Better late than never: 2007 CSC Invitational bike race

Wow, so much going on lately between work, Chris Cornell's new album, and various home-related stuff, that I briefly attended a bike race two weeks ago and never got around to blogging about it. The race was the 10th annual CSC Invitational, in Arlington, VA. It's a criterium race of 100 laps around an apparently brutal 1km course through the Clarendon business district. Very convenient, as the local subway stop comes up right next to the start/finish line of the course.

As luck would have it, the race takes place the weekend before we do inventory at work, so I always have to work that Saturday. Fortunately I have an indulgent boss, so last year and this I took an extended lunch break that day and managed to catch an hour or two of the race. It's pretty exciting stuff, though I was so busy taking photos this year that I didn't get fully into it. My pics didn't turn out as well as I would have liked, so I've also borrowed a few from one of my riding buddies, 7rider (Regina Spallone).







This was the only crash I saw this year. The poor dude was near the front of the peloton, so several of the riders behind him clipped him or his bike as they came around the curve. I saw him later walking over to the paramedics and he was just dripping blood down his left side. He got a round of applause from the crowd, though, when he picked himself up and limped off the course carrying his bike:

The one thing that really disappointed me is that I didn't get any good photos of riders from my new team to root for, Team Slipstream (Powered by Chipotle, woo-hoo!). There are some very talented riders on this team, including Brad Huff, who tore up the field for almost all 100 laps of last year's race. And Slipstream's going out of their way to race clean, with a drug-testing program that empasizes maintaining the rider's health along with catching the illegal stuff. Plus, they've got all that cool argyle kit.

Slipstream's gorgeous Felt bikes:


Michael Creed:

(Credit: Regina Spallone)

Regina managed to get a couple of very cool shots of our reigning US Crit champ, Huffy-boy, who wore special red/white/blue argyle to celebrate his recent win:

(Credit: Regina Spallone)


(Credit: Regina Spallone)

Gotta love that mullet!! Next year, I'm going to see if I can finagle that Saturday off and catch the entire race. It's just too freakin' much fun.

Carry On: Chris Cornell's latest album

I need to begin this with a disclaimer: This is not a review. Nothing I’m writing here is a fact or a truth of any kind. I don’t know much about music, and I certainly can’t make any sweeping statements of how the rest of Chris Cornell’s fans feel about this album. These are my impressions, emotional responses, and personal critiques of Carry On, nothing more. I’m going to try to be constructive, but I ain’t holdin’ nothin’ back. That said…

"No Such Thing"- I’ve discussed the subject matter of this song at the Chris Cornell Forum and here in my blog. Apparently it’s written from the perspective of a sociopathic suicidal murderer. Very timely, in light of Columbine a few years ago and Virginia Tech recently. The metaphor of how the "rain got in and ruined it all" is nicely effective in describing the mental deterioration of the sociopath. The lyrics are very thoughtful, questioning "What gives me the right/to think that I could throw away a life/even mine?" Unfortunately, they’re also riddled with sloppy rhyming such as "invisible/impossible" and "meaningless/a mess". And one of the lines that could have been the most thought-provoking ("Maybe to lose or to save your soul, is a choice of how you fill the hole") falls flat for me. I get that he’s referring to an emotional hole, but there’s got to be some other way the line could have been worded. The song has lots of potential, but it doesn’t quite achieve it.

"Poison Eye"- It’s The Who!! Seriously, he sounds just like Daltrey on this one, and the music and lyrics have Townsend’s stamp all over them. Listening to this, I have flashbacks to the first time I saw the movie Tommy. The guitar hook and keyboards especially sound like something straight from that soundtrack. The subject matter is basically a re-tread of "#1 Zero" from Audioslave’s Out of Exile. And like "#1 Zero", this song unfortunately does nothing for me.

"Arms Around Your Love"- Top 40 Pop song. A fairly well-written Pop song, but a Pop song nonetheless. This is the first song on the album, too, in which it becomes obvious that Chris’ vocals are a bit thin. I’ve been singing along with it just because it’s so damned catchy, not because it moves me in any way.

"Safe and Sound"- And here we begin with the steel guitar obsession (or is that slide guitar? I don’t know, but it ends up being over-used on the album). Another song with great potential. Chris’ faith in a "promised land" is touching, but the question "why can’t we pull this together?" sounds a bit disingenuous coming from the man who wrote "Blow Up The Outside World". This song is like "Heaven’s Dead" from Out of Exile: I really like the verses, but I can’t relate to the sentiment of the chorus.

