Sunday morning

Typically on a Sunday morning, especially one so beautiful in the fall as this, I'm out on the bike.  In the past five years since I got back on the saddle it's become a ritual touchstone of the weekly cycle.  Lately, during 'cross season, I'm headed to a race (about 5-6 times a season).  The usual comment at the end of the ride to the disparate group of friends is "Have a great week", knowing that we'll see each other on the next Sunday ride.  It's a comforting routine, and helps reset my attitude for the coming week.

So when I'm sitting on the computer writing about riding while I should be coming out of Rock Creek Park with 100 others, it feels a bit strange.  I was planning on a shorter ride today, since Hank and my brother in law Bob are coming today to help me remove a masonry pier and reset a beam to keep this kitchen renovation ticking along.  On a free day we can get a lot done.

Instead when I woke up I felt like I had been run over by a truck.  Two of four humans in the house are fighting serious head/chest colds, and I'm not one of them, thankfully, yet.  After a long road ride yesterday, soccer, and tearing out the subfloor to prep for the hardwood (in addition to some more wall demo), this morning my body said uncle while my mind planned on joining some neighbors for a spin into the park and a rendezvous with the Sunday group until about 10, when the calvary was to arrive to conquer this pier.

So here I sit, with intentions of a younger, more energetic man belied by the creaking, aching body of reality.  Can't do it all.  Oh well.

Back on the road

The morning is open tomorrow--lately I've put in a short ride since soccer season is upon us and take out the 'cross bike just to open up the legs a little...

Tomorrow is an afternoon game so the itch to get back on the road bike needs to be scratched.  It'll be nice to feel fast again, to stay out for more than an hour or so, since riding the cross bike on pavement, while a good workout, is not quite the same.  Definitely plush, though.

Lumber Liquidators in the late afternoon, then me and my SkilSaw will get acquainted again as we do a number on the old flooring and subfloor in order to usher in the new hardwood.  Sunday will be more demo, this time of the vertical nature.  The portion of the wall that used to be the exterior (before the addition was built in the '60's) is right smack in the midst of circulation.  Tearing this out won't be easy, as the brick and block load bearing masonry construction of the '50's makes for quite sturdy construction.  That's what 10# sledgehammers are for.

Feline playground

The rest of the ceiling is down now, and after Hank left I did some more demo work and laid out the recessed lighting housings.  The more I can do means the less he has to do, ostensibly reducing the costs of this whole project.

One of the side benefits of doing renovation work in the house is the opportunity we humans give our pets to figure out new ways to explore the abode.  Our three cats are in heaven now, with the ability and opportunity to climb up into the rafters anytime they please for this next week or so.  Our Pavlovian response to their yowling when they want to go into the attic can take a break for a little while, as their access is now unfettered, for the time being.  Feline attic patrols are good, since they are voracious hunters and they tend to keep the rodent population under control.

Living sculpture:

I don't have a picture of their darker side, which was revealed to me this morning on my way to the car in the driveway.  Every once in a while they bring some prey home to us, leaving a dead mouse or bird on our stoop.  I have a regular pet cemetery out back now.  Other times they eat too much grass and clear out their intestines, in the manner that certain "cyclocross racers" do the same at certain "races" on this certain "past Sunday".  This morning I found both:  the back half of a mouse vomited onto our walkway.  Sometimes breakfast doesn't quite sit well, does it?

Dust everywhere

I'm typing this now, feeling the dust that has settled everywhere, including the keyboard, from two days of demolition of our kitchen and dining room.  Last time this space felt this open was sometime in 1956, when the house was built.

One day during that year the carpenters framing the bulkhead in the kitchen probably had a conversation that went something like this:

Working stiff #1:  "Just how much material can we use to build this non-structural bulkhead which doesn't even conceal ductwork?"

Working stiff #2:  "I dunno, but let's use real 2x2's, 16d nails every 4-6", and glom the whole thing together with rockwall, chicken wire, and a healthy coating of stucco."

editorial note:  those were the materials available at the time.  

opinion:  THEY USED TOO MANY OF THE SAID MATERIALS FOR A LOUSY ARCHITECTURAL EMBELLISHMENT.

WS#1:  "Make sure you toenail every member, and set the whole thing to a sheet of plywood at the ceiling joists, for good measure."

WS#2:  "You got it, king.  I'll just use 4 nails at every connection when one will do.  Come to think of it, let's add some more nails to ensure that the dead weight of this thing won't collapse on some poor schlep stirring their soup."

WS#1:  "There's no such thing as too much overkill.  Natty Bo's are on me!"

And so it went.  I conjured this conversation as I was loading up 8' 2x2's on the truck today with nails sticking out every which way.  Looked like a stegosaurus tail, fercryinoutloud, only longer.

Anyway, what a difference two days make.  On Monday morning, the old kitchen presented itself thusly:

Monday afternoon, the wall between the dining room and kitchen is gone.

