Task List

Tonight I shall attempt several things, listed in decreasing order of likelihood of completion:

• Leave work a few minutes early.
• Make it to Fiesta Island in time to participate in this week’s Weekly Except During Daylight Savings Time Fiesta Island World Championships of Pretend Bicycle Racing.
• Participate in above.
• Survive the first lap.
• Survive the second lap.
• Survive the third lap.
• Survive the fourth lap.
• Take a sip from my water bottle.
• Survive the fifth lap.
• Survive the sixth lap.
• Survive the seventh lap.
• Survive the eighth lap.
• Survive the ninth lap.
• Survive the tenth lap.

After which, I will attempt the following tasks, listed in preferred chronological order:

• Locate my automobile.
• Drive home.
• Look at kitchen thermometer, which will read 92.6 F.
• Strip naked.
• Put on pair of shorts.
• Clean cat poop off of floor next to litter box.
• Open every single window and switch every fan to “medium.”
• Feed cat.
• Put bike away.
• Check mail.
• Feed self.
• Observe television.
• Sweat profusely.
• Drink one beer from bottle with beer cozy.
• Go to bed.
• Receive phone call from wife, who is traveling for work.
• Mumble incoherently.
• Go back to bed.

Optional additions to the above list, in no particular order, with the percentage likelihood of completion shown in parentheses:

• Inflate kiddie pool (4%).
• Figure out Google App Inventor (6%).
• Pick guitar (6%).
• Clean house (0.1%*).
• Unstick stuck window(s) (not today).

* I might clean a room or two, though.

Just a fraction of fiction

Not even a fully day has passed since my last missive, and I have already come dangerously close to letting my newly-turned leaf of productivity wilt and catch fire like a greasy burger forgotten on the grill, wherein said greasy burger was wrapped in some previously moist and supple leaf such as that of a cabbage, or whatever they make spanakopita out of.

As you might have guessed, today’s communiqué draws inspiration from the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest for bad writing.

What I find so fascinating about the contest is that creating a winning entry requires not only a great sense of humor and a command of grammar clichés, but the ability to conjure up the most ridiculous scenes.  Forget about making it funny.  How do they come up with this stuff?  It feels like it must be incredibly hard, but I haven’t written a word of fiction since I was in high school.  So for the next few minutes, I am going to try an exercise: With as little revising as possible, and in as short a time as possible, I am going to write three sentences, each describing a bizarre scene bearing little resemblance to anything in my life.  It’s going to be horrible.  Here goes:

Bernardo hopped off his windsurfer into the shallows and felt the sting of saltwater on his newly shaven chest as his feet landed softly on the white Brazilian sand.

[Oh my god what was horrible!]

“I just know that Mr. Svenson must have taken it,” she fretted, as she pushed her bifocals up her nose and hurriedly flipped through the hanging files in her study looking for the deed to her granddaughter’s farmstead.

[Farmstead?  What?]

“I know why you’re here, Harry, and I know why you brought two of your dogs but not the third, and I know why you’re holding that printer cartridge, but before you say a word, you must understand that I never intended to finish the pork lo mein—it just happened.”

[Ok now that makes no sense at all.]

So what have I learned?  Nothing, probably.  But I am reminded that the process of writing fiction scares me in a way that does not seem to apply to, say, academic or technical writing.  With fiction is like standing at the edge of a cliff overlooking a vast ocean of possibility—the land being what you have written, the ocean being what you might write next, and the cliff being the thin line between the two: Of all the ideas in the world, and all the ways to express them, what should I choose?  Should the windsurfer have black hair?  Does it matter?  Is he in South Africa and not Brazil?  Why?

How is it even possible to create a cohesive string of words that tells a story over hundreds of pages, leaving out what is unnecessary, including what is essential, constructing a narrative arc, building characters, evoking emotions, using metaphors, following themes, and all that jazz?  It’s a mystery to me.

The Elements of Stifle

I have been re-reading Strunk & White (Third Edition) in bits and pieces before bed.  A lot of it is outdated, but it’s a fun read.  I disagree with parts, and think many of its rules are obsolete or overly formal, but the delivery is wonderful.  I can imagine Professor Strunk standing in the corner glowering at me as I write this, tightly gripping a reedy switch that he will strike down upon my ear the moment her perceives weak prose on my monitor.  It’s also full of puns.  Whatever criticism has been leveled against the guide is probably valid, but the authors are adamant throughout that it is indeed just a guide—a collection of signposts, really.  We’re not supposed to take it too seriously.