And this is the perfect time for me to respond to posts I’ve read at the CC Forum in which people have gushed about how Chris’ voice on Carry On has just as much range and power as it’s always had. I have to disagree. On this song and others to come, the vocals are effective emotionally, but I think he still shows some of the strain he was subject to on Out of Exile and Revelations. As a result, the soaring chorus has a constricted sound to it, as opposed to the more full-throated tone of something like "Steel Rain" from Euphoria Morning. He’s sounded so much better on tour since the album was completed that I think it’s a shame he didn’t delay the release again in order to go back and re-record some of the vocals. This song has a pretty melody, though, despite being bit on the slow side. This is another one I’ve begun singing just because it’s fun to do so.

"She’ll Never Be Your Man"- I’m really surprised by it, but this is my favorite song on the album. There’s a more organic flow between the lyrics and the melody, his voice is a bit richer, it’s catchy… and the subject matter is quirky. Not being a lesbian or a man dumped for a lesbian, I can’t really identify with it, but I still get a kick out of singing along with it. More steel (or slide?) guitar, but it works well on this one.

"Ghosts"- I can do without the falsetto. There’s a definite strain to the vocals on this one, with Chris slipping into the nasal, slightly whiny, tone that he used on the first ‘Slave album, and that made me first begin wondering what was going on with his voice. I’ve seen comments from some folks who are impressed with the long high note he holds at the end of this song, but to me it’s just too thin and reedy. I’d love to hear it live now, since his throat’s in so much better shape. Lyrically, though, the song is beginning to appeal to me. It seems to be very autobiographical and, if so, is a great statement to people who would expect him to remain musically static. The chorus is a little bouncy for me, but I’ve still begun singing along with it.

"Killing Birds"- This is another tune folks have been raving about, but it just plain disturbs me. Hearing it discussed, I was anticipating something dark and thought-provoking. Instead, the lyrics are just a sloppy mess. On first listen, there seems to be an apparent connection between the metaphor of "killing birds" and the death of the bird in "Like Suicide". Unlike "…Suicide", though, the metaphors in this one are not only incomprehensible, they’re mixed to the point of being ridiculous. The final verse in particular creates some disturbing imagery:

"If I had a web
I could sit and wait for you
Wouldn’t need a stone
I’d just poison you
And tie you up
And you would be a bird
A beautiful crested one
And your eyes would beg
But I’m just doing my job"

Chris, dude... yer killin’ me. Ok, you’re trading in your stone to become a spider, but you’re tying up a big ol’ crested bird, so you must be one of those gigantic South American tarantula-type spiders. But since when do tarantulas have jobs? I’m sure what he’s saying is that the bird’s begging is to no avail because the spider/murderer is compelled by his instincts, but this just doesn’t work. On top of the painful lyrics, the phrasing of the vocals is choppy and clumsy. This is the second song out of Chris’ entire catalog that I just can’t listen to ("Man or Animal" from Out of Exile was the first).

"Billie Jean"- The first version of this song that I heard was from an acoustic set in Amsterdam. It was so slow and dreary I couldn’t listen to the whole thing. Then I heard Chris perform it live in Baltimore and was blown away by the more dramatic, electric version. I was very curious to find out which version would end up on Carry On. It seems to be somewhere in the middle. The tempo’s picked up a bit from the Amsterdam one, but the vocals on the verses are a bit too soft and become a bit constricted in the more emotional choruses. The current live version (check out the video from my 5/17/07 blog) is so much more effective, but I still sing along with this one because it’s almost as good.

"Hover/Scar On The Sky"- I have to be harsh again. There’s a child-like quality to this song that makes it hard for me to listen to. What I mean by that is: it sounds as if it was written by a 7-yr old for an audience of 7-yr olds. The lyrics are trite and the phrasing is again very clumsy. And his voice sounds so tight and constricted that I wish he’d gargle some saltwater and sing it again. I can almost hear this song on Euphoria Morning, but it’s just not as well-written or well-performed as any of those tunes.

"Your Soul Today"- I’m having trouble getting past the line, "Can I visit your legs?". "Can I visit your arms?" evokes an image of melting into a comforting embrace, but "…visit your legs" is just clumsy (I need a new synonym for that word). I assume it’s meant to be sexy, but it just makes me think of someone hugging a pair of disembodied legs. As a result, I’ve barely even listened to the rest of the song.

"Finally Forever"- Because of the admiration and respect I have for Chris, I am really, truly happy that he’s so very much in love with his wife. Unfortunately, I do not think that love songs like this one are Chris’ forte. Ironically, he’s written some incredible songs about love gone wrong. "Finally Forever", though, comes off as a weak Rod Stewart impression. And at this point on the album, the steel (slide?) guitar is just plain annoying.

"Silence the Voices"- I can’t even comment on this song. It’s entry #3 in my list of "Chris Cornell Songs I Just Can’t Listen To" (three tunes out of 20 years worth of song-writing really ain’t bad, though).

