1 out of 2

It's been a busy week, and I think I will need to reconstruct it in a more thorough way in the next day or so, as I become more introspective in the last day of 2007, as is my sentimental modus operandi.

The last day of the NFL season is usually without import for us Redskins fans in the last twenty or so years, but this particular date was significant for these reasons:  we will read ad nauseum the story of the Skinnies' incredible comeback in the last 4 games of the season to secure the last playoff spot, but it is so much sweeter having done so by drubbing the hated 'Boys from Dallas in this last match.  The other memorable part of this day is that my brother in law who has season tix to the Ravens was out of town so he gave today's tickets to me so that I could watch my other fave team, the Steelers.  These were great seats, especially given tonight's murky weather, as we were under the upper deck overhang.

I'm not a Ravens fan, despite the fact that they're my home state team and the only one to sport the state crest in their logo (very cool).  As a Skins/Steelers fan I'm definitely out of my element in the environs of M&T Stadium.  In fact, when I went to a Ravens game 7 years ago in which they came back and defeated the Jags in an incredible comeback, the victory chant was "Redskins Suck!"  A little insecurity from the Charm City?

It just so happens that my 9 y.o. daughter is a solid Stee's fan, and this was the opportunity to show her a real NFL game, warts and all.  Knowing that the behavior of drunk fans is always a reason NOT to take kids to pro games is something that I considered for about three seconds...I figured she would gain much from seeing such lunacy to learn what not to do in public.  Despite the odd f-bomb and a-hole here and there the crowd was not too bad, though quite intense, especially since about 1 in 4 fans were sporting the Black and Gold and waving Terrible Towels.  My girl proudly wore her #43 Polamalu jersey under her coat, tentative about demonstrating her true allegiance in the hostile crowd. 

Ravens won by 6, though the Steelers made it exciting in the 4th quarter.  By then we were demonstrating our zeal for the Steelers, along with a few friendly Pennsylvanians.  The interception that sealed B-more's win sent us shuffling out in the sucker's walk, taunts (Na na na na Na na na na Hey hey hey Goodbye) cascading upon us.  I think my daughter learned a thing or two about divisional rivalry sprinkled with ugly scenes here and there (two fights and ejections in our section), as well as good natured teasing among strangers.  We made sure to remind the Baltimore faithful that their squad will be home next week twiddling their thumbs...

Which leads me to the highlight of the game.  One of Baltimore's finest came up into our section to look (ostensibly) for some hooligans.  Locals were buoyed by his presence, hoping he would collar some Pittsburgh fan and send him on his way.  When prompted to do so by the crowd, this Baltimore P.D. officer turned, smiled, and said "I'm from Pittsburgh.  GO STEEELERS!"  With that comment, he borrowed a Terrible Towel and gave it a whirl, much to the howling chagrin of the locals.  They weren't happy, and they let the cop know it.

Now that's no way to treat our law enforcement officials.  How 'bout some respect?

Hopper

We went to the Edward Hopper exhibit today, as is our annual rite this time of year to go and enjoy art at a museum.  The most recognized piece of his is "Nighthawks".  Pretty amazing up close.

Even as an architect I don't get to enjoy art for its sake as much as I would like.  In fact, whenever I hit a particular exhibit it seems like that part of my brain is a stiff dried up sponge, only to be replenished by these too infrequent visits.

A couple of things, though, about viewing art in a museum.  I get tired really quickly (the weary type) and my lower back begins to ache as if I rode two cyclocross races back to back.  All of that standing and pondering.

The actual visit elicits  very specific thoughts that distinctly burn into my memory.  This particular exhibit made me think of the following:

Just how dedicated my grandfather was in his own efforts to reproduce street scenes of Braddock PA in the '60's and '70's.  His style was amazingly similar to Hopper's.  I don't know if he knew it, but Hopper's art may have been so pervasive so as to influence his.

The rooftops of New York immediately brought to mind that scene in Godfather II where Vito Corleone, after killing Mr. "I just wanna wet my beak" (I forgot his name--Don something), busts up his gun and all evidence of the crime and stuffs the pieces down the various vent stacks on the roof as he begins his trek home over the rooftop landscape to rejoin his family.

Just how ordinary the scenes that he painted were, though he was able to infuse them with a sense of foreboding spookiness, even sinister.

Go see it.

Recharge time

This is one of those years where Christmas and New Year's fall on a mid weekday, thus pulverizing any semblance of continuity for many of us in the 40 hour, Monday-Friday workaday world.  The ease at which everyone says that no work will be done because everyone will be out (either physically or mentally) makes it a helluvalot easier to take the foot off the accelerator for a week or so.

Or it's a great time to catch up/get a jump.  Me?  I've got vacation to burn, so I'll be out until the 2nd day of '08.  We're facing an intense January with about 6 deadlines, so some of the people at the office next week will be able to do some fieldwork so that we're not too deep in the weeds when we get back.  I guess that's what having elves is like.

Also the perfect time to get back on the bike, after 2 weeks off post cyclocross.  The riding should be good, and the weather doesn't look too bad either, and I'm itchin' to get back out there.  The aerobic fitness has been hurtin' lately especially since the cyclocross has been focused on 45 minute anaerobic efforts.  Some solid road rides will be most welcome.  

And of course, available time to finish these house addition drawings.  

