I would take them to the park.
The kids screamed on the playground as they performed various acrobatic tricks on the play structure. I breathed deeply, my damaged muscles still screaming for oxygen. I bonked. I bonked hard. It was a great Memorial Day...
Between the barbecued ribs, the corn on the cob and the watermelon seeds we should remember that Memorial Day is about remembering. Remembering the past, so hopefully, we will not repeat it. To remember those who have given of themselves so we can enjoy this unofficial first day of summer.
I'd like to take a moment to remember the 442nd Regiment from World War II. This was a squadron that was primarily made up of Japanese-Americans that were trying to prove their loyalty to the United States after Japan attacked Pearl Harbor.
In February of 1942, Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, the internment of those designated as security risks. Although it did not single out those of Japanese decent, it readied America for the internment of Japanese-Americans.
Shortly thereafter, in June of 1942, two regiments of Hawaiian Japanese soldiers were sent to the mainland to train. The leaders worried about the loyalties of those two regiments training so close to Japan. Yet once on the mainland, the two regiments performed so well in training that on February 1, 1943 the U.S. government approved of a squadron of Japanese decent. The 442nd was born.
The 442nd was send to Europe to fight the Axis as the government did not trust them enough to fight the war in the Pacific. It was on the battlefields of Italy, France and Germany that the 442nd, whose motto was Go For Broke, became the most decorated unit in the history of the U.S. military.
A short list of their decorations:
22 Medal of Honors (The highest military decoration)
52 Distinguished Service Crosses (The second highest military decoration)
560 Silver Stars
4,000 Bronze Stars
9,486 Purple Hearts
There you go, the Reader's Digest version. Very cool...a good thing to remember as the U.S. continues its fight on terror.
I hope everyone has a safe and wonderful Memorial Holiday.
The Capsule Design Festival has shut down and the Hayes Valley Green is silent. Andrea had a very successful day and I must say, I am very proud of the returns on her investment, not only in capital investment, but time, emotions and just plain hard work. She did great!!!
But after setting Andrea up on Linden Street this morning, what were Soraya, Brandon and I to do to pass the time until the event was over?...First we drove back to San Jose and had a late breakfast at Tina's Diner, I think it's Tina's. Whatever, it was just an okay breakfast, and the kids kept telling me that I make better breakfasts. Well, I do specialize in breakfast if I do say so myself. So I must agree...
Then after a nap, because, dang!...I was tired! It was back on the road and on our way to the Exploratorium. If you have never been to the Exploratorium and you live in the Bay Area, get out and visit this educational, scientific museum. Although geared towards kids, it is great fun for adults as well. Just beware...TONS OF KIDS!!! It is an interactive museum that stresses science. Perfect for the geek side of me! What is very cool, is that the exhibitions are set up with the expectation that they are to be touched. Wonderful for kids and adults who have never forgotten what it's like to be a kid!
I love letting the kids loose upon this museum, as it stokes their imaginations, creativity and wonder in all things scientific. Not only are there the usual light and electricity exhibits, but there are many more that dive into areas such as gender beliefs, emotions, etc. Very cool. There was one demonstration where you would do poses that you thought was appropriate for the type of masks. It was interesting what emotions came through the kids' simple body language.
So we finally made it back to the Capsule Design Festival. I got to hang with the leetle ones and Andrea kicked butt...a good day had by all...
My interest in cycling road races began around 2000/2001. Lance Armstrong had just reeled off his second Tour de France victory and general interest road cycling in the United States seemed to be making a steady come back against its upstart cousin the mountain bike. All seemed good in the world of professional bike racing. Although there were whispers that incidents of doping, chemical or biological cheating, continued in the peloton, the shame of the Festina Scandal of 1998 was fading.
Flash forward to 2007...
With all the strides against doping and performance enhancing drugs that those involved in the Protour have taken, it seems that European peloton is in even a bleaker state than it was in 1998. The first major name to fall from Operation Puerto was 1997 Tour de France winner Jan Ullrich. Although he has maintained his innocence, bags of blood have been linked to him via DNA sampling...not looking good Jan.
Next came the 2006 Giro d'Italia winner, Ivan Basso. Although initially cleared by the Italian Olympic committee, CONI, Basso after much pressure has admitted that he was involved with Dr. Fuentes, the doctor at the center of the Spanish doping investigation. More discouraging than the revelation that Basso was part of Operation Puerto, was the fact that he had lied about it for six months after joining Team Discovery and then stated that he only "attempted doping", but never actually did it. It seems that Basso is used the same lexicon of excuses that Bill Clinton uses.