"Disappearing Act"- This one causes more flashbacks for me, this time to having to listen to my mom’s old Gordon Lightfoot albums. Or was it Jim Croce…? I dunno, but I’m starting to get beyond the flashbacks and into the lyrics. The more I listen, the more the imagery strikes me as classic Cornell. The rest of the song is so different that the words didn’t come across at first but, like "Ghosts", it’s beginning to have an impact on me. And again like "Ghosts", I’d love to hear him re-record it now. I have a feeling the improvement in his singing would make this song as beautiful as it should be.

"You Know My Name"- The version I ripped off the ‘net before Casino Royale was released is better, but I still really like this song. Musically, it was a surprise at first to hear Chris create music like this (with David Arnold’s collaboration, of course), but if you take it in context it’s great. It’s not a Chris Cornell song, it’s a Chris Cornell James Bond song. The lyrics fit the movie perfectly, but still have the kind of wonderful imagery that Chris is so good at. And the vocal performance is husky and less constrained. Unfortunately, though, it clashes with the rest of Carry On. I fully understand Chris’ wanting to release it as his own song instead of on the movie soundtrack, but there’s not enough hard-rocking stuff on the album for it to blend in. Oh well.

"Today" (Bonus track)- This one’s full of falsetto vocals and "do-do-do-do-do"’s that have made it hard for me to listen to. I really want to, though, because the snatches of lyric I’ve picked up so far are intriguing. If I can find the lyrics on-line (they’re not in the liner notes), this may be one that I end up really enjoying, in spite of the falsetto.

"Roads We Choose" (Bonus track)- Like "Today", I’m dying to find official lyrics for this tune. As I’ve mentioned in threads on the CC Forum, my first impression of this song is that it’s Chris’ version of the Beatles "When I’m 64", with a little of A Perfect Circle’s "The Nurse Who Loved Me" cover thrown in. It’s quirky, it’s sweet, and I’m starting to really enjoy it.

For the most part, Carry On is troublesome for me. In some cases, the songs head in a direction I just can’t follow. That's not a problem on Chris' part, though, it's my problem. In other cases, I truly believe that he didn’t think the songs through well enough. There are sloppy lyrics, clumsy phrasing, and over-used musical motifs. And I find it frustrating that his voice improved so much after the album was completed. So many of the songs on Carry On would be improved by the more full-throated delivery that he could probably give them now. I kind of get the feeling that he was just so excited about this album that he wasn’t able to be objective about the songs and take his time putting them together. If that's the case, then on the one hand, it's touching. On the other hand, it's aggravating as hell. There are some songs, though, that, in spite of how different they are, will definitely end up on a cd mix to be listened to along with the best of his work from Soundgarden, Temple of the Dog, and Euphoria Morning. Carry On is just good enough for me to be eager to hear what he does next.

First paddle of the year

I finally got my kayak out for the first time yesterday. I've been neglecting it terribly since last year. Getting the new bike last year got me all excited about cycling, not to mention that it's vastly easier to throw the bike on top of the car than it is the kayak. I think I had the boat out about a half dozen times last year, compared to close to 50 bike rides (which is a pittance to the serious cyclists out there). It's been so long since I last paddled that I had to stop and actually remember how to tie the boat on the car.

It felt great once I was out on the water, though. I launched late afternoon on the Monocacy River at the aquaduct, near where it joins the Potomac, and paddled upstream to the Rte 28 bridge. The little rapid there was too rough to paddle through upstream and I didn't feel like dragging the boat, so that was my turnaround point. Heading back downstream, I practiced some low brace turns (a very elegant turn that's fun to do), then headed out onto the Potomac. Ended up anchoring myself against a log sticking above the surface midstream, releasing the seatback, and lying back to chill out for a while. Late day, watching rays break around the edges of cloud that had passed in front of the sun while listening to the water trickle along under the hull of my boat... All in all, a damned nice way to spend a couple of hours.

My intro to singletrack riding

This past Sunday, my cyclocross bike and I took the plunge and I had to change my mind about mountain biking.

For years, I've been conflicted about mountain biking. Having seen a lot of the trails I hike turn into sidewalk-wide mud pits due to being plowed up by knobby tires, having been disturbed on peaceful rambles by the shouted conversations of mtb riders whizzing by on the trail, and having almost been run down once or twice, I've generally felt that bikes should not share trails with hikers and equestrians. There's one park in my area (Schaeffer Farms) that was developed by local mtb associations and that's primarily, unofficially reserved for bikes. That's fine. I've been happy to keep my feet off their trail if they keep their tires off mine. But, at the same time, being a biker in addition to a hiker, I could kind of understand the appeal of mountain biking. I've ridden for years along the C&O Canal towpath and loved every dusty, muddy, rocky, gorgeous mile through the trees along the Potomac River.

I did give mountain biking a try once about a dozen or so years ago. My ex-boyfriend, whose total experience with bikes really revolved around a (probably stolen) bmx, decided one day that we should try out the trails at Schaeffer Farms. All I really remember of the ride is being so busy looking at the scenery that I kept running into things. That ride pretty much convinced me that the whole mtb thing probably wasn't my cup of tea.