Tuesday afternoon, virtually all the cabinets are gone (to be donated to Habitat For Humanity).   Half the ceiling is out, and dust is everywhere.

Wednesday:  rough-in for light fixtures and receptacles.

Holy Cow.  This thing may be done by Thanksgiving.

Too much

So in my previous post I announced that a 'cross race in the middle of an office move would be an antidote to all that ails me lately.  I didn't pre-ride the course, as I was familiar with it from last year, but it was much muddier than last year so I really should have.  As I sat in the start grid with Jim we made small talk about how the next forty five minutes were a prime opportunity to work out a lot of pent up aggression.  Starter's whistle, and we were off.

About 4.5 minutes later I was on the ground on the back nine, doubled over and leaving my breakfast in one of the ponds.  When I flame out of races it's not this dramatic.  The current working theory is that the virus that was floating through my house (the one that cut short my son's NYC field trip last week) had settled into my small (or is it large) intestine and decided to have a good time.  Next race will be DCCX, four weeks away.

Despite driving one hour each way to ride a bike about 4 miles total, from a practical standpoint this was a complete waste of time.  The bigger picture, however, yields a different viewpoint.  The rap on cyclists who compete is that the scene is pretty uptight.  This scene, however, is not at all like this, at least not now, as the sport is still incipient in its popularity.  Our club has one of the biggest group rides in the area, with a healthy offshoot ride on Saturday mornings patterned after the 10AM, only 2 1/2 hours earlier.  Since my club has a small road racing group, it's great to see the expansion in the 'cross ranks.  Six of us (KMK, K2, Conor, T-Chad, Todd) and Jeff were there this weekend, continuing the trend we started at Charm City.  The other thing that is cool about this scene is the opportunity to meet those whose blogs I read, so it was good to put face and name together with this guy.

The weekend ended with the 'Skins sticking it the 'Boys in their last matchup at the world's dopiest stadium, a meeting with the contractor that will transform my house, and an evening at the office.  Sour stomach be damned.  At least I left all of that at the race.

10# in a 5# bag

This is one of those weeks when expectations by clients are quite high, deadlines are looming and not spaced out properly, and we're moving our office at the end of the week to new digs after spending the last 7 years at our current space.  These events are coming together to form the sharp edge of Damocles' sword, or at least it feels that way.

Rewind to 7 years ago.  We were a smaller firm back then, in Class C space in downtown Bethesda.  Our office was located above the Starbucks at Woodmont Triangle, with a great view of the intersection of Woodmont and Norfolk/Cheltenham.  I sat behind the FEE of the corporate marquis, while my associate (now partner) sat behind the STA of this same signage.  Three other workstations backed up the RBU, CKS, and COF portions of this ubiquitous green logo font.  From where I sat it felt like the bridge of a ship, with my view of this heavily travelled intersection.  Spring, summer, and fall were particularly nice, as the "people" watching was prime.  Sometimes I wonder how we got our work done.

The landlord says get out by October 1, 2001.  OK we say, so in July we start looking for space.  How long can this process take, really?  After checking out a bunch of spaces, sticker shock is the order of the day.  By the time we settle on Class A space at 2 Bethesda Metro Center, we realize that our overhead will be taking a major hit, so we chalk that up to growth.  By late August we're finishing the design, and we realize that our backs are up against the wall to finish drawing, sending docs out to bid, procuring permits, and getting the space built out by October 1.

Early September, and we've finished the drawings and selected a contractor, but there is that small issue of a building permit.  On Tuesday September 11, I remember finishing these drawings while the TV is broadcasting images that are now indelible in our collective psyche. We submitted for permit the next day via a walk-through process, responded to comments, and walked out with a permit on September 14.  Construction had begun that week, but now it was legal.

Within 2 weeks the space was built out and we slid under the wire with inspections on September 30.  I don't know how we did it, though I seem to remember a vibe in the air after 9/11 in which everyone we dealt with was more mellow but more purposeful.  The irritating minutiae that is the hallmark of bureaucracy and the CYA attitude that accompanies it was strangely and thankfully absent, as we built out our space and moved without hassle.  I think that we collectively had Bigger Fish To Fry.

Our current move is not nearly as stressful, but a hell of a lot more expensive and unforgivingly mixed in with our unusually high workload.  Like the move 7 years ago, though, it will happen and it will not be without hassle or snafus.  The nice thing about it is that by this time next week it will be largely done.  The best thing, though, is that right in the middle of all of this I'll have the respite of the Ed Sander 'cross race on Sunday morning.  Kinda cool that an hour of hard work at Lillypons Water Gardens with 100 other like-minded afficionados, despite the pain and discomfort that accompanies the pursuit (suffering is too dramatic or a word) is the small oasis in an otherwise working weekend.  

It'll all get done.  It always does.

Happy birthday

to my sister Maria, who I don't speak with much but think of lots.  While we always talk about keeping in touch more regularly, life seems to get in the way...hope you had a grand day.