Hope springs eternal.      

Caps on Segways?!?

I was at a meeting on H Street today (marathon session about a scattered sites project that we are doing in Southeast DC) and on my way back to the office, as I drove up north on 14th Street past McPherson Square I saw a bunch of guys with Capitals jerseys riding around on Segways. As it turned out, they were actually Washington Capitals on Segways.

As I drove past them I rolled down my window and yelled out "Vetch!" and gave a thumbs up. Ovechkin gave me a gapped tooth grin and kept on rolling. i circled around the park and snapped this pic of Backstrom, Green, and I forget who #10 is...


What I realized was that we typically see people on Segways riding in a very stiff, staid fashion (kinda dorky looking, especially with the bike helmets) in which minor shifts in weight and leaning forward tentatively control the gyroscope and by extension the forward motion of these machines. Not these guys. They were pushing these machines to their limit in order to generate as much speed as possible. In order to do so they were leaning forward quite aggressively, an awkward coaxing of speed and motion that just looked ungainly.

We're so used to seeing these guys skate effortlessly and generate significant speed with a natural stride that to see them in their jeans, home reds, and bike helmets standing and leaning on these wheeled platformed looked completely unnatural, kind of like pro hockey players in a public park on Segways.

Found time

A couple of weeks ago our friendly Verizon salesperson cheerfully asked us if we'd like to upgrade our DSL service at the office. Improved service. Faster speed. Why not? we said. What could possibly be the downside? Your equipment is compliant, they said. No prob, Bob.

We are now on our 4th day without any web based contact from our office. Our modem wasn't "compliant". Sure, we can use our dopey Blackberries and Treos to communicate, but the antisocial nature of these devices really gets under my skin (ed. note: I'm using one of these blasted devices to write this very post). I've gotta use this thing or even (gasp) the PHONE to communicate with other human beings.

The upside? All of those wasted moments spent "checking e-mail" are suddenly gone, like a cancelled meeting or a rescheduled deadline, revealing those priceless nuggets of irreplaceable found time. Kind of like the syrupy goodness of the liquified sugar at the bottom of a cafe cubano, or lying weightless in a hammock, or spinning a gear in the big ring, or sprinting headlong into a breaking wave, or walking onto a Metro train from the escalator into the car without breaking stride, or talking with a buddy from way back when as if it were yesterday, or having a date with my wife (that's me, not you), or any number of the countless decisive moments that help us decide whether or not we're happy to be here or wallowing in self pity.

If I keep going this will turn into a treacly greeting card, so I'll quit while I'm ahead.

Feelin' like the weather

Warning: This will be boring (but short).

This is one of those weekends where no physical activity takes place, whether or not the weather allows it. I was planning on riding to Herndon via Poolesville and Whites Ferry after starting the N2 on Saturday morning, but I didn't even make it out the door. I figured that with Christmas coming it would probably be wise to take it easy--15 minutes shivering waiting for the White's Ferry crossing would've given me the chills. And cyclocross ended last week, so I'm due for a week off anyway.

Saturday we went to Cath and Bob's in Herndon to bake the annual Christmas cookies. Rainy Sunday morning meant that we chilled at home, and I worked on the permit drawings for the house. Almost done. Karen lost complete track of the days, though, and tried to get me out of bed to take Adam to school until I disabused her of that notion with a simple "but it's Sunday."

The one constant through this weekend is that I felt like the weather--cold and drafty. Snoozed for about an hour during the cookie baking when Cleo the cat parked herself on my chest and took one of her many naps.....

Tale of 2 Nicks

Found myself at the Verizon Center again last night to watch the Caps drop a close one to the Sabres. Once again the largesse of my brother in law Bill allowed me the pleasure of feeling like I was a partial plan season ticket holder like I was back in the '90-'91 season. 3 games in 3 weeks.

As I perused the blogs of the local cycling talent last night I realized that the reason our own Nick M. (ex of BPVC) needs a vacation is because he was busy tallying a goal and an assist against the Buffalo squad (and playing under the "nickname" of Niklas Backstrom). See the resemblance? It often happens that one sees resemblances in people as we pass through our days--the mind's eye catalogs these resemblances and stores them for future reference, which create these synaptic connections that become the landscape of memories.

Or not, and the reader may say "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Frites?"




Anyway, a bunch of us met Nick when he joined us on the Sunday ride a couple of years ago and watched him ride past us on many an occasion. I saw his first win as a junior at Tyson's in 2006, and after that season DC Velo picked him up and he's been placing high and winning races since, including garnering incredible experience racing in Holland and Belgium during the past 2 summers. His accounts of racing in Europe are pretty intense. Yo Agent Mulder--take it easy on us old guys out on the road...

So keep on rolling Nick...you've got a bunch o' fans. Don't forget us.

Power breakfast

For about 8 years or so, I've been a regular every Thursday morning at the Bethesda Tastee Diner to have breakfast with my 2 business partners at EDG Architects. We follow the same routine--discuss current jobs, prospects, and pipeline projects, as well as the chatter that fills the nooks and crannies of the formatted business conversation over the same 3 weekday specials (2 eggs over easy, turkey bacon, wheat toast, and a side of hash browns to share). It's so routine that sometimes it's boring, but I keep reminding myself that it's the one weekly opportunity to really communicate with the two other people that keep the business running. So sometimes I speak my mind, or one of the others' mind is spoken to me, and it can get pretty heated. Ultimately we resolve the issues and move on--nothing personal.