Basso with much unwanted attention...
All this time we were subjected to the trial of Floyd Landis, 2006 Tour de France winner, maybe. It seems that there were issues with his testosterone level after his miraculous win on that year's stage 17. Although tests showed that his levels were not abnormal, his testosterone to epitestosterone ratio was extremely high and above the allowable limit of 4:1. Landis' ratio was at 11:1.
Now, after an avalanche of confessions of past doping discretion's, comes the admission by Bjarne Riis, 1996 Tour de France winner, that he doped during the race. He has said that he is willing to give back his yellow jersey. How noble, how about all the prize money and secondary income that had come from his Tour win, gonna give that back too?
Hmmm...let me see the 1996 Tour winner, Riis, confessed to doping, Ullrich Mr. DNA Connection To Operation Puerto came in second and Richard Virenque who after two years of denying his utilization of doping tearfully admitted in 2000 to doping, came in third.
I am not sure what good all these sudden admissions of doping is doing. Are they volunteering to lead sessions with young up and coming neo-pros on the evils of doping? Are they giving back their earnings that have potentially inflated because of the performance enhancing practices? Or are they trying to clear their consciousnesses before someone else rats them out?
I love cycling. I love the feel of lactate acid flooding through my legs as I crest a climb. I love thinking my legs are pistons as I power over miles of flats. I love when the salty sweat slips into my eyes stinging them. I love watching bike races because I thought I knew how hard the effort was. Apparently I was mistaken...
So if you are out of ideas on what to do this Memorial Weekend, you may want to check out the Capsule Design Festival in Hayes Park in San Francisco. It happens this Sunday, May 27, from 11 a.m. until 6 p.m. The lovely Andrea of Dreams And Jewelry will have a booth there. (By the way will someone please click on her link in my Places To Waste Your Time section? Andrea's giving me a hard time that no one from my blog ever redirects to her website.)
Okay, yeah, this is a shameless plug for an event where Andrea is selling her wares. However, really, check out her site, www.dreamsandjewelry.com. I am actually quite proud of where she has taken this fledgling little gig...
So back to the Capsule event. She and a friend will be manning the booth. They will be in booth 29 on Linden. Your's truly will not be at the booth, but Soraya, Brandon and I will be playing roadies and helping with the set up.
First and foremost I must apologize to my friend Micheline. Her birthday was on the 20th and here it is the 22nd. Here's to the only other A's fan in the sea of orange and black!
HAPPY BIRTHDAYMICH!!!
Wasn't I just here? It was just a few hours ago I was gulping sake and cursing my insomnia. Now here I am sipping coffee trying to wake. That is the cruel joke about insomnia during the work week. One tries bitterly to get to sleep only to fight sleep the next day. Arggghhh...the last time I felt this badly it was the morning I was waking up in Disneyland...why is that such a wrong statement?!
Someone kill me and put me out of my insomnia and sake enduced misery...
Coffee, don't fail me now! Okay, this training I'm leading will be a disaster if the caffeine doesn't really kick in and last. I see myself struggling to stay awake, oh, around 2 p.m.
What the Hell am I doing up at 1 a.m. on a school night?!!! I hate when this happens, out of nowhere...*POOF!*...I'm awake. No major concerns cloggin' up my noggin, no caffeine before bed, nothing...I hate when I get a case of insomnia and there is no good reason for it. At least if something was stressing me out, I could sort of justify laying in bed staring at the ceiling.
To make matters worse, I'm trying to down a couple of gulps of way too old sake, my trusty bottle of Sho Chiku Bai. I'm just trying to take the edge off and get me back to bed. Unfortunately, egads, this stuff is nasty! It's time to replace my dusty bottle with a new one that has not been aging in my cupboard since the Clinton era.
Time to replace ol' dusty...
Great...tomorrow I need to lead an hour's worth of training for some very impressionable managers. And to make matters even better some of mine will be in attendance. Nothing's more impressive than your boss nodding off in the middle of his sermon.
Nothing is worst than peering deep into one's coffee storage and discovering that one's cache of the magical beans are but a few. I drink coffee every morning. In the middle of a Las Vegas summer when the mercury would hit 110 degrees on a consistent basis, I would down hot coffee every sun rise. It is a morning ritual. A few cups of deep black roast.
