It’s been a couple of months since we started a cycling group where I live. As with most other groups we started strong and dwindled down to a core of riders. What were about ten are now four. With me the only male. Again.
It seems to be a pattern in my life that I get along with women and they seem to enjoy my company. Pretty sure I get that from my Dad. Anyway, the group went for our usual Friday morning ride. We carpooled to the bike path and while waiting for “Dotty” to return from the restroom I, in my usual manner, started dispensing advice. This time about properly equipping a bike for riding. The two women, Mary and Libby were rapt in my speech. Or at least they were putting on a good act.
I mentioned that for riding anywhere but on the streets of our community, a spare tube should be carried. Plus tire levers for prying tires off rims and a pump for inflating tubes. All this would necessitate a saddle bag. Not the kind cowboys use, but a small bag that attaches under the saddle of the bike. That’s what the seat is called; the saddle.
As I pointed to the one on my bike, Libby commented on its cuteness to which Mary agreed. She also mentioned that it would be perfect for carrying all kinds of stuff. I agreed and repeated some of the items considered essential for riding. Libby then said she meant it would be perfect for lipstick, a comb or brush. Mary added that maybe a small mirror would be useful. Sheesh.
By then Dotty joined us, much to my relief and off we went. I alternate between riding alongside the three dispensing encouragement and more advice. When we hit a hill that it too steep and one has to walk, I’ll walk alongside suggesting that the spot be remembered where they dismounted for comparison on future rides. This day the clouds were putting on a spectacular display so I used them to distract and put thoughts of the humiliation of walking out of our minds.
The rides are slower than my usual pace and I ride my mountain bike instead of my road bike. It makes for more congenial rides. I subscribe to the practice of never riding faster than the slowest rider. I remember well the feeling of being the last guy; the slowest; the shortest. Besides, these are supposed to be fun, leisurely rides and not races or endurance contests.
We had a good time as usual and then went to Starbucks. It’s where we solve the problems of the world. Where the girls wonder if there’s a saddle bag big enough for a thermos of hot coffee. Sheesh.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
The Day I Met Walt Disney
For a kid growing up in the 50’s, the Mickey Mouse Club was required TV viewing. Now as an adult whenever anyone sings “M-I-C-K-E-Y” who amongst us can’t resist finishing the chorus? Come on, you know you want to.
I grew up in a small town near Sonora, California in the Mother Lode Country. Every Christmas vacation we travelled to Los Angeles to stay with relatives. It took the better part of a year for my parents to save enough money for a trip to Disneyland. My late dad worked at a lumber mill, having given up a teaching job in Mexico to immigrate to the U.S. He now worked with his hands instead of his brains but I never heard him complain. We knew the sacrifices it took and it made us appreciate the trip even more.
I was about ten when we went to Disneyland. It was a different time back then. Going anywhere in public meant putting on your Sunday best. None of this shorts and tee shirts that is now acceptable almost anywhere. Going to Disneyland would’ve required wearing suits, had we owned any. Pictures of the day show my sisters in full skirts and freshly pressed blouses, my brother and I in slacks, dress shirts and dress shoes. My dad wore a suit and tie of course and my mom and Tia in what would today be considered office attire. It was a pretty big deal going to The Happiest Place on Earth.
We kids went crazy trying to figure out what ride we wanted to try first. My cousins, who had been a few times before, were trying to guide us through the dizzying choices. We didn’t care about those “A” tickets, who wants to ride on a horse drawn trolley down the middle of Main Street? Our first ride had to be at least a “D” or preferably the famous “E” Ticket. The Holy Grail of all amusement park rides. It has all faded into a blur now, but I seem to recall that the first ride was the Tomorrow Land Rockets to the Moon. To a small town boy, it was worth the half hour wait, which by today’s standards would be fantastic.
After riding the Dumbo, Alice in Wonderland, Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride and Peter Pan, I was getting tired. Our parents went along with the decision to head for more rides. The others went ahead, but my parents, Tio Pete and I sat on a bench at a point where we could see the river boat, Frontier Land and Tom Sawyer’s Island. I was tired, but in absolute heaven. It was a pleasant reality for a ten year old being in Disneyland with family and perfect Southern California weather. How could life be any better?
I was sitting next to my Dad when he leaned over touching his arm to my shoulder. I looked up at him and with a slight head movement, indicated that I should look ahead. I looked and there, standing in a grassy area about fifty feet in front of us was Walt Disney. He was in a suit, just standing there alone, looking around. I honestly couldn’t believe it. My mom noticed and said I should go over and say hello. She might as well have told me to fly to the moon. People that know me now can’t believe that up until about my second year of college, I was very shy. Painfully shy. But it’s true and for me to approach someone as famous as Walt Disney was well beyond my capabilities.
Thankfully my Mom came to the rescue. She took me by the hand and we nervously walked to where he was standing. If memory serves me, we had to step over a very short looped white wire fence, the kind that was popular back then for flower beds. I remember that he seemed about ten feet tall, almost regal, but with a very friendly face and a smile. Mom pushed my hand towards him and he reached out and shook it. He had such a grandfatherly quality about him as he gently engulfed my hand in his. I know he said something to me, but with my heart pounding, not a word was heard. I do remember that he was a gentleman and made us feel as if we were the most important people in the world. I was the richest kid in the world at that moment.