A few years ago there was a fire at the Tastee D, and we had to enjoin our weekly repast at some other greasy spoons in the area. After 3 months or so of renovation, we were able to go back and sit in the familiar surroundings. Our familiar waitress came over to us, and without missing a beat she said "The usual?", to which we nodded, not really knowing what we were going to get. Sure enough, three weekday specials showed up as if we had just been there last week. What a pro. Someone so committed to her work that she remembers the details that we all take for granted. Now that's personal.

Hey hey Ray

Happenstance sometimes just happens.

Tonight I was walking in downtown Bethesda on my way to the B & N to find a Secret Santa gift for a work colleague. Since I work in B-town all day, everyday, it's rare that I'm there after 6PM, and in this case I had to pick up some stuff that I had forgotten for an early meeting.

As I walked in front of Raku, I though "I wonder if Ray is there". Ray (aka Rayman) is one of my many friends that I have gotten to know through the rekindled obsession with bicycle racing that occupied my early adult life, went dormant for 11 years, and now is back in full force. And when I say dormant, I mean it. I don't think I rode my bike once per year in that time period, this coming after logging 200+ mile weeks for about 4 years (maybe not as consistently as I would like to remember, but I am a revisionist historian).

So about 10 seconds later I run into Ray and his wife Justina. They're on their way to Raku, no doubt a mid off-season power walk. Cool coincidence. Nice conversation, great to run into people you know, good to meet or see the better halves of the people we associate with. I would have loved to join them for dinner, as they suggested, but I had to pick up the boy from a Scout meeting. Ray and I have lined up at the starting lines of some races the past few years, though he's seen the finish line many more times than I have. I'm tryin' to get him to join us in the mud, but so far no dice...

As for the Secret Santa gift, no luck there, as I'm looking for a specific something. On to Amazon. They have everything!!!

Cyclocross 2007

WARNING: This is REALLY long and entertaining only to me. The summary is at the bottom.

I raced the season's last 'cross race in Elkridge Maryland yesterday on a day that featured classic cyclocross conditions, like those B/W pictures in Winning Bicycle Racing Illustrated that I first came across when I got into this silly sport 20 some years ago. This is my third year doing cyclocross, but really the first year where I did more than two races.

Some of the people who stumble upon this may have already read some of my postings about previous races on our shop ride listserve, but I do this purely to create a narrative for myself and, revisionist historian that I am, convince myself that it's all worth it in the end (which it is, regardless of my own bombast, otherwise I simply wouldn't do it anymore).

So here's my recap (BORING ALERT for those not interested in the minutiae of bicycle racing):

Rockburn Cyclocross (12/9)

Last race of the season. It was cold, wet, muddy, foggy, and all things cyclocross. A great course with 2 sets of barriers, a sand pit, and many off camber turns in the mud. No severe run-ups, in fact, no run ups at all. One particular section on the back half was quite devious: coming out of the woods there was a short climb through a meadow area which transitioned to one barrier on a slight upgrade, continuing with a longer hill with a gravel bed kicker at the end made this particular section particularly brutal, and each lap this part just got harder.

So I started at the back end of the ~50 rider field. The prologue loop was pretty wicked and quite different than in past races, as it was more technical than usual and a bit sketchy. I held my position and started passing some people and soon got into the rhythm of the race, but it taxed me quick and I muddled through the middle two laps with a small gruppetto as the entire race strung out, changing positions often and soon there were only 2 of us, trading pulls. By the second to last lap I pulled ahead of my comrade Bill from Potomac Velo, knowing he would stick to my wheel and try to pip me at the line, which he did. 37th place was OK by me, as I was happy to a) finish and b) not get lapped. Howard was there, giving me some much needed support.

What was cool was that while it was rainy and cold, I was pretty warm and not too gloomy, as often happens when it's cold out. The muscle I pulled at Reston last week in my rib cage was acting up, but that made no difference in the overall outcome. Major points to Jim, the Unholy Roleur, who finished the race on his new single speed 29er. The hot chili at the end was excellent, and the overall vibe was, once again, very cool. The course had to be one of the best ones ever, too. A certain Turk I know would've enjoyed this thing, but he was sitting at home crying with his broken rear brake......

Capital Cross Classic - Reston (12/3)

It was cold, hard, and a total blast. It was great to have great support from Kathy (and her Kids), Kay, Howard, John M, Pam, and Andrea. Certainly kept me rolling to a respectable finish, especially since my last two outings were not, shall we say, optimum. Jackson did well once again, earning a third place in his class. Kemal, despite mechanical problems, finished within seconds of me, as I dieseled to 65th place through the course that was much improved from years past (though could've used another set of barriers). The hot chocolate (with real whipped cream) and cookies were bonus as we watched Jeff A. in his race.

This was the one that started me off on this whole cyclocross thang 3 years ago. I saw one race and caught the bug.

Tacchino (11/4)

Worst race of the year for me. Didn't get a chance to pre-ride the course, and just didn't get comfortable. A very fast course and well-designed, though--Squadra Coppi did it right. Kemal's got a better post on this one here.