Re-reading The Elements of Style has temporarily (given my history, extremely temporarily) reinvigorated my interest in writing on a regular basis and maybe even for some legitimate purpose.  I always enjoy going back years later and reading the ridiculous things I wrote.  (Side note: To the authors, use of the connective that, as in “things that I wrote,” is discretionary.)  That was definitely true when I rediscovered the journal that I kept during my post-college wander around Europe. 

My primary motivation for writing during that trip was to stave off boredom.  It’s hard to believe, but I was bored stiff for large periods of time on that trip as I wandered in the heat with torn pants and third-day underwear, mostly due to a lack of planning and research and a belief that I wasn’t supposed to be spending any money.  I had some crazy times for sure, but I filled an extraordinary amount of useless, empty time by writing and taking up counter space.

Something similar motivates me today.  My job is not very demanding (I am what the newspapers call “underemployed”), and I have a tragic inability to grab a hold of my life by the back of the neck and force it to go anywhere at all, much like I had a tragic inability to sit down and learn the first thing about whatever city I found myself in during my ridiculous walkabout.  I have been thinking about how much time I am spending killing time at work—and lounging around once I get home—and it saddens me.  Which, in turn, further tramples my motivation to be somehow active and productive workwise.  (Another side note: Strunk & White actually recommend adding “-wise” to all kinds of nouns.) 

This is something I have struggled with my whole life and, once again, I have decided I must have a creative outlet which, if you are following me, is clearly just an elaborate way of avoiding what I am really supposed to be putting all of my energy into, i.e., finding a better job.  As a kid I spent entire beautiful East Coast summer days sitting on the worn-out foam chair in my bedroom in front of my little TV, half-watching Saved By the Bell or Lassie or something, and half-gazing out the window at the maple tree and the clear blue sky, feeling intensely depressed that I should be doing something, but doing nothing at all.

Yes, writing is, for the moment, an elaborate procrastination / responsibility avoidance / self-inflicted-boredom killing mechanism.  Perhaps admitting in writing that I am often incapable of mustering up and sustaining the motivation to improve my standing careerwise (this is my new thing now: everything is “-wise”), or finishing anything that I start, is a small step in the right direction.  I think I have finished this essay, at least.

I'm smarter than you are!

This past Saturday I rode with SDBC's "A" group as usual.  I rode up to the start from home, which I enjoy unless there is a headwind the whole way, which only happens about 97% of the time.

Intersections with traffic lights always present a problem for large groups of cyclists: When a light turns red just as a group enters an intersection, is it safer for those in the back of the group to plow through or screech to a halt?  Generally, if the group is together, everyone just continues through, even as the light turns red well before the entire group is across the danger zone.

Some people think that is the safest thing to do.  I don't.  The safest thing to do is for everyone to stop as soon as any light turns yellow, and for everyone to ride at a speed that makes it possible to do so in the first place.  But that is not going to happen on any "A" ride, anywhere.

I do think there is one situation in which it is not unreasonably unsafe to roll through: When the group is closely packed together, the cross street has few lanes and a low speed limit, and it is a simple, normal intersection with good visibility.

That was not the case as we approached Del Mar Heights Road on El Camino Real.  That is a HUGE intersection: 9 lanes by 9 lanes with concrete medians and two left turn lanes each way -- even a few right turn lanes!  And while the speed limit is probably 45, everybody speeds.  I think it would be pretty hard to design a more dangerous intersection.

The group was quite spread out and thinly dispersed as we approached the intersection, with large gaps between riders, especially near the back, where I was.  Way up front, the lead riders had just entered the intersection as the light turned yellow, then red.  Riders continued streaming through for several seconds, long enough for me and a girl riding next to me to look around, briefly assess the danger of the situation, weigh that against the value we place on our own lives, and hit the brakes.

"ROLL IT!  GO!" several people behind us yelled as a few daredevils stood up and sprinted into traffic.  My spine tingled as I watched them try to bridge a gap across 9 lanes as cross traffic began moving.  Soon the thirty or so of us remaining at the red light stopped completely, unclipped, and watched the lead group shoot away.  "Fuck that -- I have a wife," I said to nobody in particular.

The next several miles were exhilarating, as we tried to chase down the lead group.  I contributed as much as I could, and it felt like we would probably catch up to them at the rest point.  But we got stopped at another red light and waited to make a left onto El Apajo from San Dieguito Road.

Contrast the two intersections:
Intersection #1: 9 lanes each way, 2 L turn lanes each way, major thoroughfares known for speeding:
Intersection #2: "T" intersection, 1-2 lanes depending on direction, 1 L turn lane, low traffic.