Since buying a cyclocross bike (Specialized Tri-Cross) last year that can supposedly handle a variety of terrain, I've been wanting to test it's abilities. It's excellent on the towpath. It's capable on the road (can't keep up with most of the other women I ride with, but that's partly the bike's limitations and partly mine). The only thing left was singletrack. Finally, this past weekend, some of my riding buddies dragged me around the DC Beltway to Rosaryville State Park for a spin on 10 miles of fairly simple trail.

It was a blast. We took it easy, averaging about 7mph and taking lots of breaks to re-group &/or catch our breath. I found, though, that it was really surprisingly easy. Granted, it's rated as a beginner/intermediate trail and I avoided log obstacles and walked one stream crossing, but I was able to keep up most of the time with the more experienced, stronger rider who was leading us. The bike's gearing handled the rollercoaster hills just perfectly (though my forearms cramped up from squeezing the hell out of the brakes on downhills). By the time we hit the halfway point, I had figured out the rythm of the trail, using the little humps like a slingshot to propel the bike up larger rollers, and guiding it around tree roots and curves with my shoulders and hips instead of the handlebars. And, of course, the woods and meadows the trail passed through were beautiful, albeit a tad blurred. I also had a moment of validation. At one point, a couple of young guys pulled up on the side of the trail to let us pass. As I approached them, I heard one of them say "A 'cross bike. Cool!"

So now I'm hooked. I don't see myself ever bombing down a hill or across a stream, and I definitely don't see myself climbing over logs, but I can see me and the Tri-Cross flowing along a swoopy, smooth trail like Rosaryville pretty frequently. Which makes planning where to ride on my day off just that much more difficult. Toooo many options

Spring fever

"Though I may not believe in the order of the universe, yet I love the sticky little leaves as they open in spring."
(Ivan Karamazov to his brother Alyosha in The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Doestoevsky)

Every year at this time, I have to pull out that big fat Russian soap-opera of a novel and read that line (which Doestoevsky apparently cribbed from a Pushkin poem).

If you haven't been getting out and experiencing the opening of the sticky little leaves lately, then shame on you.

Interesting encounters: Chris Cornell and a fox

Last night, I headed up to B'more to experience Chris Cornell performing live at Ram's Head. I passed up a couple of Audioslave shows over the last few years because I'm just not interested in experiencing music in an arena setting anymore. The one time I saw Soundgarden was at a Lollapalooza event (with The Ramones and Metallica, woo-hoo!!), and that was definitely a cool experience. My memories of SG's performance are hazy at best, since I spent most of their set in the mosh-pit (where I learned that I'm armpit height to the average male), but the entire day was an experience. And a few years ago, I saw a few shows on T00l's tour for Lateralus. One was general admission at an outdoor pavillion, the other two were in arenas. The pavillion show is the only one of the three that is firmly planted in my memory. There's just something about the energy of a general admission crowd that adds to a show, and it's even better in an intimate club setting. So, when Cornell seemingly threw this club tour together at a moment's notice, I was glad that I heard about it in time to snag a ticket the day they went on sale. If his new solo career follows the course begun with Audioslave, it may be the last chance to see him in an intimate venue.

I did hesitate a bit, I admit. Chris' voice has definitely shown signs of wear over the last several years. Something happened to his throat between Euphoria Morning and the first 'Slave album. While the new huskiness evident on tunes like "Cochise" and "What You Need" was definitely sexy, it concerned me. Then I started hearing live recordings in which it was obvious he was straining. Worst of all was a live performance after the second album, Out of Exile, was released. It was some VH1 award show or something, and Chris' voice cracked all over the place while singing "Doesn't Remind Me". I cringed watching it. Somehow, between Out of Exile and Revelations, though, he managed to gain some control over the situation. He sounded better on the new album, and live performances on the 'net had a smoothness to them I was afraid he'd lost. He's held onto that whiskeyed huskiness, but seems better able to hit those high notes he was once notorious for. So, I had a hard time keeping my expectations in check on the drive to B'more last night.

In a nutshell, the show was awesome. The fact that there were too many tall people between me and the stage, and that the sound mix was frustratingly muddy, couldn't detract from the fact that the man who's music has entranced me for 16 years was bouncing and prowling around the stage mere feet in front of me. I missed not hearing "Like Suicide", "Call Me a Dog" or "Zero Chance" (which I've heard he's performed at other shows this tour), but Chris put together a great selection of tunes nonetheless. A handful of SG Badmotorfinger classics, a couple of Temple of the Dog gems, his movie soundtrack treasures "Seasons" and "Sunshower", and a few tunes from his soon-to-be released 2nd solo album. It was hard to catch the emotion of his voice, between his mic being buried in the sound mix and everyone (myself included) singing along with every song, but it was obvious that he was having no issues hitting every note with intensity. I have to admit to being so caught up in the experience that I actually sang along with "No Such Thing" (from the new album, not impressive) and "Black Hole Sun" (the song for which SG is doomed to be remembered, not one of their best). And the more up-tempo, dramatic version of his "Billie Jean" cover was fantastic, much better than the slow, actually dull (my opinion, sorry) acoustic version I'd heard on the 'net.