DCCX (9/28)
Finally, a cyclocross race in DC. This race had everything one could ask for. Lots o' beer, old friends reuniting, endless loops around a circuitous course of memories, gasping for breath as you negotiated the memories of old friendships, leaping the barriers of relationships gone awry.....

Sorry, I'm in the wrong room.

This was the weekend of our 20th college reunion at William and Mary. Couldn't convince the family to make it back to DC for the race on Sunday morning, and even if I had I would have surely lost my breakfast somewhere on that course. I had bigger fish to fry that weekend. Next year, though.

Ed Sander (9/30)

What a beautiful day for a ride, race, what have you. I chose to spend the morning out at Lilypons Water Gardens in Buckeystown. I happened to have my cyclocross bike and associated gear with me. What a coincidence! NCVC was sponsoring the Ed Sander cyclocross race. I gladly joined in the fun. Unfortunately a certain Mr. K. Tuncer was not able to make it out today.

Actually, I had signed up for the 35/45 class earlier this week as the Cat 4 was closed out (this cyclocross stuff has become quite popular). Since I didn't want to blow any more of the day than necessary, I was able to switch into the Cat 4 race without paying extra (thanks NCVC) to ensure getting home an hour earlier. Balancing this racing stuff with the rest of life can be dicey. If I had known that when all these other "people" weren't in my house with me, I would've raced a lot more (though not necessarily any better than now...).

On to the ponderous narrative, which I will attempt to complete as one (1) run on sentence, replete (though not necessarily limited to) such devices as commas, semicolons, ands, as well as's, furthermores and such that make our lingo so rich and satisfying:

The prologue loop sorted out many riders early, as I started far back and made up many placings, despite a crash that we had to avoid within the first 500 meters after which we got on the course, went over the first set of barriers and negotiated the actual lily ponds, which, if the reader uses their collective imagination, is set up like rice paddies with berms between the water features that we traversed in single file, making 6-8 90 degree turns to get to the back side of the ponds. over a small hill, and back behind the start finish area where we transitioned to gravel singletrack on our way to the even more technical side of the course, where gravel singletrack became a grassy trail through a stand of trees, only to reveal a steep run-up which immediately 180'd into a drop-down (my eyes were bigger than saucers on that one) and into a series of steep switchbacks up a hill to the top of the "party zone" where Joe Jefferson was encamped, doling out zingers and other commentary about all of us fools who were about to negotiate some tricky woop-de-dos on our way to a long off-camber section that led to to a gravel pit that I negotiated the dismount, run through and remount quite expertly if I don't say so myself (ask the spectators there, who cheered on "Bicycle Place Great Job!"), giving me the incentive to power through the straightaway before the start finish line, then the course continued to the point that we entered after the prologue loop, at which point I had moved up to the top 25 or so and was feeling pretty good, until the corner between the ponds and gravel track reared its ugly head as I oversteered it and stacked it hard on my left side, forcing me to lose some placings as I remounted and hooked up with a grupetto that I had passed earlier leading to yet another tempo effort around through the party zone, where one of the guys in our group completely lost it on the "drop-in" and took out the course marking tape and poles as he tumbled down the short but steep slope, and as he was trying to remount ON THE HILL WHILE LOSING HIS PERSONAL BATTLE WITH GRAVITY AGAIN he nearly took me out as I dropped in and got past that mess, during which I was able to power up the hill past the announcer Joe J., who commented on my skill through that section in a way that made me roll past some other people with vigor as well as Jeff A's cheers for me as he was warming up in his trainer as we passed in front of him in the off camber section toward the gravel pit and then it all started to come apart in that I renegotiated the dismount in such a way that all of the good juju from the previous lap decided to make a hasty exit as I clumsily barreled through the gravel in such a way that I was sure I heard laughter as it was probably of the "at me" type instead of the more genteel "with me", since I probably looked like that character from the album cover of Guns 'n Roses Appetite for Destruction, you know, the skeleton with arms and legs akimbo though I managed to stay upright into the Lily pond section, barreling through to make sure that I could finish in the top 47 or so where, unbeknownst to me, a small rivet or divot or obstruction in the grass awaited my approach, clearly chuckling to itself as it grasped my front wheel and before I knew it I was splattered on the ground on my right side this time with a broken shifter and a series of riders passing me on all sides asking me if I was OK but clearly not staying long enough to hear my answer so I realized that I had to keep forging on around again when suddenly, at the start finish of the following lap the official had started to pull us stragglers out for "safety" reasons as I have demonstrated that it was probably for my own good at this point as in order to even things out as I was due for a face plant and then some sort of ignominious ending where I would land on my tush, thereby ensuring that all four quadrants of my person would be duly covered with the various flora and fauna of the beautiful Lilypons Water Gardens in southern Frederick County, the site at which the winner of last week's C race won this one too so I think he needs to move up lest he develop the loathesome reputation of being a sandbagger, thereby enabling me to achieve 1 higher placing (like 46th), which is 43 places behind my other friend Steve who finished 3rd after starting with me, no doubt avoiding the same accidents that befell me and cranking a steady tempo throughout, despite battling closely with the other BP rep Todd who broke his cleat, went to his car DURING THE RACE, and put on another shoe in order to finish somewhere in the pack (no longer 4th behind Steve) but with the single distinction of being the only rider in any of the races (as far as I know) to finish with mismatched shoes, a cardinal sin that I'm sure our own Mr. L. Sigelman would, as an esteemed USCF official, be sure to flag as grounds for disqualification.