As we stood waiting to turn at Intersection #2, a few riders got impatient and slowly rolled through the red left turn arrow.  There were no cars in sight.  The group -- including me -- followed.  A moment later, someone I didn't recognize rolled past me and said, "I guess that red light didn't bother you?"

Uh-oh.  I pedaled up to him and asked: "Was that a dig at me for stopping at that red light?"
"Yeah, it was!"
"That was an incredibly dangerous intersection and the group was all over the place."
"I almost crashed into the back of you!"
"Well, maybe you should have been paying attention."
[He issues a tirade of random insults, accusing me of riding with the wrong group, not pulling enough, not knowing how to ride, etc.  I listen attentively.]
"Gee, you seem like a pretty smart guy!" I offer.
"I'm smarter than you!!!"
"Really?"
"Yeah I'm smarter than you!"

I don't think I've ever laughed so hard while on a bicycle.  "Gosh!  How can I argue with that?" I asked.

He probably felt like a total idiot.  In any case, he probably had a lot of time to reflect on the whole incident after we dropped him.

Of course, as always, two minutes later I came up with the perfect retort: "Yeah, well, my dad can pee farther than your dad!"

Oh the things I should have said.

After Work Ride - June 15th 2010

A fast-ish, windy 18 or so miles around Rancho Bernardo.  Some steep little pitches, but a nice route.  Thoughts wandered...

SDBC Sunday Ride June 14, 2010 - 79 mi

Yesterday I rolled the dice and rode up to UC Cyclery for the SDBC "Sunday" ride.  I say "rolled the dice" because both times I had tried that before, I was either 1/2 an hour early and decided to ride on my own, or there was no such ride that day.  Apparently the printed calendar that the club sends is not accurate.  But now I'm on the weekly email list, so I get all the important updates (or so I assume) including, but not limited to, the update that the calendar is wrong.

Armed with my new knowledge, I ride the 13.3 miles to the starting point, and there is... one other guy there waiting.  Uh oh... but no worries, soon we're a group of 7, chatting and sizing each other up.  I recognize most of the group from the Saturday rides.  We take off leisurely, with some instructions from the group leader to not shirk your duties if you're at the front.

I wish I had a map of where we went, because it was a great route northeast through Poway, around the Pomerado loop to RB, through 4S Ranch, into Rancho Santa Fe, and uh... some turns, various roads, hills... somewhere in RSF... no idea... and we pop out on that road the name of which I always forget and eventually landed at Java Depot ("OMG BAGEL OM NOM NOM").  See why I want a map?  From there it was the standard "Java-Depot-to-Home" shuttle, and generally the group stayed together until Genessee, where I broke off to ride home.

The pace throughout was good, and the other folks were nice, as usual on SDBC rides.  I tried to do my fair share of work and stay at the front on the climbs, and I felt pretty good the whole time.  Approaching RSF the legs were burning, so I downed a lot of food.  Still didn't eat enough though.

The most amazing part of the day was that I didn't take a nap after the ride.  I attribute that to the later-than-usual start (read: more sleep) and eating better (although not great) so I didn't binge when I got home.

All-in-all it was a very good ride and a welcome change from the chaotic Saturday "A" group.  Hill repeats tomorrow I think.

Mission Trails June 13, 2010

Very nice ride on Saturday w/ V at Mission Trails park.  I like riding there; there's always a challenge, and I still have yet to explore the entire park.  V did great -- she's getting pretty fearless.  I actually had to talk her out of trying one or two rather technical sections.  I didn't try them either.  Maybe if we both had full body armor, or were still in our capricious early twenties.

I think we rode for about 2 hours, stopping now and then to examine a couple of snakes, one of which was definitely a rattler.  I even got a warning rattle!  Gives you the heebie-jeebies.

There are some super-duper fun singletrack descents there, but you have to earn 'em.  And one particular climb has become my nemesis.  One day I will make it up the entire thing, but I'll have to try again on a day when an there isn't an a-hole birder standing in the middle of the trail and absolutely freaking REFUSING to yield, on more than one occassion, even after he caused me to come off the bike (I was going 1 mph up an incredibly steep pitch, and he just stood there looking at me), after he saw me ride back down to try again, and after I rode back up to where he was standing fiddling with his binoculars and said to him very politely, "Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to try to climb this trail again."  I don't dislike hikers or birders.  In fact, I'm an avid hiker and I enjoy looking at birds.  I hate a-holes, and this person was one.

Fortunately, the experience didn't mar what was an otherwise lovely and snakey ride with V.