Campus Culture

Tell me to write an essay at home and it will take me two hours to write a page. Send me to a good library and I can have the page written in half an hour. For the past two Mondays I've ridden up the hill to the La Sierra University library to get some homework done. They have a sweet atrium where I can type to the rhythm of a flowing fountain while surrounded by plants and their accompanying fragrance. Every 45 minutes or so, I stretch my legs by trying to get lost in the three story maze of books. When I don't have homework, I find it incredibly revitalizing to simply walk through the campus or sit under one of the mature trees with some good literature. When I think about my favorite cities (San Luis Obispo, Portland, Bozeman), I realize they are all home to a major university. While I detest frat culture, I love campus culture, and I don't think I ever want to live in a city where I can't ride across town to a good college library.

Barbaro

His name is Barbaro because he could have won it all if it weren't for a gruesome injury that ended up costing him his life. I've got a new wheel set in the mail, a new paint job lined up, and plans for a new saddle and bars.

Thanks for the memories Barbaro. You're responsible for igniting the fire, but it's time for a new colt to carry the torch.

See comment section on DIY.

Dear Mr. Twain,
School is interfering with my education.

D.I.Y.

This is the reason my hands are full of cuts and the cement outside my front door is stained blue. I started with a late '80s Centurion ten speed that the one and only Christopher Kruse so graciously gave me, then I tore it apart. I sanded off all of the Saved by the Bell'o'licious paint and then spayed it as you see above. I bought a few new parts, cleaned up some of the old parts, and assembled what I think is a pretty sexy fixed gear machine. It was a ton of fun to build and it's even more fun to ride. I feel slightly bad for Mr. Belvedere, but I'll still take him out when I need to carry a load or in the rain. Belvedere's the SUV, this is the sports car. I need a name for the fixed gear, so please give me some suggestions. Also, I recommend you all check Craigslist, buy an old bike for cheap, and build a fixed gear of your own.

Awesome!

This is the bike I bought Jenny for her birthday. It was made by French people in the 1960's dontcha know. So far we've gone on a ride every day. Today I'm going to shine up the chrome, put on new brake and shifter cables, and put on new tires.
Did I mention how hot she looks riding it around town?

An Empty Cavernous Place

A couple of days ago we unwrapped a pack of onesies and a pair of size 6 months pajamas. Last week I was doing some Christmas shopping when I saw a plush turtle that looked as though it belonged to my child; the one inside my wife's womb. I bought it and put it in a box with the rest of the stuff for the growing baby. It's all just sitting there waiting for the day we walk through the front door with the baby in my arms. We have a whole box of that stuff. Today we had our second ultrasound. Before we left to see the doctor I strapped my bike to the back of the car. From the doctor's office I was going to ride to Chris's house, then we were going to ride back to my house. Jenny would have dinner ready when we arrived. But first we were going to see how our baby was growing. We were going to see a heartbeat this time. We would see the little lima bean body. The technician turned the screen toward me. She started pointing the camara all around my wife's womb. She didn't say anything. She seemed to do this for a very long time. I began to get worried. I held Jenny's hand. She squeezed harder. I felt as though I had splashed into a deep lake. Sounds became muffled. "What's wrong?" I asked. "I don't see a fetus," she slowly responded. "What does that mean?" I knew damn well what it meant, but I asked anyway. She told us it meant that the womb had been growing but the baby hadn't. The cells just got together and then didn't multiply. She said it happens to nearly half of all women. She left the room. I held my wife in my arms. We had a good cry. I didn't ride bike today. Plans change. We called our parents. We had to tell them they'd never see their first grandchild on earth; in so many words. We heard them sniffle and dry tears over the phone. They're praying for us. We prayed too. We asked for some of that peace that surpasses understanding. Chris bought us dinner. God sent him over to give us some comfort. Tomorrow I'll put the box away. I'll hide it real well and hope it vanishes.

A Small Victory

As I rode to work this morning, the wind was a whisper that warned of waxing intensity. By the time my half day of work had ended, it had made good on its threat and blew with an urgency that mirrored the mall's atmosphere in these final 3 days of compulsory consumption. During much of my ride home, this urgent wind was at my back. Mr. Belvedere was the name of my clipper ship, pavement was my wavy sea, and I captained the rudder with the bending of elbows. In the distance I spied a tree that held big sharp-angled leaves; like those of a maple. One broke free and lifted toward the sky. I decided I would meet it in the air. Perfect timing was essential, the sail-like leaf was unpredictable, and I was still far away. I increased my speed and monitored the course of my target. It blew right, dipped hard, lifted again, blew left, rose higher. I was getting close, but the leaf was falling straight down now. There would be no more lefts or rights. Quick, powerful strokes propelled me to the point of intersection. I was arriving too soon. I sat down, straightened up, glided smoothly. The leaf seemed to pause in front of me, and then it glanced off my chest and fell to the ground.