I saw Jeff A. start in the 35/45 race, and he seemed to be holding his own as I drove off into the late morning sun to greet the "people" back at my house. As soon as I got home they decided to go to their friends' houses, and then Karen went shopping, so that's when I realized I had a little bit of time to write this down.

All in all, a blast once again, despite the less than stellar result. I realized that the first year on a new course is quite intimidating, and then the next year it seems easier, so the more I can race at different courses the better the following years will be.

Charm City (9/23)

First race of the season. Druid Hill Park in Baltimore. At the line, they announced that the field grew to 100 (Kemal did get the last spot) and they were going to pay 12 deep rather than 5. Not that it mattered, ultimately, as I am certain that I finished in the top 100, and they only posted the top 20. Kemal & I snuck a look over the results man's laptop and saw his placing at 22, so I figured I was anywhere from 10 to 50 places behind him--hard to tell, as the field strung out during the middle of the first lap and it's hard to gauge position when there really is no pack--just little gruppettos that tell mini-stories of battling one's self and silent companions...

Which is ultimately the charm of Charm City, and, for that matter, cyclocross, which is an effort that trumps most of the racing that we are used to, and despite the omnipresent pain and fatigue, the sheer joy of riding a bike on grass/dirt/sand/hardpack/asphalt and over barriers (real and artificial) with cowbells clanging and people encouraging everyone over said obstacles, on a course that doubles, triples, and quadruples back on itself so that spectators get a truly enjoyable experience (as opposed to road racing and the occasional industrial park crit, where people who watch you really have to love you to spend that much time being bored)--I just realized that this is a long run-on sentence.

I digress. Kemal and I got there with plenty of time to sign in and ride a couple of laps of the course. Some significant changes this year, as they moved the starting line to a "prologue loop" situation so as to reduce the amount of bottlenecking and mayhem as the pack were to move off of the road on to the off camber portion of the course just before the sand pits. This loop was a good thing, as it strung out the pack nicely and gave everyone a feel for the group before entering the actual course. Kemal & I sat in the top 20 during the fast prologue loop to get on the course, and then everything got jammed up at the first technical off camber 180 around a tree, a place of much misery and cursing. Kemal did the right thing by dismounting, and I rode through slowly, letting everything sort itself out and pushing my way through as required. Didn't lose any placings, as far as I could tell, and watched the long string behind me as we would double back on ourselves through the back end of the course. By that point Kemal pulled away for good, only to see him occasionally when the course switched back (which it did, many times).

Making our way to the first run-up, we encountered a series of evil little switchbacks (3 in a row) which sorted out the groups further--hops over the barriers and a smooth remount at the top of the hill enabled an opportunity to rest briefly as we barreled down toward the front end of the course. Ever vigilant, the race organizers inserted little hard turns to break up many of what we perceived to be longer stretches to rest/gain spots.

Front side of the course featured the requisite railroad tie barriers, artificial barriers, and the start finish stretch. This led to the off camber section and the sand pits, which by the 4th (or was it 6th?) lap were quite arduous. I tried riding through the sand pits during the warmup laps, but ended up running them during the race. Running through sand ain't fun. Mounts and dismounts at the other barriers were smooth, with only one potential biff, but I righted myself rather quickly and kept on rollin'.

It was dusty as hell, my mouth/throat were dry (I'm still hacking now), and my heart rate averaged 179 for 56 minutes, so I was pegged on the rivet for almost an hour. As each lap finished I tired more, and it became a grind to get to the finish, which I eventually did. I sucked down 2 liters of water at the end, after congratulating Steve Wahl from AVC on his second place finish (first CC race ever, but he's been holding his own against Cat 3's and good Cat 4's on the road since starting the season as a Cat 5 - this guy is a BEAST on the MTB circuit as well as crits of late). He would have won if the the dude who won was in the B race (I think he's Cat 3 on the road). Even though I didn't get any swag, I shelled out 5 clams for a sweet Charm City Cyclocross pint glass. Our own Todd Gue, the 3rd BPVC jersey in the race, placed 17th. He's typically a MTB racer, but I've seen him at a crit or two.

While watching the 35+ men's race, we listened as the entertaining Phil Liggett of our district, Joe J., kept a running commentary (goodness me!). When he referenced Ravens and Steelers fans, I pointed out my 'Skins cap, which he publicly rejected. So that's how my race went, just like the 'Skins/Giants game: started out well, fizzled in the end due to lousy (self) coaching. At least I don't have to deal with a Napoleonic owner and the denizens of screamers on SportsHate 980.

In the end, a great day and a great race for the the third time I've done this course, and believe you me it won't be the last.

Summary:

So that's it in a nutshell--5 races, 3 finishes, 2 DNF's, and 1 college reunion. If I were totally aggro and hardcore this would be considered an abject failure, waste of a season. And don't even get me started about the cyclocross. But I'm not the former or the latter, and it was cool. A little perspective here: I get my kicks from racing my bike on grass, dirt, and everything in between with several hundred others who dig the same scene. What's not to like?