This morning as I was readying myself to make my usual eight cups of coffee, I picked up the canister holding my precious coffee. Opening it, I gazed in horror. I only had enough to make about four cups of coffee, and that would be risky as it could be watered down. I would almost rather drink a cup of Sanka, then have my coffee maker brew me a sad batch of tea-colored coffee.
I'm cruising down the aisle of our local Albertsons, and there, high on the shelf it sits, a gleaming bottle of Gerolsteiner water. I could tell you that I was searching for a natural mineral water that was bottled at the source, Gerolstein, Germany, but alas, that would be a lie. I pulled the bottle of Gerolsteiner off its resting spot and placed it in my basket because there is a bicycling team sponsored by the German Mineral Water Company.
Geez and they say NASCAR fans are gullible...
Anyhow that is how I ended my day of cycling.
My cycling day started with a slow climb into the Santa Cruz Mountains. I cruised through the downtown area of Old Saratoga and began my laborious assault on Big Basin Way. As I slowly climbed up the winding road I saw a cyclist ahead of me. Now that I am on a fairly nice ride, it is a requirement that I am able to catch and pass as many cyclists as possible. I geared down and pressed harder on the pedals.
After about fifteen minutes of chasing (Chasing on a bicycle takes awhile, unless one's prey's abilities are at a much lower level,) my victory was complete. I pedaled in his wake for about one minute then rose out of my saddle and powered around him. Take that Mr. Mid-50's guy!!! Uh, yeah...unfortunately, much of my victory was soured when I gazed upon the multitude of wrinkles on his face. Well...at least he was on a really nice bike, so there!
However along with all this chasing I realized that I was closing in on my true goal, riding from the Santa Clara Valley floor to Skyline Boulevard. I'd like to think it's about 3,000 feet of climbing, but I actually think it is more like 2,200. Oh well, it was a grinder.
I get a small bit of satisfaction every time I hit a new county when cycling. I think it's very cool the thought that my personal engine was able to transport me over county lines. Today was a three county affair starting in Santa Clara, climbing to Santa Cruz, descending to San Mateo and ending back in Santa Clara.
At the top of the climb I stopped to take the Santa Cruz County Line photo and after multiple attempts I finally got a satisfactory one. However, in the mean time, Mr. Wrinkles had caught up and was pedaling his way down Skyline Boulevard. I hopped on my Giant and soon had passed him for the second time. Not the coolest thing to do to Mr.Wrinkles, but not the worst...
Later I pulled over to a open space park to check out a map. I feared that I had missed my turn off and was zooming towards San Francisco. That would have been a bummer and required a call to my "team car"...my very grumpy "team car". I glanced at the road and who should be passing me? Hey it's Mr.Wrinkles!
I jumped back on my bike and slowly made my way through the gravel parking lot. As it turned out the road I was looking for was only a mile up the road. As I turned on Page Mill, I knew Mr.Wrinkles was only a little ahead of me. The road undulated through the hills and mountains and soon I caught Mr.Wrinkles for the third and last time. At this point I don't think he was amused.
Page Mill Road quickly dropped and spiraled downward towards Palo Alto. I have never been a fearless descender and this flight was no different. Soon Mr.Wrinkles had caught me and blew by. After ten minutes of futilely chasing the older wrinkled guy on the sweet bike he disappeared. Take that Mr.Jerk that passed him three times!
The road opened up and passed under I-280, as I crested the hill I realized I was near Stanford University. Egads, I was in Palo Alto. But amazingly I was feeling really fresh. I turned onto El Camino Real and began the ride home.
Now these final miles passed quickly and I did have a chance to redeem myself. There was a gentleman on a bike who tried to keep up with me. I allowed him to suck my wheel while I pulled for miles. I dropped him. Okay, once again maybe my victory was tainted as he was on a bike from the mid-80's and had a heavy messenger bag slung over his shoulder, but damnit...I dropped him...
Hmmm let me see...about three hours later, 50 miles under my tires and the following towns visited...
San Jose
Saratoga
Palo Alto
Los Altos
Mountain View
Sunnyvale
Cupertino
I think I'll pour me a cool glass of Gerolsteiner and munch on some Muesli...
Well, I certainly hope the fine bean counters of Sin City do not count my delivery of Soraya and Brandon as a visit to The Meadows (How's that for two names other than Las Vegas?) One thing I am most certain of, is I will never move back to Las Vegas. Not that an airport is a bastion of proper etiquette, but the image to the left says it all. Get your cocktails and sit your bum down at the slots!