Fortunately my Dad had the presence of mind to grab my camera and capture the moment for me. It’s one of those moments in my life that will never be forgotten thanks to his quick thinking. As I look at the picture now I see a small boy in total awe, looking goofy at his first celebrity encounter. The Pendleton Store is just visible in the background. My mom is behind me, a steadying hand on my arm, smiling for the camera. But the real focus is the man himself, Walt Disney, in his suit and tie casually facing the camera. The genius behind the world’s most famous and best amusement park, animated movies and Mickey Mouse, taking time to shake a young boy’s hand. And fill his heart with absolute joy. Truly this is the stuff dreams are made of.
We were later joined by my cousins and siblings. They were at first incredulous and then jealous. Very jealous. You know, sometimes in pays to be the sensitive, shy and tired one in the family. It sure did that day. Even now people that are close to my age are in absolute awe and sometimes more than just a little envious over the story of the day I met Walt Disney.
Oh, almost forgot, M-O-U-S-E!!!
I grew up in a small town near Sonora, California in the Mother Lode Country. Every Christmas vacation we travelled to Los Angeles to stay with relatives. It took the better part of a year for my parents to save enough money for a trip to Disneyland. My late dad worked at a lumber mill, having given up a teaching job in Mexico to immigrate to the U.S. He now worked with his hands instead of his brains but I never heard him complain. We knew the sacrifices it took and it made us appreciate the trip even more.
I was about ten when we went to Disneyland. It was a different time back then. Going anywhere in public meant putting on your Sunday best. None of this shorts and tee shirts that is now acceptable almost anywhere. Going to Disneyland would’ve required wearing suits, had we owned any. Pictures of the day show my sisters in full skirts and freshly pressed blouses, my brother and I in slacks, dress shirts and dress shoes. My dad wore a suit and tie of course and my mom and Tia in what would today be considered office attire. It was a pretty big deal going to The Happiest Place on Earth.
We kids went crazy trying to figure out what ride we wanted to try first. My cousins, who had been a few times before, were trying to guide us through the dizzying choices. We didn’t care about those “A” tickets, who wants to ride on a horse drawn trolley down the middle of Main Street? Our first ride had to be at least a “D” or preferably the famous “E” Ticket. The Holy Grail of all amusement park rides. It has all faded into a blur now, but I seem to recall that the first ride was the Tomorrow Land Rockets to the Moon. To a small town boy, it was worth the half hour wait, which by today’s standards would be fantastic.
After riding the Dumbo, Alice in Wonderland, Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride and Peter Pan, I was getting tired. Our parents went along with the decision to head for more rides. The others went ahead, but my parents, Tio Pete and I sat on a bench at a point where we could see the river boat, Frontier Land and Tom Sawyer’s Island. I was tired, but in absolute heaven. It was a pleasant reality for a ten year old being in Disneyland with family and perfect Southern California weather. How could life be any better?
I was sitting next to my Dad when he leaned over touching his arm to my shoulder. I looked up at him and with a slight head movement, indicated that I should look ahead. I looked and there, standing in a grassy area about fifty feet in front of us was Walt Disney. He was in a suit, just standing there alone, looking around. I honestly couldn’t believe it. My mom noticed and said I should go over and say hello. She might as well have told me to fly to the moon. People that know me now can’t believe that up until about my second year of college, I was very shy. Painfully shy. But it’s true and for me to approach someone as famous as Walt Disney was well beyond my capabilities.
Thankfully my Mom came to the rescue. She took me by the hand and we nervously walked to where he was standing. If memory serves me, we had to step over a very short looped white wire fence, the kind that was popular back then for flower beds. I remember that he seemed about ten feet tall, almost regal, but with a very friendly face and a smile. Mom pushed my hand towards him and he reached out and shook it. He had such a grandfatherly quality about him as he gently engulfed my hand in his. I know he said something to me, but with my heart pounding, not a word was heard. I do remember that he was a gentleman and made us feel as if we were the most important people in the world. I was the richest kid in the world at that moment.
Fortunately my Dad had the presence of mind to grab my camera and capture the moment for me. It’s one of those moments in my life that will never be forgotten thanks to his quick thinking. As I look at the picture now I see a small boy in total awe, looking goofy at his first celebrity encounter. The Pendleton Store is just visible in the background. My mom is behind me, a steadying hand on my arm, smiling for the camera. But the real focus is the man himself, Walt Disney, in his suit and tie casually facing the camera. The genius behind the world’s most famous and best amusement park, animated movies and Mickey Mouse, taking time to shake a young boy’s hand. And fill his heart with absolute joy. Truly this is the stuff dreams are made of.
We were later joined by my cousins and siblings. They were at first incredulous and then jealous. Very jealous. You know, sometimes in pays to be the sensitive, shy and tired one in the family. It sure did that day. Even now people that are close to my age are in absolute awe and sometimes more than just a little envious over the story of the day I met Walt Disney.