I've got mixed expectations for Carry On, the new album coming out in June. Of the four tunes I've heard so far ("You Know My Name", "Billie Jean", "No Such Thing" & "Arms Around Your Love"), two of them are pretty weak lyrically, continuing a trend that concerned me on the 2nd & 3rd 'Slave albums. As much as I hate to say this, my impression is that sobriety has tempered Chris' poetic ability. The incredible imagery and metaphors of his past tunes have been repaced by a clear-eyed straightforwardness that just doesn't have the same impact. And he's picked up a disturbing habit of sophomoric rhyming. After last night's show, though, I'm more than willing to give the new album a chance to grow on me. I'll follow Chris' new direction for as far as I possibly can.

Today's encounter was much more sedate and quiet. I hit the woods for a hike, since last night left me too wiped out for a bike ride. So, I'm heading up a slight hill and I see something standing in the middle of the trail up ahead. At first I thought it was a dog, since most people who hike with their dogs aren't smart enough to keep them leashed, but then I realized it was a fox. It was just standing smack in the middle of the trail as calm as could be, watching me approach. At first, I froze, thinking it would be startled and take off. When it continued to just stand there, I slowly moved along the trail till I was a couple dozen feet from it, at which point we both stood there looking at each other. Then, the fox sat down. That floored me. It didn't appear to be injured or rabid or otherwise wacked out, it just wasn't concerned that I was there. I took a few tentative steps closer and it didn't budge. That is, until it decided to lie down. After a while, it even put it's head down and appeared to be napping. I had no choice but to stand there. Several minutes later, a squeak next to a nearby tree had the fox on it's feet. Had to be a mouse or a chipmunk. The fox, with no care for the fact that it was coming closer to me, trotted down the trail to stand next to the tree looking for the source of the squeak. It apparently didn't find it, because it soon plopped itself down on trail again, put it's head on it's paws, and re-commenced it's nap. It raised it's head once as I moved a few steps to sit on a rock near my section of the trail, but then closed it's eyes again.

About half an hour after our little party began, a full bladder convinced me that it was time to disturb the fox and continue on to the parking area and the porta-johns. I stood up and took a few steps forward. The fox raised it's head and looked at me, but didn't move. I took a few more steps and it realized the situation. It stood up and headed back up to where it was when I first saw it, where it turned and waited to see what I was going to do. I began slowly walking toward it, and it finally decided to move off into the mountain laurels bordering the trail. It didn't go far, though, and watched me as I passed. After a dozen or so feet, I turned back and saw it step back out onto the trail and down towards the tree where the mysterious squeak was sounded. I would have loved to have hung out and watched it for a while longer, but I had a 5:30pm chiro appointment and the urgings of my bladder to deal with. So, I hiked on.

That was somewhat dull in the telling, but it really was a very cool occurrence. On the heels of last night's Chris Cornell experience, it made for a pair of incidents I had to write about to preserve them in my memory.

You tell me I'm low 'cause I've slept on the floor,
And out in the woods with the badgers & wolves...
(Chris Cornell, "Call Me a Dog", Temple of the Dog)

Time to ride

Over thinking, over analyzing separates the body from the mind.
Withering my intuition, missing opportunities and I must
Feed my will to feel my moment drawing way outside the lines.
("Lateralus", T00l, Lateralus)

I've been over-analyzing the crap out of things for the last handful of months, and it's left me a borderline basket-case. One of my MySpace "friends" recently said something about how he enjoys cycling because he "loves to reduce life to a series of actions." Good plan. I'm gonna go ride my bike, too. I may be gone for a while, so... See ya!

Locomotion as a form of meditation

I don't consume alcohol, "illegal" substances, or cigarettes. I do get a kick out of the ocassional hit of nitrous oxide at the dentist's office, I like my teas caffeinated, and I enjoy a daily piece or two of fine dark chocolate, but otherwise I'm fairly abstinent. Past experience indicates that I could probably develop an addiction to sex, but current lifestyle choices have caused me to abstain from that, too. The one and only craving I fully indulge is an addiction to fast driving.