6 goals = 2 lbs. of free wings

It's about time. In yet another windfall, my daughter and I were privy to the first home goal barrage by your Washington Capitals on Saturday night. By soundly thrashing the Atlanta club by a similar name, the multitudes got to redeem their ticket stubs for a pound of wings at the Austin Grill.

This being my second Caps post in as many weeks (see my other one...), I probably sound like a dedicated fan. I'm really not., though I was in the '90's. Fact is I am lucky to be in the right place at the right time when it comes to hockey and baseball tickets. The overwhelming generosity of my bro in law, fellow professionals, and vendors who want me to specify their product on my drawings have yielded me quite a few opportunities to attend these games. So instead of shelling out major clams for tickets, I get to shell out major clams for overpriced food and drink. Remember kids! Your money becomes Monopoly money when you enter the doors of any stadium or arena. "$8 for a hot dog? I'll take two then. Why, this warm, flat 12 ounce cup o' golden brew costs as much as a six of Heineken--sure--I'll take two of those too. And throw in a hot pretzel, willya? I luv shelling out a fiver for salty baked dough."

So I picked up the 2 pounds of wings after the Rockburn 'cross race and decided to share the bounty with my neighbor Paul, who not only loves Austin's wings but makes THE BEST Jamaican jerk wings ever. I figured that these were free, so why not spread the love.....

Wish I could take that one back

About 16 or 17 years ago, just after we were married, I was going through a bunch of papers and files that I had been moving with me from house to house during that transient period of life. We had just started grad school--K was in the PhD program at UMD, and I was in the architecture school. We were rollin' through the first year of school and marriage and everything was cool. I was sorting this paper, as I was in one of those "clear out the crap" moods that I find myself in when pigs happen to be flying. I came across a big file box full of letters and correspondence from friends through elementary school to the then present. I figured, I don't need this anymore. I'll just chuck it. So I did.

I wish I hadn't done that.

Here I am trying to maintain a log of my personal history for the latter half (hopefully longer) of my life, when in one fell swoop I trashed an enormous volume of correspondence that I will never recall. This provided a narrative framework for, at the time, about half of my life, since I wrote a ridiculous amount of letters to my friends, especially when I left my high school in the Philippines and finished my senior year at a brand new place here in Virginia. Some of my friends were great writers, too, and there's an honesty to the way they wrote that only lives on in my memories.

Too bad I didn't have a 2GB thumb drive back then.....

Fish tacos

I discovered these incredibly tasty treats about 10 years ago. By far one of my favorite foods. I had read about this culinary delight that developed in the streets of San Diego, melding the fried fish with the corn tortillas and the tangy cabbage and crema, the latter two being distinctly Central American/Mexican influences. Anyway, this platonic food quadfecta stayed in the upper recesses of my mind as an ideal to achieve until I actually had one...at Baja Fresh. Good, but not quite the excellence that I had expected. The quest then began, and I eat fish tacos whenever I see them on any menu, so Austin Grill, McCormick & Schmick's, California Tortilla, and various others make their own versions, all of which are fine in their own ways. The best I've ever had, and this does not take into account any West Coast joints, since I haven't spent enough time out there, is this little place in Arlington (and Alexandria) called Taqueria Poblano.

Dem fish tacos are outta hand.

I usually stop over there if I have a site visit or a meeting in Arlington. I was there today with Elvie from work since we measured this new project in Rosslyn. Once again the fish tacos did not disappoint. The crispy beef (L.A. style) were also solid. I would be remiss, however, if I did not recognize the originator of this thought, this entry from The Wrob's blog, referencing a taco emporium out west that I will someday, with all solemnity and reverence, visit.

Skins are up 14-10, knockin' on the door in the 4th quarter to extend that lead.......

Naggin'

Gotta get used to this blogging action. It seems that I write about a dozen posts a day in my head about stuff that just comes up, and damn if I'm not the most gifted writer and funnyman in my own head. When it actually comes out on virtual paper, boy does it reek. Since I'm trying to document my incredibly interesting and engaging life on a daily basis, this will probably be a bit longer...

Anyways...it was quite a weekend, with the sad start. The funeral service was of course a tough time and the subsequent visiting with the family also sad, but sharing a post funeral meal was comforting. I brought over the adobo I made last night and it went fast. This crowd doesn't mince words, so the compliments were real. This was the same group of family and friends that were at little David's baptism celebration only 18 months ago. After eating, though, the guitar came out and big David started singing Filipino folk songs with the rest of the relatives, which did me in once again. Had to excuse myself to weep as I crossed the street back to the house.

Stuck the 'cross bike in the car and went to Antietam battlefield to watch Adam and the rest of Troop 249 lay out some of the luminaires for the commemoration of the 23,000 thatwere killed/wounded/went missing in a period of 12 hours on that awful day in our history. Yeah, that's TWELVE HOURS of butchery and TWENTY THREE THOUSAND casualties. Rode through the battlefield and saw the sheer amount of these things, found Adam, who had just gotten sick with some sort of stomach flu, and made the decision to bring him home after much gnashing of teeth, as it was only one more night of camping for him, though he had already camped the night before in the frigid weather, so who am I to talk after spending a comfy night in my own bed. Rode back to the car and collected the boy and his stuff from the campsite and homeward bound we went.