Oh, almost forgot, M-O-U-S-E!!!
Thursday, May 6, 2010
RAGBRAI, or you've got to be kidding
So you’re wondering what the heck this RAGBRAI thing is. Is it real or imagined? Something I dreamt up while, uh, contemplating the universe? Well, it’s real, so just read on.
RAGBRAI stands for The Registers Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa. OK, let it sink in for a couple of seconds. Take another look if necessary. Yes, it does say a bicycle ride across Iowa. All four hundred plus miles. From Sioux City on the Missouri River to Dubuque on the Mississippi. It’s the oldest and largest event of its kind.
So let me give you some details, answer some of those questions that are undoubtedly rattling around in your head. First, no, I’m not kidding. Yes, I am crazy. The ride is held on the last full week of July every year and lasts for one week. See and you thought it was one all day ride. Relax. It’s not a race, but more like a big party on bikes. It’s a fun filled ride with stops along the way in lots of small towns. They take advantage of the big influx of people and have food and drink and who knows what for sale. Fund raising opportunities for plenty of organizations. So I’m actually doing some good while pedaling my um, heart out.
But all that charity aside, it is basically a bicycle ride. For riders, there are two main components of any ride. Distance and elevation gain. A fifty mile ride that is relatively level is much easier than a 20 mile ride with big gains in elevation. Think of how your car works harder going uphill compared to being on a level road. That’s how riders can feel. Hence the importance of the uphill climbs on any given ride. This year’s RAGBRAI has an overall elevation gain of 14,527 feet. That’s not a typo. Here it is again: 14,527 feet of climbing. And you thought Iowa was flat. Well so did I.
So if you ever wonder what I’m up to, well, I’m on my bike a lot. The organizers strongly suggest that you ride at least 1000 miles in training prior to the event. Good advice. Last year I rode 62 miles to celebrate my 62nd birthday. So, I know doing 62 miles in one day is possible for me. But getting up and doing it again and again and so on for one week is another matter. And then there’s that pesky climbing.
I know what you’re thinking and pretty sure of the look on your face. You’re wondering why. I follow Sir Edmund Hillary’s philosophy: because it’s there. Because it’s a challenge and because it’s something I’ve wanted to do. But puhleeze, don’t say it’s on my bucket list. That’s a silly phrase and the concept is too confining. I just remember old things to do like running with the bulls in Pamplona or find new ones like RAGBRAI. I don’t need no stinking list.
Hope this answers your questions. So now that you know, I ask one thing. One simple thing. Send some good vibes my way during my training and especially on the last week of July. I’ll return the favor anytime you want. Maybe you’ll want to do RAGBRAI next year. Come on, we’ll do it together.
RAGBRAI stands for The Registers Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa. OK, let it sink in for a couple of seconds. Take another look if necessary. Yes, it does say a bicycle ride across Iowa. All four hundred plus miles. From Sioux City on the Missouri River to Dubuque on the Mississippi. It’s the oldest and largest event of its kind.
So let me give you some details, answer some of those questions that are undoubtedly rattling around in your head. First, no, I’m not kidding. Yes, I am crazy. The ride is held on the last full week of July every year and lasts for one week. See and you thought it was one all day ride. Relax. It’s not a race, but more like a big party on bikes. It’s a fun filled ride with stops along the way in lots of small towns. They take advantage of the big influx of people and have food and drink and who knows what for sale. Fund raising opportunities for plenty of organizations. So I’m actually doing some good while pedaling my um, heart out.
But all that charity aside, it is basically a bicycle ride. For riders, there are two main components of any ride. Distance and elevation gain. A fifty mile ride that is relatively level is much easier than a 20 mile ride with big gains in elevation. Think of how your car works harder going uphill compared to being on a level road. That’s how riders can feel. Hence the importance of the uphill climbs on any given ride. This year’s RAGBRAI has an overall elevation gain of 14,527 feet. That’s not a typo. Here it is again: 14,527 feet of climbing. And you thought Iowa was flat. Well so did I.
So if you ever wonder what I’m up to, well, I’m on my bike a lot. The organizers strongly suggest that you ride at least 1000 miles in training prior to the event. Good advice. Last year I rode 62 miles to celebrate my 62nd birthday. So, I know doing 62 miles in one day is possible for me. But getting up and doing it again and again and so on for one week is another matter. And then there’s that pesky climbing.
I know what you’re thinking and pretty sure of the look on your face. You’re wondering why. I follow Sir Edmund Hillary’s philosophy: because it’s there. Because it’s a challenge and because it’s something I’ve wanted to do. But puhleeze, don’t say it’s on my bucket list. That’s a silly phrase and the concept is too confining. I just remember old things to do like running with the bulls in Pamplona or find new ones like RAGBRAI. I don’t need no stinking list.
Hope this answers your questions. So now that you know, I ask one thing. One simple thing. Send some good vibes my way during my training and especially on the last week of July. I’ll return the favor anytime you want. Maybe you’ll want to do RAGBRAI next year. Come on, we’ll do it together.
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