I'm fortunate to live in a region with some pretty good roads for driving at speed, somewhat close to areas of transition between suburban and rural. That, combined with the rolling hills of the piedmont region, means that curvy, relatively low-traffic country roads are in easy access. When I first moved to this locale back in my mid-20's, I began to explore just to familiarize myself with the area. As I started to discover the back-country roads nearby, I quickly realized how much fun they could be. I also learned that driving fast gave me an unexpected respite from the cyclothymic depression I had been sunk in for a handful of years. When I found myself sitting agitated and restless in my apartment in the evening, I'd grab my keys and head out for a drive. To this day, nothing calms my nerves and relaxes me like pushing the speedometer on an open road.

The thing about driving is the focus it requires. When you drive fast on country roads, you quickly learn that you have to maintain awareness and a constant anticipation that something (an animal, a pedestrian, another car) could be in the middle of the road as you crest that next hill or swing around that upcoming curve. The focus required pushes all other thoughts out of your head and leaves you in a very Zen-like state. I've intentionally described this state as "focused" and not "concentrated". Concentration implies a tunnel-visioned rigidity and that's sure to lead to a crash. What's necessary to drive fast is a relaxed, wide-spread, yet focused, awareness. Peripheral vision is key, as is being relaxed enough to respond instead of react. Chris Cornell is apparently also a speed-freak and describes it similarly:

"Speed is true escapism. When you're going really fast you have no opportunity to think about anything else in your life. Stuff that might bug you gets forced out of your brain. When I want to clear out my mind, I'll usually go driving late at night on roads where I know there are no police..."
My chiropractor (Dr. Joe) and I have discussed this. Dr. Joe is a motorcycle afficionado, specifically racing bikes. He and his buddies frequent many of the same roads I do, and several of my chiro appointments have ended with us comparing notes on current road conditions, favorite curves, etc. In one of these conversations, Dr. Joe described the exhilaration of of entering a curve and feeling that point when it's time to accelerate to sling your vehicle around the apex and out the other side. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Whether it's a car or a motorcycle, there's a thrill in feeling that no-mind, totally instinctual one-ness with vehicle and pavement.

Another great description of driving fast that mirror my sentiments is from a January 1999 National Geographic article about T.E. Lawrence ("Lawrence of Arabia"). Lawrence was apparently a motorcycle buff and spent the years of his retirement tearing around the English country-side on a pretty cool-looking Brough Superior SS1000, before an unfortunately fatal crash on that same bike. The Nat'l Geo writer had the opportunity of driving the Brough:

"...blasting down the narrow roads of Dorset that day, I did get a taste of what Lawrence found on this bike at the end. It was a kind of surrender, I think-- a speed-induced state of bliss in which things go empty and white, as they sometimes do in the desert, and where... struggle might be briefly forgotten, or somehow resolved, and penance seems no longer necessary."
To a lesser degree, my bicycle induces this same bliss. As I mentioned in another recent post, I'm no speed-demon on the bike. I just don't have the watts for it (yet...?). I've gone as fast as 30mph downhill, but I slow down like a granny going into turns. And I'm just not powerful enough for sustained speed on a straightaway. But there's a similar relaxed focus required in cycling. To maintain a steady cadence on flats or rolling hills demands attention to breathing, gearing, pedal stroke, and any upcoming obstacles that will affect that ideal combination of rpm/mph. Obviously, there's a necessary amount of knowledge of these various elements required, but at a certain point that knowledge becomes muscle-memory and thought exits the equation. Again, it's body, machine and surface congealing into a harmonious state of mindful-yet-mindless freedom from care.

Getting back to the car: Most people would probably not consider me to be a "good" driver, but I'd like to think of myself as at least a skillful one. Yes, I'm aggressive behind the wheel, but I honestly believe that I might be a tad more aware and attentive than the average cell-phone afflicted motorist. I try to be realistic, though. I tend to attribute my lack of accidents (beyond a handful of weather-related incidents in my early 20's) to a smidgen of skill in handling the car, a teensy bit to my awareness of what's going on and what could happen at any moment around me, and a whole lot to just plain dumb luck. Of course, now that I've written those words, I'll probably go out tomorrow and have a tremendous wreck. Unless it leaves me maimed or dead, though, it probably wouldn't be enough to curb my addiction.

Anyone know of a local chapter of Speed-Demon's Anonymous...?

Time to talk about my bike

No self-serving philosophical ramblings today, sorry. Just some self-serving rambling about cycling.

According to my 2006 log at BikeJournal.com, by this time last year I had already been out for one ride. I'm not necessarily a "serious" rider (my bike log also shows that I only got in a bit more than 1,000 miles last year), but I am seriously passionate about my bike. It's not an expensive one (2006 Specialized Tri-Cross Sport) and though I've customized the components a tad, it's not been with anything top-of-the-line. The bike is, as I recently described it on a cycling forum, my partner in exploration and adventure. I'm not the greatest rider (again, my BikeJournal log attests to this), but I'm hooked on the endorphin-high I get from pedaling.