Got home and put on the formal wear for the annual Christmas party at Hamel Builders. a general contracting firm that builds a lot of the stuff that we design. This is about my 9th annual bash with these guys that I've been to, and it's actually a touchstone in my year, almost like the gamut of other annual markings that indicate the passage of yet another year. Had a good time and stuck with the beer instead of the harder stuff, since Karen wasn't with me to drive me home if I were to get sloppy....Talked to Steve Wahl, current leader of the MABRA 'cross series (C group) and found that he was not gonna be at Reston the following day, one less person to lap me in yet another grueling event.

Which was cold and windy, and not rainy, as I had feared, and Kemal and I represented the BP with Todd G at the front of the grid and we race along with the usual suspects, though I finished this one without being lapped at all, and, as an added bonus, passed and held off the Turk to boot. Until I found out the reason for Kemal's troubles was a broken rear brake that was rubbing against his rim for the entire first half of the race, since he usually hands my ass to me on a platter in road or cyclocross events, and even when we're training, the dude has a decent engine. The tifosi showed up for us as I actually felt stronger with their constant urging and cheering, and the hot chocolate and cookies that they brought were the ultimate bonus...so thanks Kay, Kathy, Johnny M (the other one), Pam, Andrea, and Howard---you guys were AWESOME.

Unlike the 'Skins, who were anything but. When Sonny told Sam that you couldn't call 2 timeouts to freeze the kicker, I figured that the head coach would know that too. Alas, that was not the case.

Back into the maelstrom of work and life of the weekday grind--we're measurin' fools this week and next (3 different projects, about 8 buildings, a subject for a whole 'nuther passage of entering the homes many different people to document their units), trying to intersperse quality time with the fam, finishing the permit drawings for our own addition, intervals for the last week of the 'cross season, and guitar pickin'.

And feeling the nagging need to write it all down.

If you got this far, thanks for sticking with me. I'm a thrill a minute.

JF

Crushing sorrow

Went to little David's viewing tonight.

The sight of a 20 month old little guy in an open casket is not easily forgettable, and it puts into perspective, once again, just how crucial the time is that we have here.

I don't pray much, but this is one of those times that I can't think of anything more appropriate. More cheerful writing will come soon enough.

Thanks for reading, whoever is out there browsin'.

Sad news

We just found out that the boy across the street passed away yesterday. He wasn't even two--his parents are inconsolable, by all accounts from their next door neighbor. He had some sort of blood disorder, as he was in and out of hospitals during his short life. We just saw him running up and down the driveway a couple of weeks ago, with not a care in the world.

The viewing is tomorrow night - K suggested that I make some adobo, a Filipino soul food dish to help with the throngs that will be paying their respects. The house smells like garlic, vinegar, and soy sauce. It's a smell I usually associate with good times, but today it's just a bummer. When I see the family the waterworks will most certainly begin.

I can't imagine what they're going through right now...

Futility

Last night the Caps lost to the Panthers in a game marked by stunning flatness in the first period, then some signs of life by the third period, ending with a disappointingly anticlimactic shootout. I was with my brother in law Bill, who has season tickets that he gladly shares. The futility of the Caps' season must be frustrating for those who shell out lots of hard earned clams to watch their team sleepwalk through the season.

The most notable moment of the game, however was before the national anthem, in which the arena got dark and film of Sean Taylor's exploits were shown, from high school through college through his too short career as a pro, with a moment of silence in his memory. In an arena the size of the Verizon Center, I only heard 1 voice, that of little kid, while this moment was honored. Chills happen when thousands are unifyingly silent.

Stopped by the office on my way home to pick up my gear for morning meetings and decided to spend a bit of time finishing some of the mind numbing paperword to cover my ass in the one particular project that is moving at exact opposite of the speed of sound. By contract we should have been wrapping up this month and instead the project is only 30% complete. Again, an exercise in futility as this paperwork consists of "Request(s) for Information" (RFI's) that the contractor puts forth in order to justify change orders, a process rendered moot by the tedium of the decelerated schedule. The phony sense of urgency is only heightened by all of the overuse of Blackberry's/Treos as we all must be so busy that we can't just do one thing at a time.

Didn't ride last night, but Tuesday night intervals indoors were intense. 5 sets of :30 on /:30 off descending intervals (5-4-3-2) and then 5 sets of 2:00 on/2:00 off were enough to elicit a distinct response. Thursday night intervals again; Friday rollers; Saturday slow and steady ride; Sunday the penultimate 'cross race of the season at Reston, where it will be cold and rainy. Perfect 'cross weather--the effort will most certainly not be a futile one.

Reset

In an earlier post, I wrote about blogging as a way to write about what comes to mind in a not so entirely self-conscious manner. I've tried writing in journals all my life, to no real effect other than documenting my life in snippets and in a voice that is stifled by a sense that someone may stumble upon these passages and, well, laugh hysterically at my meanderings (and that's not a good thing, as this perceived laughter would be AT me instead of WITH me).

But now that this is out in the open, one would think that self censorship is limiting. [[Analogy Alert!!]] Writing in a journal is like designing from scratch. With no boundaries, I actually find the process of creativity more constrictive. In architecture there are no new ideas, only the innumerable variations of set patterns. Start with a pattern and the world is your oyster...Blogging in an environment where I know that a couple of people will see this, and now I can have some fun, since, like most of us social beings, I yearn for an audience. And at this point I really don't care who laughs AT me.