Last year, thanks to a winter that began more mildly than it ended, I rode until mid-December. By that time, it finally started to get too cold and I was beginning to miss getting out in the woods for hiking, so I figured I'd stable the pony until winter ended. As things turned out, I didn't do much hiking, either. I think I wrote back in January or so that I was spending time in tea and coffee shops instead, going through an "introspective, analytic period". Who the heck was I kidding? I've just been a freaking lazy bum ths winter. I was doing pretty well until Christmas, managing to keep a regular routine of indoor exercise going after the riding stopped. Then the holidays hit. Then we had inventory at work in January, which turned out to be stressful enough to cause a muscle spasm in my right trapezius muscle (where the shoulder meets the base of the neck). The spasm led me to finding a great chiropractor (Dr. Joe. I'll have to write about him some time. He likes to ride motorcycles fast ), but also made it difficult to exercise for several weeks. No raising my arms above my shoulders, no lifting weights, no supporting my own weight on my arms. Translated: No Yoga, no Pilates, no weight lifting. If I were creative, I could certainly have figured out an asana routine or calisthenic exercises to work around those limitations. Instead I allowed myself to get caught up in Spike TV's 5-night-a-week double episodes of CSI and descended into full sloth mode.

And just as the shoulder was getting back to normal at the beginning of this month, I got sick (see last week's scatological post). I was so sick that the doctor advised me not to fly to Florida for a business trip/family visit. He literally said "If you subject yourself to the cabin pressure in a plane while you have gastroenteritis, it could cause your colon to expand and rupture and there is a chance you could die." I chose to take his advice. At this point my stomach's back to normal, but the mild dizzy spells are sticking with me. And, on top of that, the east coast was slapped with one last snow storm, just two days after we had 75° and sunny skies. The day it was 75° was my first day back at work from being sick and I walked around the store whining that "If only I weren't sick, I could be out riding my bike!" My boss was quick to remind me that if I weren't sick then I'd have been in Florida on the business trip that he paid for. What he doesn't understand, though, is that if I were well and in Florida, I'd still be walking around whining "If only I were at home, I could be out riding my bike!"

I broke out of the sloth slump for a short hike today through the snow at Yankauer Nature Preserve, which is located near the town of Scrabble, WV, about 15 minutes from Shep'town. Nice little nature preserve with an overlook along a cliff over the Potomac, across the river from the Big Slackwater area of the C&O Canal. When I've ridden my bike along the C&O towpath up to Big Slackwater in the summer, the parking lot has always been packed. It was strange to see it baldly empty on such a gorgeously sunny day. Gazing across the river at the towpath, I couldn't help but think "If only it were warmer, I could be out riding my bike!"

A new MySpace "friend" who's also into biking has inspired me to try again to read some Ralph Waldo Emerson. Good choice for this time of year. This coming Wednesday, March 21, is the vernal equinox and the first day of spring. Here are a few appropriate words from Ralph:

"In the presence of nature a wild delight runs through man, in spite of real sorrows. Nature says, --he is my creature, and maugre all his impertinent griefs, he shall be glad with me."

Yeah, I'll save you the trouble...

Maugre:
prep.
Archaic.
Notwithstanding; in spite of.

Unwholesome states of stomach and mind

Warning: This post will include a somewhat graphic discussion of my bodily discharge. If you're not into scatological humor, you won't want to read beyond a certain point.
 
I recently wrote on anger and how ineffectively I handle my own. As I said in that post, I know of methods, mostly Buddhist, to deal with negative emotions, but I don't yet have the discipline to catch myself before those emotions get blown out of proportion (notice the hopeful quality of the word "yet" in that sentence). I've tried once or twice to begin a sitting meditation practice, but I can't seem to commit to it. Instead, I read Buddhist writings and hope that the teachings will sink in that way. So, in the latest issue of Tricycle magazine (Winter 2006), I found an article titled "Changing Your Mind: Six steps for transforming unwholesome mind states." I've read about unwholesome mind states before. I understand how they work, and that they are, ultimately, delusions constructed by our own grasping and aversion. When I'm able to stop myself and think before I react, I'm able to shake loose those delusions. What I need is to find that space between stimulus and habitual response.

Anyway, the article made me think of one of the women I work with. This particular person is someone I click with, with whom I have a similar background and some vaguely similar interests. We talk at length about situations at work and how to deal with them. I've loaned her the Dalai Lama's Ethics for the New Millenium and we've discussed human interaction from the Buddhist perspective. We trade rants over things that piss us off. In addition to the occasional rant, though, she has a tendency to feed the things that annoy her, looking for examples and not letting go of things. When I rant to her, I usually catch myself at some point and comment that I'm being unskillful and need to let go of the situation. Her response is, invariably, that it's ok, that we need to rant instead of letting things build up inside. As much for my own benefit as hers, I usually reply by explaining the difference between ranting as a form of release, and just plain letting go. I think I need to suggest that she read this article from Tricycle. I'm going to quote at length (bolding is mine for emphasis):

The historical Buddha Shakyamuni made a big deal of the distinction between wholesome and unwholesome states of mind. Most religious and philosophical traditions probably share this point of view to some extent, but the Buddha was unique in offering a detailed way of understanding how and why the mind manifests as it does in any given moment. There are patterns of cause and effect that can be seen in experience and traced over time to explain the dynamics at work shaping each moment of consciousness. The word for this is karma, and it does not mean "fate."

Moreover, the Buddha offered a simple and universal method for transforming mind stated from unwholesome to wholesome. This is important because, as the very first verse of the Dhammapada says, we become what we think. Every thought, emotion, intention, attitude, and aspiration shapes how ensuing experience will unfold. This means that every single moment of consciousness is a moment of practice, whether we like it or not. We are practicing to become ourselves. The critical question, really, is just how much we want to participate in the process.

As I understand his teachings, the Buddha was expounding what we might call a post-Copernican revolution. The world really does revolve around us, insofar as our mind is the instrument for the local construction of meaning. Left unattended, the mind will tend to organize around greed, hatred, and delusion, and will create unwholesome states that "obstruct wisdom and lead away from awakening" (Majjhima Nikaya 19). The solution to the problem, at least according to the earliest strata of Buddhist tradition, is to learn the healthy skill of transforming such mind states.

The author of the article, Andrew Olendzki, then goes on to outline the six steps of transformation as laid out in the Anumana Sutta. Again, these steps are concepts I've read about before, and that I attempt (poorly) to practice. But the points Mr. Olendzki makes leading up to them sum up very well what I've been trying to get across to my work compatriot. What we choose to think, what we choose to brood over, shapes the state of our mind. As the cliché goes, attitude is everything, and our thoughts are what create our attitude. So when I get annoyed repeatedly over those silly, uncaring salespeople downstairs who can't process their sales transactions correctly, leaving me stuck fixing their mistakes, I need to be very careful to not let those thoughts coalesce into an attitude towards those salespeople. Unfortunately, it's too late. I've spent the past several months brooding and building up seriously unwholesome thoughts towards our sales staff. Yes, I do believe that they take us, the administrative staff, for granted. But that doesn't mean I have to respond with seething resentment that spills out and poisons the attitudes of everyone else in the office. And, according to Mr. Olendzki, ranting about it with my office mates is how that poison is spread: "Accepting what is unwholesome out of attachment, or acting it out in an attempt to purge it, will just strengthen that quality of mind… Abandoning involves seeing it for what it is, recognizing the conditions that contribute to clinging to it, and gently releasing one's hold on the unwholesome quality, one moment at a time." Seems easy, huh? I need to tape that onto the wall over my desk. And then, of course, I'd need to read it, too...

So, now we come to the scatological portion of today's musings. Fun word, isn't it? Scatological. I love it when big words are used to describe something incredibly mundane, even gross. So, anyway, if you're easily grossed out, stop reading right now and hope that I don't make a habit of this.

I'm not sure why I feel the need to talk about this, except that, as with everything else, I've tried to find a lesson in it. I got sick last week. Dizzy spells, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea. No fever, though, so I wasn't sure what was going on. When it got to the point that I was having trouble walking across the room, I called the doctor. They said it sounded as if I was dehydrated and they recommended a trip to the ER for intravenous fluids. So, as there was no way I was gonna drive in that state, I called a cab and went. The diagnosis ended up being gastroenteritis, which is what contributed to the severe dehydration. I'm still partially on a fluid diet (broth, Jell-O, etc), though I am cheating a bit. I want solid food, dammit. I'm not going to regain strength on broth alone, no matter how my gut rebels. The really fun part of this, though, has been that my doctor wants stool samples so he can determine whether the condition is viral or bacterial.

You haven't truly lived until you've had to collect your own stool samples. They don't do it at the lab. No, the lab gives you however many little vials the doctor has requested, partially filled with various liquid chemicals. You then get to go home and poop into a clean, dry container. Using the teeny-tiny little scoop included with the vial, you then must fill the vial to a certain level with your poop, stir it a bit, then (tightly!) close the lid and shake to mix your poop with the liquid chemical. It's a perverse little science experiment that would have your average 7-year-old howling with laughter. I kept feeling like I was in one of T00l's early videos, except that my bathroom is too brightly lit to have the right atmosphere. And I feel sorry for the poor lab tech who has to analyze my concoction.

And the lesson? Well, scooping your own poop is a great way to shed delusions. It's humbling, and the absurdity of it really helps to put other things into perspective. And the next time I'm accused of thinking my shit don't stink, I can reply, "Well, as a matter of fact, I happen to know very well that my shit stinks somethin' awful!"

Time to go have tea.