I'm also getting forgetful in my approach to middle age, so that means that this blog will also be a record of how I'm spending the ever-so-swiftly passing years.

Exotic places

So I'm standing in the elevator on my way up to my office this morning and the group of people in there with me are chattering about their Thanksgiving plans. One of the women will be spending the turkey day here and then will go to Ecuador to hang out, do day trips and stand on the equator. As the doors are closing behind me I overhear "I've never been anywhere, like...exotic".

That's a sentiment that's probably shared by so many people, which is probably why the cruise line business is so popular.

My dad was in the Foreign Service, so I did get to see lots of exotic places. I consider myself lucky that way, though I've always been envious of those that have roots in one place. We traveled so much that when K and I got married we made a conscious decision NOT to move around so much (except for the 3 moves in 3 years around Silver Spring and Kensington, but that's another story), as she comes from a military family (her dad served in the Army). So we established ourselves in one place, and maybe we'll travel a lot again when the kids fly the coop and move all over the world. That is, when I'm not riding my bike.

Speaking of which, I usually (read: almost always) don't ride on Mondays, taking it as a real rest day since I weekend warrior through the previous 2 days. So Tuesday I start again, and I will do intervals on the trainer for an hour or so, since there ain't no daylight to ride in...

9 hours

What a weekend, despite 'dem Skinnies dropping a close one to the hated Cowboys. I was hoping to unleash a guttural scream of joy at the end, assuming they could close the deal in that last drive. I reminded the family that 2 years ago on that Monday night game when Brunell and Moss combined for two quick strikes to pull out a victory, I had to suppress my celebration due to the fact that I would have woken everyone up. Gingerly jumping up and down and hollering through clenched teeth at midnight isn't quite as cathartic as the real thing, but satisfying nonetheless.

I rode 9 hours this weekend, which is much more than normal. Note the following: while Sunday's ride was the typical Bicycle Place shop ride, Saturday's ride was a 6 hour slog for 40 miles with a few Boy Scouts and their parents. A primer on lower than Zone 1 training, thusly: Accompany a group of youngsters and some of their parents on a trip up the C & O Canal from Dickerson to Harper's Ferry on various bikes, mostly of the MTB variety. Start at 9AM from Dickerson. Eat lunch at the Swiss Miss at Harper's Ferry, plan on a few breaks along the way as this crowd isn't used to riding long distances. Return to Dickerson at 5PM. That's about 6 hours in the saddle, about 6.7 MPH, estimated 100 feet of climbing (and that's being generous). If THAT doesn't get yer motor revvin'....then the walk across the railroad bridge into Harper's Ferry sure could, as the steel grated staircase offered dramatic views into the river. It certainly helped for Sunday's ride, a 50 mile affair with the usual mixin' it up with the big boys (and the rest of the unwashed).

The coolest part of the Saturday leg, though, was the amount of time spent with my 12 year old son, who got to be with me and away from me at the same time, as that is his tendency at this age. He rode at his own pace while I swept the rear with a kid who had probably never ridden longer than 5 miles in his life, and he was really hurtin'. They all made it though, and probably got to know themselves better in the process. These are moments to enjoy, as they are as fleeting as the autmn colors, which we also saw plenty of.

As good a time as any.

All right. I’m ALL IN. After years of lurking, this here is the first post of many to this strange, oddly sociopathic medium which opens many doors and crushes fingers when some of those doors slam shut…

I’m 42, married to my best friend, two imperfectly perfect kids, great extended family and in-laws, lots o’ friends, and have a satisfying career to boot. As an architect, I’m PAID TO DRAW. Actually, I make graphic instructions for contractors to make buildings, if you distill the daily grind to its core. Life’s damn good, and I can’t complain. I’m just waiting for the other shoe to fall.

Many people know me as Johnny, many others as John. Some call me Johan, or Gianni, or Giovanni, for reasons that relate to my pastime of choice: I also love to ride and race bikes (of the non motor variety). Cycling’s huge in Belgium. And food—a love affair that will never end. French fries are my Kryptonite. French fries in Belgium are known as frites. Hence my blog name: Johnny Frites, coined by a Mr. C. O’Brien, a friend and teammate who scoffed at the possibility of reading this blog, which will be replete with much exciting banter.

A minor introspective detour:

Why do we do this? I’ve been reading blogs now for some time, irritated by the origin of the name (web log) in the same way that the word “druthers” has always stuck in my craw. But the content has been fascinating; I’ve gotten to know people who don’t know who the hell I am or would care, unless they also had some sort of interest in what I write about. Certainly I have been interested in what others have written, their style of writing, what they do, how they live—no matter how much we think we are individuals we are affected by what we see, hear, read.

The issue here is the audience. If this were to be intimate, or private thoughts, or not meant to be shared, then why do this on this medium? Clearly there is a narcissistic tendency that we have when we broadcast these postings in this manner. When I post on listserves or even send out e-mail, I’m careful to see how the structure of the message can be interpreted, as the nuances of body language and facial expression add immeasurably to the message when given in person (or even spoken). So this is a new mode of expression for me, and old hat for the many others I’ve read, so be patient and maybe something good can come of this.

So here goes.